Strongest Radioactive System

As the last bit of meat disappeared from the fire, Volk wiped his mouth, while his thoughts drifted as the flavors lingered on his tongue.

The fire crackled softly in front of him, with its embers glowing with a fading warmth that matched the quiet satisfaction in Volk's heart.

Suddenly, when he tried to hold another meat and use absorption to it, he paused. And then he pressed to absorb again, but it didn't work.

"I can't absorb hazardous magic particles anymore?" he muttered, the question slipping out almost involuntarily. His brow furrowed as he tried to sense the flow of magic around him, but there was nothing. It was as if his ability had simply switched off.

Grak'thor, who had been equally absorbed in the aftermath of their feast, looked up at Volk's question. His lips twitched, and then he burst into a hearty laugh, the sound rolling out like thunder through the still air.

"HA-HA-HA! Don't you worry about that, lad!" Grak'thor's voice boomed, shaking the very walls of the butcher shop. "Everything has its limits. You've done a lot of absorbing today, and even your power needs a break! But trust me, come tomorrow, you'll be back at it, soaking up all that hazardous magic like a sponge."

Volk's face relaxed, though a hint of worry still lingered. But Grak'thor's infectious laugh soon banished those concerns, and Volk found himself grinning along with the old orc. It was reassuring, knowing that even his abilities needed time to recharge.

"Besides," Grak'thor continued, reaching for a clean piece of animal skin, its surface unmarred by any trace of hazardous magic particles, "that was a great eating ceremony! Here, take this to your partner too."

Volk's smile widened, and he accepted the offering gratefully. "Thanks for not forgetting, Grak'thor," he said, his voice warm with appreciation.

"HA-HA-HA! How could I forget? You and your partner deserve to enjoy this feast too." Grak'thor's laughter rumbled out again, his eyes twinkling with mirth. But then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he paused, his expression growing more serious.

"Wait here," he said abruptly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Volk's eyes widened in surprise as Grak'thor stood up and disappeared into the back of the shop. He was left holding the animal skin with the cooked meat, with the warmth of the fire in front of him contrasting with the cool night air.

He poked at the embers absentmindedly, his mind buzzing with curiosity.

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What was Grak'thor up to now?

The minutes stretched on, and just as Volk began to wonder if the old orc had forgotten about him, Grak'thor reappeared.

Volk's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw what the butcher was holding.

In Grak'thor's arms was a large, intricately carved wooden box, its surface gleaming faintly in the firelight. But it wasn't the box itself that caught Volk's attention—it was the faint, magical aura emanating from within it.

Grak'thor set the box down carefully before Volk, a solemn expression on his face. "This is a gift for you, Volk," he said, his voice carrying a weight of significance. "You've made me remember the old times, made me taste meat without hazardous magic particles for the first time in ages. This is my way of saying thank you."

Volk's eyes flicked from the box to Grak'thor, and back again. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Grak'thor nodded, his gaze distant as if he were seeing something far away. "Yes, I'm sure. These crystals…" He trailed off, his voice growing softer. "These crystals are my thanks to you and to the tribe's future. They've been with me for a long time, but now… now I want you to have them."

Volk carefully opened the box, and his breath caught in his throat. Inside were various crystals, each one glowing with a faint, otherworldly light.

The colors were mesmerizing, ranging from deep blues and vibrant greens to fiery reds and soothing purples.

.Each crystal seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a tangible sense of power radiating from them.

Grak'thor's voice, now laced with nostalgia, drew Volk's attention back to the old orc. "I had a partner once," Grak'thor began, his eyes misting over as memories flooded back. "She was everything to me. Strong, fierce, and beautiful—just like the mountains that surrounded our old tribe. We were young then, full of life and dreams of a future together."

Volk listened intently, sensing that this was a story Grak'thor hadn't shared with anyone in a long time.

The old orc's voice was thick with emotion, each word heavy with the weight of the past.

"We used to walk the forests together," Grak'thor continued, his gaze distant. "Hunting, gathering, living off the land. Those were the good times—times I thought would last forever. But… nothing ever does, does it?" He let out a long, sorrowful sigh, the sound echoing through the quiet night. "The dark days came, and we lost everything. Our tribe… our home… and her.

She was taken from me by those damn Dark Witches and Red Warlocks. I couldn't protect her, couldn't save her…"

The pain in Grak'thor's voice was palpable, and Volk felt a pang of sympathy for the old orc. He had seen a lot of loss before, but this… this was one of those who had it rough.

Like a wound that had never fully healed, or a scar that still aches after all these years.

"After she was gone, I couldn't bear to stay in our destroyed village. I wandered for a long time, searching for something—anything—that could fill the void she left behind. But nothing ever did. Eventually, I found myself here, in this tribe, far from everything I once knew. I've been here ever since, trying to forget, trying to move on."

Grak'thor paused, his eyes closing as he took a deep, shuddering breath. "But you never really move on, do you? You just… learn to live with it. And you try to make the best of what you have left."

He looked at Volk then, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I never took another partner after her. I couldn't. It wouldn't have been fair to them—to be with someone who could never love them fully. So I dedicated myself to the tribe, to making sure they had what they needed to survive."

Grak'thor gestured to the crystals in the box. "These crystals… they're the last of what I have from those days. I've kept them all these years, not knowing what to do with them. But now… now I want you to have them, Volk. You're young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Use them well, and enjoy every moment with your partner.

Don't make the same mistake I did."

Volk swallowed hard, the weight of Grak'thor's words settling heavily on his shoulders. "Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grak'thor nodded, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yes. I don't have a partner in this tribe, Volk. My time has passed. But you… you still have a chance. Take these crystals and use them.

Enjoy your youth, and the times of peace while you can."

Volk carefully closed the box, his heart full of gratitude and respect for the old orc. "Alright," he said softly. "If you insist."

As he stood up to leave, Grak'thor suddenly asked, "Volk… what is your Grum-gar form?"

Volk paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. The question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. Slowly, Volk turned back to face Grak'thor, the firelight casting long shadows across his face. "My Grum-gar form…"

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. His Grum-gar form or his Radioactive form was something he hadn't fully explored yet, something that held both power and mystery.

But as he looked into Grak'thor's eyes, he realized that the old orc wasn't just asking out of curiosity—he was asking out of respect, out of a need to understand the warrior who had rekindled his old memories and given him a reason to hope again.