Volk tore through the remnants of the collapsed domain, his massive, radioactive form sending debris flying as he rummaged through the wreckage.
In his mind, he imagined a grand scene—a victory unlike any other.
"Volk strongest!" he thought, envisioning his Horde, Orcs turned into Ogres, gathering around him.
They would chant his name in guttural roars, celebrating his triumph.
His imagination ran wild as he pictured the moment when he'd return to them, standing atop mountains of fallen enemies.
Volk grinned wickedly to himself as he imagined the Horde—thousands of them, hulking and mighty, rampaging through cities at his command.
They would tear down walls, crush entire armies, and leave devastation in their wake.
"VOLK LEADER!"
He would roar, and his Horde would respond in kind, their booming voices echoing in unison as they stormed across the battlefield, destroying everything in sight.
