A deep, guttural roar tore through Volk's throat as he staggered to his feet, fury burning like molten steel in his veins.
The raw, primal rage within him boiled over, a force that refused to be contained, swelling with each blow, with each pulse of pain.
His muscles bulged larger, fibers stretching under the relentless pressure of his own wrath.
He could feel his strength multiplying, the sensation like an unending tide crashing within his core, driving him to rise, to fight harder, to destroy anything that dared stand in his path.
But the Death Monarch only laughed, his mirth a twisted melody that filled the air, echoing off the shadowed cliffs and broken stones surrounding them.
His bony hands flickered in the air, weaving intricate patterns as he called forth more undead monstrosities.
