Volk's muscles tensed as the countdown to the end of his Radioactive form loomed in his mind.
Four minutes left.
He felt the pressure mounting.
Every second counted, and with each heartbeat, the sense of urgency grew.
He had no time to think, no time to calculate his next move, no time to be distracted by chaos in front.
His attacks were wild, chaotic, but that was all he could rely on now.
The random nature of his strikes was his only hope.
Maybe, just maybe, one of them would erupt and hit the Warlock hard enough to bring him down.
He needed to spam randomly with different effects!
Volk didn't care about the system mission anymore.
He didn't care about completing objectives. All that mattered was survival—and making the enemy in front feel any kind of enemy.
The mission felt like a distant echo now, drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears.
