Meanwhile, Zarkus shifted his attention to the demon general, awaiting his assessment. The soldiers fell silent, their eyes darting between Zarkus and the towering figure of the general, anticipation thick in the air. The general met Zarkus's gaze with a calculating look, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his horned helm.
As the clash ended, the general broke the heavy silence, his voice low but carrying over the gathered soldiers.
"Well, soldier," he said, his tone steady and emotionless, "it seems you've proven yourself quite capable." His words were cold, clinical, as though he were evaluating a weapon rather than a warrior. "Your skills with the Low Level Fist Techniques are impressive. And your ability to counter Olin's techniques was... unexpected."
Zarkus met the general's gaze without flinching, but inside, he weighed each word, every nuance in the general's tone.
"But," the general's voice sharpened, "it's not enough." His eyes bore into Zarkus. "There are others in this army—stronger, deadlier. Can you compete with them?"
Zarkus took a deep breath, steeling himself. He couldn't afford to show any hesitation. "General, I will do whatever I can to impress you. I cannot let the necromancer down. And if I don't..."
He trailed off, laughing awkwardly, but there was an underlying tension in his voice. "Let's just say I don't want to find out what might happen to me."
The general's eyes narrowed, and his voice softened slightly, a rare hint of acknowledgment slipping through. "You're dedicated," he said, the intensity in his gaze never wavering. "But dedication alone isn't enough. You need raw power and skill to back it up." His voice hardened again. "Are you ready to prove that you have both?"
Zarkus met the general's gaze unflinchingly. His voice was steady, but the resolve behind it was clear. "I am. I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself."
A predatory grin spread across the general's face, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation.
"Very well," he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "If you're so determined to prove yourself, then I will face you directly." The soldiers around them shifted, taking a step back as they realized the gravity of what was about to happen.
"This will be the ultimate test of your strength and skill," the general growled, his voice low and menacing. "But be warned—I am not going to hold back. I expect nothing less than everything you have."
Zarkus stepped into the center of the circle, sizing up his opponent. The demon general was a towering figure, easily twice his size, with a body forged from pure muscle and power. His blackened steel armor, adorned with jagged spikes and ridges, gave him the appearance of a living weapon. A horned helm covered his head, the sharp ridges adding to his fearsome, demonic visage. Within the crevices of his armor, a faint red glow pulsed, as if something dark and alive resided within.
Even from a distance, Zarkus could feel the oppressive weight of the general's aura, a force so raw and primal that it pressed down on his very being. The energy was terrifying, awe-inspiring, and nearly unbearable.
The general's eyes gleamed with amusement. "You're not trembling, eh?" His voice was a dark rumble that sent shivers through the crowd. "Most soldiers would be quaking in fear right now, faced with such a sight. But you... you stand calm."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze locked on Zarkus. The silence of the onlookers only deepened the tension. "That," he said with a wicked smirk, "is either a sign of great courage... or great idiocy."
The smirk widened. "I'm eager to find out which one it is."
Zarkus remained silent, his focus unshaken, his eyes locked onto the general's. The soldiers around them waited with bated breath, knowing that this battle would be unlike anything they had witnessed before.
"Shall we begin?" The general's voice was low, dripping with anticipation, his aura pulsing with deadly intent.
---
Before the fight began, Zarkus found himself deep in thought, recalling the ominous warning the necromancer had given him.
The necromancer's skeletal form loomed in the dim light, his hollow eyes glowing faintly as he spoke, each word steeped in an ancient, bone-chilling authority. "Listen carefully, Zarkus," he commanded, his voice a low rasp, carrying the weight of secrets long buried. The air around them seemed to still, the silence thickening with the gravity of what was to come. "The general leading this army is no ordinary soldier. He is one of the 72 Demon Kings of the Eighth Hell."
Zarkus stood rigid, his attention fixed on the necromancer as his words sank deep into the marrow of the room.
"His name is Orcus," the necromancer continued, stepping closer, his voice darkening, "the Bloodthirsty General. A creature born of carnage, feared across realms for his cruelty... and his unmatched skill in battle."
As he spoke, the necromancer's bony fingers twitched, as if remembering battles fought in forgotten times. His tone, usually laced with a mocking superiority, had shifted to something more ominous, almost reverent. The necromancer, for once, was not simply instructing—he was warning.
"You will serve under his command," he said, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. "Once you join his legion, you will be under his direct control."
Zarkus's expression remained stoic, though the weight of the necromancer's words was undeniable. Orcus—one of the demon kings—would soon be his master.
The necromancer's hollow gaze bore into Zarkus's eyes, as though searching for any trace of hesitation. "But before you accept this fate," he said, his tone turning sharper, colder, "there is something you must understand."
He stepped even closer, the edges of his skeletal form seeming to blur into the darkness, as if the shadows themselves were drawn to him. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, yet every syllable was as clear as a blade sliding against stone. "Orcus is not merely a commander. He is a force of annihilation. He demands absolute obedience, unwavering loyalty. Any failure, any whisper of defiance... and you will be crushed beneath his heel, ground into dust without hesitation."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, but Zarkus remained unmoved, his gaze steady, unyielding. He did not flinch under the necromancer's withering stare.
"If you walk this path," the necromancer hissed, "you must be prepared to follow his commands without question. No matter how impossible, no matter how monstrous." His bony fingers curled as if imagining the suffocating chains of servitude.
Zarkus nodded, his voice steady despite the weight of the warning. "I will follow his orders, as long as they align with our goals and do not contradict my principles."
For the briefest of moments, a flicker of something—perhaps surprise, perhaps approval—passed through the necromancer's hollow gaze. His skull tilted slightly, as though contemplating the depth of Zarkus's resolve. Then a smirk tugged at his lipless mouth, a grim mockery of satisfaction.
"Good," the necromancer rasped, his voice like gravel grinding in the pit of the earth. "But remember, Zarkus..." He leaned in closer, his skull inches from Zarkus's face, his eyes burning with a dark intensity. "Orcus is no mere demon. He is a king. His power is vast, his will unbreakable. Do not—ever—think you could challenge him head-on. To cross him is to invite death itself."
His words were not a threat—they were a final, dire warning.
Zarkus stood unflinching, his muscles coiled with determination. "Understood," he said, his voice unwavering. "I'm not here to challenge Orcus. I'll do what's necessary to gain his respect, to earn his trust, without taking unnecessary risks."
A deep, unsettling silence followed. The necromancer regarded him for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the flickering half-light. Then, something almost imperceptible—perhaps a flicker of relief, or was it approval?—crossed the necromancer's visage before he stepped back, his skeletal form seeming to dissolve into the surrounding darkness.
"Impress him," the necromancer's voice echoed, fading as his figure melded with the shadows. "But tread carefully, Zarkus. You walk among monsters now. Do not forget—one wrong step, and you will not return."
---
Now, standing before Orcus in the present, Zarkus snapped back to reality. The demon general's presence was suffocating, far more terrifying in the flesh than the legends had suggested. The demon king's colossal frame seemed to fill the clearing, his dark armor radiating a vile energy that pressed down on Zarkus like an unseen force. The necromancer's warnings echoed in his mind—this was not a battle to be won, but one to survive.
The surrounding trembled with anticipation as Orcus's voice cut through the air, deep and rumbling like the rolling thunder of an approaching storm. "Are you finally ready, or must I wait for you to grow a spine?" His words were dripping with impatience, disdain flickering in his burning eyes, daring Zarkus to falter. The silence that followed felt like a noose tightening around Zarkus's neck.
Zarkus clenched his fists, locking his gaze with the demon king's. "I'm ready," he replied, his voice steady, though his heart pounded with the weight of the challenge. This was the moment—there was no room for hesitation.
Orcus's lips curled into a cruel, mocking grin, his sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Good," he hissed, the sadistic pleasure in his tone unmistakable. "Let's see what you're truly made of." His armored hand tightened around the hilt of a massive weapon at his side, though he didn't bother to draw it—his expression made it clear he didn't think Zarkus was worth the effort.
With a roar, Zarkus launched himself forward, the force of his leap shattering the stone beneath him. "Earth's Embrace: Cataclysmic Smash!" His fist descended with the power of an earthquake, his attack unleashing a titanic shockwave that rippled through the ground. The air itself seemed to warp under the force, and the ground quaked as though the very earth cried out in pain.
The blow landed squarely on Orcus's chest with a thunderous impact, but the demon king didn't so much as blink. Zarkus felt his fist connect, but it was like striking a mountain. Orcus's massive frame absorbed the attack without even a tremor. His eyes, glowing with an unholy crimson light, didn't leave Zarkus's for a second, his expression one of utter indifference.
A wave of frustration surged through Zarkus, but he refused to let it show. He quickly transitioned into another attack, his movements swift and relentless. "Earth's Embrace: Tectonic Upheaval!" Zarkus's fists blurred as he unleashed a barrage of earth-shattering punches, each one accompanied by the sound of stone cracking and mountains colliding. The ground echoed with the fury of his strikes, the ground quaking beneath the onslaught.
Yet, Orcus stood as immovable as a monument to death itself. The demon king allowed the attacks to rain down upon him, his massive form absorbing each one like a rock in the face of a storm. His armor remained untouched, not a scratch marring its blackened surface. There was no reaction—no grimace of pain, no sign of exertion. Orcus's eyes gleamed with something close to boredom.
Undeterred, Zarkus pressed on, pouring everything he had into his strikes. Each punch, each stomp of Earth's Embrace sent shockwaves through the air, but none of it seemed to matter. Orcus remained an immovable fortress, unmoved by the fury Zarkus unleashed.
As the attacks continued to prove fruitless, Zarkus's mind raced, his mind scrambling for a strategy. He's too strong, too well-armored for my usual techniques. I need something different... something to force him to react. Not brute force... but precision.
Zarkus took a brief step back, breathing heavily, his eyes locked on Orcus's unreadable face. His usual strategies weren't going to work here. Orcus wasn't just strong—he was a being of a different magnitude, beyond the comprehension of mortals. Zarkus had to think faster, adapt quicker.
He needed something more than brute force. Something that would surprise the demon king. Something that would force him to move, to acknowledge Zarkus as a real threat.
Zarkus's mind raced, trying to grasp the faint glimmer of a plan as his previous attacks had been in vain. Orcus stood unscathed, an impenetrable wall of muscle and malevolence. What could possibly break through him? he wondered, the seed of an idea starting to form in his mind.
Each strike had been met with indifference, and though Zarkus had unleashed his strongest techniques, none had managed to even budge the demon king. Sweat dripped down his brow as he circled Orcus, buying himself time to think. Finally, something sparked—a desperate, risky plan that might work, if only for the element of surprise.
Breathing heavily, Zarkus eyes locked on Orcus. The demon general's expression didn't change, but a flicker of curiosity crossed his crimson eyes.
Orcus's eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity crossing his gaze as he watched Zarkus retreat. "Giving up already?" he sneered, his voice as sharp as the blade still hanging lazily at his side. "If this is all the necromancer's little pet can offer, I might as well crush you now and be done with it."
Zarkus brushed off the sting of Orcus's insult, focusing instead on the surge of power thrumming through his veins. The remnants of Earth's Embrace pulsed beneath his skin, his muscles trembling with the raw energy he was gathering. There could be no second thoughts—this had to be the strike that counted. He squared his stance, eyes locked on the imposing demon general, every nerve in his body screaming to release the force he'd been building.
Orcus watched him, the flicker of boredom fading from his gaze. His eyes narrowed with a calculating gleam, as if sensing the shift in Zarkus's resolve. There was a palpable tension in the air—an electric crackle that made the demon king's lips curl into a thin, dangerous smile. Zarkus knew this would be different; he felt it too.
With a guttural battle cry that reverberated through the very bones of the arena, Zarkus charged forward. "Earth's Embrace: Divine Hammer!" The ground beneath him cracked and splintered, trembling as if the earth itself recoiled from the force of the technique. His fist slammed toward Orcus with a titanic force, the shockwave rippling through the air like a cannon blast.
The impact landed—stone beneath their feet erupted, cracks webbing out like a spider's web. For the first time, Orcus shifted, his feet scraping the ground as the sheer force of Zarkus's blow pushed him back an inch. Zarkus saw it, a slight falter, the first sign of Orcus's immovable presence wavering. His heart skipped—he had done it. Orcus, for the first time, had been forced to adjust.
But the triumph was short-lived. The demon general's stance steadied almost immediately, his towering frame asserting dominance over the ground. His armor, though cracked in places, still glowed with dark, malevolent energy, and his eyes burned with a cold, dangerous light. He stood, unbowed, his cruel smirk widening as he brushed a gauntleted hand over the fracture in his chest plate.
"Impressive," Orcus rumbled, his voice low and commanding, like the growl of a storm. "But you'll need far more than that to break me."
Frustration and exhaustion gnawed at Zarkus, but he knew he couldn't give in. Not now. Not when he was so close.
He took a deep breath, mentally running through every technique he knew, every trick he had left. There has to be something... without using that_, he thought, and then... the idea struck him. It was reckless, dangerous, and might leave him vulnerable—but it was his only shot.
Zarkus surged forward again, but this time his approach was different. His body moved with a calculated grace, the raw fury of his earlier strikes replaced with precision. Orcus's eyes gleamed with amusement, his posture casual as he prepared to block what he expected to be another futile attack.
But at the last moment, Zarkus veered off course, driving the energy of Earth's Embrace not into Orcus, but into the ground beneath him. The earth buckled, surging upward like an enraged beast, throwing Orcus off balance. The demon king's eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face as his footing slipped. He stumbled, his massive body shifting more than an inch this time—Zarkus had forced him to move.
For the first time, Orcus's eyes widened in surprise as his balance faltered. His feet moved—only an inch, but it was enough. Zarkus had forced the immovable general to move.
Orcus straightened, his casual indifference evaporating as his eyes locked onto Zarkus with a sharp, predatory gleam. The shift in his demeanor was immediate and palpable, like a wolf who had just caught the scent of worthy prey. His lips twisted into a snarl, voice low and edged with both curiosity and menace.
"Interesting technique," he growled, his tone now laced with a cruel fascination. "Earth's Embrace... That's not something I've seen before." His eyes raked over Zarkus, dissecting him with a brutal, calculating gaze that sent a chill through the air. Every inch of Zarkus was being appraised as if Orcus were weighing whether to destroy him now or later.
Zarkus, still struggling for breath, didn't dare lower his guard. He could feel the intensity in Orcus's gaze shift, becoming more focused, more dangerous.
"You're indeed not just some ordinary undead, are you?"Orcus mused, his voice dripping with dark amusement. There was no mistaking the underlying threat beneath his words. His eyes narrowed, gleaming with a predatory respect. "There's something more to you... something I didn't anticipate."
For the first time, Zarkus sensed the change. Orcus no longer viewed him as just another expendable soldier, something to crush and discard. Now, he was a curiosity, a challenge. And Zarkus knew that the necromancer's plan was working—he had caught the Bloodthirsty General's attention.
Orcus's voice was slow and deliberate, each word spoken like a calculated move in a deadly game. "It seems the necromancer wasn't entirely full of lies about you. Your skills... they exceed that of the usual rabble."
Zarkus couldn't help but notice the flicker of surprise that crossed Orcus's face at the mention of the necromancer's name. There was a connection there, something more. Whatever it was, it seemed Zarkus had not only proven himself but piqued Orcus's interest even more deeply than he'd anticipated.
The tension between them thickened, but the nature of their fight had shifted. It was no longer a contest of sheer strength. Zarkus had proven he was more than just a warrior. He could feel it—Orcus saw him differently now.
A slow, cruel smile curled across Orcus's face, a mixture of approval and something far more sinister. His eyes gleamed with a dark amusement, but his voice carried the weight of something far more dangerous. "Clever, that necromancer. Crafty bastard, indeed. I've heard whispers of his creations. But none quite like you."
Orcus's gaze bore into Zarkus, sharper and more calculating than before. "You're different. Stronger. More controlled. But strength is meaningless unless it can endure."
Zarkus's curiosity sparked, despite the danger looming before him. "You've heard of his creations? What exactly do you mean?"
For a brief moment, Orcus's expression darkened, his scarred face twisting with disgust as if recalling something repulsive. "The necromancer meddles in more than just warriors like you," he spat, his voice thick with disdain. "He's dabbled in the creation of abominations. Beasts that defy reason and nature itself. But unlike you, they're... unstable. Twisted. Weak."
His eyes flickered with a brief moment of hatred before hardening again, his face snapping back into its cruel mask. Orcus's lips curled in a sneer as if disgusted by his own words. "But enough of that filth. We're not here to trade stories like old fools."
He took a step forward, his massive axe rising once more with deadly purpose. The battlefield seemed to tremble beneath his presence.
"Are you ready, footsoldier?" Orcus's voice was a growl, filled with the promise of violence. "Let's see if your strength is as real as you think it is. Come. Show me what else you've got."