Radioactive Absorption

Volk felt a chill run down his spine.

The butcher's tone was matter-of-fact, almost resigned, as if he'd long since accepted the tribe's fate. "The other tribes," Volk asked, trying to understand, "the hornless ones scattered across the land… they're living in radioactive zones too?"

The butcher nodded. "You bet. It's the only way to avoid being hunted down one by one. I've seen it happen, kid. I've lived it. Back before we moved here, I was part of a smaller tribe. We were picked off like flies."

Volk noticed the butcher's grip tighten on the cleaver as he spoke, his knuckles whitening beneath the green of his skin. The old orc took a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and then began to recount his story.

"Back then, we lived in a place far from here. The land was fertile, the air was clean—no hazardous magic particles, nothing like that. It was perfect… too perfect. We thought we were safe, thought we could live in peace. But then they came. The Dark Witches and Red Warlocks."

The butcher's voice took on a darker, haunted tone as he continued, his words heavy with the weight of old memories. "They came at night, like shadows, creeping into our camp. We didn't even hear them until it was too late. They slaughtered the elders first, the ones who knew the most about protecting the tribe. They didn't even bother with spells—they just cut them down, one by one."

Volk could see the pain etched into the butcher's face, the deep lines that spoke of loss and despair. But the old orc didn't stop, couldn't stop. The memories flowed from him like a river, unstoppable and raw.

"We tried to fight back, but what could we do? They were too powerful, their magic too strong. We lost so many that night. My brother… my sister… they didn't make it. I can still hear their screams sometimes, when I close my eyes."

The butcher's hands trembled as he wiped them on his apron, his gaze distant as he relived the horrors of that night. "We had no choice but to run. We scattered, hid in the forests, in caves, anywhere we thought they couldn't find us. But it didn't matter. They hunted us down, one by one. Those who were caught… well, you don't want to know what they did to them."

Volk swallowed hard, his throat tight with sympathy. He couldn't imagine the terror the butcher must have felt, the helplessness of watching his tribe be torn apart. "How did you survive?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The butcher let out a bitter laugh. "Survive? I don't know if I'd call it that. I just… kept moving, kept hiding. Eventually, I found my way to this place, to the Orc tribe. They took me in, gave me a purpose. But I never forgot what happened. None of us did."

The butcher finally looked up at Volk, his eyes hard with resolve. "That's why we stay in these radioactive zones. It's dangerous, sure, but it's safer than the alternative. Out there, beyond the tribe's borders, it's a different kind of hell."

Volk nodded, finally understanding the tribe's precarious position. The butcher's story had shed light on the harsh realities of this world, and the sacrifices the tribe had made to survive. He felt a deep respect for the orcs who had endured so much, who had fought tooth and nail just to keep their people alive.

The butcher seemed to shake off his dark memories, his tone softening as he returned to the present. "But enough about that. You're here to take responsibility, right?"

Volk nodded again, more determined than ever. "Yeah. I want to help."

The butcher grinned, the tension easing from his face. "Good. There's not much to do here but chop meat and store it until the hazardous magic particles withers away. It takes time, but it's necessary."

Volk hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I can do that."

The butcher clapped him on the shoulder. "Name's Grak'thor, by the way. Now, let's get to work. First thing's first—carry some of these big slabs inside. But before that, check the meat. Make sure it's not too fresh, or it'll be too dangerous to handle."

Volk followed Grak'thor into the back of the shop, where the air was even colder, the smell of meat was more pungent. The walls were lined with racks holding various cuts, each one labeled with a strange script that Volk couldn't read.

Grak'thor moved to a table where a large chunk of meat lay, his cleaver at the ready. "Just make sure you don't use your bare hands, alright? There's a handle on the side of each slab for a reason."

Volk nodded, though he couldn't help but feel a strange pull as he approached the meat. His hand reached out, and without thinking, he grabbed the slab barehanded. He could feel the weight of it, the coldness seeping into his skin. But he was focused on something else—the strange tingling sensation that ran up his arm, the familiar buzz of his radioactive absorption ability kicking in.

Grak'thor turned to look at Volk just as he was about to start chopping. His eyes widened in shock as he saw what was happening. "No! Don't use your hands—" His words died in his throat as he saw something even more shocking.

Volk didn't notice at first, but as he lifted the meat, he saw it—a thin stream of energy, like a snake made of green light, slithering from the meat and into his hand.

It twisted and coiled, wrapping around his fingers before disappearing into his skin.

The sensation was strange, almost ticklish, but not unpleasant. He watched in stunned silence as the hazardous magic particles flowed into him, the meat's once vibrant color dulling slightly as it lost its radioactive charge.

Grak'thor was frozen in place, his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. "Wh-what… what the… WHAAAAAAAT?" His voice was a mixture of shock and confusion, his eyes glued to the scene before him.

He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached out, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "The hazardous magic particles… it's… it's going into your hand!" His voice rose in pitch, his disbelief turning into something bordering on panic. "How… How is this even possible? I've never seen anything like this in all my years!"

Volk didn't know what to say, his mind racing as he felt the last of the hazardous magic particles seep into his body. He flexed his fingers, feeling a new kind of energy coursing through him, different from the regular Mana he had absorbed before. It was rawer, more potent, and yet it didn't harm him. If anything, he felt stronger.

Grak'thor was still staring at him, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form words. "WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATT!!?" The sound echoed through the shop, bouncing off the stone walls and reverberating in the enclosed space.

The butcher scrambled over to Volk, grabbing his hands and inspecting them frantically. "Where did it go? The hazardous magic particles… where is it? Are you… are you okay? You should be glowing green or something! How… how are you not dead?"

Volk gently pulled his hands away, trying to calm the panicked orc. "Grak'thor, relax. It's my ability. I can absorb hazardous magic particles. It's… it's normal for me."

Grak'thor's eyes widened even further, his face going from shock to something even more extreme. His mouth opened, but no sound came out for a moment as he stared at Volk, processing the revelation. When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper, almost reverent. "You… you can absorb hazardous magic particles? That's… that's…"

Suddenly, Grak'thor went mute, making the room filled with an awkward, tense quiet silence. His expression was unreadable, a mix of awe, fear, and something else that Volk couldn't quite place.

The silence stretched on, the only sound the faint drip of water from somewhere deeper in the shop.

Without warning, Grak'thor turned and hurried into the back room, leaving Volk standing there, unsure of what to do.