Strongest Radioactive System

The grandmaster gritted her teeth, her sharp gaze darting around the grotesque chamber. She was silent, calculating, her mind racing through countless possibilities.

"We have a few options," she said slowly.

"We could attempt a direct assault on Volk. If we pour every ounce of magic we have left into immobilizing him, perhaps we could buy time for the creature to recover."

"But that's risky!" Bong Me-Eon countered.

"We've seen how resilient he is. Even our necromantic magic barely distracts him. And if we weaken ourselves that much, we might not have the strength to keep controlling the giant."

Her master clenched her fists, frustration flickering in her eyes.

"True. And any attempt to strike him directly could easily backfire if we miscalculate. But if we stay passive, our spells will fade, and the orcs will overwhelm this creature. They're adapting too quickly to the necromantic chains…"

"Then what if we try a counterattack on the horde itself?"

Bong Me-Eon suggested, though her voice was tinged with doubt.

"We could project illusions to confuse them, make them turn on one another. If they hesitate, even for a moment, that might be enough for us to regain control."

The grandmaster's eyes flickered with consideration, but she shook her head.

"With their bloodlust, I doubt illusions alone would hold them off long enough."

She paused, glancing at Bong Me-Eon.

"But… if we combined that with something tangible. A spell strong enough to damage, perhaps even annihilate a portion of the horde outright…"

They both fell silent, considering the enormity of such an action.

Bong Me-Eon's hands clenched involuntarily at her sides, the desperation evident on her face. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"But that much power could tear this giant apart. We're at a stalemate."

They stood in silence, the squelching sound of closing flesh filling the air, as if the creature itself were growing impatient with their indecision.

Bong Me-Eon's gaze darted anxiously around the chamber.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and the weight of the choice before them pressed heavily on her chest.

The options felt insurmountable—any move they made could just as easily doom them as secure victory.

"We need… something unexpected," the grandmaster murmured, almost to herself. "Something Volk wouldn't anticipate. If we can catch him off guard, even for a heartbeat…"

They both racked their minds, but before they could voice another idea, a chilling movement caught their attention.

From the depths of the grotesque, oozing walls, Song Woo-Ji's suspended body twitched.

His arms jerked, and his head rolled slightly to the side, his eyes half-closed but unseeing.

Bong Me-Eon took an involuntary step back, a chill prickling down her spine. She glanced at her master, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Did… did you see that?"

Her master's eyes were wide, her face tense with a mix of alarm and fascination. "He's… he's responding," she whispered. "But to what?"

They watched as Song Woo-Ji's body twitched again, more violently this time.

His fingers flexed, the skin of his hands stretching taut as veins pulsed dark beneath.

The entire interior of the zombie seemed to hum, resonating with the strange energy emanating from his body.

He was murmuring something under his breath, words neither of them could decipher, but the power in his tone sent a shiver down their spines.

Bong Me-Eon's breath hitched. "Master… is he… is he drawing energy from the horde's souls?"

The grandmaster's face paled, and she swallowed hard.

"It's possible," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But if that's true… if he's tapped into something so powerful that even we can feel it, then whatever magic he's wielding might be beyond our understanding."

Her eyes flickered to her disciple, her gaze softened with a rare expression of concern.

"We need to make a decision, Bong Me-Eon. If we delay any longer, Song Woo-Ji could lose control. And if he does… the magic inside him could be our undoing as much as it could be our salvation."

Bong Me-Eon bit her lip, her mind a whirlwind of conflict. Her loyalty to her master was unwavering, but the reality of the situation was far graver than she'd anticipated.

"What if... what if we could channel this energy? Use it to reinforce the creature from within? We'd gain a second wind—maybe enough to turn the tides. And we'd have him to counter horde's brute force…"

Her master considered it, her gaze fixed on Song Woo-Ji's limp form, before shaking her head grimly.

"Such power… if he's already unstable, trying to channel it further could overwhelm him. It could unleash chaos."

As they deliberated, Song Woo-Ji's body convulsed once more, and a whisper escaped his lips—a sound that was neither plea nor command, but something otherworldly, ancient and resonant.

The words cut through the air like a blade, sending a chill through the two women.

The grandmaster swallowed, her voice a low murmur.

"Then we have to decide quickly, for once he fully awakens, we might not get another chance."

Within the throbbing, putrid cavern of undead flesh, the limp form of Song Woo-Ji began to tremble.

At first, the motion was faint, a barely perceptible shiver rippling through his fingers and toes.

Immediately, Bong Me-Eon turned her head and his gaze locked onto him, her pulse quickening as the tremor traveled up his arms, twitching erratically as though something ancient, something malignant, it was like clawing its way to the surface.

The tremors intensified, spreading to his legs and torso, causing his entire body to convulse in strange, spasmodic rhythms.

His skin, pale and drawn, began to darken, taking on a sickly, unnatural hue, as if every vessel in his body were filling with decay instead of blood.

His veins pulsed and thickened beneath the skin, turning a dreadful shade of crimson that glowed with an unnatural luminescence.

Each twitch seemed to draw out this red, venomous energy from deep within, oozing outwards like liquid death, saturating his body inch by inch.

"Master…"

Bong Me-Eon whispered.

Beside her, her master's expression had grown grave, her eyes narrowed as she assessed the transformation unraveling before them.

Another violent twitch shot through Song Woo-Ji's body, jerking his head back as if an unseen force were wrenching him towards some invisible destination.

His mouth hung open, and though no sound escaped his lips, his body seemed to radiate a tangible, palpable darkness.

The air around him thickened, like a mist laced with the scent of rot and decay, a cloud so oppressive that even Bong Me-Eon and her master, both seasoned necromancers, felt a tremor of fear.

Each new spasm left his skin darker, redder, until the color became almost unbearable to look at, as though it was imbued with the very essence of death itself.

It wasn't just red; it was a deep, lethal crimson that seemed to bleed with malevolent energy, like the embodiment of decay manifesting in color.

It was raw, unfiltered death, radiating off him in waves, each pulse heavy with a chilling potency that was nearly suffocating.

Another convulsion, sharper than the ones before, wracked his body.

His fingers clawed at the air, curling and contorting as if some internal battle was raging, ripping at the fabric of his very being.

Bong Me-Eon and her master could feel it—a death energy unlike anything they'd ever encountered, vast and ancient, as though it had slumbered for centuries and was now stirring awake, filling Song Woo-Ji's very essence.

The grandmaster's lips tightened into a thin line. "This… this energy… it's not his," she murmured, an uncharacteristic note of fear lacing her voice.

Song Woo-Ji's body jerked again, and this time his eyes opened, glowing faintly, an unsettling red light that seemed to pierce through the dimness of the fleshy chamber.

It was then that his lips parted, and a voice, strained yet resolute, rasped from his throat, echoing faintly around them.

"Master… Grandmaster…"

He said wuth a voice trembling with exhaustion, yet it carried an undeniable strength.

His eyes, though heavy-lidded, held a determined focus that was striking in contrast to the chaos wracking his body.

"Please… leave. The ancient spirit… it's about to take over…"