"ARRRRGH!" The moment a green orc recovered his consciousness, he erupted in a terrifying howl of agony. His body was suffering from unimaginable pain. His attempt to look around was futile, his vision blurred and distorted by the intense torment coursing through him.

"Ugh! Where am I?" he rasped, his voice heavy with suffering. All he saw was an inky blackness that swallowed everything whole.

He strained to move, only to discover he was bound by unseen shackles. Something made of flesh snaked around his limbs, torso, and neck. But his focus, his very will to survive, narrowed in on the singular source of his torment.

"WHAT THE HELL!....AHH!" A dark fleshy tendril, seemingly an extension of the darkness itself, burrowed deep within his chest.

The pain was excruciating like his very soul was being torn apart. Azrakar's breaths came in ragged gasps as he struggled to free himself from the grotesque appendage. His hands clawed at the fleshy chains, but they held him fast, their grip unyielding.

"RELEASE ME!" Azrakar roared, gathering whatever bit of strength he had left, successfully activating his 'Rage' skill.

A surge of raw power coursed through his veins, dulling the pain and flooding his body with a fierce, burning energy. Azrakar's muscles bulged as he strained against the fleshy chains, his eyes glowing with a ferocious intensity and his skin took on a reddish hue.

"Raaaawwr!" With a primal roar that echoed through the emptiness, he ripped one arm free, the tendrils snapping under the force of his newfound strength. He wasted no time, tearing free his other arm and swiftly turning his attention to the monstrosity embedded in his chest. Gripping the dark tendril with all his might, Azrakar ripped it out with a final, earth-shattering yank.

However, the moment he did…

"UGHAAA!" The world dissolved into a vortex of searing pain, a white-hot agony that surpassed anything he had ever known. He felt like he was ripping the very fabric of his being apart.

His vision blurred with agony, but Azrakar was no ordinary orc. He was an orc who experienced thousands of deaths in every way imaginable, each one a brutal teacher.

"I will endure a million deaths before I yield!" he roared, his voice echoing in the endless abyss.

With renewed determination, Azrakar channeled every ounce of his rage and suffering into one final, earth-shattering pull. The tendril resisted, its dark energy writhing and pulsing in a desperate attempt to maintain its hold. But Azrakar's will was unyielding.

His resolve was unwavering as he summoned every ounce of his strength. The tendril stretched and twisted, its dark energy crackling around it like lightning. With a deafening roar, Azrakar pulled with all his might, his muscles straining to the point of tearing.

The tendril snapped, releasing its hold on Azrakar's chest with a wet, sickening sound. The pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the satisfaction of finally being free.

Azrakar staggered backward, his body weak and trembling. He clutched his chest, feeling the raw, gaping wound where the tendril had been. But he had endured, and he knew that his victory was within reach.

"No rest... yet," he muttered, his voice a harsh whisper.

He forced himself to stand upright, his legs shaky but determined. The darkness around him seemed to waver, as if uncertain of how to proceed now that its hold on him was broken. Azrakar looked around, his keen eyes searching for a way out or a sign of what to do next.

'First, I must heal myself,' he thought, immediately reaching into his inventory. He retrieved medium potions for health, mana, and stamina, downing them one after another.

"Ah…GOOD!" Azrakar felt the healing potions' effects coursing through his body, mending his wounds and restoring his energy. The gaping wound in his chest closed, the pain fading away, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of his ordeal.

As his strength returned, Azrakar wasted no time to summon a weapon from his inventory.

'Grr…I lost my blade' Gripping tightly on a bone dagger he crafted from the Sabertooth's fangs. Azrakar attempted to summon his undead legion from oblivion but sadly there was no response. All of his skeletons were destroyed by that dark mass.

"Ugh!...That dark thing was too dangerous" he mumbled, using his skill 'Summon skeleton' to bring forth five human skeleton warriors from the realm of the dead. This skill didn't require a corpse to be sacrificed in order to summon the undead.

Five skeletal warriors rose from the darkness beneath him, their hollow eyes glowing with a pale green light for a moment. Azrakar nodded in approval, knowing that these skeletal warriors would aid him in whatever the hell he was in.

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At first, he'd believed himself trapped within the dark entity, but the solid ground beneath his feet hinted otherwise. Determined to find answers, Azrakar commanded his five undead to surround him, then withdrew one of the glowing rocks from his inventory.

The good news was that the rock did glow in this darkness, illuminating his surroundings. The bad news, there was nothing to be seen except a stone floor.

All the light did was make the darkness around him retire a little, revealing only a stone floor and nothing else.

"Grr…this is strange" Azrakar surveyed the scene with a grim scowl. The darkness surrounding him was absolute, oppressive. The glowing rock, his only source of light, cast a pathetic radius that barely pushed back the inky blackness. The stone floor beneath his feet felt cold and unforgiving.

His body, though healed by the potions, still ached from the excruciating ordeal. The memory of the dark tendril ripping through his flesh was still vivid in his mind.

"Where am I?" he growled, his voice echoing into the void. Silence. No answer, not even a whisper. Had he been devoured by the dark mass, only to find himself trapped within its bowels?

The skeletal warriors remained silent, their hollow eyes fixed on Azrakar, awaiting further instructions. He knew that they were loyal and obedient, but they could offer no insights or answers.

"Ahh!" He drew a deep breath and then exhaled, forcing himself to remain calm. He was a survivor, a warrior forged in the fires of a thousand deaths. This wouldn't break him.

He barked out a command, his voice rough but resolute. "Skeletons! Forward!"

The skeletal warriors, their movements devoid of sound, shuffled ahead, their hollow eyes scanning the endless darkness. Azrakar followed close behind, the bone dagger clutched tightly in his hand.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the rasp of skeletal bones against the stone floor. Hours, perhaps days, bled into one another. Time itself seemed to lose meaning in the absence of light. The glowing rock, once vibrant, began to dim, its luminescence fading with each passing moment.

"UGH!!....Nexus, where am I?" Azrakar asked for the thousandth time, and every time there was no response. Despair threatened to engulf him. Since he was alone, Azrakar hadn't felt this way in a very long time. Even after falling in the Misty Mountains, he wasn't truly alone, Nexus, the advanced and powerful AI, was with him.

But now Azrakar was back to being alone. His thoughts drifted back to his time in the tribe, to the loneliness and isolation he had felt. He had been an outcast, shunned by his own kind. But he had survived, and he had found his strength in the darkness.

"I will not be broken," he whispered, his voice carrying a note of defiance. "I have endured worse than this, and I will endure again."

The skeletal warriors continued their silent march, their bony feet leaving no marks on the stone floor. The darkness seemed to press in around them, as if it too was waiting, watching.

"Show yourself!" Azrakar called out, his voice echoing in the vast darkness. "I am Azrakar, The Orc, the warrior, The Dread Lord, show yourself and die by my blade!"

The silence that followed was heavy and oppressive. The darkness remained unchanged, offering no answers, no respite.

"Huh!...Coward" he spat, his frustration mounting.

He and the skeletons resumed their endless march, in the void with no goal. His skeletal warriors remained silent sentinels, their hollow eyes offering no comfort. He yearned for the reassuring hum of Nexus, the advanced AI that had guided him through countless battles. But here, in this oppressive void, he was utterly alone.

Suddenly, a sound. Not a growl, a shriek, or a clash of steel, but a whisper. Faint, barely perceptible, it seemed to emanate from the very fabric of the darkness itself.

"Huh!" Azrakar held his breath, straining to hear. The sound came again, this time a little clearer. It wasn't a word, but a melodic chime, like a single wind chime tinkling in a nonexistent breeze.

"Hello?" he called out tentatively, his voice hoarse. The sound didn't return, but the silence felt different now, charged with an unsettling expectation.

Azrakar gripped the bone dagger tighter, its rough surface a welcome anchor in the swirling darkness. He had no idea what lay ahead, but the whisper, however faint, had ignited a tiny spark of hope.

"Minions," he commanded, his voice firm. "Forward, with caution."

With cautious steps, Azrakar and his skeletal warriors advanced, their eyes scanning the darkness that pulsed with unseen energy for any signs of movement. The faint whisper had piqued Azrakar's curiosity, and he was determined to uncover its source.

'It could be my way out of here,' he thought.

He wasn't sure how long they walked, time losing its meaning in the absence of light. But then, a change. The oppressive darkness began to recede, replaced by a faint, ethereal luminescence. A light source flickered in the distance, a beacon in the void.

"What is that?" Azrakar whispered, his eyes narrowing. "Could it be a trap?"

The skeletal warriors remained silent, their hollow eyes fixed on the faint light. Azrakar knew that they would follow him wherever he led, their loyalty unwavering.

As they drew closer, the light solidified. It emanated from a colossal structure, a monolith of obsidian that pierced the endless darkness. Its surface was smooth and reflective, like a black mirror reflecting nothing but the void itself.

"Interesting," Azrakar approached cautiously, a shiver running down his spine. The monolith emanated a strange aura, a presence that was both alluring and unsettling.

"Hm?" Then, he saw something, in the center directly in front of the monolith, he saw something unexpected. A black throne, and seated upon it, a figure.

"Welcome, young warrior," the figure spoke, its voice soft and strangely warming. As it spoke, Azrakar's vision focused on the figure more clearly.

It was a woman of breathtaking beauty. Long, white hair flowed down her back like a cascading river. Her skin was a smooth, dark gray, and her eyes held an intensity that rivaled the twin crimson suns that orcs believed bathed their afterlife. She was a vision of power and mystery, and most captivatingly...

Charm.

Because she was in her birthday suit, her body was flawless and unashamed showing all of her glorious form.

"Who are you?" Azrakar asked, his voice laced with wonder. "And what is this place?"

The woman rose from the throne, her movements graceful and fluid. She extended a hand in a welcoming gesture, a captivating smile playing on her lips.

"Help me," she whispered.