FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 42: Chapter 42: Prismatic Chaos

Sol sat there in the dim silence of the hut, the heavy musk of their sexual encounter slowly dissipating into the cool air. The woman lay beside him, a beautiful, ruined heap of copper skin and exhaustion, but Sol’s attention had shifted inward.

He placed a hand over his heart, his fingers splayed across his sternum.

It really was there. A strange thrumming vibration beneath his skin that he had never felt before. It definitely wasn’t the beat of his heart.. that was a rhythmic thump-thump… but this was a continuous, high-frequency hum, like a trapped insect buzzing against the cage of his ribs. It felt alien, yet intimately connected to him, as if a new organ had suddenly grown in the darkness of his chest cavity.

“What the hell is this?” he whispered, bewildered, pressing his palm harder against the bone, as if he could physically push through and grab whatever it was.

He couldn’t see it, but he could definitely feel it. It sat in that hollow space in the center of his chest, a dense knot of something foreign there.

All the remaining fatigue was instantly swept away by curiosity. He needed to see what the hell it was.

So, thinking of something, he shifted his legs, crossing them beneath him on the furs, assuming a meditative posture he had read a thousand times in novels and cultivation manhuas but never practiced. Well, he did practiced a few times, wanting to see if cultivation and mana was real.

“Okay, focus,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t be an idiot. You’ve read enough isekai trash to know how this works. Visualize. Breathe.”

He closed his eyes, shutting out the thatched roof and the sleeping woman.

Initially, there was nothing but the swirling phosphenes of the dark… reds and blacks dancing behind his eyelids.

But Sol wasn’t discouraged. He knew, with the instinct of someone who had consumed a library’s worth of fantasy novels, that magic… or whatever this was… wouldn’t yield to a casual glance.

“Come on,” he hissed mentally. “Show me the cheat code.”

He focused. He turned his internal gaze toward that hollow cavity, visualizing the sensation.

Breathe, he told himself.

He decided to try the random relaxing breathing technique he’d read about on some wellness blog. The 4-7-8 rhythm. Inhale for four seconds through the nose. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight through the mouth.

Inhale… one, two, three, four.Hold…

“I feel ridiculous,” he thought. “If someone walked in right now, I’d look like I’m trying to lay an egg.”

“Oky, enough joking, let’s focus seriously.”

He removed the distracting thoughts and focused seriously.

The buzzing in his chest seemed to grow louder in the silence of his held breath.

Exhale…

He repeated the cycle, forcing his racing mind to settle, pushing awaythe thoughts of the meat distribution, the punch, the hunter’s wife, and the nagging question of ’what the fuck am I doing?’. He cleared the slate until he was just a consciousness floating in the dark.

Slowly, the darkness really began to shift.

He sensed something waiting in the abyss of his own body. He exerted all his attention, bearing down on that single point of vibration with the force of a mental drill. He pushed past the veil of biological noise, past the blood and the bone, deeper into the metaphysical space.

And then, he saw it.

“Holy shit.”

It wasn’t a light. It was a goddamn storm going there.

It was Prismatic Chaos.

A swirling, violent nebula of colors that had no names, rotating in the center of his being. It was a maelstrom of conflicting energies… crimson clashing with neon violets, deep abyss blacks warring with blinding golds. Every color seemed to be fighting for dominance, crashing into one another with cataclysmic force, yet… they held together.

It was a paradox. A storm of absolute instability that created a perfect, terrifying sphere. They mutually supported and restrained each other, a delicate, volatile equilibrium that looked like it could birth a star or swallow a galaxy.

Sol stared at it with his mind’s eye, mesmerized. It felt ancient. It felt like watching the true cosmic chaos, as if someone had trapped the universe’s first scream inside a glass bottle and shoved it into his chest. The raw power radiating from it was suffocating.

Beautiful, he thought, his mental voice trembling.

He tried to focus closer, to touch a strand of that swirling color with his will, just a little poke to see what it did.

SNAP.

The moment his intent touched the chaos, the equilibrium shattered.

His mind felt like it was torn into hundreds of millions of pieces at once. It wasn’t a headache; it was soul-tearing pain. It felt as if a serrated blade had been dragged across his very consciousness, shredding his ego, his memories, and his sense of self in a microsecond.

“AGH—!”

Sol gasped, his body convulsing violently on the furs. His eyes snapped open, dragging him back to the physical world.

“FUCK—!”

He heaved heavily, clutching his head, his lungs gasping for air as if he had been drowning. The pain lingered, albeit much endureable, a dull, throbbing ache behind his eyes that made him want to vomit.

“Okay, note to self,” he wheezed, clutching his temples. “Do not poke the cosmic blender, or whatever the fuck it is.”

But as he blinked, trying to clear the tears from his vision, he realized the darkness of the hut had changed.

He didn’t know it, but deep within his pupils, a faint, prismatic brilliance was swirling, a reflection of the chaos he had just witnessed.

He looked down at his body and froze.

“What the… am I glowing?”

A faint, prismatic energy enveloped his limbs like a second skin, shimmering with the same chaotic colors he had seen inside. It rippled over his muscles, casting strange, dancing shadows on his skin. It looked like he was covered in gasoline and set on fire with a rainbow.

“What the…fuck is going on?”