FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 90: Chapter 90: Accidents Happen In The Wild

He was just halfway down the alley when the air seemed to change. The distant sounds of the village… the laughter, the conversations… seemed to cut off, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.

Sol stopped humming and slowed his pace and then stopped completely.

He looked up.

Suddenly, a few large shadows stepped out from behind a stack of drying wood, blocking his path completely.

In the center stood none other than Vurok. He was flanked by four of his usual lackeys… thick-necked boys who looked like they enjoyed pulling wings off insects. Vurok’s face was illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, his eyes, the color of dirty river water, fixed on Sol. As a cruel, slow smile spread across his face, revealing teeth stained dark from chewing bark.

But the smile that was meant to be terrifying but faltered slightly when he met Sol’s gaze.

Sol didn’t flinch or gasp. Instead, a cold, predatory smile curled his lips.

“So,” Sol murmured, his voice calm and mocking. “In the end, you couldn’t endure it, could you? Watching the ’waste’ become popular?”

He dropped the heavy cauldron from his shoulder. It hit the dirt with a solid thud. He cracked his neck, the sound sharp and distinct in the silent alley, then slowly flexed the fingers of his right hand, testing the strength.

“Well,” Sol stepped forward, the Ash Gray energy in his chest flaring to life, flooding his limbs with power. “This saves me the trouble of looking for you.”

Vurok looked at him coldly, and honestly, as much as he didn’t want to admit, he looked… kinda dangerous. He didn’t look like the waste he remembered kicking around. He looked like a beast that had just finished a meal and was ready for another.

Vurok’s smile vanished. And he suddenly remembered the punch from the other day… the shock of it, the pain. He saw the cold readiness in his eyes and combined with those confident moment

He couldn’t help gulp and instinctively took a jerky step backward, bumping into the man behind him.

It was a small movement, barely an inch, but in a confrontation, it screamed of fear. His lackeys glanced at him, confused by their leader’s hesitation.

Sol saw it all and his smile widened further, becoming icy. He raised a fist, ready to close the distance and give him a good beating this time.

“What’s wrong?” Sol taunted, taking another step, closing the gap. “Where is that usual arrogance now? Come on. Let’s finish this today.”

Just as the tension reached its peak, just as Sol coiled his muscles to spring, every fiber of his being prepared for the joyous, brutal release of violence. Vurok’s fear-driven instinct took over, overriding his pride.

“Stop!” Vurok shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “Take one more step, and those little bitches pay for it!”

Sol froze mid-stride.The momentum that had been driving him forward died in his chest, replaced by a sudden, icy void, as the words registered.

“What?” Sol hissed, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

Vurok saw the deadly clarity in Sol’s eyes cloud with confusion and horror, and his confidence immediately surged, flooding back with vengeful speed. He took a bold step forward, his chest puffing out, trading fear for savage arrogance.

“Ah, you remember them now, don’t you?” Vurok sneered, stepping back into the light. “My men are already following behind them, who were they? Oh I remember. The little one, Liora? The sharp one, Veyra? And the big one… what was her name?…Yes Arelia. Pretty little, fragile things.”

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“If you dare lift one finger, if you lay one hand on me, do you think they will safely reach home?”

Sol’s face went utterly blank, the cold smile dissolving instantly into slits of pure, cold fury, daring Vurok to continue the vile threat.

Finally, he uttered coldly, “this is in the tribe, do you think you will be safe after this…”

Vurok laughed… a harsh, grating sound. “Go on, try to tell the Elders. Say I threatened your pretty little cousins. Who will they believe? The brother of Torak, the man who brings back half the meat for the village, or the injured, weak boy?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, bone-chilling whisper.

“Maybe not the tribe. But what about the wild? What about when they go foraging?” Vurok’s eyes gleamed with sadistic enjoyment.

Sol glared at him, his fists clenching so hard his nails cut into his palms. “If you touch them…”

“Me?” Vurok laughed, throwing his hands up innocently. “I won’t touch them. But the wildness outside is dangerous and accidents happen. A slip on a rock… a snake in the bush… a hunter mistaking a girl for a deer.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“My men are clumsy. Accidents happen in the wild.”

Sol stood still as a statue. The air in his lungs felt like ice.

He looked at the sneering face of the bully, the man who held the safety of his family in his meaty hands. A surge of desperation clawed at Sol’s throat.

He suddenly thought of that Ash Gray energy—the power that had bent Nia to his will, the power that had sent a venomous snake fleeing in terror. If it worked on beasts and women, why not a thug?

Sol narrowed his eyes. He focused entirely on the hollow cavity in his chest, pulling every scrap of the remaining energy he had regenerated. He channeled it up his throat, projecting it outward like a spear, aiming directly at Vurok’s mind.

STOP! Sol roared internally, his will crashing against Vurok’s psyche. KNEEL!

He put everything into it. He waited for the glaze to cover Vurok’s eyes, for the fear to set in, for the muscles to lock up.

. . .

Nothing happened.

Vurok didn’t freeze. He didn’t flinch. He just blinked, looking at Sol with a mix of confusion and amusement.

“What are you yapping about?” Vurok mocked ruthlessly, tilting his head. “And why would I stop? You making funny faces at me, cripple?”

Sol felt a cold pit open in his stomach. He tried again. He scraped the bottom of his reserve, pushing a wave of Fear and Submission at the lackeys.

SCRAM!

The lackeys just shifted their weight, looking bored.

It didn’t work. Even after using all his might, it was like throwing a pebble at a stone wall.

Honestly, Sol wasn’t entirely disappointed. A part of him had expected this. He had already secretly tried using the power countless times since awakening… on the old man who traded the mat, on Kael at the river, even on a random passerby.

Without fail, whenever he tried to use it on a male or a target he hadn’t “primed” with lust or intense emotion, it fizzled out.

It has rules, Sol realized, his heart sinking. It’s not a magic wand. I’m missing something crucial.

Maybe it needed a bridge… like the sexual desire he used with the women, or the primal fear of the beast. Maybe his “level” was just too low to affect a strong-willed, hostile male. Or maybe it required physical touch to initiate the connection.

No matter what, the conclusion was the same: He couldn’t control this power yet. Not in a fight. Not against Vurok.

He was defenseless.

Sol’s shoulders slumped. The Ash Gray energy retreated, dormant and useless.

Thinking back about vurok’s words now, his mind reeled and he searched his memories. He remembered rumors of accidents. People who opposed the hunters vanishing. Families who refused to pay tribute losing their daughters to “beast attacks.” the people who had simply vanished… accidents that were never questioned because the forest was always hungry. And looking at it, he doesn’t seem bluffing. Or even if he was, the risk was too high to call.

Sol calculated rapidly.

If I fight back now, I win. I can break all of them. But then? Vurok runs to Torak. Or he strikes at the girls from the shadows out of spite….

To save them, he had to be what Vurok wanted him to be. He had to be the victim. He had to be weak.

The rage that boiled inside him found no physical outlet. It was a suffocating pressure, the helplessness of knowing he held a killing weapon, yet being forced to sheath it. The injustice was a searing, physical agony worse than any club strike.

Finally, the fire in Sol’s eyes dimmed. He forced his muscles to uncoil. He let his shoulders slump.

“Look at him,” Vurok sneered, gesturing dramatically to his lackeys. “See? The little hero’s muscles all turn to water when he thinks about his family.”

He took one bold step forward. “So, little man, you will drop to your knees and beg my forgiveness for daring to raise your eyes to me. Then you will take your beating. You will take it quietly, or my men will make sure those little girls don’t make it back for dinner.”

Sol closed his eyes for a split second, taking a deep, shuddering breath that burned his lungs. When he opened them, the cold, lethal intent was gone, replaced by a defeated, dull resolve. But he still had his pride; he didn’t fall to his knees, or begged. He simply stood there and let it happen.

Seeing the surrender. He grinned, Vurok hissed, a grin of savage satisfaction tearing his face, gestured to his lackeys. “Teach him his place. Remind him who the masters are.”

The first punch caught him in the stomach.

WHAM.

Sol doubled over, wheezing, the air driven from his lungs. It hurt. It hurt like hell. But he didn’t fight back.