FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 131: Chapter 131: Forgotten Stepping Stone

Soon, Sol saw him.

Vurok was still running, but it wasn’t the heroic sprint of a warrior; it was the frantic, stumbling flight of a rat fleeing a sinking ship. He burst through thickets of thorns, the sharp needles tearing at his skin, but he didn’t feel the sting. His mind was a chaotic storm of adrenaline bile, and the raw, screeching instinct for self-preservation.

“Haa… haa… haa…!”

His breath came in jagged, burning gulps that tasted of copper and forest rot. Every time a branch snapped, or a bird took flight, he jumped,his eyes wide and white-rimmed. Behind him, the forest was silent, yet he felt as if the Matriarch’s hot, musky breath was still spraying over his neck, her massive tusks inches from his spine.

Finally, a few miles away from the blood soaked ravine, his stamina gave out completely. He broke into a small, sun-drenched glade and collapsed against the roots of a massive tree, sliding downuntil he hit the dirt.

“Haa… haa… fuck…” Vurok wheezed, clutching his chest.

He spat a thick glob of blood-flecked saliva onto the grass. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes darting around panicked, peering into every moving shadow. Nothing. The boars hadn’t followed.

“I’m alive,” he chuckled, the sound wet and manic. “I’m fucking alive!”

He wiped the blood of his “brothers”—Drogg’s blood—from his cheek. He looked at the red smear on his fingers, and for a second, the image of Drogg’s confused, dying eyes flashed in his mind.

But then, almost instantly a smile began to creep onto his face. It wasn’t a smile of relief or sorrow. It was a twisted, self-serving grin.

“Useless trash,” Vurok muttered, flicking the blood away with disgust. “They were lucky to die for me. Why the fuck should I die with you? I’m the one with the future. You should be honored to buy me time.”

He leaned his head back against the bark, his fear mutating into a seething, ugly rage.

“I lost my party… dammit. That’s going to make the evaluation harder.”

He clenched his fists.

Vurok wheezed, his chest heaving as he stared at the red smear of his friend’s blood on his knuckles. He leaned his head back against the rough bark, a manic, jagged laugh bubbling in his throat. In his twisted mind, survival wasn’t a sign of cowardice; it was proof of his divinity. He had sacrificed the “trash” to save the “elite.” It was only natural.

However, as the adrenaline began to ebb, his face darkened, turning a bruised, ugly purple. His fear didn’t vanish; it curdled, turning into a festering, toxic rage.

“Damn it! It’s all that bastard Sol’s fault!” he spat, slamming his fist into a protruding root. Thud. “If it wasn’t for that cripple, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to prove myself. I wouldn’t have been forced into this hellhole to hunt that damned boar.”

He wiped a glob of foam from the corner of his mouth, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I need to find him. I need to feel his hot blood on my hands. I’m going to gut him alive just to vent this fire in my gut. I’ll make him watch his own insides spill into the dirt.”

Vurok laughed, a low, lecherous sound that bubbled up from his throat. He shifted, a dark, hungry light gleaming in his eyes as his thoughts drifted back to the village.

“Yeah. I’ll find him. I’ll gut him.” He whispered, his voice a husky, spit-flecked rasp. “And then… I’ll go back to the village. I’ll tell Lyra bitch that there was a tragic accident, and that bastard died. He grinned, exposing teeth stained with grit and yellowed by neglect.

“And those little cousins of his… those arrogant bitches… they’ll need a real man to comfort them after their cripple dies. I’ll break them in the longhouse until they forget Sol ever existed. I’ll make them scream his name one last time before they only moan mine.”

SNAP. Crunch.

The sound of a dry twig breaking echoed like a gunshot in the quiet glade.

Vurok spun around, scrambling to his feet with a panicked yelp. “H-haa!” His feet skidded in the loose soil as he brandished a hidden bone dagger, his hand trembling so violently the blade rattled. His face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated panic, his eyes bulging as they searched the shifting shadows.

“Who’s there?!” Vurok barked, his voice cracking with a high-pitched tremor. “Show yourself!

From the deep, velvet shadows of the iron-bark trees, a figure emerged. It didn’t walk so much as it flowed, its movements eerily silent. It was draped in a cloak of matte-black scales that seemed to drink the golden sunlight itself, creating a void in the middle of the sun-drenched glade.

It was Sol.

He stood perfectly still, his center of gravity low, looking at Vurok with eyes that were no longer human… they were cold, indifferent, and flat as Charcoal.

“You have a big mouth, Vurok,” Sol said. His voice was soft, a terrifyingly calm hum that seemed to vibrate through the very earth beneath Vurok’s feet.

Vurok blinked, his jaw dropping. Then, as the image of the “cripple” registered, his face twisted into a sneer of pure disbelief.

“Sol?” Vurok laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. He relaxed his stance, his shoulders dropping as the terror was replaced by a mocking, cruel relief. “You… you little bastard. How the hell are you still breathing? Did you hide in a hole like the rat you are?”

He wiped a smear of Drogg’s blood from his chin, flicking it onto the mossy ground with a look of utter contempt. He didn’t see the predator standing in front of him, waiting to tear him apart, heck, he didn’t even see him as a threat. He only saw the boy he had beaten in the dark—the boy who used to turn his eyes away in shame whenever they crossed paths in the village. To Vurok, Sol was just a stepping stone he had forgotten to crush.

“Perfect,” Vurok sneered, his grip on the bone dagger tightening as he stepped forward, a murderous glint returning to his eyes. “I was just talking about you. I was just thinking about how much fun I’m going to have with your family once I’ve finished peeling the skin off your bones.”