FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 139: Chapter 139: Seluna’s Anger

“The wind is coming from the north, Seluna,” Sol said, his voice light and conversational, as if they were old friends, and were discussing the afternoon weather over a bowl of stew. “You’re downwind. It can smell your fear. It’s like a perfume to them. It’s distracting you from your footing.”

“And your center of gravity is too high; you’re leaning too heavily on your left. If it kicks again, you’re going to snap that ankle.”

Seluna’s face, already flushed from the fight, turned a deep, incandescent red. The shock was being rapidly overtaken by a soaring, white-hot fury. The fact that he was just standing there, critiquing her form while she was bleeding and seconds away from being dissecting, was more painful than the Strider’s claws.

“Sol!” she hissed, her voice a jagged edge of rage. “Are you just going to stand there? Help me!”

Sol tilted his head, his Charcoal eyes dancing with a psycho-edged warmth. “Why? You’re an ’Elite,’ aren’t you? The pride of the village. The famous Ice Queen. Surely you don’t need the help of a ’cripple’ like me. I might just get in the way of your… spectacular performance.”

The second Strider lunged for her exposed flank,, a horizontal lash of its claw. Seluna rolled… a frantic, messy movement that lacked her usual elegance. She let out a guttural scream… not of terror, but in a guttural, primal outburst of rage at Sol’s audacity. She twisted mid-air, a movement born out of pure desperation, cornered-animal instinct, and managed to drive her dagger into the soft tissue beneath the bird’s neck. Blood sprayed across her face, masking her beauty in a crimson ruin, making her look less like an ice queen and more like a crimson butcher.

She scrambled back to her feet, her breath coming in shallow, ragged sobs. She was a whirlwind of frantic, angry steel, her dagger flashing as she fended off the first bird.

Sol watched the fight with a detached, analytical eye. He saw the way her panic was being replaced by a cornered-animal ferocity. It was fascinating. He saw her get kicked in the ribs, heard the dull thud of the blow that surely cracked bone, and watched her vomit a small spray of bile before forcing herself back up.

“Intense,” Sol noted, leaning further back against the boulder. “Your form is absolutely falling apart, Seluna. But your spite… now that is keeping you upright. Spite is a much better motivator than pride, don’t you think? You should have focused more on that in your training and less on looking cold in the village square.”

Seluna was fuming. Her fingers were white around the hilt of her knife. She was fighting two of the deadliest birds in the Eastern Zone, but her entire focus was on the boy leaning against the rock.

“I’ll… I’ll kill you…” she wheezed between parries.

“I believe you,” Sol chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. “But first, you have to finish your little play.”

He watched her for another two minutes. He watched as she managed to drive her dagger through the first Strider’s eye, the bird collapsing in a heap of vibrant blue feathers and frantic, dying kicks. She was left facing the second, injured bird, her breath coming in shallow, ragged sobs of exhaustion and fury. Her ivory-hilted dagger was chipped, her hands were slick with blue gore, and her eyes were wild.

Sol lost interest.

The outcome was decided. She would win, or she would die. The data had been collected. The “entertainment” value had reached its peak. He had seen the “Elite,” the “Ice Queen” struggle, he had felt the pulse of her terror, and it had tasted like nothing. It didn’t move him. It didn’t make him feel bad. It was just an event in a forest full of events.

He gave a small, bored sigh and pushed himself off the boulder.

“The sun is setting, Seluna. I have a long walk ahead of me,” Sol called out, turning his back on her, adjusting the cobra hide.

“Sol! Get back here!” Seluna roared, her voice cracking with the sheer force of her anger. “Don’t you dare walk away! SOL!”

Sol didn’t even look back. He raised a hand in a mocking, leisurely wave, his whistle picking up exactly where it had left off… a jaunty, dark tune that seemed to dance through the air.

“I have a long walk ahead of me, Seluna,” he called back, his voice cool, smooth, and utterly untroubled. “And honestly, Seluna? Watching you struggle was far more satisfying than any ’thank you’ you could give me. Keep that anger. It’s the only thing about you that isn’t a boring block of ice. Maybe if you survive, you’ll actually become interesting.”

He disappeared into the thicket, moving with the effortless, silent grace of a ghost. He didn’t care about her threats. He didn’t care about the village head. He was moving in a different world now, a world where their rules were as flimsy as the snap of a bowstring.

Behind him, Seluna let out a scream of pure, unadulterated hatred. It was a sound that tore through the clearing, louder than the Striders’ hisses. Fueled by a sudden, incandescent burst of adrenaline born from the desire to survive just so she could hunt Sol down herself, she lunged at the remaining bird.

She didn’t use finesse. She tackled the beast, her fingers digging into its blue neck as she hammered her dagger into its chest again and again and again, long after the creature had stopped moving, long after her arm had gone numb.

By the time she stood up, drenched in a mixture of blue and red blood, the clearing was silent. Sol was gone. The “Ice Queen” stood alone in the dark, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a fire that could have leveled the entire village.

“I’ll kill him,” she whispered, the words a jagged, bloody promise to the night. “I’ll find him, and I’ll kill him.”

Miles away, Sol didn’t care and continued on his way, thinking about the look on Seluna’s face when the second bird appeared. That specific flicker… the instant where the “Ice Queen” realized her pedestal was made of melting slush… was more intoxicating than any soul power he had absorbed that evening.

He thought about the way the blood had masked her “Ice Queen” features. The old Sol would have been worried about her. He would have felt a crushing weight of guilt for leaving a girl in danger. He would have stayed, fought, and probably died trying to shield her, only to be rewarded with her usual freezing disdain. He would have been terrified of the Village Head’s wrath, terrified of the consequences of “failing” an Elite.

But this Sol? This Sol just looked at the moon rising over the trees and smiled a small, dark chuckle.

He honestly thought the blood looked good on her. Maybe he had turned crazy but, man, he really liked that crazy look on her face, and if she kept that up, maybe he’d be interested in her again. But of course, that was a story for later, right now he was making his way towards the village, to prepare for the upcoming storm in the tribe and claim his righteous place in the tribe and earn respect and dignity.