FREE USE in Primitive World

Others may not know but he knew exactly what it was.

The ancient, terrifying Apex predator that the Zharun or Zerith had been trying to piss off. The true master of the deep rot was finally waking up to slaughter everything in its path.

The roar climbed in pitch, growing louder, angrier, promising absolute annihilation.

And then.

SNAP.

As quickly as the world-ending roar had begun, it cut off.

It didn’t fade out. It didn’t taper into a whimper. It was… severed. Abruptly, violently, and completely cut off in a fraction of a millisecond, with the exact same terrifying, sudden finality as the giant obsidian spider he had watched vanish in the ravine.

A heavy, absolute, dead silence slammed back into the jungle… a silence so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing down on the settlement. The heavy, suffocating pressure instantly vanished. The air thinned back to normal. The trembling ground went completely still.

The air pressure equalized with a painful, wet pop in Sol’s ears.

The entire Veynar settlement was left in a state of breathless, terrified silence. Warriors were looking around wildly, gripping their weapons, waiting for the sky to fall or the walls to shatter.

But nothing happened.

The jungle just returned to its normal, sweltering quiet.

“It’s over,” Sol said quietly. A dark, deeply satisfied smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, casting a shadow across his sharp features.

“Over?” Zeyra gasped, her chest heaving as she finally let go of his arm, her fingers trembling. “Sol, that was a Layer 4 entity! Maybe higher! If that thing is moving toward the gates, we’re all dead meat!”

“But, it’s not moving anywhere,” Sol interrupted, his eyes still tracking the silent tree line. “It seemed like it just picked a fight with the wrong tourist. And it’s gone for good.”

“It’s… it’s really gone?” Zeyra whispered, looking up at Sol in deep confusion, her hand still tightly gripping his bicep. “The essence signature just disappeared. Completely.”

Sol couldn’t help the dark, highly amused smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

So she wasn’t bluffing, Sol thought, a mix of profound relief and lingering awe washing over him. Elyndra had actually done it. She had strolled into the deepest, most dangerous part of the Great Orrath and casually erased a world-ending calamity just as a passing ’thank you’ for him stepping in front of a spider.

The sheer absurdity of the universe never failed to amaze him.

“Stand down,” Sol said calmly, his voice steady and projecting absolute confidence. He gently patted Zeyra’s hand, then looked at Kira. “It’s over. Just the jungle sorting itself out. The bigger beasts are probably killing each other over territory.”

Kira looked at him skeptically, still pale. “That didn’t sound like a territorial dispute, Sol. That sounded like the end of the world.”

“Well, the world is still here,” Sol replied smoothly, turning his back on the jungle. “And we have our own problems to deal with. Let the deep rot handle its own mess.”

Neither of the girls pushed the issue, still too rattled by the phantom pressure, but they followed his lead as he guided them back toward the inner rings.

The immediate, existential threat to the Veynar tribe was gone. Now, the only monsters he had to worry about were the ones wearing human skin, sitting in council meetings and the enemy tribes outside.

…

Four Days Later

The harsh, glaring morning sun beat down through the small window of Sol’s quarters in the Feline Spire.

Sol stood bare-chested in the center of the room, looking down at his own body. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the thick, incredibly dense slabs of Layer 2 muscle shifting under his skin with a fluid, terrifying grace.

He was at absolute peak condition.

The three days of waiting for his new armor from Master Teshar had been agonizingly slow, but he had used every single second of it to meditate and solidify his foundation. The violent, chaotic clash between his golden Sun Core and the silver “Free Use” essence was completely settled. The two powers were now perfectly ready, waiting to be unleashed.

He ran a thumb over the thick, angry pink lightning scar that tore diagonally across his stomach.

The wound was fully healed. There was no pain, no stiffness, and no lingering necrotic rot from the beetle’s spike.

But the scar remained, thick and raised. He didn’t mind it. In a savage world like this, a flawless body just meant you hadn’t fought anyone worth fighting.

He threw on his black tunic, strapping his heavy belt and the Dreadwing Blade to his hip. Master Teshar had sent word late last night; the new Rockhorn carapace armor was finally ready for a fitting.

Sol stepped out of his room, navigating the winding wooden walkways of the inner settlement. The atmosphere of the tribe had noticeably shifted over the past few days. The frantic, terrified rebuilding had settled into a grim, highly organized military preparation.

Word of the Zerith-Marudrer alliance massing on their borders had begun to quietly circulate among the warriors.

The next war wasn’t a possibility anymore; it was an absolute certainty.

As Sol rounded a corner near the High Hall, heading toward the forge district, he nearly collided with someone stepping out of a side corridor.

“Watch your step, young man,” a smooth, highly familiar voice purred.

Sol stopped dead.

Standing in front of him, flanked by two nervous-looking acolytes, was High Shaman Zephyra.

It was the first time he had seen her since he had left her completely exhausted, marked, and thoroughly ruined on the floor of her private pavilion.

She was back in her heavy, intricate Shamanic regalia… draped in woven gray fibers, animal skulls, and bone piercings. But the illusion of the frail, weak deathly woman was completely gone.

She wore her true, mature, dangerously beautiful face in the open. Her silver hair was pinned up intricately, and her flawless pale skin practically glowed with vitality.

When her deep, silver eyes locked onto Sol, the two acolytes beside her practically faded into the background.

“Wait here,” Zephyra commanded the acolytes without looking at them.

She stepped forward, grabbing the fabric of Sol’s tunic, and smoothly pulled him into a secluded, shadowed alcove between two large petrified pillars.