FREE USE in Primitive World

The heavy thud against the thick timber door cut right through the quiet room.

“Divine One!” a deep voice barked from the corridor, accompanied by the rattle of bone armor and a spear butt hitting the floor. “Warchief Veylara wants you in the High Hall now! The war council is starting!”

Sol and Zeyra both snapped their heads toward the door.

Zeyra looked down at their naked, messy bodies, then at the thick white fluid and red streaks smeared across the leather sheets. Her hair was a knotted mess, and her skin was covered in deep bites and red scratches from the final rounds.

Sol didn’t move. He didn’t get up to open the door, nor did he try to untangle himself from her long legs. He just cleared his throat, his voice dropping into a loud growl.

“I know!” Sol shouted back. “You go ahead! Tell the Warchief I’ll go by myself in a bit!”

Outside, there was a short pause. The warrior sounded confused, his footsteps shifting on the floorboards as he tried to figure out why the guy who just slaughtered so many monsters sounded so winded, but he knew better than to ask questions.

“Understood, Divine One!” the warrior shouted back, his boots thudding down the walkway as he hurried away.

Hearing the footsteps fade, they both relaxed, letting out a synchronized breath. Zeyra looked up at him, the wild mania from their session completely gone, replaced by a deep, unblinking devotion.

Sol leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead, his thumb clearing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Let’s go clean up together,” Sol whispered.

Zeyra nodded shyly, a bright blush creeping up her neck… a total shift from the woman who had been demanding he rip her apart just minutes ago.

Sol shifted his weight, slowly pulling his thick length out of her. A loud, wet sound echoed in the quiet room as his cock slid free from her pussy, followed by a thick cream bubbling out of her puffy lips and running down her thighs in messy streams.

Zeyra let out a sharp hiss at the sudden emptiness, her fingers twitching on his shoulder before she stood up.

They moved over to the cleaning area. The wooden tub was still filled with water, though it had grown entirely cold and wasn’t usable, but thankfully, they still had water stored in other tubs.

Sol didn’t care about the chill, and neither did Zeyra and began to wash the sticky evidence of their intensity off their skin.

Sol grabbed a clean cloth, gently rubbing the dried grime, sweat, and other liquids off her shoulders and back.

Zeyra stood perfectly still under his touch, leaning her head back against his chest, her arms wrapping around his forearms as she let him handle her body with total submission.

She was completely docile now.

Once they were clean, Sol stepped out of the tub and grabbed a dry cloth, wiping the moisture off his muscles. Zeyra stepped out behind him, her body glistening beautifully in the dim light.

Before she could reach for her clothes, Sol stepped up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back flat against his chest armor in a tight hug.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered into her hair.

“Since it’s your first time, you rest here for a bit. Your body need time to settle and recover before the war starts.”

Zeyra nodded shyly, her fingers lightly tapping against his forearms. “Okay… I’ll rest a bit here, before going.”

Sol released her, offering her a dark smirk before turning toward the table. He reached down, lifting the pitch-black plates of his new Rockhorn Inner Lining armor from the table.

The interlocking biomatter was heavy enough to make the petrified wood table groan, but as he strapped the breastplate over his ribs and clicked the thick leather buckles into place around his thighs, his Layer 2 Great Badger foundation absorbed the mass effortlessly. It felt less like wearing equipment and more like wearing a second skin made of iron.

He checked his weapon belt, checking the weight of the throwing daggers before sliding them into their slots, and then slung the heavy scabbard of the Dreadwing Blade against his left hip.

He was fully armed, his body relaxed after an intense round of ’cultivation’, and both golden essence in his gut and silver energy in his chest were dense with the residual power he had ripped from the Zerith.

He looked back at her one last time, gave her a short nod, and pushed the timber door open, stepping out into the busy corridors of the Feline Spire, heading straight toward the High Hall.

Behind him, Zeyra went to the side of the bed, her eyes tracking his departure with a lingering intensity until the door finally clicked shut.

…

The atmosphere inside the central rings had shifted entirely while he was washing and having fun. The messy panic from dawn had hardened into a cold, grim military focus.

The civilian sectors were dead silent, the streets almost cleared of women and children, but the main path leading to the High Hall was a choked river of bone-shields, heavy spears, scarred arms, and grim faces.

The tribe was bleeding its borders dry to reinforce the center.

As Sol walked down the center of the dirt road, his heavy boots thudding against the packed ground, the river of warriors subtly parted.

These weren’t the fresh recruits or the reserve guards he had dismantled in the training pits earlier. These were the deep-jungle veterans… men and women who spent months at a time living in the depths of the outer periphery, their skin leathered by the sun and scars from monsters most people only whispered about.

Yet, as Sol passed them, the hardened veterans didn’t crowd him or glare with the typical territorial aggression of tribal cultures. They gave him a wide, respectful berth.

The rumor mill in a tribal settlement traveled faster than a raptor. By now, every single soldier marching toward the High Hall knew the situation.