FREE USE in Primitive World

When they saw Sol’s blood-caked black carapace appear through the black smoke, they let out two frantic screeches and lunged forward with their bone-spears.

Sol didn’t even lift his blade. He stepped forward, his Great Badger foundation maximizing his weight until his boots sank two inches into the packed dirt.

His bare hands shot out like two lightning bolts. His left hand caught the first spear-shaft, snapping the thick petrified wood in half with a single twist, while his right elbow smashed directly into the second guard’s face-shell.

BOOM! CRUNCH!

The force of his strike pulverized the guard’s head completely, driving the bone splinters straight into its neck.

Before the first guard could pull back its broken weapon, Sol’s left palm drove straight into its chest, instantly shattering its ribcage and crushing its heart with bare hands.

Both elites dropped into the dirt simultaneously, their limbs twitching silently as their life force drained away.

The golden vortex in Sol’s gut spun violently, sucking the fresh essence out of the two guards and feeding it into his Sun Core, while his chest pool greedily pulled their souls into the silver liquid.

Sol reached out with his bare hand, violently ripping the hide flap of the ceremonial longhouse open, and stepped inside.

The interior of the structure was dark, cool, and completely isolated from the heat of the fires outside. A large, carved stone pedestal sat in the center of the room, surrounded by rows of seemingly ancient, dried animal skulls.

Resting on top of the stone was a small fragment of a deep sapphire crystal.

It was no bigger than a fist, broken and incomplete, as if violently broken from something much larger long ago. Even in the near-total darkness, the shard gave off a faint, inner glow... a rich, mesmerizing blue that seemed to shift slowly, as if containing moving stars or flowing water within.

Since he didn’t feel any danger, he slowly stepped closer.

The moment he approached it, a faint resonance stirred inside his chest. It wasn’t strong, but it was unmistakable.

Something deep within him... perhaps his silver energy, perhaps something else... quietly reacted to the crystal’s presence.

He stopped in front of the pedestal and stared at the shard for a long moment.

He could feel it.

A dormant but immense power sealed within the crystal. It was heavy. Ancient. Vast. Like staring into an ocean that had been condensed into a tiny stone. He had no idea what abilities it held, what kind of power it truly contained, or even what it was meant for.

But he knew one thing for certain.

This was something great.

Extremely great.

He reached out slowly. The shard pulsed once in response, sending a cool, soothing wave through his fingers and up his arm. For a brief second, the resonance in his chest grew stronger, almost as if the shard was acknowledging him.

He carefully picked it up.

The crystal felt strangely heavy for its size, cool to the touch, yet alive. He turned it over in his palm, watching the faint blue light swirl inside its fractured surface.

He observed it for a long while, as if captivated by it, before he reluctantly slipped the crystal into a secure inner pocket of his armor, close to his chest. He could still feel it there... quietly pulsing, like a dormant heart.

Whatever this thing was, whatever power it held... it was now his.

And he had a feeling that when the time came, it would reveal something extraordinary.

He then searched around and didn’t find anything worthwhile. So, with one last glance at the empty pedestal and the circle of old skulls, Sol turned and left the chamber, the faint resonance in his chest following him like a quiet promise into the night.

...

The battle outside was already hitting its final moments. The entire outer area of Zerith settlement was a smoking, blackened ruin of charred hide tents and shattered bone walls.

Dozens of alien warriors lay dead on the ground, their chests marked with the jagged Veynar war crest, while the remaining few were still being systematically hunted down near the northern ravines by Hargon and Mara’s squads.

Torin and Bran ran up to Sol’s side, their faces caked in green fluid, their breathing heavy but completely clear of any injuries.

”The storage houses are entirely gone, Sol!” Torin reported, his voice shaking with a fierce, proud joy. ”The whole northern block is turned to ash. We left the large crests on every single support pole like you asked.”

”Good,” Sol said, his voice flat and casual as he slid the sapphire blade fully back into its sheath. ”We’re done here. Don’t stay to watch the smoke clear. Joran, blow the double whistle. All teams execute a fast retreat toward the western trails. We need to hurry out, before their main forces arrive.”

”Understood!” Joran hit his chest plate, immediately lifting his bone-whistle and blowing two long, clear blasts that traveled easily over the burning camp.

The one hundred and eighty elite spirit warriors smoothly broke from their lines, splitting into their independent squads with a tight, disciplined precision that showed zero signs of their earlier tribal sloppiness.

They glided back into the thick morning mist, their torn leathers and blood-stained cloaks disappearing into the deep ferns as they began their fast, silent march back toward the next target..

Sol walked at the rear of the column, his silver-crimson eyes locked onto the distant tents through the white vapor.

It was quite strange.

Even though Sol and the strike teams had moved with incredible speed and precision, cutting through the outer defenses like a hot blade through fat, several minutes had already passed since the first fire had been lit and the main assault began.

Yet there was still no sign of the Zerith Chief or their High Shaman.

No massive surge of elite guards rushing out from the central areas. No powerful spiritual pressure exploding across the battlefield. Even the deployment of the main Zerith force seemed... sluggish. Disorganized. Almost lazy.

It was strange.

Very strange.