FREE USE in Primitive World

Zephyra held his gaze for three long heartbeats before letting out a slow, content breath.

”I have not felt anything wrong in my own body either. If anything, my spirit has never felt lighter.” she said.

A faint, wicked smirk returned to her lips as she glanced back toward the roaring vortex of light.

”In that case... let us simply wait for our Warchief to finish claiming her new throne. Interfering now would be the height of stupidity.”

Sol exhaled slowly and finally let the tension drain from his shoulders. Together they turned to face the tornado.

The column of essence still roared, though the pitch had changed. What had begun as a chaotic, almost violent gathering was steadily refining itself.

The spinning light grew denser, brighter, more ordered. Inside it Veylara’s silhouette remained suspended, head back, body rigid, every thread of power sinking into her without resistance.

Sol stood stark naked under the willows, covered in the evidence of what they had done, and watched the woman he had just spent hours claiming cross a threshold that should have been impossible in this land.

Zephyra stood beside him in silence, pale robes stirring in the residual wind of the essence storm, white eyes never leaving the tornado.

Neither of them spoke again for a long time.

They simply waited, naked Champion and High Shaman side by side, while the Warchief of the Veynar was rewritten under the moonlight by a power that should never have been possible in the northern expanse of the Great Orrath.

The night that had begun with a private bath and an inexperienced Warchief’s curiosity had become something far larger than either of them had planned.

And all they could do now was stand guard and let it finish.

...

”The resonance is stabilizing,” Zephyra observed in an analytical, hushed tone, her voice barely carrying over the wind.

”The ambient essence of the surrounding is almost exhausted, which means essence from even far away places will be pulled here. Be extra careful, we may have some uninvited guests soon.”

Sol nodded deeply, his bare arms folded loosely over his chest, trying to ignore the chilly mountain breeze blowing across his exposed backside.

Despite the sheer absurdity of standing stark naked next to the clan’s spiritual authority while the Warchief underwent a legendary transformation, his senses remained at absolute hair-trigger focus.

His expanded senses was pushed out past the willow grove, blanketing the dark ridges and the dense brush that surrounded the spring hollow.

Then, suddenly his senses twitched.

It wasn’t just a single ripple. It was four distinct, heavy vibrations, tearing through the scrub at rapid speed from the southern direction.

Snap-rustle. Crunch.

The sounds came simultaneously from three different directions. Leaves thrashing, heavy bodies forced their way through the undergrowth with no attempt at stealth, the frantic snapping of ironwood branches, and the unmistakable, raspy panting of starving predators driven completely mad by the scent of an overwhelming spiritual feast.

Sol’s eyes narrowed instantly, the faint crimson embers within his irises flaring into a deep, dangerous neon glow.

”We’ve got company,” Sol muttered, his raspy voice cutting through the hum of the vortex. ”Four beasts signatures.”

Zephyra didn’t flinch, but her jaw set into a cold line, a sharp tch clicking against her teeth. Her wooden staff tapped once against the stone beneath her boots, sending a faint ripple of green essence through the moss.

”It was only a matter of time,” Zephyra said coldly, her tone laced with disgust. ”The breakthrough of a Layer 5 entity is not something the forest can swallow quietly. The amount of pure, unfiltered essence Veylara is pulling down from the heavens is like lighting a massive beacon in a pitch-black abyss.

Every high-tier beasts that hasn’t already retreated into hibernation will think a primordial treasure has ripened.”

She cast a blind, calculating glance toward the darkness of the surrounding tree line. ”What tier are they?”

”Three at Layer 2 Peak. One heavy bastard sitting solidly at Layer 3,” Sol replied, his senses mapping their trajectories with precision. ”They’re closing the gap fast.

”I can set a wind ward to push them off,” Zephyra said, her hand tightening around the polished grip of her staff.

”No,” Sol cut in flatly, not even turning his head. ”Keep your focus on Veylara. If the essence flow wavers or an outside turbulence disrupt her intake, all of this is for nothing. I’ll take care of the scavengers.”

”With what?” Zephyra asked, her brows arching as her milky eyes flicked pointedly down his bare, unarmored body. ”Your clothes and that Dreadwing blade of yours were blown somewhere when the storm first touched down. Unless you intend to beat them to death with your third leg, you’re completely unequipped.”

A low, vicious chuckle rumbled from Sol’s chest.

”Fists worked fine before I found a fancy blade,” Sol rasped, rolling his broad shoulders back until the heavy vertebrae in his spine popped like dry firecrackers. ”Besides, I’ve got plenty of built-up frustration to burn off anyway.”

Without waiting for another word of warning, Sol pushed off the mossy ground.

BOOM.

The ground beneath his bare feet cratered under an explosive surge of physical kinetic force. He didn’t bother using stealth; there was no need to hide from beasts that had already smelled the gathering power.

Stark naked, his skin gleaming like polished bronze under the moonlight, Sol launched himself straight toward the beasts like a dark artillery shell!

The first predator burst through the dense wall of scratchy thorn-bushes barely thirty paces from the pond.

It was a Spotted Gray-Stalker... an uncommon beast here, it was a massive, eight-hundred-pound feline monstrosity covered in coarse, grey fur and reinforced with thick plates of natural bone armor along its spine and skull.

Its yellow, bloodshot eyes were fixated with rabid, desperate hunger on the blinding pillar of light behind the willows, its sabre-like fangs dripping thick, foul-smelling saliva.

It was at the absolute peak of Layer 2, its predatory instincts utterly blinded by the primal urge to devour the essence core before it fully formed.