FREE USE in Primitive World

Sol moved with a newfound fluidity, his feet barely whispering across the mossy floor of the Eastern Zone. The "vitality overdose" was real… the soul power of the Dagger-Mouths and the Blue-Neck Striders was coursing through his veins like liquid lightning.

His heartbeat no longer felt a human pulse; it was a rhythmic, predatory thrum that harmonized with the vibration of the forest itself. Every nerve ending felt alive, sensitized to the point where he could feel the temperature of the air shifting against his skin, as the sun dipped lower, the subtle change in humidity, and even the frantic digging of a small insect buried three feet underground.

And he had finally confirmed one of his theories: absorbed souls did have a direct, tangible impact on his psyche and physiology. He could feel it. From the Dagger-Mouths, he had gained a twitch-reflex that was almost precognitive… a sudden, jagged urge to move even before a threat manifested. From the Blue-Neck Striders, he felt a surging, explosive power in his legs and a strange, cold territorialism.

Feeling the increase in humidity, he knew that a stream was probably nearby. So, he made his way toward the sound of trickling water, to rinse the blue Strider blood, dagger mouth's ichor, and of course, the tacky, darkening remains of Vurok's blood from his skin.

Finally reaching a wide, mossy clearing near a small stream, he paused. He didn't just walk in; he scanned the area with his Charcoal-tinted vision, mapping the heat signatures of small insects and the vibrations of the damp earth. Finding nothing worthwhile except the mindless scuttle of beetles, he knelt by the water's edge.

The cool water turned a swirling mixture of pink and green as he scrubbed. He watched the colors dance in the current, feeling a strange, detached fascination. Vurok's blood was the most stubborn, clinging to his knuckles as if the man were trying to hold on even in death. Sol just scrubbed harder, a small, hummed tune vibrating in his throat.

That's when he heard a specific sound, It wasn't the sound of the forest; it was the sound of a struggle. A rhythmic twang of a bowstring, followed by a heavy, wet thud and a high-pitched, feminine grunt of pure, frustrated effort.

Sol paused, his hands still submerged in the cold stream, he tilted his head slightly, because he recognized that grunt, there's no way he could forget that voice, as his predecessor had spent years chasing the owner of that voice, and most importantly, It carried a specific tone of arrogant defiance that was currently being chipped away by desperation.

He didn't rush. He didn't even draw his dagger. With a leisurely gait, he stood up and followed that grunt. He didn't bother hiding his presence, the Obsidian-Cobra hide draped over his shoulder like a nobleman's cape, his face…sharp, cold, and Charcoal-eyed… fully exposed.

As he pushed aside a curtain of giant, silver-backed ferns, his vision widened, as he entered a wide clearing, and wallah, the scene was a masterpiece of desperate violence.

In the center of the clearing stood Seluna, the daughter of the Village Head.

In the village, she was a legend among the youth… the "Ice Queen." She was hauntingly beautiful, with features so sharp and symmetrical they looked carved from white flint. Her eyes were usually like twin glaciers, freezing anyone who dared to speak out of turn. She was the definition of an "Elite," a girl who had been raised on the best meats, the best training, and the most intoxicating praise.

Right now, the Ice Queen was melting.

Seluna was locked in a life-or-death dance with a Blue-Neck Strider. Her bow lay snapped five feet away, crushed under a massive raptor-claw. She was forced to use her long ivory-hilted dagger, her beautiful white hair matted with sweat, blood and dirt. A jagged tear in her leather leggings revealed a nasty, weeping gash on her thigh, and her left shoulder was bruised a dark, necrotic purple.

Sol didn't hide. He didn't slink into the shadows like the "cripple" predecessor. He stepped out into the open, leaning casually against a tree. He crossed his arms, the cobra hide draped over his shoulder, watching her with a hint of curiosity, not a bit interested in the tragic beauty.

She was losing ground. The bird was relentless, its vibrant neck pulsing as it prepared another raptor-like kick.

As she skidded back from a strike, her eyes… wide and frantic… flickered toward the edge of the clearing. She noticed Sol instantly.

For a heartbeat, the "Ice Queen" mask, er eyes, usually as still and cold as a frozen lake, shattered into a look of pure, unadulterated shock. She saw Sol. But the boy standing there wasn't the hunched, shivering victim she had spent a lifetime ignoring. He was taller, his posture held a terrifying, fluid grace, and his eyes... those Charcoal eyes were devoid of any recognizable human emotion.

This Sol was leaning casually against a moss-covered boulder, his arms crossed over his chest, his Charcoal eyes fixed on her with the bored, clinical indifference of a man watching a play he's seen too many times.

She didn't beg or call out Her pride was a massive, ancient wall that even death couldn't easily tear down. But as a second Blue-Neck Strider emerged from the thicket behind her, its sharp feathers rattling like a warning, that wall finally began to crack, revealing the terrified girl beneath.

Seluna went pale. She glanced at Sol, a silent, desperate plea for assistance flickering in her gaze. For a heartbeat, she hoped. It was an instinctive reaction. She expected him to do what every man in the village would do: rush in, play the hero, and risk his life to save the Chief's daughter just to earn a fleeting smile.

But Sol didn't move, she looked at him, her chest heaving, her eyes quietly searching his for a spark of the "old Sol," the one who was supposed to be kind, and would fight the world for her. She was hoping for a hero. She was hoping for the "pitiful cripple" to find his spine and rush to the rescue of the most beautiful girl in the tribe.

He simply raised an eyebrow. He watched as the second Strider began to circle, its blue neck pulsing with a predatory excitement.

Heck! He didn't even stop whistling. He simply watched, whistling that same jaunty, psycho-edged tune, his lips curled into a tiny, amused smirk.

The first Strider hissed and lunged. Seluna barely parried the claw, the force of the impact sending a jolt through her frame that made her teeth rattle. She skidded back, her heels digging into the moss.

The second Strider hissed and lunged for her exposed flank. Seluna let out a gasp of terror, twisting mid-air to parry the new threat. She managed to nick the bird's neck, but the first Strider's claw caught her hip, sending her tumbling into the moss.

"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."