FREE USE in Primitive World

Warchief Veylara stepped through the front rank of the Veynar warriors, her boots crunching heavily onto the blood-slicked stone.

Unlike others who were wrapped tightly in thick leather armors, she wore nothing but her simple, primitive tribal garb. Her sun-darkened muscles flexed with every step, each one carved from a lifetime of brutal survival.

Her toned, scarred arms were completely bare, exposed to the harsh wind, and her long hair whipped violently around her face.

In her right hand, she held her spear, Her deep blue eyes burned with the unbridled, terrifying fury of an angry ocean before a tempest.

Her Layer 4 core, completely unfettered and bursting with raw, primal power, unleashed its full, terrifying capacity.

The air within ten paces of her warped and shimmered violently, distorted by the sheer density of her essence. It carried the sharp, metallic scent of scorched iron and ozone, as if the very atmosphere was being burned by her presence.

SWOOSH.

With a single, monstrous horizontal arc, Veylara swung her spear. The motion was so blindingly fast it left a vacuum in its wake, the spear tip cutting through the air with a deafening crack. \

The compressed air ahead of her spear tip violently ignited, turning into a literal, thirty-pace crescent of compressed crimson essence that tore across the battlefield like a falling moon.

The rushing Marauder warriors in the front rank didn’t even have time to lift their heavy stone clubs. They didn’t have time to scream.

The crimson wave hit them with the force of an exploding mountain, cleanly cleaving through their weapons, their thick leather breastplates, and their massive torsos as if they were nothing but dry thatch.

The intense, blistering heat of her essence vaporized their blood instantly upon contact, turning the vanguard into a thick, boiling red mist that drifted across the gravel.

"You dare??" Veylara’s voice boomed across the flats, a sound so loud and full of authority it felt like a thunderclap echoing off the cliffs

The sound shook the slate ridges, carrying a physical concussive force that made the enemy ears bleed.

Her presence expanded exponentially, filling the battlefield until she stood like an immovable, primordial mountain directly before the panicked horde.

Without breaking her stride or looking back, she raised her left hand, gesturing toward the silent void where Sol stood leaning on his blade. "Bring him back!!"

She didn’t even need to name them.

Even before the command left her lips, two figures had already broken away from the formation at maximum speed.

Driven by pure panic at the sight of Sol’s stumbling, exhausted figure, the two girls sprinted down the chaotic battlefield.

Zeyra, with her unnatural agility, quickly blurred across the enemies.

Right beside her, Kira moved like a silent shadow, her twin daggers cutting any stray enemies without even taking a look, her eyes locked entirely on Sol’s slumped form.

They didn’t care about the battlefield or the thousands of rushing enemies; their only objective was to pull the exhausted Sol back into the safety of the clan before the enemy could harm him.

Vane’s smile froze. He knew Veylara was strong... legends stated she could handle three Layer 4 monster all by herself without losing her breath... but seeing her in motion was a different nightmare entirely.

She charged directly into the thickest part of the enemy, a whirlwind of crimson slashes, her spear flashing like lightning through the dust.

Every enemy who attempted to stand their ground was instantly turned into a horrific spray of broken bone and shredded meat.

Before the Coalition forces could even attempt to coordinate their ranks or surround the rampant Warchief, the golden sky above them violently turned dark.

The ambient light died in an instant, replaced by a bruised, unnatural twilight as massive, screaming winds started blowing up from the valley floors, kicking up massive curtains of white limestone dust.

Within seconds, the wind became so sharp it began to leave fine, bleeding cuts across the exposed skin of the enemy warriors.

And then in an instant, the howling air started twisting inwards and violently compressed, turning into terrifying, emerald-green cyclones that slammed directly down onto the rushing Coalition forces.

The sheer rotational force of the storms acted like a giant mortar pestle, warriors caught in the suction weren’t just tossed aside; they were instantly obliterated into smithereens.

Shields were ground into splinters; flesh was stripped from bone, and the screams of hundreds of warriors were drowned out by the roaring thunder of the gale.

Stepping slowly from behind the Veynar shield wall, her long white hair whipping around her face like silver threads, was High Shaman Zephyra.

That was the Coalition’s second, fatal mistake. They had assumed the High Shaman of the Veynar was crippled with no power left in her withered veins... a dying relic waiting for the ancestral ground to take her.

The entire battlefield fell into a state of absolute shock.

The enemy forces froze mid-charge, their weapons lowering as they stared up at the sky. They had expected Veylara, they had planned for her, but Zephyra was a completely unexpected wild card.

Her presence changed the entire strategic layout from a costly siege into an absolute slaughterhouse.

...

Yet strangely, despite the massive, devastating damages tearing through their ranks, the enemy Layer 4 powerhouses didn’t step up.

Chief Vane, the Grand Chieftain of the Gray Marauders, and the leader of the Zerith stalkers remained in the rear, their eyes wide as they just watched the destruction from afar without moving a single inch forward.

Seeing the emerald cyclones rip his elite vanguard apart, the colossal Marauder Chief turned his massive head toward the Zerith Chief, his face twisting with pure, unbridled fury.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the giant roared, his booming voice cutting through the whistling gale like thunder.

He gripped the Zerith Chief by his leather collar with one massive hand, dragging the smaller man close enough that their faces nearly touched.

The Marauder Chief’s scarred face was twisted with fury, veins bulging along his thick neck. "Didn’t you tell us she had already overused her power? Didn’t your spies swear she was completely crippled? How is she able to use her power like this?!!"

The Zerith Chief, who had been stunned completely speechless, was even more shocked than the rest of them.

His yellow, slit-pupil eyes stared blankly at the Zephyra wrecking havoc on the battlefield below, his hands trembling against his bone daggers.

"I... I don’t know," the Zerith Chief stammered, his voice losing all its usual calm and oily confidence. "The intelligence was flawless! My scouts... my most trusted shadow-stalkers watched her using all of her power and even saw her pathways collapsing! How... how is she standing?!"

The Marauder Chief let out a guttural snarl.

For a long moment, the giant said nothing, his chest heaving as he watched the distant storm of wind and lightning that was the Zephyra tearing through his warriors.

Then, slowly, a low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from deep in his throat.

"Thankfully," the Marauder Chief growled, his lips pulling back into a savage, toothy grin, "I didn’t trust you fully, otherwise we all would have been doomed."

He released the Zerith Chief’s collar with a contemptuous flick, and shoved the Zerith Chief back hard, nearly knocking him off his feet, turning his gaze back toward the battlefield.

"Now just wait and see. I had another plan. A real one."

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