FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 207: Chapter 207: Black-Sun Venom

Seeing his son’s shock, Thorne realized he had shielded the boy too much from the jagged edges of reality. He had allowed Korash to believe their influence was untouchable. He let out a long, weary sigh and leaned in even closer, his gaze darting toward the door as if he expected the Tigress phantom to come through the wood. It was time to tell him the inner workings of the tribe, lest the boy’s arrogance lead them both to the doom.

“Do not underestimate her for a single heartbeat,” Thorne warned, his voice a dry rasp. “She is more dangerous than you can even fathom, with a mind like a serrated blade and a heart made of cold, petrified stone.”

Thorne paused, a shadow of genuine unease crossing his weathered face as he reached back into a memory he clearly wished to stay buried. “When the previous chief… her father… unexpectedly passed, the Path was clear,” Thorne whispered, his eyes distant. “Her brother, Veyor, was the chosen heir. He was the ’Golden Son’ of the Veynar, a warrior who had mastered the Ravaging Storm by his twentieth winter. He was strong, capable, and surrounded by guards. We all chose him… and were all ready to bow to him.”

Thorne turned back to Korash, a grimace twisting his features. “And then, he unexpectedly died. A ’hunting accident’ in the deep Orrath, they said.” He shook his head slowly. “Then, through a series of strange, bloody events that no one dares to speak of aloud anymore.”

Korash swallowed hard, the bone-knife in his hand suddenly feeling very small.

“A series of convenient accidents for her remaining rivals.” Thorne continued, his voice dropping to a toxic whisper. “A sudden plague that only seemed to target the loyalist ranks of the old regime. A whisper campaign that turned the Council against each other until they were too busy fighting amongst themselves to notice her tightening the noose.

Through that chaos, she didn’t just survive… she ascended. She stepped over the bodies of the ’rightful’ heirs to take the mantle of Warchief, and she did it without breaking her stride or chipping a nail. The forest didn’t choose her, Korash. She held the forest at knifepoint until it gave her what she wanted.”

Thorne gripped Korash’s wrist, his fingers like iron claws. “If you think you’re playing her, kid, you’ve already lost the game. She has the instincts of a Great White Tigress, “his eyes showing deep terror. “She knows we are vultures. She is letting us stay because she is keeping us as backup, in the unlikely event that our tribe is on the verge of destruction, she will need the Zharun spears for the Marauder and Zerith.”

He paused and then slowly spoke again. “But the moment she feels that ’White Sun’ boy is stable enough to replace us, she will strike. All without any warning, and she will erase our bloodline from the memory of the trees.”

The air in the lower sanctum felt as though it were thickening with every word Thorne spoke. The revelation of Veylara’s blood-soaked rise to power had acted like a gravitational force, pulling the vanity and bravado right out of Korash’s chest. He looked down at his father, his eyes hollowed by a cold, leaden fear. The bone-knife in his hand felt like a toy, a pathetic piece of scavenged ivory compared to the serrated mind of the woman who held their lives in her palm.

Feeling satisfied with his son’s reaction, Thorne continued. “That is exactly why we cannot stay under her shadow forever,” Thorne continued, his voice regaining its smooth, manipulative edge.

“She is too dangerous, Korash. She isn’t a leader we can manage, and she isn’t a mother we can appease. She is a predator that has already marked us for the cull. That is why the Zharun are our only hope. They are the only ones with the strength to break her iron grip on the Heartwood.”

Thorne’s eyes glinted with a feverish greed. “We need to show them that we are useful. We are the key that unlocks the Veynar gates. Once they succeed, we will not be the ’vultures’ she mocks. We will receive enormous glory, and the Zharun Chief has promised that this entire tribe… the Heartwood, the spires, the very soil… will be left for us to control. We will be the new masters of the Orrath.”

He paused, his gaze dropping to the stone table. “But the ’Divine’ boy is a wall in our path. He represents a hope that Veylara can use to rally the warriors. So, we must ensure that the beast he finds is one he absolutely cannot tame.”

Thorne reached onto that small, obsidian vial. It was cold to the touch, and inside, a thick, violet-black liquid swirled with a restless, rhythmic life of its own. It looked like a trapped storm of pure shadow, hungry and suffocating.

Korash flinched, only now noticing that ominous vial. “What is this?”

“This is Black-Sun Venom. Given to me by the Zharun High Shaman as a final resort,” Thorne said, stroking the vial with religious reverence. “It doesn’t kill the body, my son. It is more sophisticated than that. It kills the resonance. If this toxin touches the beast’s soul during the moment of Subjugation… the bond will turn toxic. Instead of a Subjugation, there will be a Feralization.”

Korash’s breath caught. “Feralization? In front of the whole tribe?”

The word was a death knell. Feralization was the ultimate horror of the Totem Path, a nightmare whispered to initiates to keep them from overreaching. It was the moment the beast’s raw, primal instincts overthrew the human mind, turning the warrior into a mindless, shadow-corrupted monster. There was no recovery from it… only a merciful execution.

“Precisely. The ’White Sun’ will turn into a mindless, shadow-corrupted monster in front of the entire tribe,” Thorne smiled, a cold, skeletal expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “He will tear apart the priestesses. He will try to kill the Warchief. The people’s hope will turn to absolute, skin-crawling horror. Their ’Saviour’ will become a curse that must be put down. And when he is dead, Veylara’s authority will be buried with him.”

Thorne handed the vial to Korash. His son’s hand trembled as he took it.

“He is arrogant,” Thorne predicted, his voice a low, knowing rasp. “All geniuses are arrogant. He awoke his core in five minutes; he will think the forest belongs to him. He’ll probably bypass the common bears and wolves. He’ll go for the highest-tier beast he can find. A raptor, a shadow-stalker… maybe even a sun-lion. And that… that is where he will die.”

Thorne’s eyes snapped to the door. “You will go into the Grove tonight. I will make the arrangements… distract the outer guards and dampen the sensing runes. You go there and secretly poison the high-ranking phantoms. Let the toxin settle into their essence. Tomorrow, when he reaches for his prize, the trap will spring. Let the forest do the rest.”

Korash looked at the black liquid, the jealousy in his heart finally finding a weapon. A dark, jagged resolve settled over him. “I’ll do it. I’ll make sure he screams, Father. I’ll make sure they all see what their ’God’ really is.”

“Do not fail me, Korash,” Thorne whispered, the candle flickering and finally dying out, leaving the room in a thick, suffocating darkness. “The Zharun do not forgive failures. And neither do I.”