FREE USE in Primitive World

Garrick, a broad-shouldered Layer 2 brute growled and charged first, leading with a heavy punch. Sol didn’t dodge dramatically. He simply shifted half a step, caught the wrist mid-swing, and used the man’s own momentum to spin him like a child’s toy.

Garrick flew ten feet and crashed into two of his comrades who were already rushing in. The three of them tumbled in a heap of limbs and curses.

“First lesson,” Sol said calmly, loud enough for the entire yard to hear. “Don’t mock what you can’t protect. Especially not my woman…or those under her protection.”

Zeyra’s breath caught as she watched. Her heart hammered wildly, but it wasn’t fear. It was awe. Sol moved like liquid shadow among stone, effortless and terrifyingly precise. Every time a fist or kick came close, he flowed around it or absorbed it without flinching. She felt her cheeks heat again, but this time from a fierce, glowing pride.

Beside her, Zeyra’s reaction was far more visceral.

He’s doing this for me… she thought. A small, trembling smile broke across her face. The humiliation from earlier melted away with every warrior that hit the dirt.

Her eyes were wide, shining with something between shock and fierce joy. She had always known Sol was strong… ridiculously so… but seeing it unfold like this, all because those idiots had mocked Kira, made something protective and loyal burn brightly in her chest.

“Yes…” Zeyra whispered under her breath, gripping the fence tighter. A fierce grin split her face. “Show them, Sol. Make them eat every word.”

A Layer 2 captain… taller, more disciplined… lunged with a precise kick aimed at Sol’s midsection. Sol allowed the strike to land, he kinda wanted to test their strength. The impact rang out like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil.

But… it was the Captain whose eyes widened in shock as pain exploded up his leg. He staggered back, clutching his shin, which now bent at an unnatural angle.

While Sol didn’t even flinch. “Your bones break against me. Yet you laughed at her for being ’weak.’ Interesting standard you hold.”

Two more warriors attacked from the sides in a coordinated pincer. One threw a powerful straight punch, the other swept low at his legs. Sol hopped lightly over the sweep, parried the punch with an open palm that sent painful vibrations up the attacker’s arm, then drove an elbow into the second man’s solar plexus.

The warrior folded instantly, gasping like a fish out of water.

Sol grabbed the first by the back of his collar and hurled him overhead in a smooth arc. The man sailed through the air and slammed into another fighter who had been trying to flank.

Both unceremoniously crashed hard into the dirt.

“Too slow,” Sol taunted, circling with effortless footwork. “You move like you’re wading through mud. Zeyra at least has the grace to learn. You? You rely on numbers and reputation. Where’s that reputation now?”

The remaining warriors hesitated, pride warring with the dawning realization that they faced something unnatural.

One of them.. a wiry fighter with quick hands… darted in low, aiming a series of rapid jabs at Sol’s ribs and liver. Sol let three connect. Each thudded dully against his dense torso like fists against thick oak. Nothing happened to him, but the wiry man’s knuckles split and bled.

He cried out, cradling his broken hand.

Sol caught the man’s wrist gently… almost kindly… then twisted just enough to force him to his knees.

“Does it hurt?” Sol asked softly, eyes cold. “Imagine how she felt when grown warriors laughed at her. When they called her weak for daring to stand among you. She didn’t cry. She didn’t run. But you… you’re about to.”

He released the man and swept his leg in a wide, controlled arc. Two warriors who had tried to rush him from behind lost their footing and slammed face-first into the ground.

The fight wasn’t chaotic anymore. It had become a demonstration. Sol flowed between them like wind through reeds… never hurried, never wasteful.

He caught a flying knee strike, pivoted, and used the attacker’s momentum to flip him onto his back with a resounding thud. The man lay there, staring at the sky, stunned.

“Another lesson,” Sol announced as he ducked under a wild swing and delivered a precise palm strike to a warrior’s chest, driving the air from his lungs. “True strength isn’t loud laughter or big muscles. It’s standing when others expect you to fall. Zeyra understands that. You clearly don’t.”

Zeyra felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, not from sadness but from overwhelming warmth. No one had ever stood up for her like this.

Not with such overwhelming dominance and calm authority.

Kira, meanwhile, was openly reveling in it. Every time Sol sent another warrior crashing down, she let out a quiet cheer or a sharp “That’s what you get!” under her breath. Her cheeks were flushed with secondhand pride.

A particularly stubborn warrior managed to land a solid combination… two hooks to the body followed by an uppercut. The blows landed clean. But… Sol’s head barely moved.

He gave a signature villainous smile.

“My turn.”

He tapped the warrior lightly on the shoulder, then swept his legs out in one fluid motion. As the man fell, Sol caught him by the front of his tunic and guided him down with controlled force, slamming him into the dirt just hard enough to knock the wind out of him without breaking bones.

Forty seconds had passed.

The crowd was utterly silent except for the groans of fallen men.

One last warrior remained standing… Garrick, the first to have mocked Kira the loudest. His face was bruised, one eye swelling shut, but fury still burned in his gaze.

He roared and charged with everything he had left, throwing a desperate, powerful overhead strike.

Sol caught the fist in his palm. The impact echoed.

For a moment, the two men stood locked, Garrick straining with all his Layer 2 power, muscles bulging, veins standing out on his neck.

But Sol’s arm didn’t even tremble.