FREE USE in Primitive World

The trembling Zharun warrior scrambled backward on his elbows, kicking up loose dirt as he stared up at the two imposing figures blocking the ruined gate.

”P-Please... I told you everything! Spare me—”

CRACK.

Veylara didn’t even look down. The butt of her golden spear snapped forward with casual, but accurate precision, striking the side of the man’s skull and knocking him into instant, limp unconsciousness.

Raising her left hand toward the ridge, Veylara signaled the force waiting above.

Commander Thauren saw Veylara’s raised hand. Without any delay the hundred Veynar elite warriors descended from the slope like a disciplined wave, spreading out along the perimeter in tight, disciplined kill-squads.

Kira, Zeyra, and High Shaman Zephyra flanked the vanguard, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the plumes of greasy smoke billowing from the houses.

”Follow behind me,” Veylara ordered, her voice carrying the absolute, unshakeable resonance of a Layer 4 warlord. ”Anyone attempting to flee with stolen clan supplies or captive civilians is to be cut down on sight.”

”Understood!” Thauren barked, gesturing sharply to his vanguard. ”Squads one through four, clear the eastern avenues! Form barricades at the choke points! Move!”

Together, the Veynar force marched through the shattered gates and stepped into the belly of the Zharun settlement.

The scene within was a horrifying descent into utter depravity and madness.

Thick, greasy black smoke billowed from burning timber houses and storehouses, choking the air with the foul stench of charred fat, burnt flesh, and spilled blood.

The wide dirt roads were churned into a bloody mire. Desperate civilians... elderly tribespeople, terrified mothers, and crying children... ran aimlessly in all directions, screaming as they tried to flee the very warriors who were supposed to protect them.

With no chief, no elders, and no Layer 4 authority left to enforce order, the Zharun warriors had discarded every shred of restraint.

To the left, a band of rogue spearmen dragged a screaming young woman out of an alleyway by her hair, laughing manically as they tore at her clothing.

Further up the road, three armored warriors hacked an unarmed civilian to death over a few slabs of meat, only for one of them to immediately plunge a dagger into his comrade’s neck to claim the loot for himself.

Bodies of innocent clan members lay sprawled across doorsteps, trampled by their own kin in the frantic rush to plunder before the settlement burned to the ground.

It was a feral, self-cannibalizing collapse.

Veylara’s expression turned to absolute, frozen stone, her deep blue eyes burning with disgust.

She took three heavy steps forward, raised her spear high into the smoky sky, and unleashed the full, uninhibited pulse of her Layer 4 essence!

BOOM!

A shockwave of pure, suffocating pressure detonated from her frame, expanding across the entire outer perimeter like a physical dome. The ambient air instantly thickened to the density of deep water, carrying the crushing, immovable weight of an apex predator.

Crazy warriors froze mid-swing, the breath violently blasted from their lungs. Looters collapsed face-first into the mud, pinned to the earth by an invisible, gravitational hammer.

The chaotic screeching of the settlement was violently smothered as hundreds of Zharun dropped to their knees simultaneously, trembling and gasping, unable to comprehend what was crushing their bodies into the dirt.

In the dead, suffocating quiet that followed, Veylara’s voice rang out like thunder echoing off a mountain cliff:

”Enough.”

For a long, frozen heartbeat, the entire settlement held its breath.

Heads slowly turned toward the entrance. Eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror as the gasping Zharun finally registered the towering presence standing at their threshold: Warchief Veylara, radiating pure sovereign authority, the unreadable High Shaman Zephyra, the black-armored monster whose eyes burned with neon-crimson death, and a hundred heavily armed, battle-hardened Veynar veterans stranding like messengers of death.

Veylar drew her aura back, lifting the crushing weight as it had also implicated the innocent peoples, who were on the verge of death.

Her deep blue eyes swept over the kneeling crowd with cold, sovereign judgment.

”Drop your weapons and surrender to the Veynar,” Veylara declared, her voice carrying absolute, unquestioned law. ”Anyone who has committed no crime during this madness will remain untouched and free under our rule.”

The words hung in the air for a fraction of a second.

The rogue Zharun warriors... the men with fresh blood on their blades, stolen trinkets in their belts, and the screams of their victims still echoing from the side streets... knew instantly that Veylara’s mercy did not extend to them.

Their crimes were painted red across the very mud beneath their feet.

Instead of dropping their arms, panic took over.

”RUN!”

”SCATTER INTO THE WOODS!”

Dozens of guilty Zharun warriors scrambled to their feet, abandoning their loot and bolting frantically down the side alleys, desperate to slip past the perimeter and vanish into the surrounding wilderness.

Veylara’s eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits of lethal resolve.

She lowered her spear, pointing the tip directly at the fleeing figures.

”Cut them all down.”

”Kill the bastards!” Commander Thauren roared, drawing his massive broadsword.

The hundred Veynar elites surged forward like a pack of hunting wolves breaking from a leash.

WHOOSH-SLASH!

What followed was a swift, merciless purge.

The disciplined Veynar squads moved with great efficiency, sealing off the alleyway exits and cutting down the fleeing rogues without hesitation. Spear and blade heads punched cleanly through chests. Blades severed limbs and shattered spine columns of the looters, painting the burning wooden walls in violent crimson arcs.

Zeyra wasn’t going to keep standing, having reached layer 2 and wanted to show her powerful side to her beloved, she blurred past Sol’s side, her twin daggers flashing in a blinding dance of death.

WHOOSH.

Zeyra vanished from Sol’s flank and appeared right behind the men who had dragged a woman into the alley.

A flash of light cut through the smoke.

SLASH-SLASH-SLASH.

Three neat crimson lines bloomed across the rogues’ throats simultaneously. The men collapsed without a sound, as the freed woman scrambled away into the shadows.