FREE USE in Primitive World

For the first time since the alarm had sounded, many of the giants felt their attention pulled inward... toward the mud huts behind them, toward the smaller figures who had not come out to fight, toward the fragile continuation of their line that still existed only because it had not yet been standing in the open.

The nightmare made the reaper feel invincible. The quieter thread made survival feel like the only form of defiance still left to them.

Preservation is the only victory left.

Suggesting this, he quietly withdrew his mental attack, but none of the Marauders realized that as they were still lost in the nightmare.

Even though it may seem like a long time had passed and they had been trapped for ages, in reality just a moment had passed, and they were still charging.

But now that he had withdrawn the mental attack,the combined weight of absolute fear and that cold, rational suggestion hit the Marauders at the exact moment their charge was about to meet the Veynar’s.

Clubs that had been raised for killing blows suddenly wavered and forward momentum faltered.

The roaring war cries died in massive throats as the two pressures... nightmare certainty of death and the quiet insistence that death here would achieve nothing... crushed the last of their sacrificial resolve from opposite directions.

What had been a headlong rush toward honorable destruction slowed, staggered, and then stopped.

Hundreds of giants stood stranded in the open stone flats, clubs half-raised, chests heaving, eyes locked on the black-armored figure who still watched them leisurely from the open gate.

The nightmare pressure and the quiet, rational thread Free Use had planted in their minds had already stripped the momentum from their charge.

Now they simply stood there... caught between the instinct to fight and the crushing certainty that fighting would achieve nothing.

Then Veylara reached the open gate.

Her Layer 4 presence rolled across the stone shelf like the settling of an entire mountain.

It locked around limbs and will alike, an immovable gravity that made every attempt to take another step forward feel like wading through solid stone. Knees buckled. Shoulders sagged.

The air itself seemed to thicken until drawing a full breath required effort.

For the already reeling Marauders... trapped in the fading edges of Sol’s nightmare and the cold logic of preservation... the arrival of that mountain-like aura was the final feather that broke the camel’s back.

The expected brawl never materialized..

What should have been a desperate, club-swinging defense turned into paralyzed hesitation, then open, collective terror.

CLATTER! THUD! CLATTER!

Massive stone clubs, bone javelins, and flint axes began to fall.

The sound spread in a ragged, uneven wave as one giant after another lost the last of their will to hold a weapon.

Clubs slipped from nerveless fingers. Javelins were cast down as if the wood itself had grown too heavy. Axes struck the hard dirt and lay still.

The noise of surrender rolled outward across the stone shelf until it seemed the entire plateau was discarding its capacity for violence at once.

Over three hundred massive, ten-foot-tall Marauders... warriors, laborers, and trembling females gave into the pressure and dropped to their knees.

The motion was not coordinated, yet it swept through the settlement with the inevitability of a tide.

They pressed their foreheads against the dry rock in unconditional, terrified submission, massive frames shaking under the combined weight of fear, defeated instinct, and the lingering mountain pressure that still held them in place.

”WE SUBMIT!” an elder Marauder, clearly the most senior one, cried out from the ground, his voice shaking violently. ”SPARE OUR KIN! THE GRAY MARAUDERS SURRENDER TO THE VEYNAR!”

Other voices rose after his... broken, desperate, overlapping... until the plea became a single ragged chorus across the settlement.

A stunned silence hung over the charging Veynar ranks for several long heartbeats.

Every warrior in the vanguard had formed up expecting a grinding, bloody meat-grinder. They had been fully ready to pay in wounds and possibly lives to break a tribe that still numbered in the hundreds.

Instead, the giants had simply... stopped.

The sudden collapse left the Veynar exchanging confused glances, weapons still raised against an enemy that was no longer coming.

But the confusion lasted only a moment, as Sol’s voice rang through.

”Hold.”

The single word was calm, but it carried enough weight to freeze them in place. Sol stood just inside the threshold, Dreadwing Blade still in hand, neon-crimson eyes moving across the kneeling giants and the half-lowered Veynar spears alike.

”They’ve surrendered,” he said.

Warriors looked at one another, then at the hundreds of massive Marauders pressed forehead-to-stone across the shelf, then back at Sol.

Even Veylara, still standing in the open gate with the fading edge of her Layer 4 presence lingering in the air, turned her head slightly toward him.

Her deep blue eyes held a rare flicker of genuine bafflement.

A tribe of this size and physical power, already in mid-charge, simply dropping their weapons and kneeling was not the outcome any of them had prepared for.

Sol met the unspoken question with a slight shrug, as if the answer were obvious.

”They must have been afraid when they saw you coming,” he said. His tone was dry, almost offhand. ”Especially her.” He gave a small nod toward Veylara. ”A Layer 4 Warchief walking through their open gate after their last captains just died in front of them... it would be stranger if they hadn’t broken.”

It sounded far-fetched.

Everyone present had felt the strange, crushing pressure that had swept the whole settlement moments earlier.

Everyone had seen the giants stagger and stop as if struck by something more than ordinary battlefield fear.

Yet Sol offered the explanation without emphasis, and none of them pushed further.

Veylara studied him for a short moment longer, then gave a single, accepting nod.

Thauren grunted and turned back to his squads.

The warriors exchanged final uncertain looks, then simply took the answer as it was given.

They did not question it.

Relief followed hard on its heels. No one in the column was unhappy that the brutal battle they had braced for had evaporated before it could begin.

Not having to bleed... or watch brothers and sisters bleed... on this final ridge was a victory in itself.