The Primeval Era-Chapter 88: Why? I

Sometimes, one moved while thinking and planning.

This time, Damian had no thoughts or plans.

He simply moved by instinct, intent on getting an answer today.

He demanded an answer today!

His "WHY" boomed out across the distance, the word carrying on waves of Mana that spread outward like ripples in still water. It crossed the vast stretch of stone between him and the coming surge, traveling faster than sound should travel, arriving at the tide of beasts with force that made the very air tremble.

And shockingly, the eyes of the Inkanyamba in the far distance locked onto him.

Those storm-filled eyes, each one larger than a grown man’s entire body, focused on the tiny figure that had dared to shout at a Behemoth. They blazed with anger that transcended simple animal rage. This was fury born of ancient grievance, of wounds that had festered across generations.

ROOOAAARRR!

It roared back in reply!

The sound was deafening even from this distance. It shook the stones beneath Damian’s feet and made his bones vibrate within his flesh. Lightning crackled around the Inkanyamba’s horse-like head, arcing between the clouds of its mane with intensity that turned the darkening sky white for a heartbeat.

And then it moved.

The massive serpentine body surged forward, coiling and uncoiling with speed that something so large should never possess. Its wings beat once, twice, and each beat generated winds that scattered the lesser beasts before it like leaves in a hurricane. It was coming from the back of the beast tide, overtaking them, rushing toward the one who had challenged it.

Coming even faster than before!

---

Damian’s figure landed on hard stone as his gaze became ferocious.

The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing outward from his feet, but he barely noticed. His attention was fixed on the approaching nightmare, his mind racing through implications even as his blood burned with something that went beyond simple anger.

He knew that these beasts were likely turned in this direction by the hands of others.

He had no animosity toward them.

But to those who controlled and forced them to do this...

To those who used living creatures as weapons, who cared nothing for the destruction they caused, who would crush entire tribes just to flush out a single target...

He hated manipulation most of all.

Because he remembered.

He remembered all the faces who had smiled at him when he was a Young Lugal. The nobles who had bowed and offered flattery. The Warriors who had sworn loyalty to the Vakochev bloodline with passion that seemed unshakeable.

And those same ones had betrayed his family.

He remembered when he was eight summers old.

The Murderous Saint had visited the Vakochev Empire for negotiations between powers. He had been introduced to Damian as an honored guest who deserved respect and courtesy.

And the Murderous Saint had put Damian on his lap.

He had smiled while discussing things with Damian’s father, his hand resting on the young prince’s shoulder with what seemed like avuncular warmth. He had asked questions about Damian’s training, about his progress, about his future. He had laughed at things Damian said, had praised his intelligence, had told his father that the Vakochev bloodline was strong.

Damian had not been able to understand that behind that smile was malice.

Behind those kind words was calculation.

Behind that warm hand on his shoulder was the intention to see that shoulder buried beneath rubble and ash.

So he hated it.

He hated deception. He hated manipulation. He hated the powerful treating the lives of others as pieces to be moved and sacrificed according to their whims.

But at the same time...

If beasts were coming toward him to trample and destroy even the small tribe he had been living in all these years, he also couldn’t sit still.

He couldn’t just hate and do nothing.

He had to act.

As for how he could even stand against them...

The smaller beasts might be manageable.

Flesh Awakening creatures. Bone Tempering beasts. Perhaps even a few that had reached Blood Ignition levels of power. With his current cultivation, with his enhanced body and his newly established Doctrine, he would be able to face them.

But that massive Behemoth Primal Beast...

That Inkanyamba...

He truly felt like he would be crushed before it.

The pressure it exuded, even from this distance, made his skin crawl with instinctive fear. This was a creature that had lived for centuries, that had accumulated power beyond what most Warriors could comprehend, that could call storms with a thought and drown tribes with a gesture.

He needed power.

More power than he currently possessed.

Since he had just established his Second Doctrine of Vakochev’s Doctrines of Stone, the way for him to gain even more power was clear.

His eyes looked around frantically, scanning his surroundings with cold calculation even as his heart pounded against his ribs.

There was nothing but flat stones and the land around him.

Distant Ancestral Pillars rose against the horizon, their massive trunks too far away to reach in time. Trees covered distant areas, but they too were beyond his immediate grasp. The Primal Beasts were decimating anything in their path, leaving destruction and dust in their wake.

All he had were the Lands of Stone.

So...

"I...will use the Lands of Stone."

His voice came out heavily, laden with intent that transcended mere words.

In the next moment, both his palms split open.

He commanded the flesh to part, the skin to tear, and rivers of blood burning with Mana leaked out from the wounds. Crimson liquid lined with stellar blue particles poured from his hands in quantities that should have killed him in seconds, bathing the Lands of Stone around him with his essence.

His blood was thick and pervasive.

It splashed against stone and immediately began to sink in, absorbed by rock that had stood unchanged for millennia. It delved further underneath, seeping through cracks and fissures, reaching deep into the earth itself. It became absorbed into the Lands themselves.

And he let it all out.

Generously.

Rivers of crimson spreading outward in every direction, painting the gray stone red with specks of blue that sparkled like stars being born.

In seconds, his body felt almost dry.

His vision swam. His legs trembled. His heart struggled to pump with so little left to circulate through his veins. The familiar sensation of approaching death pressed against his consciousness, warning him that he was spending what could not be replaced.

But he had an answer to that warning now.

"PERSEVERE."

He voiced it out coldly, and...

BOOM!

Every time he did it, the effect always seemed stronger.

Blue-gold flames erupted around him like a pillar of sacred fire reaching toward the storm-darkened sky.

The flames wrapped around his body and sank inward, plunging into his marrow with intent that bordered on violence. They churned through the structures that produced his blood, commanding them to work faster, to generate more, to fill the emptiness that his sacrifice had created.

But the flames didn’t stop there.

In the distant tribe, miles away, the walls that he had bathed in his blood earlier also erupted with blue fire!

The crimson-blue barrier surrounding the Purple Stone Tribe blazed with sudden intensity, flames dancing along its entire perimeter as if responding to a call that only it could hear. The transformed logs buzzed and pulsed, drawing in Mana from the surrounding atmosphere with hunger that matched their creator’s need.

And those who were standing on the wall...

They inadvertently became covered by the flames as well.

The injured Chieftain stumbled backward as blue-gold fire wrapped around his wounded side, but instead of burning, he felt warmth sink into his flesh. His eyes went wide with shock as he watched his injuries close, the torn muscle and broken ribs knitting together as if weeks of healing were compressed into seconds.

"What... what is this?"

Grandmother Essun felt her ancient body flooding with vitality that it hadn’t possessed in decades. Her bent spine straightened slightly. Her aching joints stopped aching. Previous injuries that she had simply learned to live with, wounds accumulated across a lifetime of surviving in the Lands of Stone, began to heal as if they had never been.

Uncle Adam felt the warmth spreading through his body, reaching the damage he had accumulated from years of protecting his Young Lugal. Scars that had pained him in cold weather stopped paining him. The chronic exhaustion that lived in his bones faded away. His body returned to a premium state that he hadn’t known since before the fall of the Vakochev Empire.

They all felt it.

The flames that healed.

The power that restored.

The blessing of the Tokoloshe reaching them even from miles away!