The Last Primal

The once proud, and feared warmonger, the Saurus General, Zokor was being kept chained like an animal in some dark and damp cave somewhere deep inside the rebels' base.

The only source of light, a single bronze brazier that hung above the blocked entrance, provided a dim, obscure illumination, shrouding the broad, bulky figure, hiding his grotesque, horrid expression that was plastered on his face.

Though he always displayed a strong front, he projected the aura of a fearless, brutal predator, in truth he was just the same as everyone else. Some say the more powerful you became, the more strength and standing you reach, the more fearful you became of your eventual, and inevitable demise.

The more you have to lose, the more worried, concerned you became.

Thus it wasn't a big surprise to see the once arrogant and haughty lizard scared, shivering like a hapless cub. He wasn't scared of the resistance soldier's abuse or torture, or the fact that he was captured. No, if that were the case, he would simply lash out and escape in his first opportunity. None of these weak mongrels could withstand a single attack from him anyways!

No, what made him scared stiff, and unable to react was that mysterious leader. The elder, seemingly fragile, scrawny ex-archbishop, the traitor to their cause and the betrayer of the Ancient One's indomitable will.

The level of power he had unleashed during the last moments of the battle, was incomprehensible for Zokor. He couldn't believe what he felt and saw.

Whilst most of these brainless skinks wouldn't have a chance to know, he was different. He had seen, no he had FELT that Ancient One's gaze, he bathed in its divine attention… He sensed a tiny bit of its limitless power…

He was shocked when he felt something similar coming from that wrinkled, old frame. Ancient, archaic energy, that seemed to be above this world. A power that shouldn't be present in the mortal realm… Divine Power!

Suddenly, some movement broke Zokor's line of thoughts, the large stone slab, that barred passage to his 'humble' abode, slowly moved. A force, a figure he dreaded to meet has pulled the primitive door to the side, revealing the figure that whilst looking harmless on the surface, still made the large chained-up and shackled Saurus tremble, shiver with fright. Pure terror plastered on his face, if he could, Zokor would have backed away to the furthest corner of the room.

Unfortunately, he couldn't even move an inch, he was firmly put down and forced to sit on his knees at the center of his cave.

"[Reptilian] Greetings, General…"The robed elder, the archbishop, Aiden stepped in giving a slight bow, greeting his shackled opponent with honest, civil courtesy. His tone was fruity, deep but pleasant to the ear.

A genuine smile warmed the elder's face as he slowly approached the shackled figure at the center of the room. All the while, Zokor, the elderly skink's target was shivering almost uncontrollably. His senses were almost screaming to him to escape, acting as if he was looking at not just a feeble old man, but the Reaper, Death Incarnate himself.

Obviously, Aiden noticed the Saurus General's fidgeting, shivering. He laughed heartily, as he stopped just a few inches away, in front of the kneeling, forcefully prostrated lizard.

"[Reptilian] Now, now, what is the use of this… Why… pray tell, would a fearsome monster like you be on the receiving end of the same sensation, that you so much reveled in all throughout your life?"

He asked, though the archbishop did not wait for any response, as he continued further. He leaned closer to Zokor, almost touching the fat beads of sweat that glistened atop his wrinkled forehead.

"[Reptilian] How does it feel? This feeling… Do you recognize it? The slight, uncontrollable twitching, shivering of your body. The chaotically beating, palpitating beats of your anxious heart…." He whispered his smile whilst still looking genuine and warm gradually growing more and more uncomfortable to bear for the chained general.

With his right index finger, Aiden reached out and gently touched one of the sweat beads, proceeding to smear across Zokor's forehead as he resumed his speech.

"[Reptilian] This… What you feel… is what everyone around you was forced to withstand. This… dread, this cold feeling that slowly seeps into the deepest recesses of your primitive flesh… Tell me, how does it feel?"

Listening to the old man's warm, hearty tone, his fruity and modulated voice, Zokor wasn't sure what to do, how to react. He felt a growing sense of dread, terror swelled in his heart.

Noticing the smiling face of this unholy entity in front of him, his lips slowly parted, and his dry parched throat, began to gasp for some extra oxygen.

"I-I…" With a great deal of effort, he finally managed to blurt out a singular stuttered vowel.

Yet before he could continue further, suddenly the gentle-looking elderly skink archbishop's right arm blurred and flashed swiping in his direction.

What first felt like nothing, in the next instant was made clear. Before confusion could set in, he felt a newfound source of torment, a searing, burning sensation coming from the side, his arm.

Not accustomed to such a sensation, pain his eyes slowly, cautiously drifted towards his shoulder. His already fearful gaze instantly turned horrified, just before his lips burst apart as a bellowing cry exploded from the constraints of his lungs.

"Aaaaaaaargh!"

General Zokor hollered, wailed miserably.

His once strong, trunk-like arm was no longer attached to his shoulders, only a bloodied stump remained with torn strains of his scaled skin and mangled flesh.

His missing appendage, however, wasn't lost, but instead was now held firmly in the hands of the archbishop. With a smile that didn't match the horrific, gruesome action that had just transpired, he lifted the severed arm closer to the crying Saurus.

"[Reptilian] Did it hurt? Did you feel the pain as I sliced through the bone and flesh? Hmm?" He asked with an honest-looking interest shining on his expressive face.

"[Reptilian] Hmm… I guess, it does…" He continued, nodding at himself at the return of the same grotesque dread-filled, hollowed eyes of his opponent. "Hmm… I guess you are ready. I wonder what your reaction will be…" Aiden hummed mostly to himself, bringing the severed limb closer to his face.

What followed next, caused the last remaining blood to escape from Zokor's head, paling his brown scaled skin into a darker shade of gray. His eyes, sprung wide open with a variety of emotions, mostly horror, fear… with some confusion and many others as he looked at the true monster in front of him.

He was forced to watch as the old man, the archbishop, the rebel leader casually bit into the juicy parts of the tendons on his upper arm and bit a huge chunk out of it. The dripping blood smeared his face, twisting it into a nightmarish sight.

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>>>Check out my latest novel: The Strongest Demon Lord in the Modern World<<

It's an urban modern-day styled story, with a reverse transmigrated ('Banished') immortal entity from the fantastical world of Nova!

Planned Tags and Genre:  # CULTIVATION  # R18  # BETRAYAL  # TRANSMIGRATION  # URBAN  # ACTION  # ANTIHERO  # OVERPOWERED (romance maybe at some later point)

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