The Last Primal

In a dimly lit alleyway, a group of large bulky figures garbed in light grey linen hooded robes followed after a bright orange scaled Draconic Skink elder.

The jittery old man in squalid clothing slowly teetered forward, deeper and deeper into the looming darkness. His gray hair was unkempt, he continuously clenched and unclenched his wrinkled, freckled beard.

"[Reptilian] How much longer old man?!" A rough, deep grumble came from one of the hoods following behind him.

"[Reptilian] Keep it to yourself Ragor!" Another one, a slightly more resonant voice, carrying much more latent power came from another hood.

"[Reptilian] Shut it Draghan! For all we know, we could be walking into a trap! This 'secret resistance force' could all just be a sham! In fact, I could even bet that we would end up walking straight into it!" The hooded guy from before, Ragor roared up in anger once again. His voice, though still mostly toned down, wasn't a whisper any more. His rising anger has also subconsciously made him raise his volume.

*SLAP!*

A loud slap rang out suddenly, silencing the grumbles and replacing them with a muted grunt.

"[Reptilian] H-hey! W-what was that for! What did I do, Krok? I refuse to believe that it's only me that believes we are making a mistake!" Ragor complained, caressing the back of his head, - the largest, bulkiest figure of the four-person party, Krok had 'manhandled' the annoying word sower. His rough, wide hand released a resounding slap at the loud one's head.

"[Reptilian] Behave you guys! We are representing our Lord, do you want to tarnish his name, and make him look bad? Is that it?"

Listening to their squabble, the strange old man only weakly smiled.

Slowly making his way towards the inner regions of the dark, and foreboding alleyway he eventually stopped in front of a solid-looking wall.

A dead end.

"[Reptilian] I knew it! It IS a trap! A blind alley!" Ragor roared with newfound vigor. He quickly cast his weapon, a tall spear aside, and spread his arms wide instead.  As the long sleeves rolled back, it revealed his large hands. A set of 4 short but thick curved claws glinted against the dim lighting as he looked ready to unleash all the hell he contained within his newly gained hulking frame.

"[Reptilian] Come at me then! Show me all those wretched vermin, let me tear them apart! I will offer your torn flesh to the Master as an offering!" He roared boisterously. A pair of large yellow dots sparked in the dark.

"[Reptilian] Wait for a moment, Ragor. Can't you sense it?" Captain Draga threw his right arm in front of the battle-ready hooded Saurus, causing him to flinch and glance at his teammate with a dissatisfied expression.

"[Reptilian] Yeah, listen to Draga, you big oaf!" The fourth, so far silent hooded figure spoke up. Compared to the rest he had the lightest tone of voice, albeit still much deeper than any of the Draconic Skinks.

Looking at their friendly squabble, the old man calmly stood in place, tugging his beard calmly. His eyes widened as he finally looked up and rested his attention on the group of four.

His dried lips slowly parted, a tired, thin, and breathy sigh came out faintly trembling in the ominous tense atmosphere.

"[Reptilian] Do not be alarmed, sirs…" He greeted, his face revealed a gentle, humble smile. "…Everything is fine, I assure you."

The old man smiled, his feeble right arm raised, he pointed towards the solid surface on the wall behind him.

"[Reptilian] T-this way sirs…"

As the team frowned and looked confused at the old man, Draga pondered about everything they had learned from this strange figure.

The old man, who lived somewhat away from the city, was known as a reclusive character, a true hermit. He only came out of his little self-made stone hut occasionally, usually to slowly slither into town and gather some food and water to survive the next couple of days. Not many knew him, not even the guards cared to bother the old fogie.

Still, he had his own unique quirks. For one, his hair was what stood as very unusual.

Unlike how their race was known, the old man had a full head of long and lush hair with some salt and peppery tint to it. His tired, weary face showed a pair of crow's feet under his eyes. His long, unkempt beard reached well below his waistline, which he liked to rub, to tug every so often, mostly as he talked.

From his feeble posture and weak, faint stance it looked as if he was already one foot in the grave. His time-chiseled and weather-beaten face only supported this presumption. At times, he looked to be a bit spiritless, as if the long and arduous life and old age were finally getting to him.

As most of the residents of the outcasts of Ugburg, his clothes were ragged, patched several times, and threadbare. Despite that, he didn't show any shame or care of how he looked, it was as if he was giving in to the passage of time.

As Draga carefully looked at him, he couldn't help but notice how his feeble right hand clenched, as if the cold wind that blew in this late afternoon took a slightly bigger bite than what was comfortable. His long, bony fingers were knotty, trembling, shivering as he pointed towards the seemingly solid, rough surface on the wall behind him.

Still, Draga didn't feel sorry for the man. Living like how he did was his own choice. He had the option to stand up and fight for a better future.

Even if he was old and weak, not every rebel was a fighter. There were children, females, and even elders amongst their group, staying behind in the safety of their dark caves even at this very moment.

The old man seemed very gentle, a complete contrast to the chubby innkeeper they had the 'pleasure' to meet with earlier. Though he looked more like a vagrant, their team pretty much looked the same. Heck, they were the same! They had lost their old homes, some even their families along with it…

"[Reptilian] Why are you…" The old man's smile grew thicker, slowly turning into a wondrous 'O' shape as he looked surprised and even somewhat baffled at the team of four standing in front of him and not reacting as he had expected.

Then, as if he just understood, he combed his long beard with his bony fingers as he spoke up.

"[Reptilian] Ah… excuse me, great sirs. I thought you knew how this city truly works. I am truly sorry…" He said, bowing deeply though Draga could still catch the faint smile hiding underneath.

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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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