FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 177: Chapter 177: The Rejection of the World

Seeing her smug like he couldn’t help roll his eyes, especially because she was stark naked right now.

Ignoring her, he focused on his body, still vibrating with the aftershocks of a power he couldn’t name. The sensation of the Divine Law Fragments settling into his DNA was a hum of pure potential, a song of steel and starlight singing in his marrow.

He looked at Isylia, and thinking about her surprise, his chest swelling with pride. It seems like he still had some main protagonist abilities, as he had done the impossible. As for the reason why it happened? Obviously he didn’t know, he was just as clueless as her, but something absurd like him transmigrating had happened so something like this was not something he couldn’t accept.

But in that moment of triumph, amidst the intoxicating rush of his new strength, Sol made a rookie mistake. He forgot where he was.

He was the master of this artifact, yes, but he was an untrained master. The “Lock”… used to keep this pocket dimension sealed off from the ravages of the outside world… required focus. It required a sheer force of will to maintain the barrier between the absolute nothingness of the Void and the chaotic pressure of the Material Plane.

Distracted by this sudden surge of power and the lingering heat of their union, Sol’s mind had drifted. He relaxed. He let the tension in his mental grip slacken, just for a fraction of a second.

That was all it took.

The image of the “Lock” in his mind’s eye wavered, dissolved, and then shattered.

CRACK.

The sound was not like thunder; thunder was atmospheric, gaseous. This was the sound of reality fracturing. It sounded like a glacier the size of a mountain snapping in half under the weight of a dying sun. The noise tore through the silence of the temple, vibrating the obsidian floor so violently that Sol nearly lost his footing.

Sol’s eyes flew open, the grin vanishing. He looked up.

Above the obsidian throne, the fabric of the dimension was splitting. A fissure appeared in the air, jagged and weeping black smoke. through the tear, Sol could see the swirling, chaotic winds of the Material Plane clashing with the stillness of the Void. The vacuum of the dimension roared, a sudden depressurization that tried to suck the air right out of Sol’s lungs.

Isylia’s head snapped up. Her golden eyes widened, pupils constricting into vertical slits. She felt it instantly… a shift in the metaphysical axis of the room. A gravity reversal that didn’t pull at the body, but tugged at the very essence of the soul.

“Sol!” she screamed, her voice cutting through the roaring wind. She lunged forward, clutching at his forearms with desperate strength. “The door! You opened the door!”

Sol blinked, dazed. He tried to reassert control, squeezing his eyes shut to visualize the Lock again. Close it. Just close the damn door.

But his mind was sluggish, overwhelmed by the sensory overload of his new body. Or perhaps he simply didn’t understand the artifact well enough. The rift didn’t close. It widened.

And then, the laws of physics inverted.

Gravity flipped.

It didn’t affect Sol. He remained planted on the floor, heavy and solid. But for Isylia, the world turned upside down.

“Ah!” Isylia gasped, her back arching as a sudden, torrential downpour of light flooded through the crack.

It wasn’t sunlight. It was raw, unfiltered energy, rushing into the vacuum of the Void Temple to equalize the pressure. And Isylia, a being of high divinity, acted like a lightning rod.

The light slammed into her.

Sol shielded his eyes, peering through his fingers. Isylia was shuddering, but it wasn’t in pain. It was a violent restoration. The divine glow that had been dim and suppressed gathered around her in a blinding cyclone.

Her hair, previously a shawl of whiteness, grew rapidly, turning translucent and shimmering with divine light. It floated around her as if she were underwater. Her skin, already perfect, began to emit a soft, terrifying luminescence, shedding the last vestiges of mortal limitation. She became less flesh and more concept… an ethereal, breathtaking image of a true Goddess.

Looking at her transforming like a power ranger, Sol gulped, as her beauty right now wasn’t something that could be described in mortal terms, she was the very definition of beauty, and from the depths of his soul, Sol felt a strange sensation. Just minutes ago, he had held her. He had explored every inch of her curves, heard her moan his name, and pushed her to the brink of exhaustion. He had known her in the most carnal, intimate way a man could know a woman.

But now, watching her bathe in that flow of power, Sol couldn’t help but feel a deep, trembling sense of awe. The lust was still there, buried deep, but it was overlaid by the crushing instinct to kneel. It was the terrifying beauty of a hurricane or a supernova… something too big to comprehend, let alone touch.

Isylia gasped, her voice echoing as if spoken by a legion of women. “Finally! The suppression… it is gone! I am free!”

She looked down at her hands, which were now glowing with starlight. A smile of pure, unadulterated power stretched across her lips.

“Now, Sol,” she declared, her voice booming with regained authority. “I shall—”

BOOM.

The sound came from outside the rift, a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of the dimension.

…

The Main World, known to its inhabitants as Ossuaria, had barely drawn its first breath of relief.

Only moments ago, a crushing, invisible weight… the resonance of Sol’s body fusing with the Law… had forced every living thing into the dirt. In the dense jungles, hunters were shakily pushing themselves up from the mud, clutching their flint spears. In the cliffside caves, women were soothing crying infants, while elders cast nervous glances at the totem poles, thinking the spirits had been briefly displeased.

They thought the ordeal was over. They thought the Ancestors were satisfied.

But man, they were wrong.

Just as the tribesmen stood fully upright, the sky broke.

It didn’t turn grey with storm clouds. It turned a violent, warning red… the color of fresh arterial blood. The sun seemed to recede, choked out by a sudden, oppressive pressure that descended from the heavens like a crushing blanket, far more terrifying than the physical pressure before

In the Northern Tundras:

The Great Ice Wolves, beasts the size of mammoths, had just stopped shivering from the earlier wave. The Alpha was shaking the frost from his pelt when the red light bathed the glaciers. Instantly, his ears flattened against his skull. There was no running this time. The instinct to flee was overridden by the instinct to submit. The entire pack collapsed onto their bellies, burying their snouts in the deep snow, whimpering like pups before a master they could not see.

In the Great Valley of the Sun Clan, a place far away from Sol’s tribe: Chieftain Zerath, a giant of a man wearing the skull of a cave bear, was gripping the edge of the Council Stone, trying to stop his hands from trembling. He had just reached for his war-axe when the stone beneath his fingers began to hiss.

He looked up, and his face, scarred from a hundred battles, drained of all blood.

The flap of the main tent tore open. The Clan Elder, a withered man blind in one eye, stumbled out, clutching a necklace of fingerbones that was rattling violently.

“Zerath! Face to the ground!” the Elder shrieked, his voice cracking with a primal terror that stripped away his wisdom. “The Sky! The Sky is bleeding! It is not the wind! The Heavens have opened their Eye!”

“Is it… is it the End?” Zerath whispered, the mighty axe falling from his numb fingers.

“It is Judgment!”

In the clearing of the settlement, there was no panic, for panic requires the hope of escape. Instead, there was mass submission. Thousands of tribesmen, who had just stood up, dropped instantly back to their knees as if their strings had been cut.

Mothers pressed their children’s faces into the mud, shielding their eyes from the angry heavens. Strong warriors wept openly, foreheads grinding into the dirt, hands clasped above their heads.

“Mercy!” The cry started as a low moan and grew into a wailing chant that echoed through the red-lit valley. “The Great Spirits are angered! We beg for forgiveness!” It wasn’t just this place this exact scene was played out throughout the Ossuaria, including Sol’s own tribe as everyone knelt down and begged for mercy, for crimes they didn’t even know.

In the Dark Marshes:

A crazed shaman, his body covered in mud and bones, looked up at the bleeding sky. While the rest of the world screamed, he began to dance. He threw his head back, laughing hysterically, a sound that grated against the panic of the world.

“She is here! She is here!” he cackled, tearing at his own hair. “The Great Cleansing! The sky bleeds for Her return! Burn it all! Burn it all down!”

The panic was not localized. It was planetary. Birds fell from the sky, their hearts bursting from the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure. Even the apex predators, usually acting all arrogant, ran here and there, trying to escape the radiation of divine power leaking into the world.

It was as if the world itself was having an allergic reaction.

…

Back in the dimension inside the artifact, the push of gravity on Isylia strengthened. It was no longer just a tug; it was a violent expulsion.

Isylia stopped her proclamation mid-sentence. Her glowing hair whipped upward, drawn toward the crack in the dimension. She looked up, and through the fissure, she saw the sky of Ossuaria turning that apocalyptic red.

Her divine arrogance vanished, replaced by a look of genuine horror.

“Noooooo!” Isylia yelled.