The Primeval Era-Chapter 112: Death I

They flew across the Lands of Stone in formation, three figures cutting through the afternoon sky.

Damian noticed something strange after the first hour. Masamuk was leading them in a path that curved and wound through territories rather than heading straight toward their destination. The slime would veer east when west seemed logical, would arc around forests that could easily be crossed, would take them through valleys when flying over mountains would be faster.

"Why...are we going this way?"

His voice carried across the wind to Masamuk’s obsidian form.

The slime’s crimson eyes flickered with something heavy. His body pulsed once, stellar blue points dimming slightly before he answered.

"The straight path would take us through some of the... unfortunate destruction. From before our forces came together to form this current alliance."

Damian’s expression grew cloudy.

He understood what Masamuk wasn’t saying. The Primal Surge had rolled through these territories for hours before the Beast Lords gave their order to halt. Tribes had been flattened. Lives had been lost. And Masamuk was trying to spare them the sight of what his kind had done.

"Let’s see the results of the choices that others make."

His voice was calm and final.

Masamuk studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. The slime adjusted their course, and they flew straight.

The landscape shifted beneath them as they traveled.

They passed over regions where stone dominated everything, vast expanses of gray and brown rock broken only by hardy shrubs that had somehow found purchase in the cracks. Ancient riverbeds carved channels through the stone, dry now but speaking of waters that had flowed in ages past.

Formations rose from the flats like frozen waves, sculpted by wind and time into shapes that seemed almost deliberate.

Damian saw animals moving among the rocks below.

Hyraxes basked on sun-warmed stones, their small bodies clustered together for warmth despite the afternoon heat. Larger creatures moved in the shadows of overhangs, shapes he couldn’t quite identify from this altitude. A pair of secretary birds stalked through dry grass, their long legs carrying them with predatory grace as they hunted for serpents.

The stone regions gave way to scattered woodlands.

Baobab trees rose from the earth like inverted giants, their massive trunks swollen with stored water, their branches reaching toward the sky like roots seeking purchase in the clouds. Some of these trees were ancient beyond measure, their bark scarred by generations of animals and weather. Damian could sense faint Mana emanating from the oldest ones, power accumulated across centuries of silent growth.

"Those trees."

Serala’s voice carried a note of recognition.

"The Covenant calls them the Pillars of the First Age. Legend says they were planted by spirits who wanted to connect the earth to the heavens."

Masamuk bounced slightly on his position near Damian’s shoulder.

"We call them the Fat Ones. Because they’re fat."

Serala shot the slime a look of disdain. Masamuk seemed entirely unbothered.

They crossed a river that gleamed silver in the sunlight.

Massive shapes moved beneath its surface, crocodiles longer than boats drifting with lazy patience. These weren’t Primal Beasts, just ordinary predators grown large on plentiful prey. But their eyes tracked the flying figures above with cold interest, ancient hunger stirring behind those reptilian gazes.

Beyond the river, the forests grew thicker.

Canopies wove together overhead, creating tunnels of green shade that blocked out the sun entirely in places. Damian could hear the calls of birds echoing through the trees, sounds he didn’t recognize mixing with others that felt almost familiar. A flash of crimson feathers darted between branches, followed by another, a whole flock of fire finches moving through the forest like scattered embers.

And among the trees, he saw larger things.

A Grootslang raised its elephant-like head as they passed overhead, serpentine body coiled around an ancient trunk. Its eyes held intelligence that went beyond simple animal cunning, and Mana pulsed faintly around its form. A Flesh Awakening beast, perhaps early Bone Tempering. Powerful enough to crush ordinary humans, but nothing compared to the forces they traveled with.

It watched them pass and made no move to interfere.

Further in, Damian spotted a family of Popobawa hanging from branches, their bat-like bodies folded around each other in daytime rest. Their single eyes were closed, but he could sense the Mana circulating through their forms even in sleep. Blood Ignition, at least. Maybe higher.

The forests thinned as they approached a mountain range.

These peaks weren’t Sacred Mountains like Vorrath. They held no Noble Beasts, no accumulated power of ages. But Primal Beasts had still claimed them as territory, and Damian could see evidence of their presence everywhere. Claw marks on stone. Nests built into cliff faces. The bones of prey animals scattered across ledges like grim decorations.

A Impundulu perched on the highest peak, its feathers crackling with captured lightning.

It watched them approach with eyes that burned like storm-clouds, its body tense and ready for conflict. But Masamuk pulsed once with Mana, sending some signal Damian couldn’t perceive, and the lightning bird relaxed. It dipped its head in acknowledgment as they passed.

"Beast Lords have privileges," Masamuk explained without being asked. "Lesser beasts know better than to interfere with our movements."

They continued.

And then..they saw it.

The destroyed tribe came into view without warning, the forest parting to reveal what had once been a settlement. Damian’s breath caught in his chest as he took in the scale of destruction.

Huts had been reduced to scattered debris, mud and timber and thatch strewn across an area that stretched for hundreds of meters. The walls that had once protected this place were gone entirely, not broken but simply erased, ground into the earth by forces too massive to resist.

Cooking fires had been scattered, their contents spilled across trampled ground. Storage pits had been torn open, grain and dried meat mixed with blood and mud.

And the bodies.

They were everywhere.

Men lay where they had tried to stand and fight, their weapons still clutched in hands that would never move again. Their bodies had been crushed, broken, torn apart by claws and teeth and the simple weight of creatures too large to comprehend. Some had died quickly. Others... hadn’t.

Women lay among them, some clutching children to their chests as if maternal love could shield flesh from the fury of beasts. Their faces were frozen in expressions of terror and desperation, final moments captured in death like sculptures of grief. Blood had pooled beneath them and dried in the afternoon sun, painting the lands in shades of rust and brown. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

And the children.

Damian’s eyes found a small form near the edge of the devastation.

A child, perhaps five or six summers old, lay on the trampled ground. Its hand was still wrapped around its mother’s fingers, tiny digits interlaced with larger ones in a grip that death itself hadn’t been able to break. Neither of them was moving. Neither of them would ever move again.

They had died together.

Holding hands.

"..."

Damian stared at that image and felt something crack inside his chest.

He had seen death before. He had witnessed the fall of an empire, had watched his people murdered, had spent eight years learning that the Lands of Stone were cruel beyond measure. He thought he understood what cruelty meant.

But this...

These weren’t warriors who had chosen to fight. These weren’t Anointed Ones who had accepted the risks of their path. These were farmers and craftsmen and elders and children. People who had simply been trying to survive in a world that had never given them a chance.

And they had been erased.

Not for any crime they had committed. Not for any offense they had given. But simply because they had been in the path of forces they couldn’t comprehend, caught between powers that saw them as acceptable losses in conflicts they had no part in.

His jaw tightened.

His hands clenched around his spear.

Beside him, Serala had gone still.

Her wing-shaped pupils were fixed on the carnage below, moving from body to body as if cataloging each face, each position, each final moment of terror. The Holy Daughter of Stone, raised in temples and trained in the philosophies of the Covenant, forced to witness what happened when those philosophies failed.

She looked at the mothers clutching their children.

She looked at the children clutching their mothers.

And something in her eyes changed.

The warmth that occasionally softened her regal bearing disappeared entirely. What remained was cold. The eyes of someone who had just added names to a list that would be paid in blood.

Masamuk floated lower, his obsidian body pulsing with irregular light.

"I...am sorry."

His voice was quiet. Genuinely pained.

"This was before. I can’t imagine-"

"It’s okay."

Damian interrupted without looking at him.

"There are many to hold responsible. Let’s keep going."

...!