The Primal Blood Demonic Dragon
Chapter 62: Cht 62: Consequence Of Prerequisite

Chapter 62: Cht 62: Consequence Of Prerequisite

Lines of veins appeared from sole of feet upto forehead. Not even an inch of energy is flowing through pathways. Muscles, limbs aren’t moving, not even lips, eye lids and fingers. Except consciousness everything else have been shut down itself.

’Musa shook his head inside bracelet seeing him in such sorry state and thought that Gin really overused the power amplifier this time and after-effect is pretty much intense.

’Mu... sa.’ With great difficulty Gin called him through their link.

’Yes, Master. At your service.’

’Get the... corpse and move me somewhere hidden...f.. from sight of any beasts.’ Even through soul link, his words are getting stuck like some drunkard.

Musa agreed without second thought and came out of bracelet in form of soul body.

’Hide me...’ he murmured. "They are coming, Don’t let them... find me.’ Even with all senses becoming dull, survival instinct is working without any hitch.

Musa only looked around for any shelter ’Damn! it seems with all other senses block, his instinct is running on full drive. There is not one beast in my range of spiritual sense.’

The ancient tree loomed over them like a monument to a forgotten age, its bark thick and coiled, its trunk hollowed by time and rot but still strong. Musa passed Gin into the trunk hole high above and laid him down among the mossy interior. It was cool inside, quiet. A sanctuary wrapped in bark and shadow.

’I’ll keep watch’ Musa informed. Leaving him to recover from the state Gin have gotten into ’Rest, my master.’

And then he floated upward, passing through the bark, lifting himself weightless, silent and unseen.

He rose above the tree top like mist, his soul form untethered by gravity or disturbance.

From his position at the treetop canopy, Musa saw what Gin had foreseen.

They were coming.

Drawn by the scent of blood and the disturbance of the wilderness, demon beasts descended upon the battlefield like vultures to a fresh corpse. One by one at first. Then in twos. Then in dozens. And within the hour... hundreds.

Thousands.

They came from every direction, crashing through thickets, soaring above the treeline, slithering across the forest floor. Some stalked, others galloped. Their growls and screeches echoed in the canopy like thunder and wind. These were not mere predators. These were apex terrors, each one a horror in its own right.

From the south, a pride of crimson crawlers, six-limbed feline beasts with serrated fangs and tails tipped with bone scythes, prowled into the bloodstained clearing. Their red eyes glinted with hunger.

From the eastern ridge obsidian Kriks, half-rhino, half-reptile brutes, each weighing more than like small mountain, stormed into view. Snorting molten air from their snouts, their volcanic hides glowing with internal fire.

From the west, slithering across the earth in silence came the nightshade shaps. Snake like creatures with frills of venomous barbs and heads that split open when they roared.

Overhead skyrazors circled. Winged skeletal birds trailing trails of wind slicing element tailing behind them, their cries like shards of glass tearing through the air.

And those were just the first.

Musa floated high above the chaos, watching as the ancient trees around filled with beasts of every type, beings of shadow, flame, water, lightning all basic elements available with dark element. Rare species hardly encountered outside. Experiments of nature and creation energies. They converged, drawn to the battlefield where panther’s blood and energy still lingered like incense to wolves.

At first they paced, sized each other up. Some sniffed the air, others roared as a warning.

Then the inevitable happened.

A blightback howler canine and skeletal with fungal growths across its back, lunged at a pack of flaremanes. Fiery lion-like beasts whose manes rippled with embers. The flaremanes retaliated instantly and in seconds the clearing exploded into madness.

That one strike was a spark.

Dozens of fights ignited at once.

No beast tolerated another of a different kind. Alliances doesn’t exist. It was raw, instinctual war. Every creature recognized only its own race. All others were enemies.

A boreal Titan, frost-skinned and thirty feet tall, slammed into a magma mam that belched rivers of lava as it roared. Their clash sent shockwaves through the forest, toppling trees. Vines ignited. Streams froze over and cracked.

The skyrazors dove from above, slicing through the eyes and joints of grounded brutes before being swatted from the sky by wind-drenched tails or exploding into feathers under ice bursts.

The nightshade shaps wove through the battlefield, spitting gouts of acid that melted flesh and armor-like scales alike. But even they were not safe, torn apart by sand-slick limbs of granite stalkers, chameleon beasts that burst from the earth with earthen blades for arms.

The forest screamed.

Musa watched in stillness. His soul-form flickered faintly in the canopy wind, untouched and unseen. But he felt the vibrations—through the trees, through the soil, through the very energy of the world.

The vegetated ground remembered Gin’s power and panther’s might.

And now it wept blood for it.

Hours passed.

Morning melted into noon, noon into dusk. Still the beasts came. Still they clashed. Energies surged and elemental forces collided. Water boiled into steam. Earth was scorched black. Lightning lanced through frost. Fire collided with wind. And through it all, there was no purpose. No strategy.

Only rage. Hunger. Territory. And the primal need to dominate.

By midnight, the forest had changed entirely.

The battlefield once a green tree zone was now a wasteland. A graveyard. Trees burned like torches or lay shattered like bones. Pools of blood mingled with toxic ichor, elemental ash, and molten slag. The air reeked of death, but still the final few survivors battled, dragging their broken bodies toward any movement they could sense, howling with pain and fury.

And then... silence.

It came suddenly.

The last of the flaremanes collapsed, its mane flickering out like a dying candle. The last of the kriks, half-blind and limping, vanished into the northern wilds. A single tempest drake limped away, its wings shredded, dragging a tail snapped at the base.

Out of the thousands that had come, perhaps a hundred remained. Then fifty. Then fewer.

By dawn, fewer than a dozen.

And then... none.

They were gone.

Those that lived had fled. Those that didn’t... fed the soil.

For the first time in over a day, the forest stood still.

Musa descended slowly, drifting the soul. The battlefield below was thick with death. Some corpses steamed where energy cores had ruptured. Others lay still, torn and shredded. No scavengers had come yet. Even they feared what had happened here.

It had been more than a bloodbath. It had been a natural disaster, an ecosystem collapse engineered by nothing but residual scent, primal instinct, and another beast’s near-death presence.

He returned to the hollow tree.

Inside, Gin had not moved, but his breathing had stabilized. The chaotic aura that once surrounded him had faded and Musa could feel the energy once again beginning to coursing through still faint but no longer stopped.

Gin’s eyes fluttered open seconds later and their gazes met.

"It’s over." Musa informed although knowing Gin might have already sensed that.

Gin blinked and then slowly sat up by himself. His face was pale but he have a faint smile.

"How bad?"

"Thousands came, master. Less than fifty walked away. None remained."

Gin looked out through the slit in the tree bark, toward the scarred forest beyond. "A little too many tailed the smell..."

Musa nodded. "Yes. And they silenced each other which bought us a graveyard of corpses." Musa said while glancing back to the ruin. "But no other beast will search this battlefield now. Hopefully."

For a moment, there was only silence between them.

Then Gin leaned back against the tree’s interior wall, closing his eyes once more. Musa went back in bracelet knowing his work has been done.

It was the first normal sound Gin had heard after more than a day.

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To Be Continued.