Muri The Lightning Primordial

Chapter 12[Rumours]

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rumours

They ran.

Fast.

The jungle blurred around them—a chaos of green and brown and shadow, of leaves that slapped against their skin and roots that reached up to trip them. But Muri did not see any of it.

He felt it.

He knew it.

Every root was a memory.

Every branch was a warning.

Every dip in the earth was a map he had memorized through years of survival, years of moving through this jungle with nothing but his ears and his hands and his instincts.

His feet found purchase where there seemed to be none. He ducked under a low-hanging branch, his body twisting at the last possible moment, the rough bark brushing against his back. He vaulted over a rotting log, his hands pushing off the damp wood, his legs tucking beneath him. He wove through a thicket of thorn bushes without slowing, his body finding gaps that barely existed.

Behind him, Venit struggled to keep up.

She was fast—goddess-fast, faster than any mortal should have been—but she was not accustomed to running through a jungle while terrified in the lowest form having all her powers constricted in a mortal body. Her eyes were fixed on Muri's back, watching in disbelief as he moved.

“ How in the stars is he moving like that?!?!”

He did not stumble. He did not hesitate. He did not slow down to check his path. He simply flowed, like water finding its way through stone.

"How—" she gasped, dodging a thorny vine that nearly caught her across the face. "How are you doing that?"

"Years of practice!" he shouted back, his voice tight with adrenaline. "Keep moving! Don't stop!"

A roar thundered behind them. Closer now.

Much closer.

Muri's mind raced. The beast was fast—catlike, nimble, built for chasing prey through dense foliage. He could hear its breathing, the rhythmic thud of its paws, the swish of its tail as it corrected its trajectory. He could hear the way its claws dug into the earth, the way its muscles coiled and released with each bound.

It was gaining.

They broke through a wall of ferns into a small clearing. Muri skidded to a halt, his chest heaving, his head whipping left and right. He mapped the escape routes by sound alone—the gurgle of a stream to the right, the echo of open space ahead where the ground sloped steeply downward, the rustle of thick thorn bushes behind them.

"We need to split up," he said, turning toward where he knew Venit was. "You go left, I'll go right, we'll meet at the—"

He stopped.

She wasn't there.

Panic surged through him. "Venit?"

Then he heard her breathing. She was still in the clearing. She had stopped running.

"Venit, what are you doing? Move!"

She didn't move.

He heard her turn. Heard her voice, strange and distant, almost wondering.

"I am a primordial," she said, her words slow, as if she were realizing something for the first time. "I am the Unbound. The Sky's Unruly Daughter. I have burned mountains to ash. I have scattered stars with a whisper. I have made the heavens tremble."

The beast burst through the treeline behind her.

Muri heard it—the crash of leaves, the heavy thud of its landing, the wet growl that rumbled from its chest. It was huge. A massive cat-like creature, its body long and low, its muscles rippling beneath a coat dappled with shadow and light. It crouched, its eyes locked on Venit's back, its tail lashing as it moved towards her at full speed.

"VENIT!"

She turned.

And grabbed the beast by the throat.

The creature's momentum carried it forward, its jaws snapping, its claws extended—but Venit's arm did not budge.

Her fingers closed around its neck with a grip that should have been impossible for any mortal. The beast twisted, snarled, clawed at her. Its claws raked across her chest, tearing through the fabric of her borrowed tunic with a sound of ripping cloth. They scored lines across her skin—but they did not draw blood.

They barely left any marks that lasted more than a heartbeat.

She did not flinch.

The beast whined. A high, desperate, pitiful sound. Its claws scratched uselessly at her skin, scraping against flesh that was harder than stone, tougher than iron. Its hind legs kicked at the air, its body thrashing, but her grip was absolute.

Venit looked at it. Her face was unreadable—calm, cold, distant.

Then she pouted.

"You tore my clothes," she said, her voice flat with annoyance.

"I liked this tunic. It was comfortable. It was not even mine, but I had grown attached to it."

She tightened her grip.

There was a sharp, wet crack—the sound of bone breaking, of vertebrae snapping under pressure—and the beast went limp. Its body hung from her hand for a moment, its legs twitching, before she let it drop to the ground with a heavy, final thud.

The jungle fell silent.

No birds. No insects. No wind. Even the leaves seemed to hold their breath.

Muri stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. He had heard it all—the crack of the neck, the whine, the claws scraping against skin that did not break. And then there was the ‘presence’. For a split second—just a fraction of a heartbeat—the air around Venit had thickened, grown heavy, menacing. It pressed against his skin like a coming storm, like the weight of the sky itself bearing down on him. His instincts screamed at him to flee, to hide, to disappear.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.

Venit turned to him, her voice bright and cheerful, as if she had just swatted a particularly annoying fly. "Well? That was impressive, wasn't it? A little praise wouldn't hurt, you know. I just save your life."

Muri swallowed.

His mouth was dry.

His legs felt weak. "You... you just..."

"I saved us. You're welcome."

"With your hands…??"

"With my impeccable divine strength. I told you I was powerful. You never listen to me." She huffs with a ‘hmph’

"You broke its neck. With one hand…."

"With two fingers, actually. But who's counting?"

He took a step forward, his legs unsteady beneath him. His heart was still pounding, his breath still ragged. He wanted to thank her—he really did—but his mind was still reeling from the sheer, terrifying power he had felt radiating from her for that split second.

He reached out, his hand finding her arm.

Warm.

Solid.

Human.

He moved his hand upward, checking for injuries, feeling her shoulder, her collarbone—

His fingers brushed skin.

Bare skin.

No fabric.

He stopped. His hand was resting on her chest for a second, just above where the fabric of her tunic should have been. But there was nothing there. Just warm, smooth, exposed skin.

Soft and a mould.

He stumbled back as if burned, his face going pale, then red, then deeper red. "Your—your clothes—"

Venit looked down. The beast's claws had torn a large, jagged gash across the front of her tunic, exposing the upper curve of her chest and most of her collarbone. The fabric hung loose, barely held together by a few remaining threads.

She looked at it. Then at Muri's horrified expression. Then a slow, wicked grin spread across her face.

"Oh, this~??" She purrs

"You're—you're exposed!" He stutters and chokes on his words.

"I'm aware."

"We need to—we need to cover you up!"

"With what? Your hands? They seemed to be doing a good job finding their way there."

He sputtered, his face burning. "That—I was checking for injuries!"

"And you found boobs. Congratulations. Your diagnostic skills are impeccable." She laughs mischievously

"I didn't mean to—" Muri defends weakly

"You definitely meant to."

"I DID NOT!!" He counters strongly this time

"Your hand was on my chest, Muri." She states with a matter-of-fact tone

"To see if you were hurt!" He explains

"And what did you conclude?"

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

She laughed—a bright, clear, delighted laugh that echoed through the jungle. "You're blushing. I can hear it in your voice. Your face is the color of a ripe tomato."

"I am NOT blushing!!"

"You're definitely blushing."

"I am a grown man. I have seen—"

"Seen what exactly Muri… you're blind." She reminds him.

"I have felt—" he begins weakly, barely a whisper.

"Oh, you've felt? Tell me more. What have you felt? Where have you felt it?"

He turned away, his face burning, his hands rising to cover his ears. "Let's just go back to the village."

She fell into step beside him, still grinning, her torn tunic flapping with each step. "You know, for someone who just watched me kill a beast with my bare hands, you're surprisingly focused on a little torn fabric."

"I'm focused on the fact that you're half naked."

"Half naked is generous. It's more like... one-eighth naked. A very small fraction of exposure."

"Still naked."

"Technically, I'm still wearing most of the tunic. The structural integrity is questionable, but the coverage is adequate."

"Your chest is literally showing."

"A glimpse. A tasteful glimpse."

"There is nothing tasteful about this situation."

"I disagree. I think it's very tasteful. Artistic, even."

They walked in silence for a few steps, the torn fabric rustling with Venit's movement. Then Muri stopped, a thought occurring to him.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Why did we run?"

Venit blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You're a primordial. You can kill a beast with one hand. With two fingers. You could have ended that fight before it started." He turned toward her, his voice rising.

"Why did we run for half a mile through the jungle while I nearly broke my neck dodging trees and jumping over logs and—and—why?"

She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was smaller than usual. "I guess I panicked."

"You panicked???"

"I'm not used to being chased while in my mortal form!" Her voice rose in defense. "Besides I'm usually the one doing the chasing! I'm the hunter, not the hunted! And everything happened so fast, and you were running, and I just... followed. It was instinct."

Muri stared at her.

The silence stretched.

Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. A wide, delighted, mischievous grin.

"The great goddess. The Unbound. The Fastest and Hardest Striker. The Sky's Unruly Daughter." He paused for effect. "Afraid of a big cat."

"I was NOT afraid. I was... surprised."

"You were scared." He saif with a smug tone.

"I was startled, there's a difference."

"You felt fear."

"I felt adrenaline."

"You're a self-proclaimed divinity, and you felt fear." He laughed—a genuine, warm, unrestrained laugh. "That's beautiful. That's the best thing I've heard all day."

"Shut up."

"No, no, this is going in my memory forever. The day the goddess ran from a kitty."

"It was NOT a kitty. It was a fully grown shadow-stalker, a predatory beast that can bring down a grown man in seconds."

"A kitty. A big, scary kitty with claws."

"I will strike you with lightning."

"You just saved my life. You're not going to strike me."

"Don't test me."

"I'm not testing. I'm daring. There's a difference."

She made a sound of pure frustration, but there was no real anger in it. If anything, she seemed almost amused.

"Fine," she said. "Laugh all you want. But remember that I saved your life. You owe me."

"I'll repay you with dinner."

"You'll repay me with respect."

"I'll give you both. But the respect is negotiable."

They reached the clearing where the beast had been feeding. The carcass of its kill lay in the underbrush—a large deer, still fresh, barely touched. The smell of blood and raw meat hung heavy in the air.

Muri stopped, his senses taking in the scene. He could hear the flies beginning to gather, the rustle of insects drawn to the feast. The deer was warm, freshly killed. A gift, in its own way.

"Well," he said, his tone shifting to practicality, "at least we have dinner."

He knelt beside the carcass, pulling out his knife. His hands moved with practiced efficiency—cutting, peeling, separating meat from bone. He worked quickly, taking only what they could carry and eat before it spoiled. A hindquarter. Some strips from the back. A few choice organs that his mother could use for broth.

Venit watched, her arms crossed, the torn tunic hanging loose around her. "You're not going to take the whole thing?"

"Too heavy. And it would spoil before we could eat it all. The jungle doesn't waste. Something else will find this and finish it."

"Practical."

"I have my moments."

He finished, wiped his knife on the grass, and slung the satchel over his shoulder. The weight of the meat was satisfying—a good haul, enough for several meals.

"Let's go," he said. "Before something else finds us."

They emerged from the jungle into the village as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon.

The first thing Muri noticed was the silence.

Not the natural silence of evening, when the day's work wound down and families gathered for dinner. This was a watching silence. The kind of silence that came when people stopped what they were doing to stare.

He heard whispers. Low, rapid, spreading like ripples in a pond, growing wider and wider.

"There he is…"

"Look at them."

"What happened to her clothes?"

"Is that blood on him? On both of them?"

"Look at his hair. Look at hers."

"They've been in the jungle all afternoon."

Muri frowned. He was sweaty, disheveled, his dreadlocks tangled and hanging every which way. Dirt streaked his face. There was a small tear in his own tunic from a branch he hadn't quite dodged. He looked like he had been through a war and he barely knew.

But Venit was worse.

Her hair was wild, tangled with leaves and twigs. Her face was flushed from the run. Her arms were streaked with dirt and the faint remnants of the beast's blood. And her tunic—the borrowed, modest tunic that Sena had given her—was torn across the chest in a jagged line, exposing far more than was appropriate for a village evening.

The whispers grew louder.

"Did they...?"

"In the jungle? "

“ Quite bold...”

"He must have proven himself. Just like his rite."

"Look at her. Look at him."

“ Close your eyes child.”

Muri stopped walking. His head turned, trying to parse the fragments of conversation that drifted toward him from every direction.

"What are they saying?" Venit asked, her voice low, laced with amusement.

"I don't know. Something about... me? Us?"

A woman's voice, clear and scandalized, cut through the murmurs: "He took her into the jungle and handled her. That's why her clothes are torn. That's why she looks like that."

Muri's brain stopped functioning.

"What?"

Another voice, male, approving: "The boy finally became a man. Good for him. Took him long enough."

"Wait—" Muri turned, his voice rising in panic. "No! That's not—we didn't—a beast did that! Her clothes were torn by a beast!!"

"Oh, I'm sure they were," someone said, their voice dripping sacarsm

“ Quite a ferocious beat indeed…”

"A literal beast! A shadow-stalker! It attacked us!"

"And she lost her clothes in the fight? Convenient."

"We were RUNNING!"

"Running. Sure."

"It's the truth!"

"Don't bother," Venit said, her voice dry as bone. "They've already decided."

"They think I—with you—in the jungle—"

"Technically, you did handle me in the jungle."

"I DID NOT HANDLE YOU."

"You grabbed my chest."

"I was checking if you were injured!"

"And then you blushed."

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"

The whispers grew louder. A few people were laughing. Someone clapped him on the back as he passed, and he heard a gruff, approving voice say, "Good work, boy. Welcome to manhood."

Muri stood in the middle of the village, his face burning, his hands raised in futile protest, as the rumors spread like wildfire through the clan. He could hear them multiplying, evolving, growing more elaborate with each retelling.

"He wrestled a shadow-stalker with his bare hands."

"He killed it to impress the nomad woman."

"She was so impressed she let him—"

"She was so impressed she helped him—"

"Her clothes were torn because they were celebrating—"

Muri turned to Venit, his voice a strangled whisper. "They think I—with you—in the jungle—after killing a beast—"

"To be fair, that is a rather impressive story."

"I didn't kill the beast! You did!"

"Details."

"I am NEVER going to live this down."

"No," she agreed, her voice bright with glee. "No, you are not."

She laughed—a bright, unashamed, delighted laugh that carried across the village—and followed him toward his mother's hut, thoroughly enjoying every moment of his humiliation.

Behind them, the whispers continued to grow.

And somewhere in the village, someone was already composing a song about the blind boy who became a man in the jaws of a shadow-stalker.