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Its gaze turned the living to stone — not by magic, but by terror the body could not survive.
primordia
#13
Its gaze turned the living to stone — not by magic, but by terror the body could not survive.
The Basilisk did not hunt with speed or strength. It did not need claws or
crushing jaws or elemental fury. It had only its eyes — ancient, unblinking,
filled with something that no living creature could withstand. To meet the
Basilisk's gaze was to feel every instinct in your body shut down at once.
Not from magic — the First Beasts had no need for such things. It was
something older: a terror so primal, so deeply woven into the fabric of life
itself, that the body simply surrendered. Muscles locked. Blood stilled.
Breath stopped. And in the space between one heartbeat and the next, flesh
became stone. The petrified forests and fields of strange stone figures found
in the oldest swamps of the world are the Basilisk's gallery — a silent
museum of everything that once looked into those eyes and could not look away.
It slithered from the swamps slowly, patiently, knowing it never needed to
rush. Nothing that saw it ever ran fast enough.
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