A giant babi ngepit, waiting for him at the top of a minor rise. It pawed the ground, snorting out loud, small - proportionally - tusks tossed on the head as it continues to attempt to intimidate Arthur. He considered the creature, the massive roaming mini-boss of this level and sighed at his luck.
Dealing with it would be tricky. He was on a ridge, one side nothing more than open air and the other, a cliff face that rose up for another twenty, thrity feet before turning into a gentle slope. Arthur had a plan for what he intended to do, and the only question was whether to utilize his stored Refined Exploding Energy Dart now or when it attacked him. The question was whether his attack had enough energy to blow pass its thick hide, or if he was going to have to get in deep. Or utilize his Imbued Strike.
Of course, most importantly, he had to avoid its initial charge.
Feet pounding the dirt, the squat, moving house body of the creature surprisingly fast. Before Arthur knew it, the creature had crossed half the distance and forcing him to reevaluate his intentions.
One, two, three steps and then he leapt sideways. Same way he avoided giant bouncing boulders, Arthur leapt away from the charging boar. He turned his head as the creature barelled past him, slowing down as it realised its prey was gone, tusk attempting to land a strike on the fast moving flea.
The Refined Exploding Energy Dart smashed into the body in the space just behind the join of the leg and about midway in the body. Flesh and blood and chunks of meat flew through the air, even as Arthur kicked off the formed cloud. Bouncing himself back onto the trail and landing with a flourish, taking one, two steps so that he could put his spear into the ground and ready for the attack.
At least, that was the plan.
What he didn't see until too late were the mildly glowing footsteps. What he didn't realise were the increasing amounts of energy pooling in the steps.
When they blew up, it threw him sideways. By the time he recovered, legs aching, body torn up from flying rocks and shrapnel, ears ringing and mind blurry with smoke and clouds in the air, the boar had turned around and was charging him. Without time to actually set himself or his weapons, he threw himself away and to the side in the direction that he was leaning in anyway. He hit the ground, rolled and kept rolling, not intending to get caught by the trampling feet.
Forgetting, briefly, that he was on a cliff.
He remembered, of course, when he was plunging through the air.
***
Arthur hit the slope hard, bounced a few times into open air, hammered the side of his head into a branch of a damn tree sticking out as he careened off the side of the hill. He twisted, trying to reorient himself by pure instinct as blood from a torn open scalp dribbled freely. He knew it was likely only a minor wound that was bleeding heavy, though the concussion that was exerbated after getting blown up and smacked around wasn't minor at all, but the damn blood was stopping from seeing and he had to get his feet right, get ready to hit the ground and...
Branches, foliage, his body striking a tree trunk. He slammed into it, bounced around, doing his best to keep his limbs in close and take the attacks on his armour. The helmet, the breastplates and greaves and all the rest helped, spreading the damage across him rather than letting it smash into one spot.
He had still fallen tens of feet, hundrds, he wasn't sure. Enough, at least, that he was cracking branches of magical trees and being a bouncing ball.
By the time he slammed into the earth, he was all kinds of shaken and bruised and pretty certain that his hip had popped out of joint and he'd wrenched his back. Somehow he managed to be lucky enough only to crack a few ribs or maybe dislocate them, and leave his head mostly attached.
What wasn't attached? His backpack, his spear and half his survival gear.
Also, his senses.
He just lay there, somehow still awake. Somehow, managing to keep himself functioning long enough to crawl and put himself against the edge of a still shaking tree. To clean his face, just enough so that he could see what was happening around him. He grunted, finding the torn open flap at the side of his head and pushed fingers into the hanging piece of skin, hissing as fresh pain bloomed. Sticky warmth, flesh sliding on bone and skin underneath already swelling.
His head swam, twisting and turning and he found himself pulling at his energy, hunting for his healing technique so that he could begin the process of actively healing himself. His head was pounding too much, his focus drifting too often that he ended giving up. Realising he was best not managing his own energy, not unless he needed it.
Instead, he leaned against the ground, the kris fumbled into his hand as he waited.
Lost and uncertain, without his various tools and resources. Not even his spear, which was going to be a problem. Or even his...
Oh. He did have his pouch, which was attached over and over again because he was that paranoid. So not that disastrous.
Just mostly.
***
His luck returned. He'd only had to kill four leeches and two carrion rodent-like creatures that had attempted to get to him, intent on swallowing him whole. Good things, because even fighting them had left him panting and in agony, muscles and parts of him that he hadn't even imagined being able to hurt throbbing. Who knew that there was a muscle right next to your tailbone that really, really didn't like it when you had a dislocated hip and moved.
Arthur did, now.
Thankfully, his body healed. Slowly, in fits and starts as energy had to build up before bones slotted into place or tendons tightened. Shards of bone were pushed out, cracks patched over, the wound in his head sticking properly. He didn't even want to know the type of scarring he would get, though thankfully, the Tower would eventually sweep that away he knew. At least with his refined healing technique always running.
Still not fun.
Eventually, he managed to get his feet under him. Stand up, weapon still in one hand and limp around the vicinity, searching for his equipment. He found some of the pouches that contained his survival gear, the simple pieces of string - metal and fishing - and tent pegs, carving knives and a folding cup to drink water from. He found his pack that contained his first aid kit, used to help keep parts of him together long enough for the healing to kick in.
Everything hurt as he moved around, his injuries nowhere near healed. The healing technique was putting him back together, and he had managed to guide enough of it to his head to reduce the wooziness and pounding, so that his vision only blurred and shifted into multiples once in a while.
Moving around, collecting his goods, knowing he couldn't stay here too long. Tower monsters weren't regular creatures, they didn't run away from trouble but towards it. Eventually, something nastier - like a harimau or a pack of monkeys would arrive and he would have to contend with them. Not something he wanted to deal with, or probably could.
The entire floor was meant to keep people moving, only a few hours rest here and there before the attacks ramped up. So he needed to keep walking in a circle, widening it as he found his stuff and hope that he could locate his spear. His backpack had a change of clothing, comfort items and things that would make life easier - ropes and pitons, more knives and plates, fresh underwear and some food to chew on to keep him sane - but it was not necessary.
His spear on the other hand, that he needed.
Now he really wished he had some way of calling it to him, of locating the damn thing. Too bad there had been no enchantment that did that. All he could do was walk, hoping it wasn't stuck in the foliage out of sight.
And figure out where he was.