Wandering monsters, trapped trails, lurking ambush predators. All kinds of fun, really especially when you started jogging down a trail. However, a day and a half in to the crossroads and Arthur was figuring he had this.
Spitting frogs were dodged, Arthur not even bothering to slow down to kill them. Damn things had a habit of leaping away, and unless he wanted to waste precious Refined Energy, killing them with his sling took time and effort. Time better spent just jogging away. They didn’t pursue, not too far, once you got out of range so there was no point in pushing the matter. Better to keep running, heading for the next trap.
Pit traps, the occasional grabby vines or leaves or the explosive thorned roadside plants were either weathered, avoided or outrun. His innate healing helped push out thorns on the regular basis and with his attention turned inwards a little as he ran, Arthur found himself learning how to manipulate his flesh and the flow of power a little better. Squeezing out thorns, fixing minor problems within him.
He even, occasionally, tried to work out what to do about the scarred over missing portion of his ear. Once it was healed, he could not fix it further, and allowing his body to naturally heal things didn’t exactly work. Sure, the Tower pulled you towards optimal, such that breaks and scars smoothed over eventually or even toughened up, but it wasn’t the same thing as replacing missing bits.
A part of him remembered a little science he’d learnt, about how humans all had the same stem cells at birth which eventually became the different cells of the body. It had been a big idea in research - was still - in making use of such things to basically rebuild organs and the like. Supposedly, there were even companies that provided replacement organs using that kind of research.
In the West that was and other fully developed countries for the super rich.
Nothing like that in Malaysia or other third world countries, no. They didn’t have the money to pay for the necessary tests beforehand, the individualised organs being grown. They had to do the usual thing - wait for an organ to come around through donations, pay someone under the table to go under the knife or make friends with the triads or underworld and acquire said organs another way.
Of course, he’d only ever heard rumors of the last. Whether it was just a tall tale or something that could really be done, he’d never looked into. Didn’t really want to find out, even if he could have asked. Some things, you didn’t ever want to know.
Not if you wanted to continue sleeping or ignoring where some of your meal deliveries went.
The other option, of course, was the way kacak did it. They lost tails all the time, it was even a common -and somewhat cruel - game played by children in Malaysia. Catching the ubiquitous lizards - or were they technically geckos? - that were present everywhere, climbing around the house. Pulling the tails off the kacak and watching it twitch, even as the creature ran away. No one actually killed them though because they ate that most annoying of pests - the mosquito.
Of course, he had no idea how the kacak grew back their missing parts. Jellyfish or was it squid had that ability too. Something in their genes he vaguely recalled, or was it some chemical or lack of it that helped them do that.
He knew he had to work it out eventually since somewhere in there was the clue to pushing his skill ahead. Until then, he would try and try again with the various flows without a clue of what he was trying to do, much like a monkey might smack a bunch of buttons. Except, unlike the monyet he could sense the differences in chi flows.
Not that he could pay that much attention on all this, what with the random monsters and traps.
Still, by the time it was late evening, he was beginning to get the idea he might be on the right trail. It wasn't very common, and it might have been weeks or months old, but Arthur had spotted tracks in the earth. Deep, rutted tracks that spoke of a heavy vehicle. A caravan perhaps, or a wheelbarrow being pushed ahead, maybe a mini cart.
Either way, it was clear to Arthur that someone or something had gone through the trail before. It couldn’t be months, since not long afterwards, a torrential downpour started. Arthur slowed down, what with visibility dropping from a good twenty or thirty feet - basically until the trail turned, dipped or otherwise shifted so that vegetation was in the way - to barely a few feet across.
That was the thing with real heavy rain in the tropics. It came down so hard, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Try to run across the street, you get drenched in water. Within moments, just a dozen feet and you might as well have taken a real shower.
From a slow jog Arthur slowed further again, till he was barely faster than a fast walk. He couldn’t see anything, not even the sides of the trail next to him, just blurs of green and brown. The downpour made the earth muddy, every step sucking at his boots, causing him to exert ever more energy to walk. It grew slippery too, tiny streams of water turning into rivulets which then became streams that flowed in small waterfalls all around.
Mud churned, traps that were set to capture him began to fail.
Grasping leaves curled up, reacting to the touch and pressure of the rain. Vines laid across the ground sprang into the air, shaking as branches retracted, empty nooses abound. Pit traps were revealed, open gaping holes all across the trail that he leapt over. Worse was the rumbling, the constant thunder that came from the sky and the rocks and mountain all coming loose.
Coming down.
Landslides that were meant to start when he was there, instability all across the mountain set-off by the heavy downpour. Environmental effects that, when Arthur realised what was happening, had him slow down further until he came to a full stop in the middle of the trail, feeling the rain pound down on him, washing him clean.
He stood there, head raised, his spear sunk into the ground - tip down - next to him. Best not to be holding onto it, though he would have been incredibly unlucky to be struck by lightning considering the number of tall trees all around him.
Of course, he was also standing in rivulets of water, so it didn’t need to hit him direct. Just close enough to burn.
Eyes closed, listening to the noise high above, listening to the patter of rain. He took his helmet off, felt his hair get plastered to his skull. He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbed at it again and again to clear some blood and dirt. Enjoyed the water running through him, the cold liquid.
For the first time, he relaxed. Not all the way, he couldn't do that. But significantly, because there was nothing out there, nothing he could sense, nothing he could see. His world was drowned in water and thunder and that was fine enough, at least for now. It was peaceful, a sense of danger just lurking in the wings.
After a while, he shivered a little. Put the helmet on his head, stripped the vambraces and elbow guards and rerebrace off his right arm. Then, he moved to wash the rest of his arm. Waited, himself as best he could, repeated the process on his other arm, around his legs. One by one, step by step, keeping only the cup and breastplate on. Knowing better to remove those right around now, even as rain seeped its way through his breastplate, into his jacket and clothing beneath.
Rivulets of water, slowly dripping out from under his breastplate. Dirty and blood mixing together, dripping into his underwear and shoes. All of it squishy and disgusting but leaving him cleaner, finally, for the first time in a long time.
He exhaled, grateful. Relaxed. Thankful for the rain.
Of course, that was when it arrived.