Just for a moment, Tyrus contemplated quitting on the spot. Shouting ‘yield’ into Tracer had popped into his mind many times. He had even uttered the first two letters before stopping himself at the last second. The thought of backing out when he was so close to becoming an explorer got the better of him, even while there was a horde of beasts hot on his trail.
The sound of dozens of feet pounding onto the wetlands echoed through every corner of the Wasteful Wetlands. Every so often would a sharp whistle ring out, momentarily cutting through his ears like a club smacking against his skull. Adding to the problem, he was in unfamiliar terrain, struggling to navigate as the dark energy saturating the air grew stronger. It felt like he was creeping closer to it, yet he had little a choice to turn around or ignore the gnawing unease.
Dashing through the dense undergrowth of the wetlands, his heart pounded like the war drums of old. Behind him, dozens of lizardmen, their scaled forms blending with the fog, pursued him relentlessly. The air was thick with the stench of the marsh, and every footstep sent a squelch echoing through the muck. Water seeped into his boots while his garments clung to his skin like hungry leeches. Through the acrid smell did the sun pierce through with its golden rays.
Through low-lying shrubs and trees, Tyrus heard the hissing calls and guttural growls of the reptiles, their voices drifting through the air. When he took a quick peek over his shoulder, he caught sight of a spear catapulted from the distance and embedding itself to a nearby tree, splattering wood shavings everywhere.
Startled by the commotion, birds took flight, their wings flapping noisily as they fled the scene. A crocodile that was lying dormant under a nearby pond had sunk into its depths and swam away. An icy shiver traveled down Tyrus' skin as he picked up the pace.
“I messed up really bad! I should’ve known that beast had more friends nearby! It must’ve been some kind of scout, looking around for whatever reason!”
Tyrus spared Tracer another glance before another spear arrived, this time piercing the ground next to him. His heart did front-flips as he leaped onto a dry rock floating in water. Three at a time did he hop onto the next available rock, traversing the path in under two seconds. Once across, he looked around for a possible escape.
All that caught his eye were overgrown roots threatening to split rocks in half, twisting vines, rotting walkways, and more trees. And through the lowered visibility and amalgamation of numerous noises basking in his head, he did not know where to run or hide to. What options remained were to either continue running with augmentation and hope he loses his pursuers quickly yet drain his mana in the process, or stay and fight.
Neither scenario seemed all that great to him.
If he stayed and fight, there was one glaring problem he had yet to know. The specific amount of enemies chasing after him was still unknown, and depending on that amount would judge his chances of victory. Given his struggle with just one, the dozen made his chances even bleaker. But if they were to surround him and use that hiding in the fog trick? He was as good as dead.
As for running, he would be wasting his stamina and mana when that could be used later. Sure he was in a dangerous situation that would warrant such actions, but a nagging feeling like a small thorn hiding beneath his skin pricked at him. It was hard to describe it, but Tyrus felt as if he should limit himself as much as possible. The corrupted mana he was steadily approaching only amplified that feeling. Just why did he feel that way?
“Kill the Beastfolk!”
His thoughts were snapped when two more spears exploded onto the scene. This time, the faint outlines of the reptiles became clearer, and their scent grew stronger, along with the sound of their roaring footsteps. Tyrus clicked his tongue and continued his sprint through the Wasteful Wetlands. Before long, he burst through the thick foliage and returned to the skeleton trees and scattered rocks.
Tyrus leaped over one large boulder, landing on a big puddle of water that seeped into his coat and tunic. Through twists and turns, he navigated past one particularly large willow tree rooted in the middle of a path he had taken. No matter if he hid behind or on top of the tree, the reptiles were still close.
He slid underneath a looping branch, kicking up mud and water droplets. He passed by frogs that matched the ground’s color and even sickly green slimes three times bigger than the ones in Wildwood. One even stood in Tyrus way, its body squirming as a mouth-like hole began forming.
“I don’t have time for this!”
He released a Lightning Bolt right at the opening. Half of its gelatinous body exploded, soaking the ground with its remains. Instead of outright dying from the blow, the scattered pieces quivered before slithering into a pile separate from the main body. Instead of staying to find out what would happen, Tyrus had already sprinted past.
That slime was definitely still alive, he said to himself. He was curious about what would occur next for the creature, yet he had more important matters to attend to, like running for his dear life from some ravenous beasts that hated his guts.
Seriously, why were they so hell-bent on catching him? Probably because he killed one of their scouts, but there might’ve been a different underlying reason. He couldn’t really ask them or else he risked having a spear sticking out of his back.
On second thought, wouldn’t the enchanted coat protect him instead? He hadn’t tested how much physical damage it could take. Mostly because he was too afraid of biting off more than he could chew and accidentally injuring himself. Could it deflect the swing of a sword or being raked by claws?
“Snap out of it, Tyrus. Think of escaping!”
Those reptiles, while slower than him, were still following him with ease. Whether it was because they had terrain advantage and knew the place better than Tyrus, it was still appalling they could still find and catch up to him. Augmentation and Beast Transformation worked simultaneously, yet he still hadn’t lost his pursuers. Throw in the fact that no cave or anything to hide himself was visible, it was only a matter of time before he ran out of steam.
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Still, Tyrus kept on running, jumping over boulders, water-clogged areas, and even blasting a few beasts in the process. Goblins who had tested their luck against him would be met with either a Light Bolt or Lightning Bolt to the face.
A dragonfly that was roosting on top of a branch and soared downward toward Tyrus would plummet with half of its body severed. Or a stray spear thrown from beyond the fog would do the job for him, which he was somewhat thankful for.
Unfortunately, his run suddenly stopped when he reached a cliff. Stopping himself just in time, he skidded to a halt, his heels just a finger away from falling. A pit formed in his stomach as he gazed out into a vast lake with scattered areas of land. Occasionally, fish would leap out. Tyrus even spotted a webbed limb poking from the surface.
“At the cliff! There is the little pochatl!”
Like a stampede of animals, the reptiles all grouped together at Tyrus’ location, their eyes carrying a sea of wrath. Just like their fallen brethren, they too looked vastly similar to it, except there were some faint differences between the individuals. They all shared the same mossy-grayed scales, yet their height and body structure differed.
Tyrus counted at least twenty of them, all carrying weapons fashioned out of wood, bones, and stone. They pointed a wall of spears at him, each one capable enough to pop holes into him like arrows against soft skin.
“Little pochatl,” one of them rumbled, stepping forward. The one that spoke was the tallest and leanest among them, sporting a skull for a helmet and a spear tucked into its left hand. “Speak your last words before I take your life.”
With caution, Tyrus stepped backward, his heel teetering on the edge of the cliff. A trickle of rocks tumbled to the bottom. It took only two seconds for the sediment to reach the water.
The reptile with the skull helmet laughed. “Fall, and the lurking creatures in the depths will surely rip you to pieces. Stay, and we will ensure your demise. Your chosen path won’t make a difference, as you’ll be dead, spawn of the Beastfolk.”
Tyrus glared at the beast. “Seriously, why do you hate me? I did nothing to you. That guy earlier acted the same way as you guys, and I have yet to receive an answer.”
It smashed the butt of its spear into the rock. “You dare lie in the face of us lizardmen? Like breeding rats, you scum have infested our homeland! First it was that masked intruder seizing the sanctuary and polluting the life here. Our brethren were killed by the savages he brought along!”
Suddenly, the beasts uttered a synchronized cry, almost as if they were in mourning. Once it was over, the speaker of the lizardmen turned to Tyrus. “As exterminators, we must eliminate the rats that dare to defile our sacred land. Your kind will pay for your transgressions. Warriors, kill the pochatl! One less Beastfolk here will appease the gods.”
Like soldiers, the spearmen edged closer, spears pointed dangerously at Tyrus. Different scenarios flashed through his mind as he gazed at the approaching enemies. Engaging in a fight with them was absolutely out of the question, given their abundance in weapons and readiness to react to any slight movement from him.
He was also at a severe disadvantage location wise. One wrong move and they would skewer him before he could even take down three of them. Even jumping over them wouldn't work, as there were more waiting at the back. There was also the case of using Tracer and outright giving up. However, even if he were to use it, would help arrive on time? He found it hard to believe that an overseer would bring him to safety instantly. There had to be some kind of delay before help would arrive.
I don’t have any spells that would help me in this situation at all. Most of them deal damage, restrain them, or heal wounds. Looking at the book now in case I missed something wouldn’t help either. I would just be wasting my time.
Tyrus glanced at the water behind him. The surface somewhat rippled, but it was still, for the most part. If he were to fall with augmentation activated, surviving would be quite easy. It was the beasts lingering underneath he was worried about. What sort of dangers were hiding, waiting for any unsuspecting creature to tip their toes inside? Judging by his situation, it was better than fighting the lizardmen, at least.
The head lizardmen sneered, as if goading Tyrus to jump. He took one last look at the water, feeling his heart threatening to burst from his chest and jumping into the water before him. His time was on the cusp of running out, and he only had a few seconds to decide. Leaping off the cliff into dangerous waters or mumbling yield to Tracer and try becoming an explorer again next month, returning to Fiona as a failure in her eyes…
“As a failure,” Tyrus whispered. The thought of being seen as a failure by Fiona, who had such high hopes for him, tugged at his heart. Being seen as a disappointment to her–who had done so much for him–was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
For all he knew, his inadequacies would be more obvious, and might even deter her away from him. His chances of joining Blue Dawn would be thrown into the trash. Because of his age and looks, others may not accept him, and going on adventures alone would impede his progress.
Everything that could go wrong was highly possible in failing to achieve a measly three-hour survival in the Wasteful Wetlands. It was success, or death, and Tyrus picked the most obvious choice.
Tyrus took a deep breath, then spun and leaped off the cliff, diving into the chilly waters beneath.