The Gold Swamps, though many claim fortune awaits them in such boggy waters such a sentiment is only true for every second wandering soul. The waters that rise with the tide bring dangers lurking inches beneath the darkened water, shapes moving and writhing under the cover of bog. A scant few see the swamp as the Swamp Elves do, a peaceful balance of teeming life. The swamp lives, breathing with every rise of its waters, blinking with every rise of the sun. The Elves know this. I have lived it.

-Deit Caos, storyman

"I mean, I understand A.I. aren't unheard of, even back home, but that thing was ancient. Did you see the markings on it? Those were explosive blast marks, or at least something close. And you saw what a fireball did to it. Absolutely nothing. Whatever it was fighting was not something we want to tangle with." Ace was still reconciling the existence of technology that centuries ahead of our own.

"Ace, come on. Was there nothing in your impartation that hinted at anything about advanced technology? I've got an S.I. in my head remember? And you've talked to Evodim remember? Recall that he has a physical interface too. There's a touchpad in the living room." Luck rose an eyebrow at his friend. It wasn't until after he responded that Luck realized how accustomed he was getting to this new life.

"There was, there was." Ace sighed. "But seeing it? Luck, that was a combat drone. A combat drone. A robot designed for killing and destruction, even if its main function was to protect. That's something people from our world would kill for, and then deploy at the cost of thousands of lives. You understand?"

Luck sobered. "Yeah." He replied. "Forget this world is bigger than we can fathom. The tech available here might be a lot more advanced than we're used to my friend."

"No kidding." He said quietly. "I just hope they make guns as good as they do back home."

Luck laughed. "What I'd do for a good pistol right now. Magic's well and good but I'd rather do with a handgun while I get used to it."

"I used to think you stopped time everytime you took a shot back then. Your aim was that inhuman. Now you actually can." Ace groaned draped over the lip of the saddle. The keid had requested they change riders every day since the day Luck began to talk to them. It had been a week since they met the combat drone.

"As if you couldn't match it." Luck replied easily.

"True, but there was no one else who could." He said.

Luck shrugged smiling. He never thought he could get nostalgic for those days. Sure, he enjoyed being free of it but there was something enlivening about living that way. He didn't miss it though, he only missed the people. Mr. Ark, his parents, his sister. He remembered the last time he saw them.

"My dad could." He said, watching the keids march on.

His sister, falling to the floor, a hole in her head. He ran, looting her body for anything useful, leaving her there in the crowd. His parents, the trail of blood leading to their cold bodies. Amber eyes reflecting off a pool of their blood. Tears, heavy and wet, full of grief and sorrow. There was so little he could do.

He stared into the shifting dunes, a gentle breeze ruffling his clothes. There had been an eerie absence of deactivated drones. They were supposed to have come across multiple. They had come across none.

"Yeah, yeah he probably could." Ace replied.

Luck didn't take his eyes off the dull beige dunes. He held the crystal pendant in his hand. His palm wasn't rough or calloused but it was coarse in all the spots that had contact with a gun. His father's hand was different, he had the hard hands of a hard life.

He gripped the pendant, watching the motes of light split two ways yet again. There was no doubt now. His family wasn't together, not grouped as he thought. The motes had begun to spread but the distinction in their gatherings had become to make itself clear.

"We're just gonna have to veer a little left again." Luck grimaced.

A wind buffeted them. It brought a slight chill. They were moving north, towards the Frozen Zones.

Ace gripped the reins of the keid, prepared to correct them before they moved on their own, he dropped the reins after looking at Luck. "We'll find them Lucky. We'll find them, don't worry."

"I know." Luck said softly, his face was a mask.

He threw his arm in a heavy, sickled arc backward. He left the knife in the eye of the beast. The jungle grass pushed heavily upon his legs, pleading him to halt. He didn't. The underbrush was heavy, enough so that kneeling would've had him lost from view.

Not from these ones, he knew. Not these ones. The ones hunting him were smart, more cunning. Relying on their nose more than their eyes in the heavy dark green blanket that was this jungle. Rays of sunlight pierced through overhead, bugs and insects flew to them like fountains of water. The man ran past these, dodging them. His form was a dark blur, traversing the terrain in a hurried sprint.

Four now, of the eight that he had started with.

Three arrows, two knives, one now, and a broken bow. He was shirtless, scarred but otherwise healthier than he had ever been. He held that last knife against his forearm, the blade traveled the length of half his arm. He was familiar with it.

Running, he still wasn't tired. But running could only you get so far here. They were swinging from the vines above, hooting and calling. A glimpse of one through the sunlight, illuminated, and locking eyes with him. He dove under the brush but already he could hear familiar calls. An alert.

His location was known.

He jumped from an exposed root, grabbing the hairy leg of the creature before slamming the thing down without mercy. It screamed and hollered an ugly noise before the loudest crack of its skull shut it up. The man slit the creature's throat, the fastest method to dispatch it. The most efficient.

He grabbed a nearby vine, chopping it off at a length. Wrapping it around his shoulder and hip he sucked on the cut end for precious moments. Listening past the buzz of insects, past the brush of leaves he couldn't hear anything of the creatures hunting him.

They were white, long-limbed and flat faced with fangs the size of his hand. Their bodies were made for this jungle and they were the size of the man if not larger. They hunted in groups.

He heard nothing.

They were still hunting him then. He sucked the vine dry, remembering the day he saw the creatures do it themselves. His teeth on the vine, his hand went to his quiver. The arrowheads of these arrows he made sure were weighted heavily. They had a much better impact this way. He wasn't getting any long distance shots in this environment anyway.

Most importantly, he could throw them if he wanted to. He knew how.

He stalked the creature, a reversal of roles for the moment. It walked on two feet, surprisingly alien in the almost human way that it did. Long fingers brushed at the nearby leaves and the man cocked his arm back aiming for the creature's heart.

Another one appeared and the man didn't hesitate. A third appeared and the man paused. A fourth followed and the man slowly backed away. His feet found soft mud or feces it didn't matter, he nearly slipped. He caught himself, careful not to disturb any of the heavy brush nearby.

A fury filled screech rang inches from his face. His head snapped up and a creature was on top of him. His forearm blocked the fangs of the creature, dried vine wrapped around his arm served as protection. The blunt force from its flailing limbs knocked against his chest and thighs.

"Fuck!" The man yelled, getting his knife under him.

He opened the creature's belly, spilling guts all over him. Gore rained upon his jaw and beard. He grimaced, he wasn't outrunning this pack with such a strong smell. His arrow hand pushed the body off.

Three of the creatures circled him. Their white was easily distinguishable in the dark green of the jungle. Two went high, climbing the trees and aiming to get behind and above him. One stayed to his front, drawing his attention, beating its chest, raking at the ground.

He wouldn't let them see the end of their tactic. He approached suddenly at a swift crouch. The creature bounded backward, beating its chest. The motion was hesitancy. Prey didn't advance.

The man did.

He took advantage of that short delay easily getting into the reach of the creature. It pulled him towards its body, intending to lock its jaw on the man's neck. His left forearm pushed violently against the creature's neck while his right hand came up at an angle to split its throat.

Memories. The past two weeks had put his survival skills to the test. They were from a very long time ago, but he never forgot them. The man's face was muddied, guts spilled across his bare chest. His arms were muscled and defined, more function than form. His legs were powerful pistons that were functioning at their peak.

No hint that the man was ever a cripple.

Growling, he beat his chest in a surge of primal belonging. He glared upwards, knowing he would climb up and kill them by hand if he had to. He would do that and more to see his family.

The man roared his challenge. "Come at me then bastards! See if you and this jungle can stop me from my family!" His voice boomed across the jungle, alerting the six or so remaining in this particular baboon tribe. "The Lockyer's aren't ones to submit! Come!"

Rick Lockyer stood covered in gore bellowing his challenge. A chiseled jaw was prominent even beneath his thick beard, still covered in gore. Depth and power emanated from intelligent dark brown eyes. He scanned his opponents, waiting for a single hint of movement, muscles tensing.

Both leaped from their perches above screaming and hooting. They landed on all fours, their tails up for balance. Rick sliced the first one's tail off and plunged an arrow in the second one's side before dashing out of their reach.

Another white baboon lunged out of the underbrush, Rick only just catching its white fur. He jumped over it, grabbing its head and twisting it with a satisfying snap before running again. Hit and run, that's how he was dealing with these baboons. At first, they'd hunt him down with abandon, but once they realize the ambushes he would set they slowed considerably. For Rick that just meant safer ambushes, easy targets, and easier pickings.

He ran toward a familiar tree, the trunk curving and splitting three ways. He jumped up on the lowest branch, kicking off the trunk to reach it before crouching to complete stillness.

Silently, his hand went to the bow and quiver of arrows he had fashioned and left here prior. He held the bow down low, arrow knocked. The hoots and calls were absent, they wouldn't start unless he was spotted. They were quiet hunters in their pursuit.

He watched six of them run past, including the tailless one and excluding the one he left with an arrow in its side. He drew a bead on the last one. Rick nocked the arrow, drawing to his cheek and pushing out his chest. The last in the pack swung forward in great low loops, a hungry determination in its eyes.

An arrow sprouted from its forehead in the next instant, its body tumbled to the floor in a tangle.

They wouldn't be turning around anymore. He tailed them at a swift pace, just enough to stay silent. He ripped the arrow from the dead baboon's head on the way, tossing it into his quiver.

They were reaching the end of their territory. Rick had already taken out the four creatures at the back of the pack. He ran parallel now, knowing the area he chose a tree they would cross sight of.

His index and middle finger brought the string up to his cheek again. Breathing slowly, he waited.

The lead baboon, larger than the others bounded forward with a single baboon in tow.

Rick released. "Die bastard." The arrow flew true, an imperceptible whistling as it shot straight for the rear baboon's heart. He was already moving to the next position when he heard no audible thunk. He turned back to look over his shoulder.

The lead baboon had caught the arrow. His wiry arms reached backward and the rear baboon was blinking at the metal shaft. It glanced wildly around before finding Rick even through his camouflage. Huffing, it slammed the floor angrily disturbing the underbrush. Snapping the arrow it charged him.

His eye's widened with surprise. "Damn." He breathed, before turning forward and disappearing.

The baboons didn't need their eyes. Rick wasn't safe. They had his scent. He had seen them confirm scents before, had watched them do it multiple times when they hunted. It was a simple baring of their fangs to each other. Both had done it.

He unwrapped the vines on his forearms allowing them to dribble to the floor loosely. He let his right arm be free of the vines, holding the knife, it needed the most motion. His left hand gripped the loose makeshift whip, however. He pressed against a damp tree, right beside a particularly large exposed tree root. He could hear the heavy panting of his pursuers. Closer. Closer.

His left armed whipped out in an arc catching the lead baboon as it leaped above the root on the neck and wrapping twice around. It choked while Rick ran counter-clockwise, tightening the noose while beelining for the second baboon.

He rushed forward in a feint, tugging hard on the vine to arrest his momentum. The larger baboon choked. The smaller swung its arms forward intending to beat him to death. Rick caught its hand, tied it to the vine, before untangling himself and having the other end in his right hand, his knife switching to his left. The maneuver was less than two seconds and the smaller baboon was screeching and struggling against its bonds Rick having entangled the creature to its leader.

The baboon struggled hard, unknowingly tightening its larger companion's noose.

Their fates were decided the second they decided to hunt a Lockyer.

Rick Lockyer darted forward in a horizontal cut that opened its throat.

He would keep moving due East. The trees thinned towards that direction and the only river that cut through the thick jungle flowed that direction as well. If there was civilization at all in this world, it was that way. Informations was something he desperately needed.

Around him, the jungle teemed with life. Hoots and calls in the distance marked other baboon territories. They were all different. This tribe was especially weak. They proved no problem at all for him. These were the closest ones to normal as far as he could remember aside from their size and sense of smell.

His hand went absently to his side searching for his walking cane. Instead, it found a metal grip attached to the barrel of a high caliber pistol. A silencer was attached but even then he dared not shoot. He could've afforded the luxury a week ago but that was then.

Not now. He was too deep in the territories. The creatures were unpredictable in their adaptation. However, he observed that the majority had enhanced senses that disregarded sight. Hearing was among the list and even silenced, a shot from his pistol would drive many to his location. The white baboons he had hunted were among the few that adapted differently. Their territory had various scented flowers, many of the surrounding trees oozed with sap. He assumed that was how they found their prey.

He dropped his bow and arrows. They were made durable and to last but after two weeks they had become near breaking with all their use. He had had to use the bow as a club on occasion. The bow was as bent as the arrows. He could make more later.

It truly felt like a month or two had passed. Rick had to remember, Jerxos had said Laura and the kids would be dropped off at the same time. He could trust them. There was not a trace of doubt in his mind that they would live. Rick and his wife had spent their parenting years teaching Luck and Tate all the necessities of their life.

He smiled ruefully, even some of the tricks from their past ones.

Night fell, the coming almost imperceptible as shafts of sunlight slowly dimmed and darkness became absolute. He lay against a curved root in a particular twist of wood that rose five feet above the ground. Thoughts of his family usually brought him to sleep, their simple memory was enough to bring him a small smile and usher him to the next morning.

Something moved in the trees, barely a whisper to indicate the movement. He lay resting still, knowing they wouldn't attack. They were multiple. He had run into them before. Not all of the baboon tribes were hostile. He had met one friendly tribe and the rest left him alone. The majority, however, were hostile, but Rick knew the ones that passed over his head. They wouldn't bother him, likely they were claiming new territory.

Different memories filled his head as he drifted into sleep.

The God of Rebirth, he was still trying to reconcile the existence of gods, gifted him with certain abilities in accordance with what he demonstrated during the impartation as Jerxos had called it. He called them tools, things that facilitated his survival in Aerae as he knew this world was called. They were part of him now. As certain as he was that his family was alive.

His entire life was tested in his impartation. He had to draw upon practices he never thought he would need again. He had killed with various different weapons, succeeding in all trials until they changed.

No longer was he in the city. He was in the mountains sparring with an old man. His leg had healed but he barely had time to register it before the diminutive wizened man was upon him. He flowed through the man's attacking fists and advancing arms landing a series of heavy blows upon his chest. The stepped back grunting, a surprising power in his chest as he raised a judging eyebrow upon Rick. He advanced once more.

He was in an arena armed with chainmail and longsword. His opponent was a capable-looking man that held two swords low and forward. Rick advanced, knowing to play defense was to die. The man was roughly the same size as Rick but the moment he allowed Rick to dictate the flow of battle was when he lost. He was familiar with these styles of combat but his progress was frustratingly slow. The man ducked down and to the side, flicking one sword to Rick's side and using the other to pivot on the dirt floor upon which they fought. He kicked out and caught Rick on the thigh. Rick slashed down and horizontal aiming for the weapon rather than the man himself. The man's other sword was nowhere near to aid in the block and his blocking sword crumple under the weight of Rick's attack. It wasn't long before Rick had his sword to the man's throat.

He was in the woods. A bow and arrow in his hand. A whistling drew his attention before he jerked his head left, his eyes widening at the sprouting arrow where his head had been. He jumped out of the way and into the trees, his head peeked only to hear whistling again. He traced the arrow. He nocked his own and jumped out, needing to know the location of the archer. Whistling. His form twisted suddenly and he released. His arrow spliced the other archer's. He nocked another and shot again. A grunt in the distance.

He was in kevlar with a rifle in his arms. A gruff man stood in front him. Rick blinked. The man lunged forward, knife in hand. He was using modern combat techniques, efficient and deadly. They traded blows, grappling at close quarters. The man was good. Rick had sparred against his son multiple times, maybe he could put up a better fight with a working leg but this man was nothing compared to that. He kicked the man back, the man unstrapped his pistol only to catch a single bullet to the head. Rick brought down the rifle.

That was when the monsters began to appear.

He was on a bridge of stone and rough dirt. Tufts of fighting grass rose here and there. A short cliff, maybe three feet, brought him down to another level of stone. The bridge was straight, he stood upon the highest level of it whereas moving left or right would bring him down one of these short cliffs. Four or five of those later was only inky blackness. Webs of bright white and brown hung like the ominous wrappings of a mummy. Strapped to his back were a metal halberd and assault rifle. Two grenades hung on his hip. It seemed both were frag. He searched around for an enemy before turning to the obvious with a curse. They were not spiders, not completely, and they were each large. What saved him was their unwillingness to leave their web. They threw balls of web that unraveled as if alive tendrils of white writhing for grip. Rick went to the lowest level, killing the many he could see like a firing range before chopping the webbed supports with his halberd. He did this to either side of the bridge and the whole webbing fell inward to the depths. Echoing growls erupted losing their volume until dying out completely. The trial didn't end so Rick waited a day until they crawled out to repair their home. Rick killed them all.

No equipment this time. He was surrounded by small humanoids. They were squat and chittering in a language he couldn't comprehend. All at once they surged on him. He stumbled backward quickly finding his feet. Initial surprise diffusing, he managed to keep the creatures tripping over each other as he dispatched them. They were strong for being so small and by the time he snapped the neck of the last one he was covered in bruises.

His feet splashed against the rock. He was in a shallow, water up to his knees. He could see through the water clear as the sunlight that pierced it. He had only a single grenade and knife and greatly wished he couldn't see through the water. He began to run awkwardly, knee-high, in retreat. Sinuous eels with bladed fins swarmed around themselves before moving en masse. He turned around with a grimace he had only a small lead. A few steps later he pulled the pin on his grenade and tossed it backward. The water exploded and Rick knelt down in the water with his knife, watching for any stragglers. A single eel clashed against his blade but Rick stomped on it painfully and severed it at the head.

The encounters became worse. His choice of weaponry became more exotic and specific, the encounters usually having only a few methods to overcome. Luckily, much of the weaponry was familiar to him. He wondered the fate of someone else in his position. It wasn't until after he would learn that the impartations were custom tailored to the individual's strengths.

Sword, shield, arrow, rifle, and pistol were among the most common. Spears, axes, halberds, rocket launchers, sniper rifles, grenades made appearances as well. The monsters that warranted such weaponry were a bright spot in Rick's memory. Though that memory was tainted by the fact they tried to kill him.

Then it became stranger. He began dispatching targets with odd powers. A single bullet would bounce off something invisible. A man that conjured fire, burning half of Rick's face off. Merfolk that controlled the water, rushing at Rick just below the surface. Creatures that regenerated after a missile to their torso. Creatures that simply didn't take any damage at all. His explosives would explode but their force would be contained in a single spot. His spears and axes would shatter, forcing him to quickdraw his pistol in the hopes his opponent would be caught off guard.

Then, his weapons changed. Blades became sharper and guns became stronger. Those were the mundane changes. Swords made of energy or metal that glowed purple that could pierce anything. Guns with clips that never ended. Bullets that froze those they touched or paralyzed on impact. Futuristic weaponry adorned his body, tracking guns, guided missiles, infrared scoping, pulse beams, bullets made of energy.

His equipment began to change next. Cloaking devices. Pendants that could block any impact. Boots that allowed him to stalk enemies upside down. Rings that could activate orbs of flame. Or bodysuits that could absorb and redistribute force.

He was experienced with nearly everything Jerxos had presented him with up until the monsters started to appear in the trials. And they didn't stop. The weapons and equipment he used only became more specialized and peculiar. He hesitated to call it magic but it was, he knew that. It helped after witnessing enemies that used it as well. He adapted well he thought.

He recalled the conversation with Jerxos after the second time he died.

"That was... impressive, to say the least." A man said, a look of consternation on his face.

The only thing preventing an immediate attack was the setting. "A beach bar?" Rick questioned. "Am i supposed to kill you now?"

"No. I believe you've had enough time killing. Impressive, though, impressive. It is not often I have the pleasure to send a soul so capable away." The man drank a colorful drink. He wore beach shorts and a shell necklace.

Rick sat down. "Get a bottomless drink in front me." He said. "We can talk then."

"So different from your son!" The man bellowed. "Straight to the point. I can appreciate that in a mortal." The mystery man ordered a drink for Rick.

He took a sip only to look down blinking at the strong drink. It managed to stay topped off no matter how much he gulped down. "My son was here?" Rick asked, his eyes snapping to the strange man's.

"This isn't the afterlife if that's what you're getting at. Quite honestly it might be the opposite. A rebirth. New beginnings. A beforelife if you will." He paused smiling at Rick's neutral face. "You seem to be taking this in stride."

"I died. You obviously have me here for a reason. Then, I died a second time. I think I'll just drink until you get to the point." Rick said gruffly. "How do you know my son? Is he alive?"

The man chuckled a genuine grin splitting his face. "I am Jerxos, God of the Rebirth." He introduced himself. "And you my dear mortal are quite fortunate. Your son managed to grab the attention of god on the night your whole family died."

Rick's face darkened, he took another drink. "Even Tate." He said, looking into his cup. "They killed her too?"

"Mortal, none of that matters," Jerxos said, peeved at Rick's apathy towards his godhood. "They yet live."

Rick looked the god in the eyes, searching for truth. "Why am I here?" He had asked.

Jerxos had explained it to him then. How his son had earned the attention of a god. Rick chuckled, for his son to attract the Goddess of Fortune, fitting. A new world. Filled with much of what he saw in what Jerxos had related was his impartation. A sort of skill test to determine what to send him into Aerae with.

None of that mattered. His family lived. He could reach them. He had only one last job to do.

Survive until then.

Rick turned in the bar stool, arm on the counter. "Then, how did I do?" His bad knee was back. He was glad there were chairs to sit.

"Good," Jerxos said slowly. "Extremely well, actually. You managed to go through hundreds of weapon trials, dozens of skill trials and very rarely did you falter save for the more exotic challenges. Web riders, lurches, blade eels, a score of goblins, a juvenile callamoth, a slew of sentient opponents, old tech drones. Given the equipment and circumstances, you adapted quickly and smoothly. Efficient, extremely so. I am somewhat... in awe."

Rick could've attributed it to his past, his time in the military, his stay at prison, his life as a mercenary or even his seat at the top of the underworld, but he didn't. That was catharsis. None of that mattered. None of it was the reason he performed as well as he did. He was a man who had just witnessed his wife die.

Rick Lockyer was angry. He wasn't performing. He was distracting himself, getting lost in his task. Indulging his anger and rage in the outlet given to him. Anger sharpened his mind. Where fury brought flames to others in brought ice to him. His threat assessment and tactical thinking was at its peak during those trials.

"Anger is a motivator for me. What of it?" He waved.

To Rick's gesture and comment to continue Jerxos responded with a raised eyebrow, "This leaves me somewhat lost as to what to leave you with." He sighed. "Walk with me as I explain."

Rick did so, putting weight on his leg was painful but not unbearable. He nodded thanks when Jerxos handed him his cane, as shiny as the first day he had it commissioned. Old habits, he checked the blade to find it in place.

Jerxos's flip-flops caught the sand as he walked towards the shore. His face was set into deep thinking. Sometimes the god would look upwards, other times he would look to the distance. His hands moved in foreign gestures.

Jerxos set a comfortable pace for Rick. It was ten minutes before the god sighed deeply. "In terms of rebirthees and what tools to grant them, you are a strange case, Rick. You performed exceptionally well during your impartation which warrants a great tool. In fact, your performance and statistical data forbid me from granting you the items I would normally. It was a powerful weapon indeed that I intended to gift you. But the simple possibility it could be stolen from you forbids it as a reward choice. You deserve much better it seems. Something permanent."

"I'll be fine with a good weapon, any of the ones I used towards the end of the trials would suffice. " Rick didn't understand the problem. "I can manage without." He would find his family whether he had help or not. This was simply an introduction to what foes he might encounter. He was sure gathering the necessary resources to combat them might take a while but that he could pull it off as well.

"I'm afraid to say that at least in this matter you overestimate yourself Rick. Without a gift from me you would be hardpressed to survive out there, let alone find your family. I know your history. No matter how much effort you placed to conceal your past from your children. You and Laura are as transparent as The Pools to me. Even with that history, I didn't suspect such results."

That was... a surprise. If any being might figure his life out he supposed a god might be it. That life wasn't meant for the light. His kids were used to the dark of the city but Rick's past was a pitch-black night. It was a void of anything, the deepest black of nothing. There were places in the world, hidden from nearly everyone that Rick knew and had operated in. Terrible places that warranted terrible things from terrible people. Rick had come to terms early, he had a mental strength little people had. To call them horrors of man would be saying too little. Rick didn't dwell on those thoughts often, but his heart broke imagining his kids knowing the man he had had to be back then. Bright, intelligent, cunning amber and light, light brown always, without fail, swayed his heart no matter how stoic the facade he kept seemed. His kids were his weakness as well as his strength, to be without them or their support would be his worst fear. He could face unspeakable horrors, monsters in the darkest night, even the dull monotony of an average worker's job if he knew those eyes would be there when he got home.

"You can't tell my children. They can't know." Rick's face grew serious. "If they- "

"I will not. It is none of my business anyway." Jerxos said understandingly. Rick relaxed, he had unwittingly gripped his canes blade mechanism. "Your new life is my business, however. And I cannot find a fitting reward. It's infuriating, truly. "

Rick tapped his cane, his fingers caressing the polished wood in a practiced habit. A new life. The thought was a familiar one just out of grasp. He had always wanted to elope. To do so would be freedom. It was impossible, however, being so entwined in the life of crime as he was. His family would be tracked down easily, hunted in some cases until they'd be caught with their pants down and killed. With that in mind, it would be impossible to relax or settle down. He told this to Laura many times but even then she would insist that one day, one day they would. He smiled softly at the memory.

Perhaps now he could have that.

Jerxos talked openly to himself unconcerned should Rick hear his musings. "Not a weapon. Magic? But none fit the criteria. A gift of knowledge? Regarding weapons? Still, that would not suffice as a reward for his feats. Multiple tools? No, too many tools are as much a burden as they are helpful. How about a few impactful tools? Gah! Again, none are fitting! Magical weapons? He could lose those as well. Perhaps an advanced technology? No, none fitting his use. Companions? Bases? No, of course not. Ingredients? Banish the thought."

Jerxos sighed deeply, a common occurrence the past hour. "Nothing?" Rick asked patiently. He loved the beach.

"I am sure there is something. There must be. My apologies for the wait it is not often someone does so well in the weapons impartation, especially a hybrid one tailored to your skill set. I do believe it is a first. Nonetheless, it poses a problem of a proper reward. Normal weapon tools don't suffice with a performance such as yours."

Rick leaned on his cane. He just wanted a peaceful life with his family. He didn't regret his past, if not for it he would've have met Laura. Still, he wondered what his life would like if he didn't go with Etsuji that fateful day. He shook his head. That was in the past, no use fretting over it.

"Ah, that could work. Yes, yes I believe I found a set of tools worthy of you Rick Lockyer. These..."

Rick woke up. The rays of sun pierced at an angle to indicate the sunrise. It was a new day. He wondered this time if he could avoid the tribes on his trek East. It wasn't likely but he hoped for it anyway.

Rick stood up. The sun caught muscle pulled taut as he stretched under the green jungle. Dark green became vibrant shamrock in the day. He wore little, simple cargo pants and a tight shirt with cut sleeves. He chuckled, his son would probably have a stroke at seeing his attire. Or perhaps he wouldn't. Rick was not nearly into fashion as his kids were.

He cracked his neck, there was already a new bow in his hand. An effective silent ranged weapon was what he needed. He tested the weight and nodded. He didn't know how long the trek would take but Jerxos said his family would be nearby. He needed only to find them.

He had lost count of the days he had spent in the jungle. It blurred with his time during the impartation. His days were a constant focus on survival and movement. With the sun not always shining through the jungle canopy it was hard to say. There were places so thick with trees he could safely walk among the branches for minutes at a time.

Now though, he walked among the underbrush. The jungle seemed to have experienced heavy rain recently. The whole place was damp, bright pink flowers on long green stalks poked out of the ground searching for those precious rays of sun. They were harmless to him and Rick used them to find patches of mud to camouflage his face. At the minimum, he was knee deep in grass and at the most, it was up to his shoulders.

It was easily the safest way to travel with the threat of a predator watching. He grimaced, checking the surroundings again in case he missed something. He was deeply suspicious of the jungle the last few days. He hadn't seen any other large animals that called the place home except the long-limbed territorials. There couldn't just be baboons could there? The plant life was extremely diverse but the animals consisted of only one.

Rick didn't like it.

He crouched below the grass line, dull blades of grass brushed at his body. Again, there was nothing but that didn't mean anything. He listened for quiet moments as much as those filled with sound. He went down to one knee in the mud.

The hoots and calls around him had quieted but those were distant in the first place. He had taken all the necessary precautions so he knew the only baboons around weren't interested in him. He paced forward then stopped. A quiet rustling died immediately using his own movement as a muffler. His bow hung on his shoulder as he drew his two new knives silently. He held them tightly in a reactive stance.

Something was definitely out there this time.

Rick looked through the reeds. Resisting the urge to swipe at the grass in his face he took a slow, steady scan of his surroundings, staying as still as possible. Ten feet in either direction was just grass, the trunks of the trees that covered him from the sun above were a short jog in any direction. And yet, something tickled his peripheral, a gut feeling that something, somewhere, was watching. Birds cawed above, a fluttering of wings disrupting the canopy for a long moment.

Silently he took his bow from his shoulders and drew an arrow ready, knives still in hand. He crouched like that for what seemed like hours, an extreme patience about him. He allowed his eyes to drift, knowing that noticing changes in the environment came easier in his peripheral vision. These weren't techniques someone learned in the city. The only man who perhaps knew the entire capability of Rick Lockyer was Etsuji Ark. His best friend was likely managing the city in their absence. Rick wished him the best.

A blade of green at the edge of his vision pushed forward ever so slowly, springing back without a sound. Minutes later, Rick hadn't moved, another blade inched forward by some invisible force and sprung back quietly. Mottled green, the figure would've disappeared from his vision if he looked directly at it. Minutes passed again, Rick becoming more confident before he made his move.

In a sudden and smooth motion, he drew the arrow to his ear pivoting on his knee and aiming straight for the disturbance. He was greeted with empty space. He trusted his senses though, something or someone was there. He pulled on the bowstring tighter, his eyes he kept trained in the center unmoving. Even if he couldn't see it, it was there.

"Out." His arm held steady, his arrow didn't waver. "Now."

It was a hunch. None of the baboons had any drastic evolutions that were able to camouflage them this well. There were no creatures but the baboons and none had ever shown behaviors to indicate they hunted their prey in stealth most ran their prey down and corralling them through superior numbers. For something to have been tailing him and managing to stay on the very edge of his notice was impressive. It also meant it was intelligent, which means it might understand him.

"Now." He repeated, his sound was deep and gravelly, an effect coming from days of unuse.

Slowly, Rick's eyes focused on the green mottled form as it defined itself from the tall reeds. It was only meters away just barely noticeable by the bending of the plants around it, but only just. A slim form became apparent. In seconds he was looking instead at a creature painted black, less camouflage and more art.

Rick lowered his bow despite the off-putting protruding eyes of the thing. Its scales, small and fine, took on different colors as it blinked. It was crouched among the reeds its eyes were slightly telescopic in the way that they blinked, the eyelids coming to blink from the edges to the center. Its head had a crest of feathers that seemed to flick forward. That by itself didn't so much as phase Rick, but the kaleidoscope of color and intelligence in those eyes gave him pause.

It had two sets of arms and both sets of its hands had long fingers with soft padding, their use was clear in the way the thing was standing. Its legs supported its body as much as its fingers did. Its scales changed subtly and smoothly without Rick even realizing the change in color until after it happened.

Its feathers Rick realized were actually long scales that came up from its head. They were shifting to and fro in a display of soft colorings. Its body was an art piece, a painting that his wife or son could probably have appreciated fully.

Rick still held his arrow knocked, if not his bow aimed. He didn't trust the creature. "Why are you following me?"

The chameleon-like creature tilted its head, patting its chest in a way different from the baboons. It was only then Rick noticed its chest could've really been a painting. A muddied, bearded man fought with a small knife in his hand and bow strung on his back. The chameleon man was fending off the few enemies behind the bearded man using a strange power swirling in his hands.

Its scales shifted again, the entire picture flipping onto itself and Rick was looking at a new painting. A city, or fortress, Rick couldn't decide rose in the distance. The forest was sparse now but the chameleon man and the bearded man faced off uncountable enemies between them and their destination.

The scene shifted once more. The chameleon man was resting in a tree looking around as if lost. At his feet lay a ragged and torn backpack, the remnants of what supplies he had for the trip were scattered about and trailing off into the trees.

"So he is intelligent," Rick said to himself. "And he's out of supplies and wants to travel with me. But could that city be what Jerxos told me about?" He stroked his beard and shouldered his bow.

The chameleon man relaxed, Rick not even realizing its posture was tense. The second it passed the chameleon became more lax, its arms falling to its side. Rick supposed it wasn't an "it" any longer but rather a "he".

"I'll allow your company just for the sake of interacting with something other than trees and baboons," Rick said.

Not seeing any reaction he decided the chameleon man was probably starving. His cargo pants held a variety of berries he had tested to be safe over the course of a day and small experiments eating them. The baboon tribes were both in awe and fear of fire. The fear came from the pain they first encountered with it rather than him roasting baboon over the spit. He had left to scavenge and found a neutral tribe howling in panic with one of their members set on fire. He had been put out though, the baboons knocking him unconscious in the process.

He held out berries and baboon jerky, something he managed by laying the meats in the rays of the sun. The jungle was hot, but out in the sun he felt it would be much worse. The meat had dried within minutes, baking on a rock superheated by direct sunlight.

The chameleon man looked at both now, its eyes seeming to zoom in on the berries and the meat at the same time. "Not sure what you eat but this is all I have." Rick offered from a distance, still unable to address the chameleon thing as a person. He shrugged, his thinking would pass.

It flowed through the reeds with surprising sinuous grace. Up close, it was a little taller than Rick but obviously not meant for a physical fight. Its large mouth would've been off-putting to anyone but Rick. He had seen his fair share of horrors, an enlarged mouth was nothing. The chameleon's mouth opened slowly, a long muscled tongue reached for both food items cautiously, wrapping around them before curling back into its mouth. It let out a content chirping sound as its jaw worked on the food.

It was time to move. West was the direction he was heading. Civilization and likely the city he was looking for was that way. The chameleon was heading there too, it seemed. If it couldn't keep up he would leave it. It looked at him now, just observing with those large eyes. Rick looked upward through the canopy and judged the angle of the small rays of sunlight that shone through the shaded jungle. He got his bearings quickly and turned West, the chameleon looked at him puzzled but shifting in colors to deep purple-violet then a solid blue.

The chameleon, now that Rick looked at it up close, was thinner than what seemed appropriate. Rick realized it must have been without food for quite some time. He held up more and the chameleon wrapped his tongue somewhat more speedily. It stood up on its legs, a motion very human, and its chest scales showed them walking through the jungle.

"Might as well have read my mind."

They began to trek West, the hooting and callings of the baboon increased in volume until every ten minutes he had to pause and adjust his course. He would avoid them if he could. His hands never strayed too far from his knives or his bow and he was always ready to turn on a dime.

The chameleon man he nicknamed Paint. Paint had paused every time Rick did, just barely visible, having turned back into a mottled green. He traveled upside down, hanging from the brown branches above or from low hanging sturdy groupings of vines. Paint made surprising time like this, Rick kept his attention on Paint as well, a small hassle for the companionship of something other than a baboon and plant life. He wondered at the swirling power Paint had depicted himself with on his scales idly.

He didn't completely trust the chameleon to watch his back but he did trust him to watch his own so Rick kept higher priority on the area that Paint wasn't in. The sounds of the baboon tribes often made this unnecessary but Rick didn't want to assume baboons were the only thing there.

Paint made even less sound than Rick did when moving through the reeds. Rick's muddied face and body was pathetic camouflage compared to Paint's disappearing act. He noted the disparity and checked his holstered pistol with assurance if worse came to worse he had that at least.

Jerxos has warned him that sentience took many forms. He noted with mild curiosity the mental block that prevented him from thinking Paint was intelligent for not being able to communicate with him. The chameleon didn't seem to have any gripes with Rick being so. Paint had immediately gone to communicate through visual cues, he applauded the free-thinking sentient in that. But Rick always had a flexible and adaptable mind, he would see past that mental block. It was an interesting thought though.

Even now, he spotted the chameleon flash red in a quick-witted alert for his attention. Finding Rick's eyes on him Paint communicated eating the berries he indicated in his open hand, hanging upside down from a branch. Images flashed on his body and Rick gestured his hand out. Paint dropped it and Rick caught the berries popping one in his mouth before tossing the whole stem back upwards. Paint got the message and began to nibble on them, apparently having teeth despite the huge tongue. His fourth arm allowed him the luxury to do this while upside down.

"Intelligent. No doubt about it." Rick muttered upwards, staring at Paint. He chuckled lightly to himself. "Luck if you could just see this. Son, you'd probably lose your head staring if you were here." He laughed whole-heartedly.

The thought only tightened his purpose.

As it were, his attention was on many things aside from the rays of sun that occasionally poke through the impregnable canopy. So he was surprised to find that night fell without him realizing it. He stopped and created a temporary shelter, Paint having noticed this began to fashion the vines above into a hammock. Rick afforded a look upwards and found an interesting nest design that worked with three interloping vines.

Rick worked a few wide-leaved branches into a nook where the trunk of a tree split when a stem full of berries landed in the soft leaves he placed aside for bedding. Looking up, Paint was already upside down and moving to his nest-hammock. Rick shrugged and made sure they matched the shortening supply of berries in his cargo pants.

They were. "Thanks, Paint." He waved upwards.

He had made these type of shelters before back in the day. Trunks that split three ways were a little rarer to find where he operated but creating a bedded and roofed shelter using the trunks to catch the roof was a skill he could adapt. Hanging from the roof were a variety of large leaves that acted as well a curtain as they did camouflage.

Per usual, the hooting and screeches of the indigenous jungle primates died out in short order. They were inactive at night so it would've been great to travel then but the jungle was an absolute darkness when night fell. Once dark and rich green surroundings became black. There was nothing to see and thus nowhere to go. In the beginning, he was nervous of nighttime predators prowling about but the night was as silent as it was dark. Only the ambient noises of bugs and nocturnal birds occupied the night.

Rick rested peacefully among his grass bedding, something he thought he wasn't going to get tonight.

Screaming erupted around him. A large hand pressed hard against his mouth. Rick's eyes shot open and his hands went for both of his knives when he realized his assaulter wasn't even looking at him. Paint was in his shelter, head cocked to the side, his crest of scales on his head was adjusting to some unknown input. Rick resheathed his knives, his body under his immediate control, pulling them away for Paint's neck. Rick regarded Paint for moments until he moved to pull the makeshift curtains aside but Paint stopped his arm with surprising strength, looking down he realized the chameleon had not one but three of his long arms to prevent him.

Paint turned away again. Without even looking at him his body flashed with images even as the screams outside continued. Rick knew those screams. Those were baboons dying. If ever Rick had left them with a fatal wound he would hear the same crying, or if he scared them enough. Rick recognized the tension in Paint's body for what it was this time.

"Something's killing the baboons," Rick said dumbly. "But I've never seen anything else out there."

He looked peered through the gaps of his shelter. "It's twilight. Right before sunrise." He cringed at a particularly loud screech and a louder crash. "That sounded big." He observed.

Paint displayed images of some large creature barreling through the forest. Its face was shaped like a rhino's but it was bulkier and instead of horns it had large ivory plates protruding from its forehead and cheeks. It rammed trees down and ate the falling baboons.

Rick turned away from the pictures as he again reached for a cane he didn't have. The shelter was roofed by a layer of intertwined branches five by six feet. It was the three splitting trunks that offered themselves as a makeshift floor though. Rick crouched on one while Paint was still as a statue nearby.

There was a moment of eternal silence before a low, rumbling growl shattered it like glass. Paint exploded from his stillness and flashed red and yellow frantically. Rick scrambled away from the noise.

Then the tree erupted into splinters.