Museum Core Chapter 35: The Village in the Jungle

“Do we look for the village?” Smith asked.

“Absolutely,” Jaclyn said. “We know Fields isn’t there right now, and he might attack us on sight if he sees us snooping around.”

“Let’s go then.”

***

It had been easy to follow Fields’ trail. He hadn’t covered the entirety of his path in foliage, but the place he’d popped up had given them a good starting point, and from there, they’d followed another natural path once the initial area of churned plant matter had ended.

And from there, well, very little in this jungle liked being out in the open, it seemed. It made sense when she thought about it, though. Based on what she’d seen, most of the critters in the jungle were all about hiding and striking from stealth.

Being outside the cover of plant life made one visible, and might even wholly negate certain powers, while anything that decided to target something out in the open would be able to take advantage of cover all the way until the attack.

Initially, Jaclyn had expected driving through the knee-high foliage near the museum entrance to be an issue, but as it turned out, that crap was dense, it might as well have been sand or mulch, or any other kind of soft ground that could nevertheless support a motor vehicle.

And with their cars, they’d made good time towards their eventual destination.

It looked a lot like what she’d pictured when she’d heard the phrase “Robinson Crusoe” from the mouth of someone not even twenty, who’d built in the middle of an overgrown metropolis. Tons of wood and plant matter included in construction, absolutely nothing that would have passed any sort of building inspection but nevertheless suitable for habitation.

Someone, she had to suspect Fields, had pushed away everything that had covered the parking lot this place was built upon, stacking cars and woven tough-looking vines through them to form a powerful exterior wall while the inside held several huts and the like.

But there were two larger huts as well, one had a large opening and seemed more like a stable, and the other was an ostentatious construction covered in what had to have been the entire inventory of a jewelry store. One for Oliver Fields, and the other, well, that one was mostly likely for the brother, the one who was no longer human.

The huts used I-Beams driven deep into the asphalt as their corners, with halved tree trunks connecting their tops, and construction fencing interwoven with more plants acting as walls.

The roofs themselves seemed to be some kind of palm frond construction. Where the hell had those come from? Jaclyn hadn’t seen anything like that in the jungle, and it was hardly the natural flora of the British Isles. Someone’s potted plant, maybe? Or had someone gotten out of the jungle, broken into the Royal Botanical Gardens, stolen palms, and come back?

Honestly, while she assumed it was a potted plant, she wouldn’t put that last one past Fields.

All in all, the construction was … something. Incredible, but also limited. The car wall lacked any towers and would be absolute hell to patrol, and the gate was just a bunch of construction fencing woven together that was nonetheless quite see-through, meaning the whole place could easily be scouted from the outside. Not to mention that the wall was twice the size of the gate.

Admittedly, moving something that big would have been troublesome, but the gate’s small size just made it even more of a weak spot than it already was. From where Jaclyn was standing, she couldn’t see another entrance, which wasn’t great. Getting over the walls would be damn tough, so if something came in through the gate, this place could easily become a death trap.

Either way, it didn’t look like there was anyone guarding it, just a whole lot of people going about what passed for their daily business in this messed up corner of the world.

Jaclyn hopped out of the car the moment it had stopped and marched towards the gate, rapping her knuckles against the nearest car.

And then, she realized that she was a lot tougher than the last time she’d knocked on a heavy metal door, so she began whacking the car’s hood with a lot more force. Too much force. First, a loud boom echoed out, followed by the metal crumpling inwards with a loud metallic screech.

And secondly, the camp transformed from something reasonably orderly to a kicked anthill.

She really needed to figure out a few more things with her new strength, control especially. It was easy to pull back her power when interacting with people, only drawing on the strength needed to lift something was doable as well, but deciding how much strength to use before she’d really tested the resistance of the thing she hit wasn’t anywhere near that simple.

All that being said, though, that little stunt had gotten the necessary attention.

A middle-aged woman approached the door, a carpenter’s hammer loosely held in her left hand, ready to be bashed against the skull of a potential enemy.

“I’m Inspector Abrams, but don’t worry, no one’s in any trouble, we just want to make sure you guys are fine out here,” she called out, arms hanging by her side, her gun’s holster already tucked under her shirt.

“We’re pretty fine here, but don’t you think it’s time to accept that the old world is gone?” the woman asked, sounding both suspicious and curious. She certainly didn’t put the hammer down.

“Gone?” Jaclyn asked.

“Lady, have you been living under a rock? It’s the bloody apocalypse, England literally got turned into a jungle!”

“Hold on, central London got turned into a jungle, everything outside is fine. Things are weird right now, but the world hasn’t ended,” Jaclyn corrected, gesturing towards the military vehicles behind her. “We’re just trying to make sure everyone who wants to leave has the option to get out.”

“Hold on, what!?”

“I ran into Oliver Fields in the jungle, he said he had a village trying to tough it out and I’m trying to make sure this won’t end badly,” Jaclyn shrugged. “If you guys tell me to back off and I’m gone.”

Honestly, she wouldn’t leave just because one person told her to go, it’d have to be most of the village declaring that they were fine, but she was pretty sure she’d already figured out what was going on here.

“I’m sorry, ’tough it out’?”

And there it was.

“Where is that little twerp, we’ll see how tough the high and mighty cultivator is when I bash his bollocks into paste!”

“So you didn’t know?” Jaclyn asked.

“NO, I bloody well didn’t!”

“Can I come in?” Jaclyn began to ask, but the woman had yanked on the gate, causing it to fall down with a loud clatter, and run towards the group of people gathering in the village, cursing and shouting all the while.

Well, that gate was pretty crappy, wasn’t it?

Jaclyn took that as an invitation and strode inside to look at everything.

There wasn’t much she could see now that she hadn’t before, with one big honking exception.

It was an old, square building, made entirely of rock and covered in moss and vines, sitting atop a weirdly tall platform with a staircase on each side she could see, and a door at the end of each staircase.

After maybe thirty seconds of staring at it, she realized that it was probably the top floor and parts of the floor below of some manner of ziggurat, almost completely buried in the jungle. Just what was that thing? Was that what Fields had found that had allowed him to grow so strong? Or was it just a coincidence?

Well, it was right next to the bejeweled chief’s hut and carefully positioned so that it wasn’t visible from the gate, so probably?

Either way, she needed to talk to the locals before she explored that place.

The group of village inhabitants approached her as one and absolutely flooded her with questions, but they were all the same, wanting to know about the reality of the situation, about their families, and whether or not there was a way to get out.

No mention of the Fields brothers at all.

A story was currently writing itself before her eyes. Of two people finding power, one in the form of transformation, the other in the form of treasure, and starting to carve out their own little kingdom in the middle of what used to be the city of London.

From there, they’d gathered people, painting themselves as the only port in the storm, and then, well, then she’d showed up.

It didn’t take long to decide what to do. Send two cars back out with most of the locals while leaving some of the military here to free up some space, with Gula for protection.

Jaclyn would stay here, though, since Fields was most likely dead after challenging the Dungeon, leaving a whole bunch of largely helpless people stuck in the middle of the jungle without protection. They’d also have a machine gun, which they’d dismounted from the trashed jeep.

Between her and the extra soldiers, though, they should be able to hold the line until reinforcements could arrive. Half an hour to get out of the jungle, two hours at the very most to get more cars, and another thirty minutes to return.

They should be able to survive in here for three hours, right?

And in the meantime, the most vulnerable people would have gone out with the first wave.

Jaclyn looked over towards the ziggurat. Could she explore it now?

No, that was a bad idea, she was needed up here.

But she could look at it from the outside, so she marched up to it, went up the stairs, and looked inside. A spiral staircase led down deep, with shimmering runes bathing everything in a soft green light.

However, not all carvings were so benign. Several glowed with a baleful energy, telling her that most likely, going down there would end badly.

Energy flashed behind her while she was still looking downwards, causing her to whirl around.

An emerald gateway had popped into existence, replacing one of the four doors to this room, with the other end looking an awful lot like the Museum.

And coming out of that gateway was no one else than Oliver Fields, finding her exactly he didn’t want her. At least she assumed that was the case.

“YOU!” he roared and charged. He looked awful, most of his clothing reduced to rags, only a supremely expensive and magical-looking pair of pants preserving his dignity, but that didn’t matter here at all.

“Hey, I’m just looking, I figured I’d give the people here a chance to go elsewhere if they wan ...”

She was forced to dive back to avoid taking a fist to the face, retreating out through the door and down the stairs, realizing that fighting below her opponent on the stairs was just asking for a kick to the face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” Fields roared, staring around, clearly taking note of everyone who wasn’t there.

“Traitors, all of you!”

“It’s their choice if they want to leave,” Jaclyn said. “But look who stayed.”

That was bullshit, as far as she could tell, everyone here was there because there wasn’t enough space on the transports, but if she could deescalate the situation here … nevermind, Fields had just drawn his sword and infused it with energy.

“Put the sword down!” she yelled drawing her gun. It likely wouldn’t do much to him, but people were trained to be scared of guns by basically everything they saw on TV, and maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t gotten over that yet?

Besides, she wasn’t close enough to punch him yet.

A simple swipe of his sword unleashed a wedge of energy at her, forcing Jaclyn to throw herself to the side before emptying her gun at his chest. It didn’t do much, every impact dimpling his skin but leaving no visible mark.

Ah well, worth a try.

She holstered the gun while behind her, the soldiers who’d stayed back opened fire, not having much more luck. The machine gun might have done more, but both it and the guy setting it up were speared by a series of roots before it could open fire.

Ok, gloves off, for real this time!

Fields advanced on her, blasts of sword energy flying, but she dodged them all. Powerful he might be, he needed to get closer before she was unable to evade.

But where were his big attacks, the root wall, the jungle reshaping through magic alone? Had he blown through all his energy in the Dungeon? She certainly hoped so.

And then, he was in melee range, and all Jaclyn could do was try and stay alive.

He really wasn’t a very good fighter, she realized. His attacks were polished, smooth motions aimed at the most vulnerable spots on her body, but his footwork was a mess, his breathing was ragged, and he was hyper-fixated on her in a way that would have cost him if anyone here had been in a position to hurt him.

When Fields attempted to decapitate her, she dropped into a crouch and kicked out, her foot slamming into his shin, throwing the leg back into his other one and pushing that one back with such force that Fields suddenly found himself briefly airborne, granting her a perfect shot to put all the force of her shooting back to her feet behind the fist she slammed into his diaphragm, sending him flying almost ten meters back.

Strong and tough he might be, but he wasn’t any heavier than a normal human.

Wheezing, Fields got back onto his feet before she could close the distance, then surged forward, forcing her to duck under a wild slash. But she failed to dodge the follow-up kick that threw her almost twenty meters back. If it hadn’t been for that, the follow-up attack would have likely cost her her head.

But she managed to get back up too, far less winded than her opponent, who was already right in her face and trying to remove her arm. She couldn’t dodge in time, but managed to get far enough away to only take a small cut, one that somehow, miraculously, didn’t impede the function of the limb in the slightest.

A quick grab granted Jaclyn some control over Fields’ sword arm, and gave her an option to hammer a Leopard Fist straight into the inside of his upper arm. That was one of the less well-known weak points of the human body, but one that was very useful. Taking a punch there was somewhat similar to taking a hammer to one’s funny bone, and an untrained fighter throwing a wild punch often exposed that area.

It worked, but barely. Fields flinched and let go of the sword, but punched her with his left hand, throwing her back with an aching shoulder.

Strike after strike landed, on both of them.

If it hadn’t been for the reach of his sword, Fields wouldn’t have been in nearly as good a position without it, but she had to admit, she was slowly losing.

None of the hammerblow-punches and kicks she’d taken had done damage that might take her out of the fight, and even the cuts hadn’t done anything beyond cause pain and a little bleeding, but she wasn’t getting far.

Fields landed at least one hit for every one she did, and he hit a lot harder. Sure, he wasn’t anywhere near as precise as she was, but he was strong enough to almost completely make up for that.

A powerful kick threw her clear across the field again and he retreated several meters back, leaping onto the roof of his house before he began to shout a speech about loyalty, how the police and soldiers were lying, and how no one could beat him.

Great, he was monologuing. But it gave her a chance to recover, to think.

She rolled to her feet but didn’t raise her hands into a combat stance, move closer, or give any indication of wanting to do anything except listen.

Jaclyn hadn’t been this outmatched in … years. Decades, maybe. She’d lost plenty of fights, of course. Some had been due to stupid mistakes, some had basically been coin tosses, sometimes her opponent had just been plain better, but even so … that was the past.

Honestly, the last time had been a bar brawl in her twenties. Some soldier had chatted her up, she’d told him to go screw himself when he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and he’d been drunk enough to take that as an insult. So he’d thrown the first punch.

Taking that guy down had been simple, but then his buddy had cold-clocked her. But she’d stayed conscious and knocked that guy on his ass too … which was when the third guy had come from the bathroom, seen her standing over his two friends, and drawn the entirely wrong conclusion. And so on.

By the time the brawl had ended and the police had arrived, she’d still been standing, albeit barely, and her four opponents hadn’t. But she’d taken so many punches in that fight, just because she had been used to fighting in training and in proper matches, where she only had a single opponent to contend with and could safely block out everything else.

Today was worse than that day. She was outmatched in strength, in speed, she was unarmed and her opponent could probably take more punches than she could despite how focused her powerset was on durability.

And yet, a distant part of her was telling her that she could win. Her power.

But was that the ludicrous crackhead confidence of the honey badger, or a cold, dispassionate, correct, assessment of the current situation.

Her power was supposed to give her the ability to fight like the animal she was bonded to, and the honey badger was infamous for being able to punch well outside its weightclass. So where was that power, hm?

What made them so fearsome?

The fact that they didn’t back down and were willing to fight to the death in situations where their opponents very much weren’t helped, but that couldn’t be all, could it?

Also, they liked to go for the balls, to the point where “the ball biting honey badger” was how several YouTube channels she’d watched to get more information on the little blighters referred to them, but that certainly didn’t apply here either.

And it wasn’t like “go for the weak points” was some big revelation either. Hell, that was the entire point of the fighting style she already had.

So what was the big secret?

Honey badgers charged in, went for a viable target, and chomped down whenever possible. A lion bit its neck, well it’d just twist free and its attacker would have put itself in perfect nose-chomping range. Cobra goes in to strike? Well, the venom can’t do more than make the badger a little sleepy, and once it lands its bite that’s the end of the walking, well, slithering, snakeskin purse.

Anyone who attacked the badger had to get close enough to land its strikes, and at that point, its formidable defenses, skin as thick as a buffalo’s covering a body the size of a small dog or large cat, elastic enough to allow it to twist out of almost any hold or bite, would allow it to survive and put it in the perfect position to counterattack.

Now, how could she abuse, er, use, this?

Let an opponent land a hit, trusting her power to keep the damage survivable, and go for a far stronger attack? Lose a finger, break a hand, get stabbed, break the other guy’s arm, get headbutted, take advantage of her opponent’s position to gouge out his eyes?

All hypothetically, of course, depending on the severity of the situation, the crimes of her opponent, and the possibility of using less damaging moves … but she could work with this.

She felt the System message more than she read it. Her mind became flooded with information, the equivalent of countless hours of training empowering her while also putting her previous knowledge into perspective.

Skill Evolution: Bàoquán 22 -> Fist of Indomitable Badger 23

But that seemed to be all the time her opponent needed to monolog as he’d jumped off the roof and was once again attacking, lunging straight at her.

Fields’ sword stabbed straight at her stomach, and this time, she let it hit.