Charlemagne was pleased that his legs once again reached the ground, now that his stomach was no longer so distended. Well, one of his legs, at any rate. The other was still regrowing, and the process itched unbearably. Luckily he had some squiggles waiting for his attention.
The rooster was miffed that he hadn’t leveled up, but the squiggles finally recognizing his amazing creation as a genuine skill made up for it. Also, the achievement was very nice as well. Charlemagne wasn’t exactly sure, but he thought that the achievement was worth more than a level when it came to an increase in his attributes.
Charlemagne was also pleased that he had finally gotten to level 10 in his Mana Core skill, although he was confused as to why the skill had not changed like his other skills had. The squiggles, in their wisdom, sensed his question and saw fit to answer it.
Charlemagne took a moment to consider the squiggles’ meaning, coming close to some sort of revelation but not yet having the brainpower to figure out what his subconscious was trying to tell him. Certainly, whatever information he could glean from the magical letters was less important than the prize right in front of him: an only slightly charred crocodile corpse that was making his Special Ability go nuts. The rooster dove straight into the croc’s ruined gullet and set to work with gusto.
The devolved rooster ate until his beak ached from pulling pieces of tough meat and thick hide apart. It was hard going, especially since he was already still very full from eating all that rice, but he could practically taste the gains that were waiting for him. So, Charlemagne soldiered on, eating until he simply couldn’t eat any more. Once his stomach refused to accept another bite, he did what many animals do once they have gorged themselves in the middle of the day. He curled up inside the crocodile’s guts and took a nap.
When the rooster woke up, the sun was already low in the sky and he was both groggy and thirsty. Charlemagne hauled himself out of the crocodile’s corpse and made his way back down to the river, not noticing that his leg had finished regenerating while he had napped. He was very careful not to drink too much, taking several breaks while he slowly slaked his thirst. As he slowly finished waking up, his Mana Core once again began circulating mystical energy through his body, helping to fortify his artificially large frame.
Charlemagne felt robbed by the squiggles. If he understood them correctly, all of the benefits from eating the Clampy thing would come later. That didn’t make any sense to him…he had already killed and eaten the thing. Where was his reward?
Thankfully, the squiggles remained silent, allowing the rooster to sulk in peace. Since it was so early, Charlemagne thought longingly about the hens that he had left behind. He was still fairly close, so maybe he could take some of the crocodile for them to feast on. He could carry…well not all that much when considering just how many thousands of hens there were. Maybe he could take a few bags of rice? No, he couldn’t fly with more than one or two and that would not even be close to enough for a good supper for the girls.
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Resolving to leave the forest with the stupid snakes alone until he had found a safe place for his future children, the rooster used the rest of the day to fly north, vowing to do his best to stay out of trouble. That resolution lasted all of ten minutes, because as he passed over what used to be the military base at Bembereke, an object came flying up from a copse of trees.
Before he could react, the sharp object struck the flying rooster, piercing right through the joint that connected his left wing to his shoulder. Charlemagne was incensed at the sudden and unprovoked attack, wanting nothing more than to hunt down whatever had launched the projectile, kill it, and then eat it. With vengeance on his mind, he began to dive toward the ground, searching for the being that had flung the very sharp stick at him, which he now noted was tipped with metal.
But, as he dove, he realized that he had made up his mind to make as much progress while the sun was still up as he could. He couldn’t afford to waste time fighting when all the hens were counting on him. It was galling, he admitted, but he needed to retreat. So, he stretched out his wings to their full length, stopping his rapid descent, and then used his Strike skill to break the stick stuck through his wing in half, continuing to flap his damaged wing despite the pain. The piece of wood took what felt like forever to slide out, sending searing jolts of pain through the injured joint as it slipped inch by inch back through the hole it had made.
Gritting his nonexistent teeth, Charlemagne fought through the pain, activating Meditation to help direct mana to the injured area. As he made good on his escape, he dodged left and right at random to avoid being targeted by further projectiles. Although he lost a lot of altitude, the rooster managed to remain well above the tree line. Despite one part of his mind being leveraged to dodge and another focused on healing his wing, a third portion of Charlemagne’s mind made note of the location. When his other business was done, he’d come back here and settle the score. Charlemagne consoled himself that he was not avoiding a fight, but merely postponing it.
Winging his way to the northwest, Charlemagne flew until the sun began to set. Then he started to look for a landing zone, dodging the occasional bat that rose up to investigate him until one wandered too close and became a late evening snack. Landing near what used to be a market near the village of Kerou, he found an abandoned eighteen-wheeler covered by an enormous blue tarp and made himself comfortable. He dreamed that Grimfalk came down to hunt with him, and together they annihilated hundreds of Assassinadders before eating an entire roast pig each.
When Charlemagne awoke, light was already streaming through the cracks of the tarp that covered the truck’s bed. Hopping down, the devolved rooster stretched his legs and crowed just to make sure that everyone else knew it was time to wake up. Then he strutted around for a few minutes, catching his bearings and trying to remember what Francois had told him about the city of animals that he was searching for.
It occurred to him that Francois had not been all that specific about the location of the city. At all. Charlemagne thought he remembered something about going west of a river and then looking deep in a forest to the north. Well, there were a lot of rivers and forests in the area. Maybe he should look for more hairy two-legged beings like Francois and get them to tell him where the city was.
Racking his brain about what to do next, the rooster spent the majority of the day airborne, learning how to use his wings to provide steady lift rather than having to flap all the time. He saw lots of birds going about their bird business, which seemed to involve lots of flying in circles, but the only structures that he saw were inhabited by humans. Despite his best efforts, he did not see a single being that looked like Francois throughout the day, spotting mainly lizards, goats, cattle, and humans on the ground.
At first, he landed near each of the dwellings and spent some time “investigating”, which essentially consisted of making sure that none of the bipedal creatures looked like they might belong to Francois’ species before attacking any humans and then eating them, but that was taking way too long.
There were a few farms that were still worth landing at after he had given up on this strategy, however. These, of course, were the farms that had chickens. Charlemagne contented himself with scaring off the majority of roosters, only having to put down one particularly large rival that refused to submit to his superiority. His only regret was that he could not take the hens with him, but he surmised that some of them would probably survive. Maybe some of them would have chicks, and, if so, maybe some of the chicks would be his. The rooster thought that would be great, if so.
Taking to the skies after his latest conquest, Charlemagne noted that the sun was getting awfully low on the horizon. Below him stretched verdant forest as far as the eye could see, interrupted here and there by small clusters of buildings that he had already visited. There was really nothing else that he could do with the remainder of the day, unless he wished to fly around in the dark. Feeling a vague discontent despite accomplishing all three of his life’s primary objectives that day, the young rooster decided to find a place to spend the night.
He circled for a few minutes, looking for a good landing spot before finally spotting a large, dead tree near a small stream. It looked as good as anything he’d seen so far, so Charlemagne landed and took a long drink from the stream before hopping his way up the tree, finding a nice spot to roost in a fork near the top. He fell asleep as the sun set, and dreamed about eating the strange creature that had escaped him the day that Francois had died.
The next morning Charlemagne awoke with a start. His subconscious, which had been working on remembering what the familiar smell in the snake-filled forest was, had finally recognized the scent. It was the weird creature that had curled up like a ball and fought with the traitor gorilla, Benedict. All thoughts of finding the animal city went right out the window, as Charlemagne vowed to track down that pangolin and get revenge.
Should I start a Jurassic Bawk Discord?
