And then, Nightclown saw them...
A field of bulbous mushrooms. Red ones. Blue ones. Green ones. Yellow ones. They pulsed faintly. Like slow-breathing bioluminescent organisms.
And every few seconds, one would swell. Let out a soft POP! And explode into a harmless but vibrant spray of colored liquid. A nearby tree trunk was already splattered with a neon of abstract painting.
"Bomb Mushrooms." Nightclown deduced. "Sleeping, mostly." He remembered the bulldog guard's warning. "I guess they will explode into colorful paints when they are awakened."
He approached cautiously. This wasn't an itch. Or a physical obstacle. This was an area-of-effect hazard. One wrong step. One startled mushroom. And he would be drenched.
His initial instinct was to tiptoe. To be as quiet and careful as possible. He stretched his ears. Listening for any subtle hums or twitches from the fungi.
He tried to navigate the gaps between the sleeping mushrooms. Taking slow, deliberate steps.
A particularly large, red-capped mushroom ahead began to glow. Its cap throbbing.
He froze for a fraction of a second. And then, his instinct kicked in. He jumped backward. An ugly and silly jump without finesse. But it saved him from being drenched in red color.
The red-capped mushroom swelled. Then with a muffled THWUMP-POP!, it burst into a shower of bright red paint. Splattering the ground directly where he would have planted his next foot.
"Too close." He whispered. "Stealth isn't going to cut it. They're too sensitive."
He surveyed the field. It stretched for what looked like a hundred meters. Carefully navigating each individual mushroom would take forever.
And, frankly, it was boring. His inner toon was now fully awake and raring to go. It craved for more.
A mischievous glint entered his eye. He remembered the chain domino reaction from his past life.
He looked at a cluster of five mushrooms, nestled closely together. A blue, a yellow, a green, a red, and a purple. All perfectly dormant.
He stretched his index finger. Making it incredibly long and thin. Like a cartoon stick. He aimed it at the smallest, most isolated mushroom in the cluster.
Poke.
The mushroom twitched. It vibrated. Its blue cap glowing brighter. It swelled. Rapidly. Nightclown pulled his finger back with a theatrical flourish.
POP!
A vibrant blue explosion erupted. The spray of paint caught the adjacent yellow mushroom. The yellow mushroom was startled awake. It swelled and popped into a shower of yellow. This hit the green. POP! Green hit red. POP! Red hit purple. POP!
A kaleidoscopic chain reaction. A symphony of colorful detonations. Rippled through the cluster.
Nightclown watched. Utterly delighted. A wide, gleeful grin was splitting his face. The air was filled with the scent of sweet, fungal paint.
"Now THAT'S how you cross a minefield!" He chuckled.
His toon-awakened nature changed his mind. He now thought that the explosion was fun. No longer depressing. Being splattered with paints was... cool. Not dirty.
He decided on a new strategy. Mass disruption. He stretched his legs. Coiling it into springs. Preparing for colossal, rubbery leaps.
He would identify a cluster. Target one. Trigger the chain. And then use the resulting explosion as cover, or even momentum, to propel himself further.
He stretched and launched himself high. His body briefly taking on an elongated, aerodynamic shape. As he landed near a group of especially plump mushrooms, he stretched his foot out. Giving a quick-kick to the largest one.
KICK-POP!
Another chain reaction. Red, orange, and purple paint burst around him like harmless fireworks. He didn't even try to avoid it.
He reveled in the bright splashes. Letting the colorful liquids spatter his now rainbow-painted fur and clothes. He was a walking canvas. A living, breathing art project.
This was exhilarating. This was freedom. This was fun.
He bounced. Stretched. And triggered his way across the entire field. He was no longer just Jester Eventide, the Earth man reincarnated in a toon body. He was the Nightclown. A resident. A participant. A force of nature... in this absurd, wonderful world.
His initial caution had been shed like old skin. Replaced by a boundless, mischievous energy. He was a true toon now. Powered by whimsy and the sheer joy of causing perfectly harmless, colorful chaos.
Nightclown was grinning all the time. He wished he could record what he was doing. And shared it as an entertainment show. It was a fun content. Something really lacking in Sherra.
Finally, the mushroom field ended. The ground beneath his feet shifted. Becoming harder. With a dry, almost gravelly texture.
The air had just now been thick with the sweet, earthy smell of mushrooms and paint. But now, it carried a faint, crisp, metallic tang.
The trees around him were different. They were no longer the vibrant greens of the Waltzing Trees. Or the twilight shade of the fairy-infested zone.
These were deep. Charcoal grey. Almost black. Their bark was gleaming with an almost polished, metallic sheen. Their leaves, though still green, were thicker and tougher than wooden sword blade.
He saw another signpost. This one was carved into a rough, metallic-looking stone. It read... 'Ironwood Zone'. The words were blunt. Unadorned.
Nightclown paused. Wiping a streak of yellow paint from his cheek with a stretched finger. His blue T-shirt and joggers were now a vibrant, abstract expression of his recent journey. He looked like he'd been through a cartoon war. And come out chuckling.
He looked at the formidable, metallic-barked trees. His grey hare eyes narrowing not in fear, but in anticipation. His heart thumped with a healthy, toon-fueled rhythm.
"Alright, Ironwood!" He said aloud. His voice was confident. And tinged with a fresh, adventurous spirit. "Let's see what you're made of. And let's see what I'm made of, now."
Nightclown wasted no time. He approached the nearest charcoal-grey tree. Its bark looked more like forged metal than organic matter. He gave it a firm rap with his knuckles. A deep, resonant THUNK! echoed.
"Tough as nails." He muttered. A grin was spreading across his mouth. "Just what should be fitting for a good nunchaku."
He looked at the ironwood trees. And sighed. He was a newbie, after all. Convenient toon gadgets were still a luxury beyond his current capabilities.
"Right. No tools." He grumbled. Eyeing the sturdy limbs high above. How was he supposed to get these branches down?
It was then a common sense flickered in his mind. When above was unreachable, look down. His gaze swept the ground beneath the ironwood giants.
To his relief, not all these trees held onto their limbs like a miser to his coin. Some had shed older, thinner branches. Or perhaps a strong gust of unseen wind had done the work for him.
He spotted a promising candidate near the base of one tree. A thick, dense piece. Dark as the trunk itself. About his forearm's length.
He knelt, testing its weight. It was heavy. Substantial. Exactly what he needed. He picked it up from where it had settled into the soft earth.
"That's one." He puffed. A small, satisfying smile appeared in his face.
This was not as easy as he thought. But it was far from impossible. He didn't just grab the first thing he saw. He carefully selected the better ones.
He moved from tree to tree. Scanning the ground. He looked for branches that seemed naturally aligned for his purpose. Not too gnarled. Not too thin. Already broken off. And lying ready.
He picked up a second. Then a third. Each one a minor triumph of perseverance. He just needed two branches. But he decided to have at least six. Just in case.
He occasionally had to wrestle a branch out from under a root. Or tug it free from a pile of leaves. His small but determined frame strained. He wasn't cutting or chopping the branches. But he was certainly working to get them.
Soon, he had six sturdy ironwood branches. Each was about his forearm's length, thick, and heavy. After he gathered the sixth, he tried to put them in his [Inventory]. Using mental command.
A chime rang in his ears.
[ITEM ACQUIRED: Ironwood Branch (x6)]
[Inventory > Raw Materials] updated.
He opened his HUD. Indeed, under the 'Raw Materials' tab, an entry for 'Ironwood Branch' gleamed. He tapped on it.
[Ironwood Branch]: A sturdy, metallic-barked timber. Common raw material for carpentry and blunt weaponry.
"Perfect." Nightclown mumbled. Satisfied. "Plenty of spares." He didn't like leaving things to chance. Two for the Nunchaku. Four for... later. Always good to have options.
With his primary objective in the Ironwood Zone accomplished, Nightclown was about to return. But he felt a familiar twitch in his nose.
It wasn't the smell of metallic bark anymore. It was something else. A subtle, earthy sweetness. One that pulled at an instinct deeper than his manufactured Toonworld persona could fully explain. It was the ancestral call for the hare.
He trotted deeper into a less dense part of the Ironwood Zone. His ears were swiveling. His nose were twitching rapidly. The ground here was softer. A patch of less-charred soil. Where sunlight managed to filter through the thick canopy.
And there they were...