Chapter 341: South Park Arc (Viii)
Chapter 341: South Park Arc (Viii)
"Flying like Neo would be amazing..." Feng Bu Jue gazed lazily at the night sky mid-fall, voicing his heartfelt wish.
With his Soul Intent improving, maybe one day he could truly fly—but certainly not today.
"Ugh... this landing's gonna hurt." Feng Bu Jue snapped out of his daydreams, twisting midair as his legs bent to absorb the impact.
Surprisingly, the shock of landing wasn't as harsh as expected, and his survival gauge dropped less than anticipated. Even Feng Bu Jue himself couldn't explain why.
Actually, this was a sign his martial arts proficiency had nearly reached B-rank...
Grawww—
The troll had closed in, its massive claw swinging down with a guttural roar.
Drawing Moxxi's Bad Temper from his satchel was obviously too late now. With the distance and angle working against him, Death Poker wasn't suitable for an attack either.
Feng Bu Jue gritted his teeth, burning another 800 stamina points to unleash the Southern Dipper Flying Dragon Fist.
After escorting Randy, Sharon, and Shelly to the shopping mall from Stan's house, exactly half an hour had passed—Southern Dipper Flying Dragon Fist's cooldown was complete.
This time he used the skill while in Spirit Sense Body Technique state. The lethality of his moves was naturally staggering. As his fists exploded forward, battle aura erupted, forcing the troll to retreat five or six steps.
Considering the guinea pig's massive four-legged body, those five or six steps equated to dozens of meters.
High cost meant high reward. With this strategic space, Feng Bu Jue was essentially safe. He quickly activated Death Poker, hurling it at the guinea pig's eyes to drive it further back.
As the light card flew, Feng Bu Jue deactivated Spirit Sense Body Technique and turned to sprint, scaling the wall with ease.
Without his usual heavy backpack or passengers, climbing this building was child's play. Relying solely on his physical condition and using Soul Intent to clear obstacles, he executed extreme parkour moves with natural fluency.
Within ten seconds, he vaulted onto the roof, escaping the troll's sight.
... ...
Perujungle, ruins basement levels.
A rectangular tunnel stretched through the ruins. Yellow earthen walls, ceiling, and floor lined the passage. Broken wooden stakes and large rocks littered the path, though none seemed to compromise the structure.
Suddenly, a torch-carrying figure emerged from a corner.
"That way, staff", Stan paused at the turn, waiting for his companions.
The other four kids followed Kyle, who suddenly perked up. "Did you hear that? Sounds like rushing water."
"Exactly", Cartman confirmed, pointing ahead. "That way."
As they spoke, they reached the tunnel's end. Emerging into open space, they beheld a magnificent basement temple.
The cavernous space sloped downward. Giant braziers burned bright on gray stone walls. Waterfalls cascaded from high stone crevices, while a dramatically winding suspension bridge connected several cliffs above a circular waterfall plunging into abyssal depths.
Two colossal humanoid statues knelt facing each other on either side, their Inca-inspired features unmistakable. From each statue's gaping mouth poured waterfalls merging into the abyss below.
"Staff, this is impossible!" Cartman gasped at the spectacle.
Exchanging glances, Stan declared, "Let's go in."
Before he finished speaking, the four marched forward in unison.
"No." Craig's voice cut from behind. "I'm not going."
The group froze. Stan, torch in hand, turned back. "What?"
"I don't want to follow you anymore", Craig replied calmly.
"We must investigate!" Stan urged.
"Why?" Craig challenged.
The four exchanged uneasy looks before Stan stammered, "Because... things just work out that way."
"You always drag yourselves into trouble because of that stupid phrase", Craig criticized.
"Hey! You weren't painted on the temple prophecy wall either, coward!" Stan snapped.
"I don't care", Craig shrugged. "Whatever you say, I'm done with this nonsense."
"What do you want then?" Kyle asked.
"Simple." Craig spread his arms. "Watch this."
He turned back the way they came.
The four stared in shock, their expressions screaming: Is this guy even reading the scenario?
Craig moved like a rare character with common sense in a horror film—walking away from danger. He retraced their path out of the ruins while the four foolishly followed, helplessly shouting: "Wait! Craig!"
So Craig led the way, four followers trailing at a distance.
Before they knew it, they'd left the thicket, crossing moonlit wastelands, grasslands, and lakes...
The four mischief-makers kept chiming in: "Staff, Graig, we should return to the temple!" "Look, something's over there!"
But Craig remained firmly ten points ahead with his calm response: "No way. Not interested. Dream on."
Hours later, Cartman groaned, "Staff, this is boring! We're just wandering aimlessly!"
Craig remained unmoved. "Exactly! Such precious 'boredom' is exactly what I crave."
... ...
Two hours earlier, shopping mall rooftop.
"Okay, Sharon, Shelly, and Mr. Stotch have reached the shopping mall rooftop with me", Randy narrated, filming his family with a portable camera. "We fled here from the streets, and met the Stotch family here." He panned the camera to three more refugees hiding under the roof.
The Stotches were a family of three. Father Chris was a closeted homosexual (denying it despite being caught soliciting male prostitutes), mother Linda was a weepy, mentally fragile woman prone to breakdowns, and son Butters was an innocent, awkwardly lovable boy with latent bisexual tendencies.
Butters was South Park's most important character after the four main kids, with significant screen time and evolving popularity as the series progressed.
"This is Chris and Linda, and their son Butters." Randy explained while panning the camera.
Butters nervously fidgeted with his fingers, giving an awkward wave to the camera. "Hi everyone."
Meanwhile, Feng Bu Jue leaned alone against a nearby wall, carefully stitching closed his cracked wounds...
Earlier, carrying both a lord and a child while making a desperate ten-meter leap had already reopened his injuries. Looking back now, the momentary dizziness during his fall was likely from severe blood loss.
“What should we do next? [Bleep] Mr.?” Randy finished filming a scene and clumsily waddled over to Feng Bu Jue.
Feng Bu Jue really didn’t want to deal with this idiot, or even entertained the idea of killing him. After all, the side questtask was completed, and the system didn’t prohibit killing in-game characters.
But after calming down, he realized that recklessly slaughtering major characters in this world wasn’t a good idea. The chain reaction could be catastrophic. So, Feng Bu Jue chose to stick with the Npc cooperation plan instead.
“I remember… you play guitar?” Feng Bu Jue suddenly asked out of the blue.
“Huh? Yeah… I do play,” Randy replied. “Why’re you asking this?”
“Great,” Feng Bu Jue said, not bothering to answer the question.
Truthfully, Feng Bu Jue just needed confirmation. He remembered Randy’s character well. Back when this guy was young, he joined a choir and was even signed by a record company as a member of a male idol combination called “Jewish Street Boys” (Randy joined at eighteen, but the company disbanded the group a year later, claiming they were already nineteen and “too old”). Randy also played Carry On My Wayward Son on an electric guitar in the Guitar Hero episode, and once worked as a bar singer.
In short, Randy could play at least one instrument, had decent singing skills, and even knew how to dance. Don’t let his shameless middle-aged persona fool you—he was far better than those talentless idiots who learned guitar for a few months, had nothing but Ktv-level singing skills, couldn’t read sheet music, and still dared to audition for talent shows.
“Does anyone here know how to play the pan flute?” Feng Bu Jue asked next.
“Uh… I play harmonica,” Chris responded. “Why’re you asking all these questions? [Bleep] Mr.?”
“Good enough. I think you’ll manage,” Feng Bu Jue said, then turned to Butters. “Butters, you play drums, right?”
Butters, the honest kid, nodded. “Yes, Mr., but I’m not very good at it.”
“No worries. Just being able to play is enough,” Feng Bu Jue mused. “Hmm… I can handle the maracas—a percussion instrument originating from South American indigenous cultures—so… we four gentlemen can form a proper pan flute band.”
“A pan flute band?” Randy asked. “You mean those Peruvian pan flute bands the government keeps locked up?”
“Exactly, yeah,” Feng Bu Jue replied. He accidentally pricked his wound with a needle due to poor focus, pulling it out as he explained. “The weakness of those guinea pigs is pan flute music. Once we find the instruments, we can drive them away with pan flute melodies.”
“What? That’s impossible!” Chris exclaimed.
“Hah… Never thought I’d hear the word ‘impossible’ from you guys,” Feng Bu Jue scoffed. “Didn’t you once get trapped here during the ‘Night of the Hobos’ crisis—pretty much like Night of the Living Dead, except zombies were replaced by hobos—without questioning its logic?”
“That’s different,” Chris shrugged.
“Hobos, hippies, lobster people, future immigrants… I thought you’d be used to dealing with weird invasions by now,” Feng Bu Jue said.
“Uh… [Bleep] Mr.,” Sharon interjected, “you seem to know a lot about our town. Are you a local?”
“Duh, I’m a superhero,” Feng Bu Jue casually replied. “Jesus and Santa Claus are my good bros. They’ve got all the inside info, so I know plenty about this town.”
Everyone nodded as if they suddenly understood everything.
As they spoke, Feng Bu Jue finished treating his cracked wounds, stopping the bleeding for now.
He glanced at the game menu. His vitality value was at 24%, and his stamina value had dropped to 563/2900. Since he’d just used a supplement, taking another one so soon would be inefficient. He decided to stretch his resources as long as possible and save the second bottle for emergencies.
“…Every move from here on needs careful planning. Even if the Dragon Fist Skill cools down again, I’m out of stamina for a third round,” Feng Bu Jue thought.
He took a breath, packed his medical supplies, and stood up. “So… does anyone know where the mall’s music store is?”
“It’s in the northwest corner of the fourth floor, next to the book section,” Linda replied.
“Alright, let’s recap the current situation,” Feng Bu Jue announced. “Ladies, gentlemen, and… kids. As you’ve seen, these giant monsters rampaging around are extremely powerful. Conventional weapons won’t work.” He raised a finger. “From what I know, there’s only one thing they fear—pan flute music.” He sighed. “Since the military confiscated all commercially available pan flute Cds… we’ll have to play it ourselves to drive them away.”
“But I’ve got to hold this camera. I can’t play guitar,” Randy said smugly, lowering the bar for decency.
“Randy!” Sharon yelled at her husband. “Do you even care about the crisis?!”
“No worries, Mrs. Marsh,” Feng Bu Jue said calmly, turning to Randy. “You can get a special head strap to mount the portable camera on your head. That way, you can film without sacrificing your performance.”
This was where Feng Bu Jue’s scheming side showed—he conveniently forgot to mention that the camera didn’t even have a tape inside.
“Oh, brilliant idea!” Randy cheered.
“Alright, everyone, follow me,” Feng Bu Jue said, heading toward the door downstairs. “Once we get the instruments, we’ll be safe. Let’s move fast before those monsters break in.”
…
Machu Picchu Ruins, Peru.
Known as the “Lost City” of the Inca Empire, this ancient site sat precariously between the impassable peaks of the Andes—the Elder and Younger Mountains—on a steep, narrow ridge.
Just to note, this place is famous for having llamas. Not sure why I felt the need to mention that…
That night, thunderclouds loomed. A Chinook helicopter landed atop the ancient mountain summit.
Five figures disembarked: two fully armed U.S. soldiers and three men in black suits.
The five quickly approached the ruins. The leader—head of national security—abruptly halted and turned. “Wait here.”
Without waiting for a response, he walked ahead alone.
Ahead, between the ancient walls, lay a wide plaza. In its center stood a massive golden statue.
About three times human height, the statue—head to toe, including the base—was entirely made of gold (ancient Inca metallurgy was advanced enough to theoretically craft such a statue. However, this particular statue was a fictional, satirical creation within South Park’s plot). The statue’s face resembled an elderly indigenous man, holding a wooden staff in his right hand and… a pan flute in his left.
The security chief approached the statue, stopping about two meters in front of it.
Suddenly, he spread his arms and shouted at the statue, “Behold! I stand upon your land!” He stepped closer. “This moment! I’ve waited too long!”
With that, he pulled down his zipper and began pissing on the statue…
As he urinated, he cackled wildly: “Ha… Hahahaha… Hahahahahaha!!”
The men behind him froze in shock, thinking: Is the commander insane?!
“Haha! What happened to your damn prophecy, huh?!” The chief finished urinating and shouted mockingly at the statue. “No one can stop me! NO One!”
His words hadn’t fully faded when five elementary students emerged from behind a broken wall…
(End of Chapter)
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