Jack immediately found a hidden place nearby. A thick cluster of shadow-draped ferns at the edge of the clearing. He melted into it. Becoming one with the faint gloom.
He closed his eyes for a split second. Focusing his will. Activating [Incarnation Shift].
The familiar sensation appeared. Sensation of his essence re-knitting. Of ethereal energy coalescing into solid muscles and bones. Of his very being reshaping itself. It all washed over him.
Within one minute, the spectral chill of Jack Mystery dissipated. Replaced by the grounded weight of Jack Night.
His Steamrune Shotgun felt even more substantial in his hands. The leather and metal of his outfit settled comfortably on his frame. The transformation was complete. He was back to human. A fully armed Steamrune Engineer.
He took a deep breath. The scent of unique metal from his shotgun was mixing with the damp earth and wolf musk.
Then, without a warning, he burst from cover.
The wolves were focused on Mosk. Pressing their advantage. One was darting in for a bite at Mosk's exposed neck. Another was circling behind. Eyeing his unarmored Achilles tendon.
Jack slightly raised his Steamrune Shotgun. The heavy weapon settling against his lower chest with practiced ease. The first shot was aimed at the lead wolf. The one lunging at Mosk's throat.
A deafening BANG! ripped through the morning air. Far louder than the chainsaw's shriek.
The shotgun expelled a blast of superheated steam and lead shot. Tearing into the wolf's chest. Lifting it clean off its feet. And slamming it back into the undergrowth, a bloody, broken mess.
The remaining six wolves reacted instantly. Their heads snapping towards the new threat. Their growls intensified. Shifting from aggressive to wary. Then back to aggressive as they calculated the odds. A new prey.
Mosk didn't just do nothing. He roared. Letting out a sound of pain and defiance. And he brought the shrieking chainsaw down in a horizontal arc. Shearing through the neck of a distracted wolf.
The beast collapsed in a heap. Its dark blood steaming on the damp earth. Five left.
Jack raised his Steamrune Shotgun again. The second blast tore through the air. BANG! It was a thunderclap that briefly stunned the remaining wolves.
The lead pellet, infused with arcane steam, shredded the head of a wolf that was circling wide. Its amber eyes still glowing as its body crumpled. Four left.
The remaining wolves reacted instantly. Their heads snapping towards the new threat. Their snarls deepened. A chorus of predatory aggression. Two immediately broke off from Mosk. Charging Jack. Their horns lowered. Aimed like javelins.
Jack met the charge head-on. He didn't fire again immediately. Instead, he swung the shotgun like a club. Its heavy stock catching the first wolf just behind its gnarled horn.
There was a sickening crack. And the beast stumbled. Disoriented. Before it could recover, Jack delivered a powerful kick. Specifically aimed to its flank.
The powerful force of the blow sent the heavy wolf flying sideways. Its legs flailing. It slammed into a thick tree with a wet thud. A pained whine escaping its throat.
Jack could not follow up with more attacks. The second wolf, a larger specimen, was already upon him. It launched itself. Claws extended, aiming for his chest.
Jack sidestepped. Letting the attack move past. And then he pivoted. He brought his knee up sharply. Driving it into the wolf's exposed underside. The impact was visceral. A sickening crunch of bone and muscle.
The wolf gagged. Its attack was fizzling into a desperate lunge. Jack followed up with a shotgun blast at point-blank range into its head.
BANG!
The steamrune charge blew a gaping hole through the beast's head. Spraying black fur and blood across the forest ground. Three left.
Mosk, momentarily relieved, roared. He was covered in sweat and grime. But the new arrival had reignited his fighting spirit. He worked his chainsaw machine with renewed ferocity. It beheaded the neck of another wolf. Two left.
Jack was already moving. He sprinted towards the injured beast. The one he kicked into the tree. He cocked his shotgun and fired another blast. Another headshot. One left.
The last wolf saw its companions fall. It hesitated for a fatal second. Its eyes were wide with something akin to primal fear. That was all Mosk needed.
With a guttural cry, he brought his chainsaw down in a devastating arc. Cleaving the wolf's spine. The beast shuddered once. Then collapsed in a final, twitching heap.
Silence descended. Broken only by the heavy breathing of the two men. And the faint, acrid smell of burnt fur and gunpowder. The place was pretty much a charnel house. Littered with the broken bodies of eight Horned Wolves.
Mosk limped over. His armor was creaking. The chainsaw's steamrune motor was dying down. His chest was heaving. "Jack Night!" He rasped. A faint smile was on his bruised face. "Good timing, Dude! Thank God you're here."
Jack grinned back. Holstering his handguns. He slung it over his shoulder. "You okay there, Oaklane? Those things weren't playing nice."
Mosk wiped sweat from his brow. Smearing blood and grime. "Understatement of the year, Night. Thought I was a goner." He took a long, shuddering breath. "Thanks. Seriously."
They found a relatively clean spot. Near a cluster of tall, ancient trees and sat down. Mosk pulled out a flask of something strong. And took a long swig. Offering it to Jack who politely declined.
"So, what happened to you?" Mosk asked, catching his breath. "After the undead hit? That was a chaos, Man. I tried to get back to the coast. But there's something huge blocking the main road. Some kind of… giant monster. Had to turn back. Been stuck here since then. Fighting off terrible creatures and these horned abominations."
Jack considered his words carefully. He couldn't tell the whole truth. He needed a story that was not exactly a lie, sounded plausible, yet... chaotic and conveniently vague.
"After the undead..." Jack began. His voice was tired. "... things went to hell. I went inside the Mist Palace. Bad idea, that one. I... got caught up in some kind of weird illusion. A trial or something, I'm not sure. Just a lot of terrifying and strange visions. When I came out, the whole place was a mess."
He paused, letting the implication hang. "I'm not the only one caught in that illusion thing. Count Bellcroft..." He continued. "... Well, he just… snapped. Started screaming. Demanding to know who got the 'inheritance' or something."
Jack took his own flask and drank some. "The Count said he'd make everyone pay if they didn't confess. He was completely out of his mind. And then, this guy, a strange one, pudgy, harmless-looking researcher, he just… stabbed him in the back. Cut him clean through. Right there."
Mosk's eyes widened. "The researcher? The fat one with the glasses?"
Jack nodded gravely. "Yeah. That one. But it got stranger, and worse. A lot worse. The fat guy transformed into a woman. And Count Bellcroft… he didn't just die. His body changed. Twisted. Turned into something… unholy. A monster. A demon."
Jack showed a shiver as if imagining that nightmare. "It was huge, covered in eyes and mouths. It killed and ate Silas Boulder. You know... that shady mercenary. And it just grew even bigger, even stronger, right there in front of us."
He let out a low, controlled breath. "And then... total chaos. People screaming, running. Then this… specter appeared. A ghost. Looked like a masked magician. It started fighting the demon. I don't know what happened after that. I just… ran. Got out as fast as I could. Everything went crazy there."
Mosk whistled, impressed. "A demon? And a ghost fighting it? Sounds like something out of a pulp novel. No wonder you legged it. So, you didn't get your hands on anything, then?"
Jack shook his head. "Nothing. Just a really bad headache and a close call with a monster. I'm just trying to get out of this cursed island now. And... Old Sam… he didn't make it. Found him dead near the ruins."
Jack kept his tone grim. Letting the partial truth about Sam mix with the fabricated elements.
Mosk grimaced. "Sam? Damn. He was a good man. This island is truly a nightmare. So, you're looking to get off this rock too?"
"That's the plan." Jack confirmed. "Can't stay here. Too many things actively trying to kill you. And if that demon's still out there…" He left the thought unfinished. Letting Mosk imagine the horror.
Mosk rubbed his chin. "Right. But, the main road's out. The big beast was there. Bigger than the Bone Wyvern that attacked the camp. Even with both of us, it would still be impossible to win."
Jack raised his eyes. "There should be a river around here, right?"
Mosk nodded. "Yes. Small one, just a few minutes south of here. Wait! Most rivers run down to the sea. You want to follow the river instead the road?"
"That's the plan."
"It might work. It's rough terrain along the banks. But it should not be much problem for us. We could follow that."
"Lead the way, Oaklane!" Jack said. Pushing himself to his feet. "Anything's better than waiting for the next horror to show up."
They set off. Moving with a cautious silence born of shared experience and a hostile environment.
The morning light didn't seem to be that effective in driving away the mist. The windless air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.
Mosk, despite his injuries, set a decent pace. He navigated the rough terrain with the practiced ease. He sometimes used his chainsaw, not as a weapon, but as a tool. Clearing away dense thickets and overgrown vines that blocked their path until they reached the winding riverbank.
The river itself was murky. Its dark water swirling sluggishly. The banks were steep and uneven. Forcing them to clamber over exposed roots and slippery rocks.
Jack replaced Mosk as a pathfinder in front. He kept his shotgun ready. His senses were set to detect any change. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, put him on edge. Mosk followed behind him.
The island was a coiled spring. Ready to release its next horror. He scanned the trees, the river, the shadows that clung stubbornly to the terrain. His 'Eye of Judgment' was repeatedly activated. Subtly probing their surroundings for any anomalies.
So far, nothing overtly hostile appeared. But the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, never truly left him.
They walked for what felt like hours. The sun was slowly climbing higher. Though its light remained diffused by the persistent mist that blanketed the island.
Then, they felt it. The salty smell of the sea. They were close to the coast.
Jack was starting to feel a flicker of hope. A sense that perhaps they might actually make it off this cursed place. He was tired. Not physically. But mentally. He wanted to get out of here and rest.
Then, a scream. Sharp. Painful. Directly behind him.
Jack whirled. Shotgun raised.
Mosk Oaklane was staggering. His eyes were wide in disbelief and agony. A blade, impossibly thin and wickedly sharp, jutted from his back. Piercing clean through his heavy mechanical armor. Emerging from his chest.
Steam hissed from the ruptured systems in his suit. Blood, dark and thick, bloomed around the wound.
The blade retracted. With a sickening sound of tearing metal and flesh. Mosk gasped. A dying, rattling sound. And then he was swept aside as if by an invisible force.
The Lumberjack collapsed in a heap of groaning metal and failing life.
Standing behind where Mosk had been a moment before was Queen Mirage.