The moaning horde finally crumpled. Limbs ceased twitching. Skeletal frames collapsed. And the vampiric bats disintegrated into dust motes.
Sweat dripped from Jack's brow. Mingling with the grime. And the sticky, sour stench of spilled ichor. His Steamrune Shotgun was hot under his grip. The two handguns felt heavy in their holsters.
Silence didn't last. The air vibrated with exhaustion. Pain. And the low, guttural whimpers of the wounded. Casualties were evident.
Several mercenaries lay still. Their eyes wide and unseeing. A few expedition members were down too. Pale and bleeding. Others tended to the injured. Their faces etched with shock and weariness.
Old Sam was sitting on the ground. Leaning on a pile of broken crates. He looked exhausted. But his luck held him tight. He had survived another crisis.
Chloe was helping a fallen archeologist. Her hands were still faintly glowing with residual spell energy.
Leon Drake was barking orders. Trying to organize the mess.
Dr. Crafton looked shaken. But unharmed. He was calming his colleague who were fussing over his damaged research equipment.
They had won. But the victory felt hollow. But, at least...
Suddenly, the ground shuddered. Not a tremor. But a heavy, dragging scrape. The mist banking around the camp began to swirl violently.
A colossal shape emerged from the swirling gray. It was skeletal. Yet gigantic. A nightmare of bone and empty sockets. Of a winged reptile. A dragon... No! It was two-legged. A wyvern. A bone wyvern.
Its wings were vast. But they were just bone. Lacking the sinew and membrane required for flight. It wasn't flying. It was lumbering.
Each step was a jarring impact. Shaking the very earth beneath them. Its long neck craned. Revealing rows of sharp, bone shards where teeth should be.
It let out a shriek that was less a roar. And more like the sound of grinding stone and dying wind.
Panic erupted. Shouts. Cries of terror. Mercenaries scrambled for cover. Or raised weary weapons. They were already depleted and injured. This was a nightmare.
The bone wyvern didn't hesitate. It slammed its massive skull into a supply tent. Tearing through canvas and crates with ease. Splinters flew. Gear was crushed.
A bad premonition hit Jack like a physical blow. This wasn't a natural occurrence. Not like the undead horde. This felt... sent.
He flicked his consciousness. Activating [Karma Detection]. The glowing auras of the camp filled his vision.
The mercenaries... they were mostly a mix of neutral and light gray. The expedition members... varied, some brighter, some dimmer. Chloe's was a soft, warm light. Old Sam's was a steady, dull grey.
But five lights were missing. The black, grim dark colors of Count Bellcroft, Silas, and the other three. Where were they? Not in their tents. Not a single one was in the camp. They were gone.
Betrayal. The word settled like a stone in Jack's gut. The wyvern was a distraction. A brutal hammer meant to crush the innocents. While the guilty slipped away. Doing whatever they schemed.
Wait! Were they attempting the same thing as Queen Mirage from Night Salvation do? Sacrificing part of the members to activate Inheritance Trial? Jack felt a cold fury replace his exhaustion.
He looked at the remaining people. The real victims and defenders. They were left to face the monstrosity. The mercenaries fired their rifles and pistols. They unleashed blasts of heat and steam.
But the skeletal plates of the wyvern shrugged off most attacks. Bullets ricocheted. Steam dissipated. The creature's tail swept like a wrecking ball. Smashing tents. Crushing supplies. And sending bodies flying.
Jack raised his shotgun. He didn't yell orders. He didn't coordinate. Coordination was impossible in this chaos.
He loaded enhanced rounds. Volatile charges designed for more impact. He aimed high, targeting a point on the wyvern's skull. And fired...
BOOM! The blast echoed. Thunderous even over the wyvern's roars. The round struck. A few bone shards chipped off. A shallow crack appeared.
The wyvern paused. Turning its empty gaze towards Jack. It was injured. But not significantly. Not enough to deter it from its destructive path.
This wasn't working. Direct force from Jack Night's current arsenal was insufficient. The wyvern was too durable. Too large.
And staying here. Fighting this futile battle... Just meant more innocent lives lost. He had to draw it away. Or, better, end it far away from here.
Jack took his hoverboard out of his spatial bag. And activated it. He jumped on it. The metal board whirred to life. Lifting him slightly off the ground.
He blasted another enhanced round at the wyvern's face. Trying to sting it. Drawing its attention solely to him.
He then maneuvered the hoverboard. Darting sideway. Away from the main group. Towards the darker edges of the camp. Where the mist was thickest. He needed space. He needed to be alone.
"Hey, you bag of bones! Over here!" He yelled. Using similar trick to the time he lure a T-Rex to save Big Bill, Old Sam, Danny, and that surviving girl. From the Prehistoric Realm.
The wyvern's head tracked him. Its bone-shard teeth gnashed. It let out another screech. A sound designed to curdle blood. It started lumbering after him. Its heavy steps shaking the ground. Success. He was drawing it away.
But it was faster than he anticipated. Despite its awkward gait. It jump-charged. Jack quickly maneuvered his hoverboard to evade.
But it twisted its body on air. Its long tail, a whip of articulated bone, surged forward unexpectedly. Jack reacted instinctively. Trying to swerve on the hoverboard. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.
The tail struck him across the chest. Not with the tip. But with the thick, heavy midsection. The force was immense. Like being hit by a steam-powered piston.
Air exploded from his lungs. His vision swam. The hoverboard bucked and spun out of control.
He was thrown. Tumbling through the air. Over mangled bushes and snapped branches. He crashed hard against the thick trunk. Of an ancient, gnarled tree. At the very edge of the camp's clearing.
The impact knocked the wind out of him again. Pain flared through his back and ribs. The shotgun clattered away. The handguns remained holstered. But useless at this range. For a moment, the world went black for him.
He lay there. Stunned, gasping for air. He could still hear the wyvern's roars. Slightly muffled by the distance. But closer now.
It hadn't followed him directly into the woods. But it was still rampaging near where he had been. It hadn't taken the bait fully. He was isolated. Injured. But still within earshot of the ongoing slaughter.
He pushed himself up. His body was protesting. Ribs definitely cracked. His head throbbed. He was sprawled in a small hollow.
Partially screened by thick undergrowth. And the massive tree trunk. The mist curled around him. Dense and cold. He was out of sight of the camp. Out of sight of the wyvern, for now.
This was it. Jack Night wasn't enough. Not against this. His current form had limits. Limits that this situation exceeded.
The innocents were dying just beyond the brush. The guilty were long gone. There was only one option left. The form he reserved for serious battle.
For overwhelming, brutal force against those who undeniably deserved it. Or against threats too great for subtlety or skill alone.
Judge Jack. That was the incarnation form built for this. Built for crushing the insurmountable. For delivering final verdicts.
One minute. It was the time he needed. The mercenaries should be able to hold on for just this long.
He focused his will. The energy coursed through him. His physical body, battered and aching, began to distort.
It swelled. Bones groaned. Not from injury. But from forced growth. Cracking and reshaping. Muscle ripped and reformed. Much denser. Much stronger.
His tanned skin thickened into a coarse reddish-black hide. His face shifted. Becoming more bestial. His teeth sharpening into jagged points. A heavy mane of coarse, black hair erupted from his scalp and back.
The pain was intense. Overwhelming. But, so was the power. Raw, untamed power filling every new inch of his expanding frame.
His clothes disappeared. Replaced by the demonic Armor of Naraka. Pale-grey bone plates intertwined with black leather straps and metallic black studs. All wreathed in crackling flames.
The fire covering the armor was not hot for Jack. And it seemed to writhe and shift. As if alive. Mirroring the brutal aura that now consumed him.
Jack stood up. His height had surged, pushing him towards three meters. A hulking, monstrous silhouette in the swirling mist.
His hands were now massive and clawed. The Judgement Warhammer appeared in his right hand. Materializing from swirling shadows and iron dust.
It was enormous. A war hammer meant to crush mountains. Extremely heavy for most people. For him though... it felt right. Balanced. A weapon perfectly suited to the monstrous form he now inhabited.
The transformation completed. The ache in his body was gone. Distant echoes beneath the overwhelming surge of strength and primal rage.
He was Judge Jack now. A Black Buto. A Rakshasa of Gluttony. The Herald of Judgement.
He could still hear the wyvern's roars. He could hear the screams of the wounded. The desperate sounds of continued, futile resistance.
He didn't hesitate. With a guttural roar that ripped through the mist, Judge Jack surged from the hollow. He burst through the undergrowth. Snapping branches like twigs. His massive frame was a terrifying force of nature.
The camp came into view. A scene of devastation. Tents ripped apart. Bodies scattered. The bone wyvern still swinging its tail. Snapping its bone jaws at the few remaining defenders.
It was turning towards Chloe. Cornered near a collapsed supply pile.
The wyvern hadn't seen him yet. It was focused on the easy prey.
Judge Jack charged. The ground trembled under his pounding feet. He didn't just run. He sprinted. A black-armored beast of bone and muscle.
He raised the Judgement Warhammer high. The heavy head swished through the mist with surprising speed.
He closed the distance in seconds. The wyvern finally sensed him. Turning its empty gaze. It let out a challenging shriek. Raising its head, ready to strike.
Judge Jack didn't stop. He didn't pause. He didn't hesitate.
With a bellow that dwarfed the wyvern's shriek, he swung the Judgement Warhammer. With the full force of his monstrous form.
The hammer met bone.