Jack was free—that was all he could think. The plains stretched endlessly before him, bathed in the soft light of morning, the fresh air filling his lungs with a sense of renewal. He walked through the tall grass, a smile creeping across his face. There were no familiar landmarks or farmsteads in sight, but that didn’t matter. After nearly two months confined in the dungeon, the open sky, the sun warming his skin, and the gentle breeze caressing his face were more than enough.
He hadn’t realized just how much he missed the feel of fresh air, the simple pleasure of walking beneath the sun. The oppressive weight of the dungeon had lifted, and Jack could feel his mood improving with every step. The fatigue that had clung to him after weeks of grueling fights seemed to evaporate in the light of day. His steps were lighter, his mind clearer.
Glancing around, Jack took a moment to orient himself. The sun was still low, casting long shadows across the landscape. It was barely morning, and if the rules from his world applied here, the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The dense woods were far off to the west, at least a three-hour walk from where he stood. Something about the sharp line of separation between the forest and the plains felt unnatural, as if the trees were deliberately kept apart from the open grassland.
The mountains loomed to the north—massive peaks that dwarfed anything he’d ever seen, even Everest—but Jack quickly dismissed the idea of heading in that direction. The south offered only more plains stretching endlessly into the horizon, with no sign of civilization in sight. He decided west was his best option, toward the distant treeline. Even if the separation between the forest and the plain seemed odd, it might mean there was a road cutting though it
He adjusted the spear over his shoulder, letting it rest comfortably as he began walking. He’d stick to the plains for now, but keep his eyes on the forest ahead.
Jack moved with a fluid grace, the kind that came from years of experience, both in the military and his days backpacking through the wilderness back home. He was far more comfortable in the open country than in any bustling city, and out here, with the plains stretching endlessly before him, he felt at peace. His body moved steadily, each step in rhythm with the terrain beneath his boots. Survival came second nature to him—instinctual after years of training—and though he had plenty of supplies stashed in his dimensional pouch, he knew better than to rely solely on that. The wilds could turn against you if you weren’t prepared, and Jack wasn’t one to take unnecessary risks.
His eyes scanned the sky as he noticed several birds soaring above, their shapes familiar yet different. Some resembled ducks from his world, their wings flapping lazily as they crossed the open plains. But there were others, stranger ones—like a small blue bird diving with incredible speed, sparks trailing behind it as if it were a living bolt of lightning. It zoomed down like a hawk, swift and precise, and Jack could’ve sworn he saw the crackle of electricity as it vanished into the grass.
Shaking his head in awe, Jack pressed forward, letting his senses stay alert. The landscape around him was rich with life, but nothing felt overtly dangerous. He spotted a herd of deer grazing off in the distance, though one in particular caught his attention. A majestic buck stood apart, its antlers shimmering with a faint green glow, its size and presence larger than anything Jack had seen back home. It was like nature here had its own version of magic, subtle but present in everything.
As he moved, Jack allowed himself to appreciate the journey. There was something serene about the way the world around him unfolded, the wind tugging at his hair, the sunlight warming his skin. He hadn’t felt this free in what felt like forever, and he took in every detail—the soft rustle of grass beneath his boots, the distant call of birds, the smell of wildflowers carried on the breeze.
Up ahead, his gaze was drawn to a group of small, rabbit-like creatures darting through the tall grass. At first glance, they appeared normal, but as Jack approached, they blinked out of sight, vanishing in bursts of light only to reappear a few feet away, as if teleporting. It was subtle at first, but soon he realized they were playing some sort of game with him, disappearing and reappearing with each step he took closer. Jack chuckled under his breath, finding their antics amusing. It was a small reminder that this world, while strange, was full of life and surprises.
Despite the beauty around him, a small thought lingered in the back of Jack’s mind: Everon. Was she still with him? He hadn’t heard from her since leaving the dungeon, and the silence felt odd, almost unsettling.As the thought swam through Jack’s mind, a familiar whisper trickled into his ears.
“I am still here, Jack,” Everon’s voice drawled, her tone carrying a hint of amusement, like she was enjoying some inside joke.
Jack blinked and spoke aloud, “Well, why haven’t you shown up yet? You were always popping up in that dungeon, close enough I could almost feel you. Now, nothin’.”
Everon’s reply was crisp, a little haughty. “Simple. We’re no longer in the dungeon. Out here, I am rather... limited. My magic doesn’t stretch quite as far, you see. And if I were to intervene, well, it would cost me quite dearly.” Her tone shifted to something more serious, though still elegant.
Jack scratched his head, squinting at the horizon. “Well, that explains why I ain’t dead or missin’ any limbs. You sure helped a lot back there. Guess I oughta thank ya.”
A soft chuckle echoed in his mind. “Oh, you’re quite welcome, I assure you. Just try not to rely on me too much out here. I won’t be able to help without consequences.”
“Got it,” Jack said, nodding even though she couldn’t see him. “So, what do you make of this place? Anything look familiar? Trees, landmarks, somethin'?”
There was a pause before Everon answered, her tone dry and unimpressed. “Jack, it has been over ten thousand years since I was last out in the world. Most of these trees are barely two hundred years old. Hardly enough to jog my memory.”
Jack let out a low whistle. “Well, I guess that was a dumb question.”
Everon sighed, with the faintest trace of a smirk. “I suppose I can’t expect you to know better. It’s just... some things are hard to keep track of after millennia.”
“Well, what about that mountain over there?” Jack pointed toward the massive peak, its summit lost in the clouds. “That thing’s gotta be a landmark or somethin’, right? Took a whole mess of years to form, I bet.”
Everon’s response was light, almost teasing. “Oh, Jack... In your world, perhaps, mountains take ages to rise. But here? Entire ranges can form over the course of a single battle, especially when powerful individuals are involved.”
Jack stopped, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, what now? Mountains... formed in a battle?”
“Quite,” she said, sounding almost bored. “ some battles can get quite Destructive. It can reshape the very foundation of the world when certain powerful people fight. And as for that mountain? Impressive, yes, but the farther north you go, into Avaloris, you’ll find peaks that make this one look quite small.”
Jack stared up at the mountain, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. “Bigger than this? How big is this dang planet?”
Everon’s laughter rang through his mind, light and musical. “Oh, Jack. If you walked at a relative pace around the planet, it would take you 1,670 days of continuous walking. To get around the whole planet.”
ack stopped and stared up at the towering mountain. How big was this planet to have mountains even larger than this one? It was practically impossible on Earth—just another reminder of how different this world truly was.
As he continued walking, lost in thought, he eventually stumbled upon a road. The trees that had surrounded him for hours seemed to part, forming a natural divide. The road itself was a simple dirt path, not too dissimilar from the backroads he used to see back home. Jack squinted down the length of the road, looking for any signs of life or tracks, but there were none.
He sighed, bending down to pick up a flat rock. “Well, reckon it’s decision time,” he muttered to himself. He pulled the dagger from his waist and scratched a small mark into the rock’s surface. “Heads, I’ll go north; tails, south.”
As the rock spun in the air, Jack's thoughts wandered. If he even made it to a town or village, would he be able to communicate with anyone? He hadn’t really considered the language barrier until now, and it was starting to weigh on him.
The stone hit the ground with a soft thud. Heads.
“Well, north it is,” Jack murmured, pocketing his dagger and setting off in that direction.
Everon’s voice drifted back into his mind, lilting and faintly amused. “You know, Jack, you could always ask me for guidance. I’m not completely useless out here.”
Jack smirked as he walked. “Could’ve used that tip a few seconds ago, Everon. But hey, a little uncertainty never hurt anyone.”
“Ah, yes,” Everon replied, her tone dripping with mock concern. “A human wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar world with no clear direction. What could possibly go wrong?”
Jack chuckled. “Guess we’ll find out.”
ack chuckled and kept moving. About four hours had passed since he started walking from the plains to the road. It had taken him two hours to reach the road and another two on the road, and still, he'd seen nothing. Snacking on some jerky, Jack came around a bend when he noticed a strange sight.
Up ahead, three people—a man and two children—were slowly making their way down the road. At first glance, they looked human, but as Jack drew closer, their features stood out. The adult, a young man, was limping heavily, favoring his left leg. A bolt was lodged in his upper thigh, blood dripping from the wound sluggishly. The bolt seemed to have pierced just enough to be dangerous, but Jack guessed it hadn’t gone through any major arteries or it would've been a death sentence. The young man was wearing worn leather armor with patches of fur sewn into it, likely from some animal. His movement was labored, each step a struggle.
But what caught Jack’s attention more than the injury were the man’s distinct features. He had a four-point rack of antlers sprouting from his head, his eyes larger and more spaced out than a human’s, with a dark, textured nose that gave him an almost deer-like appearance. Light brown fur traced down the back of his neck and disappeared beneath his armor, confirming he wasn’t entirely human. His deer-like ears twitched slightly as Jack approached.
The children beside him were bundled up in cloaks, but Jack could see black ears poking out from under their hoods. The group froze when they noticed Jack, their gazes locking with his. Jack’s keen eye caught the subtle glint of fear in the young man’s eyes—a fear of the unknown, of being vulnerable while wounded and with children to protect. Despite his injury, the young man seemed determined, his jaw set in a firm line, though the pain was evident.
The children huddled closer to the man as he guided them to the left side of the road, clearly trying to give Jack space to pass. Jack obliged, moving to the right side of the road, his eyes still observing the trio.
Jack’s mind raced as he pieced together the information Everon had given him. These people had to be Beast Kin—hybrids of humans and animals, remnants of an ancient lineage. He remembered reading that they lived in clans, often nomadic, moving through the wilderness like ghosts. Seeing these three struggling down the road, however, tugged at something in his heart. The man was wounded, and those kids didn’t look much better off. Every part of Jack wanted to step in and help, but he knew his intervention could cause more harm than good.
He kept walking, though slower now, his thoughts swirling as he debated with himself. If he approached them, would they see him as a threat? The man’s injury was serious, but would offering help make them feel more vulnerable? Beast Kin were a proud people, according to what he'd read. They might react badly to an outsider's pity, even if it came with the best intentions. Jack wasn't sure how they’d respond, and the last thing he wanted was to spook them even more.
Yet, the sight of those kids, huddled close to the injured man, kept gnawing at him. Jack knew what it was like to feel powerless, to be in a situation where every step felt like it could be the last. But what could he really do? He wasn’t a healer, and despite Everon’s magic, there were limits to what he could offer. The wrong move might leave them worse off than before—fleeing in panic, or worse, turning on him.
As Jack wrestled with his indecision, the sound of hooves clattering behind him caught his attention. His instincts kicked in immediately. Without a word, Jack stepped lightly into the shadow of the nearby trees, turning to watch the scene unfold from a safe distance.
Jack watched the scene unfold in tense silence. The riders approached, kicking up dirt as their horses came to a stop. Three dismounted, each of them rougher than the last. The leader—a burly man with a black beard and cold, cruel eyes—stepped forward, his whip cracking against the ground. These weren’t just bandits—they were slavers, and by their appearance, they were seasoned at their ugly trade.
The man, who Jack guessed was the kid's guardian, stood straighter, facing them with his back to Jack. He was a mess—wounded, struggling to protect the two kids that clung to him. Even from where he stood, Jack could sense the desperation in the young man. The slavers clearly smelled it too.
Morak, the leader, let out a sneering laugh, cracking his whip with a vicious snap. The sound echoed through the clearing, cold and sharp. He was a big, hulking brute, his patchwork armor a testament to the rough life he led. His voice, rough and full of mockery, came out in that thick, uneducated twang, as if he’d spent his life out in the backwoods.
“Well, well, well,” Morak jeered, his voice dripping with malice. “Looks like I owe that bastard some thanks! He really tagged ya, huh? Didn't think it'd be this easy!" His grin was wide, showing off his broken, yellow teeth. He cracked the whip again, just for the sound of it, as if it gave him some kind of twisted pleasure.
Next to him, the tattooed man with the curved sword grinned, his chest bare, covered in swirling ink. He had the swagger of someone who was used to violence, his movements slow and deliberate, but there was a dark gleam in his eyes that made Jack’s stomach turn. His accent, thick with a Caribbean drawl, rolled off his tongue like a snake slithering through grass.
"Ah, Morak," the man said, his voice smooth and almost sing-song in its menace. "I tell ya, boss man gonna love this. Look at those kids. They gon’ fetch us a real nice price, yeah? Real nice." He licked his lips, his gaze moving over the terrified children, savoring their fear.
But it was the third man, Varkas, that made Jack shudder. Varkas was smaller, hunched, with greasy hair that hung in limp strands around his face. His pale, oversized lips twisted into an unnatural grin, but the most disturbing part was his tongue—or what was left of it. His tongue had been cut out long ago, leaving only a jagged scar. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, the words came out in a broken stutter, his voice raspy and unnatural.
Varkas spun his twin daggers in his hands, his fingers moving with eerie precision, the blades flashing in the light as he took a step forward. His grin widened, eyes glinting with malice as he eyed the boy and the kids. "G-g-gonna be f-f-fun, boss," he rasped, his stutter making the words sound even more grotesque. "G-g-gonna make 'em s-s-scream, huh? E-e-easy pickin's."
His laughter, wet and rasping, sent a chill down Jack’s spine. Varkas stepped closer to the trembling boy, his eyes full of anticipation, like he was savoring the fear before the slaughter.
Morak, growing impatient, barked at the kid again, his whip snapping once more as he took a step forward. "You’re done, boy! Just hand over the brats, and maybe we don’t gut ya right here."
The kid barely reacted, his hands shaking as he raised his wand, struggling to stay upright. Jack could see the hopelessness in his posture, the way his legs wobbled, the way his breath came in sharp gasps. The kid didn’t stand a chance, and Jack knew it.
He wanted to move, to do something, but his feet stayed planted where they were. The scene before him felt distant, like it was playing out in slow motion, and all he could do was watch.
The whip cracked again, striking the young man in the chest. The sound was deafening, the force sending him stumbling back into the children. The slavers’ laughter echoed through the clearing, cruel and mocking.
Varkas let out a low, wet laugh of his own, his lips curling into that same grotesque grin. "G-g-gonna b-b-be fun, boss," he whispered again, spinning his daggers faster now, his eyes locked on the boy.
From his vantage point, Jack could see it all—how the young man’s hands trembled, how his legs nearly gave out from the pain. He was barely holding it together, and the slavers knew it. Jack could practically feel the weight of the man’s failure pressing down on him, as if he believed this was the end.
But then something shifted. Jack watched as the young man pushed himself to his feet, groaning in pain. His body was screaming at him to stop, to give up, but the look in his eyes—the defiance, the refusal to surrender—was unmistakable. He got back on his feet, legs shaking, but still standing.
“You’re not touching them,” the young man growled, his voice hoarse but fierce.
Stolen novel; please report.
Jack felt a surge of something—respect, maybe?—as he watched the wounded man stand tall, facing down the slavers with nothing but a wand in hand and a heart full of determination. He didn’t know this man or the kids he was trying to protect, but he could see that same fire, the same instinct to protect those weaker, that had kept Jack alive in his own battles.
One of the kids caught sight of him, her wide eyes locking onto Jack’s hidden form in the shadows. She was a young girl, no older than eight or nine, with white hair and small, bear-like ears poking out from under her hood. Her face was pale, etched with fear, and Jack could see her trembling. She didn’t make a sound—just mouthed one word, but that was enough to make Jack move.
"Help."
Her silent plea hit him hard, her desperation unmistakable. Jack's mind was made up in an instant. He stepped out from the cover of the trees and marched forward, his spear gripped firmly in his hand. His heart pounded, but his steps were steady. He couldn’t turn his back on that girl, or the young man struggling to protect them.
As he advanced, Everon’s voice whispered in his mind, urgent and insistent. Her usual calm, soothing tone was now filled with worry, and she slipped into that familiar accent of hers, thick with old-world authority.
"Jack, I know exactly what you’re about to do, and it’s absolute folly!" Her voice was crisp but strained with barely contained frustration. "You’re marching straight into a death sentence, do you hear me? You cannot—cannot—take them on by yourself, and I am in no position to help you. Are you even thinking about this? Good heavens, Jack, don’t be so reckless!"
Her words echoed in his mind, but Jack didn’t reply. He knew she was right—three armed slavers, experienced and ruthless, were more than he could handle alone. But there was no turning back. The fear in that girl’s eyes was seared into his brain, and his sense of morality wouldn’t let him stand by and do nothing. Not when they were in danger.
With each step, he steeled himself, pushing Everon’s voice aside. His decision had already been made. He had faced worse odds before, and if this was how it had to go down, then so be it. He wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t leaving them to die.
"Jack, you stubborn fool," she spat, her voice breaking under the pressure of her frustration. "You’re going to get yourself killed.” ewas the alst she said
But Jack kept moving, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the slavers ahead. The girl’s silent plea echoed in his mind. "Help." And that was all the reason he needed .
Jack watched as the slavers hesitated at his approach. He didn’t fully realize it, but he must’ve cut a terrifying figure—his black and white armor, twisted as if bone and metal had been melted together, gave him a fearsome presence. The way the cloak hung from his shoulders, with the hood casting his face in shadow, made him look like some sort of phantom, a dark force emerging from the trees. The lower half of his face was the only thing visible beneath the hood, his jaw set in grim determination.
"Hey!" Morak barked, his voice carrying that desperate bravado Jack had heard too many times before. "This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, boy! Fuck off ‘fore we turn ya into mince meat, ya bastard!"
The kid barely registered Morak’s threat. Jack could see it in his posture—the kid was bracing for the worst, ready to go down swinging, even if it meant certain death. The sight twisted something deep in Jack’s gut. He couldn’t stand by any longer.
With a steadying breath, Jack stepped forward, positioning himself between the boy and the slavers. His spear, still strapped to his back, shifted slightly as he moved, his body tense but controlled. He felt the kid’s confusion behind him, but he didn’t turn around. There wasn’t time for explanations, and Jack didn’t need to say much anyway.
Morak’s growl deepened as his frustration grew. "What the hell is this? You gonna try somethin’, too?" The slaver’s voice, once filled with cocky confidence, now had a faint edge of uncertainty, and Jack could see it plain as day. These bastards were used to people cowering, not standing up.
Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, with calm deliberation, he reached over his shoulder and slowly drew his spear, its weight familiar in his hand. The point dropped to the ground with a quiet thud, the movement slow and deliberate, like a final warning. He met Morak’s eyes, his own blue eyes cold as ice under the shadow of his hood.
“You know,” Jack started, his voice low and thick with his Texan drawl, carrying the kind of quiet anger that promised violence, “I don’t much care for your kind.”
The slavers stiffened, clearly not expecting this, but Jack continued, his voice getting harder, rougher with each word. "And I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ you lay a hand on those kids."
He lowered the spear tip into the dirt, keeping his stance relaxed, but everything about his demeanor screamed danger. Jack wasn’t bluffing, and he knew the slavers could feel it. His voice dropped, dripping with menace, as he delivered his ultimatum.
“So, I’ll give you one chance,” Jack growled, his eyes narrowing beneath his hood. “Walk away now, or I’ll paint this ground with your blood.”
The words hung in the air, thick with tension. Jack’s hand tightened around his spear, ready for whatever came next. He wasn’t sure how this was going to end, but one thing was for damn sure—he wasn’t backing down. Not today.
The slavers stared at Jack, confidence gleaming in their eyes. Morak, the leader, began to laugh—a low, mocking sound—but Jack didn’t hesitate. His spear snapped upward from where it rested, the spear head gleaming in the light, as he launched his attack with lightning speed.
Draegar, the hulking black-skinned slaver to Jack’s right, wasn’t expecting such a quick and violent response. His eyes widened for a brief moment as Jack’s spear shot toward the gap in his defenses, aiming for his throat with [Precision Strike]. Caught off guard, Draegar’s instincts took over. A vicious smile crept across his face as he quickly adjusted, dodging left and swinging his sword down toward Jack in a brutal counter.
Jack reacted instantly. Grabbing the spear with both hands, [Quick Block] activated as he twisted the metal shaft mid-thrust, deflecting Draegar’s sword with a sharp, ringing clang. Draegar pushed harder, his strength clear, but Jack was already moving.
Using the momentum of the block, Jack seamlessly transitioned into [Counter-Strike], twisting his body and thrusting the spear forward. The blade of his spear pierced Draegar’s throat with deadly accuracy.
Blood sprayed from the wound as Draegar’s vicious smile faded, replaced with shock and pain. Jack yanked the spear free, the metal slick with blood, and Draegar collapsed to his knees, choking on his own blood, his sword falling from his hands. Not resting, Jack pivoted on his back foot, just in time to see Vorak’s attack—a flurry of daggers aimed at his throat. He heard the man’s stuttering shout, “[D-D-Dagger Art: R-Reaper’s E-Edge],” as the blades took on a sharp red gleam, streaking toward him.
Jack brought his spear’s metal shaft up to block the strike, but before the blades could make contact, a sudden, crushing force gripped his arm. Morak had lashed out, seizing Jack’s arm with a snake-like strength, pulling him back with overwhelming power. Jack felt the muscles in his arm strain, his fingers slipping from the spear as Morak’s iron grip tightened.
Morak's smile widened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as Jack’s hand jerked open, the spear falling from his grasp. Vorak’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, his daggers flashing past the now-unguarded spear, closing in for the kill.
Jack had a second—his mind felt like it slowed as his body moved on instinct. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the boy raising his hand, a blue glow beginning to form. Without hesitation, Jack released his grip on the spear, letting it fall, but catching it with the front of his boot. Vorak was closing in, his daggers aimed for Jack’s throat.
Jack turned his head at the last moment, allowing his hood to catch the blow. A metallic clang rang out as the daggers cut through the fabric with agonizing slowness. The sound of tearing metal filled Jack’s ears as his hood was shredded into ribbons.
At that moment, the boy fired his spell. A blue dart streaked through the air and slammed into Morak, forcing him to loosen his crushing grip. The instant Jack felt the pressure ease, he yanked his arm free and, without missing a beat, whipped his right fist across Vorak’s jaw. A satisfying crack echoed as his punch landed, but Vorak barely moved, his jaw hard as stone.
Grunting, Jack saw Vorak stumble back, creating a small gap between them. Wasting no time, Jack kicked the spear up with his foot, grabbing it mid-air, and launched into a series of thrusts. Vorak parried each strike with his daggers, steel clashing violently as he expertly deflected Jack’s rapid assault.
Vorak’s anger flared, his eyes burning with fury as he countered each thrust with increasing speed. Jack prepared to push harder, but before he could press his advantage, his body reacted on instinct. [Quick Block] triggered, twisting his body unnaturally as his spear snapped up just in time to deflect a sword strike aimed at his head from behind.
The impact sent a sharp pain through Jack’s shoulder, the overexertion leaving him momentarily stunned. The metallic clash echoed as the sword’s strike rang off his spear, and it hit him: he wasn’t the only one with skills.
Jack looked into Morak’s snarling face and shoved him back with all his strength. With Vorak closing in from behind and Morak right in front of him, he had no good plan. A sharp pang sounded behind him, followed by another ringing clash. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Jack saw the boy standing firm, hurling bolts of magical energy at Vorak, forcing him to either block with his daggers or risk taking a direct hit.
Jack seized the opening, closing in on Morak. He thrust his spear forward, jabbing at Morak’s midsection with swift, controlled strikes. Morak met each one with precision, his sword a blur of motion, parrying the attacks as the two combatants circled each other in a deadly dance. Jack kept his movements tight, staying close enough to deny Morak the range he needed to use his whip.
Their weapons clashed again and again, the sound of steel ringing in Jack’s ears. Jack thrust low, but Morak countered with a vicious upward strike, forcing Jack to step back just in time. Morak advanced with a snarl, delivering a heavy overhead slash. Jack barely deflected the blow, the force of it reverberating through his arms. Morak’s strength was overwhelming, and each attack threatened to break through Jack’s defense.
Sweat dripped down Jack's brow as they exchanged strikes, each blow faster and more precise than the last. Morak’s eyes gleamed with confidence as he pressed the attack, his strikes becoming more unpredictable. Jack pulled back for another thrust, but that’s when he saw it—a glint from Morak’s sword.
Before Jack could react, Morak’s blade phased through his spear as if it were a ghost, bypassing Jack’s defense entirely. The sword slashed through the air, aimed directly at Jack’s throat. But Jack’s head was tipped just enough that the blade scraped across his skull mask instead of finding flesh, narrowly missing his neck.
The impact rocked him, the mask absorbing most of the blow, but the force sent him stumbling backward. His jaw cracked with a sharp pop, and a burning pain flared across his face. Still, Jack couldn’t afford to focus on the pain. Morak was already coming for him again.
As Morak swung for another deadly strike, Jack saw his moment. He parried the blow with a sharp twist of his spear, deflecting the blade to the side. In the same fluid motion, Jack shifted his weight and lunged forward. [Counter-Strike] kicked in, and his spear shot forward, slicing through the air with deadly accuracy. The blade grazed the side of Morak’s neck, cutting deep enough to send a spray of blood flying, but not a fatal blow.
Morak staggered back, clutching his neck, blood dripping from between his fingers. Jack, breathless but determined, readied himself for the next move.
Just as Jack was about to finish off Morak, a sudden scream rang out behind him. He spun around and saw Vorak holding the boy in the air, his daggers digging cruelly into the boy’s throat, strangling him. The Stoneshield twins were at Vorak's legs, pounding at him with their fists, but their efforts barely fazed him.
Talia’s voice cracked as she screamed again, "Let him go!" Her face was streaked with tears, her voice filled with desperation.
Vorak, snarling, glanced down at the children and with a vicious grin, kicked them both away. They tumbled to the ground, Talia crying out in pain as they hit the dirt.
Seeing the boy’s face turning pale, his body going limp in Vorak’s grip, Jack’s heart raced. He couldn't waste another second. Moving swiftly, Jack charged at Vorak, spear in hand.
As he closed the distance, Jack’s eyes narrowed, focusing on Vorak’s exposed side. [Multi-Strike] surged through him as he swung his spear in a lethal arc. The first strike cleaved through Vorak’s arm at the elbow, severing it cleanly. Blood sprayed into the air as Vorak roared in agony, dropping the boy to the ground.
Vorak barely had time to react before Jack's next blow landed. Jack pivoted, his spear slicing across the back of Vorak’s knees, cutting through tendons and muscle. Vorak collapsed with a growl, his legs giving out beneath him.
Jack didn’t hesitate. With cold determination, he swung his spear one last time. The blade whistled through the air and slashed clean through Vorak’s neck. His head rolled to the ground, and his body crumpled, lifeless.
The chaos around them fell silent. The children, wide-eyed and breathless, stared in shock. Jack stood over Vorak’s body, his bloodied spear lowered but still ready,
Jack looked around, scanning the clearing, but Morak was gone, leaving only a trail of blood leading into the woods. Not lowering his guard, Jack dropped to one knee, pain throbbing through his jaw and body. His [Iron Will] helped dull it, but every pulse felt like a hammer against his skull.
Ripping off his mask, Jack sucked in a sharp breath. The pain in his jaw was relentless, sharp and constant. Gritting his teeth, he knew he had to act. Kneeling down, he pressed his thumbs against his molars and braced himself. Slowly, with measured control, he pushed down and back, his jaw resisting every bit of the movement. The crack that followed was brutal, pain radiating up the side of his face. He grunted, his breath shaky, but the pressure in his jaw eased. Finally, the relief came as his jaw clicked back into place.
Jack stood up, ignoring the lingering ache. His attention shifted to the boy lying nearby. The Stoneshield twins were huddled close, staring at Jack with wide, terrified eyes.
Talia's voice trembled, "Is he... is he gonna die?"
Jack knelt beside the boy, his movements deliberate as he examined the situation. First, he checked the boy’s throat, gently feeling for any swelling or signs of immediate danger. His breath was shallow, but steady for now. The bruises would take time to heal, but he’d live—for the moment.
Then Jack turned to the leg wound. His eyes narrowed, the smell alone told him the infection was already setting in. He recognized the severity of it immediately. The area around the bolt was swelling, and the skin had started to discolor. He couldn’t treat this fully out here, but they didn’t have time to waste.
Talia’s brother, Roran, spoke quietly, "Can you fix him? Please, don’t let him die..."
Jack paused, glancing down at the twins. They were scared, looking to him for an answer. He exhaled and nodded, his voice steady but touched by that familiar Texan drawl.
"We’ll keep him alive," Jack said, standing up. "But we gotta move fast. That wound's infected, and we ain't got much time ‘fore it gets worse. He’ll make it, but only if we move now."
The twins exchanged nervous glances but nodded, trusting Jack’s words. Jack quickly scanned the woods one last time, knowing Morak was out there, and more danger could be closing in. Time was running short.
Jack moved swiftly to Draegar’s body, knelt down, and scanned the slaver’s gear. The sword was crude but sturdy, better than some of the junk he’d seen slavers carry. He grabbed it and slid it into his satchel with practiced ease. His hands rifled through Draegar’s armor, but aside from a few coins, there was nothing useful—just scraps of leather and torn fabric.
Shifting over to Vorak’s lifeless form, Jack’s eyes turned cold, his movements efficient. The daggers gleamed in the light—sharp, deadly tools. He pocketed them without hesitation, knowing they might come in handy later. His fingers brushed against a small pouch tied to Vorak’s belt, and untying it, he felt the familiar weight of coins. A quick glance revealed a mix of copper and silver, marked with symbols he didn’t recognize. He pocketed it without a second thought.
Just as he was about to rise, Everon’s voice broke into his thoughts, sharper than usual, with that faint, refined edge. “Take his head, Jack.”
Jack froze, blinking in confusion. “What? Why?” he muttered, his Texan drawl evident in the frustration that followed. He hadn’t expected her to make such a gruesome request.
Everon’s voice returned, more biting this time. “Don’t ask questions, just do it. You’ll understand later.” There was a distinct sharpness in her tone, though her accent remained faintly elegant. “Don’t make me repeat myself, boy.”
Jack clenched his jaw, a flicker of irritation rising up. "Ain't gotta get snippy about it," he grumbled under his breath. He took a quick look back, making sure the kids weren’t watching.
Talia and Roran were huddled by the injured boy, their focus entirely on him, their eyes filled with worry. With a sigh, Jack knelt by Vorak’s lifeless body once more. He double-checked the slaver's gear, his hands moving quickly but efficiently. The daggers were already pocketed, and his fingers brushed over the pouch at Vorak’s waist again. The coins inside rattled slightly, a mix of copper and silver with unfamiliar markings. Jack untied the pouch and, with a quick motion, tucked it into his dimensional pouch, where it vanished without a trace.
Vorak didn’t have much else—just the usual scraps of leather and cloth worn by those living a savage life. Satisfied he hadn’t missed anything, Jack stood, wiping his hands on his cloak as he took a final glance at the body. He didn’t linger.
The children hadn’t seen him. Their attention was still locked on the boy, their faces full of fear and concern. Jack’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but he quickly turned his focus back to the task at hand.
Off to the side, he spotted the three horses, their ears twitching nervously, unsettled by the earlier chaos. A striking black and white one, a maple brown mare, and a grey and white gelding stood nearby. Though they seemed like ordinary horses, Jack knew better than to approach spooked animals without caution.
He moved toward them slowly, hands out with palms open to show he wasn’t a threat. His voice dropped to a calm, soothing tone, the same one he’d used when calming horses back in his scouting days. "Easy now... ain't gonna hurt ya. Jus' need y’all to settle."
The maple brown mare shifted uneasily, stomping the ground, while the black and white one tossed its head. Jack took his time, moving in closer without sudden movements. He locked eyes with the maple brown horse first, sensing its heightened nervousness.
"That’s it... nice and easy," he murmured, stepping toward the mare. He extended his hand slowly, allowing her to sniff his palm. The mare snorted, but after a brief moment, her ears flicked forward. Jack could feel the tension easing out of her.
He gently stroked the mare’s neck, running his hand along her coat. "Good girl. You’re alright," he whispered, continuing to speak softly. With her calm, he turned to the black and white horse, repeating the same process—slow, steady movements, always keeping his voice low. The horse snorted but didn’t back away, eventually allowing Jack to pat its muzzle.
The grey and white gelding was the last, still jittery. Jack approached, using the same patience, and after a few moments, the gelding settled, trusting Jack enough to let him grab the reins.
With all three horses now calm and under control, Jack gently tugged their reins, leading them toward the children. The horses followed obediently, their trust in him now solid.
You kids know how to ride?” Jack asked, glancing over at the twins.
“Yes, we’re Beast Kin,” Talia replied, her voice a little shaky but determined.
Roran nodded beside her, already moving toward the maple brown mare. The boy climbed up onto the horse with surprising ease, handling the reins confidently. Talia struggled a bit with the grey and white gelding, her hands slipping as she tried to hoist herself up. Jack moved over without a word, kneeling down and offering her his knee as a step. She gripped his shoulder and pulled herself up into the saddle.
Once she was settled, Jack adjusted the stirrups for her. "There ya go, hold tight," he said, giving the reins a quick tug to test her hold. He then turned to the boy, carefully lifting him onto the black and white horse, placing him across the front of the saddle.
Jack tied the leads from the other two horses to his own and mounted up. The horses shuffled a bit, but Jack steadied them before kicking off. They took off down the road, moving fast, the wind whipping against their faces.
As they galloped away, Jack pulled a healing potion from his side pouch, downing it quickly. The sharp, bitter liquid hit his throat as he pressed forward, the speed of the ride helping distract from the pain that still lingered in his body.
His emotions were a whirlwind—fear gripped him as he thought about the danger still out there, but there was also an undeniable feeling of joy. The freedom of this new world was exhilarating. The fresh air, the wide-open plains, the endless possibilities stretched out before him like a canvas waiting to be painted.
A smile crept across his face, despite the fear gnawing at his gut. This was terrifying, no doubt about it, but it was also the most alive he had felt in years. As they rode through the landscape, Jack placed the mask back on his face, the familiar weight grounding him as he raced toward whatever came next.