The group formed up. Mercenaries took point and flank positions. Researchers and crew formed the center. Protected by the remaining mercenaries.
The four transcendent mercenaries that were not Steamrune Engineers – the two Mystic Scholars, the Supernatural Sorcerer, and the Divine Acolyte – positioned themselves strategically near the research team.
Jack fell into line with the other Steamrune Engineers in the flank position. Next to his former team-mate, Old Sam.
The trek northwest was arduous. The terrain was uneven. Choked with strange, resilient vegetation. The things that seemed to claw at their boots.
The mist deepened as they moved inland, the northern part of the island. Reducing visibility to mere meters.
Several contraptions taken by many other engineers hummed softly. Pushing back the immediate mist layer. Creating small, temporary bubbles of clearer sight.
The sound created by those contraptions was not loud. The mercenaries were not stupid. Causing unnecessary loud sound in dangerous area was basically inviting problems.
Sam's goggles and similar gadgets worn by other mercenaries were not that good. They provided personal boost of perception against the mist. Not a collective one.
Jack's own internal vision adjustments worked better compared to all of those. But he wore his own runic goggles anyway. Just for show.
He scanned the surroundings constantly. Relying on both his enhanced senses. And his ingrained mercenary instincts.
He felt uncomfortable. The silence of the island was unnerving. It was different from his previous experience here.
No birdsong. No insect buzz. Just the sound of their own movements. Footsteps muffled by the thick mist. And the occasional clank of gear. The oppressive stillness felt like a held breath.
They pushed on for hours. The Count urged them forward relentlessly. There was no time for breaks beyond quick sips of water.
The air grew colder. The mist was thicker and more cloying. As twilight approached, they reached a relatively clear area. Near the base of a crumbling, mist-shrouded hill.
Ancient, dark stones hinted at forgotten structures buried beneath the soil and mist. This was likely the designated camp site.
"Set up camp!" Count Bellcroft commanded. "Mercenaries, establish a defensive perimeter! No fires! The mist is fuel for... certain things. Use thermal lamps only."
Jack and the others got to work. Erecting sturdy, albeit temporary, structures. Designed for quick deployment and defense. Canvas walls were raised. Reinforced with collapsible metal frames.
Tripwires and simple sensory wards, typical Steamrune Engineer tools, were laid around the perimeter. Jack deployed a few of his own. The refined versions he'd tinkered with. They wouldn't stop a determined attack. But they would provide warning.
As darkness fully enveloped the island, the mist became a suffocating blanket. The thermal lamps cast weak, flickering pools of orange light.
Their heat pushing back the nearest tendrils of vapor. But the darkness beyond was absolute. Pressing in from all sides.
Watches were set. Mercenaries took turns patrolling the perimeter. Their anti-mist goggles glowing faintly like disembodied eyes in the gloom.
Jack took a position near the edge of the camp. Leaning against a stack of crates containing research equipment. The air was still, heavy, silent. It was the kind of silence that wasn't empty. But full of unseen things.
His senses were on high alert. He ran a quick [Karma Detection] sweep. The four lesser dark karma signatures were within the camp. Their owners were likely asleep. Or keeping a low profile.
The other dark karma was emanating from the largest tent. It belonged to Count Bellcroft. His was still the blackest.
Minutes stretched into an hour. Then another. The tension was a physical weight in the air.
Then, a low moan.
It wasn't human. Not quite. It came from the mist. Just beyond the thermal light.
Another moan. And then another. More joined in, a chorus of guttural, dragging sounds.
The perimeter guards froze. Their weapons were immediately raised. "What was that?" A nervous voice whispered.
Jack took out his Steamrune Shotgun and moved to the perimeter. He tapped Old Sam's shoulder. The seasoned mercenary was on the perimeter too. His buckler and revolver were held steady.
"Get ready for combat." Jack simply notified him.
Silence answered for a moment. Then, a shuffling sound. Slow, uneven. Like something heavy being dragged across rough ground. More shuffling. It was multiplying. Surrounding the camp.
"Undead," Old Sam's voice cut through the tension. Calm but grim. "Sound like... zombies."
A dark figure appeared. At first, it was barely visible through the mist. It shambled into the weak thermal light.
It was a corpse. Bloated and grey. With tattered clothes. Milky and vacant eyes. It lurched forward. Its arms outstretched.
Behind it, others appeared. Men, beasts, and strange things. All undead. Dozens. Hordes. They were slow. Mindless. But relentless. And they were coming from every direction.
"Perimeter! Hold the line!" A mercenary officer yelled.
Steam-powered revolvers barked. Crank-powered gatling pistols whirred to life. Spitting out rounds. Mechanical crossbow whizzed deadly bolts.
Jack aimed his steam-augmented shotgun. It was bigger than usual shotgun. And more intimidating. It wasn't just for show. He had put real powerful upgrades into it.
He changed the mode into scattershot. And took casual aim to the densest group of enemies. He pulled the trigger.
Bang! The blast erupted in a wide spray. A burst of compressed steam and superheated shrapnels scattered like angry hornets. Shredding the zombies' flesh and bones. Piercing them like they were made of tofu.
Many of the walking corpses fell. But there were many more.
Melee Steamrune Engineers braced themselves. Activating steam-enhanced gauntlets and mechanical cold weapons. The others unleashed their varied gadgets.
Sonic emitters that disoriented the shambling corpses. Steam blast grenades that knocked them back. Clockwork contraptions that snagged limbs.
But... more zombies still broke through the gaps in the mist. Their sheer numbers were overwhelming the initial defenses.
The camp erupted into chaos. Shouts. The roar of steam engines fueling weapons. The sickening thud of impacts. And the unending, horrifying moans of the undead.
Then, another sound pierced the chaos. A dry, rattling clatter. Skeletons, animated bones held together by unseen forces, surged forth. Skeletons of humans, beasts, and unknowk creatures.
They were faster than the zombies. More brittle and not as durable. But their numbers were just as staggering.
A skeleton lunged at a researcher who had strayed too close to the edge of the camp. Before it could strike, the Divine Acolyte stepped forward. Holding a glowing amulet.
A wave of pure energy pulsed outwards. The skeleton dissolved into dust. The Divine Acolyte was chanting. Creating small zones of holy light that repelled the undead. But these zones were small and few. They couldn't cover everyone.
The Mystic Scholars were using their grimoires. Creating fireballs to blast the undead creatures. Or forcefields that momentarily halted sections of the horde.
Leon Drake, both Supernatural Sorcerer and Mystic Scholar, was a whirlwind of armored wizard. Fearless of the undead attack due to his external bone armor. And blasting them apart with his grimoire spells.
But the undead kept coming. They climbed over fallen comrades. Their single-minded drive terrifying.
Suddenly, a new threat emerged from the misty sky. Leathery wings flapped. And shapes darted through the gloom.
Vampiric bats. Larger than normal. With glowing red eyes. And unnaturally sharp fangs. They screeched as they descended.
They weren't just attacking. They were trying to drain life. Their bites were causing immediate weakness and pain.
The bats targeted the less combat-capable members of the expedition. The porters. The cooks. The researchers. Anyone not actively engaged with the ground forces.
A porter screamed as a bat latched onto his neck. Jack saw it. He held the shotgun with his left hand and drew his spare handgun. He fired. The bat exploded in a cloud of gore and smoke.
"Up top!" Sam yelled toward the others. Firing his own revolver at the aerial threat. "Watch the flyers!"
The fight was brutal, desperate. The mercenaries were skilled. Transcendent. But they were being pushed to their limit. The undead seemed inexhaustible.
Zombies clawed at the mercenaries. Skeletons tried to stab through canvas walls. And bats swooped down from the mist-shrouded darkness.
Jack moved through the enemies like a hurricane. A blend of brute force and tactical precision. He used his shotgun to clear group of undead enemies. Handgun to take down the skeletons and the dangerous bats when precision mattered. And kicks aginst any opponent that got too close.
He saw Chloe helping others by casting Wards and Magic Missiles. Her face was pale but resolute. Her hand were steady as she held her grimoire.
He fought closer to her, subtly deflecting threats that got too near.
He saw Silas, the Steamrune Engineer with dark karma. Fighting with seemingly reckless abandon. But there was a cold calculation in his eyes. He wasn't just fighting. He was watching. Observing the chaos. Perhaps looking for an opportunity.
The Count was nowhere to be seen on the front lines. He was likely still in his tent. Protected by his personal guards. Jack's [Karma Detection] sight showed his dark aura remained there. Black. Strong. Undisturbed by the carnage outside.
The battle raged on. Minutes felt like hours. The ground became slick with blood and ichor. The air was thick with the stench of decay and coal steam. The undead moans continued. A constant, horrifying backdrop to the sounds of combat.
They were holding the line. But barely. And the night was far from over. Jack knew this was just the beginning. Tideless Island had woken up.
And the ominous feeling he had sensed wasn't just the mist. Or the undead. It was something far more dangerous. Within the ruined palace.
And there was the other deliberate danger. Something tied to the black karma signatures he had detected. Something tied to the Count. And possibly woven into the very fabric of this doomed expedition.
He kept fighting. Reloading his shotgun. But, his gaze was sweeping the chaotic battlefield. Searching for a pattern. A clue. Anything that could provide more help or understanding.
This wasn't just a simple job anymore. It was a struggle for survival. Not just for him. But for the innocent members of the expedition.