Jack gritted his invisible spectral teeth. He tried to use [Mysterious Control] to stop the monstrous machine-beast. He failed. Obviously.
His [Mysterious Control] wasn't designed to deflect tons of metal. It was for subtle nudges, psychic pickpocketing, not stopping a goddamn locomotive-mecha.
The battle was a chaos. The humans were constantly in danger.
The cursed machine charged at Hugo and swung a massive, piston-powered arm. Jack hurled a spider-web of [Mysterious Control] at Hugo. Yanking him out of the locomotive's attack.
The warrior stumbled. The attack barely missed him.
Immediately, Jack casted up a 'Lesser Ward' and threw it at Hugo. It was shimmering faintly. Just in time to deflect a shower of sparks from the grinding metal.
Jack repeated his rescue attempts. It was the same process... Telekinesis. Ward. Telekinesis. Ward. His spectral grimoire floated around him. Glowing again and again as he used the Lesser Wards.
Only he could see the grimoire though. Because... similar to his form, the grimoire was coated with spectral invisibility.
Jack focused on keeping everyone alive. But his power was just flimsy shields against a metal tsunami. It bought them seconds. Not forever.
A stray hit from the machine's flailing limb crushed a nameless bodyguard against broken wall. He didn't even have time to scream. A spray of steam and metal fragments turned him into a bloody mess.
Shit!
Jack cursed helplessly. He had to do something. An idea sparked. [Mysterious Control] wasn't strong enough to stop the machine. But maybe... just maybe... he could blind it.
He concentrated on the single headlight. Pouring all his spectral energy into a focused push. The glass cracked. Then shattered with a pop. Darkness.
The monster swung his mechanical arm. And crushed another nameless bodyguard. But then...
The locomotive stuttered to a halt... Gears grinding. Steam hissing.
It started to revert to its original form... The ugly mecha limbs retracting. Metal plates shifting back into place.
Jack didn't celebrate. He could feel it. The malignant energy swirling around the locomotive. It was regrouping, repairing. It wouldn't stay down for long.
He suddenly materialized. A sudden flash of spectral light in the center of the ruined camp.
A spectral form. Mask. Top hat. Wing collared shirt. Tailcoat. Floating Grimoire. The whole stage magician getup. In translucent purplish glow.
He casted several instant cantrips. 'Cold Lights'. And 'Glowing Stones'. Lighting up the place a little
"You!" He boomed. His voice echoed with unnatural resonance as [Mysterious Lullaby] imbued its power. "All of you! Leave now!"
Looking at the petrified survivors, he shouted louder. "Grab your dead, your injured, whatever you can carry! Get out of this town! Now!" He pointed a gloved finger towards the road leading away from Whitecoal. "Move! That thing... won't stay down for long! Move!"
Zach, Jerome, and Ester, finally snapping out of their stupor, scrambled to obey. Hugo, bruised and bleeding, hauled the injured body of Judith and led the surviving bodyguards away. They didn't argue. They didn't question. They just ran.
'Good. Get the hell out here.' Jack thought.
As soon as they were gone, Jack vanished. He returned to his invisible form once more, flitting through the ruins.
He needed a mirror. Any mirror. He found it in the shattered remains of a house's bathroom. A small, dusty, yet still miraculously intact mirror. Perfect.
He activated his [Bloody Mary's Mirror World] travel function. And he was immediately back in his Mirror Room.
It was his reliable sanctuary. A place where he could change.
Jack Mystery was useless against that locomotive.
A spectral magician specializing in nightmare tricks against a hulking engine of cursed metal? One that was unaffected by illusion or nightmare? No chance. He needed something else. Something... darker.
He focused and used his [Incarnation Shift]. He felt his form shift. Bones reforming. Spectral flesh solidifying.
The top hat and tailcoat dissolved, replaced by tattered, black hood and robes. The mask seemed to melt into his skeletal face.
The transformation from specter to ghoul was faster than before. But it still took about five minutes to complete. When it was done... He became an undead draugr, which was more solid. More deadly. More menacing.
He lifted his arm. The familiar weight of the Grim Reaper Scythe materialized in his hand.
Jack Mystery was gone.
Jack Deathspark stood in his place.
He stepped back out of the mirror. He reappeared in the ruined town. He confidently walked to the direction of the still reforming locomotive.
The cursed locomotive was almost fully reformed. The mecha limbs were extending. The single headlight was glowing with renewed malevolence. It stood up. Its cyclopean gaze focused on him.
It was time for Round Two.
The locomotive roared. It was a deafening shriek of steam and metal. It charged. Its mechanical limbs were pounding the earth.
Jack Deathspark stood his ground. The Grim Reaper Scythe rested on his shoulder. The wind whipped through his tattered robes. And a spectral fire flickered in his eyes.
He felt the familiar thrill of danger. He felt the cold excitement of righteous vengeance.
He wasn't trying to protect innocent fools anymore. This time, it was vengeance.
He would represent the victims.
This thing had desecrated this town. It had consumed lives. It was guilty. It was an abomination. And the judgement for the cursed thing was... destruction.
Jack Deathspark was going to tear it apart.
As the locomotive closed in, Jack moved. He was a blur of black robes and shimmering steel.
He didn't try to block the locomotive's attack. He sidestepped. He used his warrior's agility and instinct to dance around its clumsy blows.
The Grim Reaper Scythe sang a discordant melody. As it sliced through the air. It was proclaiming its power. As a weapon of death and destruction.
He aimed for the joints. He aimed for the weak points in the machine's armor. He struck with pinpoint precision. Severing hydraulic lines. Crippling pistons. Tearing away plates of rusted metal.
Each strike was a calculated blow. Each slash was designed to disable. Each attack was aimed to incapacitate.
The locomotive lurched. Its movements becoming erratic. Steam hissed from ruptured pipes. And gears were ground to a halt. But it kept coming. Driven by the dark energy that fueled its existence.
Jack Deathspark pressed his attack. He was relentless. Unforgiving. He was a whirlwind of death. He was a spectral reaper harvesting souls from a machine.
The Grim Reaper Scythe became an extension of his will. It was a conduit for his rage.
He could feel the cursed energy emanating from the locomotive. It was a dark and twisted force. It sought to corrupt and destroy him. But it couldn't affect his undead body.
It screeched. Burst of dark smoke exuded from every damaged parts. Trying to force him to back away. But Jack didn't do it. Instead, he charged in.
He slammed the butt of the scythe into the machine's kneecap. The machine shuddered.
He swung the Grim Reaper Scythe. The blade connected with the locomotive's chassis. Sparks flew. Metal screamed. The scythe cleaved through rusted metal like butter.
The locomotive retaliated. A piston-powered arm swung. Aiming to crush him.
Jack dodged. A fraction of a second separated him from oblivion. The arm slammed into the ground where he had been, leaving a crater.
He was fast. But the locomotive was relentless. His scythe damaged the machine. But it kept on moving and attacking. It was a battle of attrition.
He needed an edge. Something more than just brute force. He needed to understand this thing. Its weaknesses.
Jack kept moving and slashing with his scythe. But, he was also observing the locomotive. He pushed his senses. Trying to grasp the nature of the curse energy that animated it.
He saw glimpses. Blood. Spectral children's faces. Runes. Spectral chains. Botched ritual. Demonic shadow creature.
He tried to comprehend what he had seen. But he never stopped moving. His [Draugr's Combat Instinct] guided his movements and reflexes.
Suddenly, it dawned at him. He realized it.
This thing wasn't just a cursed machine. It was a vessel. A prison. The souls of the sacrificed children were trapped within.
And the curse was the shadowy creature. It should have been summoned incidentally by the messed-up ritual.
He had to destroy the shadowy creature to sever the connection. To free the trapped souls. It was the only way to break the curse.
But how?
Wait. This was a summoned creature. Not actually a runic curse.
Then, a sudden feedback of knowledge came at him. From the Encyclopedia of Mystic Arts. The main law of summoning rituals... A rune to bind, two runes to command, three runes to limit.
The locomotive slammed into him. He was too slow this time.
He was thrown back. Crashing into a ruined building. The scythe clattered on the ground. He felt no pain. He had undead body after all.
He quickly jumped to his feet. The scythe flew back to his hands. He stared at the approaching locomotive.
He couldn't win this fight with strength alone.
But he had an idea. The law of summoning rituals gave him the needed clue. He knew what to do. He knew how to defeat this metal monster.