Jack drifted back to the slave outpost. Unseen. Unheard.
Using his [Poltergeist's Telekinesis], he flicked the chain keys from the dead slavers towards the huddled, filthy prisoners. They landed in the dirt with a dull clatter. Right within their reach.
He wasn't sticking around to hold their hands. Escape or rot, that would be their choice. He wasn't trying to be their savior. He just aimed to be their jailer's grim reaper. Besides, he had his own agenda.
He hauled a dead slaver, again with telekinesis, to the nearby riverbank. And then, he ripped open a gateway with [Bloody Mary's Mirror World]. To his safe Mirror Room.
Inside, Jack dropped the slaver's corpse. He activated his [Incarnation Shift]. The change was again gradual and unfathomable.
Several minutes of grotesque transformation, and... he was back. Jack Deathspark, the Undead Draugr. Stark naked, naturally.
He stripped the slaver's corpse of its meager attire. Rough hide pants. A crude vest of the same material. And a hooded robe. All reeking of sweat, blood, and cheap ale.
The boots were not included. It was clownishly large. He grimaced. His Undead Draugr form wasn't exactly trying to set a new standard for horror trope.
The Draugr Jack wore the vest, pants and robes. And then, he looked in the mirror.
Staring at his reflection, Jack wasn't impressed. He needed to crank up the fear factor. With a snarl, he tore at the hide, ripping it into jagged strips. He shredded the robe, leaving it hanging in tatters. Now that was more like it.
He opened a way out of the room with the Mirror World's ability, and lugged the naked corpse back out into the fading light.
He re-visited the slave post. The slave pen was deserted. Good. One less thing to worry about. They were gone. Probably scrambling towards Asquall. Or deeper into the godforsaken wilderness. It didn't matter. It couldn't be worse for them anyway.
He ransacked the outpost. He found a couple of spare sets of the same awful slaver gear and a rusty scythe leaning against a wall, caked in what he hoped was just mud. Jackpot. He hauled the loot back into the Mirror Room and set to work.
He gutted the spare clothes, mirroring the ragged look of his current getup. Some tears were accentuated. The scythe, after a bit of polishing with a ragged piece from the torn clothes, now was looking more menacing.
He reviewed his handiwork in the mirror. Pale, gaunt face leering from under the tattered hood. Skeletal features somehow even more pronounced in this light. Torn rags clinging to his emaciated frame. And the scythe. Yeah, that worked.
He channeled [Nightmare Shapeshift]. He coaxed tendrils of black mist to seep from the cloth. It swirled around him like a demonic shroud.
He forced a grin, creepy and scary. He truly looked like Death had come to visit.
"Jack Deathspark," he rasped, testing his unused voice. "... was ready for action."
But then, a wave of practicality washed over him. Strolling around like a goddamn Halloween decoration was just asking for trouble.
The formless ghost form was much more subtle. Infinitely more subtle. This Draugr form should be the last resort. It should be the heavy hitter for specific situations.
He sighed, the sound like wind whistling through a graveyard. He wouldn't give up being Jack Deathspark.
But he would need to continue his journey as a ghost. It was back to the spectral invisibility for now. He'd save the grim reaper look for later. For when it really mattered.
...
A few days later...
Highcliff Town was a truly nice for postcard materials. Jack floated through its cobblestone streets. The architecture here was a pretty delicate mix of Renaissance flair and whatever passed for 'advanced' in this current world.
Polished stone statues of complex gears. Well maintained grass fenced with intricate-patterned metal railings. Renaissance style buildings with huge mechanical clocks. These combinations created a visual symphony that should've been beautiful.
Jack would definitely enjoy it had he still been a human. But now, all Jack felt was unease.
He tried to recall any settlement he had encountered. Lotogear was a polluted city and sprawling den of corruption. Asquall Village was a festering sore of industrial grime and desperation. Highcliff Town was something else entirely... a gilded artwork with sharp teeth.
Many places here felt almost as dangerous as the Mirror World. He didn't expect a small town set in a mountainous cliff like this could be this... terrifying.
He had drifted near the Cathedral of Justice. Its spires were pretty. But a shiver went down his non-existent spine when he got close enough. There was a palpable sense of power emanating from the place. Cold and unforgiving.
Then, the Highborn District. It was full of opulent mansions and manicured gardens. It screamed of privilege for nobility. Yet, Jack felt something even more terrifying than the Orthrus in the Mirror World there. Lurking beneath the surface.
And finally, the Elrush Museum of Art. Jack really wanted to explore the inside of the place. But he didn't dare. He couldn't explain it. But the building felt like a trap waiting to be sprung.
Jack felt all those three locations would be the sites for his doom if he came close enough. He felt his powers would be severely weakened, maybe even useless, there.
Compared to the much larger city, Lotogear, this town felt monumentally more dangerous. It was subtle, insidious. The kind of danger that smiled at you. While quietly sharpening a knife behind its back.
Jack was thinking to leave straight away. But he need knowledge, especially of esoteric power. He needed to understand what he was and would be up against. And he had found a potential place to acquire that knowledge. The library.
The town's public library was a humble affair. It was tucked away on a quiet side street in the Central District. It smelled of dust and old paper. A comforting aroma that momentarily eased his anxiety. He phased inside. He was invisible to the sleeping librarian slumped over a stack of books.
Night after night, Jack haunted the library. [Poltergeist's Telekinesis] made his research efficient. Books floated off shelves. Pages flipped themselves. All at his ghostly whim.
He scanned countless volumes. He dismissed historical treatises and romantic poetry with a flick of his incorporeal wrist. He was looking for something specific. He was looking something that could explain the strange energies he felt radiating from certain people and places.
It wasn't easy. Whoever made him reborn as a ghost here had only given him one language mastery. The Common Tongue. He could listen, speak, read, and write fluently in that particular language. But other languages were gibberish to him.
Many books in the library were written in those gibberish languages. The ones using Common Tongue... were filled with flowery language and unsubstantiated claims of miracles and curses.
But Jack was patient. He was driven by a desperate need to understand the forces at play. He needed to know what he was dealing with... if he wanted to continue his vigilante crusade.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he found it. 'The Hidden Powers' was its title. It was a thick, leather-bound tome. Its pages were yellowed and brittle.
The title was promising. But Jack wasn't holding his breath. He'd seen plenty of books with sensational titles that delivered nothing but drivel.
He carefully levitated the book to an empty table. He began to read. The Common Tongue, thankfully. Again he thanked whatever entity had decided to give him a second, albeit fucked-up, chance at life.
The book outlined four distinct power systems. It described them in archaic language. Jack had to mentally translated them into something resembling modern terms.
The book said that in general, the term 'Transcendent' was used to mention anyone with definitely-not-normal-human power. However, in specific, there were actually four classifications of the transcendent powers. They were...
Mystic Arts. This sounded like the magic he knew from Earth. It involved magical rituals, alchemy creations, herbal concoctions... the kind of stuff associated with witchcraft and wizardry. It was knowledge-based and craft-dependent, requiring years of study and practice.
Mystic Scholars, the book called its practitioners. He filed that away. Probably the least concerning, but still something to be aware of.
Supernatural Power. This was more interesting. It originated from innate abilities, manifestations of some inherent talents. It might appeared in the form of magical abilities for creation, enhancement, control, teleportation... the possibilities seemed endless.
Primal Sorcerers were the designated terms for the holder of this type of power. This sounded a lot like the kind of powers he saw in comic books. The X-Gene in Marvel's mutants. Only, this one was probably grittier, less amazing, and more troublesome in reality.
Force of Faith. Now this was where things got complicated. The power was derived from belief, channeled through deities, primordial entities, or even nature itself. Wouldn't this mean that gods existed in this world? Were they interfering in the world affairs by lending their power to the believers?
According to the book, the wielder of this power were called Divine Acolytes, Fallen Acolytes, or Sacred Druids. Depending on whom they got their powers from.
Jack grimaced. Religion was always a messy business. The idea of faith-based power was... unsettling. He'd seen the kind of atrocities people committed in the name of their gods back on Earth. He didn't want to imagine what they were capable of in this world.
As for the last category...
Eldritch Contract. This chilled him to the core. Making deals with otherworldly entities... monstrous beasts, vicious demons, tricky devils, even unforgiving angels.
'Otherworldly beings?' Jack groaned in his mind. 'Come on! This world is already complicated. Now, I have to worry about otherworld enti...'
Suddenly Jack stopped. 'Wait! Am I one of these otherworldly entities?'
He contemplated for a while. He might actually be an otherworldly entity. He was from another world after all. Nobody was making a contract deal with him though. Anyway...
Eldritch Warlocks or Eldritch Witches. That was how the book called the users of Eldritch Contracts. The book described the process as inherently dangerous. The price for power often far outweighed the benefits.
Still, some people were desperate. And Jack knew for sure that someone, somewhere, would definitely be willing to make a deal with the devil for a taste of power.
He closed the book. His mind was reeling. He had a framework now, a way to categorize the threats he sensed in Highcliff Town.
The Cathedral of Justice probably housed Divine Acolytes. They drew power from their faith toward the God of Justice.
The Highborn District… Who knew? Maybe there were Primal Sorcerers or Mystic Scholars settling there.
It wouldn't surprise him if the royal families and nobles of any country in this world were 'transcendent people'. Using transcendent power to acquire power and maintain their positions of power seemed a logical thing to do.
And the Elrush Museum of Art? He still had no clue, but a gut feeling told him it was connected to something ancient and malevolent. Probably, it was an otherworldly being contracted by an Eldritch Warlock.
"The Hidden Powers..." Jack muttered, unconsciously he activated his [Banshee's Requiems]. His muttering evolved into guttural demonic whispers echoing in the whole library. Fortunately, nobody was inside the library this late at night.
Jack now knew a little bit more. His own powers didn't neatly fit into any of their categories, which made him an anomaly.
But, it actually made sense. The power categorization mentioned in the books were for humans. He was not a human in the first place. Not anymore.
He floated out of the library. The town looked strangely quiet and eerily beautiful under the light of the stars... and the twin moons.