Clink, clink.
A coin pouch shot straight up into the air and dropped cleanly into a large, calloused hand.
Hank sat atop the Overload Juggernaut, shaking the pouch beside his ear, grinning at the metallic jingle.
"Six gold, pure profit!" he beamed.
He fished out three coins and tossed them to Ryan. "Your cut."
Ryan caught the coins, but didn't smile. His brows furrowed.
"Seriously? We made this much already—shouldn't that be enough?"
The Overload Juggernaut rumbled past the collection point's iron-barred perimeter, kicking up dust as it rolled into the open wilderness.
Hank squinted at the sun, his smile sharpening. "Five hours till gate-open. Plenty of time for one more run."
He sounded relaxed—almost too relaxed. But Ryan felt that weight in his gut. Things had gone too smoothly. His instincts were whispering: this wasn't luck—it was the calm before the storm. A quiet dread was crawling up from the back of his mind, telling him this next trip into the wilds might be a mistake.
He was just about to speak up—try to talk Hank out of it—when Hank turned, meeting his eyes with that unshakable confidence.
"Don't worry," he said, firm and final. "It'll go just fine."
As Hank's words fell, he slammed his heel against the side of the Overload Juggernaut.
The beast let out a low growl before surging forward, kicking up a cloud of dust. Hank sat firm atop the creature, reins tight in his hands, as he charged toward the heart of the wilderness, with Ryan riding behind him.
Ryan barely had time to brace himself before the sudden acceleration threw him off balance. Gripping Hank's waist, he fought to steady himself, his pulse quickening. Despite the unease still gnawing at him, the world around him moved so fast, he had no choice but to keep up with the frantic pace.
The wind howled in his ears as the wilderness scenery blurred past. The Overload Juggernaut tore through the wild terrain, its form casting a long shadow over the dust-choked plains.
Hank leaned into the rush, muttering just loud enough to carry over the roar: "Hope the carcasses in the cave haven't been picked clean by the other beasts."
As they crested the dunes once more, a haze of dust rose ahead—a convoy of freight drays lumbered toward the city gates, loaded to the brim with bloody spoils.
Hank's gaze locked on the bloody spoils. Greed flared in his eyes, a hunger stoked by the sight of riches he didn't yet own.
Not long after, they passed over the dunes and entered the scrubland again. Twisting thickets tangled around them, and they pressed on cautiously, heading toward the Silverstone Hills.For a time, the only sound was the Overload Juggernaut's heavy footfalls pounding through the silence.
Ryan's unease returned like a weight pressing on his chest. The quiet felt wrong—too complete, too still. It whispered of hidden threats, waiting just beyond the edges of sight.
Then it came—an unearthly shriek detonated from the forest's heart - a wail so distorted it seemed less sound than like the screech of damned souls writhing up through cracks in reality. The very air grew putrid in its wake.
Ghosts? In this world?
Ryan's mind reeled. Hank's face hardened as he spat the warning: "Grimhowler!"
From the depths of the woods came a low, rustling scrape—something massive moving toward them.
The underbrush ahead shuddered violently. Then it emerged—a monstrous Wild Beast, crawling through the dappled shadows like a nightmare given flesh.
It stood nearly two meters tall, its humanoid form devoid of even a shred of skin, raw crimson muscles twitching like freshly flayed beast-flesh. Its brain sat fully exposed atop the skull, shielded only by a thin, translucent membrane.
Its limbs were grotesquely long, and the claws on its forearms gleamed like polished blades.
Its eyes were solid black spheres—no whites, no pupils, like true cosmic black holes: utterly dark, devouring all. Just one glance, and it felt as if your entire being might be pulled into annihilation.
And that mouth—its maw yawned obscenely from lips to earlobes, revealing twin rows of jagged, saw-toothed fangs, like a bear trap, sharp enough to snap a leg in a single bite.
But the worst part?
The long, serpent-like tongue hanging from its mouth, slithering through the air, dripping thick saliva with each motion.
Ryan's breath froze in his throat.
Holy shit!
It's a damn Licker—except with eyes.
Didn't I get transported to Another World? How the hell did I stumble into Resident Evil?