Body of Horror!
The activation rippled through the air like a shockwave of primordial dread. Every monster in the vicinity suddenly found themselves locked in place, their bodies trembling as an ancient terror seized their very souls. The horror effect anchored itself to each creature, marking them as prey for something far worse than death. Their eyes widened in recognition of a fear so deep it transcended species—the kind of terror that existed before language, before thought, before hope.
Nox reached into his inventory, his hand disappearing into a spatial rift that crackled with dark energy. When it emerged, he was gripping something that made Henry's jaw drop and his bladder nearly empty.
"that Gatling gun again?" Henry whispered in disbelief.
Not just any Gatling gun. This was a weapon forged in the deepest pits of mechanical hell, its six barrels gleaming with an otherworldly sheen that hurt to look at directly. Runes carved along its length pulsed with malevolent energy, and the ammunition belt feeding into it seemed to stretch into infinity.
But that wasn't the most shocking transformation.
Nox's mask began to open with a mechanical sound that echoed through the tomb like grinding gears mixed with screaming metal. The face covering split apart in segments, petals of horror blooming outward to reveal not human features beneath, but something that violated every law of anatomy and sanity.
Ten writhing tentacles shot out from where his face should be, each one thick as a man's arm and ending in a different surgical tool of the Outer Gods. Scalpels that could cut through the fabric of reality itself, bone saws that screamed with the voices of their victims, syringes filled with liquids that bubbled and shifted colors like living nightmares, and forceps that could grip a soul and tear it from its host.
Four additional tentacles sprouted from his back, thick and muscular, positioning themselves to support the massive Gatling gun. The appendages moved with perfect coordination, their surfaces slick with an oily substance that reflected light in impossible ways.
"Say hello to my little friend," Nox said, his voice now emanating from the depths of the tentacle mass, distorted and multiplied until it sounded like a chorus of the damned.
The Gatling gun began to spin.
The sound was apocalyptic—a mechanical roar that drowned out everything else, building to a crescendo that made the tomb walls vibrate. The barrels became a blur, and then the firing began.
The first volley was like divine judgment made manifest. Each bullet was the size of a man's thumb, glowing with the same malevolent energy as the weapon itself. They struck the horror-locked monsters with devastating precision, and the Body of Horror's one-hit kill effect activated instantly.
The first creature—simply exploded. Not just died, not just fell apart, but detonated in a shower of gore that painted the tomb walls crimson. Its death scream was cut short as its throat disintegrated along with the rest of it.
The second monster tried to dodge, but the horror effect kept it frozen in place. The bullet punched through its skull and continued traveling, passing through three more creatures behind it before finally embedding itself in the stone wall with enough force to create spider web cracks.
Nox swept the gun in a wide arc, and the destruction followed like a scythe through wheat. Bodies exploded in sequence, creating a chain reaction of carnage that painted abstract art across every surface. Blood, bone fragments, and worse things splattered everywhere, creating a slaughterhouse that would have made professional butchers vomit.
The tentacles from his mask weren't idle during this mechanical apocalypse. They lashed out at any monster that got too close, the surgical tools doing their grisly work with surgical precision. A scalpel flicked out and opened a creature's throat with such speed that it didn't realize it was dead until its head toppled off. The bone saw buzzed through a monster's ribcage, filleting it like a fish while it was still trying to figure out what was happening.
"This is insane!" Henry shouted over the gunfire, his voice barely audible above the mechanical roar and the wet sounds of destruction.
Irene couldn't speak. She could only stare in horrified fascination as Nox transformed the battlefield into an abattoir. This wasn't a fight anymore—it was an extermination.
The monsters kept coming, driven by their leader's commands and their own predatory instincts, but the horror effect meant they were sitting ducks. They advanced in waves, only to be mowed down by the relentless gunfire. The Gatling gun never seemed to run out of ammunition, and Nox's aim was supernatural in its precision.
A flying creature tried to attack from above, diving toward his exposed back. One of the rear tentacles snapped up like a whip, catching it mid-flight with a syringe that injected something directly into its brain. The creature began to dissolve from the inside out, its agonized shrieks adding to the symphony of carnage.
The ground became slippery with blood and worse fluids. The air grew thick with the metallic scent of death and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Steam rose from the pile of corpses, creating a hellish fog that made the scene even more nightmarish.
Nox advanced through the carnage, the four back tentacles keeping the Gatling gun perfectly steady while he walked. His feet splashed through puddles of gore without slipping, as if the very ground bent to accommodate his passage. Each step left a print that glowed briefly with eldritch energy before fading.
A group of particularly large monsters tried to rush him all at once, thinking their size and numbers would overwhelm him. The facial tentacles responded instantly, weaving through their ranks like deadly snakes. One scalpel opened a creature's belly from sternum to pelvis, spilling its entrails across the floor. Another tentacle wrapped around a monster's neck and twisted, producing a wet crack that echoed despite the gunfire.
The bone saw found a gap in a third creature's armor and buzzed through its spine, dropping it instantly. The remaining monsters in the group lasted exactly three seconds before the Gatling gun swept across them, reducing them to a fine mist of organic matter.
"How many has he killed?" Old Hans whispered, his face pale as parchment.
Henry tried to count, but gave up quickly. "I stopped counting at fifty. That was about four minutes ago."
The leader monster watched from the back of its horde, its multiple eyes tracking Nox's methodical advance. What had started as confidence was rapidly turning into something else entirely. These weren't just deaths—they were obliterations. Each of its minions wasn't just killed but completely erased, turned into abstract art on the tomb walls.
Nox paused in his advance, the Gatling gun still spinning but no longer firing. He looked around at the carpet of destruction he'd created, tentacles writhing as they cleaned blood from their surgical implements.
all of the skinwalker are dead not include the pack leader if course
The leader monster took an involuntary step backward, its predatory confidence replaced by something it hadn't felt in centuries of existence.
Fear.
"What... what are you?" it whispered, its voice barely audible over the mechanical whirring of the still-spinning gun barrels.