In the midst of peril, the Utterson family—comprising Claus, Vanella, and their son Iva—followed Claus along the dimly lit dirt roads of the island, seeking refuge.
Claus tightly clasped his son's hand, and despite Iva's fear, he couldn't help but glance back at the unfolding horror. Tears welled in his eyes as he continued to gaze backward, the depth of his emotions echoing in his cries.
Beside Claus, Vanella ran, her internal prayers echoing the hope for a successful escape.
Thanks to their house's strategic position and Claus's quick thinking, they narrowly evaded the storm of incoming bullets by a mere 30 meters.
They weren't solitary figures in their escape to the forest from the shore. A total of 14 people could be observed on both sides.
Out of breath, Iva tugged at Claus's arm, gasping, "Papa, I can't run anymore."
Claus halted, lifting Iva onto his shoulders.
Tears streamed down Vanella's face as she questioned, "What are we going to do?"
Claus, closing his eyes for a contemplative moment, slowly opened them after a minute. "We're heading to the top," he declared, pointing toward the upper part of the island where another small shore village awaited.
Adjusting Iva in his arms for a better run, Claus observed how shaky Iva's legs had become.
"Son, it's going to be alright," he reassured with a soothing tone.
In response, Iva nodded determinedly, shedding more tears but now convinced that everything would be alright.
Deep in the forest, among towering trees and uneven terrain, uncertainty loomed over the scattered people. Families huddled together, and lone individuals, noticed by Claus, stood alone.
As he turned around to assess the situation, his vision was momentarily blinded by a glowing light—the village set ablaze.
Realizing that the defense had failed and the pirates would soon penetrate the forest, Claus shouted, "Follow me!"
Some heads turned towards him, not all.
Clearing his throat, he shouted again, "If you want to live, follow me!"
This time, he captured everyone's attention. Children emerged from bushes, families approached, and individuals joined the group.
Respectful nods were exchanged, and Claus began leading the way.
A middle-aged man with long, oily brown hair and a hollow face placed his hand on Claus's shoulder, whispering, "Claus, what about the wolves?"
Vanella, alarmed, gripped Claus's arm.
Claus turned around and whispered, "Shh, Dale. We don't want everyone to start panicking. It's either face danger from pirates or, if unlucky, encounter wolves."
Dale exhaled, closing his eyes and nodding.
Fortunately, Dale's earlier comment went unheard.
The assembled group traversed the uneven expanse of the island's central terrain with determined steps.
However, in the distant shadows, a contingent of pirates forged ahead, their mission clear: to apprehend and eliminate the remaining villagers.
The pirate crew delineated its objectives—some relentlessly pursued the fleeing villagers, while others ransacked domiciles, plundered resources, and sought the famed chef's mansion, rumored to harbor an underground vault brimming with gold and Nords.
Within the confines of the chef's mansion, as he and his wife sought refuge in the secure depths of the basement, a cadre of six pirates grappled with the challenge presented by an iron-locked door.
Amidst them, the mysterious Vice Captain Clawman, a tall and facial-hair-free figure, maintained an air of silent detachment, indifferent to the desperate pleas for assistance from his fellow marauders.
A desperate voice pleaded, "Vice Captain Clawman, can ye help us?"
But Clawman remained silent and absent.
...
Deep within the heart of the forest, the Captain, a formidable figure drenched in perspiration, brought the crew to a standstill as an ethereal howl reverberated through the silent abyss.
With sweat beads tracing a path down his forehead and forming droplets at the cleft of his double chin, he commanded, "Circle 'round, boys."
The crew adeptly formed a defensive perimeter, their senses heightened against potential wolf assaults. Despite the captain's indomitable strength and the presence of a robust crew numbering at least 40, he harbored an aversion to losing even a single comrade.
With only four torches casting their glow, the authoritative order resounded, "Set fire!" Each crew member ignited a torch, bestowing a luminous aura upon the surroundings.
The forest murmured with the rustle of leaves as the Captain, his voice a low growl, issued further commands. "Stay vigilant, me hearties. We won't be easy prey for the wolves tonight."
The crew, enveloped in the protective ring of flickering torchlight, nodded in acknowledgment.
As they trod forward, a pack of wolves materialized from the nearby bushes, with all but one lunging at them simultaneously.
The lone wolf, slightly larger and adorned with scars, likely an alpha, howled and directed the pack's assault.
"Fire!" roared the Captain.
A barrage of shots rang out, dispatching half the pack, yet the alpha remained unscathed.
Just as the Captain prepared to issue another command, a three-meter-tall silhouette swiftly traversed from point A to point B, skillfully evading the encirclement and targeting the alpha directly.
The alpha attempted to evade left but failed, succumbing to a three-clawed slash across its throat.
Far from fear, the pirates sported grins as they beheld the monstrous hybrid of a werewolf and human.
The Captain pondered, "Clawman? Why the change? Faster and larger..."
"Clawman, ye can revert now," the Captain ordered.
Clawman, covered in fur, hunched back, and blood-stained arms, stood still. He turned slowly, emitting a mighty howl that sent insects, birds, other wolves, and the entire forest into a frenzy.
The howl, directed at the encircled group, extinguished all the lit torches, plunging them into darkness.
"WHAT BE YE DOIN', CLAWMAN?" the Captain shouted.
With no response from Clawman and realizing he gazed upon a creature devoid of human thought, the Captain bellowed, "RUN! SCATTER!"
The ring formation shattered as the crew sprinted in various directions, confusing Clawman, with the primary objective being the safety of the ship.
Yet, that proved insufficient. Clawman streaked through the darkness, slashing throats of those stumbling in their blindness.
The screams echoed in 5-second intervals, marking the time it took Clawman to end one life and move on to the next. They resembled sheep awaiting merciless slaughter.
In a matter of moments, only the Captain and a handful of others tasked with his protection remained.
They knelt, paralyzed by the out-of-control Clawman dashing through the impenetrable darkness.
In a desperate plea, the Captain, voice trembling, implored, "Koher, me son, if there be any shred of humanity left in that monstrous form, spare us."
Koher, the Clawman, halted, seemingly attentive to the captain's words. His animalistic, deep, moderately paced breaths resonated.
"Captain, it's workin'," one of the pirates whispered.
"Koher, I be truly sorry ye became like this. I meself didn't know the damn stone held such power and obviously didn't know its side effects. Ye can fight against it! Overcome it, and let's sail the seas as we used to do."
Koher's breathing slowed immensely. In the darkness, he swayed left and right, akin to someone in a drugged state.
He continued to retreat, the pace deliberate. The further he distanced himself, the more rapid and agitated his breathing became—a frenzied rhythm, as though an invisible force field shielded the captain's vicinity.
Then, it howled once more, vanishing into the depths of the forest.
"Captain, thank ye! Ye saved us," expressed a relieved pirate.
The captain, slowly rising from his knees, stood, his tone filled with self-loathing and depression. "Arr, I be a sorry excuse for a captain. Only ten souls left. If I'd known the stakes... well, no matter."
Swiftly regaining composure, he asserted, "Clawman charted that course, and in that same direction, the rest of the villagers be. He'll be hot on their trail. Let's weigh anchor and set sail while there be still a whisper of a chance!"
"AY AY CAPTAIN."