Nuriel had recognized the word fallencreatures. Back when he still had access to his family's library, he'd stumbled upon it buried in some obscure, dust-coated book.
Unnatural beings that didn't belong to any ecosystem. Highly aggressive. They came in all forms and sizes, nothing about them fit into the flow of natural evolution. They didn't just kill to live they lived to kill.
Apart from old nighttime tales and the occasional story passed by word of mouth, confirmed sightings were rare. Some believed they were extinct. Others doubted they ever existed.
Then he remembered the crater in the train car. His spine tingled. Cold sweat trailed down his neck.
"Nuriel, help me get the people out of the debris!" Edward's voice rang out. He was already rushing into the wreckage, giving Nuriel no chance to hesitate.
"Peer pressure's a hell of a thing," Nuriel muttered, sighing as he dropped his briefcase to the ground. He hoped everyone was too distracted to snatch it. Maybe Sayla would be kind enough to watch it or curse anyone who got funny ideas.
"Wait for me!" he called, jogging after Edward into the wreckage.
Damn, only bodies. Nuriel dug through rubble, the flickering red flare casting strange, twitching shadows across the wreck. His eyes caught a pair of legs trapped beneath some fallen debris. With effort, he lifted the broken pieces aside.
No torso.
His stomach churned. The repeated horror of dismembered bodies wore him down. His breathing grew heavier, the nausea creeping in.
"Help me..."
A voice. Weak, barely above a whisper. Nuriel's heart jumped in relief. Someone alive! he spun around toward the voice, shouting over his shoulder. "Edward! Over here!"
Edward stumbled over, his face just as pale as Nuriel's. "Where?"
"He's pinned. Help me lift this wall!"
The two men braced themselves and lifted. Others soon joined in, stewards, passengers, anyone brave enough. Together, they heaved the wreckage aside, the metal sheet crashing to the ground and kicking up a thick cloud of dust.
As it cleared, Nuriel recoiled.
A jagged wooden beam pierced straight through the man's leg, in one side of the thigh and out the other, then to his knee and out, like a grotesque human skewer. His breathing was labored, his skin pale, his eyes losing their vividness and color. He lifted a trembling hand.
"my leg... i... it stings.."
"Sayla!" Edward's voice thundered, drawing every nearby glance.
Sayla emerged from the rubble, stepping with delicate precision through the shattered train. She didn't ask questions, hearing her brother's cries provided her with a general understanding.
Kneeling beside the injured man, she grasped his leg. Her hands turned slick with blood, but she didn't flinch. As if the pain flowed out through her fingers, the man's breath slowed, his face easing.
"Thank you... Praise the witch," he murmured.
Sayla's calm shattered. "He needs an amputation, fast!" she barked. The stewards scattered, one calling for medical aid.
Nuriel said nothing. He looked around and found an intact seat still bolted to a wall with its windows missing. Without hesitation, he dropped into it. The cushion embraced his weight like an old friend. He closed his eyes and prayed it was just a nightmare.
Then he opened them, finding the same scene. Red light bathing chaos. People moving in frantic patterns like ants around a shattered nest.
Edward appeared before him. As he was also out of breath, he dropped himself onto a vacant seat beside Nuriel. He didn't speak at first, taking nearly a full minute to steady his breathing before finally breaking the silence.
"If it weren't for you, that man would've died," he said, leaning back and looking up at the flares, he saw the mix of red and yellow spots. Then, turning his head, he smirked faintly. "Are you a beastman or something? How did you hear him?" he asked, half-joking.
Nuriel blinked at the comment, caught off guard. He didn't answer right away. Edward didn't seem to mind, simply watching the red-tinged clouds drift across the sky above the chaos.
I heard him though…? Nuriel instinctively rubbed his neck. The more he thought about it, the more unsettling it became. The injured man had been on the brink of death, barely able to speak. Even if he had called out, the collapsed wall would have muffled the sound, and the surrounding noise from panicked passengers would've drowned it out completely. It shouldn't have been possible to hear him, not with normal ears.
He hunched over, the chill of the night brushing the back of his neck. Edward waited quietly, giving him space to think.
Weird things kept happening. Nuriel's mind wandered through the fragments of memory. That voice... it didn't feel like it entered through my ears. It felt like it echoed inside my head.
He leaned back against the seat, staring blankly into the chaos. Could I have heard his thoughts? Is that even possible?
A short moment passed. Nuriel sighed, brushing his hair back in frustration. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. No hasty conclusions.
Finally, he spoke.
"That's rude, Edward."
Edward froze, caught completely off guard by the flat tone. His expression twisted as if trying to decide whether to laugh or apologize.
***
It had already reached midnight. The surviving passengers gathered at the front of the train, numbering just around a hundred. Some lay groaning on the gravel, placed on stretchers or makeshift beds fashioned from discarded seat cushions.
The final flare fizzled out, plunging the scene into near-total darkness. But thanks to Sayla's earlier orders, the area was soon bathed in gaslamp light, casting a warm glow that pushed back the night.
"What now?" the junior asked, plopping himself down onto the rocky ground. The relief of sitting outweighed the sting of sharp stones biting into his legs.
"We wait," the conductor answered, settling down beside him. "There's too many injured to walk to the nearest station." He removed his gloves that were warm from holding the hot barrel and pressed it to his forehead, trying to chase away the creeping cold.
Before the junior could respond, he froze. In the distance, he spotted faint lights, bobbing and growing larger. The ground began to hum faintly, the steady rhythm of galloping hooves cutting through the still air.
Everyone heard it, like an entire cavalry charge barreling through the night. Moments later, a force of soldiers on horseback arrived, pulling broken-down artillery carts behind them. Among the blue-coated troops was a group of knights clad in shining steel. The mix of rifles and medieval armor made for a strange sight.
One of the knights dismounted and approached the conductor without ceremony.
"Is the locomotive still intact?" he asked, his voice rough and hollow behind his helmet.
The conductor blinked, startled. "Still on the tracks, with one car attached. But… how did you get here so quickly? The closest station is kilometers away!"
"That is none of your concern. Restart the engine. Get the injured aboard. The rest will walk behind it," the knight ordered without missing a beat.
Hearing the harsh reply, the conductor paid no effort into talking back to the imposing figure in armor and began to instruct every passenger on behalf of the knight.
Standing nearby, Nuriel, Edward, and Sayla observed the exchange. Doubt darkened their expressions.
"'None of your concern,'" Edward repeated mockingly. "With that many soldiers? It's obvious that—"
"That's better left unknown," Sayla interrupted, calm but firm. "Don't stir up panic."
Edward opened his mouth, but another interruption cut him off.
A screeching voice echoed across the clearing.
From the shadows emerged a large middle-aged man in a formal suit. Though unsweating, he looked winded. He shouted. "I paid for my seat in first class! I refuse to give it up!"
The other first-class passengers nearby whispered slanderous remarks about the man. His undignified stance made them uncomfortable, and they subtly distanced themselves from him.
"Read the room, you tub of lard."
"Is he an idiot?"
"Why aren't they stopping him?"
The comments didn't faze him. He stood firm, arms folded, resolute despite the quiet disapproval behind him.
. . .
. . .
. . .
After a long pause, the crowd resumed their focus, turning to board the injured onto the train. The man was left standing in silence.
Soldiers dismounted their horses, offering saddles to the young and elderly, sparing them from the grueling walk ahead.
The workers decoupled the last upright car from the rest of the train. Once the engine was sufficiently warmed, the locomotive released a high-pitched burst of steam and began crawling forward at a walking pace. The able-bodied passengers followed on foot behind it.
What felt like an hour stretched into an eternity. Though clearly exhausted, the trio pressed on, keeping ahead with the main group.
Edward breathed heavily, his legs aching, desperate for a distraction. "Why must you burden yourself, elder sister? The soldiers offered you a horse, and yet you refused."
"Think about the children and the elders," she replied calmly.
"Wow, I can't believe my elder sister is such a beautiful saint—"
"Please shut your mouth. Don't make me put you to sleep."
Edward chuckled. Her bluntness gave him a second wind. "How harsh."
Nuriel walked alongside them, half-listening. Their banter was background noise to his thoughts. At least I went early, this accident shouldn't affect my schedule with Owhen University.
He gripped his suitcase. Thanks to Sayla's watchful eye, it remained safe, which gave him a moment of calm.
"!!!"
He quickly reached to the fabric of his pocket, feeling a familiar bulge. A breath of relief escaped him. It's still there.
Sliding his hand inside, he gently pressed against the worn surface of his wallet, tracing the edges, making sure every part was intact.
He continued walking, sticking close to the pair. Edward kept poking for a reaction, and Sayla kept denying him the satisfaction.
But the peaceful atmosphere didn't last long.
Slice.
A sharp, unnatural sound cut through the air.
At the rear of the group, the large middle-aged man dropped to the ground, an unmistakable portion of his body missing.