The roof trembled as ominous noises echoed from above, the passengers rising to their feet—frozen in quiet terror of the unknown. What was making that sound? They had no clue, but one thing was crystal clear: it wasn't human.
Amir swiped open the door to the compartment, stepping in to scan the surroundings. This was the lower-class section, packed with locals huddled in worn benches and flickering lantern light.
"Everyone, stay calm," he said in Hindi, hoping to steady them.
But he regretted the words instantly. Meant to soothe, they backfired, sparking murmurs that swelled into frantic chatter and outright pandemonium. The passengers skittered like startled insects, shoving toward exits in a desperate bid to flee the nightmare unfolding.
Amir watched the chaos erupt around him, second-guessing his choice. Had he made it worse? He couldn't say. All he knew was that whatever lurked above now sensed them, drawn like wolves to a fresh scent.
"Everyone, calm down!" he bellowed, but his shout drowned in the rising din.
He planted himself by the entrance, mind racing for a battle plan. Too late—the roof exploded open in a blast of twisted metal and icy wind, silencing the crowd mid-panic as shards rained down like jagged confetti.
A low growl shattered the hush, vibrating through the air like a predator's warning. Amir conjured his blade in a flash—a long, gleaming shaft of sharp steel that hummed with latent power. He pressed an index finger to his lips, signaling silence to the passengers. In the sudden gloom, most couldn't even see the gesture, but instinct kept their mouths clamped shut.
"What's that?" a voice whispered nearby. Amir turned to find a woman close by, her red silk hijab framing a face etched with fear, golden jewelry glinting at her neck, ears, fingers, and nose like talismans against the dark.
He shrugged, meeting her wide eyes. "I don't know," he admitted softly, and she nodded, swallowing hard.
A heavy thump followed, the footfalls of something massive and commanding, shaking the floorboards. A growl chased it—not one, but many, multiplying into a chorus that closed in like thunder. The air thickened with tension, hot and stifling despite the frigid gusts pouring through the gaping ceiling. The passengers held their breath, statues in the shadows.
The silence shattered in an instant: a woman in the cluster vanished upward, yanked by her hair into the void above. It happened so fast—a blur of motion and a single, piercing shriek—that no one could react.
Chaos exploded. Screams tore through the car as passengers stampeded in blind survival mode, trampling benches and each other to avoid being next. Another was snatched, then another, and another—dragged into the night like offerings to some ravenous void.
Amir sprang into action, leaping through the ragged hole in the ceiling onto the train's roof. That's when he saw them: the spirits. The sight hit him like a gut punch, forcing a sharp gasp from his lungs.
Dozens crowded the exposed metal expanse, hulking beasts that twisted nature into nightmare—grotesque caricatures with humanoid torsos for most, though some were pure animal horrors. Fur matted their forms, heads borrowed from the wild's fiercest hunters: one a snarling tiger, another an eagle with merciless eyes, a third a gaping crocodile jaw, and more in endless variety.
The roof was mostly gone, reduced to a skeletal frame of buckled steel, save for the driver's compartment at the front and the last one at the rear—home to the elites, untouched for now.
Amir exhaled sharply, steeling himself. He knew his duty: fight, expel these abominations before they claimed everyone. "Hey, you monsters—over here!" he roared, slamming his sword's flat against the hard roof in a ringing challenge. They froze mid-scavenge, heads swiveling toward the intruder.
A nervous smile tugged at his lips—he had no idea what came next. They advanced slowly at first, curious and irked, padding forward with deliberate menace. Who dared interrupt their feast? But caution vanished; their pace quickened to a trot, then a full charge, the horde surging as one, claws scraping sparks from the roof in their frenzy to tear him apart.
Amir drew a deep breath, summoned a burst of wind to propel him forward, and met them head-on. He sliced relentlessly—clean arcs carving through fur and ether, dodging claws and fangs with fluid acrobatics. Bloodless things, they parted without a spray, offering no grim thrill, just endless motion.
At last, they crumpled, growling in defeat on the blood-slicked metal. But respite was fleeting: fresh waves clawed up the train's sides, hauling themselves toward the roof. Amir paused, scanning the onslaught, then whipped back to his fallen foes—only to watch in shock as severed limbs twitched, knitting together with glowing threads of light magic.
"Interesting," he growled through gritted teeth, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill, nerves fraying at the edges.
"How do I go about this?" he muttered aloud.
The answer came from below, in a steady voice: "Those are Rakshasa spirits. There are many ways to kill them, but one sure path: a brass sword."
Amir glanced down through the hole to spot the hijabi woman from before, her golden ornaments catching the faint moonlight.
"Right! Thank you for your help!" he called, gratitude sharp in his tone. Without pause, he gripped his blade and twisted it—metal shimmering as it morphed into a warm brownish hue, solid brass now, humming with newfound bite.
He dove back in, slashing with renewed fury. This time, they howled in agony, bodies vaporizing in puffs of acrid smoke with each strike. In the distance, Aurora's holy magic flared like a beacon through an open ceiling, and Lisa's roof gaped wide, battle spilling into every shadowed corner.....