The passengers sat down, a pin-drop silence enveloping the scene. A ruckus erupted above them—screeches that might have been the savage scrape of claws against metal, or perhaps something far more sinister. They didn't know, and the uncertainty hung heavy in the air like an unspoken dread.
Aurora stepped into the compartment, swiping the door closed behind her. They all turned to her, their stares piercing and unrelenting, as if her skin crawled under the weight of their desperation, itching for answers she didn't yet have.
They looked at her intently, as though she held the key to unraveling the chaos unfolding overhead.
"In a short while, the roof will be torn open... save the passengers," a voice echoed in her mind—a divine directive from her benefactor, the Archangel Michael himself.
Aurora sighed, her breath fogging faintly in the chill of the carriage. How could she pull this off without alerting the spirits clawing at the ceiling? It had to be quiet, seamless, flawlessly executed. And there was nothing a touch of magic couldn't mend. With a subtle wriggle of her fingers and a swift swiping gesture, she summoned it: a brilliant flash of white light bloomed, and in an instant, the passengers vanished. The compartment stood empty now, eerily cleared of life, as if the air itself had been scrubbed clean.
"Where did you take them?" the voice inquired, and Aurora scoffed, a spark of defiance in her tone.
"To their various locations, of course," she replied proudly, folding her arms across her chest like a shield.
"I'm surprised you didn't know. Aren't you meant to be omniscient or something?" she added, her lips quirking in challenge.
"I think you have me confused with the Creator," the voice countered dryly, drawing a soft giggle from her, light and fleeting amid the tension.
The sounds on the roof heightened, swelling into something ferocious—now harder, more insistent than ever. In moments, they escalated to bangs: thunderous thumps that dented the metal ceiling, each impact rippling visible bulges like veins pulsing under skin. With every crash came a shrill screech and a deafening roar that vibrated through the bones, and in that cacophony, Aurora realized these spirits were no mere phantoms.
"Uh... can you at least tell me what we're dealing with here?" she murmured, clutching her crucifix in one hand while raising the other toward the ceiling, fingers splayed and ready to unleash spells that hummed at her fingertips.
"From what I've gathered, they are Rakshasa spirits—beings forged from chaos and destruction. There are limited ways to hurt them, but holy magic is one, so you're equipped for this."
Aurora smiled, a fierce curve of her lips; she held an instant upper hand against a force she hadn't even known existed until that heartbeat. Gratitude surged through her like a warm current.
"Be careful—they eat humans."
"Well, I am not one."
"Doesn't make a difference when you have flesh."
The roof burst open in a shower of twisted metal and splintered shards, and a massive humanoid figure plummeted through, slamming onto the train floor with a quake that rattled the walls. It lurched upright and growled, a guttural rumble that curdled the air. Aurora's eyes widened in raw disbelief. The creature was enormous, hulking like a nightmare sculpted from shadow and sinew—its torso a warped parody of humanity, broad and rippling with unnatural muscle, balanced on the powerful, clawed hind legs of a leopard. Atop it reared an eagle's head, beak hooked and merciless, talons gripping a jagged spear that gleamed with malevolent hunger.
"Ugly," she muttered, her voice steady despite the chill racing down her spine.
"Very ugly," Michael confirmed, his tone laced with grim agreement.
"Cast a holy spell now," he commanded, and she snapped into motion, her body coiling like a spring.
Hands thrust skyward, she unleashed a searing ray of light through the gaping hole in the roof, a luminous spear of divine fury meant to scour the shadows above. The creature hurled its spear at her in retaliation, the weapon slicing the air with lethal intent to impale her where she stood—but she teleported in a flicker of ethereal mist, evading the strike by a whisper of space.
She rematerialized behind it, swift as thought, and without hesitation, pressed her palm to its hulking flank. Channeling the precise surge of holy magic, she watched as it convulsed, then disintegrated into a swirling vortex of pure black dust that scattered like ash on a forsaken wind.
She caught the echo of her sister's struggle from the adjacent compartment—a clash of steel and snarls that tugged at her heart—and bolted toward the door to aid her. But Michael's voice halted her mid-stride, firm as iron.
"Take care of the ones on the roof first."
"But my sister is in there," Aurora protested, her voice cracking with urgency.
"Have you forgotten that she possesses the power of Lilith? She will be fine." He had a fair point, undeniable as scripture, and she nodded, though reluctance gnawed at her resolve.
Still, the thought of abandoning her sister to the fray twisted like a blade in her gut, but duty pulled her upward all the same...
She floated to the roof's surface, ascending on wings of invisible will, and collided with a gruesome tableau that turned her stomach: viscous goo slicked every inch, mingled with torn limbs and severed parts from the monsters—glistening entrails and jagged bone fragments strewn like confetti from hell, painting the metal expanse in grotesque streaks of crimson and ichor. She opted against landing, keeping her boots clear of the foul mire, and hovered instead, a vigilant specter amid the slaughter.
From the edge came Amir's grunts, raw and labored, as he hefted a sword of brownish steel—brass, she would learn—and hacked at the spirits clawing their way up the train's side, their talons screeching against the hull like nails on a coffin lid.
"Brass is another way to kill them," Aurora sighed at the revelation, the words tasting of weary wisdom.
"Help him—he's going to die if you don't." With that, she surged toward him, the wind whipping her hair like a banner of resolve.
Amir was lost in a frenzy of slicing and dicing, his blade a blur carving through ethereal flesh. But for every spirit he felled, two more crested the edge, an endless tide eroding his strength. Numbness seeped into his limbs, his movements sluggish now, heavy with exhaustion; he was slow enough for their claws to rake him, drawing thin lines of fire across his skin.
His clothes hung in tatters, soaked with sweat and blood that welled from gashes on his arms, chest, and thighs, staining the fabric in dark blooms. Suddenly, a warm sensation enveloped him like a protective cloak, and hands settled gently on his shoulders. He whipped his head around, sword half-raised, only to find Aurora hovering there, her presence a radiant anchor, beaming at him with unshakeable calm.
"It's okay, tiger—I can take it from here," she said, her voice a soothing balm as she glided past him into the heart of the swarm. The spirits lunged as one, piling atop her in a writhing mass that formed a pulsating sphere, their forms intertwining to smother her in their multitude of fangs and fury. Amir held his tongue, offering no protest or plea for her to stay; if she chose this, there was purpose in it, ironclad and true.
A brilliant burst of white light erupted from within, piercing the orb like dawn shattering night. The sphere shattered outward in a cataclysm of dust, leaving nothing but faint motes drifting on the breeze. Aurora remained suspended in midair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips as her crucifix pulsed with an inner glow, fierce and unyielding as a star's heart. She lifted her hands higher, and from her palms roared a torrent of flame—holy fire that licked across the roof in a cleansing wave, incinerating the straggling spirits in bursts of acrid smoke.
"Wow," Amir muttered, his voice hoarse with awe, but the respite shattered as a guttural roar split the air, revealing that a horde had slithered inside the train undetected.