Ampelius followed the captain into a large conference room packed with soldiers and a few civilian volunteers, all seated in neat rows of chairs. Commander Corvinus stood at a podium on a small stage, his sharp gaze scanning the room as he shuffled through a stack of papers. When the commander noticed Ampelius and the captain enter, he gestured toward the open seats. Ampelius scanned the room and spotted an empty chair near the back, where the volunteers appeared to be seated apart from the soldiers.
As he walked through the room, Ampelius couldn’t help but feel the weight of their stares. The soldiers’ eyes, hardened by battle, held a mix of exhaustion and determination. In contrast, the volunteers, all civilians like himself, wore fear and uncertainty on their faces, a fragile veneer hiding the terror underneath. He thought about the divide between the experienced fighters and those like him, thrust into a reality they hadn’t trained for.
Ampelius took his seat near a man whose hands shook slightly, a nervous energy radiating from him. His bloodshot eyes and hollow expression betrayed sleepless nights. Ampelius inhaled the stale scent of tobacco and sweat mingling with the heavy tension that hung over the room. He felt out of place among the soldiers and uneasy among the volunteers. Why had he agreed to be here? Did he even belong in this room, with its promise of life-or-death decisions? A part of him wanted to rise and walk away, but the weight of his choice—and the faces of those he had already lost—kept him rooted in place.
The commander raised his hand, and the room fell silent. He began with a roll call, each soldier responding with their rank and name, the ritualistic responses echoing off the cold walls. It was as if the names were a lifeline, grounding them in the chaos that had become their reality.
After the final name was called, the room observed a moment of silence for those who had fallen in the last 24 hours. Ampelius bowed his head, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the faces of the people he had lost, friends, comrades, all swallowed by the relentless storm that had engulfed the city. The image of their faces weighed on him, a mixture of grief and guilt tightening his chest. He clenched his fists in his lap, willing himself to focus. He was still here, still breathing, but how much longer could he hold onto that fragile thread of survival?
Commander Corvinus then held up the papers for everyone to see.
“Gentlemen, these are the orders from the emperor himself. We’ve been tasked with striking the last stronghold of the Vandals here in Vetera. You might wonder why we’re focusing on this when the invaders are our primary threat. The answer is simple: we can handle both. The Vandals are exploiting the city's destruction to regroup and expand their influence. They remain hostile and dangerous, and we must eliminate them while we still have the chance. Any questions?”
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. Ampelius couldn’t help but wonder if anyone here truly believed they could handle both enemies at once. The Vandals were ruthless, but the invaders, those terrifying forces from beyond, were something else entirely. As the murmurs circulated, Ampelius’ thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the faces of those he’d lost. He saw his next-door neighbor, her face etched with kindness, now burned into his memory as the beautiful girl taken by the green smoke. Saul came to mind, steady and pragmatic, even in the worst moments of panic. Then Mark, who had faced the impossible with quiet courage. Lastly, Emmett. His cousin’s face lingered the longest, a mixture of confidence and hope that seemed invincible. But Emmett had disappeared without a trace, leaving behind questions Ampelius couldn’t answer. Was he alive? Was he dead? He had no idea. Each memory pierced him, reopening wounds that bled invisibly beneath his calm facade. The weight of their absence pressed on him like a silent burden he couldn’t put down, a constant reminder that he was still here, still breathing, when so many others weren’t.
Ampelius’ thoughts were interrupted by a soldier raising his hand, the unexpected motion pulling him back to the present “Commander”, with all due respect, if we focus on the Vandals now, aren’t we spreading our resources thin? The invaders could strike at any moment. We might be playing right into their hands.” Corvinus’s eyes locked onto him, unwavering. “An excellent point, but this is not a choice between enemies. It’s a matter of ensuring our own survival. The Vandals are using the chaos to destabilize our ranks. If we don’t eliminate their leadership now, we’ll face a two-front war, and that’s something we cannot afford. We strike hard and fast, and then we return to deal with the invaders.”
Ampelius nodded reflexively, though the knot in his stomach tightened further. The logic was sound uncomfortably so, but the cold calculation in Corvinus’s tone sent a chill through him. Survival at all costs. That was the Empire’s way, and he couldn’t deny its effectiveness. Yet, it left no room for the individuals who bore the brunt of those costs, the soldiers, the civilians, the lives traded for tactical advantage. Ampelius suppressed the flicker of doubt creeping into his mind. If this was survival, what exactly were they fighting to preserve?
The commander continued, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Each of you will be assigned a squad. Civilians will be paired with experienced soldiers. We need every hand available if we are to succeed. You'll be briefed in more detail after this meeting. Keep your focus, follow your orders, and we will prevail."
Ampelius glanced at the faces around him, noting the mixture of steely determination and quiet fear. He clenched his fists in his lap, bracing himself. Whether or not he agreed with the Empire’s approach, there was no turning back now.
Ampelius turned to the man beside him again, who had lit his cigarette despite the earlier offer. He took a long drag and exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Think we'll survive this?" the man asked quietly, barely loud enough for Ampelius to hear.
Ampelius hesitated before answering, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. "I don't know," he finally said. "But we don’t really have a choice, do we?" The man nodded, his face etched with a grim resignation. Ampelius felt the same heavy pull of inevitability. He glanced back toward the stage, where Commander Corvinus is still talking. "We're being asked to fight on two fronts," Ampelius thought, his mind racing. "But how can we hope to win when we barely understand what we're up against?"
“Volunteers, I know you're eager to settle your debts, but don’t expect this mission to be quick. This isn’t a simple job where you can cash out after a few hours of work. There’s no partial payment for leaving early, you either complete the task or return empty-handed. If you die, and you're doing this for someone else, your debt will be considered paid. No half measures here; it's all or nothing. You’ll receive your weapons on the train since you’re not authorized to enter the armory. If you want out, decide before we board. After that, there’s no backing out. This is your last chance. Any questions?”
The air in the room felt heavier after the commander’s words, the finality of the mission sinking in. Ampelius scanned the faces of the other volunteers, seeing a mix of fear, resolve, and a glimmer of hope. For many, this was a gamble, not just for themselves but for the people waiting for their success. But then one of the volunteers stood up. “Sir, what weapons will we be issued, and how much ammunition are we expecting?”
“You’ll get either a RIAR-35 or a shotgun,” the commander replied bluntly. “As for ammo, you'll get enough to get the job done.”
Ampelius noted the vagueness of the response. “Enough to get the job done” wasn’t exactly reassuring. It could mean just enough to survive—or barely enough to scrape by. Was the ambiguity intentional? Lower their expectations so no one dared to hope for more? He clenched his jaw, feeling the unease settle deeper. Another volunteer spoke up. “What exactly is our mission? Are we providing support?”
“Yes. You’ll be rear security under the command of two of my soldiers. Rear security might not sound like much, but it’s critical. Your task is critical: protect the rear and prevent any unauthorized personnel from breaching our lines. You’ll set up a checkpoint and ensure no one passes without clearance. One mistake and our assault could be compromised. This allows our trained soldiers to focus on the assault. Take your role seriously. Any more questions?”
Ampelius felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Rear security and keeping watch, holding the line, waiting for an attack that could come from anywhere at any moment. The role sounded deceptively simple, but he knew better. Rear security was often the first to falter under pressure, the first to feel the enemy’s unexpected fury. It wasn’t a role for someone who wanted to survive unnoticed, it was where the real danger often lurked.
Silence followed. The commander nodded, reminded them of the departure time, and left the room. As the doors swung shut behind him, the tension in the room eased only slightly. Ampelius exchanged glances with the other volunteers. Some looked relieved, others on the verge of panic. Ampelius hesitated, uncertain if he had made the right choice. He had signed up, but now the reality of what lay ahead weighed heavily on him. He had been in dangerous situations before, but this felt different. There was no clear enemy only chaos, and too many things could go wrong. After a moment, he followed the others out, heading toward the station.
The transformation of the civilian terminal into a military hub caught his attention, though the soldiers frequently reminded him to keep pace. The once bustling station was now filled with armed personnel, makeshift barricades, and stacks of supplies. Civilians, those who had volunteered or had debts to settle, moved through the terminal, trying not to look too long at the uniformed soldiers who marched past with a sense of purpose.
As they neared the train platform, the clanging of machinery and the steady hum of engines filled the air. The train itself loomed large, armored and foreboding, a stark contrast to the civilian transports Ampelius was used to. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the decision he had made. At the platform, the volunteers lined up to receive their weapons. Ampelius was issued an RISAR-35, a semi-automatic rifle, cold and unfamiliar in his hands. The rifle felt off-balance, somehow lighter than it should be yet awkward to hold. It looked like a stripped-down version of the military-standard RIAR but clearly modified for civilian use, but less sophisticated, and it screamed of compromise.
Ampelius shifted it in his grip, uneasy. It felt like a placeholder, not a weapon meant to face the horrors he’d already witnessed. After a brief rundown from the armorer, he rejoined the group, where two Principales, their sharp gazes scanning for any sign of weakness, inspected the volunteers before boarding. Ampelius couldn’t shake the feeling that the soldiers’ scrutiny cut deeper than appearance; they seemed to weigh every hesitation, every uncertain glance, as if judging their very worth.
Commander Corvinus greeted each volunteer personally with a handshake and a water bottle as they stepped onto the train. The gesture caught Ampelius off guard. It felt oddly personal but a nice momentary break in the otherwise unrelenting harshness of their reality. The commander’s grip was firm, his eyes hard, as if silently assessing who would make it through the mission and who wouldn’t. Ampelius couldn’t help but feel a flicker of respect for the man’s gesture, it wasn’t necessary, but it was meaningful. At the same time, the handshake served as an important reminder: this mission could be his last. He wondered if the commander’s empathy was genuine or simply the act of a leader trying to keep morale intact. The thought left him conflicted, teetering between loyalty to the Empire and growing unease about what survival here truly meant.
Once aboard, the rhythmic chugging and clattering of steel wheels set the journey in motion. The train itself was far from the comfortable transports of the past. It was built for function, not comfort. Designed with metal seats, dim lighting, and the faint smell of oil and sweat permeated the carriage. Ampelius shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat, the weight of the rifle in his lap a constant reminder of what lays ahead. Principale Felix introduced himself to the volunteers and began explaining their mission.
“You’ll follow my orders exactly,” Felix instructed. “Our task is simple but important. We secure the rear, we let nothing get past us. You fail, and it’s not just your life at risk; it’s the whole mission. Rest while you can, we’ll arrive within the hour.”
The atmosphere within the train was oppressively tense, thick with anticipation. Some of the volunteers leaned back, trying to rest, while others fiddled nervously with their weapons, their fingers twitching over the cold metal as if searching for reassurance. Ampelius noticed one man’s hands trembling uncontrollably, his knuckles white as he gripped his rifle. Another darted quick, panicked glances around the carriage, his wide eyes betraying the fear he couldn’t contain. The reality of what was coming sinking in. Ampelius scanned their faces, some pale and slick with sweat, others wearing expressions of grim determination. The silence was broken only by shallow breathing and the occasional clink of weapons as people adjusted their gear. He could feel the weight of uncertainty with each person grappling with their own demons.
Exhausted, Ampelius laid down, quickly falling asleep, only to be jolted awake by a nightmare of a Zavon attacking him. In the dream, the creature emerged from the shadows, its grotesque, hulking form twisted and unnatural. Its vaguely humanoid features were stretched and distorted, with deep-set, glowing eyes that burned with a malevolent intensity. Thick, sinewy skin, mottled with jagged patches of dark plating, pulsed faintly as it moved, its joints bending in ways that defied anatomy. One massive hand reached for him, its elongated fingers curling unnaturally, the joints snapping as they locked around his throat. The icy grip sent a shock through him, and he felt his breath leave as the creature’s cold, fetid breath rasped against his face. Its glowing eyes bore into his, unrelenting and inescapable as if they could see every fear he’d ever tried to bury.
His abrupt awakening as the creature began to devour him drew laughter from the others watching him. The sound felt misplaced, almost jarring, as if they were trying to mask their own unease with humor. “Guess none of you have met a Zavon,” he muttered, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the lingering fear. “What’s a Zavon?” someone asked, his voice full of curiosity but laced with doubt.
“It’s the name I gave those creatures destroying the city,” Ampelius explained, settling back down to rest. “Once you see one, you’ll know why. They’re nothing like anything we’ve faced before." He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come as easily this time. The image of its twisted features, its glowing gaze, and the icy touch of its grasp lingered like a shadow he couldn’t escape, a constant reminder of the nightmare made real. What felt like mere moments later, Felix nudged Ampelius awake with a kick to his foot. “We’re at our destination. Get ready to disembark.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Ampelius sat up, his body stiff from the cramped seat. He glanced out the small, grime-covered window and saw nothing but darkness, with the faint glow of distant fires barely illuminating the horizon. The train’s steady rhythm had faded, replaced by the grinding screech of brakes. The train had slowed to a near-crawl, the tension in the air thickening as they approached their drop-off point. Ampelius felt his heart quicken, the adrenaline surging through his veins as his senses sharpened.
As he grabbed his rifle, he noticed the other volunteers doing the same, their earlier bravado replaced by quiet resolve. The nervous laughter and casual jokes had evaporated, leaving only silence and the sound of boots hitting the steel floor as they stood, weighed down by the enormity of what awaited them. He was still groggy, and Ampelius felt his muscles protest as he stretched while the train came to a halt. The cold air rushed in as the doors slid open, mixing with the low hum of distant explosions. His body felt heavy and exhausted, but there was no time for rest now. Commander Corvinus approached the volunteers, reminding them of their critical role as the rearguard.
“Your task is vital,” Corvinus reiterated. “You must remain vigilant. Civilians may try to bypass you, so do not shoot first. Use the designated passcode to verify anyone’s identity. Anyone without the correct code is either arrested or turned away. We cannot afford mistakes. Felix will give you further instructions at your post. Good luck.”
Ampelius followed Felix toward the engine compartment. He noticed the sharpness in Felix's movements and the way his eyes scanned their surroundings as if danger could spring from the shadows at any moment. Felix wasn’t taking any chances, neither should they. Now fully in charge, Felix decided to conduct a quick inspection of each volunteer before disembarking. Ampelius could feel the tension as Felix moved methodically, checking every piece of gear and every rifle with the precision of someone who had seen things go wrong too many times before. One by one, he meticulously checked their equipment and weapons, ensuring everyone was prepared. When Felix reached Ampelius, he gave a curt nod, his gaze lingering a little longer on Ampelius’s rifle, as if measuring whether he trusted him with it.
As Felix finished the inspection, soldiers began leaping off the train, moving toward the front. “Wait here a moment; I thought they were taking the train with them,” Felix muttered. Ampelius nodded and watched as Felix approached the commander, exchanged a few words, and then returned to finish the inspection.
“The train’s staying with us,” Felix explained. “The soldiers are continuing on foot, so it’s our job to protect it. It’s our only way back to base, so keeping it secure is critical. If we lose the train, we lose everything. Alright, you’re good. Gather up with the others; I’ll join you shortly.”
Ampelius stepped off the train and joined the other volunteers huddled around a barrel. The cold bit into his skin, and he could feel the anxiety in the air, everyone standing just a little too close to the fire, as if its warmth could ward off the fear. The soldiers were already marching into the darkness, their figures disappearing into the night like ghosts. Felix soon arrived and addressed the group.
“Alright, listen up,” Felix began. His voice carried authority, and all eyes turned to him. Even the faint sound of boots crunching against gravel seemed to fade as they listened. “The other Principale requested a transfer to the assault unit, so you’ll only be dealing with me for the duration of this mission. First, the passcode is MEGA—M.E.G.A. Burn it into your memory. There’s no second-guessing this in the heat of the moment. Only our military units should know this, but in case we get reinforcements, that’s the code they’ll use. Second, identify your target before discharging your firearm. There may be civilians down here seeking refuge. Some could be armed, but don’t fire unless they’re hostile. We don’t need any more bloodshed on our hands. If they shoot first, then, by all means, defend yourselves. Lastly, our main responsibility is to protect the train while the soldiers complete their mission. This train is more than transport—it’s our lifeline. No matter what happens, it doesn’t fall. Any questions?”
A few of the volunteers shifted uncomfortably, but none spoke up. Ampelius could sense the weight of Felix’s words hanging in the cold air, solidifying the reality of their situation. The train wasn’t just a way out; it was the difference between survival and being trapped in the heart of the city’s devastation. “Great! See those sandbags on the train? Go unload them and pile them up here. We’ll need solid cover to establish our checkpoint, and these will do just fine. Let’s get to it.”
Ampelius and the others began unloading the sandbags, piling them where Felix instructed. The cold weight of each bag dug into Ampelius’s hands, the repetitive strain of lifting and carrying only making the tension in his chest worse. The sounds of sand shifting inside the bags and the distant echoes from the tunnel formed an unsettling symphony.
“Is that a Maximus machine gun? From two centuries ago?” someone asked, incredulous. The disbelief in his voice mirrored what Ampelius felt, how could something so old still be part of their defense?
“It sure is,” Felix replied, watching as the relic immediately grabbed everyone’s attention. The gun looked like a ghost from another time; its dark metal was worn from age but was still imposing. It was a reminder of the endless cycle of violence that had plagued their world for generations. “Are we actually using it? Does it still work? Can I man it?” another volunteer asked eagerly. There was an odd excitement in his tone, as if the ancient weapon held some forgotten power. “Yes, we’re setting it up at the checkpoint,” Felix explained. “But keep in mind, it’s just for show, so there is no live ammunition.”
Ampelius frowned. “No live ammo? Is this just for intimidation?” He wasn’t sure how much good a gun without bullets would do against any real threat. “It’s a deterrent, yes, but also a fear factor. Nobody wants to be on the wrong side of a machine gun, loaded or not. No one will want to test whether it’s loaded.”
“I’m fine with being a deterrent. I’ve got my issued weapon if things get real. Where do you want it, boss?”
“Over there, on the right side of the tracks, facing away from the train,” Felix directed. He glanced around as if double-checking their defensive positioning, the faint glint of caution in his eyes. It was clear he didn’t fully trust the deterrent alone to keep them safe. They carried the crate to the designated spot, and within ten minutes, the Maximus machine gun was set up. It stood like a sentinel, its presence larger than life, a silent threat that watched over the tunnel like an ancient guardian. Even without live rounds, its presence commanded respect. The eager volunteer took his post, eyes locked on the dark tunnel ahead. Ampelius couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. The gun might scare off some, but would it be enough to hold the line if something—or someone—tried to push through?
“Ampelius, you and another volunteer follow me back to the train. We need more supplies,” Felix ordered. “The rest of you, get those lanterns unpacked and ready. We’ll set them up around the perimeter to extend our visual range.”
Each volunteer was handed a lantern, the glass chiming softly as they were passed around. They carefully placed them where Felix directed. The dim yellow light provided just enough visibility to detect movement in the surrounding shadows, though the darkness beyond still seemed to press in, making everyone uneasy. The soft flicker of the flames cast long, shifting shadows against the tunnel walls as if the shadows themselves were alive. Once satisfied with the setup, Felix called the group together for a briefing.
“The assault begins in thirty minutes,” Felix said, glancing at his watch. “That gives us a little time to introduce ourselves and assign posts. We need to know who’s who and what we’re working with, so let’s start with names and previous occupations.”
“I’m Gaius; I was a Shabron for a flag-making company,” the first volunteer said. Ampelius raised an eyebrow, murmuring under his breath. “What’s a Shabron?” His confusion was mirrored by a few others in the group, but no one spoke up.
“Sir Quintus, at your service,” said the next, bowing slightly. “I worked as a server at the Emperor’s estate here in the city.” His black-and-white suit made sense now, standing out awkwardly against the military gear the rest of them wore.
Felix looked at Ampelius. “I’m Ampelius. I used to work in a factory making blank paper.” He kept his voice flat, his occupation feeling mundane compared to the grand titles of others, but there was no room for pride in a situation like this.
“You can call me Nova. I sold shoes,” said the next volunteer.
“Is that your real name?” Felix asked, raising an eyebrow.
“My preferred name,” Nova replied, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Felix nodded and turned to the last volunteer.
“Appius, I was a sports coach.”
After a brief silence, Felix summed up, his tone lightening a bit to ease the tension: “Alright, we’ve got Gaius the flag-maker, Sir Quintus the server, Ampelius the paper guy, Nova the shoe salesman, and Appius the coach. Quite the eclectic mix, but it’ll have to do. Quintus, you’ll man the Maximus machine gun. Gaius, you’ll assist him. Ampelius, you’ll take the spotlight on the caboose. Appius and Nova, you’ll patrol around the locomotive. I’ll supervise and check in with each of you. Now, let’s get to work.”
Ampelius helped Felix set up the spotlight on the caboose. The cold steel of the caboose was slick with early morning dew, making it difficult to keep his footing. As they worked in silence, the distant echoes of the soldiers’ march still lingered in the air, an ominous reminder of the mission ahead. Once the spotlight was connected to a battery, Felix gave him a quick rundown.
“Your job is simple: if you see any movement, switch it on and keep the light on the target until I say otherwise. Understood?”
“Understood,” Ampelius replied, his voice steady despite the gnawing anxiety creeping up his spine.
“Good,” Felix said, glancing at his watch. “It’s officially dawn. The assault should have started by now. Stay alert; I’ll check back in periodically.”
Felix walked off toward the locomotive to check on Appius and Nova. The growing light of dawn cast long, eerie shadows across the abandoned tracks, and the early morning fog seemed to distort everything it touched, making every shadow feel like a potential threat. Left alone, Ampelius found his mind wandering to thoughts of Bella. Her face flashed in his mind, pale and fragile as she lay in that clinic bed. He had taken this dangerous job to pay her medical bills, but now he questioned if it was worth the risk. The promise of payment seemed insignificant compared to the price of his life.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. His heart leaped into his throat as he instinctively reached for his weapon, his grip tightening around the handle.
“Did you hear that?” Felix asked, suddenly reappearing, his face shadowed with concern.
“Hear what?” Ampelius replied, startled. “I was spacing out.”
“Don’t space out on a shift like this!” Felix snapped. “That’s how you get yourself and everyone else killed. Focus up. I heard something, a thud with a high-pitched screech from the maintenance room. You sure you didn’t catch it?”
“No. Maybe it’s just rats. Does that room lead anywhere?” Ampelius asked, trying to shake off his drowsiness.
“Not that I know of,” Felix muttered. “But if those were rats, they’d be massive.”
Before Ampelius could respond, a sharp voice called out. “Felix! We heard a strange noise from the maintenance room!”
“I heard it too,” Felix said, his voice low but tense. “I’m going to check it out. Stay sharp. Be ready for anything.”
Felix motioned for Gaius to follow him as they cautiously approached the maintenance door. The air felt thick with unease, every step echoing louder than it should. Felix counted down from three and signaled Gaius to open it. They both disappeared into the darkness of the room. Time seemed to slow for Ampelius, his nerves stretched thin, every second dragging on painfully. His grip tightened on the spotlight switch, the weight of dread pressing against his chest. Suddenly, screaming and sporadic gunfire erupted from inside, the sound deafening in the stillness.
Felix came sprinting out of the maintenance room, his legs tangled in writhing, slick organic tentacles that yanked him back with alarming force. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he crashed into a guardrail, knocking himself unconscious before being violently dragged into the darkness. The metal door slammed shut behind him with a resounding clang, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Sir Quintus began to hyperventilate, cursing under his breath. Nova and Appius rushed over, weapons drawn, while Ampelius stood frozen, his mind reeling, unable to process the horrific scene he had just witnessed.
“What’s going on? We heard gunfire! Is everyone alright?” Appius asked urgently, his eyes wide with panic.
Nova grabbed Ampelius by the shoulders, shaking him to snap him back to reality. “Ampelius, what happened? Where are Felix and Gaius?”
Ampelius, still in shock, stammered, his voice shaking: “Something’s in the maintenance room… Felix was pulled in by some kind of creature—tentacles, I don’t know what…”
Nova’s expression hardened as the situation became clear. “I didn’t sign up for this. I’m out!” Quintus shouted, backing away, fear taking hold as he fumbled with his weapon, his hands trembling.
Suddenly, a deep, guttural growl echoed from the maintenance room, followed by the violent rattling of the door. The sound reverberated through the tunnel. Something inside was trying to break free. The hinges began to buckle, metal groaning under pressure as Nova barked orders.
“Everyone to the cab of the train! We’re getting out of here!”
No one argued. They bolted as one, rushing toward the engine room, desperate to escape. Once inside, panic surged when they realized none of them knew how to operate the train.
“Who knows how to drive this thing?” Quintus demanded, panic rising in his voice.
All eyes turned to Ampelius.
“Don’t look at me, I’m just a paperboy,” Ampelius said quickly, his voice shaking with disbelief at the absurdity of the situation.
“My father was a train conductor,” Nova admitted. “I think I can get us moving.”
A loud bang and the sound of metal screeching under intense strain sent everyone into a frenzy as Nova frantically tried to start the train. The tension was suffocating, and everyone was on edge. “Hurry up!” Quintus yelled, his voice cracking with fear.
Finally, the train lurched forward, slowly gaining momentum just as the maintenance room door exploded open with a deafening crash. A grotesque creature, a mass of corpses fused with writhing, octopus-like tentacles oozed out of the room and into the tunnel. Ampelius, Quintus, and Appius opened fire, the gunfire deafening in the enclosed space, but the bullets barely slowed it down.
“It’s working! Keep firing!” Quintus shouted, though the doubt in his voice betrayed his fear.
As the train picked up speed, the creature fell behind, its twisted form struggling to keep pace. It retreated back toward the checkpoint, disappearing from view as the train rounded a curve. A collective sigh of relief escaped from the group.
“What the hell was that thing?” Appius gasped. “It looked like a pile of corpses with tentacles!”
“Commander Corvinus mentioned beasts in the tunnels, but he said they were easy to kill. That thing was anything but,” Ampelius replied, still shaken, his hands trembling as he lowered his weapon.
As the train rumbled on, its headlights illuminated a soldier up ahead, frantically waving for them to stop. The situation shifted abruptly, and Nova tried to slow the train, but the controls were unfamiliar, and instead, the train sped up.
“We’re going too fast! Stop the train, or we’ll kill everyone!” Ampelius shouted, panic surging once again.
Nova desperately yanked levers and pushed buttons, but nothing responded. The train barreled down the tunnel, soldiers diving out of the way as it hurtled past. Ahead, they saw the collapsed tunnel at the end of the line, looming like a death sentence.
“Brace yourselves!” Nova screamed.
The train smashed into the debris, the impact sending shockwaves through the cabin. It derailed and crashed into the tunnel walls. The cars behind it crumpled, each violent collision pushing the locomotive deeper into the rubble. Sparks flew, metal groaned, and then—stillness. Ampelius and Nova were alive but dazed when the dust finally settled, their vision blurred and ears ringing. Quintus and Appius lay motionless.
Gunfire echoed from the station as the Romans and Vandals continued their battle.
Disoriented, Nova helped Ampelius out of the wreckage, but armed figures soon surrounded them, their guns trained on them.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” a voice sneered from the shadows. “Unless you want to end up like your comrades, let’s see those hands.”
Before they could react, darts struck their necks, piercing their skin with a sharp sting, and everything went black.
