Mark used to love trains.
It was his passion ever since he was a little boy. His father would buy him one of those fancy models for every birthday. As he grew up, his interest focused on the real thing, so he did his best to become a conductor. He failed to get the requirements and chose a different profession instead.
Didn't mean that he would quit with the hobby, though. Every now and then his collection would grow by one more piece. That couldn't compare to the thrill he felt when taking the train, knowing full well their history, their value and other finer details.
Mark was also a man who didn't like talking to people very much. That's why he would usually take a seat in the last wagon, often reserved for the poor, the stowaways or the loners. There was always the threat of pick pocketers, but that day, he felt, was special. Everything would go smoothly, just as planned. All he had to do was to take the train, meet his soon-to-be-wife and the rest would be history.
He got on the train, paid the ticket and went for his favorite spot. There were only a few people there. For him, even that was enough. He took a seat and began reading the newspapers.
Every now and then he would take a sneak peek at the couple that sat in front of him. A weird bunch, if he were to judge by their fashion choice. They had to be Huntsmen was his first conclusion, which he chuckled away. No Huntsman would ever go to the last wagons. They were the privileged ones.
They could be lovers, he thought. If so, their color pairings would be a lot more wholesome. He was the taller one, with a white duster and pants and a hoodie that covered his head, giving off some cultist vibes. She, on the other hand, wasn't so closed off to the rest of the world, openly exposing her body with her red leather jacket and short shorts. Even her eyes and hair were red, red like blood. He leaned on his knees and read a small leatherbound book. She looked at the ceiling with her arms crossed and a shaky right leg.
"Can you stop with your damn mumbling? It's annoying as hell." she would snap at him.
"You know how I operate, as well as my needs. Someone needs to repent for this."
She rolled her eyes.
"As if He gives a fuck about what we do down here."
He didn't answer, refusing to give up on his mumbling. After few minutes, he closed the book and put it in a pocket, before standing up.
"Let's go."
"Finally." she beamed as they went for the door.
One of the elder passengers complained about "young 'uns", took a sip from his canteen and went back to sleep.
Carrie was involved with farming ever since she was born. Spending your childhood in the Agricultural District tends to leave a profound impact. No other citizen of Vale knew nature as well as someone from that district. It was a badge of honor for many, seeing it as their duty, their contribution, to the city. If some high/class oaf wanted food on the table, he would have to rely on the farmers of Vale.
The Grimm took that away in a matter of days. Few were lucky enough to escape with some of their belongings, as was the case with Carrie and her family. The neighbors weren't so lucky. Some Grimm erupted into their house from below. The whole thing fell like a house of cards. Nobody survived.
Carrie was a farm girl, yes, but not stupid. Unlike most folks, she didn't cry over the land she lost. It wouldn't be the first time that she would have to start from zero. All she cared for were her kids, the two suns that shone on her life and made everything feel better. Even after the sudden shock of being forced from their own land, her twelve-year-old son and daughter still found the courage to face reality and come out with a smile on their faces, especially because they could save the family dog, Roger.
Her husband had no such luck. Leaving behind the elderberry farm devastated him. He loved those damn things. "My father's father took care of 'em" he would often say, "and by gods almighty, I'll be doin' it too."
There were times when Carrie and her husband would start some drama, only to be bright and happy the next morning. There were also times when they would talk things through, which helped maintaining their marriage for as long as it lasted. Carrie's friends were often jealous of her for that. The men of Agricultural District had a reputation for being hard to please or, worse, to spend what little money they had on booze, just to forget the misery they had to live with every single day. But there was also another reason why they would fall into despair so easily. It's because of an idea that, they often believed, no other "city boy" ever thought about.
It was about the land beyond the walls. Miles and miles of land that could provide for so many.
The idea seemed interesting to Carrie too, when she was younger. All that land out there, ripe for exploitation, able to feed everyone equally. No living soul would ever have to worry about food anymore. There would be plenty for everyone. Even the Kingdom would profit from it by trading it with other Kingdoms out there. Sadly all that idealism came crashing down on their heads with the invasion of the Grimm. It occurred to Carrie how, all that time, the only thing that kept death at bay was a measly wall.
"Watch it, brat!"
Carrie was brought out of her musings when she heard the growling of a woman younger than her. Her eyes darted sideways, to the scene where her daughter stood in front of a lady with an obsession for red. All it took was a brief exchange of glances for Carrie to feel a type of dread she never felt before. No matter with whom she spoke before, everyone had this spark of life, this shine in their eyes that told her that they, no matter their personal circumstances, felt alive, that they were living and breathing and thinking and by gods it felt wonderful.
She failed to find any of it in those two red eyes. They were dull like those of a dead fish. A shadowy ooze swum in them, an inescapable darkness that threatened to swallow everything into itself. Carrie went pale, turning to her husband who didn't seem to notice anything and was busy enjoying the last bottle of homemade wine they had.
When Carrie thought how the woman in red was about to slap her daughter, a hand gripped her shoulder, of skin color that can be found in the deserts of Vacuo. She turned around ever so slightly as a male voice said: "Focus on the goal. Don't let your mind wander."
She hissed in annoyance and gently pushed the kid away. The man behind her was covered in white from head to toe and, to Carrie, he resembled one of those cultists that escaped from the loony bin. Together they walked in silence towards the door, where they would disappear in the next wagon. It was a truly surreal experience, from start to finish. Nothing about them seemed right.
Carrie's kids ran back to her. She hugged them. As long as she had her family, she thought, everything would be fine.
"Goodness, the only time we decide to board the damn train is the time this happens…"
The stranger kept mumbling to himself, tapping the floor with one leg while grunting at the tiny hands of his pocket watch. Vannie observed the well-dressed man with frustration of his own. He didn't have something as important as a business meeting, like his neighbor kept yapping about. All he wished for was a safe trip to the other side of the city.
He felt something was wrong ever since he boarded the damn train. Something in the air kept putting pressure on him and he had no idea what. Other passengers he was able to see didn't seem to mind it. In all honesty, they didn't seem to mind anything at all. Mindlessness was written all over their faces. They were lost in their own little thoughts.
Things got worse when this weird pair showed up in their wagon. Vannie started hyperventilating the moment he laid his eyes on them. Doctors blamed such problems on his anxiety, but he knew better than that. He could feel bad vibes oozing from White and Red for days. They passed by his seat without even looking at him. Vannie moved his head in the other direction. The world outside the train felt dark and cold and… silent.
The pair stopped in front of the door that led to the next wagon. Red whispered something to White, who sagged his shoulders and sighed loudly. He then spun around and took a small book from his pocket.
A stream of meaningless words flew from his mouth. Or rather, they held meaning. It was Vannie who couldn't understand them. But he could feel them alright. They were ancient and spoke of things unknown. Vannie could visualize thick nails repeatedly stabbing his soul. And then, a thought came.
This was a sermon.
White was holding a sermon!
Someone screamed in the back of the wagon. All eyes turned in that direction. An old woman fell from her seat while trying to hold back a pair of kids, probably her nephews. They stabbed a pencil in her left eye and now tried to go for her throat. Two passengers grabbed the kids and pulled them away, before choking and beating them into submission.
Someone else started stabbing people around them with a pocket knife. Blood kept flying in prolonged streams, against all logic and reason, all the way to Vannie's seat, who barely held himself together from dropping on the floor and squeezing himself into a fetal position.
He heard nervous laughter coming from his neighbor on the left. When Vannie turned around he saw the man biting at his fingers all the way to the bones, his eyes turned to tiny dots that stared into nothingness. A woman from one seat over cut open her stomach and began throwing her intestines at others, laughing without a care in the world.
Out of all, the one who left the biggest impact on Vannie was a man who kept dragging still-living, bleeding people in the middle of the wagon, piling them up in a hill of gore. The arms and legs and heads then kept contorting and becoming one mass. A pungent odor spread across the wagon as people kept mutilating one another. They became feral-like in their behavior, shambling and growling like maddened beasts.
All hell was breaking loose and Vannie was in the middle of it.
Jaune sat on a bench and frowned at the timetable that stood on the wall. He kept tapping the floor with his right foot, adding more tension to the already-stressful mission his team had decided to tackle.
"I'm sure it's just a technical problem." said Ren next to him, though he didn't sound as if he believed it.
"It's half an hour late. If it were a technical problem, someone would've told us so."
Ren looked at his teammates in silence, begging for help with his pleading eyes. Nora and Pyrrha exchanged glances.
"Well…" the latter began, "You know how everything is complicated after the… the…"
"Hah, yeah! It's not like big, scary monsters made of people will start attacking and…" she avoided the angry stares of the other two, "…it still gets me."
Hearing that made Jaune's blood boil. Grunting as he stood up, he was about to deliver a speech of his own when he heard the train's wail in the distance as its wheels glided on the tracks.
"It's here."
A computerized voice announced its arrival. Every would-be passenger gathered near the tracks, ready to hop into their respective wagons. The train stopped to a halt at the station. Every window on it was pitch black. Jaune frowned, motioning his team to stop with his right hand.
"Something's wrong."
Ren picked up the hint first.
"The lights are off. In all wagons."
A tiny ding was heard as two wagons opened their doors. The front row of the crowd began screaming as monsters crashed into them, monsters way to familiar to team JNPR.
"It's them…" Jaune whispered through his astonishment and terror, "It's them!"
Indeed, the civilians were attacked by Aetherial Troopers, those unmistakable horrors from the island made from dead human bodies. When they couldn't blast with their demented cannons, the were more than happy to bite down, thus killing five people and injuring seven before the crowd could disperse. When JNPR came close, they noticed how to more vile things emerged from the darkness of the wagons. Shaped like dogs with two heads, one melted onto another, and with tails akin to a manta ray's, the Aetherial Hunting Hounds sliced and diced the innocents with their spiked tongues, meant to act as meat chainsaws. *
Team JNPR went into action. Jaune took his Energy Pistol and fired at two Troopers while holding his shield in front of himself. Pyrrha, aided her leader with support fire of her own. She was able to destroy the crystals that kept the Troopers alive. With them dead, Jaune moved is focus to one of the Hunting Hounds.
Ren and Nora had troubles of their own. Having civilians standing in their line of fire made Trooper dispatchment difficult. The former had no moral dilemma when it came to killing civilians, shooting them just to get at the Huntsman duo. Nora, seeing this, felt the urge to scream and charge at the enemy. The more composed Ren didn't even bother trying to calm her down, feeling that the Troopers deserved all the punishment that they would get from the hyperactive girl of the team.
Nora brought her hammer down on a Trooper, turning it into a pancake. The second monster got swatted away in the same brutal manner. Ren shot the third that tried to sneak up on her, destroying its Aetherial crystal.
A growl echoed from the wagon closest to them. Giant flesh tentacles erupted from the windows as a Flesh Artist erupted from the train with a malevolent chortle. Some of the tentacles grabbed Nora by her legs and tried to pull her into the wagon.
"Nora!" shouted Ren as he tried to help her, only to be slammed against the train. Jaune saw this and went ballistic, but he had problems of his own. His shield was the only thing that kept him from being cut into pieces by a razor-sharp tongue from a creature whose barks were more akin to a human imitation than an actual dog. Despite being a scrawny thing, it was deceptively strong, being able to tackle Jaune with ease. Hadn't he trained as he did, he would have been crushed under the pressure that the Hunting Hound kept
Pyrrha was no better. Two Troopers joined forces with the other Hound, but both them and Pyrrha were in a stalemate. None could hit the other, either due to being too fast or blocking any attempt at a disruptive attack. Even with his hands full, Jaune couldn't stop throwing glances in her way every few seconds.
He noticed something at the corner of is eye, a lump-shaped object crawling on the roof of the wagon. It was heading towards the unaware Pyrrha. His eyes widened at the myriad of scenarios that unfolded in is mind. If he didn't kill the Hound right then and there, she would have been attacked.
She would have been killed…
…not on his fucking watch.
"Get off meeeeee!"
He pushed the shield upwards just enough for him to wriggle his right hand at his belt and snatch the handle. Jaune shoved the sword through the Hound's heads with a barbaric roar he never thought he could come up with, then quickly grabbed the pistol and shot at the crystals that grew out from its spine. After shattering three of them, the Hound let out a whimper as the spark of aethereal life evaporated from its white-blank eyes. Jaune tossed the corpse aside and stood up.
There was a brief pang of confusion as he watched Pyrrha move behind the Troopers and the Hound and towards the train, until he noticed her erratic movements. He gulped, dreading the wave of negative thoughts that kept piling up in his head. She turned around and, to the horror that drained all the blood on his face, he saw that same lump attached to her head. It resembled a fat insect with six tiny legs. An aethereal green eye carved its way out from its back, staring at Jaune with conscious hatred. The Aetherial Shapesnatcher controlled Prrha's body, urging it to move towards the last two wagons of the train.** Ren saw that as well. Now two teammates needed his help and one of them was his childhood friend.
"They are trying to split us!" he concluded. Before he could say anything to his leader, who threw himself at the three Aetherial monsters that stood in his way, the Flesh Artist stomped the ground to gain his attention. Ren raised his pistols.
"Your gods will not save you." it hissed with blatant confidence.
"You touch Nora and I'll make sure you pay for it, you hear me?!"
The creature tilted its head as Ren charged, sliding under its flail-tentacles and cutting the tendon on its right leg. The Flesh Artist growled as it lost balance. Its hand blocked the bullets that were aimed for the head. Stormflower's collapsible blades dug into the squishy hip. It howled with its distorted voice as Ren further opened the wound by moving the blades towards its back, releasing a nauseating amount of gore. A flesh tentacle from one of the nearby windows smacked Ren down, grabbed him by the ankle and slammed him on the floor, depleting his Aura.
The weakened Huntsman-in-training could only watch as his tired body was lifted by the angered Flesh Artist. From the depths of its throat came a powerful roar that blasted his eardrums as the monster's mouth bloomed into a grotesque pit. Ren watched in horror as his whole life flashed in front of his eyes…
…Until three plasma orbs smacked it in the head.
Jaune, done with his enemies, launched an attack at the Flesh Artist with his Energy Pistol. When he got close enough, he whipped out the sword and stabbed it into the deformed chest. It howled something akin to a curse, turning its head at the new pest it had to deal with. Ren, seeing a perfect moment, invested what remained of his energy into his right hand, piercing the back of the Flesh Artist's head with one of the blades. Jaune fired more shots at its head. Melted skin dripped over its mouth as the monster's body collapsed on the tiles, cracking them under the sheer weight.
"They took Pyrrha!" Jaune blurred as he pulled his teammate up. "We have to find her!"
"Nora… I need to save Nora." Ren protested. In the back of his mind he noticed how he began feeling better the moment he came into physical contact with his leader.
"I know, I know, damn it!" he began panicking, "I need to save Pyrrha! What now?!""
"It's a trap, they want us separated."
Jaune muttered something as he plucked his sword from the corpse.
"We have no choice then. Ren, as your leader, I order you to go and rescue Nora. I'll look for Pyrrha."
"But… we will… I'm sorry."
Ren jumped into the empty wagon as the lights turned themselves on again. Before he could go further into the train, Jaune yelled another order.
"Don't you dare die on me! Both of you!"
And ran off to the last wagon, where a controlled Pyrrha went. Once there, Jaune blasted the lock that kept the door closed and jumped into the darkness, shield up. The wagon trembled as the robotic voice announced the train's departure. The tremors increased in strength after the door closed behind him. Jaune slipped on something and fell on his behind. A single light flickered to life.
What he saw was carnage.
PDA Biopedia:
*Entry #199: Aetherial Hunting Hound
Type: Demonic Corruption – Aetherial
Faction: Legions of Hell
Description: "Things used to sniff out meat of non-mutated lifeforms. It's function is to chop fresh meat, in the most sadistic way possible, and bring it to the closest Flesh Artist as raw material. Does it work? Certainly. Is it efficient? Absolutely. Does it leave a mess? Without a doubt. What else do you need to know?"
**Entry #200: Aetherial Shapesnatcher
Type: Demonic Corruption – Aetherial
Faction: Legions of Hell
Description: "A variety that is rarely used. From grinded meat one can shape a bug that can latch itself onto living beings and gain control of their bodies. Depending on its creator, a Shapesnatcher can be sentient and intelligent or controlled by a master. Usually used on tougher mortals just to turn them into weapons without fucking up their bodies. They can also infect dead flesh, though they remain fused with it, so if the host dies, they die too. Far too fragile for my tastes."