Chapter 84: A Traitor’s Judgment

The world didn’t just pause—it froze still, as if the train, the tunnel, and maybe the whole damned cosmos had decided to lean back, light a cigar, and take a breather before the next act of this apocalyptic circus.

The rest of our crew piled into the car beside Brutus and I, their faces a gallery of grim determination and barely contained panic, weapons clinking and scraping as they jostled for space.

I spun on my heel, my gaze snagging on Dunny, who looked like he’d rather be wrestling a pit viper than standing in this rattling death trap. His freckled face went pale as a ghost’s bedsheet before I grabbed him by the shoulders, my fingers digging in just enough to make him wince, and fixed him with the kind of stare that could’ve burned holes through solid steel.

“Dunny,” I said, shaking him slightly. “Can you man this thing?”

He stammered, his words tripping over themselves in a haze. “Maybe, I—I don’t know! I mean—Gramps showed me a few levers, and there was that one time with the—” He trailed off, looking like a man debating whether to vomit or cry. Possibly both.

I leaned in, close enough that he could feel the heat of my urgency. “Dunny, my post-apocalyptic prince, my darling of desolation, this isn’t a pop quiz with a ’maybe’ option. This is do-or-die, and I’m rooting for the ’do’ part. So let me ask again, can you, or can you not, man this train?”

His eyes darted toward the cab, then back to me. “I can try,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Good boy,” I said, ruffling his hair with a patronizing pat, because panic management is all about morale, and nothing says confidence like condescending affection in the middle of a disaster.

He nodded nervously, then bolted for the conductor’s cab, nearly tripping over his own boots in his haste. I watched him go, trying to ignore the whisper of guilt gnawing behind my ribs. He was just a kid. Saints, we all were once—some of us just had the misfortune of surviving long enough to regret it.

The moment he disappeared through the door, I turned back to the others. Victor was already in motion, stepping forward with a flourish that would’ve made any street magician jealous, unfurling his crumpled map into the air like he was presenting a royal decree.

Our crew crowded around him like a pack of hungry wolves, their breaths hot and uneven, eyes glinting as they leaned over the tattered paper. Victor’s finger stabbed at a charcoal-smeared spot on the map, where three paths branched left, leading to the first of the sealed tunnels, and a main junction veering right.

“We need to hit the junction, stop there, and transfer the duskmetal to the second tunnel here,” he said, his finger tapping the map with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel.

I forced a laugh, my voice wobbling like a tightrope walker in a windstorm. “Oh, brilliant! So we just need to tame a runaway death engine, lug a few tons of cursed metal, and waltz through the sealed tunnel before the universe remembers it hates us. Easy. Someone fetch the tea.”

Before anyone could respond, Dunny burst back into the car, his face twisted with panic, eyes wide as saucers. His breath came in short, frantic gasps as he spoke.

“The throttle’s busted!” he blurted, his voice cracking like thin ice. “The inner mechanism’s been smashed, and the emergency brake’s been torn apart from the inside—I can’t stop the train!”

Victor’s hands tightened around the map, his face going ashen as the crew’s collective unease hit like a wave.

I felt my stomach lurch, my mind spinning like a top on a tavern table, but I forced myself to step forward, my voice cutting through the din. “Alright, change of plans,” I said, my tone sharp, my sarcasm barely masking the dread.

“We’re skipping the junction,” I said, my eyes flicking to the map before tracing my finger along the second path branching left. “We head straight for that sealed tunnel.”

Dregan’s jaw dropped, his face twisting in disbelief. “You’re kidding… that’ll slam us right into the barrier!”

I nodded, my grin tight, heart pounding in my ears. “Exactly,” I said, before turning back to Dunny. “Tell me, how fast is this train moving?”

Dunny blinked, his voice shaky as he mumbled, “Uh, maybe twenty or so miles an hour? I think?” Perfect, I thought, slow enough to jump without turning into a human pancake, but fast enough to make it a gamble.

“Excellent” I said aloud, my voice far brighter than I felt “Here’s the plan. We’ll jump from the back just before we switch rails. Minimal injuries, a few bruises to brag about later, nothing serious…maybe…”

Freya’s eyes narrowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is insanity. You’re betting our lives on a ’maybe’?”

Brutus, his frame looming like a storm cloud against the wall, fixed me with a stare before he spoke. “And what about you?”

I glanced at Dunny, my chest tightening as I felt my sarcasm falter for just a moment. “I’m gonna save Gramps,” I said, my voice steady as iron.

Brutus didn’t even argue this time. Instead, his eyes softened for a split second, a rare crack in his granite facade. I snapped my fingers at Renly then.

“Renly, darling—I need that rag you call fashion.” He blinked, then peeled off his shirt, tossing it to me with a confused shrug. I turned to another crew member, a grizzled man named Trov, and gestured at the makeshift mace dangling from his belt, a rusty pipe studded with bolts. “And you, lend me that skull-crusher,” I said, before nodding at Brutus. “Grab me another lantern, big guy.”

A few moments later, I’d rigged a makeshift torch, wrapping Renly’s shirt around Trov’s mace and dousing it in lantern oil, the fabric heavy with the sharp scent of fuel.

I shoved it toward Atticus, my grin tight but determined. “Light up every crate in sight,” I said. “Turn this train into a pyre so bright the Warden’ll see it from his throne in hell.”

Atticus nodded, his face calm but his eyes glinting with a manic edge, and dashed down the train, his cloak flapping like a raven’s wings caught in a tempest.

I turned to Dregan then, my voice sharp as a whip. “Dregan, toss me your lighter.”

He arched a brow, fishing the battered metal lighter from his pocket and flicking it toward me with a lazy smirk. I caught it mid-air, stuffing it into my boot with a grin that felt more like a snarl. Brutus took charge then, his voice booming like a siege cannon.

“Get your asses to the back—now!” he roared, shotgun still in hand. Gods above, his presence was like a wall of authority, so thick it made even me flitch in its presence.

The crew scattered, their footsteps thundering like a stampede, until only Dunny and I remained, the air thick as tar with the weight of what was to come. I clapped a hand on his shoulder, his face still pale, his eyes wider than a cornered hare’s.

“Show me the way to the top,” I said, my voice firm but soft.

He nodded, leading me to a ladder just outside the conductor’s cab. His tiny frame poked out the window as I gripped the cold metal, its bite sharp against my palms.

“Remember, head for the second tunnel,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling in my skull. “Don’t mess this up.”

He nodded, his voice cracking as he said, “Good luck.”

I flashed him a grin, “Luck? Oh, please

, fate wouldn’t dare cross my charm.”

Then I hauled myself onto the roof, the wind hitting me like a fist, steam from the engine swirling around my figure like a flock of vengeful spirits.

The train’s surface was slick as a liar’s tongue, the metal cold and unyielding. Each step was a wager, my boots slipping like a drunkard on a highwire, but I kept moving. I began hopping across cars, swatting at the steam that stung my eyes like a swarm of angry hornets until I saw him.

The escort stood there like a specter forged from nightmares, his mask was gone, revealing a face of black sinew, a pulsating mass of tendrils that twisted and coiled like living shadows, knitting together in a jagged patchwork where his features should have been.

One of his hands gripped the conductor’s by the head, fingers of that same black, writhing substance sinking into the old man’s scalp like talons.

His other hand was no hand at all but a grotesque blade, forged from the same inky sinew, its edge jagged and pulsing as if alive, shimmering with a sickly sheen that promised pain.

The blade hovered inches from the old man’s throat, its tip grazing the skin, a hair’s breadth from drawing blood. The escort’s head tilted, his hollow eyes locking onto me. “Took you long enough,” he said with a lazy drawl.

I gritted my teeth, my fists clenching until my knuckles sang with pain.

“Why are you doing this?” I snapped, my voice sharp but shaky. “Leave him out of this, the man’s innocent—what’s he ever done to you?” Besides lie to save my sorry ass, which, yeah, probably pissed you off.

The escort chuckled, the sound like gravel in a meat grinder, his blade gleaming as he pressed it closer. “Innocent?” he sneered. “This traitor lied to protect you, to aid your pathetic escape. He’s a cog in your rebellion, and cogs need to be crushed.”

The conductor let out a ragged yell, his voice thick with defiance and something deeper, more primal. “I did it for Dunny!” he spat, his eyes burning despite the blade at his throat. “That boy’s the only family I got left—his parents died at the Warden’s hand, and I swore I’d keep him safe. You think I’d let your kind snuff out his light? You think I’d let you crush the only spark of hope in this godsforsaken place?! If this plan works, he’ll run with the others, free of you monster’s shadow, and I’ll be damned if I let you steal that chance away from him!”

Oh, Gramps, you sentimental old fool, why’d you have to make this personal?

The escort’s chuckle grew darker, his hollow eyes glinting with malice. “See? A traitor,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “And in this line of business, traitors…” He paused, the world seeming to freeze, the wind stilling, the steam parting like a curtain. “Deserve to be punished.”

Then his blade flashed, just once, carving through the old man’s throat with a sickening, wet shlick. The cut was merciless, a jagged gash that tore through flesh and sinew, unleashing a torrent of blood that splattered the train’s roof in a steaming, scarlet arc, pooling like liquid night on the frigid metal.

With a sneer, the escort released his grip, and the conductor’s lifeless body hit the roof with a heavy thud, limbs splaying like a broken doll. The train’s motion sent his body sliding, tumbling over the edge before being swallowed by the yawning darkness below.

I screamed, a raw, primal wail that shredded my throat, my heart splintering like glass. My world collapsed into the blood’s glistening stain, the escort’s smug, venomous grin, and the molten fire in my chest demanding vengeance.

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