922: Story 922: Hell’s Crossing 922: Story 922: Hell’s Crossing The Ghoul Train rattled violently as it approached its next destination.
The world outside the windows had twisted into sothing impossible—a landscape of charred ruins, floating in an abyss of swirling shadows.
Jagged iron spires jutted from the ground like the ribs of a dead god.
Mira’s knuckles whitened around the Cursed Book.
“Where the hell are we?”
Elias wiped blood from his temple, glancing at the spectral train map flickering on the wall.
The only readable words burned in a sickly red glow:
NEXT STOP: HELL’S CROSSING
Zara groaned as she steadied herself.
“That’s not ominous at all.”
Draven checked his shotgun.
“Whatever’s waiting for us there, it’s bad.”
The train screeched, slowing as it reached a rusted platform.
No people.
No signs of life.
Just towering gates wrapped in heavy chains.
The air slled of ash and rotting flesh.
The Ghoul Trainmaster’s voice slithered over the intercom.
“Passengers, please disembark.
Your next trial awaits.”
The doors hissed open.
A heavy silence settled over them.
Mira exchanged glances with the others.
“Do we have a choice?”
Draven stepped out first, weapon raised.
The ground beneath his boots was soft, like damp flesh.
The others followed, moving cautiously across the forsaken platform.
And then—the whispering began.
The air rippled, distorting as figures erged from the mist.
Gaunt, hollow-eyed bodies, their skin stretched thin over brittle bones.
They wore remnants of old-world clothes—doctors, soldiers, priests.
Their lips didn’t move, but their voices invaded the survivors’ minds.
“The curse must be fed.
One must stay.”
A low growl rumbled behind them.
They turned.
A colossal figure stood before the gate.
It was stitched together from corpses, its skin riddled with runes carved into raw flesh.
A crown of bone adorned its skull, and its eyes were nothing but empty voids.
The Rotting King.
Zara’s breath hitched.
“Oh, that’s bad.”
The creature raised a rusted cleaver, its voice an earthquake of decay and hunger.
“THE CROSSING DEMANDS A SACRIFICE.”
The ghouls around them closed in.
Draven gritted his teeth.
“We fight.”
Elias spun his revolver.
“We die if we don’t.”
Mira flipped open the book, its pages turning on their own.
A glyph pulsed.
She could feel it—a spell to bind sothing ancient.
The Rotting King raised his cleaver—
Mira spoke the words.
A shockwave of unnatural light burst from the book, slamming into the King.
His roar split the sky, but the chains on the gate snapped free.
The doors swung open.
A void of pure blackness yawned beyond.
Draven grabbed Mira’s arm.
“GO!”
They ran—leaping into the darkness just as the King’s howl of rage shattered the air.
The gates sealed behind them.
And the world shifted once more.
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