Fiction logo

Horrible Events on a Bullet Train

by Michael Mayr 2 months ago in Horror · updated 2 months ago
Report Story

The Servant of the Light and the Dark Angel

He awoke in pain. He opened his eyes and reached up to the left side of his face, and it was swollen and hurt like hell to the touch, something had clocked him good. Where the hell was he? He was stretched across three seats. Was he on a plane? He sat up abruptly and his head swam. He closed his eyes for a moment until he felt better. He looked around and he was alone, the landscape passed by in the windows at an incredible speed. Not a plane then, but a train? He looked around and saw blood splattered across the walls - arterial spray, someone did not survive this - and the seats, and the floor. He stood up and saw a snack cart turned over in the aisle.

“Hello?” He called out. There was no response.

On the seat next to where he had been laying was an old beat up rucksack. It seemed familiar. He picked it up and felt numerous objects shift within. He opened it and the first thing he noticed was a gun? A folded stock, compact submachine gun. It looked old, and was a black metal barrel mated to a wooden stock. Both the metal and wooden parts were engraved? It had glyphs, runes, and script, in Latin. On the side of the gun was engraved the words “Iustitia Offerentis”, Justice Bringer? This submachine gun had a name? The gun had a flimsy folding metal butt stock. One that looked incredibly cheap. He picked it up, it was a Reisling M55 45 ACP submachine gun. Built in the early 40s for the para-marines, and tankers of the USMC. Most Marines did not care for them, but it was popular with American police forces after the war. He stopped and thought to himself, how do I know this? Why do I know so much about this gun? I know it as if it was a part of me, like my own name…then it occurred to him. “I don’t know my name…who am I? What is going on?” He whispered to himself as he sat there, his skin growing cold. He reached up to his face again and this time he felt a well trimmed, short yet full beard. He noticed from a few stray tufts of bright red hair, that his hair was long and pulled back in a tail. He looked down at himself a noticed he was wearing a plain black hoodie, which was ripped and torn, he pulled it off and underneath he had a black short sleeve shirt, a desiccated corpse clad in armor, a samurai warrior, wielding a katana, the words “Iron Maiden” prominently printed on the shirt. He also noticed them, his arms. They had numerous tattoos. Glyphs and runes, sigils. He took a moment to inspect his arms and realized he recognized the language: enochian. The angelic script of John Dee, and Edward Kelly. The tattoos dealt with heaven, and God, and saints, and angels. He was no expert but they looked expensive.

It took him a minute before he realized that there were other items in the rucksack. Five magazines filled with twenty rounds each, he checked the first magazine and was surprised to see that the first bullet was carved. He pried it out and looked at it. The bullet was carved with the enochian rune for death. He quickly checked the second bullet and saw the same, and likewise with the third. He loaded them back into the magazine, then checked the other four mags. The top bullet in each was the same. He assumed all the bullets were. He then emptied out the ruck and found a phone with two spare batteries. He quickly powered it on, but found he was getting no signal. With a frustrated snort he switched it back off to save battery power and then placed the phone and batteries in an external pocket of the rucksack.

That left one more object. At first he thought it was a large, brown thermos. But it was heavy. Heavier than the gun at least. And it was cold to the touch. It was about a foot long, a metallic brown with runes or sigils carved into it, ones he could not identify. He saw a twist cap at the top, and at first went to open it - but stopped. His hand hovered about five inches from the cap. Something itched at the back of his mind. This is crazy. I am scared. I am actually scared to open this thing. What is it? He asked himself. After a minute he put the “thermos” back in the rucksack, along with four of the magazines. He took the fifth and locked and loaded Iustitia Offerentis, and then zipped up the ruck sack and put it on his back.

He looked up at the front of the train car and saw the word Shinkansen, a logo. “Japan. I am in Japan. On a bullet train going fast.” He whispered to himself. “How the hell did I get here? And what has happened?”

He walked up to the front of the car looking for survivors. Nothing, just blood in almost every row. No bodies, just the blood. He stopped at the cart and uprighted it. The ice was just starting to melt. He grabbed a plastic bag from the cart and filled it full of ice. Placing the bag against his swollen face. He also grabbed several bags of peanuts and two bottles of water, Placing them in the side pockets of his ruck.

“Someone else must be on this train, because it should have a deadman’s switch to stop if the engineer were dead, right? Well, I guess I better get moving.” Hearing his own voice seemed to steady his nerves. He decided to keep the butt-stock folded but moved ahead with Iustitia Offerentis ready; he suspected he might need it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the second car he found the same thing - blood but no bodies. No bullet holes, no damage. Just blood. What had happened here? With all the blood he had found there must have been a fair number of people on this train, at least these two cars.

As he approached the end of the car someone stepped from the bathroom. A tall, statuesque woman. She was at least six feet tall, with long platinum blonde hair, dressed in a plain back suit, with a white shirt, a thin black tie, and black ray-ban style wrap around glasses. He found her beautiful, but at the same time, he found her…sinister? No, the proper word was menacing. There was something about this platinum blonde super model that was wrong?

“Hello? Do you know what is going on here?” He addressed the woman in english. When she did not respond he repeated his question in Japanese. Being closer to her he noticed she had asian features.

After a moment the woman slowly opened her mouth, a mouth filled with needle sharp fangs, and hissed. Most people would equate the sound to angry cat hiss, but between the sound and the teeth, He was reminded of an eel. The woman splayed her fingers open as she raised her hands, he noticed the clawed fingers that reminded him of brutal fish-hooks and she charged.

He reacted quickly and used Iustitia Offerentis to buttstroke the “woman” in her face, catching her on the upper left side, which staggered her. He expected her glasses to come off, but they didn’t…they crumpled, like they were a part of her, and instead of blood, she “bled” a reeking dark gray goo. She wasn’t human! The woman-thing was up and on him in an instant, before he knew it, he was on his back. And the woman-thing was hissing and screaming and trying to claw at his neck and shoulders. In desperation, he pulled the trigger, a quick burst and a few rounds tore through her upper body. The woman-thing rolled off of him and she melted. Literally melted into a slurry of stinking gray goo.

He lay there breathing hard for a second, what the fuck? He said to himself. The stink of the goo was atrocious, it reminded him of burnt urine. At least what he thought burnt urine would smell like. He quickly got to his feet and stared down at the goo, it was quickly drying and evaporated into a thin black steam. “I’m dead, and this is hell…” He whispered aloud. However, he knew his words were wrong the moment they passed his lips. I need to get to the cockpit. To stop this train and then it will make sense. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My first homunculus has found him.” She said out loud in their sing-song language as her eyes snapped open. She looked over at her brother and he was twitching, his hand shaking as he reached up to his bald pate to wipe the sweat from that would eventually run into his eyes. She was concerned as she knew it was difficult for him to cloud and control the minds of two drivers, as well "cloud" the electronics of the train. However, she suspected that something else was at work. That the chawa has come for him. Normally her nation was immune to the worst of the chawa. But her brother, Kamgong, seemed to have discovered wisdom early.

“Kamgong. Brother, are you well?” There was true concern in her voice.

His eyes snapped open but were not fully focused in this world for the first few moments. “Kongseng? The Feeder has his eyes upon us. He watches our endeavor with the greatest of interest.” Her brother whispered dreamily.

“Kamgong. Focus. Be here with me. Be here in the now.” Kongseng was even more worried. It was possible that the great lord was watching their mission, but highly doubtful. Most likely Kamgong was lost in his own self. This was the danger of the dark rituals practiced by her people.

Suddenly she felt a brief pain, and a flash of rage. Her homunculus had failed and its essence had returned to the places-between-places. She let out a startled gasp, and this broke her brother from his trance-like state.

“What is wrong?” He said firmly in the now.

“My first homunculus had found him. However, he has defeated it.”

“Maybe what we seek has not affected him as much as we are led to believe.” Kamgong put forward.

“No. It is not of this world, it is corrosive to the mortal mind. He has most likely forgotten many things. However, this knight is a foe not to be trifled with.” She said grimly.

“It sounds as if you admire him?” her brother asked in an almost accusatory tone.

“No little brother. I do not admire him. However, I do respect him. It is not wise for you to underestimate the servants of the light. Many have made this error. Most that do die.” She admonished him.

"What are we going to do?” Kamgong asked her.

Kongseng stared at the small idol on the floor in front of her before answering. It was an exquisite statuette of an elephantine humanoid seated in a lotus position. The Feeder, the Horror in the Hills, the creator of her nation. “Much blood, and many souls we have gifted to the dark ones. That has allowed me to call forward many of my homunculi from the places-between-places. I will send most of them to our opponent. Let us see him deal with them all.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next three cars were the same as the first two, empty of everything except blood. There was obviously much violence done here. What happened to the victims? If they were moved I would have expected to see some indication of bloody corpses being dragged. But it is as if they just disappeared. He said to himself.

He continued walking as the doors in front of him opened and a half-dozen more woman-things stepped through. Each was an exact duplicate of the first one he had met, down to the clothing which he knew was a part of the creature's “flesh”. They woman-things wasted no time and charged toward him screaming.

He thumbed the select on the submachine gun to semi and fired the first round at the closest woman-thing. The bullet caught her in her open screaming mouth and blew out the back of her head, spraying stinking dark gray matter on those behind her. The thing collapsed almost immediately into a pile of gray goo, causing her “sisters” to veer around her. The second and third shot caught another center mass, and it started to dissolve before its body hit the floor. Another shot caught a third in the throat, felling it instantly. The last two attacked him from different sides, he turned to his right and destroyed that one with a well placed shot in its middle. He quickly spun to his left and fired from the hip twice missing his target. “Damnation!” He shouted aloud as the woman-thing was on him pulling at his rucksack that was strapped to his back, she was incredibly strong and heavy and was pulling him off balance. He could not get a shot at her and swung Iustitia Offerentis at her. He connected but it was not a telling blow, so he pushed her with the stock. After a moment the woman-thing screeched and the air filled with a sizzling sound and a horrid stink. The creature released the rucksack and stepped back. He noticed that the area where Iustitia Offerentis had touched her flesh for more than a moment was burnt. In fact it was still burning! Taking advantage of his good luck he fired and a round took the woman-thing’s right eye and like the first one in this group blew out the back of her head.

The same horrid stink filled the car and it was overwhelming. An errant thought came into his mind, the gun itself seems to be deadly to these things. I have a magic gun and a scary thermos. And I am fighting the same “woman”? What are these things? He quickly pulled the rucksack from his back and retrieved another mag, he tried to not even look at the scary thermos. However, he could not stop himself. He stared at it and felt something in his mind begin to stir.

In his mind’s eye a great shadow loomed. A dark so black, it was not merely the absence of light, but the absence of hope, the absence of righteousness, the absence of life. A void. But if it was indeed the absence of life, it was not the absence of existence, because something existed in this void, something vile, something evil, something hungry. And he felt it stir. And he heard it speak, not with his ears, not with his mind, but with his heart, his soul. Yes, enter the darkness, see how it shines? Come to me and I will share its wonders…

He pushed aside the rucksack and sat there, his heart hammered and his hands shook. He considered leaving the thermos there, but it was in the rucksack for a reason. And this last woman-thing, she was trying to grab the rucksack from my back? They wanted it! He had this thing for a reason, even if that reason was to simply keep these things from having it. Because whatever these things were, they were not natural. And he still did not know what happened to everyone else on the train. These things must have something to do with that, right? So he donned the rucksack again, stuck the spare mag in his belt, and unfolded the wire buttstock on the gun. He heard movement up ahead and was sure he would have to fight his way to the cockpit.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She growled in pain and rage. Six more of her homunculi were gone! Kongseng had presented false confidence to her brother before. She knew that Kamgong had enough doing his part, as well as the degenerative effects of the chawa. But she believed she knew who this servant of the Light was. And if she was right she was frightened of failure. For her nation, her clan, they had encountered this order before. Remembered in history books as the Knights Templar, she knew they were not merely the stuff of movies and internet fantasy. And if this man were who she thought he was? Well his was a powerful line, the line of Kane.

I will send all but two of my homunculi to him. He will fall! Kongseng vowed to herself as she looked at the idol.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The seats in the cars made for a good impediment, as the woman-things either ran down the central aisle or climbed over the seats to get to him. He had already exhausted the first magazine and reloaded and was down to five rounds in this one. He would have to retreat to retrieve the other mags from his pack.

It seemed that any good hit in the head or chest and these things would begin to melt immediately. I guess I was right, Iustitia Offerentis is a magic gun! Or maybe it is the death runes carved in the bullets? Or both? He thought to himself as he put another round into the chest of a woman-thing. Another jumped from a seat to his left, he turned to fire at her and another jumped from his right, by reflex he turned to his right and snapped off a shot, just missing his target. “Shit!” He roared and fired again, the second round catching his target in the forehead. An instant later he felt the searing pain as a claw tore from just below his left nipple to the top of his left hip. He struck out blindly catching the woman-thing in the face and finished it with a round to the chest. He heard the clang as the bolt of the gun popped open.

Backing up the rear of the car, he quickly changed mags and checked the wound, it was bleeding freely and the shirt was ruined so he pulled off to put pressure on the wound. It was then that he noted more tattoos - numerous images of religious iconography covered his chest, and abdomen. Who am I? He asked himself again.

“It does not matter. All that matters right now is that I am the son-of-a-bitch trying to reach the front of this train.” He said aloud with renewed determination. “And I only got a few more cars to go.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kongseng knew real fear now. The knight had destroyed thirty-two of her homunculi! She only had eight left. She mentally commanded six to await the knight in the car ahead and kept the last two to guard her and Kamgong.

At that thought she looked over at her brother. His eyes were rolled over in their sockets and he was twitching now uncontrollably. It was apparent to her that the effort of controlling the two pilots and this great train, as well as blanketing them had accelerated the chawa to a huge degree. Sadness gripped her as she realized that Kamgong would not survive this endeavor. For his sacrifice they had to be successful!

Kongseng knew that the knight was injured. She had felt that one of her homunculi had drawn his blood before he had destroyed it. She also knew that the darkness he carried was corrosive. It was a burden on his mind and soul. She hoped these factors would give her the edge she needed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He traversed the next four cars without incident. Still, there was a great deal of blood but no bodies. Much horror had happened here. And those responsible must be in the cars ahead, of that he was certain. And there would be a reckoning. So he checked Iustitia Offerentis, the mag was full and he had another full one in his belt. He was still bleeding, and he knew pain and blood loss was slowing him down.

“Time to go.” He whispered aloud and entered the next car. There were about a half dozen of the woman-things and they piled serving carts and baggage to form a barrier. He registered this immediately and went in guns blazing, a quick burst took the first woman-thing in the upper chest and face causing her to screech prior to melting. The remaining five took cover behind the makeshift barricade and he began peppering them.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kongseng could feel the rage of her homunculi, she could feel the brief flash of pain and fear as their essence was released back into the places between places, her people’s name for the void. But now she could even hear the gunshots - he was in the next car! Kongseng put the idol of the Feeder in a silken bag and placed it behind her, she then continued with her preparations. Kongseng wore a loose kimono type gown of maroon silk with voluminous sleeves. In her right hand she held a small pistol. She checked the safety. To think? That this drama could end in simple murder? Kongseng chuckled to herself.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He loaded the last full magazine. There were still a few rounds left in the previous one, so he tucked in his belt as a spare. He knew the cockpit was there in front of him, every once in a while his head swam. Was it blood loss? Then once more in his mind’s eye the shadow “spoke” to him, Let me aid you. Draw upon me for the strength to see you through to the end of your quest.

“NO!” He screamed and shook his head and burst through the final door.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kongseng saw and heard the servant of the light as he burst into the cockpit - he fired before she could react and her last two homunculi were gone in a scream of rage and two quickly evaporating piles of reeking ectoplasm. He was a tall, muscular caucasian, with a short red beard and a “frayed” ponytail holding back his long red hair. He was shirtless and his faded jeans were blood stained. Especially the left hip and upper left thigh, where he still bled freely from the long claw wound on his left side. He had numerous tattoos of religious iconography covering his chest, abdomen, arms and even his face. A golden, black and blood-red gothic cross dominated the center of his chest. The left side of his face was bruised and swollen and his eyes blazed like blue fire. He held a compact steel and wooden gun aimed right at her. She could feel the sanctimonious power radiate from it - and him.

“Wait!” She screamed. “You undoubtedly have questions. Do you not? I can answer them.”

He looked around the cockpit. In front of him, on her knees was a small, bald and ugly asian woman. Not Japanese, maybe Cambodian, or Laotian? She was garbed in a maroon kimono, and had numerous facial piercings. She was the size of a child, but her face said otherwise. There was a body on the floor behind her - the first he had seen on this train. A female crew member, her back was a bloody mess.

To the woman’s right, his left, sat another child-like figure, this one a man, like the first, he was small, asian, bald and ugly. He was clad in mottled light green and black robes, he seemed to be in a trance-like state, in which he muttered incoherently, saying the word “feeder” numerous times, his eyes were rolled up in his skull and he shook terribly. What stood out the most was the figure's blood stained mouth and chin.

Next to him were the objects of his quest, the pilots! One sat in the driver’s seat, and the other on the floor, both men were oblivious to their surroundings - as if they were sleepwalkers.

“Who are you?” He said to the woman.

“Who we are is not important. But who are you, servant of the light?” She slyly responded.

“I…I don’t know…who I am. I don’t know.” His confusion was evident.

“It is having an effect on you, isn’t it? It is corrosive to your soul. Give it to me. I will relieve you of this burden, hero.”

The shadow filled his mind, its tone more insistent than before. Do not trust her. It was she who sent the not-women against you. It was they who are the architects of all your woes…

“The scary thermos, what is it? What is inside…why does it speak to me?” He asked the woman.

“Scary thermos. I like that.” She replied with a smile showing her filed, pointed teeth. “It is what you would know as an angel. An angel of darkness, who is imprisoned and bound in what you call the scary thermos.”

She is lying to you! They will kill you, kill you and eat you! They will then enslave me. Aid me warrior. Come to me in the darkness. And I will make you the emperor of all mankind. You can make of this world what you wish. Images filled his mind, he sat on a throne like a king of old. Numerous beautiful women as his concubines. Armies at his beck and call. But the images faded into burning cities and mountains of skulls…As it is above, so below

“The woman monsters. They were you. At least how you imagine yourself. Your perfect self-image. How you want to be. And what is wrong with him?” He indicated her brother on the ground.

“He experiences the enlightenment of the chawa.” She replied, with sadness evident in her voice.

Her right trigger finger was around the trigger. She knew the time for talk was coming to an end.

“He has eaten too much human flesh, huh? I know what you are, you are tcho-tcho. Tell me, where are the passengers, the crew? The people?” He said accusation and rising anger in his voice.

“Yes, we are the tcho-tcho! And you don’t care about the people, hero. not really!” She screamed as she brought her right hand up.

“Oh but I do!” He shouted back.

Both fired at once. His shot took her straight between the eyes, killing her instantly. And her pistol round hit him in the right side, just below his ribcage. He fell back against the wall, hard, and slid down to the floor. Iustitia Offerentis fell from his hand as he looked at the dead woman, the tcho-tcho. He took a couple of labored breaths and retrieved his gun. He turned to the tcho-tcho man and emptied the mag into him.

The effects were instantaneous. Both men “awoke” and burst into tears, radio chatter from the instruments started. He gathered his strength and shouted. “Stop this train!”

The train seemed to begin slowing, maybe he imagined it? With considerable effort He pulled the rucksack from his back and retrieved his phone. Full bars. He called the one number programmed within.

“Brother?’ A concerned voice answered.

“Who…am I…” He weezed as he spoke.

“What? Brother, are you unwell?”

“I have been shot, and I do not know who I am.”

“You are our brother. Your name is Virgil Kane. Standfast brother. We have spoken with the Japanese government. You will be retrieved. Do you still have...it?”

He, Virgil, nodded and replied. “It speaks to me. In my mind. It has shown me things. Great and ugly things.”

“Your ordeal will end soon Brother. Deus Vult!” The man on the phone shouted.

“Deus vult…” Virgil quietly responded before things went black…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The train was coming to a stop. Both pilots were in shock. They looked at the two horrid bald “children” on the floor dead. Both pilots knew that the man-child had controlled them somehow, and it was a nightmare! The gaijin, American, or perhaps European? Was he dead? Or just unconscious? But the most upsetting thing was Miss Ichika. She lay on her face. Her back was mutilated, and she lay in a pool of blood.

The train finally stopped - that was when Miss Ichika stood up and smiled at both pilots. Both men screamed in horror and tried to get as far away from the dead woman as possible. She looked at the floor. Seeing the small pistol, she picked it up and shot both pilots three times each. Once in the head, and twice in the chest. She then turned to the Champion of the Light, the Knight Templar, Virgil Kane. But the pistol was empty.

“Oh well…I AM wills it.” The Dark Angel spoke aloud through the dead woman’s mouth. “Besides. I have tasted your soul Virgil Kane. You will come looking for me, and then I will have you. And you will rule this world. But As my puppet.” The Dark Angel picked up the rucksack and just walked away…a smile on the dead woman’s lips.

Horror

About the author

Michael Mayr

Reader insights

Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insight

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

Add your insights

Comments (1)

Sign in to comment
  • Carol Townend2 months ago

    This is really impressive. I really liked reading it, and it completely hooked me into the story.

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.