A few moments later, Dahlia and the Cruel Crew found themselves picking their way through the tangle of shipping containers that filled the cabin they had originally stowed away in. 

“She is kind of a looker, though, huh?” Boyd said to no one in particular. “Y’know, er, for a greenskin, that is.” 

Adley grinned evilly and elbowed him in the ribs. “You the kinda guy what likes the mean ones, eh Boyd? I should’a figured.”

“Will you two degenerate ingrates stop your yapping and move?” Cylde snapped. “We’ve lost enough ground as it is.”

Dahlia picked up a crate and hurled it out of her way, resulting in a tumbling cascade of boxes somewhere behind them. “Cylde is right, my festering botflies. Now is not the time to be distracted by the enemy’s angelic mien! We must remain focused on the task at hand.”

“What are we gonna do anyway, boss? Once we catch her, I mean?” Boyd swallowed nervously. “She’s a witch, right? Who’s to say she won’t just turn invisible again, or like…turn our bones into jelly, or something?”

“Not to worry, Boyd.” Dahlia said, pushing open the door to reveal yet another nondescript car ahead of them. “We shall, as they say, burn down that village and slaughter its inhabitants when we come to it. All of my best plans come to me in flashes of desperate inspiration, after all.”

They passed through three more cars without incident (with the exception of Dahlia tripping over an inconveniently placed tie-down strap) before the next roadblock presented itself. As the crew entered the next cabin, a pair of figures turned to face them. Both were tall and broad, clad head to toe in spiked plate armor, their grated faceplates crafted to resemble stylized skulls. Though they appeared to carry no weapons, the knuckles of their gauntlets were crusted with gummy blood.

“Would you look at this, brother.” Said the shorter of the two, his gravelly voice made slightly metallic and muffled by his armor. “It would seem the anklebiter told us true. A prize fallen right into our laps, eh?”

The larger of the two only grunted in response.

“Anklebiter?” Dahlia said, “Oh, you mean the witch, right? Look, she’s the one we’re after, so if you two wouldn’t mind just standing aside and-“

“Witch! Huh!” The first brother crossed his arms, turning to look over his shoulder. “That true, honey? You a Mage?”

Dahlia craned her neck to see where he was looking – sure enough, perched on a crate near the back of the cabin was the goblin, legs crossed luxuriously over the edge of her seat as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She caught Dahlia’s eye and waved, smiling impishly.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what she’s talking about, sir.” She called across the cabin. “She’s obviously just trying to distract you. After all, just look at what she’s got under her arm, there.”

The larger of the two grunted again, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder and pointing at Dahlia.

“True enough, true enough.” Said the first brother, his tone going soft with awe as he turned to the Crew. “That’s it, isn’t it? You chumps went and found the Key for us. Awful kind of ya.” He pushed a fist into his open palm, fingers flexing threateningly over the metal spikes lining his gauntlet. “Do us all a favor and hand it over without a fuss, yeah?”

“Hand…what? What are you talking about?” Dahlia looked about in confusion, going so far as to look under her arm as if she might have been carrying something without realizing it. She turned to the Crew. “Guys? Am I missing something?”

The Cruel Crew looked as befuddled as she was. Adley shrugged.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing at, hellspawn,” the shorter brother said, cocking his head to one side, “but I can see it right there, clear as day. Now, me and my brother here, we ain’t the most patient, and we ain’t here to play games. I’m gonna ask you one more time to hand it over before things get nasty.”

“No, look, you’ve got it all wrong!” Boyd piped up, jabbing a shaky finger toward the goblin. “She’s the one who stole the Key from us! Just look, she’s… she’s, uh…”

The witch raised her eyebrows and shrugged as every eye in the room turned toward her. She was empty-handed – the puzzle box was nowhere to be seen.

“Right, yeah, I think that’s about enough talkin’, then.” The armored man reached up to rap his fist against his brother’s chest. “Let’s get this over with, Bragor.”

“Uh, boss,” Adley said, “I’m not real clear on what’s going on right now, but I think we’re about to be in a scrap.”

Dahlia shifted her feet, lowering her center of gravity. “Yeah, with you on both counts. Get ready, everybody.”

“Good, good. That’s what we like to see.” The first brother said. He stepped forward, spreading his hands. “The Gods might be long dead, but as long as there are bones to break, the Brothers of Blessed Brutality may find temples aplenty. Now, let us hold service!”

The armored man stomped his foot into the deck and threw a massive haymaker. Though she had little trouble catching it on her shield, the strength of the blow rocked Dahlia back, forcing her to backpedal to keep her balance. The Cruel Crew sprang into action – that is, Adley and Cylde did, rushing past their leader to intercept the one called Bragor before he could properly join his brother in the fight. Boyd cringed back, nearly losing his footing as Dahlia stumbled into him.

At this point, everything began to move very quickly.

In the enclosed space of the cabin, the chaotic flurry of violence that followed became even more of a clumsy, unpredictable affair. Spines, fists and elbows bounced off of crates and metal walls on every side; the distance needed to swing with fists and weapons became constricted at inopportune times, resulting in moments of awkward, shoving struggle. To make matters worse, it seemed as if this cabin in particular was more poorly lit than the others they had traveled through – perhaps its skylights had not been recently cleaned, or someone had shuttered them. Dahlia hardly had the time to investigate. Nonetheless, as the fight went on she found it more and more difficult to clearly see what was happening around her.

A large shape surged through the murk at Dahlia’s side, raising an arm for a hammering blow. Dahlia reacted instinctually, spinning to raise her shield while her free hand snapped out to punch the assailant in the middle of his faceplate. She cursed inwardly, ready to feel her hand bounce harmlessly off of the armor – instead, the wet crunch of a mailed fist impacting flesh ran through her arm.

And yet it was Cylde that stumbled back, clutching at his broken nose as blood streamed down his chin. He stared at Dahlia, shock quickly giving way to rage and confusion. “What in the fuck was that for?!”

Dahlia stared back, dumbfounded. Not a moment ago, Bragor had stood where Cylde stood now, she was sure of it. “I wasn’t… I didn’t-!”

Colorless light flashed behind Dahlia’s eyes, the first brother’s forearm smashing into her temple in her moment of hesitation. She staggered to the side, catching herself on the edge of a nearby crate.

“Best keep your focus, little lady!” He roared, advancing on her. “Middle of a brawl is no place to get distracted!”

His next attack was interrupted as Boyd jumped from behind, landing on the man’s back and grappling him. The first brother snarled and thrashed, swinging wildly as the scrawny rogue jammed a dagger against his armor, trying to find a gap. Dahlia pushed herself to her feet, seizing the opportunity to grab at the man’s faceplate. Chaotic as their cooperation was, Boyd’s distraction allowed her to eventually find purchase and tear the smaller brother’s helmet off. His face was scarred and lumpy, doubtless the result of a lifetime of violence – she gave him a quick pair of jabs in the teeth, adding to the effect.

Adley appeared at her side. Dahlia’s first thought was that the fight must have been going better than she realized; perhaps the larger brother had already been defeated, giving Adley the opening to assist in finishing things off.

A punch slammed into the back of Dahlia’s head, bouncing her face off of the smaller brother’s chest plate. She slumped, dropping to one knee as the edges of her vision blurred and grew dark. Dahlia squinted up at Adley, desperately holding onto consciousness, but it was not the dwarf who stood over her; it was Bragor, come to assist his brother. Something was terribly wrong – this time, she was sure of it. Somehow her friends and enemies kept changing places in the blink of an eye.

Adley arrived – for the second time, seemingly – to ram a flat-footed kick into the back of the big man’s right knee, knocking him from his feet before he could come for Dahlia again. One of the dwarf’s goggles was broken, a fresh black eye spreading underneath it. Cylde joined her a moment later, hacking randomly at Bragor’s back with his shortsword.

“What’s goin’ on, boss?” Adley shouted. “People keep… I dunno, switchin’!”

At Dahlia’s right, the shorter brother got hold of Boyd’s collar and threw him over one shoulder. The little man smashed painfully into a metal shipping box and slid to the ground, gasping. Before her, Bragor was regaining his feet, arms swinging blindly to drive Adley and Cylde away as he turned to face them. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. Dahlia squinted into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the far end of the cabin. The goblin witch sat just where they had left her, the same large book from before lying open in her lap. She caught Dahlia’s eye, and a little serpent’s smile curled her lips.

Dahlia scrambled on hands and knees, searching desperately for any small, discrete piece of metal. Luckily, Boyd’s spine had done a wonderful job of significantly denting one of the metal containers. She grabbed a loose portion of the siding and jerked on it until it snapped, her lips already moving to recite the necessary verse. The metal heated and crackled in her hand until smoke began to flow from its surface, quickly spreading and blanketing the floor of the cabin.

“The hell are you up to?” The smaller brother said, aiming a kick at her. Dahlia batted the attack away with her shield and hopped to her feet, backing away until her heels met the wall behind her.

“Why don’t you come over and find out?” Dahlia shouted. Smoke poured from her fist like a liquid – the thickest of it had filled the area immediately around her up to her knees, and the air was already growing hazy throughout the entire car.

Boyd dragged himself to his feet at her side, coughing. “What are you doin’, boss? You’re gonna smoke us all out!”

“It’s that witch, Boyd.” She gestured across the cabin with her shield. “I’m not sure what she’s up to, but she’s been messing with us this whole time. Making us see stuff that ain’t there. But don’t worry, I got a plan.”

The shorter brother strode toward them, moving his neck sharply to one side and then the other with a cracking sound.

Boyd coughed again and curled an arm around his mouth to suck air through his sleeve. “That plan involve us all chokin’ to death?”

“Only mostly.” Dahlia flashed her most reassuring grin. “Now eyes up, big dumb guy incoming.”

The first brother spat out a bloody tooth and threw himself at Dahlia, feinting at the last moment to strike for Boyd instead. Dahlia moved forward to intercept him, putting a shoulder tackle behind her shield that knocked the attack off course. Grunting with frustration, their attacker wrapped an arm around her neck and spun, flinging Dahlia deeper into the cabin. 

The room was almost completely filled with smoke when Dahlia came to her feet. All around her, the emberling could hear the sound of coughing and cursing – the brothers, with their exceptionally rough voices, were easy to pick out from the sound of her comrades. 

Someone emerged from the veil of smoke at her left, and Dahlia spun to face them. A vague shape resolved into Cylde, staggering toward her with his hands waving in front of his face in a vain attempt to clear away a fraction of the smoke. Almost immediately, Dahlia saw what she was looking for; the area directly above the man’s head and shoulders was wrong, the smoke curling and billowing in ways that didn’t make sense – as if a much taller man’s head were cutting a path through it. 

Dahlia ducked, felt the faint breeze of an addled right hook cutting through the air above her head. The smoke was having an adverse effect on everyone in the car, herself included, but she had a higher tolerance than most. She shot to her feet, bringing the edge of her shield up and into Bragor’s unseen chin in a vicious uppercut. 

The image of Cylde took an unsteady step back, its face frozen in the half-scowl of irritation that served as his resting expression. Then he flickered in a way that reminded Dahlia of a mirage, fading and coalescing into the big man’s true shape. Her attack had flipped his visor up, revealing a face resembling his brother’s, albeit with a much thicker beard. 

“It’s an illusion!” Dahlia called out as her opponent staggered, dazed. “Watch the smoke!”

“Can barely…breathe, much less see, boss!” Said Boyd, somewhere behind her. “Was this really the best – whaagh!”

“Adley! Cylde! Take care of the big guy!” Dahlia shouted over her shoulder, turning to sprint blindly toward Boyd’s cry of distress. Two figures loomed suddenly before her, shapes resolving from the smoke – one stood above the other, pinning his victim to the ground, preparing to strike. 

The problem came in the form of both being Boyd. They flickered, and then both were the Brother. Again and again they alternated, as if there were some fault or glitch in the illusion. There was no time to deliberate on which was which. 

Dahlia leapt into the air, pivoting her lower body forward, and drove both heels into the standing man’s spine. The breath shot from his lungs with a gurgling wheeze as his body bounced away, forehead cracking off the edge of a crate as he went down. His body slumped against the floor and went still. 

“Shit!” The first Brother said, scrambling backward in a crab-like crawl before dragging himself to his feet. The edges of his armor blurred, flickered one last time, and resolved into Boyd. “Thanks, boss.” He lapsed into a fit of coughing, eyes red and streaming. “How’d you know which of us to hit?”

“Lucky guess.” Dahlia said. “Come on, no time to waste.”

A door slammed open on the far end of the car, the sound of raucous coughing retreating into the distance. The smoke began to clear almost immediately, drawn out into open air and whisked away by the buffeting wind. Up ahead, Cylde had Bragor’s arms wedged behind his back while Adley crouched on the big man’s chest, pummeling his exposed face with her fists. He appeared to already be unconscious.

“Adley! Adley, I think you got him.” Dahlia hurried up behind the dwarf, pointing over her shoulder – through the diminishing haze, they could now see that the goblin thief had vacated the cabin. “Come on, she’s getting away!”

Leaving the Brothers of Blessed Brutality insensate on the deck, Dahlia and her minions wasted no time in exiting the smoke-choked train car. They emerged onto an open platform and, as one, doubled over to hack their collective lungs out. Dahlia had been spared the worst of it by virtue of being an emberling, but the Cruel Crew were not so lucky; they hunched over, clutching their thighs or falling fully to their knees, eyes bloodshot, faces red, snot sheening their upper lips as they sucked desperately at fresh air. 

Watching them from atop the next car, of course, was the goblin witch, looking little worse for wear aside from a bit of red rimming her eyes. She put a fist to her perfect lips and emitted a single, prim cough. 

“That was a very cute trick, Dahlia.” She called out, cocking her neck to one side. “But I must say, your associates are looking a bit on the rough side. 

“I assume this is how she usually employs your loyalty?” She went on, addressing the Crew directly. “Using you as fodder, with negligible concern for your health and safety?”

Dahlia stalked toward her, raising a reproachful finger. She barely noticed the platform’s singular contents as she passed by: a massive metal shipping container, affixed to the deck by chains running from each corner. “Don’t even try with your smooth-talking wiles, lady. The Crew and I are bound by the dark and immutable bonds of brotherhood! Also sisterhood. For ours is a fellowship deeper than friendship, deeper than blood, deeper than any mundane connection.” She clenched a fist, baring her teeth in triumph. “Their loyalty is born of the purity of shared purpose! For they know that I, Dahlia Scratch, am the black star destined to swallow and burn this world. You should sooner ask the moons to cease chasing the sun than hope to make these three question my frankly incredible skills of improvisational problem-solving!” Dahlia turned to her comrades with a flourish. “Isn’t that right?”

Cylde was still hunched over, hands on his knobby knees. He turned his head to spit a wad of phlegm over the edge of the platform, then looked slowly up at the emberling. 

“Just once, Dahlia.” He growled, “Just once, why don’t you do us all a favor and shut your fat fucking mouth?”

Everything about Dahlia seemed to wilt, just a little. Her tail sagged, her fist loosened; the feverish light in her eyes dimmed. “…What?”

The tattooed man drew himself up to his full height. “You heard me. Months, I’ve followed you, waiting for some great act to measure up to that endlessly running mouth of yours. Waiting to catch just a glimpse of the potential I thought I saw in you.”

Dahlia’s eyes darted between the members of her Crew. The frozen curve of her smile wobbled. “Hey now, c’mon…”

“Nothing.” Cylde spat again, on the deck this time. “Just a silly girl playing dress-up. And I should have known, with stooges like these as your followers.” He pointed with an outstretched arm at Adley and Boyd, who traded a worried glance. “Well, I’m not playing along with this traveling circus any longer. You are no Villain, Dahlia. You aren’t even-”

Cylde was cut short by a thrumming howl that seemed to come from everywhere at once, so loud that the rattling of the train drowned beneath it. Dahlia doubled over reflexively, jamming her palms against her ears in a vain attempt to dull the roar buzzing in her molars – the assault did not abate even slightly, as if the sound were coming from inside her skull. Gritting her teeth, she forced her eyelids open far enough to take a look around; even blurred by the tears welling from her eyes, she could see the others reacting in much the same way. Even the goblin had dropped to her knees, the wide brim of her hat obscuring her face.

Dahlia opened her mouth to shout something to the others – Gods knew what, she could barely think, much less talk – but even that was muted to nothing. That was when she saw the massive container in the center of the platform shudder and begin to deform. A bulge the size of a man’s torso appeared in the metal siding suddenly, as if something huge inside was trying to punch its way out. 

A needling surge of terror ran through Dahlia’s spine. Cylde was standing beside the container, eyes squeezed shut, completely oblivious to what was happening just behind him. She reached out toward the tattooed man, screaming his name, but of course he could not hear her. 

The container’s dented surface ruptured and split as an arm with the girth of a tree trunk sprouted forth. Before anyone had a chance to react, its enormous metal paw swung down over Cylde’s head and shoulders, lifting him from the deck like a toy as his feet kicked in a wild panic. The maelstrom of sound began to ebb – enough for Dahlia to hear her underling’s muffled screams as he was hoisted into the air. At the far end of the platform, Adley and Boyd watched in horror, eyes wide as saucers, feet frozen to the deck. 

A sound like an exploding engine pounded Dahlia’s ears as a thick steel rod erupted from Cylde’s upper chest, spraying blood and chunks of bone across the floor of the platform. Her subordinate spasmed, then went limp. He was gone. 

Boyd did not make a sound – he simply turned and bolted, pelting back the way they had come and almost immediately disappearing from sight. Adley’s head jerked back and forth between her friend’s retreating back and the carnage before her for a moment – she locked eyes with Dahlia, a cringing, apologetic look on her face, before turning to follow him. 

Dazed, Dahlia could only stand and watch as the hand opened, letting Cylde’s lifeless body smack wetly to the deck. Time had slowed to a soupy crawl, everything around her taking on a fuzzy, unreal quality. She watched a second hand emerge and take hold of the metal skin on either side of the hole, peeling the huge box open from the inside in a way that made her think of something being birthed from an enormous metal egg. Her gaze drifted down to Cylde’s corpse, glassy eyes staring up into the midday sky, a splatter of red staining his teeth and the pale skin of his jaw. 

Someone was shouting her name. 

“-hlia, you daft girl! Have you taken leave of your senses?!”

Dahlia shook free of her stupor, looking down in an attempt to identify the sudden pressure on her wrist. She found the witch standing at her side with a hand wrapped around her forearm, yanking at her as if to pull her away from the container. 

“Do you want to die, idiot?!” The goblin shouted. “We have to go, now.”

Up ahead, the huge shipping container split like a melon. A behemoth of gold and lacquered metal stepped out onto the deck, pushing aside the twisted remains of its shell. It stood some nine feet tall, the bulk of its body resembling a massive, misshapen boiler with all manner of cranks, rivets and rubber hoses decorating its surface. The thing’s legs were of similar build to its arms, pillars of rough cloth banded with brass and ending in a pair of blocky metal boots that shook the deck with each step. It turned to regard them, the circular porthole window in the center of its faceplate gleaming like a cyclopic eye. 

Still only distantly aware of her own body, Dahlia turned and ran. She heard the creature bellow with rage – that same mind-invading roar that had threatened to drive her to her knees before – and charge after them, its footfalls reverberating through the deck beneath her. 

Dahlia slammed through the door and into the next car, spinning to latch it behind her – but the goblin took hold of her wrist again, pulling her away. 

“Don’t bother.” She said breathlessly. “You won’t even slow it down.”

As if to prove her point, the pursuing monstrosity dropped its shoulder and rammed the back end of the car, bowing the entire wall inward. One massive arm came through the door, reaching out to grope blindly for its prey as Dahlia backpedaled, almost tripping over her tail in her haste to escape deeper into the cabin. As soon as it found itself empty-handed, the thing began to slam against the damaged wall, metal shrieking as it attempted to force its way through.

“What is that thing?!” Dahlia cried, sprinting to catch up with her unlikely new companion. 

“They call it a Bogatyr. One of the Chancellor’s newest toys.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen one outside the city before.”

As the pair reached the end of the car, Dahlia looked back to see the Bogatyr grip one side of the door and peel a section of the wall back like an orange rind. 

“Hells.” Dahlia muttered under her breath. “Can’t you…I don’t know, do something to it? Cast one of your spells?”

“Wouldn’t help.” The goblin said, puffing with exertion. “Don’t have time to explain. Just run.”

And run they did, sprinting through train car after train car as the implacable thing behind them howled and tore through metal walls as if they were made of rotten wood. It seemed to break through each barrier faster than the last – with every open-air platform they passed over, it gained a bit of ground. 

“What…” Dahlia panted, “are we gonna do…when we run out of train?” Running full pelt in plate armor was no easy task.

“We make as much…distance as we can before the engine car.” The goblin replied. “Then we…disconnect it. Leave this thing in our dust.”

Dahlia risked a look over her shoulder. “What if we can’t get far enough ahead?”

“Then I would suggest throwing yourself from the train.”

“You think we’d survive that?” Dahlia said, eyeing the ground rushing by just below their feet. 

“No. That’s why I suggested it. Oh, shit.”

The goblin skidded to a stop. Standing in the path ahead were five humanoids, each wearing an outfit of tight black leather with a bright accent color. The largest of the group, wearing red, was crouched over a mangled body wearing the uniform of one of the train’s running crew, his costume spattered with blood. One of his compatriots reached over to tap him on the shoulder and he looked up, leaping to his feet when he spotted Dahlia and the witch. With the swiftness of evident practice, he and his cohorts struck a series of theatrical, coordinated poses. 

“You there!” The man in red cried, holding the pose. “Take not another step, for in the name of the-”

“No.” The goblin muttered to herself. “Absolutely not.” Her book blinked into existence at her hip; with an impatient motion, she flicked it open, slapped a palm against a page, and disappeared. 

The Villain team’s poses faltered, heads swiveling. A woman with green as her chosen color jabbed a finger in Dahlia’s direction. 

“Hey! Your friend, where’d she go? We barely even got to start threatening you!”

Dahlia threw another look over her shoulder. “Listen, guys, I’m sure this is super against the…Villain’s code or whatever, and I know you all probably worked real hard on your shpiel and choreography and everything but, uh, yeah, I really don’t have time to hang around either.” She began walking toward them, body language suggesting they ought to simply let her pass. “Actually, you guys should probably start running too. Like right now, in fact.”

“Hey, hey hey.” The leader said testily. “That isn’t how this works, girl.” He put out a hand to grab her by the shoulder. “You ain’t gonna just-”

Dahlia twisted to one side at the last second and drove the edge of her shield into the bridge of the man in red’s nose. He shrieked a gurgling curse and dropped to one knee, clutching his face as Dahlia leapt into a sprint past him. A moment of confusion was all she needed to be halfway down the length of the car before the other four could process what had just happened. 

That was when she heard the doorway breach behind her. 

Shouts of anger turned suddenly to terrified screaming as the Bogatyr tore its way into the cabin. Dahlia fought the urge to look over her shoulder again, the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears not quite managing to drown out the sounds – the rising thrum, like a colossal, roaring engine, the tearing and splattering and meaty thumping, the screams giving way abruptly to silence. She passed into the next car as the monster finished with the unfortunate quintet – Dahlia could have sworn at that moment that she could feel its attention turn back to her. 

A patch of empty air shimmered and rippled until the squat form of the witch phased into visibility beside her. She was breathing with substantial effort now, sweat sticking curls of brown hair to her forehead. 

“We’re not going to make it.” She wheezed, matter-of-factly.

Dahlia felt an icy prickle down her spine. “Sh-shut up. Of course we will.”

The goblin did not retort, pointing instead at the approaching doorway. “Last car. Get ready.”

True to the witch’s judgment, they burst through the door onto a final connecting platform that led directly into a much smaller, open-backed car. The cramped compartment within was furnished with two uncomfortable-looking seats huddled around a furnace built into the center console, an incomprehensible tangle of valves and levers climbing the surfaces around it like a spreading mechanical fungus. The body of a human – ostensibly the conductor, from the look of his uniform – lay bent awkwardly against the right wall, blood splashed around him. 

Both women scrambled to the opposite side of the platform division, dropping to their knees to inspect the mechanism connecting one section of the train to the next. Just under the gap in the deck, a complex knot of chunky, interlocking metal apparatuses rattled with the movement of the train, each end trailing off into the under-guts of its respective car. They stared at the locking mechanism for a moment, bewildered.

“This would be a perfect time for you to reveal your deep and abiding knowledge of locomotive mechanics, Dahlia.” the goblin said, an edge of panic in her voice.

“Well you’re in luck, miss lady,” Dahlia responded, “because I happen to be an expert, in fact.”

The witch turned a wide-eyed, disbelieving look on her. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Just give me a second.” Dahlia turned to examine the latch for a silent moment. “…oh.”

“Oh? Oh what?!”

The emberling turned her neck with a wooden motion. “I…actually don’t recognize this model at all.”

“Fat lot of good you are, then!” She snapped. “What about your…your pyromancy? Can’t you melt it?”

“My what? And no, look, see the texture? This is tempered, I’m not going to have time to-“

The Bogatyr slammed into the last partition, one massive arm snaking out to grope blindly for its prey. Dahlia and the witch cringed back as the rough cloth of its stubby fingers swept through the air, inches from their faces. With a shaking hand, Dahlia tore the hammer from her belt and started smashing at the lock. 

Keening with frustration, the creature reared back and gripped either side of the door. The pair watched, helpless, as the metal on either side buckled and crinkled like stiff paper; even if they could find a way to disconnect the cars now, it was too late. The thing would be on them in seconds. 

“Just so you know,” the witch said, “I do blame you for this.”

Something collided with the Bogatyr from behind, rocking its bulk against the doorway. The sound of metal bashing against metal rang out rhythmically – though it was obscured by the thing’s own enormous frame, some sort of third party had descended upon their attacker and was evidently savaging its exposed back. It howled with rage and turned away, and for a split second Dahlia glimpsed the interloper.

Somehow, the towering warrior she had defeated to earn access to the vault car now stood behind the Bogatyr, lurching and weaving like a marionette with half its strings cut. A large portion of its body seemed empty of animating force, its sword arm hanging twisted and useless almost to the ground. Even still it hammered blow after blow into the Bogatyr’s flank with its good arm; as the creature turned to face this new threat, the warrior grasped one of the many rubberized tubes sprouting from its enemy’s back and tore it loose. A foul-smelling spray of dark liquid erupted from the broken gasket.

Freshly enraged, the Bogatyr swept an arm into the armored sentinel’s midsection. The force of the blow folded it nearly in half and bounced it against the wall hard enough to leave a visible dent on the outside of the car. 

“Don’t just sit there slack-jawed!” The goblin shouted, smacking Dahlia along the side of her temple. “Keep trying! What about that hinge there, is that anything?”

With great effort, Dahlia wrenched her attention away from the battle and stared at the latch. It felt like she’d tried everything already. Stinging sweat dripped into her eyes; the ground rushed by below; goliath metallic beasts traded skull-rattling punches not ten feet away. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus, to see something that hadn’t occurred to her yet. 

Suddenly the emberling sat bolt upright, turning to her would-be nemesis with a manic light in her eyes. “I need you to grab my tail.”

The goblin stared at her. “…What?”

Dahlia’s hands were already darting across her body like spiders, flicking open clasps and yanking straps as her armor fell to the deck around her in pieces. “I’ve tried everything from this angle. Need to see what’s going on underneath.”

The witch glanced nervously down at the blurring tracks. “This seems like a very bad idea.”

“I mean, we could just sit here and wait to die.” Dahlia said, grinning. “Up to you.”

A few seconds later, Dahlia found herself hanging, batlike, her toes bent upward to precariously grip the edge of the gap, her tail pulled taut as the goblin dug her heels into the deck above. She reached out to run her hands over the underside of the locking mechanism, trying desperately not to pay heed to the shaking of the train, or to the blurring tracks that threatened to snap her horns should she let her head drift toward the ground. 

And then, there it was. A lever connecting to a thick bolt, holding the teeth of the whole device together. Dahlia hooked her elbow over the main shaft and gripped the lever, straining with all of her might to wrench the bolt free – it gave the tiniest fraction of an inch and no further. 

A shudder ran through the train, jangling Dahlia’s nerves and pushing her a bit closer to losing her balance entirely. She felt the knuckles of her toes slide toward the edge, heard the witch swear as she was dragged forward. The emberling ground her molars together, putting everything she had into her shoulder until veins bulged across her forehead. 

A world-shattering impact shook the freight car above Dahlia’s head, and for an instant she was weightless, her body floating upward into the gap. Gravity violently reasserted itself an instant later, dragging her feet away from the platform above and her tail free of the goblin’s grasp. Her shoulder shrieked with pain as her lower body swung toward the earth, the arm hooked around the latch the only thing that kept her from falling and being ground to paste against the tracks. Dahlia’s feet wheeled through empty air in a panic until she managed to heave her legs up and around the mechanism. She clung there, dangling upside-down like a possum until the witch’s face poked over the edge. 

“Dahlia! Are you alive down there?!”

“I th-think my heart stopped,” Dahlia said, fighting through the adrenaline to form coherent words, “b-but yeah, mostly. I c-couldn’t get the latch, though…”

The goblin’s eyes shifted to one side. “What’s that in your hand?”

Dahlia followed her gaze – clasped in her right hand was the lever and bolt. It was at this moment that she felt the two halves of the mechanism she was currently clinging to begin to separate. 

“Ohhhhh shit!” The emberling squeaked, hugging the shaft for dear life even as it pulled away from her in both directions. She felt her spine start to straighten, legs pulling back with the engine car while her upper body drifted slowly away – in a matter of seconds, Dahlia would lose her grip on one side or the other and fall under the train to be ground into bright red meatloaf. 

A small, pale green hand stabbed into Dahlia’s field of vision. With one final burst of exertion, she drew on the last of her strength and unhooked her elbows, heaving herself up at the waist to take hold of the witch’s outstretched hand. A terrifying moment passed when it seemed as if their balance was off, and Dahlia would only succeed in tottering backward to drag the both of them to their doom; then she shifted her weight, grinding her knee painfully into the latching mechanism as the goblin strained to drag her back onto the platform. 

The pair collapsed into a gasping heap at the edge of the deck, turning to watch as the caravan of freight cars pulled slowly away. 

The Bogatyr and armored warrior remained locked in battle, momentarily unaware of their shared prey’s impending escape. The damaged warrior had taken far and away the worst of it, its metallic carapace misshapen by multiple titanic dents, the arm Dahlia had managed to wound earlier now completely torn from its body. There was no blood, only a tacky black substance that oozed from its armor here and there. It reminded Dahlia of engine grease. As they watched, it lurched forward for another single-minded attack. 

One of the Bogatyr’s hands slapped down over its opponent’s head and shoulders, the other reaching out to close around its hip, just above the thigh. The warrior struck out ineffectually as it was partially lifted into the air, metal screeching as the larger creature began to twist the two sections in opposite directions. Armor buckled and cracked, coupled with a sound like the splintering of rotten wood – the warrior’s cuirass started to collapse in on itself. Then, in a display of horrific strength, the Bogatyr jack-knifed one arm sharply downward, twisting and snapping its opponent fully in half in a shower of metallic shards and blackened flesh. Both halves spasmed and went still. 

Dropping the corpse as if it had already forgotten the fight, the hulking thing turned to regard Dahlia and the goblin through the doorway. It registered the rapidly increasing gap between the cars with the slightest inclination of its massive frame – much too far now to jump, even if something of its bulk had the capability – and then simply stood there, watching them, motionless as a statue as the freight cars fell further and further behind.