The Midnight Train

Marcus sat hunched as the train shuddered into the station. He looked at his feet, his elbows on his knees propping him up while his middle and index fingers played off his thumbs restlessly. The cold air from the subway station rolled through the car, making him thankful for the hoodie he wore beneath his guard coat. He was surprised to hear the shuffle of two people board this late at night. Glancing from under his hood, he watched them move toward the front of the train. Cupping his hands, he blew warmth into his fingers and rubbed them together.

Another moment passed before the train began to roll again, the conductor’s unintelligible voice squawking though a chewing-gum covered speaker above the door. The door to Marcus’ right opened as another pair joined his car from the one behind his. These two came in speaking to one another in hushed Russian; reeking of what he assumed was vodka. The two up front stood up, and Marcus noticed that the wall outside the car wasn’t moving. “Christ,” he said under his breath.

“Language!” said the first one in from the back car, a tall man with short, functional hair, and a face that only a mother could love. He was clearly swaying from the booze, since the train had somehow stopped moving. “Why does your kind always take his name in vain?”

Marcus stood to face him. “Why does your kind insist that he was somehow important enough for his name to be used in vain?” The one behind the first was big, meant to keep him from making a break for it. He assumed the other two were as well.

“Listen here, demon,” one from the front of the train hissed from behind him, “don’t make this any rougher than it needs to be.” Marcus took a look over his shoulder to verify what he had thought. To his surprise only one of them was built for combat. The other looked like he spent his life in front of a computer all day – or worse yet, books.

“So, that’s why the train is stopped,” Marcus mused. “You hunters have started bringing wizards along with you? Such,” he paused, smiling wickedly, “heresy.”

“That’s enough out of you, Marcus,” said the Russian. “The Bishop wants you, and Nikolay over there is Sanctified. We’re to bring you in,” he stepped forward, pulling a short sword from beneath his coat.

Marcus clenched his fists, feeling the air in the car become heavy. The shadows in the car began to darken, blanketing the gathering in unnatural darkness. What light remained reflected from his eyes like a wolf’s. “You should have brought more, Alexi. The four of you won’t be enough.”

Silence fell over them. As the adrenaline pumped though each of them, it seemed like eternity before anything happened. The big one behind Marcus grunted with effort, and it started. Marcus spun, avoid the haymaker that was being thrown for his head, and using the man’s effort to drive him past Alexi and into the other bruiser.

Alexi was already moving, his sword high, swinging to plant the blade in Marcus’ neck. Dodging back, Marcus saw the sparks and the car rang with the impact. He lashed out, aiming for Marcus gut, but the blade found one of the chairs, and stuck. At that moment, the large man from the rear car charged forward, scooping Marcus off his feet, spearing him to the floor.

Bringing his arms up quickly to guard his face, Marcus heard the man bellow in rage. His fists came raining down on his forearms, trying desperately to land a strike to knock the demon unconscious. Summoning his power, a force exploded from him, knocking his attacker off of him. Marcus found his feet just in time for the man who threw the haymaker to rejoin the fight. He attacked like an animal and it was all Marcus could do to hold him off.

Blow after blow was turned, blocked, or absorbed as Marcus tried desperately to find an opening. “Oh to hell with this,” he bellowed, and his power surged. Outside the windows orange light flooded the tunnel as hellfire erupted around the car. The sudden environment change distracted the big guy long enough for Marcus to plant an elbow across his attacker’s temple, crumpling to the floor.

“Very nice,” Alexi cooed, sword dancing in front of him. They mirrored each other, left and right, Marcus avoiding the feint thrusts that Alexi would throw. Eventually though, Marcus was trapped between Nikolay and Alexi, and Alexi knew it. “Don’t make me kill you,” he smiled. “The Bishop wants you intact.”

“Then don’t do this. I won’t go of my own free will.”

“Fine!” Alexi committed to the thrust, hoping to drive the blade up to the cross guard on the demon’s abdomen, but in a flash of orange light, Marcus disappeared, and the blade passed though where he stood and into the chest of Nikolay.

Nikolay’s eyes exploded wide in pain, and the train lurched as he lost the power to control it. The sudden force of the train resuming its motion pulled Alexi back, twisting the blade from his hand, leaving it buried in his friend’s chest. Nikolay slumped to his knees. Alexi landed on his back, looking up at Marcus standing over him, shaking his head. “You did this” he whispered, as he clenched his fist and Alexi stopped his breathing. Alexi kicked out against the force holding his diaphragm in place, his body fighting until he eventually passed out. Marcus released him before he died.

Walking on the empty seats to avoid the blood, Marcus moved forward though a few empty cars before he stopped to wait at a door for the next stop. The train shuddered to a halt, and he stepped out smoothly as the doors opened. Moving casually, but with purpose in his step, he headed up the steps, the cries of discovery following him out.