"Matth—" Theodore called out, albeit too late. The masked assailant had already dropped Matthew, sending him sprawling to the ground.
The masked figure rushed forward, attempting to climb onto Matthew's prone form. He swiftly maneuvered to put Matthew in a headlock, but his grip was abruptly interrupted before it could tighten.
"Get off me!" Matthew bellowed, channeling every ounce of strength to break free from the masked man's hold.
Surprisingly, the masked assailant found himself struggling against Matthew's unexpected resilience. He had assumed Matthew and Theodore were not mystics, as they exhibited no reaction to the mana swirling around the train station.
Yet, here he was, engaged in a fierce struggle with someone he had dismissed as ordinary. The masked man threw a series of jabs at Matthew's face, attempting to disorient him. The notion of killing Matthew hadn't crossed his mind; capturing at least one person alive was imperative for interrogation.
The ground became a chaotic battleground as the two grappled, Theodore standing by in shock and uncertainty, torn between action and hesitation.
After a few tense moments of wrestling, Matthew managed to overpower the masked man and attempted to roll away, only to have his left leg caught.
Desperation fueled Matthew's actions as he kicked at the masked man's hand, striking it with force. Oddly, the masked man showed no reaction, as if impervious to the blows. Running out of options, Matthew reached for his gun, pulled it out, and aimed it at the masked man.
In an instinctive move, forgetting the guns were out of ammo, the masked man reached for the weapon, grabbing it and twisting.
"Argh!" Matthew cried out, feeling the pain shoot through his fingers, wondering if they might be broken.
The masked man seized the gun, tossing it aside with force.
Thud!
The firearm sailed through the air, hitting Theodore in the stomach and knocking the breath out of him. Theodore gasped for air on the ground, tears stinging his eyes.
Struggling to his feet, Theodore witnessed the masked man now armed with a combat knife, looming over Matthew. Acting on instinct, Theodore fumbled for the pistol in his possession and pointed it at the masked man.
Bang!
Theodore pulled the trigger, the shot hitting the masked man in the shoulder, momentarily halting his advance. However, it wasn't fatal, and the masked man turned to face Theodore.
Bang!
Theodore fired again, this time aiming for the head.
Thud...
The masked man crumpled to the side, the spark of life dimming in his eyes.
Breathing heavily, Matthew cast a grateful look at Theodore. Without Theodore's intervention, Matthew believed he might have succumbed to the masked man's assault…
As Matthew and Theodore stumbled their way through Aisle 3, a sense of relief settled over them, the immediate threat vanquished. They saw their ride off the city, the train with 4 cars. The doors were open and the engine of the train was already on.
Catching their breath, Matthew shot a curious glance at Theodore.
"Hey, Theodore," Matthew panted, "Where did you learn to shoot like that? Your aim was pretty spot on back there."
Theodore, still recovering from the adrenaline surge, fear, and the fact that he killed people tonight, scratched his head. "Shoot? Oh, well, funny—I don't actually know how to use a gun. I kinda just pointed and hoped for the best."
Matthew raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. "You're telling me you hit that guy by luck?"
"Pure luck," Theodore confirmed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Guess I got lucky this time."
Matthew chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, lucky for me, then. Could've ended up with a bullet from you instead of that masked dude."
Theodore's eyes widened in realization, and he laughed nervously. "Oh, right. Sorry about that, Matthew. I guess I should be more careful with this thing."
Matthew waved it off, still chuckling. "No harm done. Just glad we made it out in one piece."
They continued down the aisle, the echoes of their laughter blending with the ambiance of the steam-filled station.
Despite the chaos and danger they faced, there was a camaraderie forming between them, forged in the crucible of adversity. Grateful for each other's quirks and quirks of fate, they pressed on, stepping into the train.
…
Lilly, a fighter in her own right, unleashed tendrils of arcane power to counter the masked assailants.
As Lilly moved through the dimly lit train aisle, her telepathic prowess took on a different manifestation—a subtle yet potent form of possession.
The masked assailants, armed with guns and knives, surrounded her like predators closing in on their prey, encroaching upon her, their weaponry glinting ominously in the muted glow of the lamps. A momentary silence hung in the air before chaos erupted.
Lilly moved with grace, a dance of lethal precision, as the first masked man lunged at her with a knife.
Swiftly sidestepping, Lilly deftly disarmed him, using the knife against him before his comrades could react. The crunch of bone and the muted gasps of the assailant echoed through the aisle. The scent of metallic blood lingered as Lilly's senses mapped out the remaining adversaries.
She moved in a blur, dodging gunfire with a dancer's grace, every move a calculated flicker allowing her to foresee the trajectory of bullets. In a whirlwind of martial prowess, she disarmed one opponent after another, turning their weapons against them.
Magic tinged the air as the masked assailants attempted feeble spells, trying curses on her, a weak counter to Lilly's mastery. Their efforts, however, only served to illuminate their positions as they struggled against the backlash of their own magic. Lilly seized the opportunity, exploiting their vulnerability with ruthless efficiency.
The fighting dance continued a kinetic ballet of blades and bullets. Lilly's movements were a blur, a testament to her honed skills. The masked assailants, increasingly desperate, grew disoriented as their numbers dwindled. They underestimated the Blessed in their midst, oblivious to the storm she wielded within her mind.
Feeling that the fight was taking too long, and sure that they must have called for more backup before the fight started, Lilly harnessed a facet of her power—a telepathic possession that allowed her to inhabit the minds of her adversaries.
In the storm, Lilly began to chant a spell, the words resonating with ancient mysticism. The masked figures, momentarily disoriented by the sudden and arcane incantation, hesitated for a fraction of a second. In that brief lapse, Lilly seized the opportunity to weave her telepathic web.
The first possession was a dance of consciousness. Lilly slipped into the mind of a masked assailant, her senses merging with his, a subtle takeover that left her in control. The assailant, caught in a sudden internal struggle, found his own limbs moving against him.
Lilly moved with a calculated grace, possessing one after another, a ghostly puppeteer manipulating her unwilling marionettes. As she guided them with eerie precision, the assailants turned their weapons on their comrades, confusion spreading like wildfire among their ranks.
The echoes of gunfire mingled with the disembodied voices of the possessed, a surreal symphony of chaos. The limitations of her possession power became apparent; Lilly could only control a limited number of assailants at once. Each possessed entity bore the strain of the telepathic intrusion, and Lilly felt the echoes of their pain resonate within her.
The backlash of the possession spell loomed, threatening to overwhelm Lilly's own consciousness.
With a final possessed assailant incapacitated, Lilly withdrew from the collective minds she had entwined. The toll of the spell manifested in beads of sweat on her forehead, was a testament to the intricate dance between wielder and magic.
As Lilly made her way towards the train, where Theodore and Matthew awaited, she noticed a bruised Matthew and Theodore seated beside him upon entering the train car.
She also observed the lifeless bodies of three men, an outcome that she knew she had no hand in while passing through aisle 3.
"Thank goodness you boys are safe," she sighed in relief.
"Yeah, somehow," Matthew replied sarcastically, visibly displeased by the sharp pains emanating from his swollen face.
Lilly found a seat opposite the boys and sat down. Theodore, agitated by her presence, inquired, "Who's going to operate the train?" He had assumed that Lilly would be taking control.
"Don't worry about that; we have someone to assist us," she responded with a reassuring smile.
Right on cue, an elegant woman stepped into the train car. She was dressed in dark, fitted silk trousers, a white long-sleeve shirt, and a brown monkey jacket over it. The woman exuded an air of confidence and competence, her attire complementing her attractive features.
Her eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, held a glint of intelligence and determination. Auburn waves cascaded down her shoulders, adding a touch of sophistication to her appearance. The woman carried herself with grace, her movements purposeful and composed.
"Hello, everyone," she greeted respectfully, acknowledging Lilly with a nod. "I'm Isabella, and I'll be assisting in getting us to our destination."
Isabella's presence brought a sense of calm to the chaotic aftermath of the struggle. Lilly, Theodore, and Matthew looked at her with a mix of gratitude and curiosity, appreciating the arrival of a capable ally.
The rhythmic chugging of the steam engine signaled their departure from Araya City, the trio bound for destinations unknown to two...