Johnathan's realization hit like a runaway freight car—*pressure*. The first kill had occurred when his emergency steam release valve blasted scalding vapor into an unlucky skeleton's ribcage, flash-boiling its marrow into a geyser of bone fragments. His pistons chuffed with grim satisfaction. *So that's the play.*
The sword-girl—now perched on his coal tender like some deranged hood ornament—ducked as another arrow whizzed past her ear. "Driver-san, we need a plan!" she yelled over the shrieking wind. Johnathan's boiler rumbled with dark inspiration. Plan? Oh, he had one.
His steam pressure gauge spiked into the red as he engaged [MAKE/DESTROY RAILROAD] at maximum output. Tracks dissolved and reformed in rapid succession, his wheels screeching through a series of hairpin turns that sent his coaches fishtailing like a drunken centipede. Skeletons ricocheted off his flanges in a hailstorm of clavicles and phalanges—[QUEST PROGRESS: 7/1,000].
The twitchy mage vomited spectacularly into his own sleeve as Johnathan executed a rail-swapping maneuver so sharp it defied Euclidean geometry. A skeletal knight in rusted plate armor lunged—only for its hollow helm to catch Johnathan's suddenly-reversing tender with a *CLANG* that reverberated through the valley. [QUEST PROGRESS: 12/1,000].
"Faster!" the sword-girl demanded, her blade bisecting two undead mid-leap. Johnathan's pressure valves screamed in protest as he overclocked his boiler, ejecting a superheated steam jet that flash-cooked an entire pursuing squadron into calcium confetti. The fox-child whooped as their disarticulated pelvises rained down like macabre hail. [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: CRITICAL HIT. PROGRESS: 21/1,000].
Johnathan's pistons hammered a staccato rhythm—*raise the kill count, raise the kill count, raise the kill count*—as he deployed his coal scooper to clothesline a skeletal cavalryman. It's ribcage shattered against the iron lip, scattering vertebrae like loose ball bearings. [QUEST PROGRESS: 27/1,000]. The twitchy mage's runes flared again, this time etching glowing sigils into Johnathan's tender frame. "Evasive Pattern Delta!" the mage shrieked, though Johnathan had no clue what that meant, but he continued on grinding an entire undead phalanx into bone meal beneath his flanges.
The sword-girl vaulted onto his smokebox, her blade a silver blur as she carved through grasping limbs like a runaway express through ticket barriers. "Driver-san, incoming cavalry!" she warned—just as skeletal warhorses erupted from the mist, their hollow-eyed riders brandishing lances forged from frozen screams. Johnathan's whistle shrieked defiance; his drive wheels churned the snow into scalding vapor as the SYSTEM flashed rapid-fire updates again. [FUEL EFFICIENCY DROPPING: 91%...90%...]
"Hold my coal," Johnathan mentally broadcasted—then engaged [MAKE/DESTROY RAILROAD] at maximum aggression while he veered hard left, his phantom tracks materializing in a spiraling helix that defied physics and common sense. The undead cavalry's lances splintered against his boiler as he executed a maneuver best described as "what if a steam engine did parkour?" Bones rained down like defective piston rods. [QUEST PROGRESS: 42/1,000].
The sword-girl's boots skidded across his running board as centrifugal force tried to fling her into the bone-choked forest. "Driver-san—what *are* you doing?!" she shrieked, her blade embedded in his smokebox door for balance. Johnathan's response was a full-pressure steam blast that atomized three skeletal archers mid-draw. Their fragmented bowstrings twanged a discordant requiem as their femurs pinged off his buffer beam. [QUEST PROGRESS: 47/1,000].
"Oh, you know," Johnathan telepathically deadpanned as his pistons hammered out a rhythm that could've been morse code for *absolute fucking carnage*, "just conducting some *soul* departures." His whistle shrieked—part battle cry, part deranged laughter—as he executed a rail-swap so sharp it sent his coaches fishtailing through a grove of pines like a drunken centipede on roller skates. Skeletons ricocheted off his flanges in a hailstorm of phalanges and indignity. [QUEST PROGRESS: 69/1,000] (heh, nice 👍).
The fox-child whooped as Johnathan's piston-driven massacre sent another wave of skeletons tumbling into the undergrowth like derailed boxcars. "Driver-san, you're amazing!" she squealed, her tiny fingers white-knuckling the brass handrail as Johnathan executed a rail-swap so sharp it sheared the rusted pauldrons off an undead warlord mid-leap. The warlord's skull bounced off his coupling rods with a *clang* that harmonized perfectly with his chuffing exhaust—[QUEST PROGRESS: 88/1,000].
"Less cheering, more stabbing!" Johnathan mentally barked, his whistle punctuating the command with a steam-powered staccato. The sword-girl obliged, vaulting onto his coal tender with a grace that defied the chaos. Her blade flashed silver as she bisected a skeletal archer's spine mid-draw, its arrow ricocheting off Johnathan's smokebox and impaling another undead through its hollow eye socket. Two more kills pinged in his vision—[PROGRESS: 90/1,000]—but the twitchy mage's runes were sputtering like a dying boiler.
Johnathan felt the foreign magic wane as the mage collapsed against his tender, nose bleeding onto the coal. "C-can't... sustain..." the mage wheezed, his crimson sigils flickering like a faulty headlamp. The SYSTEM blared [WARNING: OVERCLOCK FAILURE IMMINENT]. Johnathan's speedometer needle trembled—120 mph to 90 in three heartbeats—as the skeletal horde surged forward, their bony fingers scraping against his brake pipes with renewed frenzy.
Time for plan B.
He started to slow down.
And reverse.
As fast as he fucking could.
Johnathan reversed with such violent momentum his pistons screamed in protest—his entire frame shuddering as the ghostly railroad tracks dissolved behind him and reformed ahead in a chaotic zigzag. The sword-girl barely had time to yank the twitchy mage into the nearest carriage before Johnathan's tender plowed through the skeletal cavalry like a bowling ball through a graveyard's worth of pins. Ribcages exploded into calcium shrapnel, femurs pinged off his buffer beam like macabre wind chimes, and the SYSTEM cheerfully updated: [QUEST PROGRESS: 112/1,000].
"Driver-san—what the hell?!" the sword-girl shrieked, her blade wedged in the carriage doorway for balance as Johnathan executed a rail-swap so sharp it sent his coaches fishtailing sideways. The undead warlord—now missing both arms and most of its pelvis—clattered onto his running board with a rattling snarl. Johnathan responded by blasting a superheated steam jet directly into its hollow eye sockets, flash-boiling whatever necrotic essence passed for brains. The skull shot off like a champagne cork, taking three lesser skeletons with it. [PROGRESS: 117/1,000].
But his victory was pyrrhic. Pressure valves hissed warnings as his boiler temperature spiked into critical red, his rivets groaning like overworked stokers. The SYSTEM flashed dire updates: [FUEL EFFICIENCY: 82%... 81%...]. The twitchy mage's magic had been the only thing keeping his pistons from melting into slag—and now, as the forest thinned into frozen tundra, Johnathan felt every overclocked mile in the grinding protest of his axle boxes.
"Gotta... stop..." he mentally broadcasted, his telepathy staticky with exhaustion. The sword-girl's eyes widened as she caught sight of his smokebox door—now warped from repeated steam blasts, the metal glowing a dull cherry red.
The fox-child whimpered, her ears flattening. "Driver-san's hurt!"
Johnathan's whistle wheezed out a weak *toot* as his drive wheels stuttered, phantom tracks flickering in and out of existence. The remaining skeletons—now a mere dozen—staggered in confused pursuit, their bony fingers clutching at nothing as Johnathan's speed bled off.
"Just... a little... further..." Johnathan groaned internally, his pistons chuffing in ragged bursts, "There... was... a cave a bit further... back right?"
The sword-girl—still clinging to his coal tender like a particularly determined barnacle—whirled around, her silver braid snapping in the wind. "There! The Crystal Maw caverns!" She pointed frantically toward a jagged fissure in the glacier ahead, its entrance partially concealed by frost-rimed stalactites. Johnathan's boiler wheezed in relief as he veered toward it, his phantom tracks reforming in erratic spurts. The SYSTEM helpfully updated: [FUEL EFFICIENCY CRITICAL: 79%].
Behind them, the skeletal remnants of the undead horde clattered to a disorganized halt, their hollow eye sockets flickering with unnatural light. One particularly enterprising corpse attempted to hurl its own detached femur like a javelin—only for the bone to shatter harmlessly against Johnathan's rear coupling. His whistle wheezed out a triumphant, if exhausted, *toot* as they crossed the threshold into the cavern's icy embrace.
Inside, the Crystal Maw's walls glowed with bioluminescent fungi, their eerie blue light refracting through hanging ice formations like signal lamps in a haunted railyard. Johnathan's pistons stuttered to a stop with a final metallic groan, his boiler pressure dropping into the "dangerously low" zone. The sword-girl leapt from his tender, boots crunching on frost-rimed gravel as she scanned the cavern's depths. "We made it," she breathed, her breath misting in the frigid air. Then, with sudden urgency: "Driver-san! Are you—"
"Fine," Johnathan wheezed through telepathy, steam puffing from his safety valves in staccato bursts that echoed through the cavern like a dying man's cough. His boiler temperature gauge flickered between "Oh God" and "Abandon Ship," while his passenger cab—still conspicuously empty—remained the elephant in the glacier. The sword-girl pressed a gloved hand against his warped smokebox door, her breath frosting against the scorched metal. "Mr. Engineer... are you alright in there?"
Johnathan's piston rods groaned louder than a hungover stoker on Monday morning. If he'd still had teeth, they'd be gritted. *Focus.* The SYSTEM's interface blinked erratically, displaying damage reports that read like a particularly sadistic workshop manual: [BOILER INTEGRITY: 63%... AXLE BEARING(S) D-7 THROUGH D-12 COMPROMISED... FIREBOX REFRACTORY BRICKS CRACKED...].
A rhythmic *clang-clang* echoed from deeper in the cavern—like a loose coupling pin bouncing down a tunnel—before silence swallowed the sound whole. The sword-girl's grip tightened on her hilt, her breath misting in erratic bursts that synced with the sporadic hiss of Johnathan's cooling boiler. The SYSTEM's damage reports flickered across his vision like a condemned engine's final telemetry: [FIREBOX TEMPERATURE CRITICAL. SUGGEST IMMEDIATE COOLANT FLUSH].
The twitchy mage slumped against Johnathan's tender, his nosebleed now frozen into crimson icicles. "C-captain," he stammered through chattering teeth, "the engineer... why won't he come out?" His rune-carved fingers left smudges on Johnathan's frost-rimed coal hatch—streaks that matched the weeping cracks along Johnathan's boiler seams.