Inuka's muffled squeak resonated through Johnathan's sandbox—a sound like a steam valve realizing mid-whistle it had lost its spring tension. The Frostwyrms coiled tighter, their bioluminescent underbellies pulsing in rhythmic counterpoint to his flickering pressure gauges. Johnathan's SYSTEM blared crimson warnings across his vision like a signal box gone berserk: [LAUG RESERVES: 36.8%... FROSTWYRM SWARM TACTICAL REORGANIZATION DETECTED... SUGGEST IMMEDIATE USE OF WHISTLE PITCH LV. 1].
He didn't need to be told twice.
He continued speeding on and whistling in that same minor key, deliberately slowing his tempo to match the Frostwyrms' now-unsteady movements—they coiled and twitched like poorly-greased valve gear, their segmented bodies reacting to the discordant railway lullaby with increasing agitation. Kengo's blade flashed silver through the steam-screen, her boots skating across his running board with the grace of a dining car waiter during sudden braking. "Engineer-san!" she barked, her swordtip tracing the Great Western Railway's coat of arms mid-swing, "your whistling is either a stroke of tactical genius or the auditory equivalent of a derailment!"
Johnathan's SYSTEM pinged helpfully—[WHISTLE PITCH LV. 1 EFFECT: FROSTWYRMS DISORIENTED—MOVEMENT SPEED REDUCED BY 23%]—as Dansei's rune-smeared fingers scrabbled across his injector pipes, sketching glyphs that pulsed erratically like faulty block signals. The mage wheezed something about "harmonic resonance" between bloody coughs, his mana channels sputtering like an overworked injector pump.
Kengo's blade carved silver arcs through the discordant steam-screen, her movements synchronized to Johnathan's whistled rendition of *The Railroad Runs Through the Middle of the House*—now transposed into a dissonant minor key that made the Frostwyrms' chitinous plates vibrate like loose boiler fittings.
Their bioluminescent underbellies pulsed erratically—like faulty signal lamps flickering through London fog—as Johnathan's whistle crescendoed into a steam-distorted shriek that'd make *Mallard*'s engineers clutch their ears. The Frostwyrms recoiled, their segmented bodies vibrating like overstressed coupling rods, ichor leaking from ruptured hydraulic glands. Kengo's blade found the gaps, plunging deep into chitinous weak points with the precision of a ticket punch through virgin cardstock.
"Dansei!" Johnathan's steam-formed words twisted into the LNER's old arrowhead logo mid-sentence. "Reroute your mana through my locomotive's sanding gear—we're making *grit lightning*!" The mage's bloody fingers scrambled across his injector pipes, glyphs flaring like overloaded boiler rivets. Outside, Kengo's blade traced silver parabolas through freezing ichor mist, her movements synced to Johnathan's whistled rendition of *The Titfield Thunderbolt* theme—now in a dissonant loco-minor key that vibrated Frostwyrm mandibles loose.
The cavern's bioluminescent fungi pulsed *bright-dark-brighter*, freezing each horror-frame: Dansei's smoking fingertips fusing with Johnathan's sandpipe valves, Kengo's blade shearing through chitin like a timetable clerk's scissors, Inuka's tiny claws *scritch-scratching* against his smokebox door from inside the sandbox. His SYSTEM spat percentages like a jammed ticket printer—[LAUG RESERVES: 34.1%]—as the Frostwyrms' segmented bodies coiled tighter than a Stephenson valve gear under full pressure.
"Now!" Johnathan ejected a steam plume shaped like the GWR's coat of arms—just as Dansei's glyphs superheated the silica grit into plasma-edged shrapnel. The resulting detonation bisected three larvae with a sound like ripping rail ties, frozen ichor splashing across Johnathan's firebox doors in crystallized arcs. His SYSTEM greedily converted the spillage—[TEMPORARY LAUG RECLAMATION: +2.7%]—while Kengo's blade found the fourth's bioluminescent weak spot with the precision of a stationmaster's pocket watch.
"Gresley-san!" Kengo's boots screeched across his buffer beam like brake shoes on wet rails. "Your locomotive's sanding gear shouldn't—" A Frostwyrm larva's severed mandible *clanged* against his couplers. "—*do that!*
"Well it does! And you'll thank me when we're not Frostwyrm fodder!" Johnathan's called out to her, steam-words curling into the unmistakable silhouette of a BR Standard Class 7. His sanding gear whirred to life again—each silica particle supercharged with Dansei's unstable mana-glyphs—as he executed a maneuver that'd make any sane engineer question his boiler's integrity: a full-speed fishtail turn while deploying plasma-edged grit in a 270-degree arc. The Frostwyrms recoiled, their segmented bodies screeching like unoiled valve gear under stress, ichor crystallizing midair into jagged mana-shards that pinged off his buffer beams.
Kengo's blade flashed through the frozen mist—*shink!*—severing a Frostwyrm's sensory antennae with the precision of a railway conductor punching tickets. The creature recoiled, its bioluminescent underbelly pulsing erratically like a faulty signal lamp, ichor spraying in crystalline arcs that refracted Johnathan's steam-cutters into prismatic death-rays. Dansei's mana-depleted fingers slipped against his sandpipe valves, sketching half-formed glyphs that sputtered out like a dying locomotive's last gasp.
"G-Gresley-san," the mage wheezed, his breath fogging against Johnathan's superheater elements, "your 'locomotive' is—" A Frostwyrm's freezing ichor splattered across his words, flash-crystallizing them into something resembling timetable typos on a British Rail departure board.
Dansei never finished that sentence. The cavern's bioluminescent fungi chose that precise moment to strobe violently—casting Johnathan's riveted undercarriage in revealing light—just as Kengo's blade *skreeed* against his sandpipe in a desperate parry.
*Clang-spang-THUNK.* Her swordtip caught the edge of his exposed drive wheel mechanism—precisely where no *actual* locomotive would ever have such conveniently placed handholds. The Frostwyrms' synchronized attack faltered for a glorious half-second, their segmented bodies recoiling like signal arms jammed mid-swing. Johnathan exploited their hesitation by whistling *The Titfield Thunderbolt* theme again—this time modulating into an atonal variation that made Dansei's rune-smeared fingers spasm against his injector valves.
[NEW SKILL SYNCHRONIZATION DETECTED: WHISTLE PITCH LV. 1 + MAKE/DESTROY RAILROAD LV. 1 = TEMPORARY TERRAIN DEFORMATION (RAIL-SHAPED)]
Kengo's boots *scritched* across his running board—the sound a fireman's shovel makes when scraping an empty coal bunker—as she pivoted mid-swing. Her blade carved through two larvae in a single silver arc, ichor splattering Johnathan's Brunswick green paint with frozen streaks that suspiciously resembled the Midland Railway's old livery patterns.
"Engineer-san!" Her shout carried over the steam-whistle's dissonance. "Why does your *train* fight like it's reading tactical manuals mid-battle?!"
Johnathan's steam-formed response twisted into the LNER's arrowhead logo mid-sentence: "Superior British engineering!" He *may* have omitted the part where said "engineering" involved being an anthropomorphic steam locomotive with a SYSTEM interface currently recommending he "consider water injection" like it was a bloody tea-making suggestion.
"What is a 'British'?! Why are you yelling about such random when we're *actively being eaten*?!" Dansei screamed, clawing at Johnathan's sandpipe as frozen ichor crystallized his sleeves into makeshift gauntlets. The mage's panic sent unstable mana rippling through the silica grit still whirling around them—each particle now humming with the dissonant frequency of Johnathan's atonal train-whistle rendition.
The Frostwyrms' synchronized assault stuttered mid-lunge—their bioluminescent segments strobing erratic blues like signal lamps short-circuiting in a thunderstorm—as Johnathan's sanding gear spat plasma-charged grit in fractal patterns. Each silica particle hummed with Dansei's unstable mana-glyphs, carving jagged rail-shaped trenches through the cavern floor that pulsed with residual energy. Kengo's boots *screeched* against his running board—the sound a brake van makes when its handbrake fails—as she pivoted to exploit the sudden terrain advantage.
"Engineer-san!" Her blade traced silver parabolas through freezing ichor mist, severing a Frostwyrm's mandible with the precision of a timetable clerk's scissors. "Why do your *tracks* keep appearing mid-battle?!"
Johnathan's steam-formed response twisted into the Great Western Railway's coat of arms mid-sentence: "Tactical infrastructure!" His SYSTEM pinged helpfully—[TEMPORARY TERRAIN DEFORMATION (RAIL-SHAPED) ACTIVE: FROSTWYRM SWARM MOBILITY PENALTY +15%]—as Dansei's mana-depleted fingers scrabbled across his injector valves, sketching glyphs that sputtered like a dying firebox.
Inuka chose that moment to *sneeze* violently inside the sandbox—a sound like a pressure release valve failing catastrophically—sending a cloud of superheated silica bursting from Johnathan's vents. The grit crystallized midair into jagged shards that *pinged* off Frostwyrm plating like a thousand angry rivet guns. Kengo's blade found the gaps, plunging deep into chitinous weak points with the precision of a dining car waiter's corkscrew.
Johnathan decided to check his kill count—117—and saw it wasn't updating. The Frostwyrms weren't dying fast enough. He needed to escalate.
Dansei's hands spasmed against Johnathan's injector pipes, sketching glyphs that pulsed erratically like faulty block signals. His mana-depleted wheezes carried the despair of a fireman watching his last coal nugget roll into the ashpan.
He left TEMPORARY TERRAIN DEFORMATION (RAIL-SHAPED) LV. 1 on, allowing phantom rails to ripple outward with each whistle blast—manifesting as spectral sleepers that pulsed with residual mana like exposed nerves. The Frostwyrms recoiled mid-strike, their segmented bodies twitching arrhythmically as the ghost tracks interfered with their bioelectrical coordination.
Kengo's boots *screeched* across his buffer beam—the sound a brake shoe makes when its last millimeter of lining gives out—as she pivoted to exploit their disorientation. Her blade carved silver crescents through crystallized ichor mist, each swing synchronized with the dissonant pulses of Johnathan's spectral rails. "Engineer-san!" she barked, her voice cutting through the steam-whistle's atonal shriek, "we're almost home free!"
Dansei wasn't so optimistic. His fingers trembled against Johnathan's pressure gauge, sketching half-formed glyphs that sputtered out like a dying fire's last embers. The mage's sleeve was frozen to the sandpipe valve, his breath coming in ragged wheezes that fogged against the superheater elements. "G-Gresley," he managed, his voice thin with exhaustion, "your 'tactical infrastructure' is—"
A Frostwyrm's mandible *clanged* against Johnathan's coupler, interrupting him mid-sentence. The creature's bioluminescent segments pulsed erratically, its movements jerky and uncoordinated as it struggled against the phantom tracks. Johnathan's SYSTEM pinged helpfully—[LAUG RESERVES: 31.2%]—as he deployed his sanding gear in a wide arc, superheated grit carving jagged trenches through the cavern floor.
Kengo's blade found the gap, plunging deep into the Frostwyrm's chitinous weak spot with the precision of a stationmaster's pocket watch. The creature spasmed, as Inuka's muffled shriek from within the sandbox coincided with Johnathan's whistle piercing through the chaotic symphony—a steam-shredded rendition of *Chattanooga Choo-Choo* transposed into a dissonant minor key. Dansei's bloody fingers slipped against the injector valves, sketching glyphs that sputtered like a dying firebox as Johnathan's SYSTEM cheerfully announced: [LAUG RESERVES: 30.9%... SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION: IMMEDIATE WATER INJECTION OR TACTICAL RETREAT].
Well, he never did liked retreating anyways...