The luggage trolley emitted a jaunty steam-whistle trill as it deposited Dansei unceremoniously onto the suite's threshold—its brass rivets gleaming with misplaced enthusiasm. Kengo barely caught his collar before his face met the doormat (embroidered with a suspiciously accurate rendering of Johnathan's smokebox). Inside, the room was *aggressively* railway-themed: the bedframe resembled a first-class sleeper car, the curtains hissed like releasing brakes, and the wallpaper cycled through vintage timetables every thirty seconds.
Inuka immediately launched herself onto the four-poster bed—its mahogany frame carved with Frostwyrm teeth that *clicked* rhythmically like a passing express—only to yelp when the pillowcases inflated with live steam. "Authentic Caledonia Sleep Experience!" chirped a wall-mounted brass plaque that Kengo promptly decapitated with a well-aimed boot. The decapitated plaque hit the carpet with a *clang* that harmonized perfectly with Dansei's forehead meeting the nightstand.
Kengo sighed, tossing her sword onto a luggage rack that *whirred* to life, its mechanical arms unfolding like a spider performing interpretive dance. "Stop moving," she ordered the furniture. It didn't listen—because of course it didn't—but at least the wardrobe stopped aggressively mimicking Johnathan's whistle pitch every time she blinked.
Meanwhile, Dansei had begun murmuring feverishly into the carpet about "unscheduled departures" while his cheek-glyph projected phantom timetable fragments onto the ceiling. The suite's chandelier—a miniature replica of Johnathan's smokebox—swayed in sympathy, casting bioluminescent coal dust across Kengo's scowl. "Fox," she barked at Inuka, who was attempting to lick steam vents shaped like valve gears, "stop malfunctioning."
The wardrobe chose that moment to eject a folded conductor's uniform directly onto Dansei's face. Kengo blinked. The uniform blinked back with embroidered button-eyes. "*Why*," she asked the universe, "*is everything alive here?*" A pipe beneath the floorboards gurgled in response, spraying the trio with lavender-scented lubricant.
Outside, distant whistles harmonized with the city's hourly timekeeping ritual—a five-minute cacophony of out-of-sync steam whistles that made the concept of punctuality seem like a prank. Inuka sneezed, igniting a pillow's tassel into foxfire. "*That*," Kengo informed the flaming pillow, "*is your problem now*," and flung it into the wardrobe's waiting embrace. The resulting combustion produced a perfect smoke ring shaped like Johnathan's buffer beam.
Dansei groaned, pawing at his glyph as it projected phantom rail schedules onto the ceiling, each timetable dissolving into steam-spewing hieroglyphs that smelled suspiciously of burnt pastries.
"Sure, why not at this point," Kengo muttered as the wardrobe spat out three steaming cups of what smelled suspiciously like axle grease tea. The liquid swirled with tiny floating rail spikes that dissolved into sugar when stirred—Maasuitia Tidofiru's infamous "Full Breakfast Blend."
Inuka downed hers in one gulp, then hiccuped a perfect smoke ring shaped like a tiny locomotive wheel.
/////////////////////////Intermission////////////////////////
The stationmaster clutched his chest like a man witnessing divine intervention. "Wait! I have so many questions!"
But Johnathan had already chuffed away, pretending not to hear him.
The stationmaster's frantic cries faded into the rhythmic *clack-clack* of wheels on rails as Johnathan rolled deeper into Maasuitia Tidofiru's labyrinthine railyards. His SYSTEM helpfully pinged [URBAN NAVIGATION: ENGAGED] while overlaying his HUD with glowing tracks that branched like veins through the city's underbelly—some pulsing blue with fresh mana, others rust-red and disused.
He of course went much slower now, not wanting to derail on the tight turns of the Maasuitia rail network. The SYSTEM's HUD helpfully marked every switch and crossing with glowing glyphs—some of which pulsed warnings when he approached too fast. Ahead lay a junction where three tracks merged in an elegant steel braid, its points shifting of their own accord with the hiss of pressurized hydraulics.
Johnathan couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship—whoever designed this system had clearly never heard of OSHA.
One group of rail workers gaped as he rolled past, their wrenches clutched like sacred relics.
To be honest, Johnathan didn't really know what to do now, when the system dinged yet again, [QUEST: (REACH NEAREST SETTLEMENT) COMPLETED!]
Huh, that was a delayed notification.
The SYSTEM's next prompt flickered across his vision like a derailed passenger manifest: [QUEST REWARD: BUFFET CAR UPGRADE UNLOCKED]. Johnathan shuddered—his dining car/carriage suddenly was enveloped in light, plates rattling with newfound prestigious-ness.
Outside, bystanders gasped as the dining car/carriage's silhouette transformed into that of a royal dining saloon—brass fittings gleaming with self-importance, windows now stained glass depicting avdebturers in heroic poses. The SYSTEM cheerfully informed Johnathan that [BUFFET CAR UPGRADE: COMPLETE] with an animation of spectral waiters bowing in unison, though one tripped over a floating gravy boat.
Inside, silverware began polishing itself aggressively, producing sparks that briefly spelled "WELCOME ABOARD" in midair before fizzling into the scent of overcooked Yorkshire pudding. A fresh pot of tea materialized on the central table—its steam whistling the opening bars of *God Save the Queen* off-key—while the napkins folded themselves into origami steam locomotives that promptly derailed into the butter dish.
Johnathan simply continued on his way, sure, having a better dining vart was nice, but besides the scenario of Kengo, Dansei, and Inuka needing another long ride, there wasn't much he needed for it.
Then he remembered his kill quest, and the matching system notification appeared on thought:
[HUMANOID FORM UNLOCK PROGRESS: 91.7%] pulsed across Johnathan's HUD as his dining car's chandeliers dimmed—the SYSTEM's latest glyphs twisting into a suspiciously *muscular* silhouette.
Outside, the railyard crowd had doubled, their awestruck whispers harmonizing with the rhythmic *clank-clank* of Johnathan's pistons. A child pointed excitedly at his newly upgraded dining car.
Still, now he had something to do: kill some more monsters— *undead* monsters preferably—to complete his kill quest and unlock his humanoid form. With a theatrical *chuff-chuff* that sent pigeon lile things scattering in panic, Johnathan rolled back towards the city walls, already planning his escape route for later—because nothing said "heroic locomotive" like retreating at full steam while whistling *Rule Britannia* from his... well, whistle.
It did take a while, with him not knowing his way and people always trying to be so close to him and he didn't feel like killing sentient people.
Even if they were getting very, very, very annoying.
Johnathan Gresley—a sentient locomotive currently navigating Maasuitia Tidofiru's railyard with the grace of a drunken express train—couldn't suppress a shudder as another gaggle of awestruck engineers prostrated themselves before his buffer beam. His SYSTEM cheerfully pinged [FAITH ENERGY DETECTED: +5% BUFFET CAR AND CARRIAGE EFFICIENCY], which explained nothing and irritated everything.
Soon he was on the other side of the city walls, where the tracks turned from polished steel to rust-scarred iron, winding through marshes that bubbled with the occasional burst of noxious gas—nature's own steam vents. Johnathan's SYSTEM pinged:
[MONSTER BIOSIGNATURES DETECTED: 18.29 KM AHEAD], which was convenient, because his smokebox was currently belching more self-conscious smoke than usual. The last thing he needed was an audience for what came next.
Up ahead, the tracks split around a crumbling watchtower—its stonework chewed by teeth marks that suggested something large, reptilian, and *very* displeased with infrastructure.
Left or right?
Hmmm.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, let him go, eeny, meeny, miny moe."
Johnathan Gresley, the Jubilee-class locomotive, didn't have toes—or fingers for that matter—but the SYSTEM's HUD helpfully displayed a glowing arrow to the right track, pulsing in time with his steam pressure gauge. The marsh ahead bubbled ominously, belching a plume of greenish gas that coalesced into the vague shape of a middle finger before dissipating.
Of course he'd take the right track—because right ahd to be right.
Okay that was just a really bad joke.
He went down the right track, his wheels kicking up clots of rancid marsh mud that *squelched* against his undercarriage with the enthusiasm of underpaid dishwashers. The SYSTEM pinged again—[PROXIMITY ALERT: MONSTER BIOSIGNATURES AT 00:18:36 DISTANCE]—which coincided perfectly with the first inhuman scream.
He looked ahead and faintly saw what seemed to be the outlines of different types of demons flitting amongst the dark fog—their purple and blue silhouettes distinguishable only by their glowing yellow eyes—and Johnathan felt his pistons tighten with anticipation.
The SYSTEM cheerfully pinged [HOSTILE ENTITY ENGAGEMENT PROTOCOL: ACTIVE] as Johnathan's whistle shrieked—a sound that somehow conveyed both aristocratic disdain and the promise of imminent vehicular manslaughter. Ahead, the foggy marsh erupted with movement as the purple and blue silhouettes solidified into bipedal horrors with almost human traits.
The lead demon, a gangly thing with skin like polished obsidian and railroad spikes jutting from its spine, cocked its head at Johnathan's approach. "Finally," it rasped in a voice like grinding gears, "a locomotive worth stealing."
"Oh, piss off," Johnathan muttered through his whistle—the resulting steam blast knocking the demon's hat askew.
He accelerated, his driving wheels churning the marsh into a geyser of foul-smelling mud that splattered across the demonic ranks. The SYSTEM animatedly displayed his kill count in glowing brass numerals—each demonic disintegration registering as [+0.5] instead of the usual [+1] or [+3].
"Half credit?!" Johnathan bellowed, his whistle punctuating the protest with a derisive *toot*. The SYSTEM's numerals gleamed mockingly—[917.5]—as another spike-backed demon disintegrated under his cowcatcher with the satisfying *crunch* of a biscuit under a steam hammer. Its brethren scattered like startled crows, their glowing eyes reflecting the spectral rails Johnathan manifested beneath his wheels—ghostly tracks that burned through the marsh with the scent of overheating brass.
"God Damn it! Why are you all so weak and useless!" Johnathan whined internally, his boiler pressure spiking as another spike-backed demon disintegrated beneath his wheels with all the structural integrity of a soggy biscuit. The SYSTEM's cheerful [+0.5] notification pulsed mockingly in his vision, superimposed over the marsh's noxious fog. "Half credit for eldritch abominations? What is this, a summer internship?!" His whistle shrieked an improvised blues scale that made several demons clutch their ears—somewhere between a tea kettle's tantrum and a tuba being murdered.
A particularly bold demon—its elongated limbs ending in what appeared to be repurposed rail spikes—leapt onto Johnathan's running board with a screech of rusted metal. "I'll ride you straight up to Ralos's blue fiery eye itself!" it cackled, yanking at his regulator valve as if trying to steer a horse.
Johnathan responded by ejecting live steam directly into its face through an emergency vent—the demon's shriek harmonized beautifully with the SYSTEM's latest notification: [DEMONIC ENTITY SUBDUED: +0.5 KILL CREDIT].
"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT A FUCKING 'RALOS' IS!"