Chapter 9: The Dead Station
The old Eastbury station seemed to have been forgotten by time — and by the corruption.
Its chipped brick walls still held firm, and the air inside was heavy, but not tainted by the stench of rotting flesh that infested the rest of the city.
Caleb locked the doors with rusted chains and, panting, prepared the circle once more:
Black salt. Ancient bones. Fresh blood.
Each rune carved into the platform pulsed with the strength of a desperate plea.
This time, he would not summon the creature.
He would try to trap it.
But as he traced the final words with the ritual dagger, the ground beneath the station trembled.
It was not the Glawackus arriving.
It was something greater.
Down the track, overgrown with dead weeds, came a train — a monster of twisted iron, its wheels screeching like condemned souls.
From the open cars, creatures emerged: no longer corrupted townsfolk, but extreme deformities — bodies fused with trees, faceless heads, too many arms or too many legs.
The Glawackus did not merely dominate.
It created.
Each new victim was transformed into part of its army: living servants, unwilling worshippers of the forest’s hunger.
Caleb backed away, heart pounding against his ribs.
Inside the station, the circle still glowed faintly.
Outside, the horde drew near — and behind them, approaching like a storm of pure agony, the Glawackus’s burning eyes pierced through the fog.
Caleb understood, with the coldness of one who had already lost everything:
He was no longer facing a creature.
He was facing a harvest.
An infestation.
And he was alone.
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