The moment Damon's feet left the platform, he knew he had miscalculated. The train car's floor was slick with condensation, and his landing sent him sliding backward toward the gaping doorway.
His arms windmilled frantically as he fought for purchase on the smooth metal surface, the rushing wind from outside threatening to tear him from the car entirely.
This is it,he thought, feeling his body tilt dangerously toward the void. Survived the jump only to fall to my....
Something solid slammed into him from behind, another body hurtling through the doorway with the force of desperation.
The impact sent both of them sprawling across the car's floor in a tangle of limbs and grey fabric.
Damon's head struck the metal with a sickening crack, and stars exploded behind his eyes.
When his vision cleared, he was lying on his side, staring at a pool of dark liquid spreading beneath his temple.
Blood.
His own blood, flowing freely from where his skull had met the unforgiving floor.
"Well," he muttered, touching the wound gingerly, "that's unexpected."
The man who had collided with him was already pushing himself to his feet, brushing dust from his grey gown.
He was shorter than Damon, with black hair that fell in disheveled strands across his forehead.
What drew Damon's attention, however, was the ugly scar that ran diagonally across the man's left eye, a jagged line of puckered flesh that spoke of violence and old pain.
"Sorry about that," the man said, extending a hand to help Damon up.
His voice carried an accent Damon couldn't quite place. "Didn't mean to use you as a landing pad."
Damon accepted the assistance, wincing as he rose to his feet.
The car swayed slightly with the train's motion, and he had to steady himself against the wall.
"Actually, you might have saved my life. I was about to slide right back out that door."
"Hah." The man's laugh was dry and humorless. "Saved your life? We're already dead, friend. Though I suppose the blood proves we're not completely beyond physical sensation."
He gestured at the crimson stain on the floor. "Probably makes it easier for whatever punishment awaits us to hit its mark."
The observation sent a chill through Damon that had nothing to do with the cold air seeping through the doorway.
As if responding to some unseen signal, the massive doors began to slide shut with a deep, grinding sound that seemed to come from the very bones of the train. The opening narrowed steadily until it sealed completely, leaving them in near-total darkness.
The only illumination came from a single candle mounted on the far wall, its flame flickering weakly in the stale air, and thin streams of light that filtered through heavy black curtains covering what must have been windows.
The car felt suddenly smaller, more oppressive, as if the walls were pressing inward with each passing second.
"Well," Damon said, settling onto a wooden bench that ran along one side of the car, "this is cozy."
The scarred man took a seat across from him, his features barely visible in the dim light. "Name's Chang Xian," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Though I suppose formal introductions are a bit pointless under the circumstances."
"Damon Fallenstar." He paused, studying Chang's face in the candlelight.
The scar seemed to pulse with its own shadow, giving his left eye a perpetually haunted appearance. "How many do you think stayed behind?"
Chang shrugged, the gesture barely visible in the gloom."Probably a lot. People tend to freeze up in situations like this. Fear makes them stupid."
He shifted slightly, and the bench creaked under his weight. "The ones who made it onto this train, we're either completely resigned to our fate, or crazy enough to hope for something better ahead."
"Hope?" Damon's voice carried a bitter edge. "Those who waited behind are cowards. They don't understand what they're in for. At least we're taking action, even if it leads us straight into the fire."
"Maybe." Chang's scarred face remained impassive. "But cowardice is just a basic component of human nature, isn't it? Self-preservation above all else. Can't really blame them for that."
"Human nature." Damon spat the words like a curse. "That's the problem right there. Humanity itself is a flaw, a cosmic mistake that leads to nothing but suffering and betrayal."
Chang raised an eyebrow, or at least, Damon thought he did.
The shadows made it difficult to read his expression clearly. "That's a pretty dark view, even for someone bound for the ninth circle."
"Is it?" Damon touched the wound on his temple again, his fingers coming away sticky with blood. "Look where our humanity got us. Every choice we made, every action we took, all of it led us here. To this train, heading for the worst punishment Hell has to offer."
"You sound like you've given this a lot of thought."
"Haven't you?" Damon leaned forward, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Don't you wonder what specific betrayal earned you a seat on this particular ride? What moment of weakness or calculated cruelty marked you for the frozen lake? As for me, it's something inconceivable."
Damon laughed, the sound harsh.
Chang was quiet for a long moment, his scarred eye catching the candlelight in a way that made it seem to glitter with hidden knowledge.
When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. "I try not to dwell on the past. What's done is done."
"Spoken like someone with real regrets."
"Aren't we all?"
The conversation died after that, leaving them to sit in uncomfortable silence as the train continued its relentless journey.
The rhythmic clacking of wheels on rails provided a hypnotic backdrop, occasionally punctuated by the distant wail of the horn or the groan of metal under stress.
The air in the car grew thicker, more oppressive, carrying scents of rust and decay that seemed to seep from the very walls.
Hours passed, or what felt like hours in this timeless realm.
Damon found himself studying Chang through the flickering candlelight, trying to read the story written in that terrible scar.
A knife fight, perhaps? A broken bottle in some back-alley dispute? Or something more deliberate, more personal, the kind of violence that spoke to deeper sins than simple anger.
Chang, for his part, seemed content to stare at the curtained windows, occasionally shifting position but never speaking.
His presence was oddly comforting despite the circumstances, a reminder that Damon wasn't entirely alone in this nightmare journey.
The only other sign of life in the car was a lone rat that scurried past at one point, its claws clicking against the metal floor as it disappeared into the shadows. Even the vermin, it seemed, were making their way to Hell.
The horn's blast, when it finally came, was so sudden and loud that both men jumped.
The sound reverberated through the car like the voice of some ancient god, carrying with it an announcement that chilled Damon to his core.
"NINTH CIRCLE APPROACHING," the coarse voice boomed. "ALL PASSENGERS PREPARE FOR DISEMBARKATION. JUMP OUT IF YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOOD FOR YOU ."
The doors began to grind open once more, and immediately the car was flooded with an intense, almost blinding light. But this wasn't the warm glow of sunlight, it was the harsh, sterile white of fresh snow under an overcast sky.
Bitter cold air rushed in, carrying with it the sharp scent of winter and something else, something that smelled of despair and eternal frost.
Damon moved to the doorway, squinting against the brightness.
Through the opening, he could see an endless expanse of white stretching in all directions.
Snow fell in thick, heavy flakes that seemed to absorb all sound, creating a landscape of perfect, terrible silence.
The cold was immediate and penetrating, cutting through his grey gown as if it were made of paper.
"A frozen wasteland," Chang observed, appearing beside him at the doorway. "Guess Dante did have some idea."
The train was beginning to slow, though it still moved at a considerable pace.
Through the swirling snow, Damon could make out dark shapes embedded in the ice, figures trapped beneath the surface, their faces barely visible through the frozen barrier.
Some appeared to be moving, their mouths open in silent screams that would never be heard.
"I guess this is it?" Damon said turning to Chang.
The train's horn blasted again, shorter this time but no less commanding. The message was clear: jump now, or be carried past their destination into whatever lay beyond.
Chang was already moving, preparing to leap from the slowing train into the snow-covered landscape. But Damon remained frozen at the threshold, staring out at the white hell that awaited them.
The bitter wind whipped through the car, and snow began to accumulate on the floor around his feet.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the sound of other people making their jumps, voices calling out in fear or determination.
Damon closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the frigid air, and jumped.
He landed knee deep in snow as he opened his eyes again to stare at the endless white expanse that would be his new home for eternity.
"You got to be kidding me," he muttered slowly.