Introduction to the Train System
The compartment trembled like a beast breathing in its sleep. The walls hummed with low resonance, metallic and alive. Raghu stood by the narrow viewing slit, staring into the void beyond. Faint streaks of violet and silver light streamed parallel to the train's hull, bending as if space itself parted before it. Somewhere deep below, the massive engines groaned — the sound of a god's heartbeat trapped in metal.
He had barely begun to process what Jivan had said before the ceiling lights brightened, pulsing once, twice, thrice — a signal. Then came the voice, calm and mechanical:
"Candidates of Compartment Six. Orientation begins in five minutes. Assemble near the projection dais."
Around him, the other candidates stirred — men and women of every shape, build, and temperament. Some had cold, disciplined eyes. Others carried the restless energy of wild beasts waiting for release. Whatever their background, they all shared the same look: the sharp glint of hunger.
Raghu followed them toward the center, where the metal plates of the floor began to shift and unlock with smooth, hydraulic precision. A circular dais rose from beneath the deck, faintly glowing with runic patterns. Above it, a shimmer of light congealed into form — a holographic figure of a man, tall, grey-haired, and draped in the dark uniform of the CNC.
He looked solid enough to touch, though his presence was cooler, sharper, than any living person's. The hum of conversation died immediately.
"Welcome to the Doom Train, Compartment Six," the projection said. His voice carried measured authority — like tempered steel, not needing to shout. "I am Supervisor Harry, second-class officer under the CNC. You will address me as Supervisor. My function is to oversee fairness, record performance, and ensure no deviation from the trials assigned to you."
The faint light of his hologram flickered, then steadied.
"You are among one hundred candidates housed within this compartment. You have survived your initiation — but the true trial begins here. The Doom Train is not a sanctuary; it is a crucible. It does not carry passengers, only those who are still being forged."
A subtle shift of tone made even the more confident faces stiffen.
With a wave of his hand, the holographic space around him came alive. A massive spectral model of the Doom Train unfolded, stretching far into an unseen horizon — compartment after compartment, glowing faintly with lines of power.
"The Train operates through a structured progression. Each compartment represents a tier of strength and mastery. Within every compartment lies access to Pockets — condensed micro-realms created from stabilized mana and shadow. These Pockets will test you in combat, endurance, and insight. They shape your body and refine your soul."
Harry clasped his hands behind his back.
"Access to Pockets is regulated through Doom Credits. You already possess your Halo Watches from earlier trials — they serve as your keys. Upon my command, they will synchronize with this compartment's core."
He made a small, deliberate gesture. Instantly, Raghu's Halo Watch shimmered. The dull blue interface dissolved into a new violet scheme as a flood of data streamed through. His status updated line by line — compartment assignment, current credits, and rank. Around him, candidates raised their wrists, the glow of dozens of watches lighting up the compartment like a constellation.
"Credits are the measure of your growth. They are earned through missions, duels, or completion of Pockets. You may spend them to enter higher-tier realms, acquire enhancement items, or request rest hours. Manage them wisely — for here, even rest has a price."
The hologram expanded again, displaying a new image — a leaderboard composed of shining names and figures.
"Your current standings are as follows."
Compartment Six — Top 20 Rankings
Ayush Dhal — 12,000 Doom Credits
Vedant Kael — 11,800
Gudi Moru — 11,500
Karsh Yen — 10,900
Den Olo — 10,300
Isha Meran — 9,500
Uren Tally — 8,700
Raghu — 8,000
Ravi Korr — 7,900
Nathan Varr — 7,820
Toma Shree — 7,750
Zeyn Orl — 7,710
Mira Len — 7,600
Jorik Den — 7,580
Vri Laan — 7,500
Kiro An — 7,350
Sornap Dha — 7,120
Raal Tim — 6,950
Drake Lamar — 6,800
Heena Voh — 6,700
A soft murmur rippled through the crowd. Raghu's gaze lingered on the board, his own name shining faintly in violet among the higher ranks. He hadn't realized how his earlier trial had elevated him — eighth place. He felt eyes on him — some curious, some appraising, and a few edged with quiet hostility.
Harry let the tension breathe before continuing.
"Every thirty days, rankings are recalculated. The top ten earn promotion to the next compartment. Those who remain in the lower ranks risk demotion — falling to the compartment below. Be warned: should you reach Compartment Ten, there is no lower tier. Candidates who fail there are ejected into the Abyss, permanently removed from the Doom Train."
A ripple of unease passed through the candidates. Some whispered nervously; others stiffened, eyes narrowing in determination.
"Movement aboard the Doom Train is relentless. Ascend and gain access to greater Pockets, resources, and opportunities. Fail and you descend — losing not just status but the chance to continue your journey. The train does not pause. It does not forgive. Only those who push, adapt, and endure may reach Coach Thirteen."
Raghu felt a strange pull at the words. Not greed exactly, but curiosity — the kind that edged dangerously close to obsession.
"Each compartment operates under the watch of one CNC Supervisor. I am responsible for Compartment Six. I will not interfere in your training unless protocol demands it. Should disputes arise, they will be resolved under my authority. Any unsanctioned aggression will cost you dearly — in Credits or confinement."
The supervisor paused, and the air seemed to hum with invisible gravity.
"You will find the full orientation manual uploaded to your Halo Watch. It contains operational rules, Pocket schedules, and personal performance analytics. Study it before dawn-cycle. The first Pockets open in eight hours."
He scanned the faces before him — unreadable, like a machine parsing data.
"That will be all. The Doom Train moves, with or without your understanding. Ensure you keep pace."
With that, the hologram dissolved into motes of blue-white light, leaving the candidates bathed in the rhythmic glow of the compartment's core.
For a moment, no one moved. Then came the soft hum of conversation — hushed, speculative. Some already compared their watch stats; others huddled to form alliances. A few simply walked off, faces set with private determination.
Raghu looked down at his wrist.
Rank 8 — 8,000 Credits — Compartment 6.
The interface pulsed faintly, lines of text rearranging themselves as data synchronized. Behind that flicker of light, he could feel something deeper — a pulse that resonated faintly with the violet sigil Jivan had marked on him. Whatever this "Musa's Candidate" title meant, it wasn't ordinary.
He drifted toward the window again, watching the endless streaks of energy rushing by. The Doom Train was not just moving through space — it was carving through planes of existence. Beyond each compartment lay something vast and incomprehensible.
He could sense the ambition around him, thick as heat. Each candidate chasing not survival, but transcendence. And high above them all, Compartment One — a mythic gate leading to Coach Thirteen — waited like a star glimpsed through storm clouds.
The metal beneath his boots thrummed. Somewhere deep below, ancient gears began to turn again.
The Doom Train roared onward through the void, bearing countless souls toward their next trial — and among them, Raghu Varma, eighth in rank in compartment 6 of coach 14, the unknown heir of a violet mark, bearer of fang, and now a shadow in motion toward destiny.