Arknight : The Rise of The Grand Detective

Two days had passed since Howard breathed life into Alexander, his most intricate creation yet.

The final piece—the fragment of his soul he'd woven into her—had transformed her from a lifeless construct into a fully realised Liberi, a being like him.

Her light blue, silverish hair caught the faint glow of the apartment's lamps, shimmering like a frozen stream, while her silver eyes gleamed with a quiet intensity.

Small wings, delicate and feathered, sprouted near her ears, tucked neatly behind her hair as if shy of the world.

She was a vision of strength and grace, and Howard couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.

Because of the synchronisation, he had no need to teach her anything.

She moved with a natural ease, her instincts honed as if she'd been born to this life. With some of the money he got from the commission, he'd bought her the same special phone—a sleek, matte-black device with no mark that fit her aura perfectly.

Now, as she adjusted the cuffs of her tailored suit,

Howard leaned against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, watching her with a faint smirk.

"Fitting, isn't it?" he said, his tone playful.

"The new soon-to-be operator of Rhodes Island is a woman. Worth pulling for."

Alexander turned her head slightly, her silver eyes locking onto his. From the outside, she looked strict—severe, even—with the sharp lines of her suit and the faint scars crisscrossing her exposed neck and hands.

But her voice, when she spoke, carried an easygoing lilt that belied her intimidating exterior.

"I'll take the compliment."

Howard laughed, the sound rough but genuine. She's got a spark to her, he thought, taking a sip of his coffee.

Looks like she could stare down a dragon but talks like she's lounging by a river.

It was an unexpected contrast, but it made her feel alive—despite the differences, he could sense similarities.

She stood then, smoothing the front of her suit—a mature woman's choice, dark and professional, though it did little to hide the scars that marked her as a survivor.

"I'm heading out," she said, slipping the phone into her pocket.

"There's something I need to check on."

Howard followed her to the door, mug still in hand.

As she bent to lace up her boots, he caught a glimpse of those small wings fluttering slightly, barely visible behind her hair.

"Be careful out there," he said, his voice dipping into a rare seriousness.

"I made you better than me in a fight—and that's no small feat—but don't think that makes you untouchable."

Alexander straightened, turning to face him.

Her silver eyes studied him for a moment, and though her expression remained composed, there was a flicker of warmth in her gaze.

"I'll be fine," she said simply, her tone steady but not dismissive.

She raised a hand in a casual wave. "See you later."

"Later," he replied, watching as she stepped into the grey morning beyond the threshold.

The door clicked shut, and Howard lingered there, staring at the empty space she'd left behind. She's got this, he told himself, though a flicker of unease gnawed at him.

She's built for it—maybe even better than I am. Still, the scars on her skin reminded him that even the strongest weren't unbreakable.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffled to the couch and collapsed onto it, the coffee sloshing slightly in his mug.

He didn't care.

Exhaustion clung to him like damp cloth, a byproduct of the past two days and the toll of creating her.

Alexander was a triumph, but she'd also shone a harsh light on the boundaries of his power.

Howard's ability to shapeshift into different creatures and use their abilities was truly terrifying.

He could become anything: a dragon, a vampire, a lich, even one of the Seaborn from Arknights.

He'd played that game religiously, diving into [Under Tides] and [Stultifera Navis], mastering the rogue-like mode where those oceanic horrors reigned supreme.

He knew their lore inside out—how they could erode Terra itself, twisting life into something unrecognisable.

But knowing them and becoming them were worlds apart. The higher the species he imitated, the greater the danger—to himself and everything around him.

'What if I slip?'

The thought slithered into his mind, cold and persistent. If he lost control and joined the Seaborns here in Lungmen, the city wouldn't stand a chance.

Streets would flood with corruption, buildings would crumble, and he'd be the epicentre of it all.

A catastrophe born of his own hubris.

He set the mug on the coffee table, dragging a hand through his messy hair.

Although they were not physically taxing, other strong transformations like a lich's dark magic or a vampire's blood manipulation used up his mental energy.

His mind felt like it was unravelling, straining under the weight of those alien beings.

The couch groaned as he shifted, resting his head against the backrest.

His eyelids became heavy, and exhaustion had set in.

Alexander's out there now, handling what I can't. That's enough for today. It was a small solace, a lifeline to cling to.

Sleep stole over him quietly, his last conscious thought drifting to her.

A tied light blue hair strand swayed as she boarded the train, silver eyes fixed on the horizon, a mature woman with scars and wings stepping into the unknown.

***

Alexander stood at the edge of Lungmen's sprawling skyline, her silhouette a stark outline against the haze of neon and smog.

Her hair, a striking blue with a silvery glint, was swept back into a tight ponytail, though one rogue strand fell free, draping over her shoulder like a streak of moonlight.

Her suit—black, tailored, its sharp lines lending her an air of quiet commander.

The journey from Lungmen to Chernobog unfurled before her, a battered trade road winding through a world scarred by conflict.

Lungmen hummed at her back, its towering districts a glittering maze of steel and glass, alive with the clamour of street vendors, drones, and the distant roar of factories.

The air carried the tang of fried oil and exhaust, a gritty farewell as she stepped beyond the city's reach.

She was still learning more about this world.

She bought a junk car. It was easier and faster than walking there.

Beyond Lungmen, the terrain softened into rolling hills, their slopes cloaked in patchy grass and stunted shrubs, dulled by a sky of oppressive grey.

The road bore the marks of war—craters and scorch marks etched into its surface, remnants of battles long past.

Rusted hulks of abandoned trucks and carts dotted the landscape, their frames stripped bare by scavengers or the relentless passage of time.

As she drove westward, the air grew colder, biting at her exposed hands, and frost glittered faintly in the shadowed dips of the earth.

Chernobog loomed ahead, its jagged silhouette rising from the horizon—a city of ruin, its broken spires piercing the clouds like the teeth of some ancient beast.

Alexander walked with purpose, her breath misting in the chill as the solitude of the road settled over her.

It was a stark contrast to the life she'd once known, and her hand drifted to her jacket pocket, closing around the crumpled pack of cigarettes tucked inside.

She pulled it free, turning it over in her scarred fingers, the faded label a relic of a different era.

"Funny how this stuck with me," she murmured, her voice low and gravelly, worn by years of stifled frustration.

"Back in that office—god, it was suffocating. Endless stacks of reports, flickering screens, the hum of the copier droning on like a death knell. Deadlines piled up, and the boss was breathing down my neck, always wanting more."

I smoked maybe once or twice a month, just to step outside and breathe something that wasn't recycled air.

It was the only way to clear the fog in my head.

Her fingers lingered on the pack, tracing its edges.

That job had been a slow grind, a machine that chewed up her days and spat out exhaustion.

She fished out a cigarette, its paper creased and faintly yellowed, and struck a match with a practiced flick.

The flame sputtered to life, casting a warm glow across the scars on her hands, and she lit the tip, drawing in a deep, bitter breath.

Smoke curled from her lips, dissipating into the cold air, and for a moment, the tension in her jaw softened.

She resumed her trek, the cigarette smouldering between her fingers as the road climbed toward Chernobog.

The city's outskirts emerged from the haze—a sprawl of collapsed rooftops and barricades cobbled from debris, steeped in the acrid scent of ash and Originium dust.

Above it all towered the core district, a skeletal fortress of twisted steel and shattered concrete, its faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat in the gloom.

Alexander took a final ride, the ember flaring briefly, then dropped the cigarette and ground it out beneath her heel.

She left the car to the side.

She smoothed the front of her suit, the fabric pulling tight across her scarred shoulders, and stepped into Chernobog borders.

It was time for the first act.