Arknight : The Rise of The Grand Detective

Liora stirred, her consciousness clawing its way back from the abyss.

A strange warmth enveloped her, soft and unnatural, like a dream she couldn't trust.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she realised she was lying in a bed—threadbare sheets, a lumpy mattress, but a bed nonetheless.

Panic spiked through her as she bolted upright, her gaze darting around the dim room.

Cracked walls, a flickering bulb overhead, the faint hum of a heater—it was a motel, abandoned and decaying, yet somehow alive.

Then she saw her: a figure with bluish-silver hair tied back, standing near a rusted table, his back to her.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

Her throat was dry, her body heavy with exhaustion, as if every ounce of strength had been syphoned away.

She clutched the sheets, trembling, her mind racing—Kael, the chase, the smile in the whiteness.

The figure turned, and Alexander approached, her presence quiet but commanding.

She carried a chipped metal tray with a bowl of steaming broth and a spoon.

Sitting beside her, she offered a faint, reassuring nod. "Easy," she said, her voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos she'd fled.

She scooped a spoonful of broth and held it to her lips.

Liora hesitated, then leaned forward, the warmth of the food seeping into her parched mouth.

She swallowed, and a small spark of energy flickered within her.

"Where…?" she managed, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Alexander's eyes—pale and piercing—met hers.

"Somewhere safe. For now."

She offered another spoonful.

"Take it slow. You need to eat."

The simple act undid her. Tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks in silent streams. She'd never had this—not in the camps, not on the run with Kael.

A stranger feeding her, caring for her, when all she'd known was loss.

The memory of Kael crashed over her—his blood, his sacrifice—and she lunged forward, clutching Alexander's shirt with shaking hands.

"Kael," she choked out, sobs wracking her.

"Please… Can you save him? He's out there—bleeding, fighting—please!"

Alexander's hand settled on her head, a gentle pat that stilled her frantic pleas.

"Don't worry," he said softly, his tone carrying an unshakeable calm.

"Rest now."

She stood, brushing off his hands, and reached for a dark suit hanging on a nearby chair.

Slipping it on with practiced ease, he glanced back at her.

"Wait here. I'll be back."

Liora sank into the bed, tears still falling, clinging to his promise like a lifeline.

***

The alleyway was a narrow scar between two crumbling tenements, its stairs slick with ice and grime.

Two Ursus soldiers descended, their heavy coats brushing the walls, their voices a low grumble of frustration.

The dim streetlights cast long shadows, flickering as the wind howled through Chernobog's bones.

"Missed the damn kid," one muttered, his breath fogging in the cold.

"Boss'll have our hides for this. Said no loose ends."

The other snorted, adjusting his rifle.

"She's probably bled out by now. That Sarkaz took the brunt—idiot thought he could play hero."

Their boots clomped against the steps, a steady rhythm—until a third sound joined them.

A faint, deliberate tap echoed behind.

The first soldier froze, glancing over his shoulder.

"You hear that?"

The second turned, squinting into the dark.

"Nothing there. Wind's messing with you."

But between them, unseen, a ponytail floated—blueish-silver strands catching the faint light, swaying as if carried by a ghost.

The air grew heavy, charged with something lethal. Before either could draw breath to scream, a flash of steel arced through the gloom.

Their heads toppled from their shoulders, rolling down the stairs with dull thuds, blood spraying the icy walls.

Alexander stepped into view, her blade gleaming faintly in her hand, her suit pristine despite the carnage.

She flicked the weapon clean, her expression unreadable.

"This'll do," she muttered, her voice a quiet promise to the night.

"This should be it."

***

The air in the unknown underground was thick with mildew and the tang of rusted iron, a labyrinth of damp tunnels stretching beneath Chernobog's ruined surface.

Dim lanterns swayed from the ceiling, casting jagged pools of light across rows of cages bolted to the stone walls.

Inside, captives—gaunt and broken—cowered, their muted whimpers swallowed by the oppressive dark.

After the city's fall, some Ursus military remnants had turned to slavery, feeding off the helpless to line their pockets.

A hulking figure paced past the cages, his shadow swallowing the flickering light.

Commander Grigori Volkov, an Ursine brute draped in a tattered military coat, towered over the scene.

His scarred muzzle twisted into a sneer as he lit a cigarette, the flare illuminating his cruel, yellowed fangs.

He laughed—a low, guttural sound—and slammed a massive fist against a cage, relishing the flinch of the prisoner inside as they clutched their head in terror.

"Look at you worms," he said, exhaling smoke.

"Can't wait to sell you off. Good money in broken bones."

His soldiers trailed behind, their chuckles echoing faintly as they gripped their rifles.

Grigori kicked open a rusted door and strode into a narrow hallway, his boots splashing through shallow puddles.

His satisfaction radiated—until he stopped dead. His men faltered, confused.

"Commander?" one grunted.

His grin widened, fangs glinting. He felt it—a shiver of killing intent, sharp as a blade, slicing through the stale air.

His cigarette fell, sizzling in the water.

A clash rang out, steel meeting steel.

Grigori's arm snapped up, fur bristling as it hardened into a metallic sheen, blocking a sword that flashed from the shadows.

The blade sparked against his forearm, and there she stood—

Alexander, her bluish-silver ponytail swaying, a faint smile curling her lips.

Her pale eyes gleamed with quiet menace.

"Big rat with a loud mouth," she said, her voice soft, her smile unwavering.

Grigori growled, shoving her back.

"Cute trick." He lunged, fists glowing as his Arts turned his skin to iron, swinging a crushing blow.

Alexander danced aside, her movements fluid, her smile intact.

She countered with a spinning kick to his knee, forcing a grunt from him, then slashed upward with her sword, the tip grazing his hardened chest.

He roared, charging with a shoulder tackle that shook the walls, water spraying under his weight.

Alexander leapt over him, twisting midair, and brought her blade down in a piercing strike.

It bit into his shoulder, drawing a spurt of blood. Grigori swatted at her, missing as she landed lightly, flicking her sword clean, still smiling.

"Slippery little—" He hardened his entire torso, his Arts flaring, and threw a flurry of ironclad punches that cratered the stone.

She weaved through them, her blade parrying with sharp, precise arcs, her grin never faltering.

One punch grazed her, but she rolled with it, springing up behind him.

Her sword whipped out in a horizontal cut, slicing a shallow line across his back before he could fully harden the spot.

Grigori snarled, whirling to face her.

"I'll crush you!"

His fists slammed together, sending a shockwave through the tunnel as his body became a living fortress of steel.

He charged again, a juggernaut of raw power.

Alexander sidestepped, her ponytail fluttering, and drove her knee into his gut with a martial snap, following with a two-handed sword strike that cracked his hardened arm, drawing a howl of rage.

Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling with the water, but he laughed through the pain, his grin matching hers now.

"Not bad, girl!"

He swung a backhand, forcing her to duck, then stomped the ground, cracking the stone beneath her feet.

Alexander straightened, brushing damp hair from her face, her smile serene yet chilling.

"You talk too much," she said, twirling her blade as she advanced, her steps deliberate.

The soldiers behind Grigori raised their rifles, but her gaze didn't waver , she was locked on him, a predator savoring the fight.

Grigori's laughter erupted, a jagged, manic sound that bounced off the damp stone walls of the underground.

His yellowed fangs gleamed as he waved off his soldiers, who hesitated with their rifles half-raised.

"Back off, you dogs!" he barked, his voice thick with glee. His gaze locked onto Alexander, her serene smile unshaken.

"You—I've changed my mind about you, girl. Killing you is too quick. I'll break you, make you mine."

The air around him shifted, growing heavy and electric.

Sparks of Originium energy crackled faintly along his fur, a dangerous hum that made the captives in their cages shrink back further.

With a savage grin, he gripped his tattered coat and ripped it apart, exposing a chest and arms covered in monstrous scars—jagged, deep gouges that no human hand could have carved.

They spoke of battles with something feral, something beyond reason.

He rushes towards Alexander, pushing her far enough.

He raised a massive fist, Originium energy pulsing through his hardened skin, and slammed it into the ground.

The impact reverberated, spiderweb cracks splintering outward across the stone floor.

The tunnel groaned, then gave way beneath them, crumbling with a deafening roar.

Alexander leapt back, her ponytail fluttering, as the ground collapsed, plunging them both downward.

Debris rained into a lower chamber, splashing into shallow, murky water that lapped at their boots.

The dust settled, revealing a cavernous space—jagged rock walls dripping with slime, the air thick with rot. Grigori stood amidst the mud, his hulking form silhouetted against the faint glow of Originium veins in the stone.

He cracked his knuckles, his stance wide and predatory, a grin splitting his scarred face.

Across from him, Alexander rose from a crouch, flicking water from her blade.

Her smile remained, soft and unshaken, as she shifted into a low, fluid stance—sword angled, feet light on the uneven ground.

The silence stretched taut, broken only by the drip of water.

Then, a sound-shattering clash split the air.

Grigori's iron-clad fist met Alexander's blade in a burst of sparks, the force rippling through the mud, sending waves outward as their duel reignited.

This snippet ramps up Grigori's menace with his Originium-enhanced power and unhinged personality, while Alexander's quiet confidence holds steady.

The collapsing floor adds a dramatic shift to the battlefield, setting up their next exchange.