Arknight : The Rise of The Grand Detective

Darkness.

Then—awareness.

A slow, agonizing return to consciousness as Heixian's eyelids fluttered open. His breath was shallow, rapid, though something pressed against his mouth, muffling any attempt at sound.

Panic set in almost instantly.

His body—unmoving. His arms, legs and tail—bound. His breathing—labored. He tried to twist, to flex his fingers, but every muscle screamed against the effort.

Then, he noticed it.

Above him, grotesque, pulsing shapes hung from the ceiling.

Blood-streaked, glistening.

Cocoons.

His breath caught as his eyes adjusted, and terror took root in his chest.

Faces.

The heads of his companions—Barov, Juno, Lang—jutting from the thick, veined sacs of congealed flesh, their bodies slowly being consumed by the twisted organic mass.

Blood oozed in thick rivulets from where the cocoon-like horrors engulfed them, their expressions frozen in vacant horror.

He tried to scream but only choked on his own breath.

Then—movement.

A presence.

Across the dimly lit room, seated with unnerving ease at a small wooden table, was their target.

Howard.

The detective was dressed as if he had just stepped out for a casual evening stroll, his overcoat draped lazily over his shoulders.

In one hand, he absently stirred a cup of coffee, the rhythmic clinking of the spoon against ceramic the only sound in the suffocating silence.

Then, a voice—calm, unbothered.

"Ah. You're awake."

Heixian's breathing hitched as Howard tilted his head slightly, offering a polite smile.

"Your friends were quite troublesome. Shame, really. I would have preferred a simple chat, but they were rather… uncooperative."

Howard exhaled lightly, setting the spoon down.

"And I do hate messes."

Heixian trembled, his mind screaming at him to move, to run, to do something, but his body refused to obey.

Then, suddenly—the gag around his mouth loosened.

He gasped violently, sucking in air as though he had been drowning. Sweat dripped from his brow, his pulse hammering against his skull. He barely had time to comprehend his newfound ability to speak before his instincts kicked in.

"P-please… I—I'm sorry—"

Howard raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

"Now, now, none of that. Let's not waste time on apologies. Just answer me one thing."

His voice remained pleasant, almost conversational, but there was something lurking beneath it—a quiet, suffocating weight.

"Who sent you?"

Heixian swallowed hard.

"Feilong… Feilong gang… We don't know much, only that we were ordered to bring you to them…"

Howard leaned back slightly, considering his words. Then, with a slow nod, he exhaled through his nose.

"I see. Well, that makes things easier."

He took one last sip of coffee before setting the cup down.

"You'll take me to them, then."

Heixian's body flinched involuntarily, his mouth opening to protest—but the words never came.

Because the moment Howard lifted his hand, the cocoons above him moved.

They pulsed, the flesh tightening. A sickening squelch filled the air as the organic masses shrank, contracting around the bodies of his comrades like hungry, constricting beasts.

The bodies within let out no sound. No struggle.

Then, in the span of a breath, they collapsed inwards, compressing down until each cocoon was no larger than a tiny, smooth pellet of blood-stained flesh.

Howard stood, reaching out with an open palm.

The tiny spheres hovered toward him before landing gently in his hand.

For a moment, Heixian thought he might be sick.

Then Howard closed his fingers around them.

When he opened his hand again, the tiny pellets were gone.

In their place—delicate, shimmering butterflies, dark as obsidian, their fragile wings carrying a faint, eerie glow.

They fluttered into the air, spiraling in hypnotic patterns before dissolving into the shadows.

Heixian's entire body shuddered.

"W-what the fuck are you…?"

Howard simply smiled, adjusting his coat.

"A detective, of course."

Heixian could barely move as Howard motioned toward the door.

"Come now, let's not keep them waiting."

Numbly, shakily, Heixian forced himself to his feet, legs weak beneath him as he stumbled toward the exit.

His mind screamed for him to run, to do anything but obey, yet his body knew better.

This man—this thing—was something far beyond his understanding.

And as they stepped out into the cold night air, Heixian realized one simple, horrifying truth.

Howard Layman wasn't someone to be hunted.

***

The road stretched out before them, a dull ribbon of asphalt illuminated only by the flickering glow of streetlights.

Howard sat in the passenger seat, his fingers idly tapping against the armrest as the cityscape rolled past in a blur of muted neon.

Heixian, hands stiff on the steering wheel, drove in tense silence, his knuckles white from gripping too hard.

Howard, however, was lost in thought.

His aversion to killing had always been a matter of principle, of restraint. But tonight had been different.

Tonight, he had barely hesitated.

It wasn't a matter of necessity—no, he had made sure that those who met their end were deserving of it. And yet, even knowing that, the ease with which he had acted, the absolute lack of remorse… it sent an odd chill through his spine.

Was he changing?

Or had he always been this way?

His fingers curled slightly, feeling the phantom sensation of the butterflies that had once been men.

Then, Heixian's voice, quiet and hoarse.

"We're here."

The car slowed to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway, where the entrance to the Feilong gang's hideout lay hidden beneath the façade of an old, run-down bar.

Howard stepped out, straightening his coat, as Heixian hesitated before following.

The building loomed before them, the faint bass of music vibrating through the walls, mixed with the low hum of muffled voices.

They descended a narrow stairwell leading to a heavy steel door.

Heixian knocked.

A slot in the door slid open, revealing a pair of scrutinizing eyes.

"Password."

"The moon rises red." Heixian answered, voice hollow.

A pause.

Then, the door groaned open, revealing the den beyond.

The moment they stepped inside, the thick scent of alcohol and something far more illicit filled Howard's senses. The air was heavy, stifling, tainted with the unmistakable aroma of smoke, sweat, and blood.

The room was a hive of activity—gangsters and criminals of all kinds lounged in booths or hovered near the bar, low conversations mixing with the occasional burst of raucous laughter.

A guard stood near the entrance, arms crossed.

Howard approached him with a polite smile, extending a hand.

"Pleasure to meet you."

The guard grunted, reaching out.

The moment their hands met—

The change was instant.

Where Howard's fingers should have been, something else took form.

Something wrong.

The flesh of his hand warped, shifting, twisting, stretching. In place of skin and bone, an ruby-scaled serpent coiled from his wrist, its body thick, pulsating with unnatural life.

It bore multiple eyes, each one opening and blinking independently, their golden irises gleaming with something ancient, something hungry.

The guard barely had time to react before the creature moved.

It grew.

It expanded at an unnatural rate, its massive form bursting forth like a living tide.

The first strike was instant—the serpent lunged, fangs sinking into the guard's throat, silencing him before he could even scream.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The snake rampaged through the room, its colossal body knocking over tables, shattering glass, sending bottles and chairs flying.

Its massive head twisted and snapped, devouring men whole before they could even raise their weapons.

Screams erupted, a chorus of terror as the den of criminals fell into chaos.

Some ran.

Some fought—guns drawn, knives unsheathed, used their arts.

It didn't matter.

Bullets thudded uselessly against the creature's hide.

The few who tried to stand their ground were swallowed whole, their bodies vanishing into the endless dark of the beast's maw.

One man tripped, falling onto his back. He looked up, eyes wide with pure horror, as the serpent loomed over him.

His mouth opened, but no words came.

Only a final, wet crunch.

One by one, the serpent consumed them.

And once they had been swallowed, it kept them.

The creature coiled upward, its vast body pressing against the ceiling, and from its scales, they emerged.

The bodies it had devoured were spat out, but they were not released.

Cocoons.

Thick, veined sacs of flesh clung to the ceiling, pulsating, dripping with crimson. The muffled whimpers of those trapped inside could still be heard, faint and fading.

And then—silence.

Howard exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers as the massive serpent began to unravel.

Its enormous, grotesque form slithered back, shrinking, compressing, retracting until all that remained was—

His pinky finger.

As if nothing had happened.

The bar was still.

The only sounds were the soft creaks of the hanging cocoons and the distant hum of the city outside, completely unaware of the massacre that had just unfolded within these walls.

Heixian stood frozen near the entrance, eyes squeezed shut, hands clamped over his ears, his entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm.

He had heard everything.

But he had refused to see it.

Howard placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's keep moving."

Heixian jerked at the touch but forced himself to nod, following on unsteady legs.

He had sworn to himself, in that moment—

He would never join a gang again.