Far below the dusty grey plumes of soot and smoke, bright lights from street vendors pierced through the perpetual haze, offering all manner of goods, both legal and illegal.
From simple clothing and street food to hidden synth-drug lounges. Kenshara was the epitome of corruption and desperation, the largest den of crime and chaos within the Thalor Twin Star System.
Situated on a rust-colored planet dotted with small, murky oceans, its atmosphere carried a constant reddish hue, the result of relentless sandstorms. The city itself sprawled within the confines of a massive, miles-wide ring, bordered by harsh deserts and the edge of a vast, polluted lake.
Thousands of high-rise buildings dominated its skyline, interspersed occasionally with clusters of sleek structures for the privileged few.
Constant dust and pollution lent the city a sickly reddish-yellow tint, casting an oppressive gloom even as countless yellow lights illuminated crowded streets teeming with life day and night. Amidst the throngs of weary faces, a lithe young man walked slowly down a narrow street, illuminated faintly by dim LEDs and distant streetlights.
He stood average in height with lightly tanned skin, his wiry physique hinting at years spent running and fighting. Jet-black hair tied loosely at his neck cascaded in messy strands past his shoulders. His face, youthful yet weary, featured sharp lines, with eyes that reflected deep anguish beneath their surface.
His name was Arin Malak, known simply as "Ari" or "Arin" He embodied the life of a slum rat, dressed in a tattered white short-sleeved shirt riddled with tears and loose, patched-up pants. His posture hunched slightly forward, eyes bloodshot and hollow, giving away no emotion.
Arin continued until he reached a decrepit two-story building. Only a faint light from an upper window indicated occupancy. Glancing cautiously around, he knocked a distinct code onto the door. It opened slowly, revealing a dimly lit living room.
Immediately, he was met by a forceful embrace from his younger cousin.
Maya Zercher, a tan-skinned child with short brown hair.
"Ariiii! You're back!" she exclaimed, A bright smile on her face.
Arin's expression softened into a faint smile, warmth flickering briefly in his eyes.
"Of course I am. Nobody's dumb enough to mess with me!" he replied sarcastically.
Maya chuckled, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Yeah, Ari, after last time, no one would dare!" She hesitated, excitement creeping into her voice. "Can we get some spicy skewers from Mr. Zenji? Pretty please?"
Feigning annoyance for a brief second, Arin's smile returned, brighter this time. "Of course we can. The spiciest he has!"
Maya beamed, quickly grabbing her worn-out sandals. Arin's brief happiness faltered, replaced momentarily by a somber shadow before returning as Maya ran back to him.
Stepping into the oppressive night heat, Arin scanned the dark surroundings carefully, eyes lingering on shadowy recesses near other crumbling buildings. Deciding it safe enough, he walked with Maya across the cracked ferrocrete streets. His damaged black boots barely protected his feet from debris.
Soon, they reached a familiar street bustling with life. Hundreds of stalls lined the brightly lit avenue, but their destination—a small cart labeled "Meat Skewers"—was tucked away on a dim side street. Maya's excitement faded upon discovering Mr. Zenji absent, tears welling up in frustration.
Seeing this, Arin gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. Strange that his cart's here, but tell you what—pick anything else, and it's yours."
"Really!? Do you mean I—"
Maya's sentence was abruptly interrupted by a loud crash nearby. Arin's attention snapped instantly toward the source, tense and wary.
Another crash echoed, followed by a pained cry, triggering recognition within Arin. He knew the sounds of violence intimately—desperation, suffering, brutality. But this time felt different.
He quickly hushed Maya, listening intently until another pleading voice broke through clearly: "I'm sorry, I didn't know, I swear!" Arin's heart sank immediately upon recognizing Mr. Zenji's voice.
Peering cautiously down an alleyway, Arin spotted three men. A towering thug in a cheap suit wore scars across his harsh features, grinning maliciously. Another man, shorter and wiry, pressed a glowing, heat-edged blade against Mr. Zenji's throat.
Anger surged through Arin. He'd witnessed endless violence throughout his life, growing numb out of necessity. Yet seeing Mr. Zenji, a rare source of kindness in his harsh life, in danger ignited something new within him—a burning defiance.
He turned urgently to Maya. "Run home, now!"
Her eyes widened fearfully. "But what about you?"
"I'll follow soon. Just go! Now!"
Reluctantly, Maya sprinted homeward, tears streaming down her face.
Meanwhile, the thug's blade pressed closer, ready to end Zenji's life. Without hesitation, Arin hurled a chunk of ferrocrete, smashing the thug's fingers and forcing him to drop the knife.
The thug spun furiously toward Arin. "You must have a death wish!"
Ignoring him, Arin shouted at Mr. Zenji to run. The older man hesitated briefly before fleeing past Arin.
Not long after, the thug lunged wildly at Arin, missing narrowly. Arin retaliated swiftly, landing a glancing blow on the thug's jaw, causing him to stumble back.
He quickly assumed a defensive stance, heart pounding, determined to survive.
He locked eyes with the thug, his breath already shallow, nerves coiled tight in his chest. The man was stockier and looked heavier, but he moved with the erratic energy of someone used to violence. Arin had fought plenty of street brawls in Kenshara before, enough to know that most relied on brute strength and rage over actual technique. But that didn't make them any less dangerous.
The thug lunged, wild and fast, swinging a wide haymaker aimed at Arin's head. Arin ducked to his left, feeling the man's knuckles brush the air inches from his face. As he rose, he launched a tight punch that grazed the edge of the thug's jaw. The blow wasn't clean, but it was fast enough to snap the man's head slightly and disrupt his charge, forcing him to take a staggered step back.
The alley's narrow space left little room to maneuver. Trash bins and broken crates cluttered the sides, and the flickering light from a distant streetlamp barely illuminated their figures. Arin shook his head clear and reset his stance, crouching low with his guard tight. The thug advanced with heavy footsteps.
They collided again. Arin ducked low, slipped past another punch, and slammed his shoulder into the thug's stomach. The impact drove them both backward. Arin heard the thug's back crash into the alley wall, and he drove an elbow into the man's side before leaping back. The thug retaliated with a sharp kick that hit Arin's thigh, sending a jolt of pain down his leg.
Arin grimaced but stayed standing. He circled, watching how the thug moved. The man favored his right side. Arin stepped in and unleashed a quick flurry: jab to the nose, strike to the chin, pivot, and a punch to the gut. The thug absorbed the blows and managed to catch Arin's arm during the last strike.
With a snarl, the thug yanked Arin forward and headbutted him. The crack of bone meeting bone echoed down the alley. Arin's face burst in pain, and his knees wobbled. He stumbled back, dazed, blood dripping down his lips.
The thug didn't let up. He charged again, tackling Arin at the waist and driving him into the alley floor. Arin hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs. He tried to scramble away, but the thug mounted him, fists raining down. One hit his temple, another caught his collarbone.
For a moment he felt as if he could already see himself dead, laid out in an alleyway like many before him. His mind was flooded with thoughts of dread and disappointment. Was this really his fate? To be dead and forgotten in an alleyway? No. This accursed world had already taken too much from him, and he would be damned if he allowed it to take his life as well.
Suddenly he felt a surge of adrenaline. Raising his arms to block, Arin caught the next punch. He twisted, using his hips to buck the man off. They rolled across the filthy alley, smashing into debris. Arin got on top for a moment and drove a fist into the man's jaw, then another near his ear. The thug wrapped his arms around Arin's torso, dragging him down again.
They were wrestling now, both grunting, slipping on sweat and blood. Arin managed to get to his knees, then stood, dragging the thug up with him. The man pulled back and landed a savage punch to Arin's side, right over the ribs. Pain lanced through his body.
Arin knew he couldn't trade blows much longer. He needed to end it fast. He faked a stagger and let the thug move in.
As the man raised his fist, Arin ducked low and launched upward with a brutal uppercut. The punch connected under the thug's chin with a satisfying crunch, sending him reeling backward.
The thug tripped over a broken crate and landed hard. Arin rushed him, grabbing the man's collar with one hand and slamming his elbow into the thug's face with the other. Once, twice, three times. Blood splattered against the alley wall. The thug's hands flailed, reaching for something—then Arin saw it.
The knife.
The black metal blade with its glowing orange edge, dropped earlier in the chaos, lay within reach of the thug's hand. The man lunged for it. Arin reacted instantly, diving for the weapon. His hand closed around the thug's wrist just as fingers brushed the hilt.
A desperate struggle unfolded. The thug thrashed, trying to wrestle the weapon free. Arin planted a knee on the man's shoulder, gripping the wrist with both hands. The thug twisted violently, nearly throwing him off. But Arin held firm, slamming the man's arm against the ground repeatedly.
The knife was inches away. With a final surge of strength, Arin delivered a brutal elbow into the side of the thug's neck. The man gagged, and his grip faltered. Arin seized the chance, tearing the knife from the thug's grasp. He didn't hesitate.
With both hands, Arin plunged the blade into the man's chest.
The thug gasped, body convulsing. His eyes widened, then glazed over. A hiss escaped his lips, and his limbs slackened. The orange glow of the blade dimmed as blood hissed against the hot edge.
Arin let go and stumbled back, panting, staring at the body. His hands were soaked in red. The alley was quiet, save for the distant buzz of neon and the ringing in his ears.
But then—
A shadow loomed.
A thud sounded behind him, heavy and deliberate. Arin turned just in time to see the second thug, emerging from the far end of the alley. He was enormous, his arms thick with layered muscle and dark metallic plating that glinted with faint pulses of light. His eyes were cold, mechanical, one glowing faintly blue. Cylindrical nodes protruded from his shoulders, humming quietly.
Arin's body screamed in protest as he took a shaky step back. The cybernetic thug looked down at the dead body, then slowly raised his gaze to Arin.
"You're dead," the man said simply.
Then he moved.
Arin barely registered the motion before a powerful fist crashed into his ribs. A sickening, audible wet crunch was heard as he felt his ribs violently snap.
He flew backward, tumbling across the alley and slamming into a wall. The pain was instant and overwhelming. He couldn't breathe. Red foam bubbled from his mouth as he coughed.
He tried to stand, but his shoulder refused to move. Dislocated. He rolled to his other side, pushing up with his good arm. His vision blurred. The cybernetic thug approached with unhurried steps, the ground trembling with each one.
Arin knew he couldn't fight like this. Not against something like him.
Still, he forced himself upright. His body screamed, his legs barely supporting him. He braced against the wall, teeth clenched. The thug was only a few feet away now.
A second punch came. Arin twisted his body just enough to avoid the full force, but the blow caught his side and launched him across the ground again. He hit face-first, tasting blood.
The world slowed.
Through the haze, Arin saw the sky. Dark, starless, with the dusty red glow of the planet's atmosphere casting shadows over everything. He remembered Maya. Her smile. Her hope. His promise.
He couldn't die here.
And then, suddenly, a heat bloomed in his left eye.
It was subtle at first, like the warmth of the sun pressing through closed lids. Then it intensified. scalding, then white-hot. Clutching his face, he grunted in pain as the sensation spread down his neck and into his chest.
His skin crackled. Purple arcs of energy pulsed beneath his flesh. His shirt ignited and disintegrated, revealing skin already blistering and glowing.
The cybernetic thug paused, watching with cold curiosity.
Arin felt a second pain begin to build in his diaphragm, this one seemed to be more intense, quickly building up and surpassing the pain in his eye.
Falling to one knee, He groaned in pain, gasping as blood poured from his eye socket.
His veins lit up, pulsing with violet light, as a sulfuric stench filled the air.
Hunching his back and trying to suppress a pained yell as he writhed in agony, He felt heat envelop his entire being, and let out one last scream of agony.
And then everything exploded.
A violent wave of purple energy surged outward from Arin's body, obliterating the air around him. The nearby ferrocrete cracked and burned, walls shattered, and the alley filled with smoke and ash. The thug, caught directly in the blast, screamed for a fraction of a second before his body burned, and then disintegrated, leaving only a warped heap of metal limbs.
The storm of energy died down, leaving a smoking crater where Arin had stood.
He lay motionless, barely breathing, his chest rising weakly. Blood pooling beneath him. Burn marks streaked across his torso and arms, and one eye remained closed, too damaged to open. But he was alive.
Barely.
The sound of engines cut through the night. A sleek, black airship descended above the ruins of the alley, casting an ominous shadow. Arin's vision faded as armored figures surrounded him.
And then,
Darkness.