The city roared around him like an iron storm.
Steam hissed from the grates, lights flickered through the mist, and the sound of boots—metal boots—hammered close behind.
"Halt! Halt the fugitive!"
"Don't let him reach the plaza!"
Sein didn't look back. He couldn't. His lungs were fire. His legs—numb.
All he could do was run.
Sein crouched down; staying up any longer would only expose him.
The guards' halberds clanged as they chased him down the narrow street, their voices sharp and synchronized. The whole city seemed to tilt against him, its towering glass walls echoing his heartbeat.
"Out of the way!" Sein shouted, dodging through a crowd. He vaulted over a merchant cart, nearly toppling a tray of oranges, then crashed through a curtain of hanging clothes.
Behind him, the air shimmered—a stun bolt zipped past his shoulder, scorching the brick wall. He didn't dare slow down.
Then—voices.
Ahead, under the archway of an old clock tower, he caught sight of Dash—arms crossed, clearly arguing with a girl.
Her silver hair caught the lamplight, glinting faintly blue. She leaned against a stone railing, smiling as if the whole world were a harmless joke.
"Dash!" Sein gasped, waving frantically. "Move! MOVE!!"
Dash spun around, sword half-drawn. "Sein?! What the hell—?"
Before he could finish, Sein barrelled straight into him. Both went tumbling to the ground.
"Get off me!" Dash snapped, kicking him off. "Why are you running like—"
"Guards!" Sein wheezed, pointing behind him. "Some crazy armoured guys —after me!"
The girl straightened instantly. Her smile sharpened. "Ah. The guests of honour have arrived."
Dash blinked. "You knew they were coming?"
"Mm, not they exactly," she said, brushing off her cloak. "But the scent of trouble? Always."
Sein scrambled to his feet. "Who are you?!"
The girl bowed lightly, her cloak swirling like a magician's curtain. "Amy Aufseher. Explorer, mechanic, and occasional genius. And you must be Sein!? Dash told me about you."
"—what? Are you planning to abduct me?" Sein's voice cracked.
But before Amy could answer, the plaza erupted.
The royal guards spilled out from the alleyways like liquid steel, helmets gleaming, eyes cold behind tinted visors.
"By order of His Majesty, halt!"
"Surrender the boy known as Sein!"
"Sein?" Dash hissed under his breath. "How is that possible? Did you tell them?"
"This isn't funny! Dash. I talked only with a baker or whoever he was" Sein shouted, backing away.
Amy stepped between them, completely calm. "Gentlemen!" she called out sweetly, waving her hands. "Surely this is all a big misunderstanding. The boy's just sightseeing! You know, new in town, bad with directions, good at running."
"Step aside, citizen!" barked the captain. "He is under royal suspicion!"
Amy tilted her head. "Royal suspicion… my favourite kind."
Then, in a whisper: "You two, when I move, follow me."
Dash frowned. "What do you mean 'when you move'—"
Amy stomped her heel. A spark flashed. A round device rolled from under her cloak and burst—BOOM! —into a cloud of shimmering smoke.
"Now!"
Sein and Dash followed instinctively. The world turned silver-grey as they sprinted through the fog. Behind them, guards coughed and cursed, their halberds striking stone.
They twisted through a side alley, then another. The city's glow pulsed between the rooftops like veins of light. Finally, Amy stopped beneath an old statue, panting lightly but grinning as if she'd just won a game.
Sein collapsed beside her, gasping. "You! Who are you?!"
She flashed a playful peace sign. "Told you—Amy Aufseher. Professional tinkerer. Amateur chaos artist."
Dash snorted. "You're outta your mind."
Amy winked. "Better than being out of breath."
Then she crouched beside a drain pipe, listening. The distant echo of boots still rang through the streets. "They're regrouping. We don't have much time."
"Why are they after me?" Sein demanded. "I didn't do anything!"
Amy hesitated—just for a moment—but her eyes flicked toward the sky. "Not you, not exactly. It's what you carry."
"What I carry?"
"Your mark," she said quietly. "The capital watches through its owls. They see power signatures—every one unique. Yours… probably doesn't belong to this registry. They consider you as a danger. So, they'll follow you till they get your ass. Yes!"
Dash frowned. "Owls? You mean those flying tin cans?"
Amy looked up. "Tin cans that see, hear, and report everything. They're called Mecha-Owls. Each one linked to the Palace Eye. The King doesn't need spies when he's got thousands of them above his citizens."
Sein followed her gaze. The night sky shimmered faintly—metallic wings gliding in perfect silence. One paused above them, lenses rotating.
Amy swore under her breath. "Damn it—they found us."
A red beam flashed from the owl's eye, scanning the alley. Instantly, the sound of charging halberds thundered from both ends.
"They're triangulating!" Amy shouted. "Move!"
The trio ran. Through the bazaar, past the fountain, over the glowing rails of the tram line. The air sizzled with electricity as stun bolts zipped past.
Amy led the way, her movements quick and calculated. Dash swung his blade behind them, deflecting a shot that nearly hit Sein.
"Can't we hide?!" Sein yelled.
"Hide?" Amy laughed breathlessly. "In this city? We're like pawns in a chess game—Every movement we take they know about it before!"
They darted into an underpass. Pipes hissed overhead, dripping condensation. The noise of pursuit faded—but only barely.
Dash leaned against the wall, panting. "You got a plan?"
Amy shrugged. "I always have a plan. Just… never the same one twice."
"That's not reassuring!" Sein snapped.
"Then here's reassurance: I know a place. Below the streets. Where the owls can't see."
"Below the streets?" Dash frowned. "Like a sewer?"
Amy grinned. "More like… forgotten veins of the city. Old tunnels. Smelly, yes. Safe, mostly."
Before anyone could argue, a faint meow echoed from the tunnel's entrance.
"Wait… did you hear that?" Sein whispered.
The sound came again—soft, melodious, oddly… aristocratic.
From behind a rusted pipe, a grey cat stepped out. Sleek fur, emerald eyes, and around its neck, a tiny crimson ribbon. It flicked its tail with exaggerated elegance.
"Bonsoir, strangers," the cat purred in a crisp French accent. "Would any of you happen to possess… une baguette? Or perhaps a small roast chicken? I have not dined since sunrise."
Dash blinked. "Did that cat just—talk?"
Amy groaned. "Oh no. Not you again."
The cat frowned. "Moi? Do I know you, mademoiselle?"
"Unfortunately," Amy muttered. "Everyone in the tunnels does."
Sein crouched down, amazed. "You can really talk?"
"But of course!" The cat bowed dramatically. "Folk like you call me Monsieur Le Chat Gris or Aristo —poet, philosopher, and, currently, a side character and the ironical victim of the Gods of Fate. And it's been ages since something I ate."
Dash muttered under his breath, "WOW! Rhyming! We're definitely hallucinating."
"Une hallucination?" the cat gasped. "How rude! I am real, monsieur muscle-head. But alas, tragically unfed."
Amy rubbed her temples. "Sein, Dash — don't feed him ideas. He'll follow us for weeks."
"Feed me food," the cat corrected with dignity. "Then I'll consider following you voluntarily."
A shout echoed from behind them—metal boots again, louder this time.
Amy's head snapped toward the sound. "No time! They're closing in."
She grabbed the cat by the scruff. "Congratulations, Mr. Fromage, you've just joined the running club."
The cat yowled. "Mademoiselle! This is most improper!"
They sprinted down the tunnel, water splashing underfoot, the cat dangling indignantly in Amy's grip. Behind them, the echoes of pursuit faded into the distance—until only the steady drip of the tunnels and the faint purr of the cat remained.
Amy finally slowed, breath misting in the dim light.
"Alright," she said, setting the cat down. "We're safe. For now."
Dash leaned against a wall. "You call this safe?"
Sein looked up at the faint light filtering through a grate. "They're still searching above."
Amy nodded. "Then we keep moving. Even if the owls rule the sky…"
She glanced at the cat, who was now licking his paw nonchalantly.
"…the rats and cats rule down here."
The cat smirked, eyes gleaming. "Touché."
Amy sighed. "Great. Just what I needed — a talking furball with wit."
Sein chuckled weakly. For the first time that night, the tension broke — just enough to breathe.
Above them, unseen, the mechanical owls circled — silent, watching.
And deep below, three fugitives — and one hungry cat — began their descent into the forgotten veins of the Capital.
In no time, a metallic hum rippled through the tunnel walls.
Amy froze mid-step. "No…" she whispered. "They've adapted the sensors."
Dash frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"They shouldn't be able to see down here," she said, eyes darting along the ceiling. "The tunnel walls are lined with old alloy. But the owls—" she pointed up. "They're modifying their lenses. They're tracking our heat signatures."
A crimson beam slithered across the far wall like a searching tongue.
Then came the sound—soft at first, like raindrops on glass—then louder.
Whirr… clink… WHIRRRR!
Three mecha-owls descended through the opening above, their wings scraping the stone. Their glowing eyes illuminated the darkness.
Sein's pulse spiked. "They found us again!"
Dash pulled his sword free, blade catching the reflection of red light. "Cutting is my thing!"
Amy snapped, "Don't! You'll only draw more! They're networked—hurt one, ten more come!"
The owls' eyes brightened, targeting. Beams danced across the floor like crosshairs.
Amy cursed. "They're charging a stun field! MOVE!"
But there was nowhere to run—the tunnels were too narrow, too deep.
For a split second, everything went silent except for the low mechanical screech of the owls' power coils.
And then—
A calm voice cut through the tension. Smooth, refined, unmistakably French.
"Mes amis, it appears your feathered admirers are quite persistent. Allow me… to offer assistance."
Amy blinked. "Fromage, what are you—"
The cat raised one paw elegantly, eyes gleaming in the dim light. His tail twitched once, twice—then he slammed it down onto the wet stone.
A deep vibration rolled through the ground. The air trembled.
From somewhere in the dark below, came the sound of skittering. Faint at first, then swelling into a deafening, living roar.
"Wait…" Dash whispered. "Is that—?"
Amy's eyes widened. "No way…"
From every crack and tunnel, from every forgotten pipe and rusted grate, a flood of rats poured forth—thousands, tens of thousands—fur black and grey, eyes glinting like embers. They surged in waves, clawing and chittering, a tidal mass of teeth and tails.
The mecha-owls faltered midair, their sensors flashing in confusion.
Fromage lifted his chin proudly. "You see, dear mademoiselle, down here, I am not merely a cat. I am an Aristo-chat."
Dash gawked. "You've gotta be kidding me."
Amy whispered, almost laughing, "He's not kidding. He's insane—but he's not kidding."
The rodents swarmed upward, covering the owls in a living storm. The mechanical wings flailed helplessly, sparks flying as the rats gnawed through cables and sensors.
"Go, mes enfants!" Fromage cried. "Feast upon tyranny!"
Sparks exploded. One owl fell to the ground, crushed under the tide. Another burst into flame. The third tried to escape through the hole above—but hundreds of rats latched onto it, dragging it back down into the shadows.
The red lights blinked out. Silence fell, broken only by the soft echo of chittering retreat.
Amy exhaled slowly. "Remind me never to mock you again."
Fromage purred, smoothing his whiskers. "A wise decision, mademoiselle. Though I will accept payment in tuna."
Dash let out a shaky laugh. "You just saved our lives with… rats. That's… actually the weirdest sentence I've ever said!"
Amy smirked. "Welcome to the Capital's Arse."
Sein looked up at the fading hole in the ceiling, smoke curling through it. "We can't stay here. The Palace will know something's wrong. They'll send more."
Amy nodded. "Then we move deeper. There's a forgotten passage beneath the old aqueduct. It leads to the Sub-Core — off the grid."
Dash sheathed his sword. "Great. From daylight to sewers to… wherever that is."
"Somewhere they can't see us," Amy said. "And somewhere we might finally learn why they're chasing you, Sein."
Fromage hopped onto her shoulder, tail flicking. "And perhaps somewhere with food, oui?"
Amy sighed. "No promises, Chagrin!"
Mr. Fromage started singing:
« Je suis Monsieur Le Chat Gris,
Et je n'aime pas le chagrin.
Je suis aujourd'hui fain.
Je pourais s'il vous plaît du pain.
Je rêve d'un peu de gratin,
Ou d'un morceau sur mon plat fin.
Sous la lune, je chasse sans fin,
Puis je m'endors heureux et serein.
Je suis Le Chat Gr— »
Amy seems annoyed, "Please, shut the fuck up!"
As they vanished deeper into the tunnels, a faint red glow shimmered from the cracks above—the last of the mecha-owls transmitting their final images to the Palace Eye.
Far away, in a chamber of golden machinery, in Tour d'Or, a figure watched the flickering screens and whispered, "So…Répulsive!"
And beneath the city that never sleeps, a cat led three fugitives toward the forgotten dark.
Next time on Soul Blade Brawl Z: The Crash of Legendz— "Unprecedented Encounter!"