The ship Katsumi had 'won' didn't look like it should have been airborne, small, uneven in shape, patched together from mismatched plating and old civilian transport hulls, more scrap than structure at a glance, and yet the moment the engines kicked in it flew smoothly, almost confidently, like something held together less by engineering and more by sheer stubborn refusal to fall apart. As soon as they boarded, it lifted from the sanctuary's upper garage with a low, steady hum, stabilisers adjusting in quiet micro-corrections as it angled outward into open air.
Ryuu stood near the front without speaking, one hand resting lightly on a support rail, posture steady, unmoving. Behind him, Kanesaki and Asami lingered in silence, their attention drawn outward as the landscape unfolded beneath them and the vessel climbed higher.
At first, the ground was nothing but barren expanse, cracked desert plains stretching endlessly, like fractured stone skin pulled too tight across the world. Gradually, the terrain shifted, the harsh dryness giving way to patches of brittle grassland, then further still into wide savannahs where life clung in scattered clusters, small settlements stitched together from metal and necessity, their lights faint but persistent against the open land.
The ship didn't rush, it moved with a kind of quiet certainty, as though time wasn't something it needed to worry about. At one point, they crossed over a canyon split deep into the earth, a waterfall cutting straight through the cliffside, spilling downward in a roaring white column that vanished into shadow below. Mist rose up toward them as they passed overhead, catching the light in fractured colour, brief flashes of rainbow suspended in the air before dissolving behind them.
Kanesaki watched without speaking. For the first time in a while, the world didn't feel confined, didn't feel like something closing in around him, it felt open, wide in a way that almost didn't seem real anymore.
Eventually, the horizon shifted again, and this time it didn't ease into view, it overwhelmed it.
Neo Arachna
Even from a distance, it refused to look like a single city, more like something layered endlessly on top of itself, expanding outward in uneven rings of infrastructure, towering structures threaded together by bridges, rails, suspended walkways, everything interwoven into something dense, alive. Lights pulsed through it like veins, constant, rhythmic, impossible to ignore. It looked like an industrial carcass, near dystopian, hordes of people crowding around as they headed to the same places.
They descended toward it without ceremony.
Ryuu's voice broke the silence just before they entered the lower corridors, calm, direct, leaving no room for interpretation.
'Stay close.'
Kanesaki gave a small nod, Asami said nothing, only adjusted her stance slightly as the ship angled downward and slipped into the outer sectors.
The Scrubs
The moment they stepped out, the difference hit instantly, not gradual, not subtle, immediate. Noise came first, layered and overwhelming, voices shouting over each other, metal clashing somewhere nearby, music spilling unevenly from broken speakers, all of it blending into something chaotic and alive. The air felt thicker too, heavy with smoke, spice, and something metallic that lingered beneath it all. Buildings pressed in tight along the narrow streets, stacked, reinforced, extended in ways that spoke of necessity rather than design. Markets spilled outward into every available space, vendors shouting deals, hands exchanging goods faster than the eye could track, weapons, food, scrap tech, things that didn't have clear names or purposes changing owners in seconds.
A fight broke out barely a few steps ahead, someone thrown hard through a makeshift table, wood splintering on impact, and no one stopped, no one even slowed.
Kanesaki frowned slightly as they moved through it.
'This place is… loud.'
Ryuu didn't turn his head, didn't scan the chaos like the others might have.
'It's controlled,' he said.
Kanesaki glanced at him, brow tightening.
'Controlled?'
'Everything here answers to the Prince,' Ryuu replied, voice flat, certain, 'even if it doesn't look like it.'
They pushed deeper into the district, and if anything, the noise only intensified, black-market vendors calling out prices for restricted weapons, gamblers hunched around flickering holo-tables, brawlers forming loose circles in alleyways, bets already being placed before the first punch landed. And still, beneath all of it, there was structure.
Enforcers moved through the streets at steady intervals, not interfering with everything, not trying to control every detail, just enough presence to remind people where the boundary was, where things stopped being tolerated. Eventually, the path shifted.
Asami led them toward a section that didn't blend into the rest, it stood apart, quieter, tighter, more deliberate in its design, more guarded. The streets narrowed, funnelling toward a massive artificial sinkhole carved deep into the centre of the district, a vertical expanse that dropped farther than the eye could comfortably follow. Reinforced platforms surrounded it, security checkpoints positioned with clear intent. This was where the Scrubs ended, and where something else began.
A lift station stood at the edge, heavily monitored, armoured guards watching without reacting, their presence controlled, precise. Asami approached without hesitation, her expression unchanged as she reached into her pocket and produced a card, Sugimoto's.
She handed it over. The guard inspected it briefly, then stepped aside. No questions, no delay.
The doors opened and they stepped inside, the lift beginning its descent, slow at first, almost gentle, before gradually picking up speed, pulling them down into the depths of the structure.
Kanesaki's gaze shifted as they descended. The change was immediate. The rough, improvised chaos of the Scrubs faded quickly, replaced by something cleaner, more deliberate, reinforced steel, controlled lighting, structured walkways. Levels revealed themselves along the walls as they passed, entire sections of the city carved into the interior of the sinkhole. This was the real Neo Arachna.
Casinos glowing with layered lights, guarded entrances marking controlled access, nightclubs built into the walls themselves, bass vibrations humming faintly even through the lift. Markets here were different too, organised, separated, high-end goods displayed behind glass, security checkpoints filtering movement between zones.
The people changed with it. Less survival, more presence, clothing sharper, posture more assured, influence visible without needing to be stated. Guards patrolled each level with quiet precision, not reacting, just managing, guiding, controlling the flow without disrupting it. The deeper they went, the more refined it became.
Kanesaki exhaled slowly.
'…This whole city is stacked.'
Ryuu didn't respond.
Asami remained focused ahead, eyes tracking each level as it passed, taking it in, storing it.
The lift continued downward, past entertainment districts, past controlled trade zones, past layers built entirely for movement and transition, each one more contained than the last. Until finally, the motion slowed, the descent had eased, and they reached the bottom.
The lift doors opened with a soft chime.
Cold, controlled air washed over them immediately – filtered, balanced, almost unreal compared to the layered chaos of the Scrubs above. The space beyond was vast in a way that didn't feel like underground architecture anymore. It felt deliberate. Designed to be seen.
They stepped out into a long hall. Kanesaki paused almost immediately.
Water stretched along both sides of the walkway; two long, still pools carved into polished stone channels that ran the length of the chamber. The surface was so clean it reflected the ceiling above with near-perfect clarity, only occasionally disturbed by slow-moving ripples from unseen filtration systems beneath.
Beyond the pools, gardens rose in symmetrical formations. Not wild growth, but curated landscapes; trees shaped with precision, flowering plants arranged in controlled arcs of colour, pathways weaving between them like threads in a pattern too intentional to be natural. Soft sunlight filtered down through openings far above, broken into golden shafts that illuminated drifting dust and mist suspended in the air.
It was quiet here. Not empty – never empty – but restrained, like even sound had been instructed to behave itself.
Ryuu moved first.
'Keep walking,' he said simply.
Kanesaki followed, though his eyes kept drifting to the sides. Asami stayed close, her gaze sharper now, scanning the gardens and the reflections in the water as they passed.
The further they went, the more the hall seemed to open around them, until the far end came into view.
The doors at the end of the hall opened without ceremony.
Warm light spilled outward in a soft cascade, diffusing across the still water that flanked the central walkway. The pools on either side were mirror-smooth, reflecting the vaulted stone ceiling above where narrow breaks in the rock allowed shafts of daylight to fall like suspended columns. The air here was different – filtered, perfumed, almost serene in a way that felt deliberately maintained rather than natural.
Kanesaki slowed as they entered.
At the far end of the hall sat a throne.
It was enormous, carved from pale stone and reinforced with gold filigree that caught the light in slow, molten glints. Everything about it was designed to draw the eye upward – to make whoever sat upon it feel less like a man and more like an inevitability.
And seated there was the Prince.
Before Kanesaki could fully take him in, he saw the women. Three of them lingered around the throne like offerings rather than attendants. Their movements were slow, reverent, almost devotional. One knelt at his side with her hands resting lightly against his arm as though afraid he might dissolve if touched too firmly. Another leaned in close, lips brushing his cheek in an unhurried kiss that lingered too long to be casual. The third stood behind him, fingers threading through his hair with careful devotion – then, with a quiet intimacy that felt almost worshipful, she lowered her face to his neck, her lips grazing his skin as if he were something sacred only she was permitted to taste.
The Prince did not react the way someone would to attention, he allowed it. Not indulgently, but confidently, as though was expected, like it was his due. Only when they finally withdrew did the air shift.
Sugimoto sat on the steps leading up to the throne, one leg bent, posture relaxed in a way that suggested he belonged in this space without needing permission. His masked face tilted slightly as he watched the newcomers enter, as if he had been observing them for some time already and had grown bored of anticipation.
Then Kanesaki saw the Prince properly.
Dark-brown skin caught the light in a way that made him seem almost carved from polished earth and gold rather than flesh. Every contour of his expression was defined with deliberate ease, as if existence itself had been arranged to suit his silhouette. His eyes – piercing yellow – held a depth that was not simply sharp, but unsettlingly aware. They didn't just observe; they evaluated, dissected, and dismissed all at once, carrying an amusement that never softened into kindness.
His hair was long, dark brown, and impossibly smooth, falling in thick, silky strands well past his shoulders, framing his face like something too carefully composed to be accidental. From either side of his head, small horns curved outward – subtle, almost elegant, more like an extension of his presence than a deformation of it.
A vast cloak draped over him in heavy, luxurious folds. It was predominantly black, but layered with deep forest green and white, all of it woven through with rich gold that shimmered as he shifted. The cloak pooled around him like liquid regality, trailing behind him in soft, weighted lines that made even stillness feel like a statement.
He wore no shirt. His bare chest was fully exposed beneath the open cloak, toned and unhidden, not for practicality but for display – an unapologetic assertion of dominance, as if the idea of modesty simply did not apply to him. Golden arm-guards wrapped his forearms, ornate and precise, with the cloak tucked into them as though even fabric obeyed hierarchy in his presence.
His nails were painted gold, lightly sharpened at the tips; decorative at a glance, but with a quiet suggestion of lethality if ever needed. Loose, slightly baggy trousers fell from his waist, paired with simple sandal-like footwear that contrasted the extravagance above, grounding him in something almost deceptively casual.
His gaze lifted fully now – judgemental, amused, unhurried – as if the entire room existed slightly beneath his expectations, but not enough to be disappointing.
Sugimoto shifted slightly on the steps below him, his posture still relaxed, as though none of this required urgency.
The Prince, without raising his voice or moving from his throne, finally regarded the trio who had just entered his domain.
Chapter 82 – end