Arcane: Sovereign Of The Broken City

Chapter 11: Knives in the Dark

983 AN

Sep 09

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[POV: Finn]

The hideout stank of sweat, rust, and hot nerves. Finn leaned over the table, fingers drumming. Eight of his best men stood around him—scarred, dangerous, loyal to coin and fear.

Renni was gone. Strath too. The barons were falling like roaches under a boot.

And that boot had a name now.

Ashryn.

She walked out of the Pit with Renni's blood on her and a grin like she'd just finished breakfast. Piltover might still think Zaun was a festering sewer, but down here, people were starting to believe in her. That made her dangerous.

"She's just a girl with a gang and a lucky streak," Finn growled. "Let's snap it."

He pointed to a map. "Tomorrow night. She meets with her crew in a warehouse near the old clock tower, same spot they've used the past four Thursdays. You go in quiet. Through the side alley and upper walkway. Two teams. No mercy."

The man with the stitched mouth gave a lazy nod. Another tightened his grip on a silent scattergun rigged from an old pipe borer.

"If she's not alone?" someone asked.

Finn's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Kill everyone. And if it goes south—run. I'll deal with what's left."

He didn't wait for agreement. He walked away, coat trailing behind him like a shadow.

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[POV: Ashryn]

The smell of solder and scrap metal hung in the air. Inside the dim-lit warehouse, Viktor hunched over a converter core, muttering about heat transfer coefficients. Cael sat perched on a rusted locker, methodically cleaning a long rifle while humming off-key. Callum stood near the doorway, arms folded, gaze fixed on the outside like he expected a war to walk in any minute.

Ashryn hung upside down from a pipe.

"I'm telling you," she said, twisting slowly in place, "a gym. Think about it. We're doing half the work already. Just charge Piltover snobs to crawl through the Undercity and dodge falling bricks."

"That's not a gym," Viktor said, not looking up. "That's trauma with a subscription model."

Ash grinned. "Exactly! We'd be rich."

Cael smirked as he locked a magazine into place. "You'd blow the profits on coffee and pipe bombs."

"Bold of you to assume I pay for bombs."

Lynne walked in, tapping on a datapad, eyes sharp. "Shipment from the west inlet arrived early. The converter casings are here. Workers are set to finish the top floor of the Clock Tower by the weekend."

Ashryn flipped and landed gracefully. "Look at us. Almost a real city."

Callum snorted. "A real city wouldn't be this quiet."

Ashryn stretched. "Aw, don't ruin it. Let me enjoy the calm for five—"

Boom.

The explosion tore through the back wall. Concrete and flame erupted as two of Finn's men charged through the breach, weapons raised.

Ashryn rolled behind a support beam as bullets tore past her head. "Well, shit. Spoke too soon!"

Cael was already moving—rifle up, cold and precise. One shot dropped a man mid-charge. Another slammed into a second attacker's shoulder, spinning him sideways into Viktor's half-assembled coil.

Callum was across the floor in a blink, blade flashing. He moved like a storm—one clean slice across a throat, another straight into a gut. No words, no hesitation.

Ashryn ducked and swept the legs out from a man swinging a pipe, flipped his weapon out of his hand, and kicked it away.

"Next time," she huffed, "bring flowers if you're gonna drop in uninvited."

Lynne ducked behind a barrel, pistol drawn, firing measured shots. One clipped a man in the leg, slowing him just enough for Cael to finish the job with a clean shot to the head.

More figures poured in from the side walkway—three more at least, trying to flank.

Ash sprinted forward, scooping up a half-broken shield from an old chem-suit. It absorbed the first few hits before she threw it like a discus into a man's chest. She charged after it, elbowed him in the face, then wrestled his knife into his own side.

Pain sparked across her ribs—a lucky slash caught her during the spin. She hissed, shoved the attacker away, and kept moving.

"Callum, left side!" she shouted.

"I see it," he growled, catching an incoming attacker with a brutal downward swing.

Viktor ducked behind a table, pulling out a shock pack from his belt. He tossed it toward a cluster of incoming boots and triggered it mid-air—a crackling burst of electric arcs slammed two men to the floor, screaming.

One tried to crawl.

Cael put him down.

Ashryn wiped blood from her cheek, eyes bright.

"Who's left?"

"Just the one runner," Lynne called, nodding toward the exit. "Took the stairs like a smart coward."

Ashryn watched him vanish into the dark, breathing hard but smiling.

"Let him go."

Callum looked at her. "Why?"

She rolled her shoulder. "Because I want Finn to know exactly what he bought."

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[POV: Finn]

He ran.

The rooftops were slick from mist and moss, the wind biting through the holes in his coat. He didn't stop to look behind him—he didn't need to. He knew what failure smelled like. Burned oil. Blood. Panic.

His man found him three blocks out. Or what was left of him.

Finn barely glanced at the bloodied face, then turned west—toward the acid-light glow of Silco's quarter.

He hadn't lost yet. He still had options.

Just fewer every day.

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[POV: Ashryn]

The warehouse was a mess—blood, broken gear, cracked walls—but her crew was alive. Bandaged. Breathing.

Ashryn leaned back in her chair, a mug of something vaguely warm pressed to her lips.

"Someone please write 'Do Not Tempt Fate' on the damn wall."

Cael snorted. "In blood or chalk?"

"Both. For dramatic effect."

Callum sat in the corner, arms crossed. "We should've chased the last one."

Ash sipped. "We did better. We gave him a story."

Lynne leaned against the wall. "You're hurt."

"I'm always hurt," Ashryn grinned. "Just comes with the job."

Viktor was already sweeping up scrap. "I'm reinforcing that back wall tomorrow."

Ashryn stretched, sore but pleased. "That's three down."

A pause.

She grinned wider.

"Two to go."

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