The air changed first.
One moment, the city's noise still echoed above — the metallic hum of trams, the restless heartbeat of the crowd — and the next, it was gone. Silence crept in, thick and damp, carrying the smell of iron, coal, and old rain. Our steps followed the faint sound of paws tapping ahead. Monsieur Le Chat Gris didn't look back once.
Amy's lantern burned low, its light trembling on the tunnel walls. Dash walked behind her, muttering under his breath. "Tell me again why we're following a cat?"
"Because," Amy said, not turning, "he's the only one who apparently knows a way out of these forsaken tunnels, and he agreed to help fugitives like us."
"Ohoho, attends une seconde ! Je n'ai jamais dit que j'allais aider des fugitifs, hein !" came a smooth voice from ahead. "I merely took pity on your terrible sense of direction. C'est tout!"
Monsieur Le Chat Gris's tone carried exquisiteness, nonchalance, elegance, and refinement. His tail swayed like a pendulum as he led us deeper down a slope that curved in slow spirals. The floor beneath our boots changed from stone to metal grating, then to rough earth. Somewhere far below, a soft rumble vibrated, like the city's buried heartbeat.
We reached a platform cut into the rock. Faint light seeped from glass bulbs strung along the ceiling by twisted copper wire. Beneath that pale glow stretched what looked like—a city. But in the underground.
Rows of makeshift houses clung to the cavern walls like barnacles, built from scavenged planks and old machine parts. Steam pipes ran between them, dripping water that fell in thin silver threads. The whole place pulsed faintly with warmth, alive and strange—a hidden world breathing under the glittering one above.
Dash's mouth fell open. "Non ci posso credereeeee!."
Amy only smiled faintly. "So, this is the part of the Capital that nobody knows exists!"
Monsieur Le Chat Gris leapt onto a railing, sitting with effortless poise. "Mes chers amis… Je vous présente Arsebern — the ass of the City of Lights. Here, those who were cast away build a life of their own. Like stray cats…and dogs. Seemingly! Though I am not astray."
He began to walk again, slower now, as if giving a tour. We followed him across a narrow bridge made of welded metal plates. People below looked up at us—faces worn but not defeated; they seemed to have never met someone from the outside world—the real one. A woman stirred a pot over a furnace. Two children carried water in tin buckets. An old man fixed a machine that looked half broken, half alive.
"Hard to believe this is right under all those shiny towering buildings," I murmured.
"The surface eats and sleeps because of us," an old, creaky voice said from a nearby stall. The speaker was a miner, covered in dust. "We keep the turbines running. We melt the scraps they throw away. We complete each other."
Amy nodded slightly in respect and moved on.
Dash leaned closer to me. "They look… happy?!"
"Non, Mr. Dash," Monsieur Le Chat Gris corrected. "Honorable. There's a difference."
He led us through a maze of passages until we reached a wider chamber where the smell of bread and oil mingled. A fountain of recycled water stood in the middle; its basin carved with old symbols. Around it, merchants sold spare parts, food, cloth—everything that could be traded or reused.
"Arsebern seems to run without royal approval," Amy whispered. "Everything seems to be recycled, repurposed, rebuilt. The Crown might be considering it the not-existing part of the city. But to people, it is the…home!"
We stopped before a pair of reinforced doors that looked too grand for this world. The cat scratched lightly at them. From inside came a low voice.
"Let them in. La Porte!"
The doors creaked open. Warm light spilled out, revealing a hall built from an old factory core. Pipes ran along the walls, hissing gently. In the center sat a man on a throne made of gears and scrap metal — broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, his hair bound in a rough braid. Despite the crude throne, he carried himself with quiet command. He seemed the kind of man who would take you just by his scary eyes.
Monsieur Le Chat Gris hopped onto a nearby table. "Ghetto, mon frère d'une autre mère! I brought some interesting guests."
He was fully armed; only his eerie eyes were visible.
The man did not bother to face us. "Tell them to leave! I have no time."
Monsieur Le Chat Gris addressed us and said, "His name is Ghetto — keeper, broker, sometimes the god of the underground they whisper about. Il peut parfois être un peu trop direct, but he is a good gentleman."
Amy came forward and addressed him. "We seek shelter. Monseigneur! The Kingly Guards are after us."
"Répète!!" Ghetto's eyes sharpened.
Amy was confused. "What did he say?"
"He said repeat…though in a way a bit…too direct! Aha!" Mr. Le Gris explained.
"I said we need somewhere to hide. Some royal guards are following us. I think it's just a matter of time before they catch us!" she elucidated.
"Quoi !! Comment osez-vous venir ici ?! Vous avez amené le démon jusqu'à la porte de mon antre ! Dégagez avant que je vous réduise en cendres !" He faced us and threatened, "C'est votre faute ! Chat… Si tu refuses de plier à mes règles, alors tu n'as rien à faire ici !"
He stood encased in jagged obsidian armor, his presence like a sealed furnace ready to rupture. Only his eyes showed—two narrow slits glowing with eerie, unblinking menace. And when anger stirred, the vents along his mask hissed open, releasing bursts of crimson steam that roared into the air like wrath made visible, curling and shrieking as if the mask itself could no longer contain the heat of his fury. Amy retreated slowly, unable to understand what was really happening.
"Ok, allons y, les enfants. Let's scarce for the meantime!" Mr. Le Chat suggested.
What was the deal with this Ghetto?! He was too repulsive. I sensed something strange inside him… something that I was familiar with. Something that was clear but… at the same time… unknown!
We left the hall when a hot girl entered. She seemed to be older than me.
Amy eyed Mr. Fromage, "What fuck was that!? Why was he shouting like a bitch? I didn't get what he was saying. Sau!" Meanwhile Le Chat Gris was laughing. "To sum up, mademoiselle, he was unpleasant with your advent, for it heralded undesirable omen! Par les cieux, you are cast into the humour of fate!"
"May I offer you a drrrrink?" he purred.
The drink burned down my throat but steadied my hands. Mr. Le Chat leaned back. "Up there, they have gold and light. Down here, they only have each other. No kings, no crowns. Only trade, survival, and silence. If you stay, you work. If you run, you run fast. Thus, he has the right to reject you. Bar, methinks that was unduly! Je vous en prie, forgive him!"
"Well, it's not that I was planning to stay here—after all I came to participate in the tournament," I said quietly.
Amy seemed unamused. "The same thing! But that jackass could've said it politely!"
Monsieur Le Chat Gris cleaned a paw. "Well, troubles seem to follow you like shadows, if you understand what I mean. Ahhaa,"
I could not take the girl's picture out of my mind and the feeling I sensed made me even more distressed. "Something suspicious… I don't want to be involved but…I feel I'm involved since the day I was born," I muttered.
I stopped abruptly and informed, "Sorry, guys! I have to investigate something." Then I jumped.
"Wait! Damnit! Amy?! That's it. That's what we needed now. If one problem isn't enough, two can be!" Dash said, disappointed.
A sound broke the moment — a faint metallic echo, too regular to be natural. Amy stood instantly. "That can only be them! They are too fast!"
The cat's ears flattened. "They found the entrance faster than expected."
Dash's calm vanished. "How many?"
"Half a squad at least," Amy said. "Maybe more."
Meanwhile in the Hall, Ghetto rose. "They never come here unless they plan to burn something. Vice-Captain's doing, la merde!"
Amy's eyes narrowed, "Holy shit, it's a vice-captain! That even makes it harder! I think we stepped on the dragons' tail!"
Dash gripped his sword hilt. "Vice-Captain?"
Amy's expression darkened. "The right hand of the Captain of the Fifth Squad: the Nano-Knights. His name's Notou. He is eccentric—people said he has never smiled even once."
Monsieur Le Chat Gris leapt to the floor. "Then we move. This way."
Dash and Amy followed him through a side passage lit by red emergency lamps. The sound of boots grew louder, clanging against the metal bridges above us. Shouts echoed — commands sharp and disciplined. The city below stirred; people doused lamps, hid tools, vanished into alleys.
Ghetto's men sealed doors as we passed. "If they reach the core, they'll destroy the generators," he muttered. "That will kill the lights for half the lower quarter."
We reached an overlook—a balcony cut into the rock face. From there, we could see the Guards descending in formation: silver armour glinting in the dim light, rifles slung across their shoulders, their insignia gleaming red like blood. At their head marched a man taller than the rest… no taller than anyone of them… His cape trimmed with white fur. His face was partially hidden under a visor, but his voice carried clearly.
"By decree of His Majesty, all denizens of this illegal settlement are to surrender. Resistance will be met with execution. Those harbouring fugitives from the Crown will be shown no mercy."
"That voice…" Amy whispered. "It's really him."
Vice-Captain Notou raised his gauntlet. The air shimmered; a line of light carved across the floor. The ground beneath the Guards split open — not from explosives, but from pure pressure, as if the city itself bowed to him.
Ghetto exhaled slowly. "And there he is — the Kingly pigs!"
Monsieur Le Chat Gris's tail flicked. "Prepare yourselves, mes amis!"
"Damnation, it's their fault!" Ghetto replied, his face shrinking thinly.
"Enough," Amy said. "We can't fight him head-on."
Dash nodded. "Then what? Hide forever?"
Meanwhile, Sein was heading to the Hall to ascertain something he felt rather strange yet familiar.
I felt something inside me stir—that same heat I'd tried to bury since the island. My chains ached, faint light tracing along my arms before fading. I clenched my fists. "I heard that noise. It must be the guards who were behind it. I brought them here, so I'll investigate then I'll return. Please! Please! Buy time for these people till I come back! I count on you all!"
Ghetto went down the Hall. Next to him was that girl that entered after Sein and his friends left. "Secure the children! I'll intervene on your signal. Make sure you close the vent they dug! If they want to dance, I will prepare a good party!" The girl nodded and left, no hesitation, no questioning.
The walls shook from distant blasts. Dust rained down, glowing red under emergency lights. Somewhere behind us, soldiers shouted orders.
We reached a narrow tunnel that opened onto an abandoned elevator shaft. The cat jumped onto the cables, climbing with graceful ease. "Up," he called. "The old maintenance lift still works if you treat it gently."
Dash looked up. "That thing's gonna hold us?"
"It will if you stop asking," the cat said.
We ascended. Through the grating, I saw flashes of light — gunfire, sparks, silhouettes of Guards clashing with Ghetto's men. For a heartbeat, the underground seemed to tremble between life and collapse.
When we finally reached the top of the shaft, Monsieur Le Chat Gris pressed a switch. A hatch opened, letting in faint daylight filtered through a broken vent.
We climbed out into a half-ruined station lit by stray beams from above. Amy checked her communicator. "They'll regroup. We only delayed them."
Dash met Amy's gaze. "Then we'd better be ready."
Next time on Soul Blade Brawl Z: The Crash of Legendz— "Unprecedented Encounter, Part 2!"
NP: This introduces the first Sub-Arc: The Underground City Arc.