Chapter 30: The Council of Frauds

The temple door, a heavy curtain of iridescent insect shells, clicks shut, sealing us in. The smoky half-light of the single, massive torch casts our shadows, long and distorted, against the carved stone walls. They look like giants. They look like frauds.

For a full minute, there is no sound but the thump-thump-thump of my own heart, a frantic drum against my ribs. I am still sitting on the fungal mat, my back pressed against the cold, unyielding wall. My divine mask has shattered, and the pieces are scattered on the floor.

Kizawa is the first to move. He does not turn from the door. He simply shifts his weight, a minute adjustment, but the message is clear. He is a wall. He is the guardian at the gate.

"Status," he says. His voice is a low rasp, devoid of all emotion. It is not a question. It is a command for data.

Yogawa answers, his voice shaky, but his analytical mind is already churning. He is pacing, a tight three-step-turn-three-step loop, his hands pulling at his own hair.

"Status is 'catastrophic'. No, that is not precise. Status is... 'FUBAR'. 'Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition'. They think she is a god. A literal, divine entity, sent to answer their prayers. They are not going to let us leave."

"Can you... untranslate it?" Hachiro asks, his voice small. He is sitting cross-legged, his knuckles a raw, bloody mess, forgotten in his lap. "Tell them it is a mistake? A... a party trick?"

"A party trick?" Yogawa spins on him, his eyes wild. "A party trick that vaporized three elite demons and healed their Phalanx? A party trick that created a golden light they have only dreamed of? Do you have any idea what 'protocol' is for telling a desperate, dying culture that their one, final, impossible hope is just a... a coincidence?"

He does not wait for an answer. "They will kill us. Not out of malice. Out of despair. Or they will kill themselves. Or they will hand us over to the Hunters as a 'false offering'. We are trapped, Hachiro. Trapped by their faith."

Erima, silent until now, speaks. She is checking her quiver, her movements economical and precise. She is counting arrows by feel.

"Three arrows left. Two standard broadheads, one explosive tip. Kizawa?"

"Swords are intact. Energy is... low. I can fight for ten minutes, maybe. After that... I am a liability."

"My fists are... not optimal," Hachiro mutters, looking at his hands. "But my chi is... I feel weird. Energized. That green Miasma-light... it is awful, but it is potent. I think... I think I am metabolizing it."

All eyes turn to him. Yogawa stops pacing.

"You are what?"

"Metabolizing it," Hachiro repeats, as if this is obvious. "My chi... it always runs hot. It burns... impurities. This Rekka-stuff... it is just... raw energy. A really, really dirty fuel. I feel... jittery. But strong. Like I drank twenty cups of coffee."

Yogawa stares at him, his mouth open. "You... you are eating the poison that is killing this entire world. Hachiro, you are not human. You are a biological anomaly."

"Thanks!" Hachiro beams. "So, I can definitely punch things. For a while, anyway."

"Good." Erima nods, her attention turning to Yogawa. "Magician?"

"Do not... do not call me that," Yogawa snaps, rubbing his temples. "I am... drained. That translation... the 'First Tongue'... it is not just words. It is... it is conceptual. It costs me. I can... maybe... light a few wards. A 'Fire-bolt' if I am lucky. But a 'Gate'? A 'Phase-Shift'? Absolutely not. We are... magically... inert."

Finally, all of them look at me. The 'goddess'. The 'First Flame'.

I just shake my head, my hair, now a dull, lifeless silver, sticking to my damp face.

"Empty," I whisper. "It is... it is gone. That light... it was not me. It was... it was something else. It burned through me. I was just... the wick. And now... I am just... ash."

I hold up my hands. They are pale, covered in grime, and trembling violently. "This is it. This is all that is left. I am... I am just Mizuki. And Mizuki... is useless."

A heavy, crushing silence descends on the temple. We are a collection of broken tools. A swordsman who cannot endure, an archer with no arrows, a magician with no magic, a brawler running on poison, and a goddess with no flame.

"So," Kizawa says, his voice flat, still facing the door. "The 'salvation' plan is... nonexistent. We cannot fight our way out. We cannot sneak out. And we cannot fulfill their... request."

"We cannot save them," Erima says, her voice a stark, cold summary.

"We cannot even save ourselves," I whisper, and the despair is a physical weight, threatening to crush my chest.

"Wrong."

The word cuts through the gloom. It is Hachiro. He is standing up now, a strange, excited, almost manic grin on his face.

"What?" Yogawa grunts.

"You are all wrong," Hachiro says, his voice vibrating with that jittery, Miasma-fueled energy. "You are all looking at the problem. But you are not looking at the data! The data is amazing!"

He starts pacing, mimicking Yogawa, but with a wild, enthusiastic energy.

"One: They are not going to kill us. They worship us. That gives us time. That gives us access. Two: They have a problem. A big one. The 'Hollow-God', the 'Rekka-Heart', whatever-it-is, down. And 'Hunters' coming up. Right?"

He points a finger at Yogawa. "You said it yourself! They are losing! Their 'Obsidian Phalanx' is failing!"

"That is... that is our problem, too, you idiot!" Yogawa sputters. "If they fall, we are the first things the demons eat!"

"Exactly!" Hachiro shouts, punching his palm. "So we have a shared goal! This is not 'us vs. them'! This is 'us and them vs. the real threat'!"

"With what, Hachiro?" I ask, my voice tired. "With my empty hands? With Erima's three arrows?"

"No!" Hachiro runs over and kneels in front of me. His eyes are bright, too bright, like black marbles lit by an internal fire. "With this!"

He gestures around the city. "This is an entire civilization! They have... infrastructure! They have warriors! They have knowledge! That blind shaman, Vor-Kin? He knows what the Hunters are, where they come from, how they fight. They have been surviving down here for generations! They are not weak, Mizuki. They are just... losing. They are fighting a modern war with... with spears!"

He springs up again. "So we... we upgrade them."

The idea is so simple, so insane, that nobody speaks.

Hachiro starts ticking points off on his bruised fingers. "One: Erima. You are an archer. You are also a strategist. You saw their 'Phalanx'. I saw your face. It is a mess. You can... you can fix it. You can teach them tactics. Choke-points. Feints. Ambushes. Right?"

Erima is silent for a long moment. "Their discipline is... nonexistent. They fight with fear. But... their bodies are... resilient. Yes. Given time... I could make them... better."

"See!" Hachiro beams. "Two: Yogawa! You are a magician. You are also a scholar. You said it yourself... First Tongue! This is... this is the source code! You can learn from them! And they are... they are primitive! You have your grimoire! You can teach them basic applied thaumaturgy! Simple wards! A... a Fire-bolt! Can you imagine what a hundred Grak-ta who can all cast a 'Fire-bolt' could do to a demon charge?"

Yogawa is staring at Hachiro, his expression of pure terror slowly, slowly shifting to one of dawning, horrified... realization. "The... the feedback loop... the mana... if I could... if I could teach them to channel... it... it would be... exponential..."

"Three: Kizawa!" Hachiro points to the door. "You are a master swordsman. A master. They have spears. You can teach them form. How to use a blade. How to... to... parry! They do not even know what 'parrying' is! They just... brace for impact! You can create an elite guard. A... a real Phalanx!"

Kizawa does not turn, but his shoulders tense. He says nothing. But he does not disagree.

"Four: Me!" Hachiro grins, punching his own chest. "I am the powerhouse! And I am running on their poison! I am... I am living proof that the Rekka can be... fought. I can... I can punch things. I can be the... the 'Champion' of the Goddess! I can... I can inspire them! And... I can study! I can learn how the Miasma works, and maybe... maybe... find a way to... reverse it!"

Finally, he turns back to me. His manic grin softens, just a little.

"And you, Mizuki... you are the 'goddess'."

"I told you, Hachiro... I am empty."

"You... you are recharging," he says, his voice suddenly soft. "You... you are a battery. You just... you burned it all in one go. You... you just need time. But... we do not need your flame right now. We need your... your face."

"My... my face?"

"You are their hope. You are the banner. You are the... the 'Goddess of the First Flame'. All you have to do... is stand there. Stand on a balcony. Nod. Look... divine. Be the reason... they are willing to listen to us. Be the... the symbol... they will rally behind."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the Miasma-coffee-buzz seeming to fade, replaced by a genuine, desperate sincerity.

"We... we can do this, Mizuki. We can. We can... we can win. We can... save them."

The smoky room is silent again. Hachiro's insane, impossible, desperate plan hangs in the air.

It is a plan built on lies. A plan built on deceit. A plan that uses the faith of a dying people as a tool.

It is... monstrous.

"It is... a lie," I whisper, saying the thought aloud. "We... we would be using them."

"We would be saving them!" Hachiro counters, his voice rising again. "What is worse, Mizuki? Lying to them and giving them a chance to fight? Or telling them the truth... and condemning them all to die?"

I have no answer.

Erima speaks, her voice like ice. "He is right. A kind truth is a cruelty right now. A useful lie... is a weapon."

Yogawa nods, his face grim. "It is... the only logical path. We assume the mantle of 'Godhood'. We use the authority it grants us. We... we force them to... to evolve. We... command them to survive."

I look at the door. At Kizawa's back. He has not moved. He has not spoken.

"Kizawa?" I ask.

He is silent for a long time. The only sound is the crackle of the torch.

Finally, he speaks.

"It is... a disgrace. It... it disgusts me. It is... dishonorable."

My heart sinks.

"But," he continues, his voice hard as iron. "It is... necessary. To... survive. We... we will not... die here."

He turns his head, just enough to look at me over his shoulder. His eyes are cold, but... there is a fire in them. A fire I know. It is the fire of his will.

"So... rise, 'Goddess'," he says, his voice flat, but the order is absolute. "The... 'Council of Frauds'... is in session. We... have a war... to plan."