Chapter 37: The Nexus of Truth

The walk down from the Spire is an exercise in unreality.

Each step is a betrayal.

We pass Grak-ta workers, their faces etched with grime and exhaustion, hauling baskets of glowing Rekka-stone fragments. They move with a purpose that is now obscene to me. They are tending their prison, reinforcing their own cage.

We pass guards of the Phalanx, their obsidian armor gleaming in the green torchlight. They stand straight, their spears held at perfect attention. They are avatars of 'bravery', "holding the line" against the mercy that tries to free their tormented god.

Every part of Oros-Ka, a city of impossible, breathtaking, wrongful existence, feels like a personal insult.

Yogawa is silent, his grimoire clutched to his chest like a shield. It is no longer a source of pride. It is a book of lies, a child's scribble in the face of a cosmic, agonizing truth. His eyes are hollow, seeing nothing but the horror of his own misplaced fury. He has spent his life hating the symptoms, not the disease.

Hachiro is... diminished. The vibrant, burning Miasma-chi that defines him is drawn inward, a low, guttering ember. He is not feeling the 'power' of the Miasma anymore. He is feeling the source. The scream. The endless, unending pain. His cheerful obsession has been murdered, replaced by a crushing, silent empathy.

And I... I am a void.

I am a weapon that has just been aimed. The cold, simple, binary world of my grandfather is gone. This is not 'human' versus 'demon'. This is 'parasite' versus 'cure'. And I... I am on the side of neither.

I am not here to save the Grak-ta.

I am not here to help the Hunters.

I am here to end the board. I am here to grant the execution that the prisoner, the Hollow-God, has been begging for.

My hair, silver and gold, hangs limp and heavy, the fiery light of the Phoenix-truth extinguished, replaced by a cold, internal resolve.

We reach the base of the Spire and walk through the main thoroughfare. The city is alive with the "First Command." Erima's new strategy is being implemented.

We see Grak-ta, clumsy and slow, trying to practice the quick, jabbing spear-thrusts Kizawa demonstrated.

We see others, stripped of their heavy armor, jogging in awkward formations-the first 'Javelins', their faces a mixture of confusion and determination.

It is all... a waste.

It is the most pointless, heartbreaking, useless expenditure of hope I have ever witnessed. They are training for a 'war' that is a lie, a 'victory' that is a sin.

My stomach tightens. Erima and Kizawa. They do not know. They are in the Nexus, building a future that cannot... will not... be allowed... to exist.

We reach the great, carved doors of the Nexus. The two guards slam their spears against the stone floor in a salute. They are saluting the 'Weapon', the 'Goddess', the lie that will destroy them.

I push the doors open.

The scene inside is one of frantic, purposeful energy.

Krell is at the map-table, his massive, armored form dominating the room. Renn and Gella are beside him, their antennae twitching, pointing at different runes on the glowing map.

And at the center of it all... are Kizawa and Erima.

Erima is standing on the table. She has kicked aside the scrolls, her boots planted firmly on the carved continent of the deep. She is pointing, her voice crisp and sharp. "No. The 'Shield' unit pivots here, at the 'Broken Pass'. They feint a retreat. The 'Javelins' strike from the flank... here. You draw the Hunters into this kill-box."

Kizawa is on the floor, his steel blades moving in a blur, demonstrating a complex, two-sword parry to a terrified-looking Phalanx captain. "The impact... is not... to be stopped," Kizawa says, his voice low and intense. "It is... to be redirected. You... are not... a wall. You... are a gate. You guide... their fury... past... you. Then... you strike."

They are brilliant. They are magnificent.

They are building... a lie.

"Stop."

My voice is not loud. It is barely a whisper.

But it cuts... through everything.

The motion... stops. Kizawa's blades... freeze. Erima's hand... pauses... in mid-air. Krell's growl... dies... in his throat.

One hundred pairs of Grak-ta eyes turn to me, Yogawa, and Hachiro, standing in the doorway.

They see... the truth... on our faces.

Kizawa is the first to move. He is across the room in a second, his hand on my shoulder, his other hand on his hilt. His eyes are not on me. They are on the Grak-ta, on Krell. He assumes... they... are the threat.

"Mizuki?" his voice is a low, dangerous vibration. "What... happened?"

Erima gracefully hops off the table. Her face is a mask of cold, analytical concern. She looks from me, to Yogawa, to Hachiro. She is analyzing... our trauma.

"Report," she says. "What... did Vor-Kin... do?"

Krell turns, his four black eyes narrowing. "Weapon. You... return. What answers... does the Spire... give? Where... is the General... of the Hunters?"

I look at Kizawa's hand on my shoulder. I look at Erima's calculating gaze. I look at Krell's impatient, demanding pride.

I raise my hand... and I push... Kizawa's hand... off... of me.

His eyes widen. Shock. Hurt.

I walk past him. I walk past Erima. I walk... until I am standing... directly... in front... of General Krell.

I place my... hand... on the glowing... map-table.

"Yogawa," I command, my voice flat. "Translate. Exactly."

Yogawa steps forward, his body shaking, but his face is set, a mask of dreadful... resolve.

"The 'Hollow-God'," I state, my voice ringing in the sudden, terrible silence. "Is not... a god."

Yogawa translates. A murmur ripples through the Grak-ta. Krell's face darkens.

"It... is a prisoner," I continue, my voice rising. "Trapped... in your... city. In your... 'Spire'. Screaming... for an eternity."

The translation hits, and the murmur becomes a gasp.

"The Miasma... is not... a curse. It... is *its... blood. The 'Hunters'... are not... the enemy."

I pause, letting the weight of the moment build. I look Krell... directly... in his four... black... eyes.

"They... are the cure. You... General... are the disease."

Silence.

Absolute, deafening... uncomprehending... silence.

Yogawa's final, trembling translation echoes... and dies.

Krell... does not... move. He... is processing.

Erima's eyes... are wide. She... is not... horrified. She... is calculating. She... is re-processing... everything. The Spire's 'song'. The Hunters' "stupid" tactics. The Rekka-Heart's... failing... pulse.

Kizawa... looks at me. His face is a mask of pure, agonizing confusion. He... does not... understand.

Hachiro steps up next to Yogawa, his fists clenched, his Miasma-chi burning... cold.

Krell's massive, armored hand... slowly... clenches.

"BLASPHEMY!"

His roar is a physical... force. It is not... a word. It... is an explosion. He does not... need... a translator.

"You... are corrupted!" he bellows, pointing his axe... not at me... but at Yogawa. "You... Translator... of LIES! The 'Weapon'... is... compromised! The 'Spire'... has broken... her! You... speak... poison!"

He moves.

He is impossibly... fast. His axe... is a black... blur... aimed directly... at Yogawa's... head.

But Kizawa... is faster.

SHIIIIING.

The sound of steel... on... obsidian... screams... in the Nexus.

Kizawa is there, his two... blades... crossed... over... Yogawa's... head, straining... to hold... back... the fury... of Krell's... axe.

The impact... throws Kizawa... to one... knee. His arms... are shaking.

"You... dare...?" Krell seethes, his four... eyes... burning... with rage. "You... defend... the blasphemer?"

"I... defend... my team," Kizawa grunts, his muscles... screaming... as he pushes... the axe... back... an inch.

THWACK.

An arrow embeds... itself... in the stone... wall... just past... Krell's... head.

Erima is standing... on... the table... again, her bow... level, another arrow... nocked... and aimed... directly... at Krell's... throat.

"General," she says, her voice as cold and sharp as the arrowhead. "Stand... down."

The Nexus explodes.

The Grak-ta guards surge... forward, their spears... leveling.

"NO!" Hachiro roars, and he slams... his... fist... into the stone... floor.

BOOM.

A shockwave of pure... Miasma-chi... explodes... outward. It is not... an attack. It is a wall. A wave... of concussive... force... that staggers... the guards, throwing... them back.

The room is split.

Us... versus them.

"This... is not... a lie," I say, my voice cutting through the ringing in their ears.

I walk past... the standoff. I walk past... Kizawa's straining... form. I walk past... Erima's aimed... arrow.

I stand... in front... of the map... and the furious... General.

"This... is the truth," I state, my hair beginning to burn, the silver and gold light flaring to life, illuminating... the hate... in Krell's... eyes.

"Your... 'war'... is a sin. Your 'bravery'... is a curse. Your 'Phalanx'... is a prison... guard."

I point... to the glowing... Spire... on the map.

"That... is my... target. I... am the 'Weapon'. I... am here... to kill... your God-Prisoner."

Krell roars... in fury... and pushes... Kizawa... back, breaking the stalemate.

"Then... you... are my... ENEMY!" he bellows.

"No," I say, as my dagger appears... in my... hand. "I... am not... your enemy."

The Phoenix... flame... erupts... around... me, bathing the Nexus... in golden... fire.

"I... am your end."