Chapter 38: The Fracture

The golden Phoenix-flame roars to life, a silent, spiritual inferno that pushes back the green Rekka-light. My hair is a river of molten light, and the heat pouring from me is not physical, but conceptual. It is the heat of a truth that burns.

My dagger, 'First Flame', hums, its golden edge impossibly bright.

Krell staggers back, not from the heat, but from the audacity. He raises his axe, a four-eyed mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He is a being of faith, and I have just spat on his altar.

"You... dare...?" he whispers, his voice a low, guttural vibration.

"ENOUGH!"

The voice is not mine. It is not Krell's.

It is Erima's.

Her arrow is still nocked, still aimed not at Krell's throat, but at his right eye. A killing shot.

"This... is illogical," she states, her voice ringing with cold, absolute command. "General. You... are a tactician. I... am a tactician. Violence... here... is inefficient. It... solves... nothing. It... destroys... assets."

She gestures with her chin to me, Kizawa, Hachiro, and Yogawa. "We... are your only... assets. You... cannot... afford... to break... us."

Krell's massive chest heaves. He is vibrating with the need to strike, to purge the blasphemy.

"She... speaks... heresy!" he roars.

"She... speaks... an observation," Erima counters, her voice never wavering. "The 'Spire'... sings. Vor-Kin... confirmed... it. The Miasma... is... 'pain'. Gella... confirmed... it. The 'Hollow-God'... is a prisoner. This... is a variable. Not... heresy. It... must... be... analyzed."

She is brilliant. She is reframing my... moral... crusade... as a tactical... problem. She is giving his warrior-mind a path... out... of the corner... I backed... him... into.

Kizawa does not move. He is a statue of steel and willpower, his blades still locked in a defensive stance, shielding Yogawa. He is not... a tactician. He... is a protector. His eyes are fixed on me, a burning, silent question. 'Mizuki... what... have... you... done?'

"The... Lore-Keeper..."

The voice is a dry rasp. It is Renn, the ancient, grey historian. He steps forward, his frail body trembling, but his eyes... his... eyes... are not... on Krell. They... are on Yogawa's... grimoire.

"Yogawa... translate... for him," I command.

Yogawa, still shaking, turns his attention to the old Grak-ta.

"The... 'First... Song'," Renn whispers, his antennae twitching. "The 'Hollow-God'... did... sing. In the Before-Time. It... was... a song... of creation. Of light. The... texts... say... it."

He turns his ancient, milky eyes to Krell.

"General. The 'Spire's'... new... song. The song... of pain. I... have heard... it. We... all... have. We... called... it... 'divine... suffering'. We... called... it... a test... of... faith."

He steps closer, his robes dragging on the stone.

"What... if... it... is not... a test? What... if... it... is simply... pain?"

This... is the true... fracture.

It is not... my flame. It is not... Kizawa's steel. It is this. A believer... questioning... his own... scripture.

Krell looks from Renn, to me, to Erima's arrow. His entire world... his entire... civilization... is built on one... single... premise: The 'Hollow-God' is a savior, the 'Hunters' are a curse.

I have just inverted... the equation.

If I... am right... then his entire... life... his Phalanx... the sacrifice... of generations... has not... just... been... a waste.

It... has been... an atrocity.

This truth... is too... large. It... is too... heavy. A mind... cannot... hold... it.

Krell... breaks.

But... not... in the way... I expect.

He... lowers... his axe.

Just an inch.

"I... cannot... know," he growls, his voice a low, agonized rumble. The fury... is gone. Replaced... by a cold... terrible... emptiness.

"I... do not... know... what... to believe."

He looks at me. The hate... is gone. Replaced... by a dead... calculating... stare.

"But... I... know... this," he continues, his voice flat. "The 'Hunters'... kill... my... men. The Rekka-Heart... fails. The Miasma... rises. These... are facts. Your... 'truth'... is a song."

He straightens up, his massive form a tower of black obsidian.

"You... will... remain... in the Nexus. All... of you."

He points his axe at Erima. "The 'Arrow'... will continue... to train... the Phalanx. The 'Blade'... will continue... to teach... the 'Reapers'. The 'Fist'... and the 'Scholar'... will work... with Gella... and Renn. You... will... find... a way... to use... this 'First... Magic'. You... will... make... us... stronger."

This... is not... what I... expected. He... is not... choosing. He... is compartmentalizing.

"General..." Kizawa starts, lowering his blades. "You... cannot... ask... us..."

"I... am not... asking," Krell interrupts, his voice flat. "It... is an order. From... your... General."

He looks at me, his four eyes void.

"'Weapon'. You... claim... the 'Hollow-God'... is your target. Prove... it. You... claim... it... is a prisoner. Prove... it. You... will... go... back... to the Spire. With Vor-Kin. And you... will... find... a way... to speak... to it."

"And... if... I... refuse?" I ask, my own voice cold.

Krell... almost... smiles. It... is a horrifying... sight.

"Then... your... 'truth'... is... blasphemy. And... I... will execute... you... all. Your 'Goddess'... lie... is broken. Your... only... value... now... is utility."

He turns his back on me. On all... of us.

"The 'Council'... is over," he roars to the terrified Grak-ta. "Return... to your duties. The 'First Command'... stands. We... will... prepare... for war. Even... if... our Gods... have... forsaken... us."

He stalks out of the Nexus, his Phalanx guards scrambling to form an honor guard around him.

The great stone doors slam shut, leaving the five of us... alone... in the vast, green-lit chamber.

We are not... allies.

We are prisoners.

The silence is absolute. It is heavier than the Miasma, more suffocating than the deep, stone air.

I... broke it.

"Mizuki."

Kizawa's voice. It is... dead. He sheathes his blades with a soft, final click.

He... does not... look... at me.

"Erima. Hachiro. Yogawa. Report. Everything."

Erima nods, her face pale, but her eyes are sharp, analytical. "The Spire... is a conduit. The 'song'... is telepathic. A broadcast... of agony. Vor-Kin... amplified... it. The 'Hollow-God'... is... the Rekka-Heart. It... is being... consumed. Alive. The Miasma... is *its... pain. The 'Hunters'... are antibodies. Spirit-constructs... created... by the God... to attack... its own... body... to end... its own... suffering. They... are not... 'demons'. They... are prayers... for death."

Her summary is perfect. Clinical. Terrible.

Hachiro slumps to the floor, his vibrant chi-light extinguished. "It... hurts..." he whispers, clutching his head. "I... can still... feel... it. The 'Miasma'... it... screams... Mizuki... it never... stops... screaming..."

Yogawa leans against the map-table, his face a mask of green, nauseated horror. "My... life..." he chokes out. "My anger... my hatred... it... it was... for... nothing. I... I hate... the victim. I... I hate... the screaming... thing... that I... should... have... been... saving..."

Kizawa... finally... turns... to me.

His blue eyes... are not... angry. They... are not... confused.

They... are shattered.

"You... knew," he whispers.

It... is not... a question. It... is an accusation.

"I... just... found... out..." I protest.

"You... knew... the cost," he says, his voice raw. "You... stood... there. You... let... us... build... a lie. You... let... Erima... plan... a war. You... let... me... teach... them... to kill... prayers."

"I... did not... know... what... else... to do!" I scream, the words tearing out of me. "Krell... he... would not... listen...!"

"So... you... forced... his... hand?" Kizawa steps towards me, his eyes blazing with a cold, blue fire... I... have never... seen. "You... blew... up... our... only... alliance? You... turned... us... from... Gods... to... PRISONERS? THIS... was... your... plan?"

"I... HAVE... NO... PLAN!" I roar back, the Phoenix-flame flaring with my rage, my pain. "I... just... know... what... is... RIGHT! That... thing... upstairs... is suffering! And... I... am... going... to STOP... IT!"

"And... what... about... them?" Kizawa's voice is now deadly soft. He gestures to the door. "The Grak-ta? The ones... Erima... was... trying... to save? The ones... you... just... condemned?"

"They... are living... on stolen... life!"

"They... are LIVING!" he shouts. "They... are people, Mizuki! Not... just... parasites! They... are scared! They... are ignorant! They... are brave! And... you... just... became... their... apocalypse!"

I... have no... answer.

He... is right.

The 'Weapon'... is here. And... I... am... it.

My target... is the 'Hollow-God'.

The collateral... damage... is everything... else.

"So... what... now... 'Weapon'?" Erima asks, her voice cutting, pragmatic. She has already... moved... past... the shock. She... is on... to the next... problem.

"We... are trapped. Krell... holds... all... the cards. He... needs... us. But... he... does not... trust... us. He... will... use... us. And... if... we... fail... his... 'tests'... he... will... kill... us."

She looks at me, her eyes hard.

"You... broke... the world, Mizuki. Now... what? How... do... we... fix... it?"

I look at my hands. My dagger, 'First Flame', is gone, dematerialized.

I... am... the Weapon.

I... am... the end.

"We... don't... fix... it," I whisper, the cold, hard resolve... returning. "We... finish... it. Krell... wants... proof? We... give... him... proof. I... am... going... back... to the Spire. I... am... going... to talk... to the God."

I look at Kizawa, at his broken... trust.

"And... this... time... you... are all... coming... with... me."