Chapter 39: The Reluctant Ascent

The silence after the Fracture is a physical thing. It is a heavy, cold, suffocating blanket that presses down on us, even more oppressive than the Miasma-tinged air of the Grak-ta city.

We are a broken, ugly mosaic of failure. We stand at the base of the true Spire, the gaping, fleshy entrance to the Hollow-God's inner sanctum that Krell and his Phalanx have cleared for us. This is the path to the 'Nexus of Truth', and none of us wants to take it.

Kizawa is the heart of that silence. He stands apart, his back to us, methodically sharpening 'Silence' against 'Storm'. The shing-shing-shing of steel on steel is a cold, rhythmic, hateful sound. It is an accusation. It is a wall. The chasm in his soul, the one I saw in the alley, has become a fortress. He is no longer my friend. He is a blade, waiting for a target.

Hachiro is the opposite. He is trying to fill the silence, and failing. He paces, his Miasma-chi burning a low, nervous green. He attempts a joke about the Grak-ta's armor, but the words die in his throat. His one good hand clenches and unclenches. He is an empath, and our collective, suffocating misery is poisoning him.

Yogawa is a statue of pure, academic terror. He is clutching his grimoire to his chest so tightly his knuckles are white. He is pale, shaking, his eyes fixed on the pulsating, fleshy maw of the Spire's entrance. He is a man of logic who has been confronted by an equation he cannot solve. He is a magician who has found a demon he cannot name, and it has broken his mind.

I am Erima. I am the Arrow. My role is to be the strategist. I am methodically counting my arrows. I have twenty-four. Not enough. I check the fletching. I test the string of my new, brutal, obsidian Grak-ta bow. It is a pragmatist's ritual. A way to focus on the math and not the chaos. But my hands are shaking.

Mizuki is the one who broke the silence. She is the 'Weapon'. She is the one this all centers on.

"We have to go up," she says.

Her voice is flat. Devoid of the fire that usually lights it. She is as empty and exhausted as the rest of us.

Yogawa makes a small, choking sound. "Go up? Into that? Into the heart of the thing that is singing madness into our skulls? Are you insane?"

"We are all insane," Kizawa says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He does not turn. The shing of his blades does not stop. "We left sanity in the sewers."

"Kizawa, man," Hachiro pleads, his voice cracking. "We... we are not ready. We are broken. Look at us! Talk to us!"

Kizawa stops. The silence that follows is worse.

He sheathes his swords. Click. Clack.

He turns.

His face is gone. The boy is gone. His blue eyes are not cold. They... are empty. They are the Abyss.

"We are not a team, Hachiro," he states, his voice utterly flat. "We are a collection of assets. She is the Key." He nods at Mizuki. "I am the Blade. Erima is the Arrow. You are the Fist. He is the liability."

He points at Yogawa.

Yogawa flinches as if struck. "I... I am a scholar!"

"You... are a coward," Kizawa counters, his voice devoid of malice. It is a simple fact. "You are afraid of the magic. You are afraid of the truth."

"We are going up there, not to save this city. Not to save the God. Not to save each other."

He looks at Mizuki, and the emptiness in his eyes is a physical blow.

"We are going up... because it is the only path forward. It is the mission. Krell is right. We are insects. And this... is the only way out of the jar."

"KIZAWA!"

A scream.

It is not from any of us.

It is from Hachiro. But... it is not his voice.

He collapses to his knees, his hands locked to the sides of his head, his body convulsing.

The song.

The Hollow-God's song... has changed.

It is no longer a *low, chronic agony. It... has become a sharp, piercing, desperate SCREAM.

It is a scream of *pure, unadulterated terror.

"It... it KNOWS!" Hachiro chokes out, saliva dribbling from his lips. "It is afraid! It is SO AFRAID! It feels the Assassins! It feels the King! It is BEGGING!"

The psychic impact hits all of us.

Yogawa vomits.

I stumble back, my hand on my bow, as if I can shoot a sound.

Kizawa... flinches. Just a flicker in his dead eyes. He feels it too.

Mizuki is the only one who stands firm.

Her silver hair is beginning to lift, as if in a static field.

"It... is calling for us," she whispers.

She looks at the *pulsating, fleshy doorway.

"It... is calling for its 'Savior'."

She looks at Kizawa. Her eyes are not angry. They are *profoundly, achingly sad.

"I am going up, Kizawa. Not because it is the mission. Not because I am a 'Key'.

She closes her eyes.

"I am going up... because it is hurting. And I am the only one who can stop it."

She opens her eyes. They are not empty. They are full of a *terrible, burning resolve.

That... is the Phoenix-flame.

She turns and takes the first step into the Spire. Into the darkness.

Silence.

Hachiro gets to his feet, wiping his mouth, his face a mask of agony and loyalty. He follows her.

I look at Kizawa.

He is staring at the space where she was.

"She... is a fool," he whispers.

"She... is Mizuki," I whisper back.

I turn and follow her. The Arrow follows the Flame.

Kizawa stands alone in the Miasma-light for a long second.

I hear his footsteps behind me. Slow. Heavy. Reluctant.

The Blade follows the Arrow.

Yogawa is the last one. He is weeping, but he knows he cannot be left behind. His fear of being alone is greater than his fear of the God.

He... is the liability.

And he follows us.

The Reluctant Ascent has begun.