Chapter 40: The Prisoner's Plea

The ascent is a climb into madness. We move through a tunnel of living, pulsating, green-lit flesh. The air is thick, warm, and thrums with the sound of a universe-sized heart. The psychic scream of the Hollow-God is no longer a distant song; it is a physical, oppressive weight, a hurricane of terror that presses in on us from all sides.

I am Erima. I follow Mizuki. She is a beacon of silver and gold light in the oppressive, fleshy green. Her flame is dormant, but her Will is a fire. She does not hesitate, her hand on the hilt of 'First Flame', her gaze fixed on the unseen source of the pained cry.

Hachiro is a wreck. He stumbles behind her, his one good hand clamped to the side of his head, his face a mask of tears. He is a conduit for the God's agony, and it is shattering him. Kizawa is a silent, cold shadow, his blades sheathed, his empty, blue eyes scanning, analyzing, hating. He is a weapon, nothing more. And Yogawa- Yogawa is barely moving, a whimpering, catatonic shell of a man, being half-dragged by Hachiro.

We are a broken, pathetic vanguard.

After an eternity of climbing, the tunnel opens.

We step out onto a platform, and the world ends.

We are in a cavern so vast it defies geometry. We are standing at the top of the Spire, on a wide, fleshy ledge that overlooks the source.

Below us, hanging in a void of green, living light, is the Heart.

It is a thing the size of a mountain. It is a colossal, beating, gaping organ of divine flesh, bathed in its own, sickly green Rekka-light. It is beautiful, and it is the most horrifying thing I have ever seen.

It pulses. A slow, agonizing, thud-thud-thud that we feel in our bones.

And it is bound.

Great, colossal chains of pure, oily blackness- the Void-stuff- are impaled through its flesh. They are rivers of anti-light, arteries of shadow, that hold the magnificent, dying Heart in place. They are siphoning its light, draining its life.

"By the Scribe..." Yogawa whispers, his catatonia breaking, his academic mind recoiling in absolute horror. "It... it is a prisoner."

Hachiro collapses. The proximity to the pain is too much. He screams, a raw, animalistic keen of pure, shared agony.

And then, the voice.

It is not a voice. It is a thought that slams into all of us.

SAVIOR...

The word is a tidal wave of a million years of suffering, all focused on a single point.

On Mizuki.

Kizawa moves. His blades are out, a flash of steel. He steps in front of Mizuki, a cold, protective wall.

"Back away..." he snarls, his empty eyes fixed on the Heart.

Mizuki places a hand on his shoulder.

"It is not the enemy, Kizawa."

Her voice is calm.

THE FLAME...

The God's voice sighs. It sees her. It sees the dagger.

THE WEAPON...

Mizuki steps past Kizawa, walking to the very edge of the platform. Her silver-gold hair is lifted by the sheer energy in the room.

'First Flame', her dagger, is glowing. A warm, pure, golden light that is the antithesis of the sickly green and oily black.

"It recognizes it," Yogawa gasps, his mind frantically working. "The dagger... it is part of it! The First Flame! It is a splinter of the God's own power!"

THE CHAINS... The God whispers, a sound of grinding, continental plates. THEY HATE THE FLAME...

Mizuki looks at the dagger. She looks at the colossal Void-chains.

She understands.

The legend was a lie. Corrupted by Krell and his desperate people.

"It is not a weapon to kill the God," Mizuki says, her voice ringing with a terrible, new certainty.

She turns to us, her eyes blazing with golden light.

"It is the KEY. We are not here to slay it."

"We are here to set it FREE."