Chapter 42:

Chapter 42: The Anchor's Pain

Moonlight Phoenix Girl

I collapse onto the platform, a puppet whose strings are cut. The world is a spinning, nauseating blur of green light and ringing silence.

My body is a hollowed-out thing, a casing of ice and embers. The Phoenix-flame is gone, retreated so deep inside me I cannot feel its warmth. 'First Flame' is a cold, heavy weight in my hand.

Hands are on me. Pulling. Dragging.

"Clear! Get her clear of the edge!"

Erima's voice. Hysterical, but controlled.

"She is burning! Gods, she is cold!"

Hachiro's voice. A choked, sobbing gasp.

I am rolled onto my back. The fleshy stone of the Spire is warm against my freezing, flame-scorched kimono.

A face swims into my vision. Blue hair. Eyes like glaciers, wide with a terror he cannot, for once, conceal. Kizawa.

His hands are on me, patting me down. It is not a caress. It is a clinical, frantic assessment. Checking for broken bones. For missing pieces. The chasm is still there, between us. He is not my Kizawa. He is the 'Blade'. Assessing the 'Weapon'.

"Report," he bites out. The word is air. He is panting. He never pants. "Damage. Speak."

"I am empty," my voice is a croak. My throat is raw. "Just empty."

He does not look relieved. His gaze moves past me, to the edge of the platform. His eyes lock onto something.

I follow his gaze.

The rope. Or what is left of it.

Kizawa crawls the last few feet. He does not stand. His legs are shaking. He picks up the severed end.

It is not a rope. It is dust. The Void's unmaking touch is still working on it. As we watch, the last foot of the braided cord silently unravels into nothing.

The anchor is gone. The way across is gone.

"One shot," Erima whispers, her voice cracking. She too is staring at the dissolving rope. "We had one shot."

The implication slams into all of us. We are trapped here.

A groan.

It is Hachiro.

He is curled on his side, shaking violently. He is not screaming. He is weeping. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs of pure, unadulterated relief.

"It stopped," he gasps, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the grime. "Mizuki... it stopped... part of it stopped."

The Anchor's Pain.

The God's song.

I sit up. The action sends a wave of agony through me. My muscles scream.

"Hachiro?"

He looks at me. His eyes are raw, but they are CLEAR. For the first time since we arrived, the madness is not in them.

"It is still there," he whispers, his voice hitching. "The song. It is still an ocean of pain. But you... you took out a WHOLE NOTE. The worst one. The shrieking one. It is gone."

He crawls to me, ignoring Kizawa's warning hand. He grabs my shoulders. His hands are still burning with his own chi.

"I can THINK," he sobs. "Gods... Mizuki... I can breathe again. You did it."

He hugs me. A desperate, crushing embrace. His chi slams into my exhausted body. It does not hurt. It warms me. A tiny spark of life.

"Don't be a fool."

Yogawa's voice. It is a gravelly croak.

We turn.

He is on his feet, braced against the Spire wall, his grimoire clutched to his chest. His face is the color of ash.

"He is a fool," Yogawa repeats, his voice shaking with a new kind of terror. "He thinks this is a victory. He is celebrating a single drop of rain in a typhoon."

He points a shaking finger not at the God, but DOWN. Into the abyss.

"You heard it. You FELT it. The Spinner King. The thing BELOW us."

He stares at me, his eyes wild.

"You did not just cut a chain. You STOLE its MEAL. You RANG the DINNER BELL. You showed a cosmic spider EXACTLY where we are. And EXACTLY what we can do."

The cold that left me slams back in.

He is right.

"We are trapped," Erima says, her voice dead. She has risen to her feet. She is pacing the platform, a caged animal. "The rope is gone. My best hook is gone. We cannot cross. We cannot climb. We are stuck on this ledge with a dying god ABOVE us and a starving one BELOW."

Thud-THUD. Thud-THUD.

The Heart. It is beating. Stronger.

'AGAIN...'

The command. It is not a thought. It is a wave of pure NEED. It slams into all of us.

Hachiro winces, the relief vanishing from his face.

Yogawa gasps, clutching his head.

"We cannot do it again!" Kizawa snarls at the God. He is on his feet, his swords half-drawn, as if he can fight a mental command. "We have no way! The Weapon is EMPTY!"

'NO...'

The Heart PULSES.

It is not a beat. It is a wave.

A tidal wave of pure, liquid green Rekka-light washes out from the God. It is not a whisper of energy like before. It is a flood.

It slams into us.

It is not hot. It is not cold. It is LIFE.

It hits me, and my Phoenix-flame ANSWERS.

The empty void inside me is suddenly FULL. The golden flame roars back to life, not as a defensive shroud, but as an inferno. My hair explodes into silver and gold. My muscles lose their fatigue. My bones stop aching.

I am recharged.

The wave hits Hachiro. His body seizes. His Miasma-chi, which was burning him out, suddenly stills. Soothes. The God's agony recedes again, muffled by the God's own power. He gasps, his eyes wide with wonder.

It hits Yogawa. His shaking stops. The abject terror recedes, replaced by a cold focus. "It is fuel," he whispers, staring at his hands. "It is PURE magic."

It hits Erima. Her pacing stops. She straightens. Her eyes are sharp again. The panic is gone. The strategist is back.

It hits Kizawa.

He stiffens. His body rejects it. He fights it, as if it is a poison.

"Kizawa... let it in!" I yell.

"It is a bribe," he snarls, his face pale with effort. "A payment. It is enslaving us just like the Spinner."

'NO...'

The God's voice is softer. Sadder.

'A TOOL...'

The light fades. We are left standing in the silence. Whole. Strong. Fueled.

Hachiro is the first to speak. He stands, rolling his shoulders. The pain is still there, a dull ocean of it.

"It is better," he says, his voice quiet. "The light muffles it. But it is still there. The rest of it."

He looks at the dozens of other chains.

"The first cut was relief," he says, his voice breaking. "But now... all I feel is the pain that is LEFT. It is unbearable, Mizuki."

The Anchor's Pain.

It is not his physical pain from anchoring the rope.

It is this.

His empathy. His curse. He is our barometer for agony.

And he is still drowning.

"We have to cut them," he whispers, turning to us. His eyes are pleading. "All of them. Now. Please. I cannot live like this."

"We have no rope," Erima states, the words flat, cold.

"We have no hook," Kizawa adds, his voice like granite. "It is impossible."

I walk to the edge of the platform. The chasm is infinite. The Heart beats above. The Darkness waits below.

My flame is strong. My body is ready.

I look at my team.

"Erima," I say, my voice clear and strong, infused with the God's energy. "You are the 'Arrow'. You never carry just one hook."

Her eyes widen. A tiny flicker of a smile. She reaches behind her quiver.

"Yogawa," I continue. "The Spinner King is waking up. We need a shield. Not from magic. From its WILL. Can you do that?"

He stares at his grimoire, his knuckles white. "A shield for the mind? Against that? It is theoretical. It would require an anchor..." He looks at Hachiro.

"I am the anchor," Hachiro snarls, his face a mask of agony and resolve. "Whatever it takes. Do it."

I turn to Kizawa.

He is already staring at me. The chasm is still there. The ice is still in his eyes.

"You are enjoying *this," he whispers, his voice a terrible, aching accusation. "The power. The God's fuel. You LIKE it."

"I like surviving," I say, my voice hard. "I like having a CHANCE. And I am tired of your doubt. We are DOING this."

I point to the next chain. A thick, throbbing river of shadow to the left.

"Erima. That one. Yogawa. Shield us. Hachiro. Anchor him."

I turn back to Kizawa.

"And you... 'Blade'... you are with me. I am out of anchors. You and I are going to hold that rope together."

His eyes widen in shock.

"That is suicide. The recoil will pull us both in."

"Then do not let go."