Chapter 43: The Blade's Anchor

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

Kizawa's words hang in the air, cold, sharp, and absolutely logical. He is not wrong.

"Then do not let go."

I turn away from him, my voice a flat declaration. I will not be stopped by his fear, by his logic, by the chasm that now defines him.

I walk to the edge, my gaze fixed on the next target. A new chain, thicker than the last, throbbing with a shadow that seems to drink the green Rekka-light from the air.

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

My commands are sharp, clipping the air. I am the 'Weapon', and I am finally giving orders.

Behind me, there is movement. Not obedience. Resistance.

"No."

Kizawa's voice. It is not a whisper. It is a growl.

I turn back.

He is standing in the center of the platform, his stance wide, his swords sheathed. He is not looking at me. He is looking at Hachiro, who is still on the ground, his body rigid with the effort of not screaming from the God's ambient song.

"You are not the anchor, Hachiro."

Hachiro looks up, his face a mask of pained confusion. "What? Kizawa, I am the only one who can-"

"You are the only one with a direct line to that thing," Kizawa cuts him off, his voice devoid of all warmth. He gestures with his chin to the God. "You are our warning system. You are the only one who can tell us if the God is lying, or if the Spinner King is counter-attacking. Your 'empathy' is our only tactical advantage. You are not an anchor. You are intel."

The cold, brutal pragmatism of his words hits Hachiro like a physical blow. But he is not wrong.

"And you," Kizawa turns his glacial gaze on Yogawa. "You will not 'anchor' him. You will shield him. And you will shield Erima. Her shot is the only thing that matters. She is the lynchpin."

Yogawa, who was preparing his 'mind shield' cantrip, pauses. He nods, his face grim. "The logic is sound. A focused shield on two assets is more efficient than a broad-spectrum failure."

"So who anchors the rope?" Erima asks, her voice dangerously quiet. She is already holding her second, and last, grappling hook.

Kizawa finally looks at me. The chasm between us is a physical, aching void. He looks at me, the girl he grew up with, the 'Weapon' he now distrusts, the leader he is now undermining.

"I am the anchor."

He says it so quietly, it is almost lost in the thud-THUD of the Heart.

"You?" I say, the word a disbelieving scoff. "Alone? You saw what it did to Hachiro and you. You, in your current state? You will be vaporized. That is not logic. That is aragance."

"No," he says, his voice flat. He walks to the edge of the platform, his boots heavy. He stares down into the green-lit abyss. "It is math."

He turns back, his blue eyes holding mine. "Hachiro absorbs the Miasma. He fights it. He contains it. That is why the recoil tore him apart. He was fighting a tidal wave."

He taps his own chest, right over his heart.

"I am empty. I am a void. I am Will. I am nothing else."

I do not understand.

"I will not fight the recoil," he explains, his voice patient, as if explaining to a child. "I will not brace against it. I will channel it. I will let the Void pass through me. I will be a conduit, not a dam."

This is madness. It is some twisted, ascetic, samurai nonsense.

"You will be erased," Yogawa says, his voice sharp with alarm. "That is not 'Will'. That is unmaking. You will let the Spinner King into your soul."

"He is already there," Kizawa whispers, so low I barely hear it. The admission is a crack in his glacial facade. "He has been there since the Black Fog General. I am already compromised."

My heart stops.

"Kizawa..."

"Do not," he snarls, the mask slamming back into place. "Do not pity me. This is the only way. I am the only one who is empty enough to survive this. I am the Blade. I am meant to cut, or to be the conduit. It is the same."

He turns to Erima. "Prepare the shot."

"No!" I am moving before I even realize it. I am in front of him, my hand on his chest. His heart is beating, a frantic, trapped bird beneath his cold armor. "You are not doing this alone. This is not your sacrifice to make."

"It is not a sacrifice," he says, his voice rough. He does not push my hand away. He just endures it. "It is utility. You are the only one who can cut the chain. I am the only one who can hold the rope. This is the equation. Stop adding emotion to it."

"I am not 'emotion'!" I shove him, a weak, frustrated push. "I am your partner! You think I am going to stand here and watch you unmake yourself for my plan?"

"It is not your plan!" he roars, the sudden volume shocking us all. His hands seize my shoulders. His grip is iron. The ice in his eyes is burning.

"This is not your plan! This is the God's plan! This is the Spinner's plan! We are rats in a cosmic trap, and you are running for the bait!"

"And you?" I scream back, my own rage, my fear, finally boiling over. "You are just giving up? You are so broken by one fight that you are willing to throw yourself away?"

"It is not giving up!" His face is inches from mine. His breath is hot. He is shaking. "It is atonement! For doubting you. For hating you. For failing you!"

The confession hangs in the air, more terrible than any curse.

The chasm is not hate. It is guilt.

"I let the shadow in," he whispers, his voice breaking. The 'Blade' is gone. My Kizawa is there, his eyes wide with a pain that rivals Hachiro's. "It spoke to me, Mizuki. In the fog. It told me you were a monster. That your flame was a lie. That you would betray us."

He closes his eyes. "And I believed it."

"Kizawa..." I breathe.

"I am compromised," he says, opening his eyes. They are dead again. The moment is over. "I am tainted. I am a risk to this team. But my Will is still my own. I can hold this rope. The Void cannot take what is already claimed. It cannot taint what is already corrupted."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard," Hachiro says, his voice flat.

We all turn.

Hachiro is on his feet. The 'Anchor's Pain' is still etched on his face, but his eyes are clear.

"That is pure macho drivel," Hachiro says, walking towards Kizawa. "You are not 'corrupted'. You are guilty. You feel bad. Welcome to the club. We all feel bad."

He jabs a finger at his own chest. "I am feeling a dying God's agony! I feel bad."

He jabs a finger at Yogawa. "He just found out his entire life's purpose is a lie and he hates our only ally! He feels bad."

He jabs a finger at Erima. "She is down to ONE grappling hook! For an archer that is a CRISIS! She feels bad."

He jabs a finger at me. "And she is forced to be a fake Goddess and her best friend is being an emo jerk! SHE FEELS BAD!"

He gets right in Kizawa's face.

"So get over it! You are not 'special'. You are not the only one who is hurting. We do not have time for your man-pain. We have to work TOGETHER!"

The sheer, unadulterated truth of Hachiro's speech slams into Kizawa.

Kizawa blinks.

A tiny, almost invisible spark of something lights in his dead eyes.

It is amusement.

"'Man-pain'?" Kizawa whispers.

"YES!" Hachiro bellows. "You are anchoring this rope! But I am anchoring YOU!"

Hachiro slams his back against Kizawa's, shoulder-to-shoulder, facing the opposite direction.

"I cannot take the full recoil," Hachiro pants, his voice already tight with effort. "But I CAN be your BRACE! I will take your pain! All of it! The Miasma you cannot channel... I will EAT IT!"

"This is also suicide," Yogawa points out, his voice dry.

"It is TEAMWORK!" Hachiro roars. "Now SHIELD THE ARCHER! AND SHOOT THE CHAIN, ERIMA!"

Erima does not hesitate. She is the lynchpin.

She lifts her bow. The thud-THUD of the Heart is the only sound.

"Yogawa. Shield," she commands.

Yogawa slams his grimoire. "Sanctuary of the Focused Mind!" he chants. A pale blue, shimmering film of energy snaps into place around him and Erima. It is tiny. Concentrated.

"Kizawa. Hachiro. Brace," Erima orders.

Kizawa looks at me. Just one look. The chasm is still there. But it is smaller. He nods. Once.

He slams his feet into the stone. Hachiro mirrors him.

'Will' and 'Chi'. 'Void' and 'Life'. 'Blade' and 'Fist'.

The Blade's Anchor.

"Mizuki," Erima says. Her voice is pure ice. "You are on the rope."

I nod. I walk to the edge. I take the rope. The end is tied around Kizawa's waist. His life is the anchor.

I look at him.

"Do not let go," I whisper.

"I will not," he whispers back.

Erima looses the arrow.

It sings its song of steel.

It flies.

It hits the chain.

The recoil is instant.

"NOW!" Kizawa roars.

I jump.