Chapter 45: The Phoenix's Gambit

The silence in the Spire is heavy, broken only by the ragged, shallow breathing of my team.

We are a tableau of failure. Hachiro is on his back, his shattered arm a ruin, his face pale with shock despite the lessening of the God's psychic song. Kizawa is a statue of ice, his skin a waxy gray, his body locked in violent, uncontrollable shudders. Yogawa weeps quietly, his scholarly mind shattered by the sheer, cosmic scale of the horrors he has witnessed. Erima is a tense line of exhausted pragmatism, her eyes flicking between our broken forms and the dozens of remaining Void-chains, her mind calculating a battle that is mathematically impossible to win.

Two chains. Two chains, and it has cost me my 'Blade' and my 'Fist'.

'MY SAVIORS ARE FALLEN.'

The Hollow-God's voice is a whisper of profound, ancient sorrow in my mind. It sees what I see. It understands the equation. Our desperate assault is over. We have failed.

I crawl, my own body an aching, empty husk. My chi is gone. The Phoenix-flame is a dormant ember, a faint warmth beneath my skin. I reach Kizawa.

I place my hand on his arm.

It is not just cold. It is a cold that steals. The Void-energy is still clinging to him, a parasitic, unmaking frost that is actively devouring his life-force. He did not just block the energy; he absorbed it. He became a dam, and the dam is now saturated with the poison it held back.

"Kizawa," I whisper, my voice cracking.

His eyes, a dull, frozen blue, struggle to focus on me. The chasm in his soul is wider than the gulf between us and the Heart. He is lost in it.

"The... next... chain..." he chatters, his teeth rattling. "I... am... the... anchor..."

"Stop," I plead. "You are dying. Let me- let me help you."

"Help... is... irrelevant," he whispers, his gaze unfocused. "Only... the... mission... the anchor..."

He is broken. His mind is locked in a loop of self-sacrificial duty. He has given everything, and it has left him an empty, frozen shell.

Anger, hot and sudden, flares through my exhaustion. It is not anger at him, but at the situation. At the Spinner King. At this impossible, unfair cost.

"You do not get to do this!" I snap, my voice low and fierce. I grab the front of his frozen shirt. "You do not get to die, Kizawa! You do not get to leave me here!"

He does not respond. He is barely conscious.

I look at my hand, resting on his chest. I can feel the faint, struggling beat of his heart. Underneath it, I can feel my own power, that tiny, dormant ember of the Phoenix-flame.

A terrible, desperate idea forms.

The flame is life. It is the antithesis of the Void. It heals. It restores. It is the 'First Flame', a splinter of the Hollow-God's own creative, living energy.

I have used it to destroy the chains.

What if I use it to heal the damage they caused?

I look at Hachiro. He is groaning, his good hand clamped over his ruined arm. He is tough, he is metabolizing the Miasma, but his physical body is shattered.

I look at Kizawa. He is not just injured; he is poisoned by the very concept of unmaking.

I cannot fix them both. Not with the little I have left.

I have to choose.

The strategist in my head, the part of me that sounds terrifyingly like Erima, speaks with cold clarity.

Hachiro is the key. His Miasma-chi is the only thing that can counter the backlash. He is the Fist. Kizawa... Kizawa is a Blade that has shattered. He is compromised. He is a liability.

I look at Kizawa's face, a gray mask of stubborn, dying loyalty. He is my oldest friend. He is the boy who has stood by me since we were children. He is the anchor that has held me to this world.

The strategist is wrong.

Or maybe the strategist is right, and I am a fool.

It does not matter.

"Mizuki... what are you doing?"

Erima's voice is sharp. She has seen the look on my face. She has seen my hand, now glowing with a faint, golden light, resting over Kizawa's heart.

"You are empty," she states, her voice a flat, terrified command. "You cannot. You will extinguish yourself. You will die."

"He... comes... first," I whisper. It is not a debate. It is a fact.

"Mizuki, no! This is illogical! Hachiro is the one-!"

"I know," I cut her off. I close my eyes.

I pull.

I reach down into the absolute dregs of my soul, into the very bottom of my reserves, and I call the Phoenix.

It does not answer with a roar. It answers with a sigh.

A tiny, flickering, golden flame appears in my palm. It is pure. It is warm. It is life.

"Kizawa," I whisper, my voice breaking. "You idiot. You are my anchor. Not the rope's."

I press my hand against his chest.

I push the flame into him.

The reaction is immediate and violent.

Kizawa screams.

It is not a human sound. It is a raw, agonizing shriek as the two most powerful, opposing forces in creation clash inside his body.

The Void-energy fights back.

Black, frosty tendrils erupt from his skin, crawling up my arm, trying to devour the flame I am feeding him.

My own Phoenix-flame flares, meeting the shadow. It is my fire against his poison.

I am burning the cold out of him.

"HOLD ON!" I yell, pushing more of my life-force into him. "You will live! You WILL STAY WITH ME!"

The light from my hand intensifies, a golden nova. The black frost on his skin sizzles, boils, and evaporates, turning into harmless, misty vapor.

Kizawa convulses, his back arching off the floor. His eyes snap open.

They are blue again.

The chasm is gone. The dull, empty cold is gone. It is him. He is there.

He gasps, a huge, shuddering intake of air. Color floods back into his face. The waxy gray is replaced by a healthy, living flush. The violent shivers stop.

He is warm.

He stares at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion, shock, and a dawning, terrible understanding of what I have just done.

The golden light in my hand dies.

The ember is gone.

I am empty.

The strength leaves my body in a single, catastrophic rush. My arm collapses. I fall forward, my head landing on his chest. I am a marionette with its strings cut.

"Mizuki?"

His voice. It is his voice. Not the cold, dead 'Anchor'. It is Kizawa.

"Mizuki!"

He is yelling now. His hands, no longer frozen, grab my shoulders. He tries to sit up, to hold me.

I cannot respond. I am too tired. The world is a distant, gray, muffled sound.

I hear Erima curse, a sharp, vicious sound. "You stupid, stupid fool! You did it. You actually did it. You killed yourself for him."

"She is not dead!" Kizawa roars. He is holding me, shaking me. "Mizuki! Wake up! That is an order!"

'THE... FLAME... IS... GUTTERING...'

The God's voice is a wave of pure, rising panic in my dying mind.

'THE... WEAPON... IS... LOST...'

"No..." I try to whisper. "Not... lost... Just... tired..."

"Mizuki!"

I feel Kizawa's hand on my face. It is warm. It is real.

"Hachiro..." I manage to mumble, my lips numb. "Help... Hachiro..."

"He is fine," Kizawa says, his voice thick. "He is healing himself. Look."

I force my heavy eyelids to open a crack.

Kizawa is right. Hachiro is sitting up. His shattered arm is no longer shattered.

It is encased.

He has taken his own Miasma-chi, the raw, green energy he uses to fight, and molded it. He has woven it around his broken bones, creating a splint of pure, glowing green chi. It is a crude, brutal, and brilliant piece of battlefield improvisation. The bone is still broken, but the chi is holding it together, fighting off the pain, accelerating the healing.

"See?" Hachiro pants, his face slick with sweat. "The Fist is fine! Just re-molded! But you, Mizuki... you look terrible..."

"She gave me her fire," Kizawa whispers, his voice thick with a guilt so profound it is a physical weight. "She emptied herself to save me."

He holds me, his grip desperate. He knows what this means.

Without the Phoenix-flame, I am just a girl with a knife.

I am no longer the 'Weapon'.

I cannot fight the Void. I cannot touch the chains.

Our only hope of freeing this God is gone.

I chose him over the world.

'IT... IS... DONE...' The Hollow-God sighs, a sound of absolute despair. 'THE... SPINNER... KING... HAS... WON...'

The God is giving up.

The song of agony changes. The notes of hope that we had created are gone. It is now a dirge. A funeral song for itself.

"No..." I whisper, pushing against Kizawa's chest. "No... it... is... not... over..."

"Mizuki, rest," Kizawa commands, his voice gentle but firm. "You... have done... enough."

"NO!"

The shout is not mine.

It is Yogawa.

We all turn.

The magician is on his feet, his grimoire clutched to his chest. His face is a mask of tear-streaked, furious defiance. The scholar is gone. The tsundere is gone.

This is a man who has seen the devil.

"You will NOT give up!" he snarls, his voice shaking with rage. "You will NOT let that THING win!"

He points a trembling finger at the Hollow-God. "I despise this thing! This monster! This source of all our pain!"

He then points at the chains. "But I DESPISE THAT THING MORE!"

He stalks over to me, his eyes burning.

"You are the 'Weapon'! The 'First Flame'! You think your fire is gone? You think it is that simple?"

He grabs my hand, the one I used to heal Kizawa. It is cold, numb.

"Fire is energy! Energy is NEVER destroyed! It is transferred! You did not lose your fire, you idiot girl!"

He drags me to Kizawa.

"You GAVE IT TO HIM!"

My mind, dull and gray, struggles to catch up.

Yogawa grabs Kizawa's hand, the one not holding me.

"You!" he barks at Kizawa. "You are the dam! You held back the Void! Now you hold HER FLAME! It is INSIDE YOU!"

Kizawa stares at his own hand, confused. "I... I feel it. It is warm. I thought it was just life..."

"It IS LIFE!" Yogawa shrieks. "It is HER LIFE! Her power! Now... give... it... BACK!"

"I... I do not... know... how..." Kizawa whispers, his guilt and confusion warring.

"You are a conduit!" Yogawa screams, his patience snapping. "You are a warrior of WILL! She pushed it INTO YOU! YOU PUSH IT BACK INTO HER!"

Yogawa grabs my hand and Kizawa's hand and slams them together.

"BE... THE... ANCHOR!" Yogawa roars at Kizawa. "BE... THE CONDUIT! She is the WEAPON! YOU ARE THE SHIELD! NOW... DO... YOUR... JOB!"

Kizawa stares at our joined hands.

His grip tightens on mine.

"Mizuki..." he whispers, his eyes locking on mine. The blue is clear. The chasm is gone. It is him.

"I... am... here," he says, a promise.

He closes his eyes. He breathe.

And... he... PUSHES.

It is not a flame. It is an ember. It is the warmth I gave him, the life-force that re-ignited his own.

He pours it back into me.

It is not my full power. It is a fraction. A tiny spark.

But it is ENOUGH.

The cold recedes from my limbs. The gray fog lifts from my mind. Strength, a thin, watery thread of it, flows back into me.

I can breathe. I can move.

I am not empty.

'THE... FLAME...' The God whispers, a single note of stunned hope. 'IT... RETURNS...'

I look at Yogawa, who is panting, his face a mask of triumphant, furious relief.

He is a magician. He understands energy. He understands balance.

He just saved us.

"See?" Yogawa gasps, pointing a shaking finger at me. "Not dead. Now get up. We are not done."

I look at Kizawa. He is pale, exhausted, but alive. He gave back the flame, and he is still warm.

I healed him. And he saved me.

"The... next... chain," I whisper.

Erima pulls out her last grappling hook. "This is it, Mizuki. We get one more shot."

I look at Hachiro. He is on his feet, his shattered arm glowing in its chi-splint. "I am good! The pain is better! I can hold the line!"

"Kizawa?" I ask.

He gets to his feet, his own Will forcing him up. He picks up one of his swords. He is not strong enough for two. "I am your anchor. Always."

This is my team.

Broken. Shattered. Exhausted.

And ready.

"Yogawa," I say.

"I know," he pants. "The 'Aegis'. I have one more in me. Make it count."

I turn to the Heart. I find the next chain.

"Erima," I say.

She nods, her face a grim mask. "I will not miss."

I take a deep breath, clutching the small, flickering ember of my power.

It will have to be enough.