Chapter 46: The Final Ember

This is the end of the line.

The thought is cold and absolute, and it settles on all of us. Erima stands, her face a pale mask of grim determination. She holds her last grappling hook, the metal gleaming dully in the green, sickly light of the chamber. She does not check it. She does not need to. It is perfect, and it is all we have.

"One more shot," she says, her voice flat, devoid of hope or despair. It is a simple, tactical statement. "I will not miss."

"We will hold," Kizawa replies. His voice is a low rasp, but the deathly, hollow chill is gone. He stands on his own, his grip tight on the hilt of 'Silence', his other sword, 'Storm', left stabbed into the platform floor. He is a one-sword warrior now, his strength and chi reserves almost non-existent, but his Will is a rigid bar of steel.

Hachiro nods, his face slick with sweat. He has one good arm, and one arm encased in a glowing, green chi-splint that looks like crude, living jade. The Miasma-chi is holding his shattered bones in place, a testament to his sheer, stubborn life-force. "The Fist is still good for one more punch. Let the bastard pull."

Yogawa sags against his grimoire, his knuckles white. "The 'Aegis' is ready. It will be the last spell I cast. I will make it hold."

I look at them. My team. My friends. A broken swordsman, a shattered brawler, and an exhausted scholar. And me.

I close my hand. I can feel it. The tiny, flickering warmth that Kizawa pushed back into me. It is not the roaring Phoenix-flame. It is an ember. A single, precious, guttering spark. It is barely enough to keep the Void-cold from my skin, let alone to fight it.

It will have to be enough.

'THE... THIRD... SEAL...' The Hollow-God's voice is a faint, desperate whisper in my mind. It is weaker, its own hope fading. 'IT... IS... THE... ANCHOR... OF... HIS... HATE... BE... WARNED, SAVIOR.'

I find the target. It is higher than the others, thicker, and it pulses with a malignant, blacker energy. It looks less like a chain and more like a frozen, jagged scar of solid shadow, stapled to the God's heart.

"There, Erima. That one."

Erima's eyes narrow. She calculates the angle, the distance. "The hardest shot. Of course."

She nocks the grappling arrow. She draws the heavy bowstring. The chamber falls into an absolute, ringing silence. Even the thrumming of the Heart seems to pause, holding its breath.

Erima breathes out.

She looses the arrow.

It is a black streak against the green, fleshy wall. It flies true, a perfect, desperate, soaring line.

The sound of the impact is sickening. The hook does not just strike. It hits the Void-chain with a dead, wet thud, as if embedding in frozen tar.

For one second, nothing happens.

Then the chain detonates with rage.

It is not a physical backlash. Not at first. It is a psychic one.

INSOLENCE.

The word is not the Spinner King's. It is the chain itself. A lesser, but still powerful, sentience. A loyal, hungry guardian.

The wave of pure, concentrated hate slams into the platform.

Yogawa screams, his nose instantly bleeding. His 'Aegis' spell shatters before it is even fully formed. The mental assault is too strong.

Kizawa and Hachiro are hurled backwards, as if by a physical blow.

"THE ANCHOR!" Erima shrieks.

They scramble, Kizawa's one good arm lashing out to grab the rope, Hachiro diving, his chi-splinted arm slamming down onto the line.

"WE... HAVE... IT!" Hachiro roars, his chi flaring green, fighting the psychic pressure.

The rope snaps taut. The chain thrashes, a serpent of pure void, trying to dislodge the hook.

"MIZUKI, GO!" Kizawa yells, his face pale as he takes the strain. "IT IS NOT HOLDING! THE HOOK IS DISSOLVING!"

I do not hesitate. I grab the line.

There is no time to rappel. There is no time for finesse.

I climb.

Hand over hand, my body weak, my arms screaming. The rope is vibrating so violently it feels like it will tear my hands apart. The Void-cold is searing, a frostbite that burns worse than any fire.

My tiny ember of Phoenix-flame is my only shield. It is a candle in a hurricane. The cold bypasses it, seeping into my bones. I am numb. I am slowing.

"IT IS LEARNING!" Yogawa shrieks, his voice thick with terror. He is pointing, his hand shaking. "LOOK!"

He is right. The Void-energy, the black, hungry shadow, is not fighting Hachiro's Miasma-chi. It is avoiding it. It has learned that Hachiro can metabolize it.

The entire backlash, a focused, sentient torrent of unmaking, is flowing around Hachiro's green-lit anchor point and channeling directly up the line to the other anchor.

To Kizawa.

"KIZAWA! LET GO!" Yogawa screams. "IT IS ALL GOING FOR YOU!"

Kizawa is driven to one knee. The black, Void-frost is swarming him. It encases his single sword, 'Silence', shattering the steel blade into dust. It climbs his arm, his shoulder. He is freezing again, the Void-poison killing him.

"NO!" he roars back, his voice thick with ice. "I... AM... THE... ANCHOR!"

He holds the line, his Will the only thing preventing him from being unmade.

I am halfway up. I am too slow. He will be dead before I reach the chain.

"Erima!" I scream.

"I HAVE NOTHING!" she cries, her quiver empty.

'THE... BLADE... WILL... FALL...' The God whispers, its voice a death-knell.

I look down at Kizawa, my anchor, my oldest friend, dying for me again. I look at the chain, the source of his death.

My ember of power is not enough.

"I... am sorry, Kizawa," I whisper.

I let go of the rope.

"MIZUKI!" Erima's scream is pure terror.

I fall.

For a split second, I am in freefall.

Then I slam my dagger, 'First Flame', into the fleshy, vertical wall of the Spire.

The blade, a splinter of the God's own power, holds.

I am anchored to the wall, dangling by one hand, my shoulder screaming in protest.

I have seconds.

The rope, now free of my weight, is violently lashing. Kizawa, relieved of the burden, falls back, his body a frosted, smoking ruin. Hachiro holds the line, but the grappling hook is almost gone.

"WHAT... ARE... YOU DOING?!" Hachiro bellows.

I do not answer. I am clinging to the wall, my feet scrambling for purchase. I am below the target chain, but I am closer.

I have no rope. I have no anchor.

I have one shot.

I look at the writhing Void-chain, twenty feet above me.

I gather the tiny, guttering ember of my chi. I pull everything I have left- my life-force, my stamina, my rage - and I feed it.

The Phoenix-flame flares, a single, weak pulse of golden light.

It is not enough for a shield.

So I focus it.

I pull all of it out of my body and into my legs.

I bend my knees.

'SAVIOR... NO...' The God whispers, sensing my insane, final gambit.

"YOGAWA!" I roar.

He sees it. His eyes go wide with the sheer, suicidal stupidity of my plan.

"A PUSH!" I scream. "GIVE ME ONE PUSH!"

He does not hesitate. He slams his grimoire shut. He points both hands at me.

"First... Canto... of the... STORM!" he roars, pouring the last of his magic into a single, violent spell. "UNLEASH THE WIND!"

A cannon-blast of pure, swirling wind detonates from his hands and slams into my back.

I JUMP.

The combination of Yogawa's spell and my flame-enhanced leap catapults me off the wall.

I am airborne. A human missile, flying across the chasm.

My target: the Void-chain.

My weapon: 'First Flame'.

My shield: nothing.

I am soaring. Time slows.

I see the chain looming. I see the shadow-tendrils lashing out, sensing my approach.

I feel the cold.

It hits me mid-air.

The full, unfiltered power of the Void, the Spinner King's hate. It hits my unprotected body.

The pain is absolute.

It is not a feeling. It is an unmaking. I feel my skin try to peel away from my bones. My blood tries to freeze solid. My soul tries to evaporate.

My Phoenix-flame is gone, extinguished in an instant.

My silver hair flashes to a dead, brittle white.

I am dying.

But my momentum is carrying me forward.

I have one second.

Just as my senses fail, just as the darkness claims my vision, I feel him.

ENOUGH.

The Spinner King's presence fully manifests. Not a whisper, not a pressure. He is here. A sentient... crushing... gravity.

His Will slams into me. My arm, the one holding the dagger, stops. It freezes in mid-air, inches from the chain.

He has caught me. He is holding me, paralyzed, a helpless fly in his web.

I am finished.

'NO.'

The word is not a whisper. It is a ROAR of pure, divine FURY.

It is the Hollow-God.

'YOU... WILL... NOT... TAKE... HER.'

A wave of power, so vast it shakes the Spire, slams into me.

It is not the gentle, warm Rekka-light.

It is a searing... torrent... of pure... GREEN... LIFE. The raw... creative... essence... of... a... GOD.

The Hollow-God is not gifting me power. It is sacrificing a piece of its own... dying... essence... to... fuel... me.

The pain of the Void is burned away by the agony... of... this... pure... creation.

My body cannot handle it.

My hair detonates into a pillar of emerald and golden fire. My kimono... incinerates... from... my... body, leaving only the light.

I scream, and the sound is not my own. It is my voice and the God's voice, mixed into one.

The Spinner King's hold shatters.

I raise the dagger. 'First Flame' is no longer gold. It is a blade of pure, searing emerald light.

I STRIKE.

I plunge the God's own fire into the heart of the shadow.

The sound is deafening.

It is the tolling... of... a... cosmic... bell. A note of pure finality.

The chain snaps.

It does not implode. It VAPORIZES.

A flash of green and black that illuminates the entire chamber, blinding my team.

The psychic recoil is catastrophic.

The grappling hook disintegrates. The rope evaporates.

Kizawa, Hachiro, and Yogawa are thrown back, skidding across the platform, unconscious. Erima is just staring, her eyes wide, her hands shielding her face from the light.

And me.

The power is gone.

The green inferno vanishes. My hair, all of it, is now a snow... white.

The last... of... my... strength... is spent.

My grip... on... 'First Flame'... fails.

The dagger... slips... from... my... numb... fingers.

It falls, tumbling end over end, a tiny, cold piece of metal, vanishing into the abyss below.

I am alone.

I am unanchored.

I am empty.

And I am falling.