Chapter 47: The Long Fall

There is no air. No sound.

There is only the fall.

The explosion of green and black light, the God-fury and the Void-hate, has vanished. The chamber is plunged back into its dim, green, fleshy twilight. My body, empty of all power, is a stone. My hair, now a shocking, snow-white, whips around my face, a banner of my defeat.

I am falling.

I am unanchored. I am untethered.

My dagger, 'First Flame', my key, my inheritance, is already gone. It is a speck of cold metal, swallowed by the abyss, lost forever.

I am alone.

My eyes are open. I watch the platform, my tiny point of home, recede with impossible speed. I see them. My team. My friends. They are scattered, unconscious forms, thrown back by the final, apocalyptic blast.

Kizawa. Hachiro. Erima. Yogawa.

They are small, broken dolls, far, far above me.

They are safe.

That is my last, coherent thought. They are safe.

I, on the other hand, am falling into the heart of the enemy's territory. The abyss below the Hollow-God is not an empty space. It is his space. The place where the Spinner King lives.

The green light of the Spire fades.

The warmth of the Hollow-God's life, that pulsing, living-cavern energy, disappears.

It is replaced by a cold.

A cold so profound, so absolute, it is not a temperature. It is a state of being. It is the absence of heat, of life, of hope.

The darkness rises up to meet me, a solid, black, hungry ocean.

'SAVIOR!'

The Hollow-God's voice is a distant, terrified scream in my mind. It is a pinprick of green light, a billion miles away.

'DO NOT GO!'

It is too late. The darkness swallows me.

The sensation of falling stops.

But I am not on anything.

There is no impact. No floor.

My momentum is arrested. I am held.

I am stuck.

I try to move my arms, my legs. I cannot.

I am bound.

I force my eyes to see. There is no light, but my senses are screaming.

I am in a web.

It is not a physical thing. It is not silk. It is metaphysical. It is a structure of pure, congealed shadow. It is sticky with cold. It is the Spinner King's web. The source of the Void-chains.

This is it. The center of the universe's pain.

And I am trapped in it.

A presence unfurls in the darkness.

It is not a thing. It is not a creature. It is a sentience. It is a vast, ancient, patient gravity. The mind I felt before. The hunger.

It was annoyed. It was angry.

Now, it is curious.

It sensed my flame. It sensed the God's power. It sensed the defiance.

And now, it has me.

The fly has fallen into the spider's parlor.

INTERESTING.

The 'voice' is not a sound. It is a feeling. It is the cold thought of a cosmic predator. It probes me, examins me. It feels my empty chi-reserves. It feels the absence of my Phoenix-flame. It feels the last lingering trace of the God's essence.

It is fascinated.

It shows me.

It wants me to see.

The web is everything.

The Hollow-God is not the only one.

I see countless lights trapped in the darkness. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Suns. Planets. Gods. Souls. All struggling. All imprisoned.

And all of them are being FED ON.

The Spinner King is a parasite on a multiversal scale.

The Grak-ta city is not a battleground. It is a farm. A petri dish. A tiny, insignificant node in an infinite feast.

This is despair.

This is the truth.

YOU... FOUGHT... FOR... THIS?

The King's amusement is vile. It slithers over my mind.

YOU... GAVE... YOUR... LIGHT... FOR... A... SINGLE... DYING... CATTLE?

It knows. It understands sacrifice. It finds it illogical. Pathetic. Delicious.

YOU... ARE... NOT... A... WEAPON... the presence muses.

YOU... ARE... FOOD...

AND... YOU... HAVE... FLOWN... DIRECTLY... TO... ME.

A shadow moves in the darkness. A shape so vast it defies geometry.

It is coming for its new fascinating meal.

...

Far, far above.

The green light of the Spire flickers.

Kizawa wakes with a gasp.

He is alive. He is cold, but he is alive.

"Mizuki?"

His voice is a croak.

He sits up. He sees Hachiro, unconscious, his green chi-splint flickering. He sees Yogawa, out cold, his nose a mask of dried blood. He sees Erima, conscious, shaking, staring at the abyss.

"Erima... where... is... she?"

Erima slowly turns her head. Her face is white. Her eyes are empty.

"The... rope... is... gone."

Kizawa's mind does not accept it.

"The grappling... hook... is... gone."

"Where... is... Mizuki?" he demands, his voice rising.

Erima points.

She points... down.

Into... the... blackness.

"She... fell."

The words hit Kizawa like a physical blow.

No.

He scrambles to the edge. He looks down.

He sees nothing.

Only a cold darkness that promises no bottom.

"No," he whispers.

His Will. His anchor. His entire purpose. Was her.

She is gone.

He looks at the abyss.

He is going to jump.

It is his only thought. Follow her.

"DON'T!"

Erima tackles him. Her body slams into his. She is weaker, but he is broken. They sprawl on the fleshy stone.

"She... is GONE, Kizawa!" Erima screams in his face, shaking him. "You cannot follow! You cannot save her! We are TRAPPED!"

His hands lock on her shoulders. The blue in his eyes is gone. It is replaced by... a storm of pure, unfiltered agony.

He does not see Erima. He does not see the Spire.

He only sees the darkness that swallowed her.

He throws his head back and ROARS.

It is not a sound of a warrior. It is the sound of a soul being torn in half.

The sound wakes Hachiro. It wakes Yogawa.

They wake to a new nightmare.

The psychic song of the Hollow-God is still there. It is quieter. Three notes are gone.

But it is not a song of relief.

It is a song of panic. Of terror.

The God is alone.

Its Savior is gone.

We are alone.

We are trapped at the top of the Spire.

Our weapon is gone. Our hope is gone.

And I am far below, paralyzed in the web.

The shadow of the King blots out the last of the light.

My fall is over.

My true nightmare has just begun.