Chapter 49: The Desperate Descent

Kizawa's question hangs in the trembling, green-lit air.

"I am going down there. Who is coming with me?"

It is not a question. It is a death sentence, delivered with the cold, flat finality of an executioner. The chasm in his soul, carved by my fall, has not been filled with grief. It has been filled with a cold, terrible vacuum of purpose. He is a man who has lost everything, and in that loss, has become a perfect, singular, terrifying weapon.

Erima is the first to react. Her pragmatism, her shield, is back in place. She looks at Kizawa, her eyes narrowed, analyzing this new, broken version of her oldest friend. She sees the madness, but she also sees the Will. And in our current situation, madness and Will are the same commodity.

"Going 'down' is suicide," she states, her voice level, but the slight tremor in her hands betrays her. "We have no rope. We have no light. We have no idea what is down there, other than the thing that took her."

"He is down there," Kizawa repeats, his voice a low growl. His grip on his twin swords is so tight his knuckles are white. "That is all that matters."

"It is not all that matters!" Yogawa bursts out, his voice cracking with hysteria. He is on his feet, his grimoire clutched to his chest like a useless shield. "We are trapped! The Spire is collapsing! The God is having a planet-sized panic attack! Look!"

He points at the wall. He is right. The fleshy, cartilage-like walls of the Spire are pulsing violently, a frantic, arrhythmic heartbeat. Cracks are appearing, not in the walls themselves, but in the air. Small, shimmering fractures in reality, as the Hollow-God's desperate, terrified energy begins to unmake its own sanctuary. The green Rekka-light is flickering, fluctuating wildly from a dull glow to a blinding, painful pulse.

"This entire place is about to come down!" Yogawa shrieks. "We will be crushed long before we 'go down' anywhere!"

Hachiro, his face a mask of tear-streaked misery, stumbles forward. His glowing green chi-splint around his broken arm is the only steady light in the room. He is still feeling the God's panic, a psychic tsunami of terror and despair that is breaking his own spirit.

"He is right, Kizawa," Hachiro pleads, his voice thick. "She... she is gone. Mizuki... is gone. Going after her... it will not bring her back. It is just... dying."

"She is not gone." Kizawa's certainty is terrifying. It is absolute, illogical, and unbreakable. "I would know. I would feel it."

He turns his burning, empty eyes on Hachiro. "You feel the God. I feel her. She is alive. And she is afraid."

The words hang in the air. We all stare at him. Is it the truth? Or is it the desperate, final delusion of a broken mind? In this place, the line between the two has ceased to exist.

"Alive..." Erima whispers. She seizes on the word. Not with hope, but with strategy. "If she is alive, she is a prisoner. If she is a prisoner, she is an objective. And if she is an objective, we need a plan."

She turns from Kizawa, her mind working, her pragmatism latching onto this single, impossible thread. "Kizawa is right about one thing. We cannot stay here. This platform is a tomb. The only way out... is down."

"I told you, we cannot fly!" Yogawa yells, his terror making him belligerent.

"Then we fall," Erima snaps. "But we fall smart. Yogawa. Your book."

She stalks over to him and snatches the grimoire from his chest. She flips it open, her eyes scanning the strange, glowing, incomprehensible text. "There must be something in here! A levitation spell! A 'feather fall'! Anything!"

"That is not how it works!" Yogawa protests, trying to grab his book back. "Those are master-level spells! I am an acolyte! I am a translator! I need reagents, focuses, time! I have none of that!"

"You have us," Kizawa growls, stepping forward. "Find. It. Now."

His tone, the sheer, cold command in it, galvanizes Yogawa. The magician's panic is momentarily eclipsed by his fear of this new Kizawa. He snatches his book back and begins flipping through the pages, his hands shaking so violently he can barely turn them.

"This is insane," he mutters, his eyes scanning the text. "We are all dead. 'Minor Warding'? Useless. 'Kindle Flame'? An insult. 'Scholar's Insight'? It just tells me we are going to die!"

"Keep looking!" Erima commands, her gaze fixed on the abyss.

"I am trying! Wait... wait... 'The Leap of Despair'?" Yogawa's voice is a high-pitched squeak. "No... no, that is a myth. It is a conceptual spell. It requires a 'Sacrifice of Will' and a 'Conduit of Living Energy'. It is not real!"

Hachiro, his face pale, steps forward. His one good hand touches the glowing green splint on his broken arm. "A 'Conduit of Living Energy'?"

Yogawa stares at him, his mouth open. "You... your chi... you metabolize the Miasma. You... you are a fountain of raw, living energy. But the cost... Hachiro, it would drain you. It would burn you out from the inside."

"Can you do it?" Kizawa asks. He does not care about the cost.

Yogawa looks at the page, his eyes wide. "The theory is... maybe. I... I can cast the framework of the spell. It is a descent spell, a controlled fall. But it needs fuel. A lot of fuel. Hachiro... you would be the engine. You would have to feed your chi into my spell... for the entire fall."

Hachiro looks at Kizawa's face. He sees the burning, mad hope. He looks at the dark, empty void where I fell. He closes his eyes, his face tight with pain.

"She would do it for me," he whispers.

He opens his eyes, and the tears are gone, replaced by the same, stubborn, stupid fire I saw in him before. "I am the Fist. I can take it. Do it."

"This is madness!" Yogawa protests, but he is already re-reading the spell, his mind working.

"It is a plan," Erima says, her voice sharp. She is already moving. She uncoils the last of her climbing rope, the one we did not use. It is not long. Maybe fifty feet. "It is not enough for a rappel. But... it is enough to bind us."

She begins to work, her hands swift and sure. "We go together. We are bound. If one falls, we all fall. Kizawa, you are first. You are the point. You have the swords. You will cut anything that gets in our way."

He nods, his face a grim mask.

"Hachiro," she continues, "you are behind him. You are the engine. You cannot be disturbed. Kizawa must protect you."

"I understand," Hachiro says, his voice low.

"Yogawa, you are behind Hachiro. You must protect him... from the spell. You focus on casting. Nothing else. Your life... our lives... depend... on... your... concentration."

"No... no pressure," Yogawa mutters, his skin a sickly, pale green.

"I... am last," Erima says, her voice tight. "I am the rudder. I will guide us. I will use the walls... to steer. I will be the eyes. I will call the threats."

It is a desperate, insane, beautiful plan. A plan born of nothing but grief and sheer, stubborn Will.

"We... we go... on your mark, Yogawa," Erima says, tying the last knot, binding herself to the magician's waist. They are a chain of four, a living, breathing, terrified anchor.

"Wait!" Yogawa yelps. He slams his grimoire shut. "The Spire! It is not a straight drop! The 'song' of the God... it resonates! The structure... it twists! I... I cannot... read... and fall!"

"You memorized it, did you not?" Kizawa growls.

"It is three pages of ancient, conceptual text! NO, I did not memorize it!"

CRACK.

A massive fracture appears on the platform floor, a spiderweb of green, pulsing light that separates them. Hachiro stumbles, crying out as he nearly falls into the new, glowing crevasse.

The God's panic... is... breaking... the Spire.

"There... is... no... TIME!" Erima shrieks.

"The... book!" Yogawa yells, his own panic overriding his fear. "I need... the book! Erima... you... must... hold it! I... will recite... it... from... memory... as best I can, but you... you must have it open! You must... shine... a light... on it!"

"A light?" Erima says, her voice frantic. "What light?"

"I... I do not... KNOW!"

Hachiro, his face grim, slams his good hand onto his glowing green chi-splint. The light intensifies, a small, bright, living torch.

"Use me," Hachiro pants. "I... I can be... the light. And... the engine. Just... do it... FAST!"

"Give me the book," Erima orders. Yogawa shoves the priceless, ancient grimoire into her hands.

Kizawa is already at the edge. He does not look back. He does not wait for a countdown.

He sees the platform break.

He knows his target.

He steps off... the edge.

The rope... snaps taut, yanking... all... three... of them... after him.

Erima screams. Hachiro roars.

Yogawa... CHANTS.

"IN... NOMINE... VACUUM! BY... THE... GRAVITY... OF... DESPAIR! I... CALL... THEE! LEAP! LEAP... OF... THE... LOST!"

His voice cracks with the power.

Nothing... happens.

They are falling.

A true, dead, screaming... fall... into total... darkness.

"YOGAWA!" Erima shrieks, the wind ripping the word from her mouth.

"IT... NEEDS... THE... FUEL! HACHIRO! NOW! GIVE... ME... YOUR... CHI! ALL... OF... IT!"

Hachiro, his eyes wide with the terror of the fall, roars.

He unleashes... his... power.

A torrent... of... raw, green... Miasma-chi... explodes... from... him. It travels... up... the rope, a living, green... fire, and slams... into... Yogawa.

Yogawa convulses, his body igniting... with green... light. The spell... catches.

"IT... HOLDS!" he screams, his voice a triumphant, agonized cry.

Their dead... fall... abruptly... slows.

It... is not a stop. It... is a transition. From plummeting... to... descending. It... is still... terrifyingly... fast, but it... is... controlled.

A bubble... of Yogawa's magic, fueled by Hachiro's life, now cushions them.

"IT... IS... WORKING!" Hachiro whoops, his terror instantly forgotten, replaced by a manic joy. "I... AM FLYING! WE... ARE FLYING!"

"We... are FALLING... SLOWLY!" Erima corrects, her voice tight. She has the grimoire open, braced against her chest. "The light, Hachiro! I... cannot... see... the page!"

Hachiro forces... more... chi... into his broken arm. The green light flares, illuminating... the book's ancient text.

"Keep CHANTING, Yogawa!" Erima orders. "The moment... you... stop... we... die!"

"I... KNOW... THAT!" he snaps back.

Far above them, the platform... of the Nexus finally gives way. It breaks apart, shattering... into a thousand... pieces of dying flesh and stone.

There... is no going back.

Kizawa, leading the descent, watches it go.

He feels nothing.

He stares down... into the pure, absolute... darkness.

His Will... is a compass.

His target... is the monster that stole his soul.

"I... am coming... Mizuki," he whispers into the rushing wind.

"He... is coming."