Chapter 52: The Leather Flap

The words hang in the red, smoky air, a gravelly vibration that shakes the dust from the ruined hovel.

"...what... are... YOU?"

I am Erima, and my mind is a steel trap, a fortress of logic. But in this moment, the fortress is besieged. The walls are crumbling.

We are in a three-way standoff, a triangle of impossible, lethal geometry.

In the street stands Krell, the Grak-ta General. He is not a man. He is a monument. He is nine feet of black, obsidian armor, a walking tank of alien biology. His four black, pupilless eyes burn with a cold, intelligent fury. His glowing green Rekka-spear, the one that just pinned a twelve-foot Stalker to the ground, is held low, its light casting a sickly, supernatural glow on the scene. He is the first variable.

In the doorway, poised to strike, is the first Stalker. It is a nightmare of chitin and serrated bone, its red eye-cluster flickering in confusion. It is trapped. Behind it, Krell. In front of it, us. It is a cornered beast, its serrated claws twitching, its breath a low, wet hiss. It is the second variable.

In the street, between them both, is Kizawa. He is the third variable, the wild card. He is a ruin. He is on his feet, barely, his twin swords held in a posture that is a perfect, beautiful, lie. He is pretending he has the strength to fight. The blood from the gash in his back has soaked his entire shirt, turning it a black-red in the Miasma light. He is swaying, a dead man walking.

And then there is us. The prey. I am in the dark, unarmed save for the daggers in my mind. Hachiro is beside me, his one good hand pressed to Kizawa's discarded, bloody cloth on the floor, his face a mask of pale terror. Yogawa is a whimpering, catatonic ball against the wall.

Krell's four eyes do not look at the monster. They are fixed, utterly, on Kizawa.

He is processing. He sees a human, a creature that should not exist in this world, yet it is armed with steel blades. He sees a warrior who is clearly wounded to the point of death, but who is still, somehow, standing. He sees the other dead Stalker, the one I killed, with my arrow still jutting from its eye-cluster.

He is a General. He is doing the math.

The Stalker in the doorway, driven by an instinct that overrides caution, makes its decision.

It chooses the closest threat.

It screeches, a sound that shatters the air, and lunges inside the hovel.

It lunges for me.

"NO!" Hachiro screams, a useless, terrified sound.

Yogawa simply faints. He slumps to the floor, his mind finally, mercifully, shutting down.

I have no time to think. I have no weapons. I throw myself sideways, a desperate, rolling tangle of limbs.

The Stalker's bone-claw slams into the fungal-wood wall where I was a second before. The entire building shudders.

The monster is inside with us. It is in the dark. It roars in triumph, a sound of certain victory. It raises its claw for a second, killing strike-

THUD.

It is the sound of a boulder hitting a wall.

General Krell has taken one step forward.

He has filled the entire doorway. He is a wall of black obsidian.

He slams his tower shield into the Stalker's back.

The sound is not a clang. It is a crunch. The Stalker's chitinous exoskeleton... cracks.

The monster screeches, a new sound now, a sound of pain. It forgets me. It spins, lashing out in the confined space.

Krell does not flinch. He plants his feet.

He is the Phalanx.

He takes the Stalker's four-armed flurry directly on his shield. The sound is a deafening clatter, bone on obsidian, like a bag of rocks being emptied onto a tomb.

Krell... grunts. He is... impossibly strong.

He holds the line.

Then, he attacks.

It... is not a fight. It... is an execution.

He shoves forward with his shield, pinning the Stalker against the far wall. The monster thrashes, its needle-limbs flailing, finding no purchase.

Krell raises his glowing green spear.

He stabs.

Once.

A single, brutal, downward thrust.

He impales the Stalker's thorax, pinning it to the damp floor.

The monster convulses. The red light in its eyes flickers.

It... is over.

In three seconds.

Krell wrenches his spear free with a sickening, wet sound.

He stands in the center of our tiny, dark room, a giant of black armor and furious power, his spear dripping with alien ichor, glowing with a cold, green light.

He... is... terrifying.

He... just... saved our lives.

My mind reboots.

He is the General. He was at the Spire. He knows about the 'Goddess'. He hates Mizuki.

He... is not our friend.

His four black eyes swivel. They pass over the fainted Yogawa. They pass over the dead Stalker. They pass over Hachiro, who is cowering, his one good hand held up in a pathetic gesture of surrender.

They... land... on me.

I am Erima. The Arrow. The Strategist.

I push myself up onto my elbows. I meet his gaze. I will not cower.

"You... are not... the Flame," he growls. His voice is a rumble.

I am surprised I can understand him. His accent is thick, gutteral, but Yogawa's translations must have trained my ear.

"I... am... her Arrow," I state. My voice is a croak. I need it to be steel.

Krell grunts. It... might be a laugh.

"A... lost... arrow," he says. "A... blunt... point."

He turns his gaze to the doorway.

Kizawa... is still standing.

He is framed in the red light, a broken warrior. He is watching Krell. He is ready to fight this nine-foot Grak-ta General with his dying breath.

His stupid, noble, maddening loyalty.

"And... you," Krell growls, louder. "The 'Blade'. You... bleed... like a man. But you... do not die... like one."

Kizawa... spits... blood on the ground.

"I... am not... dead... yet," he rasps.

Krell nods. A single, sharp gesture.

He... respects... that.

"You... are all... fools," Krell states. "You came to this city. You came to the Heart. You... brought this plague upon us."

"We... did... not..." Hachiro starts, but I cut him off.

"We... were sent," I lie, my voice finding its strength. "By... the Goddess. We... are her vanguard."

It... is a stupid lie. A desperate gamble.

Krell's four eyes narrow.

"The... Goddess... is a fraud," he snarls. "A... lie you told in the Spire. A... lie that the Shaman swallowed. I... do not swallow... lies."

He stalks out of the hovel, back into the street.

He stands over the Stalker he impaled first. He wrenches his spear free.

"The... Spire... is panicked," he growls, not looking at us. "The Hollow-God... weeps. Its 'Savior'... has abandoned it."

He turns to face Kizawa.

"Where... is the Flame-Girl?"

Kizawa stares at him, his face a mask of cold hate.

Krell... reads his silence.

The General's expression changes. It is not anger. It is a dawning, terrible... realization.

"She... did not... abandon it," Krell whispers. He looks at the gaping black chasm of the street's edge, down into the true darkness. "She... fell."

He understands. All of it.

He... looks at Kizawa again.

"And you... you... fools..."

He points his spear at Kizawa.

"You... followed her."

He looks at Kizawa's twin blades. He looks at Kizawa's wound. He looks at the dead Stalkers.

"You... are not warriors. You... are a tragedy."

Kizawa... lifts... one of his swords. A monumental effort.

He... points it at Krell.

"She... is not... dead," Kizawa hisses, his voice venomous. "She... is down there. And you... are in my way."

Krell... stares at the sword-point.

He stares at the dying boy who is threatening him.

And... Krell... LAUGHS.

It... is a horrible sound. A guttural, barking roar that echoes in the red-lit street. It is a laugh of *pure, black, mirthless humor.

"IN... YOUR WAY?" he bellows, slamming the butt of his spear on the ground. "BOY! You... are already dead! You do not even know it!"

He... is right.

Kizawa's legs tremble. The bravado... the Will... is failing. The blood loss is too great.

His swords become heavy.

He... is going to collapse.

"But... you are right," Krell says, his laugh dying, his voice becoming a cold, hard growl.

He looks down into the darkness. Into the true abyss.

"She... is down there. Or... what is left of her."

He turns his gaze back to us.

I... am in the doorway now, standing. Hachiro is behind me. Yogawa is stirring, groaning on the floor.

Krell... is a General. He is a leader.

He is making a decision.

"You... are fools," he repeats. "You... are a plague. You... are weak. You... are dying."

He raises his spear.

My body tenses.

"But..." he... continues, his four eyes narrowed in calculation.

"You... are the only ones who have come from the Spire."

"You... are the only ones who... have seen... the Heart."

"And... you..."

He looks at the dead Stalker at my feet. He looks at the thrown arrow.

"You... know how to kill them."

He... is not going to kill us.

He... is going to USE us.

He lowers his spear.

He barks a single, gutteral word. An order.

"PHALANX!"

From... the shadows of the city, from the roofs I thought were filled with monsters... other shapes emerge.

Four more Grak-ta warriors, identical to Krell, thud into the street. They form a perfect, impenetrable wall of obsidian shields around us.

The scuttling... I heard... was not just Stalkers.

It... was a battle.

Krell... was HUNTING them.

He points his spear at Kizawa, who is now slumped against the wall, his swords in his lap.

"Heal... him."

One... of the Phalanx warriors steps forward. He... is not a warrior. He... is a medic. He... carries a pack of glowing green moss.

He presses the moss into Kizawa's wound.

Kizawa hisses, but the bleeding... slows. The Rekka-light is cauterizing it.

Krell... turns his four black eyes on me.

"Now... you," he... growls. "The 'Arrow'. You... will talk."

He... stabs his spear into the ground.

"You... will tell me... everything... you know... about the *'Flame-Girl'."

"And... you will tell me... why... the SPINNER KING... wants her... so badly that he sends his personal guard to greet her."

He points at the dead Stalker.

"That... was not a Hunter."

He points at the one he impaled.

"That... was a Royal Assassin."

The blood drains from my face.

We... are not just prey.

We... are at the center of a war we do not understand.

And Mizuki... Mizuki... is at the bottom of it all.