Chapter 68: The Fist's Sacrifice

This is the stupidest display of bravado I have ever seen.

Hachiro, his shattered arm in its crude Grak-ta splint, his face a mask of terrified, suicidal rage, is charging a God-eating spider the size of a mountain.

With one fist.

The Spinner King does not even bother to use its legs. It is insulted.

You are not worthy of my attention.

The mind-voice is a dismissive, cold shove. The King's humanoid torso spits.

It is not saliva. It is a glistening white glob of silk, fast as a bullet. It hits Hachiro mid-charge.

The silk explodes on impact, instantly encasing him from the neck down.

He trips, his momentum carrying him, and he lands hard, skidding across the silken floor. He is a log. A mummy. Only his head is free.

"ERIMA!" he gurgles, terror in his eyes. "IT- IT IS HARDENING!"

"Such a noisy specimen," the King hisses, its smile fading. It is bored. This game is over.

It raises one of its massive, obsidian legs. This time, it is not herding. It is not playing.

It is going to crush him.

"NO!" I shriek, scrambling for my bow. It is too far.

"YOGAWA! DO SOMETHING!"

Yogawa is gone. He is a trembling, weeping ball of failure.

I am alone. Hachiro is going to die.

"I- AM- NOT- POISON!"

Hachiro roars, his voice muffled by the webbing.

What?

The King actually pauses. Its leg hovers. It is... confused.

"I- AM- NOT- POISON!" Hachiro screams again.

And he ignites.

It is not a flare. It is not a splint.

It is an explosion.

His Miasma-chi, his green life-force, the energy he draws from the Miasma itself- he detonates it. All of it.

A NOVA of pure, violent, uncontrolled GREEN light erupts from his body.

The silk... boils. It melts. It incinerates.

The King SCREECHES.

It is not a mental sound. It is a physical, ear-splitting shriek of pain from its humanoid mouth.

The green light- Hachiro's life-force- is the ANTITHESIS of the King.

The King feeds on the Hollow-God's Rekka-light. It is a parasite on DIVINE life.

Hachiro's chi is different. It is a chi born from the TOXIC byproduct. From the Miasma. From the waste.

It is a different kind of life.

And it BURNS the King.

The King's leg, the one poised to crush him, is seared by the blast. The black chitin smokes and cracks.

The King recoils, stumbling back, a mountain in panic. All eight of its milky eyes are wide with shock and rage.

IT BURNS! The mind-voice is a shriek of pure agony. POISON! IT IS POISON!

Hachiro is on his feet. He is smoking. His clothes are gone. His skin is burned. He is a wreck.

But he is laughing.

A wild, mad, gasping laugh.

"WHO- IS THE ANOMALY- NOW- YOU EIGHT-LEGGED FREAK?" he pants, grinning.

He is a blazing, green, dying star.

"HACHIRO!" I scream.

He looks at me. His smile is sad.

"It is all I had, Erima," he whispers.

And he collapses. Face first. The green light is gone.

He is empty. He is spent.

But he has given me an opening.

The King is distracted. It is in pain. It is curled in on itself, its milky eyes staring in horror at its burned leg.

I snatch my bow.