Chapter 77: The Phoenix Versus the Shogun

The silence in the Nexus is a physical weight. Krell's words hang in the air like a death sentence. You killed my God.

The green light from the hole in the floor is gone. It is replaced by a terrible, empty darkness. The Miasma, the city's lifeblood and its poison, is gone. The air is just cold, dead stone.

I am Mizuki. I am on my knees. I pant for breath. The golden-silver flame of my rebirth fades, leaving me exhausted but whole. Kizawa is at my side. His hand is on my shoulder, pulling me to my feet. Hachiro is a wreck. Yogawa is a shivering mess. Erima is a tense line of exhausted focus. Argent, the Cleansed King, stands beside me. His silver form is a calm, silent beacon.

Krell is a nine-foot mountain of black obsidian and pure, murderous rage. His Phalanx guards have leveled their glowing green spears. But the spears are flickering. Their Rekka-light, their power source, is dying.

"He is right," Yogawa whispers. His voice is a terrified croak. "The God is dead. The power is gone. Their weapons and their city are all running on fumes."

Krell knows this. His four black eyes are fixed on me. What I see in them is not just fury. It is the absolute, primal terror of a man who has just lost everything.

"You insect," he snarls. His voice is a low, gravelly vibration. He raises his massive obsidian axe. "You condemned us. You destroyed our world. For what?"

"I saved it!" I shout back. My voice is raw. My own Phoenix-flame flares in response to his hate. "Your God was a prisoner. Your life was a lie!"

"It was our lie!" he roars. He takes a step. "And you had no right!"

He charges. He is a tank. A nine-foot wall of fury.

Kizawa moves. He is no longer broken. He is reborn, his body thrumming with my flame. He meets Krell's charge. His twin blades are a silver blur.

A deafening clang of steel on axe rings out. The shockwave throws me backward.

"Kizawa, no!" I scream. "He is not the enemy!"

"He is now!" Kizawa roars. His muscles strain. He is actually holding his ground against the Grak-ta General.

Hachiro leaps in. His green-healed fists are a blur.

"This is stupid!" he yells. He punches Krell's shield. The impact is a dull thud.

Erima fires an arrow at the ceiling.

"Stop fighting each other, you morons!" she shouts.

But they are not listening. Krell is a storm of grief and rage, his axe swinging. Kizawa is a blur of steel, parrying every blow. It is chaos.

Then a new voice speaks. It is not a shout. It is a cold, amused whisper that fills the entire Nexus.

"Such passion. Such wasted energy."

Everyone freezes. Krell's axe stops mid-swing. Kizawa leaps back, his blades at the ready. We all turn.

The hole in the floor, the one we flew out of, the one the God's death-rattle came from, is no longer dark. A faint, oily black fog is seeping up from it. It is the same fog from the foundry.

The General. The Black Fog General. Kuro-Kiri.

"No," Yogawa gasps. His face drains of all color. "He is dead. Mizuki killed him! We saw it!"

The fog coalesces in the center of the room. It rises, swirls, and takes a shape. It is the seven-foot samurai. The armor of solidified shadow. The helmet with the two, burning crimson eyes.

"Dead?" the General whispers in our minds. "I am a General of the Spinner King. I am an idea. You cannot kill an idea."

He looks at me. His crimson eyes lock onto my golden-silver form.

"You burned my anchor. My core. That was painful."

He tilts his head.

"But my Master is generous. He has given me a new one."

He lifts his gauntleted hand. In his palm is a new stone. Not black. It is a crystal of pure, sickly green.

"The Rekka-Heart," Krell breathes. His own voice is filled with horror.

Kuro-Kiri clenches his fist. The crystal sinks into his fog-body.

"The Hollow-God is dead. Its power is free. I am the inheritor."

A wave of new power explodes from him. It is not just the cold entropy of the Void. It is now mixed with the raw, agonizing, green Miasma of the Hollow-God. He has become a fusion. A nightmare of two worlds. He is stronger. Infinitely stronger.

"This is your fault," Krell growls. He turns his hate-filled eyes on me. "You did this. You unleashed him!"

"It does not matter whose fault it is!" I roar. "He is here! And he is the enemy!"

Kuro-Kiri laughs. It is a dry, hissing sound in our minds.

"The Grak-ta General. Your God is dead. Your city is dark. Your people are finished. Join me. My Master is merciful. He will give you a new purpose."

Krell stares at the General. He looks at his own, flickering green spear. He looks at me. His four black eyes are filled with an agony I cannot comprehend. He spits on the floor.

"I am Krell. I do not bow to shadows."

He roars a Grak-ta war-cry and charges Kuro-Kiri.

"Krell, no! He is too strong!" I scream.

"Fool."

Kuro-Kiri does not move. He raises one hand. A tendril of green-black fog lashes out. It hits Krell's obsidian shield. The shield dissolves. The Rekka-power in it is unmade by the Void-power.

Krell roars in shock as his shield turns to dust. The tendril hits his armor. His armor cracks and dissolves. The tendril hits his chest.

Krell stops. He looks down. There is a hole in his chest the size of my fist. He looks up at me.

"Goddess," he whispers. His voice is a wet gurgle.

And he falls. A mountain of obsidian armor crashes to the Nexus floor.

Silence.

I stare at his body. Kizawa stares. Hachiro stares. The General of the Phalanx is dead. In one hit.

Kuro-Kiri turns his crimson eyes to us.

"Now. You."

Kizawa steps in front of me. Argent, the Cleansed King, steps to my other side. Erima, Hachiro, and Yogawa form a line. We are five. And a half. We are all that is left.

"You talk too much," I whisper. My voice shakes with a rage so pure, so cold, it is a physical thing. My golden-silver flame roars to life. "Let's finish this, Shogun."