Chapter Seventy-Seven

Blood ran down his back, as warm and sticky as the arena floor scraped the skin from his back through the barrier of his shirt. It's over, he thought, still sliding. I've lost.

The blood made the back of his shirt slick, allowing his momentum to carry him farther. Syaoran squinted at the glaring lights above, too stunned to stop himself as he skidded toward the edge of the arena. There are no guard rails, he thought numbly. And the drop from the arena has to be at least twenty feet. I'll break my neck when I hit—

"Syaoran!"

The voice, distant yet familiar, jolted him out of his morbid thoughts. His heart quickened, chest tightening as he recognized Kurogane's voice. He called me by name, he thought. He called me by name even though we're not alone. But why? He knows that will only make people wonder about us.

Time seemed to slow as he worked through his muddled thoughts. He sounded so scared. But how could that be? He's never scared. Or if he is, he doesn't show it. He felt the sudden drop-off at the edge of the platform and turned his head, eyes zeroing in on the ninja. Is he afraid for me? Mind fuzzy with pain, it took him a moment to really process that. But if that's true, doesn't it follow that he cares about me, even now? And if he does care . . . is it possible he could come to love me?

He kept sliding, almost dangling over the edge now. His momentum wanted to carry him farther, he knew. Wanted to throw him off the arena so he'd careen to the ground and break his neck. I never thought these chess matches could get so dangerous. I should have spent less time reading and more time practicing.

I should have told Kurogane I loved him.

The thought shocked him. For so long, he'd regretted not saying the same thing to his Sakura. How pitifully tragic would it be if he failed to say it this time as well? If he died here, in this game of death, without ever saying those words . . .

Then I just have to live long enough to say them. He whipped around, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, and jammed the blade into the arena floor. It shattered the tiles, burying itself deep in the soft material beneath, and he used it as an anchor to halt his slide. As he came to a stop, he pulled himself to his feet, then, using the sword as leverage, flung himself into the air so he sailed over the arena.

His opponent, still relatively undamaged, shot into the air as he reached the top of his arc. Syaoran twisted, reinforcing the sword with his magic as he brought it around to block the next attack. It held, knocking them both back.

This time, Syaoran landed on his feet. The audience's cheers swelled, pounding against his eardrums as he ran forward to attack. I have to bring that automata down, he thought, his blade cleaving through the air only to be blocked by the girl's forearm. But rather than drawing back, Syaoran darted forward, slipping past the robot's guard and slamming his heel against her elbow. It bent backward, metal tearing apart to expose circuits and wires. This is it, he thought, lifting his sword and striking downward.

His opponent snatched the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the ground. A sickening jolt of pain sliced through his back, and all the air whistled out of his lungs. He barely had the presence of mind to roll out of the way as a metal fist shot toward his face. Tile shattered next to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, still rolling. More blood poured down his back, staining his shirt.

He started to stand, then staggered, his limbs growing clumsy. Every breath he took sent a jolt of pain through his side. I probably cracked a rib, he thought, unsure whether that should worry him or not. Yet the injury didn't explain the sudden fatigue in his muscles, or the oppressive weariness settling over his mind. What's wrong with me? I've been hurt worse before. Why do I suddenly feel so tired?

The answer came to him in a flash of insight. He looked back to see Sakura leaning forward in her chair, eyes wide with horror. She's losing her drive, he realized. She doesn't want me to fight anymore. "Your eyes," he gasped. Even his tongue felt heavy as his collar sapped his strength. "Close your eyes. You don't need to see me. Concentrate only on winning!"

She murmured his name, voice barely audible over the roaring crowd. An instant later, his strength returned, revitalizing his body like a shot of adrenaline. He stood and faced his opponent. I can win. I have to believe that, if nothing else.

The automata darted forward, but her movements seemed slower than they had in the beginning. She can't be tired. I must have damaged her. He evaded the next punch, flipping backward toward the center of the arena. As soon as he landed, he took a fighting stance, waiting for the next strike.

A ball of light formed around the robot's fist, initially no brighter than a flashlight dusted over with disuse. Then the sphere grew brighter, increasing in diameter. A thin, high-pitched whir pierced the air, the pitch making it almost inaudible. What's going on?

She shot up into the air as if propelled by rockets. The light around her fist became blinding. For an instant, everything went still.

And then the world exploded.

Fear twisted through Kurogane's heart.

Most people he knew would've scoffed at the idea that he was capable of experiencing fear. And in truth, he'd never had much to be afraid of. Once he'd become strong enough to slay demons, there had been few challenges that had daunted him, and even fewer opponents who had been able to give him a real fight.

But as brilliant white light erupted from the arena above, something cracked inside his chest with a pain as sharp and real as a shattered rib. No . . . he thought, unable to look away from the explosion, even though the brightness stung his eyes. There's no way the kid could've survived that.

"What was that?" He barely heard his own voice over the roar above. No one answered. Even the magician, prone to the most inappropriate bouts of humor, stood silent and still at his side, watching.

The roar from above grew louder even as the blinding light dulled. If the attack is dissipating, why is that noise getting louder? He looked up, blinking rapidly as if that would dispel the afterimages dancing in front of his eyes. It took him a few seconds to realize that, while the roaring had coincided with the blast, the attack wasn't the cause of it.

It was the audience. Cheering. Whistling. Shouting. As if they hadn't just watched someone burn up in an explosion of white light. In shock, Kurogane felt no anger, no shred of annoyance. Nothing except the deep ache in his chest. "Kid . . ."

"Look," the mage said, pointing at one of the screens showcasing the arena.

I don't want to look, whispered a small, pitiful voice in the back of his mind. Kurogane forced himself to look anyway, bracing himself to see the kid's charred corpse or flayed limbs or the bloody splotch where he'd been standing.

Instead, he saw the kid kneeling in the center of the oversized chess board, sword held above his head. All around him, craters marred the floor, leaving shards of tile and other debris everywhere. He's alive. I can't fucking believe it.

The automata shot through the air, coming down in an arc just above Syaoran. The boy dodged, only to catch a hard kick in the chest. He flew backward several feet.

Kurogane grabbed the mage's arm, trying to steady himself against the conflicting waves of relief and worry dragging him under. Up above—and displayed prominently on dozens of different screens—Syaoran met the robot's next attack. Magic sprung from his sword, crackling through the air around him. The audience cheered, their combined voices drowning out the kid's. But Kurogane saw his lips move, recognized the words that fell from his tongue. An attack. "Raitei Shourai!"

Magic spread across the arena, pushing chipped tiles and loose material out in a circle. The debris rained down in the pit where Kurogane stood, and he covered his head as several small ceramic shards hit him. Above, the energy swelled, rivaling the intense light of a moment ago as it shot toward the ceiling.

Kurogane leaned forward, eyes never straying from the screen. Come on, he thought. Come on. That had to do something. That had to be the end of it.

The smoke cleared as the last remnants of the spell fizzled out. On the monitor, Kurogane saw Syaoran and his robotic opponent, still standing. They both swayed slightly, so close to breaking point. And then the automata collapsed, falling backward into its master's arms.

"It's over," Kurogane said. Thank the gods.

Syaoran stayed standing a moment more before falling to his knees, blood trickling down his back. Kurogane tensed, then relaxed again as the princess rushed over to the boy. However cold she'd acted to him the past few months, they took care of each other. As she reached him, Kurogane exhaled softly. Well, at least that's over.

A high-pitched noise sounded from above.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. Kurogane looked up, squinting against the flood of light to see a slim figure descending from the ceiling. How much weird shit is going to happen tonight? Who the hell—

"Chi?" Fai gasped.

Voice enhanced by microphones, Eagle spoke. "She is the only automata in this country with the power to traverse dimensions. And she will now guide you to a different dimension."

If Tomoyo hadn't sent him away, if he hadn't spent the last couple years jumping from world to world, he would have scoffed at how ridiculous that sounded. As it was, the words shredded through his last wisp of self-control. "I knew it!" There was something going on!

The blonde automata finished her descent, reaching toward the princess. And, with dawning horror, Kurogane watched the princess reach upward, grasping at that hand. No. Not now. We've all survived so much. She can't leave now.

On the screen, he saw the kid grab the princess's hand, keeping her grounded. Unable to reach the platform from where he stood now, Kurogane did the only thing he could think to do: he yelled. "Don't let go of the princess!"

They both looked down at him, then back at each other. Through the din, Kurogane couldn't hear what they were saying. But whatever it was, the princess objected, trying to pull her hand away as she shouted back.

Beside him, the mage shot forward. Kurogane instinctively reached for him, intending to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, but rather than closing around the idiot's arm, his fingers closed around empty air. "Wait!"

Fai paid him no heed. Magic swirled around his body, nearly knocking Kurogane back. An instant later, Fai shot into the air, gliding to the platform where the kid clung to the princess. Kurogane watched, rooted to where he stood, as the wizard's blast of magic threw the kid back. What the hell?

Later, he'd remember how the blonde automata had seemed to split into two identical figures. Later, he'd remember how they'd both released a feather, each rippling as they flowed into Sakura's body. Later, he'd remember seeing Fai grab the kid's sword from the ground.

Now, the only thing he could focus on was the sword piercing the princess's heart.