Chapter One-Hundred Forty-Six
The kid twisted his body, feet slamming against the ground as he seized Hien from his clone's sheath and rammed it through Fei-Wang's heart. Kurogane jerked, heart quickening at the sight even as his mind argued that his eyes were lying to him. The kid had been dead five seconds ago.
Hadn't he?
Fei-Wang looked down at the length of steel piercing his chest, halfheartedly raising his hand as if to run his fingertips along the dull edge of the blade. Kurogane shifted his weight, javelins of pain shooting through his ruined arm. At least it was the fake one, he thought distantly. The rest of his mind circled around another matter: How is the kid alive after that? Syaoran's clone had spared him, but why? And how had he made it look so convincing? True, Kurogane had seen it happen from the opposite end of the vast room, which had impaired his ability to make out the fine details of what had happened, but . . . But why? Why leave him alive?
Silence fell all around him. Fei-Wang's faceless army started to vanish, as if their master could no longer maintain them. Hell, maybe he couldn't. The mage had called them magical constructs. For all Kurogane knew, they needed constant supervision, otherwise they'd cease to exist.
Across the reservoir, the kid ripped Hien out of Fei-Wang's chest, splashing blood along the steps. The sorcerer turned his head, eyeing the clone, who just stood there, hands at his sides, looking into the rift in time where his supposed master stood.
"You . . . You tricked me!" Fei-Wang bellowed. A shadow formed in his hand, congealing, molding itself into a long, pointed shape. A sword. Kurogane lurched forward, his remaining hand reaching out, as if he could bridge the distance between that sword and the kid, as if he could do anything useful when he couldn't even stand. "You're just a puppet!" Fei-Wang shouted at the clone. "How dare you? And you," he spat, looking at Syaoran. "How dare you interfere with me?"
"Kid—" Kurogane shouted, his voice lost to the roaring in his ears. Steel emerged from the rift, pointed straight for the kid's throat. Before it could hit, the clone twisted, stepping into the path of the blade, and the glistening steel buried itself in his back.
Syaoran stared up at his clone as Fei-Wang's sword pierced his chest. The Other did not flinch. He did not speak. He did not blink. He did not cry or scream or take a breath. Instead, he lifted one arm, angling his hand backward as magic crackled across his fingertips, and sent a tangle of runes toward the rift where Fei-Wang stood. Those runes split apart, each string anchoring itself on the other side of the rift, tearing the hole in space and time even wider. Shadows writhed on the inside, forming shapes that appeared alive and tangible one moment, then broke apart like pieces of shattered glass the next. It was . . . It was like . . .
It was like watching space and time spin around each other, two harmonious forces clashing, creating a place where reason itself could crumble. The universe warped and twisted around a circle of runes behind Fei-Wang, like a set of broken wheels that kept spinning even as the spokes and axles fell away.
It was like staring into Hell, Syaoran thought, forcing his eyes back to his clone's face. His face, save for the out-of-place blue eye that contained half of Fai's magic. "Why?" Syaoran whispered.
The Other gave no sign of having heard. Fei-Wang yanked the sword out of his back, and a torrent of blood poured from the wound. Without looking back, the Other sent a blast of energy into the center of the vortex, striking the circle of runes behind Fei-Wang. The attack sliced the spell in half like cheap lace, and the chaotic swirl of energy suddenly collapsed in on itself. The shadows stopped writhing. The eerie bending of the universe ceased, and the world around it righted itself. Syaoran let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, relief coursing through his veins as the rift folded in on itself, separating the sorcerer from the reservoir. Only a tiny opening remained, the glowing runes extending from the edges like stitches.
"Why?" Syaoran asked again, his voice faint. "You saved me. Why?"
The emotionless mask cracked. The Other tilted his head to the side, sorrow burning in his eyes. "Because I wanted to know what would have come next."
What would have come next? "I don't understand."
"Those words. Those words she never said."
An image flickered through Syaoran's mind—an image from Nihon, from the only time he'd seen his clone show any humanity since Tokyo. The other Sakura's soul had manifested in the physical world, deflecting their swords with that projection of herself just as they'd been about to kill each other. She had saved them. Both of them. Then, as her soul had started breaking apart, she'd turned to the Other to whisper something to him—then had dissolved before she could.
"What was she going to say?" the Other wondered aloud, his voice distant, childlike. Then he pitched forward, blood streaming from his lips as a coughing fit wracked his body. Syaoran reached out, taking him by the shoulders as blood continued to flow in heavy streams down the front of his shirt.
He gave his life to save me, Syaoran thought, eyes watering. He gave his life to defy the monster who tried to control him. Numb, he laid the Other on the steps, taking care not to further aggravate his injuries. As he did, his clone's blue eye—Fai's blue eye—began to glow. A circle of runes gathered above his face, tightening until they formed a pair of crystals, one jade, one blue. "The feathers," he said by way of explanation. "And Fai's magic. Return them for me."
Not trusting his voice, Syaoran nodded.
"The others. Kurogane-san . . . Fai-san . . . Mokona. Sakura." A hint of life returned to his voice, as if merely saying her name gave him some measure of peace. "And you as well, Syaoran."
He jumped a little, hearing his clone call him by name, but then went still as the Other took a breath.
"I'm sorry, for everything I have done to all of you." He laid a hand on Syaoran's arm, squeezing gently. "And . . . thank you." His fingers went limp, and Syaoran sensed a shift in the Other's innate magic. A crumbling. Moments later, his body began to break apart, fracturing as if made of glass, each fragment floating away. Syaoran reached out, arms circling his clone's shoulders in a desperate attempt to keep him from dissolving, but he couldn't do anything, just as he hadn't been able to do anything when the people of this world had started melting. The Other's eyes slid closed, the life seeping out of them, and then his body broke apart, shattered like a vase dropped on the floor. His dying breath came in the form of a cloud of magic, swirling around Syaoran for a moment, tingling against the worst of his wounds and healing them, before coalescing into recognizable shapes. The others.
"Kid," Kurogane said, shoulder twitching as the magic that had brought him here faded.
Syaoran looked up, his tears leaving trails of heat along the sides of his face. "He's gone."
"We know," Fai said. Mokona bounced down from his shoulder, nuzzling Syaoran's cheek.
Kurogane knelt down next to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. Whatever magic the Other had used to bring him here had also mostly repaired his mechanical arm, along with most of his other wounds. That was the last thing he could do for us, Syaoran thought. He had just enough magic to heal us enough so we could fight, and nothing more. He buried his face in the ninja's shoulder, returning the embrace with equal fervor.
"I thought you were dead," Kurogane said at last, his voice gruff. Syaoran tightened his grip, fingers digging into the ninja's back as he tried to assure himself that he was real, that they were both alive, that this wasn't just some sick nightmare where the hero died and the villain won.
"He sacrificed himself in defiance of the one who sought to control him," Fai said, walking over to the pairs of crystals floating above the steps. He plucked the blue one out of the air, pressing it against his forehead. Light poured out from the crystal, and Syaoran felt a jolt as magic rippled out from Fai's body, restored to him at last. Fai then grabbed the other shard, placing it in Syaoran's palm. His fingers curled around it, his body absorbing so it would be safe until he could return it to its rightful owner. Power surged through him, the energy from the combined feathers revitalizing his magic, strengthening his body so his wounds seemed inconsequential.
As he shuddered, Kurogane's hold on him tightened. "You okay?"
"It's just a lot of magic to take in at once," Syaoran whispered. No wonder so many people wanted to use her feathers. They're incredibly potent.
Fai walked over to the place where the Other had died, his expression mournful. "You left me my magic so that I could return to the way I was. That was why you kept using it—so it would grow in power to be equal to the magic I'd originally had." He paused, staring at the bloodied steps. "But I would rather you'd simply returned to us. That would have been so much better."
Syaoran closed his eyes. This eulogy was not for him, but he couldn't pretend he had no part in it. The Other had betrayed his companions in Tokyo. Not by choice, but because the seal binding the soul fragment that Syaoran had planted in him had broken before he could form a heart of his own. But that's not what happened, is it? Syaoran thought. Because he did have a heart. Because in the end, he chose love over his own survival. Because in the end, he sacrificed everything so we could make things right. He opened his eyes, looking at the stitch in space and time where the Other's spell held the rift between this world and Fei-Wang's reality open.
Kurogane touched his face. "You sure you're okay?"
"No," he said truthfully. "But I will be."
The ninja nodded, stroking his hair back before disentangling himself. Kurogane reached down, his hand closing around the Other's sword, all the softness seeping out of his expression. "If he had the strength to apologize, why couldn't he have just stayed alive?" His knuckles went white with the force of his grip.
"Because," Syaoran said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Because sometimes an apology is the only thing you have left to give."
"I'd rather have him back."
He flinched, looking down. "He was irreplaceable," he agreed. And I should never have tried to replace him.
"I know what you're thinking, so don't even say it," Kurogane growled, turning to him. Syaoran looked up, startled to see the ninja towering over him. He stood, shoulders curling inward, but before he could say anything, Kurogane's fingers wrapped around the collar of his shirt and dragged him forward so their lips met. Startled, Syaoran sank into the kiss, body pressing against the hard shell of Kurogane's armor, fingers tangling in the ninja's cloak. He let his worries dissolve, until even the fact that they had an audience ceased to matter to him. But Kurogane pulled away only a moment later, voice husky. "You can't be replaced either, and I would never try. Even if . . ." He stopped, shaking his head. "Well, you're not planning on dying on us, so . . ."
"That's right. And thank you." He leaned in, pressing his mouth to Kurogane's once more. This kiss lasted a few heartbeats longer than the last, and then they both pulled back, facing the Other's binding spell.
"This magic connects this world to that man's dimension," Fai said, disregarding the display of affection. The magician seemed to have no trouble understanding the rune-work that had gone into the spell, though it made little sense to Syaoran. "With my magic back, I should be able to reopen the rift and bring us there."
"Take us through, then," Kurogane said, handing the Other's sword to Mokona with a quiet command for her to store it away. Something to remember him by, Syaoran thought, nodding once as Kurogane's eyes fell on him. Something to bury at the funeral.
Fai stepped forward, lifting his hands. Magic crackled at his fingertips, so bright that Syaoran averted his eyes so he wouldn't have to look directly at it. The magician took his time weaving several strings of runes, but when he finished, those symbols latched on to the remnants of the Other's spell, reopening the rift. Syaoran felt the tingle of transportation magic, like cool mist brushing against the back of his neck, and then they were being pulled into the other dimension.