Anomaly Ch. 62 (Patreon)

Death is a sight that Shirou was used to. Death was a sign that he’d either done his job, or failed at it. There were no in betweens, usually. As such, when looking at scenes of carnage, he was familiar with them, enough for even his more sensitive nose not to quiver at the scent of it.

Lorelei Barthomeloi proved him wrong.

Her  magecraft was incredibly powerful, there was no doubt about that. Anyone in the Clock Tower, in the Mage’s Association even, couldn’t deny that. That didn’t say anything of what she could do, however.

A man is powerful when they can lift a bunch of weights. A bomb is powerful when it explodes. Are the two of those the same when it comes to the definition of powerful? Of course not.

To that end, calling the Barthomeloi’s magecraft as powerful does not do it justice.

When she had used her wind magecraft, to the people in Italica, it would have looked like a spear of wind. An incredibly precise one, capable of piercing through armor like a bullet would. It was not what she had done. Rather, the act of the wind spear was more of a traversal method.

The real end result was the explosion of power that caused a veritable sphere of negative pressure. All air in the area instantly disappeared, causing every living thing that breathed air to simultaneously experience explosive decompression.

“Gods…” Ghunzul muttered as he stared at the scene. The orc leader had volunteered himself and several of his men to go out to gather the corpses alongside Shirou, once the panic from the Vice Director’s actions died down. The Third Recon team, with their HMV, rode in with them. Tyuule, Tuka and Lelei, despite his protests, had hopped in with the soldiers.

Shirou had to grimace as he took in the horrifying ‘battlefield’ in front of him in full.

Even now, having seen this multiple times when fighting alongside the Barthomeloi head, this was a scene that he would never get used to. The corpses that Shirou saw as they approached would be better described as bloated carcasses with vaguely humanoid portions.

They looked more or less like they were sleeping, at times, because there was no blood to be found. The instantaneous vacuum that Lorelei created also caused all the blood that would have been present to boil instantly.

“Oi, Emiya, what the fuck is this?” Itami poked his head out of the HMV, face pale. Through the tinted windows, the magus could vaguely make out that everyone in the vehicle had the same reaction as their team lead.

“I told you, Lorelei Barthomeloi is significantly stronger than myself.” Shirou spoke listlessly, before moving to check the bodies, “Come on, I’m picking something up further along.”

“If this is the caliber of your world’s mages, then the Empire truly has overplayed their hands.” Ghunzul rumbled as they moved forward. Every so often, orc volunteers would pilfer weapons and armor from the corpses with only the slightest bit of distaste.

It was part of the reason why Shirou had acquiesced when they requested to join. They had a very good tolerance for battlefields like this, and weren’t constantly on the brink of starvation that they might eat the corpses like the Yaga.

“I’m afraid to burst your bubble,” Shirou replied as he followed the distinctly familiar smell of decay, “But no, Lady Barthomeloi is an exception rather than the rule. I highly doubt you’d see anyone else on her level within your lifetime.”

The dry, odorless silence of the decompression zone faded quickly as they moved deeper into the Imperial's remains. The HMV's engine hummed low, a steady, mechanical thrum that felt bizarrely grounding compared to the unnatural wasteland around them.

Shirou raised a hand, signaling Ghunzul and the orcs to halt. His nose wrinkled tightly.

There.

"Emiya? What's the hold-up?" Itami asked, poking his head further out of the HMV's window. His rifle was held ready, his casual demeanor completely replaced by the sharp focus of a soldier entering a hot zone.

Kuribayashi stepped out of the vehicle right behind him, her face twisting in immediate disgust as the wind shifted, carrying the odor toward them, "Ugh, Christ. Did something rot before it died? I thought you said that that lady's magic boiled everything clean."

"It did." Shirou muttered, his eyes scanning the grotesque landscape, "For anyone human."

He walked toward a crumpled heap of ornate steel armor resting near a shattered carriage. It belonged to what looked like a high-ranking Imperial commander. Unlike the other corpses, whose skin had remained taut and bloodless despite the explosive decompression, this man’s breastplate was actively bulging outward, leaking a thick, purplish-black fluid from the seams.

Ghunzul instinctively stepped forward, just as the rest of the orcs, dressed in an amalgam of Imperial armor, warily raised their pilfered arms.

The Enforcer stared forward, the trigger in his mind preparing to be launched.

A wet, squelching sound echoed on the eeriely quiet road. From the joints of the gauntlets and the narrow visor of the helmet, pale, fleshy shapes began to writhe outward. They weren't maggots. They were far too large, fat as a man's thumb, their skin pulsing with dark, oily bodies as they blindly clawed at the air.

"What in the gods' names..." Ghunzul grunted as he raised his axe. Tyuule stepped beside Shirou, having exited the HMV, grimacing at the sight.

“Tch.” The Warrior Bunny spat out, “I’m guessing that’s what would have happened to me if that thing managed to infect me, right?”

"If those worms had infested you, they would have consumed your life force and magical energy, replacing your rotting tissue from the inside out." Shirou explained, his voice grim, "It's how Zouken mimics the regenerative properties of a Dead Apostle to sustain his existence."

Ghunzul let out a low, guttural growl, his grip tightening on his scavenged axe until his knuckles turned white. To the orcs, death in battle was a sacred, expected end. To have one's corpse desecrated and piloted by parasites was an abhorrence that transcended cultural boundaries.

"Right. That's it. Playtime's over," Itami barked, all traces of his usual slacker demeanor vanishing. He slammed his hand against the armored side of the HMV. "Everyone back in the vehicle, now."

“Not yet.” Shirou stepped forward, schooling his features to not show just how disgusted he was, “The entire reason we’re here is because of Zouken. If we don’t show any proof of his presence here, then I can’t guarantee how Lady Barthomeloi will react. Besides, this would be the first time in a long time that I’ve managed to actually speak with you, isn’t it?”

He had directed the last part towards the bulging corpse, which stopped moving the moment he did so.

“Curious.” 

The body of the Imperial stretched. The sound of flesh tearing apart as Crest Worms clawed out of the corpse’s orifices. Bloated insects of all kinds, some with wings, some stayed as worms. As they crawled out, they quickly crawled all over the other corpses in the area, devouring the flesh.

In doing so, as the Worms engorged themselves, they would seemingly give birth to more and more of themselves. Soon enough, what was one body that was filled with Crest Worms was now starting to grow more and more numerous. At least twenty bodies had already been consumed, not even bones remaining.

Already, Shirou had Traced a Mystic Code, an axe that could produce extremely potent flames. He had chucked four of them in a defensive ring around their party, acting as a barrier between them and the tide of Crest Worms.

The others retreated a step as the sudden, intense wave of heat washed over them. Kuribayashi cursed and lowered her rifle, quickly realizing that standard ammunition would be entirely useless against a fluid, spreading wave of insects.

"Itami, keep everyone inside the barrier!" Shirou ordered, his magical energy already surging through his Circuits. Because his entire brand of magecraft was strictly tied to the concept of 'Sword' and 'Weapons', he couldn't cast traditional containment spells.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t secure an area.

The undulating mass of Crest Worms piled against the fiery boundary. The front lines screeched as they turned to ash, but the thousands behind them callously used the charred remains of their brethren as a bridge to push forward. Slowly, the sheer volume of the insects began to stack, forming a grotesque, shifting visage of a man just beyond the flames.

The man looked awfully similar to Shinji. Older, maybe, but the distinct shade of blue hair, and how it resembled seaweed was a dead giveaway. The man wore a suit and tie, and combined with the scowl and pale face, he looked every part of a Clock Tower aristocrat.

Only for the man to rapidly age.

In less than a minute, the somewhat handsome face sagged, and hair fell out like droves. His body hunched, the pale face withered, until the entire form was the color of rotting wood. Eyes became sunken, then morphed into dark hollows, the only sign of life being the white pinpricks that stared with barely hidden sadism at their group.

"A loyal hound, even in a world so far from home." The raspy, chitinous voice echoed from the vibrating swarm, "I had wondered if the Anomaly would sever the leashes of the Clock Tower. It seems I was pleasantly mistaken, Shirou Emiya."

“Zouken Matou.” He didn’t bother with thinking of how he could harm the other magus. He wouldn’t be able to kill Zouken anyway, as the man likely wasn’t even here, just controlling his Crest Worms remotely. The only thing he could do was wipe out the Crest Worms in the area.

“Ah, that magecraft of yours.” Zouken laughed, “Truly, a spectacle that even I could not have anticipated. Neither did that Archer from the Fourth War, it seemed. Truly, you are the gift that keeps on giving.”

“You and I know that your days are numbered, now that the Queen is here.” Shirou calmly intoned. And he was right. Once the Barthomeloi set her eyes on prey, she would not stop hunting, “Just surrender now and I can guarantee you a quick death.”That was a lie. He still owed Zouken for Sakura’s sake.

The ancient magus shook his head, a grotesque sound of chitin scraping together echoing as he chuckled, “Emiya, Emiya. Do you truly think I would show myself out of some foolish pride? That is a failing of lesser magi, not I.”

The hollow eyes of the avatar seemed to crinkle in dark amusement. The sheer mass of the Crest Worms shifted, the rotting wood-colored face morphing into a visage of perverse, mocking warmth. The swarm settled into a disturbingly relaxed posture, completely unbothered by the roaring flames of Shirou’s defensive perimeter.

“No, no.” Zouken continued, his wet, raspy voice carrying over the crackle of the fiery axes, “I chose to reveal myself here, to you, for a very specific reason. I wanted to extend my personal gratitude.”

Shirou’s eyes narrowed, his magical energy flaring slightly as his grip tightened on his projected weapon. Behind him, Itami and the JSDF soldiers tensed, unnerved by the sudden shift in the monster's demeanor. “Gratitude? For what?”

“For playing your part so perfectly.” Zouken purred, a vile, clicking approximation of a sigh escaping the avatar's rotting maw, “Truly, I could not ask for a better executor than if I had done so myself. You have been a most accommodating piece on the board, Shirou Emiya.”

…