Anomaly Ch. 68 (Patreon)

Shirou knew when it happened - so did everyone else. Mainly because while he was expecting the smell of rot, the Yaga with them did not.

They were flying across open fields on the road to the Imperial capital. Where it had taken them days on the road alongside the refugees, they were crossing in minutes. At first, nothing was amiss. Apart from the nervousness from the Yaga with the helicopters, there was only a smattering of chatter between everyone.

Partially because the Yaga could not hear anyone over the sound of helicopter blades, but also partially because of the grim mood of everyone as they essentially were going on a near suicide mission.

But it wouldn’t be. Shirou wouldn’t allow it.

Even then, words did little to staunch the sheer, overpowering smell of rot from assaulting his nose. And he meant it literally, too. Unlike before, where his attuned senses were detecting the scent of Zouken’s magecraft, this one was all too physical.

As such, he was not surprised when Itami’s copter, leading the convoy as it were, radioed in with them.

“Head’s up, we’re seeing something down below. They look like Imperials-holy shit, that’s a lot of bodies.”

Shirou leaned over the edge of the open door. The cold wind bit into his face, tearing at his eyes, but it didn't do a thing to clear the smell. It was like an open grave, churned up and thrown into the sky by the rotors.

Below them, the green plains were stained dark. Thousands of armored soldiers lay scattered across the road and the surrounding fields. But they weren't just dead. From this height, Shirou could see the armor caving in on itself. They were hollowed out. Dried husks left behind after the marrow had been sucked dry.

Perhaps the most disturbing part was how a significant number of them were still standing up. Some were almost stuck in a manner that was clear that they were talking to one another. As if none of them had been able to react to what was happening.

Anatoly gripped the metal frame of his seat tightly. The metal groaned under his claws. The Yaga leader bared his teeth, the fur on his neck standing straight up. He hated the Empire, but he was a hunter, that much Shirou could understand.

Rory leaned over Shirou's shoulder to look down. For once, the demigoddess wasn't smiling. She let out a low, unhappy hum, "Emroy takes souls that fall in battle. This is just theft. No honor, no glory. Just a parasite eating its host."

In the back corner, Tyuulej ust looked cold. Her eyes tracked the line of bodies stretching toward the horizon, "I recognize those banners. They're Zorzal's main force, the one that he used to conquer my people." She narrowed her eyes, "They must have been on the way to reinforce the vanguard at Italica. Shame that they didn't seem to make it that far."

It was strange how calm the Warrior Bunny was. Unlike the others, who needed quite a bit of time to get used to the idea that they weren't going to fall off the giant metal bird - even the ever stoic Lelei - Tyuule looked more or less used to such a method of travel. Or perhaps, it was because she was the queen of her people that she just had a better poker face than everyone else.

Shirou watched her for a second. He didn’t blame her. When your entire world gets ripped away, revenge is a pretty effective anchor to keep you moving. But Zouken wasn't doing this for conquest or spite. He was just fueling a machine, and these soldiers were convenient kindling.

The radio crackled. Itami’s voice came back, and the grimness of his voice only heightened the tension the Enforcer felt, "Emiya. We’ve got a massive problem; radar is losing its mind. Visual confirms incoming. A lot of incoming."

Shirou leaned further out the door. The horizon was turning a bruised, sickening purple. Reinforcement on his ears confirmed what he dreaded. Instead of a storm and debris, there was a swarm. Thousands of buzzing, winged familiars formed a moving wall in the sky. Flanking them were much larger shapes. 

Wyverns. But they flew in jerky, violent spasms, completely ignoring the basic instincts of flight.  Zouken had infected the local beasts to act as an anti-air screen.

Shirou snorted sardonically. Well, what was he expecting, assaulting a magus in what amounted to his workshop? Never mind a workshop that was the size of an entire city, if Zouken had really taken over the capital.

...Had Zouken been able to do this in Fuyuki? Had the only thing stopping him really been the threat of being stopped?

The more that Shirou thought about it, it was the most likely scenario. The best way to stop a magus was to catch them before they could prepare. If Zouken were to do this back in Fuyuki, it would have set off alarm bells all over the world, and he would be forced to either scale back on his bid for power, or abandon it entirely.

In this world, there were no checks and balances to stop him. Zouken had amassed so much, in so little time, because there was no threat for him. 

"He's using the leylines to power a localized defense grid." Shirou muttered. The cold wind bit at his eyes, "He knows exactly where we are."

"All birds, drop altitude! Evasive action!" Itami yelled over the channel.

"Maintain your heading, Lieutenant." The voice that cut through the military chatter was dead calm. Lady Barthomeloi, "Do not break formation."

Even filtered through cheap radio headsets, her tone carried enough weight to freeze the entire convoy.

"Lady Barthomeloi, with all due respect, we are flying into a meat grinder if we do that." Itami argued.

"I said, maintain."

Before Itami could push back, the air inside the cabin violently shifted. The pressure spiked and then plummeted. Shirou’s eardrums popped painfully. He swallowed hard, tasting copper and the sudden, harsh bite of ozone. It was the same feeling as back at Italica, just projected miles ahead of their flight path.

Out in the distance, the sky simply collapsed.

A massive, invisible weight dropping from the stratosphere. A section of the swarm a mile wide was instantly compacted into a micrometer-thin smear of pulp. The resulting shockwave hit the helicopters a second later. The metal frame groaned, throwing Anatoly against the bulkhead with a heavy grunt.

"The airspace is clear." Lorelei stated flatly, "You have your window, Emiya. Do not dawdle."

Shirou pulled himself up as the Imperial capital finally broke through the clouds below them. It was a sprawling fortress of stone walls and grand architecture. But right in the center, the royal palace was practically glowing with toxic, purple ether.

He raised his hands. His Magic Circuits flared to life, burning through the freezing air. The sword of Spartacus, the weapon he had been using this entire time, hummed in contentment. It had been a while since it had roared at his psyche, his own internal turmoil having been left unresolved. 

Now though, it was seemingly satisfied. The nameless weapon offered no resistance as Shirou let it fade.

Replacing it, was the familiar sight of the married blades of Kanshou and Bakuya.

“Emiya,” Itami continued on the radio, “We’re approaching-”

“No need.” Shirou nodded towards Anatoly and the others, “Lelei, cast a slow-fall spell on us.” He looked towards the blue-haired mage, sitting with an uncharacteristic frown on her features. Thankfully, she was quick on the take, casting the spell almost immediately, “We’re dropping, now.”

“We’re still like, a kilometer in the air!”

Shirou could only give a small laugh. It seems that, for however much Itami looked like he’d gotten used to magecraft, he still very much hadn’t.

…

The wind ripped the heat right out of Shirou's lungs as he stepped into the open sky. Lelei’s spell caught them a second later. It didn't stop the fall, but it killed their deadly momentum. It felt like sinking through thick water.

Below them, the Imperial capital spread out like a rotting corpse.

The sight was different, very different, from above. When he and his allies had entered alongside the Princess, it was in front of the imposing walls of the capital. The same walls that separated the hierarchies of Saderan society, were now crumbling all around it. Fires had broken out all over the city, and sparse fighting could be seen within.

Hordes of shambling would-be corpses shuffled en masse. Pockets of resistance were visible, their screams of terror piercing even through the destruction. Civilians could be seen fleeing a group of the infested, only to be caught by another group. Almost like they were being herded.

Which wasn’t far from the reality of things.

The people that were infested by Zouken’s Crest Worms were more or less extensions of himself. A hivemind controlled by a single magus. Not unlike how Dead Apostles turn people into ghouls, Zouken was converting the people of Sadera into his familiars. Who would then go on to convert even more people, and so on and so forth.

An actual zombie apocalypse.

Of all the pockets of resistance in the capital, one stood out. The center of it all, the Imperial senate. There, where the rest of the capital was consumed in scattered fighting, the senate building was covered in a brightly flashing dome of light.

Whatever that barrier was - be it a Bounded Field or not - it was clearly meant to keep out the Crest Worm-infested people. Thankfully, it was on the way to the Imperial palace, which meant that heading there wouldn’t be compromising the bigger mission in stopping Zouken.

Well, stopping him from doing more damage than he already had.

They touched ground soon enough, the high-flying view of the capital fading into the background. High above them, they could hear the continued assaults of Lorelei as she systematically eliminated another swarm of Crest Worms. Who knew how many Zouken had at this point? It might even be in the hundreds  of millions with the amount of ‘food’ he had.

The thought was sickening.

Shirou hit the cobblestones hard. The slow-fall spell cut out the second his boots touched the street. He bent his knees, his Magic Circuits flaring to keep his bones from snapping under the sudden weight.

Anatoly and the rest of his Yaga contingent landed right beside him with a heavy thud, cracking the pavement beneath his feet. Rory touched down a moment later, her massive halberd already resting on her shoulder. Tyuule, Tuka and Lelei followed close behind.

It smelled much worse down here. Up in the sky, the rotors and the cold wind blew the stench away. Down in the streets, the rot just sat in the air. It was thick, sticky, and tasted like old copper.

The shambling corpses stopped what they were doing. Hundreds of hollowed-out faces turned toward the group. They didn't scream. They didn't even snarl. They just started walking forward in perfect, terrifying synchronization.

"Don't get bogged down." Shirou said. He tightened his grip on Kanshou and Bakuya, "We punch a hole straight to that dome at the senate building. Keep the formation tight."

Anatoly didn't wait for a second order. The Yaga leader threw himself straight into the mob. He didn't bother with weapons. His massive claws tore right through rusted armor and dried skin. It was brutal and messy, but it ripped a hole in the frontline.

Shirou stepped into the gap. He swung Kanshou and Bakuya in tight, efficient arcs. The twin blades easily cut through the infected bodies. There was no blood to slip on. Just dry dust and the hollow crunch of brittle bones.

It made his stomach turn. These weren't enemy combatants. He saw aprons, merchant clothes, and the small frames of teenagers. But Zouken was just using them as familiars to manifest his presence and drain the city. They were already gone. Shirou locked that thought away in a box and kept cutting.

This was the only mercy he could give them.

"Don't stop!" Shirou yelled. He parried a clumsy sword strike and took off the attacker's head.

Rory guarded their right flank. Her halberd was a blur of dark metal. She cleaved through the horde in massive sweeps, tossing bodies aside like broken toys. On the left, Tyuule fought in total silence. Her sword work was cold and precise. She aimed for joints and throats, dropping targets with zero wasted effort.

In the center of their formation, Lelei raised her staff. A sharp blast of wind exploded outward, throwing a dozen infected back into the crowd. Tuka stayed close to the mage's side. The elf was shivering, clearly terrified by the sheer scale of the rot, but her hands were steady. Blasts of earth were erupting where she was aiming, and the titter of the spirits around her only grew harsher the more they advanced.

At the rate they were going, they would cross into the merchant's district soon enough. Hopefully, Itami's squad could find and evacuate the survivors around the capital. They had Lorelei's firepower, so they should be fine. 

For now, all they needed to do was push forward.

...