Anomaly Ch. 69 (Patreon)

The echo of that frustrated scream in Italica still clawed at the back of his throat. He had been too late to stop the harvest, but he would not be too late to shatter the vessel.

Shirou severed another hollowed-out Imperial soldier, letting the twin blades of Kanshou and Bakuya dissipate and immediately projecting them anew to shed the accumulating dust. The merchant's district was a claustrophobic nightmare of overturned stalls and shattered market carts. It forced their tight formation into a narrow column.

"We are approaching the plaza!" Tyuule called out from the left flank. Her blade slipped through the visor of a rusted helmet, dropping the host instantly. "The Senate building is just beyond this avenue."

"The spirits are screaming louder here." Tuka warned. The elf was deathly pale, her hands trembling as she directed another concussive blast of earth into the tide of bodies. "They say the ground is trying to eat itself."

Shirou saw what she meant a moment later.

As they broke through the final choke point of the market, the avenue opened into the grand Saderan senate plaza. The glowing dome of light they had seen from the sky dominated the square, but it was no longer a pristine shield. It was violently flickering.

The infested citizens were not merely throwing themselves against the barrier anymore. At the steps of the Senate, the hivemind had adapted. Dozens of bodies had been forcibly mashed together, their flesh fused by the agonizing excretions of oversized, bloated Crest Worms. The resulting amalgamation was a towering, grotesque battering ram of limbs and rusted armor.

It reared back and slammed its fused mass against the dome. The magical shield groaned, the air shrieking with the sound of cracking glass.

"Barrier weak. Break soon." Lelei observed with clinical detachment, though she was already raising her staff.

"Then we don't let it swing!" Anatoly roared. The Yaga did not wait for a strategy. He vaulted over the front line of shambling corpses, his massive claws extended.

"Wait, Anatoly!" Shirou shouted, but the wolf-man was already airborne.

Anatoly crashed into the side of the flesh-golem. His claws dug deep into the fused limbs, tearing out chunks of corrupted tissue, but the sheer mass of the creature barely registered the assault. A massive, club-like arm swung around, swatting the Yaga out of the air. Anatoly hit the cobblestones hard enough to crack the pavement.

Rory laughed, a bright, manic sound that cut through the oppressive stench. "My turn." The Apostle of Emroy blurred forward. Her massive halberd cleaved a perfect horizontal arc, severing the creature at what passed for its knees.

The monstrosity collapsed, but the bloated Crest Worms pulsing beneath its skin simply drove the remaining limbs into the ground, dragging its upper half toward the flickering dome.

Shirou took a breath. His Magic Circuits flared, the familiar heat flooding his nerves. He bypassed the married blades and reached deeper into his Blade Works once more.

And for once, a blade answered. It was a Noble Phantasm that he had thought would never wield here. Not for its lack of power, rather, that even he felt it was in bad taste. The Saderan Empire, as much as it resembled the Rome of his world - even down to the slavery - was still very much not Rome. It was almost like a facsimile.

Not a copy, not like his Tracing. The Empire did not call itself Rome at any point, but more that it took the qualities of Rome without truly understanding why.

It seemed, however, that that distinction was now no longer a deterrent.

Not once in his stay here had the sword within his Works stirred. Not until now. Not when, from the memories of the spear of the founder, that the world itself was Rome, no matter where that world was.

A massive, crimson longsword formed in his grasp.

Aestus Estus.

The blade hummed with latent heat, its golden hilt heavy in his grip. It was the handcrafted weapon of an emperor, forged from meteorite iron, and it demanded to be swung with absolute authority.

He stepped forward, letting the conceptual weight of the Mad Emperor's blade drag his center of gravity low. The remaining upper half of the flesh-golem clawed its way across the cobblestones, oblivious to the blistering heat radiating from the crimson steel.

He swung down with the twisting blade.

It carved through the fused mass of Saderan armor, bone, and pulsating worms.

The inherent properties of the sword recognized the theater of the battlefield. Aestus Estus flared, releasing a torrent of localized, roaring flame that aggressively consumed the corruption. The fire burned a blinding gold and crimson, instantly incinerating the parasite cluster driving the monstrosity. The golem collapsed into a heap of ash and rapidly cooling slag.

The ambient shockwave of the strike rolled across the plaza. The flickering dome over the Senate building gave one final, overtaxed shudder and shattered like spun glass. A wash of stagnant, terrified air rolled outward, revealing dozens of Saderan senators cowering on the marble steps. Their elaborate togas were stained with soot, their faces pale masks of disbelief as they stared at the burning remains of their citizens.

Rory casually rested her halberd on the ground, leaning heavily on the haft as she snorted, "Show off."

Anatoly pushed himself up from the cracked pavement, spitting a thick wad of blood. He gave the smoldering pile a wary look before pointing a clawed finger at the Senate steps, "The shield is gone. Do we secure the survivors?"

Shirou let the crimson sword rest in his hand, the warmth of it doing much to abate the coldness of the rapidly dying city. More than that, the senators, merchants, soldiers, and other civilians were looking at him in equal parts awe and fear.

Whispers among the soldiers. His Reinforced ears could hear them just as clearly as if they were standing next to him.

The Man in Red, from Alnus.

Unlike before, when he had come here in disguise, he was now fully decked in his usual gear, including the Shroud - Rory had brought it with her, under Adeline's request, it seemed. Unfortunately, that meant that his infamy among the Imperials was now on full display.

"Villain!" A familiar voice shouted from further behind the crowd. Said crowd quickly shuffled to create a path, as a certain red-headed knight made her way forward. The Princess, Piña Co Lada. Accompanying her was her Rose-Order, and they had clearly seen better days.

Even back in Italica, they had not looked as disheveled as they did now. Bozes sported a bandage on her head, Grey tried to hide the limp in his step, Hamilton's armor was dented in a way that implied she had been on the receiving end of a battering ram.

Piña herself was pale, eyes bloodshot. She was being supported by Norma as they walked, though there weren't any more visible signs of injuries.

"Villain?" Shirou repeated, the word tasting like ash. Piña had been nothing but kind and helpful, back when he was posing as Chulainn. When she believed him as nothing more than a local Celt that had helped them at Italica.

Things were different, now. All she knew was that he was the person that had killed so many back in Alnus.

Shirou didn't raise Aestus Estus, simply letting its tip rest against the cracked cobblestones. The ambient heat radiating from the crimson steel forced the surrounding senators to take a collective step back, shielding their faces. "I just saved your entire government from being digested, Princess. If you want to arrest me, you'll have to wait."

Piña gritted her teeth. She looked around at the destroyed plaza, the burning remains of her own citizens, and the terrifying Apostle leaning on a halberd just a few paces away, "You brought this upon us." She accused, though her voice lacked its usual commanding edge. It was thin, frayed by absolute exhaustion, "The moment you and your metal beasts arrived-"

"He was already here." Shirou interrupted. He didn't have the patience to coddle Imperial pride, not when the air itself was starting to curdle, "A man named Zouken Matou has been burrowing into your capital for months. Your father's army wasn't killed by us. They were harvested by him."

Bozes stepped in front of Piña, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword, but her trembling grip gave her away, "Lies. You expect us to believe one man did this to the capital?"

"Believe what you want." Shirou turned his back on them. It was a calculated dismissal. He looked up toward the Imperial Palace. The oppressive, purple miasma clinging to the royal spires was growing denser, churning like a bruised storm cloud.

Lelei tapped her staff against the ground, her blue eyes narrowing. "Mana concentration in the Senate plaza is dropping. Flow is redirecting."

Shirou frowned. He expanded his senses, pushing his magical perception past the lingering scent of ozone and burnt flesh. The young mage was right. The ambient ether wasn't just flowing toward the palace anymore. It was being violently vacuumed.

Around the edges of the plaza, the few remaining hollowed-out corpses that had not fused into the golem suddenly went rigid. They dropped their rusted weapons. In perfect, horrifying synchronization, they fell to their knees.

"What are they doing?" Hamilton whispered, clutching her dented breastplate in horror.

The answer was immediate. The bloated Crest Worms inside the husks violently expanded, bursting through the brittle skin. But they didn't swarm toward the living. They instantly dissolved into a sickening, purple slurry that seeped right into the cracks of the stone, feeding directly into the leyline beneath their feet. The bodies collapsed into empty, dusty piles of clothing and armor.

Zouken was recalling his familiars. He didn't need foot soldiers anymore. The vessel was full.

A low, rumbling vibration began to shake the plaza, entirely different from the localized earthquake caused by Lady Barthomeloi. This was a steady, rhythmic pulse coming from the very center of the capital. It pounded against Shirou's eardrums like a massive, rotting heartbeat.

"Anatoly," Shirou commanded, letting the Emperor's sword fade and replacing it with the familiar, married blades of Kanshou and Bakuya once more, "Leave them. We don't have time to play bodyguard."

The Yaga leader gave a short, guttural laugh, wiping a fresh streak of blood from his snout, "I was not planning on it."

Shirou glanced over his shoulder one last time at the Princess, "If you want to live, get your people out of the city. Now." He didn't wait for her response, "Formation! We breach the palace gates."

Of course, that was the plan. And like all plans, they failed when they met enemy action. In this case, enemy action took the form of a scent that sent Shirou to his knees.

No, not a scent.

The others could not smell it. It was his method of magical energy detection. The scent of pure, raw, ether. Spiritual in nature. Unfiltered. 

Unbridled power.

The pressure radiating from the Imperial Palace was no longer just the heavy, stagnant weight of Zouken's accumulated ether. It was sharp. Defined. It cut through the miasma like a localized hurricane, carrying the unmistakable, metallic tang of a concentrated soul.

He knew what it was.

He'd first seen one seven years ago.

A Ghost Liner. A Servant.

Shirou braced himself against the cobblestones, his breathing ragged. The scent was suffocating, burning the inside of his nostrils with the sheer intensity of a legend given form. A Heroic Spirit had just stepped into the world.

Back then, when Saber had been summoned, she had the same tang. Except, somehow, not even the King of Knights had the same amount of pressure as he felt now. No, this was closer to how Gilgamesh was - overpowering in ways that none could truly describe.

And whoever they were, they weren't even here.

He was not the only one to feel it. Beside him, Anatoly froze mid-stride. The massive wolf-man let out a low, involuntary whine, his claws scraping uselessly against the stone. Every Yaga in the formation mirrored the reaction. Their coarse fur stood on end, their lips pulled back to bare their fangs, yet their postures were entirely defensive. They were practically shrinking away from the palace. They did not possess Magic Circuits, but their primal instincts were screaming at them. The beastmen recognized the arrival of an absolute apex predator, a being that stood completely outside the natural hierarchy of the Special Region.

"What is that?" Tyuule demanded, her hand tightly gripping the hilt of her blade. She stared toward the towering spires, her usual stoicism finally fracturing under the sheer weight of the atmosphere.

"He did it." Shirou rasped, forcing his legs to straighten. His bones ached under the spiritual gravity washing over the plaza, "He actually summoned a Servant."

But why? The question tore through Shirou's mind, discarding tactical probabilities as quickly as they formed. The Heaven's Feel ritual typically required the souls of Heroic Spirits to fill the vessel, but Zouken had circumvented that rule by substituting quality with the sheer, horrific quantity of the Saderan population. He had spent months gathering the necessary fuel. Summoning a Servant now, anchoring an entity from the Throne of Heroes to this plane, would require an astronomical amount of magical energy. It was a massive drain on the very reserves the ancient magus had just finished hoarding.

It made absolutely zero sense to summon a familiar when the objective was already secured.

Unless the objective could not be secured without one.

The realization hit Shirou like a physical blow, freezing the blood in his veins.

The Holy Grail was not a physical cup made of gold or stone. It was a spiritual construct. It was a boundless concentration of pure energy that existed just outside the boundary of the physical realm. When the vessel finally manifested, a mortal magus could not simply reach out and grab it. The rotting, stitched-together puppet of Crest Worms that Zouken used as a body would instantly disintegrate if it tried to touch a miracle of that magnitude.

Only a spiritual being could interact with it.

Zouken had not summoned a Servant to fight the JSDF, nor to hold off Lorelei Barthomeloi. 

He had summoned a proxy. 

He needed a pair of spiritual hands to reach into the ether, take hold of the completed Grail, and make the wish on his behalf.

"We are out of time." Shirou said. His grip on Kanshou and Bakuya tightened until his knuckles turned white. He looked past the cowering Imperial senators and the panicked Princess, his gaze locked entirely on the swirling vortex of light above the palace, "The ritual is in its final stage. We move, right now."

…

A/N: Actual author’s note here. I recently realized that we are rapidly approaching the end of Anomaly. We still have quite a bit more to go, but I am almost certain that this will be finished before the year ends.

I also realized that I haven’t got a plan once it does get finished. As in, what story I will be writing to replace this one. Right now, my thoughts are going towards opening up commissions on a per chapter basis, though I’ll probably save the continued discussion of this on an actual announcement - just wanted to give everyone a heads up about the future of Anomaly.