"What's going on?"
In the Tokyo underground "Iron Dome Temple," dim light flickered against the damp walls, casting mottled shadows. Shirou watched as the king piece, who had been beating the clapper, suddenly convulsed like a puppet with its strings cut. His body stiffened violently, then collapsed straight to the ground.
The movement was rigid and abrupt, as if some unseen force had ripped the life out of him. His fingers twitched a few times before going still completely.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he… pretending? Trying to scam them?
Shirou was baffled, but he quickly turned his attention away from the king piece. Compared to that strange guy, he was more worried about Erii's condition. "Erii, are you okay?"
The water that had surged through the wide tunnel was gradually calming, no longer as violent as before.
The flow rippled softly, occasionally stirring up small white waves that lapped with a gentle sound. The furious torrents had faded, leaving only the faint glow of the dim lights above, reflected in shifting ripples that sparkled like broken starlight scattered across the water.
Shirou wasn't worried about Erii being swept away in that water.
But her reaction earlier unsettled him. She had seemed strangely drawn to that clapper. Erii was always curious about the world, but never before had her attention been stolen so completely, as if pulled by some unseen force.
Whoosh—!
Suddenly, wind rose within the tunnel, air swirling into a vortex as if manipulated by an invisible hand. The howling current stirred the water, reversing its flow. Shirou's head snapped up, eyes locking onto the center of the vortex—Erii.
His pupils narrowed. Alarm bells rang in his chest. This… was it an overflow of magical energy? The thought flashed through his mind. No… it looked like—Heroic Spirit Summoning?
Boom!
The vortex expanded, the surging waters exploding outward in all directions. Spray shot up like silver arrows. The burst of energy repelled everything, even halting the great flood for a heartbeat, creating a hollow void. Droplets lingered suspended for a moment, as though time itself had stretched.
And in that moment, a black figure appeared beside Erii.
The form was identical to hers—like a copy ripped from her shadow. But cloaked in a thick shroud of darkness, her features blurred as though veiled by smoke rising from the abyss.
Only a pair of golden eyes blazed through the haze, so brilliant and commanding one could hardly look at them directly.
Erii's eyes trembled as she stared at the shadow. There was no surprise on her face. Clearly, this was no stranger to her. Yet there was unease, for until now the figure had been a phantom visible only to her—never before had it forced itself so violently into reality.
"Thanks to that nameless fool just now, I'm finally free… the contract is complete." The black figure's voice was low and cold, echoing through the tunnel, chilling to the bone. "Miko, witness the rebirth of myth."
Shirou didn't fully grasp what it meant, but there was no time to think. He raised his sword, its edge glinting coldly in the dim light, and in his other hand projected a bow.
"Who are you?" he demanded, body leaning forward, braced on the iron rungs by the water's edge, ready to strike at any moment.
"You… I know you. The god-slaying hero known to all."
Her voice dripped with scorn, mocking him. She raised her hand slowly, black mist swirling at her fingertips as she reached toward Erii.
"Oh—so you are another of this girl's admired heroes. But now… she belongs to me."
Shing—!
Before she could extend her hand fully, Shirou loosed an arrow. It tore the air apart, shrieking toward her head. At the same time, he shouted, "Erii, come here!"
The shadow caught the arrow with shocking speed—but Erii, obeying Shirou's call, swam toward him. He seized her wrist and pulled her close, the two diving beneath the water in a splash.
"Human arts are nothing but trifles. To think you could escape underwater is laughable—"
Her words cut short. The arrow in her hand exploded—reality collapse!
A deafening flash seared the tunnel. The blast boiled the water into steam and hurled her backward into the steel wall with a thunderous crash. The metal dented under the impact.
Seizing the moment, Shirou dragged Erii across the tunnel, pulling her up a ladder onto the opposite platform. He turned instantly, blade raised, eyes locked on the shadow.
She was rising from the wall, black miasma swelling around her until it nearly became solid. The darkness thickened like storm clouds, filling the tunnel with choking gloom.
"Foolish mortal! I am a god! I called you a hero out of courtesy, yet you dare defy the throne of divinity?" Her golden eyes blazed like twin suns in the dark.
A god?
Shirou's gaze flicked between her and Erii. Could this being—emerging from within her—be a fragment of Izanami?
"Blasphemer—die!"
Her voice thundered like a storm, rattling the very air. A crushing mental pressure stabbed into Shirou's mind like spears and axes. His vision warped, his body staggered. He nearly toppled into the water—until Erii grabbed his arm and steadied him.
Struggling to focus, Shirou steadied his breath.
"Strange… you didn't die instantly like that fool earlier," the shadow muttered, surprised. "You're not just any bloodline. Did you devour a high dragon?"
Shirou froze, then realized—she must mean the dragon-slaying and the dragon blood ritual Melusine had performed for him back in Shenzhou.
But to gaze directly upon divine might was still too dangerous. Shirou fixed his eyes on her feet, avoiding her golden stare. His blade—Kasugai Kiyomitsu—rose into the "Tennen Rishin-ryu" stance, Heiseigan, his body lowering in readiness.
"You resist still? Then death is your only fate…"
The shadow expanded her domain, wielding the alchemy of spirit reforging with flawless mastery. Divine essence poured forth, spreading like a tide—yet the next instant, it vanished, wiped away as though it had never been.
"What—?"
She froze. Why? In the Night Banquet she had seen Yamata no Orochi nearly complete godification, yet her own failed entirely? Was it the world correcting itself, forbidding godhood in reality?
Shirou knew none of this. All he knew was the crushing pressure of facing what might be the primeval mother goddess, Izanami—even if only a fragment.
"I must end this quickly, with one decisive strike!"
His heart thundered, his body thrummed with prana.
He did not hold Musashi's blade—its Noble Phantasm, so vast and divine, would collapse this tunnel if unleashed. Instead, he projected the sword Kasugai Kiyomitsu, once borne by Okita Souji of the Shinsengumi.
The shadow hesitated, caught in confusion. That was the opening.
Shirou's foot cracked the stone as he vanished in a blur.
"One step—beyond sound. Two steps—into nothing. Three steps—absolute blade!"
His form crossed space like lightning.
The shadow's golden eyes widened in shock. She had never seen such a technique.
This was Okita's Shukuchi—no divine miracle, but a swordsmanship born of perfect mastery of footwork, breathing, blind spots, all woven together.
"…Mumyo—Sandanzuki!"
With a cry, Shirou thrust his blade three times in a single breath.
The strikes were simultaneous, overlapping in the same point in space. The black mist shattered before the thrusts, her hastily raised defenses torn apart like paper.
No matter if the first was blocked—the second and third pierced the same point, an impossible saturation of reality.
The sword punched into her chest thrice in the same instant, straight through her heart.
Landing lightly behind her, Shirou flicked the blood from his blade. Black ichor sprayed from her body as she screamed inhumanly.
He glanced back warily. Could she regenerate? Izanami, according to myth, had died and become a goddess of Yomi itself.
But no—the shadow only coughed more black blood, her form unraveling, breaking apart.
"Such a weak god," Shirou thought. Too weak, even for a fragment of one of the highest deities of legend.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
(End of Chapter)
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