Chapter 6: Threads of Dust
I could feel the pulse before I saw it—a tremor in the air, small, subtle, but unmistakable. Dust shifted inside me, humming like it had recognized something familiar and dangerous. The city had fallen silent after the chaos in Shinjuku, but that silence was only temporary. The anomaly hadn't vanished. It was calculating, learning, waiting for me to falter.
System active. Seven threads engaged. Predictive analysis: high probability of continued threat.
I didn't need the warning. I could feel it. Every particle of air, every reflection in the broken glass, every vibration underfoot screamed that it was close. The System wasn't just guiding me—it was observing, dissecting, whispering possibilities before I even had thoughts of them. Seven presences, ancient, meticulous, and silent, threading their awareness through mine. They were my mentors, my prison, and my armor all at once.
The necklace pulsed faintly against my chest. A reminder. A tether. A warning. One of the disciples who had failed before me had forged it to prevent the Shadow from erupting uncontrolled. I could feel the residual fear embedded within it, the lesson of someone who had come close to destroying everything. It wasn't just a tool—it was history, and I carried it against my skin like a heartbeat.
Object of interest located. Probability of displacement attack: 87%. Countermeasures advised.
I stepped forward, and the air bent around me. Dust rippled, moving as if alive, threads of energy extending from my skin and flowing across the streets. The anomaly appeared, a distortion of shadows and impossible geometry, twisting space in ways that made my vision fight itself. It lunged, not at me, but at the city itself—cars, streetlights, buildings—but I was faster. My hands flicked, and Dust responded before thought, forming shields, bending matter, redirecting energy. The hum of the System threaded into my consciousness: Counter applied. Probability of civilian survival: 92%.
I smirked faintly. Nice of you to wait for me, I muttered under my breath.
The anomaly shifted, folding space, multiplying its form, moving faster than human comprehension. I extended my senses, and Dust spread in tendrils, each one a separate strike, a probe, a barrier, all guided by the whispers of the seven threads within me. The System had no body, no form, but its presence was everywhere. Each movement, each decision, each flicker of perception was refined by them.
Predictive algorithm: target attempting vector manipulation. Suggested response: preemptive entanglement.
I didn't need the suggestion. My body moved, Dust extending outward in a net of sharp, glowing threads, weaving through the fractured streets, bending reality itself around me. The anomaly struck one of the threads. It shattered, but the System adjusted instantly, reforming the network before it could react again. This was more than instinct. More than power. It was foresight manifested through divine energy, a dance between what I could see and what the seven presences fed into me.
Thread nine activated. Secondary strike ready.
I could feel the currents of the city bending toward me, matter and air, energy and shadows—all answering the pull of Dust, all threads within me guided by the silent hands of the seven who had once failed. They had been broken, but through me, they endured. Their fear, their lessons, their brilliance—it all became part of me.
The anomaly tried to twist the streets, folding the asphalt like paper, and I responded, bending Dust into blades, barriers, arcs of energy that sliced through the distortions before they could solidify. The System whispered probabilities, options, corrections. I reacted, and for a brief moment, I felt an almost childish thrill. Nothing moved faster than I could perceive, nothing could escape my reach, nothing could outmaneuver the union of Dust and the seven guiding threads woven into me.
But still—it lingered. Not because it was stronger, not because it could defeat me, but because it understood me in a way I did not yet understand it. It wasn't trying to kill me. It was testing me. Learning me. Probing the boundaries of what I could do.
I let a strand of Dust coil around it, lightly, exploratory. It hissed, a soundless distortion of reality, and I could feel it resist. The System whispered warnings about feedback loops, instability, probability spikes, but I didn't pull back. This was a lesson, and I had always learned best from experience.
The necklace glimmered. A subtle vibration, a reminder of control. The Shadow stirred faintly, a whisper of what I could unleash if I allowed it. But restraint was part of mastery. I didn't need to destroy. I needed to understand.
Probability of complete containment if action threshold met: 76%.
I stepped closer. Dust moved like liquid metal, flowing around the anomaly, threading through cracks in reality itself, forming a cage that was more perception than matter. It moved, folding space again, and I bent it back, bending the folds back into place, each movement precise, each adjustment instantaneous. The anomaly shimmered, its form destabilizing under the pressure of threads it could not predict, energy it could not resist.
Warning: target exhibiting adaptive learning patterns. Probability of countermeasure success: decreasing.
I smiled. The System was powerful, ancient, meticulous, but so was I. I had been crafted to wield Dust, to exceed even the gods who had guided me. Their whispers fed me, their knowledge shaped me, their failures warned me. And now I was beyond them, but I carried their legacy. I carried Dust like a second heartbeat. I carried the necklace, the tether, the reminder. And I carried the Shadow.
The anomaly's last projection flickered and froze. I stepped forward, threads of Dust tightening like the strings of a harp. The System pulsed, aligning every decision, every probability, every calculated movement, and I pushed. Not to destroy, not to dominate, but to assert control. Reality bent around me, shadows unravelled, air warped, space stabilized. The anomaly quivered, trapped in a prison woven from threads it could not break, energy it could not perceive.
And then it vanished. Not destroyed, not beaten, but withdrawn. It knew. It had learned. And I had learned something in return. The city was quiet again, broken but intact. Dust flowed through me, humming with anticipation, the System whispering praise, observation, guidance, and caution all at once.
I exhaled, running a hand over the necklace. This is only the beginning, I thought. The anomaly was strong, intelligent, patient. But so was I. And now, I understood more than it could know.
I walked through the streets, calm, unstoppable, threads of Dust alive and dancing along my skin. Seven voices whispered, guiding, calculating, predicting. I was Shirou Kisaragi. I was a god walking in human skin. I was Dust incarnate. And the city, the world, the anomaly—it would all learn the meaning of what I could do.
The Shadow stirred faintly, a reminder of power I had yet to fully release, but I smiled, knowing I was ready. Control was mine. Destiny was mine. And soon, everything else would have no choice but to recognize it.