IBHJ 1380

In that moment, beneath the Golden Emperor’s feet, the titanic insect stirred.

Its many eyes—closed in feigned slumber—snapped open, each one glowing with unnatural light. From its gaping mouthparts, countless black spikes erupted like spears, lancing upward with ferocious speed.

A coordinated ambush—executed in perfect silence.

Spikes capable of piercing dimensional barriers tore through space toward the figure standing on its skull.

The Golden Emperor didn’t flinch.

He didn’t blink.

He didn’t even look down.

Meanwhile, the Golden Strategist had already stepped off the massive creature’s crown, gliding to safety on a trail of golden photons. As he floated into open space, he offered a calm, clinical remark:

“If it had quietly accepted death, it could’ve avoided the terror of facing His Majesty directly. How foolish.”

The spikes struck.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Each one shattered upon impact. Not a scratch touched the Emperor’s golden frame.

Without so much as a glance, he raised one arm and grasped the insect’s longest cranial horn.

A faint pulse of golden light flowed from his palm—

—and then exploded into the creature’s body like a miniature sun.

The result was instant.

The Void insect screamed.

A shrieking, unnatural cry that echoed across subspace.

Its body began to twist and convulse in agony.

Segmented plates rippled. Countless clawed legs thrashed wildly.

From within its carapace, golden threads of burning light spiderwebbed outward, searing through its internal core.

The Strategist’s expression remained neutral, but behind his eyes, a flicker of awe remained.

Even after seeing this many times—

It still terrified him.

And how could it not?

Only this god of destruction—this absolute being—could treat the monstrous Voids as if they were nothing more than gnats.

The insect’s agony reached its peak.

Its vast form twisted one final time—then froze.

Golden light surged across its entire body.

And then—

POP.

Like mist under sunlight, the creature disintegrated. Its colossal form dispersed into smoke and shimmering ether, vanishing completely.

What remained was silence.

A silence born not of peace, but obliteration.

The Golden Strategist shook his head.

“What dreadful luck.”

His voice was quiet now, almost pitying.

“A Void that devours entire star regions… a catastrophe of entropy wherever it appears. And yet…”

He glanced at the now-empty space where the creature had stood.

“…it had to cross paths with His Majesty.”

For any other being, slaying such a monster would be a feat worthy of deification.

But the Golden Emperor simply dusted off his hand.

Expressionless.

Unshaken.

He floated in the void—vast, terrifying, and inevitable.

A god who defined reality’s structure by his presence alone.

His golden eyes turned toward the Strategist.

“Capture the intruder.”

His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

“The Gate is tied to that one. We must reclaim it—at all costs.”

The Strategist bowed his head.

“As you command.”

…

…

[Insufficient energy. Insufficient energy. Energy critically low.]

[Starship functions will cease imminently.]

"Hey—Tiamat!"

Shirou leaned forward, hands gripping the controls.

"Don’t give up on me now! If we shut down here, we’re dead!"

[Insufficient… insufficient… reactor approaching full shutdown…]

"Damn it!"

His fist slammed against the console in frustration.

He had tried to manage his magical energy output, kept the flow controlled—but after barely escaping the cataclysmic battlefield, his reserves had been completely drained by Tiamat's massive energy demands.

The truth hit him hard.

Interstellar travel wasn’t just dangerous—it was impossibly expensive.

Now he understood why, in true history, the Origin Civilization had resorted to burning world lines just to fuel their war against the Golden Universe. The sheer scale of energy required made even a Greater Source seem poor by comparison.

With his consciousness still tethered to Tiamat’s systems, Shirou scanned the void beyond the cockpit window.

Nothing.

A sea of glittering stars, endless and cold.

Golden space stretched in every direction—not a single landing zone in sight.

"No… this isn’t happening."

If Tiamat shut down now—if it entered hibernation mode this deep in Golden Universe territory—he wouldn’t just die.

He would linger.

His body, frozen in time, drifting forever among the stars like a lost relic. No air. No ground. No light.

A fate not unlike Kars—eternal thoughtlessness, cosmic dust, forever.

And Shirou…

He had somewhere to return to.

He clenched his jaw, breath tight in his lungs.

That cannot be my ending.

Not here. Not like this.

His eyes flicked back to the navigation display—

—and locked onto something.

A planet.

Massive. Barren. Lifeless.

"No choice."

He gritted his teeth.

"I’m landing there—now."

With the last dregs of maneuvering power, he angled the ship’s trajectory and engaged the descent vector.

[Warning: Reactor core depleted. Total system shutdown imminent.]

[…Energy exhausted. Starship transitioning to full dormancy.]

Tiamat’s glow dimmed.

Lights flickered. Engines sputtered and died.

But Shirou had already broken through, barely a few hundred kilometers above the upper atmosphere.

The inertia from Tiamat’s high-speed travel, combined with the gravitational pull of the massive planet, locked the powerless starship into a spiraling descent.

Like a snared comet, it was yanked down into the atmosphere—dragged by forces beyond control.

But Tiamat had shut down. No guidance system. No stabilizers. No protective field.

The ship shook violently, buffeted by friction and turbulence. Inside the cockpit, it was chaos—rattling panels, flashing dead lights, Shirou’s body flung weightless in every direction.

A crash was inevitable.

And with no shields? That crash would be terminal.

—No. No good. Can’t let it crash.

Shirou gritted his teeth.

He knew all too well: if Tiamat collided with the surface, it would never rise again.

And him?

He’d be stranded on an uninhabited planet.

Lost in the Golden Universe, cut off from Gaia, cut off from everything.

Defeating the Lord of Salvation? Returning to the present world?

Impossible.

He’d become another forgotten relic—forever drifting in the wrong reality.

Not happening.

Even though his magical circuits had been bled dry by Tiamat’s earlier demands, Shirou reached inward.

And found it.

The Dragon Core, still embedded in him from the battle with Nidhogg, pulsed with a dark, eerie glow.

A surge of mana rushed through his body—warm, painful, alive.

Shirou transformed into his Emperor Form in a flash of white light. His shadow writhed—and [Evil] awoke.

Using black mud, he latched onto the starship’s inner wall, pried open the exit hatch, and launched himself out into the screaming void of atmosphere.

Winds howled. Gravity tugged harder.

No time to think.

He reached out with [Evil]—spreading its grasping black tendrils—and wrapped the starship in its shadow-space.

Then, with a surge of mana, he dragged it into imaginary number space, sealing it away just in time.

But now he was falling.

The ground raced toward him.

With a burst of effort, he formed ten jet-black magical thrusters along his back and legs using black mud, pushing against the air in a desperate attempt to slow the descent.

But—

Inertia accumulated from light-year scale velocity.

Planetary gravity multiplying the descent.

Even that wasn’t enough.

BOOM.

He hit.

A meteor of flesh, he slammed straight through a mountain, sending stone and dust erupting into the sky like a volcanic blast.

He didn’t scream.

He couldn’t.

The pain swallowed him whole.

His body twisted unnaturally as he rolled across the broken earth, convulsing, gasping for breath.

Even enhanced by the Emperor’s transformation…

Even wrapped in the protections of [Evil]...

The impact nearly tore his body apart.

His ribs were cracked. One arm was dislocated. Muscles shredded from within.

He collapsed in the rubble, trembling, the agony twisting his face into something barely human.

Minutes passed.

Maybe hours.

Eventually, the pain dulled just enough to think.

He pushed himself upright with shaking limbs.

Still alive.

Still breathing.

And—miraculously—no immediate threats.

After confirming the area was void of life, he summoned his remaining strength.

Kneeling on fractured stone, Shirou began etching a summoning circle into the ground—using the magical theory taught by Morrigan and the ancient Runes of Skadi.

Every line cost him strength, but he didn’t stop.

When the circle was complete, he opened black mud’s imaginary number space—

—and pulled the starship back into reality.

It thudded softly onto the center of the summoning circle, motionless.

But safe.

And for now…

That was enough.