IBHJ 1379

Shirou aimed the starship toward the heart of the golden fleet—

not to flee—

but to light a match beside a powder keg.

Dodging. Evading. Never counterattacking.

All of it had been calculated.

He had done everything to conserve energy—waiting for the moment he could fire a single, decisive blow. Not to destroy the fleet, but to sever that root line—the one he’d seen stretching through reality like a vein of destiny.

Now, that line was gone.

And the cost of cutting it… was revealing what lay beyond.

The golden fabric of the universe peeled away like paint stripped by fire. Space itself warped and split, exposing something behind the veil.

A dimensional void—gaping, endless—ripped open above the battlefield.

"T-That—THAT IS—!!!"

Every golden giant across the fleet froze.

They trembled. Not from pain, not from impact—

But from fear.

Real, soul-deep, existential fear.

The commander’s voice shook.

"I-It can’t be… th-that’s…!"

And then—

BOOM.

The roar didn’t come from a weapon. It didn’t come from a ship.

It came from something alive.

The entire star region convulsed, as if the cosmos itself flinched in terror.

Shirou turned, eyes drawn to the void—and instantly broke into a cold sweat.

He saw it.

An eye.

A single, colossal eye stared through the dimensional wound, surveying the battlefield with a gaze that pierced layers of reality like paper.

It wasn’t just looking at space.

It was watching them.

Like a being in a sealed box peeking through a hole to glimpse the Outside—

They felt exposed. Tiny.

And for the first time in a long while, all of them felt something deeper than dread.

Insignificance.

"What... is that?" Shirou breathed, heart hammering.

"An Outer God? The Lord of Salvation?"

[N-No records in the database!]

Chibi Tiamat’s voice was shaking now.

[Not in any star chart, not in any known cosmic entity registry! This presence doesn’t exist!]

Then, the eye moved.

A slight shift—but the result was catastrophic.

As if acknowledging their existence had been enough to break the rules—

the thin membrane of their star region cracked.

Crack—crack—crack—

Spidery fractures spread across spacetime like shattered glass.

Then, they came.

Black pillars.

Colossal. Elongated. Alien.

They punched through the rift, stabbing into the fabric of this universe like harpoons. And from their ends—

Mouths.

Thousands of writhing, tentacled, chittering mouthparts—black as obsidian and infinitely long—erupted from the tips, spraying outward in every direction.

Stars vanished.

Planets imploded.

Ships were devoured, stripped of matter and meaning.

Where those mouthparts passed, reality itself was consumed.

"It’s eating—" Shirou’s eyes widened. "That thing is eating this star region!"

The deep sea had always frightened humanity.

But this?

This was deeper.

Darker.

Vaster.

A predator that fed on entire slices of reality.

And it was real.

Such life forms… actually existed.

A surge of movement tore through the void.

One of the black, writhing mouthparts—bristling with alien fangs—lunged directly at the Tiamat starship.

[M-Master—!]

"Tch!"

Shirou’s eyes narrowed. He locked onto the deathline streaking through the creature’s structure—a faint glimmer of causality visible only to him.

He fired.

BOOM.

The ether cannon roared, and the bolt struck true. The deathline snapped—

—and the monstrous black pillar vanished, as if it had never existed.

But not even a heartbeat later, another pillar broke through from the same dimensional wound, forcing its way into the battlefield like a fresh appendage.

There was no end to them.

The entire star region was collapsing into chaos.

Golden warships scattered and fought back in disarray. The cosmic predator’s hunger was indiscriminate—consuming both sides without mercy.

"Tiamat! Move! Now!"

[B-But we don’t have enough energy to—]

"Then use what’s right in front of you!"

Without waiting for permission, Shirou reached forward, grabbed two of Tiamat’s mimetic nerve ports, and plunged them into his own body.

"What are you—Master, wait—!"

A surge of raw magical energy exploded through the connection.

[S-Such immense magical output... This magnitude...!]

"No time for commentary!" Shirou barked, sweat rolling down his temples.

"Run. NOW."

[Y-Yes!]

Tiamat’s systems surged to life, fueled by Shirou’s magical energy. Engines screamed, hull plating shuddered, and the starship rocketed away—twisting through the debris and reality fractures, slipping between golden vessels and flailing tendrils of cosmic horror.

They fled—

Not in triumph.

Not in glory.

But in survival.

—

It wasn’t until they were thousands of light-years away that Shirou finally let himself breathe.

Slumped back in the cockpit chair, pulse still racing, he turned his gaze toward the rear monitor.

The screen showed only static now, occasionally flickering with residual tremors of warped spacetime. The star region they’d left behind no longer resembled a battlefield—it was a maelstrom, a warzone caught between golden giants and a predator that didn’t belong in this universe.

He exhaled.

Then frowned.

Then exhaled again.

"Yeah… forget what I said earlier."

He leaned back and muttered with exhausted bitterness:

"I’m never doing interstellar travel again."

…

“So, you’ve already brushed against the Void, haven’t you, Shirou-kun?”

The voice was smooth. Amused.

“Hehehe… That little brush with Origin Gaia saved you from the first Root Kill. But tell me—”

A pause. Then a soft smile:

“Can you dodge the second one?”

High above a gleaming, cosmic board, a figure in silhouette held a game piece carved in the image of a great giant. With a casual flick, he knocked it into another piece—this one shaped like Origin Gaia, glowing faintly with crystalline light.

“Boom.”

He said the word softly, mockingly, as the Gaia piece fell over.

…

Elsewhere in the galaxy...

“A little mouse has crawled into my empire.”

The voice echoed with cold grandeur.

The Golden Emperor sat upon the armored skull of an enormous insect, its many mandibles twitching beneath him like a throne of living bone. His eyes—brilliant, ancient, merciless—narrowed as he watched the trembling golden commander flicker across the communication screen.

“I-I am deeply sorry, Your Majesty!”

The commander bowed, barely holding himself upright. “If the Void hadn’t interfered, the intruder would’ve been captured without fail!”

The Emperor didn’t speak. Only watched.

The silence stretched—and the commander panicked.

“But—but Your Majesty, that Void’s situation has already been solved!”

He lowered his head further.

“Please, allow me one more chance! I will capture that rat—personally! And deliver its head to Your feet!”

The Emperor’s eyes glinted.

“Very well.”

Relief flooded the commander's face.

“Th-Thank you! I-I am deeply grateful. I take my leave!”

The communication shut off.

The commander remained still for a long breath, sweat dripping down his temple.

To be given a second chance by him—

That was rare.

And terrifying.

…

From the opposite side of the throne, another golden giant stepped forward. He wore no armor—only layered robes of code-thread and celestial gold, trailing light as he walked.

“You’re showing mercy now?”

His voice was calm. Dry. Curious.

“That’s unlike you, Your Majesty.”

The Golden Emperor remained seated. His gaze drifted toward the distant stars.

“I caught a scent.”

The Strategist’s eyes sharpened.

“Scent?” he echoed. Then, slowly—

“…You don’t mean—”

The Emperor rose.

His towering form loomed against the shimmering sky, cloaked in pressure. His voice, when it came again, was soft with wonder.

“The scent… of the Gate.”