IBHJ 1375

A heavy boom rocked the ship, jolting Shirou awake. He sat up fast, blinking off the haze of sleep.

“What happened, Tiamat? Are we at our destination?”

[No. We’re still in hyperspace. But something ahead is attacking us, Master.]

Tiamat didn’t take her humanoid form. Her voice came through the ship’s core systems.

He frowned and stood, brushing a hand through his hair. “Show me. Open the display.”

[Understood.]

The screen at the front of the command deck flickered to life. What it showed made his blood run cold.

A field of distorted hyperspace stretched ahead—chaotic, brimming with dense cosmic radiation. But in the middle of it all, there was something else. A darkness so deep it swallowed light. It pulsed and shifted, thick with oily bubbles that floated outward like ink bleeding into water.

It wasn’t just sitting there.

It was hunting.

One by one, ships that had jumped ahead of them drifted into the darkness. As soon as they touched those tendrils, they began to melt—entire starcruisers crumpling like plastic tossed into fire.

“What the hell is that?” he muttered, stepping closer to the screen.

[Unknown. No match found in any known database. Its structure is incomprehensible. But its behavior is hostile. Should we attack?]

Shirou didn’t answer immediately. His eyes narrowed. Instead, he switched to Shiki’s records.

The darkness came into view once more.

And yet…

Nothing.

No cracks. No flaws. No lines of death.

Even the Ideal King had lines of death. Even hyperspace had structure Shiki could see. But this thing?

This thing had nothing.

“Could it be something from the Root?” Shirou muttered, eyes narrowing. “Could it be… the Lord of Salvation?”

His jaw tightened as he turned toward the console. “Tiamat, can you contact Alaya?”

[No. Connection to Alaya has been severed—interference source unknown, structure beyond comprehension.]

Shirou stared at the swirling darkness blocking the mouth of the hyperspace wormhole. Even Alaya couldn’t see this? Was that possible?

The answer hovered in front of him—dozens of starships, caught and melted down like toys, drifting in that churning black tide. This thing had been here for a while. Occupying the wormhole. Feeding. And yet… neither Origin Gaia nor Cosmic Alaya had noticed.

That alone was terrifying.

Then, without warning, the darkness twitched.

It had noticed them.

From its center, slick black bubbles began to rise—slowly at first, then drifting faster, carried on currents Shirou couldn’t see.

[Hostile intent confirmed. Requesting authorization to return fire.]

“Granted,” Shirou said, already stepping closer to the command terminal.

Tiamat didn't wait.

The ship’s cannons roared to life—vast weapons capable of shattering moons and scorching planets. Energy lanced through hyperspace, slamming into the first wave of bubbles.

The blast struck the incoming bubbles dead-on.

And passed right through them.

No flash. No reaction. Just… nothing. The beams vanished as if they’d been swallowed by smoke. It was like trying to strike a shadow with sunlight.

“Dodge, Tiamat!” Shirou barked.

[Acknowledged.]

The starship dove into evasive action, soaring through the wormhole. It twisted and rolled, slicing through the warped space like a living thing, narrowly slipping between clusters of incoming void matter.

But it wasn’t enough.

As if insulted by the escape, the mass of darkness erupted—boiling like oil over flame. The chaotic hues of hyperspace were drowned in black. A sickening, absolute darkness bled across the cosmos.

And then came the tendrils.

They shot out from every direction, like giant intestinal villi—writhing, reaching. Two of them lashed around Tiamat’s wings, dragging tight, locking her in place.

The ship shuddered under the strain.

Ahead, the core of the darkness surged forward like a tsunami, rising to swallow them whole.

Shirou didn’t hesitate.

“Space-time jump. Get us out of here, Tiamat!”

[…Unable to comply. Space-time has been sealed. Preparing emergency hull escape protocol. Master, please return to the throne—]

“Isn’t there any other way?”

No answer. Only that endless dark horizon creeping closer.

Shirou exhaled sharply, then set his jaw.

“Open the hull, Tiamat.”

[…But Master—]

“That’s an order.”

[…Understood.]

The hull split open with a low mechanical groan. A moment later, the artificial gravity released him. The gravity from the opened cockpit caught him and carried his body out into hyperspace.

Floating outside, suspended in warped space, Shirou extended one hand—and anchored himself to the starship with [Evil].

Then came the roar.

A wall of black surged toward him, a sea of nothingness collapsing on everything in its path.

But Shirou didn’t flinch.

He raised his right hand.

A single golden arrow shimmered into existence in his palm—simple, unadorned, yet brimming with a quiet, absolute pressure. The moment his thoughts aligned, the arrow flared, erupting with radiant brilliance.

It wasn’t just light.

It was dawn—pure and unyielding.

The glow spread outward in an instant, washing over the ship in waves. When some of the darkness collided with that light, it didn’t explode or resist.

It vanished.

Gone in an instant, like smoke caught in the wind.

Shirou lifted his left hand. Another weapon formed—this time, a golden bow etched with runes that shimmered faintly like stardust. A gift from his companions. A birthday gift, one he treasured more than any relic or crown.

He nocked the Arrow of Akasha onto the string. Light gathered at the tip, forming a lance of energy aimed at the encroaching abyss.

Just as he prepared to release it—

The darkness recoiled.

A piercing, alien shriek echoed through hyperspace, not through air or sound, but through reality itself. The entire mass of void writhed in panic—then broke apart, scattering like ash into the warp currents.

Gone.

He held his stance a moment longer, the glowing arrow still drawn.

Then, finally, he lowered the bow.

“…It ran.”

Shirou lowered the bow, his grip loosening. A quiet breath escaped his lips—more relief than victory.

He hadn’t planned to fire the Arrow of Akasha. That kind of release… it would’ve erased more than just the enemy. The only reason he’d drawn it at all was to bluff.

And for once, the bluff worked.

He wasn’t sure it would. But that thing—whatever it was—had recognized the arrow, recognized the danger it represented. And it backed off.

Still…

“I couldn’t see its lines of death,” he muttered, frowning as he floated back toward the open hull. “What the hell was that thing?”

The moment he reentered the cockpit, Tiamat’s voice stammered through the system.

[You… You’re incredible, Master.]

Shirou shook his head, brushing off the compliment. “Not really.”

It wasn’t his power that drove it off. He just happened to be holding one of the Root’s sharpest thorns.

[Still, I’m sorry. I let you experience something so unpleasant. I should’ve protected you better…]

“It’s fine,” he said, settling back into the command throne. “Accidents happen during long voyages. Don’t blame yourself.”

[Understood. We’re nearing the exit of the wormhole.]

Shirou gave a quiet nod, eyes drifting toward the wreckage scattered across the viewing deck—twisted hulls, torn plating, fragments of ships swallowed and spit out by the void. It looked like a battlefield. Or a graveyard.

He sighed.

Space travel was worse than sailing Earth’s oceans. At least back on Earth, the monsters were still bound by biology and physics.

If he had the choice, he wouldn’t be out here. No grand adventures. No battles against cosmic horrors. Just a quiet life, wasting time, cooking good meals, and making beautiful women smile.

But life rarely gave him what he wanted.

Still… he believed it. Someday, somewhere, his future self would live that kind of life.

A simple life.

The life of a laid-back young master.