The Holy Man of The Church Creek

55

Here and now, this was the moment that set the stage for the beginning of the end. Shirou knew that he was sent into another world to save it in this instance. He was not a Demon, nor a God, but rather, he was a Human who'd become a conduit of Divine and Demonic Power enabling him to fight beyond his own capabilities.
A

Holyman.
Magical power flooded through his veins as a result of being host to the presence of the One God and All the World's Evil. Even if they had separated from him, their energies still lingered within him.
He would use it in full.
A defining characteristic of humans was their tenacity and ability to use all that they had against an adversary. Whether through intelligence or brute force, they would not waste an opportunity. The world was breaking, shattering apart like microwaving an egg; the internal pressure would build until the entire egg cracked apart from the inside. It was the theory of the World Embryo.
No matter how strong an outer shell, internal forces can and will break through the boundaries given enough power. Existences on the level of the Trihexa, the Great Red, Ophis, the Evil Dragons, Devils, Angels, and Gods were all being forced to exhibit far too much energy.
At any other time, the world existed in a tentative balance, the supernatural segregated by the scientific and the two never to meet. This was clearly no longer the case.
Everywhere Shirou looked, he could see the world's military and people fighting alongside the people of the magical societies. Fighter jets and helicopters imbued with the properties of holy energy acted as spear head to strike the enemies in the sky while ground troops used guns and firepower to defeat enemies with insufficient magical protections.
It was chaos, and the root of it all stemmed from the being in front of him and the Evil that had helped unleash it.
Trihexa, the destroyer of worlds and the Beast of Apocalypse. That was his enemy. The one whose very nature itself dictated the end of all life, but he'd reject that notion. The concept of life itself was a struggle that all shared equally. Was it a sin to want to live and flourish? Was it a sin to purse happiness?
Speak of the end and the end will come.
But not today.
Beast of Man. Beast of Sin. Guileless Child of Disasters, the time of your coming has not yet come. So, sleep until the day the world naturally comes to its end and not rouse from the beckoning of another.
The cracks and spatial features in the air grew more and more pronounced, creating vacuums that began to suck in all matter. Shirou knew that he had to act fast and efficiently. There was no telling how much more damage that the world could sustain. The average person would question his sanity as to what he himself could do in the current situation, yet that answer was simple.
Circuit-like blue patterns flashed over his skin, crawling up his neck and reaching his temples. Sensing an ill premonition, the main body of the Trihexa finally directed its attention down on the single human that had rushed up to appose it. With a thought, a beam of pure magical energy shot forward to engulf Shirou, however, that beam was stopped dead in its tracks.
A lone arm had blocked it with certainty.
Goetia, the Beast of another World.
Shirou gave a silent nod of acknowledgment and thanks while Goetia himself merely grunted. In truth, Goetia could not help but grow interested in the struggles of humanity. None could say that they loved humans more than Goetia did to the point that killing them all had once appeared to be the only method for their own salvation.
His past aside, Goetia now focused on the future and what was to come.
Shirou's body had been the conduit of overwhelming power, but even without said power, he'd always had a power of his own now on the brink of release. There was one thing that only he alone could do.
If the current world could not contain the clashing of powers, then he'd create another reality that could. Mind over matter. Spirit and Soul.
"I am the Bone of my Sword." He felt it as soon as he delivered the words from his mouth, the roaring of an inner flame growing stronger and stronger. An unseen presence began to exude from him. It spoke of flames, of iron and steel of the highest calibre. The shadow of monolithic gears turning began to enlarge and whir to life.
He placed his left hand forward, his right hand supporting his left arm by the elbow.
"Steel is my body and fire is my blood."
Veins popped over his skin, his twenty-seven magic circuits thrumming to life and heating up the inside of his body. Words were power. His words were what shaped his inner reality.
The Aria of Nameless Hero: A one trick pony who'd only ever excelled at a single craft.
"I have created over a thousand blades."
The hammering of steel over an anvil began to resound within his ears, a ring of fire manifesting around him and expanding out into an all-encompassing dome that enveloped the Trihexa within it.
Something in the air shifted. Everyone could feel it. The deities of other pantheons, the monsters of various truths and religions, but most of all, the wizards and magicians: The potent thrum of magic was swelling through the air. Magic born not from a God, Deity, or Dragon, but of Man.
The main body of the Trihexa growled in uncertainty, instinct causing it to react. Waves of Dragon breath and magic orbs were hurled, but all of it was met with equal force.
Crimson light shone within Goetia's eyes. So long as he stood before the Trihexa, the Trihexa should not even think to focus on another adversary.
"Unaware of loss, nor aware of gain."
Shirou's voice continued to echo out. The energy of the world was centered around a tapestry of universal laws. Different dimensions existed at once over different layers. On the Earth for example, the Heavens existed in the sky, Man on the Earth, and the Underworld beneath the ground. The three dimensions all ran upon fundamentally different laws, and yet something strange was happening. The laws that dictated the present reality itself were beginning to bend and wane. A new dimension was not being formed, but rather the properties of the current dimension were twisting to accommodate the will of another.
"Withstood pain to create weapons, waiting for one's arrival."
The eyes of the Trihexa's main body dilated as it sensed what was happening to the area around it. Reality was warping to the whims of a single man.
"I have no regrets. This is the only path."
It was too late. Shirou's eyes narrowed as the Trihexa released even more power around it and attempted to escape the ring of fire he'd formed. It wasn't happening.
"My whole life was,"
For an instant, thousands of legendary blades and weapons formed, preventing the Trihexa from leaving long enough for Shirou Emiya's greatest achievement in life to actualize.
"Unlimited Blade Works."
That's right. He gritted his teeth. You're in my world now.
Light flashed in a haze of infernal flames, and everything that had been within the nearby area around Shirou including himself disappeared.
For the time being, he'd leave the protection of the rest of the world to those who could already protect it in their own right.
Mankind's Heroes.
The main body of the Trihexa disappeared, the overall pressure in the world lowering considerably much to the relief of all its denizens. However, this didn't mean that the danger was over. Six other bodies of the Trihexa were presently engaged in combat against the Demons of the Cardinal Sins, and nothing would end unless they were all defeated. The Evil Dragons were secondary despite exploiting the chaos to indulge in their battle lust.
From the six other bodies of the Trihexa, numerous monstrosities were birthed onto the earth. One body fought over the rolling hills of Greece, another in the British Isles, a third in the Americas, a fourth in Russia, a fifth over India, and the final sixth over China.
Pandemonium was spreading everywhere, but through it all, figures of the past travelled through the air in streaks of starlight that landed in their mother countries, bolstering their strengths further.
In the skies of Greece near the ruins of what had once been the city of Troy, a man festooned with bronze-coloured armour and riding on a chariot narrowed his eyes upon his adversaries. Short and cropped green hair fluttered violently in the wind as a peerless spear descended and stabbed through flying wyverns and spawned monsters that plummeted to the ground.
The ground itself was a death sentence. After all, constantly following behind the man's trail was a raging Berserker that saw all things moving before it as enemies.
The chariot rider was none other than Achilles, the finest warrior of Agamemnon and rivaled only by the famed Herakles. His intuitive mind had already determined that the greatest foe to defeat was the lion-shaped body of the Trihexa that the strongest Gods of Olympus were fighting nearby, but he couldn't quite commit to that yet.
The one request given to him upon his summoning was the protection of the people.
He pulled on the reigns of his flying pegasi and swooped in low towards the ground where he knew his very presence would set off a storm. The people that he'd rescued looked up to him in thanks, but not dared venture too close for their own safety.
"AAAACHILLES!" The voice that ripped through the air all but pierced through his armour and into his very being as he looked towards the source.
Penthesilea. The Queen of the Amazons was ignoring all else and charging madly towards him. The sheer hate and animosity were clear in her eyes.
Did she shun him that much? No, Achilles shook his head while looking at her with mixed feelings. This wasn't the Penth that he could still recall fighting to the death in his mind. Why was she, the finest warrior that he'd ever faced, reduced to a Berserker-Class?
Achilles's expression darkened. Personal feelings aside, he couldn't bring himself to talk to her right now knowing that he was definitely the reason for her spell into madness. If he did talk to her, it would be alone and in a remote location.
With a thought, he was back into the air and Penth chasing after him once again. In some ways, he could consider the current situation as a partnership of sorts. He'd deal with the enemies in the air, and Penth would slaughter all those whose wings were clipped. Albeit, Penth probably saw him as more of an enemy than anything else right now.
The thought was depressing, but quickly overridden by scorn when Achilles felt a familiar presence in the air. From the looks of it, the feeling was mutual.
The new arrival was stunned at Achille's presence.
"Apollo." Achilles said curtly at the face of his true killer in life. Paris? Paris the pansy of all people had been his slayer? Preposterous.
"But how? You were dead," Apollo was dressed in an old toga and wore a ringlet around his head like a crown. In his hands was a lyre that he was using to play music that would destroy his enemies through sound.
Achilles sneered. "Too weak to join in the fray above, you opportunistic snake?" Achilles was referring to the battle Zeus, Hades, and all the High-Gods of Olympus were fighting with the Lion body of the Trihexa.
Alongside Zeus and the Gods was the Sin of Sloth, Belphegor.
Apollo did not rise up to Achilles's barb, rather, he was too stunned by what he could feel throughout the world. His own mortal sons and daughters that he'd watch grow up and die had all returned to the living. He could sense them.
"It's not the time to bicker amongst ourselves," Artemis manifested by Apollo, using her arrows to ward away a group of enemies. Her clothes were made out of leaves and shrubs that covered her body around her waist and chest. Hunting leathers were worn beneath everything.
Achilles's expression softened when he saw the Goddess of the Hunt. He had no qualms with her. "Then I'll be on my way," Achilles whipped his reigns and immediately distanced himself away from Apollo despite having more than a few choice words for the God of Musicians.
Regardless, his enmity with Apollo was not as great as another's.
In the nearby forest north of where Apollo and Artemis were standing, the two's attention were immediately drawn to the hulking body of a man that single handedly defeated an Evil Dragon. There was nothing that existed upon the earth that this man could not hunt and kill.
One look was all that it took. A single stare, and the Goddess of the Hunt and Moon turned rigid. Artemis blanked as the stalwart figure of a Hunter bludgeoned enemies with a spiked club and shot down others with a pristine bow. Slowly, gradually, Artemis moved a hand to cover her mouth as she visibly began to tremble. Meanwhile, Apollo clenched his jaw in memory of a particular prey that he'd tricked his sister into hunting hundreds of years ago.
The Bowman of the Three Stars: Orion, the only man Artemis had ever wished to marry. If not for his death, then Artemis may not have been a virgin Goddess and would have had children to call her own.
Artemis had utterly frozen in place, her breaths growing erratic. She was quickly locking onto Orion's location and ignoring all else. Any enemy that dared to approach her would be ensnared by vine traps and turned into a pin cushion by a hail of arrows. Knowing that something was wrong, Apollo immediately tried to dissuade his sibling from doing something stupid. Be that as it may, he forgot to take into account that he had indirectly been the cause of Orion's death in the past.
Speaking up had the opposite effect.
"Artemis none of this may be real, so just-"
And she was gone, running so fast that Apollo knew that he couldn't possibly catch up to her even by chariot. Wind and a desperate sense of fragile hope was all that was left behind. Apollo felt like he must have imagined it, but there was no way that'd just heard his sister call out 'Hubby' before dashing away.
Apollo's expression darkened. Deceased allies and enemies had all come back at once, but if anything, the knowing smirk of satisfaction that Apollo could spot on Achilles's face in the distance was aggravating to no end.
Grimacing, Apollo left the area, leaving Achilles alone to conclude his duties.
The humans in Greece were safe, Achilles concluded after slaughtering all enemies in sight. On his golden Chariot, he was able to survey and safeguard the entirety of his homeland in a matter of minutes.
Greece was safe. This meant to say that he now had the time to deal with his own personal problems which impeded him from carrying out the important things.
With a single tap of his feet, he leapt off of his chariot and landed on the ground with his shield and spear strapped on his back. This spot would do. There was utterly no one around, neither people or enemy. He did not show any intention of fighting even as a maelstrom of bloodlust and hate rapidly approached him.
"That's enough Penth. I won't run. Not anymore." Achilles stood tall, unflinching as a silver haired woman with lithe muscles and carrying two chained spiked balls as weapons appeared before him. They were less than a foot away, one looking down while the other looked up due to the height difference.
The fury in Penthesilia's expression was palpable, but she didn't attack. Through the rage and animosity flowing through her, she would not lose her integrity as a warrior.
Achilles stood before her once more in stark reflection to their battle of old. Yet, what was that look in his gaze? Was he not taking her seriously even now? His guard was open, his arms by his side. She could kill him with a single blow after shattering his heel which he was also leaving out in the open. Did he want to die? Or was that just how much he disdained her for being a warrior woman?
Again. He was mocking her again!
"…Weapon," a small voice filled with cold rage muttered through the haze of madness. "DRAW YOUR WEAPON!"
Achilles, one of the greatest of Greek heroes flinched, but did not do as Penthesilea had asked. She could hate him because he deserved it, but that didn't mean that his feelings were any less true. The one woman that Achilles had well and truly loved ended up being the one to die by his hands. What was worse was that Penthesilea probably noticed his hesitation to kill her once before in an honourable duel.
Such a prideful Queen of the Amazons, what must she have felt at the face of his actions?
Achilles felt like he already knew the answer. His actions led her to madness, a shadow of the proud warrior woman he'd fought outside the walls of Troy.
"I will not duel with you," Achilles said resolutely.
"YOU BASTARD! WHO SAYS YOU HAVE A CHOICE!" Penthesilea was trembling. Her silver armour which only covered her shins and forearms clanked as she grabbed Achilles by his orange scarf around his neck and pulled him low. Her free hand balled into a threatening fist. "DRAW YOUR WEAPON!"
Feeling the pressure building around his neck, Achilles merely shook his head. "You wish to fight me as a warrior, and I'm telling you that I can't. Not when I can't bring myself to kill you. Not anymore."
Penthesilea gnashed her teeth before punching Achilles in the face and sending him tumbling across the ground. "HOW LONG WILL YOU KEEP LOOKING DOWN ON ME!"
Achilles picked himself off the dirt and wiped the blood from his cut lip with the back of his left hand. "I've never looked down on you."
"LIES!" One of Penthesilia's spiked metal balls pulverized the spot directly adjacent to Achilles. "I WAS TO HAVE A WARRIOR'S DEATH! BUT YOU, YOU DIDN'T FOLLOW THROUGH!"
Achilles fell silent. He knew exactly what Penthesilea was referring to. "Then does calling you beautiful make you any less of a Warrior?" Evidently, in Penthesilia's eyes, the answer was be a yes.
He dared utter that word.
"ACCHHILLLES!" Penthesilea saw red and against her better judgement, allowed her madness to consume her. She tossed aside her weapons and directly tackled Achilles to the ground where she straddled him with her thighs and began wailing on him with her bare fists.
Left cheek, right cheek, chin, she just kept hammering and hammering, creating a crater behind Achilles's head. Dust and gravel shook as tremors spread over the ground. Somewhere, someplace, Achilles knew that Apollo was laughing. The bastard.
No matter how long it took, Achilles showed no signs of resisting. In Penthesilia's madness, she'd not aimed for the heel, meaning that Achilles's invincibility was still very much active. However, that didn't mean that he didn't feel any pain. He groaned and grunted, one eye momentarily losing vision as blood seeped into it. He didn't care.
This was what he deserved. What kind of man fucked up so badly that the only woman that they loved hated them to the point of murder?
Wet squelching noises echoed for what seemed like hours, yet slowly, surely, clarity was returning to Penthesilia's eyes through her rage. She was inwardly stunned to see what she'd been doing. She wanted revenge on Achilles, but this wasn't how she wanted it. He was bruised and beaten, but the fire in his gaze remained ever strong as if just looking at her gave him strength.
"Are you done? Has your reason finally returned?" Achilles asked before grabbing her hands and flipping her so that he was pinning her to the ground. Even if she was a Berserker, one should not underestimate the strength of Achilles. "Then I will now tell you a truth that you've yet to know."
She snarled, struggling to set herself free. She could care less about what Achilles had to say.
"You are Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons." He spoke solemnly, a small part of her actually listening in her bid to free herself. "And I, Achilles, son of Thetis has always seen you as the strongest Warrior that I have ever faced, and the only woman I have ever fell in love with."
What? Deep down in the clouds of rage marring her mind, the rational part of Penthesilea's mind short-circuited. She was the greatest warrior that Achilles had ever faced? No. NO. Lies, but the look on Achilles's face was hard to argue with, especially with his abrupt confession. Penthesilea was a Queen. She instinctively knew when others were misleading her and Achilles was definitely not.
Achilles spat out a gob of blood while looking Penthesilea right in the eyes. "Even for you Amazons, it shouldn't be an insult to compliment someone that you fancy even in battle. Isn't that how you do it in the first place?"
Amazons were a warrior tribe composed solely of women, and yet how did they procreate? They did so by taking away worthy men from battlefields. Often such fights were to the death, but still ended up with the male taken back alive to the Amazon village.
The madness in Penthesilia's eyes was still raging, but there was something in there that now bordered on stunned surprise.
"Right now, we're needed. You can kill me afterwards," Achilles leaned in close, watching as Penthesilea visibly froze as they came face to face. "I won't allow myself to have anymore regrets. If you truly wish to kill me, then I will gladly reveal my heel to you."
Achilles let go of Penthesilea and pushed himself up onto his feet. He looked like he'd just walked out of a blender, and he was sure that somewhere out in the world, Chiron would lecture him for his recklessness.
"…" Penthesilea wordlessly stood up on her feet, the rage that had surrounded her was now more subdued. She was thinking through her clouded mind.
In response, Achilles whistled for his chariot, hopped onto it, and then offered Penthesilea a hand to get on. Grudgingly, she did so. After all, just like Achilles, she knew the reason for her summoning.
With a thought, the two of them shot off into the air, plotting a course towards the Aegean Sea. Strong as both Penthesilea and Achilles were, on their own, they wouldn't be able to do much against the six bodies of Trihexa. The one presently in Greece appeared especially difficult if it was forcing back Zeus and the Olympians.
Achilles and Penthesilea would need help: A plan.
In Achilles's mind, he already had an individual in mind who could help form a group and a course of action with his fellow demigods.
The gatherer of Greek Heroes.
Jason of the Argonauts.
On that legendary ship, the strongest crew in Greek legend had been assembled. Such a force was now needed once again, and together they'd charge towards Greece's greatest adversary yet. Besides, Achilles could not hide the gleam of anticipation in his eyes at being able to fight alongside and compete against Heracles of the Twelve Labours.
The Heroes of Greece would unite. There was a homeland that needed saving.
Elsewhere, a certain self-proclaimed human-strength activist was in the midst of an existential crisis in the streets and cultural temples of China. Cao Cao could not believe what he was seeing.
Who was that? Who the hell was that strutting in the peacock suit?
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Next update: The Huntsman of Red V2
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