Chương 7: Operation Glasgow Anomaly

Glasgow Anomaly [Vatican, Half a Year Ago]"Your Excellency," the agent said, storming into the private chamber, sweat lining his brow, "we've detected a signal from Scotland. The Phenomena Reader short-circuited... completely fried." The Pope's brow furrowed.

"Fried? That machine was designed to read the presence of dragons, fae, and even seraphim. Use the backup."

"We did, Your Excellency. It burned out the moment it was activated." The agent swallowed.

"The surge didn't just overpower it, it erased the calibration matrix. There's no residual data to even guess what hit it." Silence fell over the gilded chamber like a funeral shroud.

"Find a way to fix the readers. Reinforce them with triple-layer dampening spells and divine shielding if you must." The Pope sat back in his chair, fingers steepled.

"We must identify the source of that power. And... contact the Hunters." [Two Days Later]"Your Excellency!" The agent burst through the doors once more.

"We finally managed a reading. Six dampeners, reinforced and blessed. The machine held... barely."

"And?" the Pope asked, voice low and tight.

"The result was... 99. 75." The Pope's eyes narrowed.

"That's powerful, but not unthinkable." The agent continued, his voice cracking, "That was after six dampeners. We had to multiply the result up. The final strength reading is... 99. 75 million." The Pope's rosary slipped from his fingers.

"That's not possible..." he whispered.

"The Vampire Lord of Moldova was only 94. 2. We lost a cathedral's worth of warriors trying to kill him." He rose to his feet, pale.

"You're telling me this thing... this entity... could erase continents?"

"We don't even know if it noticed us," the agent murmured.

"Evacuate any operatives near Glasgow. That zone is now classified: Divine Hazard Class Omega. No contact. Send in the elite team for a constant scan. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Holiness!" The agent saluted and sprinted from the room, barking orders into his comms. [Current Day – Glasgow Sector, Forbidden Zone]"Sir," Agent Victor radioed, peering through binoculars from a hilltop, "we've got a new signal flare. Small pulse. Strength reads at 53. 51. Seems localized, not aggressive." His supervisor, Overseer Williams, tapped his earpiece.

"The Forbidden Zone hasn't spiked in six months... What's the location?"

"Within central Glasgow. Public area." Williams exhaled and stepped outside the underground monitoring hub. Ten minutes passed. He returned with a cold stare.

"Mobilize Recon Group Eleven. Discreet approach only. Do not engage under any circumstances."

"Sir, yes sir!" Victor snapped to attention.

"Target behavior?"

"Unknown. Assume divine-tier capabilities." Williams paused.

"And Agent?"

"Yes?"

"If it turns its head toward you... run." [Glasgow, Forbidden Zone Perimeter – 13: 40 PM] The black van hummed softly as it rolled along the rain-dampened streets of Glasgow. Tinted windows, civilian plates, unassuming design—just another delivery vehicle weaving through midday traffic. Inside, five men and women sat in tactical silence, dressed in plain clothes with military posture.

The only sound was the soft beeping of the Phenomena Tracker on the center console, a green glow pulsing faster as they neared the signal.

"Last time the readings went past twenty, we had to torch an entire abbey," muttered Briggs, the comms officer, sipping lukewarm coffee from a dented thermos.

"Yeah, and that was only a 17. 9-class possession. This one spiked at 53-point-freakin'-5," added Marshall, checking his disguised tablet.

"Nothing's read higher than 14. 2 since the '60s. And that was the Lisbon Rift."

"Maybe it's Jesus," joked Doyle from the back seat.

"Back for round two."

"More like Satan's spawn forgot to mute their aura," Briggs smirked.

"You all laugh now," said Reeve, the squad leader. His tone was calm, but there was a subtle edge.

"But the Vatican's eyes are on us. Our job is recon only. No contact. No mistakes. We don't poke the bear, we just take its picture."

"Roger that," murmured the group almost in unison. The van turned slowly through Merchant City. The Tracker's pulses became rapid, almost alarmed.

"Target within fifty meters," said Marshall.

"Still passive. Moving east. Hold on..." The van slowed, blending with traffic as they rolled past a crowd near a corner store. Then they saw her. A girl, sixteen at most, stepped out of the shop with a bottle of cola under her arm and a half-eaten bag of crisps in one hand. She wore grey cargo shorts, sneakers, and a black Naruto shirt that read "That's My Nindo." Her platinum white hair, short and braided in Viking fashion, shimmered faintly even in the dull sun. A simple shoulder purse bounced at her side.

"That... that can't be it," Briggs said, blinking.

"She's a bloody tourist."

"Phenomena Tracker confirms. It's her," Marshall whispered, swallowing.

"Power density surrounding her is... absurd. She's bleeding field energy just by breathing." The van pulled into a side street and parked. The team split without a word, each member slipping out the back in pairs, now dressed like office workers, street sweepers, and tourists. They followed her. From the shadows of alleyways, behind benches, across narrow streets—they watched her move with carefree ease. She smiled at street performers. She stopped to buy two graphic tees. She spent a full hour in a movie theater.

Then she strolled into a gaming shop and spent another twenty minutes flipping through titles.

"Target is currently browsing action RPGs," Doyle said, his voice low over the secure comm embedded in his ear.

"Maybe she is Satan's kid. No one likes those," Briggs whispered.

"Can confirm. Bought a Soulsborne collection," Marshall added from across the plaza.

"Definitely evil." A few minutes later, it happened. As she exited the shop, a teenage boy sprinted by and made a grab for her purse. The next moment was hard to describe. There was no shout. No struggle. Just a sickening pop as the thief's arm was yanked backwards and out of its socket like a toy limb. The boy crumpled with a cry and fled, holding his twisted limb while the girl simply sighed, scolding him like an annoyed older sister.

"Okay... okay I take it back," Doyle whispered, wide-eyed from behind a bus stop.

"Not disguised as an eldritch monster. Is an eldritch monster. Wearing cute clothes."

"She's headed west now," Reeve muttered, breath even.

"Track her home. We report, we leave." Half an hour later, she arrived at a modest semi-detached house with flower pots in the windows.

"Residence confirmed," said Reeve into the comm.

"Sending coordinates to HQ now." They watched as she opened the door and stepped inside. No explosions. No reality collapse. No lightning. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Just... a girl returning home with snacks and a smile. Yet, every person in the team knew—they had just followed something that could wipe them from existence with a yawn.

"Mission complete. Falling back to van."

"Copy that. And someone tell Briggs to delete that Jesus joke from the logs."

"Amen," whispered Doyle. [Outside the Forbidden Residence – Glasgow – 22: 14 PM] The black van idled beneath a broken streetlamp, its interior washed in a dim red glow. The five agents sat silently, until the air around them seemed to shift. The temperature dropped a fraction. The quiet hum of the city was still present, but something other now walked among them. Doyle peeked out the fogged window and immediately recoiled.

"Jesus Christ! That guy looks like a hyper-doped bodybuilder."

"No kidding," Briggs muttered, adjusting the scanner.

"That's the Vatican's Hunter? I thought he'd be more... priestly." The figure that approached was built like a slab of divine vengeance. Two-point-one meters of scar-wrought muscle beneath a black cassock reinforced at the seams. A massive silver chain wrapped around his neck like it had been forged for a beast, and at its center hung a cross so dense it looked like it could cave in skulls. Dozens of charms, reliquaries, and holy water bottles clinked softly at his hips. His gloves were fingerless.

His eyes were unblinking. He stepped into the van like a tank might tiptoe.

"Buonasera," he said in a low, gravelly voice.

"I am Inquisitor Matteo Drake. I was told there is a... situation." His Italian accent made every syllable sound like it came from beneath a cathedral. Reeve offered his hand, which was promptly crushed in a handshake that could shatter walnut shells.

"Sir. We've tracked the entity. Civilian form. Appears female. High stability, no aggression. But the readings..." He handed Matteo a tablet. The Hunter's eyes scanned the numbers. For a moment, no words. Then: "These numbers are lies. Or miracles." Briggs muttered, "Not sure which one's worse."

"Tell me everything," Matteo said as he folded himself into the reinforced passenger seat. It groaned under his weight.

"Habits. Behavior. Affiliations. I do not like surprises." Doyle pulled up the logs.

"She shops. She eats. She watches anime. Strong enough to dislocate a mugger's arm with one tug. Also she lives with someone. Older male. Human, we think." Matteo nodded once.

"An anchor. Perhaps her creator... or handler. If not corrupted, he may yet be spared."

"Orders from His Holiness?" asked Reeve.

"The Pope prays," Matteo answered coldly.

"I act." No one said anything after that. Reeve finally broke the silence.

"Plan?"

"The usual. Overwhelming force. Bless the perimeter. Position in six points. If it wakes up, we bind. If it resists, we end it." He rose from the seat and opened the van's rear. Inside lay a steel-lined rack of weapons: blessed blades, silver-lined grenades, cruciform launchers, and something that looked suspiciously like a flamethrower with a cross embossed on its tank.

"Luna Steel," he said, reading the name from their notes.

"Let us see if your soul is yours alone." [22: 43 PM – House Perimeter] The six agents moved like shadows in the night, their clothes mundane, their gear sacred. Matteo stood by the oak across the street, lighting a prayer candle and drawing a circle of salt around his feet. All six encircled the house from different angles. Windows shut. Lights out. One upstairs bedroom dimly lit. Inside slept a dragon in girl's skin—unaware that her presence had drawn the blade of a church older than most countries.

The hunt had begun. [Back Garden, Scotland – Nightfall] Joshua was startled awake by a surge of divine energy. A new prayer was coming through—unfamiliar, raw. It wasn't Gaix this time. The screen showed a young boy, battle-scarred and kneeling before a handmade stone altar. On it lay gold coins, gemstones, and the severed head of some monstrous wolf.

"I pray to you, O Joshua Steel. Become my patron and lead me," the boy whispered, bowing so low his forehead touched the ground. Josh groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Really? It's three in the damn morning..." Still, he hit "appear." With a rush of silver mist, he materialized in the boy's world—tall and imposing in his dragon form. Gleaming metallic scales shimmered in the moonlight, his jagged crown of horns catching the stars above.

"I hear you, young one," Josh said, his voice steady but commanding. He made sure to enjoy the moment so he did not rush it.

"State your name." The boy flinched, barely glancing up.

"I am Wren... just Wren, O Lord Steel." Josh's tail swished thoughtfully, humming like he was measuring the boy.

"Why do you seek my guidance, Wren?"

"I was saved in Haelsfolk by your warlock, Gaix. My family... didn't make it. I want the strength to protect others." Josh's great head lowered slightly.

"A noble cause. You may just deserve it. Accept my condolences." With a gentle motion of his claw, the offerings vanished, converted silently into points back home.

"Sleep under the moonlight, Wren. By morning, your path shall begin." He vanished in a shimmer. [Back in Scotland – Moments Later] Josh returned to his living room… and chaos. Princess, their loyal dog, whimpered behind a shattered couch. The air smelled of gunpowder. Outside, in the moonlit backyard, came the sound of gunfire. His heart dropped. He ran to the back door… and froze. Six dark figures encircled Luna, now in her dragon form. She crouched behind a shimmering shield, blood dripping from her side.

Her breath was ragged. One of the attackers launched a grenade that exploded harmlessly against her barrier, but the strain was clear.

"YOU FUCKERS LEAVE MY DAUGHTER ALONE!" Josh bellowed, charging the largest man in sight, sword appearing in his grip. The hulking figure didn't even flinch… he swatted Josh aside with a brutal blow. Josh crashed to the ground, the breath knocked out of him.

"Briggs! Handle the civilian!" barked the giant in priest's robes. One of the agents, Briggs… charged. But Josh's sword reacted faster than his thoughts. With an elegant arc, it slashed through the man. Yet Briggs didn't bleed. Instead, he dropped his weapon and muttered in a monotone:"I am Briggs Velend, Vatican special operations. Mission: subdue or eliminate anomaly. Orders: by papal directive…

""BRIGGS! What the hell?!" the priest snarled, dragging him back. Briggs continued to murmur, eyes unfocused, his mind stripped bare.

"Dad, watch out! He's dangerous!" Luna cried, blood streaming down her draconic arm as her shield pulsed weakly.

"So am I," Josh growled out of pure fury. He fumbled for the bracelet. He did not know how to use his powers, but this? This was his ace.

"Luna! Get ready!" he shouted. The silver deer, his summoned mount erupted beneath him as if born from moonlight. It charged forward, leapt high, and passed through Luna's barrier as she shrank back into human form. Josh reached out, scooping her into his arms. Shots rang out, two grazed his side, but the deer didn't slow. Its hooves clattered over pavement as it bolted through the sleeping neighborhood.

"FUCK! After them!" yelled the priest. Behind them, chaos. In front of them, the night stretched wide. Josh leaned in, shielding Luna with his body.

"Run, Silver Stag. Run like hell." [Suburbs of Glasgow – 03: 17 AM] It began with a flash, a silver comet racing down the asphalt. From quiet bedroom windows and behind fluttering curtains, the neighborhood watched in shock as a glowing stag, larger than any natural beast, charged through the sleepy streets. Its antlers shimmered like moonlit blades. Riding it were two figures: a man in pajama shorts, barefoot, clinging tightly to a pale-haired girl bleeding from her arm.

"Is that a deer?" someone whispered from a window.

"What the hell's going on?" asked another. Children pressed faces to glass. A barking dog went silent, ears pinned. Behind them, tires screeched, rubber burned. A black van tore around a corner, engine howling like a beast. Its side door slid open with a clang, and a man leaned out, dressed in matte combat gear, aiming down sights. Bang! Bang! Bang! Sparks flew as bullets skipped off pavement. One grazed the stag's flank, but it didn't falter.

It leapt over a parked car like it was made of feathers, carrying its passengers away from the gunfire.

"THERE THEY GO!" someone yelled, filming with a shaky phone. The street lights reflected off the antlers and turned the whole moment into something surreal, like a modern fairytale crashing into reality. Josh ducked low, shielding Luna with his body.

"Just hold on, sweetie! We're almost…" The edge of the forest loomed ahead, dark and tangled. With a final gallop, the silver stag vaulted over a fence, hooves kicking up gravel, and vanished into the thicket. The low branches snapped like dry bones under its momentum. The van skidded to a halt at the tree line. The tires screeched again as it tried to turn onto the grassy path—but the wheels spun uselessly, chewing mud. The forest was too dense. Too wild.

"Shit!" barked the commander.

"Out! After them! Now!" The strike team bailed, fanning out into the trees, but it was futile. Between the underbrush, the steep inclines, and the total lack of visibility, they lost the trail within minutes. Radio signals crackled uselessly. Only the distant sound of rustling leaves and the echo of hoofbeats remained. Joshua urged the silver stag forward, and to his growing amazement, the creature did not slow… not even for a heartbeat.

It galloped through the dense forest like a phantom, crystalline antlers cleaving through branches and underbrush with ease. Leaves and shards of bark rained down on them in a fragrant flurry of woodland debris. The ride was fierce, fast, and utterly surreal. After nearly five minutes of nonstop sprinting, Joshua gently pulled on the stag's mane. It came to an immediate halt, hooves sinking into soft moss. He slid off, barely catching his breath before dropping to his knees, cradling Luna in his arms.

"How bad is it, darling?" he asked, voice trembling, face pale.

"Dad!" Luna clung to him tightly.

"I'm fine, really. I'm a dragon, remember? Healing and defense are kind of my thing." She gave a brave smile, then closed her eyes and began to sing, a low, haunting melody in ancient Draconic. The forest seemed to listen. With each note, faint silver light pulsed from her chest. The bullet lodged in the stag's flank was pushed out with a soft clink, followed by another from Joshua's shoulder, one he hadn't even noticed. Then Luna's own arm closed up, flesh knitting itself back together in seconds.

But as the last note left her lips, she wavered, her knees giving out.

"Luna!" Josh caught her just in time.

"I'm okay," she murmured, eyes fluttering.

"Mana exhaustion… just need a nap." Her voice faded into a soft breath as her body shimmered and shifted… growing, lengthening, until she lay curled on the forest floor in her full draconic form, the size of a small house. Her breathing was deep and even. Josh sat beside her, watching her with a father's quiet heartbreak.

"You scared the hell out of me, kiddo." Then he turned to the silver stag, still standing nearby, majestic and still.

"Thank you," he whispered, tears slipping down his cheek. The stag dipped its head low, almost reverently, before dissolving in a shimmer of light… returning to the bracelet on his left wrist with a faint metallic chime. Josh stood slowly, brushing leaves and dirt from his clothes. His shoulder throbbed, but he barely noticed.

"There won't be a second time," he muttered, voice cold with resolve. His fingers clenched into fists, drawing blood from his palm.

"Dad's gonna make sure of that."