EPILOGUE

That Answer Leads to the Next Mystery Question.

The impact woke Itsuwa up.

She was in the Papal Palace. Right before she’d lost consciousness, she’d fallen into the middle of the floor…or so she’d thought, but when she awoke, she had rolled near a wall. The spear she’d been using was close by, as well.

Her whole body felt sluggish and hard to move, probably because the damage remained.

With slow movements, she took her spear.

Itsuwa thought to herself that her body felt flushed. A moment later, she realized why.

In front of her.

The stone walls, floor, and ceiling some ten meters ahead were melted by high heat, having changed into an orange plasma. She heard a sizzling sound, like from water dripping onto an iron; most of her view was blocked by whitish steam.

“What…what happened…?”

She observed her surroundings.

A short distance away lay the unmoving powered suit. Near it, the Imagine Breaker boy was lying faceup. He didn’t seem to be conscious. She approached and saw redness on his skin. He was more than flushed—he seemed to have light burns.

This degree probably wouldn’t leave scars, but it would be nice if she had some ice. Of course, she didn’t carry such a thing with her, and ice-related sorcery wasn’t her specialty. Itsuwa fished around in her pocket, took out a hand towel, and gently pressed it to Kamijou’s arms. She sighed in relief—his wounds seemed to be shallow.

What about Terra of the Left…? thought Itsuwa idly as she did first aid. And the document…Did Terra cause this disaster? This doesn’t seem like the type of thing he’s been doing until now…

Had they won, or had they lost?

She couldn’t even tell that much.

From a cursory glance, the Imagine Breaker’s wounds were shallow. For now, it was best to wait until he woke up and have him explain the situation. And if need be, chase down Terra, even this very moment.

“…”

She hadn’t been involved in the fight with Terra the whole way through. She’d passed out in the middle, pushing the rest onto this amateur of a boy.

Itsuwa quietly clenched her teeth at her powerlessness. I have to do something…

But crisis situations never give people the time.

“Tsk. This is turning out to be a big pain in the ass.”

Suddenly, she heard a voice that made tension shoot through her body.

Its quality itself was ominous, but what surprised her most was the direction it came from.

Readying her spear, eyes wide in disbelief, she turned to look.

Ahead of her.

To the passage turned into goopy molten lava from high heat.

That was the direction she thought she’d heard the voice from.

She couldn’t make out the person’s features because of the shroud of steam. But she could tell just from the sight of his silhouette that he was standing there in a completely natural pose.

Despite being stopped in the middle of the thousand-degree lava.

…In the midst of all the steam, which must have been over a hundred degrees by itself.

“Guess you gotta think about stuff being too strong, eh? ’Sides, why’d you point those earth-cutting blades at a person? Would’ve been more helpful to check for a corpse. Well, the riots calmed right down around the time you did the cutting, so at least our minimum objective is complete now…”

The person wasn’t paying any attention to her.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

His words were not for Itsuwa. He was probably using a radio or cell phone, talking to someone far away.

And Itsuwa thought that was fine.

She could feel a strange sweat bursting from the hands on her spear.

She didn’t know the reason. But the person standing in the middle of that molten rock was extraordinary. How she could fight against him, what miracle would let her win—he was more than a little bit past that stage. If she had to compare, it felt only like swinging a delicate spear at a giant ball of iron.

He spoke.

Without even seeing the blade-holding Itsuwa.

“Sure, I’ll inspect the place for a corpse and everything, but if I don’t find anything in ten minutes, I’m coming back. Later, once things cool off here, you guys can do your searching for loose hairs and bloodstains and all that DNA analysis or whatever. Eh? Recover the disabled powered suit? I ain’t here to do chores. Make your guys do it. There’s gotta be a group or agency or something here in France that’s on Academy City’s side.”

That was where the conversation ended.

Was his talk with the distant person over?

“…”

Like an herbivore hidden in the foliage to wait out a savage beast, Itsuwa held her breath.

Her opponent didn’t give one look to her.

Immeasurable.

Itsuwa ignored her trembling hands as they gripped her spear and then turned her back to the figure. He seemed to want to head deeper into the Papal Palace; she watched him disappear farther down the trail of molten rock.

She didn’t follow him.

She couldn’t even speak to him.

Even after the unknown figure vanished, Itsuwa was too nervous to move for a while.

In an interrogation room in the Tower of London, Stiyl Magnus and Agnes Sanctis were listening to what Lidvia Lorenzetti had to say. Biagio Busoni, also present, seemed intent on acting uncooperatively throughout and never opened his mouth to say anything.

“In Crossism, God never appeared after the Son of God’s death,” said Lidvia, her voice echoing through the confined interrogation room. “In exchange, his angels, acting as his hands and feet, appear before humans with considerable frequency. Still, added to the story of a great war between angels and demons, a certain theologian felt the need to categorize them into nine groups, but they may simply be great in number.”

“What’s that have to do with this?” prompted Stiyl.

Lidvia continued, without so much as a nod. “What I mean is that God’s Right Seat is a pragmatic organization. Does a god who doesn’t appear before man truly exist? Might not God be taking the form of angels to secretly contact humans? Those who think that, chasing the shadow of whatever it is pretending to be the angels, are God’s Right Seat.”

In other legends besides Crossist ones, it was not unusual to hear of gods changing into something else and coming to earth…whether that thing was equal to humans or purposely below them.

Those are the ideas mixed in here? wondered Stiyl, filing it away in a corner of his mind. “…How does that connect to the name ‘God’s Right Seat’? I believe you mentioned it being their ultimate objective at the same time as their organization’s name.”

“Man cannot become God.” Instead of answering directly, Lidvia continued her own story. “There are plenty of supposed methods for doing so, but we have received no reports of one working. However, one step lower—angels, in other words—and we do have reports of certain disciplines, such as alchemy, demonstrating such an evolution…These too, of course, are incredibly rare, however.

“In other words,” she declared, “they’re looking for a way to become an angel after erasing the original sin binding them as human. Not just any mere angel, mind you. That which borrows the form of angels and manifests upon the earth—using the true ‘god’ angel, which pretends to be an angel as a sample.”

The hubris to, despite acknowledging God’s power, not let it end there and attempt to wrest that power from him.

To add to that, there was no foundation for the story of God coming to earth disguised as an angel in the first place.

Stiyl’s lips twisted into a smile. “…What a splendid heretical cult.”

“At the moment, they’re targeting the angel Michael, born as the other half of the pair to Lucifer, who was strongest amongst all angels.” Lidvia’s voice was level. “For Lucifer is the only angel permitted to sit at the right hand of God. And Michael, who defeated Lucifer to become the leader of all the angels, was on Lucifer’s level or higher—that is what God’s Right Seat believes.”

The right side.

In Crossism, “the right” referred to equality. One of the first Crossist martyrs, the disciple Stephen, had used the word right to refer to the one God as an expression of honor in the Son of God, expressing that the Son of God was an “equivalent” existence to God.

He had used the term right for the Son of God because of the idea of the Holy Trinity, to say that God and the Son of God were to be honored equally.

But what about the angels?

Why could Lucifer sit at “the right,” and Michael still have enough power to defeat the one sitting there? By nature, the Christian God was a unique existence. If God stood at the world’s summit, then he wouldn’t let anyone sit at his “equal” right. To say nothing of the difficulty of believing a mere angel being granted that right, when they were created as tools and servants of him.

Despite that, an angel, supposedly lower in rank, had been there and that held special importance—or so they seemed to think.

“Their aim is to sit at the right seat of God. And once they attain that position, they can transform from angels to something more…or so they seem to believe.”

And the name of that something was—

“La persona superiore a Dio…”

Hearing those flowing words caused Stiyl and Agnes to knit their eyebrows.

In other words…

“…the one who is above God, or kami-jou, as they call it.”

Footsteps echoed through St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.

The pace was thoroughly constant. Slow and measured. Its rhythm had a looseness, a calmness that showed the mental state of its owner.

Then those footsteps abruptly stopped.

A figure had appeared in front of their owner.

“Terra.”

“Acqua, eh…?” said the owner—Terra of the Left—shortly, turning a glare on Acqua of the Back, who had appeared before him. It sounded like Terra had been thinking to himself and found it bothersome to interrupt that for a conversation.

The supersonic bombers that had attacked Terra in the Papal Palace had been immensely strong, but they were all one type of the same attack to him, so he could block them all with his prioritization. More dreadful to him was several different attacks coming at the same time.

“I presume the Document of Constantine has been lost.”

“Yes,” Terra admitted easily. “They used the usual Imagine Breaker, so recovery would be difficult.”

“You nevertheless seem to be in quite a good mood.”

“Ha-ha,” laughed Terra with a thin smile. “Acqua, you’ve been having some talks of your own, haven’t you?

“I hear the Russian Catholic Church has officially decided to ally with us.”

Acqua fell silent for a moment.

Eventually, he opened his mouth. “We are Roman Orthodox followers. Clinging to the cooperation of other denominations isn’t normally praiseworthy.”

“Heh-heh. We’re only using them, that’s all. And I’m sure they think the same way.”

The relaxation hadn’t gone from Terra’s face.

He wasn’t broken yet.

“During the document incident, Academy City and the English Puritan Church were acting in concert behind the scenes,” announced Terra. “Of course, I’m sure neither would be willing to admit it.”

“But more importantly is how the Russian Church feels now that they know…”

“Academy City and the English Puritans have already built a kind of channel between them. If the Russian Catholics offered cooperation as newcomers, they would not necessarily sip that sweet honey. They seek the winner’s profits in this little war, and so the science side winning would not be agreeable for them…Maybe that’s how they’re feeling.”

Currently, Academy City and the Vatican were balanced in terms of combat power.

That was why the actions of third parties, such as the Puritans and the Russian Catholicism, became important.

If at all possible, it was desirable to invite those two as collaborators on the “sorcery side.” But the English Church had already set up a connection with Academy City.

And as one could see from the incidents with the Book of the Law, Orsola, the Daihasei Festival, and the Croce di Pietro, there was a deep divide sitting between the camps of the Roman and English churches.

Therefore, they would purposely give up on the English Puritans. To avoid the worst case—both the English and Russian churches allying with the science side—they had to draw the Russian Catholics’ attention to them at all costs.

That was what the Document of Constantine was for.

Losing the Soul Arm was unfortunate, but it meant they’d accomplished the goal they had at the outset.

“Anyway, this means we have the Roman and Russian churches on one side, and Academy City and the English Puritans on the other. Still, Academy City and the English Church are from different worlds, so I’m sure fractures will appear between them. Now that we have Russia’s support, we have a firm foothold with which to invade Japan. We have the knife to their necks…We may want to consult with Fiamma of the Right and decide our own actions henceforth. I’d wanted to look into Academy City’s response patterns and the Imagine Breaker a little more, but I suppose I’ve done enough.”

“I see. But before you do that, I have something to say to you.”

Acqua’s voice was severe.

And so Terra replied lightly, “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing difficult. I received a report you were making use of children and tourists in the Roman suburbs to do targeting alignments for that special spell of yours nobody else can use, the Light’s Execution. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is,” confirmed Terra surprisingly easily.

But…

“Is that worth any particular mention, though?”

Terra of the Left finished with that.

Acqua’s eyes narrowed. “…I recall you were acting to grant equal salvation to all humanity. Were you not acting out of a desire to know if when man was led to the holy land by his faith, whether their factional problems would continue amongst them?”

“Yes, yes,” answered Terra, making a face that said it was a stupid question. “I do certainly want to grant salvation to all humanity equally, but heretics aren’t human in the first place. Acqua, did you check over the documents carefully? I was scrupulous in determining that my targets were not of Roman Orthodoxy before using them as ‘targets’ to adjust the aim.”

“…”

“Ah, are you worried about the heinous criminals they couldn’t execute coming here via Spain? Allow me to make a report—I will not lay a hand on them. They are believers in the Roman Orthodox Crossist tradition and objects of my salvation. My subordinates have a habit of bringing out criminals as soon as I mention needing people, but that will not do. If I am to exhaust people as targets, they must not be Roman Orthodox believers.”

This was “equality” according to Terra.

He spoke of saving all humanity, but his definition of “human” was incredibly narrow from the start. He considered it reasonable to treat those who didn’t fit his conditions to be human as mere livestock. Such were the ideas pervading this clergyman’s very foundations.

When Acqua of the Back remained silent, Terra continued, sounding bothered. “They will visit purgatory and wash the sins clinging to their souls, thereby gaining a path to the holy land. Their first step is to surrender their lives to we of the clergy. Those who cannot do even that haven’t the right to fall to purgatory—they can only suffer for eternity in hell.”

“…I see,” answered Acqua shortly. “You mean to say you’ve been doing regular maintenance on that spell ever since you acquired it.”

“Yes, now please move out of the way, Acqua. I have a very big pile of things on my plate. I must consider our next attack against the science side, as well as improve on various aspects of my prioritization spell, as I seem to have found a…habit, let’s say. And I think that will require slight targeting modifications.”

“Actually, there’s one thing you need to do before that.”

The word what? almost made it out of Terra’s mouth.

Because with a tremendous roar…

Terra of the Left’s body, this time for sure, shattered into pieces.

What Acqua of the Back had just done was extremely simple.

He had broken off one of the pillars supporting St. Peter’s ceiling, swung it around with one hand, and beaten it into Terra’s body. That was all he did, and yet its overwhelming might and speed made it look like a raging windstorm.

Terra of the Left’s favored prioritization spell—Light’s Execution.

A wondrous spell to have staved off even Academy City’s large-scale supersonic bombing, but Acqua of the Back wouldn’t let him use it at all.

Drip. Drip.

The sound was from Terra of the Left, who had lost most of his body, left only with his upper chest, head, and right arm.

“Oh…ah…?”

Terra looked up at him, his face mystified as to what had happened. He seemed to be trying to close the wounds using Light’s Execution, but his mind appeared to fail at constructing the spell, as nothing happened.

Acqua of the Back looked down at him, watching, eyes full of contempt. Terra’s mind was still alive. But Terra wasn’t responsible for his current condition. Acqua had killed him so quickly that his physical life reactions were still present.

“Hu…ha…”

He heard a noise he couldn’t distinguish between a voice or a breath.

Acqua frowned. He’d just smashed Terra to pieces, but he wasn’t afraid of death. There was calm on his face.

“…Is there something wrong, Terra of the Left?” asked Acqua, realizing the answer before he heard it.

The holy land.

For Terra, death was no more than part of the road to salvation. Even if he died here, if God chose him during the Last Judgment and welcomed him into the holy land, Terra would be saved.

He’s quite a man in his own right. Did he still plan on playing the devout lamb, always upholding Vatican teachings, even after all this?

Acqua sighed. “Just to inform you—there is no possible way God will choose you. To think you still wouldn’t understand that at this stage…You think you have anywhere to go but hell?”

Upon seeing Acqua’s face filled with scorn, Terra’s calmness disappeared.

Now there was anger.

But Acqua didn’t bother to mention it and said the next words in an extremely businesslike tone.

“God knows all. For details, ask him yourself during the Last Judgment.”

His life signs vanished as a hunk of meat losing its freshness, and Acqua looked away from Terra, now truly and genuinely no more than a stain on the floor.

When he did, a new figure appeared from behind one of the pillars in the colonnade.

An old man, bent at the waist—the pope of Rome.

He gazed between the human flesh lying nearby and the pillar Acqua had put on the floor. “This is St. Peter’s Basilica. I would appreciate it if you didn’t destroy things on a whim.”

“I apologize,” said Acqua, lowering his head to the criticism. “I should have refrained from fighting here, considering its historical and academic importance. I’m sorry for damaging a prominent building.”

“…This is also the Roman Orthodox Church’s most important bastion, though. I would have suspicions about its defensive capabilities if something so slight were to destroy it.”

“Hmm.” Acqua thought for a moment. Eventually, he said, “That issue applies not only to St. Peter’s Basilica but to everything. God’s Right Seat, for example. However excellent the organization, however talented the people gathered to it, a single rampage leads to thorough destruction. Like Terra, this time.”

“…”

“Your aim is God’s Right Seat, and you believe you can directly grant salvation to even more followers by becoming superior to God. Your viewpoint is valuable, but that is not enough.”

Acqua gazed straight into the pope’s eyes.

“For God’s Right Seat to maintain its functions, it must have someone to keep watch over it and lead it from outside. And I believe you are the most suited for that role.”

Upon hearing those words, the old man smiled thinly. “When I heard of God’s Right Seat, though, it made me happy—no other method would be simpler to lead the faithful…,” he said. “But God does not desire simple salvation. Our Father, who watches over us, seems to have quite a taste for trials.”

Acqua nodded at the pope’s assertion.

“What will your next action be?”

“Vento can’t act. And I purged Terra. There is only one thing left.”

“You intend to attack Japan through Russia, as Terra said?”

“This incident taught me something. As expected, civilians should not stand on the battlefield. Only soldiers need to cross blades with one another.”

That was a silent implication that he would be the one to make the next debut.

Acqua of the Back.

Thinking back upon his trait, the pope muttered, “…So it will be you—both a member of God’s Right Seat and one possessed of the qualities of a saint.”

Mikoto Misaka was frozen in place, cell phone in hand.

After hearing the static-filled words from the other end of the speaker, she could no longer move. A cold sweat broke out all over her body.

Kamijou had no way of knowing—but even with his phone’s LCD broken and its fold-up joint twisted out of place, it wasn’t as though it had lost its calling capabilities. In other words, the conversation between Kamijou and Terra in the Papal Palace had made its way over the phone and into Mikoto’s ear.

She didn’t understand most of their exchange. Actually, even if she had, she would have forgotten most of it.

Only one thing was tightening around her heart now.

“…”

She tried to say it, but realized her voice wasn’t working.

She moved her trembling hands, managing to turn off her cell phone’s power, and stared for a while at the disconnected phone. She wanted to stay still until the quaking stopped, but no matter how long she waited, it showed no signs of doing so.

Still, she was coming out of her shock a little at a time, and soon, she moved her lips. She didn’t intend for it, but she could hear her own voice from her mouth, unnaturally hoarse.

She gave a soft mutter.

“…For…got…?”

After saying it aloud, she thought about what that meant again.

Amnesia?