CHAPTER 11

In Skies Glittering Golden
Star_of_Bethlehem.

1

An intense pressure struck Accelerator’s chest.

His breathing stopped.

Obeying some kind of logic beyond his comprehension, the entire night sky tore wide open, and from it, an immense golden light poured forth. Due to the relationship between sunlight and the atmosphere’s refractive index, colors that should have been absolutely impossible on the earth blotted out the skies, driving away all darkness from the world. Unlike before, when it was dyed the color of darkness, the dignity of the fortress occupying the skies flew into his field of vision more clearly than before.

Even the night sky prior to now had been abnormal enough, considering the actual time of day.

It had been eerie, as though human hands had pasted it there, and thinking astronomically, the positions of the stars had probably also been utterly impossible.

However.

This gold was in a different class. The only impression it gave was that just talking about it within an astronomical framework was a mistake to begin with, that scientists all over the world would throw in the towel, saying it wasn’t possible from a commonsense point of view—and yet it was still there, so they had to give up.

Everything had gone crazy.

The scene, in which science’s fundamental rules didn’t apply, was of course already mad—but the situation itself, too, where not a single person was trying to hide a phenomenon of that scale, spread across the skies all around the world.

In Academy City’s darkness, Accelerator had witnessed every incident under the sun and the espers behind them and seen the bleeding-edge technology covering it all up. From his point of view, the scene was absurd.

Maybe in this one second, in this one moment…

Maybe at this very instant, the world itself had undergone a drastic metamorphosis.

But.

…Like I care.

With just a few words, Accelerator ignored the monumental transformation.

His breath was ragged as he brought a slender hand up to grab a spot around his chest.

Last Order’s life was still in danger, even now.

In such danger that unless he removed the source as quickly as he could, he would never be able to take it back.

He figured it was selfish.

But even so.

What did he care about something vague like the “world” changing? If there was anyone who declared him a self-centered evil, Academy City’s most powerful monster was prepared to take them all on. No matter what he had to fight, no matter how much he had to lose, there was something he needed to do, no matter the cost.

Rescue the girl named Last Order from everything in this unfair world.

Accelerator confirmed his reason for living, here and now.

“Misaka Worst. Did you get the data on the song that got rid of Amata Kihara’s virus?”

“Turns out it was pretty easy to find in the Misaka network. It looks like the single, large will in network form sensed something wrong about this song, too. Bet the Sisters were reorganizing their calculation capacity into a parallel system, regularly trying to analyze it over and over. Thanks to that, Misaka got the latest data without having to worm too far in.”

After saying the download was complete and putting her index finger to her temple, Misaka Worst gave an evil-looking grin.

Accelerator, without thanking her, said, “The data.”

“Just hear Misaka out for a sec. Useless trivia is a reward for headwork, you know. Like a mug of beer after working overtime.” She sighed as though disgusted, then took out a portable device from her pure-white combat uniform’s pocket. “Misaka got her hands on the song, but her spec isn’t right for expressing it. It’s not simply a matter of using the throat—judging by the breath usage and the way the sound reverberates inside you, this song isn’t normal. In this case, it would be faster to convert it to electrical signals and output it using a speaker. You want the score, the quasi-sound data, or an amplitude graph?”

“Give me all of them. Holding back is for third-rates. Chumps like that would get a pat on the back if they just did it right. Instead, they try to act cool, fuck it up, and then all their achievements are meaningless.”

“Gee, you’re a wonderful person. Misaka would be more comfortable doing it that way, but whatever.”

Bzz. A sound like white noise began. Immediately, a change occurred on the device’s screen. Several files had been added to it.

Accelerator took the device, then put his fingertips to the screen. Misaka, peering at the small monitor from next to him, said, “But this song isn’t gonna be enough, will it? You’ve gotta replace the exclusive parameters or something. What will you do about that?”

Swinging the device at her to make her move—the back of her head was in the way—Accelerator answered, “I’ll manage.”

He took something out—a sheaf of parchment.

Written on the sheets, in sticky-looking black ink, were creepy spells and magic circles and what have you from who knew where. The descriptions and contents were indecipherable and utterly disconnected with Last Order, a crystallization of Academy City’s cutting-edge technology. Looking at them, even Misaka Worst had to frown.

“…Are you making fun of Misaka?”

“Glad to see you can express so many emotions. Still, guess I wouldn’t want the other puppets to learn from you.”

“Oh, quit talking like you’re our dad or something. That demon-summoning text reeks of the occult. You’re telling Misaka the required parameters are hidden inside this thing? Hah! You gonna take a shady twenty-minutes-once-a-day-self-learning course to become an expert spiritualist, then get an angry goat-headed freak to pop out of a pentagram and grant whatever wish you want?”

“No.”

“And besides!” interrupted Misaka Worst without listening to him, malice clear in her words. “Last Order’s issue has to do with stuff inside Academy City, right? And you think the answer booklet is way out here in some other place? What’s that about? Also, you just happened to go to Russia, and you just happened to run into the appropriate solution? It’s basically a video game at this point. They’ve got hints laid out across the whole path. Now you just need a gun to fight zombies, the hero’s sword to defeat the demon king, and a note from a researcher or sage or something, and you’ll be fully decked out. You really think the harsh real world is gonna be that convenient for you?”

“…I already said that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Yes! Misaka has to wonder about your parenting certification with you pointing a gun at her forehead, no questions asked. I’d appreciate it if you treated her as equal to the other Misakas.”

Accelerator had tucked the portable device and sheaf of parchment under the pit of the arm on the crutch and had a lump of metal rattling just under the center of Misaka Worst’s forehead as she groaned. But the very fact that she’d bothered him so much and he hadn’t pulled the trigger yet would have been impossible the way he’d been before. Academy City’s monster really had been through a lot and gotten a little bit softer.

“Advanced security encryption for computers, encryption for drawings during da Vinci’s time—both are worlds fundamentally built on numbers. At their roots, they’re the same; it’s just that they have a slightly different number of digits. Even the encryption guaranteeing privacy on a cell phone can be decrypted by repeating simple calculations over and over. We only think it’s safe because there are so many digits that it would take too long to decode. It’s not like encryption methods themselves are insanely complicated.”

“Yeah, and?”

“So I dealt with it using mathematics. I broke all the information down into zeroes and ones and put together the puzzle in my head. Thinking normally, that should have been enough to unravel it. At the very least, I should have gotten a clue to what encryption method was used…Leaving aside how many digits there actually were and how many centuries it would take.”

“Should have? Misaka smells the kind of bad luck and frustration she really likes.”

“I couldn’t solve the puzzle,” answered Accelerator plainly. “Numbers by themselves aren’t giving me enough pieces to figure it out. I can manage up to a point, but something important is different. Like how if you want to calculate pi, no matter how many times you do it, you’ll get a deviation on the hundredth digit. Some other rule set is mixed in with this. If I can’t fill in for the missing pieces, I can’t fix the deviation. The more calculations I do, the more the deviation gets out of control, until I can’t make out anything at all.”

“You mean it doesn’t matter what the parchment actually says—you can’t get the necessary parameters?”

“I can’t manage with just mathematics. But I need to do something to solve it. So I put every last iota of the knowledge inside me to full use. I may look like this, but I am the number one brain in Academy City. Can’t brag about it, but I’ve got all sorts of things stuffed in here. And I did a self-search, from one corner of my mind to the other, pulling out every last bit of knowledge, then more, then more, then more, then more.”

His words alone continued.

Misaka Worst would have known what he meant. His calculation abilities and language faculties were being supplemented by the excess calculation power of some ten thousand Sisters. Meaning his actual intellectual abilities were absolutely massive.

“And then I realized something.”

“What?”

“Something I couldn’t understand was already inside me.”

“…”

“I realized it during that battle between the angel of water and the angel of science before. But that’s not exactly right. I should have physically known it before that—way before that.”

Accelerator spoke as if remembering something.

“Yeah.”

Just talking about his past defeats was something he’d have never done before.

But his priorities were different now.

If he could protect one small life by throwing away a part of his pride, he’d do it without hesitation.

“I couldn’t actually reflect it. An unknown attack made it right through and cut me in half. I couldn’t think of a single way to counter it. I was completely broken back then.”

Now, he even had the leeway to give a grin.

He gave himself a push to walk one more step, to walk forward without fail.

“…But that didn’t mean the vectors didn’t exist. That unknown rule set Aiwass gave me should be inside my body right now.”

When he thought about it again, that had to be it.

Aiwass hadn’t canceled his ability itself like that Level Zero had.

Aiwass hadn’t taken advantage of his ability like Amata Kihara and Teitoku Kakine had.

Aiwass had attacked him directly, sending vectors straight for him, and had crushed Accelerator. That meant its information should have been conveyed to him along with that blow.

The hint had been in his mind all along. The answer had been inside him. Aiwass had told him to go to Russia, but he never said the solution to save Last Order would be left right there in the open. What that monster had offered was no more than the key to the safe.

Don’t write it off as unknown.

Don’t throw it inside a black box.

You can process the error as is. Set up a fictional vector axis. Think of numbers that don’t exist in the real world that are only for solving impractical equations, like imaginary numbers. Reverse-calculate the values from the vectors you see, then bring rules for creating them into focus. Aiwass’s existence alone isn’t enough to understand. That thing’s an irregular monster. Fragments of asteroids transformed by immense heat are nothing more than boulders on their own. But by plugging in advanced numerical formulas, they become the key to inferring the entire expansion of space since the Big Bang.

You might not get a perfect image, of course. But you can put together an extrapolation limitlessly close to the truth.

Even with the Big Bang, said to be the beginning of the universe, the great explosion itself still hasn’t been proven. Experts have only re-created and proven several physical phenomena assumed to have happened right after the explosion using giant ring-shaped accelerators.

Physicists calculated backward from them, and went through the work of imagining the reality of the primordial explosion as well as they could, filling in the minor details little by little.

He just needed to do the same.

The skill to centrally control energy vectors and convert them into attack power was nothing more than an added benefit. This was where the core of his reason for existence probably slept.

And that ability’s name…

At the time it naturally came to him, he’d probably already known, instinctively. Accelerator had only felt that keenly again.

“I can envision the parchment’s contents by inputting a single line of a singular physical formula, mixed in with fictional values similar to imaginary numbers. But that stuff’s not important. Now that I’ve solved the puzzle using rules I made for myself, I was able to whittle down the mysterious Aiwass vectors inside my head to a theory extremely close to the real thing, on the same level as the Big Bang theory. Meaning…”

Accelerator paused.

“I’ve gotten the parameters I need to save the kid. This is where I turn the tables.”

He turned to face her.

To the little girl who even now suffered for no good reason.

To the true battlefield on which he needed to fight.

September 30—when he’d confronted Amata Kihara, leader of the Hound Dogs, a doctor named Heaven Canceler had pushed buttons on him that he didn’t like. But now, he thought, he could stick out his chest and stand on the same playing field. He understood the value of fighting to protect a single life, the nobleness of struggling to keep her flame alive.

Brawls weren’t the only kind of battles.

Victories didn’t only mean taking from others.

Before now, he’d vowed to reign as the paragon of villainy to protect those important to him from the unjust darkness. In bloodstained back alleys, he’d massacred one shithead after another—trash like himself—and lost many things in exchange for winning those death matches, continuing to be swallowed into even deeper darkness.

But this battle was different.

As he was now, he no longer needed to be a villain…!!

“…Hmph.”

Accelerator looked down and mulled over that thought for a moment.

He thought it over very deeply.

When his face came up again, his eyes held none of the hesitation from when he’d been wandering Russia.

“I’m starting.”

He kept it short.

He didn’t need any particularly flashy action.

He just had to close his eyes and give voice to the “answer” in his mind.

Then it would end.

It would all end.

Brwwaaaahhh!! Enormous numerical formulas began to flow into the world in the form of song.

Was Misaka Worst, watching beside him, surprised? This wasn’t anything special. Accelerator already had experience removing a virus with his own strength—the one from Ao Amai. The system was just different, that was all. Which meant he should be able to do this. He had everything he needed. If he maintained himself in the best condition possible until the end, and produced results like a machine would, that would be enough.

That should have been enough.

But he felt a slight tug in the mechanisms that were supposed to be running smoothly.

An ominous micro-vibration, like one portending a train’s complete derailment.

The golden sky…?!

The pressure weighing down from directly overhead possessed the same sort of mysterious vectors as Aiwass. Yes—with this, he figured, it wasn’t strange there had been slight interference with him and Last Order. Anyone standing close to power lines with high-tension currents in them would be able to hear white noise like on a television or radio. It was the same thing. Having figured it out instantly, Accelerator worked slight corrections into his calculations.

He imagined a ball rolling down a hilly road.

Down the hill was a cliff.

If he continued to correct his calculations like this, he’d cross some sort of ultimate line. No matter what he’d deciphered, Accelerator was currently a being who lived in the normal, physical world. He only happened to know about this mysterious rule set. He wasn’t steeped in it himself.

He’d have to cross that line.

He’d be swallowed up by that mysterious rule set.

He knew it—but he didn’t stop. He plunged forward. He shot straight down the hilly road. The cliff was already in sight. Accelerator took the deep hole beyond as a gate. He faced forward, without hesitation, flying into that bottomless darkness.

He passed through it within an instant.

And then, immediately after, something went wrong.

“…???!!!”

Crkkk. Something inside him screamed. The blood vessels on the back of his hand swelled abnormally. He keenly felt the thick pipes of blood running from his fingertips to his shoulders. Right after realizing that, the rupture occurred. His skin broke from the inside, and a dark-red fluid rushed out all at once.

Had he realized it?

The voice was too unique, using breathing impossible for normal humans, wildly flailing around the vibrations of sound not only in his throat but through his whole body, then producing it from his mouth—he was refining mana from his life force, building a spell, and outputting it onto this real, actual world…Did he realize he was performing true, genuine sorcery?

Espers couldn’t use magic. If they tried to anyway, what waited for them was an intense physical rejection.

The damage didn’t stop in that one spot. The flow of his arteries and veins and nerves strung out through him like a spiderweb rose to the surface of his mind with eerie throbbing and anguish. They were making their locations plainly known due to the compression his internal organs felt. A huge amount of sweat burst out all over him, more than if he’d suddenly entered a sauna. That clear, disgusting liquid mixed with something else, something red. Accelerator felt like little parts of his body were exploding.

And that sensation wasn’t inaccurate.

But he still continued.

Because he couldn’t stop now.

“O​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​w​w​w​w​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​!​!​!​!!!”

A gruff but sublime voice, similar to primordial dancing songs of indigenous peoples, spread through the white lands. Even with every part of his body soaked in blood and countless wounds pushing apart from within, those notes never broke for a moment. It was the strength of his will that kept him going—he wanted to save this one little girl, and those feelings alone overcame the real-world pain, allowing him to do advanced mental operations without even tiny errors.

There was a story like this, once.

In the days when Crossists were still persecuted by the Romans, many disciples going through horrific torture had, apparently, sometimes seen the shadows of angels.

The more boring types believed these were illusions caused by an oversecretion of brain matter to escape the worst, most terrible pain. After all, an angel appearing would be far too convenient. If a creature called an angel really existed, if such a grand being would side with them, then they would have massacred the Romans on the spot to begin with.

And maybe part of that was right.

But what if the disciples, who had passed into the extremities of the mind, had unconsciously gone through the mental labor to elaborately conduct huge and complex spells, temporarily controlling telesma to perform advanced acts of summoning? Couldn’t one have an opposing viewpoint, one a little more fantastical? Couldn’t one interpret it as actual angels coming for them, if only for a moment, in response to their mental voices and through the momentary spells they wove?

Yes:

Accelerator was praying.

With all his heart. Without asking for anything else. Without even paying attention to his own pain. Academy City’s strongest monster kept on praying—to save something more precious to him than his own life.

When that white angel, who had fallen to the depths of the earth through immense malice, had tried to crawl back up in search of light, its wings had been broken by another monster.

But could anyone think he was still forsaken after looking at his blood-covered face?

Wouldn’t they have to think that, even if he had fallen to the bottom of hell, his radiance had never clouded?

For example:

The many devout who had been physically abused, thrown into jails or brothels, and yet turned those horrifying places into shining places of faith.

The soul was not sullied merely by where it stood.

When sinners confronted their sins and risked their lives to make up for it, it washed away that black darkness.

It wasn’t just any performance.

Nobody was forcing him to do this.

This world was not so cold that it would refuse to grant salvation to those who truly and sincerely repented for their sins, kept on the struggle to change their hearts, and tried to break the shackles of their fate. Among the historically important figures in Crossism were some who were originally Roman and caused Crossist disciples to suffer. But they regretted their actions for their entire lives, and when they continued fighting to make up for their unatonable sins if only by a little, they forged a path to salvation alongside their suffering.

Who was Accelerator right now?

Was he a good or a bad person?

A human or a monster?

Science or sorcery?

If one had asked him, he’d probably have said this without hesitation.

It’s obvious: The only word for who I am is me.

“G​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​!​!​!​!!!”

At the end of the bloodstained path he walked, Accelerator severed every chain he’d bound himself with.

Nothing remained to fetter him.

He could go as far as he wanted.

He would forge down this path he believed in, to save that small life called Last Order.

Bloodying himself to do it.

Continuing the song.

And…

2

Where had Rikou Takitsubo gone?

With his battle against Mugino over, plus confirmation of additional attackers’ descent from a bomber, what Shiage Hamazura needed to do was meet up with Takitsubo as fast as possible. Even if they put together a plan, he didn’t want to stay separated.

“Damn it!! Where are you?! Takitsubo! Where are you?!”

As he shouted her name, Hamazura was grabbing a thick branch. He was digging on and on, scraping away at all the snow at the foot of the mountain the avalanche had caused. He’d been separated from her around when his fight with Mugino had started. If he wasn’t getting any answer even after searching every nook and cranny of his surroundings and shouting in a loud voice, it was possible she was actually buried under snow.

Even in extremely cold regions, when doing manual labor, it was natural to sweat and get thirsty. Hamazura took a gulp of some carbonated water from an aluminum can. It remained water because he’d had it inside his parka the whole time. If he’d left it out, it would have quickly frozen.

Meanwhile, from a short distance away, Shizuri Mugino watched Hamazura in his confusion, seemingly bored.

“Hey!! Help me look for her, Mugino!! I can’t find her anywhere! I don’t have any clue where she could be!! Help me out here! I need as many hands as I can get!!”

“Why should I?”

“Crap, what now? Takitsubo is still far from fit even with the Crystals’ strain reduced and leaving her out in the cold like this would be unthinkable and I have to warm her up soon because she’s weak she’s a weak girl she’s a girl in a lot of trouble because of those Crystals!”

“…”

Academy City’s fourth-strongest Level Five, Shizuri Mugino, Meltdown, lost it.

With a boom, a lump of snow right next to Hamazura vaporized along a straight line. The intense force caused a water vapor explosion to go off, sending Hamazura’s body into the air.

“Whoa—crap. My head is spinning. It might be the Crystals…the Crystals, do you hear me…? …affecting me. I think there are a bunch of other ways to propel a body—but no, I might just take the most beautiful fall you’ve ever seen.”

“What did you do that for, Muginoooooooo!! Who knows where the frail little bunny-type Takitsubo could be buried, come onnnnn!!”

Face-first on the ground, Hamazura’s voice as he shouted was a girlish falsetto.

“…You’re such a damn pain. I just helped you dig.”

“Noooo!! Please draw a line between gags and serious stuff next time!! This is awful—I knew it! A completely harmless healing-type character is all I need!!”

Mugino gave him an incredibly unenthusiastic look and pointed behind him. “You mean the one sneaking up on you right now?”

“Uwaahh?!” screamed Hamazura, without meaning to, at the ghostly girl, Rikou Takitsubo, who had quietly approached him.

In any case, now they were all together.

With Mugino and Takitsubo, he confirmed the situation.

Then he looked up at the golden skies.

Amid the psychedelic scenery, he could see a dropped Academy City assailant about to land on the ground a short distance away. They wore a black combat uniform that didn’t match the white snowfield—the kind of thing that might be supplied to urban special forces. He couldn’t spot any sort of firearm.

“…”

She seemed to have fired it by momentum before, but Shizuri Mugino’s Meltdown would be useless in battle at this point.

She might be able to “fire” a few shots, but that would be as much as her Crystal-ravaged body could take. And firing at stationary targets was one thing—he didn’t know if she could hit a real enemy moving quickly and irregularly. However he looked at it, it wouldn’t be possible to wipe out the enemies about to approach with nothing but an attack that had such a harsh usage limit.

Rikou Takitsubo wouldn’t be able to provide any combat power in the first place. They’d been able to relieve the adverse effects of the Crystals to a certain degree but not so much that it fundamentally cured her. Besides, even if she was at full strength, she was meant more for rear support. She couldn’t use her ability for battle, and she certainly didn’t give the impression of being especially skilled in limb-based melee combat.

The attackers would know that.

That was why they’d made such an obvious approach by dropping out of the bomber. Otherwise, they would have been a little more careful.

Hamazura jumped into the conifer forest. A few dozen meters ahead…

He held his breath and watched the shadows as they moved without haste over the snow, slowly but surely getting closer.

They weren’t normal soldiers.

Only the gold and white of the flat masks covering their faces departed from their fully black uniforms; the masks were strange, looking over twice as wide as their faces. They didn’t feature any holes for the eyes or mouth. The entirety of their masks glistened with artificial light, like LED decorations for a cell phone, evidently able to depict patterns using several colors of light. Sometimes they would produce faint, indecipherable lights; Hamazura didn’t know what they meant. Judging from their constitution and the parts of their head and jawbones not covered up by their mask, the attacker was probably male.

“…”

The situation wouldn’t get any better if the enemy himself was the only thing Hamazura looked at.

He checked the surrounding area, searching for usable weapons.

Since Mugino and Takitsubo wouldn’t be any help, fighting together wasn’t a good idea. He had the girls evacuate to a cave near the woods. Hamazura had to fight the attacker while drawing the attention of the rest away from the cave.

Gripping his assault weapon in both hands, he flicked the bulky safety with his thumb.

…Did they want light, nimble movement in exchange for armor?

Hamazura stared between the trees at the unknown masked assailant from dozens of meters away.

With how thin his gear was, it seemed unlikely there would be a ballistic plate in it, but given the situation they’d brought this stuff out in…Maybe it was better to assume some good-for-nothing effects had been added with good-for-nothing tech.

Special fibers might hold the bullet back, but would the impact still get through? If it can, then 7.62mm bullets will get him. I think Anti-Skill’s armor is thicker, at least. He can probably move pretty fast in it, but maybe I can manage if I get him before he notices me.

Then it happened.

Whoom! The assailant’s neck turned his way.

He wasn’t holding anything that seemed like a firearm, but if he had electronically contracting springs reinforcing him—like Hard Taping—then he could rip a person in two with just his bare hands.

There was no delay. Hamazura’s hands bounced up, aimed the gun at the assailant, and pulled the trigger.

He felt an impact like he’d been punched in the right shoulder.

His first shot had hit a tree trunk on the way. His second headed straight for the attacker.

A shrill noise rang out as sparks flew.

The rifle bullet didn’t pierce his target, however. Wings, which had an extremely biological appearance, had suddenly extended out from the middle of his flat gold-and-white mask, unfurling like a shield and covering his slim frame.

“Wha—?!”

Hamazura thought he’d stop breathing, but not simply at how those organic wings had appeared.

Letters had appeared—letters he knew—lighting up the mask covering the attacker’s face.

“Equ. Dark Matter.”

Wasn’t that the nickname of the second-strongest Level Five in Academy City—the one Shizuri Mugino had faced?

He heard a clack.

The assailant was getting ready to charge toward him.

“O​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​o​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h​h!!”

Screaming, Hamazura kept firing bullets on full automatic.

Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!! Sounds of little pieces of metal getting shaved away rang out in succession. The spat-out cartridges ran into one another in midair, adding noises to the gunfire that were similar to bells ringing.

However, they were not the sounds of the attacker’s body being pulverized.

They were the sounds of every single rifle bullet bouncing off the multiple white wings that had poured out of his big, flat mask.

They wouldn’t reach.

As despair began to swirl in Hamazura’s breast, the assailant moved.

Roar!!

Flapping all his wings, he closed a dozen meters in a mere instant.

There was no room to dodge.

He continued, ramming into Hamazura like a cannonball.

A dull creaking noise burst out from inside Hamazura’s upper body.

“Gahhhh?!”

Maybe it was a good thing that he could even scream.

His body flew several meters through the air before falling onto the snow. He felt hard roots pushing up against his back. With that attack alone, the taste of blood spread through his mouth.

Swoosh. The sound of something cutting through wind rang in Hamazura’s ears.

Multiple wings extended from the assailant’s gold-and-white mask, undulating like whips, lashing out into the entire surrounding area.

Hamazura rolled on the ground, stifling the scream clinging inside his throat.

Several of the conifers comprising the forest were torn through like paper. The ground nearby was gouged out, and a thick tree began to fall with a craaaaack toward Hamazura as he continued to roll.

The white wings and mask were made of the same stuff.

They spread out unnaturally, like heat extending sculptured candy.

“No…,” muttered Hamazura.

He’d never actually seen Teitoku Kakine use his ability. But something fundamental was wrong about this that let him understand it anyway.

“That’s not Dark Matter—that’s not even an Academy City ability…?”

The assailant didn’t respond.

Instead, he slowly brought his white wings to bear on Hamazura.

“?!”

Hamazura frantically got up and tried to retreat to gain distance, but then a different impact hit him from directly behind. This set of assailants wasn’t alone. Hamazura had only just now realized that, but it was too late. The trunk of the conifer behind him was torn through in one swipe as multiple white wings attacked from right behind him.

It was probably fortunate that the cut-down tree trunk hit him instead of the white wings.

However, the hammer-like impact still slammed into him.

This time, he couldn’t even scream.

After falling onto the white snow, he noticed the red stains around him. He’d been hurt so badly it had taken him a few moments to realize his own body was bleeding.

Lying there, he looked around to check his surroundings.

Three of them, and those were only the visible ones.

He had no idea when or where the last one had been hiding.

“Esper abilities are like flames.”

One of the attackers spoke.

Because he was wearing the same mask, Hamazura couldn’t tell which of them was opening his mouth.

“Flames are a powerful weapon only humans can control, to be sure. But simply flailing flames around makes it no more than a primitive man’s torch. The civilized use flames to strike metal—and so it is with abilities.”

I see, thought Hamazura.

Level Five abilities, like Shizuri Mugino’s Meltdown and Teitoku Kakine’s Dark Matter, produced effects that didn’t obey the regular laws of nature. So what about the new matter produced using that power? Didn’t it create an entirely new structure of matter, one which entirely ignored the derivation of elementary particles, atoms, and molecules that had been going on since the Big Bang?

Just like how carbon nanotubes were different from simple lumps of carbon. Just like how semiconductors using advanced calculations were different than lumps of glass. Just like how steel processed at high heats was different than soft metal.

A new substance created using energy not of this world would have properties not of this world.

Enough to disparage a true Level Five ability as a primitive man’s torch.

“…Don’t get too comfortable,” spat Hamazura. “Did you give the Crystals to Mugino so you could use the flame called the fourth strongest as a weapon, making her into some kind of flamethrower stuffed with naphtha? And it didn’t work out, so you came to grab her before the embers went out. Now what will you do? Hook her up to medical equipment and change her into a blast furnace for manufacturing a new form of matter?”

If that was the case, the project would have no need for Hamazura.

He was already on the run from Academy City. They’d kill a Level Zero without a doubt.

The masked assailants closed in on him from three directions.

He couldn’t beat them with just one assault rifle. Plus, the Level Five they were based on was strong enough to tackle entire army units by himself. Whether he brought out tanks or hand grenades, he’d never be able to take down even one of them.

That was right.

So if he wanted to fight them head-on…

Shiage Hamazura hadn’t stood up against them just to stay quiet and be killed.

“Hey,” he said, still on the ground, relaxing his arms and legs. “I was rolling around like that for so long that my pocket spilled out somewhere. Know where it went?”

The assailants ignored him.

They’d swiftly kill the two rebels, recover Shizuri Mugino, and return home.

That was the only thing on their minds—but then, suddenly, they felt a hard, gravelly sensation at their feet.

It had sharp, clear shards. Like the remains of a broken glass container.

“Damn it. That was my only hope,” he murmured as though he’d given up on something. “…I finally picked up the item I needed to negotiate with Academy City—and now you’re ruining it!”

A bad premonition swelled within them.

Still lying on the ground, Hamazura said this next to the assailants who were supposedly in a position of absolute superiority:

“That package was the bacterial wall the Russian saboteurs were trying to spread around. You didn’t have to go and crush it right in front of me like that.”

The air around them immediately froze. The assailants, too, being part of Academy City’s underworld, had heard about the bacterial wall used in the Kremlin Report and how it worked.

It was an airborne pathogen, and the mortality rate of those infected was over 80 percent. It was extremely resistant to high heat as well, so simply boiling it would be ineffective. Because of that, sterilization required the usage of toxic, high-density ozone. Also worthy of note was that the effects of the germ were strong enough to decompose oil, meaning there was a risk it would eat through the filters and such on existing biochemical weapon masks, vehicles, and buildings. When preserving it, most of its activity was apparently contained by keeping it in a super-low-moisture container, but once it left the package and came into contact with the moisture in the air, it wouldn’t be possible to keep it in check any longer.

Yes.

Even with special masks and suits covering their whole bodies, they could still be infected!

“Shit!!”

For the first time, the assailants panicked. Even realizing it would do them no good, they began to move, trying to get as far away from the broken glass container as possible.

And then it happened.

Shiage Hamazura quickly waved the hands grabbing the assault rifle.

“I lied, morons. It’s a can of fizzy water.”

“?!”

By the time his attackers figured it out, it was too late.

From his prone state, Hamazura got up onto his knee on the snow and forced his body forward. He shoved the rifle’s barrel in between the white wings, forcing open a line of fire toward a spot near the attacker’s waist.

He didn’t have time to hesitate.

He pulled the trigger.

After a sharp crack of gunfire, one attacker fell down into the snow like a door being violently kicked in. He’d been protected by the white wings before. It was plain as day what would have happened had the bullets hit the attacker anywhere else.

“You bastard!!”

They’d probably never even considered one of their own might die. The other two attackers flapped their wings hurriedly.

At that rate, Hamazura’s body would have been torn to shreds. Not even the thick conifer trunks would obstruct their pearlescent wings.

However, a dead human body outfitted with the same technology now rested at Hamazura’s feet. He turned around, then dove behind the white wings that were still extending from the grounded corpse. Their wings, which would shear through anything, were blocked by wings of the same material and bounced away.

Hamazura kicked the dead body, drastically changing the angle of its neck—or more specifically, of the wings coming out of the mask. In the direction the head was facing, the white wings rushed down at the attackers from directly overhead like a guillotine.

Their weapons were the same, so of course, his foes could block the white wings swinging at them, too.

One attacker produced several wings from his mask, using everything he had to stop the onslaught. Yes—everything he had. His dire straits left him no room for anything else. And then, Hamazura thrust his assault rifle’s muzzle toward him from the side.

A scream rang out.

With a short burst of fire, red fluid sprayed, and the second assailant fell to the snow.

But that was as far as he could go.

The third assailant went on the counterattack. Several white wings writhed, not going for Hamazura but instead gouging out a huge chunk of the ground at his feet. If Hamazura lost his balance, he wouldn’t be able to aim his assault rifle; he’d be completely disabled. After securing his own safety first, the assailant unwaveringly went forward. He grabbed Hamazura’s neck in one hand. Then, with one side of his body positioned in front, he slammed him into the trunk of one of the conifers still barely standing from the battle.

“Gah?!”

The impact shot through him, his breathing stopped, and his assault rifle slid from his grip. Hamazura’s feet were floating off the ground. The assailant, saying nothing, spread the white wings from his mask wide. Not a shred of mercy could be felt from them.

“…Aren’t you forgetting something important?”

But Hamazura grinned.

He grinned, and he spoke.

“No matter how unstable her physical balance got because of the Crystals, Shizuri Mugino is still number four. She can manage to fire a few times.”

“…” The assailant, still holding Hamazura up by one hand, shook his masked face slightly. “You’re bluffing. You can’t trick me like that twice. Shizuri Mugino’s power was clear the moment she lost to scum like you.”

“I see. That’s too bad.”

Hamazura relaxed his hands.

With his limbs hanging down, he said one last thing.

“At least you’ll die proud of yourself, then.”

An enormous ray of light burst forth.

By the time the assailant had perceived it, it was already over.

His right side was forward, and his right arm, which was grabbing Hamazura’s neck, was blown off at the shoulder. That’s what it seemed like, at least—but that wasn’t actually what happened. His right chest had been completely torn off along with the right arm. Everything up to right under his neck had transformed into a cavern.

With a thump, Hamazura’s body fell to the ground. The severed arm was still digging into his neck.

“Wha…what…?”

In shock, the attacker looked back along to where the light ray’s firing source was and, a few hundred meters away, saw two girls standing there. One looked exhausted, wearing a yellow coat, and the other one was in a pink tracksuit. The one in the tracksuit had her shoulder under the yellow-coated girl’s arm to hold her up.

Shizuri Mugino’s balance was unstable because of the Crystals, and she was not in any state to fire precisely. Even if she’d had the strength in reserve to fire a few shots, she wouldn’t have been able to hit, so there shouldn’t have been an issue.

Which was why…

Rikou…Takitsubo…You’re telling me number four borrowed someone else’s help to correct her aim…?

The assailant didn’t realize his own words were no longer coming out of his mouth.

No, that’s not all. Even that bacterial wall bluff…It was only an opening move. If we’d had the information that Shizuri Mugino would be coming after us, it would have been easy to deal with them…He made us think it was a crazy possibility, just a bluff…and that put us off our guard, giving them the opportunity to take careful aim so they could hit for sure…

A few shots would have been able to wipe out the assailants.

If they all hit exactly where they needed to…

If they’d dodged even one, it would’ve been over. Actually, if they used the white wings coming out of their masks, they would’ve been able to repel it, seeing as it was only Meltdown.

So he…

Hamazura had taken the assailant down with the assault rifle out of nothing more than pure luck, beyond their plan. His job was to slow them down, buy time, and let Mugino’s power finish them off.

The wounded number four couldn’t have fought alone.

So they’d altered the playing field so that she could, even injured.

The assailants had fallen for every last one of their schemes.

“Damn it…all…”

The assailant’s deeply gouged body swayed unsteadily before sinking into the snow.

But his mask still moved.

With the power he had left, he tried to take Hamazura with him.

Until the assailant felt something hard on the side of his mask—on the side of his head.

It was the muzzle of an assault rifle.

“I can’t…believe it…”

The man belatedly regretted his mistakes.

Their orders had stated their first goal was to kill the Academy City rebels Shiage Hamazura and Rikou Takitsubo. Underestimating their opponent as a Level Zero meant they had failed to properly analyze their true combat strength.

“So this is…Shiage Hamazura…”

“No, it’s not.”

The young man pointing his assault rifle muzzle downward as he wobbled cut him off with a few words.

Then he said:

“This is Item. And don’t forget it, even if you end up in hell.”

3

There hadn’t been any reason.

His right arm just had a special power.

For example, assume a nuclear missile was about to be fired right in front of you. Say in your hand you held the control key, and the console that controlled its launch was in front of you.

In that situation, would it be strange to insert the key and stop the launch? Wouldn’t it actually be stranger to say something like I’m not an expert, so I don’t understand or It’s not my responsibility to risk my life when I’m not a soldier or police officer and just stand there idly without doing anything?

Someone like that wouldn’t be human.

They’d just be a toy with its power switched off.

He hadn’t needed a reason to fight. In fact, he’d felt guilt at doing nothing with the great crisis unfolding right in front of him. And he’d gathered the necessary quantity of the required components. From the start, he’d never tried to reach out for something he couldn’t attain—instead, he’d prepared over a long period of time, slowly, like arranging wooden boxes to form a set of stairs.

All for a single success.

For a victory that needed no greater reason.

And he had to be the same, he thought. Their natures were different, but they both had right arms possessing singular capabilities. And in actuality, he’d used that right arm to continue fighting. He’d probably never doubted the reason in the process. After all, he didn’t need to think about it. He had no reason to stand still, in fact.

And so they’d be fighting in the same way.

They should have been.

They should have been, but…

Ka-kreeeeeeeee!! A high-pitched whine echoed over the Star of Bethlehem.

It was the sound of Touma Kamijou’s right arm deflecting the flow of Fiamma of the Right’s third arm.

Kamijou’s Imagine Breaker couldn’t cancel enormous power sources involved all at once. But he’d taken advantage of that condition. When an attack from Fiamma came, he’d position his palm on the side of it, pushing it as if to move a train onto another rail; sliding it away to divert the enormous attack’s trajectory.

How? Fiamma demanded.

His right arm’s output level varied depending on the strength of the enemy he had to defeat. And right now, Fiamma had designated his target as the calamity called World War III, which could destroy the entire planet and pollute the surrounding space with huge amounts of debris. The Star of Bethlehem, Misha Kreutzev, the flesh and blood of the right arm serving as the Imagine Breaker’s vessel…If he was successfully drawing out the appropriate capacity—then the current Fiamma should have had the power to emerge victorious alone over science, sorcery, and the war itself in which all that was mixed.

It was equivalent to the power to send all humans on Earth to the grave. He was trying to use it for salvation, but depending on its application, he could probably wipe out all of human history in an instant.

And yet…

“…How are you able to stop it?” he murmured.

He reaffirmed his grip on the remote-control Soul Arm.

In the skies, golden lights converged, and as Fiamma’s third arm moved, so, too, did those lights rain down upon Touma Kamijou.

“It has that much ability? All it can do is erase preternatural powers!! All it does is grab whatever force it can’t fully cancel out and bend it!! …My right arm can sink an entire continent into the ocean in one swing. It could dry up the oceans with a single thrust!! You were an adapter, and all you were supposed to do is hold on to that flesh and blood until the promised hour. The stem of a potato, returning to the earth once the harvest is over—and nothing more!!”

Guided by the 103,000 volumes, the power of salvation bared its fangs.

A rain of gold began to fall.

It showered down on almost half the Star of Bethlehem’s surface. Clusters of stone buildings toppled, one by one, and huge cracks appeared in the floor on which Kamijou and Fiamma stood. The pressure shoved the explosion out in every direction, and its destruction was so massive even Fiamma unintentionally covered his face with his third arm.

However.

Touma Kamijou did not fall.

His right hand was aimed straight up. He’d forcibly repelled the initial attack, then caused it to burst like a milk crown. He’d caused its aftermath to strike the deluge that followed, twisting the light rays’ paths completely.

How?

That boy’s right arm couldn’t have had that much power in it.

In the first place, no human could ever land even a single attack on Fiamma in his current state. It could be Vento of the Front or Acqua of the Back—though he could end them with a single swing of his right arm.

“You still don’t get it?”

Touma Kamijou’s mouth opened amid the ruins, the bombing from the skies having blasted away the ceiling.

His voice was low and heavy.

“You told me, remember? Your right arm’s power varies based on your enemy’s strength. The stronger your opponent, the more power you can draw out. And to get the maximum power out of your arm, you caused World War III to amplify the darkness in people’s hearts. In order to bring the enemy you needed to defeat out into the open and finish setting up for all this.”

So what?

Even now, as they spoke, World War III raged on. Tragedies were begetting tragedies, and the maelstrom of malice was spreading to every corner of this planet. Fiamma had multiplied his holy power by responding to that ugliness, and once his preparations were complete, he’d purify the entire world.

“But in that case, you could also say this.”

Kamijou rotated his right arm as if to feel out his shoulder, and as his joints cracked, he continued:

“What if everyone’s hearts aren’t as filled with malice as you think they are? Then you wouldn’t be able to draw out the power you envisioned.”

Fiamma’s eyebrow twitched.

He glanced beyond the shattered walls, down toward the surface far below. Though the golden skies illuminated it, he couldn’t see past it. Maybe dust and vapor particles were overlapping in the air, forming a screen. The sight looked like the smoke shooting from the minds of those causing wars and killing one another, covering the world.

“…That’s a bold assumption.”

Fiamma of the Right shook his third arm.

He gripped the remote-control Soul Arm tightly to receive the support of that boundless knowledge.

Clear hatred shone in his eyes.

“This world is twisted. Control will never appear again. Even the basic four aspects ruptured beyond repair without me to fix them. Remaining resources, clashes between tribes, differences between religions, food shortages, state warfare, the destruction of the environment—all of it is tangled together so badly it’s now impossible to resolve them one at a time, in order.”

“…”

“And you would so boldly claim that I couldn’t reap the amount of malice I expected? You must be joking. That’s the sort of rubbish someone who didn’t know the meaning of the word malice would say!! The war is still going on, you know. And this great conflict is making everyone act to their hearts’ content!! Nations, tribes, religions, genders, languages, capital, bloodlines, talent—every single one of those little thorns pricking everyone’s minds has begun to spill into the outside world!! …You want to believe that people’s hearts are really that pure deep down? Humans would most certainly do all these things—what part of their hearts are you even looking at?!”

“You’re right. I can’t see people’s hearts from the outside. Maybe a human’s essence really is something dark and grimy. Maybe I just don’t realize it, and even I have malice inside me I’d never want to believe was real.

“But,” noted Kamijou.

He would not end there.

“A human’s true nature is greater than that.”

“What…?”

“How can you say for sure people only have one side to them? If we have black malice deep in our hearts, then who are you to say we don’t have another side to us besides that?”

That’s right, thought Kamijou. A person’s heart was host to an incorrigible expanse of darkness. Humans were creatures who thought about more than just connecting with others. They also had qualities that led them to avoid others for many reasons: to protect themselves, to ensure their safety, to possess something. They were made so they could naturally take action that would hurt or eliminate others.

But light slept in that space, too—an equal amount or perhaps more. The kind of goodwill you’d normally be too embarrassed about to mention out loud. The level of justice that didn’t even feel the need to make itself known. Those sorts of things surely existed. You just couldn’t see them—but they were absolutely there.

It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.

If human hearts really only held malicious intent for killing and taking from others, civilization would have died out by its own hand long ago. The fact that they’d survived this long, the fact that history continued without interruption, clearly proved that the will to connect was stronger than the will to destroy.

“I didn’t need a reason.”

Touma Kamijou made a fist with his right hand again.

“It’s not because I was strong—you failed on your own. People don’t need a reason to be able to fight for those they hold dear. They don’t need special powers to be able to fight for what they want to protect. That’s the power that saved me.”

“For no reason?” Fiamma watched Kamijou as if looking at something unbelievable. “That conclusion only applies to us. For example, assume a nuclear missile is about to launch. We have the control key, and the console is right in front of us. Sure, we don’t need a reason to put the key in and stop the missile from launching. But people that don’t have the key can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Nobody needs a key.” The argument didn’t even take a second to come out. “You could just stick a wire into the keyhole. Or you could pop open the console’s lid and plug a laptop cable in, too. And you could probably shoot a cannonball at the missile just before it launches. There’s always more than one way to solve something. It doesn’t give you a reason to stand idly by and wait silently as the missile launches…Everyone has the right to fight—fight for something you’d die to protect, even if you have to take on the entire world.”

That’s absurd, muttered Fiamma. For the first time, he’d been forced to realize that this creature called Touma Kamijou was fundamentally different from what he’d expected.

“You’re gonna give Index back.”

A declaration.

Touma Kamijou took a big step forward.

“And not just that. The UK and Academy City—and the Roman and the Russian Churches. All that quibbling, all the fighting between science and magic, all the countries crushing one another in World War III—I’m ending all of it right now.”

“You think you can?”

As if to counter Kamijou’s approach, Fiamma of the Right spread his third arm wide.

His lethal arm whose destructive force increased depending on people’s hostility.

“Do you think you can win this enormous war without losing a single thing?! This pathetic world war is nothing but prep work. And the purification of the surface has already begun in response to the Star of Bethlehem. You still think you can score a free victory?!”

“Sure I do.”

On one side, the shadow leader of the largest denomination of Crossism, thoroughly bolstered by the aerial temple, the Star of Bethlehem; the worldwide malice, brought into focus through World War III; the knowledge from the 103,000 grimoires; the natural gifts of God’s Right Seat; and the flesh and blood of that singular right arm he’d severed and stolen.

On the other, a high school student who had a unique right hand but otherwise no special traits.

Yet, there was no need to be afraid.

And so, Kamijou advanced ever forward.

“Unlike you, I believe in how strong humans are.”

Meanwhile, a deformed shadow appeared off the coastline of Barcelona, crashing against it.

An aberrant, golden form, about one hundred meters long, like a giant arm or an enormous snake. A hand, reaching toward the sky—its five fingers half opened, standing tall, grasping nothing.

The populace watched in trepidation. After all, this area was relatively far from the flames of the great war; the region wasn’t even in a state of alert.

As all the civilians looked on, the golden arm changed.

Brk-brk-brk-brk-brk-brk-brk!!!!!!

From the ground to its fingertips, the golden arm began to swell explosively from within. Within moments, the palm’s form broke down, changing shape like a huge balloon.

The distorted sphere made a creeeak-greeeak noise as it reached its limit.

And then…

Simultaneously, a massive hand burst out of the Sea of Japan. It clenched tightly, as if to crush itself.

What emerged a moment later was a rupture. A massive shock wave spread out in every direction, crushing even the gargantuan hundred-meter arm itself to pieces.

Boom!! It was as though a huge space station had crashed into the water’s surface. A radial wall of seawater over thirty meters tall spread out in all directions.

Carriers, escorts, amphibious assault ships, battleships, cruisers…It engulfed Academy City and Russian forces alike as their myriad ships of metal stood lined up in battle formation.

“What’s going on…?”

Seeing the massive catastrophe closing in on them, a navigation officer belonging to an Academy City affiliate let out a groan.

In this situation, he couldn’t even decide: Was it better to seek shelter inside the ship or put on a life preserver and jump into the sea?

“This isn’t even a war anymore! What the hell is going on with the world?!”

At the same time, a similar golden arm had exploded on the eastern European front as well.

What happened there, however, was not a high wave.

Radiating out from the ruptured arm was a thundercloud at zero meters above sea level. The deep-black mass of water vapor licked explosively over the surface, and at the same time, the entire space rang out in a freakish sound. Sparks. Over a billion volts…The extreme high-pressure current would cause those swallowed in the thundercloud to burst into many pieces, and it would fry all the electronic devices loaded on board with their weapons.

“No way…,” muttered an Academy City man to himself, bewildered at the approaching dark cloud.

The scale of this calamity was just too big. The thunderhead spread out to the sides, extending several kilometers; at this point, he couldn’t avoid it no matter where he ran. And if it engulfed him, his body would explode in a matter of seconds.

The man donned a thin smile at the insane situation—but then, somebody grabbed his ankle. It was from the underside of a wrecked Russian armored car. He lost his balance and got pulled inside.

A moment later, the black cloud rushed over him from forward to back.

Crackle-crackle-crackle!! There was a series of eerie noises, like train tracks shorting out. Even under the vehicle, he wouldn’t emerge unscathed. Part of the electric current, traveling through the ground and climbing up to him, zapped through his entire body without mercy.

But he didn’t die.

As the Academy City man moaned, it finally dawned on him.

“You…,” he murmured, seeing the female Russian soldier who had pulled him in. “Do you understand this? We’re enemies. From your point of view, I’m an evil invader.”

“An invader who would go to such lengths to stop the Kremlin Report? Anyway, this isn’t the time to be squabbling over the war anymore. Our chain of command is in shambles. We’re getting unconfirmed reports of things like this happening all over the world.”

Glaring at the snow, blown up from the ground and still tingling with purple lightning aftereffects, the woman spoke as though spitting the words out.

“I’m fighting to protect my family, too. Like hell I’ll sit by after coming this far just because we’re facing down the apocalypse or the extinction of humanity or whatever this is!!”

Crack-crackle-crack-crack. They heard a sound like water suddenly freezing over.

Immediately after, there was a massive wha-bam!!

Some sort of huge ring had appeared on the surface of the ground visible from underneath the armored car. A material like pure gold with a radius of over a hundred meters—the giant ring was wider than a four-lane highway, and it was stuck into the ground at an angle.

It’s almost like an angel’s halo, thought the Russian.

More than that had changed, however. As if to follow along with where the thundercloud had just licked the surface, a bundle of riblike parts connected to the huge ring drew arcs through the air as if they were sharpened tips. Following that, bundles of cloth traveled in curved, riverlike lines, appearing one after the other and gouging out the ground and blowing away nearby parts of the conifer forest. Pushing themselves into this world by force, it looked like a giant toy box being overturned.

It was a flood of enormous structures spreading out in all directions. Each and every one was a ridiculous size.

Attempting to speak despite his throat suddenly drying out, the Academy Man whispered hoarsely, “…What the hell is going on?”

“Damned if I know,” answered the Russian soldier as if to push him away. “The only good thing about this is that we’re on a snowfield. If this thing happened in a city area, it would topple all the buildings around it.”

“Also…”

A huge roaring vibration tore through the air.

The black cloud had withdrawn, but the dangers hadn’t ended.

There was no rule saying there could only be one golden arm.

As long as those giant arms kept bursting out of the ground like this, there was no telling what dangers awaited them next.

“Another one. What now?!” demanded the man.

The female soldier ran a finger over the antitank rocket launcher. “Should be obvious. Finish things before it ruptures!! Give me a hand, Mr. Academy City. I need your city’s firepower!!”

“Shit. I had my hands full stopping the Kremlin Report, you know!!”

“Your end goal’s the same. Doesn’t matter if it’s a bacterial wall or some occult bullshit—we just have to wipe off the face of the earth every last thing that’ll needlessly kill people!!”

Meanwhile, in the Strait of Dover, a golden arm about to rupture was cut through diagonally from the middle, then began to sink into the sea.

Civilian and soldier alike were utterly dumbstruck.

Amid it all, only the girl who had put a final end to the golden arm moved, twirling her staff.

The girl was around twelve.

“Hey, Mark!! You slacked on the symbolic weapon prep, didn’t you? I’m not even getting eighty percent output from this thing!!”

“Boss, isn’t the symbolic weapon’s user supposed to be the one to produce and consecrate it?”

“Pff. Anyway. Never thought I, of all people, would be pitching in to help the world out.”

“Judging by the situation, Fiamma of the Right is trying to purge the surface by spreading purifying telesma and altering everything starting with fundamental structures. He seems to want to save the world.”

Mark continued, wondering aloud if everything on top of those structures would change, too, if their foundations changed. “…But that’s a lot of it. This much telesma all over the place is going to have destructive results. And unlike the mana refined in human bodies, telesma contains elements from the start. We’re seeing an outbreak of each aspect—or of things derived from them.”

“Basically, it’s the great flood Noah built the ark for. For shameful humans, this overblown sense of cleanliness is a catastrophe.”

The blond-haired girl referred to as Boss gave a wicked grin that didn’t match her age.

And yet, it held so much force it made it seem like no expression was more suitable for her pretty features.

“And we call shameful humans shameful because they’re really bad losers.”

Boom!! She heard a distant explosion.

It came from the horizon. Even she wouldn’t be able to eliminate all the golden arms. An empty ocean surface, with no people or boats, was low on the priority list, so “explosions” like that had been happening sporadically.

Moments later, things like giant angel halos and bones began to appear inside the calamity’s affected area.

“…I see. He didn’t forget the aftercare, either. He’s collecting the resources he’ll use for the ‘restoration’ after washing the world clean—how nice of him. That’s a lot of stuff, and it’s all more valuable than pure gold, or platinum, or tungsten. And more convenient.”

“Well, telesma makes up everything from an angel’s body to its clothing and weapons, so I suppose it’s possible to convert into matter…but for someone using human sorcery, I can’t help but be baffled at the sheer scale of it.”

“But it won’t matter,” said the blond girl quietly. “True—if every person on earth had enough resources to be satisfied, it might solve most of the wars in the world. Individuals would settle things on an individual level. But that won’t work. If you give people resources, they’ll use them to expand their control. Someone could use a rocket to go and take over the moon’s surface, and you couldn’t stop them. Then they’d use the moon’s heavy hydrogen to aim for Mars next. Having a larger amount of resources won’t stop wars. It’ll only make them bigger.”

“On top of that, human technology can’t manufacture materials equal to angelic arms and armor. You wouldn’t hurt them with lasers or diamonds, and I doubt human sorcery can do anything to an angel’s body. Those things aren’t resources—if anything, it’s just bulk-sized refuse.”

“Well, our goal is to command the entire world, sorcery and science alike. No point controlling a world if it’s going to be washed away, leaving us with nothing but piles of logs we can’t use. I guess we’ll have to work hard for the cause of good this time.”

Wha-bam!! Several more golden arms burst out of the ground and the sea.

The girl didn’t pay attention to them.

Putting the staff she’d been twirling onto her shoulder, she unflinchingly took a step forward. Then, using a megaphone handed to her by a man in full uniform, she shouted to every corner of the battlefield.

“Listen up! I don’t care if you’re with the UK, or France, or Academy City, or Russia!! Any unit that can still move needs to support us with equipment that can transmit infrared-targeting information! As soon as we receive the coordinates of a target, we’ll come and provide full support for an attack!! From now on, it’s time for some bombing—of the people, by the people, and for the people!! Let’s raise hell, baby!!”

The petrified British soldiers, who couldn’t put together the words they needed to say, opened their mouths anyway.

“Wha…what…? What is…? Who are you people…?”

The girl didn’t turn around to answer.

With many soldiers trailing in her wake, she put her mouth to the megaphone and lobbed over her shoulder as though singing, “A sorcerer’s society. The Dawn-Colored Sunlight.”

Elsewhere, Acqua of the Back, standing in a white snowfield, spotted a deformed silhouette breaking through the snow on the ground to show itself.

Academy City, the Russian forces, science, sorcery—none of it mattered anymore. Everybody charged the golden arm as one.

They wielded their weapons to crush the source of the calamity before an even greater rupture could occur.

All to defend those precious to them.

…How foolish you are, Fiamma.

Acqua smiled faintly.

This man who almost never changed his expression had smiled—only a little, but it was unmistakable.

It will not be you nor I who saves this world. No matter what you destroy, no matter what you bless, the people will no longer submit. I suppose it was obvious that those living in this world would defend it.

In that case, the time had come for him, too, to wield his power as one of those people.

Acqua was no longer a saint. Nor part of God’s Right Seat. He didn’t have the strength to lift the Ascalon, his greatest weapon, and the amount of mana he could refine had fallen to a level comparable to a regular sorcerer.

But what did it matter?

Acqua didn’t fight because he was a saint or because he was part of God’s Right Seat. He didn’t think he’d led a praiseworthy life by any means. But unfortunately, he was attached to this world—because he could envision someone he wanted to protect.

Meanwhile—

“There you are. Finally found you!”

An old man muttered quietly to himself, moving his face away from the binoculars.

The young man next to him sighed in his direction. “Is it all right? Russia was probably the worst place to come back to. I’ve even heard rumors that the old name of your group, the Astrologers’ Brigade, is still stuck on their blacklist.”

“Would you shut up? It’s about time I used those Soul Arms I’ve been stockpiling for myself, isn’t it? Besides, when you got the information William Orwell was headed for Russia, you were the one who tried to go after him without even reporting it.”

“I’ll admit I let the blood go to my head. I still have a debt to repay from the Knights of Orleans business. If I let that go, it would leave a bad taste in my mouth.” The young man who answered him held a French sword called a colichemarde, derived from sporting equipment. And next to him stood a woman able to use a spell called the Revelations of Arc.

They weren’t the only ones. Many had gathered here; that was how many people the mercenary had saved on the path he’d walked.

“How is our mercenary doing?”

“Same old mercenary. But something’s not right. I feel like it would take more than that to get him in a playful mood.”

“Are you worried about him?”

“Of course not.”

The old man sighed haphazardly, shaking the Japanese katana resting on his shoulder.

A Thundercleaver.

A modern, mass-production-type Soul Arm based on folklore wherein a group of swords had intercepted strikes from the very heavens themselves.

And as if in response, hundreds of figures behind the old man readied their own preferred weapons.

“If he has that much charm, it’ll be worth fighting alongside him.”

“But…,” said the young man. “We’re just treating the symptoms. Those calamities are springing up all over the world—I don’t think it’ll put an end to them.”

“I know that. That’s why we’re the former Astrologers’ Brigade. People who have crossed all over the world have a huge network to match. In fact, it means we can freely work in lines we’d never be able to connect with just the stubborn ones who’d set up shop in one place to defend it.”

“?”

“Well, connecting those teeny-tiny threads is about all this old man can do. Someone more suitable will take care of the real hard stuff…After all, at their roots, they’re no idiots, either.”

After saying what he wanted to say, the old man shook his Thundercleaver.

“We’re free spirits, and what we need to do is simple. Do you know what that is, youngster?”

“Not to think about anything complicated,” said the young man, smiling and waving his colichemarde in the same way, “and to take up our swords when someone needs protecting.”

All they needed were the two words Let’s go.

As one, they pushed toward the battlefield.

At the same time, a woman named Vasilisa, head of the Russian Church’s special forces team Annihilatus, kicked a sorcerer who was once her subordinate and sent him flying, slamming him into the locked double doors like a cannonball and destroying them.

She was in a palace in Moscow.

There was a massive ga-bam!! It made the person confined in the room jump out of his skin.

This person was a boy about fifteen years old. He was slender and had a more curvaceous beauty than even Vasilisa, an already beautiful woman, and he was so thin he’d probably go to his eternal rest in three days if abandoned out in the wild. Even his majestic attire, created for the Patriarch, fit him even worse than a little kid wearing his father’s suit for fun, dragging it around behind him.

Spitting the blood in her mouth onto a random spot on the carpet, Vasilisa gave a sweet smile. “Why, hello there, revered leader of the Russian Catholic Church. What a luxurious birdcage they’ve thrown you into—it looks like they took good care of you. Fairy tales would normally have reversed the positions of the young man and heroine, but in any case, I’m here to rescue you from the evil demon lord’s castle now!”

“…To think anyone would still call me the Patriarch. I never had any real power. No matter how much I shouted, nobody would even leave me a weapon. Everyone held up my forged signature as an indulgence and didn’t listen to me when I asked them to withdraw.”

“I’ll forgive you, since you’re cute,” interrupted Vasilisa in an obviously jocular tone. “And there’s still something you can do. Something only the Patriarch can do.”

“?”

The Patriarch tilted his little head so adorably that even Vasilisa, who only ever thought about Sasha Kreutzev, nearly felt her mind swaying. The method she used to decide what side to take was very simple. While unconsciously putting a hand to her face to make sure she didn’t have a nosebleed, she thought, Jeez, would you stop that? I’ve already lost more blood than I can probably afford…

“Can you see that?” Quelling her impulse to agonize over his cuteness, she pointed out the window.

Even from here, they could physically see the fortress floating in the golden skies. It had just that much scale and altitude. It was the temple of Fiamma of the Right, of God’s Right Seat, which had come to be called the Star of Bethlehem from remaining fragmented sources.

“That fortress was formed from the necessary parts in the necessary quantities from Crossist churches and cathedrals throughout the world. But each of those buildings has its own form. You can’t fuse them all just by collecting them in one place.”

“What are you…getting at?”

“There’s a spell to connect them.” Vasilisa waggled her finger. “Fiamma used the Roman Church and the Russian Church. He used both kinds of spells to their maximum effect to give that fortress its structure.”

“Which means…”

“If you analyze it, you can break the fortress’s joints. I’m sure Nikolai Tolstoj was the one who provided the Russian Catholic spell, but there was no evidence of it in his palace. Still, though, that doesn’t mean we have to give up. Understand what I’m saying now?”

Naturally, the spell being used was probably a secret among secrets of the Russian Church. It was unthinkable that Fiamma would use something so easily analyzed as the keystone to his final plan.

However…

“I get it.” The Patriarch moved a slender finger and rubbed his cheek. “There’s a facility nearby for reproducing and managing scaled-down versions of phenomena, right? It runs all sorts of experiments by making one-to-one-hundred-scale building dioramas to figure out what conditions cause ghosts and spirits to appear…”

“If we remove its limiter, it can be used for Russian Catholic magic, too—the kind people use. And if the simulation goes well, we could go backward and figure out which spell Fiamma used.”

“And you want me to remove it.”

“Mm-hmm! Think you can? I do have the man-eating woman in a one-legged house, but that doesn’t mean I can guarantee your safety.”

The Patriarch, on the verge of having his head patted, deftly moved his head to escape Vasilisa’s hand and headed for the room’s exit. Not realizing how his behavior had actually caused her to shudder, the Russian Church’s leader asked, “The Star of Bethlehem’s joints use a Roman Orthodox spell in addition to our Russian Catholic one, don’t they? We might not be able to weaken it all by ourselves.”

“…Things will be fine on that end. I got a stubborn old man to help me—a weird one, who had a weird number of contacts—and had him connect the teeny-tiny threads.”

“Ah?”

Accompanied by the shade of an old, wrinkly woman as she followed the Patriarch, Vasilisa gave him a simple answer.

“What I mean is that it turns out those people aren’t as rotten as everyone thought.”

Meanwhile, Matthew Reese, the old man who had abandoned his position as the pope of Rome, had delved far below the great Vatican cathedral. His goal was to analyze the spell Fiamma had been using for his plans. The spells a single member of God’s Right Seat could use probably couldn’t have completely covered the utter scale of his project. Leaving what was central to it aside, it was highly likely he’d used an existing Roman Orthodox spell to fill in the gaps.

“Hiya, you dandy gentleman. How’s it going over there, hmm?”

“Hmph. Should I be the one you’re calling? I’m no longer the pope.”

“I thought I was speaking to the leader of the Roman Orthodox Church in both name and function. And besides, Peter Iogdis wouldn’t have been suitable for our adorable Patriarch.”

“By the sound of it, you got your audience with the Patriarch. I’ve finished sorting out the important documents myself. I’m now constructing an ultra-long-distance spell circle that can interfere with the Star of Bethlehem currently hanging over Russia.”

“Oh, how convenient. I see the Vatican has all sorts of secret tricks up its sleeves after all. If my subordinates could get that kind of funding, we could do whatever we wanted, too.”

“Anyway, how reliable is the theory that robbing the Star of Bethlehem of its power will cause the disasters on the surface to stop as well? I’m getting reports of golden arms causing mayhem from all over as we speak.”

“Hmm? It should be fine, shouldn’t it? The surface disasters are happening in response to the celestial ones, after all. I’m almost certain if we stop the celestial disasters, all the others will go away, too.”

“Fine, then. Even if we stop Fiamma, it wouldn’t mean anything if we forced sacrifices onto everyone else.”

“By the way, I take it this is all okay for the Roman Church?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Fiamma of the Right isn’t compatible with us. But the fact is he’s been giving incredible benefits to the Roman Orthodox Church until now. If you shatter that foundation yourselves, doesn’t that mean the Roman Church may not reach the same kind of prosperity as before?”

“It doesn’t matter…A power that cannot protect is meaningless. To save the people, I will hold Fiamma in check, even if it means reducing the Roman Orthodox Church’s power.”

“It sure is a crime to be so adorable.”

“…What? Now what are you talking about?”

“Oh, just our leader over here. And how maybe you had a time when you were like this, Gramps.”

“My nature did lead others to look up to me, but it never cast me in a such a light. I was chosen to be the pope, after all. They probably thought I was a stern father symbol or something.”

“Oooh, that comment is making our adorable father symbol get all angry. But he’s so cute!! And I’m going to hug him!!”

“…And that light is one mainly cast on fairy-tale heroines, is it not?”

Rather annoyed, Matthew Reese scanned the innumerable documents sleeping in the basement. There was a huge collection of books in this library, where a little girl named Index had once been invited.

If he could learn what spell Fiamma was using, he might be able to use it to mount a counterattack. He might even be able to stop this great war.

But that would mean…

“We’re contributing to our own defeat, aren’t we?” uttered the young priest who had followed after Matthew Reese.

“This isn’t a defeat,” corrected Matthew, voice firm enough to sever the hesitation of others. “We are fighting for victory. Even now.”

“That victory won’t gain us anything.”

“If you truly thought so, then you wouldn’t be taking the same action as me.”

The young priest fell silent for a time.

Only the sound of pages turning continued.

“…Will we be able to start over?”

“Yes,” said Matthew. The old man even smiled. “We certainly will.”

That was when it happened.

Matthew scowled slightly. A moment later, a stabbing headache dug from his temple all the way across his skull. The knowledge in this treasure trove was so pure they had to invite the Index of Prohibited Books here. Even the man who was once the pope would experience severe physical and mental effects from prolonged viewings.

“I can still keep going,” said Matthew Reese as the young priest hastily put out a hand to try to give him care. “I can still fight. To open a path to a hopeful tomorrow, we can’t afford to stop now.”

In truth, however, he had concerns.

Roman Orthodox secret ceremonies and Russian Catholic wisdom.

If they took advantage of their technical information used in the Star of Bethlehem, they’d be able to deal significant damage to it.

There was no clear guarantee, however, that they’d be able to tear it from the sky.

After all:

Those aren’t the only techniques being used.

He’d received a report that Fiamma of the Right had stolen the remote-control Soul Arm for the Index of Prohibited Books. Which meant the techniques being used weren’t only Roman Orthodox and Russian Catholic.

Yes.

The final key was…

“The English Puritan Church’s archbishop…”

“Hey, I have an idea. Want to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets to talk to that vixen?”

Simultaneously, in the Star of Bethlehem floating in the Russian skies, Sasha Kreutzev pulled an assortment of tools out of her belt. She began to draw a huge magic circle, using her L-shaped crowbar to make marks in the floor.

The one losing her head was Lesser, who had been preparing a container to escape in.

Several metal container-like objects equipped with giant parachutes hung from the bottom of the fortress. Lesser had been going to each in turn, getting them ready to use.

Apart from the two girls, over two hundred Russian Catholic sorcerers, used and discarded by Fiamma, were present here, too. They had to let them all flee to the surface in stages before Fiamma disposed of them.

And also.

Even if it started to look like they could defeat Fiamma, it wouldn’t make a difference if they couldn’t find a way for everyone, including Lesser and Sasha, to escape.

They were still at an altitude of ten thousand meters.

“Wait! I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but the last flight is taking off soon!!”

“Answer one: I’m not here because I want to be. As an addendum, my feelings are that if we are going to leave soon, I want to do it right now.” Sasha didn’t stop working her tools as she answered. “As for my opinion—despite saying that, I do feel resistance to fleeing without doing anything. In reality, the only one fighting Fiamma is that boy. As a professional sorcerer, I must support him, even in vain.”

“But how?!”

“Answer two: Fiamma used my body to summon the POWER OF GOD and change the heaven’s condition according to his wishes…Which means I myself might be able to become a factor that drives a wedge into his plans.”

She didn’t know how far-reaching the effects would be.

At the very least, Sasha Kreutzev’s actions alone would never prove a setback to Fiamma’s grandiose plans.

But she’d do it anyway.

The light in Sasha’s eyes, hidden by her bangs, never wavered in unease.

Lesser, for her part, scratched her hair half-heartedly. “Grr!! Then I’ll make you finish quickly!!”

“?”

“It’s true—I’d like to stick here until the very last moment if possible. That boy seems like he’ll be a boon to the United Kingdom, after all. I’ll help you out so I can kill time before the limit.”

“Answer three: You don’t need to go that fa—”

“Either way, it seems that when you chose that route, it forced our escape plans to take a time-out.”

Lesser used her thumb to point behind her.

Some Russian Catholic sorcerers had climbed out of their escape containers and were walking toward them.

To spread even more intricately the magic circle Sasha was trying to draw.

With Sasha surprised, Lesser grinned and said, “We’re not stopping this now—not until we get results. We might as well get in our parting shot at Fiamma’s plans while we can.”

Elsewhere, a band of girls wearing mainly black nun’s habits were racing across a Russian snowfield.

Their clothing seemed Roman Orthodox, but their current location meant they were far, far from home.

It was the former Agnes unit.

The two-hundred-odd Sisters were heading for a place where Academy City and Russian soldiers had fallen.

Battles could be decided on a lot more than killing enemies.

They had their own fight to win.

“Sister Agnes, rescue targets spotted. It’s impossible to evacuate them all outside the explosion’s effective range. As planned, please use the rescue target distribution map to calculate points for shelter construction!!”

“Listen well, Sister Angeline. The shelter applies the theory of Jesus’s swaddling clothes and manger! All nuns specializing in the usage of Mary-type ex-votos are to give instructions immediately upon constructing each shelter!!”

“The large rescue helicopters are standing by three thousand meters behind us! Please get the heavily wounded on board before the next explosion occurs!!”

“The lightly wounded should head to the shelters! We don’t have enough time to get everyone onto the helicopters!!”

It happened in the blink of an eye.

The things they were calling shelters were nothing more than tentlike structures made of wooden frames and big white cloths. However, they shouldn’t have been able to erect them in a few seconds to half a minute. To an unknowing observer, they may have looked like automatically expanding spring-loaded toys.

They began to carry fallen soldiers who could no longer move to the shelters set up in the middle of the battlefield, one after the next.

Both the Academy City and Russian forces were baffled.

They were all humans, and all had the same reaction.

If they’d realized that sooner, maybe the war wouldn’t have gotten so out of control.

“…What…are you do…?” croaked out a man who had been operating an Academy City powered suit. He’d asked the question even as various parts of his body were being wrapped in bandages. “Who are you…with…? Whose side are you on…?”

“Oh, but we did not come all this way to discuss things such as those,” answered one of the black-clothed nuns. “But if I was to answer, I would say our only goal is to reduce the damages of this war by as many individuals as possible.”

“…”

The soldiers were speechless as they watched the Sisters, who were using medicine made from plants rather than the antibiotics they were so used to. To fill in the science, a communication came in to the wood-and-cloth shelter.

A man’s voice echoed from what looked like a card taped to a shelter column. “Sheesh. Fiamma sure is a neat freak. We had no idea his big cleaning spree would be this widespread, man.”

“Then this is part of Fiamma’s purification operation after all?”

“Probably best to assume so. Not only is he destroying the preestablished harmony, he’s creating the materials needed to rebuild… ’Course, if he gives people a new form of matter nobody can destroy—if nobody can work it, it’s just huge pieces of garbage, man.”

Rumble-rumble…!! A sharp, heavy growl shook the snowfield a moment later.

The Academy City man, lying down on the cot, sat up, wincing in pain. The Russian soldier receiving aid the next cot over did the same.

“Damn it. Give me a gun,” groaned the man, reaching out for a nun. “I won’t sit by and wait for them to do us in. I don’t know who you are, but you’re good people—good enough to repay in full. I’ll buy you enough time to escape, at least.”

But the Academy City agent and the Russian soldier wouldn’t have to mount a suicide charge.

They hadn’t even been given that much time.

Truly, it happened in an instant.

Skkrrr!!

A very long katana severed the golden arm at its base.

Through the gap in the cloth of the simple tentlike shelter, they saw the majestic scene unfolding outside.

The Asian woman swinging around a katana two meters long was certainly remarkable, but the golden arm being torn clean through in a single attack was far more shocking.

The golden arm’s length exceeded one hundred meters. Its thickness, too, was similarly massive. No matter how sharp the two-meter katana’s blade was, it was a matter of simple thickness—it could never have cut through such a thing.

And yet…

“It’s essentially the same logic as cutting open a plastic bag.”

They could hear a woman’s voice from the card communicator stuck to the wall.

“After making a small wound to the target, you leave it up to the target to tear open a hole on its own. Legends from all over the world, past and present, depict people splitting open evil dragons and the like that are clearly too big for their swords—this is an essential property for those stories.”

A black-clothed nun aimed an old-fashioned light source—an oil lantern, maybe—onto the baffled Academy City man’s body. A circular flashlight-like light crawled over him. He thought she was checking him for injuries, but something wasn’t right. Even after the circle of light left part of his skin, the surface of his body glowed faintly.

As though supporting his body from the outside.

“Whether you wish to survive or to confront a powerful enemy, we must first create an environment in which you can move your body to your satisfaction.”

As he was cared for, the Academy City man remembered what the snowfield outside the shelter was like.

Thinking about where the still-usable tanks and powered suits had been left, as accurately as he could.

In moments, his sortie preparations would be complete.

And this time, his enemy would not be the Russian forces.

Meanwhile, two swords chopped through a giant golden arm that had sprouted from the ground.

The first was a sword of light, extending from a fragment of the British sword, the Curtana Second. The second was a French sword, the Durandal.

Wielding them were representatives of each nation: the second princess, Carissa, and the Femme Fatale. The wounds they had sustained while facing the archangel Misha Kreutzev hadn’t healed, but sharpness of their motions hadn’t waned.

“First an angel, now symbols of the right arm? He really has a thing for telesma, doesn’t he?” Carissa waggled her sword, seeming bored. “Move the mobile fortress Glastonbury from point B to point C. And perform a check on it. Can’t have it malfunctioning on us now, so.”

“…If you could disable the Glastonbury’s altitude limiter, you could probably board Fiamma’s temple fairly quickly.”

The Femme Fatale was looking up overhead. There—over ten thousand meters in the sky—a fortress referred to as the Star of Bethlehem was still raising its altitude.

“We wouldn’t be struggling if it was that simple. The Glastonbury was developed as a mobile fortress for suppressing land territory, you know. It didn’t really have high-altitude aerial combat in mind.”

Carissa turned back toward the Glastonbury.

Remaining turned around, she muttered.

“…Still, the Star of Bethlehem, eh? I’m surprised the Russian and Roman Churches disclosed the information for it.”

“They were being used, just like us. I suppose it simply means they aren’t so irredeemable that they’d serve a plan like this in silence.”

Shoo, shoo. Lightly spinning her sword with only her wrist, the Femme Fatale thought deeply.

…Come to think of it, I believe my younger sister’s independent nation was around here somewhere.

After randomly punctuating her thoughts with a hum, she continued. If I indebt myself to her now, it may benefit France down the line.

Wait a minute, Sis. Could one of Europe’s representative countries not try to pluck from a small nation? It’s puerile.

Oh, Eliza? I do believe it’s good manners to at least knock first.

You’re in range of my bombardment spell, you know.

I do believe that if you were that talented, the French government wouldn’t have let you depart.

We were planning on making that location into an anti-Fiamma battlefield, so my troops have planted all sorts of dangerous things there. In the end, Fiamma invaded before we could use them and stole Sasha Kreutzev in the process. In any case, if it’s that location alone, the bombardment spell will reach.

Do you mean to indebt me to you?

I should think a smaller nation plucking from one of Europe’s representative countries is the more natural course, wouldn’t you?

Crackle-crackle. Sparks flew between the sisters.

And Carissa seemed to have gotten a communication as well. However, hers wasn’t a magical one. The second princess had reacted to a beep, taking out a radio hidden in her chest.

The Femme Fatale looked at Carissa like she was wearing a vulgar swimsuit. “…I keep saying this, over and over and over, but do you really need to keep things in there?”

“Quit your prattling. What are you, my mother? …Unfortunately, my dress doesn’t have any sort of pockets. And between this and putting them in my panties, I actually think I’m being rather sensible here, so.”

Carissa, having pulled out her radio, seemed to be in contact with London.

“I see, I see. Right. Then to bring down the Star of Bethlehem, we’ll need to provide technology and information from the English Puritan Church as well.”

She nodded to herself several times.

“Then tell the leader of the Puritans this. If you don’t give them the necessary information at once, the Royals’ second princess, Carissa, military might of the nation, will shove this Curtana so far up your ass—”

After saying what she needed to, Carissa turned off the radio.

“…You heard it. Looks like they’re working on pulling it down, but it also looks like the damage will get worse if we just wait around.”

“Then there’s only one thing to do.”

Spitting the words out, the two once again readied their legendary-class swords.

Several golden arms appeared from the ground, surrounding them.

Entrusting their backs to each other, they spoke:

“Even without actually going inside the Star of Bethlehem, there are ways to keep Fiamma from getting what he wants, so.”

“…Destroying every last one of the golden arms appearing on the surface, in other words.”

Several slashes struck out, and in the blink of an eye, the encirclement collapsed.

The men of the Knights, as well as Necessarius and the French sorcerers, followed after them.

Their invasion had begun.

At the same time, in St. George’s Cathedral in Britain, a slim western sword made of what looked like particles of light ripped into the sorcerer Stiyl Magnus, slashing him from his shoulder to his breast. The sword of Freyr, god of fertility. Moving on its own, the Soul Arm would always slash the opponent’s vital spots, and it had just torn Stiyl’s clavicle and ripped through thick arteries and internal organs.

The expression on the girl named Index remained still.

Stiyl’s movements stopped.

And even then, multiple attacks continued.

Two more swords stabbed into Stiyl’s waist and back, and as if to land the finishing blow, the bloodred wings swung down—an utterly hopeless, overwhelming attack. A combo that, as it crushed every bit of his human flesh, also dealt fatal damage to his life force, the wellspring of mana.

However.

The expressionless Index then tilted her head slightly to the side.

The swords and wings had certainly slid inside Stiyl’s body. That, however, was the only change. It had happened too smoothly. No blood spilled, and no flesh crushed. Human bodies couldn’t be cut apart like a spoon going through yogurt.

Her judgment lapsed for a moment.

And by the time she realized it was a product of sorcery, the next thing had happened.

“A mirage. A common trick.”

A voice from behind her.

An odd feeling on her back.

A moment later, there was the zhh-bang!! of an explosion that sounded like a lightning strike. Stiyl had demonstrated the full power of the binding cards he’d pasted all over.

Creeeeeeaaaaak!!!!!! Index’s spine arched and cracked.

“Warning. Chapter 47, Verse 80. Confirmed psychosomatic binding effect due to psychological effects. Affecting cognitive faculties. Guiding binding effect toward dummy region and prioritizing the securing of the ability to back-calculate spell.”

Starting from the side that’d been triggered, the runes inscribed on the laminated cards began to fade, like posters left in the sunlight too long. The coloring, an important matter for runes, was beginning to be undone. Naturally, when the color was gone, the effects would end. They wouldn’t hold for long.

…The remote-control Soul Arm’s intervention is weakening her, but she’s still a library of 103,000 grimoires. I doubt this will be enough to seal her.

All Stiyl Magnus could do was buy time.

On a fundamental level, he could not beat Index.

However.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Stiyl smiled a little, taking new rune cards out of his inside pocket.

“If that detestable man finishes things in the meantime, we’ll have won.”

Click. He heard the sound of a footstep.

He looked that way and saw Laura Stuart smiling.

She was waggling something she was holding in her hand.

Stiyl was stunned, at first thinking it was the remote-control Soul Arm—but it wasn’t.

What she was holding was a card-shaped communication Soul Arm.

“Reward for you,” she said.

The Roman Orthodox Church and the Russian Catholic Church.

While bringing her lips to the communication Soul Arm connected to each of their leaders…

“Well! It looks like you’ve filled your quota, so I, too, will do my very darndest to recover the library of grimoires.”

And so:

The English Puritan Church, the Roman Orthodox Church, and the Russian Catholic Church.

The three greatest denominations of Crossism had finally joined forces.

To strip power away from Fiamma of the Right’s fortress, the Star of Bethlehem, and stop any further atrocities.

Together, they broke the chains binding the world and began to act.

Touma Kamijou and Fiamma of the Right each swung around his “arm.”

Several shock waves rattled their surroundings, the magical aftereffects turning into a flood of light and scattering nearby. Aside from the direct collisions, light sporadically flickered around them, bloodred rays firing in multiple directions. These were attacks utilizing the 103,000 grimoires.

However, their clash was not even.

Little by little, like a sharp beak picking away at meat, with every collision the strength drained from Fiamma’s third arm. He could tell that his arm, for which he had obtained special flesh and blood through various rituals, was crumbling into dust.

It wasn’t that Kamijou’s power was special.

The source of the power supporting Fiamma of the Right was just steadily breaking.

Why? wondered Fiamma.

His third arm, which was supposed to have incredible strength, was rapidly losing output. As for the Star of Bethlehem, which he’d put together using the essential parts of churches and cathedrals from around the world, it was cracking here and there, and it had lost its original shine. And no matter how much time passed, he was unable to bring the surface, which was supposed to alter in the same way as the golden sky, under his control. Far from it—in fact, small, dull stains had appeared in a few places in the field of gold. Something was wrong. It seemed stopping one cog’s rotation had hindered the motion of every single other part of the mechanical contrivance.

Nothing was going as he wanted it to.

At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

His power’s emission had grown larger than its supply, and that would result in Fiamma weakening.

“Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!”

Fiamma, screaming, exercised his third arm faster and with even more strength.

But he himself had realized the action was contradictory. His arm was all-powerful to begin with. If he swung it, it would hit—he didn’t need speed. If he struck, he would crush, so he didn’t need to seek force, either. Despite that, Fiamma was relying on his shallow arm strength. Proof that the “essence” supposedly residing in that arm was wavering.

Bu-boom!! came a low shaking.

The entire Star of Bethlehem was rumbling. But it wasn’t because of Kamijou and Fiamma’s battle. This quaking was completely isolated. The very fortress was about to experience a collapse.

The fortress’s speakers turned on by themselves.

Fiamma didn’t know this, but the voice belonged to a girl named Lesser.

“The English, Roman, and Russian Churches have begun disengaging the spells on the Star of Bethlehem’s joints! Once me and—um, the Russian Church’s Sasha Kreutzev have embedded a relay point for the disengagement spell, we’re getting into an escape container. There are barely any containers left! You need to hurry, too, please!!”

Once again.

An irregular, one that Fiamma of the Right hadn’t even considered, had struck a blow to his plans.

A factor by the name of goodness.

“It’s over, Fiamma,” said Kamijou quietly, readying his right fist. “The core of your plan, your right arm, is losing power. Your ritual site, the Star of Bethlehem, will be useless soon. And most importantly, if you’d really wanted to save the world, you would have been happy that the goodness in people’s hearts won out over the evil…And since you can’t be happy about it, that means your illusions have already broken down.”

“You may be right.”

Fiamma chuckled.

“I’m at a disadvantage in this situation. If that essential power is diminished, my grand plan cannot continue. My purification of the surface has stalled as well…Even if I swing this right arm, losing power as rapidly as it is, I wouldn’t even be able to take the surface with me. At this rate, everything will be brought to nothing.”

“…”

“At this rate anyway.”

They were ominous words.

And then—

Wham!! The golden skies overhead swayed. Shading appeared in its glow. Then, all at once, a mass of light headed for the Star of Bethlehem. Clumps of energy, produced one after the next, taken in, compressed into the fortress’s interior.

As Kamijou’s expression changed, Fiamma shook the remote-control Soul Arm a little. “I didn’t use this, just so you know. This is something all of you caused.”

“What…?”

“I couldn’t get anyone’s support, but time has taken my side,” Fiamma explained.

He wasn’t going to open the door to Heaven. The world around him had turned into something incredibly sacred, and he would remake it in Heaven’s image.

The changes progressed over time until they crossed the line.

“Originally, the surface was supposed to change, too, a little at a time, in stages. But because your so-called goodness has refused that at every turn, like continental plates bending and building power, the lot of you have created unnatural distortions between the skies and the surface.”

Even now, huge quantities of energy were pouring into the Star of Bethlehem. Once it exceeded its capacity, he wouldn’t be able to hold back the buildup any longer.

“And as a result, enormous swaths of power are descending from the telesma-filled skies to the telesma-less surface like a flowing electric current…It’s honestly not the route I had in mind, but as long as the earth is filled with that light, it changes nothing. This world’s transformation will continue.”

“You understand what’s happening?” said Kamijou through clenched teeth. “It’s a huge chunk of energy, like for making an angel body. If something like that falls to the surface, it won’t just be a transformation—there’s gonna be an insane explosion covering the whole map!! It was the same with Misha during Angel Fall. If that level of power goes out-of-control crazy, it could wipe out human civilization as we know it!!”

“That’s right—it’s certainly too bad. For you anyway. Judging by how much power it is, it’ll at least engulf the entire Eurasian continent in its light.”

A fire still flickered in the lights of Fiamma’s eyes.

This was the first time the phrase Never give up had come across in such a wicked fashion.

“A little goodness may have sprouted during this war, but this overwhelming destruction will blot it out from above. Now you realize it was all for naught, that brandishing your goodness could not stop this tragedy. And the hopelessness of that realization will change into something far deeper, far heavier than the evil that was around from the start.”

And that highly dense mass of evil borne of resignation would whet the power within Fiamma. Even more than before. Even more strongly than what Fiamma had predicted. He would stand at the pinnacle of all things living on this planet, wield his power however he wished, and transform the world.

“The colossal divine punishment will easily raze the trifling unity of humanity. Just as the Tower of Babel’s destruction split apart human bonds. It will create evil, and I will respond to that, once again able to draw forth incredible power.”

“…Fiamma…”

“You were too late to save the world by your methods,” he declared, smiling, as Kamijou gripped his fist tighter than he had ever before.

It was a comforted smile, one borne from having leeway—of a supply of immense power guaranteed.

“And now, I have won.”