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The number of shadow followers rose to a threshold, then stopped increasing.
Yet for forces like Shirai Kuroko's, who possessed only Level 4 teleportation and lacked sufficient countermeasures, facing this overwhelming swarm of phantoms was like fighting a natural disaster—an enemy too powerful to resist.
"Wahhh—!"
A little girl, swathed in white cloth and barely ten years old in appearance, darted nimbly across shattered concrete, dodging the lunges of shadow followers with panicked agility. Bright arcs of static sparked at her back, not as an attack but as a raw reaction—her body broadcasting pure fear.
The Misaka Sisters, mass-produced clones of the original, were not combat specialists. Although the youngest, the Final Order, was rated at Level 3, her offensive capabilities were near zero. The lightning trailing her wasn't a weapon—just an echo of panic embedded in her nervous system.
A particularly tall female shadow servant, holding a jagged greatsword, finally seized her opportunity and reached for the Final Order.
BOOM—!
A massive impact split through the ceiling from above, rupturing the concrete and reducing the sword-wielding phantom into a ripple of black mist.
One-Way Road had arrived.
"Super scary! Misaka Misaka shivers in dramatic fashion while clinging to your thigh, hoping to appear weak and adorable," the Final Order whimpered.
She was, indeed, clinging tightly to one of Accelerator's legs, her small frame quivering like a leaf.
"You little—!" Accelerator muttered, the pressure in his chest finally easing as he saw she was alive. He lightly shoved her face aside with his hand. "Get off, I can't fight properly with you glued to me."
He was already limiting his automatic vector field to avoid harming her—maintaining that delicate control took all his focus.
"One-One-Way Road!" Shirai Kuroko's voice cracked as she pointed at him, fury bubbling in her tone.
He was the one responsible for the deaths of over 10,000 Misaka clones. To her, he wasn't a savior—he was the monster who turned her best friend's life into a tragedy.
"Save it. I'll deal with this crap first."
Accelerator avoided her eyes, slamming his hand to the ground. Vectors exploded outward, kicking up a storm of debris. The concussive blast swept through the battlefield like a hurricane, tearing apart dozens of shadow servants.
But within seconds, the dispersed mist coalesced again. The phantoms were not physical entities—they were constructs bound to spiritual law. Raw force alone couldn't destroy them.
"…Tch."
At that moment, Shen He and the others arrived.
Her gaze sharpened. As her eyes locked onto the shadowy silhouettes, her body went still.
"There's no mistake," Shen He whispered. "The Holy Grail is here."
"I found it."
Qi Mu Nanxiong blurred into motion, his figure ghosting through the wreckage. A few seconds later, he emerged, carrying a limp, pale-skinned middle-aged man under one arm—and a silver-gilded chalice in his other hand.
As the cup was pried from its owner's fingers, the army of shadow followers dissolved like smoke, instantly severed from their anchor.
"…So this was the one behind Misaka Mikoto Alter?" Shen He asked, eyes narrowing as he studied the unconscious man.
He flipped the chalice in his palm—its magic completely drained. But even without power, the artifact's resonance triggered a golden treasure chest in Shen He's system.
It felt almost too easy—more like a non-combat side quest than a climactic event.
"That's not his real face," Qi Mu Nanxiong said quietly, scanning the man with psychic telepathy. "It's a magical disguise. Skin, voice, even muscle mass—all altered."
"Kamijou!" Shen He shouted.
The boy with spiky hair walked forward without hesitation. With a swipe of his right hand, Imagine Breaker grazed the man's cheek. The moment it touched, his entire body cracked like glass. Layers of skin fell away in slabs.
The man shrank visibly, reverting to his true form—a teenager, barely seventeen, with sharp eyes and a quiet desperation etched across his face.
"…That's Azari," Index confirmed softly. "An Aztec ritual—the Priest's Skin Technique. A forbidden spell to assume another's identity by wearing their flesh. Even gender and voice can be altered."
Shen He clenched his jaw.
Azari. An operative of the Aztec-based Central American magic cabal, The Return of the Winged One. He'd infiltrated Academy City years ago to monitor the Kamijou faction. But instead of completing his mission, he embedded himself deeper—impersonating Tokiwadai's Headmaster and drawing close to Misaka Mikoto… all while falling in love with her.
"It's over," Azari rasped, attempting to rise.
He already knew the tide had turned. The Grail's power was exhausted. The last of his shadow troops had faded.
"The Holy Grail… has nothing left."
"So you used it to create Misaka Mikoto Alter?" Shen He asked wearily, running a hand through his hair. "How did you even obtain something that dangerous?"
In the original magical archives, Azari was a pitiable figure—someone who abandoned his orders, his faction, and even his beliefs, just to chase a one-sided dream. When Kamijou confronted him in canon, he was already defeated. He'd never stood a chance.
But the Grail… the Grail turned desire into power. That was its curse.
"No," Azari shook his head weakly. "My wish… wasn't to create another Mikoto. My first wish was simply to 'realize her wish.'"
His gaze turned toward the girl he loved, no longer trembling, but simmering with rage.
"Alter was born from Mikoto's suppressed resentment, her craving for strength in this broken city. It was her desire that manifested a second version of herself. All I did was ask the Grail to fulfill what she secretly longed for."
He smiled faintly.
"So I protected that wish. Even if I knew it wasn't the real her… if it made her heart lighter… I would serve it gladly."
That was the truth behind the singularity.
Misaka Mikoto stood still, eyes narrowed, neck stiff as stone. The implications burned through her mind like wildfire.
"…You bastard."
Her words sliced sharper than lightning.
With a shriek, electricity surged through her frame. She grabbed Azari by the collar and hurled him backward, driving a glowing fist into his face.
BANG!
"Because of a stupid wish—because of something that shallow—people died!"
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't care.
"I do want strength, yes! But I've never hated this city! Never resented it! And if you truly loved me—if you even understood me—you would've respected that!"
"You didn't realize my wish," she growled. "You just made yourself feel better by pretending to."
Azari's body crumpled, not from injury but from grief.
Mikoto's voice cracked.
"At that moment, when my sisters were dying and Accelerator was out of control… all I wanted was for someone to help me. Just that—nothing more."
Azari never understood.
He had sought to become the hero of her story, but he had become the villain instead.
And in the end, like every tragic devotee in legend, all he could offer was a false goddess built on stolen prayers.
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