—
The Archive collapsed into silence.
Just Hoshiro and the Spiral Twin now—mirror images standing in a sea of shifting data. Walls rippled like water. Time pulsed in spirals. The ground beneath their feet wasn't solid anymore, but woven from moments—fractured, repeating.
"You think you're unique," the Twin said. "But I've *been* you. A thousand times. You always break. You always lose."
"I don't need to win," Hoshiro replied, eyes steady. "I just need to change the outcome."
The mask tightened against his skin, syncing with the remnants of the Spiral code inside him. Pain lanced through his skull—memories not his own flooding in.
Millions of lives.
Millions of deaths.
All versions of himself.
—
Aboveground, Ayame and Kazuki fought their way through collapsing corridors. AI failsafes were failing. Spiral anomalies surged like static through the walls.
Kazuki glanced at the readings. "He's holding the timeline at a standstill. But he can't hold forever."
Ayame whispered, "He's rewriting *himself*…"
—
Back in the Archive, the Twin stepped forward.
"If you reject me, you'll lose your power."
"Good," Hoshiro said.
And then he ran.
Straight into his Twin.
—
The collision wasn't physical.
It was *existential*.
Memories, timelines, identities—slammed together like galaxies colliding. The cracked mask shattered. Hoshiro's scream echoed across the Archive as the Spiral code ripped through him…
…and *rewrote*.
Not into a weapon.
But into a *singularity*.
—
When the light faded, there was only one figure standing.
And his eyes weren't black.
They were human.
—
*The loop was broken.*
But the Spiral… was not gone.
—