Quick thing: thanks, JarOfIdeas for favoriting! It's great to have you on board; I'm very grateful for your support, and I hope you enjoy your reading of a Certain Strange Scenario!
Without further ado, without any more moments spared, let's jump straight into response time, shall we? As the narrative we're following begins to heat up, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matters presented with breath that's just a bit more bated than usual.
Of course, those of you who choose to remain silent and follow along are appreciated just as much as those of you who provide me with your lovely feedback. I don't think I can stress this point enough.
whwsms: the infiltration begins, and it seems that our friend Aihana Etsu has found himself in something of a bind. Perhaps he should've looked before he leapt? Then again, getting himself into a 'sticky situation' might just be a good way for our sixth ranked level five to show off what he can really do.
That certainly appears to be the case, if the interactions between Accelerator and Misaka Mikoto are anything to go by. I for one can hardly blame them; there's a lot of disturbing history between the number one and number three ranked level fives.
You know, it's said that time heals all wounds, but it doesn't seem to be that way in this situation.
You bring up an interesting point; will everyone survive this encounter? Nothing is certain, and one slip-up could easily bring death swiftly and mercilessly upon any one of our heroes. Could it be said that they've really 'signed up' for this?
I wholeheartedly agree. Generally, a certain Attack Crash doesn't seem to be fond of or need outside aid, as his mysterious and arguably anomalous gemstone ability is almost always more than enough for him to accomplish his goals, however insane they might be. When you find some sort of extremely advanced power suit sitting right in front of your face, though, are you really going to turn it down? I wouldn't. I'm not the only one either! Just as the DOOM Guy. As to whether it was Kakine Teitoku who provided the massive stockpile of firearms or not, that's up for debate.
Speaking of anomalous abilities, the capabilities of, as you put it, a certain former blue haired and pierced Delta Force member seem to be far from what most esper abilities entail, both mechanically and, if it can apply to them, elementally.
In regards to Seiri, that's the plan; I'd like to expand on what their relationship is like when a moment becomes available in the narrative. It's just a matter of figuring out where, exactly such a thing can be set in place. Keeping matters in the narrative flowing naturally is quite important, and inserting a scene that isn't necessarily called for at that point in time can jumble things up, causing a sometimes considerable amount of discord.
The 'wild card' as you so accurately put it is in the deck, waiting to be pulled, and it could be closer to the top of our deck than you think; considerably closer, in fact. As for a certain Meltdowner, that's another story for another day. To learn more, as always, you'll just have to read on.
As always, it's great to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to be able to continually do so, through subsequent chapters.
321jaz: the storm approaches, and our heroes who have essentially become storm chasers are running right into its eye, head-first, regardless of the outcome. Sometimes this is exactly the sort of action that one (or in this case a group) must take in order to accomplish a goal. When caution is thrown to the wind, one outcome can become many. As you stated, it does appear that everyone has made their peace, though issues persist between our "top dog" and a certain electromaster.
I'm glad you enjoyed it! I certainly had a bit of fun coming up with it. Accelerator is up there with the greats. René Descartes, eat your heart out.
Impressive or terrifying? Sometimes there's a very fine line between these two elements, and it's often crossed. Perhaps, as you suggested, we'll get to see Academy City's "top dog" go shotgun and invoke the gun-toting prowess of a certain sunglasses-wearing Austrian. The comparison to the Hound Dog unit featured in the Academy City Invasion Arc is an interesting one to make, given the circumstances of the Academy City of the present.
If only our hero had been tied down to a table, surrounded by all sorts of occult paraphernalia! His finding of what seems to be power armor would've been even more epic. I speak of Kamijou Touma of course; good luck keeping Sogiita Gunha tied down to a table for any length of time.
That we are, friend, that we are. There's been a lot of buildup for this, and for subsequent action-oriented scenes and story arcs, all of which will be coming soon enough. The capabilities of the sixth ranked level five have been largely unknown up until this point, and arguably they still are. Gradually, the veil will be lifted. Read on to find out more.
As always, it's great to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to be able to do so through subsequent chapters as well!
ultron emperor: thank you so very much for your kind-hearted words, friend. You've really warmed this humble narrator's heart. I'm glad that you're enjoying your readings of the pieces that I'm currently writing. There are plenty more 'chappies' coming your way!
I'll definitely be taking your recommendation into consideration; the idea of having a piece whose narrative revolves around Accelerator as the central character could be a very interesting piece indeed. He's certainly a compelling individual with a lot of potential to become involved with something, shall we say, nefarious? There are also a few concepts, especially potential ships that I wouldn't mind exploring in such a piece. Keep hope alive!
I hope to hear more from you in the future!
September 24th, 2014. 6:08 AM.
The air about St. George's Cathedral had become poisoned and stale, like some terrible gas had been set loose within the Cathedral's halls; a holy place had silently and invisibly been tainted, and it would be tainted again.
Stiyl Magnus' facial expression was a testament to the fact that Necessarius' Archbishop hadn't completely lost her mind, even if it was slowly slipping from her grasp; he clearly felt that something was offbeat as well.
Stiyl Magnus really had been a loyal servant through and through.
Even after all that troublesome business with the Index Librorum Prohibitorum and the Imagine Breaker's present Bearer, even after the truth had been forcibly revealed, he'd remained at her side. Even if he did so begrudgingly, he remained nonetheless.
It was a shame that it'd come to this. Still, if the actions she was taking would allow for she and Necessarius to survive the coming, inevitable apocalypse, then she would continue to take them until the bitter end.
Finding herself in a greater position of power, perhaps even becoming something beyond the strength of a Pope would be a nice bonus.
Through sufficient grovelling great wonders could be worked; it was all a matter of pride.
In the Cathedral's Grand Hall, the enclosed space in which visitors would sit themselves in the great oaken pews during ceremonies and public masses of all originations, both Laura Stuart and Stiyl Magnus had set themselves upon the first of two sets of great pews basking in the glory of the grand, ornate altar before them, which was elevated from the cobbled flooring.
Bathed in the golden light of the chandelier dangling from the slanted ceiling high above, Stiyl Magnus leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. Laura Stuart, on the other hand leaned forward, her form uncharacteristically tense.
Why wasn't he answering? Was she not being forceful enough? Was Magnus's presence disturbing something?
"Tch. Nothing happened… your words are faulty, per usual. Likely this is for the best, either way."
"Hold your tongue; this demonic presence must and will be purged. You feel it, too. We cannot allow this to continue. Concentrate for me, now, and I'll give you a reward."
Clasping her hands and raising them, Necessarius' Archbishop placed them beneath her chin. Closing her eyes, she muttered under her breath, just quietly enough for only her own ears to comprehend her words.
"I summon your Shade, Lord Belial, Belial, Belial. True Father of All Lies, Killer of the False, Breaker of Angels and Bane of Gods, to grace me with your supreme presence. I come to bid you offering of my body and of my soul, of my shaven virgin cunt to take as your own and use as you please. Show your form to me, show your form to me so that I may serve you in all things."
Stiyl raised an eyebrow at his Archbishop's choice of foul language, one of the few whispered words he'd managed to pick up in her almost entirely silent chant, but she paid him no mind. Again, and again Laura Stuart repeated what had become a mad mantra under her breath. Laura's form shook uncomfortably, her condition perpetually growing worse following the closing words of each chant.
The Archbishop's very lifeblood began to boil within her veins as the greatest, most intense feeling of nausea nearly overtook her.
Then the air became truly stale and the very foundations of St. George's Cathedral began to viciously rock, as if the structure was being ravaged by some great quake. Stiyl Magnus felt vomit begin to rise in his throat; he pushed back against the feeling. His stomach twisted and churned within him, as if it was being twisted by a cruel pair of hands. The chandelier above shook violently from side to side like a toy being fought over by two spoiled children, as the lighting flickered despite, or perhaps because of the fact that the chandelier weighed hundreds of pounds.
Only one of them knew it, but the sky above, from London to Cornwall, and from Cornwall to Leeds, and from Leeds to York the sky turned a shade of sickly green; clouds parted, fearing the wrath of the unimaginable. The birds and the beasts fled, before they fell from the sky and from the trees to the ground, and the fauna from settlement to settlement perished; trees withered and dies, bushes stripped of their leaves, and the hue of grassy plains and fields faded from a bright, healthy shade of green to a dull, dead shade of light brown.
The summoning wreaked havoc upon that portion of planet Earth.
Before the grand and ornate altar, like a lightswitch had been flicked on, a great orb of flame, emerald green in coloration formed from nothingness. Embers flew outwards from its main mass, and the flames which emerged licked at the air around them, and at the ornate carpets and cobbled flooring beneath.
Within, the corpulent face of Belial appeared.
Grinning wide, the foul existence inside of the flame cast its vision to Stiyl Magnus, who lurched forward, stumbling from the pew and instantaneously vomiting profusely onto the floor; the raw, unholy presence of the demonic entity proved too much for such a holy man to withstand, as Stiyl's very lifeblood boiled in his veins.
"A pleasure to meet with you once more on this cold morn, where dread twists like a maiden in the throes of labor bound to die before she might meet her shrieking offspring. You have called, you have spoken truth and you have offered your… delectable form and I have answered. Has the decision been made? Has the vote been cast? Tell me, tell me true! I will wait not a moment longer! I wish to be freed of this prison!"
"Lord Belial, I have come to terms. I have accepted my fate, the fate of the Roman Catholic Church and the fate of our kind. There is simply no means in which I could hope to turn the tide, no means in which I or any in my fold could best you, Oldest and Fatherless. I feel and have felt but a fraction of your power before me and I now know that not even the mightiest of all in this world, or in any other could hope to stand against you; such would be suicide. I will free you from your prison. Then Necessarius will serve your every whim; if this Earth is to be your seat of power, then so be it. I have grown so tired of fighting."
Stiyl Magnus frantically attempted to rise, as a trail of semi-digested foodstuffs and ejected stomach acid dripped down his lower lip, and along his chin into the puddle that'd formed on the floor before him.
"Liar! L-l… liar… w-witch… w-what… h-have you… done? Selling us… out? K-K… Kanzaki. Stop you. Stronger."
Belial's grin only grew wider, exposing the mangled teeth and the sullied gums between his lips.
"Aweh, it is confused. Has it been privy to our meetings? Have you told it of what is to come? Truly your kind handles change poorly; I would weep for you, were it not so entertaining to watch you writhe in your own filth."
Laura Stuart bowed her head, and rose from her seat on the pew. Weakly, her legs carried her towards the corpulent, disembodied head surrounded by emerald flame. She didn't verbally respond to the demonic existence's question, to which it didn't seem to mind.
Turning to the pale, weakened form of her subordinate, she offered him a thin smile.
"It's quiet time. Shhh."
The vile being's jaw flopped open, revealing its long, blackened and fat tongue, along with its heavily-scarred palette. Words were produced in thousands of tongues without moving its lips; English, Latin, Japanese, Greek and Ancient Sumerian were among those Laura Stuart recognized. There were many she did not; strange click languages, what sounded like odd chiming, and many deep, guttural tongues whose words made even her skin crawl.
"Blackest of gateways! Open to this Shade's command! Let the pact be signed in blood, let my will be done!"
As if on command, reality itself began to part. The flaming orb containing the disembodied head of the demonic being fluttered to the side, a trail of emerald embers following behind. Like a hot knife through butter, an oval-shaped hole in existence was carved.
Some thirty feet high, it nearly reached the ceiling of the Cathedral itself. The oval was dark at first, like a great mass of nothingness, like some hole in space.
The very Cathedral began to tremble once more; the great metal-bound chain holding the ornate chandelier above in place snapped like a twig in the hands of a child, and it came crashing down; it destroyed a series of pews beneath it, crushing them utterly and crashing against the Cathedral's cobbled flooring. The Cathedral ceased to collapse in on itself only due to the layers of magical protection that'd long ago been set in place; even these struggled to maintain their purpose.
Stiyl Magnus' eyes widened, both in shock and in horror. Translocation magic was one thing; for a functioning bridge – what was essentially a portal – to be established, an overwhelming amount of power was necessary. Such a spell was – should've been – something hypothetical, debated amongst scholars of magic over a table behind closed doors. The sheer force of will required likely would've torn even a vampire with its infinite stores of mana to shreds.
He knew it, and yet there Stiyl Magnus was, seeing the impossible occur before his eyes, the odds being defied by something far, far beyond his comprehension.
What sort of all-power abomination was responsible for this?
Within the oval-shaped tear that'd formed in the world itself, there was something, an image of a dead landscape, another utterly broken world, different from planet Earth. Dread beyond measure welled up within Innocentius' summoner.
The earth beyond the gateway was charred and dyed a shade of sickly green, the sky, or the lack thereof polluted with what looked like great chunks of space debris, some vaguely island-like in their shapes, and unnaturally colorful streams of something that resembled miasma. Great, jagged mountains of sickly green rock rose and fell in the distance, while not even a single tree or shrub was visible. From a great, jagged mountain far off in the distance, globs of what resembled sickly green magma were tossed into the air. Down its slopes to its foot the mountain bled, the same green substance leaking.
Something was nearing from the other side, if such a description could be used. The image itself, and the something, whatever it was were both blurred to a lesser extent.
Then, from the 'other side' of the 'bridge' to the other, something out of a nightmare stepped into reality as the 'bridge' shuddered. St. George's Cathedral itself was continually wracked by quakes; what almost sounded like thunder clapped.
Easily twenty feet high, the existence that'd casually crossed the 'bridge' had thick leathery skin, tawny in coloration like the tone of a desert's sands. It lacked a neck; instead, its enormous, bestial head protruded from its barrel chest, between its broad shoulders. From the sides of its head, two horns protruded, ugly and gnarled. They curled like those on the head of a bull. It lacked what could be considered 'eyes'. Instead, two burning orbs of emerald flame sat in either of its eye sockets. Either of the beast's shoulders were clad in heavy plate pauldrons, from which hellish, sickly green fire was occasionally ventilated. Its crotch was clad in a plated kilt, adorned with hundreds of chattering bones. From high upon its upper back, great bat-like wings protruded, easily twice the size of its form. Either of its arms, ending in a three-fingered hand were as thick as the mightiest of tree trunks, as were its legs which curled like those of a goat, ending with gnarled hooves as opposed to feet. A long, vaguely reptilian tail emerged from above its buttocks, lashing from side to side. Clutched in the beast's right hand, there was an enormous, viciously curved weapon. Its hilt was jagged and crafted from metallic plates savagely hammered together, while its blade was a mass of sickly green flame, perpetually licking at the air around it.
For a moment, it looked down at the distraught form of Stiyl Magnus, and then at the complacent form of Laura Stuart, whose arms were folded beneath her bosom. Beneath the beast, the shaking of the earth subsided as the 'bridge' closed, creating a series of booms that resembled the clapping of thunder.
"What is this?"
It turned its great, bestial form, looking to the disembodied head of Belial. Speaking in both Latin and English at once, Necessarius' Archbishop understood both.
"Apes? I remember when this species was first created. This is your "great plan" for Reunification? With all due respect, our kin will be scattered further by the time these… savages… are pushed to action. The Forces eating from Usurper Varidan's hand will have tanned the hides of our idiot brethren."
"Patience, Djredreeve Argunnh. Patience," the disembodied head of Belial commanded. "The other Djredreeves will join you soon, as will the Sha'ari. You may sate your lust with them; have you so easily forgotten the tightness of my Sha'ari daughters' cunts? The softness?"
Laura Stuart's inquiry was voiced calmly and in the most collected of manners.
"Are there not more of you?"
"No, ape with gold hair, blue eyes. Not yet," the demonic existence responded in both fluent English and Latin, its vocalizations sounding irritated. "His mere Shade lacks the power to telocate more than one of my kind through an extended distance of warpspace."
Then, the beast turned to its right. It sniffed the air, and cocked its neckless head to one side. It grunted, and took a singular step forward, facing away from Innocentius' summoner and Necessarius' Archbishop.
"I sense you, daughters of Hawwah, the grandmother you would call Eve. I have no reason to harm you; so long as you don't raise your weapons to my form or threaten my life, I will not harm you. On my honor as one among His Djredreeves I do vow it."
Having been sniffed out, they emerged from a passageway to the right of the Cathedral's Grand Hall, abandoning the perch they'd held for some time. A band of battle-nuns took slow, cautious steps.
They were lead by a young woman with very short hair, bright red in coloration, even brighter than Stiyl Magnus' own. Her auburn eyes glowed beneath the flickering light that bathed the Grand Hall of St. George's Cathedral. She wore a heavily-armored, plated nun's habit, the bottom of which just barely exposed her feet, clad in simplistic flats. Though her frame was small, she stepped forward with confidence.
"Leave this place, demon, and never return. Your kind is not welcome in a House of God or anywhere in our world."
The beast turned once again, this time with the intent to look back to Belial's disembodied head. There was but one problem; the beast's head wasn't there. Belial had vanished, leaving only a large pile of soot, black as the blackest of nights behind.
Content to ignore the newcomers, the beast looked to Laura Stuart and produced a long, drawn-out sigh, as if it had been in this situation a million times, perhaps more.
Necessarius' Archbishop herself had taken to stepping forward, leaving Stiyl Magnus behind. Tossing her head back like she was challenging the newcomers to oppose her authority, her slipper-clad feet slapped against the cobbled ground.
"Sanctis-san, your interference is anything but required. You and your nuns will return to your posts; please leave. This is a matter of diplomacy between leaders."
Agnese Sanctis would've been a bit more than offended, if she wasn't busy looking past her Archbishop's form. Stiyl Magnus, that hotheaded fire magician was performing an action that was truly odd. Magnus held his right hand in the air, his fingers curled into a fist.
Then, a puzzle piece clicked into place. A right hand, a fist. The side of Agnese's cheek throbbed.
The earth shook beneath the Archbishop, the fire magician with the short, red hair, and the battle-nuns. It did so once and only once, as if a singular tremor had visited them and then took its leave. The beast before them had stomped its hoof like a child throwing a tantrum.
"Enough of your meaningless squabbling. I am Djredreeve Argunnh of His Nazgelhem; I am the mighty Ual. I am what your people would call an ambassador. I come to fulfil the pact in blood and swear you into His service. Allow me to answer some of your inane inquiries before we continue.
"No, you will not be enslaved, bound in chains and whipped for eternity. You are merely expected to rise and fight when He commands it. No, you may not keep your current faith or political systems. He must become your one true Lord; beneath His singular governing force, conflict of all kinds will be eliminated. "Yahweh" as your kind knows it is little more than an infanticidal, homicidal, genocidal, egomaniacal ethnic cleanser and must be both abandoned and forgotten. Yes, you may continue to procreate with your mates, if any, freely. Your offspring will be expected to fight for Him once they come of age. No, you will not be stored away in cages, or trapped in dungeons for eternity, only being freed when He needs you…"
Argunnh's voice became almost monotonous. "He is merciful and generous to those who serve. Serve and you will survive His coming and the Reunification. Refuse His generous offer and I will be forced to cull the lot of you where you stand and raze this offensive temple to a meandering child-god."
"Where did you… from where did you emerge? What purpose does this proposal serve? Who or what is "He?!"
The voice was Stiyl Magnus'. Frantic and wild, the magician had moved past his Archbishop, his dark robe dirtied by his own vomit. He'd managed to rise, to his Archbishop's surprise. His actions were irrelevant, regardless.
Argunnh shook its head, evidently unimpressed. With a monotonous tone in its booming voice, it spoke.
"I am Djredreeve – what your kind might call "captain" or "general" – Argunnh, of His Nazgelhem, a word which your kind might know as "hand"; I am the mighty Ual, greatest. I am what your people would call an "ambassador". Currently posted in the remnants of the world your species would know best as "Purgatory", my duties involve recruitment and politicking with kinds throughout the multiverses; it is partially for this reason that our meeting has been continuously delayed. He is Belial, among the Oldest and Fatherless, He who is merciful and generous, when He deems it appropriate. My purpose in this world is to sign the pact with crimson-drink, blood, and to swear you into His service, now and forevermore.
"Do not fear, I have had many unblotched political dealings with your kind in the past. Your kind's transition will be a smooth one; a more recent example of one who I have dealt with would be the one your kind calls "Krainikov", an influential and important individual amongst your world's affairs, or so I am told, who is among His close allies."
"I will make no deals with demons!" Agnese Sanctis shrieked, both figuratively and literally putting her foot down. Argunnh was impressed by the tailless, raging monkey's ferocity.
Even as the beast's presence, the very aura it produced overwhelmed her, the battle-nun, leader of the Agnese Forces stared up at it with a look of determination upon her face, lips curled downwards into a frown.
From a small, leather-bound holding mechanism mounted to her back, Agnese drew her Lotus Wand; her battle-nuns unsheathed or drew their weapons mere seconds after their leader had produced her own; spiked maces, bladed polearms, great broadswords and tridents were readied.
The beast merely grunted. Even as Agnese Sanctis began to swat at the air with her Lotus Wand, repeatedly striking its form from afar, the demon apparently known as Argunnh hardly even flinched; the beast looked like it was being subjected to some mild irritation, as if a tiny winged insect was buzzing around its head.
"The pact will be signed once this interruption is concluded."
Stepping forward, the cobbled flooring of St. George's Cathedral nearly cracked and splintered; the magical wards set in place prevented such from occurring, but just barely. The demonic existence left behind perpetually-burning hoofprints as it walked. Sickly green embers leapt from each hoofprint, as if each was a dwindling bonfire in and of itself.
Agnese Sanctis didn't even contemplate backing down for a moment; the battle-nuns that made up her Forces weren't made of such sturdy stuff, however. As Argunnh neared, many dropped their weapons and fled, while many more fled the Cathedral outright.
"I'll never submit to a demon; I can't say I know what's transpired here, but I won't bend knee to you or to "Belial", an aspect of the Fallen Angel. I'd rather die."
It chuckled. The beast laughed, shaking its head from side to side, as if some wisecrack had been made. Agnese Sanctis couldn't have been any more confused.
"That can be arranged, ape. "An aspect of the Fallen Angel"? What garbage are you spewing from your mouth, daughter of Hawwah? None of the child-god's offspring are affiliated with Him. When He was at the height of His power, "Angels" as you know them were nothing more than a concept with the mind of the child-god who feared and loathed Him and His power. From where have you gotten this crude misinformation? Is your species this easily duped?"
"Forgive her, mighty one," Laura Stuart spoke, dismissively. With a wave of her hand, she shook her head from one side to the other, causing her golden locks to flutter like leaves cast adrift on a mild breeze.
"She is not enlightened. Biblical scripture states that your… your people are Fallen Angels, those who rebelled against Yahweh, who Lucifer had taken up arms against. The Roman Catholic Church still subscribes to this f-false… f-faith. I w-will p-personally see to it that all forms of Biblical scripture are destroyed, once the R-Reunification comes."
The beast turned back, looking to Laura Stuart. A chill ran down her spine, causing her entire form to unusually shudder.
"Do not try to command me again, ape. I am no one's lackey."
Argunnh's great tail lashed in irritation. "Lies and slander, disgusting. Your belief system is founded on the flawed words of incestuous herders. It matters not; He will reveal the truth, and your kind will find freedom in your service to Him. Your mental conditioning will be broken."
It turned, its great tail swung quite casually; the extremity crashed against a group of battle-nuns who'd remained at their leader's side, unable to flee quickly enough. Every bone in their collective bodies was shattered, their necks broken upon impact; those who didn't instantaneously perish were rendered braindead. Sanctis herself had anticipated an incoming blow, and had rolled to the side some moments before the beast's tail lashed.
She almost wished she hadn't. The groans were too much, and the demonic existence's unholy aura was beginning to overwhelm Agnese's senses.
With its weapon raised, the beast identifying itself as Argunnh looked to Stiyl Magnus in a manner similar to a butcher looking upon the form of a lamb.
"You're certain? Once the pact is signed, the signing cannot – and will not – be undone."
Laura Stuart nodded; she knew she sent a loyal man to a grim end. To say that she cared in the slightest would be to lie. Loyal men died every day for far less glorious causes.
The loyal man was onto the game, however. He'd been onto it for some time; being able to try and defend himself was a different matter entirely.
Innocentius' summoner had drawn a series of small cards with archaic runes printed upon their surfaces from within his robe. He eyed the beast before him, never letting his vision stray from its form, no matter how much it tried to.
"Ynniron."
Magnus' effort, though valiant, had all been for nought. Cards fell from his grip, fluttering to the floor; pain beyond any Magnus had experienced wracked every individual muscle, every bone and every organ in his body; the sensation of being burned alive.
Seemingly, the demonic existence needed only to speak some foul, guttural word to torture those who defied it. Perhaps there were others with different effects, or perhaps not.
Agnese Sanctis and the surviving battle-nuns who served her had joined their comrade in agony. Necessarius' Archbishop merely seemed to be suffering from the effects of a mild headache. She massaged either of her temples with her index fingers; her body was adjusting to the unholy.
The beast, Argunnh, approached the writhing form of Magnus and raised its flaming weapon above its head, like a miner preparing to swing their pickaxe down upon an ore vein.
Even through the intense pain, even as every single part of her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes felt like they were being consumed by fire, Agnese Sanctis struggled to pull herself forward, screaming in agony with each movement she made. Magnus needed her help, Necessarius and the Amakusans needed her help.
Everything was beginning to click into place. Magnus' words rang aloud in the battle-nun's mind.
"Selling us… out?"
What in God's name, what in Heaven's name, what in the name of the Angels and the Ministers of Grace had Laura Stuart done?
Argunnh's blade came down with swiftness unrivalled; the beast's arms, and the weapon clasped in its hands became a blur of brown and sickly green. Within a fraction of a second, the head of Innocentius' summoner had been cleanly severed from the shoulders it'd been mounted between, and he perished instantly.
The tearing of flesh and the shattering of bone rang out above the pained screams of those who'd fallen. Excess lifeblood spurted from the gaping wound where a head and a neck had once been.
Agnese Sanctis, just barely on the verge of consciousness heard herself weeping aloud like a child who'd lost their parents in some crowded location. Necessarius' Archbishop looked down at the form of the battle-nun and offered her a thin smile, her eyelids closing shut for a moment.
Quietly, the eternally-beautiful Laura Stuart produced a giggle.
The Agnese Forces would come to see her Archbishop as their savior, in time. She was still so young; of course she wouldn't understand. Sometimes, sacrifices needed to be made. Sometimes, there just wasn't a choice in the matter. Sometimes, the only choice to make was to obey a higher call.
At least Lord Belial and His underlings had the decency to show themselves, and didn't simply 'work in mysterious ways'.
"The pact is signed in blood," Argunnh stated, as if some mundane, routine task had been completed. "You will represent your kind before Him in your dealings, once He takes His rightful place on the throne of this world, His birthright. Following the abolishing of your faith and political systems, you will be placed at the highest authority, among those who will serve as His extension, the governing body of your kind. You are now among His Suulo, "Mouthpieces".
The beast looked to the forms of Agnese Sanctis, and the loyal battle-nuns who'd been forced to the ground with their leader, their collective forms writhing in pain.
"Norionn," Argunnh boomed. Though the throbbing pain within the battle-nuns subsided, their forms remained weakened, unable to even lift themselves from the floor. The curse, or whatever ungodly force it had been was lifted.
"I have been instructed to maintain an extended presence in this world, to enforce His will, ape with golden hair, blue eyes. Though His Forces are apprehensive and scattered in the world your kind would know as "Purgatory", hunted like beasts by Usurper Varidan, we together can forge Him a functioning offensive in this world, to serve on the fronts of both this world and the world you would know best as "Purgatory".
"I will need many female wombs to fill and cultivate, and many male pollinators to infuse with the appropriate augmentations. No harm will come to the augmented pollinators, the womb-apes, or to their offspring. I vow it."
It looked to the battle-nuns, and then nodded in what seemed like satisfaction. Lowering itself, the beast fell to one knee and held its wrist outwards; Laura Stuart looked upon the arm, with thick, leathery flesh bound over it. It was covered from one end to the other in jagged, scabbed-over scars.
On either of the Argunnh's wrists, there was a great band forged of some unknown metal, encrusted with gleaming jewels. Hanging from the side of its kilt, Argunnh unsheathed a weapon which, for the demonic existence's size, served as ceremonial dagger. For the average human, it would've served as a great sword, requiring two hands to lift.
Placing the dagger to its wrist, the beast cut downwards, viciously parting its own flesh with great force. The demonic existence's leathery skin produced a series of shifting noises, like fabric being torn as it parted beneath the sharpened blade.
A viscous green liquid, thick as molasses began to slowly drip from the wound. It gurgled and glopped as it contacted the oxygenized air outside of the demonic existence's body.
"They will do, for a starting point. They are young, their wombs fit for cultivation, able to produce strong and capable offspring. But first, a gift; a show of goodwill between two lifeforms who have become one through the pact," Argunnh spoke.
"Suckle. Take in His power and bask in His glory. You will be the first among your so-called "Necessarius" to Drink, as newest Suul. Shake off the shackles placed mockingly upon you by the child-god. Be rid of your crippling mortality and of your fragile form. You won't be harmed, on my honor as one among his Djredreeves, I vow it."
Laura Stuart quietly contemplated her fate for a moment.
Some ten years ago, when the Great Beast 666 still floated upside down in his chamber of fluid, his fount of eternal youth and never-ending life, would that Laura Stuart have even considered bowing before an existence such as the one before her? Would she have considered handing her underlings over to be "cultivated"?
Perhaps, if the Laura Stuart of the past had been shown what the Laura Stuart of the present had been shown.
So many marching armies; billions upon billions upon trillions of eternally-marching infantry units, siege weapons, mechanical and biological alike that could break countries and kill millions in a matter of hours, great winged beasts that could pull homes from their foundations and drop them from on high, killing all inside.
A never-ending wave of demonic existences.
Where one army could fall, ten thousand more marching legions would take that army's place.
The sheer power of Belial's Shade, the might of an existence that bore not even a fraction of the power of the True Lord of All Lies would have overwhelmed even the confident Laura Stuart of the past.
So she finally bent knee before the impatient-seeming beast.
Taking a deep breath, Necessarius' Archbishop quietly wondered if the Great Beast 666 laughed at her from beyond the grave.
Even if she, the player of so many mind games, the ever-cunning Laura Stuart was to become a servant, she would yet live, as would Necessarius. In the end, she would have the last laugh. Once the curtains closed, she would be the actress who pushed on to bigger and better things.
Her lips connected with the gaping, jagged wound; like an infant nursing from their mother's teat, Laura Stuart allowed the substance to pass her lips and enter her mouth. It poured over her tongue, slipping between her gums and the interior of her lower lip, burning her salivary glands.
Glopping and bubbling the substance dripped down the Archbishop's throat; oddly, it tasted like the sweetest honey, and less like some acidic bile.
Necessarius' Archbishop soon tore herself away, after only a short period of suckling; her entire body had begun to shudder as if she was a weakened wooden shack buckling beneath the fury of a hurricane. Her screams echoed throughout the Grand Hall of St. George's Cathedral, awakening all within who hadn't previously been roused.
The eyelids of the Archbishop parted so far from one another that they were nearly torn. A mix of red, natural lifeblood and the invasive, viscous green liquid surged from her nostrils and from the corners of her eyes as she tossed her head back with intense force, her jaw flopping open, continuing to open wider as she shrieked aloud.
Laura grew. She grew, and she grew, and she grew. As her veins were nearly incinerated she grew. Her arms grew wider, the emerald-colored veins within bulging. Her legs grew both in their length and in their majesty, tearing the lacy undergarments that she'd been clad in, beneath her gown. Her slippers were torn asunder as her feet swiftly outgrew them.
All traces of Laura Stuart's holiness were eradicated, purged by living flame. The Light within her was snuffed out, the Holy Spirit that protected her eternal soul fleeing for dear life; Necessarius' Archbishop felt its departure. She felt stronger than she'd ever felt before.
All that time, it had only been holding her back. All that time, Yahweh had been limiting her potential to become something truly great, something beyond even that Great Beast, Crowley.
Strands of golden, honey-colored hair atop Laura's head and from below her brow loosened, and then fell like so many leaves just before winter's approach, pooling around her balding form, laying worthlessly beneath her, where all lesser things belonged, where they should've been grovelling, kissing and worshiping not only her feet, but the very ground she walked upon.
With the hair of her head and of her brow replaced by a blazing mane of emerald flame, Laura Stuart rose, empowered, as the heat of power unrestrained coursed throughout her form. Where eyes as blue as the sky had once been, there were two orbs of emerald green flame.
It was only once the overwhelming pain subsided that an unnatural, yet comforting warmth fell over Laura Stuart like a blanket. Neither a mortal nor a human could Necessarius' Archbishop truly continue to call herself, even if she hadn't necessarily been either; she'd become something far greater than anything she'd ever been before. Indeed, it seemed that obeying the call of this higher power had its rewards.
As she looked to the form of Stiyl Magnus, which lacked a head, Laura Stuart was hardly concerned with the fact that her actions too had consequences. Those that had even a lick of intelligence would embrace the power and the impossibly warm sensations that came with it.
Those that lacked even the most basic of intellect would be cast down.
September 23rd, 2014. 9:48 PM.
Though the world – or more accurately, the decrepit placed viewed as a rogue nation by the rest of the civilized world, Academy City – beyond the upscale house's protective walls was dark and unforgiving, among the cruelest of mistresses, within the protection of a certain home's walls there was love, and there was safety.
What had been prepared was a feast for royalty, to be served on a golden platter before an audience of irate nobles and preoccupied upper-class socialites – at least, that's how a certain golden retriever saw the meal that'd been prepared for him.
Across from Kihara Noukan's seat before the dining room's ornately-carved wooden table of moderate size, Kihara Yuiitsu sat casually upon a luxuriously-designed throne-like chair, with her right leg crossed over her left. Clad in a simplistic robe and a pair of inexpensive slippers, she sliced through the meat of her steak with her knife, holding the slab of meat in place with her fork as she cut.
"It's hardly a matter of romance, darling," Noukan spoke. With his own slab of meat held in place by his right paw, he chewed viciously on the delicious morsel, digging his teeth, as strong as ever, into the meat and tearing chunks away like a savannah-dwelling predator.
"The actions of those involved are based on scientific principal and on scientific principal alone. Cold and unfeeling, they strive for results no matter the cost. In a manner of speaking, suppose for a moment that it is indeed romantic in the sense that these individuals seek to further mankind. Did what you see, darling, suggest any sort of furtherment? I regard the results as a devolution. They were less than even the most simple-minded of primates."
Raising her mug to her lips, Yuiitsu took a long, deep sip of apple cider, the warm, sweet liquid splashing against her palette and washing over her tongue, tingling her taste buds. She gently placed the mug back onto the table from where she'd retrieved it, and began gathering spinach with her spoon.
"Of course, sensei; I'm not disagreeing," Yuiitsu remarked. "The labours of that appalling manchild suggest to me that the concept of 'Kihara' hasn't changed in the slightest. With him at the helm, 'Kihara' will only, as you said, 'devolve' further. Attempting to become something truly unique has become attempting to play God, a game destined to be lost by all participants involved… hardly romantic in the slightest. Between 'like' and 'dislike' I greatly dislike 'Kihara's' downfall."
Noukan sat up straight, balancing himself upon his haunches. Licking his lips, he shook his head and chuckled, as if he was humoring the antics of a confused young person. Lowering himself towards the bowl of milk set next to his plate, he lapped some of the opaque liquid up before he rose once more.
"Were it the works of another individual, any other individual on the face of this great blue Earth," Noukan began, still chuckling to himself even as he spoke, "such cruelty would be kept confined to some darkened laboratory within the depths of a derelict facility. They would bribe those that could be bribed and silence those that could not be… not him, not Amata's offspring. One almost must admire him; I would, were he not so overtly deranged. There is hardly a method to his madness at first glance, but all one must do is look deeper, and something will be found."
"Sensei, I've wondered… bah, it's all nonsense."
"Don't hesitate, darling. Speak freely."
Taking another sip from her mug, Yuiitsu peered into the large, round eyes of the being she so deeply admired, both as her closest, dearest friend and as her teacher in all things; academics, life, romance. The golden retriever cocked his head to one side, a curious expression upon his face. As if compelled, the young woman spilled her guts to him.
"Perhaps if I'd swallowed my pride, what he became could've been prevented. Perhaps 'Kihara' and all it stood for wouldn't have been sullied by him. If I'd accepted and forcibly reciprocated his affections, perhaps he could've been leashed. It's a foolish though from a foolish part of my mind, nothing I'd pay attention to with any seriousness, sensei. Likely not; madness runs wild in his side of the family."
Noukan vigorously shook his head, seemingly in refusal. "No, no. There is no romance to be found in such an existence. Misery and slavery would have been your sole companions in a life of that sort. The mind of Amata's offspring is like that of a child, dangerously so; he sees something, or in the case before us, someone, and then he desires it, or in the case before us, them. Once he obtains it, however, the luster quickly fades. You would have been lucky to have found yourself as a trophy wife, darling; not a suitable existence for anyone, especially not someone as precious as you."
She nodded. Yuiitsu nodded her head in agreement, finishing the last of her spinach. Noukan tore more chunks of thick, white meat from his own slab, enthusiastically chewing the morsels.
"One really does have to question where the love's gone, sensei," Yuiitsu mumbled, her words just loud enough for the being she admired to hear. "Among the children romance still blossoms, but among those older it withers and dies, I've found."
Noukan tilted his head to one side. "Something troubles you. How do you feel about this?"
"Statics show that, paradoxically, given the unprecedented decrease in divorce rates beyond the walls, within them rates have been steadily rising." Slicing the last bits of meat available to her, she readied one, jabbing her fork through its surface; it emerged on the other side, penetrating the soft meat without issue.
"I made the mistake of visiting the darker side of the Internet earlier, in search of news articles relevant to our conundrum. I'd come upon a gruesome tale. A man slew not only his wife, but his three children as well. He very well might've taken his rampage to a public space, if the machines hadn't put him down."
"This troubles you, darling. Why? There's nothing to be done. Death is an unfortunate consequence of life."
"I know that, sensei. A load off my chest, is all… not a day goes by that I don't regret…"
From behind both, placed near the edge of a baker's rack where numerous ingredients were set upon several shelves, the sounds of a cellular phone's vibrations became audible, as the device's backplate repeatedly knocked against the bottom shelf's wooden surface.
"It's quite impolite to call someone during dinner hours," Noukan spoke, dismissively. The woman who had once been – and, in a way still was – the one he'd taught for so many long years truly was becoming something unique, something to rise above what 'Kihara' stood for.
She could admit that she'd been wrong.
Rising from her seat, Yuiitsu made her way to the baker's rack. Set up against the nearby wall, it sat close to the bordering wall that separated the dining room and the home's kitchen. From the ornate, door-sized window some few feet away from the rack, a sea of golden lights, generated by high rise structures and singular homes alike could be seen beyond the home's protective walls. The soft soles of her slippers glided over the carpeted floors beneath her form.
"To be fair, sensei, it's nearly ten o'clock at night."
The caller, their identified on the touchscreen of Kihara Yuiitsu's cellular phone was "01010011 00101110 00100000 01001011 01110101 01101101 01101111 01101011". Yuiitsu breathed a sigh of irritation. Was there anything that woman could accomplish on her own?
Then again, Yuiitsu wasn't in charge of a dying City, and the many lives within. Remorse for her previous thoughts slapped Yuiitsu's face and reprimanded her by causing her stomach to twist and churn, like soft clay being toyed with in the hands of a creative child. Such was a sensation that was becoming all too familiar.
Swiping to the right, Yuiitsu pressed a small, virtual button on her cellular device's screen, which depicted the icon of a megaphone. Upon removing her hand's index finger, the button glowed a bright green, while the megaphone icon itself turned white.
"Good evening," Yuiitsu spoke, calmly. With her right hand stuffed into the corresponding pocket on the front of her robe, curled into a fist, tension surged through the young woman's form; silently, she fought against herself, within her own mind.
As always, the voice on the other end, the voice of Kumokawa Seria, was calm and collected. The words flowed from her lips like music produced by some enchanted instrument.
"To you as well, Yuiitsu-chan. Has Noukan-kun taken his medication tonight? Such a poor, poor old fellow."
"The only medication I need is a reprieve from the likes of you!" Noukan exclaimed, quite jovially. Lapping up the last of the milk in his saucer, the golden retriever leapt from his seat, taking to his student's side. "When I remarked "see you next crisis", my words were intended as jest. I did not mean it. You've become worse than those overzealous religious types, Seria-Sama."
Softly clearing her throat, Academy City's Director got down to the grim business she'd called about.
"Our mutual benefactors seem to be having trouble with the assignment laid out before them," Seria began. "Our beloved OFFICER Network, a small group of drones, in fact, hovering over the nameless eyesore my employee has taken to calling 'the Motherlode', captured footage of the number six entering the facility, clad in some type of makeshift disguise. To make a long story shorter, firepower born not of a Personal Reality might be needed to supplement the assault, at least for a short while. I can think of no better means of firepower than your Exosuit and Lite Attachment, Noukan-kun."
Though there was a distinct callousness in her tone of voice, both Yuiitsu and Noukan recognized it as being false, a front thrown up by someone who had a job to do, someone trying to separate their emotions from their duties.
Yuiitsu had a question, one which had been burning as soon as Academy City's Director had mentioned their involvement in the ill-fated siege.
"What of the machines? Can they not hold their own?"
"Armor-piercing ammunition makes quick work of them," Seria responded, a hint of irritation in her tone of voice. "I'd hoped that what I'd assumed to be hired guns, mercenaries involved in this matter for financial gain and financial gain alone wouldn't've been armed to the teeth.
"Apparently, that was too much to ask, and now I turn to you, the individuals who continue to uphold the concept of 'Kihara'; my third and final line of offense. I would much prefer not to be forced into a defensive position against common rabble who've figured out that they can pick up a firearm."
Noukan seemed to notice it even before Yuiitsu felt it; there was a deeply unwanted sensation welling up within the young woman's gut. Her arms felt too heavy to be held up by her torso, and her forehead felt oddly cooler than the rest of her body. With her cellular phone in hand, Kihara Yuiitsu made her way back to the nearest chair, situated before the dining room's table. Throwing herself into it, Yuiitsu breathed a sigh.
Comfortingly, the golden retriever who'd followed his student's steps placed a paw on her lap as he looked up to her, concern in his eyes and evident on his face. Yuiitsu set her available hand on top of the fur-covered appendage, grasping it lightly and fiddling with the paw's individual digits.
"You're fighting a losing battle, let it all end. If the United Nations are so bent on depopulating Academy City, or what remains of it, let them. The espers can claim refugee status in the safety and stability of the West, or in Europe and we can finally let go. We can finally pull the plug and let this place drift into sleep eternal. You realize that by keeping this place alive, you keep Thelema alive? You're keeping him alive. So long as Academy City stands, even as a depowered rogue nation, his legacy continues to thrive."
There was an extended period of silence. Kumokawa Seria didn't immediately respond, and the sounds of technology – the clacking of a keyboard and the repeated clicking of a mouse, among other sources of auditory stimuli – could be heard. Finally, following this period of silence, Seria softly cleared her throat and spoke her piece.
"I don't disagree with your logic; everything you say holds sense, Yuiitsu, but I owe it to the people of this City, children and adults alike, those who've forged communities and have come together despite the dire circumstances… those so tightly-knit who would be so very heartbroken if separated from one another… to try and undo what he wrought. I've been writhing like a fish trapped on a riverbank for some time, I realize this. Give me more time, I need more time. Aid this expedition and I'll reimburse you, financially or otherwise, as best as I can."
"Such romantic inclinations cannot simply be ignored," Noukan spoke aloud. "Darling, I'm quite certain that this issue can be easily dealt with. Rogue technologies are simply no match for constructions of your exquisite design."
Nodding, Yuiitsu placed her cellular phone on the surface of the kitchen's table. She rose, and moved in the direction of the kitchen, her facial expression betraying the fact that she was deep in thought. Her brow was furrowed, and beneath her front teeth she nibbled on her lower lip.
He watched her movements for a short while before he leapt into the seat he'd taken during he and his student's dinner. Reaching out, he pulled Yuiitsu's phone towards him with his paws. Noukan spoke softly into the device.
"Expect my arrival within the hour. Before preparations begin, I think it only polite to inquire… is the use of lethal force authorized? I would much prefer not to playfight with these… undesirables."
"Noukan-kun? As Director of Academy City's internal affairs, I give you this order, and I expect it to be fulfilled: kill them all."
"Of course, Seria-Sama; let us keep this 'order' a secret from my darling, yes? She has found herself… troubled. She needs no more to contemplate."
"Very well, Noukan-kun, very well."