Quick announcement: the rating of this piece is going to be bumped up from a "T" rating to an "M". You'll soon enough discover why. I hope that you continue to enjoy reading a Certain Broken Testament as much as I'm finding enjoyment in writing it!
Quick thing: thanks, tsukiyomi83 for following, both this piece and a Certain Strange Scenario! I'm thankful for your support. Thanks, FLARE210 for favoriting! It's great to have you along for the ride. Thanks, Xarserum for following! Welcome aboard. Thanks, Mr. Self-Depreciation for following! I'm glad to have you on board. Thanks, Juubi Slayer for following! Your support is much appreciated. Thanks, Destati69 for following and favoriting! It's an honor to have you on board. Thanks, for following, both this piece and Times Change! Welcome aboard!
Without further ado, let's get into response time, shall we? It's always great to know what you lovely people are saying, and I'm always interested to hear (read?) your input on matters! Your recommendations are always wonderful, as well!
Guest I: I really ought to start labelling you guys, in order to better keep track who is saying what! From this point onwards, you will now be known as Guest I. I knight you, sir or madam!
Well, I'm glad to know that the nano-dilemma is out of the picture. I try my best to keep typos out of the pieces I'm writing, though, admittedly, it can sometimes be fairly difficult to do so, especially in an action-packed scene, where words often flow without restriction. I suppose that's what reviewing is for! Proofread and proofread and proofread until you can proofread no more.
Ah! I have an excuse for this one, friend. On the matter of "he's" and "hes", that typo was intentional, believe it or not! Not everyone sends text messages using perfect grammar and punctuation, right? A touch of realism here and there isn't bad. Regardless of my own excuses, thank you very much for your continued vigilance.
I can confirm that the 'inconspicuous girl' who sighted Touma and Othinus wasn't Himegami Aisa. If not Aisa, though, who could she be? I suppose we might just find out, won't we?
I'll be honest, here; I didn't know. What a funny coincidence!
PS: The "zeeee. Nunununuuu" sound is produced during instances of Kamijou Touma's nanorobots being manipulated, such as when he pulled what we'll call a "Sogiita Gunha" and tore up the roadway, or when the nanorobots change shape.
Whwsms: curiousness is always good. This means I'm doing my job correctly, which is also a very good thing. Curiousness is exactly one of the elements that I'm trying to invoke with this piece.
Evidently, there's something inborn within Kamijou Touma that pushed him to protect everyone around him, not simply those of the opposite gender. If "Touma" is no longer Touma, however, how has such a trait, inborn or otherwise survived? As always, time will provide all the answers, won't it? It hasn't failed us thus far, in the narratives surrounding other times and other places.
I'm glad you find that particularly little touch interesting, friend; peaking your collective interests is precisely what I try to do!
I didn't think of the Roadrunner comparison myself! That's absolutely hilarious. Thanks for the chuckle! In any subsequent instances of this ability being used, I'm going to automatically think of the comparison you made.
That we will; what the next actions taken by Musujime Awaki will be are soon to be revealed – in this chapter, in fact! Read on, and find out more.
There's one senpai in particular who is, shall we say, "interested" in Kamijou Touma, much more than others. Pay attention; this senpai's revealing will be anything but simplistic in nature, and her revealing will more than likely lead to interesting results. Maybe they won't, however. You won't know until you read on! Whoever this mysterious senpai is, she has been waiting for Kamijou Touma for a while, now. She's not fond of being kept waiting, even if it is by that pointy-haired kohai of hers.
I, too, am becoming weary of the tired routine's use. It's high time that Index admit the truth, not only to herself, but to Kamijou Touma once again. Index won't get anywhere with her "keeper" through practicing avoidance behavior and acting aggressively towards him. Surely, there's some deeper reasoning behind Index's behavior.
As always, it's great to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval, and I hope to be able to do continually do so through subsequent chapters!
321jaz: and here's chappy number three! In this response, however, we'll be talking about chappy number two. There aren't even any reviews for chapter three to respond to; at the time of this writing, chappy number three isn't even fully produced! So, let's stick with what we've got to work with.
Kamijou Touma is only slightly more familiar with his "new self" than you lovely people are. As you explained, Touma's enacting of "test runs" suggests that he doesn't even know the full capacity of what his "new self" is capable of. I too wonder how Touma will cope, considering his lacking of what had carried him through the journeys previous. Perhaps his "new self" will be capable of making up for the Imagine Breaker's loss, and the subsequent loss of the Invisible Thing, or Things? Time will tell, as always, friend.
To deny Truck-kun of his victims, or even a singular would-be victim is a dangerous choice to make. Truck-kun has claimed many, and will continue to claim life after life, so long as he isn't permanently stopped. Still, you're not wrong; it certainly was quite the accomplishment. What else can this "new" Kamijou Touma do, I wonder?
It's Tsuchimikado Motoharu's job to have such information. The question is, just how will Awaki react to learning the truth of the matter?
If Sogiita Gunha had been there, he likely would've wept tears of joy at the sight.
That you do; in regards to who said girl was texting, trust your gut instinct. It's more than likely correct. At the same time, it could be completely incorrect. I've got to keep you guessing, here.
Their day is certain to be an interesting one! I'm glad to hear that you're looking forward to reading about it. I also hope you enjoy reading chapter three of a Certain Broken Testament as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
Anon Guest: I know exactly what you mean; I'm certain they'll be quite saddened to eventually learn that they might not be seeing a lot of Kamijou Touma anymore.
You're correct on that, friend; there'll be plenty more to come. You'll just have to read on to find out what, exactly, will be heading your way!
Anonymous: thank you very much for your review, friend! I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying a Certain Broken Testament.
While I have two other pieces in "circulation", shall we say, this piece in particular, like its sister pieces will be updated as frequently and as reliably as possible. I hope to hear (read?) further input from you!
Guest II: I'm labelling you as Guest II, from this point onwards; thank you for your review, friend! I'm ecstatic to hear that you're enjoying your reading of this piece as much as I'm enjoying myself through writing it. This piece won't be ending until the story is told, its narrative complete. I hope to have further input from you in the future!
February 7th, 2004. 11:19 PM.
London, England was one of the safer places where one's feet could tread, though that didn't mean there weren't threats to consider. Unlike in other lands, those that posed a threat to the citizens of this legendary place hid amongst the shadows, and preyed upon the vulnerable.
Neither of them knew it, but they were being silently stalked by not one, but two parties. One was out for everything they owned, the only thought on his mind being his next fix, the other was curious as to the nature and desires of the exceedingly young couple's apparently unknown stalker. He followed his own agenda, when he wasn't following the agenda of his employers.
Ellie Applegate and Viktor Naoumov walked quietly together, arm in and arm. A couple of eleven months, five weeks, and three days – Viktor had long kept count – their presence in the wooded overgrowth eleven miles away from either of their respective, disapproving families, and the homes they dwelt in was hardly a surprising one. The war was long since over, and the boy had never had a part in its atrocities. Ellie knew that; and that's all that mattered to either of them.
The woods were mostly quiet, the only noises present being the earthen waste crunching beneath their boots and trainers, respectively, and the sounds produced by chirping songbirds who were awake long past their collective bedtimes.
"You think you do well on test? I did well, certainly. You did better though. Smarter," Viktor remarked, softly, his Russian accent thick, his grasp of English tenuous at best. Even if her boyfriend's grasp on the language could've been better, it hardly mattered to Ellie. It was what laid within that counted; that great, warm heart of his.
"That's not true. You're smarter than I am by a longshot. I never would've understood that mutagen stuff. I think I did alright; I hope, at least…"
The two stopped. Off the beaten, partially-cobbled path laid a wooden bench, large enough to seat three or four average-sized individuals. Viktor performed a quick check over the bench's seat, his mitten-clad hands brushing away dried, crumpled leaves and smeared mounds of mud.
Having found an untarnished area of the bench that was unmuddied, Viktor sat his light-colored jeans against the mud, and patted the untarnished area with his right hand's fingers. "Sit, yes? Bench is clean, so tights won't become dirtied. I wash own pants, no worrying."
"V-Viktor… you shouldn't have. We could've just found another bench, you know. You're too sweet."
From beneath a dark-colored winter hat, long, blonde bangs emerged, as did a few inches of her hair's blonde fringe, swept to the left. Clad in a sand-colored parka, a pair of dark-colored tights, and knee-length leathers boots that matched the color of her parka, Ellie sat herself comfortably in the untarnished area of the bench, snuggling close to her boyfriend, whose arm was instantly wrapped around her shoulders. A light-colored, hoodless jacket adorned his torso. For legwear, his light-colored, muddied jeans served him loyally. On his feet, Viktor wore a pair of stylish high-top trainers, white in coloration; the worst possible color to wear when hiking in a series of unmaintained trails, in retrospect.
Another individual moved to join them. Out from the overgrowth, bursting from the twisted, broken branches, and tangled brambles he leapt, like some unthinkable, mythical thing, like something out of a fever dream.
Like two glowing headlights on an empty highway, two orbs, glowing red were the first objects to be noticed by the young couple. Some twenty-five feet into the air he'd jumped, before his feet connected with the cobbled trail, his knees bending inwards, unnaturally.
Regardless of this fact, he regained his posture, and held himself with confidence. Like some nobleman, he waltzed elegantly towards the young couple.
The stranger was clad in a simplistic outfit; a tracksuit. It was olive-colored, with baby blue streaks running down either outer leg of suit's pants, and along either of its inner arms. The top piece of the tracksuit had its collar popped, its zipper pulled some ways downward, exposing a simplistic white top beneath the track suit's long-sleeved top.
Around his neck, a cloak was tied; it was olive-colored, like the tracksuit. In the moonlight, it could clearly be seen by the young couple that the cloak had been hastily stitched together. On his head, the stranger wore a strange, milky-colored mask, with a gill-like protrusion on either side, where his ears were, presumably, beneath the mask. The facial expression of the mask was one of surprise, or, perhaps, confused bewilderment, and two strategically-cut holes revealed two glowing, ember-like orbs where eyes should've been.
The light provided by the moon illuminated what was visible of his skin. His neck's skin was pale, almost bluish in coloration. On either of his hands, he wore a glove, whose four fingers and thumb each ended in long talon-like claws. The cuffs of his tracksuit's pants were tucked into a pair of fashionable, calf-high boots.
"Well? What're ye gawkin' at, lad? Lass? Scoot over, would ye? Let a man take a seat on this fine evenin'! Me arse is killin' me!"
The young couple did as they were told, confused and utterly terrified. The stranger joined them, seating himself upon the bench. He laid his right leg across the knee of his left, and repeatedly bounced his foot up and down, as he placed his right hand, closed into a fist beneath his chin.
"Ye want ta see a magic trick, lad? Lass? I've got all sorts a' tricks up me sleeves. Jus' wait fer it; our esteemed guest 'ill be arrivin' soon enough. So, how's th' sex? Hope yer usin' protection, an' all that good stuff. Too young ta start plowin' fields an' raisin' brats, I say. Yahve gots ta live a littl', 'fore ye jump into that sorta life!"
Some fifty feet down the partly-cobbled pathway, another individual had stopped in his tracks. Though the young couple couldn't discern his features, the fiery-eyed stranger could easily do so. A dark, hooded sweater, dark sweatpants, and dark-colored boots, ankle-high.
Dark, dark, dark; the boy struck the fiery-eyed stranger as someone who was a bit too edgy for their own good. The boy probably yelled at his mother whenever she requested that he clean his room. In the stranger's mind, said mother was presumably a minivan-driving, drug-abusing "independent, single woman" who was just a bit too fond of football practice.
Either this was the case, or this individual was a vampire.
It'd been quite a long time since the stranger had messed with a vampire; a part of the stranger hoped the stalker was, indeed, some feral, blood-sucking creature of the night.
The fiery-eyed stranger began to speak once more; his voice boomed, rolling like thunder. It was unnaturally loud, reverberating throughout the woods and scaring the birds and the grounded beasts from their abodes.
"Well? What're ye bloomin' waitin' for? Come an' join th' party, lad! Papa Jack's got plenty o' stories ta tell, like this one time, when I arm-wrestled the ol' Loch Ness Monster! Nessie's a right sore loser, she is!
"Or, Papa Jack could tell ye about the time 'e wrestled a vampire! Put up a mighty good fight, the bloodsucker did, but in the end, ol' Papa Jack won out. Don't believe me, lad? I've got the bastard's head in me quarters! Bugger still talks, too!
"…or ar' ya scared? What's th' matter, lad? Come an' sit on Papa Jack's lap, and ye can tell 'im all about it! I'll sign the divorce papers for ye mum, as well! Come on now, lad! Don't leave a man 'angin'!"
The fiery-eyed stranger rose from the bench. Like an overexcited child he leapt up, and violently threw his head back; both Ellie and Viktor heard his spine violently crack.
Regardless, he didn't seem to be perturbed by this fact. The stranger's jaw flopped open, and from his mouth he vomited forth a stream of bluish-white flame, which rose high above the top of the wooded area's trees, but didn't scorch them, or cause them to catch fire.
The dark-clothed individual turned his back, and began to flee. Slowly, but surely he began to gain momentum; a jog became a sprint, and a sprint soon became a stumbling run.
"'hat nutter 'ad a bloomin' shank, 'e did. Was probably finna stab ye both up, an' leave ye lookin' like swiss cheese! Followed ya for at least a good… a good while! I mean, I was followin' ye, too, but… I was jus' curious, T'was all. Papa Jack's lookin' out for ye!" The fiery-eyed stranger explained, enthusiastically.
Falling back into a casual position, his jaw seemed to fit itself back into place. The fiery-eyed stranger offered a clawed appendage to Ellie, who could only look on, completely bewildered. Her boyfriend, Viktor, wasn't any more willing to provoke this strange individual.
"Name's Jack. Spring-heeled, they call me. By "they", I mean the bloody newspaper nerds. Noice ta meetcha, lass; and you too, lad. Fine night fer a stroll around a secluded woodland abode. Y'know, this is how all those 'orror movies start out. Nice 'ittle lass wanderin' around by 'erself, usually naked, for whatever reason; then mister 'ockey mask pops out from behind a tree! Nasty stuff. Always find meself feelin' bad for the lasses who die in those movies."
Ellie reluctantly shook the appendage, as politely as she possibly could, and Viktor did the same. The fiery-eyed stranger's gloves were soft, made of some type of rubber; Viktor's sweat-covered hand nearly slipped from it.
"Wha's the matter? Cat got yer tongue, lass? Lad? Just don't know what to rightfully say ta ol' Papa Jack?"
Viktor spoke up. Clearing his throat, he folded his arms across his chest, and produced an awkward attempt at starting a conversation. He stuttered for some moments before his lips finally began to produce words. "Thank for protecting us, if that you did. If other man have weapon, and try to sneak, that be… wussy thing to do."
"Spoken like a true champion o' the people, lad," Spring-heeled Jack remarked, apparently pleased by the response. "Papa Jack's gots ta get goin', now. He's already later than 'e should be fer a very important date! Good-bye! So long! Good evenin'! If ye 'appen ta run inta any vampires, jus' yell out "Papa Jack, save me virgin bootyhole!" and, I'll come a-runnin'. No bloodsucker 'as ever bested ol' Jack!"
The individual identifying himself as Spring-heeled Jack turned away, and, in a single bound leapt high above the trees of the wooded area. Gravity eventually managed to pull him down, but not even its laws could completely stop him; Jack began bouncing against treetops, using them to temporarily return to the skies.
Spring-heeled Jack continued on his way until he was gone from sight, leaving only a confused young couple and a fleeing, terrified junkie in his wake.
Musujime Awaki hadn't ever been one to play around, or to beat around the bush. If the proverbial bush had been a literal one, Awaki would've simply walked right through it, consequences be damned. Proverbially, she did precisely that.
In the end, she found herself regretting her decision. The dorm room of Tsuchimikado Motoharu was as unkempt as it always was, when that sister of his wasn't around to see to taking care of it. This was hardly what caused Awaki's eyelids to widen, nor was it what caused her to place the palm of her left hand over either of her eyes, and shudder in horror.
Seated upon his couch, Tsuchimikado Motoharu's pants hung around his ankles, the belt that would've held them in place tossed away. Much to Awaki's thankfulness, Motoharu's shirt covered his member, and the hand that she presumed was wrapped around its shaft.
"Uh, uh, uh shotacon-chan. Shoes off. You're going to dirty my place up."
"Forget it, newspaper boy. I wouldn't give you the pleasure."
Tsuchimikado Motoharu raised an eyebrow, and offered his compatriot a crooked grin. "Do I look like Kami-yan to you? I'm not that fucked up."
"Well, this is awkward," Motoharu casually remarked. He motioned to the nearly emptied box of tissues that were placed next to him. "Care to join me? I could use… A HELPING HAND! Get it?"
"No." The answer was swift and sure. With a nonchalant shrug, Motoharu began pulling his pants up. Ensuring that his shirt remained untucked, he moved towards his discarded belt. The crotch of his dark-colored pants protruded, a great, curved bulge making itself known. "You disappoint me. Am I too old for you, Musujime-chan? If I put on a diaper and stuck a pacifier in my mouth, would you give me a pity handjob, then? I'd even call you mommy! Or, I could call you nee-san!"
As he inserted his belt into the loops of his uniform's pants, Motoharu looked to the unimpressed Awaki, who still had her eyes covered. "Is there something I can help you with, Musujime-chan? Or are you auditioning for Academy City's Top Tsundere? You can look now, by the way; I'm being honest here, it's tucked in now, all eighteen inches of it."
"Tsun… what?" Awaki shook her head, irritably. Moving her hand away from her eyes, Musujime Awaki was relieved to see that Tsuchimikado Motoharu had been telling the truth. Aside from his bulging crotch, he looked presentable, at least. His hands were stuffed into either of his pockets.
"Tell me something. That boy, what's his name? Kami… something. What can he do? What ability does he possess?"
"GAH! KAMI DISEASE STRIKES AGAIN! EVEN YOU, MUSUJIME-CHAN?! ARE NO GIRLS SAFE?! YOU'RE A FUCKING SHOTACON! WHAT INTEREST COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE IN HIM?! WHY?! WHAT?! HOW?! I TRULY DO UNDERSTAND AOGAMI'S PAIN!"
Motoharu's uncharacteristic outburst had been entirely unexpected. Awaki raised an eyebrow. Folding her arms across her chest, beneath her bosom, she tilted her head to one side and produced a frustrated sigh. For the moment, she'd let the "shotacon" comment fall to the wayside. There was a time and place for everything, even disciplining the idiotic Tsuchimikado Motoharu. "Is that his name? Kami? He and I, we have some his-"
"I know all about that," Tsuchimikado Motoharu spoke. "It's my job to know these things. I know Kami-yan played the hero like always and called an ambulance for you after he pimp slapped you, but he's not the same anymore. Not reliable when certain "duties" come a-calling, either. We had something of a system, but he's not part of that anymore. No… Kami-yan's a bit of a liability; uncontrollable, unpredictable, not quite insane, but different, and not the good kind of different; the bad kind, he's a fucking problem."
Move Point resisted the instinctual urge to sit herself down upon the couch; who even knew what depraved acts had been committed there? Instead, she teleported towards herself the nearby coffee table, and sat herself upon its surface. Awaki presumed that piece of furniture was untarnished.
"Tell me more. I've been out of the loop for too long."
"What ever could you want to meet with Kami-yan for, though, Musujime-chan? Could you, perhaps, need his help for something? You won't get it, not from him. He's a maverick," Tsuchimikado Motoharu stated, as if that alone would answer Awaki's questions. "In the last month, he's killed at least eighteen people; deserving, yeah, the scum of the earth, you've got your muggers, your rapists, your gang-affiliated rubbish, your prostitute-pushers, nothing of value being lost… but it's the principal of the thing.
"Not sure about his ability – he didn't have one before. Can't dig up a shred of information about what happened when he was off the grid. He can… split, or something. Disassemble himself. Weird shit, not anything I've ever seen before.
"Kami-yan isn't Kami-yan. He'd be less likely to call an ambulance for you, and more likely to call it an evening and put you out of your misery. Kami-yan was a very useful person. This, whoever this is, they aren't useful to anyone. They're a fuckin' pain in my ass."
"He didn't have an ability? Nothing? Then, how did he…? Forget it, it's hardly important now. Something happened to change him, then?" Awaki postulated. "Of all people, you should be the one to know."
"You're right about that, Musujime-chan; but not even my lucrative providers have a shred of information on what's been going on with him. Besides, Kami-yan was hardly your type in the first place, Musujime-chan; isn't he a little bit too old for you?" Motoharu's lips curled into a predatory, toothy and shit-eating grin. Awaki could tell that she was being tested.
Awaki didn't flare up, nor did a blush adorn her cheeks. Crossing her right leg over her left, she shook her head in disapproval. "Sheesh. That's not what this is about, you deluded pervert. Color me curious; I never did get to see much of him, after all. After all that nonsense with the half-assed teleporter, you know well enough that the heat was cranked up pretty bad. I'd like to follow up on our previous meeting, especially after what I saw. You've seen it, his ability?"
"Yup; I've seen it, alright. Whatever makes you feel better, Musujime-chan. Are you going to bring him on one of your "purges?" Motoharu spoke. "That might be a good way to bond." That shit-eating grin never left his face. In fact, it only perpetually grew wider. "You've fallen victim to Kami Disease, and you don't even know it."
Awaki's eyelids widened, slightly. "How do you know…?"
"It's my job."
Motoharu cleared his throat, and began to rub his chin between his right hand's thumb, and its index finger. "You know what? What am I even babbling about? This could be fun to watch; would you like me to give you a buzz when he returns to his home sweet home? Or perhaps you'd like to pay him a visit when his harem member-gathering field day ends?"
Musujime Awaki wasn't interested in any of that nonsense, nor was she going to give that perverted idiot even a single ounce of satisfaction.
"When does his school get out? Three?"
"Ooohhh, she's going for it. Kami-yan disease has officially taken hold… hop on while it's warm and creamy, Musujime-chan! You've already got competition! Three it is! Get there at two fifty-nine, just to be safe! In a school, full of cute girls with tight skirts and tighter panties, you're going to have to set yourself apart! Wear your skirt shorter than usual… Kami-yan likes legs, too; he's one sick puppy."
She had no reason to attempt to defend herself, regardless; hooking up with the boy who'd called an ambulance for her back then wasn't Awaki's intention. At least, that was what she told herself. Maybe something would come of it, maybe something wouldn't; above all things, she was curious. Musujime Awaki didn't know anything about this "Kami Disease", but, such was obviously a figment of the deluded pervert's imagination.
As Motoharu continued to tease her about her apparent desire to engage in coitus with that boy, "Kami-yan", as the perverted idiot called him, Awaki's own lips curled into a sinister grin.
"As thanks for your incessant immaturity, I won't be delivering my findings regarding "Kami-yan's" ability to you. You'll have to find out for yourself, oh ded-i-cated newspaper boy."
With a wink and a nod, Musujime Awaki vanished from sight; one second, she was there, the cheeks of her buttocks pressed against the surface of the dorm's coffee table. The next, she was gone, as if she'd never been there at all. Tsuchimikado Motoharu clicked his tongue, his grin fading for only a moment, before it swiftly returned.
"Newspaper boy? That's what you think I am, shotacon-chan? Cute… very cute. It's oh so good to be working with GROUP again."
Of course Kamijou Touma's first steps into the halls of his place of education couldn't have lead to anything even remotely "average" happening to him. It was hardly a surprise to him, and it was far from a surprise to "Olivia, Kamijou Touma's distant relative hailing from Denmark".
For Touma, however, he could hardly utter his famed catchphrase. The sight before him was quite an appealing one; he didn't need an influx of data to tell him that. He just knew it, though Touma didn't quite know how he knew it; perhaps his experience, or his inner knowledge had been carried over from when he he'd been something less?
Among the chattering students who'd organized themselves into tightly-knit, but surprisingly accepting social circles throughout the long hallway just beyond the middle-high school's entranceway was one older student who walked quite swiftly towards Kamijou Touma and "Olivia" with wide, hopeful eyes, and a warm, welcoming smile.
Touma knew this girl – no, she wasn't a mere girl. She was a woman; she was older, so much more mature than others, than most of those of the opposite gender who admired him, and so stunning, so beautiful.
Long, dark hair flowed from the crown of her head and down her back, its bangs long and elegant, its fringe tied back, held in place by a red headband. Her skin was milky, looking like it would be smooth to the touch, her strides confident and held with a sense of pride few could match. Her bosom was exceedingly ample, a feature noted by Kamijou Touma. Her uniform clung to her body perfectly; with her naval visible in the gap between her top and her knee-length skirt, the uniform highlighted her curvy, divine form. If Kamijou Touma had a "dream girl", said figment of his imagination would look eerily like the woman who walked towards him.
When he'd been less, Kamijou Touma's interactions with this woman would've been timid in nature; but Kamijou Touma was far from less, he was more than he'd ever been before, more than any human, far beyond any mortal.
There was no longer a reason, no sense in holding himself back. In his proverbial heart, he held no shame for what profane acts frequent bursts of data informed him that he wanted to perform upon the body of this woman. If anything, he deserved it. Touma was enjoying the clarity that being more than human brought to him. The foggy veil's lifting brought him much euphoria.
Yet, one question stood out in his mind; could he perform said profane acts? A helpful burst of data informed him that he could, if only he was to will it.
"Desire to engage in non-reproductive coitus", comfort", "pleasure" and "luxury" were among the feelings this woman supposedly brought out in Touma, according to bursts of incoming, apparently omniscient data. He wasn't aware he could even feel these sorts of emotions, yet there they were, being explained to him in all their complexity, as if within him was a great, all-knowing encyclopedia whose pages were beyond number.
He'd been through enough; he'd been through Hell, and he remained standing to tell an abridged version of tale to any who would hear him out. Kamijou Touma knew that he deserved to have a little bit of fun.
"Olivia," Touma spoke. "You going to be okay to get to class on your own?"
"Olivia's" eyes were glued to the floor. As soon as she and her "distant relative" had walked into the hall, all male eyes were upon her, shifting away from the apple of Kamijou Touma's own eye. Her hands were curled into fists, as she repeatedly looked over her shoulder, expecting to be jumped at any moment. "Olivia" was nearly seething.
"Olivia" wasn't scared; she was furious, barely able to contain her rage. Touma couldn't blame her. Being ogled like a piece of meat, hanging in the window of a butcher's shop wasn't what she walked these halls for.
These wretched leeches had no concept of who she was, or what she'd been through. "Olivia" had interest in not even one of them; and, even in the present, they knew not what she could do to them, if she was backed into a corner. She would tear eyes, and flesh, among other things, if need be.
"Yes, all should be well," the former Magic God eventually managed to answer, her voice a whisper. "I can handle myself, Imagine Breaker. Keep it in your pants. You and I know both know this one has her eye on you."
Kamijou Touma looked to "Olivia", and pouted, mockingly before his lips curled into a vaguely sinister smirk. "What ever do you mean, Olivia-chan? I'm a good boy."
"You royally screw up, and you'll be answering to the merciless fangs, and, more importantly, the incessant nagging of the nun. Do not forget."
For a moment, Touma took his "distant relative" into his arms, and held her for some few seconds. He placed an affectionate kiss atop her head with his cold lips, and then patted her shoulder. When the two broke away, "Olivia" was quite clearly blushing, ever so slightly.
"I love you. I'll… see you, Olivia-chan, at one point or another. Take it easy, and… try not to kill Aogami. Last thing I need is to be bailing you out of some shithole reformatory."
"I will leave that to the one known as "Fukiyose-Sama", Imagine Breaker. I love you too."
With a nod, and a thin, but warm smile, Kamijou Touma's "distant relative" took her leave. Apparently, her ferocity had been projected into some sort of aura; the other males in the vicinity appeared unnerved, and were trying to ease themselves back into the conversations they'd abandoned.
Suddenly, all eyes were on Kamijou Touma; he was acutely aware of this fact, though it didn't matter to him in the slightest. The common, lesser rabble could gawk freely. He was beyond each and every one of them. Kamijou Touma knew he could stand against the entire school's student body on his own.
Touma found himself held within the tight, and identifiably protective embrace of a woman whose name was spoken of adoringly, in hushed whispers, in rumor and in legend; a woman who was oftentimes referred to as "Beauty-Senpai".
The side of Touma's face was smooshed into her bosom, likely intentionally. Her brainwave patterns certainly suggested that this was the case. He wasn't about to complain, either; the softness, and the warmness of her bosom was welcomed.
"I knew you'd show up sooner or later, my little kohai~. I've missed you greatly, you know. Where have you been, hmm? You can tell your senpai the truth; she's good at keeping secrets, you see. Have you been off getting into trouble? Oh, I've missed seeing that... handsome face of yours so very much. I could just kiss it off."
Kamijou Touma's voice was quiet, a whisper even. "You're hardly who I expected, but it's good to see you too, senpai. Actually, are you free, senpai? Can we talk? Somewhere private? I want to talk to you. I can trust you, I think, if I'm remembering the right person… my head's a little bit scrambled. Hard to explain, it's less about trust, more about you being stable enough to keep your head on straight, when the shit hits the fan. You might be able to lend me a helping hand, too. I have a little problem. Most of all… I just need to talk to someone else who's normal."
The answer wasn't the only thing that surprised Kumokawa Seria. Her timid little kohai was anything but timid, in the moment; he was clearly enjoying himself, and for that she was glad, but, he looked unconcerned. He should've been seizing up by this point, trying to pull away, but he wasn't; he was embracing it. Once or twice, he even rubbed the side of his face against her bosom, causing her to shudder, and nearly release an aroused moan.
Enviously, with rage in their hearts, the male students around Kamijou Touma muttered to themselves, as their female counterparts looked on in awe; it wasn't every day that Beauty-Senpai waltzed out into the open for all to see.
Kumokawa Seria didn't quite know what to make of the words her kohai was speaking. He was certainly acting differently than usual. He was quite cold to the touch, as well, almost unnaturally so. Seria hadn't noticed it, deep in her joy brought by Touma's return, but chills were perpetually running up and down her spine, as if she'd wrapped her arms around a great block of ice.
"Of course I have time for you, my little kohai. I can make time for you~."
Seria took her kohai's hand into her own, and lead him through the entranceway from which he'd come, her steps swift and sure. It was in that moment that Kamijou Touma, perhaps for the first time truly admitted to himself that Beauty-Senpai had a great lower body, to boot. Her legs were long and elegant, her feet just the right size. Incoming data informed Touma that this admittance was "good"; the feelings this admittance brought lead him to believe the silent, invisible, omniscient encyclopedia that was a part of him.
"This morning has been a hectic one; word of your arrival caught me unawares," Seria began. "But it was all worth it. Being able to see you again, my little kohai, is something worth working for; I'd caught wind of your re-appearance through chatter that was supposed to be private~. The news was relieving, but I still wished to see you for myself, again. Also… your hair? Flattened, like that? Handsome. Positively stunning, my little kohai. You look even more handsome than usual."
Seria caught Kamijou Touma grinning, almost smugly for a moment or two. That wasn't a facial expression she was used to seeing from her timid, innocent and mild-mannered little kohai.
"You'll inflate my ego if you keep that up, senpai. Among other things."
Seria's face became oddly stern; though Touma couldn't see it, her brainwave patterns gave her sudden sternness away, as Touma read her like an open book. Her hand's grip on his own had also tightened considerably, though Touma allowed no pain to come of it.
"Y-you're not only accepting, but actually returning my advances. Alright, there is something very wrong here. You're going to tell me what happened to you while you were "away", and you're going to tell me everything. Does that sound fair?"
Touma nodded. He looked to the bench, where the dark-haired girl had been sitting; she wasn't present any longer. The bench was unoccupied, though, it was far too close to the education facility for his own comfort.
"Somewhere quieter, more out of the way," Touma spoke. "This isn't something I want getting around. I'm already involved deeply in matters that shouldn't concern those who don't know a damned thing about what this place is really about. I shouldn't be involving you either, but, you've got a functioning head on your shoulders. I'm assuming you won't try to physically assault me for saying something you don't approve of, or start screaming at me."
Seria raised an eyebrow. "Of course I wouldn't~! That sounds like a passive-aggressive remark, my little kohai. Now that I've got you all to myself… I don't want to think that you're suffering. I'd like nothing more than to take care of you."
Their journey hadn't taken them all that far from the education facility itself; in fact, they hadn't even left the middle-high school's grounds. Some thirty feet off the cobbled walkway leading up to the entranceway of the facility, there were several small, naturally-formed hills, which were covered protectively by the rustling leaves of an old, grand tree. Shaded, and cool-looking, the small hills were a welcomed sight. There were no other students in sight, and, beyond the prying lenses of the facility's cameras, Kamijou Touma could speak his peace.
"Let me show you something, senpai. Promise you won't freak out."
"Though this is all very sudden, I've never been one to be easily unbalanced. Adaptation is key. I promise, my little kohai."
"I'm aware; I'm aware of a lot of things, I've remembered what was forgotten, I've changed. I'm trusting the person I remember; don't let me down, senpai."
Kamijou Touma's body began to produce an electronic humming tone; then, it came apart. Like clumps of his cells had suddenly split, the boy ceased to exist as a solid being, becoming instead a mass of floating, vaguely round-shaped clumps of some unknown matter.
Zeeee, nunununuuu.
Splitting into two distinct currents, the floating, disconnected mass that had been Kamijou Touma flowed towards the tree, where it reassembled at frightening speeds, becoming Kamijou Touma once again.
Seria's eyelids had widened. What had she even just seen? It would've taken people of lesser intellectual prowess longer to begin attempting to put the sight into perspective.
Seria had just barely seen something that sent one in a series of chills down her spine. That boy, that harmless, timid boy of hers had turned completely grey, just before he'd disassembled himself. Kamijou Touma hadn't even looked like a human being. He'd remained in that grey form as he'd reassembled, before numerous translucent arcs of some sort had danced across his form, restoring his clothes, his skin, and his body's hair.
"That's where I've been, senpai. They finally got me; I guess I was overdue for something like this. You know what they say about playing with fire. From what I could gather, I'm… me, this… I'm some sot of fucked up experiment. Can't do much with myself yet, but that's what I'm working on. I'm using them, senpai, for all they're worth. Trying to milk every ounce of knowledge that I can from them.
"Forced "machine-phase matter" infusion" or something. You can run now, I won't take offense, honest; If I'd seen this, before I was something more, I would've freaked, too. I wouldn't now though. Now, I understand a lot of things now, senpai. There was a fog that was lifted when this happened to me."
Seria's eyelids narrowed, and her lips curled downwards, into an aggressive, spiteful frown.
"Who did this to you."
Seria hadn't posed a question; she'd posed a statement, an outright demand.
"If I tell you," Touma began, "you'll need to promise me that you won't hunt them down, or something. I really don't know what you're capable of, and I need them alive, for a while longer. They're of use for now; the most useful of them all is this decrepit old man named Gensei.
"He did this to me, but that's not what's important. What's important is that I learn as much as I can about this, about what I am. After that's done… hell, after I'm done with him, everyone he's ever fucked over, all get together and just have a grand old time of torturing him, and everyone he knows to death, or maybe not to death. We could keep him alive, put him in the freezer, take them all out once they've healed, and start all over again. Don't go and act like they don't deserve it, senpai. They've done enough fucked up shit to ensure them all multiple lifetime getaways in Hell."
Kamijou Touma tossed himself down onto the grass, quite nonchalantly. Resting his arms behind the back of his head, he folded his right leg over his left and produced a sigh, despite lacking lungs. In truth, he'd simulated emulated the sound, based on his knowledge of what a human male's sigh sounded like. The sound hadn't even been his own.
"It's a shame I was always such a soft little thing, before. I missed out on a lot; you're beautiful, you're gorgeous, you know that, senpai? I think you do. I know you do, in fact; you're hardly someone who needs to rely on their looks, though. Your brainwave patterns are completely unique, they're so fast-moving! I can hardly keep up! You got places to be? If not, you should sit with me for a few minutes. I've got all the time in the world."
Seria tilted her head to one side. "This is all rather sudden. I need a moment."
"And those words of violence coming from your lips, my little kohai, are truly disturbing."
"Yup," Touma remarked. "Take your time." His eyelids closed, though through constant bursts of data he was informed of what made up his surroundings, from the movement of the birds in the trees to the repeated thumps of Kumokawa Seria's heart. He still didn't quite know if sleep, or if the engaging of a "shutdown function" was possible.
For a solid fifteen minutes, all was quiet. In that period of time, Kumokawa Seria had considered many things, and had weighed many options. She was no stranger to the Darkness of Academy City; hardly at all. In her line of work, it paid to remain current, and to be aware.
Eventually, Kumokawa Seria managed to spit out some vague, cryptic statement. It was the best she had. "This is a new low, my little kohai, even for "them". Know that no matter what you are, externally, I'll always love you."
"Will you, senpai? Do you have any idea how stressful this shit has been? That's one thing I can't quite block out. It gets in, eventually."
The question posed by her kohai caught Seria off guard; the post-question statement confused Seria even more, though, she wasn't about to let him know that; the jokes were on her, however, as the boy already knew. In mere seconds her brainwave activity had been identified, logged, and decoded, presented to Kamijou Touma in clear, understandable words. His senpai's confusion was both understandable and regrettable.
The boy's torso leaned upwards, effortlessly; he needed neither of his arms to support him, nor did he need to even move his legs an inch. "Every day, I'm trying to pull answers from these idiots, and every day they're trying harder and harder to keep the answers from me. It can't be all work and no play. I need release, you know, senpai; a break. I need a temporary escape from this nonsense. If I don't get it, I feel like I'm going to just kill the lot of them, and that won't be good for me. I'd be up shit creek without a paddle. I'm in a really convenient position right now, and I don't want to fuck it up. You know?"
Kumokawa Seria took her place next to her beloved underclassman. She folded her legs beneath her posterior, elegantly, and set her hands in her lap, as she looked into Kamijou Touma's darkened irises. Even if the time was ticking away, even if the bells were to ring soon, calling students to their classes, she had no need for classes, no need for the meager knowledge this educational facility could offer her; it was, however, a fair distraction from the troubles of her life.
"I do know, actually. I know quite a bit about what your predicament is like, to an extent, and I know all too well that release can be hard to find, my little kohai."
Then, the impossible had happened. Icy cold, Kamijou Touma's lips had suddenly found themselves pressed against Kumokawa Seria's own. Seria's eyelids widened, to the point of nearly tearing. He'd effortlessly closed the distance between himself and the woman known as Beauty-Senpai. As if he'd done this before a thousand times, when, in reality, he'd never done such a thing in his life, his hands found their way to Seria's hips.
For the first time in a long time, Seria had found herself being caught completely unawares. Her arms wrapped around the cold form of her kohai, and she pulled him as close as she possibly could. Repeatedly, her lips smacked against his own. They tasted coppery, oddly metallic; yet it was a taste that Seria could get used to. She knew this for a fact. It was different, not necessarily bad.
"How are you feeling, senpai? Is this alright? Not too sudden? Are you comfortable? Just tell me if you're feeling like something's wrong."
"Regardless of what you've become, you retain that sweetness I've adored, my little kohai. Yes. This is… this is good. I've never been more comfortable. Nothing has ever been better."
"Say my name," Touma commanded. With the knowledge that his senpai was consenting to this, whatever this truly was, he took control, when for so long he'd been complacent. Seria's mind was racing; just what was this boy? Who was he? He was going to end up causing Seria's panties to become absolutely soaking wet. She could already feel moisture pooling there, her womanhood aching like it'd never ached before. "Senpai? Everything alright?"
Awkwardly, Seria panted. "I'm in heaven… Touma, Touma… your name is Touma," Seria whispered, as she broke away momentarily, struggling to catch her breath. "Touma, Touma, Touma. This is what I've always wanted from you. I don't care what you are on the outside. Inside, you are… superior. Assertive, confident, but still, you've got that "Touma sweetness" to you. I'm fond of this, very, very fond. This newfound assertiveness of yours turns me on. At least a singular pro has come of your dreadful absence."
"How would you feel about gradually becoming closer, intimately, senpai? I'm glad that I bumped into you this morning. I'd love to treat a mature, understanding… older woman like you to a romantic evening, or more than one evening. I have a little bit more spending money these days, so… no worries there. Through you, I think I can find an ounce of normalcy. Hey, maybe you'll benefit, too."
Seria blinked once, twice, and then, as she forced herself to keep from instantly trying to figuratively throw her virginity to her assertive and confident kohai. Sitting herself in the grass next to him, Seria tossed her head back, as she pinched the skin atop her right hand.
"Not dreaming. Very well, then, this is well and truly happening; I'd always thought that I would be the one making requests. Your newfound initiative is arousing. The answer, of course, is a resounding yes! I, too am glad that we had the opportunity to… "bump into" one another."
Touma fully sat up, quite enthusiastically.
"Perform gesture widely considered to be romantic in nature," an influx of data suggested. Kamijou Touma wasn't about to shrug off the idea that was offered. Taking Seria's nearby right hand into his own hands, he raised its top to his cold lips, and placed a kiss to it. "I'll be… unavailable this evening, unfortunately, but, tomorrow evening shouldn't be an issue. What about you, senpai?"
Seria wasn't one to break into a blush; but she'd be lying to herself if she thought, even for a second, that she wasn't enjoying having her hand kissed by her precious little kohai. She could get used to the sensation of having this boy kiss her, especially in regions far more private than the tops of her hands.
"I'll see what I can do. Don't think that for even a moment I'll allow a small obstruction to halt me; no, Kamijou Touma, my little kohai. You'll be active on social media once again, I presume?"
Resting either of his hands between his open legs, Touma offered his senpai a polite nod, indicating that he was, indeed, active. "It'll be good to get a break, and to get a break with someone different, who isn't completely fucking insane, or completely needy. You're a diamond in the rough, senpai. I'm sorry for constantly dodging your advances, before. I was lost, and I didn't understand… but now, I understand everything."
Seria tilted her head to one side, as a sense of curiosity nearly overwhelmed her. It would've overtaken lesser people, but Kumokawa Seria was beyond such weakness. Her special brain was capable of many feats.
"You've nothing to be sorry for. Talk to me, my little kohai. Are you simply overwhelmed by life, seeking out a dependable, mature woman to support and to love you, or have you held… deeper feelings, for longer periods of time~?"
That answer to that question wasn't an easy one to provide, even for the thing that had once been a high school boy, whose mind seemed to have all the answers to every conundrum possible. The answer itself was there, as all answers always seemed to be, swiftly provided by an influx of data. It was more a matter of the moral implications of the apparent answer.
"I don't really have a reason to lie to you. It's a little bit of both," Touma remarked. "I want stability, even if I have stability in myself, or inside whatever I am. I'm still not too sure about what I'm even supposed to be. You have stability, senpai, but you're… you're also someone I know, from a long time ago. I still have enough human sense, or… I don't even know if I can categorize myself as human. You're still as attractive to me now as you were then. I had my reasons for not pursuing romantic interests. It doesn't matter so much, now."
Even if his response was more of a rambling, barely coherent mess of words, Kumokawa Seria understood. Like a motherly figure, the boy's senpai took him into her arms, making sure to rub her exceedingly ample bosom against the side of his arm. Deliberately, Kamijou Touma moved his face closer towards it, and a chill ran down Seria's spine. This confidence of his was about to make her moan. Seria had to physically bite her tongue.
"Thank you for your honesty, Kamijou Touma. Now kiss me, for a while longer, if you would. I want to milk this moment for all it's worth. I'd like to milk you, too. The palms of my hands are quite soft, as I regularly moisturize them."
Aroused, Seria's panties were soaking wet. She'd need to change them as soon an opportunity presented itself, and became possible. Alternatively, she wouldn't mind having her little kohai suck the moisture from them, as she watched on, her fingers inside of her womanhood. Seria's lips unconsciously curled upwards, into a smug grin.
Kumokawa Seria drew closer to her kohai, wrapping her arms around Kamijou Touma's shoulders, and pressing her right cheek against his cold left cheek. The low temperature of Touma's flesh was oddly relaxing; Seria felt like she'd rested her face against the side of a cold pillow, a particularly welcomed sensation. Unlike a pillow, however, Touma's flesh didn't grow warmer, even as Seria ran her own face's flesh against it.
"How long have you been having to… "take care of yourself", hmm~? It must become tiresome, after a while, all of that tugging. Would it not be better to lay yourself back, and allow your senpai to take care of you with her hands?" She laid a soft, sensual kiss upon the cheek of Kamijou Touma, whose hands had, of their own accord, fallen to his senpai's hips, as if he knew just what to do in this type of situation. He followed the instructions of his incoming data with the utmost attention to detail. "I've always wanted to make you… cum," Seria purred, almost aggressively.
"Who would've thought that it'd come to this?" Touma rhetorically inquired. He could feel things, still; affection, romantic desire. That was a plus. The tingling, originating roughly from where his stomach would've been when he'd been something less being proof of this. "Truthfully, I don't even know if I can do that still. Haven't tried."
Seria raised an eyebrow, inquisitively. "Well, my little kohai… we could find out, together. I'd love to help you explore yourself. When you're available, of course."
Her lips once again connected with her kohai's own. She couldn't have cared any less if anyone saw her engaging in "lewd" behavior; she wanted to be seen. Kumokawa Seria wanted everyone to see that she was laying her claim to this boy, Kamijou Touma.
"Grab me," Seria insisted. "My posterior. Grab it, Touma. My panties are very wet for you. I'm so wet for you."
His first day back to his place of education in a month, and here was, sitting in the grass beneath the shade provided by the leaves of a grand, old trees, where his Beauty-Senpai was encouraging him to engage in sexually explicit activities with her. Already, things were getting just a bit interesting for Kamijou Touma.
The twisted thing that'd once been a "normal high school boy" grinned, doing as he'd been told with pleasure. Kamijou Touma could very easily become used to this.