Quick thing: thanks, lordgaozhengfang for following and favoriting! It's great to have you on board. Thanks, Alph97 for following and favoriting! Welcome aboard! Thanks, cloudedend for following! I hope that you find enjoyment in your reading of a Certain Broken Testament. Thanks, Nh1xx for following and favoriting, both this piece and a Certain Strange Scenario! Your support is greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy your reading of a Certain Broken Testament! Thanks, blaster522 for following! It's great to know that I have your support! Thanks, TridentScythe for following and favoriting! Welcome aboard, it's a pleasure to have you with us!
Quick announcement, here. As it stands, I'm currently preparing to produce a 'side piece', so to speak, something small but amusing to write when ideas need a couple days' time to ferment in regards to this piece, a Certain Strange Scenario, and Times Change. While this hardly means that I'll be abandoning the current pieces I'm in the process of writing, it does mean that my schedule might be changing a bit. More on this when everything is set in stone, so to speak. Additionally, I wouldn't mind updating this hypothetical piece both here and on AO3 (otherwise known as "Archive of Our Own). If you wonderful people are interested, I welcome your thoughts on the matter!
As it always does around this time, response time – without a doubt one of my favorite parts of writing these pieces – begins! Having already read over your lovely reviews some time before the penning of these here doggone words, I can say that you wonderful people never lose your touch, always bringing something great to the table. I can only hope to match your greatness, regarding the material delivered. Without further ado, let's begin!
Anon: forgive this humble narrator for not being able to respond to your review during the previous chapter's response time. In case you weren't aware, FanFiction was experiencing one of its review bugs, and a lot of things were broken in regards to the act of posting and reading reviews; there is no such thing in effect as of now, so there's no longer any barricades holding me back.
That's a good question. Thus far, Fukiyose Seiri seems to have evaded the notorious "Kami Disease", or "Kami-yan Disease", whichever you prefer, partially because Kamijou Touma himself wasn't quite Seiri's type, more seemingly in the personality department than the physical. With this stark contrast between the "old" Touma and the "new", will the "iron wall girl" continue to be immune? You've certainly got the right idea, friend; stay tuned to find out!
Guest: while not necessarily an error in and of itself, I have to confess that you're correct here. As always, your vigilance is much appreciated.
In numerous other times and places, that was indeed the fate that'd come to her. Here, however, that wasn't the case; you'll have to stay tuned in, in order to learn how Misaka's ten thousand and twenty-eighth Sister managed to avoid the chopping block.
I'd have to say that I humbly disagree; but as always, your input is much appreciated, like your vigilance, friend!
321jaz: DAYUM indeed! I certainly wasn't planning on leaving you in the dark; not for long at least. I knew I'd have to turn the proverbial lights on at some point or another, and I was greatly looking forward to doing so. While not all things are completely illuminated just yet, we're fairly close.
My first crack at writing Aleister Crowley's character was a nervous and bone-chilling thing; would I get the finer points of such a mysterious and arguably complex character just right? Would I do the character's prime canon counterpart justice in this fanwork? I was certainly hoping so, and since I'm not having rotten tomatoes thrown at me from the sidelines (at least not yet), it seems that, on some level I succeeded in my quest.
Not only are the circumstances different, but the individuals in question are quite different as well. When pushed to the edge, Aleister Crowley is more likely to simple find a way to worm himself away from said edge, rather than allowing himself to plummet.
Kamisato Kakeru and Ash Ketchum of Pokémon fame might just have something in common, though to be fair, Ash hasn't managed to get himself trapped within the pocket dimension inside of his own right hand. Not yet at least.
Quite. Should word get to this newly-introduced Majin that harm came to his "sugarplum", I for one have good reason to believe that, as you suggested, all Hell will break loose, or simply be loosed on command; as if Kamisato Kakeru needs more of that.
Love makes otherwise rational individuals do irrational things. Love is one of the most potent forces in the universe, in any universe for that matter. The concept of killing, even, for love is hardly one which is unheard of among our own species; so-called "crimes of passion" are all too common. Regarding comic book villains, you caught me red-handed; both Marvel's Thanos and DC's Darkseid served as inspirations for Majin Subaru's physical appearance, and, to an extent, his personality and goals as well. Of course, inspiration is just that; there's plenty of original material I plan to bring to the table, in regards to Majin Subaru.
I absolutely promise that you won't be left in the dark regarding what happened to the Imagine Breaker, how and why it seemingly left the earth behind, and just how in the world it managed to end up in the possession of a Magic God dwelling on Neptune's moon.
Despite the changes that are evident between multiple times and places, it seems that here are elements that remain the same; he Kihara family is evidently among these elements. It took the power of an almighty, unflawed Magic God to unmake their family's evil; that's quite a lot of power.
While you're certainly not incorrect (in a situation like this, I hardly believe there to be 'wrong answers' to begin with), I also believe that the 'subject's' state of being had something to do with Touma's decision to put the poor creature out of its misery. If he'd been in possession of the Imagine Breaker, perhaps her transformation could've been reversed; but without it, there was likely very little hope. Touma very likely felt like he was doing the unfortunate thing a favor. I'd argue that he did.
I'm just as curious; though, if the events that unfolded before us are any indication, Kamijou Touma has a fairly (and surprisingly) healthy relationship with Dr. Arthur Roosevelt, the man who has taken to acting as the being's psychiatrist.
Kihara Gensei's overt disregard for the safety of those working beneath him, his own well-being and the well-being of outsiders who should rightfully be well beyond the grasp of his depraved hands raises some questions. Has the elderly Kihara completely lost his mind, or does he perhaps think himself beyond the likes of the Accelerator and the Railgun, both of whom would obviously come to the Sister's defense? I suppose we'll have to read on and find out, won't we?
Nanorobotics are fascinating; believe me, friend, I too have done my research.
As always, it's great to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to continuously do so through subsequent chapters.
whwsms: while a permanent fix seems to be beyond the capabilities of FanFiction's administration, I suppose we'll have to not take our regular bouts of our review system's functionality for granted, and embrace it while we have it, and, as humans do, long for it when we don't have it. Regarding the element of romance, there's a time and place for everything, as a certain professor once said.
As always, your eagle-eyed analysis proved to be a wonderful read, friend. Not only will more than one Magic God become an integral part of Broken Testament's narrative, more than one Magic God might also bring about a bout of internal conflict within our hero, regardless of the fact that he's been permanently changed; one doesn't just forget about being destroyed thousands of times, after all.
Regarding "Olivia-chan's" potential sensing of the being known as Magic God Subaru, we'll be getting a brief, if better view of that in this very chapter, in fact.
It seems that committing atrocities and thinly covering up their actions by dismissing them as 'science' is a common element shared by the Kiharas throughout the multiverse. I'd loathe to see what might happen if the Kiharas of the multiverse met one another and formed a 'superfamily' of some kind.
Would I mind seeing the badass fighter girls of the Kamijou Faction coming together to destroy the depraved Kihara family, especially the likes of the mentally ill (or otherwise completely and utterly evil) Kihara Gensei? Absolutely. There're very few things I'd like to see more, in fact!
Unless Touma decides to start carrying magnets (or an electromaster, hint hint) around with him, such a thing could very well occur at a particularly unfavorable moment.
As always, I think it's great that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to continuously do so, through subsequent chapters.
The soft, concerned voices of her two friends were filtered out by her frightened higher mind as she sat on the cold, but comfortingly familiar surface of a metallic bench, bolted to the brown, cobbled ground just outside of a small café in Academy City's seventh school district.
Othinus – and in the moment she knew herself to be Othinus, and not "Olivia, Kamijou Touma's distant relative hailing from Denmark" – had only moments ago recovered from an all-too-familiar sense of dread, an overwhelming desire to flee as far as she could creep up her spine. It was simple, primal and easily understood.
Someone beyond the even the scope of the power she'd once wielded as "Majin Othinus" was nearby.
"Son of a b… bugger. Why are YOU here? Wait. No. It's not you… you're incomplete. An echo, nothing more, a diluted mass, a puppet dangling from so many strings. Whatever business you may have, do not bring it here, Mad Tritonian… ironic for me of all beings to call anyone "mad."
"…Olivia-chan…? Do you want to talk about it?"
"Olivia-chan, is everything okay? You're really pale. I think you might need to start taking some vitamin D supplements, and some vitamin C to help boost your immune system. I think you're sick."
"Himegami, Fukiyose. Sit with me. Side stitches; I think I overexerted myself during our physical education class. Just sit with me for a short while."
Kamijou Touma stared down the Sister before him, who'd risen from her seat at the pitifully small table. She looked blankly at him, tilting her head to one side; her hair's fringe, as well as its bangs drifted to the same side.
"Misaka is ready to engage the Savior, Misaka announces as she attempts to convince those who have taken her and the Savior hostage that she feels even a modicum of confidence. Misaka also feels inclined to inform you that Misaka is only a level one failure and won't provide you with much of a challenge."
Outwardly, Kamijou Touma projected a confident and calculating persona. His lips curled up into a grin, as he rested either of his arms behind his head, interlocking his fingers as he approached the Sister. For only a moment, Touma allowed the grin to fade, and flashed the Sister the most sympathetic of looks, as if to say "I don't mean anything that I'm about to say."
"A level one clone? That's all? Academy City, the so-called "most technologically advanced" City in the world can't even consistently produce level threes, or level fours? What a fucking joke; it's so funny that I'm completely incapable of laughing. I knew the perpetually-rotting old men who experiment on little girls were incompetent, but... this is a whole new level of fucking hilariously awful."
He didn't exactly know it, but Kamijou Touma found himself in a similar situation to Academy City's number one strongest esper. As the Network's savior approached, grinning madly, this fact wasn't lost on the Sister, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight either. For only the most fleeting of moments, the Sister almost saw him as a once-savior, someone who'd irreparably been broken.
But the wink that came reassured her. The momentary lapse in the façade, in which the eyelids of Kamijou Touma's right eye closed, and then reopened helped the Sister to harden her heart and put her complete trust in him, the Savior of the Misaka Network.
She leapt to the side, paying no mind to the school uniform that'd been assigned to her some time ago. Her form hit the ground, physically unharmed.
Where she'd been standing, the flooring was torn away by a series of viciously lashings; Kamijou Touma's right arm had broken apart, becoming a swirling, swarming mass of nanorobotic machine-phase matter. Touma had manually increased the density of the barely-connected cluster of nearly microscopic machines just as it had been swung downwards; the force applied to the flooring was equal to that of an object being struck down by an oncoming train, travelling at well over two hundred miles per hour.
He was hardly finished.
Kamijou Touma spun on his heel, winking at the Sister before him. She crouched, and where her neck had been, two long, lashing nanorobotic whips cracked at the air, mechanically humming as they were then retracted to their main mass. If the Sister's neck hadn't been severed completely, it would've been irreparably broken.
"Let's try something else. Even if you are just a level one failure," Touma began, that look of not only sympathy, but deep regret returning, and then fading as quickly as it had previously, "we should find out if you can keep up in a moment of aerial conflict. Kihara-sensei wants a show? Kihara-sensei will have a fucking show. Make this exciting for me."
Instincts took hold for a moment, and Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight proceeded to take some few steps away from the form of the Network's savior, tiny, weak torrents of electricity jumping around her form, from her forehead and from the tips of her fingers.
At first, they resembled enormous, grey-colored carpets. Protruding from Kamijou Touma's back, there were four of them in total, two on each side.
Then they began to take shape. Buzzing and working dutifully to obey their master's commands, nanorobotic machine-phase matter twisted and churned, each protrusion quickly taking the form of a great, angelic wing. Each beat against the fetid air of the Sphere and lifted their master from the ground, freeing him from its oppression.
Without warning, without a wink, Kamijou Touma broke into a nosedive; he plummeted purposefully, his great, grey wings beating a mile a minute.
He didn't dive towards the Sister, however. He curved in mid-air, nearing the leftmost section of the Sphere's walling.
Elsewhere in the facility, a certain elderly man with an oddly-shaped birthmark upon his forehead clicked his tongue.
Kamijou Touma connected with it; synthetic material clashed with synthetic material as Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight watched on, utterly deadpan.
One bent, cracked, screamed and gave way while the other resisted and pushed back against the kinetic force applied.
The thick, metallic walling shattered and was surrendered beneath Kamijou Touma's relentless onslaught. Metallic support beams and reinforcing metallic sheets within were both torn just as easily, while internal wiring effortlessly snapped, producing torrents of bright, golden sparks from within the leftmost section of the Sphere's walling.
Downwards, Kamijou Touma forced himself, his four great wings beating against the mouldering innards of the Sphere's walling, internal supports and tangled masses of wiring snapping and breaking beneath his will. As sparks and loose, jumping strands of electricity danced across his form, his outer layer of machine-phase matter was broken. The 'wounded' nanorobotic units turned tail and fled, diving into the main mass in order to receive the necessary repairs.
Another great, gaping wound was created in the leftmost section of the Sphere's walling, at the bottom where the flooring and the walling connected. The Sister just barely managed to stumble out of the way of the debris that was flung outwards. Beyond the Sphere, an alarm had been triggered some time ago; its wailing rang out, nearly deafening the Sister who'd taken to covering her ears with the palms of her hands. The internal lighting of the Sphere faded and then died completely, as did the lightning beyond the Sphere. Throughout the corridors of the facility, the only sources of illumination were bright red, repeatedly-blinking hazard lights, mounted within each and every ceiling.
"Misaka is almost glad that she was forcibly disconnected from the Network, Misaka admits, glad that other units do not have to bear listening to the horrid sound that wracks Misaka's mind."
From behind the Sister, the calm, collected voice of Kamijou Spoke over the hellishly loud wails of the facility's alarm system. Either of his hands had fallen to her shoulders, and they gently massaged her. How he'd managed to get there, the Sister didn't quite know.
"I'm really sorry for what I said earlier, sweetheart. I didn't mean a single word of it; the old man couldn't know that anything was out of the ordinary, and now you see why, right? I wanted to take him off-guard, and my gambit seems to have paid off.
"Even if you are a level one, you're still so, so great, and you can do such great things if you put your mind to it. You're so much more than just "a clone". Never forget that. You're… you're you, whatever that means to you.
"Now, listen carefully to me, alright? I know the alarm is loud, but I need you to stay as calm as you can. I've got you, and I won't let go until you're safe and sound. I can see just fine in the dark, so I'm going to take your hand and guide you, alright? Does that sound good to you?"
No immediate verbal response came, but Touma felt the Sister's left hand slip into the cold, but reassuringly softened palm of his own right. His fingers closed around the Sister's hand, and he carefully took the lead.
She was shaking. Her entire form felt as if it was violently vibrating, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
"M-M… M-Misaka d-doesn't k-know… w-what happened to the S-Savior… M-Misaka struggles to… say, pointing out the s-stark differences between the a-average human b-being and the Savior's c-current physical a-appearance… M-Misaka t-trusts the S-Savior, because the S-Savior sounds l-like the Savior. M-Misaka trusts you."
Indeed, Kamijou Touma, while lacking his outer layer of nanorobotic machine-phase matter was quite the sight to see, especially for the uninitiated.
His form resembled that of a perfectly generic human body lacking its exterior layers of skin. Rather than being colored a pinkish red, however, Touma's form was dark grey in coloration. Currents of shifting nanorobots danced across his form, making him seem as if he was made up of some sort of liquid substance, rather than (technically) being a solid structure.
Into the ugly, gaping maw the two carefully stepped. Wires loosely dangled from the "ceiling" that Kamijou Touma had carved out, like so many tendrils of some aquatic horror. Sparks continued to dance from the "walls" and "ceiling" alike, which Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight repeatedly ducked beneath or moved out of the way to avoid. The flooring could hardly be called such; it was bumpy, bound with thick support beams, many of which the Sister found herself nearly tripping over.
"One minute," Touma stated. "Watch this. Maybe you'll find it as funny as I do. First time I did this, the old man got pretty pissed. Watching him try to hide it was… amusing."
Detaching his hand from the Sister's, he moved towards the nearby section of interior walling, which was periodically illuminated by leaping torrents of sparks and jumping streams of electricity.
Kamijou Touma's entire form increased its density. The main mass didn't slow in its movements, but its footfalls became heavier, crunching and crushing support beams beneath it and leaving behind obvious dents in the "flooring".
Through the section of interior walling directly before him Kamijou Touma crashed; it broke apart as he casually walked into it, forcing it to bend to the will of his main mass. He didn't stop moving until that section of interior walling had given way, snapping and screaming as support beams and plates of welded metal were forcibly parted.
He was absolutely monstrous, like something out of a horror film. He seemed to be unstoppable.
And yet the ten thousandth and twenty-eighth clone of Misaka Mikoto followed him through the gaping maw in the walling he'd created, without so much as a second thought and without hesitation. He gently took her hand back into his, and smiled as his outer layer of machine-phase matter was restored. As his soft-looking light skin and his flattened, coal-colored hair returned, the Sister smiled back.
Then, Kamijou Touma and the Sister heard a strange, deep and booming, yet paradoxically almost childlike voice.
"Glubulus get to go for walk?! No more zappy cage?! Playtime already?! Good to stretch legs! Gensei make Glubulus his "avatar of death!" Fun time! HEEEEEEE!"
Touma turned to the Sister who'd deigned to stay at his side. Though they'd successfully escaped the confines of the Sphere and had found themselves in an open, sterile corridor, the former was hardly feeling any more secure. The latter didn't quite understand what was happening.
"Sweetheart, we need to move, and we need to move now. Glubulus is someone… no, not quite… It's something you don't want to meet. We need to find an elevator, something to get us to the main floor, or a staircase that goes upwards, something of the sort. Do you by chance have the same magnetic senses as your Onee-Sama?"
"Misaka can only detect certain materials such as a limited number of high and low density metals, Misaka elaborates as she answers your question to the best of her ability," the Sister spoke. "Misaka can feel stairs that lead up nearby, but they're damaged. Misaka can feel the aforementioned stairs because they're made of steel, Misaka explains."
Touma gently gave the Sister's arm a tug. "It'll do, I can work with that. Lead me there, please and thank you? We need to get away from here. Do you feel the vibrations? I don't want to scare you, but Glubulus is only a few floors above us, by the sounds of it, they must've had him in the Eugenics Lab. Guess that'd make enough sense… let's just say he'd probably give your Onee-Sama trouble if they fought, and leave it at that."
For some time, the two walked together, Touma occasionally tugging on the Sister's arm as gently as he could when the vibrations grew too close for his liking. Once in a while, the existence Kamijou Touma had identified as "Glubulus" would bellow loudly about "bunny baskets" and "petting da cute girls". With the Sister as his guide, Touma passed through corridor after corridor, and room after room, all of which seemed to have been emptied.
"Through this door, Misaka orders," the Sister spoke in a dull, unenthused down that unsettled the being that'd once been a normal high school boy. Stopping before the reinforced thing, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight tugged on the doorknob. When that failed, she then shocked said doorknob with as much electricity as her Personal Reality could generate, which wasn't all that much. The door didn't budge, regardless of the Sister's commendable attempts.
Kamijou Touma brought it down by taking some few steps back, and then barrelling into it; with his mass's density increased, his form had taken on the weight close to that of a small SUV. Digging his heels into the tilted flooring, he'd brought himself to a stop as his form's density returned to its previous, standard issue amount.
The Sister had been correct, though Touma hadn't had any sort of real doubt within himself, and apparently his omniscient data agreed, as it had remained oddly silent regarding the clone of Misaka Mikoto.
Just as Touma rose, there was a sudden flash, a bang, and a trail of smoke, forming from the upper landing of the staircase. A red dot had landed upon Kamijou Touma's forehead, and a single, carefully but quickly-aimed shot had made its mark.
Though the Sister was unable to see it, due to having retreated, holding her shaking form against the exterior wall beyond the staircase, listening intently for the approach of those who would seek to harm her or the Network's Savior, there was a crater in Touma's forehead, exposing interlocked, web-like strands of nanorobotic machine-phase matter; but Touma didn't fall, and he didn't falter. He wasted no time; his great, nanorobotic wings reformed after jettisoning from his back, and he leapt to the highest platform, where his assailant had evidently taken point. Touma doubted this assailant to be the only one; there was likely a hired gun turned assailant perched at every staircase in the facility.
The old man could teach Touma a thing or two about being paranoid.
Clad in heavily-plated, thick and likely bulletproof body armor, with their head protected by an equally heavily-armored, full-face tactical helmet, the assailant whose gender couldn't be discerned by Kamijou Touma fired again, their finger mercilessly and thoughtlessly pressing down upon the trigger of their rather unwieldy-looking combat rifle. The being who'd once been a normal high school boy couldn't even tell if the assailant was a human, or a suit of some sort of automated armor.
Electrified rounds, likely specially designed (or at least ordered) by the old man himself for an occasion as the one that was unfolding within the facility bit into Touma's main mass, temporarily damaging his delicate outer layer of soft, fleshy machine-phase matter once more.
Regardless of this fact, skinless, grey-colored "liquid" Kamijou Touma could only shake his head. As he approached, undaunted, his assailant continually backed further and further away, at one point tossing an emptied magazine from his firearm and swiftly replacing it with one which was apparently full, or at least had spare ammunition available.
Each wound made was swiftly regenerated, as both undamaged and damaged clusters of Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic units came to the aid of other damaged clusters. From the inside out his wounds were closed, strands of machine-phase matter lashing and winding around one another.
"Go home to your wife. Is this really worth it? What's this place to you, what's the old man to you? There aren't enough bullets in the world to kill me. Go home and quit this existence. There's nothing here for you."
The assailant, apparently unable or unwilling to provide Touma with a verbal response continued to douse his target's form in electrified rounds, which temporarily paused, but didn't seem to be capable of permanently halting the buzzing, swarming monstrosity's advance.
"On the count of three," Touma began, frustration becoming evident in his tone of voice, "if you don't cut that out, I'm going to hurt you. A lot.
"Three.
"Two.
"One…"
Touma's demand wasn't met.
There was a vocalization, suddenly; wordless and primal, it was a scream of agony, muffled by a full-face tactical helmet.
Kamijou Touma's left hand had morphed and had taken the shape of a sharpened blade, like the head of a medieval pike. The sharpened, hardened and dense collection of nanorobots had bit into the assailant's shoulder, causing thick, oozing lifeblood to spill from the wound as bone matter was shattered beneath the pointed blade's tip.
Breaking apart, Kamijou Touma ripped his blade-hand out from within his foe, before his mass swarmed around the assailant, beneath the assailant's left arm, where Touma reformed behind them. Touma again thrust his blade-hand directly through his foe's opposite shoulder, bringing about a pained groan, which escaped from their lips, the low gurgling sounds again muffled by the helmet. Both hands, returning to their proper forms delivered a flurry of punches – sixty, in the span of a single second – to his foe's back, utterly breaking the assailant's will and sending him crashing to the ground with a monstrous thud.
"So… there is a person in there," Touma remarked, raising his right hand's fingers to his chin. He scratched it, curiously, as if he was pondering some great mystery. "Curious; and here I was thinking that you were a machine or something. Guess it makes enough sense; machines don't scream when you stab them, after all."
Touma turned, as a new, yet old voice spoke aloud; Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight had entered the mouldering stairwell, and then proceeded to push herself against the nearest section of inner walling. Small currents of electricity leapt from her form as she silently attempted to contemplate some plan of action. As an unarmed level one esper, the Sister had very few options in her arsenal.
"Misaka's ears bore witness to the imminent arrival of more undesirables, Misaka explains, attempting to inform the Savior as best as she can of the direness of the situation at hand."
"Going to need to borrow this, friend," Touma firmly stated.
After swiftly pushing it back in for another pleasurable, if short round of physical torment, Touma began pulling his bladed arm from within the assailant's upper torso, causing the muffled, distinctly male voice projected from beneath the tactical helmet to shriek aloud once more.
Kamijou Touma proceeded to crouch over the assailant's writhing form, and scavenged his discarded weapon. He fiddled with the weapon for a short while until he found its safety mechanism, and then tossed it down below, to the clone of Misaka Mikoto.
With great agility and a sense of grace Touma had no choice but to admire, the Sister caught the firearm in her arms, the barrel pointing towards the tiled flooring beneath her feet.
The Sister frantically moved towards the staircase, which she then climbed; even as the rusted, metallic thing shrieked with each of her footfalls, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight didn't consider turning back even once. No longer unarmed, the Sister felt just a little bit more confident.
As the Sister began to toy with the firearm, Touma leapt from the upper landing of the staircase. He hit the tiled flooring below with a thud of considerable force, though it was still dwarfed by the vibrations coming from above. Nearer and nearer they grew, and with each thundering stomp, Touma became more and more uneased.
"Glubulus smell cutie-pie babby! Don't scared little cutie-pie babby, Glubulus take good care! Pet and love and smooch! Glubulus Gensei's "avatar of death!" YAAAAY!"
Rethinking his previous actions, Touma beat his nanorobotic wings, and returned to the upper landing of the staircase with a mighty leap.
Evidently, the Sister had successfully gotten the "borrowed" firearm in working order. With the weapon's long, knob-like safety mechanism pulled back, the Sister held the weapon professionally, like she'd always known how to properly carry such a thing.
Touma had only focused on the Sister for a moment, however; there was still the matter of the writhing, pained, and perpetually-bleeding assailant. He'd managed to get himself onto his knees – a feat that impressed Kamijou Touma greatly – but that was as far as he'd gotten. Like a toddler he crawled forward as lifeblood dripped from his wound.
"He'll snitch if we don't do something," Touma spoke. "I've got this. Gear's probably bulletproof, so it's not as easy as blowing his brains out. I'll just get this helmet off, and…"
The Sister had leapt behind Touma's form, and the form of the crawling, wounded assailant at the right time; she'd seen them first, and had been given a fair amount of time to react before the hail of lead came pouring down upon them, ironically enough, from below the staircase.
Clad in protective gear identical to that of their fallen comrade, a trio of hired guns had followed the trail of damage left behind by Kamijou Touma, and the Sister by association.
She took the moment by the horns like a bull, and rose from behind Kamijou Touma. With her finger on the trigger, the Sister dumped a short burst of rounds into those who'd approached, spraying them with ammunition before she quickly ducked behind the Network's Savior once more, anticipating a retaliation.
Though the short-lived assault hadn't taken their lives, it had certainly caught the group off guard.
As if the situation hadn't become hellish enough, there was a tremendous thud from above the scene, and a few meters outside of the stairwell; ceilings crashed inwards where they met face to face with flooring, metallic support beams were torn and destroyed and sparks flew. Torrents of electricity leapt freely from damaged internal tech.
"OWCHIE! Glubulus faaaaallllll! Huuuurrrtttttttttt, angry now! Glubulus KILL!"
"Fuck them," Touma snapped. "We need to move, NOW."
The Sister silently took to Touma's side, keeping her back to the Network's Savior and her "borrowed" weapon's barrel trained in the direction of those who rushed towards the staircase, occasionally firing bursts of ammunition at them, her small form was wracked by the firearm's recoil each time.
Into yet another corridor, identical in design to those both parties had previously encountered the duo moved, just as there was a crash from within the stairwell; metal was torn, and tiled flooring was broken like panes of glass struck with a particularly large stone.
Then, a cacophony became audible. A symphony of agonized screams was performed live on Broadway from within the stairwell. The sounds of plated armor being torn asunder was one not recognized by either Kamijou Touma or the Sister, but the sound of flesh being parted was. What sounded like so many long, thin objects being violently whipped through the air preceded each ripping noise.
Touma grabbed the Sister behind him. Pulling her close, the being who'd once been a normal high school boy held her close to his chest, his arms around her waist. The doors of an elevator shaft were nearby; rusted and uncleaned, their dark brown paint chipped. Regardless of its poor condition, it would do.
A third arm was formed from Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic machine-phase matter; it rose, and emerged from his back, below the area from where his wings had jettisoned. Its fingers pushed the higher of the two buttons mounted to the wall adjacent to the elevator shaft's doors. The button was pushed inwards, got caught within its own small container, and then was violently pushed outward as the spring mechanism within snapped back into place. To Touma's relief, the button glowed a dirty shade of light blue.
"Misaka appreciates the short ride provided to her by the Savior, but Misaka can stand on her own now, Misaka explains, attempting not to insult the Savior or come off to you as "ungrateful."
"Oh… my bad, Misaka. Sorry. Panicked."
The Sister was set down on the soles of her buckled loafers. She raised her "borrowed" rifle, and peered into the scope mounted upon it. Throughout the corridor from which the duo had fled – and Kamijou Touma could fully admit that he'd fled – there were many vibrations, accented by the sounds of dirtied, tiled flooring being torn up like loose steppingstones beneath the hurried footfalls of a particularly anxious jogger.
Then, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight, the mere level one esper, the simple clone, one of thousands of the Railgun, Misaka Mikoto, laid eyes upon the single most terrifying thing she'd ever seen. She was terrified of it, it caused her heart to slam far too quickly within her than it should've been, and yet she felt so deeply sympathetic towards it.
Its form was plump, almost as if it was carrying something within it; both Kamijou Touma, who'd turned to face the lumbering thing and the Sister alike silently hoped it didn't have a functioning uterus. Its stitched flesh was made up of many different pigmentations; shades of brown, pale white and bright, fleshy pink were among the hues visible on its round torso. Its eyes were round and wide, its pupils too small for their irises and whites. It lacked any visible ears upon its bald, stitched head, and a large metallic mask was set over the section of its face where its mouth and nose should've, or might've been. From this mask, many ends of many long tubes, filled with a viscous, perpetually-flowing orange substance were attached. The other ends of these tubes were inserted into a large, crude-looking tank, from which more tubes jettisoned, these "plugging" into the center of the construct's bloated stomach. The right half of its lower body, including its waist, one of its legs and one foot were protected by thick sheets of some metallic substance, both welded and hammered together with enormous, thick-looking nails. The left of the bloated construct's form was bare, with numerous crude-looking pipes protruding from the construct's flesh, bellowing a thick, orange-colored mist. Where a right hand should've been, there was an enormous syringe-like weapon, filled to the brim with a substance that was the color of vomit, and where a left hand should've been, long, metallic wires hung from a fleshy stump, dragging behind the construct.
"Play with Glubulus? Catch you, catch you!" the thing wailed aloud, stomping towards Kamijou Touma and the Sister, whose firearm had been raised to the construct's bald head, the firearm's barrel aligned with the horror's face.
The Sister dumped a dozen rounds into the lumbering construct's stitched flesh, provoking an "ouchie!" or an "augh!" to flee from its invisible or otherwise nonexistent lips. Though it was clearly capable of feeling pain, the hellish thing wasn't by any means weakened. Closer, and closer it came.
An influx of data came to Kamijou Touma, suggesting a last ditch attempt at saving not only himself, but the brave and commendable Sister, as well. Why or how it hadn't come to him sooner Kamijou Touma didn't know, and the same data apparently wasn't willing to answer that question.
The elevator had arrived, the shaft having produced a soft, barely-audible ding. Touma could only hope that his newest gambit paid off.
"Glubulus! Behind you! Gensei-Sama is coming, and he's got the power drill! You don't want that again, do you?!"
The construct halted, its ugly, misshapen feet forcing its bloated form to come to a stop. The wires that hung from its stump of a left wrist ceased to produce that horrid grinding sound, as they no longer snaked along the tiled flooring.
"Don't want powuh drool in Glubulus' bum again, hurts," the construct grumbled. It turned itself around, its diminutive mind preparing to brace for great pain.
But there was no Gensei-Sama there. No Gensei-Sama and no "powuh drool"; its bum was safe for the time being.
It took the construct's higher mind, an unnaturally cloned, cultivated and flawed thing with the IQ of a small, mentally handicapped child a rather long time to comprehend the fact that it'd been bamboozled.
Once this reality had set into place, the construct whipped its malformed, lumpy, bald head in the direction of the elevator's doors; those it'd been chasing were gone.
Quietly, the construct began to whine and weep as it stomped away from the doors of the elevator shaft.
Within the elevator car which travelled upwards, its journey rickety and wrought with so many bumps and short, but nonetheless nerve-wracking temporary stutters, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eighth stood with her back to the easternmost wall of the small car. Across from her, Kamijou Touma stood, facing the car's doors, his arms folded across his chest.
There were a few more moments of silence about them before a crackling, static-laden voice became audible. Rather than originating from within the car itself, the voice sounded as if it originated from the elevator shaft, as it echoed and followed the ascending car.
"You know, Kamijou-kun, you're just full of surprises. This was hardly the sort of reaction I was expecting. Regardless of the property damage you've caused, I still find myself in a situation where I must thank you; the data I've gathered today is very, very beneficial to this project. Your ability to form genuine emotional connections is both new and so very exciting.
"I must ask one question of you, however, Kamijou-kun; why save the clone? Why save the clone when you've tortured and killed so many others during our sessions in the Sphere? Some… inner sense of heroism that you seek to fulfil? An attempt to cling to the identity you knew?"
Kamijou Touma knew the answer, deep within himself. There was a very stark difference between the murderers, rapists and gangbangers the old man always managed to dredge up to serve as "test subjects" during the "sessions" and an innocent girl who had done no wrong.
Touma wasn't going to give Kihara Gensei the satisfaction of hearing him admit that, however.
"You've gone too far, old man," Touma stated. "Did you think I'd stand by and just let this happen? Did you think I was going to harm her, or someone like her? This isn't over. I'll find you, I'll slash your throat open and I'll fingerfuck the wound as you bleed out, you rabid animal."
"You're very right, Kamijou-kun; this is nowhere near over," the elderly man's voice spoke, calm, collected and calculating as always. There was a hint not only of malice, but of superiority within it, however, both of which infuriated Kamijou Touma. The Sister across from him seemed to be doing her best to stay alert, in case of an emergency.
"You see, Kamijou-kun, you'll be back. You'll be back like before; because you need me, just as much as I need you. I doubt hired muscle will be enough to stop you, but, as they say, the harder you grasp onto something, the more it will slip from your grasp. I understand Kamijou-kun, the rebelliousness of children, especially teenagers… our symbiosis is quite… romantic, overtly. You'll return to me in the end. Ah, how I miss Noukan-kun. His insight would lighten this scenario."
He grunted. Kamijou Touma shifted his weight from side to side, as the Sister across from him looked into his eyes for a moment. Touma did his best to offer the Sister a warm, comforting smile, but the movement soon faded and died after it'd come to be.
To some extent, he did need the old man.
The elevator car soon came to a grinding halt. Its doors slid open, bumping and producing sounds that suggested the sheets of metal were anything but healthy.
Kamijou Touma took the first steps out into the sterile, unlit corridor; apparently, the ceiling-mounted light sources didn't function in that area. Unfazed by the darkness, Touma looked from one end of the corridor to the other. Without the presence of even a single red laser sight, and without the sounds of shuffling boots, Touma waved the Sister within the elevator car onwards. Nodding, she raised her "borrowed" firearm once more and took to the Savior's side.
"I don't know where we are," Touma whispered. "I don't think I've been to this part of the facility before. Most hallways I've been in have always been brightly-lit… maybe this area's unused, or not used frequently enough to warrant being constantly lit? Can't say. I have an idea though."
"Misaka has many questions for the Savior, Misaka remarks now that she has a moment to speak properly with you. Misaka doesn't want to assume anything about the Savior's intentions or relationship with the Evil One, Misaka explains, hoping to further clarify the issue Misaka is currently experiencing."
Touma frowned slightly, as he looked to the Sister before him.
"I'm sure you do," he stated, his voice soft, his tone calm and comforting, "I promise, it's not what you might think."
The nearest section of walling was a bend between the corridor the duo stood within, and the section in which one section of walling became one with another, leading into another corridor which couldn't be seen unless one or both Kamijou Touma and the Sister turned the corner. He leaned forwards and patted his back. For a moment, the Sister some few feet behind him raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"Climb on," Touma stated, softly. "I've got an idea, like I said."
The Sister did what was asked of her with only a moment of hesitation. As she clambered up onto the back of the Misaka Network's Savior, an extra set of arms emerged from either of Kamijou Touma's hips, buzzing mechanically as they formed. Tiny grey things, like the smallest of insects swarmed to form these extremities, clashing with the pigmentation of Kamijou Touma's skin. Both hoisted the Sister upwards and acted as supports for her, solid and unyielding.
He focused, momentarily, visualizing the shape he wished his form to create. From Kamijou Touma's back, a great, swarming mass of nanorobotic machine-phase matter surged over the Sister's form, acting as a makeshift shell, like that upon a turtle's back. A small space was made available, presumably for the Sister to both look through and aim through, if the latter became necessary.
Then, he was off. Like a bullet train that didn't need to build up even a second of momentum, the density of Kamijou Touma's form was continuously shifted from one extreme to the other in terms of its overall weight, allowing him to achieve movement speed that would tear the ligaments of an average human being.
"WE'RE GOING THROUGH THE WALL!" Touma called back to his passenger, shouting over the sounds of tearing tiled flooring and the shuddering of metallic inner workings. "HOLD TIGHT! YOU'LL BE FINE! EVEN IF I WAS TO FALL ON MY BACK – AND I WON'T – YOU'D SUBSTAIN NO HARM AT ALL! YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME, BUT I KNOW THESE THINGS! IT'S KIND OF HARD TO EXPLAIN HOW AND WHY!"
"MISAKA BELIEVES THE SAVIOR'S WORDS, MISAKA STATES AS LOUDLY AS HER VOCAL CORDS WILL PERMIT, ATTEMPTING TO ASSURE THE SAVIOR THAT SHE WAS NOT FIBBING PREVIOUSLY."
Without hesitation, Kamijou Touma crashed through the wall of the facility; exterior and interior sections of walling were torn asunder, wiring was ripped like shreds of cheaply-produced tissue paper, and sparks flew. Momentarily, both of Touma's "true" arms reacted volatilely to a nearby section of piping due to their relative proximity to the section, but this didn't issue didn't come to last.
The final section of interior walling was crashed through like a careless driver speeding through a series of red stoplights. The blue sky above, dotted with overtly threatening-looking clouds mixed in with a number of docile, fluffy clouds of a much lighter coloration, and the cityscape beneath Kamijou Touma and the Sister nearly blinded the latter; the Sister, protected from the whipping wind by the Savior's makeshift shell immediately closed her eyes, and pushed her face into the Savior's back. Her stomach was violently churning, and awkwardly knotted itself multiple times as she clung tighter and tighter to Kamijou Touma's cold form.
From fifteen stories Kamijou Touma began to plummet, the wind whipping around him as his nanorobotic machine-phase matter tightened its passive magnetic grip in order to prevent individual units from being separated from one another. He could almost hear the news reports in the moment, even though he was nowhere near a television set.
Within an instant, and without his conscious permission, his nanorobotic wings were summoned. From above the makeshift shell which protected the Sister's shuddering form they formed, and began to violently beat the air, fighting back against the forceful, whipping winds. Kamijou Touma cautiously, with the most precise actions and the most careful of movements steered himself towards the adjacent school district beyond the damaged, perpetually-crumbling walls of the tenth, the beautiful, shining "City of Science's" black sheep.
The ugly, white tumor standing tall in the center of the adjacent school district verified for Touma that he directed himself towards the seventh. His swarming, mechanically buzzing wings beat the air with greater force as he scanned the landscape below, searching for a relatively unpopulated area to utilize as a makeshift landing pad.
This area turned out to be a parking lot, or what resembled one. Its pavement was smooth and unpopulated, many spaces, outlined with white-colored open boxes were unoccupied. Whatever establishment the parking lot served, it was either very unpopular or not open for business. Given the size of the sprawling structure looming over the lot itself, Touma silently leaned towards the latter.
Performing a sudden nosedive, Touma then gently allowed himself to drift towards the pavement, touching down as softly as he could manage; he brought himself to a halt by repeatedly touching the pavement beneath him, and then rising before his form's momentum could tear him down. His makeshift shell was retracted, dissipating as the nanorobots that'd formed it retreated into their main mass. A tired-looking Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight looked to her left and then to her right, before Touma set her down on her feet.
"Always sunshine and rainbows in Academy City," Touma grunted. "Such frustration. I'll skin the old man alive for this shit."
The dazed Sister reached behind her, and produced her "borrowed" rifle, which she'd apparently kept during her journey upon the back of the Network's Savior. She looked at it, momentarily, before she looked over either of her shoulders, and then set the firearm on the pavement's surface. Once she'd risen from her crouched position she'd fallen into, she clasped her hands behind her back and innocently looked upwards.
"Misaka has never seen this firearm in her considerably short life, Misaka remarks, rehearsing the line Misaka will eventually have to speak to the disapproving face of Yomikawa-Sama. Additionally, it seems that Misaka still can't reform her connection with the Network, Misaka explains, realizing this vital piece of information has been tacked-on. Misaka's mind is too empty for her liking, Misaka admits."
She was startled, suddenly; she certainly hadn't expected him, and she certainly didn't mind the action he'd chosen to perform.
Kamijou Touma had thrown his arms around the Sister, and had pulled her close to his icy cold form. The wings he seemed to be able to spawn at a whim had been unmade, slinking back into his form. The Sister was still confused by the Savior's new powers, or perhaps singular power, but she was less frightened. As he gently hugged her, she hugged him back.
He hugged her, because a part of him felt as if he was hugging Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun. This Sister obviously wasn't the original, but there was animal comfort found in the action. A greater part of him hugged her because another Sister had come dangerously close to being involved with the darkness once more, even after all that had transpired.
"You know something? You were really badass in there. The way you blasted Glubulus, not backing down for even a second? That was awesome. Didn't take unnecessary risks, either; smart AND courageous? That's a rare combination.
"Now I have one question for you, sweetheart. What are we going to do from here? Me? I'm going to have to lay low for a little while and avoid that place, let the dust settle and the insurance claims go through. A lot of people are going to be pissed at me, but that doesn't matter. You're safe, something terrible was prevented from happening to you, and that's all that matters."
"Misaka could return home, Misaka states," the Sister remarked. "Misaka would probably be fine, as Misaka must've been set upon during the later hours of evening. With the benefit of hindsight, Misaka knows that she shouldn't have been out in the dark, but Misaka felt like going for a walk due to the fact that her legs were becoming fidgety, Misaka explains, hoping that the Savior understands her thought process."
Though Kamijou Touma had broken away from the Sister, the being who'd once been a normal high school boy patted the Sister on her shoulder as he began to walk towards the parking area's closest exit. She followed, taking to Touma's side; there was safety in numbers, after all.
"You should be able to walk whenever you please, within reason of course, without having to worry about being fucki… without having to worry about being snatched like that. You're a human being with human rights, just as much as anyone else in this City," Touma stated, firmly, holding back the growl that wanted to leak into his vocalization. "Listen, sweetheart; I don't know if the old man's got eyes on us. If he does, he or one of his butt-buddies might try something shady, just to spite the both of us… do you live by yourself, or do you have a roommate, or roommates?"
The Sister nodded her head with an uncanny enthusiasm not shared by her emotionless facial expression.
"Misaka co-exists with another unit, serial number ten thousand and forty-three. Misaka and unit serial number ten thousand and forty-three co-exist with the Prototype and the Prototype's companion, Misaka explains, answering the Savior's question with as much accuracy as possible."
Though a sense of relief washed over Touma, there was something else there, as well; there was curiosity.
"The Prototype?" There was a living prototype for the Sisters? Kamijou Touma had never heard of such a thing. While worth investigating, such an intrusion of personal space wasn't on Touma's "to-do list".
"That's great, that's… that's really good. I'm glad you're not living by yourself. It's a lot more fun, and a lot safer to have people to share your home life with, isn't it?" Kamijou Touma inquired, as he and the Sister left the parking area behind. "I like living with people who're close to me, too."
Passing over a grassy knoll, and by an ornate, oaken planter, the two stepped out onto a brown, cobbled walkway, where traffic, pedestrian and vehicular alike passed the duo by. The chattering of so many students, engaging in so many different conversations about such a wide variety of topics nearly made the heads of both Kamijou Touma and Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight to spin.
Then, the questions began, though none were directed at the duo.
"Is that the Railgun? Who's she with?"
"That IS the Railgun!"
"What's with the goggles?"
"I don't know, but he's handsome."
"Not really. I think she could do better."
"Maybe the goggles are a fashion statement? How exotic!"
"Maybe they're just friends, you weirdo."
Touma looked awkwardly to the Sister walking next to him, seemingly unfazed by the conversations suddenly cropping up about her, and by extension, about her Onee-Sama.
"So… how are things? Let's get you home… there is one thing I'm curious about, though. I know I'm not really in any position to ask questions."
"Perhaps the Savior and Misaka could engage in a session of question and response one day, in order to get to know one another better, Misaka suggests. Misaka would prefer it if this wasn't the end, Misaka admits, slightly embarrassed by her newfound and heightened admiration for the Savior."
Touma nodded and smiled at the Sister in response, as a slightly unnerving silence descended over the duo. He followed the Sister, who wordlessly began the process of taking the lead, while Touma quietly followed.
"It doesn't have to be the end. Good friends are hard to come by, you know. People you've known for years can suddenly become the biggest, sketchiest snakes on the face of the planet when your eyes are opened."
His question, of course, had been about the Level Six Experiments.
How had this Sister managed to escape the chopping block? The fact that she was a level one, some sort of "defective unit" seemed to be the most logical answer. What would Accelerator have gained from slaughtering a level one esper? Still, there was room for doubt, room which Kamijou Touma sought to fill with a truthful answer.
For over thirty minutes, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight as well as Kamijou Touma walked the curving, ornate walkways of Academy City, stopping at stoplights, avoiding traffic jams made up of irate and inattentive students, looking both ways before they crossed the street (though Touma had less to worry about when it came to being struck down by a careening four-wheel vehicle than the Sister) and only making brief instances of small talk.
Before long, the duo had arrived before a dainty little apartment complex. Only ten stories tall, its design was slender, colored a soft, milky white. Its windows, almost all of which were shining and beautifully cleaned reflected the sunlight's warm beams, which each pane of glass bathed in.
Turning to the Misaka Network's Savior, the Sister opened her arms, and took him into a friendly embrace, one which Touma happily returned.
"Misaka very much appreciates all of the Savior's assistance, and the Savior's efforts to assist Misaka in escaping from those who would have likely harmed her, Misaka explains, wishing for her gratitude to be conveyed properly to you; without the Savior's aid, Misaka's days could've very well been cut short, Misaka explains. Misaka hopes that the units she co-exists with will help Misaka reconnect to the Network, or otherwise help Misaka diagnose the error at hand, Misaka adds. Misaka hopes she and the Savior can engage in a session of question and response soon."
Touma was reluctant to let go. The Sister's form was warm and cuddly, like she was a big, biological teddy bear. Her hair smelled wonderful; the scent was of a green apple-scented shampoo, which had come to caress the Sister's roots. He soon managed to pull himself away, in order to avoid any potential awkwardness.
"I wasn't going to let an innocent person be used as a pawn," Touma stated. "I have… let's just say, for now, that I'm more powerful now than I ever was before. I'm not just limited to being a "high school boy" anymore. If I can use what I've been "given" to help out and save deserving lives where I can, I don't see a reason why I shouldn't do it. I can also use this to put those who'd do innocent people harm down… permanently.
"Like I said, all I have to do is lay low for a while and let the fact that I grievously wounded one of their goons and probably caused millions of yen in property damage blow over, and I can go back to playing with them, milking the sick pigs for everything they're worth. I'm not with them, sweetheart. I'm just as against them now as I always was. Things are just different, now."
The Sister rewarded Kamijou Touma with a small, thin smile before she took her leave, entering the entranceway before the lobby of her apartment complex, and then entering the lobby itself; she'd zapped the electric lock on the inner door, and then closed said door shut behind her, ensuring that it clicked back into place. All the while, the Misaka Network's Savior kept an eye on the Sister, observing everything around her, and constantly checking over his shoulder.
It was only once the Sister disappeared into a set doors mounted within the sparsely-furnished lobby's rightmost wall, which must've belonged to an elevator car that Kamijou Touma took his own leave.
There was a reality that set upon Kamijou Touma like a housecat might set upon the form of an unsuspecting, trespassing insect; there was someone who needed to know about what'd happened, and they needed to know about it as soon as they could be informed.
She wouldn't like to hear it, but she'd have to, and she'd have to listen.
Rather than causing more property damage and potentially marking the apartment complex out to those who would do the Sister, or people like the Sister harm, Kamijou Touma called forth his wings of machine-phase matter, and took to the skies, his form humming mechanically as the nanorobots which made up his form obeyed his silent, internal command.
Sometimes, being a monster had its advantages.