Thanks, ShadowMario1994 for following and favoriting! Welcome aboard! I hope you enjoy your reading of a Certain Broken Testament. Thanks, Strike Faster Than Starlight for following and favoriting! It's great to have you on board.
Here we go, folks! Response time! Let's get right into it, shall we?
Anon Guest: I'm of course very glad to hear that your appetite has been whetted; expect much more where that came from, friend. On all fronts, if I'm being honest! I'm going to have rollercoaster rides coming at you from more than one side, at least for a little while. I can imagine "Spring-heeled Jack" dancing a merry jig around four incredibly powerful people, and it makes me chuckle. Thanks for that!
Thank you for your kind words. What could this lead to, indeed? That's a good question. There's always one surefire way to find out; read on! While the "Mating Ritual of Beauty-Senpai (TM)" wasn't fully engaged this time around, such a thing is bound to happen, isn't it? At this rate it certainly is, I'd say.
An interesting point you bring up. Would Seria be able to "deal with" a Certain Honey-Scented Queen? The two do seem to have some animosity between them, after all.
I plan to continually appease the Touma x Seria 'faction', of which I must admit I've become a functioning member.
It's great that I was able to gain your stamp of approval, but once but twice! I hope to consistently do so through subsequent chapters. Once again, thank you for your kind words. They're much-appreciated.
Guest: is it safe to confirm such a thing? I think so. Indeed, we'll say that Kamijou Touma, even as a human was... 'well-hung'.
I can understand your confusion. Touma was jokingly referring to Seria as a "dick" for bringing up her involvement in an unfortunate moment Touma and Misaki had shared in the past.
whwsms: it's my goal to secure your lovely collective IN-terests. I'm quite pleased to know that I'm succeeding in what I set out to do!
Indeed, facing down three Saints and the Leader of England's Knights isn't something most people could claim. Coming out unscathed is even less likely, and yet "Spring-heeled Jack", the guise of the apparently 'redeemed' demon Morfaanax accomplished this goal, with flying colors nonetheless. Regarding potential tyrannies, I'd have to find myself agreeing with your stance on the matter. The British Royal Family could, in their own way, be considered a tyranny by some, but that's an issue that's quite arguable.
In regards to Tsuchimikado Motoharu's claims that Kanzaki Kaori suffered an 'atomic wedgie' at the hands of "Spring-heeled Jack", I can't say much, not yet at least. Doing so would unleash far too many spoilers, friend.
GOOD STUFF AHOY:
JACKPOT, indeed! With Kamijou Touma's memories returned to him, it was only a matter of time.
SUPER JACKPOT! Killing spree! Seria does have a logical outlook on the matter, in all seriousness; why deny the truth?
There will be some anger, some frustration and some raging at the Heavens themselves; the latter reaction is, admittedly, reserved almost entirely for the sexually frustrated Aogami Pierce. Poor guy. Tsuchimikado Motoharu might just have his own reasons for not being so fond of Touma and Seria's fledling closeness. Regarding Kamijou Shiina (and, by extension, Kamijou Touya), you bring up an interesting topic of conversation: just what would Touma's parents think of their son not only having, but accepting a harem? As always, I'm sure you know what to do by now; read on!
While you're not wrong, I thought a more universally recognizable symbol of victory would be more applicable than something that some folks might not understand the significance of.
I think I do know what you mean, and if I'm right on the money, then I'm certainly looking forward to the fruits of your labor! As always, it's great that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to be able to do so through subsequent chapters.
321jaz: Go, go, go!
Tsuchimikado Motoharu was right, in a manner of speaking. "Spring-heeled Jack" was no human, but he certainly isn't a Magic God.
Perhaps, but perhaps not. Compared to Lord Belial, "Morfanaax the Redeemed" seems to be far more reasonable. Then again, that isn't saying much.
For now, I think I can safely say that there will be more than one passenger boarding this ship; it'll be stopping more than once, in fact, but the voyage won't end. This train has no brakes.
Indeed. The existence of a so-called demon hunter likely doesn't spell good omens for our Spring-heeled troublemaker.
As always, I'm glad to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval, friend! I hope to continuously do so through subsequent chappies!
Guest00: I don't want to drop any spoilers, but I can hardly resist the temptation... for now, I think I can safely leave this here without too much concern: Tsuchimikado Motoharu isn't the only one who should be worrying about experiencing the wrath of Kumokawa Seria's "full-on soap opera mode".
Ohoho, as a certain Ojou-Sama might say. I do have to say that I like that idea, friend. I like that idea a lot.
Alph97: it was my pleasure. I have to agree, the teasing here certainly is high up on the scale, so to speak. In regards to any potential 'bedroom scenes' featuring a role reversal between Seria and Touma, I can't say too much without unleashing spoilers, but I do believe I can, at least, safely leave this here: they're coming. Expect them.
Othinus: I don't want to reveal too much, even if I'd only be revealing minor details about a sexually explicit scene, but... I think it's safe for me to say that you're not going to be disappointed. ;)
February 9th, 2004. 9:38 PM.
The quaint welsh hamlet of Catherdine had become the temporary resting place of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, not through any fault of the hamlet's own. It'd been a mere victim of circumstance.
For a magic cabal which found itself moving around quite often, Catherdine was one of the cabal's better haunts, at least by the members' votes.
With its many fieldscapes, most of which were surrounded by fenced boundaries, especially those closer to in proximity to the Llangorse Lake, the hamlet's sloping hills were like something out of a watercolor calendar photo. The setting was a temporary reprieve from high-rise apartment complexes and hostels.
The cabal's leader was less concerned with appearances and more concerned about usability.
A group of twenty had taken up residence within the rather confined space of the Intoxicated Ibis, one of the three taverns accepting patrons within the hamlet.
The former patrons, as well as the tavern's keepers and maids had been made cooperative (and therefore sent off to their homes, wherever those might've been) through the use ugly-looking, savage runes which'd been scrawled along the oaken walls and carved into the oaken flooring. Each glowed a shade of bright, emerald green and each pulsed with potent and fell power. The savage scrawlings stunk like the stench of burning corpses.
While eighteen of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's suited cohorts stood around a cheap, dirtied and overall poorly put together table in the tavern's dining hall, three particularly important individuals politicked. Between them, a strange artifact sat. A jar with an hourglass shape, there were many squares and arrows which pointed towards delicately painted upon its surfaces.
The demon hunter Iosephus Thepes' dark hair was ruffled, its bangs shortened and trimmed, its fringe swept and curled upwards. Dark and vaguely shadowlike stubble adorned his cheeks, his upper lip and his chin. Seated across from the cabal's leader, he looked purposefully into her sky blue irises.
Beside Iosephus Thepes sat Nikolas Rivers, one of two loyal and high-ranking assistants of the cabal's leader. With very little hair upon his head or upon his face to speak of, the burly, aggressive-looking older man with the buzzcut massaged his chin between his index finger and thumb.
There was the chance that the almost ridiculously loyal and long-time demon hunter servant, sub-commander and confidant of Leivinia Birdway was made uncomfortable by the presence of another individual who'd make his way up through the ranks.
If that was the case, the demon hunter wasn't showing his unease. Nikolas Rivers certainly couldn't see it.
Nikolas had his theories about that, given the demon hunter's seemingly unquestioning loyal to their shared leader. Was it some sort of ill-fated infatuation? Had the demon hunter lost a child or a younger sibling? Loyalty and unrequired protectiveness seemed to linger about the demon hunter.
The scent of burning brimstone had also caught Nikolas off guard as well, though that was less of an issue in the present than it'd been two years prior.
Leivinia Birdway spoke, her voice soft and melodic.
"Give me a reason why I shouldn't forbid you from interfering with another cabal's business. One reason is all I ask for, Thepes."
"With all due respect, aside from the simple truth that my former associates are a coven, not a cabal, the demon-world of Deadrift Scar is a land not fit for man or non-demonic beast."
"And?" Leivinia inquired, as if Iosephus Thepes' answer wasn't sufficient.
"There are plenty of places here on Earth that aren't fit for anyone. Like this hick town for example."
The demon hunter struggled against but failed to fight the amused grin that tugged at the corners of his lips.
"A hick town? Perhaps that's not quite the right description, Dawn-Colored Lady. I see no banjo-playing folks clad in overalls and rubber boots."
"It's the right description if I say it's the right description."
Despite her harsh words, Leivinia bit into the inside of cheek as she forced back a giggle. The vision conjured in her mind's eye was just too much.
"Don't do that. Don't try to make me laugh. The neophytes need stoic and domineering, Thepes, not a giggling little cheerleader. They need a leader."
"Of course, my Lady. Please forgive my act of forceful assertion."
"You're forgiven. Try not to let it happen again."
"Assisting in the Order of the Dark Feather's assault on the demon-world would assure us constant allies and it would that my conscious stays clear, though I wouldn't declare myself open to assisting with my former coven's invasion of Deadrift Scar without your explicit permission. The thought of a man who remains a close friend being brutally tortured and beaten within inches of life by demonic filth doesn't sit particularly well with me, Dawn-Colored Lady. Daemonic souls can always be obtained through simple summoning rituals, though this method will be more time-consuming."
Leivinia raised an eyebrow. "Then I forbid you from involving yourself. You'll summon as many demons as you need right here, in our own world. And you're sure this… "Deadrift Scar" possesses enough of these so-called… "Daemonic souls" to power what you believe is some sort of demon hunter weaponry? Curse your kind for being so secretive, Thepes. I ought to kick you in the face."
"I'm sorry. You know your duties."
"Understood, Dawn-Colored Lady. More than enough to deal with what is almost certainly a subordinate of some sort. A demon powerful enough to act of its own accord, with free will, wouldn't need any sort of disguise. Someone pulls the strings of this "Spring-heeled Jack", who is not "Spring-heeled Jack" at all. The smell alone is different from that which lingers around my spellsiblings. This "Spring-heeled Jack" is a mindless demonic charge being controlled from afar."
Iosephus Thepes motioned towards the jar. The movement of his hand seemingly 'awoke' Nikolas Rivers, who jumped in place.
While both Thepes and Rivers were clad in luxurious and overtly informal suits, Nikolas Rivers seemed much more comfortable in his own. The demon hunter looked constricted. Indeed, an informal suit was far less comfortable than a ritualistic robe or armored clothing bound and infused with Daemonic power.
But it was what the Lady called for, and so Thepes would bend knee to her will.
"This is without a doubt a Soulgrinder," Iosephus Thepes explained. Leivinia Birdway listened on, adorned in her flowing, grand piano-like dress she rested the side of her face against her hand, propped up on her elbow. Leivinia kicked her small stocking-clad legs back and forth, the heels of her ornate shoes repeatedly clacked against the oaken flooring.
"It consumes Daemonic souls – of which there are plenty within the Dark Beyond as I've been taught by my betters – and forges the product of these grounded souls into a near-infinite source of energy that rivals even Telesma in its potency."
The Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader tilted her head to one side.
"Telesma, you say? Greater than Telesma?"
"Not necessarily. Rivals Telesma, not stronger than. Souls of any kind that've been stripped of their mortal shells are incredibly potent things, beings of pure, unrefined mental and spiritual will. I don't intend to ride against the international laws that've been set in place regarding soul-binding simply out of moral principal. Unless you would order me to do such."
Leivinia Birdway clicked her tongue at the mention of "soul-binding".
"I wouldn't. Are there any drawbacks to this weaponry? I'd prefer to know of such things before I rested all of my goals and ambitions on its use, Thepes."
"Weaponry such as Soulgrinders are inherently cursed, being forged by demon hunters with Daemonic-infused magic. A Saint attempting to touch the weapon would be reduced to ash almost instantaneously. The Pope himself would likely explode upon contact with this weapon, taking most of Europe with him."
"Bloody Hell! You can't be serious! Boss, he can't be serious! Is he joking?! Gah! No! He never jokes! Boss, this isn't a good idea. Iosephus, my friend, please reconsider your course of action."
Nikolas Rivers had risen from his awkward stupor. He looked from one of his leader's suited lackeys to another, and then to another.
What would happen if he touched the weapon? Nikolas didn't want to know. He tried to bury the question as best as he could.
Why did Iosephus Thepes insist on enabling her?
"Am I ever not serious? Is there a problem, Sir Rivers? Relax yourself, any of you could handle the Soulgrinder with a simple pair of gloves, as I've already discussed with the Dawn-Colored Lady."
"Like mine," Leivinia gloated. Indeed, her hands were adorned with simplistic rubber gloves. Within them she wiggled her fingers.
Extending her hand, Leivinia offered the extremity to the demon hunter Iosephus Thepes. Nikolas Rivers looked on, confused at first before everything fell into place within his mind.
It was a display of control, like a dog's master ordering their beast to sit or to fetch a stick thrown across a field.
"Kiss."
The demon hunter did exactly that, taking his leader's small, glove-clad hand into his own and placing a soft kiss to its top before he continued with his explanation.
"Good boy."
"Those imbued with magic inspired, powered by the tales of Yahweh don't mix well with the Daemonic. Needless to say this Soulgrinder will be more than sufficient in destroying this demon-puppet that plagues London, my Lady. The only issue that plagues us is this: it's completely depowered. Think of a flashlight requiring batteries to function."
Nikolas Rivers clicked his tongue.
"I don't think this hamlet needs to see the opening of one of your… "Daemonic Portculli" … my friend. You would have to place the entire population beneath the power of ignorance runes."
"Then we'll cast in the woodlands. A Daemonic Portcullis is the only reliable means in which the Dark Beyond can be reached."
Leivinia rose from her seat, tossing her chair back. The piece of furniture was quickly scooped up and set back into place by one of her eighteen followers. Both Iosephus Thepes and Nikolas Rivers rose while exercising considerably more caution.
"Are the runes remaining in place?"
"I don't see why not, my Lady. The townsfolk can do without a single tavern. There're others."
"You're a dick, Thepes."
"Says you, Sir Rivers. Says you."
Parting the twin oaken doors, Leivinia Birdway's dress flowed like a river, partially lifted and batted about by the light breeze that had begun to sweep through the hamlet. The group of twenty-one piled out from the tavern, Leivinia's muscle-lackeys silently and obediently following behind.
A series of enormous SUVs, windows tinted darker than the void itself, each white as the moon that orbited planet Earth sat in the parking area just beyond the tavern's outer patio. Consisting of little more than dirt, dried mud and dust, the tires of the vehicles had been sullied, dyed a light shade of brown.
"I expect these tires to be licked clean, Thepes," Leivinia remarked. "My shoes as well. This is unacceptable. Would it kill these hicks to lay down some pavement?"
Nikolas Rivers bit his lip, holding back laughter that threatened to escape.
"As you command, my Lady."
"Don't actually do that. I was messing with you. If I told you to jump from a bridge to your certain death, would you do it?"
"… right. That would depend. If the act ensured your safety I would do so without hesitation."
"You're so weird."
"It's okay. You're alright most of the time. They can't know that, though. Our business relationship is nice and uncomplicated…"
Prying the driver's side door of one an SUV open, Nikolas Rivers set himself in the driver's seat, while Leivinia sat herself down in the passenger seat. Within the back, a total of six muscle-lackeys piled into the SUV's rear seats, while Iosephus took a seat in the trunk, carrying with him the Soulgrinder. Into the other SUVs the rest of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's members who'd accompanied their leader and sub-commanders piled, wordlessly following behind the first SUV to leave the parking area, the SUV in question being the vehicle commandeered by Nikolas Rivers.
Loud, upbeat pop music blared over the SUV's speaker system. Leivinia couldn't help but groan. Classical music would've been more up her alley.
"Should there be beasts within the woodlands, Sir Rivers? My Lady? I'll be needing them. Unless you think you can part with some neophytes," Iosephus Thepes spoke from the trunk.
"If the woodlands are lacking, you have my permission to throw these lugs into the fire. Each of them will more than willingly sacrifice themselves to further the Cause of Dawn. Isn't that right, boys?"
"Yes, Miss Birdway!"
The six neophytes replied as one without hesitation and without so much as a single wince or second thought. Like machines programmed to perform a specific set of actions they simply sat upright and waited for what laid in store for them.
Nikolas Rivers didn't reply. Not only was his attention focused on the road, his opinions on human sacrifice to fuel Daemonic magic didn't fall in line with his leader's own.
And that was exactly why it didn't matter.
Then, there was a shocking revelation.
"Wrong answer," Leivinia cryptically stated. "Wrong answer. Thepes, have a conversation with them when we return to base."
"As you command, my Lady."
Down a series of dirt paths the SUVs travelled, passing fenced boundaries and large fieldscapes dotted with farmland. Leivinia occasionally pointed out a group of grazing cows or several slumbering horses in the many fields, the upbeat pop music broadcasted by whatever radio station Nikolas Rivers had last been listening to washing over the vehicle's inhabitants like the waves from an ocean.
With their way illuminated only by the headlights of their vehicle and by the natural illumination of the moon, Nikolas Rivers exercised caution, even as Leivinia urged him to pick up the pace of their trip.
Soon enough the woodlands beyond the hamlet's outer bounds became visible. While their pathway had been flanked by great trees with thick, mighty trunks for some time, the denseness increased tenfold, and the natural illumination offered by the moon soon faded from sight entirely, masked by the foliage above.
In the trunk, Iosephus Thepes waged a mental war of words inside of his head.
This war wasn't waged with himself. It was a war waged against another being entirely, one that was quite literally bound and trapped within him, one whose voice boomed like the reverberating crash of ceremonial clubs against a tribal drum. When it raged, Thepes' blood boiled. Sometimes it would whisper truly horrid things into his ear, and sometimes it would get the better of him.
But that was where masturbation and unrelated acts of self-harm came into the picture. There was always a release.
"Decimelech, bend to my will. Grant me the power to track the flowing blood of the beasts."
"No. I refuse."
"You will bend knee to my will."
"No. Your mother sucks cocks in Hell."
"BOW BEFORE MY SUPERIOR POWER."
"No. I will fuck your asshole inside out until it bleeds. I will inseminate your urinary tract, mortal, human filth. Then, I'll rape..."
Iosephus Thepes quickly produced a small utility knife from within the pocket of his pants. Rolling up his suit jacket's sleeve, he began viciously stabbing himself in the wrist. He yanked the weapon downwards, biting his lip as crimson lifeblood spilled from the wound. The demon hunter grunted, holding back a bark of pain.
Already covered in bloodied, scabbed-over scars, the demon hunter's right wrist bled and he didn't stop. The demon hunter stabbed the tip of the knife in once more, drawing lifeblood once again.
"You will bow to me in the end. Just give up, just break. You always bow to me, demonic filth. You're inside of me, a part of me. You're just another part of my mind. You're little more than a slave. My willpower alone will overwhelm you. Combined with this anguish you won't resist much longer. Now BREAK!"
"I… grant you… my power… m-master… stop. Please stop. I beg for your mercy, demon hunter. You've proved yourself the s-stronger once again. There is n-no need for further… torment. You've won. I am broken."
The eyelids of Iosephus Thepes widened and his pupils shrunk, becoming vaguely catlike in their shape. His irises, once a shade of light grey turned to a bright shade of emerald green, illuminating the trunk of the SUV in which he laid. Applying pressure to the wounds he'd created, Iosephus stemmed the flow of his own lifeblood that was dead set on fleeing from his body.
Channeling the power of the enslaved demon Decimelech the Heroesbane, once-Overwatcher of the demon-world Nagrskoil, the flow of the lifeblood within the bodies of the beasts in the woodlands was known to Iosephus Thepes. He felt their heartbeats just as Decimelech the Heroesbane once felt the heartbeats of his own prey, the self-styled heroes who invaded his world only to prove themselves unworthy in the event of their eventual conflict.
"Sir Rivers, I'll need some bandages for these wounds. There are plenty of KILL THEM ALL beasts in these woodlands, I know them FUCK YOU DIE all. I know where they dwell and know that they flee our vehicles. CUNT! CUNT! CUNT! Stop them here. Decimelech is struggling to DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK MY NAME FUCK YOU AND DIE to break DIEDIEDIEDIE through. Altogether unpleasant, I know."
Reaching into the vehicle's glovebox, Nikolas Rivers produced a great wad of gauss, along with some medical tape. Nikolas both methods of first aid behind him, never taking his eyes off the road in front of him. One of Leivinia's muscle-lackeys caught the supplies and then handed them back to the bloodied mess of a demon hunter.
"Many thanks, my friend. KILL THE DEMON HUNTER AND I WILL GRANT YOU POWER BEYOND IMAGINING. I WILL MAKE YOU THE GOD OF THIS… oh just silence yourself. WORLD! Please hush, Decimelech. You're simply embarrassing yourself now. You're utterly powerless, like a cuckolded househusband. I command you. NO YOU DON'T! I REJECT YOU! You're broken."
"Keep that thing under control," Leivinia scolded. "Surely no one here wishes to hear your pet demon screaming about rape and pillaging."
"Yes, my Lady."
"Stop making yourself suffer. Idiot."
The SUV came to a skidding halt, the tires of the vehicle spitting up a combination of semi-liquefied mud and damp masses of leaves which'd been collected and forcibly pressed against one another.
From the trunk, which Nikolas Rivers popped open with the press of a button beneath the vehicle's dashboard, Iosephus Thepes emerged, stumbling awkwardly, irises glowing green in the near-complete darkness of the woodlands.
There were several bucks and several lady-deer not far from the demon hunter's position. Trees of all shapes and sizes, many of which were bent awkwardly in almost unnatural-seeming positions surrounded the Dawn-Colored Sunlight convoy.
"I won't step out into this muck," Leivinia firmly stated. Though the demon hunter couldn't see it, she folded her arms across her chest and huffed, crossing her left leg over her right. "Should you make me come out there, I will be making you lick my shoes clean. Do we understand one another?"
"Perfectly, my Lady."
Nikolas Rivers struggled to hold in yet another round of laughter. Stepping out from within the vehicle, he maneuvered through the woodlands' muck in hot pursuit of the demon hunter, his fellow sub-commander, and fellow subordinate.
"Oi! Thepes! You speak of cuckolded househusbands but you're not all that different when compared to one, eh? A slave to th' skirt, as they say!"
"I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN, MORTAL FILTH! BOW TO ME! BEG FOR YOUR PATHETIC HUMAN LIFE! Hardly. To imply such is inappropriate, given the age gap between the Dawn-Colored Lady and myself. I apologize Decimelech's outburst, Sir Rivers. Decimelech is being truly unruly this evening. I may have to engage in genital mutilation at this rate. ANYTHING BUT THAT! I SUBMIT! OH, THE PAIN IS TOO GREAT! I DESPISE YOU WITH ALL OF MY HEART AND SOUL! Altogether I would have to disagree. A cuckolded househusband spends most of his days crying. I don't cry."
Iosephus Thepes leaned forward, and then from his back, he produced an enormous, double-edged and serrated blade that'd been mounted in place. Vaguely square-shaped, though with a slight curve to its shape, the blade's edges were dull and practically nonexistent; the weapon looked better suited to cleaving and shearing than to stabbing. Ornate and decorated with numerous Daemonic runes and sigils, the weapon was gripped by its handle, situated in the center of the blade, where both edges were connected.
Placing the forefront of one edge into the muck, causing the muck to squirm and spit wads of leaf-stuffed mud up at him, Thepes focused.
He began to move the forefront of the blade's edge about in the muck, carving out savage, ugly-looking runes. Under his breath, he muttered and repeated the same selection of morbid words with each rune he created. One after the other, the runes carved into the muck began to glow a shade of emerald green, empowered by the demon hunter's willpower and his connection to the fell being trapped within him.
"Rape, homicide, infanticide, suicide, treachery, adultery, manipulation, abortion. With the elements of mankind's darkest crimes, the shadow we cannot escape I command that the demon within to bend to my will and do my bidding."
The demon hunter had surrounded himself in a circle of glowing runes. Nikolas Rivers watched from afar, being able to make out crude images that resembled screaming faces. One rune resembled a fetus being torn from a womb by a savage, gnarled hook. Another resembled an image depicting one crude depiction of a vaguely humanlike thing forcibly pushing itself upon another vaguely humanlike thing whose legs were forced into the air, its arms flailing.
Compared to the alternative, relying upon Idol Theory to act as a conduit between demon hunter and demon-slave was much less messy.
"Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. With the sins that mar the flesh of humankind, I command that the world bend to my will and do my bidding. I call for the Fell Fires of Decimelech. Come to my command and grant me your fell power…"
Iosephus Thepes had called and Decimelech the Heroesbane was forced to answer.
Emerald green flames licked and crackled in the palms of the demon hunter's hands, surging out from between his fingers as smoke that reeked of brimstone rose into the atmosphere.
Systemically the demon hunter brought down a total of four bucks, each hunted down and slain by homing orbs of emerald fire the demon hunter threw from the palms of his hands. The creatures screamed aloud in the deepest of agonies as they died, their very souls burned away by the fires of Dis. One of their carcasses tumbled down a hill, coming to rest near a riverbank. With his double-edged blade, Iosephus Thepes slit their throats and severed their heads.
The ground beneath the suffering, dying animals was becoming tinged with a shade of bright green. Tree roots physically moved themselves away from the potent corruption, slithering away like frightened serpents discovered trespassing in a garden. Where bright green began to appear, the land beneath began to sizzle and smoke as it was charred, twisted from a healthy forest floor to sections of darkened, barren wastes.
Soon, both Iosephus Thepes and Nikolas Rivers had collected the carcasses, piling them atop one another unceremoniously, as if they hadn't once been living creatures at all. Demon hunter and magician alike treated the carcasses as if they were little more than bags of garbage. In a circular formation, the severed buck heads had been set, their empty eyes looking up at the foliage above which blotted out the night's sky.
The difference between them laid in the amount of remorse either party felt come upon them as a result of their acts of desecration. The demon hunter felt none, while the magician's mind was burdened by the acts of cruelty against innocent, harmless beasts.
"I require the Soulgrinder," the demon hunter explained after he'd urinated on the piled corpses. "If you'd be so kind as to retrieve the device from the Dawn-Colored Lady, I'll work to summon forth a more loyal servant than the broken slave who dwells inside of me to assist in the process of filling the device."
"If you'd be so kind as to retrieve the device from the Dawn-Colored Lady, I'll work to summon forth a more loyal servant to assist the broken slave who dwells inside of me in the process of filling the device."
"This is profane, my friend. These are the evillest of magics."
The demon hunter wasn't about to argue with that logic. Nikolas Rivers wasn't wrong.
Such was the cost of ultimate power over otherwise uncontrollable and unconquerable evil. Such was the cost of not wishing to beg for scraps at the foot of a treacherous and cruel "god", such was the cost of working with power beyond Yahweh's, beyond the scope of the minds of most mortals.
"The Soulgrinder, Sir Rivers. Please. Beasts die every day. Though they suffered their pain was not extended. These beasts would have suffered worse if they'd been caught in a game hunter's scope."
Nikolas Rivers nodded, produced an unapproving sigh and then began his short if strenuous journey. He sloshed and pushed through the muck, moving towards the SUV in which Leivinia Birdway sat with the device sought by the demon hunter. She occupied her time by playing a jumping-platforming video game on her smartphone.
Meanwhile, Thepes had nearly erased the runes he'd carved in the muck. Though his grasp over the power's over the fires of the demon within had been loosened, the connection between two beings severed, a new connection would be forged in its place.
Utilizing his double-edged blade as a great pen, the demon hunter began to surround himself with a new circle of runic carvings and then constructed another around the carcasses of the buck corpse pile, just as Nikolas Rivers returned with the strange, hourglass-shaped jar apparently known as a Soulgrinder.
Runic images had been carved, not of abhorrent acts or of torturous scenes; rather, crude representations of air, fire, water, earth and ether had been carved out in the semi-liquefied muck, along with simplistic square shapes containing numerous squiggled lines within them.
"Feel free to place the device wherever you please, Sir Rivers," Iosephus remarked. "The curses laid upon this device, whose origin can be found in the oldest of demon hunting tomes, should force Daemoniac souls to flow towards and subsequently into it for grinding. I've worked with such things before, it's all quite simple in fact…
"Rape, homicide, infanticide, suicide, treachery, adultery, manipulation, abortion. With the elements of mankind's darkest crimes, the shadow we cannot escape I command that the Dark Beyond bend to my will and do my bidding.
"Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. With the sins that mar the flesh of humankind, I command that the world bends to my will and do my bidding. I reach to the Dark Beyond and demand for Mar'los the Violent to answer its master's call. Mar'los the Violent, I summon you on this dark night! I bind you to me! Let the Chains of Servitude rend your accursed flesh!"
For some few moments, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Nikolas Rivers and Iosephus Thepes alike repeatedly moved about in the muck, attempting to prevent themselves from becoming trapped within it.
Mere moments before Rivers was about to voice his concerns regarding a possible failure in Thepes' methods, the muck-covered grounds of the woodlands began to violently tremble. The trees vibrated, their leaves falling from their branches while the birds and the woodland beasts that dwelled within them (and below them) fled for their lives, screeching and chirping aloud out of anxiousness.
Before the demon hunter, whose eyes were closed with a brow furrowed in concentration, repeating his mantra repeatedly within his mind, reality itself was torn.
A mass of emerald green miasma rose from the buck corpse pile, originating from the carcasses themselves.
The life force that remained within the conscious-less husks was being drained like water from a reservoir, used as an agent to fuel the profane ritual, in a manner mechanically similar to gas being ignited within the shell of a lighter.
The tear was small, no larger than the average refrigerator found within the average English home. A dark void dotted with rocklike debris, seemingly marred by flowing ribbons of bright and multicolored energy laid within the tear, or perhaps beyond it.
Reality truly had been torn there. A vision of the Dark Beyond had been painted by invisible hands.
Nikolas Rivers and Leivinia Birdway, the latter of whom turned around in her seat to get a better look at what exactly her pesky subordinates were getting themselves into both saw stars and distant celestial bodies, some of which looked less like worlds and more like enormous, sparkling jewels.
"Bloody hate looking too deeply into those… rifts you make. Give me air sickness. Is there anything else you need assistance with, oh needy one? Or might I see myself to a location in which I don't feel like I'm suddenly going to be sucked into the star-ways?"
"Then look away Sir Rivers. Your assistance, much appreciated I ought to remark, is no longer required. I should rightly be able to contend with the filling of the device."
Mere seconds before Nikolas Rivers prepared to turn away from the unnatural scene unfolding before him, the tear in reality began to flow like the currents of a body of water, as if the tear itself was a liquid surface. Shifting, contorting and twisting upon itself, something emerged.
"Who dares summon me?! Incompetent and stupid master! YOU'RE summoning ME? Preposterous. Prepare yourself, we have company. The warmth of this world calls out to those who drift in the Dark Beyond."
Easily standing over ten feet tall, the being summoned into the mortal plane by Iosephus Thepes was far from human. Its flesh was a shade of dull orange, its forehead sloped and its eyes looked to be almost too small for its head. Wielding a terrible, jagged battle-axe larger than the demon hunter himself, the demonic summon's arms and legs were thicker than its master's torso, while the summon's own barrel chest was enormous and musclebound. Clad in thick, heavily-plated armor that covered its entire form excepting its nose-less face, the broad-shouldered thing lumbered forward, shaking the earth beneath it with each step its enormous, plated feet took.
It was what some called a Nephilim, the long-lost and ill-fated result of Fallen Angels interbreeding with humankind.
"How many, Mar'los? What species and subspecies? What kingdoms?"
"Many. Mere swarming imps, easily dispatched by… what in the world is THAT?! An Aughsbak? Soulgrinder?! You would dare allow such a thing to be present before me?!"
A series of darkened, emerald green-tinged chains tightened around the summon, forcing it to kneel before Iosephus Thepes. The chains didn't simply bite into the summon's armor; they passed directly through the heavily-plated gear and bit into the summon's flesh, causing it to grunt in pain.
"I will put you through agony completely inconceivable by your pathetic, fragile mind if you don't silence yourself and do as you're told, inhuman, demonic slave. Now strike down anything that emerges from the Portcullis."
"Yes… master."
And creatures did emerge, rushing to the warmth of Earth's vast cornucopia of life like a wife rushing to the arms of her husband who'd returned from battle.
The size of small dogs, they stood upright, with large heads and unnaturally thin necks. Their heads were awkwardly-shaped, like a series of malformed crops. Several spines jettisoned from the tops of their heads. Emerald embers sat within their eye sockets, perpetually burning. Tiny, useless wings jutted from their backs. Their hands and feet seemed to be too large for their bodies.
They cackled aloud like a group of old hags. Iosephus' summon Mar'los engaged the beasts, taunting them and demanding them to throw themselves upon it, and they certainly did, though others chose to hurl small, crackling orbs of emerald flame at their foe instead.
"Yakekekekeke! Warm! Eat 'em! Eat 'em!"
"N-no! Gaaaah! Bad guys! D-demon hunter! RUUUUUUUN!"
Iosephus Thepes himself, empowered by the native strength of Decimelech the Heroesbane brought his double-edged blade down upon the tiny, cackling beasts, instantaneously killing many of them with a series of well-placed and overwhelmingly damaging swipes. Their flesh parted and their bones snapped like twigs.
A disturbed Nikolas Rivers and a silently impressed Leivinia Birdway watched on from the SUV. Ribbons of emerald green would emerge from the broken creatures, dance in the air for the span of a few moments and then swiftly careen towards the glowing and shuddering ornate jar, where they would come to rest. The cursed Daemoniac magic that infested the device called the imps' darkened souls to their new home.
Many more imps entered the mortal plane through the Daemonic Portcullis and that many more were slain, their emerald green ribbons 'stolen' by the Soulgrinder which eventually began to gently rock from one side to the other, though it never fell.
From within a deep voice boomed, warped and distorted, like it was an audio file that'd been the victim of heavy backmasking, one which caused Iosephus Thepes to pause, and one which sent a chill down the spine of even the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader.
"You've made an unwise choice, "demon hunter"... I have mowed down your wretched kind by the tens of thousands and I will do so again! I pleasure myself to the screams your kind have let loose as I tore them limb from limb. Blood, souls, the Savage Slaughter! Not even Arthur Pendragon could defeat me. Let the unraveling of this pathetic world COMMENCE! Tichonaax cometh, humans!"
"It would seem we've attracted company. Back through the Portcullis. Now," Iosephus eventually commanded. "Begone. I don't wish to see your disgusting form any longer."
Scarred and bloodied, missing one of its eyes and chunks of its face, the demon hunter's summon nodded its empty head, uttered a grunt of pain as a section of its lower lip was blasted away by a fireball unleashed from the hands of a surviving imp. It then rushed through the tear in reality, crushing beneath its plated, cloven feet imps that'd made the mistake of getting in its way.
Iosephus Thepes hastily destroyed the runic circles he'd carved out in the semi-liquefied muck; as a result, the tear was instantaneously mended. Closing with a shudder, the earth shook one final time as if it was in the last stages of its death throes. Silence descended upon the woodlands just outside of Catherdine, the residents of the Welsh hamlet having no concept of the perverse rituals that'd taken place.
An unspeakable, abhorrent evil has been prevented from entering the world. But such a prevention would not bring back the unjustly slain.
"Are we finished?" Leivinia called out, impatiently. She rocked back and forth in her seat, repeatedly tapping her smartphone's screen even though she'd locked the device.
"The ritual has come to a close, Dawn-Colored Lady. The Soulgrinder possesses enough fuel for weeks of constant use, two or three at the absolute least by my estimates. My estimates are rarely incorrect."
"Satisfactory. Thepes, get in the shotgun seat. It's uncomfortable here so I'm sitting on you. You don't have a say in this decision."
"Understood, my Lady."
February 7th, 2004. 1:52 PM.
Just how Kamijou Touma had found himself in a one of the fanciest, and not to mention most recently-constructed dance clubs was a mystery, and yet it was almost too clear.
The trip had been something of a blur, and yet he could remember every detail, every movement that Kumokawa Seria's lips had made during her explanation regarding the "brand spanking new" Club Orange.
The original plan had been to find their way to Cinema One, then grab lunch together and go ahead with whatever was suggested and mutually agreed upon from there.
Not all matters were going to flow per pre-set plans, evidently.
Apparently located on the Dianoid's mid level, the club was monolithic. The dancefloor alone must've been the size of a single floor of dorms in Touma's dormitory, quite easily.
The flashing, strobing lights leaping seemingly in all directions from above might've served to distract or otherwise disorient the average human being, but Kamijou Touma was neither of those. He tracked and made note of their movements, studying and cataloging them on a subconscious level. His converted mind silently performed all of the 'menial' labors in the background.
Regardless of circumstances, Kamijou Touma was very much enjoying himself. This fact was further solidified by the fact that a flawless, gorgeous woman such as Kumokawa Seria was grinding her form against his own, not to mention the additional fact that either of Touma's hands had found their way to his senpai's hips, where they'd come to firmly rest.
She controlled the floor, making herself and Kamijou Touma the center of attention. All eyes were on Kumokawa Seria, and Kamijou Touma to a lesser extent.
"Enjoying yourself, Touma-kun?" Seria inquired, speaking over the blaring, thumping house music transmitted by the DJ's immense speaker systems. The very club itself was shaken to its core by the thumping, though no one seemed to notice or otherwise mind.
"How couldn't I be? Have you taken a good look at yourself today? You're stunning! You're… you."
Kamijou Touma's response was swift and sure. Mimicking the body motions of those who clearly knew how to bust a move, Touma could rise to the challenge of operating in a very unfamiliar situation.
Even if Touma couldn't see it, Kumokawa Seria's cheeks instantaneously began to glow a deep, darkened shade of red.
"Just make love to me, would you? Just take my virginity. I've waited so, so long for you, my little kohai…"
For a moment, Touma thought he saw an equally red, almost auburn blur of some type moving quite skillfully among the crowds of dancers, both male and female alike who couldn't quite keep up to the pace held by Seria, a skillful, elegant dancer herself, and Touma the nanorobotic copycat.
Tossing her head back, and then to the left, Seria's dark hair flowed like the feathers of a proud and elegant bird beating its wings against the air. Seria faced Touma, allowing her body to move of its own accord, her hips swaying as 'autopilot' was enabled.
"You're too sweet to me, Touma-kun, my little kohai. Tell me, can you drink things still?"
Touma had to think about the answer for a moment. Pulling Seria close, he leaned inwards as his nanorobotic form continued its mechanical copied dance routine.
"Don't know. There's one way to find out, worst that'll happen is that it'll go right through me."
"The beverages are supposedly non-alcoholic, so intoxication won't be an issue for either one of us. If you'd like, I can fetch us something from the bar. I wouldn't mind leaving the floor for a few moments."
Touma and Seria moved as one towards the dancefloor's nearest exit, one of several small staircases flanked by bulbs that transmitted neon lighting, with provided considerable illumination.
"I'll make you a deal, senpai. Give me a kiss and I'll allow you to leave… I'm definitely messing with you, but I do want a…"
"Oh, shut up Sir Knight. You're just a bit too righteous sometimes."
Kumokawa Seria forcibly crashed her lips against her kohai's just after they'd barely managed to escape the less-than-oddly alluring pull of the dancefloor. Forcing her tongue into Touma's mouth, Seria gave him quite the kiss indeed. Before she pulled away completely, she nibbled on her kohai's lower lip.
"Satisfied?"
"Y-yep. For now, I might need another one, though."
While Seria moved towards Club Orange's expansive and heavily-populated bar, Touma set himself down in one of six leather seats situated around one of many dark, metallic tables. Numerous emptied and semi-emptied glasses, as well as plates covered in crumbs and numerous colorful stains dotted the table's otherwise cleanly surface, marring it considerably.
It was disgusting. Whoever had been seated at the table last must've been raised like an animal, never taught a single manner in their life. Kamijou Touma grunted in aggravation. What udder disrespect... one of the glasses contained milk... udder.
Being funny never had been one of Touma's strong suits. He groaned at his own mental antics.
Just as he leaned forward, resting the side of his face against his hand, propped up by his right arm's elbow, someone who wasn't Kumokawa Seria joined him at the table.
Clad in a light-colored, incredibly revealing dress which showcased her breasts' considerable cleavage, not to mention most of her impressive legs, a proud and very pleased-looking Musujime Awaki leaned in as well. Move Point raised an eyebrow as her lips curled upwards into a sarcastic smirk.
"Who's the mack?" Awaki rhetorically inquired. She leaned in further, winking at the being that resembled a perfectly normal young man across from her.
"I've heard a few things about you, heeeee~rooooo, and some of them involved a supposed skill with attracting members of the opposite gender. It'd appear that the pervert and even the lolicon weren't lying. For once. Quite the catch you've got there."
"Good to see you too, Musujime," Touma sarcastically spat, though his rough exterior didn't hold out for long. He soon found himself chuckling.
"I can't deny that it's true, but I'm not going to be a douche about it. It really is good to see you again, I wasn't lying. You're not dancing alone, are you? Gorgeous girl like you deserves better, y'know."
"Hardly. Didn't arrive with a date and I don't particularly intend on leaving with one, not today. I dance with whoever can hold the floor. Simple. Don't really want a lanky, awkward sunnavabitch who can't hold his own. Not appealing, I like confidence. Like yours. You're not quite the type I'd take home, but I could see myself roughing you up."
"Is that so?" Touma inquired, leaning further inwards. "I try. Confidence is something that's built, though, you're not born with it. You look really good, by the by, I'm liking the dress… speaking of which, shouldn't you be in class?"
"Thank you. Shouldn't YOU be in class?"
Touma couldn't argue with that. That was exactly where he was supposed to be. He could literally see Komoe's crying face as a sea of machine-phase matter temporarily clouded his vision.
"I guess we're both delinquents, huh? A couple of felons on the run. How's everything? I hope you're doing well."
"Well enough," Awaki spoke. Leaning back in her seat, she folded either of her arms beneath her bosom.
"With the business related and unrelated to that half-assed teleporter out of the way, I've been able to chill out for a while. I've learned a lot, boy. But that's life, no? You're always learning something about something. It sounds corny, but I've been doing a lot of sculpting lately. Clay, you know? There's something therapeutic about it."
While he'd certainly been paying attention to his conversational partner's words, considering the weight of each, Touma couldn't quite get his mind off her body. Awaki's skin looked very smooth, like the softest of silks. Kamijou Touma had to physically prevent himself from licking his lips. Pale and dotted with the occasional freckle, Awaki's flesh was otherwise unmarred. She wore no makeup at all; instead she'd taken the 'all-natural' route.
Touma nodded, partially lost in his own contemplations.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, art is art Musujime. I don't really have a talented bone... heh. In my body, so I guess I should be jealous. I've been writing a bit here and there but… y'know, boring nonfiction. No magical dragons or superpowered gods here."
"I'm still an amateur," Awaki remarked with a shrug, "it's the relaxation factor that counts to me. Clay's really soft, feels good when it's in your hands, between your fingers."
"And I bet my cock would feel very good stuffed into the cavity between your legs, but do go on, Musujime... you look delicious. I wonder if she's a virgin? Could probably find out... nah. Invasion of privacy. Her bleeding for me sounds pretty hot. Shame it can only happen once."
"I can't help but recommend that you try it sometime, Kamijou. Maybe you've got the fingers for it and you just don't know it?"
"Funny thing," Touma spoke. Awaki raised an eyebrow and looked into his eyes, suggesting that he had her attention, at least for a short period of time. "A close friend of mine has actually been doing some sort of… what'd she call it? "Expressive Art" or something? She's got these abstract paintings all over her dorm. Relevant?"
"Relevant enough."
She was gorgeous. What was it about him? Why did he always end up in the presence of gorgeous, perfect women? The way Awaki's auburn twintails flowed down her back was an exotic, perfect look for her. Her hair accented her dress and her pale, kissable skin as well.
Kamijou Touma didn't know it, but Musujime Awaki was thinking similar thoughts about him. With his hair flattened, fringe swept to the side, adorned in a wrinkleless suit seemingly intended for informal occasions, he looked like a true gentleman.
"She's flawless. I think I want to get to know her better. Who knows? Maybe we could hit it off, fucked up sexual thoughts aside. She seems reasonable enough."
"He's hot, a bit on the older side, but he's pretty hot. What a dreamy kid. Come on girl, let's get closer. That confidence is… a real turn-on… hope he's not a lolicon."
From within one of the pockets of her dress, which apparently had pockets, or at least one, Musujime Awaki produced a crumpled mess of paper. She offered it to Kamijou Touma in an outstretched hand.
"'Fore I forget, check this out. There're a bunch of these scattered all over the tables… some sort of New Age crap? Not gonna find a lot of buyers out here. I thought it was pretty funny, so maybe you'll get a kick out of it too."
Touma indeed took the crumpled mess and proceeded to uncrumple it.
There he was. If Kamijou Touma possessed a human heart, it would've skipped a beat.
It was the paper bag man in all his faceless glory. Depicted from the neck up, blocks of text were present both above and below the paper bag with eyeballs peaking out from within its strategically-cut holes. Scrawled in Japanese, English, an odd written language consisting of squiggles and many dots, a vaguely runic-seeming language which turned out to be Korean and French, a message was conveyed.
"No More Lies, Secrecy and Oppression. Solidarity in the Sons of Taured."
"Find us. Liberate Your Mind from the Chains of Oppressive Tyrants. Oseltaeb."
Opening the pamphlet, Kamijou Touma's vision skimmed over the words printed within. Simplistic in its design, the pamphlet was much more heavily set on conveying a message than on appealing to the eye.
"Hello, and welcome. Whether you've seen our Broadcasts or whether you've been keeping up with our social media posts we welcome you as one. Caucasian, men and women of dark-skinned descent, the indigenous peoples, whatever your race or creed may be we welcome you without hate and without prejudice.
I will keep these introductory paragraphs as short as possible: magic is real.
"No, not quite the sort of magic one would see performed by a man in a funny hat. Imagine the power to eradicate disease, to improve the world we live in and annihilate humankind's environmental footprint. Imagine for a moment (if you would) this power being wielded freely by the people, by those who deserves to have control over the world they live in. You and I; for too long have the chosen few reaped the benefits of this power when you and I should reap it as they do."
The paragraphs continued, and they were full to the brim with incriminating words regarding the 'Other Side'; short exposés regarding Necessarius, Annihilatus and several magical cabals, including those that operated in faraway locations such as West Africa and numerous Middle-Eastern countries were present. Even part of Index's own story was mentioned more than simply in passing. They got almost every detail correct up to the point in which she ended up on the railing of Kamijou Touma's dorm. It was at that point that the tale came to a close. The write-up even mentioned and explained the history of Aureolus Izzard.
Within, she was described as a "slave" and as a "victim of systemic, tyrannical oppression".
Touma would've gulped, if he possessed a human throat that functioned on a regular basis.
"Musujime? How much of this did you read? You know it's…"
"It's not all "hogwash". There you go again, you prick. Lying to people, now? You're awful… no more lies. This is THEIR fault, how are they just letting this happen? If those magicians are this irresponsible, then fuck it, it's their problem. Not mine. I'm not going to be their puppet."
"It's dangerous stuff."
"Is it, now?" Awaki questioned, quite skeptically. "Seems like little more than superstitious New Age nonsense to me. What's next? A plesiosaur living in a Scottish Loch? One thing I've got to wonder…"
"What's that?"
"What does Oseltaeb mean…? Pah. Gibberish. Probably something in another language. Looks sort of like Esperanto."
While Kamijou Touma and Musujime Awaki continued to politick, their conversation drifting further down the path of art discussion as Kamijou Touma attempted to turn the conversation's tide in a more neutral direction, Kumokawa Seria had taken to a quiet side of the club's bar.
She wasn't upset or otherwise concerned, not at the interactions shared between Kamijou Touma and the famous level five candidate Move Point at least. Kamijou Touma was no slave, he could speak to whoever he wished to speak to. So long as she didn't find herself getting NTR'd during the day they were sharing together, there was very little to be upset about.
She was quite upset with the individual who'd been incessantly calling her smartphone, leaving far too many messages for his own good.
"You'll tell me what you want with Touma-kun before I hand him over to you, Tsuchimikado. Don't push me."
"Kumokawa, listen to me. It's…"
"We're having a perfectly enjoyable day together and I don't intend for our day to be hijacked by the likes of you and your ilk."
"Kumokawa."
"I wager that you intend to use him for your own gain."
On the other end of the line, Tsuchimikado Motoharu produced a frustrated groan. At least Karasuma Fran and Tsuchimikado Maika seemed to be hitting 'it', whatever that might've been, off well. The two sat before Motoharu's television, lost in whatever program was being broadcasted.
"Not just for my gain, but that's part of it. Don't think I'm enjoying this any more than you, but I have people that I answer to. I don't have much of a choice in the matter. It's other people's necks or it's mine, and I've got more to lose than them."
Kumokawa Seria couldn't see it, but Motoharu turned and looked to Maika. Sat with her legs folded beneath her posterior and dressed in her adorable Ryouran Maid School uniform, she was like a perfect little doll.
There wasn't a thing in the world that he wouldn't do to protect her.
"If you're not going to bother replying, then I'm going to end our call."
"Wha… sorry. Distracted. A lot on my mind."
"I can tell. What I was SAYING, Tsuchimikado… was that you won't be involving my little kohai without involving me. I won't risk losing him again. I won't sit on the sidelines and simply 'hope' that he'll be okay. I've nearly lost him one too many times."
"Do you honestly think that's a choice you can make, Kumokawa? You know a few things about the Magic Side, fine, but that doesn't make it right for you to involve yourself in our affairs."
"When the boy I love so very much is more than likely being thrown to the wolves I have every right to involve myself with 'your affairs'."
"You know about the Magic Side and therefore you know about the chilly state of affairs between it and the realm of science. Don't let emotions cloud your judgment. Do you remember what happened the last time you crossed me, Kumokawa?"
"How could I forget, Tsuchimikado? You'll get nothing from me, not until I'm made aware of the details. You can try and hunt me down, try and track my location. You'll fail."
Tsuchimikado Motoharu grunted. His available hand curled into a fist as the overwhelming urge to punch something throbbed within his higher mind, pushing him nearly to savagery.
She was right. There was nothing he could do. His connections only went so far up the proverbial ladder, and an encrypted signal could only be traced so far. The trail would die out somewhere. There were fronts to consider, false masquerades, purposeful dead ends designed to lead information-seekers such as Tsuchimikado Motoharu to a proverbial brick wall.
If he could've lied to himself, if he could've denied it all, that would've made everything much easier for the Backstabbing Blade. It also would've gouged out fewer chunks of his pride.
"Fucking… fine. You win this round, the battle but not the war. Just tell me where you've got Kamijou. I'll have an agent make the connection, she'll run everything through with you while I get things ready. I'll be there too."
"Of course you will... we meet your agent on our terms. Touma-kun's and my own. I won't permit for my kohai to be dragged into this misadventure blindfolded. Out of curiosity…"
"Speak."
"From whom did you learn that my kohai was with me?"
"That's something I can't tell you. I like living."
"Tell me or you'll get nothing, spy."
Tsuchimikado Motoharu's nails were pushed so deeply into the palm of his hand that blood was drawn. He gritted his teeth as his brain felt like it was rattling within his skull.
She had him backed into a corner. He was a dog that'd had its teeth removed.
But that didn't mean he couldn't bite.
He explained the situation; threatening the nun and extorting information from the one-eyed monster while neglecting to inform Seria that he'd done so at gunpoint, the market that'd opened up, the unfounded concern of one among his many incredibly powerful and influential employers, the possibility that said market could've been a front for an invasion attempt by, among other parties, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight magic cabal and the fact that Kamijou Touma had become, for whatever reason, part of the issue at hand.
Kumokawa Seria had listened on, asking a question once or twice, mostly inquiring about specific terms that were unfamiliar to her.
Tsuchimikado Motoharu lied through his teeth with each answer he gave.
"So, a situation with the potential for a deathtrap to be laying just beyond its harmless exterior. Yes, that would've been very good matter to keep a hush-hush little secret."
"I don't make the rules. Agent will meet you outside the Dianoid, girl by the name of Karasuma. Dark hair, shorts, pink hoodie with little robot antennae. You can't miss her, real friendly. I'll be seeing you at the POI. Don't be late; the only… "person" you'll be hurting is your "little kohai."
Kumokawa Seria unceremoniously grunted in response and ended the call. When it came to magical business, she obviously wasn't in any position to call the shots.
Such was quite vexing for her.