Quick thing: thanks, naruhinasakufan1 for following and favoriting! It's great to have you on board. I hope you enjoy your reading of a Certain Broken Testament!
Quick announcement: before we get started, I have some bad news; but I'm not about to leave you high and dry. I'll make some matters clear before I begin my rambling.
No, this piece's production is by no means being discontinued. Absolutely, positively not. Secondly, yes, delays are going to be introduced the previously-established production schedule.
Why the delays? A good and understandable question. That inquiry is answered easily enough, dear readers. Issues of an academic nature and other, unrelated life issues that rear their heads in my direction, and I'm bound to answer their calls.
Without dawdling, I'll cut to the chase. Production of chapters is going to effectively slow to a crawl. Expect a chapter once a week, that's every seven days. I do understand that this slowdown might frustrate some of you, and while I certainly do sympathize, the matter is simply beyond my control.
Considering the time that needs to be allocated to academic and what limited personal pursuits I can truly call my own, I think a chapter a week – again, that's seven days – will allow for the continued, quality production.
I hope you understand the situation, my lovely readers. I suppose, here, that there's a bright side to look to; production certainly isn't stopping! It's not a hiatus or anything of that sort. That's a plus, no?
With that matter discussed (at least one-sidedly), as we usually do around this time, let's jump into response time, shall we?
Guest: as I've become fond of saying (or, perhaps more appropriately, typing), expect the unexpected.
321jaz: almost everyone's favorite Cathedral… I'm sure there are a fair share of folks who aren't overly fond of Necessarius' heart of power.
Ba, Ba, black sheep, have you any wool? In this case, I'm not sure if you'd want this 'black sheep's' wool. Could be cursed, or something. Who knows what Laura Stuart is capable of; for that matter, who even knows what Laura Stuart IS? She may not even be human. Additionally, there's another matter to consider: Ava's considering of Laura to be the 'problem child' may not even be entirely accurate or truthful. It's one person's opinion, after all, a (usually) biased thing.
Loyalties indeed seem to be switching sides, and, in this case, the 'betrayer' could hardly be blamed for becoming a turncoat, especially given the events that brought about Index's stay in Academy City, in the first place.
That's a matter to be addressed a bit later. It certainly is an interesting concept, seeing how Mikoto's going to function when the cards are 'laid down', so to speak. Saying something is one thing, acting on it is another entirely. Kumokawa Seria has proved herself in that regard, but, Mikoto has yet to do so. I personally have high hopes. She seems to have come quite far, hasn't she?
Peculiar indeed; but, stranger things have happened. We're talking about Academy City, a place where a sentient beetle made of nonexistent matter saves people, like something out of a western comic book!
Regarding Tsuchimikado Motoharu's thorough whooping, I'm quite sure that he deserved it.
Judging by events which have only just passed our heroes by, I'd say that the 'normal high school boy you can find anywhere' is likely the most dangerous and cunning individual this side of a certain General Superintendent. His innocuous appearance does make one wonder just what he's capable of, doesn't it?
Saten Ruiko is someone who has suffered through much powerlessness. In effect, it's comparable to giving a beaten, broken man a blade, a means of striking back at his oppressor. In this case, Saten Ruiko's oppressor isn't a man, or even an enemy she could face down in a gladiatorial pit; Ruiko's oppressor seems to be life itself. Ruiko's recklessness does become mindful. Mindful recklessness, if you will.
I know, friend, I know. The cliffhanger really is a necessary evil, isn't it? I really do feel bad! Sometimes, it's just the most convenient point to end a narration! Forgive me!
As always, I'm deeply glad to know that I'm able to consistently gain your approval! I hope to continuously do so, through subsequent chapters, and, as always, your continued readership, suppor and input are both greatly appreciated.
Whwsms: let's see what we've got, huh? In we go!
I, too find writing an alternative portrayal of Misaka Mikoto to be refreshing, a nice departure from the standard affair; but I'll say no more regarding that. Kamijou Touma, indeed, seems to be taking the high and rational route, just as Mikoto is. The fact that he's acknowledging the reality about him suggests that the entirety of his perspective has changed, though, to be fair, he's mostly admitted this himself, to both Othinus and Index. In regards to Shokuhou Misaki, don't think for even a second that she's going to fall to the wayside. While she wasn't brought up in the conversation, it hardly means that she's about to become irrelevant.
The revelation that Kazakiri Hyouka has found for herself a significant other seems to have raised a lot of interest from you lovely people; and for that I'm very glad! I was hoping to perk some interests, so to say. My goal's been accomplished, it seems. Regarding her discovery of a certain genre of manga, well, that's an issue that's bound to sort itself out, especially if Hyouka and Index cross paths in the near future.
Indeed, the fact that Tsuchimikado Motoharu could walk at all is testament to the fact that Kumokawa Seria likely went easy on him, at least compared to the usual beatings dished out by 'Fukiyose-sensei'. Perhaps she did, and, perhaps Tsuchimikado Motoharu possesses an immunity to Full-On Soap Opera Mode?
Don't expect to wait long for that can of proverbial whoop-ass to be opened; I can hear the tin being cracked all the way from over here, and, I reckon that's some far ways! Uiharu Kazari and Saten Ruiko don't stand alone.
If her treatment of Index wasn't enough, I think Laura Stuart has been asking for such measures to be taken against her for many a reason; as you're likely aware, I, myself am not the esteemed Archbishop's greatest fan. Far from it, in fact. Regarding Ava Stuart's mystery-man, I urge you, as always, to read on. That's one sure-fire way to learn more!
At this rate, Aleister Crowley is likely biding his time, and focusing on a far more pressing matter. I don't think I need to say much more.
Ohohohoho! I think I know what THAT means! If I'm right on the money, I'll be patiently and eagerly awaiting the next chapter of a Certain Search After Truth.
As always, I think it's great that I'm able to continually gain your stamp of APPROVAL! I hope to consistently do so, through subsequent chapters, friend! Moreover, your continued support, readership and input are all deeply, deeply appreciated.
Anon Guest: whatever your reasons, I'm beyond overjoyed to know that you're enjoying your reading of a Certain Broken Testament! Now, let's get into some of the events that caught your eye.
Make it so? I'm way ahead of you; it's already been made so.
At this point, Tsuchimikado Motoharu might simply be 'used' to physical pain, given the frequent beatings the Delta Force have received at the hands of Fukiyose Seiri. Additionally, there's the chance that Motoharu may or may not be immune to the effects of Full-On Soap Opera Mode, though, this remains an unsubstantiated rumor, if anything.
I fear the day in which Index-chan learns about that genre of manga. I think both Kamijou Touma and Othinus likely fear the day, as well.
I'm certainly cookin' something up for you truly awesome people. While it may smell pleasing from here, I don't think the likes of Aleister Crowley, or, to an extent, even Kamijou Touma himself could say the same thing.
Many individuals seem to have found themselves in less-than-desirable predicaments, now that the subject is brought up, haven't they?
Given the situation in which Saten Ruiko finds herself, pulling out a rabbit from a hat would do her very little good; though such a fuzzy little creature could very well just distract the nefarious felons from their misdeeds with its cuteness.
As always, I'm very grateful, friend, for the offering of your stamp of APPROVAL, for your continued readership and for your continued input, and support. I hope to continually gain subsequent stamps of APPROVAL, and to continually provide you with entertainment!
MrQuestionMark: I truly don't want to seem like a suck-up, that's certainly not what I'm going for; but I was almost shaken when I first saw your pen name make its way into my inbox. I find it almost surreal that I'm typing it, now. Truthfully, I've been keeping up with both A Certain Unknown Level Zero and Between the Lines for some time, probably well over a year at this rate; and yet I've seemingly been incapable of working up the nerve to offer my own thoughts. But, enough of my blabbering!
Both your kind words and your honesty honor me deeply, to say the absolute least; the fact that you've decided to pay this piece the time of day honors me in and of itself. Your analysis is also incredibly interesting, as I've considered many of the same elements myself, in fact! It was the 'twisting' of Kamijou Touma's character that I sought after, the warping, not only of his physical state of being, but of his mental state of being. Regarding he initial rush, I'm inclined to agree. I do think a slower introduction could've been beneficial, as a means to 'ease' the reader in. I suppose, if all makes sense as the narrative has progressed, that's all I can ask for, given that all is said and done.
Himegami Aisa is a character who I personally feel to be neglected, or otherwise tossed in as an almost tragic means of comic relief, both in the continuties of fanworks and in Kamachi's prime canon. While she can never be the hero, not without betraying her original purpose, she can certainly be offered time to shine, I feel! Your preferences are entirely understandable, and most respectable. Not all of us can find ourselves enjoying the same things, no? It's what makes us unique, as individuals, after all! I'm very pleased to know that, despite the presence of lemon elements, that you've decided to come along for the ride.
I'm very pleased to hear that you enjoy Kamijou Touma's augmentation! Indeed, such a feat would surely ensure Academy City a continued place at the pinnacle of the world stage... if only those beyond the darkened underbelly of the City knew anything about it. Then again, if the 'common rabble' possessed the knowledge that such augmentations were readily available, the entire population could very well seek out such augmentations, quite possibly with devastating results.
#canadalies is a controversy very simple in concept, really. It all comes down to a matter of... bacon. Supposedly, Canadian-made bacon is not actually bacon; and, yet, in spite of this, Canada continues to claim that the product it claims to be bacon, which isn't bacon, is bacon. Therefore, Canada literally lies.
I'd like to humbly thank you, Mr ?, not only for deciding to offer this piece the time of day, but for your kind words and for your input. Your analyzing of certain elements found within the narrative was an absolute blast to read! I certainly hope to hear more from you in the future!
With a deadly combination of combustibles, including gunpowder, a singular bullet was ejected from within the barrel of an assault rifle, wielded by one of the ski mask-clad felons who'd taken to securing the entranceway doors of the bank.
He or she, their features couldn't quite be identified, had leaned forward and bent one of their knees, while the recoil of their rifle wracked their body. They stumbled back momentarily, indicating to Hamasaki Tsubasa that the individual in question wasn't accustomed to wielding such weapons, or dealing with said weapons' recoil. An absolute amateur, if he'd ever seen one.
Saten Ruiko would've, could've, maybe even should've, but didn't fall. No bullets struck her flesh, there were no screams of agony and no lifeblood fled from her body.
Instead, like some feat performed by the Accelerator himself, the bullet was reflected. It'd crashed against an invisible barrier surrounding the form of the fourth-ranked level five esper, who'd taken to acting as something of a living barricade.
Upon impact, the bullet had seemingly stopped moving in mid-air, as darkened, crackling and overall anomalous energy leapt forth from the point of impact like lifeblood spraying from a grievous wound. A sound akin to that produced by rolling thunderclouds was heard, originating from the fourth strongest esper, Voidwalker.
Then, it was reflected. Striking the bullet's felonious once-owner in the leg, identifiably feminine screams rang out from within her ski mask.
It didn't change trajectory; an element such as vector manipulation was too complicated for the fourth-ranked level five esper.
Rather than utilizing the manipulation of vectors, the process behind the bullet's reflection was a much simpler one: basic calculations were performed within the higher mind of the number four, engaging reflection tactics that were applied to a thin and completely non-visible layer of void energy which hugged the form of Academy City's fourth-ranked level five like clothing.
Saten Ruiko had stood there, wide-eyed for a moment, before she apparently managed to get a hold of herself.
With an aggressive huff, her whispering came to a close, and in the palms of her hands, orange flames crackled once more. The middle-schooler spread either of her legs and leaned forward.
Even if she hardly knew what 'magic' was, or how it'd come into the world, or even if there was some sort of limit to how much 'magic' one could use, Saten Ruiko wasn't about to just allow what was happening around her to continue.
"Let the flames of the righteous Lord thy God char away the sins of the sinful!"
While no one, save the fourth-ranked level five esper knew of it, Saten Ruiko, an esper, had used magic without consequence. Truly, something was deeply wrong with that situation; and yet it all made sense.
The words written in those anomalous pamphlets that'd seemingly found their way all over the surfaces within Academy City's great border-walls must've been telling the truth. There must've been a malicious piece of 'code' built into the 'factory standard' AIM Field all espers generated upon being put through the Power Curriculum. They really weren't bluffing.
Then, the fourth-ranked Voidwalker was snapped from his own internal musings.
Plumes of flame surged forth from Ruiko's palms and from between her fingers, like a stream of water ejected from the nozzle of a firehose. Seemingly, it acted of its own accord, seeking out those who held weapons to the unarmed, and those who had gunned down an innocent bank teller who'd done no wrong.
It evidently had flaws in whatever algorithm it utilized, however; the flames didn't seem to do very well when an obstacle was set in its predetermined path.
One of seven felons leapt behind a large plant resting within a larger, thicker pot; Saten Ruiko's flames merely bounced away from the pot upon impact and began to seek out a new target.
Uiharu Kazari screamed aloud, terrified, shaken to her core as a firefight occurred between those who'd taken to guarding the entranceway doors and another party who'd arrived, firing shots through the open entranceway and into the bank.
Could it have been Anti Skill? Would they open fire when civilians were present, essentially but wordlessly held hostage? Kazari didn't know.
She bit into her tongue, suddenly, causing it to bleed as she heard identifiably male screams. Lifeblood leaked into her mouth, and the Goalkeeper tasted it. Coppery and sickening, she suddenly thought that she was going to violently vomit.
It was swishing about, mixing with her saliva. Kazari tasted more and more of her own blood; it offended her tastebuds and repulsed her sense of smell. She could smell her own blood within her mouth.
There was nothing more horrid.
The fourth-ranked level five had joined the brawl. From the open right hand of Hamasaki Tsubasa, the arm of which he'd swung leftwards in an arc, a great, arcing stream of lavender-colored, crackling void energy crashed into, rather than cut through the form of one among seven felons, sending the mask-less individual careening into a nearby wall.
Some had been firing upon the fourth-ranked level five, but they'd ceased their activities upon realizing that such actions were pointless; each individual bullet was simply reflected.
Chaos unfolded and civilization unravelled within the bank; the father of a child and the partner of a young woman tackled one of two gunmen to the ground, while Hamasaki Tsubasa offered him backup; a great, whipping arc of void crashed into the other, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him stumbling to the ground. He dropped his assault rifle as the void arc was brought down upon his wrist, breaking it.
The mother and her child escaped from the bank and into the waiting arms of Anti Skill. Others followed, including two students from Tokiwadai Middle School and numerous bank employees, none of whom were fired upon.
The fourth-ranked level five and Saten Ruiko, the level zero esper who anomalously wielded the force known as 'magic' had wordlessly formed something of a ragtag team. While Hamasaki Tsubasa remained in front of her, acting as a human reflective shield, Ruiko's plumes of fire continuously raged from the palms of her hands. They caused no fires to break out even when they crossed the leaves of nearby plants and charred only their intended victims; the overpowered felons.
"Fuck off!" The female brigand with the short hair cried, emptying the last rounds of her clip in the direction of the fourth-ranked level five, only to see them reflected, crashing against an invisible barrier that glowed, releasing tendrils of… some sort. She had no concept of what sort of esper power the boy possessed. Whatever the power, the sounds his body produced upon reflecting aggressive projectiles was awful, worse even than the sound of long, sharpened nails being dragged down a chalkboard. It was like the cry of some feral beast.
Out of bullets and almost out of options, she tossed her firearm to the tiled flooring and broke into a run, charging towards Academy City's fourth strongest level five esper. If bullets wouldn't work, then, perhaps fisticuffs would do the trick.
Komaba Ritoku's faction, the Viper Room never backed down from a challenge and she knew it. She knew that creed well and she held it in her heart and she wore it like the thickest of armor.
He took only a single step forward, and so did the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl behind him. That was all he needed. He could tear her apart from afar. The likes of Meltdowner, Aihana Etsu, and Shokuhou Misaki had bent the knee to him.
Some pathetic, worthless level zero who let an oppressive society get the better of them was hardly even worth his time.
Saten Ruiko was the obvious exception. She'd always held her head high. She'd fallen from grace more than once, but Saten Ruiko had always gotten back up. She'd always defiantly spat in the face of oppression, openly revolting against the very concept simply by living every day she had to the fullest. She was beauty unmarred, she, Saten Ruiko, was perfection made physical.
The specimen quickly closing the distance between itself and Hamasaki Tsubasa was no such extraordinary individual.
"Please don't… d-don't hurt her too badly. She's d-done terrible things to innocent people but w-we… we shouldn't stoop to her level. Please… don't kill her. Promise?"
Saten Ruiko had shown far more courage than most would've. She'd taken to standing up for what she believed in, she'd taken to the frontlines and had directly fought against attackers who were, if their actions spoke louder than their words, and they certainly did, more than prepared to kill her.
How could Hamasaki Tsubasa refuse? He couldn't. Regardless of the tenuous current situation he still found himself unable to say no to that girl. Despite his own feelings on the matter, he couldn't deny her.
"I... promise."
Void, the fifth and final of the most important elements of the Eastern World, freely manipulated by the fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker, manifested as a great, malformed arm with an enormous clawed hand, resembling that of a bird's scaled, reptilian foot.
Lavender and crackling with transparent energy, the malformed arm, manifesting from Tsubasa's right hip crashed into the form of the suddenly-terrified and extremely reluctant-looking brigand ringleader, knocking the air from her lungs and causing lifeblood to begin dripping from her nostrils.
Like a baseball that had been viciously hit by a bat, she was sent careening. Through the air, she flew until her form was stopped not by the first, not by the second, but by the third section of walling. The form of the female brigand with the short hair came to rest atop a desk within a small, private room where financial matters would've been discussed in a normal scenario.
Battered and broken, but otherwise alive, she groaned as all went dark, and then she knew no more.
Anti Skill Operatives stormed the besieged bank. Boot-clad feet stomped against the tiled flooring as the state-sponsored authorities crammed themselves into the besieged bank, exchanging heated gunfire with the remaining brigands, who'd apparently formed a plan of action even with their ringleader fallen.
They'd knocked over filing cabinets and flipped over desks, utilizing the pieces of furniture as makeshift cover in the face of Saten Ruiko's plumes of flame. From behind, the brigands exchanged gunfire with Anti Skill forces.
"We're done here," the fourth-ranked level five stated. Taking the level zero esper by the hand, he lead her outwards, through the entranceway whose doors had fallen to the ground, apparently having been ripped from their hinges by some aggressive party or another.
"Let them clean up the mess. This isn't our problem now, Saten. 'sides, Uiharu's going to be worried for you. If we stay around here any longer than we have, Anti Skill might think we're…"
"Uiharu!" Ruiko suddenly exclaimed, looking over her shoulder, and then from left to right. The level one thermal hand user was nowhere to be found. Her heart began beating a mile a minute, and her brow became cold, furrowing uncomfortably as she felt the onset of panic coming upon her like a great bird of prey upon an unsuspecting rodent in a vast field.
"Did you see her escape? Did you see Uiharu get out, Hamasaki-san?"
"Yeah," he lied. "She's out. She's probably waiting right outside for you. C'mon, let's hustle, we looked after as many as we could. Anti Skill will clean this up."
To his relief, he'd been right about that.
Indeed, the form of Uiharu Kazari was among those who'd escaped from the peaceful banking environment turned hellish warzone. While only a small number of individuals remained, obviously attempting to regain their bearings, Kazari hardly looked like she was even conscious.
Sitting upon the edge of one among many large oaken planters that surrounded the ornate exterior of the bank nearest Sakugawa Middle School and Sakugawa High School, she leaned forward, the small floral headband that was always atop her head had fallen to the ground, and she'd huddled her knees close to her chin.
As both Saten Ruiko and Hamasaki Tsubasa neared, it was determined by both that the Goalkeeper was, indeed conscious; her body trembled, though she produced no noise.
Ruiko took a seat next to her old friend. Embracing Kazari, Ruiko pulled the Goalkeeper close and nuzzled her, whispering softly into Kazari's ear. Uiharu Kazari, with eyes bloodshot, face pale and hair messy and unkempt looked to the face of her friend, with its thin, weak smile and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
The fourth-ranked level five esper wasn't far, but he could only offer so much of his attention to the traumatized thermal hand user. He spoke on the phone to a party unknown by both Ruiko and Kazari.
"Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton."
"Horton. Where… where on Earth are you? It sounds like you've infiltrated a Catholic wedding ceremony. Whose baby is the priest touching inappropriately today?"
"Who…? I'll have you know, whoever you are, that I'm currently on active duty. If it's about an outstanding parking violation, you can take your fucking ticket and shove it up your…"
"Horton. It's Hamasaki. Tsubasa. Try that shit with me again and I'll splatter your brains, watch your mouth around your betters. Are we at a mutual understanding? Don't push me."
"A-apologies. Yes, yes. Absolutely… the Project isn't going to come to fruition, Hamasaki-san, not now."
"No. You're entirely correct about that, it's not going to. Not with what's happening. It'd appear that another unrelated party has entered the fray. It also looks as if someone owes Komaba-san's boys, and, evidently, they didn't pay up. Bank near the dormitories got hit."
"H… uh? How do you know it's them? I need proof, son."
"I've got proof. This wasn't some covert job gone bad – they wanted these people to know who did it."
Though Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton couldn't see it, Hamasaki Tsubasa clutched in his right hand a small patch he'd torn from the jacket of a felon. Round, with numerous spike-shaped protrusions emerging from it, the patch depicted an emblem of sorts. The head of a cobra was depicted, its tongue flickering, its eyes slanted and aggressive-looking.
"Viper Room, Skill Out sub-humans. I assume we here at Gladio would prefer not to step on Komaba-san's toes? That would violate the terms of our agreement."
"No, we absolutely wouldn't want to risk the agreement, having every owner of every shady dance and nightclub owner in the pocket is extremely useful. Don't fuck it up. You didn't fuck it up, did you? Shit! Shit, shit! You didn't kill them, did you? Please don't tell me you killed them."
"I roughed them up and nothing more. I couldn't have… Saten… was there. She knows."
"She knows"? What the FUCK does that mean, and why do I care about your schoolyard crush, Hamasaki? Grab a hold of the steering wheel, you're a level five and a Gladio Operative, not a Light Music Club newspaper geek."
"Cut the sarcasm or I'll cut your neck. She knows about magic. She used magic, in front of… a lot of people."
"Are you FUCKING with me? God! Damnit! Shit, shit, shit! It's spreading! DEGENERATES! I'm sending you coordinates of my current location, get here, one way or another, we need to talk. Gladio's going to have to get involved, and the Oculus will find itself getting dragged in, too. 'Way of the fuckin' world."
"Alright, well, that's good and great, but…"
"Hold your horses, Hamasaki. Sleeper agent... English Puritan if I recall correctly, in the higher-ups of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight is reporting instabilities. Got word to Tsuchimikado, who kindly sent word to me. Reporting that… that little shit, Birdway, she's moving her whole operation towards London. Superweapon. They've got a fucking superweapon. That's the artifact, the artifact's a goddamn superweapon, or it can be a superweapon when it's loaded with demonic something-or-other! They've got a superweapon, but we've got level five espers and rifles with high-powered scopes. We're going to have to kill a twelve-year-old child. Prepare yourself, it won't… shouldn't… be easy."
"It'll be easy. Put me behind the gun, Horton. We'll pick out a headstone together and make it a date."
David Horton had ended the call before Hamasaki Tsubasa could get another word in edgewise.
Of course, he'd hung up. The fourth-ranked level five produced a sigh of aggravation, and, after pocketing his phone, assuring that the expensive device was placed snuggly into the pocket of his uniform's pants, took to the side of Saten Ruiko, who had seemed to have sufficiently comforted Uiharu Kazari.
The Goalkeeper's head had risen, and her feet hung only mere inches from the brown, cobbled walkway below. She still looked like an absolute mess, like she was only half-alive, but it was an improvement nonetheless.
Ruiko turned to look at Academy City's fourth strongest esper, and she offered him a thin but very genuine smile. Despite the tragedy of the situation, despite the fact that everything in his life was going awry, despite the fact that Academy City seemed to be on the edge of a potential chaotic revelation based in another part of the world entirely, Hamasaki Tsubasa managed to smile back.
"Hamasaki-san, I wanted to thank you for…"
"Don't mention it. I wasn't going to walk away."
"Or would I have walked away? If you weren't there, Saten, would I have turned my back on the place? I dunno. Maybe I would've. I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? I guess all that matters is that you're alright. That Uiharu's unharmed… well, physically unharmed. Poor thing. Nah, you know what? I definitely would've turned my back on the place. Fuck these people, what are they to me?"
Tsubasa offered the two middle-schooler girls he'd often associate with (an association he was endlessly mocked for by his coworkers and the few friends he kept) a few moments of silence before he spoke his piece.
Academy City's fourth strongest esper casually leaned forward, sweeping his bangs upwards; they almost immediately fell back into place, pulled downwards by gravity's unceremonious and merciless pull.
"How's everyone feeling? They say when you're in a situation like this one, it's good to just let it all out in the open, speak your feelings and hold nothing in, so, let's make like a… I was going to… tell a joke. But it sounded better in my head. Wouldn't sound good in real life, trust me."
She quietly chuckled. It was something at least, enough to bring a small, but significant grin to Voidwalker's face. Saten Ruiko could only shrug either of her shoulders. She produced a soft, melancholic sigh. Her facial expression, ever soft, was one of burden.
"You're probably right… i-it's hard to talk about, though, how do you describe it? It's h-horrible. I have to wonder if the teller lady is going to make it… she was hit… r-right in the… in the…"
"Throat. Right in the throat, Saten, beautiful. Please don't cry… but people don't just survive that. Not without some serious repairs."
Ruiko fell silent. Her grip around the shoulders of Uiharu Kazari remained, and she tightened it as she closed either of her eyes. The level zero esper and the anomalous user of magic took a sharp, sudden breath of oxygenized air into her lungs.
"I was a situation like this one before Hamasaki-san, with Shirai-san."
"Really, now? Let's make it a group therapy session, Uiharu-san. Do tell. I've spent enough time on the opposite end of the armchair to know a thing or two about how therapy works. Now give me your money, and I'll tell you that you're fine."
Uiharu Kazari produced a soft chuckle, though it was a weak and pathetic thing, which died soon after it was vocalized and 'born'.
"Something good came out of that because we both ended up working for Judgment, inspired by that… but those people didn't kill anyone! They hurt our Konori-senpai, but they didn't k-kill her… these people, they were… ruthless!"
The firefight had ceased some time prior to the present. Anti Skill operatives had cuffed those felonious involved, and all of those involved had survived.
Each was loaded into the back of a grand (or less-than-grand) total of two Anti Skill operation vehicles, large, vaguely ambulance-like things that were navy blue in coloration, with a singular white stripe on either side of their bodies, rear and front doors. Four were loaded into the first while three were loaded into the second like cargo. Another duo of Anti Skill operates made their way into the bank, armed with a stretcher which they lifted manually.
While silence had descended upon the trio, it wasn't minded. Hamasaki Tsubasa would permit it to stay around for a few moments longer.
Even if he had work to do, even if Gladio would be kicking his ass for showing up late, how was he supposed to know that Horton was going to call him in?
The answer was, he couldn't have known. He should've been let off the hook, given the suddenness of the situation. In the end, he was the one who should've been congratulated; he'd saved lives and he'd reported Saten Ruiko's anomalous use of magic to his 'superior'. Wasn't that enough?
Perhaps Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City simply wouldn't get the recognition he'd deserved.
Perhaps he'd have to find a way to defeat the Railgun first. Stalemates wouldn't do; he needed conclusive results.
But that was a complicated situation and one which could be pondered at a later date.
His phone vibrated, and Tsubasa produced the device from within his pocket. Unlocking it and navigating to the message he'd received from "UNKNOWN SENDER', there were numerous elements included in the electronic message: a map, a set of directions and a set of coordinates, which, upon further investigation via the Internet, lead to a small downtown center in school district four.
What on Earth was the old man doing down there?
Tsubasa waited some few moments more before he spoke once more, turning to peer at both Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari.
"Heads up: a friend asked if I was doing anything… not really the best time, I'm aware, but would either of you be interested in accompanying me? Saten?"
Both Ruiko and Kazari looked to one another. Both knew they'd had plans together, but, that'd changed. In the series of traumatic events of witnessing a failed bank robbery, living through a nightmare reborn and coming dangerously close to being gunned down by maniacs who were more than likely drug-addled and completely unhinged, plans changed. What a surprise, indeed.
Kazari knew exactly why she was feeling so melancholic and, to a lesser extent, almost nihilistic. Her own mortality had been exposed, the frailness of her own body was revealed and she was forced to acknowledge it.
She was in no mood to go anywhere save home.
Saten Ruiko shook her head, and a pang of disappointment traveled throughout the form of Academy City's fourth strongest esper.
"I think I'm going to just wake home with Uiharu and… go to bed or something. We'll have lunch together tomorrow, okay? O-only if you want to. Under different circumstances I'd love to, I always have a lot of fun when I'm with you, but…"
"I understand, Saten. Would you like a bodyguard?"
"A… wha? A bodyguard? I d-don't think that's really…"
"Watch this."
A simplistic calculation was performed within Hamasaki Tsubasa's higher mind. Inside of him, his Personal Reality began to work its proverbial magic.
With both arms, left and right extended and held out at his sides, energy formed in either of the level five esper's palms. Lavender in coloration, transparent, latent power jumped across its surfaces as it bubbled like broth being warmed in a microwave.
His right arm was suddenly thrust forwards, the attached hand thrown outwards. A mass of void energy surged forth, twisting and churning, with many tendrils moving outwards from the surging mass. Like clay in the hands of a sculptor, something was formed by the power of Voidwalker's Personal Reality.
Something was created. Not life, merely a non-sentient, nonliving construct. It began to morph and take shape as both Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari looked on.
Neither had ever seen anything quite like it. Even their friend, the Railgun, couldn't just create things!
Its form was as dark as night, though there were 'globs' of lavender energy that occasionally danced across its form. It was like someone had sliced away a section of the planet, giving way to the infinite, inky blackness of space.
The construct lacked legs, its torso ending in a funnel of twisting lavender energy as opposed to a waist with legs or feet. Its arms were absurdly long, while its hands had three clawed digits upon each. The construct's head was situated in the center of its barrel chest, between either of its broad shoulders. Two 'globs' of lavender energy sat on either side of its 'face', occasionally blinking in and out of existence.
"It's… it's really cool," Ruiko stated. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that before."
Kazari was more focused on the teller who was being brought out from the bank's shattered interior. The injured woman's chest rhythmically moved up and down, repeatedly, and a series of tubes had been inserted into a section of her throat which had seemingly been closed, with the assistance of large, round device and numerous bands of gauss.
She lived. Kazari breathed a sigh of relief. The teller was okay.
Why the Goalkeeper was so concerned with the likes of a woman who she had no knowledge of, lacking even that woman's name, Kazari didn't even know. Ruiko seemed to be relieved as well.
"Follow Uiharu and Saten, especially Saten. Keep them safe, kill anyone who approaches and threatens them."
With a basic command 'programmed' into it by its creator's Personal Reality, the void-construct lurched to life, floating in and out of existence, its form crackling as it occasionally looked from one side to the other. While not alive, being more akin to a machine than a living being, the void-construct would perform its given role dutifully; signs of this were immediately evident. It took to the side of Saten Ruiko, its upper body bobbing from side to side as its funnel-like lower body slid about.
"He's kind of cute."
Uiharu Kazari had taken to petting the void-construct, though it paid her existence no mind.
Hamasaki Tsubasa shrugged before he turned away from the middle-schoolers.
"It's genderless. It's really more like a machine than a biological being, 'can take a lot of abuse too before it gives out, don't be afraid to let it take the reigns. I'll be able to hear you through it. Just tell it to go away and I'll make sure to send this big thing back to the abyss where I got 'im from."
Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari alike offered their goodbyes to the fourth-ranked level five and then turned their respective attentions to the existence that dutifully stayed at their side. Saten Ruiko ended up clambering atop the void-construct, her legs dangling in front of its head as it floated along, following the footsteps of Uiharu Kazari.
The fact that the two seemed to be having a decent time, despite the traumatizing events they'd been through lifted the spirits of the fourth strongest esper. He produced a soft sigh as he looked back at them one final time, losing sight of them when he and the two middle-schoolers alike turned a corner.
They were both stronger than most. They'd been involved in matters no middle-schoolers should've ever been involved in. They'd faced down death on more than one occasion and they'd experienced cruel realities that they shouldn't have known about until they were much older.
Academy City was trying to steal both their innocence and their youth.
That was a philosophical issue. That was an issue that, while important, could be put to the side and addressed when free time was available to the schedule of the fourth strongest esper.
There was a new problem on Hamasaki Tsubasa's mind; finding a fast and reliable mode of transportation.
The group had split up. The makeshift, claustrophobic halls of the 'market', which was beginning to seem more and more like a museum to those who'd taken to searching for nothing, and paradoxically, for everything within its putrid, ancient-smelling innards.
Misaka Mikoto had taken to squeezing through the makeshift halls with Kumokawa Seria – the fact that the two seemed to be hitting things off and getting along so well pleased Kamijou Touma quite greatly – while Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton had taken to conducting their own investigation.
The strange, dark-colored device that the Operative carried had begun to beep loudly, causing both him as well as the Backstabbing Blade to depart initially, creating the splintering exodus.
That exodus ended with Kamijou Touma and Karasuma Fran standing next to one another, looking up at an odd thing, indeed.
It resembled a human being in its shape, though it was easy enough for both the former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker and the fake gemstone to see that it wasn't a human at all.
A robe garbed the vaguely human-like thing, while a tattered, sackcloth hood adorned its 'head', which was made up of a series of intertwisted metallic wiring. A mouldering wooden cane was clasped in is right hand, constructed with more of the same intertwisted wiring. Jagged and lathered with rust, both it and the left extremity were held upwards and outwards, as if the vaguely human-like existence was hunched over an invisible object.
There were two others, constructed of similar materials and garbed similarly to the first, which stood at the front.
These lifeless constructs were far too large to be placed upon a table. Instead, they'd been set against the flooring, left to stand on their boot-clad feet. A small table was set before the three lifeless wire constructs, with numerous pieces of information regarding them, both photographic and textual.
The seller – apparently, the 'market' was indeed a market after all, and not some sort of occult museum – was willing to exchange such priceless 'artifacts' for a mere ¥3,025,621.
That alone was enough to cause Kamijou Touma's rightmost eyebrow to rise above his left.
"Oi, Karasuma… what are these things? Any idea?"
"… the following informational piece describes them as being found within an abandoned house in Norway… which, as far as most know, doesn't have any sort of magical presence… strange. "The Bitterroot Three…" strange… Kamijou. Look here please."
Touma turned to his right, and proceeded to walk away from the "Bitterroot Three". To his surprise, none of the strange, wire-forged idols turned their heads or moved any of their limbs. They simply stood there, lifeless, their faceless wireframe heads staring out at nothing.
"Look. It's strange."
"Oh… fuuuck. What the fuck? F-Fran, that's DISGUSTING."
Among various items set upon a nearby table, identical to all others that formed the 'walls' of the market's makeshift hallways, were many jars, each which contained off, pink-colored creatures.
They vaguely resembled human embryos. Odd-looking, with enlarged heads and thick, paddle-like tails emerging from their backs, their eyes were large, round and black as a clear midnight sky. Their skin was thick and leathery, covered in wrinkles and pocked with large, scab-like growths. An unknown, red-colored substance surrounded each of the queer beings, one to each jar. They looked dead, as they moved not even an inch, not did their eyes ever seem to blink.
"… fertility sprites…." Karasuma Fran stated aloud, raising her right hand's index finger to her lower lip. With her left hand stuffed into her hooded sweater's pocket, Fran tilted her head to one side and blinked.
"They're very ugly. Continuing to look at them might make me ill."
Kamijou Touma poked a jar containing one of the vaguely alien-like "fertility sprites". Once more, to his further surprise, the "sprite" within didn't move, nor did it blink or blow any sort of bubbles. It was either in a state of suspended animation or, more likely, was simply dead.
"You can say that again. This place gives me the fucking creeps. I feel like I'm going to be cursed just from standing near these things. Are you sensing anything? Mana of any kind? You've… you've kind of kept me out of the loop, even though you said you weren't. Guess I understand how it feels, now."
"Hm? Understand what...? Yes. Mana. Lots of mana. Please don't speak with me now. Trying to concentrate."
"Yeah, alright… greeeeaaaattttt."
Fran took a step forward, and then another. And another. Soon, Fran was fully walking, down a series of makeshift halls of tables lined with various surreal trinkets of all types and sizes.
Kamijou Touma looked back to the "Bitterroot Three" one last time. Still, they hadn't moved. Still, they hadn't turned their heads to look at him.
"Kamijou, come."
He clicked his tongue in aggravation. There it was; the set-off point, the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Woah, let's slow it down, Karasuma. I'll come if I want to come. You're not the boss of me, no one tells me what to do. I wouldn't give a shit if you were asking me to come along with you, but the way you're trying to take control of the situation? I'm not standing for it. Really, really, REALLY not feeling that one bit. So, new rule. Interact with me with the respect I deserve, or fuck off."
"At least Seria and Misaka are reasonable… well, for the most part. Misaka's usually reasonable. But she's no maniac. She's no monster, we all have our problems. We'll solve hers together."
To say that Karasuma Fran had been taken aback by the uncharacteristically aggressive behavior displayed by the usually complacent Kamijou Touma would be a grand understatement. Fran was physically shocked; she blinked multiple times before her eyelids lowered. She produced a low, unapproving grunt before she 'retried' her attempt at communication with him.
"Kamijou. Come, please."
"Whatever, if that's the best you can do, that's the best you can do. Yeah, I'm comin', I'm comin'."
For a while both walked, making multiple turns down multiple makeshift hallways; once, Fran accidentally bumped into a table which contained the mummified corpse of some sort of creature that resembled a rodent. The table shook and the stand which held its mummified form in place rattled but remaining fully erect.
Kamijou Touma had the strangest feeling that he might've been a tad too harsh; Karasuma Fran had seemed to slow, her movement becoming labored and considerably slower.
What he couldn't chalk up to the fake gemstone merely being offended was the fact that her breathing had quickened. Her breaths, like her body's movements, had become quite labored as well.
"Oi, Karasuma. You alright? Look, I might've been a bit too harsh with you… look, I'm sor…"
"Not that. Please don't speak with m… m-me… no more… i-it…"
"Karasuma?"
"D-dark. E-evil… o-oppressive… I… I w-want to go away from here now."
Fran breathed deeply; despite her own words, she pushed onwards. Touma took to her side, physically decreasing the size of his waist, commanding his nanorobotic form to bend to his converted higher mind's will. With this, he could fit himself snuggly between the fake gemstone and each table he and Fran passed.
"Fran? You're whiter than one of those 'news comedy show' talking heads…"
Both Touma and Fran made one final turn, and found themselves at a dead end, at least down that makeshift passageway. There were other routes that could be taken simply by retracing their respective steps, and that didn't seem like the worst idea to the fake gemstone in the moment.
Her knees had grown weak; if Touma hadn't caught her, Fran would've stumbled forward and collapsed to the floor. Her body vigorously produced sweat, dripping down from her brown, her cheeks, her back and along her chest. Even her legs, which were exposed to the open air by her shorts seemed to sweat, even though no such bodily function was required in that area of her body.
"E-evil… so… so evil. I… I'm g-going… I think that I might be sick."
"Fran, talk to me, keep me in the know. What's bothering you so much? You were fine, earlier, whe…"
Kamijou Touma's vocalizations drifted off into obscurity, fading slowly like words spoken in an echo-chamber.
Karasuma Fran managed to raise her right arm, and with her index finger, she pointed away from her form, towards the absolute pinnacle of the dead end they'd reached.
Among the numerous and potentially 'traumatizing' items that'd be assembled on he many tables that'd come to forge the dead end, including what resembled clothing and clothing accessories made from leather that looked dangerous like tanned and treated Caucasian flesh, was a very strange effigy indeed.
Bound with strands of red string, entrapped within a small, metallic cage, dark as the lack of consciousness that walked hand-in-hand with death, was something that looked almost savage, almost surreal, like an idol to a long-forgotten god that'd been carved by natives on some lost isle.
Sitting beneath the cage was a small sign, which was propped up. Large, bold text was scribbled upon the sign's surface.
"CAUTION: ABSOLUTELY DO NOT OPEN".
Its head was almost skeletally thin, elongated and malformed, with large, yellow lips. Long, dull horn-like protrusions emerged from either side of its head and pointed outwards in either direction, left and right. Its eyes were wide, colored grey like fog, with aqua blue rings orbiting either eye. It possessed a flattened nose that lacked nostrils. Its form was thin and looked almost malnourished, while multicolored streaks of paint had been splashed across its torso, its arms, and the post which its skeletally thin, legless upper body was seamlessly attached to.
Whatever dark force this effigy emanated, Kamijou Touma couldn't detect it. He felt nothing out of the ordinary, though, by his own admission, the thing was certainly a bit off-putting.
Whatever it was, Karasuma Fran was absolutely wracked by it. She seemed to choke and attempt, then fail to sputter out words. Touma struggled to pull her limp form away from the effigy, even as her arms twitched, and her ankles seemed to move senselessly from side to side.
Out of the effigy's line of 'sight', Fran seemed to calm. She exhaled, releasing a breath of carbon dioxide. She coughed violently, barely able to lean on her own knee for support as Kamijou Touma let go, but didn't stray far from the side of the traumatized fake gemstone.
"You're going to tell me what the fuck just happened to you."
"Moment. In a moment… please don't s-speak with me right now."
Fran took many deep breaths before she managed to rise, and successfully steady herself.
Touma peered into the fake gemstone's eyes, into her charcoal-colored irises. Her pupils were wide and wild, while the whites of Fran's eyes had become bloodshot.
A singular nanorobotic scout was sent forth from Kamijou Touma's main mass. It latched onto the outer layer of Fran's hooded sweater and then proceeded to crawl into her sleeve. Upwards it fluttered, invisible to the naked eye. Onto her right breast, which was partially obscured by her frilly bra the scout landed.
Fran's heart was beating far too quickly. Her attempts at heartrate-reducing breathing exercises didn't seem to be working any wonders. As the scout detached itself, and began the short trip back to its main mass, Fran stumbled but managed to catch her balance at the right moment.
"Evil. Kamijou, it is evil."
"Yeah, okay? But what do you mean when you blabber about "evil"? What's evil? That goofy-looking thing in the cage?"
Karasuma Fran produced an aggravated huff. She was torn from her higher mind's ponderings by that detestable fool once again.
"I… there are no Daemonic Altars nearby. No foci for summoning. Fell existences. Bound to it. It is a Daemonic Idol, evil sees it as one of its own and they flock to it because it is evil. Evil. That is their home and they are bound to it and they announced their intentions to stay in their home. Warlocks use them… let's leave this vicinity. Evil."
Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria were having no better of an experience with the 'unique' section of the diabolical market. Both girls had stumbled into something that resembled a temple to fear, ripped straight from the bleeding, pounding heart of a pediophobe's nightmare.
Like Kamijou Touma and Karasuma Fran, Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria had found themselves at a dead end. However, rather than facing down a 'Daemonic Idol', they faced…
"Dolls… it had to be… dolls. It could've b-been spiders, a-at least t-they're… cute."
"You think spiders are cute?! You remind me of my friend Uiharu… that's a good thing, though! Eheheh…"
Seria would've laughed, or otherwise would've offered some sort of humorous or flattering quip, but she was almost paralyzed by fear.
So many sets of wooden, synthetic eyes staring back at her. Faces with horrid expressions carved onto them, unnaturally wide grins and noses that were either far too long or far too small.
Misaka Mikoto leaned forward, and reached out with her electromagnetic 'sixth sense'. There seemed to be nothing odd about any of the metallic parts used to construct the many dolls that surrounded the girls.
"Hey… they're just dolls. They can't hurt you, they're just… things. Non-sapient! 'You have pediophobia? No reason to feel ashamed, Kumokawa-san, it's pretty common."
Seria shuddered awkwardly, even as she folded her arms beneath her bosom and stuck her head up, as if she had suddenly found herself in a state of open rebellion against the unmoving wooden army before her.
"A-actually, I d-do suffer from pediophobia… I have since I was a little girl, you see… in fairness, not all constructs of this type trigger these effects. Merely… the humanlike constructs… ugh. That one is by far the worst. Just look at it! It's horrid!"
Following the direction in which Kumokawa Seria's index finger pointed, Misaka Mikoto's vision did indeed fall upon the admittedly unsightly thing.
The size of a small child, the doll's paint was chipped, exposing sections of dull, partially-rotted wooden materials beneath otherwise pink, fleshy coats of paint.
Its grin was wide and almost sinister in its appearance, while its eyebrows rode high upon is brow. The doll appeared to have a sort of wiry mess of unknown, strand-like material upon its head, styled into an asymmetrical widow's peak. Its eyes were wide and almost wild, its painted-on pupils enlarged.
Even Mikoto found herself feeling uncomfortable. The horrid nightmare doll was clad in a fanciful, lavish green garb, with white stockings were accented by buckled shoes, identifiably carved from some sort of lumber.
"If you're about finished here, let's leave, Misaka-san."
"Y-yeah. Sounds good. You know the way back? If we get lost in this place…"
Unlike the other two de-facto exploration parties that traversed the winding, makeshift passageways of the strange occult market, Backstabbing Blade Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton hadn't found themselves experiencing panic attacks triggered by 'Daemonic Idols', or finding instinctual fear made manifest within a spooky doll.
Instead, both knew exactly, and yet, paradoxically, had no idea regarding who they were looking for. Someone obviously operated the occult market and yet no sales associates of any kind had been found wandering the makeshift passageways. No one had greeted the group and no one had called out to them.
Either of Tsuchimikado Motoharu's hands was placed casually into his pockets. His right hand's fingers held his firearm in a deathly vice grip.
Traversing another set of makeshift passageways, twisting and turning like the halls of some fairy tale dark lord's castle-lair, both spy and Gladio-Oculus Operative spoke not even a word to one another, for no words were needed.
Then, a breakthrough.
There was an opening in the table-walls that made up the makeshift passageway they'd found themselves traversing, flanked on either side by what both parties had identified as sacrificial dolls commonly utilized in Haitian black magic.
Just how Karasuma Fran had missed such things on her initial solo inspection was completely unknown to Tsuchimikado Motoharu, but it wouldn't be for long. He'd grill the fake gemstone until he got the answers he needed. Perhaps she simply hadn't descended deep enough into the metaphorical bowels of the proverbial beast?
Both found themselves leaving the most recent makeshift passageway behind, exiting from the maze of tables and out into a wide, open section of space, most of which was completely vacant. Aside from ornate pillars that supported what must've been the ceiling, or perhaps an upper floor of some sort, there was very little, save the flooring and oxygenized air beyond the maze of makeshift passageways.
"Oooohhhh! Hello, dears!"
Both Tsuchimikado Motoharu and David Horton turned, looking in the opposite direction.
Apparently, both had missed a singular table, sitting on its own. Nearby the adjacent section of walling, its surfaces were covered with knick-knacks of various sizes and shapes, though modern technology also seemed to be present, including, but not limited to a cash register, a calculator and a small clock, which, rather than operating digitally, ticked along as three arms within the clockwork worked their magic.
Behind the table, seated upon a simplistic wooden chair was an innocuous individual indeed; an elderly woman.
Clad in a simplistic hooded sweater, something that at an out of touch uncle would've worn to a Christmas party and a pair of matching sweatpants, both an unsightly lime green in coloration, her hair was short, curled, and white as a blanket of snow. She wore large-framed glasses upon her face, and yet, as both the Backstabbing Blade and the Oculus Operative grew closer, they could see that she seemed to be blind. Her eyes were milky, and her irises were dull, the pupils within even duller.
"Would you need help finding anything? Or are you dears handling yourselves alright?"
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I…"
"Oh, and so polite, too! The young people of today just make my heart soar."
"Ma'am. Would it be trouble if I were to ask you a few questions?"
For a moment, the elderly woman stared back at the Oculus Operative, and the Oculus Operative stared back at her.
From behind the darkened shades of his sunglasses, which he continued to wear even within the darkened, lightless interior of the occult market, Tsuchimikado Motoharu scrutinized the elderly woman's appearance. He observed every pock, every wrinkle and every inch of thick, leathery Caucasian skin that was stretched over her bones like a sheet too small for a bed's mattress.
"Of course, dear. We've nothing to hide after all. If you'd like, I could ask my husband to… oh, where is that old sack of bones? Oh dear, he likely went and fell asleep somewhere."
The elderly woman shook her head.
"His medication does that."
"Is your husband ill, ma'am?"
"Not in the way you're thinking, dear!"
Motoharu turned away, resisting the urge to retch. Apparently, the Gladio-Oculus Operative had a stronger stomach than the Backstabbing Blade. He merely raised an eyebrow, not questioning the eccentric elderly woman's behavior.
Unlike the Operative, however, Tsuchimikado Motoharu wasn't about to be polite, and he wasn't about to be professional.
He leaned forward, placing his left hand on the table's surface, while his right remained within his pocket, its fingers wrapped around the trigger of his firearm.
"Do you have any idea what sort of objects you're in possession of? Do you have any concept of the place that you're operating in? How did you even get in here? I've seen what you're hoarding, bitch."
"Tsuchimi…"
"No, no, dear, that's alright. Let the nice boy finish what he's saying! Interrupting other people when they're talking."
Motoharu sneered before he spoke once more.
"African fertility dolls. Daemoniac Altars. Idols of Shadow. These items shouldn't be left out for anyone to stumble across. A student comes in here, happens to find himself bumping into an Idol of Shadow and he's fucked. done. His entire life, his entire family, everyone he's ever talked to, they're all fucked."
"You certainly know a lot about the occult for someone traversing Academy City, don't you? You're no student, are you dear?"
"No, and I could say the same about you."
The firearm came out, its barrel pointed directly at the elderly woman's forehead. Tsuchimikado Motoharu's arms shook not even slightly. The Backstabbing Blade clenched his teeth as he dragged out the pronunciations of each word he spoke.
"What the fuck are you hiding?!"
David Horton moved with the intention of forcibly lowered either of Tsuchimikado Motoharu's arms, but the apparently blind elderly woman rose and swiftly intervened, knocking the firearm from the Backstabbing Blade's hands with strength far surpassing that of a normal human, let alone a human who looked like she was on her life's last legs.
"And who are you with, hm? Necessarius? The Roman Orthodoxy? A Crusader, perhaps? The almighty oppressors who would keep the world in chains? Oseltaeb, you'll find the truth of all matters there, my dears. Open your minds and open your hearts."
Horton pressed her.
"What does it mean?! Oseltaeb, what does that mean?!"
The elderly woman refused to respond, but there it was again, that word. "Oseltaeb". That was significant.
That word appeared more than once in the anomalous pamphlets. Given the elderly woman's sudden change of demeanor and the fact that the occult market was operating within the border-walls of Academy City, David Horton had more than a case to make a swift arrest.
The Operative produced his own firearm, and quickly made his way behind the elderly woman, pushing the firearm's barrel against the back of her head.
"I want your hands in the air and I want to see them in the air as soon as you can do so. Based on your blatant violation of code one oh two thirty-three of the Magic-Science Treaty, I hereby place you under arrest through my supreme authority as an operative of the Oculus.
"I'm now to inform you that, due to your blatant violation of code one oh two thirty-three, you've surrendered your basic human rights to a trial and a lawyer. Come peacefully. I can and will shoot if you refuse to comply."
Tsuchimikado Motoharu had scavenged his own weapon, and aimed it towards the elderly woman's forehead, his aim adjusting whenever the woman so much as twitched.
The elderly woman's lips curled downwards, into a scowl. Aggressively, she spoke as the cold metal of a firearm's barrel was repeatedly pushed against the back of her head.
"I've served my purpose, dears. Your oppression already comes undone. You've arrived too late, enforcers of the Old World Order. Whatever tyrannical ruling power you find yourself to act as the brutish enforcers of, it's irrelevant, my dears. The Foul Churches of the world can only hold humanity back from its rightful chance at evolution for so long, until the reigns… snap."
Motoharu clicked his tongue, impatience surging throughout him.
"Holding back… a tide of conflict based on direction violations of the Magic-Science Treaty? The Treaty keeping conflict at bay?"
Sighing, the elderly woman looked downwards. Tsuchimikado Motoharu never allowed his gaze, nor the barrel of his firearm to leave her for even a moment.
"You seem to think you're the protagonists, the heroes of this story… you can't halt the Will of Taured. Do you really think what your Churches do is right? It is oppression. It is a modern day Roman Empire."
"That's a bit of a stretch."
"Maybe. It is… you can't stop truth, even with the power of your youth, dear. You, the oppressors of humankind will only get so far befo—"
Bang.
David Horton had cut short the debate between the elderly woman and the Backstabbing Blade. He looked down at her slumped-over form; she'd fallen forwards and crashed against the desk she'd been standing before. She'd been pistol-whipped.
A necessary evil, once which David hardly regretted. Men and women encountered misfortune every day, and to boot, he obviously hadn't gunned down any unknowing civilian.
"Better late than never. Tsuchimikado, wait for Voidwalker."
"My favorite person."
"He's far from personable, I know, deal with it. Rendezvous, I'll secure the premises. We're going to need to call it in, can't let Birdway get too far with her own movements either. You organize the counter-offensive against Birdway, and we'll clean this up and get some answers out of Mrs. Thornhill, here, while we're at it. Do you understand your orders?"
"Perfectly… only one issue. I was hoping to be able to make arrangements ahead of time."