Quick announcement: in the previous chapter, I announced the closing of the Spring-heeled Jack Arc, which, indeed, has ended with the penning of this chapter.
Given that one story arc has begun bleeding into another, as was my not-quite-endgame goal, I proudly announce to you, my dear and wonderful readers that chapter twenty-three of a Certain Broken Testament is the first chapter of the Revelations Arc!
What do we usually say, around this time? "When Magic and Science meet, a story is told"? That might not necessarily be the case here. Sometimes, it's not always two opposites which clash. Sometimes, a clashing of ideologies can come from within, less of a black and white "good versus evil", and much more of a "concept versus concept" clanging of proverbial, and oftentimes, literal swords.
As I always do, I deeply hope that you enjoy reading the contents within, as much as I'm going to enjoy penning them.
Now, with that out of the way, let's get into response time, shall we?
Itherael: thank you very much for your kind words, and for your support, friend! I'm also very glad to hear that you're enjoying the angle from which this piece's narrative is presented.
Indeed, it certainly is an inaccurate comparison!
Some might even say that this scene in particular is sugary sweet, like the sensation one experiences when biting into a particularly unhealthy doughnut, fried in grease, covered in candy sprinkles. Of course, that's merely my own interpretation.
Honestly? I'm with you there. One false move and it's effectively 'game over'.
The TouMAN Whore is now 'canon' to a Certain Broken Testament. I plan to try and find a way to shoehorn this into the narrative, through character dialogue, somehow. It's too golden to pass up on.
Once more, thank you very much for your kind words! They're very much appreciated, especially from an author as prolific as yourself.
whwsms: I've no problems at all with short and simple. Let's kick it into point form mode, shall we?
It does, indeed seem that Musujime-chan has done just that. Equally, the infection spreads ever-further, and we see one of the side effects – compulsion to act! Though, to be entirely fair to Awaki, she's seeking out Touma for reasons beyond simply wanting to bang him.
I actually used to watch "Pinky and the Brain" all the time, when I was a young lad! I can almost picture Crowley speaking to Aiwass in a manner similar to how the Brain oftentimes speaks to Pinky.
Honk, honk. Bon voyage!
We'll be seeing more bonding moments between those two as the narrative progresses. While I don't want to linger, or overspend time focusing on the matter, progress will definitely be visible, as the former Magic God and Touma's senpai become closer.
I'm going to be combining two points into one, here. Seria, despite the changes she's experienced, is still a master of the human mind. Wording things in the right way and not being blunt regarding the sensitive topic of polygamous happenings is the proverbial high road, here, at least from a conversational standpoint. Moreover, Index's acceptance of Touma's 'condition' is born mostly of my portrayal of her character as being someone more reasonable than her prime canon counterpart. A combination of these elements leads to the development, logically speaking.
Yandere mode activated. Some things never change, it seems.
As always, I think it's simply awesome that I'm able to continuously gain your stamp of APPROVAL! I hope to frequently do so, through subsequent chapters.
Anon Guest: could it have been fate? Perhaps, to some extent, the effects of Kami Disease linger within its previous 'host', Kamijou Touya? I suppose it's one of those things we can only speculate upon.
Now, what would that be like?
"Mom, dad… I'd like you to meet my girlfriends."
Touma then proceeds to introduce each girl, one after the other, and it gets really awkward for the monogamous Touya and Shiina.
I like that idea. Heh…
As always, I'm genuinely very grateful for your continued input, support, and your stamps of APPROVAL, friend! I hope to consistently receive more of each from you in the future.
Guest: to be fair, the average human female, regardless of ethnicity and geological location begins to produce small amounts of hair once puberty sets in, and, from that point, hair consistently grows, though not to the same extent as the hair of the average human male. Really, it's an evolutionary leftover more than anything else. Given that we most of us can afford to run to a department store and buy a coat, body hair isn't particularly necessary.
Gee, I just gave a lecture on the evolutionary history of a small portion of human anatomy, didn't I?
321jaz: oh, I'm back; then again, I can't really say that I left, either. What's that quote? "Don't call it a comeback"? Bah, forget that I even brought the subject up. It's not important.
Indeed; somehow, through one way or another, it seems that Aleister Crowley can figure out how to make things go his way, even when it looks like the tide may be turning against him, at first glance.
The more firepower, the better; with the third-ranked level five, Railgun, the possible assistance of Move Point, and with the mental firepower of Index, the former Magic God Othinus, and Kumokawa Seria 'the Kamijou Faction' is shaping up to be quite a force to be reckoned with.
I'm glad you enjoyed reading about the events that took place in that scene, friend! I hope you enjoyed reading about them just as much as I enjoyed writing about them. I do have to admit, the refreshing nature of the scene was an absolute ball to write, especially the part of the scene in which Touma and Index share the latter's first kiss. We've seen the usual 'harem antics' more than enough. For me, writing about catty, bitchy infighting just isn't the sort of thing I want to strive for.
As always, I'm very grateful to continually receive your stamps of approval, and I hope to consistently earn your support, input and approval, through subsequent chapters, friend!
? ? th, ?. ?:? ?.
The events playing out in the Earth of one universe were the past of some, the present of others, and the future of others yet.
Regardless of the time it was all a slog. A presence, a being who didn't belong in this place had seen it, and many thousands of variations of it time and time again.
Magic God Othinus had succeeded in her schemes to forge the Lance of the All-Father, Gungnir.
With that weapon forged, she'd 'ended' the world before Kamijou Touma's eyes. She'd warped that Earth's universe, utilizing the anomalous force known as 'Imagine Breaker' as a point of origination, a 'restore point'.
First, she'd dragged him through the "Dark World", infinite blackness like a sea of inky void, the vision of a person stricken blind which consumed and threatened to digest Kamijou Touma's mortal form.
Then, she'd dragged him through another world, one of damnation, pestilence and endless, mindless suffering, the vision not of a Mad-God but of a sadist.
Then after so many others another, where Kamijou Touma was not Kamijou Touma, where he was little more than a bystander whose existence was brought into question.
Then there were so many others. Thousands upon thousands of twisted worlds; he who didn't belong in this timeline or in this universe watched on, as many 'pages' were flipped.
Then came the penultimate.
But that's where events changed; Kamijou Touma, Bearer of the so-called Imagine Breaker and Magic God Othinus, the wielder of Gungnir were not the only parties who knew of the truth of this twisted, perfectionist's vision of a world gone mad.
It hadn't been "game over", because he willed it. He had entered. Tritonian Abraxas had some time ago pierced the veil in search of treasure, like some sleep-deprived, would-be househusband searching for the perfect engagement ring at a jeweler's.
He grinned a wide, savage grin, enormous teeth glittering in the perpetual golden daylight. His massive, cracked lips spread, and Abraxas sniffed the air like a predator searching out the scent of his prey. He came with no throne and no great moon-fortress. Instead, he came with only his bare fists and a healthy sense of greed within him, growing and feeding like a fetus.
"It would seem that your lack of defeat is a constant, regardless of the differing flows of time. So… inconvenient. Conceit has, as with innumerable others, blinded you to reasonable calculation."
The voice of she who wielded Gungnir echoed throughout the most recent layer, the newest Phase of the Earth.
"I could kill you, but I'm sure you have realized the problem with that. You have a way of somehow escaping conflict delivered upon you by outside factors. Your inability to die when you should may be the greatest of all misfortunes which have consistently addled you. I can kill you with odds greater than ninety-nine percent, but if you wish to fill the gap and reach one hundred percent, it would be quicker to take your own life. That would be the most wholesome option for the world."
With a snap of his fingers, the laws of that world were rewritten. Othinus could not target him with Gungnir. Should she have chosen to do so, she would fail.
Before Norse Magic God and Bearer of the Imagine Breaker the Mad Tritonian came to rest, standing tall and unopposed. There was a mighty thud which announced his coming.
"I do apologize. Am I interrupting something?"
"What is…"
She laid eye on him. Her left eyelids widened, her pupil dilating. Majin Othinus stumbled for a moment, forgetting her purpose.
For a moment, a frail remnant of mortality had crept upon her and had taken her by surprise.
"No."
Mad Tritonian Abraxas snapped his fingers, and Majin Othinus found herself bending knee, her body's neurological connection to her higher mind disabled, the proverbial wires snipped by an invisible pair of plyers, whose jaws were like those of a ravening beast.
"Ooohh. Yes. Yes, One-Eyed Othinus, yes. Interesting. It seems that no one in this world could halt your progress..."
"N-no. Not… you. Not you."
"Not so brave, now are we? I believe the most wholesome option for the world be the death of you. I suppose that hardly matters, given that this world, this universe is utterly irrelevant. I seek a gift, a trinket, for my beloved."
"Tritonian. I can give you any gift… anything you desire. I ca…"
"Your Left Eye is quite physically appealing, so I'll be taking it from you. Don't receive his as some sort of personal vendetta… this universe is closest to my own in terms of distance. You, One-Eyed Othinus, are a victim of convenience and circumstance, so suffer knowing that we aren't enemies."
Othinus looked away from the pathetic form of Kamijou Touma, who'd merely found himself sitting upon a nearby bench, with many utensils which one could use in order to commit suicide; a noose hanging from the perpetually-breaking sky above, a knife, a loaded handgun.
Othinus' mind was swift, but the mind of Abraxas was swifter. Majin Othinus was unable to free herself fully from the grip of the Mad Tritonian. She was unable to call out to Gungnir, to wield its power and to restore her own.
Even if she had, her power would've paled in comparison to that wielded by the Mad Tritonian
In his guttural tongue of Tritonian, one which Majin Othinus did not recognize, Abraxas spoke.
"Gungnir, to me."
The weapon obeyed; ripped from the Norse Majin's hand, Gungnir fell into the gauntlet-clad palm of Mad Tritonian Abraxas, who merely grinned wide, utterly deranged, as he snapped his available fingers.
With the power of Gungnir, he performed a feat that would've otherwise been quite taxing; Majin Othinus was depowered, reduced to a mere mortal in flesh, blood and spirit. The latent power of one who'd mastered a certain 'branch' of magic flooded out of her like lifeblood spilling from the gutted carcass of a game animal.
Mastery of a single proverbial branch may very well have been child's play, when compared to mastery of all.
Standing well over nine feet in height, the armor-clad Tritonian looked to a confused and utterly stunned Kamijou Touma.
His singular step forward shook the very earth beneath him, rattling it like an earthquake.
Around him, the world seemed to be melting. The sky resembled a pane of shattered glass, clouds falling from it like so many diseased birds forced to abandon their flock. The high-rise structures of the wall-less Academy City dripped downwards like wet paint lathered and slapped on a canvas, pooling at the cracking, shuddering earth below. Mad Tritonian Abraxas' very existence destabilized the "Perfect World".
In the distance, all around the three individuals who'd become relevant to the moment, from all corners of the world, the human beings warped by the power of Majin Othinus screamed aloud, forming a symphony of grief as they melted, their skin taking on the physical attributes of moisturized putty. Their skeletal structures collapsed, reduced to so many piles of dust.
The world itself, the "Perfect World" bucked and screamed aloud in pain, reeling from the presence of the Tritonian.
"Mind your own business, boy. Your role in this timeline won't remain whole, given the minor… adjustments I've made. I could kill you where you stand, but… truthfully, such is a dull exercise in repetition. I've killed you, thousands of you, already. I tire of doing so. The speeches. The speeches are killing me… I doubt deeply that I could sit through another one of your lectures."
"Wha…"
"Be free. Go off and frolic, now, to some other world, to some other timeline with you. Remember this as the day that "Mad" Abraxas saved your mortal existence."
With a snap of his fingers, Kamijou Touma vanished, the Imagine Breaker within his right hand bested.
One minute, he sat on a bench just outside of his high school, or the high school found in the warped world that once-Majin Othinus had forged. The next, he was gone, as if he'd been edited out of a single frame in a reel of film.
"M-mercy, Abraxas."
"Even here my name is known. Good."
"Your name is known throughout the star-ways. You are glorious and infinite in your…"
"ENOUGH! Silence! Your lack of dignity offends me; suddenly your demeanor is that of an abused child, reeling before an overbearing parent. Flattery will never save your life. Face doom with courage, girl."
Mad Tritonian Abraxas thrust a gauntleted hand forward, the ornate cores mounted within gleaming beneath the sunlight, his blue skin illuminated by the rays' golden, natural glows.
Living god gripped former Magic God, and recently depowered, proverbially impeached mortal by her throat.
Lifting her high, the cold, unfeeling metallic palm of one of two gauntlets, in which queer, glowing gems were set, was pressed against the warmth of her throat.
In his supremacy, Mad Tritonian Abraxas reveled.
"Who am I, One-Eyed Othinus?"
"T-the most powerful being in the multiverse."
"Correct. This play would almost be amusing if I hadn't heard you beg for your uninspired life so many times. At this rate, you merely sicken me, One-Eyed Othinus. Still, the blame lies on my shoulders. The others… their eyes were less appealing. I'd hope to find something different, and, behold, I have. I knew I would."
The "most powerful being in the multiverse" twirled Gungnir about, like it was a simplistic magic wand purchased from a discount store.
Othinus watched on, helpless and pathetic, as Mad Tritonian Abraxas grinned down at her, a gleam in his eye.
She had become the victim. The "Perfect World", a plane that was paradise for all but one had become her own personal Hell.
"So… petty. So unenthusiastic. So dull. I tire of conversing with you, or, this rendition of you. Others have been feistier, others have yet been even more pathetic, openly wallowing in their own sorrows. While you still make my stomach churn, you're… somewhere in between. Milquetoast."
With the other gauntleted hand, the Tritonian reached for former Majin Othinus' face. Her legs kicked, her heart beat within her chest as a set of great, gauntleted fingers, index, middle and thumb moved inwards, approaching her as if they were the serpents of some haunting nightmare, slithering forth from inky abyssal depths.
Warm, liquid agony, desperation, fear, anger, resentment, hatred; she'd become a stewing pot of negativity, in which a truly foul broth bubbled.
From the corners of her visible left eye, tears fled, dripping down her left cheek, along her chin, and downwards, towards her partially-exposed bosom. Recently depowered Majin Othinus released a pained gasp, as Abraxas' grip tightened on her mortal throat, denying her of the oxygenized air she'd needed to breathe into her ancient, fetid lungs.
"My precious little sugarplum always has had a morbid taste in jewelry. And humor, for that matter… fret not, One-Eyed Othinus. I plan to erase this universe once my duty here is completed. You'll be little more than a residual series of electrical impulses, drifting. Now… let's begin. I really should have acted on this thought sooner. What a lovely gift this will be!"
Once-Magic God Othinus' screams went on to echo throughout the cosmos.
February 8th, 2004. 12:14 AM.
For someone who'd been through so much chaos, someone who'd stared death in the face, spat into said face and emerged alive and (mostly) well, the number one ranked esper in all of Academy City certainly found himself in a less-than-dangerous situation.
Though, it hadn't started out that way.
If anything, it'd started out as a very dangerous number of happenings, one following the path of another, and so on.
At first, it'd been a rocky beginning of forceful slaps to the face, kicking and protesting, rambling lectures delivered by Yomikawa Aiho and words of wisdom from the apparently perpetually-calm Yoshikawa Kikyou, the only individual who talked any sense in the household, at least by Accelerator's standards.
In the present, all things had calmed. Last Order, the 'Control Tower' of the Misaka Network, overlord and less-than-tyrannical observer, was fast asleep in her bed, her Gekota-themed sheets and comforter covering her tiny form, her pillow, with its Gekota pillowcase pulled over it tucked beneath her little head.
Quietly, the eight-year-old child who, like her adoptive guardian had faced death down on more than one occasion dreamed her child dreams, a small, contented smile on her face.
In their own separate beds, within the bedroom across from Last Order's own, Yomikawa Aiho and Yoshikawa Kikyou slumbered.
Two of the residency's five occupants remained awake.
Seated upon the luxurious, fine leather couch placed in the living quarters of Yomikawa Aiho's residency within the apartment complex identified as Family Side were Accelerator and Misaka Worst, the person he'd come to call his girlfriend.
Of all the things Accelerator once called her, from "bitch", to "dumbass", to "idiot", Academy City's "top dog" found himself calling her considerably less aggressive pet names in the present.
Unless she managed to royally push his buttons, and trigger a subsequent, figurative nuclear holocaust.
Some truly dull and uninspired film was playing on the living quarters' widescreen, sixty-five-inch television, one of Accelerator's more recent purchases. Whatever was occurring in the film – Accelerator had proverbially, but not literally tuned it out – it served only to bathe him and Misaka Worst, his girlfriend, in its silvery, vaguely lunar-esque illumination.
It appeared to be some kind of monster movie – some unintelligent dumbass of a thirty-something-year-old woman playing a supposedly teenaged female character, someone who'd almost certainly made a series of poor decisions typically depicted in films of the genre was fleeing through some stereotypically spooky woodlands, while a lumbering thing, covered in seaweed, its flesh pocked with scars and boils stumbled along after her, awkwardly tripping over its own feet as it engaged in its pursuit.
It almost resembled a gorilla, whatever the creature and likely antagonist of the film was supposed to be; Its shoulders were broad, its arms and legs elongated and rubbery. It was shown only from the rear, its face and frontal features obscured from view.
"Tou-san, this movie is boring."
"Yeah. I know."
"This girl needs to die already, she's a complete moron."
"You think? The monster is a fucking imbecile. How hasn't it managed to catch this bitch yet? Some monster."
"Misaka would pick up a bat, or maybe a four-by-four and smack that ugly thing around. Maybe Misaka would just avoid tripping over tree roots. That'd work too."
Accelerator grumbled to himself. There was something on his mind, something personal. Tending to his own physical needs was becoming a drag – tugging on himself like his body was some kind of water pump was hardly a romantic thing.
Then again, even by his own admission, Accelerator was hardly a romantic person.
Academy City's "top dog" grabbed for the nearby remote, and flicked the channel, changing it to something else.
There was one channel which Accelerator stopped on, momentarily, allowing the signal to adjust. Though Misaka Worst was occupied with her ravaging of her boyfriend's neck, his shoulder and the side of his face, Academy City's "top dog" watched text crawl by at the bottom of the screen.
It was a news channel, one of Academy City's many deliverers of completely non-biased and completely genuine current events and other nonsensical bologna.
"Over 1000 Students Reported Seriously Wounded, Numbers Steadily Climbing. Causes Unknown, Most Found Within Their Own Student Dorms, No Signs of Struggle/Foul Play. We Will Be Staying With This Story, Reporting Details as The Story Develops."
"Goddamn Sons of Taured. Fuck off with your shit. You get me involved in your bullshit, and you're all going to fucking regret being born."
Accelerator flicked the station to another, hoping for a better find.
The next displayed something quite lewd; without stumbling over a flowery description of visual erotica, Accelerator had stumbled upon a pornographic film.
In fact, Accelerator hadn't even intended to flick over to a pornographic channel; whatever channel he'd switched to, it simply happened to be broadcasting late-night pornography.
Accelerator merely clicked his tongue, choosing not to flick away from the sights playing out before him, and before his deviously-minded girlfriend. She'd turned her attention to the broadcast as well, eyelids narrowing as her lips curled into a devious grin.
An older man, displayed from the waist-up, with the camera hovering over his shoulder was repeatedly thrusting into a younger woman, who moaned aloud with each forward motion the older man's hips made, maneuvering back and forth like the motions of a perverted rocking chair.
She seemed to be enjoying herself, though Accelerator couldn't be certain. Her eyes were closed, the windows to her soul obscured. For all he knew, the young woman on the television could've been internally lamenting every decision she'd ever made.
Worst shrugged either of her shoulders and snuggled close to the boy she'd once sought to kill, the boy who mowed down over ten thousand of the Sisters, her boyfriend, the strongest esper to ever walk the Earth, Academy City's "top dog".
He had had no limits, no inhibitors, he who could challenge the armies of the entire world on his own without end.
Pornography was fine, too.
That almost certainly meant that her "romantic" partner was looking for something in particular, something base and bestial. He must've been looking to sate that animalistic craving of his.
Moreover, through animalistic release, Worst could steer her thoughts away from that, the past.
She was more than willing to get her hands and her vaginal cavity dirty, for that matter. Like a cricket producing its mating call, Misaka Worst rubbed her legs together, both of which weren't even close to being covered by her 'naughty' bathrobe, attire which doubled as her sleeping attire.
"Is there something you need, tou-san? Misaka is at your disposal… everyone's asleep, Misaka has disconnected from the Network, so the Control Tower won't be able to spy on us."
"Yeah."
"Just tell Misaka."
Shrugging off her robe, Misaka Worst allowed the article of clothing to drift away from her form, with its soft, silky, and incredibly smooth skin, like a sheet of ice falling from a slanted waterfall, brought tumbling into a metaphorical river below by an increase in temperature.
Clambering into her boyfriend's lap, Misaka Worst tilted her head to one side, a sinister grin spreading across her face. Worst's lips curled upwards, as she thrust her ample bosom into Accelerator's face.
"Maybe you want to suck on them? Misaka has delicious milk, tou-san. Misaka could fuck your cock while you milk her tits dry. You could also hook up a milking machine to Misaka's tits and drink Misaka's milk through a straw while she fucks your cock."
"Worst, do me a favor and turn around."
"Oooh. Tou-san wants to watch Misaka's ass bounce, Misaka gets it. You're welcome to lick, kiss it, as much as you'd like. Misaka knows just how much tou-san loves her ass and tits."
With haste, an almost feverish speed of movement, Misaka Worst quickly pulled Accelerator's simplistic beige slacks down after she'd unbuckled, and then tossed away the belt that'd held them in place. They found themselves around their wearer's legs, and soon the undergarment of Academy City's "top dog" joined them.
Not to Misaka Worst's surprise, he was as hard as a rock, thick and pulsating; Accelerator was just big enough to pleasure her, and just thick enough to rub against her walls, but not large enough to poke at her lower intestine or otherwise impale her.
The fleshy utensil was just the right size. The amber-eyed Misaka Worst licked her lips.
"Oi," Accelerator remarked, casually.
He leaned back, resting one but not both of his arms along the back of the piece of furniture. He produced a yawn, as Misaka Worst began to work him up and down with her right hand, while she used the other to accomplish 'other' goals, ones which involved going just a bit lower; Worst spat onto the utensil's head, not bothering to hunt down any sort of manmade lubricant.
"Yes, tou-san? Misaka is listening," Worst purred.
"You're taking your pill, right? I don't want any fucking "surprises". That dumbass Hamazura just had one today, remember? Don't want a goddamn thing like that happening, understood?"
"Of course. Misaka answered the phone and heard his sobs of desperation, after all… that tickled Misaka's fancy. Hamazura-san cries like a beta male cuck."
"Cuck"? You've been on that fucking imageboard again, haven't you? Knock it off. Worst, I'm dead serious. I don't want any of that drama. If you lie to me about taking your pill and you get knocked up, I'll push you down the fucking stairs, pull the fetus out, and strangle the little shit to death with its own umbilical cord."
Both Accelerator and Misaka Worst alike knew that he was exaggerating his threatening and arguably twisted words.
"Talk dirty to Misaka, tou-san. Tell Misaka how much you want to beat her up. Don't fret, tou-san, Misaka has been taking her pill every day, at the same time. Misaka doesn't want to carry a parasite in her womb either. So, you can cum inside Misaka as much as you'd like. Unless Misaka's on her period. Then you have to cum in Misaka's asshole instead."
Misaka Worst enthusiastically turned herself around, settling herself in Accelerator's lap before long. She rose, pushing herself upwards with the aid of her legs. Worst stretched one outwards, while using the other to hold herself upwards; for a moment, Accelerator compared his girlfriend to some sort of master acrobat.
"Don't hurt yourself."
"Fucking your cock doesn't hurt Misaka. It feels good. Awwweh, is tou-san concerned for Misaka's feelings and needs? That just makes Misaka want to fuck your cock, until you cum inside, even more. Misaka knows that you can be a romantic when you want to be."
"I'll show you "romantic" when you're gargling my fucking cum."
"Ooooooh! Misaka likes it! So aggressive~! GRR~!"
Worst threw her head back, and took as a deep breath as two became one. She hissed, slightly, swiftly releasing carbon dioxide as she settled in place.
Slowly, like she was rubbing her back against a tree in order to itch a section of her skin, Misaka Worst began to bounce. It started lightly, at first, gently and quite slow-paced.
Worst would hiss aggressively, and her boyfriend would close his eyes, his head sunk into the back of the couch, either of his hands rested upon his girlfriend's posterior.
But then she began to bounce faster. Her rate of movement increased, and her hisses became restrained, subdued moans. Misaka Worst repeatedly threw her head back, causing her shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair to flutter about like the tendrils of some eldritch abomination, or, alternatively, like the wings of some angelic being.
Worst was somewhere between a monster and an angel. Accelerator was more than well aware that he same could be said about him.
Her amber eyes were hidden from view, her eyelids set over them, closed shut.
"Fuck me, you goddamn bitch," Accelerator snarled, as quietly as he possibly could. "Ride faster, or I'll smack you upside the head."
"Please hit Misaka as hard as you can, Misaka wants it rough."
He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he felt it. The feeling was pounding at his chest, tugging at his consciousness. His lower body was tingling, his crotch feeling as if was being tickled.
If he didn't hold onto his higher mind, and, therefore his body, Accelerator was going to cum inside, and Worst would have a field day. He wouldn't hear the end of it. The laughter and ridicule would be unbearable.
"She'd fucking tell that cyborg-brat too, I bet… Worst, you bitch."
Accelerator reached outwards, grabbing onto a tuft of Misaka Worst's hair with his right hand. He yanked back with considerable force, which caused his girlfriend to produce a soft and deeply-pleasured moan.
"Yeeesssssss! Pull on Misaka's hair just like that."
Releasing her, Accelerator pulled his left arm back, his left hand's palm outstretched.
"You ready?"
"Misaka is ready, tou-san~. You have Misaka's full consent to slap her around as you please. Misaka loves it. Misaka will just keep fucking your cock until you bust a nut inside, no matter how much you hurt her… Misaka would love to have shiners."
"No. Forget it, you fucking freak. I'm not giving you a black eye."
"Boo."
Smack.
The sound of flesh connecting with flesh rang out; though it was hardly delivered with enough force to cause any sort of lasting harm, Misaka Worst still had to restrain a pleasured shriek. She buried the desire, piled mounds of proverbial mental soil over it and left it there, in the metaphorical backwoods of her higher mind.
She gritted her teeth all the way, as she continued to bounce on her boyfriend's utensil.
"Like that? Fucking bitch. It's almost too easy to smack you around."
"Misaka looooooooooves it~. Keep beating her up! Misaka wants to be your little battered housewife! Abuse Misaka, beat her up! Push Misaka into drawers and knock her down, punch her in the face! Hit Misaka as hard as you caaaaaan! Tou-san! Tou-san! Tou-san! Tou-san Tou-san Tou-san TOU-SAN… Misaka feels so good when she gets fucked by you!"
"I know you do. Goddamn… bitch… heh. You'll just keep fucking me even when I call you names and talk down to you. You're something pathetic…"
Suddenly, Accelerator grabbed onto either of Worst's hips. His grip tightened perpetually, his head thrown back. His hair, as white as snow was tossed about. Like Worst, he gritted his teeth as his hips bucked.
"Aweh! Is tou-san… about to… cum? W-who said that… you could… cum inside? M-Misaka… wants it so bad… give Misaka a n-nice… w-warm… creampie."
Accelerator produced a swift inhalation as his own hips bucked one last time.
"FUUUUUUCK!"
Misaka Worst threw her head back as far as it would go, grabbing herself, rubbing herself, nearly biting off the tip of her own tongue as she was filled to the brim with reproductive fluid.
Neither found themselves able to speak, as Misaka Worst dismounted, stumbled forwards, only barely catching herself mid-fall.
Some few moments passed, and, as such, silence descended, before Accelerator broke it, passing a series of worded vocalizations through it like a blade.
"Oi, Worst. You okay?"
"Misaka has never felt better… Misaka can only assume that you want to cuddle now. You've always been a big softie, in spite of the shit you spew. Misaka needs a shower first, so she can wipe away the impurities left by your dirty hands. Misaka also needs to wash your cum out of her cunt! Nasty~."
"What sort of shit are you babbling about?"
Accelerator picked himself up from his seat on the couch, pulling his undergarment up, followed by his slacks, which he buckled into place before he retrieved his belt, which was then wrapped throughout the slacks' many beltloops.
He opened either of his arms, looking on expectantly as the completely unclothed Misaka Worst rested her hands, with their shaking arms on her hips. As her arms did, Worst's legs vibrated awkwardly as well.
"Yes, okay, Misaka will give you a hug… paaaathetic~."
"Just shut the fuck up."
Academy City's "top dog" took Misaka Worst, his girlfriend, into an embrace. Either of his arms found their way around her bodacious hips, while Worst's own arms managed to 'magically' find themselves around her boyfriend's shoulders.
Grinning mischievously, Worst leaned in, her amber irises staring into Accelerator's own orbs of crimson.
"I love you, you irritating bitch."
"Misaka loves your mone… erm, Misaka means, Misaka loves you too."
Worst moved in for a kiss; her lips were set to make contact with Accelerator's own. Accelerator himself had conveniently reached down towards his girlfriend's rear; either of her cheeks soon found themselves clasped in the palms of his hands.
And, so, as fate would have it, along came a cockblock.
In the back pocket of his slacks, Accelerator's phone rang. It vibrated against its owner's leg, and played a soft, melodic tune; though said tune was partially drowned-out by the layer of fabric that was cast over it, the tune remained audible, to an extent.
"Ooh, ooh! Can Misaka suck your cock while you're on the phone?"
"No. I'm fucking done with your shit tonight. Go get yourself cleaned up."
Worst grinned, widely. That, of course, was tsundere code for "I'm not in the mood". Her boyfriend never was very good with vocalizing his feelings with the sort of words most people would use. Worst hardly minded; his aggressive streak turned her on like nothing else quite could.
Even if some might've seen malice in it, Misaka Worst knew there was none. This was cemented by the fact that, before he answered his phone, Accelerator placed a gentle and affectionate kiss to her lips, and then ran his fingers across either of his girlfriend's cheeks.
He even went as far as to offer his girlfriend a thin smile, a small and weak thing that lasted no longer than a few seconds before it faded from existence like steam rising from a crackling, roaring fire, unleashed and unrestrainable.
As Worst moved towards the residency's bathroom, her hips swaying seductively from side to side, Accelerator threw himself back down upon the couch, relieved and ready for whatever kind of insanity was about to come metaphorically knocking on his proverbial door.
He raised his unlocked smartphone to his ear, and kicked his feet up. Accelerator spoke.
"What."
"Accelerator-chan, the plot thickens."
"Make sense. Right now, you're not making any. What the fuck are you on about?"
"Musujime knows about magic. Everyone in GROUP knows about it, now, blame those Taured cocksuckers, nothing to hide. Kami-yan's also infected her with Kami Disease, but that was inevitable. She's with us, on the move to London. We're moving to resolve… the situation."
"And? Why the fuck are you telling me this? Why do I, no, why should I care? That isn't GROUP business."
"But it is now, Accelerator-chan. Since Musujime is in on the conspiracy now, I have no reason not to bring you and Biribiri-chan's lover along for the ride, we could use the backup. By this point I'm sure you know why. Biribiri-chan's lover is on his way, so, just for a few minutes, pull your shlong out of your girlfriend and get to Hokkaido Airport, ASAP. Horton confirmed it a GROUP assignment. Don't blame me, blame Kami-yan."
Accelerator did know why. This was all the fault of that fucking fourth-rate. He was supposed to be the foil. Why couldn't that third-rate brat get along with anyone who wasn't that goddamn, idiot of a hero? Accelerator's head throbbed, as he gripped his right temple with his index finger and thumb.
"Leave her out of this, fuck you Tsuchimikado. I'm going to kill that idiot hero when I see him. I'm going to beat the shit out of Move Point too. What the fuck is that hero dumbass thinking, pulling shit like this?"
"Think of it like this: with Musujime in on the game, we literally have no reason not to make it a GROUP mission."
"How do you figure that, Tsuchimikado?"
"You're just the sort of extra firepower we need, and, it'll keep heat off our G-man paymasters, and that's good for us: we get paid to be the fall-guys. Paid BIG. Horton's talking millions of yen, Gladio funds, transferred through the appropriate channels of course. Good for you, too. Maybe you'll be able to make your own harem, eh? Why have one girlfriend when you can have a bunch?"
"I thought I told you to leave her out of this. Do you want to die?"
"Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Right back at'cha, buddy."
The call was dropped. The rapidly-speaking and nervous-sounding Tsuchimikado Motoharu had terminated his end of the two-way connection. Accelerator clicked his tongue, and stuffed his phone into the back pocket of his slacks.
Just what was that idiot hero doing? Science and magic weren't supposed to be interfering with another; Estelle, among others, would've been most displeased.
The answer was obvious enough: he was trying to be "the good guy" again. Then again, Accelerator found himself in no position to criticize the person who'd saved him from himself, his worst enemy.
Accelerator rose from the couch one final time, and made his way to the residency's bathroom. Down the hall, past the bedrooms of the slumbering Last Order, Yoshikawa Kikyou and Yomikawa Aiho, past he and Worst's own rarely-used bedroom. At the end of the hall, the bathroom door was closed, though, upon turning the knob, Accelerator discovered it to be unlocked.
"Ouh, tou-san. Have you come to fuck Misaka's pussy while she showers? Misaka wouldn't mind being fucked while she cleans herself up. Instead of cumming inside, you could pull out and cum in the tub."
Accelerator could only shake his head, no, exasperated.
Just why Misaka Worst had decided to leave the shower curtain open, Accelerator couldn't even begin to ponder. There was obviously some answer, but it was unknown to him.
Water from the shower sprayed about everywhere; on the drywall beyond the shower's interior, onto him, and onto the carpeted flooring of the bathroom as well.
Why a bathroom floor was carpeted, Accelerator would never know the answer to that either. He'd likely have to hunt down the architects, and even if he did, the answer they'd give would likely be half-assed and idiotic.
"GROUP shit, I'm going out. I don't know when I'm going to be back."
"Misaka will be right here waiting."
"… just like that? It's that easy? You're not going to fucking stupidly insist that you're coming?"
"No, Misaka doesn't want to go anywhere. You can handle yourself, after all. Misaka doesn't have to be there to babysit. Besides, this will give Misaka time to bother the Control Tower without you spoiling our fun."
He clicked his tongue. Accelerator rolled either of his shoulders and grumbled under his breath, momentarily.
Then, Misaka Worst turned the shower rod on her boyfriend; she would've sprayed him in the face, but he'd seen the 'attack' coming from a mile away. With a simple calculation, Accelerator reflected the water, manipulating the element and turning it back at his girlfriend; she found herself being sprayed in the face, her tactical error costing her a small slice of her pride.
"Nice try, you fucking bitch," Accelerator commented.
Worst shrugged, as she closed the shower curtain; this hardly made sense, given that the bathroom was already soaking wet.
"Heheheh. Misaka will miss you, but not enough to try and stop you from going out to party it up with your friends. Misaka would like to have tou-san all to herself, but Misaka has come to terms with the fact that tou-san sort of, kind of, not really has a life. Sometimes."
"Don't try and guilt me, cunt."
"Misaka wouldn't do anything of the sort~. Go on and have your fun, tou-san. Misaka won't use toys for the whole time that you're gone, so her pussy will nice and tight for you."
Worst had expected a response of indifference, something along the lines of "whatever", or, more likely, "fuck off".
"That's a good girl."
Her expectations were shattered, and she found herself giggling.
Turning his back, Accelerator just barely managed to avoid another blast of water, aimed at him by his girlfriend, who'd utilized the shower rod as something of a makeshift water gun. He slammed the bathroom door behind him on the way out; Worst cackled aloud like a wicked witch all the while.
Accelerator still had one destination to visit before he left; he'd inform Yomikawa Aiho and Yoshikawa Kikyou of his absence via handwritten note. That much had already been decided upon.
But there was one person in the household to whom he couldn't announce his leave and temporary absence through a written note.
Academy City's "top dog" came to a rest before the bedroom door of Last Order; numerous Gekota decals were present, slapped all over the eight-year-old child-clone's door. Gekota as a firefighter, Gekota as a policeman, Gekota as a suit-wearing politician, standing before a podium, Gekota as a maid… it was more than enough to make Accelerator's head spin.
Then, he opened the door, turning the cool, metallic knob. It squeaked aloud, the sound amplified by the silence of the night that'd descended upon the residency.
Last Order looked like she was in the deepest of slumbers. Her eyes were closed shut, her lips open. A small droplet of drool threatened to drip down the side of her face and onto her Gekota pillowcase.
He set himself down at the foot of the bed, and tapped on the cocooned form of the child.
No response.
He did so again; Accelerator pressed his hand down upon her with more force. Though she stirred, Last Order didn't immediately awaken. Instead, she rolled about, unconsciously, before she suddenly stopped.
"Brat," he whispered.
Nothing.
"BRAT! Wake the fuck up."
Last Order lunged forward, her eyelids wide, pupils wider. She panted for a moment, swiftly looking from side to side. Then, she noticed the form of Accelerator, and her nervousness seemed to calm.
"Why are you waking MISAKA up at this hour, MISAKA MISAKA inquires groggily, turning to peer at the clock next to her bed, which reads: twelve, thirty-eight."
"There's something I've got to do. I'm going overseas, don't know when I'm going to be back."
"W-what?! MISAKA suddenly asks, panicking since MISAKA MISAKA is beginning to quickly understand the gravity of the situation!"
Accelerator's hand fell upon Last Order's head. He patted the tiny clone, gently, like he was patting the head of a concerned dog.
With either of her considerably smaller hands, Last Order grabbed onto the hand of her guardian, tightly, as if she was hugging it.
Accelerator swallowed, hard.
"You'll be fine with Yomikawa and Yoshikawa. The bitch will take care of you too. I won't be gone long, maybe a week at most."
In truth, Accelerator didn't quite know how long he'd be absent. He breathed a sigh of exasperation. It was never easy, lying to the goddamn brat. It only seemed to become more difficult.
"Promise, MISAKA MISAKA inquires, hoping to receive confirmation of the fact that you're telling the truth."
"Yeah."
"Promise! MISAKA MISAKA angrily exclaims, attempting to show you that MISAKA means business!"
"I fucking promise, okay? A goddamn week, that's it."
Last Order reluctantly nodded.
Accelerator cringed. He ground his teeth, and felt his throat beginning to tighten. His heartrate increased, and he could almost feel his pulse beating inside of either of his wrists. Accelerator could physically detect his neck's repeated thuds.
The eight-year-old child looked as if she was on the verge of tears, for a moment, before she replaced that facial expression with a brave face, one of bravado and one of courage.
"MISAKA knows that you have your reasons for not bringing MISAKA along with you on your journey. MISAKA simply hopes that you'll be safe, and that you'll come back to MISAKA, MISAKA MISAKA explains, attempting to maintain a level-headed appearance. MISAKA would also like to remind you that the malicious one cares deeply for you, and it would hurt her very much if anything happened to you, MISAKA MISAKA states solemnly."
"I know she does."
Accelerator put on his own 'brave face', a stoic expression. He took the little clone into his arms and held her tightly, only for a moment, before he broke away and retraced his steps, moving back towards the foot of the bed, from where he'd risen.
"Go back to bed. You're going to be tired in the morning if you don't get your ten hours… spoiled goddamn brat."
The scenario, despite being a very strange one, a scenario which Kamijou Touma certainly couldn't have expected or predicted before its happening was one which was playing out far more peacefully than most would've assumed.
This may or may not have had plenty to do with the fact that the luxurious private jet he and seven other individuals shared was incredibly spacious, with many rows of many seats, five to a row. Each was constructed of soft fabric, which one could almost sink into; Seria had vocally compared her own, identical to all others, to something akin to the surface of a memory foam mattress, soft and comforting.
Among those who'd been lulled to sleep by the seats were the third strongest esper in all of Academy City, the Railgun, and the former Magic God Othinus, known to some aboard the private jet as "Olivia-chan".
"There might be something you haven't considered," Touma remarked to Tsuchimikado Motoharu, who he'd crossed paths with.
"Yeah? And what's that?"
"We're going to need exit forms."
"No."
Tsuchimikado Motoharu had stated it so confidently, that even Kamijou Touma was impressed. He looked to the Backstabbing Blade, who flashed him one of those shit-eating grins of his.
"Horton-san has already cleared us. This is a Gladio-funded and sponsored trip, above even the authority of the Board of Directors… you can thank yours truly for getting the gears grinding, but, GROUP is going to be taking the shit, and… the rewards… for any messes that we make. We're untouchable. Kind of surprised you didn't bother me about this earlier."
"You were the last thing on my mind. I was talking with the girls."
"Of course, you were Kami-yan. Of course, you were. You've certainly got your priorities straight, don't you?"
"Shut the fuck up."
Motoharu merely shrugged either of his shoulders and continued on his way, while Kamijou Touma turned back to face Musujime Awaki, Kumokawa Seria, and Index.
While both Awaki and Index were clad in their usual respective attire, Seria had changed. She was dressed less to impress and more based on comfort; she wore simplistic, blue and white plaid flannel clothing, likely intended to be pajamas. On her feet, she wore fluffy socks, white like the color of an elderly man's beard.
Awaki was seemingly reading along with Index, who was repeatedly pointing to particular sections of the Move Point user's crumpled-up pamphlet. Seria waved to Touma, and then patted the seat next to her; Touma wasn't about to say no.
Closing the distance between himself and Kumokawa Seria, Touma threw himself down in the seat between his senpai and Awaki, who tilted her head and looked to him.
Seria threw her right arm around her kohai's shoulder and pulled him close, setting her left in his lap, gently stroking his lower torso with the tips of her delicate, slender fingers.
"Oi, Musujime. How're you holding up? All of this must be a little sudden. Suddenness is kind of a recurring thing lately, with people who involve themselves with me at least."
"Holding up?" I'm fine, Kamijou I haven't been better in a long-ass time, I'll have you know, oh mighty and valiant he~ro."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. By the way, I wasn't' trying to mock you. 'was just teasing."
"It's cool, Musujime. I can take a joke."
Musujime Awaki shuddered, as Tsuchimikado Motoharu passed her by, tapping her teasingly on the shoulder and whispering something inaudible to most.
Kamijou Touma, however, had heard it. He'd caught the soft, whispered pseudo-words.
"Kami Diseaaassseeeeeee," they'd been.
After she'd apparently sufficiently recovered, Awaki spoke to Touma once more; he listened on as he returned his senpai's physical affection, feeling like something between a great king and an absolute god.
"On the serious though, I'd rather be doing something crazy and spontaneous like this then winding down for another "school night". That's all bullshit."
"For sure. They keep you occupied so you'll remain complacent, not question their ways, and all the fucked up shit they're doing behind the scenes."
"Right, Kamijou? Finally, someone who feels me on that! It's so dull, same thing, over and over… we've got to live a little, and if rushing into something that I barely understand isn't living, then I don't know what is. Besides, this nun says some funny things. Hey… one thing. I've… had this off feeling ever since we got on the jet. Like something's watching us… just me?"
"Nope, us too, everyone here's felt it at least once, as far as I know. Felt it since we were at that dumpy market, in district four."
Musujime Awaki nodded, a silent acknowledgement. At least she wasn't losing her mind.
Index looked up from the pamphlet, and to Touma, who she smiled at.
"You were right, Touma! Awaki is really nice too. It's good that you got rid of the mean girls! Except the short-hair loudmouth. But even she's nicer now!"
Under her breath, Awaki chuckled, quite heartily, as Index returned to examining the pages of the Move Point user's crumpled, savaged pamphlet.
"Listening to her is a hoot, and she's taught me more about this crazy stuff than Academy City ever taught me about plain ol' science… sheesh, they do like to lie and hide the truth a lot, don't they?"
Kamijou Touma nodded in affirmation.
"It's one of their favorite pastimes. Is there anything you're unclear about? How much does the pamphlet cover? I haven't looked at it a whole lot. I just know these things are causing problems."
"Actually," Awaki muttered, looking to Index, "there is something that strikes me as odd here. Whoever wrote this really doesn't like the Roman Orthodox. What have they done to anyone? Curious here, I like to have a decent reason to not like someone."
Kamijou Touma breathed a sigh. "You have no idea, Musujime. They're responsible for a lot of magic problems. A while back, and I do mean a while back, before we even met for the first time, there was this one incident, revolving around this girl named Orsola Aquinas… long story."
Index tilted her head to one side, causing her silver hair to flow to the left, in accordance with the slant her neck had taken.
"The bad guys turned out to be the good guys, and the good guys turned out to be the bad guys! Well, that's the simple way of putting it."
"Index got it about right, at least on the surface; she can tell you more than I can about the little details, she's the magic expert. Well, the only one here who's awake."
Kumokawa Seria had leaned in, as well; the tale of this "Orsola Aquinas" was unknown to her. Raising an eyebrow, Seria listened in as Index began her explanation. Touma, on the other hand, simply leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.
Sleep still seemed to be an impossibility. Then again, that wasn't all that much of an issue; his superior body didn't need constant refreshment and nourishment. He was above all of that. Touma's lips curled upwards, into an amused grin.
"Index, might you regale me this tale, as well?"
"Okay Seria! Listen up!"
Index softly cleared her throat. Then, placing her hands, both clasped, into her lap, she looked from Awaki, and then to Seria, both of whom were paying attention; the Move Point user yawned, but Index took no offense, especially given the lateness of the hour.
"There was, and still is a Grimoire known as the Book of the Law. It's the holy text of the religious movement known as Thelema, the same movement responsible for creating the ritualistic practice of Spirit Cooking."
"Spirit… Cooking?"
"Index-san, what is this "Spirit Cooking?"
Both Awaki and Seria leaned inwards, further, seemingly trying to receive the best 'quality' of explanation possible from the little silver-haired nun. Kamijou Touma quietly listened on; hearing Index offer one of her expository lectures was a nostalgic callback to, in the present, what seemed like much simpler times.
"Spirit Cooking", Index began, ironically raising her right hand's index finger as she spoke, "is the practice of consuming a mix of honey, oil, breastmilk, semen and menstrual blood for the purpose of symbolizing contact between the microcosm, mankind and the macrocosm."
Awaki shuddered, crossing her right leg over her left as she closed her eyes for a moment. Seria swallowed, hard; she suddenly felt like she was about to lose her only partially-digested dinner.
"It's said," Index began once more, unabated, "that, if its words are deciphered during a certain moment in which the star-ways are aligned, the Book of the Law will spell the end of the Church of the Cross. Hence, you can bet that the Church of the Cross wanted to get their hands on the Book of the Law, to prevent that from happening."
Awaki attempted to shake off the nausea that'd sudden taken grip over her form. She tried, failed, and tried once more, shrugging either of her shoulders and cracking her neck from side to side, as if she had to physically exercise something from the depths of her very being.
"And… this "Orsola" girl, she was important to this incident how, exactly?"
"Orsola Aquinas could decipher the Book of the Law, of course! Therefore, the Church of the Cross sought to be rid of her, to protect itself. That's the short version. She's still alive because we helped her, especially Touma."
"Don't sell yourself short, Index. You did plenty."
"Oooofff course he did… my he~ro."
Seria produced a soft, unsurprised and bemused "mm".
Then, an individual who Kamijou Touma hadn't seen in some time approached. He'd known before Awaki, Index and Seria; his microscopic, nanorobotic scouts had delivered news of the masked party's approach to their main mass, though they remained "abroad", fluttering about the interior of the grounded jet; for reasons, unknown to Touma, it hadn't obtained liftoff, or moved even an inch.
Perhaps it had something to do with the phone call that the Backstabbing Blade apparently had to make in the jet's onboard restroom, of all places. Something suspicious was abounds, and Touma knew it.
Just as the individual who regularly disguised himself as Unabara Mitsuki was about to speak, however, two other individuals entered the private jet. From within, a staircase had been lowered, after one set of doors had slid open, pulled inwards and disappearing as they became one with the jet's body.
Kamijou Touma's eyelids widened.
Moving towards him, with someone who closely resembled Misaka Mikoto at his side, either of her arms wrapped around his own, was the strongest esper in all of Academy City. His footfalls were purposeful and quick.
"You… goddamn… fucking hero. You've got some explaining to do, and just what the fuck is that shit? Is something watching us?"