Quick thing: thanks, whwsms for favoriting! It's great to have you 'officially' on board! I hope you're enjoying your reading of a Certain Broken Testament.
Without further ado, let's jump straight into response time, shall we?
whwsms: I don't personally believe short and simple to be a bad thing, not when executed infrequently, at least. Alternatively, if the piece in question is one in which plenty of action-centric scenes aren't to be expected, such as a piece focused on a mystery-driven narrative, for example, I think short and simple can come out looking swell.
I know, I know; at the very least, I sought to provide some reasoning behind Kumokawa Seria's decision to abstain from penetration, and not simply throw in a tease for the sake of doing just that.
I suppose it was only a matter of time until Index 'came around'; as you suggested, it would seem that both Olivia-chan/Othi-chan and Kumokawa Seria had roles to play in this change of heart.
Not completely unexpected. I'd say that it makes enough sense for Etzali to vocalize just where his opinions stand in regards to Mikoto's lifestyle choices. Truthfully, someone who has been through as much as Misaka Mikoto has needs all the friendship and support she can possibly get.
Itsuwa, WATCH OUT! She's not just an innocent little girl! If you don't exercise the necessary levels of caution, you might just find yourself entrapped in the metaphorical spider's proverbial web.
I like that sense of curiosity, friend. For the time being, I'll leave you to speculate as you see fit.
As should be evident by this point, you can bet that I'll be looking forward to the narrative stakes and drama a Certain Search After Truth's six chapter will bring to the table, and, as always, I think it's awesome that I'm able to consistently and repeatedly gain your stamps of APPROVAL! I hope to continuously gain further stamps, through my penning of subsequent chapters.
Guest: I'm not about to disagree with a point that's completely correct, but, what can I really say in my defense? I suppose I wanted to try something different.
Check,
Interrupted, unfortunately,
Unchecked!
Again, I suppose I should apologize, here; at the very least, as I mentioned above in my response to whwsms' remove, I tried to provide fair and valid reasoning behind what, by my own admission, is a cocktease moment. I definitely can understand any potential frustration you might be experiencing.
P.S: 'belong to' is a bit of a strong and potentially harmful term, but, to answer your question, yes. I do have some 'unique' plans for Touma's and Itsuwa's friendship, but, aside from any potential changes arising from that, I'll be playing it safe, so to speak.
321jaz: don't even worry about it, friend! I wouldn't have expected you to drop everything you've got going on, just to write a review!
I know, I know. Such a tease, but, as you suggested, this simply paves the way for the final, penultimate payoff!
The perfect proverb to apply in this situation; everyone can find themselves taking something, or someone for granted, I'm sure it's a feeling we've all experienced, at some point or another.
Uh oh… you could just be onto something with that thought of yours. I'd advise you to hold said thought, for now.
We really haven't seen these two interact in a while, have we? In regards to 'that promise', I'm not particularly surprised that it came up in their conversation. If I'm surprised by anything, it's Etzali's acceptance of Mikoto's chosen lifestyle choices; surely, he's witnessed the beginnings of the fledgling Kamijou Faction/Kamijou Harem, and Mikoto's involvement.
Potentially, and you're definitely not wrong for thinking such; but you've got to remember who it is that's at the helm, at least on the Amakusan front. Kanzaki Kaori, through the months that have passed her by, has more than likely learned considerable patience and tolerance, such which she certainly didn't possess during the period of time involving Index's first 'visitation' to Academy City, and its relevance to all parties involved.
As always, I'm ever-grateful to continually gain your APPROVAL! I hope to consistently do so through subsequent installments!
There was an odd presence about; in response to her body's silent screams, Kanzaki Kaori looked back.
The Amakusan warriors at her back seemed to be feeling its effect as well. Itsuwa had taken a step back, while Tatemiya Saiji merely looked perturbed, a vein in his forehead throbbing rather violently.
Kaori displayed no physicals signs of her spirit's troubles.
The presence, whatever it belonged to, whatever its true nature, it was overwhelming and oppressive, not quite like anything any Amakusan at the Priestess' side had faced before. For a moment, Kaori silently considered the fact that her ribcage might be crushed within her chest. Some great weight pushed down, hellishly, with forceful strength like she'd never before felt.
A blow from Aqua of the Back, as he'd been known then, was like a light tap on he shoulder compared to this.
Before Kanzaki Kaori could even consider voicing a complaint, or even defend herself against the barrage of verbal accusations that'd been thrown her way, the 'lead' SUV's passenger side door opened, and she who hurled insults at the Saint of the Far Eastern stepped out.
Her dress, more akin to a gown than a traditional dress of any sort flowed about her, black and white, like the keys of a grand piano. Darkened, opaque stockings adorned her legs, while her feet were clad in simplistic, yet elegant, heeled slippers, which clacked and clicked against the earth with each individual step she took. Like the hanging leaves of a weeping willow, her soft, fluffy hair bounced at her shoulders. With the utmost confidence, the child-leader strode onwards, her gnarled, wood-carven Wand of Swords and Cups held at her side.
Leivinia Birdway locked eyes with Saint Kanzaki Kaori, who, even at a mere one hundred and seventy centimeters stood well above the twelve-year-old child-leader of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight.
Despite the difference in their height, Leivinia Birdway was not disillusioned.
The driver's side door was pushed open, and the servant stepped out.
Looking upon him caused tremors, forceful torrents of migraine headaches to surge throughout Kaori's skull. Something was most certainly wrong with the picture presented before her; the Saint of the Far East simply needed to get her mind back under her own control, in order to properly assess what it was supposed to be.
Then, Itsuwa vocalized he issue at hand mere moments before Kaori's mind had managed to wrap itself around said issue.
"Yup, that is a whole lot of mana. Um, hey, Priestess…? I'm not feeling so… ahem… well. I think I might need to take a… ahem, ahem… cough. Cough. Leave of… cough. Absence, allergies see."
At the very least, Kaori could appreciated Itsuwa's attempts to lighten the mood.
The sheer volume of mana radiating from the 'demon hunter' before them was incredible. It was never-ending, always flowing and limitless.
"You seem disturbed," Leivinia casually remarked, the 'demon hunter' quietly taking to his leader's side.
"Hardly," Kaori snapped back in response. "We've faced worse, together, as one."
Responding to the Saint's response, Leivinia looked to the 'demon hunter' and silently nodded.
From his back, he pulled down a great, double-bladed weapon, something that looked unwieldy even by the standards of the young woman who casually swung around a sword that was longer than she was tall.
Double-edged, the thing looked more suited to cleaving and shearing the flesh from a target's bones, like two ends of a macabre butcher's knife had been haphazardly strapped to the central, metallic 'focus' bound with a handle.
"Do we have business, old lady? Maybe you'd like a lift back to the nursing home? I don't know why the orderlies have such a hard time keeping you elderly folks in your rooms…"
"Whoa, bring it back! We're going to have break your bullshit down, young lady! You've got some nerve, talking about the Priestess in such ways! I'll have you know that the Priestess is only eighteen years of age! If that's old, then… okay, see, I thought I had something. But I don't. Just shuddup."
In Itsuwa's direction, Leivinia raised an eyebrow.
Saiji took a step forward, fighting back his own urge to turn tail and flee. The oppressive, seemingly endless amounts of mana radiating from within Birdway's pet 'demon hunter' wouldn't keep him from his duties, not in a million years.
Said 'demon hunter' seemed more than willing to answer the challenge in kind.
"You will come no further toward the Dawn-Colored Lady. Another step, and you lot will be no more than stains upon the Earth."
"Thepes, let's be civil. You can't go around beating up on old ladies, after all."
"Hm. Understood, my Lady."
Like an obedient hound, the 'Thepes' subordinate took multiple steps back, returning to the side of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's child-leader.
Before the situation could possibly derail any further, Kaori spoke her piece. She remained unarmed, as a continued sign of goodwill. Even if Birdway and the subordinate armed themselves, she wouldn't stoop to their level. She would promote a peaceful and civil discussion between factions.
"The Amakusa have been expecting you. We have means of knowing your movements, when you're going to make them, and how you're going to make them. Don't ask how, for you'll receive no answer."
"I hardly expected one."
"I'll cut to "the chase". The Amakusa propose a partnership."
That seemed to strike the child-leader as odd. Leivinia Birdway raised an eyebrow, and tilted her head to one side, an act of both confusion and concern. She quietly clicked her tongue, before she pocketed her Symbolic Weapon.
"What is this, Saint? What sort of ruse is this?"
"There is no ruse. Merely two parties who have a mutual enemy."
As if to mime the action taken by the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader, Iosephus Thepes placed his own massive weapon to his back, where it came to hang limply from several sets of leather straps.
The 'demon hunter' spoke his own piece.
"And yet you are English Puritan associates. What purpose would English Puritans find in throwing their lot in with an organization with whom they would never see eye-to-eye?"
"We are not English Puritans."
Leivinia Birdway shrugged her shoulders, looking from one Amakusan to the next. Her eyelids found themselves lowering.
"Huh? Now I've see just about everything… prove it."
"I figured you'd say that. You're nothing if predictable."
"Says the old lady with Alzheimer's disease. Do you even remember who I am? Who you are? Maybe you need someone to fetch your walker. Did you remember to take your meds?"
Kanzaki Kaori would not rise to the bait. Instead, from around her neck she produced a large, silver cross, which hung from an elongated, silver chain. Gripping the chain, the Saint of the Far East pulled the piece of jewellery away from her, somewhat reluctantly.
With force, without the same sort of hesitation she'd exercised in holding the piece of jewellery away from her body, Kaori threw it to the ground.
Beneath the heel of her boot, she ground it into the dust, forcing it to crack, splinter and shatter, the sheer strength of the pressure forced upon it, surging throughout her leg overwhelming the materials used in the jewelry's construction.
"I, Priestess of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church speak for all who attest to the Amakusa-style Remix of Church."
Those who'd stood behind her came to stand at her side. Each nodded, and performed an inverted, reversed Sign of the Cross, perfectly in sync with each other's individual actions.
"I utterly denounce the English Puritan Church, and all it stands for. I utterly denounce Necessarius, the 0th Parish of the English Puritan Church. I utterly denounce the Archbishop of the English Puritan Church. May the crows feast upon her eyes and hope not to become ill as they ingest her poison."
In a world in which symbolism meant everything, Leivinia Birdway could only watch on, amused and curious. Just what had changed? The last time she'd checked, the Amakusans were staunch followers of the haughty bitch with far too much hair.
If the whole thing was a ruse, it was a damn good rouse. Even Leivinia had to proverbially tip her nonexistent hat to the performance.
"Interesting. What is it you seek from us, then? You've stopped us here for a reason other than to show off, I presume? Otherwise, old lady, you're really going to disappoint me."
"Partnership," Itsuwa stated, reaffirming the point her Priestess had originally made. "A partnership between us, Sons of Taured and Dawn-Colored Su…"
"Wait just a moment. Hold your horses."
Leivinia raised her hand to her chin. Curiously, she cupped it, as Iosephus Thepes watched on, silent and vigilant. He and Tatemiya Saiji exchanged cold, calculating glares; a staring contest, a brawl of wit and mental willpower.
"Now, that's something that interests me greatly. "The Sons of Taured" then. Hm. Word is, you lot are troublemakers. If you're truly with them. If they truly exist. I've seen no proof save the funny-looking pamphlets strewn all over the place. What's your goal, then? Former operatives of Necessarius would know better than most that the Sides are to be kept apart from one another… apparently, at least."
"Or as oppressors and mindful, wrathful assailants of the innocent and the defenseless would say."
"Boldly stated, old lady! I think both would work quite well together, hand in hand. A symbiotic relationship. Of course, both Sides would need someone reliable to watch over them. Science and Magic being ruled separately just isn't working, is it? It's just not working at all. The likes of the Roman Catholics and the English Puritans are… boring. They're old! Like you! Out, out, out!"
"We will speak no further of this in public."
Leivinia produced a soft, unapproving groan. She looked back, and up to the form of her subordinate, 'Thepes', who'd taken to leaning casually against the grill of the 'lead' SUV, arms folded across his chest.
"Send these tagalongs off to base," Leivinia commanded. She tugged on the taller, older-seeming man's suit jacket, to ensure that she held his attention. This tactic seemed to work; almost instantaneously, he tilted his head downward.
"You're with me, Thepes."
"As you wish, my Lady."
With a nod of her head, Leivinia released her subordinate's suit jacket, and looked to Kanzaki Kaori, as well as the Amakusans who supported and stood with her.
Not behind her. Strange. They seemed to have developed some sort of unity.
They stood not behind her, but beside her. At Kanzaki Kaori's side, the Amakusans seemed to stand in total solidarity with their Priestess.
An impressive, but altogether weak display.
It was the most tightly-knit of groups that could come apart as soon as a single seam was loosened. At this comparison, Leivinia grinned, placing her right hand on her corresponding hip. She walked forward, heeled, elegant slippers clacking.
"You want to negotiate, old lady? Very well, I'll humor you for now. I know just the place… duly note; if this is an assassination attempt, you're going to have quite the job ahead of you. Few have stood against the Dawn-Colored Lady and lived to tell the tale. Fewer yet have stood before a vampire and lived to tell a similar tale. Coming, Thepes?"
"Quite, my Lady. As you wish."
That explained it all. Itsuwa looked to her Priestess, concerned, and closed the distance between them, as her fellow Amakusans mimed her actions. Tatemiya Saiji immediately broke eye contact with the 'demon hunter'.
"Yup, it figures… she did say what I THINK she said. Didn't she?"
"She did. On your toes… and try not to judge too deeply. We call one whose very existence is difficult to comprehend our ally, after all. He is kind and fair despite the differences between us. The brat appears to have this vampire, if such is the case, under her control."
"Priesteeessss. She's so cute! But she's so mean! How can such an adorable little girl be so mean-spirited?! Ah! I could just snuggle her up, if she wasn't such a little witch."
Kanzaki Kaori couldn't help but smirk at the younger warrior's antics. Even in the direst of situations, Itsuwa seemed to be able to inject a considerable dose of positivity and spunk.
February 10th, 2004. 4:21 AM.
Nothing seemed to be working.
He had the greatest tools of "information extraction" available to the higher-ups of Academy City at his disposal, and yet, he couldn't get so much as a confession, let alone a detailed explanation from the wrinkled old bitch.
Of course, that was partially due to its own unwillingness to actually use them.
The small, dimly lit back room of one of few highly illegal and highly provocative occult markets was stained not with blood, and not even with sweat. It wasn't literally stained with anything.
But it was proverbially stained with the agonized screams of an elderly woman, bound to a chair with thick, thorny ropes, scavenged from a section of the market which had since been dismantled by other on-duty Oculus operatives.
"I think it's time for another break. Or…"
"Or what?! Do you have a better idea, fourth-string? Please, do tell me! Let me in on your master plan!"
"Let me take over."
"You'll kill her. Forget it. We've talked about this, Hamasaki, get it right out of your head. Tired? Go nap with Karasuma."
"Tempting, but, there's only one girl I'd like to nap with, you'd do well to get that through your head… I'll get answers. The answers you can't seem to get; I don't understand you, you're a bona fide G-man, and yet you can't torture a few answers out of a woman whose tits look like eggs nailed to a plank of plywood? It's no wonder your wife left you, pal-o. Give me the pliers, and I'll run you through 'Torturing One Oh One."
Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City took a step forward. He held his hand outwards, fingers outstretched and palm open.
Even with 'breaks', they'd still been at it for hours. It was becoming less of a thrill and more of a painful grind, a slog through proverbial swamplands that simply didn't seem like it was ever going to end.
"Shit. Shit! Fine! Shit! Take the goddamn pliers, just don't fucking kill her, you fourth-string lunatic."
"Thanks, Horton. Now beat it. I'm sure Fran would like to have a conversational partner outside. Lovely weather, too. Lady Luck and I, we have… some personal business to attend to."
The handing of duties from one Gladio-Oculus Operative to one Gladio Operative took place there and then, with Operative David Horton giving in, sighing in frustration. He looked to the elderly woman, who had slouched forwards in the seat in which she'd been forced. The ropes that held her in place seemed to have cut off circulation to her arms, as the limbs had grown a shade of dark, bruised purple in coloration. She yet lived, and seemed to be conscious. Her quick, shallow breaths were indications of this.
He threw his hands up and unleashed a feral growl. Hamasaki Tsubasa watched on, unfazed by the animalistic display.
As a frustrated, disillusioned and overall disappointed David Horton slammed the door to the back room behind him, stomping off through the almost entirely emptied space where the occult market's wares had once been placed, Hamasaki Tsubasa stepped forward, gripping his borrowed tools of the trade in hand.
Tsubasa neared, and rested his index and middle fingers beneath the elderly woman's chin. Gently, exercising considerable caution, he raised her face, forcing her eyes to lock with his own, as he levelled their respective fields of vision.
"Honey, I'm real sorry this has to happen to you. You don't deserve this, nobody does…"
"I've been through much worse. For me, this is but an average Sunday afternoon… thank y—"
A sudden shout was vocalized, one which rattled the elderly woman's already fractured nerves.
"PSYKE!"
Like a string which had been snapped between the scissors, like a switch was flipped inside of his head, another side of the fourth-ranked level five emerged. Unchained and unleashed, he prepared for controlled chaos, a managed rampage.
Like a woodcutter swinging his hatchet, Hamasaki Tsubasa raised the piece of hardware turned weapon above his head.
It soared, producing a soft 'swoosh' as it parted the oxygenized air that dared to stand in its way.
The makeshift weapon's wielder had turned, his grin wide, his lips rising so high that they seemed like they could suddenly tear away from his face of their own accord. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and, from his lips, secretions from his salivary glands dripped freely, like plumes of foam dripping from the maw of a rabid dog.
With considerable force, he brought it down upon the elderly woman's right knee.
Solid bone was fractured; she threw her head back, her lower jaw opening so wide that it seemed like it might become unhinged. She uttered a feral scream, like the death-call of a banshee.
Again, and again, he brought the piece of hardware turned tool of torture down.
"Horton's too emotional for this type of work, woman! Fifty-eight-year-old divorcees aren't cut out for this type of shit! I AM! I'll beat you until you're nothing but pulp! A mess of flesh! Do you think I give even the smallest of FUCKS about the likes of YOU?! I kill people like you for a living! You can't out-weird me, nan!"
Her screaming never ceased, not even for a moment, not even as tears poured from the corners of her eyes like the currents of Niagara Falls.
How could a human being so quickly snap? How could a human being so quickly turn and become a monster?
"No hero's going to save you from me! Nan, I KILL heroes! I lay them out! I attend their fucking funerals just to fuck with their grieving loved ones, for fun! I piss on the graves of heroes! You'll talk, or you'll die! THAT'S IT! That's our negotiation! Fuck it! You're not in the mood?! Alright! Fine! Next knee! You'll never walk agaaaaaaain! Neeeeeveeeeeerrrrr agaaaaaiiiiinnnnnnnnn! Not even the Frog-Doctor will be able to fix you! Cunt, cunt, cunt, CUNT! Get your pain meds, nan! Here it comes!"
Like clockwork, it rose again. The makeshift tool of torture was raised over, and then fell behind its wielder's head. This reprieve was brief, but it was something. It was a brief stroke of mercy.
Mercy was ended as the pliers were brought down upon the elderly woman's unmarred knee, quickly marred as the other had been.
Once more, the cracking of bone, accompanied by the trademark tearing of flesh rang out, like a bell signalling that class had begun in some morbid school, where walking corpses roamed.
She screamed aloud, howling like a wounded animal caught in the unforgiving maw of a hunter's trap, and yet she spoke no words of confession, and she admitted nothing.
Evidently, greater measures would have to be taken.
He'd had an entire arsenal at his beck and call, and yet Horton hadn't brought a single tool to his bound victim; instead, he'd apparently thought that threatening to use these tools would harmlessly work the same sort of wonders.
What a deluded old fool.
Hamasaki Tsubasa turned away from the sobbing woman, the soles of his shoes clacking against the flooring. The moveable table was set before him, with its many 'tools of the trade' set about like the utensils a surgeon might utilize to sew his patient back up, after a lengthy operation.
While there were many vaguely advanced-looking tools, such as something that resembled a tagging gun, and another tool which looked awfully like clamps of some description, such things just weren't necessary. Sometimes, one had to look back rather than forward. Sometimes, fixing what wasn't broken was an entirely unnecessary, time and currency-consuming endeavor.
Someone remembered the old ways, at least.
A giggling, shuddering Tsubasa hastily grabbed for a small jerry can, along with a section of thick cloth. Dirtied, smeared with what looked like dried, caked-on lifeblood, rust, and other unknown substances, the fourth-ranked level five gripped the piece of fabric like it was clean and unmarred, something which had only been used to casually wipe down the exterior of a dirtied vehicle.
He set the jerry can down first, carefully placing it on the floor, along with the defiled rag. For a moment, his eyes locked with the crown of the elderly woman's head; she hung forward, limply, though her pitiful whimpers could still be heard, soft and just barely-audible.
He pressed his foot against a leg of the chair, and, with a mighty kick, forced it backwards, with the elderly woman in tow. One sob, louder than the rest that followed was vocalized, followed by a groan, as the back of her head crashed against the floor, causing her neck to bounce upwards, like a child jumping on a trampoline.
"Tap out when you're ready to talk! Oh, wait! You won't be able to! Whoooooooooops! Silly me! Here we go, nan! Into the drink with you! Glub, glub… rub-a-dub-dub…"
The rag was thrown down upon the elderly woman's face, firstly; she coughed and spluttered, but demanded no mercy and spoke nothing of her intentions.
Carefully, Hamasaki Tsubasa pried the lid from the jerry can, ensuring that not even a single droplet of the liquid within was lost. Though his hands awkwardly shook, he paid no mind to his body's awkward shuddering, instead choosing to focus on the task that was a hand.
Then, it came.
He moved around, taking to her side, as if she was a sick patient in a hospital bed; Hamasaki Tsubasa came with no medicine, however. He came only with torment in hand.
With caution, he tipped the jerry can, held in either of his hands forward, watching on as the cool liquid poured out from within, dripping gently, before he tipped it with more force. Something akin to a miniature waterfall began to drip from the jerry can's spout. Water sprayed over the face of the elderly woman, upon which the rag was set.
She may as well have been drowning, for that was precisely the sort of experience which she suffered through. The elderly woman's lungs cried out for air as they were deprived of it. Her nostrils surged, raging, seek any sort of oxygenized air to take in, yet, seemingly, they could take in none at all.
Her arms began to violently quake, first. They shook like those of an epileptic, her fingers shuddering as they clenched and unclenched as best they could.
Then, her legs began to lose feeling; they might as well have been cut off completely. The ropes, bound far too tightly, had nearly severed the detectable connection between the elderly woman's legs and her upper body. Still, even without feeling, they shuddered and vibrated, like humans caught in the tremors of a great quake.
Then, mercy. The flow of water ceased, and the rag was removed from her tear and water-streaked face. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head, and she could hardly squeak, let alone cry out for help; yet she lived. She still drew breath.
"Are you ready to have a little CHAT, nan?! I'm waiting!"
Smack.
With a mighty backhand, he'd shocked the elderly woman back to reality.
"Did you forget your hearing aids, nan? I said, "are you ready to have a little CHAT?!"
Reluctantly, with tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, she nodded weakly, as if her neck had ceased to function properly; to this, Hamasaki Tsubasa seemed to respond by calming down considerably. He returned the jerry can and the defiled rag back to the moveable table from where he'd retrieved them, and then proceeded to lift the chair in which the elderly woman was bound back up, with considerably more force, and considerably less caution exercised. As she was forcibly tossed forward, the she vomited.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. That's just disgusting. Do that on your own time, decrepit old bitch. Now… I have a question for you. Answer it, or we'll be going back to the drink, you and I. Who, or what, is the "Sons of Taured?"
Vomit yet continued to spew from her mouth, dripping down her lips and down her chin. Even as her eyes had returned from within the back of her head, having rolled downwards, she barely seemed to be lucid at all. She coughed once more, ejecting chunks of bright, yellow vomit from within her mouth.
"W-we…"
"Yes, yes! There we go! Talk! Say something!"
"We follow the Word of Taured."
"And just who is this Taured? C'mon, nan, let's keep it going, we're losing momentum! MOMENTUM! WE ARE LOSING IT! No breaks on the rape train!"
"Prophet."
Hamasaki Tsubasa crouched before the elderly woman's vomit and water-stained form. He looked up at her, his eyes locking with her own. As she grimaced, gagging on nothing, he grinned, a wide, toothy grin.
"A prophet, huh? Alright, so, tell me nan, what does this prophet do? What kind of predictions has this prophet made for our world? End Times? Asteroids? Second Coming? I've heard it all. Reptoids? Is it the reptilians? I have this… friend. A very, very good friend, just thinking about her adorable face, it gets me through these hard times, nan… she's all about the reptilians. Oh, what that sweet, innocent little creature would give for a reptilian invasion. "
"Better world. Balance… balance between… us. Humans. No more conflict, no more… hunger. No more… poverty."
"Uh huh, yeah, keep talking, babe. I'm listening."
Tsubasa rose, and, taking to the elderly woman's side, he casually rested his arm against her shoulder, like she was his best friend, or perhaps a good acquaintance.
"Hey, nan. You lucid? I old you to keep talking. You wanna go back to the drink? I can take you."
"N-no! No, no! No more drink… no more drink…"
"Then be a good girl and tell me more about "the Sons of Taured."
A singular, pained and nervous sob wracked her body before the elderly woman began to gasp. Inhaling oxygenized air, she shuddered, her lips quivering as she struggled to free herself from the ropes that bound her form in place.
There was no way out. Her body lacked the strength, and the ropes were too tightly bound around her.
"Kill me."
"Say what, now?"
"Kill! Me! I'll tell you not another word! You can t-take me to… the drink… as often as you'd like, I'll tell you nothing more! Kill me, kill me, kill me, KILL! ME!"
"Is that your final answer?"
"Yes! Yes, yes, YES! Kill! Me!"
"That can be done, but not just yet. I think there's more in there that I can squeeze out…"
"NO! NO! Greece! Leso! Island! Saint Petersburg! Russia! Academy City! Osaka! Tokyo! Antarctica! Beneath Andorra! Principality! Taured will stop you. Prophet will make the world better, clean, no more suffering."
Her temporary burst of bravado seemed to have abandoned her. The elderly woman began to thrash violently as she struggled, doing her best to attempt an escape from her situation; yet none could be found. With her courage faltered, she'd broke.
Hamasaki Tsubasa raised his available hand to his neck, and softly gripped it, wrapping his fingers around it, and resting his palm against his laryngeal prominence. The fourth-ranked level five produced a soft, curious-sounding "hm".
"Andorra… principality… Spain, right? Guess World Geography isn't as useless as I thought. Thanks, Sakugawa, ya' fuckin' dump… anything more you can tell me about this prophet of yours, nan? Or is that all I'm getting from you?"
The fourth-ranked level five waited a few moments, and received no response. The elderly woman appeared to have become lifeless. Her neck hung forward, eyes staring down at the flooring beneath the chair in which she'd been forced to sit. She vomited once more, violently spewing a mess of chunky, yellow bile from within her mouth. She gagged repeatedly, choking on her own refuse.
"That's horrid… here, I'll see you out. Hang tight, nan."
A series of complex mental calculations were performed by the higher mind of the fourth-ranked level five. His Personal Reality kicked into gear in response.
Sprouting from him, two enormous, shadowy limbs were forced into existence. Colored like the night sky, and yet also dotted with otherworldly plumes of lavender, the elongated limbs each ended in an enormous, clawed extremity.
"You know, nan, if you have any idea about what's happening, down here in Academy City, you'll know about us espers… I, like so many others, I've got a plan… pet project, seeing to it on my downtime. It's a nice plan. I'm working to make myself the top dog. Aspirations! The teachers at school told me I could be anything… level six… maybe this will help me advance, too."
The limbs of void energy reached out, and both palms grasped the old woman's head, setting on either side.
"Don't worry, nan, you're going to become part of something greater. Relax!"
Crrrraaccckkkkk.
Like a twig held in the hands of a curious, if cruel child, the elderly woman's neck snapped, her spine severed by the pressure placed upon it by either hand of voice energy. It bent violently to the side, unnaturally swerving as, for a moment, the spinal cord seemed to hold out, struggling to maintain cohesiveness; but it lost the fight, and was soon severed.
As if it was little more than a hangnail, the elderly woman's head hung limp, dangling to one side, held in place by natural grafts of flesh, tendons, and numerous veins, many of which had also been nearly severed by the forceful bending of the elderly woman's neck.
Horton wasn't going to be happy, but, in the end, Hamasaki Tsubasa had finally gotten the answers. The fourth strongest esper in Academy City found himself breathing a sigh of frustration as he casually kicked the chair over, causing the elderly woman's cadaver to crash against the floor.
If only Horton had let him take the reigns earlier. They could've saved hours of work.
February 10th, 2004. 3:24 PM.
"Hello, harem members and gentlemen! This is your captain speaking! Engaging landing gear, destination inbound! Hang onto your hats!"
Index turned to face Kamijou Touma, who seemed to be cringing. Leaning forward, either of his arms hung limply between his legs, which were spread apart.
Noticing this, Touma tilted his head, and offered Index a thin, but genuine smile.
"Something up, Index? Everything okay?"
"Touma, Touma. I could ask you the same thing. That face you did was mean-looking. Are you angry about something Touma?"
The nun's 'keeper' nodded his head, yes.
"That snake's pissing me off. All it takes is for me to hear his damn voice. Just hearing it pisses me off, Index. He thinks he's such tough shit, doesn't he? He thinks he's so great. I should throw him out of the fucking plane."
"Touma…"
"Eh?"
"Please don't say things like that. It scares me when you talk in that way, it's not you."
He nodded, affirmatively. He nodded once, before he nodded again, as if to reaffirm the fact that he'd affirmed.
"Sorry. I just don't want to be dishonest with you, that's all. It's how I feel about him. I'm not going out of my way to upset you, I just don't want to tell you something that isn't true."
Index pushed herself closer to Touma once more; she'd found herself physically drifting from him, but soon enough, she'd returned to nuzzling him. Index looked up to Kamijou Touma, her large, colorful irises locking with his own.
As if to reward her, Touma placed a soft kiss to either of her cheeks.
"Love you, Index."
"I l… l-love you too Touma. It's okay, I know he's not very nice to you either, so it's not fair for me to ask that you treat him with the respect he doesn't show you. It scares me when you talk violent like that, that's all. He seems incredibly ungrateful, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me! You've done so much for him, and for them too!"
Etzali quietly interjected. He didn't look to either Kamijou Touma or the nun, whom Kamijou seemed to be very fond of.
"If I might intrude…"
In fact, that Kamijou Touma seemed to be fond of a lot of girls. Did Misaka know? Was she in on the fact that he was being flirtatious? That was a delicate subject, one which he'd have to inquire about later. He wasn't about to jump on the subject and make a scene, but, it warranted eventual and further investigation.
"Well, you already sort of did," Touma retorted. "Nothing's stopping you now, man. Is it about the snake? I've heard things in places where I shouldn't have been hanging out in the first place. That you, Accelerator, Musujime, you were all part of some kind of… group? Mercenaries, Dark Side black operation? Word gets around in the wrong parts of town."
"I suppose someone chirped, then," Etzali grumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.
"Figures secrets would only stay secrets for a shortened amount of time. Tsuchimikado's a co-worker of mine, yes. I have no personal love for him, but his methods get results, and, sometimes, results are all that matter. I'm more curious to know about the quarrel between the two of you; I've heard plenty of stories about the legendary "Kami-yan". Until recently, it seems that Tsuchimikado almost revered you."
Touma posed a simple query.
"Any idea what kind of seedy shit he's involved with? Do you know? I don't think that you do, I'm almost certain he wouldn't tell you. He didn't tell me. Maybe, if he did, I wouldn't be as fucking pissed at him. But now, it's all this, and there's no going back. Fuck him."
To the simple query, Etzali offered an equally simple retort.
"No, Kamijou-san and I don't particularly care to know about what Tsuchimikado's been up to, either. Unless we're on a job together, I don't know Tsuchimikado and Tsuchimikado doesn't know me."
"Understandable," Touma muttered, nodding his head in apparent approval. "Watch your back. He'd throw you under a bus in a minute if it suited him."
There was a slight bump, originating from beneath the private jet. He felt rather light, as if the jet had hit something much smaller than itself. As well, there were a series of downward slopes which preceded this bump, though Kamijou Touma didn't experience these firsthand; the brainwave patterns of those who were awake served to alert Touma to the fact that these stimuli were apparently uncomfortable and disconcerting in nature.
Accelerator was the first to jolt back to consciousness. Raising his head, the crimson orbs that sat in the centers of his eyes shifted from left right. He grunted aloud, startling Misaka Mikoto, who unintentionally released a jolt of electricity, which, in turn, caused Musujime Awaki to awkwardly jump in place, and utter a short, half-muted gasp.
His awakening triggered a domino effect; his jolt stirred Misaka Worst from her own slumber. She pushed her bangs away from her eyes before she rose, and immediately began to pester her boyfriend, who merely attempted (and subsequently failed) to push his girlfriend away.
Mikoto looked back, past the form of Accelerator, and to Kamijou Touma, her own eyes' field of vision locking with his dark irises.
Pleadingly, she looked at him, and waved her hand, silently instructing him to come forward.
They mouthed words to one another, their lips moving but producing no audible vocalizations.
"Misaka? Everything good?"
"Come here please? I want to talk to you."
Kamijou Touma took to standing. He looked to the form of Index, and then to the form of Etzali, who nodded in approval, lips curling upwards into a small grin.
Moving down the isle, exercising caution not to crash into any of his companions and those he didn't quite consider to be companions, Touma observed the tops of the various heads that popped up over the backrests of the central level's many seats. Of all those aboard, the snowy white, tangled and overwhelmingly unkempt hair that belonged to the number one strongest esper caught his eye, in a different way.
Touma looked away, effectively and purposefully avoiding continued eye contact.
Soon, he squeezed himself between Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki, the latter of whom casually crossed her right leg over her left, as if to show off.
"H-hey. Thanks for…"
"No need to thank me, Misaka. What's on your mind? Seems everyone's on edge."
"The whole thing's whack, but it's not keeping me down! Whack is my middle name!" Awaki remarked, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Railgun and I were talking… it's all pretty relevant, because, you know. Him."
"Yeah… him. I'm… I dunno."
Mikoto leaned inwards, her lips nearing Kamijou Touma's ear. No blush presented itself, and she hardly felt flustered. If anything, she'd welcome any sort of physical affection that came her way.
"What don't you know, Touma?"
"I'm all ears, Kamijou."
"I'm having my second thoughts… about letting him get out of district seventeen alive. Maybe I should've put an end to it there, y'know?"
Mikoto leaned forward, folding her arms across her chest. Tilting her head, the Railgun looked to the Savior of the entire Misaka Network, while Awaki simply looked on, staring forward.
"I… I don't know about any of that, but I do know that I don't feel comfortable being anywhere near him. I don't feel like getting chummy with a mass murderer is the sort of thing I want to do."
"He's really not all that bad," Awaki spoke, "but I'm not the one who had thousands of my own clones killed off by him. I'd 'prolly be a little salty too if I was in your shoes."
"That sort of thing speaks volumes, Musujime."
"Yeah, I'm aware. Blame your little teleporter friend for turning me soft. Girl's got a way with words, I'll give her that much…"
While the third-ranked level five esper and the Move Point user continued to softly exchange words between one another, Kamijou Touma quietly considered his options.
"Accelerator's untouchable by normal means… can't phase through, he'll manipulate the vectors of my resin, probably fuck me up bad. That's not an option. Execute Tactical Protocol.
"HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH SUBROUTINE. "TACTICAL" RECOGNIZED SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING. RECOMMENDING COMBAT PROCEDURES BASED ON SITUATIONAL FACTORS, OPPOSING COMBATANT FEATS. OPPOSING COMBATANT: ?/ACCELERATOR
"COMBAT PROCEDURES: REVERSAL OF REFLECTION MECHANIC VIA SWIFT WITHDRAWL OF PHYSICAL ASSAULT PRIOR TO IMPACT. CALCULATING LIKELYHOOD OF OPPOSING COMBATANT'S UNTIMELY DEMISE… SUCCESSFULLY CALCULATED. LIKELHOOD OF OPPOSING COMBATANT'S UNTIMELY DEMISE, NINETY-NINE POINT NINE PERCENT.
"Reversal of Reflection mechanic. I might be able to trick that reflection of his if I fake him out at the last minute… yeah. Heh. Why didn't I think of that before?"
As Kamijou Touma was 'roused' from his internal calculations and contemplations, by a tap to his shoulder, he noticed the worried look painted upon the otherwise flawless face of Misaka Mikoto.
Gently, his arm found its way around the Railgun's shoulders.
"Everything's good, don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like that."
She leaned inwards, and produced a soft huff. The Railgun allowed herself to receive the affectionate physical attention she'd always craved to receive from that boy.
"Musujime and me, we came up with an idea while you were staring at the wall," Mikoto remarked.
To this, Awaki nodded, silently voicing her solidarity, and affirming her own role in the scheme Mikoto had mentioned.
"Hit me with it," Touma spoke, looking from one girl, and then to the other.
"My associates can go off and do their own thing, whatever weird shit those boys do when I'm not around," Awaki began, arms folding casually behind her head, "so, then, the lolicon is kept away from the Railgun as often as possible. I'm not sticking with them; they're dull, and not attractive. The whole bunch of you are interesting, and hot, especially you, handsome."
"Dull might not be the right word," Touma interjected, to which Awaki found herself chuckling.
"What you've got goin' on, now that's where the excitement is, Kamijou. I mean, I AM welcome, right? Right?! Please don't send me off with them. One's a weird, if… harmless guy, he's actually pretty alright, but the other's a lolicon and the other one wants to diddle his sister! At least you people are half ways normal."
"Of course I'm not," Touma chuckled. "Misaka? We're not going to throw Musujime to the wolves, are we?"
Misaka Mikoto casually folded her right leg over her left knee, and leaned back in her seat.
"I'd always assumed my answer would've been different, but… she's actually pretty cool, and, for an added bonus, she's not a mass-murdering psychopath, so, I can get down with that."
The conversation between Kamijou Touma, Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki would've yet continued onwards; but there was an interrupter. Nearest the northernmost section of the interior walling, a door slid open, and out stepped Tsuchimikado Motoharu.
Kamijou Touma caught a brief, if detailed glimpse of just what laid beyond. There was something which resembled a control deck, almost like something straight out of an old science fiction film, along with an enormous windshield. Several other suited individuals were within the room, scurrying about like so many tiny worker bees bustling about their hive.
"Well, we made it in one piece. Thank your captain later," Tsuchimikado Motoharu announced.
Soon, many sets of doors slid open, as many staircases were lifted upwards from within the jet's flooring, and set down upon the earth beyond and beneath.
Golden, natural light burst in, filling the otherwise dimly-lit and almost dismal halls of the private jet. Fresh, natural air too forced its way in; Misaka Mikoto for one could drink the stuff like booze, if such a thing was possible.
Kumokawa Seria too seemed pleased by this development. She halted her conversation with the former Magic God Othinus to stretch, and moan in pleasure before she took a long, deep breath of the fresh, natural oxygenized air. At the sound of her conversational partner's moaning, Othinus' eyelids seemed to narrow, and a small, toothy grin crept across her face.
"You're free to go," Motoharu began, raising either of his arms into the air, "don't wander off too far, though. For now, "Saint" Lessar will be your guide and help get this thing underway. She'll look after you, while I… uh… tend to some other important matters."
The Backstabbing Blade looked to the passengers of the jet, who were beginning to rise from their seats. Misaka Mikoto stretched, standing up on her toes and wiggling her fingers as she tilted her head from one side, and then to the other.
"E, A, MA, you're with me," he stated casually. "We've got work of our own to do."
To this, Musujime Awaki shook her head, no.
Tsuchimikado Motoharu quietly clicked his tongue in irritation, setting his hands into his pockets.
"I'm sticking with the folks who aren't complete weirdos, thanks. It's why I came here in the first place. Sheesh… you're a bossy guy."
"Because I am your boss," Motoharu remarked. "Need I really remind you of that? You stick with me, Move Point, or I dock your pay. All of it. Take it or leave it."
For a moment, Kamijou Touma began to step forward, carefully maneuvering around the Move Point user; but he was stopped in his tracks by the Railgun, who took his hand into her own, and shook her head, no.
Soon, Index had taken to her 'keeper's' other side. She looked up to him, and tilted her head.
"Tou-ma, Tou-ma. What's wrong now?"
With a kiss to her forehead, he began his attempt to reassure the little nun.
"N-nothing. It's all cool, Index. You ready to get off this plane, see some new-old sights? Let's stretch those legs."
"Yeah! Yeah! Touma!"
As others began to pile out of the jet, Musujime Awai and Tsuchimikado Motoharu continued their standoff. Passing, moving towards the door lead into the room from which the Backstabbing Blade had emerged, Accelerator merely shook his head in disapproval, while Misaka Worst clung to him like a proverbial monkey, literally upon his back. She babbled into his ear, speaking some nonsense about "tea-drinking blimeys", to which Accelerator oddly found himself chuckling. Still, as if to reprimand her, he lightly and harmlessly chopped his girlfriend on the head.
"A lovers' quarrel?" Etzali queried as he passed, moving in the same direction as Accelerator, quite literally following in the latter's footsteps.
"I'd castrate myself before I had anything romantic to do with this perverted siscon," Awaki insisted.
In response to this attack on his fetish, Motoharu merely shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned and unfazed by the Move Point user's harsh words.
"No sister no life."
"See what I mean?! No way! Forget it. Keep your money, I don't need it. City pays me enough."
Turning his back, Tsuchimikado Motoharu casually waved in the Move Point user's direction, as he too stepped confidently towards what must've been the cockpit, given the appearance of the spangling tech that dotted the room beyond the sliding door.
"Your loss, Musujime-chan. Go hang out with Kami-yan, see where he gets you."
"And where, exactly, are you supposed to get me?" Awaki rhetorically inquired. "Maybe, if I stick with you, I'll be a three-bit thug, if I manage to luck out. I'm not going to learn a damn thing from any of you obviously, or you would've told me by now. You could've told me something, anything."
Just before he was about to slide open the door from which he'd originally emerged, he came to a halt, though he did not look back. His eyes, masked by his darkened sunglasses gazed towards the milky-colored door in front of his face.
"Musujime-chan, do you really want to be dragged into Hell?"
She merely raised an eyebrow before she took her leave, silently volunteering to transfer her compatriots' luggage from the level below, with the intent of delivering it beyond the jet's interior, and into the outside world.
To Tsuchimikado Motoharu's words, Musujime Awaki offered no verbal response.
Of all the places a jet could've landed, Kamijou Touma, Index, Misaka Mikoto, and, by extension, Kumokawa Seria as well as the former Magic God Othinus, often referred to simply as "Olivia-chan" had found themselves in an open field.
The fieldscapes, of which there was more than one, were covered in tall, unwieldy grass, displaying proudly the fact that these landscapes hadn't been marred by human hands. Other than the occasional tree jutting up from the earth, tips pointing towards the sky, there was little in the way of obstructions.
Surprising, given England's disagreeable weather patterns, the sun shined brightly above their heads, beaming down its warm rays, bathing them in warmth and cleansing their worries, for a time. The sky itself was clear, bright blue, with not even a single cloud in sight, not even upon the horizon.
Slowly but surely, Musujime Awaki began transferring luggage, from the jet's lower level and into the field, beyond the jet's interior. With each trip, she was offered thanks, and, with each trip her blush deepened.
It felt so very good to be doing something other than killing thugs and rapists, or lamenting the fact that killing thugs and rapists was the only meaningful activity to engage in, within the walls of Academy City.
"And so, therefore, there was very little that could be done about the entire incident," Othinus spoke, continuing the conversation she and Seria had been holding.
"They lacked the power to even attempt to march against such a foe. As it happened, Guinevere was a pawn, a toy, an aspect of BLIL of which he placed a small amount of his own power. It was an internal conspiracy from the beginning… BLIL's pettiness never ceases to amaze, nor does the duplicity of Mordred. Of all Daemoniac Lords, BLIL is the sole amongst his fellows to meddle in human affairs."
"I must ask," Seria spoke in regards to Othinus' explanation, arms folded beneath her bosom as Touma, Mikoto and Index seemed to aimlessly meander about, likely in search of "Saint Lessar", "You've told me that one cannot speak the names of these so-called "Daemoniac Lords", yet, you've neglected to provide me with a reason as to why this is the case."
"A good question, to speak their names is to symbolically offer yourself, body and soul, up to them," Othinus stated firmly.
"There is no force greater. BLIL himself has killed the Archangel Gabriel thousands, if not millions of times, and, for all we know, BLIL may have even killed the One True God, through my own divinations as a Majin I learned of this, though, the death of the One True God may be temporary; Yahweh is capable of nigh-infinite cosmic self-regeneration."
Seria shuddered, for a moment. As if she was offering her sympathizes, Othinus patted her new companion on the shoulder, affectionately.
"Killing… a god? The God? "Cosmic self-regeneration"? I've never thought of such things. I feel very… small."
"Nor should you for any meaningful length of time. It would not be below BLIL, in strength or in concept. We, as mortals, even Majin, each of who were once mortals, myself included, mortal, god, and mortal once more cannot even begin to comprehend them. They're outside our knowledge, and, therefore, outside our scope of power. For me to speak BLIL's true name would be to give myself to him fully. One may think it, but not speak it. Symbolism, as you seem to know, is very important. It is in fact a key element of all magic."
"And, in that case," Seria began, putting the pieces together on her own, "Daemoniac magic", as you've called it, is essentially the result of these "Daemoniac Lords" passively generating power, which, then, is harnessed by mortals. Similar in concept to an AIM Field emitted by an esper."
"I know little other than what is scattered about in metaphorical, mental heaps of practical information about the nature of esper abilities," Othinus admitted, with only a slight amount of reluctance detectable in her soft voice, "but, yes, you've got the concept down-pat. Impressive, you already understand in mere hours what many would only understand after days of study. Daemoniac magic is passively generated by Daemoniac Lords and echoes throughout the cosmos. It can be wielded, but not truly understood for it is beyond us. To attempt to understand it would break one's mind; many of those whom refer to themselves as "demon hunters" have tried and failed. I…"
There was a sudden loud, shrill, and almost wince-inducing vocalization, one which rang aloud and interrupted the conversation which Othinus and Kumokawa Seria shared.
"LOOOOVVVVEEERRRRR BOOOOOOYYYYYYY~! Where aaaaarrreeeeee yyoooouuuuuuuu? Lessar-mama has plenty of surprises in STORE, all for YOOOOUUUUU!"