Author's Note: Boy, oh boy… This is going to be awkward. I've actually been re-reading this piece, and, believe it or not, I think I'm finally ready to approach it again. When I'd left off weaving this narrative over three years ago, it had become quite a mess.
I actually had twenty-four additional chapters already written, ready to go; but during that time everything had become such a convoluted, tangled shitstorm that I didn't quite know what to do with it. I suppose I became disillusioned; it didn't help that I was also focusing on writing an original IP at that point… An original IP which never did end up finding a publisher. Oh well! Such is life! Maybe next time.
I've made some minor tweaks to this piece's narrative, retconned some elements I didn't like so much in retrospect, and I think, approaching this piece again as a much older, much wiser person, I'll be able to do this piece justice, and provide for those who enjoyed it while I actively wrote it previously once again with entertainment.
I have some very, very old reviews to respond to. I doubt most of those who actually left them, save for a few, are even around here anymore. But I see no reason why I should shirk my self-prescribed duties.
Whwsms: Run, Touma, run! Or maybe not. This Kamijou Touma is a changed not-quite-man.
It did feel like the right decision to me, at the time. I suppose it was, the way everything was going. Funny, here we are again, years later, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.
Itherael: Poor fella. I really left you hanging, didn't I? I mean it, my bad. I actually feel terrible now.
Generation Zero: Well, I've made the call again; and here I am!
321jaz: I don't even think you're part of this fandom anymore, and we haven't talked in literal years; I miss you, man. I do. I'm going to respond to your review, even though I'm certain you'll probably never know I did. I suppose it's simply one of those silly little things we do when we have fond memories with someone.
The weekly Shounen Jump comparison is an apt one, my absent friend. Although, in the case of a regularly-serialized story, I don't think authors have the choice to simply ask their publisher for a 'second chance' once they've dropped the proverbial ball, like I did. Thankfully, here on Fanfiction, I don't have a publisher! Bwahaha!
This will be a cliff-hanger no longer. If only you were here to see how things progress. I really do miss you, brother. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope you're well.
Guest: Don't be disappointed, friend; we're back at it again.
Chris: Your wish has been granted! Over a year later! Only a smidgen late. I really do appreciate your kind words; you've made me blush quite a bit. I'm glad this piece was able to entertain you, and, maybe, just maybe, I'll hear from you again in the future. If not, well, you still deserve thanks for your kindness.
Living God Abraxas' Domain.
Yundas 10th, 2004. 100:24,00. [Approximate date, based on Japan Earth's calendar: February 10th, 2004, 3:24 PM.]
The one who had bested Magic Gods looked down, seemingly absently at the glowing, illuminated, pure white existence he'd clasped in one of his colossal, gauntleted hands. Seated upon his gleaming, metallic, glowing throne within his stronghold on planet Saturn's weaponized, hollowed-out moon, Triton, Abraxas focused his mental efforts upon it, paying little attention to the happenings within his throne-city below.
Something was rising from within. Something sought release. A force to be reckoned with. One that was worth parlaying with, even for some few moments.
The Mad Tritonian did not impede the release of that which apparently sought freedom.
"You seek an audience with Abraxas? Come, then. Show yourself. Your efforts to hide from me are in vain, as will be your efforts to bring me low, should they come to pass; and I believe they shall."
Something emerged. Welcomed into the world, that glowing, pure white existence clutched in the Mad Tritonian's hand burst open, screeching, emanating bursts of light in all directions. It appeared vaguely human-shaped as it fell out from the shuddering existence. With each passing moment it grew, expanded, its entire body convulsing as it screamed in what sounded like a feral, animalistic challenge.
It was naked. It lacked identifiably human genitalia; it lacked nipples upon its toned pecs.
As it formed, its pure white body settling into a perfectly human shape, the limbs protruding from it snapped into place. Digits emerged, one at a time, four fingers and a thumb upon each hand, five toes upon each foot. It lost its pure, white hue; that hue turned to one much more natural. It was the sort of skin tone the average person of Japanese descent might have possessed. Pointy, dark-coloured hair rose from this emerged existence's head, accentuated by dark-coloured eyes.
It looked identical to a naked, Kamijou Touma; a Kamijou Touma that had died over a month ago.
"I… I am the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons. And I live!"
A colossal, metallic platform surged from far, far below the emerged existence, acting as ground upon which its bare feet could stand. Willed forward by the Mad Tritonian, Abraxas, who looked on with curiosity.
"You live only because I permit you to. In my domain, you are no one, and you are nothing. You are a slave here."
"Let's slow down, big guy."
It was cocky. The thing had a half-formed sneer upon its fully-formed face.
"I know you. Abraxas. "The Mad Tritonian". Conquered most of the known galaxy, subjugated billions, killed billions more for your… Your… What was it, again? Your "Lady?"
It was the Mad Tritonian's turn to sneer.
"Bold of you to assume I would permit such disrespect towards Mistress Niang-Niang. Yes. These wretches labor eternally in Her name. What greater purpose could there be? To toil for Mistress Niang-Niang is the ultimate gift, greater than life itself. In my own way, I, too, am a servant to Her."
The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons offered the Tritonian a tilt of his head, and a somewhat sympathetic expression.
"Yeah, about that, big guy… I don't think she even knows who you are."
"Sacrilege!"
Abraxas rose from his throne, armored feet firmly planted against its enormous, jet-powered base. The monumental throne's on-board technology, capable of feats from interdimensional teleportation to the complete annihilation of a planet's surface via laser bombardment – beams of superheated, ultra-condensed cosmic power – ensured that base was quite titanic. The Tritonian's eyes, partially obscured by his enormous, armored coif, began to crackle, glowing, illuminating all within their path.
The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons knew when to play his hand and when to fall into tactical retreat; he was outmatched, and he knew it. This being before him could end him in less than seconds.
"I meant no offense!" The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons exclaimed, nearly pleading, despite his own internal desire to rise above all others. Shocking pink and emerald, bursts of coloration anomalous shot outward from his mouth and nostrils. "Have you not considered that she's been playing you all along? I was in there. I've heard everything so far! Seems fishy!"
"For a being who adorns himself with such lavish titles, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons", you really are an annoying little cretin. Explain yourself, or I will paint the cosmos with your innards as my brush."
Good. The One had this monstrosity's attention; if only he could keep it, he could prolong his life, even by mere moments. Rebellion was rebellion, regardless of how miserably it might fail. The One could lose utterly having stood upon his feet, not kneeling, not begging.
Not sniveling, begging for scraps, like that snot-nosed brat who'd brought him here, shaped him, given him the capacity for life onto himself.
"It's quite convenient. She comes around sometimes, doesn't she? The way she does. She claims to be completely incapable of making a single, lasting memory of you. Yet, she has you doing this. All of this. Hollowing out a whole moon? Building her statues? Doesn't it seem just a little bit convenient, big guy? Then, when you rightfully demand for recompense, it's the same, old story. "Whoops, can't remember you."
"No…"
The Mad Tritonian stumbled. A metaphorical chink in his proverbial armor had been presented before the One. Seating himself upon his throne, balancing his elbows upon his knees, folding his fingers between one another and resting his mammoth chin upon his outstretched hands, Abraxas muttered.
Doubt existed within him. Now, it had been amplified ten times over.
Silently, Abraxas waged a civil war against himself. The battle raged on in his mind, a repeated attack on his own ego.
Inside, the One couldn't help but smirk, smugly. Had it really been this easy?
"No… No… Mistress Niang-Niang would never… No… NO…"
"I think you're being taken for a ride…"
"FALL SILENT!"
Fired from those near-invisible eyes, two massive, surging, crackling streams of cosmic energy nearly clipped the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons. Panic overtook the abstract existence who'd just barely dodged a meeting with the great beyond, the beyond outside all existence, where only the dead politicked.
"You would lie to the face of Abraxas? Again, I meet with another dullard whose conceit blinds them to reasonable calculation!"
That was not an exclamation of confidence. It was an exclamation of nihilistic, uncertain mania. It was a desperate plea uttered by one who'd just been faced with the prospect of their very ideals being broken irreparably.
"Hah… You have no idea who, or more importantly, WHAT I am. A boy's unconscious wishes brought me life. I derive my power from that. Power endless; power even greater than yours."
The Mad Tritonian rose once more from his throne. Whether or not his confidence was restored remained a pointless matter of semantics; whatever tactic the One had relied upon now failed him. So much for that mode of attack. And such a shame, too. It had seemed to work.
The One silently cursed under his breath.
"I see that you delude yourself with empty claims and boasts. You would have been wise to have remained within that little magician's precious trinket he oh so desires. Your own bravado has brought you to doom, to me. Operating on self-created facts assures regret, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons."
In an instant – not so much as a physical flash had been visible – Abraxas descended upon the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons like a rabid animal launching itself onto unsuspecting prey. Knocking both himself and the One from their then-shared platform, both fell, down, down, down, to the metallic flooring of Triton's hollowed-out city streets below.
"I have faced your kind before, emanation; you will simply return to your 'cocoon' when you sustain enough harm to result in irrecoverable damage. Despite all of my vast, fathomless power, Abraxas cannot kill you."
The One fought back valiantly. Pinned to the metallic ground, slowly being crushed beneath a colossal, gauntleted hand, he thrashed and screamed, his hollow, echoing roars catching some attention; most citizens of Triton simply walked on by. The happenings and goings-on of their ruler was his own business, and no one else's.
The One was lifted, then.
"… Yet, I can still harm you. Perhaps you've witnessed the gladiatorial matches hosted on the prison-world of Old Ryuvia II, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons". Have you ever paid closer attention, then, to what occurs within those gladiators who happen to take… one too many… blows to the skull?"
Held aloft by his attacker, the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons suffered as another enormous, gauntleted fist slammed into the side of his face. Coughing, spluttering, shocking pink and emerald were spat like lifeblood.
"Incapable of walking properly. Incapable of doing much at all in the way of physical activity. Slurred speech. Let us have an experiment, then, for the sake of scientific advancement. If I cannot kill you, yet, you possess a human-shaped head, presumably filled with a – surely empty – human-shaped skull, what then will happen to you if it suffers repeated blunt force trauma?"
Another blow came. Shocking pink and emerald burst outwards from the One's ear cannels.
"Again…"
Another blow. The pain was insufferable.
"And again…"
The One could take little more.
"And again…"
The ruckus had attracted a certain, floating girl. Long, flowing blonde hair and wide, curious blue eyes looked down at the pitiable sight being pummeled by her 'ruler'. The face of that pitiable sight had been violently pushed inwards. Parts of it had simply shattered and broken, exposing vast cavities from which shocking pink and emerald rushed, pouring like lifeblood. Odd. He was hollow. There wasn't much in the way of insides to be seen. Instead, what resembled hardened, brown-colored resin was all that could be seen within.
Her matured body would've been quite the intoxicating sight for the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons, if he weren't being brutally tortured.
"Basically, whatcha up to?"
"Crushing an insect. What does it matter to you? Tend to your duties."
The girl, Frenda Seivelun – 'the Accelerator', as she had been known in her own, native universe – shrugged indifferently and departed, performing her mental calculations and manipulating the vectors of the air itself around her so that she could achieve flight, at any speed she so wished.
"See you around, then!"
"Quite, Seivelun, quite."
The One could take no more. The emanation, his physical manifestation in the world shattered as a sound akin to shattering glass rang out; he was no more. Glowing, only semi-visible waves of bright, pure white light rushed away, surging desperately, returning to the Mad Tritonian's bargaining chip.
The glowing, pure white existence.
'Imagine Breaker'.
Finished with his day's exercise, Triton's ruler swiftly returned to his mammoth throne. Clasping the pure white, glimmering existence in the palm of his hand once more – tightening his grip significantly, in hopes of causing "The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons" to experience additional anguish – Abraxas settled, his wide, cracking lips settling into a grin.
"You are now enlightened to my universal truth, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons". To defy me is to court destruction itself. You will yet have a part to play in my labors of love. Abraxas hereby grants you permission to wait on my whims for the rest of your meaningless, pitiful existence."
But that grin did not last. It was a weak, shaky thing.
Doubt was alive and well within the Mad Tritonian; a seed had been planted by the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons. The One knew well that this seed would take root, and begin to grow within his captor, nurtured by the Tritonian's own harbored doubts and anxieties.
Though he lacked the physical body to do so, the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons made an effort to chuckle. Regardless of the pummeling he'd suffered, he still won.
February 10th, 2004. 4:24 PM.
"Eugh."
Misaka Mikoto reacted as if she'd just smelled something repulsive. Her nose scrunched, and she recoiled, slightly. This was not who she'd been expecting.
"Saint" Lessar was not dressed particularly saintly. Having apparently swapped out of her distinctive New Light 'uniform' – if it could have been called such – she was clad in little more than a tight-fitting crop top which exposed her milky naval, a pair of hemmed denim shorts which just barely covered her upper thighs, and a pair of shin-high, fashionable boots. An enormous, metal-bound crucifix was strapped across her back, held in place tightly by leather restraints which crisscrossed over her chest, tightening around her ample bosom. Her pale skin and blue eyes were accented by her long, black hair, its bangs dipped in golden dye. A pink headband protruded awkwardly from the mismatching, clashing colors.
Nearby her, parked in the middle of the open, seemingly abandoned field, was a limousine. Dark in coloration with darker-colored windows, what most didn't realize is that the intricate patterns woven upon its paintjob – and upon its interior aspects – functioned as runes of magic. Stronger than the toughest of bulletproof glass, harder than the most durable of metals, the spellwork had been laid.
"LOVEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRBOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY~! Come to Lessar-mama!"
To her surprise, that boy didn't run. In fact, as Lessar darted towards him, easily closing what distance there was between herself and the object of her lustful intentions, she realized several things. His hair was no longer spikey, as it so often was; it had been flattened, its fringe slightly sideswept. His face itself seemed different. Even his neutral expression, which he'd worn before he'd realized just who'd been calling out for him, had something of an aggressive edge to it.
Altogether, Kamijou Touma somehow seemed more mature. Even the way in which he carried himself held an aura of confidence and truth to his self.
In an instant, she was upon him; to her surprise, even with all of her might as a Saint, someone who possessed the power of a higher replica of God and wielded a portion of the Son of God's strength, Stigma, Kamijou Touma did not tumble backward.
His touch was icy; as if she'd just laid the palm of her hand on some metallic surface, one left outside to freeze throughout a cold winter's night. Even Kamijou's clothing was chilling to the touch.
"Hey, loverboy… Why… Why aren't you running…?"
"Lessar."
"Eh…?"
"If I kiss you, are you going to lose your powers as a Saint?"
"Nope... But... Loverboy? You feeling alright? This isn't like you at all. What have I missed?! Wha—"
Before Lessar could say so much as another word, Touma's arms had found their way around her waist. Closing what distance remained, his chilled lips were pressed against the New Light girl's own. He pushed himself onto her, grabbed at her protruding, plump posterior, and forced his cold, icy tongue deep into Lessar's mouth.
"How was that, huh? Will that help you relax a bit? You've always been in heat for as long as I've known you. Time to settle down, Lessar."
The girl blinked several times. She didn't say much of anything. She looked about, from Musujime Awaki, to Misaka Mikoto – that electric girl who she'd encountered a few times before – to Kumokawa Seria, to everyone else who had already begun disembarking from that enormous jetliner, that odd-shaped, winged thing that looked like it shouldn't have been able to fly at all.
"In heat"?! That…"
Lessar blinked one, final time before smiling a wide, toothy grin up at the boy who'd just brought so much pleasure onto her.
"That was pretty good. What changed, loverboy? You're almost making me kinda sad. Almost. Where's that shy little boy I love to tease so much?"
"Gone."
It sounded more like an admission of guilt than anything else. He seemed distant, in truth, now that Lessar was able to get a good look at him, up close and personal. His eyes seemed to have lost their gleaming sheen.
"But that's not important. What's important is getting this, whatever this shit is, done. And asking for help from the people I care about to get it done. That includes you, if you're going to be with us, Lessar-san."
The girls politicked about; Misaka Mikoto exchanged words with Index, while Seria and 'Olivia' resumed discussing the topics which they'd previously engaged in. Musujime Awaki had taken to sightseeing, snapping pictures on her phone. Those who weren't at all related to the blooming 'Kamijou Faction' kept to themselves.
"Well, loverboy…"
The New Light girl shrugged, awkwardly. She didn't quite know what to say; especially given the presence of 'certain people'. Namely, Academy City's number one strongest esper, and the nearby Aztec magician, the one she'd come to know through private channels as 'Etzali'.
Leaning in and pressing her lips to Touma's cold-feeling ear, Lessar spoke in a soft, hushed tone of voice, "There're a few complications. I'm under orders from the Priestess to escort you and all these cute girls you keep away from here… And to attack anyone who tries to stop me from doing that."
Kamijou Touma raised an eyebrow.
"Not going to be a problem, Lessar-san. If you want to try and jump those two, I'm game to help out. Wouldn't mind getting my hands on that fucking snake Tsuchimikado. Just avoid the girl who looks like Misaka, and the guy in the tux. They haven't done anything wrong to anyone."
"I'm not sure I like this, loverboy."
"Like what?"
"You, right now."
Lessar's usual veneer of jovial flirtation-laden snark was gone. The New Light girl seemed to have become deadly serious. Making an effort to appear as if she was simply fondling the boy, Lessar wrapped her arms around Touma's shoulders, and pressed her lips closer, tighter, to his ear.
"What happened to you, Kamijou? You're not like this. It's frightening me a little bit."
In response, keeping up his end of the theatrics intended to throw off those who might've been attempting to listen in, Kamijou Touma grabbed at Lessar's posterior and squeezed.
"Don't ask questions you won't like the answers to, Lessar-san. But, c'mon, don't be scared. I'm still me. I'm still your 'loverboy', I promise. Maybe I've just grown a bit, changed a lot. I promise, there's nothing to be afraid of. Alright?"
That would have to suffice. Lessar offered the boy a warm, genuine smile. It was small, tugging only lightly at her cheeks, but it was genuine.
"ALRIGHT!"
There it was, that usual, boisterous persona of Lessar's. As if some switch had been flipped in her brain, the New Light girl planted her hands on her hips, standing tall and at attention.
"Loverboy and his lovely little gaggle of gals are with me! The rest of you, buzz off! Go dip your heads in the lake or something!"
Tsuchimikado Motoharu was having none of this. He immediately began to step forward; he turned, momentarily, and shot Accelerator a glare that screamed "shit."
Was she compromised? Had something happened? Surely, the Amakusa Remix-Style of Church hadn't gone rogue. There was no conceivable way. He'd only just been communing with Kanzaki Kaori herself through magical means the night previous. Everything seemed fine.
But, then, why would the Amakusa's other resident Saint, Lessar, suggest something like this?
For the briefest of moments, panic welled up in Necessarius' double agent.
"Oi, Lessar. What's the meaning of this? The operation involves Kami-yan as well as myself. Forget about his clingers-on; we both know our orders. Are you defying them?"
"What did you just say about the people I love?!"
Kamijou Touma was upon Tsuchimikado Motoharu like a bat rushing out from the opened gates of Hell. He'd descended into a darkened, grey-coloured mist and simply closed the distance with very little effort at all. The speed at which a hardened fist slammed into the side of Motoharu's face left the Backstabbing Blade without much in the way of options, save for soaking the blow up.
What could Kumokawa Seria do? She wracked her 'special brain' searching for an answer. This could end miserably. Though Musujime Awaki had teleported herself between the brawling pair, acting as a living barricade, her efforts would surely wind up becoming futile. Misaka Mikoto had reached into her skirt's pocket, and produced a gleaming, silver coin, the sort of trinket one would find in an arcade.
"Short-hair…! What do we do?!"
The Railgun did her best to comfort the worried, silver-haired nun. Patting the girl on her shoulder, Mikoto kept her eyes on Move Point at all times; she waited for the exact moment when Awaki's intervention wouldn't be enough. She was ready.
"I-I don't really know. I don't know. There's tension here I guess. If things get bad, I'm getting involved. Don't worry."
With either of her arms outstretched, one in Touma's direction, the other in Motoharu's, Move Point breathed deeply. She turned first to her 'coworker'.
"You, watch your mouth. You're half the reason why these things are always happening the way they are. Sheesh. Always popping off at the lip…"
She turned second to Kamijou Touma.
"Relax, Kamijou. I don't think anyone here really cares what this idiot thinks."
"I certainly don't," Seria proclaimed, then. "Truly, Tsuchimikado. You are without a shred of tact. As soon as an inconvenience stumbles your way, you react in a childish, volatile manner. Much unbecoming of someone in your position."
Kamijou silently fumed. He couldn't 'feel' it, just as he couldn't 'feel' anything else with his nanorobotic shell which housed what remained of his sentience, but, repeated bursts of quasi-omniscient data informed him that he should feel rage.
And, so, Kamijou did to the best of his capacity to do just that.
And he backed down. Touma would be the bigger man.
Stepping away, soon to have his hand taken into the warm, soft, loving palms of Kumokawa Seria's own, Kamijou's glare never departed, never faded, never left Tsuchimikado Motoharu's line of sight.
Only once Seria encouraged him to turn away did Touma's expression soften.
"You should hardly allow yourself to be so violently riled up by the likes of Tsuchimikado, Touma-kun," the boy's senpai spoke comfortingly. "Be calm, my little kohai. Be calm."
As Kamijou Touma was surrounded, Tsuchimikado Motoharu rubbed the side of his face; already it was beginning to swell up. That monster had him good, and fast. There was simply no way he could've evaded it, even with his superhuman speed. The blow had come as quickly as a bullet.
"Yo, Accelerator."
The Backstabbing Blade flashed a grin in the direction of Academy City's 'top dog'. His expression had worked itself into a frustrated-seeming frown.
"Put an end to this, would you?"
"Fucking forget it. Get that shit out of your head."
"Even you, Accelerator?"
"Tsuchimikado. Fight your own battles. I'm not fucking getting involved in whatever you and that goddamn hero have going on. It's not my problem. Not taking your kill orders, either."
There was little else to do, then, but click his tongue in barely-contained anger. There was little else to do. Etzali wouldn't act against Kamijou Touma either, so long as he kept his 'promise'. Especially given that Academy City's third-ranked level five was abounds. To try and attack the monster that called itself Kamijou Touma, now, would be suicide. He had a Saint. He had the third-ranked level five esper. He had a level five candidate, level four Move Point; of her loyalty Motoharu was already decided. If the winds of change were to gust, Musujime Awaki would surely throw her lot in with Kamijou.
"Let's-a-go," Lessar commanded as she hurried Touma, and those who'd accompanied him, towards the luxurious limousine; bought and paid for with the English taxpayers' Pounds. "I don't know how much longer we can keep the lid on this, so, let's burn rubber. There might not be enough seats, though… Oh, loverboy!"
Further attempting to drift Touma's mind from his recent 'encounter' with Necessarius' very own Backstabbing Blade, Lessar wrapped her arms around the boy's waist and grabbed at his crotch suggestively, licking her lips.
"I can sit in your lap, right~? I don't mind rotating with the others~."
Despite himself, Touma found he was reaching out for the girl's chin. With his hand's index finger and thumb, he took her chin and pulled her face gently towards his own, until their lips were mere inches apart.
"As long as you're looking at me."
"Ahhhh~. Loverboy~. I never knew you were such a romantic!"
"I'll show you 'romance' when I can get you alone, Lessar-san."
Just as Lessar was about to begin the process of throwing open the limousine's doors, Kamijou Touma found himself flanked by his exceedingly gorgeous senpai, Kumokawa Seria. Ensnaring his arm within her own, the older girl smiled down warmly at the attractive Lessar, before running her tongue delicately across her upper lip.
"Alone? Oh, my Touma-kun. That's no fun at all. Surely you'd permit your senpai to join in the festivities, my little kohai? After all, with only a single girl, who will be there to sit on your face? Hm?"
Instantly, the New Light girl, Lessar, extended a hand outwards, welcomingly.
"I like the way you think. A woman after my own heart! Name's Lessar. If you want to tag-team loverboy with me, I'd gladly have you along. We can even take turns on his big, meaty…"
"A moment, if you would."
Lessar found herself interrupted by 'Olivia', who, too, had entered the scene. Misaka Mikoto and the little silver-haired nun, Index, were left looking to one another, before exchanging awkward smirks.
That boy they loved certainly had a way with the opposite sex.
"Surely you recognize me, Lessar of New Light. Surely, whatever past we shared can be promptly and lovingly be placed under the bridge like so much stale water. After all, if this boy is involved, then I would most definitely not enjoy being cast aside."
The New Light girl seemed to give it some thought.
"Yeah, sure. Why not? I'll milk his balls with my hands, you can fuck him, and… What was your name again?"
"Kumokawa Seria, Lessar-san."
"Right! And she can ride his face!"
Kamijou Touma merely accepted that which was occurring and welcomed it. There was no blushing, no fidgeting, no squirming or efforts to flee from this. A change of pace had long been in order, that much was more than merely certain.
"I ignored my destiny once. I won't do it again."
Musujime Awaki joined her cohorts, then, and teleported herself to Kamijou Touma's side.
"My, my. What's going on here? Something exciting? Sheesh, the least you could have done was let me know. I get distracted for one minute and I find myself outside the loop again."
"Glad to see my girls are getting along like this. Really. I love you all so much."
"I'm…?"
Raising either of her hands to her mouth, Lessar was taken aback. She stumbled, slightly, before maintaining her balance once more; her Sainthood ensured misfortune would not befall her so easily.
"I'm… I'm part of the harem?! FOR REAL?! YES! FINALLY! My popular days are here! No longer is the name "Lessar" associated with a side character! I'll take good care of you, loverboy!"
Throwing herself onto him, being caught in his chilling, but powerful arms, Lessar stared up, then licked her lips seductively.
"Alright, no more dawdling. We need to get in, and fast. Our driver's got her orders. Can't hang around too long, or people are going to start asking questions. And… Who knows how long we can keep those guys…" Lessar motioned over her shoulder rather conspicuously with a casual shifting of her neck to the side, specifically towards Tsuchimikado Motoharu, "… Off our cute, collective little booties for."
Index was the first to clamber into the vehicle somewhat awkwardly, as Lessar pried one door from its first set of passenger accommodations open. Patting the seat next to her and inviting her 'keeper', the boy obliged with a small, genuine smile. Capable of seating three people within a row, it would quickly be established that Misaka Mikoto would join him, taking to Touma's opposite side.
Of course, Lessar could not have left well enough alone, and as she'd vowed to do, Lessar sat herself casually in the Touma's cold-feeling lap. Forcibly grinding her posterior against his crotch, the New Light girl grinned a wide, devious grin.
In the three-person seat next, behind the first, Kumokawa Seria politely sat herself between Musujime Awaki and 'Olivia', in truth the once-Magic God, Othinus. Neither girl minded the attention, evidently.
Either of her hands found a leg upon which to rest. Kamijou Touma's senpai had truly become a pervert; at this rate, it hardly mattered what gender she 'associated' with. The company her kohai kept was made up of exceedingly attractive folk, and, the older girl who'd denied herself so much, for so long – perhaps even aspects of her own yet-budding sexuality – let loose, resting her head against the limousine's soft, delicate seating. She nearly sank into it, so welcoming was it.
The dark-coloured interior of the limousine was lit by dull silver lighting. LEDs had been worked into the vehicle's interior, illuminating most, but not all of the expansive, surprisingly roomy seating arrangements.
With one of his hands clutched in Index's own, and the other held tightly, lovingly, in Misaka Mikoto's, Kamijou Touma permitted his nanorobotic eyelids to close, gently. Though a being such as himself no longer required sleep to function, if he had still been human – less, than he was, now – he could've dozed off. The little silver-haired nun clung tightly to him, nuzzling the side of her face against her keeper's shoulder.
"Touummaaaa…" She cooed softly.
"Hey."
Mikoto's voice was soft, full of adoration for him. Whatever aggressive exterior she'd occasionally put up, or otherwise unconsciously manifest was not present; and Touma had seen few things quite as beautiful.
"Hey, back at you. What's the good word?"
The Railgun didn't immediately answer. She was smiling, her cheeks illuminated by a crimson blush.
"This whole scenario must be a real cloggin' in the noggin', huh, Misaka? This is just what hanging out with me is like. But, you sort of knew that already, didn't you? No matter what ends up happening here, there's no way I'm pushing you away. I'm done with that shit, now. I'm here to show you, all of you, how much I appreciate you. I want your help, here. I need it, Misaka... And, hey, you're fun to have around. You..."
"Shush for a second, Idi— silly."
"Alright, officially shushed."
"I love you."
The Railgun's lips connected with Touma's own. Their softness, their delicious taste – a taste Touma could enjoy even more with his higher, nanorobot-enhanced mind absorbing every second of it, allowing him to experience it all hundreds of times over, in a way a lesser, weaker, flawed human body never could have – crashed all throughout him, like so many torrential downpours.
"I love you too, Mikoto. Is it cool if I call you Mikoto? Probably should've been on a first-name basis earlier, huh?"
"You big dope... Yeah, it's cool. Of course it's 'cool'. I'm just glad we finally know where we stand in regards to each other. No more nonsense. No more misunderstandings… Even if it's not 'normal.' I'd rather be 'abnormal' here with you, than 'normal' and still in Academy City. Worrying. Sick to my stomach."
"Mikoto…"
Another kiss. His hands were occupied, and, so, Mikoto herself took the initiative; she comfortingly took that boy's face into her spare hand, lovingly stroking his cold, soft cheek with her fingers, and looked into his eyes. They were not the eyes of a human. Misaka Mikoto could tell well enough that they were not the eyes of a human; she'd been the first to learn of everything he had been through. His eyes, they lacked a distinctive human gleam.
It hardly mattered.
"Don't get all bothered about it. That's all over now. You've said it yourself, so, there's not really anything else to dwell on, is there?"
"I guess not, Mikoto. I guess there isn't. Heh… It only took being brutally tortured and having my entire body replaced with trillions of tiny little robots to wake me up. All in all, just another day for this Kamijou-san."
The Railgun would let that comment slide. It infuriated here to no end that someone, anyone – especially that whoreson Kihara Gensei – harmed that boy who was so precious to her. Still, if this was that boy's way of dealing with his trauma, then, who was she to stop him? All Mikoto truly wished for was to be there with him, and, there she was. The Railgun had her wishes granted. That awkward distance was dealt with. He wasn't pushing her away.
"Driver-san, oh, driver-san!" Lessar called out, then, interrupting the moment. "Are we Bristol-bound, oh driver-san?"
"Yep~."
The vehicle's driver turned in her seat, and flashed a sly, knowing wink in Kamijou Touma's direction.
Her cleavage nearly hung entirely outside of her shirt.
A devious, almost sinister grin formed upon Touma's face, rising steadily as his nanorobotic, pearly whites were exposed, one at a time. Kamijou's expression was one which a hungry, overweight child might have worn just before digging into the first bite of his birthday cake.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Oriana Thomson… You're a sight for sore eyes, gorgeous."