Looks like I'm back at it again in better time than I thought I'd make! So, to that end, it's review response time here once again.
Whwsms: Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I? That little cliffhanger (I'm really way too fond of using those) will be resolved here, and now.
Isn't that the truth? We all have our reasons for being forced to turn away from that which we're passionate about, especially right now in these turbulent times.
That I shall! Like a wayward son, I'll carry on.
Galgamesh: Touma's priorities, in that moment, were likely anywhere and everywhere else. But, who knows? The tides of fate are many. It's not impossible that our once-hero's mind could drift in that direction, when he finally gets some much-deserved downtime.
Whatever it was, it leapt from a mess of rustling bushes, darting like greased lightning…
Kamijou could sense it, detect it. High forcibly-ascended higher mind was more than capable of keeping up with it. In the time it took a flesh-and-blood human being to blink, Kamijou's mind, much more a supercomputer in the present than a biological brain performed innumerable calculations, created algorithms, and formed a plan of attack.
"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: ?/UNKNOWN. LAUNCH ENVIRO-SCAN PROTOCOL?
"No. Forget it. I'll deal with this myself.
"UNDERSTOOD. DEFERRING TO MASTER."
Hardened, dense blades of sharpened machine phase-matter clashed with the protruding claws of the assailant's odd handwear. Sparks flew as the blades crashed into one another with such force that there were short, repeated tremors that shook the earth.
Two superior beings. One of Science, the other of Magic.
"You would've preferred me before. When I was just a 'high school boy you can find anywhere'. When I had to rely on some fucking stupid right hand to do anything. Such misfortune… For you."
"Well-spoken, lad. Like a proper warrior."
All who were present looked upon the assailant, who found himself – or perhaps herself, or perhaps itself – pitted against Kamijou Touma, who pushed with great force, with deadly intent against the gleaming, protruding claws.
The stranger was clad in a simplistic outfit; a tracksuit. It was olive-colored, with baby blue streaks running down either outer leg of suit's pants, and along either of its inner arms. The top piece of the tracksuit had its collar popped, its zipper pulled some ways downward, exposing a simplistic white top beneath.
Around his neck a cloak was tied; it was olive-colored, much like the tracksuit. In the sunlight, it could clearly be seen by all present that the cloak had been hastily stitched together. On his head, the stranger wore a strange, milky-colored mask, with a gill-like protrusion on either side, where his ears were, presumably, beneath the mask. The facial expression of the mask was one of surprise, or perhaps confused bewilderment, and two strategically-cut holes revealed two glowing, ember-like orbs where eyes should've been.
The sunlight illuminated what was visible of his skin. His neck's skin was pale, almost bluish in coloration. On either of his hands, he wore a glove, whose four fingers and thumb each ended in long talon-like claws. The cuffs of his tracksuit's pants were tucked into a pair of fashionable, calf-high boots.
"Hold it!" Saint Lessar exclaimed, stepping in and forcing Kamijou back. With a grunt, and an aggressive glare shot in the Saint's direction, he stood down.
For a passing moment, Lessar had experienced deep, considerable fear at the sight of his expression contorting in such a way. Kamijou's empty, dull eyes had been filled with malice the likes of which Lessar had never seen from him.
"He's with us, loverboy. Slow it down."
"Sorry, Lessar…"
"It's fine."
Before he could utter a word, Touma found one of his swarming, nanorobotic blade-arms clutched tightly, lovingly in the arms of another. Peering down, he saw the silver-haired little nun, Index Librorum Prohibitorum. Their eyes' respective gazes met.
Evidently, she'd sensed something off about him. Had it been his body language? His instantaneously, inhumanly quick reflexes? His immediate attempt at harming the stranger who'd lunged from the bushes? Even Index herself couldn't answer such questions.
What she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that she needed to be at his side; and, so, there she was.
"Tou-ma."
She tilted her head, slightly; if Kamijou still had a beating human heart, it would have melted in his chest.
"In-dex. I know you don't like it when I talk like that. I wasn't thinking."
"It's ok, Touma. I understand."
Those jutting, swarming blade-arms retracted, descended into twirling, ribbon-like masses of magnetically-linked nanomachines, then resettled into human hands, with human skin. Gentle and soft, if cold to the touch. Regardless of this development, Index remained close.
"Didna mean ta scare ye, lad 'n lasses. T'was jus' a l'il spook ah tried ta play on ye."
The stranger bowed politely, one arm extended, the other folded beneath his waistline.
"Me friends jus' call me Jack. Spring-Heeled Jack."
There were gasps. Kumokawa Seria, Misaka Mikoto and the once-Magic God Othinus had been among those who'd swiftly, forcefully inhaled as a result of the proclamation.
He peered up, slowly rising.
"Now, what's this, then? Yer not who ol' Jack was expectin', right proper. Oi, One-Eyed Odin. Good ta see ye again. 'Ow long tis it been? A few millennia?"
Whatever history these two had, not even Kamijou Touma was aware of it. He peered back at the one-eyed former Magic God, who shrugged in his direction. Her expression was one Touma could almost immediately read, like the pages of an open book, effortlessly.
"I'll tell you later."
That would have to do. Nodding in understanding, Touma protectively wrapped his arms around the little silver-haired nun's shoulders, and held her close. So close, in fact, that Index found herself blushing a deep, crimson blush.
Soon, Kumokawa Seria was at his side. Though her mind nearly reeled at the queer sight before her, she recalled her purpose; her reason for being here in the first place. Anything was better than another painful second back in Academy City, worrying, suffering, wondering. Rather than be anywhere else, Seria wanted to be here. With him.
"I'm here, Touma-kun. Don't count your senpai out just yet."
"I wouldn't, Seria. Not in a million years. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever."
Musujime Awaki had certainly found that odd. "One-Eyed Odin"? What a nickname for someone to have. Wasn't this girl supposed to be 'Olivia', a distant relative of Kamijou's, from Denmark? She'd come to Academy City to develop an esper ability. That had been the explanation Kumokawa Seria had offered, at least. One which Misaka Mikoto had backed up.
Misaka Mikoto herself had, like Index and 'Beauty-Senpai', taken to the forefront. Electricity leapt from her body freely. Arcing bolts of lightning seemed to lash out at the atmosphere itself.
"Alright, you bitch. Tell us what's going on, right now."
The Railgun girl was deadly serious. She took a single step forward, one loafer slapping against the concrete, then another. She tensed.
"Or I'll zap you until you're just a smoking pile of ash, 'Saint' or not!"
Kamijou offered no resistance, nor did he attempt to dissuade Misaka Mikoto. If she wished to step down from her threat, that was her business, not his. Neither Kumokawa Seria nor Index seemed particularly quick to try and protest the Railgun girl's threats, either.
"Sheesh, it's just one thing after another. Exciting! I can almost taste it! Let's sic it to 'em, Railgun!"
"You're on, Musujime-san!"
Musujime Awaki was there, next to the Railgun. She'd been standing there, in one spot, for a moment's time. Then she'd appeared elsewhere. Even Spring-Heeled Jack had to admit, he was impressed.
"I never did mean any 'arm, lad 'n lasses," Jack extrapolated. "Seems someone forget ta inform our friends 'ere about some important matters, eh?"
"Forgot? No," Oriana Thomson interrupted, stepping forward in an effort to act as a mediator. "We were held up, temporarily. A bit of a bump in the road. I'm still not certain about everything that's going on. But, now we're here. And explanations can begin. Are the clearing fields in place?"
"Already done," Jack remarked passingly. "Didna take too long fer ol' Uncle Jack to get 'er did."
With an arm around Index's shoulders and another around his senpai's waist, Kamijou Touma raised an eyebrow in Jack's direction.
"I'm supposed to be killing you. Academy City wants you dead. What am I supposed to make of that? They want you "dealt with". You're Sons of Taured. You're the ones destabilizing the world. Academy City doesn't seem to like it. And because of you, I'm here. So are the precious people I love and adore. You definitely have explaining to do. Get on it. If I don't like what I hear, you're dead."
Misaka Mikoto giggled, nervously. Where had such a vocalization come from? Her lips pursed; the Railgun girl struggled to hold back another.
"We're not doin' this, are we, Railgun? Sheesh. I got all worked up for nothing."
"I think we might still get a chance, Musujime-san."
What had become of Kamijou Touma, that Idiot hero who blabbered about how the world should always smile, and how no one should ever have to lose their life? Here he was, threatening someone with death. She knew, deep in her heart, that he would at least attempt to keep his word.
Once more, Seria found herself out of place; but it hardly mattered.
It was One-Eyed Othinus, then, who stepped forward. She passed Kamijou Touma, and the members of the blossoming 'Kamijou Faction' by. Mere feet from the one who'd identified as 'Spring-Heeled Jack', she stared him down.
Two equals from ages past stared one another down in the present.
"Many millennia it certainly has been, Terror of London. I recall you from a time before you took such a name for yourself. But, is it truly you? Or an imposter who has used Idol Theory to take your power for themselves?"
"Only one way ta answer that l'il question, Odin… Ye know, ye suddenly seem punier than I remember. Somethin' 'appen, lass? Yer not wearin' yer ol' garb, neither. A change 'a 'eart?"
Othinus looked back to Kamijou Touma, and offered him a genuine, knowing smile. It was one he offered in kind. Nodding in approval and Understanding, Touma remained behind, observing. Othinus had been nigh-omnipotent, once. Even as a depowered, utterly normal human being, she could surely handle herself. Touma placed his concern aside, but did not abandon it entirely.
"… That is one way of describing what has become of me, Terror of London. I am mortal now. Not a drop of divinity flows through my veins."
"Hah? That's somethin', Odin."
"You were about to do something, Terror of London. You ought to. For your own sake."
For the briefest of moments, Kamijou found himself reminded of the Othinus that had once been. Forceful. Arrogant. All-powerful. Immutable, omnipotent, omnipresent. A force beyond reckoning. Evidently, that part of herself still lingered, and the once-Magic God wielded it as a weapon, a hideous, malformed blunt weapon.
Even as he was in the present, ascended, an artificial being converted into a living mass of machine phase-matter, capable of feeling pain only if he wished to feel it, Kamijou shuddered unconsciously. His memories remained, for better or for worse.
Sensing the rising tension emanating from him despite his 'artificial' existence, Kumokawa Seria clung tighter. She placed her fingers' tips to her kohai's lips, and gently stroked them. Turning his face to hers, she smiled at him, her eyelids narrowing. Index, too, huddled closer.
He wasn't alone for this. He had the people he loved and cared about so much, right here, with him. He wasn't alone. Perhaps for the first time, in some completely fucked up situation such as this one, Kamijou wasn't alone.
Spring-Heeled Jack rose, then to meet Othinus' challenge. The former Magic God had folded her arms across her chest, spread her legs apart, stood proud, mighty, and watched on expectantly. Touma, Index, and Seria alike were reminded of Fukiyose Seiri, the Iron Wall girl.
Given the time those two spent together, more often than not, it made sense. 'Fukiyose-sama' had unconsciously rubbed off on Othinus, it seemed.
The mask came off. Jack pulled it from his face with the sharpened digits protruding from his gloves. Then, once it was pulled away, he tossed his hood back. Shaking his head from side to side swiftly, as if issuing a challenge, Spring-Heeled Jack revealed himself.
His face, very much like the skin of his exposed neck, was pale, almost light blue in colouration. A small, pointed, but very much extravagant – and exceedingly gentlemanly – mustache adorned his upper lip. Those burning, ember-likes eyes could be seen in all of their hideous glory. They stared into Othinus. Unfazed, Othinus stared back. Dark-coloured, slicked-back hair adorned his head.
"Hm. So, it is you, and not an Idol Theory imitator. To think that you yet live is intriguing; though I yet live, as well. I would ask, then, Terror of London, just how did you come to throw your lot in with a cult that seeks to bring about the End Times?"
"End Times? Nay, nay, lass. No "End Times". In fact, I reckon th' times tis only fidda become better, once the Sons o' Taured get a hold 'a things."
It was Saint Lessar's turn to take to this 'stage', as it was. She approached casually, even with a colossal, wooden cross strapped to her back.
"Here's the short end of it. The Amakusa-Style Remix of Church is with the Sons of Taured. For a better world. For a world free of tyranny. There's a lot that you don't understand, Kamijou and company. There's a lot that a lot of people don't understand. The Priestess can explain it better than I, or Thomson-san, or even Jack-san here can. But she's preoccupied right now."
'The Priestess'? Kamijou wracked his forcibly-ascended brain, for a moment. 'Priestess'. That title was held by Kanzaki Kaori, wasn't it? One of Index's closest, dearest friends; and a poor fool whose good-natured, genuine desire to help had been turned against her. By who? Touma didn't know.
He chortled.
"So, you've turned against the Church of England? Is that it?"
Touma's summary of the situation shocked Index from her silence.
"K-Kaori did what?!"
Misaka Mikoto, Musujime Awaki, and Kumokawa Seria alike remained lost and, effectively, out of the loop; the latter less so than the others.
"The point is," Oriana began, breaking her own silence, "The Sons of Taured aren't the enemy. Certainly not the enemy you've been told they are, by Academy City. I can only suspect the Church of England's own Backstabbing Blade has his hands deep in this."
"He'll be deep in a wooden box when I'm done with him," Touma snapped. "He could've left me and the people I care about alone. But no. That wasn't good enough for him. This is what he's always done."
Freeing himself from Index and Kumokawa Seria by descending into a swarming, churning mass of machine phase-matter, Touma then reassembled with terrifying speed, stepping towards Spring-Heeled Jack and Othinus. As he passed even her, he placed a hand reassuringly upon her shoulder, and squeezed lightly.
"I could find a way to kill you. I could make one. It wouldn't be hard, Jack. What happens if I do, though? You're not the beginning and you're not the end. That snake, Tsuchimikado, would be turning me on someone else. This is what they've done since the beginning, when I met Index. They knew I cared for her - loved her so, so much – and that they could make me do anything they wanted, for her sake."
His fist clenched onto itself, violently. Index herself stared, wide-eyed, at her guardian.
"… And I kept falling for it, like the fucking idiot I was. I was their shitty attack dog. More than one person's mutt. But I'm not like that anymore. So… 'Spring-Heeled Jack'. Lessar. Ms. Thomson. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.
"You do me a tiny little favour, and I'll find a way to have your backs. To a reasonable extent. Nobody's my master anymore. I don't take orders from anyone. My loyalties aren't with Academy City, and they're not with anyone on the Magic Side, either.
"I'm loyal to myself, and to the people I love. You get me a meeting with Kanzaki, and if I find everything acceptable… Well, let's wait to cross that bridge until we get there. Honestly? I don't trust any of you to tell the truth; but I do trust Kanzaki. That's just how it is. Take it, or leave it. I couldn't care less."
"And what favour would that be?" Oriana Thomson inquired, taking to the side of Lessar, her fellow Amakusa Christian. It was as if a divide had been drawn, there. All present noticed this, but ultimately said nothing about it.
Without Kanzaki Kaori present, things seemed to be taking a turn towards a standstill. Towards, potentially, the worst.
"You tell me who insisted on having Index's memories wiped every single year. You tell me who put Kanzaki and Stiyl up to it, strung them around and made them hurt a completely innocent girl. You tell me who did it, so I can fucking gut them."
Lessar's vision shifted. She was uneasy. What would the appropriate answer be? Yes, she was the enemy of the Sons of Taured, and an enemy of the free world, a world free of tyranny, one among several; but whatever had come upon Kamijou Touma, whatever had happened to him, to make him like this, it had changed him. No longer was he the complacent, easily-flustered boy Lessar had first spent considerable time with in Russia.
He was something different in the present. Something stronger. Something far more dangerous.
Finally, Lessar answered; Kamijou seemed to grow impatient with the silence.
"That's something the Priestess will have to tell you more about, loverboy."
"Looks like it's on Kanzaki, then."
She'd called him that not because she sought to tease or otherwise flirt with him; but because calling him that brought Lessar back to a simpler time. When she'd lifted her skirt to show off her panties and flustered him. When she'd poked at his uniform's pants while they shared moments together in the backseat of a van. His face would always flair up, become an intense, crimson blush. He'd nearly wretch at the sight, turn his face like he'd been staring upon some unknowable cosmic horror.
Now, none of that was left. All that even seemed to be left was cold, furious rage. A sort of disturbing, tranquil fury that didn't manifest in violent, monstrous fits, but something more calculated. Something that was carefully considered and planned out.
That just made him all the more terrifying, to her. Kamijou Touma had truly become a source of terror for Saint Lessar.
Just what had even happened to him?
Lessar had no way of knowing it – in fact, no one, save for Academy City's General Superintendent had a way of knowing it – but, the Kamijou Touma she knew had been, effectively, programmed all along.
A living human being entrapped within a cycle, bound to act a certain way, and perform certain actions, following certain guidelines. An archetype. A result of the Aleister Crowley's own Archetype Controller.
But even Aleister Crowley's most powerful scientific technology had limits. That is to say, a washing machine could not be affected by the Archetype Controller. A toaster could not be affected by the Archetype Controller. That which Kamijou Touma had become; an artificial, cybernetic being enhanced, forcibly ascended and entirely replaced on a genetic level with nanorobotic machine phase-matter, could not be affected by the Archetype Controller.
"Lad, th' business tis all right complicated," Jack explained as best he could. "I reckon there're more important matters ta be seen ta. Yer vengeful. Anyone wit' a pair o' workin' eyes could see that. Ye've been lied ta, yanked 'round, sent 'ere n' there, 'n made a fool o'."
"The Sons of Taured aren't terrorists, or cultists, or what Academy City would have you believe. If we're even being acknowledged," Oriana stated then, plainly. "The current system is cancerous. It's exactly what lead to you and I meeting the way we did, Kamijou-kun. Things have to change. They just have to."
All save for Kamijou Touma and Othinus knew not what Oriana spoke of.
"So, hold it," Mikoto spoke aloud, electricity still leaping from her body. "These Taured people, the people we came all this way to stop, are actually with the good guys? And Touma – and us – we were all just being pulled around by… The bad guys? I can't make sense of this."
"Anyone who willingly associates with the likes of Tsuchimikado is certainly not a 'good guy', Misaka-san," Seria passingly remarked with an aggressive half-grunt. She really was beginning to hate him, more and more. She really was beginning to understand why her kohai felt as strongly as he did about the Backstabbing Blade.
"Think o' it like this, lass," the Spring-Heeled one remarked, then, "if magic wasn't bein' hoarded th' way it is, diseases would be knocked off th' face o' th' Earth in a day. If countries were wantin' ta settle things in th' old way, they could use magic ta summon up some lifeless, puppet fighters ta fight th' battles, instead o' throwin' human lives away."
He shook his head. His lips curled downward, into a scowling frown.
"But, that sorta thinkin' is dangerous, lass. Dangerous fer the folks at th' top o' the pyramid. When everybody's equal, lass, th' ones at th' top can't proper rule anyone, can they? Rulin' is how they like it, see. Somethin' wrong with 'em, right proper."
She tried to reason it as best she could in her head. The Railgun girl imagined – and felt a bit bad for imagining it the way she did – Shokuhou Misaki, Tokiwadai's Queen, struggling for control with a Tokiwadai Middle School student body who possessed the same power she did, Mental Out. She couldn't rule. And, until recently, Shokuhou Misaki certainly enjoyed ruling, as much as she could.
Someone like Shokuhou didn't merely enjoy the status quo. It was their lifeline. It helped them escape from their own problems. By dominating others, by projecting a false front of power, and glamour, by becoming the object of envy and lust, they buried their skeletons deep into their closet.
She chuckled.
Misaka Mikoto, herself, was no different. Beneath the veneer of 'the Railgun', the model esper for the world to behold, the standard at which all were held, the level five electromaster who had worked her ass off from day one to become as strong a she was, there was something sinister. Something fundamentally broken. A traumatized girl with anger issues and post-traumatic stress that wracked her every thought.
"… By making everyone equal with magic, no one would ever be able to rule over anyone else. The average person could take matters into their own hands, right? The average person wouldn't be completely helpless while the world just… Keeps turning around them. Right?"
"Right, lass," Jack answered, nodding affirmatively.
"I want to see that world."
An enormous, arcing bolt of electricity shot outwards from the top of her head; raging, it surged through the clouds. Thunder boomed from nowhere; despite the fact that no grey, oppressive storm clouds were present, the world shook beneath Mikoto's silent declaration.
"There will undoubtably be conflict and suffering to achieve such ends," Seria sagely pointed out.
"Conflict and suffering are cornerstones of humanity's existence," Othinus stated flatly. "Life necessitates suffering."
"Indeed, 'Olivia-chan'. Indeed."
Othinus seemed to gravitate towards Kumokawa Seria once more; the latter kindly welcomed the former.
"I'm completely lost," Awaki spoke. She'd seated herself upon the hood of the limousine and poked at her smartphone's screen. "Someone should definitely give me the abridged version later. This is crazy cool, though. It's like a mystery novel. Whodunit?"
The silver-haired nun, Index, had run back to Touma's side; his arm was around her almost immediately. Embracing her tightly, the little nun's keeper protectively ensured that she felt safe with him. Gently, softly, he stroked the side of her face with his fingers' tips, then provided her with a kiss to the forehead.
Mikoto had certainly been quick to jump on board; which made sense, from his perspective.
Everything 'Spring-Heeled Jack' stated was true. He could've denied again and again; there wouldn't have been a use in doing so.
"You know how I view this situation. I've already said what I have to say. I'm not going to try and take the moral high ground, or babble like an idiot about how "everyone can be saved". You give me my meeting with Kanzaki, and if everything checks out with her, you have this Kamijou-san. Then, I find whoever hurt Index. There aren't any guarantees. At this point, I really don't care what happens to the world."
His embrace around the little silver-haired nun tightened. He kissed her, again, on the top of her head.
Somehow, those words spoken by him disturbed her. Index felt a sudden, discomforting pang in her chest. It was as if some bladed weapon had pierced her chest.
"At this point, I really don't care what happens to the world."
How deeply pained was Kamijou Touma? Just how deep did his scars run? The Kamijou Touma she'd met on July 19th would never have said such a thing.
"And I'll go where Touma goes," Index explained. "I'm going to help him no matter what!"
She settled her internal debate then and there.
"I want you to be with me, wherever I end up," Touma spoke, softly, reinforcing the nun's sudden burst of bravado. "I want you, all of you, here with me. I love all of you so much."
"I'm here because I'm booo~ooooored," Musujime Awaki extrapolated with a yawn. "And, hey. Global conspiracy. No way I'm not getting into THAT. I guess I'll just fuck up some peoples' good days for fun."
Kumokawa Seria, feeling no need to explain herself to strangers, merely took to Kamijou Touma's side; shadowed by Othinus, the once-Magic God who seemed to have some knowledge of this claw-handed freak of nature who'd started all of this madness, she placed either of her arms around her kohai's own. He welcomed her with a short, but passionate kiss to her lips. Othinus promptly received one, as well.
"I love you too, my precious little kohai."
Negotiations – as they were – seemed to have reached something of a standstill. Oriana Thomson, Saint Lessar and Jack alike realized this for what it was. Until Saint Kanzaki Kaori could be present, Kamijou Touma's aid couldn't be ensured. Still, considerable firepower originating from Academy City – and outside of it, in the case of Index Librorum Prohibitorum – would be a welcome boon to the Sons of Taured, and the Amakusa Christians both.
"This day's been a long, strenuous and unsteady one," Oriana began, standing tall, taking control of the situation. "Why don't we retire? The motel is ours, for the time being. Everyone can feel free to pick out a room, and drop into a bed. Onee-san will take care of all the specifics…"
In an effort to alleviate what tension remained within the environment, the courier and ex-freelancer winked in Touma's direction.
"… Onee-san also wouldn't mind taking care of you, either, Kamijou-kun."
"Disclaimer," Touma came in response, "when you forget how to talk for a while, don't blame me. You asked for this, Thomson."
Incoming data informed him that he should've felt the glare drilling into the back of his head. If looks could have killed, and if Touma had been a living, flesh-and-blood human being, he would have died from the feeling alone. Without even needing to look with his own two eyes – he had nanorobotic scout-units to do that for him – he knew. Touma knew it was Misaka Mikoto. He'd promised her something, hadn't he?
"… But, I won't be able to visit for a while. I actually have business with someone that I want to attend to, before anything else."
The glare subsided; for the moment, Touma was off the hook. He chortled at the thought. Out of all of those present, Misaka Mikoto was the only one who could really, truly harm him, if only temporarily. Touma knew, partially thanks to experience, and partially thanks to bursts of nigh-omniscient data, that the Railgun girl's electricity could easily destabilize his magnetic field, reduce him to a mound of disconnected machine phase-matter that would have to be carried around like a beachball.
"Fine and well, Kamijou-kun," Oriana teased with a wink and a sly, vaguely sinister grin. She promptly turned her back, threw open the metallic, glass-bound entranceway doors of the out-of-place motel, and disappeared within, like a chunk of food snatched up in the gullet of some enormous creature.
As Jack leapt away, darting like greased lightning, descending into an olive-coloured blur which disappeared upon the motel's roof, Saint Lessar tilted her head to one side, and offered a genuine-seeming expression of regret.
"Sorry you all had to get dragged into this."
She too turned and vanished into the motel, passing through the entranceway doors and into the poorly-lit interior within.
There was silence, then, for a while. Eventually, it was broken by Kamijou, who spoke aloud to all present.
"Looks like it's adventure time again. When you associate with this Kamijou-san, this is the sort of wonderful situation you can expect to wind up in. So? Who's having second thoughts?"
"Not I, for one," Seria spoke up. "I would much prefer to be here than anywhere else, my kohai."
"Nor I," Othinus added with a nod of affirmation to no one in particular.
"Wherever you're going, I'm going, Touma!" Was Index's response to the rhetorical question posed by her guardian.
Misaka Mikoto stomped her loafer-clad foot down on the concrete. Crackling electricity arced about her, encapsulating her. The Railgun girl's bangs were buffeted about as a result.
"D-Don't think for a second that I'm backing down now! Whatever this is, there's no way I'm letting you face it by yourself! I'm closing this stupid distance between us no matter what!"
Most tellingly, Musujime Awaki had teleported behind the once-boy; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and leaned in, close.
"I never was one to fall back when the heat gets turned up. Your he~ro senses are just tingling a little bit too strong. Chill out, Kamijou."
What else was there to do? Kamijou Touma shook his head, chuckling, and spread either of his arms wide.
"… How about a group hug, from my beautiful girls?"
And almost instantaneously, he was swarmed.
He owned it. He loved it. So did they, by the looks of it. Even Misaka Mikoto, who Touma had assumed would've had a tougher time swallowing this particular pill seemed completely contented with her 'share' of him.
"Why did I ever avoid this, again?"
Academy City.
February 12th, 2:35 AM.
The unexpected screeching of his smartphone's ringer had startled him from his exceedingly light sleep. Shuddering, still clothed in his cheap, dirtied and bloodied two-piece suit – it was almost as if the clothing had fused with his very skin – Dave Horton grabbed his smartphone, nearly slammed the device against his ear, and yawned loudly.
"Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton. If this is about the coup attempt in Paraguay, I don't know anything about it."
"Voidwalker has deserted…"
The words sounded unsure, like the speaker felt as if they walked upon eggshells. That wasn't entirely untrue; the speaker couldn't have possibly seen it, but, the Gladio-Oculus operative's eyelids shot open, nearly tearing from the sheer force.
"WHAT?! SHIT! Shit, shit, SHIT! You're SHITTING ME!"
The meek-sounding Kaizumi Tsugutoshi muttered something incoherent on the other end of the call. The sounds of some object – perhaps a pen – repeatedly clacking against a solid surface wrang out, as opposed to immediate, further words.
"I shouldn't have let that little shit walk out! SHIT! SHIT! What the fuck are we going to do?!"
"Aleister-sama has recommended, but not directly authorized the use of a covert ops teams, with transportation provided into English airspace through traditional means… I'll leave the matter of smoothing things over with the British Royal Family to your organization. Moreover, Aleister-sama has also authorized the use of Academy City's… Anti-Matter Bombs."
Horton seemed to calm. Inhaling deeply, his bloodshot eyes settled back into place, having nearly bugged out entirely from within their sockets. He'd put Hamasaki Tsubasa threw Hell for this, one day; but today was not that day.
"Of course. Draft some snipers, follow our embedded sleeper agents' instructions, snipe Birdway. That little psychotic bitch Yumiya will probably do it for a couple million Yen. Before he completely fucked us all, Hamasaki managed to get something useful from the Sons of Taured. Leso. Greek Island, Leso. That's where they're supposed to be. Could be total bullshit, could be a lead. We shut this thing down before it gets any worse, everything goes back to normal."
"You seem awfully antsy, if not eager, to murder a twelve-year-old, Horton-san."
"Don't you fucking preach to me, Kaizumi! Good-bye!"
Ending the phone call with the swift, shaky press of a single button upon the device's touchscreen, Dave Horton threw himself back in bed, wrapped his pillow over his face, and screamed…
"SHIT!"