Author's Note: In a potentially controversial move, I'm writing 'A Certain Broken Testament' with the intent of ignoring all events occurring in Kamachi's prime canon, post-NT17. This includes several important plot points relating to the character of Laura Stuart and her connection to Aleister Crowley. This is partially due to the fact that this piece was being written prior to these revelations in the light novels; I'll be continuing as if those revelations had never occurred at all.

Preamble aside, it's review response time, once again! Wonderful reviews, as always.

Whwsms: There tends to be two reactions humans have when faced with something they can't understand; mania and a sense of world-shattering dysphoria. For those who have lived in the 'Side Science' for as long as they have, the hidden aspects of the world must be akin to having the very foundations of their world shaken.

Lessar, Lessar, Lessar... Is there anything she won't do? It's almost hard to believe that such a perverted young woman could even be a Saint.

With any luck, Kanzaki Kaori will show up and save the day!

Buildup is important. That's the way I'm looking at it; because once the buildup is complete, everything's going to be balls-to-the-wall insane. Trust me.

Fortitude501: You're absolutely correct, my friend. I do have to wonder, what are these 'Sons of Taured' folks thinking?! Perhaps there's more to their plan than meets the eye, eh?

Guest: Slow down, Eager Beaver. Be patient.

England.
February 10th, 2004. 8:01 PM.

A connection had been established, one of technology and not of magical means. From science and to magic, the connection was based within the realm of the former.

From his 'perch' in his towering Windowless Building, Aleister Crowley, General Superintendent of Academy City reached out to Archbishop Laura Stuart, head of the 0th Parish of the Church of England, that which was known as 'Necessarius'.

She hardly looked like a leader; in fact, she looked more like a preppy schoolgirl engaging in simple, casual conversation with a friend, perhaps about the events that'd occurred that day in some educational setting.

Seated upon her bed, Laura Stuart gazed downward and away from her computing system's attached, external camera; she was no fool when it came to modern technology. Built-in cameras simply weren't the way to go, not unless one was looking to be spied upon by curious, tech-savvy NEETs.

Carefully, the Archbishop of the Church of England applied a coat of bright blue paint to her third toe's nail, gently, cautiously running her polish-plastered brush over the soft, small protrusion, leaving only two others to apply polish to, at least on the toes of her right foot.

"Aleister-chan~! What a… Lovely… Surprise."

"Or so you say. I would inquire as to why my previous attempts at 'community outreach' failed. Yet I know you better than that. Perhaps better than you even know yourself. You're nothing if not predictable."

Laura pouted, producing a soft, aggravated "humph". With a shake of her head, golden locks were tossed about, fluttering in the oxygenated air before each fell.

"I hope you haven't called just to insult me, Aleister-chan. Is this your way of trying to tell me that you're in loooooooooove~ with me? Are you one of those… what's the word? "Male tsunderes"? I'll have you know, that is quite the old and tired archetype~."

"Observe."

"I'm painting my toes. Give me a moment, will you? Pushy, pushy~!"

Despite (or alternatively, perhaps because of) her words, the feed displaying Aleister Crowley's upside-down and utterly stoic facial expression quickly blinked out of existence, soon replaced by what, from the angle of the new feed must've been footage captured by a monitoring system of some sort, whatever sort of newfangled observation tech Crowley had implemented into his little fort.

Whatever the means, Laura Stuart paid no further consideration to the matter of Academy City's technological developments.

"That's an issue of politics, human or otherwise; I don't politick. Such matters are dull even by your standards, for those who prefer to distance themselves from carnage and send the young in to die in their place. Politicking is for the cowardly, those who are unable to smile on the battlefield."

"I take all matters seriously, all matters excepting you, boy. You're little more than a snivelling, begging little child, wailing in a failing attempt to retrieve his stolen source of amusement. You're a being of great importance within your own mind."

"If I learn that you're lying to me, I will make it so that your screams echo throughout the cosmos. That Egyptian spectre you're so fond of will not save you. Nothing will save you. My supremacy is undeniable; I am a GOD. If I learn that you're lying to me, I will squeeze the life from the both of you, and drink your liquefied innards like the finest of wines."

Onward, Laura Stuart watched with curiosity blooming within her higher mind's ever-expanding landscapes.

Put bluntly, she'd never seen anything quite like it before.

"My, my, Aleister-chan. You certainly do have some strange friends… Why would you clue me into your new friendship? I must ask… Surely there isn't something you want from me? Surely, you of all people aren't AFRAID~?"

"An enraged cosmic deity turning his sights upon our Earth would do very little to further your own pursuits," Aleister Crowley pointed out. "In fact, I find myself rather flabbergasted that you seem to be unaware as to the significance of this visitation."

As ever, his voice was the proverbial picture of utter calmness. Any tone present was utterly flat. His facial expression betrayed no sense of aggravation, nor did his body's gestures. Then again, there weren't many gestures an upside-down, white-haired goldfish could make.

Laura Stuart giggled at the thought, index and middle fingers of her right hand finding their way to her lips.

"Ah, ah~! Is that so? Do enlighten me, Aleister-chan, ye old master of Science~! Surely, you of all people know everything there is to know about gods~!"

In response, Aleister Crowley spoke a series of words, produced a series of vocalizations that, if uttered by another, would have resulted in a simple shake of the head, and a simple, dismissing giggle.

Spoken by him, they sent a shiver down the spine, throughout the entire earthly form of the Church of England's Archbishop.

"Simply put, Abraxas of Triton is among the most powerful beings in this reality. Stars collapse before him, entire universes are decimated in the time it would take you or I to bat an eye. Before him, the likes of our own host of Majin are mere idiot children, insects, waiting to be crushed beneath him; but don't look so frightened. I yet have a means to negotiate, and dare I say, a means to make his… Inevitable… Arrival on our own world more manageable, shall we say."

Laura Stuart certainly wished to hear more about that. If only one thing was entirely positive, completely and utterly knowable, it was the overarching fact that there were very few matters – and even fewer beings – that could perturb the likes of Aleister Crowley.

He, Aleister Crowley, who'd abandoned Magic in pursuit of Science, and more privately in pursuit of something beyond both realms, was a fool. But in his own right he was wise. A wise, almighty idiot, the pinnacle of goodness and the lowest of evils, the splitting image of youth and a man who'd seen centuries pass him by. He was duology, the concept and the definition.

"And, what then do you propose, Aleister-chan? Evidently it is hardly an undertaking you can see to on your own, or you wouldn't have called for me~! Or, maybe, are you falling for me and just wished to speak with me, Aleister-chan~? Hehehe~!"

The façade had barely survived. It'd nearly cracked, fallen and found itself lost forever in a sea of other broken and discarded things, floating at the feet of Laura Stuart's consciousness.

Fabricating some well-crafted – and by his own admission – insidious half-truth just wasn't an option. The time for planning had long since passed; the time had long since been lost in tending to other issues. Aleister Crowley would need to, somehow, in some way, manipulate through honesty.

Calmly, Aleister Crowley would provide Laura Stuart with his apparent "grand solution".

"The all-powerful Typhon was said to have been cast down to Tartarus, his power greatly limited through the might of Zeus, King of the Greek Gods, aided by his kin... An unorthodox mode of spellcasting in a world dominated by Abrahamic Faiths, yet it would very well set to the task. My espers can wield no magic… But you… You command many who loyally obey your every whim, from one end of this globe of ours, and to the other."

"A safety net? Is that it, then? My, my, Aleister-chan, how crude of you~. I ought to inquire before I decide to decide, if it's a decision, a conclusion you seek. What would be in this for me, hm? What would I gain through helping you, Aleister-chan? Hm? As far as I'm aware, you'd like us all erased from the face of the Earth. Chiu, chiu, chiu~. Scribble, bye-bye~."

"What would you gain? The answer is simple enough, is it not? Or, have your senses dulled in your old age? You gain the possibility of living, should the Tritonian decide to suddenly wisen up and make a target of our world."

"He doesn't sound very nice~."

"The Tritonian seeks the object of his misguided affections. Therefore, it is unlikely that he would outright unmake this world; yet, as always as the birds sing aloud, caution should be taken… Additionally, there are other matters to consider, but those are for myself to know, and for you to guess. If you're fond of living, you'll decide."

The fact of the matter was simple, for Laura Stuart. She'd already decided, in fact.

Crowley never had been a very good actor.

A ruse of this nature, one devised by him, one admitted openly, delivered via direct contact from one superpower to another simply wouldn't make sense, not from a tactical standpoint. If anything, it was an act of resignation, a realization of utter defeat birthed in a situation that would be without hope, unless 'outsiders' intervened and threw their lot in.

It blatantly was a bluff.

At the very least, there was one sure-fire way to tell whether a bluff it was, or not.

"I must make one last query of you, Aleister-chan. When would you wish for this… unorthodox, unchristian spell to be cast, hm~? I wouldn't believe the fate of the world to be capable of hanging in the balance for some few weeks, or, further, some few months, after all~."

"You speak almost accusingly," Academy City's General Superintendent quipped, in response. "When I would give the word, of course. Constant, passive spellcasting would be nigh impossible, not without a legion of immortals. One of us or both of us may take the role of Zeus in this spellcasting. Despite my state of being, I find myself quite capable of producing the necessary materials."

"It would seem your own scheme is backfiring~! Cursing your espers wasn't so wise, now was it, eager little beaver~?"

So, her instincts were dulling.

The 'double-check' routine was worth the effort; he was bluffing. Obviously, this 'cosmic god' of Crowley's was little more than a conjured vision, but to what end? It was a mere scare tactic, a means of instilling paranoia.

For a man who planned so meticulously, stacking schemes atop schemes, he'd been caught right in the middle of one. It'd all been a slew of lies, right down to the fact that Crowley claimed his toys to be incapable of spellcasting.

Was he really going to play ignorant when it came to the Sons' breaching of his City's walls? Laura Stuart could only chuckle to herself, he truly was desperate.

Laura Stuart almost found herself somewhere between a grin and a pout.

On one end, watching the man-child, angel-devil squirm was most amusing. Yet, he'd taken her for an idiot, and he'd sought to play her like so many strings on a musical instrument. It was an insult, and yet it was so poorly-planned that, regardless of the fact that it was a slap to the face, it was almost hysterically idiotic.

"Your attempts at stringing me along have failed, Aleister-chan. Did you truly think me so easily duped? Did you truly think me so easily manipulated~? No, no, little Aleister-chan. You'll have to gnaw on the foundations of some other enemy~. Good-bye."

He didn't respond, not verbally. Most was quiet, on the other end of the communication line, save for the identifiable sounds of soft, humming tech, and of shifting, glopping fluid.

Then, the line of communication was cut.

Aleister Crowley was running out of options.

February 10th, 2004. 8:01 PM.

At first, Tsuchimikado Motoharu was surprised that he had any sort of cellular surface at all; but, internally, he was quickly reminded by his own higher mind that Academy City's satellites were abounds, and, without a doubt, the reception they offered could likely be taken advantage of even in the deepest, darkest woodlands.

It made sense, then, that the Backstabbing Blade had managed to not only establish, but successfully maintain contact with Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton. Having taken advantage of the Accelerator's fully-charged cellphone, Motoharu had initiated a voice-only call.

"You've been trying for how long, now?"

"Hours. I think we've been had. I'm almost entirely certain that Kami-yan had something to do with this, and I'm not going to rest until we get to the bottom of it."

"And—"

"I've got my orders. GROUP's already been split up by that motherfucker, we've lost Musujime. Now it's just myself, A, E and A's main squeeze... Wherever she went off to."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu began to absent-mindedly mull about the jet's cockpit, as David Horton fell silent.

Against the walling nearest the door which lead into the jet's central level, Etzali stood close to the Backstabbing Blade, arms folded across his chest. Looking down to his feet, he blinked only occasionally.

"Are you there? Or did you fall asleep? Take your goddamn medication, you ancient bag of bones."

"Keep talking, Tsuchimikado…"

"Hey, you're alive! Thought Hamasaki was gonna have to bury you. I could just do the job myself. Not burying you. I mean… I can have A comb the area for Kami-yan and his group, drag 'em back here if need be. A seems to have gone off the radar, which is fine. He's probably keeping a low profile. The issue of the pamphlets isn't going to solve itself, either, but that can be taken care of. Just got to have the right links. Hearing reports that the Traditionalist Crusade is about in the United Kingdom… which doesn't make a lot of sense, but, what does make sense nowadays?"

On the other end of the call, David Horton produced a sigh. The Gladio-Oculus' lips could be heard sucking about on something. Then, another vocalization could be heard; a long, deep exhalation.

There he was, a fifty-something-year-old bag of shit, smoking cancer sticks like they were candy. Then again, Tsuchimikado Motoharu silently reminded himself that no one had ever said the Operative was smart, by any means. Effective at carrying out his duties, but not necessarily smart.

"Keep the heat off Gladio, and off the Oculus. Keep the heat off us. Do that, and I couldn't give a shit less if you have the Accelerator tear the entirety of the United Kingdom apart…"

"I think he'd like that a little bit too much," Motoharu remarked, barely able to withhold his own snickering.

"Before you go," Horton stated, his words practically falling out of his mouth as he spoke quickly, almost frantically, "Gladio Operative Hamasaki Tsubasa has received something in the way of answers as well. Even managed to get some locations of interest for us, so, you might want to look into that, if time permits."

Conveniently enough, Horton didn't speak of Hamasaki Tsubasa's apparent betrayal.

"Names," Motoharu snapped, heart slamming inside of him at a suddenly increased rate. Leaning forward, the Backstabbing Blade came to a halt, as his movements garnered the attention of the Aztec magician, nearby.

"Give me names, Horton."

"Island of Leso, Greece. Saint Petersburg, Russia. Academy City, Japan. Osaka, Japan. Tokyo, Japan. Antarctica, no other details specified. Principality of Andorra," Horton rattled off, like the barrel of a machine gun ejecting so many piercing rounds.

"Could be bases of operation for these… Taured folks. Alternatively, it could be a complete ruse designed to fuck with us, spread our forces across the globe, weaken us. 'This side of the globe, we're considering the Academy City issue. I'll keep you updated whenever updates decide to arrive, Tsuchimikado."

"A plan indeed, even if it's half-assed and barely functional," the Backstabbing Blade acknowledged. With that, he terminated his connection to the voice call, and locked the phone, handing the device off to its owner, who retrieved it with a grunt of acknowledgement.

"About Kamijou-san..."

"He's no hero, E, not the person you remember making that 'promise' you're always babbling on about," Motoharu mumbled. "He's a killer, a sick fucking puppy."

"And we're not killers? Don't act so righteous."

For a moment, Tsuchimikado Motoharu and the Etzali locked eyes. The former's pacing came to a total halt. He seemingly seized up, mid-stride, like a great hairy cryptid captured in a cameraman's lens.

Then, he chuckled. Stuffing either of his hands into the pockets of his suit's pants, Tsuchimikado Motoharu chuckled, shaking his head, as if he was observing the antics of a foolish, wayward child.

"You don't get it, do you? You really don't know what happened to Kami-yan, do you?"

"No," Etzali acknowledged, "I don't know. All I do know is that he supposedly went missing, everyone lost their minds. He comes back, everything's fine. That's the extent of my knowledge. I don't have time to go poking around in other peoples' business. Unlike you."

"I have my own business to care of, Tsuchimikado. I only agreed to reform GROUP because I was threatened into doing so. Do you think I care about any of this? Do you think Accelerator cares? Or Musujime, for that matter? I'm here for the pay. What do you do, aside from spying on matters you aren't involved in?"

The eyes of both Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the Backstabbing Blade and Etzali, the Aztec magician locked for a few moments more, before the latter seemed to relent.

"If I might suggest something that may solve this issue… Perhaps those who Kamijou Touma has decided to go gallivanting with, including this "Saint Lessar" are simply unaware that you're attempting to contact them through traditional means? Quite possibly, a magical mode of communication would allow for distance to be breached between your groups. I could cast such a spell, if both Accelerator and yourself are otherwise unable to do so."

Apparently, the spy hadn't considered that. He certainly didn't look like someone who'd considered such a rational and performable concept.

"Need somethin' that belongs to one of 'em," Motoharu rattled.

With that exchanging coming to a close, a search began.

February 10th, 2004. 8:15 PM.

"Touma, Touma! Look at all this food! We have to bring it back to our room!"

"Index… we really shouldn't be dawdling. C'mon, I'm sure we can haul this stuff back later, if you really want it. The Amakusa have never been selfish, I'm sure they'd love to share."

Kamijou Touma and Index, the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoire Volumes had found themselves sidetracked; at least, the latter individual had found themselves sidetracked.

Wandering the vacant halls of Havenshire's fully-stocked, yet, oddly vacant general store – located in an isolated, run-down wing of the motel nearby the lobby with the makeshift church, Index had gone as far as to snatch up a basket, which she'd filled with goods, retrieved from various isles, of which there were a few.

Even though the general store was obviously not a functioning vendor of goods and foodstuffs, the little nun was either unaware of this fact or didn't care enough to heed the concept that she might've been trespassing.

In her hand, she'd picked up multiple cans of shredded salmon. The little nun with the silver hair balanced them in her available hand; she was about to grab at another, before her quest was interrupted by the words of her 'keeper', who'd intruded upon her fantasy.

In fairness, Index had to admit that she was in no position to become angry with him. He'd obviously humoured her for a few minutes, allowing her to go about her business, regardless of the fact that they were meant to be two people on a mission.

With this floating about in her higher mind, Index cooperatively placed her near-full basket of goodies down in the middle of the seafood isle, along with the cans she'd retrieved.

"Tou-ma. Promise we'll come back."

With a pat to the top of her head and a soft and affectionate, if quick peck to her cheek, Touma nodded in affirmation.

"I promise we'll come back and get you some food. We'll talk to Agnese-san before we take anything though, just to be sure. How does that sound?"

"Good!"

Without further incident, both the former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker and the little nun with the silver hair picked themselves up, proverbially and literally, and soon left the general store behind, stepping out through the rickety, creaking old doors.

Returning to the elevators, then calling an elevator car to deliver the two onto the motel's third floor, they disembarked once the car's doors creaked open, as if protesting their use.

In the dank, poorly-maintained corridor of the third floor, the sight Touma and Index spotted certainly wasn't what either party had been expecting. Without a doubt, neither particularly knew what it was that the were expecting to see; but it certainly wasn't the sight which they laid their respective visions upon.

Musujime Awaki, Oriana Thomson and Saint Lessar were crouched before an open doorway without a door, which offered an unprotected path leading into a motel room. Huddled closely together, they seemed to speak, then occasionally look up from their position, and retreat once more, seemingly to exchange words.

Beyond the former New Light Leader and Operative, beyond the crouching Move Point user, striding through the mostly-open fieldscapes surrounding the 'abandoned' motel, they rode atop many horses. Clearly, this motel room had been damaged, somehow; an entire section of walling had collapsed, exposing the world beyond the room's shattered interior.

Easily, there were two dozen of them.

While their steeds were of different colourations, hues of brown, black and white being visible, forming something of a multicoloured, perpetually-moving sea, each heavily-armoured figure seated atop the beasts were clad in the same overall 'design' of body armor.

Unburdened by enormous, almost absurdly large pauldrons mounted upon their shoulders, dyed a shade of crimson and great, closed-faced, winged helmets, the mounted warriors were clad from their crowns to their bases in thick, terribly heavy-looking plated armor, each with a crooked, sainted cross placed smack in the centre of their monolithic chestplates. Great tower shields were cast over their backs.

Their beasts pulled something very queer indeed. Behind them, they pulled an enormous, metallic cage, bound in place and restrained, attached to a titanic, wood-carven wagon whose wheels shook and creaked aloud.

The cage was no empty, nor was it merely for show. It was stuffed, full to the brim with humans. Living, breathing, screaming humans.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Index looked on, eyelids widened, as the hands of her 'keeper' shifted. Ribbons of machine-phase matter danced madly, like swarms of angered bees rushing from their hive. Then, sharpened and elongated to the point of absurdity, Kamijou Touma strode forward, bearing his weapons of war. Quietly, Index marched alongside him.

It was Musujime Awaki who'd heard his footfalls first, the clacking of shoe soles against cobbled walkway catching her attention. The Move Point user turned back, and offered Kamijou Touma a tilt of her head, and a raise of her eyebrow.

"Loverboy," Lessar whispered, rather harshly, "get down and don't move. Crusaders are in Bristol… for some reason. They're not supposed be operating on UK soil. They're probably using a People-Clearing Field spell to avoid being immediately noticed."

Touma decreased his form's density, and, subsequently, his footfalls became entirely silent, as, soon, he no longer walked at all; instead, he drifted on the wind, like a feather.

"The what?"

"Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade," Oriana stated firmly. Kamijou Touma was apparently expected to know precisely what this subject was. The truth of the matter was, he didn't. Apparently realizing this, the ex-freelancer clicked her tongue, more than likely in irritation.

Her brainwave patterns certainly suggested irritation was present within her.

"Part of the reason why the Amakusa-style Remix of Church has left the Church of England behind," the former Leader of New Light snapped. "Necessarius enables the Crusade to move about, purging 'heretics' from the face of the Earth, treating other human beings like dirt, like they're… Less, supposedly, because their God tells them to. A genocidal tyrant-God is no God of mine, and the Anglican Church itself is not any better. It has come to endorse the Crusade, and the Roman Orthodoxy's desire to purge the world of 'impure' faiths. Islam isn't a faith whose tenets I can agree with, but its moderate practitioners don't deserve to be hunted and slaughtered, or even forced to become Christian."

Lessar nodded, affirmatively.

"Thomson's got just about everything right. We Amakusa have agents on the inside, and, I'm sure they have crusaders spyin' on us, too, the bastards. It's how we know so much about their messed-up cause. From what we've gathered, the Crusade was formed after the fall of God's Right Seat, as something of a response to the defeat of God's Right S…"

Lessar stopped speaking, for a moment; this, in fact, was caused by her sudden focus on the Move Point user, who took to looking quite strangely at Kamijou Touma.

"These?" he rhetorically inquired. "That's a long story, Musujime… You're just noticing now? Anyways, so, about these Crusader assholes. Any special powers, crazy magic I… I mean, we should know about? Or can I just rush in and kill the lot of them? Actually, I have another question. Why are you guys… In hiding? Looks to me like that's what's goin' on, here."

"Tou-ma is right, you know," Index interjected, with a sagely nod of her head. "You seem to be in a state of fear. I don't have any information on this… "Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade" in my Volumes, but I do know plenty about the Crusades of old, the Church-sanctioned response to the Islamic invasion of the Holy Land!"

"We move," Oriana began, "and we potentially expose Hawkhaven as an Amakusa base of operations. Look at the ground beneath your feet, for a moment. Closest to the fences."

"So, in that case we're going to let screaming kidnapping victims get carried off to some terrible fate? I counted, by the way. There're one hundred and twenty-five people in that cage. That's a small village's population."

"Just look, Kamijou Touma," Oriana demanded, speaking in considerably impressive and surprisingly fluent Japanese.

Both Kamijou Touma and Index did what was asked of them, looking to the Earth. Musujime Awaki, who'd recently become privy to this detail didn't bother miming the act; instead, she remained crouched, her form pressed up against a close section of the fencing.

Teleporting the cage was apparently out of the option; the backlash received was a painful experience Awaki still found herself recovering from. Her silence, in fact, was caused by the setting of a certain reality, like a falling sun in a dusk sky: if she was going to learn more about the "Magic Side", she would first need more "Science Side" power.

Kamijou Touma and Index gazed on. There were runes, carved into the Earth itself, one both sides of the fencing, for as far and as wide as either of their eyes could see.

Curiously, Touma sent a nanorobotic scouting unit forward to scan and observe where his own eyes couldn't. Indeed, surrounding the entirety of the motel's exterior, these runes were carved, many repeating, but, others being completely nonidentical to each other. Some depicted what resembled a cloaked, hooded figure, displayed from the waist-up, wielding an enormous, jagged knife, while others depicted crude images of large cat-like creatures. Others, yet looked like letters; Index herself was quick to recognize these to be of Nordic origin.

"A People Clearing Field of your own?" Index inquired, lowering herself and briefly looking over the formations of the carvings.

In response, Oriana shook her head, no.

"Sight-Obscuring Field. Contrary to popular belief, the Crusaders aren't magicians themselves; they're instead greatly-trained warriors. Their equipment is enhanced through Roman Orthodox magics, but otherwise, the lot are perfectly average human beings."

"Like marines?" Touma inquired, to which Oriana produced a soft, barely-audible "mhm".

"Essentially. They're in top physical condition, constantly put through brutal training regimens… our plant wouldn't stop complaining about the horrid food they serve in their training camps. It only makes sense, given that most former members of God's Right Seat went on to break away from their Church, and take their vast array of talents with them. Obviously, Pope Matthai Reese wasn't fond… the Roman Orthodoxy clearly doesn't want to make the same mistake twice."

Kamijou Touma looked to Musujime Awaki, and scooted towards her. The nun with the silver hair pouted momentarily, before she suddenly looked like she'd remembered something important, and swiftly halted her course of action.

"How's this for another Magic Side incident?" Touma muttered, pushing himself close to the Move Point user. "Enjoying yourself? Not quite everything it's cracked up to be, but look, let's talk about something a bit more positive. Want to know something cool?"

"If you're trying to make me feel less freaked out than I already am," Awaki began, "the thought's a cute one, but it's not gonna work, Kamijou. I don't think I've ever seen people getting hauled off in cages before, and, honestly? It's something I could've gone without seeing."

"And that's exactly why I'm going to kill every single one of those Crusader motherfuckers. Cool, no?"

Awaki spoke no words in response. Instead, she merely offered that boy a smirk of approval, and an affirmative nod of her head.

"Index. On my back, yeah?"

"T-Touma?!"

"Back, c'mon, we're going to lose sight of 'em if we don't push it. You want to come along, be included on my fucked up adventures, right? So here's your chance. You know what's happening, I just told you what I'm going off to do. You don't have to come. Just putting the option out there."

"T-To… Touma… I'm coming with!"

"Kamijou-kun..."

"Loverboy, hold it. I know what you're… hey! Hold up! Wait! Loverboy, get back! LOVERBOY! KAMIJOU!"

With the little, silver-haired nun, "Index Librorum Prohibitorum" clinging to his back like a monkey, Kamijou Touma spawned forth four enormous wings of machine-phase matter. They beat against the air as he quickly rose, flying straight upwards towards the clouds. Index's stomach churned and twisted inside of her as she held back more than one scream of instinctual terror.

Below, Oriana, Lessar and Musujime Awaki slowly grew smaller, as did the perpetually-moving mass that was the mounted "Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade" warriors, or, so-called warriors.

Kamijou Know knew the truth of that matter. It was a ruse, a sham. True warriors didn't load their fellows, regardless of their race, creed or upbringing into a cage, like so many dogs being hauled off to some pound.

He suddenly barrelled downwards; two great, buzzing strands of nanorobotic resin emerged from Touma's back, and wrapped themselves around the little nun, Index, holding her safely in place. Against her face her lips smacked, buffeted around by the wind.

"I have an idea, Index," Touma spoke, as he positioned himself above the moving Crusader-hoard, wings beating against the air and allowing their owner to hover in mid-air; this, too allowed for Index to regain control over her churning stomach.

"These guys are Roman Orthodox, right? Can you do that thing where you sing and make them fall over? I forget what it was… Stiyl called it something… "Something Fear"? You kicked the Agnese Forces' asses pretty hard way back when with that."

"Oh, you mean Sheol Fear, Touma?" Index queried, panting softly. "Sheol Fear might just work. You'll have to get me close though. You're… Tou-ma, you're not really going to… kill them, are you?"

He emulated the sound a human would make, if they'd exhaled and produced a sigh.

"Index, Thomson said it herself. That junker of a motel is an Amakusa base, they're going out of their way to keep it hidden. The Crusaders, or whatever they are, they're going to correctly assume we both came from there, and, if they're allowed to survive, they're going to spill the beans to whoever it is they spill beans to, probably a commanding officer or something of the like. We get rid of them, or they get rid of our friends. Which is it going to be, Index? This isn't some fantasy world where everyone can be saved. Some smiles have to fade, that's just… The reality of the thing."

Even as he continued to observe their movements, even as he moved forward in response, continuously ensuring that he was above the "warriors", who could hardly be called warriors, Index, the little nun with the silver hair wrapped her arms around the shoulders of her 'keeper'.

"Touma?" She rhetorically inquired; he was poised to answer, but, the little nun spoke first.

"What about a world where everyone can be happy? Everyone deserves salvation and a second chance, Touma. Everyone lives in God's Light, in one way or another. God likes every person who's alive, and, as a sister, it's my job to shepherd the lost lambs who stray from God's Holy Light. If I'd been with you, I would've tried to shepherd..."

"I know you would have. I know you would've tried to save Accelerator, Index. But a monster like that can't ever be saved. Monsters like this can't be saved, either. I know, sweetheart. This has got to be hard for you. A lot harder for you than for me."

Index contemplated, quietly. How long was she going to continue believing in her own rhetoric? Index was forced to admit, that's exactly what it'd become. It was rhetoric, something just spat out when the time called for it, when a situation needed to be manipulated, its course steered.

Then, Kamijou Touma spoke once more.

"If He's so all-powerful, the being who created everything just because He wanted it to be created," Touma began, vocalizing his potentially controversial remark, "then why doesn't He just make the world perfect? It's been done before, Index. The world has been made perfect before, and that was done by a… A very powerful being. If something that isn't God, and, therefore, must be less than God can make a perfect world, why can't God do it?"

Kamijou Touma manoeuvred himself into a nosedive, his great wings of nanorobotic resin beating against the air. His hands shifted, ribbons of machine-phase matter dancing, as they became hands once more, instead of elongated, sharpened blades.

"The fact of the matter is, Index… if there's a God, he doesn't give a fuck about any of us! So, we'll do what that lazy, good-for-nothing cow can't or won't do, and we'll do it ourselves! If it's all part of some "Divine Plan", it's not a plan I want a DAMN thing to do with! Fuck God, for not giving me a choice! Fuck God, for making me kill these people! Strike me dead, hurl lightning at me, if you're such a big-shot! GO! Do something, anything, you lazy deadbeat!"

He neared them. Kamijou Touma was some mere thirty feet away. One, nearest the back of the group, closest to the great and macabre load they carried had begun to crane his neck, evidently having detected some sort of anomalous, audible stimulus.

"Together… Touma. Y-you don't bear this burden alone."

Even as tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, even as she sniffled, even as she grieved for the lives that would be lost, the little nun, Index, she'd come to figure it out. She understood. She considered and she understood. She, too, would shoulder the weight. No, it certainly wasn't what the Church of England taught. It was beyond the doctrine.

But what had the Church of England's doctrine ever done for her?

Yet, if God was so mighty, if God was so infallible, so perfect, so utterly, utterly insurmountable, then why was there suffering? Why did children in foreign lands starve while those in others flourished, becoming plump and decadent? Why was there murder, and why was there rape?

Why did someone like Kamijou Touma have to suffer?

The reality slapped Index in the face as Kamijou Touma nearly closed the mere, few inches between himself and the band of Roman Orthodox "Crusaders".

If God was good, why did He permit suffering?

If God was omnipotent, why would the destruction of suffering exist as an element beyond his power? If He created suffering, why could he not undo it?

If God was just, why did injustice reign supreme across the countries of the world?

The answer had never been clearer. As Kamijou Touma's fist connected with the back of a "Crusader", the farthest of the group, the closest to the caged humans who'd found themselves treated like the lowest of animals, like so many pieces of rubbish collected from the depths of a disgusting dustbin, the answer made itself known within the mind of Index, the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoire Volumes.

God was not good.

God was not omnipotent.

God was not just.

God was a horrid and abhorrent thing.

There were no calls to arms, no exclamations of terror, or of horror or of anger. Instead, the "Crusaders" acted as one, seemingly without a sole, vocalized command. Even as Kamijou Touma's target fell, his helmet forcibly knocked from his head by the power of Touma's fist, the density of which had been far increased, they did not falter.

Blades, flails, polearms which each "Crusader" wielded in one hand came forth, unsheathed and brandished before their foe.

As a group, they came forward, moving as a singular super-organism; and yet, as quickly as they formed up, their formation was broken.

Deep within her mind, the mind holding the one hundred and three thousand Grimoires, a certain fixation, a certain chant was 'plucked' from one of so many pages, pulled forward like a lucky card from a deck.

Index's sorrowful lamentation began, taking the form of a song as her hands clasped before her, as if she was in a state of repentance. Strands of machine-phase matter wrapped further around her, fastening her and securing her in place. The little nun's eyes closed, as she sung her dreadful tune.

They fell. Their doctrine challenged, their every tenet debated, their every ideal crushed before them, the "Crusaders" fell from the backs of their unnerved beasts, who quickly abandoned them and rushed for the safety of the wilds outside Bristol, where they would surely find more meaningful existences.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Kamijou Touma spoke, as his left shifted, ribbons of nanorobotic resin danced, changing shape, from hand to sharpened, curved, hooked blade.

"Not sure what any of you unlucky folks did, but, here. You're off the hook. Try not to get captured again, if possible."

The lock upon the cage was not merely sliced. In one hand, which had remained a hand, Kamijou Touma took the lock, and shifted the density of the extremity.

Soon, the equivalency of six hundred thousand pounds of force was upon the lock, and it could not hold out. Its function failed, its purpose was shattered, as were the restraints that allowed the lock to work at all as it was intended. With a slice of his left blade-hand, the lock fell, and the cage door was thrown open.

Like a human tidal wave, those who'd been loaded in fell, some weeping, some shouting to the skies themselves. Mothers clutched their suckling children to their bosom, and fathers spoke words of gratitude as they brokenly shuffled away, moving in a direction which held sights and locations unknown to Kamijou Touma.

Index's mournful wail-song continued, its hymns wracking the very minds of the "Crusaders".

Before the toppled group, Kamijou Touma knelt, Index remaining upon his back. He peered down at the 'Crusaders' as if they were little more than living garbage.

"Huh. You're all pretty pathetic-looking, aren't you? Look at this… quite a sight to see. Maybe… you know what? I have an idea. Just roll with me, here. Hear me out."

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

His right hand shifted shape once more, machine-phase matter bending to his whim, as it took on the appearance of a spade's head. His 'wrist' became elongated, as it hummed.

"Maybe I'll just bury the lot of you alive. Or… maybe… you know, a spade has other uses, aside from just digging holes…"

For a moment, Kamijou Touma truly considered the option of destroying his foes' heads with his spade-hand, breaking their skulls and shattering their faces like so many pieces of expensive, imported china; but he soon found himself looking back to the form of Index, who continued her song.

If he was going to kill in front of her, it, at least, should be humane. Quick, efficient and mostly-painless.

"Index? I want you to know that this isn't what I want to happen, I'm not doing this because I'm some sadistic monster. I'm doing this because I'm not being given any other choice. It's our friends, our allies or them, and…"

Her singing came to an end. Index leaned the side of her face against her 'keeper's' back, as he raised his right hand, machine-phase matter flowing freely, moving upwards and expanding.

The "Crusaders" struggled to rise. Their bodies seemed to betray them. Many slipped and many fell back to the cool grass beneath them.

"Touma… I understand that. Please… Touma… make it quick…"

"I will. I promise I'll end this quick. They won't even feel it."

"But I wish they did. I wish I could wipe their families out of existence, slaughter them all like lambs, drive the whole lot of these Roman Orthodoxy motherfuckers to the edge of extinction, and then give 'em a playful shove… I'm not here to save you. I'm here to end you."

Kamijou Touma's right hand had vanished completely; there remained no hand, not even a blade-hand to stand in its place.

Instead, a monumental thing, shaped like the head of a sledgehammer had formed. Twenty feet tall and thirty feet across, the buzzing mass of machine-phase matter's density was forcibly increased.

Coerced by gravity's pull, the mass of machine-phase matter was yanked downwards.

With a tremendous thud that shook the very Earth, a thud that caused Index's entire body to vibrate, those "Crusaders", each one of them, in fact, caught beneath the titanic thing's fall were crushed, dying before every bone in their bodies were ground to mere dust particles, their flesh forcibly torn, their brains and fragments of their skulls splattering about like the sprayed liquid released from a spilled bowl of fruit punch.

"Index… look. I want you to keep your eyes closed, okay? I'll tell you when to open them. Remember how I did that for you, when you asked? You think you can do the same for me? I-Index… I-I'm… fuck, what the fuck did I just do?! Index!"

"It felt good. Killing these cocksuckers… It felt better than cumming all over Seria's face… yet… Index…"

"Touma."

"INDEX! I'm…"

"It's okay, Tou-ma. It's going to be okay. Sometimes, we have to make tough decisions… they deserved it, Touma. They deserved what they got. If their actions are sanctioned by God himself, then God is cruel and evil. Not every ending can be a fairy tale "happily ever after". Some people... Tou-ma, some people just don't deserve it!"

Kamijou Touma 'turned' in place, nanorobotic resin doing as he commanded. In mere seconds, he faced Index, who found herself clinging to his chest, instead of his back. Her eyes were closed.

He'd removed the monumental, hammerhead-like weapon he'd forged, and, quickly, the thing fell apart, machine-phase matter rushing back to Touma's main mass, from where it'd originated.

With an almost feverish haste, Touma threw his arms around Index's shoulders.

"Just keep those eyes closed for me, until we get over the hill. I'm…"

Index had heard more than enough. Even as her head throbbed, even as she, herself questioned everything she'd ever known, she spoke softly to Kamijou Touma, her 'keeper', the boy who was no longer a boy who she'd put through so very much. Who'd trudged through so very much to stay at her side.

Put simply, she adored him.

"Don't be sorry Touma. Anyone who obeys the command to lock people up in a cage, helpless, innocent babies… They deserve to die. If God isn't going to punish them, then we will, Touma."

The task of burying the bodies was upon them.