Special Thanks for Beta-ing to my good friend Rubix22.

World's End

Chapter 1

Accelerator can't sleep. He tried to force himself to despite the caffeine, but all he had accomplished was rolling around in his bed sheets, restless as ever. It's nigh impossible to relax with this kind of weight on his shoulders. How could he let himself dream after that? It'd be hard to figure out whether you are awake or sleeping. So Accelerator contented with the fact that he would not get a night's sleep tonight. And then the chain smoking began. And before he knew it, his entire cigarette pack was gone.

Accelerators hacks a bit and sighs long and deep. The most depressing fact is that he feels even more on edge than before going through the pack. He digs his fingers into his jowls and growls in displeasure. The room is lit only by his TV playing the finale of Breaking Bad. However, he doesn't care about it at all. That shit's too depressing now, Accelerator thinks. Only a few hours ago, he would've strangled anyone who would've dared to voice such a blasé opinion about the goddamn finale of his favorite show.

On Accelerator's lap is a Rubik's cube. After making a mess of his apartment, some old things had been thrown out onto the floor, including this. It's a toy a certain researcher had given him years ago to warm up before exercises and tests, back when concentration was problematic for his power's development. He has shuffed the cube back and forth from messy to complete 22 times while watching the TV.

Why am I even playing with this crap? It got boring before I even finished it once, thinks Accelerator with a certain amount of nostalgia. He looks at the Rubik's cube and a question pops up, Actually, is it spelled with a 'k' or an 'x' at the end? Wait, what am I thinking? How am I even asking myself what the English spelling is since my thoughts are in Japanese and—ugh…

That makes Accelerator think—god, he hates when that happens now. Nothing is what I remember. It's somebody else's memories; somebody else's actions. This Rubik's cube isn't really mine; my skills aren't my own…

Even if Keeper tried to reassure him, and even if he understands what he is supposed to be, it isn't easy to handle the fact. Is he really who he thinks he is? Is what he thinks authentic to himself or merely a reiteration of somebody else's psychology? Doesn't this mean he has no free will at all? Pure fatalism? So many questions start turning his brain into a fine pâté, but his main existential problem is this: How could he handle masquerading in another person's skin?

For the better, his internal struggle is interrupted when hasty successive knocks come from the front door. At this hour? He forces himself to go to the door, Rubik's cube still in hand. He speaks glued to the door in an annoyed voice, "Who the hell is this?"

"H-Hey! You're there! Thank god!"

Accelerator eyes go wide in surprise. "Hamadura?"

"Uh, what? It's Hamazura dude."

Accelerator blinks. "Oh."

"N-Nevermind that," Hamazura says hastily. "I have a serious emergency here!"

Without delay, Accelerator removes the chain lock on his door and opens. Hamazura looks haggard and flustered, and legitimately overwhelmed. "I found this kid," he says while gesturing erratically. "I was walking back from my friend's place when I noticed her trailing me. She was walking around naked and barefooted with only a ragged cloth on her body, and she speaks all weird, and she followed me here—AND I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT TO DO!" Hamazura then holds his hand against his chest, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. "A-And you know," Hamazura mumbles quickly, "I don't want Anti-Skill to think I did anything gross with this little girl…"

Accelerator looks on, an eyebrow jumping to the edge of his scalp. Swiftly, he moves a finger between himself and the confused blond, and says, "You see this finger?"

Hamazura looks on with confusion. "Uh?"

And the finger swings from side to side, and Hamazura's eyes follow it until he grows confused enough to ask, "What are we doing?"

Accelerator immediately halts his movement and nods to himself. "Yeah, your eyes aren't sluggish, and you seem sober enough. You're just a bit of a hysteric and anxious."

Hamazura grips at his hair and howls in desperation, "Argh, what kind of a judgmental person are you?! This is no laughing matter! We might be dealing with a child molestation case! Don't make these sorts of complacent jokes, Level 5!"

Accelerator rolls his eyes and lets out a world-weary sigh. "Just show me, alright? I can handle the cops while you have your panic attack in the bathroom."

After Hamazura regained a certain amount of composure, he led Accelerator to his room. He unlocks the front door and ushers Accelerator in. "Sorry for disturbing you," the albino says ironically.

It's surprisingly tidy for a run-of-the-mill student with no apparent worth or research worthy esper ability. Hamazura heads right into the living room and surveys the area. "Can you see if she's in the bathroom?" he asks with visible worry. "On your right."

Without tact, Accelerator forces it open, but it's deserted. He shakes his head at Hamazura.

"Um, well, she has to here," Hamazura insists and nods to himself. "I mean, she was frolicking around when I snuck out to get you."

"Could she have run off?"

Taking Accelerator's suggestion, Hamazura hastily checks his apartment's windows and the balcony door. "Nope, it's nothing here. Front door was just locked too."

As the blond says this and starts mumbling to himself, Accelerator arrives in the living room. He stands there with an irked expression. "By any chance, you wouldn't happen to have a reliance on hallucinogenic drugs?" Accelerator jabs with a thin, mocking smirk.

Of course, Hamazura goes upright and straight as a ruler when he hears this. He hasn't understood Accelerator's sense of humor, so he starts prattling to defend his faltering pride, "How could a poor student like myself even afford that kind of crap?!"

"Drugs are becoming surprisingly cheap these days," Accelerator snorts.

"I can't even stand cigarette smoke! How could I handle—"And suddenly, a cloaked midget jumps out from underneath the window drapes and hooks its arms around Hamazura, who is miming and gesturing to add a dramatic effect to his plea of innocence.

"Surprise! says Misaka as Misaka attempts a practical joke!" And the scaredy-cat Hamazura Shiage starts screaming in terror, unaware that he is giving some tawny-haired kid with an ahoge a piggy back ride—one that she is enjoying thoroughly. "Yay! This is something Misaka wanted to try! exclaims Misaka as Misaka—eeep!" Accelerator yanks off the brat as Hamazura runs past him; and he glares down at her, his red eyes searing. "Hey, that wasn't very nice of you! Misaka was busy experiencing the Hamazura-style rodeo—"

"Shut the fuck up, brat," Accelerator snarls viciously. "You have a lot of nerve to be playing jokes when you're causing this guy so much worry, and when you're bothering me, the Number Two Level 5. So I'd suggest you straighten out pretty fuckin' quick or I'll have to teach you a life lesson or two."

He talks to her like he does with anyone else: rough, straight to the point, and wholly inconsiderate. Perhaps even a sprinkle of intentional cruelty. But then, the brat's eyes well up with big, salty tears; her body shakes uncontrollably like a loose leaf in autumn, and she lowers her head in shame.

Hamazura, who by that time had stopped his marathon and understood what had jumped him, says only the Level 5's name: "Accelerator." It's not in a neutral tone; it seems like he wants to berate Accelerator for what he had done to the kid. But being that Accelerator could easily have a mood swing and could very well decide to decapitate him on the spot, he swallows whatever words he has in his throat.

Accelerator clicks his tongue and lowers himself to be face to face with this kid. "Oi, your name's Misaka right?" he says with purposeful gentleness.

"M-Misaka's name is L-Last Order, says Misaka a-as Misaka…"

Accelerator isn't about to question her on that strange name, or that odd way of talking, or what she is exactly. Rather, he holds up the Rubik's cube he had kept in one hand and shows it to Last Order. "You ever seen one of these?"

Last Order snivels for a moment and shakes her head from side to side

"It's called a Rubik's cube," Accelerator says while shuffling the cube back to its complete state. "The point of the game is to shuffle these parts from being messy to like so. Of course, only smart kids can pull this off." With a few fast twists, the cube is back to a messy, resolvable state. "But I'm sure you can pull that off while me and Hamazura here talk a bit."

Last Order's face is clear of sadness. It's now filled with amazement and curiosity. "Are you challenging Misaka at this game? asks Misaka as Misaka wants to be sure she understands."

"Yeah," Accelerator nods then stands back up. "Finish it by yourself and I'll get you whatever ice cream you want tomorrow."

"You swear? says Misaka as Misaka suspects you might be playing a sick game."

Accelerator clicks his tongue again and brings one of his pinky fingers to view. "Put yours around mine, shake it twice, and let go. That means if I go back on my word, I'll get struck by lightning, run over by a train then pissed on by a tanooki. That's how serious I am."

It means nothing to him considering his powers even if it does happen, but the rhetorical effect is what matters as it wows Last Order. The two of them make the pinky swear; and Last Order goes to sit down quietly on the couch while fiddling the Rubik's cube. All the while, Hamazura gapes at the scene he has witnessed, thinking that he should've stealthily taken a picture of this.

"Wow," Hamazura whistles at the near silence accomplished. "You have some talent with this."

Accelerator shakes his head while his eyes are on Last Order. "It's nothing."

"No, really. That's some parental instincts you have."

Accelerator's eye twitches, and he mechanically rotates his head. "Are you implying something?"

Hamazura holds out his hands with a deer-in-headlights look, unable to understand Accelerator's change. Had he just said anything insulting? Although the unfortunate Hamazura can't possibly know, the gender neutral term 'parental' is what irritates the gangly albino. "I mean, you had the tone of a father mixed with the tenderness of a mother and I thought it was amazing—"

"What," Accelerator says blankly. His eyes are boiling, and veins start to pop on his head.

Hamazura senses the danger level rising despite his efforts to compliment the albino esper. "I-I don't know what I'm doing right now to get you in a bad mood, but please calm down!"

"So you aren't making a comment on—you know." Accelerator grunts and looks at himself with self-awareness. "This."

Hamazura scratches his head and inspects Accelerator with careful eyes. "Well, now that you mention it, you do look slightly effeminate—"

In half a second, Accelerator pins down Hamazura on the floor in a wrestling move known in the business as "The Snappy Back." It consists of holding your opponent on top as you grip their ankles and shoulders while jamming your knee right into their back.

"Say uncle you shithead!" Accelerator hisses. "Say it. Say it! SAY ITTT!"

"ARGHHH! UNCLE! DON'T SNAP MY SPINE IN HALF! UNCLE UNCLE UNCLEEE!"

"Ssh! says Misaka as Misaka thinks hard about how obtain her ice cream and asks for a proper work environment!"

•••

Mark Space is an Englishman thus a perfect gentleman—a servant whose training comes from the greatest maids of the British Royal Family. And he hates his life. Every moment brings him closer to a noose rather than a well-earned retirement. His very existence is despised, and he continues to be rolled around in mud and pig shit and vomit and aborted fetuses every single day. He struggles each time he goes to sleep, wondering if he should or should not use the handgun he keeps tucked under his pillow to splatter his gray matter all over his mattress. Simply put, being Mark is pain. But, having taken the oath of the servant, he strives on with his unrelenting warrior spirit. If anything, manservants are resilient.

It's past midnight in the foulest, most debauched section of District 10, date now August 31st. Mark has been walking through some alleys for a few minutes to find a black van with his target in it. Mark plans for all possibilities; and finding him, the child he has to care for, is as easy as the act of whistling.

"Well, have you found him yet?" asks the voice in his wireless earpiece.

"Up ahead. This will take a short moment, Kihara-sama. Please hold."

There it is, the blank van, as the tracker software on his phone indicates. It's swinging side to side incessantly; muffled yet horrifying howls escape its confines. Some would say that the car is possessed by an evil spirit; certain pious minds would ask forgiveness for the lost souls engaged in the sinful ritual inside.

Mark arrives at the van and raises a fist. Knock. Knock. Knock. There's no answer and erratic, murderous screams keep emanating from inside. So Mark continues, as this is what he must do—it's his duty. Knock. Knock. Knock. Finally the shaking subsides; there's a minute of stillness. Then a teenager swings the van door open then closes immediately. But Mark gets a momentary glimpse inside, and he sees a raven-haired beauty holding her clothes over her front, with a broken headband in one hand. Her frustration and spite for Mark are apparent.

The teen leans in, his square jaw inches from Mark's. He's glaring silently, fiddling to button up his shirt. His collarbone has big smudges of lipstick on, along with his neck and even a little bit on his cheeks.

"Yesssssss Mark?" he drawls out menacingly, a dangerous light in his aqua eyes.

"Waka-sama, I'm sorry to be interrupting you, but your father wanted to talk to you urgently about—"

The youth's fist clashes with Mark's jaw with a brutal pop, and he starts screeching and screaming out obscenities, "WHAT THE FUCK'S YOUR FUCKIN' PROBLEM YOU FUCKING FAGGOT?! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M FUCKIN' BUSY FUCKING YOU FUCKIN' FUCK FUCK—"

"Y-Your… f-father…"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE SENILE OLD FUCK! YOU THINK THIS IS FUCKIN' FUNNY TO JUST KNOCK ON MY FUCKIN' CAR WHILE I'M BANGING A SEX GODDESS YOU FUCKIN' FUCK FUCK—"

Mark coughs out a soup of blood and teeth from his mouth; his consciousness is near naught. Mark extends his faltering hand with his earpiece to his young master, who notices it; he snags it swiftly, then spits on Mark. Now that his duties are fulfilled, Mark lets himself fade away, for a little while at least.

"Daaaaaaad," the teen says while adjusting the earpiece. "Go fuck offffff somewhere in Hawaii and dieeeeee of old age. And do it faster pleaseeeee."

"Love you too Nirushu-kun," Amata coos sarcastically. "But this is urgent."

"Is this important enough that it can't wait for another half hour?" A smug huff escapes Nirushu's lips. "Because man, I hit the jackpot tonight."

"It better not be another dumb ass blonde, because that last girl made me want to pluck out her fuckin' vocal cords out every time she—"

"Oya, watch your fuckin' tongue," Nirushu hisses out. "I haven't forgiven you for that fiasco yet. So don't push me, old man, else I'm just going to hang up and go take a shit in your fridge."

"Tsk. Fine, fine."

As he is easing the soreness in his neck and smirks, Nirushu winds his wrists and stretches his arms out towards the sky. "So, what's the problem?"

"It's Radio Noise," says Amata in a flat tone.

"What, did one of the guys at Level 6 Shift suddenly go rogue after it got cancelled? Because that'd be hilarious."

Amata doesn't confirm or deny, as he is simply telling what he knows: "Someone let 20,001 out of her storage tank."

Nirushu is unfazed by what he hears; it sounds like a fun little challenge to tackle. "The Control Tower? That's interesting. Only a few know she exists," Nirushu notes. Glimpsing above, his eyes fill with the glimmers of the shining full moon. Since his childhood, he has always felt an attachment to the cool moon. "But, when did anyone even notice she was gone?"

"The facility she was being stored in only had one employee left packing belongings tonight. It took time for someone to notice since none of the alarms went off."

"Nothing at all?"

"Apparently not. That employee who found out tried to contact superiors, but they had all left for vacations. The info ended up transferred to me a few minutes ago."

Nirushu cackles to himself; a maniacal, face-splitting grin takes over his entire face. "Ho ho ho, now my interest is piqued. This is one hell of an insider we're dealing with if he disabled every safety mechanisms in place and just waltzed in."

"Good, because this is your case. Get to the root of this, and I'll have Hound Dog find out where 20,001 might be at."

"Wait… you don't know where she is?" This new information wipes away the amusement on Nirushu's features, replacing it with a frown.

"She's not connected to the Misaka Network," admits Amata.

Nirushu imagines the hysteria that would consume a few Directors if word got out of this. "There's something fishy going on here," he assesses. "Whoever let her out probably didn't leave it at that. We might be dealing with someone that has good enough knowledge of Radio Noise to bring it to its knees with a few lines of code slipped into the Control Tower's brain."

"I fucking know that," Amata scoffs. "Why do you think I called you, you shitty brat? You know more details about all this boring shit than me."

"I'm no expert," says Nirushu. "I know the specs of the units, the neural structure of the Misaka Network, and I set up parts of the cloning procedure years ago. Besides that, I haven't bothered with what ojiisan was doing with Level 6 Shift. He has so many Level 6 research projects that I can't take him seriously. He's just fucking around with whatever, trying to trigger a eureka moment in whatever retard he gets his hands on. It's not the methodological science I'd expect from our family's patriarch."

Amata groans at what he perceives as his son's fake modesty and verbal prattling. "Can you at least fix this?"

"For what kind of scientist do you take me? Even if I didn't have any background information to rely on, I'd figure it all out eventually. Just get a Testament ready and sedate Last Order when you find her."

"Fine. I'll send the data I have to your phone. Oh, and speaking about that…" There's a sudden shift in Amata's otherwise bored demeanor. "Why the fuck did you turn off your phone? I had to have that tool Mark come and find you. It's a fuckin' bother."

A thin smile emerges on Nirushu's lips. "What can I say? A man needs his privacy sometimes."

"And that's why you're just a Waka-sama: you're not dedicated enough, you shitty brat."

Nirushu's eyelids twitch at the sudden reproach. With calm, he mutters into the receiver, "The hell is that supposed to mean, old fart?"

"A true Kihara doesn't waste his nights prowling for women, slutbag."

Nirushu is going to snap back and call him an oozing, leathery cuntface, but the line goes dead. Always gets the last word, always, he thinks. And what's wrong with being a slutbag?

Nevertheless, his mind doesn't dwell as it's already a simmering stew of ideas and plans. First, he would go see the crime scene for himself, gather the crucial clues, and then mull over a cup of coffee. And from there on out, the rest of his investigation would be a walk in the park.

Whoever the culprits turn out to be—it's already clear to him that there's several collaborators involved—Nirushu has a few ways to crush whatever resistance they can put up. All of them hilarious and illegal under the Geneva Conventions. Not that Nirushu is looking forward to the tediousness of the coming hours—he would prefer not to bother with wet works at all. On the other hand, it has been a long time since he has dismembered someone limb to limb over some Bob Marley. The act itself brings him mysterious pleasure; infesting the core of a human's psyche with despair and fright before severing their main arteries is just something you can appreciate once in a while.

Before hopping in the driver seat, Nirushu peers down at Mark, who appears to be suffering from cranial trauma. There's a pang of guilt in his chest, but he decides to focus on more important matters rather than a worthless and replaceable pawn. "He can handle himself," Nirushu says to himself. "He always does."

Sinking into the cushy leather seat, Nirushu lazily jams a key in the ignition and turns on the onboard GPS. A few expert flicks of his fingers across the touchscreen plus a quick review of the data now on his cellphone, and his location is settled on the facility 20,001 was stored in. Apparently, the employee who discovered the crime is still there, which is perfect. He would need someone to fetch some data from the Misaka Network for a proper diagnostic.

But Nirushu's quick series of thoughts grind to a halt as tailored nails graze his nape from behind in circular patterns. Whenever he gets caught up in his own little world, Nirushu forgets to pay attention around him. Such as now, as he had momentarily forgotten that he fancies himself as the geekiest playboy in town. Assuming that's even an actual title worth bragging about.

"Welcome back, boy," a sultry voice whispers against his ear.

One arm reaches for his forearm to pull him away from the gearshift while another crawls around the hollows of his back. Calm and soft breathing tickles his ears and tense backbone in tortuous ways. And shit, his heart booms in his chest, craving more. "Um, Kumokawa, right?" Nirushu says, his mind foggy as he's thoroughly enjoying the heat of her flushed skin and the long, rough strokes of her nails from his neck to scalp.

"You even remember my name," she sighs, and her eyelashes flutter for a second. "But call me Seria." And the way she's extending her squirming body forward from the back seat gives him quite a sight to behold. Nirushu's throat feels dry; his cock throbs in a mix of confusion, lust and fatigue. All his self-control stops himself from leaping back there and turning the car into a puddle of sour, pungent fluids.

"I appreciate your interest, Seria, but I'm dealing with an emergency here and I have to—"

"Tsk, shush your mouth," Seria scolds, fingers digging into his jaw line. With sinuous movements, she shifts onto his lap, legs straddling the front seat. She beholds all her naked glory—every centimeter of milky and engorged skin, ticklish fuzz and hairs both above and below. With a throw, her head goes back in a showy manner to let her dark locks flow in the air.

Kiharas are usually content with sublimating whatever urges they have into science and gruesome experiments. But instead, Nirushu blows off steam the only reasonable way he knows how to: womanizing late into the night and adding ranks under his black belt of love. Assuming that love means luring women under his control with a few jokes, suggestive looks, and alcohol.

But this latest conquest—Nirushu hopes Seria isn't a light drinker—is a whole different matter. This woman is a priceless gem compared to what he usually scrapes off the dance floors and supposedly elite all-girl schools. Unlike other women who are, for all intents and purposes, powerless against his hypotonic seduction skills, Kumokawa Seria had put up an extraordinary resistance. Though the moment he had realized how high of a caliber of this gal was, he had adjusted his game accordingly; a few words about the ongoing negotiations between Japan and Academy City for the latter's recognition as a city-state had been enough to set the stage for flirting proper. Once her defenses had been breached, it hadn't taken long to entice both her mind and body.

"I do hope you're going to get me a new headband after what you did," Seria suggests while patting the top of her head. But the flicker in her eyes tells him it's not optional—it's a demand.

"I could get you a headband made of flexible gold-plated materials and diamond ornaments. " Nirushu isn't even sure if he's kidding or if he's serious. It might be both. Or perhaps his fuses blew from trying to decide whether or not he should motorboat her breasts or lap her cooch up like a purring kitten does with warm milk. "To tell you the truth, I could probably borrow some experimental jet plane on a whim if I wanted to and violate several airspaces without too much trouble. Relatively speaking, money is a laughing matter to me."

Seria leans further, pressing him into his seat. "A man with confidence and power. I do like that."

"It's not really—" Nirushu lets out a startled gasp as Seria starts feeling up his junk while tweaking his loose belt buckle. "No, I can't—"

Seria whips her head again and gazes at him with big bubbly innocent eyes. "Hmm?" She yanks down his trousers and boxers to his knees, and coaxes out his unwilling erection with lazy up and down strokes.

"Don't 'hmm' me while jerking my meat!" Nirushu snaps quickly. "It's an emergency! I have to go!"

"An emergency? What kind of emergency?" Despite showing interest in what he says, Seria is intent on the piece of hard flesh pointing upwards which visibly craves her touch.

"It's my job," Nirushu croaks as he bites down on his lip. He isn't about to reveal that his family name isn't Furukawa; he isn't about to reveal that he's from the notorious family who founded and runs this entire city. A woman of her intelligence, if she knows what's good for her, would run away from anyone named Kihara. The last thing he has in mind right now is scaring off this gal. "People's lives depend on me," Nirushu insists in a deep, breathy voice. Even if it's a complete and utter lie—he wouldn't care if thousands died if it fit his own goals—he has to posture.

Seria nods at his words, seemingly unaware of the terrible poker face he displays. The only head she has her eyes on his slick, swollen red one. "You're an interesting boy," Seria muses as she stands. "So valiant that he tries to resist temptations." She raises her hips and holds his hardness against her sore, puffy, but happily dripping ladybits. "But I bet you'd want to enjoy another round before spending a sleepless night playing hero." Then she sinks downs and takes his length whole without a grunt of discomfort. And her body starts pumping like a well-oiled piston.

"K-Kuh!" Nirushu's composure falters. His brow quivers as a tint of diluted pink spreads on his cheeks. "You woman, don't play with me or else—!"

Seria turns her head to the side and notes half-heartedly, "Don't these new GPS systems have automation?"

Nirushu blinks. "Huh?"

"That type of GPS—it has an automated driving system I think."

There's a stunned silence apart from silent intakes and damp skin slapping. Seria laughs heartily while pressing her hands down on his collarbone to angle her body better. "Are you kidding me?" Nirushu mumbles in disbelief.

"Well," Seria drawls, and she takes a good look around, "the windows are tinted."

A jaw droops naturally as no words make their way out. Nirushu has always believed in a certain principle when it came to seduction: a flabby midget with confidence could easily overwhelm a seven foot tall Amazon from the depths of the African forests. But now, frankly, he does feel like a midget, unworthy and out of his league with this Kumokawa chick. Without a word, Nirushu reaches out for the GPS touchscreen and does find an option for "Intelligent Driving."He turns it on immediately, and the van already moves out of the alley.

"Driving you to the specified destination," announces the GPS voice.

Seria beams at him; her hips movement become more subtle, less aggressive. "I really do have an exhibitionist side to already be enjoying this," she moans out with delight.

Nirushu smirks; he catches her waist in a strong hold, and already he feels goose bumps all over. "I bet you're the kind of girl that spends her uneventful days in panties, alternating between serious and diligent work and just fooling around."

Seria winks. "That only makes me more desirable, no?"

"Damn skippy it does!"

Those nails start to dig into his shoulder plates. Seria glues her chest to his, and the crazy hot beats inside pound in their ears. She wets her red lips and stares for a moment before closing the short gap. "M-Mind tilting your head a little so I can see the road?" sputters out Nirushu in a hurry, interrupting Seria's kiss. "I-In case this thing craps out?"

Seria blinks for a moment, but then she nuzzles the crook of his neck, suckling the skin she nabs with her lips and teeth. It leaves clear love bites. With an eye out focused on the road, and the rest of his body savoring the sweaty fuck in every possible sensory detail, he feels a sudden sting in the back of his head.

…did I just say something wrong?

•••

It's a phone call between two individuals from two vastly different spectrums of talent; between Science and Magic; between disbelief and faith.

"Paul."

"Greetings, Mary. I take it you've done what we discussed?"

"Yes. I'll be handling this part by myself, so don't interfere unless other magicians do. And I've told you to stop calling me that—hours ago. I'm not even a virgin anyway, so I am unworthy of that title. You could say I'm a Bloody Mary though."

"Not all Christians believe in the virginal birth. Or even that the Lord has truly set foot on earth."

"I could not care less about your sectarian dogma, Paul."

"And about your name. You're the one who hasn't told me yours."

"…if you have such confidence that you've given yourself the Thirteen's name, then I guess you won't mind if I take up such a name. Would you?"

"The Twelve hold no truths; their names have no significance to me."

"Then call me Cephas."

"As you wish, rock. You're the one who wanted to be partners. Even if we have two different objectives, and I can't even fathom yours, I'm not one to fret. Your arrival is no mere coincidence: it's one of the many signs of the Revelation of the Lord to all the nations."

"Sure, whatever."

"Although you've touched the Father differently than I, we are merely using a different approach."

"…I'm not even going to comment on that one."

"For my part, dear Cephas, I will go recover the living library that holds the knowledge of a 103,000 grimoires. Such a library at our disposition will be a valuable asset, even if I have no free access to its treasures. At least for now."

"Don't get too cocky. You're going to catch the attention of all major denominations of Christianity if you compromise the Index. Even more so if you show off you power."

"You're entirely correct. But, then, that is no worry of mine. The Good One will guide me as I lay before the heathens the contradictions of their faith."

The call between these two unlikely allies ends.

It is only then that Cephas curses the man's name and his ridiculous beliefs.

But, silently, she thanks him for being a willing pawn and magnet.

It is exactly what she needs to start her fight against the eternal tyranny of a Demon God.

With GNOSIS, avenging the loved ones in her heart is a dream one step closer to reality.

Author's notes:

Hello. I'll keep these notes short as I rather not say much about the plot. Next chapter is when shit starts to go down. So much about avoiding distortions…

About the characterization of canon characters. As you can see, the psychology of AU!Accelerator and AU!Hamazura is different from Canon!Accelerator and Canon!Hamazura even if it's subtle sometimes. This is intentional. I'm not trying to follow their established character. I build around what I perceive as the core being of the person. Readers can start raising OOC concerns when canon characters come into play.

Little details are a big part of this story. Plenty is said, referenced and implied, but I don't dwell on it too much. So keep an eye out for foreshadowing, hints, etc. Because there's already tons of that in the Introduction and this chapter.

"Again, it's like poetry, so that they rhyme, every stanza rhymes with the next one." – George Lucas, rambling during a crack high.

…I have a weird obsession with semicolons. Thanks to Rubix-chan, I'll actually be using them properly from now on. Sometimes I get weird typing tics and fuck around with the syntax for no other reason that it looks pretty to me. This is why betas are essential: to bring you back to reality. Went ahead and fixed a few punctuation mistakes in the Introduction with that in mind.