Special Thanks for Beta-ing again to Rubix22. Jamais deux sans trois.

World's End

Chapter 2

Light precipitation rattles the windows. The repetitiveness soothes Accelerator's ears; something about rain hitting glass and the ambient noise it produces is calming. When storms hit the city, especially well into the night, he sometimes switches off all the lights, sits in bed and listens until he falls asleep. Right now, it gets him a bit sleepy, but he's nowhere near a state favorable to dozing.

The albino stands in Hamazura's cramped kitchen, having squeezed himself into a corner while Hamazura begins fixing something to eat. Still drawn in by the Rubik's cube, Last Order makes grimaces while her neurons fire in futile attempt at re-solving it. As of five minutes ago, she has one of Hamazura's t-shirts and a pair of black socks on. All oversized and baggy for her size, but better than a birthday suit and a ragged cloth. The shirt is long enough to go below her knees, and Last Order concurred that it's soft on the skin and smells nice. However at first, she fought against it with nice sentimental feelings for the cloth. So, Accelerator had forcibly taken away the cloth and slipped her into the shirt, despite Last Order's protests and embarrassed whining.

"So, what do you think?" Hamazura asks under his breath while oiling up a pan and placing bread slices in a small oven.

"That's no ordinary kid," Accelerator says in an even more discreet tone, his eyes watching over Last Order.

"You mean?"

"Let's leave that for after she eats. Digestion ought to calm her down a bit. Then I can find out more." Truth is, the only thing that Accelerator has taken note of is the name "Misaka." He hasn't thought about it too much, but it sounds familiar to him.

Hamazura leans to Accelerator's side and mutters, "You're sure that there's nothing—"

"I doubt she'd be like that if we had a molestation case on our hands," Accelerator answers, knowing this is what Hamazura has been worried about. "I have no idea why she was naked and wandering the streets, but…" Accelerator clamps his lips for a brief moment. "I saw no trace of anything down there. And trust me, I've seen what an assault victim looks like in every disgusting detail." His voice gets so low that Hamazura barely comprehends the rest, "Even a kid can understands what happens in those situations. No matter how airheaded they are, and even if it's meaningless."

The sudden, candid admission from the albino takes Hamazura by surprise. Accelerator doesn't add any details, but it's clear enough to Hamazura that the albino has seen the grimmest sides of humanity.

"…if you happen to know anyone who might have temporary clothes for that brat," Accelerator continues nonchalantly, "you should contact them. I can't take her out to shop for clothes with only a loose shirt on her. Unless I want a rap sheet."

"Well, I think I might know someone."

"Oh?"

"It's my teacher. She's kind of, um, special." To illustrate, Hamazura directs Accelerator to a framed class photo hanging in the living room, all while he peels away an onion.

Accelerator examines the photo for a brief moment and frowns. He subtlety slips from his pockets a pair of glasses and looks again before swiftly hiding them. Indeed, his vision isn't deceiving him. "That… pink thing?"

"She's not a thing!" Hamazura bellows from the kitchen.

Accelerator continues to examine the blond's supposed teacher with a sense of dread and awe. These experiments are starting to get ridiculous. Are researchers that bored with normal esper studies now…?

With a glimmer on the end of his knife, Hamazura cuts bits of onion without getting a sting in his eyes. Throwing a handful of them into the pan along with unnamed spices, he starts cracking eggs and mixing butter with them. He asks offhand, "You want some, Accel?"

Accelerator's brow furrows in incomprehension.

Hamazura fiddles with his paddle. "S-Sorry, I just thought—"

"It's fine to call me that; it's not the worse nickname anyone has given me," Accelerator says curtly. "And yes, I'm a bit hungry. So make extra if you want." Keeper's visit hasn't allowed him to cook something up, so it's natural to acquiesce to Hamazura's friendly gesture. Even if he feels somewhat uncomfortable about it. It's payback for handling the brat.

Last Order's ears perk up as a sweet smell invades her nostrils. "Oh, will Misaka really get to taste home cooking for the first time? says Misaka as Misaka is excited by this new experience!"

"Ahh, wait a few minutes and Hamazura's expert scrambled eggs will blow your mind!"

Last Order claps her hand with juvenile excitement and starts enunciating trivialities with third-person narration.

Accelerator isn't registering the words being said. There's a somewhat detached, but pleased look creeping its way around his mouth and cheeks. It isn't a smile, but it's halfway there. The impending doom of the universe has been off his mind. And it has everything to do with the fact that he is with these two people, who were strangers to him only half an hour ago. He has no accurate words to describe it, but he thinks, with a certain level of incredulity, I feel like I'm in a foster family somehow.

"And it's done!" Hamazura announces as the oven rings. With almost supernatural ease, he juggles the hot toasts while placing portions of the creamy scrambled eggs onto plates. "Everyone to your seats," he orders, pointing at the kitchen counter with a self-satisfied grin.

Accelerator rolls his eyes, but follows the excited Last Order. The plates with forks are set before them by Hamazura, who stands there with satisfied expression, arms akimbo on his ironic "World's Best Dad" apron. Or, at least, Accelerator hopes for Hamazura's well-being that he is smart enough to not knock up a girl this early in life.

"Dig in!" says Hamazura. "I'm sure you'll like it." Silently, both the albino and the young girl took a bit of toast with the scrambled eggs. After chewing, tasting, and swallowing, both their eyes widen.

Accelerator speaks up first, "You cook like a housewife."

Hamazura's sweat drops. "Um, that's a compliment I guess?"

On her end, Last Order's loose strand of hair flicks with joy. "The creamy texture and sweet taste are beyond Misaka's words! exclaims Misaka as Misaka thinks that she only wants to eat Hamazura's food starting today!"

"Onion and spices go a long way in cooking," Hamazura sniggers.

"Is this your job?" Accelerator voices his suspicion.

Hamazura nods. "I work part-time in a family restaurant, so yes."

"I see."

"Ah, Misaka's brain really needed a refill after that tedious Rubik's cube, says Misaka as Misaka's brain is thankful for the nutritious meal."

"You're going to need those nutrients for your brain," Accelerator notes casually. "That Rubik's cube ain't gonna solve itself."

Last Order has just taken a mouthful of eggs and toasts, but she talks back. "Ononnonnmo munonyonnyon!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, brat," Accelerator chides.

When her mouth becomes empty, Last Order addresses him again. "But Misaka has solved it! reveals Misaka as Misaka points to it on the sofa!" Immediately after, she digs into her plate again with a voracious appetite.

Accelerator stares at her. And he stares at the sofa. And he rises and goes there. And he takes the Rubik's cube in his hand. And going back, he slams it down on the counter, making the utensils clatter in the plates.

"What. Is. That."

Last Order tilts her head, not understanding the albino's reaction. Hamazura watches, stunned as Accelerator. "It's complicated at first, but if you plan out where you need to move, you can achieve it after some time, explains Misaka as Misaka outlines what she did. It takes a lot of time and good planning to do the motions though! declares Misaka as Misaka boasts about her intelligence!"

Accelerator shoots a "are you believing this shit" glance at Hamazura. The blond shrugs, unable to add anything. This kid has some talent, he thinks. The odds that she could solve it by pure luck and random shuffling is too low. With a simple sigh, the Level 5 accepts the fact that he has been defeated. "I am a man of my word. We'll go get ice cream by 12 tomorrow. Weather reports said it's going to be roasting tomorrow."

"Ne, you're going to invite Hamazura to join us too, right? asks Misaka asks Misaka."

"Oi, that wasn't part of the deal. Don't change the terms after you won."

"Well, tomorrow I'm working," says Hamazura, "but I can manage a break. It has to be close enough to my workplace though."

Accelerator's head jerks. "Why are you joining in, you motherfucker?!"

"I-I was just saying!" Hamazura mumbles quickly, directing his attention elsewhere as he jabs his eggs with a fork. "Actually, we do serve ice cream where I work... The same grade you'd find at a stand... Sundaes, parfaits, in a bowl with whatever flavor and toppings you want…"

"Is your workplace that desperate for new customers that you shill out for them with such transparency?!"

Hamazura scratches the redness on his cheeks and laughs quietly. "At least I'm suggesting a convenient place with guaranteed quality and customer satisfaction, ha ha…"

"You're even talking like an advert, you damn Level 0! Is this the how low poor students have gone?!"

"Ah, that sounds like a good idea! We can enjoy quality ice cream with air conditioning, says Misaka as Misaka is glad everything is working to her advantage."

Hamazura gives her a thumbs up, a cheery grin on his face. "You betcha!"

"You're gobbling up everything he says, you gullible kid!"

Accelerator feels his teeth grit together from sheer irritation, something he hardly does. A simple click of the tongue sufficed for years. But not any longer. Dealing with an average student and a strange girl that narrates herself is rendering him speechless and weary. At least it's better than chain-smoking in a corner, waiting for the universe to collapse. The wonders of social interactions, Accelerator thinks, becoming increasingly aware of his ambivalence.

•••

Kihara Nirushu has finished investigating the facility where Last Order had been stored. It was exactly as his father had said, and he found nothing worthwhile that could help him determine anything about what happened or who had broken in.

He's relaxing in a room full of computers processing data from the Misaka Network. The employee that had discovered Last Order's disappearance is there with him, also drinking coffee. It so happens that he had occasional encounters in the past with the researcher. And not the sort involving spread legs—women passed thirties are at the bottom of Nirushu's list, right next to Magical Powered Kanamin cosplayers and bunny girls.

"How fucking annoying this is going to be," Nirushu utters as he brings a cup of coffee to his lips. There's a headache bothering him that waxes and wanes for some reason. Applying pressure to his temples reduces the sharp pain for a moment. Perhaps it's the alcohol from earlier taking its toll on him. What he knows is that he's going to get aspirin the first thing out of here.

"I wish I could tell you more, but"—Yoshikawa Kikyou reads the diagnostics on a screen and shakes her head—"I don't see anything abnormal, besides Last Order not being connected."

"Yeah, I looked over that data—nothing worthwhile showing up. Tsk, whatever! We can just catch the brat then reformat her brain with Testament. It doesn't matter what kind of shit they put inside her head. Like any computer, a full hard drive wipe will do the trick."

Yoshikawa's eyebrows lift. "You do know how risky and dangerous that is, right?"

"If the strain of the procedure ends up frying her brain…" Nirushu shakes his head as if being told the brand of ice cream he likes—pistachio, by the way—isn't in stock. "Eh, what can you do? For all we know, she has a virus in her waiting to trigger and infect the Misaka Network, turning about—" Nirushu blanks out on the number. "Wait, how many are left after Number One did his thing?"

"Less than 10,000, when the project was deemed a failure," says Yoshikawa bluntly but not without something weighing down her voice.

"Well, you get what I'm saying. Better her than crazy clone bitches running around fuckin' everything up. I could just have her riddled with bullets and clone a replacement," says Nirushu without a hint of shame. "But, since I'm nice guy, I'll try to not sink to the level of child-killing African warlords."

Setting aside the cup of coffee, Nirushu starts to walk in circles, hands buried in his pockets. "What I'd really like to know is what kind of joker did this. I looked into the security system, and it's completely disarmed. And there's not even a fucking trace of any tampering! Want to know how unusual that is?"

"Let me guess: very unusual?"

"Barely ever such perfection is achieved against the systems developed in Academy City. Even the best in the business will end up leaving a trace—that they've been there, if you look hard enough."

"One person that comes to mind is Amai Ao," Yoshikawa says halfheartedly, the gaunt look of the Radio Noise researcher popping into her mind. "Though I can't imagine why he would be doing something like this. Even with his debts."

"Too much of a small fish in my opinion. But if he's involved, I'll make sure to shove that pissant ass-first on a pike."

"And it wouldn't explain the apparent security expertise, would it?" Yoshikawa continues to speculate out loud.

"We aren't dealing with something ordinary here. We might have a group of high-level defectors on our hands. And that's the real problem here. Worst case scenario with Last Order is that we have to kill her. But, can you imagine the veritable shitstorm that would occur if the whole world discovers we've been lying about cloning?"

Yoshikawa isn't about to stop the increasingly more hurried steps or louder ramblings of the Kihara. She sips her coffee while trying to find anything of interests in the data on her screen.

"We signed a legally-binding treaty that prohibits cloning of humans. Although it means nothing for the big superpowers, as they could very well disregard it without consequences, for Academy City that would stop any of our current negotiations with Japan for city-state recognition. Europe plus Russia would flip out and finally have a reason to take shots at us with sanctions at the UN. No amount of favors would make the Americans or Chinese stand with us with their veto power." Nirushu's spine jolts up, feeling chills from his own analysis of the situation; as he is about to deliver the dire conclusions, the only audience he has is a bored Yoshikawa cupping her cheek and sipping coffee, eyes on a monitor.

Nirushu's shoulders sink. "You aren't even listening, you useless idiot…"

Yoshikawa rolls her chair around, and brushes her hand on her chin thoughtfully. "I have no stake in this at all, so it's quite hard to be sympathetic. After all, you're the one worrying about your family's position and reputation."

Nirushu glares for a moment; then he crosses his arms and pouts. "Point. Taken." He takes heavy steps towards Yoshikawa. "But this concerns you too y'know? Most of us could be brought to an international court for crimes against humanity. Whatever that's supposed to mean!" The last phrase makes Nirushu throw his head back and laugh spontaneously.

"I have a feeling you're underestimating this city and its abilities when it comes to silencing dissent from inside its own ranks," Yoshikawa remarks soberly. "And how much weight it can move around on the international stage."

Nirushu shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Unfortunately, for most situations, you have to be a pessimist to be a realist," he says, ruffling his hair back into order. "But you're right; at the end of the day, this will end up being some mundane security breach that nobody will remember, with its perpetrators buried ten foot under."

Yoshikawa nods silently and stares off into her haphazard reflection in the coffee mug.

"One question though," says Nirushu in a flat tone.

"Yes?"

With barely any time to react, she's lifted up from the chair and Nirushu shoves the palm of his right hand onto her face; a puff of gas emanates from it, and it fills her mouth and nostrils. She coughs in shock and surprise; instantly, her spine and the innermost part of her brain seem ridden with pleasant tingles that act like sparks. "Are you sure you don't have anything to say? A little somethin' you rather not say?" Nirushu drawls in an almost hypnotizing way, an eyebrow lifting up and down suggestively.

Yoshikawa feels her knees go weak. She can't clear her thoughts or focus on anything else but Nirushu's words. Her heart rate skyrockets—it pound in her ears—as does her breathing; her ability to think rationally has went away. "C'mon, you gotta help me out here… You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Nirushu insists, tugging at Yoshikawa's chin like a playful lover.

"I-I—don't—know…" the researcher lets out, her body twitching and going limp. The blond's expression turns stern; he drops Yoshikawa back down into her chair. Immediately, he goes over to a server console and pulls a wire from his wrist, plugging it into a compatible socket for a moment and typing a command on a keyboard.

Nirushu comments absentmindedly, "You should pack up and leave. Go take a vacation or somethin'."

Yoshikawa has barely caught her breath, the effects of the gas waning but still strong. "What… was that?"

Nirushu unplugs himself from the console and glances over at the perturbed dark-haired researcher. "Oh this?" He raises his right arm. "It has quite intense psychological properties as you can see. Far more effective and easy to use than truth serums. Don't worry; it'll wear off completely in a minute or so. I gave you a minimal dose—too much and it would turn you into a drooling, love-smitten retard."

For a moment, Nirushu's eyes linger on his right palm. I honestly rather not use it considering how it got made on my back, but…

The Kihara sighs to himself and strides stiffly out of the room. He does a half-hearted hand gesture at Yoshikawa, "Catch ya later…"

•••

Water runs in the sink as Hamazura scrubs the dirty plates and utensils. He whistles gently to himself, head swaying side to side, "If my homework is done right, sensei will treat me nice~ But procrastinate to next night, then extra lessons won't be nice~"

"And if you stop those shitty rhymes this night, I won't strangle you with my right," adds a voice cold as steel, slashing through the lighthearted singing of the blond. Accelerator's restless fingers repeatedly hit the counter; his soberness, thoughtfulness, not to mention irritation showing.

Hamazura's tongue stiffens as he gets the message. At least my summer homework is all done, and I can escape Komoe-sensei's extra lessons, he rejoices.

There's a big yawn that comes from Last Order. The girl has her head down on the kitchen counter and she nuzzles into her own arms. "Misaka is feeling sleepy, says Misaka as Misaka…"

Accelerator shakes her and raises her chin up. "Oi, kid! Not now. I have some questions first."

Last Order yawns to his face and lets out a whiny whimper. She tilts her head cutely and mumbles, "Can you take Misaka to the sofa and have Misaka rest her head on your lap? demands Misaka as Misaka puts forward her condition for keeping her awake awhile longer."

Accelerator freezes. It's subtle, but his skin is far less pallid than usual as the blood underneath courses through faster. To not burst out laughing at how flustered the albino is by the little girl's request, Hamazura has to bite down on his lip. Thankfully, Accelerator's brain is too busy rebooting to notice his amusement.

With tact, Accelerator lifts Last Order and carries her to the sofa; he sits down and places a pillow on his lap, which he rests the girl's head on. A strange chill goes through his back as she stares up innocently with glazed eyes. It's not unpleasant, but it's such a foreign feeling that it's unsettling. "That name, Misaka… Does that have anything to do with the Number Three Misaka Mikoto?" Accelerator says as it's the first thing he has in mind. Anything to not think too much about his current position and how it makes his stomach flutter.

"Misaka is one of 20,000 clones of Misaka Mikoto, says Misaka as Misaka is being honest to you."

"A-A clone?" Hamazura babbles as he folds his apron. "Isn't that illegal by international conventions?" Looking for some sort of input on the Level 5's part, he sees the albino shaking his head, an implicit "shut your trap" on his lips.

"So you're really a clone," mutters Accelerator, taking in the significance of such information. "And there are 20,000 of you out there?"

"This Misaka is special, as Misaka is a Control Tower for the Sisters, says Misaka as Misaka begins to use some confusing terminology."

"Sisters—that's what the clones are called?"

Last Order lazily nods. "Misaka and her Sisters form a brainwave network called the Misaka Network, which Misaka is the Administrator of. It allows us to share experiences, knowledge and feelings, explains Misaka as Misaka attempts to be concise."

"A network? Hm, I can see how that can work with clones all sharing the power of an electromaster. Simpler and far more stable that forcibly altering the brainwaves of different types of espers and then linking them up." Although the technical details fascinate him, Accelerator suspends his curiosity on the matter. "So, what does that have anything to do with you wandering out there in your birthday suit?

At that, Last Order blushes just a little bit, and appears lost. "Misaka… doesn't remember why, says Misaka as Misaka twiddles her thumbs…"

"You have no recollection?"

"Misaka remembers seeing Hamazura and thinking, 'This person looks kind and could help me.' But Misaka cannot remember before that, says Misaka as Misaka begins to yawn again..." Hamazura flashes a prideful grin, his ego inflating slightly; any given compliment is appreciated.

"Can you at least tell me one thing?" Accelerator speaks after a moment of thought. "Why in the fuck did Academy City make 20,000 clones?"

"This Misaka has only recently been created for the administrative purposes, but Misaka can explain. Originally, the first Sisters were born from a project called Radio Noise, which wanted to create military-grade clones of a Level 5. However, the project was a failure in creating true clones of Mikoto-oneechan due to technical limits."

"So, they ended up creating 20,000 clones for a failed project?"

"No. It's because the concept of Radio Noise was reused for the Level 6 Shift Experiment, says Misaka as Misaka—"

"Wait." Accelerator's nerves stiffen. "Run that by me one more time?"

"The Tree Diagram supercomputer calculated that if the Number One Kakine Teitoku were to kill oneechan 128 times, he would reach SYSTEM, says Misaka as Misaka recalls the details of the plan. However, since it is impossible to make a perfect clone, 20,000 inferior clones would be a working substitute according to calculations, says Misaka as Misaka specifies the logic of the plan."

The two teenagers look at each other, a sudden graveness shared between them. It strikes them like a rusty knife hollowing out a hole in their back, scraping out muscle and bone. "Are you saying 20,000 clones are…" Accelerator trails off as he feels his mouth getting dry.

"Half of them have been killed… until the experiment was deemed a failure a week ago, says Misaka as Misaka doesn't know what to add…"

"10,000?" Hamazura can barely say that number without his gagging reflex kicking in; his arms become slack against his sides, his bewildered and horrified stare fixed on the albino, who stares back. Accelerator is speechless, and the only discernible things on his face are slight wrinkles on his nose. By the time either of them let out a discernable word again amid meaningful silences, Last Order has fallen into a heavy slumber. She snores lightly, even after admitting such horrible truths.

"What the hell was that?" Hamazura asks frantically. "S-She was talking about thousands being… being fucking murdered!"

"Hamazura," Accelerator intones, glancing down at Last Order with fascination for her existence and dread of the horrible secrets she carries with her. He lowers the pillow Last Order's head rests to his side. He rises and languidly shakes his head. "You shouldn't have heard any of that."

•••

Lush and smelling like primordial nature, there's a small tourist town in the countryside of the United Kingdom. It has a cozy inn, beautiful landmarks prime for photography, and delicious foods made with the oft-forgotten knowhow of the common peasant.

It's supper time. There are fewer customers than what is usual. Not that the manager worries about his bottom line. A white-robed, silver-haired nun is making him a fortune with the quantities she is ordering. Considering the obvious prestige of her and her two companions, he feels satisfied and hopes they recommend his establishment to their other well-off friends. Perhaps he will give his employees a bonus for the extra work put into pleasing this special and very demanding customer.

Besides the profitable nun are two persons who both appear to be her polar opposite due to their lacking appetites and the brooding air about them. The first is Kanzaki Kaori, one of the twenty Saints of the Magic Side, who is staring out at the sad evening clouds above. It isn't new to her as her current home, England, has its fair share of rainy days. Too many, most would say.

Next to her is a red-haired boy with an imposing stature, Stiyl Magnus. And yes, boy—that is still a proper word for describing a fourteen year old who chain-smokes and could pass off as being above twenty of age. He is busy observing the nun gobbling food up and stacking plates into a contrived comedic arrangement; postmodern artists would surely get hot and bothered over it and interpret it as poignant commentary on the submission of the culinary arts to capitalism's mode of production. As Stiyl thinks about going out for a smoke, a new customer rings the front door.

It's a quiet fellow clad in linen robes, covered from head to toe in tiny raindrops; the robe goes over his hair, but it doesn't hide his Mediterranean features. Quietly, he sits down in a booth and orders green tea and cheese bread from the menu. Overhearing his modest accent makes Kanzaki take note of him. It's easy for her to detect that English isn't his mother tongue, as even her relatively proper English still has a slight bit of an accent. With many travel experiences under her belt, the Saint thinks that he is from one of the former French colonies like Morocco or Algeria. Is he a local or a visitor? she wonders. In both cases, she's unsure why he's dressed in clothes fit for a homeless man. But, something else strikes her about him: the serenity his face shows. It seems so sincere that it warms her otherwise cold heart.

Kanzaki goes back to staring outside, then towards Index—short for Index Librorum Prohibitorum, a living container for the knowledge of 103,000 grimoires. At first glance, you can't fathom that this gluttonous, easygoing girl could hold such dangerous knowledge. But first impressions deceive; this girl has the potential of a Magic God lying dormant in her. But this isn't a blessing. It's a horrible burden. Each year she has to have her memory wiped clean for her to live—an effect caused by her safekeeping many grimoires with the aid of her natural talent, photographic memory.

Both Kanzaki and Stiyl know it all too well. Years before, they had been her guardians and dearest friends, until they had to rob her of the memories they had made together. Afterward, they had attempted to restore that lost friendship, but back then the wounds were all too fresh. It had made it impossible. So, with time, they started to pretend to be her enemies. The only memory she would have to lose is that Kanzaki Kaori and Stiyl Magnus are the despicable people that wiped her memory clean.

But now, after her recent memory wipe, they are back into this uncomfortable position where pretending supersedes honesty. Friendship with Index is easy; the problem comes from them, their memories of the past hampering any meaningful connection besides nice words, smiles and paying for food. They did not want to go through the agony of losing her again. Now, they aren't sure what strains them the most: to be her self-declared enemies, or crafting memories that will be burned to ashes in a year. For now, this could do. But for how long could they keep up this hurtful charade?

Suddenly, Kanzaki feels her stomach furl; her eyes shot open. She wonders if it's just somatization on her part, until she notices that the restaurant is now empty; customers and waiters had vanished when they had just been there last time Kanzaki looked around. Except for the stranger in the linen robes. He is taking a last bite out of the warm cheese bread and sips the remainder of his tea.

And he tilts his head her way. "Who do men say that I am?" the stranger asks with a passive tone.

He is gazing at her—no, at Index.

"What?" Kanzaki rises, a hand gripping the hilt of her nodachi, Shichiten Shichitou.

Before she sees anything happen, Stiyl shouts Index's name and cradles her now unconscious form. "Index?!" He glides his hand over her neck then forehead, checking her life signs.

"Stiyl, stay back," Kanzaki warns. "If he went through a Walking Church's defenses like that…"

There's something new she feels around this stranger; something foreign that she has never come in contact with before. It frightens her in a subconscious way she is unsure of. It's like a monster slowly surfacing from the depths of the sea: the first thing you see is giant blob, a plain shadow. But it's enough to frighten you.

"Some say I am the firstborn of Satan; others, a vulgar apostate; a wise man even claimed that I am the Power of God which is called Great." The stranger says these words as he treads gracefully, his arms opening up towards the heavens.

Kanzaki readies Shichiten Shichitou to let forth her Nanasen. She can only say back quizzically, "What are you?"

"It's not very instructive if I spoil it." And before Kanzaki can even remove Shichiten Shichitou from her scabbard, a hand holds her back at its hilt; the stranger's hand is at her hip. At the same time, his other hand easily grabs Stiyl's collar, twisting and balling it up. "You have no say in this," he intones before propelling the overwhelmed Stiyl through the wall, like taking out the trash.

"Nanasen!" Kanzaki shouts as she overpowers the stranger, blowing him back with seven slashes. It leaves superficial damage on his robes, but he remains untouched, unlike the surroundings.

"Your magic—a mix of Western and Eastern traditions and of many religions. This will be entertaining, even if it's futile." The stranger smiles at her as they both circle around the devastated restaurant, big wooden splinters and rubble between them. "I am called Paul, preacher of the Gospel and of Good. Now, I would suggest that you back down and hand over that which I have come for."

Kanzaki peers down to the unconscious Index and back at Paul. "Do you take me for a coward?"

"Not at all," says Paul, holding a hand over his heart. "How lovely; how courageous; how pathetic… You want to protect this girl despite the pain she brings you. I commend you for that."

He knows what goes on in her heart through some magic, and Kanzaki doesn't want to hear any of it. It only intensifies her anger that he is trying to use such knowledge against her.

"Are you going to wait for my move?" he inquires. "Or is it that you fear you'll turn this pleasant little town into a crater filled with peasant blood? If my word is worth anything to you, I assure you that it won't. I've taken care of everything. We don't have to hold back."

And then, Kanzaki declares her intention, "Salvare000—Be the salvation of those who cannot be saved."

Paul's holds his hand out in the air; a gladius made of light manifests for him to wield. He points it at the ceiling and he declares his own intention, "Fides013—I ransom my soul to faith."

With an upward slash, Paul tears the roof apart and leaps up in the air, followed closely by Kanzaki. Instantly, the Saint uses her Yuisen and brings a powerful blow at Paul. He blocks with his sword then swings his body, undoing the blade lock. Paul engages again with a flurry of quick strikes that Kanzaki barely staves off, until they both land on the rocky, gleaming streets of the town. The Saint sheaths her nodachi; half a second, seven slashes come forth, blasting the surroundings into a cloud of dust.

But she sees a light inside it and it fires towards her; it's the sword, and it effortlessly phases through the many wires around her, going straight for her head. As she locks with the sword, Paul suddenly appears out of thin air, wielding the sword like his hands had never let go of it. Their blades clink and clank against one another, and he cracks a gleeful smile at Kanzaki's cold glare.

"Don't insult me with this; show me what your Creator has endowed you with."

•••

After thoroughly chewing on a piece of breath-enhancing gum and relaxing to the repetitive sound of raindrops hitting flat pavement, Nirushu tosses his gum aside and goes back to his van. What kind of person did Kumokawa suddenly turn him into? Into some sort of insecure teenager fretting over every detail to please a picky upperclassman? This isn't like him at all; this isn't how he goes about winning the seduction game. Sure, being proper with hygiene is important, but not consciously asking yourself, Oh, is she going to like the scent of coffee in my breath? I better chew some gum just in case! The headache from before hits him again at full strength.

Nirushu sits back into the driver seat and wastes no time. "Alrighty then, I'll drive you back home. Sorry it took so long. By the way, are you a fan of sushi? I can get us a VIP table at the five-star restaurant of Crowley Avenue—" The blond realizes that he is speaking to no one. "Kumokawa?"

What Nirushu does see are a couple of cards on the front seat.

He takes them and reads the first one: For you.

He shuffles through them and sees a series of digits: 5. 4. 3. 2.

"Wait, I've seen this before—"

The van bursts into a fireball, the violence of the explosion sending flaming bits of wreckage all around the deserted parking lot. Flaming wheels roll along the ground like tumbleweeds in old western movies; two go by the sides of a cloaked figure who watches the torso of the van burn brightly.

"Yes, it's been taken care of," the figure speaks into a cellphone. "I have Director Kazumi's advisor in my possession, and I have eliminated the person currently investigating our actions. Two birds with one stone. All too easy."

•••

"Accelerator!"

The albino pays no attention to the one crying out behind him and slinks into one of many alleyways, holding against him a sleeping young girl wrapped in a warm blanket. But his pursuer is determined and dashes in to follow him. Thinking he can lose him, Accelerator quickly weaves through the alleys. But somehow, a certain blond is now standing in his way.

"Why are you following me?" Accelerator says menacingly.

Hamazura wheezes hard, his face hot from the exercise. "You can't just take off like that without a word."

Accelerator almost wants to laugh at him—at his stupid face, at his stupid naivety, at his stupid tasty eggs. If it weren't for the fact that he had grown oddly fond of the blond, he would have. "Do you realize that by becoming involved with her, you will get a sure death warrant?" Accelerator asks with a cold scowl.

"What?" Hamazura almost sounds offended.

The albino growls impatiently and waves an arm Hamazura's way, manipulating certain vectors. A strong gust hits the blond—strong enough to plow him into the nearest brick wall. "You can't begin to understand how deep in shit Ijust put you in!" snarls Accelerator above him, condescendly looking down. "You've come in contact with the deepest Darkness in this city; get too righteous, and you'll be dead before you know it."

"And so what? Do you think I've not understood that already?!" snaps Hamazura, shakily standing up. In few times he's seen Hamazura as casual neighbors, and the brief time he has actually known him for the past few hours, Hamazura appeared to be a careful, unassertive person. But now, there's a sort of aura around him. One that casts him in a far, far different light.

Accelerator clicks his tongue hard enough that it sounds like wood being split in half. "Don't act fuckin' tough now. There's no use in you caring about this. The only thing you'll find down that one-way road is a bullet between your eyes."

"What do you know about what I want?" Hamazura's voice surges. "I don't want to stand by when I've heard what I just heard!"

"I'm trying to save your parents some fucking money on your goddamn funeral. But if you're so retarded that you insist on throwing yourself into the lion's den—"

Accelerator's tirade dies down when a certain sound reaches his eardrums. Hamazura is laughing softly—laughing at him. It stuns the Level 5 that he, out of all people, would be laughing in this situation. "What's so funny?"

Hamazura beams and scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "You're only thinking about me right now. It's kind of embarrassing. I'm really not used to people who care so much."

Accelerator is perplexed; at least, that is the word he could put on his befuddled state of mind.

But it's not the best one.

"What if I tell you I don't care about any of that?" Hamazura says with an honest voice. "Just come back home for tonight. I might be useless and bothersome, but…" A small, roguish smirk creeps up on the blond's lips. "Weren't you supposed to come over to my workplace tomorrow? You won't know where it is if I don't tell you. That kid is going to be hella mad at you if you go back on that pinky swear."

They both stand there for a moment.

Until Accelerator steps forward and gently pushes Hamazura on the shoulder. "It's your funeral," the albino sighs. "Any upcoming consequences are now your responsibility. Don't say I didn't warn you, idiot."

Hamazura walks right beside him and nods. "I know, Accel."

Accelerator's mouth feels sore and itchy. He has many words he wants to shout at the stupid blond idiot beside him, but they don't want to come forward, too shy and embarrassed. Most of all, Accelerator doesn't want to consider the meaning behind the blooming heat on his—

Tsundere.

Accelerator twists and glares at Hamazura. "Did you just say something?!"

Hamazura jumps in newfound fright. "I said nothing! I swear!"

While Accelerator bickers and Hamazura defends his honor, he can't see that Last Order has grown a big smile on her apparently sleeping features.

•••

One of many houses is split in half by a penetrating blade swing, and from it the Saint Kanzaki Kaori and the one called Paul pace out, blades still clashing and locked in a tight duel. The latter holds his sword in a backhanded grip, parrying the Saint's unpredictable offense and outright deflecting certain blows. Despite appearances, Kanzaki is calmer than before. She has been steadily controlling her movement and breathing to invoke one of the many traits her birthright as a Saint had endowed her with: The Breaker of God. An ability she always hesitates to use. But she's convinced after gauging Paul that she can't afford to hold back.

The moment she enters that state, a sense of elation overtakes her. After many ferocious strikes, Paul's sword shatters, and he is blown across town at a dizzying speed. Before he even stands back up, Kanzaki is charging towards him. Holding his right palm open, Paul fires a beam of pure light directly at the Saint, but she splits it in two with her blade then propels herself downward at him. But it doesn't end there. Paul, extending his hand upward, immobilizes Kanzaki's blade at his wrist. And even with the superhuman strength she applies, she is unable to pierce his flesh.

"Impressive, very impressive," Paul murmurs, trembling under the strain. "But even then, you will not make a mark on my flesh. My Christ, unlike yours, only appears to suffer, and only appears to be crucified. Attempting to pierce my wrist and shed blood with your oversized nail will not work on me."

Kanzaki, even with the upper hand, feels a chill going down her spine. "What kind of Christian are you?"

"A good Christian by my standards; a heretic by yours, I suppose," he says in a tired rasp. "I am not used to fights. Even after absorbing so much magical knowledge for all these years, even after reaching a level worth of contesting for the title of Magic God, I'm still a weakling. An abortion. But you know why I will win, o Saint? My faith in the Good God, the Father of the Lord. Above all else, that is what you lack; that is what I have against your cursed flesh."

Kanzaki channels more of her strength into Shichiten Shichitou, and she boasts with confidence, "If your faith is so strong, tell me… Are you hoping for a miracle to defeat us?"

Paul groans as his wrist feels duller by the second. And then he says, with slight surprise, "Us?" There's a detail Paul had overlooked during their frantic match: runes all around, placed just under the gutters to avoid the ongoing drizzle. Kanzaki smirks as metal wires shot forth from many sides and binds Paul. To the side, a red-haired magician stands proudly with a rune between his fingers and a silver-haired nun hanging on his back. A great roar rumbles the surrounding; the ground underneath Paul breaks, and a pillar of fire consumes him entirely. The pillar grows a face and greets his master, Stiyl Magnus, before roaring again and plunging back to the depths it had just erupted from.

For a moment, there's a silence defined by the fact you could hear the light rattling of raindrops.

And there is laughter—loud and boastful. And there is a figure of light that levitates out of shattered ground. And then a thousand swords of light simultaneously appear and shoot forth, obliterating what little remains of the town. And the laughter grows louder as the figure of light takes on a human form—that of Paul. "Do you understand now? No matter what, no matter my actual skill, I will strive! For my strength above all is Grace—and what a wonderful gift it is!"

Shichiten Shichitou emerges firmly from the rubble, and the debris around Kanzaki violently scatters to the side. In a flash, Paul appears and locks with Kanzaki again. "I feel sorry for so-called Saint are the eternal slaves of the Creator that has begotten them—an abomination unworthy of prayers from which no true salvation comes!"

Kanzaki's feel her strength diminishing—due to her will to fight and the strain her Breaker of God state puts on her body. She pushes forward and clashes again and again with Paul at speeds the human eye could barely register. "Such anger… yes, you are fit to be one of its servants… A vengeful but just warrior," says Paul, evading all of the increasingly frenzied blows. "O wicked creature, to defeat you I needn't strength. Your mere existence will end you. Don't worry, the Index will be safe." A strange power begins to flow in Paul's free palm, welling up in it. "I only need it for a time. You can die happily, knowing your failure is not complete. She will simply forget about you anyhow."

"YOUU BASTAAAARD!" the Saint snarls in a mix of rage and frustration, and doubles her effort. By then, the town is almost completely flattened. I have to end it now; I have to strike him down now! Kanzaki thinks. NOW! Channeling all her might into Shichiten Shichitou, she breaks Paul's sword again then delivers a fatal blow downwards—

"Antitheses!"

Time grinds to a halt; a flash of light; grueling, mind-numbing pain shock her entire body. She screams in horror and utter helplessness. All she registers is that she hits the ground hard. The power that is hers, the power of a Saint, has left her for the time being; she trembles like a beggar out in a storm and everything feels so cold. She tries forcing herself up, but she can barely get on all fours. She crawls aimlessly and reaches feet—Paul's feet. Her clothes are stained with dark filth from all the fighting, but his robes aren't. They look so pure and white. For just a moment, she mistakes him for the holiest of holy men.

Paul yanks her up by her ponytail and places a new sword of light at the base of her neck. "The moment this fight started, I had already won, Saint. You have special flesh given to you by your Creator. You also use several different magical styles from different religions. Don't you think there are fatal contradictions at work? Picking and choosing from all these systems with different conceptions and deities is no laughing matter. Even if there are points of contact it is still contrived, unnatural. My Antithesis is an ability that allows me to bring out contradictions and cause an adequate blowback."

Kanzaki's mouth flows with a stream of blood, but she still utters, "A-Anti... theses?" In Church histories of all denominations, many heretical doctrines are recorded. But there is one heresy in particular that is regarded above all else as the greatest threat Christianity has ever faced. It had been put forward by a convert in the second century of the Common Era in a work titled Antitheses. The controversy that it caused brought about a split in early Christian Churches.

"You're...?"

"The God of the Jews, the Creator God, the one who made all creation, is not the Father of Jesus Christ. What the Lord revealed to humanity was an Unknown God—a Good God." Paul smiles childishly as Kanzaki's eyes widen in shock. "Now, who do you say that I am?"

Kanzaki knows what he wants to hear, knows the answer Paul expects.

The clouds rumble, like in anticipation of an event not often witnessed. Kanzaki says it, "Marcion—"

And with a sharp horizontal slash, Paul swiftly silences her.

*grins*

I hope the delay was worth it. I was in pain for so long because I didn't have the time to write this chapter down.

I could say many things, but I'll refrain from doing so at this stage.

Now for a fun fact. In modern French, "glaive" is a word that more or less means "broadsword," specifically the Roman gladius. However, glaive in English and earlier French means "spear." I plead guilty and admit that when I first wrote "glaive," I had the Roman gladius and "le glaive de St. Paul" in mind. Then I remembered this is English and checked a dictionary.