The Bonds we Break 3 (Patreon)

The Bonds We Break 3 - (Post-Shinmai Maou no Testament OC-MC)

It’s been… A month. I think. I wasn’t exactly counting the days- not after the first week of being out of Japan.

Los Angeles was as I had been told by some people- there was an active presence of the supernatural within the city of ‘Angels’, and while this was usually dealt with by the Hero Clan in the US, I found fertile ground in providing help to those in need.

Dealing with unruly entities trying to take over mortals wasn’t exactly a highly-paying chore, but it was enough to keep up with the bills and protect what I have left of my decades-long funds from being expired due to any unwarranted costs.

I wouldn’t say it was a perfect solution, and I have to admit I strayed from my previous plan of just taking off to go the furthest away possible. I just… found it difficult.

The anger I had towards Basara was muted by a deep regret of having not given the other girls a chance to make their point. I knew my decision had done more than just ‘hurt back’ Basara, and I knew that there were some that would suffer horribly because of what I did.

At the same time… I knew it was necessary.

I couldn’t stay, not when none of the excuses I could conjure about the girls amounted to the kind of ‘reason’ to stay. It just didn’t. It was too much- He went too far.

And while I couldn’t stay, that also didn’t stop me from ‘lingering’ as I just found myself lacking a ‘Second Step’. I departed for the US, I changed my identity through magic and tricked a few clerks to put me in the system as a legal citizen, I was… Well, I was fine where I was, but I knew I would have to relocate in due time if they engaged in some intense investigation of where I went.

While I had destroyed most of what could be used to track me down, I actually failed to get my name off the flight that took me here. So, hopefully so, no one suspected I took this flight for a while, just long enough for me to not be bothered by any unwanted confrontations.

For a month or so, things have been going smooth for me. And I was sure I was going to be free from trouble for a few more months when… I realized that I had been found by someone else entirely.

I had no clue on US politics in the matter of the supernatural, I just knew that the Hero Clan had a district here, and that it had been caught off-guard by the shit that the elders pulled in Japan and in Europe.

So, nothing could have prepared for a seemingly regular meeting with a new client to go apeshit from the get-go. First, the address I was given for the meeting was a luxury bar.

The place was just expensive-looking, and I took notice of the fact that some members and the bodyguards could use Ki to some extent. Sure, I didn’t know much of the city even after a month, but to find a location like this caught me off-guard… even more since someone knew of me and invited me here.

None of the patterns within here felt familiar, but one of those… one of those felt absolutely weird. It wasn’t threatening, but it made me tense up even more as I approached the counter as I couldn’t perceive where it came from- only that it was nearby somewhere.

“I am looking for a ‘Rushmore’,” I muttered to the bartender, the guy frowning and then huffing before aiming a finger at the VIP section. “Do I have to pay or-”

“Everything has been paid by Mr. Rushmore.”

Well, that’s not concerning at all. Sure it is not…

I just had a bad feeling of this, but for some reason I couldn’t pull away from this contract. If this guy knew where I worked, then nothing excluded him tracking me down and then being ‘annoyed at my rude behavior’.

So, I walked through the VIP doors and then checked the tags by the doors. None of the names rang any bells, but I paused in front of the door that said ‘Rushmore’. Mustering some bravery, I approached to knock on the door when-

“You may come in.”

A voice just stopped me before I could. And I felt very nervous as I thought the guy inside had just ‘sensed’ me despite the necklace being meant to cover my ass from that situation.

I pulled the handle and stepped inside. The man was massive- a literal unit. But not in terms of obesity. Oh no, this guy was ripped as fuck despite being old. The man known as ‘Rushmore’ (as he had introduced himself by the phone) was taller than me, bulkier than me, and appeared to be a fancy man.

White hair, beard and mustaches coupled with sharp blue eyes, and a fancy outfit to make his muscular figure stand out. It was all pressing on his skin- I was just surprised that the light-brown suit with red necktie wasn't being shredded by a mere muscle’s flex of his.

He had an empty glass in his hand, a half-emptied bottle of Bourbon resting by the short glass table at the end of the room and… he smiled at me. This was the strange energy I felt, and I knew that I couldn’t leave. Not now, not before, not when it was clear this guy could wreck me with ease.

I had this thought before, of being obliterated by some heavy hitters, but this was an entirely new feeling. It wasn’t magic, it wasn’t Ki- What the hell is that?!?

“Mr. Funkman, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” The old man greeted in a grandfatherly tone. “I heard many pleasant things about your incredible tenure as a ‘spiritual consultant’.”

Funkman- or rather ‘Joseph Funkman’, was the name that I had adopted to fit within the American society. It was close enough to my real name, and yet distant so that it should have avoided any surprises like this one.

How did this guy find me?

After all, there was no doubt he knew who I was. Hence why this entity had looked just for me and had paid for my services.

“I would say the same if not for a few glaring reasons, Mr. Rushmore.”

His smile widened. “I suppose you are shocked I would look for someone like you and… truth be told, we are curious, Funkman. See, the events that happened a few months ago with the Japanese Elders and the Vatican King have… thrown us in a bit of a funk.”

“I have been told this much, yes,” I agreed to his ‘concern’. I was last seen affiliated with someone that matched with someone that went ‘above the Ten Gods’. I wouldn’t say that I couldn’t see his worry of me being here to cause trouble, but I was also surprised at why he decided to bring me here of all places. “So, how may I help you?”

The man nodded at my voice and then gestured to me to take a seat by the couches. And I realized that something was sitting on the table. Something that didn’t emit any energy but, as I laid my eyes on it, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of unease manifest from within.

Sitting down, we both took a moment to look at the box and Rushmore hummed. “Are you afraid of its content?”

“What is it?” I asked back, and the man sighed.

“The reason for me hiring you. You have been an excellent demonic purger, but this one may be your most difficult assignment yet,” The old man answered. “We found this Demonic Sword decades ago, but no one was able to suppress its demonic surge. It’s one of the toughest presences possible and what I would like for you to do was to find a way to weaken the entity itself.”

As he said this last bit, he moved to open the box and… the scimitar sword that I was introduced to looked quite weird. It was old, but it also held vitality firmly entrenched within its core. It was unnerving to look at, but also mesmerizing.

“You know its name,” I pointed out to the elder and he nodded.

“I do. But it is irrelevant to your task. There is nothing known that has worked well against it.”

“And you think I can make it?” I asked back, almost snapping at him. “I may be good, but I am not a master.”

“Perhaps not,” Rushmore admitted, filling his glass with more Bourbon. “But I realized the issue is not about mastery, it’s about purpose.”

“...Purpose?”

“Some knew the blade’s name and were greedily driven to try and master its power. You? You don’t know its name, you don’t know its powers and, if I can assume, I have a feeling you don’t seek any of that truly.”

“I don’t,” I admitted quietly. I enjoyed a happy small life, not one that hurled me back into trouble as wacky as the one I left in Japan. “So, I have a ‘better chance’ of exceeding its reach, yes?”

“That’s the theory.”

Theory. He wants to put my life on the wire just for a theory.

Then again, it was a business transaction. I thought of just pulling away, but now I ‘knew a lot’ despite knowing nothing at all that could be deemed compromising for the secrecy behind the Demonic Sword.

“I will do it.”

The box was pushed closer to me. Rushmore no longer smiled as he merely studied my approach as I coated my hand in my own magic. I couldn’t exactly touch it barehanded, not without some preparation to resist its influence.

I had seen what Brynhildr did with Basara months ago, and I wasn’t up to get corrupted or mind-fucked by a sword of all things. It was going to be a job, a tough one, but one I would live through. Optimism was all I needed despite the recent turns in my life and… I touched the sword.

There was no pain, but my world went pure black. My sight was gone, my sensations vanished, and, a blink later, I was now ‘back’. I had snapped out of it, or so I thought.

After all, I was now sitting in my living room.

I was back in Japan, and I stood up in panic. Where the hell did the sword go? How did I get there? Was it a trap? What’s going on?

I stood up and realized it was time for school. I just felt it ‘searing’ in my brain that I had to go there- I had to be going to classes. I rushed, my bag and my school uniform already on- How? Why?!

My body had just engaged into autopilot, moving on its own in a familiar and yet unnatural pattern. It was wrong, it was so wrong. Then I was at school, pacing through the halls as aimless and focused as inhumanly possible. Everything was dull, and dry. And as I paced fast, I finally stopped right in front of a familiar figure that was checking her locket. The girl turned and smiled.

“Jo-kun~.”

Nanao. Her tone, loving and caring. She never used such a voice, or addressed me with that honorific.

“I almost thought you were going to be late. Come on, we can still make it to class.”

Her hand reached for mine, but it was there that my body returned to me and I flinched away. She noticed, confused and then worried.

“J-Jo-kun? What’s wrong?”

“...This is not real,” I muttered, feverish once more but holding back from feeling truly sick. “This is not real.”

“W-What do you mean, Jo-kun? It’s me, it’s Nana-chan.”

“No!” I snapped, growling angrily and tensing up. “You are not Nanao. Not my Nanao.”

It was immediate, a fist came to the side and slammed me face-first onto the wall. I recoiled in shock, turning to see that it was Basara and he was in his Brynhildr armor.

“Why are you bothering one of my wives, coward.”

He approached Nanao, and I saw the girl had changed. Her body was more feminine, a sign of the Master-Slave Vow having been enforced and further feminized her, but my eyes took notice of the pregnant belly she sported.

“You think you can just strut about when you are nothing to me? When you are but a wimp with no importance?”

S-Shut up.

“Weak and pathetic. That’s all you are. Nothing else.”

I felt the anger bubbling, all that humiliation, the pain, the betrayal- it was all culminating in a murderous desire for violence but… something wasn’t right. Especially with the next words chosen by ‘Basara’.

“What? You wish to hit me? Try it! And I will show you how pathetic you truly are!”

…

“That’s not something Basara would do. Allow freebies,” I mumbled, eyes narrowing at the entity that was bearing his appearance and my words seemed to get a surprised look out of both fake entities. “You are the sword, right? You got inside my mind and you are trying to take over from within.”

“That’s-”

“I heard of spirits trying to possess humans through their minds- but luring them into action to touch them and then give up control through manipulation. You are not Basara, so that means you… are not that strong with the right sort of touch.”

He rushed towards me, but I formed magical ropes to contain it, then turned them into chains while also tying up the Fake Nanao and pretty much containing the essence of the creature.

“Y-You think you are smart, human? You are nothing! You are a mortal, you are less than a God or a Devil.”

“I am. And I am fine with that,” I flatly rebuked as I stepped closer to the fake Basara. “The one you are mimicking, he has so much. But I gave up so much of myself to let him be happy. Do you think I can actually care for power? That I would care for greatness? I don’t like either if that’s the face I would wear each day, the one that has to be a horrible person to be happy. That’s not me and this is my victory.”

I closed my eyes, mustering a pure burst of magic as white energy exploded within my proximity and caused the illusion to collapse. I soon opened my eyes back in that luxury bar, my hands now grasping… nothing. The sword was gone- no, it was no longer physically bound in its solo form.

My reaching hand retreated and pressed against my chest. I could feel it within, upset but watching- curiosity and anger meshing in what felt like an unhealthy cocktail of feelings in my already turbulent mind.

“His name is Ahriman. The sword’s name.”

“Also known as Ahreman and Angra Mainyu, the ‘Devil’ for the Zoroastrian religion,” Rushmore confirmed with an amused smile. “And I see you succeeded in my expectations.”

“I took over it. It’s my Demonic Sword- How is that your plan?” I asked, confused by this comment and the old man smiled mirthfully.

“This assignment was a test born from two concerns. First, your purpose being there on your own being one of good faith and you had to have had it to contain the Sword’s influence,” Rushmore elaborated with a serious tone. “The second reason is to provide you with the means of defending yourself from external trouble.”

“Someone could threaten me?”

“There will always be some bastard trying to cause trouble. And if you were hurt in American soil… let’s just say it would be an unpleasant few years to endure under the wrath of Hell.”

“I am no longer tied to them-”

“On paper,” The man explained. “But I would bear full responsibility if you were truly harmed while under my care.”

“...Who are you really?”

The elder smiled widely at my words, my confusion at this point unwilling to delay this any longer.

“My full name is Hercule Rushmore. I am the leader of the US Hero Clan fraction. You could say that I came to personally dissuade fools in the council thinking that you are a threat- I have heard of your deeds and your good faith beforehand, but I needed this confirmation so I could prevent any worrisome escalations,” The old man fully explained. “Alas, there is the matter tied to your ‘solo career’ which I found interesting and worthy of an offer.”

I frowned as he gave me papers. It was a job application to be-

“You want me to be your assistant.”

“And disciple.”

I frowned some more. “Why?”

“Because I can keep an eye on you, have a good reason to keep the babbling fools in the council happy, and also give you the means to achieve what you are looking for,” He answered readily. “That sword will demand discipline for you to use, but I will give you the chance to opt out from anything intense. You are training to defend yourself, nothing more.”

…That sounded awfully nice as an offer.

“Why?” I pressed again and Hercule snorted.

“Because I find you a nice kid and if you decided to leave your life in Japan, then something big happened to the point of ripping you out of that place,” The old man admitted. “I am someone that looks at people being people rather than numbers, or assets as some in my position would. And when I see you, Jo, I see someone that has potential to be a fine good person. But at the same time, I have to uphold some of my duties towards you and have you ‘watched’ out of concern. I will not limit you, but the Hero Clan as a whole took a beating with the crazy news we got from Japan and Rome. We can’t afford to let anything like this slip out of our attention.”

…I couldn’t blame the guy, and while I wanted to say no because it put me in a specific spotlight that would render my life tedious to handle… I could also see this as a chance to move away from LA and avoid being tracked down by those I left behind.

“I want some concessions in regard to my protection,” I asked, no I pressed for. “I am in no position to demand things, but I can’t take a job like that if I am ever found by-”

“Your identity will be safe and we will make sure to keep any job tying up to Japan to a minimum. I can’t guarantee you an absolute immunity on those tasks, but you will be spared by the worst ones.”

I nodded and… I decided that this was the best bet I got if I was to make steps forward into a new better life rather than decline in a broken spiral damning me forever to my memories.

“I accept.”

—----d-d-d-d—---

AN

Thus the legend of the Funkman is born!

A few details to add so we can avoid any ‘headscratching perplexities’:
1) Gods/Pseudo Gods can become Demonic Swords. An example of this is Loki;
2) Jo’s ‘nightmare’ was one conjured through his own worries over what happened. It’s still soon for him to accept that a specific reason is behind what happened and his mind is racing constantly on the many scenarios leading up to that betrayal. He doesn’t know the full truth, and that will nag at him until he finds the strength to just leave it all behind for good;
3) There is one pairing and it is with someone that is not from Basara’s Harem and is a canon character to Shinmai Maou no Testament;
4) I am not using Xovers in this story and I will clarify that the picture used for Hercule Rushmore is JP from Street Fighter because it was the best fitting with what sort of character I imagined for this specific individual. Ahriman is not going to be Angry Mango from Nasuverse.