This is inspired by StrangerDenB4's SI fic, "Kamen Rider Kuuga: Rising Unto the Stars". It's a crossover of KR Kuuga and the Pretty Cure franchise, and it's a really fun read. You should all give it a shot. As for this fic, it's an Agito crossover with Devilman. Specifically the original manga, but occasionally with some elements of the OVA. There will probably also be a few characters from some of Go Nagai's other works making appearances as well.
Despair is courage. Apathy, resolve. Nihilism, the appreciation of life in all its splendor.
This... is a tale of a disillusioned man, whose spirit was crushed beneath the weight of his own ideals. A nihilist, who desperately looks for hope and justice where he believes there is none. An idealistic fool, who can only take pride in meaningless things.
This tale, too, is meaningless - what you do with it is of no consequence.
But then, if there is no consequence, then that means you're free to do with it as you will. Stay and read it? Ignore it? Mock it? It doesn't matter, so just do whatever pleases you.
If you want to, you may even choose to enjoy it.
The year is 200X. The locale, metropolitan Japan.
Our narrative features on a young male in his early 20s, very clearly not Japanese. Hair's a mess, hasn't shaved in a couple of days, and the default expression beneath those glasses is a surly one. He's a bit out of shape compared to his days as a teenager, his endurance and agility having waned enough to be a sore point with him.
With this information, an introspective person might assume a bitter and/or apathetic introvert, who hates dealing with people in any shape or form. Alternately, given the paunch at his stomach but the slightly above-average definition and musculature in his arms, perhaps the more likely first impression might be that he's some kind of American tavern-trash that got lost on his tour.
In the first case, they'd be partly wrong - get him on a topic he likes, and he'll happily chat with a total stranger for hours. In the second case, they'd be entirely wrong - he despises alcohol, claiming that he'd visit a children's pharmacy if ever he felt like drinking cough syrup, and has never set foot in a drinking establishment in his life.
Really, his attire doesn't do him much service either. Partly-ripped-up jeans and worn-out sneakers, all of it black or near-black. The comparatively nice button-up shirt can only do so much in making him presentable.
After a moment or two, he pulls out his phone - not to contact anyone, but to check the time with it, as he neglects to ever wear and keep a watch. "It's been another ten minutes," he grumbles, and then pulls up a list of contacts. Fumbling slightly - he's never cared much for texting, but his inexplicable preference for flip-phones only serves to make it less convenient than it could otherwise be - he types in a simple message: ETA?
No sooner than he can send it, he collapses to one knee, grimacing in pain. He doesn't utter a sound, though - he's "trained" himself on countless stubbed toes, careless collisions with furniture, and other clumsy accidents to the point of remaining silent at times in the face of sudden pain.
His vision fades in and out, a blinding light stabbing through his mind, making it hard for him to think, as a single compulsion begins to cover his consciousness.
"Dammit all, not now..."
Despite his complaints, he turns in a seemingly random direction, and starts running - either unwilling or unable to resist the mental compulsion placed upon him.
After a few minutes, he arrives in a deserted back alleyway, where an unfortunate victim has been half-eaten by what can only be described as a demon, straight from the bowels of Hell itself.
Doubtless it took the form of a female, but presently it's quite the grotesque one. Bent over backwards on all four limbs, the forearms having become legs in their own right; the head having split open, with great horrible teeth extending from each side.
On top of its body, where a woman's breasts would be, have extended into gnarled and spindly arms, with end with grasping claws.
The creature is, truly and absolutely, like something born out of a nightmare. It is the kind of sight that, over the past few weeks, our protagonist has become used to.
A bright, blinding light erupts from his waist, at the point where a belt buckle would be.
BGM: Kamen Rider Agito opening song
As if in a trance, he strikes a pose and says, "Transform." A momentary distortion of light, and in his place is an armored figure.
Kamen Rider Agito.
With a hot-blooded shout, the figure attacks his hellish foe with a kick to its head.
It is the beginning of yet another meaningless battle.
Even if he defeats the enemy before him, he knows that the world around him is doomed with an inescapable fate.
Before he arrived in Japan, and began these meaningless battles... If he were asked about the future, he would freeze up in terror at the uncertainty and vagueness of it all.
But not here, not in this world. Indeed, it is because of the inevitable fate of armageddon, that he feels free from consequences.
Because he thinks his actions won't matter at all in the grand scheme of things, that gives him the freedom to do what he wishes.
It is true, certainly, that he has trouble communicating with people except in the context of popular media.
It is true, that his own beliefs, once they clashed with reality, drove him to stop believing in anything.
He is the kind of negative person who can't truly believe anything positive of himself, even as a joke.
But for all of this, one other thing is also true.
His hopes, and dreams, even if he thinks them to be futile... they are all of "justice".
In this world, he believes he can do what he wants without consequence, because everything will be destroyed.
Because everything will be destroyed one day, it must be enjoyed and wondered at while it still lasts.
Many people would use this pessimistic logic to justify working deeds of evil, but this person... this incredibly bizarre person...
If he had his way, he'd rather try and be a hero.
To be continued...?