You didn't used to dream often. After all, dreams involve sleeping, and you don't sleep; you trance.
But that never stopped certain people and entities from hijacking your meditations for their own purposes.
You find yourself knee deep in a river of blood. This isn't the first time your dreams have taken you to this place. It's never pleasant.
You can feel a presence watching you intently. You know who it is. You don't yet know what he wants.
A bony dagger appears in front of you, handle pointed towards you. This isn't the first time it's been offered to you, either. But this time there isn't a handy "sacrifice" for you to murder in this dream.
Until it dawns on you that the intended sacrifice... is you.
You stumble back, trying to put some distance between you and the blade. But the river of blood around you makes that difficult. You can barely manage a couple of steps.
You can sense the disappointment all around you. You're used to this. You've never wanted his approval, after all. God or no, you want nothing to do with him.
"If you will not surrender willingly," the god's voice echoes from everywhere and nowhere, "then I will simply take what's rightfully mine."
The dagger turns, blade pointed right at your heart, before it flies straight towards you. You can feel it plunge into your chest, as real as if it had happened to you in the waking world. You cough and choke on your own blood, watch as the black ichor pours from the wound and mingles with the red blood filling the river.
It takes far too long for you to wake, but you manage to force yourself out of the trance and back into consciousness. You reach for your chest and are relieved to find no sign of injury; no dagger lodged in your chest, no bleeding. The dream truly was nothing more than a dream. You sigh in relief, shutting your eyes and reminding yourself it wasn't real.
"You alright?"
Your eyes snap open again with a gasp and your gaze shifts to the entrance of your tent. Zia has poked her head inside, and she regards you with half-awake concern.
"I-I'm fine," you say, your voice shaking too much for the lie to be remotely convincing. Zia stares at you in response. You force yourself into a sitting position, even as your aching body protests. "What are you doing up?"
"...Nightmare," she admits with a shrug. "Decided to take a walk to clear my head. Heard you choking and went to check on you."
"I'm fine," you lie again, but you know Zia isn't buying it. A moment of awkward silence passes between you, before Zia climbs into your tent and sprawls across your lap.
" 'M sleeping here tonight," she declares.
"You have your own tent," you point out.
" 'M sleeping here tonight," she insists, already sounding like she's drifting off.
You sigh in defeat and lie back down. Looks like you're trapped here for the rest of the night.
Maybe you'll both get lucky and not suffer any more nightmares tonight.
"Good night, Zia."
From her lack of response, you're fairly certain she's already drifted off again.
So i might as well warm yall abt some of the most common tags that some may want to avoid in my posts, so if you need to, go ahead and blacklist it or whatever tumblr’s equivalent of that is.
All potentially sensitive tags will be set as “!tag” (!gore !eyestrain ect.) Without further ado:
How frail the body is; how frail this flesh had been. It is quick to bleed, and even quicker to give as it goes into it’s death throes and surrenders completely from life as limbs go limp. The hands, the last thing to deny what happened, struggled to keep their grip on the cloth of the curtains, but they too relent as the body feels nothing. There is nothing that held it back, allowing it to finally fall as what were once seconds had turned to minutes, hours, days… until it finally became impossible to discern anything more than the everlastingness of what was dead & dying. The red in it’s eyes; already having been a dull color before dimmed even more as it’s memory, the last thing that reminded it that, once, it had lived began to perish with the body—one after another, they flashed back and forth. However never enough to leave their print on it, just like in it’s life. There is a gleam of something more in between the colors and the shapes that made it feel for one last time before the darkness that comes would take it completely.
There’s the thump, thunder on the back of the mind as the body escapes it. The storm is dying down and the violence is over… but it’s blood lasts, and so does this carcass. Life begets death, beginning before the end, and as the barrel cools, so does the corpse as the last breath becomes the first to surmount and carry on past death. It goes, into the world that would exist without it, that would continue to exist without it.
Did it matter in the end? Was there a meaning to it’s demise? Why had this happened to it? What horrible thing did it do to deserve an equally horrible fate? To unmake the life given to it? To take away what was given to it so quickly? Where did it all go wrong?
( These questions would never be answered anyway. )
And so would end the tragedy of it’s life…
…
She awakes, again.
There was ‘ the ceiling ’, again. It was unfamiliar at first, but she knew and could feel as although it was something she should have known intimately, but it escapes her, again… and though her lips do not dare make even a sound, there is still a very audible sigh that could be felt she understands, again. What would have been, unfortunately becomes should, before it couldn’t, and the idea of finally dying escapes her, again.
The body dies, but another vessel takes it’s place as it becomes her again as she stirs back to her feet from the bed, reminding her of the fate she is destined to live from now until the end she cannot foresee. It was always out of reach for her, and always impossible to know when it will be her last—if there ever could be a last.
Nightmare: Muse is plagued with horrific images and scenes both in sleeping and in waking for a day
Nightmares weren't exactly uncommon for Goro. Granted, in the past couple of years since the incident with Yaldabaoth their frequency had gone down. They spiked around dates he found significant, like November 20th and his birthday. Since the latter was less than a week away, he wasn't too surprised when his mind dragged up a thousand horrific images to plague his sleep. It just gave him more of an excuse to visit his favorite cafe and partake in some coffee brewed up by his favorite barista.
He sat at the counter, in his usual seat, rubbing at his face to stave off the exhaustion. Indistinct whispers at the corners of his mind tried to drag his attention to everything and nothing at once. He did his best to ignore them; he'd become rather well practiced at telling these hallucinatory voices apart from his actual Personas. As strange as it was to even be able to say that in the first place. A professional who knew nothing about Personas would probably lump them all under the same heading of auditory hallucinations. Some days Goro wondered if they wouldn't be right.
The sound of Akira gently setting a cup down in front of him shook Goro out of his thoughts. He moved his hand and glanced down, before flashing Akira an exhausted smile.
"Thank you, darl..." His blood froze as his words caught in his throat.
Akira smiled back at him with an uncomfortably familiar dead-eyed stare. Blood dripped down his face from a wound—a bullet wound—hidden under his bangs. His face was beaten up, covered in bruises and cuts as if someone had tried to bash his face in.
"...Is everything alright, Goro?"
Goro blinked, and just like that, his lover's face was back to normal. Not a single cut or bruise to be seen, except for part of a hickey poking out from under his collar. The dead-eyed stare was gone, replaced with a look of loving concern.
Goro let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He picked up the cup and took a long sip, focusing on the hint of bitterness in the caffeinated beverage.
"I'm fine," he lied. "Just a little sleep deprived, I guess. Nothing a little caffeine can't fix."
He let out a self-conscious laugh, avoiding Akira's steely gaze. It was just a sleep deprivation induced hallucination, nothing to worry about. It will go away on its own. Eventually.
Yesod had faced the oncoming hordes with the same even expression that he always wore. If anything, he was only confused at how long it had taken everything to go to hell. No one had ever kidnapped anyone just to provide them with a free home above ground and a life free from further trauma.
112 days without incident. That was the longest stretch of peace he could remember ever having.
For the most part, the spectres and shamblers seemed to ignore him. His only speculation on that front was that maybe he was too quiet to attract their attention.
He was cutting through a quiet alley when he saw the woman duck behind a dumpster. She must have heard him coming and hidden, thinking he was one of the dead.
“… It’s alright,” he barely whispered, but hoped she could hear it anyway in the stillness. The sand under his feet crunched as he approached.
“… It is, however, inadvisable to remain in hiding here.”
Yesod peered around the corner. She was very small, in a white labcoat, holding onto her knees and pressed close to the wall of the alley with her face turned away from him. Her brown hair was held in place with a red band. There was a clipboard next to her – was it garbage, or had she dropped it?
Everything inside of him rose and fell. Yesod fell perfectly silent – silent enough that he could hear the woman breathing. Every rough breath of air she took felt like a cold knife dragged down his bones.
“Malkuth. Come with me. Malkuth!” Finally, he reached out to touch her shoulder – lightly, lighter than the touch of a ghost.
She whirled on a sudden hair trigger as his touch shattered her stupor and she slammed Yesod into a wall before he could react. Even with the cognitive distortion in effect, there was a clang of metal from Yesod’s real body as he hit the white bricks.
Instinctively, his hands went to her arms to try and hold her back, but that didn’t stop her from slamming her head into him.
Two of her teeth hit the pavement, knocked free from the force of her own blow.
“Malkuth!” Shouting her name did nothing. She slammed her head into him again. “You’re hurting yourself!”
She was writhing in his grip and bending her wrists so far that he was afraid they were going to snap. Her nails were missing; he could see that even though he wished that he couldn’t. And she wouldn’t stop.
When Malkuth slammed her head into him again, he wrapped his arms around her to trap her there. She stumbled, but finally… she went lax against his chest. With his shaking hands and arms, he couldn’t hold her for long, and she slipped out of his grip to the ground.
She’d stopped moving.
All he could do was hold himself upright and try not to choke on his own ragged gasps for air as he looked at Malkuth.
The thing that terrified him, was that when he had touched her, she had been soft and… not warm. Not alive, no, not alive… but human, and not machine. He slumped down to the ground like a useless bag of sand, only still upright because of the wall at his back. It didn’t matter if anything – anyone else – found him now. Something inside him felt rattled, twisted into knots. She must have knocked something loose in his internal workings – that was all.
Damaged as he was, he wasn’t going to get much farther regardless. And his skin was crawling – itching – at some point his fingers had made their way to his face and started digging and scratching. Yesod didn’t have the willpower in him to stop them.
He didn’t even have the willpower to stop looking at her corpse.
If he died waiting here…
Maybe at least he wouldn’t have to keep seeing her.
--a͏nd I w̶il͡l ́gi͟v̨e y̵o̧u̴ tha̧t͢ ͞w̕h̵ich͡ ̨you d̞͍̜̻̬͠e̴̗͖̙̻̹̩s̩̥͇̲̖̬i̻͈͍͠r̦̠͢ͅe̡͉̪̰̜̬.̨̥̱̣.̩͇̟͓̲̰̰̤̱.̪̮̘͉͎͍̞
//Warning: some non-con, mature mentions; violence/some gore and character death
He was here once more; only this time he was knowing, willing, and therefore unafraid. The same shadows, the same coldness, all outlined in flame--but this time he ignored all of it.
The irony of this situation, that only now when everything had been taken from him did he no longer fear--perhaps because there wasn’t anything left to cause him fear. Even as he continued walking into what must have been hell--and Nightingale futilely calling out for him to stop, his feet continued forward.
So...you have come to me at last, child.
Adam ignored the patronizing tone of the shadow. His mind was made up--perhaps had been from the moment Sio had fallen still in his arms, that he could take no more.
Enough was enough; if they were going to take everything from him and expect him to just sit back and accept it, then they didn’t know him at all.
“...Save it. I just want an answer.”
A dark chuckle, and the flames wavered wildly, before the skeletal frame turned to face him at last. Very good, Adam Muirhead. The very air seemed to choke him, but he held his ground as the shadow seemed to glide closer. Since you have taken the step of coming to me, I shall in return, convert to a more...familiar form, if you will.
And suddenly it was like he was looking into a mirror, that same mane of silver hair emerging from darkness, the emerald that were his eyes, but the smile...even when he’d been on the field, during the heat of battle, they did not possess this kind of cruelty. Cold and entirely devoid of humanistic emotion, only mimicking those expressions but never able to fully portray them.
“Holy shit...”
“Is this better? I’d rather like to think you’d prefer to converse on a more...even footing.” There was a wicked laugh, before the double waved his hand and a table appeared out of nowhere, outfitted with all the finishing and trimmings for a fine afternoon tea. “Come now, do join me, won’t you Adam? After all, it’s impolite to keep the one you’re asking for help waiting...”
If Adam had a twin, then the scene that he was now a part of would probably have made more sense. Two nearly identical men--except one looked haggard and threadbare, with dark patches under his eyes and unshaven stubble as he sat in a flimsy hospital gown; the other impeccably dressed in the classic Londoner style, clean-shaven and put-together, complete with a top hat.
“So...you’re, a part of me...Ripper.” Though tea had been offered, along with a dozen delectable-looking pastries, Adam refused to touch any of them--instead leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. How many years had it been since he’d encountered the darkness in his own soul, in a hellish nightmare right after Sio had fallen into her slumber?
“Of course. Same as that old hag...but let’s not talk about her now. Won’t you take some tea? I can promise you, it isn’t poisoned,” he grinned as Adam jerked back in response, “for what use is there to kill my host?”
Lips pursed, but Adam decided that if he was already here, conversing with possibly the most loathsome part of his soul--then why the bloody hell not. Reaching for a cup, before adding just one more sugar cube, as the phantom pushed a full tray of desserts towards him.
“Do help yourself...there’s plenty to be had...and please, call me ‘Jack’.” That dangerous smile, which sometimes even Adam couldn’t help but let out on the field...it sent a cold wave of fear down his spine. “Now, what shall we talk about today?”
“You’re asking me? I thought you knew everything, what with being a part of me and all.” What possessed him to be talking back to something that could quite possibly kill him in the blink of an eye, Adam didn’t know; perhaps it was the tea, or perhaps it was the unconscious knowledge that he was about to cross a dangerous, forbidden line--and in fact, had already crossed it.
Those eyes that were just likes his turned into emerald slits, and Jack stood up, casually walking over to the other man. “Well well well...you’ve certainly changed, haven’t you? What happened to the days where you cowered in fear, begging for me to stop?” A single pale finger delicately undid the front of his robe, Adam nearly vomiting back up the biscuits he’d just eaten but forced himself to remain still, even as the Ripper continued to molest him.
“Y-You...are despicable...” His teeth were grinding so hard he was surprised his jaw hadn’t snapped, but if this was what it took to get what he wanted...then so be it.
“Oh please, humor a man, won’t you? I like praise, even coming from a maggot like you.” Those fingers that had been dipping inside his robe came back up to cup his chin as Jack eased himself onto Adam’s lap, winding the other hand almost casually around his neck, stroking the delicate skin. “Remember, Adam; you are the prey that has come walking willingly into the lion’s den...but on that same coin, I am the one who is allowing you to roam free.” Those silky words were a threat, whispered on a silk tongue as Jack laughed lowly, his lips ghosting down the other man’s collarbone, almost but not-quite touching.
“You were such a pretty little thing, back then...what happened to you now?” A tsking sound as Jack traced the numerous scars on his torso, stopping at the jagged gash that took up nearly the entire left side of his body now. “You never did like to listen to anyone...”
Adam’s stomach churned from both the words and actions. The way he was willingly subjecting himself to the Ripper’s torment, to be humiliated and used like a toy...then again, maybe he deserved it, after what he’d gotten his family into.
“What...is the point of all this?” He hissed through clenched teeth, especially as Jack’s nail grazed the still-sensitive wounds along his body.
“Point? I’m waitin’ for you mate; you come here asking for help, and I have been gracious enough to not only grant you an audience, but to do so on your level, maggot.” There was a whimper of pain as the nail dug further into the other man’s flesh, Jack’s grin nearly splitting his face in two. “Or perhaps, you’d feel more comfortable begging to a different form...”
The shadow laughed and then suddenly the deep timbre changed to a higher-pitched, more innocent giggle. Adam blinked and nearly recoiled from shock; the man in his lap was now the spitting image of his beloved sniper, wearing that white sundress he’d bought her all those years ago, maroon eyes that seemed almost too large for her face. The only differences were the long white tresses that matched his, and the continued sadistic smile, even more than when Sio had become Nobunagun on the field.
“Dou? Is this better...Adam?” Though the copy was flawless, it was also completely different and wrong; the way her eyes were so merciless, those maroons embodying every demonic insult that had been hurtled at Sio during her younger days, and the smile...
There was no genuine warmth or love behind it; only a cruel mockery of what she used to be, what he used to have now sat there, stroking his face as if he were nothing more than a pet--and in some ways, he was reduced to one now. “What’s the matter love? Cat got your tongue?” She giggled, but the shrillness of her voice only served to make him feel more nauseated.
“I--you--” What to even say--or should he even bother saying anything about this abomination that was sitting in his lap? No matter how good the shadow was at recreating her, he knew deep down that this wasn’t her; his Sio was gone, perhaps had left a long time ago. And yet was it so bad to even entertain that wild notion of just maybe what it would be like had she survived?
“Adam...you can tell me, you know? You can always tell me everything,” she cooed, gently stroking the white strands from his face. “Come, my dear; tell me what’s wrong.”
“...S-Sio...no, you aren’t...” Somehow he was shaking, but whether it was fear or disgust, he wasn’t sure. He tried to shake his head, to clear it from the confusing haze that the Ripper was plying upon him but it was to no avail. If anything, his efforts to dismiss her seemed to only make her more amused.
“You aren’t enjoying this? Surely you would give anything to see your beloved wife once more...” That red-eyed demon grin...it wasn’t her...and yet it was...
“Oh!” In one movement he roughly shoved her off, the girlish figure tumbling to the floor as Adam rose from the chair, fists and teeth clenched to unbearable levels of grit as he turned to leave. Forget it; he was fool to think he’d be able to accomplish anything here in the first place...
A low sound of sadistic laughter stopped him in his tracks, the phantom still using the tone of his wife but Adam was no longer fooled. “Oh...Adam, Adam, Adam...perhaps I have misjudged you.” The girl crawled to her feet, still laughing as she stumbled over to the man who was frozen in place. “I apologise; maybe you do have what it takes, after all...” Those hands, cold like ice as they trailed through his scalp, under his robe as she whispered against his neck. “I know. As a token of my trust in you, I’ll give you a sample of what it is I can offer...”
“...Then you’ll do it?”
“But of course, dearest. Remember, I am still a part of you...no matter how much you detest me, I am bound to your existence.”
Maybe it was because he’d been caught off-guard by the Ripper’s sudden willingness to agree, or because he just couldn’t forget Sio’s face--but the next thing he knew she had pushed him onto his back, licking her lips hungrily as she wasted no time in stripping his clothes off.
“W-Wait--what--”
“You want my power, don’t you? Isn’t that why you went through all this trouble, came all this way and endured so much?” Her eyes were a pupil-less blood-red, the mad smile still sitting on her face. “This is simply the fastest means of giving it to you...and also the most fun, don’t you agree?”
Adam could only stare in resigned horror as she continued to smile and laugh as she disrobed him, and when neither of them were wearing anymore clothing she leaned forward and everything was wrong, wrong wrong even as it felt so right when they began that terrible dance.
----
“Doctor, the patient, he’s--”
“What is it?”
“I don’t think it’s serious, but just...his brainwaves are showing a rather unusual amount for REM activity...almost as if he were awake...”
Hunter took the tablet screen and frowned slightly at the numbers, before looking over at the man himself. White brows were furrowed, the eyes twitching rapidly beneath their lids as Adam mumbled incoherently. His temperature was a bit warm and his pulse was elevated, but nothing out of the ordinary range... At this point, it was hard to tell if the symptoms were caused by the physical damage, or the emotional and psychological strain.
“Doctor, is Mr. Muirhead...?”
“...He’s all right. He...will be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him, you go make the rounds.” He dismissed the nurse with another nod of his head and then, as an afterthought, pulled up a spare chair next to the former holder’s bed.
“Ye’ll make it...won’t ya?” Yet as he kept an eye on one of his oldest friends, Hunter had a feeling that was only saying it to keep himself sane. While the man hadn’t shown any outright signs of suicidal behavior yet, he was already placed under careful monitoring while he convalesced.
He sighed, running his fingers through two days worth of unwashed and untrimmed goatee, before burying his face in his hands. As if breaking the news of his daughter’s fatal injuries hadn’t been enough of a struggle...and then this... He wondered, not for the first time, where had it all gone wrong? How could it be that an organization like DOGOO, which had championed the fight against the EIOs for so long, could have been unable to save them this time? To be fair, they’d had their share of losses--the hurricane hunters from way back when Sio had just joined, and countless crew members along the way...but this was the first time one of their own, the ones who actually were the key to winning, had been so devastated.
His son had mentioned Adam’s disenchantment with life more than once, and he wondered if there was any point to all this? Perhaps if he had been in Adam’s place, suffering one loss after another, he’d look to death as a release as well...but no. He was a doctor--an anatomist sure, but a doctor nonetheless--one who fought for life, not against it.
“Forgive me fer thinkin’ such thoughts, Adam...ye need t’ keep fightin’, even though I know it’s bloody difficult... ‘m sure Sio won’t forgive you otherwise, ‘f she were t’ see you again so soon...” He arranged a cool towel on the man’s forehead, glanced at his vitals once more--again it was oddly active, as if the patient were awake and engaged in some activity--but nothing else appeared threatening. Perhaps he was having a particularly engaging dream...
At least, Hunter hoped it was a dream, and not a nightmare.
----
“Mmmnn...you haven’t lost your touch over the years, Adam~” A final shudder and a sigh, before the monster lifted herself off the man, thighs still moist and dripping as Adam just lay there panting. If this had been but a mere few days ago, he’d never have consented to such a vile act; copulating with a corrupted shadow of his beloved sniper and letting it use him in every way possible, humiliating and degrading what little remained of his pride.
Then again, he’d already given everything he had to protect the ones he loved, and still it hadn’t been enough; so why not just let everything else go as well?
Slowly he crawled to his feet, but realised that it was easier than it had been the past few days; no dizziness or shortness of breath that had plagued him since his heart attack... “What th...”
“Satisfied? I did say I would give you a taste of what I can offer... Ripper I may be, liar I am not.” The phantom was a male copy of himself again, leering at Adam from his seat at the table. “Go on, why don’t you wake up and give it a little test run? If you like what you’ve got, you know what to do to seal the deal...”
“Adam...don’t listen.” Both heads whirled around at the ancient voice, though the Ripper’s face had taken on a noticeable change of expression into irritation.
A creaking noise, followed by a dim glow from a hanging lamp, and Florence Nightaingle--now as she was when Dogoo met her--wheeled herself into the room, but Adam noticed she was looking more frail than she usually did, as though forging the mental connection was taking more out of her than it should have.
“Leave, hag. You’ve no business here.”
The nurse stoically ignored the Ripper and continued to wheel herself forward, though when she reached him at last, her arms were trembling from exertion. “I warned you once...and I will warn you again. You can’t do this...you know this will not bring back that you want the most...please, child.”
A knife came shooting through the air, but Nightingale caught it just before it embedded itself into her neck, blood dripping from her fingers as the blade sliced through the skin. “Jack the Ripper...perhaps it is only right that you and I should face each other, at the end.”
“Hmph. A biddy like you ought to just go back into the shadows...clearly, your powers aren’t enough, so why shouldn’t Adam here get the opportunity to try something else?”
Green eyes continued to shine fiercely from her heavily-lined face, gnarled with wrinkles and the undeniable signs of age. “...I still regret that day, when I was unable to save her. The child, Sio Ogura...I had already failed to prevent her from getting drawn into this war when she was a young maiden...and then I failed to protect her when she became your wife.” Letting the knife drop, she merely wiped her bloody hands on a handkerchief, before turning towards Adam. “You, my precious vessel...no, that is too crude a word. My reincarnation...you have embodied every hope and aspect of myself that I had wished to impart before I left the physical world...despite what you may think as having your destiny laid before you, know that I have done everything in my power to let you choose your path. And I am proud of what you have accomplished.”
There was a scoff, but the woman continued. “I know; you have long argued this with me, cursed my name many times over now. It is not undeserved; you have suffered greatly, moreso than had I not awakened in your blood. But don’t you see? Can’t you understand how much different the world would be now, had you not accepted your fate?”
Maybe when he had been young, once long ago, those words would have still stirred some sense of duty and righteousness into him. But now, more than four decades later and older, greying and weary, it was little more than a nuisance. A constant reminder of the shackles he was chained to, the fate he didn’t want nor need.
“...No Nightingale, I can’t.” With his newfound strength he pulled off the hand she’d lain on his arm, a strange surge of powerlust running through his veins. “I can only see what’s in front of me, and remember what has happened; even if this world would have been long devastated without us--without me--I haven’t experienced that world.”
He stepped forward and she shrank back, so uncharacteristic of the normally proud and stoic woman but the things that had happened since their very first meeting had changed so much; the puppet, now at last breaking free of his strings...even if only to perhaps hand them over to a new master.
“I only know of this world, the one where I fell in love with a wonderful girl, married and raised a family...and then had everything ripped apart...all for the sake of ‘saving the world’.” Those green eyes looked shocked and worn, but Adam no longer felt any sympathy towards his e-gene. “If I had it my way, I would’ve never accepted Dogoo’s offer in the first place...but you, you made me...even if I didn’t know it yet...you were always watching me, telling me, pulling me through life and pretending I was doing it all on my own...”
“No Adam, you’re wrong--”
“Shut up! Gods, when will you stop?!” He almost struck her, but restrained himself just enough. Even after all that she had done to him...the suffering and pain...striking her wouldn’t do anything. “How can you still be so blindly loyal to that, that creature’s plan...the Objects hadn’t even landed when you two met; you may be my e-gene, but you aren’t the one who went into battle, who had to give up her life and everything you planned for the greater good! What would you understand about sacrifice...!”
“...I don’t understand your sacrifices, Adam. And I don’t claim I ever will. But I have made my own,” her voice quivered at last, after his outburst, “for how else would you now be in possession of both ‘The Voice of God’ and ‘Jack the Ripper’...”
The same voice that told her to abandon her path and go to the front lines of the Crimean War, and how to help the soldiers. And then later still, to save London from a deadly plague before the public even knew...and in the process, create the most-hated soul in history...
But still...those were in the past. Those were nothing to him; Nightingale had never fallen in love, or ever created her own path, gone against that voice she had heard.
Not like him...no, she wasn’t anything like him at all.
“...Adam...!” In a second a knife had appeared somehow, in his hand. “Don’t...please child, you can’t...”
“Oh, but he can, my dear Nightingale,” the shadow sauntered over to the two, that grin growing ever wider as Adam felt his mind become more unraveled. “Go on, Adam. Get rid of her--you know you won’t be free unless you do it yourself...”
“Tch...” The knife. Florence Nightingale. Jack the Ripper. All those elements were right in front of him, and for once in his life, he was in complete control. Yet his hands were shaking; Nightingale may have ultimately been a cold, selfish old woman, but she wasn’t evil...
“Do it, Adam...you know it’s the right choice...” Those cold hands at the nape of his neck, and suddenly he could see everything that shouldn’t have--yet did--happen--
--Sio!
--Oh...y-your eyes, are s-so...green...
It’s the only thing we’ve got--
Tou-san, lookie here--
--you can’t--
--NO--
…Whether by fate, or our own will…it must be done, Adam.
“--Oh...Adam...” Green eyes widened, then softened, staring back into his own shock as warm crimson flowed over his hands. “You poor thing...my poor child...”
“Stop it; stop...just stop it, please...” For some reason he was crying, even as the knife dug deeper and her blood dripped onto the floor. “Just stop! Stop pitying me! Stop treating me like you still know what’s best for me!”
Each statement pushed the blade forward, until her body slumped forwards against his chest, yet still she made no move towards him. Not until she weakly grasped his arm, did he finally look down.
“A-Adam...even, if you...have chosen to reject me...don’t trust him; don’t...trust his words; the power you seek...it will only end up destroying everything, including yourself...”
He knew it; of course this power wouldn’t come without a price--it was a textbook example of walking straight into a trap. But when you had nothing left to lose...
“Yeh. An’ so what? I’ve been wishing I were dead for a while now...so why not go out with a bang? My own life, Dogoo, the Invasion Objects...I don’t give a fuck about any of those anymore.”
“...P-Please, don’t--”
The last sentence went unfinished as the blade sliced through the air, through her pale neck as crimson sprayed across his body, before the entire figure collapsed out of the wheelchair and sprawled unceremoniously onto the floor. Heaving, Adam felt the first waves of nausea bubbling up as the slow realisation of just what he’d actually done started creeping up, but it was cut short by a slow, amused clap from behind.
“Well done...well done indeed, ol’ chap!” The shadow clapped him on his back, all smiles and jovial winks while Adam stood there, trembling and still staring at the corpse. “Of course, you do understand that this is all really just in your head...so it’s not as if you actually murdered her. But certainly, we won’t have to worry about her interfering any time soon...don’t we?”
“She...she’s really gone...”
A nod. “More or less. Unfortunately, since I am not the original e-gene, but rather a shadow born from her...peculiarities, I cannot completely guarantee she’s gone forever,” Jack casually spat onto the woman’s body, before nudging it carelessly aside with his boot. “But it shouldn’t matter, not for our purposes...after all, we don’t need that much time now.”
“No...it shouldn’t be long, now.” The nausea was retreating quickly, and a cold sort of calm was taking its place. That’s right...there was no reason to regret anything, not at this point. All those promises, lies of being able to lead a 'normal’ life after his marriage...they were just that. Lies. If it hadn’t been for Dogoo, and his e-gene, plucking him out of obscurity and thrusting him into a spotlight he wasn’t ready for...perhaps he could have gone on through life, mundane and unfulfilling and tinged with fear of Earth being overrun by aliens, but maybe it would have been better than all this.
A warm maroon smile flashed briefly in his memory, but he tamped it away; she was dead to him now, as was the man who was hailed as the ‘Dark Angel’ of England, Adam Muirhead.
“Now...it’s time for you to wake up, Adam.” A hand slowly closed over his eyelids, and suddenly he was overcome with a wave of drowsiness.
“I’ll be waiting for you...”
----
“In the name of all that is good and holy--cor blimey, Adam! You, you...” Like a scene that had replayed itself countless times now, the Scottish doctor was once again sputtering in disbelief, tea spilling from its mug as papers flew off the desk when Adam walked into the office, looking a little haggard still but much more fit than even before his hospitalization.
“...Apologies Hunter...” Adam had to bite down the urge to laugh, despite the strange severity of the situation. He’d just effectively killed his e-gene, signed a literal deal with the devil himself, and now was waltzing into his doctor’s office as if the heart attack and all those wounds had never occurred. “I guess some things never change, don’t they?”
“I--yeh--sure, why bother changin’ anything now...” Hunter muttered, still baffled at how a patient who was barely able to wash himself a day ago could now be standing and strolling with ease. “You, uh...look much improved...” He frowned and looked down at his chart of numbers again. “But, still...I should prolly give you a once-over--”
“--It’s fine; I’m...feeling better now, as you’ve said,” Adam hastily waved the doctor away. He had no idea how Jack’s powers even began to work, but he suspected that, while untraceable by normal medical instruments, there would be no hiding any changes from one of their own; if Galileo got a hold of him and did even a simple scan, they would know for certain.
About Jack the Ripper. About what happened to Florence Nightingale.
“...Well, if yur sure...” Hunter eyed him with a frown, but decided to let the issue go. The man had just been placed on suicide watch a few days earlier--any improvement, even if inexplicable, was better than him sinking back into the depths of despair. “You can finish convalescing in your own quarters; I’m sure your son’ll be glad to see ye.”
A slight tremble ran through him at the mention of his son. The one remaining part he had to take care of, before anything could be resolved. “...Yeh. I’m...sure he will...”
“Aye, Muirhead,” the Scottish man sighed and grabbed Adam before he could leave, “look, I know th’ two of you have...got some disagreements ever since ye fell ill; but he’s still your son--your family. Don’t throw everythin’ away, if only fer the boy’s sake, alright?”
Those eyes, looking as serious as Adam had ever seen them, for once it was Niall looking straight into Adam’s soul, and it was unsettling. But then there was a shadowy whisper, and whatever regrets he harbored about leaving his son to fend for himself faded into the background.
“...Yeh. I know, Niall. Believe me, I know...”
“Well I...alright Adam, alright...” There were more words he wanted to say, but they were left behind. “Just...take care o’ yurself, mate.”
His vision was strangely tinted and for some reason Adam was seized with the urge to grin, as he so often did on the field of battle. “Oh, of course...don’t worry about me, ol’ chap.”
The Ripper strode out of the office in confident strides, removing his gown and stuffing it into the nearest rubbish bin, nevermind the gawking from passing crew members.
It is generally advisable to avoid going down an alleyway in Sector 03. However, the corollary to this is that it might not always be your choice. But no matter what circumstances behind one being in an alley in Sector 03, things weren’t going to end well.
The case in point: two men, one gun, a fight over money. It ended with a series of gunshots. And, if fate had been smiling on the murderer, it would have stayed ended there. But even with his ears still ringing, he felt the presence of someone behind him.
The criminal in question took off. His clip was too small and his nerves too frayed from his recent killing to stick around.
Beauty didn’t watch the man flee. His only concern was on the corpse, which he grabbed and hoisted up, pressing it against the wall. There was no pulse against his thumb where he gripped the body around the neck.
He had less than a minute to act, but his breath was shaking regardless. He had to let go of his conscious mind and let the iron smell of blood overwhelm him or he would be sick.
He was almost sick anyway when he bit into the shoulder of the body.
At least, once his fangs were through the skin, it got easier.
