Human fighters(-Adam)* sitting down after you cleaned what he is going to wear to the fight, and now you bring him a sports drink and orange slices* You bring us sustenance while we are hard at work, Y/n. That's what I appreciate about you
Y/n*Chuckles at the comment, handing him his fill of cold drink is mostly teasing*Is that what you appreciate about me?~
Adam: What else is th-
Human fighters: YOUR CHILD IS HOT-THEY'RE HOT!? THERE I SAID IT!?-
Human fighters*Proceeds to run away, blushing as he feels Adam's piercing gaze follow him*I SAID IT!?!, REGRET NOTHING!!!... I REGRET NOOOTHING!?!
Chamomile tea wasn’t exactly your first choice, but the aromatic beverage at least lets you keep your composure as your older sister, Brunhilde approaches your seated form.
It was your turn.
You wonder if your other sisters were collectively letting out a sigh of relief right about now, thankful they wouldn’t be the ones chosen for this round.
Not because they feared their end. No, not that. You had all agreed to put your lives on the line for the sake of humanity, as is the duty of the Valkyrie. Even if it would mean the end of your existence, even if it meant you would lose one another, even if the battlefield would be your last sight.
No, it was because of who would be humanity’s fighter against Hercules.
“Am I your least favourite sister or something?” You drawl out, finger tracing the rim of your cup, before placing it down with a resounding clink.
It’s cold now.
You don’t look back as Brunhilde stood above you.
She calls your name, but rather than the usual exasperation that would take over her tone when dealing with you, there was something more fatalistic in her voice, so lacking in emotion, that made even her acknowledgment of you sound like a warning. You glance up at her, leaning back in your chair to properly shift your body to see that her eyes definitely matched her despondent tone.
“You have gave your vow to put your life on the stake and I have decided you will be the one to fight next. Now isn’t the time—“ Brunhilde asserts, and you have no doubt that she’d give you a proper verbal lashing if you didn’t cut her off.
“Relax, sis. I’m not going to run away, I’m just making a fuss because you’re really putting me in a tough situation. To slay a beloved hero or to die alongside a villainous fiend; I’m the only one of us to face this particular…dilemma,” You muse aloud, looking in your sisters eyes to see a slight ounce of guilt or even sympathy. You don’t.
You sigh, “To pick him…The means may justify the end to you, but this isn’t the hero humanity wants, especially against Hercules. Can’t you…” You trail off as a shiver passes over your neck, before you whirl around in your seat, to see him.
Jack the Ripper.
Who just heard you state your very clear reservations against him. Who has a very overwhelming…presence.
He loomed above you, somehow making his way right next to you without you noticing with an shadowed expression that quickly lightens into something more amicable as your gaze catches his mismatched one. By all means, he looked more docile than you were expecting, appearing like any well dressed gentleman, with deceptively gentle eyes and an almost sincere smile.
To your shock he kneels down onto one knee, grasping your hand. His grip firm but not painfully so.
“My dear lady,” He kisses your knuckle, glancing up at you, “It seems you are the Valkyrie I am to be partnered to.”
You gap in shock, before regaining your senses. “Hey,” you gasp out, before using both hands to yank him up, you let out a choked laugh at the absurdity of your situation, “No need to work your charms on me, I’m not going to run…And you can let go now.”
The man now upright once again, tilts his head, before unfurling your hand from his. “You have quite the strength, but for an alluring lady, such as yourself, I am sure you are full of surprises.”
What a flatterer.
You huff at his strange behaviour before turning towards your sister, “Hilde, no need to linger, we’ll be at the battlefield shortly.”
You expect her to protest, maybe out of doubt or even concern of leaving you with a strange man, or to even say her possibly last words to you, but she only nods. “Very well. You shouldn’t linger too long either. Remember your responsibilities.” You can only mutter a complaint before she departs, glancing back at the notorious killer.
“Sit down for a bit, we still have time,” You gesture at the spot across from you, watching close as he takes a seat with a certain poise. You didn’t think there would be an elegance to simply sitting down, but being wrong was something you have grown used to today.
“I’d offer you a cup of tea, but it’s cold and gross.”
He lets out a chuckle, eyes twinkling with mirth, “I appreciate the hospitality, nonetheless. While I do not mean to question your graciousness, I am quite intrigued by your change in demeanour.”
You sigh for maybe the hundredth time today but certainly not the last, leaning forward to place your face between your hands languidly. “I’m just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to ‘become one’ with an obviously…morally dubious individual, such as yourself.”
“Now, I am quite sure it will be simpler than you think,” He matches your posture, resting his chin above his locked hands, eyes meeting yours again, searching. You have to suppress a flinch at being at his full attention.
“Then you’re dumb.” You reply bluntly while the weirdo seems to look absolutely charmed for whatever reason, leaning back again as if to take you in your entirety. “In all honesty, I don’t want to die, especially alongside you. I don’t want to die because Hercules crushes you like a bug. And I definitely don’t want to die with my last sight being a cheering audience and my last meal being this oversteeped excuse of tea.”
Maybe you’re not as selfless or righteous as your sisters, and maybe that’s why Brunhilde too cruelly left you in his hands.
You abruptly snatch the abandoned cup of tea, and take a large gulp of leftover chamomile tea in a rather unladylike way, before tossing it aside, ignoring the sound of shattering ceramic. In a quick motion, you use your arms and knees to climb across the table, until your nose brushes his.
“My, this is rather unexpected—“ He falls silent as you wrap your hands around his neck, your grip unyielding but not enough to really choke or inhibit him.
“I don’t want this all to be for nothing. I doubt you care about humanity, you probably have your own screwed up reasons for being here. I don’t really care. We will not loose this fight. I refuse to let it end like this.” You declare, eyes locked onto his, feeling blood thrum beneath your fingers.
And he…
And he gazed upon you with wide eyes, definitely shocked at your brazen behaviour. It was almost like he was looking through you but somehow still managing to catch every inch of your visage.
His hands reached up to match yours, not even attempting to remove yours, but simply resting them, as his fingers curl against your own.
He almost looked reverent, his lips curling into a smile that was surprising angelic for a man like him.
“I told you,” He starts, his tone breathy, a stark contrast to his silver tongue, “This will not be hard, at all.”
And like that, your physical form dispersed into threads that wrapped around his hands.
“What a beautiful colour,” He whispers into the empty room, flexing his fingers, almost admiring his now gloved hands.
“It’s just a normal pair of black gloves, wouldn’t say there’s anything remarkable about it,” You drone, your voice passing over him as you reside at the core of his very being.
“I wasn’t referring to the gloves, darling,” He replies, finally moving to make his way to kill a god.
And kill a god, he did. While it was the longest battle yet, and you almost jumped out of your skin throughout the battle only being able to yell at and scold Jack for his risky tactics, he still won.
Yes, Brunhilde definitely expected this outcome.
As he looked up, seemingly at a loss for words at Hercules’ end. You regained your form, slightly cringing at the mixture of Jack and Hercules’ blood marring your skin and clothes.
You exhaled, looking up into the sky, knowing you aided in the demise of one the kindest beings to grace mankind. Green wisps of light ascended above, both you and Jack watching the final remnants of Hercules disperse.
He looks back at you, his eyes meeting yours once again, “It seems we survived like you wished for. How do you fair, milady?”
“You’re asking me that? I’m more curious about our latest godslayer,” You retort, rubbing your hand against your bloodied cheek, scanning his various injuries.
“I cannot say, this feeling is utterly foreign to me,” he clenches his fist, returning his gaze back to the sky, with a wistful tone that seeps into you.
Can he not see how completely sad he is?
His expression remained as light as ever, but even without synesthesia like his, you could see the somber look in his eyes, almost mourning.
He was pitiful, that much you could say with certainty after performing völunder with him.
“That’s sadness,” You reply, watching to see any reaction, “You, like anyone else here, are feeling sadness at the loss of Hercules.”
“Am I?” He muses, turning back to you, smiling, his eyes as gentle as they were when you placed your hands around his neck.
“What are you grinning at? You do realize you’re bleeding out, right? Are you perhaps delirious from blood loss?” You remark, breaking eye contact, still feeling the burnt of his eyes on you, nonetheless.
“Your colour is certainly unique,” He replies, simply.
You turn back to him, taking in his appearance, he looked different in your eyes from your first meeting. Even excluding his injuries and battered form.
You approach him after a moment of contemplation, with a lowered voice.
“You shouldn’t have pretended to be Jack the Ripper, would have saved you a lot of trouble and grief. While you’re not infamous, that would still be better than everyone rooting against you. I think the only one who cheered for you was drunk.”
He looks surprised for some reason, as if forgetting your very souls converged.
“That…” He seems to trail off, still caught off guard, before smiling in an irritatingly sad way. “In the end, the two of us have committed the same atrocities.”
Really now…
You sigh, “You really are pitiful. You should hurry to the medbay before you actually die. Don’t forget, you let yourself get impaled.” Without another word, you take to the air.
“As you wish, madame.” He mutters, amused, looking at your retreating form for a second more, before making his way through the replicated London.
While you had decided to leave by yourself to clean up, you turned back, and as expected, Jack was facing the malice and grief of those who loved Hercules. Adults and children alike pelting stones and whatever else they could grasp at him.
It was moments like these where you wonder how gods can’t see their similarities with humans. Grief and retribution seemed to be inherited feelings.
You hesitate for a second before cursing, descending next to him, plucking his knocked off hat from the ground as rocks rained from above.
“You…came back?” He looks stunned, as you move to place his hat to its rightful place and you have no doubt why.
Today was probably the first day someone even said “I love you”, to him so this is probably the most somewhat positive interaction he’s ever had.
“I’m just as responsible as you, so might as well face the music together,” You respond idly, kneeling down to loop his arm around your shoulder and hooking your arm across his waist before slowly standing up to make your trek to exit the arena.
“I would have to vehemently disagree with that notion,” Jack mutters, his voice finally betraying his weakened state. The fool tries his best to hold his own weight, but you only scowl, and use the arm at his waist to tug him closer.
“Forget that. How about you try learning a new song? I think ‘London bridge is falling down’ will forever be engraved into my head,” You complain finally reaching cover as you leave the storm of rocks, shouts, and sobs.
Jack laughs before wincing, “It is simply a song that I cherish, my fair lady,” He looks fondly at you once again as you let out a groan at his choice of endearment.
“Wasn’t expecting you to be such a sap,” You avoid looking at his face as you two see a med team quickly approach, carrying a stretcher. “Well, this is where we part, Jack, or whatever your real name is.”
“And I suppose you plan to fix yourself a proper cup of tea now?” He asks as you two detach for the nurses to fret over him, no doubt remembering your earlier conversation.
You grimace, remembering the taste.
“Hmm, I doubt it. I don’t think tea is for me, after all ,” You hum, turning away before you feel his slender fingers wrap around your wrist. Startled, you look back, only for him to pull you toward him, stumbling as your hands meet his chest. You try to detach yourself from him before he strains himself further, but Jack simply wraps his arms around you in a manner too bold for a man of his era.
“Idiot, what are you doing—!?” You begin to reprimand him, but his voice instantly and embarrassingly silences you.
“Allow me the honour to brew you some tea. I’m quite fond of darjeeling, myself. I think you would enjoy it too,” He interrupts you, looking down at you with those sappy eyes that you definitely hate.
“F-fine!” You stutter, trying to avoid the curious gazes of the nurses, quickly shoving him into the strecher, “But worry about the hole in your stomach first!”
You finally turn around, speedily escaping the prying eyes and giggles of the nurses.
“As you wish, my fair lady,” He calls out, and you can hear the smile in his voice as you let out a small noise of annoyance at his audacity, ignoring the heat that spread to your ears.
At least his spirits have returned, you think, fighting back a smile.
As confirmed in the side story series, “The Jack Ripper Files”, Jack isn’t actually the og ripper as a lot of people have already guessed since his behaviour in the main story obviously doesn’t match a vulnerable women killer. No, he actually killed the real Jack the Ripper who was about to kill a young orphan girl. Like he still has a weird desire to kill (pretty sure some organization (maybe government) seems to give him targets (it’s a win-win, he gets to kill, and they get the job done)) and is obviously not morally good but he wouldn’t go after innocents especially prostitutes, like his pseudo mother Anne. But he still takes on the moniker for Ragnorak since he has killed one. Also, even before the ripper thing, he seems to use Jack as a fake name anyway, probably after his father seeing how he wears his stolen hat.
Any interaction would be appreciated! I plan on writing a Qin Shi Huang and Nikola Tesla version next!
Adam*Holding you in his arms wrapped like a burrito, cradling you in his arms for your nap...Even when you're an adult- In a hushed tone* You BEAUTIFUL and CAPABLE of GREAT things my child...
Adam*Whispering closer to your ears, eyes glowing blue and red*LIKE MURDER~...
Y/n*Snoozing comfortably in his arms*ZZZZzzzz
Adam*Eyes go back to normal, shaking head* Dont do that tho~...
Adam*Eyes glowing again in killer instinct mode*UNLESS ITS COMPLETELY NECESSARY
Y/n*Sleep talking,responding to him*Ok daa..daa...
Adam*Pecks your forehead happily*Thats my baby~ Dada will be your accomplice~... especially if it is to murder your bad boyfriend~oh Dada will BURY him in the yard~Yes their gonna be compost for your mama's garden~
