Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely a fanfic for enjoyment.
Cross-over from various games, books, anime, manga, and movies.
The familiar characters you see here belong to their respected authors and owners.
"Speech"
Arc 7: The Journey - Chapter 6
Someone... kill me...
"How is the food, Jin?" Yor beamed at me, eyes gleaming with pride. "I hope you like it! I made sure to keep everything fresh—and I finally figured out how to stop them from decaying over time."
Behind her stood a grotesque mountain of "food," each dish writhing faintly as if alive, the accumulated results of who knows how many culinary experiments.
"Great…!" I managed a shaky thumbs-up while lying on the ground, blood seeping from every pore. The so-called food hadn't knocked me out—it had done worse. My insides were torn apart so thoroughly that the River of Time had revived me over a million times just to prolong my suffering.
"I think I'll try my best to become the Chef of the Eldritch pantheon." Yor said with a radiant smile, clearly delighted by her success. "I have a good feeling I'll obtain that identity."
Fuck me sideways…
There's no way that's a good thing—at least, not for me. I know she could easily claim that identity since this is the Eldritch pantheon, not some ordinary one. Unless I somehow recruit a god-tier cook with cosmic-level potential, or claim that Identity myself, it's a lost cause. But honestly, taking that identity from Yor sounds like the biggest mistake of my life waiting to happen.
"Anyway, I'm still in the middle of my private break." Yor said cheerfully, brushing imaginary dust from her apron. "Can't have you around for long, Jin. So I'll just drop you off in some random world—no need to thank me. Bye, bye!"
She waved her right hand in front of my face, and before I could even protest, I felt the ground vanish beneath me.
The last thing I saw was Yor's bright smile fading into nothingness.
Then came the fall.
Darkness swallowed me whole. My body plummeted through the void, weightless yet heavy, as if gravity itself couldn't decide what to do with me. The abyss was pitch-black, endless, yet I could still make out the faint glimmer of my own limbs… and the blood dripping freely from my wounds. So maybe not everything was black.
Before I could even start ranting in my head about many to you crazy voices, I crashed—hard. The impact rattled every bone in my body, forcing another groan from me as pain flared anew.
I lay there for a moment, face pressed against something cold and unwelcoming, before exhaling a shaky breath. "Great… just great…"
Blinking a few times, I reached out to the River of Time, letting its current flow through my mind as I sought to determine where I'd ended up this time. Hopefully, Yor hadn't sent me somewhere beyond my level. That narrowed the list of possibilities, but with her, you could never be too sure.
Because knowing my luck, this wouldn't be a regular world. It'd be an upgraded, alternate version—one where even the weakest enemies were capable of rewriting reality with a sneeze.
I blink again, and my face instantly twists in disbelief.
Of all places, this is where I end up? The overlapping chaos of worlds—Kingdom Hearts.
I let out a groan that probably echoed through at least three layers of reality. "Oh, come on… there's no way I'm going through a cliché nerfed protagonist arc just because I'm 'too overpowered.' Not happening."
Grinding my teeth, I focus inward. The Heart of Eldritch pulses within me, distorting space with a rhythm that isn't meant to exist. I channel that corruption to amplify my Glitching, which in turn reinforces the River of Time flowing through me. My broken, battered body begins to mend as I weave Boundary Manipulation into the process—restoring flesh, resetting bone, and scrubbing away the lingering trauma of Yor's cooking.
Once I feel my form stabilize, I don't even hesitate.
I raise a hand, and reality—stubborn, confused, and mildly offended—shatters under my will. A rift tears open before me, its edges writhing like oil and light.
Yeah, no. I'm not staying in a place where light and darkness are too fixed in sides, along with many complicated things that just become more complicated just because. Plus, Namine alone would cause me headaches.
Without looking back, I leap into the hole. The tear seals itself shut behind me with a quiet ripple—like the universe sighing in relief that I'm someone else's problem now.
I blink, stunned. Of all the worlds to land in again—it's Soul Eater. Right in front of me stand the Thompson sisters, just as shocked to see me as I am to see them. Not that I blame them; materializing out of a tear in reality isn't exactly subtle.
A quick pulse of Invasion sweeps through their minds, flooding me with memories.
Holy hell—they're the same Thompson sisters I met back when Nyarla and her sisters, which the Thompson sisters had their fate's influence drained for money. 3 years have passed since then, and they still haven't met their destined meister, Death the Kid. That makes Liz about 20 and Patty 18 now—older than they were in the original timeline.
Before I can speak, both sisters suddenly tense as I move my hands without warning to grab their boobs, causing them moan loudly, their souls resonating with recognition. In a flash of light, they transform—twin silver-themed Beretta M9s.
I stare at the gleaming weapons, blinking once more.
I sensed that Madness of Boobs and Lucky Pervert are the cause of this.
"Hey!" Somebody yelled from my right. I turned and found a ragged bunch loitering in the filthy backlot of a collapsed building, trash and rusted junk piled up like an altar to apathy. One of them, the obvious leader, was already opening his mouth to make a threat.
I didn't wait. Time to test out the Thompson sisters.
A tiny use of Invasion—a mental suggestion—and then I fed them a cocktail: Madness of Boobs braided through Glitching, amplified by a lash of Kido. The sisters answered instantly.
The shots were precise. Everyone in that gutter folded inward on themselves and vanished in the span of a heartbeat. No screaming set pieces, no theatrical delays—just tidy, complete erasure. The bullets these pistols birthed didn't leave the usual soul-orbs behind; they erased the souls clean, like someone rubbing chalk from a blackboard.
I glanced down at the pistols' polished surfaces. The reflections were warped—mirror-images of Liz and Patty staring back: eyes wide, a mixture of fear and something like worship, vulnerable in a way that made the alley feel colder. They are shaken and implicated in what'd just happened.
"…Convenient." I said.
The backlot settled into a dead silence.
I toss the pistols into the air; they spin once, then fold back into the Thompson sisters. Human, breathing, and blinking like they've come out of a bad dream.
"Alright. Lead me to your place." I say it like an order, like I'm offering them a lifeline they can't refuse. Liz and Patty exchange a nervous, synchronized look—one part fear, one part automatic obedience. Liz nods, silent, and guides us away.
It doesn't take long before we're inside some ruined, half-collapsed motel that surely had better days. Wallpaper peels like old scabs; the carpet smells of mildew and stale cigarettes. A flickering neon sign outside hums a tired, blue apology to whatever neighborhood still remembers it.
"So here's how things go." I say, casual as I drop onto a lopsided chair. "You two belong to me now. Got any complaints?"
They gulp. Both of them shake their heads so fast it looks rehearsed. I almost grin, just a twitch at the corner of my mouth, but I clamp it down.
The last thing I need is to smile properly as I'd not have the Thompson sisters faint on me. Not from my charm—no, from the particular kind of dread my smile carries. Heart attacks, collapsed lungs, the usual collateral.
I let the silence hang instead, watching them for a moment.
Looking at their attire, they didn't really change much compared to the last time I seen them. If anything, they really mature and their clothes hug specific places now, seams stretched where there are some tears that show some skin.
"Listen up." I say in a business tone, causing the two to gulp again as they did their best to focus. "First few rules while you're with me: bathe every day, brush your teeth, no hard drugs, and don't do anything that'll get either of us kill somehow."
Liz frowns, but keeps quiet; Patty's face crinkles like I'd suggested murdering her puppy, which is dramatic but moving on.
"There will be sex involve, I'm not going to suger coat it. I will get horny at some point and I will fuck you two, either alone or together for a threesome." I continued, then raise an eyebrow as Liz and Patty didn't seem to be fazed by this as if they expected this. "I'm going to train you two to become better in combat and survival. Also, in every daily life style like cooking and cleaning. I'll make sure you two never go hungry nor have to worry about people coming to kill you two after raping you or whatever."
At that, something like eagerness sparks in both their faces.
"Now, we'll start with basic drills tomorrow. For tonight, I'll do the cooking, and you two will watch and learn. But first, start cleaning this place up." I finished, causing the two to whisper in excitement as if I couldn't hear them.
I sweatdrop at that.
Shaking my head, I stood up from the chair I'd been sitting on and frowned at how dirty it was. Still, I made my way toward what could barely be called a kitchen and immediately felt the urge to slap my forehead at the sight before me. Forget a kitchen; it was nothing more than a broken sink, with no fridge in sight. The place lacked almost everything needed for cooking.
Well, ingredients wouldn't be a problem, thanks to Boundary Manipulation.
"Okay, forget cooking for the time being. Just clean this place up, and I'll get the food." I said to Liz and Patty. Both girls looked disappointed, their faces falling in unison, but they still began cleaning without protest.
I watched the entire process without lifting a finger. After all, these two may be under my care now, just like Nyarla and the others. However, the Thompson sisters are completely different from the others. Still, I couldn't help but sigh when Patty broke more things than she actually managed to throw out of the room.
Hours passed, and the place finally looked more livable. The floor was clear, and for once, I could actually walk around without stepping on something sharp or tripping over random junk.
Overall, I had expected more chaos than cleaning—something closer to them turning the place into even more of a ruin. I suppose being 3 years older than their canon counterparts, and never being found by Death the Kid, had changed them more than I thought. That day, when their fate's influence were drained, must've altered them deeply.
With a snap of my fingers, furniture began to materialize throughout the room, filling the once-empty space with life. A proper bed appeared among them—something far better for the three of us to sleep in tonight.
I snap my fingers again, causing small gaps to appear above the dining table to drop plates of food down, causing the Thompson sisters to drool.
"Dig in." I said to Liz and Patty, and they didn't need to be told twice as they leap into actions.