The Fourth Battle: Heracles Vs Jack the Ripper

The arena had fallen silent. The battle between gods and mortals, once filled with the laughter of camaraderie, had now shifted back to its grim purpose. In the aftermath of Poseidon's defeat, the weight of the next battle hung heavily in the air. The fourth round of Ragnarok was upon them. On one side stood Heracles, the embodiment of divine fortitude, his very presence exuding unwavering strength. On the other, Jack the Ripper—humanity's most infamous killer, a figure who had become both legend and nightmare.

The atmosphere felt suffocating. The gods in their seats watched with the same eager anticipation that they had for every match before, but this time there was something different. A sense of unease lingered in the air, amplified by the aura of madness surrounding Jack. His calm, gentlemanly demeanor was the polar opposite of the chaos brewing in his eyes.

Heracles stood firm, his towering form casting a shadow over the battlefield. His muscles rippled with raw power, his expression one of focused determination. He was a god of unimaginable strength, his resolve unshakable.

Jack, on the other hand, leaned against the barricade with his gloved hands clasped in front of him, his top hat tilted ever so slightly. His smile was serene, almost charming—if you ignored the gleam of madness behind his eyes.

The crowd, both divine and mortal, held their breath in anticipation. Even the Valkyries, notorious for their stoic nature, sat on the edge of their seats. This was a battle that could swing either way, a contest of strength and madness, of human bloodlust against godly fortitude.

Sasaki Kojiro, standing by the sidelines with his arms folded, eyed the two combatants carefully. "This will be a bloodbath," he muttered under his breath.

Adam nodded solemnly. "Heracles may be strong, but Jack is... unpredictable. His madness isn't something you can easily gauge."

Buddha, with his ever-present calm, tilted his head. "This will be interesting. Jack's story is a tragic one, but if he's allowed to win here... it may change things for humanity."

The battle began with a deafening silence, the tension so thick that it almost felt as though time had stopped. Heracles was the first to move, charging forward with a mighty roar. His fists, strong enough to crush mountains, were aimed directly at Jack, seeking to end the fight before it could even begin.

But Jack, ever the tactician, didn't move. Instead, he smiled, his eyes narrowing as he waited. His fingers twitched, and in an instant, the fight had shifted.

Heracles' fist struck, but Jack was already gone. Like a wisp of smoke, he disappeared into thin air, moving faster than any mortal had a right to. He reappeared behind Heracles, a glint of malice in his eyes.

"Too slow," Jack's voice rang out, filled with mockery.

With terrifying precision, Jack's gloved hands moved like lightning, carving deep gashes into Heracles' back as he dodged the god's strike. Heracles grunted in pain but didn't falter. Instead, he spun around and swung his fist again, this time catching Jack with a powerful blow to the chest.

But Jack was already on the move again, rolling across the ground and disappearing in a blur. His laughter echoed in the air, chilling and unnerving, as he danced around the god like a predator circling its prey.

"Is that all, Heracles?" Jack taunted. "You're much stronger than this, aren't you? Or is it just the humanity in me that sees your weaknesses so clearly?"

Heracles' expression hardened, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. For the first time in the match, he seemed thrown off-balance. Jack's unpredictability, his insane movements, and the aura of madness that clung to him made it impossible for the god to focus entirely on his strength.

As the fight wore on, the crowd began to see the true nature of Jack the Ripper. This wasn't a battle of power—it was a battle of wills. Heracles fought with every ounce of his divine strength, but Jack fought with something deeper, something darker. A deep-seated rage and insanity coursed through his veins. His moves were erratic, but each one landed with precise devastation. Every strike he made seemed to taunt Heracles, testing the limits of the god's fortitude.

The arena had become a theater of madness, as Jack moved like a whirlwind, his body a blur of motion. He laughed, almost gleefully, as he evaded each of Heracles' strikes, getting closer with every pass.

"You know, Heracles," Jack's voice rang out, "I once had a man tell me that strength is the greatest weapon of all. But I think he was wrong. Power alone isn't enough. It's the mind that shapes a true weapon." He laughed again, his eyes wild. "And my mind... is my greatest weapon."

Heracles scowled, but his movements began to slow, his breaths more labored. Jack's speed and precision were wearing him down. Even the mighty Heracles had limits.

Then, in a flash, everything changed. Jack stopped moving. His gaze locked onto Heracles, and the world seemed to hold its breath. In the stillness of that moment, Jack's gloves—those enigmatic objects that had been a part of him throughout the battle—began to glow with an eerie, divine light.

Heracles, exhausted and worn, narrowed his eyes. "What... what is that?"

Jack smiled, his voice soft yet filled with dark promise. "It's the truth of my existence... the reason I'm here. The reason I've become a legend in my own right."

The crowd fell silent as Jack's gloves began to shimmer with a divine radiance, their true nature revealed. They were not just any gloves. They were his divine treasure—an artifact that allowed him to strike at the heart of even the gods.

Jack stepped forward, his body swaying ever so slightly with each movement. "Goodbye, Heracles. It's time for you to understand the power of a mind forged in madness."

Without warning, Jack lunged forward, faster than ever before. In an instant, his hands shot toward Heracles' chest, plunging deep into the god's divine flesh.

Heracles let out a blood-curdling scream as Jack's gloved hands sank deeper. The arena fell into stunned silence as Jack twisted his hands, tearing through the god's flesh. Blood poured from the wound, and for a brief moment, it seemed like the world itself had paused to witness the unimaginable.

Jack's eyes, wide with intensity, reflected nothing but cold, calculated madness. His hands, now buried deep within Heracles' body, gripped the god's insides. With a mighty, bone-shattering twist, Jack tore Heracles in two.

The sound of bones snapping and muscles tearing echoed throughout the arena. Heracles, the God of Fortitude, fell to the ground in a heap, his once-mighty body split in half. The god's expression was one of pure shock, as though he couldn't comprehend what had just happened. His lifeblood pooled around him, staining the ground beneath.

Jack stood over him, his breath ragged but his demeanor calm. His gloves were stained red, but his expression remained serene, almost polite, as though he had just completed a task rather than committing an act of unimaginable violence.

He looked down at Heracles, his voice soft but filled with a strange formality. "I must apologize. I had hoped you would last a bit longer. But you were an admirable foe. I shall miss the challenge."

The crowd was in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on Jack as he slowly removed his hands from the god's remains. Some looked away, unable to stomach the brutal sight. Others, however, watched with a strange mix of awe and horror.

In the distance, Aphrodite gasped, her hand pressed to her chest. "My word… even while murdering, he's so... captivating," she whispered, glancing at the other goddesses around her. In perfect unison, many of them sighed dreamily, their eyes filled with a mix of admiration and something darker. "I could fix him," Aphrodite added with a soft giggle, much to the amusement of her fellow goddesses.

For a moment, the tragedy of Heracles' death hung in the air, but Jack's gentlemanly demeanor softened the blow. His eyes flickered with a strange sense of sadness, but also something else—a sense of relief. He had done what was necessary.

Jack turned toward the audience, offering a slight bow. "Thank you for your attention. It was an honor to battle a god of such strength. May his soul find peace in whatever comes after."

The crowd, torn between shock and admiration, began to murmur amongst themselves. Some gods, like Ares and Zeus, stood silent, unable to reconcile the mortal's brutality with the man they'd just seen. Others, like Aphrodite, leaned forward, transfixed by Jack's presence. His elegance, his poise—despite everything—left them enthralled.

In the end, Jack the Ripper stood victorious, but his victory was not without its cost. The arena had witnessed not just the death of a god, but the rise of a human whose madness was matched only by his conviction.