This is going to be a short story based off of Mishima’s Thief concept art!
it’s been in my drafts for months now along with an akechi one rip Yes, it’s going to take place in London during the Ripper era, and a guest appearance is included so I hope you like it! Consider it one of my gifts for 2000 followers!
WARNING: mentions of death and slight gore ahead. Please read at your own discretion.
The still of the night was as deafening as ever; the only sound penetrating the frosty air of London’s East End being the clacking of a fine leather heel reverberating off the narrow walls of a cobblestone valley. Fortunately, Mishima had remembered to roam the streets while equipped with an umbrella, as the unpredictable bouts of London rain demanded, and he steadily trudged toward his destination, oblivious to all but his thoughts as he tipped his formal panama hat with a gloved hand, a nervous habit he developed over the course of his time in the Whitechapel district.
Lately he had preoccupied himself with investigating a series of homicides, the victims being moonlighters and the perpetrator remaining unknown; although, the rather gloating notes left at each of the crime scenes were signed with the alias ‘Ripper’. Mishima was but a mere intelligence analyst and medical intern, but his mediocre status didn’t deter him from inquiring into this atrocity that plagued the nighttime streets. He had already discerned that the culprit retained a fair amount of knowledge pertaining to anatomy, as the bodies of the victims were discovered with an organ removed from their bodies in a fashion that no one but an expert could accomplish; although, his deductions failed to narrow the possibilities too substantially. The perpetrator could easily be a doctor, surgeon, butcher, nurse, biologist, or even a professor specializing in the previous fields mentioned.
Therefore, the only rational conclusion was to wander the general area of the murders; despite knowing he was in no such danger, Mishima couldn’t quell the uneasy knots tangling his stomach as he made his way to his base. He had prolonged his search enough for the night and was fully set to retire home when a most peculiar form entered his peripheral line of sight.
Although the shadow was clad in a trench coat and top hat, Mishima shuddered from the repugnant aura it was emitting. A feeble echo in his mind encouraged him to pursue it, and thus he did, stealthily blending with the darkness of the walls with barely audible footsteps. The only noise that could betray him was the heart pounding against his chest, begging for an escape as anxiety gnawed at it like a ruthless predator.
Where the hell are you going…? Mishima thought, not entirely knowing what it was he was anticipating as he tailed the suspicious individual through the endless alleyways for what seemed like an eternity, the night air as silent and crisp as ever.
Right at the moment he was about to retreat out of embarrassment for stalking an innocent wanderer, the form broke out into an abrupt sprint, dashing madly into a nearby alleyway as Mishima hastily followed suit, the two winding themselves further into the maze known as London.
Mishima was riding their coattails now, yet he only grasped air when he extended his hand toward the suspect as they sharply turned the corner, into another alley. However, the suspect had blindly charged into a dead end, wildly seeking a way out of their predicament as Mishima slowly closed in on them.
A goading chuckle penetrated the silence, and Mishima flung his sturdy umbrella over his shoulder, his opposing hand propped on his hip. “I’ve cornered you at last, Ripper.”
The shadowy figure desperately flitted their gaze around their surroundings, but to no avail; the only escape was through the glaring opponent anterior to them.
“Heh, all out of tricks? That makes it easier for me. You’re going to pay for what you did to those innocent people, and I’ll start by tearing out that filthy heart of yours.”
The suspect looked as though they were contemplating the method to retreat past Mishima, and although their voice was heavily muffled by their scarf, the vile arrogance that dripped from it was as distinct as the pallid moon in the star-strewn sky. “You’ll never catch me.”
Mishima narrowed his slate eyes at the taunting demon in front of him. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You can run…”
An electric blue flame promptly flickered and lapped around Mishima’s feet, his clothes flapping slightly from the luminescent gusts of energy. “But there’s one thing you can’t do, and I’m assuming you already know what that is.” His steady footsteps toward his target imprinted the pavement with dancing cyan flame, and the culprit retreated at the same excruciating pace, gradually backing into the cold impact of a brick wall. Mishima was mere paces away from them, slowly descending his umbrella to point the barrel-like tip directly at the Ripper.
A tip of his hat concealed his eyes, and all that could been seen of his face was the pearly whites of his teeth as his lips furled into the smirk of a sadistic predator. “Hyde.” The Ripper shielded their face with their arms due to the sudden outburst of cerulean flame; the sheer force would have sent them plummeting to ground had a wall not supported them from behind.
When the Ripper lowered their arms, they beheld a most bewildering sight; there Mishima stood shrouded in his peculiar cobalt inferno that generated no heat with his hat now ignited, a demon hovering behind him with a grin as sinister as its user. The Ripper could only gasp and cower against the barrier behind them; what match were they, a flimsy mortal, against a menacing abomination from the very depths of hell itself?
“You’re mine,” Mishima declared, cocking his onyx umbrella; the Ripper suddenly comprehended the reason for the shape of the tip: it was the barrel of a gun. “A corrupt heart like yours can’t be allowed to beat any longer.”
“Halt right - h-huh?!” An authoritative voice pierced the tense atmosphere like a silver arrow, and when Mishima looked round he discovered a local law enforcer, likely on night patrol. “A-are you… the Ripper?!”
Mishima’s steely orbs widened underneath the brim of his hat as the flames dancing around him vanished. “You’ve got it wrong, this guy is-”
The person Mishima spoke of darted past him and the officer, merging with the shadows of the night, leaving behind the faint echo of triumphant laughter.
“Damn it!” Mishima spat, frustration swallowing his cadence as the true Ripper successfully fled the vicinity. The officer was currently beckoning his comrades, excitedly shouting about ensnaring the Ripper. “You’ve got the wrong guy!” Mishima iterated, this time in a more panicked tone as he was the one backed against the wall. The officers were hastily closing in on him, and he compressed against the wall with such frantic desperation that he was certain he would have ruptured his spine, had it not been for the metallic chain that clinked and fell before his cloaked eyes.
I recognize this… he mused, immediately tugging at the steel upon recognition. Silky ebony feathers enveloped Mishima, and the sensation of his feet departing from the stone pavement hitched the breath in his throat as butterflies swarmed in his stomach. A few seconds had passed before he was firmly placed on a rooftop, the wings as dark as night dissipating into an azure blaze, revealing a masked face.
“It’s about time you showed up. I thought they were going to throw me in slammers, or worse,” Mishima complained halfheartedly; he truly was grateful despite his inflection.
“Yeah, can’t imagine being in jail,” his savior countered sarcastically, rubbing the nape of his fabric-covered neck.
“Haha, it’s all right. You should be more worried about yourself; it seems you’ve adopted quite the reputation… Ripper.”
Mishima sighed in exasperation as he adjusted his hat. “That’s not my code name!”
The masked man elevated a gloved hand to his mouth and chuckled, a playful smirk teasing his lips. “Don’t take it out on the messenger.”
His face sobered considerably upon scrutinizing Mishima’s countenance, anxiety and despondence now structuring his sickly face. “If it’s any consolation, we all know you would never commit such revolting crimes, and we’re going to stand by you regardless of what obstacles we face. All right… Jekyll?”
The lines of worry on Mishima’s face subsided as he commented, “Your perspicacity scares me sometimes, Joker.”
The infamous leader of the Phantom Thieves smiled, a twinkle of mischief spawning in his inky irises, befitting that of a trickster. “No, you’re just easy to read. Come on, the others are waiting at the hideout.”
Joker flicked his crimson hand to gesture their retreat, and Mishima nodded in response, nimbly leaping across rooftops alongside his role model. “I feel a bit guilty for dragging the others into this investigation on a hunch.” It was true; Mishima’s instincts pestered him earlier that night, as though a part of him somehow knew the Ripper would attempt to strike again. He urged the Phantom Thieves to scour the streets for any sign of suspicious activity; alas, it was all for naught, as Mishima had been convicted of being the very same person he was striving to incriminate.
The leader shook his head. “Don’t apologize; your hunch was correct yet again, and you even managed to corner the culprit this time.”
Mishima’s eyes fell downward, silently observing the passageways and civilians that became blurred from his speed. “Yeah, but…”
“Jekyll, it’s a relief to have someone as reliable as you with us. You’re doing a great job as a Phantom Thief.”
Mishima was caught off guard upon receiving such an earnest gaze, and somehow his burdens felt significantly lighter, thereby confirming what he surmised all along: the Thieves couldn’t have possibly elected a more admirable candidate as their leader. Mishima nodded once more, proud to call himself one of their own, in addition to being their cherished friend.
“Yeah. Thanks, Joker.”