Crime, corruption, and tragedy; it seems that no matter where she goes, these concepts follow Arya Stark wherever she goes. In her bid to see the world outside Westoro's, she saw locations beyond her wildest dreams. Metallic dungeons that billowed out dragon fire that blackened the sky, metallic carriages that carried entire armies, and strange weapons which could kill in an instant were all marked improvements.
However, the more her surroundings change, the more they stay the same. Even though a dozen eyes, she still clung to the truths that defined her life. If there is genuinely any difference between two groups of people, one will always try to devour the other. That got made all the more clear as she trudged through London in 1888.
The difference in class was made all the more important. Winterfell wasn't exactly a paradise, but it might as well have been compared to the district Whitechapel. Poverty seemed to seep into every corner of the age-old district. Greedy thieves, flirtatious prostitutes, and desperate beggars all carried the air of hunger, whether it be for a good meal, safe life, and most of all, mercy from their everyday hell.
Each call for help whittled away her stoicism by the second, leaving her body twitching in anxious adrenaline. These calls reached their peak as they saw a screaming woman with skimpy clothes in clear distress from another aimless alley with no one around.
"Help me!" said the woman as she frantically slipped and fell.
The people didn't dare move as she lay at the mercy of a hulking masked brute with an Afgan Choora Knife. In a second, a thunderstorm worth of past traumas and ghosts reverberated through her body, jolting it forward automatically. In a flash, Valryian steel deflected an iron blade as Arya stared down history's most famous serial killer: Jack the Ripper. Though she didn't care instead shifted focus on the seeming civilian.
"I'll handle this. Please leave."
At once, the woman responded, leaving the scene while saying.
"Don't worry, I'll get help," she said in a more assertive tone.
The complete speed of the parry left the criminal utterly puzzled for a moment. Though one good look with Eagle Sense was enough to tell the killer this. She was certainly no Assassin but still dangerous as one. As such, Jack instantly shifted his attention towards the new element at play. Still, his brutish confidence showed through.
"You're only delaying the inevitable, girl. I'm cleansing the filth here," he said confidently.
"The only filth I see is you," she snapped back.
For a brief second, the two veterans in combat, studying each other intimately before readying their weapons for the carnage to come. The poor residents of Whitechapel were privy towards a spectacle for the ages as the combatants' bodies blurred.
Like a mirror, each slash the two unleashed on each other was countered or deflected as if they were perfectly in sync. Each told their tales of loss and brutality more than words ever could. One can't obtain such strength without losing at least something. Both had lost their families, taking that incalculable pain and turning their life together. How they did, it was completely different. Their short stalemate lasted a minute, but from there, Jack's rage started to show far too much. He lunged forward with Hidden Blade extended in earned, hoping for an easy victory.
But nothing was ever when it came to Arya Stark as in one graceful motion she pulled out her signature sword: Needle. In less than a second, she quickly drew her weapon and used his to unleash a close parry that cut his outstretched hand. Coursing blood dripped down the city streets as both combatants stepped back to steady themselves.
Arya's trademark confidence sprung out, knowing all too well that this opponent was indeed human. Which compared to the unearthly Night King was mercy incarnate. Jack, on the other hand, was far from calm. For months he roamed these streets, killing anyone in his way—at the same time, getting known throughout London as beyond a man, a demon-given human form.
However, his bloody arm told a different story. It showed that the Ripper could very much so bleed. And if he can bleed, he can die, his legacy nothing more than a temporary nuisance here, among others. A thought that left Jack livid as multiple jagged voices focused on one singular objective.
"Rip The Girl."
"You already earned my blade, girl, but now you've earned my wrath as well!" he said in rising anger.
Ignoring all common sense and subtlety, Jack let out a primal scream, finally letting the people of Whitechapel leave promptly. Steadying both her blades Arya looked at the beasts with razor-sharp eyes, not wanting to give him even a single advantage, bracing herself for the storm to come. A storm that soon moved with the speed of lighting and force of thunder as Jack lunged forward.
The sheer size difference combined with home-field advantage proved to be a principal factor as even with all her might, Arya proceeded to get slammed across the alley walls like a ragdoll. Everyone was more disorienting than the last as soon enough, Arya got thrown into a rotting wooden window.
Using that as leverage Arya tried for a horizontal slash with Needle but using his trusty spike Jack leveled the attack enough to close in and give Arya a punishing right hook. With that, Arya was sent throttling into the dark, abandoned building, into the realm of shadows. Using her sword as a makeshift cane, Arya picked herself up, spitting out blood as she surveyed her surroundings.
She tried to find the door where she came from, but her sight seemed to fail her. Which didn't add to the situation as a low hungry growl started to echo across the small space. Combined with the seemingly growing shadows, it almost felt like Arya was a lamb amongst a pack of hungry wolves.
A rather appropriate description as Jack threw a dangerous knife right into Arya's backside. It was now Arya's turn to scream as, for a moment, the young woman turned back into a little girl as she whimpered. That didn't dare stop Jack, though, as he kept the onslaught of edged projectiles coming. Using Needle and her dagger, she tried to deflect them, but eventually, the latter got pushed out of her hands.
Several minutes later, Arya was lacerated to hell and back, grasping her sword so hard her bloodstained knuckles turned white. Fear and adrenaline pulsed out through her veins, causing her stoic expression to crumble with each inching second. Her breathing became ragged, her hands shaky and eyes blurry from blood loss. Jack savored the moment as he started to lurk a tad bit closer, laughing maniacally while saying.
"Are you starting to feel it now, girl? The gashes that feel so deep they'll rip you apart if you pull too hard. The blood in such sheer volume you're damn near choking on it? The fatigue that's running through you like a toxin? I hope you manage to savor every bit of this because it will be the last thing you feel," he said venomously.
However, Jack failed to account for one thing, Arya was a wolf in sheep's clothing. This wasn't a fight between prey to predators but a battle of equals. Arya intensively closed her eyes, instead relying on her four other senses. Arya had already experienced blindness once, so she knew that mere sight hindered more than anyone.
"Remember your training, remember when it was like drinking that damn potion," she thought to herself while focusing.
She smelled the enveloping dust that marked the building, using it to steady her breathing. The coppery sting of blood in her cheek and trudging of heavy footsteps added to her mental image. Once she felt the stale air start to get more turbulent by the second, Arya was more than ready to answer Jack's call.
Needle responded to Arya's will holding and parrying Jack's knife. The feat alone was enough to shred through Jack's dark realm, bringing everything to light. However, the achievement was only the warmup to what's to come as Arya's adrenaline peaked for the mother of all blitzkrieg. The young warrior pushed back Jack to rely on his Hidden Blades to avoid a fatal wound.
Immediately, exhaustion started building up within Stark's body, slowing her strides and strikes by the second. Picking up on her weakness, Jack pushed Arya back, hoping to carve her in two with a single slash. Which meant that Stark had won her little trap as she finished what she started!
Like an inferno, unyielding pain completely gripped Jack by the throat, paralyzing him momentarily while his left hand fell to the floor. A moment was all Arya needed, though as she poured the last embers of stamina to thrust Needle into Jack's abdomen. For good measure or pure sadism, Arya twisted the blade even deeper before falling back, leaving the killer to his agony. Whether it be through fake bravado or reflex, at this point, Jack switched from his animalistic to human growls incessantly.
"You cocksucking, arrogant little bitch! Kill you! Maim you! Rip you!"
Slowly but surely as well, his pale mask started to turn red on the blood that he coughed up. Yet despite the overwhelming pain or the chill of depth that started to freeze his very soul. Jack didn't dare fall. Every fiber of his being wouldn't allow it.
The entire world has knocked Jack to the floor too many times, and by his creed, he won't allow it. Not while the sweet euphoria of vengeance was so palpable, he could taste it. So in a move of pure desperation, The Ripper relied on one last gamble. One last bloodcurdling scream rang out as Jack pulled out the bloody sword before responding. Jack's assassin gauntlet fired its grappling hook towards Arya with the flick of a wrist. Even with the lack of stamina, she avoided the attack, but that wasn't the Ripper's goal.
Jack managed to get the cable to wrap around Arya's neck in a whipping fashion before she could do anything. Using every bit of his strength Jack made the line go taut, instantly cutting off Arya's air. Now, her panting escalated to desperate gasps for salvation as the Ripper started to drag her body closer in one fluid motion.
If they were going to die, then why not in a blaze of glory, right? Stark tried to claw herself away from him, but that only made Jack more determined, using his right hand to pull her closer and closer. In this life or death tug of war, Arya lost as she soon got embraced by the hulking serial killer, hoping to savor every last dying breath.
Yet, London's Leather Apron forgot a singular detail in his flagrant bloodlust. Even with her throat turning purple, her last flickers of life showed a path to the light. Blades weren't the only thing Arya became an expert on. Arya desperately grasped her quiver from her back, grabbing only one arrow out of a dozen.
Which she put to good use as Arya stabbed Jack in the eye with it. Even with the fatal wound, Jack tried to hold on, desperate to finish his attack, but the last twist of the arrow was enough for Jack to finally let go from both Arya and life.
And as the world's most famous serial killer got put to rest, Stark tried to find hers as she weakly escaped his failing grip. Once far and away, the young maiden of House Stark finally found some rest, but not before seeing the shadows of two figures. A particular brother-sister duo that had also made history in a way.