Chapter Text
Adamas walked aimlessly, his feet carrying him through the silent corridors while his mind remained anchored to the bitter scene at the banquet. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, a deafening static that rendered the world around him meaningless.
His gaze caught a heavy door left slightly ajar. Driven by a hollow curiosity, he leaned in to peer through the gap, but the door swung wider of its own accord. Inside, the Einherjar started, their eyes snapping toward him with feral wariness. Those who had regained consciousness—Simo, Okita, and Tesla—immediately moved to shield their fallen comrades with their own bodies. They looked like a pack of young, starving wolves, desperate and mangled, yet fiercely protective of their wounded.
The sight sent an unexpected warmth through Adamas’s chest. For the first time in an eternity, he saw a loyalty that wasn't demanded by rank or blood.
He slowly raised both hands, palms open in a gesture of peace. "Peace... I didn't come here to cause trouble," he said, his voice stripped of its usual jagged edge. "But it looks like you could use some help with your friends. I can assist... if you’ll let me."
The Einherjar exchanged guarded glances, searching for a trap within the gaze of the God of Conquest. But they found only a soul that looked as weary as their own. Qin Shi Huang, still clutching Kojiro’s shoulder, held Adamas’s gaze for a long moment before giving a subtle, solemn nod.
With the Emperor’s silent approval, the others—though still trembling with suspicion—slowly lowered their guard, allowing Adamas to step into their provisional sanctuary .
Adamas knelt on the cold marble floor, his sharp eyes scanned the row of fallen warriors with the clinical calm of a general inspecting the remnants of his battalion. He winced as his fingers brushed the deep bruising on Kojiro’s small shoulder and the jagged wounds on Rasputin.
"The others are merely reeling from the divine shock of the brands," Adamas muttered, his voice low and gravelly. "But these two... they possess physical injuries that make their vessels far more vulnerable to the rune’s pressure."
With a flick of his wrist, Adamas summoned a surgical kit from the void. His hands, usually built for destruction, moved with an unexpected, practiced dexterity. He threaded a divine needle and began to stitch Kojiro’s wounds with movements that were swift, precise, and hauntingly efficient.
"Some of you possess souls that are fundamentally antithetical to your divine masters, so your spirits are instinctively trying to reject the bond," Adamas explained softly, never breaking his focus. "Others are simply too estranged from divine essence; their bodies require more time to acclimatize."
Nikola Tesla, watching with the unquenchable curiosity of a scientist, ventured a question. "And what of those of us who remain conscious?"
"Either your willpower outstrips the nature of the brand’s domain..." Adamas paused to tie off a suture on Kojiro’s final wound, "...or you share a natural resonance with that energy, allowing the integration to settle faster."
In mere moments, the external wounds of the unconscious Einherjar were neatly tended. Okita Souji, who had been hovering near his blade, stared at Adamas with a look of genuine awe. "Whoa... you're fast. I could barely track your hands."
Adamas went still for a heartbeat, a hollow, bitter smile tugging at his lips. He began to stow his tools back into the ether.
"Well... being the God of Conquest means being cast into wars that are long and relentless," he said, his voice distant, as if echoing from a battlefield eons away. "One conflict ends, another begins. You aren't always granted the luxury of preparation or supplies. Scarcity of resources, of men, and the crushing weight of time... that was my daily reality."
He looked down at his hands, still faintly stained with mortal blood. "Sometimes, I had to be the surgeon because there were no doctors left standing, or because we were surrounded with no one else to turn to. Besides..." Adamas looked up, his gaze meeting theirs with a piercing, flat honesty, "...I am not an essential piece of my family's board. I am entirely replaceable."
Adamas let out a dry, rasping chuckle, a sound that somehow managed to puncture the oppressive gloom he’d just cast over the room. He waved a dismissive hand, as if brushing away the ghosts of his own words.
"And," he said, shifting the tone with practiced ease, "I spent quite some time living with Beelzebub. You can imagine it—it was like sharing a roof and apprenticing under a mad doctor with a non-stop clinical schedule."
A crooked smirk played on his lips as he recalled the flickering shadows of the Lord of the Flies’ laboratory. "If you didn't learn to stitch yourself up fast in that place, you’d likely end up as part of the next experiment. So, consider this the result of training in a very literal kind of hell."
At the mention of Beelzebub, Nikola Tesla straightened, his expression a chaotic mix of lingering trauma and repressed scientific intrigue. Even Qin Shi Huang loosened his guarded stance. There was a haunting irony in Adamas’s laughter,a god who had been broken and rebuilt by the hands of a demonic scientist was now mending the very humans his family had sought to erase.
"At the very least," Adamas added, rising to his feet and smoothing out his maroon greatcoat, "my needlework is far more aesthetic than the way Beelzebub grafts things together. You won’t have to worry about any unsightly scarring once this heals."
Adamas stood with hands on hips, scanning the humans who were still awake with a notably more relaxed gaze. "Alright, I've patched up their external wounds and given those runes some stability. They should be waking up shortly."
He turned his full attention toward the Einherjar still standing. "And you lot? Any other injuries, or pain anywhere else? Better speak up now—I can't just materialize out of thin air every time you need a hand."
Simo stepped forward with awkward strides. He lifted the long purple skirt of the Rapunzel dress he was wearing, revealing slender legs bruised deep blue and covered in inflamed scratches.
"Wow, Loki really did a number on you, didn't he? Sit," Adamas commanded. Simo obeyed as Adamas began cleaning the wounds with medicine and cotton. "Let me guess—he dragged you into some fairytale parody, but a twisted, nightmare version of it?"
Simo looked startled. "How did you know?"
Adamas snorted, pulling out bandages as his fingers expertly wrapped Simo's leg. "Kid, you underestimate me. I’m as old as Odin, maybe even a bit older. We used to be sparring partners before things between the Norse and the Greeks got... complicated. I’ve known that boy’s antics since he was a brat."
Simo went quiet for a moment, staring at the bandages wrapping his leg as a sudden wave of guilt washed over him. "I'm sorry... for killing him. He must have been someone close to you."
Adamas chuckled softly, glancing toward Qin Shi Huang with a playful smirk. "Look at him, Emperor! This is how you should have acted back then. You could learn a trick or two from your 'younger brother' here."
Hearing this, Qin simply turned his face away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being reminded of his first meet with Adamas,but that's because he felt the intention to kill adamas first ok, don't blame him.
"You... your name is Simo, right?" Adamas looked back at the sharpshooter. "Don't sweat it. I’ve had something of an epiphany lately. You know, dying at the hands of your own brother and becoming a god three times over teaches you a few things. I’m not going to get worked up over something like that."
He tied the final knot on Simo’s bandage with a firm tug. "Anything goes in war. Stepping onto the battlefield means you’ve already accepted one of two outcomes, death or survival. Loki agreed to play the game, no one can blame you for his end. No one should be blamed for simply trying to stay alive."
The words hung in the air, bringing a strange sense of peace to the Einherjar. Adamas, the God of Conquest, had become the first to validate their struggle without a hint of resentment.
Adamas unpinned the bone-carved spider brooch from his collar. It was an antique piece, radiating a faint, chilling aura of protection. He took Simo’s hand, pressing the brooch into his palm and folding the sniper’s fingers over it.
"I cannot interfere too deeply," Adamas whispered, his voice thick with a grim resonance. "But at the very least, this will grant you a slight edge when you face Loki again. It carries a blessing of luck."
Simo hesitated, staring at the gift. "Don't give it to me. Sasaki or the others... they need it more."
Adamas shook his head, a ghost of a bitter smile on his lips. "I know these gods. Your friend would be in far greater danger if Poseidon caught even a whiff of my presence on him. And I know Loki... his games are relentless. You’ve endured quite a bit, but he will keep pushing until you reach your breaking point. This will help keep the madness at bay."
Without further word, Adamas stood. In a single, fluid motion, he shrugged the long, maroon military greatcoat off his shoulders and tossed it toward Qin Shi Huang. The Emperor caught it instinctively, his eyes widening in rare surprise.
"You, as well—wear it, Emperor," Adamas said, adjusting his black vest, now fully exposing the harness strapped across his chest. "I know you are a man of freedom, unburdened by archaic notions like fashion stereotypes, but... I believe Hades has gone quite far enough today. I shall have a word with him later."
Adamas moved toward the door, the steady thud of his boots echoing against the walls. Before vanishing through the gap, he offered a final, sidelong glance at the humans who now watched him with a silent, newfound reverence.
"I hope you don’t live long," he said—a strange, dark prayer for those who sought the peace of the grave. "Farewell."