Prologue: Whispers in the Fog.
_ _
Here we go with another adventure so please support me in order to write more
And if you're really interested take a look on my patreon :
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4
_ _
1 .One piece: The Last Voyage to Mordor.
2 .Spider-Verse: The Web of Deception
_ _
London, 1888.
The night had swallowed the city whole, smothering its streets in an ashen fog thick with the stench of coal and filth. Gas lamps flickered dimly, their feeble glow barely cutting through the oppressive gloom. The Thames rolled on, a sluggish black serpent winding through the heart of London, carrying whispers of secrets best left unspoken.
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones of Whitechapel, hurried and uncertain. A woman's silhouette darted through the narrow alley, her breath ragged, her gloved hands clutching at her skirts. She stole a glance over her shoulder—nothing but the mist, shifting and writhing as if alive. And yet, she knew she was not alone.
A shadow followed.
Her pace quickened. The rhythmic click of her boots against stone became a frantic drumbeat. But no matter how swiftly she moved, the presence in the fog mirrored her steps with eerie precision. The alley narrowed, walls pressing in on her like the grasp of the damned. Her heart pounded, an unrelenting hammer against her ribs.
Then—a whisper.
Low, guttural, like the sigh of a dying man. The sound curled around her, a serpent's hiss in the darkness. Her body froze, her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to run, to scream, but terror had turned her limbs to lead.
A hand, cold as the grave, rested on her shoulder.
The last thing she saw was the glint of steel, reflecting the dim glow of a distant lamp. Then came the pain, sharp and swift, a cruel caress that parted flesh like silk. The warm embrace of blood followed, spilling onto the cobblestones, a crimson flower blooming in the night. The last thing she heard was a chuckle—low, delighted, inhuman.
Jack the Ripper had claimed another.
---
In a lavish study far from Whitechapel's filth, William James Moriarty sat in contemplation. The dim light of a single candle cast flickering shadows on the bookshelves that lined the walls. Before him, a map of London lay spread across his desk, marked with meticulous annotations—patterns of crime, locations of power, the very veins through which the city bled.
A chessboard sat beside it, the pieces frozen mid-game. He reached out, his slender fingers brushing over the black king. With a soft click, he moved it forward.
Check.
The newspaper in his other hand bore the grim headline: *Another Whitechapel Murder—The Devil Walks Among Us.*
Moriarty's lips curled into a knowing smile.
"Jack the Ripper…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
He did not believe in the supernatural. And yet, there was something about these murders—something that defied logic. The precision, the impossibility of escape, the utter absence of witnesses. Even the most elusive killers left footprints. Jack left only whispers in the fog.
A challenge had been issued.
And Moriarty never refused a challenge.
---
Elsewhere in the city, in a modest apartment littered with scattered papers and half-smoked pipes, Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"I assume you've read the latest?" he asked, not looking up.
Dr. John Watson set the newspaper down, his brow furrowed. "It's monstrous, Holmes. The entire city is in terror. The police are baffled. And frankly, I don't blame them."
Holmes smirked. "A ghost in Whitechapel? A killer who vanishes into thin air? I daresay the good inspectors will soon be consulting mediums and fortune tellers." He tapped his fingers against his armrest. "What do you think, Watson?"
Watson hesitated. "I think… I think this is no ordinary killer. The precision, the sheer impossibility of it—"
"Precisely," Holmes interrupted, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Which means either we are dealing with a genius… or something beyond human."
Watson scoffed. "Surely you don't believe in fairy tales."
Holmes chuckled. "No, my dear Watson. But I do believe in the power of illusion."
He sat forward, tapping a finger against his temple. "Jack the Ripper believes himself untouchable. That is his first mistake."
Watson shivered. "And his second?"Holmes's smile was sharp as a knife. "Existing in my city."
---
Beyond the gaslit streets and shadowed alleyways, far from the reach of Scotland Yard or even Moriarty's calculating mind, something ancient stirred. In a hidden chamber beneath London's streets, where time had no meaning and the air was thick with the scent of iron and decay, a figure sat upon a throne of bones.
His fingers, pale and clawed, traced the edge of a silver blade still wet with blood.
The Ripper's smile was wide, his eyes glimmering like twin coals in the darkness.
Let the games begin.
_ _
Chapter 1.....
_ _
If you want to read more up to 3 or even 7 chapters or simply to support this young writer:
Patreon.com/Doflamingo4
_ _
Please check my other works :
1. One Piece: The Last Voyage to Mordor.
2. Spider-Verse: The Web of Deception.
_ _
Thanks for the support.
_ _