It was an unnaturally frigid city shrouded in thick smog. The air was thick with an overwhelming stench—the reek of rotting flesh, of viscera, of vomit...
This wasn't Trifas—the architecture was entirely different, and pedestrians still walked the streets. Though the smog carried an acrid bite, it wasn't painful enough to be unbearable.
He moved forward, but there was no sensation of his feet touching solid ground. It felt precarious, unsteady, as though he were treading on crumpled nylon bags.
This was an illusion—no, the heart of a nightmare.
Realizing this, the young man shook off the murmurs whispering at his ears, and his distorted vision stabilized. A sharp pain shot through his arm, accompanied by the stench of seared, festering flesh.
As the epicenter of the resentment's eruption, Sakatsuki had been affected the most severely. But with the support of the Third Magic, he was also the first to regain clarity.
A biting cold wind swept past him, sending a crumpled newspaper fluttering into the air. He caught it deftly.
[THE NIGHTMARE GOES ON]
['JACK THE RIPPER']
The bold, black print screamed terror, the pungent ink assaulting his senses.
Jack the Ripper—the horror story born in the foggy streets of Whitechapel, London. A fleeting nightmare of the 19th century that had since haunted popular culture like a restless ghost.
Rolling the newspaper into a baton, Sakatsuki tapped it lightly against his palm, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings.
Clusters of young children huddled together, their tattered clothes unable to hide their wounds. A bloated drunkard leaned against a lamppost, his cunning gaze fixed on the young man like a scavenging jackal. Heavily made-up women stood in doorways, their hollow smiles luring in the dregs of society...
In the distance, smokestacks spewed the poison of the Industrial Revolution into the sky, while the mist settled over the streets, nurturing unseen shadows and sins.
"Tch. Quite the vivid world, my friend."
His cold chuckle carried an almost magical force, driving back the hidden eyes watching him. Then, a hazy glow of magecraft flickered to life. By the time the onlookers turned in surprise, a completely transformed English gentleman had emerged from the light.
A dark suit, white dress shirt, narrow cravat, an Ulster overcoat, black leather gloves, and the iconic accessories—a high silk top hat and a walking cane.
Had he been holding a pipe, paired with his naturally piercing gaze, the great detective himself might as well have stepped through time, standing once more on the streets of Victorian England, seamlessly blending into the shadowed city.
Indulging in this little cosplay fantasy, Sakatsuki nodded politely to the bystanders before setting off with elegant strides—deceptively slow, yet swiftly beginning his search.
Unlike the original story, this time, little Jack had been dragged into this unwillingly, and there was still hope for rescue.
"Artoria might not be here. Without magical energy sustaining Avalon, it won't hold for long. If Jack gets consumed by the resentment again and loses herself in this illusion, there'll be no saving her."
The dim streetlights swayed as the gentleman walked through the fog-laden streets. The cries of children, the drunken brawls, and the indistinct murmurs of intimacy all faded into the background—until his footsteps suddenly halted.
A girl in tattered clothes, her legs marred by scars and bloodstains, stood at the crossroads, facing the elegant gentleman with an outstretched hand.
"Please… don't leave me behind…"
A child's plea was impossible to refuse. So the gentleman approached her, crouched down, and took her hand.
As if granted permission, the girl extended her other icy arm, coiling it around his neck like a serpent.
"Warm me…"
"Why? Why does everyone hurt me?"
"It's so cold…"
"I wanted to be saved… so why did no one come?"
"I want to be together…"
"I want to go back… inside Mama."
Those illusory murmurs, those maddening obsessions, wrapped around the gentleman once more. Yet, amid the mental corruption that would drive any ordinary man to madness, Sakatsuki's lips curled into a faint smirk.
"Laugh. Laugh all you want."
"This is the lowest stratum of the world, the abyss beyond the abyss. Whitechapel, London—the grand dumping ground of human flesh. A spider's nest where, once you fall in, you can never crawl back out."
The voice did not belong to the pitiful little wraith—it came from the handsome gentleman ensnared by the girl.
There was no hatred in that voice, no resistance. Only amusement and mockery, so palpable that even the vengeful spirit widened her eyes in disbelief. Then, Sakatsuki lifted his gaze, his iridescent blue eyes locking onto hers.
"So this is hell. A city of vice, where inhuman beasts dwell."
"Know this—I despise this place. And yet, I revel in it."
The girl tried to pull away in terror, but Sakatsuki seized her wrist. His cane pressed against her throat, trapping her, his tone laced with the dry humor of a British gentleman.
"In a city steeped in malice, I am bound by neither man nor law. To me, such freedom is the greatest reward."
"In return, child, accept my prayer. Don't let appearances fool you—I do have a place in the Holy Church."
Aaaaah—! The girl's shriek pierced the air. The streetlights flickered violently, and with each flicker, new vengeful spirits latched onto the child, their hollow gazes fixed on the gentleman.
"Here they come?" Sakatsuki glanced around at the encroaching shadows—and laughed, genuinely. A laugh so chilling it made even the wraiths recoil.
"Then let us begin."
The girl in his arms struggled, but this time, his hand clamped over her head.
"Declare—"
The moment he spoke, purifying light pierced through London's fog. The wraiths wailed in despair, only to find themselves ensnared by those same iridescent blue eyes.
"I am the one who kills. I am the one who creates. I am the one who harms. I am the one who heals."
Screams erupted. Limbs thrashed.
Yet the gentleman's grip was unyielding, as if powered by the strength of ten thousand.
"None shall escape my grasp. None shall evade my sight. Be shattered."
The merciful Lord cast a distant glance toward hell, and amidst the prayers of the faithful, the collapse began.
————
Innocent people, innocent children, crystalline beings of purity.
Her vision distorted as the scene shifted abruptly. Reika Rikudou realized she had lost her connection with little Jack, and thus the mother abandoned all composure, calling her daughter's name through unfamiliar streets.
"Jack—little Jack—"
Like a fool rushing headlong toward a curse, Reika naturally drew the world's attention.
And so, Reika witnessed it with her own eyes.
She saw a young girl being assaulted by a burly, hairy man in exchange for that day's meal. She saw a boy knock the girl down with a club to steal her bread. She saw the boy have his hard-won bread snatched away by a vicious adult, only for it to end up in some stranger's hands.
At the end of the street, a vehicle rolled by, sending the bread flying high before it landed with a soft thud at Reika's feet. As she bent to pick it up, the magical circuits of the Osarei family sounded an alarm.
"Stay with us."
A child embraced Reika from behind, clinging to her like a mother.
This was a vengeful spirit.
The very danger Sakatsuki had warned her about time and again.
These were the irredeemable dead.
They had to be eliminated.
Reika understood this perfectly well, yet she spoke softly:
"Of course."
It was absolutely the wrong decision, but the woman's expression never wavered. The moment permission was granted, the weight behind her vanished as the spirit transformed into a dark substance that seeped into Reika's body, absorbed by the Black Magi's circuits.
The card let out a shriek, cracks spreading across its surface. Even for a family renowned in black magic, allowing untreated vengeful spirits to merge with their most vital circuits was unthinkable.
But as a mother, Reika couldn't abandon any part of "little Jack." Her love would embrace all aspects of the girl—the good and the evil.
To Reika, Jack was her daughter. And so, for her child's sake, this mother would willingly become a demon or a yaksha.
The resentment battered against a normal person's mind. Blood trickled from the corners of Reika's eyes, yet she didn't stop walking. Children seemed drawn to her, and facing them, the woman smiled and opened her arms:
"Come, my children."
Had the world gone mad, or had she?
Shadow after shadow crashed into her body. The cracks on the card deepened, but Reika remained oblivious. Even as blood flowed from all seven orifices, she staggered forward.
"Where are you, little Jack..."