Have you ever heard the name Jack the Ripper? Probably.
A serial killer shrouded in mystery. Some say he's the ghost of a madman, others claim he's immortal.
Now, let me clear up those rumors. After racking my brain, the only answer I can come up with is... nope. Complete lies. And how do I know that?
Because—
"I am Jack the Ripper."
"Sir, could you please stop this nonsense? We've already caught the serial killer calling himself 'Jack the Ripper'..." a policeman said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Judging by the bags under his eyes, he was exhausted. Naturally. I have been coming here for the past two days, claiming I'm the infamous Jack. These fools really nabbed the wrong guy. Ah~ how the mighty police have fallen.
Crossing my legs, I met the cop's eyes with a smirk.
"And I'm telling you, the guy you arrested is a fake. Can't you wrap your tiny brains around that?"
He sighed.
"Even if he is a fake, just like you say, what does that have to do with you?"
"Hmm... Let me think... Why would I be so worried about someone pretending to be me?"
I stood up and slammed my palms on his desk.
"Because I'm Jack the Ripper! Are you seriously letting this happen?! This is identity theft!"
"Someone get this crazy man out of here!" the officer shouted.
Two men approached and each grabbed me by a shoulder. They escorted me out of the police station as I shouted like a mad prophet.
"The law! That faker's breaking the law! You're just going to let him get away with it?! Lock him up for identify theft instead!"
And just like that, those were my last words before being tossed out of the station and banned from ever entering again.
'Ah~ the irony. I, the real Jack the Ripper, lost my identity to some low-life impostor.'
Yes. I'm the actual killer who once terrorized the streets of London.
My real name is Jack Jackerjack. I'm 35, unmarried, and single. I like to think I'm rather handsome. I've charmed plenty of women... but I've never taken it further than holding hands.
Why?
Because if I did, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself from killing them. And no, I wasn't just some lunatic with a knife. I had a code—kill the bad, spare the good. But lately... I've been getting the urge to kill the good too. That's why I wanted to turn myself in, before making a irreversible mistake.
But as you can see, I failed. Miserably.
The first time I killed someone is burned into my memory. The adrenaline. The rush. The warmth of their blood—
Ah~ just thinking about it gets me riled up.
It happened in an alleyway. The night was cold, the stench of garbage clung to the air. I bumped into a drunk man who was holding a knife. He tried to stab me. So I killed him.
That was the first time I felt it—something deep, primal. A thrill I'd never known.
Death was... beautiful.
And from that moment, I became who I am today.
"And to think... my reputation was stolen by some nobody."
I sighed, looking up at the sky. A clear blue, cloudless canvas. The streets of London bustled—carriages rushing by, people chatting along sidewalks, newsboys darting through crowds. Definitely the kind of place where secrets thrive.
Hands in the pockets of my long coat, I made my way down the street.
Just then, the wind picked up, snatching the hat from my head and messing up my hair. It landed right in front of me.
'Today really is a bad day...'
Crouching to retrieve it, I suddenly heard—
"GET OUT THE WAY!!!"
I looked up.
A carriage. Speeding toward me.
It was just inches away.
'Ah~ so this is what my victims felt before the end... It's kind of nice, in a way—'
The carriage struck me head-on. I also heard something strange in that moment.
[Universal...]
My body flew. My skull cracked against the ground. Blood filled my vision. And my last thought before losing consciousness was—
[... Law...]
'I should've killed that thieving bastard... and what the hell's that noise?'
That day, death became my closest friend.
And also... my killer.
***
[[Law of Death]]
[All belong to he who reaps]
'Huh? What's this...?'
Words appeared in a pitch-black void. Glowing golden text I'd never seen before... and yet, I understood them completely.
The light burned into my mind, and then—nothing.
***
I opened my eyes.
'An unfamiliar ceiling... No, wait. Didn't I die?'
Above me, a chandelier hung lifeless, its crystals dulled. Cobwebs and cracks covered the ceiling like scars. The entire structure looked ready to collapse at any moment.
I tried to sit up—but then came the rattling. My whole body clattered like loose bones.
And the headache—unlike anything I'd ever felt—pounded against my skull.
I winced and raised my hand to my head.
"Am I dreaming...? Yeah, that's the only thing that makes sense."
My hand... was smooth and pale like porcelain. Almost doll-like. But it moved—open, close, open again—just like a human's.
Yet this didn't feel like a dream.
Was it the afterlife? No... something was off.
I rose to my feet.
"Ugh... this headache..."
It worsened by the second—throbbing, burning, unbearable. Aside from that, my body felt strangely light. Almost... hollow. The rattling sound, though annoying, reassured me that all my joints still worked.
"This place is a mess. What the hell happened here?"
I stood in a ruined bedroom. A massive king-sized bed sat in the center, books scattered across the floor. The air reeked of burnt wood.
Clearly, a fire had broken out—though some items remained in good shape.
The expensive-looking bed hinted at wealth. A cracked mirror beside it reinforced that.
I walked over to the mirror. Its gold frame still shimmered despite the damage. It could probably still fetch a decent price.
And then, I saw it.
My eyes widened—at least, I think they did.
A life-sized mannequin stared back at me.
Smooth porcelain skin. A featureless white mask with elegant curved lines painted across it.
"Is this... me?"
'A doll? A damn porcelain doll?!'
"Heh... Unbelievable."
'How could I—Jack the Ripper—turn into a doll?'
I tried removing the mask. It wouldn't budge. No... this wasn't a mask.
This was my face.
"This is some cursed puppet show bullshit."
I let out a long, frustrated sigh.
"No time to sulk. I need to find a way out of this room."
Naturally, the door was locked. And with the aftermath of the fire, finding a key would be like looking for a needle in ash.
Rustle.
A noise.
My eyes snapped to the source—a faint sound beneath the rubble.
It came from under the floorboards. Probably a rat. Still, no harm in checking.
I shoved the books aside and found a loose plank. I lifted it.
Then—
Something lunged at me—straight for my face.
I instinctively raised my arm.
The creature bit down—but I felt no pain.
I grabbed it, restraining its squirming body.
'A rat... or a mouse?'
But its massive golden eyes made up nearly half its face. Its fur was silver, and its tail ended in a sharp spike.
Not something you'd find in London. Or even Earth.
"But do you know what happens to things that attack me?"
"They die."
"And your death... will be explosive."
I squeezed.
The rat exploded in a burst of blood.
I was far stronger than I expected.
[Skill: [Soulstess] acquired]
'Huh...?'
Words appeared before me—written in glowing gold ink, as if by some divine pen.