The rain had finally stopped, but East London's streets remained shrouded in a heavy mist. The yellow-black police cordon wrapped the entire street like a funeral wreath. On the lawn outside the mansion, investigators laid out corpses—one after another. Pale, bloated, rain-soaked bodies stared blankly at the overcast morning sky, their lifeless eyes beaded with morning dew.
A police car rolled through the cordon, and the officer in charge lifted the barrier. A sleek black vehicle pulled into the scene.
The door clicked open.
Henley stepped out, dark circles under his eyes deepening from lack of rest. Before he even closed the door, the local officer in charge was already rushing toward him at a near sprint.
"Inspector Henley!"
"Give me the rundown," Henley said curtly, already walking toward the mansion.
The officer caught up, speaking in a low voice. "Total of twenty-four deceased. One of them is the property owner. The other twenty-three appear to have been hired guards."
"Any survivors?" Henley asked, already knowing the likely answer.
Surprisingly, the man nodded. "Yes. Quite a few, actually."
Henley's pace slowed slightly. "How many?"
"Forty-seven. Forty-six are staff—cooks, maids, groundskeepers. The last is an art student from Suffolk Academy. They say she was a guest here."
Henley's brow furrowed. "So the attackers weren't indiscriminate. That's… unusual."
He followed the officer to the crime scene—a garden path stained dark with blood. Most of the bodies had already been moved, leaving only the most disturbing one behind.
Councilman Zenoni knelt in the middle of the path, his body stiff and decapitated. He held his own head in both hands. Behind him, scrawled in his blood across the wall in jagged letters, were two chilling words:
Jack the Ripper.
Henley stared at the bloody inscription, eyes narrowing.
"That name again…"
"Yeah," the officer said with a grim nod. "He's been all over East London the past few weeks. Started with a man named Evans, a known criminal. Then a string of gang members, all with police bounties on their heads. We suspected he might be a 'gifted'—a supernatural—early on, but we didn't have the manpower to look into it."
Henley continued staring at the wall. "What was his connection to Zenoni?"
"None, as far as we can tell," the officer replied, handing him a report. "We believe Zenoni hired a hitman to eliminate his illegitimate daughter. That assassin tried to pin it on Jack the Ripper, killing a few sex workers to complete the cover-up. Then Jack showed up for real."
Henley let out a cold chuckle. "Fitting end for a bastard like him."
He flipped through the report, pausing as he read the investigation credits.
"The Tepes Manor Case… Investigated by Detective Lorian… and Jack Arnold was the victim?" He blinked. "Wait, Arnold?"
He kept reading.
"Advisors: Detective Herman and Lorian, hired by Inspector Aaron Hastings."
"Is this Lorian guy clean?" Henley asked.
"I believe so. At least, we don't have anything on him," the officer said. "His background checks out. Just a private investigator."
"I met him this morning," Henley said, tapping the file. "He's no 'gifted.' Ordinary human. But after this mess, I want a full background review on everyone involved—after the Purge. Leave no gaps."
"Understood, sir," the officer said, sweating slightly.
Henley handed back the file. "Now show me the room where the fight went down."
The bedroom looked like a warzone. Charred walls, shattered furniture, and slashes of elemental energy left clear signs of an intense magical battle. Artwork hung in ashes. The scent of scorched wood and lingering blood filled the air.
Henley crouched down, brushing a finger across a patch of blackened flooring. His irises shimmered green as his spiritual senses activated.
"…Thunderhide Armor, Shadowflame, some basic runic constructs…" He frowned. "Mostly mid-tier magic. Why?"
"We questioned the staff," the officer added, "and a few of the maids claimed they'd seen a man in a red mask sneaking around at night. The student too."
Henley sighed. "Let me guess—Wade Winston."
The officer looked sheepish. "It's possible."
Henley shook his head, muttering, "Of course it is."
Despite his reputation as a scumbag with no boundaries, Wade was a seasoned hunter. And powerful. In a one-on-one fight, he could take most gifted down.
But…
Henley rose to his feet, eyes scanning the damage. "There were three combatants, not two. At first, it was Jack the Ripper versus Wade Winston. Wade had the upper hand. Then, a third party intervened."
He gestured to a blast mark near the fireplace. "That turned the tide. Judging by the residual energy… this third party is no amateur. High-tier combat spells, good control. At minimum, they're close to a 'Veil-tier' operative."
The officer's expression tightened.
"Things are getting worse," he muttered. "First the blood ritual cases, then cults acting up all across East London… Now a possible Veil-tier operative working in the shadows…"
Henley waved him off. "Save it. I'll get the Minister to bump your budget if it helps. But right now, I've got other fires to put out."
He turned and strode off toward his next destination, not sparing a glance for the corpses behind him.
Back at the headquarters of the Initiated Cross…
Michelle had already been turned into a third-generation vampire by Marilyn. The conversion had gone smoothly—one more capable piece on the board.
Now, he stood outside the door of their "Chief Missionary," Benson, and knocked lightly.
"Mr. Benson? The Blood Priest has summoned you."
From inside, a voice called back. "Give me a second! Come in, I'm almost done."
Michelle entered and found Benson hunched over a workbench, surrounded by tools, books, and… a wrench?
"What are you working on?" Michelle asked, eyeing a bizarre object in the center of the table.
Benson held it up with reverence. "The Holy Codex of the Initiated Cross!"
Michelle blinked.
It was a thick, intimidating tome—almost six inches deep, with reinforced metal corners, a cover etched with fangs, flames, and a twisted crucifix. A steel chain dangled from the spine, ending in a tiny skull ornament.
"The contents are still a work in progress," Benson explained proudly. "But I wanted the design finalized first. Practical. Intimidating. Stylish."
He leaned in, eyes gleaming. "I'm going to propose the creation of the 'Midnight Missionaries'—a special unit of vampire preachers. Each one armed with a Codex and a high-caliber firearm, ready to spread the Word and shoot the faithless dead in the street!"
Michelle stared, stunned by the audacity of the man's vision.
A vampire missionary… with a blessed shotgun?
Benson seemed to revel in the idea. But after a moment, he composed himself and turned back to Michelle.
"So? What does the Blood Priest want?"
Michelle bowed his head. "He said the war with the heretics is coming. It's time we prepare. Our 'Father of Blood and Shadow'… has decided to personally bestow the true gift upon you."
Benson's eyes widened.
Then he grinned.
"…About time."