Francis felt chills surge down his spine, cold sweat breaking across his forehead. By all rights, an evil spirit manifesting only through a human host's consciousness shouldn't possess this level of perception. Typically, their real danger lay more in symbolic influence than raw, physical power.
Although the battle he'd just witnessed was devastating, Francis reasoned that skilled Investigators from Scotland Yard could achieve similar results, given enough preparation. But they had been observing from a safe vantage—more than a mile away, hidden in the shadowy night. Without their specialized alchemical telescope, he and Hendry couldn't have spotted the fight clearly, let alone been spotted themselves.
Yet the sinister being at the heart of that carnage had locked onto their position immediately.
Francis swallowed hard, dread rising in his chest. If he and Hendry were forced into battle against that monstrous figure tonight, several long-term plans would inevitably fall apart—perhaps catastrophically so.
Fortunately, the towering, blood-soaked figure atop the burning theater roof seemed to lose interest after just a glance, dismissing their distant presence as nothing more than a curiosity.
Yeah, right. Like anyone would believe that's just coincidence.
Francis lowered the telescope with a grimace, handing it awkwardly back to Hendry.
"It's over?" Hendry asked cautiously.
"It's finished," Francis confirmed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "'Pain Wolf's' consciousness has been banished from this world by the other, still-unidentified evil spirit. Sherwin, leader of the Wolf's Word Church, is dead."
Hendry nodded, only relaxing slightly. Then Francis added sheepishly, "But there's one more thing."
Hendry's gaze sharpened. "What else?"
Francis hesitated, staring at a nearby building rather than meet his partner's eyes. "I'm pretty sure that evil spirit just noticed me."
"..."
Hendry stiffened, the fatigue beneath his heavy dark circles momentarily fading. Then he spat out a curse and bolted toward the fire escape, Francis barely keeping pace behind him.
"Dammit, I should've known you were as useless as Constantine! Next operation, find someone else!" Hendry shouted harshly as they sprinted desperately down the deserted alleyways.
They didn't slow their pace until they'd run several miles and reached a remote area with a parked, unmarked black car. Francis doubled over, gasping, while Hendry's breath came out ragged and strained.
"Goddamn it," Francis panted heavily. "We ran all this way, and no one's chasing. Maybe we're in the clear?"
Hendry's face was unreadable. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Francis shut up wisely, climbing into the passenger seat as Hendry started the engine, headlights piercing the gloom as they headed back toward Scotland Yard's East London branch.
After several minutes of heavy silence, Hendry spoke quietly, "They were ready for tonight. Far better prepared than anticipated."
Francis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Intel suggested Jack the Ripper might be tied to this new occult group. You think someone involved in the Whitechapel murders is pulling the strings?"
"I'm uncertain," Hendry admitted reluctantly. "Aaron Hastings is a rising star in the Metropolitan Police, skilled and dedicated. He could've easily joined us as a supernatural Investigator, but he refused—said it would endanger his family and disrupt his peaceful life."
"Understandable," Francis said quietly. "After all, his father was crippled chasing a dangerous criminal. He fell into opium addiction, becoming abusive. Honestly, I still think Hastings' mother shouldn't have faced the gallows for defending herself and her children."
Hendry remained silent a moment before continuing, "Then there's Hermann. Before taking up detective work, he was already a supernatural initiate—a gunman from Colombia who spent years as an assassin before escaping here. He's been in London less than a year."
Francis nodded, understanding the implications. "True. That timing lines up suspiciously well with the emergence of this cult."
Hendry's voice stayed grim as he continued, "Inspector Kuhn, though, likely isn't involved—he followed Douglas from the Sheffield airship division to East London's police. His record's clean, nothing supernatural."
"There was another detective involved, wasn't there?" Francis interjected suddenly. "I remember seeing his name briefly but didn't finish the file. Who was he?"
"Detective Lorrian," Hendry replied, eyes narrowing as he drove. "He's a complete mystery—arrived in Britain from the Romanov states in 1882, though he was actually born in Frankia. He acquired British citizenship after just six months, registered as a private detective, yet refused to join any detective associations or build a proper clientele. He wandered London's poorest districts, moving constantly due to unpaid rent."
Francis frowned. "But wouldn't a person like that be eligible for London's housing subsidies?"
Hendry shot him an exasperated look, prompting Francis to raise his hands defensively. "Alright, shutting up."
Hendry sighed and continued, "Intel hasn't dug deep enough yet, but Lorrian's the one who solved the Tepes Manor case the night Jack the Ripper first appeared. The victim, Jack Arnold, is most likely the real identity of Jack the Ripper, and Director Moriarty agrees."
Francis shuddered slightly, understanding the implications. "Then this Lorrian sounds incredibly suspicious. A supposedly dead man resurrected into a supernatural murderer, infiltrating the police for revenge, ultimately serving whoever revived him... A failed detective, a bitter and ambitious young man—that fits perfectly as the leader of a fanatical cult."
He added with a grimace, "It always puzzles me why these evil entities prefer recruiting people like that—struggling detectives, painters, poets, or physicians. Do these 'inspired' folks really possess stronger spiritual potential?"
"Perhaps," Hendry said thoughtfully, eyes still wary. "Our intelligence division is already investigating Lorrian thoroughly. We'll have detailed results within the week. For now, we must handle this new cult immediately."
He fell silent for a moment, clearly haunted by the image of the recent battle. "The blood-red cross isn't a casual symbol. If it spreads, the Church will hunt it relentlessly. Either it's just empty symbolism… or this evil spirit is far stronger and far more dangerous than we imagined."
Francis's expression hardened in agreement.
With quiet determination, Hendry pulled out his secure phone and tossed it to Francis.
Francis caught it reflexively. "What's this for?"
"Call Director Moriarty. Request immediate authorization to start Operation Purge three days early," Hendry stated firmly. "I want temporary supreme command of the East London Police Department."
Francis swiftly dialed, nodding as Hendry added one last detail:
"And request the Knights Brigade and Black Cavalry deploy immediately to East London. It's time for a total lockdown."
Silence filled the vehicle, broken only by the hum of the engine, as they sped back into the chaos soon to erupt across London.
Tonight's battle had set everything in motion—nothing would ever be the same.