The Ripper of East End

Part 1: The Ripper

In the autumn of 1888, a menacing killer lurked in one of Londons poorest slums, Whitechapel. Located on the east end of London, this desolate patch of land was primarily an immigrant district. Rife with crime, disease, poverty, drunkards, homelessness, prostitution, and all other kinds of sin.

It was a dark night in the london slum. A cold breeze blew through the air. In a disgusting back alley, a woman of the night took in her last breath.

She did not know she would be crossing paths with a murderer that night.

He panted as he wiped the blood off his hands onto his leather apron, watching her bleed to death with a sadistic smile.

She could not utter a single word as her throat had been slit.

He watched her attempt to gasp the rancid air a few more times before falling to the ground, completely still.

Her arms were outstretched, pleading for mercy that wouldn't come.

The silence was finally broken when the man muttered something out.

"Time to get to work."

The man drew strange symbols around her body.

The shock didn't hit fast enough. Her final moments were filled with a paralyzing fear.

He moved closer to her, unseathing a butchers knife.

The poor woman was drained of blood and sliced apart, cut the same way you would butcher an animal. The man placed various organs on the symbols he drew earlier.

He removed an object from the large burden on his back; a coffin.

From this coffin, he removed the body of a young woman.

He tossed the defiled corpse of the prostitute aside and began chanting a strange language, well (strange to the people of london anyway). As he chanted quietly, the symbols started to glow.

As his chant continued, the womans corpse started to light up, her eyes fluttered open, her mouth started opening up to form an O shape, and she then whimpered before coughing up blood. Tears ran down her face as the blood coated her mouth and chin. Upon seeing this, the man's chant stopped. He holds the woman in his arms and gently lays her back into the coffin.

"Rest now, my dear." He whispered calmly. "I guess you're not ready to be awakened yet."

The symbols he had drawn in blood earlier had now faded away as the ritual was complete. The only trace of his presence is the desecrated corpse, which the rats had already begun to poke at

This poor woman fell victim to a tall, handsome, charismatic man known as Jack Wilshire. But nobody knew his name. They only knew of his deeds, they have only seen the ripper, and his reign of terror was not over yet...

As he walked away from the scene, a ringing grew in his ear. It grew louder and louder until the sound became deafening, and he fell to the floor screaming.

When the ringing began to fade, Jack heard a voice whisper faintly.

"We're coming for you."

He panicked and quickly looked around, but nobody was on the street that night, not even a single beggar or drunkard was sleeping in the street. He dismissed the possibility of being watched, but it bothered him all night

"Have I gone mad?" He asked himself. "Bloody christ, I'm talking to myself. Maybe I have gone mad." Jack sighed as he opened the backdoor of the butcher shop at which he lived.

He took the coffin off his back and gently laid it beside his bed. He laid down but stood back up immediately.

He wanted to see her again, to feel her.