Location: Night Flame Café
The air inside the café was thick with the scent of roasted coffee and faint smoke. Dim lights stretched long shadows across the cracked wooden tables. A wide window revealed a rain-slick street glimmering with leftover droplets, and the city beyond looked colder tonight than it used to.
In a weakly lit corner, Lorth, Artina, and Maria sat around a small table. Their faces were a stage of exhaustion and disbelief — each of them struggling to arrange their thoughts after a flood of events none of them had foreseen. Lorth's fingers tapped against the tabletop in a broken rhythm, a spark of tension that hadn't quite died.
Casper (calmly): "So… he's back to work, then?"
Casper's voice was quiet but heavy — a sentence that carried the weight of a boulder. He lifted his half-empty cup slowly, as if not wanting to let the truth escape his lips too quickly.
Lorth (shocked): "Who?"
Surprise flashed in Lorth's eyes but faded fast — replaced by his usual mask of control, behind which simmered a hidden anger.
Artina (stunned): "Wasn't Jack the Ripper supposed to be dead for three years?"
Her words landed like a scar on the air — disbelief mixed with a fear threatening to spill over her trembling voice.
Casper: "Calm down, I'll explain everything. Just… give me a moment."
His tone softened, easing the tension that filled the room. He knew what he was about to say had to be told carefully, step by step, or they'd all fall apart.
Lorth: "Explain. Now."
Direct and sharp — no room for hesitation. His eyes gleamed with the hunger for answers.
Casper: "Alright, alright… don't rush me. You want me to start from the very beginning, or just skip to the important part?"
For a few silent seconds, even the café's hum seemed to stop. Time stretched thin — like the city itself was holding its breath.
Lorth: "Start from the beginning. Don't make this more complicated than it already is."
Casper leaned forward slightly, drew in a slow breath, and began to speak.
Flashback – Lithiv Etway Manor
The corridors of the grand manor echoed with sharp footsteps, and the walls whispered old names carved into cold stone.
Inside, Willem stood before a group of unfamiliar faces.
Willem: "Introduce yourselves, please."
His tone carried command, but beneath it lay fatigue and doubt. His eyes studied each newcomer like a gambler examining dangerous cards.
Phantom (coldly, as he turns to leave): "I'm Phantom. He's Hunter. We're here for one thing — to track down that fool."
His words sliced the air like sharpened silver. Then he turned, already halfway gone, like a shadow exiting its own scene.
Willem: "Please — help us get rid of him."
A plea that barely hid its pride. Willem's voice cracked slightly, but his resolve didn't.
Phantom: "Aren't you strong enough to handle him yourself? From what I've heard, you managed to seal the Violet Blossom five years ago."
There was challenge in Phantom's tone — but also a flicker of admiration.
Willem: "How do you know that?"
Phantom: "I have my ways."
Then, Phantom and Hunter disappeared into the dim hallways — leaders who never said goodbye. Moments later, Sherlock Holmes stepped in, a smirk resting on his composed face.
Sherlock Holmes: "And who were they, exactly, to act so high and mighty?"
Willem: "I don't know yet."
Then Venky burst through the door, trembling, his words tripping over his tongue.
Venky (stammering): "H-he's b-back… J-Jack the Ripper…"
The name hit like a thunderclap. Willem's face twisted in irritation, Sherlock's grin widened.
Willem (with a mocking sigh): "Didn't expect that idiot to come back so easily."
Sherlock Holmes: "Ha… our dear companion awakens from his slumber at last."
His smile was a trap — sharp and knowing.
Flashback – Three Years Ago
Midnight Police Station
The lights were harsh, the coffee bitter, and the city outside had never known a quiet night.
Casper (narrating): "Alright, as you wish…"
He stood between past and present — tearing open the fabric of time with words.
Three years ago — Willem and Casper were on shift at the Midnight Police Department. The clock read 12:00 a.m.
Willem: "I'm bored. When will this end?"
Casper: "Relax, man. Only two more hours."
Routine — heavy and dull. The kind of night where the ticking clock was louder than the city.
Then Arnika walked in, holding two cups of coffee, his grin halfway between mischief and pity.
Arnika: "Can't blame you. You've been on since 2 p.m. and haven't rested once."
Willem: "Exactly. I need a damn vacation."
Casper: "You can have one when you finish that mountain of files on your desk."
Their brief laughter faded when the phone rang.
Chief (over the radio): "Willem, Casper, Arnika — report to Line 25. A homicide has just been called in."
Casper: "So much for your break."
Willem (groaning): "I hate this job sometimes."
They arrived at a decaying house on the city's edge. The smell of rot hung thick in the air. Blood trailed across the wooden floor, leading toward an old fireplace.
Arnika: "Found something."
He pressed a hidden panel, revealing a secret passage behind the chimney. Down below — a ritual chamber. Candles arranged in patterns, symbols etched on the walls, the air stinking of something older than death.
From the shadows stepped a figure — a man with a skull-like mask, eyes burning red.
The man lunged, grabbing Willem by the throat. Willem countered, slamming his fist into the man's gut. Arnika froze his leg with ice magic, and Casper raised his staff.
Casper: "Identify yourself. Now."
Masked man: "Call me whatever you want… but you'll die by my hands before this city is clean."
He shattered the ice, kicked Casper aside, struck Willem — and then said the words that silenced every breath in the room.
Masked man: "You may know me as Victor the Ripper… or perhaps a better name — Jack the Ripper."
The air broke. Chaos followed — a brawl of fists, blood, and fire. Jack escaped through the streets, moving like smoke through the alleys.
Then — a cry from below. A woman and child under attack. Jack dove into the fray, saving them without hesitation.
Not a monster — not entirely.
Willem and Casper watched, shaken, unsure what they had just witnessed: a killer, or a savior who'd lost his way.
Later that night, Jack abducted both officers from corrupt police hands — not to kill them, but to show them. Inside an abandoned factory, he tore off his mask, revealing a scarred young man, eyes hollow yet burning.
Jack (panting): "This city… it's full of rot. You don't even see it."
Willem: "I don't. But I wish I did."
Casper: "Even if we report the corruption, we'll be the ones punished."
Jack: "Then you understand. That's why I kill. Someone has to burn the filth away."
A silence followed — then, an understanding. A fragile alliance was born under the flickering light.
Willem: "Since we're on the same side… we should work together. What do you say?"
Jack: "Fine. Call me Jack Anderson."
Casper: "Casper Andris. Nice to meet you."
Willem: "And I'm Willem."
Willem: "If we're forming a team… we need a name."
Jack: "We're outlaws, but we still bring light to the night — even if it's through fire. How about… Night Flame?"
Willem: "I like it."
Casper: "No objections here."
Back to the Present
At the café table, silence lingered.
Lorth: "I didn't ask for your whole life story, Casper. Just tell me — what happened to him?"
Casper: "In short — his body burned in cursed fire. Everyone thought he was dead. But… he's back. Back to work, just now."
The words sank deep. Outside, the city exhaled — rain tapping against glass, unaware that its longest night had only just begun.
Because Jack had returned.
And with him, the fire of Night Flame reignited