The Dark Sector mirrored a cryptic version of London. The sky shifted into a hazy night and the architecture sharply transformed. Dasha never went too deep, believing it was foolish to explore a zone with such a hush-hush discussion around it. Where the Nebulous Bazaar was alive with creatures on the ground and in the sky, a mish-mash of mythology and humanity, the Dark Sector was the opposite. There were people of questionable origin, carriages pulled by horses and beaten creatures, and a light permeating fog. Many called this deeper area Dirty Old London.

With Grace and Xavier, he was able to explore this deep region of the Dark Sector with his head raised high. Dasha didn't need to ask where to go. He figured this would happen sooner or later.

The headquarters of the Whispers. That was where they were taking him.

"So…are you really him?" asked Grace.

Xavier shifted slightly. Concern, maybe? Dasha considered his response.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hm." Grace looked over her shoulder, her grin faltering. "I knew you would say that but still."

But still? But still what?

Dasha carefully observed their steps. One could tell a lot from a person's steps. Xavier and Grace were tense but not hostile. Contemplative but not aimless. They knew where they were going.

"It hasn't changed much since you were last here," Grace commented.

'Except I've never been here. Clearly, they're confusing me for someone else, but who?'

His eyes tracked the haunted house in front of him. He could say for sure this was not in his memory banks. It was foreign. New.

In comparison to the neighbouring homes, the headquarters of the Whispers was taller and more imposing, and the architecture old and rundown. He suspected Angevine Gothic from the 12th century. As old as the Heavenly Games themselves, if his estimates were correct. The windows were painted black and boarded up, and the wide entrance glowed with a faint green light spilling out from under.

A weak fence surrounded the area. He activated his Qi and sensed a foreboding presence lingering. His senses were proven correct the moment he stepped in.

"Boo!" The voice giggled in his ear and faded away. He turned, just slightly, to look. The voice was something between humanity, possessing a hazy, ethereal form, with wispy appendages reminiscent of smoke. Its eyes were pits of darkness, and its head was bald, with its skull on full display.

Several others appeared wearing the tattered, hooded cloak that swept behind him.

"So he's here, huh—"

"The Ripper!"

"How terrifying…!"

"So he's Asian now?"

"And good looking too~! Meow!"

Grace and Xavier were totally unfazed, so Dasha pretended to be too. 'Ghosts. They have to be ghosts. But why are they here? Aren't we already dead?'

None of this made sense. None of it. Not even when Xavier opened the entrance by pressing his hand to the surface and unveiled a green portal instead of the insides of the house.

"Ladies first," said Xavier. Grace giggled, tapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand, and went in. Xavier nudged at him to go next.

Controlling his breath, he did. His hand went through the green portal and he stepped into another room. A totally different ambience was introduced to him. Classic music played in the background, strangely sounding French.

A hall spread out in front of him, as well two staircases at the side leading upstairs. The floor was brightened up by a shiny yellow light, courtesy of the chandeliers floating above. Not attached to the ceiling, but simply floating in the air.

Most of all, there was Qi. Thick amounts of it, surrounding everything here. Every object, every wall, every atom of air that Dasha was able to breathe in. It electrified his very being, jumpstarting the flow of Qi without his permission. 'Magic sensitive areas. I read about these before. It's exactly like they described it: it makes natural Qi easy to absorb.' A breath. 'Very easy.'

"Welcome to the Les Murmures!" Grace twirled, her sun dress spinning, and put her fingers to her lips and smiled. "It's our little happy place! Where we gather together to do something! But I'm sure you know. Right—"

"Grace." Xavier's voice rumbled as he came through the portal. "Enough. Let us meet with Daughter."

"Right, right. My bad. I wanted to give him a dramatic intro!"

"It was too dramatic."

"My bad!" Grace gave two thumbs-up and strode forward. The dark Xavier followed one step behind her. Dasha assumed he was supposed to do the same. They went up the left set of stairs and continued to the left side of Les Murmures. Doors of various quality stuck to the walls. Doors of not simply numerous quality but belonging to separate eras. Stone doors, small castle portcullis', Chinese moon doors, glass doors, Japanese sliding doors, Dutch doors, and so many more.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Very interesting. He kept track of each and every one of the doors, and assigned the eras and civilizations they belonged to. There were numbers with dashes, which he deduced were a range of years. The dashes at the very start must have meant negatives, or BCE (Before Common Era or Before Christ).

They arrived at the very last door. A dark brown sycamore fig wood door with an incised panel depicting Seshat and her worshipping followers—again, at the wall on the left side. 'Seshat, the ancient Egyptian goddess of writing and knowledge. Hrn.'

Xavier muttered a language Dasha did not recognize and the white hieroglyphics glowed red. The door dissipated. The darkness inside seemed to want to suck him up.

In the darkness was a woman lying languidly across a rope hammock. Its length spanned the massive room, candles floating and moving across the air, no strings attached.

Black lines ran down the woman's sun-kissed skin, stopping till her deep brown eyes. Draped in flowing robes of fine linen and silk, she was a woman bathed in gold. On her wrists and arms, she wears ornate, delicate bangles and cuffs. The ankh, a T-shaped earring with a loop on top, were one of many accessories on her ears. Gold studs, hoops, and threaders lined her lobes and the outer rims as well.

"Do you know me?" she asked.

He didn't know this woman. Never met her in his life nor did he recognize her in any book. His mind raced. He analyzed her clothing and her hair and conjured up his best guess.

"The leader of the Whispers, I presume?"

"I do not run the Whispers. I merely organize our information. I am our strongest warrior and therefore the only one who may negotiate." She stared at her nails, then cast him a look. "I know who you are. You're strong, I could see it in you. Too strong." She lifted herself up, still sitting and legs dangling. "I am Daughter."

The name didn't matter. 'The question is: are you my ally?'

Dasha didn't sense animosity. However, that could quickly change if he said the wrong thing. He needed to choose his words carefully. His intuition was telling him that if he messed up, it would be the end of him.

Daughter's voice began anew and, when she spoke, everyone listened. "We know you've made contact with Saint Hildegard. That was what tipped us off. Will she be your next great victim? We know what she did to you."

'Ah, I see!' Everything clicked. Everything they had done, their subtle actions and words, he understood their meaning. He completely understood. This was an opportunity. The greatest of opportunities. A chance to gain leverage, political power, knowledge, and trust, all in one fell swoop.

Dasha almost smiled.

'They are confusing me with a player that had participated in a previous Heavenly Game. A powerful player, at that. A winner, more than likely, that they wish to seize for themselves.'

"Oh, that bitch." Dasha stared Daughter down unflinchingly. She was powerful and he was daunting without meaning to be. Neither were fearless. Both were cautious. "No, I tried controlling her with a potion. I failed."

A bold-faced lie to serve as a check to see how closely they were watching him. Daughter quirked a brow. So she didn't know.

"Fine. Playing cat and mouse has gotten tiresome. Are you a reincarnated player?" Daughter flicked her earring, making peculiar eye contact with him. She went from prodding to accusatory. "No, let me rephrase the question. Are you Jack the Ripper, winner of the 1920s Heavenly Games?"

A reincarnated player. That was what they assumed he was. It must have been his strength and how he casually navigated the underworld. His Qi—it must have been increasing at an unnatural rate.

"Your stature, your resolve, your abilities, we have been eyeing you for a while, Mr. Jack. And the rumours of your wish have been left to us. We remember."

But if they confronted him, that would mean…

"You know what I did?" Dasha was vague to leave room for space.

"A total of ten Templars have gone missing from the games. Four in the current Gate, six in previous Gates." Grace brought the attention to herself, her smile stretched. "I don't want to call you rash. I understand this is your calling. Stiiill, it is a little early, wouldn't you say?"

So they assumed he was killing a bunch of Templars? That this Jack, if he even existed, was Dasha, and that he had a grudge against the Templars? Why? Why did they even care? That was the next set of questions to answer.

Xavier stepped forward, his boots distinct. "The killings couldn't have been done without understanding the Heavenly Tower. You know there are a certain select number of mirror dimensions in each gate. You understand that once all players leave a Gate, it is taken back to Heaven where it is emptied of its inventory and disposed of. You use that to your advantage: you wait for a player to arrive, leave to let them see the body, and once they leave the world is taken back and the body is gone. Rumours and terror will spread, but not enough for the big guilds to take action. It will be a little folktale. A legend. The continuing legend of Jack the Ripper."

Enough information was given to him. 'The real Ripper won the Heavenly Games in 1920 and returned to Earth a little after. His wish as the victor? To return to the Heavenly Games upon his second death.'

Well, it was time to play the part.

"People always say that Kelly was my favourite." He looked over behind him. Grace tensed and Dasha continued, "but that's not true. I don't like it messy. I liked Chapman. She was a nice young gal. She…talked to me."

He closed his eyes and pretended to reminisce on the bodies. He did, to an extent. He recalled the details of the Ripper killing but to sell the act he instead recalled the bodies Dasha himself had seen in his life. The hospitals, the experimentations he conducted, and the deaths of family. He did not like death. It was cold and a nuisance. There was nothing interesting about life leaving someone's eye.

Although, if it was someone powerful, then maybe…

"But you people need me." His eyes flew open. "That is very new."

"We do," Daughter admitted. "We whisper. We do not tell. A player of your calibre, however, would be an opportunity for us. The Game System is still with you and you possess the knowledge of a Champion. You are our best chance to gain strength."

He figured out that much a long time ago. They needed Jack badly.

"Therefore, it is in our best interest to prop you up as our guardian. A potential class nine player," said Daughter, finally standing up. "Think about it, Jack. With your brutality and our knowledge, nothing can stop us."

'These people are insane. Offering Jack the Ripper their precious knowledge? What a desperate act of foolishness. Desperate to the point of irrational. Desperation I can slip myself into.'

He could already predict what would happen—the agreements of an Eternal Contract. A contract of the highest level where Jack would receive knowledge and the Whispers would remain untouched and support him on his way.

So easy. These people were so careful that they were easy.

But to sell the show, he needed to twist the knife.