"Because you're weak, because none of you have successfully gone beyond class seven, you need me."

Pretending to be Jack the Ripper meant picking a particular personality. He chose to stick to a calm, regal composure, except with a slimy edge. A creepy edge where he eyed the woman with the intent to kill. He looked over his shoulder at Grace and would let his gaze linger for too long.

Daughter remained unfazed, to his actions and to his words. "We do. We do not shy away from that fact. Our existence is a delicate thread woven from the insecurities of many guilds. We are hired by everyone and are respected by none."

"How unfortunate."

"Tell me," Daughter said, "what do you plan to do with the Eitr-forged iron we gave you? We immediately suspected you of reincarnation the moment you request Xavier of it. So what is it? What will you be forging?"

"What indeed…"

"Infamously, Hephaestus does not work in the forge. The last time he did was after your time, in the Golden Games when the Grand Master of the Templars was able to find resources for his personal weapon. To be able to receive Hephaestus' support, you must pique his interest. Will he be interested in what you make?"

Dasha tilted his head. "I am very certain he will be."

Daughter narrowed her eyes. "Can you be sure?"

"Absolutely."

Grace muttered to Xavier, "Talk about vague." He heard it. He decided not to acknowledge it.

"We cannot work with you if you do not supply information," Xavier said.

"You need only ask."

Daughter sat back down on her hammock. She snickered.

Sighing, Grace asked, "Okay, okay, what is it that you will make?"

The psychological superiority. Here it was. "Járngreipr—the gauntlet of the almighty Thor."

Daughter's eyes widened by a fraction of an inch. "Yes. Yes, that will no doubt raise his interest. Do you have the schematics? Would it not be in the secret language of the Dwarves?"

"I have it…" He tapped at his head. "Right here."

"So killing you is not an option. I see why you were able to elude the world. You are sharper than you take credit for." Daughter stared at her bangles, then at him. "How did you learn the secret language of the Dwarves? Even our Whispers have not been able to decode it. Was that a part of your wish?"

"Perhaps. I would rather not say. I hope you understand."

Vague yet reliable. Dasha wanted to project the image of a serial killer who knew exactly what he was doing. To sell this role, he needed to be powerful yet not arrogant.

'A reincarnated player…' He remembered the rumours from long ago. The hushed descriptions of a lone player that defeated the infallible boss of Gate 1. The player that made the impossible possible. 'There's a chance it was Jack. He killed the Slime King. He traumatized Paul and nearly made him lose his mind—made him attempt to kill people.'

If the real Jack was indeed here, then he didn't know that Dasha had stolen all his credentials. Too bad.

'Jack lived on Earth for a hundred years. He died of old age and then presumably returned to the Heavenly Games. The fact that he still might be killing is an issue.'

An issue that could be worked into Dasha's advantage. Jack the Ripper, a former player. Jack the ripper, a legend.

'But, assuming he exists, at some point I will have to kill him. If Jack has spawned, he has a better understanding of the System than even me. There's a chance he could attain power that threatens me.'

What was power? How did magic work? Throughout his tenure at the Heavenly Games, he understood one thing: power could come from anything. Ideas, people, animals—literally anything. The literary world was the example pointing to that fact. The stories of the Bible and the Mahabharata demonstrated the impossible.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Perhaps…you have my tools?" Dasha asked.

"Impressive intuition," said Xavier. He came up to Daughter and handed her a briefcase, lined in a silver metal and a peculiar thread locking it together.

'Mythology, mythology…of locks and hairs…fairy locks?'

The hair wasn't human. Rather, it seemed eerily similar to a horse, besides the divine white shine to it. Daughter held the briefcase for all but a moment and released it. As if it was in zero gravity, it floated and Daughter snapped her finger and casually undid the knot on the briefcase.

She made a wave of her hand and the briefcase spun towards him. A disgusting black aura exploded in his face and despite pretending to be unfazed he barely managed to see what was within. It was so thick, so powerful, his arms instinctively wished to shield his eyes.

'What the hell is this!?' It took everything in his power not to flinch. 'What IS that!?"

"You must recognize this. It is the legendary mask you wore in order to kill your victims."

Two black dots serving as eyes and a splatter of old blood on the cheek. No mouth. Daughter's explanation forced him to reach for it. Like touching fire, he nearly flinched back. He shouldn't touch it. Don't touch it! His brain was screaming. His flesh was burning.

To reach for it meant subjecting his hand to miserable pain.

Yet failing this would mean defeat, so he focused every bit of Qi in his body and diverted it to his arm. All in his arm, all for protecting it against this mask.

He grabbed it. His fingers clasped around the top of it. Then, he reeled it in.

It must have been five seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Every second he held it, his flesh burned. The edge of his vision turned black as stripes of his hand fell to the ground, scorched into darkness.

"One of our gals modified it," Grace said. "It's officially an S-class item! You wear that thing and you'll gain power like no other!"

Power like no other? He turned the mask. His fingers twitched.

Grace continued, "Yeaaaah, we didn't remove the spikes. We assumed you liked that. Plus, it makes it stronger right? Funnels the magic directly into your brain."

"Unless you have grown attached to that pretty face of yours," Daughter mocked. "Even I was surprised when I saw you. I wondered if this was really Jack that wandered in or a saint."

Jack the Ripper. Dasha didn't think he ever had to say this, but there might be a man in the Heavenly Games that was too far gone in his hedonism. The shiny needles lodged inside judged him. If he wore this, then he would attain great power, in exchange for never scarring his face.

Power. What would Dasha do for power? Would he cower? Would he stop now that he was faced with pain?

No. Never. Dasha never gave up. There wasn't a thing in this world he could not do if he put his mind to it.

He lifted the mask and let the searing needles enter his face.

[ Item forcibly equipped! ]

It was so much. So much energy flowed into him. He couldn't believe it. Darkness, never-ending darkness that he swam in!

Screams ruptured his ear drums. Blood leaked and dribbled down the sides of his chin. His lips were locked into place, unable to move, unable to scream. A blast of dark energy exploded from behind his face and the world around him went black.

[ Loading...loading...loading...]

The loading of pain. The loading of unbridled power.

[ Composition of the soul has changed! ]

[ Congratulations on the flux of darkness! Receive the 'Mage' class! ]

[ Congratulations on the flux of darkness! Receive the 'Wizard' class! ]

[ Congratulations on the flux of darkness! Receive the 'Sorcerer' class! ]

[ Congratulations on your deep understanding of darkness! Receive the 'Dark Sorcerer' class! ]

Mage, Wizard, Sorcerer—Dasha Pang climbed the ranks of magic, relishing in the pain bolstering his magic. Whether in alchemy and magic, sacrifice and balance was an aspect of the system. Magical tools, hand signs, incantations, blood, all were for the sake of manipulating and directing magic but also a symbol of sacrifice.

For Dasha, the permanent pain imprinted in his head would be his power. The power that once belonged to the world's greatest serial killer flowed in him.

He held the mask to his face. The blood pooled together at his chin and dripped.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

'Is this Ascendancy, I wonder?'

Daughter's voice was a distant echo. A calm after the storm. "There is no question about it. You have become a fourth class singularity."

Jack the Ripper…

"I... heard... police... caught... me... not... yet..."

The screams of his victims, Dasha heard them. Flashes of the past, the sounds of knives sharpening, and...a name?

"...laughed... clever... right... track... Leather... fits... wh-res... shan't... quit..."

"...buckled... Grand... lady... no... time... catch... me... love... work... start... again..."

"...mbuuf... spaasl... nhtlz... wyvwly... ylk... npunly... aopjr... nsbl... jhu'a... bzl..."

The language was mistranslating? What? The veins on his wrists bulged and his brain was injected with words and images that didn't make sense to him. A knife, a battlefield, and...Saint Hildegard?

"Ylk... pur... mpa... jspw... shkf'z... lhyz... zluk... wvspjl... qvssf... Rllw... slaaly..."

"...ipa... tvyl... dvyr... npcl... vba... rupml... upjl... zohyw... nla... johujl..."

"Dl tbza jylhal il ylhkf mvy OPZ dvysk!"

"Tf uhtl pz Hzoly Aylua!"

Just like that, the voices were gone.

"Mmph!" Hand to the mask, he controlled his breathing.

"Give him a moment," he heard Daughter saying. "He needs time to acclimate to his powers."

'My powers? Ha...Jack the Ripper…'

The memories, the murders, the bloodshed, the hate…!

Panting, embracing the darkness, a single thought ran through his mind. 'If someone like him exists, then there's a high probability he's planning another murder...whoever or whatever he is, his thirst for blood is too strong.'