[Snippet] Open to Interpretation (Original/Fate/Multi): Prologue

Midnight crept upon the weary city, carried upon a cold wind that found home between the streets.

The occasional creaking of gas lanterns swaying in the breeze was among the only sounds present, accompanied by the rhythmic slapping of loosened window shutters. 

A few brave rats claimed the night, emerging from the gutters to scour for discarded remains.

Oddly, there were personal items thrown about at this dark hour.

A food cart left abandoned at the side of the road, upon which many ripened fruits and vegetables sat, freshly picked just that day.

Laid upon its side, its contents spilled onto the streets, was a woman’s purse. A silver coin fell from its confines and caught the wind as it rolled a few paces before falling on its side.

A gentleman’s hat, forgotten on a bench next to a newspaper that scattered amidst the gale.

And a lady’s umbrella gently drifted away in the cold wind as it disappeared across the sky.

Yet, not a soul upon the streets.

The eerie silence permeated the city until a single plop hit the cobblestone road.

Loud enough to be heard from one street to the next, yet no human ears were around to listen.

The vermin and rodents that came for food stilled and scattered under a primordial instinct.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

The drops of rain followed one another, multiplying upon the deserted streets. 

And not a single creature of the night dared to peek its head out from within its haven.

The creaks of lanterns, the fluttering of shutters amidst the winds, the sound of mice within the gutters began to drown out as heavy rain poured from the skies and filled the streets.

The moon reflected off the newly grown puddles between the cobblestone bricks, showing not a single cloud within the sky.

The image of the moon was quickly distorted as a boot stomped through the puddle.

Followed by a growing haggard breath.

The silhouette of a man was running down upon the cobblestone street.

With a large coat covered on his body, his collar pulled up around his neck, and a top hat that cast a shadow upon his face.

The gloves on his hands began to soak through with the falling rain as he continued running as if the specter of death was on his heel.

A gentleman of fine dress reduced to a panicked mess.

An apple that fell from the cart of produce was crushed beneath his boot as he continued down the street, not caring as the wind took his hat as he turned a corner. Barely a glimpse of his monocled face and sideburns could be seen before disappearing.

A few heartbeats after, a second pair of boots echoed across the cobblestone road.

There was a second presence upon these empty and dreary streets. Wearing similar attire befitting a gentleman of society, his black hair could be seen just a bit under the moon’s vibrant hue.

He slowly knelt down and picked up the discarded hat, flicking it once in the air to discard the rainwater that had accumulated.

The man grunted once, eyeing the footprint that was left in haste upon discarded produce, crushed into the ground.

He ran a hand across the brim of his hat; a faint gleam reflected off a ring on his finger denoting the motif of a raven as he followed along the path.

He continued onwards.

The shadows of the city’s skyline followed, bending and twisting far more than they should with every step he took.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore –” The man recited under his breath as the street stretched forward.

The stone and wood of each building on either side elongated, bending, warping, and expanding infinitely forward with no end in sight.

“--While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping.” The man continued, ignoring the twisted stone and wood that stood before him. His next step was the same stride but louder, as it touched the ground. “--As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”

Far louder than it should have been, drowning out the sounds of the fallen rain.

A surge of faint light danced across the cobblestone ground, barely flashing upon one’s vision, quickly enough that one may think it a trick of their eyes.

And just as quickly as the street had distorted, it had seemingly snapped back into place, as if what was orderly had reaffirmed itself upon the world.

The light from before fluttered, and just barely, one could see the silhouette of a card dance between his fingers before disappearing into his sleeve.

He continued down the street several more doors until he paused in front of one and stepped up to the threshold.

The sound of rain distorted upon the wood overhang above his head.

“ – Tis some visitor.” He raised his hand and gently tapped it against the door, politely knocking. “Tapping at your chamber door –”

A gunshot interrupted the man.

From the other side of the door, it splintered the wood and hit him square in the chest.

A second one.

And in quick succession a total of six bullets had left holes from the inside and into the chest of the man with the ring.

Each one caused him to stumble and take a step backwards.

From the other side of the door, the man with the monocle and sideburns held up a revolver, a faint wisp of smoke drifting off the barrel, with his faint pants breaking the silence after the thunderous greeting.

From the bullet holes, the man with the monocle could peek through the chamber door.

The man with the ring slowly raised his head, and under the brim of his hat, his crystal blue eye shone brightly as their eyes met.

He held another card between his fingers that pulsed with a subtle blue light.

“-Tis only a raven, and nothing more.”

His body burst in a flurry of feathers with a dozen bird cries screeching; a dozen different ravens escaped, taking flight, leaving not a drop of blood nor a corpse.

The man in the monocle quickly turned and ran up the stairs of the building he occupied and found a window that he shattered and leaned out before pulling himself up and onto the roof.

He quickly stopped himself from slipping on the slick tiles of the roof and found the flat beam of its support and began running along it before jumping to the next building.

He quickly reloaded his gun as he jumped from roof to roof.

The caw of a raven had him nearly missing his next jump as he slipped and rolled, shattering several roof tiles under his feet as he whipped around, shooting two shots at a flickering shadow in the sky.

He scowled, jumping back to his feet and sprinting forwards.

Just as he was about to make the jump to another building, he slid to a stop, face hardening.

With a cacophony of screeching and caws, several shadowy silhouettes blotted out the moonlight for a brief moment as they all slammed into one another and reformed into the figure of a man again.

The man with the ring touched down onto the rooftop only a few feet from the man with the monocle.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” The man with the Ring spoke in a gruff tone.

The man with the monocle responded with a sly and charming grin. “But it’s such a lovely night, detective.”

The rain dripped down their faces as neither of them moved.

The man with the Ring moved first; under his coat, he held another card between his fingers that flashed with a blue light.

The man with the monocle immediately raised his gun, pulling the trigger.

The ‘Detective’ rolled his body while taking a step forward, his coat swinging forwards to block his opponent’s vision as several bullets tore through the cloth.

The card in his hand had disappeared, and in its place was now his own revolver, and it was placed up against the head of the man with a monocle, just as the man with a monocle placed his gun up against the ‘Detective’s’ head.

A stalemate.

But the man with the ring’s lips slowly curled up from underneath the shadow cast by the hat upon his head. “You weren’t counting bullets.”

The man with the monocle pulled the trigger, but it clicked harmlessly.

“Drat.” 

His word was followed by the thunderous ringing of gunfire as his body fell backwards, hitting the tiles of the roof.

The body twitched and was followed by a faint sigh. “Detective, oh detective.” He got up, despite being shot in the face.

Instead of blood, instead of flesh and gore, his face revealed cracks, all stemming from the shattered portions from the bullet hole.

It was as if someone were wearing a porcelain mask.

Yet, inside was empty, bar a strange shadowy silhouette that overlapped with the missing parts.

His ‘human’ expression twisted, the edge of it stretching with a large grin. “You cannot kill me, Detective.”

The man with the ring frowned. “Do you think so?”

“I am –”

“The story begins in London, England, 1888.” The man with the Ring spoke the words, and immediately the man opposite of him stilled.

Surprise? Perhaps even a hint of fear marred his monstrous visage.

“-- Whitechapel District.”

As soon as he spoke those words further, the man wearing a fake face lunged at him, a sword appearing in his hand.

The ‘Detective’ parried the sword with his revolver as the two engaged in combat once more.

“Stalking the nights of London, there were five canonical victims!” The man with the ring shouted as he narrowly dodged a stab of the saber, but a thing cut across his cheek.

“Detective!” An inhuman roar erupted from him as he tripped to grab at his throat.

The ‘Detective’ dodged to the side but slipped on the slick rooftop, sliding across the tiles and falling off the roof, hitting the ground below, his gun escaping his grasp.

Quickly, he rolled to the side as the not-man wearing the monocle slammed his sword down to the hilt into the cobblestone road.

“Your targets were always prostitutes!”

“Silence!” He roared further, leaping at the man with the Ring.

They struggled for a moment as the ‘Detective’ kicked him away as he scoured for his gun; seeing it several feet away, he scrambled towards it.

The distorted man pulled his sword free from the ground, his eyes glowing eerily, and his face distorted in stretched and twisted shadows. 

He leapt towards his gun and grabbed it as the other man jumped at him, moonlight gleaming off the edge of his blade.

“I name you, Jack the Ripper!” 

The man with the monocle froze and let out a scream; his twisted shadows, his shattered face, and his eerie, inhuman features all snapped back into place.

As if time rewound, as if he were perfectly healed, not a semblance of inhuman presence remained.

The gun in the detective’s hand shuddered for a moment, and the barrel began to spin violently as lightning jolted and arced across the barrel. 

The moment of weakness given was enough.

Rather than a normal bullet, the barrel let loose a surge of lightning and blasted away the top half of Jack’s body and continued through several buildings, disappearing from view.

He fell over, and the remainder of his body began to dissipate.

The ‘Detective’ let out a sigh as he stood up.

The gun in his hand turned back into a card, and he hid it up his sleeve before adjusting his hat.

@***@

The man with the Ring walked across the eerie darkness.

The full moon still hung in the air, and the rain continued to fall, splattering against his hat and coat.

It wasn’t until he walked to the end of a certain street and took a sequential step forward that the rain abruptly halted.

The cold air morphed again, warming slightly.

Likewise, there was no full moon hanging in the air any longer.

It was now a crescent moon that adorned the night sky.

There was someone leaning against the nearby stone wall, similarly dressed. The other man tilted his hat up, meeting the gaze of the man with the ring.

He then tapped his finger, showing off a similar ring.

The ‘Detective’ took his hat off, letting the water fly off it as he waved it in the air a few times. “The weather has just been awful.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that’s what happens when you enter a Fracture without any proper investigations.” The newcomer spoke with sarcasm but with a hint of familiarity. “Jonathan.”

“You say my name just like how my mother did when she knew I put my hand in the cookie jar.” Jonathan replied, wiping away the water from his hair.

“I wonder why.” He drawled in return.

Jonathan smiled politely. “Oakley, how wonderful to see you. Have you come to tell me how spectacular a job I have done?”

Oakley, a man in the middle of his years, let out a long sigh. “Report, Jonathan.”

Jonathan stilled slightly but nodded. “The [Story] had been dispersed.”

“And it was Jack the Ripper?”

Jonathan nodded. “It’s as the eggheads guessed, thankfully. I would have been right angry if I spent a week obtaining a detective’s license for nothing.”

“It’s a small price to pay to counter the [Narrative].” Oakley hummed, taking out a well-used pipe, biting onto it in thoughtful silence. “And the Fracture? Should we do something about it?”

Jonathan waved it off. “It should disappear within a fortnight. The [Story] wasn’t particularly powerful.”

“You were lucky, Jonathan. It was weakened because it was rejecting its own [Narrative] to hide itself.”

Jonathan grunted. “I don’t like it, Oakley. When did a [Story] of that level get brave enough to come here? And how did one of that level manage to open a Fracture? The last time Jack the Ripper appeared was over twenty years ago, and its actions this time are far too abnormal.”

“Twenty-two years. And yes, its actions this time are…concerning.” Oakley nodded. “The [Author] admitted that the [Story] was here for it. How it found out about the [Author]....”

The need to speak it out loud was drowned by the deafening silence as both understood the implication.

“The [Author]?” Jonathan’s brow furrowed, not wanting to dwell on the possibility for a breath longer. “And the [Author] didn’t take the chance to run away with it?”

Oakley let out a small bark of laughter. “The [Author] replied along the lines of calling Jack the Ripper ‘trite and uninspired.’”

Jonathan snorted. 

“Despite how much the [Author] curses us in its confinement, it has its own pride. A [Story] on the level of Jack the Ripper won’t move it.” Oakley replied. 

“How reassuring.” Jonathan adjusted his hat back on his head. “If that’s all, I’ll be returning to Headquarters.”

“Jonathan.” Oakley stopped him. “One more thing.”

“Make it quick; you know the other organizations are going to be swarming this place soon.” Jonathan grunted.

“The Scribe college will be recruiting again in a couple months.”

“And?”

“And the Boss wants new blood.” Oakley crossed his arms. “It’s your turn, Jonathan.”

Jonathan groaned. “Find you want me to pick up some kid to join us? Sure, alright.”

“Jonathan.” Oakley used that firm and elderly voice. “It’s not me you’ll have to convince if you bring some random kid in front of the Boss.”

“...right.” Jonathan winced. “If I do that again, I’m sure the boss won’t be happy.”

Oakley patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, Jonathan, it’s not that difficult. Just find a good kid with potential as a Scribe.”

“Sure, I’ll easily find a kid with potential that will want to join our organization over well-known ones like the Knights, or the Librarians, or even the Government.”

“Sarcasm is unbecoming, Jonathan.” Oakley gave him a warm smile. “But good luck.” He turned and walked away.

Jonathan cursed under his breath.

He heard a commotion coming from the distance and let out a long sigh before fingering the ring on his finger and flicking a card up from his sleeve into his fingers.

“Tis the wind, and nothing more.” He muttered as the card glowed for a moment, and his body dispersed into a flock of ravens and flew away.

@***@

A/N

The prologue of the story I mentioned.

No, the MC hasn’t been introduced yet; this was basically an introduction to the world itself and some characters that would be relevant. 

Regular chapter should be out later today.