As the first light of dawn broke over the city, a silence settled, the weight of their vengeance hanging heavy in the air. London trembled, haunted by the rumours of the Rippers. But even as she walked through the silent streets, Jackelin knew it was not over. Something darker awaited her, a reckoning of her own.


    She felt the phantoms closing in, no longer bound by her will, their eyes filled with accusation and grief. She looked to Jack, his face still gleaming with triumph, oblivious to the darkness that encircled them, drawn by the trail of blood and spectral unrest they’d left in their wake.


    And as the dawn crept further across the rooftops of London, Jackelin felt a shift in the air–a presence that seemed to press down on her from above, vast and unyielding. The whispers of the phantoms stilled, replaced by a silence beyond silence. Her heart clenched, a primal fear gnawing at the edges of her mind.


    They were no longer alone.


    Jack, still lost in the glow of his recent triumph, paid it no heed. His grin was wild, triumphant. But Jackelin’s instincts told her that their own hunters had come, drawn to their presence like spectres drawn to the dying.


    They turned a corner, slipping into an alley thick with fog, and there, blocking their path, stood two figures cloaked in radiant armour, their forms emanating a golden light that pushed back the darkness.


    The taller one held a massive, silver-white scimitar, its edge gleaming with a celestial power that made the very air around it hum. His face was stern, his eyes glowing with a righteous fury that burned into Jackelin’s soul.


    The second figure, draped in golden armour that shimmered like sunlight, fixed the Rippers with an unwavering gaze. Jackelin felt her breath catch as the being’s eyes bore into her, piercing through every glamour and guise, laying her bare. She could feel her past, her sins, all exposed beneath that holy light.


    Jack sneered, his grip tightening on his dagger, oblivious to the futility of his stance. “What, more clerics come to judge us?” he spat. “Do you really think you can stop us?”


    The golden figure spoke, her voice a low rumble that echoed off the stone walls, filling the alley with a resonance that felt almost tangible. “We are not your petty clerics,” she said. “We are wrath, come to strip you of the darkness that has consumed you.”


    Jackelin watched as her brother lunged forward, his dagger flashing, his face twisted with defiance. But the angel with the silver-white scimitar merely raised his hand, deflecting Jack’s strike with a shield of shimmering light. Jack stumbled, his eyes wide as his weapon slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.


    The silver-armoured angel moved with swift, graceful precision, and in a single, fluid motion, he seized Jack by the collar, lifting him with an ease that belied the effort. Jack struggled, rage filling his face. His strength was meaningless against the celestial being who held him, but he was far from finished.


    With a snarl, Jack summoned his phantoms, his hand raised, calling them forth with a violent command that echoed through the fog. The phantoms responded with a twisted obedience, their forms shivering into existence around him, their hollow eyes flickering with the same fury that darkened his. He sent them hurtling toward the male angel, his gaze burning with vicious satisfaction as his spectral servants closed in.


    The phantoms struck like a swarm, lunging at the angel with jagged, clawed limbs and mouths open in silent screams. They surrounded him, each soul seething with the violence of her own death, each one a weapon forged from Jack’s brutality. The angel staggered under their onslaught, his scimitar flashing as he fought to dispel them, but the phantoms persisted, their forms shifting and reforming with each blow, relentless and unyielding.


    Jackelin, watching from the periphery, felt a surge of horror mixed with admiration. Jack’s phantoms fought with a savagery she had never seen–unbound by mercy, their twisted forms lashing out with all the resentment they held for the living. Yet her own phantoms lingered close, hesitant, their presence a shadow that whispered caution in her ear.


    Then the golden angel turned her gaze on Jackelin, her eyes piercing, a silent invitation. Jackelin felt the weight of her phantoms pressing upon her, their silence thick with the remnants of the lives she had claimed. She raised her hand, whispering a gentler command, calling her phantoms forth not to attack but to protect, to shield her from the being that threatened her.


    Her phantoms materialized around her like a spectral barrier, their forms steadier, calmer, their sorrowful presence wrapping around her like a shroud. As the male angel broke free of Jack’s phantoms and advanced on her, she raised her own shield, her phantoms responding to her silent plea, moving to intercept his blows with a resolve tempered by resignation rather than rage.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The angel’s scimitar struck her shield of phantoms, his attacks met with ghostly forms that dissipated under the force but reformed, their sorrow holding him at bay. She could feel the strain of their pain, the way each strike pulled at their spectral forms, yet they stood firm, bound not by hatred but by a reluctant loyalty to the one who had claimed them.


    The male angel’s gaze flicked to Jackelin, his eyes narrowing. “These souls suffer because of you,” he said, his voice a rumble that reverberated through the fog. “Release them, and you may yet find absolution.”


    Jackelin’s heart wavered, her gaze flickering to the phantoms who surrounded her, their forms transparent, flickering in the dawn’s dim light. She could feel their pain, their longing for release, yet they stood by her, their presence a reflection of her own sorrow, her own regret.


    But Jack’s snarl cut through the silence, his rage undiminished. “Don’t listen to him, sister!” he spat, summoning his phantoms again with a fury that sent them hurtling toward the male angel. “These are our weapons, forged by our will. They exist to serve us!”


    Jackelin looked at her phantoms, at the sorrow in their eyes, and for the first time, she felt the weight of her own sins pressing down upon her. She watched as Jack’s phantoms clashed against the male angel, their fury a twisted mirror of Jack’s own, each soul a fragment of his own darkness, his own hatred.


    The golden angel stepped forward, her hand outstretched, her gaze steady and filled with a compassion that pierced Jackelin’s soul. “There is still a chance for you, Jackelin,” she said, her voice soft yet powerful. “A chance to release these souls and find peace.”


    In that moment, Jackelin felt her resolve waver. Her gaze shifted from her phantoms to the golden angel, the choice before her as stark and unyielding as the dawn that crept over the city. She could see the truth in the angel’s eyes, the promise of redemption that lay beyond the shadows.


    But Jack’s laughter shattered her thoughts, his voice filled with contempt. “We are beyond redemption,” he sneered. “We are the darkness they fear, the very nightmares they tried to bury. Don’t let them fool you, Sister. They come here pretending mercy, but they want only our destruction.”


    As Jack''s laughter echoed, he seized the air with his hand, calling forth phantoms from the shadows around him. They surged forward, jagged and restless, a spectral swarm converging on the male angel with relentless fury. The angel swung his silver scimitar, cutting through the phantoms as they closed in, but they reformed with each blow, their claws and mouths reaching for him with a hatred that seethed in silence.


    Jack grinned, his confidence growing as he reached for a blackjack tucked into his belt. He lunged at the angel, slamming the weapon down with brutal force, the blow reverberating as the angel staggered, a flicker of pain breaking through his stoic expression. He swiftly drew a stiletto knife, aiming for the angel''s side. Jackelin watched, horror and fascination mingling as the blade met flesh, and she saw the angel''s light waver, a strange reaction to the contact with steel.


    The male angel fought back, his scimitar slicing through Jack''s phantoms with divine precision, but Jack was relentless. He shifted to a hunting knife, slicing at the angel''s exposed arm, each cut drawing a dimming of the angel''s aura. When the hunting knife didn''t suffice, Jack grabbed a wooden plank from the alley''s littered ground, swinging it with force. The angel recoiled, his breath hitching as the wood struck his chest, his body shuddering as though the wood itself was a poison.


    A twisted satisfaction filled Jack''s face as he saw the effect, and he continued his assault, trading the plank for a cane he brandished like a club, his strikes fueled by a deep-seated rage. The angel fell to one knee, the light in his eyes dimming, his body trembling from the relentless barrage of wood and steel.


    Summoning his remaining strength, the angel attempted to push Jack back, but Jack lunged with the stiletto once more, driving it deep into the angel''s side. With a final gasp, the male angel''s body collapsed, his form dissolving into fading embers of light that floated upward, leaving only the echo of a whispered prayer in their wake.


    Jackelin''s heart pounded as she looked at her brother, his face gleaming with satisfaction. But before he could revel in his triumph, the golden-armoured angel stepped forward, her gaze fierce, her wrath unmistakable.


    "You have desecrated the sacred," she intoned, her voice resonating with a divine fury that shook the air around them. Her eyes flashed, and arcs of electricity crackled along her arms, mingling with a blaze of fire that flared to life in her hands.


    Jack laughed, defiant, even as she raised her arm. He raised his phantoms once more, sending them forward, their hollow eyes glinting with his own fury. But the golden angel moved faster, her fire and lightning merging into a powerful force that surged forward in a single, unstoppable strike.


    Jackelin''s hand shot out, trying to pull him back, but the force was too great. Fire and electricity engulfed Jack, the celestial power searing through him, dissolving his form with a terrible finality. He screamed, his defiance breaking as he was consumed, his body evaporating into smoke and shadow.


    Jackelin fell back, the echoes of her brother''s voice fading in the stillness. The golden angel stepped toward her, the fierce light in her eyes softening as she placed a steadying hand on Jackelin''s shoulder.


    "There is still a way for you," the angel said gently, her voice filled with compassion that pierced through Jackelin''s anguish. "Release the phantoms, let them find peace-and perhaps you shall find your own."


    As dawn broke over the city, Jackelin looked to her phantoms, the souls she had bound to her, their forms wavering, waiting. With a heavy heart, she whispered the words of release, allowing each one to drift into the light, their resentment fading as they found the peace they had longed for.