A very Victorian Grimm

Jack the Ripper was not what he appeared... as are many more creatures that lurk beneath the surface of very human faces...


1. Apprehended

Darkened street lamps did nothing to dispel the air of anxiety as the man fled down one of the many streets and paths that littered the Whitechapel area of London, his long black jacket billowing out behind him. 

The streets were virtually empty, which was unfortunate - he would be more easily spotted, which only increased the sense of urgency. He ran as fast as he could, heart pounding as he made his way closer to Fenchurch Street station. He could hear the sound of boilers hissing as trains were prepared for their latest voyages, and the steam from those boilers could now be seen as he approached.

"Stop!" Yelled a man's voice from behind him. "I order you to stop!"

The man had no such intention. His feet carried him under an archway and he kept running, but now he could hear the footfall of someone behind him - and gaining on him.

A few houses and public houses still had lanterns lit within their walls and they cast unsettling shadows upon the ground, even more so when the moon appeared from behind the clouds. By now the sound of trains was a lot louder, and the sight of the viaducts that carried the rails was a welcome one. If he could make it aboard one of those trains...

An object whizzed past his eyes at great speed and hit the wall beside him with a clunky metallic sound. A dagger, quite short yet appeared to be very sharp, glinted in the moonlight. The shock froze the man for a moment, and when he cast a look over his shoulder, his pursuer was only a dozen metres behind him.

He would never make it to the station; he knew that now. He had only one recourse left.

Grabbing the dagger, he span around, turning angry green eyes at the other man. 

"It's over 'Jack'." Said the chaser. He appeared well-dressed, in top hat and tails, his shirt buttoned up completely and covering what appeared to be a muscular frame. Narrow blue eyes looked into his, and then turned black - blacker than the darkest night he had ever seen.

He snarled, momentarily shifting into the form of a furry, wolfish creature at the sight of his deepest fear.

"Grimm!" He hissed.

"That's right, and you're a Coyotl. A very bad one at that." The Grimm's voice was so polite, so proper, as though he were scolding an errant child. "How many of the Ripper murders did you actually commit yourself?"

"Go to hell Grimm!" The Coyotl shifted back to his human features, but could not disguise the terror, despite the defiance in his voice.

"After you." Replied the Grimm politely, tipping his hat in mock respect.

The Coyotl snarled, revealing once again the animal features that had proven so useful to him before. Sharp fangs were poised to rip a hole in the Grimm's throat as the Coyotl lunged, but the Grimm simply side-stepped the angry Wesen and grabbed a hold of his right arm as he did, swinging the Coyotl around and to the ground.

The coarse surface of the pavement scratched the Coyotl's snout and body, and he howled in agony as the Grimm bent his arm against his back, using his knee and body weight to pin him down.

"What are you waiting for?" The Coyotl cried, waiting for the fatal blow to land.

"I would ask why. Why did you so savage murder at least five women and terrorise London?" The Grimm's voice was harsh.

"They were filthy whores! They deserved to die!"

"They were whores, yes. Whether they deserved to die is not for you or I to judge." The Grimm applied greater pressure and the Coyotl screamed as the bones in his forearm began to fracture. After a few seconds of greater exertion, the Grimm heard a satisfying crack as the arm gave way.

As the Coyotl lay there, shrieking from the pain, the Grimm calmly got up and retrieved his dagger.

The last thing the Coyotl saw was the dagger coming down into his chest, and the Grimm's black eyes.

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