London, 1883. The city was wrapped in a thick, choking fog, the kind that seeped into bones and twisted its way into the deepest corners of the soul. Gas lamps flickered dimly along the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows that danced and writhed like phantoms. It was on such a night that the legend of the Red-Eyed Demon began.
Inspector Nathaniel Grey had seen his share of horrors in his ten years with the Metropolitan Police, but nothing could have prepared him for the scene that awaited him in the narrow alley off Fleet Street. The body of a young woman lay sprawled on the damp stones, her face twisted in a final, silent scream. Her eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were now wide open, staring into the abyss.
Grey knelt beside the body, his lantern casting a pool of light that revealed the gruesome details. There were no signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds. The only mark on her body was a small puncture wound at the base of her neck. But it was her eyes that chilled him to the core. They had turned a deep, unnatural red, as if stained with blood.
"What do you make of it, sir?" asked Constable Williams, his young face pale and drawn.
Grey shook his head, unable to tear his gaze from the victim. "I don't know, Williams. But whatever did this... it's not human."
The constable crossed himself and muttered a prayer under his breath. "Some are saying it's a demon, sir. The Red-Eyed Demon."
Grey had heard the rumors, whispered in darkened taverns and behind closed doors. A creature that preyed on the innocent, leaving only death and terror in its wake. He had dismissed them as superstitious nonsense. Until now.