Prologue.
{{Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler is property of Yana Toboso. Sadly, in no way do I own these characters and thus do not claim to have any rights over them. This is merely the writing of an admiring fan, much like yourself.}}
It wasn't that nobody in late-night London saw it apart from him.
It was just that nobody cared.
It's the way things are in busy cities. Everything is someone else's responsibility. Someone else will talk that man out of jumping on the rattling train tracks, someone else will help that sobbing old woman up, someone else will see to that shrieking girl in the alley. For that reason, the city is full of savages. Fierce tigers, deceptive snakes, and poisonous flowers alike are strewn all around. A Darwinian community – survival of the fittest!
Sadly, Ciel Phantomhive was certainly not the fittest.
It was a matter of luck or misfortune; depending on whose eyes you looked through. The raven-haired university student was trudging home from an ego-bruising, failure of a date. Sebastian's foul mood had begun to dissipate as he walked it off and headed in the direction of the Embankment Tube Station to begin his journey home. All he wanted was to curl up safely under his sheets and lick his wounds before morning came and he had to deal with the hangover he had earned himself.
Barely two-hundred metres ahead, a rickety car came to a skidding stop, its wheels clipping the kerb. In the front, two male voices whispered excitedly about the money they had stolen – 'we're rich, we're rich!' – and in the back of the car there was a stiff silence from a dull-eyed boy who was wedged uncomfortably between his parents. They were the unfortunate victims of this crime.
Ciel, the thirteen-year-old boy and the black cat on Sebastian's otherwise clear path, had witnessed his parents having bullets driven through their skulls just fifteen minutes before. He was now sharing a car with the killers. He eyed them resentfully as they climbed out and pulled open the back door. Ciel watched them dragging out the wilted body of his mother and then winkled his nose as one of their hands seized his wrist. He twisted in disgust at the feel of their common, bloodied touch as he too was hauled out. With a frightening calm about him, he cooperated and stared despondently ahead while his father was propped against the car. His slender wrists were bound messily to the two bodies. Thoroughly detached, Ciel marvelled inwardly at how quickly a life could be ended as he supposed his own was about to. The young teen was drawn roughly over to the edge of the Thames. His eyes slid over to the dead parents on either side of him who were being supported by the two perpetrators. He mused solemnly that they were not dissimilar to rigid puppets.
Sebastian watched the small scene play out. The shadowy figures ahead were merely something to preoccupy him until he reached his destination. From the distance he was at, he supposed they were a family of tourists seeing the sights. At night, the area just beyond Victoria Embankment Gardens was less unappealing than usual. Perhaps to a stranger passing through, he thought, London looked beautiful – nothing but a sea of bright lights and lively colours, when one looked out across the water. Sebastian's gaze wandered back to the group as he walked. The youngest in particular caught his attention. Despite being a teenager, the lamplight revealed that the doll-like boy barely looked ten years old.
As a result of this very fact, neither of the now filthy rich men who had their pockets lined with a small portion of Vincent's fortune, expected the child to survive being thrown down into the icy depths in mid-December, particularly with his wrists bound to the two corpses; shooting him would just have been a waste of bullets and would have made an unnecessary mess.
Ciel set his jaw tight as he heard a strange ripping noise. It was horribly smooth and natural. Black liquid dripped over the murderer's hands for just a moment before a powerful heave sent him and the two bodies plummeting into the Thames.
Sebastian saw the child fall. He debated whether or not to intervene, to call the police perhaps? But he did nothing. It was none of his business. Instead he simply stood and watched. The two men ran back to the car, slammed the doors closed and sped off. The student was left wondering if his eyes had deceived him. Sebastian's curiosity a finally outmanoeuvred his cynical logic and he rushed to the river's edge. Looking down, he caught a brief glimpse of Ciel's head bobbing above the surface. The boy spluttered pathetically and choked before he was dragged down again, out of sight.
Blood.
There was blood around him, thickening and staining the water. He could taste it, bitter and warm in his mouth. Blue eyes turned in desperate confusion to bodies of his parents. Their stomachs were cut open. Their expensive clothes had done nothing to stop the sharp edges of the blade and between the reams of thick red he saw jagged ripped skin and their wide, staring eyes boring into him as they sank slowly into the darkness of the water. He began to struggle, his fragile body straining uselessly and trying to pull to the surface despite the weights dragging him down.
The attempt was in vain.
His asthma drained away the last of his breath and his heart fluttered like a small bird in his chest. Despite the adrenaline and the fierce will to survive, the surface began to fade from view as he swallowed water and blood.
His lungs burned.
His nails dragged over his father's stiffening hand as they sank.
He gathered his wits enough to let go, though not without taking the only remaining ring, the one marked with the family insignia, from Vincent's finger. Still, the rope bound him. The shoddy knot came loose after several seconds of desperate thrashing, but as the rope came undone, reality struck him.
He realized the distance of the surface was too far to reach. He had never been a strong swimmer and the lack of oxygen was making him dizzy. Struggling anymore was undignified and pointless. The beastly dark waters, choking him, gagging him no longer seemed so unfriendly. He couldn't see the lights anymore. He was going to die.
Thirty long, agonizing seconds passed.
Despite the blistering cold, a feeling of dull peace set in.
He no longer cared. Ciel wondered to himself at the pain in his body, which had by now ebbed away. He had become tranquil. In his mind, he heard piano music that his father had often played in the evening and he saw the maids rushing around their large London house. He remembered slapping one once because she had brought him the wrong sweets of similar name and the subsequent feigned guilt when his mother informed him that the woman was deaf. He remembered the household dog and frowned to himself when he remembered its death at the foot of his bed.
Its heart had stopped and it had thrashed uselessly, panting and in its fitting it slammed its head against the wooden base, the vibrations and sickening thud shaking him to the core as his beloved companion rasped out its final breath and lay there dead. That was two years ago now but it seemed like a day ago. He could feel its warm fur between his fingers.
Everything dulled and dipped into black. For a fleeting moment, he felt a great weight on his chest. He felt cold. He wondered above all what would happen to the family wealth.
It took a minute or two to reach him.
Sebastian clutched the young boy against his chest as he strove powerfully towards the surface.
The tantalising sight had sobered him and with the thoughts of the protagonists and heroes burning in his mind (and his future status as one of them), he had dived in after this child. Michaelis knew an opportunity when he saw one. He gave a dark smirk and imagined to himself that he would be revered in the papers. He wondered how this pitiable boy, with the long eyelashes and feather-light body, would dote on him and smooth out his wounded ego. Satisfied and feigning modesty to himself, Ciel's supposed saviour dragged him to safety.
Author's Note: A massive thank you to my brilliant beta-reader TheDirectorH. Reviews are the essential to keep me motivated on this one. Scribble me up something to keep me writing. Criticism, compliments, general bugging for another chapter. I want it all. Thank you, my sweet little devils.
Yours,
Terminal VIII.