- Butler of Death -
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I am merely fooling around with them, no pun intended.
Chapter One: Three times a charm
Here is a small fact: You are going to die.
You may run and hide. You can oppose me - try to bride, trick or outwit me. Fight with all your might if you like. It is all in vain. For my former statement is not only a fact, it is a promise I intend to keep. It might not happen today or tomorrow or anytime soon, but ultimately and consequently you are bound to – how do humans say – bite the dust?
Believe me, when I say, this is not supposed to be a thread. Don´t be afraid. I am neither violent nor malicious. I never killed anyone. Life is going to kill you. I just take over from there, because what would the world come down to if people get killed without dying?
On the day you die your life will flash before your eyes. That is common knowledge even amongst mere humans like you, isn´t it. Just make sure it is worth watching, because I will have no other choice but to do so. Now don´t get the wrong idea. You are far too ordinary to be granted the prerogative of my personal attendance. Well, in a sense I will be there. After all I am omnipotent.
Am I confusing you? My apologies if I did. I sometimes forget the boundaries of the human mind. Let me put it simple for you: I am a concept, a natural phenomena, but mankind tends to personify such things.
Yes, I will be there. Just not in person. Instead I will send one of my subordinates to see to you. I created them to be the eyes through which I observe every death and the hands with which I collect every soul. You can call them Death Gods, Reaper, Shinigami or whatever you fancy. Personally I call them Suits. Why? The answer is fairly simple – They all wear plain black suits. They seem so uniform, I find myself unable to tell one from the other. And although we share an unique link, there is no emotional attachment. As far as it concerns me they are exchangeable. Everybody is dispensable. I am nothing but the living proof of that. I know it sounds harsh. Bear with me; I certainly lack the nerves for empathy.
All this brings me to the story of a certain Reaper. You see, even though my subordinates give me a hard time telling them apart, let alone remember their names, there are some exceptions.
He clearly stood out and it took me a while before I knew why he intrigued me.
But as a human saying goes: Three times a charm.
A small side note: Mind you, I saw him more than three times. I watched his whole life. But those three moments just formed my impression of him the most.
The first time he was still a boy of thirteen and he had just witnessed the death of the man they called his father. There was blood on his face. It was on his shirt, on the walls of the small room, well, everything seemed to be speckled with crimson. He did not mind at all. On the contrary, the boy quite liked it. After all red was his favorite color.
On the ground was the body. The Shotgun, an old Martini-Henry rifle, still in his dead hands. The boy stared down at the pulpy lump, that had once been a face, and he knew he should be frightened by this sight. I thought the same. I waited for him to break down and cry or to shake the body in disbelief, muttering, that this was not happening. He didn´t. Instead the most curios smile spread across his face. Though smile is not the right word. Do you know what a Cheshire Cat is? It was that sort of irritating grin. He was clearly mad. But then again: all the best people are.
The next time he was again covered in blood. Again it was not his own. Most of it at least.
That lovely red – it had been her favorite color as well.
Some years had passed. The boy had started to grow into a man and I assure you, he hated the very idea. Right now he was lying on the ground. Defeated. He had taken quite a beating. Some of his rips were broken. One eye was swollen. Every breath sent a stinging pain through his chest. Nothing he could not survive. More threatening was to have the blade of his own death scythe pressed against his throat by the demon looming over him.
Again a small comment on my part: Isn't it ironic, that the only weapon capable of killing one of my subordinates is their own death scythe?
The boy and the demon both knew this of course.
"Any last words?" asked the demon. "Begging me to spare your pitiful life? No?"
He seemed disappointed, since the boy simply starred up at him. Looking back, the whole fight had been a bit of a disappointment for the demon. The boy had not screamed in pain, not once, and now he even refused to plead him for mercy. So he kicked the boy. Again and again. Hoping to get at least some reaction out of him.
Neither he nor I had anticipated what happened next. Suddenly the boy started to laugh. It was a daring laugh. It clearly said: Whatever you do, you can't hurt me any more. I found myself chuckling along. The boy sure had courage.
The third time, as you might have already guessed, there was again a fair amount of blood. Perhaps more when is conducive to anyone's health.
I had warned him to not oppose me. I told him to accept what was not in his hands to change. I knew it was not an option for him. He didn´t consider it even for one second.
That is why he staggered backwards and hit the ground, with a death scythe impaled in his chest. He felt the blood leaving his body. It formed a steadily growing puddle beneath him. I must be a lovely sight, he thought, painted in so much red. At this point I wasn't sure whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. Probably both.
A query: Do you think the reoccurring appearance of red to be a coincidence? Well, neither do I.
His vision was blurred, but he recognized who was leaning over him, holding his hand and stuttering awfully. He could only make out three words and they were all he ever wanted to hear. So, despite slipping into an unconsciousness, from which he knew he would most likely not wake up, he smiled. A very contend smile indeed.
Yes, it took me some time to know why.
The key to understanding was eventually red. It ran like a red thread through his life. Like it was written in large red letters … Alright, I guess you can grasp what I am trying to allude to.
He was the epitome of the color red. Through and through. He was fierce and passionate in all he did. Bloodshed seemed to follow him, wherever he went. Everything about him practically screamed to use utmost caution when in his company. But there was also love. A deep and crazy love, that is far beneath or beyond me, I am not quite sure which, to understand.
The time has come for me to watch the story of his life, yet again. If you like, you are invited to join me. But I urge you to reserve your judgment. Pass it upon him after the last curtain falls. I will do the same.
Watch closely, this is, in a manner of speaking, a one-night stand.
Author's Note:
- The story is giong to follow the storyline of the manga and anime only partly. There are going to be some minor and major changes, as well as OC's. Also I made Grell and other characters younger then he actually are. I guess it should therefore be considered AU.
- For everyone who has noticed: Yes, I was inspired by Markus Zusak "The Book Thief". His style of writing is absolutly awesome. Since I find it hard to choose a narrative perspective, his idea was just too fitting for a Kuroshitsuji-Fanfiction.
To everyone who hasn't read "The Book Thief" - I hope I made it clear who the narrator is.