Chapter One

The Sleeping Soul

I've heard it was around here…

A man clad in black walked past the ruins, not even once considering the unsightly shambles to be of minute interest. His eyes simply scanned the area, the reflections of charred and dilapidated concrete merely whizzing past his blood-red eyes. Rather, he simply walked in a dignified gait, the hems of his tailcoat barely fluttering in this windless landscape. For once, his eyes momentarily stopped to scrutinize a cathedral, its once colourful glass mosaic now lay shattered and burnt around the earth and lifeless bushes that littered in its domain. No.

Not a single soul there.

Without a second thought, he continued pacing around the cobblestone path, still tracking the faint scent of a soul that had enchanted his demonic senses. He marked this place as a place of interest when he started to look for prospective employees for the Phantomhive household, but it seems that his research had failed him. Not only was the sight disappointing for the eager demon, it also seemed like a waste of his time.

There was Meirin, a fiery-haired woman whose eyes could rival that of an eagle's, her skills oft used for assassination—she now performs fairly menial tasks around the estate for, despite her keen acumen, she is also horribly clumsy. There was also Baldroy, who was among the army and had a particular attachment to explosives, an excellent strategist on the field, but never on the kitchen where his recipes never successfully vanquish a thing called expectation, let alone hunger. The third was a young blonde named Finnian, a successful experiment whose lanky figure undermines the otherworldly strength he possesses, now left to tend the garden where the prospect of 'being outside' was much enjoyed. The three employees were left with Tanaka-san, the old Phantomhive butler whose service to the family dates way back from when the current earl's parents were still alive.

And the raven-haired butler bothered himself to reach the outskirts of England just to search for the fourth prospective employee. His excellent investigatory skills had led him to a speculation that there was yet another experiment, much like the situation Finnian had himself in, but something of a more interesting—no, an exponentially more dangerous thing than simply superhuman strength. He was not able to take ahold of the specific details, but that much was enough to keep the butler's imagination running.

Though his blood-red eyes failed to see the soul of interest, his trained senses could definitely smell the spark of a soul, somewhere… somewhere out of reach. So near, yet so far. It smelled sweet, delicate, and it tantalized his senses so. It was as if this soul was a mere fragment, a leftover of some demon who was suddenly interrupted from his sumptuous meal—it was that small, yet the small wisps of its aroma still caressed his senses, pulling him, like an invisible thread that held its tight bounds on his hellish being.

Stopping on his tracks, the pallid butler spun on his heel and retraced his steps. The scent just got fainter, a signal that he wasn't doing his search any good. With hurried steps, he returned to the cathedral that momentarily took his interest and stopped right in front of it, now ruminatively scrutinizing the opprobrious cathedral. His eyes saw nothing but the burned exterior of the place, its shattered glass and the horribly destroyed griffin doors. Nothing of interest reached his ears, nothing but the mere imagination of horrible screams of those who sought futile refuge and painfully died as the whole town was consumed by flames. Oh, that was definitely music to the demon's ears, but that was not what he wanted. The proud turrets and immaculate statues were also scattered around the immediate vicinity of the cathedral, with the top spot devoid of the bell that is supposed to be there.

And now that he thought of it, it seemed like this gothic structure wasn't simply caught in the hellish predicament that the whole town had fallen into. It was as if the whole town was burned for the purpose of concealing the immense sacrilege that marred the cathedral's hallowed walls.

No. Not a single soul there.

At least, nothing within the immediate reach of his senses.

The shadow of a smile crept upon his lips as his deep crimson eyes twinkled, almost matching the grandiosity of the gold and crimson pastel that served as a backdrop of the lone cathedral. Had he not been relieved of today's duty, he would be back in the Phantomhive estate, perhaps occupying himself with the meticulous preparation of an elaborate dinner for his extremely fastidious young master.

His solid steps were made no sound against the cold ground, and his lean figure simply passed through the doorway without so much as a rustle. Ah, even the burnt seats reeked of dry blood and rotting flesh, a testament that the tragedy that had befallen its denizens was unlike anyone thought it to be. It seemed queer— not a single bullet littered the floors, nor were there any bullet marks on the seats to speak of. There were, in place of the small metal things, small holes that seemed to have burnt its way through the constructs… and the humans seated on them. This method of death surely was a wonder to him, but deaths were deaths—he lived through years witnessing it, He walked past all these, straight to the solemn alter illuminated by flecks of the golden sunset peeping from the cracked windows.

Yes, this way.

The scent slowly became stronger with each passing second, defining an unseen path that the raven butler must take. Towards the altar, to the flight of marble steps with an immaculate red carpet adorning its platforms. Yes… there. Oh how queer the sight truly was, the sight of a demon slowly making a solid path towards the altar abandoned by mercy, where an open bible lay bloodstained, a chalice toppled with wine spilled on the once pristine veil, a paten settled upside down—perhaps protecting the Eucharistic bread that was otherwise badly destroyed and, on further observation, where the crucifix pitifully hung upside down.

Could it be under the table, a lone soul that reeked of pity and despair? Under the thick tablecloth that adorned the marble table, perhaps?

His steps brought him closer and closer, the faint sound of his heels clicking against the floors softly reverberating on its hallowed walls.

Tap.

He definitely felt the change of ground beneath his feet. Something that could perhaps withhold the weight of a hollow structure above it, but never the pressure of a dense structure of such a massive size.

Tap.

How could he have missed this before? The scent of such a sweet soul wafting in the air like calm waves across a tranquil midnight sea— soft, delicate, and languidly caressing in his eager senses.

Tap.

Was he really doing this for the sake of his contract with Ciel Phantomhive? Or was he doing this for himself? He had, thus far, accomplished his duties well in accordance to his Faustian contract with the ten-year old moppet, and though he intended to fulfil the contract just as they agreed upon, it did not stipulate that he may consume another human's soul. He was not necessarily starving, but the scent of this particular soul tempts him so.

At long last, the butler had finally reached the top of the short flight of stairs, and his observant eyes swiftly scanned the altar.

Hmmm…

Raising his left eyebrow, there was almost a smirk at the corners of his lips. Truly, this wasn't something a mere human could settle. But there were no eyes to see, save for the empty eyes of that whose figure was pinned upon the crucifix. In careful steps, he brought himself closer to the marble construct, and with one swift heave, the butler flipped the large table, without regards to the objects on top of it, and without a single regard upon the massive crack it created on the wall as it collided. No, he was not to be bothered with humanly cautiousness, nor was he to be bothered to moderate his behaviour. Nothing stood in his way.

"So that's what it is," the butler spoke with utmost interest, a trapdoor in the ground made visible from beyond the cloud of dust that rose up all around him. Clapping the dust away from his ivory gloves, the demonic butler bent to pull its metallic handle, a bit too eagerly that the door nearly got off from its hinges.

Oh, that scent. It was as if the once-languid waves had crashed upon his whole being, with such impact that he stopped a few moments only to relish upon this wonder.

Yes, indeed it is.

A flight of stairs led downward, leading to a darkness with an unknown end. But he was a demon, and darkness was not among the things that could possibly hinder him from reaching the goal. Settling the door right at the side of the opening, he slowly made his way down, on and on to the cold pavement that seemed untouched for quite a while—a few years, if his knowledge had not failed him. For a while, there was only silence and darkness that enveloped his being, as well as a vast expanse of stairs that led downward. If he didn't know he was on England, he would have assumed that he was walking downward on the stairwell to Hell. But no, humans did not have the capacity to reach that far. Even for a split second, he was mildly impressed by the complexity of this flight of stairs. It could have disoriented a normal human's sense of direction, as well as their perception of distance. Yes, he was a few kilometres below the ground, and he was getting nearer and nearer.

This was a demon who could travel a week's long journey in an hour. But he could simply not afford randomly bumping on a wall, no. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into a few past half an hour. He was terribly irked by this cumbersome journey, and it teased into his very being. Until his feet had failed to step on a lower platform. He was finally on a level ground, and the only thing that stood between him and his point of interest was a mere door. A large door that he simply yanked, without letting mere human contraptions—such as massive chains and multiple locks—stop him.

And he felt the full force of this wave crash upon him. Yes, that scent. That scent that drove him craving for something he shouldn't, something that made him rethink of his contract, something that pulled invisible strings upon him. Yes, it was right there.

Right before his eyes of deep crimson, was a queer room that encompassed any of his expectations. It had technology way beyond 19th century England… and contained something that could not have been accomplished by a simple human. It was a small, yet a fairly lofty room, dimly lit by the emerald liquid bubbling inside the capsules that stood at the sides of this circular space. A mass of colourful tubes and wires connected the eight vertical capsules together, each with a luminescent wire connecting to the round elevation at the very heart of the room. No, nothing on top of it, yet it let off a faint yellow glow.

From where he stood, only a slight humming of the machines reached his ears—no heartbeat, no distinct breathing, not a hint of movement from the identical bodies trapped inside the capsules. Not a single feeling or thought emanated from these bodies, almost like well-preserved corpses kept in abeyance on this queer place. Upon his first step into the room, it felt as if the scent was all around him, the soul—as if it held him in a tight embrace. His eyes were drawn to the centrepiece where it seemed strongest, and his feet simply led him there.

The massive elevation was a mere container, with a prisoner held within. From beyond the thick glass that separated him from the human, he could clearly see what it was. Its prisoner was a young lady, sleeping quite peacefully as though she was dead—or perhaps, held in temporal stasis. Now that he thought of it, her soul, her visage, it was exactly like those of the women also held in stasis on the capsules connected to it.

Yes, this must be the object of his interest, and though presented right in front of his very eyes, his interest did not dwindle, not even by a little bit.

It was as though her soul was pitifully ripped into several portions, used to complete the forge of human shells made on her account. So pitiful indeed, that it almost penetrated the demon's indifferent countenance. Only a few inches about five feet, it seemed as though the structure was tailored to fit only her inside it. Her pallid skin was very much alike a human who had not seen the sun in years, while only a bit expression traced her delicate features—her eyes were closed, yet the eyebrows were furrowed in such a way that she could have experienced excruciating pain before closing her eyes. There was a grim line tracing her thin lips, while the mass of strawberry blonde tresses lie in soft waves around her heart-shaped face. Her arms were settled at her sides, and her posture was stiff. There was no warmth emanating from this body, yet the fluctuation of her soul was very much wealthy of it. So full of humanly warmth.

And that was the beauty of it.

Her soul was indeed ripped into several portions, but it still felt as though it was whole. Something of such a high quality that, even after such a humiliating degradation, it still seemed to be of significant worth to this demon. Though now left with a fragmented soul, the essence, the rarity—he would perhaps encounter it only once in his whole lifetime, something he would relish for as long as he lived.

Would he really settle on employing this woman in the Phantomhive manor so he could be tempted by this enchanting scent every time?

Could he keep this soul around and stay faithful to his contract with Ciel Phantomhive?

Would he covet this soul for his own?

Unable to contain himself, the raven butler gingerly pressed the button that said 'open', and allowed himself to be tortured by the young lady's scent. Slowly, the container's covering lifted, and he was finally left without a hindrance. Cold air wafted out from the container, intertwined with the strong scent of the soul that lingered within the vessel.

There was a heave of breath, and a pulse of a heartbeat. He leaned closer, inspecting the woman who, now he verified, was only held in temporary stasis. A few moments passed, but the lady had not even flinched in her position, yet the subtle shifts in her body had not come unobserved by the demon.

Water welled up on the corner of her delicate eyes, and without opening her eyes, a single tear strolled down.

And without parting her lips to speak, the demon was able to hear the sound of her voice.

"Die!"

The voice reverberated on the butler's head, as though she had spoken it herself. It was a voice of hysterics, of madness, of hate… of pain. It was like a banshee's screech, unbefitting of such an angelic creature such as this one. Though definitely used to this scream, it came almost like a shock to this man. Seconds passed, and there was nothing but tears trickling down her pallid visage. Her breathing had become regular, so was her heartbeat. Her fingers slightly twitched, but the butler made no motion into forcing her into some sort of movement.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, revealing the somber grey eyes that settled within. A slight sigh escaped her parted lips, passively waiting for the usual ceremonies. No, her waiting was met with nothing but silence. Her countenance was calm and uncaring, yet the soul fluctuated in accordance to its owner's concealed emotions—it was erratic, furious and embittered. The soul the demon had followed was gentle and pleasant, but the one he had awoke seemed like a raging fire that only sought to destroy and consume, not just whatever it passes on, but everything around it.

He was supposed to offer her a job, something as familiar as persuading her with the excellent benefits and how she could be of significant use. However, at that moment, it seemed as though all words had failed him. Was he this selfish?

The fluctuations of her soul swirled, its emotions plunging to a darkness unlike he thought it was. It gathered more hate and despair, more and more, until a familiar sensation brought back the butler to his senses.

"I will kill you!" A surge of telepathic reverberations smashed into his cognition once more, even worse than her first threat. "One day, I will crush you… all of you!"

The atmosphere was dark and heavy… a familiar sensation of a mere human making its voice heard to the underworld. Hot tears still trickled down her cheeks as her lips creased to a frown. Eyes widened, the butler simply found it appropriate to halt the lady's attempt of establishing a connection. Such will… such despair.

"Excuse me, my Lady…" The raven-haired butler interrupted, leaning forward so as to make himself visible on the lady's range of vision. "I am Sebastian Michaelis, the butler of the Phantomhive family. May I interest you in a form of employment?" Placing a hand on his chest, the butler took a slight bow as a form of respect, feigning ignorance to what he recently witnessed.

"Huh?" Seemingly bewildered by the situation, the lady motioned to look at her side, and apparently the only time she took notice of the man. Eyes narrowed, she addressed the butler with such a voice that could not have betrayed her nature as displayed just mere moments ago. "So, does this mean they're done with me?" she spoke in a shrill voice, almost like a little child left wandering in the rain.

"That, I have no idea of, my Lady. I am of no affiliation with the organization that you are speaking of— I have come to reach this place under the direct order of Earl Phantomhive, solely for the purpose of employing individuals to serve him." Gingerly, his gloved hand reached for his pocket and held out a neatly folded handkerchief to the young woman.

"Is that how little I've become?" Though the lady was thoroughly incognizant of it, the demon could fully hear the thoughts drifting around her mind. Her heart shrunk, almost humiliated by the indignation his words had brought her. "To serve… an earl? I refuse." Biting her lip, the lady found it convenient to turn away. "I have more important things to do than to dawdle on someone else's estate." There was a faraway look on her listless eyes that spoke of an earnest longing, and Sebastian was fully aware of this emotion swirling all around her. Not just longing, but a strong desire.

"Well, I-um, I'm sorry to hear that," Sebastian spoke, with barely any second thought as he pulled the handkerchief back to him. Should I offer her a contract? The pervasive thoughts drifted in his mind, something he knew he wanted, but something he knew he can't do—a fact that only angered him. "Alternatively, I can fulfil that desire of yours and work for you. However, my services are not payable by money."

What am I saying?! The words slipped from his mouth, almost without his approval. His fingers twitched—there was a desire to hold her, the desire to have her closer… the desire to consume.

Motioning to look at the man once more, his passive gaze was met with a curious one. He might be of interest, after all. There was a momentary leap of interest, but it quickly sunk back to the depths from where it came from. "No, I do not think you can fulfil my wishes, butler. Considering the lack of loyalty that you have committed by asking to be of someone else's service, I presume that you are not someone who can stay by my side to see to it that my wishes are fulfilled."

The statement was like a bullet shot straight to the butler. He would not die for it, but the force permeated through him. Of course.

"If you would let me explain myself…" he replied, trailing off to scavenge his disorganized thoughts with a proper response. "It seems that you underestimate my abilities, my Lady. I am not such a wily thing as you thought I am."

"This is an order, Sebastian! Come!"

Ciel's voice penetrated through his thoughts, sending a pulse of anger through his veins. Why does he have to call upon him? Why now?! His muscles shivered in anger, momentarily torn between clearing up his name and abiding by his contract. Eventually he had no choice.

"But if I cannot redeem your interest, my Lady, perhaps it might be better to come again at a more propitious time? Please consider this: I will be able to grant a wish no human would ever hope to fulfil." With a last bow, the butler straightened from his spot and turned on his heel.

"Wait! I have an inquiry!" She spoke in haste, calling the butler's divided attention. Surprised, he turned on his heel, facing the woman once more. "What year is it?"

"1886," he flatly replied, disappointed by how his words seemed not to have moved the young lady's heart at all.

"Thank you," she spoke, motioning for a slight nod that she could not otherwise accomplish with her position.

And, with a slight nod, the butler was gone.

"What a pathetic creature," a deep voice spoke from somewhere else in the room. Somewhere outside the lady's field of vision. "Truly, it was a good decision to decline his offer."

"You are late," his master spoke sternly, glaring at him through his lone azure eye. "It seems like the enemies were made aware of your absence," the small boy spoke, huffing with anger as he peeked from beneath the large wooden table, body curled so as to protect himself from the onslaught of bullets that pockmarked the windows.

"I apologize, Young Master. I have no excuses." Placing his gloved hand on his chest, the raven-clad butler took a slight bow towards the boy's direction.

"Tch. It doesn't matter. Annihilate those infiltrators at once!"

"Yes, my Lord."

With a nod towards Tanaka, the younger butler sped off to the front lines, disappointed to see the servants severely wounded. Sebastian was quite sure that he employed remarkable people, but it seemed like the assailants were no less exceptional.

It seemed that I left at an unfortunate time. Of all days, why today?

Their snipers missed their target by only a few inches, and though distracted, the butler was able to evade all of their attacks. Aside from endangering the life of his master, it made him feel as though he sorely neglected his duties as a butler—and that angered him so.

With the butler's breakneck speed, the assailants found it particularly difficult, and though they continued to fire, not a single one of them hit. One by one, the butler's hands swooped to the side, catching the bullets on his gloved hand and sent them flying back to where it came from, exacting its revenge on the very person that fired it.

"I-it can't be just a butler!" The sniper from the farther bushes spoke, fingers shivering, heart torn on whether to continue fighting or to run away. It was a horrible sight, seeing his compeers annihilated with a mere flick of the man's wrist. More hesitation. Cold sweat appeared on his brow—he couldn't take it anymore! Shutting his eyes tightly, he pulled the trigger, hoping to hit the hellish butler.

A few seconds passed, and when he opened his eyes, it became the greatest regret of his life. There was the butler only mere inches from his face, and with only the moonlight illuminating his handsome features, there was a sharp crimson glare from an infuriated man and suddenly… an eternal darkness.

"Young Master, I shall be investigating this issue further, as instructed. I will make sure that everything is prepared first thing in the morning," Sebastian said dutifully, holding the candlelight up as the young boy rolled on his bed.

"I will not tolerate any form of neglect on your part, Sebastian. Do your duties as the Phantomhive butler should." The boy was impassive, though it were something he did not even have to speak aloud.

"As you with, my Lord. Good night, and may you have a peaceful sleep." Silently turning on his heel, the butler walked out of the room and casted a peeved glare at the young boy, just before the door completely blocked him out of view.

It was three hours past midnight, and this was a time usually reserved for various things Sebastian wanted to do—sleeping was a luxury for such a butler managing a rather eccentric household. But four hours of idle time, that is, from two to six in the morning, was ample time for him to pick up what he left off.

In a matter of an hour, the demon crossed the vast expense of land, rushing to the cathedral from a few hours before. He craved for that soul, and longed to settle matters with her. Why did he call her 'My Lady'? Why was he so interested? Why was he willing to stoop so low for a mere human's soul? He was baffled, and infuriated by the stir she had created in one brief moment.

And he would make sure that she will never come out of it unaffected.

The butler rushed at his fastest, pulses of arousal coursing through his body.

No…

Sebastian felt the stale midnight air pass by his cheeks, the nippy breeze through his hair, and the stench of a rotten civilization that dwindled into corruption. Yet, the closer he got, the more desperate he became… more and more— compelling him, haunting him, consuming him…

Like a thing of beauty that now only existed in mere memory.

:: author's notes ::

Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji, I wish I do though. xD

I think I should apologize for the length. I want the non-Kuroshitsuji readers to at least know what I'm talking about, like a standalone. Should be pretty less in the next few chapters. :)

Reviews are greatly appreciated! :)