I really don't know. I'm not inspired to write anything else and I feel like messing around with third person point of view (something which I think I'm horrible at).
Note: Puteulanus Oculus Parvulus is Latin for blue eye child.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji.
"Well then Bocchan..." the voice rang eerily in the air, as the demon leaned in, licking his lips, ready to sate his long sustained hunger.
Azure orbs stared at the demon, almost empty, but content. Everything was accomplished, nothing was left undone, and he had won the game of chess. Only at the price of losing his soul. But he was okay with that, he wasn't naive when he made the contract--only in pain and wanting out of the pain, and to humiliate the others, as he had been humiliated.
The single cold hand grabbed the child's shoulder as the demon got closer and closer, almost drooling. That was to be expected of course, he hasn't eaten in a long while--slowly cooking his perfect grade A meal.
The boy stays still. He was a man--or child-- of his word, and is accepting of his fate. The demon had done his end and now it his his own turn.
The fangs sink into the child, and a scream pierces the silent island, frightening the lone crow, causing it to go flying, though it will undoubtfully return.
The boy quickly quiets himself though. He shouldn't be complaining about the pain he asked for. He should accept it silently. That cry of pain was just a fluke.
He bites his lip as he feels something, begin to get torn away, just a tiny piece of something. It isn't his flesh, that much was obvious, but he feels less complete without whatever was taken.
His soul, of course. That is what he auctioned away, so that was what is taken.
The fangs sink deeper and another tearing feeling. He must bite his lips to stay close to being silent. Only a small gasp escapes his lips. More emptiness surges throughout him.
The fangs leave the base of his neck, and he slumps down; barley restraining a shriek when they plunge in elsewhere. So unexpected and painful, but necessary. At least if the demon is to follow his orders. Maybe he should choose his words more carefully for now on. He manages a cynical smirk. What for now on? I'm going to be dead in a few moments. If I'm not already.
There was a temporary pause from the demon, and the wicked being nearly considered disobeying orders to give his beloved Bocchan a break. But that was taking the easy way out, something neither of the two did, so the process continued. As did the child's torturous pain.
He never realized how warm a soul was until it was practically gone. No human probably did. But now, he can't tell if the shaking was from the cold or the pain, though it probably is both. It doesn't really matter. He only knows he is shaking, and it is so hard to keep his eyes open--let alone remain upright. Only the demons single arm was preventing him from toppling over in a heap.
"Farewell, for now, Bocchan," were the last words he heard. And the harsh red orbs were the last thing he saw, as the fangs pierced through his skin the last time. He didn't even have the energy to scream.
And he didn't hear the echoing voice that came after his death. "You know you were always my favorite master, Bocchan." He simply just knew.