Onnashitsuji: Hell Revisited
A/N: It's amazing that I've finally the guts to rewrite this (ugly) fic. So, tell me what you think of the general background of the story with a review! I've changed so many things about the plot. I'm trying so desperately to make it—I dunno, dark and seductive? *fails*
She pushes back against him. "I hope you rot in hell."
He grins devilishly "I'm afraid I already have, my dear."
She rolls her eyes. "Then I hope Glutton devours you whole."
He sighs. "His taste should be quite excellent then."
She wants her eyes to turn into knives. "Pft, you're as presumptuous as ever.."
He chuckles. "And you are as foul as a boar's rear, probably more."
She bites his neck and draws blood. He pulls away and hisses at her mark.
She throws her arms outward. "Look at what you've done!"
There are bodies of rich noblemen from this area in Medieval Italy covering the floor. There is a thin layer of blood splatter on the walls of the room.
He places a hand on the injury, "I have done what I have been told that is all."
She wants to claw his eyes out. "You have cursed me another decade of living in this hideous form, with that whoring man!"
He speaks calmly. "I did nothing of that matter. I'm afraid that you've done a conscious act; instead of fulfilling your duties, you allowed yourself to be idle, and therefore—"
She shouts and attempts to strike at his chest. "Away from me, you arse!"
He glides to the other side of the room, leaving her heaving on the bloodied floor.
She wants him to burn where he stands. "The next century, I will have succeeded you already."
He grins. "It isn't much too long before that. I will see you then."
She scoffs. "And you shall never see anymore."
He is gone before she can chase his lingering scent out of the room.
She screams and prepares herself to postpone her meal of a lustful soul.
That was three hundred years ago.
He observes as she picks up the last, bloodied plate on the floor and places it on the table. "You've been put through Hell on Earth."
The plate shatters into three by her grip. "Hell is much more accommodating than this subordinate realm."
She turns to him, an entirely different human face gracing her scowl; golden hair and green eyes replace her mundane black hair and blue eyes, "Tell me, how have you been? Out foiling the rest of us?"
She wipes the trickling blood from her chin, the blood of the first meal she's had after thirty years. "Forcing us to postpone our long-awaited meals for decades later?"
He stares at her. "Your insatiable hunger precedes you. I can smell the stench from miles away."
He pinches his nose before continuing, "You should have been more careful. Others might share with you."
There was a roar before she could eat away the rest of the body, now drained of its blood.
"Damn you to Hell!" She shouts before she tears a chunk of flesh from the arm.
He is out of her sight before rogue demons from Western France appear before her, hungry and unwilling to reach a compromise.
That was two hundred years ago.
He strides into the room as three bodies come crashing through the ceiling, "I see you've finished."
She stiffens at his voice and whips towards him, with a new face again, this time with auburn hair and brown eyes. "Why are you here?"
She says before stomping her pointed heel to a woman's mangled face.
He strides closer, "I was just curious."
She glares at him and raises a bloodied rapier to his face, "You are in no position to be curious about my ways. Why are you here, anyway?"
He shrugs lightly and ignores her, "I came on my own accord, and I wanted to see how you are doing."
She narrows her eyes and steps closer, the rapier pressing onto his neck, "If you'd rather not be cut from your throat down to your abdomen, I suggest you leave me."
He smirks arrogantly, "And risk such a fine game of chess?" He looks over to the untouched board to the side, "Never."
She is half-startled and half-suspicious of him, "What of it, Michaelis?" It's the first time she's called him by name after centuries. "I'm not one to play your foolish games."
He smile because he already knows her reaction, "Ah, but I wish to form and agreement with you; a deal of sorts."
She is nearly tempted, having formulated ways of twisting his rules; she draws back. She walks over to the bodies she's freshly killed, a greedy trio of siblings in Eastern Germany. "I don't share, Michaelis. We start when I say so."
He smirks as she bites the woman's breast, watching the blood flow to her hungry mouth; he already knows what's bound to happen.
She screams and wipes the entire board clean of its pieces. "Curse you, Michaelis. Curse you a thousand souls to Hell!" She strangles his neck and sits on the checkered board.
He doesn't choke. "I'm far from a thousand, my dear." He takes advantage of the position and pulls her to the ground, fingers pressing into her sides.
"Get off of me, you filthy cheat." She hisses and spits at his face.
He presses his lips to her cheek, biting hard enough to draw blood, "All's fair in love and war."
One of her hands digs its fingers onto his scalp, "This is neither of them."
"Not yet, though." He grins and presses his lips to hold her lower lip, a seductive kiss to some. He bites hard and tears slightly as the flesh.
She screams and scratches his face, clawing at his eyes. Her hand attempts to rip his throat open.
If love involves pain, blood, and a constant need to win, this would be called sex.
That was a hundred years ago.
She's reverted to her physically mundane appearance, although a bit changed. Her black hair was cut sharp and short, with a blue-colored rose embellishment on the left side of her head. Her eyes were still a dark shade of blue. The only thing that is drastically different is her way of dress; from simple peasant robes to heavily decorated frocks, now it was a state of undress.
He lets his eyes fall from her bare shoulders, to her gloved hands, to her corset, to her frilly skirt, to her stockings, to her boots, and finally to her face. "You look different. If it were possible, I think you've already accepted defeat."
She taunts him with a change of weaponry; two identical silver pistols with black trimming and long light blue feathers hanging from the end of its grip.
"Defeat? To you? You might have won before, cheating your way into games." She lifts the gun and aims to shoot at his neck.
"I haven't cheated. I merely deducted all possible movements on the board before you could." He sauntered up to her arm and gently pushed the gun away.
Before he could even brush the fabric of her elbow-high glove, she spun away and retracted her gun. "Tch, I wouldn't waste a bullet on you, but if you continue pestering me I'll shoot fourteen times to your head."
"Still as confident, are we?" He chuckles mockingly.
She notices the redundancy in his outfit; always black and white. "Ah, and you are a slave to the humans as always." She scoffs.
"A butler, if you please, the term you use is an insult."
She rolls her eyes. "Whatever works, butler." She puts emphasis on the insult.
"What are you these days, Teresa?" It's the first time in more than five centuries that he's called her by name.
She smirks. "Something far better than you could ever be."
He puts a finger on his chin to mock her, "Whatever could it be?" He mocks her greatly.
Her expressions shrinks into a glare, "Careful with you words, butler. I've killed to win and I'll gladly do it again."
"Try as you may, you can never win against me."
His words are enough to make her charge and pound the barrel of the gun onto his forehead.
"Can you say it again? I didn't quite hear you.." She hisses as her pointed heels stab into his abdomen.
"Your attempts are futile." He says with an evil smile.
He throws her to the wall, and she barely has enough time to use her feet to crash into it. She jumps back, claws his face, and tackles him to the ceiling.
"Swallow your words, butler." She falls back down and shoots to his elbows and ankles before he could fall with her.
He is silent and his pupils become a hellish shade of red. He throws silver cutlery to counter the bullets she shoots as she falls.
She continues to shoot and he continues to throw, the pinned fabric of his jacket and pants starting to tear.
He falls and she lands on the ground. She rises to shoot a precise bullet to his head, but he kicks her cheek before she pulls the trigger.
It's a kick that shatters bone and tears muscle, but she is inhuman as he. They can take much more damage.
"Damn you." She curses as she lies on the floor. He is standing over her.
"You have never lost the fight in you, kitten." He laughs at her and uses a pet name—much to her irritation.
"Hmph, I've got much more fight in me than you've thought." She comments before sliding herself through his feet. She stands and spins to shoot to his back. He jumps high before she could.
"Silver bullets kill wolves, not demons, my dear." He mocks her from above.
She emits a furious war cry from retracting her guns to her back. She jumps upward with fingers poised as sharp daggers.
"Of course," She replies coldly before scratching, stabbing, and slashing him—attempting to, actually. "Where have you been?" She gives herself a small victory as her kick lands on his hip, and he crashes to the ground.
She lands in front of him with the grace of a dying moth, "Silver bullets are used to injure permanently. If shot accurately though, they could be used for killing, butler." She says knowingly, one eye watching his unmoving form.
"You couldn't possibly be dead by just a kick to the hip, can you?" She laughs lightly as she walks away with a shrug. "Hmph, you've certainly grown weaker."
"Until we meet again, I suppose." She sighs and lets herself out of the ballroom.
There's an all-knowing and ever-confident smirk on his face as he lies on the carpet.
That was a week ago.
A/N: Yes! Prologue is done, and it's longer than I thought. Oh well, I hope I haven't lost Teresa's stubbornness. Read and review! I have missed my readers, and I hope you guys enjoy this one!