Chapter 1
A Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) Fanfiction
Author's note: This story takes place after the Campania event in the Manga, but it has AU elements to it.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) and all characters therein belong to Yana Toboso. I make no profit from the writing of this fanfiction, and it is strictly for entertainment purposes only.
Booted feet landed beside the wagon cart as the driver hopped down from it. The night sky was overcast, and lightning danced in the clouds rolling in from the sea. The driver tilted his head back and put one hand on the top-hat resting on top of it, to keep it from tumbling off. He smiled, revealing rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. It was the ideal weather for a visit and a chat. Thunder boomed and a cold wind blew in, whipping the man's long, silver hair and black garments to the side.
He watched the lightning play in the clouds above the manor on the hill, and he reckoned by the light visible through the windows that the Phantomhive house was still up and about. He couldn't recall what mortals considered a respectable hour to be in bed. His own sleeping patterns were varied and unpredictable—much like himself. He slept when he felt like it, outside business hours. It didn't matter if it was the middle of the day or after the witching hour, but most of his business was conducted at night, so he slept more often during the day.
"Wouldn't do to come calling too late," he mused, still grinning. The wind picked up even more, and the horse whinnied restlessly. He turned around to look at the animal, and he patted it on the flank. "You're all right, old girl. I'll see to it that you get a warm barn and some oats, tonight. The Phantomhive family has always been known for hospitality."
Of course, he wasn't sure how far that hospitality would extend to him, after the last time he'd met Earl Phantomhive and his butler. They still might be a tad cross with him, as was the Shinigami Dispatch. He hadn't been back to his shop in London since escaping the sinking cruise ship. He knew it was being watched, and they were bound to send more than two officers after him, this time.
His stomach rumbled, and he looked down at it with a frown. "Quiet, you. I say when we eat."
The problem was that he and his stomach hadn't eaten a thing since he ran out of biscuits yesterday. He tightened the cloth belt around his narrow waist—a poor substitute for the chain locket belt he usually wore. No matter, he had come to reclaim his treasure, and he didn't intend to leave until he had it.
"I hope you've taken good care of it for me, young Earl."
Sebastian was just on his way to the kitchen with a dining cart, when he heard the knocking. He frowned and checked his pocket watch. "Who could be calling at this hour?"
Evidently, his master wondered the same thing. Ciel poked his head out of the study and peered down the hallway, toward the great hall. "Who could that be?" demanded the boy.
"I could not say, my lord," answered Sebastian with a slight bow. Mey-Rin came out of one of the bathrooms with her cleaning equipment, and Sebastian snapped his fingers to get her attention. "Mey-Rin, be a dear and bring this to the kitchen for Bardroy to clean up, while I answer the door."
The maid hurried over to do as asked, blushing predictably when her hand brushed against Sebastian's "Right away, Sebastian!"
"Whoever it is, turn them away," Ciel grumbled as Mey-Rin took the cart and rolled it away. "I don't like un-announced visitors showing up after dinnertime."
"Of course, master," agreed Sebastian. "I shall prepare your evening tea after I've seen our visitor off."
"Good." Seemingly satisfied, Ciel disappeared back into the study.
Sebastian went into the great hall and to the expansive double doors. The knocking continued persistently, slow and rhythmic. There was an almost macabre quality to it, and Sebastian frowned. His devilish senses tingled, and he reached into his suit jacket to procure his personal selection of fine silverware. Tucking them subtly behind one gloved hand to conceal them, he approached the door and opened the peep window.
"Who calls?"
He found himself staring at black material crammed over the little window. Sebastian raised a brow. "Whoever you are, I am afraid my master is not entertaining guests at this hour. If you wish to arrange an appointment, you may contact the Earl or come back during daylight hours."
"Oh, I doubt I need an appointment."
Recognizing the muffled voice on the other side of the doors, the butler tightened his grip on his silverware. "Undertaker? To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"You still have something of mine, as I recall," answered the reaper. "I've come to collect it."
Remembering the belt of locket keepsakes that Undertaker dropped while the Campania was sinking into the ocean, Sebastian smirked. "Ah, I was wondering when you might come seeking that out. It seemed to be very precious to you."
"I take that to mean you've kept it safe," answered the Undertaker. "Well, can I come in?"
Now both of Sebastian's brows migrated up. "Surely, you're joking."
There was a soft snicker. "I thought you might hold a slight grudge. I formally apologize for injuring you with my scythe, Mr. Michaelis. You must agree though, I had little choice. You were all coming at me from different directions. I had to defend myself."
"Oh, I'm not bothered by the attempted reaping," assured Sebastian. "I am, however, slightly miffed at you for threatening my master and cutting the ship in half on us. I don't even need to speak of the inconvenience you caused us with those undead creatures you made."
There was a sigh. "Yes, my bizarre dolls were a disappointing flop. The poor dears didn't know which end was up. I don't intend to make more of them, if that is your concern."
"My concern is that you are a threat," answered Sebastian coldly. "You've always been somewhat lacking in rational thought, but your actions aboard the ship were—"
"Sebastian."
Sebastian turned to regard his young master. He had heard him approaching behind him, but his attention was focused on the dangerous being on the other side of the door. "My lord?"
Ciel's uncovered blue eye gazed up at him calmly, the shadow of his blue-highlighted, dark hair covering his brow. "Let him in."
The butler frowned at him. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"I want an explanation." Ciel's small form was rigid with determination, his lips pressed into a tight line. "He has served my family loyally for years. I want to hear his excuse for turning on me. The brief explanation he offered aboard the ship won't do."
Sebastian sighed. "Very well, my lord."
He had Finnian see to the old nag pulling Undertaker's cart, and then he escorted Undertaker to the dining room. He served the hungry reaper a generous bowl of hot stew, accompanied by dinner rolls and a mug of hot cider. Ciel sipped his tea and nibbled on dessert cakes, waiting patiently while Undertaker stuffed his face. Sebastian caught sight of four curious faces peeking in from the archway separating the dining room from the kitchen, and he gave them a subtle, meaningful glance. Mey-Rin, Bardroy, Tanaka and Finny again vanished from sight, unwilling to risk his ire.
"Is the stew to your liking?" Sebastian inquired politely.
"Mm," agreed Undertaker. He swallowed a spoonful and wiped his lips. "Hits the spot, Mr. Michaelis. My compliments to the chef."
Seeing that he was nearly finished with the serving, Sebastian retrieved one of the trays of dessert cakes, a small plate and fresh silverware for him. He waited until he finished before taking his empty bowl away and replacing it with the dessert plate. "Now, if you please, I believe my young master would like an explanation."
Undertaker drank deeply from his mug, before setting it aside and wiping his lips again. He'd removed his hat to dine, and he pushed his long bangs aside to peer at Ciel. His dual-colored Shinigami eyes probably couldn't make out much of his host from this distance without proper glasses, but he smiled at him.
"Indeed. Well, young Earl, I knew you would survive. Otherwise, I would have taken you with me."
Ciel frowned. "Oh, really?" He sipped his tea. "Why?"
Undertaker looked up at Sebastian, his death's grin unwavering. "Because you had him by your side. He did stand to lose the ambrosia he's been cooking up for so long, if he allowed you to die." He tapped a long, black nail against the side of his mug, and he shrugged. "Though the possibility that he might decide to gobble you up before the ship went down did cross my mind."
Ciel sighed, clearly losing patience. "That doesn't explain your actions."
Watching the mysterious reaper, Sebastian spoke his thoughts on the matter. "He wanted to save you from me, my lord."
Ciel raised a brow. "By letting me get eaten by zombies? By threatening me with his scythe? By nearly drowning me? Make sense."
"Ah, but there is a method to my madness," chuckled Undertaker. He sipped his drink before speaking again. "I told you to take care of your soul, little Earl. Do you remember that?"
Ciel smirked without humor. "I thought you were being ironic, or simply mocking me."
"Maybe I was," agreed Undertaker, "but your butler isn't wrong. If you had died that night before he could get to you, then your soul would have been safe." His green-gold eyes stared evenly into Ciel's across the way. "Human bodies are temporary, my lord. Souls are another matter."
The boy's frown returned. "So you thought to spare mine by killing me? But then you changed your tactics. You said that Sebastian made me miserable, and he should vanish."
The reaper's gaze flicked to Sebastian, who had gone to Ciel's side to stand protectively near him. "Seemed like the sensible thing to do at the time."
"I wish you would make up your mind," snapped Ciel.
Undertaker snickered. "So do I, boy. So do I. Now, if you please, there's still the matter of my treasure."
Ciel reached into his dinner jacket and withdrew the long chain, dangling it before him. The attached lockets were polished up, without a hint of tarnish. "I have it here."
He looked at it for a moment, his gaze fixating on one locket in particular, before looking up at Sebastian. The brand on the butler's hand itched and burned beneath his gloves, and Ciel spoke to him through the link they shared.
~"Contact the Shinigami Dispatch, Sebastian."~
Undertaker started to get up to retrieve the locket collection from the boy, but Ciel replaced it in his pocket and held up a warning hand. "Just a moment," insisted the Earl. "I still have things I would like to discuss with you, and you haven't had your dessert."
The reaper considered the Earl quietly, and his blurry gaze went to the archway that Sebastian had disappeared through. He could probably snatch Ciel and be far away from the manor with him before his guardian could stop him, but he hadn't come to threaten anyone. He made himself relax, supposing that Ciel must be feeling confident, to sit in there alone with him. As gifted as his mortal servants were, none of them were a match for a reaper—let along one as ancient as he was.
Undertaker sat back down and looked into his mug. "Might I get another drop to drink, little lord? I've finished this one."
Ciel nodded. "Of course." He rang one of the three little bells near his plate, producing a charming, feminine tinkle. The auburn haired maid hurried into the dining hall a moment later, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Our guest requires more to drink, Mey-Rin. Bring him a cup of the tea Sebastian prepared, and refresh my tea as well." Ciel looked at Undertaker inquisitively. "Unless you would prefer more cider?"
Undertaker shook his head and speared one of the little cakes with his dessert fork. "Tea will be just fine, Earl."
Mey-Rin curtsied and left the room to fetch the requested beverage. Undertaker watched her go, and then he returned his attention to Ciel. "Where did your butler go, young master?"
Ciel's blue gaze was steady on him, possessed of maturity far beyond his meager years. "He has work to do. This is a large manor, and the lion's share of maintenance falls upon Sebastian, since I'm short staffed. He'll be around."
"I see." Undertaker smiled at the boy. "And you aren't worried that I might threaten you again?"
Ciel sipped his cooling tea, displaying neither fear nor concern. "I think you would have done it already, if you intended to harm me. You came here for your 'treasure', and I allowed you in because I wanted answers. It's quite simple, really."
Undertaker watched him quietly then, until the boy revealed his youth with an uncomfortable fidget. "What?" he demanded at last, snapping.
"You are your father's son," answered the reaper obligingly. "Just as fearless and determined as you, Vincent was. Even when he discovered my secret, he showed no fear."
"Your secret?" Ciel's annoyance faded, and his curiosity was evident.
"That I'm a reaper," elaborated the Undertaker. "He caught me examining my treasure one evening, you see."
Undertaker left it at that for the moment, because the shy little maid with the enormous round glasses came back into the dining room, wheeling a tea tray. First she poured more into her lord's cup and sweetened it with a sugar cube, and then she pushed the tray to the other side of the table to service Undertaker.
"Thank you, my dear," said the reaper pleasantly, smiling at her. The poor thing was shaking as she poured his drink, and she was blushing a marvelous shade of pink.
"Y-you're welcome, sir," squeaked the girl. She spilled a little and she gasped, immediately apologizing. Undertaker reached out to take her wrist and stop her when she began to pour into a completely different cup.
"No need for that, little one. I work with much worse spills than a spot of tea, after all."
Mey-Rin looked at him through her thick round lenses with wide brown eyes, and the color in her cheeks darkened further. "I…would you…like cream or sugar?"
"Sugar, please," he replied. "Plenty of it."
Mey-Rin smiled shyly. "I have a sweet-tooth myself, sir."
"I'm sure you have a sweet everything, love."
He saw the look Ciel was giving him and he released the maid's wrist with a soft snicker, winking at her from beneath the curtain of his bangs. Mey-Rin hastily set the tea, spoon and condiments down, before excusing herself with one hand clamped over her nose.
"Begging your pardon, my lords," she apologized in a muffled voice, and then she was gone in a flash. Undertaker had never seen a mortal girl move that quickly, before.
"Something I said?" he pondered, grinning.
"That is the very last time I want to see you flirting with my staff," Ciel informed him, his young face still twisted into a comical grimace, like he'd just walked in on his parents making love. "Or with anyone, in my presence."
"You don't like to see you're old uncle Undertaker chatting up the lasses?" Undertaker fought the urge to cackle. The boy really could be endearing, at times.
"You are not my uncle," Ciel insisted stiffly. "I just…don't like to see you flirting. It's disturbing."
"Because I'm your honorary uncle," persisted Undertaker, tickled.
"What sort of uncle tries to kill his own nephew?" demanded Ciel.
"The Shinigami kind, apparently." Undertaker sobered up, sighing. "In my own way, I wanted to save you. I can't explain it to you in words you'd understand, little lord. The minds of my kind don't work the same was as human minds, and mine in particular is more fractured than others."
"The truly insane generally don't know they are disturbed," Ciel said guardedly, his good eye hooded. "I believe you when you say your mind is fractured, though. I just don't know that you believe it."
"Oh, I do," chuckled Undertaker. He tapped his left temple. "Thunder and lightning in here, boy. Most people wouldn't last a day, in my head."
"I have no doubt of that," assured Ciel. His expression softened, and he looked into his tea as if it held answers. "Do you really think I'm like my father?"
Undertaker nodded without hesitation. "Undoubtedly, young Earl. You're practically the spitting image of him too, when he was your age. You have your mother's eyes, though."
Ciel's expression softened further, revealing vulnerability that he usually hid so well. He quickly schooled his face into the aloof, bored mask he tended to wear, and Undertaker again thought it was a shame for such a young soul to bear so much weight.
"You said my father caught you looking at your treasure." Ciel retrieved the chain of lockets from his jacket again, holding them up for inspection. "And that was what gave you away to him? They are only memorial charms."
Undertaker grinned at him. "If you had opened any one of those up, you would know how wrong you are about that."
"And how do you know I didn't?" challenged Ciel with a little smirk.
Undertaker reached out for his top hat, sitting within reach on the table. He tilted it towards Ciel with a smile. "I tip my hat to you for your skill with psychological warfare, but it isn't possible for anyone except me to open those lockets."
Ciel frowned at said lockets dubiously. "I'm not sure I believe you."
"Then give it a try," suggested the Undertaker with a welcoming gesture. He sat back and clasped his hands over the table, threading his long fingers together. "Go ahead, then. Open one."
Ciel gave him a wary look. "Don't think that I won't."
The reaper chuckled. "You can surely try, little lord. Feel free."
Ciel's eye flicked back to the lockets, fixating on one in particular. "Claudia. Was this—"
"Your grandmother," confirmed Undertaker with a nod before he could finish the question. "Lovely woman. Hard as granite, that one. She had a good sense of humor, though."
Ciel hesitated, biting his lip. "I don't remember her."
"She passed shortly after you were born, my lord." Undertaker softened his voice, remembering the woman. "Consumption."
The boy regarded the locket with more interest. "So you kept a lock of her hair? Or a picture?"
"Something much more special," advised the reaper. He got up from his seat, and he glided over to the small Earl. "I could show you, if you like."
Ciel looked up at him, and Undertaker could see the inner war happening behind his gaze. Ciel was still a child, however—no matter how hard he attempted to act like an adult. He was still prone to a boy's curiosity and a desire to see wondrous things. He held the chain up to the reaper, holding his gaze.
"Show me."
His response gave it away. He had indeed attempted to pry the lockets open, so he at least believed Undertaker when he said that only he could open them. The reaper took the chain reverently, letting the links and lockets slide through his fingers as he smiled at them like old friends.
"Hello again," he greeted them. He glanced at Ciel. "Thank you, by the way, for having them polished. They were due for it."
Ciel subtly inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Please go on."
Undertaker chuckled, catching up Claudia's locket between a thumb and forefinger and rubbing the surface of it between them. "Can't resist, can you? Very well."
He knelt beside Ciel's chair, brought the locket to his lips and he pressed a kiss on the metal surface of it. The locket popped open and he held it out as a snippet of a cinematic record played. It started with the day of Ciel's birth, and it showed little old Claudia Phantomhive extolling the efforts of her son and daughter in law to the servants of the house, as proud as she could be to welcome her new grandson into the world. Another short clip of her smacking Vincent Phantomhive over the back of the head soon followed, and Ciel blinked as the petite, aged woman admonished her son for poorly diapering his newborn.
"She…she was…" Ciel hesitated, clearly struggling for an adjective.
"Something special," obliged Undertaker with a snicker. "So far ahead of her time, in mannerisms and attitude. Your granny took shit from nobody, Ciel; not even me…not even on the day I came for her."
Ciel stared at him. "You?"
"Of course." Undertaker glanced at him. "I'm officially retired, but I had a contract with your family. I turned in all the records to the Shinigami library, of course, but I always kept little snippets of my favorite parts, just for myself."
Claudia's death scene came next, and Ciel's brows shot up when Undertaker came into the picture and knelt beside her bedside, removing his hat. It wasn't the presence of the family informant that made his brows go up; it was his grandmother's greeting to him.
"There you are, you ghastly old bastard," Claudia said to the Shinigami at her deathbed. "On with it, then."
Undertaker laughed softly in delight, while Ciel stared with wide eyes. The snippet ended as Undertaker got to his feet in the record. He closed the locket and smiled at his young host. "I never tire of watching that. Your grandmother Phantomhive had more bollocks than most men in her life, and I suspect both you and your father inherited that from her."
Ciel—for once—looked utterly enchanted. "There are bits of all of my relative's cinematic records in that belt?"
"Well, no," admitted Undertaker. He closed his outer robes and fastened the belt around his waist. "A couple are from the last souls I reaped before retiring, and I was unable to collect your parents' records, unfortunately."
Ciel lowered his gaze. "I thought not. I didn't see either of their names engraved on any of those lockets."
Compelled by a promise to a mortal woman that he nearly considered a friend, Undertaker reached out and patted Ciel's shoulder. "If I could have captured some precious moments of them for you, I would have."
Ciel frowned at him. "I don't understand you."
The retired Shinigami smiled wildly at him. "Ah, but maybe you aren't meant to, little lord." He gave him another pat, and he stood up again, and he sighed. "The truth is that I couldn't bring myself to reap you before you were scheduled to die. You were never going to perish on that liner. You have some time, before that happens."
"You know when I'm going to die?"
Undertaker looked down at him, musing. "Approximately. The closer you are to your death day, the clearer the vision is to me. I would have interfered with your natural end, if I had acted on my threat. I didn't much care for that, so I opted to get rid of the threat to your soul."
Ciel nodded in understanding. "But my soul isn't yours to 'protect', regardless of the conflicts between your kind and demons. Human souls don't belong to reapers or demons, unless we give them over to the latter."
Undertaker inclined his head. "True enough. Maybe it's engrained in my kind to try and stop demons from consuming the souls we're meant to collect for the library. It's not really my place to question it anymore, one way or the other."
Ciel suddenly swore, surprising him. Undertaker looked at him with a frown, and he found the boy watching him with a torn expression.
"You have to go," Ciel informed him.
At first, Undertaker assumed he'd offended him. The urgency in Ciel's tone gave him pause, though. "Begging your pardon, Earl?"
Ciel put his tea aside and pushed his chair away from the table. He got out of the seat, and he walked over to Undertaker's hat and collected it. He held it out to him and looked up at him with a troubled blue eye.
"You can't remain here. You must leave, as soon as possible."
Undertaker took his hat from Ciel, and he thought he understood. "You had your butler contact my former work associates."
"Yes," admitted the boy. "Can you really blame me?"
"Not at all." Undertaker put his hat on his head. "In fact, I was starting to wonder if you were a bit too trusting. Glad to see I was wrong to worry."
Ciel shut his eye and shook his head. "Just go. I want nothing more to do with reaper conflicts."
Undertaker might have told him that he could have avoided involvement by not calling the hounds on him, but as he'd said; he couldn't rightly blame him. He gave Ciel a little bow, and he prudently decided that it was time to take his leave with his treasure.
"Thank you for your hospitality, little Earl," said the Undertaker cordially, his long sleeves flapping with motions. "At least you put some food in my belly, before you turned me in."
Ciel looked slightly stricken, and the reaper felt a touch of pity for him. He patted him on the head awkwardly, and he shrugged. "I did threaten your life and attempt to kill your butler, my lad. I believe we're even."
Deciding to leave it at that, Undertaker started to turn around. He sensed a change in the air at that moment, though. He sensed the darkness gathering before it coagulated, and he hastily stepped between the preteen boy and the threat.
"You may want to step out of your dining room now, Ciel Phantomhive."
Undertaker called his Scythe, just as three portals opened near the exit to the great hall. Each portal opened to admit a familiar Shinigami, each dressed in his organization finery. William T. Spears emerged from the middle portal, looking immaculate, cool and aloof in his tailored tuxedo. He kept his dark brown hair neatly trimmed and parted to the left. Ronald Knox stepped out of the portal to the left of him, dressed in a nearly identical outfit, but lacking his refined countenance. Youngest of the three, his hair feathered over his brow in blond tones that darkened to black near the collar. From the right portal came Grell Sutcliff, with his long, crimson hair spilling down over his shoulders and back. His uniform was slightly different from his companions, with a red and white striped bowtie, a black sleeveless vest and a white undershirt.
Grell was the most interesting one of the three of them, to Undertaker. He'd filed all of his teeth to points, which resulted in a shark-toothed smile. He seemed to consider himself both a man and a woman, and he certainly exhibited qualities from both the masculine and the feminine. He blew a kiss at Undertaker when he stepped out of his portal, and then he lifted his chainsaw in a rather lewd, suggestive way.
"Undertaker," announced Spears, "You are charged with violating Rule 2-B of Code 5, sub-section 3, regarding the interference of mortal life and death. You are hereby ordered by Shinigami society authorities to relinquish your scythe and surrender."
More portals manifested, all around the dining room. Three of them, he might have handled. Six was stretching it a bit, and Sebastian returned to the dining room to pull Ciel away from him. Eric Slingby, Alan Humphries and another Shinigami that Undertaker did not recognize appeared from the new portals.
"Wait," called Ciel, but Sebastian picked him up bodily and carried him out of the room, ignoring his protests.
"If you resist," announced William, leveling his scythe at him, "we have been authorized to use deadly force."
Undertaker stared at the pruning pole scythe, knowing that it could extend to shocking distances in the blink of a mortal eye. It's owner looked a bit pale, however. In fact, there was emotion behind those determined eyes, and he saw the silent plea in them. He knew that Spears admired him for his past history with the organization, and he knew how hard it must be for him to put duty before personal feelings.
Even under these odds, Undertaker couldn't resist toying with his adversaries. He lifted his scythe, displaying the formidable, classic weapon in a warning manner. The other reapers backed up a bit, grasping their own scythes warily.
"When they tell you to jump," announced Undertaker with a wild, broad grin, "you lot ask how high. I used to be just like you."
"Undertaker!"
Distracted by the sound of Ciel calling his name again, Undertaker turned to see Ciel standing in the archway to the kitchen, with his butler at his side. The boy parted his lips to say something else, but he faltered, unable to speak the apology in his muted gaze. Ciel Phantomhive wasn't the sort to suffer guilt, doubt or sentiment easily, so it touched the ancient reaper to witness that little reveal.
Undertaker's smile softened for him, and he kept his scythe defensively raised with one hand, while reaching down with the other to unfasten his chain belt again. "It seems you'll be taking care of this for a bit longer, little lord." Undertaker tossed it through the air, over the heads of Eric and Alan. Sebastian caught it, his ruby gaze curious on Undertaker.
"Now," said the retired Shinigami, "Get him out of here, butler."
~No.~
But saying it in his head did not stop it from happening. Despite being utterly surrounded, the Undertaker swung his scythe in a deadly arc, the blade making a hair-raising whoosh sound as it cut through the air toward him and his two companions.
William reacted immediately, shoving Ronald to the floor before ducking himself. He heard Grell shout in a way that sounded as gleeful as alarmed, and then the walls behind him were sliced horizontally, all the way through. Had he been still standing, his head would have probably been severed from his shoulders, and the top of Ronald's skull would have been lopped off. Grell was short enough even in heels to have survived with only a buzz-cut to show for it, but that would have been upsetting enough, for the likes of him.
"Holy shit!" Ronald blurted, seemingly surprised even though he'd already faced down Undertaker aboard the Campania.
William heard something overhead snap as Undertaker hopped onto the dining table and spun in a circle, letting the crescent blade of his scythe sing through the air. He heard Alan shout a warning to Eric, and then the chandelier overhead crashed down. The crystals shattered upon impact, and Thomas yelled as the spray of shards cracked his glasses and peppered his face. Eric grabbed him and yanked him to the floor, while Alan and Grell attacked from two different sides, leaping onto the table with their scythes leading the way.
Alan was quickly pinned to the wall by a hurled grave marker that pierced his shoulder, and Grell got tripped. Undertaker started to lower his scythe to the redhead once he was on his back at his feet, but he stopped at the last minute, reversed the strike and hit Eric in the stomach with the blunt side of his weapon, instead. Slingby crashed into the cabinet in the far corner of the room, shattering precious china and getting flattened by the cabinet itself, as it fell over him.
William got to his feet, ignoring the groaning sound above him. He extended his scythe and he pressed his lips together grimly as the blades at the end of it pierced Undertaker's chest, just beside his right shoulder. The fugitive staggered and peered at him through wild locks of silver hair, his eyes flashing.
"Don't force the issue further," urged William, getting to his feet. Ronald circled around the table and nodded at him, ready to strike but awaiting his order.
"Ah, but I can't help myself," Undertaker said with a grin. "You see, I—"
Unfortunately for him, Grell's fallen chainsaw was spinning around in circles on the floor, still running. The blade just happened to hit the far right leg of the table that Undertaker was standing on, and it cut right through it. The leg snapped, the table abruptly buckled, and Undertaker went down with it—falling right on top of Grell.
The redhead cried out again, sounding inappropriately delighted as the legendary reaper's body crashed down on top of his, in a blur of silver hair and black garments. The table fell over completely and both of them were fortunate that William put a firm foot down on the blade of the chainsaw to stop it from cutting into them, as well.
"Quickly," urged William to his associates.
Ronald was the first to reach Undertaker, and he started to cuff him with the special restraints designed by the organization to hold Shinigami. He got kicked in the face for his troubles, and Grell shouted a protest as Undertaker rolled onto his hair in the process of kicking Ron away. William leaped over the ruin of the table and extended his scythe again, before the Undertaker could get back to his feet and reach for his weapon.
Undertaker stopped when the sharp blades of William's scythe pressed against either side of his throat, directly over the scar encircling the pale flesh. He looked up at the dispatch supervisor as the blades drew a trickle of blood, and he stopped moving. He began to grin like a fiend, watching the brunet through his long bangs as he spread his hands to either side in surrender.
"Couldn't make it too easy on you, could I?"
William fought against a sudden urge to cry. He shoved his personal feelings aside and he kept his gaze fixated on the dangerous funeral director. "Ronald, finish. By the authority of Shinigami Dispatch, I hereby place you under arrest, Undertaker. You will be relieved of your scythe and confined, where you will await trial for your crimes. Do you understand these charges?"
Undertaker allowed Ronald to secure his wrists behind him with the glowing white spirit cuffs, and he obligingly took his knee off of Grell's hair when the redhead tried to rise and complained. He gave Spears a reckless grin, and he nodded—incidentally drawing more blood.
"I think you've made it clear. Your masters will be pleased."
He hadn't expected to escape, and he really hadn't been interested in killing anyone. All in all, he still considered himself to be a neutral force, neither for or against his old associates, demons or angels. After recovering from the struggle, his captors took him to Shinigami headquarters. Undertaker felt somewhat comforted in the knowledge that his belt of treasures would be looked after by Ciel, until he could reclaim it once more.
"Funny how things work out," muttered the funeral director, shuffling along with his armed escort.
"What do you mean?" Grell asked. "If you're going to mumble, at least try to make some sense."
Undertaker smirked. "Don't mind me."
He saw people out the corners of his eyes; reapers young and old, coming and going to and from work and training. They were all a blur, since he didn't rely on glasses like his fellow Shinigami. Many of them stopped and stared at the ragged company, and Undertaker heard his name murmured on the lips of some. The dimension in which the Shinigami lived was an entirely different world from the mortal realm they operated on, and it was far more advanced. It had been so many years since Undertaker had been there, beyond the rare visits to the library. The metropolis had changed so much, already.
But one thing was still the same, and its irony wasn't lost on Undertaker as he passed through the front doors of the tallest building and into the massive lobby. He looked up at the massive statue of himself, standing in the middle of the fountain in the center of the lobby.
Undertaker began to laugh heartily, and the volume of his laughter steadily increased as his escorts took him past the monument of himself.
-To be continued