Facilis descensus Averno

I.

Alois Trancy peered at the ring. It was moldy with pond scum. No man would ever want such a piece of trash.

But a demon might. A demon would scrape past the dirt without a second thought, and sink its claws into the jewel within.

A demon. It had to be a demon.

Alois held the ring to his lips, and licked. He held his work to the moon. Already, he could see glimmers of the prize.

So he licked, and licked, and licked, like a dog would to its favorite bone. The stubborn bits he peeled off with his teeth. Then, when his mouth was stinking with rot, he took the ring out, gave one, final lick, and inspected his work.

"Beautiful!" he proclaimed. The sapphire, clean of gunk, gleamed in the moonlight. Privately, he thought that his saliva lent it a certain otherworldly sheen.

Admiring his handiwork for a few more moments, Alois slid the ring onto his thumb, and stretched.

"Ciel Phantomhive," he said. "A beautiful colour for a beautiful soul."

Then he laughed.

In his hands lay what they sought: a soul of the purest flavor. And it was his. It was not his soul, but it was...his.

Not him…but his.

"I'll never let you go," he vowed, as clouds began to shade the moon. "I'll find the rest of you. Make you whole."

Make you mine.

Then they can't have you without having me

and we will fall to Hell as one.

Let our last dream be of fire.