Death is like being born, but backwards. It only hurts for a little while, then a new life begins. A life with no sorrow, no pain, a glorious new beginning. A beginning that will last an eternity. - Ciel Phantomhive

Undertaker was an odd character. He was, as his preferred title stated, an undertaker. Due to this position, he would often relay information he gleaned from the bodies of his 'guests' to Earl Ciel Phantomhive. He never took money as payment for the juicy tidbits he shared with the Queen's guard dog; all Undertaker wanted in return was a good laugh.

Of course, the little earl didn't know his informant was also a Death God. The mortician found it truly amusing that the boy thought he learned what he did only from his mortal occupation. Ciel's ignorance was almost as hilarious as his butler.

His day started out as any other day would. Undertaker went through his usual morning routine of waking, dressing, and eating. He then worked on cleaning and fixing up the guests his costumers brought to him, a never fading grin on his face. He hid in a coffin when Earl Phantomhive came with his butler and popped out unexpectedly when Ciel demanded information. Undertaker's insane laughter could be heard outside if someone was unlucky enough to be walking by his shop.

Yes, a considerably normal day if you asked Undertaker. It wasn't until night fell that the funny business happened.

One of the perks of being a Shinigami, Undertaker supposed, was that sleep was an unessential luxury he enjoyed once in a while. Therefore, it wasn't unusual for him to be working late into the night several times a week. Sometimes the silence of the night would be interrupted by half-rats mafficking in the alleyway outside his shop. It was a sound he rather enjoyed, as it was proof of life. Proof that he wasn't surrounded only by death.

The witching hour arrived and Undertaker's candles burned low as he worked on putting the last nails in his most recent guest's coffin. With one hand he kept a nail in place, in the other a hammer was held aloft to pound it in. Light glinted off the metal head when he swung the hammer down just as an especially loud group of drunks passed by his door. The retired grim reaper cursed and hopped around in a little dance of pain.

As he sucked on his throbbing thumb, the mortician glanced out the window to see if the rowdy crowd had passed. He huffed in annoyance when he saw a few men watching as their friend fucked a whore against the wall across from his shop. Undertaker didn't care about who or what other men put their dicks in, but he did care if they did it outside his place of business.

The silver-haired reaper opened his door to send them off, light spilling out from behind him. It illuminated the alley and showed a vastly different scene than the one he thought he'd seen from his window. The woman he had thought to be a wagtail looked much too respectable to be working the street corners. He usually got a pretty good reading of people after being a grim reaper for such a long time.

Undertaker took a step forward to interfere when metal flashed briefly in the moonlight and the girl let out a gurgle of pain. She fell to the ground as blood pooled from a wound on her neck, her icy blue eyes locked on Undertaker until the light faded from them. The Shinigami had seen many forms of death during his after-life and knew there was no hope for her. However, he found it difficult to turn away after witnessing such a horrendous crime.

"Someone's been a naughty boy~" Undertaker said in a singsong voice as he began walking towards the group.

All of the men whirled around in surprise. "What the 'ell do you want?" The obvious ringleader of the group stepped forward, knife at the ready.

The grin on Undertaker's face grew even wider. "I simply want the world's greatest gift of laughter. But for now, I'll settle with your death." He chuckled darkly as a traditional reaper's scythe appeared in his hands, it's blade seeming to grow out from the skull attached to the long handle. "It's been far too long since I've had a chance to use my beloved Mortis on a mortal."

The man's bladder failed him and a dark stain formed in the front of his trousers, the knife falling with a clatter against the cobblestones. "P-please, spare me!"

"I'm sure that's what the young woman said too, and yet you showed her no mercy. Why should I show you any?" The ancient Shinigami looked at him with cold, unfeeling eyes before he cut him from nostril to navel with a mere twitch of his scythe. He didn't even blink as blood splattered across his face.

Undertaker turned his head, crimson droplets slowly running down his cheeks and dripping from his eyelashes as he grinned at the remaining men. "Who's next?"

"You- you monster!'"

"Pot calling the kettle black," The mortician lunged forward as he giggled insanely, his scythe sweeping in a wide arc and cleaving through anything in its path. "Poor, filthy humans. I don't think that your cinematic records will be worth watching."

He dragged the bodies down into his workshop once he finished with his rampage. Undertaker knew the deaths would not go unnoticed, but he wouldn't have to worry about Dispatch suspecting him as long as he removed himself from the cinematic records of his victims.

He couldn't wait to play with their insides. There was only so much he could do with his usual guests without anyone noticing.

The silver haired reaper paused when a pale hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. His eyes widened as the girl he'd watched die lifted herself up the ground, the wound on her neck already starting to knit itself together as she raised her head to meet Undertaker's gaze with chartreuse eyes.

Eyes that matched his own. The eyes of a Shinigami.

"Oh my~ what an interesting development!"