-:-His Name Was Feather Weight -:-
.:A Kuroshitsuji Fan Fiction:.
Author: AoUsagi
Summary: It was a very quiet day in Hell for a certain bored demon. However, in a gathering of his kin around a portal to the human world, he spies a delicious temptation of purity that all the others fear…
BeforeNote:
This…this is going to be an odd one. I got challenged by a friend to write a one-shot Kuroshitsuji fanfiction that never once called any of the characters by their names. Instead, I was to give them alternate names that would reflect their characters – in this case, I'm focusing on the demons. I'm only using the five demons from season two, plus a few of my own, and will include the cast list at the end of the fic.
HEY STOP DON'T READ ANY FURTHER YET!
This fanfic contains some ideologically sensitive material, such as some references to the Bible which may be considered by some people as blasphemy. PLEASE NOTE that this is purely a work of fiction, that I am in no way against the teachings of the Bible, I am NOT a Satanist (though some may beg to differ – UUH I MEAN WHO SAID THAT), and that I hold Eve in the highest respect because everyone has the right to make mistakes.
Okay. You can keep reading now. This is set before the events of Kuroshitsuji.
- Mercy
…
If this is confusing, lemme know. I'm experimenting here and needed a challenging break from Subject 13's Butler – Chapter Nine is now up, people! Please go read it and give it some love once you've finished this one! :D
-:-
Today was a very quiet day in Hell.
Then again, it wasn't too sure if the day was just quiet, or if the screams it had caught wind of early had just died down. It didn't know where they had come from, but it had followed them out here. Where the open atmosphere echoed every sound from the other worlds. The human world in particular.
The sky was tie-dyed a mixture of crimson with stains of orange streaking across the clouds, with the sun forever setting. The battle-scarred wasteland was just as dead and barren as the lifeless bodies of burnt dead trees or the occasional shrub that was scattered across it. And yet it just sat and watched the glowing yellow orb of sun sit low in the sky, the suns long fingers of light reaching for the hard, cracked desert earth that was marred by the occasional volcanic fountain.
It couldn't quite be qualified as male or female – it's figure was tall, skeletal, but blackened in places, covering patches of skin like a burnt out tree left with only a few limbs twisting away from it's ring-barked trunk. Red globes of eyes blinked, brows furrowed in an eternal scowl.
"You're out here awful late," a youngish voice skulked up behind it, and a curtain of feathers that sprouted as wings from its crooked back rustled in the wind.
"Shouldn't be out alone." A second voice chimed in raspily.
"Too many temptations." A third agreed. The figure turned and scowled boredly at the three approaching figures. They were all years younger than it – almost newborn hatchings in comparison to itself. It was well over four thousand years old – they'd barely seen the dawn of their fifth century.
"And I suppose that's why you travel in triplicate?" it's voice was low, tired, but held a masculine hiss. It was a him. Assumedly. They all nodded in unison as they drew level with him on the charred hill.
"And why Grasp and Sheath are mated for life," one nodded.
"For life,"
"Eternity." The other two both agreed. He rolled his eyes.
"Sheath and Grasp, huh? News enough to my ears."
"Grasp nearly got tempted again. Scavenging souls from the last human war almost wasn't enough to sate the appetite." The first of the triplets, Doll, said, his voice low and concerned. His brothers, Marionette and String-Tied, nodded again. They were very good at it.
"Yes. He is still hungry."
"Looking too long into the whirlpool between worlds."
"Feather Weight should consider taking a mate too," Doll added, and the creature who had been half ignoring them ruffled his feathers in agitation.
"I don't care for a mate."
"But you should," String-Tied urged.
"Better to hunt in pairs." Marionette added, and the demon Feather Weight stood, his extreme height towering over the triplets by a good three or four heads worth. He turned his burning crimson gaze to them, and they seemed to shrink back as one.
"Feather Weight should consider," Doll repeated, a little meekly. "Temptation is far too dangerous these days."
Feather Weight glared at them.
"Temptation? I don't believe you whelps know the meaning of such a poorly abused word. Hold your tongues before I reach down your throats and pull them out. I'd use them clean out your ears so that you might hear to better reason in the future." As he growled, his cruel lips curling into a snarl and he stalked past them. "I care nothing for this world. It's too bleak. Grasp has every right to be sticking his too-straight nose into the affairs of the human world."
Ash and old, worn bones crunched beneath Feather Weight's feet, and shadows of dark, taut leather whipped up and around his long, slender legs, forming tall, pointed-heels of boots that wound up to the joint of his knees. The ash and charred flesh that adorned his body sharpened and seemed to form itself to resemble the rags of clothes of some description – purposefully tattered garments of black hide that enhanced his devilish figure, with long chains without purpose adorning his leather garments. The triplets watched him go – they were all clad in the same garments, seeming to be copies of each other. Sharing glances, they followed in Feather Weight's wake.
-:-
The whirlpool was set into a hole in the ground. A very, very large hole. A pit, in fact. So deep and so wide that it was several hundreds of yards across the top of the pits radius, and the chasm into its depths seemed to spiral downwards forever. One couldn't see the bottom of the pit from the top – the shadows hid the entrance carved in rock that lead into a huge underground cavern, where the whirlpool was located somewhere inside.
Not even the most heat resistant reptile dared live down in those caverns. It was like the pure heart of a volcano to put it lightly. Heat radiated off the walls in waves, and the triplets found themselves fanning their faces with their gnarled, clawed hands as they continued to follow Feather Weight – who seemed completely oblivious to the heat.
His horns, that curved up and through his long bangs of black hair, only just scraped the caverns roof as he had to duck down through into the final grotto that held the whirlpool. It was far cooler in here – more tolerable, all of the outside heat seemingly to be some sort of protective measure to ward off those who wished to enter the whirlpools cavern.
They weren't the only ones visiting the pool today. Perhaps Hell had been so quiet because it seemed just about every other demon had decided to go and have a look in the whirlpool for themselves. Well, a good six or seven of them.
The grotto was adorned with glowing moss, the air moist with the perspiration of the warm rocks in the confined space, but the temperature was almost dropping far enough to be clarified as cold. The cavern was spacious, allowing the gathered demons the space to spread out and settle themselves comfortably amongst the rocks.
Most of them, Feather Weight knew, had already paired off or had mated for life. That's the sort of things demons do. They congregated in large groups once every three blue moons to court each other and maybe even share the occasional piece of gossip from their drab lives across the incredible, never-ending expanse that was Hell, and then they would separate again. Some demons didn't mate, didn't pair off – didn't socialize very much with others of their species at all.
Feather Weight was one such demon. He liked to hunt by himself. He liked not having to feel tied down to the responsibility of caring for another.
"You selfish prick," a demonette named Shingle Spine snarled from her perch on a large lump of rock, her scaly hide bristling in displeasure. "Coming down here at such a leisurely pace."
"Didn't know I missed the occasion," Feather Weight shrugged off the demonettes glare and eyed the newly mated pair. The huntress Lilac Sheath and her new mate, Feather Weight's occasional hunting companion when pickings were plentiful enough, Spider Grasp. Both demon and demonette seemed ideally suited to each other – both were strong, virile and keen hunters when it came to human souls. Although Feather Weight seemed to remember Grasp saying something once about not liking to share his web…
"It's you," a young demon barely out of his first century, piped up from where he'd been lazing like a pet in Sheath's lap. He hadn't taken a name for himself yet, and for his impish beauty the others had named him Tranquil Sin. His skin was flawless, unlike Feather Weight's, which was marred with scars and ash. Hell was not kind to its inhabitants, and being a solitary demon, Feather Weight was constantly in danger from attacks by the other, more spiteful demons. But Tranquil seemed to have taken a liking to him, and the young demon wriggled out from beneath Sheath's stroking hands to greet Feather Weight. "I didn't think I'd see you again before the next gathering."
"Strange things, rumours," the older demon folded his wings in against his shoulder blades, looking down at Sheath, who was leaning against a taller, darker clad demon with skin as pale as Feather Weight's – his name was Spider Grasp, and his calm gold eyes flicked up to meet the approaching demon. Feather Weight came to a stop beside the glowing whirlpool, which Sheath was settled in front of.
"I heard one you'd finally cast yourself from Hell forever," Grasp sneered coldly. "Heard you'd gone and caused a plague somewhere in the human world to create a feast for yourself."
"Not likely," Feather Weight countered. "Then again, there was something I once heard from a bug who told me something about never seeing the day when you'd take a mate or permanent hunting partner. Now you're joined you can't go down into the human world alone, can you?"
Grasp narrowed his eyes at Feather Weight, and Sheath held up her hand as Tranquil settled himself back down into her lap for further attention.
"Now, now," Lilac Sheath said, her low voice edging on seductive. She was adorned by black tight leather, similar yet different in design to that which clothes the other demons, her voluptuous cleavage barely contained. Feather Weight barely took any notice of it as she tilted her chin up in his direction, clearly showing off her cargo flirtatiously. "A duel isn't necessary over some quarrel, is it?"
"Been too long without one," Shingle Spine spoke up from across the cavern, and a goat-hoofed demon going by the title of Fiend Hoof, nodded and stomped his approval.
"Hear, hear! Fight it out, Feathers! You made Grasp mad, take it to the finish!" he jeered, and Feather Weight rolled his eyes, knowing Fiend Hoof's reputation of violent tendencies towards his fellow demons. The triplets wisely stood out of the way, against the back of the cavern and away from the dispute.
Feather Weight ignored the jeers and yells for a fight from the other demons as he looked down at Grasp.
"You owe me."
"The next one," Spider Grasp shook his head, and Feather Weight narrowed his eyes.
"You know I hate to have to force the collection on a bet. But I will. This contract is mine." He insisted, and Grasp disentangled himself from under Lilac Sheath to stand facing Feather Weight – he was as tall as the crimson eyed demon, if not ever so fractionally taller.
"You can't possibly think you can answer this call on your own. It's been going on for a month now." Grasp said. "You'd need a mate – a hunting partner at the very least."
"I don't need a hunting partner for this. They're just humans," Feather Weight snarled, as if he were merely talking about squashing a few unwanted beetles underfoot.
"Humans with knowledge," Sheath murmured. "You haven't been watching them like we have."
Feather Weight took a quick glance into the whirlpool, in which they were all gathered around. What he saw made his mouth water. There was such a pure little soul down there. So sullied and dirtied by the impure humans who handled it – it was a surprise the child was still alive, let alone still crying for salvation.
"What sort of…knowledge?" he asked slowly, his eyes fixated on the pool. Grasp raised a hand and flicked a long, calloused finger at his chin, causing him to turn back to face him.
"Dangerous knowledge. That child may seem pure, but he knows. He's been trying to summon us for almost a month." Spider Grasp said quietly. "He's not normal. He never even tried to summon an angel."
"A slip of a thing," Feather Weight heard Doll murmur to his brothers at the other end of the cavern.
"Barely a decade old," nodded Marionette.
"Scarcely a hatchling," agreed String-Tied, and Feather Weight cast his eyes around at the gathered demons. They were all watching him now – they knew he was just as tempted by what he saw in the whirlpool as they had been, before they had found out the capabilities of the child desperately trying to summon them. One of them. Any of them.
The realization nearly made Feather Weight laugh.
"You're all scared. Terrified. Of a child," he smirked, and he ruffled some of the moisture that had settled on his feathers. "That's disgusting. Pitiful."
"If we were pitiful we'd have given in by now," Sheath said from her place behind Grasps' feet, Tranquil seeming to have fallen asleep in her lap as a humans pet dog might. Feather Weight took another look into the whirlpool. He saw the child fully this time – the child was covered in blood.
Drenched in suffering.
It nearly made him drool.
"You're a handful of the weakest cowards I've ever known," he said, and this time, he fully unfurled his wings to their complete length – sixteen feet of ragged, tattered black feathers almost touching Shingle Spine and nearly knocking Fiend Hoof off his feet. Feather Weight didn't drop Spider Grasps' cold gaze though. The gold eyed demon was still unbelieving that Feather Weight had the guts to do such a stupid thing. No demon would offer a contract to a human without having another demon to back them up if things went sour.
"For all you know, it's a trick," Sheath said quickly, looking genuinely concerned, and Fiend Hoof nodded.
"Yeah – just coz you've got some supernatural sight of the soul over the rest of us, don't mean that you can just waltz in there and just invite yourself in to offer a contract. That's not how we work." He added, but a firm voice from the entrance into the whirlpools grotto made them all turn, even Feather Weight.
"Perhaps that's not how you work," a wizened old demon, well passed his prime yet known to be one of the most reviled, the strongest of his time, the most straightforward demon Hell had ever seen, said simply. Feather Weight had never seen him in person – only ever heard rumours of this great demon. Those who were old enough to remember his true name were scarce and often too terrified to ever address the demon by such a title.
He was the demon who had toppled God, they said. Rumour had it; he was the serpent who had tempted Eve. He had constricted the Tree of Knowledge and poisoned its fruit for humans to start their pathway to damnation. He had battled with a great many other demons, too – but he was most famously known for defeating the Archangel Michael in the first battle between the angels and demons. He was known nowadays as Seraphs Demise, and it was no wonder why. He had spared the angel no mercy when it had come to a choice between killing Michael and simply plucking off the archangel's wings.
Every single demon gathered in the grotto suddenly had their eyes on him – even Tranquil, who had stirred from his doze in Sheath's lap, the young demons eyes wide with amazement and admiration for the ancient demon.
"I-I'm sorry, Greatness?" Fiend Hoof blinked, and Seraphs Demise rested his steel grey eyes on the satyr demon, who immediately went quiet and backed away.
"I said, for those not of good enough hearing to have understood me the first time, perhaps that is not the way you work," Demise repeated, before stepping amongst the gathered demons. They all shuffled out of his way, scooting away so that he might step past them without being touched. They may admire him greatly, but even Feather Weight feared him, despite never having come in contact with him before, and the demon found himself trembling ever so slightly as the ancient, imposing devil drew level with him. Seraphs Demise wasn't as tall as Feather Weight, and looked up at him from the folds old ashen skin that wrinkled around his eyes.
"Your Prominence," he said respectfully, but Seraphs Demise held up a hand. Then, he placed both gnarled old hands on Feather Weight's shoulders and turned him to face the whirlpool.
"What do you see, whelp?"
"A crying…helpless child."
"His soul?"
"The very purest."
"And is he in danger of dying?"
"They torture him, Greatness. He will not survive much longer." Feather Weight peered closer. "His heart is weak, but his spirit strong."
"The he will not die broken." Seraphs Demise said. "Or perhaps he will not die at all."
Feather Weight turned back to face the old demon, who gave him a very cold, very serious stare.
"Greatness?"
"Do not be governed by what the other vile creatures you surround yourself with say. You are a demon of your own. You do not need a companion – not yet, as it is to be seen," Demise said, his voice low and creaking, like the sound of the wind through the hollow bark of a dead tree. "Save the childs soul, if that is what pleases you. Give him power, bring him greatness, and build an empire at his feet if so he desires it. Then, satisfy yourself with the ripened feast that will be his soul, unspoiled and untainted from your undeniable contract."
Feather Weight knew what Seraphs Demise was telling him to do. He would have made the decision for himself, even if he'd have to fight his way out of Hell to make it to the human world. He'd been there many times, but not recently – a small, devilish smirk pulled at his lips as he wondered how it had changed. He would get to savour that feeling of being free again, at least for a while.
"Yes, Your Greatness," Feather Weight gave a rough, unpracticed bow to the ageing demon, before turning back to Grasp, who was still glaring the sharpest and deadliest of daggers at him. He gave Grasp a sadistic smile. "Enjoy Hell without me."
"Don't forget to write," Grasp muttered sarcastically, and Feather Weight shrugged off the comment as he unfurled his wings again, having drawn them in when Seraphs Demise as appeared. Demise stood aside as he stepped past him, and he strode boldly past Fiend Hoof, sent a careless smirk at Shingle Spine, and gave the triplets a cold roll of his eyes as he passed them. He left the demons in the whirlpool chamber, passed back through the now steaming hot caverns full of hot vapours and steam-spouting volcano fountains, and back out into the heat of the day. The sun seemed to never set – always just sitting out there on the horizon in a state of endless late afternoon sunlight.
Spreading his wings and launching himself into the air, Feather Weight stroked down hard with his wings and his was quickly propelled high into the sky above the dead and ruined earth. The journey to the human world would be a long one – it would take the better half of twenty-four hours. He made very brief calculations – he'd arrive in the human world a little after midnight.
He was curious. This was the temptation all the others feared to face alone. Long ago had demons discovered that hunting human souls via contracts was often a long and boring waste of time. Feather Weight had had his fair share of those boring convents – the humans were so dull. But he'd never come up a chance like this before. Perhaps none of them had.
No, that was wrong. Wasn't Eve the first woman? Wasn't she the purest? Seraphs Demise had no doubt reclaimed her soul after she'd been cast from Eden and so, wouldn't that make Seraphs Demise the only other demon to have tasted such purity?
He was almost salivating at the thought. He would strike such a good contract, such an undeniable offer with this little human.
And then, the human would be all his.
-:-
The cobblestones that lined the streets of London in the year eighteen-eighty-six were covered in a thick layer of snow. There weren't very many people about, and those that were didn't notice the shadow that stalked the streets, moving from place to place, following the delectable scent until it led him to the entrance of a large manor house – a big place for entertaining guests lavishly with elegant parties and auctions of the like.
From the smell of it, there was a very disgusting ritual being performed inside that manor house.
Feather Weight stepped into existence and into the snow, his booted feet sinking into the crunching white powder. He took a long, deep breath before exhaling, a white cloud of air billowing away from his lips. Despite being so scantily dressed in his black leathers and chains, he didn't feel the cold as it drifted down around him in soft pallid flakes.
He took a look around the seemingly abandoned manor grounds – there wasn't a soul in sight here, and no one was passing by the manor gates.
He stepped inside, and moments later the screams of his prey falling were muffled by the dark, towering walls of the mansion. There was no one but himself and the child to enjoy the shrill cries of the dying.
Tonight was a very quiet night in London.
.:CREDITS:.
-:-
Feather Weight…Sebastian Michaelis
Spider Grasp…Claude Faustus
Lilac Sheath…Hannah Anafeloz
Doll, Marionette and String-Tied…Thompson, Timber and Canterbury
The characters of Fiend Hoof,Shingle Spine,Tranquil Sin and Seraphs Demise are all property of AoUsagi, 2013.
Written, orchestrated, and produced by AoUsagi, 2013.
Kuroshitsuji is property of Yana Toboso. I do not claim any rights over the characters other than Fiend Hoof, Shingle Spine, Tranquil Sin and Seraphs Demise.
Reviews are welcomed and rewarded with virtual hot chocolate and cookies. Join us in Hell, where the ovens bake super-good bikkies.