Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji

He greatly despised him. The damn mortician violated the laws of Death itself with his twisted thoughts alone. How far can Grell be pushed before he finds himself beyond the realm of sanity?

Warnings: Highly graphic scenes, psychological torture, sexual situations

A/N: I will admit, this may be the most twisted story I may possibly write. I warn you, reader, to read with caution as this is not a tale for the lighthearted. I wish to comply to this site's standards (and my own morals), this will be slightly censored from certain material; for the most part, this is heavily uncensored on its own.

This story follows after the Campania/Ship Voyage arc.

There will be slight OOC but I will use my interpretation of the manga. Enjoy this.

REWRITE: I am aware I wrote this story earlier, but I want to do something else with this. I have decided to rewrite the entire thing to stay within my story line, ha ha.

"I can tamper with the Records, but I can't create a soul."
-Undertaker-

His eyes saw the surface of the ocean. His arms and legs propelled him even faster, the completion of his collection encouraged him to rapidly ascend from the depths. Ronald could barely stand the radiating sting of his abdomen, the salinity was only making it worse.

At long last, he broke through the surface, both hands flailing in the air until another caught one of them and aided him into the small rowboat. His body, weighed heavily down by his soaking wet clothes, prevented him from clambering on board without some sort of assistance. Slowly, with eyes adjusting to the moonlight, he saw Grell hauling him in.

Their struggle lasted for a few seconds, he landed on the floor with a heavy thud on his back, Grell himself fell back into sitting at the edge.

"That man...I swear, such a sadist...he comes in to fetch us out of the water and then throws us in," Grell huffed out in frustration.

Ronald reached into his coat pocket for a silver case of cigarettes out of practiced habit. He snapped the small box open for a cigarette, then offered one to Grell. The redhead refused and the cigarettes were stowed away for the favor of a lighter. Ronald bit at the butt and tried to light the other end, but suddenly realized that the flicker was soaked unable to produce a spark. "Too bad we can't file in for abuse."

He tossed the lighter into the water but continued to nibble at the stick. His hand went to his torso, he checked it to still see blood coming from the wound, he winced from the pain.

"Grell-senpai..."

"Dear...don't touch it, our bodies can't regenerate properly when we've been cut by a death scythe." Grell looked down at his own wound. "We're lucky he didn't decide to gut us out." He then reached out to Ronald's face, he turned his chin left and right, scrutinizing his bruised features with a clicking tongue. "And the demon, always going for the face, I'm starting to think he hates me..."

He laughed under his breath. In turn, a little steam came from his lips into the icy air. He looked up at the stars above them, both in need of medical attention. He loathed that William simply left them without even waiting to see them off or return to their realm.

Ronald's breathing was become less and less, the boy was drifting in and out of consciousness. Grell let out a deep sigh and laboriously reached out with both hands to gather Ronald into his arms. He held him close to his chest and proceeded to Transition himself between the realm of the living and the realm of reapers.

-...-

White sheets were all that he could see for the passed three days after turning in his hastily written reflection the morning of returning home.

A nurse, a pretty young woman with golden locks ending in small ringlets down the front, came by to check on him. Grell propped himself up on his shoulders when she neared him two beds away. He wore the standard hospital gown and had an ivy piercing into his wrist, his hair was brushed and tied back for neatness. Out of a bit of rebellion, he undid the tie and let his hair flow freely, much to the nurse's displeasure.

The gaping wound on his stomach had slowly mended itself under the bandages. Shinigami were durable creatures but needed time to rest at a time of weakness. He breathed deeply and was glad to feel no pain. He reached out for his glasses and slipped them on to see his world.

"You've been released from our care," she informed him. She had a bundle of clothes in her arms, along with his favorite red coat; they were placed on the chair at his bedside. They were now clean.

"Oh, thank you," he replied, voice a bit raw from not speaking for a bit. The nurse went to his side as he removed the covers and brought his legs up and over the edge of the bed. She had been attending him for the duration and was a bit of a silent person, she kept to herself and she looked as though she had little empathy towards her patients.

She was young looking, but she had been at this job for centuries with other workers, he wouldn't blame her for her eventual stoicism. She was just like everyone else, it bored him to death being unable to talk. He lifted up his arms for her to pull the dress over his head.

He had a chance to see the bandages still wrapped around his midsection, he still wore red undergarments; he was glad he was allowed to keep those.

"You will remove these tomorrow," she instructed when she handed him a dress shirt. He brought his arms through each sleeve as she impatiently held out a pair of slacks to him.

"I will," he replied,"but where's Ronnie?"

"Mr. Knox is in the other infirmary. He still needs his time to rest his body as he's younger. It won't be for another two days until he can even get up at all," she explained.

As he had gotten out of bed to place on those slacks, the double doors at the end of the room swung opened. Grell's eyes shot to them to see William stride in.

Grell's heart leaped at the sight of him and he was ready to bound over to the man, just for laughs, but the nurse held him back by taking a firm grasp on his shoulder and keeping him in place.

"If you move too much, the bandages will undo themselves and the healing process can't complete itself," she chided him. She walked over to William and the two exchanged a few hush words, Grell folded his arms and sat himself back on the bed with a slight frown. The nurse glanced over at Grell a few times before walking off for the double doors.

Grell was alone with William.

The man stood there for a moment, Grell let a seductive and playful smile slide onto his lips. "Well, I'm in bed half dressed, Will~."

"I can obviously see that. Please button your shirt and make yourself more presentable," William said in turn, unamused. Grell pouted and began to do as he was told. While doing so, William produced a black, leather folder. His death scythe took a hold of it with the jagged, dull teeth and extended itself to Grell. "Direct orders from the Main Branch are to be delivered to you."

Grell's fingers finished up buttoning the last of his buttons. He reached out for it with dainty hands and opened the file. His eyes scanned the first document, it was a failure notice to capture the violator; it wasn't a penalization but it was alarming that the superiors above William were critical in capturing the "violator". He turned the page and found his assignment to be decreed from the Higher Council of the London Division.

His eyes were wide at the specifications of the mission.

"...Will, this is an order to hunt the violator down," Grell stated flatly, going through papers in awe. He knew little of where to start if he would search for Undertaker, but his largest confusion would be that the Main Branch had decided to give him a task meant for the much more higher ranking workers.

"Yes, they are indeed. It was issued after you turned in your reflections. This is a way to redeem yourself and prove that you're worthy of rising back into being an Officer, and as a result if you succeed, they will also blot out your other...records of other misdemeanors, especially that of Jack the Ripper. This is your chance to clean yourself up, should you choose to fail this mission they will simply strip you of your godhood-"

Grell dropped the folder to the ground. "Strip me of my godhood!? For what!?" He practically yelled. "How were we supposed to know a Deserter was involved in all this!? I came back here with my gut barely torn open and you expect me to bring him back alive!?"

"The fact that you and Mr. Knox were unsuccessful in retrieving the violator shows your incompetence to hold your ground against foes. And with the repeated defeat from that accursed butler, surely you have only proven yourself to be weak as well. Take this task as a test to show that you are indeed strong to continue being one of our kind. You're not different than a human in combat, as it seems."

William began to turn away. Grell felt rage suddenly boil up inside, he had to release quickly. He sprung down from the bed and lunged at William, but he froze when the man presented the tip of the sharp end of the shears. He knew how deadly the man was with his weapon.

"I always thought of you as weak myself, and not just academically," he commented with a slight sneer. Those cold eyes glared at Grell. "Hence why I gave the approval to this."

"This is a suicide mission and you know it," Grell sharply shot at him.

"If it comforts you, I suggest to have you assisted by Ronald Knox, then again, given his state, you're on your own. The benefit to this is that you are suspended from any collection, while it may give overtime on my part it enables you to concentrate on your currant task." He turned away once more, he was heading for the double doors. "You have up until the new year, by then, the mission will be considered a failure and you will lose immortality."

There was no room for argument, no room for protest. He had to follow the orders like a dog. He was left standing there with his hands balled into a fist with teeth grinding against one another.

-...-

Fog had set in when Grell arrived in the slums of London in the quiet morning. His red coat, now clean of blood as was his uniform, swung behind him with every step. The tail licked the back of his legs as he hurriedly rushed at the side of the street. His steps had little pounce, only a sense of duty and need to finish his task as soon as he can.

Undertaker's establishment was tucked away in the lower parts of London. Surely the man would have other facilities where he would conduct his work for the sake of convenience, but Grell had to learn their locations. It would only be logical to investigate his main office.

The front of the shop was riddled with coffins, surely none would bother to steal his samples as there wouldn't be much use to them. He passed by one for the door, his hand reached the knob and tried to turn it. He found it locked, as expected and a good indication that the man wasn't there. He closed his eyes and imagined the little tumblers in the lock.

Consciously, he concentrated on the tumblers being prodded and lifted up from their place. With the little pegs going into their slots, he heard a distinct click!, telling him that he had successfully undid the lock. He entered the shop with the little bell alerting the rats to scuttle to and fro from their places on the floor to hiding spots.

Grell grimaced at the little creatures as he took an oil lamp from atop a coffin and lit it with a lighter from his pocket. He closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure.

The shop was unclean yet had a sense of organization. Shelves were lined with coffins that were prepared and made ready for later uses. A table or two had embalming tools for display, along with the walls lined with a myriad of trinkets collected over the years. Grell weaved himself around the coffins that were left out on the floor, he wouldn't be surprised if there were bodies inside.

He lifted the candle upwards so that he may have better lighting. The proprietor of the establishment thought it fun to board up the windows.

A sense of paranoia set in. The freak first met him by appearing from a coffin. Grell quickly opened all of the caskets in the front room and found, much to his relief, that they were empty of bodies and of Undertaker. He decided to check the desk were he saw the man settle himself on his first visit to the parlor.

He went behind it and placed the lamp on the desk. He started rummaging through the desk by opening drawers and cabinets. All that were stashed there were documents on his clients and nothing of indication of where Undertaker would be. His hand reached underneath the desk's top for a brief moment and, much to his pleasure, he produced a key that hung by tape.

He pulled it out and examined it by candlelight. It would be a much more better convenience than to waste his powers opening locks. After putting everything back in order, he got up with the key tucked in his hand and took the candle with him towards the back of the shop. There was a black curtain that covered the entrance of stone stairs that lead down into the darkness.

Grell heard the sound of something shuffling upon the floor with bare feet.

It echoed up to him, sending shivers down his spine. He feared going down there, he knew not what to expect, let alone how large of an area he would have to fight in should any threats arise; for all he knew, Undertaker could be down there.

His mind reeled back from earlier in the day, back to William giving him his assignment. The callous words he gave him radiated through his mind, a sense of pain stung when he felt that William could care less if he died or came back; the apparent resentment was profound, Grell knew little himself as to why he had to be treated as such.

Chains clunked in the darkness. Whatever resided down there was chained up, it was reassuring. Collecting his barings, he started his descent down into the darkness with that little flame flickering in one hand and the key being grasped tighter in the other.

He started slow but quickly picked up the pace. When he reached the bottom, his small light illuminated the basement. It was a rather larger chamber than the parlor itself, carved into the earth with a hallway to the West and another one to the East. Inside this room were piles of wood and various other materials to create coffins. Undertaker was, indeed, quite the craftsman; he approached one of the nearly finished coffins and found the wood carvings to be so intricate, they would have told a story if the designer chose to make one.

Shelves were lined with tools and a multitude of little, wooden figurines the man had carved over the years.

His thoughts were snapped into alert when he heard a feminine groan and chains clinking once more. He dared to venture down the West hall, candle ahead of him to light the way. The clicks of his heels on the stone masonry suddenly turned into sloshing sounds, he looked down and saw that he was stepping in a familiar crimson liquid.

"Hm?"

He grimaced at this, wondering if Undertaker disemboweled someone for shits and giggles and then proceeded to drag the unfortunate soul down the hallway, leaving behind a bloody trail. The dampness told him that it was very recent, he grew cautious and considered the factor that Undertaker may be nearby, only hidden away and watching Grell in the darkness.

The hallway opened into another open room where the groans were getting louder when he drew closer. The light shined upon a bureau, a storage for clothes.

The blood trail grew thicker, he had a hunch that one of the Bizarre Dolls were here, or perhaps a tortured victim. Apprehension of what would show itself out of the darkness set in when he went deeper into the room. It was a bedchamber from what he could tell. A bed barely visible with, alarmingly, bloodstained covers piqued his curiosity; it reminded him of the whores he butchered with the Madam months prior.

He saw a bed stand that had little white objects glinting at him. He lowered the candle to the surface to see pearly white teeth, canines, incisors, and even molars with blood vessels still attached were gathered in a neat pile; all thirty-two. His eyes widened when he heard the groaning once more.

He brought his light up to see a pale back facing him. He craned his neck a bit in wonderment, his eyes followed the blood to the white form.

The person was sitting on the floor chained up in the corner, head low with hands at the sides. A few lacerations here and there indicated Undertaker had, for some demented reason, beaten the poor individual several times. Blood was seen but, oddly, no cuts.

It was a woman, as far as he could tell from the shape of her waist. Upon her back was a laceration that was intricately sewn up, it looked like it was barely healing at all.

She groaned as though she were in pain. If she were a hostage of Undertaker, Grell thought he could use her as leverage as she was chained within close quarters of his bed. His To Die List was taken from him, he had no knowledge if she had to be reaped or not, clearly she had lived here for quite some time. Crouching down, he cautiously approached her.

"...miss?" He asked gently, the groaning stopped, she paused. "Are you alright?"

Around both her hands were shackles that fettered her to the wall. The chains rattled when she moved one hand, she was reaching for something but he couldn't see. The key in his other hand may be the key that would undo her bindings.

"I'll get you out of here," he said reassuringly, carefully going closer. When he was within reach of her, his gloved hand went to her shoulder. And then she whirled around, groaning in an bestial manner. He fell back in surprise, he even shouted. He landed on his back and began to crawl backwards to get away.

The little lamp fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor closer to the woman, revealing her features.

There was a large cut between her breasts from where the chainsaw had entered the body and ended her life. Like the wound on her back, it was sewn close as well.

She was stripped of all her clothes, her porcelain skin bloody and smeared with dirt. He could see her breasts and a patch of red hair between her legs glistening from the candlelight, but a noticeable sight was the apparent angry scar that lined her abdomen. His heart slammed into his throat and then sank when he realized who she may be. Her eyes may be covered by a blindfold but her hair, her unmistakeable red hair cut into a bob-cut, gave away who she was.

Her mouth was agape with her tongue hanging loose like a dog, he saw that her teeth were pulled from her; they were the same set he found on the table. It closed once in a while at will but stayed open for the most part, there was blood leaking from the corners of her mouth.

Grell screamed at her, the former Madam Red now turned into a monstrous freak. He kept crawling back until he hit the table, causing the teeth to fall from the edge and into his lap. He let out a shrill shriek and flung himself to the other wall, eyes fixated on the woman that tried escape her bonds.

She grew restless at his screams. In a fit of trying to release herself, she knocked over the lamp and the light fell into the pool of blood, dousing itself. His screams resonated once more and he desperately tried find an escape. His mind spun, the sight of her and her teeth were enough to send his stomach whirling. He felt nauseous, sickened by this.

He felt his innards twist and turn, he tried to hold it in, and he barely managed to. He kept screaming God's name in vain, along with a stream of curses to Undertaker. Indeed, he murdered her, but to be given such a fate in the afterlife was uncalled for. To him, the dead stay dead, this was unnatural. In the darkness, he heard the sound of bells from the parlor from the first floor. Instincts told him to hide, and he dove for going underneath the bed, he was grateful that he was thin enough to fit under.

In the small shelter, he did his best to conceal himself. He was lucky that the bed was large enough to cover his form. As he held his breath, he felt rodents crawling over his legs. His breath was caught in his throat as he tried to stay silent. He heard the chains and the creature shuffle about on the wall.

Over the squeaks of rats and rattles of chains, he suddenly heard heavy footsteps coming closer, along with a steady hum. From the hallways shined a light that poured into the room. Soon enough, it bathed it. From the dimness he saw a pair of boots pause at the edge of the bed, only two feet away from him. The humming figure lit a larger lamp, lighting the room completely. Grell's eyes were wide, he couldn't bring himself to get out from under the bed and fight.

He was too scared. He had so much fear. His heart pounded and, if possible, it could be heard quite clearly. He clung to the key even tighter and waited, hoping that the man would be distracted. Soon he heard the man whistle and then take a few steps for the bed. Grell was utterly petrified.

With a tired groan, the man sat upon the bloodstained bed for a brief moment. His feet were so close to Grell's face, he could have licked the heel. He knew it was Undertaker, it couldn't be anyone else with those boots. Slowly, the boots were lifted up and out of sight and the bed creaked and groaned as the man got himself comfortable enough to rest himself, all the while ignoring Madam Red.

Grell stayed there, unmoving, it was absolutely horrifying. He lost track of time, it could have been hours that he was underneath the sleeping man. He listened carefully to his breaths until they faded away; Shinigami were truly in deep sleep when they cease to breathe. When Grell sensed it was safe to move, the bed shifted around once more and he froze.

The boots fell to the floor elsewhere, he glanced to the right and saw a part of Madam Red's thighs. The boots had appeared there as well. He wondered why the man would get off of his bed from that end, but then disturbing thoughts came when he heard a zipper going undone.

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