Next story! I'm not giving up on Twilight Blade, but I'll alternate between these two stories just to keep myself interested.
I'm sorry if the characters are a little OOC; I've only been watching this series for about a week. Please enjoy anyway!
"Kuroshitsuji" © Yana Toboso. All other original characters and plot elements owned by Genesis-VIII. This rewrite is for private and entertainment use only, and no profits are being made. Please support the official release.
Ciel Phantomhive did not believe in a higher power.
Like most twelve-year-olds, he did have a waning regard for the supernatural – however, it was only for one particular otherworldly being, and that was only because he had solid proof; the mark on his eye and the dark, constant, shadow-like presence of his butler embodied that proof. He did not believe in ghosts, nor werewolves, nor vampires, nor anything of that sort. Only demons. And, like most corporate tycoons, he did not believe in mildly stepping to the side and let someone else control his life. He was master of his own destiny. He made his own choices. Gods and devils had no control over him. No matter how it appeared, no matter his words, he never did anything for anyone else, not even his precious Queen. He did it all for himself, in one way or another. And he made all the decisions on his own, Sebastian and his "suggestions" be damned.
Ciel Phantomhive did not believe in fate.
And on that day, the young Earl believed the Queen's message was just another task he had to perform as her watchdog. It was not destiny that led him there, but vengeance, tradition, and civic duty. It was his choice, not his fate, that brought him to that sunny day in April, looking down at the Queen's seal on a letter resting on a silver platter in his servant's gloved hand.
"A haunted village? Quit joking, Sebastian, I'm not in the mood today."
Sebastian smiled serenely and bowed respectfully. "I apologize for the Young Master's surprise, but I am being perfectly serious."
Ciel snorted. "Please, Sebastian. A haunted village? You and I both know there are no such things as ghosts."
Sebastian's expression did not change, but there was a brief flash in his red-brown eyes as he spoke. "Perhaps there are, perhaps there are not. In any case, it is Her Majesty's wish that the young master look into this village and halt whatever monstrosity is tormenting it."
At the mention of the reigning monarch, Ciel's good eye twitched and his sighed in exasperation. Honestly, what was Her Majesty thinking? The very notion that ghosts should exist was laughable at best. And even on the off chance that they should exist, why in the world did he have to put up with this? He was the Queen's watchdog, not her necromancer. His duty was to capture crime lords, not spirits. Ciel sighed again and plucked the letter deftly off the platter, paying its content very little mind. Oh, well. Perhaps there really was a drug lord or murderer out in that little hick town, and the Queen was calling him a ghost for pure amusement.
Even so, in his two years as head of the Funtom Company, he'd never known Queen Victoria to have a sense of humor.
Sensing his master's discomfort with the situation, Sebastian looked up, his smile turning into somewhat of a smirk. "Is something troubling you, Young Master? Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the reports?"
Ciel shot him a glare. "Unfamiliar? That rubbish has been all over the newspaper for weeks now; you'd have to be a complete idiot not to know about it…and wipe that smirk off your face already!"
"My sincerest apologies, Young Master," Sebastian murmured, bowing once more.
Ciel rolled his eyes and glanced towards the morning paper, still strewn across his desk. Yes, the haunted village, rubbish or no, had been all everyone was talking about lately. For the past month, Clarkson (the village in question) had had its citizens picked off, one by one, every night without fail. These killings appeared to be random, as none of the victims had any relation to each other besides the fact that they lived in the same town. Young, old, male, female, rich, poor…the killer didn't discriminate. What was particularly odd about this case was the way in which the victims were murdered; all in the same way, but in such an inhuman fashion that Ciel could almost see why people would believe it was the work of a spirit. Every single corpse had been torn to shreds, covered in blood and gashes; they were so mutilated, it took days just to identify them. Sometimes there were limbs or chunks of flesh missing; sometimes the bodies were drained of blood; sometimes there was no flesh at all, only bloodstained bones. A picture in this morning's paper showed the latest victim – arms and legs ripped off, flesh torn from his face, eyes gouged out. It was quite unsettling. No wonder the Queen wanted something done.
Ciel sighed again, propping his elbows up on the table and steepling his fingers. "Well, ludicrous as this is, it is a request from Her Majesty, and as the Earl of Phantomhive, it is my duty to follow it." He stood up and walked over to the window, his back facing the butler. "Make the necessary preparations. We're going to Clarkson."
Sebastian placed a hand over his heart and bowed again. "As you command, Young Master." He turned and headed for the door.
"Sebastian."
The butler stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. "Yes, Young Master?"
Ciel didn't turn around. "You know something about this, don't you?"
Sebastian smirked again, very slightly. "Whatever gave the Young Master such an idea?"
Ciel made a "tsk" sound and rapidly spun around. His eye patch had been folded up, revealing the pentagram on his right eye. "Sebastian, this is an order: tell me what you know about this immediately!"
"Yes, My Lord." He gestured to the newspaper. "Had the Young Master finished this morning's article on the haunting, he would have seen that the village head, Jonathan Tucker, is leading an assault on the culprit tonight. The surviving men of the village, along with those of other nearby villages, will join the attack. There is even a rumor that Scotland Yard is sending its finest officers to assist the townsfolk."
Ciel frowned. "Why so many for just one murderer?"
"Ah, but according to Jonathan Tucker, it is not a mere murderer they are dealing with. He claims that Clarkson is under siege…" His smile widened. "…by a demon."
There was a long silence, in which master and servant evenly and emotionlessly kept their gazes. "…a demon." Ciel said at last.
"So the people say," Sebastian replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
"And just how do you know this?"
Sebastian merely smiled. "Because I am one hell of a butler."
Ciel Phantomhive did not believe in fate. It was his own choice that led him to the haunted village. The hand of fate, should it even exist, was not even remotely involved. He led his own destiny. Ciel never stopped believing that, right up to his dying breath.
Fire.
What is fire?
It's all there was now. Fire. Fire everywhere. Burning the fields. Burning the houses. Burning the people.
What are people?
The people are where the blood comes from.
What is blood?
Blood is like fire – it's everywhere. On the ground. On the people. Burned by the fire. All over her. Clothes, face, hands…it was everywhere in this place.
What is this place?
Who…am I?
She didn't know. She couldn't know. All she could do was just sit there, in the fire and blood, waiting for answers…
"My, my. What an absolute mess. We appear to have arrived too late."
A voice. It had been quiet for so long, but now there was a voice. Where was it coming from?
"All because of those three…I must find some more servants, preferably more competent than them…although, I do not see how one could be less competent…"
There. Coming out of the fire. A man with black hair and black clothes. He's waking right through the fire, but it doesn't burn him. Why doesn't it burn him?
"Oh?"
He'd seen her. He'd turned his red eyes on her. Red eyes…they were beautiful, but scary, too. She didn't think she'd seen anyone with red eyes before, but then again, she couldn't remember if she had. The man smiled and walked over to her. He was so tall…she shrank back, feeling scared.
"Good evening, Young Mistress. I see you have survived."
She didn't say anything.
"My deepest condolences, but you are the only one we've found alive so far. My goodness, you're covered in blood. Not your own, I trust?"
She stared at him, and then slowly shook her head.
"Ah, good. Tell me, Young Mistress, do you live in this town?"
"I…I don't know," she choked out. A trickle of blood fell into her lap.
"I see. Can you tell me the name of this town – or what remains of it, at least?"
She shook her head again. "I don't know."
"What about your name? Can you tell me that much, Mistress?"
"No…I don't…I don't remember…" Tears started flowing down her cheeks, mixing with the blood on her face. Why? Why didn't she know? Why couldn't she remember?
The man was silent for a long time, and then he knelt down so that his eyes were level with hers. He had such a handsome face, but his eyes…they were so scary…"Now, now, My Lady, your beautiful face shouldn't be marred by tears. It's quite unbecoming." He held up a piece of white cloth and dabbed at the mixture of tears and blood on her face. She could only stare at him in wonder.
"There we are," the man said after a moment, tucking the handkerchief into one of his pockets. "That should feel better. Are you hurting anywhere else?"
The girl hesitated for a moment, but then lifted her hand and placed it over her heart. "…here. It's burning me."
"I see. Will you permit me to take a look, Mistress?" He reached out a hand towards her chest. The girl let out a little gasp and pulled back. The man froze, but then smiled warmly and bowed his head, closing his eyes and placing his hand over his heart. "Upon my honor and duty as a servant of the Phantomhives, I swear to you, My Lady, that I will not harm you in anyway. If I could not be objective in working with women, then what sort of butler would I be?"
The girl sat still for a long time, but she finally nodded and leaned in. The man nodded his head in acknowledgement and pulled down the edge of the neckline on her blood-soaked dress. He took a long look, and all of a sudden, something changed about him – his eyes glowed even redder, and his pupils narrowed to slits. "Oh, my…" The girl wanted to look and see what was hurting her, but she was ensnared by those frighteningly intoxicating red eyes.
"Oh, my," the man said again, his voice low. "Forgive me, Mistress…I'd had my suspicions of course, but it was quite unbelievable all the same, if you'll permit me…my, my, Circe, what a lovely daughter you have, even with her…situation…"
"U-um…" the girl stammered, now becoming terrified. "W-What's gonna h-happen to me?"
The man frowned and pulled his hand away from her chest. "An excellent question…as I said before, you are the sole survivor of this terrible accident, so I cannot leave you here alone." He stood up and smiled down at her. "I am positive that, given the unusual circumstances, the Young Master will be more than happy to provide shelter for you, at least until you have recovered. And even if he will not, I will provide some sort of lodging for you." He held out a hand. "Can you walk, Mistress?"
The girl reluctantly took his hand and hoisted her self to her feet. She swayed for a moment and started to fall…
There was a sudden rush of air and she suddenly found herself being lifted by the man – one arm slid under the crook of her knees, and the other wrapped around to rest against her shoulder, pressing her against his chest. "Dear me, your condition worse than I'd imagined. You must be undergoing shock." The girl's breathing became heavy and irregular, and her eyes flickered shut. She felt the man's lips brush against her ear as he spoke. "Fear not, My Lady – I am one hell of a butler, so I never go back on my word. I shall keep you safe."
"Thank you," she whispered, resting her head against his chest. She wasn't so scared anymore, now.
"My honor and privilege, Young Mistress," he said softly. They started walking, and already the smell of fire and blood was lessening. "However, there is a favor I must ask of you, if it's not too bold of me to do so."
"What is it?"
"Please refrain from spilling too much blood on my coat. It's brand new, you see."
She felt herself smiling. "Okay."
Her last thought before sleep overcame her was, Maybe I'm gonna be okay.
Suggestions? Constructive criticism?