AN: So the new chapter came out faster than I expected... Probably thanks to your wonderful reviews and favorites. Thank you once more for reading and liking it :)
Chapter Ein
A dark shadow passed over the drowsy city below. Dawn was just beginning to break, and pinkish streaks of light seemed to cut through the misty grey of the early morning sky. There was a considerable chill in the air – despite the fact that it was almost spring, it seemed the winter had decided to linger just a while longer than necessary. The cold did not matter too much, however, as there was nobody out in the streets at this hour – the curfew that stood was absolute. Even the guardsmen that imposed it liked staying out of the way, lest they shot each other by mistake. There was nothing noble in dying in a pool of one's own piss at five a.m. in the morning, in the city center of Berlin. Nothing noble at all.
The shadow continued its flight, slithering over the rooftops of the desolate ghetto and further across, landing almost at the very outskirts of town. As its feet touched the soggy morning ground, not a single sound was made, as if the owner of the shadow were merely that – a specter. The grand white wings behind his back seemed to shimmer for a moment and disappeared, leaving a slight figure standing over a mass grave, piled high with twisted corpses and random body parts of the victims of this senseless human war.
"Grotesque, isn't it?"
The shadow did not turn to see who had spoken. He knew that voice down to every nuance, every note, every little exhalation that followed the end of a sentence. He shrugged, bending at the knees to sit down and examine the macabre scene.
"Quite. So senseless, isn't it? So dirty…" He said quietly, stretching out a hand and petting the matted hair of a little girl, Shoshana Eismann, only five when she died two days ago. Shoshana, rose, so pretty and weak, so white and pale, like those roses back at the estate he had loved so much, those roses that had been a tribute to Rachel Phantomhive, the roses he'd destroyed in a fit of rage several days after he had turned. Shoshana's eyes were still wide open, glazed over with a mist only death could induce, and Ciel decided not to try and close them. She was prettier this way.
"All those souls, lost," he said absent-mindedly, before finally standing up and turning to look at the new arrival behind him. "But you would have sensed that, wouldn't you?"
"My Master knows me well," was the only response that came from the other. Ciel eyed his form up and down critically. Sebastian Michaelis, now Sebastian Katz, stood before him, clad in a polished and pressed uniform of an SS-Obersturmbannführer, his long black hair hidden neatly under the cap featuring the odious Tötenkopf symbol, so incredibly tasteless and tacky that Ciel had to let out an irate tch. He had to admit, however, that the uniform did Sebastian justice – all sleek and shiny like the man himself, and just as deadly. He glanced down at his own gear: a revolting brown shirt with black shorts and a neckerchief that aimed to make him look older but instead seemed to infantilize him even more. The only thing that could have lent him more importance was the holster on his belt that contained the standard Blut und Ehre dagger, harmless as it was in the power of an inept handler. Luckily, Ciel was far from being inept.
"I see you made Fähnleinführer," Sebastian noted, eyeing the green Fangschnur that was undoubtedly attached to a whistle hidden in the boy's pocket. Ciel huffed in annoyance. Despite the fact that he'd been this for several decades now, he was still too young (or too weak, he thought irritably) to be able to shape-shift. Therefore, the only influence he could gain in this place and time was that of a group leader of Hitler's future cannon fodder. He looked at Sebastian's shiny Sierune enviously. What havoc he would have been able to wreak were he to look a day older than fourteen.
"Not much to do in this wretched place. Even for someone like myself," Ciel answered in a bored tone as he looked around the desolate outskirts of the once grand city. The war was coming to a close, he knew it, he knew it by the tired, stricken faces of the citizens and soldiers, he heard whispers among the other Jügend members, he saw the weary glances SS officers exchanged whenever they came to lecture the children about the great Aryan race and impending victory of the Übermensch. They were not going to win this war, and Ciel had front-row seats to witness the disaster.
It had been easy to insert himself into everyday German life, to convince the tiny, insignificant humans that ran the Reich (or thought they did) that he was a mere boy, Karl Himmel, born of a German mother and a German father, yet orphaned at a young age and now cared for by his father's faithful subordinate, Sebastian. The two were subtle in their deception, completely and utterly inconspicuous, save for the infrequent occasions when documents had to be forget and people had to be bribed. After they'd settled in, Ciel left his butler to his own devices and paved his way through the Hitler Jügend ranks. He'd decided not to burden the demon with his presence – as the very sight of him still seemed repulsive to Sebastian. It had used to sadden him at first, after he'd first discovered what Hannah had turned him into, yet as time went by he'd realized it was no so much his own problem as Sebastian's. Thus, he gave the demon relative freedom, and the latter tried to soften the disgust that shadowed his handsome face every time he laid eyes on the boy.
"What do you think will happen?" Ciel asked the demon who had more experience of witnessing human feuds than himself. The demon stared into the distance, inhaling the air carefully, as if expecting a fowl smell to enter his nostrils with it.
"The humans will continue killing each other," he answered solemnly. "They will destroy each other. The side with lesser morals will perish. Or, perhaps, not. Who knows? Humans are so interesting."
Ciel scoffed.
"I suppose your former self would have found this particular collection of bastards fascinating."
"A splendid feast fit for a gourmet. However, as I cannot–,"
"As you cannot–,"
"–I will simply watch them squabble together with you. Perhaps push around a rook or two, simply for fun."
"You have a very strange definition of fun, demon."
"Much like yours, angel."
"Hold your tongue."
"Is that an order?"
"Tch."
A couple of months passed and the day they'd been waiting for came, expected and predictable as it was. Fires burned all over Berlin, people fled and cried and died before their eyes. Ciel stood quietly in the alleyway, watching the Soviet Flag being raised over the Reichstag.
"It's over."
He slanted his eyes to look at the tall shape that appeared next to him in the narrow passage. Sebastian had, intelligently enough, exchanged his SS uniform for something less conspicuous – dark pants and a linen shirt of a villager, to go with his own simple garb. It was best to avoid being taken hostage by the Soviets. Ciel had heard of the atrocities they had committed on the way to the capital of the Reich, and though he was technically invincible to petty human torture, it was an experience both he and Sebastian had agreed was best postponed to a later date.
"Very astute observation, Sebastian."
"I live to amuse you, Master," the demon replied humorlessly and turned back to watch the flames consume a nearby house.
"The bastard committed suicide. Couldn't take facing defeat," Ciel said quietly, his voice tinted with disdain. "What weakness."
"Not something your former self would have done, then?" Sebastian inquired slyly, his only happiness being getting a rise out of his eternal master. Ciel looked at him irritably and slouched against the wall of the house.
"If you thought that, then you did not know me at all, demon."
"I merely asked whether–,"
"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here."
"Oh, no."
The pair turned around to see Grell Sutcliffe and William T. Spears march down the alleyway, their faithful scythes in hand. Ciel shifted behind Sebastian so they wouldn't see him, however as the two got closer and closer, Grell's face took on an expression of horrified realization, pity, and then all-consuming anger, all within a span of one split-second.
"What are you doing alive, you little brat?" He asked shrilly, the hysterical notes threatening to shatter the windows that had not been destroyed yet by the fire.
"Mr. Sutcliffe, I would ask you to refrain–,"
"Silence, demon," Spears interrupted, regarding Ciel with scrutiny. "Sutcliffe's question is one that interests me as well. What are you doing alive, Ciel Phantomhive, former Earl of Phantomhive who presumably died, according to our bookkeeping, some fifty-six years ago? This means overtime, little lord, so choose your words well."
"How dare you?" Ciel asked quietly, his voice dangerous. You will watch who you're talking to, Death God."
"How dare you?" Spears questioned, shifting his glass back onto the bridge of his knows with his scythe. "As far as I know, mere humans must cower in the presence of–,"
"Humans, perhaps," Sebastian said simply. "However, it is no longer the case that my Master is human, you see."
The two Death Gods stared at Sebastian blankly, awaiting an explanation. When none came, Grell approached the boy with a curious air and bent down to take a closer look at his face:
"Seems he still has the mark. Not a single blemish, though. How unfair is it that a simple brat has perfect skin at such an age… What are you, Ciel Phantomhive, if not a human, then? Perhaps I should prod you with my scythe to find out." He raised the chainsaw.
"No, don't–," Sebastian tried before a blinding light engulfed the entire alleyway and the four of them were consumed in white. He saw Ciel Phantomhive's fragile exterior drop as his angelic nature surfaced, blue and violet eyes blazing with purity, and snowy wings sprouting out of his back, damaging the walls of the nearby houses in the process with their sheer strength. The boy seemed to have gained certain control over his powers, Sebastian mused, however he knew better than anyone that besides growing wings and flying, the little angel knew nothing of the powers his kind wielded. He had been in contact with one single angel in his entire life, after all, and that little encounter had nearly cost him said life. Despite his ignorance of angelic matters, the boy still looked menacing, and the two Death Gods stepped back, their hands tightening over their scythes nervously.
"It cannot be," Spears whispered, awed. "This was not on record, this is –,"
"Absolutely impossible!" Grell screeched, putting up a hand to shield his eyes from the light. "How can you be an angel? How can Sebastian be near an angel, unless…" He trailed off, rounding on Sebastian, who watched the scene unfold calmly. "… the contract sigil is still intact."
Sebastian humorlessly slid off his glove and showed of the mark on the back of his hand, still as pitch-black and fresh as it had been the day they'd made the contract.
"Poor Sebby," Grell said quietly, his usual boisterous nature having suddenly evaporated. "You mean this brat–,"
The light seemed to glow brighter.
"–this boy, you are to serve him forever?"
Ciel's form shifted back as the wings slowly faded from sight, restoring the alleyway to its proper darkness.
"For eternity, Sebastian is my butler. I am an angel due a series of unfortunate events I cannot be bothered to explain. Now, if you will excuse us, we will be well on our merry way. After all…" He turned to William. "You shall not have to worry about Sebastian stealing any souls anymore."
Will seemed to consider this for a moment before sighing.
"Perhaps. Though I am not happy about this turn of events–,"
"You're not happy? I am murderous, I am Death–,"
"Grell, please." William put up a hand. "This is a good opportunity to teach these demonic curs a lesson."
Ciel nodded, a small smirk playing on his boyish face.
"I am glad we understand each other."
"Until next time, then."
"It would seem so."
And the angel and demon left a sputtering Grell in their wake, and a very aggravated William, who glanced into his appointment book with annoyance.
"So much overtime."