Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji
XII.
Deep below a water surface. The hopelessness of falling down…and down. A powerful feeling of sinking, irreversible drowning in silence. Anyone could find in terrifying. Except The Undertaker. He was filled with joy. After all this time the long waited end of all came. Death finally invited him to her dark, abundant feast. Death finally reached him and it was extraordinary.
Everything was fine when you're dead, right? Or he has been wrong all the time… you're not at peace when you die. The state of burning agony his body was carrying proved him his point was completely…
Wrong. He wasn't dead. He was dying. The process is disgustingly long. And irritatingly painful. The amount of pain was so overwhelmingly much that he couldn't bear anything else except it, his mind was trying to escape it with memories, thoughts, but with no success. Pain was devouring all his senses, caturing him in its eternal chains, offering no escape.
It got darker. The darkness calmed him. Being used to it all his life helped somehow. It didn't frighten him now. He felt piece, the silence was isolating him from everything else. Everything else? There was nothing here. One big nothing and pain. Thanks. Quite exciting.
He felt lost. Loneliness surrounded him. Not the ordinary loneliness. This feeling was different. Strong loneliness, with her crown of fear and throne of desperation. She got him into his very essence. He was ready to give everything just not to be alone in this moment. He needed a presence. A foreign light.
But all he got was fire. It was thrilling, it was sensational and unique. His soul was in flames, tearing him apart. Throes were disfiguring everything he got left. Unbearable pressure was suffocating him. He forgot the joy of breathing.
Suddenly the fire subsided. It abated slowly and blurred the pain a bit, until it gradually faded. That state was changing fast into something else.
Coldness crawled into his body, unpleasantly making his way through everything, reaching his bones. It was just like millions of tiny icicles were piercing him and the pain started intensifying again. This time was sharp and cutting.
Suddenly he found himself in a quiet place. It was blurry so he assumed that might be… A dream?
I am either dreaming or dead. It looked like there was a fog all around him. It was dense and dark grey. Strange. I still feel cold. He made one step and felt worse. I got it. Still dying. He couldn't see a thing, but started walking. Every step was more painful and more painful.
He looked at his hands, his whole skin was like smoke and with every move he felt like fading away. Am I a ghost? It was so cold, freezing cold. He wasn't sure how long he walked, but the pain was already unbearable. He didn't know what he was expecting.
There was nothing, but he kept moving; searching for non-existing matter. Just one long, endless eternity of wandering in the desolation of his own mind. Undertaker realized how lonely it would be to spend an eternity in this place.
Completely alone. And he could feel this loneliness consuming his last powers that kept him standing. It was killing him, slowly. It was so empty and sad. He couldn't stand anymore, falling on his knees, in his struggle to move forwards.
It was helpless. Nothing and no one could help him this time. He would gladly accept an ending of this. Over all the pain he was curious. What's behind the curtain? What happens next?
Right when he was ready to give up, his sharp senses caught a shadow. He lifted his head, his eyes scanning the quiet grey emptiness around him. He saw it again, but it was moving incredibly fast. Who are you?
He caught his chest with his arm, the pain was awful. He could neither move nor talk anymore, so he tried screaming in his mind instead.
Please come back, whoever you are.
Help me.
Help me, please…
