The thief rolled her shoulders slowly with a groan, unsheathing her claws, growling a bit, the bones making small snapping sounds as she moved, stretching. She moved her legs, feeling the pricking through their pained numbness, moving one to the front, placing her foot on the stone. Her feet were different, as if locked into that shape, as if she was meant to walk on her toes. Claws traced the stone as she began to stand, the chains rattling.
The cuts were healed and all that was hurting was the nerve memory. Her flesh was pretty much unscathed underneath the blood and the designs that swirled over it. And she had fought with broken bones, ran with bleeding feet, worked with burned flesh, touched salt with scrapped fingers. Pain was a familiar thing to the underworld dwellers. They kept feeling it anyway.
In a normal event she would just have slipped her blood-slicked wrists through the not-tight-enough shackles. But she was sufficiently angry to just go for the flashy approach. She grinned widely, showing off the fangs to the dark, shifting her weight. The chains rattled as she pulled, trying to keep her down before the links shattered along with part of the stone.
Mouser stood up, her arms having snapped upwards with the sudden freedom, wobbling for a second before steadying herself, lowering her arms and staring quizzically at the shackles around the wrists, tracing the metal with one nail.
The door flew open, the pair of woefully untrained guards spilling inside, close to panicking, staring in fright as they realized what had happened. She smiled, poking the cuffs with the index finger, cracking them, the metal halves falling onto the floor with a clang, freeing herself as they fidgeted, not knowing if they should flee or fight. Also her nudity might have something to do with the hesitation. It would be flattering. One of them stepped forth, pointing a trembling gun at her.
"In the name of the Founder…" the thief snarled, moving, slashing his throat quickly, gripping the gun and taking it for herself. The pair shouted in fear, shooting his own pistol. Mouser sidestepped the bullet, reaching up, catching it, amused, kicking the man down, her clawed feet sinking into his chest in a killing movement, making a little purred chirp as she let go of the small projectile. She stole the other man's blood-stained shirt, dressing as the life left his eyes, looking around calmly. No use in traipsing around the on the nude. Might shock the boyo…
She wanted her weapons back but… The thief flexed her fingers to see the pretty claws. The pearly grey swirls followed her limbs smoothly… it was beautiful… not to mention all that strength. Mouser pouted, breaking away from the allure. It was an illusion, a momentary surge of power, a defence mechanism, she was sure of it. So she had to move quickly and get somewhere safe before the "whatever" it was wore off and she was left defenceless. There was no such thing as power without price.
In any case she needed to find the rest of the group to inform them there were things they should be more concerned about than "plots to overthrow governments".
Amusingly enough he had not left any more guards on the… well… cellar, it seemed.
Either that or their pious disposition was such that they had abandoned their duties to attend to the ceremony.
The service was starting and Sebastian observed it from the pews on the back of the chapel. The young master was sitting to his left, staring ahead and around with the usual focus, trying to find both the hints of the stolen records and the treason the Queen's request asked to be erased. To his right the Grim Reaper had latched on his arm and was leaning against him, smiling.
The demon sighed in annoyance.
At least the regular clothes were back on Grell's body otherwise he would have to take rather stern measures. Sebastian checked his clock as the hymns and religious paraphernalia started. Mouser had been away for almost three hours now. As a rule her jobs took an hour, hour and a half to be accomplished. If she took a bit longer she would usually let them know somehow. In London she just sent a message through the street urchins. But in there…
His eyes narrowed for a moment. He had not imagined the scent of her blood when the procession had passed. And he had not forgotten the fact that he had noticed another pair of scents. One familiar and rotten, the other foul and alike but also divergent. Worrying was not exactly something that came naturally. But both a contract and a covenant forged a sharper attention to such occurrences. He glanced at the Young Master. At least he had the knowledge that his covenant was, at the very least, able to handle herself without the need of constant supervision.
The noisy hymn accompanied by the organ gave way into a whispered murmur of tuneless song and whimpering and the one that was surely the founder, judging by the clothes and the attitudes of the ones present appeared, walking towards the apse. He stood there, opening his arms, reeking of burnt feathers and blood. Mouser's blood. Sebastian gritted his teeth. So something had happened. But through the links of the covenant he was feeling very little… no. there was a difference. A spike of power, bloodlust and anger.
From what he could tell Mouser was irate. His eyes shifted too. The slight of one being… Amusingly she somehow had kept the echoes of her feelings from reaching him.
"Tonight all sinful unclean will be purified here." The Founder announced as the music died down and he took his position, addressing the cultists who looked absurdly grateful and starry-eyed. Another covered cultist approached, carrying a tome between his hands, his speed slow and respectful, allowing everyone to see.
"Are those cinematic records?" Sebastian asked softly. There was no known demon apart from the ones that had once been angels that had seen a record after it had been taken by a Grim Reaper.
Grell's eyes narrowed.
"It's too far to tell." The Grim Reaper admitted with a sigh, still holding onto his arm.
Outside people were screaming in pain, gurgling as they died. Sebastian glanced over his shoulder as the book was placed onto the stand.
The door was slammed open as a couple of cultist corpses were tossed in, interrupting the ceremony, bleeding all over the chapel's masonry floor.
People shouted in fear, standing up, looking around for a way to run.
Outside all was dark.
The lights had been put out.
"I usually like to keep the things I do low key." Mouser whispered softly, her voice carrying easily in the chapel, walking through the left aisle soundlessly, swaying smoothly with each step. The shadow behind her was grinning, shaped like a cat, following in pitch black.
Sebastian followed the voice, finding her, the sudden tug of worry growing to apprehension. Then his eyes focused on the definitely demonic traits, smirking when he spotted the white mark on her chest. Despite the worry about the fully matured form that walked lazily towards the apse, half nude but for a shirt, vanishing when the eye looked away, appearing on the other side suddenly, there was no doubt about the demon species she belonged to.
Cait Sìth. "The Soul-Stealing Cat", they were called.
It was rather unexpected. But a demoness did not grow into adulthood in less than three hours unless severely threatened and pushed. It went beyond the physical. Even her shadow was demonic in that moment. Which meant he had to eliminate whatever had made her feel that way and hope that when the defensive state passed, when she collapsed, the toll would not be too high.
"Not because I am embarrassed mind you…" Mouser continued rambling, one of the angel stained glass windows shattering as she lounged on the curve of stone that had cradled it, where the glass had been moments ago, black claws marking the stone lazily.
The Founder was the one following her gestures as well as the cultist just panicked, shouted and sobbed.
The Young Master's eye narrowed as he observed.
Grell was looking rather admired, staring as well.
"What happened?" The Young Master asked surprised at the change.
"Mouser is mad." Sebastian answered softly.
The thief hopped to the next window, her shadow grinning over the glass angel as she sat down, dangling her feet, the image dominating the cultists. There were whispers of demons that could not have been more correct.
"…but because low key keeps you alive for longer." She continued as the glass shattered around her, raining down on the unflinching cult leader. Mouser allowed a girlish laugh out, covering her pearly-grey lips with a traced hand, graced by long black claws. "I like to get in, kill and get out, preferably with the valuables with as little fuss as possible." Stretching she hopped to the next window, the panes shattering as well when she caressed the surface, first cracking it, then the irregular lines spreading and shattering the whole thing. Darkness outside graced by a pale moon. Gracefully she somersaulted down, landing on the middle of the nave soundlessly on her tiptoes.
"I haven't blundered in a job this badly since I was ten." Her voice dropped suddenly, chilling as she turned. "You took my cigarettes… you took my knives… you took my guns… you took my clothes… would you have taken my claws and fangs if you hadn't this ceremony to host?" Mouser chuckled and then it bloomed into a low laugh before she was no longer there, appearing behind the Founder. Her arm shot our, claws piercing through the hood, slamming the man's face onto the stand, over the book, pulling them out, red and gleaming. "Is it very noticeable that I am angry?" She whispered, going missing again. Then she was chuckling, sitting on one of the pews, watching.
Screams for the Founder echoed. Fear and dread swirled around, empowering. Cultist around her rose and tried to scramble away, making Mouser actually laughed once more as she stood and walked towards the centre of the nave again, still combative.
Sebastian frowned.
"Excuse me." He said, stepping away from the Young Master. "I must tend to my covenant." The demon approached the still thief that was sawing, touching her carefully, slowly, not surprised when she tensed up in contact, looking at him with red eyes filled with aggression, about to strike. Not unexpected. It was not focused on him, the demon noticed as she would not abandon the current state, giving him the barest moment of consideration and recognition before her attention split away, returning to the the apse.
The Founder was moving, standing slowly, the movement slightly broken. And then suddenly the white clothes were torn due to the spreading wings. More screams and some whispers of hope and praise from the followers believing in a blessing as a pure white angel rose above the apse, framed by the shattered stained glass windows, posing as the figure that had once been depicted there.
"There is no need to be sad." She began to speak dragging attentions towards itself. "Entrust everything unto me." She demanded of the cultists. And by extent the rest. There was not much room to quibble in that speech. It raised its arms. "Get rid of the unclean. Get rid of the unwanted. Get rid the barren." It started to spout its doctrine against the sheer weight of its presence, of whatever power it used affecting the people around. Like something was slowly squeezing their hearts. Cultists started to weep. The wings rustled, beating once more.
Sebastian moved quickly, turning Mouser, placing her behind his back, facing the Grim Reaper and the boyo, deflecting the volley of arrows with the silver knives, staying between her and the attacker, eyes narrowing as the angel flapped her wings to gain a bit height, looking down on them while holding the book.
Some of the feathers had struck down the followers.
Some had already chosen to flee.
Others were pleading for salvation, kneeling and worshiping.
"As you deduced." Sebastian said carefully. Mouser snarled and nodded behind him. "An angel was behind this." Then the recognition came. The maid in the dog village. "Angela Blanc."
"Wait a minute… what is an angel…" Grell shouted, surprised that Mouser's theory was actually accurate. "That!" The Grim Reaper turned serious for a moment as the angel picked up a plain bound book and strips of cinematic record began to snake out. "That is a real cinematic record!"
The shout of alert came too late as Sebastian had already become entangled in the threads of memory, the annoyance showing on his features as he could neither move nor look around to ensure the safety of those bound to him by contract.
Any Grim Reaper had already experienced that situation, at least on the first assignment, when they were woefully unprepared for the simple fact that life resented death with unusual strength. So Grell was hopping about, avoiding the threads with a deft step and an unusually focused look.
Mouser simply vanished by instinct, getting out of harm's way.
The angel swooped down, taking the chanced, going towards the boyo.
"Ciel Phantomhive!" It said, the voice booming in the quickly emptying chapel. "You are full of stains." It appraised, circling like a vulture, looking for the barest opening. "Allow me to purify you, to let the pure brilliance emerge." It continued, arms opened, as if still performing the ceremony. The shot the boyo was able to aim before the gun was slapped out of his hand by a precise feather barely scrapped the wings.
"Grell use the death scythe…" Sebastian called out, gritting his teeth, struggling only to feel the binds tighten, choosing to stand still as the angel looked down smugly, approaching.
"Wait! I'm on it…" Grell was mumbling, trying to snap the threads with miniscule scissors, even smaller than the ones she had been forced to use when in the dollhouse.
"What are those?" Sebastian asked, unimpressed, only to shout as the angel descended, plunging, arms outstretched, hands curling like talons, reaching for the Young Master while he could do nothing about it.
There was a crunching sound of bone snapping and grinding accompanied by a shocked silence interrupted here and there by the snapping of tiny scissors as Grell continued to work. Sebastian had managed to turn, to look, his eyes widening then softening, a little grin appearing on his lips.
Mouser stood in the way, head tilted back with an unsettling grin, gripping Angela's wrist, the white hand twitching as the skin and dress became red. Broken bones and sunken claws, in an impasse of strength. Ciel Phantomhive was standing in the grinning shadow with a protective hand raised over his head peeking when nothing came to pass. Mouser mover her fingers, pulling them out of the flesh for a moment before sinking them again. To the angel's credit it did not scream.
"You got demoted again poppet?" Mouser whispered, swaying with a chuckle, keeping the vicious grip on the angel. It struggled and was allowed away. Mouser chuckled. "Do you know your blood smells rotten?" She whispered to the air, shaking red droplets away from the claws.
"There nothing I can do about it." Grell complained, working frantically as the angel circled and tried to strike, stopped by Mouser who gleefully attacked, slashing red marks all over the white. "Will confiscated my death scythe." Grell continued, finally getting a grip on the threads, pulling and "I've cut them!"
Sebastian shook them away, turning to examine the fray.
Mouser stepped forward and reached out, going for the throat. Her shadow still fell on the Young Master, always around him. There was a brief glimpse of terror in Angela's eyes as Mouser squeezed, forcing her down.
"I should rip your hand away." Mouser whispered playfully "Then break your wings. Then pluck the feathers one by one." The angel fought, shaking said wings, slashing away with the feathers, gripping the book once more.
Grell shivered in delight, watching, still snipping away at the snaking threads of black and white. Sebastian nodded for a moment, approving and disapproving, dodging, trying to reach the fight, his knives of little use against the memories. He was allowing her to do entirely too much fighting in that state.
"Sebby was not joking when he said she was angry." The Grim Reaper whispered while working.
"No. She fell into insanity." A temporary situation brought by pain and overstimulation of the defensive powers. Quite simply her body and mind were not able to handle the onslaught so they broke into a place of no fear, no care. Which created a brutal, reckless combatant who cared nothing for herself until the perceived enemy was dead. Hence the fear Angela was experiencing.
He tried to weave through an opening.
Mouser shouted as the angel grew frantic and aggressive, thrown out of the way, by a sudden flurry of wings and an onslaught of cinematic records, slashing and feathers flowing, slamming her against some of the pews, breaking a few on impact, her shadow abandoning the Young Master to gather around her.
The angel, without a barrier, without a protector, avoiding the knives Sebastian had thrown while assailed by the remnants of cinematic records that still tried to attack, was able to reach the boyo, gripping his head, a surge of memories flowing out of him and around of him, coming from the book, binding him in place while the angel was starting it's trickery to rewrite the record.
"Evee!" Grell shouted, stopping his chopping and hopped to the demoness, crouching by her side. Mouser moved under the splintered wood and snarled murderously, looking ready to attack. "Don't. If you try it now his memories will shatter, fragment."
Sebastian stopped after hearing that piece of information, both cautious and enraged, tossing the silver knives, watching as they got deflected along with Angela's attention. If there was nothing he could do for the young Master at the moment… well the threat was still there. Even through heaven and hell's manipulations there was still such an unpredictable thing called human will. And knowing his young master machinations like that would do little.
The angel attacked him, the wings always moving, avoiding the volley of knives. She laughed, taunting.
"Do you think a demon can fight equally with an angel carried on pure wings?" She was not coming down. Mouser shifted a bit, focused on those wings, appearing on the broken space of the windows, her shadow trembling, fading. Sebastian's eyes narrowed in thought, planning. He could use his own wings but… for the moment he was a butler. "A wingless demon is bound to the ground eternally."
"To the ground? Maybe it is so. But if that is the case you should be stuck to the sky."
William T. Spears slammed the Angel against the ceiling, gripped by the throat by the open blade of his death scythe, looking less than amused. Grell approached grimly. Summoning him had been a last resort measure clause in the current mission. But it seemed it was needed. The primly dressed male tossed Grell a second Death Scythe resembling his, much to her delight.
"An all new Death Scythe!" Grell shouted, striking, the closed blade piercing the hand and wing, staining it red while the other mangled palm tried to grip the other scythe that pinned her to the wall by the neck. The angel struggled in rage and frustration. "I caught it." Grell announced gleefully.
"Return it to me after cleaning." Spears demanded, focused on the job.
"Ah… so mean." The red head complained in a low, hurt voice.
Sebastian joined the duo, facing the angel, drawing the knives, smirking.
"This is rather entertaining. Let's put that dartboard to good use." The demon announced, tossing one of the knives, sinking it into a still white part of the bloodied figure.
"I'd rather just kill it and be done with the nuisance." Mouser gave her opinion, approaching. Sebastian smiled slightly, leaning down, kissing her forehead. Some of her tension faded. Proximity. The covenant demanding that she relinquished all the defences and placed her safety in his hands. A way for him to say, no more, no further. It was his duty to defend those contracted to him. On the background Grell huffed.
"I seem to have missed." He remarked. "Where should I place the next?" Sebastian asked. Mouser scoffed and leaned against him, seeking closeness. The covenant's presence was a sign that she could let it all fade. He had been interrupted earlier but now there was a bit of time. Mouser was stable and they just had to force the Angel to use its ability to return the young master's memories to his body once more.
"I want to play too!" Grell called, waving. "Evee choose the target."
"How distasteful." Spears mumbled, holding steady, glancing at the fallen book that was still gripping the Phantomhive.
"Ciel Phantomhive is being purged." The angel still had that thread of confidence, of backup. "Becoming a pure human." It looked absolutely certain of it. "I may have failed with your corrupted female but in the end all will be pure." Sebastian frowned, readying another strike. A bit of a sore spot as it were.
The boyo screamed suddenly, breaking the attention they had been keeping on the new game, his memories returning to him, slipping through the cinematic records that snaked out of the book, opening his eyes with a start, looking around, disoriented for a second, staring at the angel pinned on the ceiling with anger.
"What? He restored himself?" Grell stated, shocked before being nudged to recover the item that the Reapers had come for. All that was left to do was deal with the thing.
"Stubborn bitter boyo." Mouser whispered.
"How dreadful a tainted heart is." The anger started through gritting teeth, ignoring its bloody state due to sheer hatred, moving against the blades that held it in place. "Corrupt, stagnant, dark." Each word grew louder, growled.
"Thank ye kindly." Mouser whispered, peeking, the markings paling.
"Showing mercy was no use." It shouted, starting to glow. "I will purge all." It screamed before the sound grew into a wordless shout that rattled the very stone and the brilliance started to get blinding.
Mouser broke away from Sebastian, going for the boyo, getting him outside.
Grell and Will simply walked away, their mission complete, despite Grell giving a couple of backward stares. Spears seemed to be complaining about the whole situation and the matters of overtime.
Sebastian lingered for a moment more as the building crumbled, staring at the now silent angel abandoned pinned to the wall.
A note about cats…
Some of this was in the DevArt pic but I'll reiterate about Mouser's "feline vibe". She was created by Sebastian. Seeing that she likes cats and Sebastian likes cat, despite me knowing that giving him cat-like oc's is quite… everywhere… I'm thinking the logic behind this one is: he creates from the human form whatever he finds most pleasing in hell. The demoness also influences this shift somewhat but hey… it's his blood-ichor that created her.
Then was doing some research and stumbled upon the epithet "The Soul-Stealing Cat". Kinda latched onto the ideas. The Cait Sìth is a Scottish mythology fair-folk. Some of those myths were demonized by the Christian church so it causes me no confusion in that angle to call a "fairy" a "demon". Most of the Fair Folk were not very nice in any event. What this means is very little. Sebastian will explain the specifics in a while.
Sebastian is Raven Demon, Claude is a Spider demon, Hanna is a *****, the triplets… not sure yet.
Also as I was writing this the pun occurred me… Mouser is a cat-burglar. Shamefull that it took me this long for that one to click in the head.
