Those Gentle Slopes that Lead to Hell

by Severus divides into H

Proud. Unique. Determined. From the second Sebastian sensed Ciel Phantomhive's soul, he realized their contract would be different. He was ready for it. And so he waits. He hungers. He is getting obsessed. He will do anything to devour this soul, and the fragile attachment to the boy that has begun to spread its icy fingers in him will not stop him. He thinks. [SebaCiel].

21. Chapter 21: Sebastian: Evolving Part 3

A/N:Replies to comments are at the end! Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Chapter Twenty-One: Sebastian. Evolving. Part 3

Sebastian wanted to be asked about the roses.

This wish didn't make a lot of sense to him, but his mind kept pulling him to the hours of work he'd done and to his lord's unimpressed reaction with masochistic consistency.

Why had his idea gone unappreciated? Wasn't it proof that he understood beauty? His Master loved roses, and based on the dress he'd picked for his deceased aunt, he considered red a fitting colour. By all accounts, Sebastian had done everything correctly, so why were his efforts met with scorn and indifference?

Perhaps it would have been easier to let it go if the boy acted normally otherwise. After their new agreement, Sebastian expected to resume their routine, but things remained tense and unclear.

His Master barely spoke to him. He was quiet and subdued, and when Sebastian tried to ask any questions, regardless of how relevant they were, he only got a glare as a reward.

Not everything was as it should be, and it was difficult to hide his impatience.

"Are you all right, my lord?" he drawled mockingly. The boy had asked to prepare him a hot bath, but now that he was inside, he was promptly falling asleep. Human durability truly was pathetic.

"Yes," his Master muttered. His eyelashes were trembling, covering his eyes more often than not; his face was void of any rational thought or intellect. The sight should have been distasteful, but a rush of affection flooded Sebastian's chest instead.

Taking a step towards the tub, he knelt next to it, removed his gloves, and took a piece of soap.

"I shall wash your hair," he remarked. "It's unbecoming for a human of your status to walk around with a greasy nest on their head."

The boy's mind must have found his words offensive enough to wake him up. Blue eyes opened, still glassy from sleep but already glaring.

"It's your task to wash it," he retorted peevishly. "So if I have a greasy nest on my head, you're the one to blame for it."

Sebastian hummed, soaping his hands and then burying them in the boy's hair. His fingers began to rub the foam into it methodically, and a moment later, his lord's eyes fluttered shut again.

In this tired state, he wasn't capable of full-blown hostility, so Sebastian enjoyed the semblance of peace. He continued his unhurried movements, carefully massaging each strand before moving onto the next one.

A year ago, after careful consideration, he had finally settled on the olive soap as the most fitting product for his Master's hair. Its scent was subtle and it didn't oust his natural smell. Every time Sebastian stood in proximity, he could get a lungful and congratulate himself on the job well done. If the boy's hair evoked the desire to inhale its scent repeatedly, then he must be doing something right during their bathing procedures.

"Where are your gloves?" his lord murmured. One of his eyes was open again, and now he tilted his head with a squint. "Your nails are dirty."

Was it his turn to be offended?

"My nails are not dirty," Sebastian said stiffly, and the boy opened his second eye, squinting some more.

"They are," he insisted. "At least your right forefinger is. Look at it."

Sebastian took a deep breath, urging himself not to pull at his lord's hair too strongly.

"It's not dirty," he repeated patiently. "It is simply black in colour."

An affronted sound was the only reward he received for his indulgence.

"I can tell your blackness apart," Young Master insisted. "Are you blind? Give me that."

At first Sebastian assumed that the boy was asking for soap, but he grabbed his finger instead and jerked it closer to his eyes, examining it.

"Aha!" he announced triumphantly. Before Sebastian could comprehend what was happening, his lord began to rub at his nail. It was impressive how easily he avoided being cut by the tip, but Sebastian's admiration plummeted when the boy finally let go and raised his own finger, which was now reddish.

"Blood!" he exclaimed in pleased disgust. "And you've been telling me to wash my hair more often? You can't even wash your hands!"

Truly disturbed, Sebastian pulled his hand back and examined his nails more closely.

The blood must have been left from when he dispatched an intruder three hours ago. How had his lord, in his half-slumber, managed to notice that tiny smudge when Sebastian had not? Did he possess an uncanny ability to register the breach of his expectations of flawlessness on an instinctive level?

"I apologise, Young Master," Sebastian bowed his head, even though his lips curled in distaste. It was an embarrassing misstep, and being caught made it even more so. "It won't happen again."

The boy murmured something, but it was too quiet for even Sebastian to understand. The only word he deciphered was 'dramatic.'

He supposed he should be grateful for the fact that his lord was only barely conscious. If his mind were sharper, considering the mood he was in for the last several days, perhaps he'd choose to cut the offensive finger off instead of just examining it.

Sebastian made sure his nails were clean before returning to the task of washing his Master's hair. Very soon, the process absorbed him, and he spent a while working on every wet strand, enchanted by how the colour darkened under the influence of water. It looked stormy grey — a beautiful shade, although Sebastian much preferred the normal bluish hues.

When he was finally done, the boy refused to open his eyes. His body turned soft and pliant, and Sebastian easily wrapped it in a warm towel before picking it up and carrying it towards the bedroom.

The movement seemed to startle his Master from his sleep partly because he grumbled and wrapped his limbs around Sebastian, resting his head against his shoulder.

"Always wear your gloves," he ordered incoherently, and Sebastian couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"No one washes one's hair in gloves," he said. What a ridiculous child his lord could be at times.

"That's fine," the boy muttered. His arms, which were still wrapped around Sebastian's neck, loosened. "I like your nails. I'd rather see them than the gloves. At least when it's appropriate."

This made no sense whatsoever to him, but the compliment still sent a tickling warmth through his stomach. Frowning at the sensation, Sebastian carefully put his lord on the edge of the bed and began to dress him in his nightclothes. With how unhelpful the boy was being, it was a challenge, but he still managed to complete this task in record time.

"You can go to sleep properly now," he said aloud. Young Master curled up on the bed without opening his eyes, and Sebastian tucked him in carefully, smoothening the blanket until there was not a single wrinkle. Then he hesitated, torn between leaving to do his other duties and staying in this room for longer.

He preferred to have moments like this — quiet and mutually peaceful. His lord forgot about his incomprehensive anger and resentment when he was tired, and it was an improvement Sebastian wished he could see more often. Perhaps he could keep him drugged until the situation stabilised? Drugs could produce an effect similar to sleepiness.

Although with how badly his last attempt had gone, it was better not to risk it. The last thing he wanted was to poison his lord again and become guilty of something he was truly responsible for, for a change.

In the end, he stayed in the room for one additional hour before departing, his head heavy with thoughts.

The new day didn't make them any clearer. Like he'd expected, Young Master was his gloomy, unpleasant self again. He either ignored him or snapped orders through gritted teeth, and this brought Sebastian right back to his previous contemplations.

Beauty. Regret. Attachment. He understood the first concept yet his lord rebuffed his attempts at proving it. Regret was a weak, inconsistent, and largely unfamiliar emotion, and he had no active interest in understanding attachment to begin to redeem himself in his Master's eyes.

Why should he redeem himself at all? He'd done nothing wrong. The boy had no reason to accuse him of anything.

Perhaps drama was the key? The bitterness with which his lord spat the word "dramatic" at him all those days ago had a poisonous bite. His resentment continued to burn brightly, and considering the degree of it, it had to be personal in nature.

Sebastian stared at the kitchen table intently, ignoring the way their servants started throwing wary glances at him. Standing immobile for lengthy periods wasn't a human thing to do, but if Bard, Finnie, and Mey-Rin hadn't noticed anything to this day, Sebastian had no concerns. They were too shockingly stupid to recognise a demon even if he lived in the same house.

No, his Master alone held his attention. He could be unpredictable and petulant, but his behaviour usually had reasons. His resentment emerged after Sebastian's fight with Grell — specifically, after he allowed Grell to strike him with the Scythe and release his dramatic memories…

The realisation dawned on him, and it was so sudden that Sebastian's heart jumped unsteadily.

Of course. How had he not connected the dots sooner? He might have had a genuine interest in how the reapers' weapons worked, hence allowing Grell to land his blow, but his lord didn't know this. He witnessed his butler being nearly bested by someone else, and the insignificance of the memories he'd watched only worsened the impression. He must have expected to see something grand and impressive, not a couple of bleak images reflecting the most mundane type of drama.

He doubted Sebastian's worthiness as his servant. As his protector.

The thought planted a seed of anxiety in him, and the more he stood in the kitchen, the faster it grew. The urge to dash to his lord and explain his mistake was overwhelming, and it took an effort to keep himself rooted to this spot.

Being obvious about his revelation would not do him any good. The boy might decide that Sebastian was making up justifications for his behaviour. No, he had to approach the situation carefully and change it in an unobtrusive manner, making certain that Ciel Phantomhive's opinion on him shifted back to being accurate without creating further rifts between them.

A pleased smile moved his lips, and the picture must have been disturbing for humans because Finnie suddenly recoiled, clutching at the cutting board until it broke. His startled gasp was immediately followed by tearful apologies, and Sebastian released an exasperated sigh.

He had to deal with mundane drama first. Then he'd move on to the important kind.

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Sebastian prepared himself meticulously. He considered and selected the most exhilarating stories from his centuries of service, and that very evening, he started sharing them with his Master.

"I helped Tamerlane to found the Timurid Empire," he mentioned conversationally. He pretended to dust the furniture as his lord was scrutinising a new batch of letters with a displeased frown between his eyebrows. "He was a great leader, but he wasn't a good tactician and he lacked other vital skills. I assisted him in overtaking a great deal of land and I made sure he remained undefeated in battle. He had an astonishing number of enemies yet I took care of each of them so swiftly that people believed Tamerlane was the one behind their deaths."

Young Master looked at him blankly.

"Okay," he said when the silence grew taut. Sebastian pursed his lips when the unpleasant and odd sensation of his heart sinking hit him. What did it mean? Was it an expression of disappointment?

He supposed he was disappointed. It was a good story and a bright spot in his memories of contracts. The Timurid Empire was no joke, his lord had to be impressed. Maybe he misunderstood something?

"Tamerlane is still regarded as one of the greatest warriors history has ever known," he pointed out. This time, the reaction was worse: his Master actually scrunched his nose in contempt.

"Are you giving me a History lesson?" he asked suspiciously. "Because now is not the time. Besides, I'm not interested in some guy who didn't even fight his own battles. Do you want me to be impressed with someone who left all the work to you?"

"He didn't leave all the work to me," Sebastian snapped. How could the boy miss the point so abysmally? It wasn't Tamerlane he was supposed to be impressed with. "I assisted him and protected him from the danger. This doesn't differ from what I do for you. Your enemies don't disappear by themselves."

The boy's blue eye narrowed.

"The only thing you are doing is lending me your physical strength," he retorted poisonously. "I prefer being a tactician to being a warrior, and according to you, your Tamerlane was neither."

How frustrating it was to make amends.

"This is not what I said."

"Who cares about what you said? And who cares about a man whom you ate ages ago? Finish your dusting, or whatever it is you're doing, and leave me to my work!"

Sebastian's brow twitched. His teeth ached from the need to bare themselves in an annoyed snarl, but somehow, he managed to get himself under control before it slipped from him.

Mentioning Tamerlane hadn't been the best idea when his lord was intent on purposefully misunderstanding the point he was trying to make.

Fine. His next stories would be more awe-inspiring.

Sebastian waited five long minutes; then he began to talk again.

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With every hour, his frustration kept mounting. His lord seemed to be growing increasingly angry as well, and after yet another unsuccessful attempt, he reached his boiling point.

"Will you shut up already!" he cried out. "Why are you telling me this? When have I ever expressed the desire to know about your past?"

Sometimes Young Master could be blindingly unintelligent.

"I am merely correcting some of the misconceptions you might have about me," Sebastian replied slowly. If the indirect approach didn't work, it left him with a more specific approach. "As your servant, I would like you to be confident in my abilities to protect you despite the unexpectedness or grandness of any attack."

These words were as clear as they could be, and yet the boy still stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"What makes you think I doubt the state of your preparedness to repel an attack?" he wondered warily. "To the point where you decided to poison my ears with these sickening heroic stories about your adventures?"

How could he possibly misunderstand him even now? Maybe he still hadn't recovered from his illness. Or it could have damaged his brain — Sebastian had witnessed what happened to some humans who'd gone through wounds or sicknesses.

The thought left a vastly unpleasant taste in his mouth. He swallowed, unnerved and fighting the instinct to even begin to entertain such a possibility.

"You have expressed your doubts shortly after Madam Red's murder," he explained. "As your faithful butler, I wanted to alleviate them."

This was the best he could do. There was no possible way to be any clearer.

A range of complex emotions ran across his lord's face. He seemed to struggle with something, and as he spoke at last, his voice was refreshingly friendly.

"I don't have any doubts about you," he said. It was such a simple compliment, yet for some reason, Sebastian's heart soared. "I know exactly who you are, what you are capable of, and what you aren't capable of. Nothing you tell me is going to affect it. If I thought you were unable to protect me, I would have gotten rid of you ages ago."

That was true. Young Master never hesitated to make his displeasure known, which was why Sebastian found his recent silent disapproval so bewildering. But maybe he'd been overthinking everything? It could be that his lord still felt troubled by what had happened with Madam Red, and Sebastian was a convenient outlet for his anger.

But that accusation…

He wanted to ask more questions, yet a bigger part of him was eager to leave the conflict behind. Why did it matter what his Master had meant when he obviously changed his mind now? Sebastian always preferred to focus on the present.

"Now, as for what you can't do…" the boy continued, and Sebastian tensed in preparation. "You are clearly useless in taking care of my education. How much longer do I have to wait until you find me new teachers? I was very clear about my request but you still haven't hired anyone."

Oh, that. Sebastian's lips moved in a fraction of a mischievous smile.

"Yes, of course," he purred. "I apologise, my lord. I will bring my potential replacement the day after tomorrow — I've already selected five individuals whom I'm certain you'll find intellectually stimulating."

The request to find new teachers was an insult Sebastian wasn't willing to swallow easily. If his lord began to dislike his methods, they shall see what he'd think about his next educators. Sebastian had chosen them very carefully: they all had been decent at some point, their recommendations dazzling, but with time, they turned into boring, rambling, brain-addled masses. Each one was over seventy years old, and their approach to education could make even a demon want to sleep. Let the boy try to derive any knowledge from them. Considering their difficulties with seeing and hearing, as well as the fact that one of them used to be a serial killer, the lessons were promising to be unforgettable.

And if he could persuade these teachers to live in the manor and keep his lord's company day after day… the results would be even more productive. In less than a week, the boy would have to admit that Sebastian was a far superior choice and forget about his silly request.

He looked forwards to that sweet moment of victory already.

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Sometimes brilliant plans could undergo transformations on their way to becoming even more brilliant. As soon as his lord said, 'I will figure out what's wrong with each of these five delinquents you've found,' a million new ideas flashed through Sebastian's mind. They came to a temporary halt when the boy added, 'If I succeed, you will provide a full, direct answer to my question, whatever it is. One question per one solved mystery,' and then shot forwards with renewed speed.

A game. Ciel Phantomhive wanted to play a game against him.

The perspective infused Sebastian with a thrill so powerful, it took him aback with its eagerness. His body trembled under the strain of keeping its human shape intact — curiosity and excitement overwhelmed his senses entirely.

Young Master thought each teacher had a specific flaw he could uncover. This wasn't the case, but who said that Sebastian couldn't introduce some changes into his own plans?

"And what if you don't succeed?" he asked with interest. As of now, the boy's terms weren't intimidating. Even in the unlikely event he won, Sebastian wasn't risking anything since he could easily circumvent a non-specific demand like this.

"The same rules apply to you."

"The same rules," he echoed. Interesting. How much was such a prize worth to him? Was there anything he wanted to know about his Master, something that the boy would be reluctant to tell him unless forced?

Not truly. Ciel Phantomhive was a formidable master, but in the end, he remained a human with limited capabilities. There wasn't anything in his backstory that Sebastian might have wanted to learn, at least not enough for him to consider an answer a prize.

On the other hand, who said that the purpose of the questions had to lie in obtaining new knowledge? It could be anything. Sebastian could choose a question with the aim to humiliate, embarrass, or possibly break.

A darker exhilaration blossomed in him, the potential questions swirling in a toxic, endless cycle inside his mind.

The possibilities a victory in this game could bring… It had the power to solidify his position and knock the ground from under his Master's feet. There would be no more moments when Sebastian was forced to second-guess himself, no more instances where the boy's remarks made him feel self-conscious. No insults that could genuinely sting because after his questions, Ciel Phantomhive would be too humiliated to even look at him directly.

"One question per one solved mystery?" he clarified. It was difficult to keep the undertones of excitement from his voice.

The boy nodded.

"And a complete, honest answer to it," he added. "No evasions. No distortion of truth or omissions."

Ah, new stipulations… This complicated things, but not enough to make Sebastian waver.

"No using the contract to refuse to answer?" he wondered innocently. This was the most vital part, and he waited with bated breath until his Master smirked in approval.

"No using the loopholes in the contract?" he teased. Sebastian tensed, and some of the thrill faded, replaced by the first stirrings of doubts.

He did not like this condition. It robbed him of numerous opportunities — if he somehow lost and the boy asked a deadly kind of question, he would have no way to retreat.

What if he wanted to know his true name? To give so much power to a human being…

But hesitation was quickly toppled by the flood of resolute optimism. Sebastian smiled with his teeth.

"Deal," he agreed. After all, what kind of demon would he be if he couldn't find a way around a complex question?

His lord smiled back, and his smile was equally dangerous.

"Deal," he repeated.

When Sebastian left the office, he didn't waste time walking on his human legs. He reached his own room in less than two seconds, and from there on, he began to plot.

The senile professors with dubious academic value and not-so-stellar past wouldn't do. He needed fresh ideas, people who could pose a true mystery and leave Young Master with no chances of guessing their flaws correctly.

Hiring criminals was the best choice: it was convenient, it generated a challenge, and his lord was expecting it and thus believing himself to be a likely victor. Proving him wrong would be delightful, and Sebastian already knew where to start looking.

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By midnight, all preparations were complete. From the pool Lau had suggested, five people were screened and selected by Sebastian personally, each meeting the unique criteria he had developed.

Criterion one: no crime could be instantly obvious. Young Master was doubtlessly anticipating the common pick of killers, addicts, kidnappers, and thieves, so going against his expectations would already give Sebastian points.

After meticulous consideration, he chose three thieves interested in vastly different things.

Mr. Whitmore was a grave robber: he never taught history to anyone but he had genuine passion for it. It meant he would pass for a teacher for a short while. His real occupation would be hard to guess — not impossible, however, especially since the man himself was too boisterous and unprofessional for Sebastian's standards. But with a deadline so short, his options were limited, so he had to settle for the closest matches.

Lady Rosemore was an avid traveller, and she had an obsessive interest in collecting books of all kinds. The more expensive and rare they were, the stronger her compulsions became. She would be teaching geography, and Sebastian was confident that his lord would never guess the specifics of her transgressions. Her flaw was too unique to be uncovered, meaning that it was almost a guaranteed victory for him.

The third thief was Mr. Aimens, a math teacher and Lau's personal favourite. He had a great affinity for clothes, the more richly delicate, the better. He didn't necessarily steal it, but he borrowed it and did things that Sebastian was too disgusted to verify personally. Regardless of such unsavoury human details, this was a unique crime that Young Master stood no chance at guessing.

Miss Taylor was the most dangerous among the teachers. She had real teaching experience, but she chose only employers who suffered from physical or mental ailments, and they all had a tendency to die mysteriously within a year.

Initially, Sebastian had felt reluctant to hire her. There were many reasons behind this reluctance — his lord was waiting for a killer to be among his new educators; getting Miss Taylor to agree to a position spontaneously promised to be challenging, and finally, an element of danger was involved, no matter how small. It didn't take long for Sebastian to scrutinise her belongings and find all possible types of poison, and while this choice of weapon meant that the death would take weeks or months to arrive, he still wasn't entirely comfortable. His lord was physically fragile. If Sebastian had managed to poison him without trying to, then who could tell how the real poison would work on him, small doses or not?

He would have to observe everything carefully and interfere before even a drop got into his Master's system.

The alluring aspect of hiring Miss Taylor came from her demeanour. She was soft-spoken and gentle, and she was intelligent enough not to betray herself easily. Her motivations appeared to be laughably human: based on her victims, she suffered from a common delusion of seeing herself as a saviour of those tricked by fate. Or perhaps she was merely driven by the need to eliminate weakness — in the end, motivations didn't matter. The important point was that Sebastian had to diversify his pick of teachers at least to an extent, and a murderer like Miss Taylor was the best candidate. How many cups of poison would his lord be ready to unknowingly consume? Each instance would count as a victory for Sebastian.

But in theory, even though it was extremely unlikely, there was a possibility that the boy would figure everyone's crime out. That led Sebastian to Mrs. Wordson, a loud and impatient woman who committed no crimes to speak of. She got physically rough with her children on more than one occasion, yet if the society didn't regard this as a punishable transgression, Sebastian couldn't do that either.

This was a guaranteed, secured victory for him. Whatever guesses his Master made, they would all be wrong because Mrs. Wordson was simply a very unpleasant woman.

Sebastian had managed to talk all five of his chosen teachers to move into his lord's manor the very next morning. For obvious reasons, most were happy to agree.

The options for questions he would ask his Master after his triumph were still fighting for dominance in his mind. The process was so engaging that Sebastian noticed he'd been smiling non-stop through the night only when his jaw began to ache. With an exasperated scowl, he extinguished the smile, yet excitement continued to heat his blood.

He didn't remember the last time he'd felt this invigorated. He wished their game would begin already.

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Sebastian opened the door even before all the teachers stepped out of the carriage he'd hired for them. A pleasant smile was decorating his lips, and he gave them all a perfunctory bow.

"Welcome to the home of my Master, Earl Phantomhive," he said. "I hope the rooms I have prepared for you will meet your standards."

"They'd better," Mrs. Wordson muttered. Miss Taylor threw an apologetic look at Sebastian while Mr. Whitmore and Lady Rosemore instantly started offering assurances that they'd love their rooms.

Humans. So different yet so predictable sometimes.

"Let me show you the—" Sebastian began, but a loud shril voice interrupted him.

"Sebastian!"

He startled, turning in the direction of the stairs. His mind paused for a second in its attempt to identify whom the voice belonged to. An instinctive part whispered that it was Ciel Phantomhive, but his rational part rejected the notion. His Master had never sounded this hysterical and so unlike himself.

On the other hand, who else could be in their house?

"Sebastian!" The terrible shrieking filled the hall again, and Sebastian winced. "Please tell me my teachers are here! I've been waiting for so long, I couldn't possibly stand another day not knowing!"

Before he could comprehend what was happening, his lord crashed into him full-force, as if he had somehow missed him standing right there.

"Oh, sorry!" he took a step back with an idiotic grin on his face. "Are they here? Did you bring them with you?"

All important thoughts and plans fled his head. Sebastian stared, at a loss regarding what to say or how to act.

What was this madness? Had his Master gone insane? What was he supposed to do with it when they had an audience?

"The boy cannot see?!" Lady Rosemore exclaimed in distress. Her words sparked the beginnings of realisation, and Sebastian fought the urge to gape.

"I—" he began awkwardly. Cannot see? Did these people assume his lord was blind? "That is… Yes. I'm afraid his condition…"

He had no idea how to finish this sentence when he was so helplessly out of the loop. Had the boy truly lost his ability to see? Or was it…

"You really are here!" his lord turned towards the teachers, his blue eye staring somewhere in between them. "I'm sorry for not greeting you properly. Sebastian never specifies what and when he's planning on doing, the forgetful simpleton."

…It was. This cheeky performance was a part of their game and Sebastian was a fool for not seeing it earlier.

In all his plans and anticipations, he forgot that his lord was one of the most cunning and challenging opponents he'd encountered. It'd been remiss of him not to predict that the boy would come well-prepared.

"The blindness is new," Young Master whispered, his voice wobbling so pathetically that even Mr. Aimens finally stopped studying his clothing and looked up. "And Sebastian must have forgotten… I don't want people to know, but as my teachers, of course you'll have to… I hope it won't be…"

This stammered nonsense, this wounded innocent look on his face — his lord was pretending to be blind and an idiot.

It complicated matters. It complicated them a lot.

A swell of conflicting emotions blocked his brain, pushing him into two different directions.

Ciel Phantomhive's idea was brilliant. Impressive. Staggering. In one move, he managed to cross the chessboard and now he created a direct threat to Sebastian and his plans. If the teachers believed the boy to be a brainless cripple, they wouldn't hesitate to steal from him or poison him right in front of him. Perhaps they'd find this amusing, and then Sebastian's only victory would be Mrs. Wordson. He would have to answer four questions with limited opportunities for evasion.

This brought him to another dimension of feelings, the one built upon frustration. It was ferocious in its heat and unbearable to the extent that it tempted Sebastian to throw a temper tantrum, stomping his foot and protesting that such a trick was unfair.

"Sebastian?" his lord turned in his direction, his gaze misleadingly naïve and honest. "You are not angry at me, are you? If you wanted to keep my blindness a secret from them, you should have told me."

Miss Taylor and Lady Rosemore gasped in quiet outrage at the mere suggestion, so Sebastian tried to smile. The effort was painful — his jaw began to hurt again, and in a much more unpleasant way.

"Of course I'm not angry at you, my lord," he assured woodenly. "It's just that your new disability pains me greatly. In fact, it pains me so much that I prefer to forget about it, so I hope you'll excuse my transgression. I should have warned your teachers in advance."

The boy waved his hand graciously.

"It's fine," he said. "I know how emotional you can get." He took a moment to clumsily turn and face their game pieces again. "A little bit of drama and this one melts into a big pile of goo," he whispered conversationally. "He's the most dramatic creature you'll ever see in your life."

The teachers laughed uncertainly. Sebastian hoped dearly that this would be it, but his lord showed no intention of shutting up.

"He was teaching me history once," he confessed instead, "and when he read about the death of Tamerlane of the Timurid Empire, he burst into tears. It turns out that Tamerlane was his most admired leader, and Sebastian had been hoping that he was still alive somewhere."

"What?" Mr. Whitmore directed a baffled glance at Sebastian. "But Tamerlane died over four hundred years ago. How could you not know it if you were interested in him?"

A frustrated growl threatened to find its way outside, and Sebastian had to bite through his tongue to keep it leashed. His despicable lord looked at him, his lips parted in a sly, bloodthirsty grin.

"You shouldn't expect to find any logic in his answers," he said. His tragic voice contrasted sharply with his openly mischievous expression — it was a pity that Sebastian alone could see it. "That's Sebastian for you. He lives for drama — he always comes up with new reasons to suffer over. And I know he blames himself for my injury."

His first instinct was to glower, but then an idea came. Mortification faded, and Sebastian shook his head mournfully.

"With all respect, my lord, if you had listened to me instead of chasing after that criminal yourself, nothing would have happened," he pointed out. The smile vanished from Young Master's lips as he must have felt the teachers stiffen.

It was a brilliant move, and it finally belonged to Sebastian. Now their criminals would think twice before doing anything incriminating in front of the boy. Someone who was ready to sacrifice himself in his pursuit of justice was an enemy to be wary of, blind or not, and it was another reminder of the boy's reputation. He wasn't considered a Queen's Watchdog for nothing.

But his triumph didn't last long. Young Master gave him a shy and vulnerable smile, angling it in a way so that it would be visible to their spectators.

"Thank you for being so kind to me and for trying to preserve my reputation, Sebastian," he murmured. "But you don't need to lie to them. After all, they are my professors, and they'll be living under my roof. We need to be able to trust each other. Am I right?"

The teachers, who were looking more confused and uncomfortable by the second, replied in affirmative. The boy slumped his shoulders self-consciously.

"I wasn't chasing any criminals," he muttered. "I don't do this kind of stuff. But I was playing with a new toy my company was starting to develop. Sebastian had to supervise me yet he didn't, and I got so distracted that I accidentally jerked the toy too abruptly. Its sharp tip hit me right in the eye… all because of my own stupidity."

Young Master sniffled, sounding pitiful. The teachers looked ready to comfort him. Sebastian felt ready to throttle him.

Things were spiralling out of his control. The last thing he wanted was for these people to view his lord as a hapless blind child with no brain to speak of. And that was the image Ciel Phantomhive seemed to be striving for — he was planning to give credit for his work in the underworld to someone else, perhaps even Sebastian.

Normally, he would have found it pleasing, but in this situation, it spelled disaster. If he lost their game within the first two days, the embarrassment would be too profound to ever recover from it. It would be easier to snap the boy's neck and hide in Hell for the next several decades.

Forcing his lips to remain stretched, Sebastian cleared his throat.

"Let me show you your accommodations," he said. "Then I shall serve you some tea."

Nobody minded, not even his lord. And why would he? He won the preliminary round. If Sebastian wanted to tear the victory from his grasp, he'd have to double his efforts.

The perspective was exasperating… and so enthralling that he couldn't tell if he felt angry or excited.

Perhaps both.

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When the night fell, Mr. Aimens left his room and started his careful exploration of the house. Sebastian watched him, hoping that he wouldn't have to interfere. This particular piece created a dilemma for him: the sooner he committed his crime, the more chances Sebastian would have of winning. But on the other hand, letting this creature defile any of his Master's clothes, or even the clothes of the deceased Phantomhives…

Sebastian could always try directing Mr. Aimens to Bard's room, but this would likely end with shouting and gunshots.

He'd have to wait and see, then. If this was vital for his victory, he supposed he could sacrifice the old clothes of the Phantomhives… not his Master's, though, and not the blue dress of Rachel Phantomhive. Sebastian found it too exquisite to let it come to ruin, and he knew his lord held some particular affection for it. He often gazed at the photograph where his mother was wearing it, his eyes pale and distant, as if he was lost in the memories of the days long gone.

Sometimes Sebastian wanted to ask about it. What was it about that specific photograph that grabbed his lord's attention? Did he remember the day it was taken? Was it happy or sad? What was he doing back then, hidden somewhere a camera couldn't reach, existing when Sebastian had no idea of his existence?

If Sebastian had any interest in his past, he would have asked. But he didn't, so the mystery remained.

Mr. Aimens opened the door to one of the guest rooms. Looking around furtively, he approached the wardrobe and touched it, his hands trembling with arousal.

Sebastian held his breath. Could it be so simple? Would this insipid human commit his sin tonight, securing Sebastian's first victory?

But his hopes died when Mr. Aimens took a loud shaky breath and backed away from the door. He looked anguished, but his gait was resolute. Whatever thoughts his perverted brain had, it decided to wait.

Fine. Sebastian was still certain that his lord would never guess the nature of Mr. Aimens's depravity. He got unsettled by anything even remotely sexual, so such an odd crime would never be on his mind.

Satisfied with his conclusions, Sebastian melted with the night.

The new day gave him a new idea. At lunch, predictably, Young Master attempted to get teachers to talk. He was currently trying to get closer to Mrs. Wordson — his questions seemed innocent, but each had a sharp goal beneath.

"My eyes often hurt so much," he complained. "I've been trying all sorts of medicine yet nothing worked. Do you have any advice? I'd probably try anything at this stage."

It wasn't difficult to put two and two together: the boy believed Mrs. Wordson was abusing drugs and would jump at the chance to drag him into her addiction. Such a theory made sense. Naturally, it was incorrect, but who said Sebastian couldn't play along?

"Young Master, I'm sorry to interrupt you but it is time for house seeing," he said in a rush. Judging from the boy's narrowed look, the plan worked. He now thought he was on the right track and that Sebastian had panicked and tried to put a stop to an incriminating line of conversation.

The "house seeing" was also a good addition. Since Sebastian had just made it up, his lord had no idea what it was — watching him try to figure it out was promising to be amusing.

The brief flash of frustration on the boy's face sent a thrum of vindictive delight through Sebastian. Adopting a confused expression, he put a genuinely sounding anxiety in his voice as he asked, "Young Master? Is something wrong?"

His lord pouted and lowered his head, but not before demonstrating his trembling eyelashes and his teary gaze.

"I asked you not to call it house seeing," he whispered. "It always sounds like a mockery to me."

"Yes!" Unexpectedly, Mrs. Wordson glared at him. "Are you mocking the boy, butler?"

How did his lord manage to lure even criminals onto his side? Withholding a grimace, Sebastian bowed in contrition.

"Not at all," he assured. "I apologise, my lord, but I don't know how else to call our exercise. If you have any suggestions, I would of course be glad to follow them."

The gleefulness only Sebastian could decipher faded. The boy's expression soured at the defeat he had no chance but to accept now.

"I suppose house seeing is fine," he grumbled. "We can do it now, I don't mind. But can you take my hand? I don't feel comfortable otherwise. What if I fall down like the last time?"

Sebastian swallowed a snort and murmured his agreement.

Young Master was confused and suspicious, so he wanted to be physically led to avoid revealing that he had no idea what Sebastian wanted him to do. Quick thinking on his part, but he didn't realise that the main point of this exercise had already been achieved: his suspicions regarding Mrs. Wordson's drug abuse had solidified, which would accelerate his first defeat. Sebastian would give a lot to jump into the future for several moments and see his furious grimace.

A dreamy smile touched his mouth, but he shook it off before anyone but his lord had a chance to catch it.

"As you know, we are currently in the dining room," he commented, squeezing the boy's hand in his gently and slowly leading him towards the door. "The table is—"

"Wait!" Young Master jumped and waved his hand at the teachers. "Would you all like to accompany us? Normally, Sebastian leads me through every floor to make sure I don't forget the layout of my own home, but we can do it together this time! This could be a house tour!"

His bubbly excitement appeared so authentic that Sebastian stared at him, truly fascinated. If he didn't know the truth, he would be tempted to believe every word. The admiration was heady — it subdued his more logical parts, filling him with a mindless urge to look at his Master and do nothing else.

There couldn't be a more inappropriate time for these nonsensical human impulses: once again, Ciel Phantomhive was endangering his victory. It didn't take him even a minute to figure out what Sebastian had meant by "house seeing" and twist it to his advantage. Now the teachers would tag along, and some of them could betray themselves with their interest.

The boy's fingers dug into Sebastian's hand maliciously. Preposterous. He had no reason to be annoyed when out of the two of them, he was the one closer to winning.

Without a second thought, Sebastian scratched the soft skin with his own nails, hurting him right back. His Master hissed, but not a trace of pain or anger made it to his face.

Well then, he'd just have to try better.

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As soon as the endless tour was over, Sebastian hastened to retreat. He didn't think any of the game pieces compromised themselves, but Mr. Aimens kept asking whose wardrobe was where while Mr. Whitmore wouldn't stop wondering about the Phantomhives. Young Master was unlikely to draw correct conclusions as a result, but the odds were too unsteady for Sebastian's comfort. In essence, everything he'd done so far benefitted the boy more than it benefitted him.

A new thought occurred, and Sebastian nearly cursed in frustration. Why had he wasted his house seeing plan on Mrs. Wordson, of all candidates? She was already his winning ticket. It didn't matter what his Master believed about her transgressions, he would never be right because there wasn't anything wrong with her. It would have made far more sense to use the tactic of interrupting his lord in staged panic on another teacher.

Displeasure bit into him, and Sebastian pressed his lips together.

What an embarrassing position. At least he alone was a witness to his own stupidity.

No matter. He still had time to turn the tide. His lord wouldn't even notice what hit him… perhaps in a literal sense of this word.

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Sebastian decided to start small. During supper, he stopped at the opposite side of the table, watching his lord intently. Then he smiled a wide, ridiculous grin and let it freeze on his lips.

A minute passed. Two. Miss Taylor glanced at him several times, confused and concerned, but Sebastian ignored her. He knew his attention would pull his lord's eyes towards him sooner or later — somehow, the boy always sensed his presence or his stare, even if it took him a while.

Another minute later, it happened. Ciel Phantomhive looked up and stared at him, and Sebastian made sure to smile even wider.

The boy blinked, appearing as confused as Miss Taylor. Gradually, as Sebastian continued to smile, he started to frown, the perplexed irritation twisting his beautiful features.

He narrowed his eye warningly. Sebastian stretched his lips further.

He shaped "stop it" with his lips. Sebastian kept on smiling. The irritation intensified to anger, and now only four seconds separated them from his lord's explosion. Three… two… one…

"Sebastian," the boy snapped. "Why are you—"

The breath of excitement fluttered somewhere in Sebastian's chest. The taste of upcoming victory rushed through his throat, filling his mouth with its delightful flavour, and when his lord suddenly fell silent, he barely stopped himself from growling, 'Finish this sentence! Say what you began to say!'

But he should have known better. Even if his Master had heard him, he would have instantly done the opposite of what Sebastian asked, especially since his brain seemed to catch up in time to prevent him from completing his mistake.

The pause started to drag. Astonishment and frustration shot across his lord's face before he schooled it and cleared his throat.

"Why are you not refilling my plate?" he finished. "I'm still hungry. My portion was too small."

His voice might have been awkward but the catch compensated for it. Even if the others could have started to suspect that he wasn't blind when he began to react to Sebastian's smile, their suspicions were alleviated now — Young Master's question made sense and reaffirmed his blindness further.

"You still haven't finished your portion, my lord," Sebastian said obediently. His smile shrank, the excitement replaced with sourness.

"But there is nothing on my plate."

"Look harder."

He couldn't resist the dig, not even when the teachers let out vaguely horrified sounds. Miss Taylor glared daggers at him, but Sebastian only rolled his eyes.

He didn't care about their absurd reactions. This battle was already lost — as long as they believed the boy was blind, they would keep underestimating him and being oddly protective of him, at least in public. Sebastian imagined they all laughed behind his back — except for Miss Taylor. She was more likely to weep and strengthen her resolve to see her plan through to the end.

Regardless, the war wasn't over yet. His lord had almost slipped just now, and with some effort, this slip would happen, even if later.

Sebastian had multiple ideas.

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That night, only minutes after he put his lord to bed and prepared to devise a more comprehensive plan for tomorrow, Sebastian realised that something was amiss. His senses detected an abnormality, and he raised his head, concentrating on Ciel Phantomhive's bedroom. Even with it being floors away, he could tell there was no sound coming from inside.

The worry didn't blossom, it only stirred slightly. While the boy escaping his room was a surprise, Sebastian could hear him in the house — his breathing was unmistakable. It was quiet and unrushed, which meant that he wasn't in any danger. Still, it was worth investigating.

Discovering his lord lying in wait was as troubling as it was delightful. He had clearly set his sights on someone and had enough evidence to suggest that this person would sneak out at night. Based on this, Sebastian could suggest that the target was either Mr. Aimens or Mr. Whitmore. Unfortunate if so, but not deadly. His Master's approach had been brilliant so far, and it was to be expected that he'd have at least one victory. He deserved it for his ploy with the blindness alone, Sebastian would give him that.

But this was where his generosity would end. The other victories would be his and only his — he'd form a contract with himself if he had to just to be certain.

His questions weren't ready yet, but he already couldn't wait to ask them.

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Later, after all the trouble with burying Whitmore and then being forced to dig him out, Sebastian returned to his room and retrieved the flowerpot from the shelf.

The flower he'd been growing for his lord continued to evolve. The black leaves kept multiplying and entwining in peculiar patterns, forming a mosaic that was fascinating in its complexity. The flower itself began to grow as well, and it had the oddest grey colouring Sebastian had seen. It was rich and flawless, reminding him of a mix between a pearl and silver. Tiny blue fuzz appeared to start decorating the bud, yet it was at the early stages of development and it was difficult to say anything for certain.

Sebastian found himself enamoured with this flower. Watching its growth was one of the most curious things to do in the manor, so he took to admiring it several times per day, unwilling to miss even a moment.

It seemed even more fitting now, when his mind was swimming with conflicted thoughts. Two things bothered him, each connected to his mystery of a Master.

'Tell me how you determine when I'm not in the room with such precision,' he'd demanded, and Sebastian had replied even before he had time to think: I know your heartbeat and the sound of your breathing.

It was true, but why was it true? This should have never been his first answer. The seal had to be the primary source of connection between a master and a demon. Learning the way someone breathed could be useful, but when did it grow to be an instinct? It was too intimate for a simple contract, and Sebastian had no idea what to think about it.

And the grave. Before this day, he had never given much thought to the specifics of human burying rituals. If he had, he would not have gotten himself in another situation that made his lord angry with him.

It was natural that Ciel Phantomhive didn't want an intruder buried next to his parents. He viewed the family cemetery as something special and personal, as most other humans did. It wasn't weakness that had made him order Sebastian to unbury Whitmore, it was his adherence to human traditions.

Sebastian couldn't relate to it. He didn't see what was sacred about a place with rotting bones — why did it matter if one corpse was buried together with others? Whether their owners had known each other in life or not, it had no relevance. They could no longer speak and reminisce about their prior relationships.

But humans felt differently, and he'd had to consider this before accusing his Master of foolishness. Now he had to make amends again. If the boy scored another victory, Sebastian could pretend that he let him win as an apology, but this could take time, was unreliable, and required him to admit to his mistake openly.

There had to be a better solution. Their conflict had emerged over a cemetery — perhaps a cemetery could help to resolve it?

Newly enthused, Sebastian automatically pinpointed the sound of Ciel Phantomhive's heartbeat to make certain he was still awake, but when the rationality arrived, he scowled.

He did it again. Used a heartbeat to determine the location instead of relying on the seal. It wasn't necessarily a problem, but Sebastian still found it annoying.

Putting the flowerpot back on the shelf, he slipped out of his room and flowed into his Master's. The boy was sitting on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, brooding.

This was good. This gave Sebastian an excuse for his visit.

"It is well past your bedtime," he rebuked. "Why are you still awake?"

His lord shifted his gaze towards him. A derisive curl of his lips was his only reply.

"Did your victory not satisfy you?" Sebastian questioned slyly. "Or perhaps the matters of death unnerved you?"

As he'd anticipated, this provoked a reaction. Young Master straightened, his blue eyes flashing with temper.

"What the hell are you blabbering about?" he gritted out. "What death? No one died tonight, you moron. Unless you disobeyed my order and killed Whitmore?"

"Technically, your order was about digging him out and sending him "on his way". You didn't clarify whether this "way" should be long or if I could cut it short for him."

The boy scrunched up his face in a combination of disgust and reluctant amusement.

"Of course," he muttered. An exasperated smile touched his lips, and Sebastian smirked back. "You know what? I don't care. But tell me you didn't bury him back at my cemetery. Because if you did…"

"I didn't," Sebastian assured him. The conversation was going just in the direction he wanted, so he stepped closer to the bed and forcibly pushed his lord onto the pillow. "This cemetery seems to matter a great deal to you. Would you like to be buried in it, too?"

He expected a flash of sentiment, but instead his lord's eyes widened in shock.

"What?" he spluttered. "What kind of question is it? Are you threatening me?"

It was Sebastian's turn to blink. Threatening? Why was this the conclusion the boy's mind jumped to when the words were supposed to be a peace offering?

"I'm not," he replied slowly. His mind slowed, too, responding to a self-warning to tread carefully. The last thing he needed now was to make the conflict worse. "I'm merely inquiring."

The boy still appeared wary, a deep frown marring his forehead.

"Why?" he asked.

"Our contract has an end-date. As soon as I consume your soul, your body will die. Wondering what your advance funeral wishes might be is only natural for your butler."

He hoped this clarification would be seen as an olive branch it was, but his Master still looked spooked. He worried his lower lip with his teeth, his heart producing a heavy thud it made only when he was upset.

Sebastian's own heart sank oddly. Frustration bit into him with renewed force, and he pursed his lips to hold back an annoyed sigh. What was he doing wrong now? What could possibly be so upsetting about his generous inquiry?

He was about to speak when Young Master suddenly perked up.

"Did you ever bury your other masters?" he wondered. The question was logical, but somehow, it still rendered Sebastian speechless. His mind went blank for several seconds. He tried to search for relevant memories, to inject them into the empty space in his head, but none of them fit.

The idea of burying someone he was no longer serving had never even occurred to him. He didn't know why it occurred to him now and why he'd told Ciel Phantomhive that he would die after losing his soul. The usual scheme was to kill a master or mistress first and then to consume their essence. He granted kinder ends to those he liked, snapping their necks or even succumbing to their pleas and putting them to death through drugs. In most cases, though, his kills were bloodier and more inventive. He didn't think he'd ever tried to kill someone simply by taking their souls, so why had he offered this to his current lord? And if he were to fulfil this promise, what would that look like?

"No," he replied belatedly. Confusion bled out of him, with curiosity taking its place. "I never buried any of my masters, although I attended some of the funerals when they were held."

"But you're thinking of burying my body?" Young Master quirked an eyebrow. The sadness that cloaked him shattered, and despite the sceptical question, a genuine smile graced his lips. Now he seemed pleased, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel pleased in return.

"If that's what you wish," he agreed. The boy's smile got even more blinding. He shifted closer to the end of the bed and Sebastian moved as well automatically, closing the distance between them.

"Yes," his Master told him, his voice ringing with confidence. "You can bury me after I die. But I won't order you to do it. If you want, you can throw my body in a garbage container for all I care."

Sebastian recoiled at the very thought. A wave of instinctive distaste towards the idea rose up in him so intensely that it almost suffocated him, and a small protesting hiss tore from his lips.

"This would be a pathetic end for any member of the Phantomhives," he said unpleasantly. His Master cocked his head, looking amused, as if he didn't comprehend how unacceptable his suggestion had been.

"My end will lie with you," he retorted. The fact that he could speak so calmly about such offensive matters made Sebastian's hackles rise, and he nearly hissed again. "After you take my soul, the most important part of me will be gone. I will be gone. Who cares what's going to happen to my body?"

"I—" Sebastian started, but then his mind caught up with what his mouth was about to say. He fell silent, refusing to voice the idea that would require even more hours of contemplation. There was no time for it: he had to focus on their game, not on the endless speculations on the topic of why he was doing, saying, and thinking entirely incomprehensible things with increasing frequency.

But even though he'd swallowed the rest of the phrase, to his aggravation, Young Master seemed set on diving inside him and dragging it straight out of his throat.

"Excellent," he said. His grin was cunning and self-satisfied. "If you care, then you can be responsible for it. I'm sure you'll organise something ridiculously grand and pompous."

The denial of the accusation of caring and the stirrings of self-consciousness evaporated in a blink when his lord's words fully reached him. Suddenly fascinated with the idea, Sebastian knelt by the bed, tilting his head so that his and the boy's eyes were approximately on the same level.

"If I were to organise your funeral, everyone would be talking about it for years to come," he boasted. The unexplainable relief swelled in him when his Master laughed, as light-hearted as he'd been earlier.

"Let me guess," he drawled, "blue and white roses everywhere?"

"And a corresponding dress-code. Only mourners wearing blue and white would be allowed to attend."

Sebastian could see it even now: groups of guests gathering at the manor, in exquisite clothing, situated like on a chessboard; each having their place, each moving when told. This would be a picturesque image — a great pity that his lord would not be able to witness it. Maybe they could arrange a fake funeral? As a type of rehearsal?

"Anything to feed them?" the boy wondered. His gaze reflected the same bizarre interest that was whirling inside Sebastian, and in this one moment, it united them in the most pleasing way. Whatever conflicts they'd had became irrelevant, just as Sebastian had been hoping for when he made his offer.

"Desserts only," he replied. "This would be your funeral, after all — everyone would have to pay respects to your preferences."

Personally, he thought this would be a thoughtful approach, but Young Master clearly disagreed. He huffed, crossing his hands across his chest.

"Desserts aren't the only thing I eat," he pointed out. "And how do you plan to take over everyone so entirely? I have some family left, you know. Aunt Francis would not stand for all these ideas."

"Aunt Francis chose to put Madam Red in a white gown. Would you trust her to organise a funeral you would like?"

"Hmm," the boy stroked his chin thoughtfully. A distant conflicted emotion crossed his face, as if he wasn't certain why he was enjoying their discussion the way he was. "Good point. Then again, I'm not certain I should trust your tastes either. What if you go so overboard that everyone laughs? I don't want people to laugh at my funeral."

A new grin tickled the corners of Sebastian's lips.

"Would you rather they cried?" he questioned. "This could be arranged."

As he'd expected, his lord wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"This would be even worse," he said in disgust. "Apart from Elisabeth, no one would feel compelled to genuinely cry for me — and Elisabeth doesn't count because she cries over everything. Those who'd try to pretend would be hypocrites, and I don't want those attending my funeral."

For some reason, this rubbed Sebastian the wrong way. Another protest rumbled in his chest, sending the unpleasant cluster of pinpricks through his body.

"The servants would cry," he retorted coldly. "That's three persons in addition to Lady Elisabeth. Tanaka would probably shed some tears, too."

"No, he wouldn't. And the servants don't count."

This was an argument he didn't know how to counter. The way his Master classified and divided everyone into different categories confused him. He seemed to favour their servants over most other people they encountered, but in situations like this, he dismissed them like they weren't his fellow humans. Another mystery for Sebastian to uncover.

"I could cry," he offered instead. His lord shivered like he was cold, and Sebastian shifted to wrap the blanket tighter around him. "If this made you feel better."

"How would your fake tears make me feel better?" he mumbled. "Don't be stupid. Besides, it's a ridiculous discussion. I won't feel anything when I'm dead, so all these things won't matter to me."

This was obvious from the start, so Sebastian wasn't certain why the realisation had occurred to his lord only now. His mood changes were puzzling, and the more he failed to understand them, the more frustrating they became.

"You can consider these things as you're falling asleep," he said, standing up and forcibly moving the boy to the centre of the bed. "If you come up with any preferences, I promise to take them into account. Your funeral won't happen for a long while yet, so there is plenty of time."

A derisive snort came at him from under the blanket.

"In a long while?" his Master mocked. "Why is that? Are you that insecure about your ability to complete our contract?"

He'd already thrown this kind of accusation at Sebastian before, but this time, he knew how to tackle it.

"Our contract largely depends on your own participation in the investigation," he uttered, extremely pleased with himself. "I merely assist you. So you can take my words as my insecurity regarding your own ability to—"

"Go away," Young Master growled. He attempted to kick Sebastian, but with his feet entrapped in a cocoon of thick fabric, it wasn't an easy thing to accomplish. With a short laugh, Sebastian moved away and walked towards the door.

"Sleep well, my lord," he wished teasingly. "The night is ending soon and you have several difficult days ahead. If you want to win, you'll need all the rest you can get."

"I'll win either way," the boy promised. "And if you think rest is such a determining factor, then you're doomed to lose. When did you sleep the last time?"

Sebastian blinked.

"This is not—" he started to argue, but he fell silent when he realised he had no idea what to say. Ciel Phantomhive was an expert in twisting situations and disregarding context to make his point. Whatever answer Sebastian came up with, he would find a way to bend it even further.

Newly offended, he left the room. A smug chuckle followed him as he closed the door, but he ignored it.

Let the boy laugh. After he lost, they'd see who had the last word.

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Over the remaining hours of the night, he devised several new strategies to use against his lord. Then he watched the dawn approach, his eagerness keeping his human blood heated despite the morning chill. The servants started to wake up, their grumbles and complaints ruining the silence and nearly dissolving Young Master's heartbeat in their annoying volume.

A set of footsteps approached his room. This was unusual, and Sebastian half-turned, intrigued.

"S-Sebastian?" a timid voice asked. The interest died when he recognised Mey-Rin, and he snapped his fingers, unlocking the door.

"Come in," he said. She stumbled inside instantly, as if her anxiety was too overwhelming not to impose it on others.

"G-good morning," she stammered. Her face was paler than usual, her eyes huge and worried — Sebastian could see it even under the glasses. "I'm sorry to disturb you, I am, it's just that, I wanted to ask you a question. Yes. A question."

She stopped talking suddenly, biting her lip in the most unappealing manner. Sebastian was never fond of waiting, but he was particularly unprepared for it now, when the day was about to begin and only two hours separated him and his lord from their morning ritual.

"I'm listening," he reminded her. Mey-Rin sniffed and rubbed her nose with her fingers.

"Do you, do you know something about prophetic dreams?" she asked hesitantly. "Is there a way to say that they are not usual dreams, that they show what might happen in the future? I mean, the real future is what I mean. Can dreams show it?"

Whatever Sebastian was expecting, this wasn't it. The conversation suddenly became more interesting, and he bypassed Mey-Rin to close the door.

"Prophetic dreams," he repeated, intrigued. He'd heard of such a phenomenon, but why it occurred remained a puzzle. Some demons had the power to control the dreams of humans and direct them as they wished; some, like Gremory, could share the glimpses of the future with others, but they rarely spent their talents on the mortal world unless they had a specific motive. Even in the unlikely case they decided to bestow their gift on someone, Mey-Rin would not be their choice.

But he still felt curious enough to learn the details.

"If you tell me more, I might be able to help you," he said. Mey-Rin's breath caught. Her heartbeat slowed and she took a single step in his direction, clearly perceiving him as a source of safety she currently needed.

"It was about our Young Master," she whispered hoarsely, and all of a sudden, Sebastian's interest sharpened to a burning need to hear what she had to say. He straightened, his attention intensifying.

"It's strange," Mey-Rin hiccupped. "It's so very strange because I don't usually dream about him, no, I don't at all. I dream about—" Despite her distress, she blushed, and Sebastian resisted the urge to snap at her.

"You were talking about Young Master," he reminded her reservedly. The blush faded to paleness again.

"Yes, yes I was," Mey-Rin shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "In my dream, he was fighting someone with a sword. I only saw flashes, but they felt so very real. The fight was taking its toll on him, he was looking so pale and sickly — awful, just awful! And then he…" Mey-Rin gasped, as if merely remembering the images horrified her. No more words left her mouth, and Sebastian nearly growled in impatience.

"He what?" he snapped. His sharp voice made Mey-Rin jump.

"He lost!" she cried out, and the first tears touched the skin of her cheeks. "He died! Or at least I think he did — there was this crash and he was falling! It was a bad, bad dream, I never have dreams like this, I don't, so why did I see it? Does it mean something? If something happens to Young Master—"

"Nothing will happen to him," Sebastian said. Despite the sudden whirlwind of violence tugging at his insides, urging him to crush something, he managed to control his voice. His words were calm and collected. "Be reasonable, Mey-Rin. Our lord is under our constant surveillance. None of us would allow him to be placed in a situation where his life would be threatened. And he is too smart to start a fight he won't be able to win."

He wasn't certain if he was trying to convince her or himself. His heart was still beating unpleasantly, the insides of his mouth tasting like bile. Why did some nightmare matter to him? Mey-Rin was a simple maid — not so simple, perhaps, but there was no reason to believe she could be having prophetic dreams. Ciel Phantomhive was and would always remain safe.

"You're right!" bright relief lit Mey-Rin's face up. "That's right, Sebastian, sir. We, all of us will protect him! And our lord is so good at fencing, he would never lose to anyone!"

Coldness slid down Sebastian's back, and he struggled not to show it, even though his muscles contracted involuntarily.

His Master was not good at fencing. In truth, he was quite terrible at it — they'd had only several lessons before the boy's complaints and his pathetic attempts at physical effort tired Sebastian into terminating them.

Back then, this decision appeared rational. Ciel Phantomhive happened to be too fragile to sustain such physical trainings, and since Sebastian was destined to be by his side until his death, he knew they wouldn't face situations where this skill would prove to be essential. Now, however…

Now, nothing. Mey-Rin's dream, nightmare, had no meaning. Sebastian was still here, the contract was intact, and if his Master ever needed to duel someone, he would be there to assist him. He would take the head off the boy's opponent before anyone had a chance to challenge him.

Finding some comfort in his own plans, Sebastian checked his watch.

Six o'clock. It was time to start preparing breakfast — first for his Master, then for everyone else.

The day was promising to be exciting.

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Three hours later, as Young Master was having his math lesson, Sebastian had to admit that not everything was going as smoothly as he'd been hoping for. Mey-Rin's words kept haunting him, and he found himself obsessively imagining the scenes she described. His lord fighting someone, his face covered with sweat, sick but determined to win. A crash that sent him falling — and what sense did it make? Where was he fighting his opponent, on the roof? The Master he knew would never be this reckless.

Still, doubts kept gnawing on him, filling him with the most unpleasant sensations. After several hours of this senseless torment, Sebastian felt like his insides were turning into a bleeding mess. Was this possible? Humans were often plagued by unknown illnesses. Could their turbulent emotions sear holes in their bodies?

Sebastian detested challenges like this — challenges that were not real. Logically, he understood the absurdity of his worries. He was letting some human maid's nightmare get to him. There was nothing to indicate that what she'd seen would ever be real, and even if it came to be true, so what? Sebastian could handle it in a million ways.

But all his rational explanations didn't work. The jittery nervousness didn't lessen, it continued to poison him, absorbing all the eagerness he'd felt before Mey-Rin's visit. How was he supposed to handle something that had no logic and was built entirely on emotions? There was no physical solution here. He couldn't simply tear the bothersome feelings out and go on with his day.

"Correct," Mr. Aimens praised his lord four rooms away. "But this third answer is wrong. You need to practise more if you want to improve your skills."

Practise.

An idea flared in Sebastian's mind. It lit up the fire that instantly swallowed the dark thoughts, and a refreshing flood of relief poured into him instead.

He and his Master could resume their fencing lessons. It was almost certainly redundant and would prove to be as tiresome as their previous attempts, but if it gave Sebastian's illogical side a semblance of comfort, it would be worth it.

Now he only had to wait for the end of the math lesson to inform his lord about it.

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"This is ridiculous. I don't want to do it. Is this some form of sabotage? Are you trying to derail my victory?"

Sebastian snorted as he continued to prepare the foils. It didn't surprise him that their game was where his lord's thoughts went first. If he were in his place, he would have suspected the same.

"I don't need to resort to tactics of distraction to stop you from winning," he said aloud. Satisfied with his work, he handed one of the swords to the boy. "Fencing is merely an essential part of your training as the earl. It was lax of me to allow you to avoid your lessons."

His lord pouted, giving his foil a sour glare.

"Dancing is better than fencing," he grumbled. "How come you didn't hire a dance teacher for me? And why are you the one teaching me how to fence?"

"I'm teaching you how to fence because these lessons are going to be real," Sebastian replied. He assumed his position, measuring the distance between them and deeming it satisfactory. "As for dancing, if you would like to expand our game, I would gladly invite another teacher under this roof. But you might not enjoy my choice."

The boy grimaced, likely imagining dancing with a criminal of an unclear nature. That was the exact thing that had stopped Sebastian from looking for this kind of instructor. The idea of his Master holding or being held by someone with impure intentions sickened him and solidified his complete rejection of the idea.

"Do we have to start now?" his lord complained. "It would be smarter to do it after our game is complete."

An amused smile crossed Sebastian's lips.

"It wouldn't be 'smarter'," he drawled. "But I imagine it would entertain your lazy side. Are you that much of a child, my lord? Is the idea of becoming stronger through hard work that appalling to you?"

His words made their impact: the boy straightened with a ferocious scowl.

"Fine," he snapped. "Let's do it. But I'm still suspicious of your intentions. Is there any reason why you suddenly decided to organise these lessons now?"

Sebastian twisted his lips in an innocent smile.

"No reason at all," he assured. The narrowing eyes of his Master told him how unconvincing his words sounded, but making them authentic was not his goal. He wasn't going to share an explanation that made no sense on any sane level. If even he couldn't grasp what about Mey-Rin's nightmare riled him up like this, there was no chance of him providing a believable justification. His Master would gladly pounce on the opportunity to mock him and he would refuse to indulge Sebastian's concerns. Their lessons would be under threat and the volatile, unnerving emotions would return to haunt him.

Sebastian couldn't let that happen.

"Do you remember the target areas?" he asked instead. After the boy's reluctant nod, he shifted, assuming the position. "Very well. Let's begin."

As he thought, their first lesson was underwhelming, and calling it that was being generous. His lord knew theory perfectly; his strategy could be brilliant, but his physical drawbacks hindered it and nullified all his other benefits. He wasn't fast or agile enough; his footwork required a lot of improvement, and he spent more time on considering his next move than on parrying.

But all these nuances were amendable. With enough time, Sebastian was certain he'd be able to turn his Master into an impressive duellist. The problem was, this wasn't enough. The abhorrent emotional side of him was waking up again, demanding him to do more to make certain that if Mey-Rin's dream ever came to be real, Ciel Phantomhive would triumph, one way or another.

"Enough for today," Sebastian called. His lord let out an audible breath of relief. He was wet from sweat, his shoulders slumping like they wanted to drag him down to the floor where he could stay for eternity.

"At least as far as the practical side is concerned," Sebastian added. Still panting, the boy sent him a withering stare.

"There can't be anything else!" he protested. "I can't spend my day on fencing! I have other lessons and duties to attend to!"

"The closing part of our training won't take long. I only need you to imagine a situation and tell me precisely what steps you would take to handle it."

"What, in a theoretical duel of some sort?" the boy dragged himself towards the chair and collapsed on it. He presented a pathetic sight, and there was no reason why it would evoke endearment rather than disgust. Sebastian touched his chest briefly, perplexed by the contradictory sensations.

"Yes," he replied belatedly. "Imagine that you are having a fencing duel. Your life depends on its outcome. How would you navigate it?"

Young Master put his chin in the palm of his hand. His heart finally began to slow, and his eyes flashed with intellectual curiosity.

"I can think of a variety of tactics," he murmured. "But how can I outline them when my decisions would depend on the actions of my opponent? In fencing, you have to think on your feet. What's the point in strategizing if the fight goes in unexpected directions?"

"I don't require you to tell me your every step. But I want to hear the initial ideas and the overall approach of yours. You know your limitations. How would you counter them?"

"By summoning you," the boy rolled his eyes, as if this question was among the most inane ones he'd heard, and Sebastian preened. Dark satisfaction brushed against his chest, strengthening his own beliefs.

Of course his lord would summon him. And he would be there in an instant, ready to dispose of an idiot who dared to challenge his Master.

Unless his Master challenged the idiot, but even then, the outcome would remain the same. Sebastian would not allow any fencing duel to take place between Ciel Phantomhive and anyone else, not unless he could be certain that his Master would remain unharmed.

Still, he could do more to put his concerns to rest. And he already knew how to achieve it.

"Your scenario," Sebastian repeated. "Starting with the step sequence."

"All right, all right," the boy shook his head in annoyance. "You're like a dog with a bone sometimes. The step sequence? My opponent and I would stand back to back. One of us would call "allez" and we'd start walking. At the tenth step—"

This was what Sebastian had been waiting for. In a split of a second, he crossed the room and stopped behind his lord, bending low enough to brush his lips against his ear.

"No," he warned dangerously. "You will not wait until the tenth step. You will attack right after the fourth."

He sensed how the boy's breath stumbled. His heart accelerated, the scent of his blood pooling under the thin skin of his face strengthened. Sebastian breathed it in, briefly closing his eyes in enjoyment.

"T-the fourth step?" his Master repeated shakily. He sounded dazed for some reason, and Sebastian pressed his lips to his ear once again, delighting in the sensation.

"Yes," he purred. One of his hands moved to wrap itself around the boy's throat lightly — a threat and a caress simultaneously. "Consider this an order from me as your teacher. In a real fencing duel, you will not give your opponent any advantage over you, not even if the rules dictate it. You will use everything in your arsenal to win."

For some time, only silence answered him. Ciel Phantomhive remained unnaturally still, his heart continuing its wild unexplainable dance. Sebastian was content to wait, but several seconds later, his lord suddenly stood up, violently shaking his hold off and turning to face him.

"Are you telling me to cheat?" he exclaimed indignantly. His face was bright red, his blue eyes glazed in a way that seemed foreign and familiar at the same time, yet he still managed to speak strongly.

"Cheating is in your nature," Sebastian pointed out. "By using me as your sword and shield, you constantly mislead death. If I weren't by your side—"

"But you are."

"While I certainly strive to, there are circumstances we can't always predict. And if you are to find yourself one on one with an enemy who's prepared to duel you, I expect that you'll put your redundant ideas of nobility and fairness aside."

Young Master appeared ready to keep arguing with him, and Sebastian allowed the first flares of redness to infuse his glare.

"Do not cover the ten steps," he repeated stonily. Several feathers detached themselves from his shadow, and his lord stared at them in amazement. "Make four steps only. This will let you stay within the range of a strike. Keep counting to fool your opponent, but before the word "five" slips past your lips, you will turn and land your blow."

His voice rang with gravity and a warning, and the boy must have felt it because he didn't protest this time. After seconds of uncertain silence, he shrugged.

"Fine," he agreed. "It's not like your scenario is ever going to take place."

"It definitely isn't."

Another pause. More silence.

"That's too much weirdness even for you," his Master concluded, throwing a suspicious gaze at him. "So fine. If this fictional plot you yourself don't believe to be possible ever happens to me, I'll make sure to follow your advice and to cheat. Are you satisfied? Can I go now? You're derailing my plans."

Pleased with such an easy agreement, Sebastian nodded.

"You can go," he allowed graciously. "The lesson is over."

His lord squinted, as if trying to assess whether he was being mocked. But ultimately, his impatience won out. With a quiet snort, he turned and walked towards the door, stopping when he was already half-way out.

"Well?" he asked imperiously. "Why are you still standing there? If the lesson is over, then you revert back to being my butler. And as my butler, you have plenty of other responsibilities, such as helping me change my clothes."

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"What a spoilt child you are," he drawled. "Perhaps our next game should involve you learning how to dress yourself."

"If you are the only one benefitting from it, what kind of game is it?"

The last twirls of turmoil evened out. Relieved to finally be free of the illogical anxiety, Sebastian followed the boy, eagerly delving into the newest round of bickering.

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He got a chance to start implementing his plans during lunch.

The first thing he did was simple and fairly innocent — he served jellied eels to his lord. This was a dish he'd never prepared before, but it looked as disgusting as it sounded, and knowing the boy's tastes, there were no doubts he'd be horrified by the very sight of it.

He was right. As soon as Young Master saw his plate, his eye widened in a comical fashion. He gaped, staring at the dish in disbelief. His face instantly acquired a greenish tint, and his voice sounded almost hysterical when he yelped, "What the hell is this?"

For a moment, Sebastian didn't dare to believe it. Could it really be so simple? All it took to secure his victory was to prepare the most disgusting dish he could think of? His lord was even more vain than he knew.

Sebastian saw the exact moment the boy realised what he'd done. He paled, the horror from his own stupidity overtaking and twisting his every feature. He looked frozen with it, glued to his place like he hoped that if he didn't move or breathe, this moment would stretch for eternity and he wouldn't have to face the consequences of his error.

Sebastian wouldn't let him enjoy this illusion for long.

Elation whirled inside him. A wide grin stretched his lips, and he quickly moved his gaze towards the teachers to enjoy their inevitable explosion.

His smugness faltered, then withered away before he had a chance to grab it and pull it back.

No one looked shocked. No one appeared scandalised. Everyone's faces reflected only polite interest, which meant that they either didn't connect the dots or failed to witness Ciel Phantomhive glancing at his dish and reacting to it.

They had probably been busy with their own food to pay attention to him. Sebastian was a fool for not predicting it. They were staring at his Master now in reaction to his exclamation, not his misstep.

The boy seemed to have the same realisation, too. He cleared his throat and grimaced in disgust, waving his hand in Sebastian's approximate direction.

"This tastes terribly!" he cried out. "Sebastian, what is this? I don't like it! Take it away from me!"

The teachers made empathising noises, and Sebastian gritted his teeth. Disappointment and frustration kept him silent for some time, but he bowed and went to retrieve the plate.

This was maddening. He'd rather his plan had failed than win yet still have his lord come out as a victor. It was as if fate itself was favouring him and shielding him from losing.

But not for long. He still had other ideas.

Later, when the majority of the teachers began to leave, he was blessed with his next perfect moment. Lady Rosemore, who was about to walk out of the room, suddenly changed her mind and started approaching the boy. She was moving from his back, so he couldn't see her, and Sebastian jumped at the opportunity.

"Did you find the dress Miss Taylor was wearing today beautiful?" he wondered, bending to clean the table and catching his Master's gaze. "You were looking at it so intently, I thought you might be thinking of trying it as an echo of the last ball we attended."

The boy blinked, confused. Lady Rosemore stopped nearby, an equally confused interest flashing across her face. Sebastian's heart began to speed up in anticipation when some thought must have occurred to his Master. He narrowed his eye suspiciously.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he murmured. "Must you remind me of the ball? You know I find it painful to think of those times. I could still see then. It all seems like a distant dream now."

He didn't sound convincing — Sebastian could bet that he wasn't certain whether the question was genuine or someone was listening, but it seemed enough for Lady Rosemore. She oohed, squeezing his shoulder in comfort, and Young Master jumped in genuine surprise.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped. Lady Rosemore recoiled, startled by his hostility, but he quickly adopted an apologetic expression.

"I apologise," he murmured, timid and meek, and so unlike himself that Sebastian wanted to snort. "I don't like being touched. I can't see you, so every person is like a potential threat. I'm so tired of this. Please don't be angry."

This spectacle was revolting. Torn between grimacing and chuckling, Sebastian retreated into the kitchen, leaving his lord to accept pitiful reassurances.

Two plans failed. Unfortunate, but he had more. For example, he could always throw something in his lord's face and watch him catch him or suffer the outcomes.

Maybe during afternoon tea. Third time's a charm and all that.

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Flinging a cup in the boy's face was immensely satisfying. Watching him make an instant decision to ignore it and hearing the sound of the impact was less satisfying. Seeing the bruise on his cheekbone was strangely distressing.

Sebastian found his gaze going back to it repeatedly. Each time he saw it, a feeling of unease squeezed his insides, and the need to wish it away grew stronger.

This wasn't right. He'd miscalculated — again. Had he known the uncomfortable sensations that would plague him afterwards, he would have come up with some other idea.

What he was experiencing now tasted almost identically to the feeling he got after he'd poisoned his lord by accident. Was it regret? Was being able to sense it a good or a bad thing? It proved Ciel Phantomhive wrong, but it also felt so rotten that Sebastian wanted no part of it.

Another revelation ambushed him some hours later, during supper. It seemed regret was indeed a physical ailment because it had a cure. Every second spent following his lord's order to remain silent and refuse to communicate with others was destroying the bits of empathy still lingering in him, replacing them with something darker and more vindictive. The only problem was, once again, Sebastian couldn't tell if this was a good or a bad thing. Which of these two feelings caused him more annoyance? Which one was preferable?

Unfortunately, he had no time to figure it out because everything got worse from there on. His Master kept sending him amused gazes while everyone else seemed set on asking him questions or telling him to do something. He managed to go through it for the first several minutes — to his luck, most of their current audience were too polite, self-conscious, or uncaring to react to his silence, but he identified the weak link even before she made any remarks.

Mrs. Wordson. Loud and ferocious, she would explode sooner rather than later, and then… Sebastian had no idea what might happen then. He'd never been in such mortifying situations before. He was tempted to negotiate with his lord, to offer something he would be unable to refuse, but pride prevented him from trying again.

Until Mrs. Wordson jumped from her seat in a dubious attempt to tower over him.

"Hey!" she yelled directly in his ear. "Look at the person talking to you!"

Her loud, grating voice shot straight to his brain, electrifying it and setting every vessel on fire. His entire body felt hot, flushed with the most uncomfortable sensation.

He felt embarrassed. He had the strongest urge to drop everything and hide somewhere no one could see him. There had been times when some rare demons and some delusional humans tried to humiliate him, but it almost never worked. The most he'd felt was a light burn of melancholy and wistfulness for something undefinable.

"One day, he was helping me saddle a horse and he got kicked in the head," his lord drawled. He sounded appropriately mournful. "He's developed a mental affliction after this. Sometimes he just doesn't talk or react to what others say to him."

Oh, but Sebastian felt it now. Felt it with every fibre of his human and his demonic self, down to his bones and everything stored within them. Embarrassment and humiliation kept gnawing on him, and for a second, he considered just killing every person in the room — everyone but his Master. This would take care of all his struggles. There would be no losing because there would be no game, and he wouldn't break any orders either. It was a perfect solution. Except…

"What would he do without me?" Young Master bit his lip, hanging his head shyly. "No else would employ him."

Except that he wanted to play. He wanted to challenge Ciel Phantomhive and be challenged by him in return. Despite the increasingly puzzling attacks by uncomfortable emotions, he derived true joy from their games. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten to enjoy himself to this extent. Some of his contracts had been adventurous in nature, but most of them grew stale shortly afterwards, usually within the same month or year.

Not this one. Somehow, the contract with his current Master made him feel more alive than he could ever recall. What would he do without it? Contrary to the boy's words, he would find another employer. As long as misery, hatred, and greed walked the earth, Sebastian would have a full stomach. But would he be able to recreate the same element of excitement and adrenaline? Would the challenges be equally challenging? Would the victories be equally hard to earn?

He didn't know how to answer these questions. He had no idea where to start.

"I believe I'm his exception," Young Master announced, and Sebastian faltered.

He knew the boy couldn't read his thoughts. He'd tested this hypothesis already. But his remark suspiciously resembled a perfect answer to his musings. Was Ciel Phantomhive his exception? Some demons had one, but usually, it worked in entirely different, human-negative contexts.

Perhaps it was something worth pondering over.

Or perhaps it was better to push this thought down and never bring it up again. After all, he had other, more important matters to concern himself with — their game, his inevitable victory, and the questions he would ask.

He finally had some more specific ideas.

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That night, it took Sebastian seven minutes to realise that his Master wasn't in his bed — again. He must have embarked on yet another nightly spying session, and Sebastian wasn't certain whether he should feel annoyed or impressed.

The boy was taking their game seriously if he was willing to give up his rest. For all his ruthlessness, he could be capricious to the extreme: he needed flawless food, stellar service, and perfect sleep. If anything interrupted it and he didn't get his nine hours, he grew terse and vindictive. He didn't care about the reasons — during the first year of their contract, even the onslaught of attackers wasn't regarded as a valid reason for any disturbances. Sebastian had to learn how to dispatch them as silently as was humanly feasible, considering that his targets tended to squeal, moan, and howl at the worst moments.

So for his Master to sacrifice his rest for the second night in a row… his desire of triumph must have reached new heights. Sebastian had to admire it, even though he knew it would not lead anywhere. The boy would lose. Even his impressive imagination would not be sufficient for guessing the identity of most of his teachers.

After his lord's terrible transgression of today, Sebastian anticipated his failure with an even hotter vigour.

"Spying on your teachers again?" he asked loudly. The boy jumped and immediately glared at him.

"Shut up," he hissed. "Or should I prolong your punishment? I'll be more than happy to repossess your voice for one more day."

Sebastian tried to imagine the threat on a more physical level: he envisioned his Master cutting into his human throat and removing his larynx. How would his body function after this? Would he have to rely solely on his powers to speak? Would the language he'd use be a human one or would he only be able to speak demonic?

"Stop standing there like a giant lamp-post," the boy snapped at him. "Get down!"

For the second time in two days, Sebastian was jerked downwards with a surprising amount of strength. He succumbed out of curiosity more than necessity, and while resentment still burned a liquid path from his chest straight to his brain, he decided to postpone feeling it.

"Which of them are you trying to catch this night?" he wondered. Whitmore had been too brainless to show restraint, but surely the others had better class? There was no possible way that they all had betrayed their secrets already. Sebastian had been keeping watch and he hadn't noticed anything incriminating — not counting the fascinated stares Aimens kept throwing at his lord's clothing. This was quickly getting annoying.

Young Master flashed him a mysterious smile.

"What would I gain from telling you?" he inquired. "Come up with your own conclusions."

This could mean anything from the boy being stubbornly protective of his knowledge to him being entirely clueless and deciding to watch the sleeping house out of precaution. Sebastian couldn't tell which option was more likely, and he knew better than to ask. No matter how he phrased it, he wouldn't get a satisfying response.

"You have a remarkable talent for being a nuisance," he told him instead. To his distaste, this seemed to please his Master a great deal.

"I know," he said smugly. "You aren't the first person to tell me this."

Sebastian snorted.

"This does not surprise me in the least."

"Would you like a reference?" his lord asked teasingly. His earlier sullenness was gone, replaced with glowing gleefulness. "I'm sure those people would love to exchange stories with you."

Sebastian wasn't certain he'd be amenable to hearing anyone speak badly of his Master, but the perspective was intriguing.

"Are they alive to talk?" he asked. He imagined their enemies to be the ones with the tendency to insult the boy, but they were all dealt with. Unless it was about the deceased Phantomhives?

"One of them is." With a disdainful sniff, his Master shifted so that he could lean against Sebastian, as if he were a supporting pillow. It was odd, but Sebastian was too interested in the story to pay attention to it, so he simply wrapped his arm around the boy's waist to support him better.

"Shall I make a guess?"

"Why not? It's not like it would take you long. Which person in my surroundings despises my existence and spends every moment glaring at me?"

Sebastian's mind instantly swept through each potential option before settling on one.

His Master was right, it hadn't taken him a second.

"Your cousin?" he suggested. Lord Edward Midford was a plain young man who worked hard to imitate his strict mother. The artificial mask of nobility and self-importance was boring to observe. He wore it all the time: it only ever slipped when Midford was interacting with Young Master. Heavy dislike and suspiciousness were radiating off him in strong waves, and Sebastian never failed to find it amusing.

"Yes," the boy wrinkled his nose. "His attempts at intimidation are pathetic. I would have forbidden his visits entirely if I didn't know it would push Elisabeth over the edge. I don't want to be saddled with that kind of crying mess."

Sebastian shuddered at the thought. Lady Elisabeth could undoubtedly be loud, but in addition, her hysterics tended to upset the servants and make his Master miserable.

"Lord Edward is merely trying to play the role of a protective brother," he said. A new thought came to his mind, and he hid a smile. "Since Lady Elisabeth is your betrothed, it is only natural for him to treat you with wariness. Preserving her chastity is his duty."

As he expected, his lord spluttered, an embarrassed redness flooding his face.

"Her what?!" he exclaimed. His question was loud enough to break the night silence, so even if one of the teachers had been planning to venture outside, they were bound to change their minds. Two birds with one stone — who said only his Master could be inventive with his ploys?

"Her chastity," Sebastian repeated calmly. The blush flared brighter on his lord's cheeks, the scent of his blood growing almost irresistibly stronger. Since it was dark and human sight was limited, Sebastian allowed himself to lean lower, stopping an inch from the boy's soft skin and inhaling the scent off it.

Something dark and hungry stirred inside. His human teeth transformed as the tips of his fangs pierced his lips; his energy turned more feral and authentic, taking the form of a toxic cloud.

All of a sudden, his lord sagged, almost falling into him. His eyelashes fluttered and his mortified expression softened into calmness.

"That's not it," he retorted in a surprisingly peaceful voice. He pressed closer to Sebastian, laying his head on his chest. "Edward has other reasons for hating me. A lot of it is tied to Elisabeth, but it's not really about— what you said. I think he's concerned about her safety as a whole."

"Oh?" this was delightfully intriguing. Sebastian was uncertain as to what had come over his lord, but he welcomed the opportunity to get a glimpse into a part of the history he wasn't aware of.

The fact that such parts existed didn't feel right. For as long as he was serving Ciel Phantomhive, he was responsible for knowing every little thing about him. That he had no idea what specific event had triggered Edward Midford's dislike irked him — it was more bothersome that he could have anticipated.

"Edward was never my biggest admirer but he was quite fond of me," his lord said. Since he couldn't see him, Sebastian didn't bother perfecting his human visage. His darkness reached out greedily, brushing against the boy's neck with possessive eagerness, and something about it nearly made him purr in pleasure.

The boy himself didn't appear to sense anything because he only snuggled closer, with no signs of discomfort.

"I think I was… nine? No, probably eight," he uttered. His heart was beating evenly, the beautiful sound only rivalled by his voice. "It was Lizzy's birthday and we were celebrating it at the manor. The adults were at the table and Edward had to watch over me and Lizzy to make sure we didn't get into trouble. We tried to ignore him, but he was so obnoxious. He kept telling me off for every small thing. 'Don't run so fast, Lizzy can't catch you. Don't move your hands so abruptly, you might accidentally hit her. Don't stand too close to her, it is unbecoming.'" The boy changed his voice accordingly, and Sebastian snorted with laughter. It sounded like a bad copy of Midford's barking.

His lord half-shifted to face him, looking pleased with his reaction.

"So, he was annoying me," he continued. "I ignored him for the most part or pretended to obey him only to do what I wanted a minute later. He went on and on, and it was driving me mad. At some point, I pulled at Lizzy's hair just out of vindictiveness. I didn't want to hurt her but I wanted to hurt him. And it worked," his Master's lips curled in an obvious resentment.

What a strange creature. The event had taken place years ago yet he still felt strongly about it. Humans could make things so needlessly complicated.

"Edward got all red in the face. He looked downright murderous, and before I even blinked, he jumped to me and slapped my hand away from Lizzy. It wasn't painful at all, but it was the last straw. I got so angry, I saw red," his lord shook his head in dry amusement. "My first instinct was to hit him back, but he was taller and bigger than me, so this wouldn't have been smart. Realistically, I couldn't do anything to him, so I just turned and ran into the woods to compose myself."

"How brave of you," Sebastian mocked. The boy huffed and elbowed him in the stomach with merciless strength. It felt like a touch of a butterfly, but for someone as fragile as his Master, such force was admirable.

"Let idiots be brave," he said derisively. "I'd rather be safe. If you can't gain an immediate victory, you need to retreat and plan your future triumph. Which is what I did."

"By wandering through the woods?"

"By thinking," the boy raised a self-important finger. "At first, I was too furious to do it rationally, but then I almost stepped into the swamp. You know the one? It's not far from the manor."

"I know the one," Sebastian agreed. He'd thrown several bodies in there before they hired the servants for this kind of job. It served two goals at once by providing a convenient location for waste disposal and for his experiment. He'd heard that the bodies buried in swamps looked perfect even decades later. It was his hope to test this idea.

"Right," his lord said. His voice became a little slurred, as if he was getting sleepy or intoxicated. For some reason, Sebastian found it endearing. "My predecessor always forbade me from going there, but naturally, I disobeyed. I always disobeyed, they just didn't know it. I loved these woods, I knew them well, and if I hadn't been as distracted, I would have never come so close to the swamp. I'd have been more careful. But it happened, and it got me thinking."

"You seem to be doing nothing but thinking in your story," Sebastian pointed out. The boy let out a sound of exasperation.

"Would you rather I pummelled Edward into the ground?" he asked indignantly. "I'm not some stupid demon. I have other skills."

"A demon would not find themselves in this situation in the first place. They would simply employ the physical power you claim to detest."

"I don't detest it. I consider it a duty of those with lesser minds."

"Physical and mental prowesses are not mutually exclusive."

"Well, they are in your case. Look at yourself — you're going to lose the game you yourself have set up. It's laughable."

The annoyance returned more palpably this time. It threatened to dip into anger, and Sebastian directed it across his true form, letting it fuel it. It was preferable to succumbing to instincts and throttling his lord right here.

The darkness flared in response. Its toxic tongues licked the boy's skin fervently, and this time, he appeared to notice because he made an inquisitive sound. But it reminded Sebastian of delight rather than of distress, so he stilled, confused and uncertain.

His Master was acting more oddly than usual. Was it normal for humans to react to demonic essence like this? This had never been the case in Sebastian's experience. Perhaps he was mistaken and his lord was simply too sleepy to understand what he was sensing?

"I devised a plan," the boy continued, apparently satisfied with his silence. "It wasn't all that detailed or clever — I just knew I wanted Edward to pay and now I had the means to accomplish my revenge. I threw some broken branches on top of the swamp to mask it a little; then I sat down a safe distance away and screamed his name. I don't remember what I was saying exactly — I think I was just yelling for him to help me. I knew he would come running no matter what a nuisance he thought me to be, and, well, he did."

"What a vengeful creature you are," Sebastian drawled, genuinely impressed. He could see where this was going, and his previous anger cooled to brimming fascination.

He'd always thought that his Master had been a sweet and well-behaved child before his encounter with the Queen's henchmen. This was what Madam Red, Lady Elisabeth and her parents always implied. Who knew that the boy had heard the first whispers of the darkness long before that fateful day?

"I am," his Master agreed. He sounded smug again. "No self-respecting human should let the insult go. Edward followed the sound of my voice — when he saw me sitting on the ground, he assumed I was hurt, and like I expected, he rushed towards me without looking at where he was stepping. He got into the swamp. It was so sudden — he fell almost waist-deep in a blink of a second. It took him some time to realise that he was drowning and that he couldn't get out, and do you know what he did then?"

"Begged for help?" Sebastian suggested condescendingly. To his curiosity, the boy shook his head.

"He shouted for me to stay away," he said, his voice growing thoughtful. "He was under the illusion that I would try to help him and he wanted to protect me. Even when facing mortal danger, his first thought was about my safety. It was strange and I didn't understand it — and I don't like things that I don't understand. So I smiled and told him that he had nothing to worry about since I wasn't planning on helping him anyway. That's when I think he understood what was happening."

Sebastian hid a grin in the boy's hair. His fangs attempted to elongate further to pierce the skin protecting the brain and absorb the images it held, and it took an effort to re-arrange his expectations.

What he wouldn't give to be able to witness this. An eight-year-old Ciel Phantomhive, even tinier than the version Sebastian had first met, but equally resourceful and malicious. Sitting at the edge of the swamp and watching his cousin slowly drown.

A shudder of delight rolled through him, and Sebastian hissed his gleeful approval.

"That's when he started to scream for help," the boy sighed and shifted, transferring even more of his weight onto Sebastian. "He was so loud, it hurt my ears. I wished his mouth would disappear under the surface already, but before it happened, the adults came running. Lizzy must have alerted them after Edward answered my call. They got him out and he kept repeating that I wanted to kill him. I don't know why, but it seemed to have shocked him profoundly. His eyes were glassy, he was dirty and trembling, and he kept saying, 'He planned to kill me. He nearly killed me, he did it on purpose.'"

"It's not every day that your cousin attempts to murder you in cold blood," Sebastian noted. The boy half-shrugged.

"It's not like we were friends," he said. "I didn't owe Edward anything. I was starting to worry that I'd be punished but the adults didn't believe him. They told him that he must have imagined things because of his frightful experience. I pretended that it slipped my memory. Eventually, Edward stopped talking about it, too, but I know he never forgot it. I can see it when he looks at me."

This did put things into perspective. The next time they saw each other, Sebastian would have to pay closer attention to Edward Midford. Perhaps he would even be able to strike a conversation with him, cajoling his version of events out of him. Then, depending on what he heard, he could influence this information and shift Midford's impression of Young Master in the direction he wished.

Intrigued with this new perspective, Sebastian didn't notice the silence until it got overly lengthy. He looked at his lord and was startled to realise that he had managed to fall asleep at some point. His eyes were shut, his face peaceful, his lips still curled in a barely visible trace of a smile. Somehow, he appeared delighted even in his sleep, oblivious to the fact that he was sinking into the poisonous blackness more and more with each passing second.

Sebastian gave himself a moment to enjoy the victorious satisfaction this sight brought to him. His energy, sensing his mood, extended further, trying to swallow the boy and envelop him entirely. Sebastian's heart twitched in anticipatory glee, but another sensation stopped him.

Succumbing to his instinctive need to shake off the human shape and embrace his true self would be a mistake, no matter how sweet the temptation was. It might push his mind to a darker and more primitive territory, eroding the edges of his self-control. He could already feel the insistent whispers imploring him, urging him to dissolve himself in his dark essence to let himself have what he wanted.

He could consume Ciel Phantomhive right now, without bothering to fulfil the contract, and damn the consequences. He could drink his soul and eat his flesh until not a cell was left, and while the punishment would be severe, it would be worth it. It would be so, so worth it — even if he lost his rank, even if the unearned soul ended up poisoning him and burning through his energy, those blissful seconds of consumption would compensate for everything. If he could only let himself have a taste…

'What would you do without me?' the boy wondered. This wasn't what he had asked earlier in the day, exactly, but Sebastian's mind still adapted the words accordingly. Cold chill poured down his back, and with a hiss, he pushed the traitorous thoughts away. It took some effort, but gradually, he succeeded in solidifying his human form, pushing his demonic self further down. His heartbeat began to normalise, and Sebastian wrapped his arms around his lord protectively, incensed at himself and his weakness.

This had been a horrifying loss of control. What was wrong with him? He'd slipped into the beginnings of his true form many times in his lord's proximity, and it never melted his brain the way it had now. What had changed? What was different?

Concerned and disgusted with himself, Sebastian carried his Young Master into his bedroom and put him under the warm covers. Then he left, not daring to look back.

He needed grounding. He needed to focus on something else, to channel his increasingly odd emotions into something new. Although why did it have to be new? They were in the middle of the game, and it still had multiple uses. For example, the fact that his lord had fallen asleep in the middle of his spying session meant that he was one step closer to losing. This would increase the number of questions Sebastian would be able to ask.

Humiliation. This was the key. His lord's proximity might be intensifying its mystifying allure, but humiliation would take care of it. It was such a pitiful human emotion, it could reduce even the strongest people to an unappealing mess.

…And with that, he knew what his first question was going to be.

Even thinking about his Master's reaction made him smile.

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Ciel Phantomhive appeared moody in the morning. This could result in a variety of scenarios, so Sebastian tried to tread carefully. The last thing he wanted was to receive another punishment in addition to the loss of his voice.

He had to stay silent for one more day. It wasn't overly long, was it? One human day equalled 24 hours — this was less than nothing for a demon's lifetime.

But trepidation continued to writhe in him like an annoying snake, and Sebastian pressed his fist to his midsection, hoping to squash whatever was hiding inside.

He served everyone at the table silently, and when no one but Miss Taylor asked him a question, he breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed as if the teachers decided to ignore him — this was much preferable to the humiliation of yesterday. If the entire day passed in this manner…

But his heart sank when he caught the blue stare of his lord. The boy was watching him carefully, and Sebastian didn't like the calculating glint in his eye. It couldn't mean anything good.

What was a relief to him was a source of boredom to his Master. And when he felt bored, he came up with twisted schemes that could make Sebastian's situation even more disastrous.

"Do you remember how I mentioned that Sebastian had a weakness for Tamerlane of the Timurid Empire?" the boy asked suddenly. Another sinking sensation filled his chest, and Sebastian glared before he could stop himself.

"The one who died more than four hundred years ago?" Miss Taylor clarified.

"Yes," Young Master giggled, and a bad feeling stirred within Sebastian with a new vigour. He had no idea what his lord was about to say, but it was undoubtedly something so deeply humiliating that it would make him pray for the mouth of Hell to open and swallow him back.

"When confronted with his death, Sebastian didn't know how to cope with it," his lord sent a pitying gaze in his general direction. "So he came up with a fantasy about knowing him personally and tried to present it as something that happened in reality. I didn't have the heart to make him see sense. Sebastian, repeat what you told me about Tamerlane. I'm sure everyone here would love to hear your story."

Everything in him froze in horror. Sebastian shook his head slightly, refusing to even consider following this order.

Ciel Phantomhive had told him not to speak with anyone for a day and a half. He would prioritise this order over the newest one, at least until the boy figured out the reason for his silence and found a way to ruin it.

Sebastian quickened his work, trying to serve everyone as fast as he could and to get out of the room before he was forced to speak. His story about Tamerlane had been meant to show his lord that he knew everything about grandness, that he had served formidable masters and accomplished amazing feats. He told it to impress, not to witness it turned into a mockery that these clueless humans would only laugh at!

The last cup of tea was served, and with a bow, Sebastian hastened to walk towards the door. It gleamed like a beacon of salvation, but when four meagre steps separated him from it, Young Master's voice stopped him.

"I'm sure that whatever other orders you have can be disregarded in this instance," he drawled. The poisoned sweetness of his words nearly tore a hiss from Sebastian's throat. "Please, do share your fascinating story with us. We can discuss the duties you're rushing to fulfil later."

He should have murdered his lord when he had a chance and an inclination yesterday. Now it was too late. His fond memories of the contract with Tamerlane would be forever tarnished by this infuriating humiliation.

Slowly, Sebastian faced the table again. Equally slowly, he cleared his throat, desperately hoping for an intervention of some sort. Maybe Bard would explode something and this would require his immediate attention…but no, Young Master was far too devious to let this happen. He would make Sebastian embarrass himself even if the entire house caught on fire.

"I helped Tamerlane to found the Timurid Empire," he said woodenly. Most of the teachers gaped at him, and Sebastian stared above their heads, refusing to witness their confused and belittling expressions. "I helped him to claim a big part of the territory and I defeated his enemies. I'm behind many of the kills typically attributed to him."

How relieving that he'd never told Ciel Phantomhive all the details. Had his account been longer, his humiliation would last for minutes, and this would do nothing to quell the thirst for violence thrumming in his blood.

There was silence, and then a crash.

"You are completely insane!" Mrs. Wordson hollered. Her face went red with outrage. "You are the sickest and the most useless servant I have ever seen, and I've seen plenty! A princess like you wouldn't make it in the war, you would be dead by the first sunrise. Did you see yourself in the mirror? You're thin as a rail. A princess dreaming of Tamerlane of all people… Pathetic, just pathetic!"

Sebastian had no idea how he managed to keep standing silently. The mix of explosive, deadly fury and reluctant admiration clashed in him — a little more, and he feared he would be able to levitate from the sheer amount of energy circulating through him.

Almost against his will, he looked to his left. His lord appeared floored. His eye was impossibly wide, his mouth open in amazed shock that was about to turn into amusement. Sebastian saw the second it happened: his chin trembled and he pressed his hand to his lips, trying to hide his grin. He was clearly finding this situation hilarious, and the urge to murder him returned with vengeance. Sebastian scowled at him, and then, without waiting for more insults or horrifying orders, he left the room, carefully making his stride gradual and confident.

He would pay the little brat back. And oh, how sweet his revenge was going to be… in fact, it was about to start in several minutes. Mrs. Wordson was already in an angry mood, and Young Master's lesson with her was to begin immediately after breakfast. At least Sebastian had to tolerate mortification for less than a minute — the boy would have to withstand the yelling and the insults for over an hour.

Sebastian would listen, and he would enjoy every minute of it.

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The first five minutes were music to his ears. He was supposed to clean the library and pretend that he didn't see Lady Rosemore in there, clutching a heavy volume to her chest and trembling behind one of the shelves. Her fear of being caught was palpable, and it could be funny to play on it, but Mrs. Wordson's shrieks at Young Master were proving to be far more entertaining.

Ten minutes later, the insults began to lose their appeal. Sebastian stopped near the window, ignoring Lady Rosemore's terrified inhale and focusing on the words being said.

"You have such ugly fingers!" Mrs. Wordson's voice was shaking in its unexplainable fury, distorting her syllables into almost foreign words. "They are useless and you'll never be able to play music with them!"

"I'm sorry," Young Master murmured. He sounded miserable, and while Sebastian knew it was likely a ploy, he still bristled. "It's just I'm so cold. My fingers are frozen."

There was a crash of some sort — Mrs. Wordson must have slammed her pointer against the table.

"Do you want me to warm them?" she roared. "I can order that demented butler of yours to heat the kettle and then I'll pour the boiling water all over your hands! Would you play better then?"

A rumbling hiss rolled up his throat and into his mouth, almost falling from his lips. Sebastian stopped staring at the window and walked towards the door before stopping himself.

He was not going to interfere. Ciel Phantomhive would tolerate Mrs. Wordson's abuse until he got fed up. The moment he felt he could no longer face her threats and screaming, he would summon Sebastian and one more game piece would leave the board.

He'd better do it soon because a little more, and Sebastian would summon himself.

His patience was wearing increasingly thin: the more he listened, the more irrationally angry he became. Ugly fingers? What nonsense. Wordson should be ashamed for daring to call herself a musician. Ciel Phantomhive had the perfect fingers for violin, piano, and an array of other instruments. They were thin, long, and agile, capable of reaching even the most complex combination of keys and strings. His problem was his indifference towards music — if he wanted, he could become the most talented musician in the world, and Sebastian would be honoured to assist him.

"Wrong!" Wordson yelled again. "Wrong, wrong, wrong!"

There was a strange sound coming from the music room, and it took Sebastian a moment to realise that it was a slap. His eyes widened incredulously, but before he could react, it happened again, even louder.

These sounds rang in his ears. Ice froze him to his spot, pulling him to the floor and refusing to let him move. It cracked when his Master's voice broke the dead silence.

"I'm sorry!" he cried out. His shaky words were accompanied by pitiful sniffing. "I d-didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

He was… crying? No. He couldn't be. He couldn't cry, this was never supposed to be a part of their game. The idea was intolerable. Laughable. Unacceptable. But the sound was real, and the realisation that it continued melted Sebastian's human form right off his body. Rage, incandescent and powerful, robbed him of any coherent thought, and he threw himself in the direction of the music room in one strong gust of energy.

Kill. Maim. Rip apart. These were the only commands his brain was registering, and when he saw Wordson approaching the staircase, his very essence howled in bloodthirsty delight.

He crashed into her without bothering to stop or to change his form. His clawed hands wrapped around her neck, twisted it, and pushed her down with such force that she landed on the first floor within a split of a second.

Only then did the fury quieten down. Deep satisfaction settled in his chest, and Sebastian slowly regained his butler shape, watching the broken body intently.

He should have prolonged her death. Such an instant exit from life didn't correspond to the severity of her transgression. But she was dead, and at least this soothed the demonic side of him enough to let his mind start operating again.

"What in the world is this?" his lord hissed at him. In his haze, Sebastian hadn't even heard his approach. Turning to him, he immediately zeroed in on the redness on his face. Anger whirled up again, and it took an effort to collar it.

It took a minute of speaking with Young Master to appease the lingering twists of violence to a large extent, but the darkness retreated fully only when he exclaimed, "It wasn't for real! What are you… do you honestly think I would cry from that?! What's wrong with you!"

There was so much outrage and mortification in his voice that Sebastian couldn't help smiling. The pressure disappeared, allowing his body to relax at last.

Now that he considered it, it had been silly of him to believe that a couple of slaps made his Master cry. Ciel Phantomhive had endured far worse abuse in their years of contract, and tears never fell from his eyes, no matter the severity of his injuries. Even during the last days in captivity, before Sebastian made his official appearance, the boy barely cried. He was spitting curses and venom, an embodiment of fiery rage writhing with the fire he couldn't express. A pathetic worm like Wordson would have never succeeded in eliciting this kind of reaction from him.

This meant that Sebastian had made another mistake. He made a hasty decision, he succumbed to his irrational virus of emotions, and therefore, he didn't deserve a victory. Wordson might have been his trump card, but he didn't get to use it after his horrifying display of rashness and stupidity.

"So how do we count her?" the boy asked. "Who won?"

"No one," Sebastian replied stonily. "The game continues without one piece."

He would still win, though. By any means necessary. And he would not fall for his lord's performance again.

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The scent of his victory gained a new kind of strength when Miss Taylor finally decided to make her move. Sebastian had to give it to her: her movements were so quick and practised that had he not known what she was planning on doing, he might have missed it. She added several drops of colourless liquid into Young Master's cup during lunch, right in front of others, and no one had noticed. No one but Sebastian.

He waited until she returned to her place, dashed into the kitchen for a new cup and replaced the poisoned one with it. It took him less than six seconds, and even his Master didn't seem to notice anything.

Technically, it meant that he'd already scored two victories. Lady Rosemore attempted to steal the books and Miss Taylor started her poisoning charade. She must have deemed Ciel Phantomhive pathetic enough to take pity and rid him of his suffering.

She was delusional to an amusing degree, but that only made their game more interesting. Miss Taylor hid her inclinations so well that Young Master stood almost no chances at guessing what she was.

At night, when Mr. Aimens crept out of his room with a suitcase, Sebastian entwined his fingers together in anticipation. His lord was already lying in wait, focused on this latest target, but even if he guessed the general crime, Sebastian could bet he would never be able to point out the specifics. He'd been educating the boy personally, and he was certain that the word "fetishist" was not a part of his vocabulary.

The confrontation was promising to be hilarious.

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This time, it was official: the first victory was in his pocket. Thinking of his lord's horrified, disgusted face, Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle.

"I-I don't understand," Mr. Aimens stammered. His small eyes looked huge now, the stink of his terror coating the room. "What does it mean? What does any of it mean? Who are you?"

"Who I am is irrelevant," Sebastian told him. With his Master gone from the room, he felt bored. There was no point in prolonging the conversation with an already discarded game piece. "What I will do to you, on the other hand…"

"Please!" Mr. Aimens dropped to his knees, hugging Wordson's green shirt to his chest. "I'll do what you ask! Just let me go, please! I can… I can tell you stories about Tamerlane! You like him, right? I know a lot about him! In fact, I knew him personally like you did!"

Sebastian blinked incredulously, unable to believe what he was hearing. Annoyance and embarrassment pushed out the boredom, and he scowled, feeling the unusual and hateful sensation of blood rushing to his face.

"You are a math teacher," he commented icily. "History is not your field of specialty."

"But I'm telling you, I knew Tamerlane personally! I have… I have stories!"

With a low growl, Sebastian crossed the room and grabbed Aimens by his throat.

"Not a single person in this house cares about Tamerlane," he snarled. "Least of all I. He's long dead and rotting, and I'll be happy not to hear his name for the next century."

Aimens gaped at him stupidly. His face started turning grey, and on a whim, Sebastian released his grasp, letting him drop on the floor in a terrified heap.

"I have a proposition," he said. "I give you five minutes to make your escape. After that, I'll start hunting you down. If you stop moving, I won't touch you even if I'm a mere step away. The moment you resume your movements, so will I."

"No! No, what do you mean? What happens if you catch me?"

Sebastian smiled a slow, wicked smile.

"I suppose you shall wait and find out," he drawled. "Your first minute has begun."

Aimens threw a wild look at him. Then he bolted, still clutching the green shirt to him. Sebastian could hear him crashing into various objects on his way out. This had to have attracted his lord's attention, but with how sour his face looked upon realising he'd lost, Sebastian was certain he wouldn't leave his room even if the entire house collapsed. He would mope and bemoan his stupidity until the morning — as soon as he walked out, he would resume his attempts at scoring another victory with new, vengeful vigour.

Sebastian couldn't wait.

Five minutes passed, and he glanced out of the window. Although he couldn't see Aimens, he felt his rapid heartbeat. His fear must have given him extra speed because he was already crossing the path into the woods, clearly hoping to hide his trail there.

Letting him go without chase would be a polite thing to do. After all, Aimens hadn't committed any unforgivable transgressions against Ciel Phantomhive. Sebastian had no order to kill him, so leaving him to his devices would be logical.

The problem was, he was bored, and every part of him thrummed with the need to start a chase. So with a shrug, Sebastian shook off the human costume and left the room in a cloud of eager energy.

It took him twenty three seconds to catch up with Aimens. The man was panting, wasting his precious time glancing back to make sure he wasn't followed, and for a while, Sebastian allowed him to enjoy the illusion. Then he brushed against the dry branch, breaking it, and this instantly made Aimens freeze.

The woods were quiet around them. The moonlight didn't make it here, so human sight had to be severely limited. Still, Aimens must have felt something because he stopped breathing. His terrified eyes kept scanning the bare trees, trying to catch a glimpse of anything, failing, and getting more desperate.

It would have been much more stimulating to play a game like this with his lord. Perhaps later, after they finished their contract? Sebastian could offer him a similar deal. How long would Ciel Phantomhive stand in one spot out of his pure stubbornness?

If he wished to live, he would likely move only after he collapsed from exhaustion… at least Sebastian hoped for it. It would be disappointing if after everything, his Master proved to be another coward who discarded all logic and dignity in his primitive terror.

The possibility of this scenario made Sebastian feel uneasy. He shifted, ignoring Aimens' startled cry.

That's what he'd been considering for a while now, wasn't it? Young Master trying to run. Betraying his promises. Failing Sebastian's expectations. He'd thought they put an end to this matter after the incident with Madam Red, but despite the significance of the cemetery conversation, few things actually changed. The boy remained cagey and snappish, intolerant towards every display of effort from Sebastian's side. Their game closed the distance between them, but it could be of temporary nature. Something was still happening, and Sebastian still had no idea what it was.

Aimens whimpered. Tears were rolling down his face, mixing with sweat and snot, and the image was so unappealing that Sebastian grimaced. This reminded him vividly of the expressions most of his previous masters and mistresses wore after their contract ran its course, and another pang of unease twisted his gut.

Maybe he could kill Ciel Phantomhive immediately after they accomplished their revenge. This way, he wouldn't have time to react and act disappointingly.

Interested in this idea, Sebastian slithered closer to Aimens, gradually narrowing the circle around him. His smoke-like form melted with the night, so it couldn't be visible, yet Aimens felt the impact of his presence. Another cry escaped his throat. Uncontrollable tremors shook his body, and the sound of his teeth chattering got so loud that it began to feel annoying.

At least this was the normal reaction. This was how normal people perceived the toxicity and deadliness of demons' proximity. Only Ciel Phantomhive chose to defy this pattern by cuddling closer and getting drunk on it… for now. No one knew what his reaction was going to be in the end.

Sebastian breathed against the back of Aimens' neck playfully and was treated to a shriek. The stink of horror thickened, and a moment later, Aimens broke into a chaotic run. He flew through the woods like a ghost, and Sebastian shot after him, thrilled at the brief challenge.

Seconds later, he caught up and wrapped himself around the body, swiftly breaking its bones and squeezing its insides into a raw mass. Aimens released his last sob as he quietened down, and Sebastian dropped him onto the ground, bored again.

One victory meant that he finally secured one question. Tomorrow, he would attempt to secure another one. What should he ask about, though? He already knew what his first inquiry was going to be — its aim was to humiliate and pay the boy back for all the problems he was unwittingly causing. But was there anything he would like to actually learn?

One look at Aimens' broken body, and Sebastian lit up. His heart began to beat faster, and he quickly buried the remains before flying back to the manor.

Running. He was interested in learning about running. He wanted to find out whether his lord was planning to try to escape him once and for all. They agreed to provide honest answers regardless of the questions, and he knew that Ciel Phantomhive was noble enough to honour this agreement.

Sebastian would get his answer, and hopefully, should it prove to be disappointing, he would have a sufficient amount of time to change his lord's mind… or to kill him before he lost all the appeal that made him halfway special.

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The morning announced another potential complication. Lady Rosemore took the news of yet another teacher leaving badly. Her usual cheerfulness disappeared and she spent the breakfast silent and dejected, throwing haunted looks in the direction of the front door.

Young Master was watching her, and Sebastian could see what he was thinking as if he lived inside his head.

Lady Rosemore was about to panic and blow her cover. She intended to run, but she wouldn't do it during the day. The boy's sweet, innocent comments soothed some of her initial fears, so she intended to stay until nightfall, grab the most valuable books and bolt.

His lord was already anticipating her actions, which meant that Sebastian had to interfere and to put a dent in his plans. Fortunately, he had two advantages: time and his Master's inattentiveness. He was so busy observing Lady Rosemore that he forgot to pay attention to Sebastian. This would steal the victory right out of his hands.

The perfect moment came at lunch, when Young Master invited Miss Taylor to share the meal with him. Naturally, it posed its own problems: Sebastian had to watch out for poison while also locating and having a conversation with Lady Rosemore, but what kind of butler would he be if he couldn't cope with two tasks simultaneously?

Miss Taylor's offer to make tea was predictable, just as his lord's enthusiastic response. The criticism of his culinary skills, on the other hand, made him purse his lips in annoyance.

"Sebastian's tea always makes me nauseous," the boy complained. How he managed to sound so innocent during the blatant slander was mystifying. "But I don't tell him that because I don't want to hurt his feelings."

The brat just had to poke at him even when Sebastian was not there to witness it personally. His teas were flawless, refined to the point of total perfection. If the boy had a problem with them, then it was his own preferences that made him nauseous because every tea was adjusted specifically to his unique tastes.

Sebastian briefly considered not switching the cups and letting Ciel Phantomhive drink poison at least this one time. But when Miss Taylor put the tarnished cup on the table and the boy started to reach for it, Sebastian's body made its choice without consulting his brain.

He dashed into the kitchen, grabbed another cup, filled it with tea and replaced his lord's with it in under six seconds. Then he retreated, content with the feeling of completing his duties. His lord deserved to be taught a lesson, but this lesson wouldn't endanger his health. He would simply lose for the second time in two days.

Lady Rosemore was in the library again. Sebastian approached her and cleared his throat, adopting a solemn expression.

"My apologies for startling you," he said. Lady Rosemore tried to smile at him, but her wildly beating heart betrayed her fear. "My lord is currently busy, so I wanted to use this moment to talk to you."

"You did?" She took a tiny step back. "What about?"

"A day ago, I was in the library. And I happened to notice you here."

Another stumbling of the heart. Lady Rosemore's face turned greyish, but she still tried to force a smile.

"Perhaps," she agreed shakily. "I was just reading books. I love books, you see."

"Yes, I do see it. And I understand you. I myself am a big collector. Books are everything — they are the only bridge we have that physically links us to the events long forgotten. Without them, we would know nothing about our past."

This time, Lady Rosemore said nothing. She was starting to shake, and Sebastian leaned closer to her, brushing his fingers against her neck.

"It's because of my understanding that I decided to warn you," he whispered. "My lord knows who you are. The disappearances of other teachers are not a coincidence. He ordered me to collect all of you under his roof, and he's been eliminating you one by one. Now it's your turn. If you want to make it out of this house alive, you need to leave as soon as possible. Do it now, while he's still busy. Otherwise, I'm afraid you might not last until supper."

Pure horror flashed on Lady Rosemore's face. She didn't say a word, not even to thank him. She broke into a run instead, holding her long dress to avoid stumbling and falling.

He would give her time to gather her things and leave the manor. Then he would drag her into Young Master's office and claim his rightful victory.

Sebastian waited for Lady Rosemore to move out of earshot, and then he laughed.

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Despite the initial explosion of outrage, his lord seemed strangely accepting of his defeat. He interacted with Sebastian in a pleasant manner, and it didn't look like he was angry or even upset.

"So did you kill Aimens?" he wondered. They had just completed their fencing lesson, and even though fifteen minutes had passed, his breathing was only starting to stabilise.

"Why would you like to know?" Upon finishing buttoning his lord's shirt, Sebastian leaned away, admiring the view. He enjoyed England and the diversity of its seasons. There were so many fabrics and details to choose from to make his Master look flawless. "I thought you entrusted his fate to me. If I recall correctly, you refused to hear a word about him only several hours ago."

"Well, I changed my mind. Maybe I'm interested in learning what choices my butler makes when I leave him without orders."

Curious now, Sebastian tilted his head, thinking about it. Had Aimens been supposed to be a test? He hadn't stopped to consider it. But what could be the point? What decision Ciel Phantomhive might have expected him to make?

"I gave him a chance to escape," he said carefully. Surprise coloured his Master's face. The expression was too neutral to understand its implications, so Sebastian decided to go on. "He had five minutes of a head start before I began to follow him."

At this, his lord's eyes lit up, and pleasure flared in Sebastian's chest. So what he'd done was the right decision. He shouldn't have doubted it. Few creatures in this world enjoyed games as much as his Young Master did.

"That doesn't sound fair to me," the boy commented. Despite the rebuke, he still sounded captivated. "You could cover the distance he'd cross in five minutes under several seconds. Why give him a chance at all if you didn't intend to let him live?"

"Whether he lived or not was entirely up to him. There was another condition: if he stopped moving, I would stop chasing him as well. All he had to do was wait in one place until I had no choice but to leave."

"I doubt it would have changed the outcome," Young Master uttered, but his curiosity seemed to brighten further. "You could pretend to leave and he'd have no way of knowing if you're nearby. And even if I summoned you and you had to return to the house, it wouldn't have taken you long to come back for him, snap his neck and then leave again."

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips.

"True," Sebastian allowed. "But he still had a chance and he chose to waste it. He failed to stand motionlessly even for two minutes. Humans are akin to animals in this regard. They might look refined and act sophisticated, but once their instincts take over, they stop thinking. They turn into mindless frightened creatures that try to flee against all rational thought."

"Right, right," the boy rolled his eyes. "Hopeless humans. Demons as the most amazing creatures to walk the earth — or hell, or wherever it is you're walking when you are not busy with your contracts. Are you saying demons never lose control?"

"Not out of fear," Sebastian announced smugly. One of the strands of his lord's hair seemed out of place, so he moved it gently, tucking it behind his ear. "Demons, especially those of lesser ranks, might feel scared, but even they will never let this fear overwhelm them. Their decisions will always be calculated and there will always be some rationale behind them."

"Hmm," Young Master measured him with a long, considering look. He shook his head, and the same unruly strand of hair escaped its trap, falling right above his marked eye. With an indulgent smile, Sebastian reached and rearranged it again, but when his lord giggled in response, he blinked, uncertain what about his actions might have provoked such an atypical reaction.

"Is there a calculated rationale behind your compulsive need to make me look perfect? According to your definition of perfection, of course."

Sebastian stiffened. An odd kind of awkwardness twisted his gut into a knot, and he quickly stepped away, crossing his arms against his chest.

"I would think that the rationale behind my efforts is crystal clear," he noted. His words sounded almost defensive, and he despised it as much as the boy's insinuation. "I am fulfilling my butler obligations with the dedication you, as my Master, deserve. Keeping your appearance in line with your status is one of my daily duties."

"Yes. One of your duties. How could I ever doubt that?" his lord snapped. But his annoyance seemed short-lived as he calmed down immediately afterwards. A new curious gleam entered his gaze, emphasising its blueness, and Sebastian's eyes lingered on it admiringly.

"I have an idea," the boy told him. "How about you and I play a game similar to the one you played with Aimens?"

This made little sense, so Sebastian quirked an eyebrow.

"You want me to chase you and kill you in case you make any movement?" he clarified dubiously, and his lord snorted.

"Don't be so literal," he admonished. The disobedient bluish lock fell out of order again, and Sebastian stared at it, fighting the urge to dig his hands into this hair and work on it until every strand was in its rightful place. The instinct was so overpowering that he missed what his Master was saying.

"What?" he asked stupidly. His lord gave him a derisive look, as if he knew very well what problem was plaguing his mind.

"We will play it differently," he repeated, pronouncing each word so clearly, as if Sebastian was too slow to understand them otherwise. "You will give me ten minutes to go outside and hide somewhere. Then you will start looking for me. But you mustn't use your powers — at all. This includes your abnormal senses. Can you disconnect from them and search for me as if you were a human?"

"I can. But I'm not sure I see the point in this game. What happens after I find you? What is at stake?"

"Not everything has to be about stakes," the boy said dismissively, but something in the way he kept watching him filled Sebastian with suspicions. He felt like he was missing a part of a puzzle, with no chance at deciphering it since his lord was being vague on purpose — he obviously wasn't planning to share any of his real motivations.

"But what happens after one of us wins?"

"It's simple: either we both win or we both lose. Did you see the weather? It's getting colder by the day and it's raining. The more time you waste, the more time I spend outside. If I get sick, I'll feel terrible, but you will suffer, too, because you'll have to be the one to take care of me. So it is in both our interests for you to find me as soon as possible."

This explanation only made things more confusing. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, twisting this odd game at different angles and trying to understand its purpose.

He doubted that Ciel Phantomhive randomly decided to play hide-and-seek. He rarely did things without planning them in advance, so it was likely that this game had a point — only Sebastian couldn't see it yet.

"Fine," he agreed at last. His lord's grin widened, as mysterious as his words.

"Fine," he echoed. "Start counting the minutes. Remember: you can't use any of your elevated senses. No listening to my heartbeat, no monitoring my presence. No relying on your seal. Look for me in the human way."

"I don't know where you're planning to hide, but if it's somewhere in the woods, I'm not certain an ordinary human would be able to track you down," Sebastian said carefully. He hoped to get a reaction or even better, a direct answer, but the boy just shrugged.

"Then look harder," he advised. "But I can give you a tip. I'll hide in a relevant place. It won't be random. And I hope I don't need to tell you that if your seal indicates that I'm in danger, the rules are nullified. I won't let our game be your excuse for letting me break my neck in some ditch."

This seemed oddly specific, so Sebastian consumed and stored this last phrase for later consideration.

"Understood," he said aloud. With another mysterious look, Young Master walked out of the room. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, but Sebastian knew this was a façade. As soon as the boy closed the door, he started running, and this was…

Oh. He almost forgot.

Sebastian closed his eyes, gradually disconnecting from his demonic self. It was a peculiar process that he rarely resorted to — feeling even more like a human was a curious experience, but it was also unnerving. Losing his ability to hear and feel the world around him made him feel strangely open and vulnerable to threats.

The house seemed deadly silent now. Sebastian had no inkling where Ciel Phantomhive was or what the servants were doing. In an attempt to distract himself, he focused on his pocket watch, counting minutes and trying to ignore the growing sense of disquiet.

His lord was plotting something. He was almost certain of it. This game within a game seemed immature and redundant, but Sebastian doubted the boy had suddenly decided to embrace a child in himself. He had to have his reasons for setting it up, and the fact that Sebastian couldn't begin to guess what they were frustrated him as much as it fascinated him.

When ten minutes passed, he hastened to leave the manor. Considering his lord's lack of physical durability, he couldn't have made it very far, but Sebastian still stopped at the gates, unsure about where to go first. Where could the boy have gone? What "relevant" place could he have chosen to hide within?

The rain was mild, but without his demonic energy flaring inside, it quickly began to feel cold. The sky was darkly grey, and with the occasional howls of the wind, all Sebastian wanted was to snatch his ridiculous Master and hide inside the manor.

With a sigh, he looked at the ground, searching for any trail. The yellowish grass seemed more flaccid or even trampled in some areas, so Sebastian followed in that direction, going deeper into the woods.

The farther he walked, the more uncomfortable he felt. It took some time for him to pinpoint the source of his discomfort.

Not sensing the sounds of life around him was difficult but ultimately bearable. Not sensing the sound of Ciel Phantomhive's heartbeat, on the other hand…

Strictly, this wasn't a new experience. There were times when they were separated; there were moments when Sebastian distanced himself from this sound deliberately. But right now, not hearing it wasn't his choice, and he knew very well that the sound was somewhere in his vicinity, perfectly within his reach if he were to restore his powers.

With every step, this knowledge drove him crazy. The silence was getting more and more oppressive: it grated on his nerves, and Sebastian felt increasingly on edge.

His seal was behaving oddly, too. At first, it kept thrumming lightly, which was natural and not that worrisome, considering that his Master was outside without proper clothing. But bit by bit, the stinging intensified. The fluctuations were atypical — it was like his lord was experimenting with his own safety, such as climbing a high tree or walking up and down a stiff cliff.

The heat didn't indicate any real danger, though, so Sebastian had to ignore it.

This game wasn't entertaining at all. Here, in the woods, where rainfall was the only sound he could perceive, he felt isolated, like he was the only living creature in the entire world. And wouldn't it be a depressing experience? With no one to challenge, no one to surprise him.

Where was his lord? The trail Sebastian was following didn't seem to be leading anywhere, trampled grass or not. What place would the boy call relevant and which could explain the purpose of this whole thing?

Suddenly, the seal flared with fire, and every thought evaporated from Sebastian's mind. His real senses roared back to life, breathing his demonic essence into him, and then he was gone, following the contractual pull. His lord's heartbeat flooded his ears, and some tension loosened, with instinctive relief blossoming in its stead.

A moment later, he noticed the oddness of it. The boy's heart was beating calmly. It didn't sound like he was in danger — if he was, he showed no fear or anxiety over it. However, the seal kept scorching his hand, urging him to hurry up, and panic still grabbed him in its hold.

All of a sudden, he realised where Ciel Phantomhive was, and his own heart skipped a confounded, incredulous beat.

The swamp. He was at the swamp. This was where he chose to hide? Was he insane?

Another three seconds and he reached his target. He wasted a split second registering that the boy was indeed inside the swamp, with his legs having disappeared already, before instincts took over and he tore him from there, pulling him far away.

"What happened?" he growled. Young Master was all wet and dirty, shivering from the cold, but his face wore an intrigued and calculating expression.

"Nothing much," he replied. His voice might have been casual, but each syllable trembled. "You found me. We can go home now. My feet hurt — you pulled me out too abruptly."

This was unbelievable. This made zero sense.

"Did you decide to hide on the bottom of the swamp?" Sebastian asked spitefully. He quickly put his coat around his lord, wrapping him tightly into it before snatching him from the ground. "What possessed you to do something so stupid?"

The boy waved his hand weakly, burrowing deeper into Sebastian's shoulder.

"It doesn't matter," he mumbled. "You can consider it a rehearsal. That's all."

"A rehearsal of what? Your suicide?"

A snort mixed with a chuckle was his answer. With another frustrated growl, Sebastian jumped above the trees, cutting his way to the manor through the woods. He needed to get his problem-causing Master home as soon as possible — he didn't intend to cancel their bigger game just because the boy fell sick out of his own stupidity.

"This was entirely pointless," Sebastian told him. His lord smirked.

"Speak for yourself. I got what I wanted."

"Yes? And what was it? Were you eager to experience what you had subjected your cousin to? You didn't need to create a game for it. I could have thrown you into the swamp any time you asked."

"I bet you could."

His lord's voice sounded as disinterested and unimpressed as it could get. He didn't seem affected by the implicit threat, so Sebastian deposited him into the bathtub harshly.

"You might not be aware of this," he drawled, "but I've been leaving bodies in that swamp. It is a known fact that swamps preserve the things they swallow in their initial form, so it's quite possible that some of those people are still alive. I'm certain they would love a chance to drag you down to keep them company."

This got him a reaction. The boy gaped, something akin to childish excitement mixed with horror lighting his eyes up, before logic caught up and extinguished the spark. He scowled.

"Don't be absurd," he complained petulantly. "No one is alive in there. Besides, even if they could somehow breathe the dirty water and live without food, they were already dead by the time you threw them in."

"Don't you believe in the living dead, Young Master?"

His lord narrowed his eyes menacingly. If he wasn't sitting in an isolated bathtub, Sebastian was certain he'd pick the first thing he could reach to throw it at his head.

"Be that as it may," he added, "spending time in a swamp is potentially dangerous, especially when this swamp is full of bodies. If you get sick, I'm half-tempted to ignore you and let someone else take care of you."

The boy released a weary sigh.

"I'm almost certain that anyone could do a better job of this than you," he murmured. "Don't think I forgot how you used me as a test subject for refining your skills. If it weren't for Madam Red, I'd be dead three times over by now."

"Your continued good health speaks differently."

Young Master didn't comment, which meant he had no more arguments to offer. Satisfied, Sebastian leaned towards the bathtub and turned on the hot water, ignoring the indignant shriek.

"What do you think you're doing!" his lord yelped. He jerked to the other side of the tub, vividly reminding Sebastian of a clumsy sea creature stuffed into a cauldron.

"When you play stupid games, you should expect the matching rewards," he replied pitilessly. "I don't understand what you intended to achieve, but you created unnecessary problems and endangered yourself. If this is your way of coping with losing yet again—"

The boy flushed angrily.

"I did not lose!" he hissed. Realising that Sebastian wasn't going to help him, he began to disrobe, wrinkling his nose at the contact with muddy clothes. "We shall see who scores the last victory. And if you don't understand what I was doing, then you have only yourself to blame because when you do figure it out, it'll be too late."

A new wave of interest bit into him. Frustrated resentment faded, and Sebastian bent down to help his Master to take his clothing off.

So his insane plan did have a purpose. It was exciting to know, if not a little concerning. Sebastian would have to watch him closely to detect any clues and take action if necessary.

He couldn't help but wonder if this whole plan was somehow related to their big game.

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Nothing happened in the course of the next several days. His lord no longer behaved strangely — it seemed like he had no plans that would have necessitated the swamp craziness.

If Sebastian got his third victory, he would ask what that had been about. And judging from how things were going, he had good chances of scoring the final points.

Despite Miss Taylor now openly putting poison into his drinks, Young Master remained clueless. Sebastian caught him searching the kitchen for something with an anxious expression and then asking Mey-Rin about different kinds of drugs and their effects. This was when things finally clicked.

His lord must be theorising that Miss Taylor was drugging him, not poisoning him. He always overcomplicated things, and in this instance, his ideas must have been influenced by his past experiences. Did he think she intended to sell him to someone? That Sebastian had found a criminal similar to the ones who attacked him and his family all those years ago?

This was an ingenious idea, actually. He should have thought of it himself. It would have been amusing to let such a kidnapper drug the boy and put him in a cage. Sebastian was certain that all hopes for a victory would have fled his lord's mind — it's likely that he would have regressed to a panicked child he'd been before, calling him and admitting his defeat in exchange for a rescue.

Sebastian's mood kept climbing up, but it came to a halt when his lord gave him a letter and told him to deliver it to Lau personally.

This posed a dilemma. If he left now, he would leave Young Master with Miss Taylor. What if she poisoned his drink during this time window?

On the other hand, the boy wasn't an idiot. Because of his blindness ploy, he easily saw when she put something into his cups, and Sebastian hoped he wouldn't be stupid enough to take a risk and drink it when his butler wasn't there.

Grabbing a letter, he left the manor, and despite self-reassurances, the pangs of anxiousness followed him throughout his journey.

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Lau stared at the letter for a long time. Sebastian's impatience won out at the second minute, but before he could hurry him up, Lau raised his head.

"I'll have to be honest with you," he said grimly. "I understand that our Earl Phantomhive expects an answer from me, but I have no idea how to respond to his… message. Not in a written form, at least. Maybe you could give me some suggestions?"

Interested and temporarily forgetting about the reasons for his concern, Sebastian accepted the letter.

The first thing he noticed was its length — it had three short lines in it. And this was the urgent message Young Master had ordered him to carry?..

Then he read the sentences, and it startled him so much that he nearly dropped the letter.

Lau,

Tell Sebastian that he's an idiot.

Regards.

Slowly, he re-read them again, convinced he must be seeing things, but the same offensive words stared back at him. Confusion and embarrassment flooded him, and he pursed his lips, hiding this insult of the letter in his pocket. To think that he'd rushed here with this kind of message and that Lau got to see it… What was Young Master thinking? Was this some petty revenge for losing and being unable to pinpoint Miss Taylor's crime? Unless…

His seal flared with fire, and Sebastian went cold.

Unless the boy decided that he had an answer and planned a confrontation with Miss Taylor, sending Sebastian away on a fool's errand to buy himself some time.

Panic gripped his gut so strongly that he felt nauseous. Without bothering to glance at Lau again, he fled the room, instantly gaining speed.

His intangible form gave him the advantage of moving quicker than the fastest wind, and as the world blurred around him, he could only think of the burning on what would be his human hand.

His lord was in danger. And while this danger might have started out small, its degree was intensifying, sending sparkles of shock through Sebastian's body.

Perhaps he was overestimating the situation. Even with him gone, his Master wasn't alone. There were servants in the house, and after all, what could Miss Taylor do to him? The boy might be physically fragile, but if he made an effort, he could overpower a short woman. Her weapon was poison; his lord had a gun. In the unlikely case of direct confrontation, Sebastian would place his bets on him. Besides, Miss Taylor was motivated by misguided empathy. What was the most extreme thing she could do to the boy?

These thoughts brought him a reflection of comfort, but it shattered as soon as the command came.

Sebastian. Sebastian, come here, it's an order. Help me. Help!

His seal didn't lie, something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong, considering the waves of panic he could feel through their bond. Sebastian didn't know whether this panic was Ciel Phantomhive's or if it belonged to them both, but he pushed himself even harder, desperate to get to the manor on time.

He shouldn't have left. What did victory in the game mean if he lost in a far bigger, far more important game?

What could the little idiot be doing? Did he decide to corner Miss Taylor personally and threaten her into sharing her crime with him? He couldn't be that stupid. His approaches had always been subtle and refined.

On the other hand, if he felt he could not solve this riddle by himself… Young Master hated losing. Since issuing a promise to win the next chess match, he and Sebastian hadn't completed a single round — he kept terminating their games. If he felt he had no other choice, he could easily do something rash and stupid, and if Sebastian didn't manage to arrive on time…

Anger and fear gripped him anew. He was already entering the familiar grounds, and when his lord's heartbeat graced his ears, overpowering relief trickled down his form.

Alive. He was still alive. This was the only thing that mattered because Sebastian was here now and he would deal with everything. He would do what he did best: save his foolish lord from endangering himself. It couldn't be too late — his seal continued to throb, yes, but the sensation was mild. There was still time, and he could already feel his darkness stretching, attempting to get into the room and fill it with the warning of retribution.

He himself caught up seconds later, and it took him one shocked moment to realise that Ciel Phantomhive was lying on the floor, unconscious, with a faint smell of blood permeating the air. Taylor was standing right above him, so Sebastian lashed out, tearing her away violently and taking her place. Adrenaline continued to wreak chaos inside him, so he barely remembered how to resume his human form.

The first thing he noticed about his lord was the same stubborn strand of hair lying on his forehead. For some reason, this made his heart clench in the most disturbing of ways. Sebastian touched the lock, noting with distant surprise that his hand was shaking slightly.

The boy's body spasmed, but his forehead felt cool. Healthy. Sebastian couldn't detect any visible injuries, though the scent of blood remained: now that he was so close, he began to find it distracting. The only difference was, he wasn't tempted by it at all this time. On the contrary, it filled him with a low-burning feeling of horror, and he barely recognised his voice when he asked, "What have you done?"

He didn't know whom he was directing his question to, but there was only one human currently capable of speaking here, so he half-turned to face her.

"I've done nothing!" Taylor stammered. She got up unsteadily, holding her bleeding head. "I found him like this. Maybe he got sick? Maybe—"

Whatever remnants of human patience Sebastian tried to hold onto snapped. He got to his feet and stared her down, knowing what she would see on his face. Death.

"Would you like me to repeat myself?" he hissed. "I can. But if I do, you won't like the consequences."

Show-off, his Master's voice accused him. Sebastian knew without turning that it existed solely in his head, but it felt so real and so familiar that his stomach sank. It felt empty and weightless, and he wanted to climb out of these unnerving, miserable emotions, to rise above them and get his answers without letting the urgency affect him personally.

"I've done nothing!" Taylor repeated shrilly. That she dared to lie to him even now, when she was so obviously caught, ignited his rage and destroyed his attempts at keeping himself human. The shadows elongated, the feathers fell, and this time, Sebastian allowed himself to succumb to his energy. It blossomed, enveloping him in the familiar layers of darkness and breathing strength into him to help him focus on his rage instead of his fear.

Taylor's mouth fell open. She stared in shock, her face instantly losing the marbles it still clung to.

"What are you— what is this?" she whispered. She had already exceeded the limit of useless questions, and when Sebastian's hands closed over her elbow, twisting it until it snapped, he felt a cool brush of temporary relief.

He knew how to inflict pain, and it was pain that could help him to help his lord.

Taylor shrieked, trying to get away from him, but Sebastian's grip was steely, not letting her move an inch.

"Tell me what you've done," he repeated quietly. Since Taylor was still squirming, he clenched three of her fingers in his fist and crushed the bones to dust, taking dark pleasure from how her whimpering turned into another piercing scream. "What's wrong with him? Why is he on the floor?"

"I don't know!" she howled. Tears streamed down her face, turning her into one of those pathetic messy types of humans Sebastian despised. "I swear I don't know! I've just come to my room, I didn't even see him today!"

The lie was so bold and preposterous that Sebastian laughed. In any other situation, he would have admired Tayor's gall — it wasn't daily that people could stare at his demonic form and continue to resist. But when his Master's life was on the line, the only thing he felt was a stirring of vicious, black rage.

He grabbed Taylor by her throat with his claws and threw her across the room, making sure to leave several bleeding scratches.

"You are very brave for a human," he noted coldly. "But very foolish. Do you wish to prolong your death? Because I will get the answer out of you even if I have to tear it from your throat."

"I've done nothing!" Taylor moaned. Sebastian flicked his fingers, allowing his hungry shadows to crawl towards her and bite into her feet. Heavy sobs wrecked Taylor's bod as she tried to move away,

"Please!" she begged. "Please, you have to believe me, I like this boy. I'd never—"

That she dared to even mention his lord when he was lying crumpled because of her doing made Sebastian see red. Teeth bared, he lunged at her and slashed her throat with the barest tips of his claws — deep to bleed, not deep enough to kill. His feathers coiled in response to the anger coursing through him, peeling another human layer off and exposing a form he rarely displayed in this world. The shadows mirrored him and wrapped around Taylor, pouring into her throat and making her choke on her heaving screams.

But then he heard a voice. His voice. Calling him.

The sound was quiet, barely audible, but it was there, and it instantly drowned every destructive emotion whirling in him. Sebastian didn't notice how he dashed to his lord's side — the next thing he knew, he was already kneeling next to him, his darkness stretching to envelop him in its anxious coils.

"Young Master," he breathed out, "what happened? How do you feel?"

The boy's lips parted with difficulty. He was struggling to speak. Sebastian checked his forehead again, then moved his inspection lower, towards his neck and chest. The heart was still beating strongly: nothing seemed wrong with it, but seeing his condition, it only served to disturb Sebastian more.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong, and he had no idea what it could be.

"She had a vial," his Master whispered at last. He tried to get up, but Sebastian tightened his grip around his waist, too panicked to let him move and waste his energy. "She forced me to swallow everything inside it, I don't know what it was. She said… she said… there is a cure, but then… Oh."

Another spasm rolled through the boy's body. Pain flared across his face, and then he was silent.

Silent.

Panic consumed Sebastian, devouring his every rational thought and instinct. He had to grab his lord by the shoulders to prevent him from collapsing, and when he saw his eyes roll, his own fear multiplied. His lungs constricted around his ragged breaths, as if they too were terrified; then they stopped working altogether. The humanity he'd tried to put on for Ciel Phantomhive's sake melted, leaving an exposed essence of raw evil behind.

"He's lying!" Taylor protested through her gasps. She portrayed astonishment surprisingly well. "I did nothing to him!"

Sebastian let out a vicious growl. He would have attacked her right now, pulled one thread of intestines through her mouth after another one, but one word kept echoing in his mind, stilling his murderous rage.

Cure. Whatever was wrong with his Master, there was a cure.

It meant he was going to have to find it.

"What cure?" he demanded to know. His human voice was long gone, replaced by a more natural snarl. "What did he mean?"

"I swear to you, I don't know anything! I wasn't even in the room, I just—"

Enough was enough.

Sebastian pushed himself off the floor, slithering towards Taylor and framing her face with his hands. His claws grew longer, his darkness heating them obediently, and when they flashed with redness, he thrust the two of them through Taylor's cheek. They pierced the soft skin and corked out several teeth, and the noise she made was so inhuman that it quelled his monstrous thirst for her blood for a moment.

"If you don't tell me, what I've done so far will feel like a caress," Sebastian whispered. Each word was a rumbling promise. "I will not stop at your body. If he dies, I will drag your soul straight to Hell. The Rippers will never be able to find it, and I will personally introduce you to every delight my home has to offer. Would you truly like to spend an eternity with me? I assure you, you won't enjoy the experience."

He had never done it before, but for Taylor, he would make an exception. He would keep her soul trapped in her body for as long as he could, mutilating it until nothing but a crisp was left behind, and after that, he would focus on her soul. He was never fond of Hell, but to explore it alongside the trapped soul of the enemy? The delights he would be able to experience… They would feel dark and hollow, but at least they would be there. If Ciel Phantomhive didn't exist, the colours would be extinguished, and this shallow demonic entertainment would be the only thing left for him in store.

He and Taylor, the eternal reminder of what he'd lost… there was a certain kind of irony in this.

"I was poisoning him!" she whimpered. Blood was gushing out of the holes in her face, which made her speech only partly coherent. "I was, I… I admit it. But it wasn't malicious, I just wanted to help him! And I didn't do anything to him today, you have to believe me! I'm telling… it's the..."

The rage that engulfed him now was deadly. Sebastian stepped on Taylor's foot, grinding it into the floor with the heel of his shoe slowly.

"What cure?" he bellowed. He was losing time, losing precious seconds, and all because some human wouldn't break? "Speak! Now!"

Another dark layer fell off, revealing an even more rotten core. His back tingled, a hint of the wings protruding from his waist and up. He didn't remember the last time he took his true form in its entirety, but it didn't matter — only the cure did.

Sebastian raised his shape of a hand, preparing to deliver another violent blow, when the most familiar of voices spoke behind him.

"How much longer am I supposed to listen to this? Honestly, even a fool would have realised she knows nothing at this point. Or are you that insecure about your torture abilities?"

Shock slammed into him with such force that Sebastian nearly broke his own neck with how fast he turned around.

Ciel Phantomhive was awake. He was half-sitting on the floor, watching him with his arrogant, beautiful face, and everything Sebastian was, shattered, transformed into one overwhelming, profound emotion of relief. It dizzied him, made him waver on his crouching feet.

He wasn't late. The boy was still alive. More than that, he looked healthy, and a blissful smile began to touch Sebastian's lips when his brain finally deciphered the words he'd heard.

His lord was implying… what? That Taylor was innocent? Why would he cover her crime up? Unless—

Slowly, he stood up. One of his hands continued to squeeze Taylor's neck, and he threw her away impatiently, completely losing interest now that the most confusing riddle was unfolding right in front of him.

The boy had been in the process of dying. He'd been poisoned — Sebastian could still sense blood somewhere on him. He'd assumed it was from the internal bleeding, but no one recovered from that easily. So how could what he was witnessing be true?

Perhaps it was an illusion. Had Taylor managed to poison him, too, and this was an elaborate hallucination? A depiction of what he craved most? Maybe she wasn't human. Maybe he'd made the worst mistake in his existence by bringing her into their house.

Wanting, needing physical confirmation, Sebastian approached his lord. Each step was wary; each step caused dread to well up in him, whispering that the image of his lord was about to fall apart, replaced with his dead body instead.

But the distance was crossed, and the boy was still there. Sebastian reached for him greedily, pausing before his clawed hands made contact. Softening his touch, he brushed his fingers against the pale face reverently, turning it to make certain that it was real and wouldn't fade under the slightest pressure.

The scent of blood was stronger. He needed to find a source — maybe this would provide him with an explanation, dissipate the confusion that kept muddying his thoughts.

It didn't take him long to realise that Young Master's hand was bleeding. The smell was coming from there, and without thinking, Sebastian tore through the fabric, careful not to damage the skin yet needing to see the problem with his own eyes. A final piece of the puzzle was there, he knew it, it had to be there.

When he saw the blood, his breath caught, and another moment passed before comprehension finally overtook him.

It was the same wound Madam Red had inflicted. Someone had re-opened it, making it bleed on purpose.

No. Could it be that…

Sebastian lowered his gaze and stared at the shards of glass. They were lying close to where his Master had been, perfectly within his reach.

There were no more doubts left. The boy had cut himself.

The heartbeat. It had been slightly elevated, but it sounded strong and steady.

The seal. It warned him of the danger, but the burn had been mild, and during the last five minutes, he hadn't sensed it at all.

Lau, tell Sebastian that he's an idiot.

The message had predicted this moment. He was an idiot. He fell for a ridiculous scheme and somehow, his lord knew this would happen.

He made it happen. There was no poison. No threat. No dying. It was just another game, a final round where the stakes were at their highest. A bluff akin to the ploy with blindness, and Sebastian had bought it in the exact same manner the teachers had.

This couldn't be real. This couldn't be what happened.

"We have a draw," his Master whispered, the hateful expression of smugness dancing on his face. Sebastian wanted to claw it off. "But tell me, Sebastian. Do you feel like it's a draw? Do you feel like you've won something from me?"

The blow was so hard and sobering that it robbed him of his breath. In this moment, in this second, Ciel Phantomhive suddenly evolved into the most dangerous being Sebastian had encountered. He flinched away by instinct, astonished yet feeling threatened for the first time in centuries, but the boy grabbed him by his coat to hinder his retreat.

"So blinded by your primitive emotions," he mocked. This voice sounded softer, deadlier than his real one. "So weak and gullible. Did you think your seal was lying to you? That Taylor's poison made it malfunction? Or did you let the chance of our contract ending before you fulfilled your part scare you so much that you forgot about the seal altogether?"

No, Ciel Phantomhive didn't sound like himself. He sounded like Sebastian. From the manner of speaking to the tone and down to the last syllable, he was recreating Sebastian's voice, mirroring his thoughts and stealing his essence. In this moment, he was him, and Sebastian had never been more revolted, fascinated, and horrified.

All the darkness that had poured into relief began to blink back into existence. Since the feeling of relief was unwarranted, the strength of those endless emotions had to go somewhere. His skin flared with flame, and Sebastian finally managed to jerk away, not taking his eyes off the boy.

"I think you were confused about what dramatic means?" Young Master drawled. It was as if he didn't sense the growing danger, remained oblivious to the shadows eager to drown him. "Here's your answer. What happened now was dramatic… for you, at least. I had great fun. We should do it again sometime."

Such insolence couldn't exist. It couldn't be real. Because if it was, Sebastian would have no choice but to kill this creature — the control was rapidly seeping out of him, the darkness pumping him with aggravation so profound, it was bound to result in the explosion of violence. He could feel its inflow, he could sense how his body stopped obeying him; he could recognise the way his claws sharpened further and how his teeth twisted into the bared weapons.

Ciel Phantomhive was about to die. This was the clearest thought in his boiling mind. Unless he managed to restore the control, he would murder this human reflection of him right here, feast on his tongue and gorge out his eyes to ascertain that no one ever had a chance to humiliate and shatter him like this.

One breath. He had to take one breath. He had to hold it for three and a half seconds. He had to take another breath next.

Breathing could be helpful. Breathing was his last hope to keep his sanity and save the boy's life.

And then Ciel Phantomhive began to laugh. His laughter was subdued but genuine, and it was so pure, so condescendingly amused that the dark fog descended upon Sebastian like a steely wall.

He knew what it meant. No more emotions, no more hesitations — only death. Only destruction. His nature wasn't going to give him or his deranged copy another chance. The time for games had passed.

Games.

A game.

Their game.

Desperately clinging to the last strands of his sanity, Sebastian threw everything he had into an effort to look away. He was sure this wouldn't work — his body was out of control, the urge to murder burning so hotly that he could sense the physical burns blossoming under his skin.

Yet still, incredibly, he succeeded. He broke the eye contact, and this was when his mind shut off entirely. His body lunged at the first target he saw: grabbing her by her swollen throat, he fled the house, and this was when the first hellish snarl tore from his throat.

He could begin.

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A part of him that was responsible for making decisions chose the swamp. He brought his prey there and threw her onto the ground, crouching nearby, salivating over her torn flesh. She kept crying and murmuring something, but he didn't speak her language and had no idea what she was trying to say.

The noise itself was grating, and so he did what he'd promised himself: he forced her mouth open and chewed her tongue, growing stronger from the taste of blood and muffled shrieks. This mouth would no longer have a chance to insult him. These lips would not be curling into derisive smiles.

The lips.

He kissed them, and then he bit them off, swallowing them and growling at the pleasant warmth that was now brushing him from inside.

The eyes were next. He had no clue what colour they were, but he imagined them blue. Blue was pretty, and nothing would please him more than consuming it.

He gouged one of the eyes out with his claws, impaling it on the tip and pushing it down his throat. This didn't sate his hunger — he remembered these eyes too well for only one of them to be enough. These eyes mocked him, too. They infuriated him. They challenged, they captivated, and so he pressed his face to the remaining one, opened his mouth wide and began his meal.

He ate the parts of the face around it and then the eye itself when he could reach it. The prey was silent now, but the heart was still beating weakly, so he decided to focus on it next. Breaking through the ribcage, he pulled it out and pressed it to his nose, inhaling its scent.

To his disappointment, it didn't smell like anything special. Even then, the sight of it in his claws made him pause for a moment, a vague sensation of unease rising up and consuming him before vanishing.

It wasn't the right heart, which meant that he could eat it.

So he did.

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The first thing that returned to Sebastian was his name. The second thing was the awareness of his surroundings. He was crouching near the familiar swamp, with several articles of clothing scattered around. They were soaked in blood, and he picked them up out of his curiosity.

Miss Taylor. She'd been wearing these when he attacked her.

The memories flooded back, and Sebastian slowly tilted his head, analysing everything that had taken place.

Ciel Phantomhive had prepared an elaborate trap. He played a victim once again, only this time, Sebastian was his target.

He'd re-opened his wound to trigger the seal. Perhaps he did something else, too, counting on Sebastian rushing to his aid and being too distracted by his allegedly unconscious body to pay attention to much else.

And he'd fallen for it. He allowed his boy of a master to play him in the way he'd never been played before.

Sebastian closed his eyes, trying to come to terms with this knowledge. Now that his control returned, the emotions came back, too: they were confused and confusing, bewildering and bewildered. He didn't know what to feel. A part of him wanted to laugh in incredulity and admiration; another part wanted vengeance.

Everything his lord had said was true. They had a draw: each scored two victories. But somehow, Sebastian still felt like he lost most spectacularly. He wanted to cringe away from the mere thought of the game — this was a vivid demonstration of his state of mind on the matter.

This outcome was an embarrassment to him. This was the humiliation he was certain no other demon had had to experience.

Breathing in and out slowly, Sebastian got up. There were no bones or meat around the swamp, and the blood was minimal. He had consumed everything there was to consume of Miss Taylor. She hadn't deserved this particular end, but better her than the human who did earn it.

His Master. His infuriating, brilliant, impossible Master.

A raven cawed. Sebastian looked up, squinted, and let out a sigh.

"Not now, Gremory," he said curtly. "I'm not in the mood."

The bird cawed again before taking off. How long had she been here? The last thing Sebastian wanted was for someone to witness his descent into the humiliating weakness.

He'd lost control. He did it when he failed to read the seal correctly and succumbed to human illogical emotions instead, and he did it again when he tore Miss Taylor apart for the single purpose of needing an outlet. Murdering her meant that he wouldn't immediately murder Ciel Phantomhive, so the replacement was more than worth the outcomes it generated. The boy got to live another day, and Sebastian got to return to his role as a butler.

Resentment and longing pulled at his insides in the endless circle of torment caused by human emotions. Shaking his head, Sebastian stretched his limbs and started inspecting his newly-conjured clothes, making certain that everything looked flawless.

He'd lost. There was no way around it. His Master had defeated him. But it didn't mean that Sebastian couldn't take him down with him.

He'd fallen into the pit of the darkest humiliation, and there was a free space right next to him there. They would ask their questions, and Sebastian would watch Ciel Phantomhive pale and stammer, sweat and gasp in his traumatised panic.

The retribution wouldn't make him feel better, but it would make them even.

This was the best result he could hope for in these less than ideal circumstances.

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When he stepped back into the manor, the darkness followed him. It was firmly entrapped under his skin, but his blood brimmed with it, waiting for the right moment.

His lord was waiting for him in the dining room, with a half-unfinished plate in front of him. He must have asked Bard to cook him something.

Sebastian frowned, displeased with this revelation, but the feeling lessened as he looked at the boy and a mix of conflicting emotions crashed into him again.

Soon, he soothed himself. He had to resume performing his butler duties first to find a balance. He couldn't let himself succumb to the mindless destructiveness.

"It appears that you don't have teachers again, my lord," he commented mildly. "Would you like me to find you new ones?"

"Yes, I would," his Master gave him a serene smile. "Only this time, make sure they are actual teachers. The game was fun, but I'd rather move on to a new one."

A new game? This was exactly what Sebastian had in mind. He would throw the boy off the cliff, into the pit where he himself was boiling. Then he would take care of him, and only afterward they could move on to more interesting things.

"I agree," he replied aloud. His stare never wavered even as his instincts implored him to turn away.

Looking into the eyes of Ciel Phantomhive was challenging after his utter humiliation. They had to be truly even for the discomfort to fade.

"I made two correct guesses," the boy said. He didn't sound derisively or like he was boasting, and a small part of tension loosened in Sebastian. "One piece remained a mystery because you got rid of it before I could determine anything. That leaves you with two wins as well. Shall we proceed to our questions?"

He hadn't thought that they would be doing it today.

"Now?" he clarified. Could he really get his retribution early? This was much better than he'd anticipated.

His lord shrugged.

"Why wait? Or you don't know what you're going to ask yet?"

It was difficult to swallow a cold smile, but Sebastian thought he managed fine.

"I do," he said with deliberate slowness. Oh, he knew all right. This question was the only straw he kept holding to keep another burst of fury at bay.

He did not want to kill Young Master prematurely. He only wanted to break him.

As they walked into the office and took their places, Sebastian's mind kept going through all the ways in which he could phrase his question to achieve the maximum effect. The darkness breathed quietly under his skin, waiting for the opportunity to be let out.

"The first victory was mine," his lord stated, "so I'm going to start."

This made Sebastian pause for a moment, but he bowed his head, accepting the terms.

He could wait. He had time.

He didn't know what his Master saw on his face, but he squinted warily.

"No lies," he warned. "No omissions. Only true and detailed answers."

"Of course," Sebastian murmured. "But I do hope you remember that it goes both ways."

The boy seemed annoyed at the reminder, but he didn't protest. Good. Sebastian was sure that regardless of how horrifying he found the question, he would answer it completely and honestly as promised. Such was his Young Master.

Warmth brushed against his ribcage, but the darkness quickly engulfed it. There was no space for that now. He had to restore his dignity first.

"What contract do you consider the most memorable?" Ciel Phantomhive asked. The question sounded like he'd rehearsed it plentifully, and Sebastian blinked, taken aback. This was what he wanted to know? He'd been prepared for… he wasn't certain what, but something grander and much more biting. Something that would elevate the boy even more while simultaneously holding Sebastian buried in shame. Something like his true name.

But this wasn't the case. The question was genuine in its curiosity, as if his lord was truly interested in learning more about him.

"What distinguishes that master from others in your mind and makes them worth remembering?" he added. He'd never shown interest in Sebastian's past — any time Sebastian tried to tell a story, he was rebuffed and silenced, Tamerlane being the worst and the most recent example.

But something must have changed, and he liked this change. It sent another flood of warmth through him, and this time, even the darkness couldn't stifle it. The icy armour binding him and his emotions cracked, and familiar affection began to seep through.

The most memorable contract… His first thought was that his current contract stood out from all the rest for the sheer exhaustion it caused him. But saying this would only inflate the boy's ego further, and besides, the contract had to be finished for Sebastian to look at it objectively. No, he'd rather choose something else.

And so he did. He told Ciel Phantomhive the story of the plague, what it involved and how it came to be. His own story absorbed him, and for this moment, nothing else mattered. Revenge was forgotten, the coldness retreated entirely, shrivelling down to an insignificant coating. Sebastian spoke and was listened to.

"Wait a moment," his lord said suddenly. "A deadly plague? Do you mean the Black Death?"

Their history lessons had their impact. Sebastian smirked.

"It is still viewed as the deadliest epidemic the world has ever seen," he confirmed, and the boy burst into laughter. It sounded approving, validating, and a smile firmly attached itself to Sebastian's lips.

Who knew that his lord would like this story so much? It was pleasing to discover. It warmed Sebastian's chest so much that he almost felt hot with delight.

If he understood by what principle his Master judged his stories, he could enjoy a dozen more moments like this. Why was Tamerlane rejected yet the Plague Idiot, as Sebastian called him, deemed entertaining? Another mystery for him to dwell upon.

"I hope you will be able to shut up about it," the boy said after his laughter ceased. He tried to sound severe, but Sebastian easily deciphered the trembling notes of amusement in his voice. "I won't tolerate any boasting on this topic."

He nodded, barely fighting his own smile. The face his lord was currently wearing was so softened, so mesmerising that his fingers twitched in their instinctive desire to trace its contours and admire them. But before he could get his fill, Young Master suddenly frowned again.

"All right, but this contract… It's not about your master. It's about you. It's memorable because you managed to twist an idiotic wish into something that allowed you to wreak global destruction."

"It is," Sebastian agreed, intrigued by these elaborations. He thought this was obvious, but for some reason, his Master appeared almost upset. "It's the reason why I remember him."

"But it's not a good reason!"

Sebastian stared at him silently. He had no idea what to say and what the boy could be expecting from him. What other reasons should he have had? Contracts were either interesting or boring, and they were all determined by the wishes that lied at their core. People were irrelevant, only their desires counted because this was what Sebastian was supposed to work with.

"Is my answer sufficient?" he asked impatiently when it seemed that the boy was not planning to talk again.

"More or less," he mumbled, raising his head with a weary sigh. "Fine. Let's hear your question."

Oh. His question. In these moments of distraction, he had almost forgotten about it.

The softness that had managed to accumulate in him scattered like ash. The blackness returned, hastening to release the new series of whispers.

It was time to have his revenge. To make them even. To turn the outcome of their game into a draw — a real draw, not the bitter loss he was still reeling from.

The words were there: carefully selected, meticulously planned, ripe and sharpened into flawless weapons.

What are the details of the most humiliating torment you experienced at the hands of the cult that kidnapped you? Start from the first minute and continue until you reach the last. Specify who inflicted it, in what way, how long it lasted, and what you felt throughout.

He knew Ciel Phantomhive remembered everything about his experience of violation. The memories dwelled daily and nightly in his head, haunting him in reality and when he was asleep. He couldn't stand being touched by anyone but Sebastian, and it took a while until they got to this point. He still had nightmares — they were not as intense as before, but their persistence was admirable.

He was more than capable of answering this question, and no matter how disgusted and horrified he felt, he would have to provide the details Sebastian would ask for. Going back on his word and refusing to reply would mean admitting defeat, and it was doubtful that he would choose this approach. Either way, his pride would take a harsh blow, and this would fill Sebastian with the satisfaction he craved. The boy's reaction would be a soothing balm that would cure the burns of humiliation he'd sustained today and let them move-on on an equal and more stable footing.

And based on his expression, he was already suspecting something. The light-hearted amusement disappeared entirely, along with the childish petulance. Now his face looked cold and frozen in indifference — unnaturally so. As if he was trying to brace himself in advance.

The right words stuck in Sebastian's mouth. A strange protest rose up from inside, shooting through his body in a pinch of contrition that he'd never thought himself capable of. The darkness wavered and some other emotion spoke in him instead.

Don't.

It was one word — one vague, frustrating word, but somehow, Sebastian couldn't force it away. The more he tried, the wilder storm began to overtake him. He felt nauseated by the violent twists and pulls of contrary feelings. He fought them, trying to beat them down, but they rose to the surface time and time again, up until he understood what they were trying to say.

He didn't want to know the answer to his own question. He had no desire to have such revolting images in his head. Most importantly, despite all the plans, he felt dread at the idea of witnessing Ciel Phantomhive's reaction to his words.

But he also couldn't back down. He'd fallen so low today — his Master would never respect him if he hadn't managed to wrench the control out of his grasp.

Forcing the knot of cutting emotions down, Sebastian opened his mouth… and the words that spilled out of it were unrecognisable.

"How do you understand the concept of attachment?"

It took a few seconds for him to realise what he'd done. He blinked, adrift and utterly thrown.

This was his question? Since when? He neither understood nor wanted to understand attachment. He'd given up on it ever since his lord's accusation. What was a question like this in comparison to what he'd been planning? It had no relevant impact on the boy. It left him in a superior position of having bested a demon so thoroughly that Sebastian couldn't stand the thought of lingering on it for even a minute.

"Could you repeat that?" the boy asked carefully. His mask had cracked, revealing surprise and traces of hopefulness, and just like that, Sebastian knew he wouldn't be able to go through with his initial question.

A part of him raged, but in his turmoil, he couldn't tell whether this part was human or demonic. Which of them wanted what? How could he accept his defeat without seeking retribution?

But despite the dying whispers, a certainty took solid roots in his brain, sliding down to wrap them around his other organs.

He was not going to ask his question. He would find a way to take his revenge, but he would do it differently. There would be other games, other victories, and he'd manipulate them from start to finish if he had to, but he would win.

"What is attachment, in your view?" he repeated aloud. He wasn't confident he was interested in the answer, but if his mind came up with this unexpected question, the least he could do was listen to what his Master had to say.

"Attachment," the boy murmured. A thoughtful look graced his features, and Sebastian breathed a sigh of quiet satisfaction. For whatever reason, it was much preferable to see his lord like this instead of coiled with anxiety, waiting for a strike.

"Attachment is a feeling of… fondness for a person you have a bond with. It can differ in intensity. It can be… something small, like wanting to hear from a person occasionally and to know they are all right," the boy shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't sound very certain. What, did he have doubts about what attachment was, too? Then why would he blame Sebastian for not comprehending it?

"Or it can be something stronger," he added, even slower now. "Like needing to see someone very often and missing them if it doesn't happen. Being unable to imagine your life without them."

What nonsense. Demons were solitary creatures. Why was it strange that Sebastian was unable to miss someone or centre his endless existence on one single creature? As far as he was concerned, this ridded him of misery and constant emotional suffering that humans were often subjected to. Even his Master struggled with accepting the deaths of his parents and Madam Red — had they been so important to him that he couldn't have imagined his life without their presence, what would he be doing now? Would he lock himself away from the world, wasting away in his grief?

Sebastian witnessed this happen to many individuals. It was fascinating, but it wasn't something he wanted to experience. To think that this was the result of attachment. It sounded like damnation rather than a blessing. There was no logic in Ciel Phantomhive accusing him of not bearing this curse. Perhaps he was simply envious?

"But if attachment is present," the boy continued, "in either case, you want to take care of this person. You try to… You try to spare their feelings, to do what you normally wouldn't because you don't want them to be hurt. You compromise your own beliefs because having them angry or worse, upset with you, isn't pleasant. You want to comfort them and to make sure they are safe, from someone else or from you, it doesn't matter. Seeing them happy brings satisfaction to you."

This, on the other hand… this sounded vaguely familiar. Sebastian cringed at the hateful sensation of his heart dropping somewhere when the comparisons blossomed right before his eyes.

Wasn't this what he was doing? Following the strangest instinct to protect his Master from non-physical harm at the expense of his own interests? Finding himself concerned over the potential reaction to his more-than-deserved real question? And there was no denying that seeing Ciel Phantomhive's smiles stole his breath sometimes. The boy was captivating in his anguish, but he was equally beautiful in occasional happiness.

Did it mean Sebastian was attached to him? Nonsense. It couldn't be.

"'For a person you have a bond with,'" he quoted, hostility rising up to compensate for the confusion. "What kind of bond?"

"Any kind," his lord shrugged. "It could be someone you knew years ago, and even if you have nothing in common now, you are still attached to them based on those memories you once shared. It could be someone you spend a lot of time with… or your family."

"How can anyone be attached to a person they have nothing in common with?"

"You might not love these people, but you are still attached to them," the boy rubbed his forehead in consternation. It was increasingly clear to Sebastian that he was guessing rather than describing something solid. His explanations were too abstract. Then again, perhaps this was the curse of human feelings. They weren't logical. "It can be because of the shared past or because you had friendship once. It's like… nostalgia."

"Nostalgia," Sebastian said in disgust. This definitely didn't apply to him and his current situation. He couldn't envision forming a bond with someone merely because they shared some aspects of the past together. "Then what about the beings you've just met and do have something in common with? If nostalgia isn't a factor, how can this… attachment be formed?"

"I don't know!" Young Master exclaimed. "It's not like I have a big experience with this sort of thing. The only people I know are the ones I've always known. What about you? You've existed for an eternity. Are you telling me you've never had friends, or however you demons call them?"

This was a valid question. Sebastian thought about it, trying to apply everything he'd just heard to the bonds he had. Nothing immediate came to mind. Gremory was the only demon he treated with relative friendliness, but he didn't care whether she lived or died. He would help her if she faced any challenges and asked him for assistance, but he wouldn't despair if she were to disappear forever.

"I have acquaintances," he replied finally. "Perhaps one of them is friendlier than others. Nonetheless, attachment is a foreign concept for me." At least it used to be. Now, with all the revelations and comparisons, Sebastian didn't know what to think.

"I imagine most of them are," his Master grumbled. Sebastian didn't comment. With how disquieting most human emotions were, he was relieved he wasn't personally infected with the majority of them. The boy's words no longer sounded like insult to him. "So, is my answer satisfying?"

It wasn't. The last thing he wanted was to face the possibility of falling victim to 'affection'. And affection for whom? A human with a severely limited mortality span? This was preposterous. He didn't know what to do with it, how to begin to wrap his mind around it.

The reason for his never-ending turmoil took his shrug for a confirmation because he smiled in relief before his face became sterner.

"On to my second question, then," he announced. "When Grell said he knows who's responsible for the death of my family, you tried to kill him. Why?"

A chill shot down his spine. Sebastian didn't let himself react, but tension clogged his throat, warning him against speaking the truth.

An obfuscation it be, then.

"You gave me an order to kill him," he replied.

Predictably, his lord didn't accept this answer. The curiosity in his eyes brightened further.

"I did," he agreed. "But contrary to how you behave at times, you do possess some common sense. Grell was the first possible witness we came across in these years. The least you could do was pause and consult with me. Instead, you rushed to get rid of him. Why?"

What could he answer? That his instincts had roared at him to not let Grell bring their contract to its end? That in that particular second, the opportunity to find the killers and accomplish revenge seemed incomprehensible and threatening? He didn't understand it himself. If he could find no words for himself, he couldn't give them to his lord either.

Another thought occurred to him suddenly, and Sebastian froze. What was it his Master had said? Attachment implied being unable to imagine one's life without someone? The comparison was weak, but its shape was undeniable. Did his unwillingness to let the contract end prematurely have something to do with attachment?

A new kind of dread gripped him. Sebastian didn't speak, and his Master began to frown.

"The contract states that you can't lie to me," he warned. "You and I made a deal: no evasions. Only the truth."

There was no way Sebastian was going to share the truth, hesitant as it made him. But his lord was right. They had a deal. And their deal stated that each got to ask one question per victory.

Technically, the boy had already asked him several questions. He asked about what contract was the most memorable; then he placed several clarifying questions; just a moment ago, he'd inquired as to whether Sebastian had friends in his dimension. That easily counted as a part of the deal, and Sebastian had already fulfilled it.

It meant that he could allow himself to mislead.

"I'm afraid your second question doesn't warrant a detailed reply, my lord," he noted. "I sensed that Grell had lied. It's as simple as that. Creatures like us have a heightened ability to sense each other, so I could immediately read his intentions."

Lies were harmful only if they were uncovered. Ciel Phantomhive could accuse him of disrespecting their contract, which would make Sebastian's life very complicated since he fully intended to devour this soul he'd spent years cultivating. But if didn't find out, there would be no consequences, and judging from the boy's disappointed face, this was exactly the case.

Sebastian sensed when the danger passed. The excitement went out of his lord, and he looked at him warily, waiting to be asked another question.

Good. This time, he could follow his plans.

"Will you run from me?" Sebastian wondered. His heart beat faster in anticipation. "When our contract ends and your turn to fulfil your part comes, will you try to escape? To make another bargain?"

He expected the lashing out, so he addressed it accordingly. He expected to be questioned, so he prepared for that. What he didn't expect was to be rendered speechless. To be forced in the position where he felt the need to defend the boy — again.

Of course his parents would have welcomed him in the afterlife. How could they not? He represented the Phantomhives in a manner that his ancestors and descendants could only hope to imitate. He was a formidable player who managed to win occasional rounds against the demon himself. Every human related to him would have to be honoured to make his acquaintance.

And the running…

"Do you think I would disgrace myself like a coward?" the boy asked, the condescension in his voice making Sebastian feel oddly self-conscious. "For two seconds of meaningless hope?"

Put like that, all his previous doubts and thoughts suddenly seemed ridiculous. Because his Master could suffer from many human ailments, but illogical cowardice was not among them. He might run if he thought he stood a chance at the victory, but knowing that the outcome was death either way, he would never stoop so low. He would choose to die nobly as he lived, with his head held high.

The unpleasant suspiciousness that had kept haunting him finally drowned in the flood of relief. Sebastian smiled, feeling lighter than he'd had in a day.

Ciel Phantomhive wasn't going to disappoint him. He wouldn't have to murder him without completing their contract to avoid disappointment because this disappointment wasn't coming. This time, he could be certain of it.

The relief was more powerful than the bitter need for revenge, and Sebastian allowed himself to dissolve fully in it.

At least for a while.

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As he was putting the boy to bed, another question came to his mind.

"What was the point of the swamp?" he wondered. Out of all mysteries, this one remained unaddressed. His lord tried to grin through his yawning.

"Oh, that," he drawled. "I was just testing how the seal works. I understand the basics, but the specifics elude me. I couldn't tell if I had to hurt myself physically or whether it would react to an injury only in combination with my emotional distress. And if the former was enough, what extent of damage was sufficient? I needed time and space to experiment without your interference, and it was only possible if you couldn't see or hear what I was doing. You told me how you played your version of hide-and-seek with Aimens, so this was the best idea I got at that moment."

From all the endless theories Sebastian had entertained during this time, this one had never made the list. He stared incredulously, and the boy smirked, stretching on his bed like a cat.

"At first it was the weather," he said. "It was raining and I deliberately stood without the cover for some time. Getting wet to the point where my health could be threatened didn't get your attention, so I tried the swamp. I pushed just my hand into it at first. You didn't come, so I tried to push both my hand and my leg inside. Once again, there was nothing. I attempted different combinations, but as long as I could pull myself out, the seal didn't summon you. So I finally got into that swamp completely, and it took you just a few seconds to show up."

"You were testing how the seal works," Sebastian repeated slowly. Astonishment gradually gave way to admiration and curiosity, and he removed the glove, peering at the mark decorating the back of his palm.

He'd never thought about the connection he had with his masters much. He understood the nuances instinctively — he knew enough to realise that the specifics of each contract differed slightly from one another. He barely felt some masters while sensing everything his other masters were experiencing.

His connection with Ciel Phantomhive was strong — it was among the strongest he'd ever shared with a human he served. The seal reacted to the boy's both physical and emotional shifts, but Sebastian had no idea how powerful they had to be for him to determine that his intervention was necessary. Performing such an experiment was an intriguing idea.

"How did your findings help you?" he wondered. For the first time, he managed to think of the battlefield where he unknowingly faced his defeat without a surge of fury. Curiosity was truly a captivating thing.

His lord demonstrated his bandaged arm.

"I figured that I have to bleed to draw your attention," he said. "This would be a real trauma with real risks — I purposefully left it open to ensure a faster blood loss. And just in case, I also tried to scare myself into reacting emotionally and fooling my body. At the swamp, I couldn't convince myself that I'm in danger, but failing there helped me to come up with an effective tactic here."

"And what tactic was it?" Sebastian stepped closer, drawn by this new mystery. His lord was like a beacon sometimes, and it was difficult to resist its pull.

The boy raised his chin smugly.

"Your window of opportunity for asking questions has closed," he announced. "Now give me my blanket and go away. I need to sleep and bask in my victory."

The demonic child didn't even try to pretend they had a draw this time. Sebastian briefly considered strangling him in the midst of all these expensive sheets and blankets, but the urge wasn't as strong as earlier today, so he shook it off with more ease. Besides, he had more interesting things on his mind.

"Perhaps we could experiment together one day," he suggested. His lord sat up again, his eyes flashing with interest.

"With the seal?" he clarified.

"Yes. I understand the mechanisms underlying its work better than you, but my knowledge could use some refinement."

His Master mulled over it for some time, probably considering all advantages and drawbacks. On the one hand, his morbid curiosity could rival Sebastian's, but on the other, he'd have to be the one experimented on.

From Sebastian's perspective, it was a win-win situation. He wouldn't mind seeing some pain inflicted on Ciel Phantomhive — in a controlled environment, of course.

"Fine," the boy said at last. "Let's do it. I generously agree to the offer of being your experiment. But I might want something in return."

"What could you possibly want that you cannot receive as it is?" Sebastian asked, exasperated. "Our contract stipulates that I have to obey you. If you want something, you can simply order me to do it."

His lord made a thoughtful sound, burying himself under the blanket Sebastian put on him.

"True," he admitted. "But I'll still keep my condition. Don't think I don't know how easily you bypass my orders when you don't like them."

A grin threatened to spill over Sebastian's lips.

"True," he echoed. For a while, they stared at one another without saying a word. Sebastian looked away only when the wind burst into the room and the flame from the candle trembled.

"Have a good night," he wished. His Master didn't reply.

Closing the window and blowing the candles, he walked out of the room, but less than an hour later, the first twinges of worry started to shoot through his chest. Away from the boy, in the silent manor, the darkness began to unfold again, and Sebastian grimaced at the sensation.

He didn't want to have to go through it again. This day had been tremendously tiring, and the last thing he needed was another burst of resentment and anger.

He lost the game. He embarrassed himself — twice. He failed to ask the question he wanted. He might or might not be attached to a human. This was all enraging, but he would deal with it on his own terms. He might crave Ciel Phantomhive's soul with desperation that made him uncomfortable, but it didn't mean he wouldn't be able to sacrifice it if absolutely pushed. He'd rather murder the boy and be done with it than survive the repeat of today's events.

Unfortunately, his demonic side refused to listen. Its black poison continued to strangle him, almost physically pushing him upstairs. Uncertainly and warily, Sebastian decided to obey — for now.

His lord was already sleeping, his hand angled awkwardly under his head. His breathing was calm, even, and Sebastian watched him for a while, carefully interested in what a rawer part of him might want to do.

If the same insane bloodlust hit him, he would be able to repeat his afternoon effort. He'd keep it away for the time it took to redirect his fierceness to someone else. Bard and Finnie were sleeping in one room; Mey-Rin was alone and her bedroom was closer, which made her a better choice.

But strangely, he felt no vengeful impulses at all. His essence continued to hiss at him, demanding and pushing him towards something, but Sebastian detected no maliciousness — only anxiety mixed with deep longing. After brief deliberation, he risked letting go of his human form, destroying the artificial layers separating him from his true self.

As soon as he connected with his core physically, the wariness was lost in the sea of urgent want.

He'd released his fury of today on Miss Taylor, but another emotion remained unexpressed. Fear.

For several excruciating minutes, he'd believed Ciel Phantomhive was dying. It must have had a deeper impact on him than he'd first thought because after the briefest separation, everything in him was thrust into turbulence.

Despite knowing that the boy was fine, he needed reassurance. He needed satisfying proof that he could only get as a demon.

Confident that no part of him wanted Young Master's blood currently, Sebastian allowed himself to relax further, merging with his own darkness. The deeper he delved, the most synchronised his thought process became.

He knew what he needed to do.

Tentatively, conscious of the possibility of inflicting damage, he flowed towards the bed. The boy's breathing pattern didn't change, not even when Sebastian surrounded him and the tendrils of shadows began to wrap themselves around his body.

In this particular form, Sebastian had neither distinguishable beginning nor end. Every part of him was a mind, a limb, an eye — he was everything and nothing at once, and his very core was now merging itself with Ciel Phantomhive as much as it was physically possible. It slipped under his eyelids, smoked into his nostrils, slid through his parted lips, embracing him from inside, enveloping his every organ, not to harm but to make sure each of them worked as they had to. To ascertain he was truly safe.

Time lost its relevance in human terms. Sebastian moved lazily, sensing how his energy stopped its insistent buzzing. It felt peaceful, contented, reflecting everything he felt and making him reflect it in return. He couldn't recall the last time he could enjoy such an utter sensation of completeness.

He wished he could stay forever like this, dissolved and comfortable, merged with something that every part of him recognised as his own. But when the first touches of the red dawn lit up the curtains, his human part stirred in awareness, reminding him of his duties.

Reluctantly, Sebastian moved away. Getting back into a solid form pierced him with coldness, and he shivered, already missing the wholesomeness of this unique experience. With this returned the revelations he disliked and wanted no part of, but as he was still vulnerable from such a non-human night, he had no choice but to admit to them.

Yes. He was attached to this boy.

And it already felt like a nightmare.

A/N:

Manon, thank you as always! 3

Anonim, thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying Sebastian's chapters! There is still one more update from his POV coming before we go back to Ciel. And yes, Sebastian is so clueless whenever he feels something :D But this time, he finally got some growth!

La Traductrice Fr, thank you, I'm so glad you liked the chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one as well. It should have answered most questions from the plot with the teachers.

OnlyHere4Puckabrina, thanks so much for your detailed review, it made my day when you wrote it! True, Sebastian has a dual personality just like Ciel. They are both torn between their emotions, unsure how to interpret them and fighting hard. But everything that's happening now is inevitable.

About Death Scythe: I don't know if you watched the anime/read manga, but it does work on demons if the blow is serious enough. There is a big contrast between how playfully Sebastian reacts to it with Grell and how it actually nearly kills him later, in Book of Atlantic, when he throws all of himself into saving Ciel and the Scythe pierces him through completely. So everything is still ahead!)

And yes, Sebastian wanting to prolong contract with Ciel is something I loved in canon. He never states it directly, but it's shown in so many ways… I'm glad you're enjoying these moments as much as I do. Thank you again, and I hope you like this chapter as well!

Guest, thanks! 3 Hope you enjoy the update!

Aleta Wolff, haha, yes, Sebastian always plans the most brutal ways to torture or kill Ciel, but when it actually comes to it, he gets horrified :D Poor confused demon.