CHAPTER 24 - "CROSSING UNEXPECTED PATHS"

In a clear night sky, a crescent moon illuminated the grounds to the Phantomhive family grave plot - a place were so many people were presently gathered, humans and Reapers alike. And one very powerful Fallen Reaper named Mathu Kelvin, once a human, now possessed by a Fallen Reaper, conjoined with a fellow Reaper, who had been his wife in the Reaperdem, but now adding to his abilities and powers, turning Mathu Kelvin into his own personal lightning rod of destruction generated by internal raw electricity.

But at the moment, he had generated down, and was knelt over Sebastian Michaelis, who himself was still unconscious and laying in the dirt in front of the Phantomhive crypt dedicated to Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive, for which Mathu had partially destroyed to get at the company now standing afar. Kelvin had a hand on the demon butler's forehead, his eyes closed, watching Sebastian's dreams.

"He's distracted - should we jump him, Master?" Finny said quietly into Ciel's ear.

Ciel took offense to having the gardener's breath in his ear, but he didn't mention it. "Are you daff? He's a powerful being, one touch by him and you'll be turned to ash even in this peaceful state."

"I wonder what he's seeing," Lukas said. "I, too, would like to know Sebastian's history." He stepped forward, and asked, "Tell us what you are witnessing? If we are to die soon, I will like to know - "

"Quiet!" Mathu Kelvin chided him, still with his eyes closed. "It's getting good. And if you come any closer, I will fry you like an egg. And tell your gardener he can cease with his bravado."

This time Ciel stepped forward, his hands pressed firmly on his hips. "No one chides my staff but me. You will tell us what you are seeing, or I will you regret your actions here."

Mathu Kelvin slowly opened his eyes and looked at Ciel with a stern look. "You know, kid, you are really starting to get annoying. Back off!" And with a jerk of his head and use of telepathic power, Ciel was sent flying backwards into the others, knocking them all down like bowling pins.

Moans and groans were heard all around as Ciel felt the back of his head. But his impact wasn't as traumatic as Lukas's, who at the last moment, stepped in to attempt to catch him, and was squashed between Ciel and the others. Ciel lay on his brother who appeared severely dazed. Even without opening his eyes, Lukas asked, "Are you okay, brother?" softly and weakly.

"I should be asking you that question," Ciel said, getting to his feet. He then helped Lukas to his. Lukas was wobbly on his feet, but soon managed to stand straight. "Thank you for your sacrifice." He then asked the others if they were all right. They responded with a series of yes's and will be's. All except the two Reapers, who had winked out before the impact, and now had winked back in. "You could have prevented it," he said to Grell and Salem collectively, disappointed in their cowardice against Mathu Kelvin.

"My lord, he has done nothing to override Reaper policy to attack him," Salem, the Undertaker, said. "We can't interfere."

Grell Sutcliffe, at least had more bravado. "If I had my modified Deathscythe, I'd teach him a thing or two about respect," he said, growling angrily. "If he hurts my sweet Bassy, I'll kill'em!"

"And then you'll become a Fallen Reaper, Grell," Salem said. "And with the new policies implemented on suppressing FR powers before they are sent to wander aimlessly for all eternity, you'll be helpless."

Grell's shoulder's slumped. "Yes, you're right. By the by, shouldn't William's new Reaper X taskforce be here to take this guy out? They are in charge of hunting down Fallen Reapers after the incident months back, are they not? I thought they'd be here, as this guy is a very powerful one."

"There are thousands of banished Fallen Reapers wandering, Grell, they are very busy," Salem said. "But I am sure William is watching events unfold, and if deemed necessary, he will intercede."

"You two are still cowards," Ciel stated.

"If you are all quite finished blathering," Mathu Kelvin said, "I will go back and watch history unfold inside Sebastian's mind, if you don't mind?" he ended sarcastically.

And he did so.

Damascus felt comforting, radiating waves of heat penetrating different parts of his body, and for a split moment he thought he was back in Hell, that one of his brethren had seen what Decco had done to him and rescued him. But when he opened his eyes, he found he was covered from the neck down in layers of blankets and underneath, close to his body, he could feel heated coal pans beneath the covers, from which where the heat was coming from.

He could hardly move his body, his muscles so atrophied from lack of use from being up on that cross for so long - recalling day and night, he would have to say at least seven days - but he could still feel them, that someone had not amputated them due to their injuries. He could feel the aches of the spikes that had been nailed into his feet and wrists and feel wrappings around almost his entire body, including his midsection and pelvis, and head. Decco had not only nailed him up on the cross, but had also beaten him.

Looking around, he found himself in a lavish looking bedchamber with white wallpaper and a long stand-up mirror on the wall as he looked down the bed. He thought he was dreaming. But then he recalled that he had been dreaming and about a beautiful, young woman, who had been dreaming about him; she had a special gift. And he remembered calling out to her. He had used a great deal of his remaining powers to reach out and find someone who could help him, and found her. So, why was he still alive? Why hadn't he crumbled to dust and ash, using his power just to call her? Then it occurred to him, the heat was fueling him. They probably thought he was cold on the cross and was not attempting to regulate his body temperature.

But he had no set body temperature. He was a demon. He enjoyed it more when it was warm, but cold didn't bother him. Decco and his two allies had tried to murder him, thinking no one would find him, placing him a location far from civilization on that cross. But they had not expected that that woman with her special gift; he had not expected that that woman with her special gift, and thanks to her, he was still alive.

He also found it strange how he had been removed from the cross. The spikes had been infused with demonic power and could not be removed normally. Thus, someone had to have a power to nullify demon energy to remove them. And he was curious of this woman, whom, despite their special connection, he had not actually seen her face, but who also had the ability to uncast a demon spell? If so, then he would like to meet her and thank her personally, and see if she had any other abilities…

The door to the bedchambers opened and a stunning looking woman with long, auburn hair and green eyes, stepped in, carrying a tray of food. She also wore a long, light, pinkish dress. He watched her as she set it on a rolling wooden trolley at the edge of the bed. Then her eyes shot up and she looked at him, as if sensing his wakeful presence. She smiled, "Oh, you're finally awake. I am so glad."

"Not to sound ungrateful, but who are you and how did I get here?" Damascus asked.

"That's all right, it is to be expected," she said kindly. "My name is Kassandra Smythe, and you are in my brother and his wife's home, where I live, as well as my father - for the time being. We found you nailed to a cross on the other side of the forest. It took us some effort to remove you, but Bryan, the manservant did most of the work. He then removed those nasty, iron spikes from your body."

"He removed them?"

"Yes, but with some effort. They were too much for me, but I did try to help. He also carried you here. Where you are now is the visitor's quarters, it is small but adequate. And forgive the indignity of redressing you, however little you had on - that loincloth - but I had to dress your wounds. Who put you up on that cross?"

He wanted to say Enemies, but said instead, "I don't remember," lying. "I am a simple wanderer roaming through the outskirts of London and the countryside." That was at least a half-truth. "Some men jumped me, did this to me, and nailed me to this cross, as if to ward off evil spirits that plagued London with the fire. The Beast. But I did not get a good look at their faces, it was very dark at the time and they hit me from behind."

"Oh dear," she said, but there was something in her expression that told him she was not entirely believing him. "They say lairs and blasphemers have a special place in Hell."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind," she said with a smile that looked fake, "forget I said anything. Here, I have brought you nourishment to help you regain your strength. Chicken soup with vegetable bits, and water." She rolled the trolley to the side of the bed, and then helped him to sit up. Then she took out a separate, smaller tray, unfolded two bottom legs and placed in his lap, placing the food within.

This was human food, he had lost his need for it a long time ago, but he partook in it nevertheless, sipping the soup with a spoon. It was very tasty, filling his body with inner warmth. Demons needed nourishment, but human souls was that nourishment, and he was very hungry. But he was grateful for his self-discipline in years prior in hindering his demon carnal desires. However, that was when he had soul energy to spare. Decco had removed nearly all the souls he had devoured over the last two thousand years and left him with a near empty well. And he found himself attempting to reach into that well and sip very conservatively to keep himself going. He was not a "good demon" as Decco had taunted him, but he knew the appreciation of kindness, and had learned it well with Master Belial. And he told himself, he would not harm these people for their kindness. At least, not unless he got really desperate to save his own existence.

But he would wait and see if it came to that.

"So, do you remember your name?"

Damascus smiled thinly. "Now you're being facetious," he said. "I could tell you a lie, but I would imagine you'd see straight through me. You seem to have a power for filtering out the truth from words, a special gift. So, I will not lie and tell you my name is Damascus, Son of Baraccus." He had no surname, as human's nowadays had. Ancient Rome citizens often used one name, but some had longer names - most Emperor's did - but no surname to speak of. So, he was being truthful in this instance. But he suddenly saw her frozen in place aghast, her hand to her mouth, as if he had said something wrong. "What is the matter?"

She shook her head. "It is nothing. I thought, by your words, you were - "

"I am man, looking at an extremely beautiful woman," he said, as if distracting her from what he knew she may be sensing from him - that he was the one who called her. But for as long as he could, he would attempt to suppress that feeling.

She blushed.

He smiled, nodding. It wasn't a lie. He found her shockingly beautiful, like a goddess - comparatively to Athena or Aphrodite, in Greek myth lore. He didn't know whether it was just her outer beauty or from what he had experienced from her inner self, when they were together with their special connection - which he sensed she was uncertain of at the moment - but was this what human's meant by "love at first sight"?

"Thank you," she said. "You are very handsome," as if to repay the complement. "But you must rest. Conserve your energy. It will take time for your wounds to heal. If you care to, I will ask Bryan to bring in a wheel-chair if you wish to go outside. The weather is nice. It is fall season, but the temperature is still warm."

"I may do that."

She then left, and he was again alone. But he felt a strange power either in this house or within the grounds surrounding it, unlike he had ever felt before. It was stronger than a demon's and yet it was not coming from Kassandra. Her special gift was strong, but not as highly generating as this power. It felt like it had been cultivated over years, and the being had only begun to attempt to keep it buried. Only someone like him could sense it. So, perhaps, this being had not needed to keep it buried until he had come and was only doing so now?

But he would deal with it later. He partook in finishing off the soup, and concentrated on healing his wounds. And indeed, from the serenity outside his window, the weather did look inviting. For a human. Perhaps, later, he would take Kassandra's offer and call on the manservant to take him outside.

Bryan.

For the next couple of days he was bed ridden, but on the fifth day, Bryan assisted him into a wheel-chair and escorted him outside to enjoy a warm autumn day. The leaves on the trees were beginning to fall and soon Bryan, as Damascus was told, would be ankle deep in racking the surrounding house clean. He was indeed a very hard worker and trustworthy, and for a time, he thought he was mistake in suspecting Bryan of being more than he claimed to be. He was nice all the time and appeared to enjoy serving the family, and his feeling of Bryan was nothing but honest sincerity from the young manservant.

There was a gazebo in the back courtyard with other chairs and furniture spread throughout. William and his wife were conversing happily with William's father, Alphonsus, and the sound of laughter was heard as his father told him a whimsical story. Kassandra had been sitting in a chair near-by reading a book when she saw him and Bryan exit the back vestibule and out onto the back stone patio.

She came up to them and smiled. "I am so glad you decided to join us, Damascus. Please, Bryan, will you wheel Damascus over to the others?" Bryan nodded, and did so. And they seemed happy to see him. Damascus was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and pants and slippers because of his wounds. Bryan had done so, so they would not press again them. But Damascus could only wonder as Bryan couldn't talk.

"Hello," Damascus said in happy greeting. "Again, allow me to thank you for your generosity for accepting me into your home under the circumstances. I hope I am not too much of a burden?" Bryan then left his side and began to fill empty glasses of lemonade from a pitcher on a near-by table.

"Not at all, Damascus," Beautieuse said. "Besides, Kassandra and Bryan have been taking care of you more so than anyone. And I believe Kassandra has an alterative motive." She winked.

"Beautieuse!" Kassandra said, she began to blush. "You have the wrong idea."

She laughed. "I am only joking, Kassandra. Besides, with his wounds, I doubt highly he will be in any condition to do something of that caliber any time soon."

Damascus repressed a smile, but saw how red Kassandra's face had become.

"Is she always that forward?" Alphonsus asked William.

"Always. She asked me to marry her, remember?"

"Whose talking behind my back?" she asked jokingly.

William waved his hands up in submission. "Not us, my dear wife," he said smiling.

"We are only friends," Damascus said. "I assure you, nothing of the like will occur." Suddenly, he felt a sadness from Kassandra, as if his words had just stabbed into her heart like a knife. She had been taking care of him, visiting him, more than Bryan, bringing him food and blankets of her own accord. And often she just sat and talked with him, telling him of her childhood and of her dreams. In turn, he did as well. But he was careful of what he said, telling her about some of the people he had met in his journey's as a wanderer, but making sure to change certain names so not to give away just how old he really was, despite looking her age: twenty-three. Even though he was nearly two thousand years old, he had made sure to age gracefully. Although, with his demonic powers, he could become anyone, be young or old, or be anything, but he was thankful at the moment that he had decided to stay young, without obtaining soul nourishment.

"Damascus, Damascus, Damascus…" Beautieuse said, as if trying to recall something, "like the city in the Bible, that was destroyed long ago by the Assyrians, according to the Book of Isaiah. I have been trying to remember where I had heard that name before for the last four days."

"You should have just asked, dear," William said. "My sister is verse in every passage and psalm. She could tell you biblical stories for hours."

"It sounds like you find my telling of stories boring, brother," Kassandra said.

"Not at all," William said.

"And the third angel followed them, saying with a loud voice, If any man worship the beast and his image, then receive his Mark in his forehead, or in his hand. The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his indignation; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb: And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever: and they have no rest day nor night, who worship the beast and his image, and whosoever receiveth the Mark of his name. Here is the patience of the saints: here are they that keep the commandments of God, and the faith of Jesus."

Everyone looked at Damascus after he recited a Biblical passage. Bryan had been so focused as well that he over-filled a glass and lemonade spilled over the top onto the table and to the grass below. He immediately began cleaning it up with a towel.

In being a demon, he thought I was best to learn a great deal about his "rivals", memorize the information, just in case it came in useful in the future.

He didn't care for religion as such, but it appeared Kassandra and his family were heart-felt Christians who believed whole-heartedly in God, and he felt a quote was suitable at the moment, and believed he had chosen correctly, considering the fire in London and how a good fearing Christian women and her father managed to survive it, necessarily be untouched by it, and then managed to be welcomed into her brother's home away from the residing chaos of the aftermath, and then also have her brother and father's estranged relationship be mended after years of strife.

They said God worked in mysterious ways.

"Book of Revelations; chapter fourteen: nine through twelve, if I recall," he then said. "I have been thinking about how you were spared the chaos many of London's citizens experienced, how your Boarding House was not even touched by flame, and how now you are safe here. And I believe your faith in God helped you, and how, perhaps, it lead you to me, whereas I may have perished among the elements. Thank you."

"Oh, Damascus," he heard Kassandra say softly.

"Damascus, you are quite welcome, and you can stay as long as you like," Beautieuse said. William agreed.

Bryan was bent down dabbling up the lemonade from the grass between his master's chairs, but for some reason, and none of the others saw it, looked directly at Damascus with a straight stare. Damascus met his gaze. Why was he looking at him that way? Something about Bryan did not feel right to him.

Suddenly, Bryan perked up his head, as if he heard something, like an animal hearing a sound out of the range of others. It was probably due to his extra-sensory perception, where when one aspect of the natural workings of a human body didn't work other areas were enhanced. Bryan couldn't talk, so his other senses were probably enhanced. It was then Damascus heard the faint clopping of horse hoffs and a carriage riding behind. Someone had just arrived at the house.

Bryan then stood up, and gave a series of hand gestures to William, for which William understood. Then he left, as if to attend to the situation, probably to greet them as he was the manservant of the house.

"Ah," William breathed. "I almost forget. I invited some very close friends today. I wrote them a letter and they agreed to come for a visit. Damascus, my friend, Miles, has also had some interesting adventures in his time and in later years struck it rich in finding a gold mine, then he married had settled down, building a strikingly large home with his own hands. I am sure he has some equally stunning tales like yourself, similar to what you tell to my sister. I think you and he will get on swimmingly."

Damascus wished he could walk, but Kassandra was kind enough to stay with him as William and Beautieuse left to welcome their guests. A few minutes later, they returned back to the back courtyard with their guests in tow: a tall, smart looking man with his wife and a small boy, about age five. Unfortunately, his injuries prevented him from standing to greet them as a proper gentleman should do.

"Damascus, may I present Miles and Mary Phantomhive, and their son Tristan," William said. "Miles, Mary, this is Damascus, a young man my sister and our manservant plucked from certain death."

"Greetings, forgive me for not standing," Damascus said. "My injuries prevent it."

"It is quite all right, young man. Certain death? What happen to you, may I ask?" Miles asked.

"I was crucified."

To be continued…