Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.
He wanted her.
More specifically, he wanted her soul.
Luvart was an old demon. Maybe not one of the strongest, or the most powerful, or even the most intelligent and cunning, but he was older than most. He had seen Heaven in all of its immortal glory, he had fought on the side of the Host before the Fall, he had sung with angels and archangels and heard the Word from the God himself. He had fell with his comrades in the deepest reaches of Hell and he has seen – and survived – worst of the tortures, the mightiest kingdoms and empires and the most impressive and intriguing of humans in long, long years he walked on this Earth.
He has seen many come and go, peaceful deaths and ones so gruesome that only a demon could come out of the experience with his sanity unscathed. He has seen countless souls departing this world and he was the cause for quite the number of them. He had gorged himself on souls until he was sated for the decades to come, he had tasted the most delicious of souls after cultivating them for years.
He had seen, and tried, and done everything.
And yet…
And yet, he wanted her soul.
Luvart was not impulsive. He has never been, not like some of the other demons who saw something they wanted and took it, not caring about the consequences. He was smart, and thoughtful – a planer. He did not act on his wants and desires without considering the outcomes first. He hadn't in millennia now.
He almost lost control in the crowded, rainy street of London today.
Her soul was… exceptional. It was dark, oh so dark, tainted, and shredded and broken, a soul of someone who had lived through the most despicable things the humanity had to offer and came out alive, but not whole, never whole. But there was brightness in it too, a light that only ever showed in souls of inherently good people, of those that were meant for great, miraculous, but, most importantly, righteous acts.
It was the ultimate paradox, her soul. A soul of an honestly, naturally virtuous person corrupted by her own sins and dark deeds, by her own conscious choices.
It was intoxicating.
The only thing stopping him from consuming it then and there, from taking what he so desperately desired without a thought was the contamination of the Faustian Contract on her soul.
She was already spoken for.
And not just spoken for, no, she was spoken for by a very powerful, very old demon. The claim he could feel on her soul, the sheer possessivness of the Contract was simply staggering, if only slightly understandable, considering the sheer quality of the meal one could get from her.
What confused him, truly and completely baffled him, was that she still had the soul to speak of.
The Contract was completed, at least on the demon's part. Luvart had enough experience to feel the subtle differences in the mark and he knew that she should have already been dead, that her soul should have been consumed years ago. That the demon who had the right to do so, decided to spare her…
Another thing that intrigued him.
He watched her inconspicuously from across the street as she went on her business, ignoring everything and everyone around her with the practised ease of an aristocrat. She did not notice him, she did not even look in his direction and that caused something deep in his chest to constrict.
Here he was paying attention to a lowly mortal, and she did not even spare him a glance!
He knew it was irrational. Deep inside his mind, he realised intellectually that she did not have his senses nor the necessary instincts to spot a demon in a crowd, but the feel, the almost-but-not-quite smell of her soul muddled his thoughts until only the feelings were left. The desire, the need, the sheer hunger he had for her soul overwhelmed him until he found himself taking a step towards her without even realizing.
The sight of the demon stopped him.
He came with the carriage for the young woman, dressed in an impeccable butler uniform, bowing courteously if a bit more gracefully than a normal human would be able to and offering her a helping hand to climb in her carriage, all the while never drawing more than necessary attention on himself.
But Luvart could feel him, the tremendous aura of power and darkness that pulsed along with a phantom heartbeat – because, surely he didn't have one – and the subtle flickering of the air around him, invisible to the human eye, but clear to any demon, that signified far larger, stronger being restrained in the fragile form of a man.
He was powerful. And he had already laid a claim.
Luvart shuffled hesitantly, the movement almost unheard of for a demon, but somehow enough to draw the attention of the powerful being across the street.
The girl with the exceptional soul was already inside the carriage, and while the butler started to climb in as well, he turned his head just so, and met Luvart's gaze unflinchingly.
Fuchsia eyes flashed and the demon disappeared from view, shutting the door with a bang that carried all the way to him.
Luvart shuddered.
He recognized him, of course he did. There was only one demon with those eyes and that power.
Luvart was in so much trouble.
…
He followed them.
He couldn't help it, he really couldn't. That soul called to him, the sweetest of siren songs to his senses. He tried to resist, tried to go out of town, out of country, in the Pit itself if it meant not facing the demon butler, but he was unable to stop himself. He pursued the carriage as swiftly as he dared, only a shadow on the path, not disturbing a leaf or a twig, until they reached the large manor in the countryside.
It was magnificent, Luvart supposed, for a piece of human architecture, but it couldn't compare to the dark fortresses and castles of Hell or the airy, light palaces in Heaven. But for a mortal it was suitably impressive and spoke of the wealth of the girl whose soul he wanted.
He settled himself just at the edge of the garden, hidden from view by the trees and plants that grew there, able to freely observe the happenings of the household. He did not see much of the mistress of the house, although he could feel her soul even here, but he did see three servants that seemed too incompetent to work for such an obviously powerful person.
And he saw the demon butler.
He was everywhere, fixing the mistakes of idiots that were supposed to take care of the manor, running on errands for the young noble and even feeding some stray cats in the garden, of all things.
He never noticed him.
Luvart wondered if he should be worried or not.
He stood there, motionless with inhuman patience, for hours, never moving a muscle except from his eyes that flitted from side to side, trying to commit every detail to his memory, until the night fell and no mortal would have been able to see anything in the moonless dark that covered the area. He waited until the last light was extinguished inside the manor and then moved.
He took a step toward the building.
And then stopped, hearing the rustle behind him, and a pulse of familiar dark power.
"Hello, Luvart," a deep voice cut through the silence of the night, making him whirl on his heel, a movement inhumanly fast.
"Hello, Malphas," he greeted, if only to buy himself some time to observe the other demon. He did not look the same as the last time he saw him – some five hundred years ago – with longer, darker hair and leaner build, but his eyes were unmistakeable. Two glowing fuchsia orbs settled on him with predatory intensity and Luvart knew that he was not welcome, no matter the thousands of years of companionship.
Such was the 'friendship' among their kind.
Malphas stalked closer, the movements distinctly feline in their smooth grace. "It's Sebastian these days actually."
Luvart tilted his head, taking an almost unnoticeable step backwards, his back against the rough bark of the tree. "And you prefer it, I suppose," he guessed. Malphas has never particularly cared what he was called, so for him to protest was unusual, to say the least.
The butler inclined his head. "Indeed, I have grown fond of it."
"It suits you well," the weaker demons said to appease him.
They fell into a silence, not the comfortable one, but one filled with unasked questions and unheard answers.
Luvart broke it reluctantly. "You did not took her soul."
Malphas glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "No."
It seems that he would actually have to ask the question. He always tried to avoid it; it gave the power to your conversational partner and Malphas knew it. "Why?"
A quick smirk and a flash of fuchsia preceded the answer. "She is intriguing."
Luvart stared, honestly surprised. That was… new. The only things that the other demon ever found intriguing were cats and magic, and both of those were somewhat acceptable after endless years in Hell. But to find a human, a mortal, intriguing…
He didn't voice his thoughts. He didn't dare. "Her soul is extraordinary," he stated instead, looking for more information.
"It is," Malphas confirmed, stepping closer still, a smirk now fully visible on his face. "But she is even more so."
It took Luvart an embarrassingly long moment to realize what his companion was implying. "You are Turning her," he breathed out, his voice little awed.
Malphas was looking distinctly smug, and rightly so. "Yes."
It was rare to see a new demon. Even rarer still to meet a Turned one. Most of them were there from the beginning, from before the Fall. They were angels once, both great and lesser, but they rebelled with Lucifer and became what they were now. They were the first.
Then came the corrupted souls of the dead. There are even more of them then the Fallen, all of them broken and repaired and broken again from the tortures of the Pit. Truthfully, they could barely qualify as demons at all, so weak and damaged they were. Only a select few were able to walk on Earth without fading, but they rarely stayed Above.
And then there were the Turned. It was possible to turn a human into a demon, Lilith was one, after all. And they were often powerful or ruthless or cunning enough to immerse themselves in the higher echelons of Hell, their twisted human imagination giving them a much needed edge in using their immortal powers. Luvart had seen a Turned torture a Fallen until he was pleading and beginning for respite, for death, all the while using a method the mortal worms had invented. Every denizen of the Pit knew to be careful around them fast, or they ended twisted and broken in both mind and body.
But they were rare.
The conditions a man has to meet to even qualify to be Turned were numerous and complicated, and even rarer still was that a demon would find a suitable human. For example, the person cannot be a sociopath or a psychopath. They don't have or understand feelings, thus they don't know what they are doing wrong. A candidate must be completely aware that he or she is sinning, that they are committing a crime against both God and morality without a good enough reason. It is not enough to kill someone to protect friends and family, to kill in a war or on the battlefield, it simply isn't sufficient. You have to be willing to kill for your own interests, for revenge or money or for the sheer pleasure of it. And you must be aware that it's wrong and against every law that exist, both moral and written. And you must do it anyway.
It was uncommon to find a human who not only accepted his mistakes, his crimes against nature, but actually revelled in them.
It seems that Malphas did.
"How long?" Luvart asked, because a new soldier for Hell was big enough news to ignore his distaste and actually form it like a question.
Malphas' smile had entirely too much teeth to be polite. "I have begun two and a half years ago. I have two more left."
Luvart released the breath he didn't know he was holding. "That soon."
"Yes, that soon," the dark-haired demon confirmed before his demeanour suddenly changed. He straightened and stepped closer to Luvart, the dark, intoxicating power bubbling to the surface. Luvart noticed with unease that the butler's human body was taller than his, and, while he knew that it didn't really matter, it didn't stop his instincts from acting up. "I want you to go away," it may have been worded as a simple wish, but both of them were aware that it was a command.
Luvart tried to oppose it anyway. "But..."
Malphas stepped closer still. Luvart could see the faint outline of wings at his back. "You will go away and you will not come back. And you will certainly tell no one of what you saw here."
Luvart swallowed. "Yes, Malphas."
"It's Sebastian," the voice was curt, cutting
"Yes, Sebastian."
…
He came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after.
He didn't know why. He tried not to. But his body wouldn't listen and he would always find some excuse to be just in that part of the countryside, wanting to be closer to the magnificent soul, to smell it, to feel it.
To devour it.
He didn't know where Malphas was. He didn't see him. Not once. The other demon didn't come to confront him again and Luvart didn't know if it was because of genuine ignorance of his activities or some kind of twisted amusement that only the greater demons would understand.
He didn't care, truth be said.
He wanted that soul.
And since Malphas wasn't there to guard it, he will take it.
…
He entered the house on the sixth night.
It was pathetically easy to sneak into the Countess' bedroom, far easier than he would have expected from the house under Malphas' protection. But he didn't question, didn't want to question it as he soundlessly entered the chambers and his gaze settled on the small figure lying on the bed.
He supposed that she was attractive by the human standards, with her pale face and dark hair, but Luvart didn't care about that. No, what he did care about was her soul, bright and alive and dark and powerful at the same time, only a few steps away from him. He approached, cautiousness forgotten in face of a sudden hunger.
He stepped on a squeaky floorboard.
The next instant there was a small pistol pointed at his head, a pale hand keeping it steady. The girl's face was emotionless, a mask, and only slight traces of sleep remained around her eyes.
"Who are you? What do you want?" the question was quite calm for someone whose bedroom had just been invaded. Weren't human women supposed to go in hysterics when their chambers were broken into? He was reasonably sure that was the case in this time period.
"I..." he hesitated not knowing what to say. She wasn't supposed to wake up!
He met her eyes with his gaze. The only visible one of hers widened as she stared at the unnatural, glowing golden-yellow orbs.
She reached with her free hand and, before he could stop her, yanked her eye-patch away. "Sebastian, come."
The shadows in the room thickened and Luvart retreaded towards the window, ready to run. He was not ready to face Malphas. The other demon was one of the strongest, one of the most powerful, and, while Luvart was smart, he was not even close to the level of intelligence the butler possessed.
His escape was stopped by a strong hand gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises and pinning him to a wall with a tight grip against his throat. Fuchsia eyes glared down at him, framed by the dark fringe on pale face. Luvart swallowed heavily.
The girl spoke first. "He is a demon, is he not?" She still did not sound the least bit alarmed, and had actually relaxed her stance a little. The pistol resting comfortably in her lap.
Malphas didn't look away from his face as he answered. "Yes, my lady."
"And he's here for my soul, isn't he?"
The butler steadfastly ignored Luvart's frantic shaking of the head. "Yes, my lady."
The girl sighed, long-sufferingly and not at all frightened by the situation. "You may kill him then," she said before turning around and settling beneath her covers again, the pistol stored carefully in it's place under the pillow.
Malphas' grin was a thing of horror. "Thank you, my lady."
A/N: I chose Malphas as Sebastian's real name because I wanted a powerful demon who would fit the characteristics we saw in the manga and anime and this was the only one that was associated with crows. He is also said to turn on those who offered him blood sacrifices so I thought it would fit nicely with the way Celia and Sebastian met.