A/N: My deepest apologies for putting this on hold for so long! I never forgot about this and like I said. I do plan on continuing this. I will finish what I started.

Undertaker entered his shop with a grin on his face. He quickly tore the note off of his front door and threw it into the trashcan. It felt good to step into the familiar dusty shop. Faint echoes of his own laughter were still present and it haunted his humble shop, frightening customers who set foot into his life's work. A building kept upright by the essence of his excitement for the dead.

"Let's see if I still have that pretty beggar woman I was working on." He wondered to himself. The corpse would have already started decaying, but that made his work more fun. The more time he got to spend on his work, the less he'd have to think about other things.
Life was a curious matter, he observed. So many things were left unsaid. So many secrets were kept hidden. Great stories were taken into a long slumber of eternal sleep. It made the mortician sigh in thought. Humans were so pitiful, it hurt to watch. He envied their mortality, something he yearned for when time turned against him. However, his crimson rose was out there probably thinking about him. It made him feel almost feel wistful. Almost.

He made his way to the back of his shop where the foul smell of a rotting corpse wafted around the room. He smiled despite the awful stank. How nice it would be, to pretty up a woman no one loved.

"You have lost." He muttered silently. He easily slipped into his old routine and embalmed her without incident. It was quiet. Almost too much for him to bear. He was headed for the kitchen when the unmistakable presence of demon permitted the air. It was a lingering piece of a vile creature that had stepped foot into his parlor not too long ago. It wasn't the Phantomhive butler though. It was a more familiar demon. One he had befriended and pledged unreliable both at the same time. He had been a fool back then. Without warning, his head grew heavy and his vision started flickering. A new room morphed into place and he looked around curiously. His feet were rooted to the floor, his vision swimming in dizzying ways.

"Isn't it curious? It's my new way of greeting, it is." A voice told him. No matter how hard he tried, Undertaker couldn't find the source of the voice. It was all around him. It was creating echoes, bouncing off the walls as they please. Once the echoes hit one another, it created enough energy to send painful waves through his head. The reaper winced when a painful laugh left him. Matter and antimatter. Guess what creature is created out of that. "You are getting closer, my friendly friend." Undertaker huffed at the voice, his annoyance was becoming an overpowering emotion, but it ignored its ferocity building up in his chest.

"Your presence is bothersome." Undertaker managed to say, his voice a strained half whisper.

"You threaten me to take back my words. You are not friendly at all." The voice told him in all it's annoying glory.

"Don't reconsider." Undertaker muttered.

"You disappoint me." The voice tutted. Undertaker could almost imagine a head shaking in feigned disappointment. That was, if the voice hadn't already grown a body. The head he was seeing, familiar as it was, wasn't shaking its head. "And I thought we could become one again." The man in front of him was a demon. The rotting smell all but confirmed it.

"You were the one waltzing in here." Undertaker countered matter of factly.

"Of course, I like your hospitality." The demon smiled its kindest smiles, a fake forced smile. The battle behind the demon's eyes ignited a fire within its unwelcoming depths. "Really, I appreciate it." He affirmed with a nod.

"You do realize who I am, right?" Undertaker asked with narrowed eyes of confusion. His words were a silent warning, telling the demon he wouldn't be able to hold him down for long.

"Oh I do, I do. I'm actually rather disconcerted about your own recollection abilities." The demon told him. "Perhaps, this ought to clear up the fog in that old noggin' of yours." The demon raised his head where to neither creature's surprise, materialized a sword. A beautiful pattern was carved into it. The sword was glowing softly and it was wafting waves of longing. Undertaker recognized its calls for what they were, the demon however didn't seem to care less. This made the silver reaper smile. His smile resulted in an answering frown from the demon standing in front of him. A wanton glimmer flickered behind its eyes, but they were silenced quickly.

"I still don't know who you are, that scythe however, doesn't belong to you." Undertaker started flexing his toes. He felt them move and proceeded to take a few steps towards the demon. The sword was helping him, he noted. The longing he recognized earlier was the sword's pain. It wanted its rightful owner and even though Undertaker wasn't its owner, he was a reaper and thus able to bring it back and the sword knew that. No consciousness. Just an object. After feeling the energy it was giving off, Undertaker could only laugh at a statement like that.

"Impossible." The demon said. He held the scythe in a defensive manner. It was a vain attempt at keeping the reaper at bay and all it was doing, was help Undertaker. "I will make you remember if I have to, but not now. This is amusing." The demon said. He lowered himself and slid his hand underneath the cabinet next to him. "I will be taking this along." He said holding up a long black cloth. When he vanquished the scythe Undertaker took one big step towards the demon who in turn stepped back to avoid the reaper. In the end, Undertaker only managed to grab the cloth. The demon had disappeared when he next looked up.

"It is curious indeed." Undertaker confirmed at last. He studied the material, it was soft. He also noted the intriguing warmth spreading through his fingers and into his arms. A warmth of acceptance was glowing inside of him as he held the black cloth.

He didn't remember when the room started to shift or when the infuriating knocking on his door had started. He felt as if he just woke up from a nap although he was standing upright. Strange. He started laughing to himself until he felt the fabric slip from his fingers. He watched it cascade to the ground, its descend was agonizingly slow. He cursed when he tried to flex his fingers.

"Again?" He asked his betraying body angrily. The bonking on his door was growing even more aggravating. He strode towards the front of his shop and opened it, struggling with the door knob for a moment longer than he wished. "What?!" He asked angrily. He saw Grell's tear stricken face slowly being filled with fright.

"Y…you weren't…you weren't answering." He gulped out.

"I'm sorry." Undertaker apologized. He smiled sheepishly, an unconscious thought to try and reassure his red love.

"You…what were you doing?" Grell asked pushing passed the undertaker who let her pass. He closed the door, quickly thinking up an excuse.

"I was in the back, embalming." He held up his greasy hands. One of them frozen as if it had been holding something earlier, the other one mimicking the other. His filthy hands were enough an excuse for it to seem he was deliberately holding them like this.

"Well, I was thinking." Grell started. He smiled seductively and urged closer towards Undertaker. "Why don't you wash your hands, it's time for something more productive." He winked and started tracing a finger down Undertaker's chest. If he wasn't so caught up by the less than polite thoughts forming inside his head, he would have been worried about his hand and Grell's reaction to finding out.

"Of course, my red beauty." Undertaker stole a quick kiss before heading towards the kitchen. Once he stepped foot on the tiled floor, he realized his mistake. "Bullocks." He whispered while looking down at his right hand. How long did this last again? Undertaker tried to remember, but he usually passed out and woke up being able to move about as he pleased. He had half a mind to wonder about his libido, thinking what would happen if his hand worked but his goods didn't. He could imagine Grell's offended huffing and ranting. Undertaker let an involuntary chuckle leave his lips.

Immobile or not. He had to wash his hands eventually. The fluids covering them weren't particularly alluring. On the contrary, it was right out disgusting. Those were the wrong body fluids he wanted to think about while his red rose was waiting for him. He should have known that his rose wasn't exceptionally patient. He had made yet another error.

"Undie?" Came the question from what he suspected was his bedroom. Right, Grell was going to move in with him and if he couldn't solve this mystery of immobility, he would have to deal with a very concerned and panicky Grell on what seemed to be on a daily basis. It wasn't the effort of having Grell around all distressed and whatnot, it was the thought of putting Grell through being worried and all. Undertaker didn't want to do that to him. Not while he didn't know what was wrong himself.

"I'm coming." Undertaker answered. He turned the tab open and started washing his numb hand with his working one. "I don't want this stuff on my beautiful rose." He added a short while after. He was worried. How was he going to tell Grell he couldn't move his hand? His thoughts started to crumble together. When had he started feeling dizzy? He registered the water running, he felt it on his hands.

Wait.

He felt it on both hands. He sighed relieved, but the dizziness was making him feel sick. He swallowed a couple of times until it passed. When he didn't feel like the world was trying to kill him, he looked down at his hands. His right hand felt less heavy, more attached. He laughed breathily. He knew he was losing it. Sure he had lost it long ago, but this was just another way of losing one's marbles, he concluded. Smile. He thought. Smile, reaper. The words send him spiraling down another path. A mental click would have been heard if it wasn't a metaphorical thing.

"Smile, reaper." The words were heavy, spoken for the thousandth time. Again and again. He saw the face of a familiar demon, his dark brown hair like it had ever been.

"Be friendly, Amon." Undertaker felt like saying. His lips parted, the words almost spilling out.

Amon. The name was a tangled mess of memories starting to come to life, recounting what happened and what never should have. The company of a demon, forming a hybrid between two beings. Merged into one, powerful entity until yin ejected yang. Undertaker's eyes widened in horror. Demons of the past had come back to haunt him, literally. Vengeance was astringent, he decided, looking down at his hands once more. He knew what was happening.

TO BE CONTINUED!

A/N: If you like this writing style or reapers in general. Buy this book: nl/p/the-shadows-of-reality/9200000073795096/

It was inspired by Yana's work ^_^

Idk if it's avaible outside of Belgium and The Netherlands ... I never found out :o