So, the new chapter of the manga has raised my fangirlism for Undertaker. I know, you're all probably thinking "You psycho bitch! Are you high? He just made zombies! Aren't you scared of zombies?" But, here are my thoughts, and then a poem:

I mean Undertaker always struck me as a crafty villain, he sort of is in this ficcy, but I see beauty in his work. I mean, these corpses only seek what they lack. In his mind, he sees it as a sinless existence, an existence with no mourning and or vice...Only need. And in a religious sense, humans should be that. In all honesty, I don't see him as a cruel...More-so a scientist...A very mad one...Like in Frankenstein...ALMOST ROMANTIC...Literature Romance not that lovey-dovey shit...The body is a shell with no soul, it just echoes whatever energy is shoved into it. It doesn't feel pain or fear, it just wants. I really didn't see killing innocents beneath him. It's what a scientist does-as horrible as it is for someone who cherishes life the way I do.

I always imagined him as a somewhat sadistic scientist-he DOES love his job too much anyhow. His twisted work is the ultimate completion of a mortician's work in a sense. No one wants to die yet his job is to make people look beautiful after death, to an extent this is the horror of immortality because life has no depth or meaning if you live forever. You sacrifice your soul, and with that done, most immortals have no soul-such as werewolves, vampires, demons, and reapers. Jesus is forever but he DIED and was taken up into the ultimate completion of humanity; where souls rule. In this unholy earth leashed by the Devil, flesh has the ultimate attraction. They hunt people for what they lack, he only seeks to make death a whole entity. Vampires for plasma, reapers hunt souls as he said, demons need souls to live, and werewolves pass on their wretched curse through their bite. Really, that's quite climatic.

Each stitch will be a tendon
Like a puppet dancing in candlelight
Unable to speak, my precious doll
Unable to hear, a sinless creature
Of horror you shall be
Dancing forever, defying fate
You have nothing more than the shell
Around your face
We all are gods, you and I
My precious doll with no strings
Nothing to attach you, to my insidious whims
Reaper's eyes, you soul was momentarily
Mine, and like a lover's loss, was gone
For this immortal hour
Lycanthropia to spread the curse
Vampirism to seek breath
Demons to condemn the innocent
And reapers to hunt the souls
Aren't we all an endless cycle
Of cannibalism?
Seeking what we lack, an eternal waltz
Forever encircling your grave

William's eyes could not believe what he was witnessing. Or perhaps he didn't want to accept the pang in his chest and the rush of emotions flooding into the empty reservoir where his heart was supposed to be...He should've closed his eyes. Grell was in the spring, as he guessed, but she was not alone. Her arms were wrapped around the shoulders of a man with long, white hair that was braided in some areas. Because his hair was wet his bangs were plastered to his face, revealing parts of his eyes and nose but he could not identify the man. He was a well-toned man as well, his flesh was just were it should be and sculpted to a fine, almost statuesque, outline. His lips were joined with Grell is a series of passionate kisses, his black-nail tipped fingers on her hips. The side of Grell's new body was viewable to William as well, her breasts and other curves pressing up against her lover's body.

"Mm..." she cooed, her tongue slipping out of his mouth, "Tell me you love me, please...Undertaker,"

Undertaker! William recognized the man suddenly! This was the mortician that dealt with the demons' corpses! This man had been titled a rogue shinigami decades ago. No doubt this man was a genius, however. He was a legend among shinigami for his work on the souls he reaped and the new research his-for the lack of a better word-darker hobbies provided. Only when did it get to an extreme did the council strip him of his rank in the London Division, and force him to retire. Astoundingly, he wasn't quite upset with their decision, and humbly accepted the occupation they gave him when the Labyrinth was carved into the Catacombs. William wasn't quite clear on what sort of research this man did during his off-work hours, but it was obvious he was way ahead of theory.

This could explain why Grell had changed so drastically. Was she a new pawn in his research, did she make a deal with him? This reaper had been known to be rather lenient toward demons, what if he was merely using her for a demon? He grew angry, almost allowing himself to interrupt when he noted they were now out of the water, making love on the sheet spread out over the dirty ground. Their arms embraced each other, legs twisting around each other, hands embracing, bodies connecting a way William had experienced so long ago...It sickened him. The noises made his stomach wretch as well; Grell's moans and her lover's whispers. He seemed to make it almost a point that whispering in his lover's ear was a vital part of making love. He removed the pills from his pocket, tore off the lid, and dumped them onto the ground.

If this was the fate Grell chose, so be it! He turned his back to the scene, he wouldn't allow his emotions to take over him.

"Grell?" Undertaker's breath had been chilled by the cool air, he cupped her cheek gently. He pulled away entirely, staring down at her once he had unsheathed himself.

"Ehh~! Don't stop love...You're amazing!" Grell whined, sitting up and reaching for him.

"Not yet, my love," he chuckled, stroking her damp hair, "I'd like to show you something,"

"Oh?" Grell furrowed her brow, "What?"

"I'd like to show you my home," Undertaker smiled eerily, "Spend the night with me at my humble abode. I'm certain a lady of you caliber will enjoy it,"

"I suppose..." Grell shrugged, turning to the towels she brought and grabbing two. She wrapped her hair up in the towel before drying her own body, the Undertaker did the same.

The path to Undertaker's abode was a gravel road, obviously traveled very recently by a wagon. Undertaker had received Michaelis' body not too long ago, thus the wheel marks were still rather deep despite the previous night's heavy rain.

"Quite secluded," Grell muttered as he led her along, hand in hand.

"Oh, it must. A demon's blank blood can be quite disastrous if not dealt with in the right manner. I must be isolated from main society," he grinned, "Oh, but how isolation teaches one a lesson. After all, in death we all are alone,"

Grell nuzzled his shoulder, "No, we're not...We have each other,"

"But we have no souls, now do we?" he winked.

"Aren't we all just souls?" Grell answered his make-shift riddle.

"Ah, so crafty," he tapped her nose, "Very attractive, I admire that in a person. Certainly you must have good jokes,"

Grell smirked seductively, "Well, you'll just have to wait until later tonight then,"

"So eager," he commented, turning away to frown momentarily, "I'm certain we must exchange some jokes at dinner,"

Grell made a sort of whining noise in her throat but nodded, "A candle-lit dinner with you is like seeing Heaven,"

"Oh, trust me dearie," he sounded somber for a moment, "The Gates of Heaven will destroy every shred of you in you,"

Grell furrowed her brow, feeling her grip on his hand loosen momentarily while his grip tightened on hers. Why was he so suddenly solemn, or better yet, he seemed even concerned for her. It was almost like he was protecting her from something. She blushed, such a handsome man keeping his lover away from danger. This rogue reaper who had granted her the body of a woman and the unfathomable pleasure of romance. In the sexual conquest she had undergone last night she was now more than ever certain she wanted to stay with this man. He obviously cared for her, she ignored the voice inside her mind that told her he was just putting up a facade. But there was no way, she knew, that he was going to hurt her. The worst pain had passed away in her male body.

She recalled the night before and how profound lovemaking was. Every touch, every visual aspect, every erotic part of her body, and even the smallest nerves had been rapidly electrified by the mortician. Each fantastic movement, each thrust, each spasm, and each embrace lasted in her memory. Each of those views and every momentarily experience embedded in her bones and in the inner-workings of her heart. She had given herself to this man, this stranger, and this stranger had given himself to her, a mere stranger as well.

"Here we are,"

She hadn't realized they were in front of a cottage, it was much bigger than her own in comparison.

"You were gone quite a while, William," Gregory noted as he strolled into the infirmary, "Did you...?"

"Yes," he answered promptly, "I gave them to her and told her the news. She wanted me to stay for lunch and tea, that's why I took so long,"

"You seem frustrated," Gregory replied, sounding somewhat shaken up by his superior's sudden emotional outburst.

"I apologize," William sat down on one of the bed, drawn to it almost since Grell's scent still lingered in the sheets, "I'm just tired. It'd rather chilly out,"

"Winter's falling in," Gregory commented off-offhandedly, pouring a cup of hot coffee for William and adding three creams and a sugar, "That's expected. How was Grell? Does she look well?"

"She's fine," William hissed, accepting the cup of coffee and swallowing it without any precautions to its scalding temperature.