Hello readers! This is my first story, so please don't judge. Also, unfortunately and obviously, I do not own any of these characters or Kuroshitsuji itself. Those rights belong to the immensely lucky individual, Yana Toboso. Thanks to everyone who checked out my last Chapter, and anyone who bothered to rate, follow, or favorite! I'll try to update at least once a week, and I appreciate any criticism and ideas from readers.

Warnings – Slight SebaCiel, some gore and violence.

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His Master, Wandering

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The loud clacking of shoes echoes throughout the dark cellar-like room, waking the child from his nightmare filled slumber. His body aches from lying on the concrete floor without moving, and his bones crack as he crawls into a sitting position. The boy jumps as a bloodcurdling scream is emitted from somewhere in the building. Who knows how many other children are being held captive in this Hell, just like him.

The child is temporarily blinded by a sudden light that slices through the room, followed by a deafening rumble as door scratches against stone, and he is once again surrounded by the infernal black. As his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, he can faintly see a silhouette, feeling around on the ground string of curses as they do so, search around once more for the item. Light suddenly blazes up, and for the first time the boy sees the room he is being held captive in, and the very man who has brought him here. Or, shockingly, the woman. Almost bashfully, she looks up at him with her soft brown eyes, which hold none of the malice that would be expected from a kidnapper.

She walks towards him, kicking various blood-crusted tools out of her path. So as not to appear weak, the child stands up on trembling legs and crosses his arms.

"Are you Ciel Phantomhive?" She asks, though it is clear she already knows the answer. The boy simply glares at her. Unfortunately for him, his adorable childish looks do nothing but make her chuckle. "It is all right. I will not hurt you."

The boy suppresses a chuckle of his own. As if he trusts her.

Her long, pale fingers struggle to unlatch the rusted lock and after a few moments of fumbling, manage to unlock it and pull open the small cage door. She gently grabs hold of his arm, and between that second and the next her friendly demeanor completely disappears. The boy resists the urge to cry out as small streams of blood trickle down from where her fingers dig into his arm.

"The Master wishes to speak with you." She continues to drag him along behind her, though halfway there, lets go of his arm and trusts him to follow her of his own

Suddenly, a chorus of screeches begin to pierce the air. The screams haunt him with how similar they sound to his parents' screams as their flesh was reduced to ashes. The woman frantically looks around for the source of the screams, clearly as perplexed as the boy. A tall man in a butler's suit walks out of one of the rooms that line the hallway, covered in blood. Droplets of crimson spray off his jacket as he attempts to remove the stains.

"A demon?!" Though he does not lift his head - he is still preoccupied with brushing off the bloody splatters - his eyes rise to meet hers. He has raven black hair, darker than even the shadows that have become the child's only friend. And those eyes… They pierce his soul like a dagger to the heart. Why are they so familiar? He squirms under the man's cold gaze, which quickly softens at the sight of him.

"Young Master?" Those two words are so familiar that it causes his head to ache. He still hasn't any idea as to who the man is or why those two words cause a river of nauseating flash backs. Everything from his posture to his affectionate gaze causes a memory to spring to the surface. Deft hands massaging the knots in his back, soft chuckles as he notices yet another of the boy's mundane flaws, the demon staring down at a child caked in blood in a room identical to this one, with bodies strewn across the floor in the same placement as the corpses in this reality. The child briefly wonders just what in the world this is, exactly.

"Sebastian?"

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Ciel's soul is suspended in time. Well, he can hardly be called Ciel Phantomhive any longer as he no longer has a body. But his soul still exists, and it now floats about, and he somehow knows where. Trapped inside of his butler. He sighs. Internally, for he has no lungs.

He does not know which is worse. Burning in the eternal flames of Hell, or reliving his worst memories in the mind of his killer.