Thank you for reading this chapter, and thank you all so much for the favorites and follows! Even if you just read it without doing anything else, it means so much to me! In return, I will try to respond to any PMs or any reviews I feel need a response and read some of your stories – if you've written any – in return.

I really hope you enjoy this one!

Disclaimer – One day, perhaps in the near future, Yana-Chan will give us fangirls/fanboys the rights to Kuroshitsuji, but today is not that day.

Warning – This chapter has a lot of blood and gore in it. Some themes may also be upsetting for some people, though I can't say anymore without spoiling the rest.

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He had once thought that after his soul had been eaten, he would go to Hell, and that would be it. He now realized just how delusional that thinking process had been. His parents, and later his Aunt as well, had been killed, he had been kidnapped and sacrificed, and his job was to be the Queen's loyal slave. Of course he would not get the luxury of Hell. Even being trapped in that paradoxical black void for eternity would have been better than this. Instead he was trapped inside his killer's mind, forced to watch the horrific acts of his past, and watch them unfold in the present. He was forced to observe one such act at the very moment.

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They were on to him, he knew that now. He had been a fool for not realizing it sooner, had been a fool for allowing himself to be blinded by the death of his Master. He resolved that his sole focus would now be on ridding himself of anyone who dared cross him. While the demon would easily be able to break out of prison, he was not one in favor of his secret being discovered. It did not take much motivation; his life came first, no matter who the entity was that was threatening it.

A soft breeze blew through the open window, stirring the wispy curtains attached to it. Luminescent moonlight spilled in, illuminating his target's rising and falling chest and lighting up their pale face. Airy breaths ruffled their soft golden hair, face a picture of serene peace. He had always found it amusing how they could be so oblivious to their imminent deaths, taking their last few seconds of life for granted. Frankly, he found everything about humans amusing, if not annoying.

He pulled out one of the kitchen knives he had brought from the manor. He could kill them just as easily with his hands, but he wanted their death to be as painful and agonizing as his internal pain the last five years. His every nerve tingled at the thought of ripping them apart, until they were mangled and unrecognizable. Oh, indeed, he intended to do just that. He raised the silver blade above his head – He was one for dramatics, that one – and paused.

This was the best moment, the climax of the murder. The quiet before the storm. Never again would their sparkly smile blind a room's occupants, never again would their eyes be alight with happiness. Never again would their body have to draw in another breath. All because of him. That thought was what he enjoyed the most. He swung the knife down in an arc, allowing gravity to take over after that.

Their eyes popped open seconds too late, mouth opening in a silent scream. Blood spurted from the gaping wound, flowing down the sides of the bed, accumulating at his feet. In that last moment, right before the soul left the body, they looked up at him, almost as if in thanks. Thank you for freeing me, they seemed to say.

Elizabeth Midford's green eyes lost their light, for the last time.

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He was frozen. He couldn't move, and it irritated him unlike anything else. The air around him smelled of copper and the faint tinge of smoke. Had Bardroy been cooking lately? No, that couldn't be it. He was lying in a pool of something warm. He hadn't tripped and spilled the milk he was carrying, he knew that. Suddenly, like a light switch being flipped, the feeling came flooding back into his arms. He felt along the back of his head; when he found nothing, he checked his chest. His hand struck something long and silver protruding from the middle of it. One of Sebastian's knives.

Puddles of blood covered the ground, swirling like the billowing strokes beneath an artist's brush. It weaved a winding trail of coiling crimson, with as many twists as a labyrinth. He was startled to find that the blood was not, in fact, blood but maroon locks, and at the end of that river of hair was a very familiar head. Acid bubbled up the back of his throat, the only warning he got before the contents of his stomach were released. Mei-Rin's body was much like his own, untouched except for a knife of shining silver lodged inside her chest. There was one major difference, the only one that mattered. She was dead.

To his left lay another body with a head of murky blonde hair, a flamethrower tightly clasped in his right hand. The tendons in his muscled arm were clenched with the tension of the moments before a battle. Even in death, Bardroy still had a cigarette pressed between his lips, embers floating up to the ceiling.

He tilted his head back as far as he dared, just managing to glance at the wisps of snowy white hair before he fell flat on his back. Oh, Tanaka… There was no knife in his chest, but in his forehead, eyes staring up at the ceiling with that cloudy film eyes developed after the life left their body. Black spots clouded his vision, surroundings blurring and twisting into abstract shapes. He welcomed death with open arms, feeling something that could only be described as excitement. He would see the other servants and his favourite bird that he'd accidentally killed when they first met. He would see the young Master. But when Finnian finally left this world, it was not the faces of his friends, no clouds or angels, that greeted him but the endless flames of Hell.

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Something exploded inside his chest, as if his heart had carried all of the World's agony and sadness until it just couldn't contain it anymore. His legs buckled beneath him, from pain or sadness he could not tell. Rivers of salty tears poured down his cheeks, and his face twisted as he let out an earsplitting wail. There was no one there to hear him. He had killed her family, too.

He did not understand this feeling of pure hatred, of utter self-loathing. Somehow, his pain managed to double, then triple. It would not stop. A child's scream joined his. It was so quiet, even his sharp ears could barely pick it up or process it, yet so loud that it was all he could hear. Their screeches of agony intertwined until you could not pick apart which was the demon's and which was the child's. It was coming from the boy inside him, he realized. For the first time, he truly regretted his actions.

He had not meant to do any of the bad things that he had done. Because while he may be a demon, no one seemed to understand that he had never wished to be the creature that he was. He did not mean to kill Lady Elizabeth, or make Finnian immortal. He did not mean to hurt his young Master. He wanted him back.

But once something is truly lost, one can never get it back again.

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"Abberline!" The detective sighs, a sound of exasperation.

"Yes, Officer Randall?"

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would scour the rest of the Manor, to see if there are any other bodies."

His tone told him that he had no choice in the matter.

"Yes, sir." His response was not even a murmur, but a breath of air escaping his chapped lips. While he had only been employed at Scotland Yard for a few months, he could tell this would be one of the worst cases of his career.

There had been rumors floating around, about how it was Phantomhive's soul come back from the dead. Others believed that it was his widow who had finally snapped and attempted to avenge her betrothed.

So far, they had found three bodies, all of them servants to the Earl. There were signs that there was a fourth person in that room. He hoped they'd escaped. There was another search party at the Midford's house. The entire family had been slaughtered, but the most peculiar thing was the discovery of the Michaelis butler. A strange sword with a twisting blade stuck out of his chest, its light green metal sending jade rainbows cascading off the walls. His mouth had formed a smirk, lifeless claret eyes staring upwards. It appeared to be a suicide.

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Fifty Years Later

Once upon a time, there was a king named Phantomhive, who was a strong and merciless leader. He ruled his lands with an iron fist, making sure no one dared challenge him or step out of line. He was such a feared figure that his subjects would grimace just at the utterance of his name. The people lived in constant fear of his mighty wrath.

One day, along came a knight in shining armor. He went on to earn the king's trust. Years later he managed to slay the king, like a monster, for that was what he was. The people rejoiced, celebrating their new hero.

There was nothing left of the king, except for his rusted crown.

And so on and so forth. That story, full of lies and as far from the truth as you could get, was the only proof that Lord Phantomhive had ever existed. He was a thing of the past, of myths and legends. He had vanished into thin air, like his butler and his fiancée. As a child, he had dreamed of ruling the world, of his legacy living on forever and ever. But of course, reality is much different than what we always dreamed it would be.

In the end, Ciel had never gotten to see his parents again. Never got his happily ever after. Instead, he lives down in Hell, with Finnian and Sebastian. He is content to sit on his throne made of bone and sorrow. Because the king's crown never rusted, and his throne never broke. Ciel Phantomhive still rules.

Happily? No. Forever after? Yes.

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End

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(A/N) I hope you guys enjoyed that as much as I did! I am sincerely sorry if the ending may have not been to your liking – What, with the whole everybody dying thing – But I hope it is still somewhat satisfactory if that is the case.

I will still be posting stories, though I will most likely stick to one shots.

Thank you to everyone who read this story, and thank you for all of your patience with my irregular updates. I really appreciate the likes and follows, and just the views themselves. I hope to see you all in my next projects, whenever they come to be. But for now, bye everyone!