Author's Note: I thought it would be fun to expand on this idea of Angelskully's and play with it a little. :D

Dedication: For Angelskully, as this was really her plot bunny. *worships* 3

Warnings: Quickly written/edited. Sorta AU-ish? Religious themes.

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Si Deus Me Relinquit

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Si deus me relinquit,
Ego deum relinquo

Solus oppressus nigram clavem habere potest,
Omnias ianuas praecludo
Sic omnias precationes obsigno

XXX

What dost thou desire?

A silent question, a noiseless breath. On the tip of a half-lolled tongue, the dry air tastes of bitter sin and moldering apples, spiced with the lingering perfume of frankincense and copper. Metallic wine, thick and spilt: it traces the grooves and ruts and Gothic flourishes of silk-swaddled marble, pooling in saccharine puddles atop the sunset stains on the varnished floor.

Answers.

Through high-arched panes of colored glass, the sun blazes and burns like a ball of righteous hatred. Scorching. Smoldering. Blistering in the back of his throat, just as the haloing rays of hellfire turn the hallowed ground into a luminous valley of ethereal flame.

What manner of answer dost thou seek?

A place of Enlightenment has never seemed so dark.

Why. How.

The boy's alabaster face is as blank as the visage of the statue above him, his eyes as dull and empty as the downcast gaze of plaster. The effigy's pallid arms are spread wide, perhaps to imbue those who see Him with a fulsome feel of welcome… but he can see the driven nails that force the damned charade upon Him, and he knows now that the gentle embrace this marionette is made to offer will grant him nothing more than agony. He has had enough of agony— of whips against his back and knives against his front, of tears and scars and broken hearts that lie in shattered splinters in the throne of his heaving torso: a mess of sponge and baby bone, smears of drying gray brain matter decorating the serrated walls of mined caves. And so he stares, as if in protest; he stares, as if in accusation; he stares, as if in challenge, daring the wasted slip of a man to dismount His high and mighty cross.

If but such answers existed…

But of course, He doesn't budge, the filthy coward: He merely returns the child's vacant glare with one of His own, unmoving and useless. Stone-hearted, just as He is stone-limbed and stone-headed, suspended on fragile threads of idealism and lies. In the end, He is nothing more than a worthless spectator, a voyeur to his misery: taunting him and those like him with promises of joy and comfort that He never intends to fulfill. A Covenant of deception and deceit.

Why would He allow this to happen? How could anyone believe that this was right? Has he no concern for what he's done to me?

His face is wet with liquid salt, tinged pink by streaks and streams of scarlet fluid. His fist is taut around a woven band, fibers of fraying hemp chafing against the calluses caking his palm. His heart is hardening, becoming as icy and unfeeling as the corpse that lies in a cold heap at his feet, purpled entrails glossy in the fiery glow of twilight. And his eyes…

Is such knowledge what thou truly wishes to obtain?

His eyes are flicking backwards, towards the sweep of oaken pews, towards the gilded double doors, towards the sound of raven wings and gossamer smoke, coagulating in vaporous swirls of midnight ink that burst and bloom and blossom midair, like droplets of blood in still water. A smile lingers and looms, rising as a sickly sickle moon, and the little one's terror waxes and wanes in ways much akin to the stranger's harvest-red irises.

…no.

The simpering devil sneers, a worming leer fit for a maggot ridden corpse.

Then I shall enquire but once more. What dost thou desire, my tiny master?

And how fitting, really, for he is hardly more than a cadaver himself: a carcass of rotting human tissue, a soft and pliant home for the demon to devour, wriggling deep into his decaying heart, fetid mind, rancid soul. An infestation, a plague, an intestinal parasite, willingly ingested; he collapses with a cord-ripping scream as he claws at his canvas-covered chest, bile rising as the flesh beneath his palms swells and sinks of its own accord— undulating like a serpent beneath the surface of the sea, sending waves rolling over and over in its fearsome wake. His body contorts and shrivels as his bloated insides decompose and his gasping lungs petrify and his heart is eaten whole: gobbled up by spiders with poison-tipped pincers and a writhing black mass of beetles and boils and blasphemous thoughts.

I want the chance to revenge myself upon He who did this to me.

Judgment will come to this Earth someday, at a time unknown to all but One. A game of chance for the mortals of the world… a play of patience for the devils.

Granted.

And so Sebastian waits.

XXX

Sed
qui me defendet?
Ab me terribilissimo ipse

XXX

Though I'm sure that everyone has already seen it, the art that inspired this story can be found here: http(colon)(slash slash)angelskully(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)Kuroshitsuji(dash)Sebastian(dash)CR(dash)197941500