Music I listened to while writing :A Princess - Pan's Labyrinth OST - Javier Navarrete

Chapter 10: Checkmate with a Knight and a Bishop or the "Triangle Method"

In front of the Phantomhive Manor bedroom

Arthur still held the revolver against his chest, fingers gripping the cold metal, his eyes locked on the blue gleam of Ciel's eye. He could feel the boy trembling, just as he was. Fear coursed through both of them, but it was too late to back down. With his life hanging in the balance in this dark corridor, Arthur realized that his fate had been sealed long ago. The moment Ciel had appeared at the top of the grand staircase when he first arrived at the manor, his life had veered down a mysterious and grim path. And he regretted none of it.

His heartbeat echoed through the barrel of the gun and into the trembling fingers of the boy holding it, the only connection they had left now. Ciel's lower lip quivered, and his breath hitched as his finger began to squeeze the trigger.

Suddenly, a scream echoed from the shadows, reverberating off the walls with a sinister resonance. Ciel jerked, his aim faltering as the gun wavered.

"What the…"

In a swift motion, Arthur seized the moment of distraction, grabbing the revolver from Ciel's grip. But the shot fired.

The deafening sound of the gunshot ricocheted through the dark corridor, and the bullet lodged itself into the wall. Still gripping the burning barrel with his right hand, Arthur frantically patted his chest with his left. No, he wasn't hit.

Realizing his attempt at murder had failed, Ciel lunged forward, reaching for the revolver again, but Arthur slapped him, hard enough to send him crashing into the wall. The boy slid down, sitting on the floor in a daze, his lip split open, blood trickling down his chin. He touched his fingers to his mouth, staring in surprise at the red liquid staining his skin. He looked up at Arthur, who watched him with a sorrowful gaze.

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, his voice filled with regret as he gazed at the injured boy.

He stepped past him, gripping the revolver tightly at his side.

"The scream came from above! From the roof!" Arthur said, half to Ciel and half to himself, as he rushed to the window in the boy's room.

He pulled back the heavy velvet curtains and threw open the window. The wind whipped through, thick with moisture as dark clouds still covered the night sky. Nothing could be heard but the creaking of branches clashing in the gusts.

Revolver in hand, Arthur leaned out over the ledge, eyes scanning the roof.

Nothing. No sound.

He waited a moment, his gaze darting between the outer walls and the sky above, and then he thought he saw a faint light filtering through one of the second-floor windows.

A sudden groan escaped his lips as something thick dripped onto his face, and he drew back into the room. He wiped his forehead, then glanced at his fingers.

"Is the storm starting again?" Ciel asked coldly, not moving closer, his split lip barely bleeding anymore.

"No, it's not rainwater."

Arthur turned, a crimson streak running down his face and staining his hand.

"It's blood."

"What?" Ciel breathed, stepping back.

"Blood is dripping from the roof."

The boy began trembling. His lip burned, but that was the least of his concerns. He watched Arthur carefully close the window, wiping his face clumsily with the back of his hand.

"But how?" Ciel stammered. "I didn't hear… there wasn't…"

"Hear what?" Arthur asked as he slid the revolver into his belt, glancing furtively out the window, his mind racing.

"The sound of the scythe!" Ciel shouted. "The buzzing of the saw. If it was him, I would have heard it!"

Arthur left the window and approached Ciel, clearly troubled by the boy's fear.

"Calm down, Ciel," he said, extending his hands toward the trembling young man.

"Don't touch me!" Ciel cried out, recoiling from Arthur's reach. "It might be Sebastian's blood. Don't touch me!"

Arthur quickly rummaged through his pockets for a handkerchief, wiping his face and hands clean before stepping closer to the boy.

The earl was trembling uncontrollably, his body shaking in jerky spasms. He held his hands in front of him, palms turned toward his chest, as if trying to calm himself, but instead, his shudders only intensified.

"I can't live through this again," he whispered, his voice fragile. "I can't have lost him."

His legs gave way slightly, and Arthur rushed to catch him, slipping his arms under Ciel's to keep him from collapsing. Slowly, the boy's breathing steadied, though it remained fast and uneven.

Arthur remembered Ciel from the day he had found Sebastian's body, and the overwhelming despair that had consumed the boy in the butler's absence. Everything had changed at that moment, the exact point when Arthur's life had taken its own shift. Ciel had become a broken angel, clutching his black knight just to be able to sleep. That black knight had been Sebastian.

Suppressing the disgust that welled up in him, Arthur softly murmured, "I'm sure he's fine."

At those words, Ciel shoved him away, as though repulsed by his touch.

"Don't speak about what you don't understand!" Ciel snapped, his voice raw, despite the shivers still coursing through his body. "I don't have the luxury to worry about him. But know this: if he's really hurt or if that 'thing' has won, then I'm doomed! So just shut up, please! You have no idea what I'm about to lose!"

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing closer to the room. Arthur raised the gun, ready to shoot the intruder, until he recognized Finni.

"Master Ciel!" the young servant called out urgently. "We need help! Mr. Wordsmith, you're a doctor, right?"

"Who's hurt, Finni?" Arthur asked, sensing Ciel tense beside him, fists clenched as if trying to summon courage that seemed to slip through his grasp.

"It's Mei Rin!" the servant gasped.

They ran up the stairs to the second floor, where they found Mei Rin unconscious, lying in Bard's arms. He had removed his apron and was pressing it firmly against the wound on her stomach.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Ciel couldn't help but sigh with relief—it wasn't Sebastian's blood that had been dripping from the rooftop.

"What happened?" Arthur asked, kneeling beside the maid and gently pulling back the blood-soaked cloth to inspect the injury.

"She called me from the roof," Bard explained, visibly shaken. "She told me he was up there, said I needed to fetch Sebastian, and then I heard her scream. I called for her, over and over, but she didn't answer. I saw her at the edge of the roof and helped her down, brought her back inside through the window. That's when she lost consciousness. Someone attacked her."

"Ciel, hold the lamp for me," Arthur instructed, trying to get a better view of the wound. "A bit higher. What was she injured with?"

"With these," Bard said, pointing to a pair of small, bloodstained scissors lying on the floor. "They just fell out of the wound. It's not deep, but the bleeding won't stop. I've never seen blood this dark before—not even in the worst injuries I've treated."

The ex-soldier continued to talk, but Arthur had tuned him out, focusing entirely on the wound. He used the apron to dab at the injury, assessing the depth, width, and any apparent damage. Bard was right—it wasn't deep, almost superficial, yet thick, dark blood oozed from it in heavy streams.

"This doesn't make sense," Arthur murmured. "There's way too much blood."

"Shouldn't we stitch her up?" Finni asked, panic rising in his voice.

"It wouldn't help," Arthur replied. "She's losing too much blood, and stitches wouldn't stop it. Damn it, I don't understand—this looks like a severe hemorrhage, but no vein should have been hit at this depth!"

Suddenly, Mei Rin stirred, gasping for air. Disoriented at first, she blinked up at Arthur, recognizing him.

"Burn it," she whispered hoarsely. "He said the bleeding will stop if you burn the wound."

"Cauterize it," Arthur muttered. "But who told you that?"

"The one who attacked me—the man with the red hair."
Ciel turned to Finni.

"Quick! Go find a poker from one of the rooms!"

"Do you really want me to do what he asked?" Arthur asked, bewildered.

"You said it yourself," replied Ciel. "This wound is strange."

"But why would he tell you how to treat your injury?" the doctor asked, unable to understand the logic of a killer wanting to save his victim.

"He said he wasn't supposed to kill me," Mei Rin managed to say. "Otherwise, he'd be punished. He's not allowed to take souls that aren't on the list."

"The list?" Arthur asked, looking up at Ciel, who remained impassive. "What list?"

"I don't know," the young woman whispered weakly. "He told me it would teach me not to meddle in things that don't concern me."

Finni returned with the poker and handed it to Arthur. Ciel opened the glass of the storm lamp. Arthur plunged the iron into the flame while Bard wrapped a scarf and placed it between Mei Rin's teeth.

"Bite down on this, Mei Rin. It helps," Bard said.

Finni grabbed the young woman's arms and held them down as Arthur removed the poker from the flame and brought it toward her wound.

"Be brave," the doctor murmured.

He pressed the searing iron to the injury. Despite himself, Ciel looked away, his ears filled with the muffled screams. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, accompanied by a faint hissing sound. It was over quickly. When Ciel looked back at Mei Rin, she seemed calm, almost sleepy.

"The wound's not bleeding anymore," Arthur observed, shaking his head at the medical mystery. "Take her to one of the rooms and bring cold water and cloths to soothe the burn. Nothing more, understood?"

"Yes, sir," the servants replied.

As Arthur stood up, Mei Rin caught his sleeve, pulling him closer.

"I... I thought I saw something pass before my eyes..." she murmured.

"What was it, Mei Rin?"

"My life..."

The young woman lost consciousness. Finni released her arms, tears streaming down his face and falling onto his friend's pale cheeks. Bard slid his arms under her body and lifted her.

Suddenly, an ominous buzzing noise filled the air, causing Ciel and Arthur to instinctively step back from the windows, startled.

"What's that sound?" Bard shouted, holding Mei Rin in his arms.

"Follow my orders and take her to one of the rooms!" Ciel commanded sternly. "Stay with her and don't come out!"

The servants nodded and hurried down the hallway, leaving their master and the young doctor in the dimly lit corridor.

"It's starting," Ciel murmured. "He's close."

He picked up the lamp and lit the floor with its glow, eyes drawn to the wide crimson stain and the bloodied scissors still glistening.

"Keep the gun," he said to Arthur, picking up the scissors. "A small death scythe is better than no scythe at all."

"A scythe?" Arthur whispered.

"Now we have no choice," Ciel said with a sad smile as he slid the makeshift weapon into his belt. "You wanted to be useful? Then prepare yourself to face a Grim Reaper."

Charles Gray and Ran Mao dragged Snake by his arms down to the cellar. Once they reached the basement, they dropped him on the stone floor, near the wine barrels.

"With that stench of snake on him, he won't be bothered by rats," Charles Gray said disdainfully, abandoning their prisoner on the ground. He wrapped a heavy chain around one of the stone columns and fastened the manacles tightly around Snake's wrists. "He won't be able to escape."

He stood up, glaring with disdain at the man he had tied up.

"I'll remember this filthy party at the Phantomhives'," he spat, delivering a brutal kick to Snake's ribs, whose muffled groan was stifled by the gag covering his lips. "I'm heading back to join the other guests. Hopefully, they've at least served the tea by now!"

And with that, he left the cellar, leaving the Chinese businessman and his companion alone with the snake-man. Once the heavy wooden door closed behind them, Lau gestured for Ran Mao to stay near the entrance and keep watch. He waited for the young woman to return and assure him they wouldn't be disturbed.

Approaching Snake, who glared at him with a mixture of hatred and apprehension, Lau pulled a long needle from his sleeve and knelt beside the boy.

"It's poisoned," the Chinese man murmured, bringing the sharp tip close to Snake, who recoiled in fear. "I'm sorry, but... I'm going to have to pierce your tongue with this needle."

Ran Mao wrapped her arms around the boy in an iron grip as Lau removed the gag. Just as Snake opened his mouth to protest, the Chinese man moved with supernatural speed, pricking the boy's tongue. A sharp pain filled his mouth as the poison entered, spreading through his bloodstream. His veins felt like they were on fire.

"The poison will make your tongue swell, enough to keep you from talking," Lau explained, his lips mere inches from Snake, whose tears streamed down his face. "If it swells too much, the poison might reach your throat, and then... you'll suffocate. But that should take at least 24 hours—just enough time for the Queen to see you and for you to take the blame for the crimes committed."

Snake shook his head frantically, his eyes wide with fear, whimpering despite the pain filling his mouth. A horrible taste of blood burned in his throat.

"Don't tire yourself," Lau whispered, running his fingers through the boy's hair. "I know you're not guilty of all the crimes you're accused of. But if the Earl Phantomhive has decided to make you the scapegoat, you'll have to accept your fate. You're condemned. Mercy isn't one of his virtues."

He wiped away the boy's tears.

"It's not one of mine either."

Standing up, he motioned for Ran Mao to follow him.

"Well, we'd better get to safety. Goodnight."

Ran Mao delivered a sharp blow to the back of Snake's neck, and the boy collapsed unconscious onto the cold stone floor.

Sebastian had heard Mei Rin's cry when she was wounded by Grell. He had rushed to the rooftop of the manor. That's where he had seen the servant girl dragging herself painfully toward the gutter, her blood mixing with the rainwater still draining through the rooftop channels. Bard had quickly rescued the young woman.

But where washe?

Sebastian ran across the rooftop, silent and cautious, until he reached the center. He stepped over Mei Rin's blood, tracing the path she had taken. He sniffed the damp air, searching for any trace of an unfamiliar, immortal scent that didn't belong to the estate. But there was nothing, only silence.

"Looking for me?"

The menacing hum of the death scythe filled the air, and Sebastian leaped to the right just before the sawblade came crashing down, narrowly missing him. Strands of his dark hair fell to the ground. Clenching his fists in front of him, he faced his attacker.

The shinigami from his macabre memories stood before him, draped in his magnificent red coat.

"Haven't I told you before, my dear Sebastian?" Grell purred, eyeing the demon. "I much prefer being the hunter rather than the prey!"

"I see you've brought out your favorite toy again?" the demon remarked, humorless and ready for battle.

"And this time, I've filled out the proper authorization forms!" the reaper grinned before lunging at his target.

Sebastian flipped backward, dodging the blade, weaving from side to side to avoid the god of death's relentless strikes.

"Oh yes, run from me, my beautiful demon. I love it when you play hard to get."

A new strike grazed the demon.

"I'm sorry for ambushing you the other night," Grell said. "But I was on a mission and pressed for time. I hoped you'd survive to give me a more thrilling battle."

Sebastian leaped behind a chimney that Grell shattered with a single swing of his scythe.

"But that night, I had the chance to paint you in my favorite shade of red—your own blood!"

Another blow came dangerously close, nearly severing Sebastian's arm. The demon gritted his teeth, panting from the effort. Once again, he was on the defensive, searching for any opening to counter his attacker, but it never came. Grell, wielding his scythe, had the upper hand and he knew it, increasing the speed and strength of his strikes. Blow after blow forced Sebastian to retreat. The rain began to fall, drenching them both and making the roof dangerously slippery.

"It seems my little friend failed, didn't he?" Grell teased, unfazed by the battle, which he clearly dominated. "You crafted such an elaborate plan to spare your master from the serpents' fangs."

Sebastian found himself cornered against a stone chimney. Grell swung his scythe with force. The demon caught the blade with his hands just before it could slice his face. The reaper pressed down, pushing the scythe closer, mere inches from Sebastian's skin.

"But no matter," Grell whispered lovingly, savoring the closeness. "I'm going to kill you, and even if I can't, I'll tear apart your little master's body."

Sebastian flinched as fear coursed through him. Where was Ciel? He could hear his heartbeat, too close—far too close. It resonated deep within him, louder than the grinding of the scythe in his hands.

"You know it's true," Grell continued softly. "He's so weak. I only like real men—brats like him just irritate me. And your Ciel, most of all."

The reaper pressed the blade harder, forcing Sebastian to tilt his head to avoid the saw. The scythe tore through his uniform at the shoulder, shredding the fabric.

"I'll gut him," Grell growled with sadistic delight. "I'll flay his skin and ruin his beauty. Then, I'll reap the soul you crave so desperately."

His face twisted with madness, his smile grotesque and sinister.

"But before you die, show me all your secrets, my beautiful demon!"

In one brutal move, Grell wrenched the scythe from Sebastian's grasp, then spun the blade in a full arc, slashing the demon from the waist up in a deep, fatal cut. Sebastian was thrown into the air, blood pouring from his gaping wound and spilling from his mouth.

Mortally wounded, he fell from the roof. As he plummeted, a flash of light erupted from his chest, and the cinematic lantern rose into the sky.

Standing at the window on the second floor, Ciel watched in horror as Sebastian's lifeless body fell slowly, as if time had stopped. In that moment, his fate—and even his heart—shattered before his eyes.

He saw with revulsion the wide gash that nearly severed the demon's body in two. Frozen with terror, Ciel stared as Sebastian crashed onto the muddy ground, covered in slippery, decaying leaves. The boy rushed to the window, heedless of the danger so close, leaning out over the rain-soaked ledge, almost falling himself.

Frantic, his eyes fixed on his demon's motionless body lying in the muck, Ciel was about to scream his name when the lantern burst forth from the bloody chest, opening before him with such blinding light that he had to look away.

"His soul isn't anything special,"a voice said.

Ciel recognized the voice of one of the reapers. Despite the searing brightness, he turned to watch the images projected onto the film reels floating in the dark night. It was William T. Spears, speaking with Sebastian outside the circus tents, casting a look of disdain at Ciel, who had just appeared.

The scene shifted abruptly. Now, it showed one of the rooms in the manor, the one Sebastian used as an office. Undertaker sat near a small table, steam rising from a cup of hot tea. His voice was deep but amused.

"I've met others like you during my missions. It's rare for demons to show any inclination—of any kind—toward a human. In fact, I've never seen it before."

Another image flickered on screen: Undertaker again, standing in his grim workshop, clad in his oversized black robe, giggling.

"Tell me, Sebastian," the undertaker asked, intrigued. "Do you know that sweet, almost painful sensation you feel deep in your chest whenever you look at Ciel Phantomhive?"

"No," the butler replied, his expression impassive.

The undertaker burst into laughter, clutching his sides.

"I figured!" he cackled, tears of insane mirth streaming down his pale cheeks.

But then the lantern flickered, and the images blurred and faded momentarily. Ciel's eyes fell back to his demon, writhing in the muddy ground, desperately clutching at the gaping wound, trying to stem the flow of images spilling from his body.

Ciel trembled uncontrollably, his breath shallow and ragged, painfully tight in his chest. He leaned further out, but a figure jumped down from the roof, landing beside the demon.

Startled, the boy recoiled in fear. He recognized the figure—bright, grotesque, a nightmare brought to life, clad in the same crimson coat Madame Red had once worn so proudly, before Grell had stolen it from her still-warm corpse. The blade of the reaper's scythe gleamed beside him. Ciel's heart skipped a beat, his hand clutched tightly against his chest, which constricted with terror.

The shinigami raised his weapon, slamming it down—not activating it—onto Sebastian, who was still struggling to shield his chest, trying to hold in his memories.

"Oh no, my beautiful demon, this time you'll show me EVERYTHING!" Grell grinned, slicing Sebastian's arms with shallow, painful cuts. Then, with a sharp, cruel laugh, he drove his pointed heel into the demon's fatal wound, digging his foot into his chest.

Sebastian was about to scream, but the sound was smothered by the blood spilling from his lips. The butler's arms fell limply to his sides.

Horrified, overwhelmed, Ciel screamed. Arthur rushed to him, covering his mouth with his hand, pulling him back inside, away from the window. But the boy thrashed in the arms holding him back, desperate to see the torment inflicted on Sebastian, the one who was his universe, his strength, his fate.

"Quiet, Ciel," Arthur whispered, trying to calm the boy, whose muffled screams still pierced through the hand pressing painfully against his lips. "If he hears you, you'll die too!"

But Ciel couldn't hear the reason begging him to be cautious, to survive, to flee. All he could hear were the frantic beats of his heart and the overwhelming cry within him, pulling him toward the one who was meant to take him away forever. He struggled, scratched, and even tried to bite! He wanted to break free; he wanted to be beside Sebastian!

Suddenly, a voice echoed, desperate and fragile.

"Anyone, please, save me!"

Ciel fell silent, collapsing weakly in Arthur's arms as the bright light reappeared outside the open window. He recognized that voice—it was his own!

He looked up and saw a frail boy, wearing a dirty, unbuttoned shirt and torn pants, sitting in a cage, his eyes hollow, lifeless, his cheeks streaked with barely dried tears. That boy was him, and the hand reaching through the cold bars to take his was the black hand of a demon.

The lantern flickered to life again, cycling through secret scenes, and Sebastian's memories unfolded in the dark. In that damned soul, Ciel saw himself at every moment.

First, the images he knew—shared moments from his past.

"I am the Earl Phantomhive!"

"Even if I'm plunged into the depths of despair, if I find even a spider's thread to pull me out, I'll grasp it. Humans have that strength."

And there, the demon's surprised, intrigued, and captivated gaze rested on him, as if, amidst the mundane trinkets that humans were to him, he had found a treasure—Ciel Phantomhive. A masterpiece he both despised and adored, wanted to crush and possess.

"I am human, Sebastian!"

"Stay with me."

And there was the sly, indulgent smile of a demon, observing and cherishing the weaknesses of humans, his gaze soft and nostalgic as it fell on Ciel.

Then darker images appeared in the stormy night—grim, secret, forbidden thoughts. Sebastian watching him sleep, anxious and watching over him during an asthma attack when the boy wouldn't wake; the helplessness in a demon's eyes confronted with the frailty of a human, mortal body. Sebastian there by his side, watching when Ciel wasn't looking. Sebastian's hands gripping his hips, whispering sacrilegious, sinful words. Sebastian's hands on him, touching, caressing, kissing…

"It's all so dramatic," Grell sighed, still standing beside the demon. "I'm jealous! Not a single memory of me! Not a thought spared!"

Grell raised his scythe and swung it at Sebastian, who, in one last effort, caught the blade in his hands.

The shinigami grinned with sharp teeth, stomping his heel into the open wound in Sebastian's chest. The demon screamed.

Horrified, Ciel began to gag and cough, the hand over his mouth stifling him. But then the coughs grew harsher, tearing through his body.

Startled, Arthur released him, and Ciel collapsed to the ground, gasping for air as a severe asthma attack seized his lungs.

"Ciel! What's happening? Ciel!" Arthur shouted, helpless. Then he recognized the sound—it was an asthma attack!

The young earl, on all fours, clawed at the carpet, trying to breathe as the familiar, piercing pain clamped around his throat and lungs.

Arthur lifted him, positioning him to open his airway. The attack was intense, and Ciel's body trembled violently in his arms. Then, a faint cry came from outside. Sebastian's weakened voice barely rose above the sound of the rain.

Despite the pain, Ciel managed to push himself up and, with a last burst of strength, broke free from Arthur's hold and fled into the hallway.

"Ciel!" Arthur called after him, but the young earl wasn't listening.

Ciel ran through the corridors, stumbling down the stairs as fast as his thin legs and constricted lungs would allow. Behind him, he could hear Arthur calling, but it didn't matter—he had to face the enemy. The asthma attack might kill him, but if he didn't act, he'd die anyway. And dying a coward was impossible for him.

He threw open the heavy wooden doors, straining his frail arms, and ran into the courtyard where dead leaves and cold raindrops whipped through the air. He sprinted through the thick, dark mud, stumbling to his knees at one point, his chest burning and throat raw. He spat on the ground, then forced himself back up, ignoring the red tinge of his saliva and the metallic taste filling his mouth.

At last, he saw them, in the same grotesque tableau, but being so close now almost made him retch.

"Ah! You're finally here!" Grell sneered as he spotted Ciel, his foot buried almost entirely in Sebastian's abdomen. "Now I won't have to bother hunting you down in that enormous manor!"

Sebastian's blood stained Grell's trousers all the way up to his knee. Judging by the wide splatters, he must have stomped on his opponent with rage and perverse delight.

With a sickening, wet sound, he pulled his shoe out of the butler's wound, who remained motionless.

"That's his punishment for stomping on my beautiful face," explained the shinigami, shivering with morbid delight.

"Leave him alone, monster!" growled Ciel, his voice surprisingly deep and threatening, despite the tightness in his throat and the lack of air in his chest.

"Me, the monster?!" Grell exclaimed, outraged by the insult from a brat who could barely stand. He pointed accusingly at the butler. "Do you not know what he is, you who made a pact with him?"

Sebastian painfully opened his eyes. Another trickle of blood slid from his parted lips as he tried to speak.

"Get... away," the demon managed to say.

But Grell delivered a violent kick to his face. Ciel flinched, his hands trembling as he began to cough.

No! Not now, he couldn't be weak now, he told himself, forcing himself to stand.

"Don't listen to him," said the death god with a smile. He reached his hand toward the boy. "Come closer, come play with us."

"Play with you?" rasped Ciel. Still, he moved toward the shinigami, unafraid. "No, no one can play with you. You don't know any rules! Not even those of your kind. No wonder they don't respect you!"

At those words, Grell's smile vanished, and his eyes narrowed, insulted and menacing. But Ciel kept advancing, his voice steady despite his growing weakness.

"What did William T. Spears call you again?" Ciel taunted, pretending to recall. "Oh yes!The Thing!The shame of the shinigami!"

"Shut up, you brat, you know nothing!" screamed the reaper, but Ciel kept advancing, full of disdain. Slowly, he reached his hand behind his back.

"You're insane, a lunatic! You—" But suddenly, the boy fell silent, patting his waist frantically. The haughty expression on his face gave way to terror. He had planned to attack the shinigami by surprise with his own weapon.

But the scissors! The death god's scythe he had picked up. They were gone! They must have slipped from his pocket during his mad dash...

And Grell stood there, savoring Ciel's growing panic...

"Things aren't going the way you expected, are they?" the god whispered, amused and deadly.

Fear gripped the boy. He shouted,

"Sebast—AH!"

But Grell's hand clamped around his throat, cutting off the rest of his order. Ciel clawed at the arm choking him, but his vision blurred as the little air his lungs had managed to take in disappeared from his body. He felt himself slipping away. Triumphant, the reaper lifted him off the ground like a limp doll, swinging him back and forth in the air, savoring every little crack of bone in his throat beneath his iron grip.

"Ciel!" gasped the demon, struggling to rise but falling back again.

"Ah ah! When your master doesn't give you orders, your willpower and strength aren't at their peak," Grell sneered. "I knew it! Go ahead, try to stand up, demon! Hurry up, your precious Ciel is going to die! Oh, don't worry, with the injuries I've inflicted and what I plan to do next, you won't survive long after your master, either."

The butler dug his blood-soaked gloves into the mud. Die... Ciel was going to die. He could feel the boy's heartbeat slowing. The thought pierced through him, burning hotter than the massive wound that had nearly torn him in two. Ciel... dying? No, it was impossible, unbearable. He couldn't accept it! Not here, not now, NOT LIKE THIS!

Furious, he pushed himself up, crawling through the slick mud that seeped into his wound, his sharp teeth bared, his claws nearly ripping through his gloves, his demonic instincts taking over his mortal shell, demanding revenge.

But suddenly, before he could attack, Grell screamed and dropped the boy, who crumpled into the mud and collapsed next to the butler, who pulled him close, wrapping him in his protective arms. Bringing his mouth close to Ciel's, he felt the faint breath still escaping the earl's lips. He was breathing! Ciel was still breathing. Raising his eyes, he saw Grell, still standing but swaying, and behind him, Arthur, both hands gripping the scissors he had plunged into the shinigami's back.

"And who the hell are you?" Grell shrieked, more outraged by the interference of a stranger than by the sharp pain and the blood staining his beautiful coat.

"I'm the surprise guest."

End of Chapter 10

For more chapters quickly (free!): 🔗 My P.a.t.r.e.o.n: TiffanyBrd

Author's Notes:

I hope the wait was worth it for you all. Feel free to share your thoughts on this chapter.

And yes, I'm sorry, but I couldn't kill Arthur—not by Ciel's hand.

He's "us"! The person who normally doesn't belong in Ciel and Sebastian's world, yet somehow manages to enter, assert himself, and, most importantly, survive.

Anyway, the end of this story is drawing near...