reposted. from my LJ (original post date: 4 Aug 2010).
notes. Sebastian pining for Ciel, so it's more like Sebastian→Ciel :D Set in a mixture of mangaverse + AU + passing mention of Claude/Alois, because they're so OTP it hurts XD;;
Nobody really knows about a demon's origin—Was it born from humans' evil thoughts coagulating together? Was it born from gods being banished from heaven into the deepest corners of the underworld? Was it born from nothingness without a purpose?—but nobody really cares about it.
He knows that he exists, irises red with crimson blood, fangs sharpened with encompassing hunger.
Indiscriminate eating, that's what he indulges in. To messily eat and gobble up each soul that turns pitiful, foolish eyes at him—to taste each and every shallow emotion of envy and pride and wrath.
He survives for centuries.
Somewhere in-between centuries of competition with fellow demons for food supply and in-between folds of time devoted to establishing influence in the demon world—he thinks that humans are boring.
Their souls are already writhing in pain in a similar way, already screeching their woes in a certain note. Their souls have the same texture of unpolished greed, the same spice of uncultured wrath, the same bitterness of unfiltered jealousy, the same covering of unsightly arrogance.
He decides that savoring the food, cultivating it from the start and preparing it to the end, will be much more interesting.
Fellow demons are mostly outraged at his sudden abstinence from swooping down on war lands and devouring all weakened souls that wished for an easy way out of the rubble of corpses and despair.
He almost quits his new way of living, after his previous master has so thoroughly disappointed him by being a mix of greediness and guilt—easily pleased by the thought of riches flowing into his doorstep, yet easily shaken by the thought of people thinking of him as a killer.
Humans who can't accept their mistakes are even more boring.
But then there comes a time when he's passing by a territory in London—a group of cultists with extravagant masks and nonsensical black capes start dragging a boy to the middle of the sacrificial altar, a boy with eyes that have been doused with a bucket of helplessness but with a soul that yearned to be free so he could imprison his captors in their own swamp of shame and filth.
He feels his hunger peaking, his fangs sharpening, his blood boiling.
He wants this soul.
"Oh, aren't you a small young master?"
He isn't the first one to be enslaved by a human in exchange for ambrosia of a soul, but he's the first one to serve a young, pitiful child.
That knowledge burns at the edges of the demon world, flickering and smoldering, but it doesn't travel far, because the thought of someone like him bowing his proud head down to anyone is nothing short of preposterous. His arrogant demeanor is known all throughout the demon world, after all—a well-groomed arrogance due to his confident grasp on power and more power.
But that flicker of knowledge soon spreads fast—from his territory (palace of ebony shadows) to the demon capital to the throne of Lucifer—the disbelieving words turn to haughty sneers to victorious caws.
His fellow demons nastily whisper absurd questions at the back of his mind, viciously titter at each dessert he painstakingly prepares with the care of a world-class chef, maliciously chortle at every instance of metaphorical hair-pulling and foot-stomping his young master indulges with.
He's almost tempted—when he observes that spider demon tighten his threads further, that blond master nestle closer—almost tempted to breathe life into his young master once more, to adopt that gentle but searing touch of hands, to show that stoic but intense affection in his eyes. Almost—temptation is as permanent as power to a demon, but it's laughable how he's the one tempted instead.
Tampering with his young master's memory has never been a solution that suited him well. He doesn't mind incurring the wrath of the Death Gods, he's practically inviting it. But the thought of removing and altering even just a single piece of memory that made one "Ciel Phantomhive"...
The neck in his hands snaps with a crisp crack and a fountain of blood.
A blink and it's another century already.
Sebastian falls back to his usual habits of bowing down and wearing gloves, but his new master—a neglected child of a fallen textile conglomerate—disapproves of his aristocratic grace. Sebastian faintly wonders how could humans enjoy living in a mansion constructed with gold and silver, yet not expect the best from their butlers. Nevertheless, he apologizes to his new master with a solemn smile.
"You look like an interesting master," Sebastian murmurs wickedly as the high moon's light slithers through the breaks of the stained glass, illuminating bits and pieces of the floor washed with blood and corpses.
A young teenager, maybe two to three years older than his young master, wrapped around in blanket-like robes, soft skin glistening with sweat and blood belonging to the occult priests who sacrificed her just an hour ago. In her hands is a dagger stolen from beside the altar of offerings. The dagger shines even more after slaying a dozen of false prophets.
Her black-blue hair is matted against her forehead and cheeks, but Sebastian has a feeling that this will be the moment where she'd look the most beautiful.
"You will serve me," her voice is not trembling anymore, after being forced to grow into cynical adulthood in just an hour.
A master that's willing to destroy alongside a demon. She's surely interesting. Sebastian's nails trace a line up her neck to her right eye. Demons are allowed to imprint the seal of the contract on different body parts. It's purely coincidence, purely whimsical, to place this seal upon her right eye.
"I love you," she breathes into his deathly cold cheek, eyes glistening with tears and worries of a normal foolish woman. Sebastian wonders about failed expectations and unflinching humanity, but he doesn't snap her neck for her troubles. It's partly his fault for expecting her to carry on with the ruthlessness she had two years ago; it's partly his fault for failing to keep her aligned on the right track of cultivating a balance of independent cruelty and dependent pride.
"I love you."
Her hair is matted to her forehead and cheeks, but there's nothing beautiful about her now, and there's only a dull soul in front of him.
Sebastian wonders about failed expectations and a child that's as arrogant and helpless as any puny human, with the cruelty-and-pride-and-kindness that exceeds any creature's.
Another blink and it's another turn of a century.
Three things remain a constant in the world: the demons' all-consuming hunger for human souls, the death gods' well-deserved hatred toward the demons, and human foolishness.
Sebastian wonders whether that foolishness has started to seep through him, after century-upon-century of feeding upon human ambitions that knew no bound and feared no logical consequence.
"You-demon!" His current master blurts out, cradling the remote for the security laser close to his heaving chest.
Sebastian wants to point out that it's a futile effort: he has been subjected to lasers with far stronger capabilities than the one his master possesses, and he's a demon, first and foremost. These toys that humans keep on making to help fortify their delusions of invincibility and grandeur, these toys are nothing but tools to help spread the carnage that attracts demons.
"Y-Y-You're supposed to follow my every order!"
That is true, Sebastian concedes, but he's a demon and isn't it more fun to try and find loopholes in every little thing? Following orders like a mere puppet is very dull, after all. It's a shame that his new master doesn't appreciate that. None of his previous masters appreciate that—none except a certain one, a child that sits in a blackened noble throne with eyes that yearn for puzzles and revenge and mischievous vengeance and wrathful games.
"Oh? But you did say to remove all the filth in this house," Sebastian reminds his new master, eyebrow raised elegantly.
He tugs at the black gloves his new master asked him to wear, in fear of seeing the black fingernails and the elaborate mark on his hand. Sebastian almost sighs at the reminder of humans' lack of sense when it comes to high-class materials. He wonders how could his master live a life of elegance yet not care about every aspect of his appearance. Sebastian almost sighs as he remembers comfortable wool and perfect velvet, impeccable gloves and an ornate pocketwatch.
Fangs peek out at his malevolent smirk. Sebastian coos with mock awe, "And you are the filthiest among them, master."
Sebastian is in the middle of forgetting sands trickling slowly down the hourglass tilting in his head, in the middle of trying to mold a simple human (that managed to walk upon and utterly destroy a demon summoning ritual) into something extraordinary, when a war breaks out between demons and death gods.
He ignores the way that... thing twirl around in a waistcoat that looks reminiscent of the years left behind, all the while flashing flirtatious smiles that make earthworms crawl up his skin. He's not interested in things such as power struggles between gods, and he's even less interested in helping out fellow demons to achieve victory.
He decides to ignore summons for him to be at the frontlines of battle and decides to focus on grooming his new master—an orphan left behind on Earth as colonies have already populated and polluted the space. He finds no interest in fighting for Earth especially since there are no more interesting souls there aside from orphans who have all lost nutrition and hope to continue living.
But foolishness is a funny thing: he's on his way to secure tickets for the shuttle flight to Colony X4 when he passes by an abandoned heap of rubble and cardboard. At the speed of his movements, he wouldn't have noticed it, but he did.
A battered body nearly buried in a messy wasteland, with blue-black hair matted against his forehead and cheeks, with eyes that practically shone in the middle of the abandoned land.
Sebastian shouldn't have noticed it, but he did.
Human foolishness seems to not be restricted to humans, after all.
"You will be my dog from now on," the child harshly whispers with a voice cracking in certain places from misuse and dehydration.
There's still his master waiting for him near the shuttle elevators; there's still an ongoing war waiting for him once he starts listening to the summons.
Those concerns fade away the moment he saw that familiar eyes.
Sebastian almost laughs at the foolishness of it all. He kneels down on the dusty remains of land, bows his head in respect and amazement at the way the world works, lips kissing hands that remain pure in the filth-filled world.
"Yes, My Lord."