AN:Written RP-style. Undertaker's Madness as Undertaker, William, and Eric. StickieBun as Jase, Alan, and Ronald. Grell is passed between the two of us as needed.

Disclaimer: We do not own any recognizable characters and only explore the possibilities.

OC Jase Dubois Copyrighted to me.

Some of you may know that I have been talking about my Kuro OC lately. Well, This is him. Jase Dubois. I won't say much about him here as you'll learn about him as you read, but I do hope you like him! I rarely actually ask my readers to review. After all, though I love reading comments and replying to them, people will comment if they want to. However, with this particular Fic I would really like to know what you guys think. Jase being a main character makes me a little nervous (But very excited). I haven't featured an OC in this way since I was new to Fanfics and was writing Mary-sues. (Ahhh don't ask about that! its a dark time I'd rather forget.) Anyway. Please comment/review with your thoughts on my OC, if nothing else. (Though comments about the plot and events and Undertaker are all very welcome as well!)

Just a Doll

Chapter 1/Prologue

The evening air was bitter as fresh snow slowly fell, blanketing the mostly empty streets of London. The young priest, new to the priesthood, could see his breath even within the walls of the church as he put out the flames that flickered and slowly melted the red wax of the candles. He wasn't one to complain; but he was anxious to get back to his room and light a fire in the hearth, curl up on his simple bed and read over a few passages in his Bible.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the heavy doors to the chapel creaking open suddenly, almost slamming open, and successfully catching the priest's attention. He spun around in time to see a woman slump to the floor. Quickly, Jase ran over to her, picking her up and guiding her over to sit on a pew. "My child, are you alright?"

The woman shivered and looked up at him, her hair falling out of her blood splattered face. Her appearance shocked Jase, and his hand jerked back from her shoulder.

"I fear… I will not survive this night… they are coming." The woman coughed.

"Dear child, you are safe now. You are in the house of God. You have sanctuary."

The woman laughed, "Oh, poor naive human, There is no sanctuary in this day and age. God cares not for your kind, and least of all mine." She reached a bloodied hand up and pressed it to his cheek, "This place is just a building. It is not safer for me or you as it is any other building."

"My child, have faith, God will protect you. You have not come here by accident. He hath guided you to safety."

"You follow blindly, priest. God cares only for the pure."

Her eyes began to glow, but Jase had turned away from her, the heavy wooden doors had suddenly flown open a second time, breaking off their iron hinges and sliding across the stone floor. An unpleasantly warm light blinded and engulfed him.

The woman screamed and Jase reached out blindly, feeling around for her until his fingers brushed by her arm. He grabbed it and pulled her to the front of the church, bumping into and tripping over pews as he ran blindly. He felt for the door to the passageways behind the chapel and opened it, pushing the woman through first as he felt a burning hand grab him and yank him back into the heart of the light.

"Dear Lord, what is all this?" he whimpered as two heavenly silhouettes of light leaned over him.

"Daemon creatura, quomodo audes ne opus Dei." The voices echoed from unseen lips and a hand reached out, grabbing his face across his eyes, "Da nobis auxilium purgat se impuro mundi. Purgant, purgare, purificare in nomine Domini."

Jase screamed, it felt as if fire was spreading across his entire body and seeping into every fiber of his being. He thrashed out, desperately trying to escape the fire that burned deeper within him. "Seigneur, Seigneur Dieu! S'il vous plaît! S'il vous plaît me sauver de cet enfer!"

As quickly as the heavenly messengers had appeared, they were gone again and Jase found himself laying face down under the wrecked altar, Puddles of Wax on the floor where candles had fallen, and the large carved cross that normally hung on the wall had fallen to the floor and cracked in half, inches away from his reach. Whimpering, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees. He trembled, his blood feeling like it was boiling, causing his normally pale skin to flush. His blue eyes gazed down at the fallen cross, "Pourquoi, mon Seigneur … Pourquoi?" He gasped, tears streaked down his cheeks as he breathed hard.

He collapsed again, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, and his vision blurring as he lay unmoving upon the cold stone floor. Was this the end? Had God deemed him unworthy of finishing his life upon the earth?


A man dressed all in black walked the chilled streets, with his head bowed in thought and his booted feet leaving no trace of his passing in the snow. His silver hair fell past his waist, pale like spider's silk but thick and heavy as a cloak. The fringe of his bangs was long, feathering over his face to conceal his eyes from public view. He was a very busy man, that night. His plans hadn't gone quite as expected, and as a result he needed to move his business elsewhere.

He heard the screams as he approached the chapel, but he didn't immediately react. A man's scream in London at this hour wasn't ordinarily something to perk his interest. He was used to the sounds of human anguish, whether it be brought about by physical pain or emotional. This one was special, though. It drew his attention and gave him pause. There was an unusual quality to the scream. Such anguish…such betrayal. These were part of human existence, true, but there was something altogether new about this one, and he couldn't quite place a finger on what it was.

Undertaker started to pass by the building, but he stopped at the gates of the chapel and he stared thoughtfully. Curiously, he reached out with his senses. He instinctively tensed—just a little—when he detected a demonic presence. His tension gave way to puzzlement seconds later, when he also detected the divine aura. While there were usually hints of such on sanctified ground, this one was stronger…more specific.

"Angels," muttered the retired reaper. He began to grin. "And demons, too! My, my…what a pretty bit of intrigue this is. What might I find if I have a peek inside?"

He didn't sense any danger, and the only sound coming from the other side of the broken doors was the pitiful groans from a mortal throat. He could sense the life ebbing from the poor sod, and his curiosity got the better of him.

"Well," sighed Undertaker, "I won't find out standing out here, and I do have things to take care of."

Prudent enough to respect the danger he could be walking into if his senses were a bit dodgy, he manifested his scythe before pushing the wrought iron gate open. He walked up to the steps, moving with an eerie silence that would have given him away as a non-human, if anyone with the sense to know better had been watching. He saw splotches of red in the snow and on the steps, indicating that someone had entered the building after being injured. He knelt to examine them, and he saw footsteps leading away. Whomever had come to this place for sanctuary left in a rather big hurry.

Having a deplorably droll personality even in the most serious of circumstances, Undertaker knocked on the arching, heavy oaken doorframe with the heel of his scythe. "Hellooo," he crooned. "Is there anyone alive in there?"

He heard another groan.

"I shall take that as a 'yes', then." Undertaker took his hat off and stuck it through the door slowly, just in case. When nothing attacked it, he shrugged and slipped inside. He found himself standing over a fine mess. The spots of blood he'd noticed outside had multiplied in here, and there were smears of it as if someone had slipped in it on their way out. Pews lay overturned, and the altar lay in ruin. Lying near a pew on his belly was a man wearing priestly robes, and Undertaker presumed the noises had come from him. There was no sign of anyone else. There was some blood on his hands, and he appeared to be caught in the act of reaching for a broken, carved cross that had fallen to the floor.

A candle lay on its side nearby, slowly rolling toward the suffering human. Undertaker nearly let it reach him, curious to see how he would react if his garments caught fire. He was, however, more curious to discover the cause of his moaning and find out what had happened in this place. The human was very close to death, and he wouldn't get his answers from a corpse.

"Well, not easily, anyway," he amended under his breath.

Undertaker knelt down beside the young man, and he rolled him over with a gentleness that contradicted his callous words. He was an attractive sort, with chestnut hair and lovely blue eyes. Currently, those eyes were wild and staring in a face spotted with blood and pale with agony.

"Hi-hi," greeted Undertaker with a bright smile. "Can you hear me?"

The young priest seemed to choke on blood as more splattered across the grey stone under him. His pale blue eyes flickering up to look at the man he hadn't noticed until that point. He reached out a shaking hand, his blood-splattered fingers grazing over the flowing dark robes the reaper wore, and his voice left his lips in a cracked gurgle, "R-run…my child—not s-safe…" he gasped and coughed, growing weaker as his body collapsed, his hand falling to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the stranger's clothes.

Undertaker clucked his tongue with amusement. "If you knew to whom you spoke, I don't think you'd be addressing me that way. Your death is approaching fast, young priest."

He caught up the candle that was still attempting to roll toward his suffering new acquaintance, and he pinched the flame out, before setting it aside. He looked around and he sucked his teeth absently, still keeping hold of his scythe, just in case. He should probably leave this human to his fate, but he sensed something in him that he couldn't understand. The flame of his soul seemed to burn brighter than most, and it wasn't showing signs of weakening with his body.

"What did this to you?" pressed Undertaker, lifting the fringe of his bangs to peer around without the veil. When he received no answer from the human, he looked down at him again. He was unconscious.

"Hmm, what's a reaper to do?" he mused. "Leave you here for some Dispatch officer to collect, or see to your injuries and try to get some answers from you?"

He considered the young man for a few moments, aware of his shuddering breaths. That wonderfully bright soul of his would fade eventually, and then he'd never find out what happened. He was immensely curious, and since he no longer ran his business as usual, he needed some form of entertainment.

"I could raise him," he muttered, but he shook his head a moment later. "But that wouldn't be very productive. My Bizarre dolls can barely string a single sentence together, and they never recall a thing from their pre-mortem lives. What to do, what to do?"

He looked at the young man again, and a strange, wonderful idea came to him. "But, I've never tried to make a living subject into a dollie before. Perhaps that's the key. You can't create eternal life from an empty shell. The souls weren't intact. The records were fakes. What if I were to leave the true records intact, and simply…edit them?"

He smiled at the dying priest. "What if I were to erase your death entirely, so that you could live forever? Would you like that?"

No answer was forthcoming from the human, and Undertaker shrugged. "Well, I gave you the opportunity to say 'no'. It's hardly my fault you didn't answer."

He banished his scythe, gently scooped the priest into his arms and lifted him. It wouldn't do to jar him too much, before he could get him to his new place of operation and begin.

He needed to move quickly, or he would lose him.