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Immortal	By : zoni Category: > Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji ???) Views: 4534 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. I do not make any money off of my fan fiction.

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Immortal

by Zoni

Regret.

There are not many emotions that demons do not typically feel. We have the same emotional range as humans, perhaps even greater. However, we can choose to avoid them, to take ourselves out of the path of that would lead us to them. Humans do not have that kind of restraint. They are foolhardy creatures that live in the moment and delight in the pain it brings them when it has ended.

Of all of those many emotions that we have, regret is something that we do not often feel. We avoid it by means of our own intelligence. We do not get attached. We do not get overly involved. Much like a human would never eat their pet, we know to keep our distance. In all of my long life, I can count the number of my regrets on the fingers of a single hand. The only truly remarkable part about this is the fact that two of these have occurred within the past century and a half. The thing that I regret most was my decision to leave the service of Ciel Phantomhive.

Shortly before his fourteenth birthday, my former young master achieved his wish. The last of the people who had tortured him, burned his home and destroyed his family had been found. I tore the head off of the last of them with my own two hands. With that very action, our contract had reached its supposed ultimatum. Everything that he had wished for had come to pass. The time had come to indulge myself in the meal that I had waited more than three and a half years for. His soul, so perfect and utterly tempting, was the reward for my faithful service and unshakable devotion to him. However, as I knelt before him and prepared to take this offering, I came to a startling realization. I had no desire to be the end of him. I could not bring myself to devour his soul.

I had failed at keeping my distance from him. Somewhere along the way I had come to care very deeply for my young master. I knew that I loved him. This was not a new realization, but the effect it had on me at that time was startling to me. I had known for some time that, eventually, I would take his soul. That was the agreement that was part of our contract. I have never before gone against a contract or simply walked away. Those words are incredibly deceptive, making it sound as if such a thing is easy to do. It is not. However, there was one thing that I realized at that time which left me with no other option. His existence meant more to me than my own selfish ideals, which had gone unshattered for centuries.

I made my decision with surprising ease. If I could not take his soul, I also knew that I could not remain in his service. His life, so colored with pain and darkness, would only be further corrupted by my presence at his side. My departure would not leave him without protection. When I had gone, I knew that the other servants would watch over him. I drafted a letter to Tanaka, containing some flimsy excuse for my departure. I no longer remember what it was. My young master would be safe, taken care of. He would be alive.

That very night, I went to his room long after he had gone to sleep. I spent more than an hour just watching him as he slept. When I had waited as long as I dared, I leaned close to him and smelled his hair. I pressed a kiss to his forehead. And then I left. That night, that moment, is what I regret most. Leaving him was far more difficult than anything I have done before. For someone who has lived as long as I have, that statement is no small thing.

It was not possible to destroy the contract that he and I made. Even my blatant violation of the terms we had agreed upon would not void the agreement. Our contract was eternal, and so too were the signs of it. He probably carried the mark of our contract until the day he died. The mark of our contract is still visible on the back of my left hand. Even then, there was one thing that I could do to sever some of the obligations that the contract entailed. I cut off the connection that it afforded us and closed the small part of my mind that would hear him when he called for me. I knew he would. When he woke and found me gone, when he realized that I was not running an errand or fixing tea. I did not want to have to hear his voice as he wondered why I did not come to his side the instant that he called for me. I did what I thought best. I tried to forget the young earl that I once served.

It has only been within the past year, since my new master and I formed a contract, that I decided to find out whatever became of Ciel Phantomhive. So much time had passed, even for one such as myself, that I did not expect the pain of finding out about his death. I had not deluded myself into thinking that he would still be alive. However, I was surprised and saddened to discover that he had passed away only two years after I left his side. Even if I had been there, there would have been nothing that I could to do save him. No matter how faithful or skilled, there would have been nothing that any of his servants would have been able to do to save him from the assassin that took his life. Pneumonia. Humans are so fragile.

A year ago, I was summoned accidentally by a man possessed by desperation. Mugged by someone carrying a large gun and not much common sense, John Anderson was dying while laying in pile of rotting food and refuse. He is my master now. His contradicting ideals of class and filth intrigued me at first. Now, however, I see him for what he is - a disgusting creature barely worthy of being called a man. I have seen thousands of people, taken their souls in exchange for whatever happiness I can offer them. Few have been so foolish as this one. John Anderson has only one idea of happiness. Money. His dying desire was not to live, or for the safety of a loved one. He did not want revenge, or even care what became of his assailant. He was entirely concerned with his wallet. His wish was for extensive wealth. Money is the most foolish of all the requests you could make of one such as myself. It is so fleeting and utterly meaningless, much like his life. I occasionally wonder if he even fully comprehends our contract. Most masters insist on calling me one thing or another, a last piece of control before their existence is gone. Mr. Anderson did not. He instructed me to use whatever name I desired, for he could not be bothered with deciding on something to call me. I do, for I am still Sebastian Michaelis.

Every aspect of his life shows the same callous carelessness. He works by day as a trader on Wall Street. By night, he fills himself with the entertainment of drugs and women. While wealth may be his goal, he frequently spends more money than he makes. I am uncertain whether that is stupidity at work or some insane, ingenious attempt to avoid the contract he and I have formed. Occasionally, I am also humiliated for his personal enjoyment. I detest him.

There is only one advantage to being in the service of one such as himself. My presence is only required once a day, and rarely beyond that. When he has need of me, he insists on using a cellular phone which he maintains for this exclusive purpose. It has only been used once. At all other times, I am expected to stay out of his sight and out of his mind. To this end, he also keeps an apartment which I use as my own. This suits my tastes, as I do not do not have to interact with him more than absolutely necessary. To my master, it is the ideal situation. As for myself, I believe his contract may soon come to an end. After all, he failed to specify what, exactly, qualified as extreme wealth.

The world all around me has made amazing changes in the past one hundred and twenty two years. And yet, at the same time, things are still exactly the same. The carriages have been replaced by cars, the newspaper boys with sidewalk vendors, but cities will always still feel like cities. The streets of New York City are just as busy this morning as the streets of London a century previous. People still go about their business and pay no mind to others.

This morning, the sounds of construction and cars highlight my journey into an unfamiliar section of the city. As part of my duties to Mr. Anderson, I bring him coffee and pastries from his favorite bakery each morning. He does not believe that I am capable of creating them myself. His tastes are very particular, and there is only one brand that he will accept. Yet, this morning, the bakery that he prefers is closed. Even I cannot do anything about that. There are no other branches of that particular shop, so I am risking catching hell by going to a different bakery to place my order.

I turn in through the set of double doors and join the queue of other customers. There are at least a dozen people ahead of me. Apparently, my torture will be drawn out this morning. I dislike coffee shops. They smell of artificial vanilla and cheap, mass produced cinnamon. There is nothing tasteful or thoughtful in them or the products that they sell. They are every bit as shallow as the customers who buy from them.

Even though the coffee shop is a quiet place, the crowd that stands in line still seems loud in my ears. All of these tiny cafes seem to be the same. I pass the time spent waiting in line by observing the other customers. Humans are intriguing creatures. Watching them gives me some small enjoyment, at least from observing the variety. Idly, I find myself wondering what sort of punishment I will have to endure for this brand substitution. I watch the punk rocker in front of me and the elderly couple seated in the corner. No amount of distraction can stop the sound that I hear at the corner of my consciousness.

At the counter, currently placing their order and standing just out of sight, there is a customer who sounds very familiar to me. For a moment, I am wondering why. Then, I realize what it is. The accent isn't as thick as I remember, but that commanding tone of voice that knows exactly what it wants is what I recognize. It's not only familiar, it's the same. Impossibly so. It sounds identical to a void that I have not heard in more than a century. That is an incredible coincidence in this world where everyone is an individual.

The customer receives their order and the line moves forward as they walk toward the exit. As soon as he breaks through the line that leads to the way out of the shop, I can feel my eyes widen in surprise. There, walking towards the door, is Ciel Phantomhive. Small, regal and proud, he looks exactly the same as he did on the day that I left. Right down to the black silk eye patch covering his right eye.

To be continued...
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Immortal