This Immortal Coil, Part 2
Title: This Immortal Coil
Chapter: 2
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Summary: William searches for answers after a mysterious attack leaves Grell's life hanging by a thread, though he finds himself dealing with some long-buried emotions about his old friend.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: William, Ciel, and Sebastian, with heavy talk about Grell.
Word Count: 4,479
Warnings: Descriptions of serious injuries and a bloody crime scene.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
This Immortal Coil
Part 2: Sifting through the Aftermath
15 March, 1890
Stockwell District, London
11:43 a.m.
Just a year ago, William would be lucky to get three reapers for a containment team. Even on a mass death incident, one reaper was expected to take the bulk of the souls in the first sweep with a back-up being sent over at the earliest convenience. Finally the reapers from the last recruitment sweep were now coming out of their training and onto assignments. Now the standard was three on a mass casualty incident and he had little problem getting six to materialize beside him in the yard for an emergency containment.
William walked toward Matilda Cornwall’s large blue house, scythe drawn. It looked like a small bomb hit the place; shards of glass were everywhere. Multicolored pieces of stained glass were scattered around the perimeter like lethal confetti. William saw a few window frames on the ground next to some broken chairs. One hand directed four reapers on opposite ends of the house, two remained with him for the main approach.
He carefully scoped the perimeter, keeping en eye and ear out for anything amiss. All was suspiciously quiet. Save for the damage, Mrs. Cornwall’s yard was pristine; the grass trimmed perfectly and a small garden in front of the house well cared for. William took a careful approach, suddenly getting sight of some kind of milky mess on the fieldstones next to the house. He paused for a moment and looked at it, wrinkling his nose and drawing back. Someone became ill over here, in fact the mess looked recent. William looked around the area and upward to a low-hanging roof, comparing the trajectory and distance.
Whoever expelled their stomach did so from that roof. It could have been Earl Phantomhive’s; he may have avoided the blast but the trauma of the incident made the boy ill. Then again nausea and vomiting were classic symptoms of a head injury. Sutcliff could have landed on the roof after the blast and lost his breakfast over the side. He took another look around to see if Sutcliff dropped his death scythe with his stomach contents, but it was nowhere to be found. If he had enough energy to return to the offices, me must have been able to dismiss his scythe.
William stepped aside and took another look at his team before leaping to the roof of a small addition. He knew he was still going to catch grief from the higher-ups for taking this many reapers out for a relatively isolated incident. William could hear the string of questions in his mind: “Was it really necessary to bring out a team of seven for a cat and dog fight in a house?” He leapt on top of a nearby gable, directing the other two to take flanking positions as he jumped to a wide windowsill and proceeded to the next eaves above him.
This incident resulted in a Voice Attack that seriously wounded a dispatch officer, he would tell them. He might be replacing “seriously wounded” with “killed” during such an inquiry, but he didn’t care to think on it. No, Sutcliff was wounded at the time the team was dispatched, those were the all the facts that were relevant. The fact a hostile angel was even involved in a routine reaping was cause enough, not to mention said angel got tangled up with a demon of unknown power. Every precaution was needed; his second glance at a few neighboring houses from his vantage point nailed the point a bit more. There were probably at least 50 people who could have met death before their scheduled times if this got out of control; hence every precaution was needed.
Deep down he knew the bosses wouldn’t grill him too much, though it was good to be prepared. It was one string of thoughts that put the barrier in front of the image of Sutcliff’s limp form.
William took a cursory look up, seeing Earl Phantomhive casually sitting on a window gable and periodically looking over to a smashed window. All the windows in the top section of the house were blown out though William could not see into the house. He took a more careful look to see thick shadows obscuring the windows; the demon’s touch most likely.
The earl suddenly looked down and made eye contact with William, getting up from his seat and taking a stance on the roof. William leapt on the roof, seeing the other two reapers coming on opposite sides. Phantomhive looked at the other reapers and back at him. The boy dabbed a few cuts on his face with a white handkerchief, his blue suit was torn in a few places though he looked otherwise fine. Where was he when the blast occurred? Clearly not in the house, his butler probably took care of that. William silently cursed himself for allowing a mental image of the earl’s bloody, headless body with Grell Sutcliff standing to the side unscathed and harridly trying to explain what happened. He didn’t regret the mental image of a pile of blood-soaked ashes that used to be Sebastian Michaelis.
“William T. Spears,” the earl said with a blank expression. “You’re a bit late, your subordinate left nearly 15 minutes ago.”
“Where is your butler?” William said.
“Attending to some business,” Phantomhive replied. “I believe he is cleaning up a mess for you.”
A black dress shoe suddenly stepped from the shadows, a leg forming behind it. The reapers brought their scythes to the ready, eyes fixed on a man in a black tailcoat gradually emerging from the building; shadows seemingly sucked up in his form. William stared daggers into Sebastian Michaelis as he came clearer into view; a smug smile firmly in place. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of the reapers around him.
“I assure you, gentlemen, the situation is under control,” Sebastian said.
“Is it gone for good?” Ciel said.
“Without a doubt,” Sebastian said, smile widening. “Cassius was so weakened that little blow did himself in. He put up a little struggle, though it was mere clean-up on my part.”
The reference to “that little blow” made William’s heart pound.
“What is the meaning of all this,” William barked, stepping forward aiming the point of his open scythe. “Explain yourself, demon!”
Sebastian’s smile slightly relaxed and he put a hand up.
“Congratulations, Mr. Spears, you were here in time for the final destruction of Cassius the Vengeful, or as I prefer Cassius the Laughingstock,” the demon said. “And worry not, Matilda Cornwall’s soul was successfully collected by your minion, I watched her record play myself.”
“And as I said, that reaper of yours isn’t here, he vanished a little while ago,” Ciel said.
“Grell Sutcliff is accounted for, though clearly this reaping did not occur without significant incident that will require a thorough investigation,” William said, stepping forward and poking his scythe at Sebastian’s chest. “We have the most basic of details, but I have two witnesses right here. I want to know what the devil went on here.”
Ciel and Sebastian exchanged looks. William poked the scythe harder, cutting through Sebastian’s shirt and producing a small circle of blood. Sebastian grimaced a little but kept his eyes on William. His dung-eating smile significantly relaxed, it looked like the demon came to an understanding about something.
“This is the queen’s business, Mr. Spears,” Sebastian said. “However since a reaper was involved in this incident, you do have a stake in this. I am sure my master can fill you in on some details.”
Ciel huffed and took a few haughty steps forward.
“I’m surprised the reapers didn’t know more about this. However you seem to be desperate for information, I may as well throw you a bone,” Ciel said. “We were conducting an investigation on Mrs. Cornwall. No doubt you were aware of Mrs. Cornwall’s actions, as you have been collecting the souls of her victims. Though were you aware there was a supernatural influence at work here?”
William glared at the kid. The thought of giving away a point of weakness sickened him, but it was the only way he was going to get any answers.
“We were aware of Mrs. Cornwall’s actions, though we only learned of an angel’s presence just now,” William said through practically gritted teeth. “Angels are able to rewrite Cinematic Records, mostly this is done to purge unwanted memories, creating the illusion of a cleansed soul. Though it is common for them to write their involvement out of a person’s record. They don’t want to leave any trails back to them or evidence their ward’s actions were anything other than their own accord. This makes them just as bad as this fiend soiling my scythe.”
“In other words you had a blind spot,” Ciel said. “Sebastian caught onto some clues during our investigation that sounded familiar. Not to mention some of the crimes committed were outside Ms. Cornwall’s ability.”
“I’m sure you have extensive records of the identities of angels and their predilections,” Sebastian said. “Look up Cassius’ name. It is obscure in most literature though well known among my kind. Cassius was cast from God hundreds of years ago for the crime of murdering human clerics, he believed no mere ape could truly understand the will and words of the Almighty let alone preach to them. He has been wandering the earth since then in a cursed immaterial form, though he used it to his advantage. He started offering promises of salvation to ill individuals, whispering in their ear that all priests needed to be executed for blasphemy. Cassius would possess them and give them strength to do his bidding, though it would quicken their ends as he fed from their energies. At the time of their death he would consume their souls to give him more power.”
“That sounds rather familiar,” William said, poking the scythe a little harder, producing a bigger blood stain on Sebastian’s shirt.
“Though such is the nature of my kind,” Sebastian said with a smirk. “Not such with angels, hence why my kind has more than disliked Cassius. Yes, he has taken more than a few meals away, but I digress. Cassius collected enough souls and gained enough strength to materialize. All he needed was one more soul and a body to complete the transformation. The young master and myself got there just in time before he consumed Matilda Cornwall’s soul, and Grell Sutcliff arrived just in time for the final confrontation. I believe his efforts weakened Cassius a little more and distracted him enough for my lord to shoot Mrs. Cornwall, severing the connection.”
Sebastian gave a warm smile to Ciel, who smiled and nodded in return. William watched this exchange in disgust. Sutcliff’s prediction was right; the boy was apparently the one who did the deed.
“Grell performed admirably today, I was impressed,” Sebastian said. “Even I will admit he provided much aid against this trash. The reaping itself was a little messy, though I assure you everything you see now was Cassius’ doing. Alas the angel did not go without a fight, though it’s over now. Cassius will wander the earth no longer.”
William wanted to shove the scythe right through his black heart, end this little celebration by ending his existence. Alas, that would solve nothing. Instead he took a few deep breaths, lowering his scythe and adjusting his glasses. Sebastian’s smile sunk and his expression went back from merry to somber.
William knew he couldn’t trust any answers these two gave, though the story gave them enough of a framework. They already had Matilda Cornwall’s completed record in the library, at worst they had Earl Phantomhive’s continuing record for information.
“A matter like this is most grave,” William said, turning to Ciel. “The Council will want to know what happened here. We will need to get in there and investigate. No meddling from Scotland Yard or anyone else. This is strictly reaper business.”
“Take as much time as you need, I won’t be getting the Yard involved until this mess is cleaned up,” Ciel said. “Besides, the queen’s worries are eased already with the end of this.”
William motioned to the two reapers to join him front and center, he then looked down and summoned a third up top. The reaper nodded and leapt from beside the porch to the roof. William then stepped forward, shoving Sebastian out of his way and putting the point of his scythe before him. He carefully looked through the smashed window, ready to leap on any sign of movement.
It was nothing short of a nightmare in there; ashes and blood coated the walls and the ornate furniture. Black feathers were scattered around the once-rich looking rugs that were now coated in blood. The air smelled of rotting death, though William resisted the urge to put his handkerchief to his mouth. A woman’s body lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood. William first noticed the gaping wound across her midsection, likely Sutcliff’s contribution. Bloody holes were scattered across her flowered nightgown, Earl Phantomhive’s involvement. He didn’t shoot her once, he unloaded the clip on her; then again if she was possessed he had to do everything to sever the connection.
A sudden chill ran down William’s spine. He swung around with his scythe, Sebastian’s gloved hand caught the clippers and shoved the scythe back down. The demon leaned in, William decided to give him a second before he smashed his face in.
“I am fully aware of the nature of that last attack, enough to speculate that it is lethal to those of your kind,” the demon said. “Grell was rather ill when he left here, which confirms much of my suspicions. I assume your company is here because you have a dead or a dying reaper on your hands.”
William simply glared at him.
“You assume much, demon,” William said.
Sebastian merely cocked an eyebrow and nodded.
“Grell Sutcliff was an annoyance to us both, though he performed his duties valiantly today; we owe him much,” Sebastian said. “You have my deepest symp…”
“You hold that forked tongue of yours before I cut it out,” William said, yanking his scythe free from Sebastian’s hand and opening the clippers for emphasis. “I have work to do, so you and your handler had best stay out of our way.”
Sebastian simply walked back a few steps and bowed, turning around and walking to his master. William signaled for his team to follow him as he cautiously entered the building.
-------------------
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London
12:53 p.m.
William materialized a few steps away from the infirmary wing, dismissing his scythe. Reporting back to the bosses could wait as long as it needed to. Right now four reapers were still at Matilda Cornwall’s house collecting their last samples and filling out their last field observations. William dismissed the other two once he was assured the scene was secure. All that was left for the four remaining was detail work they could easily do by themselves.
Earl Phantomhive and his loathsome butler left the scene shortly after their last exchange. The earl said someone was on the way to monitor the area, but would not get in the way. Going back to his townhouse so his pet fiend could make lunch for him took precedence. William could barely contain his bile for that odious child and his horrible dog.
Both of them were irrelevant now and William had a much graver matter to attend to at present. Fortunately no one else was in the hallway; he didn’t want to randomly pass by a conversation and learn the fate of his subordinate. He practically marched up to the main health offices, ready to yank aside anyone in a doctor’s coat. He saw a face peek through one of the wide windows for the main treatment room and nod upon seeing him; a somewhat homely woman with brown hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Dr. Eliza Kingsbury then walked through the open door and approached him.
“I see you got my message,” she said.
“Actually I just came from the field,” William said. “I figured all the answers I needed were here.”
“A wise move,” the doctor said.
She motioned with her head for him to join her in the treatment room, he followed through the open doorway taking an inconspicuous breath. He had no idea what he would see in here, though fortunately all he saw were a series of unoccupied benches draped with white linens. Sutcliff clearly wasn’t here; whether he was in an infirmary bed, his own room, or in lying a dark corner with a sheet over his body would be revealed soon. Dr. Kingsbury lead him to the back of the room and a series of small white screens glowing with light.
“To answer what is probably your first question, Mr. Sutcliff is alive,” she said. “His condition, however, is grave.”
Dr. Kingsbury opened a brown folio on a small shelf under the screens and picked up a series of thick papers. She placed four of them on the screens, illuminating multi-colored images of the inside of someone’s head; presumably Sutcliff’s. A special wand could do a multi-dimensional scan of any creature based on their physical and spiritual energies with the findings illustrated on a screen. Print-outs could be easily made from any perspective. He had seen enough of these to decipher them. This scan took a green tinge, reflecting reaper’s aura. Everything in red was solely physical in nature, everything in dark green was the reaper’s divine essence, blue showed anything shared between the two.
It only took William a second to see the large, dark-blue mass in the middle of his brain.
“It’s rather easy to see it,” Dr. Kingsbury said, pointing a pen at the section that caught William’s attention. “That blast burst all these blood vessels, creating the intracranial bleed you see here. This injury went straight to the core of his nature; his healing can do nothing against this.”
William had seen reapers suffer anything from a smack to the head to full on decapitation and get up in a few minutes to a few hours. William himself had endured his share of head trauma that would kill or cripple a human, but merely inconvenienced him. A bullet to the head would heal in minutes, a separated head would reconnect in about fifteen minutes. Even if a head was totally lost, it would take about an hour for everything to regenerate as it was before right down to the hair; that was if the thing attacking the reaper didn’t take advantage of his vulnerability.
Reaper healing could erase physical wounds in minutes, but this was a different matter entirely. This was a spirit-based attack that struck a reaper’s very divine nature. Reaper healing could only do so much for these kinds of wounds, it was like flicking drops of water on a house fire.
“Fortunately, we got him in while the bleed was fresh,” Dr. Kingsbury continued. “He went into surgery about twenty minutes ago, though I have not received any updates since.”
William stood silent for a moment then let out a slow sigh.
“What chance does he have of surviving this?” William said.
“I won’t sugarcoat this, Mr. Spears; the odds are against him,” Dr. Kingsbury said, leaning back against a cabinet. “In the entire United Kingdom over the recorded history of our kind, all but two who have sustained a Voice Attack have died. However, more research has been done into the nature of these injuries which has lead to advances in surgical techniques. Over the last twelve years, four were caught in time for intervention, two of those have survived and are alive today.”
“The two that didn’t, was it the nature of their injuries or complications from the surgery?”
“Purely the nature of their injuries; mainly due to the timing by which they were brought in and the amount of damage done. Surgery done on humans, especially to the brain, carries immense risks. This is not just from the procedure itself, but mostly from infection. As you know the pure physical nature of reapers is infinitely more forgiving. Any purely physical contact with the brain is harmless and infection does not apply. Time is the greatest risk. There is, however, an important part of the procedure that involves instruments made from Gray Metal; any error during that part could be catastrophic.”
It made sense; Gray Metal would be the only thing to counter a spirit-based injury. Gray Metal could form the easiest way to kill a reaper, then again it could form the only way to save one’s life. William didn’t care to think on the irony.
“And what of the two who survived?”
“One was a fellow in the Manchester office. He retired a month after his attack; according to the last update he still walks with a cane, though he is doing quite well for himself in the human world. The other was a gentleman from Glasgow; he recovered fully within three months and is still on regular duty as we speak. It might be to Mr. Sutcliff’s advantage that Dr. Sutherland took part in a surgical practicum with the doctors in that last case before he transferred to London.”
William stared at the scans, one finger pushing up his glasses by the bridge.
“If I understand correctly, you’re telling me there is little statistical chance of Sutcliff surviving,” he said. “Though he has some advantages.”
“Even if he does survive, the possibility is very high that he could sustain permanent neurological damage,” she said. “The extent of which is too early to tell. Then again he might be perfectly fine like that one in Glasgow.”
That constant prattering could be silenced forever, those flitting gestures stilled to nothing. He simply couldn’t imagine Grell Sutcliff as a bed-bound invalid; his fiery form merely a hollow shell barely able to sustain itself. The thought crossed William’s mind that the noise would stop, though he did not allow it to go farther. His stomach went sour.
“It would seem Mr. Sutcliff is walking a very thin rope,” William said.
“I sincerely wish I had more of a definitive answer, Mr. Spears, but I don’t,” Dr. Kingsbury said. “I will be sure to keep you updated on his condition. Keep the hope if you wish, but don’t trust it.”
William pulled his gaze away from the scans and onto the more mundane bench beside him.
“I trust the abilities of your team, doctor,” he said, looking at Dr. Kingsbury. “Though I will maintain realistic expectations under the circumstances.”
Dr. Kingsbury nodded.
“I have quite a few matters to attend to regarding this situation, if you’ll excuse me,” William said.
“If you need any information or assistance from our department in the meantime, don’t hesitate to contact me,” she said.
“Understood,” William said, walking to the door with a nod.
His eyes fell to the doorway but occasionally wandered to the floor and the shelves on the wall. He caught a quick view of the inside of a large, tin wastebasket near the doorway; tufts of bright red hair rested on top of the pile. William stopped in his tracks and did a double-take, gazing into the basket and sighing hard with the realization.
“I know what caught your eye,” Dr. Kingsbury said.
William looked back at the doctor with a blank expression. He couldn’t hide his reaction to this sight; seeing all of Grell Sutcliff’s prized red hair in a waste bin.
“I will admit, this is a most sobering sight,” he said. “I assume you had to shear all of it.”
“It was a rather fast process,” she said walking forward. “The bulk of his hair was pulled up into a ponytail and snipped. Three assistants took clippers to the rest and razors to fully clear his scalp. The process lasted less than five minutes I would say.”
In a desperate attempt to save his life, all of Grell Sutcliff’s prized red hair had to be shorn from his head. It was a thought that turned William’s stomach a bit more. Samson was shorn of the locks that gave him power; the beginning of the end.
“He had been growing it out for a good part of a century, all it took was five minutes to undo all of it,” William said with a grim smirk.
Short hair was a requirement for all trainees. Not only did it stay out of the way during training, it was also an equalizer of status. Long hair was fashionable at the time William and Grell first entered the academy. William realized he was glad to lose his tight ponytail, though Grell lamented the “gorgeous hair” he could style as many ways as he liked. William had to hear about how nice it would look in a ponytail with the right coats and in curls for frilly dresses, not to mention how many looks he got from handsome men for it.
“At least we can grow it out with just a thought now,” Grell had said on one occasion. “The second we get through this bollocks and become real reapers, I’m getting my lovely hair back.”
“It is a sad situation, though if he becomes coherent enough to lament this loss I would consider it a happy occasion,” Dr. Kingsbury said.
William smirked a little and nodded. He imagined Sutcliff conscious and making a similar statement: “The second I heal up from this nonsense, I’m getting my lovely hair back.” How he wished to hear that.
“However if the worst does occur, we did save the ponytail portion in case it needed to be used,” she continued.
William nodded at this as well. In case it had to be used to make him more presentable for his funeral. It could simply be molded on and styled as it was in his second life.
“Your efforts are certainly appreciated,” William said.
“You are worried about him,” Dr. Kingsbury said. “It’s clearly written on your face.”
William stood quiet and stared at her for a moment, taken slightly aback by this statement.
“There’s nothing shameful about it, Mr. Spears,” the doctor continued. “I know you two have a long history. Not to mention the overall concern for one’s own kind.”
William merely gave a sad smile.
“I cannot argue with your reasoning,” he said. “Though I still have many responsibilities to attend to and I must be off.”
He turned around and walked from the room without another word, averting his eyes from the waste bin and walking down the corridor.
Chapter: 2
Series: Kuroshitsuji
Summary: William searches for answers after a mysterious attack leaves Grell's life hanging by a thread, though he finds himself dealing with some long-buried emotions about his old friend.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: William, Ciel, and Sebastian, with heavy talk about Grell.
Word Count: 4,479
Warnings: Descriptions of serious injuries and a bloody crime scene.
Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji and recognizable characters belong to Yana Toboso.
This Immortal Coil
Part 2: Sifting through the Aftermath
15 March, 1890
Stockwell District, London
11:43 a.m.
Just a year ago, William would be lucky to get three reapers for a containment team. Even on a mass death incident, one reaper was expected to take the bulk of the souls in the first sweep with a back-up being sent over at the earliest convenience. Finally the reapers from the last recruitment sweep were now coming out of their training and onto assignments. Now the standard was three on a mass casualty incident and he had little problem getting six to materialize beside him in the yard for an emergency containment.
William walked toward Matilda Cornwall’s large blue house, scythe drawn. It looked like a small bomb hit the place; shards of glass were everywhere. Multicolored pieces of stained glass were scattered around the perimeter like lethal confetti. William saw a few window frames on the ground next to some broken chairs. One hand directed four reapers on opposite ends of the house, two remained with him for the main approach.
He carefully scoped the perimeter, keeping en eye and ear out for anything amiss. All was suspiciously quiet. Save for the damage, Mrs. Cornwall’s yard was pristine; the grass trimmed perfectly and a small garden in front of the house well cared for. William took a careful approach, suddenly getting sight of some kind of milky mess on the fieldstones next to the house. He paused for a moment and looked at it, wrinkling his nose and drawing back. Someone became ill over here, in fact the mess looked recent. William looked around the area and upward to a low-hanging roof, comparing the trajectory and distance.
Whoever expelled their stomach did so from that roof. It could have been Earl Phantomhive’s; he may have avoided the blast but the trauma of the incident made the boy ill. Then again nausea and vomiting were classic symptoms of a head injury. Sutcliff could have landed on the roof after the blast and lost his breakfast over the side. He took another look around to see if Sutcliff dropped his death scythe with his stomach contents, but it was nowhere to be found. If he had enough energy to return to the offices, me must have been able to dismiss his scythe.
William stepped aside and took another look at his team before leaping to the roof of a small addition. He knew he was still going to catch grief from the higher-ups for taking this many reapers out for a relatively isolated incident. William could hear the string of questions in his mind: “Was it really necessary to bring out a team of seven for a cat and dog fight in a house?” He leapt on top of a nearby gable, directing the other two to take flanking positions as he jumped to a wide windowsill and proceeded to the next eaves above him.
This incident resulted in a Voice Attack that seriously wounded a dispatch officer, he would tell them. He might be replacing “seriously wounded” with “killed” during such an inquiry, but he didn’t care to think on it. No, Sutcliff was wounded at the time the team was dispatched, those were the all the facts that were relevant. The fact a hostile angel was even involved in a routine reaping was cause enough, not to mention said angel got tangled up with a demon of unknown power. Every precaution was needed; his second glance at a few neighboring houses from his vantage point nailed the point a bit more. There were probably at least 50 people who could have met death before their scheduled times if this got out of control; hence every precaution was needed.
Deep down he knew the bosses wouldn’t grill him too much, though it was good to be prepared. It was one string of thoughts that put the barrier in front of the image of Sutcliff’s limp form.
William took a cursory look up, seeing Earl Phantomhive casually sitting on a window gable and periodically looking over to a smashed window. All the windows in the top section of the house were blown out though William could not see into the house. He took a more careful look to see thick shadows obscuring the windows; the demon’s touch most likely.
The earl suddenly looked down and made eye contact with William, getting up from his seat and taking a stance on the roof. William leapt on the roof, seeing the other two reapers coming on opposite sides. Phantomhive looked at the other reapers and back at him. The boy dabbed a few cuts on his face with a white handkerchief, his blue suit was torn in a few places though he looked otherwise fine. Where was he when the blast occurred? Clearly not in the house, his butler probably took care of that. William silently cursed himself for allowing a mental image of the earl’s bloody, headless body with Grell Sutcliff standing to the side unscathed and harridly trying to explain what happened. He didn’t regret the mental image of a pile of blood-soaked ashes that used to be Sebastian Michaelis.
“William T. Spears,” the earl said with a blank expression. “You’re a bit late, your subordinate left nearly 15 minutes ago.”
“Where is your butler?” William said.
“Attending to some business,” Phantomhive replied. “I believe he is cleaning up a mess for you.”
A black dress shoe suddenly stepped from the shadows, a leg forming behind it. The reapers brought their scythes to the ready, eyes fixed on a man in a black tailcoat gradually emerging from the building; shadows seemingly sucked up in his form. William stared daggers into Sebastian Michaelis as he came clearer into view; a smug smile firmly in place. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of the reapers around him.
“I assure you, gentlemen, the situation is under control,” Sebastian said.
“Is it gone for good?” Ciel said.
“Without a doubt,” Sebastian said, smile widening. “Cassius was so weakened that little blow did himself in. He put up a little struggle, though it was mere clean-up on my part.”
The reference to “that little blow” made William’s heart pound.
“What is the meaning of all this,” William barked, stepping forward aiming the point of his open scythe. “Explain yourself, demon!”
Sebastian’s smile slightly relaxed and he put a hand up.
“Congratulations, Mr. Spears, you were here in time for the final destruction of Cassius the Vengeful, or as I prefer Cassius the Laughingstock,” the demon said. “And worry not, Matilda Cornwall’s soul was successfully collected by your minion, I watched her record play myself.”
“And as I said, that reaper of yours isn’t here, he vanished a little while ago,” Ciel said.
“Grell Sutcliff is accounted for, though clearly this reaping did not occur without significant incident that will require a thorough investigation,” William said, stepping forward and poking his scythe at Sebastian’s chest. “We have the most basic of details, but I have two witnesses right here. I want to know what the devil went on here.”
Ciel and Sebastian exchanged looks. William poked the scythe harder, cutting through Sebastian’s shirt and producing a small circle of blood. Sebastian grimaced a little but kept his eyes on William. His dung-eating smile significantly relaxed, it looked like the demon came to an understanding about something.
“This is the queen’s business, Mr. Spears,” Sebastian said. “However since a reaper was involved in this incident, you do have a stake in this. I am sure my master can fill you in on some details.”
Ciel huffed and took a few haughty steps forward.
“I’m surprised the reapers didn’t know more about this. However you seem to be desperate for information, I may as well throw you a bone,” Ciel said. “We were conducting an investigation on Mrs. Cornwall. No doubt you were aware of Mrs. Cornwall’s actions, as you have been collecting the souls of her victims. Though were you aware there was a supernatural influence at work here?”
William glared at the kid. The thought of giving away a point of weakness sickened him, but it was the only way he was going to get any answers.
“We were aware of Mrs. Cornwall’s actions, though we only learned of an angel’s presence just now,” William said through practically gritted teeth. “Angels are able to rewrite Cinematic Records, mostly this is done to purge unwanted memories, creating the illusion of a cleansed soul. Though it is common for them to write their involvement out of a person’s record. They don’t want to leave any trails back to them or evidence their ward’s actions were anything other than their own accord. This makes them just as bad as this fiend soiling my scythe.”
“In other words you had a blind spot,” Ciel said. “Sebastian caught onto some clues during our investigation that sounded familiar. Not to mention some of the crimes committed were outside Ms. Cornwall’s ability.”
“I’m sure you have extensive records of the identities of angels and their predilections,” Sebastian said. “Look up Cassius’ name. It is obscure in most literature though well known among my kind. Cassius was cast from God hundreds of years ago for the crime of murdering human clerics, he believed no mere ape could truly understand the will and words of the Almighty let alone preach to them. He has been wandering the earth since then in a cursed immaterial form, though he used it to his advantage. He started offering promises of salvation to ill individuals, whispering in their ear that all priests needed to be executed for blasphemy. Cassius would possess them and give them strength to do his bidding, though it would quicken their ends as he fed from their energies. At the time of their death he would consume their souls to give him more power.”
“That sounds rather familiar,” William said, poking the scythe a little harder, producing a bigger blood stain on Sebastian’s shirt.
“Though such is the nature of my kind,” Sebastian said with a smirk. “Not such with angels, hence why my kind has more than disliked Cassius. Yes, he has taken more than a few meals away, but I digress. Cassius collected enough souls and gained enough strength to materialize. All he needed was one more soul and a body to complete the transformation. The young master and myself got there just in time before he consumed Matilda Cornwall’s soul, and Grell Sutcliff arrived just in time for the final confrontation. I believe his efforts weakened Cassius a little more and distracted him enough for my lord to shoot Mrs. Cornwall, severing the connection.”
Sebastian gave a warm smile to Ciel, who smiled and nodded in return. William watched this exchange in disgust. Sutcliff’s prediction was right; the boy was apparently the one who did the deed.
“Grell performed admirably today, I was impressed,” Sebastian said. “Even I will admit he provided much aid against this trash. The reaping itself was a little messy, though I assure you everything you see now was Cassius’ doing. Alas the angel did not go without a fight, though it’s over now. Cassius will wander the earth no longer.”
William wanted to shove the scythe right through his black heart, end this little celebration by ending his existence. Alas, that would solve nothing. Instead he took a few deep breaths, lowering his scythe and adjusting his glasses. Sebastian’s smile sunk and his expression went back from merry to somber.
William knew he couldn’t trust any answers these two gave, though the story gave them enough of a framework. They already had Matilda Cornwall’s completed record in the library, at worst they had Earl Phantomhive’s continuing record for information.
“A matter like this is most grave,” William said, turning to Ciel. “The Council will want to know what happened here. We will need to get in there and investigate. No meddling from Scotland Yard or anyone else. This is strictly reaper business.”
“Take as much time as you need, I won’t be getting the Yard involved until this mess is cleaned up,” Ciel said. “Besides, the queen’s worries are eased already with the end of this.”
William motioned to the two reapers to join him front and center, he then looked down and summoned a third up top. The reaper nodded and leapt from beside the porch to the roof. William then stepped forward, shoving Sebastian out of his way and putting the point of his scythe before him. He carefully looked through the smashed window, ready to leap on any sign of movement.
It was nothing short of a nightmare in there; ashes and blood coated the walls and the ornate furniture. Black feathers were scattered around the once-rich looking rugs that were now coated in blood. The air smelled of rotting death, though William resisted the urge to put his handkerchief to his mouth. A woman’s body lay in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood. William first noticed the gaping wound across her midsection, likely Sutcliff’s contribution. Bloody holes were scattered across her flowered nightgown, Earl Phantomhive’s involvement. He didn’t shoot her once, he unloaded the clip on her; then again if she was possessed he had to do everything to sever the connection.
A sudden chill ran down William’s spine. He swung around with his scythe, Sebastian’s gloved hand caught the clippers and shoved the scythe back down. The demon leaned in, William decided to give him a second before he smashed his face in.
“I am fully aware of the nature of that last attack, enough to speculate that it is lethal to those of your kind,” the demon said. “Grell was rather ill when he left here, which confirms much of my suspicions. I assume your company is here because you have a dead or a dying reaper on your hands.”
William simply glared at him.
“You assume much, demon,” William said.
Sebastian merely cocked an eyebrow and nodded.
“Grell Sutcliff was an annoyance to us both, though he performed his duties valiantly today; we owe him much,” Sebastian said. “You have my deepest symp…”
“You hold that forked tongue of yours before I cut it out,” William said, yanking his scythe free from Sebastian’s hand and opening the clippers for emphasis. “I have work to do, so you and your handler had best stay out of our way.”
Sebastian simply walked back a few steps and bowed, turning around and walking to his master. William signaled for his team to follow him as he cautiously entered the building.
-------------------
Reaper Dispatch Offices - London
12:53 p.m.
William materialized a few steps away from the infirmary wing, dismissing his scythe. Reporting back to the bosses could wait as long as it needed to. Right now four reapers were still at Matilda Cornwall’s house collecting their last samples and filling out their last field observations. William dismissed the other two once he was assured the scene was secure. All that was left for the four remaining was detail work they could easily do by themselves.
Earl Phantomhive and his loathsome butler left the scene shortly after their last exchange. The earl said someone was on the way to monitor the area, but would not get in the way. Going back to his townhouse so his pet fiend could make lunch for him took precedence. William could barely contain his bile for that odious child and his horrible dog.
Both of them were irrelevant now and William had a much graver matter to attend to at present. Fortunately no one else was in the hallway; he didn’t want to randomly pass by a conversation and learn the fate of his subordinate. He practically marched up to the main health offices, ready to yank aside anyone in a doctor’s coat. He saw a face peek through one of the wide windows for the main treatment room and nod upon seeing him; a somewhat homely woman with brown hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Dr. Eliza Kingsbury then walked through the open door and approached him.
“I see you got my message,” she said.
“Actually I just came from the field,” William said. “I figured all the answers I needed were here.”
“A wise move,” the doctor said.
She motioned with her head for him to join her in the treatment room, he followed through the open doorway taking an inconspicuous breath. He had no idea what he would see in here, though fortunately all he saw were a series of unoccupied benches draped with white linens. Sutcliff clearly wasn’t here; whether he was in an infirmary bed, his own room, or in lying a dark corner with a sheet over his body would be revealed soon. Dr. Kingsbury lead him to the back of the room and a series of small white screens glowing with light.
“To answer what is probably your first question, Mr. Sutcliff is alive,” she said. “His condition, however, is grave.”
Dr. Kingsbury opened a brown folio on a small shelf under the screens and picked up a series of thick papers. She placed four of them on the screens, illuminating multi-colored images of the inside of someone’s head; presumably Sutcliff’s. A special wand could do a multi-dimensional scan of any creature based on their physical and spiritual energies with the findings illustrated on a screen. Print-outs could be easily made from any perspective. He had seen enough of these to decipher them. This scan took a green tinge, reflecting reaper’s aura. Everything in red was solely physical in nature, everything in dark green was the reaper’s divine essence, blue showed anything shared between the two.
It only took William a second to see the large, dark-blue mass in the middle of his brain.
“It’s rather easy to see it,” Dr. Kingsbury said, pointing a pen at the section that caught William’s attention. “That blast burst all these blood vessels, creating the intracranial bleed you see here. This injury went straight to the core of his nature; his healing can do nothing against this.”
William had seen reapers suffer anything from a smack to the head to full on decapitation and get up in a few minutes to a few hours. William himself had endured his share of head trauma that would kill or cripple a human, but merely inconvenienced him. A bullet to the head would heal in minutes, a separated head would reconnect in about fifteen minutes. Even if a head was totally lost, it would take about an hour for everything to regenerate as it was before right down to the hair; that was if the thing attacking the reaper didn’t take advantage of his vulnerability.
Reaper healing could erase physical wounds in minutes, but this was a different matter entirely. This was a spirit-based attack that struck a reaper’s very divine nature. Reaper healing could only do so much for these kinds of wounds, it was like flicking drops of water on a house fire.
“Fortunately, we got him in while the bleed was fresh,” Dr. Kingsbury continued. “He went into surgery about twenty minutes ago, though I have not received any updates since.”
William stood silent for a moment then let out a slow sigh.
“What chance does he have of surviving this?” William said.
“I won’t sugarcoat this, Mr. Spears; the odds are against him,” Dr. Kingsbury said, leaning back against a cabinet. “In the entire United Kingdom over the recorded history of our kind, all but two who have sustained a Voice Attack have died. However, more research has been done into the nature of these injuries which has lead to advances in surgical techniques. Over the last twelve years, four were caught in time for intervention, two of those have survived and are alive today.”
“The two that didn’t, was it the nature of their injuries or complications from the surgery?”
“Purely the nature of their injuries; mainly due to the timing by which they were brought in and the amount of damage done. Surgery done on humans, especially to the brain, carries immense risks. This is not just from the procedure itself, but mostly from infection. As you know the pure physical nature of reapers is infinitely more forgiving. Any purely physical contact with the brain is harmless and infection does not apply. Time is the greatest risk. There is, however, an important part of the procedure that involves instruments made from Gray Metal; any error during that part could be catastrophic.”
It made sense; Gray Metal would be the only thing to counter a spirit-based injury. Gray Metal could form the easiest way to kill a reaper, then again it could form the only way to save one’s life. William didn’t care to think on the irony.
“And what of the two who survived?”
“One was a fellow in the Manchester office. He retired a month after his attack; according to the last update he still walks with a cane, though he is doing quite well for himself in the human world. The other was a gentleman from Glasgow; he recovered fully within three months and is still on regular duty as we speak. It might be to Mr. Sutcliff’s advantage that Dr. Sutherland took part in a surgical practicum with the doctors in that last case before he transferred to London.”
William stared at the scans, one finger pushing up his glasses by the bridge.
“If I understand correctly, you’re telling me there is little statistical chance of Sutcliff surviving,” he said. “Though he has some advantages.”
“Even if he does survive, the possibility is very high that he could sustain permanent neurological damage,” she said. “The extent of which is too early to tell. Then again he might be perfectly fine like that one in Glasgow.”
That constant prattering could be silenced forever, those flitting gestures stilled to nothing. He simply couldn’t imagine Grell Sutcliff as a bed-bound invalid; his fiery form merely a hollow shell barely able to sustain itself. The thought crossed William’s mind that the noise would stop, though he did not allow it to go farther. His stomach went sour.
“It would seem Mr. Sutcliff is walking a very thin rope,” William said.
“I sincerely wish I had more of a definitive answer, Mr. Spears, but I don’t,” Dr. Kingsbury said. “I will be sure to keep you updated on his condition. Keep the hope if you wish, but don’t trust it.”
William pulled his gaze away from the scans and onto the more mundane bench beside him.
“I trust the abilities of your team, doctor,” he said, looking at Dr. Kingsbury. “Though I will maintain realistic expectations under the circumstances.”
Dr. Kingsbury nodded.
“I have quite a few matters to attend to regarding this situation, if you’ll excuse me,” William said.
“If you need any information or assistance from our department in the meantime, don’t hesitate to contact me,” she said.
“Understood,” William said, walking to the door with a nod.
His eyes fell to the doorway but occasionally wandered to the floor and the shelves on the wall. He caught a quick view of the inside of a large, tin wastebasket near the doorway; tufts of bright red hair rested on top of the pile. William stopped in his tracks and did a double-take, gazing into the basket and sighing hard with the realization.
“I know what caught your eye,” Dr. Kingsbury said.
William looked back at the doctor with a blank expression. He couldn’t hide his reaction to this sight; seeing all of Grell Sutcliff’s prized red hair in a waste bin.
“I will admit, this is a most sobering sight,” he said. “I assume you had to shear all of it.”
“It was a rather fast process,” she said walking forward. “The bulk of his hair was pulled up into a ponytail and snipped. Three assistants took clippers to the rest and razors to fully clear his scalp. The process lasted less than five minutes I would say.”
In a desperate attempt to save his life, all of Grell Sutcliff’s prized red hair had to be shorn from his head. It was a thought that turned William’s stomach a bit more. Samson was shorn of the locks that gave him power; the beginning of the end.
“He had been growing it out for a good part of a century, all it took was five minutes to undo all of it,” William said with a grim smirk.
Short hair was a requirement for all trainees. Not only did it stay out of the way during training, it was also an equalizer of status. Long hair was fashionable at the time William and Grell first entered the academy. William realized he was glad to lose his tight ponytail, though Grell lamented the “gorgeous hair” he could style as many ways as he liked. William had to hear about how nice it would look in a ponytail with the right coats and in curls for frilly dresses, not to mention how many looks he got from handsome men for it.
“At least we can grow it out with just a thought now,” Grell had said on one occasion. “The second we get through this bollocks and become real reapers, I’m getting my lovely hair back.”
“It is a sad situation, though if he becomes coherent enough to lament this loss I would consider it a happy occasion,” Dr. Kingsbury said.
William smirked a little and nodded. He imagined Sutcliff conscious and making a similar statement: “The second I heal up from this nonsense, I’m getting my lovely hair back.” How he wished to hear that.
“However if the worst does occur, we did save the ponytail portion in case it needed to be used,” she continued.
William nodded at this as well. In case it had to be used to make him more presentable for his funeral. It could simply be molded on and styled as it was in his second life.
“Your efforts are certainly appreciated,” William said.
“You are worried about him,” Dr. Kingsbury said. “It’s clearly written on your face.”
William stood quiet and stared at her for a moment, taken slightly aback by this statement.
“There’s nothing shameful about it, Mr. Spears,” the doctor continued. “I know you two have a long history. Not to mention the overall concern for one’s own kind.”
William merely gave a sad smile.
“I cannot argue with your reasoning,” he said. “Though I still have many responsibilities to attend to and I must be off.”
He turned around and walked from the room without another word, averting his eyes from the waste bin and walking down the corridor.