A knife?

Ah well, it was inevitable I suppose.

*sigh*, Such a fragile, delicate beauty...and even more beautiful painted red.

"Why did you have to wait so long, little lordling? You could have commanded me and I would have cheerfully dispatched them all for you. Such a pity. We could've had rich sport making them pay, you and I, finally expressing that deep-rooted, simmering fury of yours." I take his pretty little pointed chin into my fingers and make him look at me, toying with his full red lips. My thumb slips between them and almost instantly I am rampant...fucking fewmets, I cannot keep my hands off this boy! He inspires such a potent lust,oth soul and body, it staggers me…

Such a stunning, fleeting beauty and so sweetly fragrant a soul… I cannot but dip my face to savour the scent of his mouth, the bouquet of his essence, borne upon his shallow breaths. Alas, he has mere minutes now. The flood of his heart's blood is slowing to a drip.

"Our chance for that chess game we spoke of is rapidly fading, little one." Yes, hanging by a mere spider's thread now, and about to break. Will you act? Or has your fire died? Will you lie back and let death take you?

Ah, such a distraction…just look at those shapely, fragile legs… heh, I doubt he could walk even part of an afternoon without collapsing. But how beauteous their curve from dainty ankles to fulsome calves. Ah! gods and demons, I want my mouth upon them!

And what is this? Does he read my intentions in my eyes? He cannot even speak now, but oh, can he glare! Cold, weak fingers clutch my wrist and resist me as I pet his feverish little cheek, alabaster stained with a rosy flush on that plump, round— mmhmhmmyes, how I should like to take a bite of those apples. He is all together delectable. What a feast is here squandered! I sigh again, forcing myself to come to terms with the imminent loss of so much potential, look deep into those impossibly blue eyes one last time, promising myself I will remember him— when in truth this is about as likely as a human remembering an outstanding breeze that kissed their face once on a hot day— nevertheless I try, and I prepare myself to make the best of this dreadful situation by taking his soul as it is.

Just look at those eyes... blue as the heaven I fell from…

On the physical plane, other hands, hot, sweaty, covetous hands are clutching at me from all sides, now. I can no longer be bothered to hide my form from them. They are not nearly important enough to bother deceiving. But they see it differently and take me for the demon they worshipped and come fawning, begging with clutching hands and eyes glazed over, those who have not collapsed with the weight of what they have just done, groping, writhing, pleading for power, moaning for money, demanding dignity and distinction unearned, commanding I give them comeliness exceeding all others, adjuring me to assassinate someone they haven't the stones to kill themselves—all the usual shallow, annoying blather. Repulsive toadies… I enjoy treading on their hands and kicking faces.

Some truly frantic harridan of their number has clawed and elbowed her way past the rest, ploughed under, between and through their legs, crawling on her belly like the viper she is, to come clutching at my thighs. She climbs me like a pole and gives me a delightfully filthy hands-on offer. She reaches round my hips, grabs my ass and puts her mouth on me uninvited, a lewd grin contorting her thick lips, confident of her attractiveness and the efficacy of her direct method.

Too bad she's already so utterly, loathsomely corrupt. Where's the fun in this I ask you? I force my leg up between our bodies, plant my boot squarely on her neck and take great pleasure in shoving her off me, along with six more who were hovering directly behind her.

Oops, heel caught her throat and ripped her open a bit...

Oh well, no great loss, eh? They are tiresome, so easy to ignore, but this boy, this boy, now...

Oh, I want him…

The ritual knife is still planted squarely in his tiny heart. So squarely, I can see it quiver with every contraction of that struggling organ. No, I cannot do it: I cannot simply let him slip away. He is far too fine… I must try one last time. Surely now the hatred in his heart is finally ripe? If I latch on to that knife I might just be able to use it as a conduit to infuse him with some of my own strength. It should be enough for one last, quick conversation. Well, perhaps. In truth, he is so far gone I am able to move us to the spiritual plane to speak with him, where we can have a little peace and privacy from phallus-mouthing harpies and their ilk.

Much better...here, where it is all spirit and nothing of frail bodies like his, here his eye is not dimmed, here he is still a fiery, vibrant thing full of all the raw strength his delicate flesh so oddly lacks. What a curious mix he is: so hot a flame in such a crumbling mortal vessel. I could do so much with such a creature. What lovely sins we two could commit together, mmm, wrapped in one another's arms... or perhaps that is just the stiffness talking.

"So, my noble homunculus, have you thought of anything you would have of me? Anything you might care to do to this filthy pack of dogs who have beaten your body, branded your flesh and buggered you bloody? Now is the moment to speak, little one."

"Perhaps," he says. "But..."he stops to look about. "what is this place? And why are you holding onto the knife like that?"

"No time for sightseeing; we can speak of it later. Can you not feel you are on Death's doorstep? You are only still on the threshold because I am holding you there with my own power. I will not do so forever, so listen carefully: you could have this power to use for anything you liked. You could return to the land of the living and have your vengeance on them all—I am more than willing and capable of giving you that and more, but only if we contract together— but hold, it is important you understand: if you take my hand like this, the way to God's presence will be forever barred to you."

"Tch," he sneers, "There is no Go—"

"No. You are mistaken in that. These eyes have seen the proof of it. I insist on this point because you must clearly understand what it is you relinquish if you join hands with me."

"Well then, He exists, but cares nothing for me. And if not, why should I suffer and die just to go to be with One who doesn't care enough to save me from such pain and humiliation when I really needed Him? I am not leaving Him, He has already lost interest in me."

I am not obligated to point out the errors in this reasoning or explain such complex reasoning as His own when it comes to saving humans (or not)—now is not the moment to begin teaching catechisms or Theology, nor is it in my interest— so to this, I say I press him:

"Then you do wish to form a contract?" I extend my hand—my left—to him. He clasps it without reservation and brings it to his breast drawing me closer. Back in the physical plane cries for someone to stop the boy treating with me ring out. There's at least one person paying attention who understands the stakes and what this parley could lead to for them.

"Yes. I understand the price. All of it. Nothing would please me more."

"I too, little one, strange as that might seem."

"What next, then?"

"To seal the agreement, we mark our bodies with my sigil to signify our contract. It will appear on the back of my left hand, symbolizing the harnessing of my power to your will. The placement of yours is a matter of your own personal choice, but know the more prominently it is displayed, the more of my power will be at your command. You have but one soul, little one: I suggest you do not squander it."

"Nor will I. Place it where I will have more power than anyone else!"

"My my, so small, but already so very greedy!" Participating in the seven deadly sins already, eh? This bodes well. It may well be a very short contract, I think. "Well then: I'll place it on this big blue eye of yours, so full of despair." It is, of course a demon's deepest instinct to mar beauty, to ruin and destroy. The beauty of his eyes first drew me and so it pleases me to destroy that beauty even as I brand him as my possession.

The pain for us both is grotesque, the smell of flesh scorched in Hellfire envelops us for a moment, but it is no worse than anything else he's suffered. This suffering at least has some point to it however and that fact gives him the strength to take it fairly stoically. And how beautiful and brash it is, right there in his eye, bold as brass. I think I love him. Certainly I could gobble him up in a heartbeat, I think to myself as the channel between us forms and slowly yields to me and I close my eyes and concentrate on forcing it open and pressing into it, forging a link with his inner life, so many bright new thoughts and ideas to defile, I'm dizzied with the orgasmic rush of it.

When the pain fades, I take his hand, draw him up to a sitting position and place one hand tight over the wound where they have plunged in the blade so that I may quickly heal him as I draw the athame free.

That accomplished, I bring him to his feet and the rabble fall back, suddenly silent and fearing...heh as well they should.

"Well now! And what a tiny master you are, to be sure. What is your name, my little Lord?"

"Ciel. Ciel Phantomhive. And now my father is dead, I am the earl of Phantomhive."

Ciel, eh? Ah, heaven indeed, what exquisite irony. "Votre bel oeil bleu sera mon ciel, mon dieu, Ciel, mon paradis," I say, bowing deeply.

"Je ne suis pas ciel, Demon. Surtout pas le vôtre. Votre dieu, oui."

Heh, so quick he is, quick and arrogant. I shall have to watch my step with this one.

"Now then, Little Master, shall we begin?"