Your Own Skin (Black Butler)

A Threat to this Sector

“Remley, the Undertaker and his friend here have claimed you’ve been up to some mischief.” Druitt smiled as he swirled his class of bourbon and glanced over to Casey. “Leave us if you would, Casey. Give us a bit of privacy if you don’t mind.”

Casey glanced nervously to the black clad man beside him and left quickly with barely a nod. William couldn’t blame him. Remley’s demonic aura seemed to make the entire room darken. When he had seen him before crouching in the rafters, William had thought he was just standing in the shadows; now though he realized that the creature created its own shadows. Only certain demons did that, didn’t they? The more they fed the more the shadows clung to them? Damn it, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t read anything on demonology for almost a century; it had always been more Grell’s area of expertise. She was the one fascinated with demons, William hated even having to deal with them. Remley’s red eyes seemed to bore into him and William was glad now that Undertaker had turned his deathscythe into a cane. At least he could lean upon it.

Undertaker tossed his bangs aside and whistled, “Aren’t you an ugly fellow.”

Remley narrowed his eyes but Druitt chuckled. “Come now, there’s no need to be insulting, Undertaker. I want to hear these accusations you have to make against my servant.” He leaned drunkenly against the side table, and the crystal glasses for the bourbon clinked together.

“What in the world did Druitt promise you to come work for him?” Undertaker asked, fingering a satoba beneath his cloak. “I mean, you’ve obviously been feeding well.”

“As many souls as I desire,” Remley’s voice sounded like gravel under a boot and it echoed throughout the darkened parlour.

“So you’re the reason that souls have gone missing then,” Williams said, his voice not nearly as stoic as he would have liked.

“Druitt, why do you do this to yourself? Remley here isn’t some pet you can take in, you know.”

Druitt shrugged, “I don’t see what the problem is. I have enemies, as you know. He offered his services, and I accepted them; anyway, I don’t see how you have room to complain.”

Undertaker shook his head. “I worked with corpses, m’lord.”

“Yes! And he takes care of my enemies! What in the world is the problem? Don’t tell me you’ve started to grow a conscience now, Undertaker.”

The old reaper stiffened at that but chuckled.

William adjusted his glasses, “Killing humans, devouring souls, and also… transferring souls. I believe you’re certainly a threat to this sector.” He held his cane out to Undertaker. “If you would.”

Undertaker hesitated and his smile fell. “Come now, has it really come to that? I’m sure we can figure out some sort of arrangement.”

William gaped at him. “You can’t honestly approve of this behavior! Do I need to remind you what he did to us?”

“Yes, well…”

Then everything seemed to change. The parlour doors slammed open and the roar of Grell’s chainsaw seemed to drown out all other noise.

“Sutcliffe, wait!” Ciel Phantomhive called out, rushing into the room with Sebastian Michaelis at his side.

Remley’s red eyes were wide as they darted around the room, then he began chanting again even as Grell’s chainsaw was coming straight toward his skull.

“Oh crap…” Undertaker muttered, and William realized too late what was happening. The world began to spin and darkness enveloped the entire room as he fell unconscious to the floor.