#kuroshitsuji will

The reapers of Black Butler 💀 faves

[May - June 2017]

The Most Beautiful Death in the World Part 1,

Cassandra arrived at a burning mansion with Will and Ronald. There were many cinematic records floating around in the air, glowing with an ethereal light against the backdrop of flames consuming the building.

"This is going to take hours," Ronald groaned, adjusting his glasses with a sigh of resignation.

"Let's get to it," Will said firmly, his voice devoid of emotion as always. The three of them began their work, reaping the souls for the archives.

As Cassandra extended her death scythe toward one of the records, images flashed before her eyes. She saw horrors that made her stomach turn—children lying in cages, their small bodies still and unmoving. Each had a surgical scar on the side of their head, and their eyes were vacant, staring into nothingness. Every trace of childish innocence had been stripped away, leaving only empty vessels behind. They had all been lobotomized, their minds destroyed beyond repair.

The cinematic record shifted, revealing a large room dominated by a ritual slab in the center. Cassandra recognized Ciel and Sebastian standing across from an old man completely wrapped in bandages, confined to a wheelchair. Without hesitation, Ciel raised a gun and shot the elderly man. The scene moved to show a fight—a younger man with striking purple eyes and bright orange hair, a teardrop painted on his left cheek, battling Sebastian. The demon dispatched him with horrifying ease, slicing through his arm and leg with supernatural precision.

Then another wheelchair appeared, carrying a man in a pristine white lab coat. Cassandra watched, her breath catching, as the supposedly disabled man stood up with no difficulty. He walked calmly to one of the cages, selecting a small girl with blonde pigtails. The child didn't struggle as he placed her on the altar. When the man raised a knife and plunged it into the child's chest, Cassandra had to fight back a scream. She could see Ciel's face contorting, his body trembling as memories clearly overtook him. Then came his cold order to Sebastian: destroy everything, leave no evidence. The mansion was set ablaze, consuming all within it.

Cassandra felt tears stinging her eyes. All those children—they had already been lost long before the flames. She understood Ciel's decision with painful clarity. What had he witnessed? What had been done to him?

"Hey, see something interesting?" Cassandra jumped, completely startled to see Ronald sitting right next to her, his curious eyes examining her face.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I have more questions than answers."

"How so?" Ronald's tone was light, but his eyes showed genuine interest.

"Well, the boy that I've known my entire life comes back a different person and with a deal with a demon no less." Cassandra's voice wavered slightly. "I don't think Sebastian would hurt him, but I have my doubts. I just wanted to know what happened."

"Sebastian? Oh, that one that Senpai always goes on about," Ronald hummed, pushing his glasses up with one finger.

Will's voice cut through the conversation like ice. "A demon is just a demon all the same. There is only one thing that they're after." He continued to reap souls methodically, the cinematic records disappearing into his death scythe. "Their soul."

Cassandra's eyes widened as the implication hit her. Sebastian wasn't serving Ciel out of loyalty—he was cultivating him, waiting to devour his soul.

"We did not come here to idle chat. Let's get this done," Will said sharply, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

Cassandra nodded, standing up and holding out her scythe. To her surprise, the remaining records seemed drawn to it, streaming toward the blade like moths to a flame. They flowed into her scythe in a continuous current of light, each one processed and sent to the archives. Will paused his work, watching her with an uncharacteristic expression of mild surprise, while Ronald's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"What?" Cassandra asked, noticing their stares.

Will adjusted his glasses, regaining his composure. "It is not common for a reaper death scythe to absorb more than one soul at a time."

"You just made our work a whole lot easier!" Ronald grinned broadly, slinging his lawn mower scythe over his shoulder. "Maybe you're some kind of prodigy, Cassie!"

"Shall we head back then?" Cassandra smiled, uncomfortable with the attention but relieved their grim task was complete.

As they returned to Headquarters, the stark, clinical corridors a stark contrast to the burning mansion, Cassandra spotted Grell's vibrant red form sprawled dramatically across a couch in the break room. The flamboyant reaper was sighing loudly, one arm flung across her forehead in theatrical despair. Cassandra made her way over and sat down beside her.

"Did you see Sebastian?" she asked gently.

Grell bolted upright, eyes flashing with indignation. "No! All that work for nothing! Apparently, some circus performers died at the Phantomhive estate, invading it." She tossed her long red hair over her shoulder with a huff.

Cassandra felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Then those four are safe then," she murmured, thinking of Ciel, Sebastian, Finny, and the others.

"Why were they there?" Cassandra asked, curious about the circus performers Grell had mentioned.

"Not my problem," Grell waved a gloved hand dismissively. Her expression suddenly darkened with jealousy. "But I do have a problem with Bassy sleeping with that ugly wench with large baps!" she shouted, making a crude gesture in front of her chest.

Cassandra felt heat rise to her cheeks. "That's a little bit too much information, Grell."

The red-haired reaper began to twist a lock of her hair between her fingers, suddenly looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Should I change my look?" she asked, her voice lacking its usual confidence.

Cassandra reached out and placed a hand on Grell's shoulder. "Grell, you're beautiful just the way you are. If anyone can't see it, then they're idiots," she said firmly, meaning every word.

A smile slowly spread across Grell's face, her sharp teeth gleaming. She threw her arms around Cassandra in a crushing hug. "You're right! I'm absolutely divine as I am! Sebastian will realize it eventually!"

The chatter in the break room suddenly died down as William entered, his face stern as ever. Behind him, were Eric and Alan.

"Eric, Alan!" Ronald called out, waving cheerfully.

William cleared his throat. "Attention. We have a situation in London requiring immediate attention." He adjusted his glasses with his death scythe, a habitual gesture Cassandra had noticed he did when particularly serious. "A series of murders targeting women has been reported. The souls of these victims have yet to be collected."

"Ooh! Is Bassy involved?" Grell perked up instantly, jumping to her feet.

Writer Tool Output

# Chapter 14

Cassandra arrived at a burning mansion with Will and Ronald. There were many cinematic records floating around in the air, glowing with an ethereal light against the backdrop of flames consuming the building.

"This is going to take hours," Ronald groaned, adjusting his glasses with a sigh of resignation.

"Let's get to it," Will said firmly, his voice devoid of emotion as always. The three of them began their work, reaping the souls for the archives.

As Cassandra extended her death scythe toward one of the records, images flashed before her eyes. She saw horrors that made her stomach turn—children lying in cages, their small bodies still and unmoving. Each had a surgical scar on the side of their head, and their eyes were vacant, staring into nothingness. Every trace of childish innocence had been stripped away, leaving only empty vessels behind. They had all been lobotomized, their minds destroyed beyond repair.

The cinematic record shifted, revealing a large room dominated by a ritual slab in the center. Cassandra recognized Ciel and Sebastian standing across from an old man completely wrapped in bandages, confined to a wheelchair. Without hesitation, Ciel raised a gun and shot the elderly man. The scene moved to show a fight—a younger man with striking purple eyes and bright orange hair, a teardrop painted on his left cheek, battling Sebastian. The demon dispatched him with horrifying ease, slicing through his arm and leg with supernatural precision.

Then another wheelchair appeared, carrying a man in a pristine white lab coat. Cassandra watched, her breath catching, as the supposedly disabled man stood up with no difficulty. He walked calmly to one of the cages, selecting a small girl with blonde pigtails. The child didn't struggle as he placed her on the altar. When the man raised a knife and plunged it into the child's chest, Cassandra had to fight back a scream. She could see Ciel's face contorting, his body trembling as memories clearly overtook him. Then came his cold order to Sebastian: destroy everything, leave no evidence. The mansion was set ablaze, consuming all within it.

Cassandra felt tears stinging her eyes. All those children—they had already been lost long before the flames. She understood Ciel's decision with painful clarity. What had he witnessed? What had been done to him?

"Hey, see something interesting?" Cassandra jumped, completely startled to see Ronald sitting right next to her, his curious eyes examining her face.

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "I have more questions than answers."

"How so?" Ronald's tone was light, but his eyes showed genuine interest.

"Well, the boy that I've known my entire life comes back a different person and with a deal with a demon no less." Cassandra's voice wavered slightly. "I don't think Sebastian would hurt him, but I have my doubts. I just wanted to know what happened."

"Sebastian? Oh, that one that Senpai always goes on about," Ronald hummed, pushing his glasses up with one finger.

Will's voice cut through the conversation like ice. "A demon is just a demon all the same. There is only one thing that they're after." He continued to reap souls methodically, the cinematic records disappearing into his death scythe. "Their soul."

Cassandra's eyes widened as the implication hit her. Sebastian wasn't serving Ciel out of loyalty—he was cultivating him, waiting to devour his soul.

"We did not come here to idle chat. Let's get this done," Will said sharply, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

Cassandra nodded, standing up and holding out her scythe. To her surprise, the remaining records seemed drawn to it, streaming toward the blade like moths to a flame. They flowed into her scythe in a continuous current of light, each one processed and sent to the archives. Will paused his work, watching her with an uncharacteristic expression of mild surprise, while Ronald's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"What?" Cassandra asked, noticing their stares.

Will adjusted his glasses, regaining his composure. "It is not common for a reaper death scythe to absorb more than one soul at a time."

"You just made our work a whole lot easier!" Ronald grinned broadly, slinging his lawn mower scythe over his shoulder. "Maybe you're some kind of prodigy, Cassie!"

"Shall we head back then?" Cassandra smiled, uncomfortable with the attention but relieved their grim task was complete.

As they returned to Headquarters, the stark, clinical corridors a stark contrast to the burning mansion, Cassandra spotted Grell's vibrant red form sprawled dramatically across a couch in the break room. The flamboyant reaper was sighing loudly, one arm flung across her forehead in theatrical despair. Cassandra made her way over and sat down beside her.

"Did you see Sebastian?" she asked gently.

Grell bolted upright, eyes flashing with indignation. "No! All that work for nothing! Apparently, some circus performers died at the Phantomhive estate, invading it." She tossed her long red hair over her shoulder with a huff.

Cassandra felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Then those four are safe then," she murmured, thinking of Ciel, Sebastian, Finny, and the others.

"Why were they there?" Cassandra asked, curious about the circus performers Grell had mentioned.

"Not my problem," Grell waved a gloved hand dismissively. Her expression suddenly darkened with jealousy. "But I do have a problem with Bassy sleeping with that ugly wench with large baps!" she shouted, making a crude gesture in front of her chest.

Cassandra felt heat rise to her cheeks. "That's a little bit too much information, Grell."

The red-haired reaper began to twist a lock of her hair between her fingers, suddenly looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. The vibrant crimson strands caught the light as they wrapped around her gloved index finger, a nervous habit she rarely displayed. Her normally confident posture had softened, shoulders slightly hunched as she glanced sideways at Cassandra.

"Should I change my look?" she asked, her voice lacking its usual confidence.

Cassandra studied Grell's face, noting the genuine concern behind the reaper's green-yellow eyes.

"Are you serious?" Cassandra reached out and placed a hand firmly on Grell's shoulder, feeling the slight tension there. "Grell, you're beautiful just the way you are. The red hair, the coat, all of it—it's who you are." She squeezed gently, making sure Grell was looking directly at her. "If anyone can't see it, then they're idiots," she said firmly, meaning every word.

A smile slowly spread across Grell's face, her sharp teeth gleaming. She threw her arms around Cassandra in a crushing hug. The scent of roses and something metallic—perhaps blood—enveloped her as Grell's surprising strength squeezed the air from her lungs.

"You're right! I'm absolutely divine as I am! Sebastian will realize it eventually!" Grell exclaimed, finally releasing Cassandra who gasped for breath. She placed a gloved hand over her heart, eyes dreamily focused on some distant vision. "My darling Sebastian simply needs time to appreciate a lady of my caliber."

Cassandra smiled, relieved to see Grell back to her usual self.

"That's more like the Grell I know," she said, straightening her own clothes that had been rumpled in Grell's enthusiastic embrace.

A few days had gone by since the incident at the circus. Life at the Reaper Headquarters had settled into a rhythm for Cassandra, alternating between training with her unusually receptive death scythe and studying the thick volumes of reaper regulations William insisted she memorize.

That afternoon, several reapers were lounging in the break room, a stark white space with minimalist furniture that somehow managed to feel sterile yet comfortable. Ronald was regaling a group of junior reapers with exaggerated tales of his fieldwork, while Grell filed her razor-sharp nails into even sharper points, occasionally interjecting with stories about "her Bassy."

Cassandra sat quietly in the corner, nursing a cup of tea and flipping through her regulation handbook. She still couldn't believe how quickly she'd adapted to this new life—collecting souls, processing cinematic records, and living among these supernatural beings who existed between life and death.

The chatter in the break room suddenly died down as William entered, his face stern as ever. The atmosphere immediately shifted, every reaper sitting up straighter. William T. Spears had that effect—his mere presence commanded attention and respect. His immaculate black suit showed not a single wrinkle, his glasses perfectly positioned on his nose, and his death scythe held at the ready in his gloved hand.

Beside him walked two reapers, Eric Slingby and Alan Humphries. Eric, tall and broad-shouldered with his distinctive dual-toned hair, stepped into the room with confident strides. Beside him was Alan, noticeably smaller and more delicate in stature, his brown hair neatly combed and his eyes reflecting a gentle intelligence behind his glasses.

"Eric, Alan!" Ronald called out, waving cheerfully from across the room. "Back from the field already?"

The way Eric subtly positioned himself to shield Alan from the rest of the room didn't escape Cassandra's notice. There was clearly something protective in the gesture, something beyond mere professional courtesy. As they moved further into the room, she observed how Eric's hand hovered near the small of Alan's back, never quite touching but always ready to steady him if needed. When Alan coughed slightly, Eric's eyes immediately darted to him with barely concealed concern.

"You alright?" Eric whispered, just loud enough for Cassandra to catch.

Alan nodded with a reassuring smile, straightening his shoulders as if to prove his strength. "Just fine," he murmured back, though the slight pallor to his complexion suggested otherwise.

Cassandra noticed the way other reapers in the room exchanged knowing glances.

William cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the casual chatter of the break room with surgical precision. Every reaper's attention snapped to him instantly.

"Attention," he announced, his voice crisp and authoritative. "We have a situation in London requiring immediate attention."

He adjusted his glasses with the tip of his death scythe, the metal gleaming under the stark lighting—a habitual gesture Cassandra had noticed he often performed when dealing with particularly troublesome matters. His expression remained stoically neutral, but the slight tightening around his eyes betrayed his concern.

"A series of murders targeting women has been reported," he continued. "The souls of these victims have yet to be collected."

Cassandra felt a chill run through her. Uncollected souls meant potential chaos in the balance between life and death—something the Reaper Dispatch took extremely seriously.

"Ooh! Is Bassy involved?" Grell perked up instantly, jumping to her feet with such enthusiasm that her chair toppled backward. Her green eyes gleamed with excitement behind her red-framed glasses, and she clasped her hands together with dramatic flair. "If Sebastian's there, I simply must be assigned!"

William's expression soured visibly, his distaste for both Grell's antics and the demon butler evident in the tightening of his jaw.

"This case was originally assigned to Sutcliff," William said, each word dripping with obvious distaste as he straightened his already impeccable tie. "However, given her... unprofessional tendencies around the Phantomhive demon, I am reassigning it to Alan."

Grell pouted dramatically, throwing herself back onto the nearest couch with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "You're no fun, Will! How am I supposed to see my darling Bassy now?"

Alan stepped forward from William's side. Despite his delicate appearance, there was a quiet determination in his eyes. He adjusted his glasses and nodded seriously.

"I'll handle it, sir," he said, his voice soft but unwavering.

"Alan," Eric's voice cut through the moment, a worried edge to it that was impossible to miss. His eyes, usually carefree, were now intense with concern. "Let me back you up on this one."

"I can manage," Alan replied with a gentle but firm smile. "I won't let my condition interfere with my work."

Cassandra felt a pang of sympathy for the reaper. The way the others looked at him with that mixture of respect and pity told her everything she needed to know.

Eric's hand hovered protectively near Alan's elbow, never quite touching but always ready to support. His eyes never left the smaller reaper as Alan gathered his paperwork from William.

"Just be careful out there," Eric said quietly, his Scottish accent thickening with concern. "These murders have been... unusual."

Alan nodded, straightening his shoulders with quiet dignity. "I always am."

After Alan and Eric left to prepare, William turned to the remaining reapers, his expression as impassive as ever, though Cassandra thought she detected a flicker of concern in his eyes when they'd followed Alan's retreating form.

"Sutcliff, Knox, you'll continue with your regular assignments," William adjusted his glasses with his death scythe, the light glinting off the metal. He nodded at Cassandra, "given your unique... aptitude demonstrated a few days ago, you'll be on standby for emergency support. You may leave until we contact you until further notice."

"Yes, sir," Cassandra replied, trying to mask her surprise. Being placed on emergency standby was typically reserved for more experienced reapers. Her exceptional performance must have impressed William more than she'd realized.

As the group dispersed, with Grell still dramatically lamenting her lost opportunity to see "Bassy," Cassandra walked over, sitting down next to her. She couldn't help but feel concerned and a little worried.

"Grell, with the murders that's been going on..." Cassandra paused, choosing her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was to offend the temperamental reaper, but the question had been nagging at her.

"What?" Grell looked up, her shark-like teeth gleaming as she raised an eyebrow. She tilted her head curiously, the chain of her glasses catching the light from the nearby window. Her posture remained relaxed, legs crossed elegantly at the ankles.

"You're not involved in anyway, are you?" Cassandra's voice was quiet but direct. She finally met Grell's gaze, searching for any hint of deception. She remembered all too well Grell's past—the Jack the Ripper incident wasn't something easily forgotten, even if the official records had been altered.

Grell's eyes widened dramatically behind her red glasses. She placed a hand over her heart, looking genuinely affronted. "My, my, such accusations! Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to invite that kind of attention again?" She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Besides, darling, these murders aren't my style at all." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "When I kill, it's a passionate affair—all red and beautiful."

Cassandra studied her face, trying to determine if there was truth behind the theatrics. "It's just the murders reminded of-"

"A death scythe?" Grell interrupted, twirling a strand of her long red hair around one finger. "Please. That's amateur hour. Any human with a sharp enough knife could do that." She sighed dramatically. "Though I must admit, I'm a little flattered you'd think of me. At least someone remembers my glorious debut."

"That's not something to be proud of," Cassandra muttered, though she felt somewhat relieved. Despite Grell's flamboyant persona, she could usually tell when the reaper was lying, and right now, she seemed genuinely uninvolved.

"Besides," Grell continued, examining her fingernails with exaggerated interest, "Will has me on such a tight leash these days. One toe out of line and he'd have me doing paperwork for the next century." She shuddered at the thought. "Not that I mind when he's strict, but there are limits to what even I will endure for love."

"I believe you," Cassandra said, offering a small smile. The clock on the wall chimed softly, marking the passing hour. A few other reapers moved through the room, carrying stacks of files and speaking in hushed tones about their assignments.

Grell straightened her glasses with one finger, suddenly looking more serious. "These murders though... they're strange, even by our standards." Her voice had lost some of its theatrical quality. "I've heard whispers that the higher-ups are concerned. Something about the pattern doesn't add up."

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked, leaning forward.

Grell glanced around and lowered her voice. "The souls, darling. They're not where they should be." She tapped her fingernails against the arm of her chair, creating a rhythmic clicking sound. "When a person dies, their soul is collected, reviewed, and sent on its way. But these victims... something's happening to their souls before we can even get there."

A chill ran down Cassandra's spine. "That's not possible, is it?"

"Shouldn't be," Grell replied with a small shrug. "But Will's been in meetings behind closed doors for days now. And trust me, he's not the type to panic over nothing."

Cassandra thought to herself wondering. Whoever is doing this isn't playing by the rules anymore.

Cassandra found herself drawn to a large window looking outside of Headquarters. She pressed her fingertips against the cool glass, watching her breath create a small cloud of fog. Somewhere down there, in the world of the Living, Ciel was investigating the murders too. The young earl with his eyepatch and commanding presence, carrying burdens no child should bear. She thought about the horrific scenes from the cinematic record - what had happened to him in the past? And what awaited him in the future? Or hers?

The fleeting glimpses she'd caught from those souls' cinematic records had shown her fragments of his story—a burning mansion, masked figures, a child's screams. The memories weren't hers to witness, but they haunted her nonetheless. There was something about Ciel Phantomhive that resonated with her own loss, her own orphaned state.

"Curious about the human world?" Ronald's voice came from behind her.

Cassandra didn't turn. "Not curious exactly. Just... thinking."

"About the Phantomhive kid?" Ronald joined her at the window, leaning against the frame with casual grace. "You know, we're not supposed to get attached to humans. They're just entries in the ledger to us. Although, you're a different case."

"Is that how you see them?" Cassandra asked softly.

Ronald's perpetually cheerful expression faltered for a moment. "It's easier that way." He tapped his fingers against the glass, then grinned again. "But hey, you've got the day off! Why not enjoy it instead of brooding like William?"

Cassandra smiled despite herself. "You're right. I should head back to the Undertaker's. He's probably wondering where I am."

She gathered her things and made her way out of the Dispatch headquarters, stepping through the portal that connected the reaper realm to the human world with Ronald's assistance. Being only half-reaper, Cassandra lacked the ability to create portals herself.

"Ready?" he asked with his characteristic grin.

Cassandra nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping through. The transition always felt strange—like walking through a curtain of cold water before emerging completely dry on the other side. There was a moment of disorientation, a brief sensation of weightlessness as reality bent around her, followed by the peculiar pop in her ears as she crossed between realms.

The streets of London greeted her with their familiar cacophony of sounds and smells—horse hooves on cobblestone, vendors shouting their wares, the mingled scents of coal smoke, baking bread, and the less pleasant aromas of a city packed with humanity. After the sterile cleanliness of the reaper realm, the human world seemed chaotic and vibrant. Alive.

"You'll get used to switching back and forth," Ronald said, noticing her slight grimace as she adjusted to the sensory overload. "Though some days, I swear the smell gets worse. Especially around the docks."

"I don't mind it," Cassandra replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It reminds me that I'm part of this world too."

Ronald's expression softened momentarily, a rare glimpse beneath his carefree facade. "Well, this is where we part ways. Got a collection in Whitechapel in ten minutes." He checked his pocket watch, the chain dangling between his fingers. "Try to enjoy your time off. Even William takes a break sometimes." He paused. "Well, theoretically at least."

Cassandra laughed. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Ronald waved goodbye as he left her at the corner near the Undertaker's shop, his tall figure quickly disappearing into the crowd as he headed toward his assignment. Cassandra stood for a moment outside the familiar storefront, its weathered sign swinging slightly in the breeze. She straightened her skirts, checked that no trace of the reaper realm lingered on her clothes, and pushed open the door.

The bell jingled as she entered inside, the sound somehow both cheerful and ominous in the dimly lit shop. The familiar scents of formaldehyde, spices, and something indefinably ancient greeted her.

"There you are, my dear," the Undertaker's voice came from behind a particularly ornate coffin, its gleaming mahogany surface carved with intricate patterns of lilies and thorns—clearly commissioned for someone of wealth and status. He peered over it, his long silver hair falling over his face, obscuring his eyes as always. His wide grin was visible though, as was the scar that ran across his face.

"Must have been a really long walk." The Undertaker tilted his head, his long silver hair parting just enough that Cassandra caught a glimpse of his eyes—those ancient, knowing eyes that seemed to peer right through her deception. His long black-nailed fingers tapped rhythmically against the polished coffin lid. "You've been gone since yesterday afternoon, my dear."

Cassandra winced inwardly. She hadn't realized how much time had passed in the reaper realm. Time moved differently there—a fact she was still adjusting to.

"I... lost track of time," she admitted, which wasn't entirely untrue. She busied herself arranging some bottles on a nearby shelf, avoiding his gaze. "The city has a way of drawing you in."

The Undertaker circled around the coffin, his robes swishing softly against the floorboards. He reached for a jar of bone-shaped biscuits on the counter and offered it to her with a flourish.

"The city can indeed be captivating," he agreed, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Especially when one is seeking answers about oneself."

Cassandra's hand froze midway to the jar. There was something in his words—a hidden meaning that made her heart skip. Did he know where she'd really been? What she'd been learning about herself? She felt her pulse quicken as she studied his partially concealed face, searching for any indication of how much he truly understood.

The Undertaker's smile widened into that unsettling grin that had frightened so many of his customers. His teeth gleamed in the dim light of the shop as he leaned forward, close enough that she could catch the faint scent of embalming fluid and something sweeter—perhaps the biscuits he was so fond of.

"Only that a young lady with questions might find herself walking very far indeed." He chuckled softly, reaching out to tap one long fingernail against her wrist. "Though I do wonder what answers you found in your... wanderings."

His words hung in the air between them, an unspoken challenge wrapped in that peculiar mixture of humor and mystery that defined him. Cassandra felt her throat tighten, unsure whether to confess or continue the pretense.

She glanced down at the spot where his nail had touched her skin, wondering if he could feel her quickened pulse beneath the surface. The Undertaker had always known more than he let on—it was part of what made him both fascinating and terrifying. All these years living with him, and still she sometimes felt she hardly knew him at all.

"I've been walking through my past," she finally said, choosing her words with care. "Looking at old streets I once knew."

The Undertaker tilted his head, a strand of silver hair falling away to momentarily reveal one bright, knowing eye. "Ah, but the past is a labyrinth, my dear. Easy to enter, difficult to escape. Did you leave breadcrumbs to find your way back, I wonder?" His voice held a singsong quality, but beneath it lay a warning—or was it concern?

Cassandra crossed her arms, feeling suddenly defensive. "You know I hate it when you get cryptic like that..."

"And you know I can't help myself," he replied with a chuckle that rattled through the shop like dry bones. He closed the distance between them with surprising grace for someone who normally appeared so ungainly. "Ten years under my roof, and still you think I don't notice when something's changed."

His fingers reached out to gently touch a strand of her hair, turning it slightly in the dim light. "There's a certain... glow about you now. The kind that comes from standing too long in places humans aren't meant to linger."

Cassandra felt her mouth go dry. She took a step back, bumping into the shelf behind her, causing several glass jars to wobble precariously. A preserved heart floated ominously in one of them, seeming to turn toward her as the liquid inside sloshed.

"I don't know what you mean," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "Nothing's changed." She said, firmly.

The Undertaker's smile widened further, revealing more of those peculiarly perfect teeth. His fingernail traced an invisible pattern in the air between them.

"We all have our secrets, don't we, my dear?" he said, voice dropping to a whisper. "Even old men who play at burying the dead." He turned away abruptly, moving toward his workbench. "But secrets have a way of surfacing, like bodies in the Thames. No matter how deeply you think they're buried."

Cassandra felt a chill run through her. The way he spoke—did he know about the Dispatch? About what she was? Or was this just another of his cryptic games?

"I've never kept secrets from you," she said, the half-truth bitter on her tongue. "You're the one who's always speaking in riddles."

The Undertaker paused, his back to her, shoulders hunched beneath his dark robes. For a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable.

"Perhaps that's because the truth is sometimes too sharp to hold, my dear," he said softly. "Too jagged to pass from one hand to another without drawing blood."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Cassandra crossed her arms, looking away from him. She was curious about his past, but she needed to take the heat off of herself right now.

The Undertaker stood silently for a moment, his long fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm against the polished wood of a nearby coffin.

"As you wish," he finally replied, his voice lighter now, the tension between them dissipating like morning fog. But the smile never left his face, and Cassandra couldn't help but feel he was simply letting her retreat, not surrendering the pursuit.

Meanwhile, in the bustling streets of London, a crowd had gathered around a taped-off area where policemen were investigating. The early morning fog still clung to the cobblestones, wrapping around the ankles of onlookers who whispered among themselves about the grisly discovery. A young inspector with sandy blonde hair was meticulously taking notes in a small leather-bound notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration as he occasionally glanced at the sheet-covered form on the ground.

"Inspector Aberline! Have a minute?" The reporter butchered the inspector's name, pushing through the crowd with the practiced ease of someone used to inserting himself where he wasn't wanted.

"It's Abberline, actually. Fred Abberline," the inspector corrected with a patient smile, the kind that suggested he'd made this correction countless times before. He tucked his pencil behind his ear and straightened his waistcoat, which was slightly rumpled from the long hours he'd already put in that morning.

"Sharpe Hanks, London Daily. What can you tell me about this gruesome murder?" The reporter was a wiry man with ink-stained fingers and bright, inquisitive eyes that darted between the inspector and the covered body, hungry for details that would sell papers.

Abberline sighed, removing his hat briefly to run a hand through his hair. "Not much I can share at this stage, Mr. Hanks. Victim was discovered at approximately four this morning by a street sweeper. Female, mid-twenties. Cause of death..." he hesitated, looking at the covered form, "is still being determined."

"Any suspects? Witnesses? Is this connected to the Blackwood murder last month?" Sharpe fired off questions, scribbling frantically in his notepad.

"You follow crime quite closely, don't you?" Abberline asked, a hint of interest warming his professional tone.

"Have to in my line of work," Sharpe replied with a half-smile. "Though I'd rather be writing about political scandals. More interesting, less... messy."

As they chatted, discovering mutual interests in chess and a particular brand of Earl Grey tea, forming an unlikely friendship in the shadow of death, two figures approached the scene - one small and commanding, the other tall and imposing in a tailcoat. They moved with purpose, the smaller figure's walking stick tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones.

"Inspector," Ciel Phantomhive called out, his single visible eye narrowed with determination. His voice, despite coming from such a young person, carried the weight of authority that made several constables straighten their postures instinctively. "I need details on this case immediately."

Abberline sighed, excusing himself from Sharpe with an apologetic nod. "Lord Phantomhive, this is an official Scotland Yard investigation—" His voice held the weariness of a man who had fought this particular battle before and lost every time.

"By order of Her Majesty," Ciel cut him off, producing a letter bearing the royal seal from his coat pocket with a practiced flourish. The sunlight caught the red wax seal, making it gleam like fresh blood. "I believe you'll find everything in order."

The inspector took the letter, scanning it with a frown before reluctantly handing it back. "Very well, but I must insist you don't contaminate my crime scene."

While Ciel extracted information from the reluctant inspector, his voice low and insistent as he demanded details about wound patterns and missing items, Sharpe studied the young earl from a slight distance, making quick notes in his pad. "Eyepatch... walking stick with silver handle... expensive shoes imported from Italy..." he muttered to himself, adding "child nobleman with Queen's authority?" with a question mark. Something about the boy nagged at his reporter's instincts – a story beneath the story.

The tall butler stood slightly behind Ciel, his posture perfect, hands clasped behind his back. Though his face remained pleasantly neutral, there was something unsettling about his stillness, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

After receiving what little information Abberline could provide – which amounted to the victim being found with strange symbols carved into her skin and her eyes mysteriously missing – Ciel turned sharply on his heel, his navy blue coat swirling around him.

"Sebastian, we're visiting the Undertaker," he announced, his tone suggesting he was already piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

"Yes, my lord," the butler replied with a slight bow, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement at some private joke. He produced a pocket watch from his waistcoat, checking the time with elegant precision. "Shall I arrange for afternoon tea to be delayed?"

"Yes. This will likely take some time," Ciel replied, already walking away from the crime scene, not bothering to look back at the whispers his presence had stirred among the onlookers.

Sharpe watched them go, then hurriedly scribbled a few more notes before disappearing into the crowd. Something told him that following the Phantomhive boy's movements might lead to a much bigger story than a simple murder.

The bell above the Undertaker's shop door jingled ominously as they entered the dimly lit establishment. Cassandra heard it while she was finishing dusting, greeting Ciel and Sebastian when she saw that it was them.

"Undertaker?" Ciel called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. The shadows seemed to swallow his words, returning only silence.

For a moment, nothing moved. Then a low chuckle emanated from the furthest corner of the room.

Cassandra the Reaper,

Cassandra and Garret stood on the rooftops looking down at the busy street to their target, waiting for moment. They both had training reaper death scythes, a sickle, strapped to their sides. There were other reaper trainees after their targets as well. There were some cinematic records floating in the sky from not too far off. Cassandra pulled out the to die list reading it over again. James Darcy-son of Richard and Mary. A noble man who runs a successful tailor business. Married with a wife and two kids. Scheduled to die at 6:00 at Cheapside Market. Such a shame he was going to die soon. 

"Do you think we should let this guy live?" Cassandra asked her partner.

"No. We will claim his soul as requested."

"But he has a wife and two kids!" Cassandra insisted. "What's going to happen to them?"

"Not my problem." Garret grumbled.

"How can you be so heartless?" Cassandra frowned at him.

"I'm just want to pass this test and be far away from you." He replied.

"But he's still a human. And so was you at one point. He should be treated with some dignity at least." Cassandra told him. Garret smirked.

"If you're scared to do it then stay here. I'll do all the work." 

"I'm not scared. I just think we should go about this a different way." Cassandra insisted. Then there were sudden screams not too far off. "What was that? Is it time already?"

"No. It's something else." Garret answered. "You stay here and watch our target. I'll go and check it out."

"No, wait! I really think we should stick-" Cassandra shouted but Garret quickly left, leaving her behind. "Together." She sighed, seeing him leap to another rooftop, disappearing. Cassandra looked down at the target again before leaving following after Garret. Those screams sounded like they were coming from other reapers, testing as well. What was going on?

Back at the Reaper Headquarters, Grell and William were going through paperwork. Mostly Will though, Grell was filing her nails.

"I wonder how the test is going."

Suddenly, alarms began to ring loudly in through the building echoing.

"What the hell?" Grell stood up, wondering what was going on. An exam proctor quickly rushed in looking at Will and Grell.

"William T. Spears, Sutcliffe! There's an unknown entity found in Cheapside. Some of the trainees have been wiped out. A few managed to make it back here but severely injured!" He quickly told them urgently. Will frowned, while Grell's eyes widened a little in shock.

"What!?"

"Was it a demon?" Will asked. The proctor shook his head.

"We don't know what it is at the moment." Grell bit her lower lip a little in concern. Cassandra...What if she-!

"Will, Cassandra is in that area, isn't she?"

"Come along, Grell, let's go put a stop to this." Will, calmly walked out. Grell smiled eagerly.

"Oh yes! I am going to rip them to bits!" and she quickly pranced, following after him.

Cassandra took the long way around, not being able to jump far, like a normal reaper. She landed on the rooftop looking around. She could sense something nearby and started to walk closer. Her partner was still nowhere to be seen. That idiot better still be alive, otherwise, the test is over for the both of them. In fact, there were no other reapers around as well. Was this part of the test or something? An initiation of some sorts?

"Come out, I know you're there." She spoke. There was silence for a minute, before a clang of metal was heard. Cassandra saw a tin can rolled out from behind a pile of boxes and she slowly walked over. She heard scared whimpers coming from behind it and peeked over. It was one of the reaper testers, a young man. Cassandra could see that his eyes were filled with terror. Cassandra quickly knelt down beside him.

"Hey, get a hold of yourself. What happened?"

"I-I don't know. I was with my partner! It all happened so fast! The others they're all dead!" He began to panic some more.

"There's got to be someone still alive. Did you see Garret come through here?" Cassandra asked him. The young reaper didn't answer, still trembling. There was no use questioning him further. Cassandra stood up.

"Come with me. It's better to stay as a group then alone." She held her hand out. The young man stared at her hand for a moment, slightly trembling and took it and Cassandra pulled him up.

"Be ready for anything." She told him and he quickly nodded his head. The two quickly darted, looking for Garret. Cassandra heard noises coming from up ahead and quickly ducked down. The other reaper quickly followed behind her. Cassandra's eyes widened as she saw Garret, struggling as he was fighting against a tall person who was completely cloaked, wielding sharp blades. She couldn't see their face. Then Garret was knocked down and his reaper scythe was knocked out of his hand when he fell. Cassandra quickly turned to the reaper beside her.

"We have the advantage! Let's attack quickly before they notice us!" She whispered. The reaper quickly nodded and the two quickly pulled out their death scythes and lunged at the enemy before they were about to deliver the finishing blow to Garret. Cassandra managed to dig her weapon into their shoulder while the other reaper made a small slice on their back. The two were knocked away when the assailant quickly spinned around, knocking them off their back. They slowly began to make their way over towards Cassandra. She groaned as she slowly sat up, seeing them inch closer towards her. They silently raised their blades to strike her down. Cassandra screamed holding up her weapon to block the attack. The enemy managed to land a few slices onto Cassandra's body then kicked her. Cassandra flew back, landing on her side. Garret quickly got up when he saw the attacker raising their blades to attack Cassandra again. He grabbed his weapon and ran over only for the cloaked person to easily strike him down. Cassandra's eyes widened in horror.

"Garret!" She cried out, seeing him fall to the ground. The other reaper quickly rushed over to him, checking Garret.

"He's okay! But he's lost a lot of blood!" He shouted. She quickly grabbed her death scythe and got up glaring at the person, completely enraged.

"You are going to pay for this!" She shouted furiously. The assailant quietly turned towards her, to attack again. Just as they lunged at Cassandra something strange happened. A strange light emitted from her death scythe and it transformed, turning into a longer scythe as it extended out with a curved end. Along the tips were filled with black roses. She quickly deflected the blades, spinning her scythe around her fast. Cassandra began to move at a faster pace, striking back harder as well. The cloaked person was barely able to keep up with Cassandra's strikes. Cassandra managed to land a deep wound as she slashed down on the attacker's shoulder. They quickly sheathed one of their blades, holding their injured arm. 

"Cassie!" Cassandra eyes widened and she quickly turned around to see Grell and Will as they landed down. Will narrowed his eyes looking at the cloaked person in front of them.

"I assume you are the reason behind this mess." The person still didn't answer.

"Yeah, it's kind of a thing they're doing." Cassandra told them. "They don't say much."

"Then let's make them talk!" Grell shouted. Then the person quickly put away their other weapon and quickly left.

"Get back here!" Cassandra shouted about to follow after them, but Will stopped her.

"No. You are not qualified for this. Let the others handle it." He told her. Cassandra stared at him for a moment wondering. Others? Will must mean Ronald, Alan and Eric. Grell quickly went over to Cassandra, looking her over. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine-" Cassandra heard a groan and quickly looked over to see Garret slowly sitting up, while the other reaper supported him up, and she quickly rushed over to him.

"Hey, are you okay?" she reached out to touch him only for Garret to pull away from her.

"I thought I told you to watch our target."

"You shouldn't have rushed off like that!" Cassandra frowned. "But it's nice to see that you're still alive."

"Gravesfield, what is that you got there?" Will asked. Cassandra turned to him and Grell as they walked over.

"Yes, what is that?" Grell asked her.

"I don't know. I guess it's my reaper scythe! Pretty cool, right?" Cassandra smiled.

"That's impossible. A reaper's death scythe doesn't just appear from out of nowhere. It gets customized." Will said.

"Well, it did. See." Cassandra replied and showed Will and Grell, shrinking it back down and transforming back again repeatedly. 

"This isn't a toy." Will reprimanded.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop." Cassandra smiled, tiredly. "I guess we've failed the test. The target wasn't collected." Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a loud commotion coming from down below. Everyone looked over to see James Darcy lying on the ground in a pool of blood a horse driven carriage driving away. The man was dying alone. It was such a sad sight. To the group's surprise, Cassandra hopped down, landing beside the man, who was slowly dying as he bled out. She could see it in his eyes that he was scared as he saw her approach him. Cassandra knelt down and pulled out her death scythe.

"Please, I don't want to die!" He cried out. Cassandra hesitated for a moment before she made a soft smile. She lowered her weapon a bit and reached out to take the man's hand holding it.

"It's okay. You won't have to suffer anymore." Slowly tears began to fall from the man's eyes.

"But my wife, my kids-"

"They will be fine." She told him, softly but calmly. The man stayed silent, and Cassandra raised her death scythe and stabbed it into the man's body. The man screamed out in pain as he saw his life flash before his eyes. Cassandra began to collect his cinematic record into her death scythe for the achieves to retrieve it. The clock struck 6:00 as it rung out throughout the city, echoing its chimes. Jame's head rolled on side as he let out his final breath. Cassandra slowly closed his eyes and stamped the book. She quickly hopped back on the roof and saw the others looking at her strangely.

"What? He was scared. I had to give him some comfort at least." Cassandra told them.

Then some proctors landed on the roof along with Ronald, Eric, and Alan, who was carrying another reaper who was unconscious, mumbling and crying out in their sleep.

"Did you catch the person responsible?" Will asked them.

"No, they got away." Eric shook his head. Cassandra looked over at the young man that Alan was holding.

"What happened to him?" She asked.

"This one here accidentally touched the cinematic record. He's relieving their target's life for the moment." Ronald explained. Grell smiled, leaning over Cassandra's shoulder.

"Remember when I told you not to touch Madame Red's. That it wouldn't be a pretty sight. That's what will happen." She smiled. Cassandra hummed. Oh, so it's like a sensory overload.

"I'm glad I didn't." She spoke. "Will they be alright?"

"The symptoms will go away for a few days." Will told her. "Now, come along. We must report back." Cassandra's eyes widened, beaming a little.

"Oh! New glasses, I forgot! I can't wait!" She exclaimed.

The proctor told Cassandra and Garret that they passed the test, and they went to get their new glasses made. Garret picked out square frames with a dark blue tint. Cassandra picked out circular frames with purple tints. She showed off the glasses she picked out to the others.

"What do you think?"

"You look fantastic!" Grell smiled. Cassandra smiled back.

"Thanks."

"You're finally a full-fledged reaper now!" Ronald smiled. "Let's go celebrate!"