Chapter Text
The knife swings downward.
The pressure in his eyes screams at him as they were screwed shut,
“No one is coming to save us, there is no…”
A cry as the knife lands, quickly followed by a gunshot. Silence followed by screams, as the boy opens his eyes, a blood bath is meticulously laid out before him. His brother lies lifeless, but so too do the nobles who had disgraced them so.
Had God heard him after all? No. If God had, why would he allow the spare to survive at the cost of his brother. If there was a god who cared – if there was a God at all – then surely those who had interrupted this wretched sacrifice would have come earlier. If there was a God, neither brother would be marked for life. If there was truly a benevolent god, they would never have been here at all, there would be no need for these men. There is no God, but there are four men before him. Are they truly here to save them, or do they too have a use for the children?
The blond man seems to be directing this event, but he has yet to look away from those at the end of his sword. A fusion of anger and exhaustion paints his face. If I ask him, would he free me from this cage, or would I exchange one for another. The fury behind their movements seems righteous, but how far had righteousness gotten Ciel, how far can it get anyone?
Despite his doubts, the boy reached out as the blond strode past, reaching for the tails of his coat. He did not believe in the good will of this man, but no strength would be gained from remaining in this prison. As the man looked back his exhaustion seemed to increase tenfold, his eyes lingering on the bruises and tattered clothing of the youth. His face morphed into an attempt at reassuring, a small smile painting his face. Neither of them believed that this attempt would succeed, but the younger found a minute comfort in the older’s desire to reassure him.
“I promise we will get you out of here, but until then please close your eyes. This is not a sight for someone so young.” Regardless of the others words, the young boy kept his eyes open though it frightened him – this was his duty as the one who survived.
The last splash of blood was wiped from the man's cane, and the cage door opened. He offered his hand to the younger boy, but the boy hesitated to take it. He tried to stand on his own, pulling himself up by the bars. Seeing his struggle to balance, the blond man handed him the cane, though too tall to be used as intended, it helped the boy balance. Slowly taking steps out of the cage, struggling to keep the vomit at bay as he stepped through the crimson surrounding him, the boy attempted an apathetic look toward the men surrounding him. He was afraid, but he was more fearful of what these potential threats would do with that fear.
As he considered what to do, the blond man motioned for the others to take a step back as he got onto a knee, looking the child in the eyes. “My name is William James Moriarty, may I ask for yours?”
“...” The boy looked around, staring at the corpse on the altar, eyes wavering between determination and devastation “Phantomhive,” a flash of recognition crossed the others eyes “the Earl Ciel Phantomhive.” I am sorry that I am breaking our promise for us to leave together, but I want at least this aspect of you to leave this tragedy. I want Ciel to be the one who gets to live on. William seems to see something in his eyes as he says this, but does not comment on the lie. It would be hypocritical of him to do so.
“May I call you Ciel?” The boy considers for a moment, before deciding that this would only solidify his claim (1). He nods and receives a smile in return. “Ciel, we would like to get you out of here as soon as possible, as I mentioned this is not a sight for someone your age. Yet, I fear you may have more you want to do before we leave. Is there anything I myself could do?” The man says, briefly looking toward the altar.
“My brother… he was keeping something for us, something that would let us go home. We can’t go home without it, we need it back. I am… I am unsure where it is but I know he held onto it, I just…” As he spoke he made his way toward the altar, reaching for the knife that had clattered to the side. As his hand drew near, another placed itself between him and the dagger. Ciel quickly yanked his hand away, as Moriarty pulled out a knife of his own. “I still fear I do not know exactly what you need this for, but it would be best not to soil your hands with that wretched thing, would you prefer to use this one, or perhaps better, would you like to explain what needs to be done?”
“He’s holding onto it, I know he still is. The ring is in there somewhere, and as his older brother it's my duty to take it out.”
“How about you let me-”
“No! No, no, it’s my duty, I have to do it, I have to as the next earl Phantomhive.”
“A young Earl should not dirty his hands, right?”
“He’s not dirty, don’t call him that”
“On the contrary, but if I search for the ring then the damage done would be less, no?”
“But it’s my duty, I have to do it”
“Allow me to find it, if you must remove it yourself that is fine, but allow me to first find and clear the path for you.”
“... Do what you must.” Everything went quiet for what felt like hours, silence only broken by the sounds of metal meeting flesh, intestines moved and tested for any protrusions, and the heaving of the young boy who had nothing left to expel. The air seemed to pulse around him, the men around him far too close. Everything felt, smelled, and appeared vile, but it had to be done. His hands, regardless of his attempts to wipe off the blood, remained stained with the evidence of his crime. As he began to breathe once more he crumpled to the ground, the world around him too much.
A foul mix of crimson and bile covered the floor near the altar, but a ring – one much too large for the boy – finally rested upon his fingers. Memories looped as he looked over at the blond man who sat next to him with a false serenity. This man, though clearly not cruel, has yet to tell me a single word of why he is here. Was he employed to save Ciel, or was this a personal grievance, something else? Should I hold onto my caution? I know I should, but I am so tired. No, I cannot break our promise to leave simply because I caved to some childish notion of comfort. What does he want from me? What can I get from him? How much am I willing to give in exchange?
The man, well aware of the boys’ rambling thoughts, was quick to address his concerns: “You needn’t worry so much, I do not need anything from you. It was fortune that I arrived here in time to save you, not design. As for what comes next, that is up to you. You have the proof of your identity, so what is it you wish to do now? I will do what I can to help.”
“What would you want in exchange for that help? What do you stand to gain from this?”
“Thou are not Ariel, no debt is owed, nor will a tree bend toward thee. I have no goal in our relation so direct that I could tell you in so many words, but I suspect your goal and my goal do not oppose each other. If you need help removing one more evil from this world, even if it is done out of anger, I would not oppose it. Hell is empty and all the devils are here. My goal is to remove them from this nation. It would just be another job undertaken in my name.” (II).
“I can’t imagine that it's taken in the Moriarty name truly – though I know little of your family, I am sure had your family played a role in the underworld I would have heard whispers of such, though my father sought to keep me and my brother uninvolved for as long as he could, our home was not quiet on such matters – so what name is that?”
“A proper introduction will come later, but trust that our goals are not counter.” Though Ciel found that he did not trust the other man, the look in his eyes told him that harm would not come from him. The look, though not the same, spoke to a similar fatigue and anger, one Ciel is sure he would see in himself has he looked in the mirror. The two were both working towards the same end, and their eyes were that mark.