If there was one thing that the ghost of the assassin formerly known as Marcus Grey belatedly learned, it was that one did not mess with Sir Conrart Fucking Weller.

The ghost of Marcus Grey stared balefully down on the body of Marcus Grey, who had collapsed to the blood-soaked ground in an undignified heap. The sack of meat that the spirit had previously inhabited was still wearing the flayed - not merely frayed, but completely flayed like, well, like a man who had been literally flayed alive - remains of a leather cuirass that... Goddamnit! That was his lucky cuirass! There were two large stab wounds and a number of gashes littered across his late torso from which his ex-life force was still sluggishly trickling out. When he turned his ghostly head to the side, there stood his killer, that damnable Weller, calmly sheathing the murder weapon - technically the self-defense weapon - and walking away. Just... walking away.

Marcus' ghost trailed behind the man, sighed a ghostly sigh and said to himself in a voice unable to be heard by mere mortals, "Oh, great. Now I'll have to haunt him."

At this, Sir Weller turned that mockingly gentle smile of his directly at his invisible companion, as if his invisible companion weren't quite so invisible, and said, "I wouldn't haunt me if I were you."

And that was the start of their beautiful relationship.

Weller wasn't a very interesting haunt. He was just so wholesome! It wasn't any fun trailing after a man who drank in moderation, respectfully kept his eyes above the neckline when speaking to ladies, and helped old people cross the street. Hell, he probably rescued kittens in his spare time!

Kittens, hah! It was with a derisive snort that Marcus shook that thought from his mind. That is, of course, until Weller's border patrol was finished and they returned to the castle.

Weller's first stop, after making himself presentable, was to his elder brother's office. The infamous Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, Shin Makoku's Chief of State, sat behind an imposing mahogany desk looking every bit the part of the evil Mazoku that plagued the nightmares of human children.

"Report!" von Voltaire boomed.

"All borders secure, Gwendal. I've confirmed the recent influx of Sveleran refugees, but the numbers haven't exceeded your estimates."

"Very well. And Dai Shimaron? Have they shown any signs of hostility?"

"None aimed at Shin Makoku, no. There was an incident with an assassin, but I believe that one was sent as part of a personal vendetta."

"Assassin?" Lord von Voltaire frowned.

"He's been taken care of," Weller said. His smile twinkled.

"Hmph."

"Gwendal, is something the matter?"

"N-no, it's just..." Lord von Voltaire, the living embodiment of fearsome Mazoku cruelty, blushed. It was possibly the most disturbing sight Marcus had ever witnessed, and he leaned forward from his spot behind Weller's shoulder to catch a glimpse of this. "It's just..." Lord von Voltaire's fingers twitched in an odd pattern. "I... hate to ask a favor of you, but could you... Anissina has captured my kitty-chan for her experiments and I haven't been able to find him..."

"Of course, Gwendal. I'll see if I can retrieve your kitty-chan."

Gah! A KITTEN!

It was true, then, that Weller rescued kittens. Marcus nearly sobbed. For shame! How could he, the (former) greatest assassin in all of Dai Shimaron, have been so utterly defeated by a man who rescued kittens?

Unfortunately, he had no time to mourn for the last scraps of his dignity. Lord von Voltaire coughed and said a terse "thank you", and then they were off on a daring kitten-rescuing adventure.

...which lasted all of ten minutes. Really, all they had to do was walk into a laboratory of some sort and ask a pretty little woman if she had a kitten locked away somewhere. What was wrong with Lord von Voltaire that he couldn't even accomplish such a simple task?

"Kitty-chan" was now safely nestled within Lord von Voltaire's arms, and Weller was beaming proudly. It couldn't get more kind and heartwarming than this, could it?

When Weller sought out Shin Makoku's boy-king for a game they called "baseball", Marcus groaned, thinking that it was just one more of those disgustingly wholesome activities that seemingly made up the entirety of Weller's character. (That, and the fact that he could probably slaughter entire armies single-handedly with nothing but a rusty sword.) He was really starting to hate Weller on a deeply personal level, and not only for the bit where Weller had stabbed him multiple times.

Oh, how splendid! Two idiots tossing a ball back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. And all the while, they were smiling, laughing, joking, and just having a grand ol' time!

It was nauseating.

Marcus spent the duration of the game hovering over Weller's shoulder and concentrating on the ball, willing it to change its trajectory and smash Weller in the nutsack. Omm~ Omm~ I am a ghost! I am a poltergeist! I have... telekinesis! You, small leather ball, I command to destroy Sir Weller's manhood!

After a few tries, Marcus finally managed to make the ball wiggle, which greatly confused the Maou.

"Huh? What the hell? Hey, Conrad, is it just me, or did the ball... move? Because, um, I thought I saw it change direction in mid-air."

"I didn't notice anything, Your Majesty."

The Maou narrowed his eyes in suspicion as Weller threw the ball back. Having caught Weller's pitch, the Maou turned the ball around and examined it, but couldn't find a single flaw. He tossed it again, and this time Marcus made it swoop down-!

Damn! It had been about to get Weller in the thigh!

"Whoops! That one nearly got me!" Weller flashed his obnoxious sparkly smile.

The Maou was still uneasy. "Didn't you see that? I definitely threw a high fastball, and it ended up a low curveball! Something... There's something fishy going on here."

"Hmm..." Weller cocked his head to the side as if deep in thought. However, his gaze was leveled directly at his incorporeal companion. "Whatever it was, I don't think it'll happen again."

Marcus shivered and immediately dropped his nut-sacking plan. Dear god, but Weller was creepy!

"So."

"So."

"It's about time we had this conversation, don't you think, Sir Grey?"

It had been two weeks since Marcus' death, and one week since Weller's return to the castle. Marcus had spent that time quietly seething behind the man who had killed him, plotting varied and gruesome ways for Weller to die, all of which had been failures.

Now, however, they were sitting on the bed in Weller's modest quarters. Weller had reacted very calmly to the whole "being haunted" business, and was smiling as he patiently waited for a response. All in all, it was very awkward.

"...I'm trying to kill you."

"Is that so?"

"Revenge, you see. Nothing personal. Well, I mean, yeah, it's a little bit personal seeing as it's revenge for you killing me and all that, and now I'm trying to kill you with my new supernatural powers... But I'd do the same to anyone else if they killed me and then were as annoying as you are. Just so happened that it was you."

"Interesting. Please, continue."

"No, that's about it. I guess I'll just be hanging around until you're pushing up daisies, same as me. You might want to watch your head, though. Soon as I'm strong enough to pick up boulders, I'm planning on dropping one on you."

"Thank you for the warning, then. I hope you enjoy your stay."

The boulder plan failed.

Such a shame, really. It was a brilliant plan.

Marcus had carefully selected the most menacing boulder he could find, and then he had it stalk that fucking Weller. Using his ghostly powers, he rolled the boulder along, making it follow Weller everywhere he went. Just when Weller thought he had escaped, the boulder would be at the bend in the hall.

To Weller, he had said that the hunt was to be savored. He wanted Weller to fear before he died. In truth, though, it was that he was strong enough to roll the boulder and lift it a few feet off the ground, but not enough to actually get it to drop on top of Weller.

And then, just as he'd gained that coveted power, it all came to an end.

His Majesty the Maou spotted the strange boulder in the courtyard and promptly said, "Hey, guards! There's this weird rock over here! Could you guys toss this thing out or something?"

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Soldiers immediately carted the prize away.

"No! No, damn it! Give me back my fucking boulder!"

Weller had merely offered a squinty-eyed smile and said, "You rock, but he rules, hahaha."

The memory of that embarrassment made him seethe with anger. Weller's shitty jokes made him seethe even more, as did the fact that Weller had taken to conversing with him on a regular basis as if they were friends. All the days after that had been spent wishing for something or other to kill Weller: a boiling pot of stew to the face, a faulty hip replacement, bear-bee fecal matter poisoning, and even syphilis combined with gonorrhea and chlamydia and with a side of herpes simplex covered in genital warts... were all things he had wished upon Weller.

Marcus felt his sanity slowly slipping away. He had to kill Weller! KILLKILLKILL!

A freak snowstorm suddenly hits and Weller is buried in ice for a thousand years. Upon discovery, his remains are transported to Shin Makoku's Museum of Natural History.

They were out patrolling again, though Weller had left his men to sleep in the tents while he alone scoped out the barren town.

A plague of hungry locusts rains down and eats out Weller's eyes. Come, plague of locusts!

Weller dismounted his horse and slipped into the abandoned church in the center of the once-vibrant town square.

"Hmm. I'm getting a feeling of deja vu..." Weller unsheathed his sword in preparation for battle, though Marcus had no idea what sort of attack could be coming for him in this empty place.

Ninjas! Ninjas jump out and hack him to bits!

The curtains shuffled and Weller immediately shifted into battle position. Perhaps they knew they'd been found out, for his enemies leapt out from the shadows.

It was an entire brigade of ninjas!

Lord Weller narrowed his eyes at his opponents. "Ah, ninjas, is it?"

"Weller, we are here to challenge you for the pride of our ninja clan!"

"Yes," said another ninja, "for you have taken on the title of shinobi for yourself without ever filing for a license from the Ninja Registration Bureau!"

Weller sighed. "Must everything go through endless bureaucracy these days?"

"Plus your outfit is really blue and tacky when everyone knows ninjas can only wear black!"

"Yeah! Who do you think you are? Sub-Zero?"

The ninjas closed in on Weller, who grimly shook his head. "Yuuri's going to be so disappointed that a nameless henchman stole the most obscure pop-culture reference in this fic."

"Prepare to die!"

With that, the battle was off to an intense start. The ninjas launched themselves at Weller, who tried his best to hold his ground, ducking around the pews and slashing at his opponents as they lunged for him. One ninja jumped down for an aerial attack, but Weller rolled to the side and skewered another from behind.

Shuriken and kunai flew across the church, hitting the stone walls. With quick flicks of his wrist, Weller managed to deflect another barrage of projectiles, only to find himself stumbling back into a trap.

He was completely surrounded and outnumbered by the ninjas. Marcus rubbed his hands together with glee.

The next moment, everything seemed to slow down. One lucky strike from a ninja's sword sent Weller's left arm flying across the room. It spiraled in a perfect arc and bounced off the altar.

Weller stood there while blood spurted out of the ragged arm-stump. "Ouch," he said.

The ninjas, who had had their swords all trained at Weller, now started to lower them. They looked quite confused, which was understandable, given the situation.

"Er... Aren't you supposed to be, like, falling over by now or something?"

"Yeah, your arm's, um... gone. It's gone."

"No no no," Weller said, gesturing toward the altar, "it's right over there." Blood continued to spew out of the torn flesh at his shoulder. "I'll just put that back on and we can continue this fight, all right?"

...

...

...

A muffled snicker broke the silence.

"Pff..."

"Pfft!"

"Fffff~ Hahahahaha!"

"Did you hear that, you guys? The dead man thinks he can still fight!"

"Oh my gawd! This is so hilarious! Doesn't he know that he's going into shock from the blood loss right about now?"

"Hey, Weller!" The taunting ninja picked up Weller's severed arm and waved it about. "Lookin' for this?"

"Yes, could you please return my arm?"

"Sure," the ninja replied mischievously. The arm was then tossed to another ninja. "Oops!"

"He's sooo dead. Soooo de-aaahhh!"

The ninjas, busy playing hot potato with Weller's arm, didn't immediately notice that another one of their friends had just been decapitated. And then there was chaos.

Ninja parts flew all over the place. Blood drenched the walls, but the screams of the injured fell on deaf ears, for Weller was angry, and no one liked it when Weller was angry.

"Now," Weller said as he stepped on the chest of a half-dead ninja, "Have you seen my arm?"

The frightened man shook his head frantically, all the while making pitiful whimpering noises.

"Hmm... Are you sure you don't have it?"

The pitiful whimpering grew in intensity as Weller's blood rhythmically dripped off the arm-stump and onto the poor man's face, painting it into what might be described as the Rorschach test administered by Satan's therapist.

"No? All right, then, I'll just have to-! Augh!" Weller stumbled forward as his other arm was also lopped off. He turned to his stealthy assailant with an annoyed grimace and said, "It was very rude of you to interrupt my conversation and chop off my arm."

The last standing ninja slowly backed up into a better position, warily eying Weller, who was still standing despite having no arms. The rug covering the church's stone floor was now squishy with blood, and this hellish squelching resounded in the ninja's ears as he found his footing.

But Weller was the Venus de Milo's long lost twin! What could he do? With a hysterical barking laugh, the ninja launched himself back into the fight!

Bam!

Weller spun around, landing a vicious roundhouse. With a sickening crack, the ninjas were no more.

What. The. Fuck.

The ghost of Marcus Grey, who had been hovering near the ceiling for the duration of the battle, descended with his mouth gaping.

"And you're still alive, Weller?"

"Not to worry," Weller said with a reassuring smile. "I've got this one." He knelt down and shifted his body so that his right arm was more-or-less pressed against its proper socket. A soft white glow enveloped the whole bloody mess, and then Weller was getting up again, flexing his fingers and setting off in search of the other missing body part.

Damn, Marcus thought. And here I hoped he was finally going to die, but not even ninjas could defeat him...

Weller only chuckled and said, "This happens to me all the time. Why, I believe this is the... perhaps the eighth time I've had an arm cut off and reattached, can you believe it? Though I have to say this is the first time I've been a paraplegic. After about the third incident, His Majesty Shinou ran out of dead relatives who had pledged their arms to him, so he said he'd go out on a limb to support me by granting me the power to reattach them myself. I've got to be careful not to lose track of these, haha."

Lord Weller chattered on about his arms as if he were making small talk about the weather. My, it's been windy lately! By the way, did you know that I'm actually some strange manner of ferocious demon-beast with detachable extremities? It's quite handy (Haha! Get it? Hand-y?), but the bloodstains are always so hard to get out!

After months of exposure to Weller's atrocious jokes, they were starting to tell themselves within his ghostly mind. Marcus could not quite hand-le this. If he had still been in possession of a living body, he would have peed his pants.

"Y-you're not human, are you?"

"Well, no, I suppose not. I'm half Mazoku, but I assumed you were aware of that since you must have looked into my background if you were sent to assassinate me. It's common knowledge, after all."

"...Eh? Ah-a-aaaaah-oh-oooh-oh-my-god! You're a monster!"

"Excuse me? I'm afraid I don't appreciate your racial slurs."

"What? For god's sakes, man! I'm talking about what a total freak you are with your monster limbs, and all you can focus on is the insult to your parentage? Yeah, you're a bastard child and your mother's a slut. You're testy about that; I get it. But the arms, you abomination! The arms!"

"Do not test me, Sir Grey."

It was then that Marcus finally burst. The small twig of his mind snapped like it had been trampled by a raging man-eating four-horned dragon.

"Why? What're ya gonna do? I'm a fucking ghost! I could insult your mother all day long and you wouldn't be able to do a thing. You can't touch me!"

"I'm warning you to leave my mother out of this..."

"Yo momma is so stupid that if you gave a penny for her thoughts, you'd get change! Yo momma is so nasty that she pours salt water down her pants to keep her crabs fresh! Yo momma is such a ho that "who's your daddy?" is a multiple choice question! Yo momma's like a light switch - even a little kid can turn her on!"

That last one seemed to have hit a nerve, because the usually impeccably composed Sir Weller lost a bit of his composure. More specifically, his eye twitched a little, and he frowned. Many a dead soldier would have warned Marcus to back off now, as this frown was the last thing they ever saw. Marcus himself, had he not snapped, could have told himself that this twitch and frown was indeed the last thing he saw in his former, un-undead life.

Marcus, however, having been driven insane by his undead life among the royal family of Shin Makoku, smirked and prepared to deliver another barrage of insults, now tailored to target the former queen's scandalous attraction to the jail-bait king. Unfortunately, he would not get the chance.

Weller sighed and raised his sword at the ghost. "I hate to do this, but for my mother's honor, I must challenge you to a duel."

"Yo momma is so ug-gah!"

With one swift slash, the ghost of Marcus Grey was no more. Lord Weller turned his attention to locating his missing left arm. He thought he had seen it roll under one of the pews...