Hello everyone, well here it is... my newest story - this time about my newest obsession called Kuroshitsuji. I think it can be interpreted as shounen ai and if you like Grell together with Undertaker (as the great Shinigami Legend)... then go on and have fun reading.

I hope you enjoy my little piece of work and: Comments are Candy :D

Regards, Eisteufel

Chapter I

A Touch of Red

A self-contented smile curved around thin lips, thereby giving the handsome face a mischievous streak.

He watched the overcrowded street below him silently while he hold on tight to the solid metal cross of the Cathedral whose roof he was standing upon. The icy wind rumpled up his hair until it gave his vision a pleasant touch of crimson red. A pale moon had risen and although it was half hidden behind gloomy clouds the young Grim Reaper-to-be was perfectly able to keep an eye on the person he was supposed to send to Heaven within the next half an hour.

Everything seemed to be perfectly at peace… except for the emotional life of the pretty redhead.

He was pissed off to unknown limits – to put it mildly - and he knew very well who was responsible for this feeling of rising anger agglomerating in his stomach.

Wait and see, William T. Spears… just wait and see…

He was grinding his sharp teeth in pure frustration. Though he didn't want to he just could not get these goddamned words out of his head - these words so full of arrogance and disdain.

"I don't think that you and I should work together as a team. Due to that I made an application to the board to get another partner for the final exam… Uuhh~ yeees and because I am suuu~ch a neat and nice bootlicker I'll always get it my way…" Grell viciously aped the words of his fellow student and former exam partner in a way to high pitched voice and felt like he wanted to throw up this instance. He just could not get rid of the image of this arrogant man who was the reason why had to stand there alone on the icy church roof.

What the hell was wrong with this guy?
And above all what was wrong with him that he was so obviously rejected?

I was the one with a triple A in Practice, not Mr. Average Joe… he quarrelled with himself, destiny and the entire Reaper Dispatch Society. Nonetheless, such things hurt his pride, even more than he wanted to admit it.

But screw it! He would get this case perfectly over and done with - without any help or assistance. Once he had accomplished this minor inconvenience - better known as the final exam - he would be a fully-fledged Reaper and William T. Spears would have to kiss his high-heeled feet.

Who needs this William T. Spears, seriously? I wonder what the T. stands for anyway… I hope it's a really horrible middle name he is terribly ashamed of… the redhead mused absently while he was pointing his index finger to his upper lip, deeply in thoughts.

Yes… maybe something like Trevor… or Toddy…Oh how I hope it's Toddy!

The tuneful chime of the church tower - indicating it was already 11 p.m. -brought him back to reality.

Only five minutes left.

Smoothly the red shadow let go off the cross and jumped swiftly from roof to roof until he was only about two metres above the High Street. The warm orange shade of the paraffin street lights poured deep shadows onto the face of a young man standing on the pavement. Brown hair was glistening and hanging in damp bangs. It seemed like he was waiting for someone or something but finally let off a resigned frown. He held on tight to his scuffed leather briefcase and turned around. Hectically Grell flipped the pages of his file. Another short, reassuring look into the pale face of the boy – John Mills, there you are! - before he jumped down the roof, landing just in front of the astounded young man.

"Who… who are you?" the brunette one stuttered dumbfounded with eyes snapped wide open. "And how could you jump down the roof so easily?"

Grell just wanted to answer in his usual playful manner when he could already hear the rhythmic sound of fast approaching heels. He looked over the shoulder of his opposite and could see the running figure.

"What are you looking at?"

A short scream – way less loud than Grell would have expected – was all that could be heard, when the young man turned towards the attacker as well and eventually fell hard onto the icy ground. The robber dragged the briefcase out of the boy's weak grasp. Like a shadow the thief vanished into the gloomy narrow alley behind them - leaving nothing behind but death.

Red.

Grell's favourite colour. Slowly it stained the pure white snow the young boy way lying upon in a desperate struggle for breath. The blue eyes were staring at yellowish ones in pure terror while dry lips silently tried to form one single word: "Help!"

"Sorry lad," Grell whispered tonelessly while he leaned down to the boy, half-heartedly inspecting the deep wound a sharp blade had left onto the small chest. "But I couldn't help it!"

Blue eyes flashed open until they appeared to be more white than blue. Terrified they were reflecting the flickering orange light of the street lamps and the glistering reflection of a scythe's blade.

"I'm really sorry but business is business."

And with this word the Reaper stroke out his scythe vigorously, hitting the slowly breathing chest with such vengeance that little drops of blood splattered onto his face. Immediately the life of John Mills flashed in front of Grell's eyes – the Cinematic Records.

Slowly Grell shook his head. "You are no exception."

With a quick hitch he removed the scythe from the dying body, causing even more blood to spill out of the gaping wound.

"What the hell-"

In just the same moment Grell had removed the stained blade of his Death Scythe in order to collect the Cinematic Records, the little strips started to move around beyond control. Winding wildly some were aspiring to the darken sky, other were wriggling around the paraffin lamps, the body of the boy, the scythe Grell's trembling hands were trying to hold sternly.

"Shit… what is going on here?" Grell cursed through tightly clenched teeth in an eager attempt to free his scythe from the furious filmstrips. He could hear his blood rushing trough his ears, his own voice sounded strangely afar and hollow.

He just could not believe his eyes.

What on earth is happening here? The Cinematic Records strips go mad…

He tried to stand up in a futile attempt to get more space between himself and the perishing boy but in the same moment something swept him off his feet.

When his head hit the pavement with a dull thud his vision blurred for a moment.

It took him several seconds to recognize that his numb fingers had let go off his scythe, which was now lying out of his reach two metres away from him and that the strips were slowly wrapping themselves around him, thereby lifting his entire body into the air without any problems.

Desperately he tried to reach out for his weapon but in vain. Swiftly he was taken high and higher over the rooftops of the sleeping city. He was helplessly captured by the raging memories of the young, dying man below him. The Cinematic Records tightened painfully around his body - it was impossible to move even a single muscle. Slowly but surely Grell's fading out mind realized he was suffocating.

Like he was looking through a fogged-up window all he could see anymore was the pale moon, half hidden behind thick clouds.

At least the view is nice, if I'm really supposed to die here, Grell mused with a weak smile around cut lips. He could feel how even the last remaining air was forced out of his lungs.

What the…

A violently wielding flash of reflected moonlight crossed the vision of the Reaper. The constrictor like filmstrips suddenly let go off him while everything seemed to fade to a silverish gleam. All Grell could see before he fell to the ground was a silvery halo.

Hope you had fun reading! See you (hopefully) in the next chapter. I think you can guess who has his appearance then?=^.^=