A/N: First of all, I want to thank the person who was a beta reader for this story. Hikasa thanks a lot for your help:) Still there can be some mistakes, because I've made changes after I got the story back.

Secondary, about the story:

In the anime it isn't said where the Shinigami come from. I assumed that some people become death gods after they die. So that's a story of how Grell became one…Or better to say how he died…

Warning: the story contains violence.

Italics represent thoughts and flashbacks.

The present, as the fire in London. Before Grell met with the other Shinigami.

This is set in the last episodes of the anime, where London is burning to rubble.

I was a human once. Thought the man as he watched wild fire roam through the old and once beautiful city, swallowing one building after another. The heavy, thick smoke filled the air making the night sky even darker, but the fire made it light enough to see people's faces: crying, anguished, suffocating from smoke and their own fear. Bright red and yellow flames reflected on the surface of his red framed glasses, the thin chain with little metal skulls swayed and made a quiet chiming sound with every step he took. A small burning building caught his attention when he passed by and heard the echoing of human screams – someone probably was still inside. The light of the fire was so close to him that it made the man's yellow green eyes turn almost orange as he watched the building half heartedly, his eyelids half-closed as memories overtook him.

I was a human once. And I didn't like it. The man turned away abruptly, his long red hair flying in different directions before landing on his shoulders and red-clad back.

It's much easier to be a shinigami.

The man continued his way through the burning city of London, not even glancing back when he heard the sound of that particular building fall due to the stress of the eaves being chipped away second by second as the greedy flames of the fire ate away at old wood. People were running past him, not paying attention to a strange man with long red hair, who was heading to the very center of this madness, a part of London where the fire was the most vigorous.

His yellow green eyes were unfocused, caring about passers-by even less then they did for him. The unwanted images flashed in his mind, old memories awakened by the happening tragedy.

A little beautiful house, plain and simple but still cozy, with a large garden where the plant trees and gorgeous flowers grew. White roses, favorite ones of the only male occupant of the house, added a nice scent to the fresh morning air. Singing was heard, different female voices mixing in one, repeating and an old slow melody.

It was a peaceful place until that day came.

The red haired man walked to the less crowded street, unconsciously taking a longer route to his destination. The alley was much darker and there was no fire yet, but he could still see it in his mind's eye.

The house was burning, disappearing with the flicker of flames. The peaceful tranquility of this place was now ruined forever.

"My son! Where is my son?" He heard someone scream from the nearest house. Then, a woman came running to the alley. Her hair was a mess, strands of dark curly hair covering a half of her face and falling over crazed eyes. She ran past him, muttering something inaudible and probably meaningless under her breath, and occasionally calling for her son, who, it seemed, got lost in this madness.

"No! My son!"

"No! My children! Don't hurt my children!" A woman was screaming but the only thing she could do was cry hysterically and tightly clutch her youngest daughter to her chest. She heard her only son scream, the young man was desperately struggling against one of the intruders who wanted to suffocate him. He was slim and slender but fear gave him the power to fight. The lack of oxygen was making his body weaker with every second, he gathered what was left of his strength to lift his shuddering hands and grab the murderer's wrists tightly with his thin fingers, then dug nails deep into the man's hands, breaking the skin underneath, making blood flow. He felt disgusted by the red liquid but did not let go. His attacker winced and weakened his grip. It gave the young man a chance to punch him in the stomach. The man cried in pain and backed away as he let go of the boy.

Finally able to breathe, the young man took a few big gulps of air, then turned away from the sight that the intruder made, and, not paying attention to the sudden dizziness that he felt, rushed down the stairs to where his elder sisters were. He broke into the room but stopped dead in his tracks at the horrific sight that greeted him.

There was a nice sofa in the right corner of the room, the one on which his elder sister liked to sit on quiet, nice but still boring evenings. She was there now, too. The young man's eyes landed first on her face, it was so pale, her eyes were closed. He could have thought she was just resting – if not for a blood pool where her stomach should have been.

"Sister?" He whispered, then rushed to the sofa but stopped again not able to come any closer. Still he was close enough to see that she was not breathing.

"Sister…" The young man's voice cracked and tears started running down his face, blurring his vision even more. He brought both his hands, still covered in the attacker's blood, to his face and tried to wipe away the salty liquid. After several minutes he managed to calm down a bit, his pupils focused and blood came to his view again. It was on his beloved sister's face, too. How could he have not noticed that before? Her hand was holding a piece of glass, it's sharp edges scratching her now lifeless pale fingers. It was her last weapon, she didn't let go of it even now.

It was the scariest sight he had ever seen in his life. The young man hoped to never witness something like that again.

"Sister."

A thought of other sisters and mother broke through his stupor. Horror overtook him, but now it only gave strength to act, he grabbed the piece of glass from his dead sister's hand and ran to the next room.

The fire had reached every little alley by that time. Dark shadows were not enough to make a night night anymore. It was like a day when the sun had become one with the earth, so that the ground itself was radiating light.

Light. That's what he saw a second he entered the room. The brightness of the fire hurt his not unprotected eyes as he struggled to see.

"Sister!" He called out, hoping for a response.

"No! Brother, run!"

"Run!"

"This building is going to fall!" The man screamed. He grabbed a hand of the little girl and dragged her away from the dangerous place. People were running and screaming until a cracking sound was heard and the building broke in two, it's walls bent down as the roof fell. The girl started sobbing and the man hugged her tightly, holding her tiny body close and calming her down. So little and so scared…

The young man rushed forward ignoring the heat of the fire. He knew he couldn't run away – couldn't let another person he loved die.

A female scream filled the room.

"No, no, no!" He repeated to himself, as if hoping that denial will make all happening untrue, just a nightmare.

"Sister!"

Despite his fear, he continued his way through the burning house. He was so close, he could help her. Rising a piece of glass close to his chest, he confidently stepped forward. But the young man didn't manage to take even three more steps because he felt something cold and solid collide with his right temple. He swayed, but stayed on his feet.

He turned right but in that moment he got another punch. It was painful, but physical pain didn't matter anymore. Not paying attention to another blow, which landed on his shoulder, the young man straightened his hand sending the piece of glass to the man's chest. The attacker cried out in both shock and pain. Though it was not painful enough to scare him off, it seemed to only anger him more. The young man used a little distraction to hit again, aiming for the same bloody spot.

Then, at that moment, something happened, or more like something overtook him. He wasn't controlling himself, his mind was absolutely blank and only instinct was driving him when he hit and lashed out again, becoming the murderer like them, while his victim didn't even had a time to fight back. He heard a scream once more, a female voice going higher at the end and then quieting as suddenly as it started. Then he knew she was dead, but couldn't make himself care.

Blood was dripping from his hands, staining his once white shirt in dark crimson. Red drops were on his face, sliding down that pale cheeks like tears, gathering in the corners of his mouth and making him look like an inhuman creature from Hell.

"You…" The man breathed out, blood spitting from his lips in process. His eyes were wide, and the expression on his ugly face was somewhat curious and horrified at the same time.

Madness. It was madness that surrounded him. Screams, cries, and curses were heard everywhere. He was in the center of the city now, the place where the fire had started. Blackened, burnt buildings stood there, no one was trying to save their belongings anymore. It was strange to see how differently people reacted to the happening disaster. Some of them were still running somewhere, not understanding, or not wanting to accept that they were blocked by the severe fire from other parts of London and there was no chance to be saved. Others were just sitting and waiting for their death to come. And it did, in forms of men not much different from the citizens in the appearance.

Well, except one red haired, sharp toothed shinigami.

He stepped over a dead body lying on his path, glancing at it with indifference in his yellow green eyes. He didn't feel anything for them, not even pity. But even being a cold hearted shinigami who enjoyed taking human's lives and watching their most important memories, he couldn't understand how the one who had caused all that could call herself an angel. It was disgusting. That creature was disgusting.

Salvation through the burning condemnation of fire. He knew it wouldn't work. He knew for sure.

The young man stood in the middle of a room of the beautiful little house, the one where he had spent all his life, sweet memories crept in his mind but he drove them away. He was afraid because looking back at his memories now, he knew he wouldn't feel anything anymore.

He looked at the dead body at his feet and didn't feel nausea like before. He just watched all the blood flow from the open wound and couldn't tear his eyes from the mesmerizing sight.

Meanwhile, the fire continued destroying the house with a rapid pace. He heard faint crying from the floor above. It was his little sister, but the young man couldn't make himself move to help her and his mother. He stared at his hands and the fact that the red sticky liquid on them was not his blood finally registered in his mind. It belonged to that dead man, which meant he was a murderer now, the one who did not value a human's life. He started shaking uncontrollably, wanting to run away so much.

Death and fire, it was all around him.

The young man turned away from the dead body and rushed out of the room. But suddenly he felt pain. Very sharp pain. His vision had gone black but he knew his eyes were still open, and the young man realized that the black was just a color of a shirt of a man who had just stubbed a knife in his heart.

It hurt. It hurt too much. He lifted his head and saw the emotionless face of his killer. Only the dark eyes gave away the satisfaction he felt while turning the knife in the wound and watching the spasm of pain on the pale face of the young man.

Over the physical pain the young man felt fury. How dared these men brake into their home? How dare they kill his sisters without any reason and take their lives like they were nothing? His family was not rich, their father worked in the nearest town earning money, he returned home once in the month. The attackers even weren't after his sisters. No. They just wanted to kill, enjoyed the death of innocent people. Last screams, last expressions, curses breathed out with the last breath – that was what they wanted.

How he desired to have his revenge on them!

But that was not going to happen – he was dying.

The young man grunted and then cried as the murderer slowly and painfully pulled the knife out. He whimpered and slid to his knees. It felt like the pain from his chest spread through his weakening body. Tears were running down his cheeks mixing with the red liquid.

Blood. There was so much blood on him, his clothes were soaked in it. He heard the man raise a hand with the weapon again but did not feel anything – before the blow landed he had died.

The red haired shinigami glanced at the crowd and spotted the only calm face there. He hesitated momentarily, but then started his way up to the other death god.

Death didn't bring him relief or salvation, though it didn't make him suffer also.

He learned that his mother and little sister were killed while they tried to escape. The blood of an innocent child reddened the once white roses in the garden.

Red was the color of his death. And it stayed even after.

The red haired man adjusted glasses, then put a grin on his face while he walked up to his companion.

Being shinigami didn't help him to get desired revenge, but it wasn't what he wanted after he died anyway. He was a death god, one above those weak humans.

He liked watching how the last sparkle of life appeared in their eyes and then faded in the moment before their breathing stopped. He enjoyed looking in their memories knowing they'll never get a chance to live through them ever again.

It was not vengeance, it was just sadistic satisfaction.

His grin winded showing his sharp teeth when he reached the other shinigami. Now was not a time for those memories. He had work to do now.

He was a red-clad shinigami Grell Sutcliff after all.

A/N: I'd love to know your opinion on this story. So please, leave a review.