Gentle Death

By

Elderwolves

A/n: Hi guys! It's been such a long time since I've been able to post anything, but I am finally back to give you this new crossfiction. This particular cross, as you should know since you clicked on this, is between Soul Eater's Stein and Black Butler's Undertaker. Sexy right? My buddy Cece thought so, and this is her birthday fic. Happy belated birthday, girl! And I mean really, really, really, REALLY belated. The rating might go up if I decide to add some juicy bits, but for now we'll keep it kid friendly. I don't usually write crosses, never read them, but I'll do it just this once. Good thing Soul Eater and Black Butler have so much in common, otherwise this story would have a lot more holes in it. As things stand, this story just has lots of stitches. ;)

Stein: Wow, that was lame.

Elderwolves: Oh, shut up! It's true!

Undertaker: You dragged me out of my coffin for this?

Elderwolves: You needed to get out more anyway.

Stein: You mean like you do? Hypocrite.

Disclaimer: *huff* ANYWAY, I do not own either Black Butler nor Soul Eater. The poem is mine, though. Back to you, Bob!

Stein & Undertaker: Who?

Elderwolves: Nevermind…

Warning: Man on man lovin', cause THAT'S WHAT SLASH IS PEOPLE!

First Stitch

Stitches, that is what I see.

These stitches that bind you to me.

They're sewn real close, they're sewn real strong;

They say "this is right" when it feels so wrong.

Do you see the stitches? Do you feel them too?

These stitches called love that bind me to you.

It was dark that night, the only illumination coming from the lamplights in empty London streets and the half moon dangling high in night sky. All was quiet save for the sound of running from four sets of feet racing from roof to roof. The first was a blue haired woman wearing a silver scaled jacket and boots that extended past her toes and ended in delicate looking fins that somehow didn't slow her down. Her face was pale with dramatic blue makeup over her lips, cheeks, and bulging eyes. The woman turned and sent a missile type blast of water at her pursuers out of thin air. It barely missed its target, but sent enormous chunks of brick and cement scattering.

Her three pursuers jumped apart. The white haired boy adjusted his trajectory and launched himself in his partner's direction as a red light enveloped him. He came out as a long scythe and was caught in the gloved hand of his partner.

" Let's go, Maka!"

"Right!"

Maka and Soul used their combined momentum to turn in the air. The larger, blue skinned man leapt into the air and caught Maka's outstretched hand and used the strength of his not-quite-human body to fling them clear over the blue haired woman's head and land right in front of her. Maka swung Soul down, cutting across the woman's path and forcing her to stop.

They had heard that there was a witch running rampant in the area and were sent out to collect her soul. Problem was, they didn't know much about this particular witch's abilities. Lord Death had instructed them to take one other person with them. Their old teacher was bored and decided to come along for some exercise. Because that was the kind of person he was. At one point.

The witch turned and tried to run the other way, but found her way blocked by none other than Sid the Zombie. She turned back to Maka, keeping an eye on Sid. "Nowhere to go, Witch Marina," Said Maka. Said witch slowly began sidling over to where Sid was standing, but Maka and Soul didn't notice.

"Easy now, easy now… let's talk this out."

She was swishing her hands slowly forwards and backwards, the scales on her gloves glistened softly in the dim light. Maka didn't like the look in her eyes. "Careful, Maka, she's up to something." She nodded, never losing sight of the witch as she prepared to strike, right over the witch's heart. Soul was focused too, but he was hungry and he could practically taste that witch's soul already. The duo were planning the best plan of attack and failed to notice either the witch's movement or the glowing webbing between her fingers until it was too late. Marina dodged their next attack and ran at Sid. She released an energy blade and brought it down across his chest, slicing it wide open.

Sid fell backwards over the side of the building, his eyes wide as his blood arched in the air above him. Witch Marina kept running and was five buildings away before anyone could react.

"SID!" Maka called.

"Maka, she's getting away."

"I know," they reached the ledge, "but we need to make sure Sid is all right. We'll get her later." Soul transformed back and they both looked down to see what had happened to their former teacher. Soul cursed when they saw the small mob of local spectators already surrounding Sid. Most likely someone had heard him fall and came out to see what happened, the others following suit. Not that it mattered, but it meant that there was no way that they could just go down there and get him. And from what they could see, Sid wasn't moving. His skin had gone from the blue they had grown accustomed to seeing back to his original bronze tone. Their suspicions were confirmed when they heard a cry come from one of the mobbies down in the growing crowd below.

"This guy's DEAD!"

They were helpless to do anything as more and more people came out to see the body and the constable of the area was called. There was nothing they could do as Sid's body was taken away. They loaded Sid's body into a constable's carriage and drove away. Soul and Maka had stayed up on the rooftop the entire time and hidden when the constable had gone up there to look for the clues to the dead body below. When they took Sid away, Maka and Soul followed it by jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Eventually the carriage stopped at a small, run down looking place with a large sign up front with what looked to be a skull on it. The officers got out, knocked on the door, and were admitted inside. They had been watching from their new rooftop, and Soul started to jump down.

"Okay, they're gone. Let's go and get him."

Maka started to agree but hauled him back over by the back of his jacket. He hit his head on the ground. "Ow! Maka, what the hell?!" She shushed him and pointed to where the officers had disappeared. He looked and saw that the men were already coming back out. They unloaded Sid's body from the carriage on a stretcher and carried it inside. It wasn't long before they came out again. This time, without Sid in tow.

Strangely enough, the men looked more creeped out coming out than they did carrying a dead body inside. They loaded themselves back into the carriage and drove away with such speed that Maka and Soul could only look at each other in confusion. All things considered, Sid's wounds hadn't been that bad; fatal, yes but not NEARLY as bad as some of the things they'd seen.

They kept looking, but when no one else came out they climbed down from their hiding spot. They stood in front of the shop that now had Sid hidden somewhere inside it. Soul put his hands in his pockets and kicked at a pebble. "So, what now?"

Maka thought a moment, "I guess we should report to Lord Death. But what are we supposed to say in a situation like this? What should we do? We never did get that witch's soul."

Soul glanced at her and shrugged. "Lord Death will tell us what to do. We'll just give him the facts. The witch got away. Sid's dead. And his body…" he looked up, "is here."

Maka also looked up as they both read the sign above the door.

Undertaker

When they returned, they found not only Lord Death, but Stein in the Death Room. They came running in and were out of breath as they reached the platform.

By the time that Maka and Soul finished their story, they were surprised to see the total lack of reaction from the two. "Well?" Soul looked between them, "What's going to happen now? Who's going to take Sid's place at the school?" Lord Death and Stein shared a look. Stein answered, "It'll be fine; no one needs to take Sid's place. I'll just recover his body and put him back together again." He smiled, "Easy."

Soul was about to ask how he intended to do that, then remembered who he was talking to. Hell, if he could bring someone back from death once, why not? Maka wasn't as satisfied with his answer.

"How are you going to get him out of there, Professor?" Stein just shrugged and started to roll out of the room on his chair. He threw the answer over his shoulder, "I have my ways." When he was gone, they turned back to Lord Death. Maka shuffled her feet and wouldn't look in his… er… eyes. "Sir? What about the witch?"

"Eh? What about her, Maka?"

"Well… she's still out there. Even if Professor Stein CAN fix him, she killed Sid and we let her go!"

Oh, now he saw the problem here. They were feeling slightly guilty about Sid's re-death. "Maka, you did the right thing. That witch was not a very large threat, at least as far as witches go. And death is one of the risks that come with this job, whether we like it or not. But the mortal world is very different than our own. You did well to find out where Sid is. It is imperative that they do not find out about us, about meisters, weapons, witches, or anything else about our world. Mortals are simply not ready for that kind of knowledge, and they may never be. Besides, now we can pick Sid up and Professor Stein will probably have him back to work in two weeks, maybe a month." He quirked his head to the side a bit, "You two look tired. Go home and rest. As I said, Professor Stein will take care of things from here. You're dismissed."

Both teens visibly deflated in relief and nodded. "Everything will be alright, you'll see." As the young meister and weapon turned to leave, Lord Death couldn't help but think about what he'd just said. 'I hope I'm right about that.'

It was definitely one of his more interesting clients. Granted, even the Undertaker wasn't the happiest of people when woken up at two in the morning, body or no body, but there was just something he liked about this one. Something special. He could just feel it.

The constables took his stretcher out to their carriage and brought back his newest client. The body was wearing strange clothes and looked like it'd definitely seen better days. The cause of death was pretty obvious. From the look of things, he was dead from the wound on his chest before he ever hit the ground. The wound itself was some sort of cross between a slash and a burn, the edges a dark black but cleanly severed. It reached all the way from the top of the right shoulder to the left hip. Bruises large and small littered the man's back and neck, the latter of which was twisted at such an angle that Undertaker's own neck ached in sympathy. But all of these things, the fact that most him was that though the wounds are fresh, the body showed all of the signs of being dead long before the wound was afflicted.

There was so much more to be examined, and the prospect of it brought a delighted smile to his face. This was definitely going to be an interesting job, but it was too late in the night to examine it any further. He yawned and drifted out of the back room of his funeral home (which served as the examination room/autopsy/morgue), through the parlor, and up the stairs to his apartment. Undertaker could never stand to be away from his work for long, and he felt very fortunate that when he set up in London all those years ago he managed to find a shop with a living area above it.

Before long he was face down in black velvet sheets in his own queen sized four poster bed. Most people would think that he slept in a coffin, but even he knew that that was no place to sleep. Nap, sure. But not sleep.

Undertaker was hit with a massive wave of exhaustion hit him as soon as his head hit the pillow. As he began to drift off, the facts began to replay themselves in his head, refusing to leave him alone. The wounds, the abnormal attire, the unheard of condition of the body; and more than that there was just something about it. It was subtle, but there was something just under the surface that made the back of his mind itch. It was starting to bug the hell out of him. Just as his eyes finally closed for sleep, they snapped immediately open.

He threw off the covers and ran back downstairs. The body of his client was still where he'd left it; and it was definitely dead. But if he was right, then he would need to do more than store it. It would need to be restrained.

Undertaker approached it cautiously, lifting silver bangs from acid green eyes to get a better look. Slowly, the rest of the world blacked out of his vision leaving only a vague outline of the body and soon even that faded away. As he had suspected, the soul hadn't left the body when it died. It's presence was weak, which was probably why he hadn't noticed immediately. A lesser Reaper might have missed it entirely, but he didn't get where he was by being less. It was very well hidden, using more power than most people are capable of.

When you look at someone's soul, it was vaguely resembles that person's outer body. It is bound in place only by that person's living shell, like a rat in a cage. Upon death, the walls surrounding it disappear, allowing the soul to escape and go to wherever it is meant to go. If you look into a dead body, all you will see is black space, which is what was supposed to be the case here.

As the outline of the body disappeared, the man's soul was revealed. It was a light brown color with dreadlocks. It appeared to be asleep, but what really shocked him was that it appeared to be stitched to its outer shell. It was no wonder that it hadn't left its body when it died, it hadn't been able to. One thing he knew though, whatever happened to trap this man's soul, he didn't do it to himself.

The "threads" used to bind the soul would have been the same color as the soul that cast them, but instead of brown the threads were a light blue color. And the closer he looked, the more Undertaker could swear that the stitches had stitches themselves. They actually kind of reminded him of his own stitches. Each one was strong and solid, and there were quite a few of them to make sure that the soul could not be easily removed nor could it remove itself.

It was like nothing Undertaker had ever seen before. This was complex magic, and he knew that whoever did it was not to be underestimated.

He blinked and his vision returned to normal. He restrained the body and cast a few protection and concealing spells around it to be on the safe side. Satisfied with his work, Undertaker stepped back and yawned. It was late when he'd first attempted sleep, now he was exhausted and it was now the wee hours of the morning. There was probably a maximum of three hours until daylight, but he was going to try and get as much sleep as he could. If not, he'll be dead to the world later in the day. That thought had him snickering wildly all the way up the stairs.

Professor Franken Stein rather thought that his disguise was perfect. He was dressed in the fashion of the mortals of the area. White dress shirt and tie covered by a brown tailcoat and matching slacks with shiny black loafers. Franken had created a special kind of crème back in his lab that allowed him to completely disguise his stitches. He'd never really realized just how many of them he had until he'd used up two gallons of the stuff. Before he'd left, Franken had set his dial (a/n: some call it a dial, others a knob, or a screw; I don't know exactly what it's called or what it does. But for this story it controls his I-don't-know-what-its-called-either-but-I'll-call- it-soul-sight.) to its most basic setting, preventing him from being bombarded with images of other people's souls while he was doing his business in the mortal realm. He couldn't find any way to conceal a giant knob in his head by normal means, so he used an ofuda he'd bought in Death City to hide it. To anyone who saw him on the street, Franken would look completely normal.

He could easily get himself there and back, but he needed to keep up appearances for the part he had to play. Franken had rented a closed carriage from a shop a good couple of miles away from the place he was heading to. If things went as planned, the body would be released to him, he will ride off with it, stop somewhere in the woods, then teleport both him and the newly-deceased-again Sid back to the Academy. Simple.

If all else failed, he would break in one night and steal Sid's body back. Despite his cockiness in front of Soul and Maka earlier, there really was no special trick to this. Just a strategy and some acting.

He'd decided to approach the strange shop just a few hours before sunset, when there'd be less people around. When he got there, it was worse than what Maka had described. In the dark it had looked dingy; now that it was in plain daylight it looked downright ominous. Appropriate for a funeral parlor, Franken supposed.

He climbed out of the carriage and stood standing in front of the building as its front banner with the giant skull loomed above him. Franken took a deep, calming breath and turned the knob…

The day had been rather slow; Undertaker had mixed feelings about that. He knew that it was important that he focus on his strange new client, especially with the threat of a potential necromancer on the loose. On the other hand, he loved his job and took great pleasure in having many projects to work on. But no one had come in since the police last night and he only had his strange little friend to work with. And it was debatable whether the man was even dead or not! Undertaker sighed to himself for possibly the hundredth time today. He supposed that perhaps people just weren't dying today.

"Oh well, at least you're here to keep me company, eh?" The body on the table didn't respond of course, but it was a common practice he made to talk to his clients. After all, he prided himself on his professional and courteous behavior towards his customers at all times. He assumed they appreciate the gesture. They've never told him otherwise.

He looked down at the table where his new friend lay. The tools and instruments of his trade were placed half-hazardly around the poor creature as Undertaker examined him thoroughly. He'd worked all day and was steadily learning more and more about the man he had eventually labeled "Death Fall", for his strange condition. As the day wore on, his name was abbreviated to "Specimen D.F."

Undertaker had examined the burn/gash on his chest and determined that it had been done by magic. Not just any magic, mind you, but witches magic. To make things even more interesting, it would appear that the victim was, or had once been, a meister. With those two facts in mind, it was easy to paint a picture of what might have happened. Specimen D.F. had chased or encountered a witch last night, fought it, and lost. But he couldn't help but wonder where the man's weapon was, and why hadn't it protected it's meister better? Undertaker couldn't help but think about his own weapon. She would never have allowed him to be hurt like this, nor would she abandon his body to be found by bumbling mortals.

His Death Scythe… Mina… she was one of the best friends he'd ever had. She had been with him from the beginning. And the beginning was so long ago. And now she was…

Undertaker grasped at his shirt, just above his heart, as memories and depression threatened to double him over like the cruelest pain. And grief is the cruelest pain one can feel. A tear managed to escape it's confines to slide down his cheek, but he brushed it away impatiently. This was no way to act in front of customers. With great effort, he fought off the onslaught of memories and emotions and slipped back into the mask of the mad, joke-happy Undertaker who never stopped smiling. Every time he slipped up and thought about Mina, the mask became just a little harder to wear. He went to the shelf and came back with a specimen jar full of bone shaped cookies to comfort him as he refocused on the matter at hand.

One thing was for sure, he would need to inform Lord Death of this as soon as possible. But first he had to figure out more about the spell holding the man's soul inside his body. No witch could do that, he was certain. If someone was killing meisters and/or weapons and bringing them back to life for their own purposes, Lord Death would need to know that more than anything.

Besides the fact, if England's precious Queen found out something is going on, she may send the little Earl and the hilarious butler his way for some information. Undertaker certainly wouldn't mind, he was nearly drooling at the thought of the ecstacy-inducing-golden-giggles he could demand in return for the information.

He almost wished that they would come. He so enjoyed Sebastian and Ciel's company, truly he did. Not that there'd be much they could do. After all, the victim was a meister, making this a primarily Grim Reaper affair. 'Then again, Lord Death may just decide to send some meisters and their weapons to handle this. You never quite know with that one, he's a little odd,' Undertaker thought as he munched on another bone-shaped cookie.

After identifying the source of the lethal wound he proceeded to examine the soul binding spell. He was looking for ways to revive the body or release the trapped spirit within, but his main goal was to find a way to use the magic to trace its caster. After several hours, he finally managed to isolate the magical signature. He would be able to tell immediately if the caster was close with just his eyes. If they were further away, he could use a tracking spell to find them.

Just as he reached that conclusion, the bell on his front door rang out. Undertaker stood from the stool he'd set by the examination table. He put on his hat and gave his best smile, but remained where he was. It might be a new customer, or it might be an enemy.

Franken entered the dimly lit shop and paused to let his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light. Once he could see properly, he looked around at his new surroundings. Coffins were displayed everywhere and bookshelves lined most of the walls. The shelves held both books and jars with suspicious contents.

"Hello?" Franken called out.

"Be out in a moment, stay where you are. What do you want?"

Franken turned to where the voice had come from. It seemed to originate from behind one of the bookcases on the far wall.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir. I am Professor Stolm from the English School of Medicine here in London. From what I've heard, you've recently obtained one of our cadavers by mistake." Undertaker went stiff as a board. So, this man was here for Specimen D.F. But it was no school cadaver, he'd bet his Reaper status on it. He hadn't told anyone else about it yet, so as far as he knew the only people who would know where to look for him would be the witch (which he doubted), himself, and the things creator. But Undertaker knew that if he himself had put that much work into something, he'd have a very hard time giving it up for lost. Whoever that person was, he was not who he claimed to be. He slowly approached the back room's door.

Franken slowly approached where the bookcase was. He kept his voice genial. "Yes, one of our students broke into the labs last night, stole one of the fresher ones, took out his frustrations on it, then threw it over the roof as a practical joke." He saw that the bookcase wasn't flush with the wall like he thought, but the width of it created a narrow walkway he hadn't noticed before. He couldn't see beyond it, but heard a door open at its end. Franken began to walk around the bookcase, keeping pace with the person on the other side.

"As you can probably guess, I am here on behalf of the school to retrieve our stolen property. We implore your cooperation." They both reached the end of the bookcase, but as Undertaker leaned forward to see who the mystery man was his hat fell off his head and landed on the floor. Just in Franken's line of sight.

They both bent down to pick it up at the same time. Two scared and stitched hands from two different people collided on the hat, causing both to look up at the other.

Franken Roy Stein could not believe what he was seeing. His vision had immediately darkened, but he had absolutely no trouble seeing the enormous soul floating before him. It was even bigger than his own soul but that wasn't all, either. It glowed brilliantly and was the purest shade of gray that he'd ever seen. The soul had long hair that even draped over his eyes, but it smiled in a way that was somehow crazed, content, and charming.

What he couldn't understand was why he was seeing it (though he had absolutely no objections to seeing such a beautiful soul). But his knob had been set to his own soul wavelength, so he knew from experience that the only soul he should have been able to see was his own. Franken mused on this as he stared unabashedly at the radiant orb.

Undertaker was having quite the opposite reaction. Panic flared in his chest as he saw the man in front of him. He had the same magical signature as the person who bound his client's soul and Undertaker's many years of being a Grim Reaper and all the power that they entailed allowed him to see past all of the disguises immediately. He could plainly see the man as he really was, knob and all.

In an instant he knew who this was. Undertaker had often heard stories about him from William, one of the strangest teachers at the DWMA: Professor Franken Stein. It all made sense now. The reanimated body, the stitches, and the powerful spell. He somewhat expected Specimen D.F.'s creator to come get him, but it was surprising to know it was one of the professors at the Academy. He wasn't worried about that; the body would go back to Death City, the threat of some rogue necromancer was gone, and if things got violent Undertaker was much more powerful than him. He wasn't worried about that.

The power of a Grim Reaper is about ten times that of a meister, sometimes more. When a weapon and meister pair up and collect the ninety nine kishen souls and one of a witch, the weapon is transformed into a Death Scythe that can be used by Lord Death (though they usually wind up staying with their original partners until otherwise needed). Everyone knows that much, it is one of the first things you're taught at the DWMA. The souls gathered are what gives the weapon the power to change over, and why they are eaten by the weapon. But the meisters? The meisters are changed using the power from Lord Death himself. They become immortaland their power grows exponentially. They become one of Lord Death's Grim Reapers.

Even so, Undertaker was still afraid. It had been centuries since his transformation, and he had seen much of the world with his partner and Death Scythe, Mina. But since she had… left, Undertaker had been getting more and more reclusive with the passing years. He hardly ever set foot in Death City anymore, choosing instead to spend his time running his funeral parlor and entertaining himself with the problems of mortals.

He had become a hermit to his people, and the only ones who knew where he was were William, Grell, and Lord Death. Grell and William were his closest friends, though being much younger than him, so he didn't mind them knowing. And even in seclusion, Lord Death was still his boss. But he didn't think he could stand it if everyone knew where he was, there was just too many memories in that world for him right now. If everyone knew, than he would never be left alone. Even that loon Excalibur gets visitors at least once or twice a week, not because they know him but because he's a part of ancient history you can talk to and maybe brag about seeing later. Just like Undertaker. If they found him, he'd be turned into some kind of exhibit or celebrity. He just wanted to be left alone.

A split second after he saw Stein, he made up his mind…

Before Franken gathered his wits enough to look at what the magnificent soul's body looked like, it started to vibrate with internal distress and whipped behind him and out of sight. His vision returned to normal and he searched around him for the owner of that soul. The door that led to a stairway he'd barely noticed before slammed shut and the sound of several locks clicking could be heard through the thick wood.

"G… go ahead and take it! It's in the back room!" Undertaker called out, then rushed up the stairs to the relative safety of his apartment. Franken was torn; he wanted to follow the distressed soul, but he was plagued by the thoughts of his original mission. Eventually the mission won out and he left to collect Sid from the other room. He gasped when he saw that Sid had already been stitched up by the soul he'd just seen. They were strong and painstakingly neat, and the way they were arranged made it look almost like an art form. It was certainly better than what Franken would have done. He was suddenly struck with the ridiculous notion that he wanted some of those stitches on himself. He shook his head to clear it, and hefted Sid onto a nearby gurney to take him back to his carriage.

It was important that Sid be revived as soon as possible, so he was forced to just load up the dead zombie and leave without seeing that soul again. His biggest regret was that he never got to see what that person's face looked like. With a soul like that… Now that he thought about it, his voice had been really nice, too. And it was definitely a he, Franken was sure. As they re-entered Death City, Franken's thoughts turned more and more onto the soul and it's owner. He just couldn't stop thinking about it. He was getting to the point where he'd give anything to see it again, and he couldn't even figure out why he felt like that.

It wasn't until they reached the Academy that he realized that he was still holding the hat that he'd found on the floor of that soul's funeral parlor. He stood in shock for a good few minutes as a grin spread on his face. Maybe he'd get to see it again after all…

Undertaker watched from this sitting room window in the apartment as the carriage left, taking with it the professor and his only client of the day. He breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone. Thoughts of what just happened ran through his mind too fast to really grasp. How much had he seen? Did he know? Undertaker really didn't want to think about it.

Was it possible? There were very few people who could tell a Reaper on sight, but Stein wasn't just anyone. From what he'd heard from William (the only one to keep up with the news and goings on at the Academy, Grell didn't care and Undertaker avoided Death City altogether), even though Stein graduated from the DWMA as a meister without a weapon, he was still one of the most powerful graduates of the century. But did that mean he could tell? Undertaker sighed. There was just too little information.

He spent the next couple of hours trying to convince himself that it was over, he was safe, that Stein hadn't realized that he was anything less than an eccentric mortal. Even after he closed the shop for the day, his fears still plagued him. And what was he supposed to do if the man came back?

Undertaker was about to head back up to his apartment when he heard a knocking coming from the front door. He crept to it cautiously, convinced it had to be Stein, and peeked outside. With relief he threw open the door to allow in one of his closest friends and ushered him inside. William T. Spears nodded politely and followed his host to the upper apartments. Undertaker was sure that William would be able to help him. The man was crazy smart. William, to his credit, didn't even bat an eye when Undertaker started cackling madly at seemingly nothing at all.

To Be Continued...

A/N: Well, there it is! The first chapter of Gentle Death, at this point I think I should have named it 'Stitches' but what the hell? Why not? Right now, Stein's hooked and Undertaker is in full blown panic mode. How will this turn out? Don't know, but check back for Gentle Death Chapter 2! Read and Review or I'll send Witch Marina after YOU next! Muahahahahaha!