The first thing I noticed was the smell. It didn't smell like sulfur or brimstone. It smelled like... dust. Expensive, antique dust.
I opened my eyes and found myself standing in front of a full length mahogany mirror. The reflection staring back was familiar, yet entirely foreign. Tall, pale skin, raven-black hair parted perfectly to the side, and crimson eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light.
I pulled at the collar of my tailcoat. It fit like a second skin.
Sebastian Michaelis.
I had reincarnated as the demon butler from Black Butler.
Panic should have set in. But it didn't. Instead, a wave of unnatural calm washed over me. I checked my internal state immediately. In the original anime, Sebastian was a predator constantly starving for a soul. I focused inward, searching for that hunger...
Nothing.
I felt perfectly full. No craving for human souls. No urge to manipulate a child into despair. I was just... me. But with the power of a high ranking demon.
Ding.
A sudden headache assaulted me, not from a "System" screen, but from memories flooding my brain.
Location: Gotham City.Year: 1996.Employer: The Wayne Family.Current Status: Thomas and Martha Wayne: Deceased. Alfred Pennyworth: Deceased (Heart attack from the shock of the shooting).
I frowned at the mirror, adjusting my white gloves. "So, I am the replacement. Reincarnated into the DC Universe as the sole guardian of Bruce Wayne."
I looked at my gloved hands. I possessed speed faster than a bullet, strength enough to shatter tank armor, and the ability to cook the perfect beef bourguignon.
"Well," I whispered, my voice smooth as velvet. "If I am to live in this dreary city, I suppose I must ensure my living standards are up to par. And that requires a Master who isn't dead."
I turned on my heel. It was time to meet the boy who would become Batman.
The hallways of Wayne Manor were silent. It was the silence of a tomb.
I glided across the floor, literally. My footsteps made zero sound. It was a natural instinct of this body.
I found young Bruce in the main drawing room. He was perhaps eight or nine years old, curled up on a massive leather sofa that made him look tiny. He was staring blankly at the unlit fireplace. His eyes were red and swollen.
He looked broken.
Good, a dark part of my demon brain thought. Broken things are easier to fix.No, my human side corrected. He's a grieving kid.
I stepped into the light, clasping my hands behind my back.
"Young Master," I said softy.
Bruce didn't flinch. He didn't even look up. "Go away," he croaked. "I told the police I don't want to talk."
"I am not the police," I replied, walking over to the fireplace. With a snap of my fingers too fast for a human eye to track, I struck a match and lit the wood. The fire roared to life instantly, casting a warm glow over the gloomy room.
"I am Sebastian. Your new head butler. The agency sent me to fill Mr. Pennyworth's shoes, though I admit, his fashion sense was a bit... dated."
Bruce looked up, a flash of anger in his eyes. "Alfred died trying to save my mom. Don't talk about him."
"Apologies," I bowed slightly, hand over my heart. "Loyalty is a rare trait. It is to be admired."
I walked over to the tea cart. "You haven't eaten in two days, Young Master. I have taken the liberty of preparing a light meal. Earl Grey tea, and a slice of Victoria Sponge Cake."
"I'm not hungry."
"Nonsense." I poured the tea. The aroma filled the room, bergamot and citrus. "A Wayne cannot rule Gotham on an empty stomach. And I cannot serve a master who faints from hypoglycemia. It reflects poorly on my skills."
Bruce glared at me. "Who are you? You talk weird."
I smiled. It was the Sebastian smile, eyes closed, polite, but with a hint of danger.
"I am simply one hell of a butler."
Later that evening...
I had just managed to convince Bruce to eat half a slice of cake when a loud banging echoed from the front door.
Bruce flinched, dropping his fork. "Is it the police again?"
I narrowed my eyes. My hearing was superhuman. I could hear heartbeats outside. Four of them. Rapid, aggressive. And the smell... cheap tobacco and gun oil.
"Stay here, Young Master," I said, picking up a silver napkin to wipe a crumb from his chin. "Finish your cake. I will handle the guests."
"But"
"Eat," I commanded gently. There was a weight to my voice that made him freeze and obey.
I walked to the front foyer and opened the heavy oak doors.
Standing on the porch were four men in oversized trench coats. The leader was a greasy man with a scar on his lip. He grinned, revealing yellow teeth.
"Yeah, we're lookin' for the kid," the man sneered. "Mr. Falcone sends his regards. He wants to discuss the... protection of this property."
He tried to push past me.
I didn't move. I stood like a statue in the doorway, blocking his path.
"I am afraid," I said, my voice dropping an octave, "that the Young Master is currently having his tea time. And he is not accepting solicitors."
The man laughed, pulling a snub-nosed revolver from his coat. "Listen here, Jeeves. Get out of the way or I'll put a hole in your fancy suit."
I looked at the gun. Then I looked at his muddy boots on the pristine porch I had just swept.
"You have brought mud onto the doorstep," I sighed, closing my eyes. "And that tie... paisley with plaid? Truly criminal."
My eyes snapped open. They weren't brown anymore. They were glowing neon pink.
"You have three seconds to leave before I take offense."
The thug blinked. "What are y—"
Whoosh.
I moved.
_________________________________________________________________________
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