Undertaker Black Butler Real Name Novels & Stories

"Then if you want trust, Anatoli, you'll at least tell me his name, this Master or Raven." Anatoli exhaled. "In our country he is called chernaya smert' or black death. No one knows of his real name. That is the truth. Even his nationality is unknown. He's a man of many disguises. He lives in the shadows where he has for years, but he is a true monster and wherever he goes, make no mistake, death will follow."

He took the oath before sitting. Dylan walked closer. "State your name." "Viktor Schneider." "Your occupation?" "I own The Velvet Room." "Were you acquainted with Marcus Kuntz?" "Yes." "In what capacity?" "He was one of our regular clients." "Were you working on the evening of his death?" "Yes." "Did Dr. Karma Kuntz visit your establishment that evening?" "She did." "What did she do there?" "She met with one of the dancers." "Who?" "I don't know her real name, but she goes by Mia."

But it was too soon. The doors slid open, and a man I didn't recognize stepped out. He was older, dressed in a charcoal suit that cost more than a year of my father’s salary. He carried a leather briefcase and moved with the silent, practiced grace of a shark. "Mrs. Blackwood," he said, his voice as smooth as polished stone. "My name is Silas Vane. I am the patriarch of the family Killian and Dominic so desperately tried to destroy." The Third Monster.

“But it worked.” She laughed despite herself. His smile was magnetic. Warm, but hiding something. They reached her apartment steps, and she paused to look up at him properly. “Who are you?” she asked. He reached into his coat, pulled out a small, cream-colored card with embossed gold letters. He handed it to her with a slight bow. Sebastian Blackmoor Investor. Martial Artist. Occasional Savior. “You’re joking,” she murmured. “Deadly serious,” he replied, his smirk widening. “Now you have my name and number. Use it if you ever need a less disappointing night.”

“The assassin… his real name is Caleb Blackthorne.” The world stopped. Caleb Blackthorne. My father.

"He is just a condescending jerk trying to draw attention. I will sort out my textbook issue with him after school, but now, I am more worried about why he was with Killer earlier." Nate relaxes back into his chair, exhaling. "Killer's real name is Chris Bradford. Before he joined the underground, he was well known in the big leagues. His trainer then was Steven Rodriguez." I cough out in shocked reflex. "Steven Rodriguez? You mean. . . .you mean Jason's dad?"

Still, the undertaker panicked after hearing what I said, and his voice quivered even more, “Maria, old people say that if you’re not given a proper burial, you won’t be able to rest in peace, remember? Do you really want to suffer even after death?” Being unable to rest in peace was not as scary as living, honestly. “Are you listening?” I snapped out of my thoughts and sat on the parapet. Cheekily, I decided to scare him a little. “You’re delaying my plans to die.” The undertaker was silent for a moment. Then, I heard him running even more hurriedly before I heard a loud shout. “I never owe anyone anything! Since I took your money, I’m going to be responsible for giving you a proper burial!

Because clearly they underestimated me. One man stood directly in front of me, tall, built like a wall. His face was hidden by a black mask, but his voice was steady when he spoke. Wore a black long sleev, probably trying to hide the fact he had a tattoo. But unfortunately for him he unconsciously raised the sleeve on one arm and quickly brought it down, but I say enough to know the first one was that of a tiger. “Alexander Blackwood. You know why you’re here ?"

Maybe she had one of her secretaries pick me up, so she could torture me faster. But the owner of the black car was wearing a suit that was too expensive for his profession. The way he stood, and his gesture of glancing at that super-expensive watch, were not at all the same as mom's secretary. But above all else, I'll never be able to forget that slice of black hair flowing against the wind. “Butler.” I called out to the butler, before my steps actually reached the front yard of the mansion. “Tell that man the woman he's looking for doesn't exist. And tell him never to set foot in this house again.”

All of George and Old Niner’s underlings were now out cold. Bang! Someone kicked the door open. A group of men entered from the outside. Their leader was Butler Yates, clad in a suit, bearing a gentle and refined disposition. “Who are you? Do you know what place this is?” Old Niner rose with a furious shout. He still hadn't lost the aura tempered from his days in the underworld. Butler Yates replied calmly, “You're Old Niner? And the other one is George Zabel, is that right?” “You dare act like this when you know who we are?!” Old Niner snarled.