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Chapter Text

Tanith couldn't remember any time her feelings had been so intense, so bright against the inside of her head. It was strange, to live her life so fully, to feel as swift and powerful as she did. Not bad, exactly, just strange. She couldn't remember any time when her love had filled her so completely, not before the Remnant had entered her heart.

Tanith loved few people. She'd loved Ghastly Bespoke at one point. She still did, but she knew that if she went to him he's just tear the Remnant out of her and break her in pieces, like she was before the Remnant came into her heart. Her love of Ghastly wouldn't make her come back to him, not when he didn't understand what the Remnant had done for her. She didn't like that, but there it was.

She loved Billy-Ray Sanguine in a knife-sharp, angry sort of way. It was hard to love him sometimes, but he was the only one there, and both the Remnant and Tanith needed someone there to love. Anyway, he really was a sweetheart once you got past the insane murderer bit. He understood about killing, even if he was dense about other things. All the same, she loved him. It was hard not to.

But the person she loved best was Valkyrie.

Or, maybe it was better to call her Darquesse. The swift figure drenched in blood that she'd seen for a few brief minutes at Macgillycuddy's Reeks. Before the Remnant had made its way inside her, Tanith had been terrified of her. She was vicious and indiscriminate, killing without remorse or even thought, and was seemingly unable to be defeated. Tanith had seen her eyes, empty of anything but a smirking bloodlust. She was beautiful. Tanith knew that Darquesse must be brought out again (a conclusion reached at the urging of the Remnant, when they had both been a bit more than one). Beauty such as hers could never be kept bottled up inside. That lovely, terrible force of destruction, raw and untempered, like a storm.

Tanith loved her, truly and deeply.

Before she and the Remnant had joined, Tanith had already loved Valkyrie, loved her like a little sister. She would have been willing to die for her little sister, fierce Valkyrie all in black. Of course, now Tanith realized that kind of devotion was all well and good, but it just wasn't enough. One had to be willing, had to want to kill for someone they loved for their devotion to be worth anything. Tanith understood that now. It was one of the things she'd come to realize when the Remnant had locked itself to her.

Killing for love was good. It was something strangely pure to kill someone and know they were dying for a noble cause, even if they didn't realize it. Not that killing in its own right was bad, or anything (something Tanith was almost uncomfortable with, but ignored the discomfort in favor of the fun), but it was different when you killed for someone you loved. Was there any other way to express your devotion?

No. Not to Tanith, there wasn't.

Chapter Text

Skulduggery was alone, in a manner of speaking.

When he had first been dragged through the portal, he had been met with the defiant screams of natives fighting the Faceless One. There were few of them, of course, and even fewer willing to fight, but they had been there. They'd been alive, and they'd been people to talk to, even if their conversational skills were lacking.

Now there was no one. He had been captured by the Faceless Ones (it was, he admitted, an inevitable possibility), made their toy. He supposed he gave more amusement because he was harder to break than their other toys.

Truthfully, he hadn't been too concerned after the first few days. He'd begun to see things after about a week of constant torture, and he found that worrying about his hallucinations was a far more engaging pastime than worrying about future agonies. They were good distractions, and he enjoyed theorizing about why he was hallucinating if he had no brain to malfunction (at least, he was pretty sure he didn't). He wasn't aware that zombies had hallucinations, so why should a living skeleton be any different? Nevertheless, there they were, a parade of misty figures growing more solid by the day, pronouncing his failures at the same time playing the most lovely musical numbers.

The first vision he'd had had been of Machination Undertow.

He'd dragged himself into a vacant house, both of his legs missing, torn off by the vessel of the Faceless Ones. He had lain on the ground, in the shadows, and attempted to ignore the constant ache of his missing limbs. He'd sunk into a bleary half-meditation, when he noticed a tall figure standing over him, the sunlight shining through her body.

Machination smiled her radiant smile down at him, despite her face being covered in blood. He stared up at her, the pain gone, now replaced with panicked terror at the state of his mental faculties.

"Hello, Lovely." it was the closest Machination had ever gotten to a petname. 'Lovely.' The word struck him dully, making his chest ache. "You've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, I see." she was the master of understatements.

For once, witty retorts abandoned him. "You're not real," he said, wincing inwardly at the weakness of the phrase.

"I'm as real as you are." his dead wife crouched down next to him, and continued. "You got a second chance, Lovely. Even if you are a bag of bones now, you still got a second chance. Why didn't I get one? Why didn't Anza get one?"

"Hallucination. Not real." Skulduggery wasn't sure what to do when ghosts of one's dead wife came back to notify one of his own guilt. He'd had fever dreams when he was alive, but nothing that looked quite as detailed as Machination. "Not real. If you were real, whose blood is that?" he mentally kicked himself. His witty retorts were quite poor as of late, but this had to be the worst. That didn't even make any sense.

"Mine, of course." Machination smiled in that way of hers, the way that had always made the sun shine brighter. "Really, Skulduggery, you should know that."

She'd continued to speak, reminiscing about all the times Skulduggery had let her down in the lightest, sweetest voice imaginable, her form growing more and more solid by the minute. He tried to ignore her, tried to look at anything but her, but she called a lot of attention to herself. Skulduggery decided it was the blood, and refused to think of any other reason. She talked for so long that he stopped listening. He wasn't quite sure why all this guilt manifested itself right now. He'd had plenty of time for guilt before.

It was strange that no one joined Machination. She was the only hallucination that appeared. Then again, Skulduggery hadn't ever had hallucinations quite as extensive as this one. He hardly noticed when her voice faded away, and he was left alone.

He wasn't alone for long, however. The silence left by Machination's absence was soon filled by an accusatory Ghastly, then a smug Serpine who quickly devolved into an opera-singing Serpine. After that was a China who inexplicably had Skulduggery's own voice, then a Valkyrie who lectured him about abandoning her.

He tried to ignore them, he really did. Thankfully, it was easier to ignore them than he thought it would be, because he spent a lot of time either being tortured or practicing magic. After a while, though, he couldn't ignore them anymore. He then tried to banter with them, only to find it was rather like bantering with himself, and thus unfullfilling. Finally, after weeks of their persistent presence, he resigned himself to them. They weren't going to leave anytime soon, that was positive. Anyway, a little introspection wasn't harmful (even if this was quite a ridiculous amount of introspection, it probably wasn't damaging in the long term).

The hallucinations began to wear on him after about the third month. He kept count of the days, or, at least, the hallucination of himself with skin did. Skulduggery-plus-skin always, without fail, told proper Skulduggery the time when he appeared. The thought that some part of his mind was constantly keeping track of the time was confusing, as proper Skulduggery wasn't sure whether to be horrified or glad.

After about the fourth month, he designed a shield to try and keep them out. He figured that his own hallucinations had to adhere to the rules he put down for them, and it worked, to a point. They could still talk, though. Skulduggery gradually grew more and more concerned about what all the torture and talking to himself was doing to his psyche, especially since the visions grew louder and more solid each time they appeared.

And that was how it went for eleven months, twelve days, two hours, ten minutes and fifty-six seconds (down to the second. How did he keep track of that? How?). Torture, hallucinations, and magic. He could fly now. He though that was very clever of himself.

He'd gotten away from the vessel for what had to be the thousandth time (yes, he knew the time of day down to the second, but not how many times he'd been chased down and his limbs torn off. Go figure) when a Valkyrie appeared. She was older looking, with different clothes and an oddly concerned look on her face. Most of his Valkyrie hallucinations looked angry, even if they were singing. This Valkyrie was different. She whispered plaintively, like she actually wanted to see him. That hurt in a way he didn't expect.

Nevertheless, he treated her like any other hallucinations. He startled her, making the concerned expression drop and replaced with a much more familiar angry one. Curiously, she didn't break out into song or convince him of his own worthlessness. She really seemed like she was real, though she looked too old. Skulduggery supposed he could have changed her appearance subconsciously because his subconscious was an angry, easily-bored bastard who liked to toy with his conscious half. At least, that was Skulduggery's theory.

In any case, the Valkyrie refused to be convinced of her own nonexistence, instead declaring that she was there to rescue him.

Well, that was a new one. He'd never had rescuer hallucinations before. Maybe he should see this one out.

Chapter Text

Tanith wanted to look away very, very badly.

A shadow stood in place of Valkyrie Cain. A shadow dressed in blood, with wide dark eyes and a distantly annoyed expression. Blood and other more unpleasant fluids covered the ground, covered her hands, her face. Bodies were strewn in her wake. Darkness trailed behind her, dripping from her fingers, where her Necromancy ring could no longer contain the shadows. The very sky seemed to darken at her presence. There was nothing of Valkyrie in those dark eyes, none at all. At least, that was what Tanith told herself.

She didn't want to think her friend could ever have done something such as this. Tanith had seen quite a bit of carnage in her life, but nothing so...extensive as this. The bodies had been torn apart. Not stabbed, or burned, or strangled. Torn to shreds, quite casually, it seemed, given how relaxed Darquesse seemed about it all. She was barely breathing hard.

Tanith bit her lip, not wanting to take her eyes off Darquesse, whose hands clenched and unclenched unsettlingly. Tanith tried to catch Darquesse's eyes, but for some reason couldn't. Darquesse wouldn't look straight at her. She wasn't looking straight at anything, really. Not Tanith, not Skulduggery, not the mountains or the sky. Her head tilted from side to side, eyes unfocused.

Suddenly, she did start staring at Tanith. Tanith tightened her grip on her sword, knuckles turning white. She still couldn't meet Darquesse's eyes, though...No. She wasn't looking at Tanith. Tanith's sword. Staring at her reflection in the silver surface, mesmerized. Darquesse looked up as Skulduggery attempted to appeal to Darquesse, to reach Valkyrie and pull her back to the surface.

Then Darquesse spoke.

It was perhaps the most awful thing Tanith had ever heard, but she didn't know why. It was Valkyrie's ordinary voice, but removed of its signature sharpness. Her voice was somewhere between a whisper and a shout, unpleasantly smooth and slippery, sounding as if it could ooze darkness like the rest of her. Tanith couldn't really hear what she said, or couldn't really understand it, and didn't want to anyway. Skulduggery remained unshaken. He continued speaking, calmly telling her who she was.

Tanith saw something flicker in Darquesse's eyes. Some small spark of recognition, some part of the true Valkyrie. When Skulduggery finished speaking, Darquesse smiled absently for a minute before a Remnant came pouring out of her mouth. Or, Tanith supposed, what was left of a Remnant. It didn't look like much of anything but smoke, and dissipated as soon as it left Darquesse's body. Darquesse (or Valkyrie, now-even her posture had changed slightly) collapsed to her knees, exhausted. Skulduggery caught her before she fell to the ground, and Tanith heard some whispered exchange between the two of them before Skulduggery pressed the barrel of his gun to Valkyrie's head.

Chapter Text

"I'm just worried, Gordon."

Gordon frowned at his brother. "Worried about what?"

The two of them sat outside of a restaurant near the center of Haggard. It was a small restaurant, of the kind with exactly four waitresses and an inexplicably friendly atmosphere. At least, Gordon though it was inexplicable. His brothers didn't tend to share his views on the subject.

Desmond sat across from him, toying with his fork. He'd barely touched his food. Gordon, on the other hand, was ravenous. He'd spent the entire night previous exploring his house. It had recently been brought to his attention that a sorcerer had built the house, and Gordon had already found one secret passage. He was hoping for more.

"Ever since Dad died, you've been acting...kind of strange." curious. Desmond was usually blunter. Granted, he usually paid less attention as well, so maybe Gordon was acting a little odd...better to ask.

"What do you mean? I certainly don't feel any odder." Gordon tried a smile. Desmond didn't smile in return. Apparently, this was serious.

"This is the first time I've heard from you in weeks, Gordon." Desmond said, staring into his untouched cup of tea. He looked back up at Gordon, a crease between his brows. "Fergus didn't hear from you either. I mean, I knew you two didn't always get along-" Gordon snorted. He hadn't known Desmond could be quite such a master of the understatement. "-But I could understand if you avoided him. Ever since he married that woman...well, my point is, you never avoided me before."

Gordon smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I've been really busy. I've met some new people, and-"

"New people?" Desmond asked interestedly.

"Well..." Gordon pondered for a moment. "They're very...strange. I don't think you'd even believe half of the things these people get up to." Gordon shook his head. He couldn't believe some of the things Skulduggery got up to.

"Oh, I probably would." Desmond said, relaxing a bit. Strange was better than psychotic. "Nothing too dangerous, I hope?"

Gordon grinned, mostly to himself. "Well, I never get too involved. Never liked actual danger, really."

Desmond frowned. The serious face had returned, it seemed. "What do these people do, exactly?"

Here Gordon gave pause. Then he said "Des, you remember those stories Dad always told?"

"...ye-es. So?"

"Well, they're pretty much true."

"...What." Desmond didn't look shocked, like Gordon had expected. He looked more like he was expecting Gordon to shout 'April Fools!' Gordon chose to interpret that as a good sign.

"They're true! Well, with a little, or a lot, of tasteful exaggeration here and there, but largely true. The magic parts, anyway." Gordon would probably be explaining this all afternoon. Desmond loved knowing how things worked. It really worked out quite well for the both of them, because Gordon liked explaining things.

"Um. Gordon..." Desmond seemed to have been struck speechless. That was all right. Gordon could work with speechless.

"It's true! We could go back to my house, and I could show you myself-"

"No." came the uncharacteristically abrupt answer. "No. That's fine." a peculiar hardness had taken over Desmond's features. "Listen, Gordon, I have to go, Melissa probably needs me for something-"

Gordon frowned at his brother. "You don't believe me."

"Of course I believe you!" Desmond paused. "Actually, no, no I don't. Not at all. When did you-why did you even-" Desmond sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, half getting out of his seat. "I can't deal with this now. I really can't."

Gordon stared at him. "Well, if that's how you feel, I'll pay," he said, not sure of what else to say. "Should I call you more often, then?"

"No, Gordon, this isn't about you calling me, I mean..." attempted Desmond. "Just...Never mind. I'll see you later. Call me sometime."

With that, Desmond made an incredibly harried exit. He had the uncomfortable expression of a man who believes he is truly the only sane person in the room, and detests it with all his might. Gordon continued to stare after him, unsure when he'd grown quite so far apart from his brother.

Chapter Text

Valkyrie hadn't slept in three days, and when she sat facing the Reflection, she sagged.

"Tell me what you know." she told the Reflection.

The Reflection pursed its lips, looking as concerned as it was possible for a reflection to look. "You should sleep."

Valkyrie narrowed her eyes. "You told me you know more than I do. Tell me what you know!"

"Why are you so interested?"

Valkyrie ran a hand over her face, and sighed. "I..." she started. "I don't know how I become Darquesse."

"Why would I know?"

"You know things! You told me yourself!"

"But would you listen?"

"Of course I would!" snapped Valkyrie angrily. "What sort of question is that?"

The Reflection raised an eyebrow at her. Valkyrie glowered back. "Look, either tell me something useful or go away," she said.

"I can only tell you things you already know. And what you already know is, you can't trust anyone but yourself." The Reflection put a delicate hand on Valkyrie's shoulder. "You can't trust anyone but me. Yourself."

Valkyrie bit her lip. That made sense. It made far more sense than she liked to think. However, she said "How are you sure? I can trust them. Of course I can trust my friends."

"What did Skulduggery do, after he woke us up?" asked the Reflection, very quietly. "After he stopped Darquesse?"

"Put his gun to our-to my-head. But that was just to get the Remnants to back off-"

"I'm pretty sure they stopped thinking of you as their Messiah when you started killing them."

Valkyrie gnawed on her lower lip. "That's right. He didn't have to threaten me. Neither did Tanith. She had her sword up to my throat, but she was just following Skulduggery."

"Remember what China and Ghastly said then, while he had his gun to your head?" the Reflection leaned in closer to Valkyrie, to whisper this into her ear.

"They were possessed-"

"Ghastly said that he would do it. He would kill you. China even said that she was surprised he hadn't already. Surprised." The Reflection looked angry for a moment, then its face relaxed into its ordinary neutral expression.

Understanding suddenly shone in Valkyrie's eyes. "Possession doesn't mean your memories are overwritten," she said slowly. "They would know. They would know if Skulduggery could be trusted."

"But they never told you. They never told us."

"They knew and they didn't say anything!"

"We never trusted China in the first place. Not truly. This was not unexpected."

"But Ghastly..."

"Ghastly isn't around long enough anymore," said the Reflection, pulling Valkyrie closer and lowering its voice. "He's far too busy to be relied on. And it's not like he ever told us anything too useful to begin with."

"I love Fletcher, I really do, but..." Valkyrie took one of the Reflection's hands. It was cooler than it should have been, but the skin felt very real. "I don't know, he's just...I know he won't always be able to help me. He'll never be able to save me. Caelan...not to be trusted. I can't trust him. I thought I could, but..."

"No. Absolutely not. He's far to dangerous, far too unpredictable. He'd save from certain death just to kill you himself."

"Tanith...well." Valkyrie and the Reflection shared a look at that.

"And everyone else we could trust is dead." added the Reflection. "There's only us. There's only me."

"No one else will help us, not really." Valkyrie barely noticed when she switched from using 'me' to 'us.'

"Nor save us. We've had to save Skulduggery, twice!" again, anger flickered across the Reflection's face. "That should never happen."

"No," Valkyrie agreed. "It shouldn't."

"Then no one can save us from becoming Darquesse,"

"No one will even know how it happens, not the seers, not a Sensitive, not anyone."

"That's right."

"Then what do I do? How do I stop it?"

The Reflection shook its head. "I don't know," it said. "I'm sorry. Nothing about this makes sense, not even Remnant possession."

Valkyrie shuddered. Unlike the others who'd been possessed, she remembered every moment. She knew that wasn't right. In any case, she knew what the Remnant had done-almost nothing. It had broken some barrier, and then she had trapped it inside her own head, using its strength for her own. She killed so many people for absolutely no reason.

The Reflection seemed to sense Valkyrie's discomfort. It put a hand on the side of her face. "We will fix it," it said. "We are the only ones who can. We have to."

Valkyrie smiled hesitantly. "It's not like there's anyone else," she said, mimicking the Reflection's movement. The skin of the Reflection's face was also oddly cool, but the skin felt real. Its (her) face felt real. Real enough to hold, to touch...to kiss. Valkyrie had never really noticed how beautiful she really was.

They leaned in very, very close to each other. Valkyrie could see the individual lashes that adorned the Reflection's eyelids. Valkyrie wondered if the Reflection's lips felt as real as the rest of her, and she decided that it would be a good idea to find out.

"Trust me," they said to each other. "We're the only one."

Chapter Text

Through the flames, Anthony saw a woman. She was tall and wiry, dressed in a long dark coat, short black hair tossing in the wind. She moved swiftly, shadows following behind her and smothering out the fire. When she'd put most of the fire out, she swirled her shadows around her hand and they vanished into a black band around one of her fingers. She smiled at Anthony, a smirking, knife-sharp sort of smile.

"You all right?" her voice was oddly sharp as well. Andrew nodded numbly. "Good. Did you tell him your name?"

"...What?"

"The man who lit the place on fire. Did you tell him your name?" she asked again, speaking slower this time, looking around as if for additional flames to put out.

"No. No, I didn't. He didn't even ask me."

She looked at him. "He didn't? That's weird. Well, anyway, we need to get you out of here. Do your parents live anywhere nearby?" She began walking away from the remains of the fire. Anthony hurried to catch up, saying "You're not going to tell me what's going on? Who that man was? Who you are?"

"No, probably not. I try not to be responsible for teenagers. It's the entire reason I never had children."

"What? I don't care about that! Why was he after me? What did he want? What's going on?" he grabbed her arm. "I should at least know who you are."

She glared at him, lips pursed, and yanked her arm out of his grip. "Okay. I'm still not responsible for you though."

"Fair enough."

"He was after you, I think, because he wanted something from you he thought only you had. I don't know who he was." she adjusted the collar of her coat. "I'm Valkyrie Cain. I'm a detective."

"Of course you are. Why not?" Anthony sighed, still looking rather shell-shocked. "What I really want to know is how many detectives have magical darkness rings?"

"Only me. I'm quite good at it, too."

"Not like I have any basis for comparison."

"That is an excellent point. Anyway, we still need to get you out of here. Where do you live? What were you doing out here anyway?" they had walked far enough that Anthony could see the road again, and he noticed the shape of a car parked near the edge of the forest.

"I live nearby, in Haggard. I'm house-sitting, for a friend, but that...man showed up."

"Why did you run away from the house? You'd think that staying in and calling the police would have made the most sense."

"He was breaking in. The nearest police station is miles away. I figured it was the choice that made the most sense at the time. He never said he wanted me, after all. He chased after me anyway though."

Valkyrie bit her lip in thought. "Gordon Edgely, right? That's whose house you were at?"

"Yes, how did you-wait, you haven't been following him, have you?" said Anthony with narrowed eyes.

Valkyrie gave him an odd look. "I'm his niece."

"Oh. I was worried for a minute. He gets looney fans. You seem-pardon me-a bit old to be his niece, though."

"He's older than he looks. He never talks about his family, does he?"

"Now that you mention it...no. So what did the man want? Did he want me in particular?"

"No, I think he just thought you would know, because Gordon trusted you to keep the house. He was yelling about a key when I found you. You wouldn't happen to know what that is, would you?" she gave him a piercing look. She'd stopped walking now, and was standing in front of the sole car parked on the side of the road. Anthony supposed it was hers.

"No. I have no idea."

"Well, that's not much help. Doesn't matter. Anyone so heavy-handed as to light a forest on fire probably isn't that hard to find." she opened one of the car doors, and added "Come on. You still need to get home, because I don't want to be blamed for your inevitable hypothermia-related death."

Anthony stared at her. "What?"

"Just get in the car."

"Getting in a strange woman's car. What an excellent idea."

"This strange woman just saved you from a maniac who was intent on your fiery death. You seem to have three options here; car, death from hypothermia, and there is always the possibility that the lunatic will come back for some more flame-assisted murder."

"You use the word 'death' quite a bit. Is that normal? Or even healthy?"

"Yes."

Anthony sighed and got in the car. It was a rather nice car, though when he asked her about what kind she was, she said nothing more than it was a nice car. She didn't seem to want to talk about it much. That was a shame. Anthony liked cars, though his taste leaned more towards ones of ridiculous colors.

"So, where do you live?" Valkyrie asked when they reached the outskirts of some small town.

"I really don't think you should just drop me off at home."

"It's not safe at Gordon's."

"I don't think my parents would appreciate a random woman dropping me off in the middle of the night when I'm supposed to be looking after someone's house."

"I can explain it to them."

"They're very stubborn. Why don't you just take me with you? I really don't want to be tracked down and burned to death by that key-maniac because you were negligent."

"No responsibility, remember?" she paused. "You may have a point there though. And I really don't feel like explaining magical arson to a pair of stubborn middle-aged mortals."

"...'mortals?'"

"Technical term. I'll explain never. Do you want to risk life and limb and come with me, then?"

Anthony weighed his options. On the one hand, he had his boring life in Haggard that was peppered with the possibility of someone magical trying to hunt him down and kill him and him being ill-prepared. That didn't sound good. On the other hand, he had the more regularly dangerous life with Valkyrie Cain, who not only seemed to be exciting, but was quite good with both firearms and magical shadow ring things, whatever they were. She wasn't too keen on explaining anything, now that he noticed.

To him, the choice was quite obvious, no matter how annoying it was.

"I'm coming with you, of course."

Chapter Text

"There are a ridiculous amount of advertisements in this store, China." said Skulduggery, the neutral expression on his facade belying the astonishment in his voice.

The two of them walked along an aisle in an upscale grocery store. It was the only store that China went to that wasn't owned by a sorcerer. She liked the place because it had food that wasn't likely to become sentient. That was the real problem with magical grocery stores-it was uncomfortably possible for the food to be imbued with magic and jump up and attack you.

"I believe that is you noticing things that can honestly be ignored." China said, examining a bunch of tomatoes. "You do that too often to be entirely healthy. Or tolerable."

"Of course it's tolerable. Everything about me is positively tolerable."

"Well, at least that can be said of you."

He glared at her, but glaring at China always had the unfortunate side effect of making him forget what he was talking about. He looked right at her shining hair and her deep blue eyes, and forgot that anything existed at all except her.

He shook his head to clear it, and tore his gaze away from China. "I really hate it when you do that. I can't maintain eye contact with you for five minutes..."

"Do what?" she asked innocently, examining a head of cabbage. To Skulduggery's dismay, he realized (for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes...curse China's beautiful face!) that they were still in the produce section. They were going to be in the store for a while yet.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I most assuredly do not. I can't help it if I perfectly fit your parameters for female beauty."

Skulduggery didn't even try to glare at her again. In any case, his facade felt slightly strained from all the expressions he'd been putting it through. Well...a few expressions. Two of them. It was enough, facades were delicate spells. It had nothing to do with him not being able to manipulate the facade very well. Nothing at all.

"In any case, there remain an inordinate amount of advertisements."

China sighed. "Of course there are. It's a store."

"I always thought that the point of advertisements was to make you go to a store. These just seem redundant," he noted, looking at the various ads on shopping carts and the like.

"Most people ignore them. I would be ignoring them too, if you weren't intent on noticing every insignificant detail that a grocery store has to offer."

"I am far too observant to ever be asked to ignore something."

"But it it necessary to inform me of every minute aspect of what you see?"

"Of course it is."

China shot him a faintly stiff smile. Skulduggery was unprepared, and he walked beside her in slack-jawed silence for a moment or two. The he shook himself out of it again.

"You really have to stop doing that." he said, annoyed.

"Doing what? Smiling at the man I share my household with?"

"Yes."

"No wonder Valkyrie wanted a break from you. You go out of your way to be depressing."

"I provide a much-needed balance is all."

"You go far beyond needed, my dearest. You go from not needed to almost frivolous."

"I am many things China, but I am never frivolous." said Skulduggery with great dignity.

"Of course you are. Why else would I bring you shopping?"

"Because I give you valued imput."

"You haven't eaten in over four hundred years. You don't even know how to cook. In the case of anything pertaining to food, you are perfectly ornamental."

"And what an amazing ornament I make."

"That, I cannot fault." China smiled at him again, this one more genuine. This time Skulduggery caught a glimpse before he managed to look away, quickly pulling his hat down over his eyes.

"You have quite a lovely smile, China, but do you really have to point it at me?" he grumbled.

"But of course," said China, examining her shopping list. The list was written in China's elegant handwriting, for fear that Skulduggery's own spidery writing would be illegible. "Would you mind terribly much if I told you to go find some soap and shampoo for me?"

"Yes. Yes I would."

"Well, we all have to do things we don't want to. Even ornaments have their uses."

"Namely, looking wonderful as I do."

"That, and fetching me soap."

They debated for another few minutes before China finally convinced him to actually be of use. The convincing may or may not have included a particularly sweet smile (read; particularly effective smile) and the suggestion of a sensory spell when they got home. In any case, China was left to wander the store in peace.

She had not been twenty minutes by herself when she heard a great commotion coming from a few aisles down. She would hardly have minded had she not heard Skulduggery yelling at someone in the midst of it all. She gave a slight sigh and briskly made her way to the aisle in particular, not going so fast as to look like she was hurrying.

She found Skulduggery engaged in a shouting match with a man a bit older than himself. The man in question was smaller than Skulduggery, dressed in a ratty coat but inexplicably decent boots. He was clutching his cheek like someone-most likely Skulduggery-had hit him.

China had no idea what they were screaming at each other and didn't care to find out. She grasped Skulduggery's elbow quite firmly and frowned at the man in the ratty coat. The other man fell silent at once, his eyes glazing over.

"Skulduggery," she said calmly. "I believe we should go."

Skulduggery's facade was totally blank, the eyes not looking at anything in particular, the skin waxy and bloodless. China knew that only happened when he completely lost control over it, and began actively steering Skulduggery away, towards the exit.

"China-" he began.

"I can't take you anywhere." she said, flashing a beaming smile at a clerk who noticed her leaving with several bags of shopping she clearly had not paid for. The clerk's jaw went slack, and she stopped in her tracks. "I think I'll get my assistant to do the shopping now, we can't possibly finish with you getting into shouting matches with every enemy you run into in the store."

"China, that was Flit Crescent." Skulduggery didn't even notice that they'd stolen several bags of groceries. That was more proof than anything that China needed to get him home before something worse than yelling happened.

"I'm afraid I don't remember the names of all your adversaries, Skulduggery, no matter what evidence I give to the contrary."

"Flit was Symmetry's son."

"That does not help in the slightest."

"Symmetry Waterwings, my first teacher!"

"You still remember her, then?"

"Of course I-"

"What did her son want?"

"To scream at me, mostly. I didn't catch all of it, but none of it was good."

"Why did you hit him?" but this point, they had come to China's car. Skulduggery seemed to have calmed down somewhat. His skin wasn't looking quite so fake, at any rate.

"He surprised me. He came up behind me and grabbed my shoulder. I didn't realize who he was."

"How did he recognize you?"

"I think it was how I stood. Flit never did remember people by the way their faces looked." Skulduggery said this last in a more wistful tone. "He used to be a friend of mine, but...well..."

"I don't care how he stopped being your friend. All I care about right now is going home." China didn't want to hear about Skulduggery's past. It was a bit of an unspoken rule with them, that they didn't talk about their histories.

Skulduggery didn't say much of anything else, just stared out of the window in a melancholy sort of way. China didn't like it. She'd never liked melancholy, never had time for it and never thought it was that important of an emotion to waste time on.

"You have far too many enemies, Skulduggery." she said quietly when they were about halfway home. "Too many enemies and too many former friends."

"So do you, China."

"I don't engage in shouting matches with every one I come across. That would be far too undignified."

"I don't know, some shouting matches can be fairly dignified..."

Skulduggery still sounded too conflicted for China's comfort. There were too many emotions in his posture, the way he held his head, but he didn't look on the verge on rage anymore. He was calm enough to hold a conversation, and that was all China asked.

Chapter Text

Nye hated having to leave their home. It had been their ancestral home, the home of Nye's Hive for as long as anyone could remember. Sadly, Nye had to make some sacrifices to continue with their experiments. Ever since the rest of the Hive had died, mages intent on harm had been coming closer and closer, lingering at the gates as if gathering the courage to come in and knock on the door.

It had been easier in the old days, when the Hive still thrived and the caves under the home were still occupied with Nye's ancestors. By the time Nye was born, though, the Hive numbers had already been dwindling, mostly due to Hive fighting itself. The Hive had split into several Factions, each warring with each other for...well, Nye could hardly keep track, their desires changed so fast. One day two Factions would be fighting over food, another day three of them would be fighting over a choice spot in the caves.

Nye never cared. They chose not to ally themselves with anyone, instead hiding in the deepest caves where the only occupants were long dead Hive magicians and murderers. Nye was fascinated with the body and the soul, and their fascination only grew the further they explored the home. What was a soul? What was the space it occupied?

Nye's curiosity eventually grew so great that they had to find someone to dissect. The Factions would not miss one small Hive brother, one who like Nye themselves, refused to ally. The brother, unlike Nye, chose pursuits of a religious rather than a magical or a scientific nature, and was frequently seen staring into the largest dark cave pool, the one that no one drank from. Nye took the brother in the dead of night, when the lamps were put out and the various glowing crystals dimmed as if they were somehow connected with the sun's rising and setting.

Unfortunately, Nye could not find a soul in their religious brother. The brother died very soon after Nye began to cut them open, bleeding everywhere and making an uncomfortable amount of racket. Nye feared that they were a bit too zealous in dissecting the brother. More experiments would obviously have to be conducted before Nye could find a soul.

And if they did find a soul, what then? At least Nye would know the soul existed, but not what to do with it. Ah, but first Nye had to find a soul, and they took more of the sisters and brothers, the weaklings, the outcasts, the loners. If, they reasoned, they found a soul, then they would have to perform the procedure several more times to discover how to trap it. It thus followed that Nye would have to kill far more people than they had originally intended. This was not entirely desirable, but Nye would sacrifice much in the name of discovery.

The rest of the Hive never caught on, so trapped were they in the endless conflicts and bloodshed. Nye didn't mind. That meant there was more time for Nye to perform experiments. Unfortunately, there were only so many Hive members, and their numbers grew fewer every day, until only thirty remained from the five hundred that there had been in the days of Nye's youth.

Nye only knew how many there were because there were no longer any outcasts for them to take. These thirty were the strongest and the cleverest, those who had either saved themselves by being in the thick of the bloodshed or by hiding right outside it and somehow evading Nye. Nye was forced to kill the remaining thirty with slow methods of poison and stealth. It was very hard, much harder than it had been, but Nye did it with but a few scars. His mouth and eyelids hurt with puncturewounds and black thread for quite a while, a wound inflicted by a quiet and fierce sister who nevertheless died under Nye's blade.

Finally, Nye had killed them all, even the largest and the strongest and the cleverest of them all, another sister who cared almost as little for others as Nye themselves. The home was very quiet after that, bereft of the buzzing and the screaming and the black-thread-stitching noises that could only be made while the Hive lived. Nye supposed that was what lead the mages to the doors of the home. The home was not supposed to be that quiet, and all it would take is one nosy magician who was emboldened by the silence and the fact that there were no sentinels in the windows.

So the mages began to sidle up to the doors, a sidling which Nye only noticed when they had emerged from the pleasantly blood-drenched caves and bone-strewn catacombs to see how the house fared. The caves, which stretched for miles, were the true home to the Hive. The house was a massive, dusty thing equipped with furniture that did not quite clash, but instead it all looked slightly out of tune with each other, like an orchestra where none of the musicians had ever read their music before. It was quite uncomfortable for the Hive and potential company alike, and that was the way everyone liked it. The house was only there to remind everyone that it was Hive ground they stood on.

When the Hive was alive, one or two of them would be assigned to keep an eye on the house and make sure it was still there and in good shape. No one wanted to wake up and find that their roof was gone. Nye remembered this duty when they were pulling examining the unusually long and spindly fingers of a brother, and decided that they could not possibly abandon all duties of the Hive, so they had gone up to see if the house still stood.

Indeed it did. Nye also saw the shadows at the edge of the clearing the house stood in, shadows indicative of a person or three. Nye didn't like that. Not at all. They didn't do anything about it though; they wanted to see where this would go. It might be a bad idea to take these people for subjects just yet. Besides, Nye had never fought anyone but the brothers and sisters. They did not want to needlessly endanger themselves by fighting unknown enemies.

No, Nye did not want to fight them. Perhaps another solution could be reached. Nye had never spent time with the mages, they did not know what the mages were like. Perhaps the mages searched for souls, too. Nye would wait until they opened the doors to the house, and then ask them. If they were hostile, Nye could escape to the caverns and lose them forever, if worst came to worst. However, they did not want to try that particular solution just yet. It would be a bit too much sacrifice for Nye at that point, to leave his labs and his subjects and his ancestral home.

So Nye waited for them, as each day they skirted a bit closer to the door. Finally, one of them, a small man who looked swamped by his thick coat came and opened the door. When Nye noticed that not a one of the mages followed him in, and Nye's inspiration took that moment to strike them. Perhaps the mages had souls better seen than the souls of the Hive? That seemed plausible enough, didn't it? The Hive members grew and lived in shadow and darkness-perhaps their souls were the same, tricky and elusive. Whereas the mages lived in the light. Their souls should shine like the sun, should they not?

Nye decided that the small mage would make a good subject. They threw caution to the wind and attacked the mage just as he was out of sight of the door. Nye thought with surprise that mages were not nearly as strong as the last sister, not at all. What had they been afraid of? The mage broke easily, his bones snapping and his skin pink and fragile. Maybe that happened when one lived under the sun.

In any case, Nye found no soul in the man. They were most disappointed-they had expected more after all the noise the mage had made. It was only after the mage's chest was cut open and Nye was cleaning their blood-covered instruments that they realized that other mages would probably come after this one. Perhaps they wouldn't come after the mage specifically, but they would certainly still be interested in the house. Nye had done nothing to dissuade them of that. Nye was suddenly gripped with a curious fear.

They had disregarded their own safety for the sake of a subject. Certainly, it was not the first time Nye had done such a thing, but this was different. Perhaps the mage they had killed was only a weak one. Perhaps the other mages could see in the dark and could search the caves. Perhaps that was what they were doing.

A moment later Nye banished their fear. The caves would remain their own. Nye could learn from this mage, and perhaps lay traps for the others. This was only one of many subjects. Nye could find that shining soul among at least one of them. The mages could be defeated, Nye knew that, and it was far more effective to defeat than to try and negotiate.

Nye took one last look at the broken and empty mage upon the blood-splattered table, and their open wound of a mouth curled into a black-threaded smile. Perhaps they would not have to leave after all.

Chapter Text

"The last time I tried to drive, I crashed a van in a ditch."

"This time will be better. Probably. Maybe. At least it's daytime now."

"Somehow, that doesn't give me comfort."

"It should. I, at least, am an excellent driver in daylight."

Valkyrie and Skulduggery sat in the Bentley, Valkyrie behind the wheel. Though she hadn't started moving yet, or indeed started the car at all, she was clutching the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were white.

"Then again, I am excellent at driving under all conditions."

"Oh my god, will you shut up?" snapped Valkyrie. "I am having enough problems at the moment."

"Such as completely failing to start the vehicle."

"Yeah. Like that."

"It's very simple."

"I know that."

Valkyrie was silent for a minute or two before very tentatively starting the car.

"Excellent. You've accomplished a simple task."

"I'm pretty sure I told you to shut up?"

"Indeed you did. I ignored you, of course."

Valkyrie glared at him. "You are a terrible driving instructor."

"Perhaps I would be better at it if you actually drove anywhere."

Valkyrie glowered at the road. Her expression had barely moved away from a scowl for the past half hour. Finally, after letting the car idle for another five minutes, she said "Okay. How do I back out?"

Chapter Text

Alison Edgely's childhood was peppered with oddness that she only realized upon looking back.

Her sister, Stephanie, hadn't lived at home since she was twenty, and Alison was five. Stephanie herself was quite a curious person. She was tall, muscular, and mysterious. When she was younger, Stephanie would babysit her, but Alison barely remembered it. Alison only remembered Stephanie's huge old house, which she had inherited from their dead uncle Gordon. This was one of the strange things about Stephanie. Nobody else's big sister had a mansion all to herself, or, indeed, a famous dead writer for an uncle.

Stephanie stopped babysitting her after Alison was six, but still came around to the Edgely house frequently enough. Those visits decreased in frequency after a while. Of course she still came around for Christmas and birthdays, but in Alison's mind, Stephanie was more like a shadow given weight than an actual person. When she did come around, she hardly ever showed up with anybody else (except for the occasions she brought her boyfriend, a somewhat dotty blonde man), and she usually left after a mysterious phone call or two.

What Alison really remembered about Stephanie wasn't her house, or her dotty boyfriend, or her sleepless black eyes. It was her stories.

When Alison was younger and Stephanie came around every month instead of every six months, she would sit Alison down and tell her stories. She always told them in a serious manner, as if they were the most important thing in the world. Instead of "Once upon a time..." Stephanie would begin her stories with "Listen very, very carefully..."

Her stories weren't the usual fairytales of lost princesses and frog princes. They had no men-turned-swan or Baba Yaga. There was no lost love or kiss that would wake a girl from her dreams. No, Stephanie's stories were strange stories of blood and death and skeletons, magic and old gods.

She told Alison stories of the Most Beautiful Woman in the World, whom everyone was in love with, though she loved nothing but her books and her Skeleton Man, a dead man with a dead past full of secrets. She told of the Ghost Boy who could be anywhere in the world, who loved the Shadow Girl with all his heart, though the Shadow Girl could not love him with all hers in return. She told of the Stone Tailor and the way he could never be defeated, even if he had to turn himself to a statue. She told of the Ancients and the Faceless Ones, timeless forces who battled for the world at the beginning of everything, and when the Faceless Ones were defeated, they were cast into another world.

Alison only realized they weren't standard stories when she went to school. The other girls wanted to play Sleeping Beauty, but all Alison wanted to play was Anchor, a story where the Faceless Ones clawed themselves back out of the other world the Ancients had cast them into, only to be driven back by the Shadow Girl and the Skeleton Man. The other girls had had no idea what she was talking about (which Alison found odd, because she knew who Sleeping Beauty was), and neither had the teacher when Alison insisted they ask.

Even her parents didn't really know what she was talking about. They gave each other unreadable looks when she said that Stephanie had told her the stories. Alison had consoled herself by deciding that even if Stephanie made her stories up, they were better than any other fairytales. Whenever Stephanie told stories, it was as if magic were real, that something existed beyond the pale, gray world that Alison lived in.

Eventually, though, Alison stopped listening when Stephanie told her stories. She'd been told time and time again that magic wasn't real, and it was starting to sink in, especially when her father said it with such conviction. Even if she would love to believe different, there simply wasn't anything else. There was school, and tight shoes, and dull, boring problems in a dull, boring world.

Alison got the idea that Stephanie knew when she stopped listening, because soon after Alison stopped listening, Stephanie stopped telling. It was around then that Stephanie's visits became more and more infrequent. Stephanie still spoke to Alison, on the occasions she visited. Her speech was sarcastic and sharp, with a wit that Alison envied.

Aside from her shadowy older sister, Alison had a number of strange relatives. Her own father, for one, had a number of bizarre habits that Alison considered normal but everyone else considered nigh-insanity. There were her aunt Beryl and Uncle Fergus, with whom Alison had spoken rarely. Her parents didn't like them at all.

However, the dislike seemed not to have passed to the second generation. At Christmas parties and the like, when all the family was together in one place, Alison noted that Stephanie didn't say much to anyone, except her cousins Carol and Crystal. Carol and Crystal were enigmas in and of themselves, a pair of short blonde women with hard brown eyes, Carol always wrapped in a long, ratty coat and Crystal in a finely-tailored suit, holding tightly onto a cane.

Carol was broad-shouldered and far stockier than Stephanie. Alison suspected that under her coat, Carol was more muscular than Stephanie as well. Carol's bottle-blonde hair was cut just under her chin, and was, for lack of a better word, bouncy. Carol gave the odd impression of someone who was trying their hardest not to float off of the ground.

Crystal was just the opposite. She was the same height as Carol (this was expected, as the pair were twins), but where Carol was made of smooth, rounded lines, Crystal was composed of jagged and sharp angles. She was very thin, her pinstriped suits only making her look thinner. Her hair was a slightly darker blonde than Carol, and was longer and spiked at the ends, as if it were permanently wet. She always looked extremely unapproachable, but Stephanie had told her that was the point.

The pair of them were almost always seen together, and on the opposite side of the room from their parents. Alison didn't speak to them very often, but when she did, Crystal was the better-spoken though ruder of the pair.

They didn't tell stories like Stephanie did. They spoke of strange things that sounded sort of real, but Alison couldn't be sure. They whispered to each other, secret conversations that Alison never heard, though she tried her hardest.

Besides her odd relatives, Alison had oddness in her own home as well. There was her father's steadfast disbelief in magic, and the piece of broken mirror glued to the back of the closet in Stephanie's old room. The mirror shard had turned foggy with age, but no matter how hard Alison tugged, she couldn't pull it off the wall. There was a set of chairs in the basement that no one in the house ever used, and nobody seemed to remember until they came across them.

There was her mother's odd unwillingness to discuss Stephanie. She would speak with her, and they seemed to be on good terms, but her mother would just never talk about her. The strange discussions her parents had in the middle of the night when they thought Alison was asleep, about what happened to Stephanie, or what they did wrong that they resolved not to do with Alison.

Alison knew of no parents who spoke of their children like that. Like they had broken one, and resolved to make sure the second one remained whole.

Alison didn't really know what to think about that. She didn't really know what to think about any of it.

Chapter Text

This was clearly some sort of test.

Not for Jarona or Skulduggery, but for everyone who sat in the other room and listened to them scream at each other. Granted, Skulduggery wasn't screaming, per se, but he was still loud enough to hear from anywhere in the house. Jarona was just the same. Neither Valkyrie, Fletcher, Araxi nor China would be here if they had anything even marginally better to do.

Araxi was, by far, the least ruffled of the four. She almost always waited outside of Jarona's lessons and vice versa, so she was used to the yelling. Araxi looked perfectly calm, sitting on the floor and reading a book.

For the other three, listening to Jarona and Skulduggery hurl insults (and possibly furniture) at each other was not such a common pastime.

China had her eyes closed, and was putting her best effort into looking serene as ever. She hated shouting. Even raising one's voice was not allowed in her library, so she saw no reason why it should be allowed anywhere else.

The only reason she and Valkyrie were here at all was they needed Skulduggery. Valkyrie had seen fit to drag China out of her apartment and to Skulduggery's house, insisting that they needed her help for this. 'This' happened to be a vampire cult that wanted to bring the end of the universe via the Vanishing Artefact, an ancient magical item that was in a state of constant flux due to containing the souls of over ten thousand sorcerers of different disciplines.

China couldn't care less. She frankly had better things to do than worry about the end of the universe, but Valkyrie hadn't wanted to hear her opinion on the matter.

So here she was, listening to Jarona and Skulduggery bicker and throw things at each other. China took some satisfaction in Valkyrie's expression, but as her eyes were closed most of the time, she wasn't nearly as amused as she ordinarily would have been.

Valkyrie's face was pale and bloodless, but to the relief of everyone involved she looked only vaguely murderous, not full-on wrathful. One of her eyes twitched every time she heard Jarona's voice. Fletcher would have been concerned if all of his attention wasn't in blocking out the voices from the other room. The only reason he was here and not Teleported somewhere very, very far away was Valkyrie had demanded he stay here.

Fletcher winced as Skulduggery raised his voice to berate Jerona, and actually flinched when she retaliated with both a shout and something that sounded like a toaster being thrown across a room. Fletcher wasn't sure why listening to Skulduggery and Jarona shout at each other was so grating. Perhaps it was because Skulduggery was downright terrifying when he yelled, and Jarona sounded like some sort of huge, noisy, annoying bird. Annoying and terrifying. The only way the combination could be worse is if Valkyrie was yelling, too. She was not only loud, but she was nearly as scary as Skulduggery when she started shouting.

There was a crash and another shriek from Jarona. Both Araxi and Fletcher jumped at the crash, but Araxi settled back into reading her book. China's eyelids flickered slightly. Valkyrie clenched her fists.

Fletcher considered asking Valkyrie if they could just leave until Jarona finished, but one look at her face told him it probably wasn't a great idea to start asking her things. Valkyrie was in fact contemplating asking Fletcher to Teleport them away, but some sort of stubborn pride kept her in her seat.

Araxi looked at her cell phone for the time. The lesson was taking a bit longer than it should, but it didn't worry her too much. After all, she'd taken at least four hours yesterday with both Valkyrie and Solomon Wreath, and Jarona had waited all that time. It seemed only fair that Araxi be forced to wait outside one of Jarona's lessons for an inordinate amount of time.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the screaming stopped. China opened her eyes in relief, but Valkyrie still looked murderous as ever. The door opened and Jarona walked out, looking tired but none the worse for wear, aside from a few tears in her clothes. Skulduggery followed her, his clothes in a much better state.

"The pair of you are unpleasantly loud," said China casually. "Perhaps you should soundproof that room, Skulduggery."

Skulduggery shrugged. "I've never had a student who was so keen on insulting me with every instruction I give her."

"I've never had a teacher whose methods involve throwing things at me," retorted Jarona.

"If the two of you start screaming again, I'm leaving, vampire cult be damned." said Valkyrie, grabbing onto Fletcher's arm. Apparently she wouldn't be able to handle another round of yelling.

"Vampire cult?" asked Jarona. She and Araxi, like China, were not often involved very deeply in Skulduggery and Valkyrie's investigations.

"Some half-coherent nonsense about the end of the universe," scoffed China.

"Oh. So in other words, things you see most every day, then?"

"Not every day. Just once in a few weeks." said Skulduggery.

"Why did you need me, then?" asked China.

"Actually, yeah, why do we need her?" asked Fletcher. "You never really explained."

"This particular cult is far more well-versed in symbols than I am." said Skulduggery.

China gave an elegant sigh. "Of course."

"Well, I'm sure we'd love to help," said Araxi, putting a bony hand on Jarona's shoulder. "But we should really be leaving."

Jarona nodded in agreement, shrugging on her coat. "Yeah. Nice seeing you, Skulduggery." she said as the pair of them walked towards the door

"Likewise, Jarona." said Skulduggery in reply.

Fletcher and Valkyrie stared at him. Skulduggery ignored them.

"I'm still waiting for you to give me a proper explanation for this cult business." said China, looking expectant.

"Of course." said Skulduggery. "It's really fairly simple..."

Chapter Text

"Stephanie!" Alison smiled when she saw her older sister in the front hall, taking off her long black coat.

"Hey there," Stephanie said in reply, smiling slightly. Alison noted the dark circles under her eyes and the way her hands trembled slightly.

"Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh yeah, fine. Just blood loss."

"...what?"

"Joking. No, I'm just tired. Work."

"Oh." Alison wasn't quite sure what her sister did for a living. She had a feeling it was something like a detective, but neither Stephanie nor her parents ever said it outright. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh, that's real nice, that is," said Stephanie, rolling her eyes. "Your poor big sister comes in out of the cold, exhausted out of her mind-"

"You're energetic enough to be snarky at me."

"I don't need any energy for that, that's just my natural wit and charm."

"Of course it is. Really, what are you doing here? Mum's out, and Dad won't be back from work till later."

"I need an excuse to visit my favorite little sister?" said Stephanie, brushing past Alison to move to the living room.

"Need I point out that I'm your only sister?" Alison replied, following her.

Stephanie sprawled heavily on the most comfortable couch in the room, depriving Alison of a seat. Alison frowned at her. "You always take all the room on that couch."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"...not really." Alison sat across from Stephanie on a much harder wooden chair. "So, why are you here, really? It's not anywhere near Christmas-"

"Ahh, two months is close enough."

"-and my birthday was months ago. So was Mum's. So was Dad's. You hardly ever visit. Are you planning to extort us out of money or something? Because that's one of exactly four reasons I can think of you'd be here." said Alison, crossing her arms.

Stephanie raised a suspicious eyebrow at her sister. "You're bitter, aren't you?"

"Well, it's true. You don't. And I think you showed up about three days late for my birthday."

"Yes, I totally forgot your birthday out of pure spite. How old are you again? I haven't been here since you were five, so I wouldn't know." Stephanie jibed.

Alison scowled at her. "Why is it so hard for you to have a polite conversation with somebody? Do you have to be so sarcastic all the time?"

Stephanie closed her eyes, looking somehow more tired. "Of course I do. It's a marvelous defense mechanism against prying questions."

"I'm not prying! I just want to know why you're here! Is that such a hard question?"

Stephanie opened one eye. "What's gotten you so upset?" she asked, sounding more curious than concerned.

"I'm not upset." said Alison quickly. "Why would you-" she was startled when her sister sat straight up and glared at her.

"You try any passive-aggressive nonsense and I will not be responsible for my actions. I get enough of that from A-Crystal."

Alison tried to match Stephanie's stare, but looked away. "Why do you spend so much time with her? With both of the twins?"

"What are you, jealous?" Stephanie raised a mocking eyebrow.

"What is wrong with you?" Alison snapped. Stephanie looked like Alison had slapped her. "Why can't you ever take anything seriously? Why don't you ever visit anymore? Why can't I just talk to you without you turning it into some cryptic sparring match?"

Stephanie looked angry, now, dark eyes flashing.

"You want me to take things seriously? Okay." Stephanie said, hands clenching. "Have you ever heard of a thing called a job? That's why I'm never here. Has it occurred to you that I have a life, that I have important things to do? I can't be here all the time! I don't even live here!" Stephanie stood up, and was now advancing on Alison. "And sometimes, once in a long while, I don't have anything to do. Sometimes, I can come over when I don't have to, and talk to my own bloody family."

Alison didn't back down. "And what is this oh-so-important job?" she sneered. "I don't know what it is. I don't know what you do. Actually, according to Mum, you're rich because you inherited from our dead uncle. For all I know, your 'job'-" she 'air quoted' for extra effect "-is staying out all night clubbing with Carol and Crystal and your stupid blonde boyfriend!"

"That's right, I have damned knife wounds from clubbing!" snarled Stephanie, one hand going to her side.

"What?" Alison shrieked. "I don't believe this!" she threw up her hands. "You get stabbed and it only occurs to you now to tell me?"

"Why would I tell you something like that?" yelled Stephanie. "So, what, I come over and instead of saying 'hi' I'll say 'I'm recovering from a grievous injury?'"

"I just want to know about you!" Alison yelled back. "I don't know anything! You've hardly spoken two words to me since I was ten, and before that it was all fairy tales and stupid stories!"

"You want to know about me? You want to know about me? You-" Stephanie's cell phone rang. Stephanie snatched it out of her pocket and opened it, snapping "Dammit China, this is not the time!" Stephanie paused, listening to someone on the other end. Slowly, Stephanie's face drained of color. "Oh. Oh no." Stephanie walked away from Alison, muttering instructions into her phone. Finally, she snapped the phone closed.

"We can finish this later," she said, picking up her coat. "I have to go."

"What? You can't-"

"It's for work. I have to."

"Who's China?" asked Alison, grabbing onto her sister's arm, determined that she wouldn't let Stephanie leave without giving her some answers. Stephanie shook her off, and Alison marveled at how strong she was. "What are you doing?"

"China's the Most Beautiful Woman in the World," said Stephanie, very seriously. "I've got a job to do." she began walking to the front hall, and Alison followed, close on her heels.

"The Most-Stephanie, what-" Alison recognized the title from the stories her sister used to tell her. "What does that mean?"

"It means just what I said it means." Stephanie replied, yanking open the front door. "Tell Mum and Dad I send my love."

She dashed outside, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Alison grabbed her boots, intent on following her, even though sleet was coming down heavily from the slate-grey sky. By the time she'd gotten both her shoes on, however, her sister was nowhere in sight.

Alison reluctantly went back inside, her face twisted in frustration. When her parents arrived back at the house later that evening, Alison didn't tell them about her sister at all.

Chapter Text

"Oh God." Alison couldn't think of anything else to say when she saw her sister kick down the door and advance upon Alison's captor. Her sister looked like someone great and terrible, a sorceress with shadows swirling around her hands and in her eyes, bearing an expression that could truly be described as wrathful. The woman walking into the room didn't look like Stephanie. She didn't look like Alison's big sister at all.

Several people were bringing up the rear (a thin man in a suit, a certain blonde man and a certain pair of blonde women), but Alison could barely see them through the shadows her sister was casting. Alison's captor, a small man with sharp teeth and a ratty face, had let Alison go, the hand that held his blade going slack at the sight of Stephanie.

"Oh-I didn't mean-Cain, I didn't-I didn't-" he was saying. He was begging. Somehow, that scared Alison more than anything else. This man had been the most frightening thing in the world for the past few hours, and now he was practically whimpering at the sight of Stephanie.

"I didn't know, I truly didn't-" her captor shoved Alison away from him, very suddenly, dropping his long knife and holding up his hands in surrender. Alison scrambled away from him, into a far corner of the room.

"Too late now, isn't it?" snarled Stephanie, and Alison noticed that there were shadows in her mouth, as well. "Maybe this should teach you that kidnapping is not as lucrative a line of business as you assumed. That maybe you shouldn't kidnap from a protected house." Stephanie began gathering the shadows around her hands until they looked solid, and began to take a shape.

"I didn't think, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" the kidnapper was beginning to cry, his pale eyes welling up with tears. His speech descended into muttered apologies as Stephanie loomed over him, a thousand knives made of shadows at her fingertips. She was something dangerous, something eerie and other worldly. Something out of stories, and Alison didn't know her at all.

"Valkyrie!" the blonde man had come up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. Stephanie whirled, eyes flashing, though when she realized who it was she calmed somewhat. Alison, for her part, was becoming more stunned and more afraid by the minute.

"Fletcher, he took my sister-"

"I know." said Fletcher in a tight voice. "But he's not attacking. He's surrendering. Let him go, Valkyrie."

Stephanie glared at him for a minute or two, then nodded. She waved her hands in a dismissing gesture and her shadows dispersed, though her eyes still looked a bit darker than was normal. She brushed past the captor, towards Alison.

Alison didn't want her to come closer. Not at all. Alison could see the dull red splashes on her coat, the bloodied truncheon at her side and the vicious gleam still lingering in her eyes. This couldn't possibly be her sister, who was always a bit tired and worn, who was funny and witty and mysterious. It just wasn't possible.

"Alison?" Stephanie asked. "Are you all right?"

Alison nodded slowly, her eyes wide and her arms wrapped around herself. Stephanie sighed. "Look," she said. "Panic later. Right now we have to leave." Alison nodded again, and followed Stephanie to the door.

Stephanie stopped to talk to Fletcher and the three others who'd followed her in. Alison recognized Carol and Crystal, but not the waxy-faced thin man who was, hastily re-buttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Alison was too dazed to really comprehend the oddness of the motion.

"I'm getting Alison out of here," Stephanie explained. "Skulduggery, take over for me." the man with the waxy skin nodded, his expression unsettlingly blank. Stephanie took a tight hold of Alison's arm and practically dragged her out of the building, Alison stumbling over her feet most of the way. She hadn't gotten a good look at the place on her way in, and was actually glad. The place was dark, dank and smelled curiously of blood and sugar.

As they navigated their way through shadowy halls, Alison realized that they were in quite a large building. Did kidnappers often work out of such a large space? Alison had no idea, but she suspected that Stephanie might. Alison shuddered in revulsion when she noticed the first body. There were an awful lot of bodies, more and more the further they got. Some were burned, some were shot, some had suspicious dents in their heads. Alison didn't really know what to think about it.

Everything felt so strange, so surreal. It was like she was living in a story. Like she was in one of the fairy tales Stephanie used to tell, the ones riddled with blood and thunder and chaos, where madmen reigned supreme and people exchanged violent blows like handshakes.

They finally exited the building, Alison sagging in relief at the sunlight. There had only been small, grimy windows inside, making everything shrouded in eternal twilight. Seeing her sister in daylight made everything worse and better at the same time. Alison finally had the strength to ask questions.

"Stephanie, what was that? What was that?" she asked, attempting to sound calm, but her breathing was fast and labored. With each question, she became more panicked, probably because Stephanie didn't answer. "You just...and he...you had shadows, and I don't understand...what are you?"

The last question had Stephanie stop in her tracks and turn around. "I'm just your sister, Alison. That's all."

Chapter Text

There was always something in sorcerers that never healed, some breakage never fixed. From the heart-torn youths to the old men and women whose spirits were cracked and clumsily patched together. Something about sorcerers made them a certain kind of fragile. Perhaps it was their long lives, full of far more heartbreak and horror than any mortal life. Perhaps it was their habit of war, the endless conflicts that seemed to never end. Whatever it was, the souls of mages were always injured in some way.

Skulduggery Pleasant was torn and broken in a thousand places. He never liked to show, never really could show how little he'd healed since the war with Mevolent. He was angry and vicious, though he masked it very well. Madness and tragedy leave so very many scars on a person, and his madness and tragedy were greater than anyone could really understand, except for perhaps Valkyrie Cain, a girl with her own assortment of scars.

Valkyrie Cain hid her wounds behind a smirk and an abrasive wit, though her own anger and bloodlust lurked just under her skin. Her smiles all had razor-edges and her eyes were far older than they should have been. Where other girls were bright and full of laughter, Valkyrie had a dark core and her laughter was tinged with something unpleasant.

If one looked at the pair of them together, Valkyrie Cain and Skulduggery Pleasant looked like they were made to stand by each other's side. They moved in such a way that they looked as if they were on opposite sides of a mirror. When they spoke, they spoke in strange word-dances, not so much intricate but more as if they threw the conversation back and forth between each other.

They understood each other in a way others did not. Fletcher Renn could never see past Valkyrie's brittle smiles and sharp words to her troubled heart and shadowy soul, and Valkyrie resented him for it. Ghastly Bespoke no longer knew Skulduggery, as the man Ghastly had known had been someone brave and bright and filled with a youthful fire. Skulduggery could not stand Ghastly looking at him like he would a stranger.

Valkyrie, however, knew that Skulduggery was a madman with a bloody past. She idolized him but she also knew (even if she didn't admit it) that there was something wrong with him, and as far as she knew, there always had been. Skulduggery knew when Valkyrie was lying or hiding something, when she wanted to ask for help but did not. He knew things about her no one else did, and it pained him to see a story so familiar to his own.

They complemented each other, but only just. They in no way completed each other. They grew strangely similar, with Skulduggery becoming gentler and Valkyrie becoming more vicious, but they added nothing really new to the other person. There was nothing in Valkyrie's mind and soul that was not in Skulduggery's as well. Their friendship was a continuous, unbroken loop, feeding into itself.

For every good thing the pair gave to each other, they also gave something worse. They were each other's restraint but they fed each other's ego. They lent their intellect to each other, but Valkyrie stole Skulduggery's madness and Skulduggery her sanity.

When they worked together, they were a force to be reckoned with. Nobody would hurt Valkyrie when they knew that Skulduggery would come after them. People were becoming wary of hurting the Skeleton Detective himself, for fear that Valkyrie Cain would find them. Everyone knew that Skulduggery would kill with little provocation. People were beginning to know that Valkyrie would hurt and maim with even less.

The two of them were not always so at ease with each other, however. When the two fought, when their darker halves emerged to grapple with each other, nothing could stop their battles but themselves or some higher power.

Lord Vile and Darquesse met each other one late night in April, when the stars shone bright over a cold sky.

They approached each other not to join forces, but to kill each other. The ensuing fight were something out of nightmares. Lord Vile moved like an unstoppable tide, huge and dark, clad in his customary pitch-black armor. Darquesse was smaller than he, but her wild, mad eyes gave her the same degree of intimidation. She may have been younger than he, but she was just as strong.

Lord Vile's armor cracked and reformed as Darquesse struck him again and again. Darquesse left a trail of her own blood behind her as she healed each injury that Lord Vile dealt her. Darquesse flew, Lord Vile flew faster, but Darquesse dragged him back down again.

It was almost lucky that they had each other to fight. Surely, if just the one of them was out and awake, the whole of Dublin would have suffered for it. As it was, there was the pair of them, inner demons let out into the night.

But they could not fight forever. Surely someone had to win, even if they fought each other to a standstill over and over again. So someone did win, but it wasn't Darquesse or Lord Vile. It was Skulduggery who took off Lord Vile's armor and pulled Valkyrie back to daylight. The demons were gone again, shoved away to the back of their minds where they could do little damage to anyone but themselves.

There was no healing the pair of their demons, of the monsters that lurked in the back of their minds. They could never get rid of their shadow-selves, and they were forever trapped with each other's madness. They could only stand by each other's side, and assure each other than even if there were horrors in their souls, they were not alone.

Chapter Text

Fletcher didn't like feeling like this.

He'd loved Valkyrie, or at least he thought he did. He liked her a lot, and put up with her bad moods and her dangerous job, so he figured that was something at least close to love. It was honestly a shock to realize she didn't feel anything like that for him.

Well...maybe it wasn't.

Recently she'd just gotten...worse. He didn't know why he thought of her like that, she wasn't sick or anything, but it really felt like she just got worse. She was more angry, more vicious, and she had bad dreams that he couldn't soothe. She laughed less and less, and her eyes had a darkness in them that wouldn't go away. She didn't really talk with him anymore, just smiled slightly at him in a tired sort of way. That is, if she wasn't trying to pick a fight with him.

He had a feeling it all had something to do with what happened with the Remnants. He'd been possessed at one point, but he couldn't remember anything but vague feelings. He'd asked her over and over again if he'd done something, and all she told him was to forget about it, but he couldn't. Not since he couldn't sneak up on her anymore, not when she would turn and look at him with something approaching fear in her eyes.

But she wouldn't tell him what had happened, not ever. She had no many other secrets she wouldn't tell him. He hated thinking about how many things she refused to tell him, or to even talk about.

Perhaps the worst part was how he couldn't figure any of it out on his own. He wasn't smart like Skulduggery (which, most of the time, he didn't mind), so he couldn't just puzzle it out. He couldn't tell what she was thinking like Tanith and Kenspeckle used to, so he couldn't surprise her into telling him (no matter what he told himself, Fletcher was not above using underhanded methods). He just had to go on what she told him, which wasn't much at all.

He couldn't make her laugh like he used to. He hated not being able to make her happy, to make her feel better. She acted so strange and her speech was so wild that he couldn't keep up. When she smiled her smiles had an unpleasant bent to them, and when she slept her dreams were ever more troubled.

It seemed to Fletcher like Valkyrie was falling to pieces, and it made him feel as if he were watching a train wreck (not a car wreck, Valkyrie was much too important and her self-destruction was happening much too fast to be anything like a car wreck). His suspicions were unpleasantly confirmed when she told him she'd been seeing Caelan behind his back. That just seemed like a very...un-Valkyrie-like thing to do. Valkyrie had always appeared more decisive, more intelligent, more trustworthy than that.

He wondered why she would ever even want to look at Caelan, as the very thought of the unpleasant vampire brought a shiver to his spine, but then he remembered the expression she got on her face whenever he surprised her, and what she wouldn't tell him. He realized he had done something to her while the Remnant was inside him, something far more horrible than cheating on her or accidentally teleporting her to the middle of the ocean instead of Australia.

Fletcher didn't want to see her for a long time after that. She'd hurt him, but it seemed to be in retaliation for something he'd done to her, and this was the only way she felt she could make it right. He didn't know what to think about that (apart from being just the smallest bit proud for figuring something like that out), so he just stayed away from her for a time. It seemed like it would be best for both of them.

After a while, Fletcher started thinking that she broke up with him because she wanted to protect him. Granted, she wasn't doing an excellent job of it, because it was as if she wanted to push him away at the same time she wanted to keep him close. He didn't really know what made him think this, except for the little things she said and certain ways she treated him.

It was like she wanted to be in two places at once. She wanted to punish him but also to protect him, and it confused him to no end.

He'd never known anybody like Valkyrie. No one as wonderful and no one who had quite so many problems. On the one hand, Valkyrie was smart and strong and (mostly) loyal. On the other, she was jumpy and vicious and downright unpleasant. The longer Fletcher had known her, the less she seemed like an ordinary teenage girl and the more she seemed like a traumatized soldier, and Fletcher was fairly certain that was a bad thing.

The more he knew her, the more he realized that she guarded herself. Beneath her smirking exterior was a shield of ice, and he was convinced that under her ice she was afraid. Afraid of what, he didn't know, and he couldn't help her. She just wouldn't let him.

She would shatter herself into pieces before she let anyone help her, he was certain of it.

Chapter Text

Melancholia just couldn't stop thinking about her.

She was thinking, of course, about Valkyrie Cain. Ever since Melancholia had awoken from the coma Nye had induced to stop her killing herself with magic, she couldn't stop thinking about Valkyrie Cain.

Melancholia had met the girl soon after she'd started learning necromancy with Solomon Wreath, and had despised her the moment their eyes met. Valkyrie was strong and fierce and determined, whereas Melancholia was just pale and cold and miserable from days in the Temple, practicing magic with hardly a break. She couldn't stand her confident stance, or her unwavering smirk, or her positively witty speech.

Valkyrie had been lit with a manic fire, and Melancholia had felt very small in comparison. She hadn't liked it, and she hadn't liked the ease with which Valkyrie learned necromancy or the flippant way she treated the necromancer faith. Solomon Wreath taught her so much more than anyone had ever taught Melancholia when she was fifteen, and it made Melancholia furious.

Valkyrie had learned necromancy with an unprecedented speed that brought a small smile to Wreath's face. It had soon been whispered in the halls of the Temple that Valkyrie Cain was the Death Bringer, she was the savior they'd been waiting for, and she was going to bring Life and Death together at last. Melancholia had known better. She knew that Valkyrie only saw necromancy as a blunt tool, a means to an end. She didn't see it the way Melancholia did, the way all proper necromancers did, as an art, as the most elegant of weapons and the most beautiful of all magical disciplines.

She had no caring, no respect, no love. All Melancholia saw in Valkyrie's black eyes was rage and fire, even after she brought her skeleton man back from the Faceless Ones' realm. To Melancholia's disgust, rescuing Skulduggery Pleasant was the entire reason she'd been learning necromancy in the first place. Valkyrie hadn't chosen necromancy because she wanted to. She chose it because she felt she needed to, and that was perhaps the greatest blasphemy of all.

Melancholia had decided that Valkyrie was a mere heretic, someone woefully misguided and truly a sight to pity. That was before Craven had carved symbols into her flesh, had twisted her mind and done horrible things to her magic.

When Melancholia was the Death Bringer, she stopped seeing living people as being really there. When she killed people, it was so she could have company in the gray, dark world she inhabited.

That was why she wanted Valkyrie to die. Maybe, she thought, if Valkyrie died, Valkyrie would bring her brightness to Melancholia's world. Of course, it didn't work, and Valkyrie remained stubbornly alive, but this was not actually all a bad thing.

Melancholia attempted to kill Skulduggery Pleasant, and succeeded. Of course, this backfired horribly on her, because Lord Vile appeared an instant later, and two instants after that, Vile and Pleasant had somehow merged together into one being and Valkyrie was hauling Melancholia through the tunnels in some insane attempt to save her. They had several extremely unpleasant adventures in the caves, the details of which were very hazy for Melancholia to remember (except that Valkyrie persisted in attempting to keep Melancholia alive), but they culminated in Valkyrie asking Melancholia to kill her.

With a great effort, Melancholia expanded her death field (not a death bubble) to grasp Valkyrie. While Valkyrie died, Melancholia looked straight into her eyes, and saw something burning and mad and hot as the sun staring back, just for an instant, before her own eyes drifted shut and she fainted. She woke up six months later, in a Sanctuary hospital, with some bizarre...thing at her bedside.

She did not see Valkyrie again for about a week, and that whole week, Melancholia just couldn't stop thinking about her.

The whole time Melancholia had known her, she had thought that Valkyrie was weak and sad, completely disconnected from the essence of necromancy. Now Melancholia knew the girl was not weak (though she remained, as always, a heretic, though the label had less meaning now that Melancholia had known Craven), for Valkyrie had rescued her from certain death at the hands of Lord Vile. As a matter of fact, she was quite strong. She was clever, too, to get through those horrible caves without killing herself.

Oh yes, Melancholia was beginning to have quite the change of opinion for Valkyrie Cain.

The other girl occupied her every waking thought. First, Melancholia was just remembering her time in the caves and as the Death Bringer, as she recovered from her coma (the Nye-thing's assistant, Clarabelle, was quite helpful in this regard). There was precious little else to think about.

Eventually, though, Melancholia's thoughts took a strange turn. She began thinking about how beautiful Valkyrie was, how her dark hair shone in the sun and how her impish smile suited her so very very well.

Needless to say, these were not appropriate thoughts to be having, but by this point, Melancholia was already suffering a crisis of faith, so her infatuation with Cain wasn't exactly high on her list of worries.

At least, it wasn't until Valkyrie came to visit her.

Valkyrie came to see Melancholia in the hospital a week after she woke up. Melancholia had no idea why, but it wasn't like she was complaining. Fair enough, she complained out loud, to anyone who would listen, but truthfully she didn't mind.

Melancholia had been thinking of what she would say to Valkyrie the next time she saw her the entire week she had been awake. Melancholia figured she would have to see her sooner or later, so she began thinking about what to say to her. Her ideas ranged from "Disgusting heretic! You will burn in the pits of eternal suffering!" to "Well, thank you for saving my life in the caves. I think we got off on the wrong foot when we first met," to the much more recent and disturbing "Kiss me you fool!"

All of that went out the window when she actually saw Valkyrie, who, aside from looking a little pale, was smiling a very pleasant smile. Her long hair was brushed away from her face, and she wasn't wearing her usual working clothes aside from her coat. She looked much happier than the last time Melancholia had seen her.

"You're beautiful," Melancholia blurted, before blushing a bright red. "...you cow." she added, hoping to mend the situation.

Valkyrie looked stunned for a moment, then slowly composed herself. Melancholia cringed, expecting the worst.

"You're looking very nice yourself, you depressing wet blanket." said Valkyrie, sounding very sincere. "How've you been?"

Melancholia smiled, and they began talking.

Chapter Text

As Detective Val Cain stared out at the city from her balcony, she wondered for the thousandth time why in the name of God she'd decided to take a job on the Sanctuary colony. The people were unfriendly to the point of xenophobia, the place was crime- and disaster-ridden, the insane amount of nanotech they had was destructive and probably wreaking havok on Cain's brain at this very moment, there were murders every other week...

Okay, that last one was what kept Cain in a job, to be sure. That one was good. But the rest was not, with the possible exception of the horrible nanotech.

Sanctuary was stuffed to the gills with experimental, insane nanotech, most of it created by the colonists themselves. The people who inhabited Sanctuary all had some sort of strange affinity with nanotech and tech in general, and most of them could be described as mad scientists. The place was constantly with fighting, arson, and gang warfare. The gangs themselves usually had customized sets of nano infections.

Almost none of the Sanctuary-generated nanotech was useful, at least, not in the way that the other worlds would consider useful. When people got infected with this nanotech, they didn't get spontaneously healed of desperately broken limbs or horrible venereal diseases, they began shooting fire from their hands and flying around and doing various impressive but impractical things.

The Sanctuary nanos (or 'firework' nanos as they were known offworld) were divided into several subcategories, most of which Val didn't bother to keep track of aside from the types she herself was infected with, Elemental and Shadowmancer. Val didn't care so much about the subcategories as much as she cared about the side effects. For example, she knew from personal experience that Shadowmancer infectees gradually developed psychosis and murderous impulses. Elementals didn't get nearly so many nasty side effects, which was probably why she and Pleasant hadn't gone completely off their rockers yet.

Pleasant.

He was quite possibly the only thing about Sanctuary she didn't want to beat to a bloody pulp with her bare fists.

Pleasant was a rail-thin man with long gray hair and a fondness for clothes too nice to be worn to work. Everyone at work called him Skulduggery, probably because of the skull he'd painted on the front of his helmet. Since Sanctuary's crime rate was so bad that even Val and Pleasant (detectives) were likely to be caught up in some kind of conflict at least once a week, they wore riot helmets out, like the rest of the cops. It had been about a month before she learned Pleasant's real first name (it was Anthony).

Pleasant was mostly out of his mind, but he was crazy in the same way Val was, and besides, being crazy didn't stop him from being a good detective. In fact, it sometimes helped.

After all, Pleasant was the one who'd worked out that Nef Cerpyn, an old enemy of his, had stolen a one-of-a-kind miniature fusion weapon and had killed all three of the Sanctuary's heads of state. That was not a fun case. Both Skulduggery and Val had ended up with broken ribs and the fusion weapon had ended up in the hands of Lady Sorrows, an information dealer whose nano infection made her irresistibly beautiful.

Next year, when Val was just hoping for a nice, quiet gang war, yet another one of Skulduggery's old enemies had shown up, this time with a hitman and a Vampyre in tow. Hitmen were bad news all on their own, and Vampyres were even worse-they were a freak of a gang who believed in cannibalism. To be accepted into the Vampyres you had to give them about a pint of your own blood, which they would drink, and then they would pay for you to get various cosmetic and subcosmetic surgeries that turned you into a hulking monster with big, nasty teeth, tearaway skin, and bodily fluids that were completely saline-free.

The enemy in question was a man simply calling himself the Baron. The hitman was named Bay Rilly Goreless, and he spoke with such a thick, unidentifiable Earth accent that nobody could understand a word, and the Vampyre just called himself Dusk.

That was yet another mess that involved more of Val's bodily fluids than she liked to think about (Dusk and the Baron probably both had a weird blood fetish), a set of Shadowmancer-nano enhanced body armor that vanished at the last moment, and some sort of organic, monstrous signaling slash teleporting device. At least, that's what Ken had thought it was. Ken was the doctor that most of the force went to-he was good, didn't ask to many questions, and fussed over you if he liked you. In any case, he was brilliant, and had helped with the Faceless Ones case.

Oh God, the Faceless Ones case. Now if you want to talk about messes...

After Val and Skulduggery had wrested the teleporter-signaling thing from the Baron's grip (Goreless, unfortunately, got away in the process) and bringing it to Ken, they'd discovered who the Faceless Ones were. They were a shadowy, powerful, mafia-esque group bent on recapturing Sanctuary, which they believed to be rightfully theirs. They'd apparently been ousted offworld about two hundred or so years ago by an equally powerful group of people who were among the first to pioneer Sanctuary's distinct nanotech. The group (called the Ancestors) had gotten rid of almost any records of the Faceless Ones, strangely, most of the records of themselves. This was why nobody knew about either the Ancestors or the Faceless ones until Val and Skulduggery had gotten to them.

The Faceless Ones even had a cult devoted to them who aided them in their return. That was the reason for the organic teleporter-the cult had made it, and they had intended on using it to bring the Faceless Ones' massive warships to Sanctuary. Though they had gotten rid of the Faceless Ones and scattered the cult, the case had still ended with most of the cult still on the loose, and Skulduggery captured and headed to God knows where. The only thing to be truly gained out of the whole ordeal was a man named Renn, one of the rare Teleportation infectees that had been being systematically killed by the cult.

It was around this Faceless Ones debacle that Val began wondering why exactly she'd taken a job here. Sure, there were no jobs anywhere else (at least, nowhere she wanted to be), and Sanctuary's was the only police force in the whole megasystem that would put up with the kind of 'detecting' that resulted in suspects 'acquiring' broken jaws, but she'd begun to wonder if it really were all worth it.

That was her first 'crisis of faith' so to speak. She'd even considered quitting-but of course, she wouldn't quit until she found Pleasant. He'd been abducted by the Faceless Ones, dragged through their organic teleporter just as the thing was permanently shutting down. For the next five months, Val frantically searched for any sign of him. The Faceless Ones warships were extremely recognizable now they actually had some pictures of them.

She'd finally got word of one battered Faceless Ones ship, out in the dark space near the edge of Sanctuary's solar system. She, Lady Sorrows and Renn took Tanni Low's ship out to where they suspected the warship was. As luck would have it, Val was the only one who could get on the ship, thanks to Renn's Teleportation abilities. There, Val had searched the surprisingly empty ship until she found a babbling, bleeding and delusional Anthony Pleasant.

He was missing his left arm-but it seemed he'd lost that arm a while ago, and was now only missing the prosthetic. Pleasant had refused to leave until Val found the prosthetic, and after she had found it, it seemed she'd roused several of the people on the ship and now they were all after her. That had been a bit of an adventure, but she, Skulduggery, Renn and Lady Sorrows had all gotten out in one piece.

After that, it became very clear that Pleasant was unbalanced. Of course, that was set aside until they'd finished stopping a terrorist attack being performed by a conglomeration of both Pleasant and Val's old enemies.

Then there's been an honest-to-goodness rage virus, during which Val's homicidal Shadowmancer tendencies made themselves known and she had the pleasure of meeting one of the most horrible creature on Sanctuary-Doctor Nye, the Butcher. That particular adventure had ended with Ken dead and both Tanni and Bay Rilly Goreless missing, which would have made Stanley Bespoken terminally depressed if he hadn't suddenly been elected to a head of state.

And then there was the most recent madness with the Shadowmancer cult (yes, another cult) proclaiming a girl named Mela Choll Clerr to be their savior. Almost immediately after they'd dealt with the Shadowmancers, Clerr had decided to stick her nose in and somehow used her own Shadowmancy to temporarily shut down both Val and Pleasant's Elemental abilities, which in turn kicked their Shadowmancy into high gear, along with the crippling psychosis and homicidal urges that went along with it. They'd gotten it under control, but not without massive property damage. That complete and utter disaster had ended with Clerr in a coma, Renn offworld, Lady Sorrows' library burnt down, and Val thoroughly questioning her decision to remain onworld.

And of course, none of this was counting Val's personal problems, like her troubles with her family, her rocky romance with Renn and very, very temporary romance with a Vampyre named Nalaec, and the fact that her friends seemed to be dropping like flies.

That was what brought her out to her balcony tonight. She'd woken from one of her numerous nightmares (this particular one had been about the nasty fight she'd had with Pleasant after Clerr had jump started their Shadowmancy) and wandered outside. She felt like punching something, and, breathing heavily through her nose in an effort to calm herself. She looked up into the starry sky-Sanctuary's sky was unusually clear, due to the fact that they didn't use much carbon-based tech-and sighed.

She knew why she was here. It's not like she'd be welcomed anywhere else. Sanctuary, in all its fireworking, murderous, bloody glory, had long since become her home. Earth and Mars and all the planets in the Alpha System felt more like alien worlds than any of the actual alien worlds did. She couldn't leave now. She'd been caught here, just like Pleasant and Sorrows and anyone else who'd come not expecting to stay.

That's just the way it was.

Chapter Text

The first thing Melancholia saw when she woke up was light. She blinked sleepily, frowning.

"You're awake." It was a statement, not a question. Melancholia nodded anyway. She thought she recognized the voice, but it was a little hard to be sure of anything in this state.

"Well, I can't say I'm all that glad," ah, now here was no mistaking that cutting tone. This had to be Valkyrie Cain, that complete and utter cow, the girl who Melancholia had tried to kill numerous times and had saved Melancholia's life at least once. "You aren't the nicest person I've ever met."

Melancholia smiled, though she wasn't sure why. "Like you can say anything, you heretic." She croaked, then coughed. Someone (she didn't even entertain the thought it might be Cain-that would be too bizarre) brought a glass of water to her lips, and Melancholia sipped eagerly.

"I may be a heretic, but I look damn good while doing...whatever qualifies you to be a heretic." Dear Lord. It was Cain holding the glass. The world was coming to an end.

"You don't need to qualify. At least, not in your case. You're automatically a heretic." Melancholia responded, her voice still raspy. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Eh." Melancholia could practically hear the shrug. "I guess I felt like I should come."

"Why? I tried to kill you, and let me tell you, I don't regret it."

"Are you sure?"

"W-what? What are you, my therapist?" Melancholia closed her eyes. "Of course I'm sure..."

"Well, it's just you killed an awful lot of people." It was impossible to read Valkyrie's tone.

"I needed them," Melancholia insisted. "...didn't I?" her mind was clearer now, but when she tried to remember her time as the Death Bringer, she found her memories hazy and uncertain. "I needed them for something."

"Well, you were crazy, so I don't know. I'm pretty sure you didn't need them, exactly...maybe needed to kill them, but..."

There was a weight pressing down in Melancholia's head. She chose to ignore it in favor of glowering at Valkyrie. "I know I needed to kill you. Maybe not at first, but I know you asked me to, maybe an hour-" Melancholia stopped. It hadn't been an hour ago-it would still be dark outside in that case. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked suddenly.

"Six months."

Melancholia sat straight up in her bed-or at least attempted to, before Valkyrie pushed her back down.

"No, you don't need to freak out over this. You were really, really sick, and we brought you to a Sanctuary hospital."

"Yes, but...six months? Did I forget?" suddenly Melancholia was struck with a horrible thought. "Oh God, this isn't like one of those movies where the patient forgets everything each night, is it? We haven't been having the same conversation for the past six months, have we?"

Valkyrie blinked. "No," she said. "You've been in a coma."

"Oh. Good." Melancholia squinted. It was really very bright in the room.

"I didn't even think necromancers knew what a movie was."

Melancholia gave Valkyrie a dirty look. Or, at least, a look more dirty than the ones she'd given her previously.

"Why are you really here?" Melancholia asked sulkily.

Valkyrie sighed. "Because of my everlasting generosity, of course."

"You felt guilty, didn't you?"

"You were the one that attacked me in my house."

"You know, I don't even remember doing that."

"I don't remember much about it either, come to think of it."

"Well that's all to the good."

"I would have to agree with you there. Forgetting about pain is always the best course of action."

They were quiet for a few minutes, both girls trying to think of ways to express a sincere emotion in the most insulting way possible. Melancholia went first.

"You probably deserved whatever I did, but..." Melancholia paused. "Um."

"Are you trying to apologize? Because I would not be averse to that."

"No, of course I'm not apologizing! I killed dozens of people! How can an 'I'm sorry' possibly help that?" It was then that Melancholia realized she'd accidentally forgotten to insult Valkyrie, and she'd let sincere emotion slip through. Curses.

"You do have kind of an excuse. Barely. A miserable excuse at best." Valkyrie, unfortunately, took lessons from the Skulduggery Pleasant school of tact.

"Oh thank you. I really appreciate that."

"Well, insanity does work in court, or so I've heard." Valkyrie gritted her teeth. "Okay, I don't blame you entirely. If I did, you would be dead in a cave somewhere, wouldn't you?"

"How comforting."

"Shut up. It's not often I visit murderers by their bedsides. Consider yourself privileged."

"I won't."

"I'm glad. Anyway, I suppose it really wasn't all your fault. And..." Valkyrie sighed again. "Well, I think I know some of how the Death Bringer feels."

"How?"

Valkyrie looked at her solemnly. "Do you remember any of what happened after I asked you to kill me?"

"No..." Melancholia was lying. She did remember, just a little bit. Cold, cold black eyes and swirling black shadows-but she didn't think Valkyrie wanted to hear that, somehow.

"Well. When you killed me, it woke something up." Valkyrie was speaking slower now, thinking carefully about what she was going to say. "Something very, very bad. Something that wanted to kill absolutely everything. And she could, too."

Melancholia stared at her. Not in horror-Melancholia had long moved past horror. "Were you lonely?" she asked.

Valkyrie looked at her, startled. "I don't think so...what kind of a question is that?"

"I was lonely."

"Oh." she was quiet for several minutes. "I'm sorry."

"You should be."

Valkyrie glanced at her in surprise.

"It's your fault, after all."

Valkyrie sneered at her, grateful to return to the simpler blame-throwing. Melancholia was surprisingly glad that Valkyrie was there. Maybe if someone else had something horrible in them, like Melancholia had, she wouldn't be so lonely. Maybe Valkyrie would be a little less lonely, as well.

Chapter Text

Skulduggery regained his flesh-and-blood body entirely by accident.

He had not been looking to regain it, had not even considered it a possibility, but there it was.

He and Valkyrie had been in the caves under Gordon's house, more for exploration than anything. They were indeed perfectly aware of how dangerous exploring the caves was, but it was a slow day and they weren't planning on going very far. They were planning on booking it out of the caves the instant they came across a monster, and that was indeed true, but not before Skulduggery had accidentally caught some insane spell that had been misfired by the monster full in the face. In the next second, there was the temporarily disgusting feeling of being encased in meat, and long gray hair obscured his vision.

Valkyrie did something rather out-of-character and shrieked at the top of her lungs. Her later reasoning had been that if seeing people reduced to skeletons was scary, the opposite must be true as well.

Of course, Valkyrie screaming was entirely upstaged by what had happened in the next instant. Skulduggery, who was suddenly very aware of the hot blood pumping in very alive veins and the muscles and nerves encasing his bones found himself completely overwhelmed by sensation.

You see, when he was simply a skeleton, Skulduggery was actually missing several senses. He couldn't taste anything, that was obvious, but neither could he smell anything and his sense of time was thrown a bit off as well for some reason. Suddenly, Skulduggery was hit with several senses at once. Abruptly regaining a sense of smell would be a bit much for anyone, but Skulduggery was already suffering the uncomfortable feeling of having meat on his bones and a tongue in his mouth, so the smells that an ordinary human would have dismissed became positively overpowering.

On top of all that, Skulduggery was also dealing with very suddenly having to breathe. It's much more work than you might think.

So Skulduggery, being afflicted with flesh, possibly having bitten his own tongue by accident, hyperventilating, smelling monsters, cave plants and goodness knows what else, did the sensible thing and fainted. Valkyrie, secure in the knowledge that she would be able to taunt him for this later when she stopped panicking, somehow threw Skulduggery over her shoulder and ran for it (it was surprisingly easy-though now at least a hundred pounds heavier, Skulduggery was still unsettlingly light).

They'd already been running for it when the time-eating monster or whatever it was caught them, but Valkyrie chose not to think about that. Instead, she steadfastly decided to never set foot in these caves ever again for as long as she lived. Possibly as long as anyone lived. Nothing was worth this insanity.

Skulduggery actually came to several times while Valkyrie was making her way out of the caves. Each time, his head spun horribly and he was assaulted with various with scents and tastes (since he hadn't tasted so much as the roof of his own mouth in several hundred years, even the taste of blood from one of the cuts on his lips was overwhelmingly strong), and promptly passed out again.

He finally came around and stayed that way on one of the couches in Gordon's living room. He blinked, put a hand to his face in surprise, then remembered that he seemed to have skin now.

It unsettled him, to say the least.

Valkyrie came into the room, still looking a little dazed. Her coat was off, and her arms were covered in scratches, most of them bandaged. He stared at her. She stared back at him. He continued to stare at her.

It went on like that for a few minutes before Valkyrie asked "Please tell me you're actually Skulduggery and not some sort of weird alternate-dimension double or something. Because I already rescued him from another universe and I don't feel like doing it again."

"No, I'm definitely me. I think. Maybe. Why do I have fingernails?"

"What."

"Fingernails. Look. I have them." he showed her his hands, and indeed, the fingers were graced with long, ragged nails. "Why?"

"Are you only going to speak in sentence fragments from now on?"

"I'm worried that I'll tangle my tongue if I talk too much." Skulduggery poked himself in the mouth curiously. "Tongues are strange things. How in the world do you use one?"

"You seem to be doing just fine. I mean, just fine in the talking area. I'm not so sure about anything else. And I'm worried you're going to pass out again."

"Why?"

"Because you did already. And besides, what's the state of that body you've got?"

"I don't know. I can't tell. It seems like a perfectly fine disgusting meaty bloodsack of a body."

"Exactly. You could be starving and have liver failure, and you wouldn't notice." Valkyrie said, ignoring Skulduggery's comments.

"I don't think my liver is failing..."

"Well, no. You're not yellow. But starving is a concern. Do you even remember what hunger feels like?"

"No."

"And your ribs are sticking out. Less than usual...wait, more than usual? I don't know. You're going to eat some food anyway."

"I'm pretty sure tasting anything stronger than water will kill me."

"...why?" asked Valkyrie with a sort of 'why do I even bother' tone. Skulduggery resented that.

"Because just about every taste, including the air, is currently something akin to a religious experience. Or being stabbed in the face over and over again. Either way, don't get anything with any taste in it."

"Humans can't taste the air. That's snakes."

"I think I might possibly be a little sensitive to everything after not having a tongue for three hundred years."

Valkyrie rolled her eyes, but nodded. Before she returned to the kitchen, she said "Your suits won't fit anymore, by the way."

"My suits?" Skulduggery glanced down to see that his suit was in tatters, the seams split with his sudden gain in volume. For lack of any other idea, Valkyrie had just thrown a blanket over him. "Oh...wonderful."

Chapter Text

Skulduggery knew what happened when a person died.

Oh sure, he told everyone he didn't, that he hadn't gone far enough, that all he'd done was stay on Earth as a furious spirit. But he knew. He'd just promised not to tell anyone.

Of course, the secret was right in front of everyone, if they so cared to look. Skulduggery could see it, just over their shoulders. All anyone ever had to do was turn around, and there it was. Though perhaps it was something only Skulduggery could see-the brilliant white glow at the edge of everything, and the words that unfurled themselves in the air. And the...Other.

It was to the Other he'd given his promise of silence. The Other had looked straight at him with its huge eyes (the color of which he could not remember, not that he wanted to) and in its gaze Skulduggery could see the great secrets of the universe that were never meant to be told.

"Look up," the Other had said in a voice that was somehow sound and vision and time all at once and even the memory of it burned Skulduggery's thought. "Look up, and you'll see."

So Skulduggery had looked up, and he'd seen something he couldn't remember. It was something burning and unreal and important, and as hard as he tried, he simply could not remember.

But when he looked back down again, the Other had smiled at him, a smile that tore at the inside of Skulduggery's mind whenever he thought about it, and held a finger to its lips as if to say "Don't tell."

Skulduggery didn't remember much after that except awakening back in his skeleton, under a river, with a fury that could have lasted him ten lifetimes.

Ah, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered nearly as much as returning to that afterlife, that blank white space, and the Other's welcoming wingbeats and burning voice. The existential terror that had held him while he was there seemed like nothing compared to the strange loneliness and dullness of the living world.

When he'd first returned to life, Skulduggery was glad to be back. The colors and the soothing familiarity had comforted his lingering fears. The living world greeted him with horrors he could fight and problems he could solve. However, as time wore on, it seemed that there was a certain hollowness in the living world that could not be filled no matter what he did, whether it was help people or...otherwise, when he was Lord Vile.

It seemed half of him still remained in the afterlife, back with the Other and whatever alien hand guided his life and the life of everyone else. It wasn't that surprising that he wasn't all alive, because anyone who saw him knew that he wasn't. He was a skeleton, after all, and skeletons are dead by definition.

However, he knew that there was no point in trying to die again. The Other would just send him back, as it had done the first time. It had told him that his death was just the beginning-of what, Skulduggery didn't know, but he did know that trying to kill himself would come to nothing. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure if he could kill himself. He had no idea how far-reaching the Other's powers were, and for all he knew, the Other would make it so that nothing would kill him.

So Skulduggery continued his half-life, and kept his secrets. When people asked him, he told them that he didn't know anything about the real afterlife, that he'd just floated around as an angry spirit for a while before possessing his bones and returning to the physical plane.

He caught another glimpse of the afterlife in the St Clair girl, when she had temporarily dispersed him with her 'death bubble' or whatever it was. He saw the great white expanse and heard a whisper of the Other's great beating wings, and then he was snapped back to the living world again, with Valkyrie attempting to put his body back together.

After that, he'd become Vile for a short time, and there was a sense of inevitability that was overpowering. When he'd been Lord Vile before, it was out of a feeling of desperation and overwhelming fury. Now, Vile seemed like something he had to do, like he was playing a part in a play (he thought sometimes that perhaps he was, but he soon dismissed these thoughts for fear of what they would bring).

In the end, he could pull off Vile's armor and pull Valkyrie out of Darquesse's hold, and he felt a strange urge to ask whether Valkyrie saw the same things he did. After all, she was like him, her power overflowing through her skin and in her mind.

Then he remembered the sound of the Other's voice and the searing look of its smile, and decided to keep his secrets, if only for a little while longer.

Chapter Text

Dying hurt, Skulduggery realized.

As he'd never died before now, he'd had no idea. He figured that maybe death stopped hurting, at some point, but this never did. As the already dim room began to grow dark at the edges, the pain continued. Maybe, he supposed, he was in so much pain because of Serpine's red right hand, which was of course pointed right at him. Maybe it was the fact that Serpine looked as appallingly smug as he did. Maybe it was simply that dying hurt.

So when the pain finally stopped, his heart stopped beating and his lungs stopped working, he extremely surprised. From the amount of pain he'd just been in, he'd been expecting that he'd be in Hell once he finally died. What was even more surprising was that he found himself still in the room, with Serpine. As a matter of fact, he was surprised he could see Serpine. Didn't your eyes stop working when you died? Of course, they didn't seem to be working quite right-everything in the room had a strange white sheen around it.

He really, really hoped the afterlife wasn't to be stuck in one's own rotting corpse for all time, with nothing but glowing objects for company. He was only slightly relieved when Serpine called up some minions to dispose of his corpse, and Skulduggery found he wasn't carried along. He followed the minions with his body only because of a niggling sense of obligation. Ghosts (as he assumed he was one now) were supposed to stay close to their bodies.

Of course, following his body around was getting more and more difficult for some reason. The world, which had grown so dark while he was dying,was now glowing brighter and brighter, the pale glow around everything strengthening until it became bright as fire, bright as daylight. Now the impenetrable darkness was turning to blinding light, and he didn't think he liked either option that much.

The light grew and grew and grew until he was no longer in Serpine's halls but floating on a plain of neverending white. Although there was only white in every direction, there was some kind of pressure on Skulduggery's mind that made him think he might shatter under the stress.

There where words in the whiteness. Skulduggery was astonished he hadn't noticed before, but perhaps the words weren't there until then. He wasn't sure. The words were strange-looking, mechanical and black, and they broke his heart on a primal level he didn't really understand.

He closed his eyes and put his hands over his face, and it was a long, long time before he could look up again.

When he finally gained the strength too look up, the words were still there, furled out along the blank white space, and the words almost took shapes of their own. Some existential terror gripped him as he looked at the words, but it was with a great effort that he chose to ignore it and actually think about this. Of course, when he did think about it (he was dead, floating in the blank white space of eternity with the language of the gods uncurling all around him), horror overtook him again, and he finally quit trying to think of a way out of this and just drifted among the words.

And then he turned around.

He didn't really understand why, or how, or indeed if he'd turned around at all or the world had shifted around him, but he was facing something entirely different now. The beat of heavy wings and a swift clattering sounded in his ears and he suddenly had the strange feeling that there were many, many eyes staring at him. And there was something in front of him.

Something

He didn't understand he couldn't think

The Other Thing had wings and a bright white smile, eyes the color of the whole world and oh it was beautiful oh but it didn't make sense it hurt to look at it hurt

The Other Thing put a hand under his chin (bright burning fingers and a touch like a thousand suns long fingernails and heavy calluses) and stared straight into his eyes. Skulduggery would have wept, had he been able. His mind would have fractured and his soul scattered to the winds with the look in those eyes but he couldn't something was keeping him here

Look up

It was a great voice in his head, something that he saw and he felt and made him want to claw at the inside of his skull, anything to dull the pain.

Look up, and you'll see

Skulduggery did as he was asked. What else could he do? The Other's hand was still on him, its voice still compelling him though the echoes had long since died away.(how long had he been here?)

So Skulduggery looked up and saw.

Oh

Up and up and up, a spiral of space and time and meaning, he was being written, wasn't he? There were faces and faces, going up for ages, but he didn't understand. Something, some unseen hand was in his head, twisting his thoughts and he knew it was there but he didn't understand

but

It

stopped

no

don't

And he was back among the words, with the beats of the Other's wings and the pain of the Other's voice still ringing in his ears. The Other smiled at him, and Skulduggery felt the alien hand in his mind again, and it made such perfect sense

Then the Other put a finger to its lips, as if to say

Quiet don't tell

Skulduggery nodded, and was astonished to find he still could nod. He was surprised he could even remember his own name.

You're going back

Said the Other, voice edged with diamonds and scattered with razors.

This is but the beginning, just a small note, and you won't come back here again for a long long time

Just the beginning? But Skulduggery had died. You didn't just wake up from-

Oh yes you can

Skulduggery could have sworn the other was laughing, if the very idea of such a sound didn't make him want to drive knives through his skull.

Then the Other touched his forehead (burning burning too many angles how does it work), and the words and whiteness melted away, to be replaced with a welcoming, gray view of a very real river. The edges of everything still had a slight white glow, and if he turned his head a little, he would catch curling words in the corner of his eye, but the world was solid and real and the Other was nowhere in sight. The river stank of magic, but it was a mundane Necromantic spell that Skulduggery didn't mind.

Without knowing quite what he was doing, he walked into the river, driven by something he was positive was some variation of resurrection spell.

And it was at the bottom of the river (the water passed through him, leaving barely a chill behind) that he found a sack of bones.

Chapter Text

"This sucks."

"Indeed it does. You're extremely astute."

Valkyrie and Skulduggery were currently stuck in an alternate dimension, a functioning one that the Faceless Ones hadn't touched. They'd gotten there through a series of alternately hilarious and horrifying events involving Dr. Nye, Fletcher, and some stupid nonsense that neither Valkyrie nor Skulduggery felt like remembering at that moment.

The dimension they were in was much closer in tone to Earth than the Faceless Ones' dimension. They were currently stranded in some sort of Industrial-Revolution era city, which was possibly an alternate universe London. The denizens of the city employed both magic and steam engine-based technology to, presumably, perform horrible acts of villainy on random unlucky citizens.

The pair of them had been there for about a week before being carted off to the local insane asylum on extremely flimsy pretenses (something about heresy, public disturbance, assault, that sort of thing). Skulduggery had a theory that anyone who looked like they might bathe regularly and eat food without maggots in it was instantly regarded as either a) a criminal, b) a foreigner, or c) a lunatic. Valkyrie and Skulduggery had, unfortunately, fallen into the third category.

They weren't quite sure why they were considered insane instead of foreign or criminal, but Valkyrie suspected it had something to do with the fact that Skulduggery didn't have a face and an insane asylum was the best place to host mad experiments on anyone remotely unusual, and Skulduggery was a bit more than 'unusual.' Neither of them mentioned the fact that they might actually be crazy under less-than-ideal circumstances and the occupants of the London-ish city had simply picked up on it.

The insane asylum looked like an amalgamation of the worst madhouses from the eighteen hundreds one could imagine. A massive, towering structure, it lay on the outskirts of the city and was surrounded by numerous barbed-wire fences and magical traps. The magical traps were the worst part because neither Skulduggery nor Valkyrie recognized the symbols of this universe, and thus couldn't figure out how to deactivate them. It had gray concrete walls and small windows yellowed with the ever present smoke that hung over the city.

They'd been unceremoniously thrown through the doors of the asylum (quite literally-there was some sort of steam/magic powered robot thing whose entire job consisted of throwing people through doors), and 'checked in' using the loosest possible meaning of the term. 'Checking in' involved a nurse with dubious qualifications asking them their names and tossing the pair of them into a single padded cell. She hadn't even noticed that Skulduggery was a skeleton. Granted, he'd had his facade on at the time, but he'd lost his gloves at some point and his suit had several tears in it, so it should have been fairly obvious.

One of the most curious things about this was that the nurse hadn't 'confiscated' anything in order to sell it. Valkyrie though that was run of the mill for hospitals, even modern ones, but no, they still had all their things, including sharp objects and their shoelaces.

In any case, they were stuck in a padded cell whose previous occupant had been a truly talented artist, judging by the pictures and deranged ramblings that covered the walls. The strangeness of the fact that they were both in the same cell did not elude them. It would have been far more reasonable to have separate men and women's wards, but apparently reason was something this universe had abandoned long ago.

They'd been in the cell for about two weeks (give or take) before an actual doctor came to see them-although 'actual' and 'doctor' were both somewhat broad terms in this universe. Otherwise, they'd had no company other than the occasional orderly that came to bring them-okay, Valkyrie-food and water. The only reason they hadn't died of boredom before then was because Skulduggery had had long, long practice in being in dull cells for weeks at a time and had ways of fending it off.

The doctor, a thoroughly creepy man named Heinvellich, declared the pair of them delusional and paranoid. He decided Skulduggery had an aversion to touch, hydrophobia, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. He also decided that Valkyrie had an obsession with death and multiple personality disorder. Neither of them were quite sure how he'd gotten the multiple personality one, because it seemed to be the only one that was remotely correct. They both agreed he must have gotten something right out of sheer luck, seeing how he'd literally made everything else up.

Well, except Skulduggery's 'aversion to touch' thing-but it was only an aversion to Doctor Heinvellich's touch anyway, so they didn't think it counted. There'd been an incident where the good doctor had yanked Skulduggery's shirt open to peer at the facade symbols on his collarbones, and Skulduggery had quite reasonably punched him in the face. Even after getting a black eye, the doctor was still overly curious about Skulduggery, and thus when the man was in the room Skulduggery had to keep one hand aflame to ward him off. Valkyrie thought this was hilarious, but Skulduggery didn't share her opinion.

Despite handsy doctors and top-quality wall art, the novelty of the place had worn off, and thus Valkyrie and Skulduggery had spent the last month or so they'd been here planning escape attempts. Their desire to escape was spurred on by many things, including random bouts of unpleasant 'therapies' (most of which were performed on Skulduggery, as he was the most interesting of the pair of them. Luckily, most 'therapies' also had little to no effect on him), poor quality food, even creepier doctors than Heinvellich (including one that had actually tried to talk Skulduggery out of being a skeleton, believing his skinlessness was psychosomatic), and the odd fact that they seemed to be losing various articles of clothing. Both of their jackets, Valkyrie's socks, and Skulduggery's belt had all vanished mysteriously.

They'd decided on going to the roof and jumping off. Not to kill themselves or anything, but because they figured that the magical traps didn't reach that high and Skulduggery could conceivably fly them both out. When they'd first arrived, they both had been hesitant to use their flashier magic, like Skulduggery's flying or Valkyrie's necromancy, and had been trying to think of ways out that didn't involve them, but the situation had gotten uncomfortable enough that they didn't really care anymore.

"I'm so bored." moaned Valkyrie. "Can't we just blow the door open and make a break for it?"

"I've told you several reasons why that would be a terrible idea, including pointing out the symbols on the door. It's not my fault if you don't listen. Besides, we already have a plan. It's just going to take a while for it to go into effect."

"Look, I just can't stand another six hours of rock-paper-scissors. Or charades. Or trying to figure out your stupid riddles. I can see why people in this place go actually crazy."

"I have a sewing kit. You can take up sewing." Skulduggery indeed had a sewing kit, though it was more a pack of needles and three spools of black thread he kept in his pocket than an actual kit. He was currently attempting to sew one of the buttons back onto the cuff of his sleeve.

"I can't stand another six hours of you trying to teach me that, either."

"It's probably something you should learn," he gave a significant glance to her clothes, which had gotten somewhat tattered over the last month-and-a-half.

Valkyrie growled. "Do you always get like this when you're in prison?"

"Get like what?"

"All..." Valkyrie waved a hand to compensate for lack of an appropriate phrase. "I mean, you're sewing."

"Indeed I am. I'm also waiting for that door to open."

Valkyrie snarled to herself and began pacing.

"You're doing a very good job of imitating an actual mental patient."

"Shut up. This is all your fault anyway. You just couldn't keep your face on for ten more seconds..."

"And I keep telling you, I had no idea being a skeleton was a crime in this city. You'd think they wouldn't have a precedent for it, or if they did, they wouldn't mind. I am firmly of the belief that there are people in this city more insane than I am, I had no idea that they would gravitate towards us."

"Well, you're right about one thing. There are people crazier than us here-but I'm going to join their rank if we don't get out of this cell!"

"You're not the one they constantly drag off for random and varied experiments all the time. I should think if I can stand being poked and prodded and electrocuted this whole time, you can stand a little boredom."

"I don't know, experiments seem a little more interesting than doing nothing. Though it is kind of a relief having you being the one in horrible danger for once."

"I'm in horrible danger all the time."

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. "You don't have internal organs to get stabbed at. I do."

Skulduggery looked like he would have rolled his own eyes if he had any, and continued sewing. Valkyrie resumed her pacing and had just begun muttering to herself when the door swung open to reveal one of the many creepy doctors populating they place. They'd seen him before, though they didn't know his name, nor did they much care.

Skulduggery and Valkyrie looked at each other, then looked at the doctor. Valkyrie then promptly kicked the man in the stomach, doubling him over in pain, and Valkyrie hit him again. Skulduggery calmly stood up, tucked his needle away, walked towards the door, and shoved the doctor facefirst into the wall (this was extremely painful, considering that the walls were made of concrete and the 'padding' was a disgrace to its kind).

The pair of them then made their way out and down the hallway, towards the steps leading to the roof.

Chapter Text

"I dunno why we were ev'r mad at eachother..." slurred Valkyrie, her arm around Fletcher's shoulders. Fletcher nodded, then shook his head.

"'S that vampire guy. Caeshmwen. Whatevur. That guy schcrewed everything up." he said, his own words as tangled as Valkyrie's own. "Alsho, you cheated on me."

Valkyrie lazily waved a dismissive hand. "Psh. Doeshn't matter."

"Matters a little..." they looked at each other, blinked, and each took another swig of their mugs. Neither of them were quite sure what they were drinking. They'd started out with beer and then moved on to...something. Valkyrie was very glad she didn't have her car with her-though she wasn't sure how safe drunk teleporting was, either. However, chances were that they'd pass out long before needing transport. Magical pubs, having drinks that were astonishingly strong, were far less disposed to tossing unconscious patrons out than mortal pubs were.

All Valkyrie knew was that her drink was bright green and tasted like someone had grounded up a steak, mixed it with a gallon of cranberry juice and put the whole thing in a blender with a pint of vodka. For all she knew, that was what it was. It tasted absolutely horrible but for some reason she couldn't stop drinking it. She suspected that there was a spell on it and as soon as she could stand up she would punch that hideously tattooed bartender in the neck.

Fletcher's drink tasted like sunshine. It, in fact, burned his tongue so badly he was surprised he could still taste anything at all. He was beginning to see smells. In a few hours, he would probably be able to see through time.

They'd been at the pub for who knows how long. It may have been dark outside, but everything was so utterly blurry that they couldn't tell.

"Fletshher?" mumbled Valkyrie, staring at her cup. "I think my drink is turnin' to spidersh. Deslishus schpidersh."

"Mmm?"

"Schpidersh. Y'know, eight legsh? Spooky...? Oh, y'know what? Nevermind. Mug'sh empty. Gonna s'more."

"Mmm...get me more, will you?"

"Shure."

Valkyrie got up, and stumbled her way over to the bar. She was surprisingly coordinated for being completely off her face. She went to the bar, punched the bartender in the neck (the bartender was used to it. You had to be, with drunk magicians), and retrieved a new pair of drinks, these ones glowing bright purple and bright orange respectively. She wore an unwittingly sleazy grin as she made her way across the room, and some moronic someone took that as an excuse to grope her in a completely inappropriate place.

Needless to say, she reacted accordingly. She bellowed several expletives, dropped her drinks (taking a second to mourn the loss of such wonderful alcohol), picked the moronic someone up by the scruff of the neck, and hurled him through the nearest window. She may possibly have kicked the other fellows at the moron's table around some, but it was all very hazy.

Fletcher may have joined in the fight that may or may not have happened. Fletcher had gotten quite good at hand-to-hand fighting in recent years, so it was definitely in the realm of possibility. The end result was total and complete destruction of the pub. It seemed they'd unwittingly started a riot...or...something.

Again, rampant violence and property damage are really normal in mage bars. When you have very drunk, very angry, very stupid customers with superpowers you get used to replacing your windows. And chairs. And tables. And roof. However, there was a limit, and that limit was not actually having a bar with which to serve drinks. So, in this case, not only did Fletcher and Valkyrie get thrown out, so did every other drinking patron-those that were able to walk, in any case.

It was okay though. All the pair of them had to do was find another pub to terrorize.

Chapter Text

Anthony Undertow and Stephanie Shadow lived on the top floor of a rickety building that was squeezed into the very back of a narrow alleyway and crushed between several other buildings. Their building was pretty much hidden among the other ones, and although there were quite a few residents other than Anthony and Stephanie, visitors still had a hard time finding it. Not that that was really a problem for the two of them-they had far too many creepy friends and friendly enemies, and it was probably a good thing that they lived in a hard-to-find area.

Stephanie was a magician who was currently searching for her parents, whom she'd lost. They weren't dead, no, but she'd lost them. It was quite an easy thing to lose family members in this city, whether they be parents, siblings, children, third cousins, whatever. They could be lost when one's house collapsed in on itself from some idiot scientist's experiment, you could lose them in the Glass Mazes at the edge of the city limits, they could walk away with beautiful golden-eyed strangers or they could just get plain old lost.

Stephanie was a muscular, black-haired young lady who did the most unladylike things. That was alright, though, because nobody in the city was all that ladylike, including the Empress, the mayor's wife, and Pope Sharon. She'd pretty much broken into Anthony's place of residence (it couldn't be called an apartment, he'd actually bought the entire top floor) and permanently affixed herself to his guest room. Anthony had apparently been recommended to her by her dead journalist of an uncle.

A friend of said uncle, Anthony was a Finder who was a former magician. When his wife, Rebecca Undertow, had died in a truly nasty fashion, he'd stopped doing magic. Not because her death had anything to do with magic, no, but for other reasons that Anthony did not feel like imparting onto anyone else. So now he was a professional Finder. He found things for people, or lost things found him. It was a far more lucrative profession than one might imagine.

He was tall, and thin, with prominent cheekbones and long gray hair. When Stephanie had broken into his house he hadn't thrown her out only because that would involve more effort than he'd wanted to put intoanything at that moment. In his defense, it had been a very long day. Stephanie thought he was just lazy, but he maintained that the events of the day (which he had long since forgotten) were so exhausting it was simply not worth it to kick her out.

So the pair of them lived in Anthony's overlarge apartment, while Stephanie looked for her parents, Anthony helped, and Stephanie occasionally helped Anthony with his own jobs. They were slow to gain any information about her parents, and in fact had been looking for almost four years. However, any time Anthony suggested possibly reporting this to the actual authorities (he happened to know an organization or two who were actually helpful), Stephanie declined fiercely. She was convinced that any adult who was more responsible than Anthony and his various seedy friends would send her to live with her closest living relatives, a loathsome aunt and uncle with only slightly less loathsome daughters.

They spent their days looking for things and their nights bothering Mathias and Cecelia Low, Anthony's tailor friend and his sword-wielding wife. There was a far more subtle sense of urgency to the pair's life than one would expect of them, and time passed in a haze of acid autumn days and pitch black nights. They avoided the police and the mad scientists, and just about everyone did their best to keep out of prison. The world was occasionally on the brink of destruction, and Stephanie and Anthony found it in their hearts to save it. The days went by.

That is, until a Stephanie lookalike and a skeletal Anthony soundalike kicked the door of the house in.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, but it looked like dusk from all the smog outside. Stephanie and Anthony were going over a bizarre set of clues that might lead to her parents when the front door opened with a slam, and there was the sound of voices in the front hall.

Stephanie whispered to her hands and conjured a magic symbol, whereas Anthony went straight for his sword. He had a pistol on him too, but he didn't want to shoot up his own home and in any case the sword was electric, so it was all fine. The charged into the front hall, fully expecting an army of bandits or zombettes or any number of enemies.

They stopped dead when they realized that it was only two people, one of whom lacked a face and the other could be Stephanie's twin. The pair of them were extremely battered, Stephanie's twin's hair looking windswept and the skeleton's suit tattered. They both were missing any kind of coat and the skeleton was missing shoes.

"...what?" said Anthony intelligently.

"Are you Anthony Undertow?" asked the skeleton. At the sound of his voice, Stephanie jumped and yanked on Anthony's arm. He sounded exactly like Anthony. Anthony, having no idea what he sounded like outside his own head, ignored her and said "Yes. I'm afraid if you're one of my many, many mortal enemies, I'm afraid you'll have to wait to kill me."

Stephanie smirked at this. "Yes, there's a line. Anthony, are you not at all curious about a double of me and you appearing at the front door?"

"What on earth are you talking about? I'm certainly not missing my face." he retorted. "And I do believe I'm much handsomer than any skeleton."

The Stephanie twin laughed, and the skeleton glared at her. Well, he might have been glaring. It was impossible to tell.

"In any case, why have you kicked my door down?" asked Anthony in as much of a casual fashion as he could manage.

"We were recommended by someone who apparently recognized Valkyrie," said the skeleton, gesturing towards Stephanie's double. "A Mathias Low? Large man, bald, owns a clothes shop?"

Stephanie and Anthony shared a look, and put their weapons down.

"Mathias sent you? Well, that's all right then," said Stephanie. "So...um...would you mind shutting the door? Mr. Custer and Miss O'Hare downstairs will be coming up to see what all the fuss is about otherwise, and we don't want that." she and Anthony rolled their eyes at each other. Most of their neighbors ignored all the loud noises-Mr. Custer and Miss O'Hare did not. It was good in a fight, bad if they had noisy visitors.

The skeleton delicately closed the door. Valkyrie did not move.

"Alright, come in." said Anthony in a resigned sort of way, waving them forward, towards the sitting room. Valkyrie and the skeleton followed their doubles closely, the skeleton looking forcibly relaxed and Valkyrie's eyes darting about in a suspicious way.

Anthony invited them to sit down, and asked "Do either of you want tea?"

"No thank you," said the skeleton.

"Yes please," said Valkyrie. "It's been weeks since I've had any decent tea."

"Oh good. Stephanie?"

"No. You make it, Anthony." retorted Stephanie.

"I made it last time, and I never drink it."

"No, you just drink coffee. It's your kitchen, as you are so keen on reminding me."

Anthony sighed to himself and turned towards the kitchen door. "Fine, fine. I keep you here out of the goodness of my shriveled heart..."

"No. You keep me here because you're too lazy to throw me out." Stephanie said, sitting down herself. While Anthony was gone, she said "I'm sorry. We never got around to introductions. I'm Stephanie Shadow, and I'm here to do all of Anthony's magical work. And yourselves?"

"Skulduggery Pleasant." said the skeleton.

"Valkyrie Cain." said she.

Stephanie's only response was to raise an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Anthony soon returned, bearing a cup of tea and a cup of coffee, and giving the tea to Miss Cain. He hadn't bothered to get anything for Stephanie. She glared at him, he said "So, Mathias recommended you to me? Whatever for?"

"We ran into him, thought he was a friend of ours," shrugged Valkyrie. "He's got another double we know."

"Oh yes, there's also that 'double' business." Anthony and Stephanie shared a look. "Miss Cain, Mister Pleasant, first we have to establish this; are you part of a scientist's experiment gone horribly wrong?"

"Because if you are, we have a problem." said Stephanie.

Skulduggery and Valkyrie stared at them and shook their heads. "No," said Skulduggery. "Unless the scientist in question happened to implant us with false memories about another universe."

"Ah. That probably is not the case. Most scientists, or magicians, are not that subtle." said Anthony in relief.

Valkyrie snorted. "No kidding." Skulduggery tilted his head in an amused fashion.

"So there's that solved. Now, what is this about...other universes?"

Skulduggery and Valkyrie looked at each other. "To make a very long, exceedingly stupid story short, we have mages who can open holes into other universes, it turns out." started Skulduggery.

"Yes, they exist." added Valkyrie.

"Well, we got thrown through one of these magical holes in the fabric of reality." finished Skulduggery.

"We've been here for months," exclaimed Valkyrie, taking a furious sip of her tea. "Dodging cops and escaping from mental asylums..."

"Would that be why you appear to be missing articles of clothing?" asked Stephanie, looking pointedly to Skulduggery's bare feet.

"Yes. Yes it is." Valkyrie did not elaborate, nor did Skulduggery.

"Well..." Anthony said ponderously. "Are either of you any good at Finding things?"

"I suppose..." said Valkyrie.

"It is in our job description..." Skulduggery commented thoughtfully.

"Good. Then you can help us look for things." declared Stephanie, having anticipated what Anthony was going to ask.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, we should probably let you stay here, being our doubles and all." Anthony said. "We can't exactly have random strangers think they recognize one of you and ask you to do one of our jobs. You'd steal all of our business."

"Ah." the doubles were silent for a moment, Valkyrie elbowing Skulduggery and Skulduggery elbowing her back for reasons that were not completely understood. "Well, if it meant not having to sleep on this city's utterly disgusting streets anymore..." decided Skulduggery.

"Oh god yes." said Valkyrie, shuddering. "Or getting arrested. And having tea."

"...then yes, we can probably help you on your insane quests."

"I do believe I should resent that, but given the types of things we've Found recently, you're not entirely wrong." admitted Anthony.

"Well then I suppose it's a good thing you bought the whole top of the building, Anthony," said Stephanie. "Because without visitors from another universe that much extra space would have just been silly."

"It's my house, as you have pointed out to me on numerous occasions. I feel I should have a say in how large it is." sniffed Anthony haughtily. "Mister Pleasant, Miss Cain, I do believe we have an extra room or two that you can use..."

Chapter Text

Skulduggery was very, very angry. Valkyrie couldn't remember seeing him this angry in a long while, though she wasn't remembering much of anything at the moment. Her vision kept blurring and she suspected it was all the blood loss. She wasn't too worried about herself, though. She wasn't willing to let go of life just yet, and if she got too bad, she knew Darquesse would come out and heal her. And then, of course, perform a violent rampage all across Ireland, but Valkyrie didn't think that Darquesse would come out anyway. She was alright. She was more worried about Skulduggery at this point.

Skulduggery looked more than a little burned, the bones of his arms and his ribs, exposed by his torn suit, were slightly charred. He was missing a tooth, and he hadn't spoken for the last half an hour. He would occasionally tilt his head over in her direction, just to check how she was, and then snap it back to the road. His jaw was tightly clenched, and honestly, she couldn't remember him speaking since they met back up-or rather, since Skulduggery went berserk and rescued both of them from Scorn and Ustaneth's clutches.

Darquesse hadn't bothered to rescue her from that. Valkyrie was a little worried about it-perhaps Scorn and Ustaneth had done something? She bit her lip, not sure whether this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, Darquesse was under control now (far more so than she had been even a few years ago) but on the other, she was still Darquesse.

She turned to Skulduggery, not quite sure what to say. She pondered for a minute, then said "D'you know if they did something to me?" she paused, thinking about how that sounded. "Something else, I mean?" she didn't want to talk about...that. She could look down at her bleeding body later, when she cleaned the blood off her shirt, which she'd wrapped tightly around her cut and torn arms. It had seemed like the best thing to do at the time.

Skulduggery's shoulders tensed. She thought he wasn't going to answer at all, when he finally said "W-w-wha' d-d'ye m-mean?"

Weird. Was it just the car making his voice shake like that? He sounded...funny.

"What's wrong with your voice?" she asked dazedly. There was no way she could hold a conversation with him if she could barely understand what was said.

"D-d-doesn' matter. W-wha' d'ye m-m-mean?" he clenched his teeth again. The missing one looked very conspicuous. "What e-else would th-th-th-" he growled to himself, and Valkyrie would have been startled had she been more alert. "What e-e-else would've been d-d-done t'ye?"

"Darquesse never came out. I thought that maybe she wanted to but they did s-something to me." Valkyrie was getting a stutter of her own now. Things seemed to be starting to hit her just now, very slowly, but they were getting there all the same. Her hands burned. "Are we getting closer to...wherever we're going?"

"G-goin' to Ghastly's. He's d-dealt w'this s-s-sort've th-thing before. I-in th' war."

"You seriously sound weird. Are you sure you're all right?"

Skulduggery let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Y-ye're w-w-worried 'bout m-me r-right n-n-now?"

"Yes. I don't...I don't..." Valkyrie sucked a breath in through her teeth. "I don't want to think about me right now."

Skulduggery tilted his head in an understanding way, but his shoulders were still tense and his jaw still clenched. He didn't seem to be letting go of his fury any time soon.
"Well...i-i-if'n it h-helps ye, th-th-they couldn' do a-a-anythin' to y-yer true name. M-mebbe th-th-they t-t-traumatized y-you enough tha' she couldn' g-g-get out."

Valkyrie stared at him. "Do I sound traumatized to you?"

"Y-ye're bleedin' a-all ov'r my p-passenger s-s-seat an' y-ye ask me that?" his sense of wit seemed to be returning, at any rate. He shook his head. "G-god's b-b-beard, girl."

"God's beard? Girl? Why do you sound like...like...I dunno..." Valkyrie's words failed her. She felt even more tired than she did before and she somehow didn't think that was a good thing.

"I s-s-soun' h-hacked off, th-that's what. A-a-ask me 'bout i-it l-l-later, when'm less i-inclined t' rip th-th-those t-two apart w' m-m-my b-bare ha-h-hands."

They stopped talking for a bit after that, not least because Skulduggery was getting progressively more and more unintelligible with rage. They arrived at Ghastly's shop, and Ghastly, surprisingly, had no words to say about either of them putting themselves into any danger. On the contrary, he looked as angry as Skulduggery seemed, though it wasn't with either of them. He understood Skulduggery's desire for secrecy, and had helped the pair of them to lay down in his guest room. He stitched Valkyrie's cuts up and had a long, quiet discussion with Skulduggery while she drifted in an out of consciousness before finally falling asleep.

When she woke up, it was morning, she was in utter agony, and she panicked. She simply did not know where she was and she shrieked and fell out of bed, which just made everything hurt worse. She was just standing up Skulduggery bolted into the room, and the sight of him made her somewhat calmer.

"Skulduggery, w-where...?"

He put a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder, and she winced. Even a light touch made her cuts burn. "We're at Ghastly's," he said, he speech oddly measured and slow, with only a touch of the stammer from last night. "Calm down."

She relaxed and he helped her to sit back on Ghastly's guest bed. Skulduggery had apparently gotten the couch. She resented him for being able to recover so quickly, but it was really very hard to hurt him at all.

"Are we safe?" she asked him in a whisper. He nodded. "Oh good," she said "I wasn't sure."

"No, we're very safe. Ghastly activated the stronger wards around the house and he's gone to tell the Sanctuary about Scorn and Ustaneth."

"Oh. Do we have to go and fight them yet?"

"I hope not. I'm in pain."

"Oh yeah, and I'm perfectly fine." Valkyrie felt a little better knowing that Skulduggery had recovered some of his sense of humor. Then she asked "What was wrong with your voice last night?"

"That's what you care about? Not, 'when am I going to heal' or 'when can I beat those two to death' but 'what's wrong with your voice?'"

"Yes. You were stuttering. You sounded like a drunk Welshman."

"I think you were suffering from blood loss. And I'll have you know that drunk Welshmen sound surprisingly dignified."

"You said to ask you about it later," she persisted. "And now it's later. And now I'm asking you."

"Well, my answer is that you should wait even later. Maybe forever."

"I'm just going to ask Ghastly about it when he turns up, and you know he's going to tell me about it in the worst possible way."

"Ah." Skulduggery considered this for a moment, then shrugged. "The angrier I am, the less coherent I am. It happens to everybody. I don't see why my particular rage-induced speech impediment is so interesting."

"I don't start stuttering when I'm mad. And you said 'God's beard." That's pretty interesting."

"You're not special enough to stutter, obviously."

"Oh, you're 'special' all right...look, I'm horribly wounded. You should at least tell me something to make me feel better."

Skulduggery tilted his head in a dejected sort of way. "The hideously injured person always wins the argument."

"I'm pretty sure that's wrong."

"I'm telling you what you wanted to know. I could always just get up and leave..."

"I'll shut up."

"Thank you." Skulduggery paused for a minute, trying to figure out how to put this. "I used to have a stutter when I was very young...about three, four hundred years ago now. It comes back if I get very emotional, and is especially bad if I'm angry. I'm told I get an accent when I'm angry enough, too, and apparently that accent is a sixteen-hundreds rural Irish one."

"Well, that accounts for the 'God's beard' bit." Valkyrie smirked at him. "A stutter. Why is that so funny?"

"Probably because you're delirious from blood loss."

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. "That's your answer to everything."

"That would be because it's true."

"I would kick you, but I think it'd hurt too much." Valkyrie, realizing what she'd said and noticing Skulduggery's clenched fists, added "But that's not an excuse to go rage-impediment on me. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying last night." Skulduggery's fists relaxed somewhat. "Though I wouldn't mind you going berserk and beating those two up." they both knew what 'two' she was referring to.

"Well, I wouldn't mind either, except for the fact that I am in much more pain than I let on."

"Well, damn." they were quiet for a moment, both silently resenting the fact that neither of them could go out and violently pulverize Scorn and Ustaneth. Eliza Scorn and Ustaneth had been causing trouble for the past month, but it had only now become this bad.

"Wait, you said something about why Darquesse wouldn't come out," realized Valkyrie. "Something about trauma?"

"Ah. That's an entirely different discussion, you see..."

Chapter Text

The silence was the hardest part.

Valkyrie hadn't realized exactly how much Skulduggery talked, and she hadn't expected the quiet that came with his absence. Though he moved soundlessly, he'd always managed to fill his unnatural silence up with words, and now she missed them. She missed his deep, rich voice and his curious manner of speaking. She missed the long, wandering discussions they had in his house and when driving around in the Bentley.

She missed the times when she'd accidentally stumbled upon him singing quietly to himself, old songs that he'd long forgotten the names of and she'd never heard before. He had a good singing voice. She could never get the nerve up to ask him to sing, though now she wished she had. She wished she'd heard him sing more often.

The friends who remained-Ghastly, Tanith, Fletcher, Kenspeckle, China-just weren't the same. China seemed to understand about the quiet, as she'd even commented on it once or twice, but Valkyrie never liked to talk about it. Tanith comforted her as best she could, but Tanith didn't really seem to understand. Fletcher talked all the time, but he was an idiot, so she didn't care. Admittedly, he was a well-meaning idiot whose stupid hair looked oddly appealing once or twice, but he was still an idiot.

Kenspeckle never said it out loud, but Valkyrie could tell that he was glad that Skulduggery was gone. He didn't approve of her going on cross-country jaunts to go and find his skull, but he never talked about that either. He mostly sighed at her, made disparaging remarks about the company she kept and patched her up. She liked being at Kenspeckle's clinic. It was louder than Gordon's house, more comfortable than China's library, less awkward than Ghastly's store, and a damn sight less heart-wrenching than Skulduggery's empty house.

She went to Skulduggery's house on Cemetery Road sometimes. Just to dust and make sure that he hadn't somehow gotten back on his own (he never did, but she could hope). She sometimes read his books. He couldn't claim a vast and magnificent library like China, but that was alright. Nobody could claim a library like China anyway. Skulduggery's collection sported mostly older books, histories and magical tomes, and, oddly, a large collection of science fiction.

Valkyrie didn't like being at his house for a long time. It, too, was far more quiet than it should have been. It felt cold and silent and dead, and she always forgot that Skulduggery wasn't there until she started to call out for him, wondering where he was.

So to try and ignore the silence, she threw herself into her work. It, too, was far too quiet without Skulduggery along, but it was something. It was close enough.

Chapter Text

Skulduggery stood on the edge of a rocky shore, watching a gray ocean tumble and froth under a steely sky.

He knew he was dead. He recognized the feeling, not to mention the girl in black that had come to greet him when he'd fallen. This place, on the other hand, was not familiar in the least, and he did not appreciate it. Although truth be told he was an adventurous man, he really did like to have some idea of what his current surroundings were.

"You're brooding."

Skulduggery spun around, one hand going to the empty space where his gun would ordinarily be (it seemed that when one died they forfeited their weapons but not their clothes, as his suit was perfectly intact). He knew that voice. That voice had haunted his nightmares and his guilt-riddled hallucinations for the past three hundred-odd years.

Machination Undertow, the owner of the voice, stood opposite him on the rocky shore, and smiled. Her short brown hair tossed in the breeze. She wore that long, beautiful dress that she'd never gotten the chance to wear when alive. Her smile was that special one she saved just for him.

Skulduggery's shoulders slumped. "Hello, Machination." he said, trying valiantly to keep his voice even. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be.

Machination's smile fell somewhat. "You're...not looking well, love." she said. Her mouth quirked at the edges just as it always did when she was worried. She stepped closer to him, and he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her. He didn't deserve her. He knew that. After all the things he'd done, he never deserved to see her again. So this couldn't be her.

"I've been better, I suppose. I don't particularly enjoy being dead." he said, fiddling absently with the cuff of his jacket. "Then again, I don't know of anyone who does."
Machination chuckled softly. "Well, my love, it's not so bad, after a while." she looks straight at him, right into where his eyes used to be, like she knows exactly where he's looking. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

"Of course you have." Skulduggery turned away from her, unable to look at her any more. "You're one of many, many people who died because of me. You and Anza both. So I'm not really surprised."

She didn't say anything.

"Where is Anza, by the way?" asked Skulduggery, affecting a casual tone. "You'd think she'd be here too."

"She's still waiting. She's waiting for her Da to come back to her, just like Bijan is waiting for his little brother, and Symmetry is waiting for her student, and Dywel and Camilla are waiting for their son." Machination paused. "Just like I'm waiting for my husband to come back to me."

"I stopped being your husband a long time ago, Machination." Skulduggery clenched his fist. "I stopped being anyone great or good or kind a long, long time ago. I..." he hesitated for a minute, then continued. "I'm sorry."

Machination was quiet for so long that he thought she'd gone, and finally he turned back around. She was still there, just looking at him. She looked sad, and tired, and he desperately wanted to make her smile again but he didn't know what to do.

They stood, staring at each other, for a long while. The only sounds were the crash of waves on the beach. Finally, Machination, apparently coming to a conclusion about something, stepped forward and put her arms around him.

And he was alive again.

He held her, arms wrapped around her waist very tightly, afraid to let her go. She held onto him just as hard, and he remembered how strong she'd always been. It made him smile into her shoulder. Eventually, they stepped back from each other, though her arms were still around his neck and he still held onto her middle. She brushed back a strand of his long, graying brown hair like she'd always done.

"I told you," she said. "I was waiting for you to come back to me. And you did."

He smiled, remembering how good it felt to be able to smile properly again, and said "Of course I did." he pulled her close again, and whispered "I missed you so much, Machi'."

"I know. I know you did." she ran a hand through his hair, and he felt her trembling slightly. "I missed you too. More than I can say. I'm not good with words. Not like you. I just...oh, my love, I missed you."

Skulduggery sighed. He would like nothing as much as to go with her, across the iron-gray sea, to whatever lay beyond. But he knew he couldn't. "I think...I have to do some waiting of my own, for a while. Before I can come back to everyone else."

"I know that too. You were awake for far too long, my love. You have to dream some before you can come back to all of us."

"I don't want you to go, Machi'." he murmured. "Not now."

"No. I'm not going anywhere, not now." they pulled apart, just enough to breathe. They stood side-by-side, and watched the ocean crash on the shore. They both had some waiting to do.

Chapter Text

"Why did we agree to do this, again?" asked Valkyrie, listlessly staring at Skulduggery's recently acquired television.

"I have no idea." moaned Tanith.

Some idiot, nobody could quite remember who, had suggested they all get together for something normal, like a movie night or something. That meant that Ghastly, Tanith on a good night, Fletcher and Valkyrie all made their way to Skulduggery's house and prepared to have an actual fun time. As with most things pertaining to anything normal or wholesome, they were sadly mistaken.

Currently, they were watching Skulduggery's movie, a black-and-white American movie called Fourteen Hours. Skulduggery loved it because it was both a Grace Kelly movie and involved the police. Just about everyone else was bored to tears. Unfortunately, they had to sit through this movie if they wanted to watch anything fun. As this was Skulduggery's house, and he had recently bought a television for just this purpose, he had first dibs.

Fletcher, incontrast to the rest of the party, looked interested, and Skulduggery seemed enraptured. Ghastly appeared to side with Tanith and Valkyrie on this one, and spent most of his time buried deep in a book of knitting patterns. Tanith and Valkyrie alternately snarked and compared scars, like they always did when they were bored.

Finally, the movie ended. Valkyrie had no idea what any of it meant, and she didn't care. She leapt to her feet, DVD box in hand.

"We're watching my movie next," she said definitively. "Something that has color. And action."

Skulduggery tilted his head in a derisive sort of way, Fletcher nodded absently, and Tanith fist-pumped. Valkyrie smiled to herself, and popped in the first disk to Burn Notice, her favorite tv show. It was a very American show, but it featured lots of espionage and enough action to keep her happy. She figured that if she monopolized the tv now, they'd watch Burn Notice all night and not have to see anyone else's stupid choices.

About ten minutes in, Tanith began to sulk. Both Skulduggery and Valkyrie were satisfied, commenting occasionally on the story but otherwise paying attention. Fletcher, as with Fourteen Hours, seemed interested. Ghastly was furiously knitting, and hadn't taken his eyes off his book once.

After two episodes, Tanith sprung up from her seat. "That's it, I can't take it anymore!" she declared, and whipped out her own movie. "I hate spy movies. You should have told me that was what it was, Val."

Valkyrie merely rolled her eyes. "It's not really a spy movie." she huffed.

Skulduggery had to agree. "It's more of a violent crime series," he said. "With some espionage on the side."

"Well, we're not watching it anymore." Tanith yanked the movie out and smugly put her own choice in. Her movie, as it turned out, was Fight Club, and Valkyrie idly wondered why all the movies they liked were American.

Tanith happily mouthed the words along with the characters on the screen. Apparently she'd watched this movie way more often than was healthy. Skulduggery shuddered in distaste within the first half hour, and Valkyrie didn't really get the point of a lot of it. Fletcher, again, had no objections. It was actually getting kind of strange. By now everyone was just ignoring Ghastly, who was continuing to knit. The entire time they were watching movies, Ghastly hadn't looked up once.

When this movie ended, Valkyrie sighed in relief, and Tanith scowled at her.

"Well, at least we got to make each other miserable." said Skulduggery cheerfully. "Do we have any more films we can inflict upon each other?"

Fletcher piped up "Well, I have a bunch of movies." Valkyrie and Skulduggery exchanged a look, prepared for something really, really stupid. Much to their surprise, Fletcher not only didn't come up with something stupid-he came up with several completely baffling somethings.

He had a bag full of movies. He had several musicals (Jesus Christ Superstar, Phantom of the Opera, the Little Mermaid) several cartoons (Princess Mononoke, Megamind, Avatar; the Last Airbender) and several movies that were just utterly impossible to place (Eraserhead, Dark City, Donnie Darko, the Call of Cthulu). Valkyrie knew he had a lot of free time, not having a job and all, but she'd never figured him for a film buff.

After a good amount of discussion (read; violent argument), they finally settled on Dark City, because it had fights, pretty cinematography, was incomprehensible and had really cool scenery. Everyone would like it-except Ghastly, of course, but it seemed he just refused to watch movies. Why he'd come here in the first place they had no idea.

An hour and a half later, it seemed they'd finally found a movie that everyone would actually like. Tanith liked the fights and incomprehensibility, Valkyrie liked the intense plot, Skulduggery liked the pretty cinematography, and Fletcher just liked movies in general, it seemed. Or, if not movies in general, seemed to be a lot less choosy about genres than anybody else here.

By the time Dark City finished, it was about three in the morning, and Tanith had passed out cold on Skulduggery's couch. Ghastly had fallen asleep too, sitting on the floor right under her, his impressive knitting project (it looked like he'd been knitting a suit for some unfathomable reason) nearly complete. Valkyrie was lying on top of Tanith's legs, also asleep.

Fletcher and Skulduggery were still awake. Skulduggery because he didn't sleep unless he really felt like it, and Fletcher because his sleeping schedule was honestly almost nocturnal already. They exchanged a look, shrugged at each other, and watched the rest of Fletcher's movie stash.

Chapter Text

"I wanna die." moaned Valkyrie, leaning over the large bucket that sat precariously on her lap.

"All those near-lethal encounters with monsters, psychopaths, Texan hitmen and ancient gods, and a flu is what kills you?" said Skulduggery, shaking his head.

"I didn't say I would," Valkyrie replied, ragged voice still edged with venom. "I just said I want to.."

"That's just the sickness talking. Unless your latent psychiatric problems come out when you're ill, which frankly, I don't think is sensible."

"Shut...up..." Valkyrie suddenly turned pale and retched into the bucket, not bringing anything up but throat-stinging bile. It was almost three in the morning, and her stomach was long since empty.

She'd been fine most of the day, which was why she was being sick at Skulduggery's house rather than at her own. She was just glad it was a slow day, and she didn't have to deal with being this sick on any important cases.

She had spent most of the day at Skulduggery's, not doing much except for an impromptu street fighting lesson or two. Come about six in the evening, she'd started becoming nauseous, and by seven it had escalated to a full-blown disgusting vomiting session. Luckily, Skulduggery had had a bucket hanging around, so she didn't have to move from her position on the couch.

Valkyrie sat up, wiping her mouth. She groaned inarticulately and sat back against the arm of the couch. In an uncharacteristic show of gentleness, Skulduggery made soothing noises and smoothed her sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. He'd been doing this all night, and if she hadn't been feeling quite so gut-wrenchingly awful she would have been suspicious. It was only now that the oddness of his behavior struck her.

"I didn't think you were a nursing type." she said breathlessly.

Skulduggery shrugged. "When you don't get sick, you end up having to nurse the people who do. You people get sick much more often than you would think."

"'You people?'"

"People with skin and organs. Living people."

"Oh. Good."

"That's not really-" Skulduggery was cut off when Valkyrie went pale again and leaned over the bucket. She retched again, stomach spasming painfully, but this time she didn't bring anything up at all.

"Ugh...this is not the way stomachs are supposed to move..." she said finally, when she sat back again.

"Probably not. I wouldn't know." Skulduggery laid the back of one bony hand on her forehead. "You're not as hot as you were. That's a good thing, by the way."

Valkyrie eyed him suspiciously. "How can you even tell?" she asked.

"I can tell temperature differences. My bones act exactly like skin acts on most people." he tilted his head slightly. "I'm going to blame your lack of observation on the fact that it's three in the morning and you have the flu."

"Okay, you do that." she blinked sleepily, then a thought occurred to her. "So when did you get an actual bedside manner?" she asked suddenly.

Skulduggery tilted his head away from her slightly. "Whatever do you mean?"

She glared at him. "'M too sick to engage in normal conversation. Tell me things."

He tilted his head in that way that meant he was smiling. "Well, it just so happens I used to live with a pair of women-well, one woman, one girl-who seemed to get sick all the time. So the skill isn't lost on me."

"Oh." Valkyrie would have felt bad for making him think of his dead family, but he didn't seem to mind too much at the moment, and it wasn't really her fault. He was the one who brought it up.

"Ultimately, the point is that I know how to take care of ladies with the flu."

Valkyrie looked at him sidelong. "So is this how you treat your friends when they're sick?"

"You are my friend."

"No, no, I mean, like, Ghastly and Ravel and...them."

"Ah. No, I let them suffer. They can fend for themselves, I don't have to spend nearly as much time around them as I do around you."

Valkyrie chuckled and then winced, her stomach still sore. She was beginning to feel sick again, but it wasn't as sharp as it had been earlier. She closed her eyes for a minute, exhausted. It was amazing how a flu could make someone almost as tired as if they'd been in a fistfight to save the world. She would know.

"Skulduggery?" she asked after a minute, eyes still closed.

"Mm?"

"I am really glad you don't have to sleep. Then you can hold the bucket all night."

"Your compliments are most charming."

"Of course they are..."

"Go to sleep. Your reasoning skills are fading with every minute you spend awake."

Valkyrie smiled to herself. After a few minutes, she heard Skulduggery begin to sing quietly. It was a remarkably soothing sound to fall asleep to.

Chapter Text

"Well. This is...unfortunate." Skulduggery said, his tone the most deadpan he could make it.

"Oh, no, really, Skulduggery? I would have classed it as the most disgusting, horrible, unholy thing to ever have happen to me, but I guess 'unfortunate' will work too." said a masculine-sounding voice that came from Valkyrie's general direction.

"Oh, wait a few hundred years, you get used to this sort of thing." Skulduggery waved a hand, completely nonchalant about the fact that his voice had gone up several octaves and was now distinctly feminine.

"Of course you would, you're a skeleton!" snapped Valkyrie, desperately attempting to adjust both her pants and her jacket at the same time. "It's not like you have too many...um...defining characteristics that make this all that strange for you."

Skulduggery stared at her, head tilted in a withering fashion. "In case you hadn't noticed, I appear to be about three inches shorter, my jacket and shoes are now suddenly too large, and I seem to be suffering an identity crisis which I am doing my valiant best to hide. But, as you can tell, I am not making too much of a fuss about it."

"No, I hadn't noticed that, what with suddenly having...bits...where bits should not be." Valkyrie snarled in return. She'd finally given up on her jacket, but her pants seem to have adjusted well, all things considering. She crossed her arms uncomfortably over an unsettlingly flat chest, and glowered at the world.

"Well, I suppose I can be grateful I don't have that problem. At the same time, I feel completely justified in not being at all grateful."

Valkyrie rolled her eyes, sneering at him.

The pair of them had been the victims of a most unusual magical artifact. The artifact had been sent anonymously to the Sanctuary and everyone was currently far too busy trying to undo its effects than search for the person who sent it. Searching for the malicious villain who sent the artifact would have normally fallen in Valkyrie and Skulduggery's jurisdiction, but they were unfortunately among the group that had first encountered the object, and thus the first to suffer its effects.

The artifact's main purpose, it seemed, was to change everyone who got too close to it into their opposite sex and refuse to change them back. Nobody knew the exact use of such an item, but there it was. The entire existence of the artifact was utterly baffling, but right now everyone was less focused on its purpose and was instead focusing on its curse.

Valkyrie and Skulduggery were not the only people to be affected by the item, Ghastly and Ravel had been, too. By now, Ghastly had dashed off somewhere, mumbling something about 'getting clothes fit to wear.' Ravel, looking ill, had also left, presumably to be sick in private. Skulduggery and Valkyrie had retired to a room that was not immediately in use to try and adjust to their new situation.

Valkyrie was currently suffering from a slight increase in height and an abrupt change in measurements. She'd kicked her boots off, her feet having spontaneously gone up a size, and had belted her now loose pants very tightly. Her voice had deepened significantly, going from an ordinary alto to a surprisingly deep baritone.

She'd become much more muscular, and that, coupled with the fact that her hair had not changed in length, made her look like a death metal singer on the verge of murderous rage. Her furious scowl made her look incredibly threatening, as well. Not that she wasn't threatening to begin with, but the added height, musculature, and the tangled hair falling in her face made her look even more so.

Skulduggery, at first glance, was not significantly changed. It was only when one noticed his slight decrease in stature and the way he tugged uncomfortably at the hem of his suit-jacket that one would realize anything was different. What made the change really abrupt was when he began to talk. His velvety base had become a silky contralto, still quite deep but definitely a woman's voice.

He looked much less visibly upset than Valkyrie did, but his head was tilted in that way that meant he was utterly furious. He was just being very quiet about it. Valkyrie, on the other hand, paced restlessly, arms crossed. Her head was down, her hair falling over her face as if she wished to hide it. She was clearly extremely uncomfortable, to say the least.

"Seriously," she said eventually. "What makes this so horrible for you? All that really changed was how tall you are...and your voice, I guess. At least you're not having problems making your pants stay up."

"Having a different voice is extremely disconcerting, as I'm sure you can tell." Skulduggery said, tilting his head slightly to the left. "There are vague differences between a male and a female skeleton. Not nearly as many as there are between a fully-fleshed out man and woman, but enough to make this feel like entirely the wrong body."

Valkyrie didn't seem convinced, but she didn't say anything else. They made some final adjustments to their clothing (more as an excuse to not have to leave the room than anything else), and went to go find Ravel and Ghastly, who, hopefully, would have some kind of plan by now.

Chapter Text

Words have power. This is something every magician knows, deep down in their bones. Everyone knows of the strength that words and language have, even if everyone does not acknowledge it. Words are the thing upon which the universe runs. Why else would names hold such sway over their owners?

Though there are many strange and varied layers to the language of Magic, the first and foremost layer belongs to names. There are the given names, the taken names, and the True names.

Given names are thrust upon a being (everything has a name; it is not just mages) to loosely define them. Given names are raw and fragile, easily disturbed by the wills of others. They are the most the majority will ever need, however; for most do not know the power of names and as such most will never try to find out what they can do with them. Mages know, but many mages are also disinclined to use people's names against them. No one ever mentions why they do not like the use another's name when they could so easily do so, but everyone knows.

The use of another's name tugs in a strange, almost forgotten spot at the back of the user's mind. It makes the user bite their lip and clench their hands after the object of their use has left their sight. It is a strange, uncomfortable feeling that no one can ever put into words. Of course, the cautious mage will always want to know another's given name if they do not yet have a taken one; just in case. Discomfort does not excuse poor security, and the repulsed feeling in the pit of their stomach that results from the use of a given name is no reason not to use a weapon when it is offered.

The taken name is often strange, outlandish, descriptive of what a mage thinks of themselves but does not show what they truly are. Taken names are simple in comparison to a given name or a True Name-they show only what the mage wishes to be seen. The taken name is what fits the mage, or what they believe fits them. It is a layer of armor against the world, shielding the depths of the mage's soul from harm.

A taken name gives a mage something upon which to rely when all else is lost. A taken name is the final defense against the onslaught of the world, a comfort in the long night.

Though all names have their own magic to them, True Names are the strongest, echoing and reverberating throughout time. All names are important, but True Names especially so. Every True Name ever learned is significant, great, influential. Every True Name is unique, one is never ever the same as the next, though some patterns repeat.

If there was ever a scholar of True Names-no such thing exists, though a few have tried and failed driven mad by the weight of so many souls-they would find that you can tell exactly what a person is if you listen to their Name closely enough. One can tell from a Name if they are bound to be a hero, a messiah, a poet, a scientist, a prophet, a failure, a suicide, a hollow man or a woman drenched in blood. The True Name shows what happens. Whatever happens.

The Name Laudigan belonged to a small man, and if you look closely enough, you can see that. If you taste the Name on your tongue, you can almost see his tired eyes, smell the stink of his home. You can feel the pain in his head as he tries to fight what has been done to him. You can feel his fear, the ever-present terror that comes with having all the layers of your mind and soul ripped away to expose the lightning underneath.

A small man. By no means unimportant.

If you listen for the echoes of Laudigan, you will find that they are eventually overwhelmed by the echoes of Darquesse, a Name that beats with a pulse, carved as it is on to its owner's heart.

When you hear the Name Darquesse, all you hear is the Name, the empty, ringing syllables having a certain dread music to them. You feel a cold, airless void and see her sharp smile. The closer you look at her Name, the closer she is to you, and you feel her curiously cold breath on your neck and smell the blood on her hands.

True Names are the greatest of all words, for they are what make the world. Without a Name, one has no magic, no thought, no room to breathe and no way to be defined. Without a definition, one simply does not exist. If you cannot be described, you are an abomination, an affront to the very fabric of the world. It is a little-known secret that the Faceless Ones, for all their power and fearsome strength, would always be thrown out of the world of mages because they did not belong there. They had no Names and as such the very universe itself would devise ways to remove their unholy presence.

True Names are all a glimpse into the underpinnings of the world, a way to peer into the abyss. They pulse and echo behind a seer's visions, and whenever one hears a True Name they can't help but think that it sounds familiar.

Chapter Text

It was quiet.

Larrikin was sitting heavily at the table, looking exhausted and worried. Erskine paced back and forth restlessly, gnawing on a hangnail. Anton was quiet as always, but now his silence had an oppressive feel. Hopeless and Saracen were sharing a bottle of some dubious liquid, taking slow, fortifying sips from it every few minutes. Corrival leaned against a wall, slumped next to a tense Dexter. Ghastly sat across from Larrikin at the table, and nervously drummed his fingers upon the surface.

Skulduggery hadn't come back.

It had been two days, and they had heard absolutely nothing, not from him, and not from his wife. Nothing at all.

They were beginning to suspect the worst, that Skulduggery had been caught or killed, but nobody wanted to be the one to say it. They were the Dead Men; they were experts at coming back from suicide missions. You just couldn't give up hope on one of them, especially when more often than not he'd be back for the funeral. It had been known to happen before.

This was different. Larrikin, who had a touch of the Sight, had told Skulduggery the day before he left how bad an idea he thought this mission was. Skulduggery, who was usually more inclined to listen to Larrikin, had brushed him off in his haste to get Machination and his daughter to safety.

So really, they all knew something had gone very, very wrong. It was just...nobody wanted to admit it. And 'wrong' meant so many different things, nowadays.

It was almost morning. They'd been waiting here at the rendezvous point ever since he missed it. Periodically, Erskine would glance hopefully out the window, looking to see Skulduggery walking up to the house, but nobody ever appeared, Skulduggery or no. As time had passed, however, Erskine's glances became more and more infrequent.

Hopeless had finally fallen asleep, leaning against an uncomplaining Saracen who looked very close to sleep himself. They'd all stayed up the previous night, unable to sleep in case some news came. Now, it seemed, it would be impossible to stay awake any longer. For now, everyone else persisted in wakefulness, even though the sky outside was swiftly darkening. Ghastly wished Skulduggery could have taken on this endeavor in summer. Then, at least, the darkness would not fall so quickly, nor would it be so cold.

Skulduggery not being back meant many things. Many more things than they would have liked to think. He could be dead, that was the first thing. Him and Machination and their daughter could all be dead, sliced up by an ambush by Mevolent or Serpine or that Sorrows woman or whoever else hated them.

In this war, there were far more things that were worse than death. Terrible things that one's enemies could concoct, things that wouldn't always end in death. Skulduggery had a veritable pantheon of enemies, a pantheon of dangerous people with nothing but time on their hands and murder on their minds, people who would concoct endless tortures and not be afraid to use them.

Ghastly feared for his friend, and for his friend's family. The more time passed, the more he thought of the fate of others who had run afoul of their enemies. Elizabetta Skyfrost, Symmetry Waterwings and her son, Anton's older sister, Ghastly's own father, and so many others. They had all come back to their friends and families in a multitude of different fashions, but none in any kind of decent shape. Those who were alive were probably worse off than those who were dead and well out of harm's way.

Anton now stared steadily out of the window, face impassive but utterly bloodless. He had not said a word for almost the entire time they'd been here. It wasn't like this was unusual behavior for him, as he wasn't exactly a chatty fellow at the best of times, but his white lips and clenched hands gave his mood away. Larrikin leaned his head against his hand, eyes fluttering shut every few minutes only to snap open again.

Ghastly looked down at the table, examining the whorls and knots of the wood with the interest only the very sleep-deprived contain. Erskine continued to pace. Corrival and Dexter now both sat on the floor, though Dexter was closer to actually lying down.

The silence persisted.

Chapter Text

He thought that the hurt had faded.

As Skulduggery walked away from China and Eliza Scorn, it was pain, not anger, that clouded his mind. Pain gnawed at him, dug into his chest and squeezed at the empty space where his heart used to be. Each step was more of a fight than the last, and it was all he could do not to collapse, or scream, or turn back around and kill Scorn for ever telling him this, or kill China for ever doing such a thing.

As soon as he got back to the car, he slumped to his seat. He didn't wait for Valkyrie, but she didn't seem to mind. If she had minded, she would have been furiously calling his cell phone and leaving him angry messages. She wasn't, so she didn't.

The initial heartbreaking agony of his family's death had long since dulled from agony, to a mere wound, and eventually to a steady, easily-ignored ache. Three hundred years was a long time to hurt, and Skulduggery had better things to do.

Or so he'd thought.

The thought that he had been friends, or something nearly, with the person responsible for taking his family away from him tore at his mind, revolted him. He should have known. He should have been able to tell.

He should have been able to smell the blood on China's hands. All of this, everything, was her fault. Perhaps not entirely, but the fault still rested on her head. Her fault that Machination was no longer by his side. Her fault that he had never seen his daughter grow up. Her fault that he could no longer recall what it was to be truly alive.

Her fault that he could no longer remember his family.

He couldn't remember going home, but he must have. He ended up there somehow.

Skulduggery wandered through his house, feeling aimless and lost. He supposed that later, when the pain faded again, he would be angry, but for now his heart hurt, and he didn't know when it would stop.

He desperately wanted to talk to someone, but he knew there was no one. The only people who came close were Valkyrie and Ghastly. Ghastly had lost sight of his old friend many years ago, and they had long since become strangers to each other. Skulduggery refused to unload his pain on to Valkyrie's shoulders. If nothing else, he would spare her that.

He wanted so many things. He wanted to hear Machination's voice again. He couldn't remember what she sounded like. He wanted to see Anza smile again, see her run and play like little girls were supposed to. He wanted to forget the overwhelming stench of blood.

He wanted to see China's throat under his hands. He wanted to be able to forgive her.

He wanted these things with a fervor that he had no longer believed himself to be capable of. Wanting the world to change just for him was something for young men to fuss over, and he was by no means a young man. Not anymore.

He did not rest that night, nor the any of the nights after. When the pain finally subsided again, it was instead cold fury that snapped at his heels.

Chapter Text

Bijan Decanter hardly recognized his little brother when he saw him.

Bijan and Skulduggery hadn't seen each other for two years. Bijan and his family had stayed to protect their household, while Skulduggery had gone to fight in the wars. Bijan knew that the military changed a man, having been in it himself, but he simply did not expect the Skulduggery he saw walking up the road.

His brother looked like he had been through hell and back. He was far too thin, for one, his eyes and cheeks hollow, his hair muddy and matted. His skin was ashen and bruised, and his face was covered in recent cuts. He looked exhausted, his normal energy sapped.

Skulduggery approached the house, and looked up at it, as if contemplating whether he should go in or not. Bijan, somewhat exasperated, made the choice for him by simply walking out to greet him.

He called his brother's name happily and waved, trying to mask his dismay at Skulduggery's poor state.

Skulduggery smiled tightly and answered "H'lo, Bijan." he sounded much quieter than he usually did, though Bijan could probably chalk that up to tiredness.

Bijan wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders. Skulduggery stiffened slightly, but Bijan didn't let go. He'd found that the best thing to do was to just keep hanging on when his brother got into a mood. When Skulduggery was upset, he tended to pull away from people, but conversely, expected them to come after him.

"How was th' army?" asked Bijan, as they began to walk towards the house. Skulduggery gave him a look. "Tha' bad, then?" Bijan said, wincing.

"No. 't were perfectly lovely. We did naught but skip 'round in daisy fields." Skulduggery deadpanned. "What do ye think, Bijan?"

Bijan sighed. "Awright, awright, I'll stop askin'. Cain't blame me f'r tryin', though."

"Yes. Yes I can."

At the door of the house, Bijan showed Skulduggery the right combination of symbols to press to make the doors open, as they'd changed since he'd been home. Their father, Dywel Octavious, changed the combination every few months out of what Skulduggery saw as good sense and Bijan just saw as madness.

Skulduggery dropped his pack in the front hall, looking vastly relieved that it was off his back. He was considerably more careful with his boots, which Bijan understood, as they looked expensive.

"C'mon, let's go an' see if'n Enitan's got something t'eat." said Bijan, attempting to drag Skulduggery towards the kitchen.

"Sorry, I'm not p'rticularly 'n the mood f'r anythin' Enitan can cook." drawled Skulduggery. "Th' last thing I ate of hers tried t'eat me back."

"No, she got a lot better since ye left. She won' poison ye now. 'm pretty sure she won', anyway."

Skulduggery sighed, but followed his brother to the kitchen anyway. Their house, being the home of a very old mage family, was quite large, having not only a kitchen and more than two bedrooms, but a library and an attic as well. Though he didn't let it show, Skulduggery was secretly glad to be back at his old home for precisely this reason. At least he might get some peace and quiet here.

Upon entering the kitchen, Enitan Firefish, one of their younger sisters, let out a loud shriek and threw herself on Skulduggery.

Skulduggery, who looked profoundly stunned, patted her awkwardly on the back as she hugged him. He didn't get it, they'd never liked each other that much when they were younger.

Enitan stepped back and said "I din' know ye'd be back t'day! I would'a had somethin' decen' ready if'n I knew!"

Skulduggery delicately removed her hands from her shoulder and replied "It's fine. I didn' think I'd be back by now either."

"Well, lemme put somethin' nice on fer dinner, an' in th' meantime ye can tell me'n Bijan what ye've been up to."

Skulduggery found himself shoved into a seat with a cup of tea in his hand before he could protest, and Enitan busied herself at the fire. Bijan just smirked at his brother and sat down as well. Skulduggery glared at him, and Bijan shrugged, still smiling.

"So, how've things been here?" asked Skulduggery.

"Oh, fine," said Bijan airily, waving a hand. "Mam's just as absen' as always, Pa don't ever seem to care about naught but th' house, Creirwy's doin' whatever Creirwy does, Tamarin an' Shaelyn are bein' idiots as always."

"They're not idiots!" protested Enitan from the opposite side of the room. "Well-Tamarin, mebbe, but Shaelyn is fine." she paused. "Well, fine fer her, 'nyway. She hasn't got herself kilt yet, so tha's somethin'."

"So, at least Shaelyn's stopped wi' her habit of jumpin' off roofs or whatever she was doin'?" asked Skulduggery.

"Well, she moved on to magical research. 'Ceptin it's not really research, 's more of an excuse t'mix dangerous chemicals." chuckled Bijan.
Enitan sighed. "'S true."

"I hope you threw her out've th' house, at least," said Skulduggery, eyebrows raised.

"We did," said a new voice, coming from the entryway. Creirwy Alit, the youngest daughter of Skulduggery's family, came drifting into the kitchen. "Now she mostly lives inna shed near the woods. She comes in t'sleep an' t'leech off've Enitan."

"Creirwy, she don' 'leech' offa me, she's family, I have to give 'er food. Not like anyone else is gonna." Enitan said, agast.

"H'lo, Skulduggery," said Creirwy, ignoring her sister. "Did ye see anythin' interestin' while ye were away?"

Skulduggery shrugged. "Not really. I lost my stutter, though." Creirwy nodded sagely.

"I wasn' gonna say anythin'," said Bijan. "But I was wonderin' about tha'."

"I don't know. All I know is that bein' around all the soldiers made me lose it pretty quick for some reason."

"Huh."

Creirwy drifted out of the kitchen after that, and Enitan busied herself with cooking. Bijan could tell that Skulduggery wasn't too keen on talking, and so they sat together in companionable silence. Tamarin turned up at one point, only to mumble a quick greeting to Skulduggery and grab a cup of tea before rushing off again. Shaelyn didn't turn up at all, not until the next morning.

Skulduggery wasn't sure what he thought about being back home. The only thing that was certain was that it was better than the army.

Chapter Text

"Anthony?"

The voice that called his name was that of Anthony's older brother, Bijan Decanter. Anthony hid in his parents' library and refused to answer Bijan's calls.

"Anthony, c'mon..." Bijan was the only one who could get Anthony out of a bad mood, but he had to find him first for it to work. Anthony was both intent on not being found, and on skipping the rest of the lesson he had escaped from. Anthony's mother, Camilla Queendom, had long since moved on to the teaching of Anthony's younger siblings. She'd always found it easier to wait until Anthony came out of hiding on his own rather than go looking for him herself when he got into one of his moods.

Bijan, on the other hand, had different ideas. Bijan was practically a surrogate parent by now, what with being so much older than the rest of his siblings, and, honestly, being more competent than his actual parents. Thus, Camilla had given him her blessing and declared that he could do whatever he felt like, but she certainly wasn't going to be a part of it.

Anthony was a hard child to teach. His nigh-impenetrable stutter and his moodiness drove any tutor of his up the wall. It might have been alright had Anthony actually been stupid, like the stutter seemed to indicate, but he wasn't. Far from it. He had a scheming intelligence that made it difficult for any tutor to figure out how to go about actually teaching him. Camilla and her husband, Dywel Octavious, had abandoned the practice of hiring outside teachers for just this reason. Anthony happened to drive just about anyone he didn't like away, through many varied and interesting means.

Today had been magic lessons. Bijan had winced when he'd heard about it from Camilla. Anthony couldn't focus on the spellbooks and always got frustrated with his slow progress, when he was so quick at other things. Apparently, today Anthony's little sister had taken her name (she was to be known as Shaelyn now, instead of Anita), and Anthony, who had nothing even approximating a taken name, had apparently gotten angry. At least, that was what Bajin had heard from his mother.

No doubt Anthony's tale would be somewhat different. That was how Bijan had come to the library, because it was Anthony's favorite place to hide. Oddly, Anthony wasn't too interested in reading. He just liked the books. Bijan couldn't quite figure it out, but his brother was a strange one.

"Anthony..." Bijan called again. This time, he heard a muffled sound come from one of the alcoves at the back. Bijan sighed, and walked over. Sure enough, there was Anthony pressed up in one of the corners where one bookshelf met another. Anthony flipped his long, wild hair out of his eyes and glared at his brother.

"G-go a-a-away." he hissed. Despite his stutter, Anthony had mastered the art of sounding utterly furious without actually raising his voice.

Bijan knelt down next to him. "Mum tol' me Anita picked her name today," he said conversationally. Anthony sneered and his hair fell back into his face.

"Sh-sh-sh-shae-." he growled, turning away from Bijan. "Her. I k-k-know." he sighed to himself. "Sh-she's on'y ten. W-why wa-wa-was it s-so eas-eas-eas-eas" he stopped, gritted his teeth, and started again. "Why i-is't so easy for h-h-her? I'm t-two years ol-ol-der'n h-her."

Bijan took a minute to process his brother's speech and said "I don' know. Some people don' learn their name 'till later. It just happens like tha' sometimes." he gave Anthony a small smile and added "What does a year'r two mean t'a sorcerer, anyhow?"

Anthony raised an eyebrow at his brother. "'m n-not just o-o-older th-than he-he-her. 'M sm-smarter too."

Bijan sighed. "Anthony, ye're smarter'n just about ev'rybody inna house." he smiled at Anthony, and added "Exceptin' me, o'course. 'N anyways, just 'cause ye're smart don' mean ye're good at everythin'."

The smaller boy's glare refused to go away. "'t don' m-matter." he said. "M-m-mum an' D-da don' th-think s-s-so. Th-they thi-thi-think if'n I'm s-smart I'll be a great s-s-s-sorcerer. Th-they don' l-listen t'ye." his stutter grew more pronounced as he grew angrier. "Th-th-they s-say they d-do but th-they d-don'."

Anthony had always been a little paranoid. Bijan had no such problem-if anything, he was too trusting. In any case, Anthony was always quick to assume that nobody was trustworthy, except maybe Bijan himself. Bijan knew from long experience that it was impossible to dispel Anthony's mistrust of others, so he simply put an arm around the younger boy's shoulders.

"'Course ye'll be a great sorcerer," he said soothingly. "Jest 'cause it's takin' ye a bit longer'n others doesn' mean ye won' be."

Anthony frowned to himself but didn't move away. Bijan figured that was the best he was going to get.

Chapter Text

Oh no.

It was peculiar, but that was the one thought that kept running through his head. He couldn't think of anything else, and it probably would have frustrated him had there been room in his skull for anything else.

He couldn't think. The sun was close, the air was still, and a Faceless One dragged itself across the hot ground not twenty feet away from where Skulduggery lay. He could see it, clawing at the earth as though its legs were broken. He wanted to look away but couldn't seem to remember quite how to move his head.

It crawled away, injured and muttering to itself, no longer heeding Skulduggery as he lay still, and felt the stone under his back bake in the sun.

He could not forget the feel of Faceless One's cold appendage wrapped around his leg. It was not a hand. It should have been, but it wasn't. Not at all. Shifting, slimy, scaly, hard, soft, whispering it had pulled him between the worlds, and had trapped him here, on this dead world.

The space between the worlds had been empty and burning and yellow. He'd expected that going through the portal would be just like going through a door, but it wasn't. It had felt like dying. It had felt like falling. It had felt like forever and a day.

He could not forget the touch of the Faceless One. Its hand was in his head, scraping at the inside of his mouth. Though the actual being was long gone by now, its mortal body no longer moving and its voice absent, its touch still remained.

In the back of his mind, he wondered how much damage a Faceless One's touch did. If just glimpsing one caused you to start blacking out, and seeing one caused you to go mad, what did touching one do? While it had held him, time seemed to slow, to almost halt. How much time had gone by? How long had he been here? He could no longer remember.

The sun began to go down, setting in the wrong place on the horizon. The moment he tried to think of what exactly made it the wrong place, he lost the thread of the thought. Night came slowly, the sunset casting long orange shadows, and Skulduggery still had not moved from his spot. All he could feel was the stone under his body and the feel of the Faceless One and the shock of being somewhere where the earth spun a different way.

The night sky was utterly black, with only the light of a few stars shining through. It was darker than any sky Skulduggery had ever seen, even when he was young and light was much harder to come by. The sky held no moon, just an endless expanse of cold blue stars. He wondered if the sun had gone forever, as he could no longer recall the feeling of sunlight. The Faceless One occupied his thoughts, its razor sharp smile infected his soul.

Finally, the night turned to day. The sky gradually lightened, and warmth returned to the world. Skulduggery's thoughts still remained scattered and broken, like glass thrown on the ground, the edges sharp enough to cut.

It was at this time, in the early dawn, that someone came to his side. They were a strange someone, all feathers and ashen skin and ragged edges. A long fingered hand touched his face, and its owner sighed regretfully. It was perhaps this touch that brought some of his senses back to him, and he turned his head to look at this individual.

The individual in question leapt back in surprise, used as they were to skeletons commonly being very dead. Skulduggery's vision began to focus slightly, and the other person began looking less like a they and more like a she. He could be wrong, of course, but right now all that he particularly cared about was the fact that his catatonia seemed to be lifting. The scattered pieces of his mind came slowly back together, and he thought that yes, this individual was definitely a she.

He began to stand up, onorously pushing himself off the ground. He slipped and stumbled slightly, still not quite remembering exactly how to propell his limbs.

The she in question backed away another step and stared at him warily, one tattooed hand wrapped around an overused knife. She had slender red feathers for hair, and more feathers up and down her arms and back. Her skin was bloodless under its dark surface, giving her an ashy look. Her cheeks were hollow, her collarbones prominent, and scars crisscrossed every inch of skin not covered by tattoos.

She hissed through her teeth as he finally made it to his feet, and he noticed that one of her sharp teeth was missing. He could not tell if she was speaking, but truth be told, if someone had greeted him in English he doubted he would understand that either. He looked at her blankly, as of yet unable to summon words.

She hissed again when he did not reply to her, this time sounding less hostile and more resigned. They stood looking at each other awkwardly for a few moments, and when he did not attack her, she risked a step forward. They stood together for another minute, during which Skulduggery attempted stubbornly to recover the power of speech. The words were just out of his reach, coating his throat but not quite making it to his mouth.

The woman looked him over, and finally, she came to a decision. She grabbed his arm, and began to lead him towards the city he had only just noticed. He didn't know how he overlooked it. Well, he knew how. The touch of the Faceless One. He just didn't want to acknowledge it, because with that acknowledgement came the memory of a hand grasping his leg, and he knew that the more he thought about that, the more likely it was that his mind would shatter again.

So he merely followed the woman, and attempted to forget the lone thing that refused to leave his mind.

Chapter Text

Wherever he walked, a shadow was cast, and whenever he left, the shadow did not leave with him.

He could no longer remember a time when the world was bright. As it was, he could barely remember anything, except the thick smell of blood, the gray fog of the afterlife, and the shadows. The everlasting shadows.

Under his armor, Lord Vile's mind churned and twisted in on itself. The world around him was muted, for to look upon it was painful, like looking at the sun. He walked in darkness and dealt in death, and somewhere in the back of his head, Skulduggery Pleasant screamed.

A long time ago, the man named Skulduggery Pleasant had died, and risen again, full of fury and fire. And when he could no longer stand to be himself, when his rage began to die, he decided to become someone else. So it was that Lord Vile began to stir, and, having been a hero, Skulduggery Pleasant decided to run headlong into the night.

When Vile was awake, he cared nothing for heroes, or villains, or allegiances, or wars. All he wanted was blood and death. Death was needed to avenge the great wrongs been done to him, even if he could no longer recall the specifics of those wrongs.

The smell of blood, and the shadows, and the fog. That was all he remembered, and it haunted his days and his nights, not that he could tell the difference. The days and the seasons and the years all blurred and ran together, oozing past him with agonizing slowness.

Vile could not care less what Mevolent wanted. In truth, he could hardly tell that Mevolent was there. Vile cared only for the killing, and because of that, it put him on Mevolent's side by default. Even if Skulduggery Pleasant cared to try and come back again, he would come back to nothing but a burned and broken world. It was no longer worth it to try and come back.

Skulduggery knew this. He knew it was his fault. He was not asleep, as he had hoped he would be, but instead had been awake the past three hundred years, and had seen everything that Vile had done.

His fault. All of it.

All he wanted was death. This was true in a variety of ways.

Chapter Text

Mevolent's tiny smile made the blood on his hands infinitely worse.

Bliss' head lolled, his thoughts blurred and muddled by his injuries. Instead of a sharp pain, he merely felt a vague ache all over himself that would probably worry him if he could think straight.

Blood coated Mevolent's arms up to the elbow, and he delicately set an equally bloody blade down on the small table next to him.

"You don't have any more secrets to give me," he said casually. "But I hardly think it matters now."

He examined Bliss' face, looking vaguely disinterested. Somewhere in the back of Bliss' mind, he was a touch affronted. Shouldn't someone covered in your blood take a bit more interest in you?

"You're lucky, you know," Mevolent said. "I could have had the Sense-Wardens pick over your mind the moment you came to me. But I have a personal interest in those who defy me, so you can be spared that, at least." he moved his focus from Bliss to inspect the various tools on the table. Most of them were bloody, some of them were not.

Bliss tried to speak, but found that he could not. His throat worked but no sound came out.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. It's a useless endeavor. Hopefully you're very close to death anyway, so you shouldn't waste your breath." Mevolent said carelessly. He inspected a pair of wicked looking scissors that as of yet were not stained with blood.

Mevolent's smile, that was probably the most frightening thing. Almost the entire time he'd been talking, he had a small smile on his lips. Bliss would never admit to being afraid-most of the time, he was not-but that smile was truly fearsome. The blood, the blades, the pain and the darkness all would have meant nothing were it not for Mevolent's smile.

That was the thing that made Mevolent different from the rest. Baron Vengeous was angry, Eliza Scorn was mad, Lord Vile was empty-but Mevolent was utterly, horribly calm. Even when angry it was a controlled sort of anger, a calculated sort of fury that threw everyone else off their feet. Even Bliss, who had a reputation had being a cold and levelheaded man, couldn't match that.

"You know, most of the time I wouldn't bother with this." said Mevolent, looking at his hands with some distaste. "I am quite a busy man, after all. Ruling the world and everything. You're just such a hard man to kill, though, I couldn't leave this job to anybody else."

He finally decided on a tool to pick up. This one was a gleaming scalpel, which didn't show many signs of use. Mevolent's smile returned, and he began again.

Chapter Text

The souls of the dead shine with strange and peculiar lights. This is not something commonly known; when most people catch a glimpse of those who are dead, they see merely a wisp of gray fog, if they glimpse anything at all.

Dead souls would seem, to living eyes, to be drained of vitality and magic, to be dull and cold and corpselike. This is not entirely a senseless supposition, though it is not correct.

All dead souls are unique, all are bizarre and different. Souls gleam with names and inscriptions, glimmer with thoughts and words and deeds. One's True Name beats at the place where their heart used to be, forever out of reach of those who would use it against the owner's wishes.

The longer a soul is dead, the more they shine with their own magic and mind, unbound from the constraints of the Living World. The newly dead are those who are gray and foglike, and they are not really dead, as they have merely stepped out of a broken body. One becomes truly dead when they can no longer see the world of Life, and when the world of Life lets them slip between its fingers.

None of the truly dead ever return to their bodies. Zombies and other Necromancer toys are all newly deceased souls pulled back from the Place-Beyond-Life, the strange half-world that all dead must pass through. This is the place where all those who die before their appointed time go. It is the place that Necromancers see when they try to look beyond the world of the Living.

All truly dead souls, save one, move on, utterly and inexorably.

Skulduggery Pleasant stubbornly clung to the Living world for a long, long time. He held on like soldiers do. No matter how much he wanted to see those family and those friends of his who had gone on already, his war was all-consuming. He needed to see it through to the end.

His fury sustained him for many days. However, slowly, painfully, the Living World began to fade from his sight, like it must do for all people. The sun was setting, and he felt the pull of the Beyond on him.

Then someone caught his spirit and brought it back to earth. He was torn from his path and slammed back into a body that should not work but did anyway. The Necromancer who pulled him away chained him to his body, made it so he could not immediately leave it again. Tenebrae knew how desperately dead souls wanted to leave their bodies behind, and he could not afford that.

Skulduggery was rudely awakened, as if from a dream, and was filled with the raging fury of one who has had even their own death taken from them. For, although he desperately wanted to fight his war again, he was dead, and there was a stronger part of him that wanted to leave the land of the Living.

Time passed, as it was wont to do. Skulduggery's anger did not ebb, and in the half-world he inhabited, forgiveness did not seem to matter. Vile walked the world for five years, as Skulduggery tried to hide inside himself, to forget all that had happened to him. Drowning himself in blood and death did not bring him closer to what he wanted, and so he stopped.

He forgot exactly what it was that he wanted, over time, though there was always a longing in the back of his mind for a place he could no longer remember. He remembered Life, and forgot the magnetic pull of Death.

He clung tightly to his weary body, even though if one were to look at his soul, they would see a miasma of light and color that had no business in the world of the Living.

This is what Darquesse sees when she looks at him. This what Argeddion sees. Neither of them quite understand what they look at, for they have not been dead for long enough to do so.

They see him anyway.

Chapter Text

Skulduggery was dead.

A messenger, some fearful, mediocre Adept, had seen his body burning from the battlements of Serpine's keep. Ghastly didn't like to think about Skulduggery's body. He didn't want to think of his lively friend as cold, and dead, and burnt to ash, but there it was.

Everyone still waited in the safehouse, stricken with shock, for an entire day after they had gotten the news. Even after all the death they had seen, it still somehow caught them all by surprise. Every death was like that, but Skulduggery's was the worst.

He wasn't supposed to die. He couldn't have. He had Machination and Anza to look after, and he had his brothers and sisters to go back to, and he had the war to win, and he just wasn't supposed to die. They were the Dead Men, and they were always supposed to come back alive.

Never mind that Machination and Anza were just as dead as he was. Never mind that his siblings were all scattered and missing, that his family's home was burned to the ground. Never mind that they were losing the war, and never mind that sometimes people just didn't come back.

Even days later, when they'd all managed to come back to the main encampment, the thought of Skulduggery's death just couldn't seem to settle in Ghastly's mind. He didn't know why, he'd had other dead friends before. It was just that thought of Skulduggery being dead meant something worse than if anyone else died.

Ghastly had the strangest feeling that Skulduggery's death meant the end of the war, and not because his side would win. He could see it in the eyes of his fellow mages. The hopelessness that was in the back of everyone's minds came solidly to the surface. If one of the famed Dead Men could be felled, then what chance did the rest of them have?

The nights blew ever colder, and Mevolent's army inched nearer and nearer to theirs. A few weeks after Skulduggery's death, Larrikin too went missing, and never came back.

What chance indeed?

Chapter Text

Darquesse bared her teeth, which flashed white in the moonlight, and stepped on the man's neck. To her satisfaction, he immediately stopped squirming.

She tapped one of her fingers impatiently on her thigh, looking around to see if her companion had returned from where he had been thrown. Honestly, whenever somebody got the best of him he went into the awfullest sulks.

The mage under Darquesse's foot had managed to fling him into the next building over, and he was taking his sweet time getting back. It wasn't like Darquesse had gone easy on the mage after he'd thrown Vile, so Vile should have had nothing to worry about.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, an ominous, shadowy figure appeared from the darkness behind her. Upon hearing his heavy footsteps, Darquesse sighed in exasperation. "Took you long enough," she said.

As was his custom, Vile didn't say anything in return. He did, however, tilt his head slightly to the left in a reply that made her roll her eyes.

"Fine," she said, and pressed down, snapping the man's neck with an audible crack. "Happy now?" she asked. Vile tilted his head again, this time to the right, and Darquesse laughed.

"Come on, pick him up. That loser will want to see the body, I bet." 'that loser' being the man who had hired them to kill this other mage. Darquesse only paid enough attention to their employers to know how much she was going to be paid. Vile was the one who actually formulated plans. One would think it would be very hard to understand him because he didn't tend to speak, but he got his ideas across pretty well in her opinion.

Vile was the better shadow-traveller of the two, so after he picked up the body, he stepped through a shadow without waiting to see if she would follow. She would, of course, but she would also have appreciated a bit more courtesy.

Shadow-travelling long distance was in neither of their skill sets, so they appeared back near their car, which was parked down the block. Vile placed the body in the trunk. His armor, which had grown numerous spikes and extra plates while they were fighting the man, was now smoother and gave him less of a bulk.

As he got into the passenger side of the car, his armor slicked down even more so that it wouldn't scratch anything. Darquesse had thrown a fit the first time he's gotten into the car (which was her car, thank you very much, bought with her money) and had left wide scrapes on the inside of the door.

Darquesse hopped into the driver's seat, and they drove off. "I think that went pretty well," she said happily. Vile tapped one finger on his thigh.

"Oh, I know you don't think so. Look, just because he got the drop on you doesn't mean it was a bad fight."

A tilt of the head.

"Well, I thought it was pretty funny, so I don't know what you're complaining about."

Vile crossed his arms. To do this, his armor became less like armor and more like a very solid sweater.

"Oh, stop your complaining. Either way, we got the job done, right?"

The place where their employer had asked to meet them was at a rundown building in the middle of nowhere. Really, it was nowhere. The countryside extended for miles all around. They'd gotten there a few hours early, much to Darquesse's dismay. She was thoroughly bored, and there were no people around for her to menace.

Vile was no help, he just sat quietly. He was the picture of patience. It was really frustrating.

"So, who are we supposed to be meeting again?"

Vile turned to look at her.

"Oh, don't give me that. Just tell me, alright?"

Vile continued to stare at her.

Darquesse huffed in disdain. "You've talked before, what's stopping you from talking now? I know your mouth works," she smirked. "I definitely know that works. Come on, I'm sure your vocal cords won't snap with the effort."

He said nothing, just continued to stare.

"You're hopeless," she moaned. She fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably. "When is he going to be here? I don't want the car to start smelling like dead body."

Vile let out an audible sigh. She whipped around to stare at him, but he didn't meet her eyes. She grinned. "See? What did I tell you? Making sounds never hurt anybody."

Her companion, of course, did not respond in any way. She glowered at him, and resigned herself to another hour or so of boredom.

Chapter Text

The world had all turned gray, and Valkyrie no longer hurt so much. She put a hand on her hip and considered her surroundings, feeling that they were familiar but not understanding why.

A flicker of colorful lights caught her eye and she turned to see Skulduggery at her side. His skeleton was surrounded with the bright colors that made up his soul. She had no idea why, she usually had to work to try and see that, but right now she wasn't doing much of anything.

"Took you long enough," she said.

He tilted his head at her in the way which meant he'd be rolling his eyes at her if he had any.

"Do you know where we are?"

He looked around. "I...might." he said hesitantly. "It looks very familiar."

"Mm, same here."

They were quiet for a moment, Valkyrie trying very hard to puzzle out what was happening, before Skulduggery said suddenly "Oh. Oh." he brought one of his hands halfway up to his face, and then stopped. "I believe we may have lost that fight."

"What?"

"Well I don't think people come here if their bodies work."

"Oh." she paused and thought about that. Much to her surprise, being dead didn't sound so bad. "Damn. I swear I had him, too."

"I'm sure you did."

She laughed, dislodging her hair from its loose ponytail. She moved to push it away from her face, and stopped.

"Skulduggery?"

"Yes?"

"My hair is black."

He looked at her, then did a double take. "So it is."

The last time she'd checked, her hair had been the same white-streaked gray it had been for the last several decades. Seeing as she wasn't China Sorrows, she'd hit four hundred and her hair had gone pretty much all gray within a few years. Now, though, it was all black, like it had been when she was younger.

"That settles it, I suppose." she said. "We're definitely not alive anymore."

He gave her a look. She gave him one in return. "My dearest friend, if you're walking around in the world of the living, you count as alive, no matter how many of your metabolic processes have stopped." she told him firmly. They'd had this discussion before, several times. He always disagreed with her.

'My dearest friend' was a joke. People had mistaken them for friends rather than husband and wife so often over the years that they'd started calling each other that just to confuse everyone.

He merely rolled his eyes at her again, and then she realized he'd had eyes to roll, and peered at him intently. "You're growing a face," she said, feeling somewhat lightheaded.

Skulduggery pressed a hand to his cheek, and for a minute, he did indeed have a face with skin and a nose and everything. He dropped the hand, and his skull was blessedly back. "Well, that's unsettling."

"Yes it is. Stop doing it." she looked around, noting how the world seemed to be getting hazier and hazier, looking almost like they were underwater. "Do you know what happens now?"

"Maybe. I can hardly remember now. I was so angry the last time I was here, I don't think I stopped to pay attention."

"Oh, right." she pursed her lips in thoughts. "Doctor Nye set up shop here, didn't he? In a place outside of life."

"The Place-Beyond-Life," he corrected. "But I don't think here and there are the same thing."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to try and stick around, are you? Because I'm very tired and no matter how upset it makes Aletha and Cinni and everyone else, I do not feel like trying to come back alive again."

"No, no," he assured her. "It was hard enough the last time, and I was much younger then." he took her hand. "I'm just as tired as you are, Dearest Friend. Most likely much more so."

"Come on, then." she said. "We should get going, I'm sure."

The gray began to fade away from the world, and a pale moon rose overhead as the sky turned a deep, deep blue. They began to walk, hand-in-hand.

Chapter Text

Skulduggery picked Valkyrie up from her home, and the four of them drove to Roarhaven. Valkyrie barely noticed the time passing. She thought about her family, her mum and her dad and little Alice. She wished she could be with her mother now-she'd been so upset about losing her job, Valkyrie felt bad about leaving her now. Zachariah, curled up in the backseat next to Aimiliona, nudged his head against her elbow and she wrapped an arm around his neck.

Aimiliona let out a surprised yip and Skulduggery braked sharply.

"Ow!" Valkyrie exclaimed. "What the hell?" she looked up, and saw Kitana, Sean and Doran standing in the middle of Roarhaven's main street. Aimiliona growled, but Zachariah merely let out a displeased sigh. Skulduggery turned off the engine and they all got out.

"Hi," said Kitana. Her insufferably smug swan Daemon stood next to her, for once not flapping all around and trying to peck anybody's fingers off. Sean and his Daemon looked uneasy, but Doran was grinning (Doran's grass snake Daemon, however, was wrapped tightly around one of his arms and didn't look very happy about the situation).

Moving without any hurry, Skulduggery took out his gun, clicked the hammer back and aimed. Aimiliona paced back and forth in front of him, growling deep in her throat, her teeth bared.

Kitana laughed. "Hold on," she said. "We're here to talk, so please don't shoot. You know it can't hurt us but the bang it makes is so scary."

The gun didn't waver. Aimiliona snapped her jaws threateningly in the direction of Kitana's swan. If it were any other person, chances were that Aimiliona would already have started attacking the Daemon, but seeing as how it was Kitana, that was probably more of a suicidal move than a useful one.

Kitana shrugged, looking clearly unconcerned. "From the way you're glaring, I see that you're still a little annoyed at me for something." she said to Valkyrie.

Valkyrie's glare intensified. "You're wearing my jacket."

"It looks better on me, though, doesn't it?" her Daemon eyed Valkyrie's Zachariah warily. He was much bigger than the swan was, and unlike Valkyrie, did not appear to be angry at all.

"By the time this is over," said Valkyrie, placing a hand on Zachariah's back, "I'll have taken that back."

"Valkyrie, really, there's no need to for that kind of talk." said Zachariah, his smooth voice completely calm.

Kitana looked at the leopard Daemon in surprise. It occurred to Valkyrie that she had never heard Zachariah speak before. They'd been fighting too much to engage in much conversation. "There, see?" Kitana said. "Your Daemon's being reasonable, you should listen to him."

"Oh no, Kitana that's not it at all. What I mean is that I think it would be far more rewarding to cut off your head before taking the jacket back." Zachariah's tail flicked back and forth. He sighed. "But then, Valkyrie hardly ever listens to me."

Kitana's smirk did not change, but her swan let out an unhappy squawk and flapped off the ground, into Kitana's arms. Valkyrie smiled ever so slightly, and Zachariah bared his teeth in an unsettling grin.

"Can we hurry this up?" Sean asked, stepping forward. His anteater Daemon's gaze flicked back and forth between Aimiliona and Zachariah nervously. "We're here because we have a proposal."

"Go on," said Skulduggery. Aimiliona stopped in her tracks, now looking more inquisitive than hostile.

"You want to stop Argeddion? While, so do we."

Aimiliona let out a derisive laugh. Skulduggery lowered his gun. "Why?" he asked.

"That's none of your business," Doran snapped, and then moved back a step or two when Aimiliona jerked her head around to stare intently at him. His snake moved from around his wrist to looping around his neck. "The only thing you need to know is that we're the only ones who are powerful enough to do it. You're certainly not. None of you are. He could wipe you out with a wave of his hand."

"So why would you, being as powerful as you are, even need us?" Skulduggery asked.

"Why not just go after him right now?" Aimiliona hissed.

"We were thinking you could divert his attention," said Kitana, grinning. She stroked her Daemon's wings in a soothing sort of way. In contrast to Kitana's obvious confidence, her Daemon looked wary and uncertain. "Then, when he's busy laughing at you, we come in, shoot him in the back."

"We're powerful," said the swan, his voice a bit quieter than Kitana's. "But he's still Argeddion." he and Kitana exchanged a dubious look.

"I don't know," Skulduggery said slowly.

"I think we should just step back and let all of you fight it out, then come in and clean up the mess." said Aimiliona.

"You couldn't take the chance," said Sean's Daemon. Sean nodded in agreement. "If he kills us, then he's killing the only people who can hurt him. So what do you say?"

"We'll have to meet with the Elders and put it to them," Skulduggery said. "You can wait in the Sanctuary while they decide."

Sean and his Daemon laughed in unison. "So you can take away our powers like you did with us?" he said. "No, all of us will stay out here, thank you very much."

Aimiliona growled again, and Skulduggery put a hand on top of her head. "How can we trust you not to hurt anyone?" he asked.

"Why would we hurt anyone? The people here love us."

Zachariah scoffed. "I have some reason to doubt that."

Sean glared at Zachariah, and Zachariah grinned right back. Sean did not reply.

"Run along," Kitana said. "Ask your bosses. We'll wait."

"Try not to kill anyone in the meantime," Aimiliona snarled.

Kitana winked at the coyote. "No promises."

"No promises I won't tear your pretty face off, then."

Kitana chose to ignore that, and started stroking her Daemon's back again. Zachariah grinned at the swan Daemon as he, Valkyrie, Skulduggery and Aimiliona headed towards the Sanctuary doors.

Chapter Text

When he saw Erskine kill Ghastly, Skulduggery's mind went very blank. Very calm.

He had to be calm. When something like this happened and he couldn't stay calm, Lord Vile came out and that wouldn't help this situation in the slightest. It would do no good to kill his allies. He should instead save all his rage and his bloodthirst for his enemies. They were the ones that deserved to be killed the most. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he suspected that there was something wrong with that thought, but he couldn't quite think of what it was.

He didn't want to be calm at the moment. At the moment, he wanted to tear out Erskine Ravel's throat with his bare hands. He wanted to gut the man like an animal. He wanted to see Ravel in pain. He wanted to see that traitorous bastard die.

The footage on the monitor was still playing, but Skulduggery hardly registered what he was seeing. All he could look at was Ghastly and Anton as they lay dying, and the only thing he could think about was the first time he had met each of the two men. The scenes played over and over in his head. He didn't know why. Neither meeting had been very special at the time.

He and Ghastly had been very young. Teenagers. Hopeless had been fooling around with one of his mother's alchemy books and blew up a shed. Ghastly and Skulduggery had helped. The whole incident was ridiculous, but ensured that the three of them were lifelong friends.

Anton had been covered in mud and blood, irritated, but unharmed. He and Saracen had been fighting Mevolent's men for hours when Skulduggery arrived. Skulduggery had been impressed with the way that the two of them had blundered into danger and then blundered right back out again.

On the monitor, Ghastly continued to bleed, his body going white and cold. Anton's head was separated from the rest of him, and blood surrounded the two men in a growing red pool.

Dexter turned away so he couldn't watch what happened next. Saracen stepped back and leaned heavily against the wall. Skulduggery was frozen in place, unable to move, unable to stop looking. This was something he needed to see but he couldn't really work out why he needed to see it. He certainly didn't want to see it.

The Children of the Spider and Ravel talked to each other. Ravel may have threatened them about something or other. Skulduggery couldn't be sure. There was the strangest buzzing in his ears, a sound that drowned out all other sounds.

He could hear a deadly and familiar whisper in the back of his mind, and with a jolt, realized who it belonged to. He slammed down on the words of Lord Vile before they even registered. Now was not the time for the armor to come out. He couldn't let go, not yet. Not now.

Skulduggery thought he heard someone laughing, but that dark chuckle belonged to no one but himself.

Come along.

Why hadn't he been able to block that one? He had been doing such a good job of keeping Vile out until now. Why was his voice coming in so clearly?

You're angry. So very angry. Come along. Let me kill him. Let me kill them.

The images on the screen suddenly froze, and Skulduggery realized that O'Callahan had paused it. The buzzing in his head softened. The whispers quieted. The world came back into focus.

There was a mirror on the far wall of the room. Skulduggery walked over to it, examined his reflection. Adjusted his tie. This was a good suit. One of his favorites. Ghastly had made it the last time he'd had the chance to make clothing of any kind. Ghastly hated the Elder job so much, it took considerable time away from his sewing. Skulduggery had always thought that was both extremely funny and just a little bit sad, though he had never said as much. He wished he had.

Out of the corner of his eye, Skulduggery could see the other occupants of the room watching him. O'Callahan was gnawing on his lip nervously, gaze darting between Skulduggery, Vex and Saracen. Vex wasn't exactly looking right act Skulduggery, he was instead staring into empty space in Skulduggery's direction. Sanguine, who had seemed to be more interested than horrified by the proceedings, now looked quite wary. Saracen's eyes were wide and his face was white with horror.

"What do we do?" asked Saracen. He didn't try to stand up. He just continued to let the wall support him. Skulduggery didn't blame him in the slightest. Skulduggery's own legs felt a bit shaky at the moment, but he was certain that if he collapsed now, he wouldn't ever get up again. So he remained standing, and focused on his image in the mirror.

Skulduggery took off his hat, fiddled with the brim. Ghastly always made excellent hats. They were the easiest thing for him to make, too. Small and portable, he could work on hats when he was doing other work. Subsequently, Skulduggery had a great deal of them. "Replay the footage. We need to hear everything that was just said." or rather, he needed to hear it. He hadn't understood a word the first time around.

Again, there was that dark murmur in his mind. He brushed it off, and continued. "Then we release it over the Global Link. Our people meed to know that Roarhaven is no longer a refuge."

Saracen took a deep breath, and closed his eyes as if it pained him to speak. It probably did, considering the subject matter. "About Erskine," he said. "What do we do about Erskine and Mist?"

"Oh, that," Skulduggery put his hat back on. "We kill them. We kill them all."

Good.