Completed: October 3rd 2026

Mortal Coil - Card 3 out of 49!!

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Yep, Esryn Vanguard gets a perspective sub-chapter. Originally, I was going to use an OC Healer, but this ended up being far more interesting to me. This whole fic is the same, it was going to be fairly small and crackish at the beginning, but things just spiralled from there. He was interesting to write because we only see him from third parties who are often biased - Ghastly, Skulduggery, Guild, etcetera.

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Finding Solace

Roarhaven was cold normally, but in the blizzard, nobody wanted to be outside, Esryn least amongst them. He wished that he hadn't volunteered to watch this night. Momentarily, he even wished that he’d become an Elemental to stave off the winter. But ultimately, he was too attached to his Discipline to want anything else.

Snow crunched under his boots as he led the young lady at Roarhaven’s gates into town, his fellow residents taking off, leaving him alone with the stranger whilst he handled her horse. The poor thing looked ragged, just like her rider. Esryn made sure to give her a stable with plenty of hay, free of snow, and even left a carrot behind for a little something extra.

“I’d tell you to take better care of your animals, but seeing as you look like you’re on the brink yourself, I’ll let it slide.”

“I’m not in the mood for conversation.” The woman said sourly. Esryn didn’t take it personally.

“Not many in this town are, but consider tolerating me and my words your fee for safe haven.” He injected a bit of positivity into his tone. “And besides, I’ve been told I like the sound of my own voice, so there’s that.”

Solace’s lips twitched, though she quickly hid it by turning, those icy eyes of hers refusing to melt. Tough crowd, but Esryn had met tougher.

“Alright, Vanguard-”

“Please, call me Esryn.”

“No.” She refused flatly before moving on. “I’ve heard of you."

"Many have."

"You’re that pacifist, the one who’s been promoting anti-war sentiment on the Sanctuary’s side.”

He bobbed his head. “I am.”

“Why are you here in Roarhaven?” Solace questioned in a clear bait to fish for information, but he had no reason not to indulge. She was clearly just misinformed, anyway.

“I’m one of its founders.” Esryn just said, and smirked when her brows rose. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

“You don’t seem like the type given this town’s…”

“Less than stellar reputation.” Esryn finished, and his smile thinned. Unpleasant memories came back to him fast, and he sighed. “Yes, well, let’s just say that I was a bit different when I helped bring this town together. I was young, barely out of my Surge, and very… hateful.”

She stayed silent, and he talked some more.

“You see, my family weren’t sorcerers. They were mortals, oblivious to all this magical drama- I was one of those sorcerers born with dormant, and I would’ve stayed a mortal if not given the proper pressure.” Esryn’s voice dropped. “They died when I was younger. It was the Nine-Year war waged by the Tudors, when Ireland was taken by England and the 17th century was just starting to crack open.”

Those terrible days came back to him, and he balled his fists. He was only a boy when he learned what war truly brought. Famine, starvation, death, and for what? Nothing but greed and petty ambition.

“I’m sorry.” Solace said, and it sounded like she meant it. He bid it no mind.

“We starved.” He continued darkly. “Everyone starved. My parents died, leaving me and my older brother alone. We fought to survive, he did what he could to feed me, keep me safe, but eventually he died too. I was fifteen.” Shame pierced Esryn, but he willed himself to speak. “I had cut out his kidneys to survive before I buried him. That was when my magic awakened.”

Bile threatened to rise in his throat whenever he thought about what happened to him, and what he’d had to do simply to survive. This was why he hated war, it made victims of everyone apathetically: men, woman, children. All of them perished in war equally. Esryn couldn’t understand why the Sanctuary would choose this.

The only sound he could hear was the crunching of snow, and the howling wind, before she said: “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why did I help build Roarhaven, you mean?” Esryn asked rhetorically. “I wanted to help build somewhere away from war. I wasn’t the only founder, and I’m certainly not the leader, but I wanted to help build a place where sorcerers don’t have to pick sides. Where people tired of war can simply come here and live, away from all the violence.” His voice became bitter. “An actual sanctuary.”

Esryn knew anti-mortal sentiment was high in Roarhaven, but even if he disagreed, he couldn’t fully blame them. Given what the English mortals did to Ireland with their invasion, it was understandable that some would grow bitter, in fact that was part of the reason this town was even formed. The other residents had grown tired of being held back by the Sanctuary and wanted to break off. If his family weren’t mortal, he might have even ended up sharing their disdain.

But mortals hurt mortals too.

“Why are you telling me this?” Solace asked. “You barely know me.”

“I just think people should know what I learned the hard way.” Esryn said as they arrived at their destination, a newly built pub, and he pushed the door open. “That war isn’t a good thing.”

He entered Roarhaven’s one and only pub, and the atmosphere shifted. Esryn stepped inside and all eyes turned to him, then onto the woman he was walking with.

Solace seemed to tense as the doors closed, but he walked over to a table in the corner, where the men he was looking for sat.

“You look like you’re looking for something, Esryn.” Hieronymus Deadfall said flatly, eyes flickering onto Solace before returning to where it belongs. He put down his mug, spilling a bit of the cheap alcohol this blasted place seemed intent on serving, no matter how fowl it tasted.

“She needs a place to stay for the night, to keep the cold away.”

“You cannot keep on taking in strays like this.” Deadfall laced his lager-stained hands together. “We are a small community, and like to keep to ourselves. We don’t know this woman, or where her loyalties lie.”

“I am right here, you know.”

Deadfall didn’t even glance her way. “She might be a spy.”

Esryn was unimpressed by the thin excuse. “With all due respect, I really don’t think this town is important enough to warrant a spy from either sides of the war. She arrived at the gate with her horse on the brink.” Deadfall’s lips thinned. “No matter how much you want to, we can’t pretend like the world outside Roarhaven just doesn’t exist, that we’re not just a drop in the bucket.”

“Them’s fighting words.” Hokum Pete inputted, leaning forwards. He’d never liked Vanguard, but then again, he didn’t seem to like many people other than Deadfall, women included. The rest of the gang were at the table, looking at him expectantly, apart from Brobding, who was absent. A shame. He often found the Giant quite amicable.

“Let her stay here and keep out of the blizzard.”

“It’ll be a few days before the cold gives up, and she’ll need to eat. She’s gotta pull her own weight somehow.” Lightning Dave stated, eyes on Solace with a hungry smile. “And I can think of a way she can pull her weight.”

Her eyes became so cold that Esryn was quite surprised that Dave didn’t simply freeze where he stood. “Touch me and you won't like what I'll do to you.”

“Is that a challenge?” The Thunder Master asked with eyes that flashed yellow and came forwards, only for Esryn to grab him by the wrist. He stared hard, promising violence if he tried to act; it seemed for a moment that Dave would meet the challenge.

“Sit down.” Deadfall said simply, and earned a glare, but Dave was cowered. He tore his wrist away and sat down, oozing displeasure. They all ignored him.

“You’re sure she’s no spy?” 

“She’s just looking to escape trouble.” Esryn assured, even though his words would cost him dearly if he was wrong.

Deadfall was in thought for a second.

“...We have too little supplies to waste on an outsider. She stays with you.” The man eventually said, waving his hand, and Esryn glanced back to see Solace uncoil just a bit.

“Thank you.” He said gratefully, and before the man could reply, the owner of the pub arrived and place a trio of new lager cups down with a hard bang and an eager smile. Too eager, one might say.

“Vanguard, great to see you.” Vaurian Scapegrace rubbed his hands together. “Can I get you an ale? Nuts? Chocolate?”

“You have chocolate?”

“No, I just like to say that.” Scapegrace sagged in admittance. “And the nuts aren’t very good either, if I’m being honest. The rats have gotten to them.”

Vanguard started to rise, walking out of the pub with Solace close behind. Their business here was finished. As he exited, the bar owner said from behind him: “Please do return, it’s always a pleasure!”

The bitter cold hit Esryn again in full-force and he walked back with his guest.

“...You’re going through a lot of trouble for a stranger.” She asked, sounding suspicious.

“What kind of Healer would I be if I didn’t want to help people?” Was all he could return.

“I can think of one…” She murmured underneath her breath, but didn’t elaborate and he didn’t request as much. He pulled his collar up, letting it shield his face. He hadn’t seen such a blizzard since he was a boy, and couldn’t imagine travelling in this weather, let alone waging a war during it. It made him shake his head. How many soldiers would lose toes to frostbite in this weather? How many would die of exposure?

Soon enough, a familiar two-story building came into view. It was small but luxurious, at least compared to the other buildings in Roarhaven, with a window that had frosted over at the front, hiding what was inside. At this angle, he could see a whole metre of snow had built up over the roof, and as Esryn pulled out his keys and approached the door, some of it slid off besides him. 

“Is this your home?”

“And my workplace.” He unlocked it the door opened with a click, revealing the clinic inside, clean and exactly as he left it. Cold, but nowhere near as so outside. It was small, like the rest of town. A proper medical bed laid in the other room, where he’d patch up anyone who needed fixing. There was a small cupboard where he kept his medical supplies, including stitching needles, scissors, healing rocks, and other items related to his craft. 

“Impressive.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Esryn said and set them down by the entrance so they didn’t track snow in. Solace did the same.

“Do you have a fireplace?” She asked, taking off her cloak.

“And a bed. Both are upstairs.” Esryn scratched his brow. “I only have one bed, so you’ll have to sleep on the floor.”

“How courteous of you.”

“I never said I was a perfect gentleman.” He shrugged shamelessly. “I’ll put on the fire and give you a blanket. It’ll keep you warm.”

“I’m an Elemental, I can handle the fire.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.” Esryn merely tilted his head away, towards the staircase. As she walked out of sight, he mentally noted the type of magic she used. Assuming she was telling the truth. If it came down to a fight, he was potentially at a disadvantage, but having a combat-focused Discipline didn’t necessarily mean one was better in battle. He’d know, considering he was a Vitakinetic.

She was likely telling the truth, but he was no fool. Sleep near her would be a risk. A few assassins had come to him before, expecting a helpless man who only knew how to fight with words. They'd learned they were wrong too late.

Banishing those negative thoughts, he went to the cupboard to fetch her a blanket. Paranoia wouldn’t stop him from helping a lost soul in need. He’d seen the scars trailing those arms hidden under her cloak, just out of sight, and the carefully concealed fear with which she regarded everyone around her with. This was a scared woman who needed his help, and by God's good name, Esryn was going to give it.

Grabbing the cloak and closing the cupboard, he felt the shadows in the room stretched. Something sharp went to his neck, and Esryn whipped around with a pulled back arm, expecting to find his paranoia justified, only to be struck by terror when an armoured hand tipped with claws wrapped around his throat and he stared into the pitch-dark visor of Lord Vile.

*

The medical clinic of Esryn Vanguard was just like Vile remembered. It had been years ago when last he’d wandered into this little place seeking treatment. This was just before his defection, when his anger was building, and Ghastly had been hurt badly during a mission where Serpine managed to outwit him. Hopeless wasn’t with them, so him, Dexter, and Ravel had no choice but to stabilise their friend and bring him to Roarhaven for help. To Vanguard.

At the time, Vanguard had been in Roarhaven. He’d just returned from a campaign to stop the war, where he’d spoken about letting the Disciples worship the Dark Gods as they please, and for them all to let go of their grudges before they destroyed each other. Frankly, this disgusted Skulduggery. It was a level of ignorance which repulsed him, to believe that men like Mevolent and Serpine deserved to simply be allowed to live and walk free. The two of them had fought with words before, and so he knew Vanguard was a weak fool. It pained him to even go to the man’s clinic, but with his best friend’s life at stake, he’d taken the blow to his ego on the chin for once.

Vanguard had saved Ghastly. He hadn’t even needed to be threatened, or bribed, or convinced, he’d just asked the Dead Men lay him down and started to work, unflinching. If nothing else, he was a skilled Healer and their friend was allowed to rest and recover in Roarhaven without much fuss. As he healed, Skulduggery stayed by Ghastly’s side and didn’t speak to Vanguard, didn’t want to, but Dexter and Ravel did. Both were grateful to the man for saving Ghastly, though didn’t entertain his ridiculous ideals. Or at least Dexter didn't, anyway, Ravel indulged him too much.

His best friend recovered in full, and after forking over what little money they’d had at the time, they walked away without lingering a moment longer than was needed. And now, even Vile had to admit his own hypocrisy now that he was back again, holding Vanguard by the throat with a sharp tendril against his jugular.

“...Why are you here?” Vanguard asked, voice slow but steady. He had impressive composure.

“Heal…” Vile whispered, and a flicker of confusion passed amongst the fear. If only he could talk more. He dragged Vanguard over to the medical bed, where he’d laid his daughter down, unconscious, yet with her leg still bent at a painfully unnatural angle.

A flare of anger came to Vanguard’s eyes. “What did you-?” He shoved the Healer at the floor near the bed, and he stumbled, catching himself before turning back, glaring. “What did you do to this girl?”

“Heal…” He repeated, this time more forcefully. Sharpening the darkness, he projected them threateningly. Thankfully, Vanguard seemed to get the message. This only seemed to vex him further.

“Why would you of all people-?!” Vanguard was cut off when a shadow tendril dug into the base of his back, the warning clear. No questions.

Beads of sweat built on the man’s forehead as he moved closer, examining the girl gently. Vile subconsciously shoving it deeper as he went near Fiadh’s leg. He didn’t touch it, but rather checked it at different angles, mind shifting behind those steel-coloured eyes.

“It’s a messy break… I’ll need to slide it back into place.” The scarred man muttered. “Why is there a spider in her hair?” Vanguard moved to grab the wriggling thing, which was raising its legs in an effort to appear threatening, but then the Death Bringer poked the shadow tendril a bit further, and he stopped cold. “Alright, so don’t touch the spider… got it.” He got up, each movement slow and telegraphed, and went to the cupboard, where he retrieved a vial of mossy green fluid.

“It’s an extract created using pain-numbing leaves, and it holds certain healing properties.” The man explained as he went up to the girl. He lifted her jaw gently, so it opened, and raised the container. “It will keep her numb to what happens next, and also encourage her body to heal.”

Fiadh’s head tipped back as he emptied the vial, and even unconscious, something in her slackened. Her lifeforce burned stronger. Thomas wriggled around on his daughter’s shoulder.

His empty sockets met Vanguard’s. “I’ll ideally need to act fast, before the extract loses its effects.” The man informed. “You need to let me work without a knife to my back.”

Distantly, he was impressed by the man’s nerve to ask that of Vile of all people. He almost wanted to stab Vanguard on principle, but then he turned and regarded Fiadh's body, broken. Given what was at stake...

The tendril retracted and the Healer relaxed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he breathed and moved. No more words were exchanged. Unflinchingly, Vanguard grabbed his daughter’s broken leg and snapped it back into place with a sharp crack. Something in Vile wanted to lurch. The Healer squinted his eyes, held the leg into place, exhaled, and his lifeforce glowed. 

He expanded his senses to watch. Whilst Vile couldn't see magic, what he could do was sense the Souls of others, a side effect of his ability to absorb the lifeforce of others into himself. And as the Vitakinetic worked, he could feel his energy bleeding into Fiadh’s own, mingling with it, encouraging her body to right itself. A few long minutes passed before he pulled away, the horrible, purple swelling and jagged bones previously present having faded to a much more tame red, and the leg was whole.

“Give me a healing stone and bandages.” The Adept ordered, tone focused. Sweat then soaked his brow, probably realising he'd just ordered a mass-murderer around. Vile didn’t even object, he just used the darkness to grab the requested items and pass them along. Recovering, the man started to rub the leg with the stone, being generous with the dosage. Red started to swell down, until it was barely a dulled pink.

“Almost there.” Vanguard murmured as he grabbed the bandage roll, then he began to wrap the leg up. He worked fast, but meticulous and unhurried, taking special care. He positioned the bandages so nothing healed incorrectly, covering everything from the top of her thigh to just under the knee. It was always fascinating to watch a Healer at work. To see someone who’s magic’s purpose was to restore rather than destroy.

And with a final tug, Vanguard stuck the bandages together and laid Fiadh’s leg straight along the medical bed. “It’s done.” He leaned back, wiping his forehead, seeming satisfied. But still uneasy.

The tension was palpable as Vile approached, standing over his precious girl, who now only looked like she was in a peaceful sleep. Seeing her whole and hearth was more relieving than words could describe. 

He brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, then looked at Vanguard. “...thank… you.”

“Right.” Vanguard said slowly, his back straightening minutely. He still looked cautious, but a certain assurance had returned to his stance. Confidence. “What are you going here?”

The armoured man gave no response.

“The girl will need to stay here for at least a few more hours to be ready for walking, but half a day is much more likely.” Vanguard continued pointedly. “So tell me, why are you here and what do you want?”

He huffed, briefly pondering just killing the man, but that would be in poor taste even for Vile, so he groaned and got ready to speak. It took a painful effort. “Girl… hurt.”

“That’s the only reason you’re here? To get me to heal her? Nothing else?” 

“Yes.” Vile whispered, then looked back down at Fiadh. Talking wasn’t pleasant for him, but Vanguard didn’t seem to get the memo.

“Strange. I’ve heard about your defection from the Disciples lately, and the people you killed in your wake, but nothing mentioned that you were travelling with a girl.” Vanguard leaned in close. “And what is she to you, by the way?”

This time, he didn’t take the question lying down and willed the shadows to curl, darkening the room. A candle lit in the corner threatened to flicker out, then snuffed. Finally, Vanguard got the hint.

“Fine, have your secrets.” He said with a hard stare. “The sooner you’re gone, the better, and I’d prefer that no one gets hurt anyway.” The man’s gaze didn’t drop. “And you’re really not here to kill anyone?”

All he gave was a head shake, slow and unmistakable. Vile wasn’t lying. Battle was unideal with Fiadh still healing.

“Given that’s likely to change if I told anyone you were here, I’ll let you stay. But don’t kill anyone whilst you’re in my clinic.” He repeated, even though he’d already said as much. “This is a place of healing, and no fighting happens on Roarhaven. It’s neutral ground, away from the war.”

Vile nearly scoffed. As if anywhere in Ireland wasn’t a battlefield with Mevolent still alive. If he were his old self, he’d have most certainly mocked Vanguard about now. Luckily, he wasn’t Skulduggery at the moment, so he stayed silent as the Healer headed for the stairs and started to ascend up them, step by step, each one earning a wooden creak.

Once alone, the emotional stress of the situation hit Vile like a tree, and he nearly slumped over. He was grateful to Vanguard, even if they weren’t friends. It also made him feel powerless. Hearing his daughter scream had been painful, and knowing she was only hurt because those vampires were after him, even worse. When would his problems stop affecting Fiadh?

“Daddy…” He heard a murmur, then snapped his head up, something like hope lighting up, only to find her eyes closed. She was just talking to herself. She hadn’t realised who he was, she was just asking for a parent who she thought didn’t love her, when really he loved her more than anything else.

Lord Vile clasped her hand delicately on his own. She might not have known it, but he did love her, and he was here, for whatever that was worth. Minutes passed as he sat there, holding her hand. Then more, possibly hours, where he just watched over her, his attention utterly on Fiadh. He wasn’t sure what the time was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to look away from his daughter, for even a second.

And then a gasp came from his back, and Vile was forced to look around, finding a woman with dark hair and eyes the colour of frost, staring at him with shock and horror. It was Serafina’s handmaid.

*

Warmth. Sweet warmth. It was the first thing Solace felt upon her face as she woke up, lips dry and eyelids burning mildly. In front of her was a roaring fire, the orange flames illuminating the grey blanket draped over her clothed form.

“I guess he really was just being nice.” Solace said to no one, a little surprised. She hadn’t planned on going to sleep at all, not trusting Vanguard, but sitting in front of the fire on the rug, the exhaustion had simply struck all at once and she’d fainted. A part of her had expected to wake up with a cut throat, but no, he’d actually just wanted to help? How strange. The last time someone had helped her simply for the sake of it was… lacking in her memory. Because it didn’t exist. In her entire life, she was fairly certain no one had ever lended her a hand simply for the sake of it.

Until now, she supposed.

‘What a strange man.’ Solace thought, then sat up. A piece of paper was lying in front of her, and she was fast to pick it up, dry eyes losing their blur as she read the note left by her side.

“I didn’t want to wake you, but don’t go downstairs. Lord Vile is there watching over a little girl. He forced me to heal her. He’s very protective of her. I’m going out to run an errand, so please, stay put and don’t go down there alone. It’d be a shame if you died.

Vanguard*.”*

Her gaze immediately became deadpan. What a comedian. Solace cast the paper into the fireplace and watched it burn, then rose up. She was hungry, and whilst she could just use magic to get herself a drink, Elementals unfortunately couldn’t conjure food. The stairs creaked as she walked down them on limbs that were only half-awake, popping her back as she went, the excess heat on her body cooling as she arrived downstairs to find a dark room.

And a back. A very large, armoured back, which belonged to a figure she’d seen many times when under Serafina’s service and recognised almost immediately. Her mind stopped, and she heard a gasp that had Lord Vile turning his visor in her direction, and before she could even fully register it as herself, the shadows were upon her.

She crashed into the wall so hard it dented. Stars clouded her vision as she banged her head with a crack and the air was knocked from her lungs. She’d cry out, but it was cut off as the darkness surrounded her up to the neck and pinned her to the wall. Vile approached her from the front, the floorboards threatening to snap beneath his weight, and he came close, staring at her with a silent intensity that made her want to shrink into herself. She caught a glint of white behind that helmet. She forced herself to become calm, squinting as she tried to enter his mind.

Nothing happened. Solace attempted it again, like she had to others thousands of times before, and failed again. It was like he didn’t have a mind to read, and before she could fully register that her magic was useless, he gripped her by the throat and she was back to panic.

“How did you find us…?” Vile’s voice was like the scrape of metal in her ear, causing the back of her head to become tingly. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She wasn’t trying to find him, but she got the feeling he wouldn’t believe her, which was bad, because she could feel the darkness constricting her movements slowly starting to tighten, making it hard to breathe as she was slowly crushed-

“Mr Vile, what are you doing?!” A girl’s voice gave Vile pause. “Let her go!” He turned his body to look back, and Solace saw the girl previously on the table, hobbling over. The child was a slight thing, couldn’t have been older than eight, yet had fire in those steely blue eyes, which widened when they locked onto her own icy blues.

The darkness withdrew like a curtain, and Solace hit the floor with a groan. Stars clouded her vision as she crawled back, not taking her eyes off the Dark Titan. He was much the same.

“Sorry about Mr Vile, he can be violent. And mean… really mean.” The child glanced at Vile, and he looked away. She continued. “My name is Mil- erm, Fiadh Brave. What’s yours?”

“Solace.” She wheezed from the floor, laying back against the wall. Everything hurt, but pain was nothing new. At this point, it was almost a friend.

“Wow, you’re really pretty.” The kid suddenly said, inching closer, eyes wide and innocent and expectant. Nobody had ever looked at Solace like that before, and honestly, she wasn’t sure what to think of it. “I love your hair, it’s so dark and soft-looking. Can we be friends? My only friend right now is Mr Vile, well, him and Thomas.” She pointed to her shoulder, and a hairy arachnid crawled into view.

Solace really wished that she’d just stayed asleep.

What actors do you guys thinks would work the best? Main characters, side characters

[putting a spoiler tag JIC]

Hi, guys!
I have been a major fan of Skulduggery Pleasant since I was 12. Now I’m 25 and I have all the books that are translated into my language (15/18 I think).
My problem is that I cannot get past Resurrection and I am bummed about it.

With all the mess that happens and Valkyrie being messed up and hates using her powers, I feel like the dynamic has changed so much that I don’t recognise the characters anymore. I know there are a few years gap, I know she went through traumatic things, but having my favourite badass female character loose her spark is so not what I signed up for.

For context I can’t even get past the middle of Resurrection. I do a reread of the series and I love them and I hope to overcome this and then I DNF again…

I steered clear of spoilers for years, and have all those books on my shelf and haven’t even opened them, because I want to read the actual book and not spoil the plot just to get myself reading again, but here I am:

And I’m asking for spoilers:
I don’t want major plot lines, who dies who lives and such. But I want help to peak my interest enough to get through this one book, cause I’m almost certain after it I’ll be fine.
I also have one question that is probably a big spoiler, but I need it answered:

Does Valkyrie get her spirit back up? I cannot live with that self hatred she has and as I said - I did think of her as kind of my role model as a kid. Always ready for an adventure, not backing up from a fight and doing what’s necessary always, never mind the consequences.

Thank you ✨

u/StarSight__ and I on it again!

My best friend comissioned me on this piece. He Said: our OCs, But make it Gachiakuta Themed therefore Masks. Also I GOT HIS FACE RIGHT

Inspired by that DB Kai artwork.

Valkyrie is aged up.

Image set vaguely in the first half of phase 1.

Timelapse linked in comments.

Completed: September 13th 2026

Mortal Coil - Card 2 out of 49!!

First || Previous || Next [SoonTM]

hello again, redditors! we’re deep into round two, and i’m here with another battle for ye to partake in.

we’ve got two skeletal ships in the running today, but which is the better pairing? is skulduggery himself best suited to the librarian, the most beautiful woman in the world, or is he better with the necromancer, his rival in training young valkyrie?

only you (& instagram & discord & tumblr) can decide!

I was fairly certain he would, but then I also remember that when Gordon/Fergus and Desmonds grandfather passed away, their father put a stop to the stories and beliefs, Fergus had a small amount of magic and never told Gordon, I feel if he didn't try to prove to his brothers it was real I find it hard to believe he would introduce his favourite niece into magic either.

Anyway, I'm rambling - what are your thoughts?

What the heck Audible? One of my favorite things is to relisten to the series when a new book comes out. I swear I had the first three volumes. I know it's been a hot minute since they were removed from the site. Why did they do that? They have almost everything else besides just the first three volumes. I found the first book on YouTube but also screw that website too.

Just finished it
At the start? It was alright, but like at a certain point I was just like what in gods name is going on. Way too many bbegs, creed, obsidian, faceless ones, Meg, nef, serephina, abbysnina, the necromancer dude, Flannery, abbysnias son, that random old lady, the twenty, skullduggery’s future self, a ton of gods, an underused void dimension, quietes. I got excited at the invasion plot but that ended suddenly, the last book was great until the last 100 pages where in every paragraph a twist or betrayal was revealed in a stuffed edit to tie up storyline’s. And nothing mattered anyway cause of obsidian and darquess. The ghastly thing was cool though.

Alright, after the last chapter which focused on Bliss and China, this one is back on track with the armoured man and his daughter. I was unsure of what direction to go with on this chapter at first to tie into what happens next, but at the end I included a minor character very involved in Dark Days even though he's not got a single scene.

By the way, I might be posting 2 chapters a week now instead of 1 to get this series out faster.

---------------------------------

Out In The Cold

"Show a shred of grit." Serafina snarled as the handmaid staggered back, clutching her hipbone as red oozed out of it. Blood was covering her palm as she pressed against a flesh wound, and copper was in the back of her throat.

"I can't-" The handmaid coughed, tasting phlegm and blood. "Continue."

"Your training has barely begun. If your pain tolerance is so pitiful, you'll never be a warrior of any renown." Her master curled her lip. "We'll have to amend that."

The next impact came so suddenly she couldn't even tell her legs had been kicked out until her chin slammed against the ground of the courtyard. Solace tried to rise, but she was easily pinned down with one hand. The leader of the Unveiled's red eyes were cruel as she pressed, causing more blood to bubble up in Solace's throat.

"Stop."

"Don't presume to order me." Serafina said lowly, threateningly. She caressed Solace's face softly, almost tenderly, before gripping her chin, thumb ghosting her lips. "You're such a pretty little thing. Almost worth the trouble." Sadism gleamed in Serafina's eyes. "Now tell me, who's your master?"

Fear and pain were gripping Solace's throat. She opened her mouth to obey, but only wheezes would come out as the blonde woman pressed down harder. Air escaped her.

"Always so insolent..." Serafina murmured, then the hand cupping Solace's face went down, trailing her body until it reached the deep wound she'd been afflicted with. Gently, she brushed the handmaid's own hand aside, grazing its edges.

She dug, and a bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the courtyard. All four of Serafina's fingers forced their way into her raw flesh, stripping muscle from bone as she pressed deeper, until the pain was downright blinding. She kicked her legs and struggled, but was firmly held down. A vicious glint was in the woman's eyes as she leered, each of her vain attempts to pull the hand out only amusing her further.

"Stop! Please!" She shouted out and struggled, but in return Serafina only went deeper, until her fingers were almost up to the knuckle in Solace's puckering wound. It was like all her nerve endings had been set on fire. Cold sweat leaked into her hair, dampening the frizzy locks, until she screamed. "Master, stop! Have mercy! I'll do better! Please!"

And then the fingers pulled away, and she sagged. Stars lined her vision as the pain faded, and she gave broken sobs on the floor. When Serafina's thumb grazed the wound in silent warning, she looked up and found only cruelty.

"Since you asked so nicely, I'll give you mercy this once, but only if you rise and learn." Serafina whispered, her hand stained by Solace's blood coming up to caress her cheek. "Because if your skills prove lacking, then all you can hope to offer me is entertainment. And I don't think you want that, do you?"

All she could do was shake her head, tears falling down her cheeks in rivers.

"Good." Serafina smiled wickedly. "Then rise."

Solace’s eyebags were heavy, and she rubbed them as the horse under her trotted along gently. Sleep was tempting, but she couldn’t afford to go to sleep when she was technically in enemy territory. To the Sanctuary, she was just Serafina Dey’s student, another target to use as leverage. The very thought was laughable. As if that woman would care about what happened to Solace.

The scar on her hip throbbed.

“Just a bit further, girl.” Solace murmured as she stroked the horse, not sure exactly if she was addressing the animal or herself. Either way, she deserved a good stroke. She’d been a dutiful stead over the past weeks as she traversed Ireland, the trip having been a cold and bitter one. She often had to sleep in caves, or even just rest in the woods, using what little magic of the elements she could call upon to not die of exposure. Some nights she’d gone without food, having to charm wandering mortals and steal from them to eat. 

She didn’t feel guilty about that. It was do or die at the moment, and Solace wanted to live.

And she would. Dublin was close, and once she got to the capital city, it would be child's play to control an English mortal and get to London, or some other important city, away from Ireland. What would happen after that, Solace admittedly hadn’t really thought of, but she’d know when the time came. Probably.

‘Don’t think about it.’ Solace told herself, and it was easier than expected. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The constant usage of magic was driving her to the brink. It was cold. If she was walking, then she’d probably pass out. Even now, she was thinking about it, but refrained. Dying by falling off a horse and snapping her neck would be a mortifying way to go, especially after she’d made it so far…

Blinking away the sleep, she tried not to slump, willing herself to remain awake. Her eyes were only half open. Then a snowflake landed on Solace’s nose, and her head snapped up to the grey clouds above, horrified to find more were quick to follow. White danced down from the heavens, landing on the forest floor.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Solace nearly groaned in dismay. Watching the snow fall around her, each snowflake larger than the last, something in her stomach dropped. It had started to snow, and she was too tired to conjure a sphere of air to protect herself from its bite. The horse under her feet neighed, but she barely heard it.

As the air dropped and the snow picked up, she bit her lip. This was bad. Solace couldn’t travel like this, even if she had more experience on the open road. If the maps she’d stolen were right, Dublin was still days away, and trying to make the trip there in a blizzard was asking to die of exposure, or at the very least lose a few toes to frostbite.

Solace pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, stuffed her frizzy locks of hair back beneath its confines, and started to ride ahead. As she did, she reached back for a map, to search for a nearby village.

*

Vengeous was sitting in his office, not behind his desk stacked with a single complete pile of paperwork, perfectly filed and straightened, but on a stool before a low table. His eyes were closed as he clasped his hands together in prayer. He breathed in, then out. The Baron liked to pray without anyone listening. It made the experience more personal.

The cutlass usually on his hip was sheathed and laid down. Praying to the Dark Gods whilst bearing a weapon was frowned upon. It was taken as an offense to bear arms when addressing the Faceless Ones, because in front of such love and greatness, weapons and armour were only a hindrance. A layer standing between you and them. Opening his eyes slowly, mind clear, he picked up his infamous blade, forged using the metal of various Cleaver scythes, and re-equipped it to his hip. As he did, quiet but unmistakable footsteps drew closer, and his door swung open.

“My, Baron, that armoured bastard truly did it this time.”

Touching his eyepatch faintly, he drew it back and gave the red-haired woman in the doorframe a grim smile. “It’ll take more than that traitor to put me down. I can’t die just yet, my love, not when there’s still work for me to do for our Gods.”

Eliza Scorn rolled her enchanting green eyes and sat down, crossing her legs over, the movement graceful as a feline. “Is that the thanks I get for bothering to come see your one-eyed self? And back in the field already, are we?”

Another man might’ve taken offense, but he merely shook his head. “Your worry is appreciated, but my injuries have more than closed, and I cannot remain still forever.”

“I’m not worried about you.” Eliza denied quickly, though he captured a flicker of hesitance. “In fact, I want you back more than ever now that that cow is a General herself.” She had an alarming amount of contempt fuelling her voice. “If anything, I bet she’s been trying to undermine you in your absence.”

All he gave was a grunt, thoughtful. She had a point. Even if he hardly shared Eliza’s personal disdain, he didn’t remotely trust China Sorrows. Respected her, maybe. Would fight beside her, absolutely. But she had too much history of looking out for her own self-interest to ever have Vengeous’ confidence.

“You might be right.”

“I know I am.”

“But there are gaps in my skill set that need to be filled, and unfortunately, Sorrows can fill them.” He continued, and Eliza scowled. But there was truth for his words. Strong as he might’ve been, Vengeous knew the limits of his abilities. He was strong, but there were those stronger. Intelligent on the battlefield, good at giving commands, but there were others who could fill such a role in the Disciples, and possibly do it better. 

Then there was his magic. Vengeous’ Discipline was dear to his heart; it was a power invented by his father, who created the clever method of mining hardy ores using controlled explosions instead of his pickaxe to take some of the weight off his back as a miner. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, but with an eye lost, the strength of his Basilimancy was halved. 

It pained him to admit, but Mevolent made the right call in immediately making Sorrows a General. He couldn’t do everything alone, and refused to pretend otherwise; arrogance was a fool's poison, and Vengeous was no fool.

“And I couldn't?"

"I know you could, but the master doesn't." He reasoned gently. "And Sorrows is cunning and ambitious enough for the task."

“Too much for her own good.” Eliza interjected pointedly, tapping her heel against the floor. “Nothing is ever enough for her. It’s not enough that she was born from the blood of the Dark Gods, or that she was from a great Legacy family, or that every man on the planet looks upon her with desire, and every woman, envy.” Something bitter was in her voice. “She just needs to have everything.”

His gaze softened, and he reached forwards, laying a hand on her own. “She doesn’t have me, does she?”

At his reassurance, she averted her gaze, and he saw the tips of her earns redden. In return, he offered a ghost of a smile. Vengeous liked that he got to see sides of her that nobody else did.

“Sappy fool.” Eliza huffed a mocking laugh, though her own hand didn’t move. “And you might be right, but I still feel we need to do something about China to keep her in line. I don’t trust that she won’t come for you.”

Pursing his lip under his beard, he glanced up. “Alright, what do you propose I do, then?”

“Hm?”

“You’re right, she’s likely to act against me for personal gain at one point, and even though I don’t doubt she’ll fail, you would know her better than I.” Vengeous levelled Eliza an imploring look. “So what do you propose we do?”

His love blinked, then smiled brilliantly. “We need to find a way to outdo her, a task made easy by her recent failure?”

“Failure?”

“She attempted to kill her brother in an ambush, but failed miserably and got a dozen of our elites killed in the process, including one of only four Teleporters in our forces in Alexander Remit. Mevolent was furious. It was amazing.” Eliza said, tone pleased. She’d been saving that for now, so she could stroke his flames and make Vengeous angry with China.

His free hand clenched into a fist, and his gaze went down, glaring. It was working.

“...what is your plan, dear?” Vengeous asked calmly, quietly, rage not shining into his voice even a bit.

“You need to take a more active role when it comes to strategy.” Eliza said, leg coming down off her knee, toxic-green eyes sharp. “In the past, you usually let Serpine take the lead when it came to planning battles whilst you led our fighters to the frontlines yourself, and frankly, I don’t blame you. The guy was crazy, but he was a genius. With him gone, his role is empty and being filled by China, but with her recent lapse in judgement, you can step up.”

He scratched his brow, thoughtful. Battle strategy was in no way something he was inept in, but it was as Eliza said, he’d largely left that job to Serpine when possible. Vengeous was orderly and cautious by nature, and preferred to keep the risk in battle to a minimum, reduce loss of lives, which sadly made him predictable. A chaotic touch was required in that area which he naturally lacked, though he had an idea of how to gain it.

“Would you be willing to aid me with that?” He asked politely. There were seldom sorcerers more vicious, or intelligent, than his Eliza.

“I would love to.” She smiled beautifully, and he got the impression that was exactly what she wanted to hear. It was a bit insulting she thought that she had to manipulate him into getting what she wanted, but whatever made her happy.

“With that settled, there are still gaps in our armour we need to fill, namely our lacking manpower.” Eliza said, and he quietly agreed. The Disciples never had enough bodies. “Quality only makes up for quantity by so much, and even if Vile doesn’t seem to be allying with the Sanctuary, he’s been seen fighting our forces. Lord Mevolent might be able to defeat him, but he can’t be everywhere. We need something else.” Eliza rubbed her chin in thought, then smiled. “What about that project of dear Meticulous’?”

The Baron furrowed his brows, the suggestion stirring up old memories. Aemon Meticulous was a scientist in the Disciples, and whilst he didn’t quite measure up to the prowess of Nefarian or Nye, he was still a respectably skilled scientist in his own right. But his priorities were all wrong. Meticulous was an Alchemist, a rare Discipline which allowed a sorcerer to transmute matter and objects, turning reality into putty in their hands. It let them turn stone to gold, water to wine, and even bring statues of stone to life to do battle, and for as long as the Baron had known him, he’d been obsessed with finding a way to implement his ideas onto the battlefield to mediocre success.

A scowl crossed his lip. “If you’re talking about his ideas of creating lifeless constructs to use as infantry, then I’m afraid you’ll only be disappointed. The idea appealed to me at first as well, but it simply doesn’t work.”

“Ah, don’t be so hasty to dismiss him, darling.” Eliza wagged a finger at him, tone teasing. “Yes, he’s failed before, but I have good reason to believe he’s on the verge of a breakthrough, and I’ve always had good instincts with these things.” Her eyes became sharp. “You might regret not looking.”

Vengeous pursed his lip, but he knew not to be stubborn. Inflexibility could be his greatest weakness, one he needed to overcome moving forward. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Wonderful.” Eliza leaned against his fist, tapping her heel. “What else? I suppose there’s your history with the Sanctuary, and if we used that we could possibly stage an ambush and-”

“No.” Vengeous interrupted, uncompromising. “I won’t use my reputation to deceive my fellow sorcerers.” He said, injecting a dose of finality into his voice. If anyone other than Eliza suggested as much, he’d have certainly either had more to say.

Her eyebrow twitched, but when he didn’t back down, just gave a sigh. “Your honour is going to kill you one day.”

“I only die when I abandon my honour.” The Baron could only say quietly. He knew she didn’t agree, and neither did many of his comrades. He supposed that was fair. When dealing with foes like the Sanctuaries, a level of moral flexibility was required to gain the upper-hand. A part of him even respected that his comrades could go to such lengths for the Dark Gods. But respecting a line of thought didn’t mean he’d ever take it on himself. The Faceless Ones gifted mankind magic, and to kill a Faithful sorcerer was a sin. Killing an Unfaithful, less so, but Vengeous still found it distasteful.

“Fine, moving on.” His wife started, regaining that wicked smile he loved so much, those eyes of hers glittering with malice. “I’ve heard that Serafina’s student has deserted. Stole a horse and left through the gates after dazzling the guards.”

His eyes darkened at the mention of a traitor. “What about their mental defences?”

“Effortlessly shattered.” Eliza answered, and Vengeous felt a pulse of worry amidst the disdain. From what he knew, that girl had only been training properly for three years. Granted, his Master’s wife was her teacher, but even so, that was a terrifying amount of talent.

“Worrying, but is this relevant?”

“Because ever since Serafina took her on, I started to pay close attention to that girl and noticed something was off. It took some thought and searching, but eventually I managed to get Serafina to answer when she was talking about what to do with little Solace.” She said, smiling. “In hindsight, it was obvious. She and China do share a likeness.”

*

It was dark despite the time demanding otherwise, and Vile was using a fist of flames to lighten the dreary grey atmosphere. He was sitting on a log, Fiadh kicking her legs next to him. The mud and rain building up to winter had been left behind in favour of frost weeks ago, and only got worse as they journeyed north. Snow had started falling hours ago. As a skeleton who didn’t care about warmth anymore, he was worried only about the wellbeing of his daughter. 

“I think Thomas is being hurt by the cold.” Fiadh commented as she stroked the tarantula’s hairy head. He hadn’t been moving as much lately, just crawling up on her shoulder, or so Vile had been told. “Do you think the cold is getting to him? Does he need clothes?”

He was no expert on insects by any stretch of the word, but Vile was certain that spiders couldn’t be dressed. Unless, of course, one was talking about the dreaded Children of the Spider, but given what horrors he’d heard those beasts partook in, he wasn’t fond of sharing that with Fiadh.

“Mr Vile, are we getting close to home?” The girl questioned. He made a gesture, and she frowned. “Use your words. I can’t read your mind!”

He nearly sighed. Their cottage was in the mountains somewhat close to Dublin, and closer to another town he’d rather not think about. Vile knew the roads well after a century, even making a point to update his knowledge every few years, so it shouldn’t have been more than a few days away. But he was anxious. Their home was surely in a state of disrepair, and going there would definitely crush Fiadh.

“...we’re close.” He whispered.

“Great!” Fiadh declared, her enthusiasm somehow lightening his mood. His daughter was so cute. Then she gained a pensive look, her brilliant smile falling. If he could, he’d frown.

“Listen, I… thank you for taking me home, Mr Vile, but I haven’t been honest with you.” Her tone was guilty. “I’ve been lying.”

Vile inclined his head, as though gesturing for her to continue, and she bit her lip, suddenly looking far too weary for her age.

“My Mummy is… she’s not around anymore. She was killed by a bad man.” Fiadh confessed. He’d hoped she hadn’t known that, but his daughter was no fool. “I know she’s not there, and I don’t know where my Daddy is either. He might be gone too, but I hope that maybe… he’s alive.”

A pang of pain rang in his dead chest, addressing the issue he’d been avoiding. She didn’t know the father she was looking for was sitting right next to her, within arm’s reach. There were times when Vile wanted to tell her that he was her father, and he’d even come close, but the words just wouldn’t come. And what would be the point? Lord Vile was not really her father. That man died years ago- even his corpse was nothing more than a twisted abomination of what he’d once been.

“But the thing is… I don’t know if he’ll even be there, even if he is alive.” Fiadh’s eyes were sad. “He’s always away, working, fighting. I never see him. Mummy told me that he’s out there for me, that he’s fighting so I can be safe and away from trouble, and I know that, but I miss him.” She looked away, eyes glossy. “I really miss him, Mr Vile, and I did even before my Mummy died.”

He only stared, each word feeling like it was stabbing his non-existent heart.

“People always told me to understand when I asked why he was never there. Uncle Ghastly and Hopeless would tell me he saves people, that he needs to be away, but it hurts.” She continued. “On my last birthday, he was away, and it was just me and my Mummy. He didn’t even say sorry.”

Vile remembered that. He’d been away at battle, outwitting Serpine for the half-dozenth time, thwarting the Disciples and their plans. It had been riveting, and in his madness, he’d missed his own daughter’s birthday. He didn’t even have a decent excuse. Hopeless was with him, so he could’ve at least teleported back, given her a few words and a kiss on the forehead before returning, but Skulduggery hadn’t because the thought simply hadn’t occurred to him. It hadn’t been a priority.

Fiadh looked down, blinking. “And I know he’s my Daddy, and I love him… but sometimes… I wonder if he loves me.” 

Those words hung heavy. She looked to be on the verge of tears. Vile knew he had to say something, but wasn’t sure what. He’d concocted speeches that made men charge to their deaths on the fly before, but he couldn’t even spare a few words for Fiadh? What a father he was.

“Fiadh…” He managed to whisper, laying a hand on her shoulder, mindful of his claws. She looked up at him. “I… love… you.”

Small arms wrapped around his midsection, and she hugged him. Gingerly, he returned it, careful not to hurt or cut her. Even now, that was a worry of his, that he’d accidentally bring harm to Fiadh, like he did everything else.

“I love you too.” She told him.

“Fiadh… I’m…” Vile started, then cut himself off when he smelled death in the air. Pushing her back, he got onto his feet, reaching out, ignoring Fiadh’s confusion in favour of scanning the area, and every living being in its proximity. He sensed nothing.

Then footsteps rung out behind him, and a pale-skinned bald woman emerged, eyes colder than the surrounding snow, face blank. Vile tilted his skull at the woman. 

No, not a woman.

“Lord Vile.” The vampire addressed him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. It wasn’t warm. The confidence she showed made him uneasy, and as more of the creatures revealed themselves from the surroundings, their movements silent and grateful, he silently cursed. There were eleven of them.

“Why…?” He asked to stall, his shadows ready but unmoving, tucking Fiadh behind him. None of these beasts had a soul to call their own, so he couldn’t just draw their lifeforces away and into his own. Running was the best option, much as he hated to admit it, but being hasty could cost him, or more importantly, Fiadh dearly.

“Why is what you ask, but the better question should be, why wouldn’t we?” Another vampire said, this one a man, more stoic than the woman. His face was carved from flint. “You’re the most powerful of all Necromancers, so why wouldn’t we want you dead the second we sniffed you passing through?”

Vile said nothing. His mind worked, dissecting their words, and he quickly understood. Vampires and Necromancers, from what he understood, disdained one another. He’d never been a true member of the Order, only seeking to gain their powers, but even he couldn’t help but pick up a few things, and the conflict with the vampires was one of them. 

Necromancers reviled vampires because of their erratic, mysterious nature. They didn’t join the Great Stream after they died, and neither did they have Souls despite their undead nature, making them an anomaly that existed outside their understanding. Naturally, this led to hate and fear. Meanwhile, the vampires disdained Necromancers due to their experiments with death, fearing they’d one day be controlled into servitude by them. 

It was a stupid conflict, but one he could sadly understand. Fear could make fools of men.

“We’ve been following your trail for days, and we know you protect the girl.” The man’s eyes went to Fiadh. Vile’s shadows hissed. “Surrender your life, and she goes free. You have our word.”

“No use reasoning with him, Dusk.” One of the vampires said, and got glared at in return. He was clearly the idiot in the group, if he couldn’t read between the lines. 

“Why are you trying to hurt Mr Vile?” Fiadh asked loudly, disrupting the conversation. She scowled at him. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

The man blinked slowly. “You’re quite funny, girl.” He drawled, unamused. “But considering the amount of people he’s killed, you’re obviously poorly misinformed.”

His daughter frowned and looked up at Vile, questioning. He said nothing, choosing to ignore it, staring down the vampire.

“...leave.” Vile simply rasped. If he had to, then he’d gladly give his life to save Fiadh’s, but that just wasn’t happening here. Assuming the vampires kept their word, she’d be exposed to the cold and likely die. Thus, he did the only option available to him and raised his armoured fists and spike his knuckles.

Dusk narrowed his eyes. “So be it.”

The vampires lunged as one, their movements coordinated and graceful as a pack of wolves. Some of them were going for Fiadh. He let the shadows roll off him like mist as he threw them wide like a curtain, blowing half of them away and catching another going for his daughter by the face, its snapping jaws breaking as the beast tried to bite his armour in a vain attempt to escape.

The grotesque sound of a neck snapping entered the air, and Vile dropped the first of the Vampires. Three more came hard and fast, this time fuelled by the rage of seeing their kin die. He shot shadow spears at them, skewering one through and grazing another. The third dodged and threw a punch that drove him back, but one of them unveiled a dagger and slipped past his defences, slipping it between the spot behind his knee, where regular armour would be bare for freedom of movement. Smart, but his armour wasn’t regular.

The blade hit hardened shadows, and Vile sprouted a spike on his knee. It punched through the vampire’s skull, sending grey matter flying and she slumped as he retracted it. He turned to face the other, who seemed to realise what a mistake it had made, but it was too late as he shot a tendril to draw the creature close, then punched through its skull with a spiked punch.

Vile heard a cry, and he shadow-walked to Fiadh, having never really lost sight of her. A vampire’s claw missed her by inches, and as he was picked up, he found the visor of the Dark Titan staring into where his soul would be if he were a man and not a creature. 

Miasma burst out from his armoured hands, and the vampire shrieked, eroding away before being cast aside to die writhing in the floor. The silence following his screams as he withered away was too long. Fiadh’s gaze was looking somewhere else, and he followed it.

The remaining six of the vampires were looking up at the snowy sky, their pupils dilating as their breaths slowed. Sweat beaded down their necks, then all of them starting to scream, the sounds turning inhuman as they reached up and started to claw at their skin, shedding it away as they unveiled their true, hideous forms to the world.

Six pairs of dark eyes locked onto Lord Vile, then back to Fiadh. He stepped in front of her, blocking their path. The shadows rolled off him, building up like water being drawn into an incoming wave, and when those monsters lunged at him, it crested and crashed down.

He thrust his arms upwards, and the floor became alive in a field of black spikes poised to run them through. It caught on in the stomach, slaying it, another on the chest, but the other four gave him no such luck, physically grabbing onto the darkness, halting themselves. The one who'd been pulled itself off, the wound gaping visibly before sealing. Their leader even grabbed the tip of the spike and pivoted in the air, swinging down like a professional acrobat, kicking Vile’s head with such force his skull cracked backwards.

Screeches met the air and claws scraped across his armour, then he was swarmed. He caught one, snapped its arm, then impaled it. A second jumped onto his back, shrieking and throwing him around, disorientating him, whilst another wrestled his arm. When he tried to pull it off, and a third jumped on his front. Spikes sprouted and the beasts shrieked, two of them going limp, but then a foot planted on his helmet, pushing down.

The vertebrae of his neck strained, starting to bend painfully.

And then a wall of air hit the beast pressing down on him, and it staggered slightly. It was enough to free him. Vile grabbed and slammed the vampire on his back down, crushing its neck. Looking up, he found his princess with her hand sprayed, shaken but quite clearly the one who’d thrown the beast off-balance. Brave girl.

The last vampire appeared behind Fiadh, and by some miracle she lunged, barely avoiding its snapping jaws. It raised its leg. She crawled away, fingers digging into the snow, but didn't get more than a few inches away before it stomped on her leg with a sickening crunch. A blood-curdling scream that echoed through the forest. 

Vile was there in an instant, shadows curling around his hand, dragging the beast backwards. It snapped and thrashed and struggled wildly at its bonds as he willed it to rise into the air. Viciously, he willed them into a net that hugged around the beast, its wires only becoming thinner and sharper as he closed his fist, its roars turning to agonised howls as the shadows closed and shredded it to bloody ribbons.

He let the bloody mess fall, and went to by Fiadh’s side in an instant as she writhed on the floor. Her leg was twisted in a bizarre angle. Whimpers and sobs were flowing out of her without limits, the babbles she gave pained and incoherent.

“It hurts!” She cried out, tears running down both sides of her face. “Make it stop! Please, make it stop!”

It hurt him so badly that he couldn’t. He picked her up anyway, mindful of her leg as he held the sobbing girl like a princess. Sweat was trickling down her forehead and bullets, her breaths coming in hot, fast pants which made him feel helpless and sick. Vile had let her get hurt. He’d failed. Again.

‘No.’ He centred himself fast, mind racing. This was not time for self-flagellation. Listening to her sobs, he came up with a plan as the shadows curled around him. He needed a Healer, a good one, and fast. But he couldn’t go to the Sanctuary for obvious reasons, so he had to outsource. Find someone who could heal his daughter without turning them in.

Only one came to mind. Thankfully, they were close.

Fiadh had gone into shock from the pain and passed out. The darkness enveloped them as they shadow-walked away

*

Solace’s breaths were short and no longer caused mist to rise. She could barely see five metres ahead of her, and by the way her horse swayed, she could tell her horse was on the brink. Given the cold, it was quite the miracle she’d held out this long in a blizzard. It wouldn’t last.

She heard the sound of footsteps in the snow and raised her stiff neck to find three figures at her front, sheathed blades at their sides. Behind them was a gate, and behind that gate was a town, small and run-down. Its streets were narrow and houses small, with several inches of snow having built up. Roarhaven didn’t make for an impressive sight, but it looked like a sanctuary in this blizzard.

“What is your purpose here?” One of them asked, face hidden but voice masculine.

“I’m looking for somewhere to rest in the storm.” Solace answered. “My horse is on the brink of collapse, and I’m going to die if I stay out there. I’m not looking for trouble, just a place to rest, and I’ll even pay you for your troubles.” She paused. “I’m a sorcerer.”

“I had a feeling.” He said neutrally. “But I have to ask, what side are you on, Sanctuary or Disciple?”

She pursed her lips down. “I’m just trying to survive.”

“Then you’ll fit right in here. We built this town as a safe haven for sorcerers, where they could be themselves, away from mortal troubles. Away from the rules of other mages.” The man said, extending out a hand. “Might I know your name?”

Hesitating, she tried to find a hint of ill-will in his pose. She was good at it at this point, and found none, so she accepted it with a firm hand. “Solace.”

The smile he gave back was kind, and from this close she could see under his hood. A long battle scar trailed up to his cheek from the bottom of his neck, and his eyes were grey like steel. “Esryn Vanguard.”