Chapter Text
Temper was having a very bad night.
He was no stranger to bad nights, in his line of work they were nearly as common as regular nights- and sadly far less unusual than the blessed good nights. However it was a rarity that he would experience something unpleasant or dangerous enough to warrant the label of a “very” bad night. He decided quite adamantly that, forced to run through a darkened street at two A.M with burning lungs and a throbbing side as he was, this particular turn of events more than qualified. Of course it was not entirely misfortune that had led to this, and it would be downright childish of him to pretend it was. After all it was Temper’s own choice to go undercover among a group of Mortal-hating conspiracy theorists in search of Skulduggery. And it was his own slip-up that had let them know he was a spy to begin with. Though, even considering such factors, Temper was of the opinion that being violently and horribly murdered and dumped in a ditch was slightly more extreme a punishment than he deserved. In fact, such an eventuality may well have made this into the worst night of his life, he certainly couldn’t think of any nights in which he’d had it worse than being killed.
Temper gritted his teeth as his boots hit a puddle, splashing its contents across his pant legs and the walls and floor of the alley as he continued barrelling through it. In this darkness, in this unnatural absence of all activity, even the sounds of his own footsteps felt like a thunderclap each time they fell against the cobbles. He was sure each one would give away his position, that the act of trying to escape to safety would make enough noise for his pursuers to locate him. He knew that was a pointless fear. They already knew where he was, something as simple as breathing heavily would let them detect him on the air- his only chance was to run.
A shadow fell across the spotlight of a street lamp as Temper pulled out into the road it occupied, and he nearly jumped out of his skin before realising it was his own. He continued on his way without another thought spared for it. There were more lamps lining the street further down, illuminating the pavement and most of the road. Temper’s first instinct was to stick to the patches which escaped their incandescence, but once again his rational thoughts prevailed. He wouldn’t achieve any greater degree of subterfuge by avoiding the glow, and the path through the lamplight was slightly shorter than it was through the centre of the road. Once again, he sacrificed stealth for speed as he turned into the right side of the street and sprinted down along the illuminated pavement.
By Temper’s reckoning, he was only two or so miles from the Sanctuary. Just another five minutes and he’d be safe. He could do it. He could escape. He could-
He dived to the side as the ground two steps in front of him burst open, narrowly avoiding the machete that came grinding towards his throat at the end of a stupidly wide swing. He hit the curb with his shoulder and slid off onto the road, jarring it slightly but not causing any serious damage. A second later he was on his feet, ready to meet the snarling tunneler who’d just regained his footing after the excessive arc of his attack dragged him off balance. His face was illuminated in the light, but Temper didn’t recognise him in the slightest. He seemed to recognise Temper though.
He charged at Temper, that weapon of his looking savage as he clutched it stiffly in his right fist. It was so rusted and chipped that it didn’t even glint in the light when it came for Temper’s face, nor when Temper twisted around it and sent it flying from the man’s hand by locking both of his arms around his elbow and bending the joint back against his own torso. The machete clattered heavily to the floor and the man swore, which was very kind of him as the open mouth gave Temper a lovely place to put his fist- driving teeth inwards and forcing his head back. The tunneler stumbled away, righting himself a second too late to stop Temper’s left foot from sinking into the magic spot under his ribs and crushing his liver. He folded over, even in the agony he must’ve been feeling his eyes showed no hint of changing. Temper slammed an elbow into one of them, and when he spared a glance for the man as he lay on the floor he saw that the sensory organ had cracked and split open. He’d heard Billy-Ray Sanguine wore sunglasses to disguise the fact that he’d long since scooped out his own, it seemed that was the price all tunnelers needed to pay.
Temper had no time to dwell on that though, he had to hurry. That little scuffle hadn’t been hard-fought for him but it hadn’t needed to be, even dispatching someone of that level cost him precious moments. He took off in another run, his left shoulder still stinging where it had kissed the road seconds prior. Temper had been agitated and nervous before, but the reassurance that’d come with being so close to safety had evaporated the moment he’d noticed that attack. His eyes darted in every direction as he ran, desperately dissecting the darkness to try and pick out even a hint of a humanoid outline. His hands and feet felt numb, adrenalin calling blood away from them and recycling it through the muscles and organs. His lungs were throbbing now, and even in the frigid air of Ireland’s night he could feel his skin dampen with sweat. Still, he ran. Still he moved. And still he desperately told himself it wasn’t over, he could live. He could get away.
And then the air closed in on him and the world turned upside down and inside out. Temper felt weightless for a second, and then he felt a sharp impact in his back- his head and legs folded back for a moment and the air was driven out of him. He heard screeching metal and then his face hit the cement ground. All the strength had left his body, all he wanted to do was lie there and die peacefully. But he knew they wouldn’t let him. He knew they’d force him to stay alive, and so he forced himself to inhale and used the captured Oxygen to torture his limbs into bringing him to his feet. His vision cleared slightly as he stared around. A lamp at his back, buckled and dented by what Temper assumed had been him slamming into it. And then, almost on instinct, he stared upwards and felt all the hope vanish in a second.
Lethe was hovering in the air about twenty feet above and ten feet in front of him. Visible only as an outline with the glaring lamplight Temper’s eyes caught as he looked up, but he knew all the same who it was. He’d only ever met two elementals who could fly, and he was fairly sure Skulduggery Pleasant was still missing. There was a clicking sound somewhere down the way Temper had run, and he reluctantly pulled his eyes from Lethe to plant them on the source. High-heels, tapping against the ground and worn by a blonde in a Tuxedo wearing the only smile Temper had ever seen which he could honestly describe as “diabolical”. It was Razzia.
Something shifted in the top of his vision and Temper looked back just in time to see Lethe gently drift back down to the ground. Even with both feet on the floor the man was tall, almost a foot taller than most, and when he walked it was with such a loping grace that it gave the impression he was still hovering a centimetre above the ground. His long, slender body was completely covered by a material with a texture somewhere in-between rubber and leather, and a shade of black that Temper had only ever seen fly out of a Necromancer’s weapon. His face was completely covered, and yet somehow Temper could feel the malice behind it. Not aimed at something as insignificant as him, merely a fierce and unending hatred for the world itself.
There was a popping noise from somewhere behind him, and Temper knew that Nero had teleported in, most likely bringing Memphis, to complete the circle surrounding him. He was trapped. It was over.
“Hello Temper, did you enjoy your stroll?”
Temper shivered at Lethe’s voice. Velvety smooth like silk against linen, yet picking apart each individual letter as if he relished speaking them. He was enjoying this, Temper realised, he’d seen him enjoy this. The others were only in it for blood, but Lethe was much much worse. He got his rocks off from pain of all kinds, and he always started with the mind. Temper wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“Can’t say I did, Lethe. Had a bit of a fall just now, you see. Two in fact. First when that moron lying unconscious back there jumped out at me, and then again when you threw me into the lamppost.”
Razzia finished walking over, coming up behind Temper and staring at him like a cat watching a mouse.
“I knew you weren’t one of us” she snarled, her smile twisting into a mask of pure fury for one of the only times Temper could recall. “You talked the talk, for sure, but I knew anyway. Your eyes, there was none of the righteous hatred the others had in them. Just stillness.”
She spat at her feet to emphasise her point, Temper forced a smile as he turned to address her.
“Well, it’s easy to say that in hindsight isn’t it? If you knew from the start then you’re an even bigger moron than I thought.”
Lethe silently stretched an arm in front of Razzia just as she went to step towards him, which he was certainly grateful for. Temper could fight better than a Cleaver, and he had plenty of power to put his skill behind, but he wasn’t particularly keen on a brawl with an enhancer like Razzia.
“I, for one, knew from the start” came Lethe’s smoothed drawl. “Not that I expect you to take my word for it. The truth is, Temper, that while I knew you for what you were, I was simply too fond of you to turn you away. You’re funny, the little faces you made when you watched us kill and torture- the big faces you made to hide them when you did it yourself- everything you did was thoroughly entertaining. I just couldn’t help but bring you into the fold.”
Temper didn’t like this, Lethe had never once raised his voice in the five months Temper had known him- and he’d been given plenty of reason to. Yet even now, even after a betrayal of this magnitude, he was this calm? Temper forced his face to remain placid, he ignored the white-hot panic building in the pit of his stomach which told him to run and hide or curl up into a ball, and he forced his voice to remain level as he answered.
“Well then, I guess you’re a lot more sentimental than I’d thought. Didn’t think you’d jeopardize so much just to have me as an ally for five months.”
Razzia was staring at Lethe now, and Temper got the feeling she wasn’t the only one. However even with so many almost accusatory gazes levelled at him, the elemental didn’t show even a hint of discomfort. He only tilted his head, as if in mock perplexion.
“Five months? Whatever do you mean Temper? Your tenure as a member of the Anti-Sanctuary is still in its early days.”
There were footsteps from behind Temper, he resisted the urge to crane his neck to see what Memphis and Nero were doing. They grew closer and then someone walked out from his right, Temper’s blood ran cold when he saw who it was. Not Memphis or Nero, not even some new and nameless drone of the Anti-Sanctuary, it was Smoke.
“W-What are you doing here?” Temper couldn’t fully keep the panic he was feeling from his voice now. Azzedine Smoke was just as different from the others as Lethe was, not in a new level of sadism but in what he did to people. Temper’s stare shot back to Lethe.
“Why did you bring him? Were you really so desperate to capture me that you’d risk him in the field?!”
Lethe paused a moment before answering, a habit of his.
“You are a very good actor, Temper. This is not flattery, I truly mean it. Of all the people I’ve met over the centuries, all the back-stabbers and assassins and generals and thieves, only three have been greater at deception than yourself. Would you care to know who they are?”
Temper did not, in fact, care.
“Answer my question you son of a bitch!”
He could hear Razzia giggling out of his sight, unable to even glimpse her as his vision constricted itself into a tunnel which was rapidly switching between Lethe and Smoke being at its centre. Lethe continued almost lazily, as if he hadn’t even heard Temper.
“The best liar of all is China Sorrows. That woman’s face truly is wasted on her you know. Even if she were the world’s most hideous woman, she would still be able to play people like musical instruments. The second is Nefarian Serpine. He was a very poor choice of General on Mevolent’s part, perhaps the only person in the world who could have a chance of mounting a successful betrayal against him and he gave him power second only to himself. Ah, the arrogance of strength.”
Smoke’s hands began to tremble as dark red vapour swirled around them. Temper tried to step back, only for strong arms to seize him from behind. Nero and Memphis, each one grabbing him by a shoulder, forced him down onto his knees.
“Let go of me you bastards!”
Lethe, still, continued.
“The third greatest liar I have encountered is perhaps the most famous, and the most infamous. Skulduggery Pleasant. And it truly is no wonder, is it? There’s a trick to lying well, as you know, and it is to lie to yourself. Never has a man told himself more lies, half-truths and false promises than Detective Pleasant. It’s no wonder his mind was unreadable, I doubt any sensitive beyond the depths of insanity could sift through that mess.”
Despite his terror, Temper’s heart still managed to sink when he heard the word “was” used to describe Skulduggery. He couldn’t be dead, Lethe was just playing one of his games- a single subtle word in the right place to do the most damage. Skulduggery had to be alive, if he was dead then how would Temper repay him for-
“Well, Temper, if you can’t already see where I’m going, you are a good liar and by extension, very good at lying to yourself. You’ve spent five months channelling such hate and vitriol that it would make the most twisted Mortal supremacists blanch. You repeated so many of the mantras that punctuated your youth that, frankly, I cannot help but doubt Razzia’s claim she saw you for what you were.”
He turned to Razzia, who seemed to be sulking.
“Apologies, my dear. But as I was saying Temper, you are, at this very moment, full of the impulses and thoughts that you spent your early hundreds shaking free from.”
Temper screamed as he desperately wrestled against Memphis and Nero. The pain in his shoulder and back was gone, all he felt now was the utter dread at knowing what Lethe was planning.
“Mr Smoke, if you would be so kind….”
Smoke stepped forward, his face as blank as ever. Temper, heart pounding in his ears so loudly he could feel his temples pulsate to its rhythm, tried to bite his fingers as he brought his palm to his face but it was no use- Smoke’s hand pressed down firmly on his forehead and Temper’s struggling stopped.
The arms holding him went lax, as did his own, and all he could think about were the thousands of hateful urges spinning around in his head.
Mortals are vermin.
Why should we protect rats?
They’re destroying the planet.
It’s only a matter of time before they find out about magic, then it’s us or them!
Temper felt a new feeling bubbling up inside him. A cold, callous hatred unlike anything he’d felt in a hundred years. He climbed to his feet and looked up at Lethe, smiling.
“So boss”, he began, “what’s our next move?"