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It’s not, Skulduggery thinks, that he’s been captured that irks him the most. The whole being captured thing was, after all, part of the plan. What did irk him, however, was that the Order of the Dying Rose had ‘managed’ to kidnap him – he had allowed them to believe they’d knocked him out from behind – all without knowing who he was. He was wearing his façade, so it wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been, but he was nevertheless a bit put out, as Valkyrie would say.
He was the best detective the Sanctuary had, and this up-and-rising sect didn’t know who they’d captured? They’d tied him up and beaten him as if it would make a difference either way. He had a feeling, however, that his genial reaction to the beatings wasn’t endearing him to them – at all. He couldn’t help that he was bad at faking pain, and he’d stick to that story.
The person holding him captive – the main villain, to use Valkyrie’s terms – was the most nondescript person Skulduggery had ever seen. There was not a single distinguishing feature on them, and it was something they seemed to enjoy playing into as well – every piece of clothing they wore could at best be described as drab, and grey seemed to be a favourite as well.
“If you will not talk,” the nondescript person began in their equally nondescript voice, pacing in a circle around where Skulduggery was hung by his wrists from the ceiling. He could break the shackles rather easily, or so he thought, but considering he was in no danger of getting hurt he might as well draw it out and see what the villain revealed. “I will make her scream.”
Now, Skulduggery hadn’t been extremely worried when Valkyrie was nowhere to be found. Tanith was also unavailable, so he’d assumed that the two of them were out and about, getting into mischief and ruining at least one Sanctuary clerk’s life.
That changed when one of the henchmen dragged a beaten-up, bloodied Valkyrie into the room, throwing her onto the floor at the person’s feet. It took all of Skulduggery’s willpower to not give an outward reaction at the sight but, judging by how the villain started exuding even more smugness, he feared he had failed. He didn’t exactly have to smother his reactions during 400 years as a skeleton, and getting into the habit once he’d received his façade was easier said than done.
When the henchman who had dragged Valkyrie into the room kicked her, hard, in the ribs, eliciting a drawn-out, broken moan from her, nothing could’ve stopped Skulduggery from the forward lurch he did.
He had been irked before – possibly annoyed if he wanted to exaggerate a little – but now he was angry. He could almost feel Vile bubbling under his veneer of civility, and couldn’t help but wonder if that was what they had been hoping for, unleashing what many had called a scourge of magicals.
“Hit her,” the nondescript voice said, the villain standing to the side, arms behind their back, just watching. As Skulduggery watched, the henchman who had kicked Valkyrie closed in on her with what looked like a cattle prod. Seconds later that assumption was proved right, as Valkyrie arched her back, writhing in pain, and screamed.
It didn’t take much more than a single thought before Skulduggery was free of his shackles, a quick application of magics he had sworn to not use again causing them to rust and disintegrate, a black powder falling to the floor in the same way his façade did.
“Oh, dear,” was the last thing the nondescript villain ever said, their eyes widening as they realised just who they had kidnapped.
Skulduggery didn’t even pay the henchmen any attention, and would later not be certain if he’d disintegrated them as well, or if they had only run away. He knew he should hope that it was the latter, that they had fled the scene of the crime, fled the whole sect, but he couldn’t help but wish that they were part of the ash coating the whole building.
“Valkyrie!” he said, tearing the bag off of her head as carefully as he could. He could feel his rage broil ever hotter when he saw her face, one of her eyes swollen fully shut, her nose looked to be broken, and when she smiled a tremulous smile at him he saw bloodstained teeth.
“Hey, Skul…” she wheezed out at him, lifting one hand to weakly clutch at the arm of his jacket. She shivered in the cool air of the warehouse, and as looking around didn’t yield anything usable, he took his jacket off, covering her as best he could with it.
“Shh,” he hushed her, taking her hand in his. “Just breathe, okay? You’re safe now.”
“Course I’m safe,” she mumbled, almost asleep. “You’re here.”