Skulduggery stood on the edge of the cliff, eye (sockets) gazing at the setting sun. He slowly lifted a hand and a soft breeze rustled his suit. Suddenly the waves that were once calm and gentle started to crash and slam on to the cliffs, spraying him with bitter salt water. His navy suit became drenched and his hat flew away in the harsh winds. He didn't care. Skulduggery growled deeply in his throat and the storm he was creating picked up.
His thoughts became darker and more twisted than before. Flashes from the past. the bloodshed. The pain. The terror. Shadows laced through his bones and started to mould in to a hard, gleaming chest-plate. The armour grew and encased his legs leaving just his skull on show.
If possible his eyes became an even darker shade of midnight and the shadows behind them swirled violently. Memories. A helmet materialised and covered his pure white skull.
In the place Skulduggery Pleasant, detective extraordinaire, was once stood now held Lord Vile in all his glory. The shadows he manipulated so well caressed the armour and underneath the helmet Vile grinned. His silhouette was as frightening as the tales told of him; a dark figure stood before a red, orange and yellow infused background. It looked like a battle field full of blood; really it was quite poetic and just. The most feared necromancer in all of history stood in front of what he had caused and the terror that followed in his wake.
It was so good to be back.
