Chapter One
Under the piercing gaze of the night sky, and with the moon gleaming in full glory, Dusk slipped out of the shadows and approached his dwelling. It was nothing special, or distinctly noticeable, which was ideal for his needs. All he required were a few days respite, as all the drama surrounding him and his former allies died down. He'd been creeping around, hiding in one abandoned hovel after another until he had the chance to return here to his safe house. Only a select few had ever known about its location, most being other vampires and the majority of them being dead anyway. Not that Dusk would ever consider breaking the code, even in enacting some petty revenge. He'd been close to it, the day before, but nothing was worth risking the cardinal sin for. Not even Caelan.
Dusk felt his lip curl as the whelp's name wormed its way into his mind. The young fool was a danger to them all, sorcerer and vampire alike. It was almost laughable, how Dusk had once tried to mentor the ignoramus years ago with Hrishi. The boy had been unteachable, and all they had succeeded in doing was igniting the pup's ire enough so that he killed one of them. Hrishi was dead, and Dusk blamed no one but Hrishi. Other vampires didn't see it that way, unfortunately, and so while he wasn't exactly shunned, Dusk's allies among the vampire ranks were spread thinly, and not just in Ireland. All over the world, his fellow blood suckers despised him, not just for his solitary nature, but his deft turns of allegiance.
But Dusk knew, down deep in that black stone others called a heart, that those same blood suckers would leap at the chance that had been offered a mere few days ago. Had that Desolation Engine been detonated, they'd all be seizing their opportunity at this very moment, hunting down the confused and vulnerable mortals. They were hypocrites, every last one of them, but Dusk didn't care. The Desolation Engine, and the plan's mastermind, Dreylan Scarab had been a mere conduit. The Revenger's Club, ludicrous a name though it was, had been a means to an end and Dusk, unlike some others, had been willing to pledge his services for only a token reward. Namely, Valkyrie Cain.
He'd wanted her dead. He'd desired her blood on his hands, in his mouth, swirling, lapping it up, relishing the experience of her life, so sweet and tender and young, depart her and leave her as either a mutilated corpse or one of his own. An Undead. In the end, it didn't matter which. Both meant she'd suffer torment and agony. Both meant she would no longer rebound around his mind like a ricocheting bullet. Since that fateful day two years ago, the day she'd scarred him, his thoughts had been on nothing but her. Vengeance was a calling, and many times in the past, Dusk had answered that call, settling grudges, slaughtering those who'd dared to wrong him. It was vampire nature, and more than once, Dusk wanted, needed, to quench his burning toil with that unique satisfaction. The satisfaction of ending someone's precious life.
For years, it had been his way and life, or rather Undeath, had been tolerable. His associates became wary and knew of his ability to hunt down and claim his due, with neither mercy nor hesitation. Every few decades, the wrong person would do the wrong thing, and Dusk's goal was clear. Kill them. Ruthlessly. If he was in the mood, he'd prolong it, torture them until they were hoarse with screaming, but often it was instant fulfilment he craved. Shallow, maybe, but it got results. It was best to just get it over with. That was Dusk's whole philosophy. But this girl, this arrogant runt, sidles into a world too big for her, believing just because the Skeleton Detective is at her side, she can say or do whatever she pleases. Ever since he'd first met her, those couple of years ago, trying to kidnap her for the delights of Baron Vengeous, he'd reviled her. Boastful and cocky, but horribly limited in ability and mind. She'd been an easy target. Had Skulduggery Pleasant been absent, Valkyrie Cain would already be dead, and Dusk suspected, not even by his hand. But after marring his eternal beauty, and causing him exquisite pain, Dusk was enamoured with killing her. It became the one thing he was striving for. What little life he had dead was nothing. It was pointless. Nothing mattered except killing Cain.
There was competition, of course. Dusk had learned long ago, that no matter how badly you yearned after something; there was always someone else who thought they deserved it more. Billy-Ray Sanguine, Dusk's old ally, had also wanted Cain's head, as did the lunatic ex-Detective and the deluded Killer Supreme. No doubt in her travels, Cain had assembled all manner of sworn enemies and vengeful foes. Out of all of them, Dusk and Sanguine had got the closest. He'd tasted her blood, after all. According to rumour, the old man Grouse had healed her just in time, but that bite still remained. Cain might have been spared the curse of being a vampire, but Dusk no longer wished death upon her. He'd been fighting it for days, confused beyond repair. It had almost cost him a duel with Caelan, who at the time had intervened. The fool boy had been easily defeated, and Dusk had escaped, making sure Springheeled Jack was left behind and arrested in the process. That little fact comforted Dusk somewhat. Jack had been on his list as well, not only for saving Cain's life but for knocking out Dusk and leading to his brief imprisonment in Russia.
It had been an unpleasant stay, and thanks to Sanguine, he was free after a year or two. Dusk was grateful, but instead of burrowing their way out, they'd had to fight a path to freedom. Successful in the end, but highly inconvenient. It was pure luck they'd kept their fugitive status a secret. Had Russia not been envious of Ireland's Cradle of Magic title, the Revenger's Club would have been shut down before its stupid name had ever been formed. Of all his allies, only Sanguine had shown loyalty. They'd never liked each other, whether it was working for Vengeous or Scarab, but they had a common goal, and that was enough to purge any discrepancies between them. It had been only out of courtesy that Dusk called Sanguine moments after biting Cain and told him what he'd tasted in her blood. Blood rich in history and revealing in truth. It was something he'd thought Sanguine wouldn't understand, but the hitman deluxe had been wiser than anticipated and had let Cain go after a little confrontation. He'd told her it was a crueller option to leave her alive, but that was just a front. Dusk knew the real reason and it poisoned his essence.
A memory, fragmented in his mind, reminded him of heartache, back in his days as a mortal man. All that anger he possessed now, and none of it vanquished. Cain had to live. Valkyrie's destiny was bigger than Dusk now. There was no grand plan left in his mind. No ultimate ambition to accomplish. He had no purpose now. He was just a monster. A monster, with the countenance of a thirty year old man, whose nightmarish being emerged when moonlight shattered his shackles. Steeped as he was in dejection, pondering his second nature, the one that couldn't be controlled, it snapped him back to reality. He looked around. Not a sight of anything. In the distance, an owl hooted and glared at empty sky. Dusk moved. He approached the door to his safe house, a strong and sturdy door. Ironic that this one door was more reliable than the vast majority of people he knew. But then, vampires weren't really classed as people, especially not by themselves.
As Dusk unlocked it, and entered his abode, he peered around. Inside, it was dark. Outside, unassuming. No furniture, no pictures hanging on the walls, nothing. Just one window and floorboards that never creaked. Yet another redeeming gift brought about by his obscenity. Beyond another door was his cage and Dusk's cold centre warmed. Safety at last. He severely doubted Sanctuary agents were sweeping the area, but it just a precaution to scout around the house once more, in case they were any cloaked operatives hanging around. It was no wonder the Sanctuary's influence had been enormously diminished thanks to its destruction. Dusk hadn't seen it, but there had been reports of a devastating tragedy as the old Waxworks Museum had fallen apart. Putting one and one together with the descriptions, it seemed the Desolation Engine had been put to evil use after all. Despite having no idea who the culprit was, Dusk's cares were for nought. Maybe it was Scarab's last bid for revenge, he didn't know. Most importantly, reports were that Pleasant and Cain had barely escaped with a wounded Grand Mage in tow. In a twisted way, Dusk was almost glad Cain had survived. It'd take more than an ancient bomb to destroy her.
Dusk stopped. He was a stone's throw from the cage. A feeling overtook his senses. A raw, primal sensation. It felt like his guts were in knots, his stomach churned and curdled. A hot lance of perfect agony shot through his entirety, the first pangs of a headache swarming through into his mind. He was turning. Soon, the monster would be unleashed and ravage everything and anything in its path. He had to get into the cage and lock himself in. Now. The pain heightened. It was a familiar pain, a sweet release in some ways. There was no need for serum now. The cage was strong enough to contain fifty vampires, never mind one. His actions awkward, his vision murky, Dusk reached for the cage door, swinging it open, hurrying when he beheld his fingernails lengthening to become razor sharp talons.
Once in, Dusk quickly slammed the door shut and worked at the lock. It was complicated and difficult to break, and with his form changing with every second, he had to fight it to keep it at bay. Fighting it was hard. Eventually, the lock clicked and a beep resonated, signifying security was in place. Good. Now he could lose himself in the beast. His frame of mind, a strong tower of obsidian and marble, shattered into a million splinters as the inner monstrosity emerged. Within moments, instinct kicked in, as did a primeval urge to feed on the flesh of prey. For he was the predator and he needed sustenance. Not tonight, though. He let the beast within arise and his sense of humanity, what little of it there was, dissipated into nothing. The moon shed his soul and as he descended into a vortex of blackness, he thought of blood, of purpose and of Valkyrie.
Author's Notes: This is an incomplete fanfiction I wrote in early October last year that was requested to be uploaded by a friend of mine on the SP fan sub on Reddit. If you're reading this, Emma, this one's for you! Turns out I have two more chapters written, which I plan on uploading. If you want to see the full story I was going for, see the author's notes for Chapter Three, which I'll be uploading on Wednesday. Seems fair to do this a day at a time.