A few days later, somewhere across the battlefield and far from those sounds of gunfire, a man stalked through a castle.

It was always a castle. It had to be. Ever since the dawn of their creation, where some idiot decided to stack stones atop each other, call it a dwelling, and turn it into a competition to see who could create the biggest rock pile, castles had become synonymous with power, status, and pretentiousness. They were laughably extravagant and wildly impractical, and this castle in particular was one of the most extravagant and one of the most impractical. It was glaringly conspicuous, for one thing, and ridiculously large, for another, and Baron Vengeous had gotten lost no less than five separate times. He hated castles and he hoped, very dearly, that they were the first things the Faceless Ones razed to the ground upon their return.

But Mevolent had selected this castle as his dwelling of choice, and Vengeous had no option but to deal with it.

He swept through the halls, sorcerers and soldiers clambering out of his way and pressing themselves against the wall, gazes cast downwards. This was the usual reaction, out of respect and out of fear, and he reveled in it, in the power his presence had over them. But today Vengeous was in a mood so terrible it practically scorched the air around him. He wanted one of these maggots to look at him, to sneak a peek at his terrible glory, and he wanted to see the fear in their eyes while they realized their mistake as he reduced them to a mess of blood and gristle. But no one did, and Vengeous kept walking.

It took him much too long to find where he was looking for after taking what he assumed to be a few wrong turns, and his mood had grown exponentially worse. The door he arrived at was a dark oak and closed, with a single torch burning next to it, sending flickering shadows to dance on the wall. Vengeous put his hand to the handle and he shoved the door open.

The room beyond was full and eclectic, but painstakingly so. The walls were lined with shelves that held oddities and curiosities that Vengeous could only dream of understanding, and books so old and rare he doubted most scholars even knew they existed. He had been told about the items in this room, and he had heard rumors further still of the secrets it held. It didn't impress Vengeous. It all seemed so very pointless.

There was a man sitting behind a large wooden desk, a pen scratching audibly on the parchment before him. He didn't raise his head as the door slammed open and hit the wall, nor when Vengeous stopped before his desk.

Vengeous stood there for the briefest of moments, and felt the thread of his patience stretch and fray further before snapping completely. His teeth clenched and his fist slammed to the table, rattling the inkwell. The pen didn't stop and the man didn't flinch.

"What the hell," Vengeous hissed, "did you do?"

The pen stopped, finally, and Nefarian Serpine raised his head, blinking those green eyes like he had just noticed someone else was in the room.

"Baron," he said, "what a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Vengeous narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what sort of trick or scheme you're playing at, but it ends here. Now."

Serpine raised an elegantly groomed eyebrow. "I'm not quite sure what trick you're referring to, and I can assure you that I am orchestrating no schemes. Not at the moment, at least."

"Don't play stupid with me, Nefarian. I know he's back."

There was a slight pause and then Serpine laid the pen delicately beside the parchment. "Who is back, exactly?"

"There was an attack on a group of our soldiers. They said one man killed eight of them before being stopped. They said they barely escaped with their lives."

"And does this man have a name?"

"They said it was Skulduggery Pleasant."

Vengeous watched as those gloriously glittering eyes widened in surprise. And then his brow furrowed slightly and he shook his head. "Preposterous. I killed Pleasant myself. His body was burned and I was there when they threw his remains in that river. He's dead. He's gone."

"He was gone," Vengeous said, "and now he's back."

Serpine looked at him and his face settled into a mask of indifference. He waved his hand and the door swung shut behind them. Vengeous watched as a sigil burned briefly by the handle, and then faded away. Serpine stood.

"A sound seal," he said. "We won't be overheard. What do you mean he's back?"

"You've heard about the apparition that's been attacking our troops the last few months. It appeared a few nights ago and killed several of our men, except this time, there were others with it. One of them was Erskine Ravel. We had some of our psychics search the surviving memories and confirm. Do you recall what the apparition looked like? What it was made of?"

Serpine didn't respond for a long moment and Vengeous could practically see the thoughts flying through his head.

"You think I have something to do with it," he said, finally.

"You were the last one to see him alive, Nefarian. Is this one of your little tricks gone wrong? One of your experiments? Or is it something much more sinister? More treacherous?"

Those eyes narrowed. "I don't think I like what you're implying. Do you presume I am so careless with my work, Baron? I did what Mevolent asked, and I did it extremely well, I might add. I killed him and I burned him and the man should be dead."

"Did you kill him with that… thing?" Vengeous asked, his gaze moving to Serpines gloved hands and not bothering to keep the contempt from his face. He could practically smell the stench of necromancy and his lip curled. It was the magic of savages and blasphemers, with their order and their temples, worshiping death instead of the Faceless Ones, their true masters. It disgusted him.

"Of course I did," Serpine snapped, "and it did so quite effectively. Do you see any of the other people I killed getting up and walking around? I don't think so. Whatever is going on here, I can assure you, I have no part in it."

Vengeous observed Serpine for a moment. He didn't care for the man, as a person. He was too ambitious, too unpredictable, and he valued his secrets and his knowledge more than his dedication to the Faceless. But Vengeous could not deny that he was a powerful ally and a cunning individual. This was too careless for him, too unwieldy, and too messy. Serpine was not one to leave loose ends. No, he decided, this was not Serpine's doing.

"He's looking for you," Vengeous said, and Serpine raised an eyebrow.

"Not doing a very good job, apparently."

"He wants to kill you."

"He's wanted to kill me for a long time now. This is nothing new."

"Do you know how he's back?"

"I don't. It could be the necromancers, or it could be a desperate ploy by the resistance. In either case, I fully plan on finding out." Serpine paused. "Does Mevolent know?"

"I'm sure news has reached him by now, but I have yet to speak with him."

The man nodded thoughtfully. "I should speak with him, too. This is all very intriguing. So he's what? A ghost? A zombie?"

"Not a ghost and there's nothing left to zombify. It seems he can still use magic."

"So he's something else entirely. Fascinating. Completely astounding and utterly infuriating. Do we know where he is now?"

"We don't, though I assume with the regiment stationed nearby."

Serpine shook his head. "No. After this, they'll be taking him to one of their new little sanctuaries. They'll want to keep him close. Study him, perhaps. I'm almost jealous." He turned his head slightly. "Any word on our recent deserter?"

Vengeous couldn't keep the scowl from sweeping across his face. "None. She's disappeared. We have teams out searching for her, but I don't like our chances."

"I never liked that woman. She was too self centered for my tastes."

Vengeous raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? That's the same thing she said about you."

Serpine laughed slightly. "I'm not surprised. But China Sorrows is also a distinctly hardy individual. She will be difficult to pin down. Did you have any idea she was planning this?"

"No. I assume her scum of a brother played a hand in it. We'll find her, though."

Serpine smiled softly. "And will you kill her when you do?"

"The Church is not something you can simply turn your back on," Vengeous said. "She'll rejoin the fold, once she realizes her mistake. Her punishment, at that point, will be left up to the dark gods."

"And what if she refuses?"

"Then I will be the one to kill her."

Serpine nodded, satisfied. "This is quite the interesting turn of events. Skulduggery Pleasant and China Sorrows, two particularly powerful adversaries. And if he's as dead as you say he is, Pleasant has admittedly become all that more dangerous."

Vengeous watched as Serpine moved his head slowly, thoughtfully. "I appreciate you bringing this to my awareness," he said as his eyes drifted across the many objects lining the walls, "and I can assure you that it will be receiving my attention. You are off to Mevolent, no doubt?"

"I am. We need to plan our next move."

There was another nod. Serpine folded himself gently into the leather chair and picked up the pen, dipping it into the inkwell slightly. "I have matters that I must finish attending here, but I will join you shortly. Though I admit that tactical battlefield strategy is not my forte."

The sound of the pen scratching against parchment once again filled the room as Vengeous turned to leave. He offered no pleasantries or farewells as he stepped out into the hall. It was empty and the fire crackled in the bracket as the door clicked softly shut, plunging Vengeous into silence. He stood there for a moment, realizing his anger was gone, and he offered a prayer to the Faceless Ones before turning on his heels and walking away.