The lake sat, as it always did, in perfect stillness. The black surface remained unbroken by any movement and its inky darkness showed no reflection of the dead land that surrounded it. The lake, looking much more like a gaping pit to the underworld, was situated at the bottom of a large hill, and at its peak sat a lone rider and their horse. As unmoving as the water below, they stood, peering across those glossy depths to the dark castle that sat just beyond.

The horse stamped at the ground nervously and its rider tightened their grip on the reins. A harsh wind blew over the barren landscape, ruffling the riders cloak but not daring to ripple the surface of the lake. The rider, face shrouded by their hood, flicked their wrist, and the pair began their descent.

The lake seemed to glare at them as they passed. The rider urged their mount forward.

The castle that lay before them was as ominous as it was large; which was to say, very. The stone was dark, aided by the heavy cloud cover of the late evening, and its large oaken doors stood closed, towering over the pair as they approached. It had been the home of a rather well-to-do noble family, the rider knew, for the last few hundred years. But as the war had swept through the landscape, it had swept them along with it. The new owner had taken a fancy to its imposing stature and made himself welcome. It was unknown what he had done with those that had been living there- the castle's new master did not tend to take prisoners. The rider, however, was unperturbed. Matters such as those were of no concern.

The wooden doors groaned open as they approached, and a delicate hand gently pulled the steed to a halt. Golden light spilled out onto the ground before them, lacking warmth and any sort of welcome, and it framed the grim faced butler who stood just inside. He was a slight man with thin, wiry eyebrows, and he stood primly at the top of the stone steps.

"You are late," he said, gazing down his nose at the rider.

The rider dismounted with unerring grace, their cloak pooling around their feet, and they held the reins out with those delicate hands. "It was unavoidable," came a smooth voice from under the hood.

The butler didn't reply, but took a hand from behind his back and gestured. A young boy, dressed in tattered and muddied clothes that once would have been of the highest quality, melted from the shadows to the right of the rider, and tentatively approached. His face was gaunt and his eyes were frightened as he glanced between the rider and the leather that dropped from their hands. The boy scurried forward, leading the animal back into the gloom as the figure in the cloak strode forward, mounting the steps. The butler stood aside as they passed and when they were through, the heavy doors closed on their own.

The foyer of the castle was large and grand and seemed to block the seeping chill from outside uncharacteristically well for a castle of this size. Fire burned in the large chandelier that hung suspended over the rich carpet beneath the hooded figures' feet, and massive mirrors on the walls glinted in the light. It was all so very big, and all so very ridiculous.

The butler moved, soundlessly. He didn't offer to take the heavy cloak, nor did the new guest ask.

"The master," he said, "is expecting you. Please, come this way."

He led the way up the massive staircase and through the significantly darker halls. There were portraits here, large ones, depicting mortal nobles of various ages, pitiful attempts at regality plastered across their faces. There was what seemed to be a newer addition as they approached the end of the hall- a man and a woman, with their hands on the shoulders of a third sitting before them. The rider barely recognized him as the stable boy as they passed.

The butler led them around the corner and to a spiraling stair that curled its way to the top of one of the towers visible from the outside. This part of the castle was cold, and fire burned in brackets periodically, but the reach of their light was minimal, plunging them into a deep gloom more often than not. They arrived at a large wrought iron door, and the butler swung it open, allowing the visitor to walk through.

The room was large and spacious, reminiscent of the grand foyer below, and was lighted by another large metal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, not quite reaching the edges of the room and letting the flickering shadows coil in the corners. A large fire roared in an ornately decorated fireplace on the far right, and the walls were lined with shelves bearing objects and trinkets and books of every sort. Two velvet chairs sat in the middle of the room, with a small wooden table between them, and an intricately woven rug covered the stone floor. This was a room meant for elegant comfort and exuberant luxury, and in the center of it all, stood a man.

The butler bowed deeply. "Your visitor has arrived," he announced and the man inclined his head to them slightly. He was tall, this man, with hair as black as pitch and dressed in the finest of silks. The light from the flickering flames danced across his pale skin and emerald green eyes glittered as Nefarian Serpine turned, lowering that glistening red right hand of his.

Serpine gazed at the visitor for a moment. "Thank you, Jethro," he said finally, "you may leave us."

The butler bowed again, and moved to the door, shutting it behind him as he went. The room was silent, save from the cackling of the fire, and Serpine smiled that blinding white smile. "I am so very pleased you could join us. I pray the journey was uneventful?"

"It is very unlike you," the visitor said, in a beautiful voice, "to engage in small talk," and China Sorrows lowered the hood from her beautiful head.

Serpine spread his hands. "You know me well, Miss Sorrows," he said, in mock resignation. "I only ask since I seem to recall the time of our meeting was set much earlier, and I was curious as to why my esteemed visitor was so late."

China slipped the cloak from her shoulders and moved, gracefully laying it on the back of the plush chair before her. "I have my reasons," she said, as dismissively as she could, and met Serpine's gaze. His eyes glittered, but she held it and he laughed.

"I'm sure you do, my dear. That was all very rude of me. And before I even offer you any refreshments! Would you like something to eat? Some wine, perhaps?"

China didn't respond and instead moved her gaze to the small bottle that sat on the table between them.

Serpine's smile turned coy. "Ah, yes. I assure you that anything I supply is perfectly safe." He lifted the bottle from the table and gazed at it. "Such items are reserved for my more… unsavory of guests."

"Your enemies, you mean."

Serpine returned his gaze to her as he tucked the small bottle into his coat pocket. "You make me sound like such a brute. Anyone who enters here is my guest, and the leader of the Diablerie is certainly among the highest of company."

China had little patience for Serpine. He was a man of ambition that rivaled even her own, and of treachery that even she was wary of. He was a man, she mused, too much like herself. He was cunning, and dangerous, and China had to force herself to ignore the feeling of competition that rose in her throat.

"How long," she said, turning the subject elsewhere, "will Mevolent allow one of his dearest generals to hide out in his little hole before forcing him to rejoin the fold? A week missing from a losing side can be a significant amount of time."

"Mevolent is an understanding man."

"Mevolent is a man at war."

"He is a man who understands the importance of our mission, and will not rush it. If he needs me, he will call for me. Until then, I will remain here."

"While Baron Vengeous remains at his side."

Serpine seemed unperturbed by her brash words. "I was never a man for leading troops, Miss Sorrows. I am much more suited to the work done in the shadows. We are very much alike, in that regard."

China resisted the urge to hit him, and instead let a little smile play at her lips. "Yes, I suppose we are."

Serpine clapped his hands together suddenly, and that bright smile returned to his face. "Now then," he said brightly, "to the reason you are here. Did I congratulate you on a job well done?"

"I do not do my work for praise."

"Nonsense. It was a momentous task, and you pulled it off with aplomb."

China remained silent and Serpine continued. "The trap required very careful planning. Our moves were intricate and needed to be carried out effectively and orchestrated with precision. But I am nothing if not precise, and you are nothing if not effective."

Serpine gestured to the far left wall that was shrouded in shadow. "I must say," he mused, "that I am surprised you didn't visit sooner of your own volition to see the fruits of your labor."

"I am a busy woman, Nefarian."

"And time stops for no one. But, you are here now, and you can revel in our oncoming victory." He waved his hand and a flame blossomed along the far wall, turning the pitch darkness into a murky gloom. From her vantage point, China could see a pile of ragged fabrics in the back corner. She didn't move.

"I killed the girl last," Serpine said, folding himself elegantly into a chair beside them and motioning for China to do the same, "and pardon me for not referring to them by title. I don't know them, and I simply don't care."

China sat in the other chair. "Understandable," she said, "no serpent asks a name before striking the ankle."

Serpine smiled. He did that a lot. "Poetic, my dear. And very true."

There was a moment of silence and then he continued. "I killed the girl last because I relished the fact that it might scar her rather well before her final moments. I was correct, of course, and relish it I did. The woman struggled to the end. Pitiful, but who am I to judge."

He looked at China. "I regret not allowing you to have the finishing blow. She was a rather tough opponent, I hear."

China remembered the fight a few days earlier. It had been savage and bloody and she remembered ambushing her adversary in their quaint little kitchen in the quaint little house. She remembered the kitchen knife entering her leg and the crack of bone as China broke the arm that put it there. She remembered the cursing. She remembered the screaming. And then China banished those thoughts from her mind and shrugged a delicate shoulder. "Nothing I couldn't handle," she replied, smoothly.

"He arrived not long after you left that day, banging on my front door. He fought his way through the few guards I stationed, made his way here, and I killed his pretty little wife as he entered. Nothing fancy, just a blade across the neck. The man had no time to react. The girl was watching, of course. You should have heard her scream."

China was silent.

"He got so angry, all that hatred in his eyes. It was quite laughable. He wanted to kill me up close- I knew he would- and I had placed a dagger so conveniently on this very table. The idiot didn't even question it. Jethro, my butler, got in a few hits to slow him down, but it didn't take very long for my concoction to do its job." Serpine patted his jacket where he had stashed the little vial. "Seconds to incapacitate, days to kill. It was over before it had even begun. I killed the child next, slowly, and then he wouldn't stop screaming at me so I tortured him until he shut up. We've had a great time since then, he and I."

China gazed into the back corner through the flickering shadows, at the lifeless lumps. "I only see two. Did you send the body to Mevolent so soon?"

Serpine laughed, but it was cold and cruel. "Oh no. No, no. That would be much too quick. This is the part of the job that I like. I enjoy this bit. No. He's just over there, very much alive."

Serpine waved his hand again and another torch lit, this time in the opposite corner, and China became aware of someone slouched heavily against the wall, head down. Serpine grinned, raised that red right hand, and Skulduggery Pleasant threw his head back and screamed in agony.

Serpine curled his fingers and the screams reached a new pitch, held for a few seconds, and then Serpine relaxed and Skulduggery slid sideways down the wall, gasping for breath.

"We've been doing this for the last few days, he and I. It's been a wonderful time, though I believe it's coming to an end. The poison is working through his blood, and I want to kill him before it gets the opportunity to finish its course."

China took a moment to answer. She didn't know Pleasant, not really. She did know he had been a good husband, a loving father, and a very, very well respected leader. They had interacted only once, before the conflict had erupted into full war, when he arrived with a peace squad, her brother among them, hoping to keep the church from joining Mevolent. This was before the Diablerie and they hadn't spoken. "What will you do with him after he's dead?"

Serpine shrugged. "I'm not sure yet. I hear some others are planning on doing a public burning, and I think I might do the same. Warnings are meant to be impactful, don't you think?"

"And you think this will be enough? Do you think that will weaken them?"

"Oh yes, my dear. Twelve of their most esteemed leaders and soldiers kidnapped, killed, and burned for all to see? That would weaken anyone. And Mevolent is so very good at taking advantage of weakness. I admire that about the man."

China heard the metal door slide open and the butler stepped into the room, moving to Serpine's side. He bowed slightly. "There is a messenger here, sir. From Vengeous. He says it's… sensitive information."

Serpine looked at China and she waved her fingers absently. "Please," she said, don't worry about me."

Serpine stood. "Thank you. I assure you this will take but a moment."

He led the way to the door, the butler following.

"Nefarian."

He stopped and turned his head, those emerald eyes reflecting the firelight.

"I'll take that glass of wine. If it's still available."

Serpine smiled, didn't reply, and the butler closed the door behind them.

She was alone now, and the crackle of the fire filled the silence as her gaze was pulled to the far corner where the lifeless bodies of Skulduggery Pleasant's family lay covered by dirty fabric. She was not one to feel remorse, certainly not towards heretics and enemies of the church. But there was something at the edge of her mind, threatening to force its way into her head, and she tried her hardest to keep it from entering.

A groan came from the other corner, and China turned her head to see Pleasant moving slightly. She applauded the man for his tenacity for struggle. He coughed, groaned again, and China realized he was trying to push himself onto his elbows. She looked at him, intrigued, and then with a flowing grace, unfolded herself from the chair and made her way slowly in his direction.

There was something wet on the ground, and as she got closer, she could see the blood in pools around Skulduggery and the heavy chain attached to his ankle. His delicate skin was marred with cuts, and it looked as though a few of the deeper gashes had been messily cauterized to stop the bleeding. She could see his dark eyes through his hair, sticky with blood, and they were clouded and unseeing. She shivered. This wasn't a man. Not anymore. This was a husk, a shell.

And then the husk lurched forward, a hand slick with blood and sweat gripping China's wrist. She took an instinctive step back, but the grip was surprisingly strong. She willed herself to look down, and she had to force herself to not immediately look away again when her eyes met the broken pair below her.

There was a sound, a strangled garble, and then it was cut off. He was trying to speak. Skulduggery tried again, and this time words slipped out, that velvet voice she remembered now rough and dry and pained.

"Please," he was saying, "my wife. Please."

China blinked. The grip was ice cold, but gentle, and it took all of China's resolve not to pull away.

"Please," Skulduggery repeated softly, "keep her safe."

China stared at him, unused to this feeling of speechlessness. The man was delirious. Forced to watch the torture and murder of his family and then tortured himself for hours on end, he had retreated to a place in his mind where there was still the hope of being rescued and forgotten that his family lay dead to the side. He didn't even know who he was begging for help. Skulduggery would not have begged to China Sorrows.

A sound came from behind her and China tore her wrist from Skulduggery's grasp and he slumped backwards, head hanging, as Serpine came through the door, his butler following with two glasses and a bottle of red wine. He looked between China and Skulduggery as he strode forward, eyes settling on her wrist and a smile spreading on his face. "I see you've been busy."

He neared, taking a cloth from his jacket and handing it to her. She took it gently and rubbed Skulduggery's blood from her skin.

"I wanted to see your work for myself."

Serpine gazed down, eyes glittering. "Pathetic, isn't it?" He nudged Skulduggery with his toe.

The butler arrived at their sides holding two glasses of wine and Serpine took them, handing one to China. "To our guests," he said, "and our future victory." They toasted, and China waited until Serpine took the first sip.

She wanted to leave. This room was starting to feel like a prison, though she knew she was a guest. She sipped her wine and Serpine showed her the tricks he had picked up on Skulduggery, and she tried to drown her thoughts.

Serpine did one last wave of his hand and Skulduggery curled on the ground in silent agony, and then went limp. Serpine sighed, as if content, and pulled a black glove from his pocket, slipping it over the exposed muscle of his right hand. "I suppose that's enough for this evening. Our wine is gone and our guest here isn't going anywhere." He turned to her. "You're certain you wouldn't prefer to take a room here for the evening? My staff would make your stay quite comfortable."

China had no desire to spend any more time in this man's company than she absolutely needed to, and she shook her head coolly. "I have a church to run, Nefarian. My followers are waiting for me."

He nodded and went to the chair, grabbing her cloak and handing it to her. China took it with her delicate fingers, and he led the way out of the room and back the way they had come, stopping in the foyer. He folded his hands behind his back as China did the clasp on her cloak.

"What is your next move," she asked, filling the silence and covering her eagerness to leave, "what will you do when this is all over?"

Serpine shrugged. "I'll do whatever Mevolent needs me to do. Vengeous is making a push in Poland, and I imagine Mevolent will want to make the most of any ground gained."

China nodded. "The Diablerie are granting our aid in that effort. By the gods it will be successful."

Serpine smiled that smile of his. "Yes, by the gods."

He didn't bother seeing her all the way out. He turned, disappearing into the castle as the butler opened the main doors. Her horse was waiting for her and she was left in darkness as she mounted and clicked her tongue, urging her steed forward. The wind was still howling and it whipped her cloak around her and they made their way past that dark lake. It was calm and black and looked as if it was waiting for something, to pull it deep down to the depths of hell.

China wondered if it was waiting for her.

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Please, let me know what you thought! I'm always looking for feedback.

This first chapter is following China, but ultimately we'll be following the dead men from here on out.

I wrote the original over seven years ago in a short story collection I was working on, and it's been just about as long since I've published on FF. I'm rereading the series and it sparked my creative juices, so I decided to rewrite this. I'm posting it here and on Ao3 for old times sake. :)