It was a another dark and hopeless night in Empire City. People despondently wandered the streets in tattered, dirty clothing that did little to stop the chilling winds blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean. Hygiene was one of the first things sacrificed when the government had put the city in quarantine; a desperate measure intended to stop the spread of the mysterious Plague which sprung into being after a supposed terrorist attack which had levelled five blocks. The decadence of the city was long forgotten; nowadays, its citizens were more focused on merely surviving for another day.

Gunshots rang out, sending people running in fear. Up on their rooftop, the Reapers who had fired laughed amongst themselves. They once had been mere drug dealers, a minor problem for Empire. Since the Blast, they were barely human, and controlled a third of the city. They had no real target – instead, they were simply amusing themselves, lording their power over the populace.

On an opposite rooftop, a man frowned. It was his job to stamp out such behaviour.

He drew back the string of his bow. He took careful aim, and then, with an uncanny accuracy, let loose an arrow which struck a Reaper directly in the head. The Reaper fell limply off the roof to the street below, and the other members of its group leapt to alertness, chattering like diseased monkeys.

The man drew another arrow, selecting one with a special head. He fired it at a Reaper in the centre of the group. Again, the Reaper was struck, but upon impact, the arrow also released a brief salvo of machine-gun fire in a circular pattern. The Reapers panicked, but realized which direction the arrows were coming from. They began firing wildly at the other rooftop with their automatic weapons, filling the air with a hail of bullets.

Hawkeye ducked into cover. The Reapers had terrible accuracy, especially by his standards, but there were too many bullets to risk firing more arrows. He took out a radio. "Pyro," he said. "You're up."

On the Reaper's rooftop, a stout figure came out from behind its hiding place behind an air-vent. The Reapers noticed it and turned their attention towards it. Its breath was ragged and husky. The moonlight glinted off of its long, thin weapon. The Reapers couldn't make it out clearly until a burst of fire erupted from the flamethrower, casting dancing light over a gruesome gas mask. The Pyro laughed mockingly through the mask, advancing in a run. The Reapers scattered in fear as the nearest was consumed in the fire.

One of the Reapers fled to the edge of the rooftop, but was met by an incredibly strange sight. Another man floated up to meet it. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, complete with wide-brimmed hat and a scarf which blew subtly in a wind which hadn't be present seconds before. The figure clicked its fingers, and a fireball burst in being in his palm. This illuminated his face – or more accurately, his lack thereof. A skull grinned at the Reaper, which was completely frozen in complete shock.

"Good evening," he said in a smooth voice. "Pleasant night, no?" Then, in contrast to the increasingly bizarre image, the skeleton produced a comparatively mundane revolver and shot the Reaper in the heart with a comparatively mundane bullet.

Skulduggery Pleasant touched down on the rooftop and watched the Pyro finish off the rest of the Reapers. When the last succumbed to its fire, the Pyro victoriously hefted its flamethrower over its head and let out a triumphant battle cry.

"Nice work, Sir and/or Madam," complimented Skulduggery. The Pyro made a modest hand gesture. Skulduggery raised his phone. "We're all clear here, Hawkeye."

An arrow embedded itself into a light fixture on the roof, trailing a durable rope. It dug into it with automatic hooks. Hawkeye pulled on the rope to test it, then pressed a button on his wrist. The rope contracted, pulled Hawkeye with it. Hawkeye swung across the street, garnering a few fascinated looks and even a quick camera shot from the people below. He landed on the opposite building's wall feet-first, absorbing the shock by bending his knees, and then climbed up to Skulduggery and the Pyro with the help of the rope.

"All targets neutralized," he announced upon reaching the roof. "Now we continue with the major objective."

Skulduggery nodded. "You two are just lucky to have a detective with you. It could take a long time to find someone in a city as big - and dangerous – as this. Even someone with a taken name as ridiculous as 'The Sorrow'."

"Huh huu muh 'Huh hud/dah hudda'," said the Pyro. "Hu hud dud hudda hudda."

"Well said, Pyro," said Hawkeye, patting it on the shoulder. "Well said."

"Huh huu."


Dr McNinja had hooked up the Medigun to Carth's bed, and the device sent out a calm red glow into the unconscious pilot. McNinja was checking Carth's vitals when there was a sharp knock on the door. Before Dr McNinja could verbalise permission for entry, Revan strode in, glancing around the room. HK-47 entered behind him, brandishing a blaster. They walked to Carth.

"How is he?" asked Revan.

"He'll be okay," said the doctor. "It was nasty stuff, but I managed to purge it from his system. He'll usually be up in a week or so, but the Medigun will lessen that time considerably."

Revan shook his head. "He was one of my finest pilots during the Mandalorian Wars. I'd rather he be ready sooner still." He focused on his breathing, and then stretched out an arm. He began emitting an aura of the Force, affecting everyone in the room bar HK-47.

"Ooh," remarked Vitani. "Tingly."

"You have healing powers too?" asked McNinja.

Revan nodded curtly. "Not my forte," he said, "but they're there if I need them."

Carth came to slowly, and let out a pained groan. He opened his eyes to see Darth Revan leaning over his hospital bed, wearing the same black cloak and mask which has made him so frighteningly iconic. Behind him, HK-47 stared at Carth with his piercing red robotic eyes. Carth started.

"Easy," said Revan. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

Carth blinked. "Revan?"

"Yes."

"Are you... am I... what's happening?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"You were concussed," said Dr McNinja, catching Carth's attention. "Some confusion is to be expected. Revan was telling us how you served under him during a war?"

Carth sank into the bed, relaxing slightly. "Y-yeah. That's true. I've worked with him more than once."

"When I heard you were injured, I decided to check on you," Revan said.

"Interjection: Despite my best attempts to dissuade him," interjected HK-47.

"Yes, HK wasn't quite as worried about you," chuckled Revan. "You know how he is."

"I certainly do," replied Carth, shooting the droid a glare. "Where are we?"

"Specifically, we're in the medical bay of a giant wooden airship, buried in sand," said Revan. "As for the general, that'll take longer to explain. I'd love to catch you up myself, but I'm needed back in the boardroom. I'm sure the good doctor can give you an outline. Get well soon, Carth."

Revan gave a brief wave and exited the room, HK-47 trailing behind him. Dr McNinja raised his eyebrow at his patient's disturbed reaction, but ultimately put his pale face down to the poison.

##

As Revan left the med bay, he ran into Sokka.

"I've been looking for you," said the young Water Tribe warrior. "I was hoping I could sit in on your meetings some time, listen to tactics and stuff. Could I?"

It was, of course, impossible to tell from his mask, but Sokka got the impression that Revan was looking through him. "You're friends with the Avatar, correct?" he said, ignoring the question.

Sokka's eyes narrowed. "I am. Why?"

Revan began to walk away. "Just let him know I want him to... be prepared." HK-47 glared at Sokka before following Revan.

Sokka watched them go. "So, is that a no, or...?"


The Pyro fired its shotgun repeatedly at its new opponents; more gang members, this time clothed in green bin bags and dirty paper. They fired haphazardly at the trio as civilians fled in all directions.

Pyro shot the closest Dust Man to it and whirled around to kill another. Its gun clicked, signifying a lack of ammo. Pyro hurriedly switched its firearm for its axe, but didn't move fast enough to prevent the transient from aiming his automatic rifle at it.

Thankfully, an arrow struck the Dust Man in the head, and he collapsed. The Pyro gave a thankful wave to Hawkeye before charging at the largest collection of Dust Men, his fire axe raised high.

"First, drug dealing tar-monsters," noted Hawkeye, kicking a quadrupedal yellow monster made of garbage, "then, psychic hobos. This town is messed up."

"Just maybe," added Skulduggery. He flew through the air, the air rippling his suit. He was avoiding the attack of a tall and bulky golem, also glowing yellow and comprised of urban waste. The golem was holding one arm forward, firing small particles of trash with enough speed, frequency and force to accurate simulate a very high-calibre machine-gun. Skulduggery flew in a circle around it, pelting it with fire he summoned from his hands.

As Pyro finished off the remained footsoldiers, the golem suddenly jerked. It fell forward on its knees, and its featureless torso split open, revealing a man inside the golem, presumably controlling it. Skulduggery called to Hawkeye "The sparrow flies south for winter!"

"What?" asked Hawkeye, shooting at more of the small monsters.

"Shoot the golem guy!"

"Oh!"

Hawkeye selected an arrow from his quiver and fired it at the exposed figure, seemingly without even looking at his target. The arrow struck the man and then exploded violently. The golem ceased glowing and fell forward, tumbling into lifeless pieces.

The trio collected themselves and stood back to back. A crowd of civilians circled around them and proceeded to cheer them for defeating the gang.

"Uh, nothing to see here, people!" tried Skulduggery lamely. "Just a... burst gas pipe. No magic." The crowd ignored his words and he shrugged. "I tried. Nice to get some recognition, I guess."

"Enjoy it," remarked Hawkeye, winking at a girl. "Comes with the territory."

Pyro stared at the cheering people through the lens of its gasmask, tilting its head at them. It raised its axe and walked towards the nearest person to it.

Skulduggery grabbed it and pulled it backwards. "No! Bad Pyro!" he chided. "No axing nice people."

"Hut heh huh hohheehuhs!" protested the Pyro. It folded its arms irritably.


Dr Horrible trekked silently through the wastes. It had been a day since he'd left Maleficent's castle; a day without rest or company. He was glad to have left his former villainous companions, but at the same time, he yearned to talk to someone, anyone. The isolation was beginning to gnaw at the Scientist's already fragile psyche. As he walked forward he kept his arms tightly folded. A bitingly cold wind begun to mockingly throw sand into the doctor's face, so he had pulled his goggles down. Horrible wasn't entirely sure where he was going, but he was determined to get there as quickly as possible.

He crested a sand-dune and saw a motley collection of heavily armed heroes staring up at him. Horrible tensed, hoping they would show mercy and compassion.

The silence was broken by one, a man in red armour, shouting "Look! Someone to shoot!" He then rushed forward, firing his shotgun. Horrible turned around, tripped over his own feet, and tumbled down the dune.

The Scientist groaned, dizzy. By the time he looked up, the soldier was pointing his shotgun right in Horrible's face.

"That's a real pretty coat you got there," said Sarge. "Allow me to recolour it a nicer shade of red!"

A man in a black jacket appeared by Sarge. He at first was equally enthusiastic about shooting Horrible, but upon seeing the doctor up close, his face clouded with recognition. "Cool it, man!" he snapped. "I know this guy."

"You do?" asked Sarge confusedly.

"Yeah, he was the villain I faced. Alright guy. We let him escape."

"You let him escape?!" thundered Sarge. "I'm fairly sure that that's not the most effective military tactic! And I'm the guy whose plans all revolve around killing one of my own soldiers!"

Horrible tried to shuffle backwards during this conversation, less to feed hopes of escape and more to put distance, however minimal, between himself and Sarge's shotgun. Without even looking at him, Sarge grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back.

The other members of the patrol had now by caught up and encircled Sarge, Joe, and Dr Horrible. Jak, the unofficial leader, stepped up to the scene, scowling.

"What's this?" demanded Jak.

"We found the guy I was put against," explained Joe. "Sarge wants to kill him."

"I've gone dangerously long without shooting someone!" protested Sarge self-righteously.

"I can give you other people to shoot!" said Horrible quickly. "I know where the other villains are."

"Others?" said Jak. Horrible nodded.

"So, you're a turncoat as well?" growled Sarge. "Disgraceful! You're just asking for it now!"

"Sarge," said Jak.

"What?"

"Shut your mouth or I'll break your little toy gun." Jak turned to Angry Joe. "It's your call, Joe," he said. "I'll let you decide what we do with him."

Joe considered this choice, but the answer was clear. "I don't wanna kill him. Let's take him back to the ship."

Dr Horrible gave him a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Humph," said Sarge. "Pansy."


Skulduggery, Hawkeye and Pyro stood surveying the Blast Site. The name was as bluntly honest as the area itself. Whatever had exploded here had been powerful. The site stretched for five city blocks. Most of the buildings which once stood there had been completely levelled. Half a garage stood, jaggedly bisected by the explosion, and a high-rise hotel leaned at a dangerous angle over it. The rest of the site was tarmac twisted and pulled by intense heat. The ground was completely uneven, and naked power lines occasionally protruded from the ground.

"What a wonderfully cheery place," said Skulduggery.

Hawkeye gave him a horrified look. "Seriously?"

Skulduggery turned to him slowly. "No," he said blankly. "Of course not. It's not cheery at all. I'm being sarcastic."

"See, I was hoping you were," clarified Hawkeye. "It's just hard to tell with you sometimes."

"Why? Was it my tone?"

"Actually, it was your facial expression. Or lack thereof." They shared an awkward silence for a few seconds. "You don't have any skin," added Hawkeye helpfully.

"I'm aware," was Skulduggery's answer.

The Pyro ran forward, eager to examine the new area. Skulduggery and Hawkeye fell into step behind it.

"What do you think caused this?" asked Hawkeye, stepping gingerly over a sparking mass of broken wires.

"A superweapon of some kind?" hazarded Skulduggery. "Whatever it was, it was massive."

"And it caused such untold sadness..." added a soft third voice.

Hawkeye and Skulduggery froze. "Pyro," said Hawkeye slowly. "Did you suddenly learn how to talk?"

"Nuh-uh!" said the Pyro. It pointed to someone who had appeared before them. "Huh huh huh huherhuhher!"

He was a middle-aged man wearing black combat wear. He floated in the air, his legs curled up under his torso. His hair was thin and white, slicked back away from his face. He wore square spectacles.

"Sad," he murmured. "So sad."

The trio raised their respective weapons, prepared for a battle. The Sorrow didn't seem to notice.

"The three of you have each caused so much death and pain..." he said. An unearthly fog began to roll in, smothering what little light the night offered. "You will now be shown your work," added the ghost with a hardening tone. A tear of blood ran down his cheek, and one of the lens of his glasses cracked.

From the ground, an army of disfigured ghosts rose. They shambled, moaning, towards the trio, arms outstretched and faces wrought with pain and illness.

"Zombie ghosts, leave this place," quipped Skulduggery, floating just above their reach.

"'But this is our house!'" replied Hawkeye, flipping over one.

"Huh huh Huh Hudda hud hud huh huh huhhuh hud, huh hu huu hud duh huuh, huh huh huh hut huuh," concluded the Pyro, running in a wide circle.

"Enough!" shouted the Sorrow, startling the three. "You make light of your actions, and only serve anger the dead further."

"Uh hah?" taunted the Pyro. "Hah huh hoh huh huu huhhu hu huhu-"

Before it could finish, the Sorrow twitched violently. A spiral emerged from him, twisting and mis-shaping the air it passed through, and slammed into the Pyro. The Pyro clutched its head and fell over. The ghosts soon surrounded it, and it disappeared.

Hawkeye began firing at the Sorrow, but the ghost showed no reaction to his assault. The ghosts around Hawkeye began to swarm him, pulling at his arms and putting off his aim. He paled and shivered – their grip was more than just cold.

"Dammit, get off me!" he yelled, desperation creeping into his voice. "Loki was the one who -"

The Sorrow cut him off with another spiral. Hawkeye roared in pain when it struck him, and he collapsed, swallowed by a mass of the dead.

The Sorrow turned his attention to Skulduggery, who was still hovering in the air. "You have beaten death before," noted the Sorrow, with a hint of disapproval. "Do you mean to attempt the deed again?"

Skulduggery floated silently for a few moments, and then gently descended to ground level, towards the forest of translucent hands which reached up towards him. "No," he said. "Do what you will." He landed and made no move to fight off the ghosts once they began to pull at him.

The Sorrow examined Skulduggery, as though seeing into his soul. "You killed so many in rage. And you continue killing to this day. But in you is a sadness – and those you kill, you kill for the greater good."

"Something like that," said Skulduggery.

The fog rolled back, and with it, the ghosts withdrew also. Skulduggery and the Sorrow were left alone in the Blast Site.

"The spirit of the warrior will always be with you," smiled the ghost.

"I guess shooting you now would be considered rude, would it?" asked Skulduggery.

The Sorrow ignored him. Instead, he turned his head and focused on some point in the middle distance. "There is far worse on the horizon. I can only hope that when the time comes, you will make the right decision."

"Because I'm seriously considering it. I mean, I know it wouldn't hurt you, but I'd like to take my anger out a little."

The Sorrow bowed his head, a single tear of blood rolling down his cheek. A gentle wind blew through the area, lightly pulling on Skulduggery's jacket. The Sorrow began to fade away, becoming transparent, until Skulduggery was left standing alone, a solitary figure in the vast gash of scarred tarmac. The sun rose to find the detective by himself, the last one standing in what had been, not for the first time, a site of great sadness and conflict.

"So that's a no on shooting you then," he muttered to himself.


Skulduggery's foul mood had lifted upon being reunited with his partner in crime-fighting. He and Valkyrie were strolling on the deck of Halberd, discussing the situation in the fading twilight.

"So, those are all the facts," Valkyrie finished. "Any ideas?"

"It certainly is... interesting. It might have been a Teleporter," said Skulduggery. "Actually, since we changed dimensions, a Shunter might be more likely."

"But don't both of those need to be touching their target to affect them?" asked Valkyrie.

"Well, yes."

"So, it couldn't be either of them."

"Well, yes."

"...Awesome."

They came to the front of the ship and looked out into the desert. Skulduggery spotted something. "Who are they?" he asked, pointing to a group of armed men approaching the ship.

"That's a patrol that went out earlier," explained Valkyrie. Her eyes landed on a white figure in their midst. "Hey, that guy wasn't with them before."

Skulduggery cocked his head. "Looks like they found something then."

##

Dr Horrible took in the Halberd. Even crashed and at an angle, it was quite a sight to behold.

"What's the matter?" grumbled Sarge, still annoyed. "Nervous?"

Horrible made himself shrug nonchalantly. "Eh," he said. "Tomorrow's a brand new day."


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