Chapter 4, and I surprised myself with the last third by including the pov of a pretty controversial character, but I felt the need to include her in this fic so here we are.

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Dignified Death

“Mr Vile, where are you?!”

She'd lost sight of Mr Vile. Whilst she was filling her stomach, he'd wandered off without a word(could he even speak) and when Milliarde noticed she felt confused and anxious. Thomas chittered, but it didn’t soothe her nerves. She started to call for him, and every second of silence filled her head with scary 'what-ifs' that only built up more by the minute.

“This isn’t funny!” She shouted, starting to feel nervous. What if he’d actually left her? They’d only known each other for a day, but something about him was familiar. Familiar and safe. The idea of him actually leaving her all alone and cold in the middle of nowhere made her eyes start to burn.

‘No, I’m brave.’ Milliarde asserted to herself. ‘I’m brave. I’m-!’

A shout came from behind the bushes, too far from where she stood to be made out. She paused and turned back, now curious. Mr Vile didn’t talk. She walked back where she came and found the apple tree again, but there was a small form with wings on its back hovering above the tree’s base.

"Wow, it's a fairy…" She stated, laughing at how cute it looked. And small. When it turned towards her, eyes glaring, it looked less cute. "Are you okay?"

"Am I alright?! How dare thou ask a fae of this mighty forest such foolish questions, sorcerer, especially when he just stumbled upon the sight of his most prized apple tree, pillaged and defiled by interloping hands?!" The fairy proclaimed, sounding far more regal than she expected. "The ignorance! The audacity! The unbridled gall!"

Glancing at the tree, Milliarde wiped a finger over her lip, catching a bit of leftover juice from the apples. She exchanged a glance with Thomas before licking it up. They were in trouble, but even so, she tried to placate him.

"But… it's just an apple tree."

The fairy reeled back. "Only an apple tree! ONLY AN APPLE TREE!" He roared to the heavens. "Thou be looking upon a section of the woods that is mine domain, an extension of mine self, and to pick upon such a thing without mine permission is an insult worthy of death!

"Tell me, do you have knowledge of whom plucked this tree's fruit?" The fairy asked, pulling out a small sack from his hip. "I will repay you much gold."

She pursed her lips, thinking about what to do. Two choices were in front of Milliarde: do the honest thing, or lie and become rich. The choice was obvious.

"It was me." Milliarde admitted easily. Her Mummy didn't raise a liar. "I was just so very hungry, and those apples seemed nice, so I ate them." She was certain her Mummy would be proud. "I'm sorry for not asking, but since I was honest, can we make up?"

The fairy's expression became blank. "No."

She blinked. "What?"

"No." The fairy repeated, and she stepped back. He floated forwards, the motion strangely ominous. "I'm the ruler of this hollow, I make the rules, girl. And rule-breakers are punished with death in these woods."

"But I told the truth."

"Yes, and that honesty is why I'm going to kill you." The fairy nodded, then reached into his sack, withdrawing a dagger that glinted in the sunlight. It glinted in the sunlight and turned Milliarde's insides cold. He cast the sack aside and started to move closer.

"Please."

"Rules are rules." He dismissed her pleas, just like Serpine did. "Now stay still and let me retrieve what’s mine from your guts, you little thief."

She started to back away until the back of her foot hit a tree root and fell. Her back hit the floor, mud covered her clothes, and she scraped her leg, crying out in fear. She was scared.

"Please." She said as he came closer.

"Do save the begging for after I’ve begun." The fairy hissed, eyes half-lidded, sounding bored but with a dark glint in his eyes. She'd seen it before, and no sooner than she acknowledge it, was she back in that room. Tied up, helpless. All around her, the world unfocused and she curled up on the floor, breathing heavy, cowering. She heard something from the fairy, but she didn't hear him. What she did hear was the cries of her Daddy, the laughs of that horrible man, and the sound of her own screaming as he pointed that ugly hand at her and-!

The sound of a startled cry grounded her, and she looked up to find the shadows curling into tendrils as Mr Vile captured the fairy in his hand, holding the tiny creature up to his face. Milliarde couldn’t see his face, but she was reminded of why she’d been so scared of him when they’d first met.

He stared at the creature through his visor as though inspecting an insect, then the miasma curling around him pooled onto, no, into the fairy. His mouth opened with a silent cry as his eyes widened, cheeks starting to pale, then darken, then flake, until his skin was practically falling off his skull like snow. No blood came, but as the miasma sunk into him, a black substance like ink started to weep out of every hole in his head, eyes, mouth, nose, ears. It was one of the scariest things she’d ever seen, but she couldn't look away.

The creature who'd tried to kill her let out a dry rasp that ended abruptly, going limb before being dropped. As he hit the floor, the darkness started to consume him until there was nothing left but a pile of black goo that caused the grass around it to shrivel up. His dagger clattered against the floor.

She stared at the pile of goop on the ground, then up to Mr Vile. No sound came when she opened her mouth. Then something gurgled in her stomach, up to her throat, and she leaned to the side and vomited.

The sound of Milliarde retching echoed in the forest. Some of it leaked into the puddle below, and when she was finished, she was left breathing heavy with a burning mouth. More tears were falling now, evolving into outright sobs as she curled up. She hated this. She wanted to go home, to see her parents again… but were they even alive?

She curled up, locks of red hair blocking her view, and the world with it.

"…Why?" Milliarde asked. She wasn’t sure who she was asking. "Why did he try to kill me even though told the truth? Isn't that good?" She asked again, through the sobs.

Lord Vile hesitated, then reached forwards. Her eyes were blurred with tears, but she watched him slowly kneel in the dirt next to her, those hands which had just taken a life holding her so gently. His armour was cold and a bit sharp at place. She leaned into it and continued to sob.

"Mr Vile… I don't think I'm very brave." She confessed. "My Mummy always says I'm brave. 'My brave little angel' she calls me, but I'm not brave at all."

Milliarde looked up at the armoured man. She could barely see him through the tears. "I want my Mummy."

He flinched as though struck. Distantly, Milliarde registered how cold it was, but she was largely numb to it. No more tears were coming. A rumble in the sky told her the rain was about to start again. However, right as she started to shiver, a snap pierced the air.

Inexplicably, a blast of warmth sweltered and struck the back of her head. Looking back, she saw an armoured thumb and middle finger shifting into the position to snap, then striking again. The shadows shrieked around his hand. Vile snapped a third time, and that did it, fire roared and surged, building more by the moment until an orb of fire was raging in his fist. Warmth struck her, and the effect was immediate as she stopped shivering, Thomas hid behind her neck, and watched with awe. Magic was always amazing.

Rain started to fall, causing the fire to hiss. Vile waved his other hand upwards, and it rolled away as the air rippled, like an invisible shield was protecting them. She looked up with wide eyes, but he wasn’t finished. He brought his palm to her shoulder, finger trailing along her skin, and Milliarde felt the mud covering her lose its moisture, droplets leaking and leaving it dry before they too crumbled into dust, leaving her clean.

"What…?" She asked quietly as she started to rise, and looked down to find the darkness, gently lifting her onto Vile's shoulder. He reached out with one hand, and another tendril shot out, towards the fairy's stray sachet, picking it up and retracting until it flew perfectly into the armoured man's waiting palm. Extracting the moisture out of the bag, he examined it for a moment, reaching in and shifting around. It seemed to house more on the inside than it did outside. He attached it to his hip and started to walk, the air keeping them dry even as it rained cats and dogs.

"You're an Elemental?" She managed to ask tiredly, and he said nothing. A part of her wanted to needle him, but she was exhausted, so she just leaned against him and closed her eyes, deciding that maybe now was the time for rest.

*

The forest they'd wandered into was large, and the rain was unrelenting. It came in unending pellets sharp enough to sting regular skin. Lord Vile would have been unbothered by the rain on an open road normally because of his armour, but today, he was unmoved by something else. The air. Around him, it rippled as he kept Milliarde close to his chest, and the handful of fire he'd taken to carrying like a lantern, guiding them through the darkness.

Vile coiled his fingers, watching the fire writhe. His Elemental Magic had returned. Strange. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried to use it as his current self, far from it, many times he'd attempted to summon forth his other Discipline's power to no avail. At first, this had puzzled him, but not at second. He was always good at solving puzzles.

Most mages thought magic was simply a power they called upon by drawing energy from the source via their Soul, otherwise known as their True Name, and they were correct to think this. Partially. The full truth was there was a sequence of filtration that magic went through before it properly manifested. A person's True Name tethered them to the Source, yes, but before it could be channelled through their Body, it had to be filtered through the Mind, and that was where it got complicated. The human mind liked to follow rules, but what those rules were could differ. Some theorised that a sorcerer was only limited to one Discipline because it was a rule ingrained into magical society- and though the existence of Neoterics certainly debunked that argument, given that people like Vile existed with their ability to access more than one kind of magic, there was most certainly a psychological limitation involved.

Lord Vile couldn't access his Elemental powers because he'd fractured his mind. There was nothing wrong with his Soul or Body, it was his Mind. By abandoning what he'd once been, he'd lost more than just his name, but his ability to command the elements. He'd forsaken everything for Death's sake, and in return, his old magic had left him. The Elements. Nature. Life. Everything that ran antithetical to what he'd become…

At least, until now.

He clutched his child close, trying to smoothen over his armour, to let her in, and she huddled closer in response. Vile was certain it was Milliarde. Whether she meant it or not, she was doing something to him. What exactly that was, he wasn't sure, but if it meant keeping her close, he'd happily embrace it.

Looking back up, he stared through the rain and into the open road. Ever since his resurrection, his eyesight had never been sharper, and putting on the armour didn't change that. He saw the outline of a sleeping settlement at their front, not a single person in sight. He dispelled the handful of fire he'd been carrying. It only made them a beacon, and whilst he could tear apart all but a handful of people in the entire world with relative ease, defending Milliarde at the same time made things… difficult.

Blending into the darkness, he kept close to the trees, his years as a soldier and Dead Man returning to him as he approached the village. A few cloaked figures came into view, seemingly patrolling in the rain, and the Death Bringer sharpened on of his fists, only to register them carrying muskets. Mortal weapons. He'd just come across a mortal village.

He smoothened his fists and considered his next move. Should he enter for shelter? The Disciples, despite their visceral hatred of mortals, actually didn't spend heaps of time culling them, not even in their own territories. In small amounts, yes, but nothing so overblown as genocide. This was mainly because the mortals, whether Mevolent would admit it or not, bought his armies protection. They limited the movements of the Sanctuaries because, whilst the Sanctuaries together could swallow the Disciples, all the armies in the world meant nothing if they couldn't maintain their anonymity to mortal communities. Even with Teleporters, moving armies around discreetly was not easy, or convenient.

Mevolent and his people had locked onto this weakness and used it to gain an edge countless times over the course of the war. He’d dare say that, if the Sanctuaries had free reign of movement, the war would've ended years ago, though of course the cost of that would being the expose of magic, which was unacceptable… at least to the Grand Mages.

He shook his head, laying those thoughts to rest. Vile didn't care about anonymity. What he cared about was the precious girl sleeping in his arms, who needed a better place to rest her head for the night than his chest plate. He called upon his Necromancy, the shadows sweltered, and Vile started to mould them. Like putty, they stretched and thinned into a cloak which he willed to surround the both of them, then once that was done, he strode out into the open. A mortal passed him, and saw nothing, but if he'd been more attentive, he'd have seen the shadow of an armoured figure pass and how the rain seemed to roll off it.

Vile entered the village. This close, when he passed a cottage, he could watch through a window, how a few mortals were using firewood to warm themselves. A woman was sitting by the fireplace with her daughter and husband. He gave them no mind, and though an itch in the back of his mind told him to cull their miserable existences, one stare at the girl on his chest kept the demon down.

Eventually, he came to a house which seemed empty, or at least, when he reached out, Vile couldn't feel any Souls dwelling in it. The door swung open with a wave of his hand, and then he closed the door, entering with steps that caused the floor to groan under the weight of him. It was small, only a few rooms, but almost suspiciously well-kept for an empty home. He kept his shadows sharp, and Milliarde close, until the scent of death made itself known when he entered the bedroom, and all became clear.

'Dead.' The Death Bringer merely thought as he stood over the body of an elderly man. His hair was thin and grey, and his beard long. He was pale. If someone walked into the room, they could be mistaken for thinking he was just asleep. But they were wrong. No wounds were on the mortal's body that Vile could see, or notable signs of disease. It seemed to be natural causes. Most sorcerers would never get the chance to experience what he was looking at. A peaceful death. Almost dignified.

Vile exited the room, shut the door and, because sleeping in the bed of a fresh corpse was unfit for a child, he laid Milliarde on the sofa, tucked her in, and used his flames to start a fire. A few logs of firewood remained on the side, and he used them. It wasn't as though the mortal man who owned this home would be needing them.

Air fed flames, and soon enough, the cold room started to warm up. He laid back, the boards creaking dangerously, letting himself sit. It had been so long since Vile had simply… stopped. Actually, now that he thought about it, Lord Vile had never rested. It hadn't been his purpose. To kill had been his purpose, to be a maelstrom of destruction and death, and now it was to protect his little girl.

And bring her home. To a cottage that had been abandoned long before the name Lord Vile had even entered Skulduggery's mind.

'What am I going to do?' Vile asked himself. There was nothing to return to where Milliarde wanted to go but the ashes and dust of a life they were never getting back. Ornella. His beloved, and the only woman he'd ever truly loved. He'd thought he knew true love before they met, but what he knew now what he experienced then was just desire. Passionate, exciting, indulging, but ultimately nothing compared to what he'd had.

Orange sparks crackled, and Vile couldn't feel their heat through his armour, but found the sight and sound of the smouldering fire soothing. And so, tired as his mind was, he watched and listened as those sparks cracked, until darkness started to creep into the edges of his vision, and he let himself go.

*

The training grounds of Mevolent’s castle were empty save for two women. It was the dead of midnight, the same colour as Solace’s hair, and it was cold, almost freezing. The eyes beating down on her were colder.

“Do you find amusement in disappointing me, girl?” Lady Serafina’s voice was unforgiving as she bore down on Solace with her own broadsword, the oncoming swing choreographed, but they’d been training all night and she was sluggish. It wouldn’t have matter if she wasn’t, because it was a feint, and the tip of her master’s steel blurred upwards, causing a sharp sting to pain her lip.

"Again!"

Solace reeled back, grimacing in pain, the motion irritating her injury, but it was just one of many. She was covered in cuts. “I’m tired.”

“Your enemies will not care.” Serafina Dey’s lip curled, then Solace felt a faint probing in her mind. It was subtle, but she’d gotten better over the months, but right as she detected that Sensitive probing, it detonated and pulses of pure agony wracked through her being as she staggered backwards, the pain borderline nauseating.

“Stop!” Solace screamed, dropping her sword. “I yield! You won, Lady-!”

Before she could even finish grovelling, another slash came, this time on the shoulder. The scream Solace gave sounded more like a howl as she collapsed, falling to her knees. Tears were overflowing out of her eyes. Sensitives could be trained to suppress their own pain, and it was a skill she’d learned in recent years, but something was denying her that respite. No, not something. Serafina.

“Never in all my years have I seen such a waste of talent.” Serafina glared, her rage silent but suffocating. “Night after night, I spend my time and effort trying to make something out of you, yet somehow you’ve managed to learn nothing over the past three years.”

“I-!” She whimpered. “I’m trying my best.”

“That just makes it more pathetic.” Serafina sneered and brought the weapon down again, inflicting another burning wound.

She closed her tear-filled eyes and bit back a shriek. Barely able to breathe, she just sobbed and thought about how it had come to this. Half a decade ago, she’d been nothing but a common handmaid. Perhaps one who served Serafina of the Unveiled, but still, there was nothing of note to be found of her.

At least until the night she’d thwarted an assassin.

“Do you know what I see when I stare at you, child?” The leader of the Unveiled inquired. When she only whimpered, a telekinetic hold start to twist her arm, and she realised it wasn’t asked rhetorically. “Answer me.”

“A… a student.” Solace tried, the pain making her delirious, and the grip on her arm tightened until it was on the verge of dislocation. She wanted to scream, but then her mouth clamped shut and she was forced to stare up at Lady Serafina. At her master. In contrast to Solace, there wasn’t a scratch on the blonde woman’s body. Any blood on her were clearly just stray droplets from Solace’s body. She was practically glowing with health, yet those ruby eyes of hers glowered with something dark and hateful.

“I see a waste.” Serafina hissed and she averted her eyes. A mistake. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Her hair was taken in an iron grip and yanked, forcing eye contact, loose strands of hair falling onto the floor.

“Please.” She pleaded. “I-I can’t! No more-!”

“Grovelling will buy you no mercy from me. This is why you’re a waste. You have talent, I don’t think there’s a mage alive aside from myself who’s taken to Sensitivity as quickly as you have.” She’s anger quelled, slightly. “I remember the day you managed to bypass the mental defences of a Darklands loyalist and expose him as a spy. You, a common handmaid with no training, managed to pierce his mind with nothing but raw instinct. I thought you were worth training, that one day you might be my equal…” Serafina’s lip curled in disdain. “Imagine my disappointment.”

Solace could only cry. She hated this. And the moment she thought that, a spasm of pain wracked through her body, and she let out a muffled scream.

“Ungrateful wench.” Serafina spat. “A joke of an Elemental, a disappointment as a Sensitive… I’d feel sorry for you if your uselessness didn’t stain my reputation as your teacher."

Solace’s mouth was released, and she landed on the floor with a groan. “I’m not-”

“I’d feel sorry for you, but you’ve sinned too gravely to deserve pity from me.” Serafina continued like Solace had never started talking. “The Faceless Ones are prudent and generous, but I fear they’re sometimes too generous. My ancestors are wise, yet I cannot fathom why they’d waste their gifts on a wretched bastard like yourself. So much magic, so much power, and yet you can’t live up to any of it.”

Solace laid on the ground, bleeding, panting in pain and exhaustion.

“…why do you hate me so much?” Solace questioned hoarsely, and all she gained was a sneer.

“I just told you.” The leader of the Unveiled said, then she turned. “Clean yourself up. Be here tomorrow, at dawn, so we can return to Italy.” Serafina glanced back. “And Solace… I’ve been lenient on you until now, but that ends. I will get some use out of you, even if I have to shatter your mind and piece it back together.”

Any possible response died on Solace’s lips as her master finally started to depart, and she sobbed, but nothing came out. She’d run out of tears to cry. All she could do was sit up, body stinging with every little motion, as she retrieved and sheathed her sword. Everything hurt. She took a minute to stand, each step like torture, and started the slow trek through the castle grounds to arrive at her quarters, her own personal room, a privilege earned by being the student of Mevolent’s wife. Little gasps of pain left her as she walked, a trail of blood being left in her wake as she moved through halls filled with lanterns of dark-blue fire hotter than anything she could ever hope to produce with her own Elemental Magic. A handful of servants passed, some of them mortal slaves, their gazes almost lifeless as they maintained the castle grounds. Solace bid them no thought as she arrived at her door and opened it.

Solace counted the stones on the floor as she dropped her blade and collapsed onto a stool. An application of telekinesis had the door shutting, and she finally rested for a minute. Then two. Three. Then she moved again, the pain of her wounds numbed by Sensitivity, and scrounged for a healing stone infused with the magic of a Vitakinetic. She relaxed and stripped, gazing upon her nude form in the mirror. Every little wound, closed or otherwise. Scars which marked an otherwise beautiful body.

She eventually met her own icy-blue gaze, those eyes which had many men glancing at her twice, until she looked away and started to rub herself with the stone. Minutes passed as the healing object took effect, each stroke closing wounds. Flesh knitted itself back together. When she was finished, only dried blood remained of her injuries, and with a usage of what mediocre talent she had with the elements, she cleaned herself via collected water, scraping off the dry blood until she was clean of filth and only bone-deep exhaustion remained.

‘What am I to do?’ She asked herself as she got dressed, placing her discarded clothes in a pile in the corner. Lady Serafina might’ve been cruel, but she never did things by halves. If she said that she was going to break Solace’s mind, then piece her back together, she meant that literally. Things were going to get worse from now on, whether she could believe it or not. And she did.

The tears returned, but she didn’t shed them. What was the point? They’d never helped her before. Solace glanced over to the window, and noticed it was tilted open, so she walked over to close it, only to find she was opening it and looking down at the ground. It was a sleep drop down, likely enough to kill someone on impact.

Solace’s brows furrowed, but jumping only got less appealing the more she looked. It would probably hurt, and she was tired of hurting. Her grip on the ledge tightened, and a surge of anger followed as she glared down and up at the horizon. At the castle walls. Away from the Disciples.

She started moving before she could think anything through, gathering up what little she wanted to take into a sack. Her sword. Another set of clothes and a touch of fur. Some clean food and water. Not much else. It was depressingly little, but it was all she needed, and quickly she went over to the window and started to climb down. It was difficult, but there was vines on the side of the castle. At the last half-a-dozen metres, they cut off, so she jumped and tried to use the air to cushion her landing. It was only a partial success as her fall slowed, and she landed on the ground, pained and graceless, but unbroken.

Solace stumbled onto her feet, and started to walk. She was running away. A guard noticed her, but she just locked eyes with him and entered him mind in a thousand insidious whispers. His eyes dulled and he moved past her, oblivious to her presence, and she started to glide through the castle grounds. Her heart was racing as she found a horse at the stables, withdrew it, and it was practically in her throat as she found the woman guarding the castle entrance.

“Halt, what are you-?”

“Lady Serafina asked that I leave the castle grounds.” Solace cut her off, making aggressive eye contact. “But she needs me to leave as quietly as possible, so no one else is alerted.”

The gate drew open silently, and Solace walked out of there with a horse by the reins. She left the drawbridge and stared back, almost expecting to be called out. Nothing happened.

Solace scrambled onto the horse and started to ride into the night, not knowing what the darkness held, but it had to be better than whatever she was leaving behind.