CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A Change of Tactic

The life force that glowed a brilliant blue around Fletcher dulled and spluttered like an overheated car on the highway, going out like a candle in the wind. Valkyrie watched it with interest; the harder she pressed her boot against his chest the faster the light faded. His blue eyes were starring unseeingly up at her, his fingers clutched desperately at her feet, his mouth – she speculated, was crying out for silent mercy.

Valkyrie felt a small part in her sigh tiredly.

He was so, so weak that there was no fun in destroying him. His suffering was the only thing that amused her. But she was too strong to kill him, too powerful to end his life.

She frowned.

A howl of pain echoed throughout the night and Valkyrie paused Fletcher's agony to listen.

It came again.

She lifted her boot and she could hear Fletcher Renn gasp and choke on the ground, trying to fill his bleeding lungs with air. She looked down at him for a moment and was tossing the thought of ending his misery around when the scream came again, raw and painful. Desperate.

The air shook with a soft whump and the young teleporter had escaped.

Valkyrie didn't care. As her senses returned the adrenaline she had consumed in her fight began to take its toll. Her legs shook underneath her weight; she took two steps forward, vomited her pies, and then ran towards the scream.

The darkness seemed to part for her, and she followed it like a tunnel towards the sound. She came to a clearing where two crimson clad Cleavers stood, and a skeleton in a tattered suit knelt.

A Cardinal stood behind Skulduggery, the tip of its blade embedded into his back, so deep that the end came out of his chest. The other stood in front of him, still and contemplative.

Valkyrie crashed gracelessly through a bush, tripped, almost fell, but caught her balance just in time. "Leave him alone!"

Her voice came out weak and shrill, and she hated herself for it.

"I mean it!"

The Cardinals seemed to observe her carefully under the black of their helmets, the gleam of their visors cocked to one side ever so slightly. Even though she could see them perfectly in the dark, Valkyrie wondered if they could see her just as well.

The Cardinal at Skulduggery's front lunged forward, driving the tip of it scythe through her chest, through her lungs, pierced her heart and with a crunch the end erupted through the skin of her back. Valkyrie would have screamed if the energy to do so existed. She slumped forward onto the blade and went still.

You're doing a tremendous job by yourself! Darquesse said, a smile in her voice.

I didn't want this, Valkyrie moaned.

You did. We did. I did.

I didn't.

I did.

Valkryie felt the scythe slide from her and she caught herself from falling forward by taking a step. She willed the wounds to heal.

I'm bloody invincible.

The Cardinal made to swing it's weapon but to Valkyrie it seemed that time had slowed and the crimson Cleaver moved like the air had turned to oil. Around it it's life force throbbed a ghostly white and with a raised hand Valkyrie stripped it away. The soldier crumpled, carried by the momentum of its failed attack to the ground and was still.

"Last chance," said Valkyrie, turning onto the last Cardinal, its scythe pinning Skulduggery up on his knees. "Let him go, or die."

Without hesitation it released the detective, sheathed its scythe, and turned on its heel. With impossible agility it disappeared into the tree tops over head.

Valkyrie watched it go and then darted forward as Skulduggery collapsed to the ground. She caught him around the shoulders and sat him upright against her.

"You're late," he murmured.

"You're welcome," Valkyrie muttered weakly. Her muscles began to shake and she doubted she could muster the energy to urge the detective to stand. "I don't think I can get us up," she said.

Skulduggery tutted and she felt his arm slide under her and his weight press against her side; he pushed at her as he got to his feet and then pulled her after him. They walked back to the Bentley in the dark, listening out for the return of the lone Cardinal over the sound of their feet crunching unevenly across the grass.

"Skulduggery?" Valkyrie's voice was soft and she heard his neck clack around to look at her. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Well, you were late," he said, and shrugged. "Could've got to me sooner, Valkyrie, save me a whole lot of screaming – brilliant, manly screaming, mind you. But I suppose there's just something humbling about having your insides pierced and you throw your head back to have a good howl about it. Really brings one back down to earth. It prioritises things." Skulduggery suddenly began to chuckle. "I think, Valkyrie," he said, a grin in his voice, "that you and I are the only people who can get ran through by a Cleaver's scythe and walk away from it. Isn't that funny? I definitely think it's something worth laughing about."

Valkyrie sighed. "You're talking a great deal."

She felt his arm lift around her and they quickly rose into the air.

"How unlike me," Skulduggery said, shaking his head at himself. "Being all chatty and-" they landed in the circle of light cast by the gas station and he glanced around for the Bentley.

Valkyrie heard him make a sound that she had only suspected herself of hearing a few times during her partnership with the skeleton. It was the sound of a startled squeak that he made by inhaling sharply inwards. Where the Bentley had been was a mass of swirling shadows.

"Oh, damn," Valkyrie raised her arms as Skulduggery ran across the lot, and called the darkness away. It flowed back and the Bentley emerging gleaming and unscathed from beneath.

She watched as Skulduggery walked around it, tsk-ing, sighing, grumbling about car-abusing partners.

"Its fine," Valkyrie reassured him.

"Hmm. It would appear so," he looked up at her from over the top of the car. "Nice work."

She tried to smile but only managed a grimace. Inside she felt faint, but strong. Tired, but wide awake. Weak, yet strangely powerful. She lost her balance beneath her and swayed dangerously. Valkyrie watched in surprise as Skulduggery vaulted across the bonnet of the Bentley like heroes did in moves and scooped her up in his arms.

Once upon a time Valkyrie had tried to do that and it had made Skulduggery so mad at her, he refused to talk to her for two days.

But it was clearly all right for him to do it.

Valkyrie rubbed her forehead wearily and looked up at Skulduggery's skull as lights started to shine and flicker around him in her vision. She reached out a hand towards it; her fingers covered in a soft, deep purple velvet glow, and stroked the colours. She heard the detective gasp sharply and his grip around her tightened as her colour bled into his.

"How," he started tensely, "how are you doing that?"

Valkyrie felt a surge of pain flow throughout her body and she closed her eyes tightly against it as she answered. "I don't know," she pulled her hand back to her side.

"Then what is it you're doing?"

"Touching your…your aura, your magic stuff, I think. It feels like that. All warm and soft and tingly."

"What does it look like?"

"Kind of like, like a Christmas tree."

"Like a particularly dashing Christmas tree?"

"No, like a rubbish one."

"Oh."

"But it's still, you know, okay looking."

"And what about you? Are you a rubbish looking show of lights too?"

"No. Mine's a blacky plurple-ish colour. Sleek. Very classy."

"Well, now I just feel self-conscious."

She smiled up at him.

"Would you like me to lift you into the car?" Skulduggery asked, cocking his head to one side.

"If it's no trouble," Valkyrie replied sheepishly as she felt him bundle her up against the remains of his suit.

"Nope," the detective grunted and reached the handle of the Bentley from under her and wrenched it open, "no trouble at all." He placed her down into the leather seats and passed her the seatbelt.

Valkyrie took it from him and stopped. "What about the red Cleaver? The Cardinal? I…" she looked away at the floor of the car under her feet. The mat there was starting to wear after all the years of her scuffing her shoes against it. "I killed it."

"It's most likely long gone now, Valkyrie," Skulduggery said as he leaned over her, his arms folded over his head against the roof of the Bentley. "They're notoriously hard to kill, Cardinals."

"But I ripped its heart out."

He scoffed. "Flesh wound."

Valkyrie sighed and rested her head back into the seat. "Can we just drive?"

"But of course." Skulduggery closed the door gently and made his way to the driver's side of the Bentley.

o(0+0)o

Fletcher reappeared laying flat on the sanctuary floor barely alive. He could see Ghastly's blurred outline in his vision and partially hear the Elder ordering something as the giant man picked him up bridal-style and began to run.

"What happened?" Ravel cried, gaining speed alongside them as they pelted down the corridors towards the medical ward. Fletcher pushed a lump of blood out of his mouth, too pained to care how it may have looked. "Valkyrie," he murmured huskily, "she's…not…right."

Ravel's eyebrows rose up into the line of his fringe. "She did this?"

Fletcher nodded and passed out. Ghastly tsk-ed and shouldered open the medical bay doors causing the pale creature, Doctor Nye to turn around sharply, its mouth contorted impatiently. Its yellowy eyes glanced down at the young man in Ghastly's arms and it hissed.

"Come, now," he waved them into the next room where it ripped back some sheets.

Ghastly set the teleporter down. "How is he looking?"

The doctor leaned over the body and pressed two long fingers up under Fletcher's jaw against the soft hole where his jugular rested. Still. It lowered his head over his mouth and listened for any breath, then shook its head.

"His heart, it has stopped."

Ghastly frowned and leaned towards the unnatural beast with a snarl. "Well, fix it."

Doctor Nye stared at him evenly and leaned against Fletcher's chest cavity with the narrow of his palm and pushed down sharply. It gave a loud squelch. "Crushed," it said finitely. "All crushed. There just would be no pieces to fix."

Ghastly pounded his fist so hard into the bed that it bucked violently and caused Ravel to flinch. "Then do something you bloody thing!" he roared. "That's what I pay you for!"

Ravel watched as Nye shied away and gave an undiscerned shrug. "I will see what can be done," it said, the pitch of its voice cynical. "Do not hope. This boy needs a miracle, and I, well I am no magician."

The sound of Ghastly grinding his teeth reverberated around the ward. "If he dies consider your contract void here with the Sanctuary."

Nye laughed. A wide mouthed laugh. It grated the ears of the occupants and made Ravel grimace. "You would not risk the best doctor available this close to war, Elder Bespoke, we both know that."

It gasped as Ghastly lunged at it and pulled it over Fletcher's body. "Save him, or I will enjoy killing you." He threw the doctor backwards and turned with a sharp squeak on his heel. Ravel practically leaped to the opposite side of the room to get out of his way.

Ghastly walked several metres up the corridor before he stopped. His breath came in short and shallow bursts, his eyesight he noticed was swimming in a red haze. He pressed a hand to his forehead and focused on his breathing as Ravel came cautiously abreast.

"I'm sure he'll pull-"

"We did this," Ghastly said bitterly, "we let it get out of hand. Just waited and watched from our high thrones. And Valkyrie…" he shook his head and exhaled loudly. He turned his gaze to the high ceiling which faded into a rocky darkness above him. "Well, tough choices have to be made now."

Ravel nodded.

"I want all our Generals to meet within the hour. I want Madam Mist arrested and I want our Cleavers to round up the Roarhaven mages and have them confined." He rounded onto Ravel with dark eyes. "If we don't act now, we lose everything."

"I know. And what about Valquesse and Skulduggery?"

Ghastly frowned. "The Cardinals will pursue them until they come to their bloody senses."

o)0+0(o

The screams for mercy was music to his ears! Something about the way a mortal cried made his soul do back-flips in joy!

Sterrange chuckled as he passed several American Cleavers as they slowly sliced the skin off a middle-aged man with master chef precision. The shaves were so thin they shone a pale pink transparent colour and gleamed wetly. They avoided from going so deep as to draw blood – very skilled. Sterrange hoped that the emotionless entities felt some joy as they went about their torture. If he had the skills he would have most certainly been amongst them.

A sorceress came up to his side: Malicious Rid, a pretty thing, hair as dark at soot; it lacked any sheen but had that matt shine which refracted a shade of blue under the Irish moonlight. Rid had been a Sanctuary Official from the Americans, and when she spoke it was with a strong Florida accent that reminded Sterrange a lot of those corny American shows where rich women complained about other rich women for hours on end.

He hated her voice. It annoyed him immensely. If she didn't have such perfect purple-coloured irises he would've made someone else his First General, based purely on how insanely annoying her vocals were. The tragic thing was that she had a power that was terribly unique. Rid could conjure up sigils in any vicinity, near or far, by thought alone. Shields could go up, alarms could be set and she had no need to draw any of them – it just happened.

Rid cleared her throat and inside Sterrange cringed. "The Elders are calling for their Generals."

Sterrange sighed in relief as the silence fell between them. "Ah, all right then. Thankyou."

She nodded and walked off towards the Cleavers finishing off their round of torture and Sterrange relaxed.

"Oh, one other thing," Malicious Rid added.

Sterrange frowned, annoyed, but she didn't seemed to be that phased by it. "Be quick!" He snapped.

Rid's pretty furrow darkened in thought and then she shrugged. "Sorry! Forgotten it." She smiled and walked off shaking her head at herself.

Sterrange pinched the bridge of his nose.

o)0+0(o

The Five Generals were on holidays in different parts of Europe when the call came in.

Hate Lance was skiing in Switzerland when his ring began to glow and vibrate something fierce, causing him to veer of course, crash into a particularly spiny pine tree and lose him the race. He dragged himself out of the snow, grumbling about being too old to answer Sanctuary calls as the ring teleported him to Ireland, snow and all.

At the same time in France, Amber Grimm was enjoying a therapeutic naked screaming session with some of her fellow alternative healers when her ring suddenly shook like a morning alarm. Horrified, she managed to run to her locker and pull out a towel when she disappeared to a round of applause of her fellow hippies.

In Wales, Cuthbert Grolt was enjoying another miserable day of particularly horrid autumn weather. The rain being the only time he could walk around outside without the need of excessive sun-lotion and skin softening products to keep his scales from drying and getting annoyingly itchy. He was playing a round of cricket with his six year old boy when his wife called for him from inside the house. Begrudgingly he went in and found her pointing to his Sanctuary ring at his bedside stand. He reached for it, curious, and promptly teleported.

Somewhere else, on the eastern side of Portugal, Heaven Ibrahim was about to cut her scythe into the body of a foul no-do-gooder when the ring on her left hand glowed. Immediately she threw the scythe into the back of the man as he ran away, cleaving him neatly in two. His sides fell away from each other as she pointed to one of her students, clad in grey with a training visor over his head and he nodded mutely as the ring took her away with a soft whump.

Silo Milo Al-Kachino was swinging from the bars of his cell when the guard appeared behind him and asked how he was doing, to which he replied he was good. The guard passed him his ring but Silo refused it. The guard insisted. But Silo politely denied. After five minutes of mild-mannered debate the guard grew exasperated and threw the ring at him. Out of habit Silo caught it, groaned out loud and dematerialised with a pop.

Each of them stood before Ghastly slightly disorientated. Hate Lance staggered the rest of the way out of the Swiss snow, grumbled something incoherent and vomited. To his right, Amber Grimm stood still as her feet was littered was specks of vomitty splash-back; and to her right stood Silo Milo Al-Kachino who appeared utterly depressed.

Cuthbert Grolt seemed a little dazzled but was managing to gather his bearings better than his comrades. The only one who the ring seemed to have no effect was Heaven Ibrahim whose face no one could see behind her black visor and whose body language were muted from within her crimson cloak.

Heaven reached up and took off her visor with a hollow click and revealed her face, marred with scars and patches of stitch work. One eye was black like a vampire's and the other was round and pale yellow; her teeth, when her not existent lips pulled back were rounded to blunt points. She glared her odd eyes at Ghastly who stared back evenly.

"Who," she hissed, "needs to be killed?"

Whew - long while since I late posted a chapter. Sorry about that people! Easter and all. Ignore my shifty eyes, haha.

So yeah...WILL FLETCHER DIE!? What do you people want, y'all? :D Huh!? HUH!?

And my god, The 5Gs, are finally IN THE HOUSE!

To be revealed soon in this story...will Fletch die!? Who and what are the GENERALS!? What is a CARDINAL, how do they differ!? Will Skul and Val ever make it to Cork safe!? AND WHAT IS THE DAGGER OF OBLIVION!?

Day-yum, Chapter 14: THE FIVE GENERALS, coming soon ;D

If ya review it'll be sooner :3

YEA!