Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was only black.

Obsidian had erased the whole universe. The air, the earth, the stars, they were all gone.

There was only nothingness.

Sebastian's plan had failed, and Obsidian had destroyed all.

Omen had failed, and Auger was gone.

Then there was a faint flicker of slightly-lighter-but-still-black. The flicker disappeared for a moment, then solidified into skin, and Darquesse opened Her eyes to the gone, and She smiled.

She laughed.

She was not a feeble mortal who could not escape. She was not some lousy sorcerer, who had not the power nor means to stop him. She was a god, who was he to try and kill Her? She was infinitely more powerful, more knowledgeable, more skilled.

And, She had also decided.

This universe was interesting enough, She supposed. Sebastian was right to try and convince Her of the beauty of the Earth. She would have some fun first, though. There was no point in basically dying for the sake of others if She didn't get to mess with them a little.

She laughed again as She brought Her hands together, and from whence they touched came a muted white light. The light shone upon only Her in the nothingness, but it still managed to cast light on the far expanses of gone. Such was Her power, and She poured it into Her light. 

She opened Her hands, and all at once the light spilled from between Her fingers and hung stationary in where the air once was. Before She let it form Her idea, She remembered something Her Before had once read. It had not been the most interesting thing ever written, far from it, but She was reminded of how similar the endings were. Only, this wasn't the ending of Her story.

She spoke, and with Her voice came the sound of every noise ever made, and silence all at once.

''Let there be light.''

And there was light.

Coolio!

Chapter Text

The floor was wooden.

That was the first thought Stephanie Edgely had ever thought. That was the first thought anyone had ever thought, second only to the strange tall woman stood in the middle of the room.

Wait, what room?

She had long black hair that draped over her shoulders, which were covered in a skin-tight, shadowy substance that seemed to drink in the light and reflect it in the very same moment. Her gaze flitted across the other people in the room, before she abruptly vanished.

Wait, other people?

Stephanie looked down at her black clothes and frowned. What she wore looked like typical clothing worn by spectators of a funeral, or other such sad event. The shiny hardwood floor stared up at her and outlined the black dress shoes of the gentleman stood next to her. 

Wait, what?!

Stephanie finally looked up at the other people in the room with her. The man stood next to her was tall and thin, wearing a tan overcoat that was buttoned all the way up, and a wide brimmed hat that did nothing to hide the wild, frizzy ginger curls that poured out from underneath it. When she looked closer, however, the hair looked fake, and his coat looked like it was hanging off him, as if he were a skeleton. He had a strange scarf around his face, along with pitch black sunglasses. 

The woman at the opposite end of the room had blond hair and brown eyes that darted to and fro, noting everything that was near her. She wore a sleeveless leather tunic and tight trousers; there was a long sword strapped to her waist that she had immediately pulled out. She was athletic and strong, by the looks of it, and hefted the sword with practiced ease. 

There was another man halfway between them who had long scars that ran over his entire head, parallel to each other, and another woman who was the most beautiful person Stephanie had ever seen and holy moly, she knew she would do anything that woman asked, she had the clearest skin and the fairest hair, with piercing blue eyes-

''Okay, what the hell just happened?'' Said a man with short blond hair and one of the most good-looking faces Stephanie had possibly ever seen, after that absolutely stunning woman in the corner of course, who was now walking closer and oh Lord, she felt clumsy and slow in comparison. The woman was so elegant and dainty that it looked like her skin would shatter if she moved too fast.

''I'm not quite sure, but I have no recollection of recent past events. I assume this is the same for everyone?'' The man in the suit remarked in a velvety-smooth voice. There was a murmur of agreement, then the man that had first spoken noticed Stephanie. ''Hey, aren't you a bit young to be leaving the Temple yet?'' He asked, diverting everyone's attention to her.

''Umm...what temple? For who?'' She asked in return, still quite confused. This was all a bit sudden, and she felt like everything was wrong, somehow, like she wasn't supposed to see these people yet. Blonde-man frowned and looked at Wig-man, then back at her. ''You don't know what the Temple is? Hang on, do you even know about sorcerers?'' he questioned.

Stephanie opened her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by a shout of alarm. Wig-man strode over to another man, who had short black hair and glittering green eyes, and grabbed him by the collar. Stephanie stepped back in shock as the man smiled and looked down at the other. ''Well, well, well, look what we have here. Can't go five days without threatening me, can you?'' He goaded, his smile only growing when Wig-man slowly put him down. Scar-man grabbed Wig-man's shoulder and whispered something to him quietly.

Then came a disembodied voice, so unexpected that it made everyone freeze.

''Alright everyone, calm down. I'll explain everything momentarily, just sit down for now.'' 

Chapter Text

It was a few minutes later that their explanation came (minutes because a strange blonde-haired boy kept trying to do something, only to just stand still for a second and then complain). There were a number of sage green sofas with yellow patterned pillows lined up against three of the grey walls, leaving the last blank. They had all reluctantly sat down on them, in no particular order, and yet some people seem to naturally sit next to those they knew (or away from those that annoyed them, in the case of Sword-woman and the blonde-haired idiot). The strange woman's voice came from no discernible place, though everyone could hear it.

''Alrighty guys, I brought you here to watch a... series, of sorts. It will be shown on the screen in front of you.''

Stephanie looked around. Screen? There was no screen.

''Umm... not to be rude, but what screen?'' She asked, peering over at what she thought was where the voice was coming from, although the voice had no obvious origin.

Suddenly, the strange woman appeared in the middle of the room again. She looked familiar; the long black hair, the brown eyes; it was almost like looking at a future version of herself.

''Whoops, I must've forgotten to make one'' Stephanie thought she sounded rather sarcastic, as if it were an intentional choice to leave it out. The woman held up a hand and a chair materialised out of thin air. She waved her hand slightly and the chair exploded into nothingness. Stephanie stared. A TV appeared on the wall, one of those fancy wall-mounted one, Displayed on the screen was a white room, and in that room there was an oak table, and on that table was a black hat - a fedora, like those detectives from the 1900s, one that would go well with a suit.

The thin man in the coat was looking between Stephanie and the woman with his head tilted in a curious manner. The others in the room (or most of them; Stupid Hair-boy was just trying to appear nonchalant and failing spectacularly) looked surprised, and the old man to her left raised an eyebrow.

''Anyways, now you'll watch something. Some of you will already know some of the events of this... series, due to prior knowledge. I ask that you do not reveal anything until after the event has happened.'' She turned to look at a select few, before finally turning to Stephanie. ''Some of this will be quite personal, so get comfy.'' She laughed and addressed the whole room;

''Breaks will be every couple of hours, or when requested. Mr Pleasant, please try to not work out the entire plot too fast, it'll ruin the surprise of things''

The screen turned black.

Gordon Edgely's sudden death came as a shock to everyone - not least himself. One moment he was in his study, seven words into the twenty-fifth sentence of the final chapter of his new book And The Darkness Rained Upon Them, and the next he was dead. A tragic loss, his mind echoed numbly as he slipped away. 

''Wait a minute, Gordon Edgely? The same one who wrote The All-Night Horror Show¹? '' Blurted out Sword-Woman, sitting up slightly from her seat on the sofa to the left of Stephanie. The TV paused when she spoke, letting her words be heard by the whole room. She sat back when everyone turned to look at her. The voice of the woman rang out in the room, ''Yes, unfortunately the writer known as Gordon was m- is dead.'' Stephanie jolted in her seat, knocking the two men at her side. Wig-man felt very sharp. ''Uncle Gordon, you mean?'' she asked, uncaring if she was rude. There was no reply, so she took it as an affirmative and slumped back in her seat sadly. The TV started again.

The funeral was attended by family and acquaintances but not very many friends. Gordon hadn't been a well-liked figure in the publishing world, for although the books he wrote - tales of horror and magic and wonder - regularly reared their heads in the bestseller lists, he had the disquieting habit of insulting people without realising it, then laughing at their shock. It was at Gordon's funeral, however, that Stephanie Edgely first caught sight of the gentleman in the tan overcoat.

''That's you, right?'' Stephanie turned to the man sat to her left, who was wearing the same coat as shown on the TV. Wig-man turned to look at her and nodded, ''That is correct, and you must be young Stephanie?'' She nodded and turned back to face forwards. She noticed that the man from before, the one with the hauntingly beautiful green eyes, had scowled at the appearance of the man on the screen - shooting him a glare from where he sat on the sofa to her right - before turning back to pretending to be disinterested about the scene displayed on the TV.

He was standing under the shade of a large tree, away from the crowd, the coat buttoned up all the way despite the warmth of the afternoon. A scarf was wrapped around the lower half of his face and even from her position on the far side of the grave, Stephanie could make out the wild and frizzy hair that escaped from the wide brimmed hat he wore low over his gigantic sunglasses.

"Oh, are you still wearing that awful thing? I could fashion you something much better, you know." Exclaimed the beautiful woman. Stephanie found herself agreeing with her, even though she had no idea what she was even talking about. Maybe the coat? It looked ok, and certainly wasn't awful, as she had put it. Stephanie mentally shook her head. The woman must be right, she just couldn't see what was wrong with the outfit.

"Well, it suits its purpose, but I will be sure to think over your offer." Said Wig-man in a way that made it quite obvious that he really didn't mind what he wore.

She watched him, intrigued by his appearance. And t h en, like he knew he was being observed, he turned and walked back through the rows of headstones, and disappeared from sight.

After the service, Stephanie and her parents travelled back to her dead uncle's house, over a humpbacked bridge and along a narrow road that carved its way through thick woodland. The gates were heavy and grand and stood open, welcoming them into the estate. The grounds were vast and the old house itself was ridiculously big. 

There was an extra door in the living room, a door disguised as a bookcase, and when she was younger Stephanie liked to think that no one else knew about this door, not even Gordon himself. It was a secret passageway, like the stories she'd read, and she'd made up adventures about haunted houses and smuggled treasure. This secret passageway would always be her escape route, and the imaginary villains in these adventures would be dumbfounded by her sudden and mysterious disappearance. 

Stephanie's face burned when this information was revealed, embarrassed at her previous childlike nature. When she looked around, however, no one appeared to be laughing at her, or even seemed to acknowledge it, except for Green Eye-man, who openly laughed at her. ''What a child. You know, there are worse things in the world than imaginary fiends.'' He turned to her and smiled maliciously. Wig-man turned towards the offending man and tilted his head. ''What was that, Nefarian²? Are you threatening an innocent bystander again? Make sure not to anger the Treaty agreements; we all know how fragile they are already.'' He warned, before looking back at the screen. Green Eye-man (Nefarian?) huffed and rolled his eyes, also turning to look back at the screen.

But now this door, this secret passageway, stood open, and there was a steady stream of people through it, and she was saddened that this little piece of magic had been taken from her. 

Stephanie pouted at this slightly. To think her one place of private childish joy in Gordon's house had been desecrated in such a way made her feel as though she was losing touch with her younger self already.

Tea was served and drinks were poured and little sandwiches were passed around on silver trays, and Stephanie watched the mourners casually appraising their surroundings. The major topic of hushed conversation was the will. Gordon wasn't a man who inspired, or even demonstrated, any great affection, so no one could predict who would inherit his substantial fortune. Stephanie could see the greed seep into the watery eyes of her father's older brother, a horrible little man called Fergus, as he nodded sadly and spoke sombrely and pocketed the silverware when he thought no one was looking.

The other man next to her, Scar-man, frowned at that, his eyes flitting down to meet hers for a second, then he schooled his expression and gave her a light smile. Stephanie hesitantly smiled back, admittedly a bit unnerved by his scar-ridden visage.

Fergus's wife was a thoroughly dislikeable, sharp-featured woman named Beryl. She drifted through the crowd, deep in unconvincing grief, prying for gossip and digging for scandal. Her daughters did their best to ignore Stephanie. Carol and Crystal were twins, fifteen years old, and as sour and vindictive as their parents. Whereas Stephanie was dark-haired, tall, slim and strong, they were bottle-blonde, stumpy and dressed in clothes that made them bulge in all the wrong places. Apart from their brown eyes, no one would guess that the twins were related to her. She liked that. It was the only thing about them she liked.

Sword-woman smiled, amused. The blonde man to Stephanie's right, the one who was slouching, as if watching a TV play someone's private life was normal, snickered. The man next to him raised an eyebrow at him, and he quickly stopped.

She left them to their petty glares and snide whispers, and went for a walk.

The corridors of her uncle's house were long and lined with paintings. The floor beneath Stephanie's feet was wooden, polished to a gleam, and the house smelled of age. Not musty exactly but... experienced. These walls and these floors had seen a lot in their time, and Stephanie was nothing more than a faint whisper to them. Here one instant, gone the next. 

Gordon had been a good uncle. Arrogant and irresponsible, yes, but also childish and enormous fun, with a light in his eyes, a glint of mischief. When everyone else was taking him seriously, Stephanie was privy to the winks and nods and the half-smiles that he would shoot her way when they weren't looking. Even as a child she felt she understood him better than most. She liked his intelligence and his wit, and the way he didn't care what people thought of him. He'd been a good uncle to have. He'd taught her a lot.

Stephanie felt a bit awkward. There wasn't really much going on, and the whole room was silent, apart from the occasional sigh from either Nefarian or Stupid Hair-boy. The two men next to her were unnaturally still; Wig-man didn't even move to breathe, and she felt as though her fidgeting was magnified tenfold. Had they turned into statues when she wasn't looking, or was her life so boring that they'd already fallen asleep? She lent forward to try and see their faces, but Wig-man's was covered, and Scar-man looked unaffected by anything going on in the room. Stephanie sat back and viewed the screen once more.

She knew that her mother and Gordon had briefly dated (''courted'', her mother had called it), but when Gordon had introduced her to his younger brother, it was love at first sight. Gordon liked to grumble that he had never got more than a peck on the cheek, but he had stepped aside graciously, and had quite happily gone on to have numerous torrid affairs with numerous beautiful women. He used to say that it had almost been a fair trade, but that he suspected that he had lost out.

The beautiful woman to Stephanie's left let out a chuckle, with the kind of fancy tilt of someone who knew exactly what was being implied. "Gordon was such an... interesting fellow, was he not?" Wig-man nodded his head slightly in agreement, startling Stephanie, whom had thought he was asleep. "Indeed." Was all he said, and the TV continued.

Stephanie climbed the staircase, pushed open the door to Gordon's study and stepped inside. The walls were filled with the framed covers from his bestsellers and shared space with all manner of awards. One entire wall was made up of shelves, jammed with books. There were biographies and historical novels and science texts and psychology tomes, and there were battered little paperbacks stuck in between. A lower shelf had magazines, literary reviews and quarterlies.

Stephanie passed the shelves which housed the first editions of Gordon's novels and approached the desk. She looked at the chair where he'd died, trying to imagine him there, how he must have slumped. And then, a voice so smooth it could have been made of velvet:

''At least he died doing what he loved.''

Nefarian scowled, ''Stalking people again, Skulduggery? I thought that was illegal.'' Skulduggery? What kind of a name is that?  Stephanie thought. She had never heard of a name similar to it, but it sounded strangely familiar, as if she was close to the man. Wig-man (Skulduggery?) turned his head slightly, but made no other attempt at response.

She turned, surprised, to see the man from the funeral in the overcoat and hat standing in the doorway. The scarf was still wrapped, the sunglasses still on, the fuzzy hair still poking out. His hands were gloved.

''Yes,'' Stephanie said, because she couldn't think of anything to say. ''At least there's that.'' 

''You're one of his nieces then?'' the man asked. ''You're not stealing anything, you're not breaking anything, so I'd guess you're Stephanie.'' She nodded and took the opportunity to look at him more closely. She couldn't see even the tiniest bit of his face beneath the scarf and sunglasses.

''Were you a friend of his?'' she asked. He was tall, this man, tall and thin, though his coat made it difficult to judge.

''I was,'' he answered with a move of his head. This slight movement made her realise that the rest of his body was unnaturally still. ''I've known him for years, met him outside a bar in New York when I was over there, back when he had just published his first novel.''

Stephanie couldn't see anything behind the sunglasses - they were pitch black. ''Are you a writer too?''

''Me? No, I wouldn't know where to start. But I got to live out my writer fantasies through Gordon.''

''You had writer fantasies?''

''Doesn't everyone?''

''I don't know. I don't think so.''

''Oh. Then that would make me seem kind of odd, wouldn't it?''

''Well,'' Stephanie answered. ''It would help.''

The man to the right of Stephanie sighed. ''Still as unserious as usual...'' He muttered, glancing over at the other, then sighed again and turned to face the TV again. Stephanie frowned. How many people in here knew each other? Was this some kind of weird group that had randomly decided to watch her everyday life? Then, she realised that this was the first time she was even thinking about the possibility of kidnapping and/or stalking, as if this whole time she just hadn't been bothered. She looked around at the people in the room again, this time with more suspicion, and she noticed they were all similar in some way. They all had a strange aura to them, as if they were different from others in a way, unseen to the naked eye. Stephanie, unsettled, glanced up nervously at the two men sat beside her, then she tried her best to focus back on the screen.

''Gordon used to talk about you all the time, boast about his little niece. He was an individual of character, your uncle. It seems that you are too.''

''You say that like you know me.''

''Strong-willed, intelligent, sharp-tongued, doesn't suffer fools gladly... remind you of anyone?''

''Yes, Gordon.''

''Interesting,'' said the man. ''Because those are the exact words he used to describe you.''

Skulduggery tilted his head and appeared to be glancing at her, but with those sunglasses on it was impossible to tell where he was looking.

His gloved fingers dipped into his waistcoat and brought out an ornate pocket watch on a delicate gold chain. ''Good luck with whatever you decide to do with your life.''

''Thank you,'' Stephanie said, a little dumbly. ''You too.'' She felt the man smile, though she could see no mouth, and he turned from the doorway and left her there. Stephanie found she couldn't take her eyes off where he had been. Who was he? She hadn't even got his name.

She crossed over to the door and stepped out, wondering how he had vanished from sight so quickly. She hurried down the stairs and reached the large hall without seeing him. She opened the front door just as a big black car turned out on to the road. She watched him drive away, stayed there for a few moments, then reluctantly re-joined her extended family in the living room, just in time to see Fergus slip a silver ashtray into his breast pocket.

The screen went black again, and the strange woman appeared in the middle of the room. ''Well, that was the end of Chapter One. Any questions?'' 

(2,949 words)