Skulduggery wished he didn't know the answer to that. He wished he was just as incapable of understanding as Solomon was.
But he did.
And it wasn't something Skulduggery would have been able to explain out loud, even with all the times he'd gone over it silently to himself. He almost didn't. It wouldn't have made a difference; Solomon almost fell asleep again before Skulduggery answered the first question. Staying silent would likely have done nothing but let Solomon fade back into the throes of unconsciousness, happily oblivious.
He wasn't sure what made him lean forward and answer anyway, but he could guess. He was talking to another ex-Necromancer. He was talking to Solomon, who was being unfairly punished for accomplishing the impossible. Because Solomon was drugged out of his mind and wouldn't remember most of this conversation in the morning. The man hadn't even opened his eyes.
"Because my family was dead, and I didn't know why I wasn't," Skulduggery started. "I was furious with Serpine, and that's what brought me back, but I didn't know what stopped me from dying. Violence and hatred and bloodshed became my reasons for existing. I stopped caring about anything else. I didn't care who my enemy was, as long as I had an enemy. I was falling, and I didn't know how to stop."
He spoke calmly, quietly, a world apart from his own words. He'd been over it multiple times in his own head - enough that saying his thoughts out loud no longer felt like he was making it real, but rather like he was telling a story. In a strange and small way, it was easier to talk about than what happened back at the safehouse. This, Skulduggery understood. This he understood perfectly.
"Necromancy came far too easily for me. At the time, that was what I needed. Immediate power. An answer. By the time I realised it had no answer, I'd stopped caring about anything but death and destruction, and Necromancy was the easiest way to do that." He paused for a split second. "Fury is what's keeping me here, and when I first came back, I didn't know how to handle that."
That was basically what it all boiled down to. Even now, a part of Skulduggery would have liked nothing more than to chase after that assassin and cripple him. Kill kim. Find Craven, do the same thing to him. It was a very small part of Skulduggery, and it was one he'd taught himself to keep under lock and key, because he knew what would happen if he let it go. If he lost control for even a moment.
There was no reason to move Solomon tonight. Kenspeckle was still unconscious, and mortal doctors were easily equipped to handle a stab wound in the leg. Moving him would have to wait until Solomon himself was properly awake and coherent.
no subject
Skulduggery wished he didn't know the answer to that. He wished he was just as incapable of understanding as Solomon was.
But he did.
And it wasn't something Skulduggery would have been able to explain out loud, even with all the times he'd gone over it silently to himself. He almost didn't. It wouldn't have made a difference; Solomon almost fell asleep again before Skulduggery answered the first question. Staying silent would likely have done nothing but let Solomon fade back into the throes of unconsciousness, happily oblivious.
He wasn't sure what made him lean forward and answer anyway, but he could guess. He was talking to another ex-Necromancer. He was talking to Solomon, who was being unfairly punished for accomplishing the impossible. Because Solomon was drugged out of his mind and wouldn't remember most of this conversation in the morning. The man hadn't even opened his eyes.
"Because my family was dead, and I didn't know why I wasn't," Skulduggery started. "I was furious with Serpine, and that's what brought me back, but I didn't know what stopped me from dying. Violence and hatred and bloodshed became my reasons for existing. I stopped caring about anything else. I didn't care who my enemy was, as long as I had an enemy. I was falling, and I didn't know how to stop."
He spoke calmly, quietly, a world apart from his own words. He'd been over it multiple times in his own head - enough that saying his thoughts out loud no longer felt like he was making it real, but rather like he was telling a story. In a strange and small way, it was easier to talk about than what happened back at the safehouse. This, Skulduggery understood. This he understood perfectly.
"Necromancy came far too easily for me. At the time, that was what I needed. Immediate power. An answer. By the time I realised it had no answer, I'd stopped caring about anything but death and destruction, and Necromancy was the easiest way to do that." He paused for a split second. "Fury is what's keeping me here, and when I first came back, I didn't know how to handle that."
That was basically what it all boiled down to. Even now, a part of Skulduggery would have liked nothing more than to chase after that assassin and cripple him. Kill kim. Find Craven, do the same thing to him. It was a very small part of Skulduggery, and it was one he'd taught himself to keep under lock and key, because he knew what would happen if he let it go. If he lost control for even a moment.
There was no reason to move Solomon tonight. Kenspeckle was still unconscious, and mortal doctors were easily equipped to handle a stab wound in the leg. Moving him would have to wait until Solomon himself was properly awake and coherent.
Until then, Skulduggery wasn't going to move.