The Cleaver lay strapped to the table. Fluids ran through the clear rubber tubes that pierced his skin, flowing into the quiet machine behind him. That which was unnecessary was removed, replaced with liquid darkness, with concoctions that mixed science with sorcery. The Cleaver’s face was unremarkable and expressionless. He had stopped struggling over an hour ago. It was beginning to take effect.

Serpine stepped into the light and the Cleaver’s eyes flickered to him. They were glassy and dull, without any of the fierceness that had met his gaze when the Hollow Men had brought the Cleaver to him and removed the helmet. Then, even as Skulduggery Pleasant made good his escape, Serpine had been given a new captive and he knew what he would do with him.

It was time. Serpine held up the dagger he was holding, let the Cleaver see it. No reaction. No wariness, no fear, no recognition. This man, this soldier, who had lived his entire life with blind obedience to others, was now about to enter into death, equally as blind. A pathetic existence. Serpine held the dagger in both hands and raised it above his head then brought it down, and the blade plunged into the Cleaver’s chest and he died.

Serpine removed the blade, wiped it clean and put it to one side. If this worked some changes would obviously need to be made, some alterations, some improvements. The Cleaver was a test subject after all, no more then an experiment. If it worked, a little refinement would be in order. It wouldn’t take long. An hour at most.

Serpine waited by the Cleaver’s corpse. The warehouse was quiet. He’d had to abandon the castle, but he had been well prepared for that eventuality. Besides, it wouldn’t be for long. In a matter of days, his enemies would be dead, and there would be no one left to fight him, and he would have everything he would need to usher in the Faceless Ones – a feat his old master Mevolent had never managed.

Serpine frowned. Had it been a trick of the light, or had the Cleaver moved? He looked closer, searching for the rise and fall of the chest, searching for a sign of life. But no, no sign of life. The Cleaver’s pulse, when he checked it, was absent.

And then the Cleaver opened his eyes.