Every word was another sharp dagger through the fog. Larrikin's illusion flickered, then flickered again. The expression Larrikin's face wore morphed too often and too quickly for it to be an accurate portrayal of anyone's psyche, let alone Skulduggery's, before it finally blanked and stayed there, watching Anton with empty eyes.

Skulduggery hadn't been there to see when Serpine struck Larrikin down and killed him where he lay. He hadn't been there to see Hopeless, either, tricked into poisoning himself by a creature who should have been dead. Skulduggery hadn't been there for Aoife's death - not really. He'd only ever shown up later to pick up the pieces left behind, pieces he'd frequently torn off himself.

Not anymore.

With a surge of his old familiar anger, Skulduggery drove Malicant's influence from his mind. The armour strained, and for a brief second Skulduggery let it free - let it purge the rest. Shadows wrapped around his bones, shattering Larrikin's illusion, reaching eagerly for the glowing pink and purple gauntlets which gripped Skulduggery's shirt. The moment it was all gone, Skulduggery dragged the armour back, dragged the shadows back within his skull, locked it all under the shackles of his considerable control.

He'd caused enough suffering. He wasn't willingly going to be the cause of more.

When the danger had fully passed, Skulduggery slumped forward, catching himself with a hand on Anton's arm. He spent a minute breathing, just breathing, strengthening his composure with each one. Then he managed a dry chuckle.

"Not quite as easy as I'd hoped," he admitted. "Being in the Dreaming takes the edge off, but... well." He hesitated. "Thank you."