It felt a little like when Skulduggery was still getting used to being a skeleton, and breathing felt so impossibly light that he didn't bother with it until he'd gotten used to everything else - except this time it didn't feel light. It felt heavy. It felt wrong. It took a concerted effort, and it still didn't come nearly quickly enough.
Come to think of it, his whole body felt heavy.
Skulduggery turned his head, put his hands flat down on the ground so he could push himself up. The stone was rough beneath his palms. It cut. It hurt. It shouldn't have been able to do that. He shouldn't have needed to work so hard just to breathe. His vision shouldn't have been blurring and, somehow, physically painful.
He pushed himself onto his knees and blinked up at the man pointing the shotgun at him.
It was, Skulduggery reflected faintly, one of the most bizarre situations he'd ever found himself in. Not being on the other end of a gun, no - that happened often enough that Skulduggery was almost comfortable with it. It was being on the other end of a gun right after being attacked with foreign magic which, as far as Skulduggery could tell, constituted an extremely efficient way of throwing him off his guard and not much else.
"Hello," he managed, and almost immediately coughed. Coughed. And his voice, still so odd to his own ears...
He looked down at his suit jacket. It was torn right across his shoulders. Every button on the shirt was gone.
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It felt a little like when Skulduggery was still getting used to being a skeleton, and breathing felt so impossibly light that he didn't bother with it until he'd gotten used to everything else - except this time it didn't feel light. It felt heavy. It felt wrong. It took a concerted effort, and it still didn't come nearly quickly enough.
Come to think of it, his whole body felt heavy.
Skulduggery turned his head, put his hands flat down on the ground so he could push himself up. The stone was rough beneath his palms. It cut. It hurt. It shouldn't have been able to do that. He shouldn't have needed to work so hard just to breathe. His vision shouldn't have been blurring and, somehow, physically painful.
He pushed himself onto his knees and blinked up at the man pointing the shotgun at him.
It was, Skulduggery reflected faintly, one of the most bizarre situations he'd ever found himself in. Not being on the other end of a gun, no - that happened often enough that Skulduggery was almost comfortable with it. It was being on the other end of a gun right after being attacked with foreign magic which, as far as Skulduggery could tell, constituted an extremely efficient way of throwing him off his guard and not much else.
"Hello," he managed, and almost immediately coughed. Coughed. And his voice, still so odd to his own ears...
He looked down at his suit jacket. It was torn right across his shoulders. Every button on the shirt was gone.
"You ruined my suit," he said forlornly.