Skulduggery Pleasant fan-fic: The Cradle of Magic (UNDER EDIT)

Death.

Death.
It sept into the air and came in the form of a tall figure in a long, black cloak.
The skeleton's disregarded bones were charred and black, the calcium phosphate slowly cremated on the first layer and crusting off in chiseled flakes. A silenced hum rung around the room, the kind of sound you hear when all is quiet in the early hours of the morning; the rest of the house asleep with one under consciousness. The silence stung in the ears of Death, nothing but the skeleton's charred bones remained and the lingering souls left after the blast. It had been quick, momentary; but how momentary is a 'moment', how much pain consisted in those last seconds? For all Death knew they could have been everlasting. For he was never to know. He had of course never died himself.
His black robes, shadowed over the rubble; surveying the scene and deducting the damage made. He would often refer himself to as a Detective, it was another way of passing the time. He may have been busy but he might as well of had fun in the process.
He had so far deduced the residents had been condemned with flame, that was rather obvious. There had been at least five hundred casualties, the entire place wiped clean with cleansing fire.
He prowled. And that was the only way to describe it.
The corridors and the walls of the place were scorched with charcoal, the blood that had been let here was far from burned; burned along with the flesh of the victims.
A thought suddenly hit him.
He turned tardily, his midnight cape licking his heels.
The Skeleton.
He prowled closer to the mangled pile of bones laid casually on the floor and inspected the pile. If he could have raised an eyebrow, he would of.
There was no essence left here, it was only a shell.
Then why, if no other remains of any other casualty could be found; why was this left...?
He bent at his knees and waist, crouching beside the chassis of the human and lifted a swipe of dust before his eyes. Rubbing it between his bony fingers he let it fall in the wind, standing once again.
Wind.
There was wind. It came in a turret, sweeping his robes from the floor in a spiral.
He turned on full axis, until he saw her.
A girl.
And more importantly...
She saw him.
She saw Death.

***
He had no face. His features were blackened, shadowed all that keep his figure was a loosely draped robe.
He stood there. And she stood opposite him.
The two played at each-other's gaze, the man's eyeless stare looking into her soul; her's into death's.
"I killed you." His voice was soft a velvet yet as harsh as sand. "I took your soul."
She shook her head slowly, a soft grin playing on her face.
He stepped forward, but feet from the girl. Her skin was slightly charred, scarlet blood running in thin streams down her face and neck from a wound laid on her temple. Her hair was matted yet still noticeably brunette and her eyes were of a deep mahogany, with flecks of light hazel embedded like gold nuggets.
"You're Him I presume..." Her voice was soft but malice jingled beneath it.
Death's head titled. "I am the undertaker of the dead, the Grim Reaper, the..." he was cut offf by the girl's sharp pacing, her eyes on him.
"I want you to bring them back." She lifted her head but inches from the blackness of his hood.
Death chuckled lightly and bowed his head, "And why would I do that? They would have had their times eventually. Death is inevitable Miss Armageddon."
The girl drew a gun and pointed into the blackness, "I don't believe in inevitability. Fate is what I call it. My life comes as I take it."
Death did not flinch, he merely stared at the girl. "And what would you be willing to offer for such lives?"
"I offer you mine."
He laughed and turned from her. "And how can that possibly amend to the..." his voice was cut off once more,
"You wondered how I survived..."
The Grim Reaper turned and faced the girl once again.
"That is one of the many things running through my he..."
"You return their souls and I'll tell you..."
Death hummed a little, pondering on the subject; weighing up the possible information on immortality with the five hundred lives he had just claimed.
The girl's stare remained obsidian, her eyes never wavering from the cloaked figure.
"It's a deal." He said, holding out his hand.
The girl chuckled. "Then you may claim my life for yours."
Death stood back and surveyed the creature to the fore of him, a vision coming over him in the splitest of seconds.
"Today is not the day I claim you, child." His voice was husky with regret yet mellow with certainty.
The girl's head lolled to a side, a confused look on her face. "But our deal?"
"Your time is not yet." He stated and walked.
Before he reached the door, he looked back.
"Until the next time Oblivion Armageddon."
And as he walked through the doors, a stream of piercing light branded the air.
And the world was white.

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