Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy

searching for the one ritual that he, and religious fanatics like him, have been seeking for generations. Back when the war broke out, he had this . . . weapon.
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    These days he's full of surprises, but he still uses it because, quite frankly, there is no defense against it."
    "What's the weapon?"
    "To put it simply, agonizing death."
    "Agonizing death ... on its own? Not, like, fired from a gun or anything?"
    "He just has to point his red right hand at you and . . . well, like I said, agonizing death. It's a necromancy technique."
    "Necromancy?"
    "Death magic, a particularly dangerous Adept discipline. I don't know how he learned it, but learn it he did."
    "And what does the Scepter thing have to do with all this?"
    "Nothing. It has nothing to do with anything."
    "Well, what is it?"
    "It's a weapon of unstoppable destructive power. Or it would be, if it actually existed. It's a rod, about the length of your thighbone. . . . Actually, I think I might have a picture of it. . . ."
    He pulled the car over and got out, went to the Bentley's trunk, and opened it up.
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    Stephanie had never been to this part of town before. The streets were quiet and empty. She could see the bridge over the canal in the distance. Moments later Skulduggery was back behind the wheel and they were driving again, and Stephanie had a leather-bound book on her lap.
    "What's this?" she asked, opening the clasp and flicking through the pages.
    "Our most popular myths and legends," he said, turning on the interior car light so she could see. "You just passed the Scepter."
    She flicked back and came to a reproduction of a painting of a wide-eyed man reaching for a golden staff with a black crystal embedded in its hilt. The Scepter was glowing and he was shielding his eyes. On the opposite page was another picture, this time of a man holding the Scepter, surrounded by cowering figures, their heads turned away. "Who's this guy?"
    "He's an Ancient. In the legends, they were the very first sorcerers, the first to wield the power of the elements, the first to use magic. They lived apart from the mortal world, had no interest in it. They had their own ways, their own customs, and their own gods. Eventually, they decided that they wanted to have their own destinies, too, so they
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    rose up against their gods, rather nasty beings called the Faceless Ones, and battled them on the land, in the skies, and in the oceans. The Faceless Ones, being immortal, won every battle, until the Ancients constructed a weapon powerful enough to drive them back--the Scepter."
    "You sound like you know the story well."
    "Tales around the campfire might seem quaint now, but it's all we had before movies. The Faceless Ones were banished, forced back to wherever they came from."
    "So what's happening here? He's killing his gods?"
    "Yep. The Scepter was fueled by the Ancients' desire to be free. That was the most powerful force they had at their disposal."
    "So it's a force for freedom?"
    "Originally. However, once the Ancients no longer had the Faceless Ones to tell them what to do, they started fighting among themselves, and they turned the Scepter on each other and fueled it with hate."
    The streetlights played on his skull as they passed in and out of darkness, flashing bone white in a hypnotic rhythm.
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    "The last Ancient," he continued, "having driven his gods away, having killed all his friends and all his family, realized what he had done, and hurled the Scepter deep into the Earth, where the ground swallowed it."
    "What did he do then?"
    "Probably went for a snooze. I don't know, it's a legend, it's an allegory. It didn't really happen."
    "So why does Serpine think it's real?"
    "Now that is puzzling. Like his master before him, he believes some of our darker myths, our more disturbing legends. He believes the world was a better place when the Faceless Ones were in charge. They didn't exactly approve of humanity, you see, and they demanded worship."
    "The ritual that he's