James Halbine had been dead for more than six months. His remains, most thought, were blown to bits, though no large traces were found. In the dark, deep recesses of a subspace outside of London, however, he had been slowly and carefully regenerated, his limbs returned to their place and rejoined with newer, stronger magic.
He would never really be the same, physically - His body was nearly ageless. It had to be done by magic, simply to prevent his rotting away in a few year's time, but the necromantic charms had the added side effect of holding this body's shape nearly indefinitely.
He'd seen this kind of magic performed before. Dead leaders, comrades, brought back from the dead - it was creepy stuff. At least, he'd thought so at the time.
Now, the how of it didn't matter. Where he opened his eyes - that didn't matter, either, despite its being a grime-covered hell hole of a lair. No, he was alive again, he could feel his heart beginning to beat, and his face...his face?
His hand moved to the expanse of one brow first, and then the second, his body heaving up to sit again, a few snaps echoing as his bones made their final adjustments and he took to his feet. With a few steps, he came to a mirror.
Whole again. This was his face. His own eyes. Some things felt different - he felt, if possible, an inch or so shorter - but he was himself, with his own mind and memories...
He was taken for a moment with his own reflection before he turned, starting up and out of the basement, finding the house empty, save of its minion guardians. With a familiar pat to the largest of them, he started up the stairs, retrieving a pair of pants and a jacket, before he was outside again, leaving the house silent behind him.
Someone was going to lose their car. And he was going home.
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