The tunnel was dark as he strode through it briskly, only the faint dots of light high up on the walls hinting at the security system that protected those at the far end from unwanted interruption.
Despite the sound absorbing panels that lined the tunnel from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, and despite the silent pacing as he passed the sensors, Xander was well aware that there could be no surprising the man he was heading to see. The monitoring system would have picked him up before he even got close, no matter how good his approach might be.
The only man he knew that might possess the skills to break the security and monitoring devices that protected the chamber ahead, was the man that had devised the system in the first place.
He reached the end of the corridor, only his familiarity of the place stopping him short of the unseen barrier that lay at the end, its black steelwork merging with the darkness around it. Placing his hand against an area of the barrier no different from any other, he felt the pressure sensors merging with his palm, knowing rather than feeling the tendrils penetrating his flesh, verifying his identify down to the level of his DNA.
'Code-words please'
'Five Seven Twelve Davis Tactic Beta Seven Liverpool Nine Czech Return Sixty-three,' he replied.
'Acknowledged. Access granted.'
As the system processed both his voice print and the access codes, it was also registering his body language, billions of calculations being performed in seconds to assess his posture and threat language.
Such a system was unique, far exceeding any other in the world, but to the man on the other side, it could never be enough. With the threats of the world outside, with the activities he and his sometime companions were engaged in, the concept of too much security was a misnomer.
Xander passed through the barrier as it slid open just enough to let him through before sliding back silently on its magnetic hinges, stepping into the small chamber that lay on the other side.
As the door sealed behind him, the small circular chamber in which he stood filled with light, scanning him from head to toe and back again as he stood there, motionless. Symbols flashed around the walls – crosses, holy words, and a series of symbols, meaningless to most people, even to most involved in the demonic underworld.
'Code symbols please'
Scanning the walls of the chamber, his eyes following the symbols as they shifted around, slowly swirling around each other, he reached out, pressing his hands against one, then another, then another of the symbols in a sequence known only to a select few.
The system paused.
'Please repeat'
Again he repeated the sequence, this time adding one final symbol, the repetition one final test designed to confuse anyone attempting unauthorized access, a remnant of more primitive systems of the past, kept now as much for nostalgia's sake as for a final test.
Finally the lights dimmed, the symbols fading back into the walls as one side of the chamber appeared to melt into the floor, allowing him to pass through to the area beyond.
Even as he paced forward slowly, Xander was aware at all times of the weaponry that followed his every move. His own limited assistance in developing the defenses meant that he at least knew the limitations of what was considered permissible actions within the room around him, enough to prevent the defenses once again sparking to life.
The room was lit only by the large screen that filled an entire wall, stretching from floor to ceiling, side wall to side wall.
Three still figures sat there, facing the screen, their backs to Xander, giving no sign that they had recognized his entrance.
Reaching them, Xander pulled out a chair, and quietly sat down, not speaking as the closest thing he could come to calling a friend sat in silence with the unfamiliar pair.
The screen showed the view from a mountainside, looking out over the small town that lay below, the Pacific ocean gleaming in the distance, the beach and pier just visible. The sun was setting over the ocean, turning it into a shimmering vista of golden hues as the dying light reflected off the water.
As the sun retreated over the horizon, the group sat there in silence, the scene in front of them still beautiful after all the times they had witnessed it as the light faded, the room turning darker as it did so.
Oz spoke up softly, addressing the man now seated beside him.
'I took her there the first time I told her that I loved her. We sat there, watched the sun go down, kissed. Good times. Of all the times I recall with her, this is the one I'll never let go.'
As the sun set on the screen in front of them, Oz was no longer watching, his eyes locked on the gently smiling image of Willow that filled the small unit by his side. His eyes reflected the dying light as the sunset he had watched every night for as long as he could remember ended.
The lighter he held in his left hand sparked to life, the flame flaring up, igniting the wick of the small candle that lay next to the screen. As the sun set against the wall, sending the room into darkness, the only light left was that of the candle, illuminating the image by its side, Willow's scent filling the air.
'Bye Will. I'll see you tomorrow………….'
The small group sat there as the candle burned down, sitting there in the darkness as the flame flickered until at last it died, sending the room into complete darkness, the one ritual that was performed every night coming to an end.
As darkness finally filled the room, the bleep of another computer interrupted the quiet, signaling the start of another day.
With that bleep the room sparked to life, wall panels lighting up, the light chasing away the darkness, exposing the equipment that filled the chamber. All around were screens, wires and chips. Short wave pulse generators and fiber optic cables could be seen all around the edges of the floor and walls, the old wire cables long since outdated.
The value of the equipment in the chamber was beyond estimation. So much of it was custom designed, custom made, that the function of most of it could not even be guessed at. Like the security system, many sections were so far beyond what could be found outside this chamber that they were almost beyond price.
Had Oz been a normal person, had the events of his life not turned him into what he had become, he could have been rich beyond imagination. Any one of the items in the room would have made him a rich man on the outside, could have been sold for enough to make him comfortable for life.
But what use is money if you no longer care for the things it can buy, what use are riches when almost anything you want can be taken, stolen or made.
As the room lit up, Oz span around to face the man sitting nearby, his chair rotating on the spot. With the increased lighting filling the room, Oz could now be seen clearly for the first time.
His face was unmarked, only the suggestion of an everlasting sadness that lurked at the back of his eyes hinting at the hidden depths that lay beneath the calm expression. The expression that rarely left his face. He still appeared the man Xander had met all those years ago, looking like he could walk into the Dingo with his guitar, ready to jam badly.
His hair this time around was dark red, clashing terribly with his multi-colored t-shirt, dark stubble covering his jaw as usual. The muscles evident in his upper body were the most immediately noticeable difference to his younger self, the time spent lifting himself in and out of the chair causing his once lean body to fill out markedly.
It was only as his chair moved that one of the reasons for that sadness became apparent.
The wheelchair on which he sat was a matt black, the titanium frame dull and lifeless. The muscles evident in his legs would not have given any sign of his injuries, the electro-therapy treatments maintaining some muscle tone despite the now years he had been forced to spend without walking.
Werewolves are difficult to kill, even if the traditional stories of silver being the only way to slay one are not strictly true. After all, if you chop one up into small pieces or throw one into a volcano, it's not too likely that it's going to piece itself together and walk away.
Even with the accelerated healing that comes with anthro-morphic abilities, even with all that, certain injuries cannot be healed so easily. After all that had passed, Oz knew everything about what his body could and could not do, what it could and could not recover from.
He knew all about that.
The other two in the room appeared to ignore Xander, only an almost un-noticeable flicker of their eyes giving an indication of their unease in his presence, most of their attention drawn to the smaller screens in front of them, their fingers flying over the touch-pads, data flashing across the screens. Neither made any attempt to speak to him, or even to the man who's chamber they were working in, and Xander in turn ignored them.
Xander faced Oz, motionless. In all the time he had know the man in the chair, he had always been the talkative one, but for the first time, he found himself without the words.
'Well?'
Oz broke the silence in his usual fashion, one word followed by silence, a silence that continued as Xander failed to respond.
Oz merely studied him, as usual merely waiting for a response.
The minutes passed.
Another man would have given up, would have broken the silence, would have at least repeated the question, but this being Oz, the silence simply stretched out. He knew Xander would respond at some point, after all, if he had nothing to say, he wouldn't have come here.
Xander still didn't reply but after a time, a time that caused even Oz to begin to wonder, the stillness between them was broken.
'Clink.'
The sound of the small computing unit hitting the table between them was what had broken the silence. The same unit that Xander had carried through the carnage at the Project's compound a month earlier, bounced off the metallic surface, skipping across it towards Oz.
It lay there between the two, unmoving, as Oz stared at it, Xander turning his gaze back to the large screen in front of them. The top of the unit was still streaked with blood, the same blood that had splattered it in the midst of the battle through which it had came.
'This is….?'
'I found a site.'
Oz lifted his eyes from the unit, locking with Xander's own for the first time.
'The Project.'
A statement of fact rather than a question, knowing that if Xander had found what he was truly seeking, he would not be coming here alone.
'Yes.'
For the first time in a long time, Oz was silent for a reason other than choice. For what he had been seeking for so many years to be lying in front of him, just inches away, was enough to stun even him for a moment.
'Was there…….?'
The question didn't need to be asked. Xander knew what he wanted to know without having to hear the words.
'No. I went through the whole site, but there was no-one else. The only ones I saw outside of the demons were the scientists and the soldiers.'
'Elsewhere?'
'That's what you can find out. I downloaded their entire mainframe, but the security on it couldn't be broken.'
'Naturally'
'If you can break it, you'll have them all. Maybe you can stop them taking any more…………'
Once again Oz lapsed into silence, the possibilities that the information offered him when he decrypted it running through his mind. If Xander has managed to copy the entire mainframe then the amount of information that this small unit held could change his life, could change others lives. The years he had spent searching for a way to punish them for what they had done…..
Those who had taken his friends.
Those who had crippled him.
Those who had killed Willow.
And with that thought, the sense of satisfaction, even joy that had sparked in him, died away. For even if Xander had taken out one of the sites, even if he had killed all inside, even if they took out all the sites, ended the experiments, it would still not bring back all those that had been taken, could not bring back Willow.
Oz knew that a part of him had never moved on, had never let go of the past. What the chip represented meant a lot, but until he knew that the man responsible for the two worst events of his life was dead, he knew he could never let go of the past, no matter how much he tried.
Xander watched him, watched his changing expressions. After all this time, he could read more from Oz's face than just about anyone else, and certainly more than his words would indicate, and when he saw his expression cloud over again, he knew the reason.
'Clink.'
Once more, he placed an object on the table between them, a replica of the chip he and others had carried for years.
Xander didn't say anything, waiting for Oz to realize what it was that this meant. He didn't have to wait long. As soon as Oz saw the chip, he froze, unmoving as he stared at it.
'We don't need this anymore.'
Another minute passed in silence as Oz sat there, until he looked back up at Xander, a strange expression on his face.
'Riley…?'
Again, words appeared unnecessary, Xander merely tapping the chip with one finger.
'Yes'
With that flat words, the lack of expression on Xander's face backing up the emotionless tone, Oz appeared to crumple in his chair, shrinking even as Xander watched.
The weight that he had carried for so long, the pain, the anguish, and at the back of it all, the never ending, all consuming rage, could not simply be let go. When two words can change your life, when two words can be the answer to a twisted dream carried deep inside you, wrapped in hatred, it takes longer to absorb than it takes to hear.
'Leave………..'
The soft whisper was all Oz could manage as his mind closed in on itself, a part of it finding it difficult to take in, almost reluctant to let go of his pain.
The pair who had continued worked throughout the almost wordless conversation ceased what they were doing instantly, and without a word left the chamber through an almost invisible exit in one wall. Despite the fact that neither had met Xander in the past, there had been no attempt at an introduction or conversation the whole time they were present, nor did they make an sign of goodbye as they left, as much strangers to Xander as when he had arrived.
Xander reacted in the same manner, not trying to argue, not objecting to his dismissal. He simply stood up and made his exit back through the entrance through which he had arrived.
As he passed the now crumpled form, he paused only long enough to place his hand on Oz's shoulder for a moment, before moving on without a word.
The doorway was opening before if even before he reached it, the room darkening behind him on Oz's command and the last word he heard as he left the chamber was the same word he had spoken to Oz when he found him again all those years before.
'Willow………'
It was nearly a month before Xander saw Oz again, before word reached him in its usual indirect fashion. Both knew of ways to contact the other in an emergency, but were equally aware of the dangers of doing so, of attracting the attention of the many enemies that both had created over the years. Attempts in the past by outsiders to break the communication link, to fool one or other of them, had been met with such a response that no-one or thing had tried again, so
The single code word was enough to tell Xander to return as soon as possible, the code word just short of the emergency code – that code would be used for only 2 possible events, one that would mean destruction on a apocalyptic scale, the other that would his search was successful.
Both knew which was more likely.
The entrance through the passage was the same, only the code changed with the time and his entrance to the chamber was unhindered.
As he entered the chamber once more, the change in Oz was immediately apparent.
He had blue hair.
But aside from the color change, it was his demeanor that had changed. Still tied to his wheelchair, the deep sadness that had always seem to pervade through Oz had lifted. Although it was still there, the effects of their previous meeting were apparent, as if a heavy load had been lightened.
His body language too had changed. For the first time in years it reflected the strength that his upper body showed, that his mind had once displayed and now seemed to again. Had one seen him for the first time it would have seemed impossible for him to look any different, that the calmness and quiet strength that seemed to radiate from him was his natural state.
It obviously wasn't the first time Xander had seen him, and he knew well that a man's natural state was what circumstances dictated. People had once said he had a natural state.
Smiles
Laughter.
Bad jokes.
It was a long time since anyone he met had seen that natural state. Most of those who knew him now had never seen it.
But not matter what state, natural or otherwise, that Oz appeared to be in, the signs of tension, almost apprehension, were evident in the slight tightness of his shoulders, in the strain that marked the lines around his eyes, in sharp relief to the calm features that filled the rest of his face.
The two who had been in the chamber upon Xander's last visit were still there, almost surprising him with their presence, it having been a long time since he had seen anyone save the werewolf more than once in the hall. The fact that they still didn't speak to him came as no surprise though, his reputation proving a hindrance to normal conversation with those who knew of him.
"You called?," he called out as he entered, for a moment startling Oz with the brief flash of humor, of the boy he had once known.
'One of the tribe found something…….something you need to see……..,' he called out softly, tilting his head towards the smaller of the two still working in the background. 'It's…………not good……'
His brief flash of humor disappearing almost as if it had never been, Xander merely strode across the room, his rubber soled boots not making a sound as he moved to the console.
'What is it?
'Keeshan - ……….,' Oz spoke quietly, for the first time addressing one of the pair who had now paused in their work, their own tension evident in their postures.
'We intercepted this signal across an open band in New York. There was no encryption evident, the transmission appeared clean, if a little boring. It was a continuous feed, covering the accelerated development of an insect hive, from beginning to……..well, whenever it was deemed to finish.'
'And……..?' came the interruption.
'There was something…….wrong. I came across the feed by accident, when channel hopping, wasn't really paying attention, it was late, and something……..wasn't quite right. I still don't know what it was - when I came here the next day and studied it again I couldn't see anything wrong. Even when we ran it through the systems there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it, but for some reason I kept going, and after letting the computers work at it for a couple of days on downtime……….well, I found something.'
'Yes?'
'It's………not pleasant. We still don't know who it is, but we've traced the signal. At first we thought it was just, well, human, but there was a back image that flashed up for a while, and I……….we……….the Tamarish contacted you.'
'Tamarish?,' queried Xander.
'A title, nothing more……….,' muttered Oz quietly before continuing. 'Xander……..you need to see this.'
'Well show me then, and stop talking about it for gods sake……,' Xander interrupted again.
'Run it. And Xander, you need to plan what to do – no charging off like last time.'
'PLAY IT !!' shouted Xander, for the first time raising his voice, the tension that had risen in the room finally getting too him.
Keeshan touched the key, her small hands trembling slightly as she did so and the large screen that filled the wall at the far end of the chamber sparked to life.
When Xander had last seen the screen it had been filled with the dying sunset, the ocean, the waves. The image this time was not so perfect, was not so peaceful, and it was the broken voice that impacted first, even as his eyes made out the image as it shifted focus…….
"He'll come for me………."
The critically injured woman whispered in the darkness, more to herself than to the creatures that surrounded her, that moved in the shadows that seemed to fill the room..
"He'll come for me………."
The chains that bound her to the wall had cut deeply into her wrists, the rust that flaked from the cuffs mixing with the dried blood that coated her arms. The flesh around the cuffs could be seen even in the murk, the signs of disease evident to anyone who cared
"He'll come for me………."
The pus that had oozed from the wounds over the previous weeks had ceased a couple of days earlier, the wounds now streaked with deep, dark purple and black lines of infection, running along the line of her veins, streaking along her arms and legs.
"He'll come for me………."
They had stopped feeding from her over a week ago. The blood that ran through her body, the blood that held such power within it, had been contaminated to such an extent by now that even those who had fed on her in the past now rejected the opportunity.
"He'll come for me………."
The stench of her surroundings had caused her to heave when they first had brought her here, splattering what had remained of her clothes with her own vomit. That smell had long since faded into the background, her ability to make out one stench from another simply overloading her olfactory senses.
"He'll come for me………."
The rags that covered her back were stiff as she moved slightly. The deep cuts that lay below the fabric had bled continuously for days, a slow steady seep that had drained her body of energy. Had she been anyone else, the blood loss and shock would have killed her long ago, but the energy contained within her blood stream had kept her alive despite what had happened.
"He'll come for me………."
Whether this was a blessing or a curse was a matter of opinion, but for those who watched her, and the even wider audience that had followed her progress, her continued survival simply meant further opportunities for pleasure and wagers.
"He'll come for me………."
Her eyes hadn't opened in hours, the swelling around her left eye, forcing it closed only contrasted against the empty socket that lay along side it. They had taken her right eye on the first day of her capture, taunting her as they scooped it out. Had it not been for their desire that she be able to witness what was happening to her, she knew they would have taken the other long ago.
"He'll come for me………."
Early in the ordeal she had prayed for the first time since she was a little girl.
For rescue.
For escape.
For survival..
As time had moved on, so had her prayers, shifting from words of hope to a prayer for the opposite.
For an end to her suffering.
For a relief from the pain.
For death.
Her prayers had gone unanswered, her screams unheeded. She knew she was beyond help now, that there was nothing that could be done to save her, and as her tormented mind began to fracture, as the walls of sanity that her will had managed to maintain begun to crumble under the torture had, all other thoughts had gradually ceased to exist, forced out as her mind became able to sustain only one thought.
Only the one thought, over and over again, sometimes spoken, whispering from her cracked and bloodied lips, sometimes silent, running through her mind like a revolving sign, but always there, almost blocking out the pain, almost overriding what was happening to her, almost drowning out the sounds around her.
Almost.
'He'll come for me………….'
Even in her current state, a part of her knew that she was almost beyond help, that even her powers of healing and recovery could not save her life without magical assistance. Her conscious mind could no longer summon the clarity of function to realize this, but the part of the mind that cannot be fooled, that merely observes the world from deep inside knew this, knew she was merely delaying the inevitable.
Even the distant part of the mind can cling to the same idea as the conscious area, can focus on the same idea.
But as the front of the dying woman's brain repeated the words over and over again, the hind part, the deep part, the dark part, added to itself just a few words more.
"He'll come for me………."
'And he'll kill you all…….'
The signal cut out, the sound died, leaving only a black screen as the group sat there in silence for a moment before Xander spoke.
'The address………..?' he growled.
'Xander, we….,' Oz tried to calm him.
It was like trying to stop a glacier with a campfire.
'You saw the mole. You saw it and you know what that means….. you know who she is!! I made a promise. Damnit Oz, you KNOW that. I don't have a choice and you know why.'
'Xander, you need to ……..'
'You saw it Oz, you know who it is, you know why she's there……'
'And you know as well. She may be too far gone. She may be dead. We lost the signal 2 days ago and haven't found it since – and you know we should have done.'
The logic was inescapable, and as fast as Xander's outburst has begun it was broken, as fast as his cold rage had risen it was stilled. For a second or two it even silenced him. But logic can only calm a rage – it can't end it entirely.
'You've never met her and the odds on her still living are tiny Xander. You know it and I know it.'
'You know it isn't just her Oz. You think she's the only one to suffer like that? You think I haven't………it doesn't matter, and you know it. You know what we have to do, what I have to do and you know why. It's why you called me here. You saw the same pictures, you saw the same things, and you know what I have to do….'
'Some say you don't care anymore Xander. That you don't save them anymore. There are rumors that………'
Oz didn't quite finish his response, his voice trailing off into silence, unwilling to voice the question. He knew almost everything about his long time companion, but there had always been lines that had never been crossed.
'Rumors? There have always been rumors Oz, there always will be. What particular rumor is this one?'
He'd wondered when the question would arise. It had been inevitable that Oz would ask it at some point, with his sources of information he was almost surprised that it had taken until now for it to be voiced.
'The rumors say that you've killed……….'
'The rumors are true.'
That was it.
No explanations.
No excuses.
Voicing the terrible truth that he had done what once would have been impossible for him.
He'd killed a slayer.
Oz merely studied him in silence, regarding him through half-closed eyes, faint creases around them the only sign of the activity running through his mind.
'But you still have to save this one?'
Oz had heard the rumors.
But being Oz, he'd also heard the background behind those same rumors, had heard the details that would normally be ignored, lost in the shadows.
'This one is innocent'
That was all Xander had to say. He knew his reasons, and his were the only ones that mattered. Right or wrong, for good or bad. He had no doubts, no misgivings, knew he would do the same again.
Easy to tell himself in the light.
Harder to believe in the darkness.
That was all Oz had to hear though. This was not his business, and, beyond his debt to Xander, not his concern. He had his own issues, his own priorities, priorities more important than debating the grey areas of their lives. Sometimes repaying a debt is more important than being right.
Keeshan spoke up for the first time without being addressed, her inbuilt desire for knowledge, part of the reason she was here in the first place, overwhelming her natural reserve, overwhelming even her apprehension of the scarred figure beside her.
'I don't understand. Who is she? What did you mean about the mole? The Tamarish is right, she's probably dead already. You're……… well…..you. If you've never met her before, why do you care?,' she questioned, puzzlement showing in her tone, the images of the screen appearing to have no effect on her emotions.
'I don't care for her,' Xander replied. 'I care because that mole on her shoulder, the fact that she was still alive in that condition and the demons that showed in the clip can mean only one thing. That girl is a Slayer.'
He spoke the last sentence as if his words were enough, as if just saying it had answered all of Keeshan's questions, as if they had a layer of meaning that went beyond mere language.
To the man, to the werewolf, in the wheelchair, they did, but lacking the knowledge that Oz carried, lacking the familiarity needed to interpret the response, Keeshan could only ask again,
'But why do you need to do anything? And why does the Tamarish need to help you?'
Oz's eyes met Xander's, a sad twitch of his lips his only response to the question.
'I help because Xander has asked me to,' Oz replied.
'And you – why do you care, why do you help?,' she continued to the dark figure beside him.
Xander made eye contact with her for the first time, a deep sadness now emanating from his eyes, the rage that had flared only moments earlier now gone, an icy resolve beginning to take its place.
……….
……
…
..
'I made a commitment. I can't break it, can't avoid it, can't forget it……
'I made a promise to a friend.'
It had taken almost a full day to reach the garage. Without a witch or mage in the area with the skill to prepare a transportation spell in the time available, he had been forced to fly, and even with a chartered jet at top speed, it had taken time.
Time they all knew the woman………..the girl…………didn't have.
He had arrived at the outskirts of the city behind schedule, a victim of the increased security that seemed to pervade the city following the events of his last visit. The police presence on the streets had increased markedly, despite the decimation of their armed response units, and necessitated a number of detours to avoid the occasional random stop-points. He couldn't afford the risk that there were other agencies involved in the stops and crowds were no help - there were some agencies out there that would think nothing of taking him out without consideration for anyone else in the area.
Rolling his rental car into the garage already arranged for him, his phone had rung even as the shutters were rolling down behind him, as if Oz had tracked him all the way here.
Knowing Oz's sources, that wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.
The message Oz had to convey darkened even his black mood, sending an almost perceptible shadow across the room even as he cursed.
'What the hell do you mean they're not here?,' Xander growled down the line, holding his temper in check by a thread. 'I thought you could guarantee assistance for this one, Oz – we don't have the time to stake the place out for long before I go in and I need the extra firepower.'
The low response from his distant friend didn't serve to calm him down any further, although it did manage to cut short his mounting tirade.
'Dead? How can they be dead? You only spoke to them a few hours ago?'
'……………..'
Again Oz's muffled response cut him short.
'What do you mean they got hit by a bus? They're werewolves, for hell's sake – how did a bus kill them?!'
'…………….……'
'What do mean, it was what happened after they got hit by the bus?'
'…………….……'
'A piano?'
'…………….……'
'You're telling me that………never mind, we can deal with that later. I may know a couple who might help me out if I can find them. Did your pack manage to get the gear I needed before he got them?
'…………….……'
'Pack, group, what's the difference…..?'
'…………………'
'All right then, I'm gone. If I make it out, I'll need somewhere to stash her, and this isn't my turf – make sure the healer is in place. If she's still alive, she'll need more than normal medical treatment and we can't use the private doctor after what happened last time.'
'…………….……'
'No, he's still in a coma.'
'…………….……'
'I've got to get moving – I'll let you know either way, later on…….'
Cutting the phone off without waiting for a response, Xander stared at the display for a moment, the bizarreness of the conversation enough to give him pause for a moment before the reality of the situation kicked back in.
Slipping back out of the garage, this time on foot, he started out into the sunshine, slipping his shades on as he went, the almost visible threat emanating from him enough to send the nearby pedestrians scattering from his path.
<I wonder if they'll be happy to see me again?>
Sara could feel them as she walked down the hallway, the sideways looks that followed her wherever she went, the furtive glances as people tried to avoid eye-contact while still watching her progress.
Not all of them were successful as she glared at everyone she passed, deliberately trying to meet their eyes as she went, daring them to face her, to have the courage to meet her on her own terms. Those who weren't fast enough to avert their eyes were quick to look down, preferring to stare foolishly at the floor than to risk being associated with her.
The whispers that followed her were enough to drive a sane person mad, conversations cutting short as she strode past small groups and pairs, sentences cut off in mid-word, only to resume after she had passed, this time in hushed tones.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were all whispering about. The stories that surrounded her and her new partner had only grown over the past few months, the rumors only growing more wild as time passed.
In truth even the wildest rumors couldn't come close to the truth. How can you tell strangers, never mind the people you work with, that half the city's SWAT teams were killed by demons ?
Her partner hadn't exactly helped her. They'd watched the adjacent building burn, witnessed the bodies of both their friends and the fiends who had killed them incinerated in the flames. Only when the building had collapsed in on itself, the roof crashing down in sheets of fire and waves of explosions, had they moved, slowly making their way down the building's fire escape, supporting each other as they went.
With their radios out and the collapse of the building they had entered only a short while before still ringing in their ears, their re-appearance had stunned everyone, from the survivors on the ground to the news-crews just breaking through the police barriers. A picture of them emerging from the smoke, covered in grime and dust, their faces plastered in the blood of each other and their friends, had headlined the story across the world.
For Travers though, the short time between watching his rescuer disappear from view and his arrival on the ground had been enough to fracture something in his control. The horror of what he had been forced to witness had rendered him almost comatose – by the time they had reached the surface, his already sparse conversation had petered out, and as the questions had flown at them from all sides, his mind had temporarily shut down, one last defense mechanism to save his sanity.
By the time he had recovered, it was as if a switch had been flicked inside his mind. The death of his fiancée, torn apart by the falling glass, had killed something inside him. He now appeared capable of only two emotions, depression and anger, and at all times he seemed only a step away from either suicide or going postal. He rarely spoke, the lies they had been forced to tell the investigators preventing him being able to discuss his issues with anyone other than herself, and he seemed unwilling to open up to anyone other than the smallest degree.
Sara knew that a part of what had kept her own sanity had been the effort of helping her friends, of helping the only other person who might understand what she had been through. She could understand why he had blocked it out, could understand why he tried to force himself to forget. She would like to be able to do so herself, might even have been able to, if it had not been for one thing….
…no matter how terrified she had been during that whole disaster, no matter how much death and pain she had witnessed, she could not remember being more scared than when she had seen his face at close range. The muzzle pressed against her eye, the broken ribs when he had beaten her, had still been less scary than his expression, and even after all these months, it was that expression that still featured in her nightmares.
So when she finally escaped from the public gaze of the rest of the department, making her way into the isolated offices that the pair of them had gradually been pressured into –
'it'll do the pair of you some good, take the pressure off you, allow you to get your heads straight'
- she was unimpressed to find her now partner with his back up against the wall, his hands clinging tightly to the padded arms of his steel framed chair, his feet scrabbling against the floor, trying to drive his chair even further backwards. The dent in the wall behind him showed the speed at which he had flung himself away from the doorway, the impact cracking the dirty plaster, marring its surface.
She was a moment away from cursing him out before she noticed the expression on his face.
Terror.
Not apprehension, nor fear – terror.
She had only once seen anything close to that expression on his face before, and that was………….
<Oh Shit!!>
Even as her mouth formed the questions that his appearance generated, her mind locked on to something that her eyes had missed in the first instant of her entrance - he wasn't looking at her, in fact did not appear to have even noticed that she had come through the door. Even as she realized that his eyes were locked on something just a couple of feet to her right and behind her, she was turning, ripping her gun from its shoulder holster, flicking the safety off in one smooth motion.
The movement took less than a second - the long hours of practice clearly showing as she moved on instinct - but it did her no good. An iron hand wrapped itself around the barrel of her gun even as it was leaving the holster, and her spinning turn was ended with the sound of a pistol cocking millimeters from her ear.
She froze in mid-motion, releasing her grip on the pistol and allowing it to drop back into its holster. Even as she was preparing to speak, the reason for Travers's terror voiced itself, and in that voice, she once again was introduced to her own fears……..
'Hello again, Sara ………..'
Sometimes, it almost seems fitting when battles take place in the darkness, rather than the harsh light of day. That the killing and death is hidden from the sight of the innocent. Sometimes, it seems that some battles are predestined to be fought in the dark, that they could not take place at any other time.
But sometimes, it's just that you've run out of time.
The sun was beginning to set as Xander lay on the rooftop, studying the building almost a mile away through the laser-guided sights of his rifle. It was the same weapon he had used in the assault against the compound deep in the jungle, only a month earlier. The scope magnified the light to an extent that he could have been watching in the middle of day or the middle of the night, and seen no difference in clarity.
Xander's gear was similar to the last time he'd come to New York, only a few months earlier. His mission then had been unsuccessful, his visit in vain, salvaged only by the opportunity to kill those he had fought for what seemed his whole life now.
The false information that had led him there that time had meant only the deaths of more demons, the witnessing of the murders of the SWAT teams, and a slaughter that had made headlines across the world. His own involvement had never come out, despite the witnesses – the destruction of the building and his own holy water grenades having given investigators little to work with. Exactly why the two survivors had never mentioned him wasn't a matter of any consideration for him – even had they spoken out, he knew his name would never have hit the news.
Too many powerful groups out for his head would prevent that.
The same swords hung from his reversed scabbards across his back; the same grenades and knives still clung to his armored frame. The guns, shurikens, spikes and edges that had covered his body then were present once more, turning him into a walking – or at this instant, laying – weapon of destruction.
His re-appearance in their lives hadn't gone down too well. Sara had managed to control her own fear enough to respond to him; Travers, on the other hand, had just closed in on himself, locking the fear deep inside. He had hardly spoken since Xander had appeared silently behind him, becoming only more taciturn as the situation had been explained to them both.
That they owed him a debt that he was calling in.
But as the realization of what he was being asked to fight had sunken in, as Xander explained just what he would be facing, Travers's fear had gradually changed to rage. A rage that now seemed but a skin's depth away from erupting, from destroying Travers along with anything around him.
The Xander of the past would have said something to him, because of that; a comment, a word of commiseration, anything...but the Xander of today said nothing, just treating his rage as a tool to be used.
In any case the descendant of the Harris clan could not help but think to himself, why should he sympathize with the guy? Travers, at least, knew what had happened to his loved ones, he knew that it had been quick. He didn't have to cope with the memories, or be faced with…
A movement in a window opposite broke the former Zeppo from his musings before the memories even began, his scope locking onto a flicker behind the darkened glass.
<Time.>
'Are you ready?' he spoke to the two crouched figures beside him.
'No…but then that doesn't really matter, does it?' Sara replied, clutching the rifle in her now-sweaty hands
It took only minutes to travel down to the ground level, their journey hampered only by the need to shift the weapons with them.
And only seconds for it to begin.
'He's coming…'
Her mantra had changed just a few short hours earlier, a small change that had gone unnoticed at first; the demons now so used to her whispering in the darkness, that even those tasked to guard her had ceased to listen.
The Slayer's physical condition had definitely worsened in the day since Xander had been shown her image in Technicolor, gradually growing weaker with every hour. Her chin still lay against her chest, her hair obscuring her face, just as in the intercepted transmission. But now even the semblance of strength that had still been evident then, was missing.
Only her mind remained, and only a small part of it at that. The rest was concentrated on keeping her vital functions going, on keeping her alive for just a little longer, dragging out her life, minute by minute.
To those who had watched the girl's deterioration from the start, her condition now was merely a possible source of money on the flourishing betting pool. On how many minutes longer – on whether she would move, on whether she would lift her head – but to those here guarding her, her continued survival was merely a source of annoyance and frustration.
The amusement they'd had at first, of watching a woman of her power in this state, had faded; boredom taking its place. It takes a certain type of person to gain pleasure from watching a slow deterioration, and these demons weren't exactly the type to make the best of a dull situation.
'Why doesn't she just die, for Graldin's sake? This is driving me nuts,' the Damerish demon muttered to his companion. 'If she won't just buy the farm on her own, why can't we just kill her?'
'You know why,' another demon standing beside him replied. 'Do you really want to be responsible for answering to Bolo, about something like that? Do you want to face him, and explain what happened to his so-called entertainment? For that matter, do you want to shell out on the dough for all the bets on this hour? Don't be so–'
His dismissive response was cut short by the sounds from below…
KABOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The gangs that controlled this street, indeed all the streets in the area, were enough to keep almost anyone away. Buses, postal workers, cops – all of them were afraid to venture here without support. And even with that support, most still refused. This was a no-go area for all those not invited, or without the money to buy the goods for sale.
But even the gangs that roamed the streets in defiance of both authorities and the dangers of those who prey on even them, had now made themselves scarce. The sight of three black-clad figures in body armor striding down the middle of a street would have been enough to give them pause.
Not to mention the sheer size and quantity of the arsenal that appeared to be draped around them.
Sure, but the gangs knew all about body armor and firepower. They'd seen the police suits, SWAT teams and DEA agents in their neighborhood before; hell, they'd proudly traded gunfire with them as well.
But what they'd never seen before was what can happen when the line that separates them and those that oppose them disappears. When they came face to face with people willing to challenge them on their own turf, by their own rules.
The van itself had drawn some initial looks as it had drawn to a halt in the middle of the most dangerous of all the streets, commonly know as Block 17.
It had drawn more attention when the gangs had taken note of the tinted, wraparound windows common to law enforcement.
And it had drawn all their attention when, as the minutes passed, it had still hadn't moved, nor had anyone come out.
So when the civilians had drifted from the area, and the enforcers had arrived to investigate, not one of them was ready for what had happened…
Xander had simply stepped out from the van, jumping down from the sliding door that filled the left side of the vehicle. A smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke billowing in front of his face, the match used to light it still held loosely between his fingers.
A slow glance around the area, not much more than a turn of the head, hadn't exactly caused much of an impression on the growing group that had begun to surround him, either. And when Xander had slowly turned his back on them and reached into the van, that hadn't scared them as well.
But when he'd turned back from the van, his arms wrapped around the single largest weapon they'd ever seen – something that looked like an M-60 on steroids – well, that had been enough to worry most of the gang members.
And when he flicked the safety off, cocking the weapon as he did so, his eyes like that of an uncaring war god – that had been enough to worry every single one of them.
What had cleared the streets and sent them all scattering for cover, what had ended their threat potential, had been the realization that what they were facing – or rather, WHO they were facing – was no cop.
Because cops didn't carry those kinds of guns.
Cops didn't cock those kinds of guns.
And most importantly, unless they were the L.A. zombies of the past, cops didn't open fire without warning like that, without even paying attention to where they're aiming. They didn't mow down a dozen gangbangers in seconds, shattering shins and knees as the rapid gunfire chewed up the ground around them, the casualties seemingly almost incidental.
And they didn't then simply turn their backs and just walk away, afterwards.
The rocket launcher was a new toy, though where exactly it had come from, not even he knew. He could guess at its effects though, and even as he flipped it onto his shoulder, his automatic still slung over the other arm, the last of the gang-bangers took to their heels.
The backwash from the rocket's path sent newspapers and cans spiralling into the air as the vacuum created by the projectile's path sucked in the surrounding area to fill the gap, but even as the missile was still on its path, Xander was already sliding it back inside the van, a faint wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel's exit.
Most of the front doors simply vaporised with the force of the rocket, fired directly at it from a distance of only 30 or so feet, enough to shake the whole building. Indeed, it was enough to send a shockwave through the entire damn neighborhood, shattering windows in the process, sending the litter and trash that filled the streets spinning and swirling into the air.
In a respectable part of the city, this would have been enough to set off multiple car alarms, to send citizens rushing onto the scene, to bring the authorities down upon the lawbreakers like the wrath of God.
But in this neighbourhood it had only the opposite effect, and as the three people strode down the street, there was no one around to challenge them.
Sara oozed tension; her discomfort at the area, at Xander's actions and the situation ahead making her the most nervous of the three, but determined to carry out her role. Drawing on her experience, her reserves, and her inner strength, she simply braced herself for the task ahead.
Sara knew her job, her training, and what she owed the men she was with. And with that, she could work through her fear.
She was a professional. Trained and ready.
Travers on the other hand had no such fear or nervousness. The pain and grief that he had suffered with the death of the only woman he had ever loved had left him, to be replaced by the sensation of pure, unadulterated rage now pouring from him in waves of red emotion.
That part of the mind that controls unconscious impulses, that prevents your emotions from ruling your actions, had fallen silent. The terror that Xander had induced in him, as the memories had been brought back – was now absent.
He was a berserker. Rage and anger was all he felt.
Xander also radiated anger, but his was different. It was controlled, focused. Even a stranger could see the passion beneath the surface, held in check by an act of will; the fires within a hair's breadth from the surface. But if Travers's fire was out of control, his was frozen, turned to ice. Despite the inner fury, what was most scary was his level of control, the manner in which Xander held himself as he moved.
He was a killer. Pure and simple.
'He's coming…'
The woman's muttering had continued without cessation, even the huge explosion from below having no effect. Whether or not she had even heard the blast was in doubt, as her damaged body didn't even flinch as the sounds echoed throughout the building.
Those inside the rest of the residence heard it though, and after the first moments of stunned silence, they reacted. Her guards could clearly hear the sounds of thudding feet and howls.
'What the hell was that?' shouted the first, half-deaf from the sudden noise, its sensitive ears ringing from the blast.
His smarter companion didn't respond to the question immediately, having flung itself into a defensive position in a corner; eons-old instincts rising to the fore, overriding his higher senses.
Only when he was crouched in the shadows, his blades extended in front of him in his clan's traditional fighting stance, did he answer. 'Contact Bolo – now!! If no one else has thought to warn him something's happening, there'll be hell to pay...'
As the other guard scrambled to the nearby contact unit, the demon, Varlas, turned to the woman chained against the wall. And for the first time in hours, actually listened to what she was saying.
'Who's coming? Who the hell is out there?' he snarled fruitlessly at her, his canines inches from her nose, fighting the temptation to approach the captive and force a response. Tense he might be, but it would take more than a single explosion before he would risk disobeying a direct order from the owner of this building.
The four guards who had been standing in the entrance hall never even knew there was anything wrong. The rocket had travelled faster than the sound of its own passage, reaching the doors even as the sound wave followed.
The triple-barred, inches-thick steel doors had been considered enough for almost all eventualities; the security cameras, peepholes and concrete reinforcements merely extra precautions. With the gangs in the area paid enough to buy their loyalty, and everyone else too scared of them to try to challenge their limited presence in the 'hood, it had always been considered that the odds on anyone even reaching the building were too slim to be concerned over.
Overly-long experience of this state of affairs meant that the guards believed in the building's impregnability even as they died, their year-long poker game for puppies (kittens being only for small- timers) never to be finished. The steel of the doors, which should have guaranteed their safety, was ultimately to prove exactly the opposite, with fragments of shrapnel bursting inwards with the explosive impact of the projectile.
As the door broke inwards with the force of the impact, ragged shards flying through the air, the fireball from the explosion followed. The air heating up in its path, expanding as it progressed, further accelerated the now-lethal airborne fragments.
The guards standing only yards from the entrance died even before the sound wave had reached the far wall, their gray scaled bodies torn apart in an instant. Blood and guts splattered the walls of the entrance before the wave of fire that followed an instant later ignited their clothes, along with the furniture that surrounded them.
The flames were still spluttering as the trio reached the entrance, creeping up the wall as the tapestries that lavishly, if ill- advisably, decorated the large entrance hall. Smoke started to pour from the drapes, now ragged and torn from the explosion.
As the black-clad group came through the entrance, the first wave of reinforcements came hurtling into the hallway, throwing themselves through the flames and smoke that clouded the chamber. Unfortunately for them, the trio had already passed through the entrance and hugged the walls, awaiting the charge, and as the demons broke through the haze, their bodies took on the appearance of paper targets at a firing range.
Not the smartest of approaches when faced with a highly experienced invading force.
As they came through the narrow entrance, the onrushing horde were caught in the deadly spray offered up by the huge automatic weapon carried by Xander, with those not cut down in the first deadly wave picked off by his two companions.
And as the last of them dropped, or rather flew back under the impact of a dozen rounds, the room fell almost silent again, with only the background crackling of the flames breaking the quiet. That area of the room not on fire now glowed with the blood of the now-dead demons; a strange mixture of fluorescent greens and blue, the reflection of the flames causing the bloody pools to shimmer.
'We have to move – quickly,' Xander barked. 'Those front guards were Kalzani demons, which means this must be their building – they always use their own tribe on the entrance. That means they won't be holding her in the basement. She'll be on one of the upper floors, so we have to move fast. Travers, take the rear. I'll take point. Now, let's go!'
Instinctively obeying orders, the two remaining survivors of the SWAT team disaster immediately fell into formation as they strode through the doors and down the hallway that faced them. With the entire block forming one building, there was no telling how many hostiles they might be facing inside, so their weapons constantly swept through the air, trying to cover all angles, all situations, at the same time.
The alarm had sounded throughout the building when the second wave of guards had not responded to calls, alerting all those within. With the size of the place, and the type of activities that went on within it, not all of its inhabitants paid full attention to that – or indeed, could have paid full attention to it. But there were enough that did to send the building into a hive of activity.
Given the lack of warning of any attack, and the sheer confusion that had erupted as a result however, that hive of activity took some time to produce any useful results. As when you have large numbers of armed individuals running around without a chain of command, many of them already suspicious of each other, and with no leadership to speak of – well, that can never result in anything positive.
So it was that as Xander advanced through the war zone, his huge weapon shredding demons and causing death as he went, the confusion only spread.
The flames from the entrance had rapidly spread throughout the building, racing up the narrow stairwells, but the smoke from the fires had travelled even faster, clouding the vision of all those who encountered it.
By the time that they had reached the fourth floor, the smoke was such that a single shot fired down a corridor was sufficient to set off a chain reaction of gunshots in response, as the increasingly nervous demons let loose immediately at the sound.
That chain reaction proved extremely useful on this floor, as the massed group of demons that together might have been able to stop the trio instead proceeded to waste their efforts, and more importantly their lives, in fighting each other. Each group was convinced that it was the other that had started it all, their curses and shouts filling the air.
'Traitors!!'
'Murderers!!'
'Barnkaaglows!!'
'Rabbits!!'
That last one actually caused a lull in the fighting for a few seconds, being obscure enough to break through even the screams of pain and gunfire, until the caller was cut down by his clan's long- time rivals, taking the opportunity to pay back long-festering grievances.
With the weaponry, both natural and man-made (or in some cases, demon- made) that the defending group possessed, the battle was brutal in the extreme – as the demons clawed, slashed, bit and shot all around them in a desperate bid for their own survival.
The fact that those they were now fighting worked for the same employer as themselves, and that should be fighting with them rather than against them, was being lost in the confusion. The stench of cordite and blood sending their synapses into overdrive, the bloodlust overwhelming the slightly more rational sides of their brains.
With the group contributing to their own slaughter from the inside, the addition of the invading trio sniping at them from the stairwell from the cover of the flames and smoke was enough to cut the once- large group down in short order. With only the moans and growls left, where once merciless killers had awaited their assault.
Xander, Sara and Travers had advanced cautiously through the carnage, stepping carefully over and around the mangled bodies that now filled the corridor. The moans of the demons stopped with their advance, a bullet through the head finishing off those still alive after Xander's passage.
With the floor slippery with gore, the sudden slip and fall of Sara shouldn't have come as a surprise – even with the care that had been the singular trait of her passage. The fact that she landed softly rather than against the hard floor didn't come as any comfort for her, given that what was now cushioning her bottom was the inner organs of the disembowelled Garlak demon that had been the erstwhile leader of the corridor's defenders.
'Damn it!!' she cursed, lifting her hand to her mouth in the instinctive human reaction to avoid throwing up. Unfortunately, the fact that that same hand was now coated in a mixture of the demon's faeces and intestinal fluids wasn't exactly designed to assist her.
The torrent of vomit that naturally resulted only contributed further to the evil stench that filled the immediate area, but at least had the fortunate aspect – at least for Sara – of overwhelming the smell coming from her hand and backside.
Climbing to her feet, desperately trying to avoid spending any more time in that disgusting, and more importantly exposed, position, Sara spat out the last traces of vomit across the corridor, unable to wipe her mouth off due to the substances that now coated her hands and sleeves.
'Eeeeewwwww…'
The faint whisper went almost unheard amongst the other sounds that still echoed around the corridor, activity from above and below mixing with the occasional crunching sound as the group's combat boots landed heavily on outstretched hands.
Unfortunately for the small Hedanshi demon that had reacted badly to the vomit spat into one of its eyes, the wound-up state that accompanies those in active combat mode meant that all three of the group heard it. Resulting in an immediate volley of gunshots in its general direction, and sending it scrambling from beneath the bodies it had been attempting to hide under.
Those shots caused little effect on the small armored body, but the sudden thrust of Sara's blade through its shoulder had more impact, stopping its attempts to escape in a spurt of purple blood.
Even as a second blade was on its way down, this time from Travers, Xander's hand lashed out, stopping the downward momentum in an instant.
'What the fu-?'
Sara's query at Xander's action was cut short, 'Hedanshi demon. They're servile little bastards, but they always seem to know what's going on around them.'
Xander relaxed his grip on the knife, leaving it suspended a fraction away from the demon's eye in the grip of a clearly-unhinged Travers.
'Where is she?' Xander asked calmly, allowing the blade imbedded in the small demon's shoulder and the second blade held millimetres from its eye to impart the seriousness of his request.
'Who?' the demon tried to avoid the question, playing dumb. Not the hardest of tasks for a Hedanshi demon, who despite the information they generally possessed, weren't exactly the smartest of creatures, being employed primarily for their servile attitude towards anything more powerful than themselves.
'Wrong answer.'
Travers plunged his blade into the demon's eyeball, plucking it from its socket and flicking it away from his body. The Hedanshi screamed...
Returning the blade to the demon's face, the SWAT team officer pressed the tip against the demon's second eyeball and watched as Xander repeated his question.
'Where is she? And you should know, I'm perfectly willing to let him take out all four of your eyes, if that's what it takes.'
The demon cracked, as most creatures do when faced with the certain loss of sight. 'Fifth floor, at the end. Two guards. They say she hasn't long left. Odds are from the betting pool, 3 more hours...'
'Thank you,' Xander replied politely as Travers buried the knife deep into the demon's skull, ending its whimpering quickly.
The team leader then looked at the others. 'Okay, fifth floor, we're going to have to move quickly. This place has too many demons for my liking, much more than I'd expected. We don't have the manpower or ammunition for a long battle, so we gotta move fast...'
Heading down the hallway to the stairwell, Xander paused only long enough to swap the drum magazine of his hybrid weapon before sliding through the fire door and heading up the stairway. Not hesitating for even a second, as he swept the stairs above him with a brief burst, clearing it of the panicked forms trying to escape the smoke and flames of the upper levels.
Sara and Travers followed, carefully stepping over the bodies littering the steps, Sara watching for potential threats on the upper levels through the tendrils of smoke filling the stairwell while Travers covered the lower ramps.
Seeing what appeared to be a barrel jutting over a railing and knowing that there were no civilians in the building, she unleashed two three-round bursts and heard a gratifying scream a second before a machine pistol fell past her down the stairwell, followed immediately by a dark scaly figure. Behind her, Travers' rifle roared repeatedly, eliciting numerous screams that slowly died away into an interminable chorus of moans and groaning pleas for aid or mercy, all of which were ignored.
Xander was already at the exit door, shoving several bodies aside with his foot to clear enough space for the door to open, and the two hurried to catch up.
Sara could hear the loud cough of the brunette's weapon as she hurried up the stairs, and she found herself at the head of a T- intersection of two hallways, already littered with assorted demon corpses torn to pieces, their blood staining the walls and limbs scattered haphazardly across the floor.
Seeing nothing living down the base leg of the T-junction, the human woman turned to her left to cover Xander's back as he faced down the other arm of the tee, hosing the corridor down with carefully controlled bursts.
A slightly darker hint of movement among the shadows near the end of the hallway encouraged her to loose two more quick, three-round bursts, and she was rewarded with a short scream of pain and the collapse of a grotesquely-proportioned scaly grey bulk to the floor of the corridor. A twitch of one seven-fingered hand encouraged Sara to put another three round group through its head, splattering the floor around it with clumps of iridescent yellow brain matter.
As he slid through the doorway a bare second after Sara, Travers pulled the pin on one of the grenades Xander had given them and lobbed it down the stairway to greet the hordes hurrying up to meet them. The horrified screams of the lead demons as they recognized the gun-metal grey sphere bouncing down to meet them, was muffled by the door closing behind him, then drowned out by the noise of the blast.
The corridors before them was filled with a thick, choking smoke, just like the lower levels had been, necessitating their moving in a semi-crouched position in order to be able to see the area ahead of themselves. Approximately twenty yards down the hall, the trio could make out a small lobby-like area, in which two sets of elevator doors were visible, along with the no-longer-bleeding bodies of nearly a dozen demons.
Xander immediately started down the hallway, the muzzle of his weapon traversing a short arc back and forth across the area before him as he moved. As a door further down the hall on the left cracked open the slightest bit, three rounds erupted from the gun and ripped through laminated surface, chest-high. A muffled thud could be heard faintly, as the door immediately slammed closed again.
Carefully stepping go over a wide assortment of bodies as they made their way down the hall, the trio's passage was unimpeded by so much as a cockroach crossing their path. Upon reaching the end of the hall, they discovered that the corridor dead-ended at a single door.
'The Hedanshi said she was at the end,' Xander repeated thoughtfully, as he gazed down the short length of the hallway to the door behind which the purpose of their mission was being held.
'Okay, we need to be very careful now, we can't afford any 'friendly fire' incidents here. I haven't come this far, just to get her accidentally killed. Switch to the shotguns I gave you,' he instructed. 'The rounds are made from blessed sliver, and should play hell with almost anything we meet. You two get the door open, then I'll take over,' Harris said in a no-nonsense voice, as he dropped his rifle to the floor and drew his sword from its scabbard on his back, while his left hand held a 9mm Beretta.
Slinging their assault rifles over their shoulders and unlimbering the Atchison assault shotguns they had been given, Sara and Travers took up positions on either side of the doorframe, preparing for their entry. From the corner of her eye, Sara seemed to catch a subdued sparkle from the symbols inscribed on Xander's blade, the runes glinting dully under the hall's fluorescent lighting.
At a silent nod from Sara indicating her readiness, Travers held up his left hand and began an unspoken countdown as Sara levelled her shotgun at the doorknob assembly, taking up the slack on her trigger. As he reached 'zero,' Sara fired, blasting the lock assembly to innumerable small fragments of scrap metal, followed immediately by Travers kicking in the door.
Travers led the way through the doorway, shotgun blazing as he went in, Sara sweeping in behind him, granting him the covering fire required for the maneuver to work successfully.
The two demons that had been guarding the Slayer had little time to react, and even less time to respond.
The thing was that Varlas had always pictured himself dying in hand- to-hand combat at the hands of another of his kind, his honor intact. Perhaps it would be over a female, or over a bet – but whatever the circumstances, it was always in a noble fashion, bringing fame to his clan and memory.
The one thing that he had never pictured, that all his experience had never led him to imagine – indeed, had led him to believe could never happen – was dying at the hands of some filthy, degenerate human.
But Travers' gunshot sent him flying across the room, the large- caliber blessed slugs carrying enough energy to lift him clean off his feet and slam him against the wall, missing the chained body of the prisoner by inches.
Even as Varlas was trying to work out how the hell this had happened, Xander was upon him, slicing down with his sword, the blessed surface causing the demon's flesh to burn horribly even as it was being cut open and cauterizing the wound even as it was created.
There was almost no blood as a result; the arteries seared shut, preventing the blood flowing.
His companion, however, more than made up for that.
With Xander concentrating on Varlas, Travers and Sara had focused on the only other demon left that was standing on the far side of the room. The twin blasts of their weapons echoing each other as they advanced, meant the demon was not allowed to shake off the effects of each shot as they came.
With enough bullets, almost any creature will go down; and the moment it did, the advancing pair concentrated on the one method of killing that has no equal bar none.
Decapitation.
Lacking the razor-sharp sword used by their recruiter, the two police officers had to improvise. But to be honest – what with both of them carrying large weapons, with large bullets, the muzzles only a few inches from the neck, there wasn't a great deal of improvisation actually needed.
The twin blasts took out half the neck in an instant, and the follow- up gunshots finished the job, shredding the demon's neck, and sending his vital fluids splattering against the floor.
Even as the blood pumped out, slowly pooling on the ground, somehow appearing to keep coming despite the demon's obvious death, the pair got moving. Travers to cover the doorway through which they had just come, Sara to the critically-injured girl hanging from the chains; trying, with Xander's help, to lift her down without killing her.
Sara could barely even believe that the girl was still alive, despite what she had been told – but as they lowered the woman down, trying not to cause her any further injury, the girl's eye flickered open.
It was unfocused, spinning slightly in its socket, until suddenly it locked onto Xander's scar, fixing its gaze there as though there was nothing else to be seen in the room. To this girl, whose other eye had long since been lost, perhaps there wasn't.
'You're here. The story was true,' the Chosen One whispered.
Those were the only words the girl spoke before she lapsed into unconsciousness, silenced for the first time in days.
Sara held the terribly wounded girl in her arms, cradling her carefully, trying not to break open any of the multiple wounds that seemed to cover every part of her exposed flesh. The dried blood on the rags of clothing that remained on her body was testament to the damage that remained unseen, and the fact that the girl was still alive seemed a miracle in and of itself.
If it hadn't been for Xander's quick explanation, she wouldn't have given her any hope at all, but even with that information Sara knew the girl wouldn't last much longer.
'We have to get her out of here; I don't know how much longer she'll last – she could die at any moment. We have to get her to a hospital...'
'Hospital's not an option, she wouldn't make it. Even if she could, it'd be too dangerous for her - they couldn't risk her talking,' Xander called over his shoulder, firing rapidly down the hall as a chime (indicating the arrival of several elevators on the floor) could be heard echoing down the hall.
'Then whoever you've got in mind to help, he'd better be damn good at his job!!' Sara snarled back at him.
'She was recommended by a friend..…a friend I trust. If he says she can do the job, she can do it.'
'And you believe him?'
Xander paused in his gunfire, the air now punctuated only by the erratic fire from Travers' pump-action shotgun beside him, turning to face her.
He didn't even bother replying, but just looked at her. A look that somehow managed to convey his absolute faith in his friend and his contempt for her question all at the same time, his scar twisting before turning back to the fight.
Suddenly, the outraged screams of demons could be heard from the hallway from where they had just come, the growls echoing down to where the small group paused. They couldn't go back the way they had just entered.
And as Sara looked around, the sight of the bare brick that covered all four walls of the room made her heart sink fast.
There was no way out.
They were trapped.
'Lord Majoano, they're trapped,' reported the Kalzani demon to his master. 'There's no way out from the room they have retreated into, and we have Kalzani Jetzna in the next room breaking through. It should only be minutes before we have them. Nothing can stop us now!'
His master turned away from the comm unit in front of him, the unfinished report to his own superior interrupted by his subordinate.
'What did you just say?' he replied in a dangerous tone.
'Um...nothing can stop us now?' the messenger replied hesitatingly.
BANG!!
The now-headless messenger crumpled to the floor, the horns that had once decorated his forehead now spread across the far wall. The remaining subordinates that surrounded him backed away, their heads bowed in terrified subservience.
'How many times have I told you all?!' Lord Majoano screamed at them. 'How many times? Don't tell me something is going to happen, don't tell me something is bound to happen – and above all, DON'T TELL ME THAT NOTHING CAN STOP US NOW!!! Because when someone says that, SOMETHING BAD ALWAYS HAPPENS !!!!!!!!!!!'
The spittle flew from his jaws as Majoano screamed at them, his rage building on itself as his minions began to grovel, desperately trying to avoid bringing themselves to the attention of their less-than-sane master.
His skin flushed yellow with anger, his mouth opened wide, fangs dripping with ichor, the demon continued his rant, 'Now don't just stand there, get me-'
'Excuse me.'
The rant ceased as immediately as it had begun. The soft words coming from the videophone at his side were almost apologetic in tone, but were also enough to silence the Kalzani demon in an instant.
'Mr. Bolo, my apologies. I was just...'
'Majoano, stop talking. Now as I understand it, my building – my extremely well-guarded building – has been attacked, a number of my most well-paying clients have been killed, not to mention a large number of my soldiers, and my prize has been taken. Do you know how much money and respect all this is going to cost me?'
He continued, 'I'm extremely unhappy at this moment, Majoano. So, while I do appreciate the need for you to train and discipline your employees, I also feel that, quite possibly, there are more important things to do at this time. Perhaps you should be feeling that you need to find the individuals that have cost me so much? Maybe you should even stretch yourself to personally take part in their capture, hmm? From the front lines, so to speak?'
The voice never changed its pitch, the mild tone continuing throughout.
'In fact, certain movie phrases come to mind – something along the lines of...oh, I don't know...get it done or don't bother coming back, maybe? If you wouldn't mind? Not that I wish to put you to any inconvenience of course…….'
By this point, the sweat was pouring down the face of the Kalzani demon, rivulets of green perspiration funneling down the grooves that criss-crossed his head. To say that he appeared afraid of the being at the other end of the line was a bit of an understatement.
To say that Majoano appeared scared out of his wits, would perhaps have been a more accurate way to put it.
As soon as the connection was terminated, the now-terrified Lord leapt from his skull-covered cobweb-strewn throne, sending it crashing against the floor, its cheap-ass imitation construction causing it to disintegrate on impact.
'You heard him! Let's go, move it, now!!' the demon screamed, his lordly poise now dropped like a cheap façade.
Snatching one of the huge axes clipped to the wall, he led the way out of the door, the minions that moments ago had been cowering before him now streaming out behind him, brandishing their own weaponry.
'Shit,' cursed Sara. 'Can we use a grenade, blast our way out?'
'No, we'd be caught up in the explosion. The fragments would cut us to ribbons, we wouldn't stand a chance,' replied Travers over his shoulder, firing down the hallway as he did so.
Quelling the panic before it had a chance to overwhelm them, Xander interrupted them. 'Don't worry. Travers, cover the doorway. Sara, stand back against the wall, keep her covered...'
Placing his heavier weapons to one side, he pulled one of the small red tubes from the array across his chest. Flipping the small nozzle at the end open, he traced the end of the tube in a rough circle against the exterior wall, leaving a thick trail of goo against the exposed brickwork.
Finishing the circle, he once more reached towards his body, pulling a small narrow pipe from its position by his hip and placing it flat against the surface of the wall covered by the transparent fluid.
Before the cylinder had a chance to fall to the ground, Xander ripped the last small blade from its sheath on his hip and smashed it against the silver tube.
Just as when he had used the same equipment in the Project's compound only a few weeks earlier, the reaction was immediate.
As the liquid from the smashed cylinder combined with the transparent goo in which it was imbedded, a thin blue line streaked around the trail as the chain reaction began.
The acidic effect ate its way through the bricks and plaster. With the ability to eat its way through solid steel already proven, it burned its way through the mortar as if it was waste paper, cutting through almost as fast as the eye could follow. In only a couple of seconds, it had made its way all the way through to the outside air, where its reaction ceased.
As the last section of the wall was cut through, the entire circular section shifted, dropping down fractionally in its place as it was separated from the rest of the wall.
Xander then took two paces back, and half-turning his body as he did so, he thrust his right leg out – extending it in a perfect Yoko-geri side kick. As his back foot turned, twisting around until it pointed away from the target, his left knee bent slightly as he moved. Xander's upper body then also shifted at the same time, his shoulder dropping as he turned slightly to the left, his right leg lifting and bending as he did so.
The extension of power that came from his coiled body was frightening, to any disinterested observer. The power generated by the movement of his hips flowing through his body, extending down his leg until it reached full force just as the knife-edge of his foot made contact with the wall's surface (his toes inside his boots curling away from the point of impact), was devastating to behold.
The power of that one kick was enough to send the section of wall flying away from the rest, plummeting down to the streets below; disintegrating as it did so, leaving a now almost-circular hole rising from the floor to the height of a man.
Had it not been for the girl they carried, perhaps a smaller hole would have been easier and faster to make, but sometimes you just have to play with the cards you're dealt.
Stepping forward, Xander and Sara paused by the hole in the wall, the smoke from the fires pouring out from behind them, enveloping them in the fumes. Sara could barely see through the smoke, weeping as the particles in the air rubbed against her corneas, turning her eyes red with the irritation.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew almost straight at them, then whipped to blow diagonally past the duo. The smoke, following the path of the wind, forced them back into the room. But as the smoke cleared from in front of them, Xander and Sara could finally see the outside the building.
They stood there, 4 stories up, framed in the hole in the wall, with the fire raging behind them. And had there been any casual observers in the vicinity, they would have made an awesome sight.
The gunfire, explosions and their own entrance to the neighborhood had kept the locals inside their homes, however; none of them willing to risk their lives by venturing out into a war zone.
So only two individuals bore witness to the scene, standing motionless on the other side of the street, far below them
The taller of the two stood at least 6"5', with his skin color as black as coal. Not the dark brown that so often gets casually labelled as black, but true black; something more like that of a panther, than a normal man. He was paying little attention to the group standing above him, concentrating on the small computer fixed to his forearm, his other hand rapidly tapping on the touch-sensitive screen.
He turned to the figure beside him, and spoke calmly, 'Okay, they're ready – do your stuff.'
The smaller figure didn't reply; she merely lifted her head, tilting it up towards the sky. Her long robe covered her from head to toe, not leaving a single area of her body exposed. The deep blue robe, so dark that it seemed to change color with her bare movement, shifting from black to purple and then back to blue again, was long enough to cover the ground around her feet, ensuring that even her footwear could not be seen.
The sleeves of the cloak extended beyond the ends of her arms, reaching past the tips of her fingers so that even her hands were covered, masking the silken cut-off gloves that clung to her skin.
Staring at the three figures above her, a faint hum began – radiating outwards from her body. Still without saying a word, that hum increased as the woman raised her arms, her fingertips now extending past the sleeves of her cloak, peeking out at the ends.
As her arms reached almost level with her shoulders, faint blue sparks crackled from fingertip to fingertip, leaping from one to another in a continual stream as she drew on her impressive power reserves.
The bleep of the comp unit strapped to his forearm signaled to Xander the receipt of the information transmitted by the couple far below.
'Ok, the woman waiting for us can get her down, but she'll only be able to manage the girl. It looks like she lacks the power levels for this kind of spell, because she'll have to ensure that the girl remains immobile while she's moved. If it's the spell I think she's going to have to use, it's going to require all her concentration to manage it.'
'So, what do we do?' asked Sara.
Xander reached down to his utility belt, clicking open a catch and unwinding the thin steel cable coiled there.
'We're going to have to go down on this. We can't wait and hope she can get us down in time, and we're running out of ammo to keep them at bay. This fire could ignite the entire room at any moment, and they're trying to break through the walls…...'
A loud explosion could be heard, coming from the room next door.
'We have to go. Now!!'
Lashing one end of the wire around the girder visible through the shattered ceiling, Xander flung the other end out through the hole, the cable whirring with the friction as it went.
Suddenly the critically injured woman, still held carefully in Sara's arms, began to float upwards, moving away from her protective embrace.
'Xander!!' Sara cried out in surprise at the unexpected movement, reaching out with her hands to catch the moving figure.
'NO! Leave her – it's the spell. She's being moved to safety, just let her go...'
The steady gunfire from the doorway was suddenly punctuated by the sound of a wet thud as a bullet reached its target, plowing into the crouched figure of Travers as he held off the swarm that had continued to try to break through their defenses.
'Fuuuuuuck!!' the yell could easily be heard.
Travers' mixture of a scream and a groan broke off the conversation. Xander dived to the doorway and snatched up the rifle that had fallen to the ground, continuing the gunfire down the hallway almost without interruption, preventing the demons from taking advantage of Travers' injury.
Sara forgot about the woman now slowly floating out of the hole in the wall and down towards the two figures across the road, flying across the room and dropping to her knees, the blood on the floor causing her to slide to the stricken figure.
'Shit, oh shit,' the SWAT team member muttered to herself as she caught sight of his wounds, the blood pouring from his chest, a gurgling noise coming from the same holes. Pink bubbles were popping from the bullet holes, frothing against his skin.
<One of his lungs has been punctured, maybe both. He's not going to last much longer. >
'We have to get him out of here, now!!'
'No...' Travers gurgled. 'You, you have to...leave me. You know I'm...ngh. Not going to...make it...'
'You have to come with us. You have to! I'm not leaving you behind here with them,' Sara whispered to him, panic on her face.
Summoning all his strength, Travers continued, 'I was never planning to leave here with you, Sara. I knew this was a one-way trip from the start. I'm going...nnnnnh...to be with Jenny soon. Now, prop me up and gimme the rifle. I'll hold them off long enough for you to get out...'
Sara tried to protest, but she was cut short by the scarred figure still firing from the doorway.
'He's right. There's nothing we can do for him now, Sara. He'll drown in his own blood, if he doesn't bleed out first. We can't get him away, and they'll be in here at any moment. Let's go.'
Xander pulled Travers up, propping him up by the doorway, and placing the rifle in his hand, still firing down the hallway with the pistol in his other hand.
Turning away, the former Zeppo pulled Sara from her fallen colleague, shoving her towards the hole that was their exit. 'Go!!' Xander screamed, making her move by the sheer threat potential in his tone.
Even as he thrust her away, the young man could hear the demons in the room next door, the first cracks appearing in the plasterwork.
'Take these,' he ordered Travers, placing his chain of grenades by the other guy's waist. 'And don't let them take you alive...'
A touch of sanity and calmness returned to Travers' eyes for the first time since the disaster just a few short months earlier, and for an instant their eyes locked – acknowledging what had happened, and what was about to happen.
'Thank you.'
They were the first and only words Travers had said to him that day. The first and only words he had ever said to him, actually.
Xander didn't need to reply, and in fact didn't even consider it.
Every man has a right to make his own choices in life; and in this world, if that choice involves the manner of your death, then what the hell – you've come out better than most.
Xander paused for one final moment, searing yet another face into his memory, bearing witness to yet another casualty of his never-ending battle. Then he turned away, sprinting the few yards across the room to the wire that meant their only way out, muscles pumping as he ran.
'Put your arms around my neck and hang on!' he screamed at the shaken form of Sara, grasping the wire in his hands as he did so, feeling it bite into his palms.
As the gunshots continued behind him, feeling her arms wrapped around him, he climbed out – the toes of his rubber boots the only thing preventing the duo plummeting to their deaths, as he used his hands to edge past the floor, where the wire rubbed sharply against the broken bricks.
Passing the point of friction, the one-time Slayerette began to slide down as fast as he could, his speed limited only by the need to avoid cutting his own fingers off with the friction of the steel wire.
Fifty yards to the ground.
Forty.
Thirty.
The critically injured Slayer had made it down already, ushered carefully into the waiting van, the hooded figure still glowing as the man beside her watched the progress of the pair sliding down the side of the building across from him.
Twenty-five.
KA-BOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
'My Lord, we're almost through,' the frantic demon called to his master standing over his shoulder. 'Any moment now...'
'Stop talking and get on with it,' Majoano snarled back at him, his frustration getting the better of him as he watched the group hammering away at the wall with sledgehammers.
The demon knew he had to get through. He had to capture or kill the invaders. He had to recover the Slayer.
For if he didn't, the evil thing knew his life was worth less than nothing, that he was as good as dead anyway. Bolo would see to that.
The first hole in the wall appeared as the bricks and mortar were battered under the repeated heavy impacts, the cracks spreading up and across the smooth plasterwork on both sides of the wall.
Suddenly, a large chunk of the wall that separated them from their target shattered under yet another heavy hammer blow. As the material crumpled, a cloud of dust billowed upwards, obscuring their vision for a moment.
That didn't stop Lord Majoano from pushing aside those who had been breaking through the wall, shoving them out of his way as he thrust his massive frame through the hole, blinking frantically as he tried to find his targets, his supporters charging through after him.
For a moment, there was a sudden silence as the gunfire that had continued intermittently suddenly ceased, with only the breathing of those who had just entered and the footsteps of those charging down the now-undefended corridor filling the air.
The sight of the hole in the far wall drew the demons across the room as the dust settled, the thought of their prey escaping adding extra speed to their steps.
The wire that hung down from the exposed girder and led out of the hole made the Lord curse, as he ran. But just as Majoano reached the exit hole before all the others, a sound from behind him caused him to skid to a halt, his minions slamming into him from behind.
Travers had actually gone unnoticed as the demons had charged into the room, his body covered in the dust and debris of their entrance, but the gurgle from his lips as he attempted to speak was enough to now draw their attention towards him in an instant.
And in another instant Majoano was across the room and in front of him, reaching down and gripping him around the throat, lifting him high from the ground. The jagged claws of the Kalzani demon were cutting deep into his throat, but Travers didn't feel them. At this point, he wasn't feeling much at all.
'Who are you? Why did you come here?' Lord Majoano roared futilely, his own sense of rage and frustration distracting him from the more obvious tactic of pursuing those still fleeing down the wire.
The huge Kalzani spat into the face of the human suspended in front of him, trying to force answers from him, trying to intimidate him into responding.
But even as he realized that he was having little-to-no effect, the demon's time was running out. The human he held in front of him showed no fear, nor any pain despite the wounds that were causing his lifeblood to pour out from him, and the look in his eyes suddenly made Majoano realize the scope of his error.
Bolo would have no chance to punish him for his failures, no chance to make him regret his mistakes, for even as the Kalzani demon gazed into the eyes of his prey, he realized what was strapped across the man's body.
Grenades.
Lots and LOTS of grenades.
And as he dropped his slitted eyes downwards, Majoano didn't have to move them much to foresee his own death.
The small silver pin that hung limply from the man's teeth was enough. Lord Majoano may have been a demon, but he was by no means ignorant of modern human weaponry.
Unfortunately, that knowledge served him little purpose; for even as he lifted his eyes back to those of the man dangling in front of him, the grenade's time delay ended.
The last thing the demon ever saw was the look of satisfied resignation in Travers' eyes. There were no last words from his killer, the red blood that poured from his mouth preventing that, but no matter.
Last moment words serve little.
And change nothing.
The grenade that went off first ended the lives of both Travers and the demon that held him, blowing them apart in an instant, and tearing into the minions that were still pouring into the room.
It was a few moments later, before the rest of them died. As the first grenade ignited, the heat raced the short few inches to the other such incendiary devices strung down across Travers' chest, setting off a chain reaction.
It took perhaps a quarter of a second from the second grenade igniting till the last of them blew; a series of explosions so close together that they seemed like one, building on each other as they exploded.
The size of the explosion shook the building to its core, the resulting fireball sent racing down the corridor within which the demons had been attempting to advance, frying them in mid-motion.
The sheer magnitude of the explosion was sufficient to set off other explosions within the building, as the various weaponry and drugs ignited under the heat.
These resulting series of explosions that spread throughout the rest of the fortress were lost on those in the vicinity of the epicenter, however. With the death of the various demons in the rooms and corridors around, the only ones left anywhere near the explosion were those suspended from the wire that hung outside.
They were still 25 yards off the ground when the first explosion went off, the jet of flame racing out of the hole through which they had just escaped, the resulting shockwave sending them slamming against the wall of the building, crashing against the unyielding surface.
'Aaaargh!!!!' screamed Sara into Xander's back, as her shoulder impacted against the brickwork. They spun frantically, her shoulder popping out of its socket in the process, making just holding onto her companion an exercise in extreme pain management.
The dark figure to which she clung didn't make a sound though, all of his energies going into maintaining his hold on the wire as they spun.
He nearly managed it.
The fireball, the shockwave, the spinning, the impact – none of these was enough to send them plummeting downwards.
But the grenade fragment that flew outwards from the last explosion, and severed the cable in one slicing motion...that was enough.
They fell.
Sara could hear herself screaming as she did so, her arms releasing their now-futile grip around the man's neck, no longer clinging to a body which could no longer support her.
But even as they fell, Xander was moving, and so was the huge figure across the street, racing toward their point of impact.
Twenty-five yards is not the longest distance to fall. Almost the length of a swimming pool, or half a dozen cars, it's survivable. But it's still enough to break bones, fracture limbs, and maybe even kill you.
So when she landed in the cradling arms of the witch's assistant, Sara could still hear herself praying. 'Oh please, mother of God, don't let me die. Not like this...'
Even after she had landed, her downward motion stopped, she couldn't stop herself praying, the words tumbling from her mouth. 'Oh please God, please God, don't let me die like this.'
Her words only ended when the man holding her spoke.
'You're down, you're safe. No thanks to God, though.'
His deep voice, almost a growl, was matched perfectly with the faint smile on his face, a smile made truly scary by the fangs that extended from each corner of his mouth, giving a vicious twist to his bland expression.
Sara never saw Xander land, never saw him twist his body in the air like a cat, landing on all fours, absorbing the impact with impossible balance and skill.
She never even saw him make his way quickly to the waiting van, diving into the passenger seat.
Every human has his or her breaking point. A point at which adrenaline, stress, emotion, whatever, becomes too much to handle.
For Sara, that point had been when she had thought she was finally about to die, smashed to pieces by the fall. Her subsequent rescue had seen her adrenaline levels go through the roof, as she realized she was safe.
It was almost impossible to believe that she had made it out alive, that they had gotten the girl out and away. The sight of those teeth was just one more piece of pressure, the straw that broke the camel's back – so to speak.
So on that realization, her body and mind...shut down.
Sara missed the explosion of the van they had arrived at the scene in, the booby-trapped vehicle destroyed in a ball of flames from the first attempt by the locals to get inside.
She missed the journey away from the building, missed the flames pouring from many of its windows as its slow collapse began.
And she missed the move from one van to another, extreme precautions being followed even under these extreme circumstances.
It took less than half an hour to travel from the dangerous slums of Block 17 and its surroundings, to the much calmer area in which they were now ensconced.
That such a short journey could take them from one of the most dangerous places in the world to a leafy haven such as this, wasn't exactly an advertisement for the equality and distribution of wealth in the Western world – but right now that really wasn't important.
What was important was that the location allowed the witch the time and calm required to do the healing spells she knew.
For the fight to save the Slayer's life to begin.
The witch was tired.
It had taken almost ten hours before she could say with any confidence that the girl might live. Had the rescue taken place perhaps even an hour later, then no magic in the world could have saved the girl, even with her accelerated healing. Only with the possible exception of blood sacrifice magic could any delay have been managed, something this particular white witch would never perform.
The air crackled as the time passed, the molecules in the surrounding atmosphere fairly sparkling with the energies being expended, the heightened ozone causing an acrid smell to fill the room at times, almost overwhelming the smell of rotted flesh that enveloped the girl.
At times it had seemed hopeless, the patient's life force draining away before her eyes, slipping through her fingers; but every time she was on the verge of conceding defeat, that same life force would flare up again, bringing with it renewed hope.
The power being released in the small room, both from the healer and from the Slayer had definitely heated the surroundings, forcing the temperature up to almost sauna levels; but throughout it all the healer had remained cloaked, showing almost no sign that she felt this heat even as she worked.
Ten hours of sweat, of effort and toil, of fighting to hold back what at times had appeared inevitable.
Ten hours of prayer, of pleading to her goddess, of spell after spell, potion after potion.
There was nothing more she could do, her energies getting drained to the point of personal collapse, but in the end it had worked.
Maybe.
The lightshow that had appeared from the small crack at the base of the doorway had kept Sara awake, once she had been revived; the stress, sound and smell preventing her from obtaining the sleep she so badly needed.
The woman had been left alone once more while the fight to save the girl was going on, her tall catcher having disappeared before she had awoken, and Xander...well, he had shown little concern for the girl once he had brought her out, spending half his time in communication with unseen parties and the rest of the time in seemingly-endless meditation, ignoring her own efforts at interaction.
It was only when the witch had called the others in, allowed them to watch over the unconscious figure of the person they had just rescued, to bear witness to her life or death, that Xander had stirred, joined by the tall black man, or what Sara thought was probably a man.
With her work done, the cloaked woman stood just outside the doorway, watching them from the shadows, an outsider once again. She was used to that, to watching, observing, witnessing, never getting deeply involved.
The Wicca had seen scenes like this many times over the years, had witnessed lives saved and lives lost, for she could not save everyone. No matter how much skill she had, no matter how hard she tried.
The small group was huddled over the woman now left lying on the firm surface, her head supported slightly by a rolled up towel. Her unconscious state was no longer the result of the cruel wounds she had been inflicted with, but the result of the healing trance that she had been placed in.
Whether the Chosen One would survive or not rested in her own hands now, and even with Slayer strength and the skills of her healer, her chances were still no better than 50:50. And as said had the healing been started hours, possibly even minutes later, then it would have been too late for her.
It might still be.
The cloaked figure was tempted to turn away once more, to retreat into the shadows, avoiding personal contact yet again, but this time she hesitated. It had been too many years since she had last seen him, and even longer since she had spoken to Xander Harris.
And despite the rumors, despite knowing that he was no longer the boy – the man – he used to be, she felt that she had to speak to him.
She had to see if there was anything of his former self left.
'Hello, Xander.'
At the sound of that soft voice, all activity in the room seemed to cease, even the faint movements of the unconscious slayer slowing, as the two words faded.
For the colossus who had assisted her in the rescue, hearing her speak was akin to winning the lottery. Four years he had known her, protected her, loved her, but in all that time, he had yet to hear her voice, had yet to see her without the all encompassing shroud that surrounded her at all times.
For Xander, hearing her speak was like a gunshot, the soft timbres of her voice bringing back memories he had no wish to recall, echoes of the past that had been destroyed by events.
She still stood in the darkness, her appearance cloaked by the shadows that resulted from the poor lighting, amplified by the spells that were a part of her, cloaking her, concealing her.
Even as she stepped from the dark corner by the door, those shadows still followed her, stretching as she moved to continue their concealment, merging with the long, dark cloak that covered her, so that even in a pool of light, her features could not be made out.
As her hands reached up to the hood of that same cloak, even they were covered, despite the movements of the fabric, allowing not even a glimpse of the skin that lay beneath.
Only when her hands reached the edge of her hood did that change, the spell that held the illusion together finally breaking with her actions, allowing herself to be fully seen for the first time in years.
And as the hood dropped back to her shoulders, the reason for the concealment became clear…….
Fully one half of her face was covered in twisting spiralling lines that moved even as the small company stared, writhing upon themselves as they did so. A sight that could have been, should have been, ugly or horrific was somehow not, the colours merging and re-emerging, blending and separating. Each line was distinct and yet part of the whole, and when they tried to focus on one line of the whole, each could feel a part of themselves twisting inside them, could feel the urge to look away.
Sara was the first to break, a part of her unable to follow the movements of those patterns ? for that was what they formed. Exactly what kind of patterns was beyond description, but nevertheless there was still patterns, some meaning that defied recognition.
The giant assistant lasted longer, his eyes feasting on an image he had never before been granted the opportunity to witness, a small voice at the back of his mind resentful that after all the years, he was being granted this chance only because of someone else. Yet despite his size, despite his strength, even he could not maintain eye contact for long, his nerve breaking as the sight twisted at his insides.
Xander merely watched, his eyes furrowing slightly as he studied the lines, watching the patterns shifting and changing.
'Neat trick you have there. Not seen that before,' he said to her.
'It's not a trick Xander. It's part of me now. It helps me, protects me, hurts me, but it's always there, never goes away…..
'Like the past.'
'Yes….'
Xander stared at her face in silence for a moment longer, watching the patterns shift, his eyes no longer locking on, but seeing beyond them, behind them.
'It's been a long time……..Tara.'
It was an hour later when Tara returned from her time with Xander, a pensive expression on her face mixing with sadness at the loss of the man she used to know. It seemed the rumors were mostly true, that the soft center in him that they all used to love was gone forever, and it was that loss rather than anything else that had come from their brief time together that she felt like mourning.
Sara was still in the room, watching over the still form of the girl she had met only hours earlier, but at Tara's entrance, she turned towards her, questions on her lips.
'How long have you known Xander?' she asked almost immediately, puzzled at the interaction between the two. 'I mean, you seem to know each other, but he doesn't seem happy about that.'
'Xander used to be different,' Tara replied. 'I met him years ago, when I first went to college. You wouldn't recognize him now.'
'What do you mean?' asked Sara.
Tara didn't respond immediately, for a moment lost in memories, a wistful expression flashing across her face.
'I didn't really meet him at first. It was a big step for me to leave home and I didn't know anyone there, so I'd joined a Wicca group at the college, hoping to meet people with something in common. Turned out they didn't really know much about real witchcraft after all - they seemed to be more concerned with bake sales, and what type of scented candles they should buy, but I didn't really know how else I could find other practitioners. Even so, I'm not sure I would have stayed ? they weren't always the nicest of people and when I tried to speak up, which wasn't too often, they tended to ignore me. I could deal with that now, but back then? Well, like I said, I lacked confidence. I stuck with the group though, mainly because there was one who did appear to know what was real.'
'Xander?' interjected Sara.
'Xander?' replied Tara, smiling for the first time at the thought. 'No. Xander and magic……well, they didn't really get on too well from what I heard. He never went to college - he was working at the time; I can't remember at what exactly, because he went through a lot of jobs back then, none of them good, but his friend, well… she did go to college. She was so smart, and seemed to know so much, I think I fell for her almost from the start.'
'What was her name ?' Sara asked.
'Willow……………her name was Willow,' Tara replied, a sad smile tugging at her lips, conveying so much without words.
'You cared a lot for her ?'
'I loved her.'
The response was immediate, like taking a breath, automatic.
'She was………I don't know…………she was Willow. I can't describe what she became to me. My best friend, my lover, my……….everything. It took a while before we went from friends to more than that………there was an incident with these creatures - well, never mind that now - but it was through Willow that I met Xander. He was part of a group of people she spent most of her time with - Giles, Buffy, Oz and Xander, and I didn't realize for a while quite what it was that held the group together. I found out later of course, but by then it didn't matter. When you saw them together, you wouldn't have understood why they were friends ? they didn't seem to have anything in common. I mean, Willow was really smart, Buffy was cheerleader beautiful, Oz was a musician, Giles was much older and British, and then there was Xander. He wasn't what he is now. He was kind of goofy, definitely scruffy, and had a really strange sense of humor.'
'So what was it that kept them together ?' asked Sara.
'It took me a while before I understood it, and it was only…….after…… that I think I finally quite got it. Most of the time they were just friends, you know? He'd come into the college cafeteria and steal her food and make silly jokes after losing another job and stuff. It was only when you watched them for a while that you realized what they were to each other.'
'And that was ?'
'I've thought about it for years and I still can't really describe it. They had so much history, so many memories, that it was like they didn't need to be together to be together. You could see it sometimes, even when we were all together ? they'd look at each other and it was as if they were holding a conversation between the two of them without words. Willow would laugh at something and you couldn't understand why, but if you looked at him, he'd either be laughing at the same time or be grinning because he'd somehow caused her to laugh in the first place without even saying anything. They were never a couple couple but it didn't make any difference. She was with Oz when we first met and later with me, and he was with Anya at the time, but beneath it all, she was with him and he was with her. Like I said, not as a couple ? she told me they'd tried that and given up on it ? but it didn't matter.'
'It must have been difficult for you if they were that close.'
'Strangely……..no. It's funny, but close doesn't describe it. I always felt, and so did Anya, that if it came down to it, if one of them was forced to choose between the person they were with and each other, in the end there wouldn't be a choice. Oh, they would have hesitated, they would have hated themselves for it, but in the end, no matter what, they would have chosen each other over everything and anyone else. They had drifted apart during the time I knew them together, something I think that hurt Willow at times, but it was always there. Maybe it would have changed in the future, but not in the time I knew them.'
'That didn't hurt you ?'
'No, because once you realized it, it was a fact of life. It wasn't as if Willow would side with him over me or anything like that, just……….that was how it was. The bond between them was like air. You couldn't see it but it was always there, surrounding them. You know the term soulmates ? Well in one kind of way that's what they were, but not the way you think of it, not in the romantic sense. I had Willow's heart, her love, I knew that, I know that, but she gave away her soul to him years before I ever met them.'
'What happened ?'
Tara had known she'd face that question when Willow's name had entered the conversation, but knowing something is coming, and being prepared for it are two different things. Even after all the years that had passed, all the time and events that had happened, there were still moments when she would see something she knew Willow would have liked and she would turn to her, smiling as she began to speak, only to realize once again that Willow would never smile at her again, would never laugh at her jokes, would never comfort her, would never be there.
Tara's pain had faded long ago, but pain is a funny thing. It can fade over time, can almost disappear, but then can resurface almost without warning, just as sharp as when it first occurred. And with that innocent question, it was as if she was back in Sunnydale, finding out all over again……….
The single tear that rolled down her face was answer enough, the moisture glistening against her cheek.
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to………….,' Sara interjected.
'It's ok. I haven't spoken her name to anyone for years. In some ways I suppose I'm glad to, but……….it also brings back bad times too.'
'She died, didn't she ?' Sara spoke, answering her own initial question. 'What happened?'
'No-one knows exactly ? only Xander. I don't think he ever told anyone exactly what happened, maybe only…………someone else. One minute they were with us, and then, they were gone, just like that, no warning. Anya insisted they had run off together, but I think even she didn't really believe that.'
'But he came back ?'
Lost in memories, Tara didn't respond for a moment, picturing Xander upon his return, dredging up the past once more.
Tara started, interrupted from her memories, the tears flowing softly down her face more freely now.
'Part of him, most of him, did,' she replied. 'But I think a part of him never did, that he lost something of himself when she………died. He was so different when he returned, so very different. It was like dealing with another person. There have been rumours over the years over what really happened, but I only know a little. If I hadn't pushed him, I don't think he would have even told me that, but I had to know. When he returned, he wasn't the same, not even close. Maybe he could have recovered, gotten back his life - he still had the rest of us - but then something else happened. Our lives intervened and in tearing us all apart, killed another part of him.'