Chapter 1 – New Arrivals

…

"A pale horse emerged with Death as its rider," a crazed-looking man growled, resembling an unwashed mix of military soldier and homeless drifter. "You will be judged." His glaring, feverish eyes fell on all those around him with disdain. "You will be judged," he threatened once again before turning his disgusted gaze back out his window.

Seated in the back of the bus, a brown-haired passenger rolled his eyes in annoyance at yet more of the man's ranting. He wasn't the only one, either. All of his fellow busmates had heard more than a few choruses of the zealot's fanatical ramblings over the past hour. Most seemed to be rather pointedly ignoring him, though. For instance, one woman on the other side of the aisle kept her head down and appeared absorbed in doing her crossword by booklight. However, it had been some time since the faint scritches of her pencil had last been heard. Mostly, she was just making sure there was no chance of accidentally making eye contact with the idiot.

Another woman wrapped her child protectively in her arms as he played with a toy airplane, for all the world appearing completely lost in her own thoughts, though she occasionally tipped her hand by casting fearful glances over her son's head at the unstable man. Most of the others simply seemed to be sticking to the traditional standby of staring out their windows instead, though given how the heavy cloud cover overhead blocked any light from the moon or even the stars, there was little to see in the inky black night outside beyond the occasional tree-shaped shadow, or the faint curl of smoke from the chain-smoking passenger seated up front.

"That day's gonna bring fire!" the zealot declared in lieu of nothing, rising from his seat in excitement. "Fire comin' down. Judgment!" The prospect seemed to thrill the man a great deal as he paced the length of the bus, leaning over and savagely grinning into each of his fellow passengers' faces, much to their apparent but silent discomfort. "Don't think you're ready, ready to look upon Him!" he warned his busmates as they collectively avoided eye contact with the crazy person. Turning, the unwashed preacher began pacing towards the back of the bus. "If there's sin in there, there's sin all around. It's a liquid!" he continued ranting.

This guy's starting to make me thirsty, the passenger thought wryly as the fanatic prowled closer.

"On that day, there won't be anyone tellin' us what to do, or why we're doin' it," he promised before finally reaching the backseat passenger. He paused upon meeting the dark-brown, nearly black eyes of the passenger, the first to freely meet his gaze since he began his sermon. Grinning, the man leaned closer, letting his sulfurous breath mingle with the clouds of stale, sour sweat that clung to him like cologne as they practically smothered the less-than-thrilled new subject of his attention. "Are you willin' to stand with the righteous?" he asked, his fanatical grin matching the fevered light in his eyes perfectly. "Are ya'?" he repeated, laying his grimy hand on the shoulder of the passenger's reddish leather coat.

However, the man's proselyting came to an abrupt and unlamented end as the recipient of the preacher's unwanted physical contact responded with some of his own, sending a worn leather boot punting into the man's groin before grabbing the stained collar of the purple-faced, doubled-over fanatic and slamming his head into the back wall of the bus with a resounding metal thud.

As the annoying lunatic collapsed bonelessly to the floor, mercifully silent at last, the rest of the bus simply stared speechlessly, shocked by the sudden outburst of violence from the still seated and impassive-looking stranger.

I wonder if I should interpret their disturbed silence as 'Thanks', he idly wondered before turning back to his window.

Or at least, he started to. He was somewhat distracted by what he caught sight of through the bus's windshield, though.

Namely, a man standing in the road with wide-spread arms and a grin on his face as the bus barreled towards him.

A man with glittering yellow eyes.

The bus echoed with a massive bang as it struck the man head on, followed by terrified screams from the passengers as the bus careened back and forth across the road before crashing through several signs and slamming into a heavy wooden post, finally coming to a stop.

For several moments, all that could be heard was the groaning of passengers and the hiss of steam pouring from the totaled engine.

"Is everyone alright?" the bus driver finally called back, receiving scattered affirmative responses. Shaking his head clear, the driver climbed out of his seat and staggered out the door, heading back down the road towards the motionless body of the man they had struck.

Or at least, towards the body of what once had been a man.

It looks like this trip is about to get a lot more interesting, the passenger noted as he saw several moving shadows with ravenous yellow eyes converging on the bus.

Out in the street, the driver let out a blood-curdling shriek as the only mostly dead body rolled over and sank its fangs deep into the man's throat.

As if on cue, all along the bus, windows began shattering as roaring, snarling vampires broke their way in and began to tear into the screaming passengers.

"Ngh … what's goin' on?" the now conscious zealot slurred as he rose groggily to his knees. However, he was quickly caught up to speed when a vampire broke through the window in the rear emergency door and pulled his top half outside. The fanatic kicked and screamed, but only briefly.

Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, the only non-screaming passenger thought in amusement.

Of course, that was when another vampire apparently decided that he looked rather appetizing himself, and it broke through the window next to him to pull him outside.

Or at least, that's probably what it planned to do. The passenger had no interest in being dinner, though. Catching the vampire's wrist, he pulled and twisted, yanking the vampire's entire arm through the window before slamming his other palm down on the vamp's locked elbow with a loud crack. Still unsatisfied, though, he gave the vamp's wrist a sharp twist as well, resulting in another, slightly smaller crack before he let the howling, thrashing vampire go. Evidently losing its appetite, it pulled itself free and disappeared into the writhing mass of darkness outside the window.

The rest of the vamps still seemed hungry, though, including the one moving down the aisle towards his seat.

Standing up, the passenger brushed his coat free of glass and completely ignored the charging vampire.

The vamp apparently saw nothing suspicious about this behavior, for some reason, and with a tiger-like roar, it launched itself at him anyway.

Spinning, he grabbed the vampire's claw-like hands and pivoted, sweeping at its legs and using the creature's own strength and momentum to send it crashing face-first into the bottom of the metal wall at the back of the bus, snapping its head back with a faint crack. A louder one soon followed as the passenger brought his boot down hard on the base of the vampire's skull, finishing the job and thoroughly breaking its neck.

Something like that wouldn't kill a vampire, of course, but it was doubtful the vamp was particularly grateful for that fact as he stepped over its gurgling, lightly twitching body and started heading towards the front of the bus, paying no more mind to the now rug-like vampire than he did to the vamps still leaning through the windows to feed on what little was left of his fellow passengers.

He did, however, pause to bend down and grab something off that one lady's crossword, which was now lying on the floor next to her kicking feet.

Huh. Seven across is 'vampire', he noticed in amusement. One such creature picked that very moment to grab the back of his coat, though it likely regretted this decision as he pivoted, trapping its arm with one of his own before driving the lady's pencil between the vamp's ribs and right into its unbeating heart in a smooth, practiced motion. What are the odds? he wondered as the screeching creature turned to dust in his arms.

Brushing dust off his sleeves, he continued down the aisle, now with a little more attention being paid to him by the vamps now finished feeding on his former busmates.

Reaching the front of the bus, he grabbed the guide bar and spun, slamming his boot into the face of the vamp climbing through the door. The vamp staggered back with a beastly growl, clutching its face and glaring murderously. As he stepped off the bus, it launched itself at him. Swaying and ducking, he avoided its claw-like swipes and piston-esque punches. The vamp's eyes grew even more furious as it redoubled its efforts, but he simply kept dancing out of the way, leaving the vamp to snarl impotently as its prey remained tantalizingly out of reach.

Of course, there was more than just one vamp to deal with, a fact made apparent by the faint sound of running footsteps coming up behind him.

Fortunately for him, he was counting on this.

Spinning, he flipped the lady's pencil into a reversed grip in his left hand and jabbed it between the second vampire's ribs and into its heart with surgical precision just as the creature flew at him mid-tackle. Continuing the spin, he swept his jacket over his face with his right hand as the vamp burst into dust that swept over and past him, and straight into the eyes of the first attacker.

As the remaining vamp howled and clutched at its eyes, he moved. With the hand not holding an improvised stake, gave the vamp a fierce jab to the solar plexus. The blinded and now pain-wracked vampire hunched over, and he grabbed the back of its head and slammed his knee into its face. Pivoting, he flipped the stunned vampire over him and slammed it onto its back on the unforgiving asphalt before finishing the job with a quick thrust to the heart with the woman's pencil.

The vampire screeched as its demonic spirit was expelled from its now crumbling form, as vampires were wont to do when they died. However, over the sound of its shrieking, his ears still caught the faint thud of boots on metal.

Without hesitating, he threw himself to the side, rolling to his feet just as another vampire landed in the ashen remains of one of its fellows, having pounced at him from the top of the bus when his back was turned.

This vamp was adaptive, though. Snarling, it immediately lashed out with a spinning kick that came so close to connecting with his face, he could feel tiny droplets of water from the damp pavement splash onto his cheek from its boot.

Roaring, the vamp tried to tackle him. Jumping and spinning, he rolled over and down the vampire's back and came up behind it, dropping low and sweeping its feet out from under it to send it sprawling to its back on the pavement. Flipping the pencil into an ice-pick grip, he brought it down in a finishing move to stake the vamp's heart, only for his arm to be caught at the last moment by the vamp.

For a second, they struggled over the impromptu stake, the tip of the pencil tearing at the vamp's shirt and digging into its skin as it hovered mere inches from the vamp's non-beating heart, and its demise.

Just as it started drawing blood, however, the vamp brought a knee crashing into his side with all of its vampiric strength behind it, sending him flying over the vamp and hurtling towards the bus. Just before he collided, however, he managed to twist his body enough to position his feet between him and the solid metal wall.

Kicking off the side of the bus, he tucked his shoulder under him and landed in a roll on the damp pavement. Back on his feet, he held the lady's pencil like a knife as he prepared to square off with the vamp once again. However, to his surprise, the now standing vampire simply stared at him for a moment, and then started laughing.

That was when he noticed that the pencil in his hand had been broken in half, and the nub that remained was now too short to even reach the vampire's heart.

The vampire swaggered forward, clearly certain of its safety and already savoring the kill it was about to make.

The arrogant cast to its features faded somewhat upon spotting his own grin, however.

Stepping forward, he went on the offensive, the pencil's shortness not slowing him down in the slightest. In fact, it did just the opposite, as its jagged, diminutive length was now sturdier than ever, allowing him to make heavy use of it as a short but effective knife as he capitalized on the vampire's inherent allergy to wood by riddling it with tiny but painful wounds.

The vamp lashed out with a claw-like swipe, and he jabbed the soft underside of its wrist before spinning and crouching to stab the delicate tendons behind its knee. Howling, the vamp grabbed him with its other arm, and he grabbed its wrist and twisted, locking its arm and forcing the vamp to hunch over as he stabbed the inside of its elbow and armpit in quick succession before twisting under its arm and jabbing the pencil deep into the muscles of the back of its neck.

The vamp roared with fury and pain as it pulled itself free and threw itself at him in a savage frenzy. Blocking its wild haymakers with his elbows, he continued his assault by delivering another series of small but incredibly painful wounds to the vamp's bicep, ribs, and the point where its thigh met its hip, finishing by burying the pencil deep in the vamp's eye.

The half-blinded vampire screamed as it grabbed the pencil and pulled it free. Before it could drop it, however, he struck the vamp's wrist, sending the broken pencil flying into the air as he continued the attack, now relying on his fists. He jabbed at the vampire's throat, and when it reflexively grabbed its neck, he struck at the now unprotected wounds that riddled its torso. With every blow, he sent the howling vampire staggering back in agony.

All good things had to come to an end, though. Turning, he snagged the falling pencil out of the air behind him and stabbed it into the vampire's chest. However, its broken length still wasn't long enough to reach the creature's heart.

At least, not without help.

With one final spinning kick, he spiked the pencil deep into the vampire's torso with his heel. And, shrieking like the damned, the last vampire burst into dust.

He watched the ash fall to the pavement like snow before turning and gazing at the similar piles of dust scattered around the ravaged bus.

"Parasites," he muttered before shaking his head and heading back to the bus, "but at least they can be a good bit of fun."

Climbing back onboard, he carefully inspected a few of the victims. Beyond the shredded throats and gaping but bloodless clawmarks in many of the torsos, he also spotted red-stained lips on most of the motionless victims, including the kid with the toy airplane, whom he vaguely recalled the woman next to him had referred to as Collin. And since he didn't spot any empty bottles nearby, he felt it was safe to assume that those weren't fruit-punch stains on their lips.

The vamps hadn't attacked the bus looking for a meal. They were looking for recruits.

He sighed. "Nothing's ever simple, is it?" he asked of no one as he moved away from the vampires-to-be.

Reaching the back of the bus, he stepped over the still-twitching vampire-shaped rug to grab his personal bag from under his seat, carefully brushing shards of broken glass off it before slinging it over his shoulders.

Gently humming to himself, he made his way back to the front of the bus, pausing to fish a cheap plastic lighter out of the pocket of his cigarette-loving former busmate before pulling a blood-stained tie free from his torn-up neck and stepping off the bus once more.

Still humming his little tune, he found and unscrewed the gas cap for the bus. Laying the tie flat on the ground, he popped the top of the man's lighter free with his teeth, spitting it off to the side as he doused the tie with lighter fluid. Tossing the remains of the lighter over his shoulder, he grabbed the damp tie and fed it into the gas tank, though being sure to leave some dangling free.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his own silver lighter and lit the dangling end of the tie. Snapping his lighter shut with a click, he returned it to his pocket and moved to one of the compartment doors along the bottom of the bus while the flame started creeping along the tie.

Opening the compartment, he shoved the bags of his fellow passengers aside before finding his own. Still humming, he slung the larger traveler's bag over his shoulders next to the other and headed down the road, the fire behind him just starting to dance around the rim of the gas tank.

He didn't get far before he stopped and groaned in annoyance, though. Mainly at the sign he saw just ahead of him, and the empty stretch of road beyond it.

'Welcome to Sunnydale!'

"You idiots couldn't at least have waited until we actually made it into town to attack?" he groused, knowing he had quite a walk ahead of him, and not particularly thrilled about it.

Behind him, the fire finally reached the fuel, and the bus exploded in a massive ball of fire hot enough to nearly scorch the back of his neck even well down the road.

He turned back in confusion upon hearing the faint sound of screams, though.

"… Oh, right, the rug," he realized, remembering the broken-necked vampire, which was likely feeling rather toasty at the moment in the not-so-little bus bonfire.

Shrugging, he continued heading down the road as thunder tolled overhead, promising one hell of a storm to come.

Elsewhere, in a dank, ruined chapel buried deep underground, the storm was already falling as one who styled himself The Master of All Vampires received decidedly unpleasant news.

"So …," the incomprehensibly ancient vampire lord growled, "you failed."

Before him, a trembling, far-younger vampire with a twice-broken arm nodded reluctantly. "W-we did, M-M-Master."

For several moments, all that could be heard was the faint click of the Master's claws as he irritably tapped the arm of his ornate wooden throne, unique in being one of the few pieces of furniture still intact amidst the rubble that was his mystical prison.

"Six of you went forth," the Master finally spoke again, his voice dripping with malice, "and one returns." Standing, the utterly demonic-looking vampire, ancient enough to have long lost the "curse" of human features, stalked closer to the unfortunate and far more human-looking bearer of this news. "My instructions were clear, were they not? 'Go forth, and bring back my Anointed One'." Pausing, he turned to one of his other followers in the chamber. "I did say that, didn't I?" he asked in a suddenly conversational tone. "After all, it would be rather embarrassing if I were to beat this one to death with his own limbs for his failure if what I had actually said was, 'Go forth and lose five of your brothers before returning to me alone, crippled and useless'."

The lone injured survivor of the assault on the bus shivered from more than just the ice cold water drenching him from the downpour outside. "M-M-Master, I–"

"No, wait, that's right," the Master realized. "I didn't say that."

With a blur of motion, the terrified vampire found himself pinned to the stone wall with the Master's gray-skinned hand at his throat.

"What I said," the Master snarled, no longer conversationally, "was to bring me back my Anointed!" Turning, he hurled the cowering vampire against the far wall, causing him to shriek in agony as his heavily broken arm struck unforgiving stone with all the force of an enraged elder vampire.

"The Anointed was to be my greatest weapon against the Slayer!" the Master growled as the messenger lay on the ground twitching in pain. With another blur of motion, the Master stood over him and ground his boot into his shattered arm, causing the unfortunate follower to scream in agony. "Is that you, little ant? Will you be my weapon against the Slayer?" He ground his heel more firmly into the howling vampire's arm. "Will you be the one to lead her to hell for me? Will you be the one who frees me from this cursed prison?!"

After a few more seconds of torment, the Master gave a disgusted snort and removed his boot from the now silently spasming vampire's arm. "No. You'll just lie there and whimper for a bit, and then I'll get bored and kill you, and all I'll have to show for it is a headache and yet another pile of dust cluttering this disgusting house of worship." He cast an annoyed eye at his ruined and filthy surroundings as he ran a clawed hand over his hairless scalp. "As if I really need any more dirt around here," he complained in casual irritation.

"… please … Master …," the survivor weakly coughed. "…it … it wasn't my fault. He–"

"Ooh," the Master cooed in faux delight. "Is this the part where you make excuses? Where you tell me more about this unstoppable beast who killed your brethren and burned my precious Anointed to a crisp before he could even rise?" Crouching down, he pulled the whimpering vampire to a seated position. "There there," he comforted him, brushing dirt from his sodden clothes. "You need to be comfortable to tell me another story." An animal-like growl sounded from behind the Master's smiling lips. "And I always love a good tale before I eat."

"I'm sorry," the terrified vampire whispered.

"Oh? So no more story?" the Master pouted. "But I rather loved hearing about this fiend who was everywhere at once, tearing some of my best warriors apart limb from limb with nothing but his bare hands. Who had powers never before dreamed of. How you fought him with everything you had, and if only the others had listened to you, he might have been stopped. And how it was instead only a stroke of luck that you managed to fight him off enough to survive so you could get word back to me." He gave a saccharine sweet smile. "Noble of you. Very noble. And oh, so very gallant!"

"… please," the vampire begged.

"Oh, come now," the Master replied cheerfully. "Relax, would you? I'm not going to kill you on the floor of my little prison." Seizing the vampire's broken arm in a redundantly bone-crushing grip, he pulled the silently screaming vampire to his feet in what might otherwise have looked like a friendly gesture. "After all," he told the swaying vampire, patting him on the shoulder, "I think you've done rather enough groveling on my floor, don't you?"

The vampire's terrified yellow eyes met the Master's utterly merciless crimson ones.

"You get to die on your feet," the Master told him cheerily. "Be proud."

The vampire's eyes bulged as his entire body gave a heaving lurch. Looking down, he saw the Master's arm sticking through his chest. As blood poured down his chin, though, he realized there was something else that he couldn't see.

The Master's fist protruding from his back, clutching his bloody heart.

Slowly, the vampire reduced to dust that poured around the Master's arm to pile on the ground, followed shortly thereafter by his heart.

Looking at the new pile of filth on his floor, the Master gave a sigh. "You know, he could have at least had the decency to bring a broom with him if he was going to bring me news this bad."

"You really think a broom would make a difference around here?" a woman asked as she stepped forward out of the shadows, her gentle, mellifluous voice perfectly matching the soft lines of her face, both conveying that she was simply the purest essence of sweetness and innocence. However, the cold, cruel blue eyes staring out from that cherubic face revealed both to be nothing but lies.

"Well, at least it would have given me something to hit him with," the Master replied. "That might have made me feel better."

"Doubtful," the woman disagreed, gently stirring the pile of dust with her foot. "I'm curious about this figure he spoke of, though."

"Well, what I am curious about," the Master replied, raising his voice and clearly speaking for someone else's benefit, "is exactly how the prophecy of our order's sacred founder could have been voided so easily!"

Behind him came a series of thumps and scuffles as a balding vampire wearing glasses hastily extracted himself from a stack of books and scrambled forward.

"I'm so sorry, Master. I don't understand," the nervous-looking vampire stammered. "Prophecies are immutable—or at least, they're supposed to be—and according to my translation, all the signs indicated–"

"Yes, yes, the signs," the Master repeated in exasperation. "I heard plenty about the signs before sending out six of our brethren to attack that bus in a fruitless mission. Tell me, Dalton, do you know what I want to hear now?"

The bookish vampire swallowed audibly. "Um … an apology?"

"Noooo. Guess again," the Master replied as if speaking to a rather dense child.

"Um … the sound of me hitting the books to figure out what happened?" Dalton guessed nervously.

"There you go!" the Master complimented, patting him on the head like a dog.

Without another word, Dalton scurried back to the stack of ancient tomes, a faintly relieved sigh being heard when he was safely ensconced once again, followed by the frenzied rustle of paper as he flipped through their book of prophecies.

"Ugh. You see what I have to deal with around here?" the Master complained to the woman. Shaking his head tiredly, he returned to the subject at hand. "Anyway, as for this supposed newcomer, doubtless the group was simply careless enough to let the Slayer interfere yet again, and Earl here was too cowardly to admit that he got scared and fled from a little girl after only a few broken bones." He frowned at the pile of dust. "He probably thought a tale of some mysterious stranger would intrigue me enough to save his hide. In a week, I'd have been hearing the tale of some mighty battle between him and this outsider that ended in the interloper's death. I've seen it before."

"I'm not so sure," the woman disagreed, gently twirling strands of her golden-blonde hair as she thought. "There have been rumors in the demon world for the last few years, after all. Stories of something new."

"Ah, yes," the Master caught where she was going with this. "This mysterious dread Hunter that has been cutting a bloody swathe through our kind all over the world for the past decade." His tone grew increasingly sarcastic as he continued. "Slaughtering the fiercest beings demonkind has to offer. Entire armies of vampires and demons going up against him, while only he walks away alive, leaving nothing but wastelands of blood and dust in his wake. Butchering ancient demonic royal families entire as he continues his path of unrelenting and unstoppable genocide against our people, and all we can do is flee." His condescending smile said what he thought of these tales. "I thought you would have learned by now, my child. Demons are habitual liars, and prone to more than a little embellishment even when telling the truth." He shrugged and returned to his throne. "Likely, it is simply the demonic bloodlines waging war on each other just as they have always done, while all the rest is simply myth and rumor grown out of hand." He grinned, a friendly gesture turned monstrous by his glittering fangs and perpetually blood-stained mouth. "After all, demons are also notoriously superstitious, and incorrigible gossips."

"Maybe so," the woman admitted, "but something has been killing our kind. We have the bodies to prove it." She paused. "At least, for the demons who leave bodies, we do." She shrugged. "Regardless, something has been leaving a trail of destruction through the demon world, and by all indications, it was headed this way."

The Master gave her a considering look. "You think he's real," he interpreted. "You think it was this dread Hunter that Earl here encountered."

"It would certainly fit description, wouldn't it?" she suggested. "Maybe all the stories of this Hunter are all just myth and exaggeration. Maybe it's even just some human with a grudge against our kind, and he's simply been annoyingly successful in acting on it," she admitted. "But the fact is, something has been killing demons all over the world, and that something may have made its way to Sunnydale." She grimaced. "And if so, then inside of five minutes, it's already ruined one of our most sacred prophecies and destroyed what should have been your greatest weapon." She sighed petulantly. "What happened to bringing fruit baskets and bushels of heads when you enter one's territory?"

"Ah, the days of civility," the Master moaned in relished nostalgia. "Oh, how I miss them." He sighed before returning to business. "Well, if you are so sure about this, then there is only one thing to do," he decided, rising from his throne and stepping towards her. "You will find this Hunter, or whoever was responsible for destroying my precious Anointed before he could even be born. You will learn everything you can about him … and you will kill him."

She grinned sweetly, though her eyes glittered with pure viciousness. "It would be my absolute pleasure, Master."

"Oh, I know it will, my sweet Darla," he told her, gently stroking her cheek and giving her a demonic mockery of a fatherly smile. "I know it will."

Unbeknownst to them, however, there was another soul present in the chamber, spying on them from deep within one of the numerous shadowy recesses that pockmarked the walls around the ruined chapel.

"So … the Hunter has come to Sunnydale," the ensouled vampire known as Angel muttered.

"… crap."

Downtown, the subject of everyone's newfound obsession stood in the rain as he stared down the gullet of a lightless, filth-strewn alley.

"I really need to visit some nicer places," the stranger said to himself, shifting the straps of his bags and entering the alley. With every step, his sodden clothes dragged against his skin like saran wrap, and icy water ran into his eyes from the torrential downpour, but he continued on unaffected.

A monstrous crack of lightning soon lit the night sky like a flash of noonday sun, illuminating a heavy metal door at the end of the alley in front of him. His pounding knock coincided almost perfectly with an echoing boom of thunder from the storm overhead.

In the door, a narrow flap slid aside with a faint metal screech, revealing two eyes staring out inquisitively.

Two sulfuric yellow eyes.

"I'm here for the club," the traveler stated.

The eye-flap promptly slid shut, and with the screech of a heavy metal latch being thrown back, the door swung open.

"Thank you," the dripping guest told the absolutely hulking vampire on the other side, gratefully stepping over the threshold and out of the rain.

"Don't make trouble," the walking mass of muscle warned him in a deep bass that seemed perfectly suited to the thundering storm outside.

The guest grinned. "Oh, I'd never," he promised.

With a bored grunt, the vampire closed the door and returned to a cheep wooden chair, picking up a magazine and slowly flipping through it.

As such, the vamp never noticed the small, delicately carved stone the outsider stuck to the wall next to the door.

The stranger scrubbed a hand through his short, sopping hair as he turned and headed down the short, blocky concrete hallway, flying water droplets glittering like jewels as they reflected the cheap, harsh yellow light overhead.

Opening the only other doorway, however, revealed a very different picture.

"Swanky," he commented idly as he stared out at a surprisingly upscale club grown out of what looked like a sizable bomb shelter. Stepping forward, he leaned on the railing of a broad metal balcony encircling a thriving bar and dance floor downstairs, while the balcony itself was surrounded by dozens of doors leading to what he somewhat suspected weren't prayer corners, given the scantily clad women prowling about outside them, draping themselves over patrons and flashing sultry or even downright predatory smiles at prospectives.

Of course, the term "women" would be a bit of an assumption in a few of their cases, as every one of them possessed at least some form of inhuman characteristics, and in some of their cases, even seemed to possess nothing else.

Not that this exactly made them stand out in this crowd. All in all, maybe a handful of the patrons seemed ostensibly human. All the rest were very obviously and proudly demonic in nature. Even the vampires all seemed to have freely shed their human guises and were strutting about showcasing their feral golden eyes, twisted brow ridges, and razor-sharp fangs as they chatted amicably with other patrons or sipped from glasses of what probably wasn't Gatorade.

"This'll do," the new arrival decided, stepping away from the edge and making his way down the stairs to the main floor. As he did, he earned himself more than a few ugly looks and even threats due to the way his bulky traveler's bag jostled the crowd he waded through.

He didn't bother responding.

Eventually, he managed to reach the circular island bar flanking the dance floor, where numerous demons were … either dancing, mating, or seizing. He couldn't really tell. Mostly, he just appreciated that the whole place wasn't absolutely booming with nauseatingly loud music like most such clubs would be. He suspected magic was involved, given the lines of alien script he glimpsed carved into the floor around the dance area, likely spellwork isolating the majority of the music to the dance floor. However it worked, he was just happy it was quiet enough by the bar to have a functional conversation.

This would certainly make his job easier.

"Welcome to the Sunset Club, stranger!" one of the purely human-looking bartenders greeted as he took an empty seat in front of him. "It's your first time here, isn't it? I can always tell. You lot all have the same look to you."

It seemed he landed himself a chatty one. That would also make things easier.

"Yep. First time here," he answered, dropping his bags next to his seat with a loud, wet thump and shaking his coat free of some of the excess water.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked, already wiping down the newly damp counter.

"Jägermeister," he ordered, tossing a coin on the counter and rolling his shoulder to ease the knot caused by the larger bag's shoulder strap.

The bartender raised his eyebrows at the sight of the old gold coin, but didn't bother questioning the odd currency. Swiping it instead, he promptly slid him the requested shot, which the stranger tossed back with practiced ease. He shook his head at the drink's kick, but sighed gratefully at the flash of warmth from the alcohol.

"I gotta say, I'm surprised to see a demon bar this large in a town this size," he commented, turning and gazing at the crowd. "Hell, I heard of this place as far away as San Diego."

"Oh, yeah?" the chatty bartender replied with a toothy smile, refilling his glass. "Well, it's not too surprising. Our only real competition out here is a dingy little place on the other side of town called Willy's Bar, and with the Hellmouth out here drawing in our particular clientele by droves, even a town this small needs something more than a little rat-trap like that."

"I'm sure," he responded with a smile, downing the shot. "Some of your customers don't exactly seem like they do much blending with the locals, though," he pointed out, nodding at some of the more overtly monstrous-looking patrons. "They all come in through that alley outside?"

"Oh, no, no. That's just our more public-friendly entrance. We've got another that leads directly to some of the electrical-access tunnels that crisscross all over our fine city," the bartender explained, turning and nodding at the far wall, where a similar-looking hallway led off from the main floor. "That's the entrance our more … exotic-looking clients use, along with our melanin-deprived patrons." The bartender smiled and nodded at a passing vampire he was apparently friendly with, likely a regular.

The brown-haired customer eyed the second entrance before turning back to the bartender. "Hey, watch my stuff for a second?" He tossed an older, even fatter golden coin on the counter as incentive.

"Need to hit the head, eh?" the bartender guessed, hastily pocketing the coin. "Wall on the left."

"Thanks," he answered, sliding off his seat and maneuvering through the crowd once again. As he headed for the back entrance, though, he cast a glance at the side wall the bartender had indicated. To his amusement, he spotted doors marked with the standard "Man" image, the "Woman" image, and what looked like an amorphous blob that he guessed was intended for demons with more unorthodox anatomies.

On the other side of the bar, he made his way down a short concrete hallway much like the one he had entered through, reaching another bouncer minding a heavy metal door. Unlike the hulking vampire, though, this bouncer was an even taller Fyarl demon, complete with the race's standard of curled ram's horns, tough leathery hide, and the demonic equivalent of a resting bitch-face, which looked rather like the human variant, but with just a shade more fang and drool.

"Hey, I'm looking for a friend of mine," he told the bouncer, palming another carved stone. "Big guy. Groxlar. Seen one?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I haven't seen any Groxlars this evening," the Fyarl answered in a polite and sophisticated tone, which was rather surprising, given that Fyarls were generally more prone to grunting and caveman-esque speech patterns.

"Huh. I guess I beat him here," he said, sticking the stone to the wall next to the door. "Thanks anyway."

"Anytime, sir. Enjoy your evening," the Fyarl replied, still in the jarringly cultured tone.

"Without a doubt," he answered, making his way back to the main floor.

As he headed back to his seat, though, he spotted a few of what he guessed were club employees milling about around the hallway he had arrived through, along with a handful of confused or angry-looking patrons.

It seems they found my little surprise, he interpreted with a chuckle. I guess that means it's time to get this show on the road.

"Ah, you're back," the bartender greeted him happily as he returned to his seat. "Must've been less of a line than usual."

"Yep. I'm sure it'll get busier in a minute, though," he answered cryptically, kicking back another shot before bending down to open one of his bags.

The bartender frowned at him curiously, but didn't ask as he started to refill the shot glass. However, he made a bit of a mess when he jerked in surprise upon spotting the sheathed sword the stranger casually pulled out of the bag.

"Uh … sir?" the bartender said rather nervously.

"Yes?" he replied, not looking up as he partially drew and checked the single wickedly flanged edge of the ornate, slightly curved blade, vaguely resembling a cross between a scimitar and a bat's wing.

Perfect for separating heads from bodies.

… or limbs from bodies, if needed.

"You, uh … can't have weapons out in here," the bartender hesitantly informed him.

"Oh?" he responded noncommittally as he looped the strap of the modified back-sheath over his shoulder and threaded the bottom part through a slit in the back of his reddish leather coat down near his ribs, making sure the black and gold hilt was easily accessible over his shoulder, the deep crimson rubies in the pommel and the top of the knuckle guard winking in the light like cruel, blood-soaked eyes.

"Yeah," the bartender asserted somewhat unassertively as he next pulled out a heavy but delicately engraved silver kukri knife, checking its forward-curved edge as well before attaching the foot-long sheath of the machete-like blade behind his waist under his coat. "It's, uh … bar policy, you know?" the bartender continued, appearing more nervous by the second.

"Thanks for telling me," he absently replied, retrieving a shorter, double-edged dagger with a narrow, finely pointed brownish-gold blade made of what looked like horn, of all things, though hilted in black iron that ran down the blade's spine to strengthen the unconventional material. Satisfied with its sharpness, he hung the blade from his hip. "It would have been embarrassing if I hadn't known," he continued rather insincerely.

"Sure, sure," the bartender agreed uncertainly. By now, several other patrons were staring at the stranger in surprise, confusion, or anxiety as he continued to arm himself right in front of them.

At that point, however, the bartender finally managed to grab the attention of a bouncer with what he probably thought was a surreptitious gesture.

"Alright, buddy. I think it's time you took your business elsewhere," the bouncer, a muscle-bound M'Fashnik, told him gruffly.

In response, the now armed stranger slid his shot of Jäger in front of the bouncer. "Have a drink," he told the M'Fashnik.

"I'm not having a drink, and neither are you," the lizard-like demon growled, grabbing his shoulder. "Now let's take this outsi–"

Grabbing the back of its head, the stranger slammed the demon's face into the counter and shot glass with a loud thud and the tinkle of broken glass.

"I insist," he told the M'Fashnik as it collapsed to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. Turning back to the now shaking bartender, he held up a finger. "One more, please," he ordered politely.

Nodding jerkily, the bartender started filling another glass, though his hand was shaking so much that he got more on the counter than anywhere else.

Not that this bothered the stranger, though. In fact, he wasn't even paying attention to the bartender any longer. Instead, he had swiveled in his seat to look out at the rest of the densely packed club. By now, almost every demon there was staring at him in either imminently aggressive or downright fearful silence, including those clustered around the hallways leading to the exits, mystically locked thanks to his little stones.

"Showtime," the stranger muttered with a vicious grin.

Author's note: You know, I swore I wasn't going to start up another story until I had finished one of my others. But then I remembered that I have no self-control. So here you go! Oh, and the first scene of the story takes place during the episode "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date" from season one of Buffy.

Also, if you're the type who likes reference images to help get a better picture of the things being described, the sword is roughly based on a modified version of the sword of Vlad Tepes that appeared in DLC for Assassin's Creed: Revelations. I don't really have specific reference images for the kukri knife or the coat, but the horn dagger's design was inspired by the dragonbone dagger from Skyrim, though with a more narrow, pointed blade design as opposed to the dagger's more leaf-shaped blade design in the game. And finally, the Sunset Club was inspired by the bomb shelter of the same name that a bunch of cape-wearing vampire wannabes were using to cry about the "Lonely Ones" and generally just be enormous idiots in the episode "Lie to Me" from season two of Buffy. Though obviously, the version appearing in this story is very heavily expanded and altered compared to its canon counterpart.

Let me know what you think, and see you next time!