Summary: A sequel to Inverted.
Disclaimer: I own EVERYTHING! The world owes me a God's ransom in royalties and taxes!
Feedback: Shure...
Spike was not liking this.
The freak who had him chained down on a cold bench was hitting a simple design of runes into a long knife that he had produced. With each blow of the hammer against the stamp the grey metal of the knife flared blue. Power was building, power that William the Bloody did /not/ like.
"Hey, mate, what's going on?," Spike asked nervously. He /still/ couldn't feel his legs -- his arms neither, since the maniac had broken the vampire's neck. "You're not going to hurt ole Spike, are ya?"
"Only for a moment," the man replied, carefully lining up the stamp then swinging the hammer again. "I've wanted a Vampiric Demon for a long time now."
"If you let me go, I could bring a bunch of dumb sods for you to experiment on," Spike offered.
"Perhaps," the man said, pausing thoughtfully. "What would be the average age?"
"About two years," Spike admitted. "But I can get some older ones, honest!"
The corpse painted man carefully aligned the stamp, then delicately tapped it with the hammer. The whole knife flared blue, then a dull blue glow settled on the knife.
"Rather basic, but I don't have time for fancy work," the man said, holding the knife up to the light and inspecting it. "I bet you don't know what this is, do you?"
"Not me, mate," Spike said nervously. That knife looked ominous, from his point of view. "You wouldn't be planning on using that on me, would you?"
A disturbing grin grew on the unnaturally pale face. "You've got soul fragments clinging to you. Did you know that?"
"Nope," Spike said. Agree with the psychotic man, and he might get out of this. If he ever got his hands on this bloke a few years from now...
The man pointed a finger at the restrained vampire. A transparent wisp rose from it, bowing slightly to him, then it continued upwards out of sight.
"No more soul," the mage smirked. "Time to have some... fun."
The pure demon left in Spike's shell screamed as the mage plunged the knife into it's dead heart. The joined knife and body glowed blue, then the glow was absorbed into the metal as the vampiric body turned into dust.
"Nice, very nice," the mage continued to smirk, lifting a heavy metal desk with ease onehanded, the other holding the knife.
He put it down experimentally, then tried to lift the desk again. He found himself unable to lift it, without holding the knife.
"Well. Let's have some fun now."
"He's broken," the gaunt vampiress sobbed. "All torn to pieces like Jezebel, but they'll never let my poor Spikey go, not either of them."
"Maybe if you're... good, for lack of a better word, I'll let you hold what's left sometime," a voice said.
Drusilla looked up, to find a man in a black coat with spiked bracers standing on a rafter. He was holding a knife patterned with runes. He easily jumped to the floor, inverted cross dancing across his bare chest in the moonlight.
"Oh, goody!," Drusilla laughed, clapping her hands together. "You're here. Both Miss Edith and the stars promised you'd be here, you know. Do you like the puddings? My mummy used to make me lovely puddings..."
The man cocked his head, staring at the vampiress. "You're a Seer. Either that or you're stark raving mad."
"Psss psss psss," Drusilla said, beckoning him with a single finger.
"What?," the man asked, an eyebrow cocked.
"Can't tell, it's a secret," Drusilla pouted.
"Have it your way," the man shrugged. "I've done my share of work tonight. It's almost dawn, and time for fun."
The man walked quickly down the main street. Something powerful was near, something... chaotic. He ignored the small demons running past him, just as they ignored him. His head snapped around to look at a small shop.
Ethan's Costume Shoppe.
That was the central nexus of the flows of power. He kicked open the front door to the shop.
"I'm dreadfully sorry, but we aren't open at night," an English voice said distastefully.
He hated the English. The mage pulled out the rune inscribed knife.
"Kindly leave," Ethan said, scowling.
The mage strode up to Ethan, holding the knife around his throat and his arms immobile before the chaos mage could react.
"T-this isn't right!," Ethan railed. He paused. "You, you're not going to kill me, are you?"
"With your connection?," the corpse painted face whispered. "That would be like killing the goose who lays the golden eggs."
Ethan felt a searing pain in his forehead as the flat of the blade was applied to it, then abruptly felt drained and fell unconscious.
The mage slung Ethan over a shoulder, keeping a firm grasp on the knife to make sure he was strong enough to carry the man.
"A-And Xander also purchased some items from this shop?," Giles asked Willow.
"Yeah," she shrugged. Angel, Buffy, Cordelia and her were currently barricaded in the Library. "He got an... inverted cross, some spikey things, and a wig. Oh, and a collar."
"An inverted cross?," Giles asked, voice dry suddenly. "Tell me, was he dressed as a priest?"
"Nope, goth," Cordelia informed him.
Giles' face paled. "Oh. Oh dear. And you, Cordelia, bought your costume at Partytown?"
"Of course," the cheerleader smiled. Her smile turned into a frown. "Although I probably won't get my deposit back, after Jojo the Dogfaced Boy attacked me."
"Ethan's Costume Shoppe," Giles thought out loud. He made a mental connection. "Ethan. /Ethan Rayne./"
This was not good. This was well beyond not good, in fact. While Buffy, Willow and the other teenagers viewed goths as rather sad individuals into poetry, Ethan and himself viewed them as rather psychopathic death mages.
Giles just hoped he reversed Ethan's misguided spell before the bodycount began.
Xander clutched his head, dropping the knife as the possessing spirit left him, leaving behind it's knowledge and beliefs.
"God, my poor head," he muttered.
His eyes locked on the knife.
The knife that Spike's demon was caught in.
The G-man was definitely gonna be interested in that.
Giles turned the knife over in his hands. While crudely stamped, it had been constructed delicately enought that it had caught a demon like a mosquito in amber.
"Whoever it was made that... thing, released Spike's soul fragments, then trapped the vampire demony thing in it," Xander explained.
"I... see," Giles said. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to Ethan, would you?"
"The evil me kinda tied him up and left him somewhere to play with later," Xander admitted.
Both shuddered at the thought of what kind of 'play' the black mage would have liked to indulge in.
"You wouldn't happen to know what this mage knew, now, would you?," Giles asked carefully.
"Pretty much all of it," Xander shuddered. "I am /not/ going to get a good night's sleep, /ever/, now. I even almost have sympathy for DB, now."
"So you could make similar weapons and soultraps to this one?," Giles continued carefully.
"Yeah," Xander shrugged. "Not going to though -- those things are pure evil."
"I strongly suggest that you never mention these abilities to the Watcher's Council, Xander, unless you wish to be chained to an anvil and forge for the rest of your life," Giles sighed.
"I'm doing my best to forget as we speak," Xander said. In a burst of mirth, he added, "Unfortunately, it ain't schoolwork, so it isn't vanishing as quickly as it could be."
Giles was about to reprimand him for his joviality, when he caught sight of the haggard visage Xander was displaying to the world.