The Horned One
Gospel music filled the tiny church. Dark stained glass windows threatened to shatter from the pounding rhythms. Rows and rows of black worshippers chanted slow words of worship, united in a chorus of reflection, echoing a single, demented voice. This voice, that of a preacher, led the prayers from the front of the shadowy building. Human voices rose in a dark crescendo, lauding honour and praise to the one true God. Rhythm, power and prayer swept the room.Slowly, centred on the blackened altar, a tiny goat headed apparition formed. It gazed around and fed on the fear and lust for power obsessing those gathered. It could grow stronger in a place like this. This was a door to a new and succulent world. If it could learn to break that door down and burst through, the sweet juice of this new world would be its pleasure.
The door smashed open as a dark apparition burst into the church, his coat billowing in the entranceway like a cape. From behind him, a smaller man appeared. They looked at each other. The smaller man punched a fist into his open hand.
"Unholy services Batman," Doyle said in a fake an American accent.
"What?" asked Angel.
"Don't you ever watch TV?" Doyle gave up.
"We're trying to stop a major summoning here, can we discuss hobbies afterwards."
"I'll betcha Kate watches TV," countered Doyle grinning.
"Not," growled Angel, "while she's fighting the Horned One."
"Somethin' tells me you don't mean that as a euphemism," Doyle managed as he pointed to the Altar. "Unholy horned ones Angel, what do we do?" The apparition was becoming solid. Feeding on the willing souls around it, using the energy to grow and form. Six feet tall and evil through every inch, it stepped from the altar onto red hooves. The heavy sound echoed around the church. The singing stopped.
"Gooood to seeee youu agaain Aaangelll," it rasped. "Remember meeee?"
Sunrise burned across the desert, tearing at unseen speeds towards its victim. Commanded by huge glowing red eyes, the light seared across miles of scorched desert, hungry, desperate. Behind the eyes, the Horned One smiled. Such pleasure, such joy it was to torture one so pure, so in love. He willed the light and it turned, cascading over dunes toward one huge mound of sand. Atop this mound, still in the dawn's cool shadow, was Angel.
His naked body was strapped with taut leather binds to an enormous black, obsidian cross. Cool dark rock that barbecued his flesh, sending plumes of rich, grey smoke curling around his straining muscles. As the tidal wave light of dawn smashed into his tortured body, he wailed with agony. His soul screamed for help, for love, for Buffy. Bucking against the binds, the lost vampire stretched his muscles to breaking as his skin began to boil and bubble from his chest. Such pain.
Dark pleasure filled the Horned One as he watched Angel melt and burn before him. It walked forward and licked at Angel's groin. The deep purple snake tongue wrapped around Angels charred manhood.
"Sssaaay you haate herrr and I'lll let youuu dieeee," its gravelly voice tempted.
Flames filling his mouth, fire devouring his eyes, Angel looked down at his torturer. As the heat sent him to oblivion, he screamed.
"I'll always love Buffy!"
Angel opened his eyes. He was bound to an obsidian cross in the middle of
a desert. In a few more moments, the dawn sunlight would reach him…again. The cross began to hurt.
Angel tore through the ravening crowd. Devout followers swarmed him as he tried to reach his demonic target, pushing and punching him. He was stronger though, slamming his huge frame into one after another, carving a path to victory.
"Dis bit," shouted Doyle as he mopped up behind Angel, "was not in The Exorcist." The two friends forced their way through, pushing toward the darkness.
Angel reached the Horned One first and hesitated. It looked…impatient, as if it was waiting for them. Doyle careened into him from behind, shaking his demon face away.
"So, three demons and you appear to be outnumbered," Angel taunted.
"Er dats two and a half demons technically Coated Crusader," protested Doyle.
The preacher came at Angel from the left. Doyle intercepted him and drove a fist into the twisted, Negro face. The preacher dropped.
"Right," said Doyle straightening his leather jacket, "where were we?"
The Horned One reached a clawed red hand at each man. Burning flame shot through them and they fell writhing in agony. The flame poured and molded itself to them, searching inside, baking outside. Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The huge demon stepped over them, its hooves echoing around the tiny church. Rasping hatred, it turned and looked at the helpless men, its immense hostility bubbling to the surface.
"Kaaate Lockleeeeey and Cordeeeeliiiiaaahhh Chaaasssse," it smiled. "Eeeassyyyyy."
The vile, demonic evil stalked from the church leaving Angel and Doyle barely able to move.
Cordelia sat up in bed, her face twisted with concentration. She held five cards close to her chest and stared at five others that floated in mid air several feet across the bed from her. Reaching her slim fingers into a pile of peanuts beside her, she announced "I'll raise you three, whatever these are," she finished.
Three more peanuts floated through the air to a pile between them, followed by three more.
"You know, the nice thing about a night with you Dennis," Cordelia beamed at her invisible friend, "I get to do all the talking."
I don't have to dress up, thought Dennis. He watched Cordelia as she took three cards. He thought fondly of her, partly because she was so full of life, which is precious to someone dead. Partly also, he was close to her because she reminded him of his sister Mary. She had been very beautiful but a little shallow too he thought. Dennis was about to select another card when he sensed it. Dark boding evil was close by. Dennis was used to evil but this, this was different, deeper, richer, more pungent. Sulphur filled the air as the door to Cordelia's apartment flew open.
"Eeeewww Dennis, was that you?"
"Cordeeeeliiiiiaaaaahhhh Chaaaaasseee?" it asked.
Cordelia screamed. Then recovering she said "No, I'm …Scarlet O'Hara, that bitch Cordelia lives down the corridor. Ptui, I never liked her, yes sir."
"It willll beee a pleasuuure to killll youuuu," threatened the demon as it strode into her apartment. Cordelia threw back the covers and her lithe young legs carried her swiftly to an albanian axe she kept by the fireplace. Dennis watched as she stood trembling, the axe dwarfing her. She looked so helpless shaking, dressed only in her overlong blue sweater.
The Horned One raised a single smooth red hand and pointed a finger at her. Cordelia buckled, dropping her weapon and falling to the floor in agony. Self-doubt drowned her mind as thousands of voices shouted accusations in her head. Their bitter loathing swept her doubting spirit like flotsam on a tide of bile.
Cordelia the bitch, the self-centred, narcissistic harpy.
Their hatred smothered her, stealing her air, pushing her under. Unrelenting indictments buried her alive. Unforgiving hands of vengeance pushed her down, an inch for every insult, another for every bitchy comment, still another for every hurtful look. Amy, Buffy, Willow, Xander, Angel, Giles and Doyle all taunted her with loathing and spite playing across their faces. They took pleasure in plucking flesh from her soul and feeding it to her.
"Punish her," they chanted.
Her rich, brown eyes filled with tears as she looked up at the huge demon towering over her.
"Make …. it … stop," she begged.
"Yessss," it revelled, "I willlll. Nottt heere, where sheeee wassss, where he firrrsssst kneeeew herrr." The evil picked Cordelia up by her silken hair and dragged her out of the apartment, as she remained engulfed in her loathing.
Silver moonlight sparkled on the cross Kate wore. Her slate blue eyes stared at LAs late evening traffic as she played absent-mindedly with it. Here, in her flat, she was safe: more or less. Walking across to her writing table, she thought about the years of sacrifice she had made to this city. Desperate years trying to match her father and clean up the streets. Now, recently, she had discovered there were far worse things in LA than Hispanic drug barons, corrupt white lawyers and black pimps.
Her jeans tightened as she sat down in her writing chair. She opened a manuscript at page seventy three and wrote:
'Scum come in all shapes and colours.'
Outside her door, a new, tall, red, LA resident smiled. It could smell a victim. Slowly, quietly, the apartment door opened, apparently unaided. "Kaaate Lockleeeeeey?" it grated as the surprised blonde police officer doubled over in agony. Images of her failures and her father's disappointments blinded her.
"Father!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes, barely able to move.
Doyle stood by the bed in Cordelia's apartment. His normally gentle face was hard with anger. He pulled out a mobile phone and, with a single touch, called Angel.
"Angel."
"Its Doyle Angel, Cordelia's gone, the bastard got here first," Doyle said as he paced into the bathroom.
"I hope I can get to Kate first," came the reply, largely muted by the roar of the Mustang's meaty engine.
"Good luck," finished Doyle as he hung up.
Doyle leant over the bathroom sink of ivory and gold. Looking up, his angry eyes stared deeply into his own reflection in the mirror. He wondered how many hours Cordelia had spent in front of this mirror, perfecting her makeup and hair. It took a long time to make a work of art, he thought. If he saw Cordelia again he would do it. He would tell her how he felt. Dammit, if he saw her again he would take her in his arms and kiss her. No more time to waste, no more opportunities squandered: their lives would most likely be too short to have regrets.
For the first time he realised, it did not matter if she reciprocated. It only mattered to Doyle that she knew how he felt. She deserved to know how beautiful she was in his eyes. He wanted to gift her his love and offer honest passion to her. If she was not able to give the same back, which was very likely he thought, at least if one of them died, they would have shared one completely honest emotion. He would have one moment, perfectly wrapped, that he could give as his gift to her.
He would tell her that her perfume stayed with him all night.
He would tell her that her eyes made him feel like a child.
He would tell her that her smile made him feel forgiven.
"Cordelia," he said into the mirror, "Cordelia, you make me feel all man, all human," he finished.
Doyle slapped himself. All human? Oh please.
Doyle snapped out of his reverie as a tube of lipstick moved up to the mirror. In fascination and confusion, he watched as it wrote on the mirror.
'Where she was, where he first knew her. Save Cordelia.'
"Tanks a million Dennis," Doyle shouted as he ran from the apartment.
Angel was seeing red.
He faced the Horned One who smiled at him. The wide mouth of endless black teeth twisted into a mocking greeting. Angel flared, vampiric anger consuming him, bulging his muscles and bursting across his face. Stepping back a pace Angel launched himself at the open doorway. As if he had hit a brick wall, he crumpled and fell, injured.
"Kate," he called, "Kate, if you can hear me, invite me in," he shouted as he got to his feet.
Kate Lockley could hear nothing. She was still lost in her father's disgust for her. He was still telling her how much he had wanted a boy and no matter how hard she tried, her sickeningly pathetic female ways would never satisfy him. The tall red demon had her body slung over one shoulder.
"Sssssaayyyy gooodbyyye Aaangelll," it hissed.
Moving close to the doorway, it leant forward and kissed the air. Angel rammed his fist into the doorway, breaking several knuckles.
"Yourrr'e toooo eaasyyyyy," the goat headed monstrosity laughed at him. It turned and heavily made its way to the window.
Angel turned and ran. He ran faster than any human could move down the corridor, round the corner and launched himself at the stairs. Leaping over the railing, he landed three floors down. Then he jumped again and then again, until even his hugely powerful muscles tired from falling nine flights of stairs. He stumbled but he stumbled forward, almost falling the rest of the way to the lobby. At the bottom step he rolled, and was up on his feet and flying at the exit. Pushing his way through the revolving doors, he emerged onto the main street at full speed, his strong legs carrying him at lightning speed toward the alley a few yards away. Reaching out a hand, he used his talon like grip on the bricks to allow him to turn without slowing and then he sprinted, tiring but determined, to the back of the building.
As he emerged into the back alley, the one below Kate's window, he was already too late. The dim streetlights showed disappointment in his eyes as he returned to his human form. He came to a stop and looked around but could find no trace of his old torturer.
Then his mobile phone rang.
"Angel, what about Kate?"
"Gone," he said simply.
Doyle repeated the writing on the mirror to Angel. Angel frowned.
"Buffy's old school she burnt down, that's where I first saw her, here in LA. Doyle this is too dangerous, I'm going myself."
"Not on yer life buddy," started Doyle but Angel had already hung up.
Angel pushed his Mustang to the limit. Buffy's old school was still nearly ten miles away. Whistler had come to him one night when he was eating another rat and taken him there. Whistler, a sad little Irish man, had shown him something worth being dead for.
Buffy.
For almost one hundred years, Angel had done nothing but feel self-pity. Whistler had shown him a better way, a purpose. It was Whistler, with the help of the powers that be, that had led the Slayer and Angel to meet. A vampire and a Slayer in love, it would be poetry, if it was not tragedy. Their love had sent him to hell, and, in hell, burnt and tortured, that love had kept him safe.
Buffy had lost Faith but Angel never lost hope.
Buffy.
Kate.
Both were small and blonde, that was obvious. Kate was strong and independent. She was no Slayer but she fought darkness in her way. Kate was a policewoman. Angel knew that Buffy had been recommended to follow a career in law enforcement at school. Then there was that cross they both wore and the never ending need to please their respective fathers.
The Mustang roared and screeched as Angel pushed south toward the school. There were less than two miles to go now. He had to save Kate. He had to save her at any cost.
Doyle arrived at the office by taxi. He was cursing Angel. He was cursing all the way up the stairs. The office light glared off the computer screen as Doyle began his web search for 'schools', 'Buffy Anne Summers' and 'fire'.
Robin never had this trouble with Batman. Hell even Shaggy did not have this much trouble with Scooby-Doo.
The school stood like a charred memorial to the power of a Slayer. Only one building remained intact, surrounded by heavy meshes to protect the public. At eight feet high, the barriers proved little effort to an angry vampire. Angel landed firmly on scorched earth.
He checked the time. The moon was approaching its peak.
Angel strode toward the door of the gym where Buffy had fought her first gang of vampires. She had been fifteen at the time. She had killed vampires before but only in ones or twos. Merrick had trained her well though and she had defended the school more than adequately, the same school that then expelled her, forcing her out of LA to Sunnydale High.
Angel paused. Even despite his rage, he could smell the faint odour of sulphur – a deliberate act as vampires have no need to breathe.
For Buffy, he thought.
For Kate.
Pushing open the charred door, he entered the gym quietly. Treading softly over burnt remains, Angel looked around. His eyes could barely penetrate the dark in the hall, the moon affording little light through the boarded windows. Dust rose in the moonlight confusing Angel still further, whilst rows of stacked benches, broken and burnt made unrecognisable shapes in the shadows.
"Kate, Cordelia?" he called.
The huge horned demon emerged into the moonlight, holding the girls by their throats, one in each hand. The shadow and moonlight twisted its face into a grotesque parody of a goat, making it seem even more malicious than Angel remembered. It clomped toward him, vast weight breaking wooden boards.
"Where'sssss yourrrrr littllle frrrriend?" it asked in a terrible, harsh voice.
Doyle? Did it want Doyle? Angel was glad he had not let Doyle know where to come. Angel swallowed hard and continued to scan the gym. He needed something, a plan, an escape route, a distraction. This beast was no ordinary demon, it could make him helpless in a moment.
"Neverrrr miiiiind, I caaaame to finisssssh whatt weeeee starrrrrrted Angelusssss." The beast lifted Kate and Cordelia, unconscious and limp, into the air and began to tighten its grip.
A plan Angel.
"No, don't please, its me you want," Angel offered desperately. Anything to buy time he told himself. He walked forward until he was only three feet from his terrifying adversary. The menacing eyes focused on him and images flooded his mind, forcing him to his knees. The beast continued to tighten its grip on the girls.
Buffy's sweet eyes smiled up at Angel as he continued to push deep into her. The beads of sweat on his back caught the candlelight in Buffy's bedroom. They glittered as his back arched time after time, his muscled body engulfing her tiny frame below him. Reaching a tiny hand upwards, she brushed the sweat from his brow before her own self control was lost and she clutched him tight, moving with him. The bed creaked a little as the Slayer's powerful thrusts joined Angel's. He put an arm either side of her and pushed up, giving himself more room to push harder, faster. Buffy clawed at his back, the pain increasing his passion and his inner animal fought for pleasure.
Blackness engulfed him at his moment of true happiness. Angelus took control, one hundred years of bitter hatred blasting from hidden depths. At last, he would have this Slayer bitch. Angel tried but could not fight. It was different this time, he was aware, inside, conscious of Angelus. He could see through the hateful eyes and could feel the bitter, twisted lust for torture. He could taste the evil bile and smell the gore. Angelus roared. Buffy tried to fight him, but Angelus thrust a hand inside her, his fingers like piercing knives deep in her soft body. She screamed in agony, unable to get away. Angelus smiled and pushed into her harder. Angel could find no way out. He was trapped deep within himself.
"Buffy!"
Angelus turned. His fangs were now perilously close to the young blond girl's innocent neck. Then, as Angel watched, Angelus turned his head to bite her through one of her eyes. Once blind, Angel knew, Angelus would torture her slowly, taunt her, strip her mind before devouring her. Angel tore at the warm blackness around him, trying, desperately searching for a way to help.
Beside him, a red demon appeared, holding Cordelia and Kate.
"Beg meee to killlll themmmm aaand I'll maaaake thissss sssstop," it taunted. "Beeeeg meeeeeee biiitchhh."
Angel spun around confused. His mind affected by the demon, reality and fantasy blurring. Was Buffy in danger? Were Kate and Cordelia being strangled slowly? Which was the truth, were both true?
Buffy's left eye burst, jelly cascading into Angelus's mouth. Angel could taste it. He stared up at the image of Buffy, helpless in agony, dying. Blood gushed from her eye socket, her screaming becoming uncontrollable. The scarlet blood poured over her face down to her neck and Angelus bristled with lustful hunger. First though, he made for her other eye.
"Yoouuuu cannn sssaaaave herrrr, wisssshhh ittt on someone elssseee on Kaaaaate, the woooorthlessssss biitchhh." Huge red eyes burned through the warm blackness, single points of truth in the darkness.
"Wisssshhh it Angeellll."
Angelus bit the Slayer's other eye. Angel bent double as the popping sound filled his mind.
"Wisssshh itttt," the Horned One commanded. Its twisted face smiled a grotesque smile of victory.
"I…" began Angel but the demon had vanished.
Another scream of agony filled his mind.
"Yeah you, goat for brains," threatened Doyle, looking around, uncertainly, for the nearest exit. Doyle was not your classic hero. He was genuinely, visibly, terrified of this monster. His body was half facing away from the huge, red demon, almost as if his body wanted to run but his mind prevented it- just. Almost shaking with fear and rage, Doyle stared at Cordelia. Even now, he thought, she was so beautiful. Demon spikes emerged from his head as he shook himself back to reality. The reality was not good. In the shadows, Angel's body writhed. It lay at the cloven feet of the Horned One, who, Doyle noted with terror was now completely focused on him.
If it could beat Angel, what chance did he stand?
The enraged beast had been surprised from its certain victory with Angel but had to take care of this pathetic half-human first. It crunched the neck bones of Cordelia, the one it sensed Doyle wanted most and smiled.
Doyle started forward, across the charred floor, determined, temporarily insane enough to not care what happened next.
"Thissss isss for yoouuuu," the beast taunted and flicked its head at Doyle. Doyle's worst nightmare engulfed him, twisted around his senses and gripped him tightly.
He continued to walk.
The demon tried again, this time, it dropped Kate and pointed a gnarled hand at Doyle. Again the images swept him, this time with more intensity but again he closed on the beast.
Confused and angry, the Horned One dropped Cordelia. It took a step back from the advancing Doyle. Doyle's righteous anger was growing, he was losing his fear. The demon faltered. Doyle looked at it, staring deep into its eyes. Had it become slightly smaller? Four more paces and he was on it, grimacing as he thrust his hands around its hairy neck.
The demon began to shrink. Doyle tightened his grip.
"Dis is for Cordelia you bastard," he yelled. Then, before he could kill it, he was forced to let go, as the demon became too small to hold. Doyle spun and picked up a plank of wood, anger driving him. Raising it above his head, he brought it down with ferocity on the tiny demon. Wailing in a tiny voice, the demon vanished as the burnt wood impacted on the gym floor.
Doyle rushed to where Cordelia was curled in a fetal ball and sat down next to her. Gently, carefully, as if handling a baby, he raised her head and lay her across his lap. Smoothing her hair back from her brow, he stared at her bruised neck and wondered if she was still alive. Grasping her wrist, he felt for her pulse– still strong. Gazing at her intensely he closed the distance between his lips and hers. Pausing for a second, breathing hard, holding the moment in his mind and heart, he thought there could be no sweeter taste than the first kiss with a longed for love. Pulling back slightly he smiled at her pointy face, relaxed in sleep. This moment, he thought, needed two people not one. Lovingly, he kissed her forehead as Cordelia groggily opened her large, brown eyes.
"Doyle?" she asked weakly.
"Yes?"
"Good," she managed before rolling over in his lap and, wrapping an arm around him. Her face was hidden in his lap, but Doyle could swear she was sobbing very quietly. Running a hand over her head, he gently rocked her back and forth.
"It's gone," he repeated to her. Kate, dazed and confused began to move, drawing Doyle's gaze. Angel opened his eyes but did not move. Something in his dark eyes disturbed Doyle and he looked back at Cordelia.
Angel stared at Kate. He stared at her but made no move toward her. In distant echoes, deep within his own mind, he could still hear his own begging, betrayal.
"Do it to Kate, not Buffy."
More than a week later, Angel emerged from his "bat-cave", as Doyle referred to his flat. He looked awful. In the office, Cordelia and Doyle were sharing a chocolate brownie.
"Breakfast?" asked Angel.
"Well with you doing the broody thing, we had no chef," Cordelia got right to the point. All three were quiet as Angel walked to his desk and sat down.
"How's Kate?" he asked.
"She's a little ruffled but, basically, she'll be fine, which is more dan we could say about you a minute ago boss," Doyle informed him. For almost thirty seconds nobody said anything. Angel stared at his desk, Cordelia at her brownie and Doyle at Cordelia. Cordelia sighed.
"Well this is fun," she said.
Angel looked up at Doyle.
"How did you beat it?" he asked. Doyle looked embarrassed and he averted his gaze from Cordelia. She in turn moved across to Angel's desk and sat on the edge, her legs swinging.
"I've been wondering the same thing," she added with a questioning look on her face. "I mean, if tall, dark and grrrr was outgunned, how come short, dark and errrr won it for the good guys?"
Doyle looked at her. The demon attacked with a person's worst fear. It flooded your mind with the worst thing imaginable and incapacitated you by crippling your senses. It had turned on Doyle and hit him with the full force of his worst fear and he had walked through it.
All Doyle had seen was what was happening right in front of him: Cordelia, dying slowly, merciless at the hands of a beast. His worst fear was watching Cordelia die. When the Horned One had focused on him, he had focused on Cordelia and promised himself she would not die today. She could not die until he had told her how he adored her. She could not pass on until he took her in his arms and kissed her. She had to stay alive to hear his love.
Doyle shrugged.
"I got lucky," he said quietly.