DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters represented in this work, those are owned by their creators, publishers, or distributors. No profit will be made.
This one's a bit more experimental, I'll explain more in the author's note.
Start.
The sun exploded and it was as if the world was born anew. The West bled across an evening sky. A menstrual lunar sphere hung in the star-pocked abyss like a spectral eye peering down upon the earth. Warm air rushed through her, pulling at her with an indescribable feeling of comfort.
She wanted to fall into the void. It was only her own will that kept her steady.
It was wrong. She shouldn't have felt the warmth. The body she inhabited was merely a construct of her mind, a puppet that she controlled from the safety of her own body. Interference of that magnitude was unordinary, unprecedented even. But still she felt the warmth.
She let it engulf her, enjoying the sensation. It felt like those hugs she used to receive, maybe a little too stiff and awkward but all the more comforting because, not in spite of that. And in that instant she wasn't Willow Rosenberg: master witch, respected member of the Watcher's Council, she was Willow, hapless teenage girl, still hopelessly in love with her best friend. And that was wrong.
There shouldn't have been anything comforting about another person's mind, and this one was all wrong. A mind was supposed to represent a person's true self, but all she could see was a night sky. When she looked down she realized she was standing on nothing. It felt like there was ground beneath her feet, but to her eyes she was standing among the stars.
The books she'd read had said that there was usually an entrance to a person's deeper thoughts. Considering she was suppose to be able to see surface thoughts where she was now, she was starting to think those books were a whole lot less useful than advertised.
What should have been a humble door was instead a herculean gate housed in an imposing barbican of wrought iron and wood that looked like it had been torn off a castle. There were no walls and she circled the gate twice to be sure there was nothing behind it. The wind battered around her, whirling dust and sand around her like a cocoon as she approached the gate. At a hundred meters she felt like she was melting, the puppet she was using creaked as it move forwards. It's joints were quickly starting to fail.
"My name is Willow Rosenberg. I am in control; this mind is within my domain."
A mantra, commonly found in Hinduism and Buddhism, is an utterance or prayer. Witches and Warlocks lovingly ripped them off, like they did most things, when it was discovered how effective mantras were at focusing magic. Keep it simple, the books had said, make it meaningful to you. She'd been using this one for years. Slowly she could feel her mobility returning.
"I am in control; this mind is within my domain."
The warmth died.
"You could have knocked."
She spun to face the direction of the voice.
"Xander?"
"Hi Willow," Xander said. But it wasn't him. His eye patch was missing for one thing and he had both eyes. Where Xander's face was bright and full of life, the visage before her resembled that of a hollow and pitted skull wrapped in sallow flesh. His body was gaunt and bent with fatigue, like he'd been pushing a boulder up a hill for all eternity.
"Who are you?"
"You can call me Gatekeeper." The voice was raspy.
"What do you mean?" Willow said.
"I keep anything and anyone from entering." Gatekeeper said, "Anything that tries to harm him has to go through me. You shouldn't be surprised considering the number of things that have entered his mind. "
"You mean there are more of you?"
Gatekeeper shrugged, "You know of at least two: Hyena and Soldier."
That wasn't right. Some people had the rare talent of constructing walls to the mind, a measure to keep invaders out. But gate keepers? Alternate selves? The books had said nothing about that. Possessions didn't create alternate personas.
"Where is he?" Willow demanded.
"Inside" Gatekeeper replied unhelpfully, "Somewhere deep."
"Thanks." She started walking past him into the void. She stopped when he held an axe in her path. It wasn't an axe she recognized, and she knew all of Xander's by heart.
"Didn't you hear me? I'm the gate keeper, nothing goes past me." His voice had taken a mocking lilt, like whenever Xander was feeling particularly smug.
"Let me in." She growled, power crackling at her finger tips. She was floating now; the air was filled with magic, dancing filling the void.
"No."
"You won't hurt me," Willow said, "Xander never could."
"I may share his mind," Gatekeeper said, "but I am not him. I never have been."
He moved faster than she could react. No. Faster than the puppet could react, and cleaved her left arm off with a ragged swing.
The arm didn't drop as much as explode from her puppet's body. It wasn't one to one, but she still felt pain of the limb boiling and bursting.
She shook it off, she'd been through worse. At the same time she slammed her right hand into Gatekeeper's chest and released the magic she'd built up. A bright flash, the sound of thunder. She made it concussive; it didn't tear his body apart or cut him in half, but it took him off his feet. He flew back, landing hard black meaningless void they were standing on.
Panting, she held her hand to the severed stump that remained of her left arm. She wove bone, nerves, muscle, and skin together. She had to concentrate; getting a single thing wrong would make the arm useless. She was sweating, her shirt stuck to her back with an unpleasant prickling sensation.
Gatekeeper stood, unharmed. He didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at her re-grown limb. He cut if off again.
That was getting old fast.
"You won't be able to pass me." He said, using the severed arm to scratch his back. Her deltoids were leaking everywhere.
"I won't." She conceded.
Gatekeeper dropped the arm and griped his axe tighter. Weathered wood creaked beneath his fingers. "Get out."
Willow clenched her hand tight into a fist, swallowing the magic she'd raised in her palm. Whatever warmth that had existed was gone; all that remained was a biting chill that seemed to only get worse as time passed.
"You'll see me again."
Gatekeeper shrugged, "That won't change anything."
She pulled herself out of the field; it felt like being sucked through a straw.
She woke up. The walls were beige or faded white, Xander was asleep on the bed, Giles and Buffy stood behind her. Both her arms were intact. She was home. It smelled like mothballs, which meant it was raining outside. Xander still hadn't fixed that like he said he would.
Her shirt clung to her back, damp with perspiration and she could smell her own odious body odor.
"Judging from the look on your face, I assume you were unsuccessful." Giles said. His glasses hung uselessly in his hands, half polished.
Buffy was much less reserved, drawing Willow into a crushing hug. Willow wanted to protest, complain about her own scent, but Buffy wouldn't have any of that. As far as she was concerned her friend needed her support and unpleasant BO wasn't going to get in the way of that.
"I got my arm cut off. Twice."
"Is he okay?" Buffy said, "Are you?"
"I don't know." Willow said. "Maybe."
"What happened in there?" Giles asked, "You started thrashing and screaming, I've never seen that happen before."
Willow gathered herself, "There was more than one Xander."
Giles frowned, "Is that even possible? I've never heard of anything like that."
"The Xander I met called himself the Gatekeeper. He said there are at least two others: Soldier and Hyena. I'm pretty sure he was hinting at more."
"That's" Giles searched for something to say, "not very good."
"Hyena and Soldier," Buffy repeated. "I remember the Hyena, Soldier was Halloween right?"
"Yeah," Willow said, "I think he was a Vietnam vet or something."
"But where could the others have come from?" Giles said, "As far as I'm aware those are the only times Xander has ever been possessed."
"Africa?" Willow asked.
"No." Giles said, "I read all of his reports, he never mentioned anything close to possession."
"Does fish-man count?" Buffy asked.
"I think that was more physical than mental." Giles said, "But then again, it seems everything else is possible, so I don't see why not."
"Dracula?"
Giles frowned, "I suppose that's also possible. There were certainly remnants of Dracula's spell that turned Xander into his thrall."
"Gatekeeper said he existed to protect Xander's mind from invaders." Willow said, "Is it possible that facets of Xander's mind gained self-awareness from the stress of his possessions?"
Outside the storm picked up. The raindrops hit the roof like bullets. Xander still hadn't fixed that leak in the attic.
"It's rare for someone to have been possessed twice. Even if the methods were radically different in their intent and execution, but I've never heard of multiple avatars of a single person inhabiting the same mind."
"I need to go back in," Willow said, "He needs our help." She paused, knowing Giles wouldn't like what she was about to say, "I can't use a puppet, not with his mind the way it is. Gatekeeper cut my arm off before I could even move. I'll never reach him with the limitations a puppet has."
"That would remove any safety you have. If you lose an arm, you won't be able to grow it back so easily."
"I know" Willow said, "There's no other way."
"Okay," Giles nodded, "You'll need help."
"I'll go." Buffy said immediately, "I don't mean to be big-headed, but I'm the best we got."
Giles rolled his eyes, "While I'm sure Faith would disagree, I see no reason to complain. Willow, is that going to be a problem?"
She nodded, "The spell I use can support more than one person and I don't think being a slayer would make a difference. I just need to compensate for a slayer's inherent magical aura."
"How long will that take."
Willow paused for a moment, "Done."
"Ok." Giles said.
"Ok." Buffy said. "Anything I should know?"
"Yeah," Willow said, taking Buffy's hands in hers "Close your eyes."
She muttered something and the room was filled with a bright light. Giles held his arm up to shield his face. "Good luck!" he called.
Willow nodded, and with a screeching explosion that tore through whatever sound that had existed before, Buffy and Willow vanished. The light left with them, leaving Giles alone with Xander's unconscious bodies as his only company. He pulled off his glasses and polished them with machine precision.
"Oh dear."
Author's Note:
Hi, welcome to my story. Expect this to be a relatively straightforward tale of mind boggling twists and turns. That sounds a bit odd doesn't it? The next chapter should be coming soon I am in control; this mind is within my domain and my plan is for a bi-weekly update schedule Iamincontrol;thismindiswithinmydomain. Thanks Iamincontrol;thismindiswithinmydomain for Iamincontrol;thismindiswithinmydomain reading Iamincontrol; ;thismindiswithinmydomainIamincontrol;thismindiswithinmydomain I͟a͍̙̲̜̱̳m̛͙͕i͠nc͚͔̬̥ọ̣͉n̦̫͕̬̯̙̱t͔͖r̴̲̰͈̩o͖̹̩͔̝ͅl̝̲̳͈̳̺̪;͡ţ͓͖̰͙͍ͅh͎̹̦̣i̪͍̖̻ͅͅs̶͉͕̝͓͚m̘̳̱̹ì̺̣̫̝n̦̦̩d̡͕i̢͔̰͚̞̜̗ś̥͖̦̝̮̘ͅw̶̺i̢̼͍̩ͅt̥͔h͏͚̞͎͓͔̻͕i̧̺͔̟̦͓̣n͍͚m͈̙̭ỵd͝o̘̠̭̫̣͠m̰̥̻̝̬̩a̧̰̼̰̠̲ͅi͕̲̝̭͓n͔̭̥I̠̜a̦̤m̧̺͉͔̫i̵͎̱̝͍̖n̙͍̯̰̫̱͞c̟͖̤̭̜o̼͉͎̹̦͈͟n͙̹̘͟tŗ̳̻̘̭̬̻o̵̗̻̮̘l͚̮̤̦;҉͕̠th̬͕̲̪͚͕̺i̴̘͉̯s̗m͖̻̘i̮̝͉̘̺̼n͉̯͕d̗̻̣͟i̡̻̠s̴̮̹̲wi̪͢t̩͠h͕͚͈i͉͔n̘̞my̲d͓̲͔o̲͔͢m̨̗̯̱̦a̗̠̙̹̻̗͘i͚̕n͎͚̖̼͈̞̙̕
I̞̙̦̝͞a̺͔̟͇̭̝͈m̻̟̝͎i̭̝n̩̹ͅc͉̰͕̥͝ͅo͍̥̼̩̭̗n͎̘t̰͞r̡͈̣̭o͙̯l͙̺͇̱̪̕;̵̝t͔hi̡̖̩s̮͈̜̩̞͈̕m̱̞̤̟͞in̟̪͝d̡̠i͔̬͈͕͈̣̲s͚̜̖̬̰ẃ͇̫i̜͇͖t͏̤͚h̯̭i͚̭n͓m̟̰͝y̶̖͓̪͕̟d̝̬̩o̧͓m̖̞̻̭a̢̱̘̘̹i̯n̫̩̩͈͉͓I̬͉͈̤̥͟a̕m̞̟̮͇̭̦ͅi̥̼͖̟͟nc̵̪̮̩͈̜̣̣o̜̹͙͙̼͓ͅn͖̲̮̬͟t͇r͞o̘͍̤̰̰̞͜ͅl̩̰̘̫;̜̱̗t̳̳̮͖̳̘̪hi̘̰̰͈̯̰͘ṣ̥̻͇̙͉͚m̙̤̜̰̟i̖̫͚n̦͇̥͕̼͖d͉̺i̷͇̝̬s̖̝̮̬͔w͏̩̣̯i̷̯̤̠̠͍̬t̫͈̭̩hi̮̣̭n͈͉̖̞͕͓m̝̥̩͇͈͝y̦̝
d̰̩o̗̗̞̱̖͕m̙͉̠̼a̟͞i̖̰͉̰͚̭̳n͏̱̬̮̱̜ I̞̙̦̝͞a̺͔̟͇̭̝͈m̻̟̝͎i̭̝n̩̹ͅc͉̰͕̥͝ͅo͍̥̼̩̭̗n͎̘t̰͞r̡͈̣̭o͙̯l͙̺͇̱̪̕;̵̝t͔hi̡̖̩s̮͈̜̩̞͈̕m̱̞̤̟͞in̟̪͝d̡̠i͔̬͈͕͈̣̲s͚̜̖̬̰ẃ͇̫i̜͇͖t͏̤͚h̯̭i͚̭n͓m̟̰͝y̶̖͓̪͕̟d̝̬̩o̧͓m̖̞̻̭a̢̱̘̘̹i̯n̫̩̩͈͉͓
̪̗̰̗I̬͉͈̤̥͟a̕m̞̟̮͇̭̦ͅi̥̼͖̟͟nc̵̪̮̩͈̜̣̣o̜̹͙͙̼͓ͅn͖̲̮̬͟t͇r͞o̘͍̤̰̰̞͜ͅl̩̰̘̫;̜̱̗t̳̳̮͖̳̘̪hi̘̰̰͈̯̰͘ṣ̥̻͇̙͉͚m̙̤̜̰̟i̖̫͚n̦͇̥͕̼͖d͉̺i̷͇̝̬s̖̝̮̬͔w͏̩̣̯i̷̯̤̠̠͍̬t̫͈̭̩hi̮̣̭n͈͉̖̞͕͓m̝̥̩͇͈͝y̦̝d̰̩o̗̗̞̱̖͕m̙͉̠̼a̟͞i̖̰͉̰͚̭̳n͏̱̬̮̱̜I̞̙̦̝͞a̺͔̟͇̭̝͈m̻̟̝͎i̭̝n̩̹ͅc͉̰͕̥͝ͅo͍̥̼̩̭̗n͎̘t̰͞r̡͈̣̭o͙̯l͙̺͇̱̪̕;̵̝t͔hi̡̖̩s̮͈̜̩̞͈̕m̱̞̤̟͞ in̟̪͝d̡̠i͔̬͈͕͈̣̲s͚̜̖̬̰
ẃ͇̫i̜͇͖t͏̤͚h̯̭i͚̭n͓m̟̰͝y̶̖͓̪͕̟d̝̬̩o̧͓m̖̞̻̭a̢̱̘̘̹i̯n̫̩̩͈͉͓
̪̗̰̗I̬͉͈̤̥͟a̕m̞̟̮͇̭̦ͅi̥̼͖̟͟nc̵̪̮̩͈̜̣̣o̜̹͙͙̼͓ͅn͖̲̮̬͟t͇r͞o̘͍̤̰̰̞͜ͅl̩̰̘̫;̜̱̗t̳̳̮͖̳̘̪hi̘̰̰͈̯̰͘ṣ̥̻͇̙͉͚m̙̤̜̰̟i̖̫͚n̦͇̥͕̼͖d͉̺i̷͇̝̬s̖̝̮̬͔w͏̩̣̯i̷̯̤̠̠͍̬t̫͈̭̩hi̮̣̭n͈͉̖̞͕͓m̝̥̩͇͈͝y̦̝d̰̩o̗̗̞̱̖͕m̙͉̠̼a̟͞i̖̰͉̰͚̭̳n͏̱̬̮̱̜Ị̧̖̤̥̹͔̫͚͍͘͠a͏͟͏͖͚̟̫̱̞̫͚̣̠͕̺͕̬̠̹̟̖͇͘͟m͏͏͏̝̻̝͍͡i̶̕͠͏͈̳̹͕͙̼͕͙̭̀ͅń̴͏̨̧̱̠̥͙̖̥͇̯͙͓̬̲̙̘͇̩̯̥̗c̯̖̫̝̮͕͖̙̪̤͢͠ơ̸̛͍͎̮͍͞ṋ̵̷̘̗̮̮̠̬̗̫̮̙̣̯̼͡t̵̶̺̘̝̩̬̙͙͇̲̗̖̫́͟ŗ̷̸̛̱͍͈̲̥͖̤͈̹̲̥̯̙͍o̴̷̧̯̗̪͖͢l̡̧͝͏͚̝̗̯͘;̷̶̧͚̫̝̥̪̖̮̞̜́͝ͅt̷̷̴̳͓̱̠͚̫̺̣͔͉͚̩͎͝h̨͢҉͖̮̘͔̗̼͖̯̬į̸̟͍͓͇̪̬̳̟̗̥̫̳̠̞̞ͅs̘͈͕̺͓̱̭̯̼͈̟̬̹͕̗̮̦̞̫͘͠m̲͇͇̲̲̻͉̯̟͈̭͟͡i̸̧̦̥̪̪̭̼̙̕͢ͅn҉҉̠̘̱̼̣̤͙͇̲d̛̟͙̼͕̮̦̱̼̖̭͎͙̱i͏̢͍̹̳̪͈͢s̡͜͏͙̙̗̖̥̳̯͙́ͅẃ̡͕̳̞̮̲̫͔͔͉͕̜i̡̮̟͕̜̜̹̳̠͖͉͕͖̹̦̞͘͝t̛̲̱̭̖̭̺͓̖̭́͢͞ͅh̵̢̧̝̟̳̯̤̠̪̹͖̩̙̳͚͈͍̹͔̠͢͠i̵͚̠͖̥̫̰̞̳̥͓̘͠n̸̴͔̠̭̰̕͢͢m̙̼̹̘͈̝̹͟y͉̖̳̦̙̖̕͜͜d̸̸̨͓͕̳̱̰̙̝͙̠͇͉͈̠͈͕͢͞ò̸̻͈̞̣͈̜͙̦̻̱̭̦͟m̸̧̛̛͈̳̙̬̣̱̻̪̞̠̳̤̬̬͜ą͎̠̝͎͇̲̀͠ͅͅi̶̹̭̤̥̖̥̺̪̩̜̞͘͡͡͠n̷̨͜͏҉͕͚͍̰̟̖̤̣͖̯̙͉̠̻̺͕̲ͅI̢̪̻̲̜̤͜a̸̩̲͎̟̝̗̳̥̝̗̬͕̗̮̺̕͟͝͞ͅm̕̕͝͏̩̭̼͓͙̭͙̘̯̪̥̗̭̖͚͔͡
i̗͉̹͉̕͢͢͟͝n̵̙͙̜̯͚͇͇̗̫̞͓͇͖̪͙̖̜͜͝ͅc̡̮͖̲̯̪̰̻̱͜͝o͏͏̺̱̪͍̼͇͎̺͉̟̦̱̜͔̙̰͈̝̕͢n̨̠͇̜͜͡͞t̷̤̜̥̣͇̥̠͇̣̦̪̲̪̗̣̤͙̞͝͞r̛͍̱͔͓̩̳͉̲̘̼̲͚̻̫̙̦̼̫̙̀͠o̵͏̺̘̤̭͙̜̙̀͡ļ̨̡͙͔̦̪̲̫̯͓̹͟͢;͇̟̦͔͈̻͍̺̭̰͝t̨̮̺͔̱͈̲̮̭͎̱͍̀͜͝ḩ̶̴͏̺̟̥͔͚͓̹̭͎̥͍̻i̵̢͈̥͙̫̗̞̻̜̜̬͟͞ͅṣ̴̨̢̥̤̰̱̙̜̬̲͙̜̘̜̝͚̪͙m̠̱͇͚̕͜ì̶͏̟͚̲̗̲͔͖͓͙̰̹̪̻̦n̡̗̝͈̲͚̬̮͈̜̟̞͓ͅd̨҉̺̝̜̻̪̗̥̻̙̖̗ì͝͏̡̨̤̫̬̯̗̬̦̬̲̭̘̳͔͇̮̼̥s̶̟̮͇̠̩̬̲͎̺̬͍̣̠͓̘̺̠͟w̷̸̴͔̰̜̣͓̩͕i̴͍̝̙̘̰̱̝͍͓̪͕̗͓͖̰̥͡ṱ̡̛̖̰̞͕h̘̼͎̰̕͠i҉̴̵̙͓͕̫̹̬͕͠͞n̡̲͓̘͈̤̤̲̤̳͙̖̦̠͜͝m̷̡̧͎̯̖͙̦̤̝̝͎̙̠̺y̵̨͘͞҉̥̭͓̳
͟͏̧̲͍͈̝͙̘͕̼́̕
̷̢̕҉̡̥͇̺̞͚̬̱̠͖͔̤̣͓͍̩d͏̴̟̺̠̱̰̝̟̰̮̮̣͔o̢̘̝̳̼̩̲̩̫͙̩͔̱͇̮͓͉͈͜͞m̵̴̵̩̬̞̦̣̬͠͡ͅa͏̴̴̤̺̠͖̳̪͕͍̱̼͢í̡͕͉̣̮͇̘̫̠̼̖̣̫̟̻̕ͅn̸̻̼͔̰̳̩͈͍ ̵̫̯̼̹̣̯̥̺̖͇̟̫͎͘͜͞I̡̛͓̹̠̝͔̥̳̻͖͍͓̱̙͝a̸͚͙͓̩̩̩̤̹̤̳͞m̶̵͓͍̬̙͞į͇̖͔̟̯̱̩̮͖̫̲̙̟͙̪̝ͅǹ̡̥̣̳͔c̭̹̦̫̻͙̪̫̹̫͈̰̩͡͞o̠̖̰̺̘̗̭̫͖̗̼͇̝̲̣̲̕͢n̕͟͝͏̤̳̘̳̩͉̲̤̣̖͍̞̻́t̡͘͏̨̦̤̦̰͕̳͡r̡͜͏̹͕̹̹͍̖̞̩͓̺̟̗͠ͅo̴̡̫̤̠̠̞̱͇̠̪̪͞l̸̢͍̲͉͈̠̙͖̯̲͕̺̺̼͟ͅ;̷̵̨͙̲̼̻ţ̣͔̲̰̬̱̤̳͚͓̹̠̱̹̞̲͟͢h̨̠̖̺̲̤̯͘͝͡͝ͅi҉̨̼͖͔̤̬̹̘͉̺̖͎͍̟̲͓͜͟͝ͅs̢̥̤̳͈̣̜̲͓̮̥͚̦̤̩̯̘̘͇̮m̢̛҉͇̠̝i̷̞͇̳̱͖͕̮̳͇̘̥̺̝̭͈͈͡n̴̠͙̭̤̭̪͙̖̖͔̹̤͢͡ḑ̴̛̦̠̟̻͖͙̰̤͓̣̩͚̪͓͢i̢̧̲̲̱͉̬̫̭̪̞̮̳͕̥̣̠̦s̵̗̠͉̙̰̺̹̙̼͓̻̳̙͈̠̩̳̬͟͝ͅẃ̸҉̗̬̙͕̹́͟͞i̸̥̥̜͎̣̗̞̺̟̤̻͈̞̤͇͢ͅt̷̨̫̥̹̰̰̺͉̹͔̯̭͖̠̯͓͕͎͜͞h͞͞҉̴̜̩̰̬̲̖̲̞̰͕̭͞ì͈͈̣̲̦̣̱͚̤̩͉̳̱n̴̨̲̬̤̬̱̩̼̱̘̩͎͡m̸̛̗̫̟̜͕̀y̵̸̧̲͕͉͓̯̳͙̺̪̲̩͇̰̰̱̝̠͠d̵͖͙͖̦̜̩̖ǫ̡̩̪͓̰͘m͍̰̝̦̫͖̰̤̝̠̼̳̪̦̘̪͚̳͜͞a̵̡̼̰̞̫̯̩̼̞̗̜̪i̶̧̞͓͕̻͉͙̬͕̭̫͎̰̻̺̦̭̻̫͟͜ͅn̵̵̢̥͚͓̤͈̕
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M̧̡̹̬͟ỳ̱̗͜͡ͅ ̷̧̧̬̹ ̺̥̳͇̻̥̱̩͔N̮͙̩̦̯̦a̸̩ṃ̶̨̬̠̦͕̹͙̕e̺͚̬͈͡ is WILLOW ROSENBERG