Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or her friends, they belong to JW and Mutant Enemy. I'm just taking them on an extended lark, really. Any characters not native to BtVS or ATS do belong to me, unless otherwise noted.
Rating: R, for Violence, Sex, and other non-kiddy stuff. Reader discretion is advised.
The Story So Far: This is a sequel of my story, 'A Question of Faith.' Set post season 6, I'm going through the fight against the First Evil with this story. Sorry about the delay, but work's been hell. As always, reviews are welcome.
Pairings: B/S, W/K, X/?, F/OC.
Chapter Title: From the Foo Fighters, 'Times Like These'
Derry, New Hampshire
Ashley stretched, the only light illuminating her features was provided by the computer monitor she sat in front of. Her petite hand covered her mouth as she yawned, her hazel eyes blinking rapidly. Damn mid-terms, she thought. It was well past midnight, and she was tired.
Behind her, the door to her room swung open silently. A tall figured stepped, silently, into the room. Dark robes concealed any features that may have identified the intruder, but the knife that glittered in the artificial light clearly stated his intentions. Moving swiftly, the figure came behind Ashley, thrusting the knife into the back of the girl's neck, severing her spinal column instantly. Her death was slow, as her mind fought for oxygen that her lungs would no longer draw. Her body slumped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, even as her eyes fluttered wildly. After a moment, those hazel orbs glazed over as she slipped into the darkness of death.
The figure turned and left, closing the door behind him. Ashley's death wasn't the first on his hands, nor would it be the last. She had been killed because of a destiny that she would never know, a casualty in a war that she had never heard of. The last words uttered by the figure, a man by the tone of his voice, fell upon her dead ears.
"From beneath, it devours."
Sunnydale, California
"Any ideas Harris?"
Xander stood slowly, shaking his head as he did. This was the fourth murder in Sunnydale in as many days, and the cause still eluded him. The dark clothing he wore was a far cry from what had been his usual attire, but then again, he was a far cry from the boy he once was. The weight of the gun in the holster under his left arm was barely noticed by him anymore, but the slight weight of the police badge he carried was always noticed by the young man, and it was the heavier of the burdens he bore.
"Same as the others," he said slowly, turning to face his boss, James Luther. A man of middling height but possessing a powerful build, James seemed to be the perfect picture of a cop. And, surprisingly for Sunnydale, he knew what went on at night. "I'd like to think it was just a strange serial killer, but this is Sunnydale."
"Were your friends able to find anything out?" James asked quietly as he walked with Xander away from the crime scene. They could do nothing for the girl, now, except try and stop her killer from striking again.
"Nothing," Xander answered in the same hushed tone. "But this seems to be happening in other places, and..." the brunette paused for a moment as a uniformed officer walked close to him. When he was satisfied the officer was out of hearing, he continued. "They've been targeting girls who could potentially be the next Slayer."
James nodded thoughtfully. "We'll see other departments have found out then. We'll stop these guys."
"I hope so." It was a simple reply, but it was the only one he had to give.
"You are absolutely sure?" Rupert Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and fore-finger, his glasses held in the same hand. Pacing slightly as he talked into the phone, one could almost feel the nervous energy that rolled off of him in waves. "Yes, I understand your difficulties in confirming this, but you need to find out for sure... Yes, as soon as you find out."
"What's wrong, Rupert?" Jenny Calendar asked, her voice betraying her weariness. After all, it was four in the morning. Her hair was in slight disarray, product of being woken so early in the morning.
"I'm not sure yet," he answered softly as he wrapped his arms around her. She sighed as she leaned into his embrace. "But it doesn't bode well... not at all."
"Stop it, cry-baby," Buffy scolded in her best 'Mom' voice. The focus of her attention squirmed under her Slayer-aided grip. But Buffy would not be dissuaded in this, of all things. She remembered clearly what happened last time she had failed to do this, another duty unknowingly claimed. As always, she would do her best to complete the task at hand.
"Bloody hell, Slayer!" Spike yelped as she began rubbing some sort of ointment over his skin, which had turned beat red from the roots of his bleached hair to his feet, save for where his clothing had saved him. For all his strength and skill in battle, this was one foe that he was seemingly incapable of battling on his own terms. And, the most amusing part was, he repeatedly forced the issue, causing Buffy to repeat her ministrations yet again.
"Don't 'bloody' me, you obnoxious ass. Your the one who insists on staying outside all the time. Its your own damn fault for getting sunburned!"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
Just South of Chicago
"Yea, they've come to snuff the rooster, yea!"
Of all the things she loved about him, his singing voice was not one of them. Slightly off-key, and definitely too loud for the song, Michael poured his heart into the lyrics as he kept the Mustang moving at a steady eighty-five down the long stretch of highway.
Faith found herself lost in thought as she watched him, a small smile lighting her face. She had been through rough times. Hell, in some cases, she defined what was rough. But loosing him... that had been the single worst moment of her life. And now, back by his side, she waited for the dream to end, and for the reality of him being gone to sink in.
It never had. Every morning for the last month, the warm comfort of his strong arms had greeted her upon her return from the land of dreams. Countless times, she had simply gazed upon his sleeping features, one hand resting upon the belly that carried the life they had made. She had come so far in a few short years... hell, a few short months, really. All because of this man.
"What's on your mind?" Michael asked suddenly, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips.
"Nothing," she replied quickly, fighting to hide her own smile. What they shared was so... normal... that it was almost frightening. Except that it felt so right.
"Have you made a decision yet?"
"Huh?" Her confusion by his sudden question caused him to laugh slightly, and she couldn't help but grin herself.
"Ready to head back to Sunnydale?"
She pondered the question for a few long moments, turning it over in her head and heart. The answer came to her with surprising ease, another sign of the changes she had gone through.
"Let's go home." She wanted her family around her when she became a mother in a few short weeks. Her mind drifted to the future that was before her, and she could not help but smile with hope.
Cambridge, MA Two days later
He crept down the hallway, silent as death itself. And, in a fashion, that made sense. His intent here was to kill, and leave no trace of his work, save the cooling corpse that would be discovered in the morning. The heavy black robes he was forced to wear were for less than practical purposes. If he was discovered, he would kill. He had his orders, however, and was loath to disobey his Master.
The girls room was just ahead on the left. Although the rest of the house was empty, and unoccupied, he was as careful as ever. The soft sounds from her room were deafening due to his attention to his own noise, as minimal as it was. The soft moans, the slight gasps, the sound of flesh on flesh. He listened with an impartial ear, knowing his duty and what those noises meant for him. Two bodies would be found in the morning.
Slowly pushing open the door, he found the girl in the bed with a boy of about the same age. Their naked flesh moved in the dim candlelight, allowing no mistake of their actions. But for him, flesh was flesh. Drawing his dagger, he crept closer to the two young lovers.
She screamed once as the blood from her lover's slit throat sprayed onto her face, the screamed again as the robed man grabbed her by the wrist. With amazing strength, he lifted her from the bed and turned her around. The blade flashed once in the feeble light, sinking into the flesh at the base of her neck. Her limbs twitched briefly, and her eyes fluttered wildly as she sank into the darkness of death. Dropping the body, the man turned and walked from the room, his voice drifting over the corpses.
"From beneath, it devours."
Somewhere beneath Sunnydale
The soft clink of his armor was loud in the otherwise silent cavern. Small creatures that had never seen the light of day scurried before him, sensing the incredible evil that weighed upon his soul. The black metal of the chainmail seemed to shimmer in the dim light that had no source. Here, reality was the exception, and the rules of reality bent around him.
His once blonde hair now hung limply in dark locks around his formerly fair face. The skin, once sun kissed, now seemed deathly pale. His eyes, once a shimmering shade of blue, were now hellish pits of red pupils and black irises. Nothing about this man was natural anymore. It was as if his humanity had been twisted and perverted, made a mockery of what he once was.
His right hand slowly drew forth the blade from the sheath across his back. The demonic steel seemed to whisper half phrases and curses, the very vocalization of pain, torment... and evil. He held the blade before him and grinned evilly, showing teeth that had been filled to sharp points, hinting at his now cannibalistic habits.
"Soon," he whispered to the blade. "Soon you will feast on the blood of our enemies." The voices of the blade quieted for a second before exploding in a vicious din, nearly drowning out the man's evil laughter.
The blade approved.
My plan has finally been set into motion. The pieces are set for this, the greatest battle. Knight for knight, pawns for pawns, and queen for queen. And soon...
Checkmate.