The horde of crusaders continued pouring through the breach. For every one
that seemed to fall, ten took his or her place, brandishing their weapons
with ferocious avarice. They pushed forward relentlessly, ignoring the
dead and wounded that fell among them. A crowd of faceless men and women
clad in rags and armed to the teeth. They fell upon the front ranks of the
fighters, steadily forcing them back.
Xander gritted his teeth as he aimed his shotgun, taking special notice to a tattooed fanatic armed with a scythe who was fighting with Buffy. The two traded blow for blow, Buffy matching the taller man's every move with her own, parrying the blade with her own. Then, another fanatic, a woman running with her mouth open wide screaming battle criees, rushed at Buffy from the side, brandishing her axe as if it were a tomahawk and she were about to lay the mortal blow upon the blonde slayer. Xander fired, a feeling of relief crossed him as the shotgun round blasted the woman backwards, raining blood across several of her comrades. He fired again into the onrushing horde, dropping three with one blast due to the heavy concentration. Xander kept firing and firing until his shotgun answered him with a loud click that meant it was empty. He cast it aside and took up his axe in time to fight with an onrushing group of fanatics.
Buffy, Angel and Wesley were able to hold the line in the center, hewing away at any foe that dared approach them. However, their comrades were falling left and right. A potential screamed as several fanatics gutted her with their blades while her friends dropped them with crossbow bolts. The group was forced backwards even with Willow launching fireballs into the ranks of their foes and incinerating dozens with a single blast and Oz rampaging through the attackers' ranks. They ran backwards to the rear of the lobby while Willow covered them by launching several lethal spell blasts at the fanatics. Yet the fanatics kept on coming and even Buffy and Angel were beginning to tire from the endless fighting.
The fanatic horde suddenly stepped backwards, leaving space between the bloodied defenders and the yelling, screaming faces of the ruthless attackers. The ranks parted ways to reveal a huge tan man shirtless and armed with twin curved blades. He walked forward, grinning as he twirled his weapons in a spectacle to amuse his allies and terrify his foes. Gideon glanced over among the ranks of his enemies. His grinning face meet the stern face of the slayer.
Gideon smiled "so you're the slayer."
Buffy didn't answer him but only returned the stare with a look of pure rage.
"Well slayer, I'm only an emissary from the esteemed holy Micah Luke. We will let you and your friends go.if you give us the key. If you just give us her, then there will be no more senseless bloodshed. You're free to leave town and I promise that none of my flock shall bother you on your way out," Gideon paused, waiting for a response.
Buffy answered him, "How about no?"
Gideon sneered in reply, "Simple, then you will die." He raised his swords forward and the horde charged at the reformed defenders. The South African then charged straight for the slayer, one blade raised to parry and the other to thrust. Buffy stepped out from among her friends. Angel let go of her hand and silently pleaded for her to ask him for help. Buffy didn't look back and ran straight at the charging man in front of her, who stood at least a foot taller than her petite frame. Angel resumed killing, slicing aside a fanatic with a broadsword and throwing another back into the surging crowd with his superhuman strength. Wesley fought with him side-by-side, the two had been both enemies and friends before and they were willing to fight to the death as brothers.
Wesley buried his axe into the exposed stomach of a hatchet-wielding fanatic and withdrew the blade swiftly, ignoring the loud gasping cries from the dying foe. He swerved aside to dodge a thrusting spear and batted it aside with one hand and threw the axe at the bearer, who dropped easily with the blade buried in her forehead. Wesley grimaced and picked up a hammer from one of his fallen foes and swung it wildly, knocking aside several more fanatics.
Oz continued slaughtering through the ranks of the zealots charging at him. He ripped apart anyone who dared challenge him or raked them with his claws. He howled in bloodlust as he slew enemy after enemy. But their resources were seemingly limitless and spear thrusts and other weapons had taken their toll on Oz. The werewolf was bleeding in at least five wounds, but he ignored the acute pain and continued fighting. Until a tall figure in black armor snuck around behind him and struck him on the head with the flat of his sword. Oz fell, his head swiveling around to face his soon-to- be killer. He looked upon the flowing raven hair that obscured the face of Robert La Morte. La Morte grinned and kicked him savagely, knocking the werewolf unconscious with a direct blow to his forehead. He laughed cruelly and eyed the room for the other defenders as his soldiers surged around him.
He spotted a group of fighters who were standing alone against the tide of fanatics. Among them were two black men, a white woman and a blonde-haired boy that slightly resembled the vampire that was fighting with the defenders. The other potentials around them had fallen to the horde and bodies of the girls and their attackers littered the floor around them. Most of the corpses were of his warriors, but La Morte didn't care. They were all expendable and he could easily afford to lose thirty troops per one defender they felled. He readied himself to charge the quartet that was holding off his soldiers, his eyes gleamed red with bloodlust as he tensed up, ready to spring forward and dispatch the first one, a tall black man dressed in a brown jacket and jeans.
He charged forward, with his sword raised in a cleaving motion. He bowled combatants aside and quickly reached the unsuspecting Robin Wood. Wood's limited slayer sense told him that there was a presence to his right and he whirled around to face the pale figure that stood almost right next to him. He barely blocked the cleaving blow of the claymore with his katana. The force of the black-armored figure's sword broke his blade in two, which loudly clattered to the floor. Wood stumbled backwards, unnoticed by his comrades who were currently engaged in battles of their own. He fumbled around nervously for a weapon amongst the dead. The pale man walked towards him, his cloak billowing in the breeze. The armored figure's eyes glowed red with fury as an inhuman smile spread across his face.
"La Morte," Wood gasped as he came face to face with the dreaded scourge.
"Yes, and it is judgment day for you, my friend," the figure kept the stupid grin on his face and raised his claymore again.
Wood charged at him, having seized a blade from one of the fallen fanatics. He sliced downward, only to have it blocked by a second blade from the black knight's left hand. It was a short rapier that parried the black former principal's blade away. Instantly Wood felt his foe run the claymore through him. The cold steel ripped through his chest and came out his back. Wood tried to speak, but only blood formed in his mouth, the result of a pierced lung.
La Morte withdrew the blade and raised it high stained with Wood's blood. Connor, Gunn and Fred, having finished off their foes temporarily whirled to face the black knight.
Fred's hands clasped her mouth as she stared at the fallen corpse of Robin Wood and the triumphant half-demon that stared at them in the same way a lion would face its prey. Gunn gritted his teeth in furor and shouted something incomprehensible in the din of the battle. Connor just stood there silently with a blank expression on his face, a look resembling that of pure terror. He raised his blade with anticipation while Gunn kept his rapier at ready and Fred clutched her hatchet with a look of fear.
"So are these the so-called 'ministers of grace' that stopped the apocalypse? How pathetic you are!" La Morte laughed, taking pleasure out of the fear and anxiety in his foes' faces. "But no matter, you shall all fall before my blade." He grinned and ran straight at them, both swords by his sides ready to strike.
Gunn was the fastest to respond and he had his rapier raised in time to parry the blow, his rapier barely parrying the blow of the claymore, sending sparks flying into the air. With his free hand, he dodged in time to avoid the second blade which swept into the area where he had been standing moments before. Connor joined Gunn in facing La Morte while the fanatic closed around them in a vicious circle eager to watch their champion slay the fighters that had given them so much trouble. It was as if a circle of hyenas were watching their leader hunt down a feeble group of prey.
Xander gritted his teeth as he aimed his shotgun, taking special notice to a tattooed fanatic armed with a scythe who was fighting with Buffy. The two traded blow for blow, Buffy matching the taller man's every move with her own, parrying the blade with her own. Then, another fanatic, a woman running with her mouth open wide screaming battle criees, rushed at Buffy from the side, brandishing her axe as if it were a tomahawk and she were about to lay the mortal blow upon the blonde slayer. Xander fired, a feeling of relief crossed him as the shotgun round blasted the woman backwards, raining blood across several of her comrades. He fired again into the onrushing horde, dropping three with one blast due to the heavy concentration. Xander kept firing and firing until his shotgun answered him with a loud click that meant it was empty. He cast it aside and took up his axe in time to fight with an onrushing group of fanatics.
Buffy, Angel and Wesley were able to hold the line in the center, hewing away at any foe that dared approach them. However, their comrades were falling left and right. A potential screamed as several fanatics gutted her with their blades while her friends dropped them with crossbow bolts. The group was forced backwards even with Willow launching fireballs into the ranks of their foes and incinerating dozens with a single blast and Oz rampaging through the attackers' ranks. They ran backwards to the rear of the lobby while Willow covered them by launching several lethal spell blasts at the fanatics. Yet the fanatics kept on coming and even Buffy and Angel were beginning to tire from the endless fighting.
The fanatic horde suddenly stepped backwards, leaving space between the bloodied defenders and the yelling, screaming faces of the ruthless attackers. The ranks parted ways to reveal a huge tan man shirtless and armed with twin curved blades. He walked forward, grinning as he twirled his weapons in a spectacle to amuse his allies and terrify his foes. Gideon glanced over among the ranks of his enemies. His grinning face meet the stern face of the slayer.
Gideon smiled "so you're the slayer."
Buffy didn't answer him but only returned the stare with a look of pure rage.
"Well slayer, I'm only an emissary from the esteemed holy Micah Luke. We will let you and your friends go.if you give us the key. If you just give us her, then there will be no more senseless bloodshed. You're free to leave town and I promise that none of my flock shall bother you on your way out," Gideon paused, waiting for a response.
Buffy answered him, "How about no?"
Gideon sneered in reply, "Simple, then you will die." He raised his swords forward and the horde charged at the reformed defenders. The South African then charged straight for the slayer, one blade raised to parry and the other to thrust. Buffy stepped out from among her friends. Angel let go of her hand and silently pleaded for her to ask him for help. Buffy didn't look back and ran straight at the charging man in front of her, who stood at least a foot taller than her petite frame. Angel resumed killing, slicing aside a fanatic with a broadsword and throwing another back into the surging crowd with his superhuman strength. Wesley fought with him side-by-side, the two had been both enemies and friends before and they were willing to fight to the death as brothers.
Wesley buried his axe into the exposed stomach of a hatchet-wielding fanatic and withdrew the blade swiftly, ignoring the loud gasping cries from the dying foe. He swerved aside to dodge a thrusting spear and batted it aside with one hand and threw the axe at the bearer, who dropped easily with the blade buried in her forehead. Wesley grimaced and picked up a hammer from one of his fallen foes and swung it wildly, knocking aside several more fanatics.
Oz continued slaughtering through the ranks of the zealots charging at him. He ripped apart anyone who dared challenge him or raked them with his claws. He howled in bloodlust as he slew enemy after enemy. But their resources were seemingly limitless and spear thrusts and other weapons had taken their toll on Oz. The werewolf was bleeding in at least five wounds, but he ignored the acute pain and continued fighting. Until a tall figure in black armor snuck around behind him and struck him on the head with the flat of his sword. Oz fell, his head swiveling around to face his soon-to- be killer. He looked upon the flowing raven hair that obscured the face of Robert La Morte. La Morte grinned and kicked him savagely, knocking the werewolf unconscious with a direct blow to his forehead. He laughed cruelly and eyed the room for the other defenders as his soldiers surged around him.
He spotted a group of fighters who were standing alone against the tide of fanatics. Among them were two black men, a white woman and a blonde-haired boy that slightly resembled the vampire that was fighting with the defenders. The other potentials around them had fallen to the horde and bodies of the girls and their attackers littered the floor around them. Most of the corpses were of his warriors, but La Morte didn't care. They were all expendable and he could easily afford to lose thirty troops per one defender they felled. He readied himself to charge the quartet that was holding off his soldiers, his eyes gleamed red with bloodlust as he tensed up, ready to spring forward and dispatch the first one, a tall black man dressed in a brown jacket and jeans.
He charged forward, with his sword raised in a cleaving motion. He bowled combatants aside and quickly reached the unsuspecting Robin Wood. Wood's limited slayer sense told him that there was a presence to his right and he whirled around to face the pale figure that stood almost right next to him. He barely blocked the cleaving blow of the claymore with his katana. The force of the black-armored figure's sword broke his blade in two, which loudly clattered to the floor. Wood stumbled backwards, unnoticed by his comrades who were currently engaged in battles of their own. He fumbled around nervously for a weapon amongst the dead. The pale man walked towards him, his cloak billowing in the breeze. The armored figure's eyes glowed red with fury as an inhuman smile spread across his face.
"La Morte," Wood gasped as he came face to face with the dreaded scourge.
"Yes, and it is judgment day for you, my friend," the figure kept the stupid grin on his face and raised his claymore again.
Wood charged at him, having seized a blade from one of the fallen fanatics. He sliced downward, only to have it blocked by a second blade from the black knight's left hand. It was a short rapier that parried the black former principal's blade away. Instantly Wood felt his foe run the claymore through him. The cold steel ripped through his chest and came out his back. Wood tried to speak, but only blood formed in his mouth, the result of a pierced lung.
La Morte withdrew the blade and raised it high stained with Wood's blood. Connor, Gunn and Fred, having finished off their foes temporarily whirled to face the black knight.
Fred's hands clasped her mouth as she stared at the fallen corpse of Robin Wood and the triumphant half-demon that stared at them in the same way a lion would face its prey. Gunn gritted his teeth in furor and shouted something incomprehensible in the din of the battle. Connor just stood there silently with a blank expression on his face, a look resembling that of pure terror. He raised his blade with anticipation while Gunn kept his rapier at ready and Fred clutched her hatchet with a look of fear.
"So are these the so-called 'ministers of grace' that stopped the apocalypse? How pathetic you are!" La Morte laughed, taking pleasure out of the fear and anxiety in his foes' faces. "But no matter, you shall all fall before my blade." He grinned and ran straight at them, both swords by his sides ready to strike.
Gunn was the fastest to respond and he had his rapier raised in time to parry the blow, his rapier barely parrying the blow of the claymore, sending sparks flying into the air. With his free hand, he dodged in time to avoid the second blade which swept into the area where he had been standing moments before. Connor joined Gunn in facing La Morte while the fanatic closed around them in a vicious circle eager to watch their champion slay the fighters that had given them so much trouble. It was as if a circle of hyenas were watching their leader hunt down a feeble group of prey.