11. Murphy was an optimist

Title: As The Pieces Fall
Author name: Kunglou

Author email: AU
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The millennia old game played by the older powers have been interrupted and Harry Potter has finally returned from the Hell dimensions to reform his power base from the shattered pieces, but even with his newly reformed powerbase, things are never that simple.

Disclaimer: I do not own either BTVS or Harry Potter and claim no rights to the copyrighted material. I am making no money off this story.

Author notes: Massively AU, OC, HP: A matter or Perception/BtVS/SG1

If you are unfamiliar with the perception series I really recommend that you read the first four pieces for this one to make sense. Keep in mind that Xander was possessed, his memories merged with the more dominant personality of Harry's.

Oh and for those that noticed - I have intentionally messed with the timelines. If Buffy was shown in 2001 instead of 1996 the dates would have matched. From this perspective I hardly think I am messing with the continuity too much. Besides, there are technological and social reasons for this.

Ch1 – Murphy was an optimist

"I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain [and] torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage."

-Friedrich Nietzsche.

Lance Jackson, president of the United States of America and some would argue, the most powerful man in the world felt overwhelmed. The world was going to hell in and hand basket and it was all he could do to keep his beloved country from following.

Some, he knew, might think that things were getting back to normal after the attack on the Whitehouse, almost a year ago now, but to those that had a clearer picture of what was really happening, things were looking dire. For the world as a whole, not just the US – and some of the more pessimistic held conspiracy theories that successfully linked the string of bad news that continued rolling in.

'My so called advisors are not among the pessimistic either,' Lance thought disgustedly, thoroughly sick of the incompetence and general rot that seemed to fill his administration, 'they are way too optimistic and confident in American superiority, despite recent events. None of them are intelligent or rational enough to be of any use to me. It is times like this I miss Dave the most,' he thought sadly about his long term advisor – killed in the previous attack on the Whitehouse. Skills shortage – HA.

It was just under a year since the attack on the Whitehouse and while the nation had been on high alert against attack ever since, he had downgraded from DEFCON 2 status after it became apparent that no immediate invasion or follow up strike from a foreign power was imminent. Still security everywhere had heightened and people had only just started to feel that they did not have giant targets painted on them, every minute of every day. He just hoped that that feeling, among the public at least, would last.

It was good for the economy and for the people to get on with their lives, but he doubted that their sanity or their complaisancy would hold on for long if they knew what he knew. The frenzied and often hysterical media had found other issues to occupy their airtime when it became apparent that information on the attack had dried up, but with the amount of people involved in all his other projects, he was a little surprised nothing had leaked yet.

Publicly, he had moved back into the Whitehouse and delivered significantly increased funding to both the military and intelligence using his emergency powers. Elections had taken place and already government had seemingly returned to normal, albeit with an increased martial bias. 'And I thank god every day for emergency powers,' Lance mumbled thinking about the bickering, ranting and raving that that often filled the chamber, 'the congress behaves more like delinquent juveniles that have been handed the keys to a military armory sometimes instead of the powerful, rational men they are supposed to be.'

It was sad that he had begun to think of his own government and advisors as being so inept and he wondered if they had always been so, he knew that he had over relied on Dave's advice sometimes but….. Perhaps that was why it had gotten so bad. 'When I get the time, I think it will be time to clean house a little. But who is there to replace those that hold the positions?' He thought with resignation.

On the surface, only the tripling of the guard, the hardening of the defenses with more firepower than he would ever have expected in a civilian location, and a level electronic surveillance that he would not be surprised if everyone working at the center of US government developed cancer in the years ahead, revealed that in fact things were not back to normal at the Whitehouse.

No one wanted to contemplate another attack, much less another cakewalk over America's best and brightest. 'Whoever you are, you have wakened a sleeping dragon.'

Looking around his office, he easily spotted a handful of cameras and microphones, the LCD's which continuously streamed mined data from various economic, military and intelligence internal reports were also new. Usefully, they kept him up to date with the latest reports, but they made him feel like his office had been transformed into a miniature C' n' C in a time of war, another sign of the times. He knew that the grounds around the Whitehouse had been turned into an armed camp.

For the first time in office, he felt like the commander in chief. Not just some administrator but a general that could feel war coming in his bones and who knew that their forces were far from ready to fight. While the show of force in the days immediately following the attack had been reasoned and perhaps necessary to discourage other foreign powers from being too opportunistic, he couldn't help but feel that they had over played their hand.

Most of their military stock was old. Some units hadn't been retired since the end of the cold war, or even back to the Vietnam and Korean War days, and were nearing the end of their operational lifetime. Only their low operational frequency had extended their lifetime so far and even the relatively newer pieces in their armaments were all based off older designs, albeit upgraded with some of the latest electronics that money could buy.

The sad truth was, military expenditure had quartered over the decades, and most of that was spent on maintenance and personnel rather than hardware or R & D. Despite large immediate orders placed combined with their modular designs – it took time to ramp up production, and that was with old designs. Complete redesigns of their ships, planes and guns, from the ground up with the latest technology and future upgradability kept in mind, would take years. Retooling of factories for any meaningful production would take even longer.

Lance stretched out in his chair, as if pushing at the oppressive weight of all the problems that faced the US. Those were just problems he needed to manage on the local front, internationally it was worse, far worse. At least all the money flowing into R & D, and military production had provided a small lift to their dangerously volatile economy based on consumption. A recession was probably the straw that would break their back.

One of the last warnings Dave had given him before his death had proven prophetic and had finally come to pass. An Islamic caliphate had been established, under the leadership of a previously unknown revolutionary, in the south pacific and had spent the last few months radicalizing and developing a stock pile of arms.

Australia was keeping a very close eye on its backyard, and while the Middle Eastern leaders were sprouting the right rhetoric - funds, arms and people were being transported to the world's latest regional powder keg. All he could do for the moment was continue the technology transfer and information sharing with Australia and hope that they had grown enough to pull their weight internationally.

Since Australia had been running a surplus for almost a quarter of a century, despite its rapid expansion and development, he had little doubts that they could and would provide any and all support that his nation may require. The Australians military, he knew, was second to none in terms of training and discipline. Only their size had prevented them from having the punching power that he would have liked to have seen from his allies, but even that was changing and Australia had always punched above its weight in terms of numbers.

"Note: get some Australian advisors on the military transformation doctrine so as to maximize operational compatibility and networking." Lance knew that whoever was at the other end of the cameras would follow that up and his advisors would have prepared a brief by the next morning.

It looked increasingly likely that China with the support of a resurgent Russia just might, given the relative internal weakness that the US had been demonstrating recently, call his bluff and take Taiwan. He doubted he could stop them with all the balls he was juggling domestically and abroad, that Sino - Russia alliance worried him however. If they decided to take some old soviet countries it could spark another global conflict on the continent which would inevitably draw in the US.

With the EU's long memory of the last time America was attacked at the turn of the century and the following crusades launched into the Middle East in retaliation, it was reluctant to listen to anything the US said at the moment and seemed more than happy to watch the devaluing of the greenback. Not even their traditional British allies could do much for them as technically, they too, were part of the EU project.

Lance wondered if it was what they felt like during world war 2, when the US – Burnt by world war 1, didn't want to get involved in the war engulfing the continent a few decades on. At least until they got bombed by the Japanese.

This brought an even more sobering thought, 'what would it take to awaken the EU to the very real danger we are all facing?'

Lance unconsciously began tracing out the shape that had been burned into his desk, along with a warning, with his fingers. He had left the desk their as a warning against, and as a reminder of, the urgency of his tasks. The US' existence had not been so threatened since the 1800's.

The two black ops that Kinsey had hidden from him and which Hammond had taken over had started delivering a mixed bag of results, including the only good news he had heard in months.

Hammond had reported that O'neill had over the months spent time aggressively exploring, seizing and trading for land, resources and technology, which he was keen to exploit as quickly as possible. Men and women were pouring into off world colonies as fast as they could filter security clearances and the technology was making its way into the next series of designs being drawn up.

Although, it would take years to build up the operations necessary to really leverage the resources from the bases and colonies on multiple worlds for the good of the US as well as the scientific understanding behind some of the new technologies that they had salvaged, and perhaps set up a network of outposts amongst the stars, some initial goods and techs, both military and medicinal, were trickling in and already being put to use in highly specific, albeit limited applications.

He had a good feeling when he had first met the man that O'neill was the right man for the job and just as importantly committed, and that feeling was being borne out nicely. Already the new weaponry and tactics gleaned from their missions had found their way into the forward units and the egg heads were working furiously to adapt them more broadly.

Still, with those gems of good news came, as was his luck lately, even worse news. Hammonds increase in threat assessment of the alien races they encountered had him worried, even with the other highly advanced and ambivalent races they had discovered such as the Tollen and Asguard. If the weaponry that they had scavenged and already incorporated into leading military unit's armaments were any indication, he was right to be concerned.

As technologically advanced as their enemies were and as divided as earth nations appeared to be at the moment, there was little chance that even a probing attack could be repelled and the Gou'ld cultural report was almost as scary as their technological advantage. They would not hesitate to enslave Earth, or if they resisted, just bomb them to extinction.

Lance shivered in apprehension, only the stellar distances involved and the bottleneck established by the single and highly defended Stargate provided any illusion of safety.

Kinsey's report, passed along via Hammond with his own views and comments attached, held even more concerns, perhaps even more destabilizing than that posed by interstellar threats. Like O'neill's threat assessment, Kinsey's too had been upgraded based on updated information. He had personally seen some footage of not just vampires, but some other demons that they had managed to capture and had been horrified and frightened for the safety of his citizens.

That the threat was on home soil, right underneath their largest cities, made it even more concerning, and due to some beaucratic bungling the initiative planned research base had only just started construction, in Cleveland, Ohio rather than the initially planned Sunnydale, California. The incompetence was maddening; still all he could do was insure that both programs had plenty of money and the best talent he could provide.

He was frustrated though, that even that was not enough. He could almost feel time running out on him and he dreaded the day that the shit REALLY hit the fan.

In fact, he had made doubly sure to implement any needed changes before the congress reassembled and started interfering and delaying events and decisions that needed to happen NOW not a few months after a committee looked at it. In his view, these programs could not afford to fail simply because so many compromises were made, that the program became neutered. They were far too important to the future security of the US and perhaps the world.

Despite all his urgency, and all his progress, he still feared that it wouldn't be enough. Glancing over at the LCD's he watched the latest budget estimates and winced. He had been so proud of his surpluses from his first term, and thinking of all the threats they faced - intellectually he knew that the deficits he now saw were unavoidable, but it still pained him and he worried about his legacy if they continued.

It was strange and considering the security environment and redundancy of the IT systems, deeply concerning when the screen of rolling reports froze. So deep in thought about the meaning of the numbers and his plans for the future, he took a while to grasp that the screen had in fact frozen.

Frowning but not yet too panicked due to the heavily upgraded security around his office, he turned to the other LCD's, which he knew were streaming from separate servers.

When he saw that they to were frozen, his paranoia started to fire. While he was not as abreast as the new security systems as some of his staffers, he knew that there was little chance that all the servers in the building had just gone out, particularly when the power seemed to still be on.

Which meant that someone was deliberately attacking his systems.

Starting to sweat slightly in apprehension, Lance reached for the phone to dial his secretary. There was no dial tone.

Now he started to worry.

Images from the last attack on the Whitehouse flashed through his mind as he hit the panic button. It was, he recalled, exactly like this last time, no dial tone, not help, and the oppressive feel of deadly inevitability.

Standing up and staring directly into the camera's and hidden microphones he declared as firmly and threateningly as he could, "this better be a real emergency, or I will have whoever is at the other end of that CCTV drummed from the service."

He winced as even his growl seemed to contain a strong element of fearful whining. His shirt almost seemed completely soaked in sweat and fear and he could feel sweet beading on his brow. Only the lack of panicked gunfire prevented him from becoming even more hysterical. It meant that his security detail at least, were safe and not fighting for their lives.

Even then, the office suddenly seemed far too hot and cloying, and he found it difficult to breath.

***CRASH***

Whipping around in a relieved manner, Lance stared at the large oak double doors that swung open into his office, only for his relief to turn to ashes in his mouth and lava in his stomach, just as quickly as his relief had appeared it was gone.

A heavily muscled man arrogantly stalked into his office, completely disregarding the embedded cameras and microphones, as the doors swung shut behind him. It wasn't the physical size of the heavily muscled man, the piercing blue eyes or his murderous expression that made Lance want to run screaming from the room, if only he could get past the human obstacle. Or the way he seemed to stalk, as if a predator with his eyes firmly fixed on his pray with lethal intent.

No.

It was the metallic black tattoo that seemed to wrap itself around the man's face.

A tattoo of a Cerberus that matched the one scorched into his desk. Lance hammered his panic button several more times before collapsing into his chair, as if his strings had been cut. His face gaining a sad expression of resigned realization of defeat.

As if awaiting death.

For almost a year, Lance Jackson had lived with the belief that he should have died in the original attack and now it seemed that his time had come. He still had so much yet to do, and he knew that with his death, chaos would rule in the US.

That more than anything saddened him, he did wonder though, if he would die without finding out who was behind his death.

"Pathetic," the man boomed out in a disgusted tone. "The must powerful man on this mud ball and he is reduced to a mere lump of flesh by the sight of a tattoo."

Lance gripped the armrests until his knuckles tightened at the man's taunting. He understood that he would die – if he survived at all the he would seriously review the value of his security. But he didn't expect to be taunted, or his death to be prolonged. Lance had some pride. He had seen how the others had died and he quickly searched for evidence of some sort of blade or concealed weapon.

"My master told me about you, cowed by his power and gibbering in fear at his cunning and ruthlessness. How you and your nation have survived this long is a sad indictment on the rest of this sad little world."

Grabbing a chair, the man sprawled himself in front of Lance. "If it were up to me," the man drawled with a sinister smile, "I would just remove all your defective genes from the gene pool of humanity but My Lord has requested that I give you this offer."

Lance sat up straighter now, thinking furiously. My Lord? Was this man talking about the Gou'ld, they he knew, would have the technology to so easily bypass his increased security.

Though he looked human, he knew that among the reports he had received through Hammond that the blond man could be anything from alien to demon and he would not know without a dull medical scan. Perhaps not even then.

"You would compare Our Lord, God Emperor of a thousand worlds and multiple planes of existence to one of those weak scavenges? Human, you have a death wish. Be glad that I am not one of his more fanatical servants."

The intruder - and Lance felt some relief along with a small boost in confidence, that he was not the same intruder that had attacked those months before – sat forward with a menacing glare, all traces of amusement gone from his face. He had though somewhat restored Lance to more familiar territory.

At a huge disadvantage, and probably only moments from death, he knew his only safety was the fact that this 'offer' had not yet been made or answered. He knew he had not spoken aloud earlier, so how had the man known what he was thinking? What other abilities did this man and his master hold, what resources did their hold in their hand? Who was he and who did he represent? "What do you know of the Gou'ld, and who is this person who would claim godhood."

"Hahahahaha," the man sat back with a deep booming laugh. All traces of his earlier menacing anger gone. A dangerous man, Lance thought, if he were a man at all.

"Claim godhood? In my knowledge he never has, but what else would you call an immortal being that has shaped the way of life for an entire people, who has led crusades across space and dimensions and who shares his power with those of his closest followers. No, it is we that grant him the title of God Emperor, and it is a huge honor to serve."

"Let me give you his offer."

Lance sat forward, his mind sharpening in concentration; this 'God Emperor' had more than shown his capabilities when he had attacked earlier, and now he wanted to open negotiations. They needed allies he knew, with the threats that Hammond had outlined, the needed powerful allies but….

What did they really know about this being other than that he had attacked and killed US citizens? They needed more information but first he would hear the offer.

"My lord is willing to open an embassy here in the US, in order to open negotiations, he would of course provide protection of his embassy from the ground, air and space from attack, so there is little need for you to provide troops."

Lance sharpened his gaze at the man, now confident that he was not about to be mercilessly struck down, he searched for the catch, the fine print that would destroy such an attractive offer. He ignored the, he was sure, deliberate slur about the quality of his armed forces.

"Once negotiations are opened and the embassy opened, he is willing to put everything on the table, including technology transfer."

Lance blinked, it seemed too good to be true, every advanced alien race they had met had refused to trade with technologically inferior societies, so what was the catch? What was the angle; he was not so naïve as to believe that there wasn't one. Politics, he was sure was the same everywhere – there was something that he was missing. Could he afford to deal with these people without finding out? Could he afford not to?

"Does, your Lord have somewhere in mind for his embassy?" If they had come to open negotiations, more if they wanted to open an embassy, then he was sure they were familiar with earth in a way he was not entirely comfortable with. As advanced as they were, perhaps they were even more of a threat than the Gou'ld. They had shown the will to use there force in the past, and he had little doubt that the man in front of him at least would not blink at some mindless slaughter.

This time, when the man smiled, he showed teeth and Lance was startled at the way the tattoo seemed to stretch and move across the man's face, as if it was alive.

"California."

Blinking in surprise Lance could only find one response, "Did you have somewhere in the state in mind?"

"You misunderstand President, My Lord wishes the entire state as his embassy. He feels that such a small parcel of land is the minimum that he could accept for an interstellar empire the size and importance of his. Normally a small moon would be requested; however allowances have been made for the size and divided nature of your planet and the fledging nature of your space program."

Lance swallowed hard; forget disclosure of aliens, the Stargate, or demons to the public. Giving away such a large section of the country was sure to…. But already he considered the land across the galaxy that he had already laid claim too as part of the Stargate program.

"I will leave you and return in three days for your decision. But, be aware that it takes time to set up any interplanetary defense." And with a smugly knowledgeable smirk, he left the office the way he came – with a loud crash, through the double oak doors.

Lance sagged down into his seat, contemplating the offer. It wasn't…

***CRASH***

"Mr President, are you OK," Lance could only blink as heavily armed troops stormed the room. 'Now they respond to my panic alarm' he though sourly.

"Stand down, an ambassador dropped by with an offer. I need Hammond and the Sec Def in my office ASAP," Lance bit out.

The men left the room in confusion, obeying his orders without question and only ten minutes of unexplained static between two second timestamps in the surveillance recording of his office remained as evidence that he had not imagined the entire thing.

*****

Faith laughed euphorically as she spun in a tightly controlled circle on the ball of her left foot to avoid the swinging crowbar that was aimed directly at her face, her spin insured it barely grazed he face. In turn leaving her opponent's guard wide open and she didn't hesitate to take full advantage of it, punishing him painfully, fatally.

She relished the ease in which she danced and gracelessly slipped around such powerful attacks from these frightening creatures of the night, beings that parents would use to frighten children. They were not stories to her though and she met their power with might of her own.

Before the other two snarling vampires that had attacked her could blink she had ruthlessly coat - hangered the third beast on a chipped tombstone with enough force to decapitate it and send the demon back to hell in a showy dusting.

The showy and intimidating move, though definitely putting the other two vampires on the back foot in the fight, loosing them initiative, left a definite twinge on her left side, uncomfortable reminding her of the shattered ribs she suffered a few weeks before.

That fight she had barely survived long enough for the other slayer to pull her out. It was a constant reminder that although she continued to gain power and skill, there were beings out their far older and more skilled than she would be with a lifetime of fighting.

'Bah, forget power and skill, even a slayer can be swarmed by inferior and normally easy to kill vermin, quantity holds a quality of its own.' Faith thought with resignation and frustration. This fight though, she could take her time and release vent some of her stress.

The vampires she confronted now where persistent and would not hesitate to fully and fatally exploit any miss-step she might make, but they hardly compared to some of the opponents she had faced in the past. Opponents that still left a knot of fear buried in her stomach and there were not nearly enough present to successfully swarm her.

Without blinking, or breaking step, Faith whirled around and took the fight to the other two animalistic figures. Yellow eyes and exposed fangs filled her vision in a rapid yet controlled flailing of limbs and makeshift weaponry.

A rusted short sword and some sort of wooden club against her fists and a stake – it would be little contest – for her.

Her slayer essences surged within her, fueling her own primal fury to match that of the remaining demons and her insane grin sought to strike fear into the vampires who had thought that they had scored an easy ambush within the Sunnydale cemetery. She was no easy meat, she thought - her anger mounting. She had never been EASY meat.

Perhaps, Faith thought, even a few months ago they may have scored the easy ambush that they had planned for. But she had grown in those months along with the age and caliber of vampires and other assorted demons that inhabited the town, she had out of necessity learned to delve deeply into the slayer spirit that had been bound to her soul.

Learning to increasingly rely on the reflexes and instincts of the age old spirit to supplement her training and keep her alive had been just one of the challenges that had occupied her time since she had arrived in Sunnydale. She had heard that the whole of California was suffering, but Sunnydale held the Hellmouth as such was the epicenter.

Even then, she knew it was barely enough to cope with the huge influx of demons into the region, demons of ever increasing strength, and even with the rapid healing she was being worn down - her body could not sustain such a constant beating. Even the training that she received from her new watcher didn't help much.

"Ha, if you can call that training. The tweed man in the library probably hasn't been out of the library in at least a decade and from the way he watches me - Creepy. As if he would have a chance - so not my type. If only the other Slayer would side with me to get rid of him, even that Jenny woman gives better advice."

She barely saw fledglings anymore, and the weaker demonic species had long since been driven out as the stronger and older demons moved in as the town over the Hellmouth grew in reputation and word got out of the two slayers in residence.

Twirling her stake she struck with graceful precision at an over extended weapon strike by the slower of the two who yet remained from the ambush. He dusted with a look of grim realization. Faith was almost insulted by the lack of forethought they had displayed at attacking a slayer, they may have attacked in numbers but their attacks were far from coordinated.

She had worked hard to build her rep in the demon community, to be feared. Her euphoria and exuberance in slaying, her viciousness and strength. Her Ruthlessness. She had ground to catch up with the older slayer after all.

Maybe they were new to town.

Sunnydale had, after all, begun to get a reputation over the last year - with two slayers, a mysterious and hidden figure of dubious morality that held the location of the Hellmouth tightly in his fist and gangs of demons fighting over territory - as a bit of a mystical final frontier. It was known as a place to go to build a reputation in the shadowy demon world. It was that very reputation that had drawn her as well after her watcher was killed.

Faith snarled remembering half forgotten pains. She had never really had a family or anyone that she could rely on, or at least one that lasted more than a few months before they inevitably betrayed her trust or where removed from her life. She had largely learned to rely on her own survival instincts and lean on her own self – resilience. It was necessary as she was passed from abusive house hold to abusive household by social security.

But somehow, she was always hopeful that one day she would find somewhere she belonged, someone that she could learn to trust and lean on. It was the only thing that kept her sane, that hope though was buried deeper every day. She had hoped the older slayer would fill that void, but reality never really matched up with hopes and dreams.

Smiling grimly at the remaining vampire, Faith changed tactics. Now there was only one, she could afford to take her time and take her aggression and frustrations out on the hopelessly outmatched demon. Her strikes became punishing brutal, but far from immediately lethal.

Her slow taking dismantling of the vampire allowed her to regain a small measure of control, prove that she was not beholden to that knot of fear that always threatened to grow and spill over. At news of a new demonic threat, the mysterious and powerful Holder and - she shivered - Kakistos.

**CRACK**

Faith grinned viciously as the vampires nose shattered after a particularly heavy blow. Beating up on the demons that had made her life such living Hell for so long was so therapeutic she thought with a chuckle.

Even as strong as she had become with the constant fighting, every time she thought about tracking down one of the major threats in the town, she relived the fear and helplessness she had felt, chained to a wall as Kikistos had tortured and killed her watcher. Only let go as a testament of how pitiful, how worthless she was as an opponent. She hated being dismissed as insignificant, and here on the Hellmouth she being seen as far from insignificant.

She was feared herself.

It was why she had stuck to regular patrols, and probably would unless she had some more significant backup. Backup she had thought she would find in the older and more experienced slayer.

She had never felt so screwed over in her life as when she had finally met the girl and seen her fight. It was like watching a broken mechanical puppet with its strings cut. Playing a pre-ordained role until someone eventually trashed the broken tool.

That she was still alive, made Faith wish she had seen the girl in action before the girl became what she was now. It would have been a sight to see. As she was now, merely going through the motions, it was amazing she had managed to keep up.

Well maybe she had felt that overwhelming sense of being ripped off before, once, when it finally became apparent that her slayer powers would not solve her problems of her abusive foster family's, the violence that plagued her drug fueled world or the evil social workers that continued to chase her.

In fact, the Slayer powers seemed to only bring more pain, more problems. The demons, the insane magic wielders and all the darkness of the world, as if her life wasn't filled with enough of it, seemed attracted to her as bees to honey. Only her watcher had seemed to provide any light in that darkness.

Still seeing Buffy in action and life was a close second to that disappointment.

Looking at the bloody remains of the still living undead vampire she shook her head, it was time to finish things and continue on her patrol.

Grappling with the bloody remains of the still undead vampire head, and bracing her feet firmly, she strained her Slayer strength to the limit to sadistically twist the beast head from its body – sending it to hell and smiling at the small poof of displaced air and the dust heavy sent that filled the air.

Such acts had granted her her own fearsome reputation amongst the demons of Sunnydale, one that made even the stronger demons wary of attacking her in her own backyard.

Despite her own reputation, and she admitted that most of it had been built after her arrival in Sunnydale, it was the first slayer's reputation, Buffy's, that had her running to Sunnydale when a vampire master had killed her watcher.

Still relatively new the slayer game, barely above trouncing a group of newbie's or the weaker demonic species, and not nearly hard or cold enough to survive the battle of the night without a watchers guidance, she had felt overwhelmed and had run towards the older more experienced slayer.

A slayer whom her watcher had often talked about often, one whom rumor had said had, under the guidance of a veteran watcher, survived death three times and bested a Teraka team of assassins. Taken down two master vampires and had survived two watchers. Though the later she had only found out once she arrived to the Hellmouth.

The reality once she arrived was far different. The veteran watcher dead and the council in all its wisdom had appointed an inexperienced bookworm to a rapidly deteriorating and dangerous environment. Buffy, the slayer in question, had seemingly been broken by the death of her watcher and best friend from her latest tangle with a master vampire and in no state to guide a younger less experienced Slayer.

When she had finally wheedled the details from Buffy's redheaded friend, Faith had found some sympathy for the blond. Still, that sympathy did not help them hold back the darkness anymore than, her anger and rage had held back Kakistos from his sadistic games.

'Times like these, life really sucks ass,' Faith murmured looking over the array of broken headstones that made up the Sunnydale cemetery.

She had heard rumors that he was coming to town as well, and she just hoped that the older slayer had her shit together before then. Or maybe that redhead could lend some magical support - she seemed to be making progress over the last year.

"Slayer," a deep croaking gasp called out from behind her.

"Shit, how did…" Still somewhat high on the slayer essence, and the adrenalin that surged through her body after the life or death fight with the three vampires that had tried and failed to ambush her, she didn't even stop to consider her next course of action. Something had identified her as a slayer and had managed to sneak up unnoticed behind her. After Dark in the Graveyard.

Hostile.

Twirling her stake around, she threw it aiming for the heart, the grunt that followed and the thud meant that she had hit something she thought with a pleased grin. Even surprised she still had the stuff.

The lack of dust meant that it wasn't a vampire, but not too many things could shake off a stake to the heart, so what could it….

Her thoughts froze and the ever present knot in her stomach grew as she stared at the body of a man with her stake through his shoulder. Absently she noticed that she had missed the heart and that he was still breathing but for a second she just stared in shock and disbelief at the roughed up and bleeding human that she had staked.

His clothes where ripped and bloody, with what looked like burns that had charcoaled whole swathes of his jacket. His face was cut up and the now freely bleeding wound in his shoulder from her stake probably wasn't doing his health much good either. In the dark, and as blood soaked as his hair was she couldn't even make out his hair color.

'What should I do now,' she though slightly panicked.

The only real taboo that the group that she hung with, the tweed watcher, the somewhat broken older slayer, the redheaded trainee witch and her mentor, had was that they should never attack human with the powers they had been given. She knew, had heard and had seen it while she had been with them, what happened to those that broke that taboo.

They would treat her as no better than those they fought against.

'If he dies, no question, they will act against me, or just leave me to face the demons alone. A certain death sentence.'

For one moment, she considered finishing the job and stashing the body, even started justifying it to herself, 'only someone evil would be walking around the cemetery at this time of night – no one will ever know.'

'No,' she thought shaking herself, 'I am better than that.'

With the knot of fear in her stomach almost pulsing uncontrollably she tore at her shirt to firm some field bandages, thankful that for once her aim was a little off, just this once.

Pulling her stake from his shoulder and tossing it too the side, she bandaged his wounds as best she could to stop the bleeding. 'Damnit, now what? I can't take him to the hospital, too many questions. Maybe that useless watcher will know what to do.'

Faith snorted and shook her head, 'more likely hell freak at the sight of blood.'

Shaking her head and picking the man up as gently as she could she started the short sprint to the school library. At the very least, the redheaded witch or her mentor may be able to help.

If she had have been less panicked, she would have no doubt noticed that his injuries, though vicious looking, weren't life threatening, and had even shown evidence of partial healing. In fact, if her victim had have opened his eyes, she no doubt would have been intrigued by his brilliant green eyes.

*****

Chidi crouched low with other surviving soldiers, banded together from a handful of legions, and an assortment of fellow demons from the tank-like Veedos demons of the 1st to the silent killers that inhabited his own level of Hell, he almost felt safe in the presence of the natural predators of his species. Together they moved swiftly, with a sense of frantic urgency and care, down the corridor of the deathtrap they had found themselves in.

In his hands was the latest biotech weaponry that he had been able to scavenge from the remains of another slain demon of the 3th layer. Although and no where near as flashy as the energy or kinetic weapons held by his fellow soldiers, he felt confident enough about its stopping power to have grabbed it, certainly it was far and above what he had started with and far more than he could have afforded himself.

Looking around at the blood and viscera drenched walls, and trying not to think about what he was walking in as he stepped around the bodies of the brotherhood who had not been so lucky, he thought about what had brought him to this place. Scurrying in fearful retreat from what was once thought to be their crowning achievement of this reality, this layer of Hell, securing the last Hellmouth and putting an end to the final remaining resistance to His Lords rule.

At six foot three and with dual horns that barely broke a hand span in length and a muscular build to match his height, Chidi was very much the runt of his crèche. Worse, his family had only lived under His Lord for three generations, in a reality that had yet to by fully pacified. His ambitions far outstripped his prospects in the third plane of Hell dimensions and so he had taken a gamble.

Like many Stilth lacking prospects before him, he was faced with a deadly choice – he could venture into the unknown, either within the realms or the empty borders of space and seize a holding for himself, possibly building a clan of his own and defending it from those that would constantly seek to take it from him, or he could join the brotherhood of the lord, accept a sponsor and contribute to the crusade. Perhaps in time, as he climbed in seniority and influence, sponsoring others himself. Both were legitimate ways of progressing under His Lords rule and both required brute force and cunning in equal measure.

If he joined the brotherhood and survived long enough, there was little question that his status would rise in the realm that His Lord ruled over and all future realms, and the access to training and spoils would ensure that his prospects would raise exponentially above that of striking out alone. Perhaps he would even attract the notice of the mysterious fellowship of his Lord's direct commanders. Those that acted almost independently from the usual command structure of the crusade.

It was little choice really, and so he used the little money that he had thus far acquired in his life to strike out and beg for a sponsor. A relatively lowly officer whom who had granted him some basic defensive augmentation – with the expectation that he would repay his debts many times over into the future as he climbed higher within the society he strove to naw into.

He was endlessly grateful for even the basic augmentation of the nano-mesh that lay just underneath the outer layer of his skin. It was the only thing keeping him alive as he and his weary companions fled in full retreat. What was meant to be a glorious triumph over the heavily fortified remnant of rebels on top of the Hellmouth, a capture of the fortress in a cakewalk and final subjugation of this reality of Hell, signifying his numerical, technological, magical and shear logistical superiority had instead turned into a slaughter and staging point of a counter offensive of the 5th layer of Hell. The forever victorious armies had been forced into full retreat after being ground up and spat out.

It had been a trap that had ground them up, not even the five to one kill rate they had achieved with their superior training and weaponry could satisfy the horror of the slaughter he saw around him.

Chidi shuddered, amazed at his survival thus far where thousands had fallen to the strange foes that had swarmed out of the blood red Hell mouth, out of the walls, from the ceiling. They had struck from all sides, unseen and unexpected.

***BOOM***

Almost falling as the entire fortress shuddered, Chidi swayed to regain his balance as he rounded the corner with his mismatched squad, only to be covered with a mist of their remains as they got caught in the splash damage of what looked to be an overcharged plasma pulse. His Lord REALLY must have been looking after him, only his unbalanced swerve had allowed him to avoid a similar fate.

Automatically bringing up his weapon to fire and flood the immediate area with nanites specifically designed to attack the unique RNA signature of the dominate rebel demonic species, he froze at the sight before him. A tall humanoid figure with a metallic black stylized Cerberus wrapped around his face fought with a shadowy, insubstantial elemental from the 5th layer.

'It was one of THEM,' he thought with amazement and AWE. 'One of His direct commanders. An elite member of the black palm'. Around them vast energy bursts of multi-colors struggled with the silvery sheen of nanites enhanced with His magic and in the middle, they both fought with whatever weapon they could conjure and use against the other.

Not wanting to risk distracting His Lords direct representative in this reality, Chidi stepped back and watched what he was sure would be the most intense and deadly personal battle in his life. The duel almost kept his mind from the obvious questions that arose from the moment his squad was ambushed and massacred.

"Why?"

"How?"

"and was there a reason for the dying that had been allowed to happen." After all, his Lord could have used his multiple genocidal weapons which would not have interfered with the energy of the Hell Mouth. 'Bah, who am I to question My Lord. I must be grateful that he ensured that I survived.'

"Yes, the counter-attack has already taken place. Those fools do not see the possibilities of their defeat, or that the pathway has already been trodden."

Chibi stepped back in surprise as a honeyed voice whispered in his mind, and screamed as his body felt itself ripped apart even as his mind filled with a thousand thousand possibilities of the past , present and future. The hell dimensions, the vastness of space surrounding each reality and the number of species that abounded them.

He saw entire legions marching across worlds and dimensions in a vast crusade, and giant crystal cities filled with technology he KNEW had not been invented yet. The feel of a tattoo of a Cerberus imprinting itself across his face brought him out of his stupor as the vastness of the knowledge disappeared, leaving only tattered remains.

Somehow he knew that those tattered remains would grow with time.

But it didn't matter; he knew what he was to do now. Just as he knew that the armies marching out of the uncivilized 2nd and 5th levels were streaming out of their Hellmouth's in a massive joint invasion.

After all, the counterattack had already begun and for the unenlightened demonic species that had not yet bowed to His Lords rule, defeat was almost guaranteed. Still, that was not his concern. Already he could sense, beyond the fortress walls reinforcements being flown in. As the newest member of the Palm, he was needed elsewhere, this small battle field was no longer his concern. His lorded needed him and the few remaining survivors that dotted this graveyard elsewhere.

Glancing towards where the two titans had been clashing, nothing. Only a silver sheen coating the pitted walls remained as a testament to the fierce battle fought here. His brother's memories resided in him now, time would allow him to manifest his skills too. He could see now, that it had always been thus, he was deeply honored- His Lord had indeed been watching out for him.