Subject:Loki, The Slayer of gods
Author :Lore
Summary:In days of darkness, a Slayer must rise to fight Loki
Rating: PG 13 (violence)
Characters:
-Neara (OC)
-Peleus (OC)
-Temlan aka Loki (OC)
-Methos
This is a crossover (sort of) between the 'Highlander' and the 'Buffie the Vampire Slayer'
-universes.
Methos 'll only play a very small but very crucial role in it all.
Hereby I must disclaim any and all characters, ideas, ... of either TV-show.
Anyway, this story is set in about a 1.000 BC, this means Buffy isn't even close to being
born yet.
The Slayer in the story is one of her predecessors. Temlan or Loki as he will be calling
himself is an immortal only a 150 years younger than Methos. The two of them were raised
as brothers, sort of.
Feedback will be more than welcome (lilith93@hotmail.com)
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*** Greece 987 BCE ***
Silence ruled the small settlement, nothing roused in darkness between the wooden huts.
There was a small sound of a frog hopping coming from the well in the middle of the
square. A small bucket hung halfway in, inches away from falling in the water.
Darkness was so complete that the only things still moving were a few restless sheep,
rusting around in the paddock. In that silence a dark figure approached one of the huts.
The moon shone on the face of a boy. Light brown hair surrounding a face that could have
been angelic if not for one thing. The mad glint in his eyes.
There was a knife in his hand, a small thud as he pinned a parchment on the wooden
doorpost.
Only then did even a shimmer of a smile appear on his face. A hunter's smile of knowing
his prey was close... oh so close.
He left with as little a sound, as he'd arrived with.
Morning arose all too soon. Women got up even before dawn, and stood chatting at the well.
Their voices playing through the rising sunlight.
The men came out somewhat later, some discussing important matters, most just trying to
get the morning's dust out of their eyes.
A woman's shriek tore through the air.
She'd never learned to read but she didn't need to. Even the youngest and unaware of them
all knew the symbol, and most of all it's meaning. She fell in her brother's arms. Others
followed, surrounding her, desperate to know what was going on. One of the elders pulled
the piece of parchment out of the woman's hands and read it calmly.
"Loki."
Shivers went through the entire community at the mere whisper of the name. Some looked
around, as if expecting the demon to be called upon by the mere mention of his name.
It was said that he was a mad god, out to cause the end of time by eating souls. A mad god
or a demon, so powerful that even the most brave faltered at his sight.
There was no way to prepare for the coming of Loki, the slaughter that generally followed
his arrival. He had demanded a sacrifice, if refused ... one life for many. But how could
it ever be worth it?
And who did he want?
Loki ate souls, it was said. But not just any soul would do. He'd want very specific
souls. And you would never know who it would be.
Sometimes it was a great warrior, a priest, sometimes the lowest woman or the smallest
child. Never the same, never explained.
Once given, they'd die.
Maybe if they gave him who he wanted they could save themselves. But at what price, what
cost?
Peleus of Athens imagined himself a learned man, a philosopher who was aware of the
unknown world of darkness. He was a warrior trained from birth, yet also a scholar
familiar with many of the languages of the known world.
He stared at the parchment. His eyes nearly burning a whole through the letters stating
the name in black and white.
"He's after Miro."
All the villagers looked at the young hunter.
"Me? Why?"
Peleus couldn't answer him. He'd heard of Loki of course. Unlike the others he'd known
that Loki was no myth. The Watcher chronicles had told of him for over ten generations.
Loki, whatever he was, was a threat to all that lived. At least as dangerous as the Four
Horsemen.
He thanked Ares for keeping them away.
If they found out about the location of the Hellmouth.
They were unstoppable enough as it were.
He shot a quick glance at his Slayer.
Neara stood proud, tall for a woman.
She was 16 now and had been the Slayer for 3 years.
The villagers knew her as his daughter. He'd never disputed their assumption. He'd ignored
the suitors out for her hand in marriage. And as they saw she would not be given, they'd
stopped coming. Neara looked at them at times, a sad look in her eyes, but Peleus knew
he'd done right. She of all women was too important to be given in marriage. If her real
father only knew what had happened to his daughter after the Temple had paid the girl's
dowry. After she'd given her pledges to the calling.
Thank the Gods he didn't know.
So now there were two possibilities. Hand Miro over to the Slayer of Gods or not. It
didn't look like the villagers would even think twice. The young man was an orphan, a
foundling actually.
He had no one to speak for him. No one to defend his right to live.
But to just hand over a human being to a monster like Loki. A creature powerful enough to
have ... not just killed, but slaughtered at least five Slayers that they were aware of.
Not to mention the countless Slayers who'd died mere days in their calling, replacing the
Slayers Loki had killed. Falling due to inexperience and doubts.
Peleus feared for his Slayer, dreading to lose her to the monster that now haunted their
people. But there was no choice. Neara's pride and courage would not allow her to hide,
while Loki stalked them all.
******
That evening Miro stood shaking on his feet as he awaited the arrival of Loki. He stood
frozen, almost as tied to the ground as he would have been if Peleus hadn't intervened.
Miro hadn't wanted to admit it, but he was terrified. Ready to run at a moment's notice,
but held back by his pride and his honor.
Peleus had had easy talking, but he wasn't the one playing live bait for the demon. He
wasn't the one about to be shred apart.
The young man sat down and took out his flute. He'd played the instrument a thousand
times, whistling in the night as the soft music rocked the sheep to sleep.
Gentle tunes played on the wind as he took the flute to his lips and a familiar sound
filled the air. The music stopped for a second as he startled up at a sound. He hesitated
a second before playing again.
Was it the Slayer?
Peleus had promised she'd be around.
A young boy, few years younger than himself appeared out of the bushes. The boy didn't say
a word even as he sat down and crossed his legs in front of the fire.
******
Neara leaned back against the trunk of the tree, softly goaded to sleep by Miro's sweet
lullaby. She startled up as the music hesitated and stared down at the clearing and the
young boy joining Miro at the fire.
She'd never seen him around these parts, he wasn't from any of the neighboring villages,
yet there was a sense of innocence permeating the air around him.
She watched as he took out a flute of his own and took over the young hunter's tune.
Neara felt a smile on her lips as she lost herself in the sound of the music.
"You're a brave boy. Sacrificing yourself for cowards who neither care whether you
live or die."
Miro didn't move, he stopped playing and stared at the boy.
"In return for your bravery I'll make your death as painless as possible."
Neara stared down in shock. She was just about ready to jump at him but before she could
do something the boy stated one simple demand.
Stay!
She found herself incapable of movement.
Before her eyes she saw how the boy stabbed a knife through Miro's heart. Miro hadn't even
had the time to blink before he looked down at the blood clouding his shirt.
She was still helpless as she was forced to witness Miro's eyes open in shock.
"Don't worry boy, you'll never know the agony of immortal life."
At that he lowered his sword and decapitated Miro with one blow.
All Neara could do was watch as a slow mist formed around the dead man's neck.
Then suddenly lightening bolts flared out , hitting the demon Loki. Neara wanted to scream
her thanks to the Gods. For surely this had to be their vengeance. But Loki just stood
there, accepting their rage and taking it in, all of it.
He didn't even consider her worth a second look as he turned away and left. It was hours
before her body even responded to her commands. And as she finally arrived in the village
she found her Watcher waiting for her, worried. His hope crashed by a mere look on her
face.
"Miro's death. He just killed him. No cause. Nothing. And I couldn't do a damn thing
to stop him.
I couldn't even move."
The girl fell down at his feet totally overcome by a feeling of helplessness.
The Watcher tried to comfort his Slayer as much as possible.
The council could go to Tartarus with their don't-get-to-involved rule.
After getting the story out of her of what had happened he started researching his
scrolls, hoping to find a way to stop the effect of the Voice. He recognized the
phenomenon of course. But he couldn't seem to remember a way to contradict it. It was a
dangerous weapon, making it's user's will irresistible, turning any word into a command,
unwavoring like a siren's call.
******
Peleus stared at the young boy's body. His head lay a few feet away. The Watcher felt an urge for vengeance that made his old bones tingle with rage. Neara stood next to him. Her pride gone, her strength near defeated. She'd trudged after him, one step behind. She'd never done that before. Her failure nearly destroyed her, the evidence of the death she'd been forced to watch, accused her.
The was no choice now, no choice but to go and follow in Loki's tracks. To hunt the
demon and put him down once and for all. The villagers didn't say much as he packed their
stuff. He didn't even bother to make excuses for leaving. It wasn't easy to load all his
parchments on the packmules either. Peleus could feel his heart break as he was forced to
leave most of their stuff behind. Sure he could come back, some day. But both of them knew
that day would never come.
It took them over a month before they got their first lead.
A child, a baby girl this time.
She too had been a foundling.
Peleus was starting to see a pattern here. All the victims, regardless of standing, age or
gender had been foundlings. None of them possessed a single blood kin. Some of them had
had children, but even those had turned out to be adopted.
But why them. Sure most people would find it easier to turn a blind eye where a foundling
was concerned. But some of these people had been great warriors in their own right. So
once again, why them, why not someone easier?
The next find was even more horrible. The village had refused to turn over the person he'd
asked. She'd been a priestess and the village hadn't dared to anger the gods that way.
Loki had responded with a cruelty beyond measure.
The villagers had woken up, their children missing. The next day they'd found them spread
alongside the river. What was left of them. The only part of their bodies that had
remained untouched were their faces, their innocent looks, scattered in pain, fear and
torment.
After that the priestess herself had offered to act as a sacrifice to keep Loki away
from the rest of them. But the village had refused. After their losses they refused to
give in to the demon.
He'd continued killing a man or a woman for every day afterwards.
By the time Neara and her Watcher got to the town over half of the villagers had been
killed. The place had become a home to the death. The people, merely surviving instead of
living.
Neara looked sick, overtaken by her guilt.
If only she'd been able to stop him sooner, all these people, all these children would
still be alive. But she'd been too weak.
He could read the thoughts in her eyes, as sure as he'd known it hadn't been her fault,
but neither his words, nor his actions would ever convince her of that fact.
Night fell and the villagers locked themselves in the great hall, hiding behind what
little hopes of protection they had left. Peleus just stood there as Neara prepared for
war, shocked by the look on her face. There was utter determination in her eyes and
for a mere moment he dared hope that she might still survive this.
All were awake, ready for the slightest movement from outside. The priestess prayed for
their souls as the men stood at ready.
Nobody spoke. All that was heard was the sound of the men's steps as they stood guard.
Then one of them heard a scream coming from outside. One of them men jumped up, running
to the door. The others tried to stop him. No matter who had died, they couldn't risk any
more lives on it. Neara looked up, took her bow and knives and went outside. The others
considered her crazy for doing it. Peleus looked after her, got up and followed his
young ward into the shadows.
He gave Neara a set of earplugs and took care to seal his own ears as well. At least that
way she might be protected from the power of the Voice. Night had come, darkness with it.
And his Slayer stood in between the shadows and waited for the demon to appear.
*******
The villagers waited and waited. When they came out the next morning they found the
body of the Slayer or what was left of it.
Each of her weapons was lying next to her. Broken or shattered.
The girl's body was terribly burned. Like someone or something had just torched her.
Her Watcher was lying next to her. Barely alive. In some sort of shock.
It took him weeks before he uttered a word. By that time it was to late. The priestess had
sneaked out and had given herself to the demon. A sacrifice, too late.
They found her body the next morning, decapitated like the others. It was then and only
then that the killings stopped. Loki had moved on and all there was left for the survivors
was to mourn their dead. Peleus couldn't return to his duties. He couldn't bare to see
another child raised to fight and die in the endless struggle against the unstoppable
darkness. It wouldn't end with him, he knew that, other watchers would be there for other
Slayers, but he couldn't bare for it to be him.
It was in such a mood that he sat at the edge of the village. Unwilling to be amongst them
and hear the sounds of life taking back it's course. It was because of that that he was
the first to see the lone horseman as he rode into town. The stranger took one look at the
funeral pyres or what was left of them and stopped. The Watcher gasped in shock as he
recognized him from the description. The Fourth Horseman. Death.
Peleus heaved himself up. As if to stand in the Horseman's path to prevent him from
doing anymore harm.
But what could the Horsemen do to the town that Loki hadn't already done.
The white clothing under the Horseman's armor was covered in mud and grime. Filthied
by travelling and the course of life that the monster before him had taken upon him.
Peleus stared at his face. The blue paint on the right side of it was fading. It almost
made him look human. The Watcher saw the bags on the horse. If he hadn't known
better he would have thought this might be no more than a weary traveler. Someone like he
had once been himself.
"What do you seek here Death?"
"Loki."
"How low have you fallen. Traveling behind the hunter and living on the remains of his victims."
"I'm hunting for him. Loki."
"Why?"
"Once a long time ago,at least by your mortal standards, he was my brother. And I
betrayed him.
Maybe if I can stop him, I can also reclaim him. Stop his evil ... and my own."
Peleus stood up, trying to see the eyes. They say that the eyes are the mirror for the
soul. Peleus didn't know if this was true, but for a second he allowed himself to be
pulled in by the Horseman's hazel eyes. The watcher could not but startle at the truth.
"Last time I heard Death, he was eastwards of here. Heading for a settlements on the
edge of the Vorsaka-forrest."
The Horseman nodded, turning back one last time before leaving.
"My name isn't Death. It's Methos." and the Watcher saw the truth in this as
well as the demon, now a man, went to stop his brother.
Maybe the days of terror were finally ending.
Hope sprang eternal after all.