The Cave

Spike was cold. That statement, he was aware, was strange in itself. He was a cold creature- both physically and emotionally. He very, very rarely could complain that he was cold because a cold environment didn't affect him, his body was cold and therefore he could withstand it. But this cave was cold, and he was cold on the damp rocky floor. He had forgotten how low the temperature could drop in Africa when the sun disappeared for the evening. Instantaneous darkness and creeping cold across the dry, dusty plains.

He could feel Lloyd there, his breathing was very soft and silent for such a monstrous demon but he had a presence about him. Power rippled off his armoured skin in beating waves. Spike could feel him watching from the dark.

He was not sure how long he had lain there on the ground. When those bastard beetles had all disappeared, either through his destructive means or because they had scuttled off to their hellish little holes, he had lain on the wet, cold ground and rested, exhausted and in agony as his open wounds ached and started to heal over.

His head ached the most; there was a sharp stabbing in the base of his skill where his neck curved to the back of his cranium. It was a different to pain to the one caused by the chip. That set off a ringing throb throughout all the corners of his head; it was a painful jolt that seeped away fairly quickly. This pain was growing, worse and worse, sharper and sharper, as if something inside were burrowing away.

'You're done then, vampire.' Lloyd's gravelly demonic boom reached Spike, it echoed throughout the cave.

Spike swallowed hard, his mouth was as dry as the African dirt. What did he mean by done? Did he mean finished? As in the trials were over and he could skip merrily away with his well-earned prize and give Buffy what she deserved, finally? Or did he mean done, dying, finished, unworthy? Dead.

It took a vast percentage of Spike's remaining strength to prop himself up on one elbow to look at the demon in the darkness, his luminous green eyes shone out like diseased firefly's.

'H-hardly' he panted, looking quite pathetic as he struggled to get to his knees, panting pointlessly as his lungs didn't need the oxygen. It was a human habit that was very difficult to break. What he needed was blood. Hot, furiously pumping blood in his belly. That would solve everything, just a taste and he could be revived. His papery tongue lapped his dry, cracked lips as he thought about it- but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. He needed to stay focussed on the task at hand- the rewards would come later.

'Walk in the bloody park' Spike mumbled as he staggered to his feet, hands help onto the wall for support. He tried to look over his injuries but the darkness in the cave made that impossible, he could feel various gouges and holes all over his bare arms and chest where the beetles had chomped through his flesh- nasty little bastards.

'What's next then eh? Who've you got next in line for me to do in? Let's add another to the pile' he was swaying slightly, the wet floor sliding strangely under his bare feet. Blood from the wound on his eyebrow was dripping furtively into his eye and the sting made him woozy. He wiped it away haphazardly, spreading it through his platinum hair giving it a ridiculous red streak. He couldn't remember the last time he was so exhausted after a fight, if anything came close it was when that Bitch, Glory, had him strung up and tortured for hours on end.

Spike watched Lloyd's eyes survey him, unblinking, he seemed to be waiting.

The pain in Spike's head was increasing, the sharp splints of hurt were becoming harder and harder to ignore like his other wounds. This was getting worse. It suddenly drove him to a new peak of agony and he let out a bone-splintering cry, his knees smashed into the wet rock floor and his fingers clawed the back of his head. Something was in there; he could feel it eating through his brain. He let out another agonised wail as the pain continued to rise, like a great wave rushing to the shore, waiting to break over the land and destroy everything in its path.

Lloyd stepped forward, waiting for a break in the screams to speak.

'Another trial' he growled 'not a test of brawn of skill in battle- but a test of character. Are you… man enough… to withstand the next phase'

The pain spilled away momentarily and Spike turned to jelly, falling without bracing himself into the wet stone. His eyes rolled slightly as he recovered from the flesh splitting agony of whatever was in his head, he tried to ask what it was but couldn't form the words- nevertheless Lloyd answered him.

'The Pylean Scarab Beatles from the last trial' he said, no emotion in his tone, just the gravely matter-of-fact voice.

'You fought off the Scarabs, well, the majority of them. You missed one however, and this missed Scarab forms the next trial. The Scarab will have eaten its way through the base of your neck while you were distracted with the others and then burrowed its way through to your temporal lobe'

Spike screamed once again on the floor, his arms and legs seemed to be paralysed, but this did not stop the muscles in his neck and back bulging out in strain, the dead veins protruded grotesquely as he tried to fight the agony that ripped through his head. Lloyd waited for him to stop before continuing.

'The Pylean Scarab will force you to relive memories that have been buried away out of sight; or they might be painful, shameful memories. Your task is to re-live them, and change them if you can. But I warn you… if you dwell too long on one memory, you run the risk of staying trapped inside it forever. You will be unable to escape the memory and will spend the rest of your days rotting in this cave'

A single tear formed in the corner of Spike's eye as his cheek rested on the cold floor. It filled his eyelid and spilled unashamedly down his face and collected in the already wet stone beneath him. He could not speak, he could not move, the pain began to build again, he scrunched his face and growled as it washed over him.