Her body was tied, her hands restricted, her feet bound. The crucifix that she was to die on was roughly made, knocked up in such a way that made it clear that little planning had been done. She looked around her, feeling weakened and looking drained. The walls were of stone and the floor was just dirt, her face was cut and her naked form bleeding and bruised.
She could see her clothes, stained and torn in a heap at the far end of the dimly lit dungeon. A figure approached her, appearing male and dressed in black, he had a hood over his face concealing his eyes. Kennedy's father had always said that the key's to people's souls were their eyes, if you can't see their eyes then they don't want you to know what they're feeling, because they can't handle it either. He was holding a poker, she could see it now her eyes were more focused, a fire raged to her right, which is why she was sweating and couldn't breathe well.
She was gagged so that when he traced the searing poker across her tanned flesh she couldn't scream; only tears could fall from her eyes, the melted brown of them begging, pleading for him to stop, she tried to move away but she couldn't free herself from the steel bindings holding her in place. The figure sniggered, applying more pressure to the poker as it hissed its way down her abdomen. There was a table next to the fire and on it were various instruments that she didn't want to be conscious to find out what they did.
He almost spoke, but changed his mind at the last second and threw the poker at the wall, sparks flying off it as it made contact. Kennedy flinched at the sound, knowing that this was only the beginning. "Please." She tried to speak through the gag, losing faith in him being able to understand or care, she hung her head. His leather gloved hand picked her face back up before he spat in her eye.
He went over to the table and picked up a blade, small and petty looking, but sharp and deadly. He began to cut symbols into her, intricate and ancient in style and yet she couldn't work out exactly why he was doing it. She had seen the symbols before, but the pain clouded her thoughts and vision, she watched the blood drip as he began to swab a black solution over the new wounds. She arched and writhed in agony, it burned; she could feel it entering her blood stream, poisoning every vein, attacking her heart.
There is no feeling to compare, no word to describe the pain, pain is described in tears, in feelings there are no explanation for, they cheapen it, dull it sometimes, but never can you truly understand pain unless you feel the exact same thing. She had her hands gripped, they were numb, the circulation cut off by the metal ropes her feet, six inches from the floor were throbbing and purple. She could see the blood she was dripping onto the floor was now black and it hurt so much she didn't want to keep her eyes open any longer.
She forced herself to see, the figure yielded a gun as he came towards her again. It was a small purse gun, he put the butt of it to her right foot and pulled the trigger, fireworks shot before her eyes and her head fell forward onto her chest, giving a muffled groan as she fell unconscious.
The ice water hit her burning body like it was twelve inches of concrete, she lifted her head, looking at the figure once more. Her hair was dripping, blood, sweat and grime was washed from her skin as the liquid dripped and splashed onto the dirt, she had bullet wounds in both her feet and her hands. The black figure came towards her, barbed wire in his hands, he wrapped it three times around her head and stepped back, pulling the ends so the spokes cut into her.
The blackened blood dripped into her eyes and as she struggled to blink it away the figure picked up a book that hadn't been there when she had passed out, he flipped a few pages and sighed as he found the one he was looking for. He pulled his hood back and Kennedy saw his face for the first time, her eyes widened in shock, "Dad?" It was too muffled to make sense of as she tried to pull free of the bindings holding her fast. The figure, who was in fact Kennedy's Dad, began to speak;
"Odyne, Goddess of pain I summon you to this dimension to reek havoc on all those less powerful than you." He threw sand onto his daughter, who clenched her eyes shut before the grains blinded her. The burn mark in Kennedy's chest opened up and a drop of the blackened blood seeped out, it streamed across the dirt and into the centre of the room, expanding into a demonic form before both of their eyes.
"Guess I'll start with you then, my pretty." She said, stepping towards Kennedy's father. "Like a black widow eats it's husband, I shall devour my master." Her smile dripped acid and she leaned forward and kissed the darkly dressed man, Kennedy watched as his body writhed in pain on the floor, he made no noise as he convulsed in muscle spasm, his nails ripping at his own skin as he became insane, his eyes frantic and his movements wild. The goddess watched, smiling and musing at her own work as she always did after the kill.
"Now, how about you?" She said, turning to the brunette tied to the crucifix.
"Somehow I don't think so." Buffy, Willow and Xander burst through the door at the far end of the room, weapons bared. Spike followed closely behind.
"So we meet again." She smiled, running his tongue across his teeth, "You look older."
Willow rushed over to the brunette SIT and pulled the gag from her mouth, she and Xander helped untie her and as she collapsed onto the floor she whispered huskily, "What took you so long?"