Chapter 7
"Ghouls," Faith murmured, sliding her fingertip beneath the encrusted inscription on the face of the door. A shudder jumped down her spine, then raced back up again, cringing her neck and throat.
"Did you say something?" Buffy asked, taking the metallic red weapon from Angel. The blade still seemed to ooze blood, in multiple forms. She slung the thing against her hip, the heavy axe blade facing the floor.
"Will' said something about the Labyrinth. Can't believe it took me so damn long to remember it,"
"Well-what is it? Or are you keeping it to yourself?"
"There are words on the doors. They're coated in blood. If a magical creature opens 'em, whatever's inside…gets out. But from the inside, it doesn't open."
"A magical creature?" Buffy repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Like a vampire slayer," Angel groaned, tightening his fists against his sides.
"So-the spirits before? You let them out?"
"Shit…" Faith swore under her breath.
"How many doors did you open?" Buffy panted as she led her companions back down the hall from whence they'd come.
"Two-yours and Spike's,"
"So-you didn't open your own?" Angel stopped suddenly, reaching out and yanking hard on Faith's wrist. She skidded to a stop, yanking her hand away.
"It was already open…"
"What do you mean it was already open?" Buffy growled, her voice riding on squeaky. "You said that it couldn't be opened from the inside."
"By something of the species written in the spell," Angel muttered, distaste on his tongue. "But if one of the Potentials opened the door before she died…"
"Oi, Slayer!" Spike's voice called out from the empty hall ahead. "Where the hell have you people been?"
"Researching the weird and unusual that is our lives," Buffy groaned as she resumed her pace, reaching the yawning light of another open doorway.
"Well-you best come look at this," Spike frowned from the doorway of the final open room. He frowned as he stood in the doorway, his shoulders hunched up against the left side of the frame.
"Upir," Angel blinked as he stared at the text. Behind him, Buffy and Faith slid into the empty room, a wound in the wall. Pools of blood drenched the corners, as though the floor sloped and gravity dragged rivers of the thick substance to this place of perfect rest. The walls that encased the tomb were stained. Handprints were soggy, some still oozing with the livelihood of slayers past.
"If you'd known, would you have stopped it?" Spike asked quietly, his voice a breeze against Buffy's ear. She would not, could not turn to face him, to look upon his sad, guilt-worn eyes when she answered.
"No,"
"Couldn't stop it, B." Faith added tragically. Her fingers played against the cement, tracing the smudged fingerprints. "End of the world, apocalypse, worse thing we'd ever faced. We all coulda died."
"Maybe we all should have,"
"It's Russian," Angel called from the sagging door, hanging limp upon its hinges. "It's the old world word for vampire."
"Like I said before," Faith began, stomping toward the door.
"I know, I know," Buffy grumbled. "We're going."
A low rumbling moan sailed down the maze, consuming the empty space, the plague of darkness singed by sickly pale light. Buffy fell to a dead stop in her tracks, only to have a stumbling Angel rush forward into her back. The slayer jumped forward a half-step, then stopped again, listening.
"This doesn't look good for our heroes," Spike chuckled half-heartedly as he peered down the black hall, into the vacant stares of one hundred former vampire slayers.
"Zombies," Angel seethed under his breath. "I hate zombies."
"Zombies are one thing, but undead zombie vampire slayers are other thing entirely." Spike chimed in, following Angel's stare.
"I was waiting for a little action," Faith grinned, pulling her only available weapon from the pocket of her pants. The tiny pen knife gleamed in the low light of the bulb.
"If there's one useful thing I learned from Saturday Night moviefests with Will and Xander," Buffy grinned, gnashing her teeth. "It's 'aim for the head'."
Despite the lackluster gleam of the fading bulb on the reckless blade of the Scythe, the ultimate weapon of the vampire slayer sang effortlessly and beautifully through the air, tearing bone and sinew as it tore the head from the writhing body of undead vampire slayers. Beside Buffy, Faith swung the small knife, stabbing ruthlessly at the oncoming heads of their former recruits. Spike and Angel joined in the fray as well, decapitating the unfortunate passers-by that leaked through the Slayers' stronghold.
"We're not making a dent!" Buffy yelled from the front lines, shoving the axe through the air again.
"Let's go, Buffy, Faith. We need to make a run for it. Zombies are slow. They won't be able to catch up."
The floor squealed as Buffy and Faith retreated, scrambling past the empty door and into the consuming darkness beyond. The doors were closed, one after another slammed against the escape of more reckless and revenging demons. Buffy streaked out ahead of her vampire companions, holding the Scythe in front of her like a shield, prepared to defend them against another onslaught. At the back of their party, Faith threw her chin over her shoulder again and again, tossing her thick brown hair against her back, checking their position.
"They're gaining, damnit!" Faith screeched, turning gallantly toward the fray. Ahead, no one noticed the last triumphant stand of a world-wearied vampire slayer. It seemed fitting that they should avoid her in life and avoid her in death. "Alright, you bitches. Who's first?"