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No Fate: The Collected Data Files

Chapter Nine – Free Spirits Part Seven

Sunday 1st June 1997

800 Hurd Way, Sunnydale, CA

"Gunny, Junior – are you guys packin' anything bigger than those Sigs from last night?" Faith asked as the two agents filed into the flat behind herself and Xander. Behind them, they heard Oz driving off in his van, heading back to the school.

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope, didn't know we'd need anything heavier."

"Okay, then you guys're gonna need these." So saying, Faith handed each NCIS agent a Sunnydale Police Department-issue riot gun.

"Um… are they really necessary?" Tony asked as he checked that the chamber on his weapon was clear.

"Fer the bar? No clue, but it's a definite 'maybe'," said Faith. "Fer goin' up against these Blood Pact vamps? Hell yeah. Buckshot to the head'll take a vamp down; trouble is, ya gotta get in fairly close, else the pellets spread too far t' do enough damage."

"Do shotguns work on demons?" Gibbs asked as he checked over his own riot gun.

"Far as I know – they've worked on alla the demons Tee an' me have run into so far," Faith agreed. "Some demons're real tough, got armoured shells an' exoskeletons an' other stuff like that for protection. Good news is, nearly all demons' eye sockets are vulnerable, an' most demons got their brains in their heads. If your first shot bounces off their chests, aim fer their eyes with your next one. I took out a Fyarl demon in Houston that way with a stake, so bullets oughta do the trick, too.

"Also, you might want t' carry these," Faith continued, picking a pair of MP5Ks out of the mess of firearms cluttering up the tabletop and holding them out. "Shotguns take a li'l while t' reload – too long if you're in the middle of a fight 'gainst vamps an' demons – so it'll help if you've got some backup weapons t' switch over to.

"Now, they might not hit all that hard, but they're small, they got thirty bullets in each mag, and you can go rock 'n' roll with them an' put all thirty rounds into a target real quick. You won't be able t' dust a vamp with these things, but you can shoot their kneecaps out an' slow 'em down plenty a whole lot easier than if you've just got a handgun, an' definitely beat you guys tryin' ta wrassle with them.

"Remember, even the average vamp is damn near as strong an' fast as I am, an' you got a pretty good look last night at what I can do. Plus, vamps got way sharper teeth than I have and can tear your throat out; I've seen it done, an' it ain't pretty. Don't try takin' a vamp on up close; you just ain't gonna win. If you try that, then if you're lucky they'll just kill ya; if you ain't, they'll turn your ass."

Gibbs nodded as he set down his riot gun and accepted one of the sleek compact machine pistols. "You're the expert," he agreed.

"Are we really gonna need this much firepower, though?" Tony sceptically asked. "I mean, I thought you're, like, Wonder Woman Junior with all your superpowers – whadda you need us for?"

"Well, there's the little matter of there only bein' one of me an' at least two-dozen bad guys – maybe more, if they've sent for backup," Faith pointed out.

"Yeah, but he's a Terminator," Tony argued, gesturing at Xander.

Faith shrugged. "So? Even Tee can't be in two places at once. Now, sure, him an' me can kick serious ass, but some of the bad guys're gonna get a free shot at us while their buddies keep us busy; we need you t' try an' keep summa them off our backs. I dunno if they've got any spells that could harm Tee, but if they start hittin' me with fireballs an' other stuff like that, then I am one dead little Slayer."

"Good point," Tony conceded.

Faith grinned as she donned her wraparounds and began tying her red silk bandana over her hair. "Awright: let's go swing by that hunting goods store over on Groener Drive that the A-Man mentioned, get you guys some webbing an' shit t' carry your ammo in, then we'll go make the Snitch squeal like Piggy in Deliverance."

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Highway 9011, CA

20 Miles East of Sunnydale

The convoy of nine Humvees and six five-ton trucks rumbled along the sun-baked river of asphalt under a clear blue sky. All fifteen vehicles' three-man crews were clad in regular woodland-pattern BDUs and relaxed as they drove, having cranked up their air conditioning and radios to full power.

In the lead Humvee, the vehicle's speakers throbbed and pulsed, blaring out a powerful beat and loud lyrics:

Back in black

I hit the sack

I've been too long, I'm glad to be back

"So, Righ – where we pickin' up the helos?" Gates asked, half-turning around in the shotgun seat and raising his voice to make himself heard over the music.

Finn leaned forward, map in hand, and held it out for Gates to see. "Right here, man," Finn said, tapping the map. "Camp Manticore; it's about two hundred klicks out from the target."

Gates grimaced. "Aw, man, Righ, why'd ya have to pick a Marine base? They probably ain't even heard of plumbing, there…"

Yes, I'm let loose

From the noose

That's kept me hanging about

Finn shrugged. "Hey, it was the closest base I could find that's got a SOCOM compound. We'll show up, rest the night there, collect the helos first thing tomorrow morning when we're sharp and frosty – and don't worry, I remembered to requisition 'em in advance this time, I did remember it was my turn – then gear up, and fly to this Springton dump.

"Time on target should be twenty minutes, tops; if we're lucky, it'll be under five. We get our boots on the dirt, we grab one Zee-type – maybe two, if we can do it safely – then haul ass to the Ell-Zee, hop back in the choppers and dust off."

"Good, 'cause I fuckin' hate Zee-types," Gates groused.

Finn chuckled at that. "Man, and I thought you Team Six guys were supposed to be tough, the way you carry on about how all the other SEALs are total wimps next to you boys."

I've been looking at the sky

'Cause it's gettin' me high

Forget the hearse 'cause I never die

"Yeah, yeah – keep that up and I'll kick your ass and feed you that pretty little green beret you're so proud of," Gates good-naturedly returned. "'Sides, I ain't the one who lost the coin toss and got snatch duty for me and my guys – instead, we'll be sitting pretty providing cover fire."

"Yeah, while my squad do all the hard work," Finn sighed exaggeratedly. "It figures you'd get the cushy job…"

"Oh, I'm just plain lucky, I guess," Gates laughed. "What's our helo package look like?"

I got nine lives

Cat's eyes

Abusin' every one of them and running wild

"I got us three MH60L Pave Hawks for transport, and two AH-6 Little Bird gunships to provide top cover. Winslow's guys will crew the birds, and we've got Raimi and four extra guys along to form a sniper team; they'll stay aboard the Hawks as extra fire support, while our squads rope in."

"That sure sounds like enough. We got the usual protocols for civvies?"

Finn nodded as he folded up the map. "Yeah – if there's any chance they're infected, we bring them in for Walsh to study. Otherwise, we leave them. If they get in our way, we take them out."

'Cause I'm back

Yes, I'm back

Well, I'm back

Yes, I'm back

Well, I'm back, back

I'm back in black

Yes, I'm back in black

"Gotcha. Hey, Righ?"

Noting Gates' serious tone of voice, Finn looked up from the map and met the other man's gaze. "What's wrong, man?"

"If I get bit… you'll finish me, right, man?" Gates asked. "I don't wanna turn into some HST – 'specially not a fuckin' Zee-type."

Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back

Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back

Well, I'm back, back

Well I'm back in black

Yes I'm back in black

Finn nodded. "You got a deal, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"If I get bitten, you've gotta return the favour."

Hooo yeah

Ohh yeah

Yes I am

Oooh yeah, yeah Oh yeah

Gates grinned, relieved. "You got it man. One thing, though – what if we both get bit? We do each other at the same time?"

"Yeah, that oughta work. We'll shoot on a three-count."

"On 'three' or after 'three'?"

Back in now

Well I'm back, I'm back

Back, I'm back

Back, I'm back

Back, I'm back

Back, I'm back

Back

Back in black

Yes I'm back in black

Out of the sight

"On 'three' – it's always quicker to go on 'three'."

"Okay, fine by me."

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Willy's Alibi Room, Sunnydale, CA

With a roar of engines, a motorbike and a saloon pulled up outside a dull, dingy and downright dismal-looking run-down bar.

"Umm… Boss? You, uh, you ready for this?" Tony asked as they clambered out of the government-issue saloon and walked around to the back.

"As I'll ever be," Gibbs said calmly as he popped open their car's boot; he reached inside, then handed Tony a set of US military-surplus webbing pouches.

"Okay, good, that's… good…" Tony mumbled as he buckled on the webbing, the pouches bulged and quietly clinked as the spare shotgun shells and magazines of ammunition shifted and rattled around inside.

"Try and relax a little, DiNozzo," Gibbs encouraged him. "Remember, Lehane and Harris are the big guns, here – if there's any trouble, our job's to stay outta their way, and give them a little cover fire if they need it."

Tony licked his lips nervously and nodded. "Okay, Boss."

"Hey, guys," Faith greeted them, untying her bandana and shaking her hair loose. "You got all your gear an' ammo ready?"

"Yeah. How d'you want to run this?" Gibbs asked.

Faith blinked, surprised. "Wait, you're asking me?"

"Well, yeah," said Gibbs. "This is more your field than ours."

"Hey, I ain't no leader, Gunny, an' I'm still pretty new t' all this," Faith pointed out.

Gibbs shrugged. "You might be new to it; we're even newer."

"T' the supernatural, maybe, Gunny; but you've fought in at least one war before, right? An' you've been a navy cop for a good few years. So far, I've mostly either run like hell and tried t' avoid gettin' shot, sicced Tee on the bad guys, or jumped in headfirst myself."

"And that approach seems to have worked pretty well," Gibbs pointed out. "Look, if I honestly think you're making a mistake that'll get us killed, I'll let you know. Otherwise?" He shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, for now it's your call."

Faith nodded. "Okay," she said quietly, and slowly rubbed her hands together, looking thoughtful. "Okay. Awright… goin' by the vehicles in the parking lot out front, it looks like this place is open fer business – that means there'll prolly be some demons inside. There shouldn't be any vamps seein' how the sun's up, but no guarantees – might be a couple with a real thirst on 'em. Seein' how mosta the spaces are empty, though, that prob'ly means it ain't gonna be too busy.

"Me an' Tee'll go in first: give us exactly three minutes t' lay out the ground rules to this Willy guy an' his customers, then come on in. If ya hear a fight start up, don't worry 'bout it; just come in at the three-minute mark. That okay with you?"

Gibbs nodded. "Works for me."

[—]

Willy looked up sharply from where he'd been connecting up a fresh barrel of goat blood to one of the bar top pumps, and his heart sank in dread.

The front door of his establishment had just been kicked wide open so fast and hard that its top hinge had been ripped clean out of the wall, and the bottom hinge buckled dangerously under the door's creaking weight. A second later, a slender leather-clad female form swaggered through the doorway, backlit by the sun shining down outside.

"Willy the Snitch," she drawled, her tone and demeanour indicating that it wasn't a question.

"Uh… uh… wh-who's askin'?" he quavered.

The girl smirked as she stepped forward out of the glaring sunlight and he got his first good look at her face. "Name's Faith," she replied, tossing her head to flick an errant lock of hair from her face.

A large vampire rose from his seat at a centre table. He was big and brawny, built like Stallone after a health farm regime specialising in large quantities of beef, exercise and steroids, and towered over the girl by a clear two feet. "Little meat sacks should stay out of demon bars," the vampire snarled, shifting into game face as he deliberately stepped into his personal space. "Lunch is on you… or rather, in you."

The girl slowly looked him up and down, removing her wraparound sunglasses and slipping one of the arms into her tank top as she did so, then – moving almost too fast for Willy's eye to keep up with – flicked her left wrist: a stake shot out of her jacket sleeve, landed squarely in her grip, and she slammed the stake home into the vampire's heart.

"Good little vamps should be seen an' not heard," the girl purred.

As the resulting cloud of ashes pitter-pattered to the ground, the girl smirked, her gaze roaming the room as she made eye contact with every last one of Willy's early patrons. One by one, the various demons, both human-looking and non, were forced to blink first and turn away

Willy gulped. "Y-you're a, uh, a-a Slayer?"

"Check out the big brains on Willy," Faith said sardonically, sliding the stake back up her sleeve. "You're a smart motherfucker, ain't ya?"

At that point, a patch of the wall five feet to the left of the ruined front door exploded inwards in a cloud of dust and semi-intact bricks and lumps of plaster. A large and powerful-looking leather-clad young man strode through the rubble into the bar. A pair of wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes and – bizarrely enough – he was carrying a box of roses under his arm.

"This is Tee," Faith continued, not even batting an eyelid at her companion's method of entrance. "He's a close friend a' mine."

Willy's eyes widened in recognition. "Hey, wait a second… isn't he th-that Harris kid, usedta hang around with the Summers Slayer?"

Faith shrugged. "He used ta be."

"I heard he was dead!"

"Ya heard wrong," Faith said, crossing over to the bar and hopping up onto a stool.

"So… what the hell is he?"

Faith shook her head as she chuckled; a rich and smoky sound, almost seductive, with dark and menacing undertones. "Willy, Willy, Willy… You don't get ta ask questions, here. I dunno how you did this with the last Slayer, but whatever arrangements you had with her? Consider them… terminated." Her lips twitched into a predatory grin at that; Willy suddenly felt a pressing and immediate need to go to the toilet.

"Here's the deal," Faith continued, as she leaned across the bar top and abruptly grabbed Willy's collar in an iron grip; she pulled hard, yanking him forward so they were eyeball to eyeball: he whimpered and squirmed, but her grasp was firm and unyielding. "I got questions. Some friends a' mine got questions. You're gonna answer every single one of them.

"An' if you don't, or if you lie – if you lie just once, if you lie just a little, if you hold even the tiniest li'l detail back, if you even think of tryin' to sell us out or screw with us in any way, shape or form, Willy… I swear, I will tear your fuckin' legs outta their sockets and force-feed your own dick to you, right before I set fire to this shithole with you inside it, and watch as you crawl outta here draggin' your bloody stumps behind you.

"And then…" she paused, reached under her jacket with her free hand, and drew out a chunky sleek black handgun that looked decidedly powerful and menacing, "…then I'll put a bullet through your skull an' put you outta my misery. Got it?" she finished with a low and menacing growl.

"S-Summers never u-used a gun!" Willy protested. "O-Or that Kendra chick! S-Slayers ain't s'posed ta kill humans!"

Faith gave a nonchalant shrug, then abruptly slammed her forehead into Willy's face. He screamed as his nose collapsed into a bloody pulp under the force of her headbutt. His customers looked on, some with interest, some growing visibly nervous, but none of them moving to intervene.

"I ain't them," Faith growled as she drew her head back. "New Slayer, new rules. Now, you got it? Or 're we gonna haveta skip ahead to the part where I kill you already?"

Staring into Faith's dark eyes, Willy gulped. "Got it," he whimpered.

Releasing Willy's collar, Faith gave him a hefty shove that sent him flying back into a set of shelves laden with some of his more expensive drinks; a dozen or so bottles shattered under the force of the impact. Various liquors and bloods splashed over Willy; a few stray drops narrowly missed Faith.

"Good," Faith said as she slipped her pistol back into its holster, then pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped a small smear of Willy's blood from her forehead. "I hate repeatin' myself. And get a fuckin' mint or somethin' – your breath stinks like a vamp."

At that point, Gibbs and Tony entered the bar, the latter through the gaping empty doorway and the former clambering through the hole in the wall.

"Hey, guys," Faith greeted the agents, half-turning on her barstool and tossing her bloodstained tissue aside. "Meet the Snitch," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the bartender, who was busy climbing back up again. "Snitch? Meet Special Agents Gibbs an' DiNozzo, NCIS."

Willy frowned, puzzled. "Huh? What, is that anything like CSI?"

Tony chose that moment to noisily chamber a round in his riot gun. "Only if you're dyslexic," he growled, not quite pointing the riot gun at Willy, but not aiming it too far away from the bartender either.

Willy gulped again. "Now, er, l-look, A-Agent Gibbs, I din't mean nothin'—"

"I'm DiNozzo," Tony cut him off, still sounding very testy. "He's Gibbs."

"NCIS is the Navy's version a' the FBI, an' these guys're good friends of mine," Faith told Willy. "Don't even think of tryin' ta screw 'em around."

Gibbs jerked his head to indicate Willy. "Should he be bleeding like that?" the agent asked Faith in a disinterested tone.

The Slayer nodded. "Yes."

"Fair enough," said Gibbs. "Is he human?"

Faith shrugged. "Barely."

"Hey, hey, n-now there's no call t-to be getting personal, Slayer…" Willy protested.

"Uh-uh, ya see what you're doin' wrong, there, Snitch?" Faith interrupted him. "You're talkin' when no one asked you a freakin' question. 'Less you really want me t' start tearin' your legs off, ya juuust might wanna stop doin' that."

"There's a bunch of vampires from the Blood Pact in town," Gibbs said, fixing Willy with his most piercing stare. "Where're they based?"

Willy shook his head. "I-I-I dunno!"

Faith sighed and noisily cracked her knuckles. "Awright, looks like we gotta do this the hard way, then…"

"It's true, I swear!" Willy shouted, shrinking back from Faith. "Pact vamps ain't like the regular ones I get in here: they gotta have their blood fresh outta the artery – it's some kinda religious thing, I think – an' they hate all other demons, an' they hate humans, won't even speak to ya 'less you're a vamp an' they get real snooty 'bout vamps who ain't part of the Pact, so no Pact vamp would come here for a drink 'less it was outta me!"

"You musta heard something, though, right?" said Tony. "After all, over two-dozen Blood Pact guys and gals turn up in town, looking to end the world and all… some of your customers must know stuff about them?"

"Yeah, but I ain't heard nothin' you guys don't already know – that there's a buncha Pact vamps in town, I only heard there was maybe a dozen or so, and there's only one reason those freaks would visit an active Hellmouth like this one, and that's just plain bad for everyone's business, right? If I know anything – anything – that would help bring those guys down, believe me, I'd tell you in a heartbeat!"

Faith shrugged, then turned on her bar stool to address the Alibi Room's patrons. "How 'bout you guys?" she asked loudly. "Anyone know anythin' 'bout where the Pact might be holed up? We're only talkin' 'bout the end a' the freakin' world – an' alla your asses with it – bein' on the line, here… Just FYI…"

Slowly, with a sound like a stack of bricks toppling over, a large and rocky sandy-yellow demon rose from its specially reinforced chair and unfolded itself to its full height of eight feet. Its long curling horns – which would not have looked out of place on Highland Cattle – scratched against the Alibi Room's ceiling. Aside from a large and rotting leather loincloth – which stank like a relic from the Hundred Years War and mercifully concealed its groin – it was naked.

"Clawster confused," the demon rumbled, reaching up and noisily rubbing the top of its head with one clawed hand. "Why puny hoo-muns still live?"

"'Cause she's a fuckin' Slayer, dumbass!" a skinny male vampire hissed from a nearby table. "An' who knows what the Harris kid is now-days, but I sure ain't tanglin' with him; an' the feds look pretty handy with those shotguns they're packin'."

"Speak for yourself," sneered another of the Alibi Room's customers. He was a tall and slender man in black, human in appearance and wearing a black cape with an oversized collar. He sat alone at a corner table, nursing a glass of white wine. Glittering green eyes peered out from his pasty white face, framed by jet-black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Jewelled rings adorned his black-gloved hands. "Slayers aren't all that tough, the feds are just humans, and whatever demon the boy's become will have weak points that can be exploited."

"Yeah, like you're ever gonna try taking them on, Juros!" jeered a tall avian Tralon demon, her beak clicking contemptuously as she ruffled her neck feathers.

Juros glowered at her. "Oh, you think not, my dear? We shall see!" he snarled, setting down his glass and rising to his feet. His fingers began to weave intricate patterns through the air as he began to mutter an incantation, a dim green light flickering about his eyes as he glanced over at Gibbs and Tony.

Dipping his hand into a pouch on his belt, Juros tossed fragments of bone and skin onto the floor beside the NCIS agents as the incantation ended.

Like a jerky stop-motion picture that had been sped up, the fragments erupted into a swirl of motion, growing dull grey dead flesh over rudimentary skeletal frames, until in a matter of seconds Gibbs and Tony were encircled by half a dozen mouldering zombies that began to slowly shamble toward them.

"That ought to keep you busy," Juros snarled, then glowered at Xander. "Now for you… whatever you are," he spat, before beginning a fresh incantation.

Clawster cast his gaze over Gibbs and Tony, then turned to Faith. "Little sticks no hurt Clawster," the demon boasted. "Slayer no hurt Clawster! Clawster invulnerable! Clawster show puny vampires how fight!" he finished with a roar, then launched himself into a lumbering run at the Slayer.

"Tee, waste the mage!" Faith snarled, leaping onto the bar top and flicking both wrists; a pair of stakes promptly sprang into her hands. "I got Rock Boy! Gunny, Junior – take the friggin' zombies down already!"

Xander promptly reached into the box of roses and began to step forward. Gripped by a powerful feeling of déjà vu, Tony watched as the cold black steel of the Winchester emerged as the box fell open, the roses spilling to the floor; the Terminator's boot crushed the flowers as the cyborg advanced, jacking a round into the chamber and then bringing the weapon to bear one-handed. A deafening roar filled the barroom as he pulled the trigger.

Juros smirked and raised his hands to point at Xander as the buckshot pellets rebounded from a shimmering silver field of energy mere inches in front of him. Still the incantation spilled out past the mage's lips, and a glittering emerald green light streamed forth from his fingertips, striking the advancing Terminator full in the chest, directly over the spot where his heart would have been if he were human.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs shouted a warning as he fired his riot gun, blasting one zombie back with half her head shot away.

Snapped out of his impromptu reverie, Tony looked around and found a pair of zombies lurching toward him. "Gaaah!" he yelped, bringing his own riot gun to bear and firing from the hip almost without thinking: his shell caught the zombie nearest him square in the chest and knocked it back a few paces. Pumping the action, Tony fired again, this time spilling the zombie's rotting brain cells onto the floor even as Gibbs nailed another.

Faith sprang at Clawster, her arms fully extended out straight and the points of her stakes leading the way. The demon roared triumphantly as he accelerated toward her – a roar that abruptly cut off into a wet throaty gurgle as the stakes slammed squarely into his eyeballs.

Four inches of hardwood gouged through each iris, penetrating on through the cornea and straight through the back of the eye socket, driving deep into Clawster's brain even as his momentum carried him onwards.

Still grimly gripping the ends of the stakes for dear life, Faith twisted around as her own momentum brought her body forward, and managed to plant the soles of her booted feet squarely against Clawster's chest. Kicking powerfully off from his torso, she coiled herself up into a backflip over Clawster's head, her feet leading the way as she narrowly slipped between his curling horns, and landed in a crouch on the floor behind him as the runaway demon – by now either dying or already dead – slammed full tilt through the bar, crashed through the wall beyond, and at last noisily toppled to the ground.

Gibbs racked his shotgun again, aimed and fired; the zombie in front of him promptly dropped, its head torn away. Momentarily glancing over at his partner even as he pumped his Ithaca's action once more, he was quietly gratified to see Tony dropping his second zombie of the battle; looking away, he found the last zombie had gotten too close for him to bring his shotgun to bear on it.

With a snarl, Gibbs took a hasty step back, flipped his Ithaca and slammed its butt up into the zombie's face. The undead thing's head snapped back with an audible click of rotted vertebrae snapping and staggered back a step; Gibbs promptly inverted his riot gun again, pressed the muzzle against the zombie's chin, and pulled the trigger. The zombie's head exploded in a fountain of gore, and it toppled to the ground.

Juros frowned as the last of his magical attack on Xander fizzled out and the Terminator continued to march inexorably toward him. "That should have drained your life force… What in all the hells are you?" the mage whispered, enraged and bewildered, a mere second before Xander lashed out with his empty hand.

The cyborg's clenched fist emerged from the back of Juros's skull, covered in blood and gory grey matter.

Tony grimaced. "Eww… I did not want to see that!" he protested.

Blank-faced, Xander vigorously shook his arm to dislodge the dead mage's corpse from his fist, and the cadaver noisily thudded to the floor. Scraping grisly scraps of flesh and bone and brains from his left hand off on Juros's tabletop, he then gripped the Winchester's barrel: working the action, the Terminator chambered a fresh round.

Gibbs warily prodded one of the fallen zombies with the barrel of his Ithaca, then, satisfied that it was truly dead, snagged a couple of spare buckshot shells from one of his webbing pouches and began feeding them into the riot gun.

Faith made a big show of dusting off her hands and pulling a pair of stakes out of her jacket pockets as she straightened up, then glared at the Alibi Room's remaining customers. "Anyone else wanna try somethin' dumb?" she growled.

Tony noisily pumped the slide of his Ithaca, chambering a fresh round. "I really, really wouldn't advise that, folks," he said loudly. "Take a good long look at her… that is not the look of a gir—uh, Slayer who's completely stable, if ya know what I mean?"

Briefly shooting Tony a sidelong glance, Faith saw him quickly wink at her. Instantly catching onto his act, she resumed glowering around the bar's customers with her most intense scowl, and deliberately twitched her left lower eyelid a couple of times for emphasis as she did so.

Timidly, a bulky demon with floppy ears and much-folded pink wrinkly skin covering his body raised a hand. "Erm… e-excuse me?" he asked, his fleshy lips parting to reveal a mouth full of pointed sharp teeth. "Th-these 'Blood Pact' vampires… d-do they wear robes? Hide their faces with hoods? Got magic powers?"

"That's them," Faith said tightly.

"Okay, then I-I saw a b-bunch of 'em near the old Church of St. Marcus in Blakeney cemetery two nights back – I w-was on my way home from the poker game here."

"How many?"

"About half a dozen – no more than eight, tops. It was kinda hard to get a head count with those robes they were wearing, and I was kinda hiding at the time: I saw them fry a Miquot demon, you see – they hit him with a couple of fireballs. I don't think they saw me. I saw 'em go in the crypt, a-and I ran back to my place – I didn't wanna be around when they came out."

"Were they carrying anything?"

"Yeah – now you come to mention it, they had these long poles, with metal round things dangling from the end on chains."

Faith nodded, pocketing one of her stakes. "Thanks, man – 'preciate it," she told the demon, then reached into her jacket: she pulled out a few folded banknotes, which she tossed onto the demon's table. "Got a name?"

The demon's eyes widened in surprise as he pocked the banknotes. "Name's Clem; I'm a—"

"Varroq demon an' ya don't eat live food bigger'n kittens, I know," Faith cut him off. "Yer cousin Caddy sends her love, by th' way."

Clem's jaw dropped. "Y-You know Caddy?"

"Yup: I bought these pants from her while passin' through Austin. Lady sure knows her leather."

Clem grinned proudly at that. "She sure does."

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Sunnydale City Hall, Sunnydale, CA

"Ah, there you are, Allan!" Wilkins said perkily as he stepped out into the corridor and closed his office door behind him. Taking a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he fastidiously wiped a grey-green smear of something that Finch didn't want to think about from his forehead.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Allan politely asked, struggling to remain sounding calm.

"I hate to do this to you, Allan," Wilkins began, laying a sympathetic hand on Finch's shoulder, "but I need you to meet with that nice young Mr Clark from Chase Industries for me at five o'clock; unfortunately, I'm going to be inescapably detained here."

"Uh, very well, sir," Finch said, baffled.

"Thank you, Allan. It's this business with the late Mr Jones, you see," Wilkins elaborated, gesturing toward his office door. "I need to see a man about an assassination, and Mr Jones left a rather nasty mess on the carpet of my office. And the walls. And, now I come to think of it, the ceiling. Gosh, he was a very messy man, he got absolutely everywhere. His kidneys tasted like a Thanksgiving Day turkey, though – truly delicious. Would you mind terribly if I made a call from your office while you meet with Mr Clark?"

Finch did a speedy double-take as his conscious mind finished fully processing Wilkins' penultimate sentence, and suppressed the urge to shudder. "Certainly, sir," Finch said quickly.

"I truly do hate to have to put you to this trouble, Allan," Wilkins said contritely, turning Finch around and giving him a gentle push. "But, I fear, needs must."

"Oh, no, sir, it really is no trouble at all…" Finch assured him, as they headed off down the corridor together.

[—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—]

Sunnydale High School, Sunnydale, CA

"How'd it go?" Jonathan asked as the library's doors swung open. "You guys find any clues at the hotel room?"

Tony shook his head. "Nah, total bust. We had better luck at that demon bar."

"Anyone know where St. Marcus's Church is in Blakeney Memorial?" Faith asked. "'Cause we got a demon says he saw a buncha Pact go in it two nights back. Don't think it's their main lair, though; sounds like it might be the new ritual site."

"Even better – we got this," Warren said, unfolding a map and laying it out on the main study table. "St. Marcus's… ah, here we go," he said happily, tapping the map. "It's in the northeast corner – pretty close to the DuVall Heights and the Drysdale Hotel."

"It's a ruin – it burned down years ago," Jonathan added, laying out a set of floor plans next to the map. "But it's got a really big crypt underground – if it's still intact, they'll probably use that, seeing how the rest of the building's a pile of rubble."

"Northeast corner, northeast corner… got it, take a look at this!" Grinning from ear to ear, Andrew set a couple of enlarged photographs on the table.

"Where'd you get these?" Tony asked, puzzled. "What'd you guys do," he jokingly asked, "hack an NRO satellite or… some… thing…?" he trailed off, as the three former Leaguers began looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. "Wait, you did?" Tony asked, incredulous.

"Never mind that for now, DiNozzo," Gibbs told him, already intently studying the documents.

"Whatcha thinkin', Gunny?" Faith asked.

"Looks like this crypt's got only one door, no other way in or out," Gibbs mused, picking up a pencil and tapping its blunt end against one of the photos. "The good news is the Pact will have to get past us to escape or to get inside. The bad news is they've got us outnumbered and outgunned, and that kind of reduces the advantage."

Faith shook her head. "Nuh-uh, Gunny," she grunted. "From what Tee told me 'bout this town, it's got a nasty habit of havin' sewers an' other tunnels runnin' all over the place that're real convenient fer vamps t' jump into, so's they can escape sunlight or their enemies. Some a' those run through the graveyards, an' even directly into some a' the tombs themselves – I wouldn't be surprised if there's an underground route. If there is one, they might be able ta bolt that way."

"Fighting things about as strong and fast as you that also throw fireballs and other magic stuff around down in a sewer doesn't sound like fun," said Tony. "We'd be right up close in their faces, no distance between us, and only you and the Terminator here would be able to even see down there in the dark…"

"Yeah, an' everyone 'cept for Tee would get dead real quick at that close range," Faith agreed.

"Our priorities have got to be rescuing Mulgrew and stopping this… Rite of Emmkatch, or whatever it's called," Gibbs said decisively. "Wiping out the vampires is a bonus if we can pull it off, but that's all. If some of them do escape, they'll keep."

Faith slowly nodded. "Yeah, I guess it doesn't matter too much if some a' the Pact get away… we can take them out later, an' maybe on our terms 'stead a' theirs. If we can find out where their main lair's at, we could catch them with their pants down an' dust them all 'fore they know what's hit them."

"Too bad we couldn't get any leads on the main lair today," Tony said gloomily. "That means we've gotta wait for them to show up at the crypt." He brightened up. "Hey, Boss, it's been a while since we last had a stakeout. Get it? Stake-out?"

"My vote's for us waitin' 'til the Pact are all inside the crypt before we hit 'em," Faith said, ignoring the pun.

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, that way they'll be bottled up with no room to manoeuvre," he agreed. "If we hit them out in the open, they could split up and outflank us. If we were dealing with humans, I'd favour taking them on outside – we'd be able to wipe most of them out with one burst from that '240 your buddy Xander grabbed last night, before they even realised we were out there. But seeing how our longest-ranged effective weapons are crossbows and shotguns…" he shook his head.

"Right, I know what you mean, Gunny," Faith agreed. "Still, you guys should be able t' hold that door pretty good together, while Tee an' me get in there an' mix it up at point-blank range. You an' Junior were pretty sharp with those shotguns back at Willy's, so I figure you'll do okay s' long as you've got ammo."

"Wh-What happened at Willy's?" Andrew stammered.

"Small zombie problem," Faith said offhandedly. "Some wizard-type guy callin' himself 'Juros' grew 'em or summoned 'em or whatever."

Jonathan grimaced. "Man… that sounds like really powerful dark magic," he said.

Faith nodded. "Yeah, he tried ta drain Tee's life force, too. Idiot," she snorted in contempt. "He kinda lost his head when that didn't work. By the way, those stake launchers? I ain't tried the SL-2s out yet, but the SL-1s worked like a charm," she said, turning to the Scoobies. "I got the drop on a big vamp an' a rock demon with those things – they're really kick-ass."

"R-Really?" Andrew stammered, blushing and beaming with timid pride. "Well… wow, th-that's great!"

"Yeah – thanks for, y'know, the feedback, letting us know," Warren added.

"How'd you get a rock demon with stakes?" Jonathan asked, openly intrigued.

"Rammed 'em through the backs of his eye sockets an' Swiss-cheesed his brain," Faith succinctly explained. "So, do any a' you guys know how t' handle a gun? 'Cause, hey, Tee an' me got plenty a' toys left, an' we brought 'em over in the NCIS-Mobile – help yourselves if you know what you're doin'."

"I, uh, I-I've never really been interested before," said Andrew.

Oz shook his head. "Never had the opportunity to learn. Probably be a good idea to, though."

Warren nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me either – I try and stay out of the house whenever Dad has his hunting buddies over."

"My cousin Ziva came to town to visit me and my mom a couple of summers back," said Jonathan. "She took me out to a range and tried to teach me how to fire my dad's old shotgun."

"How'd that work out?" Faith asked.

"I, uh, k-kinda broke my collarbone and fell flat on my butt the first time I pulled the trigger," Jonathan confessed, blushing and fixedly staring at the floor. "That was as far as we got with the lesson – she had to cut her vacation short 'cause of some work-thing that came up at her office, and she left before I got outta hospital."

"Hey, c'mon, Torch, don't feel bad 'bout it," Faith consoled him. "'Til I landed this 'Slayer' gig, I'd never even touched a gun, an' I only managed ta learn 'cause I had superpowers t' take the edge offa the recoil an' a Terminator t' show me what to do. 'Sides, look at alla those cool weapons an' gizmos that you guys built – even with these funky new powers a' mine, I could never have made anything like those," she continued. "Plus, you an' the A-Man have got that whole magic thang goin' on – I ain't an expert, but I'm pretty sure I can't do any of that stuff."

Jonathan brightened at that. "Y-yeah, I-I guess you're right."

Faith clapped him on the shoulder. "Attaboy," she said. "Now, talkin' of which, do you guys know any spells useful fer sluggin' it out with a bunch of vampire wizards?"

Jonathan and Andrew exchanged glances, then looked back at Faith. "W-Well, we might not be able to throw fireballs around, b-but I think we can take a 'fight smarter, not harder' approach w-with what we've got," Jonathan said, sounding cautiously optimistic. "I dunno if we'll dust any, b-but we can ruin their concentration, for sure."

Faith shrugged. "Good enough fer me," she said. "Whatcha been workin' on while we were out?"

"Well, we went hunting for the maps and satellite telemetry and stuff like that," Warren began. "Jonathan and Andrew have been, y'know, studying up to make sure they're totally maxed out on spells and stuff; I made a run to Radio Shack and cleaned out the Scooby Fund to buy a bunch of extra walkie-talkies and headsets so we can have one each, and I've been putting in upgrades ever since I got back; Oz's van is fully gassed up, and we've been carving fresh stakes and religious icons so everyone's got plenty. Well, I say religious icons – crucifixes are the simplest shapes that we know of to carve, so it's just those."

"Wait, crosses actually work?" Tony asked. "Like in the old Hammer Horror movies with Christopher Lee?"

Warren nodded. "Oh, sure," he said. "But crucifixes aren't the only game in town, plenty of other symbols work too: the Star of David, the Eye of Ra, that yin-and-yang two fish symbol of something-or-other that you see on t-shirts a lot, Star Trek pins, some countries' national flags… Basically, any symbol that represents a concept or collection of ideals that a lot of people have ever sincerely believed in and that're at least supposed to be 'good' and 'powerful' will work as vampire repellent. Even the symbols of an old religion that no one has practiced for centuries will work – well, sometimes, anyway, it's a bit hit-and-miss."

"And here I thought this day couldn't get any weirder…" Tony sighed.

"Do you have to really believe in a symbol for it to work for you?" Gibbs asked. "Y'know, only Christians can use crucifixes, only Jews can use the Star of David…?"

Faith snorted. "Naw, man – I've used crosses 'gainst vamps before just fine, an' the only 'faith' I got is my name," she told him. "Nice work, guys," she said, turning to the Scoobies.

"What's with the walkie-talkies?" Tony asked, picking one up.

Warren beamed proudly. "Well, I've boosted the range, reduced their power consumption, and rigged them so they can piggyback signals on nearby cell phone masts and transmit through the whole network, which gives them even better range when you're aboveground – in theory, so long as you're near cell phone masts, you could contact someone on the other side of the planet with these. I also enhanced the scrambling feature with encryption protocols of my own design – even the NSA can't crack those."

Tony shook his head wonderingly. "Jeez… you guys are like some kind of supernatural junior Q Branch."

[—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—]

Los Angeles, CA

Footsteps echoed in the deserted multi-storey car park just as the sun had finished setting over the horizon. A man wearing an expensive suit and a long raincoat walked through the empty bays, until he finally halted in a pitch black spot.

Lindsey McDonald sighed heavily. "Can we get on with this, or do you need even more spy-movie theatrics?" he impatiently demanded of the darkness. "I'm starting to feel like I should be on the set of a movie about Watergate."

"Hey, Mac – you call 'em 'theatrics', but I call 'em 'sensible precautions'," a voice came from directly behind him.

Startled, Lindsey stepped forward and whirled around: recognising the man behind him, he glared. "Why do you always have to do that, Sextus?" Lindsey snapped irritably.

Sextus smirked, and shoved his gloved hands into the deep pockets of his grey raincoat. "Because if I didn't then I wouldn't be me, now would I, Lindsey Mac," he said smugly.

Sextus – a name that Lindsey was almost certain was an alias – was difficult to describe.

He could pass for a man in his twenties as easily as one in his early forties. His hair was an indeterminate colour that could be described as a multitude of variations on 'blond' or 'brown', and no two people could ever agree on which.

The same was true of his eyes and height: a greenish blue tinged faintly with grey, and somewhere between five foot six and six foot five. Even his accent was difficult to quantify, variously sounding Texan, Californian, Northwest Territorial, New Yorker and Kansan, among a whole host of others.

Sextus was a man whom nature had intended to wear a crowd like a less naturally skilled being would wear a disguise – if indeed he was even human; Lindsey privately had doubts. In short, he was truly an enigma.

Lindsey sighed. "What can you tell me about 'them'?" he asked.

Sextus' smirk remained in place. "Straight t' business, then," he remarked. "I heard about how you scared poor Brigid earlier today – she's gone into hiding, poor thing. Edward's not too happy with you either."

"Why? What the hell's the big deal about these people?" Lindsey demanded impatiently.

Sextus shrugged. "'The big deal' is what the people 'in the know' – people like me, people like Edward, people like Brigid – actually know about them," he said.

"And what do you actually know?"

"Very little. Mostly, the results of their work – or at least, what we assume was their work," Sextus amended. "They don't exactly leave signed notes, but sometimes… sometimes, something happens, and the aftermath of that something just seems t' be their style, know what I mean?"

"And what 'somethings' are those?"

"Disrupted rituals and sacrifices. Thwarted attempts to bring about the apocalypse. People 'in the know' ending up dead – or vanishing altogether, no matter what kind of precautions they took. Groups of vampires or demons or dark mages getting wiped out, entire death cults destroyed. But none of that stuff is what makes these folks such a big deal."

"So what does?"

Sextus grinned. "The little fact that no one – and I mean absolutely no one – knows anything else. Normally you'd expect t' hear names in among the rumours and gossip, names that can be proven later on; or for evidence of some kind to be found that'd eventually lead to someone figuring out who's behind it all. But that's just not happened. Whoever they are, they're really good at cleaning up after themselves.

"The problem is, there's so much rumour and hearsay that no one – including me – really knows for sure what incidents they are truly responsible for or not. They might not even be one group: there might be some copycats out there muddying up the waters even more than they already are.

"Heck, one of my best people, Hanson? She's got a theory – just a theory, mind you – that they don't actually exist, not as a single person or group; instead, lots of different folks and groups have heard the whispers about them and copied the M.O., with each fresh incident just going to add further to the rumours.

"Bottom line, Lindsey Mac? No one – and I do mean absolutely no one – even begins to understand them. And you always fear what you don't understand. Always. You, me, your Senior Partners – everyone. No one knows any names; no one knows where they're based – or even if they have some kind of base; no one knows where they get their funding; no one knows their agenda."

Lindsey shook his head and stared off into the dark distance as he mulled this over. "Could it be the Watchers?" he finally asked. "Maybe-maybe they've got some new kind of warrior, or a new training regime for the Hunter Force teams…?"

"No, no, no, it's not the Watchers, Lindsey," Sextus chided him, sounding faintly disappointed. "Good grief, do you think that bunch could keep something this big quiet? They've got more leaks than a sieve.

"I know the McIntyre plan didn't work out quite as well as Manners wanted it to, seeing how the idiot got himself whacked by HMG after he broke the Alliance up. But since then, your firm's bought off plenty of people in the conservative camp, and even a couple of the traditionalists have sold out – and they're people that Travers will trust with his life right up to the moment they slip a knife between his ribs.

"No, seeing how your firm can take full control of the Council anytime the Senior Partners want? If the Council were behind all this, then it would've been water cooler gossip at Wolfram & Hart for the past decade by now."

"Okay… How about that government group – the, uh, the Initiative?"

Sextus snorted in contempt. "You're kidding, right? Those idiots haven't got a clue – they think vampires and demons and Slayers are genetic mutants, like outta the X-Men comic books and cartoons."

"Fair point," Lindsey conceded. "So how long have… they been operating, anyway?"

"Now that's a tricky question," Sextus mused, then gave Lindsey a wry grin and a wink. "Then again, every question related to them is a tricky question… Alright, alright – the truth is, no one's really sure," he said hastily, noting Lindsey's exasperated expression.

"Personally, I'm pretty certain they've been active since at least the Eighties, and maybe the Seventies," Sextus continued. "There's a few incidents I'm honestly not sure about yet… but there were definitely incidents in the Eighties that seem to be their style."

"And what is their style?"

"Have you ever heard of Max Sheznavitch?"

Lindsey nodded. "Yeah, kind of: he had an import-export company, used to smuggle just about anything going provided the money was right – weapons, drugs, humans, demons… Something like ten percent of all defections in the Cold War were run through him: both ways, too."

"And do you know how he died?"

Lindsey shrugged. "I heard it happened in his home, while he was asleep in bed?"

Sextus' smirk returned. "Oh, it did happen in his home, but he wasn't asleep and he most certainly wasn't in bed when it happened. He was in his mansion's panic room and wide awake. There wasn't a mark on him, either."

"You're saying that they killed him?"

Sextus nodded. "That I am."

"But… but… wait a second… I heard that Sheznavitch always had dozens of heavily-armed security guards protecting his mansion?" Lindsey protested. "All of them real pros, ex-military special ops types, and some of them vampires? And they had tons of armed military vehicles – Humvees fitted out with machineguns, Hueys, even a few old Sherman tanks that they'd refitted with modern engines and beefed-up weapons?"

"Yes, he did."

"And wasn't his panic room in a nuke-proof bunker? There was only one way in or out, through a door six feet thick, solid granite lined with titanium, and a twenty-digit lock with several billion combinations?"

"Correct on all counts," said Sextus.

"So… how'd they get at him?"

"There was a hole in the floor, leading to a tunnel – a collapsed tunnel. Someone caved it in after they'd finished using it, and did it very thoroughly: Sheznavitch's security chief never found its origin point, and he was extremely good at his job."

Lindsey shook his head in disbelief. "This is insane…"

"You get the point, right?" Sextus asked. "Whoever they are, they make a habit of doing things that are downright crazy, things that are impossible and unexpected. Sometimes they use brute force; sometimes they get subtle, real subtle. And while I'm sure it must take them quite a lot of effort to get the results that they do, they do a very good job of making it all look easy and effortless."

[—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—] [—]

Ruins of the Church of St. Marcus, Sunnydale, CA

A low and droning sound was dimly audible even aboveground, a sound that was felt as a vibration through the soil as much as it could be directly heard. The chanting rose and fell in cadences no human throat was capable of producing, and raised the hairs on the back of the neck of any unfortunate enough to hear it.

The crypt was nearly as large as the ruins of the church on the surface, a vast echoing hall over a hundred yards long and thirty yards high lined with cold stone coffins occupied by long-dead corpses. The door to the crypt was iron-bound solid oak, barred and locked from within, and secured with lengths of iron chain: a steep and narrow flight of crumbling stone steps led up to the door from the crypt's floor; an old and rusty cast-iron railing ran down one side of the steps.

The three-dozen assembled members of the Blood Pact had gathered at the end of the crypt furthest from the flight of steps that led up to the surface: half of them chalking out intricate circles of runes on the floor; half of them waving spherical metal incense burners that dangled from long wooden poles as they lit candles in sequence; all of them chanting.

Three figures stood halfway between the ritual site and the steps: no two members of this group looked anything alike, but they each wore an identical signet ring.

Streams of vapour began to coil through the air as incense was lit. Candles flickered into life as their wicks ignited, casting gently wobbling shadows onto the walls as they were set into their places. Parchment crackled and rustled as the pages of the Book of Melliflarask were turned.

Muffled whimpers escaped the gag of the struggling feminine figure bound spreadeagle to the top of one of the coffins. Arcane sigils flashed into life one after another as the ritual circle, chalked onto the crypt's stone floor, was completed. Candlelight gleamed from the blade of the Eritrius Dagger.

Something powerful and heavy struck the door; then again, louder this time, rattling the chains and locks. A third blow ripped several of the bars and locks free from the wall; a fourth shattered its hinges; and at last a fifth ripped door, chains, bars and locks free, sending the whole mess of oak and iron and steel hurtling down the steps and across the floor.

The three beringed figures had to leap out of the way as the door skidded across the flagstones toward them. Eventually, it came to a halt just short of the ritual circle.

One after another, Xander and Faith hurtled through the doorway and leapt off to one side, easily landing after the twenty-yard drop. "Knock, knock!" the Slayer shouted as she broke into a run, charging at the ritual circle. A second later, Xander overtook her, Winchester already up as he outpaced her. "Leeeeh-et's get ready to RUMBLE!"

Behind the Slayer and the Terminator, two NCIS agents and the Scooby Gang were scrambling down the steps and forming up at the bottom.

Pump-action crossbow in one hand, Warren raised a compact little monoscope to his eye with the other and trained it on the three figures who were fast forming a skirmish line between the two chargers and the ritual circle. Cursing, he let the monoscope dangle by its strap from his wrist and reached for his walkie-talkie.

"Faith!" Warren called in warning over the radio net, "Watch out for the samurai, the demon knight and the chick in the robes!"

"What's their deal?" Faith sent back

"Those signet rings they're wearing? That means they're members of the Order of Taraka – they're, like, this ancient secret league of assassins! The Pact musta hired them for security or-or something!"

[—]

The chanting gradually swelled, resonating deep within Faith's very bones and setting her teeth on edge. She ignored the sensation and pulled up a half-dozen yards short of the Tarakans' skirmish line, sizing up her enemies.

Directly ahead of Faith stood a man dressed like a samurai warrior from a bad movie. He drew a shining katana, its hilt richly decorated with a deep red lacquer and gold: his eyes locked with Faith's as he raised the katana in a silent challenge, then he rapidly whipped the blade through a series of infinity loops, tossed it from one hand to another and back again, and finally whirled the blade several times around himself, apparently passing the weapon through his own body more than once.

Faith favoured the samurai with a slight but appreciative and respectful nod, honestly impressed by the demonstration, and received a similar nod in return – then she whipped out her pistol, lined up its sights and fired once.

The samurai promptly collapsed, dead, a small hole neatly drilled between his eyes. Faith darted forward, dropping onto her knees and skidding along the flagstones to cover the final half of the distance separating them, and her free hand lashed out to seize the falling katana and snatch it out of the air.

"Yoink!" Faith called out, grinning triumphantly as she tucked the MK23 back in her shoulder holster.

Off to Faith's left, a humanoid figure – easily eight feet tall, clad in plate armour, and with a helmet obscuring his face – intercepted Xander. The demon knight lashed out at the Terminator with a heavy two-handed sword, the blade of which was inscribed with foul runes of power that glowed a bright and ominous crimson in the darkness.

The T-890 dodged the demon knight's first blow, raised his shotgun and fired, too fast for the demon to escape. He caught the demon square in the chest and knocked it back a pace, off-balance, but the buckshot failed to penetrate the glistening suit of full plate armour. Quickly recovering, the demon spun around and delivered a powerful blow that struck Xander's chest where a human's heart would have been.

Caught between the inhuman strength of the knight and the Terminator's unyielding hyper-alloy combat chassis, the corrupted sword's fell blade shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. An explosion of emerald green magical light and force threw out a visible ripple accompanied by a loud crack! as the sound barrier was broken, and both combatants were hurled into the air.

Stone flagstones cracked with the force of Xander's landing. A second later, the Terminator sprang back to his feet and charged toward the demon, which was still trying to recover its breath and struggle upright.

At the last second, the demon flung out a hand, dark cantrips spilling from its forked tongue within the depths of its helm, and the lids of the four nearest stone coffins evaporated into dust in response. The mouldering skeletons within sat upright, then clambered out and sprang toward the Terminator, bodily tackling him and knocking him away from the knight.

The third Tarakan – a tall albino woman clad in black robes, her long slender gloved fingers bedecked with dozens of magical rings – raised her hands, palms upraised as she uttered an incantation, and she floated up into the air, her robes flapping, her long wide sleeves trailing behind her as she slowly flew toward Faith. Vermillion tendrils of magical power crackled around the lash-less lids of the sorceress' blood-red eyes, and her lips parted in a triumphant smile to reveal inhumanly long and sharp teeth.

Faith raised her newly-purloined katana in her right hand and flicked her left; the bulky SL-2 stake launcher strapped to the underside of her forearm over her jacket's sleeve obligingly fired a stake into her waiting grasp. As ready as she would ever be, she charged at the sorceress—

—A coil of rope shot through the air, snaking and twisting like a living thing as it wrapped itself around the assassin, pinning her hands to her sides and filling her mouth as she was yanked back to the ground: the skirt of her robe flew up for a second or two, then wafted back down.

Not pausing in her charge, not daring to hesitate, Faith swung the katana with all her might as she passed the bound and struggling assassin, who was making indignant-sounding grunts and other noises through her writhing gag. The blade snarled through the air like a breath of wind, and Faith kept her gaze fixed firmly straight ahead as she halted a dozen paces past the sorceress.

The sorceress blinked owlishly in mute surprise as the rope binding her fell away, severed in two. She essayed a triumphant grin, unaware that a thin red line had formed upon her face, running from one side to the other. She began to stand upright, raising her hands once more for another spell and starting to gesture at Faith's back…

The sorceress paused: her instincts were screaming at her that something was wrong… very wrong… but what?

The sorceress' eyes narrowed as she focussed on the blade of Faith's katana.

As if in slow motion, a single little blob of blood dripped from the tip of the katana's blade to splash onto the flagstones below.

The sorceress' eyes widened in shock as she began to scream a protest, a denial—

The top half of the sorceress' head slowly but surely slid off and toppled to the floor, followed seconds later by the rest of her corpse.

[—]

Over by the steps, Andrew slumped to the ground, exhausted. "That… I think… I think that went okay…" he said in quiet disbelief, gasping for breath.

"'Okay'? Are you kidding? That was, like, totally fucking awesome!" Warren told him, clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. "You did great, Andrew!"

"I… I did?" Andrew said hopefully. "Cool…"

"Okay: what the hell was that?" Tony muttered to Jonathan.

"Animate Rope spell," Jonathan quietly explained. "It, um… well, the name says it all, really."

[—]

Xander smashed a fist through the skull of one skeleton and pulverised it; the decapitated skeleton promptly collapsed to the ground.

Flip-cocking his Winchester one-handed, Xander brought the shotgun to bear on another magically-animated skeleton's skull and fired even as he grabbed a third skeleton by the neck with his free hand. Body-slamming it to the floor, he followed up by pile-driving his foot through its skull and shattering it, then slammed his hand through the ribs of the last skeleton and tore its spine apart.

The demon knight was back on its feet by now and charged Xander, ignoring the greatsword sheathed across its back and lashing out with its gauntleted hands. The demon's first blow connected with the Terminator's chest and the gauntlet's sharp barbs further rent at flesh that had already torn by the demon's corrupted sword, and better exposed the gleaming silver armoured combat chassis beneath.

The demon let out a great howl of agony as its hand was crushed to a pulp by the force of the blow against Xander's unexpectedly robust construction. Every bone in the demon's palm and fingers was smashed to matchwood, and the skin over its knuckles burst apart like wet tissue paper.

Discarding his shotgun, Xander seized the demon by the collar of its breastplate with his left hand while drawing his .45 Longslide with his right. Wedging the pistol's muzzle right up against the left eye-slit of the demon's helmet, the Terminator pulled the trigger over and over again with inhuman speed, rapidly emptying the magazine through the slit. A muffled gurgle from the demon accompanied the seven flashes of light that flickered through the helmet's other eye-slit.

Satisfied, Xander cast the demon knight aside: it dropped to the flagstones, which cracked under the weight of nearly half a ton of corpse and armour. A second later, the Longslide's empty magazine landed atop the corpse's breastplate with a noisy metallic rattle, while the Terminator smoothly slid a full mag into place, then slipped the pistol into his belt and recovered his shotgun.

Squinting at one of the Blood Pact – a vampire with more elaborate robes than the others – Faith balanced her katana as though it were a javelin, then let fly. The blade hissed through the air and neatly severed the vampire's hand – the hand that clutched the Eritrius Dagger, which skidded across the floor.

The Pact's leader roared, more in anger than pain, and broke off from his chanting to glare up at the Slayer and the Terminator, who were now charging headlong toward the ritual circle. Pointing with his remaining hand, he shouted a command. None of those present other than the Pact understood the language, but his meaning was clear:

Kill them.

As one, the assembled vampires of the Blood Pact broke off their chanting and turned to face the intruders.

Arms pumping like pistons as she ran, Faith flicked her right hand, and grinned wolfishly as a stake shot into her grip a split-second before she launched herself into a flying leap.

Landing squarely between two of the Pact, Faith promptly slammed both her stakes into the vampires' hearts and released them: as the vampires exploded into ashes, Faith ran two steps forward and lashed out with her booted right foot, shattering the kneecap of another vampire while flicking both her hands. With a fresh pair of stakes now at the ready, she rammed them home then yanked them out again, dusting the kneecapped vamp and one of his fellows who was midway through an incantation when he disintegrated.

A buckshot shell from Xander's sawn-off Winchester decapitated one of the Pact; a second later, he drove his fist through the chest of a second and out through its back, ripping out its unbeating heart in the process. Both vampires exploded into ash, the latter with an agonised wail, as the Terminator jacked another round into his shotgun and turned to seek out fresh targets.

As Faith tore through the ranks of the Blood Pact like a whirlwind, staking four of them in half as many seconds, two of the vampires found themselves a safe distance away from her. Framing incantations and flicking their fingers through the necessary gestures as they glowered at the rampaging Slayer, they began to cast a series of spells as they took a cautious step or two back… only for their feet to unexpectedly go flying out from underneath them, sending them tumbling to the ground.

Cursing, the fallen vampires realised that the flagstones beneath them were covered in a sticky layer of grease: and no matter how much they struggled, they couldn't begin to get enough traction to pull themselves upright.

Abruptly, a shotgun boomed and one of the fallen vampires exploded into ash. The survivor twisted around to see Xander looming over him, jacking another round into the Winchester and taking aim at his head. The vampire snarled, defiantly beginning an incantation he knew he'd never have time to complete.

As Jonathan and Andrew finished uttering a fresh spell, a many-layered mass of strong and sticky strands that looked rather similar to spider webs sprayed across the crypt from their joined hands. The strands splattered over a stray group of three vampires, and formed a circular web between the crypt's floor and ceiling.

The vampires struggled, but to no avail, hopelessly entangled as they were among the gluey fibres. Their hands still joined, sweat poured down Jonathan and Andrew's faces as they concentrated for all they were worth, sending a trio of pencils floating across the crypt, eventually picking up speed and ramming home into the trapped vampires' hearts.

Recognising this new threat, half a dozen of the Pact broke away from the main fray and dodged around Faith and Xander, running toward the group at the foot of the steps. Raising his crossbow, Oz squinted through the sights and fired with practiced ease: one of the Pact promptly exploded into ashes.

Pulling the crossbow's 'action' forward and downward, Oz checked that the nock had successfully caught the now-slack bowstring, then pushed the action backward and upward to draw the string back into position. Reaching into a pouch hanging at his side as Warren loosed a shaft that caught a vampire in the eye, Oz pulled out a fresh bolt. Dropping it into the crossbow's groove, Oz then took aim and fired again – with less success this time – and vaguely aware that Warren was running through his own reloading drill.

One of the Pact stumbled, tripped, and went sprawling across the flagstones, eventually skidding to a halt at the feet of the door blockers, his undone shoelaces trailing loosely behind him. Gibbs reacted instinctively, lowering his riot gun's barrel and firing: his buckshot tore through the vampire's head at point-blank range.

As the vampire dusted, Gibbs pumped a fresh shell into his shotgun, then caught Jonathan's eye and gave him an approving nod. Taking fresh heart from the silent compliment, Jonathan grinned, a fresh incantation already spilling past his lips.

A vampire exploded, impaled by three crossbow bolts – one each from Oz, Warren and Andrew, the latter having drawn a collapsible pistol crossbow out of sheer desperation. A second pulled up short as Jonathan appeared to burst into flames: Tony quickly despatched the vampire with his riot gun, pumped the action, and fired again, catching a third vampire in the stomach. Gibbs' shot followed not long after, messily removing enough of the vampire's head and brain to cause it to dust even as he moved onto the next incoming vampire.

[—]

Ramming stakes into the hearts of a pair of vampires and cursing under her breath as she was a split-second too slow to recover them before the bloodsuckers dusted, Faith sprang atop the stone coffin that had been selected for use as a makeshift sacrificial altar. Snatching a slim-bladed knife from its hiding place in the top of her left boot, she began industriously hacking at the ropes binding the Pact's captive.

"Easy, lady!" Faith shouted, as the young woman beneath her began writhing in fearful earnest. "I'm the gorram cavalry, m'kay? I'm gonna get your ass outta here in a second," she promised, still cutting as fast as she could, "but ya gotta stop movin' around like this 'cause I don't wanna cut you 'stead a' the rope by mistake! Okay?"

Whimpering, the woman – Mulgrew, Faith guessed – settled down at that. "Seriously, you don't gotta worry 'bout nothin'," Faith assured her, despite the racket of booming shotguns, dusting vampires, crackling magic, hissing crossbow bolts, and the occasional agonised scream as a vampire met a particularly unpleasant end at Xander's bare hands.

"Me an' my buds, we're workin' with a couple dudes from NCIS, okay?" Faith continued, trying to keep Mulgrew calm. "They're Agents Gibbs an' DiNozzo, real good guys, real pros; ya couldn't be in better hands. There we go!" she shouted triumphantly as she finished hacking through the last of the ropes.

Tearing a wrap of bandage away from Mulgrew's mouth, Faith began plucking out the thick wad of dressings that had been cruelly crammed between the petty officer's jaws, distending them almost to the point of dislocation. Mulgrew sobbed and moaned in relief, right before Faith slipped off her blindfold.

"Petty Officer Janice Mulgrew?" Faith checked, slipping her knife back in her boot.

"Y-Yes?" came a rather panicky reply, as Mulgrew stared fearfully around at her surroundings, shrieking as she saw Xander driving his hand straight through a vampire's head: for a brief second, most of its brain was clearly visible in his grasp, before the organ dusted along with the rest of the vampire.

"Hey!" Faith shouted in her most commanding tone, and gently slapped Mulgrew's face: startled, Mulgrew looked back up at the Slayer. "Freak out later, 'kay? We gotta get your ass outta here! Do exactly what I say, when I say! Got it?"

Mulgrew nodded very quickly as she rubbed her sore wrists. "G-Got it," she whimpered.

Faith half-smirked, and offered Mulgrew a hand. "Come with me if you wanna live," the Slayer drawled as she hauled Mulgrew to her feet, noticing a quartet of vampires rushing toward them.

"Wh-What are you?" Mulgrew gasped, shocked at Faith's inhuman strength.

"Me?" Faith's smirk broadened as she flicked her hands: the SL-2s spat their last stakes into her grasp. "I'm one a' the good guys. 'Scuse me!"

So saying, the Slayer dove off the coffin, hit the floor shoulders first, came up in a forward roll and sprang back up onto her feet. Her stakes drove through the first two vampires' chests: yanking the stakes free before the vampires dusted, Faith met the third vampire with a roundhouse kick that shattered his jaw; while he was thus distracted by the pain, she slammed her left-hand stake through his heart, spinning away and tugging the stake out as he dusted in time to use her right forearm to block a blow clumsily thrown at her by the fourth vampire.

Faith shook her head, disappointed, as she traded rapid-fire blows with the last vampire. "Damn… guess you Pact types must get used ta fightin' with yer mojo, or pickin' off regular clueless humans with brute force, huh?" she said conversationally, right before she slipped past the vampire's clumsy defences and staked him. "Nice try, pal, but no cigar," she told the vampire as he dusted.

Taking advantage of the temporary lull in the fighting, Faith turned back. "Yo!" she called up to Mulgrew. "C'mon, get your ass in gear! Get to me!"

Nervously biting her lip, Mulgrew took little steps over to the edge of the coffin, then sat down on the lid and lowered herself over the side, then took a hesitant and jerky running-shuffle over to Faith, arriving just as the Slayer was busily staking a fresh pair of vampires.

"Keep goin', keep goin'!" Faith shouted at Mulgrew. "You're doin' great! Those guys over there, by the steps? The dudes with the shotguns're the NCIS team, get to them!"

Nodding and whimpering in pain as blood started flowing freely through her limbs once again, Mulgrew obeyed, gradually speeding up until at last she was running for all she was worth, putting her head down and ignoring the mayhem around her as she ran as fast as she possibly could. Crossbow bolts, sprays of buckshot, and even the occasional fireball or animated rope hurtled through the air all around her.

Then she felt an arm around her, strong and overpowering and wrapped around her waist: sobbing, Mulgrew struggled weakly.

"Easy, easy!" a man shouted – he sounded older, commanding, authoritative, used to being obeyed.

Looking up, Mulgrew saw her 'captor' was a silver-haired man wearing webbing pouches over an NCIS windbreaker, a riot gun held ready in his other hand.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS!" he shouted. "Are you Mulgrew? Petty Officer Janice Mulgrew!"

Mulgrew nodded, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks by now. "Y-Yes!"

[—]

Snarling, Faith planted a snap-kick square in the gut of one vampire, driving him back several paces: a stake rocketed through the air a split-second later, piercing his heart and reducing him to dust. Reaching inside her jacket, Faith slipped one of the stakes free from its loop in the jacket's lining, flipped it around into an ice-pick grip, then slammed it backwards, staking a vampire that had crept up behind her.

Whirling around, her hair flying every which way, Faith blocked a blow thrown at her head with her upraised left forearm before nailing the attacker with her right-hand stake—

"GAH!" Faith howled as she felt a hot flush of pain surge through her cheek; she lashed out and knocked her attacker away, belatedly recognising him as the leader of the Blood Pact assembly, who awkwardly clutched the Eritrius Dagger in his remaining hand.

Blood dripped down the blade of the Eritrius Dagger…

…And landed on the glowing ritual circle.

Faith felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Oh shit," she quietly groaned.

As Faith hurled a stake that tore through the Pact leader's heart and emerged from his back a second before he dusted, a sickly yellow glow began to suffuse the air. Beams of glittering golden light shot out of the runes of the ritual circle and tore into the crypt's walls and ceiling, forming a crazed cat's-cradle pattern.

"Whoa!" Faith yelped: leaping back, she barely avoided being impaled by three of the dazzlingly bright beams. Several more beams skewered half a dozen members of the Pact: the robed vampires shrieked as they burst into flames and crumbled away into piles of ash.

"Guys! What's goin' on?" Faith shouted into her headset mic.

"What happened?" Jonathan came back over the net, sounding out of breath.

"That sumbitch boss-Pact-guy cut my face with the Ritrus Knife thing!" Faith snarled, reaching up with her free hand to wipe an ugly smear of blood from a shallow gash on her cheek. "A few drops a' my blood dripped off his knife an' landed on the fuckin' runes, then this crap started up!"

With a dreadful ripping sound, like tearing meat, the beams vanished and a deep black gouge opened above the centre of the ritual circle, a rift torn in the walls separating realities and filling the air with sickening static, as though a million noxious flies had flown through from some vile plague-infested dimension.

"Uh, S-Slayer bl-blood has magical properties," Jonathan stammered over the net, "a-and the Rite was started, even i-if it wasn't completed, s-so I suppose th-that in theory, just maybe—"

"Yeah, okay, my blood just kick-started some kinda dark mojo, whatever – I kinda need the bottom line, here, Torch!" Faith urgently cut him off as she began warily backing away from the rift. Espying the Tarakan samurai's katana lying abandoned on the floor, she snatched it up on her way past, keeping her gaze fixed on the rift.

"Good news: the world probably isn't going to end."

"And the bad news?"

"…I think an M'Kachen demon's gonna show up now," Jonathan whimpered. "The Rite's being supercharged by the Hellmouth, a-and combined w-with the magical properties of y-your blood—"

The ground shook at that precise moment, then again, as something stepped out of the rift, which promptly snapped shut behind the newcomer as the runes of the ritual circle faded and died, their power depleted.

There was something magical about the terror that the thing inspired; it was the unnatural aura of something that had crept forth from the nethermost pits of hell and which no mortal being could help but sense and respond to.

In some ways it hurt Faith's eyes simply to look upon the M'Kachen demon: its very appearance told her it was made from no natural substance. The charnel stink of the thing was worse than anything she could have imagined: it reeked of rotting meat and congealed blood, and other less describable and far more loathsome things.

It was easily over two dozen yards tall and must have weighed at least five or six tons, all of it inhumanly powerful over-developed muscle. Its skin was ruddy red and its face savage; horns crowned its bestial head. Great cloven hooves stomped clumsily across the crypt's floor, smashing flagstones and crushing stone coffins with every step it took, trampling and squashing a few members of the Blood Pact along the way.

Vast bat-like wings flexed on its shoulders: it unfurled them, sending a sharp thunder-like crack! echoing throughout the crypt. In one hand it held a great coiled whip in its claws; in the other a terrifying axe bigger than a grown man's body, emblazoned with evil and eldritch runes that hurt Faith's eye when she tried to look at them.

And yet, of all the M'Kachen's features, it was its eyes that Faith knew she would never forget.

Burning with infernal fire, those terrible eyes were pools of infinite darkness out of which gazed a malign and ageless intelligent insanity. Somewhere in those unknowable depths flickered red fires of savage hatred, an insane ferocity that would overthrow the order of the entire universe if it could, in order to try and sate a bloodlust that could never be truly satisfied.

Here was a creature that had looked upon the birth and death of worlds, and might look out on the death of everything. Compared to its life, Faith's own existence was less than the life of a mayfly. Compared to its strength and savagery and cunning, she was less than nothing.

Faith blew out a deep breath.

'Now that looks like a real powerful sucker… real awesome, too.' She then grinned wolfishly. 'But I can see it… an' I can fight it, an' I'm gonna win. An' even if it kills me… well, hell, who else has seen one a' these things? Almost no one. That's pretty cool, right?

'And besides… this thing might be some ultimate badass big-time demon, but am I runnin' away, piss runnin' down my legs an' screamin' like a little girly-girl? Uh-uh, nope, not me. Yeah, okay: gotta be honest, I'm a li'l bit scared, here. Actually, I'm a lot scared. But I ain't totally shook outta my boots, even by this thing.' Her grin widened still further, taking on a much more self-confident air. 'So, you just bring it on, you ugly son-of-a-bitch. I'm ready for ya.'

As if in response to her unspoken thought, the M'Kachen lunged at Faith: leaping aside, the Slayer barely escaped being cloven in two by the demon's enormous axe blade, which chopped straight through the flagstones and deep into the ground beyond.

"Guys! Talk t' me!" Faith snapped into her mic as she ducked to avoid the hissing and cracking thongs of the demon's whip. "How do I kill this thing?"

"Um – ah – er, er—" Andrew yammered, panicking and terrified. "Uh, c-cut off its l-left b-big toe? N-No, wait, th-that's a Yosmarle demon…"

"The roof of its mouth!" Jonathan screamed over the net. "That's it's only vulnerable spot!"

Dodging the falling axe blade once more, Faith spared a split-second to glance up at the M'Kachen's gaping maw; it opened wide and let out a roar of frustration, and her nose wrinkled in disgust as a rank odour of raw meat and long-dried blood washed over her. "Jeez, Ugly, get some mouthwash!" she shouted in protest, then hit her walkie-talkie's 'send' button. "Torch, you sure 'bout that?"

"POSITIVE!"

Faith shook her head as she dodged aside once more. "Oh, man… How the hell'm I gonna pull this off…" she groaned to herself.

A shotgun blast rang out; glancing off to her left, Faith saw Xander charging the M'Kachen, Winchester in hand, jacking in a fresh shell as he ran. The demon ignored him as the buckshot pattered ineffectively from its thick hide, its gaze remaining riveted on Faith.

"Ugly's kinda obsessin' over me, here!" Faith shouted into her mic. "Any ideas what that's all about?"

"Uh, best guess is it somehow knows it was your blood that summoned it here, a-and it knows you're a Slayer," Warren sent back over the net, sounding apologetic.

"I'm open t' suggestions!" Faith grunted, twisting aside and lashing out with her katana to lop off one of the whip's thongs as it narrowly missed her.

"If you can get clear, Andrew and me can try casting the Web spell on it," Jonathan offered. "Th-That might slow it down, maybe even hold it in place."

Glancing over her shoulder, Faith's gaze landed on the dead demon knight. "I got an idea!" she sent over the net. "When I run, I need you guys t' pull a Spider-Man! Ready?"

"R-Ready!" Andrew confirmed.

"Awright – now!" Faith shouted, turning tail and fleeing as the M'Kachen's axe swept down through the space she'd occupied only seconds before. "Tee! Follow me!" she shouted over her shoulder; a second later, Xander fell into step beside her as the M'Kachen slowly accelerated and lurched into a lumbering run.

Skidding to a halt by the demon knight, Faith dropped to her knees beside the corpse and kicked it over onto its stomach. As she did so, she caught a brief glimpse of the M'Kachen being pelted with outsized magical strands of spider webbing that pinned it in place: roaring angrily, the enormous demon began tugging at the webbing, struggling to slowly but surely begin to pull itself free: it would get loose in another few seconds at most.

Releasing her katana and stake and letting them clatter to the flagstones, Faith drew the greatsword from its sheath on the demon knight's back. The weapon was truly enormous: the perfectly mirror-like blade on its own, at six feet long and nearly eighteen inches wide at its base, was bigger than she was, and the hilt added another foot to the sword's overall length.

It was heavy, it was cumbersome, and a human being would have struggled merely to lift it, let alone to wield it in battle.

But Slayers were not human beings.

Quietly grunting in mild exertion as she stood up again, Faith raised the enormous sword, grasping the hilt firmly in both hands. "Tee!" she shouted to the Terminator at her side. "Fastball Special, now! Put me right in that sucker's mouth, try an' avoid the teeth!"

Unhesitatingly obedient, Xander seized Faith firmly by the waistband of her trousers and the scruff of her neck: lifting the Slayer clean off the floor, the Terminator span around – once, twice, thrice, four revolutions in as many seconds, rapidly building speed and momentum all the while – and then he threw her.

Faith hurtled up into the air and disappeared straight into the M'Kachen's gaping maw just as it burst free of the webbing that had bound it in place; instinctively, the demon immediately closed its mouth and the Slayer disappeared from sight.

Malevolent gaze settling on the group by the steps, the demon angled its body toward them and sped back up into a run. Its blazing whip's sole remaining thong snaked out; four Scoobies, two NCIS agents and one US Navy petty officer – the latter by now completely incoherent with terror – instinctively scattered every which way, ducking and dodging aside to escape the whiplash. The whip continued through its arc, colliding with the last remaining handful of six Blood Pact left in the crypt: the vampires screamed with terror as they burst into pillars of flame. The demon ignored their demise, uninterested and uncaring.

Rolling up onto one knee, Gibbs chambered a shell in his riot gun then fired, catching the demon in the chest; pumping the action, he fired again. Tony joined him, the younger agent focusing his attention on the demon's face. Crossbow bolts snarled through the air as Oz and Warren bombarded the demon as quickly as they could with their heavy pump-action crossbows; raising their joined hands, Andrew and Jonathan began babbling an incantation.

Tossing his now-empty riot gun aside, Gibbs reached for the MP5K that dangled from a sling across his back. Flicking the selector switch down to the fully automatic position with his right thumb, he grasped the vertical foregrip with his left hand and opened fire, stitching a series of short controlled bursts from the little machine pistol across the demon's chest, neck and face.

Tony's Ithaca clattered to the floor before he opened fire as well, rapidly emptying his own machine pistol's magazine into the demon's stomach and crotch. Ditching the empty mag, he quickly slapped in a fresh one and resumed firing.

Fresh webbing spewed forth from Andrew and Jonathan's outstretched fingers, and spattered against the M'Kachen. It snarled as it stuck fast once more, tugging with its arms and wings as the web stuck fast, suspended between the crypt's floor and ceiling, and pinned it in place.

From behind the demon, Xander repeatedly fired his Winchester, reloading it every time the hammer slammed down empty, until at last he depleted the collection of shells stockpiled in his jacket's pockets. Discarding the shotgun, he drew his Longslide and began firing, the slugs bouncing ineffectually off of the demon's impenetrable hide.

"Mulgrew!" Gibbs shouted as he reloaded his machine pistol. "Get up those steps and get outta here! Go! RUN!"

Sheltering under the steps, Mulgrew was curled up in a little ball with her eyes screwed tightly shut, insensately quivering with terror, completely oblivious to the command.

Roaring, the M'Kachen succeeded in tugging one of its wings free; a second later, the hand clutching its mighty axe escaped the grasp of the web.

"G-Guys?" Andrew whimpered. "Uh, wh-what're we gonna do now? 'Cause, that web isn't gonna hold much l-longer, a-and I'm kinda running low on magic!"

"Yeah, I'm about tapped out, too…" Jonathan groaned in exhaustion.

It was then that something entirely unexpected happened:

The demon's eyes crossed.

A muffled but sickening wrenching sound escaped the demon's mouth. Its squint grew increasingly pronounced, as if it were attempting to peer up its own nostrils. Its mighty axe fell to the floor from its suddenly-nerveless claws, raising a terrible clamour that echoed deafeningly throughout the crypt; its whip followed a second later. Its wings tried to flap like mad, the free one buffeting the air for all it was worth—

And then, with a noisy cracking of breaking bone and a rending of flesh, a gleaming metal spike thrust its way out through the dead centre of the demon's forehead, emerging in a gory eruption of blood and bone and brain even as the demon's eyes began to glaze over, dull and dead, their inner fires put out forever.

Blinking and peering up at the demon's head, Gibbs abruptly realised that it was no spike… it was the very tip of a sword's blade.

By now extremely dead, the demon swayed back and forth for several long seconds like a tree in a hurricane, until at last the demon's incredible weight tore it free of the webbing and it toppled over. Scoobies and NCIS agents alike sprang aside to escape as it crashed to the ground; Andrew yelped in terrified anticipation of the worst as the demon's head smacked into the spot he'd occupied mere seconds ago, missing him by scarcely a single millimetre and shattering flagstones with the force of its impact.

And with that, incredibly, it was all over.

The crypt fell uncannily silent, save for the sound of Andrew quietly starting to cry in shock and relief to find how close he'd come to being crushed to death and that he was, incredibly, still alive after all.

Scarcely daring to draw breath, Tony DiNozzo tiredly rolled over onto his back then slowly sat up, grimacing and groaning as his newly-acquired crop of bumps and bruises screamed at him in protest. When he tried to move his arms and legs, he found that they seemed to have had invisible lead weights tied to them.

Wearily turning his head, Tony saw Gibbs was already back on his feet and busily reloading his riot gun, the metallic clicking noises sounding strangely loud in the quiet of the crypt after it had been filled with the din of battle and dark ritual for so long. Gibbs seemed to be moving in slow motion, every movement lasting an eternity. Tony could just about see Xander on the other side of the dead demon; the Terminator had his pistol trained on the carcass, clearly not willing to take anything for granted just yet where the M'Kachen was concerned.

Turning his head again, Tony saw Oz lying prone on the floor and fumbling to reload his crossbow, which he then trained on the demon, his expression as calm and inscrutable as ever. 'Huh… kinda like Gibbs,' Tony distractedly mused. 'Can't believe I never noticed that 'til now…'

A little way off to the teenage werewolf's right and slightly behind him, Warren and Jonathan had crawled across the floor and had gently tugged a terrified Andrew away from the carcass; both rather wet-eyed, they both now embraced the younger boy to try and comfort him as he buried his face in Warren's filthy and ragged shirt, shoulders heaving as he sobbed. Jonathan's lips moved slowly, so slowly, but Tony was just about able to read what he was saying:

Faith?

Where's Faith?

The M'Kachen demon's jaw twitched.

Tony moved like a greased lightning bolt, diving for his abandoned MP5K, slapping a fresh magazine into it and training it on the demon in an instant.

The former members of the Justice League of Sunnydale fell over each other as they clumsily scrambled to grab their fallen crossbows, which they soon brought to bear, the weapons held tightly in their trembling grips.

Gibbs chambered the first shell in his riot gun and trained it on the demon's dead unblinking left eye. The demon's head was on its side, its eyes staring glassily at them.

The demon's jaw twitched again.

Tony's ears pricked up and strained for all they were worth. "Do you guys hear that?" he whispered.

"Affirmative."

"Yeah, I got it too, DiNozzo."

"Wh-What the hell is that?"

"I dunno, Jon, but I think we're about to find out."

"Uh, W-Warren? C-Could you take your foot outta my back, please?"

"Oh! Sorry, Andrew, my bad."

"Hey, i-it's all cool, dude."

The sound steadily grew louder, until it was clearly audible over the whispered exchange:

"…heh-heh-heh-heh hee-hee-hee ha-ha-ha oh-yeh-heh-heh-heh-heh yee-hee-hee-hee-hee…!"

Tony's jaw dropped at the sound of very youthful and very feminine giggling echoing from within the M'Kachen demon's mouth. "No way!" he shouted.

The demon's mouth twitched, then again: with a muffled snap! of shattering enamel, its lip was flung aside by a large broken tooth: a slender figure followed soon after, landing clumsily on the floor with a faint squelching sound. Covered from top to toe in a revolting repugnant mix of saliva, blood, grey matter and other truly unspeakable fluids, the figure staggered drunkenly upright, pushing slime-sodden locks of hair out of its eyes and still giggling uncontrollably as it took two wobbly steps forward.

"H-Hey, guys!" Faith the Vampire Slayer managed to gasp out between giggles. "D-Did we win?"

Terminator, NCIS agents and Scoobies alike stared in silence at her.

With a faint half-hissing, half-sucking sound, the enormous greatsword slid out through the demon's mouth and clattered loudly to the flagstones behind Faith.

As if the noise had been their cue, the former Leaguers simultaneously hurled their weapons aside and charged. Andrew was the first to throw his arms around Faith, and hugged her for all he was worth as he wept in relief; Jonathan and Warren followed close behind him, not caring about the stench or grisly nature of the bodily fluids that she was soaked to the skin with.

"Izzat a 'yes'?" Faith asked from the depths of the group hug.

Chuckling, Tony flicked his machine pistol's selector switch to the 'safe' position, then re-slung it across his back. Glancing over, he saw Gibbs shaking his head and grinning as he lowered his riot gun; wearily, Tony walked over to his partner.

"Sooo… we just fought vampires, Boss," Tony said slowly, feeling ready to collapse with exhaustion at any moment. "Real, live – or at least, un-dead – vampires."

Still grinning, Gibbs nodded. "Yes we did, DiNozzo."

"And a giant butt-ugly demon."

"That too."

"And helped save the world."

Gibbs' grin widened. "Feels good, doesn't it, DiNozzo?"

Tony grinned back. "Yeah, it does. Is it always like this?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I dunno, DiNozzo – it's my first time too."

The two agents stared at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing.

It wasn't all that funny a joke.

But right then, in that time and that place… it was excuse enough to laugh away the fear and stress and uncertainty of the recent battle.

Released at last from the scrum of the former Leaguers, Faith blinked before her gaze alighted on Oz. "Wolverine!" she happily bellowed, and raised her hand for a high-five; grinning, Oz slapped his palm against hers.

"Awesome," Oz said simply, looking pointedly at Faith before nodding at the dead M'Kachen.

"Thanks!" Faith told him, and then she saw Xander.

Whooping with joy and relief, the Slayer broke into a run, sprinting up and over the demon's enormous corpse, and gleefully threw herself at the Terminator, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist as she kissed his cheek. "Ohhhh, I love you so damn much, Big Man," Faith told Xander, as he enfolded her in his arms. "Wouldn't be here without ya… in any sense a' the words."

Awkwardly, uncertainly, completely lost for words, the Terminator pulled his head back and planted a tender kiss on Faith's slime-coated cheek.

Her grin broadening, Faith cuddled up close to Xander, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder.

Crawling out from her hiding place, Mulgrew shook her head in bemusement as she surveyed the victorious heroes. "Just what the hell did I drink last night…?" she mumbled to herself.

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Disclaimer: The copyright of "Back in Black" is owned by the band AC/DC.

A/N: I'm really, really sorry about the delay in posting – real life has been unexpectedly chaotic of late, but has calmed down a bit now; too, it took me ages to get the choreography for the main battle scene just right. Chapter Ten is currently a work-in-progress, and I hope to have it completed fairly soon, as it's a lot simpler by comparison and real life is more or less back to normal for me.

Many thanks to everyone on TtH and FFN who's reviewed: I treasure each and every one of them. Please keep them coming…

I'll be back,

El ;)