SLAYERS: THREE OF A KIND
Chapter IV - High Roller
One past Midnight, in the cruel and gritty depths of NYC...
The two Wolfram & Hart bodyguards sat side-by-side in the dark cockpit of the jet-black Mercedes SUV, as it trailed their CEO's limo through the snow-covered uptown streets. Johnston drove on the left, his eyes locked on the wide chrome bumper a car-length ahead, while Gharman sat on the passenger side, speaking softly into a Bluetooth earpiece.
"-yes, understood. I will relay that to Mr. Angel when I get the chance... No, it's impossible to do so now, he left strict orders not to be dis-I understand, Ms. Kendall, yes, I really do, but-yes, I know you're his personal assistant, but once again, Mr. Angel left strict orders-no, I do not know why his cell is turned off, but-yes...yes...I see..."
He tapped the earpiece to mute and shared a look with his partner. Then the driver returned his gaze to the vehicle in front of them. And a dark shape hurtled downwards and crashed through the limo's sunroof!
"Did you see that?"
"Why are you being so difficult?" the woman's voice buzzed from in the earpiece, "I'm SO going to have you fired-" Gharman broke the connection and hit the the emergency signal key on the side of his wristwatch.
Ahead, the limo swerved back and forth dangerously, accelerating rapidly. Johnston pressed the pedal and they moved to close, while Gharman popped the compartment between their seats and began pulling out weapons...
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Inside the limo, everything was utter chaos.
The vampiress hissed and tore at her target, legs and feet flying, arms ripping back-and-forth. Angel's initial shock vanished and he launched himself into the fray, falling on her back, tried to get an arm around her shoulders to yank her off Xander, but she was very strong, perhaps twice his equal, and whipped into a blood-frenzy. He got a hard elbow in the side of the head and fell back, Helena swung up a long-nailed hand then slashed for Xander's throat. He blocked with his arms and drove her blow high, she scored his right cheek instead. He yelled in pain, pulled a stake from his jacket and drove it for her chest, she caught his wrist and swung a punch for his face, he ducked. The blow smashed through the tinted divider and punched through the back of the driver's head, killing him instantly.
"Great!" shouted the recovered Angel as he reached for Xander's assassin.
The now driverless limo whipped hard to the right and drove onto the sidewalk, scattering nocturnal pedestrians in all directions. It clipped a mailbox, plowed through a phone booth in a spray of metal and glass, then drove into the rising half-wall of the 86th Street subway exit.
The front compacted in a shriek of crushing grill, and the dead driver went through the windshield. He flew ten feet then plowed into a line of garbage cans. The limo's back-end rose up then clanged back down and the trunk flapped free.
"Damn! Look out!" shouted Gharman in the trailing security vehicle.
The SUV fish-tailed to a stop beside the crash and the two black-suited bodyguards exploded from it, surged forward, Gharman tossing his partner an Ithaca stakeout shotgun. He hefted his own 5.7mm FN P90 sub-machine gun and together they stalked toward the now very silent limousine.
They split, each for a different side, as steam ghosted up from the acordiened hood. They glanced at each other through their dark glasses for a moment, then moved in. Johnston jacked a cartridge into his shotgun's chamber and reached for the left rear door-it flew back and a black shape burst free, shrieked forward and up, slashing him across the face with claws as it rocketed skyward! He screamed and fell backwards in a spray of blood, pulling the trigger as he fell, blasting off a shot before he rammed back onto the cement.
With a rustle of leather, Angel jumped free of his limo, and his gaze lanced upwards toward the circling shape high above, "Hey! Where you going? We aren't finished here!"
The other door clanked back and Xander, face and hands blood-stained and scratched, pulled himself out and stumbled onto the street, "Wha... What did I ever do to her?" the ratchet of an automatic weapon snapped him out of his delirium and his eye focused on Gharman, who had the lethal P90 pointed at his face.
"You lured us into an ambush!"
"Ambush? Me? What? NO!" Xander waved his arms in surrender and looked back over his shoulder, "Hey! Angel! Little help, Agent Smith here is going Virus!"
"Harris had nothing to do with it. Stand down." Angel crouched over his downed guard, his leather duster cascading across the snowy sidewalk. Dead. Or at least, not breathing and missing half your face. Same difference I expect...
He took the shotgun from the man's limp fingers and stood, "Take point, Gharman. Something tells me this isn't over."
The remaining bodyguard moved back and lowered his weapon from Xander's general direction but he still was watching him from the corner of his eye.
Like I give a crap. Xander rolled his good eye and wiped the blood from his torn cheek, looked to the en-souled vampire, "Thanks. I suppose..."
"Not accepted." Angel rounded the limo, his vigil on the night sky unwavering, "She was after you, not me. And it seemed personal. Bringing some of that Sunnydale charisma to NYC I see."
"Yeah, sure, it just wouldn't be the same without some demon-dame trying to extract my vital organs. Look, it's not my fault, she tried to pick me up back at the club-"
"Tried to pick you up? You sure you don't have that backwards?"
"So funny." Xander replied sarcastically, "Hey, Angel, did I remember to thank you for your impromptu kidnaping of me? Nope, that's right, I didn't. Hey, just give me a moment to find a handy two-by-four and then I will."
Angel looked down at him and scowled, "Look, Xander, I'm not here to take your inane abuse, I'm here because-"
"The thing's diving!" shouted Gharman and he let loose. Orange repeater fire roared from the rectangular gun and slugs sprayed rapid-fire toward the plummeting black shape.
Angel shucked the slide-grip back and raised his shotgun, got ready. Why do I always end up with the close-range weapon, anyway? Well, at least I'm not armed with just a stake...
"Just let her get close and I'll finish her off!" Xander twirled twin stakes in his fingers then held them at the ready.
High above but closing fast, the monster bat banked and weaved, dodging Gharman's fire cleanly, then it's hideous mouth opened and it shrieked. The howl cycled up into supersonic, then ultrasonic, then beyond. Below, the three men convulsed as one and involuntarily let go of their weaponry, slapped hands to their ears.
"Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!" howled Gharman as he stumbled backwards. Angel fell against the side of the limo while Xander dropped to one knee.
"G-Get down!" Xander tried to shout over the horrible tonal-attack, he could see what was coming.
He got back up and rushed toward the reeling bodyguard, hands still clamped to the sides of his head. The bat zoomed downwards, backswept wings flying forward and it skimmed half a meter from the pavement then torpedoed into Gharman, bowling him over in a blur of flying foot-talons and gnashing fangs! The ultrasonic cry vanished and was replaced by the guard's agonized screams, as Helena began to tear at his neck and throat.
Xander, blood steaming down from his ears, reached them and caught the creature by a wing, yanked it off the downed man with a furious grunt. Angel charged forward, swinging the shotgun by it's barrel. Xander whipped the huge bat around and Angel plowed her like a pinch-hitter, sent her flying across the street. A passing MACK truck slammed into her, sending her screeching in another direction, she crashed into a news-stand and the weak structure collapsed in a spray of papers and magazines.
Angel stared down at his dead bodyguard sadly, "Two in one night, there goes my monthly Security budget. Now I'm really pissed." he tossed the shotgun away and moved to the open trunk of his limo, popped a grilled locker open and pulled out a steel-bladed claymore. He spun the long sword then held it at the ready two-handed, "Let's finish this."
Xander pulled the silver Colt Python protruding from Gharman's shoulder holster free, "For just this once I'm with you." he spun the heavy revolver's cylinder then cocked the hammer back, grabbed up one of his stakes and stuck it in his belt.
"You are? Hah, that's what I like about life," Angel remarked, "wonders never cease."
Side-by-side, the two dark warriors moved forward, across the snow-swept Manhattan street...
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The Oranak Chantry, two hours ago...
"Long, long ago, when the world was new and raw, magic was everywhere and pure-blooded demons reigned supreme."
The Mistress of Clan Oranak stood upon the raised obsidian dais in the center of the towering stone-walled hall, Cronin, her Second, at her side, tending a smoking brazier. Behind her a wrought iron rack rose, the twelve mystically-forged branding irons glistening darkly in it's shadowy embrace. High-mounted bronze torches lined the walls and cast flickering orange shadows down on the crowd of assembled vampires who wrung the dias four meters thick.
"Back then, the powers the Old Ones did wield were as varied and different as the monstrous god-like creatures themselves. And these abilities had no names, they just were, they used them like fish breath water and blood flows through veins. Without thought. Without conscience. And without hesitation."
She held out a hand and the chosen two ascended the steps and stood before her, heads bowed.
"But time, like all things, marches on. And the Old One's ranks thinned through internal bickering and treachery of the lower beings. And when the last of them fled this realm the powers that remained were in the hands of the only demons left: vampires. Like you..."
Cronin opened the grating and churned the bin's embers, sending swirls of grey smoke soaring upwards. She turned and selected a brand, then moved to the towering bulk of Drieger. The black-skinned vampire raised his left hand, palm open, shut his eyes. The Mistress slid the brand into the brazier and instantly the heat began pouring into it's base.
"In the beginning, the world was yours, and the nameless powers that were left gave you the strength to hold sway over all. You called the abilities left Disciplines, and no one vampyre controlled all of them, a wise precaution indeed. But like a double-edged sword, this choice cut both ways. For from the treachery of your servants the strength of demon was passed to a human girl and she became your nemesis. She became your hunter. She became your... Slayer..."
She drew the iron back and closed her eyes, "Laxo-Tui-Potestas!"
And she turned and drove the brand into Drieger's palm and the huge vampire threw back his head and roared. Not in pain or rage, but in exhaultation, as the power flowed into him. Red energy crackled from the base of the brand and in through the carbonizing flesh, and his roar became a wolfish howl! All around the dais the horde of Oranak vampires roared and cackled their approval.
"As she slaughtered your kindred the powers began to fade, to be lost. You had fought back like the magnificent beasts you were, but each time a Slayer fell a new one arose to take her place. And then, suddenly there were only twelve Disciplines left, each restricted to a single vampire. Time had run out and a supreme sacrifice was needed. The Slayer's strength was too great, too primal, patience was required. So the twelve gave their undead lives in a dark ceremony and transformed their abilities each into a single Dark Glyph, then they were hidden, to await a time when the Slayer's power was weakened."
Cronin was already heating two more brands and she returned the first to the rack, caught up the next one.
"And that time is... NOW! Laxo-Tui-Potestas!" and she drove the new brand into Helena's shoulder.
She screamed, the cry rose and rose, until it became ultrasonic. The brand was withdrawn and Cronin handed over the final one, pulled his shirt open and barred his chest.
"The Slayer Line is stretched thin across this fractured world and the time of vampiric rule is nigh! Now, accept the gift of this brand and with it the Disciplines will be reborn! Laxo-Tui-Potestas!" and she rammed it into his chest.
But Cronin made no reply, just stood there and took it, as his eyes solidified into the grey of polished marble.
"Your first victim awaits you, in this very city. Go now, and strike the Slayer down, her and those who aid her. Use what has been returned to you to slay she who would slay YOU!" the chosen three turned and moved off, left the dias and headed toward the looming exit tunnel.
"Go!" she shouted after them, "And do not return without the head of the one they call
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Faith dangled in the vampire's grip, in the carnaged back-room of Club Odessa, like a limp rabbit caught in the clutches of a mad dog.
But instead of long ears in his teeth, Cronin had long raven hair in his marble-fist and he held her high, her bruised face inches from his own. He exhaled slowly onto her cheeks in a breeze of carbonized particles and searched for signs of life. He found none.
"Pity. I so wanted to play awhile. But, all my Mistress wanted was your head, and have your head she shall." he caught her shoulder with his other hand and prepared to decapitate.
Faith's lips suddenly moved.
Cronin blinked, then leaned closer. Hoarse words filtered up at him. He turned his head, his marbleized neck grinding like a grinding wheel, and tipped his ear to her mouth.
"..."
He frowned, "What was that?", concentrated on the whisper.
Then "...rain, rain...go away... come again...another day..."
The vampire raised an eyebrow. Brain damage? Or perhaps she's just dazed, regressing to an earlier, safer time. No matter...
"-rain, rain...go...to Spain..." the Slayer whispered in a sing-song tinged with her Boston accent, "never...show your...face...again..."
Cronin hesitated again, narrowed his solid eyes and peered at her face. Her lids were clamped shut, eyes working fast behind the thin vales of flesh. For no reason the vampire could discern, apprehension was slowly taking hold of him. Somethings... wrong... He looked back-and-forth, eyes grinding in their rocky sockets.
"...rain, rain...pour down... but not a drop...on...our...town..."
And with a sudden crack! the thin floor finally gave under Cronin's two-ton weight. With a rush of stale air they plummeted through, followed by an avalanche of beer kegs and wine bottles. The vampire spun as he fell the three-story length. Faith flew from his grip, twisting away as if in slow-motion, her hair flying in a glistening wave about her head.
Her eyes flew open.
Cronin hit, his right leg smacking down first, and it drilled into the cobbled floor all the way to the knee. Bottles shattering all around him in crimson sprays, his torso arced down and his head deflected with a solid crunch, his arms slamming in a jitter-bug upon the ancient basement deck.
Faith whirled about her own center of gravity, Slayer training taking over and fighting for control. She righted at the last moment and landed in a bowed crouch, fractured arm flapping down to thud uselessly against her side. But she didn't even notice it, for her sentience had returned, no longer was she raw meat.
No, now her body was once again the tool of her wrath.
...rain on the...green grass...and rain...on the tree... her mother's voice echoed up from two decades earlier and galvanized her resolve. She moved back into the reaching shadows of the forgotten basement.
"Uhhhh..." Cronin raised his head blinking, "...that didn't go...the way I expected." he looked round dully for Faith, but she was nowhere to be seen.
...and rain on the...housetop...but not on me...
CLANG!
The distant snapping of hard copper tore at Cronin's ears and he shook his head to clear it, then pressed his palms to the cobbles and pushed with all his might. Beneath him, his trapped leg crunched and writhed, but would not come free.
...rain, rain, go away...come again on washing day...
Footsteps reverberated about him, his gaze snapped back-and-forth, behind him, but he couldn't see anything in what thin light was filtering down from the ceiling twenty-five feet above.
"Where are you? You can't defeat me! I have the Discipline of Stone now! It makes me invincible, Faith! Your only chance now is to run!"
"Rain, rain, go to Germany..." hissed the Slayer's voice, he desperately tried to pinpoint it, but failed, "...and remain there permanently."
I-I've got to get free! NOW! he bent at the waist, squared his shoulders, then pushed with everything he had. GEHHHHHHHH! Come...ON...
"Rain, rain, go away..." IT WAS DIRECTLY BEHIND HIM! Desperation fueled his titanic effort and with a spray of gravel and cobbles his leg pulled free. He rolled across the floor with a sound like slamming coffin lids then thudded down on his back, breathing hard. Cronin gasped in relief and grinned triumphantly, "Now... Now you're going to pay in blood, bitch!"
"Come again on my WEDDING DAY!" and Faith landed on his chest and brought a six-foot copper pipe down one-handed on his skull with everything left in her.
Cronin's head was knocked backwards in an explosion of bursting stars and clanged off the floor. Faith swung back then brought the pipe down again. And again! And again-and-again-and-again-and-again!
"BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!" WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Then she halted, arm raised for another blow, and looked down at him, a smile curling her bruised lips, "I...I did it. He's dead."
Cronin looked up and grinned, shook his chipped and pitted but still very intact head, "Nope. Sorry, but I'm made of marble you see. You need to try a bit harder, girl." and he caught her painfully by the neck, "Now I'm gonna make a fist and watch your head squirt three feet into the air."
"That...would be...somethin to...see." she rasped, her face going purple.
"I can hardly wait. In fact, I won't!" and he-Faith adjusted her aim and brought the pipe down on the center of his chest. It crunched into the raised Glyph branded there and crushed it to powder.
Cronin laughed, "That was a stupid thing to d-" there was a crimson flash and his skin returned to it's original hue of paling flesh. All of sudden the grip on her throat wasn't set in stone. Faith grinned widely, "Well whadda ya know." and she slammed the pipe down on his shoulder.
There was a crunch of bone and Cronin howled in agony, his arm flung free and she rolled across the floor. She scrambled and pitched to a stop, then flipped back over, hoofed to her feet, swaying badly. Ten feet away, Cronin rose up, his bare chest streaming with blood from the ragged wound in the center of it, and his right arm hanging limply. He took a step, lurched and nearly fell, then righted and focused on her.
"You...you're going to...pay for this!"
Faith looked around, spotted a case of Red Bull cola lying by her feet and caught it up with her working arm, "Am I now? Heh, looks like you're the one who's gonna be payin the piper, monolith." she hefted the heavy cube and cocked her head, "I went three rounds with a lava demon this time last year, and let me tell ya twinkie, you aint even fit to shine his stalagmite."
She set the case on her shoulder and winked, "Whatever dove you had up your sleeve, Mandrake, has flown the coop and left you with bird crap in your top hat. Time to close the curtain, pal." and she swung back then threw like a Highland warrior.
Cronin turned to run but was way to slow. The white cube intersected him in the back and he went flying across the room to smash into the far wall with a horrible crash of spinning metal and crunching stone.
"Heh, wadda you know, Red Bull does give you wings."
Clutching her seeping abdomen, Faith turned away and limped off to search for a way out...
End of Part I...