Part Three

Cordelia was still gripping Doyle's hand, refusing to let go in case he fulfilled his destiny and died right there on the spot. Her head was bent over the book, though, and she was reading through the prophecy - trying to find anything that might let her boyfriend off the hook - or change the meaning of the words. But there was nothing. Most of it was - if she was being kind - pure mumbojumbo and then there was that one line of writing, which stopped her heart and froze the blood in her veins. 'In the dying days of the final century of this thousand years, a Promised One shall appear. He alone shall defeat The Scourge and save our clan from destruction.'

'It's not much to go on,' she said. 'We came a long way to find answers - we want to stop The Scourge - but we don't know how. Is there anything in your books that can help us? Fighting tips? Weaknesses? A cursed crystal that will melt their faces off?' Doyle flinched at her words - remembering the horrible vision of his own face melting away under the light of the beacon - until there was nothing but a black hollow and the echo of his final agonised scream. She noticed him shudder - and squeezed his hand. 'Is there anything in these prophecies that can tell us how the Promised One can fulfil his promise … without dying?' she asked.

But Raelif shook his head. 'I'm afraid our prophecies are only about our people. The Scourge only appear within the pages of the text when they clash with our clan - when they are fated to kill us. And then the time when we were promised our escape - promised a saviour. Almost every prophecy is cryptic - difficult to understand. The Promised One was the clearest of all them. That was why it held such mythic status within our group. But even when it comes to him - there is little. I'm afraid there is not much I can tell you of what this means for Doyle.' he looked at the Irishman then, 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I wish I could tell you more.'

Doyle shook his head - it didn't matter. If the prophecy was vague - then maybe what would happen to him was not foretold - maybe his destiny was still his own. Having seen himself recorded in a sacred text had not been a pleasant feeling, and he couldn't say he was upset or disappointed that there was not more written on him. He didn't want to know his destiny - most people probably didn't, truth be told. But if his future wasn't written - wasn't decided by The Powers That Be, or the fates or whoever decided these things - then that made him feel better. Maybe being The Promised One didn't have to mean being promised to die.

Cordelia was still thinking. 'OK,' she said, 'so you can't tell us anything more about Doyle - nothing more than we already knew, anyway. Is there anything more you can tell us about The Scourge?'

Angel got back to his feet. 'Spike - we don't have time for this,' he said wearily. There was a tear in the universe, Wolfram and Hart was in meltdown, people were dying - and Blondie Bear wanted to settle a score. This was so like him.

'Keep your knickers dry, Sally,' Spike sneered. 'You're not gonna last that long.' He threw another punch, but Angel caught his arm this time - and threw a punch of his own. 'Fine - we'll do it your way.'

They traded blows - moving fast and furious - each man light on his feet, keeping the space open. Sometimes they hit, sometimes they managed to dodge - but they kept on dancing - fists and feet lashing out time and again, a hundred years worth of bitterness and anger and envy laced into each blow.

Spike grabbed hold of Angel round the neck - and then threw him away from himself, putting all his strength into pushing the other vampire away from him - and away from the cup. Angel flew through the air - and crashed down onto the balcony. He landed on a large cross - a big, ornamental thing that must have once decorated the opera house in its heyday - but now lay amongst the debris of the ruins. His skin began to smoke - as the sacred icon seared into his flesh - and he scrambled away, kicking the cross away from himself in annoyance.

Down on the stage, Spike started to chuckle - a dark, humourless laugh. 'Oh yeah, look at you,' he said, his voice was sneering; mocking. 'Thinking you're the big saviour; fighting for truth, justice and … soccer moms. But you still can't lay flesh on a cross without smelling like bacon, can you?'

'Like you're any different,' Angel replied, angrily.

But Spike's reply was calm. His voice was even, as he stared up at his old rival and grandsire. The man who had done so much to bring them both where they were today. And none of it had been done by design - almost none of it. 'Well, that's just the thing,' he said. 'I am different. You had your soul forced on you as a curse. To make you suffer for all the horrible things you've done. But me ...I fought for my soul. Went through the demon trials. Almost did me in a dozen times over, but I kept fighting. 'Cause I knew it was the right thing to do.'

He launched forward and jumped up to the balcony in one, giant leap - landing on his feet in front of Angel. 'It's my destiny.'

'Really? Heard it was just to get into a girl's pants.'

With a grunt of frustration, Spike kicked a fallen rebar - flipping it up through the air and into his hands and swung it at Angel's head. But the other man dodged it, somersaulting backwards off the balcony and landing on the stage, below. The cup was mere feet away, glowing tantalisingly golden in the darkness of the swallowed opera house. He stepped towards it.

But up above, Spike hurled his rebar as if it were a spear. It missed Angel and clattered to the stage. Angel turned back to look up at his opponent and Spike grabbed another fallen metal rod and launched himself over the balcony towards Angel, screaming. Angel grabbed the first rebar and - as Spike landed and swung his weapon - Angel swung back. The two bars clashed together in midair with a might clang which echoed around the theatre.

Gunn, Fred and Lilah were gathered in the lab, working the problem - as the victims of whatever this madness was were wheeled in. Harmony was pushed in on a trolley, sedated and strapped down, Gunn watched her get parked next to the toner guy. 'Six more cases. That's what - a 30% increase in the last hour?'

'32.4,' Fred replied, her nose buried in her notes, 'but who's counting?'

Lilah was watching her closely. 'Well, you're the big science brain,' she said, 'what's causing this? What's the link, the pattern, the trigger?'

'There isn't one,' Fred frowned, still reviewing her notes. 'Sex, age, position, psych profile, blood type, med history. There doesn't seem to be any pattern. Heck - the infection of Harmony shows that even species isn't a factor. It really seems like it could affect any of us.'

'Why are you answering her questions, Fred?' Fred's head snapped up as she heard the tone of Gunn's voice - it was practically a growl, dark and dangerous. He was leaning over the bench, his head hanging down. His hands were balled into fists, showing as much rage as was threatened in his voice - and he was shuddering, whether with anger or pain Fred wasn't sure. 'We don't trust this bitch.' He looked up - and both women saw that his eyes were now dripping blood. 'She'll kill us all!'

'Gunn!' Fred cried out in alarm, as the possessed man grabbed hold of Lilah by the throat and threw her up against the wall, keeping his tight grip around her neck. 'What are you now? Huh?' he yelled into her face, 'what have you become?'

Lilah's hands were wrapped around Gunn's own, trying to prise his fingers off her throat - but he was too strong. And realising she couldn't manage, she instead dug her long, sharp nails into his skin as hard as she could. He cried out in pain and let go - she staggered away, but she had only made him angrier - and he smacked her a hard right cross and then pinned her against the wall again, this time using his forearm to apply pressure to her windpipe.

'What's really in there, huh?' he screamed at her. She was clutching at his arm and making choking noises as her face slowly turned purple. 'Well, I guess you gotta breathe. Good to know.'

'Gunn, no!' Fred was struggling with the tranquiliser gun, her fingers fumbling in her frantic haste. At last, she managed to get the dart inside and cocked the gun, ready to shoot - but Gunn only glanced back at her and used his free arm to smack her down. She fell to the floor, the weapon fell from her hands - and the vial of tranquiliser smashed. Fred crawled away a few steps, getting out of the way of the violence and began to look around for a new weapon.

'You think we don't know you're behind this?' Gunn screamed into Lilah's face, as she continued to choke. 'You've been playing us. You've been playing us all along - for years - and now you have us right where you want us. What for? What are you gonna do? What are you? Some kind of monster? Show me!'

Lilah gripped onto the arm that was pinning her down, used his weight to steady herself. She snapped her leg up and kneed him hard in the groin. Gunn collapsed downward and she staggered away taking deep breaths, just as Fred arrived back with a fire extinguisher and swung it at Charles' head. He slumped to the ground, unconscious and the two women stared at each other shakily. 'We need to get him strapped down,' Fred said.

'I'll say,' Lilah agreed, massaging her damaged throat.

The metal rods clashed against each other as the two vampires fought - using the rebars as staffs, swinging and blocking each other - giving ground, regaining it. Angel got a lucky punch in and knocked Spike off his feet. He lay on his back and shook his head, as if shaking off the punch. 'Used to hit a lot harder than that, gramps,' he said and got back to his feet.

'No - it's just your head's got thicker.' He swung his rebar again - and immediately Spike brought his up to block it. They hit out at each other, time and again - only this time Angel was gaining ground, pushing Spike farther and father back. As they reached the end of the stage, Angel swung his weapon like a baseball bat, hitting the other vampire and sending him flying through the air.

Spike crashed back into the balcony, landing on the floor once again. Angel followed him, jumping up in one giant, swift movement. He landed and went to swing the rebar once more. But this time Spike was ready for him and blocked the hit. 'You're not gonna win this time,' he snarled - and threw a punch - and now it was Angel's turn to fly through the air.

He landed on the stage, bleeding - coughing as he tasted the iron tang of his own blood inside his mouth. Spike jumped down, landing beside him. 'Vampire with a soul,' the younger vampire said. 'Nobody knows what side he's gonna fight on … when the big show goes down. Except we already know what side you're on, don't we? Already made your choice. Traded in your cape and tights for a nice comfy chair at Wolfram and bloody Hart.' He swung his rebar.

Angel caught it mid swing. 'Bit more complicated than that,' he said. He used the iron rod to pull himself up and then knocked Spike down. He turned his back and began to walk towards the golden cup. 'But then you always were a bit simple … Willy.'

Lying splayed out on the stage, bleeding and bruised, Spike saw red.

Raelif had made them some more tea, and it was only once the hot drinks were made and placed in front of them that the demon elder began to tell them what he knew. 'You have to understand' he said to them, drawing a deep breath, 'that the demons we know as 'The Scourge' are merely the military wing of a race of pure blood demons.'

Doyle leaned forward across the table, 'just the military wing?' he asked, furrowing his brow in concern, 'y' mean there's more of 'em. More to them than just the pure blood army?'

'Indeed,' Raelif nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea and then placing it gently back down on the table. He glanced across at his children. 'Rief,' he said, 'you and Rayna should leave. You do not need to know such things - we moved here so that our children could leave these nightmares behind.'

'Rayna go,' Rief said. The teenage girl got to her feet - and then stopped, hesitating, when she saw that her brother was not following her. 'I'm not leaving,' the young man told his father.

'I've asked you to leave us in peace.'

'I'm not a child - you don't have to keep things hidden from me.'

'Rief, this isn't about you.'

'No - it never is,' the boy shouted at his father. 'You bring us here - to this island where there's nothing to do and nothing works, we live like it's the stone age - all so we can hide from demons that hate us and humans that are afraid of us, and you just want us to accept that. You might have saved our lives bringing us here - but they're not worth living. We at least deserve to know why you decided this was better.' He waved his arm around to encompass everything inside the primitive little hut. 'You can't just not tell us because you're afraid of what we left behind. I'm old enough to know,' he finished up.

Doyle and Cordelia exchanged an uncomfortable look. Rayna still hovered awkwardly by her chair. Rief was glaring angrily at his father. 'Look, bud,' Doyle cleared his throat, 'if The Scourge ever made it to this island, they'd kill the kids - no matter how young they were. We need to know everything you know - and maybe it's time Rief and Rayna heard as well, they've had their whole lives turned upside down by The Scourge - they should be given the opportunity to understand why. And, y'know, in generations to come, your people will wanna know how they came to live on Briole - they can't know that if you don't tell the story.'

'We don't want them knowing the story,' Raelif replied. His usual, calm demeanour and even way of speaking had become ruffled, he wasn't showing anger exactly but his mannerisms had become heated.

'But it's their right to know it,' Doyle told him. 'And it's the right of future generations to know where they came from, why they ended up here - it's the story of your people. And in the end, the story will be all there is left. If you don't tell it …' He sighed. 'I recently discovered I'm the last o' my kind. The Scourge killed all the other brachen demons in one o' their previous massacres. I knew they'd killed some...' he shook his head, remembering the tiny, pink sneaker abandoned in the middle of that cold and desolate hiding place.

'I didn't know I was the only one left. But I am. And … I don't know the first thing about the demons I come from. Not one thing. I never bothered to find out. I didn't think it mattered back when I had the chance. An entire race of people are lost - everything about them, gone. It's like they never even existed - except for me - and once I'm gone the world will forget the brachen clan ever even existed. You don't want that for your people, bud, you need to leave behind somethin' - and the way I see that, your stories are a big part o' that. But it has to happen quickly, if you forget the details - or somethin' happens to y' before you pass it on - then there's no way of bringing that back. Your kids deserve to know their own heritage - what The Scourge are and why you brought 'em to this place just to get away from them.'

'Isn't it enough that they were trying to kill us?' Raelif demanded, 'is that not reason enough?'

'But why were they trying to kill us - why do they hate us so much?' Rief cried, 'who are they? I want to know.'

Cordelia took a sip of her tea. She had been watching the whole argument play out, closely, but had stayed out of it - feeling that, as a human, it wasn't really her place to get involved. This was the Lister demons territory, it was Doyle's territory. It wasn't her's. However - they needed to move on, and move on quickly, so it was now time for her to intervene. She put her tea back down. 'Look, mister, I understand this is hard for you - and we kinda sprang on you out of nowhere. But we need to know this stuff right now - and your kids need to know this stuff someday. You might as well kill two birds with one stone. If The Scourge is really on the move again - we don't have time to sit here and argue about it. Please just tell us what we need to know.'

Raelif hesitated for a moment longer - looking between his guests and his children - and then, with a deep sigh, he nodded his head. 'Very well.' Rayna sat back down and she and Rief leaned forward to listen to the tale.

'As I already said,' Raelif began, 'those that we know of, those we call 'The Scourge' are only one part of an entire demon society. If you think of these demons as a nation state, The Scourge is their armed forces - but as with all people, there are others - those that perform different roles, serve different functions.'

'Are they going to try and kill us too?' Cordelia asked. But the demon elder shook his head. 'No - unless forced to do otherwise - they leave their army to do their killing for them, as does any nation. I only tell you about them so that you may understand the truth - that The Scourge is bigger than you realised, part of something bigger, and you can begin to know what is it their society seeks to do…' He took a sip of his drink, leaned back in his chair and sighed again. 'The Scourge do not live in our world,' he told the small group of listening people. 'They come from a different place - their own place - a parallel dimension of hell and torment.'

'Is it Quortoth?' Cordy asked.

Raelif shook his head. 'I do not know that they have ever given it a name, but it is their world - a place deep beneath our own. It is where they keep their workshops.'

'Workshops?' Doyle asked, blankly, not understanding. 'What workshops?'

'The places where they have their human slaves build their weapons. There are many ways between the two dimensions and it has long been known that other demons of The Scourge's clan kidnap young humans and make them work in their world below. Time …' he paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. 'They say time does not run the same way as it does on earth. It moves more quickly. Much more quickly.'

Cordelia frowned. She held her tea in her hand but was forgetting to drink it as she listened to that tale with rapt attention. 'What do you mean?'

'It is said - I have not seen this for myself - but it is said that a young human being, younger than even yourselves, would live many years and even die of old age before they had spent just 24 hours of earth time in The Scourge's dimension. The Scourge - they take young humans off the street, homeless mostly - runaways - nobody who will be missed inside a day. They take them below, to work on creating their weapons of mass destruction in their hellish factories, and then a day later - when the human is now old and used up, they spit them back out and leave them to die in the streets.'

'And these weapons they have 'em making…' Doyle said, 'they're like the beacon?'

Raelif nodded, 'if the beacon is as you described it, then yes - they have their human slaves forge weapons that will destroy any creature living that contains even so much as a drop of human blood.'

Doyle leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes; seeing, once more, in his mind's eye the vision of his own gruesome death at the hands of The Scourge, shown to him a few years ago by his phony spiritual guide, Skip. His face had melted clean away, leaving nothing but a gaping black hole and then his whole body was gone, and just the echo of his agonised death scream left behind. 'We have to find all these weapons,' he said to Cordelia, 'find 'em and destroy them. It's one thing when they're out there stabbing guys and hitting 'em with axes - but we can't let The Scourge use the beacons on anyone.'

Angelus threw William against the wall and held him by his throat. 'Don't touch her,' William cried out, angrily.

'It's a little late for that, Willy - and I really don't like it when you raise your voice to me.'

Drusilla lay back on the bed and pouted up at her sad boy. 'William don't play such a sad tune ... give us a kiss.'

William, still pressed against the wall by Angelus, looked between the two of them. His lip was trembling and his eyes were brimming over with tears. 'Why did you? You knew… You knew she was mine.'

'Did I?'

'Bloody right you did!' Red hot anger seeped through him and he wrenched himself out of the other vampire's grasp, punching him and stumbling away. He turned back and saw his grandsire standing there, with his mocking grin - looking so pleased, so delighted with himself, with the hurt he had caused William. Laughing at William. The rage intensified and he charged at Angelus, screaming.

Angelus deflected him easily and knocked him to the ground. Then he hauled him up by the lapels and dumped him on the sofa. After pushing the corpses of the ambassador and his wife out of the way, he sat down next to the brand new vampire. 'Just don't get it now do you? Well, you're new … and a little dim. So let me spell it out to you. There's no belonging or deserving anymore. You can have what your want, take what you want … but none of it's yours.'

Drusilla came out of the bedroom and stood in the doorway watching them, still dressed only in her white petticoat. Angelus nodded at her, 'not even her.'

'You're wrong,' Spike said, swiping at his nose with the back of his fist. His cheeks were stained with tears. 'We're forever, Drusilla and me.'

Drusilla gave a little gasp and clasped her hands right by her unbeating heart. 'Are we?' she asked, sounding delighted but surprised.

'Ah - still the poet now, aren't we, Willy,' Angelus mocked.

'William,' he corrected, tersely.

'William - right - you know you really should find a new name for yourself. It just doesn't strike the right note of terror.' He patted William on the knee and then got up and went to stand across the room, beside Drusilla. 'Tell you what, William - if you want her - come and take her.' He wrapped his arms around Drusilla's waist and grinned over at the other man. Drusilla stretched her arms out towards her new boy.

William sat on the couch and stared at the two of them. Angelus with his hands all over his Dru - and Dru not caring. Not understanding what they had, the bond they'd made, the promises. He stared into the mocking, leering face of his grandsire - and the rage descended on him once again - and he hurled himself up off the sofa and charged once more.

...

As Angel walked towards the cup, Spike launched himself forward - yelling. He collided with his grandsire, punched him hard and under the momentum of his attack they were both knocked to the ground. They scrambled back to their feet - but each had their hand about the other's throat.

Spike used his free hand to land another punch. 'Come on hero,' he said, 'tell me more.' He punched again. 'Teach me what it means,' and again. 'And I'll tell you why you can't stand the bloody sight of me.' He punched him one more time.

Then Angel got in a hit. 'Tell it to your therapist.'

''Cause every time you look at me, see all the dirty little things I've done…' he punctuated each clause with a vicious blow. His knuckles were stinging, bleeding - but nowhere nearly as badly as Angel's face was. 'All the lives I've taken. Because of you! Drusilla sired me - but you… you made me a monster.' He gave Angel one last punch, and then left him to collapse on the floor and headed towards the cup.

'I didn't make you Spike,' Angel choked out from down on the ground. 'I just opened up the door …' he struggled back to his feet, 'and let the real you out.'

Spike stopped in his tracks - no longer headed for the cup. He picked up the large cross, which had burned Angel earlier, and swung it at him, knocking him across the room and back down on his back. 'You never knew the real me,' he said, still holding the cross in his hands - though the smoke was starting to rise from them. He threw it to the side and began to walk towards Angel, treading deliberate footsteps towards the man on the ground. 'Too busy trying to see your own reflection. Praying there was someone as disgusting as you in the world, so you could live with yourself.' He came to a stop and held his arms out wide. 'Well take a long look, hero, I'm nothing like you!'

'No, you're less,' Angel choked out from down on the floor. 'That's why Buffy never really loved you. Because you weren't me.'

Spike sprang forward and hauled Angel up by his lapels. 'Guess that means she was thinking about you … all those times I was putting it to her,' he hissed into his face.

Angel wrenched himself out of Spike's clutches and then punched him, hard, before throwing him across the room. The other vampire landed heavily, smashing some of the props that still lay scattered around the abandoned opera house. They were made of wood - and splinters flew in every direction. Spike grabbed one and forced himself back to his feet - attacking Angel once moire. They exchanged blows, their fists raining down on each other, their faces bloodied and their bodies bruised. Spike stabbed at Angel with his splinter - but only succeeded in getting him in the shoulder.

Angel ripped it out and then glared at Spike. His face vamped out. 'All right - let's finish this.'

Spike vamped out as well - and then they both charged at each other.