BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
William The Bloody, Chapter 8
"Save 'Em, Save 'Em All"
"I don't think so, Spike," replied Angel, frowning at him. "Why don't you lead the way."
Spike let a carefully timed look of hesitation play across his face, just enough to make Angel confident in his choice, then shrugged and headed into the darkness of the warehouse.
"Suit yourself, mate," quipped the blonde vamp, smiling thinly as he placed Angel to his back. "Don't know why you're so untrusting."
"Maybe it has something to do with the string of bodies you've left from Sunnydale to here."
"Not all of them were my fault."
"Just take me to my friends," growled Angel.
"You know, you should be pretty proud of your dearly departed friends that you left behind, in Sunnydale. Red most of all," spoke Spike, leading Angel deeper into the darkness, through a maze of twists and turns.
"Why's that?"
"She was working on something for the Slayer, and she finished it just before they all went blewie."
"Blewie? Is that one of your poetic words?" asked Angel. "What was Willow working on that I should be so proud of?"
"Just this," said Spike, spinning around and pulling out a small, black leather pouch sealed with a draw string.
"A pouch?"
Spike undid the string and pulled open the mouth of the pouch, tilting it towards Angel. Sunlight, bright and pure and yellow, flowed from the bag as if it were a summer day, causing Angel to stumble backward in pain. Smoke began streaming from him as pain washed over him, and Angel crumpled to the ground in agony, withering in the searing light.
"Sunshine in a bag," shouted Spike, gleefully. "Don't you just love it? Every vampire should have one, for those dark moments in life."
His skin blackened and blistering, smoke streaming off of him in waves of billowing clouds, Angel began screaming, and Spike knew that it would only be a matter of seconds before he burst into flames.
"If I told you once, I told you a thousand times," mocked Spike. "Sun screen!"
Tiny jets of flame began erupting on Angel, and Spike decided that enough was enough. He closed the pouch, sealing the sunshine up, and grunted as he removed his duster. Using his coat as a smothering blanket, Spike extinguished the flames that were lapping at Angel, smirking the entire time.
"No, White Knight, I shall not let death claim you just yet," said Spike, rolling the unconscious Angel over. "Your death shall be longer, and more devastating that a simple sunning."
Angel awoke to pin pricks of pain lancing across his body, his entire physical form burning with agony, and he realized that he was whimpering. His vision was blurry, swimming with blotches of grey, but he was able to make out Gunn, changed to a concrete wall not ten feet from him. He tried to call out to his friend, but his throat had not yet healed enough, and his voice came out raspy and scratched.
Still, it was enough to catch Gunn's attention, and the young black man slowly raised his head to show that he was gagged. Gunn was trying to yell something, the cloth stuffed into his mouth making it unintelligible, but the panic in his eyes sent the message loud and clear.
They were both in trouble. Again.
"Well, well, well," came Spike's voice from the darkness. "Looks like our misguided hero is awake."
Lights came on, fully revealing the room, and Angel could see that they were in something resembling a medieval cell, both he, and Gunn, shackled to opposite walls, with a cell door now visible. Spike came strolling into the cell, whistling joyfully, and was trailed by a dizzy looking vamp girl that Angel didn't know. The other two vamps, though, following behind her, he did know, and it tore at his soul to see them.
Cordelia and Wesley.
"What have you done?" croaked Angel, the very words generating new waves of pain through his ravished body.
"What?" asked Spike, offering an exaggerated look of innocence. "Did I do something wrong? Oh, you mean them!"
Spike waltzed around the couple, coming up behind them, and wrapped his arms around their shoulders.
"Best of buddies, now," smirked Spike. "There ain't nothing we don't like to do together."
"Hi, Angel," cooed Cordelia. "Shame on you, never telling us how it felt. How much power came with it. That was very selfish of you."
"You know what the problem with vampires is?" asked Wesley, looking more confident and self assured than Angel had ever seen him. "They're always picking victims that are twits! If we were just a bit more selective, why within a year we'd be ruling this world."
Angel began to feel the anger rising in him, his hatred for Spike growing beyond anything he had ever felt before, and he sensed his healing increasing. His body was kneading faster than should have been possible, considering he hadn't fed yet, and he quickly concentrated on controlling it. He wanted to heal on the inside while maintaining his appearance on the outside, concealing what he hoped would be an advantage.
"I think our English friend's hit on something, wouldn't you say?" pondered Spike.
"I think you lost more than the chip in that explosion," said Angel, keeping his voice raspy.
"What do you think of this?" asked Spike, his eyes narrowing in anger.
Wesley and Cordelia glided over to Gunn, taking up positions on either side of him, and wrapped their hands around his head with vice-like strength. Flashing fang-filled smiles at Angel, the two bent Gunn's head back and tore into his throat, draining him dry.
"No!" screamed Angel, giving into his rage.
The chains that bound Angel to the wall ripped away with a screech of momentary protest, the three-foot long lengths whipping about in a cloud of dust and stone. Angel lunged at the two vampires, embracing the concept that they were no longer his friends, just as he was not Angelus. Cordelia and Wesley were dead, and he intended to see to it that these creatures soon were, too.
Wesley had been wrong in his summation that most vampires were twits, it was just that it took time for a vampire to become powerful, to become the things out of legend. All of the intelligence and determination in the world would not make the slightest difference when a newborn faced an ancient one.
One such as Angel.
Spike had been a little too eager in his plans to torment Angel, and had not been as thorough as he should have, leaving Angel with his weapons. With his anger raging as it was, Angel would not have needed his stakes, but it made his dealing with the two quicker, freeing him up to tackle his most desired target: Spike.
Within the span of one dead heartbeat, Angel dusted both Wesley and Cordelia, spinning around to launch his assault on Spike. His blows were met with deft blocks from Spike, though it was obvious to Angel that Spike was barely keeping his own, and Angel pressed harder, driving Spike back.
"You're going to burn in hell," growled Angel, "and I'm the one that's going to send you there."
"That should be interesting," countered Spike. "Seeing how as how you didn't even send me a bloody postcard from when you were there!"
Strike, counter, swing, counter, the battle raged on, Angel slowly wearing Spike down while he continued to be fueled by his anger.
"I've always wanted to see you kill your friends," spat Spike, barely dodging a vicious series of strikes from Angel.
"You know what they say," replied Angel, smashing Spike's own stake free of his hand. "Be careful what you wish for!"
Angel delivered a spinning back kick that caught Spike across the face and knocked him to the ground. Dropping to one knee, pinning Spike to the floor, Angel brought both his stakes down in a staggering blow that delved the two stakes into Spike's heart.
"Nooooooooo….." echoed Spike's dying cry.
"Uh, err, Spike, please be careful with that," stammered Giles, briskly making his way towards the vampire.
Spike gazed at the yellow, crystal orb as if in a trance, ignorant to Giles' statement, and swaying slightly. He looked as if he were about to pass out, his legs almost buckling as Giles reached him and yanked the crystal orb away from him.
"What the bloody hell is that thing?" demanded Spike, steadying himself against a bookshelf.
"It's the Eye of Shel'Koma," said Giles, looking the crystal over as if inspecting it for damage. "If you're in the right frame of mind, it allows you to see the possible future."
"What?" asked Spike, his mind still spinning from all that had just happened to him. Or, at least, what he thought had happened to him.
"Hey, can I try it?" asked a beaming Xander. "I'd like to think about the next ten World Series."
"It doesn't work like that," admonished Giles. "It shows you the future as it will occur, based on the here and now. It actually gives you the opportunity to alter the future by showing you the next life course changing event in…er…your life."
"Oh, bloody hell," quipped Spike, running for the back room.
"What's his problem?" asked Anya.
"Maybe he saw his future, and he didn't like it," offered Willow.
The sounds of smashing wood and breaking glass echoed from the back room, and the gang exchanged glances of questioning.
"What the hell is he…" started asking Buffy, her voice drowned out by the roar of an explosion.
The Magic Shop shook on its foundation, bits of dust and plaster falling from the ceiling, and the gang stumbled about in the shock wave. Their ears ringing from the closeness of the blast, their eyes still wide with surprise, the Scooby gang rushed towards the backroom, careening to a stop as Spike staggered in, his clothes smoking and ruined, his skin burnt black in several spots, and his hair a tangled mess.
"Spike," ventured Buffy, "are you okay?"
"No," said Spike, swaying a bit. "But I will be as soon as I find Harmony."
"Why?" asked Tara. "Wh…wha…what was that explosion."
"I had no idea she was such a bit…" Spike's voice trailed off as he fell face first to the floor, unconscious.
"Does anyone know what just happen?" asked Buffy, turning to face her friends.
All but Xander shook their head no, and Buffy glared at him questioningly.
"I can't swear to it," said Xander, hesitantly, "but from what I remember of my Soldier Boy training, I'd say it sounded like about four pounds of C4."
"Why can't I ever get a straight answer?" asked Buffy, throwing her hands up into the air.
END