/Soveliss?/
/Yes?/
/What do I do now?/
/I don't know. I've never encountered this sorta thing before/
/A lot of help you are/ Kaine replied derisively. Soveliss withdrew in a resigned silence and Kaine steeled himself. He was on his own on this one.
Dannielle, Buffy and Riley stood beside him, looking up at the thing. It was about twenty feet tall, and its fist was about the size of Kaine's head. This was bad. " See if you can provide us with some cover fire!" he called out, not bothering to look or address the witches. They would know he was talking to them. " Slayers, try to draw his attention! Big guy and I will flank him!" he continued barking out orders.
" How do we know it's a he?" Dannielle suddenly asked.
" Does it look like a she?" he shot back. The shade took one gigantic step towards them.
" I don't know. I can't tell,"
All conversation ended as the shade made its first attack. Its taloned hand swiped at them in a broad arc, making them scramble out of the way. Willow and Tara pointed shakily at the nightshade's hand, yelling out desperately.
A fair sized explosion was seen in the thing's first finger, but it shook off the flames diffidently. Riley, caught up in adrenaline, forgot his clawed ribs and ran around to the thing's side. He came up only to its knee. Still, he waited until it swiped once more for the two Slayers before punching with all his might, aiming for the tendon.
It was like hitting stone. The soldier clutched his hand and yelped. Well that didn't work.
Meanwhile, the two Slayers were busy dodging and jumping over its large hand swipes, moving faster and more frantically than they'd ever did before. The thing was big, but it was slow and that counted for something at least.
Then Giles came running out of the Magic Box, and Kaine dimly realized that he hadn't noticed the man's disappearance earlier. The sight of the gigantic shadow had taken up most of his attention during that period. To everyone's relief, he was carrying a black bag.
" Buffy! Dannielle!" he shouted, simultaneously tossing two swords in their direction. Buffy leapt over the shade's hand, stepped on its arm and used it as leverage to leap up and catch the sword by the hilt. Dannielle simply backflipped over the huge hand and continued tumbling on her path, catching the sword as it dropped from the sky.
Once more, the shade swung at them, claws fully extended. Dannielle was well out of its reach, so she simply danced a few steps away and readied the sword. It was a simple, cruciform sword, a broad blade that tapered to a sharp point, made more for thrusting than slashing. It would do well enough, she supposed. Better than nothing, at least.
Buffy was directly in the hand's path and she automatically rolled under it, getting into a kneeling; she swiped at the hand, hoping to sever one of its fingers at least. Instead, her blade passed harmlessly through the appendage and Buffy quickly got to her feet to parry off another blow, but too late. The shade's other hand was already making its way towards her, intent on disemboweling the Slayer.
Buffy managed to hop back, but the claw on its longest finger still caught her in the belly, tearing open a wound. Grunting, she fell heavily to the ground, her sword dropping from her nerveless fingers. A hundred different things happened at once and Kaine only remembered one in painful clarity.
Buffy's limp body, lying on the ground, blood pooling under her, staining the gravel. The rest was a blur he only managed to figure out a few days later.
The nightshade raised one huge foot, and it hovered over Buffy for a small instant. Everyone shouted, their voices jumbled and intruding into the night's previous peace. Riley ran forward to Buffy, wanting to protect her from harm, maybe take the brunt of the blow himself to keep her safe- even if it meant his death. Dannielle reacted a little faster, throwing her weapon into the shade's face with all her considerable strength.
But Kaine reacted the fastest, launching himself forward. He was closest to the shade's supporting leg, and he gripped his sword tight in both hands, sweeping it in a wide arc. He remembered silently praying to Razz, to Soveliss, begging them for help. Someone did, and although he wasn't certain who, he was extremely grateful to them.
His sword blade began to glow a bright blue, something that had never happened before in combat. He almost flew, high into the air, his sword shearing through the shadow's leg. He flipped in the air once, twice and landed in between the shade's legs, down on one knee.
Without a leg to hold it up, the shade toppled. Dannielle's sword buried itself in its eye. Riley dove over Buffy's unmoving body, sheltering her from whatever might come. The nightshade fell back, becoming insubstantial as it did so. It melted into the ground and left no trace of it's ever being there. Dannielle's blade clattered to the floor, painfully loud.
Then everyone reacted, rushing to Buffy's limp form. " Get her inside, quick," Giles told Riley, who was already scooping her up into his arms. Dannielle retrieved her sword, sweeping the surrounding areas with a cursory glance before heading inside, Kaine a step behind her. Before she could even get close to the shop, three figures dropped before them, figures that were startlingly familiar.
Ravagers. She brought her sword up just in time to block a blow, even as she hopped nimbly backwards. The rest were already inside, leaving her and the stranger to fend off the Ravagers.
Things just kept getting worse by the minute.
++++++
Tristan saw his man give him the signal and he smiled thinly. Gesturing to the two behind him, he slid the large alley door open and stepped into the shop's back end. He saw a fair-sized training room, obviously the Slayer's. One of them at least. For a place that held all the Slayer's secrets, it had pitiful defenses. It could be assumed that the Slayer thought of herself as her own security system, but compared to him, she was nothing but a rank amateur.
He opened the door that led into the shop itself and peeked through.
" Alright, Buffy," he heard, " this is going to hurt,"
Then the Slayer suddenly screamed aloud in pain, and Tristan winced involuntarily. A good thing the Ravagers couldn't see that or they would've torn him to pieces. The Slayer's screams died down and she fell limp and silent again. That was when Tristan made his move.
He walked into the shop, sword drawn. The Ravagers, in their spiked leather armor and their serrated blades, were the very pictures of intimidation. The two witches gasped and drew back, terrified, he could tell.
" Give me the Slayer and none of you will get hurt," he said, in as commanding a voice he could. It apparently worked, because the Watcher and the boyfriend stepped forward protectively. The witches likewise, prepared a spell of some sort to throw at them, although he had no intention of letting them do that.
" Not a chance," the boyfriend said. Tristan saw that he was favoring one side, and that his shirt was torn and bloody at the area around his ribs.
" Big talk, small dick," he replied calmly, walking forward. The Ravagers advanced, one on the Watcher and the other on the witches. Tristan slowly bore down on the boyfriend, raising his sword for a finishing blow to the head. The boyfriend automatically ducked and lunged forward for Tristan, meaning to take him in a football tackle. Tristan twisted to the side and brought the hilt of his sword onto the man's head. The man crashed to the floor as the heavy pommel slammed into his temple.
Still he staggered onto one knee, refusing to give up. Tristan had to admire his tenacity. He drove his shin up into the man's face, smashing it into his jaw. The boyfriend managed to bring his arms up to block, but such was the force of the kick that he flew backwards.
Then he heard someone shout, " Arsum sphera!"
Tristan turned just in time to receive the full brunt of a flaming Ravager body flying into him. He was bowled over by the impact, crashing to the floor with a resounding crash. He saw the Ravager dead and smoldering on top of him, and he shoved the burnt corpse off him.
The second Ravager had been momentarily distracted by the small explosion and commotion that came after. It was enough time for the Watcher to drive his knee up into the Ravager's groin. The man doubled over, groaning and whimpering. Tristan scowled and got to his feet, glancing at the witches. The redhead was bleeding from the nose, and it was obvious she was spent. The blonde, though, seemed like she had a lot left in her.
Tristan walked over to the Slayer, just daring someone to stop him. He picked her up, slung the limp body over his shoulders and walked off. The Ravagers were none of his concern now, they could handle themselves.
++++++
Azrael kept his face expressionless as the Slayer and the vampire Spike dropped into fighting stances. Well, at least the Slayer did; the vampire just slouched there, smoking a cigarette as if he wasn't surrounded by over a dozen others. Ariel slowly closed down on the Slayer and Azrael was once more struck by the similarities of the two.
Neither were much of talkers. They just let the situation speak for itself. With a barely noticeable motion, the vampire directly behind the Slayer attacked, followed by a rush from the others. Azrael and Ariel allowed the minions to brush past them. If all went as planned, they wouldn't have to fight.
The first vampire attacked, leaping onto the Slayer's back. She responded by grabbing hold of its right arm and throwing the vampire forward in a basic judo toss. Her battle sense was better than he'd expected as she bent forward, so far that her head nearly touched the ground, and threw her left leg back and up.
Connecting squarely onto the chest of the second vampire.
The move opened her wide up- her two legs were stretched to their limit. Another vampire seemed to notice this, as it came in with a left hook aimed at her crotch.
But the girl had already been pivoting even before her kick landed, so by the time the vampire reached her, she was upright and waiting. Azrael had never seen anyone move so fast.
Somewhere within the folds of her jacket, she produced a stake, two in fact. She thrust forward into the chest of one vampire, then waltzed right through the still falling dust, spinning around with a backhand. The sharpened end of the stake slashed into the face of another vampire, ripping it wide open.
Suddenly it was dust. Azrael hadn't even seen the stake go home.
He blinked, even though he knew his eyes weren't lying. Then he ducked, as a vampire body flew overhead, nearly crashing into him.
Spike, the vampire, was doing just as well, if not better, as the Slayer was. His ability was something to be admired and respected, no less than he deserved. After all he had killed two Slayers. And he was perfectly capable of holding his own against five pitiful vampires.
He had one in a headlock, and was mashing its nose with his fist. Using the vampire as an anchor, he lifted both feet of the ground and piledrived them right into the chest of another vampire. The vampire under him gave way and it fell to the grass face first. Spike's weight merely added to the impact and Azrael heard something crack over the noise of the fight.
Spike was on his ass for a mere moment, too short for any of the vampires to capitalize. A Slayer or a master might have, but not these vampires. Weaklings.
He dove forward, tackling one vampire to the ground. Rolling off the inert body, he rose only to receive a punch full in the face. Growling, he threw one right back, sending the target soaring through the air.
Another vampire punch at him. He caught the arm and pulled the vamp close, headbutting it. Not letting go, he unleashed a barrage of hard right fists into the vampire's hapless face, crushing it into putty.
He finally released it when another vampire got brave enough to kick him in the side. He turned on that one and jumped forward, fist first. The bleach blonde vampire drove his bloody right knuckles into his attacker's head, three times.
The vampire collapsed without a sound.
Azrael winced involuntarily. Things were definitely not going as planned. The Slayer had already finished off all but two of her enemies, and four of the vampires facing Spike were too out of it to fight. They could barely stand, let alone throw a punch.
They needed back up, and fast.
So Azrael whistled, a piercing shrill sound that split the air like an arrow. He and Ariel backed away. This was not their fight. Not yet.
In response to the whistle, the vampires that were still standing scrambled away. None of them made it. But even as the cloud of vampire ash settled, Azrael saw the reinforcements arriving through the mists.
He liked them. No vampire wouldn't. They were bloodthirsty savages, more monster than human. Some were even worse than vampires. What they lacked in power, they made up for with a raging battle lust and the absolute desire for inflicting pain. In their cruelly spiked leather armor, they incited fear into all who saw them. Azrael had no doubt that the Slayer and her vampire friend would feel that way as well.
Ravagers. Such a fitting name.
++++++
Jason Felds knew there was something wrong with those three people the moment he saw them enter. The one in lead was man dressed completely in black. He was about as broad as he was tall and he was definitely one of those people you wouldn't want to look at the wrong way. No doubt he had a weapon concealed on his person.
The dude to his right was just completely weird, in a cool, psychedelic kind of way. His clothes made him completely androgynous and his face was almost sexless. If not for the telltale bulge on the crotch of his tight jeans, Jason would have figured him to be a flat-chested girl. His spiky red hair stood out amongst the crowd in the Bronze, most of who were high school or college students.
Jason had no misgivings about judging the sex of the last of the trio. Honey blonde hair, innocent blue eyes and a body that was just too curvaceous. Her lower lip was adorably caught between her teeth and her widened eyes gave her the look of someone breathless with wonder and excitement.
He knew that he wasn't the only one staring at them. Practically everyone would be. They were not the typical fare the Bronze received, especially not on a Tuesday night. Jason also knew every red-blooded male in the club was fantasizing about the honey-blonde and undressing her mentally with their eyes. He knew he was.
The crowd parted respectfully for the hulking brute as he walked to the bar. A few men couldn't resist a parting shot at the girl. A slap on the ass, a brush of the hand across her chest. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she actually smiled and looked at those daring ones with a coy look of invitation.
A few also couldn't resist a jibe or a jeer at the sexually ambiguous person. He merely took it all in with a peculiar smile and a strange gleam in his eyes appeared as they roamed over the crowd and rested on a few people. Jason felt sorry for those the dude had singled out.
Abruptly, the huge man in the lead hopped onto the counter and raised his fists into the air. The move seized everyone's attention and even the band stopped playing.
" Ladies and gents!" he bellowed, voice ringing clear throughout the darkened interior of the club. A red beam of light strobed over him, and Jason couldn't help but notice how the color suited him. Especially the mouth.
" Drinks are on me!"
The proclamation brought a ragged cheer from the crowd. But even as the shouts died down, the doors burst open and in marched five people, all male. Jason recognized one of them, he was a guy from the college. History class, that was it.
The rest he had never seen before, and he found it strange that a seemingly clean cut guy like his classmate would hang out with a bunch of punk-rockers. They were veritably caked with grime and dirt, like they slept on the streets all day. The doors banged shut behind them, and the sound was painfully loud in the sudden silence that had enveloped the club. Jason knew one more thing.
Something was very wrong.
Then the five guys and three at the bar changed.
It wasn't a change he could really describe. All he knew was that one moment, they looked perfectly normal, perfectly human, and then the next, they had yellow eyes and heavy, ridged brows. The muscle rack on the counter top smiled, a toothy leer that revealed a row of dirty fangs.
Someone screamed, and it was like a dam broke loose. Everyone, Jason included, was running around, trampling others in their haste to get to the door. The five guys blocked their way, somehow managing to hold fast against the surging crowd.
A few tried to get to the back door, but the spiky-haired dude was standing there, grinning. Jason realized that one of the guys he had singled out earlier was amongst those few.
The big guy then lifted the bartender completely off his feet. He only used one hand and even then, it seemed like the six foot plus bartender was nothing but a throw cushion. Then he held the helpless man in front of him, wrenching his head to the side, exposing his jugular vein.
His fangs gleamed in the flashing lights of the club. Jason noticed a few minor details, details that would come of use too late. The veins in the big guy's hands didn't throb. Neither did the veins on the rest of his body. He wasn't breathing either. His chest was perfectly still.
The same applied to the others,
Then the huge man sank his fangs into the bartender's neck. The man gave out a strangled shriek, then went silent and limp in the big guy's hands. Jason realized that the big guy was actually sucking on the bartender.
Then all hell broke loose.
++++++
Riley wanted nothing more than to get up and chase down the bastard that had taken Buffy. But he couldn't. For some reason he couldn't. The room was spinning around him as he lay on his back. He felt a wetness on his lip, and it dribbled down the side of his mouth. His tongue explored the inside of his mouth. One tooth was loose, and a searing pain told him another had been cracked or chipped. He tasted the fluid that trickled down his cheek. Blood.
Still, the room spun and it showed no sign of stopping or even slowing. He heard sounds of a struggle, someone grunting and scuffling. There was something else, something he couldn't quite place. It was a strange sound, supposed to mean something, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out.
" Riley! Riley, get up Goddammit!"
Someone was shouting his name. It snapped him out of Xanadu and he rolled over on the floor to get a better look of who it was. On his back, craning his neck as far as he could without breaking it, all he could see was a lot of wood.
It was Giles. The man was wrestling for control of a sword with a Ravager. When Riley thought of the name, it was accompanied by the morbid pictures of what they might do to Buffy. If the name was any indication, it was something he definitely didn't want. Or her for that matter.
He pushed himself to all fours and exerted the last of his strength. Giles and the Ravager were locked in a strangely fascinating dance of death, for that would be the outcome for the one that lost, for the one who couldn't dance quite as well.
Riley frowned. Now there were four people spinning around instead of two. Two Ravagers and two… two Giles. No, it couldn't be Giles. It must be his twin brother, yes, that was it! Riley reminded himself to admonish the Watcher for keeping this secret for so long. British stoicism aside, a twin brother wasn't something you kept hidden from your closest friends.
Alright, so he was going to scold Giles later. What was he going to do now? He was on all fours, facing four people- four grappling men- and so he was going to… help them. That's right, he was going to… going to…
Riley slumped to the floor as darkness overtook him.
++++++
Tara saw Riley fall face first to the floor and she knew that he wasn't going to be of any use now. Giles was bent backwards over the table as the Ravager tried to force the point of the blade into his throat. Tara felt Willow go slack in her arm and saw that the redheaded witch had passed out as well.
This was not going well.
She frantically searched around for a way to help. Dannielle and the stranger had disappeared. Come to think of it, they hadn't even entered the shop.
Then she saw it. The sword, the one that had belonged to the immolated Ravager lying in the corner. She scrambled over to it, practically crawling on the floor. When she first tried to lift the sword, she thought her arm would pop out of its socket. Using both hands instead, she managed to drag it across the floor to where Giles and the last Ravager were still struggling.
She lifted the sword awkwardly, noticing that the spots of blood on it still looked fresh and new, not brown but crimson. The points of the serrated edge glinted evilly in light and Tara almost dropped the sword in revulsion. There was something with the sword, something dark and evil.
But she stubbornly held on to it, knowing that if she failed now, all her friends would die. She swung with all her might at the Ravager's armored side, hoping the weight of the sword would puncture the leather.
It didn't. Obviously cured leather was tougher than it seemed. Tara bounced back from the recoil, dropping ungraciously onto her rump. She somehow kept hold of the sword, holding on for dear life.
The Ravager growled when the blade hit his ribs, bruising them even through the leather. He turned and swung at his unseen assailant with one hand, the other keeping its hold on his sword hilt. No one was there; his hand swung through empty air instead of smashing bone and cartilage. Bewildered, he stayed in the same position for a moment too long.
Giles took full advantage the distraction Tara had provided and once again, drove his knee up into the Ravager's unprotected groin. Hard.
The Ravager didn't release the sword, but he did let go of Giles and bent forward slightly at the sudden, blinding pain. Giles then slammed his fist into the Ravager's chin, made a perfect target by the way he stood. The man staggered back, tripped over Tara's outstretched feet and fell back. Too late, Giles realized that he would fall directly on top of her, piercing her slim body with the spikes on his armor.
He dashed forward, trying to slow or deflect the Ravager's path. He failed.
His eyes closed instinctively, reflexively. He heard the gruesome squelch of metal entering flesh and opened his eyes, just as reflexively. What he saw surprised him, but gladdened him immensely.
Tara was still sitting down, the sword held upwards. The Ravager had fallen onto the sword, his momentum causing the blade to rip through the armor easily and rip into him as well and just as easily. Now Tara was lying down, the pommel of the sword braced on the floor against the crook of her elbow. It was the only thing that prevented the Ravager from dropping onto her and impaling her with several spikes.
++++++
It was three against two.
But Dannielle was a Slayer, and whoever the stranger was, he was good. So despite the Ravagers' apparent penchant for sadomasochism and their finely honed fighting skills, they were still going to lose.
Dannielle had her hands full with two Ravagers, attacking her from both sides. Only some slick parrying and dodging was she able to stay alive and unharmed. But every single sword stroke seemed closer to the mark before it was deflected, every thrust was an inch closer to hitting home.
She angrily shoved the thoughts away into a dark corner of her mind and focussed on the fight. She snapped her blade to the left, beating of a low cut to her leg. The impact was jarring, and the blades bounced off each other with a sharp ringing sound. Using the upward momentum from the recoil, Dannielle swung upwards to meet a blow to her head. A second later and she would've been skewered.
Abruptly, she leaped back a bit, gaining a few inches of much-needed space. She had to separate them, make them come at her one at a time. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to do it.
The Ravagers attacked again, in near perfect unison. Dannielle saw her chance. She spun past the first Ravager, suffering a shallow cut on her arm as a result. But the move brought her directly in front of the second Ravager, who was a step behind the first.
He ran, right into her out-thrust sword point. The tempered steel punctured the crude leather armor, emerging through his back. The feel of grating bone was sickening, and Dannielle reckoned the sensation to be akin somewhat to swinging at a fire hydrant. Even as she released her sword and allowed the Ravager to collapse to the floor, her bones were still rattling.
She had no time to pause and reflect on her first kill as the other Ravager cut for her head. She instinctively ducked as the glittering points of the serrated edge created a small draft of wind over her head. She backflipped, once, twice.
When she got to her feet, she was holding on to Buffy's dropped sword. she beckoned for the Ravager to come forward, ala the Rock. He grinned, no leered, at her then rushed forward, bearing his blade in both hands.
Their swords met, clashing in mid-air with a shower of sparks and a loud clanging noise, not unlike a wrench dropping into a toolbox. Again, the blades met, at a lower angle this time. Dannielle rotated her shoulders, bringing the sword around in a high arc so she could disengage and lunge forward first.
The Ravager however, anticipated this move and drew his blade away, putting the Slayer off-balance for a split second. Then he thrust forward, intending to pierce her heart.
But something, probably a barely remembered order, or a sudden spark of humanity in the Ravager's mind caused him to slow down, and deflect his blade slightly. The serrated edge ripped across her ribs, drawing blood and a barely stifled cry from the black-haired Slayer.
Dannielle bit her lower lip involuntarily, bringing forth a sudden pain and drop of blood. But it was overwhelmed by the flaring sensation in her side, and the seemingly endless flow of blood. So far, she was bleeding from to wounds; one on her arm, the other on her ribs. The Ravager was unharmed.
Despite the pain, perhaps, because of it, Dannielle brought her blade up just in time to parry off the coup de grace. She beat the sword wide and riposted with a backhand to the Ravager's exposed chest. Her sword bounced off one of the protruding spikes, bringing a reaction no more drastic than a smile from him.
But her strength, no matter how weakened she was, still came of an advantage to her. The spike abruptly snapped off, creating a small chink in the armor. The Ravager's grin faltered and Dannielle pressed her attack.
It lacked finesse and grace, but more than made up for it with brute force and a cold fury that could freeze hellfire. Twice Dannielle knocked away the Ravager's blade, but twice she had been foiled by the armor. Time for a change of tactics.
To lunge would be to open herself to a finishing blow, ending the fight somewhat suddenly. The only option left was to decapitate the Ravager. Opening his defenses long enough to get that swing in was the least of her defenses, though. The end result of such a move would be horribly messy, not to mention gruesome.
She moved forward again, swinging to her left. The Ravager just managed to hold off the blow, although he was rocked by the impact. Again Dannielle swung, this time to the right and down. As the Ravager bent slightly to the side to ward it off, Dannielle checked her swing and changed directions, at the exact last minute, the way only a Slayer could.
Instead of a diagonal slash downwards, she turned her wrist and swung upwards instead. Her blade entered the Ravager just below the shoulder, continuing upward into the neck and finally coming free on the other side. The Ravager fell, sheared into two pieces.
Blood sprayed, onto Dannielle's face, onto her clothes. What remained of his body still weakly spurted more of the crimson fluid, pooling on the cement. Dannielle looked at her sword, watching drop of blood fall off in rivulets. Absently wiping her eyes clean, she turned to the stranger and saw that he was likewise splattered, though he didn't seem to be nearly as bothered as she.
The body of his enemy lay on the floor at his feet, throat cleanly sliced, head hanging by a small flap of skin. Blood collected beneath the body.
Blood.
So much blood.
++++++
" Slayer, I think we should run,"
Faith tossed her head and Spike took that as ample indication of her disagreement.
" Then you're on your own," he said. Her eyes bored into his, and he tried his very best to not shrink back from the rage in her brown orbs.
" What the fuck you talkin' about?"
Spike shot a nervous glance at the four Ravagers that slowly closed down on them. They seemed to sense this show of trepidation in his part and their movements only got slower and more deliberate, savoring the smell of fear.
Just like vampires.
" They're human, luv. I won't be no use to you,"
" Shit,"
" My sentiments exactly,"
Faith looked one final time at the Ravagers and took off in the opposite direction,
" Good decision," Spike commented, close on her heels.
Faith snorted, shaking her head. This was the first time she'd run from a fight.
" Head for the Magic Box, at least we can get reinforcements there," Spike added.
" Whatever, Spiky," Faith retorted, not entirely happy with the situation. The Ravagers were right on their tail, and since they couldn't match their speed or endurance, Faith doubted they could last to the Magic Box, but she didn't want to take any chances. They had somehow managed to be waiting in hiding for them without her noticing, and they might always be able to launch an attack on the Magic Box later.
" You do know they could always swing by later, don't you?" she asked Spike.
" If they wanted to, they would've already,"
He wasn't even panting, Faith noticed. But then again, he didn't need to breathe. Then the thought occurred to her, and no matter how negative it was, she couldn't help but dwell on it.
" What if they have?"
++++++
They almost dropped Xander when Doyle's cell phone began ringing, a high-pitched, irritating sound. Doyle jumped at the vibrations that accompanied the ringing and clumsily fished in his jacket for the small object. Putting it to his ear, he released Xander, saying, " Hold 'im for a while,"
Gunn tried his best to support the limp Xander by himself, but dragging 180 pounds of drunken man was no easy task. So Xander ended up kissing the sidewalk, nearly taking Gunn with him. The young man glared at Doyle, but was pointedly ignored by the Irishman.
" Yes?" Doyle said into the phone. " Faith? What's wrong you sound like you're running,"
There was a pause as the brunette Slayer screamed into his ear, despite the exertion. Doyle winced and pulled the phone away from his ear slightly, only returning it when Faith had finished.
" Alright, alright, no need to get huffy. Magic Box you say? Mm-hmm, we do have Xander, but…" Doyle paused then sighed deeply. " He's drunk and out cold,"
Another pause, then Doyle snapped the phone close. " She hung up on me," he admitted sheepishly. Gunn's only reply was a level stare and Doyle quickly bent to the task of picking Xander up. Together, the trio slowly made their way to the Magic Box.
++++++
The first thing that came to Tara's mind was that her shoulder had gone numb. The second was that the blood on her face and arms was warm, and slightly sticky. Then she slowly slid the sword to the side, allowing the dead Ravager to drop to the shop floor. She tried to stagger to her feet, but the toll of casting and the shock of actually partaking in the death of a human being was getting to her.
Her knees buckled, and she only just managed to catch herself on the table. Giles was at her side by then, righting a fallen chair and helping her into it. " Are you alright?"
Tara blinked, then blinked again as a drop of blood trickled its way into her eye. One shaky hand wiped it away, only managing to smear her face with more of the liquid. Giles took out his piece of cloth, the one he always used to wipe his glasses with and offered it to her.
She took it without a thought, not being really able to form any right then. Wiping her face absently, she took an assessment of the situation as it lay before her. Willow was lying on the floor where Tara had left bleeding from the nose and getting frighteningly pale. Riley was face first on the floor, a short distance away, bleeding from the ribs and the head.
" I'm fine, take care of them,"
Giles was already moving before she said three words. Years of working with the Slayer(s) had instilled a sense of responsibilities and priorities in them, most of which involved other people coming first. Willow needed more help than Tara, who only suffered from a case of mind numbness, and Riley needed more help than anyone else. Except maybe Buffy.
" Buffy!" Tara shouted without really realizing it.
Giles got a trapped deer look in his eyes and jerked to a stop on his way to Riley's inert form. It hadn't occurred to him as well, that his charge had been kidnapped. Things had been moving fast, what with Buffy's injury, then that man and the Ravager bursting in so unexpectedly.
There was a sudden sound of running feet and Giles flowed into action once again, picking up a chair to fend off any would be attackers.
He almost swung it right into Dannielle's face.
Dannielle's blood-spattered face. Giles dropped the chair.
" Good God, what happened?" he asked, at about the same time Dannielle said, " What's wrong?"
They paused, then both suddenly burst into laughter. Tara joined in shortly. The stranger, who had come in behind Dannielle, looked at them strangely, but shook his head. Tara had a feeling he understood. Like herself and Dannielle, he was covered in blood. His grey sweatshirt- much too small for him, she thought, it barely came down to his stomach- was drenched red and he had red streaks and smears on his face.
The laughter died down, as the reality of the situation came to them once more, like a sledgehammer blow to the head. Buffy had been kidnapped. Tara had just killed a man. By the looks of it, so had Dannielle and the stranger (whatever his name was). Possibly more Ravagers. Hadn't Giles said there were twelve of them? Two were dead, so there were ten left.
Tara felt faint.
She wobbled in her chair and would've fallen off if the stranger hadn't been walking by and caught her. She marveled at the strong muscles in his upper arm as she gripped it, keeping her balance. She smiled stupidly up at him, noticing for the first time that he was a very good-looking man.
" Who are you?" she managed to blurt out, just before she passed out.
++++++
/That's the third one so far/
/I can count Soveliss/
/Just trying to be helpful/
Kaine fell silent, adjusting the girl's position so she wouldn't fall off. Soveliss withdrew once again, leaving Kaine to his privacy. He wasn't sure if that was exactly what he wanted.
" Is anyone else thinking of fainting? I'd appreciate it if you tell me?" he asked aloud, to the two people left standing. Dannielle and the Watcher. They were looking bewildered and dazed, shell-shocked was a more accurate description. Most people got like that, right after their first kill. He knew he did.
Slowly, they shook their heads, showing signs of coming to their senses. Kaine waited for one of them to speak, deciding to move and tend to the big guy while he was at it.
" I have a First-Aid kit," the Watcher finally said. Kaine looked up at him and nodded appreciatively, though he had no clue what a First-Aid kit was. They needed something to do now, to keep from dwelling from what just happened. Dannielle stood uncertainly at the middle of the room, trying to find that elusive something.
" Go help the witch," Kaine suggested, indicating the redhead with a jerk of his chin. He lifted the big guy into his arms, depositing him onto the table, hoping it would be able to hold the weight. The Watcher arrived, holding a green colored, rectangular case of some sort. Kaine stepped aside, letting the man work.
He took a peek inside the case. Bandages, ointments and something called Band-Aids were arranged neatly in pre-made sections. So that was a First-Aid kit.
The Slayer, Dannielle, had set the redhead gently into a chair, then floundered, not knowing what to do. Kaine sighed. If all of them reacted to battle and killing this way, the apocalypse wouldn't be very far off. Fortunately, the Watcher had more or less come to his senses.
" There's a small bathroom upstairs. Get warm water and some towels. Please,"
Dannielle was already moving.
Kaine slumped against the wall, fishing a piece of black cloth from a pouch hung onto his belt. His tunic was beyond help, though his skinsuit was easily washable with water. Thank goodness for small favors. The same, however, didn't apply to Soveliss. He drew the sword, wiping the blade clean of blood with the cloth.
/It looks bad/
/Come now, Kaine. They only got one Slayer/
/What if they only need one?/
/Then you wouldn't have been called here/ Soveliss replied patiently. /I think you missed a spot/
/Do you want to be left out in the rain to rust next time?/ Kaine retorted. He was in no mood for light-hearted banter. Not now. He had left his home, his friends and his family behind, without them even knowing where he'd gone to. They had no way to know if and when he would be back. They were probably worried sick by now, though they had plenty of time to get used to his erratic schedules.
Now it seemed that he was a third of the way to failure. That was closer than he ever cared to get. He sheathed Soveliss and pulled off his tunic, wiping his face and arms with it. He'd have to burn it later.
/I'm sorry. I thought you needed some cheering up/
/It's fine Soveliss. I'm a little tense/ Kaine apologized. /I guess I could use some cheering up/
/Would you like to hear a joke?/ Soveliss sounded eager.
/NO!/ Kaine sounded terrified at the prospect. /No, that's alright, Soveliss/ he added, a little calmer this time.
Dannielle returned, hefting a basin full of water, with some pristine white towels draped over her shoulder. Her face was still speckled with dried blood. Kaine walked over to her, holding out the bloodstained tunic.
" Use this,"
She looked apprehensive, but accepted it, gingerly wiping her face. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of sweat and blood, and she completed the task as quickly as she could.
Kaine wetted one of the towels and pressed it to the forehead of the blonde witch. Her breathing was steady and even, she was fine and would wake in a while.
The redhead, was in pretty much the same condition. Both would wake, feeling very tired and would probably suffer headaches, but that was expected when you drained yourself dry of magical energy. Soveliss was right; there was very little magic in this realm. All energy came from the caster itself. No wonder there were so few practitioners of the art here.
He was suddenly turning and drawing his blade, facing the main entrance to the shop. A second later, the sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard, nearing the place, quickly joined by the chatter of two men. Kaine recognized them, but only from his earlier eavesdropping.
The half-demon and his friend. Kaine senses picked up another man, unconscious. He had no idea who it was, but figured he would find out soon enough.
" It's Doyle and Gunn," Dannielle explained, noticing his naked blade. She had also heard the footsteps and voices, albeit a few seconds later than Kaine did. The young warrior nodded, sliding Soveliss back into the loop at his belt, then returned to his ministrations of the witches.