Title: Bite the Dust(It, Myself and I Series 4)

By: Chen

Feedback: Take the time, make me happy.

Disclaimer: All belong to ME (Grr! Argh!), not me.

A/N: Action packed chapter. May I just say that action scenes are better 'seen' than written? I did my best. Oh, and there's a tad of bad language.

And, with all due respect Mr. Fury, he is NOT evil!

-x-

"Hullo there, wanker."

Spike quickly spun around to face his opponent, his sword already high, only to stop dead on his tracks.

What the...? The black jeans, the black T-shirt and yes, the boots... That vampire had *his* clothes on. No! Oh, no! This was wrong in so many levels it boggled the mind. The vampire approaching with sword raised and fangs bared, was him?

"What else could you expect from a bloody, Python watching, rose demon mate?"

There was little time to think about the irony of the present situation for the other vampire was, by no means, having to sort out the bizarro factor of the set up. No, it was most decidedly not taken aback or taking pause to consider the implications and ramifications of fighting itself. What it *was* doing was attacking. Spike pushed all the questions out of the way and went into game face, reading himself for the battle at hand. Except, to add insult to injury, he couldn't go into game face. 

It took Spike almost a second too long to recuperate from the cold panic that seized him once he realized there would be no game face for him in this match. He felt and heard the blade of his opponent's sword as he successfully avoided it at the very last moment, the blade missing his neck by a threatening little distance.

He backed away from the vampire, trying to understand what the hell was going on.  "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Mimicked the vampire with disgust in his voice. "I'm the warrior you used to be before you became the Slayer's pathetic lapdog."  The vampire drew closer and their swords met in the air, sparks flying where they impacted. "I'm the predator you used to be before you brought great shame to the House of Aurelius." Spike dodged another strike, but was not fast enough and it grazed his left arm, drawing blood. "I am..."

"A pompous ass with no style." Why couldn't blabber mouth there just keep his trap shut? Spike couldn't help but be humiliated by the reminder of how pathetically low the former scourge of Europe had sunk to. He *had* been legendary among vampires: William the Bloody was feared by one and all. Now... Now he was in god knows where, fighting god knows what, to get some semblance of who he had been back.

"Hello! Less whining, more fighting? That thing is trying to kill you."

Yes, it was trying very hard to. There could be no room for mistakes here – it was do or die. He quickly assessed the demon in front of him and cursed to himself. Bugger! Not only did it seem to know no fear, but it also became painfully clear as the demon's blade made contact with flesh once again, that it knew Spike's every trick and every move.

"What is the matter with you? Gone from the neck up? He *is* you, of course he knows how to fight you!" the exasperated voice in his head taunted. "Bloody think!"

Over and over the demon's blade came down and over and over again Spike barely escaped from being seriously wounded. The cuts on his forearms burnt and the gash bleeding on his chest hurt like the fires of hell, but thanking some long forgotten patron saint of lost souls, Spike was glad he was still alive and able to fight.

Another blow and the weapons came together, the demon putting his weight behind the deadly blade, while Spike tried to avoid the impromptu scissors the two swords had formed. For the first time since the battle had begun he was face to face with his demon and what he saw in its eyes made him shudder inside. There was no life in there. No history. No individuality. There was only death and evil. The disgust he felt gave him the strength to shove the demon away far enough for him to escape with only another bleeding cut on his temple.

"Do you really think *it* is all that you are?" The pesky voice in his head was back again. "He's but a barbarian git with no imagination. And duck!" Spike obeyed instinctively to the voice, saving his neck from decapitation once more.

"What say you? Time for the fat lady to sing, mate?" Spike silently nodded in agreement to the voice.

Trying to find an opening, Spike was ready to invert roles – he was getting tired of being on the receiving end. He remembered having seen Buffy using that move once and now was the time to try something new. He stood very still and the restless rebel in him clenched when he saw the golden satisfied glow of the vampire's eyes.

"Yeah, you humorless arse-licker, come and get me."

The demon charged almost carelessly towards Spike, who made no move to intercept it. Standing still until the very last minute, he spun around like a matador performing la Veronica with an indisputable grace that would have made El Gallo* proud. Suddenly his confidence returned and electricity coursed through his broken down body.

Hell if he was going down! This was his bullring and that sorry excuse for a vampire was the one that would bite the dust. The demon had lost its balance after the failed charge and lay on the bloodied sand of the arena's floor for a moment before getting up and turning to face his foe. It was then that Spike's sword made its first, and last, contact with its flesh. In one elegantly precise strike, Spike severed the demon's head.

Spike laughed out loud with a joy he hadn't felt in a long time. "Olé! You mindless, ugly, bastard ponce!"

"Feeling quite effulgent, aren't we?" Spike winced, not knowing if from the wounds that now, with the battle done, seemed to be draining all his energy or from the familiar word. Where had *that* come from?

* El Gallo – famous matador in the beginning of the 20th century.