TWENTY-EIGHT
* * *
Silence.
Buffy felt the ground come up, felt it against her bottom as her legs gave way, as behind the barrier there were now only Warren, Jonathan, Andrew and the demon.
They watched. She watched.
And Andrew spoke again.
"Grant us our supplications, mighty Geyrz! Grant us your power and your favor!"
The demon regarded them. The red mass of goo that had moments before been Willow Rosenberg dripped from its jaws.
And then it spoke.
"Deception," it said.
Andrew's eyes went wide. He took a step back.
"No. Mighty Geyrz, we have made you your offering --"
"Deception!"
Something was wrong. All through everything Buffy felt it, as though the universe itself was twisting, contorting, writhing. Wrong wrong wrong. And she gasped for air in this wrongness, this growing horror, as the demon moved now toward Andrew. She heard herself scream as terror washed over his face, as he tried to back away, raising his hands against what he had brought into the world.
"No!" he screamed.
The thing struck quickly, lashing out. Buffy saw in that instant as Andrew now writhed as Willow had, as he fought and struggled, as he screamed again before dying.
Before the explosion from something Warren threw at the thing brought down the barrier and the thing turned on those outside.
"Mighty Geyrz, take these others!" he called. "Consume! Grant my supplication!"
Geyrz turned. From its mouth dripped the remains of two now. Its claws extended, its breath a hissing that echoed loudly in the night, the very sound like acid on the skin, the face, like burning worms inside you.
Buffy scrambled back, saw Spike rush in, saw the demon fling him back and away like so many dry leaves, his body snapping against a nearby tree with a sickening crunch.
"Consume!" Warren screamed.
And then Buffy looked up again.
She saw.
And then it was her scream, in the sudden darkness of pain and terror, and the world was no more.
Forever.
* * *
Silence.
Buffy felt the ground come up, felt it against her bottom as her legs gave way, as behind the barrier there were now only Warren, Jonathan, Andrew and the demon.
They watched. She watched.
And Andrew spoke again.
"Grant us our supplications, mighty Geyrz! Grant us your power and your favor!"
The demon regarded them. The red mass of goo that had moments before been Willow Rosenberg dripped from its jaws.
And then it spoke.
"Deception," it said.
Andrew's eyes went wide. He took a step back.
"No. Mighty Geyrz, we have made you your offering --"
"Deception!"
Something was wrong. All through everything Buffy felt it, as though the universe itself was twisting, contorting, writhing. Wrong wrong wrong. And she gasped for air in this wrongness, this growing horror, as the demon moved now toward Andrew. She heard herself scream as terror washed over his face, as he tried to back away, raising his hands against what he had brought into the world.
"No!" he screamed.
The thing struck quickly, lashing out. Buffy saw in that instant as Andrew now writhed as Willow had, as he fought and struggled, as he screamed again before dying.
Before the explosion from something Warren threw at the thing brought down the barrier and the thing turned on those outside.
"Mighty Geyrz, take these others!" he called. "Consume! Grant my supplication!"
Geyrz turned. From its mouth dripped the remains of two now. Its claws extended, its breath a hissing that echoed loudly in the night, the very sound like acid on the skin, the face, like burning worms inside you.
Buffy scrambled back, saw Spike rush in, saw the demon fling him back and away like so many dry leaves, his body snapping against a nearby tree with a sickening crunch.
"Consume!" Warren screamed.
And then Buffy looked up again.
She saw.
And then it was her scream, in the sudden darkness of pain and terror, and the world was no more.
Forever.
