Stung to outrage by the woman's imperious command, Connor returned, "I will not kill for your sport."
"Then you will die. Golgoth will tear you to pieces, child, unless," she tilted her head towards the downed beast, "you destroy it first."
"He lacks that strength, mistress," the demon taunted, its yellow eyes dulled of their inner fire, yet still containing a measure of menace. "As did those who came before."
Connor paused at that, ears pricking, hearing the ambiguous comment and liking it little. "Others," he echoed. "You have killed others like me?"
"Many," the demon replied, proudly. "I have drunk of their fluids and worn their worthless skins as a trophy. As I will yours."
In Quor-Toth, such a challenge could never have been allowed to go unheeded. From an early age, Holtz had taught that, no matter the adversary, Connor was never to back down, never to flee. You are a weapon boy, Holtz had told him, sternly, time and again. One that I have crafted with my own hands for a single purpose. To strike down our enemies.
And if a quick kill were not viable, Connor was expected to use his superior strength and speed to bludgeon his enemy into submission and, ultimately, death, no matter the cost to his physical wellbeing. So many times he had returned to his father bloodied, though never broken. And he had always healed.
So, though his foe was already half-dead, and becoming deader by the minute, its threat effectively erased the last of Connor's resistance to do battle. Let the woman have her entertainment as he put the thing down and in turn be warned that he could easily do the same to her.
A short jump brought him face to face with the demon, and, spurred to violence, Connor struck out with one fist, before backhanding with the other, sending out a spray of black blood. The demon howled and lashed outwards in punitive retaliation, but Connor had already spun back, out of reach, and the claws easily missed their mark.
"Tricky, tricky," the demon muttered, as Connor began to circle, seeking an opening, a weakness in the things scaled hide.
*****
Dark eyes that would normally reflect a lifetime of sorrows were filled now with possessive anger. Wesley found it hard to meet the vampire's steely gaze, recalling all too well the last time he had seen that fury, accompanied by a pillow over the face and wild death threats. Yet he couldn't remain silent in the wake of Angel's threat to turn away from the Powers.
"I was going to suggest that The Powers That Be might reverse whatever the Veii have done to your boy," he said, calmly. "I'm sure Cordelia would demand no less of them and I think we both know that when Miss Chase doesn't get her way, things can get ugly."
The attempt at humour, poor though it was, in addition to the mention of Cordelia, seemed to shake the vampire into some semblance of rationale. "You know about Cordy? The Axis…"
"Showed you that she is now a Higher Being. Yes. Word gets out. I have my sources."
"Fred told you, didn't she."
"My point is, don't do anything rash, not until we have all the facts. While I would hate to see Connor harmed, the world still needs a champion. It can't afford to lose you to this, Angel."
"I wouldn't stop helping people, you know me better than that Wesley." Eyes more soulful than accusing now, Angel sighed, clearly not happy about reining it in, yet his black anger seemed to have abated somewhat.
The instinct to protect one's offspring was strong in the vampire and under other circumstances, Wesley would applaud his devotion to his child, but there were greater things at stake. Not for the first time, the ex-Watcher wondered if Connor might yet become a tool for their enemies, the unwitting agent in Angel's downfall. For if the boy were to be killed, there was no telling what it might do to the vampire, what lengths the father might go to, to avenge his child's death. If it didn't break Angel first.
"I'll keep a hold on it," Angel continued, oblivious to Wesley's troubled musing. "At least until we find Connor."
"That's good enough for me."
He deliberately echoed the words of trust Angel had spoken earlier, but if the vampire heard, he didn't comment, instead turned to continue the hunt for his son. Wesley smiled sadly and, after a moment, began to follow.
*****
The fight was short, brutal, lacking in either challenge or finesse. Taking a firm grip on the creature's scaled head, Connor brought his knee up, swiftly and without restraint, shattering the jaws that threatened constantly to snap at him.
Releasing his hold, Connor drew back, then kicked the thing in the belly, staggering backwards with the force of his own blow as he sent the demon flying into the wall. For a moment it hung there, an insectoid form with shredded wings, before sliding downwards, leaving a trail of slime and black blood, hitting the floor with an air of finality.
If it wasn't dead, it soon would be, Connor knew, as he wiped a sleeve over his forehead, erasing the sweat of pain and exertion. Under any other circumstance, he would end it quickly, seeking a swift kill, for there were few more dangerous creatures than a wounded demon with nothing to lose. But he had entertained enough for now.
Panting heavily, in a great deal of pain that grew stronger with each hitching breath, he turned away from the dying demon to face the woman, the puppeteer in this particular charade. The orchestra in his abduction and the bout with her demon pet, her actions cast some doubt over her humanity, though Connor was forced to restraint until he knew for certain.
Quor-Toth had been lacking the presence of human females, but Holtz had been a chivalrous man. He had imparted his beliefs to Connor, had driven into the boy that women should always be treated carefully and with the respect due their weaker sex.
So while Connor could still frighten the priestess, win, with coercion, his freedom from this place, he could do her no more harm than he could Fred or Cordelia. Though both had at one time or another managed to subdue him despite his superior strength. Fred with her taser and her false concern and Cordelia with her demon magic.
"It lives still, child," the priestess said. "Finish it."
Connor cast a look back to the broken form, then shook his head, determined to be contrary. "No."
A look of annoyance crossed the priestess' face and her features hardened. "Very well then."
A flash of light came from behind Connor and, alarmed, he spun, reacting to what his instincts perceived as a threat. Flames glowing white hot with their intensity licked over the demon's body, consuming flesh and bone as they raced over the shuddering form. A few moments more and there was nothing but ash where the creature had fallen.
Nothing but the heavy collar it had worn.
Apprehensive, Connor turned back to the priestess, falling into a ready stance as he gauged the distance between them. Woman or not, if she conjured such magicks against him, she would die.
"Now," she said, cold gaze falling onto Connor, "what to do with the little sparrow that seeks to escape."
"You think to frighten me?" he demanded, shifting his weight in preparation to move quickly if need be, trying to keep the pain of his damaged flesh out of mind.
"I think to hurt you," she returned, raising her hand ominously, revealing blue sparks that danced from finger to finger.
Connor snorted at that, thinking her a fool. To live was to hurt. Holtz had taught him that lesson well enough when he had left his son nothing but a corpse to weep over. Angel merely added the addendum to that particular chapter.
"Hurt me then," he taunted, thinking of the night he had said the same words to Fred, how she would have gladly complied had it not been for Gunn. "I'm used to it," he added, more quietly.
The priestess smiled at that, though the humour didn't reach her eyes. "We shall see."
With a swiftly spoken word, lightning arced from her hand, racing across the distance to strike Connor directly in the chest before he could move aside.
As pain sliced through every nerve ending, cut into every fibre of his being, Connor had breath for a single cry, before even that was ripped away from him.
*****
Outside the priestess' inner sanctum, Baron paused, raising a hand to the men that followed, signalling for them to halt. He entered through the broken door alone, the breathless screams growing louder, the scent of ozone sharper now.
At the far end, Valenza was standing before her throne, robe billowing from the energy being channelled through her body, golden tresses whipping about her shoulders as static crackled the very air.
In the centre of the room was the recipient of her ire, the boy Valenza had ordered brought to her. Yet while the priestess had demanded they capture him unharmed, it seemed that she was exempt from a directive meant only for her soldiers.
The child was sprawled on his back, arched taut in agony as lightning crackled indiscriminately over his body. His cries were fading, yet Baron guessed it was more from lack of air than any will to be silent.
For her part, Valenza seemed determined, intent on breaking the child here and now. Her features were contorted, no longer beautiful, but ugly in her wrath.
Crossing quickly to his mistress and lover, Baron approached as close as he dared, feeling the air about alive with electricity, the fine hairs on his bare forearms prickling his skin.
"Mistress," he called, loud enough to be heard over the furore of the storm. "You must halt this."
If she heard, Valenza gave no sign but continued to torment the boy, gleeful in his agony. Much more of her torture and all they had striven for would be for nought.
Baron moved forward and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, knowing he ran dire risk of being struck down himself. Shocked at having hands laid upon her person, Valenza gasped, instinctively seeking a new target.
"Valenza!" Baron said, shaking her a little.
"How dare…" she began, but he cut her off.
"You would stop his heart?" he demanded, jerking his head towards the boy. "What then of your grand plan for freedom?"
As she stared into his eyes, Baron witnessed the murderous rage dissipate, and slowly, Valenza lowered her hands, the storm abating. She would be done for a while, he knew, keeping perfect control from now on. But the years had been long and the passing of each one had seen the Veii priestess grow more and more unstable.
Her unchaste love for him was just one more sign of her growing insanity, Baron knew. As was taking the boy, Connor, whose status with his father remained uncertain.
Reminded of his reason for halting Valenza's tirade, Baron released his lover and looked down at the child. Not dead by the unsteady rise and fall of his chest and the tears that had been squeezed from his tightly closed eyes. He no doubt had his demon heritage to thank for his survival, but he was unconscious now and for that Baron was grateful. It was better that way, less chance he might upset the priestess with his childish tongue. Less likely that he would be suffering from his wounds.
The men had gathered inside the door now, curious yet hesitant. No doubt they had witnessed their captain's assault on the priestess, a crime to be punished by death, but Baron had no time for such worries.
"See to the boy," he ordered them, harshly, and they were quick to obey, sensing his foul mood.
"Golgoth is gone," Valenza spoke, softly, sounding almost sad.
Baron nodded at that, neither surprised nor overly grieved. The beast would have been put down long before had not Valenza's obsession for freedom taken her attention from the necessity.
A sharp cry swung him back to his soldiers, in time to see one man flung through the air to strike the far wall with a solid thud. Before Baron could move, another panicked yell signalled another man's demise.
Thinking the boy had somehow recovered enough to be a cause for concern, Baron leapt down from the dais, striding into the melee…
Only to come face to face with a terrible visage.
"Back. Off," the vampire growled, dangerously.
Behind him, a man was crouched over the supine form of Valenza's prize, checking for a pulse. One of Baron's soldiers lunged for him, but was quickly snapped up by the vampire, who grabbed him by the neck and flung him away as if the man's six foot frame weighed little more a child's.
"The next one of you that tries to touch my son," the vampire continued, with sinister promise, "is going to die."