***

There is a story that you might believe or not. It is of a man. His name was Eliot Spencer. Once he believed that he lived in a good world, a safe world a world that made sense. Then he went to war. On the fields of Europe surrounded by proof of the inhumanity of the human creature, Eliot did things to save his life that most sane men forget. Eliot was sane but he couldn't forget. Not when fat men in best dress uniforms were calling him a hero. Not when he was being praised by the dying even as the accusing eyes of the dead chased him through the blasted landscape of his nightmares.

He sought contrition. In the whorehouses of the North Country, far from the laws of civilization, He let them do things to him that sickened the most experienced among them. One of them, a woman named Black Betty had known every brutality the male sex can inflict. She was an expert in returning that pain a hundred fold. She set to work on him and after six solid hours came out of the room weeping. She said that no man, regardless of his crimes deserved what Spencer was doing to himself, had demanded she do to him.

Then he went East to their opium dens. Spencer carved a new legend for himself there. His capacity for drugs became a thing of myth. Yet each morning he awoke from his pallet, his senses undulated. The pains of his war memories just as sharp and clear as after the first draw of smoke.

Such men easily find the LeMarchand key and Spencer was no different. He found the key and unlocked the doorway to hell. The cenobites played with him for days. First the low level tortures and then the high-grade stuff. Eventually, Spencer was laid before the favorite son of Leviathan. As The Favorite Son looked into the eyes of this broken bleeding thing that was more scar tissue then man. He knew had found the soul he had lusted for all these centuries. They melded together then Spencer and Favored Son, the thing that was born was so much more then either had been separately. The young ones called him Pinhead. The young ones learned to scream that day; scream as the humans they tortured could not scream. For Spencer you see had been looking for punishment for his survival. It was only by becoming the thing that he is to this day that he saw the truth. Survival is not an e-ticket pleasure ride sometimes, just sometimes. The dead and dying are the lucky ones. They get off easy.

***

Buffy had seen all manner of demon; knew their shape and their strength. The Thing before her carried himself differently. It had none of the swaggering bravado that had allowed her to defeat so many. This one just stood partially in shadow taking her in as if she was a work of art he was gazing at, or a blank page awaiting his greatest masterpiece. "A slayer, it has been so long since we tasted of the pleasures of a slayer." His cold voice hissed

"Let me guess this is bit where I shiver in terror cause you have obviously faced a Slayer before."

"As opposed to my part in your drama where I pose and rant about my plan to usher in the apocalypse." " The pinhead stepped further into the light. "Please, we should be beyond such petty trivia, you and I."

"Why do they always want to talk me to death." Buffy sneered.

"Who said anything about killing you." The pins along the front of the cenobite's head exploded outward and sped toward the Slayer. Buffy threw herself to one side. Her only warning of further attack was a hiss of movement in the shadows her sword swept out and knocked aside a chain that tried to impale her. Then another shot at her, and then more, she danced and spun like a whirling dervish. At last, one of the chains caught on the sword in her hand. Before she could remove it, three more had wrapped around the blade, then they all pulled in different directions. Her sword snapped and fell to the floor.

"Poor Buffy," The cenobite sighed "Still playing out the pathetic ploys of old men too frightened of their own shadows to recognize the horror of sending young women to their deaths."

"At least I'm not a lap dog to some Hell God." Buffy defiantly retorted

"Whom do you serve? What altar was your childhood sacrificed on."

"Speaking of sacrifices I'll thank you to stay away from Dawn."

"Ah yes Dawn, so much potential she will need molding but then, what youngster doesn't. With her flesh bent to the will of Leviathan. Her future will be filled with limitless vistas, dark visions and untold pleasures."

"You're not hearing me I'm not letting you destroy my sister."

"Leviathan doesn't want the girl dead. Our Lord wants her for her inner qualities. Her blood and bones are a map of the universe. Once stripped of the humanity the monks forced upon her, she will be so much happier. You all will."

You have to get through me first."

"… Or we could just separate you, leaving Dawn with no protection other then the well meaning but ultimately useless boy." Buffy paled, The Cenobite laughed to see her discomfort. "Typical so caught up in the fantasy that all it all about the Slayer. We've watched you since the moment Dawn brought us here. We allowed you to penetrate this far for one purpose alone. This place is all about experience and sensation."

"I'll get to Dawn and then I'll get to your precious God."

"Dawn is the prize but you graciously provided a bonus. It is so rare that we get real innocence in this place. I have given Alexander's fate over to my High Priestess. She will ensure the boy is well taken care of." The Pinhead faded into the Shadows Buffy leapt after him, but he was gone.

"Come back and face me, or is the little cheerleader too much for the big bad Cenobite."

"Poor Dawn must be lonely by now and we have things to teach her." Three cenobites stepped from alcoves and barred her way down the corridor. "However, My acolytes need practice in the ways of pain and the capacity of Slayers to endure pain is legendary." The three shuffled forward giggling maniacally. Buffy stood her ground they wanted to know about pain. Well she was all over that, A Slayer could make it all about the pain.

***

Celeste and Keene arrived at Clotho's studio. She was ushered into the inner sanctum where she found the artisan staring at a piece of stone.

I'm trying to find the image within. The form that must be released from the stone." He turned from the slab of stone and approached her his eyes burning with anticipation. "What have you brought me?"

Celeste held out the box with trembling hands. "All of Dawn's friends was obsessing over this I figure it must be impotent to her."

"Important, oh very important. Where is Dawn?"

"I don't know Ms Jenkins and the other guy they were saying stuff about her being out somewhere and something about a key "

"This other guy who was he "

"I don't know " Celeste shrugged

Clotho nodded and turned to his manservant "Keene."

Keene shuffled forward "Know him I do not; rumors only. He carries dark words on his flesh. Yet avoids using the power he does. The Cursed One he may be "

"The Cursed One …how intriguing and he fought with the Slayer's friends." Clotho paused at his news then turned back to the girl.

Celeste answered quickly "Yeah, they called Dawn's sister the Slayer and said Dawn was the Key …what does that mean?"

"It means that you have more then earned my services." Clotho's voice was amused

"You will make me pretty " Celeste asked him pleadingly

"I will give you a beauty more terrible and awesome then any you have known. When I have finished you will tell me more of this Dawn. "

Keene shifted his weight nervously "Master the Gash would have the girl for their own surely we risk the wrath of Leviathan should we take what he claims for his own "

Clotho gazed into space "I lost much to Leviathan I will take in equal measure what he stole from me. Let the hell god come let his minions smash themselves on the rocks of my power. Agonistes has freed me from the power of Leviathan. His terrible grace will give me the means to escape this Vail of tears for better climes. The girl, Keen, is the key. The door she will open will grant us access to worlds beyond worlds. She just needs molding and shaping. "

"And me I'll get what I was promised " Celeste insisted. She cared nothing for Clotho's drama. All that she wanted was the beauty he alone could give.

"Yes child your reward will be great indeed, Keen leave us "

The pale man shuffled from the room fingering his blade as though yearning for something to slash and cut. He closed the doors leaving the both of them alone. Keene was relieved not to witness the girl's transformation. He listened long enough to hear a haunting melody begin to play. Clotho liked to work to music. Shortly thereafter, the cries of pain also began. Clotho hated using anything to dull the pain. It was a counter point to the music. Besides often the screams brought their own kind of inspiration

***