Chapter 25
Witch's Trial
Sunnydale – May 24th
Willow and Madame LaFusce floated over the graveyard. Each was surrounded by a blazing orb of energy; Willow's was blue, Madame LaFusce's red. Willow hadn't known the spell a moment before, but as soon as she saw Madame LaFusce cast it, she understood it and duplicated it. The action took the old woman by surprise, but not for long. She began a relentless assault on Willow.
Whips of fire; knives of ice; acid wind and poison rain. One after another was hurled at Willow. She adapted. As each hit her bubble of power, she felt its energy and subtly manipulated the shield around her to counter it. It was exhausting her.
Willow knew that she had no choice, she needed to go on the offensive. She could reproduce any of the spells that Madame LaFusce had thrown at her. The old woman would be ready for that, though; Willow was sure of it. She searched around desperately, looking for inspiration. All she saw, though, were tombstones and trees.
A thousand red lights suddenly swarmed around her, attacking at her shield. Each one that hit was a pinprick of pain for Willow. The young witch tried to focus, but her concentration was waning. She looked down at the ground below them, covered in tombstones.
Physics, she thought. I bet the old bag hasn't studied physics. Inspiration dawned in her mind. "Gravatis reversum," she intoned, focusing on her desire. Reverse Gravity.
The ground virtually erupted with grave markers. A dozen ripped themselves from the grass and hurtled upwards at the old Frenchwoman. The move took the old woman by surprise; her glowing red shield was attuned to repel direct magical attacks. This was an indirect attack; the actual threat to her was physical.
The stones broke and splintered as they hit the shield, and more than few shards broke through. It took only a moment for Madame LaFusce to readjust her magic, but not before she was buffeted by the debris, taking several bruises in the process. She moved away from the storm of rock, drifting close to a large maple tree.
The attack had given Willow a moment to concentrate, and with a brief moment of thought, she dispelled the remaining red lights of the elder witch's attack. Willow looked to press her advantage, seeing the old woman drifting near the maple tree. Willow gathered her energy and focus, then spoke a single word.
"Ignitum," she shouted at the tree. Ignite. The maple responded by bursting into flame. The flames leapt up against the other woman's shield, through its protection, and burned her flesh. The old woman howled in pain. Willow moved closer.
"Dispersius!" Disperse. The older witch punctuated the spell by thrusting her arms downwards. Her red ball of energy spread suddenly in all directions. It shattered the flaming tree and smothered the flames. It also hit Willow full force.
The young witch was sent reeling across space, the energy of her sphere quickly fading. She lost control of her flight and went plummeting to the ground. She retained enough of her blue energy to keep her from being squashed by the impact, but the effects were still severe.
Willow felt her left wrist break, and at least one knee twist. The wind was knocked out of her and she slid along the grass like a rocket propelled mass of blue sparks. She careened through several grave markers, the sharp rocks cutting her as they splintered. Eventually she came to rest against a large memorial … barely conscious.
* * *
"Spike!" yelled Buffy as she swung her axe at Louis. "Here comes Uncle Scrooge!" Uncle Scrooge, in fact, showed a much greater resemblance to a T-Rex than an old duck. It had strong hind legs, and a long tail it used for balance. Its head was oblong, allowing it a large mouth filled with razor sharp teeth. Unlike the dinosaur, though, it had fully grown arms that ended in massive clawed hands.
Rearing back, it slammed one of these open-handed against the crypt door. The door splintered off its hinges, and Uncle Scrooge dipped its head for a look inside. It sniffed several times, and then slowly walked in. It looked about for the warm human flesh it smelled, but could not see them.
It could neither see nor smell the undead Spike, perched precariously above the doorway. However, as soon as the vampire dropped down on the creature's neck, it knew he was there. Spike made a fist and slammed it at the creature's eye. In reaction, it pulled its head back out the doorway. This succeeded in scraping Spike off with the lintel, and dropping him down to thud in front of the massive demon.
"Oh Bollocks!" Spike muttered. Taking inspiration from the idea, he looked at the creature's underside to determine if he could make use of that particular vulnerable target. His gaze was diverted, though, when the massive head of teeth moved straight in front of his.
It spread a vicious facsimile of a grin as it sniffed him. A low growl escaped its throat. It lifted its head up slightly, opened its jaws, and came crashing down.
Spike, for his part, was no fool. As soon as the head of the thing bobbed up, Spike scrambled under it. Wiggling between its back legs as its jaws gnashed down onto concrete. He rolled free of its feet and tail, and quickly looked for Buffy. The creature, for its part, pulled itself back out and eyed Spike angrily.
Buffy had lost the battle-axe and was engaged hand-to-hand with Louie. A noxious looking blob of a thing, it screeched horrifically as it swung its arms at her. Spike ran up behind the fat blob and reached around to grasp its head. A quick yank snapped the demon's neck in one move.
"Trade you," Spike said, jerking his thumb at Uncle Scrooge, who was making his way towards them.
"Thanks," said Buffy dryly. She took several steps over to her axe and picked it up. Uncle Scrooge reared up and screamed a horrific, primordial screech. Then it set its head down like a bull and charged. Buffy cleaved its skull with a single blow.
* * *
The old woman walked slowly up to Willow. She limped stiffly. He disheveled hair fell across her face. "You think you're so smart," Madame LaFusce said. "You think you can compete with me? You are nothing. Nothing!" He voice had reached a fever pitch. Her eyes were wild with anger, her mouth twisted in fury.
Willow looked up at the old woman. She could barely breathe; she was holding to consciousness by a thin thread. She pointed a finger at the old woman's scarf. "Serpentus Transformo," she said quietly. She had learned the old woman's spell.
The scarf twisted itself into a viper and struck at the Madame LaFusce's face. But the old woman was still wiley. She grasped the head of the snake and yanked it off her shoulders.
"Rigidus," she uttered. Become Rigid. The snaked transformed into a long wooden staff. The old woman cackled. "Thank you, whelp," she hissed. Then she swung the staff over her head and pointed it at the ground next to Willow. "Spiritus Disturbo," she uttered. Disturb the Spirits.
Spectral hands erupted from the ground and seized Willow. She could see the rotting flesh through on the translucent hands. She gagged at the smell as they seized hold of her. Willow looked back at the cackling old Frenchwoman, pointing her staff at the ground.
She took a deep breath, the cold of the grave already touching her body. She couldn't think the spell clearly, but she knew what she wanted. "Rose Bloom," she said, sending her desire and power at the staff.
The staff instantly bloomed roses. They unfolded rapidly at the top of the staff, erupting through the wood. And with the blossoms came the thorns. Large, razor sharp thorns erupted along the length of the shaft, piercing the old woman's hands. She screamed and dropped the staff. A dozen deep puncture marks cut through her hands. The old woman was bleeding freely.
She pointed her bloody hand at Willow and the spectral hands. "Take her!" she cried. "Take her to hell!" She held her hand steady, forcing her will on the spirits of the grave.
The grave chill spread through Willow. Her breathing became shallow. She was quickly losing hope. The ground began to split beneath her, waiting to swallow her. The ground was eager to embrace her in death.
And in that moment, Willow sensed something else. Death was not the only thing that stalked the graveyard. Another spirit fed on the bodies in this ground. Willow pointed at the old woman's hand. "Decay," she cried.
Her voice was no longer hers alone. Willow's eyes had gone black, and her voice was a chorus of the tortured souls that lived here. All of the power left to her was channeled into that single word; that single spell.
In a place like Sunnydale, sitting on top of a hellmouth, a spell like that had special power. Being cast in a graveyard, with the voices of disturbed spirits to aid it, redoubled its force. And for a creature like Madame LaFusce, a woman whose soul was already decayed with fear and anger, the spell was robust and virulent.
As Madame LaFusce watched, the blood on her hand turned black and congealed. Then the flesh began to putrify. Within seconds, the hand had turned gangrenous. And then, with increasing speed, it began to rot as in a grave.
Madame LaFusce's eyes were fixed on it, widening in horror. Then she screamed. She screamed and ran from Willow. She continued to scream for a very long time.
Without Madame LaFusce to enforce her will on them, the spectral hands subsided, returning to their uneasy rest. Willow lay, half swallowed in earth, shaking with a chill in her soul.
* * *
Sheffield's eyes snapped open. He had heard the call of the witch woman, heard it in his mind. It had awakened him, and he knew they had to leave. He had lost control. Slowly, he reached into his jacket and withdrew a small paper placket. Inside was a small crystal and an oily black powder. He turned his gaze to Mac.
Captain MacKenzie never knew what hit him. His back was turned to Sheffield, on guard for the approach of other members of the team. Behind him, Sheffield tossed the placket at Mac's back. He spoke the word of power, and the packet exploded. It drove the crystal shard like a gunshot. It penetrated through the body armor and exited the other side. Mac collapsed, a hole blown through his body.
Sheffield struggled to his feet. Taking his knife, he cut Brody's bonds. He eyed Mac with the knife, but Brody grabbed his hand. "Retreat, Major?" he asked.
"Yes," responded Sheffield. "Let's pull out."
They left the prone figure of Captain MacKenzie bleeding in the grass.
