Sometimes, it almost seems fitting when battles take place in the darkness,
rather than the harsh light of day. That the killing and death is hidden
from the sight of the innocent. Sometimes, it seems that some battles are
predestined to be fought in the dark, that they could not take place at any
other time.
But sometimes, it's just that you've run out of time.
The sun was beginning to set as Xander lay on the rooftop, studying the building almost a mile away through the laser-guided sights of his rifle. It was the same weapon he had used in the assault against the compound deep in the jungle, only a month earlier. The scope magnified the light to an extent that he could have been watching in the middle of day or the middle of the night, and seen no difference in clarity.
Xander's gear was similar to the last time he'd come to New York, only a few months earlier. His mission then had been unsuccessful, his visit in vain, salvaged only by the opportunity to kill those he had fought for what seemed his whole life now.
The false information that had led him there that time had meant only the deaths of more demons, the witnessing of the murders of the SWAT teams, and a slaughter that had made headlines across the world. His own involvement had never come out, despite the witnesses - the destruction of the building and his own holy water grenades having given investigators little to work with. Exactly why the two survivors had never mentioned him wasn't a matter of any consideration for him - even had they spoken out, he knew his name would never have hit the news.
Too many powerful groups out for his head would prevent that.
The same swords hung from his reversed scabbards across his back; the same grenades and knives still clung to his armored frame. The guns, shurikens, spikes and edges that had covered his body then were present once more, turning him into a walking - or at this instant, laying - weapon of destruction.
His re-appearance in their lives hadn't gone down too well. Sara had managed to control her own fear enough to respond to him; Travers, on the other hand, had just closed in on himself, locking the fear deep inside. He had hardly spoken since Xander had appeared silently behind him, becoming only more taciturn as the situation had been explained to them both.
That they owed him a debt that he was calling in.
But as the realization of what he was being asked to fight had sunken in, as Xander explained just what he would be facing, Travers's fear had gradually changed to rage. A rage that now seemed but a skin's depth away from erupting, from destroying Travers along with anything around him.
The Xander of the past would have said something to him, because of that; a comment, a word of commiseration, anything...but the Xander of today said nothing, just treating his rage as a tool to be used.
In any case the descendant of the Harris clan could not help but think to himself, why should he sympathize with the guy? Travers, at least, knew what had happened to his loved ones, he knew that it had been quick. He didn't have to cope with the memories, or be faced with.
A movement in a window opposite broke the former Zeppo from his musings before the memories even began, his scope locking onto a flicker behind the darkened glass.
'Are you ready?' he spoke to the two crouched figures beside him.
'No.but then that doesn't really matter, does it?' Sara replied, clutching the rifle in her now-sweaty hands
It took only minutes to travel down to the ground level, their journey hampered only by the need to shift the weapons with them.
And only seconds for it to begin.
***************************************
'He's coming.'
Her mantra had changed just a few short hours earlier, a small change that had gone unnoticed at first; the demons now so used to her whispering in the darkness, that even those tasked to guard her had ceased to listen.
The Slayer's physical condition had definitely worsened in the day since Xander had been shown her image in Technicolor, gradually growing weaker with every hour. Her chin still lay against her chest, her hair obscuring her face, just as in the intercepted transmission. But now even the semblance of strength that had still been evident then, was missing.
Only her mind remained, and only a small part of it at that. The rest was concentrated on keeping her vital functions going, on keeping her alive for just a little longer, dragging out her life, minute by minute.
To those who had watched the girl's deterioration from the start, her condition now was merely a possible source of money on the flourishing betting pool. On how many minutes longer - on whether she would move, on whether she would lift her head - but to those here guarding her, her continued survival was merely a source of annoyance and frustration.
The amusement they'd had at first, of watching a woman of her power in this state, had faded; boredom taking its place. It takes a certain type of person to gain pleasure from watching a slow deterioration, and these demons weren't exactly the type to make the best of a dull situation.
'Why doesn't she just die, for Graldin's sake? This is driving me nuts,' the Damerish demon muttered to his companion. 'If she won't just buy the farm on her own, why can't we just kill her?'
'You know why,' another demon standing beside him replied. 'Do you really want to be responsible for answering to Bolo, about something like that? Do you want to face him, and explain what happened to his so-called entertainment? For that matter, do you want to shell out on the dough for all the bets on this hour? Don't be so-'
His dismissive response was cut short by the sounds from below.
KABOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
**************************
The gangs that controlled this street, indeed all the streets in the area, were enough to keep almost anyone away. Buses, postal workers, cops - all of them were afraid to venture here without support. And even with that support, most still refused. This was a no-go area for all those not invited, or without the money to buy the goods for sale.
But even the gangs that roamed the streets in defiance of both authorities and the dangers of those who prey on even them, had now made themselves scarce. The sight of three black-clad figures in body armor striding down the middle of a street would have been enough to give them pause.
Not to mention the sheer size and quantity of the arsenal that appeared to be draped around them.
Sure, but the gangs knew all about body armor and firepower. They'd seen the police suits, SWAT teams and DEA agents in their neighborhood before; hell, they'd proudly traded gunfire with them as well.
But what they'd never seen before was what can happen when the line that separates them and those that oppose them disappears. When they came face to face with people willing to challenge them on their own turf, by their own rules.
The van itself had drawn some initial looks as it had drawn to a halt in the middle of the most dangerous of all the streets, commonly know as Block 17.
It had drawn more attention when the gangs had taken note of the tinted, wraparound windows common to law enforcement.
And it had drawn all their attention when, as the minutes passed, it had still hadn't moved, nor had anyone come out.
So when the civilians had drifted from the area, and the enforcers had arrived to investigate, not one of them was ready for what had happened.
Xander had simply stepped out from the van, jumping down from the sliding door that filled the left side of the vehicle. A smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke billowing in front of his face, the match used to light it still held loosely between his fingers.
A slow glance around the area, not much more than a turn of the head, hadn't exactly caused much of an impression on the growing group that had begun to surround him, either. And when Xander had slowly turned his back on them and reached into the van, that hadn't scared them as well.
But when he'd turned back from the van, his arms wrapped around the single largest weapon they'd ever seen - something that looked like an M-60 on steroids - well, that had been enough to worry most of the gang members.
And when he flicked the safety off, cocking the weapon as he did so, his eyes like that of an uncaring war god - that had been enough to worry every single one of them.
What had cleared the streets and sent them all scattering for cover, what had ended their threat potential, had been the realization that what they were facing - or rather, WHO they were facing - was no cop.
Because cops didn't carry those kinds of guns.
Cops didn't cock those kinds of guns.
And most importantly, unless they were the L.A. zombies of the past, cops didn't open fire without warning like that, without even paying attention to where they're aiming. They didn't mow down a dozen gangbangers in seconds, shattering shins and knees as the rapid gunfire chewed up the ground around them, the casualties seemingly almost incidental.
And they didn't then simply turn their backs and just walk away, afterwards.
**************************
The rocket launcher was a new toy, though where exactly it had come from, not even he knew. He could guess at its effects though, and even as he flipped it onto his shoulder, his automatic still slung over the other arm, the last of the gang-bangers took to their heels.
The backwash from the rocket's path sent newspapers and cans spiralling into the air as the vacuum created by the projectile's path sucked in the surrounding area to fill the gap, but even as the missile was still on its path, Xander was already sliding it back inside the van, a faint wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel's exit.
Most of the front doors simply vaporised with the force of the rocket, fired directly at it from a distance of only 30 or so feet, enough to shake the whole building. Indeed, it was enough to send a shockwave through the entire damn neighborhood, shattering windows in the process, sending the litter and trash that filled the streets spinning and swirling into the air.
In a respectable part of the city, this would have been enough to set off multiple car alarms, to send citizens rushing onto the scene, to bring the authorities down upon the lawbreakers like the wrath of God.
But in this neighbourhood it had only the opposite effect, and as the three people strode down the street, there was no one around to challenge them.
Sara oozed tension; her discomfort at the area, at Xander's actions and the situation ahead making her the most nervous of the three, but determined to carry out her role. Drawing on her experience, her reserves, and her inner strength, she simply braced herself for the task ahead.
Sara knew her job, her training, and what she owed the men she was with. And with that, she could work through her fear.
She was a professional. Trained and ready.
Travers on the other hand had no such fear or nervousness. The pain and grief that he had suffered with the death of the only woman he had ever loved had left him, to be replaced by the sensation of pure, unadulterated rage now pouring from him in waves of red emotion.
That part of the mind that controls unconscious impulses, that prevents your emotions from ruling your actions, had fallen silent. The terror that Xander had induced in him, as the memories had been brought back - was now absent.
He was a berserker. Rage and anger was all he felt.
Xander also radiated anger, but his was different. It was controlled, focused. Even a stranger could see the passion beneath the surface, held in check by an act of will; the fires within a hair's breadth from the surface. But if Travers's fire was out of control, his was frozen, turned to ice. Despite the inner fury, what was most scary was his level of control, the manner in which Xander held himself as he moved.
He was a killer. Pure and simple.
************************************
'He's coming.'
The woman's muttering had continued without cessation, even the huge explosion from below having no effect. Whether or not she had even heard the blast was in doubt, as her damaged body didn't even flinch as the sounds echoed throughout the building.
Those inside the rest of the residence heard it though, and after the first moments of stunned silence, they reacted. Her guards could clearly hear the sounds of thudding feet and howls.
'What the hell was that?' shouted the first, half-deaf from the sudden noise, its sensitive ears ringing from the blast.
His smarter companion didn't respond to the question immediately, having flung itself into a defensive position in a corner; eons-old instincts rising to the fore, overriding his higher senses.
Only when he was crouched in the shadows, his blades extended in front of him in his clan's traditional fighting stance, did he answer. 'Contact Bolo - now!! If no one else has thought to warn him something's happening, there'll be hell to pay...'
As the other guard scrambled to the nearby contact unit, the demon, Varlas, turned to the woman chained against the wall. And for the first time in hours, actually listened to what she was saying.
'Who's coming? Who the hell is out there?' he snarled fruitlessly at her, his canines inches from her nose, fighting the temptation to approach the captive and force a response. Tense he might be, but it would take more than a single explosion before he would risk disobeying a direct order from the owner of this building.
************************************
The four guards who had been standing in the entrance hall never even knew there was anything wrong. The rocket had travelled faster than the sound of its own passage, reaching the doors even as the sound wave followed.
The triple-barred, inches-thick steel doors had been considered enough for almost all eventualities; the security cameras, peepholes and concrete reinforcements merely extra precautions. With the gangs in the area paid enough to buy their loyalty, and everyone else too scared of them to try to challenge their limited presence in the 'hood, it had always been considered that the odds on anyone even reaching the building were too slim to be concerned over.
Overly-long experience of this state of affairs meant that the guards believed in the building's impregnability even as they died, their year- long poker game for puppies (kittens being only for small-timers) never to be finished. The steel of the doors, which should have guaranteed their safety, was ultimately to prove exactly the opposite, with fragments of shrapnel bursting inwards with the explosive impact of the projectile.
As the door broke inwards with the force of the impact, ragged shards flying through the air, the fireball from the explosion followed. The air heating up in its path, expanding as it progressed, further accelerated the now-lethal airborne fragments.
The guards standing only yards from the entrance died even before the sound wave had reached the far wall, their gray scaled bodies torn apart in an instant. Blood and guts splattered the walls of the entrance before the wave of fire that followed an instant later ignited their clothes, along with the furniture that surrounded them.
The flames were still spluttering as the trio reached the entrance, creeping up the wall as the tapestries that lavishly, if ill-advisably, decorated the large entrance hall. Smoke started to pour from the drapes, now ragged and torn from the explosion.
As the black-clad group came through the entrance, the first wave of reinforcements came hurtling into the hallway, throwing themselves through the flames and smoke that clouded the chamber. Unfortunately for them, the trio had already passed through the entrance and hugged the walls, awaiting the charge, and as the demons broke through the haze, their bodies took on the appearance of paper targets at a firing range.
Not the smartest of approaches when faced with a highly experienced invading force.
As they came through the narrow entrance, the onrushing horde were caught in the deadly spray offered up by the huge automatic weapon carried by Xander, with those not cut down in the first deadly wave picked off by his two companions.
And as the last of them dropped, or rather flew back under the impact of a dozen rounds, the room fell almost silent again, with only the background crackling of the flames breaking the quiet. That area of the room not on fire now glowed with the blood of the now-dead demons; a strange mixture of fluorescent greens and blue, the reflection of the flames causing the bloody pools to shimmer.
'We have to move - quickly,' Xander barked. 'Those front guards were Kalzani demons, which means this must be their building - they always use their own tribe on the entrance. That means they won't be holding her in the basement. She'll be on one of the upper floors, so we have to move fast. Travers, take the rear. I'll take point. Now, let's go!'
Instinctively obeying orders, the two remaining survivors of the SWAT team disaster immediately fell into formation as they strode through the doors and down the hallway that faced them. With the entire block forming one building, there was no telling how many hostiles they might be facing inside, so their weapons constantly swept through the air, trying to cover all angles, all situations, at the same time.
*************************
The alarm had sounded throughout the building when the second wave of guards had not responded to calls, alerting all those within. With the size of the place, and the type of activities that went on within it, not all of its inhabitants paid full attention to that - or indeed, could have paid full attention to it. But there were enough that did to send the building into a hive of activity.
Given the lack of warning of any attack, and the sheer confusion that had erupted as a result however, that hive of activity took some time to produce any useful results. As when you have large numbers of armed individuals running around without a chain of command, many of them already suspicious of each other, and with no leadership to speak of - well, that can never result in anything positive.
So it was that as Xander advanced through the war zone, his huge weapon shredding demons and causing death as he went, the confusion only spread.
The flames from the entrance had rapidly spread throughout the building, racing up the narrow stairwells, but the smoke from the fires had travelled even faster, clouding the vision of all those who encountered it.
By the time that they had reached the fourth floor, the smoke was such that a single shot fired down a corridor was sufficient to set off a chain reaction of gunshots in response, as the increasingly nervous demons let loose immediately at the sound.
*************************
That chain reaction proved extremely useful on this floor, as the massed group of demons that together might have been able to stop the trio instead proceeded to waste their efforts, and more importantly their lives, in fighting each other. Each group was convinced that it was the other that had started it all, their curses and shouts filling the air.
'Traitors!!'
'Murderers!!'
'Barnkaaglows!!'
'Rabbits!!'
That last one actually caused a lull in the fighting for a few seconds, being obscure enough to break through even the screams of pain and gunfire, until the caller was cut down by his clan's long-time rivals, taking the opportunity to pay back long-festering grievances.
With the weaponry, both natural and man-made (or in some cases, demon-made) that the defending group possessed, the battle was brutal in the extreme - as the demons clawed, slashed, bit and shot all around them in a desperate bid for their own survival.
The fact that those they were now fighting worked for the same employer as themselves, and that should be fighting with them rather than against them, was being lost in the confusion. The stench of cordite and blood sending their synapses into overdrive, the bloodlust overwhelming the slightly more rational sides of their brains.
With the group contributing to their own slaughter from the inside, the addition of the invading trio sniping at them from the stairwell from the cover of the flames and smoke was enough to cut the once-large group down in short order. With only the moans and growls left, where once merciless killers had awaited their assault.
********************
Xander, Sara and Travers had advanced cautiously through the carnage, stepping carefully over and around the mangled bodies that now filled the corridor. The moans of the demons stopped with their advance, a bullet through the head finishing off those still alive after Xander's passage.
With the floor slippery with gore, the sudden slip and fall of Sara shouldn't have come as a surprise - even with the care that had been the singular trait of her passage. The fact that she landed softly rather than against the hard floor didn't come as any comfort for her, given that what was now cushioning her bottom was the inner organs of the disembowelled Garlak demon that had been the erstwhile leader of the corridor's defenders.
'Damn it!!' she cursed, lifting her hand to her mouth in the instinctive human reaction to avoid throwing up. Unfortunately, the fact that that same hand was now coated in a mixture of the demon's faeces and intestinal fluids wasn't exactly designed to assist her.
The torrent of vomit that naturally resulted only contributed further to the evil stench that filled the immediate area, but at least had the fortunate aspect - at least for Sara - of overwhelming the smell coming from her hand and backside.
Climbing to her feet, desperately trying to avoid spending any more time in that disgusting, and more importantly exposed, position, Sara spat out the last traces of vomit across the corridor, unable to wipe her mouth off due to the substances that now coated her hands and sleeves.
'Eeeeewwwww.'
The faint whisper went almost unheard amongst the other sounds that still echoed around the corridor, activity from above and below mixing with the occasional crunching sound as the group's combat boots landed heavily on outstretched hands.
Unfortunately for the small Hedanshi demon that had reacted badly to the vomit spat into one of its eyes, the wound-up state that accompanies those in active combat mode meant that all three of the group heard it. Resulting in an immediate volley of gunshots in its general direction, and sending it scrambling from beneath the bodies it had been attempting to hide under.
Those shots caused little effect on the small armored body, but the sudden thrust of Sara's blade through its shoulder had more impact, stopping its attempts to escape in a spurt of purple blood.
Even as a second blade was on its way down, this time from Travers, Xander's hand lashed out, stopping the downward momentum in an instant.
'What the fu-?'
Sara's query at Xander's action was cut short, 'Hedanshi demon. They're servile little bastards, but they always seem to know what's going on around them.'
Xander relaxed his grip on the knife, leaving it suspended a fraction away from the demon's eye in the grip of a clearly-unhinged Travers.
'Where is she?' Xander asked calmly, allowing the blade imbedded in the small demon's shoulder and the second blade held millimetres from its eye to impart the seriousness of his request.
'Who?' the demon tried to avoid the question, playing dumb. Not the hardest of tasks for a Hedanshi demon, who despite the information they generally possessed, weren't exactly the smartest of creatures, being employed primarily for their servile attitude towards anything more powerful than themselves.
'Wrong answer.'
Travers plunged his blade into the demon's eyeball, plucking it from its socket and flicking it away from his body. The Hedanshi screamed...
Returning the blade to the demon's face, the SWAT team officer pressed the tip against the demon's second eyeball and watched as Xander repeated his question.
'Where is she? And you should know, I'm perfectly willing to let him take out all four of your eyes, if that's what it takes.'
The demon cracked, as most creatures do when faced with the certain loss of sight. 'Fifth floor, at the end. Two guards. They say she hasn't long left. Odds are from the betting pool, 3 more hours...'
'Thank you,' Xander replied politely as Travers buried the knife deep into the demon's skull, ending its whimpering quickly.
The team leader then looked at the others. 'Okay, fifth floor, we're going to have to move quickly. This place has too many demons for my liking, much more than I'd expected. We don't have the manpower or ammunition for a long battle, so we gotta move fast...'
Heading down the hallway to the stairwell, Xander paused only long enough to swap the drum magazine of his hybrid weapon before sliding through the fire door and heading up the stairway. Not hesitating for even a second, as he swept the stairs above him with a brief burst, clearing it of the panicked forms trying to escape the smoke and flames of the upper levels.
Sara and Travers followed, carefully stepping over the bodies littering the steps, Sara watching for potential threats on the upper levels through the tendrils of smoke filling the stairwell while Travers covered the lower ramps.
Seeing what appeared to be a barrel jutting over a railing and knowing that there were no civilians in the building, she unleashed two three-round bursts and heard a gratifying scream a second before a machine pistol fell past her down the stairwell, followed immediately by a dark scaly figure. Behind her, Travers' rifle roared repeatedly, eliciting numerous screams that slowly died away into an interminable chorus of moans and groaning pleas for aid or mercy, all of which were ignored.
Xander was already at the exit door, shoving several bodies aside with his foot to clear enough space for the door to open, and the two hurried to catch up.
Sara could hear the loud cough of the brunette's weapon as she hurried up the stairs, and she found herself at the head of a T-intersection of two hallways, already littered with assorted demon corpses torn to pieces, their blood staining the walls and limbs scattered haphazardly across the floor.
Seeing nothing living down the base leg of the T-junction, the human woman turned to her left to cover Xander's back as he faced down the other arm of the tee, hosing the corridor down with carefully controlled bursts.
A slightly darker hint of movement among the shadows near the end of the hallway encouraged her to loose two more quick, three-round bursts, and she was rewarded with a short scream of pain and the collapse of a grotesquely- proportioned scaly grey bulk to the floor of the corridor. A twitch of one seven-fingered hand encouraged Sara to put another three round group through its head, splattering the floor around it with clumps of iridescent yellow brain matter.
As he slid through the doorway a bare second after Sara, Travers pulled the pin on one of the grenades Xander had given them and lobbed it down the stairway to greet the hordes hurrying up to meet them. The horrified screams of the lead demons as they recognized the gun-metal grey sphere bouncing down to meet them, was muffled by the door closing behind him, then drowned out by the noise of the blast.
The corridors before them was filled with a thick, choking smoke, just like the lower levels had been, necessitating their moving in a semi-crouched position in order to be able to see the area ahead of themselves. Approximately twenty yards down the hall, the trio could make out a small lobby-like area, in which two sets of elevator doors were visible, along with the no-longer-bleeding bodies of nearly a dozen demons.
Xander immediately started down the hallway, the muzzle of his weapon traversing a short arc back and forth across the area before him as he moved. As a door further down the hall on the left cracked open the slightest bit, three rounds erupted from the gun and ripped through laminated surface, chest-high. A muffled thud could be heard faintly, as the door immediately slammed closed again.
Carefully stepping go over a wide assortment of bodies as they made their way down the hall, the trio's passage was unimpeded by so much as a cockroach crossing their path. Upon reaching the end of the hall, they discovered that the corridor dead-ended at a single door.
'The Hedanshi said she was at the end,' Xander repeated thoughtfully, as he gazed down the short length of the hallway to the door behind which the purpose of their mission was being held.
'Okay, we need to be very careful now, we can't afford any 'friendly fire' incidents here. I haven't come this far, just to get her accidentally killed. Switch to the shotguns I gave you,' he instructed. 'The rounds are made from blessed sliver, and should play hell with almost anything we meet. You two get the door open, then I'll take over,' Harris said in a no- nonsense voice, as he dropped his rifle to the floor and drew his sword from its scabbard on his back, while his left hand held a 9mm Beretta.
Slinging their assault rifles over their shoulders and unlimbering the Atchison assault shotguns they had been given, Sara and Travers took up positions on either side of the doorframe, preparing for their entry. From the corner of her eye, Sara seemed to catch a subdued sparkle from the symbols inscribed on Xander's blade, the runes glinting dully under the hall's fluorescent lighting.
At a silent nod from Sara indicating her readiness, Travers held up his left hand and began an unspoken countdown as Sara levelled her shotgun at the doorknob assembly, taking up the slack on her trigger. As he reached 'zero,' Sara fired, blasting the lock assembly to innumerable small fragments of scrap metal, followed immediately by Travers kicking in the door.
Travers led the way through the doorway, shotgun blazing as he went in, Sara sweeping in behind him, granting him the covering fire required for the maneuver to work successfully.
The two demons that had been guarding the Slayer had little time to react, and even less time to respond.
The thing was that Varlas had always pictured himself dying in hand-to-hand combat at the hands of another of his kind, his honor intact. Perhaps it would be over a female, or over a bet - but whatever the circumstances, it was always in a noble fashion, bringing fame to his clan and memory.
The one thing that he had never pictured, that all his experience had never led him to imagine - indeed, had led him to believe could never happen - was dying at the hands of some filthy, degenerate human.
But Travers' gunshot sent him flying across the room, the large-caliber blessed slugs carrying enough energy to lift him clean off his feet and slam him against the wall, missing the chained body of the prisoner by inches.
Even as Varlas was trying to work out how the hell this had happened, Xander was upon him, slicing down with his sword, the blessed surface causing the demon's flesh to burn horribly even as it was being cut open and cauterizing the wound even as it was created.
There was almost no blood as a result; the arteries seared shut, preventing the blood flowing.
His companion, however, more than made up for that.
With Xander concentrating on Varlas, Travers and Sara had focused on the only other demon left that was standing on the far side of the room. The twin blasts of their weapons echoing each other as they advanced, meant the demon was not allowed to shake off the effects of each shot as they came.
With enough bullets, almost any creature will go down; and the moment it did, the advancing pair concentrated on the one method of killing that has no equal bar none.
Decapitation.
Lacking the razor-sharp sword used by their recruiter, the two police officers had to improvise. But to be honest - what with both of them carrying large weapons, with large bullets, the muzzles only a few inches from the neck, there wasn't a great deal of improvisation actually needed.
The twin blasts took out half the neck in an instant, and the follow-up gunshots finished the job, shredding the demon's neck, and sending his vital fluids splattering against the floor.
Even as the blood pumped out, slowly pooling on the ground, somehow appearing to keep coming despite the demon's obvious death, the pair got moving. Travers to cover the doorway through which they had just come, Sara to the critically-injured girl hanging from the chains; trying, with Xander's help, to lift her down without killing her.
Sara could barely even believe that the girl was still alive, despite what she had been told - but as they lowered the woman down, trying not to cause her any further injury, the girl's eye flickered open.
It was unfocused, spinning slightly in its socket, until suddenly it locked onto Xander's scar, fixing its gaze there as though there was nothing else to be seen in the room. To this girl, whose other eye had long since been lost, perhaps there wasn't.
'You're here. The story was true,' the Chosen One whispered.
TBC.
But sometimes, it's just that you've run out of time.
The sun was beginning to set as Xander lay on the rooftop, studying the building almost a mile away through the laser-guided sights of his rifle. It was the same weapon he had used in the assault against the compound deep in the jungle, only a month earlier. The scope magnified the light to an extent that he could have been watching in the middle of day or the middle of the night, and seen no difference in clarity.
Xander's gear was similar to the last time he'd come to New York, only a few months earlier. His mission then had been unsuccessful, his visit in vain, salvaged only by the opportunity to kill those he had fought for what seemed his whole life now.
The false information that had led him there that time had meant only the deaths of more demons, the witnessing of the murders of the SWAT teams, and a slaughter that had made headlines across the world. His own involvement had never come out, despite the witnesses - the destruction of the building and his own holy water grenades having given investigators little to work with. Exactly why the two survivors had never mentioned him wasn't a matter of any consideration for him - even had they spoken out, he knew his name would never have hit the news.
Too many powerful groups out for his head would prevent that.
The same swords hung from his reversed scabbards across his back; the same grenades and knives still clung to his armored frame. The guns, shurikens, spikes and edges that had covered his body then were present once more, turning him into a walking - or at this instant, laying - weapon of destruction.
His re-appearance in their lives hadn't gone down too well. Sara had managed to control her own fear enough to respond to him; Travers, on the other hand, had just closed in on himself, locking the fear deep inside. He had hardly spoken since Xander had appeared silently behind him, becoming only more taciturn as the situation had been explained to them both.
That they owed him a debt that he was calling in.
But as the realization of what he was being asked to fight had sunken in, as Xander explained just what he would be facing, Travers's fear had gradually changed to rage. A rage that now seemed but a skin's depth away from erupting, from destroying Travers along with anything around him.
The Xander of the past would have said something to him, because of that; a comment, a word of commiseration, anything...but the Xander of today said nothing, just treating his rage as a tool to be used.
In any case the descendant of the Harris clan could not help but think to himself, why should he sympathize with the guy? Travers, at least, knew what had happened to his loved ones, he knew that it had been quick. He didn't have to cope with the memories, or be faced with.
A movement in a window opposite broke the former Zeppo from his musings before the memories even began, his scope locking onto a flicker behind the darkened glass.
'Are you ready?' he spoke to the two crouched figures beside him.
'No.but then that doesn't really matter, does it?' Sara replied, clutching the rifle in her now-sweaty hands
It took only minutes to travel down to the ground level, their journey hampered only by the need to shift the weapons with them.
And only seconds for it to begin.
***************************************
'He's coming.'
Her mantra had changed just a few short hours earlier, a small change that had gone unnoticed at first; the demons now so used to her whispering in the darkness, that even those tasked to guard her had ceased to listen.
The Slayer's physical condition had definitely worsened in the day since Xander had been shown her image in Technicolor, gradually growing weaker with every hour. Her chin still lay against her chest, her hair obscuring her face, just as in the intercepted transmission. But now even the semblance of strength that had still been evident then, was missing.
Only her mind remained, and only a small part of it at that. The rest was concentrated on keeping her vital functions going, on keeping her alive for just a little longer, dragging out her life, minute by minute.
To those who had watched the girl's deterioration from the start, her condition now was merely a possible source of money on the flourishing betting pool. On how many minutes longer - on whether she would move, on whether she would lift her head - but to those here guarding her, her continued survival was merely a source of annoyance and frustration.
The amusement they'd had at first, of watching a woman of her power in this state, had faded; boredom taking its place. It takes a certain type of person to gain pleasure from watching a slow deterioration, and these demons weren't exactly the type to make the best of a dull situation.
'Why doesn't she just die, for Graldin's sake? This is driving me nuts,' the Damerish demon muttered to his companion. 'If she won't just buy the farm on her own, why can't we just kill her?'
'You know why,' another demon standing beside him replied. 'Do you really want to be responsible for answering to Bolo, about something like that? Do you want to face him, and explain what happened to his so-called entertainment? For that matter, do you want to shell out on the dough for all the bets on this hour? Don't be so-'
His dismissive response was cut short by the sounds from below.
KABOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
**************************
The gangs that controlled this street, indeed all the streets in the area, were enough to keep almost anyone away. Buses, postal workers, cops - all of them were afraid to venture here without support. And even with that support, most still refused. This was a no-go area for all those not invited, or without the money to buy the goods for sale.
But even the gangs that roamed the streets in defiance of both authorities and the dangers of those who prey on even them, had now made themselves scarce. The sight of three black-clad figures in body armor striding down the middle of a street would have been enough to give them pause.
Not to mention the sheer size and quantity of the arsenal that appeared to be draped around them.
Sure, but the gangs knew all about body armor and firepower. They'd seen the police suits, SWAT teams and DEA agents in their neighborhood before; hell, they'd proudly traded gunfire with them as well.
But what they'd never seen before was what can happen when the line that separates them and those that oppose them disappears. When they came face to face with people willing to challenge them on their own turf, by their own rules.
The van itself had drawn some initial looks as it had drawn to a halt in the middle of the most dangerous of all the streets, commonly know as Block 17.
It had drawn more attention when the gangs had taken note of the tinted, wraparound windows common to law enforcement.
And it had drawn all their attention when, as the minutes passed, it had still hadn't moved, nor had anyone come out.
So when the civilians had drifted from the area, and the enforcers had arrived to investigate, not one of them was ready for what had happened.
Xander had simply stepped out from the van, jumping down from the sliding door that filled the left side of the vehicle. A smoldering cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke billowing in front of his face, the match used to light it still held loosely between his fingers.
A slow glance around the area, not much more than a turn of the head, hadn't exactly caused much of an impression on the growing group that had begun to surround him, either. And when Xander had slowly turned his back on them and reached into the van, that hadn't scared them as well.
But when he'd turned back from the van, his arms wrapped around the single largest weapon they'd ever seen - something that looked like an M-60 on steroids - well, that had been enough to worry most of the gang members.
And when he flicked the safety off, cocking the weapon as he did so, his eyes like that of an uncaring war god - that had been enough to worry every single one of them.
What had cleared the streets and sent them all scattering for cover, what had ended their threat potential, had been the realization that what they were facing - or rather, WHO they were facing - was no cop.
Because cops didn't carry those kinds of guns.
Cops didn't cock those kinds of guns.
And most importantly, unless they were the L.A. zombies of the past, cops didn't open fire without warning like that, without even paying attention to where they're aiming. They didn't mow down a dozen gangbangers in seconds, shattering shins and knees as the rapid gunfire chewed up the ground around them, the casualties seemingly almost incidental.
And they didn't then simply turn their backs and just walk away, afterwards.
**************************
The rocket launcher was a new toy, though where exactly it had come from, not even he knew. He could guess at its effects though, and even as he flipped it onto his shoulder, his automatic still slung over the other arm, the last of the gang-bangers took to their heels.
The backwash from the rocket's path sent newspapers and cans spiralling into the air as the vacuum created by the projectile's path sucked in the surrounding area to fill the gap, but even as the missile was still on its path, Xander was already sliding it back inside the van, a faint wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel's exit.
Most of the front doors simply vaporised with the force of the rocket, fired directly at it from a distance of only 30 or so feet, enough to shake the whole building. Indeed, it was enough to send a shockwave through the entire damn neighborhood, shattering windows in the process, sending the litter and trash that filled the streets spinning and swirling into the air.
In a respectable part of the city, this would have been enough to set off multiple car alarms, to send citizens rushing onto the scene, to bring the authorities down upon the lawbreakers like the wrath of God.
But in this neighbourhood it had only the opposite effect, and as the three people strode down the street, there was no one around to challenge them.
Sara oozed tension; her discomfort at the area, at Xander's actions and the situation ahead making her the most nervous of the three, but determined to carry out her role. Drawing on her experience, her reserves, and her inner strength, she simply braced herself for the task ahead.
Sara knew her job, her training, and what she owed the men she was with. And with that, she could work through her fear.
She was a professional. Trained and ready.
Travers on the other hand had no such fear or nervousness. The pain and grief that he had suffered with the death of the only woman he had ever loved had left him, to be replaced by the sensation of pure, unadulterated rage now pouring from him in waves of red emotion.
That part of the mind that controls unconscious impulses, that prevents your emotions from ruling your actions, had fallen silent. The terror that Xander had induced in him, as the memories had been brought back - was now absent.
He was a berserker. Rage and anger was all he felt.
Xander also radiated anger, but his was different. It was controlled, focused. Even a stranger could see the passion beneath the surface, held in check by an act of will; the fires within a hair's breadth from the surface. But if Travers's fire was out of control, his was frozen, turned to ice. Despite the inner fury, what was most scary was his level of control, the manner in which Xander held himself as he moved.
He was a killer. Pure and simple.
************************************
'He's coming.'
The woman's muttering had continued without cessation, even the huge explosion from below having no effect. Whether or not she had even heard the blast was in doubt, as her damaged body didn't even flinch as the sounds echoed throughout the building.
Those inside the rest of the residence heard it though, and after the first moments of stunned silence, they reacted. Her guards could clearly hear the sounds of thudding feet and howls.
'What the hell was that?' shouted the first, half-deaf from the sudden noise, its sensitive ears ringing from the blast.
His smarter companion didn't respond to the question immediately, having flung itself into a defensive position in a corner; eons-old instincts rising to the fore, overriding his higher senses.
Only when he was crouched in the shadows, his blades extended in front of him in his clan's traditional fighting stance, did he answer. 'Contact Bolo - now!! If no one else has thought to warn him something's happening, there'll be hell to pay...'
As the other guard scrambled to the nearby contact unit, the demon, Varlas, turned to the woman chained against the wall. And for the first time in hours, actually listened to what she was saying.
'Who's coming? Who the hell is out there?' he snarled fruitlessly at her, his canines inches from her nose, fighting the temptation to approach the captive and force a response. Tense he might be, but it would take more than a single explosion before he would risk disobeying a direct order from the owner of this building.
************************************
The four guards who had been standing in the entrance hall never even knew there was anything wrong. The rocket had travelled faster than the sound of its own passage, reaching the doors even as the sound wave followed.
The triple-barred, inches-thick steel doors had been considered enough for almost all eventualities; the security cameras, peepholes and concrete reinforcements merely extra precautions. With the gangs in the area paid enough to buy their loyalty, and everyone else too scared of them to try to challenge their limited presence in the 'hood, it had always been considered that the odds on anyone even reaching the building were too slim to be concerned over.
Overly-long experience of this state of affairs meant that the guards believed in the building's impregnability even as they died, their year- long poker game for puppies (kittens being only for small-timers) never to be finished. The steel of the doors, which should have guaranteed their safety, was ultimately to prove exactly the opposite, with fragments of shrapnel bursting inwards with the explosive impact of the projectile.
As the door broke inwards with the force of the impact, ragged shards flying through the air, the fireball from the explosion followed. The air heating up in its path, expanding as it progressed, further accelerated the now-lethal airborne fragments.
The guards standing only yards from the entrance died even before the sound wave had reached the far wall, their gray scaled bodies torn apart in an instant. Blood and guts splattered the walls of the entrance before the wave of fire that followed an instant later ignited their clothes, along with the furniture that surrounded them.
The flames were still spluttering as the trio reached the entrance, creeping up the wall as the tapestries that lavishly, if ill-advisably, decorated the large entrance hall. Smoke started to pour from the drapes, now ragged and torn from the explosion.
As the black-clad group came through the entrance, the first wave of reinforcements came hurtling into the hallway, throwing themselves through the flames and smoke that clouded the chamber. Unfortunately for them, the trio had already passed through the entrance and hugged the walls, awaiting the charge, and as the demons broke through the haze, their bodies took on the appearance of paper targets at a firing range.
Not the smartest of approaches when faced with a highly experienced invading force.
As they came through the narrow entrance, the onrushing horde were caught in the deadly spray offered up by the huge automatic weapon carried by Xander, with those not cut down in the first deadly wave picked off by his two companions.
And as the last of them dropped, or rather flew back under the impact of a dozen rounds, the room fell almost silent again, with only the background crackling of the flames breaking the quiet. That area of the room not on fire now glowed with the blood of the now-dead demons; a strange mixture of fluorescent greens and blue, the reflection of the flames causing the bloody pools to shimmer.
'We have to move - quickly,' Xander barked. 'Those front guards were Kalzani demons, which means this must be their building - they always use their own tribe on the entrance. That means they won't be holding her in the basement. She'll be on one of the upper floors, so we have to move fast. Travers, take the rear. I'll take point. Now, let's go!'
Instinctively obeying orders, the two remaining survivors of the SWAT team disaster immediately fell into formation as they strode through the doors and down the hallway that faced them. With the entire block forming one building, there was no telling how many hostiles they might be facing inside, so their weapons constantly swept through the air, trying to cover all angles, all situations, at the same time.
*************************
The alarm had sounded throughout the building when the second wave of guards had not responded to calls, alerting all those within. With the size of the place, and the type of activities that went on within it, not all of its inhabitants paid full attention to that - or indeed, could have paid full attention to it. But there were enough that did to send the building into a hive of activity.
Given the lack of warning of any attack, and the sheer confusion that had erupted as a result however, that hive of activity took some time to produce any useful results. As when you have large numbers of armed individuals running around without a chain of command, many of them already suspicious of each other, and with no leadership to speak of - well, that can never result in anything positive.
So it was that as Xander advanced through the war zone, his huge weapon shredding demons and causing death as he went, the confusion only spread.
The flames from the entrance had rapidly spread throughout the building, racing up the narrow stairwells, but the smoke from the fires had travelled even faster, clouding the vision of all those who encountered it.
By the time that they had reached the fourth floor, the smoke was such that a single shot fired down a corridor was sufficient to set off a chain reaction of gunshots in response, as the increasingly nervous demons let loose immediately at the sound.
*************************
That chain reaction proved extremely useful on this floor, as the massed group of demons that together might have been able to stop the trio instead proceeded to waste their efforts, and more importantly their lives, in fighting each other. Each group was convinced that it was the other that had started it all, their curses and shouts filling the air.
'Traitors!!'
'Murderers!!'
'Barnkaaglows!!'
'Rabbits!!'
That last one actually caused a lull in the fighting for a few seconds, being obscure enough to break through even the screams of pain and gunfire, until the caller was cut down by his clan's long-time rivals, taking the opportunity to pay back long-festering grievances.
With the weaponry, both natural and man-made (or in some cases, demon-made) that the defending group possessed, the battle was brutal in the extreme - as the demons clawed, slashed, bit and shot all around them in a desperate bid for their own survival.
The fact that those they were now fighting worked for the same employer as themselves, and that should be fighting with them rather than against them, was being lost in the confusion. The stench of cordite and blood sending their synapses into overdrive, the bloodlust overwhelming the slightly more rational sides of their brains.
With the group contributing to their own slaughter from the inside, the addition of the invading trio sniping at them from the stairwell from the cover of the flames and smoke was enough to cut the once-large group down in short order. With only the moans and growls left, where once merciless killers had awaited their assault.
********************
Xander, Sara and Travers had advanced cautiously through the carnage, stepping carefully over and around the mangled bodies that now filled the corridor. The moans of the demons stopped with their advance, a bullet through the head finishing off those still alive after Xander's passage.
With the floor slippery with gore, the sudden slip and fall of Sara shouldn't have come as a surprise - even with the care that had been the singular trait of her passage. The fact that she landed softly rather than against the hard floor didn't come as any comfort for her, given that what was now cushioning her bottom was the inner organs of the disembowelled Garlak demon that had been the erstwhile leader of the corridor's defenders.
'Damn it!!' she cursed, lifting her hand to her mouth in the instinctive human reaction to avoid throwing up. Unfortunately, the fact that that same hand was now coated in a mixture of the demon's faeces and intestinal fluids wasn't exactly designed to assist her.
The torrent of vomit that naturally resulted only contributed further to the evil stench that filled the immediate area, but at least had the fortunate aspect - at least for Sara - of overwhelming the smell coming from her hand and backside.
Climbing to her feet, desperately trying to avoid spending any more time in that disgusting, and more importantly exposed, position, Sara spat out the last traces of vomit across the corridor, unable to wipe her mouth off due to the substances that now coated her hands and sleeves.
'Eeeeewwwww.'
The faint whisper went almost unheard amongst the other sounds that still echoed around the corridor, activity from above and below mixing with the occasional crunching sound as the group's combat boots landed heavily on outstretched hands.
Unfortunately for the small Hedanshi demon that had reacted badly to the vomit spat into one of its eyes, the wound-up state that accompanies those in active combat mode meant that all three of the group heard it. Resulting in an immediate volley of gunshots in its general direction, and sending it scrambling from beneath the bodies it had been attempting to hide under.
Those shots caused little effect on the small armored body, but the sudden thrust of Sara's blade through its shoulder had more impact, stopping its attempts to escape in a spurt of purple blood.
Even as a second blade was on its way down, this time from Travers, Xander's hand lashed out, stopping the downward momentum in an instant.
'What the fu-?'
Sara's query at Xander's action was cut short, 'Hedanshi demon. They're servile little bastards, but they always seem to know what's going on around them.'
Xander relaxed his grip on the knife, leaving it suspended a fraction away from the demon's eye in the grip of a clearly-unhinged Travers.
'Where is she?' Xander asked calmly, allowing the blade imbedded in the small demon's shoulder and the second blade held millimetres from its eye to impart the seriousness of his request.
'Who?' the demon tried to avoid the question, playing dumb. Not the hardest of tasks for a Hedanshi demon, who despite the information they generally possessed, weren't exactly the smartest of creatures, being employed primarily for their servile attitude towards anything more powerful than themselves.
'Wrong answer.'
Travers plunged his blade into the demon's eyeball, plucking it from its socket and flicking it away from his body. The Hedanshi screamed...
Returning the blade to the demon's face, the SWAT team officer pressed the tip against the demon's second eyeball and watched as Xander repeated his question.
'Where is she? And you should know, I'm perfectly willing to let him take out all four of your eyes, if that's what it takes.'
The demon cracked, as most creatures do when faced with the certain loss of sight. 'Fifth floor, at the end. Two guards. They say she hasn't long left. Odds are from the betting pool, 3 more hours...'
'Thank you,' Xander replied politely as Travers buried the knife deep into the demon's skull, ending its whimpering quickly.
The team leader then looked at the others. 'Okay, fifth floor, we're going to have to move quickly. This place has too many demons for my liking, much more than I'd expected. We don't have the manpower or ammunition for a long battle, so we gotta move fast...'
Heading down the hallway to the stairwell, Xander paused only long enough to swap the drum magazine of his hybrid weapon before sliding through the fire door and heading up the stairway. Not hesitating for even a second, as he swept the stairs above him with a brief burst, clearing it of the panicked forms trying to escape the smoke and flames of the upper levels.
Sara and Travers followed, carefully stepping over the bodies littering the steps, Sara watching for potential threats on the upper levels through the tendrils of smoke filling the stairwell while Travers covered the lower ramps.
Seeing what appeared to be a barrel jutting over a railing and knowing that there were no civilians in the building, she unleashed two three-round bursts and heard a gratifying scream a second before a machine pistol fell past her down the stairwell, followed immediately by a dark scaly figure. Behind her, Travers' rifle roared repeatedly, eliciting numerous screams that slowly died away into an interminable chorus of moans and groaning pleas for aid or mercy, all of which were ignored.
Xander was already at the exit door, shoving several bodies aside with his foot to clear enough space for the door to open, and the two hurried to catch up.
Sara could hear the loud cough of the brunette's weapon as she hurried up the stairs, and she found herself at the head of a T-intersection of two hallways, already littered with assorted demon corpses torn to pieces, their blood staining the walls and limbs scattered haphazardly across the floor.
Seeing nothing living down the base leg of the T-junction, the human woman turned to her left to cover Xander's back as he faced down the other arm of the tee, hosing the corridor down with carefully controlled bursts.
A slightly darker hint of movement among the shadows near the end of the hallway encouraged her to loose two more quick, three-round bursts, and she was rewarded with a short scream of pain and the collapse of a grotesquely- proportioned scaly grey bulk to the floor of the corridor. A twitch of one seven-fingered hand encouraged Sara to put another three round group through its head, splattering the floor around it with clumps of iridescent yellow brain matter.
As he slid through the doorway a bare second after Sara, Travers pulled the pin on one of the grenades Xander had given them and lobbed it down the stairway to greet the hordes hurrying up to meet them. The horrified screams of the lead demons as they recognized the gun-metal grey sphere bouncing down to meet them, was muffled by the door closing behind him, then drowned out by the noise of the blast.
The corridors before them was filled with a thick, choking smoke, just like the lower levels had been, necessitating their moving in a semi-crouched position in order to be able to see the area ahead of themselves. Approximately twenty yards down the hall, the trio could make out a small lobby-like area, in which two sets of elevator doors were visible, along with the no-longer-bleeding bodies of nearly a dozen demons.
Xander immediately started down the hallway, the muzzle of his weapon traversing a short arc back and forth across the area before him as he moved. As a door further down the hall on the left cracked open the slightest bit, three rounds erupted from the gun and ripped through laminated surface, chest-high. A muffled thud could be heard faintly, as the door immediately slammed closed again.
Carefully stepping go over a wide assortment of bodies as they made their way down the hall, the trio's passage was unimpeded by so much as a cockroach crossing their path. Upon reaching the end of the hall, they discovered that the corridor dead-ended at a single door.
'The Hedanshi said she was at the end,' Xander repeated thoughtfully, as he gazed down the short length of the hallway to the door behind which the purpose of their mission was being held.
'Okay, we need to be very careful now, we can't afford any 'friendly fire' incidents here. I haven't come this far, just to get her accidentally killed. Switch to the shotguns I gave you,' he instructed. 'The rounds are made from blessed sliver, and should play hell with almost anything we meet. You two get the door open, then I'll take over,' Harris said in a no- nonsense voice, as he dropped his rifle to the floor and drew his sword from its scabbard on his back, while his left hand held a 9mm Beretta.
Slinging their assault rifles over their shoulders and unlimbering the Atchison assault shotguns they had been given, Sara and Travers took up positions on either side of the doorframe, preparing for their entry. From the corner of her eye, Sara seemed to catch a subdued sparkle from the symbols inscribed on Xander's blade, the runes glinting dully under the hall's fluorescent lighting.
At a silent nod from Sara indicating her readiness, Travers held up his left hand and began an unspoken countdown as Sara levelled her shotgun at the doorknob assembly, taking up the slack on her trigger. As he reached 'zero,' Sara fired, blasting the lock assembly to innumerable small fragments of scrap metal, followed immediately by Travers kicking in the door.
Travers led the way through the doorway, shotgun blazing as he went in, Sara sweeping in behind him, granting him the covering fire required for the maneuver to work successfully.
The two demons that had been guarding the Slayer had little time to react, and even less time to respond.
The thing was that Varlas had always pictured himself dying in hand-to-hand combat at the hands of another of his kind, his honor intact. Perhaps it would be over a female, or over a bet - but whatever the circumstances, it was always in a noble fashion, bringing fame to his clan and memory.
The one thing that he had never pictured, that all his experience had never led him to imagine - indeed, had led him to believe could never happen - was dying at the hands of some filthy, degenerate human.
But Travers' gunshot sent him flying across the room, the large-caliber blessed slugs carrying enough energy to lift him clean off his feet and slam him against the wall, missing the chained body of the prisoner by inches.
Even as Varlas was trying to work out how the hell this had happened, Xander was upon him, slicing down with his sword, the blessed surface causing the demon's flesh to burn horribly even as it was being cut open and cauterizing the wound even as it was created.
There was almost no blood as a result; the arteries seared shut, preventing the blood flowing.
His companion, however, more than made up for that.
With Xander concentrating on Varlas, Travers and Sara had focused on the only other demon left that was standing on the far side of the room. The twin blasts of their weapons echoing each other as they advanced, meant the demon was not allowed to shake off the effects of each shot as they came.
With enough bullets, almost any creature will go down; and the moment it did, the advancing pair concentrated on the one method of killing that has no equal bar none.
Decapitation.
Lacking the razor-sharp sword used by their recruiter, the two police officers had to improvise. But to be honest - what with both of them carrying large weapons, with large bullets, the muzzles only a few inches from the neck, there wasn't a great deal of improvisation actually needed.
The twin blasts took out half the neck in an instant, and the follow-up gunshots finished the job, shredding the demon's neck, and sending his vital fluids splattering against the floor.
Even as the blood pumped out, slowly pooling on the ground, somehow appearing to keep coming despite the demon's obvious death, the pair got moving. Travers to cover the doorway through which they had just come, Sara to the critically-injured girl hanging from the chains; trying, with Xander's help, to lift her down without killing her.
Sara could barely even believe that the girl was still alive, despite what she had been told - but as they lowered the woman down, trying not to cause her any further injury, the girl's eye flickered open.
It was unfocused, spinning slightly in its socket, until suddenly it locked onto Xander's scar, fixing its gaze there as though there was nothing else to be seen in the room. To this girl, whose other eye had long since been lost, perhaps there wasn't.
'You're here. The story was true,' the Chosen One whispered.
TBC.