Mortal Ground 'Book 2: Dust to Dust'

by thenyxie

COMPLETE. Watcher dead, Angel gone, Faith is forced to ally with her former enemies, the Scoobies. Darkness threatens all as the enemy's plot unfolds and the new allies struggle to trust each other, while beneath the earth even darker revelations await.

19. Mortal Ground 2 Chapter 19: The Solid T...

CHAPTER 19: The Solid Time of Change

A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace
And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar
Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour
And assessing points to nowhere, leading every single one

            ~ Closer To The Edge I (The Solid Time of Change), Yes

In charge of who is there in charge of me
Do I look on blindly and say I see the way?
The truth is written all along the page
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
I get up, I get down

            ~ Closer To The Edge III (I Get Up, I get Down), Yes

______________________________________________


He felt her die, felt the dark star of existence flare and then wink out, crushed by the Slayer's hands.

"Daeonira!" the Master howled, head thrown back in anguish. His fingers left the glass and clenched the wooden edges of the stand so hard that it cracked, splintered fragments breaking free in his hands.

The vampires gathered in the cave shuffled nervously and stared at each other, wondering what they should do.

Tears streamed down the Master's face and he shook his head, inconsolable in his grief. "For centuries she was my unholy bride, and she is not here to witness my moment of triumph. I will have the Slayer's head!" he raged, fists clenching and snapping the fragments of wood in his hands.

Yes, you will, whispered the insidious voice in his mind. But first you must awaken me.

"Daeonira," the Master murmured again.

Forget her, the voice commanded, and slowly, the Master stilled, hands crawling back up onto the glass as if of their own accord.

"Agna imish telgaterone, talula," he intoned, and the tears still trailing down his face were lit with pearl-white incandescence.

And, unseen and unnoticed by everyone, Buffy began to back away from the platform.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"Faith?"

Angel's voice called to her beyond the red and black pain-fogged cloud of her mind. How long had she been out? Couldn't have been more than a few seconds. After all this experience with getting knocked out she was starting to become an expert at it. She moved her mouth, tried to speak; tasted blood, licked her lips and tried again.

"What?" The word came out clear, sullen and snappish. Good to know that at least her attitude was still in full operational mode.

She could hear Angel's sigh of relief, and then there were hands, blessedly cool hands touching her. Fingers touched the wounds on her throat gently, and she hissed, yanking away.

"I have to bandage it," he said, sounding apologetic.

"Oh my God." Xander's voice trailed off as it moved closer, echoing off the walls, sounding pale and vaguely sick. "That was the grossest thing I've ever seen."

There was a pause, and then Anya spoke, and Faith could hear the shrug in her voice. "I've seen worse. Done worse in fact. There was this guy in the—"

"Anya, do hush," Giles cut in. "Angel, is she all right?"

Faith blinked, opened her eyes. "Fine. You guys okay?"

"Everyone's fine," Angel answered testily, as if annoyed that she was concerning herself. "Now be quiet and hold still."

She let her eyes droop shut again, taking advantage of the time to rest. Wouldn't be long before she had to get up again. She heard the faint sound of material ripping and tried not to wince as Angel tilted her head forward, wrapping the gauzy cloth around her neck. Another minute or two, and he'd bound the wound in her back, and she was starting to feel better. She'd lost a lot of blood, but she was going to make it. She had to.

"Better?" Angel asked, and she nodded, opening her eyes again.

"Are you able to…?" Giles trailed off, as if he didn't want to embarrass her by asking the full question.

"Guess I'd better be, huh?" she asked with a slightly strangled laugh that made the holes in her throat tingle painfully.

"Faith." Angel looked at her with that steady, stalwart understanding he always had so readily available, and she fought the urge to slap him. "You don't have to go on if you can't."

How dare he look at her with those warm, dark, intense eyes and say such a thing? How dare he suggest that she lay back down after fighting so hard to get back up? And something of what she was thinking must have shown in her face, because he suddenly leaned back from her, moving his face out of range of her fists.

"Yes she does," Spike answered Angel, voice low, and for a wonder, lacking in mockery. Faith wondered if it was for the first time in history.

Angel turned and cut him a venomous look.

"Come on, Sunshine," Spike said, slipping back into snide mode. "We need her to do this, and she knows it. So do you. So stop playing Florence Nightingale and tell her to get up."

Angel's jaw twisted with a stinging retort, but with a visible effort he reined it in and turned back to Faith, eyes resentful but resigned.

"I just don't want you to…" his voice was low, quiet and husky, and he didn't quite dare finish his thought.

She gave a wan smile and lifted her bloody hand to his face, fingers shaky as they skimmed his cheek. "I know." And then she was pushing up from the floor determinedly, before Spike could snort or Xander could make a scathing remark, before anyone else could ask if she was all right or what came next. She leaned away from the wall experimentally, seeing if her legs would hold her, and after swaying drunkenly for a moment, they did.

"All right. Let's finish this."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"Ceremonus, ignat esh bal," the Master intoned, lifting his hands from the globe. "Vashnal! Vashnal!" he commanded, raising his arms and spreading them wide as if calling home lightning from the sky.

Without hesitation, without fanfare, Faith and the Scoobies reached the mouth of the cavern and followed the walkway down. The vampires in front of them were enraptured, backs turned, attention caught by the mystical globe on the pedestal. Not a single one noticed as they approached.

"Don't you bad guys ever get bored of this crap?" Faith asked in a wry tone of voice. "Big ceremony, arms in the sky, end of the world." One by one, the vampires began to turn, hissing their displeasure. "I know I do," she added, punching one in the face as she stepped forward.

The Master hesitated, glanced down at the globe and yelled at it impatiently, almost imploring. "Vashnal!"

"Aw, what's the matter, Master? Your little toy broken?" Faith cooed. "What a shame."

The vampires pulled free of their paralysis, launching themselves at the Scoobies in a blinding rush of fangs and fists. For a few moments, the world swirled with black robes and the smell of vampire dust, resonated with the keening wails of the undead wounded. For Faith it passed in a blur, and all the creatures around her seemed to move in slow motion, giving her plenty of time to move and kick and punch and stake. Easy, so easy, instincts guiding her through the paces as if this were no more than training exercise. And maybe there was something to be said for being badly wounded. There was nothing else like it for sharpening your battle focus.

It seemed to go on forever, bodies turning, kicking, swinging weapons, a macabre dance that drew blood and swirled ashes, and it seemed their foes were innumerable. Willow chanted and five vampires burst into flame. Faith turned and stabbed and thrust and took three more. Giles spun and took the head of another with his sword. Anya threw holy water and a vampire's face melted in a scream of agony. One by one, the vampires fell before them until only a few remained, running for their lives or running forward to meet their death against blade or stake.

And then it was over, and the Scoobies stood among the dust of the dead, faces solemn beneath the blood and smears of grime.

Faith sheathed her stake, turned, dusted off her hands and grinned at the Master. "Too bad you can't run away, huh? Guess who's next?"

"Sorry Faith," Buffy said, emerging from the shadows next to the platform. "I can't let you do that."

The Master smiled and flexed his grip against the glass.

"Buffy."

There was a simultaneous intake of sharp breath as everyone else saw her for the first time.

Gray-green eyes narrowed on them all. "I see you brought everyone to the party." She paused, reassessed, then smiled. "Except, wait. No little sister. Funny how last time she was the key and this time it's big sister who's the instrument. Kind of ironic, don't you think?" She paused. "That is ironic, right? Ever since Alanis Morrisette, I get confused."

Everyone simply stared, uncomprehending, and Spike stepped forward, bringing his hands together in a slow clap. "Good show, luv. Keep talking, keep 'em dazzled, maybe they won't notice the little girl behind the curtain, eh?"

"Spike," Buffy greeted, and her tone grated with mockery. "Thought you were dead."

"Technically," he said, taking another step forward, all leather coat and arrogance, then stopped and stared up at her. "I am. But you're not. Not yet."

"Working on it."

"I know it's not what you want."

"Oh, come on." She rolled her eyes. "You're not going to give me that routine again, are you?"

"He's right, Buffy," Giles spoke up gently. "It doesn't have to be this way. We can help you."

"Really?" She arched an icy brow at him. "And who's going to do that? Willow?" Her eyes cut to the witch, fixed on her with intense hatred. "I think she's already helped me enough, don't you?"

Willow's face crumpled, and she struggled to speak.

"Oh no, don't say anything," Buffy mocked. "You'll ruin the moment."

"Buffy, think about what you're doing," Angel said, taking a step forward.

"Angel." For just a moment her voice wavered and the hatred flickered in her eyes, on the verge of winking out. Then her expression hardened again. "What are you doing here? Don't you have important things to do out in LA? You know, as far away from Sunnydale and me as you can possibly get?"

He flinched, taking the barb with a fleeting expression of guilt. "Buffy, I came because I care."

"Really?" Her eyes flashed. "Couldn't tell from the way your back was turned to me all these years."

Faith cut Angel a furtive glance, looked back to Buffy and took another step forward. "Buffy—"

"Shut up," she snapped at them all, emotion on the edge of boiling over. She was furious, lividly angry, and somehow, it seemed, on the verge of tears. "You brought me back from the dead. You left me stuck inside my grave. You're all responsible for everything that's happened. And now you're here now because you care so much? You're here to save me from myself?" She gave a shaky, bitter laugh. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here in the first place."

They all shifted uncomfortably, guilt and blame settling on their shoulders like a leaden weight. Perhaps they would have spoken, found the words to reach her. Pushed past their guilt and woven the broken threads of trust and love back together. They might have stopped things then and there, given a moment to recover.

They weren't spared one.

From behind them all there came a multitude of sharp clicks so rapid they merged into one quick sound. Buffy lifted her eyes and Faith spun around, looking up as well.

"That's far enough, Slayer," Donner sneered from atop the ledge, dim torch light from the entry room outlining him. Council operatives spread out across the walkway in a black wave, covering the ledge and nearly spilling from its edge. Black metal gleamed in the faint torchlight, each reflection one of dozens of guns cocked and aimed at them.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Buffy asked, irritated to be interrupted. "Grand Moff Tarkin Jr.?"

"Donner," Giles spat the word, as if to rid himself of its taste.

Faith drew herself up and shook her head, squinting up at him. "We still have twelve hours on the clock."

"I got tired of waiting," Donner said with a whimsical smile.

"Well in case you hadn't noticed, soldier boy, we've got a little bit of a situation here. If you can hold on to your testosterone, I'll be happy to beat the crap out of you after I save the world. Or maybe you can actually do something useful and give us a hand."

"Not likely, Slayer. We're here for Buffy; not the Master, not for you. I don't need an excuse to kill you all, but since I know you're too stupid to give up, anyway, I'll give you the two opportunities to stand aside as dictated by Council protocol." He smiled as if conferring some great favor upon them, then raised his chin, manner growing haughty and officious. "Step aside now, Slayer, and you'll remain an operative of the Council in good standing."

"Never gonna happen."

Donner smiled again slightly, and continued, the tone of his voice evincing just how much pleasure he was taking from going through the motions. He tightened his grip on his own gun and aimed it at her, looking casually down its length. "Step aside Slayer, or I will denounce you as a member of the Council and take all your lives as payment for your betrayal."

Fingers tightened against triggers, all sweat and itching palms. The very air around them crackled with tension as Faith paused.

The room rippled suddenly, rock and stone bubbling as if caught in a heat wave, and Willow glanced around uneasily, hackles on the back of her neck rising. The quality of light had shifted just a little, and she could feel electricity in the air, dancing over her skin with tiny, tingling jolts that made her hair stand on end. She looked quickly to the others to see if they had noticed, but everyone still stared at the Council Operatives as if mesmerized.

Faith appeared to think for a moment, face scrunched in an exaggerated frown. The expression dropped from her face, becoming placidly cold. "No."

"A pity. For you." He shook his head and smiled as if satisfied. "Open fire."

The world erupted in the flash and whine of flying bullets, and for Willow everything seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time. She could see everything, knew where each bullet was, where it was directed, what it was about to hit. She opened her mouth to scream and time caught up again, everyone scattering in opposite directions, ducking behind stalagmites, throwing themselves to the floor. But Willow's eyes were focused on one place, wide, round and screaming.

A bullet caught Xander in the chest and skewered him, passing through his back in a cloud of red before lodging in the stone of the floor. He stood, open mouthed and wide eyed, one hand pressed against his chest, and then fell to the floor without a word; a silent, somber tree, eyes glassy and forever stilled.

Willow's scream had gone silent in her ears though her throat went on until it was raw and cracked, and her world narrowed to the emptiness of his eyes, the pool of blood that slowly seeped from beneath his body. She blinked back tears and—

Light flashed.

"Step aside Slayer, or I will denounce you as a member of the Council and take all your lives as payment for your betrayal," Donner said from atop the ledge.

Willow turned in a quick circle, open-mouthed with shock as she tried to wrap her mind around everything she'd just seen and experienced. She could still see Xander's blank, empty face in her mind's eye. There were still tears in her eyes. How could this—

Her eyes fell on the Winnowin, which sat in its pedestal between the Master's hands and blinked along merrily like some sort of indicator light.

And then she knew.

Flash.

"Faith! No!" she shouted. "They'll kill us all!"

Faith turned toward Willow, frowning, dark eyes questioning. "How do you—"

A blurring movement behind Faith caught Willow's attention, and she screamed, reaching up and out with her magic, too late, too late. The dagger hit one of the gunmen in the chest with a solid thump, and she could almost hear Buffy's grin of satisfaction.

"Well if Faith doesn't have the balls to settle this, I do."

The gunman teetered, then fell from the ledge, fingers pressing down reflexively on the trigger as he tumbled through the air. A spray of bullets erupted, and once again time seemed to slow. Every nerve screaming, tears of desperation in her eyes, Willow leaped, throwing herself against Xander and shoving him to the floor.

Her body relaxed as she became aware of Xander breathing beneath her, and she lifted her head, smiling down into wide, uncomprehending eyes. Alive. She had saved him.

"Willow?"

She turned and looked up.

Tara stood there, looking at the blood on her hand in confusion. A tiny ragged hole was torn through her chest, and blood—too much blood—was pouring from the wound, turning the light blue of her sweater an unnatural violet.

Willow screamed. The world blurred through outraged tears and she blinked against them—

Flash.

"Step aside Slayer, or I will denounce you as a member of the Council and take your life as payment for your betrayal," Donner was saying.

What. The. Fuck?

The world spun sickeningly, and she clenched her teeth against the rebellion of her stomach, fighting desperately to hold against the wave of nausea. Her mind was suddenly a slippery place, filled with a thousand images of death and destruction, all overlaid and merging together in a whirlpool of despair that tugged at her heart, clutched at her soul and threatened to pull her under. She pressed her hands against her forehead, panted in deep, gasping breaths and pushed against the visions with all her might. They scattered and dispersed, and the world slowly slid back into place. She gripped hard against the thin cord of reality, clinging to it, and her thoughts swirled in chaos.

Something bad was happening, was going to happen, and she knew she could stop it if she only had a second to figure it out.

"Well, isn't this a pretty picture?" the Master asked.

From amidst the cluster of operatives, a single wooden crossbow bolt flew. Perhaps from an unsteady hand, perhaps by someone who wanted to be a hero despite Donner's proclamations. It arced across the cavern, a sudden bolt of hope launched into the world, and Willow felt her heart rise. If it struck its mark, this could all be over. It could—

The Master reached out and plucked the bolt from the air before it could touch him.

"He knows that trick." Buffy smiled at the soldiers.

Willow's heart sank back down into her stomach, and reality struck her like a blow to the chest as she looked to Faith. The Slayer twisted on the edge of indecision, knowing nothing of what Willow had seen, dark eyes flickering around at the group.

They're going to kill you all, whispered a faint voice inside Willow's mind. I have shown you what will be.

And this time she knew what she was seeing was real. What she had seen before were only flashes of possibility, things that might have been. A myriad of chances and odds, each one spun out into its own separate string of events. And not a single one of them was going to leave them alive.

Unless you stop them.

The Winnowin—and she had no doubt that it was the source of the voice in her mind—was alive. It was alive and it would do anything to stay that way. It would lie.

I would. But I haven't.

Willow raised her head, face still streaming tears of confusion and loss that never happened. She saw Donner lift his hand, saw him raise two fingers, watched as several of the guns around him turned to point at Buffy. She could see the beads of sweat that rolled down each man's face, could almost hear the gridlock of their teeth as they focused, could almost feel the twitch of their trigger fingers as they prepared to fire.

"Go! Move!" Faith shouted. "Everyone get under cover."

Triggers clicked, bullets locked into their chambers, and the sound of a hundred tiny explosions assaulted Willows ears, drawn out in the slow motion of thunder.

"No." It was a quiet declaration, unassuming, and yet somehow a command. She held up her hands and pushed with all her might, her body surging like a conduit as she pulled energy from the world around her.

The bullets slowed, not quite free of their chambers yet, and Willow felt them struggle, pressing against her power with incredible velocity. She ground her teeth and shoved forward with magical force, and felt them retreat a fraction of an inch. Seconds split into infinite moments in time, her friends moving, reacting with movements so slow and jerky they might have been done using stop motion photography. The bullets surged, bodies in motion that would not be denied, and she knew she wasn't going to have enough power. They were going to slip from her grasp and fly into her friends' helpless bodies, tearing flesh from bone and spilling a sea of blood. She could see it in her mind's eye; Xander, then Tara and Anya and Giles, and why, why wasn't she strong enough to stop this? Fresh tears filled her eyes and her mind swelled with rage, the light all around seeming to rise and swell with her, and without thought, without reason, she reached out on pure instinct and pulled.

She drew the light from the air and absorbed it like a sponge, low level charge filling her with nameless, powerless energy as old as time. It felt immediately natural, so much a part of her that she wondered for a moment where it had been all this time—and then it was filling up her mind, filling up her eyes, her nose, her mouth, pervading every limb, drowning her, and all rational thought ceased.

"No," she said again, and this time the bullets simply vanished into thin air, gone as though they had never existed, the echoing crack of their release already a distant memory.

"Willow?" Giles turned, eyes wide and frightened.

The Council members were scrambling, some checking their weapons, others trading pistols and rifles for larger fare. The Scoobies were in shock, still recovering, eyes and mouths round with surprise, and any second, she knew, the Council was going to fire again.

Xander's broken, bleeding body. The insidious hole that bled Tara's life away.

She couldn't let that happen.

Take from me. I will be your strength.

Power exploded from her with the force of a supernova; a colorless, invisible momentum that slammed into everything around her and sent it reeling. Bodies hit the floor, thrown flat by the blast, and candle flames winked out as if blown by a sudden wind. Everything, everyone in the chamber was thrown to the floor in twisted shapes that formed a strange pattern of debris from Willow's body outward, and still, she went on, power radiating from her uncontrollably, plowing through her mind in a wild firing of synapses, breaking down locked doors and shuttered windows with the force of a hurricane. She gloried in the sense of freedom, her guilt shoved aside, and from the cellars of her mind something crept, something dark and unfamiliar yet completely part of her that shifted eagerly, free at last of its moral bonds.

She floated above the floor, toes barely scraping the ground, vicious smile maligning her lovely face. Her eyes were black empty holes that devoured everything save the bright globe that sang and called—to her. Only to her. She breathed alone in that strange light, floating over the bodies of the unconscious strewn all about, drawn to its unnatural luminescence.

"My pretty, precious, beauty," she whispered. Her eyes were huge and depthless, filled with light as the globe flared. She took a breath, flexed her hands, and coveted the moment.

She laid her hands upon it and the light exploded, shattering into a thousand broken rainbows of color.

Willow, it whispered, a cool fall breeze through dying branches. I have waited for you. And now I have awakened.

Hues of glorious color filled the air with power and song, and Willow tilted her head back, letting them wash over her. "What must I do?" she breathed.

The globe pulsed with brilliant color, waxing and waning like the beat of a heart.

You must use me.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith opened her eyes and blinked, transfixed and confused for a moment by the fractured rainbow light. And then she was up in a swift movement, nearly overbalancing as she found her feet. Shit. That wasn't good.

But what she was looking at was even worse.

"Willow?" she asked, her voice a faint, disbelieving whisper.

The witch stood atop the platform, hands splayed across the brilliant globe, light spilling out between her fingers like the eyes of God. It caressed her like a lover, played over her skin, seeming to leap in tiny electrical jolts over in and out through her body. Her hair was swept upward as if caught in a strange, slow motion wind, and her eyes—oh God. Her eyes.

Blank, black holes stared out at Faith, their depths swirling with strange creatures made of colored light. Empty of humanity, empty of everything but an all consuming hunger.

"Faith," the witch greeted, and it was surreal, how normal her voice sounded. As if they might have been doing no more than sitting down over coffee, talking about the weather. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, and Faith felt her stomach recoil with disgust for the greed in her voice.

"Willow… what are you doing?"

She heard the others begin to stir around her, waking up, rising to their feet. But she couldn't look away. It was beautiful, and it was horrible.

The witch inclined her head at Faith. "I'm going to fix it," she said simply, as if it should have been obvious. "I'm going to make everything the way it should be."

Everyone was on their feet now, struggling to understand what was happening.

"Willow?" Tara whispered, voice trembling.

Willow turned her head, looked at her lover with those terrible eyes, and smiled. "Hey baby. Don't worry. I'm gonna make everything all right."

There was a sudden movement behind her, and Faith opened her mouth to cry out a warning—but the witch never even turned her head, taking one hand from the glass and lashing backward with it. The Master fell to the ground, roaring in anger and pain as she seared him.

"You, stay down. And you," she said, gesturing without turning to Buffy, who stood behind her. "Stay back. I'm going to fix it."

Buffy stood for a moment, as if unsure what to do, then slowly stepped back.

"You'll do nothing," came a cold voice from above and behind them, and Faith turned in dismay, having almost forgotten.

The Council Ops were on their feet, guns pointed and ready once again.

"This just keeps getting better," Spike muttered beside her.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Donner smiled and aimed his gun at the witch's heart. He didn't know what she intended to do with that globe, but she had already proven herself a threat, and be damned if he was going to let her interfere with her magic again. The Council might use magic to their advantage at times, but he himself believed there was nothing quicker and more effective than cold steel. Even the world's most powerful wizards succumbed to a bullet through the heart.

He watched them still, delighted in their confused, tortured expressions, their petty lives nothing more than a drama to be played out upon the stage that belonged to him. He had them exactly where he wanted them, and if they struggled, if they fought, so much the better.

"Now, where were we?" he asked almost pleasantly, finger squeezing against the trigger of his weapon.

"Right about here," came a voice from behind him, and he felt something hard and cold shove against his spine.

Donner's finger flexed once, not quite firing, then he lowered his weapon and stiffened, standing at complete attention. Cool metal dug into his flesh, a small, hollow circle that promised certain death, and he knew this feeling, had been the perpetrator of it too many times to be counted.

"Tell your people to drop their weapons. Now."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith watched in amazement as orders were shouted and the Black Ops reluctantly dropped their weapons and put their hands in the air.

Donner was shoved roughly forward, and an extremely tall, hulk of a man stepped to the edge of the ledge, his gun pivoting to point at Donner's side.

"I told you the favor would be repaid," Tenth said, and smiled.

"I'll be damned," Xander whispered.

Faith stared, shook her head in amazement. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but what the hell are you doing here?"

"Our Oracle had another vision. Thought maybe I could lend a hand," he said with a casual motion of his free hand.

"More guests for the party," Willow commented. "This is getting interesti—"

Faith sent him a quick grin of gratitude, then seizing the moment of distraction; she turned without warning, leaping for the platform and the globe.

Caught by surprise, Willow lifted her hand—and then Buffy was there, grabbing Faith's arms.

Faith's fingers brushed the glass, brought up short. She had she had a second to regret, had a second to realize she had failed, and then the world exploded with blinding light.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Angel saw her leap, saw Buffy grapple with her, saw her fingers touch the globe but not quite topple it, and then they both went down, life leaving their bodies with a sudden jerk, like puppets whose strings had been cut. He was three steps forward before his brain caught up with him and Willow raised her hand.

"Don't come any closer."

He gauged the distance, gauged her power, contemplated his own speed and the fragility of the glass, then reigned in as he saw the slow, steady rise and fall of breath from Faith and Buffy's bodies. They were alive; that was all he needed to know.

He focused his attention fully on the witch. "Willow… don't do this."

She gave a deep, knowing chuckle, unlike any he had ever heard from her. "You don't want me to do this, Angel? Oh, I know what you want."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith opened her eyes to a bright, cloudless sky. The sun blared, a baleful lidless eye, larger than life, and she squinted against its intrusion.

"Okay. Don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."

The sand was warm beneath her body, and she slowly rose to her feet. "I know this place."

"But do you know your gift?" asked a rough, reedy voice.

She turned, and saw dark skin and scraggly hair, primitive face painted with a crude, white skull.

"The First Slayer."

The dark woman circled her slowly, her eyes incredibly white around her black irises, striking against the deep brown of her skin. There was knowing there, but more than that, there was power, an instinctive animalistic power, the prowess of a panther coiled in the muscles of her form.

"Look, can we do this pointless mysterious conversation thing later? I need to get back there. You don't know what's happening."

"There is nothing more important than the now."

"Yeah. And you know, I'd love to stick around and throw back and forth a few obscure, snarky comments, but I'm a little pressed for time here."

"This is all times. All places. This is the now, what has been and what will be."

Faith sighed and rolled her eyes, hitching up her shoulders in annoyance. "I don't think we're communicating here, Chaka Khan. There's this thing back there, and if I don't stop Willow from using it, it's going to…" She broke off, thought for a moment. "Well. I don't exactly what it's gonna do, but it's going to be bad."

The First Slayer glared up from her crouch, licked her lips. "It lies at the heart of the world—more than that, it is the heart of the world, the heart of all worlds. The very fabric of reality is woven upon its loom, and its nexus is the cradle of space and time. Thousands of years ago, it spun and sung among the heavens, the axis of uncounted universes. It is the axis of worlds. It is what binds reality together."

"You're saying this thing is the glue that's holding the universe together?" She gave a dark, humorless chuckle that made her disbelief obvious. "And here I always thought that was a metaphor."

"A piece of it. It exists in all places, all times; such a thing cannot truly be contained in one place. But once, long ago, there was a tribe who reached outside of reality and captured a piece of it. They wanted to use it to bring their vision to the world. Instead, it used them and left their civilization in ruins. When the civilization they had built disappeared beneath the waves, the few who survived took steps to make sure it would never be used again."

Faith blinked, shook her head. "You're telling me that this thing, or a piece of this thing, or whatever, is really what's holding everything together?" She paused, the implications of that hitting her like blow to the chest. "Then if Willow uses it…"

"Such a thing has its own agenda. It wishes to be used. Alone, it is a passive thing, a force that simply is. Its benign power is to bind reality together, but in the hands of a user, it can be used to change reality to whatever one wishes. But if the user is not careful, the fragile strings that hold the universes together will snap, and all will come tumbling down. Worlds will collide and converge and the strain will destroy the design. A single universe will not abide such chaos. All will be undone."

Faith thought fast, Slayer instinct and twenty-one years of watching sci-fi movies coming together in a moment of perfection. "If I can use this thing, maybe I can make it change reality to destroy itself somehow."

The First Slayer gave a ragged laugh. "You are a warrior, not a wizard. Its power is too great for you to wield. It has waited for the one who can use it, and now it has found her."

"Willow."

"Savior or destroyer," the First Slayer said.

"Dammit," she hissed running her hands through her hair. "All this time I thought it was me—or Buffy. I've got to get back there!" she said frantically. "I've got to stop her before she uses it."

"It has already begun," the Slayer said simply.

"Send me back! I know you can!"

"You have learned much. But still you know nothing of who you are. Where you come from. What you will do."

"Listen, Slayer Power Girl," Faith said through gritted teeth, gave a sardonic glance at the endless dunes and barren, stunted trees. "I can't do anything if I'm stuck here."

The First Slayer paused, hunkered low to the ground and weaved her body back and forth like a cobra. "You are wrong," she said, and bared her teeth in a smile.

The air seemed to shift around Faith, a shivering tingle that ran up the length of her spine and lodged in the base of her brain. Something was coming. No—something was here!

She turned a second too late, and Buffy's fist caught her across the face, spinning her backward into the sand.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Angel looked at Willow wordlessly, startled for a moment by the certain knowledge in her voice.

"Do you know what I can do with this, Angel?"

"Well I'm thinking you could probably power New York with the energy off that thing," he quipped.

She narrowed her empty eyes on him. "I can do anything. Anything at all. I can make Buffy well again. I can make her dead again. I can make anyone into whatever I want. Make them do whatever I want."

"Willow, you know that's—"

"I can take your soul away," she said, and he stopped talking. She smiled slowly, her voice seeming to caress him. "Or, I could make it permanent. Make it part of you forever. Get rid of that nasty little true happiness clause." She tilted her head at him inquisitively. "Wouldn't you like that?"

His mouth dried up and again he was at a momentary loss for words. "It's what I want more than anything," he said. His voice seemed to crack with the longing in his voice. And then it hardened again, steadying beneath his will. "But I have to earn the right."

Willow's face seized with disgust. "Idiots," she ridiculed, voice hard and filled with loathing. "I bring Buffy back to life and all she does is complain and mope and try to end the world. I use my power and Xander complains, Giles frets, and everyone wants to know why I can't just let the world be a miserable place. And you, so in love with your pain that you can't even let it go when you're given the chance. You're all so wrapped up in your stupid, painful little lives. I could unmake you with a snap of my fingers, but instead I offer you a chance at happiness, and you tell me you'd rather be miserable." She rolled her eyes, face scrunching up in a disbelieving frown. "You're pathetic."

"You think you can find happiness with that thing?" Angel asked derisively. "You can't make happiness, Willow. Take my soul away and my conscience will go with it. You think Angelus was ever happy? He's a hateful, vicious creature that will never be happy until every last person on earth is dead. He's an empty hole that no amount of torture and killing could ever fill. Or take away the curse and give me a soul forever. It doesn't change anything. I'll still be the person I am. I'll still spend my life trying to make up for what I've done."

"Why?" she demanded, infuriated. "I could make it so easy. I could make it all go away." She tossed her hair back from her face, and he saw it had grown pale, almost fish-belly white, and it was crossed with a network of dark, pulsing veins. "I know you want it. You're just too afraid to ask for it."

He shook his head, slow and resolute. "I don't."

"I don't believe it," she hissed, and her face was inhuman with hatred. "All my life I've been the quiet little mouse that bobbed her head and smiled and said please and thank you and followed every single rule and the whole time it ate me up inside like a cancer, sickening me, changing me until all that was left was this sweet little shell of a girl. I was weak, afraid. I'm connected to the world now, Angel. Connected to everything through the Winnowin, and I can feel them all out there; sad, angry, crazy, suffering. Just like I was. I can fix it. And you're telling me I should let it stay this way?"

"There are some paths you have to walk alone," he said simply. "And the choice has to be yours. No one can make anyone else happy, Willow. That's something everyone has to find for themselves."

Her hand twitched and he saw that it was thin and skeletal, flesh barely clinging to the bone with ropes of black vein. Her palm flashed up and light shot from it, bright reds, yellows and blues combining into pure white as it struck him, encircled him like a pair of giant arms and lifted him from the ground.

"Let's see what I can find in you," she hissed with venomous glee.

He gasped as the light consumed him and crushed against him. He hadn't had to breathe in over two-hundred years, but he felt like he was suffocating, starving for oxygen. Bright spots of color bloomed before his open eyes that had nothing to do with the light that filled the room. The others turned toward him, and he could see their pale faces clearly for an instant, etched with fright and concern. Then the light covered his face, shielding him completely from their view, and he felt the first sharp tingles, like a thousand tiny needles burrowing into his skin. He grunted and gritted his teeth against the pain; the only protest his paralyzed body could make. The moment of overwhelming pain began to pass, the sharp tingling sensation lessening—and then he felt those needles come alive over every inch of his flesh as they began to worm beneath his skin, seeking, exploring, touching and tasting every layer of skin and muscle and tendon, eating right down into the bone. He was in agony, a million tiny fishhooks pulled through his flesh, barbed tips covered in poison, raking over every surface inside and out. And then, as if suddenly sensing whatever it was they sought within him, the wriggled in a sickening wave of anticipation, shot into him and tore through his body, scouring his veins, scouring his organs, scouring everything from the inside as if he had been filled with sulfuric acid.

Angel opened his mouth and screamed.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Spike blinked against the blinding white cocoon of light that enveloped Angel. He turned his eyes away, tears rising in protest of the sudden flare—and got a good glimpse of Willow, head thrown back, hair black as night as it stood straight up on end, body like a sack of bones covered in taut flesh and dark veins that ran through her like rivers. Whatever else the thing was doing, he thought it was probably killing her.

But her eyes were still fixed on Angel, and Spike took advantage of the momentary distraction, trying not listen to Angel's agonized screams as he bolted for the platform. He was a bit worried by what was happening, truth be told, but his thoughts just then were only for Buffy and Faith.

Willow barely flicked her hand in his direction, never moving the light fully away from Angel's screaming body, and the next thing Spike knew he was flying. He had a split-second that felt like forever in which to admire how quickly the cavern floor was moving past him.

There was a sickening crunch and then everything went black.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. He'd had doubts about Willow in the past few months, sure, but never for a second would Xander have believed they would end up here, like this. The span of a few minutes and both Slayers were down, Angel and Spike were out, and there was no one left with a prayer of stopping her, or the Master, or any of this. Down to just the normal people now, and sure, Giles and Tara had some power, but nothing on what he was looking at. None of them had ever had anything on Willow, and especially not now, when she had so clearly crossed the line she'd been flirting with for months.

No one except him.

"Willow!" Xander stepped forward into the maelstrom of light. With the weight of the world, those empty eyes fell on him, and he took a deep breath, shuffling inside his oversized jacket as he searched for words. "You can't do this."

"Aw, Xander," she mocked with a fleeting smile. "And here I thought you hated Angel."

"I did. I do." He blinked, confused. "Let's not cloud the issue." He swallowed, looked up at her with eyes that had loved her ever since he could remember. "I've known you all your life Willow, and I know this isn't you."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," she replied, dark brows drawing close together, voice lowering with warning.

He gave a shrill, disbelieving laugh. "There's no one that knows you better. Best friends forever, remember? All our lives we've stuck together, and be damned if I'm gonna let you go without a fight now."

"That girl is gone," she hissed. "She never even existed and she hated herself for pretending she did."

"Maybe. But that's not what I remember. You've always been there, Willow. I remember everything. I remember the little girl that held me when my first crush broke my heart, even while her own heart was breaking, because she loved me. And I remember that you were always the only one who loved me, even when everyone else told me I was a loser."

"Shut up, Xander," she thundered.

"You know me, Will." He gave a shaky laugh. "I never know when to give up. And I'm not giving up, now. I know sometimes life gets in the way, and maybe we're not as close as we used to be, and maybe you're not even the same person I remember… but I know you're in there somewhere. And I've never forgotten that sometimes… sometimes you were the only thing that kept me going." He swallowed against the painful truth of his words, heart swelling in his chest. "If you do this… I'm going to lose you." He shook his head, sad and filled with regret. "I couldn't stand that. What would I do without you, Will?"

Her face seemed to crack, breaking with a torrent of conflicting emotions. The light that held Angel flickered, and Xander drew a shaky breath that tasted like hope.

"I said: Shut. Up." Voice shaking, her finger traced a wavy line through the air.

A fragment of light flashed and Xander reeled, falling backward onto the floor. Panicking, he scrabbled at his face with shaking hands. He tried to scream his outrage and horror at what had been done to him, but he was denied even that.

His mouth was gone.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Tenth watched with a sickened sort of fascination as the scene played itself out below, and for the first time he gained true perspective on just how far outside of this he was. The witch was out of control with power, and if Tenth had entertained for a second the idea that he could stop her, that idea died with the quick, precise incapacitation of her friends.

The Slayer was down, but he knew she still had a part to play in this. He had seen the signs, knew the portents. And he knew there was nothing more he could do than what he had already done.

"Come," he said to Donner, motioned to his troops. Tenth's people moved the operatives like a heard of sullen faced cattle, weapons prodding. "There's nothing more to be done here."

They led the Council Operatives from the tunnels, and Tenth gave only one backward glance.

"May the spirit of my ancestors go with you, Slayer," he whispered.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith rolled over in the warm sand and stared at Buffy with eyes filled with resentful admiration, wiped blood from her mouth and marveled at how much it hurt. The injuries to her back and her throat didn't seem to exist in this world, but the damage from Buffy's fist was real enough.

Hand still curled against her lips, she rose to her feet with sharp grin. "Nice sucker punch, B."

Buffy glowered at her, her face glacial with loathing. "I've got a job to finish. You're in my way."

"In a hurry to get back and get dead?" Faith asked. "I can take care of that right here."

Foot crossed over foot, whispering over desert sand as the two moved in a slow circle, gauging each other, sizing each other up; each waiting for the other to make the first move. The desert shimmered like a glistening jewel all around them, dunes rolling out into eternity like the sands of time, its light angry and harsh, yet somehow beautiful, suspended for a moment in prefect silence.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Angel's screams seemed to go on forever, and everyone who remained was locked in place—Giles standing in pained disbelief, Tara holding herself, eyes wide and tearful, Anya cradling Xander on the cavern floor, her eyes no less tearful—riveted by the horror before them that wore the distorted face of their friend.

Within the bubble of shimmering power that seemed to writhe and pulse around Willow like a heat wave, a pinprick of light appeared. Growing larger with each second, it glowed not with the white or rainbow light of the globe, but with a glaring yellow that spoke of a cruel sun that presided over dried mud and cracked earth.

Giles shielded his eyes and squinted, glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. Willow was still caught up in the joy of the cocoon she'd sheathed Angel in, and the others were dumbstruck by the scene playing out before them. He looked back again, and his heart shuddered once in response to what he saw.

Faith and Buffy had risen from their places on the ground, and in some alien desert world, they circled each other like sharks, their blood and intent sealed with the grim set of their faces. He didn't think, he simply stepped forward, knowing he had to help them, had to save them before they killed each other.

One step, a single step, and reality shifted, parting like a thin veil, a curtain drawn back to reveal the enormity and beauty of a thousand worlds. Skies of blue and orange melted and ran together over ancient domes and futuristic spires, fields of green laid out beneath him, filled with flowers whose color he had never seen, oceans of red glittering beneath the light of a thousand suns. Giles swirled among them, lost, a single thread caught upon the edges of uncountable universes, slowly unraveling, thoughts and emotions peeled away from like the casing of his insignificant flesh as he was scattered across them.

Unraveling hands threw themselves to the winds that tossed him with abandon, given to the joy of a chorus of singing voices, lulled by their siren song, filled with innocence and childlike laughter as he drifted, awareness slowly fading.

And then strong hands grabbed his arm, tugging him, pulling him, wrenching him from the grasp of ecstasy. His body rewove itself instantly with a painful snap, and all at once he was whole again, alive and standing in the cavern beneath the earth.

Anya clung to his arm, tears streaming from her huge eyes as she wept. "Don't go," she begged. "You'll die in there."

Still dazed, he put his hand on her arm and patted her reassuringly, eyes straying to the place where he'd seen Buffy and Faith a moment ago. Only the emptiness of the cavern hung there now, mocking him.

Wherever they were, he couldn't reach them.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith's head plowed painfully into the sand, blood trailing across it like a brush stroke as she slid. Grains buried themselves in the taut lines of her face, slipping into her mouth and crunching between clenched teeth. She spun over onto her back, kicked up and out with both feet, and sent Buffy flying through the air away from her, following the force of the kick to her feet. The world flashed red, and the tissue of her jaw felt wrong, left side hanging twisted at the end of broken tendons.

But there wasn't time to worry about that; wasn't time to worry about anything.

Buffy came at her again, fist aimed for another strike at her throbbing jaw, and Faith reached out with both hands, grabbing Buffy's arm and twisting it until she heard muscles scream and tendons snap. Buffy screamed and jerked away with the sound of wrenching bone

The blond Slayer didn't hesitate, sparing not even a glance at her dangling, useless arm, spinning around and catching Faith in the chest with a back kick that sent her flying into the sand once again. Something cracked and shifted wrongly within her breast, and she fought for air as she dragged herself to her feet once again.

Buffy slammed into her before she'd even regained her balance, and the two went down in writhing tangle of limbs, each struggling for the purchase of the other's skin. They hit the edge of a dune and tumbled down it, the world suddenly turned upside down, sky and sand and sky and sand as they rolled, forced to let go of each other and slow the awkward descent of their bodies.

Faith washed up at the bottom of the dune, wanting only to take a moment to catch her breath, to ease the burning ache in her chest that denied her air. And the Buffy was atop her again, bruised mouth grinning and trailing blood and she wrapped her hands around Faith's throat.

Cruel hands bit into the tender flesh of her neck, cutting off the air she so desperately needed. World flickering, consciousness wavering, Faith brought her knees up in a blinding strike, catching the other Slayer full in the back, and Buffy grunted, body arching unnaturally forward with the force of the blow. Her hands came loose and Faith grabbed her wrists, rocking forward and kicking out her legs as their positions reversed and she pinned Buffy beneath her.

"Give it up, B," she grated through gritted teeth, her face only inches from the other girl's. "You've only got one arm now, and I've got 'em both pinned."

"I don't need either one," Buffy spat back, thrusting her head upward into Faith's. Bone struck bone with a flat, terrible sound, and Faith's mind seemed to split apart in a seam of bright red pain.

Dazed, she flopped over into the sand, and Buffy was a dim vision above her, distant and unimportant. It was fading, all fading, and nothing seemed to matter at all as her consciousness ran out like blood upon the ground. Everything was darkening, growing numb, and she barely felt it as another fist slammed into her face with the force of a sledgehammer.

Stupid. So stupid. She'd never been able to take Buffy. She should have known.

Her mind diminished with whispered apologies to those she had sworn to save, and her chest lurched with one final, painful spasm as she realized the depth of her failure.

And then mercifully, consciousness slid away.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Rainbow light flashed like lightning, the very air alive with the sound of thunder and the writhing of electricity, and Willow held it, caressing the moment and drawing it out. Then she snapped her fist shut, and Angel's body fell to the floor in a boneless heap. Limbs bent beneath him at awkward angles, he lay unmoving.

"Well," Willow said, her voice the sound of hands dusting themselves with a job well done. "That's that. Pity. I thought he'd scream more."

"Willow," Tara whispered, her voice wracked with sorrow and pain. "Why?"

"Because I can," the witch replied with a malefic grin. "Oh, don't worry," she cooed. "You'll forget all about it after I'm done."

"What have you done to him?" Giles demanded.

"Nothing compared to what I'm going to do," she replied, voice insidious as it curled through the air.

She wrapped her hands around the surface of the globe and threw her head back. Instantly the fragments of light that hung in the air were drawn inward, sucked into the globe and devoured as if by the mouth of a tornado. Color swirled and sang for a moment, faster and faster, the sound of it almost deafening, and then there was a crack like the sky rending itself apart and the globe exploded in brilliance, throwing everyone from their feet with percussive force.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith felt it, felt the drawing of power, the calling of forces, the bright spark of the Winnowin's life, even as far as she was from it, lost inside the darkness of her own mind. It was happening, and it was happening now. And she was the only one who might be able to stop it.

But she couldn't pay attention to that. Not just yet.

Visions and voices haunted the center of her mind, fragments of dreams and memory fused together in one tale.

"It was me. I was the one," Buffy said, her voice as distant and cold as her eyes. "My blood." As Faith watched in horror, the twin puncture scars on Buffy's neck opened like tiny mouths and began to bleed, rich vibrant red against pale white flesh.

Blood. Buffy's blood. So prominent in all her dreams, now at last understood. It had been her blood that had been capable of bringing the Master forth.

Faith in the underground church, come to recover the scroll they had thought to be used to bring back some great power. Buffy's corpse, grasping her wrists desperately, trying to tell her it wasn't what she thought.

No, of course not. They had never suspected the scroll was to bring Buffy back. But the Scoobies had taken care of that well enough on their own.

"You missed the party," Buffy said sadly, looking up at Faith with doe-eyes. Then she looked back down at herself and shook her head. "They left this." Her hands trembled as she lifted them, and cupped in her palms was a human heart, still steaming, still beating, blood pumping uselessly into her hands and down her wrists in crimson rivulets. "Please. You take it," she said almost desperately.

The spell. Her friends had brought her back to life and hadn't even known. Confused, lost, hating that she was alive, left to the tender mercies of the mistress. Wanting nothing more than to go back to the peace she had known when she had given herself to the portal. Oh… B.

Buffy pulled her up eye-to-eye, and grinned, her incisors lengthening into razor sharp points, mouth stretching inhumanly wide, eyes brightening with a sickly yellow glow. Her features ran and melted as if they had been cast in wax, trading one mask for another, this one all too familiar.

"You should have killed me," Buffy said, laughing.

Because she was broken, insane, a shadow of her former self that radiated only hate.

"You need to figure it out."

"Figure out what?"

"Your gift," Buffy replied, frowning, as if Faith should have known the answer. "Death was my gift." She eyed Faith curiously. "I wonder what yours will be."

Faith held out her hand, palm up, and looked down. "This," she said proudly.

"You can't use that," Buffy said, frowning. "It's not yours to give."

Faith closed her palm and then opened it, and the air above her hand began to ripple like a heat wave, threads of light seeming drawn to the nexus above the loom of her fingers, twining together in a ball of mirrored silver and molten gold, forming a small, perfect core.

The First Slayer snarled and Buffy stepped menacingly toward her. "I said you can't. do. that."

"It's done," she said, and even as they watched, the small core flashed once and assumed its final shape—an acorn grown deep brown and full. "Perfect," she said triumphantly reaching out to touch it as it stilled, hovering in the air above her hand. "I knew I could—"

The acorn burst like a soap bubble as her fingertips touched it, its rotten insides exploding in a spray of black that hissed and boiled and burned like a living thing.

"You cannot create life. That is not your gift," the First Slayer said, circling Faith slowly in the sand.

Buffy looked at her, eyes sad and resigned, as they had often been in life. "You have to be ready. You'll have to give your gift. I can't stop that. Everything's already started." She sounded distressed, mournful. "I won't be able to help you."

"This is all I have left to give you." She held out her hand and placed a stake into Faith's. Faith gazed down at it and watched as it shimmered and stretched, transforming; stake, ancient stone dagger, wooden stick with symbols carved into it, stake again. "I can't use it anymore."

Death was my gift—you cannot create life—there's not much of me left—this is all I have left to give you—

There is still something left for you to do.

The First Slayer's face swirled and twisted within the void, her mouth a black slash of blame and recrimination, and Faith reached out, putting her hand through it. Watched it ripple and then vanish like the phantom it was.

"I know," she whispered in the echoing corridors of her mind.

Knowledge took root in her heart, blooming into flower as the dreams came together with sudden intuition, with knowing.

In the blinding light of the desert, her eyes snapped open, strength drawn from some unknown primal place she had touched only twice in all her time as Slayer. It rose up within her, muscles and nerves firing with new life at its touch, and slowly, with agonizing seconds, her hands crawled over Buffy's, fingers gouging her own flesh as she slid them beneath. Her neck throbbed, and her chest ached for breath, but she clung to the pain like a lifeline, bending it to her will. One finger pried loose, then another, and another, and precious air leapt into her with a thin whisper. Grasping Buffy's fingers cruelly, she twisted them out and away, feeling brittle bones crunch beneath her grip.

Buffy screamed and tried to pull away, but Faith held fast, pulling the other Slayer toward her and releasing her, fist coming up to connect with Buffy's face. The double momentum crushed the blond Slayer's nose and sent her reeling back into the sand, trickling blood. Faith crawled up from the ground, each clawing step like a small victory. She tucked away the hurt in her heart, punched the other girl ruthlessly, again, and again, fist meeting bone with a sound that turned her stomach until Buffy's face was a mass of bruises, eyes fluttering on the verge of consciousness.

And there was no pleasure in this for her, no sense of victory. Only a hollow ache that echoed the pain in her chest.

She heaved herself up and leaned over Buffy, panting heavily with burning breath.

"It's over, B."

"Finally got what you always wanted." Bruised and bloodied lips let the words fall with rancor.

"This was never what I wanted." She bowed her head, pulled the hurt close to her. "All these years, all this time…" Finch, her lies to Giles, the Mayor, Angel, the body switch. "There aren't words for what I did to you, B. And all I've wanted ever since was to make it right somehow."

"Then kill me," Buffy whispered, and suddenly her face shifted, changing, sea green eyes pleading. "Please Faith. Just do it."

"Please Angel. Just do it. Just kill me."

"No."

"Do it! I don't belong here anymore. Send me back where I belong."

Buffy. The one person besides Angel who hadn't given up on her even when she should have. The one person she had always regretted hurting above all others. The one person who understood what it meant to be the Slayer. All the sins piled up like ashes in her mouth, each one demanding penitence, demanding reckoning. Faith slowly shook her head, lips curling with sorrow. "I can't. You never gave up on me, Buffy. I can't give up on you. Not now. Not when you have another chance."

"Coward," Buffy seethed, eyes narrowing to hateful slits.

"No. Not this time."

Death was my gift—you cannot create life—this is all I can give you, all that's left of me—

"This time, I'm going to make it right. Even if it means I die trying."

Faith closed her eyes and steeled herself. One bloody hand rose to her breast, fingers curved and hardened as she laid them against broken bone. Then fingers slipped beneath, tangling in the swirl and eddy of her blood, passing through bone, and she threw back her head, screaming against the white hot pain. Her heart beat and her lungs breathed, and she could feel their motions as they moved, so near her fingers, grasping digits sharp as knives punched through her chest, rummaging around inside herself like some sort of junk drawer, knowing what she sought was there somewhere, if she only looked long and hard enough. Her screams trailed as gasping, sweating, and shuddering with effort, her fingers clutched upon what they sought. Chest bleeding, every limb trembling with the power of her will, she pulled it forth, felt it break free with a thin tearing sound and a final ragged roar.

A dagger made of stone rested in the palm of her hand, its surface shimmering with the gossamer threads of dreams. All around it, pieces of Faith's flesh and blood still clung, pulsing like the beat of a heart, wreathed in dark power and humanity.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Light crawled over Willow's emaciated body, arcing out all around with delicate, almost beautiful fingers, and everywhere it touched, reality began to erode. Walls broke down revealing the stark beauty of alien landscapes, and within, creatures of all kinds turned their strange eyes to it.

The momentum built within her, wave after wave, rising up with grinning glee, and she raised her arms to the sky, mouth creased in a painful smile as she offered everything up to the chaos the Winnowin promised.

Giles lifted his head from the floor, tried to move, and found that his body would not respond. He fell back weakly, watching with a heavy heart as she pulled the world down around her.

"Willow," he whispered, and his voice was the embodiment of regret.

Behind her, the Master brought his hands together, watched with anticipation. This was what he had waited for, and it mattered not if she brought it with her hand, or he with his.

It was the end of everything.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

"It's got a little more on it than what you gave to me," Faith croaked, voice wracked with pain.

Buffy gazed up at her with sad, resigned eyes. Faith could see their shared past held within that sea-green embrace, could see the years of betrayal between them. Faith felt the bond between them shiver with intensity, and it was a bond she would never truly understand, a bond beyond life and death that neither could ever deny the truth and depth of. Those eyes fixed her with the dim fire of determination, and asked for the one thing that Faith alone could perhaps understand.

"Death was my gift, Faith," she said. Her eyes told Faith that this was the one thing Faith could give her, the final repayment of all the dark Slayer's sins.  "Make it yours."

"You know I have to one up you, B," Faith said with a slow, bloody smile. Flesh and blood pulsed as if with breath beneath the harsh desert light, and she lifted the stone dagger in a slow arc, gazing on the barren desert dunes as if it might be for the last time. How beautiful. How perfect that she might end here like this, in the place where Slayers had begun.

"My gift is life."

She shoved the dagger into Buffy's chest with the force of driving a stake home, and it came alive with sudden motion as it struck her, morphing and changing—stick, stake, writhing serpent—

Buffy screamed.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Worlds opened and parted for Willow, each one opening its intangible arms and welcoming her inside and oh, she was the sun to a million galaxies, and all the peoples who lived among them; she was the flow of a river, the caress of a lover, the skinned knee of a child, she was a blade of grass on a distant, dying world. Endless possibilities spun and sang within her, each one proclaiming her their queen, lifting her up, filling her with light and hope and the wisdom to rule them all, to bring them together as one. For so many eons, they had waited for her to come. So many endless years of toiling and suffering that she alone could end. They sang hymns of joy and rapturous songs of worship, eager for her touch, her love.

Dirty, distant streets and the cries of suffering and hunger, so many she could scarcely hear them all; they merged into one great voice of longing and need, and the power within her rose up to answer, unbidden. A sweep of her hand and poverty would be wiped out, a thought, and those who had suffered at the hands of tyranny would rise up and reclaim the lives they should have been living. Those who had never known a drop of kindness or happiness would find a wellspring of such things. A pull of thread here, a twist there, and it could all be changed, all be put right. Their voices cried to her with such need, such desire, building to a crescendo inside her. They needed so much. And her power was great, but it was not infinite, and within her breast, hunger stirred.

In a distant galaxy, a new sun burned with vibrant life, and enraptured by its beauty, desiring of its energy, she reached in and twined her will around it, squeezing. Between her invisible hands, the sun somehow shrank and expanded all at once, its light growing incredibly bright as it struck out into the universe beyond it.

Lives ran out like sand into a paper cup as she poured them down across her soul, and Willow paused as she heard them scream.

So much she could do for them, so much that she would do. The injustices she would right. Poor, starving children that she would give full lives, and who would never have to spare a thought for food on their table. The people whose broken hearts she would mend. She would give them happiness, give them life, give them wisdom and peace and all the things they desired, and they would found religions in her name, build temples to her glory and her righteousness. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Wasn't that worth a few million lives?

Memory hovered at the edge of her thoughts. The sense of who she was, who she had once been. The person she had been. The one who was weak, and sniveling, and completely without the power to help any of this. The one who had let people walk all over her, who had let others tell her right from wrong, as if she couldn't possibly know it for herself.

Loathing rose up, and she pushed past the tiny voice of her conscience, power filling her. She reached out again and tweaked the threads of reality, wrapping them around the sun and warping them as she drew it to her.

Screams echoed in her mind again, and she was millions of people whose lives depended on that sun, their existence winking out as they were consumed by the beginnings of a supernova. And there was no religious love in their hearts now, only the terror of knowing death was upon them.

She faltered, letting the threads slide from her fingers.

Do it! Take it! You must! You are their Goddess now, and they live only to serve your will.

And there she paused, hovering on the edge of eternity, the edge of reality itself. Faces spun past her, dancing with the song that others still sang, and she saw millions of them, each one unfamiliar in every aspect but the love that shone there for her.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

The world surged and seized, and Faith felt as if her entire life was being pulled from her in one violent moment.

My gift is life. I can't make it out of nothing, but I can give away what's mine.

Deep breaths, in this place that did not truly exist in any way she could comprehend. But she understood its significance on some sort of intrinsic level, and she knew that what she had done was the only thing she could have done, and that this was the only place she could have done it. And she might yet die of it, but she would balance the scales.

Her life poured out across the invisible connection to the icon in Buffy's chest, and she had only the vaguest sense of what she was seeing—a desert mirage, a shadowy twist and turn of fate within a writhing body. This was the thing she had sacrificed herself for, this one, true thing. She would give back more than she had taken if it meant Buffy might live. She had once thought she would never give her life for another, and still, she marveled at the purity, the pure stupidity of it… and yet, she wouldn't have it any other way. In this, her final moments as her vision dimmed and the stars of her mind winked out, she understood. This was what Buffy had felt when she'd gone to the portal. Not a sense of giving up, but a sense of saving, of becoming one with something, of becoming something greater than what she was. All these years of struggling, all the suffering, and finally she knew. This was what it meant to be a hero. To be willing to sacrifice yourself for another.

Life fled from her little torrents, muscles growing weak and weary, and she collapsed slowly into sand, letting it cradle her. She gloried in it, these final moments, cherished every happy memory she possessed as it flowed from her in a magnificent flood, laughed in the face of death knowing that she had lived, she had given, and in the end, she had given all that she could. There was no shame now, no regret. She had found herself. She was forgiven. She was everything she had always wished she could be. Everything no one had ever believed she could be. She had beaten the odds, won the game, and oh, she was going home with that knowledge in her heart.

I'm ready. I'm not afraid.

She lifted her arms and welcomed the final tide.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Drunk with power, mind reeling, Willow's hands faltered upon the glass, and the places where it no longer touched were painful to her, a thousand tiny deaths contained in the slightest disconnection.

She cried out, tightened her fingers against the smooth, cool surface, feeling the power fill her, sing to her again with its siren song.

Come Willow. There is so much we have to do. So many wonderful things I have to show you.

She moaned, and within her mind, universes shifted and flared to life once again, her awareness scattered across them in omniscient glee. This was Godhood. Moving pieces here and there, tasting power, drinking worlds. It was all here for the taking, all here for her.

You are the only one who can wield me, Willow. The only one with the power to make it right.

It was right, she knew. Knew it in her heart, like a truth she couldn't escape. She was the only one with the power and knowledge to wield the Winnowin, to save the omniverse from itself. She could do it, if she willed it. She only had to feed, only had to fuel her power. And they lived to serve her, after all. They wouldn't mind if she used them.

Religious hymns sang within her soul, glorying in her power, her beauty, and oh, it had never been like this. She had never been so desperately loved, so unequivocally desired and needed, so cherished. No one had ever looked on her with such adoration, and it was all she ever wanted, this gawky, geeky girl with brains and not much else. Dyed her hair, dated the boy in the band, became the kind of girl she'd always wished to be, and still it had never been enough. Still he had left her, as Tara would have left her for the want of practicing her magic, as all her friends would have deserted her for the same, if only they knew. They never understood her, never understood her need to be loved. How sickened she was with existing inside the chains of expectation. Be Willow. Be good little Willow, they urged. Don't think, don't question.

They have never loved you like I do.

Fingertips pressed into the glass, and she felt it flex beneath her, flex with her. It knew. It understood her dreams, her desires, all the secret wants she had wrapped up inside an acquiescing, passive heart. This was right. This was true. And if she demolished the girl she had once been with the hope of being something more, of being something real… was that such a tragedy?

They will never know. You will be great and glorious, and they will never remember that you were ever any different.

Was that enough? She didn't know, suddenly wasn't sure, wracked with the frail humanity of doubt she'd been so free of only moments ago.

It is enough, and more. You are the only one, Willow. The only one who can change it.

And the truth was like a knife through her, slicing her open in a deluge of doubt rather than blood. Yes. She was the only one who could change it. But should she? Were such things meant for a girl who had lived the life she had? Who was she to decide who lived or died?

Millions of lives trembled on the verge, caught in the delicate balance of her psyche and will, and she felt them converge there in a gathering of life and individuality. She knew each one of them intimately; their hopes, their dreams, their fears, and each one of them was her, as uncertain and in need of guidance as she was, trusting in others, trusting in her to know what was best. And she knew she didn't know. Didn't know best. Didn't even know herself. How could she decide for them?

Do it! You must!

They love me. They trust me.

They serve you.

If I kill them, kill any of them, I betray that.

It is a small thing. Infinitesimal. You must do it, Willow, or all will suffer.

Visions of pain and suffering flashed through her mind in excruciating detail, and tears streamed down her face. Man, woman, child, alien and demon, they all called to her, cried, begged for her forgiveness and her help.

Without you, they will die.

And how many will die to save them?

As many as are necessary.

Her eyes squeezed shut, cutting off the flow of her tears, and she shook her head slowly, side to side. In her mind's eye she could still see the omniverse stretched out before her in invitation to its green fields and open skies and strange peoples, could feel the pull of them, their call, their need of her. Possibilities spun in the ether and she had only to reach up and pluck them free to make them true. Creation and death at her fingertips and she was loved, she was adored, she was worshipped; the most powerful being in creation. She was a Goddess.

It was all she had ever wanted.

And yet her doubt, her love, prevailed. The tiniest remnants of humanity still burned and beat within her breast, and she could not turn from the knowledge of them.

Weakness, the Winnowin named them, and she shuddered with the force of the condemnation.

The ether shifted and something pulled free. She saw herself, a creature of brilliant light and shifting rainbow hues, more beautiful than anything she had ever known. Creation swirled in her veins and universes spun within her eyes, and stars and suns sparkled like jewels in hair made of comets and cosmic dust.

You see? This is the power you have.

So beautiful. Her astral self raised her hand, reached out to touch the vision—and horrified eyes beheld the truth. Skin, pale white as milk and laced with black, vicious veins that cut through her like malignant vines. Flesh had melted from bone, and between skeletal fingers she saw the apparition and knew it for the lie it was.

She was no Goddess. The power of creation lay within her grasp, but she was still Willow, only Willow, now the dark and ravening parody of herself she had beheld once before on the astral plane. A creature without love or conscience that burned with so much power there was scarcely any life left.

Was this what she had become?

She held up her hands against the apparition and gave a voiceless, soundless scream.

This is what you are until you accept me. You must join with me, make me part of you.

I can't. I won't.

You will.

The Winnowin seized eager hands around her will, but it moved too slow, too late.

No!

Yes.

The young sun spun back into orbit and time itself rewound, repairing the universe and all its people as if she had never touched them. Another focus of her will and Xander's mouth returned, Spike's grievous injuries healed themselves. She reached with her mind for Angel, and the Winnowin caught up with her, insinuating itself all around her. Not enough time, not enough time—

You cannot leave me Willow.

Fingers pulled free of the glass, one aching centimeter at a time, skin burning with the lack of connection, screaming with the loss of love. She screamed, she hated, hissing and railing against the lie of her skin, torn between wanting and living with reality.

Together we are unstoppable. We can do anything. Alone you are nothing.

No. Alone, I'm me. Whatever I may be.

She blasted the glass with the last of her power, force ripping through the Goddess that the Winnowin wore with her face. The vision vaporized instantly, and an unearthly wail tore at her ears, making them bleed.
 
She ripped her hands from the glass, soul screaming, nose bleeding, black eyes pouring tears. Pain and loss flowed from her like a river, and she fell to the floor beneath the force of it, darkness swallowing her whole.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Giles reached out, as if he could stop Willow's fall by his will alone. And then, miraculously, as her touch fell away, the globe instantly dimmed; its light diminishing to the faint pulse and flow the Master had brought with its awakening.

Slowly, taking stock of his limbs and the extent of injury to them, he sat up—and his breath caught sharply in his throat.

Faith and Buffy kneeled on the floor, each with their right hand on the other's shoulder, eyes closed, locked in some sort of internal conflict he could only imagine.

And the Master rose and stepped forward, prepared to take up where the weakling human had left off.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

The last remnants of life fell from Faith, and she floated in a void of nothingness, comforted by its touch.

You have succeeded. You are worthy.

The First Slayer twisted out a smile.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith's eyes flew open.

Her throat ached where the ragged punctures had torn open, bleeding like tiny mouths beneath their bandage, and her back throbbed where her stake had pierced her, but she was alive. She knew she couldn't be in this much pain and be anything else. She tightened her fingers in the muscles of the other Slayer's shoulder, face splitting in a grin.

Buffy's eyes snapped open, their gazes locking with fire, recognition and realization.

"You ready for another round, B?"

One corner of Buffy's mouth curled up in a smirk, and Faith felt her own mouth twist in response.

"Let's do it."

As one, they rose to face the Master.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

It was a battle to be told through the ages; two Slayers working together in a dance of precision, every move, every kick and punch woven in a ballet of death. It was perfection, a thing of beauty that had rarely been seen by mortal eyes. And it was futile.

The Master laughed as he parried and blocked and returned each blow in kind, his skill seemingly amplified by the proximity of the globe. Buffy glided in like a shark, seeking a hole in his defenses, and he caught her arm. "I guess this means we aren't friends anymore?" he asked and yanked her arm upward as his free hand punched her in the face and sent her reeling. "Foolish girl. You fight against the inevitable."

Buffy staggered, caught her balance, gathered herself on the edge of the platform, and grinned as Faith returned his punch with equal fervor, staggering him.

"Big words. Looks to me like you're outmatched."

The Master thrust out his fist, catching Faith with a glancing blow across the jaw. He grabbed the dark-haired Slayer and thrust her backward in her stupor, tossing her to the edge of the platform with ease.

He rose tall, bringing his hand up in an eloquent gesture. "Come to me," he said, and his eyes were huge whirlpools of darkness, ripe with promise.

She knew how to fight this! She'd done it before! But here, within the Winnowin's pull, she found herself helpless, unable to resist. Buffy took a reluctant step forward, every fiber of her being fighting against his pull, but she could no more stop her feet than she could stop the earth from turning. One step, two, three, a fourth, and she was within his grasp.

He grabbed her, and though her mind resisted, her bones betrayed her, acquiescing to his grip. He spun her around and pulled her to him, the intimate embrace of a lover.

"You see? You are mine, Slayer. And your blood will only fuel my power when I use the Winnowin."

He dipped his head, fangs scraping over her flesh, and she shuddered with the familiarity of it, the only protest she could make against his intrusion.

The world seemed to slow and stop, fangs sinking into skin and drawing life.

And then there was a hand in hers, fingers grasping hers so painfully she could not help but notice them.

Faith grinned up at her, mouth bleeding and belligerent.

"Help me," the dark-haired Slayer said.

Faith reached out with a trembling hand, fingertips brushing glowing glass, and Buffy reached with her, one hand rising up as if in a trance, seeking the cool curve.

Together, they touched the globe, and the world opened in a roaring whirlpool, the light of a young sun perched on the edge where Willow had abandoned it.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Faith spun on the edge of eternity, lost to the promises of the globe. Whispers of half-truth and lies tickled her mind, touching all the right places, unlocking her will and freeing the dark creatures she had exiled what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Buffy!" she gasped, straining against the pull, tightening her fingers through the other Slayer's.

"I'm here," Buffy answered.

Time twisted and bent in upon itself, and Faith felt the other Slayer's presence like an extension of self. She wasn't strong enough for this. The First Slayer had been right. One chance. Only one chance to end it all and save the world, and she couldn't do it alone. But she had already given so much of herself… how much more did she have to give? She had been willing to give up her life only moments ago, but that seemed a small thing in comparison to what she knew she must do now.

Don't let her in, Faith. She hates you. She'll only use what you give her to destroy you.

Preternatural, warrior senses detected the weakness in the globe's presence as it spoke. It had been hurt, wounded somehow, and she knew suddenly that if it hadn't been, she would never have been able to do this at all.

Willow burned your omniscient ass, didn't she?

She could sense its anger dancing close to the surface, but not quite revealed.

Willow means nothing. It is you I have waited for, Faith. You mustn't let Buffy inside. She'll try to take me from you. She'll—

Save it.

In a sudden burst, Faith opened her mind, opened her heart, throwing back her head in defiance of her own reluctance, letting go of her body, her hopes, her fears, everything that comprised self, letting go of it all, and it seemed that she existed in two places at once; her empty body still holding on to Buffy's hand, connected to the glass, and her awareness spinning within a roaring whirlpool of universes.

Help me, Buffy.

Buffy shook free of her own skin, and Faith saw her with two sets of eyes, her body for a moment made of glowing light, and then she felt Buffy enter her, the minds of both merging and growing together, their power growing together, building on itself and expanding beyond anything either had ever known. It was pure power. Slayer power.

The gateway shuddered and held with their combined will, and slowly, inexorably, the Master felt himself drawn to it. He lifted his fanged maw from Buffy's neck and stared into the universes held within the globe, and knew what it held for him.

"No," he whispered, not believing that it could betray him, even now.

The world ripped itself apart with a thick tearing sound as the Slayer's brought the gateway into reality, and the light of the sun burned within the rift, beckoning, calling to him.

Light swirled around him, consuming him, and he threw back his head, howling at the pain and injustice. Bits of flesh began to break from him, swept up by cataclysmic winds and devoured by the vortex, faster and faster until his very blood swirled in the light, dancing on its promise and eaten by the same. Flesh broke from bone, and then even bone blackened and bent beneath its will, dispersed into dust upon the unforgiving wind. A final scream was torn from his throat, and then he was so many atoms drawn into the heart of the sun, gathered and dispersed across so many universes, scattered to their whim.

Buffy fell to the floor without his embrace to hold her, felt her awareness rush back from the globe and lodge back inside her own mind, separated from Faith's once again, and she had a moment where she felt hollow, empty without the other Slayer's presence.

Faith returned to herself with a snap, feeling the loss of their combined power like the loss of a limb. Breathing hard, she turned to stare at the globe.

It retracted its brilliant light, sun disappearing as the rift sealed. The glass darkened momentarily, then returned to its innocuous, glowing dance.





___________________________________________


Final Chapter to follow shortly!