A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer, rating, and notes.
A/N+1: Hope everyone is enjoying this little adventure. I'm thinking of maybe five more chapters in this story, before I move onto the next story. And I'm pretty sure Ripper would kill me for bringing his dead kinda-girlfriend back from the dead. But, hey, it might even work out for the best.
Title: Three Doors down, with 'Loser'
*****
Michael paced the living room like a caged animal, his strides sharp with his fluid grace and strength. His eyes clouded with his anger, his impotent rage. The shadow of a beard clung to his face, and his clothing was wrinkled, as he hadn't slept since they were taken.
Xander sat on the couch, lost in his own thoughts. He fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, but only by a slim margin. His normal jovial manner was lost in the seriousness of the situation.
Willow sat beside Xander, her head held in her hands, her short red hair hanging limply around her face. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and she held them back by a mere fingernail. She tried to turn her mind to finding a solution, but was finding it increasingly difficult.
Giles leaned against the doorframe, his glasses held in his hand and his face etched with determination. He simply refused to believe that this was it, that this was where he would loose his slayer. Already, a hint of a plan was beginning to form within his head.
Dawn sat on the floor in front of Willow and Xander, still in a state of shock. To say that she still hadn't recovered from her own capture at the hands of the Necromancer was an understatement. His red eyes haunted her dreams in sleep as well as waking.
"Do we know where he'll attempt this ritual?" Giles asked suddenly, causing Michael's pacing to end suddenly. The younger man thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"I'm not sure," Michael said. "It is most likely directly on the Hellmouth, or in a place that has a great deal of evil, undead energy."
"The Master's lair," Xander whispered. "That's where he'll do it."
"What?" Giles asked, moving closer to Xander and crouching slightly. "What did you say?"
"The Master's lair," the brunette repeated, his face growing more thoughtful. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"
"Yes," the watcher replied, rising and beginning to pace himself. "You three, gather your things and get down there as fast as possible. Maybe we can interrupt the ritual, and rescue Buffy and Faith."
"It's not going to be that easy," Michael spoke, his anger now being harnessed for a specific purpose. "He'll have a hell of a lot of guardians, but at least we won't have to deal with his magic, since the ritual will leave him powerless for a time."
"I've got an idea," Willow spoke up, for the first time that day. "You and Xander go, I'll make sure the ritual is interrupted."
"What are you thinking?" Giles asked. Then he grinned as the witch explained the plan. They all grinned.
*****
Fuck, my head hurts, was the first thought to enter her mind as she regained consciousness. Vague awareness of her surroundings filtered into her head, followed by fear. Buffy struggled against the chains that held her almost a foot above the ground, ignoring her nudity in the face of more dire problems.
She glanced at Faith, whose head still hung limply between her upraised arms. Her sister slayer was chained in the same manner, and also missing her clothing. It was then Buffy's gaze drifted to the small stone altar between them, and to the black clad form lying upon it. Jenny Calendar, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
"Enjoying yourself, Ms. Summers?" a low voice said from somewhere behind her. She knew the voice, even though it issued from a living throat. That voice held nothing but malice and death for her.
"Just hanging around," she quipped. He laughed casually, but the sound was evil considering her situation.
"It will be over soon," the necromancer said, still somewhere behind her. "You and the other slayer will be dead, and your powers will be mine. There is absolutely nothing that can be done to save you."
"You underestimate the power of the Scoobies," she replied, the prayer in her voice easy to recognize. "They'll find a way to stop you. The good guys always do."
"I doubt it."
*****
The need for surprise was long past. The enemy knew they were coming, that they had no choice but to charge headlong into his strength. It had come down to a test of might, both sides throwing everything they had available into the fray.
Xander delved deep into his borrowed military knowledge, letting the marine within to come to the fore, depending on a dead man's skill to carry the day. In truth, the soul of that soldier was long gone, having given every once of knowledge and skill to Xander. Whether he realized it or not, the young man was the marine, he was the veteran of combat, and would carry the day with his own courage.
Michael threw aside any doubt in his own abilities, concerned only that the woman he loved was in danger. Like the avenging angels of old, he was prepared to carry the wrath of God to his enemy. Righteous anger filled him, giving him strength and determination that would never be stopped.
Both men walked through the sewers of Sunnydale, depicting warriors from two very different ages, but with a purpose that bound both times.
Xander looked every inch the marine, his combat fatigues almost hidden under his weapons of destruction. Hand grenades, flash-bangs, and extra magazines for his guns, hung from his belt. His sidearm was strapped to his left leg, and a shotgun was holstered on his back. The M-16 he carried was equipped with a grenade launcher and flashlight. His Kevlar armor covered him from the neck down, but he didn't wear a helmet, avoiding the impediments the helmet would inflict upon his hearing and line of vision. The earpiece and microphone he wore allowed him to keep in contact with Giles, who stayed with Willow as she prepared her spell.
Michael wore sturdy chainmail over a padded tunic. He looked every inch the knight as he followed a step behind Xander, his blade sheathed. No sense in giving the enemy an exact position on them.
"His first line of defense should be just ahead," Xander said softly. "This is the only path that leads to the old lair."
"Well," Michael said, his voice just as low, "let's get this started."
Xander nodded once and relayed their intentions to Giles. When he got a reply, he raised his rifle and quickly turned the last corner. He was prepared for whatever trap or guardian the Necromancer would use.
The first room, a man made cavern from ages past, housed hell-hounds. Xander remembered them vaguely from his one encounter with them years ago, but they failed to cause him any concern now. After all, he had seen and battled much worse, and was much better equipped this time around. His face held nothing but detachment as his finger gently depressed the trigger; his eyes shifted quickly from target to target as he quickly took them down.
Michael followed Xander as the other man strode through the carnage, his blade still sheathed. Nothing that challenged them at the moment required his blade, and he was glad for it. Wielding his blade took more time than Xander's rapid fire weapon, and time was something they had precious little of.
*****
Giles stood outside the circle of magic Willow had drawn on the hardwood floor, his right hand holding a battle axe, his left hand kept a loose grip on a pistol. He had a simple assignment, one he knew he would complete: Keep anything from disturbing Willow until the spell was complete.
The witch was deep within a trance, her legs folded beneath her and her hands tracing unknown patterns in the air. She had been like this for almost an hour now, and the ex-watcher was beginning to worry. She hadn't said it would take this long...
Suddenly, she opened her eyes and took in a deep breath. Her eyes were wide, and a smile began to creep onto her face. Giles relaxed, if only slightly. This was only part of the plan.
"It's done," she said unnecessarily. Giles merely nodded.
*****
Buffy watched him as he chanted his ritual, not understanding a word of the ancient language he used. He knelt by Jenny's head, his chest bare and holding a wickedly curved ceremonial dagger. His eyes had remained closed since the beginning of the ceremony.
She struggled against the chains that held her, to no avail. Something he had done sapped her strength, and she could already feel the oppressive weight of his magic fill the room. The faint sound of gunfire gave her hope, reassuring her that the cavalry was on the way. She just hopped they would arrive soon. Faith remained unconscious the entire time, causing Buffy to worry. Despite their past, Buffy couldn't help but worry.
Suddenly, the Necromancer rose to his feet, his eyes snapping open. For a brief moment, Buffy thought he finished the ritual, and that her friends wouldn't make it in time. The sudden look of shock on the man's face, followed by his rapid scanning of the room, gave her hope.
"It seems I have under-estimated your friends," he said calmly. "I definitely wasn't expecting this."
Buffy opened her mouth, but someone else beat her to the smart remark, someone whom she didn't realize was in the room.
"Well then, mate. I've been lookin' forward t' this. Got myself a fancy piece of steel, an' I'm plannin' on givin' you a taste."
*****
"Did it work?" Giles asked as he helped Willow to the couch.
"Yup," the witch said tiredly. "Spike's right were we needed him, and the ritual was interrupted."
"Good," Giles murmured. "Now they just need to get out of there in one piece."
*****
Spike. He was back.
Buffy couldn't help but grin as the peroxide haired man stalked forward, a long, heavy sword held easily in one hand. The torchlight in the chamber glinted off the chain armor he wore, and cast foreboding shadows across his face.
The Necromancer switched the dagger to his left hand, and spoke a word of magic. With a small tearing sound, a blade of absolute darkness snapped into being, held easily in his right hand. He lightly bounced on the balls of his feet, facing Spike calmly.
"I've been around a great deal longer than you, leech," he said, his voice low and calm. "Do you really think you can beat me in a clean fight?"
"'Course I can," Spike replied savagely as he began stalking forward, remaining just out of the other's reach. "The thing is, you never fight fair, do you?"
The Necromancer smiled.
"'Ere's the thing, mate. Neither do I"
It was then both the Necromancer and Buffy realized the gunfire had ceased, and that there were two more people in the room. Xander and Michael, both of whom entered the room cautiously. Xander began walking over to her as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Michael drew his blade and approached the Necromancer, standing so that his enemy was trapped between Spike and himself.
"Interesting," the Necromancer said, his voice still calm.
"Quite," both Spike and Michael replied in unison. At another time, this would have been cause for some amusement, but now they were both deathly serious. The Necromancer turned so that his conjured sword faced Michael, while the dagger faced Spike.
They suddenly exploded into motion, Michael and Spike attacking with speed and skill rarely seen in this world. Their blades sung as they cut through the air, and the sound of steel on steel filled the chamber.
Amazingly, the Necromancer was holding his own. Apparently his earlier boast was truth, as his moved with a fluid grace that matched the other two men. It was a dance, pure and deadly. For long moments they battled, none gaining the upper hand, each waiting for a mistake to provide an opening. Yet, it wasn't a mistake that provided an opening. It was Xander.
He had gotten Buffy's chain's undone, and turned to face the swordfight. He merely observed for long moments, stunned and worried at the skill all three possessed. An idea came to him suddenly, and he acted without a second thought, giving an insurmountable advantage to Michael and Spike.
Xander's pistol was up suddenly, his aim was set in an instant, and the sudden report of the round being fired startled everyone in the room, except for himself... and Spike.
The young man's aim was true, the bullet tore through the Necromancer's left forearm in a sudden gout of blood. He lost control of that hand, and the dagger clattered on the stone floor. Spike's blade, no longer being countered, lanced forward, catching the Necromancer between the ribs. He crumbled, the black blade winking out of existence. A startled gasp, and he died.
The four conscious people in the room looked at each other, weary grins on their faces. Then Spike was tackled by a very happy, and very naked, Buffy Summers.
Michael unchained Faith and held her, checking for injuries. With the exception of one nasty bruise on her left temple, she was fine. He nodded once to Xander before he began the trek back to the streets. Xander didn't hesitate to gather Jenny in his arms and follow Michael, leaving the two reunited lovers a moment of privacy.
"I missed you," Buffy whispered against his throat.
"I know," he grinned as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. "But let's get you home, luv. Don't fancy shagging you here. To many littl' rocks an' stuff."
*****
The old, withered body of the Necromancer, his true body, paced angrily in his workshop a good distance from where his living body was killed. Granted, he stole the body from it's true owner, but that didn't matter. He had been stopped. His plans were, once again, completely ruined.
"Fuck!" he screamed, kicking over his desk, sending parchments and books flying throughout the room. "How the hell do they keep on winning! I had everything, EVERYTHING, planned perfectly!"
"Maybe you need some help with this," the apparition of a young boy said from the other side of the room. "Two dark and twisted minds are usually better than one, unless they fight each other instead of their enemies."
The Necromancer's pacing stopped suddenly, looking at the young boy with interest. Then, with a small laugh, he resumed his pacing.
"The First Evil, reduced to appearing as the already-dead," he said, amusement clear in his voice. "That's rich."
"I knew you'd recognize me," the boy said. "And now, to you recognize the merit of my suggestion?"
"It has some merit," the lich conceded. "Who do you have in mind?"
The boy grinned, and whispered one name. The lich looked shocked (as much as a skull covered in withered flesh can looked shocked) for a moment before he began to laugh. It was a dark sound indeed.
