Disclaimer: Only own Michael, the Necromancer, all others belong to JW.

A/N: The last chapter was longer than I originally anticipated, but that's good. I hope I can continue the trend...

Title: Days of the New get credit for this title, 'Weapon and the Wound'

*****

By mid-afternoon the following day, everyone was gathered at the Summer's residence for some serious research. The windows and door were finally replaced, but they all knew it was only a matter of time before they were destroyed... again.

Ancient tomes of lore were scattered haphazardly around the living room, quickly scanned and then pushed aside. On the rare occasion that anything of merit was found, it was shared and jotted down for future reference. Much to Giles' surprise, the entire group was intent on finding the needed knowledge in the shortest possible time. Even the normally reluctant Slayers had their noses, often quite literally, buried between aged sheets of parchment.

This would have normally been cause enough for him to jump for joy, and yet... the dangers and evils that were known to be active in Sunnydale at that time put quite the damper on any sort of joyous mood. Giles knew this, and sighed as he turned his full attentions to the tome before him.

Michael rose and walked towards the door, eliciting the worried gaze of Faith. He walked with purpose, every stride reminding the once-fallen slayer of her own days of darkness. It was a pace that said to hell with everything else, he was going to get what the fuck he wanted.

He stood outside, his soul drinking in the darkness, waiting for something he could not explain. His right hand easily held his father's sheathed blade. In all truth, he didn't know why he still thought of it as his father's blade, save that he didn't feel worthy of the blessed steel.

He had been standing outside for about four minutes when he heard the door open, and he knew without looking that Faith was the one joining him. He never needed to look when it was her.

"What's wrong?" Faith asked as she knelt behind him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"I've got to do something about this," he whispered as he leaned back into her. "I'm the only one who can."

"You can't keep resting everything on you," she answered firmly.

"I know," he sighed. "But in this case I can end it with one fight."

She was quiet for a time, digesting his words. Michael's fingers gently intertwined with her own as she sat behind him, her legs out to either side of him. Their peaceful moment was quickly shattered by the dark, familiar shape that stepped out from behind a tree.

"Angel!" Faith exclaimed, standing quickly and taking a step towards the vampire...

*tick*

The dark haired vampire's mouth twists, ever so slowly, into a malicious grin as his eyes slide into the burnished gold of the demon within.

*tick*

Faith stops her forward motion, realizing something is very wrong. Her weight shifts back as her hands come up defensively.

*tick*

Michael slides evenly to his feet, his gaze being drawn to the armored men creeping from the shadows around the house. Seemingly normal men wearing chain-and-plate armor and wielding blackened, demonic blades moved forward with a deadly purpose, their faces blank.

*Ticktickticktick*

"Fuck!" Michael yelled as he pulled Faith to the door with him, his left shoulder dipping as he knocked it aside. Everyone's eyes focused on them, and a half second passed before any of them moved.

Michael drew his blade from the scabbard hurriedly, not caring about finesse now. Faith grabbed her own katana as well, barely half a heartbeat behind her lover as he moved to face the first of the Knights of Gavalon who were flooding into the foyer. Blessed steel clashed against cursed ebony as Michael threw himself at the door, trying to stem the tide of bodies and give his friends a chance to react.

Faith moved to the door with Michael, her own blade dancing as she slid in close to him. Their bodies almost touching, they seemed to dance in the sea of steel as they moved from attack to defense and back again. They moved as if they had fought like this for years, each anticipating the other's move and complimenting it perfectly.

Half a dozen of their foes fell in the first few moments, never knowing the skill and dedication that they faced. With torn throats, slashed tendons, and evicerated organs, they fell into the final, unending death. And still more of their brothers charged into the room, unheeding of the deaths at their feet, or the two other fighters rising to their feet.

Spike rose smoothly, as if for a midsummer's night dance, his muscles flexing sinuously as he rose from his place beside Buffy. His blade sung forth with a speed bordering on impossible as he met the knights that broke through the rear door. The growl issuing from his throat gave the fearless a moment's pause before the enchanted steel began to cut through steel and flesh with astounding speed.

Buffy, unarmed, leapt into the fray beside Spike, her arms and feet striking with skill and power. She danced from one foe to the next, heedless of the naked steel that sought her flesh. She merely ducked, sidestepped, or moved inside each attack. Her strength shattered bone, and her speed shocked the dark knights as more and more of their brethren fell to the ground.

For long moments the battle raged, every combatant heedless of anything but the desperate struggle to stay alive. Just as suddenly as the assault began, it ended as the dark knights simply stopped coming, those who still lived staggering out the door, carrying their wounded with them. Breathing heavily, Faith looked around, her blade barely held in numb fingers.

"Is everyone alright?" she asked, her gaze sliding across the room.

Spike and Buffy nodded wearily as the walked away from the back door. Both bore slight wounds, yet seemed to be in little pain. Giles, Xander, Willow and Dawn looked around in awe at the piles of dead bodies blocking both the front and back door. Thankfully, none of the dark knights had made it past those doors.

When Faith turned to Michael, she found him slumped against the wall, his left hand clutched against his chest, right where his heart was. Blood seeped from between his fingers, and his face was twisted in pain. Faith's blade fell from her fingers as she rushed to his side, easing him to the floor even as tears began to fall from her eyes. Michael's lips turned in a brief smile as he looked at Faith. She tried to speak, but no words found their way past the lump in her throat.

For all the death and pain she had caused, his death would forever be etched into her memory. His brief smile, the love shining through the pain in his eyes, the gentle touch of his fingers against her cheek...

And he was gone.

*****

A/N: Just a few more chapters, folks. Hang in there, things are gonna get interesting.