Disclaimer: See first Chapter!

Title: Metallica with 'The Unforgiven'

*****

"We don't know enough to go charging in after her!" Giles yelled, his glasses held in a forgotten hand.

"We're not bloody chargin' in," Spike spat. "I'm takin' care of Angelus, tha's all." His duster swung in time with his slight pacing by the front door, now cleared of the bodies that previously littered the way.

"He's right," Buffy spoke up, her own voice soft. "Faith's alone in this, but there are other things we have to worry about."

"Fine," the Watcher spat, putting his glasses on and sitting heavily. "Go, then. And... be careful." Spike nodded once, curtly, before giving Buffy a small kiss. With a slight flap of his duster, he was off in a dead run.

With the younger-looking Brit's exit, the house fell into a somber silence. Xander stood just inside the front door, dressed once again in full combat gear, his watch vigilant. Willow silently comforted Dawn on the couch, even though the witch's eyes conveyed her own need for comfort clearly. Giles stood next to a pile of his books, a thoughtful look on his face as he mentally turned the events of the night over in his mind. And Buffy...

"We can't just sit here," she said suddenly, earning a surprised look from everyone save Xander, who continued to gaze out into the night. "There has to be something we can do to help Faith."

"There's nothing, Buffy," Giles said wearily. "We don't have the artifact we n-need to defeat..."

A slight cough from the foot of the stairs effectively silenced the Watcher mid-sentence. The figure leaning heavily on the banister had been quiet effectively forgotten by everyone in light of more pressing matters. But now this specter from the past, now flesh and blood, made herself known.

"That's not quite true, Rupert," Jenny whispered, her voice dry.

*****

Spike walked to the old warehouse he had once shared with Angelus and Dru, not quite sure of his next move. He had searched the master vampire's old haunts, but to no avail. This was the last of them, and he was loath to return here. Painful memories of those he had killed and fed upon were thick upon the place.

"Bloody git," he murmured to himself, his hand unconsciously tightening on the hilt of his blade. "Just bloody get it over with." Thus fortified, Spike strode right through the front door. His eyes widened slightly when he realized he wasn't alone.

Two dozen men in dark armor were lounging in the open bay. Every one of them looked at him as he entered, a few rising to their feet slowly. And in the center of the room, pacing on the table that was once used for Dru's 'feasts', was Angelus.

"Dear William!" the vampire exclaimed, raising his hands in an almost merry manner. "So glad you could join us!"

"Bloody wanker," Spike murmured, knowing that with his vampiric hearing, Angelus would hear him easily.

"Now, now," the vampire taunted, "Don't ruin the party with your bad mood! Kill him, slowly." This last was an order to the dark knights, who had all risen during the short exchange.

"Don't," Spike said calmly, drawing his blade slowly, pointing it at Angelus. "Just you and me, y' poofer. We've unsettled business, you an' I."

That twisted, taunting grin remained on Angelus's face for long moments, until he realized something that Spike had been counting on. In that moment he realized a small miscalculation on his part.

The only movement the knights had made was a slight turn, and a few small paces backwards in some cases, leaving the greater part of the room clear. Despite their demonic heritage, these knights had been taught honor and glory. It made them a much more effective and cohesive fighting force, but also allowed for single combat between two enemies.

"A blade," Angelus said , holding his right hand out. One of the knights took two steps forward, proffering his sheathed blade, hilt first, to the vampire. Angelus drew it cleanly, the steel singing free. "I'm impressed, Spike. Didn't think you were smart enough to figure this little honorable challenge thing out."

"Shut y'r gob," Spike fairly snarled, bringing his sword up in simple salute. "Time for one of us t' die."

Angelus, the master vampire, let his demon to the fore as he leapt at Spike, the former vampire. For centuries both men had competed against each other in every facade of their shared un-life. Now, after a century, their dark hatred of each other was unleashed, finally freed from the constraints forged by the women they had loved or lusted over.

Steel against steel, flesh against flesh, and blood against blood.

*****

"Jenny..." Giles was the first to fight through his shock and speak, taking one step towards her. She swayed uneasily on her feet but waved him off.

"Don't," she whispered, "I don't know how long..."

"How long what?" Willow asked.

"When he's dead, I don't know if I'll die again," the gypsy answered. "They weren't sure of a lot of things..."

When she didn't elaborate immediately, both Giles and Willow called her name. Shaking her head slightly, the gypsy lowered herself to sit upon the steps. After running a slightly shaking hand through her hair, she met Giles's gaze.

"It's a long story, Rupert," she said, almost wearily. "And we don't have time for the full details. Suffice to say, Faith may not be throwing her life away... it all depends on a few details that couldn't be determined by the powers that be."

*****

The necromantic magic sought her life, her mind, and her soul. Searing pain and visions of madness threatened to end her in those first few moments, but somehow she survived it. Somehow her feet continued to propel her forward, her voice rising in a harsh, primal battle cry.

The lich felt no fear as she charged through his magic, confident in the fact that she couldn't hurt him. His powers were to strong, too old to be ended by a mere mortal holding plain steel. A horrid laugh began to emanate from deep within his chest as he watched her approach.

Then his eyes caught something that he wasn't expecting. For the first time in hundreds of years, he felt an emotion that he could no longer rightly name. He knew he had miscalculated, and that it would cost him dearly. The golden radiance that shown brightly from the katana heralded something he never thought he would see.

His own death.

*****

Both me were more evenly matched than they realized. The demonic steel of the vampire's blade screeched against the enchanted, elf-crafted long sword in the now-mortal man's hands. Theirs was a fight with no quarter, where every once of skill and prowess was drawn forth in desperation and intense desire.

And through it all, the dark knights stood silently, watching the battle with an almost casual air.

*****

"What do you mean?"

"Which sword did she take, Rupert?"

There was a moment of pure silence before the watcher spoke. His voice was filled with confusion, followed closely by sudden enlightenment. Sitting down heavily, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling, ignoring the questioning looks of the witch.

*****

"And so it ends," he said calmly, his voice sounding more alive than it ever had. He watched with an impartial eye as the blessed steel sang through the air. Gone was the centuries of power struggles, dark rituals, and painful sacrifices. With one clean cut, his dark intellect was rendered useless and his evil magics were undone.

Faith collapsed to her knees as the body of the Necromancer fell, cut cleanly at the waist. The anger and rage that had driven her for the last hour was finally spent as the object of her hate died his final death. It was then that the sorrow she had held at bay finally found her.

It was there, hours later, they would find her, kneeling in the heart of her fallen foe's dark sanctuary, weeping softly.

*****

Both men were breathing heavily as the stood just out of each other's reach. Blood flowed freely from their many wounds, but neither man felt pain. As skilled as each man was, he found the other to be his match. Strength, speed, skill, and heart were all equally balanced by the other man.

"This ends here," Spike panted, raising his blade for one final assault. The other man nodded briefly as he raised his own blade.

They both leapt, bringing the swords around in a deadly arc. Steel found flesh, cutting deeply and sending forth a spray of blood. One blade fell from lifeless hands, clattering loudly against the concrete.

The victor slowly raised his gaze to the dark knights, who had begun to walk from the warehouse. They said not a word to the victor, save for the one knight who collected his blade. Within moments, they were all gone, leaving the victor to stand alone with the memory of his fallen adversary.

*****

A/N : yea, a dramatic pause. One last chapter, then an epilogue. Gotta clean up a few loose ends.