AHH! Oh my God I can't believe I haven't updated in so long!

EAE: You are an idiot.

I know, I know, I'm sorry! I just had writer's block and a whole heap of GCSE coursework to do, not to mention my EVIL mother confiscated my laptop until I'd done it. Grr… anyway, on to the nice bit!

empath89: Here is your update. I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner and I really didn't want to kill Mishka (EAE: speak for yourself). I am growing quite fond of my dear evil warlock myself. He was supposed to be more evil but I guess I've made him into an evil-ish guy working with the good guys. Thank you for reviewing!

Lady Hawke: Thank you! I was worried that people would find the death scene terribly cheesy and over dramatic what with the singing and everything, but I had it in the first bit so I sorta had to finish it. Glad you liked that line, it's something I'm quite fond of saying when talking about undeads. Guess I'm just weird eh? (EAE: no kidding) Yeah, she is very very dead I'm afraid and I do have a bad habit for drawing things out when characters die… ah well.

Insane Troll Logic: There you are! Yep, I do have a certain tendency to write fairly disturbing stuff don't I? I sometime read through it and think "I wrote that?" Meh, anyway. Yeah Kaeden is going to go VERY mad but not yet. I have plans, oh yes precious I do… (evil cackle).

ka-mia2286: (sniff) Aw, thank you, you're really nice to me. Here you go, have a cookie! (EAE: okay, you have GOT to stop doing that, we're running out) Well that's 'cos all my reviewers are so nice to me!

jewel21: Yay, you're back! I missed you! I think it was probably better to read the last two chapters together anyway as they were closely linked so yeah. I do try to update quickly but I was the lazy one this time (looks ashamed) so I hope you catch this one!

Beff: (looks sympathetic) I'm sorry I'm being evil, there will be more this chapter, really! Have a tissue and cheer up!

Righto, now onto the main event!

EAE: The threatening?

Sigh… go on then.

EAE: REVIEW or I shall come and bury you in werewolf plushies while you sleep! Mwahahahahahaha!

; And you say I'm embarrassing...

Musical instruments have many different attributes and many different people find solace in their astringent and delightful qualities. Others curse at the obvious inferiority of the ponderous double bass to the elegant flute while wielders of the many stringed harp sneer at the narrow-minded violin and the high spirited piccolo laughs at the clumsy tone of the trumpet. And then of course there were the guys who played the piano who couldn't give a damn about the others as long as they know which one they're supposed to accompany.

Doyle was not in tune with this complex web of diversity and subtle opposition but he was thinking about a certain musical instrument. In this case it was a very large gong and Doyle was enjoying the vision of using it to hit the man playing it, over the head. It would have disturbed him to know that several, very prominent figures in the history of various demonic rituals had been thinking exactly the same thing. It would have unnerved him even further to know that he was related to three of them. It was certainly not doing his head any favours at any rate.

Mind you, neither was the blindfold, the gag, the smell, or the unknown substance that something seemed to be painting on his cheeks and forehead. The stuff was unpleasantly sticky and clung to him, pulling at his skin like slowly drying mud. But then, he thought that that was probably what it was. He found his treacherous thoughts shifting back to the very thing he had been trying so desperately not to think about.

Mishka.

He didn't want to think about what could have happened to the young girl after he had blacked out. He didn't want to remember the look on that slimy warlock's face as he looked at the young redhead. He didn't want to. But, he thought bitterly, as that old saying goes, 'I want, doesn't get.'

Hm… and I suppose it would go away if I said please?

His dull thoughts were interrupted by the heavy blindfold being yanked harshly off his head. His eyes snapped shut against the seemingly blinding light that invaded his battered senses as he felt equally unfriendly hands pulling out the gag in his mouth. He coughed painfully, his breath rattling through his dry throat.

"We have only two hours. What's taking you so long?"

That voice… he could have sworn he had heard it before… oh yeah. The old man, Zariel was it? Yeah, that sounded about right. Doyle delved deeper into his newfound knowledge, sorting jumbled memories into order. An unpleasant memory of having a very sharp knife shoved through his chest surfaced reluctantly from the pool of drifting thoughts. Oh goody…

Doyle wished he could just fall asleep and forget about everything, even as his eyes adjusted to the light, vague outlines swimming blearily into focus. He wondered how long it had been since he had been knocked unconscious. Again. Part of him was actually fairly impressed that he hadn't gained some sort of permanent brain damage from the whole experience. The rest of him was still wondering whether or not that was actually true.

"Where is the girl?"

The old man's hoarse, rattling voice seeped horribly into his ears, seeming to become clearer every second. Doyle really wished it wouldn't.

"Mr. Prarl said to tell you that he… took care of her, my lord."

Doyle's eyes snapped open at the callous comment, his eyes wide and panic stricken for his young friend. He was unpleasantly surprised to find the old man's pupiless gaze fixed intently on his face. A smirk broke out over Zariel's countenance at the halfbreed's reaction, yellowed teeth gleaming.

"Enjoy your nap seer?"

Doyle didn't trust himself to speak, averting his eyes from the old man, too sickened to think straight. He didn't want to know what 'taken care of' meant; even though he was sure he had a pretty good idea. The very thought made him want to throw up. If Mishka had been hurt… it would be because of him. Because she tried to save him. Because she cared.

Zariel watched the brachen demon with interest, noting the way is face seemed to contort into expressions of sorrow, pain, anger and fear without him seeming to realise. Running a critical eye over the bruises on the Irishman's forehead he shook his head slightly. By rights the seer should be in a coma or something rather than conscious and actually able to understand human language. He had heard that the Irish were thick-skulled but this was taking it a little too far.

He opened his mouth to speak again and then stiffened, turning his head away to glare at the solid wall to his far left. There were intruders in the lair. He could feel their malignant presence seeping into his consciousness, prickling against his senses. He scowled slightly. He hated it when he was disturbed and at such a crucial time too…

"Some people are so inconsiderate." Shaking his head, he half turned to glare at a minion behind him. "Go and inform Mr. Prarl that we have a few unwelcome guests." Doyle's ears pricked up. Unwelcome guests… that could only mean…

Angel.

"Ensure he expresses our displeasure personally."

The minion bowed and left silently, leaving the room empty except for the old man and the battered halfbreed. Zariel turned back to the seer and was surprised to see a pair of dark eyes meet his own, without the dull hazy sheen they had previously possessed, but… smirking!

Doyle grinned inwardly at the look on the old man's face. He had a fairly good idea of who the 'unwelcome guests' were but chose to remain silent, enjoying the old man's look of inherent confusion. Zariel swiftly recovered himself and narrowed his eyes at the grinning seer. Long blue streaks of paint ran in intricate patterns across his bare torso and face, adding to the grime and blood, making him look like some sort of badly decorated lump of mud. One of his eyes was swollen so badly that he could barely see out of it and the back of his leg was still leaking blood from the torn sinew. And yet the man was hanging there, staring death in the face and looking cheerful about it. Ah well, there's always one…

"Is it possible, seer, that you have no idea what is about to happen to you?"

The infuriating halfbreed's smirk merely widened, "Nope, not a bloody clue mate, sorry. Got a few ideas about what's going to happen to you though." The silver haired old man scowled again, his pupiless silver blue eyes raking across Doyle's face.

"You dare to mock me seer?"

Doyle smiled cheerfully, "Sure, why not? According to you I'm going to be dead soon anyway. Might as well enjoy myself. Say, isn't this the part where you're supposed to tell me that all possibility of winning is hopeless and I should succumb to the dark side before it is too late and all that crap?"

Zariel scowled inwardly at the seer's lack of respect.

"Would you like to know what is going to happen to you?"

'Why not?' thought Doyle. His brain, heart, stomach and various other bodily orifices immediately supplied a multitude of reasons.

"Typical, you are as ignorant as the many that came before you, too wrapped up in your own pathetic existence to appreciate – "

"Look," Doyle cut in, his tired, grief-laden mind having had just about enough of this weird old guy's obsessive speeches, "if you're going to sit there spouting rubbish about how unfair the world is and what nasty people the humans are and how we all must be destroyed then I've got news for you. I really don't care. Okay?"

Note: Add new word to dictionary: Doylecide – A very common situation where a certain man called Doyle decides that he's fed up with waiting around to be killed so he pisses off all the right people to get the whole bloody thing over with.

Doyle really seriously thought he'd done it that time. The old man's blank eyes darkened to a stormy grey, a crackling dark aura seeming to surround him. Rage flared like a living being around Zariel's thin form and Doyle felt cold sweat trickling down his mauled back, stinging the cuts left by Prarl's knife. Zariel lifted an arm and dark magic began to gather in his palm, crackling menacingly. However it was the smirk twisting the man's lips that made him the most nervous as the man's low, amused tone filtered through the magic-charged air.

"Would you really like to know?"

Angel sprinted through the dark halls, cursing his limited vision that hampered his speed, willing his blurred feet to carry him faster. Blood trickled from a small cut above his left eye, only serving to enforce his feeling of urgency. Whatever sketchy outlines of a plan had been constructed along the way was now scrapped due to… current circumstances. Current circumstances being one grief-stricken, overpowering, possibly-insane and not to mention pissed off warlock.

Glancing further ahead, Angel's eyes narrowed and he muttered a stream of vicious Irish curses as he skidded to a halt right in the centre of a slightly larger space in the tunnel. Three other corridors branched off into the darkness and there was no sign of the angry whirlwind that had been Kaeden. Great, he thought sarcastically, trying to pick up a scent, unsuccessfully. Just peachy.

"What's up?"

The vampire half turned as Oz slowed from his headlong dash to catch up with the vampire. The werewolf's eyes narrowed as he spotted the split in their route. Behind him, Cordy came rushing out of the darkness behind Oz, her hair falling messily around her flushed face as she struggled for breath.

"Do… you two have… ANY idea how… difficult it is to… run in these shoes?"

Angel winced as he caught sight of the thin-strapped high heels. He had often wondered how women could walk in those things, let alone run in them. That was Cordy for you, she would much rather be perfect than practical. Ah well, they would come in handy if they needed to, say, stab or possibly garrotte somebody. Angel turned his attention to the spiky-haired musician beside him.

"Hey Oz, can you get a scent? I tried but this place is like a damn rat run. There's got to be about fifty different trails."

The guitarist shook his head ruefully.

"Sorry man, even without all the tracks there's a heap of dark magic hanging around and giving me a headache. Plays havoc with the wolf."

Angel nodded, not surprised.

"Guess we're just going to have to trust in fate."

Oz quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Hey, not to meaning to sound depressing or anything but – "

"I know, I know."

Angel sighed and, pulling a knife from his belt, crouched, setting it flat on the ground.

"We're just going to have to do this the old fashioned way."

A skilful twist of his wrist sent the blade spinning, a blur of silver, slowing down to finally point directly to the path on their left. Angel shrugged, leaning forward to snatch the blade up, his dark eyes roving the path for any sign of danger.

"Left it is then. Cordy you stay in between me and Oz okay? Try and keep quiet."

Cordy huffed irritably, muttering something about men being control freaks but nevertheless did as she was told, wincing and hopping slightly as she rubbed the red marks on the backs of her heels. Maybe she ought to buy some trainers… she shook herself, shocked.

Get a grip girl! Trainers indeed…I refuse to stoop so low.

Angel wanted to go faster but had to take the others into account. They couldn't leave Cordy all on her own and even if Oz had been able to keep up in normal circumstances he knew that the young wolf was still recovering from the first two fights. So he forced himself to check his impatient pace, using the extra time to scan the passage ahead. He couldn't see much light ahead so he reached up and wrenched a flaming torch out of the solid rock wall, brushing chipped stone off his black leather coat.

"Angel."

The vampire turned his head slightly to look back past a scared-looking Cordelia at the werewolf who had his crossbow in his hands and was peering uneasily past Angel at the space ahead of them.

"Yeah?"

"I can smell blood."

Angel frowned and concentrated on the air around them. His sense of smell was not as acute as the wolf's but he did have a flair for picking up blood (in more senses than one) and his eyes narrowed as he caught the bittersweet metallic tang of the liquid he fed off.

"It's quite old… can you tell where it's coming from?"

Oz walked up beside him, frowning mildly.

"I think it's coming from ahead of us. Can't really tell."

Angel nodded, "Only one way to find out. Watch your step."

The vampire set off confidently down the passage, holding the torch before him. Oz shrugged and followed. Cordelia rolled her eyes. Men. She hopped after them, tugging at the thin strap digging into her heel. Cordelia Chase could wear shoes that would have carved the feet of lesser women into slivers after a minute and still have soft skin. She could run a marathon in a pair of stilettos without having to go into hospital for severe surgical treatment on her feet (although she may have had to go in for lung and heart treatment). But even this was starting to grate on her nerves. Doyle had better be about to die or something.

Doyle… she sighed, all her worries about the jaunty Irishman coming back to her. She would never admit it but she really missed his silly joking manner and his stupid remarks and that cute blush he got whenever she hugged him. She sighed again, her fingers unconsciously reaching up to twine in her unkempt brown hair, twisting a strand around her fingers. Doyle was always fun to have around but… he seemed to act a little weird at times. Well, more weird than usual anyway.

He could be… almost secretive sometimes, as though there was something about him that he didn't want her to find out. Her mouth set in a determined line. Well, if that stupid seer thought he could keep secrets from her after having the nerve to go and get himself kidnapped and make her worry like this, not to mention ruin a pair of her favourite shoes, then he had another thing coming.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she walked right into Angel, bouncing off the vampire's back and falling backwards onto her rear. Angel turned to raise an eyebrow at her and she glared back.

"Cordy, I said to be quiet," he said a touch impatiently. She snorted, "Well excuse me. I'm not the one who stopped in the middle of the stupid corridor anyway!"

Angel sighed, starting to think that perhaps bringing Cordy had not been such a great idea after all. The actress in question was getting more bad tempered by the second.

"A little help would be nice," she said pointedly.

Angel sighed again and reached down to help the disgruntled actress to her feet. She brushed dust off her clothes and turned to stare ahead of them, squinting into the gloom.

"Why'd we stop anyway?"

Angel jerked his head at the spiky haired werewolf who was standing a little further ahead, green eyes narrowed.

"Oz thought he smelt something or heard something or something."

"Well aren't we just Mr. Helpful today?"

"Yes, thank you Cordy."

Just then their attention was diverted by Oz's shout of, "Get down!" before something streaked out of the darkness, heading straight towards Cordelia. Angel threw the actress roughly aside and was catapulted backwards several feet as the thing hit his shoulder.

Hissing in pain he sat up gingerly and inspected the long wooden spike embedded in his shoulder. He could feel cold blood seeping from the gash.

"Ow…"

Cordy sat up spitting dust but as she turned to yell at Angel she caught sight of the vampire's predicament and her eyes widened in horror.

"Oh my God! Angel, are you okay?"

Angel gripped the wood with one hand and tore it from his shoulder, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Bastards ripped my coat. I like this coat."

'Oh God, I sound like Spike,' Angel's eyes widened in horror.

"I've had worse Cordy, believe me."

He examined the weapon, noting how it had been cut as though by a knife to create the sharp tip.

"I'll get have to be careful I don't get one of these in the heart. Oz?"

"Here."

The werewolf hauled himself upright, brushing dust from his face. Casting around he picked up his crossbow and checked the weapon over while Angel got up and helped Cordy to her feet. Angel did his best to ignore the smell of blood as he stared back down the corridor, searching for any signs of movement.

"Whoever's there, show yourself!"

Oz shook his head.

"I can't hear anyone. I think this trap was rigged."

Angel looked back at him.

"What, automated?"

The werewolf nodded.

"So," Angel took a step forward, "was that the only one?"

Oz shrugged, lifted his crossbow and shot a bolt into the darkness. He just had time to throw himself out of harm's way as another spear shot out of the darkness, streaking down the passageway and out of sight.

"Apparently not."

Angel sighed.

"Oh this just keeps getting better and better."

Cordy made a small squeaking sound.

"Maybe it would just be better if we went back?"

The words had only just left the actress's mouth when there was a loud 'clang' from behind them. Angel turned to see what appeared to be a solid iron portcullis wedged firmly into the rocky earth, blocking any hope of escape.

"Oh goody. Sorry Cordy, looks like we're stuck."

The actress groaned and hid behind Angel, peering distrustfully down into the shadowy hallway.

"This isn't funny."

Angel smiled wryly.

"I know what you mean. There's something about having great big wooden spears being chucked at me from random places that really puts a damper on my sense of humour."

"You have a sense of humour?"

"Ha ha Cordy."

Oz smiled as he listened to the pair bickering, reminding him of the gang back in Sunnydale when Buffy and Willow were teasing Xander or Giles.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Watch yourselves."

Oz and Cordy drew back as Angel flung the flaming torch ahead of them, another spike barely missing it as it landed in the earthy ground, revealing a rather disturbing sight. Cordelia's eyes widened. Oz whistled.

"So… I guess this was what Kaeden meant by spike pits, huh?"

Angel nodded grimly.

"Guess so. Well… at least that explains the blood…"

Ahahaha! You must review to find out what happens! Next chapter, Angel and co. get into a little bit of a pickle, Doyle finds out what it is that Zariel (the evil old guy is actually after) and as for Kaeden… well… REVIEW! (see what I did there? Yeah, hm, clever… )