Apologies for the delay in getting this thing out, but I've had an interesting week in which everything was a little screwy. Britain, or rather England, has been dislocated by the Euro 2004 football championship, so life has been a little odd. Being Welsh, I have been able to deal with the wailing and gnashing of teeth with a certain smugness. Sorry. Hope that this chapter makes up for it.
Xander watched the car as it made its way across the valley floor. Its progress was rather uneven – twice it stopped and changed direction. What was interesting was the fact that each time it had been heading towards a hill. There were three of them in the area, small things as hills went and nowhere near steep or large enough for him to have used them for his training runs. But the car, once it had sorted its direction out, seemed to be heading for the largest one.
He raised himself from his meditative position and eased slowly back down the outcrop. Although darkness was gathering quite quickly now, he didn't need the force to locate the car – its headlights were blazing full on.
Aquila was a comforting presence across his back in the shoulder sling that he'd made after arriving all those weeks ago. He didn't know if he'd need it, but it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to dealing with demons. Certainly when it came to dealing with vampires, where it was always useful to have a plan B, and he checked that his emergency stake was on the loop on the other side of his belt.
Then he slipped into the night, taking advantage of the terrain, in the direction of the now motionless car. A little reconnaissance and then he'd assess his options. He needed to find out who they were, what they were doing there and just why the feelings he was picking up from the half demon in the car kept fluctuating so wildly.
Doyle was confused. But then he'd been confused for several hours now. His kidnappers – or whatever the hell they were – seemed to be looking for something.
Twice the car had stopped and the red thing and snake-eyes had consulted some kind of old book that he was unable to see properly. Each time they'd had a minor disagreement about whatever the book said. It was minor because ol' Red and bony had lost his temper at the drop of his hat and brought his fist down on the dashboard. It seemed that he did this quite a lot from the dents that covered the plastic surface.
The red thing was the leader of this odd pack and the more that Doyle studied him the less he liked his chances of getting out of this situation alive, or at least more or less in one piece. Red had bad grammar, eyebrow ridges that almost hid his small and rather nasty little eyes, far too many muscles and a temper that went boom for little or no reason. Snake-eyes looked almost as bad, but was afraid of red. Neither were the brightest bulbs in the hardware shop. The vampires were just your standard minions, capable of carrying out orders without too much inconvenient independent thought. The magical mystery tour finally ended when Red had grunted and pointed at something up ahead, that something being a hill. Snake-eyes drove up to the base and then stopped the car. Looking back at Doyle he hissed: "Take him out."
The vampires escorted Doyle out and he was mulling over kicking one of them in the jewels and elbowing the other one in the throat and running for it when Red loomed over him like a dark shadow. Even in the darkness he still looked menacing.
A large, clawed, finger came out and prodded him in the shoulder. "I am Karvor of the Sankreg Clan," said Red in a deep bass rumble.
"That's nice," prattled Doyle, "I'm Doyle of the, er, Guinness Clan."
There was a grunt from the demon. "Know that," he said almost proudly, "You Doyle. You Brachen demon. We need your nose. Know that Brachen demons good at tracking. Good at smelling things. You find thing on hill, we let you live. Maybe."
Snake-eyes emerged from the other side of the car. "Maybe," he said. "Last guide we use was bad. Tasted good though," and the two laughed noisily.
Oh sod, thought Doyle, where the hell did they get the idea that Brachens could track? Well, some could, he'd heard, following intensive training and if the family had a knack for it. The only thing that he'd picked up from his father, apart from the whole demon thing, was a taste for Bushmills and a love of the racetrack. True, when he accessed his Brachen demon side he could smell things better than using his human nose, but that was only up to a point. Then he realised something. If I can't find what they're looking for, they're going to kill me, he thought. Even if he did find it, probably by falling over whatever it was, they were probably going to kill him anyway. You're going to have to use that silver tongue of yours Doyle, he thought desperately, you're going to have to talk, lie and stretch the truth until it wobbles like jello.
"Can I ask what you need me to find?" he ventured.
Red tilted his head and looked at him. "Hole in ground," came the rumble. "Cave. Bodies in cave."
"You want me to find some bodies in a cave?" The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end now. God, he thought, how do'ya lose a cave with corpses in it? "Fresh... bodies?"
Red looked up at the hill and what sounded suspiciously like a sigh came from his general direction. "No," came the reply. "Bodies old. Dead 400 years."
Sensing an opening here, Doyle nodded in what he hoped was a considering way. "Ah, that is a long time. That's going to make it hard, but not impossible. If they were fresh then I'd be able to take you straight there," he said, blathering desperately. Yeah right, he thought, I'd just follow the line of scavenging wildlife until even my Brachen senses could pick up the stench of fresh blood. "But if they've been dead for that length of time, that's going to make it a little harder."
There was a pause as Red studied him. Then he leant down and hissed: "You better find. Or I kill you. You not run either. Can see well in dark, we can. And," he gestured to Snake-eyes who had been rummaging in the boot of the car and who now came forwards with a length of something that clinked. "We put chain on you to make sure."
Doyle kept his face expressionless as they fastened a manacle to his ankle and then attached it to a long chain. This was not going well. He almost wished that he'd stayed in LA owing money to Tancred.
Frankly enough was enough and fortunately he had a plan. Sort of. Well, alright, he needed more time and more information.
"Look," he said, turning to Red, who was still gnawing nonchalantly on a leg bone. "It might make things a little easier if you tell me exactly what we're looking for. 'Dead bodies' is a little inexact. I mean, if you want me to find this cave, how about cluing me in a little on what's so important in this cave."
There was a pause as Red, snake-eyes and the vampires stared at him, and for a moment he thought they were going to beat the snot out of him. Hopefully he had put the right amount of helpful sincerity into it, the kind he used when he was explaining to people that lending money to him was a good idea.
Then Red looked at snake-eyes and the two exchanged a kind of 'what-the- hell' shrug. He thumped over and took out the book that he had been consulting earlier.
"Bodies Spaniards," he rumbled reluctantly. "Steal cross from cathedral. Take it here after running away. Have argument with each other. Stab each other. Try to stab follower, who run away. Tells priest. Priest writes it in book. Warning in book about cave. Cave evil." There was a gleam of fangs in the darkness. "We find cave, we not worry about evil. Evil not bother evil."
"Okay," said Doyle, tilting his head and looking at the book. "Nice short summary. Not brilliantly helpful, but nice and short." Morphing into his Brachen demon side for the umpteenth time that night he looked down at the book to get a better look at it. It was old, musty and slim. He flicked through it and then looked up. The horizon was starting to brighten, he realised. The larger of the vampires followed his gaze and then stirred restlessly.
"Dawn's almost here," he said and Red looked at him levelly.
"Sunlight not hurt me," he said contemptuously.
The vampire nodded. "Yeah, but you still need us to help guard the half- breed. And the more searchers the better."
Red considered this for a long moment before nodding himself. "Need sleep as well," he said reluctantly. "We return to cave. Should be dark enough in there."
Okay, thought Doyle, I get to live another day or so. They were walking, or rather they were walking and he was trudging and limping at the same time, up the hill to the cave, which faced north.
Unfortunately the cave was not the place were he was destined to spend the day because as they approached it Red had pushed him into the hole in front of it. This time he was able to land on his feet and he looked up shakily to see the others lining the top of the hole and laughing nastily at the look on his face.
Red squatted down and looked at him. "You not stray far," he smiled viciously. "Not pick lock and run away. You read book. You find cave tonight. You not find, you dead. Not climb out of hole either," and the chain clanked as it was shaken by a clawed hand. "If you tug on chain I know." And then the four were gone, off to the dark and rather smelly recesses of the cave.
Doyle looked around and considered his options. He didn't have many. If he'd had a pin on him he could have fiddled with the lock on the manacle. Shame on him, he'd left his sewing kit behind. Typical. Then he looked at the walls of the hole. Whoever had dug the bloody thing had made the walls quite sheer. Who would dig a hole on a hill in the middle of nowhere? He shuddered. The thing was eerily like a grave.
Turning around he slumped down, his back against one wall and his aching legs outstretched. He was bone tired and very thirsty. The chances of the others having any water on them were exactly zero.
To take his mind off his predicament he opened the book and started to read.
Xander looked up the hill and frowned. It had been an odd night. His uninvited guests had spent their time wandering vaguely over the hill. He was pretty sure that they were searching for something, but what? He couldn't remember his uncle mentioning anything noteworthy about the area, and Giles had just nodded absent-mindedly when he had mentioned where he was going, so there probably wasn't any kind of magical wackiness about that part of the desert.
But something had made two demons and two vampires come all the way out here, shackle some poor unfortunate to a chain and then search a barren hill.
He could feel them up there – yuck. Even with a load of rock between him and them they still stank of the dark side. And their prisoner – if that was what he was – was still feeling very sorry for himself, although there seemed to be an upwards swing to him that told of an inbuilt optimism. This, thought Xander, feels like a 'the glass is half-full' kind of guy.
The others were getting sleepy, he could tell. And they'd left the other one a little way away from them. Okay, he decided, time to sneak a little closer.
Doyle closed the book and directed a soft string of swear words at the wall opposite. He was a prisoner of a bunch of cretins. Genuine, card-carrying, morons.
"These fellas couldn't think their way out of a wet paper bag," he breathed and looked down at the book again. This didn't make sense. What were they doing with the book in the first place?
He looked up at the lightening sky. He knew what they were looking for, alright. The Cross of the Trinity, stolen from the Metropolitan Cathedral in Mexico City centuries before by a pair of degenerate Hidalgo brothers, who had then fled across the continent with a small and dwindling band of followers. The Cross had been made in Aragon in the twelfth century, taken over the Atlantic in the sixteenth as a relic of particular holiness. It would be worth a pot of money.
Said pot of money was obviously why the brothers had then stabbed each other to death in a fight in a cave, before the horrified eyes of their last follower, who had then fled the cave after he saw something emerge from their bodies and take an amorphous form.
He had run straight to the nearest settlement, where he died of exhaustion, but not before making a deathbed confession to the writer of the book, a priest called Don Martinez de Colombo. The priest in turn had tried to retrieve the cross – but had been unable to enter the cave. "Malignant forces", he'd written, had stopped him from going in. Some kind of ghost, Doyle guessed uneasily. Don Martinez had written that he had ordered the book to be boarded up in a cavity in the walls of his church. Somehow it was free again. That was suspicious. How would a demon get a book from a church without getting his feet charred off from standing on holy ground?
He shook his head again. He'd heard stories from his grandmother about some of the nastier evil spirits, standing guard over the loot that they'd died for. That was not something that he wanted to get involved with, but on the other hand, the chances of Red and snake-eyes sending him into the cave were remote. Last night they'd both rushed into the cave they were now sleeping in when they thought that that was their target.
Okay, he had the beginning of a strategy. If the ghost was as nasty as the book hinted, it wouldn't matter how evil the people who disturbed it were, it would still try to rip their arms off. That just left the vampires... he had a chance.
It also helped that they were on the wrong hill. The map that the priest had drawn in the book made that clear. Three hills, in a certain place, with an old road along the side of one. He'd seen that in the gloom as they approached the place the previous evening. They'd actually driven past the right hill.
He grinned. Okay, things were looking up. Then he heard a faint noise from the side of the pit. Something was up there. He just hoped it wasn't a rattlesnake or a wandering coyote. He was in no fit state to fight for his life.
Instead a voice said softly: "I'm guessing that the pit and hole means that you're a prisoner."
"Good guess," replied Doyle sarcastically. "Who are you?"
"Oh, just a passing stranger. A curious passing stranger. Here's the question I've been asking myself. Why would two demons and a pair of fang- faces keep a demon prisoner? And why would they go wandering over a hill late at night?"
"Hey," hissed Doyle indignantly, "I'm very human – on my mother's side. Only half Brachen demon."
"Half what?"
"Brachen demon."
"Never heard of you guys. You much into evil? 'Cause if you are, you don't compare to your friends there in the cave. They stink."
Who is this fella? thought Doyle. "No," he replied, "Not into the evil thing at all. Brachens are pretty much the quiet, live and let live kind of demon."
"You don't, I don't know, worship any shiny/fiery/slimy demon gods?"
"The only thing we worship," muttered Doyle, "Is Guinness and not having our heads put on spikes. Have you sneaked up to have a conversation or are you here to help me? Because I am in sore need of the latter!"
There was a pause and then hand came into view holding a bottle of water. "Here," said the voice and dropped the bottle into his grateful hands. Doyle almost ripped the top off and glugged half the water down greedily. Then, pausing to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked up again. "Thanks," he said.
"Xander," replied the voice. Doyle blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
"Name. Xander Harris. Yours?"
"Doyle."
"Nice to meet you, in the metaphorical sense anyway. Why the whole prisoner schtick?"
Doyle groaned and leant back again the wall again. "I'm being held by a group of morons who are looking for a cave that contains a ghost and the Cross of the Trinity. They think that I can track things with my Brachen senses. Fat chance. That answer your question?"
"Aha. And said cave is on this hill?"
"No, they're too stupid to get the right one. They've got a book written by a priest who came here once. It's got a map but they still managed to end up searching the wrong place."
"Ah, those wacky demons. I could get you out of there, but I'm afraid this chain is rather tough and I happened to leave my bolt cutters back at the house."
Doyle sighed. "Ah well. I don't suppose you have a pin on you so I could pick the lock?"
"Nope. Sword, yes. Pin no. Which reminds me..." The hand appeared again, this time holding a stake, which fell into a disbelieving Doyle's hands. "Know how to use that?"
"Oh yes," said the half-Brachen demon. Sword? Who was this bloke? "How...?"
"Call it a by-product of living on a Hellmouth. Okay, I need to go away and get some answers on the matter of the demons and how to kill them, as I've never seen their type before. I don't suppose you know?"
"Never laid eyes on them before in my life. But the red one is in charge and calls himself Karvor of the Sankreg Clan, whatever the hell that is."
"Nope, never heard of them either," said Harris. There was another pause. "One of them is close to waking up. I'll be back. Hide what I gave you, or they'll suspect that there's someone out here. I'll find a way to get you free, but it might not be until tonight."
There was a brief noise of someone crawling carefully away and he was gone, leaving a baffled Doyle wondering how the hell he could tell that one of a group of demons/vampires was close to waking up in a dark cave far out of sight.
Giles shuffled out of his office in the library holding a mug of desperately badly needed tea. He had returned from another fruitless quest to find Buffy in Los Angeles at 4am the previous night and felt rather like something that could be found under a rock.
Willow and Oz were sitting at the table, looking over a small amulet that had been dropped by something with far too many legs for comfort in a graveyard a few nights earlier. Giles was pretty sure that it was just a trinket, but it was better to be safe than sorry and he had submitted a full description to the artefact department of the Watcher's Council, as well as Room 42 of the British Museum, which dealt with dodgy magical items.
Sitting at a chair at the end of the table he sipped his tea and sighed. Life could be rather hard at times. Then the phone rang and he groaned.
"Willow, would you mind getting that?"
"Sure!" said the redhead in what to Giles sounded like offensive cheerfulness, as she bounded over to the instrument.
"Sunnydale High School Library, can I – Xander!" she squeaked. "Howareyouhow'sthetraininggoingwhyhaven'tyoucalledmethisweekiseverythingalright?" She looked up. "Giles, Xander wants a word. You call me, mister, or Jedi or no Jedi I'm going to... to... make your pencils all floaty!"
Giles emitted yet another sigh and walked over to take the receiver from a pouting Willow.
"Hello, Xander."
"Hey G-man, I have a small situation here. Actually it's bigger than that, but I don't want Willow to worry. Does the name the Cross of the Trinity mean anything to you? Or the name Karvor of the Sankreg Clan?"
Taking his glasses off, Giles used his fingers to massage the bridge of his nose. "The first rings a bell, but I'd, I'd have to look it up. The second one... the Sankreg Clan are an extinct, or at least seriously depleted, race of demons that were massacred during the Sixth Crusade."
"Well, it looks like they missed one, if a big red bony thing that stinks of the dark side is anything to go by. Karvor is here in the desert with a snaky sort of henchman, two vampires and an Irish half-human, half-Brachen demon prisoner. You heard of Brachens?"
"Yes, they're, they're harmless. Quite friendly."
"Good, the guy seemed okay with the force, but better not take any chances. He's being used to find some cave where this Cross is. Apparently, just to keep things interesting, the cave comes with a ghost attached."
"I'll, I'll start on doing some research. What's your number there?" He grabbed a pen and pad, listened and then wrote it down. "I'll call you in a while hopefully. Xander, be careful. If memory serves then Sankreg demons are exceptionally violent and also hard to kill."
"Once again my luck stinks. I'll talk to you later."
When the phone rang again Xander was busy sharpening Aquila. He dropped the honing stone and picked the receiver.
"Xander?"
"Hey G-man!"
"Please stop calling me that, I'm not a bloody FBI agent."
"What?"
"Oh, never mind. Are you sure that this half-Brachen type said the Cross of the Trinity?"
"Yup. That's what he said."
"Interesting. It's been missing since 1694, when it was stolen from the altar of the Metropolitan Cathedral in Mexico City. No-one's seen it since then."
"Does it have any super-powers? I mean, what can it do in the hands of a demon?"
"In, in demonic hands not a lot. It is powerful – but can only be used by someone on the side of light. Evil beings cannot use this thing Xander, it, it would destroy their minds. Even evil humans. Which might explain the ghost."
"Giles can you explain that last part?"
"Well, of course this is just speculation, but it's possible that, that whoever stole the Cross might have had his mind attacked by its powers. And if he wanted or desired the Cross badly enough it might have acted like an anchor, tying him to the spot where he died. Bear that in mind Xander.
"Oh and I've double checked the records and it seems that there have been a few scattered sightings of Sankreg demons over the years, here and there. The last one was Cleveland, two years ago. Be very careful Xander. Whatever has made this demon surface could be something dangerous. Especially as the Cross is useless in their hands."
"So why take it at all if they can't use it?" Xander mused.
"Precisely," said the Watcher seriously.
"Does a Sankreg demon have any weaknesses?"
An embarrassed cough came down the line. "None that I've been able to find out, I'm afraid."
"Okay." Xander paused. "Well, I'll play it by ear. And yes, Giles I'll be careful."
By the time that the sun sank beneath the horizon Doyle was getting very impatient to be out of the hole in the ground. The decor was uninspiring and the facilities were just nonexistent. He'd nursed the bottle of water through the day and when it was empty he'd buried it under a pile of dirt in one of the corners.
Harris had not reappeared, but at least Doyle knew that he was out there and the fact that once or twice during the day Red or snake-eyes had appeared to check on him, he knew that Harris was probably unable to get close enough to talk. The stake was carefully concealed up one of his sleeves.
Scuffling sounds and then a small shower of dirt made him look up. The smaller of the vampires was looking down at him. "Time to go to work," he said and then reaching down caught Doyle by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the hole, his chain clanking.
"Thanks," said Doyle, dusting himself off. "I think. Where's whatisname of the Scanning Clan?"
The vampire pointed to the red form of the demon as he approached and Doyle pulled the book out of his coat pocket.
"We're in the wrong place," he said, doing his best to look serious.
"What say?" rumbled the demon darkly.
"Look," said Doyle, walking over and pulling the book open to the page that had the map on. "Three hills, see? And the road. But you followed the dirt track, not the road, and that threw you off a bit. And the hill you want is the northernmost of the three, not the easternmost. So, we should be on that hill over there," and he pointed to the low bulk of the next hill.
"How you know?" asked Red, looking suspicious and confused at the same time. "How you know where east is?"
Doyle sighed and pointed to the eastern horizon, which was glowing. "You don't need to be a genius to work out that LA is over there."
The book was snatched from his grasp by snake-eyes, who glowered at him for good measure and then the two demons bent over it and muttered among themselves. Eventually that straightened up and looked at each other. "He right," said Red reluctantly. "Good. We do job. Never come here again. Tired of taking orders from her."
Aha, thought Doyle as they walked down the hill, dissent in the ranks. Hum. They're working for someone.
Xander paused as he approached the hill. He was well behind them, but the snaky one had eyes like a hawk and kept checking around them. Using the force he knew that he hadn't been spotted though.
That wasn't the reason why he had paused though. Something was very, very wrong with that hill. The bulk of it was fine but there was something about one section of it, where it felt... dark. Very dark and twisted as if...
He swallowed nervously. The dark side was strong there. Very strong. It had to be the cave. Taking a deep breath he kept walking. He had a job to do.
As they walked up the hill Doyle morphed into his Brachen face and sniffed the air. Then he stopped dead. Something was there... a nasty, rank smell. Almost damp, if you could have a damp spot in the middle of a desert. The chain jerked and Red looked over his shoulder in irritation. Seeing Doyle's look he stopped and turned around. "You smell?" he asked hopefully.
Doyle nodded sombrely and pointed up the slope. "Something's there," he said quietly. Red looked up in the direction he had indicated and then let out a bellow to attract the others, who were searching to their left hand side. A minute later they emerged out of the night and Red pointed. "We go."
Up they went, the nasty smell that it seemed that only Doyle could detect growing in his nose like a blocked toilet. It was evil, he knew.
When the cave finally came into sight Red let out a joyful noise that sounded like an elephant taking a foot out of a patch of mud. Tossing the end of Doyle's chain to the larger vampire he and snake-eyes started towards the entrance.
The pair were halfway there when a quiet voice said "Now!" and a sword flashed out to catch Xander's guard on the neck. There was a sighing scream and the vampire crumbled to dust.
"Here," said Harris, throwing a pair of bolt cutters over to Doyle. "I'll take care of Fangface, you cut yourself free."
Bending down quickly Doyle opened the jaws of the bolt cutters and placed them against the chain by his ankle. He would have loved to have gone after the manacle, but he was short on time. There was a snap as the chain succumbed and then Doyle stood up. He was free and in a very bad mood. He was also able to see his liberator for the first time. Harris was a kid! He couldn't be older than 17 or 18! But he was a kid with a sword, which he now used to take the smaller vampire's head clean off, reducing him to dust as well. Harris recovered from the stroke and stood poised in an oddly familiar stance, looking at the cave entrance, where Red and snake-eyes were standing, having finally realised that something was going on.
Now Red was obviously pissed off, because he let out a roar of anger and came charging at them both, while snake-eyes, after an anguished glance at the cave, followed him.
"You die!" shrieked the red-skinned demon and aimed a large fist at Harris who, showing a speed which Doyle didn't believe was possible, dodged the blow and brought the sword down on its outstretched arm. There was a grinding clang, a shower of sparks and the sword glanced off it, leaving little more than a scratch. Red grinned at Harris. "I old. I tough. You not kill me easily."
Crap, thought Doyle, this bugger's going to be hard to take down. Pulling out his stake he looked down at it. It seemed a bit inadequate. Then he looked up again. Snake-eyes was coming his way and he was in a fight.
"Okay," said Xander to himself, "This is not good." Aquila had jarred in his hand. He couldn't see a dent on the edge, but that was probably luck. He was fighting something nasty and he was without a plan B. A moment's thought and he dived under two punches before leaping off to one side from the astonished demon. "You come here!" it bellowed.
"Sure," he said, assessing exactly where he was, and then leant down to pick one end of the chain up. It was about 20 metres long and he had it towards one end, swinging the short end in a circle so that it whined viciously.
Karvor slowed his approach and looked at the whirling chain. "That not help you," he said. Xander grinned. "Might sting you a little," he quipped and then struck out with the chain, which slashed past the old demon's thigh with another shower of sparks. Karvor bellowed with rage and then charged again, his fists whistling through the space where Xander had been a moment before.
I need a plan, thought Xander. If he even grazes me with one of those bone- tipped lumps he calls hands, I am one squashed little Xander. Using the force he could avoid them, but there was also the added distraction of the cave behind the demon, which was a fetid cesspool in the force. The dark side was there alright, and it had set up shop for a long time.
He lunged with the chain again at Karvor's head and then slashed with the sword as the demon stepped back, its arms up. Aha, he thought gleefully. A weakness. Something about his head... what's vulnerable? Somewhere off to his right he heard a choking cry as Doyle got in a low blow on where a snaky demon would keep his vulnerables.
Something about his head... it was dark, but he could see reasonably well with the force... that huge forehead, the big cheekbones, the fangs, the massive jaw the... eyebrows. That huge lump of bone over his eyes... That was the weak spot, his eyes. Great, he thought bitterly, lunging again at Karvor's head and making him take another step back, one weakness detected. But how to exploit it?
Tactics, tactics... the solution came to him after a second, and in that moment he almost died. Slowing for just a fraction of a second as he realised what the answer was meant that one of Karvor's wild lunges grazed him as it went by, the sharp bone ridges on the edge of his fist ripping through his shirt and opening a long slash along his chest. Pain skittered around the calm area where he kept his emotions when using the force. Idiot, he thought dispassionately, use this to your advantage.
Karvor let out a grunt of satisfaction and lunged again, missing completely as Xander danced back, assessing distances and the amount of force he would need for this. Then he lashed out with the chain again, using rather too much length. Karvor's arms came up again and the chain wrapped itself around the massive arm, locking itself. Karvor grabbed the middle of the chain with both hands and pulled, making the end of it sweep back behind him and then let out a bellow of triumph as he prepared to unleash a massive overhand blow with it...
Striking in that split second Xander lunged with Aquila, aiming for the small eye socket under the right side of the massive eye ridge. It speared straight through, going up into the demon's brain until it ground against the back of his skull.
Panting Xander stepped back. Karvor gazed at him blankly out of the remaining eye. Then he slowly toppled backwards, hitting the ground with a ponderous crash that made the other two people there look up from their own private fight. Doyle had the snaky guy's head under one arm and was busy punching him in the side of the head, but he froze for a moment to look up at the noise. The snaky guy, who looked as if he had had a severe beating from the half-Brachen demon, used that moment to break free and go staggering back in the direction of the cave. Looking at the body of the Sankreg demon he looked up at Xander with a terrified expression.
He stepped up to the corpse of the demon and reached out to grasp the hilt of his sword. There was a horrible wrenching noise and Aquila came free. Xander took a long step towards the demon and then stopped. The feeling of the dark side was growing stronger and stronger, seeking to flood outwards from the back of the cave. He frowned it was as if something was approaching... then he froze. A long tendril of dark mist was oozing out of the cave entrance, almost groping towards the demon. It lunged weakly and then coiled again, preparing for another strike.
Stones crunched to one side and Doyle stepped up to join him. There were now two lumps on his forehead, his leather jacket was covered in dust and there was a slash along his jaw line but he looked fighting fit. He too was gazing in sick horror at the tendril. Then he looked up. "Get away from the cave!" he shouted desperately. "Get away!"
The demon gaped at them for a moment and then shrank back, stumbling closer to the dark tendril. Xander considered using the force to pull the demon away, odd as that sounded to him, but his force sense was screaming at him that the tendril was evil beyond words and he shook his head to clear it.
At that same moment the tendril made another lunge at the demons' leg, and wrapped it's way around it. He looked down at the touch and screamed with horror, trying to pull away from it, but the tendril seemed to be pulsing with energy now, and looked stronger than before. It pulled back and the demon, caught off balance, fell on his face with a wail. Doyle bounded forwards, but Xander caught his arm in a grip of iron. "Don't," he said in a sickened voice, "It's too late."
There was a slithering noise and the tendril pulled the screaming demon, his claws scraping runnels in the dirt as he tried to find something to grip, into the cave. The screaming stopped after a moment, started again at a more intensive and frenzied level, and then cut off, this time permanently.
Doyle and Xander stared at the cave.
"Want to go in there after the Cross of the Trinity?" asked a shaken Xander after a moment.
"Not really," replied Doyle.
"Yeah, that's not on my list of fun things to do." He looked over at the battered figure. "Let's get you cleaned up."
