Summary: Yet another Halloween fic.
Disclaimer: I own... hmm. I own nothing. The bank owns any money I make, at the moment.
Feedback: Why not? It helps me write more and better...
Pre-fic Comments:
I'm surprised I haven't gotten any flames about this... maybe I'm not trying hard enough.
WARNING -- some sexual content in this. Don't read it if you're easily offended.
Telepathic speech is written using tildes, rather than speech marks. ~Like this.~
* * *
Spike walked down the thronged streets of Sunnydale, watching the panicked citizens run from demons. He stuck a foot out, tripping up an overweight businessman, and watched as the red-faced devil ripped the screaming man's intestines out.
"This... this is just fun," he said, a silly grin on his face. "I think I like this change."
"Change? This is beauty," a strange voice said, winding tendrils of love and lust around Spike's withered heart.
The vampire whirled around, duster rising into the air somewhat. He looked the other demon up and down -- wings, horns, tail... the leather pants were the real giveaway, however.
"Well, well, well...," the British vampire said. "Been awhile since I've seen a demon like you, mate."
The incubus smiled, showing long fangs. "I've been around for awhile... just not here. Where is the nearest party?"
"Straight down there," Spike said, pointing with a cigarette. "Hang on a tick, and I'll round up a posse and join you."
The incubus moved faster than a lightly electrocuted cat at this, grabbing the vampire's neck. His long, sharp fingernails began to gently dig into Spike's dead flesh, unbreakable sharpness meeting decaying flesh.
"I won't have you interfering with my fun, halfbreed," the true demon said lightly. Under that light tone, a core of steel could be felt. "Go to the seer -- my Lady shall have instruction for you."
Spike coughed out of habit as the incubus dropped him. It turned it's back on him, displaying contempt at Spike that the vampire wouldn't be able to harm it even when looking the other way.
Of course, Spike did as he was ordered. That Incubus felt /ancient/ to his demonic senses, and truly powerful. The thought that someone like /that/ was taking orders from another demon...
Spike, with his sink-or-swim opportunistic tendencies, went straight back to Dru.
* * *
The Bronze was packed, on Halloween. Given the night, people dressed up as something other than what they were and abandoned their morals while hidden behind their facade. A tall figure strode through the entrance, clad in leather pants, strongly defined torso bare to the world.
The Incubus paused, watching the small groups of humans -- fodder, flesh, meals -- dance. He wanted to have /fun/ tonight.
He ordered a vodka at the bar, turning the human's mind easily. The pulse of sexual energy that the Marilith had given off once he aroused her would suffice for a night's hunting, and quite good hunting. He could afford to waste energy where he would normally pay for something.
The Incubus could take what he wanted by force, but humans tended to band together in ever increasing packs once they discovered a threat. Quite annoying.
He smirked, sipping the distilled alcohol, as he watched a group of four innocent females dancing on the floor, dressed in fake horns and bikinis. Oh, if they had any /idea/... to make them even more tempting, they were pure virgins one and all. Quite rare, in his experience, in this day and age.
Dancing over to the four, he introduced himself. The girls complimented him on his costume, while he reciprocated. Quickly sliding underneath their conscious mind, he easily aroused their sexes, then made them more... aware... of him. He expended very little energy doing this long-practiced act.
Soon, one of them offered to take him to their flat for a coffee. How common... coffee.
He accepted, but once they got out to the alleyway outside the Bronze, he struck, increasing their drive until they were aware of little else except for the fact that he was still clad in his leather pants.
The four girls quickly, almost desperately, stripped him of that before the five went down in a writhing ball of demonic and human flesh.
Hell, he loved his life.
* * *
Spike opened the door to the warehouse -- quietly, he didn't want to spook whatever was powerful enough to have an ancient sex demon as a servant -- and made his way to the main chamber. Noisily.
He had no illusions of sneaking in if he were to be quiet; the noise just indicated non-hostility. Non-sneakiness, at the least.
He stopped as soon as he set foot in the doorway.
"Bloody hell, ducks," he whispered. "Dru!"
The Marilith looked over from where she had two of her hands on either side of a Polgaran demon's head. Sparks could be seen arcing from them.
~You will serve me,~ the Demon demanded telepathically.
"Sure, sure, I'll serve you, milady," Spike said hurriedly. If the Marilith took offense to him, he'd have the half-life of a snow flake in a blast furnace. "Any way you wish, you name it, I'll do it."
~Sit, and look after the Seer,~ the six-armed snake woman said.
Spike carefully sat by his pale beauty, holding her cold hands in his icy ones.
"Dru, love, are you okay?," he whispered. He had little use for love or any soft emotions at all -- except when it came to his Dru.
"The Lady's come," Drusilla sang, "and we shall have rock cakes and China Black tea!"
"Wonderful, luv," Spike said, prodding her along.
"Soon, we'll see the Wizard," Dru whispered to him, as if her sentence was a horrific secret, "and he'll try and hurt us, and send us, and make us his own!"
Spike hugged Dru, who tugged at her lower lip with her left index finger. A forlorn expression painted her gaunt face.
"I'll stop any Wizards from hurtin' you, ducks."
~Organise a perimeter,~ the Marilith ordered him. ~Izath will maintain watch over the Seer.~
Spike paused on his way out, seeing a blue haired vampire with pointed ears cavorting with two mortal youths on a pile of silken sheets. She had scratched bloody artwork on their backs, twining vines, but the two males ignored the painful designs as they pounded into her from front and back.
"Times like this'd give Angelus wet dreams for a decade," he muttered as he started ordering the vampires, Polgarans, and a Mohran demon that the Marilith had conscripted.
* * *
Giles entered the strangely silent costume shop, moving straight to the back room.
"Janus. Roman mythical God."
"The division of self. Chunky and creamy," a small, hoarse voice said from the corner.
Giles spun around to see his old mate Ethan, slumped back in a chair. Whatever the reprobate had done, it had obviously taken a /lot/ out of him. His hair had gone white, he could barely lift his head...
Perfect.
"Hello, Ripper," Ethan said, in a quiet act of defiance. Reminding Giles of who he had once been.
"Hello, Ethan."
"What? No hug? Aren't you pleased to see your old mate, Rupert?"
"This whole stunt stinks of Ethan Rayne."
"Yes, it does, doesn't it? Don't wish to blow my own trumpet, but it's genius. The very embodiment of be careful what you wish for."
"It's sick, brutal and it harms the innocent."
"So says Ripper, keeper of all that is holy and sacred to God."
"Break the spell, Ethan. Then leave this place and never come back."
Ethan grinned humourlessly. "If you can stand the backlash, break the statue. You'd better be prepared for the mother of all of Zeus'es lightning bolts, however."
* * *
Post-fic Comments:
This part was written while listening to "Enthrone Darkness Triumphant". I think it gave it the right mood.
Don't say I didn't give you any warning in the pre-fic comment.