Fury of the Beast 22/?

Author: Nick

Disclaimer: Nothing worked, nothing gained. Though in this case, it's a little work, nothing gained. Anyway, there's no revenue coming in from this, so don't bother annoying me about it. It's not worth it.

Thanks for the feedback given guys. I'd like to see more, so don't hold back comments. It just takes a couple of minutes, and I'd really appreciate it. Any questions, comments or suggestions are welcome. Even negative feedback, but please, no flames.

Throughout the basement of Sunnydale High, ten vampires stood in a circle, around the central point of the Hellmouth. The energy of the place called to their demonic blood, demanding they destroy the barrier between Hell and Earth, merging the realms and reclaiming it among the realms of the conquered. As unwitting pawns of the lowest order, they believed they would be exalted upon opening the Hellmouth, becoming true demon lords in the new order, unaware that the denizens of Hell would never let such lowly creatures live any longer than they were useful.

The vampires, eight men and two women, dressed in red cloaks, chanted an ancient, powerful incantation designed specifically for this purpose. To draw in the energy of the Hellmouth and focus it into themselves, using their own bodies as a magical lens to burn through the barrier, like one would use a magnifying glass to concentrate sunlight to start a small fire, or to roast ants. Completely unaware that the spell would kill them horribly when completed, but then, they were too stupid to have actually researched the spell entirely. There was a reason other demons rarely used this spell. To take in the energy of the Hellmouth itself was dangerous beyond belief, a single slip and they would suffer a fate worse than a thousand painful deaths. What they also didn't know is that the ritual could only be attempted once on a Hellmouth, and the Master had already tried it, so it definitely wouldn't work.

No matter what, the night was going to end badly for them.

They were interrupted when the door slammed in, twisting through the air and landing on the floor in a clatter. As a group, the ten looked up at the lone figure who'd destroyed the door, snarling at the interference. With the same pack mentality that exists within street gangs and bullies, they surged forward, wanting the meddler's blood before they continued the ritual.

With a smirk, Ifrit slammed his fist into the first vampire, who not only went flying back with the sheer force of the blow, he shattered into a thousand pieces as he flew back. He burst into dust before he could hit the wall. The second vampire to reach Ifrit, a female, was lifted up into the air with one hand and he casually ripped her head off.

The others blanched, and backed away, looking on the apparent human who so easily dispatched two of their number, without any of the typical vampire killing equipment. Ifrit crossed his arms and glared at the remaining vampires, a sneer crossing his face. "I spend nearly twelve thousand years trying to get out of Hell, and you little idiots come along and decide to go out on a lark and suck the world back in there? Allow me to make my displeasure known."

And then, his hands burst into flames.

The vampires took another step back. Regardless of whom they were descended from, Caine or a little green demon, all vampires knew on an instinctual level that fire was their bane.

Ifrit moved in, slamming his fist not into, but through, one vampire's chest. He caught fire instantly and screamed, impaled on Ifrit's arm even as he dusted. His next victim wasn't physically touched at all, Ifrit simply lobbed a ball of fire into his face, which punched through and incinerated his brain. His corpse fell to the ground an instant before dusting.

One vampire moved in, apparently a football player in life, as he was a large man. He punched Ifrit in the face, and screamed in agony as his fist failed to even affect the Devil Lord, and indeed, only injured him as his hand broke. Ifrit's retaliation was far more effective. He slammed his flaming fist through the vampire's skull, effectively decapitating him.

The remaining five decided, with perhaps the most intelligent thought in their entire unlives, to cut their losses and run for their lives. The first to attempt dashing past the Devil Lord was stopped in his tracks as Ifrit grabbed his head and crushed it like a melon. The other four dashed past, fleeing through the empty halls of the highschool. Running out the doors in a crash, they dashed into a large pickup truck.

The one who jumped in the driver's seat was the ringleader of this little idea, her name was in her mortal life Theresa. Upon reawakening as a demonic infested corpse, she changed her name to Terry.

She never was considered that bright.

She'd quickly turned her brothers, Josh and Sam, and recruited their last survivor, Gregory, from a street gang. Gregory had insisted on turning the rest of his gang, which is where they got their entire group which was supposed to open the Hellmouth.

As a result, now Gregory was blubbering in terror upon seeing his buddies dusted so easily. "Oh man oh manohmanohman! What the hell is that guy!? He just...just...!"

Terry grimaced as she hot-wired the pickup, trying to think of why, exactly, she'd sired this fool. Then she remembered. He was cute.

Josh turned in his seat and smacked Gregory on the back of the head. "Shut up! My sister is trying to concentrate!"

She let out an excited whoop as the engine turned over and roared to life. Terry grinned, and then nearly shrieked as she saw Ifrit walk calmly through the doors of the school. Approaching the truck, step by calm step, the Devil Lord in a human guise smiled almost serenely as he extinguished his burning fists.

Slamming the truck in reverse, Terry peeled out of the Sunnydale High parking lot. She cast a fearful glance in Ifrit's direction as she changed gears, burning rubber as she drove the truck forward, straight towards the interstate at well over 130 miles per hour.

Gregory and Josh, sitting in the back seat of the truck, looked out the back, quivering in fear as they looked for any sign that the creature was following them. Sam turned and cast disgusted looks at the pair, remarking, "Nothing can move this fast. Relax, he's still back on the Hellmouth, we'll be fine as long as we can find some shelter before the sunrise. I say, screw this one, let's go to Cleveland, try opening that one."

Terry nodded in agreement, keeping her eyes on the road, her knuckles white from holding onto the steering wheel with far too much pressure. She spoke up hesitantly. "Is anything back there?"

Josh shook his head and settled down, turning around to look out the front again. "Nope, he's gone. Not one of our better nights, eh?"

Sam nodded. "I hear ya bro. Let's find a bar somewhere, get loaded, forget about tonight and start anew. This has gotta be hell on my blood pressure."

Josh snorted. "You're dead. You don't have any blood pressure."

Sam blinked. "Oh yeah."

Greg coughed. "Um, guys?"

Terry hissed out. "Josh, Sam, quiet down, will you? My nerves aren't too good right now and I do NOT need to hear your bickering!"

Greg hesitantly raised his hand. "Guys?"

Josh growled, assuming his demonic face. "Hey, just because you're our older sister and sire doesn't make you our boss!"

Terry yelled at him, her face twisting into her own demonic form as well. "I'm pretty sure it does, jackass! Now shut the hell up, you're giving me a headache!"

Greg screamed out now. "GUYS!"

"WHAT!?" The three siblings yelled at him simultaneously.

Greg pointed out the back. "He's back there. And he's gaining on us!"

Josh turned around and looked, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. "He's just running after us!"

Sam turned and looked. "Inconceivable! How the hell is he doing that!?"

Indeed, Ifrit was running after the truck, one step covering nearly fifty meters of distance as he moved. He didn't look tired at all, he just kept moving, gaining on the truck. And he still had a smile on his face.

Sam and Josh looked at Ifrit. Then they looked at each other. Then back out at Ifrit again. Then Josh spoke. "Greg, buddy. How long have we known each other?"

Greg's face scrunched up in confusion. "Um, you guys turned me about six months ago. Why?"

Sam clapped Greg on the shoulder from the front seat. "I'd say we're pretty good friends, hm?"

Greg nodded. Josh smiled a little bit, returning to his human disguise. "Yeah, we've been through a lot together man. I'd say we're best friends. Well man, it's about time you paid us back."

Greg's face scrunched up in confusion. "Paid you back? Huh?"

Sam and Josh grabbed Greg at the same instant. Sam held the former gang member immobile as Josh opened the small, passenger side door of the truck. Josh smiled. "Yeah best buddy. Hold him back for a while, would ya!"

Before Greg could protest, the vampire brothers tossed him out of the speeding vehicle and onto the pavement. Greg's body hit with a sickening crunch, rolling over and over and over as he smacked into the pavement repeatedly, several bones breaking. He finally stopped rolling after what seemed like an eternity, and became aware of Ifrit standing above him, looking down at him with an amused smirk. "I suppose your friends aren't that great friends, hm? I pity you, little vampire. So I'm not going to kill you tonight."

Greg managed to smile slightly. Just before Ifrit bent down and ripped his legs off. He howled incoherently, his screams swallowed up by the night. Ifrit stood up again, dusting his hands off. "But I suppose the sun will, when it rises. Say hello to it for me, would you? I haven't been able to have a decent conversation with her for a few million years."

Ifrit glanced down the interstate again, in the direction of the fast-moving truck. At this point it was well out of sight, but Ifrit didn't need to see it. He smiled slightly as he vanished in a swirl of flames.
Terry yelled to her brothers. "Is he back there!? Did Greg delay him long enough!? Are we going to die!?"

Sam shook his head. "No, yes, and no! He's gone, he's dead. We're okay! Now we just need to find a place for the day and we'll be fine!" He turned to Josh. "Well, I guess Greg had a nobler cause in life after all, eh?"

Josh laughed, and then blinked. "Is nobler even a word?"

Sam shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"

Terry shrieked suddenly. Sam and Josh looked out the front in disbelief.

Ifrit was standing there, right in the path of the truck. His arms crossed. His face grinning widely. There was little time to react. She could have swerved out of the way, but her rage drove her to give every last bit of gas the truck could intake and it leapt forward, reaching 150 miles per hour. Ifrit just stood there, in the path of the oncoming vehicle with no apparent regard to his life.

At the last possible moment, Ifrit uncrossed his arms and dropped low, throwing a punch directly at the truck's grill. His fist slammed through the metal as if it was nothing, crumpling the front of the frame like a tin can. The rest of the truck continued its inevitable journey forward, slamming into Ifrit's body with all of its force. The two opposing forces, Ifrit's fist and the truck's forward momentum collided in the center of the vehicle, causing the whole thing to shake and, against all odds, made the truck come to a complete stop as if it had slammed into a fifteen-foot thick concrete wall instead of a solitary being.

The end result was that Terry, Josh, and Sam, being complete morons, went through the windshield of the truck, because they were too stupid to use seatbelts. Not because they were vampires, but because they believed themselves to be immortal, like the teenagers they were before they were turned. With a groan, the three sibling vampires looked back at the wreckage of the truck. Exhaling a sigh of relief as Ifrit himself wasn't in sight, but a hand was sticking out from under the wreck of the truck, the three vampires began to collect their wits. Josh and Sam picked themselves up off the road, wincing at their scratches, and they helped Terry to her feet.

Terry held her head, her demonic face twisted in pain. "Alright...we shouldn't be too far from Oxnard. If we run for it, we could get there before the sun rises."

Josh nodded. "Yeah sis. We'd better hurry, there's nothing around here that could shield us for any length of time." As one, the three vampires began staggering northward, only to stop, chilling fear running down their spines as they heard from behind them the squealing of abused metal. Gulping, all of them turned around, their eyes widening at what they saw.

There stood Ifrit, his clothing torn up, but not even a scratch adorning his skin, and that same, confident, superior smirk on his face. And held above him, holding up the entire mass with his left hand without the slightest sign of effort, was the wreckage of the pickup truck.

Ifrit spoke. "You know, this has been fun. I haven't had quite this amount of fun in about nine thousand years. How about you folks?"

They took a step back, nervously.

Ifrit shrugged, the mass of crumpled metal above his head groaning as it threatened to fall apart. "I suppose you don't quite see the humor of the situation, hm? Well, I certainly do. I suppose my own laughter will have to suffice for tonight."

With a single easy movement, Ifrit tossed the wreck of the truck in their direction. Josh screamed, "Look out!" and pushed Terry and Sam to the side. The wreck crashed onto the vampire, burying him in a ton of mangled metal. A new sound came from the wrecked truck, stemming from the gas tank as fuel escaped through a crack. Seeing this, Ifrit tossed a small fireball, no larger than the flame on a candle, towards the wreck. Moments before the flame reached its target, the fumes ignited, flashing back towards the escaping fuel and exploding, sealing the fate of Josh.

Sam and Terry screamed as they were burned, caught on the outskirts of the explosion. Sam took the largest brunt of the blast, having shielded his sister and sire, and he ran around screaming incoherently as fire spread throughout his body. It was almost a mercy when he finally collapsed into ashes.

Terry crawled away from the burning wreck. Her demonic face twisted in fear, tears running down her eyes as she moved. She could barely get a grip on the sand of the desert, her burnt hands crying in protest at having more work to do as she crawled, desperate for survival. She was stopped as Ifrit's foot came down right in front of her face. She slowly looked up, a pitiful creature indeed, into Ifrit's no longer amused, completely serious face.

He began speaking quietly, his face easily seen in the firelight coming from the still-burning wreck of the truck. His expression was almost kind and understanding. "You know child, I understand what you were trying to do. I commend your ambition. I commend your ruthlessness. I praise your choices of childer, at least for the last two. They were quite loyal, I see." His nice tone dropped to cold and ruthless in an instant. He reached down and grabbed her by the throat, holding her up at eye level, her feet dangling uselessly off the ground. His eyes began burning, flames streaking off to the sides of his face as he growled at her. "But I do not condone ignorance or stupidity! I will not allow any creature to send me back to Hell, regardless of race, size, stature or power. I will especially not allow it to happen because of some lowly, moronic, lobotomized leech like you!"

And with that, he raised his other hand and grabbed her chin. Slowly, painfully, and horribly, he twisted her head off.

Dusting his hands off as her body burst into dust, he looked at the burning wreck of the truck. With a shrug, he vanished in a swirl of fire, the remnants of his carnage left behind, a testament to his lack of mercy.

When Xander woke earlier that evening, he drank his awakening meal, feeling that the blood was flat, not stale, not bad or anything truly wrong with it, but it simply didn't satisfy his hunger. Not since he killed Buffy.. Or rather, the vampire that had Buffy's body. He'd felt the same thing the day before when he rose, but then the hunger wasn't creeping up on him. If he didn't manage to satisfy himself on whatever blood he could get his hands on, he'd lose his control within the week.

Maybe he'd ask Wilhem about it when they met tonight. He'd seemed to have been around a lot longer than Xander had. Maybe he'd know why he couldn't satisfy his hunger. Picking up his katana, he tucked it under his trenchcoat and walked out the door, taking the long route to The Haven, through the graveyards.

Looking around at the rows on rows of graves, he paused, taking in a deep breath of the warm night air. Hearing a rustle behind him, he smiled slightly and turned around, plastering a scared expression on his face. "Who's there!?" He spoke out, forcing the quiver into his voice. He had to keep himself from bursting out laughing at the thought of what he was doing, laying a nice little helpless human bait when there was none to be had, but he figured the demonic vamps would be eating it up.

A small voice came drifting out of the darkness. "Little kitten's all grown up, with big, nasty, sharp teeth of his own." From the shadows of a crypt, Drusilla walked out, silent as a ghost, a mad glimmer in her eye as she appraised Xander.

Xander felt all the humor drain from his mind as he took in the sight of Drusilla, one of the few demonic vampires that could be honestly mistaken for a Malkavian. Though her demon made her evil, her visions were always accurate, and her insanity allowed her to anticipate nearly anything through her gifts. Completely unpredictable, Drusilla wasn't one Xander of the Brujah was going to play with. Standing at the ready for any move Drusilla made, he watched her like a hawk, taking in every detail. "You're looking good, Drusilla. I'm guessing you heard about what happened to Spike, huh?"

Drusilla nodded sadly. "I heard that you killed my wayward childe. I wanted to offer you my thanks, kitten. He hurt lots and lots of people, and now that he's gone, the world is a little less dark. I suppose I'll have to fix that, I will."

Xander blinked. "Oookay. Color me confused. And let me say 'huh?' You're happy I killed Spike? I'd have thought you'd want to take my head off or something. You're sure you're happy about it?"

Drusilla smiled slightly. "My my, the stars are singing, singing in a harmonious hymn." She spread her arms and looked at the sky, spinning around slowly. "They say the fires are coming. The end is long off, but the plans are in motion." She stopped spinning and looked at Xander, her voice dropping low, almost a whisper. "But one fire is here, knowing no fear. He likes this world dark, he does. Gives him more fun things to burn and play with."

Xander narrowed his eyes. "You're talking about Ifrit, aren't you, Dru? What else do you know about him?"

Drusilla giggled like a little girl. "He hates us, dark and grey and white all. He wants his powers back, he does. He's tired of walking on the ground when he likes flying through the stars. They say he made them twinkle and bright, made the world warm and nice for us. And then he was angered, angered and joined the fight against the stagnant ones. No light, no dark, saddened they were. But now he's back, and they tremble fearing what he might become. They worry over him becoming what he was again."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Kay. That made sense. Wait, no, not really. I think I'm gonna need a Crazy-to-English dictionary for this one."

Drusilla smiled at him, it was rather disconcerting. "I speak the words written in the stars plainly, it's you who lacks the ears to listen. Miss Edith says you'll learn the words in the stars soon enough, because the two knights will meet and he'll let you know though his own distorted words. But my words are clear, unchanged from the message. Black and white, knights both, but which is which? Dark become light, light become dark?"

Xander sighed, reaching into his coat and drawing his katana in a single, easy motion. "Dru, I'm kind of tired of this. I got places to be, people to see, demons to kill, and so on and so forth."

She just kept smiling, taking a few steps back, vanishing into the shadows of the night. Xander grumbled, wondering if he'd ever catch a break in this town. Refusing to voice the thought, knowing that doing so would be tempting the fates, he turned and continued walking towards his club, tucking his blade under his coat once more.

Moving around towards the entrance, he saw a flutter of motion from the alleyway. Rolling his eyes, Xander walked in, seeing a demonic vampire cornering a black-haired woman, wearing a bandana, who didn't seem to be concerned at all by his threatening presence. Xander whistled, catching the attention of the vampire. "Hey pal! You've got a lot of nerve, trying to pick up a meal right outside my club! I really don't appreciate it! I mean really man! I'm trying to attract decent patrons here! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get returning customers in this town!?"

The vampire turned and snarled at him in a display that was supposedly threatening. "Get out of here, this is my meal! You don't want to play with me, I've killed thousands in my time, and I'll add you to the list if you don't leave!"

Xander sighed. "Fine, whatever you say. I'll be leaving then."

The vampire blinked. He hadn't expected that.

He also didn't expect Xander to reach into his coat, draw his katana and slice his head off in a single easy motion either. Even as the demonic vampire crumbled into dust, Xander wiped the blade and tucked it into his coat, glancing at the woman. She rose an eyebrow, studying him, and Xander had the feeling she was seeing far more than any set of eyes would show normally.

Finally, she began speaking quietly. "You have a noble spirit. I'm almost surprised I hadn't seen it resonating everywhere, but I suppose it's because of this cursed place."

Xander blinked. "Uh.. Yeah. Not exactly a pleasant town. You alright? I meant it about finding good customers, you know."

She smiled slightly, and nodded. "I suppose so. I'm grateful for the help, even though I didn't need it. I'm Jessica."

Xander stiffened a bit, but nodded, harsh, nearly buried memories of his mother rushing to the fore and burying themselves again. "Well, since I'm the owner of this club, come on in, we can talk after I finish up a meeting with a friend of mine. Or possible friend...whatever. Anyway, come on in, standing around in an alley is asking for trouble in this town."

Escorting her inside, he brought her over to his bartender. Waving easily, he spoke. "Hey Larry, this is Jessica. Whatever she wants for a drink or snack tonight, it's on the house, alright?"

Larry nodded. "I hear you, boss. Oh yeah, Wilhem's waiting in the back."

Xander smiled a bit. "Thanks man. I'll be back in a few."

Leaving Jessica at the bar, Xander walked through the crowd towards his office, rubbing his chin. Opening the door, he saw Wilhem looking over some of the paintings Mike had placed around, that Xander hadn't gotten around to taking down yet.

The elder Brujah nodded at some of the paintings. "They're decent work, as far as they go nowadays. I assume you procured these from a Toreador?"

Xander chuckled a little bit. "You could say that. The Sabbat leader here was a Toreador, at least until I killed him. This was his office until then, and I hadn't decided what to do with the paintings yet. I'm not much of an art fan. If Joyce was still around, I'd give them to her, but... Well. She'd be long dead by now."

Wilhem nodded. "It's the fate of mortals to die, and for us to live on. Although the petty schemes of us Kindred often entangle innocents into our world, we're not a large part of theirs."

Xander sighed. "Yeah, I get that. But they deserve to be able to sleep at night, not worrying over whether or not the world will end when they do." He walked around his desk, sitting down in his chair. He gestured to Wilhem. "Take a seat, there's some blood in the cooler over there if you want it."

Wilhem rose an eyebrow, scratching his chin through his beard. "I appreciate it. I've heard through the Kindred grapevine that you've been declared Prince of this town by Alexander in L.A. I have to say that's rather unprecedented." He sat down, brushing his duster as he did so.

Xander blinked. "Guess so. I'm getting the feeling that he's pretty important among us, cause even I could tell he wasn't worried about anything." Xander sat down, folding his hands.

Wilhem smiled slightly. "Perhaps you've heard of his mortal reputation. He was born in Greece and conquered the known world when he was alive, and because of that, he was recruited into the Ventrue by a childe of Veddartha himself."

Xander rubbed his eyes. Then he looked at Wilhem incredulously. "Wait, wait, wait a damn minute! You're telling me that Prince Alexander is THE Alexander? Alexander the Great? Alexander the Mighty? He whom Willow always beat me with on trivia questions!? THAT Alexander!?"

Wilhem smiled and nodded once. "I'm afraid so. It's only because it's him and not any other Prince that you're running Sunnydale today."

Xander groaned and pitched his head forward, landing his head on the desk with a thud. "Great. I get in the same room as a living legend known for ages after his death and I don't have a clue." He rose his head and looked at Wilhem. "Okay, so he's old. And powerful, and godly beyond belief and stuff. Why is he just the Prince of Los Angeles? He could be running the continent...he should be, actually, now that I think about it."

Wilhem chuckled. "Unofficially, he does. He's got a lot more influence in the Camarilla than the position of Prince would afford, but he has L.A. as his territory because he likes it. Officially that's all he is, but he has a great deal more leeway than almost any other Kindred in the Camarilla. It's because of him we still have California as Kindred territory, instead of a war zone between us and the Kuei-Jin."

Xander rose an eyebrow. "Okay...who are the Kuei-Jin? New players, demons, what?"

Wilhem shook his head. "Demons..partially. I don't have all the information. They're vampires, but not Kindred. They don't sire, they just are what they are. They claim they are risen souls who have business to finish in our world, and others claim they're people who went to hell and came back. Since I'm not one of them, I obviously can't have all the answers. What I do know is they're dangerous. That's all I need to know. But, they're not invulnerable. I've killed over a hundred of them in my time."

Xander shrugged. "Then that's what's important. Any odds I'd see them around?"

Wilhem shook his head again. "Not too likely. They cannot Embrace, so they can't amass the sheer numbers that we can. Their culture is different, they're more accepted in their society while we don't exist to the mortal governments. They gain powers more easily than us, but we have the home advantage. It's also a fact that those of us of strong blood are capable of gaining powers that they simply cannot hope to reach. Prince Alexander himself survived an ambush by several Kuei-Jin and he killed all of them, despite the fact he lost all of his bodyguards in the process."

Xander nodded. "Okay, my respect for the guy just went up yet another notch. But let's not talk about that now. Let me be blunt. Why are you here?"

Wilhem smiled slightly. "The Sabbat are interested in you, Xander. I used to be a member some time ago, but I went my own way some time back. The Sabbat are now moving towards conquering the north while the Camarilla is digging in here in California and the southern states. In any case, my sire wants to capture you and enforce a blood-bond, so you'd have no choice but to work for her."

Xander blinked. "Okay.. That's something I don't know. Forgive my total seeming idiocy here, but what's a blood-bond? Sounds like an icky tether or something."

Wilhem laughed. "Somewhat. If someone, mortal or Kindred, drinks another Kindred's blood three times, they are given an..emotional tie, to the blood donor. In mortals, it creates ghouls. Regardless, however, they would do anything for their masters. It is insidious and a horrible thing to do, but it is all too common. Before the Tremere were wiped out, it was a common practice with them."

Xander nodded. "Alright, I appreciate you coming here to warn me about it and give the heads up and all. Still, I've got other problems than the Sabbat, I've got a Devil Lord running around Sunnydale, there was a fire at the hospital and I don't know yet if a friend of mine died in it, and I know for a fact three assassins are out there waiting to off me. Can ya really blame me for being a little bit stressed?"

Wilhem shook his head. "No, I cannot. But I can help you with some of your problems. I can help train you if you wish, and I know several styles of fighting. Hand to hand or with a blade, there are few equal to me."

Xander smiled a bit. "I'd like that. I've trained with Angel, but any input you could give me would help, and he never could use our abilities, so I've been forced to kind of wing it. Anything you could teach me I'd like, a lot."

Wilhem nodded and stood up, extending his hand. "Then we have an arrangement. Do you have a suitable place to hone your abilities?"

Xander nodded. "There's a warehouse down on the west side, the number's 947. It's big, deserted, and a former vampire haven. We can use that."

Wilhem grinned. "Sounds good. I'll meet you there tomorrow night."

Just as Wilhem was about to walk out the door, Xander spoke up. "You mind if I ask you a question, man? I mean, you've been around, right? At least, more than I have. So I was wondering if you could help me about something?"

Wilhem turned and rose an eyebrow. "What's the problem, young one?"

Xander sighed. "Have you ever been unable to satisfy your hunger? I mean, you fill yourself with blood, and the blood is fine, but it just..doesn't work?"

Wilhem rose an eyebrow. "There's two things that would cause that. Particularly old vampires, over a thousand years or so, go through a change. Mortal blood is no longer thick enough to sustain them, so they begin to hunt for vampire blood, or go into Torpor and use their powers to continue their affairs from their long slumbers."

Xander shook his head. "Nah, it's not that. Not for me, anyway. I'm only sixty as a vampire, and I've only really been active for about two years."

Wilhem nodded. "Do you hunt for your blood, or get it from the source?"

Xander shook his head. "I buy human blood from the blood bank or animal blood in bulk, from the butcher shop. I know how to hunt and can do it in a pinch, but I'd rather not. Brings up some bad memories, and it's a bit of a risk."

Wilhem scratched his chin. "Do you recall a sample of blood that tasted like it was stronger, better than normal, and you felt stronger immediately afterwards?"

Xander nodded slowly. "Yeah, I did. When I went after a turned Slayer, she had a bottle of blood. I was starving, gulped it down, and then I was suddenly able to keep up and I beat her, barely. That's a day I do not like thinking about much, she was a friend before...well, before she was a vampire, anyway."

Wilhem nodded, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall, next to the door. "You either drank Elder Vitae, which would have given you enhanced strength for a short time, or Slayer's blood. And considering you can't satisfy yourself on normal vitae at the moment, I would say the latter."

Xander swallowed a lump in his throat. "How long does...does it last?"

Wilhem shrugged. "About two weeks. Then all of the Slayer's blood will have left your system and you'll be fine, although you'll always be a little stronger, more reflexive and more durable than before, although not to the degree you were in that fight."

Xander nodded, slowly, the appearance of horror crossing his face. "But..I can't last two weeks, especially if I get into fights. It's not like I can just starve myself for two weeks, I can go probably ten days at the most without losing it."

Wilhem shook his head. "I'm sorry, but there isn't any way around it. I can try and help you, and I can try and contact some people I know in the Kindred community, but other than that, you'll have to beat the Beast on your own willpower."

Xander sighed and sat back in his chair. "Great. Just great. I'm going to have to isolate myself. Get a nice, soft, padded room for Xander. Complete with doped up blood and a Kindred psychologist." He sighed. "With my luck I'll end up getting a Malkavian for a shrink."

Wilhem chuckled. "That's more common than you know, sadly. Don't worry, I'll do what I can."

Xander nodded, rubbing his face. "Alright. I guess that covers today's business. I'll meet you tomorrow?"

Wilhem nodded. "Just don't be late. I hate being kept waiting."

Xander smiled a bit. "I hear you. Can never decide whether to bring a book or twiddle my thumbs. Usually the latter because bringing a book requires foresight. And reading skills."

Wilhem sighed, smiling a bit. "Oh how the mighty have fallen." Without giving Xander a chance to respond, the elder Brujah walked out the door, muttering something under his breath about 'kids these days'.

Xander opened a drawer in his desk, checking the inbox. Seeing the case was empty, he shrugged and closed it. He looked up at the door as he heard a knock, and he spoke out. "Come in."

The door opened, revealing a hesitant Jessica, who rubbed her forehead through her bandana. "Can we talk?"

Xander indicated she should take a seat, and she sat down, chewing on her lip. "Is there a problem? You look nervous."

Jessica shook her head. "I..just wanted to thank you for helping me outside. It's not often somebody helps me. Not for a long time, I'm afraid."

Xander nodded. "I'm just glad I could help. It's kind of my thing to help people in need, though I'm no superhero. I just do what I gotta do."

She smiled a bit, settling back. "Well, regardless, thanks. The world could use more people like you in it."

Xander shrugged, his eyes widening as his office door was slammed open, a large, hulking brute just outside the office. He stood at six and a half feet, with large muscles that bulged out of his shirt, his green skin and pair of horns sprouting from his head pronouncing to the world him belonging to the race of trolls. A small gold ring on his finger proudly proclaimed him a member of the Order of Teraka.

With surprising speed, the troll moved towards Xander, knocking Jessica out of the seat, her bandana falling off and landing on the floor. Trying to reach across the desk with his massive frame, he was taken by surprise as Xander jumped out of his seat, diving to the side with supernatural speed as the young vampire moved in a blur. Moving around his desk, Xander jumped up on the troll's back, grabbing one horn and, using it as leverage, twisted the troll's head to the side in a single, sudden movement, breaking his neck.

Checking on Jessica, he stopped.

And stared.

And blinked repeatedly as she blinked at him a few times.

With all three eyes, one in the middle of her forehead.

"Well." Xander spoke. "That's something you don't see everyday."

Aura strode through one of Sunnydale's parks. She would have enjoyed the experience, surrounded by nature, if the Hellmouth hadn't twisted everything into a warped parody of what it should be. Even the trees and grasses felt tainted by the evil trying to claw its way into the world, and she shuddered to think of what the spirit world would look like.

Catching a scent in the wind, she stiffened and crouched down, trying to determine the trail her quarry had taken. Judging from the freshness of the trail, he hadn't passed by more than a few minutes ago, and she followed the path easily, moving through the trees with only the faintest of noises, she paused only momentarily to reaffirm the trail.

Stopping briefly, she furrowed her brow in confusion. 'How could the trail split in two?'

Then the answer hit her. 'Shit, he must have double-backed on me, he knows I'm following him. So, which way did he go after he left the false trail?'

Moving more cautiously now, she moved slowly on the trail to the right, remembering on the map of the town she'd memorized, if the trail kept going on that path she'd end up on Kingman's Bluff, a rather nice and scenic place to overlook the ocean.

After half an hour, she found the trail was a correct one, she saw a figure up on the bluff, looking out over the ocean, his arms crossed and his short red hair ruffling slightly in the wind. Smiling slightly, she crept up behind him, her feet making no sound on the sand as she mentally prepared for the change into the Werewolf's war form, the immense half-man half-wolf beast that was so common in folklore.

Abruptly, he turned around, smirking at her. "Hello Aura. It's been a long time, hasn't it? You've grown up quite a lot, such a nice change. I'm rather pleased."

She glared at him, hatefully. "You don't know me. How dare you use his face to taunt me, you filthy piece of Wyrmspawn!? You deserve to be sent back into the tar pit you spawned out of!"

He laughed at her. "Come now, is that any way to talk about your father?"

She growled, feeling every instinct within her push her towards changing and ripping his throat out. "Daniel Osbourne is my father, you're a parasite walking around in his body, make-believing you're him after slaughtering half our tribe! I've come to avenge them, and him!"

Goral chuckled. "Such a single-minded crusade. It's kind of a pity really. It's a shame, you could have joined with me under my master, he's rather nice, you'd have liked him. But, no. You had to walk your own path, you had to say no and walk away from all the wonders he's shown us." Goral, wearing the face of Oz, smirked a bit and walked closer to Aura. "Still, it's not all bad. You can still join up. The master is quite fond of werewolves who join his side. We're quite unique, you know."

She spat at him, which fell short and splatted on the rocks. "I'd rather die than become like you."

Goral sighed. "That can be arranged. I'd rather it not, mind you. I'm still rather fond of you. You've got such fire, such a spirit within you that's all too rare today."

She growled and lashed out at him, trying to strike him in the face, but he easily caught her clumsy, anger filled attack and threw her back. She fell to the hard ground with a grunt, but even as she climbed to her feet she realized they weren't alone.

She was slammed in the ribs by an extremely powerful punch by another person, sending her crumpling onto the ground with a groan. She looked up at Goral, and the newcomer, a tall man with blond hair. Goral just smiled at her again.

"Aura, meet Kail. Kail, this is my daughter, Aura. She's rather feisty, isn't she? I'm rather proud of her." Goral spoke with a grin.

Kail just nodded. "Yeah, she's got spirit all right. I kinda like it. Too bad she didn't accept your offer, though. I'd have liked to have a few rounds with her. In a fight, and in bed."

Goral faked a shocked look. "Hey, that's my daughter you're talking about here!"

Kail just shrugged. "So what? You'd get first dibs on her, that's all."

Goral nodded at that. "Good point. Shall we finish her off, brother?"

Kail smiled, cracking his knuckles. "Yep, sounds like a plan."

Wincing, Aura got to her feet, running away from the pair as fast as her legs would take her. The pair of Devil Knights in their human disguises followed along, almost nonchalantly, intending to prolong her suffering before they killed her. They would hunt her sadistically, letting her get the illusion of hope before one of them would appear in her path and head her off, forcing her to become more and more desperate before they finally finished her off.

Moving into the woods, Aura could hear Kail behind her, whistling a jaunty tune as he trailed her. Taking a chance, she threw off her jacket, tossing it into the bush and moving on. Knowing that would throw off Goral's own tracking skills temporarily, she kept moving, throwing off various pieces of clothing as she went.

When she was down to just her pants, she could hear the two Devil Knights growing closer, and she called upon her abilities. She felt a sense of being simply...right, as she assumed the form of a wolf. Rather than the immense war form of the werewolves, this was a transformation into a normal sized wolf, better suited to running quietly and without complications in the wilds. Shrugging off the jeans that no longer suited her body, she looked back as she heard Goral moving around the side, trying to head her off. Moving at full speed, she left the pair of Devil Knights behind, cursing to herself in her mind her own lack of foresight.

On another world, two demons were standing outside of a wooden door, looking through the bars in it, at another demon, who was chained to the floor in a kneeling position.

The first one was a goat-like creature that stood on its hind legs, on Earth, its species was probably the inspiration of the legends of the Greek god Pan.

The other was a slavering slime demon, quite literally made of the foul smelling stuff. It didn't have organs, it just absorbed what it wanted to eat, like a giant form of an amoeba. It spoke with its squelching voice. "So this is him, huh? Why don't we just go in there and kill him? I'm hungry."

The goat shook his head. "The last time anybody tried that, he killed them and nearly escaped. We'll have to starve him to death, and that'll take a while. I figure a few hundred years should take care of him, then you can eat him."

The slime creature grumbled. "I bet he'd be tasty inside that thick shell of his. I guess we'll have to make do with our prisoners. One question though, why is there no fire allowed in the cell?"

A sigh left the previous demon, who apparently owned something resembling a brain. "He draws power from fire. It's his elemental, his ability. I really don't want to see him gain enough strength to break those chains. Lord Kyannar demanded he stay where he is until he dies. If he escaped, he'd kill us, which would be preferable to what Kyannar would do to us. Purgatory and all that."

The two demons shuddered at the thought. Purgatory was, ironically, what the demonic race considered their own hell. Their world, while painful, inhospitable, and downright hostile, was at least mostly entertaining. There was always something to do, some human soul to torture or consume, some plot or another to get caught up in and reap the rewards of success and penalties of failure.

Purgatory was worse, if only for one reason. There was nothing there. Being sent to Purgatory was to be sent somewhere there was no gravity, nothing to stand on, nothing that could harm you, nothing to kill you. In short, it was a place of eternal boredom.

Simply being killed results in becoming nothing. Maybe being reincarnated, but in which case they'd lose all their knowledge, which isn't so bad. Purgatory means being trapped in a place where you shall always know what you know and shall never be capable of escaping or changing anything. Death was always preferable to that fate.

Suddenly, screams began echoing throughout the complex. The demons almost paid it no mind, except in a moment they realized it was other demon's screams, instead of human. Running down a corridor, they gasped and fell to their knees in worship of the creature in front of them.

It was rather unfortunate, but it didn't endear them to the being at all. With barely the slightest effort, the two demons were decapitated and lying on the ground, dissolving into ash and sewage respectively, as the newest Lord of Hell strode towards the cell. With a savage roar, he ripped the door off the hinges, and the Devil Lord looked upon the occupant. He spoke quietly. "So this is the legend. The one who defeated a god and escaped from this cursed place."

The caged demon rose his head slightly, speaking in harsh, gravely tones. "And you must be the new Devil Lord on the block. What did you do, kill my father for the position?"

The Devil Lord strode forward into the cell, ripping the chains apart with a single easy movement. Reaching across his back, he drew a massive greatsword and tossed it to the entrapped demon, who caught it with one hand, showing no strain while holding the weapon. The former captive looked at the Lord with a question in his burning red eyes.

Smiling slightly, the Devil Lord replied. "My name is Nicholas. I was human once, I hunted the best supernatural creatures I could on my world. You name it, I've probably killed it. Then I got sucked down here and turned into one of you. I hear about you, the great and legendary Devil Knight who became a great traitor. It took some doing, but I found out that Kyannar was keeping you locked up down here for some reason."

Sighing, the former Devil Knight shook his head. "That I can't answer. What I want to know is, why?"

Nicholas shrugged. "I always hunted the strongest ones I could find. You're the only one I know who beat a god on any plane, so I'm breaking you out of here so we can have a good fight. I'm proposing a duel, my good fellow. If I win, I kill you and look for someone stronger to kill me. If you win, you're free and you've got a shot at getting out of this plane again."

The Devil Knight nodded. "I'll need a week to recover my strength, and then I'll gladly fight you. But first, we need to get out of here."

Nicholas smiled. "Then, shall we go, Alleron of the line of Ifrit?"

Alleron nodded. "We shall, Nicholas."

A week later, all of Hell took note as, for a brief moment, they saw a flash of light arcing up into the clouds, a brightly burning white form disappearing from view as it left their plane.

And on the stones in a wasteland of Hell, did Nicholas the Devil Knight, Nicholas the Immortal, lie dead on the ground, his head separated from his shoulders, his blood spilling out of his body as it rested on the earth. The unfortunate imps who were conscripted into burying the body of the newest, and shortest-lived Devil Lord in their history, could all swear that Nicholas had a smile on his face.

Well there you go, chapter number 22. I hope you guys like reading it as much as I liked writing it, even though it took me quite a while.

Sorry for the delay here, but this working for a living thing is kind of annoying.

But please, please, please, feedback is most appreciated. Good, bad, whatever.

Later guys.

Nick.