Spike did a backflip. It wasn't his deal-he wasn't the Slayer, or some bloody cheerleader-but if you left him no choice but to do acrobatics, he could do 'em with the best. The sword swooshed by just above his nose, and his feet rose up to kick it from his assailant's hands.

They missed.

Well, he wasn't going to let one slip-up stop him. "Just who the bloody hell are you, anyway?" He seized her by the sword arm, meaning to yank her up, slam her into the sand, and wrench the sword out of her grip.

She didn't budge, and her sword thrust forward at him, piercing his chest. If it'd been made of wood, he'd have been a goner, but it sliced uselessly into his heart. Sure, it hurt like mad, but that couldn't stop him.

She looked a hell of a lot like Buffy. Like Buffy as a vampire, maybe-the only emotion he could read in her cold blue eyes was bliss at the idea that she was about to kill something. "You have a name, bint? Or-"

"No," she hissed. "I don't." Her blade came whirling around-

-and Angel seized her arm from behind. "Well, then, what are we supposed to call you?" Big bleedin' poof. Well, if he was going to trounce this little bitch, Spike was happy to help him. He raised a foot and tried to sweep her feet out from under her. Tried was the operative word. Even with Angel latched onto her, she leapt over his kick, feet lashing out in either direction, and kicked both of them in the balls. Each staggered back, away from the other, Angel losing his grip.

"Call me the Maiden of the Mirthless Smile," she snarled at Angel, "if you're fortunate enough to walk away. Which you won't be." Her sword came around again.

Rupert bloody Giles tackled her about the ankles, sending her to her knees.

Well, he'd always known Giles was more than he seemed at first glance. Man'd gone one on one with Angelus armed with a flaming baseball bat, done more than a little damage, and lived to tell the tale. Trouble was, he hadn't won, only survived, and it was starting to look as if this Maiden outclassed even Angelus.

She thrust herself upward, using her sword as a prop, and slashed at the fool in glasses. Good thing for him Spike wasn't ready to let him die. He hurtled forward and rolled, taking the blow to his legs and spinning Giles out of danger. Now he just had to get back up and...

...fall on his face. She'd hamstrung him without even trying.

The Maiden brought her sword down at his neck again. He could feel the air part around it. Yet somehow it never connected. He shoved himself over to see what had happened.

She was floating in mid-air, kicking furiously. Willow and Tara stepped in closer, clutching each others' hands with a look of concentration in their eyes-though Tara spared him a compassionate glance. Right generous of her.

"No worries," Willow said. "She can't get out of this."

Tara was not so confident. "Watch her hands. She might have throwing weapons or something." Smarter than Willow sometimes. Hadn't the redhead gotten it through her head yet: the Exalted could do the impossible?

A spray of blood burst from the Maiden's back, followed by barbed, lashing rusty chains. Damn him, when was he going to stop tempting fate? A chain lunged at Willow, slicing her arm open, and the witches toppled backwards as Tara yanked her away. Another chain knocked Wesley's gun from his hand as he leveled it at her.

Gunn rushed the Maiden, along with four Dune People. Smart. Just because she had-how many chains was that? Seven?-all those chains didn't mean she could use each of them individually. Two of the Dune People were slashed across the chest, but the other two and Gunn slammed into the Maiden as she dropped, and all of them went down in a tangle of limbs.

It didn't last. Chains ripped across them; another of the Dune People fell. Gunn and the last unhurt albino managed to crawl away, for the moment, as the Maiden sprang to her feet. Come to think of it, he'd tried to hurt her a couple of times already and his chip hadn't fired once. What was she? He tried to clamber to his feet again, but his cut tendons refused to obey. Tara grabbed him and began to drag him away from the fight. "Thanks," he muttered irritably.

A gun went off. Cordelia had gotten Wes's gun-good on her-but the bullets spanged off the Maiden's chains until the weapon was empty. Not so good, Cordy. She could have hit anyone and she'd done no damage at all. How the bloody blazes were they going to stop this little brat before she murdered them all? Cordy flung the gun aside.

"She's bloody going to kill us all," Giles murmured into his ear. "I don't suppose you have any ideas?"

Spike shook his head. "I've got nothing. I think she must've already got-"

Anya prodded the back of the Maiden's neck with Wesley's gun. "Dodge this."

"What's the matter with her?" Giles shook his head in disbelief. "The pistol's-"

Spike saw it immediately. "The Maiden doesn't know that. Took balls, though." He also saw the Maiden smile. "Damn it!"

"All right," said the Maiden, wearing her trademarked grin. And she spun.

Anya dropped the gun and seized a chain, the one highest on the Maiden's spine. Blood spurted from her hands and wrists, but she hung on as the Maiden's movements wrapped the chain around her own neck. Ignoring what must have been agony, Anya wrenched at the chain as it tried to twist free of her grip, and with one swift motion, knotted it tight. The Maiden's eyes bulged in disbelief and probably lack of air. If she needed air; Spike wasn't too sure.

Perhaps the Maiden might have broken free in another few moments, but Angel seized her, and with only the faintest hint of regret in his eyes, buried his fangs in her neck. Well, her shoulder, anyway. Huh. There was fight in the old man yet. He wasn't smart enough to kill her, though; the chains burst into a spray of gore as she collapsed, and once they did, Spike could see her start to breathe again. Maybe Spike would rectify that once everyone was distracted. If he could get up, that was.

Everyone stared at Anya for a few moments. Nothing happened, and Anya rubbed at her forehead, spreading blood across it. No symbol burst to life there. No glow appeared around her.

"Dammit," Anya said, and collapsed, blood gushing into the dry sand.

"You're sure they're not upset that I ran for it in the Lap?"

Sulumor released an exasperated groan. "We've been over this, Buffy. You were set upon by six Dragon-Blooded at once. Xander is new to his powers and Fred had only just Exalted. Running was the correct thing to do. If anything, it speaks to your combat prowess that you fought as long and injured as many as you did. The only valid complaint anyone could have is that your actions were too overt, and everything I heard suggests Solars, not we mythical Infernals, were blamed for the blaze. If anyone suggests you should have stood and fought, laugh in their faces."

Buffy was watching Sulumor, not the path ahead, and suddenly Sulumor reached out and pulled her to a stop. Buffy turned and found her nose about three inches from a massive blocky wall of tarnished brass, no more than three or four stories high. "I'd say we're here." A vast crack in the wall waited a couple of feet to her left. "Okay, maybe that was my fault." She sidled over to the crack. "I'm guessing there are no official gates."

"No," Sulumor said wryly. "You guess correctly."

Buffy drew herself up. "I've been here before. Nothing to worry about." Sulumor gave her a look, and they strode through the gap together.

A vast towered cityscape rose in front of her, gleaming under the searing light of the green sun. Towers of shining brass, glinting yellow, topped in sky-piercing spires; squat towers of black stone, blocky and brooding. She had seen this before. No, wait, she was thinking of Coruscant; there were no speeders arcing from tower to tower here, though winged demons could be seen in a few spots. She had seen this before, though. Welcome back to hell, Buffy. You don't really belong here. I promise. She glanced over her shoulder; the gap in the wall was still there, but the top was no longer a couple of stories above. It rose up behind her, thousands and thousands of feet in the air.

When she looked back, a presence waited in the shadows, a figure that beckoned her, drew her forward. It wore silken robes draped over a lush feminine form, though of the face she could see only a pair of shining silver eyes. Unexpected warmth rose up inside her, tugging her toward the woman in the shadows. Sulumor grabbed Buffy by the shirt, hissing, "Stop."

"You have nothing to fear," came a voice, husky, velvet. "Welcome, Peers of Malfeas. Welcome, Buffy, favored of the Yozis. I wish to speak to you especially. And welcome, Sulumor. My thanks for bringing her. You also have done well. If you would introduce us?"

Sulumor shuddered visibly. "Buffy, this is Erembour, That Which Calls to the Shadows, Seventh Soul of the Ebon Dragon. She is one of the most dangerous beings in this realm, so be respectful, but remember your own place." Her bow was fairly deep, but not servile. "The law holds you as much as anyone else, but not even the Unquestionable may lay their hands on you."

Buffy grimaced, but made her own bow, not quite so deep. How far was she expected to "be respectful" to a thing like this? "Um...hello, Erembour. Nice to meet you." As if it wasn't bad enough bowing to a demon, the stupid thing was still turning her on. She pressed her legs together, which had the useful effect of not letting her step closer but was otherwise no good.

Sulumor leaned over to whisper in her ear. "You might survive a blow from her, perhaps even ten, but you could not outfight her, and in any case that is not the danger she poses. She would shape you into a beast of darkness before you could land a punch. Also, you will grow used to her...attraction, up to a point. It is simply what she is. I have seen many without the slightest interest in women succumb to her charms."

Buffy glanced at the demon, who seemed expectant, content to wait, and not the least offended. There was no sign of a mouth beneath the shadows of her hair, no face but those eyes, yet somehow Buffy seemed to see her smile. "Thank you for spreading my fame, Sulumor. You may go now. Take care of any immediate business you may have, but you are then wanted in the Conventicle." Sulumor bowed again and hurried away.

"Buffy," the demon said warmly. Why were all these...these things so friendly? "I was quite impressed that you disrupted the Lap, but more so that you managed to get away afterwards, and hid yourself so well. Also, you made quite a handsome fellow. Are you sure we can't see more of him?"

To her surprise, she found herself nodding. "He might turn up next time I need to hide," she said, flushing bright red.

"You really must learn to loosen up," Erembour purred. "Other than that, you do so well, but you need to let go of those...inhibitions. Perhaps I should sound my horn after all." She rubbed her chin. She was a she, wasn't she? Even her form seemed to shift under all that darkness. "No, we need you for other things. Alas. But we will free you in the end, never fear. That was my first purpose, to congratulate you."

"And second?"

"To inform you that Alveua would see you. I do not bring you this as a simple message. You are required to arm yourself appropriately. Our arsenals are vast, but Alveua is one of our best crafters, who expresses my creativity. Thirdly: you are summoned to the Conventicle as well. The time of your introduction is at hand. The Infernal Thing begins in one hour. Be on time. Now go get yourself...appropriately dressed. Your brass armor would do nicely."

That might be interesting. It was appropriately shiny. God, what was she thinking? Her face turned even redder, and she bowed, then scurried away. They were trying to break her inhibitions. That was all. That was all it was.

Right?

Her townhouse was full of neomah. "Um. Hello. Excuse me. I haven't been moved out, have I?"

One of the nubile lavender demons sidled up to her, trying to bounce a bit, trying to be seductive-neomah were always seductive-but mostly she just quivered with fear. Normally Buffy liked seeing demons who were afraid of her. These made her feel like she was expected to give them black eyes and then instruct them to say they walked into a doorknob. "We are here to serve as members of your retinue, Buffy Summers. We have cleaned and decorated your townhouse and procured clothing suitable to your station. We also stand ready to fulfill any more personal needs you might have."

Buffy took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what's been going on here lately, but the fact is I've only ever so much as kissed one girl, and she tried to kill me later. I'm not saying there's absolutely no chance but I'm not sure you realize that you're not my usual-"

The neomah who had spoken to her began to grow, its body thickening with muscle. "You generally prefer a lover with a penis, then? Or is something more exotic required?"

"Ahhhh..." Buffy swallowed hard and shook her head. "Maybe later. I've got to be at a Thing in less than an hour now. If I have time afterwards..." She'd had a demon lover before. It wasn't so bad...what was she thinking? She and Angel had had sex exactly once and then he'd turned evil.

"Let us accompany you," said the one who'd turned male, smiling. "You deserve a proper escort."

"Let us help you get dressed," simpered another. "Please allow us to serve you."

That did it. They really were just looking to be of service. The Demon City was far more of a hell dimension than Creation was, however rough the latter had become. They were probably afraid she'd have them executed for displeasing her. "All right, help me get dressed and you can come along. I'll...ah...take the other thing under advisement."

She really hadn't had any in a couple of months now. Maybe it would be all right, just once.

Green light pierced the center of the dome and was refracted by sparkling geometric shapes of crystal and brass. Jet black seats whose legs and backs felt like bone ringed a central arena full of sand, and all manner of monstrosities sat in them. Nominally the front seats were the place of honor for the assembled Green Sun Princes, though Buffy had already realized it let the demons keep an eye on them. And at the center a platform she had seen rise into the air on tentacular supports held a single podium. Buffy had attempted to make for the ring of seats, but her retinue of neomah had whimpered and pleaded until she followed their direction. She was standing behind the podium now. She was in the place of honor. In hell. Something from college flickered through her memory about Lucifer's "safe unenvied throne".

With a flick of her finger and a reluctant sigh, she rose into the air, into the shimmering green light. "Assembled lords and ladies, gathered peers of hell," proclaimed the auburn-haired young man in the emerald robes, the young man who at this moment was also the source of the searing green rays that pierced the dome, "I give to you the unexpected. We do not know her incarnations. We do not know her home. And yet she has been proclaimed ahead of time for us by He Who Sees All Things, Dread Sacheverell. She is the beginning of great change, the first of what we hope may be many, the fifty-first Peer of Malfeas. I give to you the Green Sun Princess Buffy Summers! Buffy Summers the Slayer!"

The demons in attendance leapt to their feet, those who had feet, and roared out their approval. All thirty-six of the Infernals in attendance leapt up a moment later. Buffy spotted Erembour easily, Sulumor a moment later. Of Cyan there was no sign, but she couldn't spend all her time here, after all. There was Captain Gyrfalcon, whose ship had stopped her from plummeting to her death. She thought. For all she knew, maybe she'd have survived the fall anyway.

"BOOOO!" The heck? Buffy rotated the platform until she could see her heckler. A Prince she didn't recognize, a war-painted young brute of a man with a shock of light red hair. "This? You call this little bit of a girl a Slayer? Whose idea was this miserable slip of a thing? What use is she?"

Ligier turned a searing green gaze on the man. "Cearr, you are out of order. I have just begun introductions. Should you wish to challenge her, you may do so in a moment. Should you wish to challenge me, I invite you to come forward now."

Cearr paled visibly and clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head, but fury still filled his eyes.

"Though she has only just begun her work among us," Ligier went on, "Buffy has made waves already by destabilizing the Lap. A substantial portion of this year's grain harvest is ruined, but more importantly a wave of slave revolts and uprisings by the indentured has begun. Some may argue that this is meager gain, compared to (for instance) seizing the Penitent. They do not understand how any further destabilization of the Realm benefits our cause.

"Now, however, it is time for Buffy to begin a new phase of her labors. We have one-on-one combatants in plenty. We will need warriors, certainly, warriors who can match Dawn and Dusk Exalts in battle. Right now, however, our greater need is for generals, and too many of our Slayers have avoided this task thus far. It is time we remedied that situation.

"Buffy Summers will rest here in Malfeas for another two weeks, during which time we expect her to properly arm herself and to continue her training. At the end of that time, she will proceed to Gem, where she is to take control of the cult of Malfeas and command of an elite force of akuma. It will then be her choice what she does with them, so long as Gem is either destroyed or delivered into our hands."

His emerald gaze shone on Buffy. "Because this is your first command assignment, victory is not absolutely required of you. It is, however, expected. This is your chance to gather any assistance you think you might need."

The conquest or destruction of an entire city-state. On her. Gem was no place to live, if she remembered right, unless you were either filthy rich or dead lucky, but it didn't deserve to be conquered by hell. "Um. Okay. Here's the sitch. I have never led more than a little band of my friends in a fight. I'll do my best, but I need someone to teach me. Have any Green Sun Princes ever led an army?"

The assembled Infernals looked at one another. "Dark Iolite says he led a Haltan army against Lookshy a few years back, but he's off planning an insurgency in the Bordermarches right now."

"There's V'neef Tereso. Didn't he used to be in the Realm army?"

"Expelled for cowardice just before he Exalted, no really great skills. Also, I think a Deathknight offed him last week in Thorns."

"Isn't there a Malefactor who was a general off in Gethamane or someplace?"

"You're thinking of that Earth Person Der Ne-Thel-Xen. She tried to lead a Jadeborn revolt that hung up on some mystic Solar curse. Their leaders put them all down. She's not confirmed dead, but no one knows where she is."

"Gyrfalcon's got his pirate crew. Still, my lady Summers, the only real general among us you're likely to still find alive," Cearr snarled, "is me."

"You beat me," Cearr had said, "I teach you everything you wanna know. I beat you...I go with you to Gem and you be my flunky. Yeah, yeah, Unquestionables an' all that. You can say you're in charge and they won't make a fuss."

There was really only one response Buffy could make to that kind of arrogance. "You're on." She just hoped he wasn't as tough as he seemed to think he was. Or, anyway, that she was tougher.

Now Sulumor was coaching her a little. "You don't actually need him." At least, Buffy thought that was what she was doing.

"Why not?"

"You really don't know? Has there ever been a weapon you've put your hands on that you couldn't swing or fire within a few seconds, and be an expert at in a matter of days, if that?" Sulumor gave her a stare of utter bafflement.

Buffy almost said Guns before remembering a certain incident with a rocket launcher. She might never have tried to use a pistol or a shotgun, but a weapon's vintage or level of technology was plainly not a factor.

"I suppose I see how you wouldn't know. You'll be an old hand at tactics and strategy within the week. You're a Slayer. It's your birthright."

"Well, I still have to get started somewhere. Besides, he's determined to call me out. I have to show him I can kick his butt if I'm going to keep the level of respect I have."

"True enough. Cearr hasn't precisely neglected his defenses, Buffy, but he does favor offense. Either hold him off and wear him down, or strike hard before he can strike you first. Don't try to match him blow for blow."

"That it?" That wasn't bad advice, but it was kinda limited.

"He knows a number of offensive Malfean charms you don't. He has several enhancements to Green Sun Nimbus Flare, which is nasty all by itself."

"Think Cyan used it. Green energy in the wounds?" That had been ugly, especially in that Shadowfire combo thing, but it hadn't stopped her.

"Yes. Also, he knows a fair amount of Infernal Monster style. It comes naturally to all Green Sun Princes if we choose to learn it, but it does take practice. He will come at you like a wounded dragon if you're careless. He's ready. Get back out there in the center."

Cearr waited there, stalking back and forth and showing off his big scary muscles and giant axe. She was really going to have to get herself some kind of a weapon; hand-to-hand was all well and good, but this thing gave him an edge, no pun intended. Just about every warrior around here seemed to have a giant sword or something. Was there a kind of axe called a glaive? Would that make this thing a daiglaive? No, wait, a glaive was a polearm.

"Come on, then," she called, stepping into the ring. "Come and get me. If you can." He probably could. Viridian Legend Exoskeleton.

Sulumor was right, it seemed. When Cearr closed his eyes, she knew exactly, on some instinctive level, what he was doing. Infernal Monster Form. And the barbarian swelled up like a vampire on insta-steroids. Muscles sprouted from his muscles. His legs, his entire body, stretched upward, reaching for the ceiling's dome. In short, the guy she was about to have to kick the ass off Hulked out.

She was so going to have to learn to do that. Even if it made her look like she was on steroids temporarily. Still, she was the one with the shiny armor. She lunged out into the arena. Wind-Born Stride.

He matched her pace. Surpassed it. Raging Behemoth Charge. Cearr swung that gigantic axe, and she leapt into the air. Her feet touched the tilted blade, the handle. The left one collided with his face. First blood to her. Shame it was going to take more than that to beat him. Still, blood flew from his nose.

Her feet touched the ground just in time to see his elbow come back at her and crush her into the sand. God-Smashing Blow. Cearr skidded in the sand, coming around while she picked herself up. She put a hand to her mouth. No blood, not that she could see. The metal over her lip seemed dented, though. The axe came down. Her hands went up. The monstrous thing dwarfed Tepet Lisara's sword.

Buffy slammed her hands together and caught the blow between them. A gasp from the crowd would've been nice. Nothing. Well, a few scattered claps. She heaved upward, forcing the axe away from her. It seemed they'd seen it all before. That wasn't the important part anyway. She slammed her toes into his groin.

Cearr grunted. No sell. "You've got to be kidding me," Buffy grumbled. Every guy she'd ever met would kill for that superpower. She was going to have to pull off something spectacular to get a rise out of this crowd.

Then she realized someone was cheering for her. Not with the raucous laughter she expected from Cearr's type, not with the sneers and amused clapping she thought Cyan might demonstrate if she were here. They were quiet about it, trying to be unobtrusive, but she could see her demon entourage, hands clasped and raised, murmuring their approval every time she landed a blow.

Maybe it would work. She needed a few moments out of his reach. Buffy took a running jump, hurtling up onto the raised podium. Not an ideal spot; they could all see her. But if she was quick, and clever, and the power worked the way she hoped it did, it wouldn't matter for more than a few moments. Keep moving. Death-Dealing Journey. As Cearr scrambled up the tentacles that held the thing in the air, Buffy focused, and her shadow rose from the ground, covering her in darkness. A pair of seconds. Cearr swung himself over the rail as it melted back off her, leaving her conspicuous as all hell.

Buffy leapt up, caught the railing with her hands, and vaulted over, landing on the edge of the arena, in the middle of her gaggle of neomah attendants. From whom she was now indistinguishable. They weren't stupid, whatever some people might think; each of them watched Cearr and ignored her, wearing various poses of nonchalance. A slouch here, a stretch there.

Cearr had seen her. He knew she was disguised as one of the demons. But neomah, it seemed, were all but identical. They had some small differences in features, made others with piercings, but Cearr didn't seem the type to pay those any mind, especially not when they were someone else's entourage. She'd wait till he was busy inspecting them, then strike before he figured out which one she was. His mouth twisting in a sneer, he stomped over toward the group of demons. "Scared, I see. Going to hide. How clever, little girl. How appropriate. Don't think this will protect you from me in the slightest."

He reached out and seized one of them. Shook her like a rag doll. He clasped her head in one mighty hand. And twisted. The Infernals yawned. Several of the greater demons joined them, or failed to react even that far. Only the rest of the neomah gasped.

Maybe it was just that the rest of them were next, but that look of shock and terror...God, what did I just do? She'd put them in harm's way, and now they were being slaughtered. No, they were just demons. They were...

NO. She'd brought them here. They were her responsibility. They were about to die. For her. For her momentary disguise.

Cearr hadn't even had a moment to react when she slammed into his gut. With a grunt, she lifted, and he rose from the ground easily despite his immense bulk. She slammed him down into the sand, lifted again, and hurled him forward into the tentacled base of the podium. At once he began to rise, and she dashed forward, leapt over him, somersaulting over the rail. Still inverted in the air, she grabbed the controls. Down. Cearr was on the move, hurling himself forward at incredible speed. Almost fast enough.

The platform crashed down onto his right foot, pinning him. It wouldn't last long, but she didn't need long. Self As Cyclone Stance

"Pick!" Heels to back. "On!" Fist to side of jaw. "Someone!" Other fist to nose. "Your!" Kick to gut, as he struggled up. "Own!" Fists to his shoulders, slamming him back down. "Size!" Buffy seized him by the head and wrenched with all her might.

There was a sudden crack!, astonishing in its abrupt finality. This time the assembly gasped. Cearr slumped forward. Buffy seized hold of him, cradling his head and neck, wrapping both arms around him. "Hey! If I'm not allowed to kill this guy, someone get the hell down here!"

Cearr's eyes bulged with terror. He hadn't reacted this way even to Ligier. Well, Ligier had only threatened him; the demon prince hadn't actually ibroken his neck/i. Assuming the big guy lived, he'd be fine eventually; that had been one of the first things Cyan had explained. But right now he was utterly helpless. Just letting him fall might kill him. Only might, of course; he was still Exalted.

The Orchid-Consuming Guardian strolled down from his seat and stepped up onto the platform, which obligingly released Cearr's foot and rose another three yards or so. "First maiming wound to Buffy Summers. Please be more careful in the future, Miss Summers; you have quite exceeded the victory parameters. Medical assistance to the arena, please. We need to immobilize Cearr's neck." A pair of insectile demons emerged from the shadows. Sesseljae, Buffy thought they were called. She let them take Cearr from her. Cheers, mixed with some snickering, rose from the seated demons and Exalts. "Cearr, you are obligated to tutor Buffy on tactics and strategy as soon as it becomes possible for you." Maybe he would respect her now, but she thought it was more likely he would hold a grudge. He seemed like the type. Buffy could've sworn the Guardian could have healed him at once, but there was quiet satisfaction in the Seneschal's eyes at Cearr's defeat. "One more thing. Buffy, you may certainly wear any guise you like, but your current appearance seems to be a source of amusement."

She looked down at herself. "Oh come on." She had kicked Cearr's butt while looking like a neomah. Buffy started to release the disguise, but suddenly her retinue surrounded her and lifted her into the air, rubbing her shoulders and slapping her on the back. She didn't deserve their attention; she'd gotten one of them killed. But... "I think I'll keep this look for a bit," she said. "Mind if I go?"

The Guardian made a gesture of dismissal. "I believe we have no further business here for the moment. Your parade awaits you outside the Conventicle." Parade? Oh. Right. She had just been formally announced as a Peer of Hell, and now they were going to march her through the Demon City. The Infernals rose from their seats first, surrounding her, with the Orchid-Eater at their head. The remaining greater demons followed, though again Buffy suspected it had nothing to do with respect and everything to do with keeping an eye on their superweapons. They wound through the Conventicle, gathering lesser demons as they went. Many cheered, banging on improvised drums, singing, or playing various instruments. Still, though, she wondered about even those who seemed sincere. Did they really expect to escape? Hope their lives would be better? Or were they just being herded along by their supposed betters?

Was it a good thing she had never thought of this in her own world? Or was it a fault in her own soul? Her neomah bore her through the gates of the Conventicle, and only there, as they set her atop a palanquin borne by blood apes, did she drop the illusion and revert to her own face. The erymanthoi roared, the neomah danced along in front of her, and demons gathered to throng the streets. And they cheered. The demons cheered for the Slayer.

It made her head hurt.

Buffy came to slowly, groggily, with the tiniest twinge of a hangover, and surrounded by pillows and fluffy blankets. Disturbing dreams echoed in her head, just as they had for years. Collapsing brass walls. Fire and hail and brimstone. Erymanthoi capering in the streets of Los Angeles. Nothing that seemed too likely. Prophecy was prophecy, though, and it suddenly occurred to her that no one had said iwhen/i she would free the Yozis. Or iwhere/i they'd be released to.

She rolled over and found herself face to face with a dozing, naked neomah. Shit! Just how drunk had she gotten? Buffy flipped herself back over to face the other way. There was a neomah there, too, and this one was inverted. Shorter than her, it lay facing her belly button. She sat bolt upright, stifling a cry. Geez, how exactly had she spent the night? Maybe nothing had happened; nude neomah were scattered all over the bed in various positions that might just have been where they lay down to sleep. Of course, alternatively...

That didn't bear thinking about. Buffy clambered out of bed, trying not to wake anyone, and began hunting down some clothes. Something practical, since there was no formal occasion. Stylish in the demon city usually involved other things she preferred not to consider.

"Going out without us, mistress?" The neomah she'd found herself facing was also climbing off the bed. "Surely you wish some sort of entourage, unless you need to travel in secret. Though I will fetch you anyone you wish. Angyalkae, perhaps?" Those were the ones with the harp fingers, right?

Buffy sighed. "Get your friends dressed and we'll go out together." Sooner or later she was going to have to get some other demons to go with her, but right now she couldn't summon the effort, and it wasn't as if anyone here was going to look down at her for whatever she was doing with the neomah. As far as they were concerned, that was what neomah were for. She hesitated a moment. "Did we...do anything last night?" The neomah opened her mouth. She was going to have to find names for them. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know."

The neomah snickered. "As you wish, mistress."

Aphrodisia was smarter than she looked. She gave Buffy fashion advice, pointing out some shimmering green-and-deep-red clothes that were currently in style without being too repulsive to human sensibilities, then helped pick out names for the others, which seemed to startle her. Apparently, the lowly First Circle demons didn't generally have names of their own. At most, they might be called "Boss" or something related to the patterns on their hair or skin. Buffy gave her brain a workout thinking of names that had nothing to do with the piercings these neomah wore. Maybe it was foolish-the illusion that these demons were her friends was risky to invite-but she couldn't bring herself to regard them as her toys or slaves, especially not after what Cearr had done. And friends or not, they certainly seemed to think of themselves as hers. Disturbing, but if they really believed that, they'd be loyal. More or less.

Marzi was a chatterbox, rattling on and on about what Buffy thought at first was a soap opera, but eventually it proved to be local politics. Apparently she'd been a direct servant of Octavian before being reassigned to Buffy, and was extremely relieved to be away from him. Larimar had worked on Ipithymia, who was both a Third-Circle and a street full of brothels, and she too seemed to have the dirt on everyone, but was much more careful about it. Quiet, cringing Spinel, by contrast, had been a temporary consort and librarian of Orabilis, and apparently had a great deal of technical knowledge that was likely to get her killed one day. Strangest of all, Dharma had been some kind of traveling monk, climbing the infinite slopes of a Yozi mountain called Qaf. Buffy began to wonder if their assignments were really random, or if they had been chosen to lend their expertise. And how many of the Green Sun Princes actually listened to their servants.

There were more, but she decided these were enough to take along on her trip to Alveua's forge. Buffy decided to disguise herself as one of them again, and took the whole group on some kind of bizarre blimp thing, showing a passcard that identified them as moving on her orders. Traveling incognito could be dangerous, but she could always reveal herself on the instant, and she didn't want to have to listen to awed gasps and terrified screaming everywhere she went. It would have worked a great deal better if the blimp hadn't begun screaming in pain instead; it seemed to float on the shieks instead of on hot air.

Finally the blimp deposited them on a filigreed brass causeway between two basalt pyramids, and Buffy was able to remove her hands from her ears. "Um, girls-which building is it?" Spinel shook her head and walked five steps, then turned to her left and pointed. Frowning, Buffy strolled over to her. She came abreast of the neomah and a massive, iron-bound door flickered into being. "Nice camoflauge system she's got here." Buffy dropped her disguise and started to knock, but Spinel shook her head again.

"She's expecting you," Dharma said. "And even if she weren't, you have the right to enter any building in Malfeas without warning or permission." Buffy raised her eyebrows and lifted the latch.

"Hey! Excuse y-" Alveua shouted through the furnace smoke. The Forge was the first place Buffy had been in that actually resembled hell, though all the molten metal was safely confined. Sweat soaked through her shirt almost instantly. "Um, I mean, welcome to my humble shop, Buffy Summers. I'm very sorry and I don't get a lot of customers who are allowed to ibarge in/i without knocking."

"Actually I was gonna," Buffy began sheepishly. Spinel shook her head firmly, and she started over with more force. "I'm here to take a look at your weapons and armor. Show me the good stuff."

Alveua grinned. "Got some good advisors there, don't ya?" The demoness might've held a fairly high position, but she looked no older than Buffy; her red hair, green eyes, and waifish build might have belonged to any high school or younger college student in Sunnydale, and even the daintily-ornamented black metal dress would appeal to plenty of perky goths. Only the little red horns that peeked out of her bangs gave the lie to her looks. That said, Buffy wasn't sure even she could have carried the gigantic forge hammer that Alveua swung carelessly over her shoulder. "C'mon down to the emporium. The really good stuff is commission-only. Even for you, unless some bigwig tells me otherwise."

"What if I were to say I wanted it?" She'd see how far she could push.

Alveua grinned again, but this time she showed a lot more teeth. Nice, white, straight, perfectly filed teeth. "You don't seem like the type to want a weapon made of human souls, Buffy. I hear that as Green Sun Princes go, you're a real sheltered Princess. Don't worry too much about it. Either they'll beat you down or they'll beat it out of you. From what I hear, I'm thinking the latter; you iare/i tough. Now come on down before I get bored.

"Most of this stuff is side business," the demon clarified. "I could get by just fine without it, to be honest, but I buy up the best that lesser craftsmen make, then sell it at a premium with my stamp of approval. Take a look at this, for instance." The crystalline blade in the case at the bottom of the stairwell didn't seem high-quality tp Buffy's eye, and she said so. It was jagged and off-center. "She Who Lives In Her Name loves order," Alveua explained, "but you can't remake it once it's broken. Not too smart the way I see it, but what can you do? These things are sharp and fast, and they cut into your soul, slice out what you care about, and burn out the emotion. Sometimes I think mortals'd be better off if we made surgical scalpels out of those things instead."

Buffy tried not to betray what she felt about that, pausing instead in front of a gold bowl that seemed full of crude oil. "What's this stuff?"

"Oooh. Good taste, Summers. That is a compliant umbral panoply. Go ahead, attune it and give it a test drive. Those things are expensive, but the way things are going you'll get it basically free."

Buffy dipped her hand into the oil, expecting to find something like a puddle of french fry grease. The stuff might as well have been an illusion; her fingers passed through without resistance or sensation. She closed her eyes and let power flow into the goop. Nothing seemed to happen, so she peeked. The oil had vanished. "Hey, what-?"

"Look at your shadow," said Aphrodisia.

Buffy frowned, studying it, and it writhed away from her stare. Her shadow shifted, flickered, and changed. She framed a thought, and the shadow loomed up and onto the wall, forming into a question mark.

"You can make it tangible," Aphrodisia explained. "Make weapons from it, wear it like armor, even ride it."

Tempting. Wait a sec. Buffy pulled the shadow up over her, turning it jet black save for white patches around the eyes, and on her chest, a great white spider. "I'm going to eat your BRAAINS!" Her entire entourage squealed in terror and scurried behind the display cases. Alveua's eyes widened and she swung her hammer into a ready position. "Er. Not such a great idea. Sorry. It was a joke. Honest." She released the panoply into the bowl and held up her empty hands. "I swear. Girls, I promise I can explain."

Aphrodisia peered out from behind a long case. "You'd better, or I'm going to go beg to work for Munaxes."

Buffy stepped over to her. "It's a long...hey, what's that?" The display case held a rust-red spear with a sharp wooden point retipped with metal. The other end of it bore a wicked axe blade. "It...that thing looks familiar somehow." Aphrodisia emerged, moving very gingerly.

"I'd say it was probably yours in a past life," Alveua said, pursing her lips, "except you can't ever have seen it before. Made it this week while you were en route."

"Maybe the design is similar," Aphrodisia said, still fidgeting. Clearly she wanted that explanation. The other neomah still weren't showing more than their eyes around the cases.

"Maybe I saw it in a dream," Buffy said faintly. "Is it...it's kind of...scythe-like."

Alveua rolled her eyes. "Scythe-like? What would you reap with that little blade? This is called a daikalbar. Truthfully, it's kinda small. I was gonna sell it to a Djala akuma, but she died in a fight with some Lunars before she could pick it up. If you want the thing, it's yours."

"...so anyway, Venom kept going back and forth between supervillain and anti-hero for a long long time, mostly because consumer demand won't actually let Marvel Comics get its act together."

"Why not?" Aphrodisia expressed the puzzlement of the entire group.

"I told you humans were incomprehensible," Spinel whispered to Marzi, who shook her head helplessly.

"Well, um...I guess stories need an end somewhere, even if it's only 'he rode off into the distance', and people don't want popular characters to have an end." Buffy fingered the weapon she'd decided to call the Scythe, just to spite Alveua. There was a odd tension building in her head and between her shoulderblades that she'd last felt just before she and Angel broke it off for the final time. She wanted...no, she needed...to kill some demons. She was surrounded by them, and she was supposed to leave them alone. It was their world. Demons belonged in hell.

"I guess that makes sense," Marzi said. "I hate it when good times end." She didn't want to hurt Marzi. Or any of the girls. They hadn't done anything to her. She didn't think, anyway. Only, part of her kinda did. Her hands twitched on the Scythe. It felt familiar somehow, even though that was impossible.

They'd been standing here trying to hail a blimp for what seemed like hours, though by her watch it'd only been about thirty minutes. Unfortunately, the girls said time shifted in the demon city, so how long it had really been was a mystery.

"We should stop wasting time and take the ummuhan," Larimar suggested. Or rather, she stated it bluntly to Spinel. That was her way of avoiding confrontation with Buffy, it seemed. Buffy wished she would just speak out so Buffy could be annoyed with her. Then she could...no. Why was she reacting this way? Also, what was an ummuhan?

"I don't really want to take the ummuhan," Dharma grumbled. "It stinks. Buffy can get us where we're going by a better route." Because why would-? She would do it for herself, if nothing else. Stop it! Someone tugged on her blouse.

Buffy spun toward it, Scythe raised. The arm withdrew, though not so quickly she couldn't perceive how insectile the jointed limb was. Dozens more protruded from a thick greenish mist. "Slayer, may I please speak with you? We require your assistance nearby."

"You're speaking already," Buffy said sharply, making it recoil.

"A thousand pardons, Slayer. We only wish to ask that you witness our battle with a nearby tribe. The metody continually seek to intrude on our territory. We would have your witness and word that it remains ours."

Dharma touched her cautiously on the arm. With an effort, she kept herself from snapping at it. Why had she given them names, anyway? "Slayer, it is your right as Chosen of Malfeas to witness such battles. Even to join in them, as you might do well to do. It would allow you to practice your tactical skills."

Buffy studied the creature. Most of its limbs ended not in hands, but in blades or spikes. Plainly it was made to fight. "All right. You're on. I'll help you out with these...melodies?"

"Metody," Aphrodisia said nervously. "Elementals of vitriol, the transcendent acid. Buffy, are you certain you can-?"

"I'll figure it out," Buffy snapped at it. "Don't get in my way." She needed...she needed a challenging fight. What, Cearr wasn't challenging enough? You beat him fast because you had to, not because he was a pushover. She'd give into the urge to kill some demons, and that should make her feel better.

The battle-bugs lived in a district of small blocky buildings, ruled by a slightly older boss tomescu-no one special, really. Directly next door, the metody occupied a great spiny brass spire. Dozens of tower-thorns stuck out with no obvious means of support, and indeed there might not be any, here. Malfeas laughed at puny things like gravity.

The territorial battle was very formal, at least this time. The metody came out and set up in a battle line a dozen demons long. Fortunately there weren't actually that many of them-maybe a dozen against forty tomescu. Of course, that no doubt meant they were more powerful. "We reject your claim unless you can prove it in battle," Buffy pronounced, and the metody made incomprehensible gurgling noises in their throats. Then they charged.

Buffy set herself to meet that charge, lifting the Scythe, but the metody just ignored it. It pierced through the creature's translucent jellylike body, not doing it any obvious harm, and the metody kept going, abruptly melting to surge up around Buffy herself.

She was caught in a bubble of gelatinous acid. Holding her breath, she tried to struggle free, but the metody moved with her. Her clothes were already being eaten away-again-but, aside from threatening to suffocate her, the caustic fluid did no more than redden her skin a little. The Scythe swung back and forth, slicing but failing to cut her free.

iOkay, change of tactics./i She drove the Scythe downward into the pavement. The metody wanted to keep moving forward; Buffy hauled backward on the Scythe. There was a loud pop like a giant bubble of ooze bursting, and she was free. And naked. Again. She coated herself in brass, wondering how much of an improvement it was. You could still see everything, and hadn't Willow said metals were more vulnerable to acid anyway?

She still needed a way to fight these things. Turning the Scythe sideways, she slapped at the demon she'd just escaped. The flat of the blade splattered it, flinging acid away from her. "Guys! Use your sledges! Put the blades away, they're useless!" Fortunately, everyone on her side had at least a club in their arsenal. They howled and snarled at the impact-the vitriol hurt them more than it did her-but they kept bashing. Great globs of the stuff flew in all directions. She was going to have to learn that green fire thing. Or maybe the shadow thing that Cyan had combined it with; fire might not hurt these jelly-demons.

Naturally it seemed she'd armed herself with the worst possible weapon for fighting these things. The next metody that came in her direction had its arms sliced off, but it promptly sprouted new ones from its sides. Maybe she'd hurt it, but it was hard to...wait. The arms lay there and melted. So it wasn't simply invulnerable to being cut. She spun the Scythe like a cheerleader's baton and laid into the thing with the blade. Gobbets of gel-acid flew everywhere. She'd misled the tomescu, though she hadn't meant to. Anyway, it wasn't quite so easy to slice off bits of the creature fast enough to do it real harm instead of just burying your weapon in the gunk, so she hadn't been completely wrong.

A giant mallet nearly slammed her in the back as she slipped aside. The tomescu were splattering the metody with abandon now. Five had retreated to the side, cradling their acid-burnt weapon-limbs, but only two metody remained, and one of those found itself a smear on a basalt wall a moment later. The last lunged, unexpectedly, at Aphrodisia-who spat a searing mouthful of green flame at the creature, which went up in a blaze of acrid steam.

"I didn't know you could do that!"

The neomah winked at her. "Next time, ask. Good generals always do."

Buffy sighed as the tomescu began beating their weapons together in clamorous celebration. She'd utterly crushed the metody champions, and in fairness she felt good about it. Those things were dangerous.

But the pounding, pulsing ache behind her eyes-while it had gotten no worse-was as strong as ever.

At last Buffy passed out in her townhouse, and "Aphrodisia" was free. She appreciated the name, though she found it hard to apply such a thing to herself, but business was business. With no further orders from Buffy to constrain her, she strolled off into another room and touched a contact hidden in ornate carvings on the wall. "Reporting in. Buffy's resting again. She spent most of the day shopping for weapons, and then we fought a contingent of metody near the Shattered City. She commanded some tomescu, and the metody were defeated handily, after a brief false start."

"Good enough. Did she show any signs of stress?"

"Her temper is worsening, and she complains of headaches. The victory in battle didn't seem to help, though it alleviated the issues somewhat while it lasted. She destroyed the metody champions and ruined the settlement utterly."

"You are not to step in or explain until she has undergone Torment. Are we clear on that? I must find out who designed her Urge, and only a bout of Torment will make that plain."

Aphrodisia contained a sigh. "As her designated servant, I must explain if she asks."

"Then obviously, you must prevent her from asking. It sounds as if Malfeas had his hands on her, but it might still be another. She must not be allowed to disrupt the Reclamation."

"But I thought-"

"Neomah, it is not your place to think. Do as I say."

The neomah bowed her head. "Yes, my master."