For the Mound of Forsaken Seeds, this is the end.
The orphans live-if it can be called that-in the deepest depths of the ziggurat, surrounded by the shambling corpses of their parents as nannies and the soulforged ghosts of their parents as utensils and bedframes and tools and toys. Even if there were time before the blast hit, they would have to make their way out through a labyrinth of corridors patrolled by undead abominations.
There is no time. Even the Shoat of the Mire has elected to remain with them, surrounded by the whimpering remnants of their parents' souls as their parents' zombies close in for one final embrace. She is no different from them, in the end.
The Dowager is waiting at the portal. She could simply leap through, but she is convinced now of a trap beyond, and so she is awaiting the final moments. Perhaps Drusilla can yet avert the destruction or tell her how to spring the trap.
She is coming. The Dowager can hear her blasphemous singing, something about the wheel of reincarnation and the cleansing sun. If the Dowager were capable the song would make her retch. The tread of children follows her. How she has gotten so many past the guards in so little time is a mystery, but she is an Exalt. She no doubt has ways.
The Dowager does not fear death, but she does fear the Neverborn's judgement. This is a horrific failure, and she would prefer not to face them just now. She draws Root of Scorn to pin the Sidereal to the ground, and Drusilla comes around the corner, surrounded by children. Undead children.
The Dowager knows she has been fooled for the first time in an Age. She prepares to fire, and the zombies pack themselves around Drusilla. No matter. She is their true master. She makes the tiniest gesture and they disperse.
Drusilla is still belting out her song, one hand inside her blouse. "...moves us all...through despair and hope..." She has a pair of lungs on her. She has a p-!
Impact.
Chapter 90-Apocalypseses Now
The Chirmirajen is made for this, made to penetrate between worlds, and yet curiously it has never passed through a natural portal like this. Spike risks a quick glance out the window and sees a sky smeared with dirt and ash. He pops the hatch.
The Sun's mono has come to rest in the wreckage of some ancient mausoleum, it seems. Stone lies shattered in every direction, and at the center there is a core of horrific torn flesh fit to make a vampire laugh with glee. Spike does not laugh. This flesh has been dead a long time, yet in places it continues to twitch.
Severed limbs begin to fall from the heap of carrion, followed by metal. Plates, blocks, a bedframe, all made of some matte-black alloy that reflects almost nothing. Then another layer of dead flesh...followed by children. Live children, pale and thin, staring around with eyes like a weary soldier's, but breathing, living. He can smell it on them.
What the hell just happened here? Spike frowns at the Chirmirajen's nose, which is coated in some sort of slime. He runs a finger through it, sniffs. No scent. "Ectoplasm? Angel, get your butt out here!"
Angel shines through the hatch. "I can't stay long or my version of the Daystar's liable to figure I'm dead. We don't want that."
"Then hurry up an' help me collect these children. This's no place for 'em." One of them, the healthiest-looking, walks up and spits on the smear of goo.
"Drusilla said you'd be here," she informs them. "I don't understand the message she left. '"The curse is come upon me," cried the lady of Shallot.' That's what she said."
Spike stands there a moment. "'But Lancelot mused a little space,'" he says finally. "'He said, "She has a lovely face."'"
"'"God in his mercy lend her grace,"'" Angel finishes, "'"The lady of Shallot."'"
Tara sat for the third time in audience with her people. "I am not Raksi," she says again. "I won't tolerate violence. If you are attacked, defend yourself, but call for a patrol."
"The ape-men are the problem," explained an elderly monkey-woman. "They're strong and fast, and Raksi trained them to take what they want by force. Very few of them are suitable police."
"All right," Tara said reluctantly. "Put forward any names that you think are honest people, and I'll dismiss the rest."
Some disgruntled suggestions followed. Tara wasn't sure what she was doing wrong. The people were happy about opening up the schools and about getting rid of intermarriage restrictions-well, mostly. Some people were afraid of the Wyld mutants even after several hundred years of Raksi's encouragement. But just eliminating the police, with no other system in place, sounded like it'd bring an explosion of violence.
The meeting broke up with an overall air of frustration, and the elderly monkey-woman approached Tara immediately. "If you wish, you can bend the unit commanders to your will," she said simply. "Raksi shared her favors with them often. You can make them do whatever you ask if you-"
"I am not Raksi," Tara reiterated. The idea of controlling anyone the way Raksi did-the way Raksi had partly controlled her!-was repulsive. But then how did she control people who refused to behave on their own?
The frustrated monkey-woman scurried off nervously and was replaced by a tiny baboon-child. "Where's your friend?" the kid called unselfconsciously. She-or he; it was hard to tell-seemed refreshingly unafraid and was probably about to be carried off by a frightened parent.
"She had to go," Tara explained. "She has a battle to fight a long way from here. I needed to stay and keep you safe, so I couldn't go help."
"We'd be safe if you took the soldiers," the kid said. "Everyone else around us is afraid of Raksi still."
Tara smiled wanly and crouched in front of him. The poor kid would've been one of Raksi's favored, but still knew Raksi was horrible...after a fashion. "I can't, kiddo. It's so far away from here I can't make it in time, even by myself."
"Not even with one of Raksi's flying things?"
Tara met the curious frown with one of her own. "Raksi had a troop transport? A...a flier that can carry lots of people?" Raksi had reinvented a lot of things for her amusement, but the most dangerous had been kept in her private pocket dimension.
The child nodded and pointed upwards. "Follow me." It leapt into the trees and began climbing and swinging upward, awkwardly compared to a monkey but still with more than human grace.
Tara focused, transforming her feet and joints, before following, leaping from branch to branch. She'd always wondered what it felt like to be Buffy, and this had to be something close. Energy sang in her muscles and bones as she caught vines with her feet and swung off them, working her way ever upward. Too bad all that long hair flailed around in her face; she shortened it to a cute bob. "What's your name?" she called.
"Edie," the child shouted back. "I'm Edie."
"Giles," Buffy said urgently, shaking him. "Get up. I need you."
Giles' eyes cracked open blearily. "Buffy, might I ask what need you might have of me..." Wesley, Cordelia, and Gunn were all standing over his bed as well. "...of us, I should say, at this hour?"
"Giles, the Lookshy frontier is in flames. It's the Judge. He's at full power, or close to it. He's working for the Mask of Winters, that's how I know."
"The Judge?" Suddenly awake, Giles forced himself upright. "Dear Lord. But Buffy-"
"The me there already has her Slayer trying to get to the front with Anja Silverclaws and the Sage of the Depths, but the only me with powers is on the other side of the world fighting the Silver Prince's undead minions and the Roseblack. And, um, getting married. I know you're not a match for him, but...the four of you together have a little power. And tactics, and...and I'm stuck here running a country!"
"Let me see if I understand correctly." Giles pulled on his glasses. "You want me to face the Judge, at full power. Are you casting aspersions on my character?"
"You don't have to go," Buffy said quietly. "I know it's a long shot. Right now everything's a long shot. I'm just asking if you see any way you could help."
"We've already agreed to go," Gunn said unhelpfully. "I don't know what we'll amount to-the region's already swarming with Dragon-Blooded-but the General Staff just proclaimed amnesty for any Anathema who turn up to help. It's that bad."
Lookshy did that more often than the Realm due to its more precarious position, but Giles didn't say that. He took a moment to clean his glasses. "All right," he said. "I will find some way to help."
Buffy left, and Cordelia rounded on him at once. "You know she's sending us to die, right?"
"Many good people are dying there already," Wesley reminded her. "The Judge-"
"Which is why we need to leave it to them," Cordelia snapped, on the verge of hyperventilating. "Can't we just find a First Age rocket launcher and-?"
"Been done already," Gunn said. "Undead war machine took the rocket for him. Then he incinerated the shooter, the spotter, and the ammo squad before they could fire again. It ain't gonna be that easy this time."
"Rupert," Wesley said quietly, "not three years ago it was all the talk that Ripper had gone soft for his Slayer, that you thought of her like a daughter. You won't last five seconds against the Judge. It would take an utter sociopath with no self-control beyond that needed for self-preservation to fight him and live."
"I know," Giles said, rubbing his arm. "I have a plan."
In five minutes they'd gone from fighting valiantly but ineffectively against the Roseblack to pinned down by an army...er, navy...of undead. Spine chains crawled the deck and the boots of zombies stamped about. Troopers in some sort of bone power armor had the Scoobies, the Infernals, and an unconscious Mnemon with arms twisted behind their backs. Behind Tepet Ejava and a glowering Moray Darktide-or whatever he was called now-stood a squad of wet-behind-the-ears Deathknights, swaggering with their new power. Down below, Swims-In-Shadow was in command of undead monsters that swam the sea.
In short, the Dread Pirate Roberts had them right where he wanted them.
"Towers of Azure," he said, poking Fred with his elbow, "activate self-destruct."
The AI said nothing for a long moment, but Fred jumped in. "Confirmed. Thirty second countdown, Towers of Azure. Activate self-destruct."
"Yes, Queen Winifred, Admiral Amyana. Twenty-eight seconds. Twenty-seven."
The Roseblack sighed. "You think this transparent bluff will fool me? This city has no self-destruct, and if it did you wouldn't activate it with civilians on board."
"Twenty-four."
Alexander shook his head. "You've got undead all over the deck. There won't be civilians here very long. I know how the evil dead work."
"Xander," Anya said urgently, "I have another good three and a half thousand years or so. I'm not ready to die just yet!"
"None of us are," Shadow said. "But if the alternative is letting the world end?"
"Then that means we need better alternatives than dying because the world ended and dying because it didn't!" Anya didn't seem really on board with this-nor did fidgety Willow, but there hadn't been time to explain this contingency plan to them.
"Sixteen," Towers said. "Fifteen."
"Look, Tepid Java," Buffy growled, "listening to evil monologues isn't exactly my cup of tea. Can we just skip to the end already, where you try and fail to drop me into the shark tank?"
The Roseblack yawned. "If you like, I suppose I could manage not to monologue at you. I always did think that was absurd."
"Ten, nine..."
Willow began elbowing Mnemon. "Wake up already. We're about to die here!" Mnemon stirred, her head lolling, and Alexander winced. There were things Mnemon didn't know either.
Buffy lunged forward, seemingly unable to break free. "Get out of my face, you bitch!" Ejava yawned again.
"Three...two..."
"Hey, is there an actual plan here?" Cearr put in abruptly. "Or is-?"
"Zero," Towers said, and the deck lurched drunkenly to port and down. Water surged up over the railings as Luthe sank rapidly beneath the waves. Zombies stumbled about and power-armored soldiers lurched and clutched at rails, letting their captives free.
The Roseblack was right: there was no self-destruct. As far as any of the troops on board knew, though, one had just been activated. Luthe lurched wildly in the water as if its engines were, at best, breaking down. Alexander started to shout an order, but at that moment Ejava caught his eye. "You fools," she yelled, "it's a trick! We need to-" She broke off, her eyes widening. "-to...restore that man's honor!" The Roseblack speared her finger at Cearr.
Cearr bared his teeth in a horrific grin. "I can go with that."
Ejava squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them they immediately went wide again. "Bring aid to the Dune Alliance!" she cried, drawing baffled stares from her own soldiers. "No, that...why are we here? We should be...we should be back on the Blessed Isle tearing apart the Scarlet Dynasty. No, I...what are we doing...what's happening to me?"
Buffy caught Alexander's eye. When Ejava mimicked her, the Roseblack had made herself Buffy's evil...well, "mirror" twin. She'd forgotten, or hadn't known, that Buffy could do that part too. Now Buffy was flicking from reflecting one person to another in rapid succession-and dragging the Roseblack along with her in the process.
"I see what you're doing," Cyan said, tapping Buffy on the shoulder. Buffy gritted her teeth, still cycling the Roseblack through random personalities. "She'll drop the imitation soon. I have an idea. Mirror me again." The zombies surged forward as the Abyssals lost interest in waiting on the Roseblack, but her confused soldiers blocked their advance. Cyan fixed Ejava in her gaze, and...
All three women clutched their heads and screamed. Buffy sagged to her knees; the other two collapsed, the Roseblack reverting to her normal face as she did. "What just happened?" Alexander asked.
"We double-negatived her," Buffy said heavily. "She can't be me and my opposite at the same time. Cyan, you ok? Someone get that ring off her, then stand back in case it goes all Mynhegon-kablooey."
"That's my job," Cearr said. He picked up the unconscious woman and put her ring finger between his teeth. There was an audible pop. "Problem solved." The Roseblack didn't explode, so Xander pointed to a relatively sheltered alcove amidst the troops, and Cearr plopped her down roughly there.
"Frodo of the Nine Fingers," Fred whispered in Alexander's ear, and he nodded.
"Don't let Cearr hear you, though. I don't want to have to recite Lord of the Rings during a battle." There was still a battle going on, though the Vermillion Legion seemed to have reluctantly fallen in with the other Terrestrials against the zombies without the Roseblack telling them otherwise.
"Abyssals to fight," Anya said agreeably. "No offense, Scholar and Shadow."
"None taken," Willow said, showing her teeth and loosing lightning on the nearest spine chain.
Buffy stood up, helping Cyan stagger to her feet. "The Silver Prince wants Luthe. Let's make him pay by the inch."
Cyan's grin resembled Willow's, aside from her unwithered lips. "I'm game."
Tara grinned and slapped the shoulders of armored apemen and apewomen, who bared teeth in what might have been grins, might have been ferocious snarls...might have been both. When the raggedy transport was full, she made her way to the front, telling herself that Raksi had done good work, that the vessel was tougher than it looked.
"You've been wanting a fight? We've got a fight coming! The Silver Prince wants to end the world. Well, I like the world! Don't you?"
"Hooo-ahh!" It was something between a Marine cheer and an ape hoot-grunt.
"You're going to do b-better than Raksi ever dreamed! You will tear the enemy limb from limb! You will...you will taste manflesh!" She hadn't meant to use that one. Well, it'd be rotten manflesh. Did it really matter if they ate zombies?
"Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!"
"And if even after I took Raksi down you still think I'm weak? You're about to see what I can do in a fight." Hopefully not make a fool of herself. But she'd held her own in battles before being Exalted. She could do better now. "We are going to...to smash that overgrown ghost into the ground. Got it?"
"Hoo-ahh!"
"Good!" She made her way to the controls. They weren't like the ones on the small flier Raksi had brought her in, but they weren't radically different either. Working on instinctive feel, she set her hands on the yoke and pressed the ignition button with her thumb. The transport bucked, shuddered...and lifted off in a gout of dust. She could do this!
"Hey!" Tara groaned and glanced behind her. She had a stowaway. She had two stowaways. "Who said you could lift off with my immortal majesty aboard?"
"You didn't announce your presence, Glory. Or that you had a child with you. I'm turning around. Edie, you need to go home to your parents. A war's no place for kids."
"But I want to go!" Glory whined. "I haven't been to a war in ages."
Tara shivered. This...being had reached into her mind and ripped out her sanity. She ought to be terrified. Instead she felt only a little anxiety...and a great deal of anger.
Glory's eyes went wide. Tara glanced down and found that her hand was gripping the raksha's throat. "You want to go to war? Okay. Come fight a war. Keep this little girl out of trouble. Do both, and maybe I'll forgive you."
What was happening to her?
Why was she on the ground with a knee in her back when she had superpowers?
In principle, Lilah Morgan knew the answer. It was to her advantage that no one think her anything unusual, besides President. And most of her powers were subtle things that might not be much use fighting the Terminator and Borg knockoffs that had emerged from the transport.
Still, she burned with humiliation, and in any case the Secret Service was a flimsy shield against cybernetic monsters. Drusilla would have been useful-she could have acted without producing any lasting impression on the media-but she had vanished several days ago, and that was ignoring her increasing absences to work on large-scale destiny planning.
A sharp report, and the pressure vanished from her back. Not good. She rolled over. Williams was still alive, but he had a nasty hole burned through his guts. "This's going to hurt like hell," she warned, "but you might just live. Hold still till I say." She'd only ever used this for blackmail, but it was good for so much more in principle. Lilah held out her hand and beckoned Williams to rise. He screamed in agony, but it was the transformation and not the wound, and by the time he stood up he had horns and paralyzing snot; she doubted these things were packing silver bullets, so he should be fine.
Lilah took Williams' gun. He wasn't going to need it as a Fyarl. She, on the other hand, opened fire.
"So," Willow continued, "Galadriel refused the Ring rather than be corrupted by it even though-"
"Even though her people were all going to die," Sulumor cut in, flinging an eruption of sand into the crowd of zombies. "Or 'go into the West'. I understand euphemism as well as anyone. What exactly does Tolkien mean by corruption, if not that?"
Willow's eyes pulsed with lightning. "They might have survived as her slaves," she pointed out, "or died anyway. Some things are worth dying for."
"Says the Abyssal," Mnemon grunted. "Who herself chose life over death even though it meant serving the Neverborn." Her own stream of flying rock joined the barrage. "This story is terrible."
"I don't think you're quite understanding the point of this tale," Anya said, prompting a smile from Willow. "Tolkien was attempting to create a mythic cycle by the process he thought real Germanic mythology had been invented. Of course it was all nonsense. We really believed that stuff." Willow groaned. An arrow from her powerbow skewered the raygun one of the Abyssals was aiming at Xander. The Daybreak raged and shouted something about the Maw of the Abyss of Oblivion's...something or or other.
"So all that stuff with the singing dancing guy-" Cearr began, burning a spine chain into radioactive ash.
"That's Oramus," Buffy said quickly, "who apparently breaks the fourth wall along with everything else. We've met." She seemed to be having a fine time slashing at Moray Darktide with the Scythe now that she'd retrieved it. For his part, the freshly-Abyssaled pirate growled every time anyone made a quip. The Neverborn didn't seem to appreciate humor.
"Not that I mind," Alexander pointed out. "He has some great lines. 'Get out, you old wight!/Vanish in the sunlight!/Shrivel like the cold mist/like the winds go wailing!'" Scorching beams of light shone through the clouds, setting afire some crawling dead things that had emerged from the sea.
Cyan yawned. "After the Roseblack, this is far too easy." All the Scoobies gasped. "What? You certainly don't seem to be having any difficulties. No offense to you either, Roseblack." Tepet Ejava shrugged; with the ring gone she seemed to have recovered and was wielding Thorn expertly against the undead without much commentary.
"You don't talk about how easy it is!" Willow grumped at her. "You might as well make a wish! And that wish is for things to get way worse!"
"I say she has the right of it," put in Meticulous Owl. "Never tempt fate like that. The Pattern Spiders hear and presume you can handle something more exciting to watch." He flung black lightning of his own about casually, though, as if he were as bored as the rest of them.
"Superstitious nonsense," Mnemon muttered. "Let's get back to the story. I presume the Fellowship moves on from Lothlorien eventually, correct?"
Willow opened her mouth to explain, then stopped, jaw slack. "Guys? Um..." She stopped again, so Xander turned to look where she was pointing. A ship, a single dreadnaught that loomed over everything they had but Luthe itself, had appeared seemingly from nowhere. Its hull was an absolute dead black, it bristled with cannon, and atop the deck stood a figure robed in soulsteel shards, brandishing an immense sword.
"I will brook no more meddling," the great figure roared. "These islands are mine, and none short of the Neverborn shall take them from me. Face me if you dare!"
Alexander facepalmed. "Too late."