CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ascendant

Buffy wiped away a stream of blood flowing from her nose as she pushed herself off the cold stone of the floor. The small room into which she'd been unceremoniously thrown was little more than a glorified closet, with no furniture of any kind, a stack of crates shoved in a corner, and a narrow window set within the far wall. If she had still been a slayer, she'd have been kicking the crates into splinters and choosing a likely piece for a stake, but she wasn't a slayer any longer, and one large vampire named Ian had proven more than sufficient to drag her away from the courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and into this makeshift cell. Most maddening of all was that Ian had done it one-handed while carrying the Scythe.

She fixed a steely, green-eyed glare on the vampire as she gathered her feet beneath her and stood.

"I'm going to kill you very soon," she promised.

Ian chuckled, tucked the Scythe beneath one arm, and settled himself in the doorway. "Buffy Summers, the famed Sunnydale Slayer, and this is what you've become?" He gestured with one hand towards her. "It's pathetic."

"When I kill you," Buffy continued, "it won't be some grand, epic slayer versus vampire battle like your kind always fantasize about … it'll be casual, like you're a bug that's in my way. Once you're dusted, I probably won't even spare you a second thought."

"Here I am," the vampire said as he dropped the Scythe at his feet. The clang of the metal against the stone floor echoed through the room. "Give it your best shot." He pulled her cell phone out of his pocket and dropped that on the floor as well. Buffy winced when the glass of the screen shattered on impact. "All you have to do is pick that up," he pointed at the weapon he'd dropped, "kill me, and call me for help."

It couldn't be more than ten feet to the Scythe, and the tall vampire was standing casually in the doorway. She'd probably be able to grab the haft before he could stop her, and once she had the Scythe, she could roll away and maybe get the stake or the blade upright in time.

And then Ian will beat me to within an inch of my life.

Buffy ignored the vampire's laughter as she turned and stared out the window at the courtyard of the castle. The torches set in sconces along the pillars and walls flickered with yellow flames and she could just make out the black iron brazier. At the sight, her soul ached with loss, and she closed her eyes and let grief overwhelm her for a time.

Faith, you deserved so much better.

She gathered herself for a few minutes, then opened her eyes again. She blinked a few times, put her hands on the stone sill of the window, and leaned forward for a better view.

What the hell is happening down there?

Within the courtyard, lines of mist and shadow were tracing through the air. As she watched, the lines joined, divided, then continued to spread until a framework of dark, shrouded angles and corners filled most of the space below. The torches beyond the darkness guttered and went out, the rippling fog continued to rise, and the shape began to solidify. When Buffy saw peaked, dark grey roofs rising from the courtyard, she realized what she was seeing.

The Stavkirke.

She had seen photographs of the Stavkirke, but they hadn't quite captured its ancient grandeur. Three dark grey, shingled, high-peaked roofs led to a singular point topped by the Valknut, the walls were of burnished, glossy red oak, and even from a distance, she could see that carved depictions of animals, symbols, and twisting vines and roots covered the exterior beams, lintel, and front door. The windows were narrow and bisected with yet more dark grey wood, and though she tried to peer through the glass, she was too far away to be able see the interior. The Stavkirke was large enough that it covered a little over half of the Courtyard, and if it had been any wider, it never would have fit. As it was, the wood of the walls and roofs were within an arm's span of the stone balconies overlooking the castle's courtyards.

Reality seemed to ripple from the strain of whatever Wilkins was doing. The church was a long-destroyed relic, and Wilkins's horrific sacrifices were pulling apart reality in order to bring it back into the world. Even as the mist and shadows cleared, Buffy felt the strain of forcing her eyes to register the truth of what was happening. The robed figures lining the courtyard shuffled, likely in morbid celebration, and the demon horde along the battlements leaned over the balustrades and railings in order to better watch the sight.

Wilkins is winning.

She had realized it the moment she'd lost the election, of course, but the grim reality was truly setting in. Faith and Dana were dead, Xander had said Willow had fallen unconscious, and Jess and Connor were gravely injured. Another realization, even more troubling, occurred to Buffy.

Everyone is going to attack tonight, and if they don't have help, they're going to be slaughtered.

She had given up on praying a long time ago. The powers, the gods, nobody ever answered, and any good that came to the world had to be earned through blood, and sweat, and pain. While she stared through the window in horrified fascination, Buffy did her very best not to think about Faith.

. . . . . . . . .

"Willow, I won't do it," Giles said. He tried to make his voice comforting, as if she was a child in need of soothing, but the patronizing tone did nothing except irritate and frustrate her. She'd already considered the consequences and made up her mind, so all they were doing now was wasting precious minutes on arguing.

She frowned at Giles and lowered her voice so that the group assembled in the living room couldn't overhear their conversation through the closed door of Xander's weapon room. "You absolutely are going to do it, Giles, and you're going to do it right now."

Xander's creepy closet of death was not where she wanted to be having this particular discussion, but for what she had in mind she needed to lie down, and she wasn't inclined to use one of Xander's beds, couches, or the dining room table. She'd cleared the weapons off one of the workbenches, pressed the button on the remote that closed the pneumatic door, and calmly sat on the end of the bench and instructed Giles as to what she needed from him.

Giles shook his head. "What you're asking … I won't do it, I can't." His eyes were filled with sadness as he spoke. "Dana, Jess, Faith, Buffy … I understand why you feel desperate, Willow, but there are lines I'm not capable of crossing. I'm sorry."

"Lines you won't cross." Willow bit off the words one by one. "Some of us are dead, others are in the hands of an insane sorcerer from another dimension, and you are telling me there are lines you won't cross?" She pointed at her chest. "It's my body, Giles. My body, not yours, and I need you to fix what's wrong."

Giles turned away and hung his head. "You're asking me to mutilate you, Willow. Why are we even discussing this."

She smacked her hand against the bench, and Giles jumped at the noise and spun back towards her.

"Don't exaggerate what I'm asking of you. This isn't a magical hysterectomy, you're just sealing off a few spots that aren't working so great right now. Giles, I can't cast spells like this, and everyone needs me to be able to cast spells. The pain makes it too difficult to focus, and when I push too hard, I pass out. Buffy and Faith, if they are even still alive, are running out of time. This is the only way."

"The cost, Willow, have you thought about the cost?" Giles removed his glasses and set them on a shelf. "Your body needs to heal, and if you give it time, you'll be at full strength in a few months."

"We don't have a few months," Willow replied. "We may not even have a few hours."

"This type of decision shouldn't be made because you're having difficulties with …"

She cut him off, "Difficulties!" Her voice rose to a near yell. "Giles, when I draw magic, I start bleeding from places that really shouldn't be gushing blood and pain twists my guts into knots."

"I can't do it," Giles said again. "Besides, it might be counter-productive in the long run … you'd never be quite what you were, you know that, right? You're talking about altering parts of your body, parts that witches … that women … draw strength from."

"I'll be strong enough," she promised him. "I don't need to be a frontrunner for most powerful mystic in the world, just being in contention is something I can easily accept if it means being able to help tonight." She looked away and stared at nothing in particular. "Everyone needs me, and I need you to do this."

"Willow, you wouldn't be able to have any more children. Oz might have something to say about that."

Willow did not bother to hide her anger as she stared at him.

"Of course, it's your body," Giles quickly continued with an expression of embarrassment. "I'm just saying that maybe you, totally as your choice, might want to talk to him, not that you're required to."

"Stop it," she snapped. "Just … stop it." She laid down on the table and raised her shirt so that her stomach was exposed. "Either do this or I'm going to try to do it myself."

"NO!" Giles yelled.

"Everything all right in there?" Xander called out from the other side of the wall. His voice was muffled and dim.

"Yes!" Giles and Willow replied together.

"Willow," Giles said in a lower tone, "you cannot perform a … a procedure … like this on yourself."

"Then help me, or I swear to Hecate and every other god or power in existence that I will," Willow promised as she held out her hand, focused, and watched as red lines of energy formed a crackling web between her fingers. The effort churned pain throughout her lower body. "Help me or get out." The sparks intensified as she lowered her hand towards her hips.

Giles reached out, grabbed her wrist, and when he muttered a few harsh, discordant syllables the web of scarlet energy vanished.

Willow stared at Giles's hand gripping her arm, then she looked at him, and in a gentle voice said, "I'm not saying what Angel did to Buffy was right, but maybe now you'll be a bit more understanding."

Giles released her wrist and stepped back as though he'd been scalded. His face was drawn with grief as he spoke, "This world has asked too much of you, of all of you. It isn't right, and it isn't fair."

Willow sighed, reached out, and held his hand. "I know, but it is what it is." She glanced down at her bare, stretch marked stomach. "Giles, I love Ellie more than I ever thought I could love anything, but given what my life is like, sometimes I wonder how safe it was to bring her into the world."

"Don't say that," Giles admonished her as he gripped her hand more tightly.

"It's true. Look, I'm not having any more kids, ever, and if you need to have your conscience appeased, I promise you that Oz and I have already discussed and agreed that Ellie would be an only child. Giles, If I'm going to help Faith and Buffy, I need you to help me. Either help me or leave the room." She drew a deep breath. "I mean it. Make a decision."

Giles was silent for a long time, then he finally nodded.

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy had thought he would find it difficult to make the call she'd suggested, but as Angel scrolled through his phone and searched for an incoming number dating back to early October, he found that he had no doubts or hesitation whatsoever.

My pride? Wilkins has Buffy and Faith, who gives a damn about my pride?

When he found the odd assortment of occult symbols, he pressed the dial button and held the phone up to his ear. As the cell began to ring, it occurred to him for the first time that his call might not go through. A constricting vise tightened around his chest while he pondered that grim realization.

Please pick up.

"Angel, father of Connor, one of my minions has informed me that you are attempting to speak to me using this device. Is that the case?" Illyria asked.

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to calm the thrumming of his heart. "Illyria," he replied, "I'm glad I could reach you."

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Illyria spoke again, "Angel, your disposition sounds troubled. Are you unwell?"

"I … we … all of my friends … are in trouble. I need your help."

Illyria responded immediately, "When last we spoke, I intimated that the discord between us was growing intolerable. If I aid you, will things be as they once were?"

"Absolutely," Angel promised.

. . . . . . . . .

"Giles, what did you do for her?" Dawn asked as she stared at Willow. The color had returned to Willow's face, she was walking steadily and seemingly without pain, and when she sat on the couch, it was the first time any of them could recall seeing her bend and flex without difficulty in months. "Willow, you're looking so much better."

Willow shot Dawn a wry grin. "Thanks, I feel a lot better."

"When you cast spells, there won't be any more of that … you know …" the younger Buffy asked as she eyed Willow's stomach and hips, "bleeding?"

"Nope," Willow reassured her, "I should be fine now."

Giles said nothing as he hovered near the kitchen entryway.

"Jeeves, why didn't you do whatever you just did a lot earlier?" Spike asked. "If you had, maybe a few more people would be with us now."

"Spike …" Dawn said in an admonishing tone. "Come on."

Giles's expression grew strained, then after a moment he retreated into the bathroom and closed the door.

Spike glanced around the room. "What's up with him?"

"Don't say anything like that again," Willow warned Spike.

Spike opened his mouth to protest, caught the expression on Willow's face, and decided there was no need to discuss the topic further.

"I don't suppose there's anything you guys can do for Connor?" Colleen asked.

Connor grasped Colleen's hand as he said, "I'll be fine."

"You're not fine," she said heatedly, "you're missing most of two fingers on your left hand."

Xander held up his own left hand and frowned. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be cauterizing someone's wound with my own skin."

"Thanks again for that," Connor said.

Angel opened the front door, stepped inside, and sat down on the couch.

"Well?" Spike asked. "What did everyone's favorite purple-haired demoness dominatrix have to say?"

Giles opened the bathroom door and joined them in the living room.

"Illyria is coming," Angel announced.

Fist pumps and muted cheers met the announcement.

"We've got a chance, don't we?" Xander asked. "You have no idea how much I want to see Richard Wilkins dead … again."

"I have some idea," Angel replied. He cleared his throat, glanced down at the glove covering Connor's left hand, then at Willow and Giles. "I know we need to come up with some sort of plan, gear up, and get to that castle, but … is there anything you guys can do for Connor's hand?"

Willow and Giles gazed at each other for a moment, then shook their heads.

"Not safely or permanently, no," Willow replied.

"Wait a second," Xander interjected, "I know a doctor that can fix you up!" He smiled at Connor.

"No," everyone in the room except Spike said in unison.

Spike rubbed at his chin. "I don't know, might be interesting to see what demon bits the boy ends up with."

"No thanks," Connor said. "I'll manage."

Angel glanced over at the younger Buffy. "Any rousing speech you'd like to give before we get down to brass tacks?"

Buffy blinked a few times in surprise. "Me?"

"It's kind of your thing," Willow informed her.

Xander nodded in agreement. "It's expected."

Buffy shrugged and glanced towards the dining room table. "Two things: first, let's make sure we bring that rocket launcher, and second, the priority is getting Buffy and Faith out of there."

"Oh, the bazooka is definitely coming this time," Xander promised.

Dawn stared at him with a concerned expression.

Angel ran a hand thoughtfully along his chin. "Xander, we're going to need a few trucks … big ones."

"I'm on it," Xander replied as he pulled out his phone.

Angel next turned to Connor. "Your cultists are about to prove their devotion. Have them wear those ugly brown robes so we can recognize them and order them to gather at the base of the road leading up to the castle. We'll tell them what to do when we get there."

Connor pulled out his phone. "Got it."

"Your cultists are all going to die, you know that, right?" Colleen asked.

Connor nodded. "Good."

Angel glanced at Spike and the younger Buffy. "You guys seem to like blowing things up, and Xander believes that if a particular spot near the castle goes boom, it's going to be a hell of a show. How do you feel about being on demolition duty?"

Xander looked up from his phone. "I don't think it'll be a hell of a show, I know it."

"We like blowing things up," Buffy said with a gleeful expression. Angel fought down his nausea as Buffy and Spike gazed enthusiastically at each other.

Angel rotated to Giles and Willow. "Willow …"

Giles flashed a wan smile, the first expression on his face since he and Willow had emerged from Xander's weapons room, and interrupted, "It goes without saying that I'll be coming with you this time."

"We'll cast spells," Willow added. "It's our thing."

"And the other four of us will be watching your backs while you cast those spells," Angel promised as he glanced at Xander, Connor, and Colleen in turn. He stood up. "Armor, weapons, put 'em on or pack 'em in Xander's truck or my car."

"Anything I can do?" Dawn asked.

Xander's eyes were wild as he stepped close to Dawn and put a hand on her shoulder. "Dawnie, you are not coming with us."

"Yeah, I kind of figured," she replied, "but maybe I could do something else?"

"If we aren't back by sunrise, find Oz," Willow said, "and tell him what has happened … then ask him to call the Watcher's Council, or anyone else he can think of, and explain what's been going on in Moonridge."

Dawn stared at Willow. "Oz doesn't know what you guys are doing?"

Willow brushed at her eyes for a moment. "I don't know if I could bear to hear his voice right now … I'll call him when it's over."

. . . . . . . . .

After spending several long hours alternating between pacing and staring out the window, Buffy began to seriously reconsider making a grab for the Scythe. She'd managed to come up with several promising, but flawed, strategies when a twisted demon with a long, ugly snout and sharp, cruel fangs appeared in the doorway and whispered to vampire-Ian.

Ian grunted in acknowledgement, then bent down and picked up the Scythe and cellphone. The cellphone vanished into the pocket of his coat and the Scythe he gripped casually in one hand while he gestured for Buffy to come closer.

"Mayor wants to see you, let's go," he ordered.

"The clerk's office hasn't processed my concession yet," Buffy informed him. "Wilkins isn't the mayor, acting or otherwise."

Ian frowned at her, narrowed his eyes, and stepped into the room. "Please, make me hurt you."

The vampire sounded very enthusiastic about the prospect.

"Why does Wilkins want to see me?" Buffy asked as she considered the possibilities, none of which seemed appealing in the slightest.

The vampire stared at her in silence and beckoned again.

She sighed in resignation and walked over. "I'll go peacefully, you don't need to …"

Before she could finish the sentence, he reached out, grabbed her upper arm, and began dragging her through the door.

"Ouch," she complained as she quickened her footsteps in an attempt to keep pace. He was far taller and had no compunction about yanking her down the stairs and into the courtyard, all the while holding her arm at a painfully awkward angle. Buffy suspected that she would be sporting massive hand-shaped bruises by morning, assuming she lived that long.

While she'd spotted the carvings on the Stavkirke from the window, as she neared the front door, she found herself awed by the skill of whatever craftsman had been responsible. The dark wood of the lintel and doorjamb bore lifelike vines and roots and the animal faces peering outwards were rendered with exquisite accuracy. After Ian had shoved her into the interior of the Stavkirke, she then proceeded to marvel at the enormous nave carved from a single trunk of oak, the ancient-looking rows of dark, glossy pews, and the high, peaked ceilings lined with narrow windows.

Oddly enough, there was no Christian iconography within the church. Instead, nearly every inch of the walls and beams featured yet more carvings of mythical beasts, tree roots and vines, and symbols … particularly stylized valknuts and triskele. A musty, dank smell made the air thick and unpleasant to breathe, and on the far side of the structure, where she might have expected an altar, there was instead a wall of dark, ancient appearing earth from which bone-white tree roots protruded. The roots were coated with a red, glistening sap, and as Ian tightened his grip and marched her forward, she spotted beneath the roots a pool of clear, still water maybe twenty feet-five feet in diameter. The pool extended beneath the wall, as though it led to somewhere outside the Stavkirke … but Buffy knew that outside the Stavkirke there was only the yellow stone of the courtyard.

That has to be Mimisbrunnr … I don't think I want to go swimming in that.

As she neared the water, she spotted white, misshapen lumps lining the bottom of the well. A moment later, she realized what she was seeing.

Those are bones.

Not bones of any creature she'd ever seen or even heard of, however, as they were misshapen, monstrous things. Heads sprouted from odd places, limbs grew from limbs, and more than a few of the skeletons seemed to be conjoined or jumbled together so that it was difficult to tell if they had belonged to one creature or several. On one side of Mimisbrunnr, small demons wearing medical robes, shoulder length gloves, and gas masks were hand-pumping water into casks. They clearly had been at the job for a while, as a number of sealed casks were neatly stacked behind them. She tried to ignore the pain of the vampire's grip as he steered her towards Mimisbrunnr, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he finally halted about six feet from the edge of the well and loosened his grasp on her arm.

"Doesn't look like much," Wilkins said as he emerged from a shadowy recess and walked next to her, "but the power of this well, in the hands of someone with the strength of purpose to resist its temptations, is incalculable."

Joshua stepped into view, stared down into the well, then fixed her with a calculating stare … almost as if he was curious as to what she would do next. Buffy knew that antagonizing Wilkins was a bad idea, that nothing could be gained from it, but Faith was dead, and she couldn't help herself.

"I always knew you were a soulless slimeball," she said to Wilkins, "but even you I wouldn't have thought capable of murdering maybe the one living person in all of creation who ever actually cared about you." She fixed him with an icy stare. "Rot in hell."

Wilkins turned to her and smiled. "Spunky as always … by god do you have gumption." He reached out to pat her on the head, and she fought against Ian and twisted away from his hand.

"I'll let you keep that bit of dignity," Wilkins said as he drew back his arm. He glanced at the vampire holding her fast, then at a roll of twine sitting near the casks. "I can already tell that she's going to be an irritant … tie her to something."

Buffy ground her teeth and clenched her jaw as she was subjected to the indignity of being dragged to the casks so that Ian could retrieve the twine and then hauled to a pole that reached from floor to ceiling. The vampire set down the Scythe, reached for her arms, and it took all of her willpower to resist the urge to struggle as he pulled her hands behind her.

"Joshua, would you please dispose of that?" Wilkins said as he pointed at the Scythe. "I'm tired of seeing it dragged around everywhere."

Joshua picked up the Scythe and promptly tossed it into the waters of Mimisbrunnr. Curiously, it seemed to make no splash as it hit the liquid. The weapon sank out of sight and Buffy's heart sank with it.

Wilkins scowled at Joshua. "Fouling the waters of Mimisbrunner wasn't what I had in mind."

"Sorry," Joshua replied.

Wilkins shrugged and continued contemplating the well while Ian crossed Buffy's wrists behind her back on the opposite side of the pole and proceeded to bind them. After he'd looped the twine around her wrists a number of times, he cinched the middle, then tied the binding off with a few overhand knots that he pulled far tighter than she could ever hope to pluck loose. Once he'd finished, she tried to wriggle her wrists … the coarse, taut twine dug into her flesh and seemed to be more than capable of holding her in place. If she was still a slayer, she could have snapped the cords easily. Heck, the pole was only five or six inches in diameter, once upon a time she could have broken the wood without much effort.

Stop thinking about what you could do when you were a slayer, it doesn't help, and it's a distraction.

"What's with the casks?" she asked. "How much of this stuff do you have to drink?"

Wilkins spared her a glance. "Just a sip is all you need … anymore and you risk that." He gestured at the bones within the well. "I've got plans for the water though."

"Helping feed the people of Earth?" Buffy asked. "Or is it all about feeding your ego?"

"Earth?" Wilkins asked. "You're thinking small, Ms. Summers. With the water of Mimisbrunnr, properly used, I'll be able to absorb the knowledge and power of countless realities, innumerable worlds. Souls that are lost can be reclaimed, youth restored … there is nothing the well can't do, if you're careful, and if you resist the temptation to drink too much." Wilkins glanced towards Joshua. "Has anyone found Allan yet?"

Joshua shook his head.

Wilkins snorted in surprise. "I would have thought he'd want to be here for this."

"Maybe he couldn't take you anymore?" Buffy suggested. "Burning people alive has that effect on folks."

Wilkins rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It might be interesting to search through other realities so that I can find more versions of you. That way, I can kill you, bring you back, and do it again." He stepped close and Buffy found herself instinctively pressing against the pole at her back in an attempt to move away from him. "I am growing extremely tired of having to remind you to keep a civil tongue in your head."

Buffy was torn between cursing at him or spitting in his face when several leathery, hairless demons entered the Stavkirke and rushed over to Wilkins. Joshua, who had appeared indifferent to events thus far, perked up at their arrival. They spoke to Wilkins in urgent whispers, and when they were done, he scowled at her and stepped close enough that she could see the fine network of red veins in the whites of his eyes.

"Your friends, instead of taking advantage of my gracious offer to leave Moonridge before sunrise, have instead driven to the gates of my vineyard and are now parked outside."

They came … I'm not sure if I'm happy about that.

"It's not too late to give up," Buffy informed him.

The affable expression returned to Wilkins's face. "Two cars containing two mystics, one of whom is apparently a post-natal invalid, a couple of slayers, and a bunch of mongrel half-breeds? It's almost not worth the bother to deal with them."

He barked a few words in an alien tongue at one of the demons filling casks and the creature immediately retrieved a small silver cup from within the pocket of its coat. Buffy watched as it bent down and carefully, so as not to splash any liquid on itself, filled the cup with the water of Mimisbrunnr. Once filled, the demon slowly brought the cup to Wilkins and with trembling fingers handed it to him. The water lay still within the silver vessel, almost as though movement affected it not at all.

"You know what, Ms. Summers, I have a better idea," Wilkins said as a thought occurred to him. "Your friends can be my first meal."

"Meal?" Buffy asked. "Are you a cannibal now, too?"

Wilkins laughed. "Well, I won't be human for much longer."

What?

Buffy blinked a few times in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Wilkins raised the cup towards his lips. "Come now, Buffy Summers, I'm sure you remember the Old One known as Olvikan."

Buffy's jaw hung open in shock. "You can't be serious, the day of Ascension has come and gone. You lost, Olvikan was destroyed, and the real Richard Wilkins missed his shot."

Wilkins lowered the cup for a moment and shook his head. "It's almost like you haven't been listening to anything I've been telling you." He sighed. "You're like a teenager, no attention span. I'll try this once more, the water of Mimisbrunnr will let me gain the wisdom, the knowledge, the power of other souls. They will merge with me, and we will become one." His smile was predatory. "Can you guess the first soul I'll be consuming?"

Nausea rose within her as Buffy forced out the words, "The Richard Wilkins from this dimension … the one who became Olvikan, before we blew him to little snake bits?"

Wilkins's smile vanished. "Precisely." He raised the silver cup to his lips, tilted it back, and drank. His eyes flashed white, the cup dropped from his hand, and the air itself seemed to tremor.

Xander was right … Wilkins is really attached to his snake-demon transformation plan.

As a black tendril sizzling with scarlet energy began to creep along the floor and stretch for Richard Wilkins, Buffy renewed her efforts to twist her hands free of the cords restraining her wrists behind the pole. Other than the twine abrading her skin raw, her struggles had no effect.

When the tendril reached Wilkins, it slithered beneath his pant leg, and Buffy felt her gorge rise as it sunk into his skin. Wilkins's flesh bulged and rippled as whatever had crept along the floor worked its way upward. When it reached his neck, his throat bulged from the strain of containing the mass. His eyes … which had gone white after drinking the water … darkened to an inky black, and his breath hissed from his body. After a few seconds, he blinked wildly, and the irises were a pale blue once more. He swayed on unsteady legs and wheezed and gasped for air so ferociously that Buffy wondered if he was going to pass out.

"Are you okay?" Joshua asked as Wilkins staggered to a pew and leaned upon its back.

He waved off the approaching Joshua and turned to Buffy. "It's … amazing," he said with an expression of reverent awe. "It's not memories, it's not knowledge, it's not power, it's the entirety of a being … their very essence." He glanced down at himself. "I don't know why I ever thought there are different versions of me, we are all one, my perception was just too limited to realize the truth." His eyes rose to fix Buffy with a hateful stare. "I now remember you very well, Ms. Summers," he snarled. "That little trick you pulled at Sunnydale High School with that bomb while I was still weak from the transformation … oh, I already hated you and your band of merry misfits, but now I remember just how much loathing I felt for you all … especially you."

"Doesn't look like you're Olvikan," Buffy pointed out. "Maybe you need more magic tree water?"

"Oh, the change is coming," Wilkins assured her. "It'll take a bit of time, but I can already feel my organs shifting, preparing for my Ascension." He cocked his head at her. "Now that I think about it, you and I have done this dance before. I seem to recall I made you a promise … now what was it?" He raised his finger. "Oh, that's right, I promised to eat you. It's been long delayed, but I plan on keeping my word." He sighed in contentment. "This is truly a wondrous feeling. I remember everything now, why I even remember …" Mid-word, Wilkins's face turned shockingly pale, and he made a choking sound while his eyes widened in horror.

Buffy watched the spectacle with a certain morbid fascination as she continued to try and pull a hand free of the constricting twine.

What the hell is wrong with him?

"FAITH!" Wilkins screamed as tears began to roll down his cheeks. "What have I done?"

Buffy watched in grim satisfaction as he doubled over in apparent grief and clutched once again at the pew in order to remain upright.

"I'll kill the augurs!" Wilkins roared. "I'll kill everyone who should have stopped me!" He keened and moaned as he sat down and put his head in his hands. "I would have found another way, any way other than this. How could I not have remembered Faith?"

"You should be suffering," Buffy said quietly. "You know that, right?"

Wilkins, shockingly, nodded in agreement. He wiped at his eyes and nose, then sat up abruptly and grinned.

I don't like that grin.

"What am I saying?" he said breathlessly as he gestured at the well. "I specifically wanted Mimisbrunnr for moments like this." He stood up and stared at the demons pumping water into the casks. "EVERYONE OUT!" He pointed at Joshua and Ian. "Except you two, I'll need you in a minute."

The demons fearfully scrambled away from the well and vanished out the front door of the church.

"Dick …" Buffy said hesitantly as she feverishly tried to loosen the strands wrapped around her wrists. "Have you lost your mind?"

He shook his head at her. "No, what I've lost is my Faith." He grinned again. "But I'm going to remedy that tragedy right now." He clutched at his stomach and his face twisted in pain as something distended his abdomen and grotesquely squirmed beneath his flesh. "I'd better get to it, because pretty soon, Ms. Summers, I intend to keep that promise I made you."

. . . . . . . . .

"Now what?" Connor asked.

Angel glanced over at him. "Now we wait."

Everyone in Angel's car jumped when Xander rapped on the window of the driver's door. Angel rolled down the glass and stared out in irritation.

"I thought we were going to wait in the cars?"

Xander leaned down and looked at Angel. "Isn't Illyria supposed to be here?"

Angel sighed. "She'll be here."

"I'm getting out," Connor said as he opened the passenger door.

"Me, too," Colleen announced.

"Fine," Angel snapped as he shooed Xander out of the way and swung open his own door. "We'll get out."

Xander's truck, with the smashed rear window, interior coated in dried blood, and crumpled side panels, had been loaded with weaponry of every type of imaginable. Having learned their lesson from the experience of City Hall, everyone wore an armored vest.

"Should we tell Spike and his Buffy to stop?" Willow asked. "If we have to wait much longer, they might reach the edge of the crater long before we reach the castle."

Angel shook his head. "They have miles to hike, and they're dragging hundreds of pounds of bombs. Hopefully they're doing alright."

"Let's just ask them," Willow said as she held up a radio. "Spike, Buffy, how are things going?"

There was a crackle on the radio, and then Spike replied, "I still don't see why we couldn't bloody get some sort of truck down here. These bags are heavy."

Willow pressed a button on the radio as she spoke, "You're at the bottom of the Sunnydale Crater, how exactly did you want us to lower a truck to you?"

"We're a little short on cranes, Spike," Xander added as he held up his own radio.

The sound of cursing could be heard crackling through the speaker. "Well, a cart, then. It's going to take us forever to drag all of this gear across the crater."

Xander hurriedly pressed the button again. "Spike, keep in mind, those duffel bags are filled with stuff that goes boom. Maybe carry them?"

More cursing could be heard over the radio.

Connor glanced at his phone, then tucked it away. "My cultists are ready."

Angel turned around and scanned the moonlit landscape. He saw only scrub grass, thorned bushes, and dirt. "Are you sure?" he asked Connor. "I don't see them."

"The robes blend in," Connor informed him. "They're there."

Giles pursed his lips thoughtfully and surveyed the obstacles blocking their path. The high, wrought iron fence with the spike tipped posts, the twin gate towers made of thick blocks of stone, the heavy, locked gate, and the multi-towered, yellow stone of the castle beyond, all made for an impressive series of fortifications. In addition to the structural impediments, furtive, rustling movements from countless demons could be seen on the castle parapets, along the battlements, and just beyond the fence. They'd kept a studious distance, but there was no chance they hadn't been seen.

Then again, they'd counted on being seen.

"How many demons and vamps do you think are in there?" Colleen asked.

Angel considered the question for a moment. "Hundreds, at least."

Xander snorted. "You're forgetting that I can see them, Angel. They're everywhere, and they're shining every color of the rainbow. There has to be over a thousand … and that's just the ones I can see."

"If Illyria doesn't come, then what?" Colleen continued. "We rethink the plan?"

"I can't accept abandoning Buffy and Faith," Giles said quietly.

They all murmured their agreement.

The minutes dragged on and fidgeting began to set in.

"Angel," Willow finally said. "We can't wait much longer." She flexed her fingers and patted her coat pockets. "I know I wasn't at my best earlier today, but trust me, I'll be ready." She smiled, and Angel shivered at the glint in her eyes.

"Let's set a time," Giles recommended. "If Illyria isn't here by then, we make for the castle without her."

"Make for the castle?" Connor asked as he blinked his eyes in consternation. "Didn't you just hear what Xander said? There might be over a thousand demons in there."

"Buffy and Faith are in there, too," Angel said. "We have to try."

The wind whipped over the crest of the canyon, and they pulled their coats closer as they waited. The shadows deepened, the air grew colder, and the rustling signs of movement along the interior of the fence grew more noticeable.

"They're getting ready for us," Xander announced.

"We know," Angel said. "We were counting on it, remember?"

"That's when we thought Illyria was coming," Colleen muttered.

Everyone looked at her.

"What, we're all thinking it?"

Angel pulled out his phone. "I'm calling Illyria, it shouldn't have taken this long to …"

The portal that rent the air a few dozen yards away from where they stood resembled not in the slightest the rippling blue-white gateway to the Anyaverse that Willow had created. This portal was a red, burning tear in the fabric of reality. Fiery sparks crisped along the edges of the smoldering hole in the space and time while lightning coruscated along the edges. Ozone filled the air and the sounds of crackling and burning assaulted their ears.

"Whoa," Xander muttered.

When Illyria stepped through the portal, Angel fought down revulsion at the sight of the Old One that had killed Fred, smiled, and walked towards her.

"Thank you again," he said as he neared. "I wasn't sure if you would come."

Illyria cocked her head and stared at him in confusion. "Angel, it is you who has not wished to remain allies these long years, not I."

The fusion of human and Old One, as Angel had expected, had neither aged nor changed. She still wore the same black and leather armor corded with thick ropes along the arms and legs, the purple streaked hair and matching purple eyes were as alien as he recalled, and the creature still wore Fred's face, though purple tendrils curled along her temple, jaws and lips.

"She looks like Fred," Willow whispered. "I knew, but I didn't know … you understand what I mean?"

"I understand," Connor whispered back. "Try to focus on the fact that Fred is part of Illyria … it makes it easier not to hate her."

Illyria glanced over at Connor. "Angel, I would remind your son that I am present and can hear his words, even though he speaks as if I am elsewhere."

Angel flinched when the revenants that wore the faces of Wesley and Gunn stepped through the fiery portal. He could hear gasps from behind him, and he was fairly certain Giles cursed, a rare occurrence. It was difficult to resist the urge to scream in anger.

I shouldn't say anything. Buffy and Faith need us, and we need Illyria … I should keep my mouth shut.

"Illyria," Angel said as he pointed at the revenants. "You must release them. Please."

Illyria frowned. "Is this a condition of renewing our alliance?"

"Just do it," Angel said. "You know it's the right thing to do."

Illyria hesitated, and for a moment, just a moment, an expression crossed her face that was an echo of the young woman whose soul she had stolen.

"Perhaps we should discuss this after the battle?" Illyria said. "They operate by my will and will fight tirelessly."

"Release them," Angel requested once more. He could hear murmurs of concern from behind him, undoubtedly from those fearing he was antagonizing an ally whose help they desperately needed.

"Very well," Illyria finally replied after a long hesitation. "Though I do not, and never will, understand your feelings on this matter."

She held aloft her hand, a blue-white bolt sizzled through the air, and as the power holding together the bodies of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn dissipated, so too did skin, bones, and flesh that should have decayed long ago. When the process had finished, only scattered clothes and dust remained.

"Thank you," Angel said.

Illyria looked away and once more a fleeting glimpse of buried humanity flashed across her countenance. At the sight, Angel felt a renewal of the torment of knowing that Fred's life had been unwound so that she could be possessed body and soul by a demon.

"I … hurt …" Illyria said as she turned back to Angel. "Not physically, but inside." Her face twisted into a rictus and her eyes blazed. "You have done this to me."

Angel walked forward until he was standing in front of her. "Illyria, the first stage of grief is denial, and you've been denying that Wesley and Gunn were truly gone for a long, long time. It may not feel like it right now, but what you're feeling, it's healthy."

Illyria crossed her arms. "It is nearly unbearable. Perhaps killing your … our … enemies will lessen the pain?"

Angel smile glinted in the moonlight. "It's always worked for me."

"Illyria, are you okay?" Connor called out.

"Can Old Ones feel sadness?" Xander asked.

"Fred is in there," Willow whispered.

Illyria gazed past Angel and fixed her eyes on Willow. "You speak as though I am multiple beings, but I am one. The human known as Winifred Burkle has fused with me, and there is no power of this universe that can separate us." She resumed staring at Angel. "I have informed Angel of this fact many times, but I have long suspected he does not accept my words as truth."

The fiery portal vanished from existence, and when Illyria spun and stared at where it had been, Angel realized it hadn't been her doing. He blinked his eyes in shock when three men with neatly parted dark hair, black suits, and matching red ties, stepped from nowhere onto the smoking dirt where the portal had stood. Power rippled off them in waves, and no stars were visible in the sky behind them. Black rivulets crackled from their eyes, and Angel had the distinct impression that the husks of flesh and clothing concealed a horror beyond comprehension.

"Illyria the Merciless," the first man said.

The second man continued, "we have concerns about your presence here."

"Please explain yourself," the third requested.

Giles turned to Xander and asked, "What do you see?"

"Enormous black outlines ringed with lightning … they blot out the sky," Xander replied. "Haven't seen that before."

Angel stared at the three men and immediately drew a conclusion as to who they were likely to be. "Avatars of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart," he announced.

"I do not answer to you," Illyria growled at the three figures. In comparison to the more conversational, and human, tone she'd employed when speaking with Angel, her words were guttural, fierce, and resounded through the night air. "Need I remind you that I am not your servant?"

"We know," one of the suited men said. "That is why we are asking you questions rather than seeking to consign you to an eternity of torment."

"It would appear to us," one of the other men said, "that you are here to do battle with one of our clients … a client, as you well know, who will soon Ascend to become the embodiment of Olvikan. He would strengthen our ranks considerably."

"Olvikan is an enemy of mine from eons past," Illyria snapped. "I did not give my consent to an allegiance with him."

"True," the man continued, "but the human proxy for Olvikan has retained our services and executed all necessary contracts. We are aligned, and we expect you to respect our decision."

"Return to Vahla Ha'nesh immediately," the third man said, "and we shall speak further. If further inducements are required to assuage your concerns, accommodations … within reason … shall be made."

Illyria glanced at Angel, then at the castle, then finally turned back to the three men. "I ruled this Earth long before you three rose above the pathetic nature of your early existence, and as I said before, I am not yours to command."

"Circumstances change, Illyria, and we are not as we once were," one of the men said, and this time there was an edge to his voice. "You will either bend to our will, or you will be bent."

"I WILL NOT!" Illyria roared as she clenched her hands into fists. Blue-white energy sizzled along her arms. "Do not interfere in my affairs."

The three men seemed to loom larger against the night sky, and their eyes became swirling pits. "Illyria, let us be clear as to what is happening here," one of the men said. "Our partnership agreement is explicit, and you are currently violating its terms. Continue in this vein and you will once more be our adversary."

"We are within our rights to terminate your involvement with Wolfram & Hart," the three men said in unison, and their voices merged into a foul harmony that caused pain to anyone who heard it.

Illyria's face was a feral mask of anger as she replied, "If I were to debase myself to the level of the creatures of this plane, I believe an appropriate response to your attempt to order my compliance would be, 'go fuck yourselves.'" She glanced over at Angel. "Have I utilized that phrase properly?"

"You nailed it," Angel assured her as he fixed her with a broad smile.

The shadows of the three avatars lengthened, something in the air shifted, and a bundle of burnt pages appeared on the dirt.

"What's that?" Xander called out.

One of the men stepped closer to Illyria. "As of this moment, your affiliation with Wolfram & Hart is at an end."

For the second time that day, three booming knocks sounded from an immeasurable distance and swept over Moonridge. Angel felt his soul shudder at the sound.

"What are those gongs?" Xander asked. "Seriously, it's creepy."

The three suited figures vanished, they could see the night sky once more, and Angel stepped in front of Illyria with an expression of gratitude and awe on his face.

"You defied Wolfram & Hart, for us?" he asked.

Illyria's eyes fluttered a moment, then she looked away. "It is merely that I had grown weary of pledging myself to them. I can assure you, Angel, that your request for aid had no bearing on my designs for this world."

Angel hugged Illyria.

Everyone blinked, stared at one another in turn, then waited to see what would happen.

Illyria began to push Angel away, then she froze with her hands halfway into the motion. Finally, she dropped her arms and stood still until Angel released the embrace and stepped back.

"I did not give you leave to touch my person, Angel," she admonished him. "Though I will concede that I am not displeased."

"Thank you," Angel said.

It was time.

The seven of them grabbed the armaments that suited them and stood in a line across the road. Xander squinted into the distance, then announced, "Wilkins's demons are massed all along the fence line … they have to be three rows deep for a hundred yards on either side of the gate."

"Good," Angel said.

"I am surprised that Arach has not attacked me," Illyria announced. "I have not only left Vahla Ha'nesh, I am no longer afforded the protection of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. I would have expected his presence before now."

All heads swiveled towards Illyria.

"You know Arach?" Giles asked. "And you're just mentioning this now?"

"Who is he?" Willow breathlessly inquired. "Demon? God?"

"You truly do not know?" Illyria asked. "This surprises me."

"She's really going to draw out the suspense, isn't she?" Colleen muttered.

Illyria continued, "Arach is a formidable adversary, and given the forces already arrayed against us, it would be best if he remained unaware of my presence."

An Old One being concerned about the strength of a foe gave everyone in the group cause for concern, but none moreso than Giles and Willow, who immediately exchanged gravely worried glances.

"We couldn't find the name Arach in any occult compendium," Willow said.

"Arach is not truly a name," Illyria explained, "and he is neither demon nor god."

Giles reached up and rubbed his forehead as he gasped with a sudden realization. "Of course. We were searching for a forgotten deity or an ancient demon, and Arach is a creature from fairy tales. In fact, the term arach, which I believe is old Irish … it's a species, not a name."

"That's great, Giles," Xander said. "Mind clueing the rest of us in?"

After Giles had explained, everyone's eyes turned towards the sky.

"You have to be kidding me," Colleen said, and her voice was laden with dread.

A notion occurred to Angel as he listened to Giles reveal Arach's true identity.

"Illyria," he said, "Arach told us that he hates you because you killed his daughter …. is he talking about what you did in Grand Hope Park the day we destroyed the Circle of the Black Thorn?"

"Yes," Illyria confirmed. "I refused to accept the surrender of his spawn, and thereafter I slew her and mounted her head as a trophy upon the wall of my throne room."

"No wonder he hates you," Willow mused. "Parents wouldn't forget something like that."

"I mean, it's not the end of the world even if Arach shows up … right?" Angel asked as he stared at Illyria. "You did manage to kill his daughter, so how much tougher could he be?"

Illyria stared at the sky as she replied, "Arach is much larger than his daughter was, and he commands fell magic."

"How much larger?" Connor asked.

"Much."

Everyone scanned the clouds for signs of movement.

"Maybe we can reason with him?" Colleen suggested.

Angel shook his head. "Reason with someone who wants vengeance for something done to their kid? I've been there, and I doubt we'd convince him of anything."

"He is of the opinion that I have inflicted grievous injury by slaying his progeny," Illyria added, "and it is unlikely that he would forfeit his quest to redress that perceived wrong."

"Translation," Xander said, "Daddy's pissed."

Angel tore his eyes away from the heavens and resumed staring at the castle. "The possibility of Arach showing up is just another reason for us to get started." He glanced at everyone. "I think it's time."

Xander raised his radio. "Just say the word."

"Everyone ready?" Angel asked.

Illyria held out her hands and two enormous battle-axes manifested from thin air to drop into her palms. Willow and Giles fished pouches out of their coats, and Colleen and Connor drew matching swords from scabbards slung over their shoulders.

When everyone had answered in the affirmative, Angel drew his own sword, pulled his coat tighter over the body armor he wore, and nodded to Xander. "Make the call."

Xander gave the signal, and everyone tensed until the sight they were waiting for rolled into view. A quarter mile on either side of them, two dump trucks, neither of which had their headlights on, barreled wildly up the brush-laden slope and towards the fence surrounding the Valle dell'Ombra vineyard. In the darkness that lay over canyon rim, Angel was barely able to track the vehicles' progress.

"Xander," he asked. "Are the cultists in position?"

Xander put down the radio and craned his neck right and left. "They are," he confirmed.

The trucks struck the wrought iron fence at roughly the same time. With a screech of twisted metal and a series of thunderous crashing sounds the metal posts burst apart and the front of the trucks crashed smashed their way into the vineyard. Bent poles were flung in all directions, the glass from the front window and lights of the truck shattered, and the tires of the trucks burst when they hit the jagged metal stumps that protruded from the ground.

"The demons are moving!" Xander said excitedly.

The black shapes huddled behind the fence milled about for a few moments, then began to flow towards the gaps in the fence created by the trucks. On cue, the Cult of Ul-thar, devotees of the Miracle Child, Connor, rose from the hills, crevices, and scrub brush of the canyon rim to rush towards the gaps. In their hands they held a variety of cudgels, axes, and daggers, and most of them wore upon their necks pendants bearing Connor's visage. Angel had been stunned to learn that the most zealous devotees had chopped off the ring and little finger of their left hands out of respect for Connor's sacrifice on their behalf.

Angel decided he wouldn't miss the Cult of Ul-thar when it was gone. He waited until the cultists had been engaged by a mass of swarming demons, then turned back to Xander. "How are we looking?"

Xander peered ahead. His eye began to glow, a sight that appeared to actually startle Illyria, then he smiled.

"Your comrade is not entirely human," Illyria said to Angel. "Is he safe?"

Xander clapped Illyria on the back and ignored her irritated scowl. "I'm safe, and I'm your comrade, too. Let's watch each other's backs in there."

"Can this one be of use in the battle to come?" Illyria asked as she stared at Xander.

Xander held out his left hand, tightened it into a fist, and then his skin erupted into flames. He opened his hand and the flames winked out.

"It would appear so," Illyria announced.

"There's maybe fifty demons still guarding the gate," Xander indicated.

"The cultists aren't going to last long," Connor announced as he surveyed the rapidly dwindling numbers of his acolytes. "Xander, do your thing."

Xander walked over to his truck, pulled a long, tube-shaped object from the back, then trod well away from the group.

"Fire in the hole," he announced as he raised the rocket launcher to his shoulder, pressed his eye to the eyepiece, and flipped a few switches. When a green light appeared on the side of the launcher, he exhaled, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The rocket sizzled away and left behind a plume of white smoke as it raced towards the gate. The cone of the missile struck the edge of the left gate tower, instantly destroying the entire side of the structure, and dust filled the air as the tower fell upon the gate and smashed it into a jumbled mass of crumpled metal.

"Illyria," Angel said. "Now would be the time."

Illyria raised her arms and blue-white bolts of power sizzled from her fingertips. The bolts streaked a few dozen yards to the left, stopped as if they had hit an unseen object, then coalesced and swirled. Once more, a burning red portal appeared in the air, and within the portal, Angel could see the black stone pillars and floor of Vahla Ha'Nesh.

The ranks of Illyria's Army of Doom, which appeared to consist of many hundreds of demons scaled, armored, or covered in thick, furry hides, poured through the portal and rushed en masse towards the now-demolished gate of the vineyard.

"Let's go to work," Angel said as he strode forward.

. . . . . . . . .

"I don't care how big and fancy the explosion is, it can't be worth this shite," Spike complained as he and Buffy trudged across the dark floor of the Sunnydale Crater. "I feel like I got bamboozled into this, is how I feel."

"Your complaining is not making the journey any less miserable, Spike," the younger Buffy reminded him once more as she plod forward. "Besides, I think we're almost there."

The hike had been miles, the terrain had been uneven, and more than once she'd wished she'd brought headphones so she wouldn't have to listen to Spike's incessant stream of complaints. They'd been dropped down via rope from the ruined highway that had once led into Sunnydale and standing in the same spot from which she'd first entered this reality had been somewhat surreal. She had looked for the bloody trail left by Catherine Madison when Xander's Chevy had dragged her into the crater, but time and weather had removed all traces.

"This is kind of where you were born," Spike had said, and the notion had sent a shiver down her spine.

They each had to be carrying well over a hundred pounds of explosives, maybe closer to two-hundred, and even with enhanced slayer and ex-vampire strength she had begun gasping for breath quite some time ago, and her legs and lower back burned with the strain.

"I've been rethinking the plan once we get there," Spike said.

"Oh?" Buffy replied. "How so?"

"Instead of climbing, we call for a helicopter."

She laughed, the ensuing motion of her chest jostled the straps digging into her shoulders, and the resulting stab of pain nearly brought her to her knees.

"You okay?" Spike said as he reached out and grabbed her pack. "Want me to take that for a while?"

She snorted in derision. "I'm stronger than you, remember?"

"Maybe," Spike said in an aggrieved, petulant tone, "but we both agreed to be grown-ups and not discuss the issue."

Cause I don't need to.

"We'll call it a tie," Buffy said.

Eventually, they had hiked far enough that the rock wall of the crater's edge rose perhaps fifty yards in front of them. The lights of the castle were readily visible, and Buffy was fairly certain she could hear the sound of fighting from above.

"We're here," she announced as she pulled out her phone. She held it up to the canyon rim, scrolled until she found the image Xander had sent her, then she raised her thumb and eyeballed a particular spot. "The tunnel leading from the vineyard to Ethan Rayne's Hellmouth cavern is right there." She pointed at a spot along the wall of the crater.

"I hope Foreman Pink-Eye was right," Spike muttered. "Or these bombs are going to be nothing more than pretty fireworks."

Buffy shrugged. "Structural integrity seems like it's in Xander's wheelhouse, and if he says enough explosives at that spot will do the trick, I believe him."

"Let's get to it then," Spike said as he resumed pacing.

Buffy started to follow, then she heard a soft fluttering sound. She stared aloft and watched as at least a dozen demons settled to the ground in front of them, then neatly folded diaphanous yellow-green wings behind their backs. The creatures were vaguely humanoid in shape, most were over seven feet tall, and they had chitinous skeletons, two sets of arms, and multi-faceted eyes. Their resemblance to wasps, which Buffy had first noted when she and Spike had invaded their hive what felt like a lifetime ago, was uncanny.

"Vesparis demons," Spike said as he spat on the ground. He carefully lowered the pack and pulled a short sword from a sheath slung behind his back. "I guess a few of them survived having a Hellspot dropped on them."

"Do you think they're holding a grudge?" Buffy asked as she dropped her own pack and drew two stakes.

Spike gathered himself and raised the sword. "Only one way to find out."

Buffy wasn't quite sure if they or the Vesparis attacked first, and after a moment she decided to call it a tie.

. . . . . . . . .

Buffy had resorted to rubbing the twine against the pole at her back, but the wood was too smooth, and the angle of her crossed wrists made it impossible to create a friction point. Her frustration and rage at being rendered helpless by such a simple thing had grown to the point where it was all she could do not to scream. She splayed her fingers, wildly pulled at the cords, flexed repeatedly in every direction, and at the end of her efforts, her arms remained locked behind the pillar. Beneath her windbreaker and shirt, she was beginning to sweat from the effort.

I tried to believe that I had made my peace with what the Shard took from me, but I haven't … I haven't, and I should never have pretended otherwise.

Wilkins had drawn a small black pen knife from his coat pocket, whispered something to the blade, and when the edge had begun to glow red, he had sliced his palm open and used his own blood to trace a five-pointed star and circle upon the wooden floor. He knelt within the pentacle, closed his eyes, and commenced muttering in a language Buffy couldn't understand. As the minutes ticked by, Joshua roamed from window to window and craned his neck so that he could stare upwards at the sky. Ian, on the other hand, was paying no attention to her at all … he was staring with a mixture of fear and awe at Wilkins.

If I could just get my wrists free.

Of course, the thought occurred to her, then what? She would still be alone in the Stavkirke, a demon army would still be surrounding her, and she still would have no weapon.

Wilkins opened his eyes, smiled, and stood up. He brushed at the knees of his suit, seemingly forgetting that the slacks were now stained with blood, and his eyes fixed on something far away.

"Took me a lot longer than I expected to find her," he announced. The flesh of his chest and stomach rippled in an unsettling fashion, and Buffy wondered how long she had before he would Ascend. The human Richard Wilkins was bad enough, but she needed to be long gone before the Olvikan variety appeared. "Boston is a big city," Wilkins continued, "and I have to admit I'd forgotten she wouldn't be a slayer." He chuckled, and the sound was a dry, rasping sound that scraped across her mind. "Ms. Summers, you never had your drowning-related resurrection experience in my reality, so you never had any successors. No Kendra Young, no Faith Lehane."

"Haven't you caused Faith enough misery?" she asked. "Let her rest."

Wilkins held out his hand, began to trace a series of symbols in the air, and wherever his fingertips gestured blue-white lines of crackling energy appeared. "I'm going to put things right," he announced. "I didn't remember what Faith meant to me, but I do now, and thanks to the waters of Mimisbrunnr and Cordelia Chase's wish, I can undo what I have done."

Something feels wrong about this, and not in the normal evil kind of way.

"You sacrificed Faith to bring back this Stavkirke, right?" she asked.

"Your point?" Wilkins said as he continued to trace symbols. The lines of energy etched into thin air were forming a series of intricate geometric shapes, and a few of them, likely the ones that had been completed, whirled on their axes.

"What's going to happen if you bring a new Faith into this reality after you were supposed to have sacrificed her?" Buffy asked. "Do you even know what you are doing, or are you just completely crazy?"

"You are starting to irritate me," Wilkins said as he paused his gesturing and eyed her. "If you want to still have your tongue when I eat you, be quiet."

Buffy resumed trying to free her wrists.

The blue-white, shimmering portal that appeared in front of Wilkins was a tiny thing at first, then it steadily grew until it obscured most of Buffy's view of Mimisbrunnr. The undulating, rippling surface … somewhat like a pool of liquid metal … was beautiful and haunting.

Wilkins brushed his hand forward and the gateway stretched. Buffy's eyes widened and her mind tried to reject what she was seeing as the surface of the portal reached backwards to some indescribably far point, forming an ever-shrinking cone of silvery-blue light as it did so, and then it convulsed and shuddered.

"Got her!" Wilkins said with an expression of rapturous joy. The sound of his glee churned Buffy's stomach.

The portal unwound itself, and as it did so a convulsing, flailing figure appeared in the far-off distance. Screams became audible as the form drew nearer, until eventually the cries became ear-splitting shrieks. Finally, the gateway flexed into its original shape and a young woman was flung into the Stavkirke. She struck the wood floor, rolled a few times, then came to her knees and wildly stared about.

Faith.

Inexplicably, Buffy hadn't realized that the Anyaverse version of Faith would be young. She wore gloves that covered her forearms, a black, sleeveless top with a circular cutout above her chest, multi-hued leather pants, and black jogging shoes. She couldn't have been more than seventeen, and if the Faith she remembered had ever screamed that loudly and frantically, Buffy couldn't recall it.

I never knew Faith before she was a slayer.

"Faith," Richard Wilkins said to the kneeling figure. He crouched down so he could be at her level. "I'm sorry I had to bring you here that way, and I know you're frightened, but in a moment everything will make sense."

Faith resumed screaming and tried to scrabble backwards on her hands and knees. "Get away from me! Where am I?"

Wilkins sighed, stood up, and nodded to Joshua. "Don't hurt her."

"Don't you touch her, you asshole!" Buffy screamed as she tried to kick Joshua as he passed by. He ignored her efforts and pursued the crawling Faith. "Goddammit, leave her alone!" Buffy screamed.

She has a right to her own life, and he's going to obliterate her.

She tried to keep the hysteria out of her voice as she yelled, "Don't do this!"

Joshua picked Faith up, ignored her screams and thrashing blows, and wound his forearm through the crook of her arms. With careful movements, he secured his grip and held her aloft.

"Let me go, you sick fuck!" Faith hollered as she tried to kick backwards.

"Joshua, listen to me," Buffy pled. "This Faith, the one you're holding right now, she hasn't done anything … she's completely innocent of whatever wrongs you think have happened in this world. Think about what you're doing."

"She's just an echo of a dead reality," Joshua said. "Her life would have ended anyway."

"Listen to yourself!" Buffy said. "Anyone can find a justification for evil if they try hard enough, you need to see through this bullshit."

"Last warning, Ms. Summers," Wilkins said over the din of Faith's howls. "The next time you speak out of turn, I'll have Ian ensure your silence."

Faith finally stopped kicking and thrashing as she hung suspended in the air. "What do you want? What is happening?"

Wilkins stepped past her, retrieved the silver cup he'd dropped, then knelt on one knee by the well. He scooped the still water into the receptacle, held it aloft for a moment to ensure none of the liquid was dripping down the side, then walked over to Faith.

This is wrong.

The feeling of wrongness that washed over her was more primal, more overpowering, than anything Buffy could remember experiencing before. Even when she had stood on the crumbling tower above Glory's handiwork and sacrificed herself, or when she had passed through the seal beneath Sunnydale High School, or when she'd awakened after being ripped from an afterlife of contentment and bliss, she hadn't felt so strongly assaulted by the sensation that something intrinsically at odds with the laws of the universe was happening. It wasn't merely that an innocent young girl had been ripped from one dimension and was about to have her identity overwritten by someone else's, nor even that Wilkins wanted to resurrect Faith so she could be his captive plaything, there was something else at work. Her mind couldn't grasp or articulate what she was feeling, but every molecule in her body screamed to her that Richard Wilkins was on the verge of breaking something that could not be mended.

Something fundamental to existence is about to shatter …

"Stop!" Buffy screamed. "You can't do this!"

Ian slammed his fist into her gut, and as her solar plexus heaved in pain, she doubled over as far as the ropes would allow and tried to force air into her lungs.

"I told you that everything would make sense in a few minutes, and it will," Wilkins promised Faith. "When you come back to me, I want you to remember that I am sorry, and that I didn't know what I was doing." Buffy forced her head upright, gasped for air, and couldn't believe it when she saw that Wilkins's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "I'm going to fix what I did," he continued, "and while I may not deserve forgiveness, I'm going to ask you to forgive me anyway."

Wilkins leaned over the cup, muttered something in a tongue that wrenched at the air, and the water began to glow a soft white. "You can ignore the glow, it's just a little enchantment to make sure that the right you comes back," he explained calmly as he walked towards Faith.

"Put me down!" Faith snarled as she kicked again at Joshua. "What is that?" Faith asked as Wilkins held the cup aloft. "If you think I'm drinking it, you're nuts."

Joshua wrapped his free hand around Faith's chin and dug his fingers into the sides of her mouth until the pain forced her to part her lips. He held her head steady as she kicked and mewled, and all the while the cup was slowly raised to Faith's lips. Buffy watched in rapt horror as with utmost care Wilkins poured the water down Faith's throat. Faith grew still, and a white, glowing film descended over her eyes.

"What have you done?" Buffy screamed.

A moment later the vampire's punch struck the side of her face. She fell to her knees as blinding pain reverberated throughout her skull.

You've been hit harder than that … come on!

She probed the side of her mouth with her tongue, confirmed she was bleeding in multiple spots, and stood. The pain gradually dulled to a throbbing pulse.

"I warned you, Ms. Summers," Wilkins said as he continued to stare with eager anticipation at the young woman held in Joshua's grip. Faith's eyes were still glowing white, she wasn't moving, and Buffy began to hope that whatever Wilkins had been trying to do, it hadn't worked.

Then she saw the white pool of sparkling, flowing light upon the floor. It writhed and twisted like a living thing, and when it passed near Buffy she found herself awe-struck by its ethereal beauty. The light hesitated near her leg, seemed to shimmer in some vaguely familiar way, and then it resumed its journey towards the Anyaverse iteration of Faith held in Joshua's grasp. When she had watched the Stavkirke reemerge into the world, it had felt as though the world was shuddering from the strain, and as she watched the light ripple along the floor, the sensation increased tenfold.

I think that light is Faith's soul.

The realization shocked her. She'd had her soul wrenched between dimensions, and it wasn't an experience she'd wish on anyone. A Richard Wilkins with the power to manipulate lives between realities was a prospect too frightening to contemplate.

I need to get loose.

An instant after Ian had punched her the first time, she had realized how she was going to free herself from the ropes. At least, she knew what her plan would be … whether it would work was a different question entirely. First, however, she needed to see what would happen with Faith.

The white substance had reached the panicking Faith and was slowly creeping up her body. Unlike the writhing black mass that Wilkins had absorbed earlier, the touch of the dazzling light was gentle, almost loving as it slithered. When it touched the bare skin of Faith's waist, it was absorbed and vanished within seconds. Faith's eyes shone a blinding white, then reappeared in their familiar brown color, and then her body changed. Muscles slid and strengthened beneath the skin, a few faint lines appeared on a face that had become somewhat more angular, and her hair grew to shoulder length.

Faith had been nearing forty, the Anyaverse Faith was a teenager, and when the transformation was complete, Buffy was looking at a woman that appeared to be in her mid-twenties … the halfway point for the respective ages, she realized.

Assuming we survive, it's going to be weird that Faith is young again.

If not for the being-burnt-alive part, Buffy realized that she would be envious.

Faith blinked a few times, gasped, and looked about. When she caught sight of Buffy she wrenched herself against Joshua's grip, and this time he had to brace and flex against the strength of her struggles.

She's a slayer again …

A lurching CRACK resonated throughout existence. The feeling of dread-filled tension, of the universe being threatened, vanished, and Buffy realized that the nameless terror drumbeating against her soul had been triggered by Faith's resurrection and it was now too late to prevent it from coming to pass.

At that specific moment, though, her only concern was for her friend.

"Faith?" Buffy called out. She winced in anticipation of a blow from Ian, but thankfully he wasn't paying attention to her.

"Buffy?" Faith replied as she glanced over at her. "How am I alive?" Her eyes rotated to Wilkins, and they hardened into narrow slits. "I'm in hell, aren't I?" She shook her head. "Wait, I remember … some glowing tentacle thing plucked me out of Boston and brought me here." Faith shook her head again and stared at Wilkins. "No, you burned me alive." Her eyes opened wide. "What have you done to me?"

"You're going to have at least a few years of extra memories," Wilkins explained. "I experienced it myself, and it's a little unsettling at first, but you'll be fine." He sighed happily. "The important thing is that you're here." He stepped forward and raised his arms as if to embrace her.

Faith growled in anger, kicked at Wilkins, and threw her head back. The crown of her skull smashed against Joshua's lip, and he recoiled from the blow and licked away a stream of blood.

"I understand why you're upset, I really do," Wilkins said as he hurriedly stepped back. "And you know what, Faith, I deserve it. I deserve it, and I'm going to give you all the time you need to process things, and when you're ready, we'll talk."

"Upset?" Faith screamed. "You threw me into a goddamned barbecue!" She turned her head away from Wilkins, fixed her eyes on Buffy, and began to thrash and kick like a woman possessed. "Get out of here!"

Buffy bent her arms so that Faith could see her bound wrists.

I'm not going anywhere … at least, not without it really hurting.

Faith managed to plant a foot on a pew and push herself and Joshua backwards. He grimaced in irritation, then reached up and wrapped his other arm around her neck. As soon as his arm settled around her throat, Faith's skin went chalky white, and Buffy had the distinct impression that Faith was about to vomit.

"Joshua," Wilkins said as he raised a cautioning hand, "I want you to gently … gently … take Faith somewhere safe and make sure she's settled in."

"Joshua, listen to me," Faith pled. "All of this shit, this is nightmare fuel. I died … I shouldn't be here! Can't you feel it, something is wrong."

Joshua began to carry Faith down the center aisle of the Stavkirke, and although she kicked at pews and continuously tried to rear back and strike him with the back of her head, he made steady progress towards the exit.

Now or never.

Buffy turned to Ian, rasped her tongue across the roof of her mouth, and spat. The saliva flew through the air, traced a slow arc, and struck him in the temple. The globule hung for a moment, then the yellowish lump began to drip down his face. After it had progressed an inch or two, the vampire frantically wiped it away with his sleeve.

"Go ahead," Richard Wilkins said in anticipation of Ian's likely query. "Just don't kill her, I want her alive when I swallow her."

"Leave Buffy alone!" Faith screamed.

"You like beating up on helpless women, Ian?" Buffy taunted him. "Probably had no success with the ladies when you were alive, so I imagine you get your jollies by manhandling them as a dead perv."

When Ian's fist smashed against her jaw, more than a few teeth broke from the impact. Shards of enamel shredded her gums, blood filled her mouth, and the entire side of her face erupted in pain. She spat out the shattered teeth, watched them bounce on the wood floor, then ran her tongue over the jagged stumps that had once been her incisors and canines. It was difficult to focus her eyes, but she forced herself upright and stared at Ian again. He cracked his knuckles and waited to see what she would do.

Blood pooled in her mouth, her tongue didn't seem to work properly, and her words were thick and slurred as she spoke, "You're pathetic."

His next punch broke parts of her that she wasn't sure could ever heal right. Something in her jaw snapped loose and the bone surrounded her eye socket cracked and began to press upon her eyeball. Only the bindings around her wrists kept her upright as she came within a hairsbreadth of losing consciousness.

The vampire's laughter echoed throughout the Stavkirke as inch by painful inch she stood back up.

She couldn't open or close her mouth, and her left eye bulged in an unnatural fashion. The pain was excruciating, and Buffy doubted her face would ever look the same. Her vision turned red with rage as she raised her eyes and fixed them yet again on Ian's face. She took some measure of satisfaction at his shocked expression when she did her best to smile at him.

Her lips and mouth no longer worked correctly, and making herself understood proved to be exceedingly difficult, but Buffy did her best. "Ish that all yoush got?"

She watched as Ian drew back his fist with reckless abandon, and this time when his arm whipped forward she crouched and let his blow sail over her head. Ian's eyes widened in surprise, Wilkins began to holler a warning, and in the distance, Buffy could see Faith plant her legs on the door to the Stavkirke in an effort to keep from being carried past the threshold.

The vampire's fist struck the pole to which Buffy was fixed and with an echoing krak the wood broke in two. While the vampire screamed in pain and wildly shook his hand, Buffy planted her feet on the ground and propelled herself backwards. Her weight snapped the pole at its base, and she quickly slid her bound wrists past the broken stump and kicked and rolled away from Ian.

"Stop her!" Wilkins screamed.

The vampire lunged with hands outstretched, but by then it was too late.

The bracingly cold water of Mimisbrunnr soaked through her clothing instantly, and through the blood that was rapidly clouding the water, she could see Ian's indistinct, black-suited form looming above the surface. The water of the well didn't ripple or splash as she sunk into its depths, and the substance seemed to caress her with a longing embrace, almost as though Mimisbrunnr were begging that she drink her fill. When her back and tied wrists struck the bottom, the jagged edges of bone jutting from the skeletons at the bottom of the well pressed into her skin.

Three loud echoing bangs sounded in the distance, from an unfathomably far place of judgment, and Buffy dimly recalled having heard a similar sound earlier in the day.

She opened her mouth as far as her shattered jaw allowed and swallowed the water.

. . . . . . . . .

"I will flay you alive for this," Wilkins screamed as he pointed at Ian. "That's assuming you survive whatever monstrosity crawls out of that well." He doubled over in pain as wracking shudders cascaded throughout his body. The pain was not surprising, after all, he'd gone through the experience before. He put his hands on his knees and checked on Joshua's progress with Faith. Neither of them were in view … evidently he'd managed to get her out the door of the Stavkirke.

Good. I don't want her to see me as Olvikan. Not yet, anyway, and not until I work out how to take human form whenever I wish. If Arach manages that trick, so can I.

His concern over Faith was forgotten as his skull began to rip and expand at the seams. His teeth were absorbed into his gums, his eyes distended and stretched to the sides of his head, and tusks and jaws sprouted from his head as his body elongated and thickened. His legs fused together, his arms welded themselves to his torso, and his skin hardened into leather plates as he steadily grew ever larger. The pews shattered beneath his bulk, and when he had grown large enough that the ceiling and walls could not contain him, the thick wood of the Stavkirke splintered like kindling from the thrashing of his tail. The night sky appeared in the broken tears of the roof, and lighting crackled downwards to strike the Valknut. He roared in triumph as the power of Olvikan filled him, became him, and the assembled demons howled along with him.

As the Ascension neared completion, he spotted an unexpected sight in the night sky and couldn't help but utter an exclamation of surprise.

"Gosh."

. . . . . . . . .

Green ichor and severed bits of Vesparis exoskeleton continued to fly through the air as Buffy and Spike hacked with feverish intensity at the remaining attackers. One wasp-demon emitted a shrill shriek when Spike thrust his sword through its mouth and into its brain, and another warbled a death rattle when Buffy rammed a stake through its neck. They both whirled and searched for the next opponent, realized they were alone on the crater floor, and proceeded to put their hands on their knees and gasp for air.

Spike eventually stood and gazed at the castle perched on the canyon rim far above them. "You think they're having it any easier up there?"

"Probably not," Buffy replied.

Spike was still gazing upwards when he grabbed Buffy's jacket and yanked her towards him.

"Hey!" she protested. "What are you doing?"

Spike croaked something incomprehensible and frantically gestured skyward.

Buffy gazed where he was pointing, then it was her turn to clutch at his jacket and squeak in shock.

"Spike, are you seeing that?"

"I am!"

Buffy considered a new possibility. "Maybe it's on our side?"

"I'm not friends with any dragons, Buffy," Spike replied. "Are you?"

"No," she admitted.