FIC: Ravages Of Hell (22?)
Buffy sniffed as she trudged dispiritedly through the snow. Olaf and his men had given all of them animal furs as gifts for killing the frost giants. The furs insulated her against the biting cold, but also stunk to high heaven.
Not exactly what she'd dreamed of when she'd aspired to wearing high fashion.
They continued walking for several hours, walking in a single trail. The land they travelled through became increasingly bleak, the trees more gnarled, and the wildlife increasingly scarce. Buffy almost bumped in Michelle when the French Slayer suddenly halted. "What's the roaring I can hear?" asked the French girl.
"Roar-," Buffy saw the Immortal's face pale. Her boyfriend's eyes shot all around before coming to rest on a north-easterly spot. "A storm's coming," he warned. "Everyone join hands." The Italian playboy looked over his shoulder, "we'll head for that cave. Hurry and don't let go!"
Buffy's breath came in desperate pants as she charged across the winter wildness, the thundering in her ears growing ever louder, snow flying up with every step. Her heart almost stopped when she risked a glance back to see a screeching white blanket charging towards them. If that got to them before they reached cover they'd be utterly blind and completely lost, helpless to avoid a terrible, frozen death. "Faster!" she screamed.
They made the cave with scant seconds to spare. Legs rubbery from exhaustion and blood pounding, she slumped against the cave's wall. After a minute the Immortal spoke. Buffy had to strain to hear the Italian's cultured tones over the storm's high-pitched scream. "We'll stay here until the storm passes," her boyfriend paused. "At least we have Olaf's supplies to tide us over."
Buffy's nose wrinkled at the thought of the viking's animal steaks. "Oh happy joy."
Faith stopped as they exited a forest it had taken them several hours to walk through. It had been filled with towering trees, gloriously green shrubs, and blooming flowers of a dozen differing colours. The only sound she'd heard during their trek through the natural paradise was birds' chirping and bushes rustling as small animals skipped through the undergrowth. Even the air tasted somehow cleaner, perhaps a by-product of no modern-day pollution.
Yeah, definitely revolting.
"Hey! What's that?"
Faith turned in the direction that Rona was pointing. Her mouth dropped opened at the sight that greeted her. A horseman covered from head to foot in gleaming armour and brandishing a lance was riding towards them, the nostrils of his towering, ebony steed flaring with every pace.
An actual, freakin' knight of the round table.
"Faith LeHane, speechless," Kennedy muttered in her ear. "Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself."
"Bite me," Faith warned before stepping forward and dazzling the warrior with her best smile. Hey, sex appeal always worked. "Yo, can you give us some directions to Camelot, seeing as you're like," she shrugged, unable to believe what she was saying, "from there?"
"Merlin has warned us of your approach," the knight slowed his horse. "I did not expect four wenches to be the threat, but the village you attacked have warned me of what godless harlots you are!"
"Harlot?" Faith raised an eyebrow even as she glanced questionably at Kennedy.
Kennedy's eyes gleamed with relish. "Slut, ho, skank."
"Yeah, yeah," Faith nodded her eyes fixed on the armoured figure ahead of her, "I get it." Sometimes Kennedy could be suspiciously eager to help. "Look we don't-."
"For Arthur and Christendom!" the knight roared before lowering his lance and riding right at them.
"Oh please." Faith faked a yawn before readying herself. The instant the knight was in range, she leapt into the air. The knight looked up, she could only imagine his look under his visor, as she cleared his horse, and drew level with his head. His shield started to come up, but it was way too late for that, Faith's heel smashed into the front of his helmet with enough force to send pain flaring up her leg. Faith's attack also had the rather more satisfying effect of denting the front of the knight's helmet, lifting him off his horse, and dropping him onto his back with an almighty clank. Landing, Faith turned to the others and smirked. "Knights of the Round Table, they ain't all that."
"Now what are we gonna do?" Rona demanded.
Faith looked at the others. "It's always moan, moan, moan with you. You worry too much," she scolded. Then she looked back at the downed knight. "Say, any of you girls bring a tin-opener?"
"Does this sewer end?"
"Does your moaning?" Angel counted to ten before replying to Gwen's query in a louder voice, the sound echoing around the knee-deep in gunk, oval-shaped tunnel. "We're pretty much at the centre of Atlantis underground network, if it's still night we'll climb out at the next access tunnel."
"Grea-, what do you mean as long as it's still dark? If you think I'm staying in here until tomorrow night, I've two words for you! No. Chance."
Angel sighed. Hot, but with a voice that could make ears bleed. He pitied the man who married her. "Only one way to find out," he replied, his tone held carefully neutral. "Let's keep moving."
For the next half mile or so, the silence was thankfully only broken by the sound of them sloshing their way through the tunnel's disgusting sewage. Then he stopped and looked up, eyes searching the darkness. "You feel that, Connor?"
"Fresh air?" his son wisely ignored their female companion's chortle. "Yeah, I feel it. The exit's a way away though, how are we going to-."
"Have you got that rope we took off the demons?" Connor wordlessly passed it over, a quizzical look on his face. "Thanks."
Leaping into the air, he glided up the 'poop chute', the air gradually growing fresher the nearer he got to the top. Once there he grabbed a rung with one hand and shoved the heavy brass manhole cover off with the other before climbing out.
Looking around, he found himself in a deserted street in a clearly residential area. Angel's eyes widened as he inspected the shadows, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at what he saw. The city was clearly of a pre-industrial age, but that was about all he could safely say, the scholar in him noticed architecture that pre-dated but influenced all the great early civilisations – Egyptian, Assyrian, Greek, Roman.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the rope that Connor had given him. Realising that no one piece would be long enough, he tied three together and lowered them down the hole, praying that the thin yellow-green rope was stronger than it looked.
After a second he felt a tug on the rope's other end. After an unneeded breath, he braced himself and began pulling, working the rope like a strongman pulling a truck, hand over arm, legs and back working.
Buffy's eyes snapped open, around her she could sense her fellow Slayers stirring, but her boyfriend still soundly asleep. Whatever had woken her was supernatural in origin. Grabbing her sword, she rose. "Wake him and then follow me!" she ordered before starting in the direction her instincts led her, adrenalin from as yet unknown danger pumping through her veins.
As she hurried around the bend of a snow-drift she stopped, eyes widening in horror and sword almost dropping from her hands.
Just ahead, through a copse of half a dozen or so conifers, there stood a nine-foot tall, scaled thing with a crocodile's head and the sort of muscles that only a female Russian shot putter could hope for, its six tree-trunk thick arms swinging left and right to knock over like skittles the axe-wielding dwarves surrounding it. Hearing the sound of the others behind her, she looked over her shoulder. The Immortal let out a particularly foul Italian curse. "What's wrong?" she demanded.
"That is Grendel!" the Italian play-boy's face was pale. "Beowulf slayed him in legend!"
"Yeah?" Buffy raised her broadsword, the blade gleaming in the cold winter sun. "Beowulf isn't here, but Buffy is!" She looked towards her fellow Slayers. "One take the left, the other right, I'll take point. Let's kick ass!"
The three Slayers sprinted into the melee. Buffy's eyes widened as she realised instantly that through some miracle of physiology, the demon was able to seamlessly control each set of arms separately. Buffy gulped as she also realised that each set of the arms ended differently, the top pair were normal if large hands, the middle pair resembled a lobster's claw, and the lower pair looked like something off that Hellyboy character Xander liked. Ducking under a claw-swipe from the middle left arm while at the same time side-stepping a clublike punch at her from the lower right arm, Buffy swung her sword at the demon's chest.
"Not good!" she jumped backwards as the impact of the blow reverberated through her, but without leaving even a mark on the demon's seemingly armour-plated chest. Deciding a change in tactics was sorely needed, she let out a shout. "Girls! His legs, take him out at the hamstrings!" Her fellow slayers nodded in understanding before ducking under claw-swipes, gliding behind the powerful monster, and from their flanking positions swung at the beast's legs.
"AHHHHHHHH!" Grendel's pained bellow shook the snow from the trees they'd just run through as the blades sliced into his hamstrings, a yellowy substance gushing out. Its balance wrecked, the demon fell onto its knees. Buffy darted forward, kicking away an attempt at a claw-swipe and swung at the demon's neck.
Her sword cut deep into the monster's neck, more of the yellow gunk flying out. The demon stared angrily at her, eyes still blazing before finally slumping forward in the snow, body thrashing for a few seconds before finally lying still.
All at once her companions were surrounded by the dwarves they'd saved, enthusiastically cheering. Buffy smiled as she looked at the little people, it was good to be appreciated.
The dwarves themselves were short, none of them stood above four feet tall, but powerfully built, about as wide across the shoulders and chest as they were tall. Every single one of them had a flowing beard of black, brown, or grey colour, and hooked noses, and were dressed in woollen jerkins and breeches. "Ah lass!" the apparent dwarf beamed up at her, the emerald orbs set deep in his lined face sparkling. "You're a grand warrior, never seen the like before! Maybe you'd happen like to stay the night with us, celebrate your victory!"
"Buffy," the Immortal hissed, a worried look on his face. "Maybe we should be moving on, the quicker we get our mission com-."
"Nonsense!" Buffy waved a hand at her boy-friend's protestations. "It would be rude to leave." Besides, she liked being around people who had to look up at her for a change.
Several hours later, after much partying, Buffy and the others hit the sack, exhausted after hours of eating, drinking, and exchanging tales. Buffy groaned as she felt a hand tugging at her shoulder. "The dwarves!"
Buffy stared up blearily at her boy-friend, annoyed that he'd interrupted her dream about an Italian fashion house's half-price sale. "What about them?" she muttered.
Her boy-friend's anguished face stared down at her. "They've stolen our weapons!"
Kay groaned as he awoke, head still ringing from his humiliating fall, and face bruised from the kick he'd received. His eyes widened as he saw his captors, three beautiful white girls with strange accents and modes of speech, doubtless Irish or some other foreign nation, and a gorgeous girl of Saracen blood like Sir Palemedes.
"Yo," the midnight-tressed lovely who'd knocked him from his horse spoke. "He's awake. Always wondered what a knight wore under his armour," the young woman's nose wrinkled. "Do you ever wash?"
"Faith," reproved the red-haired one. "That's not the way to get his help." The girl looked towards him, "We're sorry about the misunderstanding. But the villagers attacked us first. And you did charge Faith. We really need to get to Camelot and -."
"Lead you godless harlots to Camelot?" he laughed. "Never!"
"Look," the other raven-haired beauty shook her head, impatience in her eyes. "There's four of us. One of you. Maths so simple, even Faith can do it-."
"I'm so gonna kick your ass for that, Ken," muttered the group's leader.
"You take us to Camelot," the other brunette continued. "And how many knights are there?"
"Forty," he answered before he could stop himself.
"Plus the archers, and footmen," the brunette continued. "You'll totally have us out-numbered if we're the bad guys."
Sir. Kay stared at the brunette and her companions for a long time before smiling broadly. They were powerful warriors, but against his king's righteous might? "I will take you."
"You know, that argument really worked for me," commented the group's leader. "Especially the part about us being horribly out-numbered."
"No plan's perfect," commented the Saracen.
Gwen stared down in disgust at her sewage soaked clothes. "We really need to get some clean clothes," the curvy brunette complained.
Angel chuckled before looking around the darkened streets. "We're not exactly in a shopping mall," he pointed out. "And you want to try having mine or Connor's noses."
"These streets are indeed quiet," Groo commented, a worried look on his face. "Even for the time of night, you would expect some activity."
"Yeah," Angel nodded. "What do you think is causing this?"
Groo looked around the crowded streets again before commenting. "I would suggest some sort of plague, a war, an outbreak of crime, or," the Pylean hesitated. "Or in my home dimension, the priests had a curfew where only a few favoured people were allowed out at night-time."
Angel grimaced. None of the choices had him exactly jumping through loops. "What are we going to do, dad?" Connor asked.
"Find somewhere to hide until morning," he replied. "There must be a warehouse or inn we can break into."
They stalked through the streets, stopping occasionally at the sound of approaching people, the nearing groups sounding uncomfortably like the ordered march of military patrols. "Damn," Angel cursed as they turned into yet another dead-end alley. Atlantis might be the fabled civilisation of a bygone age, but to him, it was starting to resemble a damn rabbit-warren. "Try the other w-," Angel turned to the alley entrance, "oh hell."
In the alleyway's mouth there stood a group of eight thickly-muscled, green-skinned demons with deadly-looking fangs in their mouths, a single stony grey eye, long floppy ears, and upwardly-curving horns sticking out of their foreheads. The three spikes sprouting out of their knuckles only added to their menace. Their leader smiled. "Humans breaking the curfew, it's been a while since this happened. You're in big trouble."
"Would it make a difference if I told you we're not exactly from round here?" Angel asked without much hope.
"Seize them."
"Oh," Angel smiled thinly. "Guess not."