-Hides from the readers.- THERE'S JUST A FEW MORE CHAPTERS TO GO AFTER THIS. Suggested Listening Music: watch?v=nxl03j6EiUw
Shadows choked up the floor. Evil undulated from all around, making Buffy nauseous, sick to her stomach, afraid despite her newfound power. Voices whispered, beyond her hearing range, chittering like mice in the corners. Nothing good remained here. Just a darkness that would swallow up anything within grasp. The stench of decay permeated her nostrils. The innards of Sunnydale Highschool resembled a chamber of horrors. Blood smeared the walls, dried, drying, and fresh. Buffy clenched hands into fists, trying to calm her racing heart. She knew the cost of coming here.
She always knew, deep down. Some part of her wished she hadn't bullied Faith off. Just so she didn't have to be alone in this darkness.
This place would kill her. I did the right thing. Taking a few breaths, building her determination, she ventured deeper into the bowels of the ruined school. Wood was crumbling, decaying into nothing. Burnt metal piping twisted on the walls and floors, and Buffy trod carefully, in case part of the ground gave way below. The whole place resembled a death trap. The little bit of tape around the premise saying NO ENTRY lay dolefully on the floor.
She sensed the Hellmouth, found the entrance to the library soon enough, though parts of the floor had fully sunken in, making going difficult. The closer she got, the more the worms in her stomach writhed. For all the power she possessed, would it be enough?
It had to be.
It needed to be. This was what everything led to. She needed to be like this. To be not human. To sacrifice. She shivered at the thought. How many people willingly walked to their deaths?
Taking a deep breath, flexing her fingers a few times, she stepped inside. There were no demons, not any she could see, but the maw of the Hellmouth yawned at her. It pulsed and flickered different shades of orange and red. A faint growling rumble resonated from its depths, followed by clangs. As if something was crawling - scraping a way out.
Buffy felt lost for a plan.
All she knew is that the Hellmouth needed to be sealed. Probably before the thing inside it came out. Or things. There could be hundred, thousands, millions of things. All the things! Surely the place would be swarming with them already? Shouldn't she be battling tooth and nail, just to make even a tiny bit of headway?
She bit her lip.
Why wasn't she, then?
Buffy got her answer. Beyond the glowing Hellmouth, something stirred. Rekhyt made his entrance from the top of the library stairs, from the hidden corners her eyes couldn't catch. The shadows that held him stretched and snapped back to their gloomy positions among the fallen shelves, the scattered tables and the torn books. As he walked, with his hooves sinking silently onto the floor, more shadows races up and coalesced around his form, increasing the size, the menacing aura that stank from his pores.
"So you made it." His eyes formed laser blurs in the air as he moved, smudging it orange. "I see you're all lost in the darkness, Lightwalker. Without backup of any kind as well? Interesting. I wonder what you actually hope to achieve."
"I'm not lost," Buffy replied, trying to stop her teeth chattering. "This would be a dumb place to get lost in, anyway. Like, seriously. I had to actually wade through an army of demons, jump over pitfalls and avoid sharp edges just to get here. And you know why that is? It's so I can kick your ass." Buffy's speech fell into silence. The minotaur didn't appear impressed.
"One wonders how someone of your intellect can even function. How you animals can even cling onto the world as it is. Luck? Desperation? Perhaps. Animals fight more viciously when they are cornered."
"You do realise you look like one of the milk cows we have on the farm, right? So you can talk."
"I shouldn't have let you escape," Rekhyt continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "I wanted to kill you straight away. But my brethren wanted a show. They wanted to lord over the fact they had the world's last hope in their grasp, and I indulged. At least my fellow kin will know better for next time. They will know to listen to me, and not underestimate you humans." Annoyance laced his tone as he spoke about his allies.
"Yeah, bad idea on your parts. Those guys should really know better than to ignore you." Spells, suggestions started forming in Buffy's head, battle plans, exit strategies.
"Yes. Trust me when I say I won't be making that mistake again." He clicked his tongue. "You will die, and all that will come after you, right down to the last human, screaming and bloody. Unless you cattle prove entertaining enough to spare from total extinction." He grinned maliciously.
"Seriously, again with the cattle ... you really got to look in the mirror." Buffy hesitated when something new assaulted her senses - warning her.
The library shadows came alive – one directly under Buffy's feet. She yelped and leapt backwards, crouching and rapidly accessing her new situation, all small talk forgotten. Shadows originally prone, attached to the things that cast them were now moving, shimmering in the red light. They didn't rise, though. They moved, but remained two dimensional, flitting closer to her. Buffy also spotted movement from the Hellmouth, seeing a rotten hand cling to the edge. Six withered corpses crawled out, skins tainted dark with infection.
Buffy swiped at a shadow which came too close. Her attack went uselessly through it. When one of them slashed at her, she felt the burn on the arm blocking it. Growling, she vaulted over one plaguewalker, ripping the carcass to shreds in a frenzy of stabs. No sooner had she finished this one, when more replaced it, more which spilled out of the Hellmouth, increasing in numbers all the time. Another shadow demon drew blood from her leg. She instinctively kicked out, contacting nothing. She gritted her teeth, alarmed. They could hurt her, but not the other way around.
Surrounded by phantoms, alone without help, her situation was desperate. An image of a pentagram flickered in front of her eyes, blue, with words to go with it. Buffy traced the pentagram in her mind's eye, weaved it in the air, spitting out the words she saw.
Bright blue light flooded her position like a waterfall. The flames licked around her skin, tinged purple from the Hellmouth's radiance. It made the shadows withdraw back, flinch in upon themselves when she approached.
She smirked, mouth twisting in satisfaction. Now neither could harm the other. Invigorated, she plunged into the fray of plaguewalkers, muscles rippling as she punched one back into the pit. More crawled out - the edges of the Hellmouth brimmed with them.
Rekhyt's words barely registered in the melee, too concerned she was with staying alive, making it through one monster to the next.
"How do you know that spell? Only those from pre-civilisation Europe know it." His form moved, gliding around the fight in mild fascination. "You are full of surprises. Then again, your skin colour has changed. Not the normal fleshy pink I saw you with last. What's going on?"
The flames protected her fully from the shadows, but not from the walkers. They kept pouring out of the Hellmouth. Their numbers appeared endless.
Buffy wondered a little on the timing, before realising Rekhyt had set this whole ambush for her. A quick glance down the Hellmouth told her the real danger, the thing that made the distant noises, was still far enough away to not be an immediate threat. Plaguewalkers, however, continued shuffling out towards her.
"Do you like them? They were once humans."
"You … monster." Buffy grunted, fighting against the swarm. There were so many. She cut them down, and more came. They couldn't disintegrate her anymore, but they still remained capable of inflicting injury. So many of them ...
Buffy's heart plummeted when one scored a lucky slash at her back, ripping apart the stitching. Something warm spread between her shoulder blades.
Why had she thought she could do this?
This was impossible.
The whole thing was impossible. Her limbs grew tired, leaden as she struggled against the horde.
"You humans are the monsters. This was our world – before those filthy human-hugging Lightwalkers betrayed us. Our world!" With a roar, Rekhyt also joined the melee.
Buffy thought he was incorporeal. She was proved wrong of that notion when he charged in, horns and head first. She barely had time to dodge the horns before he connected, the sharp tip scouring her side. She bit back a shout from the stinging pain, examining Rekhyt with wild eyes, the plaguewalkers, and the shadows nervously jittering in the background, unwilling to invade the purplish light bathing her.
I'm glad Faith isn't here, Buffy thought. I'm so glad. She doesn't have to see this. She has to live. With a grating yell, she swung furiously at the plaguewalkers, vaulting over and around to access where Rekhyt was. He turned to face her, bellowing, before charging at her again. This time his head caught her in the chest, sparing her from being impaled since his horns curled at the sides. She instantly gripped at the curves, and dragged him backwards with her. Right to the edge of Hellmouth. Rekhyt, realising what she was planning to do, struggled madly. But their strengths were matched. They teetered by the edge of the fiery pit, squirming.
Rekhyt tore one horn free with a furious exclamation, but the motion caused Buffy to jerk backwards hard, carrying them both over. Buffy let out a scream as she hurtled into the Hellmouth. She let go of Rekhyt who zipped past her, shrieking curses. Buffy fell past the Plaguewalkers, past other demonic entities, her fall becoming faster and faster, her cry echoing. She caught a glimpse of Rekhyt reverting back into shapeless matter, making himself invulnerable again, but unable to halt his descent. Buffy saw masses of plaguewalkers milling about aimlessly, or crawling out – of creatures scaling the lava encrusted walls, creatures of many limbs and teeth and hatred in their eyes. The Hellmouth looked like it went on forever.
No! Buffy tucked herself in, hot air raking her face, her clothes. Another spell sprang to mind. Clutching at it like a life-raft, she yelled out the words, forced the Slayer's magic out of her system, making it envelope her body. She realised a split second later in dismay what this magic did. In order for it to activate and obtain her full strength, something had to be lost.
Something important.
Her thoughts fragmented as wings formed under her skin, stretching and bursting free in a furious twang, searing through clothing. Blood flecked an arc from the release. Her hands elongated, grew claws. Her legs bent as she spun in the air, becoming more compacted, less human.
I'm losing myself. My humanity. Everything ... Her mind stuttered. The processing of her brain changed, lost the original branches of thought. It invaded, swamped her body, her personality.
Who ... am I? Her wings spread out. She glided the last part of the descent. Something awful faced her from the bottom – some kind of creature formed of shadow. A black hole of a monster from the depths of hell, bringing the darkness closer to the surface with each inching advance. An colossus that blocked the Hellmouth behind it, or perhaps was the Hellmouth itself. Demons swarmed to escape it as much as escape out into Sunnydale, as it consumed them if it came into contact.
What ... am I? Her feet landed on the colossus. The shadows emanating from it couldn't get a grip, not past the flickering aura protecting her all this time. The heat was unbearable. Hot air attacked her lungs.
Who … The darkness filled the whole space around her as the creature moved. The heat intensified, boiling her skin, cooking the flesh underneath. What … She bent double from the pain. There was nothing she could do, no spell to get out of this one, no strength to beat a thing formed of shadows and evil with its cloying touch, the fire that would surely kill her. She couldn't stop herself burning to death.
Was this it? How …
The bones in her face cracked, shifted. I am the Slayer! Primal instinct took over. The last shreds of humanity peeled away, dissipating like dust in the wind.
The Slayer writhed, forcing the shadows away. It bared newly formed fangs.
The Slayer knew what to do.
The Slayer always did, when all else failed.