See Part One for disclaimer and details. Thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed this story so far, please keep it coming! We're review junkies, so we want to hear what you think of this fic; good and/or bad. So once you get to the end of the chapter, you know what to do!
Part Two: Judgment
Restricted area of the coma ward, Wolfram & Hart private hospital
June 8th, 2003
Trying to ignore the irritating beeping noises coming from the machinery which the Seer was hooked up to, Angel made a mental note to tell the nurses here to trim Cordelia's nails and wash her hair. He then wondered what she would make of all of the changes in everyone's lives, had the comatose woman been awake right now.
"Cordelia, I'm told that hearing is the last sense to go in comatose people. So I'm hoping you can still hear me, somehow..." Angel sat by the bed, and clasped her hand.
"Uh, things have gotten kinda weird over the past three weeks, I guess. Like, I'm running Wolfram & Hart now. Wesley's almost become a recluse, what with all the books and scrolls and everything else he's got access to again. Gunn's become a lawyer, odd as that sounds. And Fred's started devoting all her time to fixing Spike – he's back and hanging around as a ghost, somehow. Still not sure I know exactly what's going on with that, to be honest. Okay, Lorne, he's in Entertainment Heaven – not exactly a big surprise there, obviously. But as for Connor..."
Angel broke off, mentally cursing. He had recently spoken with his new liaison to the Senior Partners, the woman named Eve, about that particular forbidden subject. Apparently only Eve, he himself and whatever dark sorcerer had conjured that new life for his son could recall the Miracle Child any longer. This meant that Angel couldn't talk to anyone about Connor anymore; or at least, not anyone with whom he cared to discuss the subject.
The new CEO of Evil, Inc. glanced down at the sleeping woman. If Cordelia ever woke up, he wondered, would she remember Connor? Hopefully, yes. Still, what would she remember if the mage's spell hadn't affected her, due to her comatose nature? The cute and innocent baby Connor had once been? The sullen teenager he'd become, after Quor-toth?
And it wasn't just that – would Cordelia remember sleeping with his son, while she was possessed by the Beastmaster? Would she remember giving birth to Jasmine? How much would she recall of what had happened, after coming back from the Higher Realms?
Worst case scenario, if she ever woke up – would Cordelia still be as evil as she'd been right before Jasmine's birth, or the good woman he'd grown to love? Both as a friend, and something more...
A blazing, white-hot rage at the unfairness of it all briefly washed over Angel, before he pseudo-sighed in defeat. "I've got work to do, I guess – I better go. G'bye, Cordy. I'll come see you again soon, I promise."
"Hello, Angel. I thought I'd find you here!"
The now-familiar female voice came from behind him, and Angel went still. Before he whirled around, grabbed Eve by the throat and slammed her hard against the nearest wall, her feet dangling inches off the floor. "What are you doing here?"
Eve gurgled incoherently. So Angel said, "I thought as much; there's no reason for you to be here in Cordelia's hospital room. So, lemme explain how it's going to be from now on in a way that you can understand, Eve – you come in here again, ever...either in person, or by any sort of proxy...and I'll rip you into so many pieces that not even the Senior Partners will ever be able to put you back together again. Got it?"
The woman's gaze was terrified and she nodded, or at least as much as she could with the vampire's hand around her neck. Angel abruptly let her go, and Eve collapsed to the floor, gasping loudly. Eventually she managed to get her breath back to say, "Well, now that the requisite display of testosterone is over..."
"What is it?" Angel demanded brusquely, not offering to help her up as Eve slowly got back on her feet.
"You're needed back at the office. Apparently, it's rather urgent." Eve rubbed her throat, and added, "You shutting down the grave-robbing department of the firm yesterday, it's upset quite a few people; including one of our stockholders named Magnus Hainsley. He's a necromancer, by the way..."
Feeling concerned, Angel immediately grabbed Eve and yanked her out of the room along with him. And Cordelia continued to lay unmoving on her bed, trapped within her own comatose body.
Not far from the Ramada East Motel, Anaheim
The same time
As Riley Finn pulled off the Interstate-5 and headed for the nondescript motel, he couldn't help wondering what the heck he was really doing here, undertaking the start of yet another demon-hunting op – when he should have been at home with his family, relaxing for the weekend.
Once a member of the Scooby Gang and a member of the Initiative unit based in Sunnydale, Riley had had quite a number of up's and down's in his life. On the positive side, he had at one point been Buffy's boyfriend, and he'd had a mission to keep the world safe along with his comrades-in-arms. He'd had good friends in Willow and Xander and Giles, and he had become the husband of a woman named Samantha and the father of a son named Forrest.
But on the negative side, not all that long ago he'd been a drug addict, thanks to the machinations of a woman named Maggie Walsh. He'd lost many of his men, thanks to an evil cyber-demonoid named ADAM. He'd had feelings of inadequacy, not being able to keep up with his Slayer girlfriend – along with her refusing to let him in to help, after Buffy's mother had become ill.
Plus, of course, Finn had a job that was very likely going to get him killed, sooner or later.
{ I've got to get back into the normal chain of command. And the sooner the better, } Riley thought to himself, as he parked his car and headed for the reception area. { I've got other responsibilities now, damn it. Yeah, that's it; once this assignment is over, I'm putting in for a transfer out of black ops. And sorry, Buffy – but the next time you need help with that asshole, Spike? You're on your own... }
Acting like a harmless tourist, Riley paid for his pre-booked one-bedroom unit for the night, and then waited there for his contact to arrive. According to the parameters of the Black Protocol, under which this operation had been set up, he was supposed to wait here for his superior to arrive and give him orders and instructions. And he didn't have long to wait before someone knocked on the door, and entered the room without waiting for a 'come in!' or anything like that.
"Sir!" Riley immediately snapped to attention and saluted, after the man wearing civilian clothes came in. He recognized his former commander, the man who had recruited him for a Code One mission to Belize along with his old friend, Graham Miller. "Major Ellis..."
"It's Colonel Ellis now, and at ease, Finn. Good to see you again, it's been a while," the middle-aged man had a slight smile on his face as Riley went into a parade rest stance. "All right, I got your Black-level request to meet with you here. Now, what is it that's so important that we needed to talk face-to-face like this?"
"Sir?" Riley immediately looked confused. "I don't understand; I received Black Protocol orders to meet here with a superior officer – I'm assuming that's you – for my latest mission..."
Captain Riley Finn trailed off, before both he and Colonel Ellis came to the same conclusion at the exact same time – and did an almost-perfect Admiral Ackbar impersonation. "It's a trap!"
Neither of them made it anywhere near the door, before the hotel room exploded.
Across the street from the Ramada East Motel, Anaheim
Roughly a minute earlier
{ Ah, computers, } Ethan Rayne thought to himself cynically, as he watched Colonel Ellis's car enter the parking lot. He then witnessed the military officer head into the reception area, to determine which room he needed to find in order to make his rendezvous. { Computers are like children, really. All you have to do is know the right codes, and then they'll do whatever you ask of them. And there are disenfranchised hackers everywhere nowadays; who would have thought it, three years ago... }
A few moments later, Rayne saw Ellis exit the reception area and head to the room he had selected for the killing zone. Smirking to himself, Ethan thought, { It's a pity I won't be able to see their faces when the big moment comes. But then, life's full of disappointments, isn't it? Captain Finn, no doubt you'll disappoint your family by not being there for them, in the years to come – and Colonel Ellis, I'm sure you'll disappoint your peers over not being able to show them how to properly beat up prisoners... }
Then the moment came. Ellis knocked on the door and then entered the room, without waiting for an invitation. Ethan did a slow count to three, and then pushed a button.
Ka-BOOM!
The entire west side of the motel blew up with a loud roar, and a huge gout of flame and plumes of dust.
{ Good grief, } Ethan thought to himself in amazement, his ears ringing as he took in the spectacle. { What did my subcontractor use for the explosives I planted in that room, nitroglycerin? }
But then Rayne shrugged to himself, ignoring the bits of brick and mortar and a thin red film of the dead men that began to rain down onto the ground. { Then again, who am I to complain? And what's that charming expression the colonials like to use over here...ah, yes – there's no such thing as overkill, or some such phrase... }
Harris residence, Knightsbridge
August 28th, 2003
Months later in London, Xander was sound asleep in his bed after a hard day's work.
Ever since that hasty departure from Los Angeles, he had been an extremely busy man. Helping rebuild the Council, and dealing with the remnants of its old guard, hadn't been as easy and simple as he'd initially assumed it would be. Naturally not; there were lots of Slayers after the mass activation, but damned few people left to guide and train them properly. Thus, part of his work had been recruitment – and weeding out the individuals who still viewed the Chosen as a resource to be exploited in pursuit of their own personal power.
It was often a dirty and thankless job, but someone had to do it, and just his luck how that 'someone' had turned out to be him.
Xander's one remaining eye suddenly snapped open, and he slowly and carefully got up out of bed. Walking slowly, Harris went to the bedroom closet and opened it. And after he did so, Xander stepped into another world. The Sunnydale Bison's Lodge of the past.
It was just as he remembered it during that rainy day, nearly a year and a half ago; the big, wide hall was filled with pews of chairs for the wedding guests. Flowers planted here and there hung or stood in strategic positions, and the front of the room was set up for the wedding ceremony with a makeshift altar.
This was his wedding day. His and Anya's.
{ Ahn, where are you? } Xander thought to himself urgently, suddenly realizing he was no longer wearing pajamas; but rather the tightly-fitting tuxedo he had worn for the special occasion. { Damn it, this time I'm gonna make the right choice... }
"No, you won't. You can't. This is just a dream, Xander."
Harris whirled around, and there she was – his intended bride. Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins. She was wearing her wedding dress – that white, strapless, fitted down to the knees then flaring out into the train, hideously expensive wedding dress.
Xander thought she had never looked more beautiful. "Marry me. Right here, right now!"
Anya – or the dream representation of her, anyway – shook her head. "Even if I said yes, there'd be no point. Xander, I'm dead-"
"But I don't want you to be!" Harris suddenly yelled at the top of his voice, months of loneliness and frustration suddenly pouring out in his voice. "I can't stand the fact that you got killed that day! I want to bring you back, damn it!"
"Really? After what happened with Buffy, when you did that? You actually hate the real me that much?"
Xander shook his head in annoyance. "Of course I don't hate you – her – uh, whatever! That's not what I meant-"
"It's not what you meant to say, sure, but it's what your saying means. And deep down, you know that," 'Anya' cut him off sternly. "Plus, one time when she was addressing the cannon fodder – sorry, the Potentials – Faith said, 'You wanna know what the definition of insanity is? Performing the same task over and over, and expecting different results every time.' That's why you're sounding completely cuckoo to me!"
Xander honestly didn't know what to say in reply. 'Anya' was not only right, but arguing with a dream seemed pretty pointless, even to him. Eventually he stammered, "What am I supposed to do without you, Ahn? How am I supposed to cope with you being dead?"
"That's simple. Not easy – simple and easy aren't the same thing, obviously – but still, fairly straightforward. You have to let go," the dream version of Anya said candidly. "The same way Willow eventually let go of Tara. Keep the memories of me, but move on. You need to find someone else, now, to spend the rest of your life with."
"I don't want to do that," Xander said stubbornly.
"Well, what's the alternative? Growing old alone? Constantly dreaming about what you've lost like this, for the rest of your miserable, lonely life?" 'Anya' asked reasonably. "Xander, you're not even twenty-three years old yet. For Yekk's sake, you still have lots of time to find-"
"I don't want anyone else! I want you!" Xander said hotly.
"But I'm just a dream – and as for the real Anya Jenkins? We've already had this conversation! Like it or not you can't have her anymore, not that way," 'Anya' replied, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice. "Well, unless you were planning to drink yourself into an early grave or something..."
"Hey!" Xander jerked backwards, like an affronted cat.
"What?" the dream version of Anya demanded, coming forward. "Like I told you before, I'm not the real deal – I'm just part of your subconscious, dummy. I know everything you do; like the temptation to start binge drinking, the way you did after the...wedding that wasn't." She gestured around the empty hall symbolically.
Even though his parents had vanished out of his life completely by this point, Xander still had issues regarding his inner Anthony Harris. About becoming an alcoholic, and everything else that was part and parcel of the family legacy. "I'm not gonna turn into my father. No way," he muttered, looking down and away.
"Oh, yeah, I know that," 'Anya' nodded. "I mean, you made that promise to that Cordelia girl way back when; and so far, you've kept it."
"Cordelia?" Xander looked a little confused by the mention of the Seer. "What's she got to do with this?"
Abruptly, 'Anya' morphed into the image of Buffy. The blonde Slayer was wearing the same clothes she'd had on in Angel's hotel, after the Hellmouth had gone ker-blooey – and she told him, "Your ex-girlfriend? Like I said, she's on vacation with that Groo guy."
"Right..." Xander said the least bit uncertainly, as 'Buffy' turned into 'Willow'.
"You've been pushing yourself too hard, Xander," the redhead said earnestly. Like the Slayer before her, 'Willow' was wearing the same clothes she'd had on the day that Sunnydale had ceased to exist. "Throwing yourself completely into your work, and trying not to think of anything else. Especially Cordy."
"Huh? No, I haven't!" Xander cocked his head slightly. "Will, what brought all this on?"
'Willow' abruptly transformed into 'Faith'. A very sexy-looking Faith, who appeared younger than the last time he'd seen her; this version of the dark-haired Slayer looked like she had done back in high school, with her red wife-beater and a pair of black leather jeans and motorcycle boots. "Been a while, hasn't it? Since Queen C went on vacation with her ex-beefcake, I mean. And hey – how many girls you know who do that, stud? Plus it's been over a year, nearly two, and no letters. Not a single one. You tell me, what does that say about the situation?"
"Faith? What are you trying to tell me?" Xander was starting to get a very bad feeling about all this, and not just because he didn't get why the dream had veered off in this unexpected direction.
'Faith' vanished and 'Dawn' appeared in her place. An older-looking Dawn, oddly enough, who looked to be in her mid-twenties or thereabouts, and who was wearing a smart-looking business suit. "You told me once that you see more than anybody realizes. And then I told you that that's your power. Seeing. Knowing. Think about it, Xander; what can you see now? What do you know now?"
"That something's wrong," Xander finally appeared to get it, as his subconscious (in the form of Dawn) heaved a sigh of relief. "Something's wrong...with Cordelia..."
Without warning, 'Dawn' changed into 'Cordelia'. But not the older version with peroxide-blonde hair; rather, the brunette Xander had known in high school, until just after the twelfth grade. She was wearing a Princess Leia slave girl costume; that classic metallic-gold bikini which Carrie Fisher had worn in Return of the Jedi, and which had been burned into the sweaty subconscious of an entire generation of fan-boys since 1983.
Well, as a teenager Xander had been quite the sci-fi nerd, after all...
"Help me, Obi-Xan, you're my only hope!" the image of his ex-girlfriend pleaded, from the murky depths of Harris's brain – where instinct and hunches and his inner geek reigned supreme.
"Uhhh!" Xander abruptly woke up with a jerk, his head rising up off of the pillow in consternation. His heart pounding madly and his breath coming in short, painful gasps, Harris could easily remember every detail of the dream he'd just had – and he now knew that something was, indeed, very wrong...
Café Greco on Via dei Condotti, Rome
September 23rd, 2003
Roughly a month later – on the eve of the autumn equinox, curiously enough – Xander sat alone at the tourist café, watching Buffy Summers depart into the huge crowd frequenting one of the most popular Roman fashion districts.
For a couple of days now, Buffy had been in the Eternal City, saying that she needed to take care of some business here. It was only temporary, because Dawn had been enrolled into a private high school in London to get her GCSE, and so her big sister had to stay in England as well. Xander had been living with Dawn in Buffy's absence, until she'd told him in no uncertain terms that she was over seventeen years old – and that she didn't need a babysitter to look after her any longer.
Xander had thought about it before he'd shrugged and accepted that, recalling how at Dawn's age he hadn't needed one, either. And besides – everyone was too busy or too far away to do that kind of thing nowadays, anyway. Giles and Andrew were handling Council operations for the United Kingdom, Buffy was in charge of the European theatre, Robin and his ex-girlfriend Faith were looking after North America, and Willow and her girlfriend Kennedy had decided to take on South America.
This had left Africa for Xander to deal with, if he wanted to accept it.
Not exactly the greatest continent to be responsible for, unfortunately. In between all the civil wars and famine and vast distances to cover, there were also the problems associated with the language barriers and the attitude of the locals towards a white man, human and demon both. More than once, Xander had suspected that Giles had wanted to assign him to the Dark Continent because no one else in their little group wanted the headaches associated with the place.
Under different circumstances, he might have said yes. But not here, and not now. Not after Harris had gotten one of the tech guys in the Council to hack into Wolfram & Hart's L.A. branch emails. Not after he had found out the truth; that everyone he trusted had lied to him about what had happened to Cordelia.
Well, not entirely everyone. Xander was sure that Dawn didn't know the truth, from the remarks she'd made when he'd brought up the subject of his old girlfriend. However, everyone else knew; even Andrew, from the way he'd stammered and then changed the subject when Cordelia's name had been casually mentioned in conversation.
It had been a bitter pill to swallow, that went without saying. But after he could think straight again, Xander had started wondering what the hell he could do to help the comatose woman in question. According to the emails being sent to Angel, the doctors at that L.A. hospital were doing everything they could to awaken Cordelia, but with no success. So there was nothing he could accomplish by going there to see her in person, other than just stand around and look like an idiot.
But then, Harris had gotten an idea. If the mundane was out, why not try the mystical? If Spike had gone to Africa and gotten himself a soul, why couldn't he do the same thing? Well, not get a soul, of course, or even visit that particular cave-demon in Senegal; from what Xander recalled of the British vampire's babbling last year, that whole "make me what I was" thing sounded more like a demand to get rid of the chip, and Captain Peroxide had been totally screwed over right at the end...
No, Xander figured that he would find someone else in his quest to help Cordelia. There were reports of a powerful shaman within the Council's archives he had perused, one who lived somewhere on the east coast of the continent, as well as other accounts of supernatural beings who might be able to give him what he wanted. He would find someone he could trust to help him, no matter how long it took.
But maybe it hadn't been the smartest idea in the world talking to Buffy today, before he did that –
Getting up slowly, Xander brought out some euros and dropped them onto the table, making sure to leave a generous tip. He then walked away from the café, his shoulders hunched, as if he had the weight of the world riding on his shoulders. Harris headed for the Hotel Condotti, his temporary accommodations, and the concierge greeted him at the front desk.
"Buongiorno, Signor Harris. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance to you?" the Italian asked in thickly accented English.
"Yeah. I need a video camera and a tripod delivered to my room, I need to record a message for someone. Can you arrange that?" Xander asked.
"Si," the concierge replied, nodding his head. "It shall be done within fifteen minutes. Will there be anything else?"
"Yeah. Prepare my bill; I'm gonna be checking out as soon as I'm done with the video recording," Xander said musingly.
"Certainly, signore. It was my understanding that you would be staying on for a while longer, though, before your return to London?" the hotel employee asked.
"Change of plan. And, uh, grazie," Xander said, using one of the few Italian words he knew.
"Prego, Signor Harris."
Xander nodded, before walking off and leaving the other man behind. And money talks, especially the old money of the Watchers Council; thus, pretty soon, the video camera was set up and ready to record.
"Hey, everyone, it's me. Xander," Harris said, looking straight into the camera lens. "And if you're watching this, that means I'm either in a coma, or dead, or...whatever. A couple of things before we get into that, though – first of all...as of today, September 23rd, 2003, I hereby officially quit working for the Council of Watchers of Great Britain. This is my choice, and the reason I'm doing this is because I want to do something right after all the...crap, during the past seven years. I know I might die doing it, but strangely enough...that doesn't seem to matter all that much, at this point..."
The domain of the Conduit, Los Angeles
January 23rd, 2004
Pain.
That was all that Xander Harris knew and felt, as the energies of the Conduit to the Powers That Be buffeted him mercilessly. He had arrived in its presence after getting the address from a shaman in Zanzibar, and learning of all the horrors that had befallen his former girlfriend from that African witch doctor.
Also, he had learned that she was fated to die very soon; so if he didn't do something quick, Cordelia Chase was doomed in every sense of the word.
Unsurprisingly, Xander's meeting with the Conduit hadn't exactly gone well. Still, he had managed to get the invisible and/or formless entity to at least listen to his request – and as he fell through the portal which it had opened up, Xander managed to roll and tuck his head so as not to smash it open as he landed on the hard stone floor. { Ow, ow, ow! }
"Good evening, sir, and welcome. I shall be assisting you with preparing for the trials this evening."
"Great. Wait, trials?" Harris inquired, looking up the middle-aged man dressed as a butler and speaking with a British accent.
"Indeed, sir. In order to petition the Powers That Be to save Ms. Chase from upcoming death, you must first prove yourself worthy to enter their presence. Didn't the Conduit explain that?" the butler asked politely, as Harris got up off the floor.
"No," Xander said, before he heard a low growl coming from the closed gate behind him. "Uh – what was that?"
"Your first challenge, sir. Your trials will consist of three separate challenges. But before we begin, I'll need your shirt and socks and shoes."
"And if I say no?"
The butler shrugged. "You automatically fail the trials, sir, and Ms. Chase's current fate will unfortunately be sealed."
"Terrific." Grumbling, Xander took off his shirt and socks and shoes, and handed them over. He said to the butler, "Okay, Jeeves, mind if I ask a couple of questions?"
"You'll have to make it quick, sir. In a few moments, it won't be safe for anyone in here. Not even me."
"Wonderful. Well, what's this first test about, and how many people have passed it before me?" Harris asked, as another growl erupted from behind the gate.
"Only one person, and as for the challenge itself, it's fairly simple. Once that gate opens, all you have to do is walk through it," Jeeves said politely.
"But there's something I have to get past first, right?"
"Yes, but that's all I'm allowed to say. Good luck, sir."
Jeeves disappeared, the air briefly shimmering. The gate subsequently rose and an ugly green demon, carrying a wicked-looking sword strapped to its back and a chain wrapped around its right arm, walked in before the gate closed again.
"I knew I should have asked if I could have a weapon..." Xander ducked and weaved around the demon's length of chain desperately, angering the hulking beast. Harris knew he was totally outclassed in terms of speed, cunning, strength, and skill, and so had to hope he could get the creature angry enough that it would make a mistake. That was his only chance to survive and get through the gate.
Against all the odds, his plan actually worked. Over-extending its reach, the demon wrapped its chain around one of the pillars, giving Harris the opportunity to escape its grasp. The demon roared, and as he ran Xander stumbled (stupid 20/0 vision, no depth perception anymore) and fell flat on his face.
Which was actually all for the best, funnily enough, as otherwise the demon's sword would have ended up right in the middle of his back instead of embedding itself into the wall.
Quickly pushing himself up to his feet, Xander ran for the wall, yanked the sword out and using every scrap of strength he had, the man swung the weapon wildly – and, somehow, it cut the demon in half before he let the blade drop to the floor. { Huh. How the hell did I pull that off? Oh, right, betcha that it's an enchanted sword or something... }
The creature twitched once, and died with a loud gasp before the gate opened. Not long afterwards, Xander discarded the sword in order for the gate to stay open. Every time he picked up the demon's weapon, the gate slammed shut again, so eventually Harris got the hint. { Of course. It wouldn't do for me to actually have a chance of defending myself during these so-called trials, would it? }
"One down, two to go..." he muttered. "Wonder what's next?"
Stepping through the gate, Xander arrived into a long, dark corridor. About halfway down was a basin on a pedestal. Harris also saw a large door at the other end of the corridor. { Hmm, looks like all I have to do is get from point A to point B. Betcha I can't just walk straight across, though. Way too simple; there's gotta be a catch of some sort. }
Shrugging to himself, Harris took one step forward...
"OWWW!"
He jumped back, rubbing his right foot. { What the-? Oh, now I get it. Heat panels. On the floor, and probably... } Xander tested the walls with right hand, and sure enough, they were burning hot to the touch as well. { Great. No wonder Jeeves wanted my socks and shoes! }
Unfortunately, Xander knew he couldn't just give up and forfeit the trial. Too much was at stake, namely Cordelia's life. So he just ran, concentrating on the door – and nothing but the door. It was the only way he could block out the heat and the pain. Running for all he was worth, somehow Harris managed to get all the way to the door without falling down, but it was locked. { Damn. I'm no Slayer, I can't just kick it down! Looks like I need the key, but where would it be hidd...oh, man. The basin! }
Trying to ignore the pain of his feet getting burned again, Harris turned around and headed for the basin. He immediately plunged his right arm into the liquid, before pulling it out with a primal scream. { Oil, oil, boiling oil! Shit, shit, shit! }
Hopping up and down in agony, Xander pushed at the basin (ignoring as best he could the blistering and burning of his arm and hand as he knocked it over) containing the key at the bottom; and as it fell to the floor, the oil spilled out all over the place. Thanks to the heat panels, the oil ignited at once as the room became an unholy inferno, the flames cooking his feet. { Just get the key, God damn it! }
He did so, doing his best to ignore the overwhelming heat from the damned piece of metal; running through the flames, back to the door and placing it in the lock. Luckily, there were no further complications and the door slid open easily. But as Xander limped into the next chamber, chains shot out from the ceiling and the floor; clamping onto his wrists and ankles, and immobilizing him completely.
Jeeves materialized out of nowhere, clapping his hands. "Excellent play, old chap. I really must salute you; only one other person has ever gotten this far. Of course, there is one final challenge..."
"What?" Xander asked softly, trying to ignore the terrible pain which he was in.
The butler then raised his hand, and from the wall in front of Xander, there emerged a number of iron spikes. Row after row of them. Some kind of liquid was dripping off of them, too. { Most likely poison of some kind, knowing my luck. }
"Ya wanna tell me what's going on?" Xander asked, looking at the spikes and trying his best to compartmentalize and block out the pain from his injuries.
Jeeves gestured airily. "As I said, this is the last test."
"Uh-huh. Lemme guess; only way I pass this last test of yours is if I die, right?" Xander asked slowly.
"Exactly. You do understand – there must be a balance. In order to win the ultimate prize, namely confronting the Powers themselves, you must make the ultimate sacrifice."
"Any loopholes?"
"I'm afraid not," Jeeves said, and then he went to the wall and pulled on a lever. The wall of spikes started moving towards their target, slowly. But as abruptly as it started, the movement stopped.
Xander didn't get it, wincing as he filled up more mental compartments with the pain in order to focus. "What now? I mean, why'd you stop?"
"I can't use this contraption without your permission, sir," Jeeves replied. "After all, this is a matter of life or death. And you still have the option of forfeiting this particular challenge and walking away."
"And if I choose to walk?"
"The status quo is maintained. Thus, now would be the time for any last-second reconsideration."
Xander glared at the butler. "Kill me and get it over with."
"Very well, but before I do – a question, if I may."
"What is it?"
"What do you truly hope to gain from all this?" Jeeves asked curiously. "According to my information, the young woman you are sacrificing yourself for...you mean little, if anything, to her any longer. Plus the odds are that all this is rather pointless, unfortunately, if you were hoping to make for any significant difference in the grand scheme of things. So – why?"
Xander exhaled; a long, pained, and defeated breath. "I owe Cordy a debt, and I intend to repay it. The rest is none of your business – so just do your job, damn it."
"Very well."
Xander shut his eye, waiting to die. He couldn't help wondering if he would be reunited with Anya now. Hopefully, she would be okay with him doing this; namely, throwing his life away for a woman that had once been competition, and who probably didn't even remember his name anymore. { But even if Ahn's not okay with it, I don't care. Huh – kinda weird how I've stopped dreaming about our old life together, nowadays. Guess I really was starting to move on from Anya, at that... }
But then all such thoughts vanished from his mind as Harris heard a loud grinding noise, and then...
Nothing. Xander suddenly realized the chains keeping him immobile had gone. He opened his eye to see Jeeves standing there, nodding in respect.
"Well done, sir. You passed the final test. In accepting your death as a sacrifice for the greater good, you were able to succeed in your quest." Jeeves nodded again. "Congratulations."
"Thanks." Xander groaned, his hands and feet still burned and blistered. He took a moment to appreciate the fact that he was still alive, though, despite the pain. "So what next?"
The so-called butler gestured, and Xander vanished from sight, reappearing back in the chamber of the Conduit. And from there, he undertook a journey no one who knew him had thought possible...
A trek to directly face the Powers That Be themselves.
TBC...