Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event

Part 47

Dirty Girls—Part 6


Sunnydale, California-Shadow Valley Vineyard

8:35 p.m.

Days Before The End Of Days: 15


Buffy's army approached the target: the strange vine-covered building in the clearing, which was as silent as the grave.

Which, Buffy knew, were rarely truly silent . . . She signaled for them to wait.

Faith, Spike, Cordelia, Gunn, Fred, Xander, Oz, Kennedy, Lindsey, Rondell, Rona, Molly, Vi and forty-seven other Potentials—take time to learn their names, Buffy reminded herself—froze—armed, focused, ready for anything.

Buffy turned to Xander and Faith.

"Set up a perimeter," she told them. "Guard the door. I don't want anything getting in behind us."

She nodded to Spike. "My group will go in first, and check the place out."

Then to Xander, Faith, Oz and Cordelia: "You guys are our safety net. If this thing is a trap, we give the signal and you come in, guns blazing after us."

"What's the signal?" Xander asked.

"I'm thinking lots and lots of yelling," a somewhat nervous Fred offered, clutching her crossbow tightly.

Buffy nodded. "That pretty much sounds like the signal."

Xander, Cordy, Oz and Faith nodded. "Got it," Xander said.

Buffy gestured to Spike, Gunn, Fred and her squadron of twenty Potentials. Her eyes hardened. No Buffy present. All Slayer at the forefront.

Ready to go.

Ready to fight.

Ready to win.

She looked to her troops. Ever the leader. "Shall we?"


From afar, at the outer edge of the vineyard and not too far from Buffy's army, Dawn and Connor watched them, the two supernatural teens crouched low and hiding behind bushes.

"We should go in after the second wave," Connor suggested, his keen eyes scanning the terrain below them.

"You sure?" Dawn asked, darting nervous glances behind her to check for any enemies.

"Positive. It's our best chance to get in there without anyone turning us back. Last chance, Dawn. Ready to do this?" Connor asked her, wanting her to be sure.

Taking a breath, steeling herself, Dawn nodded. "I'm good. I'm ready."

"Ready for what?"

At that, both teens whirled, startled and looked to the source of that voice...

Matthew.

Small, sandy-haired, brave little Matthew, clutching his sword.

Who had gotten a crush on Dawn. Who looked up to Connor like an older brother in the last few days.

"Matthew?!" Dawn yelped in a hushed voice.

"Hey." He said it pleasantly. Like sneaking out to the middle of the bad guy's lair was no big deal.

"What are you...how did you even get here?" Connor asked, stunned. And angry. This was no place for a kid.

Matthew shrugged. "I hid in the back of Gunn's truck. There's a space small enough for me to fit. Clever, huh?" He smiled, proudly of his feat.

"No. Not clever. Dangerous," Connor hissed as he sternly corrected him, grabbing him close. "This isn't a game, Matthew. You could get hurt out here. You need to go back to the truck. Now."

He began to drag the protesting boy away, when Dawn quickly grabbed Connor.

"Connor, wait...he can't go back. We're too deep in enemy territory," she reminded him. "If you bring him back now, the Bringers will spot you for sure. And then everything will be screwed. We can't put the others' mission in danger like that."

Cursing, Connor realized she was right. They had no other alternative. Matthew had to stick with them for now.

"Okay, shrimp, listen up," Connor told him, no nonsense in his tone. "You stick with Dawn and me at all times. Stay armed, stay alert. Don't try any heroics. Got it?"

"Got it," Matthew nodded, obediently.

"Matthew...why did you even come here?" Dawn asked, confused. "You know this place is dangerous, you know what we're doing here tonight is dangerous."

"You're here," he argued, motioning to both of them.

"That's different," Dawn replied, sternly. "We can take care of ourselves. We have powers. You don't. So why…?"

"Because...I know what it's like to be the smallest," Matthew confided, a sad look in his eyes. "Ever since my parents died, Kate's crew has been like family to me. But I'm always treated like the smallest. I'm too young, I'm too small, I don't have experience…"

"They're just trying to protect you," Dawn explained soothingly.

"All that protecting doesn't help anything!" Matthew said, frowning. "You guys are the youngest in your families. Like me. If your family was in trouble, and they needed help...would you let anything stop you?"

That hit home with Dawn. Hard.

As much as she disapproved of Matthew's actions, she knew what the boy was feeling. She'd lived with it for years. Always shoved to the side, pushed to the back. For her own protection. Because she was too young.

And she could tell by the way Connor's stern gaze fell, her boyfriend felt the exact same way.

Sighing, Dawn got down to the boy's eye level.

"I get it. I do…" She paused, thinking. "You still good with a sword?"

"Been practicing every day," the boy smiled, puffing up his chest.

"Okay, listen up, soldier," Dawn smiled back, but with a hint of stern. "Stay behind Connor and me at all times. You guard our back. If we tell you to run, you run. Fast as you can. No questions. You run back to my house and tell Giles what happened. Got it?"

"Yes, m'aam," Matthew smiled back, deepening his voice a little as if to try and impress the pretty blue-eyed goddess in front of him.

Satisfied, Dawn smiled, giving him an affectionate kiss on the cheek and ruffling his hair. "Good soldier," she smiled, stifling a laugh at the blushing boy's crimson cheeks. Turning to Connor, she gave him a faint smile, as well. "Let's rock and roll."

As she began to stealthily move to get to a bush closer to the Second Wave, Matthew turned to Connor...smiling at his surrogate big brother as if he'd won something precious from the older teen, before he followed Dawn.

Connor, mildly annoyed but strangely amused, merely smirked and shook his head.

"Kids," he sighed.


Buffy and The First Wave crept downstairs into the vast main cellar of the building.

It's a vineyard, Buffy realized, or had been.

The cavernous room was filled with wine barrels and large casks. It smelled of must and wine. It was cold.

They were sharp, ready.

Moving in formation, they spread out, guarding each other's backs. This is a group of soldiers, Buffy thought, moved. Not scared little girls.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp sensation tingling in her gut. It was something not unlike her Angel-sense, her bond with Angel that allowed her to sense when he was near. Brushing aside the pang of pain that thinking about Angel had brought on, she focused on that feeling. Buffy sensed danger here, as well, but there was something else. In the dark. Hidden. Yet calling out to her. Something familiar somehow. She wasn't quite sure, but whatever it was that called out to her...it wanted her to find it.

Like it...belongs to me somehow, Buffy mused in troubled thought. But who? Or...what?

"What is this place?" Molly asked, her voice breaking Buffy out of her reverie.

"It's like an old vineyard or something," Buffy answered, shaking her musings from her thoughts as they all scanned the area for intruders.

Fred's nose picked up the faint odor of Burgundy red wine. "Definitely a vineyard. I went to one of these places once, y'know, for one of those fancy wine tasting things back in Texas? Didn't like it much. Still don't."

"An evil vineyard, huh?" Kennedy said dryly.

Spike nodded. "Like 'Falcon Crest' . . ."

"Right, I remember that show," Gunn noted, a hint of recognition in his eyes. "Jane Wyman was killin' it back in the day. Girl could play one mean bitch."

"Stay alert," Buffy commanded them. This was no time for banter. Not now. "Bringers are here somewhere. We just need to find where they went . . ."

Without warning, a phalanx of Bringers stepped forward into the light from the dark archways around the room. They were armed—knives, staffs—and they had the group surrounded.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Spike said loudly.

As they had been trained, the Potentials circled in the middle of the room as the Bringers pressed forward . . . closing in on them.

Showtime. Buffy tried to steady them. "Cover each other's backs," she reminded them. "Let them come to us."

And they did.

As the Bringers rapidly closed the distance, Gunn's lips formed a deadly thin line, his homemade ax ready to notch more demons. "Yippee Ki Yay, motherfu—"

And then the fight began.

The Bringers attacked, bringing chaos and destruction with them.

But the White Hats had Buffy Summers. The Michael Jordan of Slaying. Fighting and slaying as only she could. Buffy's allies were with her, and the girls she swore to protect were warriors now, and their pledge was to bring chaos to its knees...make chaos bleed.

Fighting back-to-back, Buffy and Spike traded rapid-fire blows with their Bringers. A now-emboldened Molly caught an attacking Bringer's wrists and headbutted him, following it up with a hard left cross that knocked it down. Rona kicked another one in the face; Kennedy blasted one with an uppercut.

All the girls fought, but the Bringers were skilled, too. One swept Kennedy's legs, and she hit the ground hard. He leaped on her, knife raised for the kill, when Molly caught his hand, spun him around, and cracked elbows with him in the face, dropping him.

Buffy, Fred, Gunn and Spike finished off their opponents with kicks and punches, working together as one as if they had been doing this together for years; then moved to help with the others.

With pent-up aggression and emotion, Buffy was a whirlwind, feet and fists flying as The Slayer razed through the Bringers attacking her like a lawnmower on a summer's day lawn.

All fists and fury, Spike took on Rona's attacker and dropped him, hard. He was all William The Bloody as he picked up the robed freak and viciously snapped its neck, dropping its corpse to the side without a thought.

Fred's well-tuned aim found its mark as an arrow from her fired crossbow embedded itself right into a Bringer's forehead. Brushing it off like it was nothing, the pretty physicist-turned-fighter narrowed her pretty brown eyes in focus and fired another bolt at a Bringer threatening another Potential.

Gunn's battle-seasoned eyes were hardened, fearless as he gutted one Bringer with his battle ax, spun agilely and sliced the head off the Bringer trying to get him from behind. His ax, seasoned by years of battles killing vampires on Venice Boulevard, was thirsty for more bad guys. And Gunn aimed to quench it.

Molly, Kennedy, and eighteen more Potentials fought and kicked, spun, and slammed their fists and their elbows and their feet into the minions of The First.

The coppery scent of blood filled the room; screams and grunts bounced off the walls and the casks, silent sentries to the mayhem swarming and swirling all around them. Head-swimming frenzy, alarming strength and power and the will to destroy; to survive, to maim and end.

The precious Potentials, heiresses to Buffy's mantel, took on the Bringers as if their lives were part of their arsenals; their weapons were their courage and their skill. They charged with warriors' hearts, like Willow's beloved Amazons. They began to knock the Bringers back.

In one bound, Buffy stepped up onto one of the barrels and leaped off, jump-kicking a Bringer in the face, sending him flying. He hit the ground, struggled to right himself . . .

...and started backing away.

His brothers joined him, slinking back into the shadows like so much vermin, eager to be gone, to be safe, to regroup. Buffy and her army breathed hard, looking each other over in approval as they regrouped and advanced forward.

We can do this, Buffy thought, allowing herself to believe that they could win the day. We can win.

Clap

Clap

Clap

Clap

The sound of mocking, slow applause echoed in Buffy's ears.

From the darkness just ahead of her, Buffy heard the clapping now replaced with the soft clicking of boots on concrete.

And from the darkness emerged a young man, handsome'ish, with dark reddish hair and dark brown eyes in a clerical collar. Suppressing a gasp, Buffy recognized him almost immediately . . . The guy from my dream. Caleb, Buffy instantly thought as she went on alert.

His grin was sinister, his dark eyes tinted with madness, and Buffy was reminded slightly of the Mayor. Another monster in mortal form who hid behind an everyday appearance and a smile. A chill washed over Buffy, but she maintained her concentration.

Gunn raised his eyebrows. An evil preacher. Like Tony Alamo. Or Dolph Lundgren in 'Johnny Mnemonic'. Damn. California really has all the weirdos, doesn't it?

"Well now," he began easily, "You folks are just burning with righteousness, aren't you? Problem is, you think you're blazing like suns, when really you're matchsticks in the face of darkness."

He walked toward Buffy, as calm as he could be. "You having fun? Hope my boys haven't worn you out too much. Need you fit for when I . . ." His malicious smile widened. "...purify you."

Despite part of her being creeped out, The Slayer refused to cower. Refused to give any inch, any ground.

"Save the sermon, padre," Buffy snapped, her voice hard, unshakable. "I heard you had something of mine."

He smiled brilliantly, holding his hands up, gesturing to the Potentials. "Well...I do now," he said, obviously amused.

A chill ran down Buffy's spine at that. The grim realization that this might indeed be a trap was starting to set in on her. Caleb was way too calm for her liking. Like he was holding something back. Something deadly.

The sociopathic ex-clergyman smirked knowingly at Buffy. "You liked my little message, did you?"

Buffy stood stone-faced, but the anger simmered in her veins as she remembered Shannon Jones's frightened eyes while she lay dying in a hospital bed. The girl's last, desperate words begging Buffy to stop this madman before her, threatening all of them.

"You know, I ruined a perfectly good knife on that girl. Got her soiled blood all over the place. I may need a new truck," Caleb drawled callously.

Through her rage, Buffy felt a ripple of fear run through the girls. All she could do now was show them how to do this.

"So you're the Slayer," Caleb said, approaching her stealthily, his entire demeanor screaming that he was not one bit afraid of her. That's not a good thing, not at all.

"I've dreamed about this moment. Waited for this. For the moment when I would finally come face to face with the Slayer. The Slayer. The strongest and fastest and most aflame with that most precious invention of all mankind...the notion of goodness," Caleb intoned, almost as if he were in awe of the tiny blonde warrior.

Buffy, Gunn, Spike and Fred all traded stares of incredulity. Who the hell was this guy, anyway? He was clearly a few beads shy of a rosary.

Caleb smiled almost reverently at a creeped-out, unsettled Buffy. "The Slayer must indeed be powerful."

Then...

Without warning…

KRA-POW!

...Caleb rocketed his fist at Buffy's face and punched the holy living hell out of her, blasting her up into the air and sending her spinning and sailing over the wine barrels across the room.

Letting out a cry of pain, Buffy bounced off the ground, then slammed into the back wall, struck her head against its hard stone and hit the ground like a body thrown off the Empire State Building.

Buffy's world spun madly…

...and then everything faded to black.

She lay unconscious. The Slayer was down. And out.

Caleb looked calmly at the shocked faces of Spike and the Potentials having taken out their mightiest weapon, Buffy Summers, The Slayer, their leader, with just one punch.

"So," Caleb drawled, a twinkle of malice in his mad dark eyes, "what else you got?"


The Deeper Well—Deep in the Bowels of the Earth

The Same Time


Down in the hole...Angel fought for his soul.

And his life.

He was giving it everything, punching, kicking, dodging, parrying, striking, slicing, unleashing his arsenal that he had honed over years and years of combat experience. But these guys were good. Really good, Angel noted. They probably had hundreds of years more combat experience on him. Centuries more to perfect the art of the kill.

The dwarf, Bors, whipped his arm out, unfolding a metal flail—a kind of whip made up of segments of black iron. The other dwarf, Biers, now on his feet, growled as he held his giant mace menacingly.

Tai unsheathed his pair of silver daggers.

Simone brandished her deadly whip.

The four of them came at Angel, and Malik only watched.

Angel let them come, staring into the warrior's eyes. He might be fighting the other four Champions, but Malik was his true opponent. The head of the snake. Cut off the head, and that snake is good as dead, Angel reminded himself.

"You only delay the inevitable, Angelus," Malik smirked as he watched his warriors assail the souled vampire.

"One last time...the name is Angel," the immortal detective snarled in between blows.

The dwarf's metal flail whipped toward him. Angel dodged to the right, practically into the hands of Tai and Simone.

The silent, mountainous warrior slid into a smooth, swift attack—he held the dagger in his right hand back to parry any counterpunch even as he stabbed at Angel with the left.

The attack had been coordinated so well with Simone that Angel felt sure they had fought side by side many times. Simone dropped down and shot a kick at Angel's right knee that would have easily shattered his kneecap if he had not moved.

Angel leaped into the air, grasping Tai by the stabbing arm and diverting the blade in his hand. Simone's kick swept harmlessly beneath her. The undead detective twisted, using the hulking mute as a foundation for the vampire's motion. Angel grabbed Tai's right hand and drove it back, forcing him to stab himself in the shoulder with his own blade.

Tai grunted, and as his blood began to trickle, and Angel pressed his advantage, shooting his right leg down and catching Simone in the back of the head before she had managed to jump back from her own attack.

The redheaded woman fell forward, tumbled into a roll, and then leaped up, turning toward Angel, enraged. Tai glared at Angel, trying to twist him off, to free his left hand so he could stab the ensouled vampire again.

Angel head-butted him, but it didn't even seem to faze the monstrous mountain of a man, while Angel's skull rang hollowly. Ouch!...damn, and I thought Spike had a thick head...

Angel heard the metal flail whistle through the air and tried to move. Tai held Angel, turned him, and the flail struck the vampire across the back. Feeling a searing pain shooting through him, Angel cried out as he heard bone crack in his back. Pain shot through him and he pulled his legs up, braced them on Tai's chest, and pushed away, tearing himself free of him.

When Angel landed, it took a moment for him to rise. The pain in his back felt like Tai was stabbing him with his silver blades, over and over again. "I'm gonna guess you guys don't care about playing fair," Angel said.

A feral smile on her face, Simone replied in a voice that oozed sensuality, "Where's the fun in that, Handsome?"

The fire-haired beauty circled him for a moment with a deadly smile, Angel mirroring her movements. "I heard all about you. The famous Vampire With A Soul. The ultimate oxymoron. How you broke the heart of the only woman you ever loved...a Slayer...to find redemption for your tainted soul." Her laugh was both seductive and cruel. "Must be lonely. Running from a past you can't escape. Never being able to love without the monster inside scratching at its cage, ready to hurt the ones you love. Your Slayer, your Seer, your friends, your own son…"

Angel stiffened at the mention of Connor, trying to channel his anger. Use it. Not let it take charge. That's how Simone could use it against him, and Angel was not about to let that happen.

"But me?I love me some monster in a man, Angelus," Simone purred. "Think about it. Maybe I can take what the weepy little Slayer couldn't handle."

The anger flared through Angel even hotter as he felt the urge to vamp out at Simone's mention of Buffy in such a disrespectful tone. "Lady, trust me...you couldn't hold a candle to her."

An offended look on Simone's face, now her sleek frame danced toward him in an odd, elegant fighting style that reminded Angel of capoeira. She did a kind of pirouette, which seemed like an opening.

Like the Champion he was, Angel ignored the pain in his back and shot a kick at Simone's chest. The redhead leaped from her pirouette like a ballerina, using the end of her spin to knock aside Angel's kick, and then she twisted, reversing direction, and slapped Angel open hand across the face. Though it could not have the impact of a punch, the sting was sharp and startling and it staggered Angel for a single heartbeat—long enough for Simone to follow up. The redhead dropped into a crouch, shot a punch at Angel's side that connected solidly, then leaned back to shoot a low kick, once more at his knees, trying to disable him.

Wincing, Angel snagged her ankle and spun her hard, twisting her off her feet. Simone went down hard on the ground. The souled vampire tried to follow up, but Tai was already there. They traded several blows, then Angel broke the giant's nose.

Blood sprayed down his shirt, and Angel felt his demon begin to stir at the smell of it. Ignoring the bloodlust, he tried to use its unwelcome emotions to his advantage. Reminded himself of who he was. Where he'd come from. What was at stake. And what he was willing to do to protect those he loved.

With that, Angel steeled himself. I'm not trapped in here with them..they're trapped in here with me.

Suddenly, he felt something akin to a lightning bolt strike through his soul…

Buffy.

He could feel it through their bond, their mystical connection.

She was hurt. She was scared.

Something bad was happening to her. To their friends.

Something terrible...


Sunnydale, California-Shadow Valley Vineyard

Now


Enraged at Caleb for knocking Buffy out, Spike's features morphed into vampface, but Caleb merely began to laugh.

With a roar, Spike attacked, launching himself at Caleb. Caleb met his attack head-on, blocking Spike's attack with glee.

His movements were effortless, as if he were playing fair with lesser creatures.

Bloody tosser's pretty good. A little too good, Spike noted in concern.

With a swift, hard move, Caleb knocked Spike down with ease. Recovering, Spike managed to get a kick to Caleb's face in, but the blow didn't even faze the false preacher. Blocking another blow, Caleb moved like lightning and headbutted Spike, knocking the vampire back. Spike was dazed. Then Caleb stepped forward and punched Spike in the midsection, grabbing him by the back of Spike's leather duster and then launching him like a missile straight back across the room. Spike's body crashed through one of the wine barrels, sending a deluge of red wine gushing like a crimson flood of blood.

Spike lay motionless in the wash.

Letting out a bellowing roar, Gunn tried his luck, his homemade battle ax slicing through the air at Caleb, aiming for the bastard's neck and head. But the murderous preacher smoothly, quickly evaded Gunn's attacks like an adult would dodge the blows of a toddler. Whoever this jerkoff is, he's good, Gunn noted.

Gunn managed to catch Caleb's right cheek with a savage elbow, a solid shot but the defrocked priest still standing. As Gunn tried another swipe of his ax, Caleb grabbed it at the handle, backhanding Gunn with a savage blow that knocked the seasoned street fighter for a loop before he grabbed Gunn by the hoodie, spun him around and launched him into the air like a Frisbee.

Gunn's body went toppling to the other side of the vineyard, crashing through another wine barrel that broke on impact and spilled its crimson contents all over the Muscle of Angel Investigations as he tumbled to the floor, soaked red and knocked senseless.

"Charles!" a wide-eyed Fred shouted in fear, her heart hammering in her chest as she saw the man she loved laying toppled.

Caleb laughed as he surveyed the room, holding out his arms and saying, "Well, c'mon boys, what are you waiting for? Let's show these ladies a proper time!"

The Bringers charged back out of the darkness, attacking the Potentials with newfound vigor.

The girls were rattled, overwhelmed by what they had just seen. They were no longer the fine-tuned machine.

Fred struggled with one Bringer, but it knocked her to the floor. Kennedy, Rona, Molly, and two of their sister warriors traded blows with the Bringers, but the bad guys delivered punishing blows. They were being beaten, mercilessly so; and as the punishment progressed, Caleb walked gracefully through the killing field, calm as could be.

Without so much as glancing her way, he backhanded Kennedy, sending her smashing through a full wine rack. Broken glass and wine cascaded everywhere. Kennedy's body was lost in the mess.

"Kennedy!" Rona shouted, rushing toward her.

Caleb caught her as she was running by. "Miss," he said, "I do believe you have your own problems you should be worried about."

He took her arm, twisted it and snapped it brutally. Rona shrieked as the pain filled every inch of her, leaving room for nothing . . . except more pain.

Carelessly, Caleb dropped her to the ground. Then he walked over and fetched up a knife from the ground, which he tossed to one of his Bringers.

The minion caught it and leaped on a prone, wide-eyed Rona. Just as he was plunging the knife down—

FWACK! —

An arrow sliced straight through the Bringer's wrist, jerking him backward.

The cavalry had arrived.

Xander, grim and determined, armed with a bow-and-arrow, charged through the doorway.

A stony-gazed Faith, sharp knives at the ready.

A steely-eyed Cordelia holding a battle sword. Oz, face cool, but determined, crossbow locked and loaded.

Lindsey, cobalt blue eyes narrowed and fully loaded twin semiautomatic pistols ready to blaze.

Rondell, lips in a thin hard line and wielding a makeshift sword.

Behind them, twenty more Potentials, including Vi, and 12 of Rondell's crew members dashed in behind him.

"Go!" Xander barked, and they charged the enemy head-on.

The White Hats were in the house, and in full effect. Ready to rock.

Yet Caleb was oddly not worried. In fact, he seemed almost...gleeful.

"Oh, good," Caleb drawled. "There's more of you."

"Something tells me that's our guy!" Xander cried out to Faith.

Regarding the wild-eyed preacher after she stabbed a charging Bringer in the stomach and kicked it away, Cordelia agreed. "Seems psycho enough to fit the bill!"

"Two steps ahead of you!" Faith shot back and made a beeline straight for the mad preacher, fire in her eyes and Slaying on her mind.

She charged at Caleb, knives in her fists; she sliced and diced at him, her attacks hard, fast and furious, but he dodged her flurry.

Amid the chaos, as Lindsey unloaded with twin gun shots at two Bringers, perfect aim catching them both in the forehead. Watching their bodies fall, he went blasting another Bringer.

Then another. Bang!

And another. Bang!

And another. And another. And another. Bang! Bang! Bang! It was like fish in a barrel…

...and then he saw him.

Fighting Faith, with those soulless dark eyes and that sick, demented grin that haunted his dreams through childhood, now standing but a few feet from him.

The ghost of his past.

Caleb.

Lindsey's eyes went wide, his jaw open in disbelief. Wanting so very badly for this to be an illusion. No. No. Not him. Not again…NO!

So distracted was Lindsey that he didn't notice the Bringer come flying out of nowhere and knock him to the ground, trying to jam his knife into his chest, while Lindsey wrestled him on the ground for the sharp weapon.


Vi and the other Potentials rushed into the fracas, flying to the aid of their overwhelmed comrades. Fresher than the others, oblivious of the strength of the opposition, they fought well, and bravely.

But there were so many, and they seemed to withstand so much . . . Xander assessed the scene: Faith was fighting Caleb; Cordy, Oz, Lindsey, Rondell's crew and the Potentials were battling the Bringers. Spike was down; Gunn was down; Fred was down. Kennedy, down . . .

...where was . . .

"Buffy!" he shouted. She was on the ground, eyes shut, out cold.

Xander moved to her just as a Bringer came bearing down on them. He cracked him with his bow, and the two exchanged blows, Xander pressing forward, protecting Buffy.

Having her back. Like he had since the beginning.


Faith couldn't put a stop to Caleb; couldn't wipe that stupid-ass smirk off his face.

He blocked her attacks and smoothly sidestepped her every move. Like he wasn't even trying. Which only served to piss Faith off even more.

Caleb looked at Faith from head-to-toe and smirked. "You're the other one, aren't you," he said. "The Cain to her Abel." She swiped at him again with her knife, but hit nothing but air as Caleb deftly dodged. "No offense meant to Cain, of course," he added pleasantly.

Growing frustrated, Faith sliced at Caleb again with her other knife, but with a deceptively quick move, the mad preacher reached out and grabbed her arm, twisted it, and crossed it with her other arm in a fashion such that she couldn't move, literally handcuffing her with his own hands. Squirming, Faith was forced to look right at the bastard, smirking and leering at her in mocking contempt. Then he squeezed hard at her hands until she was forced to drop both knives, leaving her weaponless against this madman, whose strength, she found, more than rivaled her own. The stink of his breath was hot and humid against her face and Faith felt the urge to vomit.

Swallowing it down, Faith scowled, let out a grunt at him and drove her knee right into his crotch, causing Caleb to let go of her just enough that she could escape his grasp. Snarling, Faith swung hard and backhanded him across the face. But he still wouldn't go down.

The bastard's good. Real good, Faith realized in some worry that she tried to squash down. Compliment him later, Faith. Kick his ass now.

The dark-haired Slayer dodged his attack, and cracked him in the face with a good punch.

"Never was much for the good book," Faith gritted, aiming another punch at the mad preacher.

He caught her punch effortlessly. "Oh, it has its moments," he rejoined.

Then with lightning speed, Caleb spun her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back, causing her to double over. The move drew a sharp cry of pain from the younger Slayer as the move literally brought her to her knees, disabling her. As pain shot through her arm, Faith panted hard as she stared at the defrocked priest in a mixture of anger and helplessness, unable to break his hold on her arm.

"Paul has some good bits to say, for instance," he continued to preach at her as he walked around to the front of her while holding her pained arm in his one hand. Like a slow, sadistic mockery of a do-si-do dance move. "But overall it's a tad . . . complicated."

With a backhand that hit like a hammer, Faith groaned in pain as she was knocked down face-first on the floor, seeing stars.

Caleb smirked as he regarded the dirty girl beneath him. "Me? I've always liked to keep things simple."

As Faith tried to push herself up off the floor, one of Caleb's feet sailed into her ribs, and the stunningly powerful blow sent Faith's lovely body twisting and flying through the air…

...straight into one of the wooden barrels.

The wood shattered and burst in a torrent of red wine. As she let out a pained gasp, Faith's body hit the ground amidst the wood splinters and liquid, and a wave of black began to wash over her eyes, pain exploding all over her body.

Don't..pass out...don't..pass...out...don't...pa…

But the pain ended up being stronger than her will. With a final pain-wracked sigh, Faith's eyes closed and her body went slack, everything fading to black.


"Yeah, I keep things real simple, l'il lady," Caleb said as he stood over the unconscious Faith, palms up, smiling as he mocked an old hymn: " Good folk, bad folk . . ."

Then a Potential named Dianne stepped up behind Caleb with a sword. She swung as hard as she could, going for his head. He ducked easily, never taking his eyes off a beaten Faith, and grabbed Dianne by the throat.

He pulled Dianne close to him, singing, "Clean folk, dirty folk . . ."

. . . and snapped her neck.

Letting out a final gurgle, Dianne fell to the floor, eyes wide open.

She was already dead by the time she hit the ground.

Watching a fellow Potential murdered before her eyes, a horrified Molly screamed, "Noo!"

Caleb turned and smiled...

"Yes."

...and began coming for her next.

And as he walked towards a terrified Molly, slowly, Caleb smiled. "Now seeing as how you lot went and brought all your friends...let me introduce you to some of mine."

Like an insane Pied Piper, Caleb put two fingers to his lips and let out a wolf whistle.

ZZZRACK!

Two twin sets of green plasma blasts exploded a wall behind Cordelia, Oz, a group of Potentials and Rondell's crew, making them duck for cover, some of them not so lucky as the blast charred them dead on the spot.

Soaring above them...Pearl and Nash, circling like birds of prey eyeing a bury of rabbits ripe for the picking.

Coming out from another side...Drusilla, in full vampire face. Smiling and giggling like a schoolgirl at the beautiful carnage around her.

Oz, getting his bearings, looked to the other side...where Amy Madison, dark magickal energy crackling lethally from her fingers, and the flesh-less Warren Mears, his deadly ray gun spinning and whirring its gears, came sauntering down, ready for more bloodshed.

And finally, from the other end of the room, its lumbering footsteps preceding it…

...The Beast.

All rocky hide, baleful yellow eyes, horns and evil smile.

Shaken, Cordelia trembled at the sight of the monster. Oh, God...we're not gonna make it...Angel!...

And it was coming to an end: the Bringers were winning, and the Potentials and Buffy's allies were being brutalized; they were going down, hurt very badly.

They were going to die.


The Deeper Well—Deep in the Bowels of the Earth

The Same Time


It took Angel a moment to refocus his mind to the fight, to recover from that terrible sense of premonition over Buffy, the woman he loved. He couldn't help her from here. The only way to help her was to get Hope's Dagger. The only way to get the dagger was to win the trials.

And the only way to win the trials...is to survive.

Gritting his teeth in determination, Angel knocked the dagger from the giant Tai's left hand, leaving him only with the one in his right, the one that already had his own blood on it.

Tai snorted like a bull and started to pursue Angel. Simone was getting up.

"C'mere, Pretty Boy!" an enraged snarl echoed behind Angel.

This time Angel heard the whistling of the flail as it whipped toward him. He turned, dodged, and then grabbed hold of the segmented metal weapon before Bors could retract it.

"Yeah, I don't think so," he said, snarling. "I didn't ask for seconds!"

With a hard tug, Angel ripped the flail from his hands. Bors ran at him, reaching for it. Angel dodged the little man and then kicked him into the dirt. Biers tried the same, only for Angel to blast him right in the teeth with a straight side kick that knocked him right across the pit.

With a low grunt from deep inside him, the mute Tai thundered toward him. Angel hit the juggernaut in his bleeding, broken nose with a quick snap of the flail. The massive Asian opened his mouth in a moan of agony and Angel saw that he had no tongue.

But that didn't stop Angel from taking advantage of his pain. The ensouled vampire whipped the flail at him again. It wrapped around his neck and Angel maneuvered around behind him, choking him, dragging him down. Tai tried to bring his other dagger up, but Angel kicked at his wrist, disarming the giant completely, and dragged him away from the weapon. Bors, Biers and Simone came at Angel slowly, watching warily, not wanting him to kill Tai, looking for an opening to attack.

Beyond them Malik stood as still as ever. In his black clothes he seemed to be half invisible in the moonlight. His eyes even seemed black, set in his pale features, above that dark beard. The ominous warrior had not even drawn his sword.

"I didn't expect him to be real skilled in the banter," Angel said, giving a tug on the flail to indicate that he meant Tai, "but little tip? You guys really have to brush up on the bad-guy bantering shtick. Your mind games? Elementary school-level. At best."

Malik actually smiled. He strode toward Angel, but stopped when he was still a few feet behind Bors, Biers and Simone. "In some ways, it is a shame, vampire. You fight well, for a filthy half-breed demon. In another lifetime, perhaps I would've set aside my hatred for your kind and you'd have been quite an ally."

"I already have allies," Angel coldly retorted, not yielding his grip. "Tell me, though. How badly did you clowns have to screw up as Champions to be relegated to being the first-level bosses in these little Pain Olympics?"

Malik's handsome face twisted in anger for a moment. "Every century, there is a gathering of demonic and monstrous races. From all corners of the world. They called it the 'Dark Congress'. Where all the filth gather in one place and arrange council. A way to 'keep the peace' between the demons. When we found out of the congress's existence, we pleaded to the Powers to let us strike. To wipe out the filth in a single, deadly strike."

Angel thought back to what Whistler had taught him about The Powers That Be, and their need for balance. If there was any kind of peace that could be reached, Angel guess the Powers wouldn't be keen on jeopardizing that. "I'm guessing the Powers didn't see it that way."

Malick sneered. "Of course not. Arrogant fools. All they cared about was maintaining their precious balance. Too blind to look at the bigger picture. But we…" he gestured to his warriors. "We knew we could not let such an opportunity pass us by. We simply cannot accept that peace might be made between the monstrous races. That could lead to peace between the forces of Light and Darkness, and we can't have that. Demons and horrors, hostile or passive, must be destroyed. Anything else goes against our purpose, our mission. So we blinded the Powers to us, made them believe we were dead. And moved to attack the Dark Congress ourselves."

Angel kept his eyes on Malik and his goons. "It didn't work out, did it?"

"No," Bors growled. "The damned Powers punished us before we could launch the attack. Cursed us to forever guard Hope's Dagger. Never resting. Never knowing peace. Doomed to fight in these gates forever. Keeping the dagger away from pretty boy wretches like you."

"Yeah, y'know, I was kidding about the speechifying." Angel dragged Tai backward by the neck. He choked pitifully, reached up, and tried to claw at Angel, to grab him, but the vampire dodged and twisted the flail hard.

The big man tried to struggle and Angel forced him down again. He might be much larger than Angel was, but Angel wasn't an ordinary man. Or an ordinary vampire.

He was Angel. The legendary vampire-with-a-soul. A Champion. The Champion. Handpicked by The Powers That Be. The Dark freakin' Avenger. He helped the helpless. He beat the bad guys. That's what he does.

That's who he is.

Angel overpowered him, kept him down.

"Ever consider that by taking the higher road, you'd never have been trapped here in the first place?" Angel asked. "You know that saying about catching flies with honey over vinegar."

Simone laughed softly.

Bors had lost his pornographer's grin. He glared at Angel now, full of hate. "The Powers don't understand the needs of the human race. We are human. We're flesh and blood. We understand what must be done."

Angel was unimpressed. "Good for you, Short Stack. What do you want, a cookie?"

Even as Angel spoke, Bors moved.

The dwarf's right hand came around from behind his back and he barked words in an ancient, guttural tongue as he whipped a handful of gravel into the air.

For a second Angel was confused. The dwarf wasn't even throwing the gravel at him. Then the scattering of dust and tiny stones exploded in a burst of light, a fireworks display of tiny sunbursts that blinded Angel's supernatural eyes for a moment. Just one moment.

That's all his foes needed.

Then all four fallen Champions pounced on Angel. A boot struck Angel's cheek. Hands grabbed fistfuls of his hair and dragged Angel down and then they were kicking him, in the ribs, in the back, in the chest, everywhere, his enemies circled around him like a pack of starving hyenas mauling a stray antelope.

Spatters of Tai's blood fell on Angel as the monstrous man crouched to hammer his fists down upon the downed dark avenger, each shot feeling like a sledgehammer blow across Angel's body. Angel tried twisting so that the blows fell on his back, but the pain pounded through him. The bones that the flail had cracked ground together.

Coughing and spitting out blood as a result of the brutal beating, a bruised and battered Angel managed to crawl away towards a nearby wall.

"The Powers certainly don't make Champions like they used to, do they? If this is all you have, 'Angel'...you might as well let us end your pain now," Malik drawled, saying Angel's name with mocking contempt.

Dazed, bloodied, his shirt tattered, his coat ripped, but unrelenting, a battered Angel tried to gather his bearings. "If I don't get that dagger...the world's gonna end," Angel coughed. "Not gonna...let that...happen…"

Malik snorted dispassionately. "The world is always ending. The curse of mortality. But after a few centuries of endless fighting, life doesn't seem so special after a while. If you want to be The Powers' puppet, vampire, that's fine…"

Malik flashed his sword at a wounded, fallen Angel, murder in his eyes. "Us? We merely cut the puppets' strings."


Sunnydale, California-Shadow Valley Vineyard

Now


Whu...whu...whazz...going on…?

Buffy came to slowly, shaking the cobwebs away.

She hadn't been that hard since...since…

The First Evil breaking her back in the lobby of Angel's hotel, all feeling leaving her body, the man she loved watching helplessly in the rubble as her body broke before his eyes, flashed through her mind...

Buffy shook off that horrid memory. Don't go there, Buffy. Not now...they...need you...

Dazed, world spinning, she tried to get to her feet, fighting to stand, but staggered by the chaos.

Her girls, laid low.

Spike, down.

Faith, down.

Gunn, down.

Fred, down.

Oz, struggling with a Bringer.

Cordelia, fighting to stay alive.

The Beast, lumbering towards Potentials and Rondell's crew, breaking necks of two Potentials, punching another of the street crew kids so hard it went right through his sternum.

Pearl and Nash, unleashing lethal green energy that tore through three girls and charred two other street crew to ashes.

Drusilla, in vampire face, twisting agilely as she wrestled one Potential into her grip and broke her neck while using one of her long, spindly legs to trap another Potential girl behind the crook of her knee and twist hard, killing her.

Amy and Warren, smiling madly like a lethal Bonnie and Clyde as they picked off targets with deadly ray gun blasts and lethal magick hex bolts...

...and Caleb, walking toward Molly like a coyote after a mouse.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Lindsey, now struggling free and shooting his assailing Bringer dead with a clean shot to the face, regain his bearings…

...and turn to Caleb with a look of resolve.

Picking up a knife, determination burning in him, Lindsey charged the fallen preacher, dagger raised, trying desperately to save Molly, to end this monster forever...only to have it freeze in midair, Caleb's hand reaching out and catching Lindsey's wrist without even turning.

Then he spun around…

...the men locked eyes.

The world stopped.

A look of dread, hatred and some semblance of fear flooded all of Lindsey's handsome face.

"Caleb…" he breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. The ghost of his past made flesh. His breath still smelled as foul as Lindsey remembered...

Caleb's eyes widened in recognition. His smile widened.

"Hello, little brother."

Buffy's mouth widened, even as the pain kept shooting through her back and she struggled to rise from the floor. Brother…?

Then with a twist, Caleb disarmed Lindsey of the knife, then with a powerful swipe, he backhanded the former lawyer right over another pile of wine barrels. Lindsey's body screamed in pain as he went tumbling through the barrels and to the ground, wine soaking him all over, marking him as red as the blood from his past.

Damn you...Caleb, Lindsey groaned mentally, his head ringing as he fought to stay conscious. Damn you...to hell...


As Oz fought off another Bringer, pulling it off a Potential and stabbing it in the chest with his knife, he spotted Amy and Warren and he felt the urge to wolf out, to let the animal out of its cage...but resisted. He couldn't. The last time he did, he lost control. If he couldn't control it now, what was left of his friends would almost certainly die.

The Beast grabbed a struggling Rondell by the throat, smiling with jagged teeth as he aimed to twist the demon-hunting crew leader's neck…

"No!"

...when Cordelia came out of nowhere and whacked the monster hard across the shoulder with her sword. The blow glanced harmlessly off the creature's rocky, near-impenetrable hide, and The Beast dropped a dazed Rondell before it turned slowly to meet Cordelia. The beautiful brunette fought to steady herself, a spark of fear in her eyes, but standing her ground.

"Hello, pretty one," it rumbled out in its deep basso profondo voice.

And then it batted her aside, sending Cordelia sailing to the other side, her lovely body crashing against the wall. Dazed, Cordelia slumped down, seeing stars, her shoulder aching, head swimming.

From where she lay, Buffy spotted Xander taking out a Bringer with a hard elbow across the face.

"Xander!" she called out to him.

He saw her struggling to get to her feet and rushed to help her.

"Buffy—"

"Get them out of here," she told him. "Now. We have to retreat."

Off his questioning look, Buffy barked, "Do it!"

He nodded and rushed back into the fray, grabbing a fallen girl and helping her to her feet.

Satisfied with the results of his impromptu family reunion, Caleb returned his attention to stalking Molly; he had backed her into a corner and she was terrified.

The dagger in her hand was all she had; that and her heart . . .

"I wish there were an easier way to do this," he said sadly. "To cleanse you. I do. But I don't make the rules."

Molly girded herself for her last stand, rushing toward him and swinging her knife. He caught her wrist easily, and caught her up by the neck, tightening his grip around her throat.

He hoisted her into the air, her feet dangling.

"Okay, that's a bit of a lie," he conceded. "I do make the rules."

And Buffy fought to save her. She staggered across the room, backhanding a Bringer as he came at her, sending him flying. No. No . . .

"What can I say?" Caleb said to Molly, her eyes bulging.

He put his hand around her knife hand, aiming to drive her own knife into her heart. "I work in mysterious ways."

Buffy slogged toward them. I can't...I can't make it...almost...there...

"Get AWAY FROM HER!"

In a flash, Caleb, distracted, dropped his hold on Molly, then turned…

...and was thrown back by a powerful kick to the face.

A kick thrown by a determined, pissed-off Dawn Summers, backed by an armed and battle-sneering Connor and a stout, focused Matthew. All shielding a winded, frightened, but alive Molly, narrowly escaping death at Caleb's hands.

Buffy momentarily froze at the sight. Stunned. Shocked.

"Dawn?"


Regaining his composure, Caleb smiled like a hyena eyeing its prey as he caught sight of the two teens.

To a glaring, icy Dawn. "Ah, I know about you. The Slayer's sister. The little girl with the big ol' power and the big dream of makin' a difference." Then he turned to a scowling Connor. "And you there. The Miracle Kid. The fruit that didn't fall too far from that big, undead tree."

Caleb grinned, eyes full of evil. "What's that saying 'bout kids bein' seen and not heard?"

The young blue-eyed brunette gritted her teeth and shot back, "What's that saying about pots and kettles?"

Then she and Connor attacked Caleb, Dawn slicing at him with her sword while the Destroyer of Q'uortoth swiped at the un-holy man with an ax. The two teens worked in sync, just like they had trained to. Dawn managed to get a punch to the right cheek of Caleb while Connor landed a kick in the ribs. Together, they began to push him back.

Working together, the kids were good. Really good.

One problem: Caleb was better.

He deftly began dodging their other blows, as if he merely took the other attacks just to feel out how strong they were. And then, like a coiled Black Mamba, he struck with deadly force.

With a lightning quick move, Caleb twisted Connor's arm around, drawing a yelp of pain from the youth before he belted the Miracle Child in the face. The blow dazed Connor, now seeing stars as Caleb grabbed him by the shirt and threw him right into Dawn. Dawn let out a groan as the force of Connor's body knocked her off balance and they both tumbled to the floor.

Recovering quickly, Connor shielded a still-fallen Dawn behind him, his sky blue eyes full of rage as he charged again at Caleb, kicking him quickly in the face. But the blow wasn't enough to stop Caleb, who was like a force of nature as he regained his balance, headbutted Connor, grabbed the supernatural teen by the arms and hurled him all the way to the other side of the room. The brooding teenage warrior's body collided with more wine barrels, striking his head against the edge of the barrel as it exploded, sending him to the ground, covered in wine and drowning in pain, his grip on consciousness now beginning to slip.

"CONNOR!" Dawn shouted in fear as she watched her boyfriend slumping down in pain.

Buffy regained her senses long enough to try and move towards them again, but was suddenly overrun by Bringers, each of them slashing and striking at her while she fervently fought to get through them.

From the ground, a terrified Dawn stared up at the menacing servant of The First, sick grin, demented twinkle in his eyes and thoughts of murder on his mind. In a horrifying moment of clarity, Dawn realized what he was thinking—what better way to hurt The Slayer...than by making her watch while her own sister was murdered before her eyes?

Dawn squealed in terror as Caleb swiftly grabbed her by her slender throat with one hand and hauled her up into the air.

"NO!" Buffy screamed, her heart hammering in her chest as she desperately cut and sliced her way through the wave of Bringers standing between her, her sister and the man...the monster...that held Dawn's life in his hands.

Desperately struggling in the madman's grip, Dawn remembered the knife she tucked in her side, drawing it quickly and trying to slash at Caleb. But he was too fast, too damn fast, and he caught the blade in one motion, wrenching it from her hand and making it his weapon. Smiling in a predatory fashion, Caleb placed the flat of the blade against Dawn's delicate cheek, brushed a lock of hair back from her face in a sickening caress.

Helpless as she dangled in his grasp, Dawn trembled, her life beginning to flash before her eyes. Mom. Dad. Connor. Angel. Xander. Willow. Buffy. BUFFY!...

The world went in slow motion for Buffy, even as she fought as fast as she could, inched closer to the madman threatening Dawn. No. No! Nearly there. Inches away......hang on, Dawnie...PLEASE…!

Through the haze of pain and the world spinning around him, Connor, seeing Caleb holding his sweet girlfriend...someone he loved...took a deep breath and pushed up as hard as he could, trying to will himself up off the floor in time. No! Get away from her, you sick bastard!

"Till you return unto the ground, for out of it were you taken," Caleb intoned in a reverent, quiet way, the knife dancing in his grip as he held it to Dawn's throat, a frightened tear rolling down her face. "For dust you are…"

He readied the knife for its final, deadly stroke. "...and unto dust shall you retu—ACK! Dang it!"

He released his grip on Dawn, letting her drop to the ground. Caleb turned, clutching the fresh knife wound in his side...and turned to face his attacker.

Matthew.

Tiny, brave little Matthew. Holding his sword high, hands trembling, but his eyes shining in courage.

A lamb standing bravely in the face of a starving tiger.

"Leave her alone!" the kid shouted at the mad preacher.

Clutching her throat, wide-eyed as she stared at her unlikely savior, a bolt of fear suddenly ran through Dawn at the sight of the 12-year-old boy, high on courage but low on experience, making his stand against this freak from the depths of madness.

"No! Matthew, run!" Dawn rasped out.

But the angry boy charged Caleb…

...who batted the sword out of his hands like a toy with one swift hand and scooped him up by the throat with the other, like a hawk would a bloody rabbit.

Caleb chuckled, swiftly plucking the knife in the trembling boy's belt out. "You know what they say, kid...spare the rod…"

Then he plunged Matthew's own knife deep into the boy's chest.

Matthew's eyes went wide with shock.

"...spoil the child," Caleb smiled wickedly.

Without a care, Caleb dropped the boy to the ground.

Eyes wide.

Dead.

"Matthew!" Dawn screamed, tears instantly forming in her eyes.

"Matty!" Vi shouted in horror.

"No, Matthew!" Molly cried out.

"NO!" a grief-stricken Connor shouted, pained, barely making it to his knees.

Tears clouding her vision at the sight of the brave, dead little boy, Buffy screamed and threw herself at Caleb.

With a thunderous punch, The Slayer hit the mad preacher as hard as she possibly could across his face. Caleb dropped to one knee...but he came back and stood up, laughing.

He killed a little boy. He killed a little boy, and the son of a bitch is laughing at me, Buffy thought in a mix of horror and blinding rage.

"That's it," he encouraged her. "Show me your fire!"

She attacked; they traded vicious blows.

Buffy's pretty mouth was bared into a sneer. You want my fire? Fine, asswipe...take it. Take it and burn.


Xander, ushering the girls up the stairs, called to his allies from the second wave as she began to stir.

"Cordy! Faith! We gotta go!"

Tears still streaking down her face, Vi helped another girl up and herded her toward the stairs.

Caleb and Buffy were pounding each other; he swung for her and she ducked it, then sent him flying across the room with a powerful uppercut.

She lunged after him; then Spike grabbed her by the arm, halting her trajectory.

"We're leaving," he said, his firm tone leaving no room for argument. Spike had been in enough battles to know when to stand and fight, and when to retreat. And they were getting routed badly. If they wanted to live to fight another day, they needed to fall back right now.

Buffy looked at him, coming to her senses, before finally nodding numbly. We never should have come here, she realized in sickening horror.

They swept the area, saw Rona on the ground, and helped her up.

Fred, dazed, helped a barely conscious Gunn to his feet, the injured demon fighter leaning on her as he tried to get his legs pumping. Oz hurried past Xander with an unconscious Potential girl draped over his shoulder; Dawn, tears in her eyes, managed to get Connor to his feet, the dazed Destroyer leaning on her for support as they staggered out, Molly and Vi right behind them; Lindsey staggered to his feet and began to follow them out, his eyes haunted and guilty; Rondell began ushering what was left of his crew and the few remaining Potentials to the exit; then Xander raced over to Kennedy, who was struggling to extricate herself from the mass of broken glass from the shattered wine rack.

He rushed over to her, grabbing her by the hand, and pulled her up.

And finally, he found Cordelia, shaking off the cobwebs as she leaned against a wall.

"Cordy! Thank God. You okay?" he asked, tenderly, eyes filled with concern for the beautiful Seer.

"I'm fine," Cordelia rasped out, her eyes suddenly brimming with worry. "We have to get everyone out of here! Now!"

"They're already getting out. We gotta move, Cordy, let's go," he told her, grabbing her hand as they began to run for the exit. "Let's go, come on!"

Then they paused for a moment, checking for stragglers...

That was when Caleb got them.

Throwing Xander off to the side, Caleb's vice-like hand wrapped tightly around a gasping, struggling Cordelia.

Caleb grinned as he watched the fear dance in Cordelia's gifted brown eyes. "Heard of you. The Seer, right? The Gad of the group. Perceiver of the hidden truth."

Cordelia gasped, trying to loosen his grip, but he only held tighter. Then he drew out the knife still coated in Matthew's blood, pointing it right at her eyes, like a pool cue about to strike a ball.

Cordelia felt her blood run cold as Caleb taunted her, rearing back the knife.

His voice was cold, cruel. "Betcha didn't see this comin', did ya?"

"NO!"

A hard impact made Caleb suddenly lose his grip on Cordelia. The impact caused by Xander throwing his entire body weight into a hard shoulder tackle that knocked the homicidal holy man off his feet.

Cordelia fell to her knees, clutching her throat.

"Cordy! Are you okay," a worried Xander blurted out, checking her for injuries quickly.

Stupid question, but the stunned Seer nodded.

Satisfied, Xander pulled her up. "Let's go! We gotta move, now!"

He pushed her ahead of him, and Cordelia began to move towards the exit. Xander was about to breathe a sigh of relief...

...and then, there he was.

Caleb.

In a quick, hard move, he grabbed Xander by the neck, laughing.

"You're the one who sees everything, ain't cha?" he taunted, throwing Xander's words—the ones he had shared privately, with Dawn—back at a wide-eyed, shaking Xander as he struggled in the powerful madman's grasp.

Cordelia turned half-way...just in time to see the murderous preacher holding Xander in his grasp. Gasping, the Seer's eyes widened, and her heart froze. No. Please, no. NO. NO!

"Well, let's see what we can't do about that," Caleb said. His voice dropped to a cold, cruel octave. "Happy birthday," he winked cruelly.

Then he took his thumb…

... and plunged it deep, deep, deep into Xander's left eye socket.

A white-hot pain unlike anything Xander had ever felt before exploded through him, his skull on fire, the blood now running down his face like a dark red river.

Xander screamed…

...and screamed...

...and screamed

...and screamed

"NOOO! XAAN-DEEEER!"

Cordelia almost didn't recognize the howling voice that birthed the scream of horror, of grief, and desperation that echoed in her ears, erupted from her throat, as her own. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes.

Buffy and Spike, who were helping Rona to safety, turned toward the screams...and they saw what Caleb had done to the one who embodied the heart of the Scoobies.

"XANDER!" Buffy shrieked. NonononoNO!

She would never forget the sound of his screaming...

Horror turning into action instinctively, the blonde Slayer and Spike rushed toward Caleb and Xander. Caleb rushed his bloody hand, about to destroy Xander's other eye... when Cordelia and Spike suddenly slammed him to him, Spike grabbing his arm, and Buffy and Cordelia knocking him back.

Buffy was there to catch Xander, holding him in her arms as he clutched his mangled face in agony, blood flowing from his destroyed left eye like so much red wine.

In front of him...Cordelia, tears shining in her beautiful brown eyes, perfect lips bared in a vicious snarl, holding up a sword she picked up. The Heart of Angel Investigations fiercely protecting the battered heart of the Scoobies.

Chuckling, Caleb leered tauntingly at the brunette, who trembled with rage. "Well, now, little miss, was that boy there particularly close to you?" He laughed again.

Angrily, Cordelia lashed out with her blade, the steel singing as it sliced through the air.

Pulling away from it, Caleb laughed again. "Wow, we got a live one! A real hellcat you are, little…"

He paused, feeling something warm trickle down his right cheek. He reached out and touched it.

Blood.

His blood.

The sight of the angry brunette holding her blade, which was stained crimson with his own life fluid, sent Caleb into a black rage.

"You...you cut me," he snarled.

"Touch him again...and you'll get even worse, you sick piece of shit!" Cordelia snapped back, fury in her glassy eyes.

Caleb began moving towards her, ready to rip the Seer's pretty head off. "C'mere, you little whore! I'll tear your—"

Out of nowhere, Spike drilled Caleb with a nasty punch to the face; Caleb fell back and tumbled to the floor. Then he turned to Buffy. She was in shock and he, Buffy and a teary-eyed Cordelia helped carry the wounded, bleeding Xander and moved as fast as they could to the exit.

Retreat. Nightmare. Wreckage, disaster; bodies, death and . . . . . . Caleb, on his feet again, staring at Buffy.

Smiling.

Buffy turned, getting a final glimpse of Caleb's soulless smile that sent shivers down her spine...

...and then rushed Xander up the stairs with Cordelia and Spike.

Caleb wiped the blood off his cheek, took a deep breath, calmed himself...and his dark smile returned.

He'd get that little Seer bitch soon enough. And his no-good little brother.

And he'd save the Slayer for last.

He was sent to deliver a message. And the message was sent: Abandon all hope, ye who dare resist.

And still smiling, Caleb moved back into the darkness...his old friend.


Staggering, Buffy, Cordelia and Spike managed to carry a wounded Xander back to the outskirts of the vineyard, where what remained of their devastated forces—her family, friends and allies—awaited, licking their wounds.

There were far fewer Potentials now, Buffy could see that instantly, and it broke her already shattering heart. They started the night with more than 40 Potentials. She could barely even see 10 of them, the few girls who remained wounded, injured, bleeding, Rona lying down as she clutched her broken arm while Oz tended to her. She saw Rondell, clutching his wounded neck, as he checked with and consoled his remaining crew members, all of whom were devastated by the fallen brothers and sisters they lost in that massacre.

Buffy couldn't look away. She saw it all.

She saw Fred, worry in her eyes and tenderly tending to Gunn, who was leaning against his truck, grabbing his sore head. While he gently held her injured hand, checking it for breaks.

She saw Lindsey, clutching his injured left shoulder, an ashen, haunted look on his face as if he had seen a ghost.

She saw Dawn, her sister, inconsolable, as she shook and trembled and sobbed into Connor's arms, the broody teen also with tears streaming down his face as an equally devastated Molly and a crying Vi comforted them both in a tight hug. The teenage friends shaken at the loss of Matthew.

The brave little boy with the heart bigger than his body. Who gave his life to save Dawn Summers.

Sacrificed himself to a monster so that Buffy's sister could live.

She saw Cordelia, kneeling on the ground, tears in her eyes, blood all over her shirt and jeans and sobbing apologies as she held a prone, bleeding Xander, who was beginning to slip into unconsciousness as the blood left his left eye socket where his destroyed eye lay crushed. The sound of her crying suddenly elicited high-pitched screaming as Dawn, now taking notice, ran over to Xander, the other following, as fresh tears and sobs left Dawn as she cried for her friend, her first crush.

That didn't just happen, a shocked Buffy, eyes glistening with unshed tears, thought in a daze. That was a bad dream. That didn't just happen...oh, God, it did happen. I did this…

I did all of this…

This is all my fault…

"Wait…Faith?"

Spike's voice alerted her and she turned to him, the normally confident and cocky vampire now filled with dread. Fear. Worry.

Buffy's worried eyes suddenly darted around at their surviving troops…

...but Faith wasn't there.

She wasn't...anywhere...

Spike turned back to Buffy, desperation in his blue eyes. "Buffy...Where the hell is Faith?"


Groaning, Faith's head lolled to the side, heavy eyelids opening to blurry vision.

Her body ached. Her head rang.

And she heard an unsettling quiet.

The fog began to lift from her mind and Faith, wincing, began to crawl, inch her way towards awall to pull herself up...when her hand came across a boot.

A boot that belonged to a smirking Caleb.

Eyes wide, Faith, in no condition to fight, recoiled backwards and crawl tried to back away…

...only to be met by The Beast.

Floating to either side of her...a sneering Pearl and a grinning Nash.

And around her…

...Amy, her hands crackling with dark magick…

...Warren, flesh-less, cackling dementedly as he cocked his ray gun at her…

...and Drusilla, smiling at her, giggling madly, all sanity lost in her eyes.

She was a lost lion cub circled by jackals, all ready to rend her muscle from bone with fangs, teeth and pointy things.

Hurting, dazed, frightened to the core, Faith panted hard, realizing this was it.

Her last moments.

She was going to die down here. In a cellar.

This was where the road to redemption had led her. Or maybe it's just karma, part of her mind treacherously thought even as fear shot through her.

Oh, God...Angel...B...Spike...I'm sorry...I can't…

With that eerie damned smile of his, Caleb gave the wounded, glaring Slayer a mock pitying look.

"Looks like you ended up stayin' at the party past midnight, little lady. But don't you fret now, y'hear?" Caleb smirked as he crouched down so , his lips curling into a sneer. "The band's ain't done playin' yet. We got a few songs left...real special now. Just for you."

Defiant to the end, Faith threw this man—this monster—a poisonous glare, spitting, "Go to hell, you false preachin' piece of sh—"

CRACK!

Rising swiftly, Caleb's boot connected with Faith's skull.

Her world went black.


The next few moments were a blur to Buffy, but she would remember them. Forever.

She would remember Spike, desperate and wild, trying to rush back into the vineyard. His eyes filled with an anguished, distraught look that she had rarely seen in him before as he called out Faith's name. Shouted it like a cry for mercy. Faith! FAITH! FAAAAITH!

She would remember holding him back, pleading with him not to go back there. Telling him that there was nothing they could do now. That they couldn't do anything for Faith right now. That they had no chance. That if Spike went back in there, he would die. For real.

She would remember Spike refusing to listen to her reason, telling her hotly he didn't care if he did, that he needed to go back there and save Faith.

She would remember promising, promising the agitated, despairing souled vampire that they would get Faith back.

How? As a soddin' corpse?! Let me go! I can't leave her there, SHE'LL DIE, Slayer! she would remember Spike yelling, near tears, screaming at her.

She would remember desperately trying to reason with Spike, telling him they couldn't lose him, too. That he was too important to lose.

She would remember him vamping out in rage, snarling, growling, warning her one last time to get out of his way...or else.

But most of all...Buffy would remember hitting him.

Hitting Spike.

With all of her might.

Hitting her once-foe-turned-friend.

Her friend-turned-lover.

Her lover-turned-friend-again.

Once, staggering him.

Twice, knocking him to his knees.

And with an apologetic look in her tear-stained eyes...a Third time, knocking him to the ground.

And she would never forget his last, slurred whisper of a word before Spike slipped into unconsciousness.

Faith...

Saying it like a prayer. Like an apology.

To the woman he was falling for. The woman he wasn't strong enough to save.

She would remember grounding out to her shocked troops to help pick up the unconscious Spike, get him back to the house, while the rest of them climbed into the trucks brought by Rondell's crew and headed to the nearest hospital.

And she would remember this night.

For the rest of her life, she would remember this night.

This awful, death-filled, brutal night…

...Forever...


* * * Aftermath. Agony. Defeat. * * *

In the Sunnydale Hospital emergency room, the girls and wounded crew members fought new battles: against life-threatening injuries, against pain, against trauma and disbelief.

Rona, lying in a hospital bed with a cast on her arm. Buffy walked with an ashen, grave face past each bed, the young Potential glaring at her, like the others were . . . against her.


* * * Despair. Surrender. Extinction. * * *

Oh, my God...Xander...

Buffy, tears rolling down her face, reeled as she stood at Xander's bed, which was at the end of the row. His head and his . . . eye . . . were heavily bandaged, the wounded loyal laying asleep with a heart monitor.

One of her oldest friends. The Scooby Gang's heart...punctured. Battered. Clinging to life.

To her silent horror, Buffy absently remembered an old Bible quote she once came across while researching. If thine eye offend me . . . I'll pluck it . . .

Willow, Cordelia, Anya, Dawn and Oz sat vigil, a silently crying Willow's hand around one of Xander's.

Tears rolled down an inconsolable Cordelia's face as she comfortingly held Xander's other hand. Oz's face creased in pity and worry for his old friend, holding Willow's hand comfortingly. Dawn, crying silently as she watched Xander fight for his life. Anya's tear-streaked face looked mournful as she looked at Xander...and accusing as she eyed Buffy from across her.

As if to lay the blame silently right at the Slayer's feet.

For Buffy, this time...a teary-eyed Willow had no words of comfort.

None at all.


* * * In the vineyard cellar. . . * * *

Like buzzards circling a dead carcass, the First's lieutenants hovered over an unconscious Faith, now bleeding from the forehead from the cut of Caleb's boot.

Amy, Warren and Pearl eyed the defeated Slayer with disdain. The Beast with an impassive indifference. Nash with a hint of lust in his eyes. Caleb with a sadistic smile. And Drusilla…

...crouched down, twirling a strand of the sleeping, defeated Faith's silky raven locks around one pale finger, smiled with a hint of madness.

A hint of what was to come.

Two Bringers grabbed an arm apiece and dragged the fallen, unaware, unconscious heroine away.

A beautiful flower swallowed deep into the belly of the shadows…


* * * In the pit of The Deeper Well. . . * * *

Dazed and bloodied, Angel lay in pain, a battered Champion.

Buffy...

Through his bond, he could feel something awful happening to Buffy. Could feel her pain, her despair.

And he couldn't do anything about it.

Instead, here he was, trapped in a well, about to die. He stared up at Malik and at the glint of light on his sword.

His body throbbed with the blows the renegade, fallen Champions had delivered and he felt disoriented. As he panted breathlessly, exhausted, Angel tensed, hoping he could dodge the arc of that sword, but Malik was so close, right above him.

"You've lived a long life, Angelus," the mirthless warrior said. "But every story...no matter how long...has its ending."

Then Malik raised the sword, ready to send the deadly blade down across a fallen Angel's neck...


* * * At her house . . . * * *

In a daze of pain, guilt and trauma, Buffy surveyed the disarray of defeat, felt the shame, the anger, the blame.

She saw it all again.

Kate, despondent, breaking down in hard tears and pleas— "Oh, GOD, no! Please, no! NO! NOOoooo…"— as a tearful Dawn and a solemn Connor informed her of Matthew's fate, her crew's kids consoling themselves as they cried, a teary-eyed Molly and Vi holding Amanda, who shed her own tears of sorrow as they mourned the brave little warrior.

Darla, barely being able to hold back the tears as she burrowed herself into Wesley's shoulder, the ex-Watcher solemn as he held her. Lorne, his reddish eyes looking down and away in sadness, feeling the waves of despair hit his senses like a ball peen hammer as he handed an ice pack to a sore Gunn and a hurting Fred. Lindsey sat in a chair, shocked, haunted. Andrew shuffled about awkwardly, but with a sad look on his face. He the sense to look down and away, nothing to say.

Giles, looking away, barely able to repress his emotion with his stiff British upper lip, but looking up quietly. His eyes meeting Buffy's, the young woman nearly flinching as she saw them bore into her. Sternly. Accusingly.

Kennedy being tended to on the couch; the other six surviving Potentials wounded, dazed, quietly talking to four other Potentials who were spared from battle duty.

The girls would not look at Buffy.

Buffy's mind echoed torturous thoughts as she saw them all.

She had hurt her family.

I was supposed to protect them.

She had betrayed her allies.

I was supposed to help them.

She had killed her sisters-in-arms.

I was supposed to save them.

She couldn't meet their gazes.

I did this...I killed them...

Shell-shocked, alone, Buffy Summers, the legendary Slayer, the Chosen One, walked out the front door and bled into the darkness of the night's empty streets.

To make it worse...

Angel.

She could feel something happening to Angel. She had felt it all night.

In her heart. In her soul. In her spine. In every fibre of her being.

He was hurting.

No, worse. He was dying. She could feel it.

Dying and there was nothing Buffy could do about it. Nothing she could do to help him.

She couldn't save him. She couldn't save any of them. Not now.

Not tonight.

Her heart cracked like glass.

Her tears flowed like rain.


Sunnydale, California-Shadow Valley Vineyard

11:57 p.m.

Days Before The End Of Days: 15


In the cellar, darkness laughed and capered.

Darkness exulted.

Darkness had won.

And the wine and cheers flowed all around as Darkness celebrated.

Amy and Warren shared a sickeningly sloppy kiss as they began getting drunk off the wine in their glasses, reveling in the thrill of victory.

Drusilla danced around, giggling madly as she held a wine glass.

Ethan Rayne chuckled as he leaned back against the wall, delighting as he stared into a magical orb and saw the despondent, teary-eyed gaze of the downcast Buffy Summers. His old mate Ripper's prized pupil laid low. Oh, how I'd love to see the look on your face right now, Ripper. To see how your little girl disappointed you so…

Pearl and Nash laughed and clanged their glasses together in a toast. A toast to the devastation of their enemies. A toast to a new world order dawning.

The Beast merely stood in the background, fearsome gaze bored, impassive.

And then the master of ceremonies to this macabre party clanged his glass to call for their attention.

"Well done, ladies and gentlemen, well done! Fantastic, fantastic, fantastic, every single one of ya!" he crowed, like he was Jimmy Johnson in the locker room celebrating leading the Dallas Cowboys dynasty to another Super Bowl. "Now, gather round, I've got a little story I'd like to share with ya. Would y'all like to hear a little story?"

"Yeah!" the villains cheered.

That wasn't good enough for the mad preacher. "Lord have mercy, Hallelujah, I said, 'Would y'all like to hear a little story?'"

The villains cheered and roared louder. That reaction was what Caleb was looking for.

"You see, now, it's a simple story," Caleb said. "Stop me if you've heard it. But in my defense, I have found and truly believe there's nothing so bad it can't be made better with a story. And this one's got a happy ending," he said . . . happily.

"There once was a woman," he intoned, moving himself back to his thumpin' days, back to the sweet days of little girls in sundresses begging to be gutted like fish. "And she was foul, like all women."

"Amen, brother!" Warren toasted, which earned him a glare from Amy, Drusilla and Pearl that made him gulp and shut up immediately.

Ignoring Warren, Caleb kept spinning his yarn. "For Adam's rib was dirty, just like Adam himself, for what was he, but human? But this woman, she was filled—with darkness, despair, and why? Because she did not know. She could not see. She didn't hear the good news, the Glory that was coming.

"That'd be you."

He glanced to the end of the room...

...and The First, who was wearing Buffy's image, smiled at Caleb, like a mother well pleased with her beloved son.

In front of it...the Keystone.

The key to opening The Eye of Creation. The key to erasing all of existence. And creating a new world order.

Safe and sound and snug as a bug in a rug.

"The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory are yours," he told The First, walking over to it, grinning as he picked up the Keystone. Just one of the two powerful weapons they now had in their possession. The other...being freed by the loyal Bringers as they spoke. Away and safe from an unaware Slayer. "Now and forever. You show up, they'll get in line.

"Because they followed her," Caleb continued. "And all they have to do is take one more step . . . and I'll kill them all."

"See?" the mad preacher said to The First and then turned to the smiling rogues around him, savoring each syllable, each word, as if it were a cut of his knife...a tug. "Told you it had a happy ending."

They all drank to that.


TO BE CONTINUED...


NEXT:

On the heels of a devastating defeat, Buffy must find a way to press forward with The End of Days looming. But has she lost the support of her allies?

Angel's quest for Hope's Dagger continues. Can he survive the Trial of Skill?

And Faith must try to survive Caleb and The First's minions. How long will she hold on? Or will she break?


A/N: It's always darkest before the dawn. Just remember that :)

More to come soon! Please read, comment and follow!

Best,

Jean-The Guardian