Title: At Any Cost
Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula
Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )
Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more. My email address is
darthpacula@hotmail.com if you prefer.
Disclaimers: Needless to say, I do not own the Buffyverse, nor those who inhabit it. I only wish I did. Oh, the fun I would have ...
Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforeseen consequences.
Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.
Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.
Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.
Thoughts are in
italics.
Part 37.Isiah and his vampires stared at Nameless where he stood, statue-still, hands cupped together over his belt buckle. Willow, Tara and the rest of the Scoobies likewise stared, both parties apparently having momentarily left behind their mutual antagonism with the new arrival.
For his part, Nameless seemed to regard them all with a mild and detached humor, as if he were somehow above their 'petty' squabbles. The warlock's garb was more formal than was normal for him; besides his usual long coat, he wore a suit of leather armor replete with various straps, buckles and metal studs. A scabbarded sword belted around his waist and heavy boots completed the outfit. It left him looking a bit like an extremely angry bondage enthusiast.
Cocking his head to one side in the bird-like fashion he seemed so fond of, Nameless clucked his tongue. “It was very rude of you all to start this little party without me,” he abruptly chided. “I imagine my invitation happened to get lost in the mail?”
“Yeah well, you know how it is ... you never left a forwarding address,” Buffy replied drolly. “If we'd know where to send the invitation, we'd have sent you in our place.”
Nameless smiled, pressing his good hand over his heart, and for a change it was an expression untainted by anger or mockery. “You would? That brings a warm feeling to this old black heart of mine.”
“Um ... you're welcome?” ventured Buffy hesitantly, left off balance by Nameless' response.
“Be that as it may, the fact remains that you ...” Nameless indicated all of the scoobies with a single sweeping gesture, “ ... are not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be at home, vegetating in front of the TV or some such, not gallivanting around a vampire den.”
“Excuse me!” growled Isiah, pulling a semiautomatic pistol from the waistband of his nearest flunky and waving it around. “Can we pay attention to the man with the gun!”
“No,” Nameless instantly snapped, without even looking at Hawkins. “Wait your damn turn. How in the name of all that is unholy did you even find this place? I've been searching for it for months, and you just stumble in on it like a pack of idiot savant bloodhounds?”
Towards the back of the group, Lickspittle attempted to shuffle further behind Anya, but moving only made Nameless' attention fall upon the demon all the faster. “Or perhaps you had a little help. To be precise, a little smelly helper. You were supposed to come to me, demon, not put these fools in harm's way.”
“I likes dem better'n you,” Lickspittle sullenly muttered, thrusting its chin pugnaciously in the air.
“Hey!” Isiah bellowed again, his facing turning red with rage where it wasn't already red with his own blood. Cocking his pistol, the vampire aimed it square at Nameless' head. “You ignore me one more time, and I swear, I will put a bullet in your head!”
Nameless rounded on the vampire in a sudden, almost reptilian burst of speed. “Yes, because we've all seen
exactly how effective your precious little bullets are. Go ahead, shoot me. See how far you get for your trouble.”
Isiah momentarily ground his teeth together at such visible evidence of Nameless' contempt. Then the vampire smirked and shifted his aim, the yawning muzzles falling square on Willow. “Then perhaps I'll try shooting someone else ...”
The vampire hadn't even finished speaking before Nameless reacted, plucking a metallic, studded sphere from the depths of his coat and hurling it at Isiah. Bouncing off Hawkins' chest, the orb plummeted to the floor with a hollow clang. The upper hemisphere cracked open into quarters, peeling back like the skin of a metal orange.
The vampires around Isiah recoiled, fearful of what they imagined could only be some kind of mystical catastrophe. Even Isiah himself gritted his teeth, half closing his eyes in dread. Willow turned her head away, fully expecting to see something awful, and thus not wanting to see it.
Absolutely nothing happened.
After a few moments of agonized silence, Isiah cautiously opened his eyes and peered down. The orb at his feet appeared completely empty, a hollow metal shell devoid of any malicious capabilities whatsoever.
Isiah snorted in contemptuous delight, and kicked the orb back towards Nameless. The flock of four legged creatures swarming around the warlock's feet scattered to clear a path for it. “Care to have another go? I think your toy might be broken.”
The warlock's face remained locked down, wearing a blank, sullen expression. In an abrupt motion that had the vampires nearest to him flinching, Nameless dramatically swept both arms out to the side.
“Perhaps,” Nameless grunted. “But if you're so determined to shoot someone, why don't you try starting with me!”
Striding forward, arms still outstretched, Nameless dropped to his knees before Isiah, thrusting his head forward. Daring the vampire to shoot. Isiah almost took a step back, momentarily startled by the warlock's apparent self-destructive tendencies. For a moment, Hawkins stared at his foe in disbelief; then he shrugged and obligingly aimed his pistol directly at Nameless' head.
Nameless leaned even further forward, pressing his forehead to the muzzle. There was a kind of dark and desperate desire burning in his one natural eye. “Go ahead. Shoot. Kill me ... if you can.”
“If I can?” Isiah repeated, smirking. He pulled the trigger. And again. And again, before hurling the pistol away in disgust when absolutely nothing happened.
Cocking his head, Nameless grinned manically. “Now whose toy is broken?”
“Will somebody just shoot this bastard!” Isiah bellowed as he lurched backwards, enraged. A plethora of firearms were raised and aimed at the warlock, but when those triggers were pulled there was a likewise lack of firing.
“Oh dearie, dearie me,” Nameless lazily drawled, not even bothering to rise from his knees. “It appears that some inconsiderate soul has broken
all of your toys. How unfortunate ... for you.”
Isiah Hawkins was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger now, teeth gritted in frustration. Spinning around, he jabbed a pointed finger accusingly at Nameless, as though he wished that the digit were a lethal weapon. “It doesn't matter! There's still more than enough of us to overwhelm all of you with numbers! Especially since you can't use any spells that are too pyrotechnic for fear of hitting your precious humans.”
Nameless rose to his feet now, wagging his own finger chidingly. “Perhaps the odds are not so much in your favor as you think, leech.”
“What,” Isiah arrogantly scoffed, “You mean your precious little fireflies and those ... whatever the hell they are? We'll squash them like bugs!”
Turning to face the Scoobies, who were watching the bickering between warlock and vampire both silently and nervously, Nameless surprised them with a conspiratorial wink.
“No,” the warlock quietly replied, “It wasn't them I was referring to.” Spinning around, Nameless grinned like a loon and clapped his hands together with a sound like, ironically enough, a gunshot. “What's say we get this party started?”
Nameless' smile went flat and dangerous as he casually moved his hands apart. “Cry havoc ..."
Chaos erupted as a full score of massive figures literally burst into the room, crashing through walls and the floor, even leaping down through the same hole in the roof that the scoobies had fallen through.
These new arrivals varied in size, though none was under six and a half feet tall, but other than that they were virtually identical in appearance. Heavy featured, they looked as if they were carved from stone, crude neckless approximations of the human form with vestigial features that were little more than a pair of slash-like eyes.
They were armed too, with weapons built into their very limbs; a heavy chopping blade running parallel to one forearm, a thick stake jutting from the back of the other hand. These were weapons specifically designed for combating vampires, and they were used with brutal, if ponderous, abandon. The blades severed limbs and heads, shattered bones. The stakes were used as spears, physically hoisting struggling vampires into the air, or thrust into chests, literally destroying the entire heart.
Within an instant, the entire room dissolved into a swirling, chaotic melee.
**********
Willow yelped as something large and menacing exploded through the wall in a shower of plaster and brick right beside her. She lurched sideways, tripping, and would have fallen if Tara hadn't awkwardly caught her.
The sounds of violence came from every direction, and Willow could hear Xander, Anya and Giles struggling behind her. But she couldn't take her eyes off the hulking figure as it ponderously turned towards them, revealing eyes that blazed like windows into the inside of a volcano.
It's some kind of golem ...Stepping between her friends and the golem, Buffy hammered a punch at the creature's chin, with no more effect than making herself wince in pain. With the grinding sound of stone against stone, the golem looked down at the petite blonde who had attacked it, and gently but firmly shoved her out of the way.
It then belied that seeming gentleness by rounding on a charging vampire, the golem's bladed arm swinging out and down to savagely hack the vampire in half diagonally from shoulder to hip. Willow would have gagged at the gruesome sight, but there was no time for such a reaction. Two more vampires leapt upon the golem, one grappling its tree trunk legs while the other jumped up on its back.
Even if Willow had felt inclined to worry about the safety of what basically amounted to an animated statue, the fact that still more vampires were charging at Tara and herself would have prevented it.
Willow could only stare, frozen in shock at the abrupt explosion of violence. She couldn't even move to act in her own defense, and from the force with which Tara gripped her shoulders, Willow's partner shared a similar affliction.
Then Buffy was suddenly there again, a veritable whirlwind of kicks and punches in the middle of the charging vampires, sword weaving an intricate pattern that cut a swathe through her foes, and Willow could move again.
**********
Nameless unsheathed the broadsword at his waist and swung it in an arc that clove a vampire's head in two in a single motion. Though a grevious wound, it normally wouldn't prove fatal to a vampire. There was however the fact that the warlock's blade had ignited as it had been drawn from its scabbard, and the flames wreathing it quickly set the vampire alight.
Kicking the twitching and squealing vampire off his blade before the fire had spread sufficiently to destroy it, Nameless darted sideways, avoiding another vampire attempting to tackle him from behind. The warlock spun like a dervish and that flaming sword darted out to stab the vampire in the back.
The vampire's flesh ignited like bone-dry kindling, and for a handful of seconds it scrambled about madly on all fours, but Nameless had already cast his victim from his mind. Instead, the warlock was seeking his main prey. He wanted Isiah Hawkins.
Instead, Nameless had to settle for a third vampire tossed at him by the random currents of the swirling fracas, who aimed a bayonet thrust directly at his face.
**********
Xander's heart was pounding fit to burst, yet his mind felt strangely blank as he flailed enthusiastically at the surrounding vampires with his axe. Normally in a situation like this, Xander's mind was usually racing as fast as his heartbeat, generally with thoughts along the line of 'please don't let me die'.
Xander had never let those fears stop him before. In point of fact, he had made it a point of pride to carry on regardless of whatever fears plagued him at any given time. But this time, his usual fear seemed slow to arrive. Which was ironic, considering that this was one of the worst situations he'd found himself in since he'd taken up with Buffy.
A vampire got cocky, encouraged by a perceived opening left by Xander's last swing, and lunged forward just in time to catch the edge of Xander's axe in his neck. Xander crowed in triumph as the head went flying, a choice he regretted when he accidentally sucked in a mouthful of vampire dust.
Spluttering, Xander didn't have long to celebrate his victory before yet another vampire was on him.
**********
Nameless, his summoned golems, and the Scoobies weren't the only threats Isiah's vampires had to face. The sprites that had entered with the warlock had undergone a metamorphosis, tripling in size and exponentially growing in luminescence at the same time.
Buzzing around the roof like a flock of buzzards circling their prey, the sprites seemed nothing more than observers to begin with. Then, one by one, they began to dart down into the chaotic crowd of humans, vampires and golems.
Darting to and fro like deranged fireflies, the sprites hurled themselves at any vampire that presented a likely target. Some were inevitably swatted out of the air, proving to be less than resistant to damage. But those that made contact certainly made an impression.
Each impact set off a reaction not unlike the ignition of a flare; with a burst of sparks and a gout of flame both sprite and its target were consumed in the resulting inferno.
While the sprites attacked from above, Nameless' other constructs struck from below. Skittering about on their spider-like legs of bone, they would claw their way up their target's legs until they reached chest height. Once that was attained, they would rear back and spasm, a long stinger emerging from a puckered orifice on the bottom of the creatures' fleshy orb-shaped bodies, before thrusting the stinger into the first available target.
Whatever toxin Nameless had created these creatures with, it proved to be virulently effective on vampires. Each stung vampire's reaction was virtually instantaneous; while Nameless' creature would pulse, ironically as if it were a giant-sized mosquito sucking blood from its victim, that selfsame victim would spasm as if being electrocuted.
Twitching, seizing, the vampire would begin a process of rapid mummification, as if its attacker was draining not just the vampire's blood, but all of its bodily fluids as well. By the time the creature withdrew its stinger, each victim looked like a body several years dead, and the vampire would frequently break down into dust as it hit the floor.
And the vampire's killer would scuttle its way to the its next victim.
**********
Isiah hurled himself to the floor as a sprite darted at his head, hurling epithets after it as the sprite overshot him in its haste and instead collided with with one of his minions. The rapid tap-tap-tap of sharpened bone tips against the concrete floor warned Isiah of the approach of one of Nameless' creepers, and he rolled, kicking out.
The creeper darted backwards, narrowly avoiding the kick aimed at it, and scuttled forwards again, determinedly stalking its prey. Isiah scrabbled backwards on hands and feet, awkward from the broken arm Buffy had earlier inflicted, lashing out with desperate kicks every now and then in an attempt to keep the creeper off him.
The vampire's blindly groping hand stumbled onto a slender, sharp-edged metallic object, and even as he gashed his fingertips, Isiah knew it was a sword blade. Another seconds worth of groping put the hilt into his waiting hand.
Letting the frequency of his kicks die down as if he were growing tired, Isiah let the creeper scuttle closer before lashing out. The sword caught the creeper unawares and bit deeply, tearing a gash that leaked a yellow-ish ichor. The force of the blow sent it rolling sideways, deflating pathetically like a punctured football.
Levering himself to his feet, Isiah quashed the feeling of triumph and stole a free moment to take the measure of the chaotic fracas. Thus far, the vampires had taken the short end of the stick, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity with which Nameless and his minions had struck.
Not a one of the warlock's golems had fallen; nor had any of the scoobies, Nameless himself, or the Slayer. But Isiah was certain that there were enough of his vampires left to rectify that. Then one of the golems was lurching towards him, bowling over vampires to other side with scything sweeps of its massive arms, and Isiah had bigger fish to fry. Namely keeping his head atop his shoulders.
**********
Willow was panicking, and she was utterly terrified. She'd been in dangerous situations before; indeed, she'd probably been in deadlier peril in the past. But somehow this seemed worse, more out of control than any fight in which she'd found herself since becoming Buffy's friend.
Paradoxically, Tara's presence seemed to simultaneously make things both worse and better. Better because ... well, Tara's presence always seemed to do so, and Willow knew that Tara would never let anything happen to her. But on the flip side of the coin, Tara being here could equally lead to Tara being hurt, and Willow couldn't bear that idea.
Then there was the fact that Willow was no longer responsible solely for her own life, but also for that of her unborn child. She was ashamed to admit it, but Willow hadn't even considered the risks of placing herself into a situation such as the one in which she now found herself.
How could I do this? How could I put my own child in harms way without even thinking of it! I'm going to be a terrible mother! I ...Willow's internal bout of self-censorship was derailed with an audible yelp as a vampire took a swipe at her face. Instinctively, Willow tried to leap backwards, which proved to be a less than wise move, considering that she was currently standing back to back with Tara. The sudden collision sent them both staggering, as the vampire responsible was inadvertently carried away by an errant swirl of battle.
Great! Now I'm freaking so much about being a negligent parent that I'm going to get us both killed!Her aggrieved thought seemed almost prophetic as another pair of vampires pounced on them from different directions, taking advantage of their unbalanced state and knocking the lovers apart. Willow heard Tara call her name in a heart wrenching tone as her partner was torn from her sight, and Willow cried out likewise.
Willow landed heavily, driving the breath from her lungs, the vampire straddling her with a triumphant smirk. Though she felt the desire to punch the vampire in the nose in an attempt to wipe that smirk off his face, Willow instead found her hands protectively covering her stomach.
The thought of magic skittered across the surface of Willow's mind, but trying to harness her abilities proved as easy to do as grabbing mist. She was too scared, too shocked to properly focus her mind, and being assailed by a bad case of blood breath wasn't helping in the least.
“I'm gonna eat you all up, pretty little thing,” promised the vampire, baring a set of yellowed fangs that didn't look like they'd made the acquaintance of a toothbrush in decades. Mouth gaping open, the vamp lunged for Willow's neck.
A bone claw caught the vampire's face in the nick of time, fish-hooking his cheek and bodily hauling him off Willow. Nameless shoved the vampire backwards, taking his opponents nearest arm with one quick slash. The backhand of that blow disemboweled the vampire, and Nameless spun around, leaving the resulting flames to finish his opponent.
Yanking Willow to her feet, the warlock pulled her in close until they were eye to eye, before poking her abruptly on the forehead with a pointed index finger. “Is anything going on in there?” he demanded acidically. “What was the plan, play dead and hope for the best? Why don't you try fighting, damn it all!”
Willow's eyes narrowed and went flat, and without thinking she drew back her fist and punched the warlock fair in the nose. Blinking more in surprise than pain, Nameless staggered backwards, and Willow felt her stomach sink as she realized what she'd done, and more importantly, what it could mean.
But against her expectations, Nameless didn't erupt into a murderous frenzy. Instead, he simply laughed, and said, “That's a good start!”
Before Willow could make an incredulous reply, she lost sight of the warlock as four vampires piled on top of Nameless from behind in a savage tackle, sending his flaming sword skittering across the floor.
**********
Tara fell on her side, pinning her left hand beneath the weight of her own body. She felt her vampiric attackers breath rustle her hair, a pointed reminder of how much trouble she still remained in. While she imagined that her love might wonder why a vampire's breath would be warm, let alone why they would be breathing in the first place, but Tara was more concerned with staying alive.
Unfortunately, she was just as shell shocked as Willow was, and equally unable to sufficiently focus her mind to work magic. And with one arm pinned beneath her, Tara's options were regrettably limited.
The vampire inadvertently assisted Tara by grabbing her by the shoulder and rolling her over, albeit roughly, freeing her trapped hand. Just as abruptly, the vampire regretted it as Tara stabbed the stake held in that same hand into his chest.
Tara clamped her eyes shut to keep the dust out of her eyes, and thus missed the look of utter disgust on the vamp's face as it exploded into a shower of dust.
“Tara!” Willow's voice was frantic, and blessedly close. “Baby, are you okay?”
Opening her eyes, Tara found Willow hovering protectively over her, trying to glare in every direction at once, as if that alone was responsible for the pocket of relative peace around them. For her part, Tara figured that might have more to do with the trio of golems forming a rough perimeter around them.
“I'm okay,” Tara responded, accepting Willow's assistance to rise, eying their self-appointed bodyguards warily. While she desperately appreciated the breathing space the golems were affording them, Tara didn't trust their master, and by extension, the golems themselves.
Tara's first instinct was to wrap Willow in a tight embrace; given that they were in the middle of a pitched battle against the undead, Tara didn't think that was the best idea, so she settled for a hurried but in depth visual check that her lover was whole and healthy.
Once that was done, Tara turned her attention to the rest of the battle, trying to ascertain the wellbeing of their friends. What she found didn't fill her with hope. Even with the assistance of Nameless and his helpers, she estimated that there were too many vampires for the scoobies to escape without casualty. Tara estimated that there were actually more vampires here now than when they had first fallen in, though she'd been too busy trying to survive to notice when the vamps reinforcements had arrived.
Tara reached a distasteful conclusion. “We can't keep this up.”
**********
Maria slipped around the edges of the room with a predatory grace, the stiletto held in each of her hands bouncing up and down as if in anticipation. A native of the high and wild hills of Spain, Maria had been a brutal and merciless killer even before Isiah had turned her, complements of the French invaders who had repeatedly beaten and raped her.
The addition of vampirism to a personality that had already been brutalized to the point of becoming a monster had resulted in Maria being an unusually vicious specimen of a species known for its cruelty. And right now, Maria had her eye firmly fixed on her next victim.
Thus far, Maria had been content to remain on the edges of the combat, observing the movements of her chosen prey. Whenever she'd encountered one of Nameless' golems, or one of his other constructs, Maria had simply slipped away, either melting back into the chaotic melee, or throwing one of her fellow vampires at whatever threatened her as a distraction.
Isiah's paramour was biding her time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike, happy to let the humans and Nameless' constructs winnow the weak from the vampires ranks. And now that moment was upon her.
Maria darted forwards, slipping through a sudden gap in the crowd as her chosen target momentarily presented their back to her. As she drew close to the tousled-headed brunette human, Maria drew back her stiletto's, aiming for the hapless young man's liver.
**********
The first inkling Xander received that anything was wrong was when Anya spun to face him with an alarmed expression. A similar expression sprang onto Xander's own face as, without a word, Anya yanked up her crossbow and aimed it directly at his head. He yelped as Anya fired, the bolt flashing past uncomfortably close to his cheek.
A feminine shriek of pain spun him around to confront a female vampire, olive-skinned, dark haired and visibly irate about the crossbow bolt jutting from her cheek. Spitting both blood and heated words in a language Xander didn't understand, the vampire dropped one of her two long, thin daggers to clutch at her face. The other dagger was raised, with the apparent intent of introducing it to the first available portion of Xander's anatomy.
Xander didn't think much of that idea, so he offered his own incentive to dissuade his vampiric attacker, in the form of swinging his axe at her. It proved less successful than he'd hoped; abandoning her cheek, the vampire caught the shaft of his axe mid-swing and stopping it dead. With a hateful snarl, Maria wrenched the axe cleanly out of Xander's hands and tossed it away.
“Umm ... crap?” Xander ventured weakly.
“Xander! Don't you dare die!” Anya shouted from somewhere behind him as she attempted to foist off another pair of vampires.
“Yeah, I'd never have thought of that ...” Xander muttered to himself as he backpedaled. “Got any suggestions on how to avoid that, Ahn?”
Anya's only response was to charge forward, swinging her crossbow like a club rather than try to reload it with the one remaining bolt clipped to the body of the weapon. Maria snatched this weapon away too, and kicked the former vengeance demon in the stomach, sending Anya tottering backwards. Xander bellowed in instinctual rage, bunching his fists and lunging forward before he remembered he was unarmed and utterly outclassed. That realization made him stagger to halt.
The vampire followed Xander's every move as he tried to back away once more, drawing her weapon back to strike, and Xander cringed, readying himself for a final suicidal charge.
A massive hand clamped onto Maria's wrist before either human or vampire could make their final move, and both Xander and Maria turned their heads to see one on Nameless' golems. With no apparent effort, the golem flexed it's arm, yanking Maria off her feet and flinging her through the nearest windows, shutters and all.
“Well ...” commented Xander after several moments of stunned contemplation. “That works.”
**********
The vampire just ahead of Sergeant Bixby was armed with a sledgehammer of all things. Not the first weapon to come to mind when fighting humans, but when it came to fighting creatures made out of what appeared to be stone, it was a godsend.
So when that same vampire was abruptly decapitated by the golem he'd been attempting to attack, Bixby was quick to snag the sledgehammer out of his hand before it turned to dust along with its former wielder.
Turning laboriously, the golem took a swing at Bixby, aiming the wicked blade attached to its forearm to crush Bixby's barrel-like chest. The vampire twisted out of the weapon's path, and jabbed hard at the golem's knee, using the sledgehammer like a spear.
The head of the sledgehammer and rocky knee came together with a heavy crack, and a thin crevice spidered its way up the golem's leg. Bixby growled to himself in satisfaction and threw himself forward into a roll, just avoiding the swipe the golem took at his head.
Coming to his feet, Bixby began a systematic campaign of crippling strikes against the golem, using the sledgehammer to break the golem's knees, elbows and shoulders. Shards of hardened clay flew into the air, and the sharp crack that accompanied each impact became so frequent that they sounded like hail falling on a tin roof.
The golem's mobility was soon impaired, and it was left to flounder awkwardly, swinging ponderously at its attacker. Bixby easily avoided each blow, and for each attempt the golem made to strike him, Bixby responded in kind five times over.
With a final bellowed grunt of effort, Bixby hammered the sledgehammer into the golem's face, shattering the vestigial features and revealing what lay at the creature's core. It was a human corpse, so far along the path of decomposition that the waxy flesh had begun to slough off the bones beneath.
Bixby's lips pursed in distaste at the sight; an ironic reaction, given that he was himself a form of undead. Undeterred by the demolition of its face, the golem made one last attempt to grapple with Bixby, and the vampire pounded his sledgehammer hammer into the golem's face again, crushing the fragile skull like a piece of over-ripe fruit.
The golem slowly collapsed with a sound like a landslide, and Bixby hefted his sledgehammer in triumph. Bixby spun around, intending to find another golem and see if he could destroy it any faster than the one he had just done. Instead, he found himself face to face with a grim-faced Nameless.
Bixby's lips peeled back in a snarl. “Perfect,” he growled ferociously, his massive shoulders swelling impressively. “I'm gonna break you, boy! I'm gonna crack open your head, rip out your innards, I'm gonna grind your bones into ....”
With a bored expression, Nameless darted forward in a blur and kicked Bixby square in the crotch. As the massive vampire's eyes crossed in agony, and Bixby sank to his knees, Nameless tilted his head to one side and leaned in to whisper a casual word of advice.
“You talk too much.”
The warlock's bone claw flashed, and Bixby's head went flying, cleanly severed from his shoulders.
**********
While Bixby might be dead, his victory over one of the golems marked a turning point in the conflict. Ironically enough, now that Nameless and his constructs had winnowed their ranks, the vampires were having an easier time of it.
The golems were too clumsy and slow to catch the nimbler vampires now that they had room to move, and the few sprites and creepers left were proving less successful now that they didn't have as much of a crowd to hide behind.
Bixby's brethren had taken note of the tactics that had led to their late sergeant's victory, and were starting to apply the same principles. Isiah claimed the next golem casualty, stabbing one through the eye with his sword, and it wasn't the last one either.
**********
The scoobies had taken advantage of the lesser number of vampires to rally into a defensive formation, forming a ring so that no direction was undefended. Not a single one of them had been left unmarked by combat.
They were bruised, scrapped, and bloody, most of them so tired and sore that they could barely remain on their feet. Most of the vampires had temporarily suspended their attack on the exhausted scoobies, transferring their attentions to gradually whittling down the golems numbers. A thin picket line of hungry-looking vampires ringed the scoobies to prevent any attempt at escape.
Willow watched the vampires swarm over the nearest golem like enraged ants, dodging the constructs blows where they could, overwhelming it with numbers. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as she calculated the odds in her head. There were too many of them.
Darting a look sideways at Buffy, mussed, grim and unusually silent, Willow realized that Buffy knew it as well. Once the vampires were finished with Nameless' constructs, they would swarm over Willow and her friends. There were too many for Buffy to fight alone, and the overflow from what Buffy could handle would bury the rest of the scoobies with sheer numbers alone. And from the looks of things, that time wasn't far off.
Willow's thoughts turned to Nameless; she hadn't seen the warlock since he'd been tackled by those three vampires. Logic told her that he might well be dead, but some other unnamed instinct told her, somehow, that he was still alive out there.
In an ironic twist of fate, Willow found herself hoping that the warlock was still alive. He might be hateful, bitter and twisted, up to goddess-knows-what with meddling with her and Tara's lives ... but he seemed to want to keep them alive.
That's a goal I can agree with whole-heartedly right now.And Nameless was capable of such things, such dark and terrible things, that he might be their best chance to live through this, the best chance of survival for both Willow's child, and her beloved Tara.
A niggling thought had been plaguing Willow for some time now. From what she'd seen, Nameless was capable of much greater destructive potential that what he'd evidenced here today. There had been no lightning, no fireballs, no telekinetic eviscerations. It was as if the warlock were holding back, as if his hands were tied by something.
Willow realized that, ironically enough, Isiah had the truth of the matter. Nameless' hands were tied by their presence, by fear of inadvertently hurting those that he seemed determined to protect. For the time being anyway. Nameless' ultimate goals still remained shrouded in mystery, and Willow couldn't bring herself to trust someone who used such ruthless and ... evil tactics.
“Do we have a plan here guys?” asked Xander, his voice high and rushed despite his exhaustion. “Anything that doesn't involve dying a painful death in the near future would be nice.”
All eyes darted to Buffy, and she shrugged fatalistically. “What are you looking at me for? I'm just here to hit things!”
“Whie dunna we go tru wit da original plan, ey?” asked Lickspittle, and Willow started in surprise. She'd forgotten the little demon was even there, though by the blood spattered on both Lickspittle and its dagger, the demon had been doing its part in the battle. “Set oof da sprinklars?”
“Because all that would get us is wet,” Buffy wearily pointed out. “We didn't get to bless the water in the reservoir, remember? What with all the falling into mortal peril and all.”
“That darn mortal peril,” joked Willow awkwardly. “What is it with us and mortal peril anyway?”
“We're all adrenalin junkies?” Xander suggested, sounding slighter calmer as they slipped into the familiar patterns of banter.
“Well, after this, I think I'm going cold turkey,” Tara added, and Willow reached out and squeezed her lover's hand.
“Will?” Buffy asked, her tone all business. “You and Tara got anything useful in your bag of magic tricks?”
Willow hesitated, quickly scanning her memory for a spell that might prove useful. “We could put up a shield?” She glanced at Tara, taking in the blonde's drawn face and weary posture. “But we couldn't keep it up for long. I'm sorry Buffy, we're just too tired.”
Shaking her head, Buffy took Willow's free hand. “It's not your fault, Will. I'm the one who led us here and ...”
Shield.Buffy's voice was overridden by another, speaking inside Willow's mind. Her head turned to meet Tara's gaze, and she could read in those beautiful, but bewildered blue eyes that Tara had heard it too.
Shield! Shield now! Do it, you pair of blundering imbeciles!Willow knew that voice, a voice that crawled, worm-like and uninvited, into the privacy of her own mind. There was a disturbance on the edges of the melee, a swirl of movement that sent vampires flying backwards in all directions. Revealed at its center stood Nameless, beaten and bloody, both arms slicked to the elbows in gore.
Witches and warlock, their eyes met and locked across the room; cobalt blue and emerald green meeting crystalline blue and stygian black.
Please.Without speaking, without needing too, Willow and Tara acted in concert, raising their linked hands and speaking the words of the spell in concert. As the visible dome of the shield blinked into life, Nameless smiled gratefully, no trace of his usual spite or disdain visible.
Willow tensed as a vampire darted forward from the pack at Nameless' back, aiming an axe at his head. The warlock dropped to his knees, the axe blow swinging harmlessly over his head as he placed his flesh hand flat on the floor.
A ravening pack of vampires surged inwards, sensing triumph was almost within their grasp. Eyes remaining locked with the witches that he so inexplicably tormented and protected, Nameless pulled the small, bone-hilted knife from his hip, held it high, and plunged it down, impaling his own hand to the floor.
The reaction was instantaneous, Nameless' head twisted to stare blindly up at the roof, his mouth snapping open in a silent scream. But what came pouring out of that thin-lipped mouth wasn't any kind of sound. No, it was mist, a geysering font of fog, thick and concealing, almost the hue and consistency of blood, pouring up and out of Nameless as if he were vomiting up every last drop of his own blood.
Willow heard yelps and exclamation of surprise from her friends, cries of alarm and curses from the vampires trapped outside their shield. But she couldn't take her eyes off the warlock, even as his body, abruptly somehow seeming fragile, disappeared from view as the fog filled the entire room.
“What the hell is going on!?” Buffy demanded, dragging Willow's attention away.
“Umm .... plan B?” Willow offered uncertainly.
“Is plan B where we just shut up and hope like heck things turn out our way?”
“Pretty much,” admitted Willow, and Buffy shrugged.
Returning her focus to the world outside, Willow saw that the fog was beginning to slowly recede. The room beyond was slowly revealed to view once more, bit by bit, inch by inch. As the fog pulled back, vague shapes within it began to form, resolving into detail as the fog grew thinner and thinner.
Willow felt sick; nothing had changed in the least. It hadn't worked. Every last one of the vampires present when the fog was conjured was still there, untouched, unharmed, unmoved. It was only after a few moments that Willow realized how eerily accurate that statement was.
Not a one of the vampires had moved, not even an inch. As she studied them closely, Willow could begin to make out details, straining muscles and panicked eyes.
They're paralyzed, all of them. Every last one of them!Finally, her eyes fell upon Nameless, hunched over on the floor where he'd knelt, hand still pinned to the floor by his own knife. The warlock was vomiting for real now, blood and some vile, black, viscous liquid trickling from his lips as racking coughs shook his entire body.
What are you doing to yourself?**********
Control returned to me, slowly, gradually. I clawed it back from the razor sharp pain that gnawed at my guts, seeking to consume me from the inside out. I wrested it back from the exhaustion that gripped me, that tried to bid me lie down where I lay. It wasn't physical exhaustion; I was long since familiar with that. This was exhaustion of the soul, a soul worn down and frayed from two decades of suffering and atrocity.
Once I was strong enough, I roughly yanked my ritual knife from out of my hand, welcoming the pain that came from such careless treatment, and lurched to feet. I swayed like a drunkard, but stayed standing.
Good for me.I felt a faint tingle on my skin, and knew that the witches had dropped the shield they had raised at my bidding. It was a fortunate thing that they had; I couldn't have shielded them myself and invoked the paralytic curse at the same time. As it was, the expenditure of power had left me disturbingly weakened.
And I wasn't finished just yet.
I heard them moving behind me, these self proclaimed 'scoobies'. They were all alive, for now at least, but if they stayed here that was going to change.
I rounded on them with an energy and ferocity I had to fake. “You should be running away now,” I growled. “Things are about to get messy.”
They stared at me, and I tried to ignore the cautious empathy I saw in Tara's eyes. My own empathic talents were tightly spooled away in the back of my head, compressed into a hard little nugget. I didn't want to feel what any of them was feeling now. That they were alive was enough for me.
“You expect us to just ...” Summers begins, her tone confrontational. My grip on my temper is tenuous at the best of times. This is not the best of times.
Lightning bolts spit from my fingertips, blowing chunks out of the concrete floor at their feet. One incidentally severed a paralyzed vampire's leg at the knee, sending the hapless vampire to the floor like a store manikin.
Bonus.
“
Run! Now!” I snarl, bloody spittle flying from my lips. I fortify my words with magic, pressing down on them with a palpable sense of dread. My head turns murderously to face Isiah, frozen with the rest of his leech brethren. I raised one hand, palm up; a marble-sized ball of churning azure energy blinking into existence. “Things are about to go ... boom.”
Gods be praised, they show a modicum of sense for once. They run. A careless wave sends the last few of my sprites after them. They'll let me know once the scoobies are safely outside the building.
As I limp towards Isiah, the energy ball in my hand swells, growing to the size of a tennis ball. The vampire is rolling his eyes towards me, the muscles in his face twitching as he tries to speak. Lurching to a halt mere inches away, I hold the energy ball up where I'm sure he can see it. It grows again as I do so, now filling my entire hand. A glowing nucleus can be seen at its center, sending coruscating arcs of power out to skip over the orb's inside surface.
“You tried to blow me up, leech,” I noted in a conversational tone. “Allow me to return the favor.”
Isiah managed to force his lips apart, and I have to admit, I was a little bit impressed. “Why ... help ... them?” he managed to grunt.
A perverse desire to confess overtook me, and I leaned in close enough to whisper the truth in his ear. The vampire's eyes widened at my revelation, and I pulled back with a wicked grin.
“Ain't life a stone-cold bitch?”
**********
Tara's heart thundered in her chest as she reeled to a halt, catching hold of streetlight to keep her on her feet. She was hard pressed to think of a time when she had felt more exhausted. When Willow all but crashed into her, exhibiting every sign of a state of equal exhaustion, Tara was only just able to muster the strength to stop her slender girlfriend from bouncing off her.
Xander staggered to a halt beside them, sagging over at the waist and puffing heavily. After a few minutes worth of panting like a dog, he forced himself upright and turned to look across the street at the warehouse they'd just fled at a dead run.
“Is anyone else wondering why we were in such a rush?” he asked breathlessly. “I mean, it's not like anything has happened ...”
Xander's words proved ironically ill-timed, for it was at that exact moment that the warehouse was utterly destroyed. The upper stories exploded, blowing apart in a geyser of flame and shrapnel that was unnaturally silent. Tara recoiled, shoving Willow behind her by blind instinct.
Her precaution proved unnecessary, for the flames didn't expand out like any nature fire would; instead they were sucked back inwards, like water swirling down a drain. The remains of the building infrastructure followed, wrenching inwards, concrete, brick and steel twisting as though in the grip of some inconceivably powerful suction.
In the very center of the explosion, a shape could be made out, a circular void. Dark, empty and hungry, it was a gaping wound in reality, a mouth consuming everything around it. Quicker than Tara could believe, the entire top half of the building was gone, and the hole was only growing bigger, as though it was being strengthened by what it consumed.
Tara found herself shifting backwards, pushing Willow before her, some primitive instinct screaming for her to run and hide. She could only watch as the void consumed the lower half of the building, tearing up girders, walls and floors with destructive abandon.
When the last brick was sucked in, as abruptly as it appeared, the void vanished. Where the warehouse had once stood, there was an empty patch of disturbed earth, stripped of every size that a building had ever been there. Stripped, that is, except for a dark and slender figure, head bowed and shoulders hunched.
Nameless.
Xander exhaled nervously, and the other scoobies flinched at the sound. “So, Nameless has the magical black hole equivalent of a nuke ....” he drawled. “We are so screwed.”
**********
Maria stared in fury at the empty area where Isiah's lair had once stood, hunched over behind the cover of a beaten-up sedan. The vampire was favoring her right leg, visibly broken, but otherwise she seemed remarkedly unharmed. In her hands, she still held the crossbow she'd taken away from Anya, loaded now with the single remaining crossbow bolt.
And Maria meant to use it to gain her vengeance. Bringing the weapon's stock into her shoulder, Maria sighted down the crossbow and aimed at her target.
**********
Nameless limped slowly towards them, and Tara sensed the other scoobies spreading out on either side, uncertain if the danger was momentarily past, or if the real fight was about to start. Willow likewise tried to take her place, but kept her back with one hand. Darting a look backwards, Tara shook her head no.
I shouldn't have let her come here in the first place. She's pregnant! What was I thinking!The redhead looked as if she were about to argue, but Tara narrowed her eyes stubbornly, and Willow subsided with ill grace, retreating a few steps to pout in private.
Resisting the urge to smile at how cute Willow was when she pouted, Tara turned back around just in time to see Nameless head flinch to one side as a blur flicked past his neck, whipping his long, greasy black hair in passing.
The warlock spun around, spotting the crouching female vampire hiding behind a parked sedan at the same time as Tara did. The difference lay in their reactions. As Tara cried out in alarm and pointed, Nameless took a more proactive approach. He threw a fireball that punched through the side of the car like a knife through paper, igniting the fuel tank and obliterating both car and vampire in a fiery explosion.
Nameless spun back around as Tara gaped at the blazing wreck. The warlock froze, his mutilated face twisting as if in the grip of some vast and terrible agony, and he hurled back his head and screamed. The sound that issued forth from Nameless' ruined throat was like nothing that should ever issue forth from a living voice. The fell sound sent the scoobies to their knees, hands clamped to their ears in pain, and every piece of glass in the area shattered, fragments of broken glass raining down on Tara's shoulders.
Flinging both hands out to the side, Nameless blindly hurled lightning, one bolt setting the side of a building alight, and the other blew up another car, sending the flaming wreck skyward in a display of pyrotechnic display.
Nameless jerked his head back down, cutting off his scream with a savage snap of his teeth. Eyes bulging, he stared blankly in Tara's direction for a few disconcerting moments before swirling around and vanishing into the night.
Xander exhaled a shuddering breath of relief. “Geez ... what a drama queen,” he quipped.
Gripped by a sudden dark suspicion, Tara turned her head and found what had provoked such a reaction, and the sight made her heart falter and twist in pain. Willow Rosenberg, the love of her life, lay flat on her back, unmoving, a crossbow bolt protruding from her slender body.
To be continued ...
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.
by DaddyCatALSO » Thu Aug 17, 2006 5:15 am 
Hope next one takes you less than a month, though.
for a world with Willow more than one without. The Taraless one Joss left us bites!
