“Welcome,” The Master’s voice echoed around her. Buffy lifted her chin defiantly and squared her shoulders, even as icy cold shivers of fear ran tingling down her spine.

The Master stepped out of the shadows and into the flickering candlelight, the Anointed One following a step behind. With an amused smile, the ancient vampire assessed the slayer before bending to whisper something to his companion.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at the boy by the Master’s side. “How could I refuse such a lovely invitation?” she shot back, pleased when her voice came out with considerably more confidence than she was feeling.

The ancient vampire drifted closer, his hideous face creasing into a macabre mockery of a smile. "Such courage. I'm impressed. Of course, courage isn't enough. You will die here tonight."

"Maybe," Buffy retorted, her eyes narrowing in determination as she tightened her hold on the stake in her hand. "But then again, I just may take you with me."

The Master smiled indulgently at her boast before continuing on as if speaking to a small child. "You tried. It was noble of you. You heard the prophecy that I was about to break free, and you came to stop me. But prophecies are tricky creatures; they don't tell you everything." He stepped closer to the frightened slayer, ignoring the stake that she raised a little higher; in a loud stage whisper, he continued, "You're the one that sets me free!" A sharp, humourless bark of laughter accompanied his gloating before he sobered and pinned Buffy once more with his stare. "If you hadn't come, I couldn't go. Think about that!"

The loud scuff of boots sounded from the cavern's entrance, and the Master spared a quick glance in that direction. "Spike," he spat distastefully. "Colin told me about your attempted interference in my plans. I'm very disappointed in you. But, as you can see, I am a little busy at the moment; I'll deal with you and your lack of respect later."

"You will, will you? And will you be dealing with me yourself? Or were you plannin' on getting a few of your sycophants to do the dangerous work for you?" Spike asked, his voice dripping with contempt. He strode purposefully into the room, his coat flapping dramatically around his legs as he steadily closed the distance between himself and the patriarch of his line.

With a furious growl, the Master signalled the minions he had held back from the assault on the Hellmouth. Five vampires of varying age and strength stepped out of the shadows.

Spike quickly sized up his opponents; turning in a slow circle, he watched them carefully as they surrounded him. A skinny, rat-faced minion whose eyes darted around continuously was one that Spike hadn't seen before; although small and weedy, he showed a feral intelligence that Spike knew better than to overlook. He'd seen the ugly redheaded female enough to know that the sneer that graced her face now was a permanent feature, as was the nasty temper she was renowned for; she carried what appeared to be a broken section of wrought iron fencing, the ornate barbs at its tip more than enough to inflict some nasty damage. The older minion to her left was tall and strongly built, with arms like tree trunks; Spike had seen him around a fair bit since his arrival in Sunnydale and knew that he was never usually far from his master’s side. Trent—or Lurch, as Spike had taken to calling him in his head—was the quiet type, preferring to watch and listen to the goings on around him and was less inclined to spout his mouth off than the majority of the Master's minions; the man was obviously prized as much for his intelligence as his brawn, although Spike was in no doubt about the man's ability to fight. An unknown blonde took up her place next to Lurch; she was attractive, with legs that went on forever, and she carried herself with the easy self-assurance and poise of a fighter. Next to the blonde, just to Spike's left as he halted his slow turn, was a baseball bat-wielding, sandy-haired youth, dressed in tatty jeans, sneakers, and some obscure band t-shirt; he looked like he could have just stepped off the local college campus, and Spike wouldn't have been surprised if that had indeed been the young vampire’s recent home. The boy was a little taller than Spike and easily twice his weight, and Spike knew him to be one of old batface's more vocal supporters.

Spike raised the slayer's abandoned crossbow and, in one fluid motion, fired at the obnoxious minion; without even waiting to watch the boy dust, he reloaded, then spun and shot once more, watching with a satisfied smile as Lurch dissolved into dust.

Spike stepped back as the remaining minions charged, ducking beneath a vicious kick from the blonde only to take a hard blow to the side of the head from the nasty little redhead's makeshift club; knocked to the ground, he fell onto the crossbow, snapping the drawstring. With a curse, he kipped back to his feet, snarling furiously as he advanced to rain a series of kicks and blows on the small female. A sickening crunch echoed around the cavern as her arm snapped beneath his boot, and the ornate iron bar she’d wielded as a weapon clattered to the ground.

Buffy took advantage of the distraction and lunged towards the Master, only to have her stake deflected at the last moment as he returned his attention to her. A sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips as the stake grazed down his arm. With a growl, he backhanded her as his other hand snaked out quickly to capture her, closing painfully around her throat.

The Slayer swung her arm up, knocking his hand away as she ran towards her unlikely ally; suddenly, the Master's laugh echoed around the room, chilling her to the bone, and she turned back to face him. He extended his arm, his hand open toward her, and she froze, unable to fight as he held her captive with his hypnotic powers. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder, horrified at her inability to control her own limbs, helpless to do anything but watch as the vampire slowly approached, his hand twisting in the air as he exercised his power over her. Her breath came hard and fast as he circled around her, slowly drawing closer. Despite the fear that encompassed her, she lifted her chin defiantly, wide, terrified eyes meeting those of her would-be-killer with fierce determination; if she was going to die, she would die as a slayer.

“Snap out of it, Slayer. Prophecies can be broken,” Spike hissed, blocking a punch from the rat-faced minion and using its momentum to send it crashing into the whimpering redhead, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. “Nothing’s set in stone, love.” Breaking the now-useless crossbow into a serviceable stake, he quickly dispatched the two fallen vampires.

A loud screeching interrupted his plea as Drusilla wove and swayed her way into the room, coming to a halt several feet from where the Master and Buffy stood. Her pale skin and long white gown glimmered in the candlelight, and she swayed gently in a mindless, oddly soothing rhythm as her eyes wandered sightlessly around the room; she stared both at and through each of the room's occupants until her gaze finally came to rest, wide and horrified, on empty air.

“No! The sunlight comes, and everything is dust. Nothing but ashes scattered across the floor,” she cried, her hands tearing pitifully at her face and hair. Drusilla's wailing stopped as suddenly as it had begun, her head tilted to one side as if she were straining to hear something; suddenly her eyes widened, and she continued, “My William is the Phoenix. Tears will fall like dust from the sky, and then he will know that it is time to fly. He will soar to the stars, and they will whisper their secrets to him. Beautiful wings made of spun silk and sunlight that glisten and gleam. And good little girls will go home at last, where they are tucked safely in their beds at night by loving mummies and daddies." She paused for a moment, her brow creasing lightly with concern before she continued, her voice small and child-like, "Only mummy left so many years ago—pretty art that wouldn't move, but was a special gift from daddy. Daddy's gifts were always special—just for his princess. Poor daddy has been sick for such a very long time; time now to go on a holiday, and he will be all better, and princess will take such good care of him." She nodded sagely to herself before adding as an afterthought, "And bring him tea and cakes."

Drusilla blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream. A soft, gentle smile played across her lips as her eyes focused on the entranced slayer, and she reached a hand towards the other girl. "Such a pretty birdy," she whispered as she took a step closer. "Such a shame to lock her in a gilded cage."

"Dru, get out of here," Spike yelled as he staked the leggy blonde minion, then turned towards his oblivious sire.

A clawed hand reached out lightning fast, closing roughly around the smooth white column of her neck. “Enough, Drusilla,” the Master ordered sharply. “Can’t you see we're busy?” he continued, his voice now patient and soothing. Without taking his eyes from the enthralled slayer, he brought his other hand up to gently caress Dru’s face. With a sharp twist, he separated her head from her body, her dust swirling downwards to settle on the dirt-covered marble floor.

Spike’s roar echoed around the cavernous chamber, the stake dropping unheeded from his hand as threw himself across the room. His lips pulled back in a snarl, and his blue eyes burned with cold fury as he closed on the elder vampire.

The Master watched as Spike approached, taking an involuntary step backwards in the face of the blonde's anger. The ancient vampire's momentary loss of concentration was all the slayer needed to free herself from his control and, as Spike launched himself at the Master, she fell into a fighting stance, waiting for an opportunity to join the fray.

If Spike had thought watching the slayer fight was exhilarating, it was nothing compared to fighting by her side; they moved with graceful synchronicity, anticipating each other's movements in a flawless, seemingly-choreographed dance that soon wore the Master down despite the superior strength and power the elder vampire's years granted him.

They spun and kicked, blocked and punched, a constantly whirling blur of motion as each struck fiercely before moving swiftly out of range as the other stepped up to take their turn; they never allowed the older vampire the chance to close with either of them, or the respite needed in order to exercise his control over the Slayer's mind.

As Buffy blocked a particularly ferocious blow from the now-furious Aurellian patriarch, Spike slid into place at the Master's back. "Slayer," he called, his hand reaching expectantly towards her in the hope that she would understand his request. Without losing a beat, the Slayer tossed the stake she held in her right hand to Spike while bringing her left up to connect with the Master's jaw, spinning him around to face the hatred and contempt burning in the golden eyes of his wayward descendant. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he watched helplessly as Drusilla's unruly childe plunged the Slayer's stake into his heart.

Relief flooded Buffy's body as she watched the ancient vampire dissolve into dust. She looked up, catching Spike's eye as he wiped his hands roughly on one denim-covered leg, and beamed happily at the vampire. "We did it."

"That we did, pet. Told you prophecies could be broken, didn't I?"

Closing the distance between them in two quick steps, Buffy threw her arms around his neck, taking the vampire completely by surprise when she pressed a quick, grateful kiss against his cheek. "Yes, you did. Thank you, Spike."

"Anytime, Slayer," he assured her as his arms slipped around her tiny frame, returning the hug and smiling as he pressed her body firmly against him. "Such a beautiful little thing," he murmured against her hair before ducking his head and allowing his fangs to slip gently through the warm, fragrant skin of her throat. His arms tightened, one hand fisting in her hair to hold her still as she struggled against him. A low moan of pleasure sounded deep in his throat, and his already-forming erection hardened further as the rich, intoxicating blood slid across his tongue.

AN: For the purpose of this story the Master turns to dust like all the other Joss-verse vampires.

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