Chapter One
Seconds ago Buffy Summers had been in the middle of her nightly bout of mediocre sex with Antonius, him nearing orgasm, once more leaving her grasping unsuccessfully at her own, when they had both been transferred to another plane fully clothed and seemingly locked in place standing side by side. She looked over at the "man" others called The Immortal, once again wondering what she was doing with him. In truth he was much like a supernatural version of Riley: big, manipulative, overbearing and with the Scoobs stamp of approval. Also like Riley, Antonius was good looking, but had the added traits of arrogance, conceit, and being well educated—all of which could not cover a cultural bigotry that Buffy found annoying. His love making skills were way over- hyped, which matched his wardrobe that was stuck in the 70's. The 1470's.
He took her dancing, but Xander was a better dancer. He had huge amounts of cash, however Buffy was finding the adage true: money can't buy love. While fluent in magic, the supernatural Immortal was still quite disappointingly human. One half assed fuck and he was out like a light for hours.
William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, the Big Bad, sat on his ankles, pressed into the alley wall in fear. This was something that he hadn't felt since he had been turned--mind numbing terror. Every one of his greatest phobias brought to the surface by the magic of the Dragon that stood blocking the mouth of the alley. It wasn't just him. Demons and humans both were trying to crawl into the ground to get away. Blue was openly crying and tearing at her hair. On the other hand, Gunn seemed unconscious, and Angel lay face down on the asphalt mumbling and moaning, "Dru, Dru."
Why had none of them remembered that a dragons greatest weapon was the pheromone based fear that seeped from its very pores?
Inside his head Spike watched an endless loop of Cecily, his mother, Drusilla, Buffy and Dawn use then reject him. His greatest fear was being alone and lonely, unloved and unloveable. The tears drenched his face as he sank further into hysteria.
"Bloody hell man, take hold of yourself." Williams voice from off to his left
He looked up at the soul of the man he had been and saw a strength he had never known existed there.
"We have lived our fears for over a hundred years. Are we going to curl up into a ball and will our self into dust?" William reached down and Spike could feel the fingers of his soul trying to drag him to his feet.
"Bloody buggering hell, " said a voice to his right. Spike looked over and saw his demon, full of swagger and confidence, standing there in full game face.
"Are we more a poofter than William? Or just as much as Angel?" his demon said inquired pointing at his grandsire. "Like bloody Soul Boy said, we've lived this way for a long bloody time."
"If you are going to walk on thin ice you may as well dance, " his soul said with a very Spike-like smirk and as Spike watched, the two merged into one. "You know this is our task." The combined William/Demon reached down to grasp his hand.
"For Queen and Country." he heard solemnly from William.
"For puppies, kittens, and, bloody hell, a good shag." his Demon answered.
Spike stood, now looking at the dragon with a smirk on his face. Confidence he had not felt since Prague filled his body. He glanced down to see a crystal sword lying at his feet the blade balanced precariously over a rock. His foot came down near the point slamming the hand guards into place.
Without speaking, he charged with full vamp speed at the distracted dragon, the crystal blade slicing through vein, windpipe and artery in one stroke. Above him he heard the bellows of the beast roaring out its severed throat as it felt its life draining away.
The torrent of blood quickly soaked Spike to the bone. He smelled burning, helplessly watching as the acidic blood ate through all of his clothes. Even his Docs were gone. Completely nude, he stood in the center of the alley opening facing a dragon.
The blade twinkled in his hand as he stepped forward, and using it like a lance drove it into the sternum of the dying monster. He then sliced down, separating the ribs and pulling them apart. There, the heart. That was his intended target, If the legends were true; this was what he was seeking. He cut the head sized heart out quickly and began to eat, feeling power suffuse his being as he did so with every bite. It was like a bitter Slayer concentrate, the taste nearly making him quit, but he knew that this was his task, his mission. As he swallowed the last of it, Spike shoved the dragon carcass out of his way and stepped into the light.
Buffy Summers watched in awe as Spike killed the dragon. She had known joy, at him being covered in acidic blood. She had known fear and revulsion, as he had eaten its heart. But when he stepped into the sun, she knew blind terror. Buffy looked to see her current lover's shocked gazed, and for once, his too educated mouth stayed shut. She could actually feel the fear coming off of him. //Good// she thought.
Angel watched stunned as--once again--Spike stole something that was rightfully his. The dragon was supposed to be his kill, and as he stood in his urine soaked pants, he decided that this ends today. Today, William the Bloody dies. Angel walked towards the alley mouth only to disappear in ablazing flash of light.
Buffy blinked as Angel seemed to appear from nowhere into the room she and Antonious were viewing Spike from. Angel, too, was helplessly locked in place as Spike stepped into the sun, crystal sword singing as he launched himself into the fray, game face at the fore.
Wading though the demon horde, dealing death to those that tried to face him, portals opened to either side of Spike and various races of human, demon, and elf warriors stepped to his side and began massacring the armies of the evil empire. Blood ran deep as the first wave demons lost their will to fight First by ones and two's, then by the dozens, hundreds and so on broke and tried to run only to be felled by the long-bowmen on the adjacentrooftops. After the battle with the dragon, the confrontation in the street seemed anti-climactic and incredibly short.
Even as the battle ended, two women walked into the room, one Buffy knew too well, Sineyea, the First Slayer. The second seemed ever changing as she moved, her skin going from ebony to golden tan to a translucent ivory. Her hair shimmered from grey/black to golden to the deepest auburn, but her clothes remained the same: a simple green dress that skimmed the floor as she moved. Her body was slender, yet full figured. As Buffy watched, it appeared she could see both her mother and Tara in the woman. Buffy didn’t need to ask her name; after all the times she had heard Willow speak of her, she knew she was finally seeing Gaiea, the Earth Mother.
"Silence, Lower Beings. You are here to bear witness. Not speak." The Mother seemed much more harsh than Willow had described. Buffy heard a choking noise from where the Immortal was standing and turned to watch as he struggled to speak.
"Antonius Lisignolia? Is this the day you choose to die?" the goddess asked him. Even the silent shake of his head seemed to conveyed arrogance. She continued to address the rest of the room. "Today,after his grave trials, I appoint my champion."
"You have a question, Lower Being called Angel?" Buffy heard her ask.
"But he stole it, it was mine." His anger carried a whining note.
"As a human, you were a worthless whoremonger. As a Vampire you were a coward hiding in the shadows and never faced anyone near your own strength. Then as a 'Champion' you became a self-rightous, sanctimonious, manipulative, spoiled child. NO Liam Angelus O'Conner. YOU were never destined to be anything more than a feint, to keep young Duke William hidden."
Back in the streets of LA, Spike felt the adrenaline drain from his body, the lassitude of the letdown brought him to his knees. His unneeded breaths were deep and ragged and for the first time in six score, he felt his heart beating. The pace it set was scaring him. It was faster than any humans he had heard in years sounding like he had run twenty miles carrying a Dodge Viper on his shoulders. But if this was his day, then he would die with a taunt on the wind and a sword in his hand. He pulled himself from his knees and looked around for someone to do battle with, but the field was empty of threats as the elven warriors surrounded him. He took the time to notice three distinct types: ones with golden skin with red or blonde hair, others with light skin and silvery hair, and those with grey skin with black or grey hair.
As one the group surrounded him and a woman of each elven? race stepped toward him and began chanting. His body felt cold then oh so warm, as he watched the spell clean and heal him. The first three stepped back and a blue eyed, silvery haired Elven Warrior woman stepped to his side, took his crystal sword and placed it in a sheath. A grey haired, lavender eyed elf stepped forward to hand him three packages: in the first were socks, the second briefs, the third, a t-shirt. When she was finished she stepped back and with a melodious voice began: “From the deepest caves of my homeland, made from the webs of the Chiorn spider, these garments will never age and will always fit." With nothing more to say, she resumed her place among the throng.
A golden eyed, red-haired elf was next, handing him leather pants and a new duster made of an unusual leather. "My people hunt the wilds of Outland and these are made from the skins of a Tarnek, a great lizard whose hide cannot be punctured."
More than a bit unnerved, Spike began clothing himself, and before he put on the duster, the silver haired warrior belted on his sword and sheath. Never speaking she stepped back resumed her place to the left, slightly behind Spike. When he turned she motioned him forward. Spike realized that his heartbeat had slowed; this just felt right. As his hand felt the pommel of his bastard sword, he remembered the words from an old show on the telly, "Nothing is sexier than an Englishman with a sword." //Dead right love// he thought to himself as he sauntered off.
Cut off from the naked Spike show, Buffy found herself quickly getting bored. The Earth Mothers speech to Angel sounded much more like ... well a mother disciplining a well-loved child rather than someone insulting an enemy, and Antonious was quiet for a change. So Buffy was having Bad Buffy thoughts. She knew according to Prophecy, as the Immortal Slayer she was the soul-mate of Antonius Lisignolia, the Immortal Champion. Funny though, the prophesy called him the “Eternal Champion”, but the git was boring as drying paint. Damn she needed some Spike luvin, and damn quick.
Spike saw the portal open in front of him as his honor guard flanked him, ten of each elven race in attendance, thirty total. Ten human, that suspiciously resembled a tribal unit; twenty demons he couldn't identify. He didn't think they were leading him to his death, but bloody hell with his luck... He stepped through the portal and his enhanced senses picked up Buffy musk, covered with the scent of the Immortal. His game face roared forward as his demon demanded violence. Only the Immortal's slow and painful death would appease the demon in him. The silver haired woman at his side grasped his arm, and he turned, ready for battle, but in her eyes he saw acceptance and understanding which caused his demon to recede. Still, Spike’s anger boiled like a caldron in the pit of his stomach making his blue eyes glow as he focused on his Grandsire.
Angel was actually surprised to see this Spike. His Childe was angry, barely in control. He felt Angelus roaring in his ears, taunting him, "He's mine. I made him." For all Angel's jealousy, it seemed Angelus claimed credit for his grandchilde’s power. In a strange way, that tempered Angel's tantrum. He would not become his father. Spike was his Childe in everything but blood; he had trained the vampire who stood before him, and Angel decided he wouldn't fall into the same boat as Giles, the Scoobs and the Watchers Council. He looked at Spike, smiled an nodded his head. He could sense the anger in the younger Vamp and Angel reveled in it. The two would soon make the Immortal pay in blood and pain.
Buffy watched with shock as Spike went all “Grrrr!” What was he angry about? He should be glad to see her, and please, the silver haired slut putting her hands on him? He should have bitten the woman's head off. But noooo, he calmed down and shared a smile with Angel. Spike hated Angel, and he had yet to even glance at her. Oh God she got it. He didn't know she was here. That was better; after this was over she could talk to him.
Antonius Lisignolia, The Immortal, watched the vermin enter the room. For six thousand years he had waited for this one, his nemesis. And what did he get? An illiterate oaf, with a love for bleach. This was the Eternal Champion? The hope of the world? Antonious found himself snickering. He would kill this “Champion” and bed the Slayer in his blood. His own demon tried to answer the cretins challenging growl, but he fought it down. This “warrior” was ludicrous, a bad joke. Spike would be dead within days.
