Chapter One
A/N: Some dialogue from "Bring On The Night"


beneath the city…

He’d been beaten. He’d been battered. He’d been carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, bled of nearly every drop of borrowed blood in his body, and tortured on so many levels of painful that he was ready to beg for a stake somewhere in the vicinity where lay his unbeating heart.

Every time he passed out from the excruciating pain, however, that …thing would hold his head beneath the surface of the small pool of rank sewer water which filtered down from the world above. Every time Spike returned to awareness, he found himself the subject of fresh rounds of highly painful, though thoroughly unimaginative torture. All while the entity wearing the visage of his deranged Sire looked on with sadistic glee and coos of encouragement to the filthy, gnarled creature tearing at Spike’s flesh with its razor sharp claws.

The sun set at long last. The moment Spike felt that great, fiery ball sink beneath the horizon, the ancient demon- very primitive in appearance with reptilian eyes, and a mouth filled with needle-like teeth- loped from the cavern to set about its nightly carnage. The endless rounds of torture from the vampire that time forgot, nor the multitude of taunting cruelty spilling from the apparition dressed up in Drusilla’s satin and lace, frightened the ensouled vampire. Spike deserved every bit of it and more after all the atrocities he had committed during his days of murder and mayhem. Yes, he had been a bloodthirsty monster and had done things he could never take back or make up for if he lived a thousand years. After everything he had done, Spike deserved any and every punishment this thing could dole out.

At the same time, Spike couldn’t remembering ever being more terrified in his life or unlife The very thought of that twisted creature freely roaming the night and feasting on the unsuspecting denizens of the Sunnyhell, the very real likelihood that it could run into his Slayer while she scoured the town for the place where he was currently being held captive, froze the marrow in Spike’s bones. Buffy would not be expecting it.

The ancient vampire demon which the First had used Spike’s blood to release from the bowels of the hellmouth acted on pure, animalistic instinct. There was no one home for Buffy to sling sharp-tongued quips at in an effort to distract it or throw it off its game. There was nothing humanistic about it. No psychological weakness which would react to her status as the Slayer. She was good; the very best fighter Spike had ever come up against. But the feral beast was pure vicious animal. To the pre-historic vampire demon, Buffy Summers wasn’t a threat.

To the pre-historic vampire demon, Buffy Summers was food. And because the demon acted on the single-minded pursuit of its prey, it could and would kill her. There was no way she could come against that thing and live.

Some slight movement from the ghostly one drew Spike’s attention and a pang sliced through Spike’s heart as he realized how spot-on the likeness was to his once beloved dark princess. He forced himself to remember that this was not Drusilla and continued to study it, instead.

Spike was not as dumb as he allowed people to think. Quite to the contrary, his nature leaned heavily toward the intellectual. Did they think, somehow, that he was able to take out two Slayers single-handedly out of sheer luck? No. Spike had studied them. Know thy enemy was lesson well-learned from the Poof, himself, during the two decades before the gypsies had shoved a soul down Angelus’ throat.

During the small eternity which had passed since the cloaked, eyeless monks had nabbed him and used his blood to bring forth the now absent monster, Spike had taken to studying the mastermind behind his capture. It was evil. Pure, unadulterated evil in a non-corporeal form. It retained the ability to wear any guise it desired in a concentrated effort to cause the utmost pain in its victims.

There existed a pattern to it, Spike noticed. Every visage it assumed was that of someone who had been dead at some point, regardless of whether or not that person came back from the great beyond. Buffy had died twice and was Spike’s greatest weakness, though he had to forcefully restrain himself from showing that knowledge in any outward manifestation.

When Buffy’s face no longer appeared to gain a reaction from the vampire, the First had taken on the willowy features of Spike’s Sire. So now it was Drusilla’s face he saw before him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The First had even perfected Drusilla’s haunting voice and mannerisms.

Spike coughed as blood welled in his throat from a punctured lung before spitting the viscous fluid onto the dirt floor at Drusilla’s feet. A brief coughing fit struck him and it took a moment before Spike could voice an answer to the query with a voice grown raspy from pain-filled screams.

“Never figured you for the existential thoughts, luv. I mean, you hated Paris.”

‘Dru’ continued as though he hadn’t spoken, raising slender hands to cover her non-corporeal heart. “You’re alive because I wish it. Do you know why I wish it?” She shook her head sadly, tears welling in the fathomless blue eyes he had spent a hundred years drowning in. A bittersweet smile played across her face. “Because I’m not done with you, yet.”

Spike actually rolled his eyes at the melodramatic display. “Give. It. Up,” he told the ghost in a bland tone, unaffected in the slightest by the tears. “Whatever you are, whatever you get away with, I’m out. You can’t pull my strings anymore.”

Drusilla whirled on him then, rage boiling off of her in palpable waves. “And what makes you think you have a choice?” she shrieked at him. “What makes you think you will ever be anything at all in this world?”

Completely confident in his beliefs, Spike drew himself up and faced the First Evil without the slightest hint of fear. “She does,” he replied. “Because she believes in me.”

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Revello Drive…

She was hurt. Badly hurt. That thing had nearly killed her tonight. Her ribs were smashed and her face looked as though she were the poster girl for domestic violence. Worse, Spike was still missing and Giles had arrived the previous day with three young girls she was supposed to protect.

According to the man Buffy looked upon more as a father than a mentor, the thing she had found protecting the entrance to the First Evil’s lair was known as a Turok-han. “As Neanderthal is to man; the Turok-han is to vampire. Feral, vicious…animalistic in its single-minded pursuit of blood. They are the vampires that vampires fear.”

Wonderful. Not only was the First Evil holding the strongest warrior Buffy currently had on her side, but that thing was more than likely torturing the unliving hell out of her vampire. Rage; white-hot, searing rage rose up within her warrior’s heart and spilled from her lips in a growl that would make the bleached vampire proud. She had no doubt that Spike still existed. She would know instantly if he were dust. The scar- a gift from him during one of their sadomasochistic romps, last year- tingled slightly. Buffy had been seriously pissed when she discovered the side effects of the bite. Now, however, she thanked the Powers that he had done it.

Voices drifted from the dining room where the Scoobies, a growing number of potential Slayers and Andrew gathered together to discuss the specifics of recent events. Giles had brought them the news that the Council of Watchers had been fully decimated in a series of explosions having occurred at Council Headquarters and safe houses all across the world. Any Watchers that managed to survive the attacks were either in hiding or were risking their necks to send all remaining Potentials to Sunnydale and the relative safety of the current Slayer and her band of white hats.

I can’t even make it past the vamp that time forgot. How the hell am I supposed to protect a bunch of scared little girls from being gutted like fish on a daily basis?

Sick of feeling helpless and afraid, Buffy carefully unfolded herself from the chair she had been resting in and slowly limped her way towards the dining room as the group continued to voice their mutual doubts and concerns. The air was rife with fear; Buffy felt it shivering across her skin with icy fingers as Willow questioned Giles over what would happen if the Slayer was unable to recover from both the internal and external injuries she had obtained in the seeming one-sided battle against the Turok-han.

Giles paced back and forth, glasses in hand, as he considered the queries posed to him by the extraordinary group of young people he’d had a hand in guiding into adulthood. He’d seen each of them at their strongest and weakest. He loved each as his own child; felt his heart swell with pride and sink with disappointment during their accomplishments and follies. This group of individuals were his greatest contribution to the world and the legacy he would leave behind. They were all so very remarkable in their boundless courage in the face of adversity.

The Watcher tucked the end of one earpiece between his teeth for a moment in silent contemplation of Xander’s question. “I don’t know that we can fight it, Xander,” he replied truthfully. The end was coming and they did not have time for comforting lies or empty promises that they would all see the end of this fight.

“You’re right,” a soft voice agreed with him from the doorway. All eyes went to the battered woman whose face was a mask of steely-eyed determination. When no one spoke a word to dispute her pronouncement, Buffy continued. “We don’t know how to fight it. We don’t know when it will come. We can’t run. We can’t hide. We can’t pretend it’s not the end, because it is.

“Something has always been there to try and destroy the world, and we’ve always beaten them back.” The Slayer made eye contact with each person in the room, putting all her anger and determination into her eyes even as those emotions filled her voice. “We’re not dealing with them anymore. We’re dealing with the reason they exist. Evil. The strongest….the First.”

“Buffy,” Giles interrupted. “I-I know you’re tired-”

“I’m beyond tired,” Buffy admitted in a bitter tone. “I’m beyond scared. I’m standing on the mouth of hell and it’s going to swallow me whole.” The revelation surprised her as much as everyone else in the room, the knowledge made more powerful by the simple truth they represented. “And it’ll choke on me. We’re not ready? They’re not ready. They think we’re just going to wait for the end to come because it’s what we always do. I’m through waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, I’ll give them one!”

Again Buffy’s impassioned announcement was met with rapt attention and stunned silence. “Anyone else wants to run, do it now. We’ve just become an army. I’ve just declared war. From now on, we won’t just face our worst fears. We’ll seek them out and cut out their hearts one by one until the First decides to show itself for what it really is. And I’ll kill it myself.

“There’s only one thing in this world more powerful than evil. Us.” The last of her strength was waning as Buffy looked into the worried faces of her small army. How the hell she had managed to remain on her feet this long was a miracle unto itself. “Any questions?”

It was a good thing no one actually did have a question as Buffy finally allowed herself to succumb to the oblivion which had been threatening to consume her for hours. With no other option and her body screaming for rest, she let the world slip away.

Xander had been standing the closest to the Slayer during her heartfelt speech and was at her side, lifting her into his arms, before she’d even begun the slide to the ground. “Whoa,” he announced to no one in particular. “Guess it was just too much excitement for the Buffster.

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