The Boss gestured to Norg, and the little demon quickly moved toward the audience, a thick stack of papers clutched in one clawed hand. Bouncing up and down, he tried to see around the toweringly thick gray demon who had placed himself in the front row. All efforts to obtain an accurate headcount were abandoned after several fruitless hops, and with a sigh, Norg simply shoved a random handful of papers into the demon's hands.

"Take one of each and pasth them back," Norg ordered, moving to the next row and repeating the action, sans bouncing.

The shuffling of papers and interested murmurs filled the room, and the Boss smiled at the low buzz of excitement. Pacing back and forth before the assembled creatures, his own copies firmly in hand, he proceeded to explain.

"We've developed an incentive program that will help you all to meet your quotas and thirst for blood. For each act of murder, chaos and destruction you manage to perform against the Slayers and their group, you can earn points." He held aloft the colorful pamphlet, the audience following his direction and focusing attentions on their own copy.

"These points, as you will see, can be turned in for any number of exciting prizes. If you save up, or get bold and lucky, you could snag some sweet goods, like, say," he flipped the pamphlet over to the appropriate picture, giving his voice a tempting lilt, "a month's supply of fresh virgin's blood? Or the equivalent foodstuff."

The eyes lit up on one half of a two-headed demon. It leaned over to its counterpart and pointed excitedly to one of the pictures. "Ooo, I like the clock radio!" it enthused. The second head nodded its complete agreement.

Continuing to pace, making sure to focus on each of those gathered, the Boss continued. "Big points will be awarded for any grievous bodily harm that you manage to inflict on the three main Slayers, or their people, and if you manage to kill or bring back one of them... Well, that's just crazy big scoring there."

Slowly, the gears began to turn, and the creatures looked at each other, plans formulating.

"Proof will be required for every act, so if you want to make it simple, just bring in their heads. Or for those of you with an artistic flair, you can take photos. Heck," the Boss enthused, "wouldn't a videotape of your victory be something to watch at the next office Ascension Party?"

Norg had returned to his place at the side of the room, all of the papers having been fully distributed. The atmosphere had become undeniably charged, and the Boss was pleased. "As a little extra bonus," he announced, "the first one to bring in proof of at least a maiming will receive...a limited edition set of Vyarian Sacrificial Daggers!" It was a very convincing impression of a game show host, and the effect was much the same.

"Oooohhh," the crowd breathed as one. Even those who didn't breathe.

"Bottom line," summed up the Boss, "we don't care how you cause damage, just do it. You can go solo, or you can use teams. We want the Slayers and their people hurting. Bad. Now. Any questions?"

Receiving none, he nodded his dismissal, and the room erupted into sounds of chairs being scraped back and enthusiastic chatter as the gathering filed out of the room. The Boss watched all of this with a very satisfied smile.

It was early evening, the sun still projecting enough light to see by, but the sky had turned a magnificent rainbow of pinks and oranges and shadows were growing long. A non-descript house, normal in its archetypical suburban-ness, stood in apparent innocence. Inside however, the three demon occupants were each trying their utmost to appear as though they were average joes. T-shirts and jeans were the order of the day, displaying an undying love of science fiction, fantasy and anime respectively. Their faces, while possibly passing for human at first glance by a very near-sighted person across the street, bore a slightly too-large mouth with a disturbing number of extra teeth, as well as a small ridge of horns starting at the base of the neck and vanishing into the depths of the shirt. All three were scrawny, sadly lacking in the muscle department. Had there been sand nearby, each would have been guaranteed to receive a faceful from the first available Charles Atlas fanatic. But despite their complete lack of any physical presence whatsoever, there was a keen intelligence, clearly visible in their slitted red eyes.

A large device, shiny and covered with dozens of blinking lights, was hemorrhaging wires. It rested on the kitchen table, connected by a thick umbilical cord of electronics to a small dish-like transmitter that pointed out of the nearby window at the neighboring house.

Unlike its counterpart, the house in question was bristling with personality, something of a reflection of those who owned it. It was, almost literally, drenched in the Christmas spirit for starters, conveying the impression that Santa and his twelve tiny reindeer had stopped by early and thrown up all over it. The snow-covered lawn featured every imaginable commercial Christmas icon in lighted, wooden, stand-up, occasionally animated glory. Clearly, no rhyme or reason had been invested into coordinating attempts. The same could be said for the streams of lights that covered every available square inch of the house, merrily twinkling in the still-light sky. Solid colors, white, and streams of rainbows all clashed and competed for Christmas light supremacy. The overall effect was one of multiple decorative battles being waged with no clear victor in sight. Which, given the fact that Buffy, Willow, Xander and Dawn all lived there, was likely not far from the truth.

The demons ignored the eyesore, however, instead huddling over the device on the table and its component parts.

"Make sure you've got the wires set up right," stated the first demon, a short creature with straight brown hair.

The second glared at his companion. He, too, had dark hair, although it was deep black, bushier, and seemed prone to standing up straight. "I've got the wires set up right," he insisted, bending back to the task at hand.

The first nodded. "Sure, it's just that if they're wrong..."

"They're right," came the snapping, irritated reply.

"...then instead of frying their brains, we'll give them telepathy and precognition. Which is, y'know, pretty much not what we wanna do."

Slamming the screwdriver down on the table, the second demon appeared for a moment as though he would like nothing more in the world than to stomp on the annoying little short thing next to him. "They're right, okay?!" he snarled instead.

With a nonchalant shrug, as though it wasn't particularly important to him, the first demon replied, "Okay."

"But this circuit's in backwards." The new voice was nasal, whiny, and caused the second demon to gnash his not inconsiderable number of teeth together. Standing up from where he had been hunched over the device, the third demon, a blond, tilted his head to one side. "That would either give them super strength or cause them to multiply. We're trying to make them stupid, not invincible."

"Hey, is it my fault that reverse-engineering a plasma enhancement system is so hard?" asked the second defensively.

"But the circuit board's labeled." Sure enough, the board the third demon had pointed to was very clearly marked ‘This way forward'. Complete with helpful little arrows which made it abundantly obvious they were not forward.

The second demon angrily bapped the third's hands out of the way, and, very smoothly tugged the board free, flipped it around, and easily slotted it back correctly. Tightening a few final screws, he leaned back and surveyed his handiwork. "That's it," he announced with an unmistakable hint of pride in his work. "Charge her up."

So intent were they on their device, none of the demons had bothered to check on the target. Someone was now perched on the rooftop, wrestling with a newly-installed satellite dish.

"How about now?" Xander called out.

"Nope," Willow replied, her voice muffled from the warm comfort of inside, but still audible.

Xander readjusted the dish to a slightly different position. "Now?"

This time Buffy provided the necessary information. "Nope."

Frowning, Xander tried another angle. "And now?"

Willow's voice was excited. "Wait, that's... Yes... Just about... Nope."

"Come on, Xander, make this work," demanded Buffy. "You can make a functioning scientific calculator out of a lump of wood. One that even does the little ‘E' thing. This can't be that hard." Despite not being able to see her, it was abundantly clear that the Slayer was pouting. "I was promised 198 channels of full-color, brain-rotting goodness. I have 198 channels of crap."

Frustration reigning, Xander gritted his teeth and appeared to very much want to hurl the satellite dish, and possibly large sections of the roof, complete with its gaudy happy wooden Santa at the chimney, crashing to the ground below. "If you'd like to come up here an' do it yourself, O Mistress of the Air Waves..."

"Just move it left," Buffy insisted, choosing to ignore the carpenter's generous offer.

Willow strongly disagreed. "No, right!"

"Left!"

"You're really startin' t'cheese me off."

"Bring it, Sabrina."

Exasperated, Xander smacked the dish, caring little as he redirected its trajectory from the rapidly darkening sky to the neighboring house. Ignoring everything else, including the sounds of petty bickering from inside, Xander stomped across the roof to the ladder and quickly made his descent.

All of this went unnoticed by the trio of demons.

"It's ready," reported the short one.

"Fire."

The blond demon threw a lever and immediately the machine began to glow as waves of energy built up inside. With little warning save a high-pitched whine, the transmitter at the window disgorged a stream of bright white light that sped towards the Scoobies' house.

Headed directly for the satellite dish.

"Uh-oh," he gulped.

The beam collided with the dish, and in a remarkable quirk of fate, lingered for a moment, seeming to stew on what it had received before returning the energy from whence it came.

"Evasive maneuvers!" the second demon cried, looking around frantically.

"Too late," moaned the first.

The light poured into the house, bathing the demons and their machine in an eerie green glow for several seconds. Having the energy returned was obviously not a part of the machine's design, and it overloaded within moments, shorting out and spewing sparks in all directions.

Once the light had dissipated, the three demons turned to look at each other with blank expressions.

"Light... Pretty..."

"So pretty..."

The sun-soaked street was a haven, an illusion of peace and sanctuary to all who beheld it. With bitter hatred coursing through his every twisted, feral feature, a vampire strode forward. The shadows were thick in the wooded area from which he emerged, creating an impenetrable barrier against harsh and lethal rays of light. He halted on the edge of the shadowed land, a mere step away from the a fiery and painful death assured to those of his kind. The vampire was tall and imposing, nearly six and a half feet of pure muscle, leather and scowl. A low, menacing growl escaped his throat as he surveyed his target, the cheerful house across the street and its unsuspecting occupants.

"Time to die, Slayer," he snarled with unwavering certainty.

Extending his hand, the vampire relaxed his fingers to reveal a perfectly round crystal ball. Inside was a red, smoky haze, constantly moving, shifting and reinventing itself, like a tiny universe that was created, lived, died and was reborn with each passing second.

"Are you ready to bear witness to history?" the vampire questioned, his deep voice reverberating with strength and power.

As one, three more vampires emerged from the safety of the deepest shadows, a male and two females. These were considerably smaller, and while still guaranteed to strike fear into the heart of the average citizen, entirely normal and unimpressive as vampires went. Each carried several thick blankets draped over their arm, and they clung to them desperately, like the lifelines they were.

"Why do we have to be here again?" one of the smaller female vampires questioned, making sure to keep her tone deferred and respectful.

The larger vampire continued to admire the crystal in his hand with unabashed adoration. "You are here to watch me destroy her. You are the audience to my appointment with destiny. For years I needed the proper tool to orchestrate her defeat and now I have it." Admiringly, the vampire rotated his hand, absorbing the crystal from all angles. "The Eye of Hagganon. With it, I have the strength of a hundred Dwy'ar demonkind. With it, I am immune to the downfalls of our kind. With it, I am unstoppable."

"The Slayer and the Witch are right across the street." A barely contained note of panic was evident in the second female vampire's voice. "Any minute, they could—"

With a wave, he severed any further discussion along those lines. "They could do nothing. With this, I can tear them in half as easily as raising my hand. A flick of my finger could knock their heads from the shoulders, and the mere roar from my throat would rend their flesh and grind their bones to dust. I will do all this to them and more. And you will watch me. You will be the first to bear witness to the power of the new way."

Swallowing hard, the smaller male ventured, "Others have said—"

"I am not others," interrupted the larger. "I traveled this entire world, sacrificed years of my unlife and endured the many trials. I am the one who will be a decider of the Apocalypse, a true force of darkness."

One of the females shook her head in wonder. "Wow, you really want that set of sacrificial daggers."

Save for a slight twitching look of acknowledgement at the truth of the statement, the larger vampire ignored her. "It is time. The moment of triumph, when I, with my own hands—"

A sudden harsh, inhuman squealing pierced through the tranquility of the street. It surprised all the vampires, particularly the leader, who was flustered for a moment that his posturing had been interrupted. Startled, he jumped involuntarily, and the open palm upon which the Eye rested jerked back. Newton's law asserted itself immediately, and the crystal dropped to the ground, rolling immediately into the bright sunlight.

The moment the orb left his possession, everything about the vampire leader changed. Whereas before he was a stately figure, proud and sure, he instantly became a simpering mass. "Nononono, wait! Come back! Pretty please!" he begged, scrabbling at the empty space where the artifact had been but unable to move further than the line of shadows.

Heedless to his pleas, the Eye rolled happily from the grass to the sidewalk and with a cheerful ‘tink!' into the road where its momentum continued.

The source of the squealing soon became all too apparent, when a car—a sensible family sedan—tore around the corner at a speed that should never be reached in a sensible family sedan. The vehicle sped down the road, paying little care to anyone or anything that might be in its path. Had the vampire been paying particular attention, he would have doubtless recognized Dawn Summers behind the wheel, a gleeful expression of utter delight on her face, making it an even more striking contrast to the harrowing look of barely contained terror worn by her passenger, Rupert Giles.

Time seemed to slow as the car came within distance of the rolling jewel. The wheel of the car connected with the orb. Tiny, imperceptible shards drifted into the air, the sunlight glinting off of each and every splinter. They were soon joined by more and more as a fine red mist scattered into the wind and dissipated on the cool winter breeze. Without so much as a bump, the tire pulverized the Eye into sparkling dust, then sped off down the street and out of sight.

Stunned, the vampire slumped to his knees in the shadows, staring at the powder coating the small section of road where the artifact had once been. His fingers twitched in the air impotently, as though he were attempting by hope and will alone to force the remains whole again. "Noooo, my orb..." he choked, his voice thick and warbling.

"Dude," the smaller male vampire said with a disbelieving chuckle, "sucks to be you."

The second female vampire turned to the first, a contemplative expression on her features. "You ever notice how you get these things that are mega super-powerful, make you invincible, yadda yadda, but they themselves are made out of, like, the most fragile substance in the world so that they break if you breathe on them the wrong way?"

The other mulled over her words. "Huh. Irony."

Glancing at each other, the vampire trio shrugged and disappeared back into the shadows, leaving the largest of them crying like a little baby.

The thick clouds overhead obscured any possible light from filtering down from the heavens. The night was deep and foreboding, the hour late. Dark magicks charged the air. Only the pale glow cast by the seemingly random placement of a half-dozen candles illuminated the area, but the demon didn't seem to mind. It was impossible to tell exactly where he was located, save on some sort of residential street that, given the hour of the night, was deserted.

Tall and lanky, he was clad in an ornate and expensive-looking robe. On the ground, he had drawn a circle, edged with complex runic lettering and other symbols. Nearby, incense burned, and only barely revealed by the candlelight was a small but prominent pool of fresh blood. The demon ignored all of this, focused instead on the open book in one hand while the other traced arcane gestures in the air over the circle. He chanted, his voice crisp but partially mumbled, as though he were uncomfortable speaking aloud.

"From the upper reaches down to you I call
The circle drawn, the nine symbols await
My will alone for you to obey is all
To, uh— To seal the loathsome and reviled's fate."

The demon winced just slightly as he stumbled over the final line of the incantation, but that was soon forgotten as the ground beneath his feet began to shake. The symbols tracing the edges of the magic circle flared out with lights of green, red and blue, then subsided. A strange sort of tear appeared over the circle, a warp in the fabric of space itself. The anomaly folded inward, then bounced back into place, seeming to spit something out.

Indeed, a creature had appeared in the circle, utterly dwarfing it and everything else within sight by its huge girth. In proportions, stance and appearance, it looked to be an overgrown demonic gorilla. Muscles rippled from every inch of its body. Each breath condensed in the cold air, giving the appearance that it could spew fire at any moment. "Grrragh. Grrrrrarargh," it rumbled, a noise felt as much as heard. It affixed its beady eyes on the mage, watching his every move.

"That's right," the mage agreed, "I have called you forth. I demand of you only a simple task—to kill those residing in that house."

Extending one long, bony finger, the mage pointed to the Scoobies' home, some distance away but unmistakable with its glaring, multi-colored, contentedly twinkling eyesore.

The creature's gaze traveled to the house and then back to the mage. It seemed amenable to these instructions, growling again but not antagonistically.

"And once that's done," giggled the mage to himself, gleefully rubbing his hands together, "those prizes are good as mine. Clock radio, here I come."

"Grrarargh," commented the creature. "Grra—errgh?" It blinked, tilting its head to one side. "Clock radio?" it queried in a stilted voice.

The mage waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about that. Just go forth and destroy, my minion."

Straightening, the creature pulled itself erect, now nearly twice the height of the mage. Its hulking arms still hung at its sides, the knuckles turned inward, giving it a simple-minded appearance. But when it next spoke the tone was refined, displaying no lingering traces of being either guttural or unfamiliar with the English language. "Now, hold on there. We need to discuss this clock radio issue a bit further."

Stunned beyond words, the mage gaped up at the demon, his jaw hanging open for several long moments as he vaguely pointed at the object of his disbelief. The creature simply started back, waiting for some further discussion on the matter. Finally, the mage found his voice.

"You... You can talk?"

"Well, yes, obviously." In the darkness, there was no way to tell if it rolled its eyes, but such action was certainly implied.

"But, what happened to—?" Unable to articulate, the mage hunched over, grunting as he mimicked a gorilla's posture and movements.

The creature brushed the actions aside. "Oh, that. That's just my cover. I put it on when I get summoned." Becoming more serious, it frowned down at the still stunned mage. "Now, then, you did summon me, true. But since it seems like I'm going to be the one doing all the killing here, I think I should reap the spoils."

Slowly the surprise at his brainless minion having brains became replaced with pique. The mage shook his head resolutely. "I don't think so. I summoned you, you go kill like I say, and I'll take the rewards, thank you."

"Uhh, no. Try again."

"Hey, you have to do my bidding!" Whining was definitely on the horizon. "I made the sacrifice! I burned the incense!"

"Oh, yeah, you really went all out there," responded the creature snidely. "A rat and some dime-store incense?" Tasting the air, it sneered its utter contempt. "Is that strawberry? And your recitation of the summons—I've eaten third graders with better oratory skills." It was an effort, but the creature crossed its arms in front of its huge barrel chest and sniffed haughtily. "You know, I almost didn't even bother showing up."

The mage's mouth opened and closed of its own accord. "I—Hu—Are you mocking me? How dare you?!"

"Come on. You summoned me with a rodent and fruity incense, you stumbled over the incantation, and your nine summoning circle symbols?" The creature waved his paw at the circle he was standing in. "You only have seven. Honestly, what kind of control over me were you expecting here?"

Flexing his arms, the mage tossed the book he was still holding to the side and began rolling up the sleeves of his robe. His arms were thin, toothpick-like, and entirely pathetic. "I think you're about to find, beast, that I don't need incense or a circle to control you."

Accepting the challenge, the creature hunched over into its initial posture and bared its fangs. "Killing you may not bring me rewards... But sometimes killing is a reward unto itself."

The two forces clashed together in a fierce battle, their howls and screams echoing throughout the quiet neighborhood. In her upstairs bedroom, Dawn rolled over in her bed, paying little attention to the muffled sounds that roused her. With a contended sigh, she snuggled further underneath the covers.

Another night found a pair of demons, possibly twins, crouched behind the bushes lining a well-kept yard and carefully monitoring the Scoobies' house nearby. Each demon was bald and clad in standard military fatigues. The only characteristic distinguishing one from the other was a tattoo, clearly visible on the backs of their heads. The first, his tattoo a detailed depiction of a howling, fanged, canine-like skull, was peering through a pair of binoculars that was trained on the targeted house.

"Harris," ‘Skull' reported.

"Check," responded the second, his tattoo was very simple by contrast – a red heart wrapped in a banner reading "Mom".

Skull swept his binoculars to the right, focusing on another window. He watched intently for several seconds before stating, "Rosenberg."

"Check," ‘Mom' confirmed.

"Who are we missing?" questioned Skull, still searching.

"The girl. Dawn Summers."

"Wasn't there another?"

"The Slayer, Kennedy. Our intel says she doesn't live there anymore."

Shrugging, Skull moved to another window. "Oh well, can't have everything." Another moment passed then he announced, "Got the girl."

Mom allowed a brief smile to touch his lips before dropping back to clean professionalism. "That's all of the targets. Commencing with ‘Operation: Clean Sweep'." He reached into the camouflaged duffel bag at his feet and pulled out a small control. Flipping a series of safety switches, the demon concluded by punching the large red button in the center of the device with obvious relish.

Skull replaced the binoculars in bag and turned to his companion. "How long?"

"Timer's set for one minute. Safety precaution."

"We're far enough away," Skull complained with a frown.

"Protocol is protocol," countered Mom without apology.

Shrugging again, Skull let the matter drop. "Ah, well, won't be enough of the place left to make a book of matches. That's worth a minute's waiting."

"Forty seconds."

Anticipation building, the two demons watched the house intently.

"Where did you put it?" Mom asked, breaking the moment.

"Basement," replied Skull, his eyes still riveted to the target. "Next to some boxes. Did it this afternoon when they were all out."

Looking up from his watch, Mom announced, "Twenty-five seconds. Prep for explosion."

Reaching into the bag, Skull produced two pairs of protective goggles and handed one to his partner. They both hurriedly donned the eyewear and crouched down, bracing themselves against the coming force.

"Ten seconds... Five seconds... Four... Three... Two... One... Impact."

A bright flash of light exploded from inside the house and the two demons stiffened, waiting expectantly for the shockwaves, but none came. After several seconds, they peered over the edge of the bushes. The house was totally dark, not even Rudolph's nose so bright was shining. But that detail aside, it was perfectly intact.

The demons glanced at each other curiously, even as the voices from inside the house drifted within earshot.

"Heh, sorry, guys," apologized Willow sheepishly. "Looks like I, uh... I-I guess I kinda blew all the electronics in the house. New spell and all." She chuckled uncomfortably. "It wasn't really supposed to do that."

"Wait, can TiVo record, even with no power?" a nervous Xander questioned.

"Nope," Buffy replied matter-of-factly. "Sorry Xand."

"I'm sure we'll get it all up and running again in no time," Willow reassured. "A-A few hours, two days, max."

"I'm gonna miss ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'?! Noooooooooooooo!"

Xander's anguish reverberated outside, but the two demons were too busy trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

"Dud?" Mom suggested. "Bad fuse?"

Skull shook his head firmly. "No way. We had everything double-wired and cross-checked. All six wire systems and three fuses would have had to fail."

"I know, but something went wrong."

The two were so engrossed in their conversation, they both failed to notice as Kennedy, sleek, silent and deadly, approached them from behind. She walked slowly, stepping so carefully as to not cause even the slightest sound, not even the crunching of snow beneath her boot. With a gesture, Kennedy summoned to her side a half dozen Junior Slayers, all mimicking her motions and equally as stealthy. The scene bore more than a passing resemblance to a cheetah presenting prey to her cubs for practice.

Unaware of the looming danger, Mom pulled off his goggles and tossed them into the bag. "We need to investigate."

In complete agreement, Skull nodded. "Covert Op procedure three. Reconnaissance mission."

"Get in. Find the cause. Get out."

Behind them, Kennedy stepped back to allow the Juniors their opportunity. She pointed out the assignments, then crossed her arms and smiled, settling in to enjoy the show.

Rising to their feet, the demons turned, getting their first glimpse of the six eager Slayers bearing down.

"Oh, crap," stated Skull.

Mom gulped. "Affirmative that, soldier."

While Slayer Central itself was brightly lit, the grounds surrounding the large building, save by the front entrance, were primarily shrouded in darkness. A silhouette stood silent vigil in the trees surrounding the building, keeping watch on a busy patch of hallway inside as Slayers and Watchers went about their business.

The moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting a silvery light upon the figure. The eyes were the most striking feature, a piercingly deep blue. The figure was human—a young female specifically, perhaps 17 or 18 years old. Lean and fit, she was dressed conservatively in a long-sleeved black shirt with no other adornments and functional black jeans. Her dark brown hair had been cropped short in a style that was entirely unflattering but undeniably efficient. Uncaring that the moon might possibly reveal her presence, had anyone inside looked out, she held her ground, arms crossed and face impassive as she observed.

Silently, a second figure crept out of the shadows and toward the girl. It was larger—at least twice her size in terms of height and sheer mass—and most definitely not human. It stalked closer and audibly sniffed the air. The girl remained motionless and unconcerned, displaying no outward appearance that she had heard anything.

The demon cocked its head to one side and sniffed again. "Slayer," it rasped, and closed the remaining distance between them in two long strides. Lashing out, the demon went to seize her shoulder in its three-fingered grasp, claws gleaming in the moonlight. But as fast as it moved, the girl was faster, and in a move quicker than the eye could follow, she whirled around and grabbed the creature's wrist in mid-strike. The demon tried to jerk its hand away with an irritated growl, but its eyes widened when it discovered it could not pull its arm back, not even the tiniest fraction of an inch.

"Slayer?" the girl repeated. The word resonated and seemed to be comprised of multiple voices, all speaking in perfect synchronicity. Her expression betrayed nothing, no hint of effort visible as she tightened her grip and the sound of snapping bones filled the air.

The demon grunted in pain and lashed out with its other arm, catching the girl in the chest with razor-sharp talons that should have cut her to and through the bone. It was shocked when the girl not only didn't fall, but gave no indication that she was injured in the slightest.

With the barest flick of her wrist, the girl easily slung the towering demon over her shoulder, where it landed solidly on the ground, momentarily stunned. Slowly, as though she had all the time in the world, she circled the demon. She gazed down at it while it looked at her, fear beginning to take hold. Its eyes darted to the girl's chest, where there should have been nothing but an open, bloody wound. She did in fact have a row of shallow, minor cuts, but they were healing before the demon's very eyes. After a moment, the only lingering evidence of its attack was the tattered hole ripped in her shirt. The skin was once again whole, perfect and unmarred, save for the tattoo over her heart of an eye atop a key.

The girl regarded the demon with no emotion whatsoever. "We're nothing so common as a Slayer," she stated with her lyrical, inhuman voices. "We're so very much more."

The cacophony of early evening chaos in Slayer Central completely drowned the agonized scream of the demon just outside.