Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Part: 17
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In the end, the mobile Slayerettes were forced to haul Giles, Cordelia and Angel up using harnesses hastily fashioned out of the fire hoses. The constant jarring of his injured arm made the entire process excruciating for the reserved Watcher. Cordelia fared little better, not with the three broken ribs she had suffered from her earlier impact with the tunnel wall.
For Angel, however, it was another matter. At some point during their journey down the tunnel, the vampire mercifully slipped into unconsciousness. Even the trip up through the manhole was not enough to wake him.
Once topside, their most immediate concern was getting the hell away from the scene of the crime. Although the whole ordeal had scarcely lasted seventy minutes, time was still of the essence. By that point, the police had surely discovered that the bomb threat Xander placed with 911 was a hoax -- a simple distraction to keep the law from interfering while the Slayerettes dealt with the now-defunct Army of Legion.
“Oz?” Adam called softly. “Are you up to handling transportation?”
“On it,” Oz replied. “Xander, where is the key for the rental?”
“Huh? Oh...,” the teenager rasped. They had barely finished bringing Angel up from the tunnel before Xander collapsed to the ground next to his girlfriend. Now, he found himself struggling to remember a minute detail from what seemed like a hundred years ago. “Back...driver’s side...door...is open. Key...under mat.”
Oz acknowledged Xander’s words with a simple nod of his head, leaving Adam to watch as the werewolf left on his appointed task. Once he was out of sight, the Immortal turned to other, more critical issues.
The halting way Xander spoke left Adam frowning with concern. Truthfully, of all the noticable injuries, the teenager’s was the one that most worried him. Broken bones, scrapes, and bruises -- those were all problems the Immortal could handle, but smoke inhalation, well, that was a bit trickier. He would have to keep a close eye on the boy.
But first thing was first. If they wanted to get moving quickly, Giles’ shoulder needed to be attended. His first choice for an assistant was naturally Willow. The witch, however, had her mind on other things -- namely Angel. At the moment, she was sitting indian-style with the vampire’s head in her lap. She was whispering softly to Angel while gently running her fingers through his dark hair.
“Xander?” Adam spoke quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I need your help here,” the Immortal requested.
Rather than actually making the effort to stand, Xander rose to his knees and shuffled over the few feet necessary to reach the librarian’s side. There was something surreal about the way the Watcher still maintained a white-knuckle grip on the large metal cross with his good hand. Wisely, neither Xander nor Adam made any comment about it, though.
“What are...we doing?” Xander questioned.
“We need to put his arm back in the socket,” the Immortal explained to the blanching teenager.
“I just want...to say...for the record: Euww!” Xander replied, with a noticable grimace.
“It will be easier on your throat if you don’t talk so much,” Adam suggested, using a gentle tone to soften the abruptness of his words.
The way the teenager gave in without an argument spoke volumes of just how serious his condition was. Nevertheless, they had work to do. Spreading his hands in a classic ‘what now’ position, Xander awaited further instructions. With the teenager ready to assist, Adam explained what was about to happen.
“Get on the other side and brace him. Giles, I don’t think I need to tell you...,” the Immortal warned the librarian.
“Just bloody get it over with,” the Watcher snapped, his face contorted with pain.
“All right. On three, then.” Adam and Xander took their places while Giles took a few deep, cleansing breaths to prepare himself. “One...two...and three!”
Very carefully, the Immortal rotated the Watcher’s arm, maneovering it until it slid back into its proper position. Despite Adam’s attempt to be gentle, Giles screamed out in utter agony. His eyes rolled up, but sadly, the librarian did not pass out completely. With the joint back in its socket, the pain decreased somewhat, but nevertheless, it continued to throb mercilessly.
Adam was looking around for something to use as a temporary sling when Oz drove up in the rental car. After a cursory glance at his friends, the werewolf took off again, this time to fetch the other pump truck. Their original plan called for leaving the water-filled truck behind, just in case. That way, if the hot-spots in the fire below flared up into something more serious, the firefighters would have a little something extra with which to work.
Adam was just mentally reviewing which person should ride in which vehicle when a horrified cry made all of the Slayerette’s heads turn to look.
The tormented sound had come from Willow. She was still in the same position she’d been in the last time Adam glanced at her, but the tender expression of concern that had graced her face only moments ago had vanished. In its place was a ghastly look of sheer dread.
With an aching slowness, Willow raised the hand she was using to lovingly stroke Angel’s face. The young witch’s expressive emerald eyes were pointedly focused on only one thing -- the palm of her own hand.
Suddenly, without so much as a word, Willow drew her fingers together, rubbing her thumb over the tips of the other four digets as if testing something. Whatever it was, it caused all of the colour to rapidly drain away from the redhead’s face.
“Giles!” Willow cried out in panic.
Like the other Slayerettes and their Immortal allies, the Watcher found himself squinting in attempt to see what exactly it was that left Willow so obviously disturbed. The witch must have felt their eyes on her, for she spread her fingers wide apart, turning her wrist to expose the inside of her hand to her friends.
Willow’s palm was obviously covered with something. Judging by the white-ish/grey flakes, not to mention the black smudges on the tips of her fingers, Adam’s first thought was that Willow must have brushed up against some ashen residue of the underground fire.
That, however, he realized was unlikely. Like all of them, Willow had removed her mask, hat and gloves once she made it back out of the tunnels. Where then, he wondered, had the redheaded teenager brushed up against any ashes? What exactly had she touched?
That was when realization struck – not only the Immortal but the Watcher as well. The gazes of both men automatically dropped directly to the vampire cradled in the witch’s lap. The figure there was almost unrecognizable as their friend and ally.
It seemed that Eleni’s mistreatment of Angel was not over yet. Without a heartbeat to push it through his veins, the vampire’s blood was slowly leaking away. Like water draining out of a sponge, the loss of the fluid that sustained him left Angel a shell of the figure he had been only the day before.
Normally pale, the vampire’s pallor had gone an unnerving shade of grey. Angel appeared emaciated, his skin drawn tautly against the underlying bone. Most unsettling of all was the way that the way the top layer of the vampire’s skin was visibly flaking away. In some respect, it was similar to a human’s skin peeling off after a bad sunburn, only much, *much* worse.
“Dear God in Heaven,” Giles gasped. His hushed, horrified tone was enough to trigger a panicked response from Willow.
“Angel? Angel? Please wake up,” the teenager begged. The sound of the heavy truck pulling up drowned out the rest of Willow’s words, but the pleading expression on her suddenly tear-streaked face said it all. By the time Oz cut the engine, the redhead was beyond speaking. Her head was bowed forward, her hands hovering over Angel’s face for fear of damaging his skin even further.
“What’s going on?” the werewolf questioned as he stepped down from the open driver’s side door. One look at the stricken expressions on his friends’ faces was enough to stay any further inquiries.
“I’ve heard – or rather read – about this before,” Giles offered in a reverent whisper. “He’s bleeding out…slowly.” What the Watcher did not need to add was that Angel’s condition was ‘killing’ him. Unlike a quick stake through the heart, though, the vampire’s impending disintegration into ash was happening gradually.
“What can we…is there anything we can do?” Oz asked.
“Short of replacing the blood he’s lost?” Giles asked rhetorically before shaking his head. “No, nothing comes to mind.”
“So, let’s just get some blood and feed him,” Cordelia suggested with her usual measure of common sense.
“It’s not that simple,” the librarian insisted. “Angel is deteriorating too rapidly to reach either his apartment or the butchers. That means that the only blood source close enough to help him is, unfortunately… well…*us*.”
Apparently, some part of Willow was still there – still listening to the conversation around her. Even before Giles finished speaking, the young witch was reaching up to undo the fastenings on her collar. Her actions did not go unnoticed, though.
“Willow! N…aarrgghh!” Giles grimaced after an abortive attempt to stop her. Cradling his injured shoulder with his good arm, the Watcher accepted the fact that there was nothing he could physically do to prevent what the witch was planning. Instead, he did the only thing he could, use his words to persuade her. “You mustn’t! If you allow him to feed from you, he’ll most likely kill you!”
“No,” Willow emphatically denied. “Angel wouldn’t hurt me.”
“That could be,” Giles placated, managing to keep his doubts of the teenager’s belief to himself. Recent memories of Angelus’ unexpected -- and tragic -- return lurked too close to the surface of the librarian’s thoughts. “Even if that were true, the threat to you wouldn’t come from Angel, but rather the *demon* that resides within him.”
“But Angel’s got the demon under control…,” the witch interrupted.
“In some circumstances, yes,” the Watcher conceded. “But the demon’s very existence is at stake, and Angel may very well be too weak…”
“He won’t hurt me,” Willow stated flatly, her absolute faith in her friend shining brightly in her emerald eyes. By that point she had managed to undo the top buttons of her coat.
“Why take the chance?”
The unexpected sound of Adam’s rich voice startled all of Slayerettes. Like Willow, the Immortal had been surreptitiously unbuttoning his jacket. Shifting to his knees, Adam shrugged his coat off of his shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground. Reaching for the sword that sat abandoned at his side, the Immortal grabbed it by the hilt before standing up completely.
“Wha…what are you doing?” Willow asked, her emotions overriding her normally powerful intellect.
“With luck?” Adam countered as he closed the distance between himself and the prone vampire. “Saving him.”
That said, the Immortal skillfully brought up his sword. With great precision, he lined up the tip of the blade with the very bottom-most edge of his right palm. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Adam pressed down on the hilt, forcing the razor-sharp edge to cut deeply into the tender skin of his inner-wrist.
“Damn it!” the Immortal hissed at his self-inflicted pain. Within seconds, blood was freely spurting from the tangled web of severed veins that rested under the surface of the broken skin. Without removing his eyes from his newly opened wound, Adam barked an order to Willow. “Get his mouth open.”
The redhead jumped at the Immortal’s snappish command. She hurried to comply with Adam’s demand, her hands only momentarily faltering when she remembered the condition of the vampire’s skin. After a split-second of indecision, Willow chose what she believed to be the lesser of two evils. Once she pried Angel’s jaw apart, the witch saw the Immortal fall to his knees, this time holding his dripping arm directly over Angel’s open mouth.
All of the Slayerettes watched the scene unfold before them in rapt fascination. It was reminiscent of a car crash -- they didn’t necessarily want to look, but nevertheless, they felt compelled to do so. Even Oz, who normally took the horrific events around him with casual aplomb, looked shaken by the Immortal’s suicidal action.
It was grusome, really. There was so much blood on Angel’s face, they had a difficult time believing that any of the life-saving substance was actually making it *into* the vampire’s mouth. The assumption was only bolstered by the fact that Angel was still non-responsive, lost in the unconsciousness that had enveloped him since their escape from the underground.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Angel’s throat spontaneously contracted. It was as if a flood gate had broken. One sip of blood was enough to pull the demon residing inside their friend back from its hibernation. Although the mere presence of the Immortal kept the demon from emerging in Angel’s ‘game face’, there was no doubt that it was in control of the vampire’s body and growing stronger with each passing second.
The demon’s benefactor, however, was not faring nearly as well. Given his Immortal abilities, Adam had been forced to make the cuts extremely deep, lest his body heal itself before Angel could be pulled back from the edge of ‘death’. Even as the vampire was regaining some of his strength, the Immortal was losing his own.
With his blood draining away, Adam’s skin turned a ghostly shade of white. His skin quickly grew clammy, a tell-tale sign of shock from the massive trauma he had inflicted upon himself. In less than three minutes from the time he made the wound, Adam’s knees gave out completely.
To everyone’s surprise, Angel leaned forward to follow as Adam’s arm dropped away from the vampire’s waiting mouth. Using his rapidly returning supernatural strength, Angel reached out and brought the Immortal’s arm back to his lips.
Since he was denied the ability to slip into his game face -- and subsquently his long, fanged incisors -- the vampire was forced to simple suckle at the the opened wound. Never once did he notice the disgusted grimaces on his friends’ faces at the smacking sounds that were a by-product of his unorthodox method of feeding.
But feed he did, up until the point where the Immortal’s heartbeat slowed, and then finally stopped altogether.
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Once the blood ceased to flow through Adam’s veins, the vampire lost interest in the vessel that had been his salvation. He tossed away the arm in his hands like a human would an unwanted chicken bone after a large dinner.
“A...Angel?” Willow gasped, her eyes wide at the display she had just witnessed.
At the call of his name, the vampire cocked his head in the witch’s direction. He spent a long, tension-filled moment looking directly at Willow. Then, as if changing his mind, the dark head turned away with a deep growl.
Startled by the sound, the young witch’s eyes flew towards Giles. The Watcher shook his head slightly, signaling that while it may have been Angel’s body lethargically resting on the ground, the demon that resided within it was obviously in control.
“H..how is Dr. P..Pierson?” the Watcher queried, ignoring the need for reassurance he saw in Willow’s expression.
Fighting down her own panic, the teenager cautiously reached two fingers out in the direction of the Immortal’s neck. Willow took care not to rile the motionless vampire, especially not the way he was hovering over Adam’s body like a lion keeping watch over a recent kill.
Although Angel growled at her again, he reluctantly allowed her to proceed with her intention. Releasing a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, Willow’s hand completed its trek toward Adam’s neck. After a moment or two of feeling around for a pulse, Willow shook her head negatively.
“I...I thought he...couldn’t die,” Xander whispered roughly.
“It’s not a matter of dying so much as...,” Giles began.
“Look!” Oz interrupted whatever the Watcher had been about to say. All of their eyes, including the rich browns of the vampire, followed to the spot that the werewolf indicated with a pointed finger.
The place that Oz found so interesting was Adam’s sliced-opened wrist. For underneath the thin, glistening layer of blood, hundreds of tiny, electrified threads of blue were suddenly emerging. Like some kind of mystical thread, each strand twined and curled, regenerating skin and knitting together the edges of the wound. Within seconds the large gash that had ended the life of Adam Pierson had completely disappeared, leaving behind a whole and healthy layer of flesh. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for the thin layer of blood that remained from the earlier wound, it would have been impossible to tell that the area was even injured in the first place.
Each and every one of the assembled humans looked on in slack-jawed astonishment. After all, it was one thing to intellectually grasp the concept of immortality. Seeing it in action was something completely different. Unnerved and at a loss, the group sat somewhat anxiously waiting to see what was going to happen next.
Seconds or minutes -- none of the Slayerettes would ever be able to recall just how long they had been forced to wait. But not one of the Slayerettes had the slightest idea what they were, in fact, waiting *for*. It was not long, however, before their attention shifted, though, because it was at that point that Angel began moving again.
He did not go far, but after his long period of stillness, the way Angel lifted his head and began to peer from Slayerette to Slayerette was definitely unnerving. It left all of the mortals with the distinct impression that the vampire was looking for his next meal. His face contorted, not changing into his demon visage, but into that of a pain-filled wince as he internally struggled for control over his baser nature.
Then Angel’s line of sight shifted, drifting out into the dimly lit street beyond them. The vampire cocked his head, as if he were sensing something off in the distance. Before he could identify it, however, Angel’s hands flew to his head in a useless attempt to ward off the pain that suddenly hit him.
The source of the pain was soon to become abundantly clear to the rest of the Slayerettes.
It happened suddenly to say the least. One second, Adam Pierson was just another corpse -- dead from massive blood loss. In the span of a heartbeat, the Immortal’s eyes dramatically flew open. With a huge, gasping breath, Adam sat up, drawing much needed air into his empty, oxygen-starved lungs.
The rest of the group remained frozen in place, in shock over the miracle they had just witnessed. Their surprise stemmed not so much from seeing a body suddenly reanimate -- after all, they lived in Sunnydale, the vampire-haven of the West Coast. No, what was so unusual was watching a dead body actually come back to *life*.
“I hate that part,” Adam mumbled more to himself than to anyone else.
No matter how it appeared, reviving after a death was both physically and emotionally draining to even the most resilient of Immortals. It was always a struggle to put the pieces together -- to remember what the cause of death had been this time, and more importantly, to make sure that whatever had caused the last death was not still lying in wait.
It only took a single glance at the stunned faces before him for Adam to accomplish the former. Sadly, he never got the opportunity to attempt the latter.
Once the feral version of Angel got over the surprise of witnessing Adam coming back to life, instinct quickly took over. Reaching forward with a bone crushing grip, the vampire grabbed a hold of Adam’s head and chest from behind. Too weak and disoriented to react, Angel had Adam pinned to the ground within the blink of an eye. Roaring in satisfaction, the vampire sprang forward over his newly-acquired captive.
As if sensing the impending danger to the still-groggy Immortal, Willow shuffled forward on her knees. She had no idea why her friend was attacking Adam, especially after the Immortal so graciously allowed the vampire to feed from him. Whatever the reason, though, the young redhead hoped that she might be able to ‘get through’ to the Angel she knew and called her friend.
The vampire, however, was decidedly unreceptive to Willow’s attempted intrusion. Shifting his hold to keep the Immortal immobile, Angel freed one of his hands, swiftly raising it against his closest friend in the world. With all the precision of a striking cobra, he reached out and shoved Willow away from both himself and his prey.
Worried about his ex-girlfriend, Oz ran forward, determined to pull her away from possible danger. It was clear to the werewolf that, despite his recent feeding, Angel was clearly not yet himself. Oz’s suspicions were confirmed moments later when the vampire once again lashed out, not only shoving the teenager away from himself, but from Willow as well.
Staring menacingly at the pair sprawled on the ground, the vampire snarled not only at them, but at the rest of the Slayerettes as well. Somewhere deep within, the werewolf part of Oz recognized the warning in Angel’s growl -- one predator to another. Oz instinctively lowered his eyes, clearly trying *not* to antagonize the vampire by looking directly at him. Taking care not to make any sudden movements, the werewolf backed slowly away, pulling Willow along with him as he went.
For his part, Angel never took his eyes off the retreating pair, even as the Immortal beneath him continued to struggle. Adam’s fidgeting was useless, however. The vampire had him trapped like a fly caught in the center of a spider’s web. Sensing that fact, Angel finally leaned down and savagely attacked Adam’s long, exposed throat.
Like all Immortals, Adam’s neck was the most vulnerable place on his body. Sever the head and the Immortal would die. Even smaller wounds -- bruising, strangulation -- to the area were slower to heal than other places on the body. Damage to any other part of an Immortal’s body would completely heal, leaving the area as pristine as before it was injured. But when it came to the neck of an Immortal, it was a different story. Cuts to the area often left behind deep scars that never completely regenerated.
Perhaps it was this deep-seated knowledge that caused Adam’s initial confusion to be instantaneously replaced by hundreds of years of survival instinct. Faced with the possibility of a death that he would not be able to revive from, the Immortal tried to defend himself from the vampire’s assault with all his might.
It was intense, to say the least, and yet after Willow’s and Oz’s attempts, none of the humans dared to enter the fray. Angel was growling fiercely, using his superior strength and leverage to keep Adam immobile. At the same time, the Immortal was struggling as best he could to free himself from the vampire’s clutches.
To make matters worse, Angel’s inability to switch to his game face was drawing out the fight. Without his fangs to quickly -- and neatly -- pierce the tender skin of Adam’s throat, the vampire was left with no choice but to use his flat front teeth to gnaw, slowly biting through the uncooperative flesh. The results were not only grotesque, but frustratingly painful for both men.
The sounds of two distinctly different screams echoed through the stillness of the night as Angel’s teeth finally bit into Adam’s jugular vein. For the vampire, it was a cry of elation as copious amounts of warm, luscious blood began flowing into his mouth. The Immortal, however, was howling in outrage at this unexpected violation of his person.
Both Adam’s screaming and flailing faltered as time and massive blood loss took their toll. If anything, death was coming faster this time -- probably because his body had not yet had the time to repair itself completely from the last attack upon it.
If the Slayerettes had been disgusted by the feeding they watched only minutes earlier, the second one left them filled with abject horror. Giles had long since turned away, left praying that Jenny’s death at Angelus’s hand had been nothing like this prolonged nightmare. Cordelia and Xander chose ignorance over knowledge, holding desperately on to each other with their eyes tightly shut.
That left Willow and Oz braving it out to watch the atrocity taking place before them. Eventually, even the werewolf’s eyes wandered away, staring intently off in the direction of the nearby water truck. Finally, Willow was the only one left to bear witness to what transpired next.
It began as a throaty moan, recapturing all of the Slayerettes attention as it increased and intensified. Without any warning whatsoever, the vampire brutally shoved the Immortal’s unresponsive body away, staring at it in horrified disbelief.
“No...No...NO!” Angel protested, refusing to accept what he had just done.
No matter what he wanted to believe, he could not deny the truth when the proof of his actions was lying on the ground in front of him. Leaning over to clutch the dying Immortal in his arms, Angel’s vampiric hearing picked up the weakening sounds of Adam’s heartbeat. Rocking the slender form back and forth, Angel heard the erratic sound gradually slow, and then completely stop.
Had he been thinking clearly, Angel might have recalled that Adam was an Immortal. But he had been through too much that night and, despite the new blood occupying his veins, Angel was still too far gone to recognize the reality of the situation. All he knew was that, once again, he had ended the life of another individual, and it was simply too much for the vampire to bear. Throwing back his head, Angel howled his despair and outrage into the night.
Of all the spectators, Willow was the only one brave enough to try and approach the distraught vampire. Rising to her knees, the redhead attempted to shuffle closer to her friend, trying admirably not to startle him while he was so obviously distressed. Whispering his name softly, the young witch reached out a hand in the direction of his shoulder.
Her attempt, however, was foiled when the vampire all but collapsed sideways, dragging Adam’s now-dead corpse with him. Angel’s eyes were damp with what they all assumed to be guilt-driven tears. Calling out his name again, Willow was surprised when the vampire’s hands flew up and began pressing tightly against his temples.
“Angel, it’s okay,” she tried to reassure him. She heard distance footsteps striking the pavement in the background somewhere behind her, but she did not bother to turn around, assuming the cause was one of the other members of the Scooby gang coming over to help her. Focusing all of her attention on Angel, Willow continued to try and reach the distraught vampire with her hushed words. “You didn’t do anything permanent. Dr. Pierson... Adam...he’ll come back. Just give him a few minutes.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Jolting at the unexpected sound of a new voice, Willow turned around and found herself ten feet away from a sword-wielding stranger.
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As if of one mind, all of the Slayerettes turned in the direction of the intruding voice. They were all more than a little taken by surprise at what they found.
If they had to guess, most of them would have said the man standing there was in his early thirties. Somehow, his dapper manner of dress -- Brooks Brothers, Cordelia noted with an approving eye -- seemed to reflect the upper-class British accent with which he spoke. He seemed normal enough, except for the pair of what looked like Adam’s high-powered binoculars hanging around his neck. Well, that and the fact that he was holding a rather well-polished sword in his right hand.
Which also meant that he was probably an Immortal.
Coming to the conclusion at the same time, both Willow and Giles stole quick glances at Angel. The Watcher mumbled something that sounded like ‘of course’ under his breath as he noted the vampire’s state of discomfort.
At first, Giles had assumed that the vampire’s renewed state of agitation was caused by his guilt over feeding off Adam the second time without the Immortal’s consent. Only now did the Watcher realize his mistake.
And if Angel’s reaction was not enough proof, then the sword the stranger was still holding at the ready was definitely the giveaway.
“Who...are you?” Xander rasped, breaking the silence that had settled over the group.
“None of your concern, lad,” the stranger replied in a clipped tone. A look of curiosity crossed the Immortal’s face as he continued. “I have to admit that I’m left wondering what all this,” he used his free hand to gesture from the trucks to the open manhole, “is about. But then again, it’s not really my business, now is it? I’m just here for *that* one,” he nodded in Adam’s direction, spitting his last words with great distaste.
“That man just helped to save thousands of lives tonight,” Giles defended, pulling the new Immortal’s attention away from the pair on the ground.
“I don’t care,” the Immortal sniffed airily.
“Now see here...” the Watcher began. Before he could continue to protest, however, he was interrupted by a shaky voice.
“The...only way...you’re going to get to him,” Angel said as he struggled to his knees, “is by coming through me.”
By speaking aloud, Angel drew the attention of the new Immortal, thus providing the direct eye contact he needed. Once their gazes met -- both filled with an intense wariness -- it relieved the discomfort that plagued the vampire. Instantly feeling stronger, Angel reached for the broadsword that lay abandoned at Adam’s side.
The Immortal, however, seemed to take Angel’s threat in stride, simply rolling his eyes as if it were to be expected. Even the additional menace of Willow and Oz taking a step closer to the unmoving man on the ground did not deter the newcomer from the challenge he had just issued. He was a man on a mission, and that mission was to take the head of the Immortal known as Adam Pierson.
“So you know what he is. I thought as much after what I saw. I don’t want to fight you,” the man stated calmly, although he grimaced a bit at the sight of Angel.
The Immortal’s reaction was not so surprising, given that the vampire’s face was still covered in blood from his earlier, excessively messy feeding. Even without the ability to morph into his vampire visage, Angel’s current appearance still left him looking like some creature straight out of Hell. Having noted the Immortal’s reaction, Angel decided to use the man’s discomfort to his advantage.
“And I don’t really want to fight you...” the vampire trailed off, but then quickly continued as if he had just suddenly changed his mind. “No, I take that back. That one didn’t put up much of a fight. You might be more challenging.”
“You’re not even one of us!” the Immortal gasped. But Angel was already bringing his borrowed sword into an offensive position.
“Maybe that should tell you something,” the vampire warned. “After all, he’s dead -- well, for the moment, anyway,” Angel smirked in Adam’s direction, “and I’m still standing.”
“Fine,” the Immortal countered. “If I have to go through you to get to him, so be it!”
With that, the newcomer began the first volley. The sounds of metal clanging against metal rang loudly through the air as the pair parried and countered each other’s moves. They were testing each other, getting a feel for what level of skill they were up against.
Sadly, between the two, it was Angel who came up short.
It was a fact the vampire had known even before he challenged the stranger. Angel’s knowledge of swordplay was severely limited, especially when compared to that of Immortals, who lived and died by their swords. Immortals fought with heavy blades, utilizing the dozens -- sometimes hundreds -- of different techniques that they practiced constantly. It was a far cry from the brief ‘what a wealthy, Irish, second son should know about dueling’ lessons Angel had received as a lad.
He had been able to hold his own against Buffy all those months ago, but then again, her skills were on par with his own. Somehow Angel doubted she would fair any better in this fight than he was.
And he was losing badly.
Even if he had started the fight in full health, odds were that Angel’s vampiric speed, strength and endurance would have simply prolonged the fight. As it was, Angel was being pushed back, happily giving up ground as long as he drew the newcomer away from Adam’s still-unanimated body. After all, buying Pierson the time to recover was the vampire’s goal in this fight, even at the cost of Angel’s own existence.
A life for a life -- the ultimate atonement.
It was difficult to say which of the combatants was more surprised when an arrowhead suddenly emerged from the front of the newcomer’s coat. The Immortal instantly fumbled his weapon, scurrying backwards out of reach from Angel's sword. Hissing in pain, the man peered down to find a crossbow bolt deeply lodged in his right shoulder.
Stunned, Angel glanced over and saw the crossbow-wielding Oz standing at Giles’ side. While the teen may have been the one to fire the bolt, it was apparent that the command to do so came directly from the Watcher. Their gazes remained impassive as they faced down the furious Immortal.
“You have no right to interfere!” the stranger growled. His protest was immediately followed by a hiss of pain as he grasped the pointed end of the arrow, pulling the bolt the rest of the way through his shoulder.
“We have every right,” Giles snapped. “Or have you forgotten that he isn’t one of your kind? Your one-against-one rule doesn’t apply here.”
“Well,” the Immortal countered, his tone changing to one of smugness. “It would appear that it will soon be a moot point.”
And it would. For on the ground nearby, Adam Pierson was beginning to stir.
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As the saying goes, Adam’s awakening was ‘deja vu all over again’. A gasping breath, the body convulsing with a single, sudden spasm, the expression that spoke volumes of confusion -- all of those gathered had seen it before. It did not, however, prevent the tension in the air from rising another notch...or ten.
Adam sensed the presence of another nearby Immortal from his first moment of consciousness. Acting purely on instinct, his frightened hazel eyes flew about wildly as they tried to determine the source of the ‘buzz’ echoing in his head. The sight of the Slayerettes brought back the memories of where he was and what he was doing there, but it was not until his eyes met Angel’s tortured browns that he recalled just *how* he had died. But there would be time for recriminations and remorsefulness later.
Or so he hoped.
First, however, there was a new problem that needed addressing.
“Well, well, well,” Adam drawled. “Look what the Hellmouth dragged in.”
“Pierson.” The other Immortal all but spat out the name while keeping a wary eye on Angel. But, like the other Slayerettes, the vampire was motionless, waiting to see how the scene played out before interfering any further.
“Steven Keane,” Adam acknowledged, finally putting a name to the stranger.
“We have a debt to settle, you and I,” Keane announced.
“A debt?” Adam queried in confusion. “Perhaps I’m missing something here, but it appears that your head is still attached. As long as you’ve settled your differences with the Highlander, I have no quarrel with you.”
“It’s a pity, because honor will be satisfied here tonight.” Despite the confused look from the Immortal on the ground, Keane took a menacing step in Adam’s direction.
His advance, however, was halted by the sudden appearance of a blade at his throat. The Immortal looked down and then up to find Angel glowering at him. Although the vampire was tense, it was not his intention to fight again. He was only giving Adam time to collect himself before the situation progressed any further. Keane glared at Angel but nevertheless stayed where he was.
Grateful for the brief respite, Adam used the time to focus his chaotic thoughts. It was a task done in two quick yet calming breaths. Once that was done, he used his mastery of manipulation to consider what his options were in the present situation.
Steven Keane. He was fairly young by Immortal standards -- maybe only a few years older than Angel. Keane was tenacious - Adam would grant him that - especially when the younger Immortal believed his cause was a just one. And from Adam’s perspective, the kid must have had a lot of causes since he possessed a code of honor that would put a Star Trek Klingon to shame.
Or a Highland-born Immortal.
Adam had only crossed paths with Keane once over the years, and that time had been a mere six months earlier. Keane had come to Paris, looking to settle a two-hundred-and-fifty year-old score with Duncan MacLeod. It was boy scout against boy scout, and it quickly spiraled out of control.
The problem came not from lack of skill with a sword, but rather from a lack of motivation. Put simply, MacLeod truly believed that he was guilty of the offenses with which Keane charged him. Believing that Duncan was not of the mindset to fight his best fight, the Immortal thief Amanda sought out Adam’s help. His solution had been radical, to say the least. After shooting MacLeod in the back, Adam took Keane’s challenge in the Highlander’s place.
Granted, Adam did end up leaving Keane alive, but only after a newly wakened -- and terribly pissed off -- Duncan MacLeod threatened to take Pierson’s head himself if Adam took Keane’s. After that point, Adam stayed out of it. As far as he knew, Keane and MacLeod had settled their differences through trial by combat. The Highlander won, obviously. In atonement for his supposed sins, Duncan allowed Keane to keep his head. End of story.
Except, Keane was now in Sunnydale issuing a challenge to Adam. Had he missed something, the Immortal wondered? It was a question he couldn’t resist asking, especially not if he was expected to fight because of it.
“Keane, whatever slight you’ve imagined...”
“Imagined?” he barked. “Tell me, did I *imagine* the blade that cut into me that morning at the Luxembourg Gardens? Did I *imagine* your underhanded tricks?”
‘*That!*’ Adam marveled. ‘That is what this is all about?’
Shortly after his fight with Keane at the Gardens began, Adam had slipped on the gravel underfoot. Just as the other Immortal was about to take his head, Adam pulled a short sword from his coat. Not expecting a second blade, Pierson was able to run Keane through before the other man was even aware of what was happening.
While the move may have been considered ‘dirty’ or ‘dishonorable’ to some -- MacLeod certainly thought so -- it had saved Adam’s head. And as far as the older Immortal was concerned, all was fair in life-or-death situations. That went doubly so when it was his own neck in the line.
Underhanded or not, it had not mattered in the end. After MacLeod’s intervention, Adam simply forgot about the entire matter. Keane, apparently, had not.
“Give him his sword,” Keane ordered Angel before turning back to face Adam. “And you...there will be no surprise blades tonight.”
Knowing that this was one challenge he could not walk away from, Adam hurried to strip off the encumbering fireman’s jacket. Although he would have preferred to lose the heavy pants as well, he did not have the time to cope with the maze of buckles that held them in place. Once free of the jacket, Adam raised his arms slightly and slowly turned around, showing Keane that he was free of any other obvious weapons.
When his opponent conceeded the fact with a single, precise nod of his head, Adam pivoted to face Angel. Awaiting the moment, Angel balanced its weight and carefully lofted the sword so that it would come down hilt first.
Which was exactly how Adam caught the heavy weapon. Using the tail of his black shirt, the Immortal wiped off the traces of Angel’s blood that smeared the grip. It was hardly the vampire’s fault that his previously injuried wrists were still oozing, but even such a minor detail could prove to be fatal in the fight Adam was about to undertake.
Once he was ready, the two Immortals closed the distance between them. The challenge was about to begin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They started off slowly, the two combatants giving each other a wide berth as they warily moved around one another. Keeping their swords raised and their knees slightly bent for increased speed and agility, the Immortals stared at one another with an intensity that was almost tangible. As the seconds ticked away, their circles began growing smaller as it grew time for the impending confrontation to begin.
It took Angel a minute to realize that, despite Adam’s apparent intent on Keane, Pierson had craftily managed to put some distance between the Immortals and the wounded Slayerettes littering the ground. In fact, it was so subtly accomplished, the vampire was left wondering whether or not Keane was even aware of it. Raising a brow in admiration of his reluctant ally, Angel moved off to watch the fight with the others.
Used to seeing the ‘Adam Pierson, College Professor,’ persona, the group from Sunnydale was taken aback by the noticeable change in the Immortal’s demeanor. Adam was tensely focused, his eyes and facial expression cold and calculating as he carefully watched his enemy, waiting to see what the best course of action would be.
“I did a bit of asking about you, you know,” Keane stated in a conversational tone, breaking the intense silence of the night. “MacLeod’s mysterious friend. It took me three months just to discover your name.”
“I suppose the fact that it’s unlisted didn’t give you a clue?” Adam countered, waiting to see if Keane would make the opening move of the fight.
“They say you’re new among us,” Keane continued, unfazed by the interruption, “another of MacLeod’s students.”
“Oh?” Adam replied, his voice adopting a tone of utter disinterest. Internally, however, he found the very notion being mistaken for one of MacLeod’s students quite humorous. Adam’s personal amusement came rapidly to end with Keane’s next words.
“I heard rumors about what happened to MacLeod’s last one,” the other Immortal shook his head in distaste. “Cutting down his own student...I should have taken his head when I had the chance.”
“Would that have been before or after the Highlander had you on your knees with his blade at your throat?” Adam goaded, either unwilling or unable to keep his anger in check for the moment.
“Struck a nerve, have I?” Keane replied lightly. “Funny that you should mention being on your knees. It seems that is where most of the people I talked to believe you prefer being...at least with MacLeod at any rate.”
“Oh come *on*, Keane. I’m disappointed. Surely you can do better than taking a pot-shot at my masculinity.”
“Fine,” Keane snarled, throwing back the very same words Adam had used to open their last confrontation, “it’s your call.”
With those words, the fight was on. Keane attacked swiftly, his movements a flurry of precise cuts and thrusts. For his part, Adam weathered the blows. Nevertheless, he was forced to retreat by their strength, parrying each thrust expertly, as though he could read the mind of his opponent and see what move was coming next.
‘So, he’s been practicing since last time,’ Adam noted clinically. The first blows had been strong, but were nothing he couldn’t handle. He defended and parried with ease, giving ground in retreat while using the time to gauge Keane’s current style and new level of skill.
At least until a lucky move on his opponent’s part cut deeply into Adam’s left arm.
Feeling the sting of the minor wound, something changed internally within the Immortal. Deciding it was time to actively engage in this fight, Adam waited for an opening between cuts. When the opportunity came, he shifted the weight of his broadsword to his other hand in order to throw a sharp punch to Keane’s face. Surprised by the unexpected jab, the other man was knocked off balance.
Adam moved in quickly, taking advantage of the situation to press forward his attack. A rapid succession of blows rained down upon his opponent, turning the tide of the battle as Keane was forced to retreat from their strength. It was not long before both adversaries were littered with scores of small cuts and the blood that flowed from them.
As the fight continued, the upper-hand continued to swing back and forth between the two Immortals. While Adam was the more skilled of the pair, he was obviously not quite at his best. His Immortal healing ability was still struggling to cope from the two painful deaths in quick succession.
On any other given day, it would not have been a problem. For if there was one thing this particular Immortal had learned over his many years, it was how to ignore pain -- both mental and physical. It was simply an issue of mind over body.
This, however, was not any given day.
Despite the romantic, ballet-like motions that most people usually associated with it, sword fighting was anything but. The heavy weapons were quick to sap away their wielder’s strength. Each blow was horrendously jarring. While most of the force was absorbed by the sword arm, the impact nevertheless reverberated achingly throughout each of the men’s bodies. The hard exertions left both Immortals struggling for breath and dripping in sweat.
Unfortunately, swordplay is as much, if not more, a mental battle as a physical one. And like it or not, Adam was weary. Weeks’ and months’ worth of worry over his missing friend had taken a hard toll on the long-lived Immortal. The long days he had just gone without sleep and the struggle in the fight with the Legion left the Immortal’s mind even more tired than his body.
Put together, all of those factors left Adam at a distinct disadvantage. It was a turn of events that Keane was exploiting to his fullest ability.
During a recess in the fighting, the younger man stood panting. Neither man attacked, mutually taking advantage of the slight break to catch their breaths and reformulate their respective strategies. Rather than standing completely still, though, they circled each other warily, keeping vigil against the inevitable resumption of their fight.
“Surely you must have already thought of the one thing that you *haven’t* asked me yet,” Keane finished.
Not surprisingly, Adam knew exactly to what his opponent was referring. The real question, the one Keane was so obviously awaiting, was not merely ‘how’ he had tracked down Adam, but rather the ‘whom’ he had used to do so. And most importantly of all, to the older Immortal at any rate, was the consideration that the ‘whom’ was still alive after giving Keane the location where Adam could be found.
“Who?” Adam demanded tersely, shifting his sword ever so slightly in anticipation of launching the first strike of the continuation.
“Who better than an old friend of yours?” Keane offered lightly with a reptilian-like smile. “After all, she was ever so helpful in aiding me to track down MacLeod.”
“Amanda,” Adam hissed softly. Yet, the way he spoke the Immortal thief’s name was completely emotionless, neither condemning nor worrisome.
“Oh, don’t think poorly of her,” Keane reassured. “She was reluctant to the last. Even her quickening was filled with sorrow over her betrayal of you.”
“You wouldn’t take her head,” Adam said with total confidence.
“Now why would you think that?” the other Immortal countered.
“I’ve told you before, I’m a student of human nature,” Adam reminded. “And it’s not in yours to take the heads of innocents.”
“Somehow ‘innocent’ isn’t the first description that comes to mind when referring to Amanda,” Keane replied, chuckling slightly.
Adam acknowledged the truth of his adversary’s words with a small cat-like smile before pressing on to deliver the facts of his argument.
“Nevertheless, you didn’t kill her, or myself for that matter, while you were after MacLeod.”
“That may have been true then, old man...”
Adam Pierson jerked sharply, not only at the surprising choice of words, but also at the sudden, menacing, other-worldly tone in Keane’s normal tenor. But the change in his opponent’s voice was quickly superceded as time and space began to shift in tableau around Adam. From out of nowhere, a heavy red haze poured seemingly out of the ground itself, covering both pavement and sidewalk like a thick English fog. While the sight may have distracted him for a fraction of a second, the older Immortal’s attention snapped back as the overlaid voice of Keane continued.
“...you must know that things have a way of changing when you least expect them.”
Despite the harrowing events that occurred during the fight against the Army of Legion, it wasn’t until that precise moment that Adam knew his first real taste of fear for the evening. Thoughts of Amanda...of Joe Dawson...of the Highlander himself freewheeled through the Immortal’s mind.
And yet, through it all, there was only one constant that rose to the surface like flotsam after a shipwreck. It was a single thought, a lone name that had been burned deeply into his consciousness over the past few months. Almost unbidden, it escaped Adam’s lips in hushed whisper.
“Ahriman.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Huddled together off to one side, the Slayerettes had been watching the battle progress with varying degrees of trepidation. With the exception of Giles and Angel, the rest of them barely had any knowledge about swordplay, but they desperately wanted to believe that the man who had just helped them defeat the Army of Legion was holding his own.
Together, the Slayerettes silently cheered whenever their ally pressed an attack. Just as each time Adam was cut by Keane’s blade, they found themselves involuntarily wincing in sympathy. Even in the shadowed dimness of the night, they easily saw the blood soaking into Pierson’s shirt, and they prayed for the wounds to heal faster.
More than anything else, though, their collective attention was held rapt by the beautiful poetry in motion of the deadly swordplay.
Perhaps that was why Angel was so surprised when, out of nowhere, an unexpected chill ran down his spine. A quick glance at his fellow Slayerettes left him certain that he was not the only one to experience the sensation, either. Before the vampire had time to speculate over the source of his discomfort, Adam Pierson kindly provided the answer to the vampire’s unspoken question in a simple, ghastly whisper.
Ahriman. The demon whom Adam had initially come to Sunnydale to research.
“Terrific,” Angel heard Xander groan. “Just what we need around here -- *another* demon playing tourist on the Hellmouth.”
With his guilt over his double-assault of Pierson still raging within him, Angel managed to ignore his own weariness -- forcing himself to be ready to fight. Out of the corner of his eye, the vampire noticed that the other mobile Slayerettes were all making similar preparations, ready to watch the back of the Immortal who, just a short time before, had fought so valiantly by their side.
“Is this what you did to MacLeod? These parlor tricks of yours?” Pierson asked with only the slightest edge in his voice.
Then the oddest thing happened. As far as Angel could tell, Keane was completely silent, and yet after a long moment, Pierson spoke again, as if answering some unheard reply to his previous question.
As the one-sided conversation continued, Angel found himself following Pierson’s line of sight, attempting to find the other participant of Adam’s dialogue. However, like his friends, the vampire could not seem to be able to find it. The only thing visible in the night were the two circling Immortals.
Where, then, was the demon, he wondered to himself?
Not sure where else to look, Angel once again focused on the two Immortal combatants. Only then did he notice that some dynamic of the picture had changed. Keane. Something was different about him -- not his face or body, but rather something about the other Immortal’s eyes...
...they were glowing red.
Just as Angel was placing the pieces together, a war-cry in a long-dead language split the air. Moving in a blur, Adam Pierson launched himself at the other Immortal.
‘Oh hell!’ Angel thought silently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From the first moment Ahriman manifested itself, Adam felt a sense of fear clench around his heart like a tightened fist. In the past, the demon had been limited to making seductive promises of power and glory in the confines of Adam’s dreams. Although Pierson had long suspected that Ahriman had been sending Immortal’s to do his physical dirty work, he hadn’t had proof -- until now.
A wave of sympathy for Duncan MacLeod swelled over the normally cynical Immortal. He remembered all too well the confusion -- the uncertainty and the unabashed terror that had marred the Highlander’s face for days after Ahriman first started manifesting itself to the Scotsman.
Just as it had done with MacLeod, Ahriman taunted Adam. Not only did it goad the Immortal with cruel words, but it also began casting illusions, replacing Keane’s features with the faces of those whom had fallen under Adam’s sword in the past. Friends, lovers, enemies -- all dead and gone -- and all by Adam’s hand.
Victim after victim literally morphed away before the Immortal’s eyes, each one reopening wounds Adam had long considered closed. Like waves against a beach, every long-dead face the demon presented eroded away another layer of the Immortal’s legendary pragmatism.
“...Silas...Byron...Kronos...Alexa...” the demon listed, its face transforming to match the names it spoke. “...and now Amanda. How many more will die because of you, old man?”
There was a brief flash of guilt in the mercurial hazel, one so swift it was almost overlooked. Almost. But the demon missed nothing. Hoping for a reaction, it continued.
“She fought to the last, trying so hard to protect you. Noble, but foolish -- and all too unexpected for a thief. It was a shame to ruin such beauty. But that is the nice thing about you Immortals. Just wait a few minutes and ‘voile la’,” Ahriman threw back one of Adam’s favourite expressions at him, “you can start again from the beginning. Her agony was exquisite, her screams something to savor.”
Forcing down a wave of anger, Adam somehow found the strength to keep his face totally impassive.
“This one will be next,” Ahriman taunted, morphing into the familiar, comforting face of the mortal Joe Dawson. “It shouldn’t be long now, not for one with such a weak heart. When they cut him open, it will look like his heart exploded within his chest. Sounds painful, does it not?”
“Bastard,” Pierson hissed, his eyes finally narrowing in anger.
“And what of Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod?” Ahriman sneered. This time, the demon chose to wear the face of the Immortal Cassandra; the woman who had sworn to one day avenge Adam’s crimes against her. “An Immortal Champion who turns tail and runs, leaving his ‘friends’ unprotected at the first sight of danger? Not much of a friend, is he? But then again, MacLeod stopped considering you his friend after Bordeaux, didn’t he? Tsk, tsk. If only you’d told him the truth from the beginning.”
“MacLeod is the Champion,” Adam insisted, trying and failing to ignore the demon’s verbal attack on the Highlander.
“MacLeod will fall soon enough,” Ahriman insisted.
‘Not,’ Adam thought silently, ‘if I have anything to say about it.’
The methodical progression of Ahriman’s list of victims did not escape the Immortal. First Richie, then Amanda, followed by himself and Joe -- it could only mean one thing. The demon intended to eliminate the few people that comprised the inner-circle of what Adam often jokingly referred to as ‘Clan MacLeod’. After all, what better way than to demoralize the Highlander than by eradicating those that he most often turned to for support?
What did surprise the Immortal, though, was Ahriman’s vehement pursuit of Adam in particular. Perhaps the demon’s destruction of Amanda to find him was nothing more than convenience -- killing two birds with one stone as it were. But maybe, just maybe, there was an off-side chance that Ahriman somehow feared Adam more than Mac’s other friends. That meant it was possible that Adam could somehow pose a more significant threat to the demon.
It was that thought that gave the Immortal hope.
‘It’s time to end this,’ Adam decided with a firm sense of determination.
Summoning all of his considerable willpower, the Immortal forced himself to keep his gaze on the one constant in whatever form the demon took on: the steel cutlass in its hand. Focusing intently on the deadly blade, Adam began the laborious process of tuning out the demon’s words. It took a few agonizing minutes and all of his hard-earned mental discipline, but finally Adam was able to look past the many guises Ahriman was taking to see the empty face of Steven Keane.
With his sense of reality restored, Adam gave into his more primitive urge to attack. Accompanied by a long-forgotten war-cry, he launched a vicious offensive. This time Adam’s moves were smooth, logical, and methodical -- each one full of purpose and grace. He was breathing heavily and sweating from his efforts, but every cut, every jabbing thrust slowly forced his opponent to give up precious ground.
Before long, Adam had maneuvered the other Immortal to the six-inch curb that separated the street from the sidewalk that paralleled it. A particularly unyielding thrust caused Keane to stumble back over the uneven ground. Never one to let an opportunity pass him by, Adam pressed his advantage. All it would take for a quick kill was one last punishing stroke.
He might have actually been successful had it only been Keane’s skill he was fighting against. Unfortunately for Adam, though, Keane’s body was currently little more than a vessel for a demon that was considerably stronger than the Immortal.
Anticipating Adam’s forehanded strike, Ahriman was quick to manipulate Keane’s body into feinting left. Adam fell for the move, and in doing so, found himself overextended -- and completely exposed.
Lashing out with unnatural swiftness, Keane’s hand reached forward and grabbed Adam’s right wrist, holding it in place with superhuman strength. As that hand also happened to be the one with which Pierson held his sword, Adam was helpless to prevent Keane’s own blade from slicing deeply into his chest.
A searing pain -- one that was unique to deep cuts -- flared out from the wound itself, tearing through Adam’s nervous system like ripples on the surface of a pond. The metal of Keane’s blade had torn open the older Immortal’s flesh, creating a deep gash about six inches long. Had Adam been mortal, the wound would have required sutures. Even with his Immortality, it still hurt like hell.
Summoning all the strength he could muster, Adam kicked out at the body before him, connecting sharply with the thigh that supported most of Keane’s weight. While the move managed to break Keane’s grip on his wrist, the force required to execute the move knocked Adam off balance. Losing his footing as he stumbled away, Pierson found himself prone on the cool asphalt of the ground.
As quickly as he could manage, Adam rolled away. While not immediately life-threatening, his newly-inflicted wound was painful enough to be a distraction -- one the Immortal could ill-afford in the middle of a fight that put his very survival on the line. Schooling himself to ignore the throbbing coming from his chest, Adam resumed a defensive posture as Keane, seeking to take advantage of a wounded foe, renewed his attack in earnest.
He took a deep breath and countered, seeking an opening. Keane tried another feint, but this time Adam successfully avoided it. Steel slid against steel, the friction creating a shower of white sparks that rained down upon the exposed hands of both men. Their swords were still pressed together near the hilts, but Adam shifted his weight and forced both the sword and the other man away from his body.
A vicious cut missed Adam’s neck by inches, forcing him to duck and roll, a move Adam had been successfully refamiliarizing himself during his sparring matches with Duncan over the past year. Adam threw a desperate punch in the direction of his opponent’s face, hoping to buy a much-needed moment to regain his footing.
But it was not to be.
An expression of horror marred Adam’s features as he realized his error. At almost the same moment, Keane’s face twisted into a triumphant sneer. Not only did the demon easily dodge the poorly aimed fist, but it also took advantage of the breech Pierson had made in his own defenses as the momentum behind the punch forced the other Immortal off-balance.
With a sharp thrust, Keane thrust his sword into Adam’s stomach, completely running the older Immortal through. A harsh jerk of Keane’s arm extracted a gurgle of pain out of Pierson’s throat. Smiling coldly at the sound, the demon pulled the blade out of his opponent’s abdomen with a slowness that was intentionally cruel.
Adam’s face was a horrific mask of pain and shock as wave upon wave of agony radiated outward from his perforated gut. Without Keane’s sword to hold him upright, the Immortal stumbled forward, almost unknowingly sagging directly into Keane’s body. The sight of Adam, unable keep his head up, unable to maintain more than the loosest of grips on his sword, filled the demon with pleasure.
“I wonder if this is how you felt when you almost took Keane’s head?” Ahriman pondered with a tone of feigned curiosity. Raising Keane’s sword to shoulder height, the demon positioned the blade for what would be the final blow.
Keane was shocked to see Adam’s head shoot up with a surprising measure of strength. Instead of the defeat it expected to see, the demon found itself the recipient of a cold, vicious look from those mercurial hazel eyes.
Taking advantage of the demon’s surprise, Adam’s haphazard grip on his Ivanhoe tightened immeasurably. In the blink of an eye, his left hand joined his right on the hilt of the broadsword, drawing it upwards while he simultaneously executed a flowing pirouette.
Three quarters of the way through the turn, Adam’s Ivanhoe clanged loudly as it found its way back to Keane’s cutlass. While visually stunning, the move was purely tactical rather than aesthetic. Put simply, it changed the direction of Adam’s attack from the forehand to the backhand. Caught unaware by the move, Keane’s body weight was still borne by his forward left foot. In fact, the suddenness of his opponent’s unexpected move forced the younger Immortal to lean forward against Adam’s sword.
Leaning even closer, Adam made sure he had Keane’s complete attention before spitting out his answer to the other Immortal’s previous question.
“How did it feel when I had him on his knees six months ago?” Adam repeated to the demon in a tone so cold it could have frozen vodka.
The hiss of metal sliding again metal echoed in the night as Adam manipulated his sword repeatedly around the other Immortal’s longer weapon. With a flick of Adam’s wrists, Keane’s sword went flying. The Ivanhoe flew rapidly toward the unprotected and exposed neck, only to stop within mere centimeters of its target. With the threat of his blade, Adam forced Keane to his knees as he completed his thought from a moment earlier.
“As I recall, it felt a bit like this.”
Drawing back his blade to gain the momentum necessary for the killing blow, Adam finally allowed all the anger he’d been repressing during the fight to come to the surface. There was nothing but hatred in the Immortal’s sneering mouth and narrowed hazel eyes as he threw one last taunt to his other-worldly opponent.
“There can be only one, you demonic son of a bitch.”
Adam’s blade was little more than a glint of silver as it moved toward Keane’s exposed throat. The only noise on the otherwise silent street was the ‘swoosh’ the Ivanhoe made before its razor-sharp edge cut cleanly through its target. It was followed moments later by the sound of two uniquely sickening thuds against the pavement.
The silence returned as Adam’s exhausted gaze rose to meet the eyes of five horrified-yet- relieved mortals and one concerned vampire. The Immortal wanted to say something -- to give some acknowledgement that he was all right, but he never got the chance.
Because a moment later, the night exploded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Although they had no way of knowing it at the time, the sight of Adam Pierson removing Steven Keane’s head from his body would be the cause of days -- even weeks -- of Slayerette nightmares.
It may have a been a bit odd, all things considered. With the horrors and atrocities they saw on a daily basis, what was a simple beheading in the grand scheme of things? After all, they *did* live on a Hellmouth. Fighting all manner of vampires and other demonic creatures was par for the course for them by that point in time.
At least that was what they were all busy trying to convince themselves.
It was difficult, though. The problem was that while they heard Adam’s one-sided conversation with the demon, Ahriman had only revealed itself to Pierson. Save Angel, with his heightened night-vision, the other Slayerettes saw nothing of the demon -- only the pale-faced Englishman whom Ahriman was using as a host.
A host that -- Immortality aside -- appeared far more normal than the usual demonic opponents that the Slayerettes usually fought. And without fangs...or pointy horns...or a horribly disfigured outward appearance, the body of the late Steven Keane was a little too ‘human looking’ for the Slayerettes’ comfort.
Not knowing what else to do, they ended up staring in humbled silence. At first they couldn’t keep their eyes from wandering between the body on the ground to the head lying a few feet away. But eventually, one by one, they pried their eyes away from the headless corpse in favour of the Immortal that was still left standing.
Despite their horror over the results of his actions, the Slayerettes silently reminded themselves that Adam had only been acting in self-defense. But the sight of him -- half-slouching from both his injuries and exhaustion, with a bloody sword in hand -- was still a bit unsettling. That feeling only grew as Adam, feeling their eyes upon him, turned to meet their gaze.
For a moment, it looked as if the Immortal was about to say something -- but whatever the words were to have been, they were lost as the unbelievable began to happen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first, Angel thought his eyes must have been playing tricks on him. He blinked and refocused, but the white glow that began to form around Keane’s body and head was no illusion. In fact, it continued to grow as the long seconds passed, making the vampire’s light-sensitive eyes water from the glare.
The hair on Angel’s neck rose up as the air surrounding the vampire filled with energy. An involuntary shiver raced down his spine, his nerves jittering in reaction to the electric static that quickly surrounded and enveloped not only himself but also the other Slayerettes as well. And somewhere deep inside himself, Angel felt his inner-demon go ballistic.
More than a century earlier, the vampire known as Angelus had been fortunate enough to unwittingly stumbled across an Immortal Quickening in progress. Armed with that knowledge in the present day, it was all the vampire could do not to give in to his demon’s panic-driven impulse to run.
But Angel refused to abandon his companions.
“Get back! Now!” Angel shouted to the mortals around him, using his arms to herd the mobile Slayerettes out of harm’s way.
But it was too little, too late.
Looking back over his shoulder, Angel witnessed the energy forming around Keane’s body brighten and intensify. At last, the energy seemed to reach critical mass. There was a long moment as the strange power coalesced, hesitating for the span of a single heartbeat as if deciding upon a destination.
Then, without warning, it exploded outwards, arcing forward to hit Adam Pierson directly in the chest.
Reacting instinctively, Angel threw himself against Willow, knocking them both to the ground. The vampire used his larger form to cover the redhead, trying to protect her from the barrage of discharges that continued to charge through the heavy night air. Even on the ground, the level of energy was so intense that it made Angel’s skin tingle, as if a thousand invisible ants were crawling across it.
Raising his head to see the spectacle before him, Angel looked up in time to see another bolt of lightning hit Adam squarely in the stomach. The Immortal was screaming, but whether from pleasure or pain the vampire couldn’t tell. The tall, slender man began to convulse, twitching repeatedly from the sheer intensity of energy that continued to strike him.
Almost belatedly, all of the windows of the surrounding buildings shattered, followed quickly by the streetlights blowing out one by one. Angel was quick to pull Willow’s shaking body even closer in an effort to protect her from all the flying glass shards and other debris that rained down upon them.
And through it all, Adam was barraged by bolts of the energy. Although Angel’s ears were ringing from the explosions around him, he could still hear the Immortal’s cries into the night sky. As if reaching the crescendo of the event, Adam struggled to raise his sword over his head, even as the forces that pounded into him drove him to his knees.
Finally, it was over -- the Quickening ending just as swiftly as the stroke that had triggered the event in the first place. Adam crumpled heavily to the ground. Whether he was unconscious or just simply exhausted, none of the spectators knew for certain.
With the ceasing of the violent outburst, the sudden stillness of the night seemed almost unreal -- almost as if someone had abruptly turned down a loudly playing stereo. One by one the Slayerettes began rising from their crouched positions. Their initial movements were timid and wary, uncertain whether or not the danger was truly over.
It was only when he felt something squirm uncomfortably underneath him that Angel realized he was still pinning Willow to the ground. He pulled away from her rather quickly, half-embarrassed by the way his body had been pressed so intimately against hers. The other half of him, however, was too busy wallowing in just how good it felt to be so close to her.
Before he could react, though, a raspy, shaken voice broke the silence that pervaded the street.
“So, do you think these guys are available for parties?”