*******************
 
 

Part 1

And it has been foretold that the gates of Hell shall be torn asunder. The fires shall burn a swath through the world, and smoke will rise from the remains and the sun and air shall be darkened. Demons shall pour forth in an unceasing tide, and the world will scream and wilt beneath the weight of the corruptors. Humanity will pass from the mortal realm, and the darkness will follow the souls of the dead into the light, and the light will be consumed by the darkness.

So it has been foretold.

So it will be.

*******************

The sky was dark and full of the ashes from the smouldering buildings that still lined the streets of Sunnydale. Their once bright, clean facades had been torn away with the force of the fires that had torn through the streets. They were darkened husks, sad and decaying remnants of a dying world whose inhabitants clung to life with stubborn determination even as their souls were twisted and torn within the greedy grasps of the Old Ones.

Death hung heavy in the air. The physical emanations of death - blood, sweat, excrement - mingled with the emotions that had carried them from this life towards the next. The smell was inescapable. Outside, the sluggish air brought new scents reminiscent of the old, new corpses carrying the same smells as those who had gone before them.

Spike's eyes darted across the scarred landscape. He could barely see through the heavy layer of ashes that hung overhead, obscuring the sun's light from the dying masses it had once nourished. When his sharp eyes did manage to pierce through the veil, the crumpled and twisted structures that met his gaze seemed an eternity away from the place he had briefly called home.

"Bloody Hell..." Spike hissed incredulously. 'It shouldn't have been like this.' He fumbled inside his coat pockets, narrow fingers groping around searchingly before Spike stilled the motion. Cigarettes were as much a thing of the past as were worries about sunlight cutting his existence short.

Spike's eyes clenched shut, willing back his irritation and his almost overwhelming desire to taste a cigarette at his lips one more time. Sensations washed over his still form, roiling about him in an ever increasing tempo. His eyes peeled open, stinging painfully in the dry air.

He turned away from the crumbling remains of the factory, carefully picking his way over the debris littering the ground. Within moments, the building disappeared from sight, reclaimed by the heavy clouds of ash.

The current of power that he had felt drew Spike through the silent streets. The crackling surge of dark energy had pooled within the once sanctified walls of a small church. The demon would have delighted at the thought of the place of worship being converted into a reservoir of dark energy, had he not seen such travesties all too often.

An angry, chaotic babble of voices and snarls emitted from the desecrated building. Ignoring the bodies strewn about the grounds in a grotesque parody of the religion once practiced within its walls, Spike warily pushed his way inside.

Every creature of the night, every monster that had ever haunted a mortals nightmares, even beings that made Spike pause, seemed to be jammed inside the building in a writing mass of flesh. Only the center of the room was cleared of any bodies, and curious, Spike pushed his way through the crowd.

One body tore it's way out of the raging masses, stepping into the clearing. In pure physical terms, the sleek man who claimed their attention was almost laughably unthreatening. The waves of power pouring from him, and the sense of violence he wore easily proclaimed him anything but. A thin hand waved imperiously, and the crowd quieted.

"Bring forth the betrayer," the creature commanded calmly, it's mouth tilting up in a vicious mockery of a smile.

Spike's eyes narrowed as he saw the pale faced young woman that was led into the center of the clearing. Dark eye makeup lined her wide eyes, and her lips had been painted blood red. Her hair was shorter and unkept, a bright beacon in the room's darkness. Her trim form was encased in snug leather. And yet, the strength lurking in her eyes still proclaimed her to be the woman he had known as the Slayer's friend.

"Let me go!" Willow protested hotly, rage colouring her voice. She struggled in the arms of her captor until he squeezed her with a large, taloned hand. She hissed in pain, her frantic struggles ceasing.

The Master stepped forward, his hand clamping Willow's chin. Spike noted the demon's triumphant sneer as the girl jerked back beneath his touch. "You know what happens to those who turn against us." The crowd roared, the sound climbing upwards as each creature's rage and bloodlust built upon that of the other's. Spike remained still, all his attention caught by the play of emotions on the girl's face.

Long fingers dug into her flesh, and a red haze flashed through her eyes. Willow stiffened, a low moan tearing from her throat. The pained sound sent the crowd's sense of anticipation spiralling higher. She slumped and tumbled to the ground as the Master motioned for the creature holding her to release the girl.

Time seemed to stretch out in an impossibly long, frozen moment before Spike broke his paralysis and sprang forward. All thoughts faded from his mind, and his body worked on instincts honed during centuries of existence. The raged filled howls of the demons he had left behind echoed in his ears as Spike's arms wrapped around the small, unmoving figure on the floor.

************************

"Wake up, pet," Spike growled low in his throat, his hand snapping across Willow's face. Her head jerked back with the blow, and she looked up him through bleary eyes.

She groaned, clenching her eyes shut tightly before they peeled back open. She looked at him, a cross between worry and confusion marring her features. "...Wha--?"

"There's no time for that. Even I'm not crazy enough to think that I could take on that bloody horde of demons alone. But if we don't get the Hell out of here, I may have to do just that," he stated bluntly, his eyes warily scanning their temporary refuge.

Her eyes sharpened, and her body trembled beneath his hands. "The hospital... basement," she slurred. "...Safe." She drew in a rattling gasp of air. Spike could feel the frantic, unnatural pounding of her heart.

"Oh no. I didn't save you just to have you die on me, luv," Spike grimaced. He pulled her feet off the ground, her body light and unresisting in his arms. He paused a moment, his mind shifting through thousands of half-remembered streets in as many towns and cities while he attempted to place the hospital within a setting.

The memory was slow to come, the memory blurring in with all the others that clouded his mind. He had never thought of himself as nostalgic, but recently, memories of the old times came more and more often. They weren't unwelcomed.

The streets were filled with the growling, hissing creatures that had claimed the town as their own. It took Spike an hour to make his way towards the hospital as he was constantly forced to change his route to avoid being detected. It gnawed at him that he was fleeing fearfully like a mere mortal. He had been a master vampire, feared by demon and human alike. Now, even his bloodiest of schemes would hardly garner any attention, much less terrified respect.

Hell on Earth did so have it's disadvantages.

************************

"Safe, pet?" Spike said, echoing Willow's earlier words in a tone that clearly stated that he had been bloody insane to trust her word. He glared at the stocky former football player training the crossbow at him with dismaying accuracy.

Willow's head lolled at the sound of the vampire's voice, shifting so that she too was facing the determined young man barring their way. "Larry," she rasped, her voice trembling with emotions Spike couldn't immediately place. "It's okay. He's here to... help."

"Willow?" the crossbow dipped, and Spike heaved a mental sigh of relief as it left its former position pointing straight towards his heart. "Oh God. Willow!" Larry shook his head, chasing off his scattered thoughts. He shot a warning glare towards Spike even as he gestured towards him. "Follow me. And if you try anything..."

"Right, mate. I'm dust," Spike said, his eyes rolling upwards in a silent commentary on the oft heard threat. He shifted Willow in his arms, and she whimpered, her head burying into his shoulder in a display of unwarranted trust. Spike felt like demanding to know if she hadn't learned anything from her years on the Hellmouth.

"Willow's back," the boy called out as the emerged from the dark tunnels criss crossing beneath the silent, empty hospital. He ducked through a low doorway carved into the tightly packed dirt, Spike following behind him.

Buffy stiffened when she saw the vampire, but her eyes softened when they landed on the small figure resting in his arms. Her face was full of warnings when she stepped forward, and Spike nodded silently in recognition of their long enmity. She peered down at Willow's gaunt face, and her lips compressed unhappily.

"Amy! Come here," Buffy commanded, her voice low in an instinctive attempt to avoid attracting attention.

A weary blonde pulled herself out of the shadows and approached the small cluster. Her hand rested on Willow's damp forehead and she winced in sympathy. "Withdraw," she said simply, raising dozens of questions in Spike's mind. Apparently, the single, terse word was enough of an answer for Buffy for she nodded.

"Let's get her to bed, then." She swirled around, weaving her way further into the tunnels, leaving Spike to follow. Watching her back, Spike wondered once more what he was doing coddling the red-head.

***********************

"-Humanity will pass from the mortal realm..." the words rose and fell in a soft, almost rhythmic wave that would have been reassuring had the words themselves not been so horrifying.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder, the warning in her eyes clear. "Don't annoy him, Spike," she hissed before slipping past the worn blanket tacked over an open doorway tucked into the rear of the tunnels.

"Giles?" Buffy said softly, her hand resting against his unshaven chin in a gentle touch. "Come back, Giles..." She looked into his eyes, smiling slightly when his cleared, recognition filling them.

"What's wrong with him?" Spike asked, watching the scene before him uneasily. He hadn't interacted with the Watcher much, but seeing how he had withstood Angelus' torture had elevated him to someone worthy of at least a slight touch of respect. This unshaven, mussed wreak before him bore no resemblance to the tweed wearing Watcher who had so impressed him.

Buffy's slim arms wrapped around Giles' shoulders lovingly. "You know that the demons... acquired almost all of the prophecies, right? Well, it seems that isn't quite within the rules of the game. Some Watchers have the blood of prophets in their veins, and when circumstances demand it, they serve that role." Her words were offhanded, but Spike could feel the emotions churning beneath her casual words.

She turned back to Giles, her hand smoothing futilely at his tangled hair. "He's been lost in the visions for almost two days now," she breathed, worry filling her eyes before she schooled her emotions. "We have a visitor, Giles."

The man blinked owlishly, as if even the dim light spilling into the room from beneath the blanket hurt his eyes. His hand rested against Buffy's as his eyes sought out Spike. He looked at Spike searchingly, and suddenly jerked, his eyes glazing. "And the demons shall flee before his wrath..." The look of intense concentration faded from Giles' face and he wearily leaned back into Buffy's arms, his eyes drifting shut.

"What's he talking about, Slayer?" Spike demanded, the clear words sending a chill through him.

Buffy was studying him speculatively, and at his question, a humourless smile formed on her lips. "He's saying that you're going to get along just fine here, Spike."

****************************

Spike's shadowed eyes swept across the spartan caverns, his lips curving into an unconscious sneer. He hadn't seen more than five people since he'd been led down the tunnels by Willow's wavering voice. Compared to the hordes of demons clamoring for mortal souls, even the Slayer's presence didn't offer much weight in the overall balance of things. "We're all bloody screwed," he muttered.

Amy glanced at him, her eyes hard and cold. "We've done fine so far, so keep your pessimism to yourself!" she hissed. Her words were defiant, more courage than certainty filling her tone.

She wearily rubbed at her forehead, brushing stray locks of blond hair from her unnaturally pale face with a trembling hand. Amy looked down at Willow, curled up on a thin pallet on the floor. A comforter, once a cheery bright blue, now faded with age and a stubbornly clinging layer of dust, covered her small form. Spike could see her shaking beneath it, the shudders so strong that it seemed as if she would fly apart at any moment.

Spike squatted down next to the witches, his hand reaching out to rest against the girl's sweat slicked forehead. She was burning, her heat warming even his cool body. She pressed against his hand, eagerly trying to rid her heat in him.

"What happened to her?" Spike asked, trying to fit the image of the defiant woman he had seen at the church with the mewling little girl huddling at his feet.

"They allowed her to tap into vast reservoirs of dark energy," Amy explained, her eyes still focused on Willow. The other girl moaned softly, deep in her throat, and Amy murmured soothingly before continuing. "When they found out that Willow wasn't really interested in joining their kind, she got cut off. It always happens that way, although usually the people end up dead before this stage of things."

"Withdraw," Spike said softly, echoing the word he had heard applied to Willow when he had first brought her to the tunnels. He watched Amy nod, her hair sliding over her hunched shoulders with a low whisper. "Will she get better?"

Amy rocked back on her heels. "I don't know. I hope so. We can't loose anybody else." Her expression was closed, guarded, when her words came to an abrupt stop. Spike knew better than to ask for more.

He had left the two girls alone then, one lost in her memories, the other in her agony. Spike prowled the confines of the room uneasily. Though the tunnels were keeping him out of the claws of hundreds of enraged demons, he found himself hating their rough walls with every ounce of passion he possessed. He felt caged, trapped, useless.

Buffy ducked out from under the blanket cutting off Giles' room for the main one, shooting a quelling glare at Spike. He ignored her, his long legs cutting across the width of the room in a dizzying trek back and forth in a show of nervous energy. "How do you do this, Slayer?" he demanded suddenly, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the small form tucked up against the wall.

"What?"

"Stay sane in this bloody place!" Spike snapped.

"It's either that or get dead real fast." She looked at him, understanding briefly claiming her features as she took in his pained expression. "Besides, we don't usually stay so... still for long. We just have to wait for the demons to stop searching, and for Willow to recover." If she will. The words weren't spoken, but they were clearly understood.

Larry looked up from the stakes he was painstakingly shaping. "Should you really be telling him anything, Buffy?"

"Giles gave him a pass. 'Sides, I doubt that anybody would have anything to go on from what I just said. But I have to say, not trying to stake Spike is making me just a bit wiggy." Buffy admitted. She dropped down next to the former bully, her fingers blindly searching out a stake.

"I guess so," Larry replied, a touch of suspicion still tinting his voice. He'd learned the hard way that if one didn't want to end up among the dead, they kept their mouth shut when around demons. "But... what are we going to do about feeding him?"

Spike tried to ignore his irritation at being talked about as if he were a stray animal who had been brought home. He would have stepped in with a stinging remark had the hunger not been gnawing at him. The reasons for his being with the mortals were still vague and unformed in his mind, but he wasn't about to turn on them when there was a great chance that he'd end up dust without them.

"...We'll think of something. We always do."

"Usually."

*************************

The darkness was heavy against his eyelids. He had never known that the dark could weigh down on the man with an almost physical touch. His eyes pulled open slowly, cautiously. Sometimes, after a long stay within the visions, even the slightest movement would send his head spinning and pounding painfully.

The world remained steady and painless, and with a sigh of relief, Giles pushed himself into a sitting position. Buffy had left, but he could still hear her voice as it drifted gently through the entrance to his section of the tunnels. A male voice, British, joined hers, loud though trying not to be.

Giles scrambled to place the new voice in the maze of images, memories, and prophesies that now filled his head. He had known the prophecies before, as all Watchers had. He had studied them, worried over them, even resisted them. Now, they were a part of him, a living, breathing presence within him.

The foggy memory he had been searching for came to him, sharp yet blurred, a memory of something yet to occur. Spike. His fate picked up and woven into prophecy. It was unclear, but the tantalizing glimpses that Giles saw made his heart rate accelerate.

Something was happening.

And maybe, this time... it would be something that would help _them_.

***************************

She _hurt_. Her entire body ached, although the physical pain racking her body was nothing compared to the wide void that had been left in her. Willow hadn't wanted the dark magic that had once filled that void. But then, she'd had a taste of it. Dark, yes. Evil, no doubt. And yet... it had been _glorious_.

And now it was gone, and she was empty and hurting. Her senses reached out hungrily, softer, weaker, than she had grown used to. Her mind was clouded, and her searching mental 'fingers' were undirected.

Willow latched onto an aura, the strength a beacon to her starving energies. Her eyes, heavy with weariness, peeled open with infinite slowness. They were glassy and shot with red, but still sharp enough to pick out the source of the strange-familiar strength.

A low laugh escaped her when she saw Spike gazing into the neatly piled stakes lined up against the wall across from him. His narrow fingers were wildly tapping against a jean clad knee. Their unconscious movement stilled immediately when the sound of Willow's involuntary laugh reached his sensitive ears.

"Wondered it you'd ever get around to waking up, pet," Spike drawled. "You looked worse than a dead woman, and those, I've seen plenty of."

Willow's lips twitched slightly, the sound of his voice blocking away the pain-loss tearing away at her, in small, insistent shudders. "I seem to remember you having a bit more charm, Spike."

He shrugged, one eyebrow climbing upwards. "That was before I got stuck in this bloody hole." As if spurred by the mention of his surroundings, Spike's fingers resumed their rhythmic drumming.

"Where is everybody?" Willow inquired, her voice low and raspy with disuse as she quickly scanned the small confines of the room.

"War council," Spike replied. She could hear the tension in his voice. "Hopefully thinking of something to _do_. I'm tired of cowering down here like a terrified human."

Willow shifted beneath her blanket, slowly rolling onto her side. "You aren't scared?" He was. She could see it in his eyes, even across the distance that separated them. That Spike, a vampire who had delighted in human misery could fear what they faced, was a disconcerting discovery.

"I've done a lot of things during my nights, pet. I'm not all that eager to move onto the next life and see what that's earned me for the rest of eternity."

"Not much difference, either way," Willow muttered darkly. She paused, her throat burning. "Is there any water?" she asked hopefully, half fearing that there wouldn't be.

Spike rose to his feet in a fluid motion that made Willow's breath catch in her throat. He hunched down next to her, holding the canteen he had picked up to her dry lips. Willow drank eagerly, her eyes drifting shut in pleasure.

When she opened them again, the last of the water barely past her lips, she found the vampire watching her. "What?" Willow asked, strangely self-conscious. She had been one of the collaborators for so long that she felt slightly uncomfortable being just Willow again.

"You feeling better, really?"

What did he care? "No," Willow admitted. "Well, a bit, I suppose, considering that I'm actually conscious... How long was I out, anyway?" Her cramping muscles and sore hip proclaimed that she had been laying on the floor for days, while her aching eyes informed her that she certainly hadn't gotten any rest whatsoever.

Spike grimaced, his frustration clear in his voice. "A week now. One entire week I've been down here doing _nothing_." He paused. "They didn't think you would make it."

"Most don't," Willow said simply, remembering the few cases of magic withdraw that she had witnessed. It had been a horrifying sight, and Willow had silently promised herself that she would never allow herself to become one of the writhing, mewling ones that she had seen.

"Spike? Thank you for saving me." The events were blurred and indistinguishable within her mind, but the knowledge that he had been the one who kept her from dying among the demon hordes was undeniable. She just knew.

She wanted to know why, and yet, something in her begged her to leave the question unasked. The words never passed her lips, but he could see them lurking in the depths of her eyes.

"Just don't expect me to make a habit out of it," he told her. She blinked, uncertain, until he smiled slightly.

"I'll keep that in mind."

****************************

"I'm gone for a month and you guys recruit Deadboy II," Xander groused, running a hand through his mussed hair. He looked as if he hadn't slept in exactly that long. His eyes were bloodshot and lined with dark circles, and his pacing was fueled more by nerves than any real reserves of energy.

"Willow brought him home," Larry replied.

Xander tensed at the sound of the witch's name. "And Willow's judgment is trustworthy since when?" he drawled out, the emotions thick in his voice. He had protested Willow's decision to infiltrate the demons with every bit of persuasion he possessed, all to no avail.

Amy glared at him. "_Don't_ start, Xander. She's not going to be able to cope with any of your--"

"You think I'm going to hurt her?"

"Won't be the first time."

"That's enough!" Giles growled, his voice silencing the ever rising voices of the two weary teens. Despite his rumpled appearance, Giles' sternest voice, when applied, had the immediate effect of gaining the attention of those around him. A distant part of him wished that his voice had possessed such an arresting quality in days gone by.

He took a deep breath, the air stale and dead in his lungs. "We aren't here to discuss Willow's mental state. What we are here for is to form our strategy for the coming weeks." His tone told everybody exactly where there petty concerns rated next to that.

Cordelia leaned forward, her elbows resting against the scarred surface of the table that had been carefully snuck down into the tunnels. Despite their trying circumstances, the former cheerleader still managed to look almost presentable. Her hair had been cut to her jawline, but was carefully combed at every possible opportunity. None of them thought of it as vanity. All of them had a little something that helped keep them sane. If styled hair did that for Cordelia, none of them were about to complain.

"There's something big going on," Cordelia said flatly. "The creepy things are in an uproar, and even Rahvin himself is prowling around."

"Giles?" Buffy said softly, her hand resting against the man's arm. "Do you know...?"

Everyone looked at him expectantly. "Something big," Giles repeated slowly, his voice distant. "I don't know what. But I'm sure that Spike will play a vital role in the upcoming events."

"The same kind of 'vital role' Angel played, by chance, G-man? 'Cause if so, I say we stake the bastard now," Xander said venomously. His hand clutched at the stake tucked into a specially designed sheath, and he studiously ignored Buffy's incensed hiss of protest.

"No, Xander," Giles sighed. "For whatever the reason, Spike is one of us now." Sensing that Buffy was still quivering with barely constrained rage, Giles continued reproachfully. "And please try to demonstrate some tact if you really _must_ talk about Angel."

"Do we let Spike go out on patrol?" Amy inquired, thinking of the vampire's restless prowling.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. And when Willow's up to it, send her out too. We need all the bodies we can get if we're going to figure out what's happening before another horde of demons comes knocking at our door."
 
 

Part 2

"Shh, little puppy," the voice, soft and silky, stilled the restless prowling of the fully transformed werewolf that wound around the woman's long legs. She was a startling vision amongst the decay that made up the former town of Sunnydale. The dust, heavy in the air, never once touched the sleek black gown that clung to her body, nor the intricately wound strands of blonde hair.

She smiled as the werewolf stilled, its head dropping in a display of submissiveness. Delicate looking hands reached out to stroke the matted fur covering the creature's head. It shuddered beneath her caress, and the demoness smiled, elongated teeth peeking out from between parted lips.

Rahvin watched her through hooded eyes, his face set in grim lines. "Are you quite sure that mongrel will do what's required of it, Aldura?" His voice was as soft as hers, although the undercurrent of danger was more accessible.

She looked at him disapprovingly, bloodlust lurking in the depths of her crimson eyes. "He wouldn't be here if I was not. In fact, my pet could have taken care of this problem long ago had you not been too preoccupied with toying with these mortals."

Fire flashed in his eyes, and the ground trembled in warning. "Do not try me, Aldura, or you will find yourself on your knees before the Old Ones once again." He ignored the look of fury that flashed across the woman's face, his own alien eyes scanning the assembled demons awaiting his command.

"Let the beast loose," he said shortly, his voice ringing in the minds of the demon hordes. They roared their approval, wide, gaping maws parting in a thousand mockeries of a thousand smiles.

The demoness leaned down, her eyes boring straight into the tortured ones of the werewolf. "Kill them all."

The werewolf howled its understanding, its great head thrown back so that muzzle pointed towards the darkened sun. It's muzzle turned back towards the ground, and it looped off on silent paws.

***********************

"I don't like this," Spike growled, casting an irritable glance towards the 'room' that the others had disappeared into. "Do they always take so bloody long?"

Willow tracked his restless movements, blinking dizzily when he rounded on her quickly, curses rolling past his lips. "Spike! Sit down, please. You're turning into a blur before my eyes. Another minute of this, and I'm going to be ill."

Spike grimaced but did as she asked. His hands clasped over his stomach, and long legs stretched outwards. Though his body was motionless, his eyes continued to swing about, a tense, predatory light in them. Something was happening. He could feel the barely contained violence swirling about him.

"And yes, we always take a while. We are planning out how to survive another day. That tends to take more than a minute long discussion where we all agree not to get killed." Willow's still raspy voice was tense with the same expectation that was prodding at the vampire across from her.

"Bloody Hell!" Spike growled. "We used to be able to come up with plans for world domination within minutes. Kill him, steal that, sacrifice this, and world domination achieved."

Willow snorted. "You aren't the one ruling the world, though, are you?" She pulled herself to a sitting position as Spike glowered at her, a hint of fang showing. He looked, Willow admitted, quite ready to snap her neck just for the hell of it.

"Speaking of demons with big plans and little luck, I haven't noticed the Slayer's pet vampire," Spike sneered at the thought of his sire. He hated even thinking of the older vampire, but he found himself eager to hear how well the soul filled whiner had done in their current conditions.

Willow's breath hissed out from between clenched teeth. "You know that we got him out of Hell, soul included," Willow said, remembering that Spike, Buffy and Angel had worked together briefly after Spike had abducted her. "When things changed, the lash of dark power was too much for him. His soul slipped away."

"Slippery thing, isn't it?"

She ignored the comment. "Angelus was... pleased with how things had turned out. He thought that should be in charge, since he was the one who had weakened the barriers with Acathala enough to allow the opening of the Gates. Rahvin didn't agree. Angelus argued, and found out that he wasn't as tough as he thought. They dusted him."

Spike threw back his head and laughed. The only thing that he regretted was not being the one to pierce the wanker's dead heart himself. Willow glared at him, motioning for him to quite down. "The Slayer seems to have gotten over it quickly enough."

"It still hurts. But she has Giles," Willow shrugged. Ally or not, the witch was not about to get into the convoluted relationships between the Watcher, Slayer and Angel. They rarely even talked about it amongst themselves, and, friend or not, Buffy would be less than pleased to have Willow telling Spike about her romantic entanglements.

Willow arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "And what about you? Did you torture Drusilla back into loving you?" The depth of Spike's desperation for Drusilla had remained with Willow, and she had sometimes found herself wondering if he had found her.

The shock of energy that washed through Willow at that moment assured that Spike's response would not be heard that day. Amy tumbled out from behind the curtain, her face fluctuating between terror and determination. "Incoming!" she said shortly.

Spike grinned. "About bloody time!"

**********************************

The werewolf had ranged far, searching for the scent of mortal blood. It was warm and hot, and the scent of it called to him. Traces of it remained on the air, remnants of those who had once walked the streets of Sunnydale - if not without fear, then at least able to leave their tunnels and shelters. Overlaying that delicate, fading scent was that of freshly spilled blood and the taste of the bodies that littered the scorched ground.

Part of him twisted inside his head, a soft stream of words screaming that this wasn't right. He shouldn't be hunting the warm blood. It was... wrong? He should have been different. Smaller, weaker... His mind fumbled to a stop, unable to find a way past the confused knot of memories and feelings tucked away beneath his instincts.

His mistresses voice rang out, hard and cruel. He whimpered, his hulking form trembling. She was at his side, her scent worse than that of the decaying dead. The scent caught him suddenly - warm, living blood. He whined, eager to show her that he was a good boy.

"Hiding in the ground like animals," the voice said. "How very appropriate."

Packed dirt gave way beneath his paws, and at his mistresses urging, he was bounding down the tunnel. The scent blood was strong. Familiar? He wanted to stop, to puzzle over the curious appeal the mingling scents filling the tunnels held for him.

The bolt of energy that arched through his body and made his nerves come alive with pain banished his desire to stop. He pushed forward.

***********************

"I feel like a bloody rat down here," Spike grumbled irritably as he and Willow crawled through one of the narrow tunnels leading away from the main caverns they had vacated minutes earlier. When the security field had been breached, he had expected his new allies to take a stand. Hell, he'd welcomed the opportunity to burn of the excess energy roiling within him. The Watcher had other plans.

Willow's breath was harsh and shallow in the confines of the almost painfully tight passage. "Almost there..." she said, her voice wavering with fear and exhaustion. Her rapid crawling had slowed, until her every move forward seemed to take an eternity.

Silence reigned once again as the two unlikely allies continued their torturous journey through the confined tunnel. Spike hissed in annoyance as the soft flesh of his palm was pierced by a rock shaken loose in the wake of Willow's passage. He ignored the blood trickling from the wound and continued forward. The soft, hungry pants that broke past Willow's lips made Spike glad that breathing was something that no longer concerned him. Even so, his chest felt tight and he longed to escape the tunnel.

"Here," Willow said, her shuffling crawl coming to a stop. Spike paused behind her, sharp eyes easily picking out Willow's desperately clawing at the tightly packed dirt that had halted their progress. Small, white hands struggled with the barrier. A soft moan of protest escaped her when her efforts were met with little success.

"Get down," Spike growled. Willow hesitated a moment before complying, her body pressed full length against the bottom of the tunnel. Spike scrambled over her, ignoring the tension of the woman beneath him as he advanced up her body. His own hands reached out, clawing at the dirt wall before them. It gave way beneath his hands, sending bits of dust and dirt flinging towards them.

Spike slipped through the opening he had made, his eyes rolling in disgust as he surveyed the sewer that they had reached. He turned back towards Willow, pulling her out after him. Panting and pale faced, she swayed slightly, leaning into him.

"You alright, pet?" Spike inquired. This was why the others had trusted Willow with him, he knew. Had the still weak witch been paired with one of them, they would have lost her within moments. His arm wrapped around her waist securely, holding her upright.

Willow nodded slowly. Her breath was shallow, little defense against the stench of their surroundings. "Fine. We have to move again." Her mouth tightened determinately at those words as she visibly attempted to dredge up a reserve of strength.

"Where to?"

Green eyes narrowed as Willow tried to focus past the agony threatening to explode in her side, and the headache that had burst to life the moment she had stumbled from her pallet on the floor. Her mind ranged over the several bases of operation that they had prepared or used in the past. "We meet in the gallery," she said finally.

Spike nodded wordlessly, already leading Willow forward. She stumbled in his arms, the combination of high heeled boots and a swimming head nearly sending her falling into the dark, swirling waters around them. Spike's arms shifted around her thin form, hefting her over his shoulder. She didn't protest, her body limp in his arms.

***********************************

The scent was strong here. Life, and blood, fear and rage, despair and hope, life. It was a bewildering array of emotion-scents that tugged at that deep buried part of him. The pain still shuddering through him, a blow from the magically erected barriers surrounding the tunnels, kept those worrisome feelings safely at bay.

Giant paws batted at the tousled blankets on the floor, a soft scent wafting up towards his sensitive snout. He whimpered, shaggy head shaking uncertainly.

His mistress laughed, low and delighted. "They've run! How very delightful!" Strong hands reached down, pulling his head away from the compelling scent. Red eyes bored into the werewolf's. "We aren't finished here yet."

The man spoke then, his voice full of constrained anger. "We aren't finished until each and every one of them are strung up by their innards before me," he growled. Fire danced in his eyes, and the werewolf crouched warily, shivering.

**************************

"Spike?" Willow said softly, her voice filled with worry. "What is it?" The vampire, still carrying her over his shoulder, had stiffened beneath her. His hand tightened against the back of her thigh momentarily before he slid her down to the slick floor.

"Something's coming," he replied, slipping into game face. "Fast," he added, almost as an afterthought. There was nowhere to hide, and considering how fast their pursuers were gaining on them, Spike doubted that he could make it to the surface even without Willow, at a full sprint. His game face slid into face, and he pushed the witch behind him.

Willow clutched at his shoulder, blunt nails digging into the soft leather of his coat. "I can help."

Spike snorted. "Right, pet. You can barely even stand, much less do whatever it is that you're planning on." Golden eyes peered into the darkness, searching. The sound of claws against the wet pavement grew louder, and Willow's hands dropped away from Spike, giving him freedom to move. The darkness parted, and the beast advanced.

It's large, muscular body was covered with a thick coating of matted brown fur. Long canines peeked out from behind a curled upper lip, warning snarls ripping through the thick air.

"Oh, Goddess!" Willow whimpered, her voice barely perceptible even to Spike's enhanced hearing. "Oz!" He could hear her heart pounding behind him, her breaths coming out fast and shallow.

The werewolf titled its great head, the gesture strangely inquisitive. The momentary pause in its predatory prowl forward lasted no more than a second before powerful haunches sent the best vaulting forward.

*************************

Willow stumbled back, her teeth digging into her knuckles as she tried to hold back the scream threatening to burst from her. She hated the weakness implied by those barely restrained screams, and that which was clearly stated by the tears brimming in her eyes. But her emotional reserves were running low - the trauma of her near death at Rahvin's hands, the significant drop in her power levels, and the weakness that had claimed her body - had all served to leave her feeling like a lost little girl barely able to keep a grip over her own body, much less her emotions.

Knowing that it was _Oz_ before her made it all the more difficult to force her emotions back to a safe distance. She hadn't seen him since her first week amongst the demons. He had been a hulking, whimpering form at the feet of the demoness who had entrapped him. Willow hadn't cared then. The dark power, new and intoxicating, had been thrumming through her veins. Its call had been so very strong that all else had faded into insignificance... even watching her former love crouched at the feet of a monster.

That utter void of emotion shamed her now, and the tears in her wide green eyes were those she had not been able to shed for him before. Blunt teeth broke through the skin of her knuckles, filling her mouth with the coppery taste of blood as the werewolf struck out towards Spike.

The vampire danced backwards, narrowly missing the immense paw swinging towards him. The slick layer of slime covering the ground made up for that momentary escape. The thick, rubber soles of Spike's boots proved little match against the slimy cover that had been accumulating on the cement. With a growled curse, he was tumbling backwards, clawing at the air in a futile attempt to keep himself upright.

The werewolf's lower jaw dropped open in a smile as it lopped forward. It paused over Spike's scrambling form, before it's head began to drop down towards his body.

Willow's heart clenched painfully, tiny, dull sparks of energy popping around her shaking hands. "Oz, no!" the scream tore through her, torn from the depth of her being. It was filled with every bit of pain and fear and rage that had coursed through her since the demons had claimed her world as their own.

Oz hesitated a moment, the anguished scream flying straight into that confused knot of emotions within him. His mistress' voice, hard and commanding in his head, brushed away the strange-familiar emotions. *Kill him* her voice stated, the threat of future agony implicit in her tone. His head descended.

"No!" This time, the wild cry was accompanied by a volley of bright, painful sparks that stung at the werewolf's eyes. He blinked, growling, backing away from the snarling man at his paws. His head lifted, and his eyes focused on the slight form of the woman who had hurt him. She backed away, the fear-scent strong around her.

"Bloody Hell," Spike hissed as the heavy paw holding him down withdrew. He stared up at the hairy form looming over him, noting the tensing in the beast's muscles as it prepared to leap towards Willow. Spike's hand moved slowly, fumbling at his belt in search for the knife that Giles had pressed into his hands before the small group had scattered. His questing fingers met the smooth handle and Spike grinned triumphantly.

Lightening fast, he swung the blade upwards, impaling it in the werewolf's stomach as the creature began its deadly pounce. Oz howled as his momentum sent the knife slicing through him. The knife finally snapped out of Spike's hand as the large body arched over his head.

Spike rose slowly, cautiously, grimacing at the slimy substance coating the back of his coat. The werewolf was sprawled out, inches from Willow. The witch was looking at it, tears shinning in her eyes. She stepped forward, dropping down next to the still head. 'If the bloody thing wakes up and tries to eat her, she can bloody well handle it by herself!' Spike thought, irritated by her reckless approach.

"Oh, Oz..." she murmured, a small, bloody white hand reaching out to cautiously rest on the werewolf's head. "I'll figure out some way to help you." Her chest heaved, tears trickling down dirt stained cheeks. "Just remember that I... love you." The werewolf sighed, one giant paw twitching.
 
 

Part 3

There were many things that Rupert Giles missed about the world that had disappeared when Hell had spewed into the mortal realm. He missed the sun, warm and bright, bringing with it the promise of a new day and new hope as the giant orange globe crested the horizon. He missed water that wasn't dark with ash, and he sometimes allowed himself the memory of what it had felt like to immerse himself into his bathtub and wash away the stress of a long day.

Most of all, he missed being able to offer Buffy some hope that her ceaseless battle against the darkness was not in vain. She had doubted then, and suffered, the constant flow of demons into the small town putting a strain of her both emotionally and physically. At least, then, there had been optimism bubbling in her heart. As dark as things had seemed, she had been able to draw upon reserves of strength so deep that they awed Giles.

She turned back to him, panting, a slick layer of yellow slime dripping from her shorn hair and tracing the planes of her face. Buffy wrenched her sword from the creature's steaming corpse before wiping the gore from her face with the back of her hand, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "I wish they'd at least have the decency to stop exploding in my face all the time," Buffy muttered, grasping Giles' hand and tugging him after her.

"I'm sorry, Buffy..." Giles said, the words escaping him before he could force them back. She had heard those words from him a hundred times before. They had poured from him when the Gates had opened and her former life had fallen away, they had hung in the air between them when the energy sparking into the world had blown Angel's soul into oblivion.

She stiffened slightly, casting a brief, warning glare in his direction. Giles quieted. This was neither the time nor the place in which to pour out his guilt, and he knew that hearing the words from him would only anger the Slayer. She had told him that nothing that had happened was his fault, her reassurances meeting every apology that he spoke.

Giles no longer spoke them out loud, but they lurked in his mind, a constant nagging presence that faded away only when his mind was opened to the visions. 'Should have known, should have stopped it,' his mind chanted, low and steady.

"I do love you, Buffy," Giles told her, the words burning in his chest, needing to be said.

She smiled at him, a sweet smile that made his heart ache. "I know, Giles. And duck." He dropped immediately, never flinching as the blade in Buffy's hand snapped back over his head. The sickening, wet sound informed Giles that Buffy had met her mark, an observation that was affirmed as wet, pungent liquid spilled over his bowed head.

Buffy looked down at her drenched, disgusted Watcher and grinned sadly. "Quite the pair we make, Giles," she said, hefting him to his feet with one careful tug.

***********************

Aldura ignored the werewolf's howl of agony as she roughly pressed down on the deep, bloody gash tearing through his belly. A dull red light flickered around her hand, spreading outwards and gradually pulling the torn edges of flesh back together.

The immediate work done, she rose from her crouch, not sparing a glance towards the writhing creature. She had found the beast sprawled in the sewers, the stench of white magic and mortals strong around him. Had he not been one of her favoured pets, she would have left the beast to die there, lying in its own blood and excrement.

The human visage she wore outside the inner sanctum of her lair had been cast aside. She detested the grotesque form that she wore when she walked the earth, but she had discovered that in some ways, seeing a creature so similar in appearance to themselves had the effect of terrifying the mortals more than when faced with the more foreign occupants of Hell.

"Mistress Aldura?" a nervous voice called out. Her head swiveled, and long, slanted eyes pinned the creature in place. The small, sharp toothed creature was from one of the troll clans that had retreated to the upper world millennium ago. This particular one was a rather unfavourable example of the species, but exceedingly good at ensuring its own survival through meticulous adherence to orders.

"Yes?" Aldura inquired, black, forked tongue flickering. The troll's eyes followed the tiny, quicksilver movements with wide eyes, only snapping to attention when she hissed her impatience.

Snyder straightened. "He's awake now, Mistress Aldura," he said, his head dipping slightly. His small eyes remained focused on her, watching for any sign of an impending strike.

The straight slash cutting through her face that served as a mouth twisted into a dangerous smile. "Good."

*********************

Willow sat cross legged on the charred remains of a hardwood floor, her eyes closed and her breaths slow, deep, and even. She could feel the power thrumming throughout the Hellmouth, louder than usual. 'Or maybe, the drop in my power levels is just making it seem louder somehow.' She tried to brush past the noise, her attention spiralling inwards.

When Rahvin had accepted her into his ranks, he had opened up wells of power for her use. Willow had drawn upon them often, bringing the power into herself. It had been a necessary gesture... and intoxicating. Allowing such vast amounts of dark magic into her being had also, in effect, been a denial of her Goddess. She longed to know whether she was still accepted despite the taint of Rahvin's magic within her.

Spike watched with interest as the composed mask that had slid over Willow's face cracked and tumbled apart. Her lips twisted unhappily, and when her eyes opened, the green surface was filled with turmoil. She rubbed at her temples briefly before allowing her hands to drop to her knees limply, her shoulders hunched in defeat.

"Your Goddess having a hissy fit and not talking to you?" Spike asked.

Willow glared at him weakly. "I can't concentrate properly. The Hellmouth is so loud that I could barely find myself in all the noise," she muttered, thrown off balance by her failure to find the calm, Goddess given center within her.

Her legs unfurled, and Willow inched towards Spike on hands and knees. "How are things out there?" she asked, peeking over his shoulder into the ash filled air.

"Get down!" Spike growled irritably, twisting slightly in order to forced Willow closer to the ground. "Every demon in this bloody death trap is prowling tonight. How many fucking demons do they need to find a few scattered mortals?"

Willow smirked slightly. "We've noticed that most demons are rather limited in the intelligence department. How else do you think we stayed out of their clutches so long?"

"Demons don't have to be smart, luv. All we have to do is smell our prey, or hear them, or whatever the demon of the day does." His head tilted thoughtfully. "Although, there's so much ash, and corpses and all around here, I suppose that doesn't do much good."

"That's what we figured," Willow nodded. That guess had lead them into hiding among piles of dead more often than she cared to remember. She still had nightmares, sometimes -- remembering the torturous day that she had spent crouched among piles of blood soaked, rotting bodies of people she had known. The sight of her mother's face, vacant eye sockets huge in her gaunt face, staring up at her from the bottom of the gruesome pile, had nearly made her fragile grip on her composure shatter. Only Larry's firm grip on her arm had kept her from reeling away, out into the sight of the prowling guards.

"Still not much of an advantage, pet," Spike said.

Willow's eyebrow arched upwards suspiciously. "Planning on ditching us for the winning team, Spike?" It seemed hard to believe, but then again, until he'd rescued her, Willow wouldn't have seen Spike working with them, either.

"They won't be winning for long, Willow," Spike answered. He had been mulling over his reasons for joining the small group of mortals since he'd been admitted into their ranks. The half suspected reasons for his actions had finally crystallized in his mind. "We're screwing ourselves over, here. Half the fun of being a demon is the hunt, the terror of our victims. Now, there's not enough prey left for all of us -- which means that we're either going to run out of food or keep some humans alive to breed them. They'll be caged, cowed, sluggish blood. Terrified, still, but accepting." He shrugged slightly, ignoring the look on Willow's expressive face.

"That's why you're helping us?"

"That and the fact that it's getting damn annoying being no more respected than you damned mortals around here, nowadays," Spike admitted.

Willow stared at him for a moment before a helpless burst of laughter escaped her.

************************

The slime still clinging to Buffy's skin and clothes had turned dry and flaky as the hours slipped away. It burned at her flesh, the demon it had come from more of an annoyance now that it was dead that it had been while alive. Ragged nails dug into her flesh as Buffy vigorously attempted to scratch away the insistent coating.

She felt Giles stiffen behind her, his breath rushing out in a low hiss. Buffy swirled around, drawing him into her arms and pulling him up against the side of the building they were passing. His eyes rolled, taking on the glazed, faraway look that she had learned to recognize as a sign of a vision in progress.

"Damn it, Giles. This is so not a good time for prophecy to come calling," Buffy murmured as she propped his body against the wall. She crouched next to him, sword held ready. "Just hurry up in there before we get caught here," she whispered hopefully.

She looked down, her breath catching in her throat as she noted just how weary he looked. His face was pale and drawn, and the pain was so deeply ingrained in him that it didn't slip from his face even when his mind was no longer his own. Tenderness welled up within Buffy, and she wanted to hold Giles to her and tell him that they would make everything better, somehow.

He didn't like having her see him like that, weak and lost and helpless. He had always been the one there to support her, when the weight of her responsibilities threatened to overwhelm her. It had been a rare moment whenever Giles had allowed his responsible, Watcher facade to drop long enough to let her comfort him.

These days, neither of them allowed themselves to slip behind the barriers that they had once erected between them. They needed each other for support, comfort, love, strength. Buffy wasn't sure whether it was the remnants of some guy related thing; or some strange, lingering belief that he was older and thus needed to be the strong one, but he still displayed some discomfort at being left totally helpless when the visions hit.

"She will call, the darkness will part, and he will be reborn of the darkness, into the darkness. And it shall begin," Giles mumbled in the strangely empty tone his voice acquired when he spoke the words that echoed throughout time, channeled through his bloodline to guide them when the darkness fell. His voice fell, his words too low for Buffy to hear.

The tingling of her Slayer senses tore all of Buffy's attention back to the matter of keeping them alive and out of the clutches of their enemies. She moved away from Giles, determined to keep him out of sight of their newest adversary. She nearly smiled when she saw what exactly what she was up against. The sword slid back into it's protective casing, and a stake dropped into Buffy's waiting hand.

The first two vampires were dust before they even had time to realize that the Slayer was nearby. The others turned to face her, yellow demon's eyes glaring at her balefully. "Well, isn't this bringing up those warm, fuzzy memories?" Buffy said before all quips were abandoned as she leapt forward.

Still slumped against a wall deeper in shadows, safely out of sight, Giles' head lolled, his breath quickening. As the last vampire faded to dust beneath one well aimed thrust from Buffy, the world died inside Giles' mind once more.

***********************

He woke on a wave of rage. His body shuddered with the remembered agony of his rebirth, his thick, trembling fingers digging into the rough cloth covering the stone floor beneath him.

His eyes peeled open, peering into the oppressive darkness as he sucked deep breaths into his lungs. Even his sharp, predator's eyes could not pierce the darkness around him. He could see no objects with which to orientate himself, save for the floor and blanket that he was sprawled out on, he would have thought himself cast into a void.

A dim ray of light cut through the darkness, and his head twisted, dark eyes eagerly following the path that the light made towards it's source. He tried to rise, but found his muscles uncooperative. Humiliation burned within him as his clumsy attempts to move met no success, and left him panting and weak.

"Disgusting specimen, isn't he?" An amused voice hissed from the doorway. The creature moved forward, demon's eyes shinning in the darkness. A shuffled sound followed, and a second figure darted into the room, cautiously lighting the torch next to the door. Small, beady eyes darted towards his form, before shifting away quickly.

"Is that all, Mistress Aldura?" the troll inquired, it's eyes carefully avoiding looking towards the prone creature on the ground again.

"Leave us alone," the sibilant voice replied. The troll bowed before backing out of the room, drawing the door shut behind him. A cool clawed hand reached out to probe at his bare chest, the thick nails tearing through his flesh with ease. Aldura swayed forward, her hot breath washing over his face. Her slanted eyes flickered as she studied him.

"What do you want from me?" he grated through clenched teeth as her fingers pried into the torn flesh she had created. The rage pounded inside him, stronger now, at the thought of being constrained and... _helpless_.

He thought that he saw amusement dance in the alien eyes peering down at him. "I have a little proposition that will benefit both of us, Angelus..."
 
 

Part 4

Sometimes, she could almost remember when killing had been hard. There had been a time, once - when the world was bright and hope lingered even after she had witnessed horrors not meant for mortal eyes - that death had been something dark and horrible that twisted at her insides.Witnessing violent demises had been the stuff of nightmares, those days. Taking the life of one who was not already long meant for a gravehad been unimaginable.

 It wasn't hard anymore. Panting slightly, Willow's hand reached out to steady herself against the bloodied chest of one of her attackers. Fear, hunger, running, all combined to make her already weak body feel ready to collapse at the slightest provocation. The fight hadn't helped any. Willow clenched her bloodshot eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning.

 When she cautiously peeled them open, her surroundings were wavering but were no longer swirling with the same nauseating speed and jumpiness as before. Willow peeked downwards, bypassing the slack face and wide,surprised eyes of the man whose life she had just taken. Her free hand wound about the knife handle jutting from his neck, tugging weakly. It didn't move. A second hand joined the first as Willow strained to free the knife. With a soft grunt, she tumbled backwards into the blood soaked ground. The weapon was still firmly lodged where she had planted it mere minutes earlier when fear and adrenaline had given strength to her weary body.

 Spike squatted next to the lone man that Willow had managed to dispose of, freeing the knife with one quick motion. More blood left the corpse as the blade was withdrawn. Standing, Spike casually wiped the blood smeared weapon against his leg. "I thought I told you to stand back," he growled, handing the knife to Willow, hilt first.

 She accepted it, and met Spike's eyes, her chin raised defiantly."I've faced worse odds, Spike. I wasn't about to cower against a wall and do nothing while they attacked you!" she snapped.

 They were easy to dispose of -- mere humans. Some mortals had died,others waited to do so, some fought, and the rest preyed upon the survivors. Willow recognized the look of those who had attacked them as they left the burnt out shell of a house they had spent several hours in. Meatier than most - filled with the food that they had forcibly taken from those who had earned it - the vultures also had eyes stripped all of vestiges of all decent human emotions. As surely as the opening of the gates had stripped away the lives which humanity had built for itself, so too had it swept away all traces of kindness and friendship within the hearts of some.

 "I could have taken care of them within minutes!" Spike responded harshly, noting the pallor to the young witch's face. "If you don't start listening to me, pet, don't expect me to rush to your rescue when you jump into the middle of something that you can't handle." He bent slightly, grabbing Willow above her elbow and pulling her to her feet.She toppled into him the moment his hand released her and would have landed back on the ground had he not caught her. "Bloody hell!" Spike hissed. "You can barely stand by yourself!"

 "I can so!" Willow responded. "In a minute or so..." she added,clutching onto the collar of Spike's duster with white knuckled hands.She looked up at his face, and something he couldn't identify flashed through her eyes. One hand abandoned it's grip on his collar and drifted up towards his chin. Her finger lightly brushed against the skin below his lips.

 "You're all dirty," she said, as if noticing for the first time.

 Spike's eyebrows arched, his lips twisting into an amused smile. "If you hadn't noticed, most everybody is," he answered, confused by the sudden shift in topic.

 "Yeah, but you're too pretty to be hidden under a layer of dirt and blood," Willow replied.

 "_Pretty_?" Spike protested. "That's it, pet. Next time you're on your own," he mock growled. He gently pulled her hands off of his collar, and shifted her around so that she was leaning against him and one of his arms was wound about her waist, keeping her upright.

 "Now what do you say we get moving before you have an opportunity to disobey me again?" Spike said. He lifted her so that her feet passed over the form of the man she had killed, the tips of her toes barely brushing over his body as Spike stepped over him.

*********************

She had the knife hanging at her hip, and several stakes awkwardly stuffed into the waist of her pants - leather, of course. One didn'tblend in with demons by wearing fuzzy pink sweaters, afterall. 'The cows have it almost as bad as we do....' More stakes and blades were hidden throughout the rest of her outfit, tucked into heavy black boots that climbed to mid-calf, concealed beneath her sleeves all arranged easy access. She felt like a smaller, wearier, dirtier, female Rambo.

 Each weapon hidden against her body was priceless. Wood was painfully scarce, most of the nearby trees having been consumed by the flames that had leapt out of the demon realm when the Gates had been forced open.When the fires had cleared, they had crept out from the underground rooms where they had taken refuge in search for the weapons they hadn't had the chance to bring with them when they hid. There hadn't been much of anything to find.

 Their lives depended on the scraps of wood they found, fashioned into crude stakes; and the knives and swords that had been in Giles'possession as well as the makeshift weapons that they had gathered from their own homes. There was little use for long range weapons as they quickly ran out of ammunition and there was almost nowhere to find more in their ravaged world. Not all places were as bad off as was Sunnydale, but no place in their world had been untouched by the horror that had spilled out of the dark world most people had never realized churned beneath their feet. The Hellmouth in Sunnydale had been the first to erupt, triggering the release of several smaller doorways spread throughout the rest of the world. From there, the demons and fires had ranged outwards. Although the Hellmouths remained the central gathering place for the demons, and the ashes of the dead hung heaviest over those unfortunate places, other locations were only marginally safer.

 "They didn't think I should be the one to go," Willow said softly,warily picking her way across the ground. The screams carrying over the ash filled air had forced Willow out of her weary silence almost an hour earlier in an attempt to drown the sounds out beneath her own voice."They thought Amy should have been the one to play traitor because she hadn't been seen in Buffy's company as often as I had, and she'd been practicing magic longer than I had. But I have a better resolve face than she does," Willow shrugged.

 The screams gained in intensity and Willow winced slightly. She didn't want to know what was happening to the unfortunate souls who had been captured, although experience and a vivid imagination painted an all too clear picture. Desperate the distract herself, and unable to speak any longer herself, Willow grasped onto a topic, which should he accept it,would leave Spike to do the distracting. "What happened to Drusilla?"she asked.

 In front of her, Spike's shoulders stiffened. For a moment, Willow thought that Spike wouldn't respond, despite his apparent willingness to reveal the fate of his Princess when she had first asked him, seemingly days ago. "I tortured Drusilla back into my arms and made her promise not to turn on me as she had with Angelus again. When the Hellmouth opened, one of the demons took a liking to my Princess. She refused him. He ripped her chest open," Spike said. By the time he had struggled free of the grasp of the two cackling demons who had held him,his Dark Goddess had been dead. They had left his beautiful Princess broken and torn on the filthy ground.

 Willow winced. That hadn't been any better than listening to the screams of the dying. She had halfway suspected that the mad vampirehad latched onto another male and had cut Spike free; or, perhaps, had abandoned him for the almost irresistible call of the open wound that was the Hellmouth against their world. "I'm sorry," Willow said, and found that she truly was.

 "Don't be. Drusilla's better off dead than living in this," Spike said, in a tone of voice that stated that he had tried to convince himself of exactly that more than a few times. "She liked plotting, well enough, but Dru's a demon who enjoys her luxuries. I doubt that she would have enjoyed Hell on earth without her bloody dolls and tea parties."

 Spike glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes unreadable. "No more talking, now, pet. They've stopped wailing, and I'd rather not have to listen to you anymore if there's no reason for it."

*******************************

His hand caught onto her arm, her flesh dry and leathery beneath his palm. When his hand had begun to move, Angelus' intention had been to force Aldura's digging claws away from the wound she had inflicted. The movement had been enragingly slow and uncertain, and once his hand finally made contact with the demoness, the vampire found that he could barely summon the strength to impotently tug at her.

 A forked black tongue darted out from her mouth, tasting air. "Angry?"she hissed in amusement. "I thought that you enjoyed playing rough." Awet sucking noise filled the dark room as she pulled her clawed fingers out of the deep cut slashing downwards across Angelus' bare chest. He grunted in pain as her hand lifted off of him.

 "What's your offer?" Angelus ground out, fighting the urge to strike out at the form hovering over his prone body. He resisted only because he knew that any attempt at moving would serve only to send him collapsing like the weak mortals he had so enjoyed toying with.

 The demoness shifted, her movements accompanied by the sound of a dry slither. "Rahvin is a weak fool," she stated, disgust curling at the edges of her voice as she spoke the other demon's name. "He was strong,once, but immortality has served only to weaken his mind and resolve.He has little control of the mortals of this realm, and he shows little interest in what is at stake, here."

 Slitted eyes watched him, bright and hard in the darkness. "You will aide me in dethroning Rahvin. You were the favoured child of the Old Ones, and you know the Slayer and her pitiful band of rebels well.Together, we will do what Rahvin has yet to accomplish, and we will destroy him in doing so."

 Angelus stared up at her, unblinking.

 Her head dipped down until her hot breath, smelling of old blood and decay, washed over his face. "Need I tell you what will happen shouldyou deny me this?"

 Hatred flickered in his eyes. "I'll help."
 
 

Part 5

Giles darted around the section of collapsed wall before him, his quick pace having slowed enough only to allow him time to access his surroundings and avoid falling face first into the rubble. He was breathing hard, in short, quick little puffs of the rancid air -- more from the lingering terror of his vision than from his speedy passage through Sunnydale's charred and shattered streets.

"Giles!" Buffy hissed, her small hand winding around his wrist. Her hand tightened around it, letting the former Watcher know in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't tolerate another second of their breakneck speed -- especially when he had yet to inform her as to why such was necessary. "Whatever it is you saw, it can't be worth the risk of not watching where you're going and running nose first into a nasty," she said.

"Buffy... I _can't_," Giles ground out, rubbing his shaking free hand across shadowed eyes as if the rough motion could sweep away what he had witnessed.

His hand was cold against hers. Buffy narrowed her eyes in her own twist of the 'Disapproving Watcher Glare.' Combined with her clothes, face and hair - stained with remnants of former skirmishes and all out battles, and the various weapons decorating her slight frame, the Glare was worthy of Giles' darkest glower. It was, however, the worry in his Slayer's eyes that drew forth his stumbling account of what he had seen.

"We must find Willow, Buffy. Something horrible is going to happen, and it is directly tied to her." Giles' throat worked soundlessly -- how to tell her that the Hell they now lived in was but the mildest of previews of what would happen should his vision come to pass? "I can't see _what_, though!" he said, raging internally at the powers that he granted him the visions to guide his young charges, but rarely provided him with enough detail to _act_ on what he saw.

"Shh, baby," Buffy said softly. She rose to her toes, cupping Giles' chin in her palm. "Calm down and think this through. You know that these things just get murkier when you're upset."

"Angelus," Giles said suddenly. The name roused far too many emotions within him, and the name fell from his lips, flat.

Buffy winced slightly. "He's dust, Giles."

Giles shook his head. "No," he said. "I _saw_ him, Buffy." 'Saw him hurt you and hurt you, again and again, until even with all of your strength, body and soul, you could not stand against him.' His mind shuddered away from the awful images of his love's torment at the vampire's hands. It had been _real_. The events he had seen had been far too twisted and brutal for his own mind to handle, must less manufacture of its own.

"We've defeated worse than him," Buffy said with finality. "We'll win. We can't do anything else." She tugged at Giles, pulling him towards her into a quick, desperate kiss devoid of passion, but filled with the need to feel him against her.

************************

The cell was lighter now, as equally unpleasant as had been the unyeilding darkness which had met his arrival back in the mortal realm. The light stung at his eyes, blurring his vision and sending small stabs of pain racing through his head. From the soft hissing across from him, Angelus could tell that his hostess found his plight decidedly amusing.

Feet padded towards him, the scent of fresh blood assaulting his senses. A mug was guided into his hands, paying careful attention not to let any of the fresh spilled blood escape. "Leave us now, Snyder," Angelus distantly heard Aldura command as he hungrily brought the mug to his mouth. He drank greedily, the liquid draining from the container within seconds. Angelus wiped his hand across his chin, catching the blood that had dribbled down his face as he drank. He brought his hand to his mouth, his tongue sweeping across the cool skin in pursuit of the last drops of his meal.

"Gluttony, Angelus? Another addition to an already impressive list of sins," Aldura said, bored. He could hear her shifting, a dry slither of scales against scales. Angelus held back his instinctive recoil at the sound -- he had never been one to appreciate the charms of serpents, and that dislike had carried over into his afterlife -- a fact that he had done his utmost to keep out of the notice of minions and superiors alike.

"What do you know about the Gate?" Aldura asked, the tone of her sibilant voice informing him that the question had a direct relation to his resurrection.

Angelus let the mug drop to the floor, and steepled his fingers under his chin. Aldura had moved from a dark patch amongst the blinding light to a slightly more distinct blur of darkness. Angelus settled his gaze in the general direction of where he imagined her eyes would be. "The Gate was the barrier which kept the demon realm from spilling into the mortal world. When they weaken enough to let darker energy slip past, Hellmouths form. When I activated Acathala, the already weakened Gate in Sunnydale was further undermined. It blew apart, and mortals learned who this world truly belongs to."

"Accurate enough, considering your limited abilities. The Gate shall not be open for much longer, however." Angelus started slightly in surprise, and Aludra's dark form wavered. "Good and Evil, Angelus... they strive to keep balance between them. There is no balance here, the world is ours, and light fades with every moment we remain a part of this realm. We are in flux now, as these two forces struggle to realign the world amongst themselves. Soon, balance must be regained, and the Gates shall close. And as they do, our kind will go with them."

He could hear her tongue flickering, quicksilver little motions. "It has been foretold that there shall be a time when the potential to keep the Gates open shall present itself. If the Gates close at that time, they shall remain so for eternity. Rahvin is too busy indulging in his human whores and his petty concerns to recognize the signs -- but the time of which prophecy has spoken is _now_."

"How?" Angelus demanded. "What's going to keep the Gates from closing?"

"Our kind has been diluted over the long eons that stretch behind us. Those few true demons who roamed the earth after the Gate was first erected adapted to their new surroundings -- surroundings devoid of the ever present pull of the energy from our realm. Many, without mates, died out, leaving nothing but human myth to mark their passings. Some found others of their own kind, but their offspring were still adapted more, and with every generation, they were less than they had been. Others still found a place for themselves within the ranks of the mortal usurpers -- vampires took human shells, stripped of their souls; werewolves infected mortals, each subsequent addition further and further away from what their ancestors had begun as; magik wielders mated with humans -- so successful that pure wielders of dark power died out and were replaced by diluted halfbreeds--"

Angelus cut in impatiently, "fascinating history lesson, I'm sure. But that doesn't answer my question. What is going to hold the Gate open?"

Aldura hissed in displeasure at his interruption. "Remember your place, Angelus! Others may just as capably fill the role I have chosen for you!" She paused briefly, the air thick with her threat before continuing. "The demons who dwell on the surface world as too removed from pure demons. Those of us who fill the ranks of Hell are too alien to be allowed a permanent foothold on this world when the Gates close. We require a medium between the two -- an anchor to hold both worlds together -- human blood and demon."

"I thought you said that vampires weren't demon enough?" Angelus asked. Even as he railed against being called weak, in Aldura's presence, he could feel the power of a full demon... power that far outweighed his own. And though he hadn't played that role in centuries, Angelus could feel himself slipping back down into subservience.

"I did not say that _you_ would be this anchor. That honour shall go to your child."

"Child? Vampires don't have _children_."

Aldura hissed impatiently. "I know that! But in times of prophecy, there are always exceptions to be made. There is a mortal woman, and through her shall you create a being of two worlds, capable of merging them both permanently."

She rocked back slightly, watching with amusement as Angelus' emotions played out across his features. His calm mask was as nothing to her. She watched the understanding spread across his face; the lust for power; his betrayal of her, sprung full to life the moment he understood what she was demanding of him.

He was stunningly stupid, Aldura thought disdainfully. Angelus was strong enough to ensure that the child had enough power to do what was required of it. He was also weak enough for her to manipulate. A pure demon, what the prophecy needed, would be too strong for her to control, as would it's offspring. Favoured of the Old Ones, and filled to the brim with dark energies after two stays in Hell -- Angelus was a perfect compromise. He was as close to pure demon as she could find while still being able to keep control of the situation.

And when he thought to wrest control of the child from her, she could and would easily send him spiralling back into the depths of Hell on a cloud of dust.

Angelus smiled, a slow, unpleasant shifting of his features. "So whose the lucky woman?"

"There are hundreds of them here. I can't tell one from the other," Aldura said. "We shall let the Prophet lead us to her. My creatures are in search of him, and when they return with my prisoner, we shall shake her image from his mind."
 

Part 6

"Welcome to our newest, only slightly less humble abode!" Xander tossed out before drawing Willow's small, rumpled form into his arms.  He squeezed her tightly, his embrace always stating how much he loved and needed her even when his worry drove him towards harsh words.  In some
ways, falling into Xander's arms was like coming home, safety in a turbulent world.  The feel of him at her side had marked Willow's perception of the world for as long as her mind could reach back, and when she leaned in towards him and closed her eyes so tight colour burst to life behind them, she could imagine that everything else was illusion outside of Xander and herself.  That picture, pretty as it was, rarely lasted longer than it took her to draw in a breath clogged with the ashes of the dead; or to feel the changes in Xander's body -- harder and thinner than he had cause to be previously.

 "It's about time you guys got here," Cordelia grumbled, her voice slightly slurred as she spoke around her puffed lower lip.  "Xander was so damned certain that Spike pulled an Angelus and went totally whacked on you that he was planning to go running off to find you."

 "Hey!" Xander protested.  "You make it sound like I was being unreasonable."  Cordelia's only response was a raised eyebrow before she flounced off.  Her former boyfriend shrugged after her, "she always gets so irritable after scrounging through mud and miscellaneous grossness."

 His slight grin faded at Xander turned his full attention back to the trembling woman in his arms.  A calloused finger gently traced from her temple to jaw.  "You okay, Wills?" he asked, his voice intent.  After all that he had seen her do, the young man still had difficulty distancing this woman from the Willow he had known.  She was strong, but he would never be able to stop worrying about her.

 Willow's nod was cut short as her temples began to throb with the motion.  She smile wryly.  "Wonderful, if you discount to fact that my head feels like it's about to explode."  She rolled her shoulders in a vain attempt to ease the tension ranging from shoulder to shoulder and up her neck.  "What I wouldn't do for an aspirin right now," she joked feebly.

 "Extra strength?"

 "Oh, yeah."

 "We set up your very own luxurious heap of blankets, Willow.  You may as well get some rest now, while you can.  Cordy should be getting someone to heat up some slop for you, too.  Take advantage of this situation: Willow, Queen for the day," Xander said, gently grasping the redhead's elbow as he guided her towards the rear of the crumbling building Joyce Summers had formerly owned.

 The witch snorted.  "As tempting as that sounds, I think we should wait until Spike gets back."  She silenced Xander's protest with an extended finger pressed against his chapped lips.  "That way we'll only have to seal the entrance once."

 Xander nodded reluctantly.  "I guess.  But you know how much I hate sitting out in the open.  I so do appreciate that false sense of security I get burrowing in the ground."

...~*~...

 Spike hadn't been able to bear the thought of burrowing inside some cramped nook in the gallery, brimming with the scent of fear and death. Upon delivering Willow safely into Xander and Cordelia's hands, Spike had dismissed himself from their reunion with a brusque proclamation that he would patrol their immediate surroundings.

 His game face was in place, maximizing his vision in the ash filled air.  He despised the feel of the stuff.  Human and material remains burned to suffocating grey ash clung to his skin and hair.  Everything he touched was thick and grimy with the evidence of the mass destruction that had torn through the world.  It swirled into his mouth eagerly, settling against his tongue and in the back of his throat every time he spoke.  It amazed him that Willow hadn't kept her mouth firmly locked against the taste of death, despite the screams her chattering had been trying to drown out.

 The sound of the gaping Hellmouth was intense against supernatural senses, but Spike nonetheless caught the sound of a skittering heartbeat of an approaching mortal.  A slight figure, half-crouched and limping, wavered in the distance.  The woman's figure stabilized as she drew nearer, the veil of ash that hung between them growing less oppressive.

 He knew who she was even before she lifted her face to him.  In their encounters over the years, Spike had studied the Slayer's every movement with the eye of a predator seeking weaknesses.  He'd catalogued her every motion - from her easy stride and roll to her hips to the way her neck and shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly before she attacked.

 A sharp sense of wrongness settled across Spike as he engaged in actions alien to his very nature.  He held out an arm to the wobbling Slayer.  "Come on already," he growled in annoyance when Buffy blinked at him, one scratched arm held before her stomach, protecting the spot against an already delivered blow.  "Let's get you inside."

 Her hand closed over Spike's proffered arm, and Buffy slumped forward. Bitting the inside of his lip to hold back a curse, Spike shifted the blonde so that her weight lay against his side.  He had carried many a terrified and injured woman in his arms in days gone by, but never with the intention of delivering aid.  Leaning against him only by necessity, Buffy held herself stiff in the vampire's arms, not allowing herself to sink into him as Willow had.

 They stumbled together through the deepening darkness, even Spike's sharp senses failing him on occasion.  He had either wandered farther than he thought, or he was leading them in circles through the descending night.

 Buffy's arm had slid around Spike's neck, and her fingers lay twitched against a leather-clad shoulder.  "_Hurry_!" she hissed at him.

 Spike's upper lip twitched, elongated canines exposed in a snarl. "Shut up you bloody bint!  I'm trying to--"  Fangs snapped shut against the words as a tiny flame was born and died several feet ahead and to their right.  His guess was that the signal was the witch's doing.  The boy would have let Spike stay lost.  'Not a smart idea, Red,' Spike chided the absent witch even as he gratefully shifted their direction, heading towards the mortals' hiding place.

 Xander's eyes widened when he saw Buffy slumped in Spike's arms. Calloused hands reached out, tugging vampire and Slayer into their temporary refuge.  Spike eagerly deposited the Slayer into Xander's waiting arms.  "Buffy?" his voice was low and urgent.

 Willow stood at Xander's shoulder, her green eyes huge in her pale, drawn face.  "What happened?" she asked.  Her chapped lips bunched into a startled 'o.'  "Where's Giles, Buffy?"

 Buffy's head lolled back.  "They got 'im, Wills.  They're going to poke through his head... Oh, God," her head fell limply to Xander's shoulder, knees buckling beneath her.

 "This is so not of the good," Xander grunted.

 "I wouldn't think so, no," Spike muttered, following the three humans deeper into the former gallery.

...~*~...

 Aldura was swaying back and forth.  The dry hiss of scales rubbing against each other filled the small cell.  Aldura reared back before lunging forward with inhuman speed.  A man's scream drowned out the sound of Aldura's shifting body.  Her fingers were resting against Giles' head along his temples.  Giles writhed, another scream pouring past his bloodied lips as the creature's fingertips began to sink through his flesh.

 Giles' breath hitched painfully, his eyes rolling back into his head. Aldura ceased her attack, fangs flashing in anticipation as the Watcher's body twitched in its restraints.  "Sing for me," she urged.

 Aldura ruthlessly suppressed a brief quiver of unease as Giles' spoke, his voice echoing with the ancient power of the Prophets.  "It has been foretold that a child shall be conceived of mortal and demon.  And with its birth, two worlds shall meld as one."

 "Yes, yes," Aldura hissed.  "The _mother_!"  Her fingers stiffened, sinking deeper into Giles' head.

 "Daughter, friend, warrior, witch, mother to destruction."

 She could feel Giles' thoughts jerk beneath the prophecy she was forcing into the open.  'Willow!'  The name exploded through both demon and mortal, and Aldura fell back as Giles was caught in the full force of an emerging vision.

 Aldura's tongue flickered.  She could taste his despair on the air.

 When Giles came back to himself, he was alone.  Coming out of a vision was always an agonizing process.  Possibility - as intense and real as
anything he had ever experienced - fought with reality.  Emotions and images forced into his mind faded back as reality gradually reestablished control.  He could feel dried streaks of blood against his face where the creature had laid her claws.  Tear tracks itched against his cheeks.  His throat was raw with the memory of screams.  Sour heat rose to the back of Giles' throat.  He had told.

 'Willow...'

 They would come for him, he knew it, he _felt_ it.  They would risk themselves for him.

 'I'm sorry, Willow.'

...~*~...

 "This," Spike growled, "is a bloody ridiculous idea."

 Four sets of irritated eyes swerved in his direction.  "Shut up, Spike," Buffy snarled back at the vampire.  "First of all, Giles is our only link to the prophecies.  Secondly, he has enough information about us that we'd be seriously fucked if any of the monsters got to it.  And finally, every one of us here loves Giles!  He isn't something to be left in enemy hands because saving him will be tough."  The Slayer was standing up, hands balled into fists in front of Spike's face.  "We're going to save him, do you understand me?"

 Willow rested her hands on the Slayer's shaking shoulders.  "He gets you, Buffy.  We're going to save Giles.  We've rescued friends before--"

 "Not right out of the bitch's claws," Spike said.  His eyes narrowed as Buffy's lip curled back in a warning snarl.  "I'm just saying, this isn't going to be easy.  Rescuing the Watcher is most likely going to get someone here killed."

 "Just shut up, Spike," Cordelia muttered.  "I think we are all well aware of our odds.  We've been fighting Aldura and Rahvin for an eternity now.  I don't want to die, but if I have to go, I'd rather not do so while cowering in some damned tunnel."

 Willow hugged Buffy lightly before letting go of the Slayer.  The redhead crossed her arms before her churning stomach.  Spike was right. Best case scenario - they'd get caught.  Worse case scenario - they'd get slaughtered.  Willow's lips thinned.  Eventually.  Once the demons were done with them.  Buffy was right, too.  They couldn't leave Giles. Since the Gates had opened, Willow had been forced to abandon her morals, and even a consideration for basic human dignity, far too often.  She would not, she _could_ not let the man she considered a friend, a mentor, and a father fall without any attempt to save him. Goddess, she was _tired_ of this dark, scrambling existence.  She wanted to be able to act from her heart and not merely the requirements of survival.

 "What's the plan?" Willow asked.

 "We kick ass," Xander said, grinning tightly.

 "Now that's a plan," Cordelia snorted.  She ran a shaking hand through her cropped hair.  "Maybe... if we're lucky, they won't be expecting a
rescue attempt...  Oh, wait.  When are we _ever_ lucky?"

 "This time, things will be different," Buffy said firmly.  "They went after Giles for a reason.  They needed what he knows.  There's something going on.  Something big," she continued, remembering the snatches she had caught of the prophecies Giles had channelled.  "Things are changing.  And we're going to be right there when they do."
 

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