Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Twenty-Three

For the first time in days, the rooms of the Summers residence on Revello Drive buzzed with conversation. Most lights remained untouched, but the excited frustration pouring through warring voices could not be quenched. Angel had arrived at Xander's basement two hours after the hunting party departed, wide-eyed and explaining in a panicked frenzy that Buffy had not met him at the approximated time. Harris immediately suggested they go out searching and was silenced by the vampire for rationality in continued safety. He related the state they found the Summers home in and proposed everyone move there for the time being. Especially now that the Slayer was missing.

"Well," Xander was saying in an unsuccessful attempt of reassurance. "It's Buffy, right? She typically doesn't follow the ru-"

"Spike's gone, too. Spike, or William, or whoever. If-"

"He is?" Giles echoed, paling in complexion. "Oh dear. Then something has happened. I know Will - he's punctual to a fault."

Harris stifled a chortle. "Yeah...about that...are we sure this isn't some crazy whack job and he's not the good twin? Anyone else here not convinced?"

Both the Watcher and the vampire looked at him incredulously.

"What? I'm just saying..."

"This is no time for jokes," Giles grumbled, voice raw with concerned irritation. "Buffy is missing and Will...he was expendable. To the Master, I mean. He might have simply-"

A voice of much-needed reasoning sounded in return, coated with disagreement. "No," Angel murmured. "He's alive. I would know if it were otherwise."

A brief silence settled, demanding calm with alarming neutrality. Willow was seated by the window - listening only partly when her eyes snapped furiously to the vampire. The look on her face was distant but present at the same time. She had not spoken since Angel arrived and announced that the two people save Xander she was closest to were missing. It was then that she raised her voice, masked with frantic worry. "How?" Her façade suggested an unhealthy expenditure of caffeine.

Giles glanced at her meaningfully, and was consumed with infinite understanding and gratitude. "It's through blood," he explained softly. "I suppose you could compare it to maternal instinct. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. Angel is William's grand-sire, and that connection - though not as potent as the bond formed between the immediate sire - is strong enough to relate significant loss. And, needless to say, Will's complete absence would indicate something."

"It goes both ways," the vampire added. "Something went through me both times that Darla died."

"And he's okay, then?" Willow asked roughly. "If he's okay, then Buffy has to be okay. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. Ever."

"If we presume they were taken at the same time and place." The Watcher withdrew his glasses and consigned them to the hem of his shirt. He had never felt so tired. "But it doesn't make much sense to keep Will alive."

"Then there's a purpose," Angel replied sharply. "There has to be. Maybe they're going to use him."

Willow's eyes went wide with alarm. "Oh God! He's been having me research the curse...your curse." She waved an arm in his direction. "What if...oh God! What if...?"

A grim silence settled over them once more.

Giles cleared his throat. "Ummm...even if that was the case...it was Spike in the first place who sought out his soul. He wouldn't do anything."

"Anything but try to rape her again?" Harris snickered bitterly.

"Yes, Xander, repeat the very act that persuaded him to get a soul in the first place. That sounds rational." The Watcher rolled his eyes, though there was doubt behind them. There was no mistaking the obvious. William the Bloody was a trusted man. Spike the Soulless Vampire was not.

Willow sighed heavily and shook her head. "Well, we can't make any assumptions. All we know is Buffy, Spike, and Dawn are out there somewhere, and we have to help them."

"It's better if you just wait here," Angel replied. "If Buffy was overpowered-"

"Hey! I'm Last Resort Girl! Spike said so! And Last Resort Girl says we've been spending too much time on our patooties and not enough out there fighting the big evil. Look where it got them!"

"Alive, for the time being," Giles retorted softly. "But you're right. We can't just sit here and-"

Angel grumbled in mild complaint, but conceded. "Fine. Rupert, you're with me. Xander, Willow...stay here in case they come back and need help."

"Oh no!" the Witch huffed indignantly. "You're not going to ditch me again! That's my best friend out there! I'm not going to just sit here twiddling my thumbs until I know that she's all right. Besides, and do I really need to shout this - umm, magic? Hello? How about a locater spell? Won't take long. I'll just-"

Xander frowned. "I don't like the idea of you messing with-"

"Well, get used to it. It's who I am, and all those times when I'm not homicidal, I can actually be of some help." Willow looked desperately to Giles. "Please! I can't stand this. This...not helping crap. It's stupid. We've been in this thing together for, what? Ten years now? I don't think one lousy spell to find the Slayer and Sp-Will-whoever will hurt anyone."

The look she received could have frozen hell. "Listen," Angel said, heaving a breath for emphasis. "I need you here. You and Xander. Do your locater spell or whatever - that'll be enough to point Giles and me in the right direction. If you want to be helpful, you'll stay put. If we haven't found them by daybreak, I'm going to call my...associates and get them to come here and help."

"Your 'associates'?" Xander retorted skeptically.

"We work together. Kind of deal with things of this nature."

"Slayers Incorporated?"

No one dignified that with an answer.

Willow pursed her lips, calming. "You mean Cordelia, don't you? And your son. And...all those other people that I don't know."

Angel offered a dry smile. "Not entirely sure that Conner would want to join me, but we can always try. I was thinking along the lines of Fred and Gunn. Cordy would want to come, I know. Wesley, too, if he wants to tag along."

"Wow." Xander looked thunderstruck. "I feel so out of the loop."

"I won't call them unless I need to," the vampire added quickly. "We have enough to deal with in LA, and I'd prefer not to get them involved. But...if this Master has risen, or done something to Buffy...it might be necessary."

Another silence - not quite as heavy. Giles's eyes fell gravely, and he drew in a breath and he looked to Willow with resolution. "Let's try the spell."

*~*~*

It seemed they were led forever down a tangle of corridors and chambers. The darkness had not alleviated to the point of identifying the mystery behind the holding cavity, but with each passing minute, Buffy was more convinced that it was a place she was acquainted with. There was nothing convenient to suggest location; all was feigned by sensory and impulse. She just knew.

The Slayer was shackled and prodded, forced to the ground by a commanding hand from behind. Though he was not beside her, she knew William was near. Whatever chemicals had been injected through her system had yet to fully wear away. The legs she depended on were stealthily unstable. Her eyes pierced the shadows in futile search for her sister, but there was nothing to see.

Buffy attempted to ineffectually to flex her shoulders in the direction her instinct told her carried William. When her vision finally started to return, she saw she had been steered ahead, and he was not made to follow. Every fiber of her being demanded cautiousness. A rage against the fire that was growing steadily in power as each minute passed.

"Will?" she exacted from the darkness, ignoring snickers crowding around her as the shadows in the distance materialized into tangibility. "You still-?"

"'Ere, luv," came the familiar, wanted Cockney brogue. "I can see you."

Buffy heaved a breath, amazed at how it pained her. Through all her years as the Slayer, she had only endured a few instances that exposed her to normal human frailty. It felt someone had grasped her very essence and yanked it out of reach. There was nothing to suggest enhanced strength and durability. Overconfidence, she saw, had shaded her pathway, leading her to believe in invincibility. Death had not frightened her in many years. She neither craved it or wished the prospect away - simply stopped believing it could ever successfully transpire.

When nothing moved for a few minutes, her mouth drew into a thin smile. "Wish I could say the same."

"Jus' stay with me, pet. Everythin'll be all right." There was a moment's pause. "Is today the day, kitten?"

A terrible coldness washed over her with infinite understanding. Buffy inhaled sharply once more, eyes clouding with tears of recognition. "I think," she replied hoarsely. "Oh God, it has to be."

"Stay with me," he repeated soothingly, though his voice sounded more and more distant with every syllable. "Stay, stay, stay..."

I'll try, she tried to say, but the words lodged tightly in her throat - rendering her forgone and alone. And then William was miles away, stretching across eternity, trying to reach her. Reaching, reaching, but never succeeding.

Then the blackness swallowed her.

The voice that echoed so menacingly in her ears lacked any means of conventional definition. It was soft and metallic, malevolent and commanding. Confident and eerie - ringing like a blade against grass. Pliability that could be heard in a crowded room: something that would make all subjects of any kind yield and listen. The pits of the creature's eyes glowed with magnificent wonder, capturing hers without ritual. It was not the face that was hard to look at, but the eyes nearly did her in. Gleaming maroon pits of endless torture suggesting fun among the wicked. Something fell hard in the bottom of her stomach. Was this what Dawn last saw? Those eyes of pure malice? Had the sight alone done her little sister in?

Buffy released a quivering breath and willed herself to slowly returning strength. She understood William was still behind her, no further away than he had been a few minutes ago, despite the implied distance between them. Through a swarm of confusion, she called his words to her psyche, repeating as though they were a sacred incantation.

I have been led here for a reason.

That wasn't her thought. From where had it originated? The Slayer blinked, wanting to look down. Its eyes commanded her upward still, shining into her, through her, with all the willful intention of a mischievous dryad.

"Ms. Summers," the voice hissed with shards of glee. "What a pleasure to meet at last."

Buffy flexed her shoulders again, hands cuffed constrictively against the small of her back. A thousand angry words bombarded her throat, but she could speak none of them.

From behind, a potent 'Stay with me' rang with incessant persistence.

"Ah," crooned the voice. "Nothing to say? No ill-mannered quips to share? No empty threats to give shape? My, my, perhaps I overestimated you after all. Is this all the challenge I am to expect?"

The Slayer fired daggers with her eyes; ounces of power returning like insulin shots. "If you wanted more, you might have tried me at full strength," she retorted bitterly. "Or were you too afraid I'd surprise you?"

"There she is," the Master replied coolly, stepping forward but not close enough to be completely seen. The focal point behind ocular emphasis shone with adequate reasoning the threat implanted in his words. "That's my girl. There's the spirit of that little fireball whose career I have followed with such enthusiasm. You are quite the troublemaker, aren't you, Ms. Summers? You have enjoyed a decade of war on the demon world, mocking death with every step, and even taking the liberty of defying its permanent namesake. Oh yes, I have heard much about you. I was eager to see just how much was fact and what was construed from myth."

"So you decided to drug me up?" Buffy's breaths were steadily gaining force. "You must be really insecure."

An amused chortle tumbled out of the Master's throat, clearly anything but threatened. He snickered in good humor and took another step forward. "How bold of you," he commended with thick falsity. "Such a brave little girl. I have always valued the importance of knowing or - at the very least - anticipating your opponent's weakness. I gave you ample time, Ms. Summers, and you had more than enough help guiding you along the way. Your intentions were not so nobly motivated, were they? Hmm? Even in the eyes of danger, you took liberties over what was important to Buffy Summers and not what would keep the Slayer alive. Tsk tsk. What a shame."

There was no sense in denying the claim. That much was true. Buffy held in a breath and glared, though the menace behind it was gone. Faded and nonexistent. Still, she had to maintain her ground. The Slayer drew in a deep breath and fortified her will, steadfast with resolve. "Where is Dawn?" she demanded.

"Quite all right, for the moment."

"Where is she?"

There was no immediate callous reply. Something in those maroon pits twinkled with merry delight. "Mmm...rather bold of you," the Master mused, twiddling and pivoting to circle her. "A Slayer forced to her last whim. Bested before she knew what hit her. My, my...what would your mother say?"

Buffy's face hardened with renewed tenacity. "Where is my sister?"

"As I said," Geryon remarked, for the first time allowing aggravation to collide with the confidence of his tone. "Alive, for the time being. And most tasty, at that. I must admit, the extremes to which she was preserved...I had never anticipated the Slayer's sister could be so wholly untouched by any of demon kind. She was not without her flaws, of course. I could smell others on her. But, for one who faces so much exposure...not to mention those nightly escapades through the cemeteries alone...it is a great wonder she has not tasted as much death as say...oh, you have."

A hard retort coiled her tongue, but it was a voice behind that sounded first. "Y'old git!" she heard William cry. "Nibblet's made of more bullets than you'll ever muster! Little girl can be frightenin', can't she? Downright scary when she puts her-"

"Sp...Will!" Buffy snapped. She didn't know why, but such bantering could not possibly conclude well. "Please!"

Geryon rumbled in mirth. "And it always seemed you two got along so well."

The Slayer turned her eyes upward once more, growing dark with fury. Worn muscles surged with rekindled intent. "Go to hell."

"Well, I suppose, Ms. Summers, that is the material intention."

At that, the Slayer's brows perked, cynicism soaring through her aching muscles, feeding her worn nerves. The implications were not difficult to read. "Oh, how stunningly original," she spat. "Sucking the world into Hell. Is it really Wednesday? These things just creep up on you unexpectedly. Hate to tell you, but that threat just loses more of its edge every time I hear it."

If Geryon was intimidated in the slightest, he did nothing to let it show. Another patronizing chuckle rippled through the air. "Such confidence," he drawled with counterfeit admiration. "Look what the façade of invincibility does to one's esteem. Don't be so closed-minded, Ms. Summers. I would never presume to do something so undeniably tedious and predictable."

"Well, then you've pretty much failed in that department." Buffy stretched her arms, testing her restraints with dying futility. "Do you have any conceivable idea how many apocalypses I've stopped? If you want a chance to end the world, I'd suggest you just kill me now."

From behind, she heard William growl and attempt to spring forward. "Buffy!"

The Master clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "You're still not listening. It's better not to underestimate me. My intention, you see, has nothing to do with the end of the world."

"Or really?" Her wrists pressed against her bindings, and she heard a bolt pop and bounce away. The telling flicker of the Master's eyes betrayed the same recognition, but he in no way appeared alarmed - rather, encouraged. "Enchant me."

"Well, look at the proposition logically," Geryon retorted calmly. "What is the end, after all, but the beginning? Or the beginning but the end? If you consider things within the bounds of reasonability, you will find they are quite one in the same. What you see as an apocalypse, I see as a most promising new start. There are no delusions of drawing your earthly world into Hell, my dear."

"Oh?" Any cunning retort lodged ineffectually in her throat, her focuses shamelessly directed at her bindings.

"There is the most remarkable difference between sucking the world into Hell and unleashing Hell on earth."

Buffy froze as did her meager escape efforts, and she glanced upward with cautious resolve. "What?"

Geryon released a coo of pleasure. "Ah. There it is. That first flash of fear. That shudder of reproach. Yessss...but, by all means...do not allow me to shatter your misplaced integrity."

The Slayer exhaled slowly. "What do you mean...Hell on earth?"

"You really are most naïve," the Master snickered. "Why would I want to put an end to a world such as this? So much vulnerability to dwell on. Feed on. Destroy humankind? Ridiculous! People, you see, have a thousand convenient uses, and I have an eternity to experiment every one of them. I would never presume to do something so foolish as to cheat myself of such a glorious opportunity. After all, beginnings are so much advanced, and quite underrated. Yes...I believe this will be...the dawning of a most glorious era."

"I won't let you." The struggles against her bindings resumed, more pronounced - fevered and encouraged. "You should know in your old age that cuffing a slayer will do little to stop her."

"As your experience should have indicated not to take any threat for granted." The Master drew a tight smile. "You are not without flaws, Ms. Summers. Nor are you invincible, as you would have your friends who follow you so blindly believe. No, I'm afraid...you are most ordinary." At that, he emitted another rumble and emerged fully from the shadows. Buffy didn't flinch as she beheld his face. Her line of work had presented more than its fair share of horrible sights. This was no different. "A rather plain, unremarkable girl who has little more than luck in her favor. Oh yes, you're well reputed. If not for the insidious assistance of those around you, you would have been long gone years ago."

Behind her, William snarled and flexed against his bindings. "Leave 'er alone, you bloody ponce! I'll rip your soddin' head off!"

Geryon's lips curled in an ugly sneer. "You see what I mean, do you not? So influential, even my own kind turns his back on his true calling. You've rendered William the Bloody to nothing more than a personal lap dog, waiting infernally at your beck and call. But your friends aren't here, are they? And your precious sister-"

Buffy growled and attempted to lunge forward.

"-being held here. Right here. Used to snack on between meals. Taunted for our amusement when we're bored. The perfect, however overused ploy to lure you right where I wanted you." The Master stepped within her reach, commanding her gaze with the same thrall his predecessor had possessed. A cold sensation washed over her; rage beyond imagination soaring through every artery, fueling her with strength beyond strength. She would not be used in this manner. Nor would her sister.

The reaction seemed to please Geryon and he cackled again, eyes gleaming maliciously. "That's it," he encouraged. "Give in to your anger. Your fury. It empowers you. Charges you with life. It alone can bring me down." He took her chin in his aged fingers, jerking her head upward. William roared pointlessly in effect, but neither was paying attention to him anymore.

Buffy felt she was falling through oblivion.

"Such youth," the Master mused. "And power. But you, my sweet, you are still most...average. Painted with great velocity in bright colors, made to think you're worth something in this great big world. But you're not. All these hardships, all your suffering compact in a thousand sacrifices for people who don't even know you exist. People who would never flinch if they heard your name. Chosen like all before her to die. Useless and alone." Geryon smiled and stood, releasing his hold on her as though repulsed. "And yet your title alone...the Slayer...is enough to make any decent demon shrivel in fear. No matter how easy we prove it is, fundamentally, to tear you down." With that, he smirked and glanced behind her. "Wouldn't you agree, William?"

"Fuck you, y'old sod."

The Master smiled softly. "Charming. Thought you might see things differently, given your history. What a shame." With deathly stillness, he again turned to the Slayer and rumbled in mirth. "Now then. I bid you, Ms. Summers...rise. I will not end you while you are squabbling on your knees." He motioned to something behind. "Unshackle her. Arm her." His sneer turned ugly. "You shall not accuse me of cowardice, girl. Rise and fight."

Before she knew what was happening, the binds that secured her wrists behind her clamored noisily to the ground. Freedom surged her veins with new conviction, and Buffy rose to her feet, taking the proffered staff that materialized to her left. Her eyes never left her captor's.

"You've made a very big mistake," she growled. "You kidnapped your sister, abducted me and my friend, drugged me up, insulted me from every angle - pretty much pissed me off - then freed me and gave me a nice long stake to play with." She grinned and lifted her staff in emphasis. "Not smart, pal. You'll regret not having killed me when you had the opportunity."

"I won't disappoint you."

The Slayer arched a brow and snickered. "You won't get the chance."

Geryon's sneer hardened. "Your over-confidence is your weakness." His eyes twinkled. "As is your mislaid faith in your friends. Let not yourself be overwhelmed with the promise of total success. Your self-assurance is your enemy, Slayer. It comes in the guise of ally, but will turn against you in the end, and serve as my agent."

"Then I'd say you have nothing to bitch about," Buffy snapped, ignoring the foray of protests tearing at William's vocals. "If you have so much going in your direction, then do it. Come on. After all, you are the big bad vampire. The Master. Do your goddamned worst."

"My worst?" The Master arched his swordsman arm and directed the pointed end at her throat. "But you, sweet Slayer, deserve much more. However, as your being in itself lacks poetry, your end should appropriately be void of justice."

The first blow was blunt and without definitive warning. Short and demonstrative. Buffy leapt back, eyes narrowed and accusing. She maneuvered her staff eloquently-a combination of cunning and craft. Many years had passed since her last sword fight, and though this lacked proper definition, it was close enough to merit.

An incursion of low swings and miniscule deflections - every attack a work of art in itself. The wood of the colliding spears rang a soundless splinter through dead air, and while noise surrounded her, Buffy heard none of it. There was only her and her objective. The menace wielding the opposing staff. His mocking retorts stung her where she would not flinch, and she forced her thoughts elsewhere. This was the bastard that had Dawn. The bastard that had corrupted her dreams and threatened her where she felt safe - as safe as one could feel on the Hellmouth. Without him, William would never have returned, and her world would not be upside down.

Even in the middle of her showdown, she could not help but think of other consequences.

Geryon advanced with a series of blows - his movements quick and masterful. Certain poise held above mortal thought: the influence of centuries of practice assisting every attack. A jab to his middle blocked easily, supported with a round turn as he kicked her bothersome being to the ground. The mocking humor he so willfully expressed had vanished from his features, but carried over in every turn of his body. He was limber - more so than his appearance would lead one to believe. She didn't remember his predecessor being so lithe, or having as much to say.

So much fuel her with. She had been scathed. Time and time again. That didn't matter to a creature of his reputed callousness.

The Slayer grunted as she rolled away from the spear's objective. She bounded again to her feet, forcing Geryon backward with a sortie of elaborate strikes, putting her upper body strength to full power, asserting herself with immeasurable durability. She saw the opposing staff coming for her, swiping ferociously at her abdomen. Instinctively, Buffy dropped to the ground and swung her spear for his legs to knock him over. The Master sprang into the air - seemingly weightless - and pounded to the ground behind her. She rolled away before he could nail her to the floor.

A wave of fresh dizziness reeled over her, and Buffy lost her footing. The Master seized the opportunity and hurdled forward, catching her by the legs and sending her to the ground. William's cry of warning pierced through the silence and the Slayer's eyes went wide, forcing herself to roll to safety and regroup her resilience.

Geryon growled and circled, the first bits of aggravation bleeding through an impenetrable façade. They stared each other down for what seemed like hours, neither wavering in fortitude. The Master again stalked forward, approaching with another series of assaults, all of which she deflected without challenge, moving backward just as slowly. Buffy twirled and caught his chin with her ankle, twisting to snatch his weapon between her legs, but he pivoted and sent her again to the ground. She hated being on the defensive - and he was clever enough to anticipate what was coming. There was no tact or motive. It was left to pure instinct.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy pressed her spear forward in a diagonal form, hoping futilely to catch him off guard. Geryon again brought his own to repel, a horizontal line. He pressed upon her relentlessly, using such force she nearly toppled backward. A topple she could recover from, a topple was not the end of the world. However, what happened was hardly a topple, nor as easy to recover from. The Slayer's heart stopped as she heard her spear crack and snap in two. In her surprise, both halves fell to the ground, and she stood before him defenseless.

The next few seconds occurred so quickly that she had no account of what had happened until it was over. Another fresh wave of dizziness commanded her focus, and Buffy tumbled in an unimposing attempt to maintain balance. Wearily, she wavered, and in her stupor, Geryon seized control. A quick flash and his arm held her hostage against his chest. Barely an instant passed before his fangs found her throat.

Buffy was well schooled in the propensity of vampiric bites. Ten years earlier had given her the first touch. A brief sensation, as though her taste was displeasing to the Master's sensory. Two years later to save Angel's life. A conquest for Dracula - sampled but not drained. This was a new feeling altogether. Geryon was not modest in his demands, nor articulate. The previously manifest appearance of any form of eloquence dissolved, and the monstrous nature of his true form emerged at last. There was nothing beyond the pain. From a far distance, she heard William's roars of outrage. Heard him cry with sorrow, sorry that she could not go to him. Sorry...sorry...

Then there was another voice. Nearer. Buffy forced her eyes open with lasting ounces of strength and saw her sister. How long Dawn had been in the room, she did not know. All she understood was she was there now. Tears were streaking down her cheeks, and her mouth was in full motion, vocalizing strangled cries of protest.

It all seemed so surreal.

At last, the Master withdrew his fangs, taking a prolonged lick of reddened lips, supporting her from falling as he drew his wrist into sight. A long sliver of blackened blood revealed under a flab of peeled back skin, and he held it to her mouth in offering.

"Save yourself, Slayer," he murmured. It was the only thing she heard - her other senses failing her. Failing...failing... "Drink up like a good girl. Just a taste, and all your earthly woes will cease to exist."

"BUFFY!" She forced her eyes widened and saw William again, struggling against his bonds, restrained by the helping hands of mindless subordinates. "BUFFY! NO! Don't do it!"

As if she would. The Slayer shook her head in cold rejection, turning her head away. "No...I won't."

"Not even to save your lover?"

She shook her head.

"Your sister?"

"No!" She wasn't sure whose voice that was and decided it didn't matter. "If I drink, I'd turn into..." Her consciousness battled with an oncoming sense of fatigue. "I...become...I'd hurt..." With one ounce of lasting resolve, Buffy looked to her sister and smiled. "I'll never do...anything to...hurt...her..."

"So instead you'll leave her to die here, instead of giving her a running chance?" Geryon pressed his wrist against her mouth, nodding to the cronies to begin Dawn's release. "Do it, Slayer. Drink your troubles away."

"BUFFY! DON'T!" That was her sister, strangled tears muffling her voice. "I will so stake your ass if you dare touch it! DON'T BUFFY, PLEASE!"

The Slayer looked up with new conviction coloring her eyes. Her vision was beginning to fade. And with lasting penance, her eyes met William's gaze and held. She knew what she had to do. Not for him - it was never about him. Sisterly love went beyond anything material. Devotion.

But he would help her. He always did.

"BUFFY!" Dawn was sobbing, crashing to her knees as tears poured relentlessly down her cheeks. "You've already died once for me. DON'T YOU DARE DO IT AGAIN!"

Buffy gasped and drew her hand to feel the scar forming at her neck. Her touch encountered dampness, and she saw for herself the blood staining her fingertips. That was it. Her eyes fogged and matched with William's. She saw nothing beyond him. And as her lips parted, a single utterance spilled forth. A single word, and nothing more.

"Red." She said it with such distance that he thought briefly she referred to the color tinting her skin. But Buffy looked ahead, and he saw the clarity behind her gaze. Saw and comprehended. His Slayer to the end.

Their eyes remained locked with mutual understanding - his reflecting a course sense of grieved loss. Futilely, he shook his head, desperate to reverse her intentions. The tears streaking down his face had silenced his voice. There was simply no more left to say.

"Red," she murmured again. And she was tumbling, tumbling, her lips pressed to the open skin of Geryon's wrist, drawing blackened blood into her mouth.

Distantly, twin voices shouted in opposition, warring and finally tearing away. A cackle and she fell - dying a third time. Feeling life evacuate her body, slowly but surely. A senseless parade from which she would never recover. Death was once her gift; now it was her purgatory. Her eternal punishment for numerous wrongdoings, for restless nights she could have spent elsewhere. For empty pride she wore like a brace. A crutch.

It was left in the hands of Red.

The last thing she heard as she clamored to the floor was the Master's mocking refrain. "Goodnight, sweet Slayer. May flights of angels send thee to thy rest."

Her eyes closed and all went black.

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