Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Thirty

Angel was familiar enough with the scent to recognize it when it wafted in his direction. For the slightest instant, he furrowed with irritation and the same lacklustre feeling of disappointment. Within the next few seconds, his childe and the Slayer appeared, side-by-side, hands linked. The expression on Buffy's face was distant but not at all unreadable. It was only minimally comforting to see William looking somewhat sheepish. Hiding things, especially personal matters, was rather difficult when one possessed elevated sensors. Every vampire in convenient propinquity would know that someone got at least somewhat lucky tonight.

Pointedly, he arched his brows when they reached him. "It's amazing what you can accomplish in ten minutes, isn't it?"

Buffy smiled lightly. "Well, I'm feeling... mostly better."

"About dying?"

"No. Living." She glanced at the platinum vampire at her side, whose gaze was studiously trained on the earth. "This eternity thing... it sucks royally, but I think I'll manage."

William told a different story simply with his reluctance to meet anyone's inquiring eyes. Even without a century of foreknowledge, Angel could have identified those mannerisms anywhere. Comfort, cold but needed comfort had tied her confidence with a semblance of normality. The thought occurred to him that if he wanted to ask, now would be the time, but for all his contempt, the older vampire could not lower himself to a plane of such bitter resentment.

She was not his anymore, and she never would be again.

Whatever had passed had fueled her adequately to fight the next battle. To brave the next confrontation. Angel consigned with disinclined appreciation that while he could easily fit Spike's protocol on the back of a postage stamp, William was a surprisingly collected individual. Thoughtful and always acting only after giving the specified matter serious consideration. Their conversation several nights ago only proved that unique quality. At that moment, he envied Giles in having had the privilege of getting to know his childe so thoroughly. The momentous surprises delivered through everyday transaction would be notably easier to tolerate had one had several years experience. Yet, the evidence compiled still to let no one forget the demon aspect of William's true persona. Spike without being Spike. William while acting the parts of both. William by being both.

This was not the time for such reflection.

Angel cleared his throat. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," the Slayer replied.

"We're 'ere, luv," the platinum vampire assured her.

"I know," she replied. There was new resolution behind her voice. Strength and raw determination. The elder vampire glanced again at the couple's clasped hands. It was as if she drew power simply from him being there. The promise - however empty - that the fight had meaning. That there was a reason to see the dawn of a new day.

It was wise that William did not meet her eyes. His sullied expression told a much different story.

"Did that break give your mind time to clear?" Angel asked the platinum blond, trying without succeeding to bite back any remnants of lingering derision. "Want to point us in the right direction?"

"Uhh... right." He glanced upward and gestured to the right with a nod. "Over there. There oughta be a tunnel behind one of 'em headstones. Looks deceiving, but 's really not concealed all that well. Bit an' I climbed outta it. I 'ad to wait, o'course. It was all sunny out."

Buffy drew in a tight breath and squeezed his hand so fiercely that any normal man would suffer from lack of circulation. "Then let's go. Get this over with."

"You'll do fine, pet."

A vague shadow of a smile flitted across her face. "We don't know that. I-"

Something was running for them, and the atmosphere automatically tensed. It was an odd moment - one of recognition beyond three vampires who could detect such a factor from substantial distances. Angel concluded within the next instant that it was no one to fear, and was about to speak up when William announced, "'S Red. She's-"

"Here." The Witch turned the bend around a patch of bushes, then keeled forward and rested her palms on her knees. Her body looked asymmetrical due to a heavy package on her back. "Thank God I caught you. I was going to write a complaint to the Magic Box if the herbs I used were too old. Of course, Anya-"

"Will!" Buffy hissed with an emphatic step forward. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"For one thing, giving you this." She slid the abandoned crossbow off her shoulder and practically thrust it into the Slayer's hands. "You're slipping, girl. Forgetting valuable toys." She paused and cracked before anyone could rouse, as though stressed under heavy interrogation. "Oh fine! I forgot it, too. But hey! My job is not weaponry girl. I figured you could use it. That, and I'm... ummm..." She coughed. "Coming with you."

"Says who?"

"Says me. I decided about two seconds after you left." The Witch heaved a breath and avoided the Slayer's accusing eyes. "What? You get to save the world all the time; let the other Scoobies have a chance once in a while."

Buffy was not amused. A cold draft shuddered through her body - arctic to the scale of giving Sunnydale its second snowfall in recorded history. "Go home, Willow. I don't have time for this. I can't just... fight this guy and worry about-"

"Then why the hell are these guys coming?" her friend snapped, gesturing demonstratively with her left arm. "Do I really need to spell it out for you? I'm pretty damn powerful, here. I can help. I really can. Just as much if not more than Angel and Spike. Besides..." At that, her tone dropped in degrees. "Someone should be there... in case..."

"NO!" The Slayer and William yelled simultaneously. Then they started barking reason after reason to counter her logic until realizing they were screaming the same points.

Angel stared at them, having not caught a word but knew enough to decipher the meaning. All Willow could do was grin.

"Red," the platinum vampire continued before the silence became too distracting. "Shame on you. You oughta know 'f it comes down to that, the last thing I'll let you do is jump through the bloody Gate." When her eyes narrowed at him, he shrugged sheepishly at his own manifest concern and cleared his throat. "Peaches'll go firs', naturally. Then me. Then, 'f that doesn' work... so long world. You can't jus' give up your life like that."

"What? And it's fine for her to?" the Witch retorted bitterly. "Come on, you guys! It's the truth, and you know it. Someone should be there in preparation for the big 'what if'. I'm that someone. Live and let live. You can't talk me out of this."

Buffy shrugged and drew an arm back. "No, but I can knock you out of it."

The reaction was instantaneous. Willow's hand shot forward, cracking with small bolts of electricity as her eyes flared in warning. "I don't think so. You can use me, and you know it."

The Slayer froze, nodded, and relaxed. Concern was mapped in her gaze. "That's what I'm afraid of," she confessed. "Well, that and the other. We spent so much time trying to... what if you can't come back from it? Again?"

The Witch rolled her eyes. "I never came back from it, Buffy," she retorted. "Get it? You just thought I did. Everyone just thought I did. Hell, even Giles just thought I did. But I didn't. I didn't practice actively or anything, but the person I talked to in London told me it would be dangerous as hell for me to give it all up. I need magic the way vamps need blood. Believe me, I worried about that for a long time, too. A really long time. I worried so you wouldn't have to. I have control over myself."

"I promised 'er, too," William said softly. "Promised 'er I wouldn't let 'er fall. Don' aim to spoil that." He didn't look at the Slayer, even as she trained her wide eyes on him. "You understand, Red, that I'll fight to the bloody end. Us 'ere are dead. Don' particularly fancy dyin' again, but I will 'f you try to do somethin' stupid an' heroic like sacrifice yourself. Understand?"

Willow smiled a half-smile. "You sentimental fool."

"'Ey. I watch out for my women."

Angel grinned. "That's why all of them end up either crazy or dead."

Everyone frowned and glanced at him irritably.

"What? I was joking! Someone had to say it."

"You right bastard," his childe snarled. "It was you who screwed up Dru's bloody mind. And don' you dare-"

"Spike. Down boy." Buffy stepped between them before the verbal stings turned physical. "It's fine. He was just kidding."

It was absolutely adorable to see that vampire pout. Even the lesbian couldn't help but swoon. "Bloody prat," he growled. "I swear, Peaches. You get more annoyin' each day. One sec you're tellin' me how we're gonna be best pals, the next you're makin' me wanna rip your soddin' head off."

"All right, Mr. Sensitive," Willow said, taking his arm with a chuckle. "Enough. Don't we have a world to save? Where is this place?"

The Slayer started to object, but Angel held up a hand. "She's coming. We're just wasting time out here. Personally, I'd think having a witch on our side isn't a bad idea."

"Fine." A note of finality struck in Buffy's speech. "Fine. Let's just go. We can't afford to sit here all night." She used her grip on William's other hand to pull him in the indicated direction, inadvertently dragging Willow along with her.

"Human chain, luv," the peroxide vampire gasped as he stumbled at her side.

"Not as much human," Angel corrected, walking calmly behind them, "as it is a chain."

"Still... pet! Pet! 'S over there. You might wanna slow down a bit."

Buffy stopped without ceremony, nearly initiating a domino reaction. "There's no point in being quiet about this," she decided. "He knows we're coming. He knows I'm here."

Willow went rigid. "How can you tell?"

"Sire thing, luv," William answered.

"Are you guys ready?"

"Ready's not a strong enough word," Angel replied. A stake was coiled firmly in his grasp.

The Slayer released her hold and loaded an arrow into the crossbow. "Listen... you guys are just here to help. Don't do something stupid like try to interfere. Don't distract me. This is between me and him." Her gaze centered on the peroxide vampire. "You got me?"

He shrugged. "No can do. You know what I told you."

There was no want of negotiation in her eyes. "Will, you're going to stay out of my way, or so help me, I will dust you." It was an empty threat, of course, and while he knew it, a shudder still ran in affect. She had not so much as voiced such a disposition since he first returned.

Even still, his expression hardened. "You might be stubborn as a mule, Slayer, but you're in there with the champ. Nothin's gonna harm you 'f I can help it."

"Fight later!" Willow growled. "Come on. Let's go kick some vampire booty."

All three paused and shot her a pointed look.

"...evil vampire booty."

The journey through the tunnels William had used in his escape days earlier was longer than before. Anticipation clouded every minute. While nerves were on edge and everyone had an opinion just aching to be voiced, not a word was shared. At times, the peroxide vampire felt compelled to warn his colleagues that the expedition had consumed a good chunk of day, but knew such confirmation was unneeded. They would get there when they got there. No verbal trade could shorten or lengthen the trek.

Hours could pass and they would not know the difference.

Light, weak as it was, but light nonetheless, shone vaguely at the end of the passageway. Buffy quickened her quest, pressing forward with haste. By the time he and the rest could catch her, she had already fired three arrows into the pit where she lost her life. A look of grim declaration possessed her features. A finale that knew no fear.

"So much for a surprise attack," Willow murmured.

"This wasn't about surprise," Angel whispered back. The statement was obvious but hearing it spoken was oddly comforting.

The Slayer disappeared over the alcove, skidding to a stand in the main holding area. From there, the frame of the Gate of Abraxas was visible. Aligned in pig entrails that seemingly stood on their own accord. Behind it was the cavern wall, creating a deceptively innocent optical illusion. A flash of magic burst from behind, seizing three vamps that were running for her. Soon Willow had joined her. Then William. Then Angel. The number of vampire cronies wasn't vast but considerable enough to keep them occupied for a few minutes.

But only minutes.

Three arrows soared toward her waiting frame. With fluent ease, she dropped to the ground, eying one of the assailants and firing. To her left, Willow had strained several under her influence, and used that period to draw the enemy through. Heaving in a breath, the Slayer raced forward, dropping in mid-stride and rolling toward a cluster of the Master's followers. While on the ground, she withdrew two arrows and, without lodging them into the crossbow, dug one into the first's back. The vampire exploded in a whirl of dust before she got to see his face. Jumping up, she produced a stake from seemingly nowhere and slashed across the second's face, blinding him as she fastened it in his chest.

Sensing movement behind her, Buffy back-flipped, reaching for another stake lodged in the safety of her duster. Another detonation of dust. Three others raced for her. The Slayer swung her crossbow into grasp and shot two down with no difficulty. The third knocked the weapon to the ground and lunged forward, spear pointed at her stomach. She dropped to all fours, bringing her adversary with her, claiming the staff in the fall.

Suddenly, there was silence. Buffy found herself very much alone - in the centerfold of the Initiative's former cavity. The allies fighting beside her only moments before had disappeared. Panic shot up her spine, but her spider-sense was fast to react. They were all right. They were near. They were...

The Slayer turned around.

William, Angel, and Willow were befuddled - trapped behind an unseen barrier. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. What had happened was beyond understanding. Buffy stood at the mouth of the Gate. Anyone unrelated was barred from participation.

"Luv!" the platinum vampire cried desperately.

"I'll be fine." The words were barely above a whisper. She had no thought if he had heard her. She had barely heard herself. And yet she did not repeat her sentiments. This was it, and she was to face the shadows alone.

"Be just and fear not," she murmured to herself.

Nothing about this was just and there was everything to fear. But Buffy was not afraid.

There had never been darkness like this. The sort of menacing black that wasn't black at all. Beams of light burst from every turn, every corner, every angle of free air, and yet that was not enough. Piles of dust scratched at her feet, the lost weapons of the would-be warriors that had stood there just seconds before rattled across the metallic floor. It was then she realized, in the heat of battle, she had vamped uncontrollably. Her ridges were sharp and still unfamiliar, and yet in a calling so like herself that she could not deny her nature any more than she could deny her family.

The Slayer did not live here anymore.

The Gate was there. In the midst of the carnage, it remained unaffected. Sealed and devastatingly innocent in common appearance. A most formidable foe: that which looked harmless. Pig entrails outlined the entry, repulsively fresh, though the scent did little to make her flinch. And from behind the dormant portal door stood the object of her search. The Master - Geryon - watching her with his menacingly red eyes. Red eyes that were cold, still. Red eyes that defeated the fire. He, too, was surrounded in darkness.

It wasn't the falling vampiric dust that encouraged her. No, Buffy had seen more than enough of that. Giles had taught her long ago that no matter how powerful the girl was; there was always a final battle. A lifetime ago, on his knees outside the Bronze, Spike had told her the same. And she had feared it. She feared it in pushing the sword through Angel's abdomen, sending him to his debatably deserved sentence. She feared it in leaping into Glory's portal. Feared it a thousand times over when trusting herself in the arms of a vampire that could not love. Feared what it would do to her when she became that vampire.

But she feared none of that now. Now when there was nothing to lose and everything to gain. Not with William standing behind her. Not with Dawn at home. Not with Willow, cackling with energy, just waiting for a chance to strike. No, she feared nothing. There was her and there was him. Slayer versus vampire, as it was supposed to be. Fear had no place here.

She was lost in darkness while standing in a pool of light.

As he came forward, the darkness formed a protective veil around broad, aged shoulders. Then he began to talk - that voice so eerily confident, drawn and soft-spoken that it was almost easy to forget in whose company she currently found herself. Almost... but not quite. "Very impressive," Geryon hissed. "I'm sure you had no illusions that avarice could become so enticingly addictive."

"And I'm sure you gave no thought to the consequences of siring a slayer with friends," Buffy retorted, stepping forward on her own accord. And yet, she felt alone. Felt those with her slipping beyond her reach. She still refused to be afraid. "It pisses people off."

"Don't worry," the Master crooned. "They cannot reach us now." He stepped aside and motioned at the Gate of Abraxas, and she felt the validity of his threat course through her system without any further provocation. The Gate was quiescent but that didn't mean its power had not already begun to exercise authority. She was within its circle, now. Its territory. No, Abraxas would not allow any foreigners into the loop.

She only hoped the others knew enough to stay back.

"I'll admit," Geryon said, minutes later, circling her as though sizing her up. His prey. His sacrifice. "I had not considered the possibility of your redemption so quickly. Your ties to this world are strong. Annoyingly supported on a structure of fortitude. But that is behind you now, Ms. Summers. There is only one exit from the Gate."

Buffy's brows perked. "Killing you?"

"Foolish sentiment." The Master offered a long, throaty chuckle. "And despite outstanding evidence, still unseeingly confident."

"As fun as it is trading jives back and forth, I'd rather get to the part where I gut you." Her face was stony and resolute, incisors bared in some form of vampiric instinct. The return of new strength flushed through stealthy muscles. Distantly, she heard Willow scream out to her and immediately closed her mind off. There could be no interference. Despite trepidations, the Witch knew that.

Spreading his hands to show he was unarmed, Geryon flashed a patronizing smile. "Very well. Then let's get on with it."

The crossbow she had fired with such reliability was lost on the other side of the border. Beyond reach, unlike the spear at her feet. A small - the smallest - part of her nagged that it was unsportsmanlike to fight with a weapon if her opponent carried none. Damn lingering ethics, rational or not. Without drawing her gaze from his, she kicked the staff into her hands, gripping the wood with ferocious potency. Her eyes flashed dangerously in warning, but it only humored him.

"You are feistier than I remember," the Master quipped.

"Short-term memory?" Buffy retorted, nearing. The staff ached to be twirled, used in a dance, to bring the monster to his end.

Geryon adapted a vestige of stillness, waiting, calm. With presumed innocence, the gleam in his eyes flickered in disdainful courtesy. It occurred to her then that he truly did not believe she intended to fight. That she would forfeit for the nature of her extreme and throw herself to the Gate. Bring about the end on her own terms. The thought was preposterous, but his demeanor did not betray a wilful inkling of error. Buffy supposed in the years of his personal studies, he had never experienced a good-to-honest shock. Perhaps that was because, similarly, never had he faced an opponent of equal or superior strength. The residual power connecting them, as sire and childe, drew a bond tight and constrictive. Indeed, she did feel the link, but it was not constructed on fidelity. There was no time like the present to shock the hell out of your maker. As he ensued their endless stare down, the Slayer wavered and shattered her role in etiquette. She curled the staff in grasp and lunged for him, skillful arch of the bow slicing in perfection at his midsection.

Ah. Blessed disclosure. The ball bounced free of any court, and she was determined to call dibs.

The Master, reeling in surprise, was thrown on his back, though he did not remain immobile long. Just as quickly, he flipped back to self-awareness, eyes imploring her with wondrous, even impressed stamina.

"That took nerve, Ms. Summers."

"Really? I could've sworn it took two hands."

The second attack was as swift as it was physical. Geryon found himself kicked to the ground again, and recovered quicker than before. By now, he was beyond prepared. The bemused tenor had vacated his expression. Blackness. He was furious. Anger coursed through every fiber, empowering her almost immediately to a frighteningly unexplored level. Buffy felt it stretch through their connection, but refused to shy. Rather than intimidate her, it fueled her with the promise of power. Yes, she had the power now. It was beyond the stretches of her control, and she felt the last strand of etiquette within her snap.

The animal root of his coming finally emerged. A side she felt more than familiar with, even if they had never been acquainted. In an instant, she twirled the spear up once more, blocking the downward ambush of the Master's empowered forearms. She kicked a leg out and locked her ankle behind his, bringing him once more to the ground with an earth-shattering thud. It rang sweet melody to worn ears.

"Oh, what's wrong?" Buffy snickered, foot pinning him to the ground. "You see: this is why you shouldn't sire slayers. Tends to piss them off. And a sired-pissed-off-slayer definitely has the advantage over-"

The Master growled and kicked upward, sending her across the room to the unseen barrier guarding her from escape, or assistance. Distantly, she heard the shouts of her loved ones scream direction, but it was fruitless trying to listen. Though it was impossible for a vampire to become winded, she gasped for air, an ache harboring in dead lungs.

"Note to self," she murmured irately. "Less talk, more kill."

Before she could manage to her feet, Geryon was above her, a snicker firm on his face. Her staff - lost while airborne - was now in his possession. With a sorrowful tsk, he pressed the pointed end teasingly over her heart, but they both knew he would not strike. Not while he needed her.

"You see where that avarice has led you, Ms. Summers?" he spat bitingly, pressuring the skin above her heart and eliciting what he desired - a long moan of agony. "Yes. Know the feel, Slayer. You do it so well. It brought you here, didn't it? The skillful art of slaying."

She heard William roaring his outrage, struggling ineffectually to push the invisible barrier aside. Her inner will begged to call out to him, but she could not find her voice.

And the Master was still talking. "Ah, ah. There. You see? Even now, when faced with eternity, with death, with the weight of the world riding on your pathetic shoulders, you reach to the source of your avarice. Your hanging and self-destruction. Such silly attributes, these emotions are. Candor is a backstabbing fiend. It fills you with bliss but turns on you when you need it the most. When the Gate is opened, perhaps you will understand that. Perhaps when you lose that conscience, comprehension will fill you instead. Perhaps when you are biting into those you love, you'll feel the surge of truth that has been void throughout your existence. Perhaps when you rip your dear little sister's throat out, and taste the essence of your precious Slayer bloodline, you will know what blunt authority means."

That was it. That was all the prompt she required. With a fantastic roar, Buffy grasped the end of the spear and thrust it back at him, striking his chest mere centimeters away from the heart. And then it wasn't the heart she was aiming for. Her nature demanded blood. Her fire-worn nerves: a pit of endless rage growing within an otherwise small structure that could not possibly control such an overload. Brief panic fluttered at such an honest loss of control, but she released it along with every fleeting principle ever instructed on a hot summers day. There was simply nothing.

Nothing.

The Slayer roared and charged, yanking the staff away. It was consigned to the ground with a tremulous clatter, and her fangs snapped with malevolent intent. And she lunged, growling her fury, teeth digging into the aging flesh at the Master's throat. She tore. She pulled. She bit off more than she could chew. Black blood sprayed her face, but she didn't care. The monster within her released at last - released to its full, horrible potential. At once, the worn cries of her friends ceased in place of unabridged horror. But she could not pause. Could not reflect. She dug and strained, not caring if it was giving him what he wanted, not caring of what it made her.

Not caring, not caring.

Finally, Buffy pulled back with a gasp, the taste of dead blood running dry in her mouth. Her nerves screamed and raged for more, but she restrained, forcing herself to regain some strain of dignity. It lasted only a second, and everything crashed. Outrage flooded and poured, and her stamina dissolved. She didn't know that she was crying until she gasped for a taste of unneeded air. The hands of a monster throttled the Master. He was not dead, but he was not moving. Not smirking. Not jesting. Not laughing. Not doing anything.

But he was not dead. And she was the monster in his place. Never had she felt so powerless.

So powerful.

So terrified. Darkness had finally claimed her, and she was terrified.

Something stirred beneath her. She felt blood on her mouth and had to fight the disgusting impulse to lick it up.

"There she is." Geryon's eyes had opened, fading in power but dancing as vividly as ever. The dance of victory. "There's the Slayer I created."

It snapped, and it wasn't coming back. Buffy bid a discreet farewell to everything that had made her anything and lunged again. And then she was a mixture of bites and scratches, tasting blood on her tongue. Lapping enthusiastically. Her nails dug into a sea of soft skin. Tearing him limb from limb, and even that wasn't enough. With an animalesque roar that couldn't have possibly torn from her throat, she stood and pulled him upward alongside her. His body was as light as a feather. She did not know whether he was alive or dead, and she didn't care.

It was over. That was all that mattered. She would consider the consequences later. The trials to suffer for her own brutality. The cost of penance.

But for now, she had to dispose the Master. With a thrifty heave, Buffy thrust him through the Gate and watched it swallow him whole.

There was no reaction at first. Nothing except the silence from which she was birthed. Drying blood crusted around her mouth, her chest heaving needless gulps of sin-stained air. Realization inevitably swept over her, but she had no idea how long she had been standing there. The Master was gone. The Gate was closed.

And she was a monster.

"BUFFY!"

She was what he had wanted. Beyond the Gate. Beyond the hurt. In destroying him, she had destroyed herself. She had become the thing. The demon. The vampire.

"BUFFY!"

It was over.

Two strong arms tugged at her from behind, pulling her sharply to a protective chest, cradling her like a lost child. How she wanted to collapse. To fall. To let him coddle her for the next millennia. The Slayer closed her eyes tightly, tears still passing sturdy barriers. William held her against him, hushing her, whispering that all would be all right now. The fight was over. The Master was dead.

Terrible power flourished within her cavity. But what was left in his place?

It was then that the Gate of Abraxas hummed to life.

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks and felt the chest of her loved one shudder against her back. Drying blood caked her lip, and she felt every nerve in her body scream in anguish in one glorious whim. Without waiting for him to guide her, she turned to face her undoing.

It wasn't about making decisions. It was never about decisions. Grim reality struck at its finest hour. Realization of what she was. Realization of what she had become. Realization of what there was to do. No tempting fate. No screaming her frustration. There was nothing left.

How quickly revelations could change. How much had to be sacrificed for the sake of well-being? When would she be allowed rest?

Never. She knew well enough to understand that. After all that, the Master had been correct. Avarice had brought her here. Avarice that led to self-destruction. The cause and finish for everything that occurred on this silly little planet. A beginning and an end.

It certainly was over.

"It's... no... it's..." Willow stuttered, eyes filling with tears. "How?"

That answer was there as well. An understanding she grasped, even if others could not. "The Master," Buffy replied dispassionately. "He fed off me. His blood and mine combined. That opened the Gate." She pulled free of William's hold and began the pace forward. "I made my own home be my gallows." With assent, she turned and looked at them over her shoulder. "I have to go now."

"No!" the Witch screamed. "Giles said... no, Buffy. It's me! It's my turn! I-"

It was William who got the final say - incongruously without speaking at all. He was already halfway there by the time the Slayer gauged his actions. That alone snapped her out of any pivotal state of near-catatonia and flushed her muscles with warning and frustration. "SPIKE!" she shrieked. "NO! You can't!" Then she was running, faster of the two, and met him just as the Gate fell into reach.

By the time Willow had plundered to join, it was too late. Angel seized her by the shoulders and whirled her around, forcing her to the floor as a wave of blinding light stretched through the cavern. It was impossible to know who reached the portal first; both were gone when the quakes finally subsided. A crackle of pallid electricity seared through the entry of the Gate, closing in conclusiveness. The Witch wrenched herself free of the vampire's hold and fell to her knees, sobs commanding her body. Her companion collapsed beside her, aching to console but having nothing but grief to offer.

And that was it. The grotto fell still all for the sounds of their mingled sorrow. Static cracked and soared, fading in potency as the last was drawn into a mocking breed of calm.

Neither were looking when she came back through.

Silent footsteps carried her across the coarse ground, her eyes flickering once before fading to nothingness. The body in her arms was limp and unconscious. When Willow glanced up, she swore that Buffy was floating. Pangs of relieved joy consumed her in the second before she caught the look on her face. A bland nonexistence, concocted of ruthless empathy. Completely void of humanity in any form.

"Angel," her trembling voice managed to croak. She did not look at him as astonishment clouded his features. The Witch could not tear her eyes away.

The Slayer did not react. Did not look at them. Did nothing but walk away at the same slow pace with William cradled protectively in her arms.

Self-destruction.

Continue