The Ravages Of Hell (1?)
Hell, 2003
Darzus laughed as The First was defeated. "Imbecile." His smile widened as he sensed something. He looked around his fiery domain and to his minions. "Our time is at hand," he declared. "The bars on our prison loosen."
"Will it be soon sir?" hissed one of his servants, a leathery-winged gargoyle with a cobra's head, his forked tongue sliding out of his mouth.
"Soon enough," he replied. "Start preparing our master's legions."
San Diego, May 2005
"Hey dad, we have a guest!"
Angel looked towards his son stood in the doorway of Angel & Son Investigations' office. He blinked he recognised the lantern-jawed man stood there. " Groo?"
The former champion of Pylea flashed him a gleaming smile. Guy should have been a toothpaste model. "It is Angel," the man confirmed before looking around, his expression hopeful. "Where is Princess?"
Princess? Angel's stomach hollowed as he recalled that had been what Groo had called Cordelia. "She's," for a second words failed him, "dead."
Detroit, May 2005
"Damn!" Faith jumped backwards, the creature's slashing claws narrowly missing her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her Watcher and ex lead the demon's would-be sacrifices to safety.
Satisfied that the people were saved, Faith concentrated on going for the kill. Ducking beneath the monster's flailing arms, she snapped out a kick that smashed into her adversary's knee, knocking the creature off-balance and towards her. Taking advantage of the demon's momentary distress, she brought her sword flashing up, decapitating it. Grinning slightly at yet another victory, Faith back-flipped out of the way of the toppling demon before sauntering out of the cavern. "Are you alright Faith?"
"Natch," she flashed her ex a smile. "Piece of cake." Her and Wood might not have worked out – a combination of the Woodster's mommy issues and the fact he was brought up by a traditional Watcher, and she wasn't, she chuckled inwardly, exactly a traditional anything. But at least he'd been the first guy to treat her right, to teach her that she was worth more than a quick fuck. And for that she'd always be grateful. He just wasn't the one. "I'm going for a drink, you get rid of the civilians, k?"
"Faith!"
Ignoring her titular Watcher's protests, she sauntered off into the swirling night, the wind caressing her face like a lover's touch. A few drinks, some dancing, and another fight lived through. That sounded like a good night to her.
Nicaragua, May 2005
"Incoming!"
Riley ducked at his wife's cry, narrowly avoiding a jet of flame shooting out of the mouth of the airborne lizard they were battling. "Thanks!" he roared as he joined Graham in shooting grenades into the monster's gaping maws. Turning to his fellow team-members, he yelled. "Down!"
Without waiting to see if his best friend and other team members had obeyed, he dropped face-first onto the jungle's muddy ground. A half-second later, the ground shook with the after-effect of the grenades exploding. Ears still ringing, he struggled to his feet, conscious of the sweat that caused his filthy fatigues to stick to him. Despite his discomfort he grinned at the sight that greeted him.
The monster's twin-horned head had been completely destroyed, blown to smithereens by the twin attack, leaving behind a green-scaled body, a trail of one foot long spikes running up its back, a pair of butterfly shaped wings the size of a small car also attached. "Don't forget our victory cigar."
His grin still in place, he turned to Graham and reached for the proffered cigar. And had it snatched away from him by Sam. "Hey!"
"I told you, no smoking!" his wife scolded before crouching down beside the monster.
"And I told you, whipped."
Riley shot his best friend an irritated glance. "Shut up," he replied before turning his attention to his wife and second-in-command. Noting her concerned look, he hurried over. "What's up Sam?"
"Yeah," Graham said from behind him. "Demon's dead? What's the problem?"
"Problem is," Sam scowled, "this is a Modaz dragon."
"So?" he queried.
"So Modazs were reported to have died out seven hundred years ago," his wife retorted.
"We've hunted demons we didn't know existed before ," Graham pointed out.
"Yes, but for the most part even those we didn't know existed, the Council or some other occult group knew about," Sam replied. "But it was a Slayer in 1297 who killed the last family of these in Mexico."
"So how come they are back now?" he queried.
"Yeah," Sam replied. "That's the question."
Rio De Janeiro, May 2005
Willow moaned as her girl-friend pulled her closer, her body pressing against her, her scent filling her nose. She was oblivious to everything – the dancers around them, the samba pounding out of the nightclub's speakers, even the strobe lighting. Her whole world was the gorgeous brunette grinding against her. "I want you now," she managed to whisper.
"In that case," the Slayer's full lips pulled up in a smile even as the brunette whispered in her ear. "We better leave and go home now."
"Sounds like a plan," she eagerly agreed before dragging the laughing Slayer through the throes of writhing dancers.
The moment they stepped out of the sweaty club and into the cool night the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Before she knew it she was on her knees and throwing up, her vomit splattering the ground. She was vaguely aware of Kennedy pushing the club's bouncers back but all she could hear was the sound of inhuman screaming.
After what seemed an agonising eternity she felt Kennedy's hand on her shoulder. Ignoring the pain shooting through her head, she looked at her girl-friend's concerned face. She opened her mouth several times before finally managing to speak. "Need. To. Get. To. Giles."
"What's wrong?"
"The," she took a rasping breath. "End of the world."
Rome, May 2005
"This is," Buffy took a sip of her wine before glancing around the exclusive, discreetly lit restaurant, "div-." Her face tightened as she saw a raven-haired teen charging towards her, evading the waiters' attempts to restrain her, a sultry, busty beauty, and a willowy blonde following behind. "Dawn." She scowled at her sister as she stopped beside their table. The Immortal waved the approaching waitress away. "What do you want?"
"Oh nothing much," her sister tersely replied. "Except well maybe that!" Dawn pointed out of the window.
Buffy's eyes widened at the sight of a helicopter approaching their fourth floor restaurant. "What is-."
And then the shooting began.
Nigeria, May 2005
Xander glanced over his shoulder. He shot a tight-faced Amy a reassuring smile, resisting the urge to shake his head in disbelief that he was working with the Wicca. When they'd decamped in England twenty-two months ago, they'd found Amy studying with Giles' Devon coven.
At first he and Buffy had been nervous of Amy's presence. Kennedy had been, Xander allowed himself a wry grin, the word was definitely pissed. But Giles and Will had explained they'd organised for Amy to recuperate and learn after her run-in with Willow and Kennedy. And if he could give Will, and Faith second chances, and in Buffy's case a third and fourth, he guessed he could extend the same courtesy to Amy.
And that was how she'd ended up joining him, Vi, and Rona in moving to Africa eighteen months ago. And how the Witch found herself with him and the others in a tunnel searching for an unnamed book of prophecy. "Life sure is unpredictable."
"Be quiet Xander," Amy hissed. And yet, Xander grinned to himself, still being bossed around by women. Some things never changed.
His amusement died when he reached the edge of a ledge overlooking a circle of eight demons surrounding a blood-coloured pentagram with a thick leather-bound volume in the centre of it. His skin prickled both at the black robed demon's jaundiced skin and slanted, violet eyes, and their ominous chanting. "What's going on down there?" he muttered.
"The Ritual of Cleansing," Amy hissed back, her eyes filling with horror. "That book is so foul not even demons can read it without first completing the ritual."
Oh, oh. That did not sound good. "In that case we better stop them," Xander glanced at his companions. "Right?"
"Right," Amy nodded. "Only don't step into the pentagram."
"Why not?" Rona queried.
"It's a doorway to hell," Amy replied.
Xander gulped. "Why do none of these doorways ever lead to Disneyland?" he complained.
Devon, May 2005
Giles smiled fondly as he climbed out of his jet-black MG, the one sop to his new position as Council head that he'd allowed himself. Up ahead was a traditional rustic Devon cottage complete with a neatly trimmed garden, not dissimilar to hundreds maybe thousands around the country, lucky enough to escape the current class-obsessed government's rampant hatred of country-folk.
Except this was the place that first he, then Willow, and finally Amy had all recuperated and rehabilitated following their various black magic escapades. And this morning Andrew had taken a phone call from the Coven's leader summonsing him here for some reason or other. Giles chuckled as he made his way up the winding path, the gravel crunching underfoot. Probably to tell him off for not visiting in four months.
He knocked on the white panelled door. After a minute, he stepped away, his brow furrowing. His puzzlement turned to concern when he noticed all the flowery curtains were closed. And in the middle of the day. After muttering a quick prayer, he crouched down by the lock and jimmied it. After a few seconds, the lock clicked open. "This is probably a really bad idea." Taking a breath, he stepped through the doorway.
New Orleans, May 2005.
Lorne supped half-heartedly at his Sea-Breeze, the depression he'd been suffering since running from LA. refusing to shift. He jolted as a scaled demon began singing on stage. "Oh boy," he took a gulp of his drink, some of it spilling over the edge of his cocktail glass on account of his shaking. "I think it's time to get back in the game. Oh, short and silent," he sighed, "the phone."
"Trouble?" Oz asked as the pink-haired musician who'd been his business partner for eight months passed him the Mickey Mouse shaped phone.
"Only the biggest. Elvis in '77 big. Mama Cass big. Barry White big."
"I get the point."