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Angels and Demons by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 5.13
 
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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.13
Saturday, June 15th, 2002


Buffy was quick to realise that the overall fight was going to be a lot less dangerous if she took on the Turok Han with the axe and left the one who, so far, had yet to arm himself or was that itself? Maybe it was even herself. Who knew with these things? Anyway, left that one for Spike. A chunk of broom handle wasn't something she'd like to use to parry any weapon that Spike had sharpened. She watched the ebb and flow of both fights carefully, waiting their moment. 'Spike, when I give the word we're doing the switch from the church.'

Even hearing Spike's answer in her head, she could picture the smirk that went with it, and he let her know that he had remembered the move she meant. 'Guess my little dominatrix wants to be on top?'

'Now!'

Spike bent at the waist and Buffy threw herself into a roll that momentarily pressed her bruised back against his and in an instant she faced off against the axe-wielding ubervamp.

 






Even as Spike straightened up and shifted his stance to face off against the unarmed vamp, he realised that the Turok Han wasn't adjusting particularly quickly to its change of opponent. Keeping his left hand curled around the stake, he launched into a series of kicks and punches in hopes of wearing the creature down but, despite their force and accuracy, they seemed to do little to daunt his adversary. The Turok Han simply seemed to take whatever punishment was necessary to allow it to get close enough to rake at Spike with its claws or get in a mule-like kick. Within a couple of minutes, the new leather of his duster bore several scrapes that hadn't been there at the beginning of the night and three parallel gashes showed red on Spike's cheek.

"Not a good move, mate," Spike commented, brushing at the scratches with the back of his hand and then licking the blood from it, even as he dodged a couple of flailing swings from the stronger but marginally slower vamp. "See, my lady there likes me all pretty, an' I like to keep the lady happy." Spike loosed a left-handed jab to the nose, a right hook that caught the Neanderthal's jaw and followed them up with a particularly vicious knee to its groin. He waited for the vamp to collapse, but instead its straight fingered punch found his solar plexus, driving finger-deep through the muscles of his stomach.

Spike let out a choking gasp of pain, gripping his adversary's shoulder to stop himself crashing to his knees and using what strength he could muster to plunge the broom handle into the ubervamp's chest, centre mass. The wood penetrated and stuck but the ubervamp failed to turn to dust. At least now it was more interested in removing the impediment than trying to attack Spike. The blond pushed the other vamp backward, trying to gain space, and was lucky enough that, with both its hands occupied, it caught its foot on the uneven floor and landed on its back. Before it could pry the stake loose a Doc Marten heel stomped down on the exposed wood, driving it through the monster's ribcage with an audible crack, and the beast metamorphosed into a swirl of dust that buffeted Spike's ankles.

Spike staggered to the nearest tunnel entrance and propped himself against the wall, trying to regain enough strength to aid his girl. He pulled a bastardsword from a nearby rack, planting it point down into the ground and leaning his elbows on the crosspiece as if it were a crutch. He spared the barest of glances for the still unconscious and trussed bringer and then his eyes turned to Buffy.

 




 

Buffy tried to keep at least enough of her concentration on Spike's view of things to know if his opponent were to get through beneath his guard and become a threat, but for the most part she was too busy blocking and parrying the swings and blows of her opponent to do more than simply trust Spike to protect her back.

Every extra minute seemed to find the ubervamp more comfortable with the weapon it carried, more familiar with its balance and heft and more adept in its use. Buffy had figured that since this one had been wise enough to grab a weapon, that of the three it was probably the most intelligent of their opponents. It looked like she was right. It seemed that her opponent was gauging her responses every bit as much as she gauged it.

The Turok Han would attack with a series of swings. Buffy would put up a defence, the moves almost a matter of instinct. The next time the ubervamp launched what seemed like a familiar series of moves, just as she was anticipating its next strike, it would change pattern and come up with an attack that caught her unawares. She'd find herself trailing its lead just enough that she couldn't quite block the total effects of its blows. It had yet to score a clear hit with the axe head, but Buffy was sure she would have bruises on her forearms where she had blocked the handle's path. Every time metal struck metal the force of the blow would jar her arms, and once the adrenaline of the fight wore off she knew they would burn.

Buffy shook her head slightly to clear it of thoughts she couldn't afford. Time enough to worry about aching muscles when the fight was over. Now that there were four combatants in the space, the armoury allowed little opportunity for her to utilise her trademark flips and rolls. Even though she could tell that going toe-to-toe with the vampire would simply wear her down little by little, she found herself doing just that as her eyes swept the room for something, for anything, that she could turn to her advantage.

Borrowed pain ripped through her abdomen, making her stumble as she backed away from her opponent. The sensation lasted barely long enough to warn her that Spike had been badly hurt and then it was gone as if it had never been. She didn't have time to wonder whether the cut-off was down to Spike blocking the claim's effects or whether having relayed its message there was no need for the pain to continue. Instinct forced her into an all out attack as soon as she regained a firm footing, determined to see an end to the ubervamp she faced before Spike could succumb to his wounds, leaving her to face both ubervamps. Drawing a bead on the Turok Han's neck with her sword, she pivoted into a three hundred and sixty degree spin. The turn was three quarters complete when a kick sent her sprawling into the weapon racks at the side of the room. She scrambled backward, gaining several minor cuts on her left palm from the exposed blades of the spilled weapons, when the ubervamp brought the axe downward as if her legs were so much wood to be chopped into kindling. A fraction of a second later she had regained her feet.

She and her opponent traded blow for blow once more, the sequence ending with Buffy backed up against one of the weapon racks, her muscles straining as she used the flat of her sword blade to push back against the axe her opponent wielded. Suddenly the vampire twisted his grip, the axe head angling back as he drove the sharpened wooden point of the handle forward into the left side of Buffy's abdomen.

 




 

Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as Spike watched the point he had personally sharpened pierce the flesh of Buffy's side and watched her sink to her knees on the dirt floor. Despair enveloped the vampire and tears blurred his vision. Hours later when he regained consciousness, his last memory of the fight would be of Buffy sliding to the floor.
 
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