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Angels and Demons by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 7.23
 
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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 7 - LAKE OF FIRE

People cry, people moan.
Look for a dry place to call their home.
Try to find some place to rest their bones.
While the Angels and the Devils try to make THEM their own.

(Nirvana, Album - MTV Unplugged with thanks to Zanthinegirl for the suggestion)




Chapter 7.23
Friday, July 19th, 2002


This particular Turok Han made several pertinent mistakes. Ultimately, there was nothing it could have done that might have saved its life. That was true, but maybe, if it hadn't fought its way free of the cave, it might have survived at least until the roof began to collapse inward. It's possible that if it had tried to dodge its way through the second line of opponents rather than taking them on, it might even have made it as far as the access tunnels and then, who knows? Perhaps, if it had gone straight for the kill, it might have at least injured its feeble and puny-looking opponent. Unfortunately for it, all its instincts told it that leaping in front of a human and issuing a war cry, should result in the human panicking and giving ground.

Not this human. Anya swung her blade with deadly accuracy, severing its head from its body. "Floppy, hoppy, vampire bunnies," she muttered under her breath, as another sprang out in front of her.

Just feet away, Dawn and Brandon stood side by side. Dawn, struggling to parry the vampires' attacks, had little time to spare to watch what was happening to anyone else. Somehow, she always seemed to get her sharpened stave into position to block the attacks against her just a little late, which left her struggling to block the subsequent blow and so it went on and on. It would have been easy to quit, but the Summers girls weren't the quitting type. She might not be taking out any of the creatures, but at least she was keeping one of them from getting through until Anya could take it from one side or Brandon would get it from the other.

For Brandon, the vampires almost seemed to act in slow motion. He carried a wickedly sharp katana instead of the heavy wooden sword he normally used when he was practising. Kendo was all about balance, speed and accuracy and Brandon didn't think he had ever been so focused. Parry, strike lightning fast and with no more force than necessary, pull the blow back and before the vampire realises that its head has been split in two from crown to jaw, it's so much dust. Sometimes he skipped the parry and got in before the vampire could make a move. Always he was aware of what was happening in the fights on either side and, whenever he could, he would try to give Dawn a few seconds respite by turning on her opponent. Those opportunities didn't come as often as he might like but whenever he got a gap between adversaries, he did as much as he could to help her.

Andrew Michaels' movements matched his son's for style, but the time when he might match the youngster's speed had passed and as a result he had to spend more time beating down his opponents before he could get a killing blow. The watcher with whom he was paired swung a double-headed battle axe with more enthusiasm than finesse. More than once Andrew found himself dodging out of its way, but the group soon outnumbered their attackers and though it might have seemed to take longer, it was probably less than two minutes before the last of the vampires turned to dust.

Xander dabbed at a superficial cut over his right eye, using the sleeve of his plaid shirt. "Hey, was that it?" he asked. "Those guys weren't so tough! We could so do that all over-. Ow! What? Ow!" The carpenter bent almost double, using his arms to shield his head as Anya and Dawn took it in turns to pummel him for jinxing them.






 

There was one pump-action shotgun that the new slayers had yet to lay their hands on and that was Wes's. The watcher took position a full three or four feet ahead of the other watchers. He fired from a crouching position so that any missed shots would go upward into the ceiling rather than down the corridor toward the group containing Oz and James. It was unlikely that the shot would carry that distance and still do damage, but he wasn't taking any chances. He calmly blew apart three of the vampires before they even got close to the defenders, and then he turned the rifle round and used it as a club. Wherever the fighting was at its thickest, he was there. At close quarters the shotgun wasn't an ideal weapon for finishing off the feral vampires, but a good solid hit with the stock was enough to disorientate them and allow someone else to administer the coup de grace.

As the last cloud of dust began to settle to the concrete floor, Wesley looked from one to another, singling out those he knew to be his fiercest critics and one by one he stared them down. However, they quickly realised that while their battle was over, those at the opposite end of the long corridor were far less fortunate.

Wes watched the struggle, torn between the duty to hold his post and his desire to aid his friends and colleagues. Giles must have already sent reinforcements, for the vampires were hemmed in at both front and rear. They were slowly being whittled down, but there seemed to be far too many men being pulled out or crawling from the fray.

"What the hell are we waiting for?" one of the other watchers asked.

"We're waiting for the next attack," Wes answered, keeping his voice far cooler than he really felt, daring anyone to defy him and break ranks. "Giles has sent at least three quarters of his reinforcements in there already. They're three deep in that corridor. We would only get in their way. It's our responsibility to hold this area until we get the order to evacuate. However, if any of you can summon up a sunlight spell or something similar now that we're not under direct attack, I'm sure our colleagues down there would appreciate it."

Wes bit into his cheek as he saw Clem and a watcher he didn't know try to pull someone out of the back of the fight and onto a stretcher. His heart stopped beating in his chest as one of the many Turok Han seemed to notice the demon, and Wes wondered how he would ever be able to tell Marie that he had watched her child's uncle die and done nothing to prevent it.

Tentacles seemed to explode from Clem's head in a Medusa-like halo, there one second and gone again the next. The ubervamp jumped back even farther than the watcher who had been helping Clem, finding itself face to face with another opponent, and Clem straightened the body on the stretcher, waited for his colleague to recover sufficiently to grab the other end and began to head for the school's main doors.

Giles crossed Wes's line of sight, carrying a blood-splattered slayer in his arms, and soon he was followed by others. Slayer after slayer was carried out to the waiting minibuses, and still the fighting continued at the other end of the corridor and still nothing happened to indicate that the amulet had begun to do its work.






 

Oz chanted almost constantly beneath his breath as he fought. "It's not her. It looks like her and smells like her but it's not her. It's not her. It looks like her and it smells like her but it's not her."

"Poor puppy. All confused," the First sing-songed. "I bet I could lick it all better. I'm kinda out of practice what with the whole gay thing and all, but I think I remember the basics..."

"It's not her. It's not her. It's not her." Stifling the growl that was his instinctive response, Oz repeated the mantra over and over, faster now, as if the more often he could repeat it, the more effective it would be, but he could feel his control slipping. Hairs began to sprout on the backs of his hands. "It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. It's not her." The hairs grew longer. Almost invisible stubble began to itch and sprout until he knew that if he reached up he would have the whiskers of an Edwardian gentleman. "It's not Willow. Willow's dead. Willow's dead. Willow's dead." Too late... Oz knew that The First was playing with him. He knew that this was just one last sick joke on its part, but he couldn't keep his beast in check, not when it could see his mate and smell her scent. Blood on the floor, copper tang of blood saturating the air and still he could smell Willow, his Willow, precious Willow.

The muscles in his back cramped, trying to send him to his knees and Oz knew he didn't have a choice. He had to get away from all the humans before the transformation was complete, before he became a danger to his own side. He broke free of the line and threw himself as far and as deep into the seething mass of Turok Han as he could get. While Oz was helpless in the throes of the transformation from man to wolf, one of the vampires pulled him up by his hair as his back twitched and contorted. Filthy, gnarled hands clamped one on either ear, jerking his head to the side so abruptly that his neck snapped, and then teeth buried themselves in his neck. His blood joined that of the others on the floor.






 

The light was gentle at first, silvery pure, like a solitary moonbeam breaking through a bank of cloud. For the first time ever, Spike watched as Bee transformed from a facsimile of her father's people to the likeness of her mother's. Her eyes were first to metamorphose, as if she had a burst blood vessel inside each of her eyes but instead of leaking blood it oozed liquid mercury. Her skin began to glow, as it had in the caverns of the Nezzla demons, its tint exactly the same silvery shade as that of the diamond, though the gem's intensity now matched that of the searchlights Spike remembered from the second world war, where their beams would pierce the perfect darkness of the blackout.

He watched from off to one side as the spear of light seemed to intensify further, stretching out in the direction Bee was facing. Every Turok Han that crossed its path turned to ash as if burned up by the rays of the sun. Spike forced himself to take a steadying breath. He tried to focus on the vision he and Buffy had shared so long before, willing himself to believe that this was not where it all ended. He had plans. He wasn't going to turn to dust. He couldn't do that to her.

Two tiny red horns began to poke their way through the considerably darker roots of Bee's platinum and gold-streaked tresses. Her blouse seemed to half dissolve, half fall away and, male that he was, Spike couldn't quell the thought that Tara had definitely traded up. It was only when the half-angel cleared her throat rather loudly, that he realised that not only had he been caught looking, but he'd completely missed the whole process where Bee had grown iridescent gossamer wings.

The angel beckoned and Tara stepped into her arms. Gradually the pair rose together from the ground, slowly spinning as they ascended until they were just feet from the cavern roof. Bee's skin glowed brighter and brighter until Tara, too, seemed to be lit up from within, glowing the sort of pink that your hand turns when you press it over the top of a bright flashlight.

The light from the pendant seemed to splinter as if it had hit a mirror ball, brilliant lances tumbling in every direction until Spike couldn't bear to look any longer, but it didn't matter. The battlefield had been swept clean. The vampire army waited in the lower cavern; the seal was still intact but all the Turok Han who had made it to the top of the cliff were gone.

The ground below him began to shake and the ceiling began to crumble. Spike scooped Rupert up under one arm, despite the feline's wriggling and vocal protests, and yelled the command to evacuate. "Everybody out!"
 
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