G'day all. It's a lovely, warm spring day here in Brisbane, though when I woke up it looked like it was going to be wet and miserable. I doubt anyone wants to hear about the weather though, so on with the show.
grimlock72 - Yep, not going to be seeing Buffy Summers on CSI anytime soon. Why hasn't Willow figured out that something happened to her last night? Well, whatever it is TUE was doing to her ( Yes, I do know, but I'm not telling just yet
) hasn't left any physical trace for her to notice.
Anya does want revenge for being made human
again, but I don't think she'd be stupid enough to pull a Giles and go for it all on her own. Of course, being the evil bastard that I am, you never know.
Yep, the age at which TUE's personal breaking point was reached isn't of much help in figuring out his identity, but then again I'm leaving so many conflicting clues that it's not supposed to be easy.
Yeah, conflicted is definately one way to sum up TUE. Bug shit crazy is another. Good point there about whether or not anyone can be born to be evil. It's my belief that you can be naturally inclined towards a certain end of the moral spectrum, but everyone chooses in the end, whether they realize it or not. Blaming it on events beyond your control is just a cop out.
You think the scoobies are moving slowly? Well, they are playing catch-up, and they just don't have enough information at the moment. That might change as things go on though. Or, it might not.
I'm not familiar with the game you mentioned, to my computer game geek shame, but you're spot on with the futility of such a phyric victory.
Glad you liked the humor, and who doesn't like a happy Willow? Aside from perhaps Joss and Co. I will leave her in a happy place, but I can't guarantee a smooth ride for our favourite witches. Hell, I can guarantee that they won't have a smooth ride.
Me intentionally put in a Star Wars reference? Would I do that? Hang on, part of screen name is the title of a Sith Lord, so I suppose the answer to that is a resounding 'hell yeah!'
You think Hyriault is a hard name? I was just following the standard conventions for naming sci-fi or fantasy worlds; make it sound wierd.
Why was TUE's master in a hell dimension? Well, perhaps hell dimension is the wrong word. Think demon dimension instead and remember that just because you're a demon doesn't make you automatically evil.
Thanks for reading, Grimmy. It's always fun to read your thoughts.
spells42 - Thanks for your concern. I hope your sister's doing okay. Myself, I've been free of the the Big C since the end of '98 and the docs say if it was going to come back it would have done so by now. So I just have to deal with the lingering side effects.
Yep, the general malaise affecting the scooby household is supposed to be menacing. The unknown is usually scarier than the known.
Poor old Giles does cop a lot of flack from the others, but it's all said with love.
Ahh, yes. I am large with the evil.
Half the fun of this story is trying to piece together the puzzle that is the TUE, and I'm having a ball writing this.
Glad you're enjoying it, Anne. It's always good to hear from you.
LeatherQueen - G'day mate. Cool! I'm laying waste to stuff! That's very satisfying to my inner barbarian. I'm glad TUE's identity is elusive. It's meant to be.
What evil mojo is TUE working upon our poor hapless Willow?
Just you wait and see, my friend.
AnitgoneUnbound - G'day, Mary. Thanks for your concern. I'm doing well. I've read your PM and sent a reply winging your away across the electronic ether, completely free of confirmation or denial. And yes, either option will be fun.
Yep, the fears that we make ourselves are always the scariest. You just have to look at phobia's for that. What's with the lassitude? Why, Mary are you trying to suggest that they're
not just all tired?
You're right about the strain between Giles and the rest of the Scoobies. He did skip out on them pretty much, but they haven't had the chance to properly deal with that yet. I may change that in the future. Hmm, you're giving me ideas ... Thanks for that.
Hey, I'm enjoying writing this, though it is starting to become something of an obesssion itself. Oh well, good thing I have no social life, huh?
Always grand to hear from you, Mary.
Patches - Well a big hello to you, Patches, and welcome.
I won't try to replicate Mary's habit of rhying your name, cause ... well I suck ass at poetry.
WOW, let me add ‘started with a vengeance!
Well, thank you. I just had to say that aloud like one of those movie voiceover guys when I read it. And who doesn't like Tomb Raider? How can you go wrong with extended, gratuitous shower scenes that might be utterly superfluous to the plot?
Hmm, it's like an onion, huh? Is it making you cry? Or have you just been watching Shrek?
Oh yes, I am also a big fan of dark and broody stories. Probably why I tend to write them. Glad you like the villain. He's is so much fun to write.
You think you know the 'What' do you? You might be surprised there, Patches. But you're right, the 'Why' is the meat of the story, the most interesting part. Sure, TUE is a whacked out evil-doer, but why is he? Or is it she?
Yes, I'm doing well, and thanks for your good wishes. Update is right after ... this.
**********
Title: At Any Cost
Author: Paul aka Darth Pacula
Distribution: Knock yourself out, just ask first. ( That means yes if you're not sure )
Feedback: Go nuts. The more the merrier. Unless you're all wanting to roast me at the stake that is. Then, less is more.
Disclaimers: I could claim to own everything in existence, but I'd be lying through my teeth. So no, I don't own the Buffy characters. More's the pity.
Summary: A powerful, ruthless and unstable figure begins to meddle in Willow and Tara's lives, with unforseen consequences.
Rating: PG-13, maybe R at times for a touch of violence.
Timeline: Well now, it starts off just before the end of Seeing Red, but will contain elements of an altered Season 7.
Spoilers: Err ... pretty much the entire show. If you haven't seen any of it yet, and actually want to, you just aren't trying hard enough.
Thoughts are in
italics.
The story so far ... The scoobies wake up, seemingly unharmed from the new Big Bad's covert visit, although they are all suspiciously tired to an unusual degree. They are starting to come up with ideas to try and find out their unknown opponents origin, and start to put those plans into action. Meanwhile, their enemy is shooting up god-knows-what, and having visions of his past, including a chat with one of his past victims ...
Part 9.Willow looked up from her laptop as Tara entered through the front door, a spell book cradled in her arms. Willow greeted her with a delighted smile.
My day always improves when she's around. The whole world just seems ... brighter somehow.“Hey baby. Finished shoring up our defenses against the Wicked Whatever-the-heck-it-is of Sunnydale?”
“Yeah, Will. I added another couple of wards, and a few other little surprises, just in case he ... or she, tries making a house call. The house is as secure as I can make it.”
“Well, I know I'll certainly sleep soundly tonight,” Willow declared with a tired grin.
“Not too soundly, Willow,” Tara gently chided. “You really did scare me this morning.”
Willow's grin turned sultry, and she stared at Tara with heavily lidded eyes. “Well, I'm sure you could find some way of keeping me up tonight. If you really put your mind to it.”
“Vixen,” Tara shot back as her heartbeat sped up, and a faint flush colored her cheeks.
“For you, baby? Always.”
Tara pulled another chair beside Willow's and settled down into it. She leaned into her partner and rested her chin on Willow's shoulder. “How are you going with the crime scene report?”
Willow beamed proudly. “Easy as really easy pie. Just not as sweet,” she crowed. “I guess when they upgraded the security on the coroner's system they didn't do the police department as well.”
“That's my girl. Ms Big when it comes to computer crime.”
“I wouldn't really call it a crime,” Willow protested. “Sure it's technically illegal, but it's being done in a good cause, and if they didn't want people hacking into their system they really shouldn't make it so easy, cause I could have done this in middle school without breaking a sweat ...”
Tara broke Willow's babbling train of thought by the simple, but highly effective method of thoroughly kissing her. Willow eagerly responded wholeheartedly, and the kiss swifty became passionate, hungry, as if each woman was trying to devour the other whole. By the time the kiss finally broke, Willow was blinking owlishly, and both women were breathing heavily.
“I really should start babbling more if you're going to keep breaking me out of it like that,” Willow breathed dreamily.
“If I do that every time you start to babble, Will,” Tara replied shakily, “we'll never get any work done.”
“And, darn it, wouldn't that be a big heap o' crying shame?” quipped the redhead.
Tara's slow smile was heavy with pure contentment as she returned her head to Willow's shoulder. “So, does Buffy's theory pan out? Anything of the magical variety mentioned in the report?”
“Well, the entire security system was fried,” Willow answered, her brows drawing together in concentration as she intently scanned the screen of her laptop. “Every single electrical component appeared to short out simultaneously, but the system still registered as active with the security firm.”
“That seems a little on the odd side.”
“Well, it doesn't stop there. That security guard who was hurt during the robbery? They found his gun ... in pieces. It had been completely disassembled down to the smallest components and just scattered on the floor.”
“I'll take a wild guess that the guard would have been unlikely to have done that,” Tara murmured.
“I think you're pretty safe there, baby. Even the bullets had been broken up, so that the actual bullet and the ... thingy ... it goes in were separate. I don't think that's particularly easy to do by hand. But the kicker is this.”
Willow rotated the laptop so that Tara could see the screen, and brought up a digital photograph of the bank's vault door. It was liberally covered in strange, alien markings, written in a dark, crusty substance.
“What is that?” Tara asked, her head reluctantly leaving its Willow-shaped cushion to lean closer and peer at the screen.
“Well, that's the eight hundred and sixty-two thousand dollar question, isn't it?” Tara raised an eyebrow at the exact numerical nature of Willow's statement. “That's roughly how much he got away with,” the redhead explained.
“It's not any writing I'm familiar with,” Tara stated, returned her attention to the screen. “Can you ..”
“Enlarge and print? Already done,” Willow replied with a proud smile. “I'm guessing Giles will want a closer look at this when he gets back.”
“Is it written in ...” Tara began.
“Blood?” Willow finished, the corners of her mouth down turning in disgust. “I'm afraid so, Tara. It's human blood too, according to this.”
“Is it the guard's?”
Willow blinked in surprise. The idea of where the blood had come from hadn't occurred to her.
I must be even more tired than I thought to have missed that.“I'll look,” she replied, turning her full attention to her laptop. A few minutes reading gave her the answer. “No. It's definitely not the guard's. It's a totally different blood type.”
Tara nodded in satisfaction. “Well, we have one answer then. He's human.”
“Why do you say that, Tara? It's not necessarily his blood. He might have brought it with him.”
“Possibly, Willow, but I doubt it. When a spell calls for blood, it's always more potent if the caster uses their own. So I figure that the odds are that it is his blood.”
Willow gazed at Tara in wonderment. She knew that her partner was an especially wise and insightful woman, but it never failed to amaze the redhead just how intuitive Tara could be. It was so different to the way in which Willow herself tended to over-analyze things, but equally as effective.
“I know it's usually your line, but I am so turned on right now by how smart you are,” Willow purred in a sultry whisper. Tara actually blushed, and Willow giggled in delight. She always loved it when she could get her everything's cheeks to flame with nothing more than a handful of words. Almost as much as when she did it with other, more intimate uses of her tongue.
“You're incorrigible, Willow Rosenberg,” Tara stated happily, her breath catching in a delighted manner when Willow's eyes warmed with desire.
“Don't forget insatiable,” the redhead added, holding out her hand for Tara's, a silent invitation in her eyes and posture.
“What about ...”
“Dawn went with Xander and Anya. She volunteered to serve as a buffer zone between them. Everyone else should be gone for at least another hour still.”
“How did you manage that, Will?” Tara managed to gasp as desire curled throughout her body like a living flame.
“I have my ways,” Willow replied, her voice a sultry growl. “Are you coming?”
“Oh, yes.”
**********
When Giles returned with Buffy, he did indeed prove fascinated to discover Willow's printout of the markings painted in blood on the vault door. He was also suitably impressed with Tara's deduction that it was most likely the caster's blood.
As for their own progress, Buffy was less than enthused. Jonathan and Andrew had caved rather quickly to the Slayer-Watcher tag team, but provided little in the way of useful information beyond that their mystery man had indeed visited them, he claimed responsibility for Warren's fate, sought to keep Buffy and the other Scoobies out of trouble with the police, and finally, Andrew's oh-so useful declaration that he was scary as hell.
The news that Spike had left town, courtesy of Clem, the vampire's dermatologicaly challenged demon friend, surprised Willow. Given everything she knew about the peroxided vampire, some of which she really would have preferred not to know, Willow would have expected him to make more of a fight to reclaim Buffy's affections. However, the fact that Spike had fled Sunnydale before this new threat appeared served to somewhat remove him as a suspect as the source of their opposition's intel.
When Dawn returned with Xander and Anya, the teenager's expression had told without words the full horror of what she had underwent. Later, Dawn had confided in Tara the extent of the bickering that had taken place between the former couple, and the blond witch had felt heartily sorry for the teenage girl. Tara did muse that at least Anya was talking to Xander again, albeit louder than usual, which was progress of a sort.
The list they had returned with had proven of limited use. The sheer scope of their unknown enemy's purchases hadn't served to especially narrow down their choices as to what he was up to. Willow and Tara managed to come up with at least thirty-five possibilities, ranging from summoning sea monsters from the deepest depths of the ocean, to making it rain live herring over a fifty mile radius. Anya's vast, and frequently disturbing knowledge attained during her eleven hundred plus years as a vengeance demon, added to Giles' Watcher training, served to only increase the list.
Tara's generally accepted theory that their opponent was human didn't especially help either. Giles' attempts to contact the people with whom he had associated with as Ripper, had largely proved fruitless. His friends who had joined in Giles' practice of summoning the demon Eyghon were all dead, aside from Ethan Rayne, who had last been seen being taken into custody by the Initiative. Willow had sent an e-mail to Sam, Riley's wife, and discovered that the chaos worshiper was still being held by the US government in an undisclosed location, which effectively ruled him out of the running.
“I don't suppose there's any chance that Eyghon survived his little tussle with Angel, is there Giles?” Willow asked, as the scoobies gathered once more around the dining room table.
Giles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I'm inclined to doubt it, Willow. If Eyghon had survived, I would have expected him to make a return appearance well before now. Not to mention, Eyghon never exhibited any inclination towards the dark arts.”
“Is there anyone else in your past this guy could be, Giles?” Buffy asked, both the tone of her voice and the expression on her face openly indicating her frustration.
“Well, the fact that he referred to me as 'Ripper' certainly does suggest some prior involvement with me, but to be perfectly honest with you, I can't think of anyone who fits. Perhaps his use of my former nickname is just another one of his smokescreens, used simply to misdirect our efforts to identify him.”
“So ... we basically found out absolutely nothing?”
“In so many words, I suppose so, Buffy,” Giles reluctantly admitted. “But we have eliminated a great many possibilities, narrowing down the field, such as it is.”
“Yippee,” Buffy drawled sarcastically. “Feel my infectious enthusiasm at narrowing our list of suspects down to the greater part of the human population of the world.”
“Giles, when the Watcher's Council was here evaluating us, they mentioned some sort of registration for witches?” Tara offered hopefully. “Could that help identify him?”
Giles smiled bitterly. “Tara, I'm afraid that the Council's attempts at the registration of practicing witches is something of a pipe dream. The magic-using community often is comprised of individuals who frown upon what they see as efforts to exert any kind of control upon them. The Council's registration list rarely extends beyond those members of the Council's own ranks who employ magic.”
“Then why did they try to imply that we should have been registered?” asked Willow, slightly bewildered.
“Because they were trying to put us off balance, make us easier to manipulate. Right, Giles?” Tara stated, answering for the Watcher, who signaled his agreement with a somber nod.
“Why .... those sneaky, underhanded .... poopy-heads!” fumed Willow.
“Yeah,” Xander added with a sarcastic grin, “who would've expected such behavior from the people who stripped Buffy of her powers, fired Giles, tried to kill Buffy on her little out-of-body experience with Faith and have basically screwed us over every single time we had anything to do with
them.”
“Yep, lets hear it for the Watcher's Council of Great Britain, ruining the reputation of English people everywhere they go,” grumbled Willow. “I bet the British Tourism Board loves those guys.”
“So, back to my original point ... we've got diddly squat?” Buffy clarified.
“Not quite, Buffy. These markings on the vault door that Willow and Tara discovered aren't in any human language I'm familiar with. I'll have to ...”
“Consult your books?” Dawn suddenly piped up, grinning.
“You only just beat me to the punch, Dawn Patrol,” Xander cheerfully groused, and Dawn turned and poked him lightly in the arm.
“You snooze, you lose, Xander.”
“If you're quite finished playing 'Watcher Bingo', might I finish?” Xander and Dawn simultaneously gave the Englishman elaborate flourishes to continue, and Giles pinched the bride of his nose and restrained a sigh. “As I was saying, this might well be a demonic language that was used in the spell to open the door.”
“How does that help us?” Buffy asked. “Human or demon language, what difference does it make?”
“The language he used in the spell gives an indication of where he learned magic, or that particular spell at least,” Willow answered for Giles. “If we can identify the language, we might be able to identify where this guy has been ...”
“Which might help identify who he is,” Buffy finished, her lips curving in a
smile as she caught onto Willow's train of thought.
“Bingo,” Willow proudly pronounced.
“Hey, that's cheating,” Xander quipped. “Giles didn't say anything!”
**********
The lights still burned brightly in the windows of the Summers house as I stood outside, lurking in the shadows.
They're certainly burning the midnight oil tonight. Annoying wretches. I can't continue with my work until they all go to sleep.I resisted the impulse to pace, and held myself still with rigid self-discipline. To pass the time, I unleashed my tight grip on my awareness, and reached out, gently caressing the boundary of the witch's ward, probing it to see if any weak spots had formed over time.
A frown pulled the edges of my lips downward.
Something has changed. Something's different. But what ... I reached out further with my mind, and activated the enchantments I had built into my artificial eye. A faint glimmering sheen overlaid my vision as I began to physically see the trail of Tara's magic.
A dry cough of a laugh escaped my ruined throat. She had strengthened her defenses since last night. Where there had been one ward spell, there were now three, forming concentric rings around the house like the walls of a fortress. She hadn't stopped there either. Tight glowing knots in my vision indicated other spells, of varying type and purpose, scattered around the yard, even on the front door and windows.
Mounting irritation warred with a growing pride in the witch.
She's learning. Good girl. Until Willow realizes the stupidity inherent in her refusal to use magic again, I might need your help to keep her alive. Until I finish, anyway.I turned my full attention upon Maclay's newly built defenses, measuring their effectiveness with a practiced eye.
She really is quite good at this. Annoyingly good. My frown turned into a fully fledged snarl as I realized the full consequences of her meddling, and I began to savagely mutter demonic imprecations beneath my breath.
I wouldn't be able to enter the house tonight. The amount of energy I had expended last night, both in attaining entry and beginning to weave my spell into Willow's essence, had weakened me significantly. I would have to wait several days at least before I would be able to infiltrate the house again to continue my work.
Clamping my lips shut, I stalked furiously into the night.
Thrice damned fools! I can ill afford such delays. Things would be much simpler if I didn't have to keep my actions secret. Though I doubt even Xander would be stupid enough to volunteer himself to my ministrations.The spell that I was casting on Willow was an incredibly complicated and involved procedure. Even if I wasn't having to invoke it on the sly, it would take me days to complete. Since I was having to do it in small sections, while the scoobies were all asleep, that more than doubled the amount of time it would take. I didn't even want to think about how this latest complication would affect my timetable.
There was no way that I would be strong enough to continue tonight, which meant that I was going to have to find another way to occupy my time. I smiled cruelly.
I think it's time I introduced myself to the neighbors.**********
“How about Quongdong?” Willow suggested, her voice lusterless. The redhead could hardly believe how tired she was. She had been taking part in all night research-athons with the other scoobies for six years now, and she had never felt as tired as she did right now.
“Quongdong?” Xander repeated, fending off a yawn. “Kind of weird name for a ... what are we researching again?”
“Demon dimensions, Xander,” Dawn informed him. “But I've got to agree with you there about the name.”
“Yeah, sounds like it should be the name of a porno actor.”
Dawn's face screwed up in distaste. “Eww, Xander! I was thinking more along the lines of Treasure Island, not ... eww. Just eww.”
“Wow,” Xander murmured. “I'm having major league Cordy flashbacks.”
“I'm right there with you, pal,” Willow added.
Giles stepped behind Willow's chair and peered down at the book she was reading, before shaking his head. “I'm afraid not, Willow. The little ... squiggly thing ... in the upper left quadrant is all wrong.”
“Squiggly thing, Giles? You're letting us do on the vocabulary front there a bit aren't you?” teased Buffy.
“Yes, well, I'll blame it on the late hour and my advancing years, shall I?” Giles shot back, before affecting an elderly, doddering voice. “You young whippersnapper.” Buffy just grinned cheekily in reply.
Willow felt her eyes start to drift shut, but felt powerless to stop the gradual downward drift of her eyelids. It felt as if they were lined with lead, and were being dragged downward by some powerful magnetic force. Willow began to drift in her own head, floating on the ocean of her consciousness like a piece of errant driftwood.
Feeling as if she were watching herself from afar, Willow began to slip forward, her head dropping. She tried to stop herself, to halt her forward momentum, but it was if she had lost all control of her own body. Then Tara was there, catching Willow's falling body with one arm across the redhead's chest. Her lover's touch snapped Willow back into her body and she jerked backwards on reflex.
“Willow? Are you okay?” In her present condition, Willow could only just make out the sound of Buffy's concerned voice.
Tara's voice came next, sounding as if was coming from far away, or if Willow's ears were plugged with cotton wool. “I think Willow really needs to go to bed now.”
“Yes, Tara, of course,” Giles quickly agreed. “I imagine that all of us could use some rest right about now.”
“Now he says that? I've been yawning like a crazy man for hours!” Xander complained, earning a swat to the back of the head from Buffy.
Tara quickly said their goodnights for the both of them and led Willow upstairs, supporting her three-quarters asleep partner on her shoulder. Once she got Willow safely into their bedroom, Tara quickly changed the redhead into her nightclothes and eased her under the covers. By the time Tara had undressed and slipped into the bed herself, Willow was fast asleep.
Frowning slightly in concern, Tara gathered her lover's slender form into a tight embrace, pressing her face into the nape of Willow's neck and deeply inhaling Willow's natural scent.
Goddess, please let this be like Willow said. Please let it just be the flu.**********
Willow stared at her blond goddess, standing before her bathed in the sun's warm glow, wrapped in a glowing aura of incandescent light. The smile Tara wore was at once peaceful and knowing, pregnant with hidden knowledge, and Willow's heart swelled uncontrollably with adoration. Willow reached out with one hand, desperate to be with Tara, to touch her, to caress her, to wrap herself in Tara's singular essence as if it were a blanket formed of gentle warmth and pure love.
A harsh crack tore at the air, a cruel, harsh, unnatural sound. Willow felt warm liquid splatter her, and stared disbelievingly as a dark stain spread across Tara's chest. Tara spoke, halting and perplexed.
“Your shirt ...”
Tara fell, and to Willow it was as if her heart had been torn, still beating, from out of her chest at the same time. But she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even turn away from the sight that savaged at her grief-stricken mind like a rabid dog.
Willow felt a sudden presence beside her, and found she could move her head. Slowly, unwillingly yet unable to resist the strange power that compelled her, Willow craned her neck and found herself staring into a face out of a nightmare.
She saw the pitch black hair, like oily shadows given physical form. She saw the ruinous scars that disfigured him. She saw the artificial eye that burned into her with the force of a miniature sun. But it was the expression that stayed with her. An expression of terrifying rage and untold hatred that promised nothing but brutal and ruthless destruction.
He screamed, a sound of pure, inchoate fury, and the world ended.
....
Willow stared into a terrified face, and felt the power thrum through her, sounding cadence to the steady thump of her heartbeat. She was swollen with power, fat and heavy with it, but it turned her stomach. It was sick and bitter, this power that Willow found herself in possession of, vile and poisonous. So much so that Willow wanted nothing more than to weep.
The terrified man was babbling at her, but to Willow it was if the words were slowed and distorted. She could not understand a word he was saying, but to be perfectly honest she didn't want to. Willow felt herself filled with emotions that she couldn't explain, thoughts and desires that couldn't belong to her.
I could never want to do that to someone. This isn't me. It can't be. Please goddess, don't let this be me.She recognized him now, this small, terrified man suspended between two tree trunks by vines that did not, could not belong here. It was Warren, and he was begging her for his life.
“Let me,” a dry, rasping voice stated, and Willow felt herself stepping backwards. A figure wreathed in darkness, wrapped in living shadow like a cloak, stepped forward. The scarred man reached out, and caressed Warren's cheek with surprising tenderness.
He leaned forward, whispering in Warren's ear, but Willow heard every syllable with crystal clear pronunciation. “Scream for me.”
The same fingers that had been brushing Warren's cheek with such tenderness were now gore-stained bone talons, and flesh parted under their touch like melting butter. Willow watched, appalled and sickened, yet unable to turn away.
The forest in which they stood faded away, replaced with rough walls of rock and an uneven dirt floor. Warren now lay upon a rough-hewn stone alter, instead of being strung upright between two trees.
Willow watched helplessly, unable even to scream, unable to look away as the scarred man worked his dark arts upon the canvas of Warren's still living body, turning a living human being into a ghastly parody of shattered bone and torn flesh. Warren did scream. Oh yes, how he did scream.
And in her head, Willow screamed right along with him.
....
Willow found herself in a vast hall, lined with columns of black marble. The vaulted ceilings stretched upwards until they almost vanished in the distance. Burning torches hung from sconces bolted to the stone walls, and massive, hook-bladed weapons hung upon the walls.
The scarred man stood before her, bloodied and battered, with two .... creatures of hideous aspect beside him in the universal posture of guards. Yet, despite the blood still dripping freely from his wounds, despite his bruised and battered flesh, he was unbowed.
The hair was still pitch black, and dark veins still made him hideous to behold, but he was younger, softer, not yet sharped to a knife's edge of destructive fury. His sunken eyes were hidden by shadow, but some unknown instinct told Willow they were not black now.
Even as he stood before her, unafraid and yet obviously a prisoner of some description, this unnamed man fairly blazed with repressed power. In a manner Willow could not explain, she could sense the raw magical power radiating from his slender form. It made Willow shudder with fear.
“Teach me.” His sudden statement was not a request, yet nor was it a demand. It was more of a declaration, a statement of inevitable, unstoppable fact, as emotionless and unstoppable as the turning of the seasons.
The entire world froze.
“Even now, brought before me as little more than a petty thief, he shone with potential.” The sudden voice was warm and soothing, yet tinged with a deep, underlying sorrow. Finding she could move when she jumped in surprise, Willow turned, and found herself staring at the speaker.
The newcomer was short, perhaps a few inches beyond five feet. He wasn't human either; the craggy, gray skin and long, floppy, pointed ears made that obvious. Yet the inhuman face was kind and benevolent, the smile welcoming. Despite any misgivings her logical nature might harbor, Willow found herself instinctualy trusting the small demon.
“He possessed enough power at this point to easily have avoided, or even slain my guards. Yet he did not. Even when they beat him, he would not strike back. He was afraid that if he did so, I would reject him as my student.”
The demon stepped forward on graceful feet until he stood at Willow's side, peering mournfully at the dark man where he stood frozen, and sighed.
“He held so much potential that I was blinded to the dangers he posed,” stated the demon. His lips curved in a gentle smile. “I have the habit of thinking the best of people. Or rather, I did before he killed me.”
“Where am I?” Willow whispered tentatively.
“You are dreaming, child,” replied the demon.
“Are you real?”
“Alas, no. I am but an echo, a fragment, a ghost of a ghost, trapped when my greatest student, my greatest failure, slew me and stole my power.” The demon shrugged. “Such is the way of things, my child.”
“This is him?” Willow asked, gesturing towards the frozen figure before her. “This is who we're facing? Back on earth, I mean.”
“As I first beheld him, yes.”
“Who is he?”
The demon's smile turned melancholy at Willow's question. “I do not know, child. In all the years I knew him, he would not give his name, nor talk of from whence he came. His own concern was his own power, the magic.”
“You taught him without knowing who he was? Why would you do that?”
“Our time is short here, child. I bring you warning. He has come for you, and she who you love.”
“What?” Willow gasped, lurching backwards in shock. “Why us? What does he want with us?”
“Again child, I do not know. All I know is that you both are at the center of his plan. Whatever his dark design is, you and your mate are the alpha and omega of his obsession. Everything he has done, everything he will do, is to that end alone. And like everything else about him, his obsession is tainted. Tainted by the hate, rage, pain and grief that drive his every thought.”
“But what is he trying to do? We can't stop him if we don't know!”
“He seeks to right what he sees as an unforgivable wrong, child. And he will stop at nothing to do so.”
“How do we stop him, then? Tell me that at least.”
The demon sighed again, deeper this time, and shook his head solemnly. “I do not know if you can, child.”
“If he's so dangerous, why did you train him in the first place, huh?” Willow snapped, irritated by the constant flow of things this demon
didn't know.
“Because he had such potential to be good, child. I do not know what terrible tragedy twisted him into the wretched creature he has become, but I hoped that I would be able to repair the damage. I was wrong.”
“Ya think?” Willow grumbled incredulously. “Now he's our problem. Thanks a bunch for that.”
“I am sorry child,” he stated apologetically, before peering upwards at the gloom enshrouded ceiling. “Our time together has ended. Farewell, child. We will not meet again.”
“What!” Willow exploded, grabbing the demon by one sleeve of his plain robe. “No! There's still so much more ...”
Reality faded, and Willow shifted restlessly in Tara's arms before falling back into an exhausted slumber. Unfortunately, as was so often the case with dreams, when Willow would next awake, she wouldn't remember a single thing.
**********
I limped into the bar known as Willy's Alibi, and regarded the décor with mild distaste. The place could, at best, be referred to as a dive, and that was being kind. Personally, I would have preferred to burn the rat hole to the ground, rather than set foot inside it, but it would serve my purposes for tonight. And that purpose did not involve consuming one of the variety of mind numbing intoxicants the proprietor sold. I had never seen the sense in drowning my sorrows, when my time could be better spent preventing, or changing them.
Unsurprisingly, every last patron was a demon of some description. I imagine it's something of an occupational hazard for a demon bar. I scanned the room, marking the location of every last being, living, dead or in-between, labeling them in my head as potential targets. Even as I walked to the bar, a portion of my mind was running through termination strategies. That's my occupational hazard; every time I go anywhere, I calculate the most effective ways to kill every living thing in range. It's not especially conducive to good mental health. Fortunately, remaining sane wasn't a requirement of my plans.
The greasy little weasel of a proprietor stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with a filthy rag. I doubted he was doing much of a job of cleaning. It was more likely that he was just moving the dirt around. I've always heard that a change is as good as a holiday, but I doubted that it counted for filth. I gestured the little worm over, but he shifted his gaze nervously, and made no move to ... well, move.
The little bastard was ignoring me! The pox-ridden whoreson! My first instinct was to gently capture his attention, preferably by removing a non-vital portion of his anatomy in the most painful fashion I could devise.
My second instinct was to be suspicious. Though in my case, that's more of a standard operating procedure.
Why was he ignoring me? His kind of scum was not the kind to turn down a chance to make money, even if it were only a paltry five cents. Which meant there was a reason he was ignoring me.
A tingling sensation at the back of my skull gave me my answer. Someone, or more likely, something was approaching me and had breached the circle cast by my extended awareness. I turned, slipping a expression of banal helplessness upon the illusionary face I wore this night, while inside I rejoiced at the prospect of violence.
Just what I need to improve my mood. And it will serve as an admirable object lesson to the rest of these wretches.Unsurprisingly, the creature approaching me was a demon. It towered above me, perhaps brushing seven feet high, and it's frame swelled impressively with slab-like muscles beneath it's lumpy, pus-yellow skin. Moist, unblinking eyes stared at me curiously, and as it drew near, I caught it's scent.
It's not unlike Parmesan cheese.This particular demon was a To'Pai, typically found in Asia. Despite their brutish appearance, the To'Pai were typically a race of warrior-philosophers, who sought enlightenment through the practice of arms. They also had the unfortunate habit of tending to eat the still warm intestines of their fallen enemies, but no-one's perfect.
“We don't get many humans in here. The people who live in this town tend to show enough sense to avoid this dump.” The To'Pai's voice, while low pitched and heavy, was surprisingly cultured, and the disdain with which he regarded the bar was almost enough to make me like him. “Still, it's always nice to meet someone open minded enough to ...”
As fast as a striking snake, I interrupted the urbane demon by thrusting the index finger I had fleshcrafted into a bone talon through one eye and into the recesses of his skull until it was buried to the knuckle in his flesh. I almost felt regretful as I flicked my talon around the inside of the To'Pai's skull, scrambling his brains. The demon, already a corpse, twitched and spasmed on my finger, convulsive tremors rippling through the beast's frame. My finger, already reverted back to it's natural form, made a ghastly sucking noise as I pulled it from the demon's eye, and the corpse toppled to the floor.
A second To'Pai lurched to it's feet; a female, it was most likely the mate of my most recent victim. To'Pai mated for life, and tended to be very close, so I imagined the new widow wished nothing more than to reduce me to a red, wet smear on the floor. The female's mouth opened to give birth to a roar of rage and grief.
I thrust out one hand, and a lightning bolt leapt forth from my outstretched appendage, striking the To'Pai in the open mouth, and burning a two-inch hole all the way through her skull. Slumping back against the wall, the demon joined her mate, dead on the floor, leaving a technicolor smear of various bodily fluids on the wall as she fell.
A furious snarl, and the clatter of clawed feet on the floor turned my attention sideways, as another demon sprang upright and charged at me. I was unfamiliar with this particular species; it looked like a cross between a humanoid frog, and the lovechild of Bill Gates and a severely disfigured leper. In short, it was as ugly as sin.
Extending a finger, I muttered beneath my breath, and the demon staggered to a halt, twitching uncontrollably as my curse began to take effect. I watched with dispassionate eyes as the creature began to wail pitiably as it's skin blistered from within as it's veins filled with liquid fire. It burned alive from the inside out, and it's agonized screams served as an admirable means of acquiring the full attention of every other demon in the building.
I dropped all of my glamours, and let them see my true face. Those few among their number who had any appreciable knowledge of magic saw me, saw the truth of what I was in my ravaged features, and they knew to be afraid.
“Now that I have your undivided attention, allow me to extend my congratulations. You have all entered my employ,” I rasped emotionlessly.
One rodent-like demon scurried to his feet, and shook a three-fingered fist in protest. “What if we don't want to work for you!”
I turned my gaze on him, and even as he realized his mistake and cowered, I reached out with a coiled whiplash of power. The rat-demon's head exploded, showering his neighbors with gore.
“Are there any other complaints?” I asked in a deceptively mild tone of voice. I was not surprised when there were not. Many demons could not claim to be especially intelligent, but there isn't much better than having to pick one of your companion's brain matter out of whatever passes for your hair to get a point across.
“The terms of your employment are quite simple. You will spread a message for me amongst the demonic community in Sunnydale.” I paused briefly, sweeping the assembled demons with an ice-cold gaze. “The Slayer and her flunkies belong to me. Anyone, or anything, that makes any kind of move against them will earn the full force of my wrath. That tends to get ... messy.”
I stopped speaking, and stared at them expectantly. Every last one of them stayed frozen in place, afraid to even twitch. I sighed irritably, and made a shooing gesture in their direction, as if they were a flock of birds.
“Get out, you idiots.”
They fled as one, in a blurred flurry of limbs and tentacles. I shot out an arm, and grabbed one scrawny figure out from the stampede by the scruff of his unwashed, greasy neck.
“Willy, I presume?”
My captive, the bartender who had ignored me earlier, shakes his greasy head vehemently in denial. “Nope, pal,” he babbles at me. “I ain't Willy. I just work here.”
The smile with which I answer his blatant falsehood silently promises him untold agony. “Lie to me again, Willy, and I will rip out every last one of your teeth and re-insert them in your skull, like a deranged tooth fairy's version of a tiara. Am I understood?”
Willy nods his head frantically, and I release him, resisting the urge to wipe my hands clean. He scrambles backwards, his fear washing over me in a fashion similar to his hideous cologne. I am briefly tempted to kill him simply for having such atrocious taste.
“I am afraid you don't get off quite so lightly as those others, Willy. From here on out? You belong to me. You will be my eyes and ears. You will find out the location of every vampire nest, every demon lair, every place frequented by the denizens of the underworld, and you will pass this information on to me.”
“Yeah ... yeah, sure thing. Whatever you say.” He pauses, his rodent-like features screwing up in uncertainty. “Uh ... how do I do that?”
I lean in close, invading his personal space to a menacing degree. “I don't care, you little worm. Just get it done.”
I spin around dramatically, and stalk towards the exit, playing a role now. Personally, I would have preferred to fade into the background, but I am playing a part here. I need this little idiot, and all of his inhuman patrons to see me in a certain light. Perception is a cornerstone of manipulation, and manipulation is but one of the many tools I will use to see my will done.
“Hey!” Willy calls out, and I stop, refusing to turn to face him.
Let him speak to my back, the inbred cur. “If I'm going to work for you, shouldn't I know what to call you?”
I pause, considering his request. I will not give him the name with which I was born. In truth, I rarely think of myself as that person anymore. They died along with everything else I cared about. Only the monster I have transformed myself into remains. Besides, I fully expect the imbecile to blabber the details of our arrangement at the slightest provocation, and if my true name were to come out it would cause unwanted and unneeded complications. But I feel that I should give him a name.
I smile coldly as the answer comes to me. When I was a student in Hyriault, unliked and friendless, my obstinate refusal to disclose my name or origins led the other students to give me a name of their own design. It was intended as an insult, a cruel barb to prick at my pride and sense of honor. They needn't have bothered. I have no honor, it would only get in the way of what I have to do.
So I took their mocking name. I made it my own, and in time, every last one of them came to fear it, to fear me. What was intended as an insult, became a byword for terror and brutality, the name of a bogeyman that would haunt the inhabitants of Hyriault for centuries. Yes. That will do nicely.
“You may call me ... Nameless.”
To be continued ...
That’s right: In order to make this event LESS popular, the female activists take off their tops and jog in front of onlookers. - Scott Adams, regarding the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.
by Missocki » Mon Sep 19, 2005 2:18 pm 
. I like puzzles, but this one doesn't have enough constraints to figure it out yet.
(duh). Better question is WHY do that. I find it hard to imagine Willow wouldn't remember a dream which pretty much spells out how Tara dies, Willow's worst nightmare, ah well.
(and can be rather protective of their owners, heh). Where/when did Tara learn such intricate protection spells by the way ?? I couldn't determine if Nameless had seen all traps woven into the shields, would be fun if he tripped one... he would be soooo pissed at himself 
. If he were out to rescue/protect Willow he could easily do so with having such angry thoughts.
Man...I am ashamed to admit that I haven't read this fic yet. But I've just downloaded the entire thing onto my computer so I can print and read with a nice cup of hot tea. 
