Kennedy’s heart was thundering as she charged into battle, fighting another Slayer was never something to be done lightly, and she hated to kill another human. "Give up," she warned the olive-skinned taller girl.

The girl flashed her teeth in response before leaping forward, sword backhand slashing left to right. Kennedy glided under the attack, her own arm and shoulder muscles writhing as she thrust her blade at her adversary’s belly.

The other Slayer twisted away from her attack, a grimace parting her lips. Then she twisted back, like a rubber band snapping back into place, her own blade thrusting down at Kennedy’s belly.

The moment the attack started Kennedy was moving away from it, leaping up and above her opponent’s flashing steel, her foot kicking up at the other Slayer’s face. Her eyes widened when not only did her rival manage to lean back and away from her attack, but also grab her ankle with her free hand and fling her to the ground.

Kennedy hit the ground on her shoulder but ignored the jarring impact to roll to her feet in time to block a sword slash hacking down at her neck just inches from its target. Then pain exploded in her left inner knee when her rival stamped her there, hurt flaming through the assorted tendons and ligaments. "Ahhh!" Kennedy screamed in fear and hurt as she fell to one knee, her rival looming over her.

And falling prey to the sword Kennedy thrust up and through her chest. Her eyes widened as the other Slayer buckled and fell away, revealing the two vampires advancing on an apparently oblivious Giles. "Mr. Giles!" she screamed as she leapt up. Ignoring the pain lancing through her leg, she raced over to the Watcher’s side.

* * *

"Oh bloody hell," Ethan whispered as he watched the vampires and Slayer attack his companions. This was not going well at all. Deciding as always that cowardice was definitely better valour, Ethan readied a cloaking spell, knowing in his heart of hearts if Rosenberg sensed him, he was as good as-.

"Hello Ethan."

Ethan’s heart sank as he spun around to face the voice’s awfully familiar owner. "R…Ripper," he stuttered as his eyes confirmed what he’d hoped was a mistake, his former lover and the man he feared more than any he’d ever met. "It’s-."

The fist that crashed into his jaw cut off his pleading, knocking his head to the side. His own right bounced uncaringly off Giles’ shoulder as his former partner in crime lunged forward, a murderous expression on his face. "My girls!" he snarled, his fingers stabbing into Ethan’s throat, choking his breathing off. "How many times do you have to be told?" A knee slammed into his gut even as he tried and failed to shove his former friend away from him. Bile rose in his throat as he doubled up. "Do not!" Hands grabbed his collar and flung him to the ground, slamming him face first into the dewy grass. "Attack my girls!" The cracking of bone echoed in his ears, chest raising off the grass when his old friend drove his heel down into the small of his back, back shattering under his attack. Then merciful darkness engulfed him.

* * *

Spike raised an eyebrow as Giles proceeded to put the boot to his unconscious country-man. "If we ever pay poker with Rupes, remind me to pay my debts, he’s not a man to get on the wrong side of."

"Why should I?" Angel queried as he marched towards the Englishman. "You still owe me money from last time." Angel gabbed Giles by his shoulder and eased him away, ignoring the protective growls of the Slayer version of Mini-Me. "I don’t think he’ll be causing any more trouble, Giles."

"Pillock," Spike complained as he stopped and peered down at the bloodied man. "He’s dead, Rupes."

The flushed and heavily-breathing Englishman stepped back, eyes blazing. "Thirty years too bloody late," he growled before glancing towards the Deeper Well’s gaping entrance. "The Deeper Well, huh?" The Watcher took a determined step towards the entrance. "Let’s be havin’ you."

* * *

The four materialised figures were of the same race, Faith instantly decided. Slightly built and only of average height, the bipeds wore red cowled robes, their angular, dark-skinned faces peering out from under their hoods, purple slanted eyes glaring at them. "Oh my god!" Roger let out a gasp. "Drow!"

"Say what, Rog?" Faith kept both eyes on the monsters facing them.

"They’re for want of a better word, elves," Faith rolled her eyes. Jesus, Xander had tried to get her to watch Lord Of The Rings once. He’d probably find this exciting. "Cave-dwelling, matriarchal elves who are un-remittingly savage and cruel, the best of their warriors hired out by their competing Houses as assassins, both for money and prestige."

"Great," Faith jumped back when one came at her with his scimitars, "a little detail on how to fight ‘em would be kinda good right now!"

"They’re faster than humans and have greater pain tolerance thanks to years of brutalisation during childhood and training, but they’re not as strong as humans." Faith ducked under another slash, this one at her neck. "Their blades are routinely poisoned -."

"How do I kill them?" Faith snapped.

"Oh beheading," Roger said, "breaking bones will hinder but not kill them."

"Good to know. Dana, my left!" Faith lunged forward, twisting left and right to avoid the blades flashing at her, then she snatched up, grabbed her would-be attacker’s wrists and held them steady while repeatedly driving her head into his bony face. On her third butt, bones breaking on the first, the other Drow lunged at her, only to take a kick to the stomach that folded him like a deck-chair.

Releasing her grip on the stunned Drow’s wrists, she ducked under his sword-slashes, then came up with the gleaming letter opener, the only thing close to a weapon she had on herself, and sliced it across the elf’s throat. Even as the dark elf fell, Faith was scooping up his plummeting blades and spinning to face the straightening other dark elf.

Just in time to twist away from a thrust to the face, the blade slicing hair away from her mane even as she charged into the counter-attack, blocking the other blade with her left blade while back-handing at her rival’s throat with the other. The impact of the other’s block jarred up and down her arm, but Faith ignored it to leap into the air and into a roundhouse kick that crashed into the other’s face, spinning him and putting him down, before he could move, her blade was slicing through the back of his neck.

After checking Dana had dealt with her two rivals, Faith glanced towards Roger’s shocked face. "What?" she demanded. "You expect me to offer him tea ol’ bean?"

Roger shook himself then glared at her. "I’ll alert Xander to send his EMP pulse," Roger peeked his head through the vault entrance, the elderly Englishman grimacing at the erupting noise. "Sewers for us I’m afraid."

"Yeah," Faith grinned as the entire building simultaneously went dark and silent. "Just ‘cause we’re in the dark don’t make it a grope party Rog."

"Well really!" huffed the Englishman.

"I know you were thinkin’ it, your son had to learn it from someone."

"Not funny, Ms. Lehane," sniffed Roger.

"I thought so."

* * *

"Good lord," Giles gasped as he entered what was known in the upper reaches of the Council as ‘the graveyard of gods’. Graveyard no longer, for as far as the eye could see all that remained of the legend was torn-apart tombs, bone, stone, and dust littering the ground. "What manner of power could have done this?" he shook his head as he started towards the back. "I only hope-."

"Where you goin’, Rupes?"

Giles ignored Spike’s impertinent mutterings as he made his way through the stone laden ground, careful to keep his eyes averted from the desiccated skeletons littering the ground. He heard but failed to acknowledge Spike’s grunted swearing, pulled to the cavern’s rear by a will far, far stronger than his own. And then he was on a winding staircase that seemed to go on for ever, treading hypnotically down it, ignoring the ache in his calves from the seemingly endless walk, the pain in his knuckles from his scuffle with Ethan forgotten as his excitement and anticipation grew. The further and further down he clambered, the drier the air got, the cold chill of the upper level replaced by an altogether heavier climate.

And then they were stood in another cavern, its ceiling so high as to be invisible, lost in the swirling darkness that their torches couldn’t breach. And so, Giles set about looking around the cavern, his breath catching at what he saw.

A skull from a hairy mammoth.

The skeleton of a Bunyip.

An age-browned map detailing the locations of antediluvian Lemuria, Thule, and Valusia, the first three civilisations of man.

A map of fabled Atlantis.

The famed Vietnamese sword, Heaven’s Sword resting against a goblet that could perhaps be the Holy Grail.

A hardback, yellowed copy of The Sword Of Moses.

"I never knew this place existed," Angel muttered as they crept into the Deeper Well’s underground repository.

"No, it’s not commonly known," Giles forced his awe aside to reply, hungry eyes searching and memorising the revered items stacked throughout the vast basement. He’d seen so much in his time, but nothing compared to the wonders in here. Oh the treasures here, it was just a shame that nothing summonsed here was allowed to leave without the creator of the Deeper Well’s permission. "Since the beginning of man’s reign over earth, it’s believed this place was created by an elder power as a repository of objects of power, of lost creatures, and forbidden knowledge-."

"Giles!" Willow let out a shocked shriek. "You need to see this!"

Heart thumping, Giles joined the two vampires in rushing over to the witch and the Slayer. "Willo-," Giles’ voice disappeared in a croak, eyes widening in shock as his torchlight fell upon what the two girls were staring stock-still at. "Oh my god."

The table was round, and rudely-constructed, the oaken wood lacking any decoration save for a plaque at each seat, the seats replaced by stone coffins. Out of instinct, Giles began reading the names even though he already knew who the coffins must be. "Bedivere, Kay, Galahad, Lancelot,-."

"Bloody hell," Spike actually looked humbled for once. "The soddin’ Round Table."

Giles stared at the table, eyes suddenly wet and a tightness in chest. How many times had his mother read him their stories as a child? Thirty of England’s greatest heroes, warriors remembered twelve hundred years after their passage, and looked on as Britain’s saviours in some future time-.

"Giles!" Excitement had replaced shock on Willow’s face, the witch’s eyes gleaming with excitement. "I could bring them-."

"No!" Spike roared a second before he could. "They’ve had their time, let them sleep ‘til they chose to return!"

"He’s right," Giles put before Kennedy could inevitably leap to his girl-friend’s defence. "Let’s not desecrate the tombs and memories of England’s heroes. If we forced them to come back before their ordained time, they might not come back-."

"How do we know it’s not their ordained time?" Willow challenged. "Maybe they were meant to have help."

"Yeah," Spike looked like he’d regained his usual cockiness, "you’d look right becomin’ with a white beard and pointed hat, Merlin."

"I know I’ll not be party to their desecration," Giles stared down his nose at the glowering witch.

"If not for them," Angel broke the tension, "why are we here?"

Giles forced his eyes away from Willow, bloody hell but she scared him some times, and looked towards the ensoulled vampire. "For the Oracle."

"The SQL language?" Willow looked as confused as he now felt.

"The what?" he shook his head as he headed towards the cavern’s rear. "No, no. The Pythian Oracle-."

"From Greece?" queried Angel.

"No, the Pythia just ‘round the corner from West Ham," he snarked as he cast his light left and right, searching for the tomb rumoured to be here, "of course Greece. Be warned, she was put here for the murder of her entire race, she believed that only she should be allowed to see the future. She’s been imprisoned here since before the asencion of classical Greece, so I imagine she’ll be a little irritated."

"Gee, you think?" Spike snarked as he stepped over the skelton of an unicorn.

Once again he summonsed the famed Giles patience to ignore the peroxide-haired pillock. "Given what I’ve read in ‘The Classified Annals’ Willow is the only one with the power to deal with her. I want you ready." Willow nodded, their apparent disagreement already forgotten. "Good," Giles crouched

It was Angel rather than Giles who answered. "It says ‘Here lies Medusa-."

Giles shook his head when Angel looked inquiringly at him. "To the best of my knowledge although she’s the origination of that particular myth, she doesn’t possess that particular power."

"’Best of your knowledge?’" Spike shook his head. "Inspiring."

Angel continued. "’Here lies Medusa, Slayer-," Kennedy let out a shocked gasp, "Of Her People."

Giles glanced towards Kennedy. "She wasn’t a Slayer, she wasn’t human." He took a breath before glancing at his companions, Spike having taken up a position to his left, Angel to his right and Willow at the coffin’s foot, Kennedy poised by her side. Then he took a hold of the worn coffin lid, the stone cold beneath his fingers and shoved it off.

"Tatarus!" The thing that came leaping out of the tomb was the stuff of nightmares. "Tatarus!" Long, thin face with gaping sockets where her eyes should have been, straggly, waist-long hair that stank of death, and a mouth filled with the sort of fangs that would make a vampire green with envy. "Tatarus!" Its body was unnaturally thickly-muscled, more apelike than human while the wings that bloomed out of its back reminded him of a bat’s. "Tatarus!" And then the creature was flying out of the coffin, its mere passing enough to fling him and the vampires to the ground, quaking before its millennia-old evil, their wills unable to stand before it, its scratchy voice whispering obscenities in their minds even as it screamed out the one word again and again. "Tatarus!"

"I don’t think so." Willow stepped forward, a look of grim determination on her face, Kennedy, he’d never loved that girl until that moment, clinging to her lover’s side, palely shaking but defiant. An eye-wateringly brightness blossomed out of the witch, engulfing the screaming Oracle and then dissipating as quickly as it had erupted, the creature’s bones clattering to the ground.

"Well done," Giles managed as his heart returned to something close to its normal pace.

"You’re welcome." Willow smiled as he rose, her forehead suddenly creasing. "What was the word Medusa was screaming?"

"Tatarus? A particularly nasty primordial deity, the sort of creature that pre-dates the creation of the universe. I shudder to think how he’s tied into all this." Giles sighed as clambered to his feet and looked up, remembering the draining journey down. "I do wish whoever had built this place had at least thought of putting a lift in."

Buenos Aries, Argentina

The boardroom gleamed from the light blazing in from the sun, the men sat around the wide table all uniformly white and all in rapture as their leader began to speak, truly he was his grand-father re-born. "This is the opportunity ODESSA has been waiting for!" Their group’s leader slammed his fist down on the polished table and half-rose out of his seat, his sunken cheeks flushed with excitement. "The world teeters on an abyss. Uncertainity rules, moral decay is everywhere! Our forces are ready, our politicians bought, our enemies silenced by fear or blackmail! Now is the time for the Fourth Reich to rise and strike! Let the Jews, Gypsies, and blacks tremble before their masters once more! Let us re-take-."

Suddenly the door burst over and a trio of scaled monstrosities rushed inside, the screams of hell following afterwards.

* * *

The Alps, Switzerland

Henrich Voller rubbed his hands together, his thick gloves scant defence against the mountain’s chill. He cast an envious look up at the sprawling mansion behind him, its thick stone walls rather better at keeping the warm in than his jacket.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been here in his capacity as bodyguard to one of Germany’s biggest newspaper magnates. The place was a frequent meeting place for members of the notorious Bilderberg Group. In his time, he‘d seen many a world leader and famous banker chauffeured past its front gate, even the occasional movie star turned UN Ambassador or pressure group campaigner.

It was unusual though, these meetings were usually organised at least a month in advance, but his employer had only been informed him about this one three days before. And there was the other stuff, normally his boss was a bellicose, boisterous type, but recently he’d been far quieter.

The change would be refreshing if it wasn’t so worrying. Henrich’s eyes narrowed when he casually glanced towards the mansion’s gleaming gate, only to note the missing guard from the post to the gate’s left.

An itch started in the back of his neck as he reached into his jacket, the normally reassuring feel of his MP-5 failing to calm him. Something was wrong-.

The last thing he knew was screaming pain, his attacker on him before he had chance to draw his gun.

* * *

Greece

The waters sloshed softly around Dion Yannis’ white-washed boat, its sleek lines proudly proclaiming its pedigree as it bobbed out at sea, anchor laid several miles out from dock out of the range of any possible listening devices.

For there were many who would wish to eavesdrop on the members of the Nine Unknown Men, a group of power dating back over two thousand years. They were different from other conspiracy groups, Dion mused as he poured his guests’ drinks, not men of power or money, although they had some of that, but men of science, who truly cared not about gaining more power but advancing humanity’s progress and understanding via their technological genius.

Of course the money made on the side was glorious.

A beep from his sonar had him apologetically hurrying away from his guests and into the cab, eyes passing inquisitively over the radar. "What’s up?"

The sailor he’d directed his question to shrugged. "The sonar must be faulty," the sailor pointed out of the window in each direction, the sea quiet for miles to see, "it keeps warning me we’re being approached but nothing."

"A submarine?" queried Doni.

"If it is, it’s a small one, five or six people at the most." The sailor replied, the craggy-featured man’s eyes narrowed as he stabbed at the display. "It’s broken, according to this it’s on top of us-."

"Or," Doni felt his mouth dry as a sickening realisation hit him, "under us! Get us out of here now!"

Then the ship shifted under him, flinging him into one of the cab’s sides. "Move!" he roared, his voice hoarse. "Mo-." His voice choked when he saw a browny-green tentacle fly out of the water, the tree-trunk thick feeler slapping wetly against the ship’s side as it grabbed a hold. Blood roared in Doni’s ears as he shot frantic looks around, everywhere he looked was bedlam, more and more tentacles flew up out of the water, either grabbing a hold of his ship or swinging up to crash into his fellow group members and fling them into the water.

Then steel and wood began to buckle as the kraken’s grasp tightened, the ship cracking as it plunged under water, the sound of wood snapping and his friends screaming the last thing he ever heard.

* * *

Romania

Dracula raced through the old-fashioned town, unable to believe what he was forced to do. Ever since he’d visited Sunnydale, and presented a foppish exterior to the gullible Summers, he’d reaped the harvest of being thought of as old, but no particular threat, left alone to gather his power should he be attacked.

All his grand plans, crushed to nought.

It had started at dusk, several hundred Scourge demons had arrived at his castle and laid siege to it. No, not lay siege, swarmed it in a heedless rush to take it. And in just a few hours it had fallen, its mighty walls crumbling, his servants slaughtered.

And his vanquishers in hot pursuit.

He’d killed many that night, slaughtered them in pairs and trios, but soon it would be day again, and he had to find somewhere to hide. Even as he looked fearfully into the sky, spying the gradually rising sun, several Scourge burst into the street before him.

"Curses!" Dracula howled his fury as he bounded into a street to his right, only to find it blocked by a trio of Scourge. Realising he didn’t have time to turn and race back out, he accepted the challege and leapt on the trio.

In seconds one was falling dead to the floor, his throat torn out by Dracula’s teeth. Another came at him with a cleaving claymore, but Dracula wasn’t there when the blow arrived, stepping under and then outside it, his claw ripping up to tear his adversary’s face off, his foot coming up in a back heel kick to crash into the third demon’s chest, knocking him across the alley, as the second fell away, face ripped to shreds.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Dracula spun to face the Scourge demons charging into the alley, noting with dismay their number, but also noting the passageway’s narrowness meant they could only come at him three at once.

And once again battle was joined. He twisted left and right, claws rending air and flesh in equal measure, his enemies falling before him even as their swords and axes cut at him, leaving him a patchwork of wounds. But finally the last of them fell. Dracula slumped against the wall, his body aching from the countless wounds assailing him, the ground underfoot awash with his rivals’ blood. He had to get out of here before any more of the basta-.

Then he realised the sun had finished rising during his fight and burst into flames.

* * *

Italy

"You are a fool!" laughed Capo di Luigi as increasingly venomous insults shot back and forth the boardroom table, their impalements in turn exhorting their recieptants to yet more insults.

"No!" hissed Capo di Flambara, his pointed ears prickling indignantly. "You are a fool if you think the Flambara family will ever yield to you!"

"Fools both!" roared Capo di Valenia. "I name you! This feud is getting in the way-."

"This feud is the least and the last of your worries." All warring voices fell silent as a very familiar figure strode in, the handsome playboy smirking slightly. "The Goran Clan, still bickering after all these years." The Immortal smiled. "I suppose it’s fitting though that you die doing what you did throughout the majority of your existence."

"Die!" screeched Capo di Garouta. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh didn’t I say?" the Immortal threw his head back and roared with laughter. "When I walked in here I was carrying a posion on my body-." Capo di Tutro keeled over, his skin more green than its usual. "Yes, you feel it now don’t you, all of you?"

* * *

Arashmaharr

"Noooooooooooooooooo!" D’Hoffryn wailed his fury as he sensed more and more of his servitors slain by the invading force. Who would dare have the terminty to invade his own, to even try and slay him.

He spun around as the door to his quarters crashed open. "Grand Master Oscuro, you dare?" D’Hoffyrn gasped.

Six of the seven invaders were human and carrying their ‘guns’, but it was the seventh who captured his attention. The humanoid demon was short and stocky with functional rather than showy muscles, he could almost have passed for human save for the ridge of horns seperating his hair down the centre of his head, blue skin, and staring red eyes. "These humans have the most marvellous weapons don’t they, truly ingenious. They’re a very dangerous people, what with their intuitiveness and invention, but then you learnt that when they drove you and your ilk out of their dimension in the Demon Wars." The nigh-legendary founder and ruler of the Takaran Order smiled. "Of course to deal with one such of you, requires one of my power."

"You are nothing to me!" D’Hoffryn struggled to regain his poise. "Try anything and I’ll slaughter you where you stand and kill every single one of your descendants for a hundred generations to come."

"Yes," Oscuro nodded. "Yes I suppose I am a little over-matched." There was a flash of teeth in the humanoid’s tattoed face. "But as a distraction for my Soul Eater teleporting in behind you with posioned blades, I did rather well."

D’Hoffryn gasped. "Soul-." Then all he knew was pain erupting in his lower back and neck, two enscolled knives simultaneously thrust through flesh.

* * *

Atlantic City, New Jersey

Lorne’s hands shook he exited the club he guested at via its rear entrance, his heart pounding so hard, his ass throbbed. He shot nervous glances into the alley’s encroaching darkness as he hurried towards its end. Yes he had to get in touch with Angel, Angel would know what-.

He stumbled back when a tinted-windowed limo screeched to a halt at the alley’s entrance, blocking his escape. Sweat streamed down his face as he turned, expensive shoes splashing in the narrow-passageway’s muddy puddles, then reared back in horror at the smirking face before him. "I killed you!"

"So you did." Lindsey’s smile widened as he raised the shotgun in his hands and tugged on the trigger. "My turn." The alley echoed to the gun’s hoarse boom, the force of its explosion knocking Lorne on his back, his legs and arms suddenly weak. Above him he could hear approaching footsteps. "Gentlemen," his killer looked towards the nearing men, "decapitate and hack this piece of crap to pieces."

Death Valley, California

The heat that had her companions soaked with sweat failed to affect Illyria in the slightest. Such trifling discomforts were the problem of lesser beings such as those who trailed in her wake, the shadow cast by the hill they were marching around somewhat blocking the sun’s glare but not its power.

"That’s right," Kate’s complaining pant interrupted her, "don’t wait for us."

"If," Illyria turned and faced the former peace officer, impaling her with a glare, "I had a choice on this matter I would not. Unfortunately I have been tasked with your protection."

"Well," drawled Connor, "that’s not how I remember it."

"Then," Illyria turned her gaze on the night-walker’s offspring, "your memory is in error."

Connor shot her an amused smirk. "Yeah, that’ll be it."

Illyria ignored the youth’s tone. If she acknowledged it the only answer could be one of violence. Being here was an irritation, but a necessary one. Mr. Giles’ plan was a good one, at least as good one could reasonably expect from plankton. While his and the one-eyed Watcher’s teams sought out leads on what was behind the assaults on them, she and others would lead attacks on major players in the demon world, hopefully muddying the waters of just what their response was, and reaping a bloody harvest of kills. Yes, a daring and ruthless plan, a barrage of feints to conceal the true strike. Rupert Giles was a most innovative and commanding man. It was little wonder that her last Qwa'ha Xahn had esteemed the man so much.

Her team’s assignment was a perilous one, an attack on nothing less than the camp base of the Vinji and Sahrvin clans. Fortunately she’d been supplied with the troops sufficient to do the job, in addition to Connor, Groo, and Kate of her own team, all worthy fighters even if they did occasionally bristle under her leadership, she’d been given fifteen Slayers to command.

Not true Slayers of course, only Summers and Lehane felt as true Slayers to her, the others, those Called by Sunnydale’s fall felt somehow different, the same and yet muted as if their power had thanks to the manner of their Calling not reached their full blossom. Still, she’d seen them fight and they were competent enough, each at least the equal of Connor.

Illyria paused as she reached a steep embankment, its ash-white sand seeming to almost gleam. Illyria’s brow furrowed as her senses reached out, then finally she nodded. "I sense our enemy over this ridge. We will wait here until night-fall and then attack. Remember your tasks and positions, this will be a glorious battle to sing of."

"Indeed."

Illyria glanced at Groo, suspecting irony. But then she remembered the Pylean wasn’t capable of such. Even as alien as she was to this land, he was even more divorced from it, and yet more content in his position in it.

In that he was very much an enigma to match any this world had challenged her with.

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

"So, this putting the band back together thing? Didn’t think it would end with us getting so wet."

Riley Finn chuckled at his best friend’s comment. "Been watching the Blues Brothers again?"

"Hey," Graham’s eyes glinted with amusement, "I’m not the one running a busy Council House, I get time to relax."

Riley chuckled again. Somehow he doubted working as the Council’s armourer and head of security was quite as simple as all that. "Is everyone in place?" he sobered as he returned to business.

"Yeah, we’re waiting for the word from you." Graham’s tone was all-business.

"That’s cool," Riley nodded. Riley’s gaze turned to the 14^th century gothic-styled castle stood in the Alps’ shadows. The building was ironically enough the base for the Scourge in much the same way Germany had been the cradle for Nazism seventy years earlier, one supremacist replacing another.

At least until tonight.

The castle had three entrances, the portcullis at the front and wooden doors to the right and left. The plan was simple enough, under the cover of darkness they’d placed explosives on each of the side entrances, the doors’ guards having fled inside to avoid the night’s persistant, lashing downpour. On his word, they’d blow the doors and teams led by him and Graham would rush inside, Sam staying outside with her team posted by the woods to the north of the front entrance either to head off any attempt at reinforcement, or prevent the Scourge from fleeing.

Simple enough, but still, every general worth his salt knew that plans rarely lasted beyond a battle’s onsent.

Riley forced himself to relax. "Get your troops into place, we move into action in ten minutes."

Graham nodded. "I’ll be waiting your signal."

* * *

The Himalayas, India

Buffy coughed and pouted as she made her way up the steep foothill, arm wiping at the sweat building on her forehead even as she stamped angrily at the grass underfoot. It wasn’t right, her being relegated to a diversion team! The Board should have put her on, no make that made her leader of one of the important teams.

And why wasn’t she on the Board anyway? There wouldn’t be a Board or even a Council without her!

Buffy huffed as she started back up the hill. Instead she was here in the middle of nowhere, leading a team on an attack on the Sisterhood of Jhe. Buffy shivered suddenly at the memory of their desperate battle in the school all those years ago.

"Are you alright?"

Buffy beamed up at her long streak of black manliness. "Fine thanks," she replied. At least this time they were prepared. Wood might not have the knowledge of Giles, but he was a far better fighter, Amy was a pretty good witch, and the fourteen Slayers she had backing her up more than made up for Angel and Faith’s absence.

Of course, Andrew waddling at their rear probably cancelled all their advantages out.

Buffy sighed as she looked up into the mountain’s shadow. Fortunately the map they had indicated they wouldn’t have to go much higher to find the caves where the Sisterhood dwelled. And from that moment on, it was the sort of carnage she revelled in all the way.

* * *

Houston, Texas

Vi stared at the walled ranch, long shadows cloaking it. "I don’t know," she drawled, her hometown accent thickening in her tones as it always did when she got anxious. "This is an U.S. Senator we’re assassinating."

Beside her Rona sighed and shook her head. "You were on the Board that okayed the report about W&H’s Genesis Project, you know this is really a demon."

"I know," Vi nodded. The Genesis Project had been created five decades ago, an audacious program that had involved the kidnapping of over a hundred children of well-off and highly-connected families, and replacing them with demons in their children’s forms. Now their children had reached maturity and taken advantage of their family’s resources to gain influential positions – ambassadorships, senators, state governors, presidential advisors, and congressmen all numbered amongst their graduates. It was a program they’d only become aware of through the defection of Angel and his murder of Senator Bruckner. Of course, not all of the hundred had made it to the top, but enough had to give them an undue influence on American life.

At least until tonight. Tonight, Giles had ordered a cull. Throughout the nation a dozen or so ‘accidents’ were going to occur, houses blowing up, car accidents. Tonight, the Council was going to roar and show W&H its teeth.

"I still can’t believe Sarah Palin isn’t a member of the Genesis Project," Justine Cooper commented.

Vi giggled at her fellow red-head’s comment. "Justine, you’re here with the rocket launcher if the senator manages to escape, Rona, you take your team over the left wall, my guys will go at the house from the right."

"Yeah," Rona nodded, "we’re gonna stick it to the man!"

Vi sighed and shook her head. "Just for that, you can’t hire Malcolm X for movie night again. Ever."

"Censorship, whitey always looking to put a sister down."

Vi was beginning to worry about her best friend’s sanity. "Or hire Shaft." At Rona’s pout she relented slightly. "Oh alright, you can rent the remake."

Hey, she liked a bit of Samuel. L. herself.

"The remake?" Justine shuddered. "You really don’t like each other do you?"

* * *

Death Valley, California

The moment shadows had fallen, Illyria sprang to her feet, her companions rising from under the ledge they’d hidden under. "You have your teams," Illyria nodded at the three Slayers who’d she’d grudgingly allowed to be assigned to her side, the other three team commanders each getting four. "I will lead the attack. Kate, you have your rifle, you and your Slayer Shooters are to snipe from here."

"Understood," the former detective nodded.

"Groo, come in from the right, Connor from the left." Illyria looked around. "I will attack now. You attack the moment you reach your positions, it will add to the confusion. Once we have slain the chiefs, Kate will cover our retreat with this." Illyria passed Kate’s team a pair of XM312s. "Try to resist the temptation to fire these until we’ve left the camp."

"Was that a joke?" Kate smiled wryly.

"A passing attempt at battle’s eve," Illyria replied. "Once we have cleared the ledge on our way out, we will all retreat back to where the jeeps are secreted and head back to the base."

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

"Omega in position."

Riley forced himself not to start when his friend’s voice crackled in his ear-piece. "Beta in position," Sam’s voice sounded a second after, his lover’s hand doubtless on the XM312, just waiting to cover their retreat.

Riley took a breath as he wiped away the rain spilling into his eyes and stared at the worn door some four hundred feet away. This door had seen the passing of centuries, history’s heroes and villains had doubtless passed through it. Did he really have the right to destroy it?

Telling himself it had already been desecrated by the presence of the beasts inside it, he lifted his detonator and placed his thumb just over the detonation button. "On three, we detonate. One, two, thr-."

* * *

Himalayas, India

Buffy scowled impotently as she crouched down behind a flowering shrub and stared down the dust-floored valley to the cave entrance where the map said the Sisterhood of Jhe lived. A statement backed up by the two hulking demons stood loitering by its entrance.

Buffy pursed her lips. It was twelve hundred feet to the monsters, a distance she could run in under twenty seconds, but still far too long to prevent either one of the demons from sounding an alert. As much as she hated it, she was going to need help from the Slayer-Shooters.

Buffy turned to the two markswomen that she’d been forced to take. "Can you make the shot?"

Both girls, they were twins, the only pair Called, grinned. "Sure we can," one of them drawled in an Australian accent. "Pa was getting us to shoot this far ‘fore we were ten!"

"Fascinating," Buffy just about managed not to sniff. At ten she was entering beauty pageants, forget Slaying they were savage! "You’ll need armour piercing and head shots-."

"Don’t try to teach your grand ma to suck eggs," muttered one of the girls, "this bush should be enough cover for both of us-."

* * *

Houston, Texas

"We’re in position."

Vi’s taut whisper crackled in Rona’s earpiece, prompting a smile. Her best bud was such a worry wart, but she wouldn’t change her for all the world. "Roger, we’re hittin’ it." Rona threw her grappling hook, grinning as it fastened on the top of the eighteen foot wall, the two Slayers on her team duplicating her action. Then she took off at a run, racing up the wall with only the cord of the grappling hook to support her. Then she was leaping over the wall, drawing her pistol crossbow as she dropped to the ground, her fellow Slayers flanking her.

Death Valley, California

Illyria felt none of the trepidation she knew the shell had felt before a battle. In fact she felt nothing but focus, a sharpening of her senses as she reached the camp’s outskirts, her hands reaching behind her back to draw her twin blades. Her left sword slashed out, taking the head of a Vinji, her blade ripping through her rival’s neck, blood showering her as the headless corpse fell to the ground.

Another Vinji leapt at her, its teeth parted in a snarl. Blood exploded from its open mouth when Illyria skewered it through the belly with her right sword, then casually flicked her wrist, sending the monster flying into two more charging at her, the trio crashing to ground. Her ears filled with battle’s familiar sounds – the screams of the dying, the relieved bellows of the living, and the crash of weapons.

Even as she relished the carnage, a trio of demons charged at her, their iron-headed spears leading the way, probing threateningly at her. "Unacceptable," Illyria’s blades slashed inwards, taking the heads off each of the spears, leaving the weapons nothing more than jagged edged staves.

Before any of the trio could react, the Slayers flanking Illyria were on them, slaughtering them with an efficiency that Illyria found admirable. If there were half a dozen or so of them, they might even have a chance against her. "Onward," she ordered as she ducked a Sahrvin’s sword slash, the demon’s turban and robes whistling in the night’s wind. The moment the sword had passed overhead, she rose and jammed her right blade through the demon’s neck, while back-hand slashing another Sahrvin’s head off with her left, yet more blood showering her.

Yes, it was most pleasing to have enemies to slaughter.

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

The sky briefly illuminated as the door exploded inward and then Graham was up and running in ahead of his girls, his Slayers knowing to hold back until they were inside. His Mossberg 590 bucked in his hands as it spat fire at the two guards stumbling out of the ruined door, the body of a third already lying dead and slightly burnt on the passageway’s stone tiles.

His bullets tore through the duo, ripping them apart, and knocking them on their backs, blood pumping out of them as they convulsed in their death throes. The moment he was past the bodies and over the castle’s threshold, he started barking out orders. "Charla! Gita! You take the right passageway! Carin! Krista! Take the left! Angela! Rose! Stick with me! Whatever you do don’t get split up and listen for the," a door swung open, the sound of Graham’s shotgun firing filled the air as he plugged a pair of Scourge demons full of holes, "retreat signal on your ear pieces."

* * *

Himalayas, India

"Three, two, one!"

The moment Wood reached ‘one’, a pair of muffled shots whispered out of the markswomen’s silenced rifles, the heads of the two Sisterhood demons exploding in bloody sprays a split-second later, the corpses dropping soundlessly to the ground.

"Well done," Buffy grudgingly complimented before stepping out from behind the corner she’d been hiding behind. "Teams, you know your places and our objective, it’s very simple. We kill as many Sisterhood demons as we can."

* * *

Houston Texas

The vampire exploded into dust when Rona’s bolt smashed into his chest. Then Rona was racing forward, swaying away from another vampire’s haymaker to kick him on the outside of his knee, knocking off balance as she stepped around him, leaving one of her team to drive a stake into his heart.

Rona hit the ground as gunfire erupted, rolling up and behind a stone fountain. Her heart thundered as she re-loaded the crossbow and peeked her head over its rim. "Who in the hell brings a crossbow to a gun-fight," Rona mumbled a complaint, "no I had to be traditional." Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the Uzi-wielding female vampire stepping out of the house, the idiot silhouetted in the light coming from the house behind her. Rona came up on one knee, arm swinging up as the vampire twisted towards her, her finger tugged on the crossbow’s trigger, then she was diving back down, grinning as rather than a barrage of bullets she heard the vampire’s shocked gasp and the distinctive sound of it dusting. "She shoots, she scores!"

Leaping up, she started for the house, her team-mates trailing behind her.

* * *

Death Valley, California

Illyria snarled as the Vinji Matron charged her. The demon towered over her by a foot and her thick build meant she was twice the host’s weight, added to that, the second of Illyria’s swords had broken in the throat of the Matron’s last bodyguard.

Illyria’s laugh cut through the battle’s din. It wouldn’t even be a close fight. "Slayers, keep anyone from interfering. I will attend to this."

Illyria swayed away from the Matron’s club-sized fist, her foot coming up in a kick that crashed into the Matron’s rounded belly, eliciting a grunt and knocking the gargantuan female back a step. Illyria lunged forward, eager to press her advantage, her adversary blocking a haymaker on her forearm, the blow’s thudding impact showing in the shock on her simian features.

And then the Matron’s other fist crashed into her forehead like a spade to the head. "Unacceptable," Illyria scowled as rather than stumble away from the blow’s impact she leapt forward, her fists a blur as she pounded at her rival’s torso, even the parried blows garnering pained grunts from her rival.

Suddenly the Matron lunged forward, her twisted lips parted in a scream. Illyria leapt to meet her adversary only for the Matron to sidestep her attack and drive a thundering hook into her midsection. Air gusted from Illyria’s lungs as she doubled up, feeling the Matron’s hand in her hair, she straightened before she could be yanked up, her elbow driving back and into the Matron’s hip even as spun into a clockwise leg sweep that took the demon’s legs from under it.

Sand billowed up as the massive demon crashed onto its aircraft-carrier sized back. A snarl on her lips, Illyria spun to face her rival and dropped knees first on its thick chest. "Do not!" Her right fist smashed into her rival’s mouth, teeth flying and her jaw shattering under the impact. "Think!" She slapped away a hand grasping at her neck before driving her head down and into her adversary’s nose, bone splintering and blood shooting out. Before the demon could do so much as yelp, her head was driving down again and again, turning the demon’s features into a bloody mess. "To challenge!" Her hands snatched at the stunned demon’s broken jaw and the top of her head, then twisted, the she-demon’s head coming away in her hands. "An Old One!"

Illyria rose with a smirk; the Matron’s head would make a worthy trophy. Her glee turned to irritation as she noted one of her Slayers fall to the ground, blood pumping from her leg. It appeared she’d need both hands to carry the wounded. Dropping the demon’s head she strode to the wounded Slayer’s aid. "Call the retreat, our business here is at an end!"

* * *

Bavaria, Germany

"Damn it!" Riley flung his Mossberg down in frustration, realising he wouldn’t have time to reload before the Scourge demons racing through the banquet hall’s far end reached his escort and him.

The banquet hall was long and wide; tapestries of the coats of arms of the medieval lords who’d once dwelled here hanging on the left and right walls, wood beams bracing the high ceiling. It was a place that had doubtless seen a lot, but probably not a battle like the one going on right now.

"Chao-Ahn!" Riley bellowed as he grabbed the long dining table’s near end. "Help me-." The table hit the stone-paved floor with an approving crash. "Tip the table on its side." He finished with an appreciative nod as his Watcher House’s most experienced Slayer flipped the table over. "Well done," he’d barely pulled out his Browning Hi-Power when the first of the demons reached the table he’d crouched behind, the gun bucking in his hand as he blew its head off, brains and blood spewing out of the back.

Another shot took the head off another, but before he could re-aim another had scrambled over the table and grabbed his gun arm, twisting it. Face contorted with the pain, Riley swung his left into the demon’s jaw with little effect, a final twist causing his gun to fall from his grip even as he drove a knee into the demon’s groin.

"Should have tried that first," he grunted as the demon released his grip and stumbled backwards. Riley dropped into a crouch, hand reaching for his dropped automatic only to lean away from an attempted kick to the face, hands shooting to grab and yank the foot, the over-balanced demon falling on his ass.

Riley lunged forward, hands reaching for the automatic. "Oh hell!" he changed his lunge into a sideways roll when another demon kicked the gun away and stepped into his path. Before he could make his feet the demon had his hands around his throat, choking him. "Uggggh," Riley grunted and gurgled, muscles writhing as he clamped his own hands around the choking hands and vainly tried to loosen them, the demon’s power far over-whelming him.

And then an axe hewed into the demon’s trunk-like neck, blood bursting out as it buckled and fell to the ground, its grip on Riley’s neck falling away.

"Thanks Chao-Ahn!" Riley gasped through his raspy throat as he snatched up his shotgun and yanked it open, hand dipping into his ammo belt for more shells. He’d re-load on the run.

* * *

Himalayas, India

Buffy ducked under the Jhe demon’s axe cleave, her own sword coming up and gouging a deep, bloody furrow through the demon’s belly. The Jhe howled but came on, its greater weight knocking her back and into the dusty stone wall.

She was so glad she’d dressed down for this patrol. All the blood and gore was going to be murder to get out of her clothes.

Sparks ignited as she sidestepped a downwards axe swing, the impact of the axe colliding into the wall wrenching it from the demon’s grip, sending the weapon clattering to the ground, Buffy’s own sword slicing up and through the demon’s throat before it had time to react.

Another demon rushed out of the darkness, this one had a studded mace. Buffy’s heart raced as she readied herself for its onslaught.

And then a shot rang out, a bullet crashed into the demon’s head, gore spewing from its head as it fell backwards, dust rising as it crashed to the ground. Buffy spun to face the shooter. "I had him!"

The Slayer-Shooter smiled at her. "You’re welcome."

"Younger generation," Buffy scowled and shook her head as she continued down the darkened tunnel. "No respect. Not like the good old days."

* * *

Houston, Texas

Wood splintered under her kick to the door, the bedroom door swinging open to reveal a darkened chamber. Vi’s heart pulsed as she cast a light into the room and started in. "Now where you be hidin’ you all?" she queried.

"Here dear!" Vi spun to her right as something charged her from that direction, its heavy bulk crashing into her before she had chance to set herself. The collision’s impact knocked her into a bedside table, the table and her falling to the ground. Vi’s lungs burnt as she struggled for air as she reached blindly for the table lying behind her, eyes fixed on the approaching silhouette. Grabbing one of the table’s legs, she swung it up and into her attacker, wood exploding as it hit home, the demon staggering sideways.

The distraction gave her the time she needed to jump up to her feet. And then she was jumping to her left as her attacker charged her, elbow shooting out to crash into the side of his head. The demon staggered again, Vi leaping behind him to grab him in a triangle choke hold.

At least that was the theory.

"Oh no!" Vi gasped as strong hands grabbed her forearm, the demon leaning forward and flinging her face-up onto the bed, Vi instinctively rolling away from a kick to the face and back up into a cat-like crouch from which she leapt, hitting her rival full on, knocking the two of them to the floor. Vi had the briefest glimpse of the surprised Senator’s face, and then she grabbed the back of his hair and repeatedly drove his head into the stone floor. The moment she judged him out enough, she drew her K-Bar and drove the knife into his throat, the sharpened blade punching through his flesh with ease.

"Well," Vi wiped the blood off as she rose. "Guess we’re finished here then!"

"Ah, Rupert, I’d like to have a word."

Giles glanced up as Roger rushed into his office. "Of course Roger, only could you be quick, I have the Board meeting in just a few minutes."

Roger nodded before dropping into the chair opposite him, the older man’s piercing eyes boring into him. "Rupert, I feel I must protest your involvement in field work."

"Oh?"

Giles’ voice chilled from his previously warm greeting, but Roger ploughed on regardless. "You have responsibilities, Rupert. Our troops, the other Watchers, and these girls all look to you for guidance. Your place is not in the field, not anymore."

Giles shook his head. "I’m sorry Roger, but I’m hardly going to follow in the footsteps of Travers and his ilk, and hide behind the skirts of girls not old enough to vote!"

Roger met his glare with one of his own. "Not all old school Watchers were desk-bound mandarins."

Oh good lord, Giles winced inwardly as he realised his mistake. Roger had served as the Watcher to not one, but two Slayers in the early to mid sixties. "No," he spluttered, "I never meant to infer-." Recovering his poise, he shook his head. "I appreciate your concern, however I cannot in good conscience allow others to fight in my place. My place is in the field."

"May I point out, if anything happened to you, it would be catastrophic, both in the short and long term. Morale would be utterly shattered, you’re a legend." Roger snorted. "If I had it my way, every single one of your Scoobies would be retired." Giles’ mouth opened. "Yes I know, Ms. Rosenberg, Summers, and Lehane would be utterly wasted outside of the field. But you’re our leader Giles, the glue that holds this place together. Should anything happen to you, this organisation would almost immediately fall apart. I hate to think about the in-fighting that would follow your vacating of the Chairmanship. Your value isn’t in the field, it is behind your desk, steering our ship, organising more treaties, ensuring things continue running as smoothly and as fairly as possible."

"Surely you exaggerate," Giles blustered.

"Bloody hell Rupert, how can you be so blind?" Roger challenged. "There’s factions in this organisation who are very unhappy with the decisions you’ve made. Allying us with various friendly demons. The abolition of the Cruciamentum. Giving Slayers parity with Watchers. All your efforts at modernising. It’s only the backing of the Sunnydale contingent that keeps them quiet and you in place. Should anything happen to you, would you really want a return to things as they were? A complete undoing of your work?"

Giles stared at his counterpart, bitterness. Finally he nodded. "You have a point, I’ll certainly consider it."

"Good." Roger rose at his admission and started to the door before halting and turning back to him. "Rupert, you’re no longer a young man. Should we manage to muddle through this crisis, it would behove you to consider grooming a successor to take over in five to ten years."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "I trust you have a candidate?"

"Young Mr. Harris," Roger half-smiled at Giles’ choked gasp. "Yes I know, he doesn’t have the necessary degrees, but good lord, he’s been in the field since he was a child, and he’s perhaps the only man the Slayers hold in greater esteem than you. The boy’s got nerve, empathy, and a good deal of common sense. He just needs honing."

"Good lord," Giles shook his head. "It was a struggle to get him to open a bloody book now you want me to train him as my protégé?"

* * *

Giles nodded as Pike came in and took his seat, the last of them arriving closing the door behind him. "Thank you for coming," Giles greeted as he took his seat. "As you’ve probably heard, our visit to the Deeper Well unearthed some disturbing information. This, together with Xander and Faith’s successful raid into Wolfram & Hart would guide me to believe the Wolfram & Hart are attempting to rise Tartarus-."

"I beg your pardon?" Zabuto gasped beside him. "You can’t be serious, none of them, not even their senior staff would survive that!"

"It would appear that the Black Thorn have stepped in," Giles explained.

"Hey," Faith raised a hand, "for those without the benefit of a snooty degree, who in the blue hell is Tartarus?"

"Apologies," Giles nodded. "I should have clarified. In Greek mythology, Taratarus was a hell even deeper than lower than Hades, the Greek underworld, a worse hell."

"So not the PG-13 version?" Faith queried.

"Oh far, far worse," Zabuto added. "The ‘edited’ tales of Greek mythology that are commonly peddled today fail to do its horror justice."

"Oh goody," Xander grunted.

Vi raised a hesitant hand, the shy Slayer still nervous at these meetings despite all the years she’d served as a board member. "I remember the myths from my Potential studies," she commented. "It’s not just a place is it?"

"No," Giles shook his head. "It’s also a primordial force, one of those birthed at the start of the universe, pre-dating even the Old Ones and the First." Giles paused, the weight of what he was about to share with the others weighing heavy on his chest. He’d spent much of the morning researching in The Restricted Archives, the heavily guarded library of the Council’s most dangerous papers, a room that only he, as Council Chief was allowed access to. Within its musky walls were books detailing the foulest necromancy, summonsing of the deadliest, powerful demons, dispassionately-written records of the rogue Watchers and secret Council atrocities, and the forbidden texts detailing the world’s hidden history and secret origins.

It was there that Giles had found the awful, terrifying truth. "Tartarus was an untamed force, by far the greatest force in the universe, it tore through world after world in a nigh uncontrollable rage, slaughtering any and all that tried to stand before it, and ruthlessly pursuing any who fled. It took the combined force of those we consider the Pagan Gods, the Old Ones, and the First to chain and imprison Tartarus and his army-."

"His army?" Pike queried.

"It appears that Tartarus is responsible for tales of Nephilim, fallen angels. According to what I’ve read, he has legions of them." Giles paused. "The aftermath of this war between Tartarus and rivals was so wide-spread that dozens of worlds were left lifeless, some even turned to rubble, and the Pagan Gods so weakened, they were helpless to prevent the Old Ones from turning on and slaughtering them. With the Old Ones imprisoned and the First for now gone, should Tartarus be unleashed he and his army won’t face any resistance capable of stopping them, they’ll slaughter the entire universe."

"What’s the plan, G?" Faith queried. "You’ve got a plan, right?"

"The beginings of one," he replied, shooting the shaken beauty what he hoped was a comforting smile. "The papers I read made mention of a Salvation Key that was used to lock the prison that Tartarus was forced into, his followers can be freed by dark enough magics, but he can only be freed by the key. We must keep the key out of the hands of W&H."

"And how do we do that?" Zabuto demanded.

"We’ve made many allies over these past few years." Giles sunk back into his seat. "Our primary mission must be gathering these allies to us, attacking W&H, keeping them off balance, preventing their attacks, and finding the Key before they do."

"Any chance you know where it is?" Faith queried.

"No," Giles shook his head. "But I know who discovered it after the fall of the Old Ones. The Honoured Protectors, a chivalric order who eventually metamorphosed into the Knights of -."

"Byzantium," Xander interrupted with a groan.

"Yes," Giles smiled tightly and nodded. "That was precisely my reaction too."

* * *

Knightsbridge, London

"This malt is really quite magnificent," Rutherford Sirk, formerly of both the Watcher’s Council and Wolfram & Hart, commented as he took a long sip.

"Glad you approve," growled his host. "However, I didn’t have you hear for a tasting."

"No, of course," Sirk shook his head. The club he was in was opulent to say the least, at first glance it appeared to be the same as any club that England’s most rarefied gentry would frequent. Its pastel walls were adorned with lavish paintings depicting heroes and leaders from England’s rich history, a fluffy carpet was stretched across the floor, the chairs they sat upon sheer leather, upholstered luxury, and while they supped at the finest of drinks they also basked in the warmth from the room’s mammoth fireplace.

However, despite all appearances this wasn’t a mere drinking club, but the base of the Hellfire Club, a several centuries old institution that consisted of some of England’s oldest and finest families, who all utilised the dark arts to further their careers in business, politics, or the judiciary. And it was a club that thanks entirely to the current troubles hoped to force itself to still greater heights. "You were asking how the Council would react," Sirk took another sip as he glanced around the men sat encircling him, savouring their lined faces expectantly hanging on every utterance. He didn’t have the lineage of these august elders, but because of his inside knowledge of both the Watcher’s Council & Wolfram and Hart, he finally had a place at the high table. "It is a large organisation, and like any large organisation will react slowly. But Rupert Giles is a decisive man, and once he has decided on his course of action, he won’t retreat, he’ll attack." Sirk pursed his lips as he recalled the intense young man who’d so bedevilled the Council three decades ago. "He can be a ruthless -."

BRRRR! BRRRR! BRRR!

Every one looked around, faces paling. Who could break into their building? Sirk was half-way out of his seat when the hall’s oaken doors flew not just open but off their hinges to crash against the far wall. His blood froze and eyes widened as a horde of Satharis rushed through the opening.

It seemed they’d made their move far too late.

* * *

Monsignor Alain Blanc glared at his second in command in the demon-fighting department. "The Key?"

"We believe the knights have it," his second replied.

"Believe?" he snapped.

"They’re not exactly forthright with information," his second replied. "However certain amongst our seers believe-."

"Enough," Blanc interrupted with a snarl, distaste filling him. Seers, he still convinced they were devil touched. "What of the recent attacks on the Council? Do we have any idea if any of the Roman Catholic Slayers were hurt in these attacks?"

"I’m not sure sir, information is very sketchy."

Blanc nodded. "A shame," he muttered. "If the Council falls apart, we might be able to scoop them up, use them as a weapon."

"But," his second looked horrified, "they have demonic power."

Blanc glanced at the younger man, briefly chagrined when he realised he’d spoken aloud. "That can be gotten around," he soothed. "We can say they were Chosen by God to carry the power and its attendant responsibilities." It was an unfortunate reality that in these matters, compromises frequently had to be made, and the Slayers were too useful and too powerful a tool not to be used by the Holy Church in its fight against evil.

* * *

Faith glanced across the busy but shrouded in grim silence canteen as she sensed a very familiar presence, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she recognised the tall figure loitering uncertainly by the canteen’s entrance. "Wicked," she drawled, "Fang’s here."

"Oh joy."

Faith ignored Xander’s muttered comment to half-rise and wave her friend over. The vampire nodded slightly, Faith’s eyes widening slightly as she belatedly noticed the weedy looking geek beside him. The vampire glanced to his companion and spoke, the man nodding before following Angel across the canteen. Faith winced as practically every other Slayer bristled at the demon’s entrance. She wanted to crack their heads together, but realistically she couldn’t blame them. Every one knew the legend of Angelus and every Slayer could feel the dark power flowing off her friend. Every vamp she’d met bar Kakistos paled into insignificance next to him.

"Faith," her friend greeted her with a small but sincere smile, "glad to see you came out of your mission okay."

"Ditto," Faith nodded towards a pair of chairs at the end of the table then looked towards Angel’s mystery guest, eyebrow raising inquisitively.

"This is Gene Rainey, an old friend of mine from LA," Angel replied in answer to her silent question. "He met up with us on the way in. He’s a Techno-Mage."

"Techno-," Faith's brow furrowed as she remembered where she’d heard the name before.  "Holy shit!" She pointed angrily at the suddenly wilting techno-mage. "Holy shit!  I remember that forum of yours Xander showed me.  You're the sick fuckas who write B\F slash. Just 'cause we're a coupla of supernatural babes, that's all that matters, right?  Doesn't matter neither of us have swung that way or that B's always treated me like the shit off her boot does it?  Fuck!"  Faith shook her head.

Gene gulped.  "Eh, oh-."

Angel looked from her to his companion.  "Um, they're just stories, Faith."

Faith shot her mentor a scorching glare.  "Just stories my tight ass!  They're degrading porn written by horny lesbians or sad boys who can't get laid!"

* * *

"Degrading porn," Kennedy muttered with a speculative look after Faith as the dark-eyed beauty stormed out, "can someone get me a copy?"

"I'll put them on a USB stick," Andrew promised.

Return To Tilting The Balance