May ’03, Devon

Scorched rubble lay strewn throughout the once mighty building’s grounds, even some of its centuries-old trees had been uprooted by the massive explosion. Even the Nazis had obeyed standing orders not to bomb the Council’s Keep. But not the First, for it the rules of man didn’t apply. "I see you’ve come to pay your respects."

Giles’ hackles rose at the arrogant voice behind him. Reminding himself he needed the man’s support however much he disdained his attitude towards Slayers and loathed the apparent damage he’d done Wesley, Giles turned and nodded at the squat figure behind him. "I felt it appropriate."

The man sniffed dismissively. "And yet you intend to rip down much of what those who died so gallantly held dear."

Died so gallantly? As he recalled the keep’s occupants had been doing precisely nothing to aid them in their battle with the First. He chose to let that one pass. "It’s time we modernised, Roger," he soothed. "It’s a new millennium. A new age."

"And where do you intend to get these modernisers from?" Wesley’s father demanded.

"I have," Giles smiled secretively. "A few ideas."

* * *

June ’03, Indonesia

"Oh that’s just great!" Harriet Doyle glared up impotently at the jet-black helicopter that had just flown into view, the sound from its whirling rotors scaring the herd of peacefully grazing Swamp Imps away.

Her anger turned to consternation when the copter landed in the plain she’d been observing. "Who are they?" she muttered. It had taken her months and lots of bribes to get permission to visit this remote and restricted area of Indonesia, and the airspace was even more controlled.

The man who climbed out was greying, bespectacled, and in his late forties. Yet for all of that, there was an intriguing air of danger about him. Harriet waited, frozen with anticipation, as the man strode to her hiding place. When the man arrived at the bottom of the ridge, he looked up and smiled. "Ms. Doyle, my name is Rupert Giles. I represent the Slayer & Watcher Council of England. We’re in a re-building phase." The obvious Englishman coughed. "I’d like to offer you a position."

* * *

June ’03, Yorkshire

Bernard Crowley opened his front door, eyes lightening at the powerfully-built, shaven-headed man stood there. "Son!" He broke out into a beaming smile. "It’s been how long?"

"Too long," the young man he’d raised as his own smiled back at him.

"I’d invite you in, but," Crowley peered at the starry sky, "it’s dark."

"In that case," the black man stepped inside, "I’ll invite myself."

"Good to see you boy," he stared at the younger man before leading his guest into his lounge furnished with antique furniture and walls adorned with medieval weaponry. Once he’d sat in his favourite armchair, body curving to its comfortable slouch, he looked at his son. "I heard you’d begun courting a Slayer?"

He was careful to ensure his voice was free of reproach or disapproval, but his son nevertheless grimaced. "It didn’t work out," the younger man replied, "Faith’s an amazing girl, but we’re just too different. I was stupid to try to change her." The black half-smiled. "Nobody changes Faith unless she wants to."

Bernard’s eyebrows raised. He’d known Robin was dating a Slayer but didn’t know she was the rebellious free-spirit who’d almost brought the Council to its knees. He decided it was best to change the subject. "Not that I’m not glad to see you son, but you don’t often visit. I assume there’s a reason you’re here?"

"Yes," Robin shifted in his seat, "we, that is the Council, want you to return."

Bernard chuckled. "Lad, I know you’re short of Watchers, what with the mass Calling," that was a tactical mistake on par with The Maginot Line or the battle at Little Big Horn, "and the culling of Watchers, but I also know you sent me a birthday card in February so you know I’m seventy. And that’s too old to be chasing after a super-powered lass." He didn’t add that the death of Robin’s mother had been a pain that he never wanted to experience again.

"No," Robin smiled. "Not as a Field Watcher. As part of The Ruling Body."

Bernard leaned forward. "Tell me more, lad."

* * *

June ’03, Denver

Justine ignored the thrash metal band on stage intent on butchering Credence Clearwater Revival’s ‘Proud Mary’ in favour of nursing the half-drunk glass of before her. All around her grungers and metal-heads partied in the half-lit bar, their cheerfully raised voices competing with the band to be heard.

The bar’s door swung open and a man walked in. He was tall and bulky without being fat and to Justine’s experienced eyes moved like a warrior. It was an impression reinforced by the black patch over one of his eyes.

Justine’s own eyes narrowed as the man made his way through the crowded bar and directly towards her. Her hand slid into her leather jacket only to withdraw empty-handed when the man passed by and reflected in the bar’s mirror. When the man stopped by her table, she shook her head. "I’m not looking for company."

The man’s answering smile lightened his face. "It’s lucky I’m used to rejection." The man ignored her warning to sit down opposite. "According to what I know, you’re good at what you do. But drinking only impairs your reflexes."

"I told you," she stuck her face in the man’s, "fuck off!"

The man seemed unaffected by her hostility. "I suppose you think you’re scary. You’re not." The man took the glass out of her hand and put it onto an empty table behind him. "You work alone, that’s not smart. Yeah, Holtz conned and scarred you in ways that aren’t visible. But what you did was wrong. Yeah, Deadboy’s a vampire and a certified ass. But he’s working for the forces of good and you went after him anyway."

"Who are you?" she gasped. "How do you know all this?"

"Do you know what a Slayer is?" After a second Justine nodded. Holtz had taught them about Watchers and Slayers. "Good. We’d like to offer you a place with the Council."

Justine laughed. "I’m too old to be a Slayer."

"But not a Watcher." Her eyes widened. "But no drinking," the man warned. "I won’t have drunks looking after my girls."

"No drinking," she agreed.

* * *

June ’03, LA

"Pike! Pike! Pike!"

Pike blinked his eyes clear as he pulled off his goggles and put his blowtorch down, stepping away from the almost finished car. "I heard you the first time, Gemmell," he said to the fat man stood behind him wearing oil-covered overalls.

"There’s a blonde gal asking for you outside. Real classy-looking broad. You might wanna warn her this isn’t the sort of area a pretty little thing like her wants to be walking around on her own."

"I’ll bear that in mind," Pike dryly replied before starting to the garage’s entrance. If you got past Gemmell’s obvious chauvinism, he had a point. The district was rough, neighbourhood girls knew which areas to avoid but some rich girl slumming it could end up in serious trouble.

Which led to the question, what rich girl did he know?

Brow furrowed in puzzlement, he hurried outside. His jaw dropped as he recognised the tiny blonde stood outside. Almost a decade had passed since he’d last seen her, but he’d never forget her. "B….Buffy?"

"Hey Pike!" the blonde beamed. "I’d hug, but oil doesn’t go with this dress."

"Yeah," he stared dazedly at the girl who’d changed his world in countless ways.

"Do you remember Slayers and Watchers?"

"I’m hardly likely to forget," he dryly replied.

"Great," Buffy grinned. "Want to be a Merrick?"

* * *

Jun ’03, Alaska

"Brrr, this is cold." Oz was so shocked by his ex girl-friend stepping through a glowing portal in front of him, a coal-eyed beauty stalking in her wake, he almost blinked. "OZ!" Willow let a squeal he’d always secretly loved hearing. "It’s great to see you!"

"And you," Oz allowed himself the rare luxury of a half-smile.

"I’m Kennedy," the tiny stranger added, "Willow’s girl-friend."

Oz allowed himself a neutral nod at the young woman’s possessive tone. Willow shot her girl-friend a warning look before beaming at him. "How’s the grrring going?"

"Under control."

"Cool," Willow nodded before shooting him a coy look, "want a job?"

* * *

August ’03, Houston

"Detective, I’d like to make a report."

Kate Lockley looked up to see an athletic-looking black stood by her desk. There was an assured look about him that suggested there was little he couldn’t deal with on his own. "Please," she nodded at the empty chair at the opposite side of the desk, "sit down."

"Thank you," the African-American flashed her a smile before complying. "I’d like to report," she picked up a pen, "a police-woman not living up to her potential."

"Excuse me?" Kate placed the pen back down, eyes hardening.

All humour fled from the big man’s face. "You’re a woman of tenacity, courage, and principle. You know all about the supernatural and Slayers."

"So?" Kate interrupted.

"So," suddenly the big man was all smiles again, "have you ever considered becoming a Watcher?"

* * *

October ’03, Jamaica

"The answer is no, Rupert."

The Englishman stared evenly at him. "I understand your reluctance, Mr. Zabuto. You have already given so much. But you are a man of honour and I’m sure you’re aware of just how desperately the Council needs you."

Zabuto stared at the Englishman, hating him for being right. "Very well," he scowled. "I’ll join, but I’m on The Ruling Body. I want a chance to make a real difference."

"A man of your experience?" Rupert nodded. "I took that as read."

* * *

January ’04, Senegal

Sweat soaked Groo as he wearily raised his sword. His body ached not only from a series of skirmishes stretching across days but also a multitude of injuries. His enemies were considerably less than they had been but still more than enough to finish him off. His eyes warily searched his leafy surroundings even as he listened for any approaching sound. Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Groo spun to face whatever foe had managed the nigh-on impossible task of sneaking up on him.

His eyes widened at the pretty red-head stood there, a brown-eyed lovely beside her. "Hello Groosaluug, come with us if you want to live."

* * *

May ’04, LA

Connor stared at his application form, unable to focus. His father, his birth dad, was just this moment probably dying. Tears began to mist his eyes.

Hearing a hubbub, he glanced towards the entrance to see every boy and a good few of the girls in the student café staring gog-eyed and tongue hanging out at a leather-clad goddess striding towards him. "College application? You just know you’ve got a higher callin’."

A mist cleared at the sultry temptress’ first words. "F…Faith?"

The brunette that had been his second crush winked at him before sliding into the seat opposite him. "The one, the only."

"Faith, Angel-."

"I know," the brunette’s face shadowed. "Don’t worry about it, kid. We’ve got our heavy hitters on it."

* * *

May ’04, LA.

"Gunn fades quickly," Illyria reported.

"Then it’s lucky I’m here."

Angel gasped as he spun to face the sudden intruder. "Willow!"

"Glad you remembered me," Willow looked around the devastated alley, bricks splattered with blood. "Wesley, Spike?"

"Both dead," his heart broke at the thought of the former Watcher who had been his best friend.

"You have power," Angel was surprised to hear a note of respect, the first he’d ever heard, in Illyria’s voice.

"Not doing so bad yourself," Willow looked towards him, "before you ask, Connor’s fine. Now if you’re not going, I am."

Angel looked over his shoulder, the approaching hordes’ growls and snarls echoing in his ears, even if he couldn’t see them. Finally he nodded. "Coming."

* * *

October ’04, Manhattan

Gwen glanced down at the iced scotch sitting before her. The music humming through the well-lit bar’s loudspeakers was played at an unobtrusive level, unfortunately allowing her all too much time for her thoughts. The device she’d stolen with Gunn had worked to a limited extent, as long as she was aware she was about to touch or be touched, she could control it. But if someone brushed up against her, she’d still electrocute them.

Sighing slightly, she looked around the bar. It was a fitting place for a woman of her considerable means, uniformed waiters and waitresses served drinks to a clientele mostly comprising mostly of businesspeople and their partners. The bar was scrupulously clean, not a smudge on its mirrored walls, a filthy table, or a spilt drink staining the cream carpet in sight.

Her eyes narrowed as she noted the man striding through the bar’s revolving doors. He certainly didn’t fit in. He was tall with a fighter’s rugged build, an image bolstered by the determined set to his features, and the patch over one of his eyes. "Very interesting," she murmured.

The one-eyed man paced through the now hushed bar. She raised an eyebrow when the man stopped by her table, but didn’t speak, wanting to force him into the first move. "Gwen Raiden, you’re a hard lady to find."

She looked up and smirked. "Not for people I want to find me."

Gwen found herself liking the man’s chuckle. "Ouch," the stranger grinned before sobering. "You helped Angel a while back."

Gwen’s inner radar jingled. "What of it?"

"Relax," the man sat down opposite. "We want people like you, people who can look after themselves, but are willing to help others-."

"You’re wrong." Pushing her chair back, Gwen stood and shook her head. "I’m strictly a self-interest gal. Angel’s aims just happened to merge with mine for a while, that’s all." Before the man could protest, she’d walked out.

* * *

October ’04, LA

"Hey Anne."

"Gunn!" Anne beamed as she leapt up and hugged her friend. "I never thought I’d see you again, especially after our last conversation."

The former gang-leader smiled tightly. "You’ve no idea how close it was." The African-American pulled away from her embrace. "Took some major mojo to put me back together. Girl name of Willow Rosenberg, remember her?"

"No," Anne started. "Wait! Yeah, I do. Back In Sunnydale, her friend Buffy Summers…" Anne’s voice trailed off at the less than edifying memory.

"We’ve all got our mistakes to atone for." Gunn looked down at the office’s threadbare carpet. "I doubt yours compare to mine." The demon hunter looked up. "I’ve got a proposal."

Anne smiled impishly. "But we’re not even dating."

Gunn chuckled. "I work for a new organisation, the Watcher’s Council. We’re dedicated to fighting vampires and demons. We need you."

It was Anne’s turn to chuckle. "I’m not exactly a fighter."

"No, you’re a listener, a counsellor with experience of vampires. Sometimes our people see and experience terrible things, they need someone to help them."

Anne slowly shook her head. "No, you can afford to get anyone you want. My kids only have me."

Gunn smiled and nodded. "I knew you’d say that."

* * *

Nov ’04, Atlantic City.

"So I said, Liza, David might be a pig, but at least he doesn’t -." Lorne’s voice trailed off as he noticed the tall figure who’d entered the back of his club. His good mood evaporating, he smiled at his companions. "Back in a mo."

He walked over to his most unwelcome of guests. "I never expected to see you again. Wait," he corrected, "I never wanted to see you again."

His former friend grimaced. "I know I asked you to do some harsh things. We both know Lindsey couldn’t be trusted."

"Lindsey?" Lorne threw his head back and laughed. The bitterness in the noise caused several patrons to briefly turn and look at him. Ignoring them, Lorne shook his head. "You’re so precious; you think this is about Lindsey? You didn’t need to be an empath to know that lawyer was a shyster that couldn’t be trusted. No, I didn’t want to see you again because I was tired of burying friends." Lorne stared at the souled vampire and sighed. "Wesley, poor Wes, never had a moment of contentment."

"We survived-."

"Well duh," Lorne interrupted. "You’re here. And I’m not interested. I’m all apocalypsed out. Please leave."

"Lorne," Angel’s shoulders slumped.

"For the sake of Cordelia, Fred, and Wes," Lorne forced the tears back. "For the sake of our friendship, please go."

Angel stared at him for a second. "I’ll share with you a lesson I learnt the hard way. You can’t be a part of something, have friends without running the risk of losing. Without that you can never love."

"I don’t care. Leave."

* * *

Jan ’05, New York

"You’re closing us down?" Riley scowled at the general.

"Our record is second to none!" Graham exclaimed.

"At ease troops," the grizzled war-horse growled before continuing in a slightly softer tone. "Your records aren’t in question. All three of you," their commanding officer looked from him to Sam and finally to Graham, "have given exemplary service. I don’t recommend just anyone for decoration."

The general’s words failed to soothe. "If that’s the case, why are we being closed down sir?" he asked, voice tight with anger.

"Logistics son," the general explained. "A single Slayer," the officer glanced at Graham when he scowled before continuing, "can do what your ten man squad does. Now there’s well over three hundred of them!"

"With respect sir," Sam put in, "that’s a little unfair."

"The fact is that they out-strip us in a number of ways. Our best mage doesn’t even approach that of Miss Rosenberg, foreign countries are more prone to co-operate with them, and their demonology knowledge dwarves ours. If we increased funding twenty-fold, we still wouldn’t come close. Simply put, the Council has us out-gunned, out-resourced, out-magiced, and out-experienced."

An uncomfortable silence followed the general’s words. "Okay," Graham was first to break the silence, "if we’re to be closed down, what’s next, sir?"

The general smiled dryly. "I’d have to say that rather depends on you." The ‘Nam veteran pressed a stubby finger down on the remote control he used to open and close the doors of the secret chamber secreted beneath New York’s busy subway.

Riley gasped when the wall behind the general slid soundlessly aside and a very familiar figure stepped through. "Riley, Graham, a pleasure to see you both again." Giles looked towards Sam and half-bowed. "Mrs. Finn, you’re even more beautiful in person, Riley’s an extremely lucky man." Finally the Council chief looked towards their operation’s leader. "General Hawkins, if I may?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Giles."

"Thank you." Giles looked towards them again. "I’d like to offer the three of you jobs as Watchers."

Riley stared agape at the Englishman. Graham on the other hand exploded. "You are joking! Your Slayer got Forrest killed! Like hell-."

"At ease soldier!" the general’s bark cowed Graham to silence. "Colonel and Major Finn?"

Riley exchanged a look with Sam before nodding. "The demon world’s ours now, Giles. We’re in."

* * *

Jan ’05, England

"Daddy, don’t hurt me."

Her mocking words echoed through the cold room, making the beautiful woman they were intended for stop and flinch. The girl’s chocolate-brown eyes narrowed and zeroed in on her. "Keep your head out of my past and," the brunette strutted to stand in front of her, "I won’t put my foot up your ass. Deal?"

Dana stared up at Faith, shocked by the realisation the curvy Bostonian wasn’t scared of her like the other Slayers were. Dana sullenly nodded.

"Good." Dana was even more shocked when Faith sat down beside her. "How’s the whole getting’ better workin’ for ya?" Dana shrugged. "Not violent anymore, that’s good." Faith paused. "Trouble is plenty of people see ya as a mad dog, not to be trusted." Faith paused. "But people thought that about me ‘til one guy trusted me to do the right thing."

"Angel," Dana muttered.

"Yeah," Faith nodded. "So I figure the best way I can re-pay him is by taking a chance on you. How about it?" Faith looked directly at her. "Wanna be a Slayer?"

After a second Dana nodded.

Jun ’03, Devon

"Your offer is interesting, Rupert," Lady Haversham sipped carefully at her tea. "Might I ask what’s prompted it."

"Of course," Giles nodded his head and collected his thoughts before answering. "The Council has always arrogantly stood alone, thinking it and it alone was worthy to fight evil. That’s errant nonsense. Not only that, it’s strategically unwise."

"Wise words and ones that I doubt I’ll ever heard from that pompous bugger, Travers," Lady Haversham stared at him. "You know there’ll be resistance to your ideas don’t you?"

Giles smiled tightly. "As surely as night follows day."

Jul ’03, Romania

Five faces stared back at him, two men and three women crowded into a wagon lit by candles all around it. "Why are you here?" demanded a willowy woman in her late forties, face beginning to show the first signs of age.

"I knew Janna of the Kalderash," Giles proclaimed.

For a kindly old lady, the woman had eyes harder than flint. "I know all about you Rupert of England, we five are the leaders of the clans."

"The Kalderash, Gitanos, Sinti, Rommichal, and Erlides." Rupert replied.

"You have some knowledge of our people, Rupert of England," the woman pronounced.

"When you discover the love of your life is a Romany, you tend to be curious." Giles paused. "I wish to discuss a treaty between the Council and the Clans."

The woman’s lined and saggy face crinkled in a laugh. "Ha! You try but you cannot hide your bitterness!"

"Why should I?" Giles stared fiercely around the cramped wagon, not caring its occupants were the strongest mages in the Clans. "What you did was monstrous. Not only to Janna but to Angel."

"You seek to defend that monster!" hissed one of the five’s two men, a stooped before his time forty something. "The one who murdered Janna!"

"Angel is not a monster," Giles defended. "Or the being who killed Janna." It had taken him years to accept that fact and he’d always flinch when he first saw the vampire, but it was nevertheless the truth. "That was Angelus! But does Angelus suffer? No, only Angel, a man blameless for the actions of the monster within him!" Giles shook his head. "You should have slain the demon when you had the chance. Instead you condemned an innocent man to an eternity of guilt."

A long silence followed his words. "If you have such disdain for us, why do you wish to ally yourself to us?" asked the elderly lady.

"Because," Giles paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Because no matter my personal differences, my organisation could help you and your people have much knowledge you could help us."

The elderly woman smiled. "It is a wise leader indeed who can put aside personal issues to the betterment of others."

"Then…."

"Then the Romany Clans agree to a treaty with the Council."

* * *

Oct ’03, Togo

"You are the one who sees." Sekou hid a smile at the young man’s slight flinch before turning his gaze on the beauty stood beside him. She reminded him of a big cat, all grace and fury. "You are the split soul."

"Look," the brunette’s growl hinted at a rapidly fraying patience. "If I wanted to deal with cryptic crap I’d be doing crosswords. Are you interested or not?"

"The Council have never sought allies before," Sekou avoided the question by posing one of his own, "what has changed?"

"The Council’s leadership has been replaced-."

"The battle with the First." Sekou smiled at the two youths shocked expressions before poking the fire between them with a stick, embers spitting. "The Ever-Waiting Eye sees all."

"Got yours in a jar somewhere, Xan?" snarked the curvy brunette.

"On your bedroom table, Faith. The things I’ve seen."

"Only way you ever will see ‘em." Faith grinned.

Sekou managed not to chuckle. The affection the two had for one another was most refreshing. "Including your most unwise Mass Calling. Still you fight bravely and for the most part with honour. As long as you two are the Council’s representatives on this continent, we accede to your request. The Ever-Waiting Eye will ally themselves to the Council."

* * *

Nov ’03, Wales

Giles swallowed nervously as he clambered out of his car and started across the muddy field, pulling his hood up so to ward off as much of the rain as possible. This meeting had taken far too long to organise, and as a result he was trudging through a muddy field on an altogether too cold day. He chuckled to himself. "Sunnydale made you soft, lad," he softly reprimanded.

He came to a stop at a small copse of apparently impassable bushes some sixty yards off the mud-track. "Bore da, croeso," he muttered.

He felt faintly ridiculous talking to a bush, but the spell he’d been told worked, the bushes parted, allowing him to walk sideways into a clearing filled by people wearing the surprisingly normal clothing of jeans and jumpers. "Greetings Rupert Giles."

"Greetings," Giles nodded formally at his greeter. The man was tall and lean, with a craggy face and sad, compassionate eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Yes." The man looked over his shoulder to a mousy, brown-haired woman staring intently at him. "Don’t mind Derwena, she is a diviner." Giles swallowed. Having his aura read always made him nervous. It wasn’t as if he was a saint after all. He heaved a relived sigh when the woman nodded. "I am Gwrgan Caltarian. We are the druidic high council, we have been discussing your proposal for several hours and have come to a decision."

Giles’ eyes widened. "Don’t I get a chance to -."

"Our decision has already been made. We look at the facts not statements. I fear whatever answer I give draws us into a quicksand. But whatever answer I should give, it should be based on druidic principles. On honour, compassion, and wisdom." Gwrgan Caltarian sighed. "The Druids of Wales and Scotland are with you."

* * *

Mar ’04, Greece

"An alliance with the Council!" Agenor roared with laughter. "The Sons Of Hercules do not need alliances with anyone! We are strong!"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. The Immortal continued on, unfazed by the Greek’s obvious disdain. "The Council has many mighty warriors."

"Women!" Agenor snorted. "Women are not for fighting!"

"Homo-erotic much?"

Buffy clamped her mouth shut at her lover’s warning glare. "Did Hercules not fight alongside other warriors when the occasion demanded it?" the Immortal pressed in his most reasonable of tones. "Did Hercules not favour other warriors with his friendship? Did he not aid those he considered worthy of his friendship in their hours of need?"

The Greek’s face got as thoughtful as a Neanderthal could manage, wide brow furrowing in thought, lantern jaw clenching, and piggy eyes narrowing to slits. If he didn’t have a god’s body, he’d never get anybody. "There is wisdom in your words." Buffy managed not to snort. Like he’d have a clue. "I will talk to the others."

* * *

Apr ‘04, Norway

"The Council has forever stood for honour and gallantry," rumbled the blond-haired muscleman. Buffy had to crick her neck to look up at the close to seven footer. The frightening thing was she’d seen maybe a dozen of the Asgardians and every one of them was at least six feet and a half tall, and built like a wall. They’d make a great basketball squad. "It is a honour for the followers of Thor, Tyr, and Balder to be offered an alliance with the Council."

"And," the Immortal smiled, "it is a honour for me personally to be the one who accepts on their behalf."

* * *

September ’04, Arizona

"You are not human."

The remark was a statement rather than a question but Angel confirmed it with a nod anyway. "Does that mean I’m a bad person?" he half-smiled.

"You were once amongst the worst of all vampyrs." The statement like the first was delivered by a stony-faced man with greying hair and a walnut tan who could have been aged anywhere between forty and sixty.

"Yes, I was," Angel uncomfortably admitted.

"But now," the Indian’s brown eyes flickered with amazement, "you have a soul. Strong magic, gypsy magic." The Native American shook his head. "Leave here. We will not tamper with the magic, your demon needs caging for the sake of all mankind."

If that didn’t sound ominous, he didn’t know what did. "I know," Angel responded, "we’re not here for that."

"Then why are you?" The Native American demanded.

Kate spoke a second before he could. "We represent The Slayers & Watchers’ Council. This reservation houses the majority of your shamen. We’d like to make a treaty."

"A treaty with the Council?" The Native American looked from him to Kate and back again. "For what reason?"

"In the past the Council has foolishly worked alone when there could have been allies to aid them in their battle." Kate paused. "The re-formed Council wishes to change that."

The Apache nodded approvingly. "Then your new leader is wiser than his predecessors."

"He likes to think so," Angel muttered.

* * *

October ’04, Japan

Kiyoto stared fiercely at Riley. "The Slayers have been mighty martial orders for centuries. But are not the Samurai Way," he gestured to the men behind him flawlessly completing their sword dances, "mighty warriors also?"

Riley bowed his head so that the Samurai Way’s leader didn’t see his frustration. He hated diplomacy. Rising his head he smiled. "There is wisdom in your words," he agreed. "But surely there is also wisdom in combining our forces? After all, two twigs combined are much harder to break than one on its own."

"There is wisdom in your words." The chief Samurai smiled suddenly. "I have a bottle of sake! We shall discuss our treaty drinking it!"

"Splendid," Riley’s smile became more strained. God, Sake gave him such a hangover.

* * *

Mar ’05, The Sudan

"How bad is it, Xand?"

"See for yourself." Xander passed her the binoculars.

"Shit," Faith cursed as she spied the cloud of dust heading towards them. "There must be close to three hundred in that crowd."

"Rebels," Xander spat on the sandy ground and wiped the sweat off his forehead, "and after the mess with them two weeks ago."

"There was no way I was going into the tent with them." Faith glared at the Watcher.

"No, but you could have been more polite about it," Xander responded

"You think they’d have listened?" Faith shot back. Xander sighed and shook his head. Point made, Faith nodded her head. "Besides, whoever they are they aren’t rebels."

Xander looked towards Faith. "The army’s just as bad."

"Nah, it’s neither, they’re on horses." Faith passed Xander his glasses back.

"Well I’m-," Xander glanced through the binoculars. "We still don’t know if they’re friendly though. Get everyone ready."

"Us against that horde?" Faith snorted. "Good luck!"

Xander shot her a pained look that reminded her a helluva lot of Giles. ‘Course if she told Xander that he’d almost certainly hang himself, so she was savin’ it for the day he really pissed her off. "Just do it."

Faith smiled sweetly. "What’s the magic word?"

"Why me?" Xander looked up at the clear blue sky before shaking his head. "Please."

"That’s all I wanted," Faith grinned at Xander’s scowl before running into their camp. "Girls, we got incoming. Get ready!" Twenty tense minutes later and Faith’s eyes widened as the riders came into focus, revealing they were in fact knights, fully armoured knights with scabbarded swords and carrying lances and rectangular shields. "Man, they have gotta be roasting in there."

"Knights of Byzantium." Faith groaned at Xander’s low tone beside her. People only said she had a temper when they hadn’t see Xan lose it as he was about to do right now. Then the smart policy was find a hole and dive into it.

But her mom didn’t raise any smart kids, too many bumps on the head for that. Instead she grabbed Xander’s shoulder and yanked him back. "Cool your jets, stud," she growled. "Twenty to one aren’t good odds. I mean I know I can handle my twenty, can you?"

"They were going to kill Dawn-."

"A mistake," interrupted the group’s apparent leader, a tall thin guy with a priest’s face and balding blond hair. "The most grevious mistake in our Order’s history. We understand now that the world’s freedom cannot be bought with the blood of an innocent only sullied."

"What do you want then?" Harriet Doyle put in.

"We’ve heard rumours that the Council is building a shining alliance against the forces of the night that blight our fair world." Faith rolled her eyes. Guy sounded like something out of an Arthurian fairy-tale. "We want to join it."

* * *

Hell

"My lord, the Council grows strong."

"Let them," Satan waved an indifferent hand. He leaned back in his chair, allowing the screams of the damned wash over him before continuing. "They will never dare challenge the natural order of things."

"And if they do?" his minion dared ask.

Satan’s smile had his minion cowering. "Then we will smite them. Crush them underfoot like the bugs they truly are."

July ‘07

A crushing sense of foreboding pressed down on Giles as he strode through the Council base’s wood-panelled corridors. Every person he passed averted their gaze, only confirming his worries. The Council had been alight with rumours for days that Roger was up to something, something given credence by the unavailability of Roger and his cohorts. Giles scowled. It was his own fault; the biggest mistake he’d made in the last four years was recruiting Roger. The man had brought with him a number of useful contacts and talented associates, but for all of that Giles sometimes wondered if it was worth all the attendant baggage and links to the past.

Stopping outside the Council board room’s immaculately varnished door, he took a deep breath and forced aside the instinctive temptation to knock and wait like a naughty school-boy summonsed to the head-master’s office. Clearly the past still held a grip on him. Instead he grasped the door’s brass handle in a slightly clammy hand and opened it.

The board-room was long and wide, its canary yellow walls filled with portraits of former Council heads, their expectant eyes weighing him down. The third floor room was well-lit, light breaking in through the outer wall’s windows.

The light illuminated the four men sat along a long table capable of seating nine as had been the traditional number of The Ruling Body in the old days. Except for Robson, Giles’ own protégé and intended heir once he retired in twelve to fifteen years’ time, they were all former Slayer Watchers.

Samuel Zabuto, Kendra Young’s Watcher. A tall, teak-skinned man who despite his years and the snowy-whiteness of his close-cropped hair still retained the powerful build of his youth. He’d been reluctant to re-join the Council, but had worked tirelessly ever since.

Roger Whyndham-Pryce, the Watcher of not one but two Slayers in the sixties. A tenacious bulldog of a man he’d expected to be the leader of the new Council but Giles had had the backing of the Sunnydale Slayers and that had been enough to propel him to the leadership. Since then, the Watcher had grudgingly served as deputy head while continually working behind the scenes to push his own policies and cement his position. The whole situation reminded him of Blair and Brown.

Bernard Crowley, Nikki Wood’s Watcher, a Slayer who been active from ’71, eighteen months after Robin’s birth, ‘til ’77. Crowley was a tall once thickly-built now thinned to the point of leanness man with a snowy-white mane of hair, hooked nose, and a lined face that gave testimony to his close to seven decades. Yet despite his years, he sat ramrod straight immaculate in his neatly-pressed suit.

"Hello Rupert," Roger had a look about him that reminded Giles of a viper about to strike, "so good of you to join us."

Giles ignored the jibe to sit down at his seat at the head of the table. "I trust there is an urgent reason this extra-ordinary meeting of the Ruling Body was called?" he asked, careful to keep his tone cool and business-like.

"I’d say pressing rather than urgent," Roger qualified with a smirk that Giles ached to slap off his face. "Over the past four years I’ve sat back while you tore the Council apart, ignoring our time honoured traditions, getting rid of the Cruicatmen-."

"A barbaric anachronism," Giles shook his head.

"Aye," Crowley agreed. "The relationship between Nikki and I was never the same after hers in ’72." Crowley shook his head. "It puts a horrible strain on a Slayer’s trust of their Watcher, something I believe to be of foremost importance. Roger, you were lucky you never had to put either of your girls to the test."

"The Slayers’ worthiness needs to be tested," Roger pugnaciously retorted.

"They prove their worthiness every time they kill a vampire or battle a demon," Zabuto shook his head. "I do not know if I could have ever done it to my Kendra."

Giles nodded. As understandably bad Buffy’s reaction had been, he wouldn’t have wanted to be in the same dimension after trying the test on Faith.

Roger scowled at the opposition to his views, cheeks crimsoning. Giles in turn smiled thinly. He remembered from his own Watcher training that Roger did not like to be balked or questioned. "Nevertheless some of the changes you’ve made have passed by the radical and bordered on the treasonous," the older Watcher pressed.

"Such as?" Giles reigned in his temper, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Such as the employment of Angelus, his abomination of a son, and Illyria in our leading American West Coast team for one!" Roger jabbed a finger at him.

"I’ve more a personal reason to hate Angel than any of you," Giles replied. "But only a fool would deny the good he has done."

"His unsoulled persona was not only a prominent member of The Order of Aurelius but also one of history’s most vicious vampires," Crowley commented.

Giles conceded the point with a curt nod. "Yes, but while soulled he has saved the world on a number of occasions. Moreover, he is a warrior the equal of any Slayer bar Buffy and Faith. As for Illyria, she is the match of any three Slayers. Powerful allies."

"Huh," Roger seemed less than convinced. More worryingly neither did any of the others. "And then there’s your continued support for Miss Lehane and Miss Scott. They should have been put down like the mad dogs they are."

"Be very careful Roger." This time Giles didn’t even try to conceal the steel in his voice." ‘Lest we forget Faith has proven herself numerous times in battle, saving the world three times in the past four years."

"The girl’s a harlot who’s been involved in two appropriate relationships with two Watchers and is a mass-murderer to boot," Roger sniffed.

"The woman is married to the second of those Watchers," Giles had served as Xander’s best man at the wedding last year. "And I’d suggest that many of Faith’s initial problems would and could have been avoided if certain parties hadn’t used their influence to get an at the time woefully inexperienced operative assigned as her replacement Watcher."

The room hushed and Roger flushed at the oblique reference to Wesley. The elder statesman glared around the board-room before returning his gaze to Giles. "We’ve also allowed you to waste Council funds by frittering them away paying Slayers."

"Waste?" Giles’ eyes narrowed. "Contrary to what you may believe, Slayers aren’t slaves to protect you while you sit safe behind your desk." A tad undiplomatic, but it made the point. "They are brave warriors and deserve to be rewarded as such. Council funds were never meant to pay for the comfort and luxury of Watchers."

Roger looked close to exploding. "I’ll thank you to remember I was a Watcher to two Slayers." Giles grudgingly conceded the point. Both of Roger’s Slayers had lasted close to three years and had been extraordinarily successful, although dark rumours circulated that his training methods were little short of brutal.

"Peace, gentlemen," Crowley broke into their tension-filled stare-down. "Roger, you didn’t call this meeting to discuss funding."

"No, I didn’t." After a second Roger nodded and looked around the boardroom, before returning his eyes to Giles. "Under your rule the Council has endured much. First you abolished the entry requirements for Watcher, allowing uneducated louts to join us."

Giles had little doubt that the ‘uneducated louts’ referred to the likes of Xander, Justine Cooper, and Oliver Pike, three youngsters he’d match against any of the stuffed shirt Watchers of the past. However he also had little doubt that telling Roger just that would only further inflame the vitriolic traditionalist. Instead he chose a milder defence. "Might I remind you that the old order had been almost completely destroyed?" Indeed Roger had been the only member of the nine-strong Ruling Body to survive the First’s attack. "We needed new Watchers as a matter of urgency. Many of these uneducated louts were highly experienced vampire hunters before they joined our ranks."

Roger’s eyes hardened. "And what glib answer do you have for teaming Slayers? Thirty nine mobile teams instead of having hundreds of Slayers stationed in specific locations throughout the world."

It was an effort, but Giles kept a hold on his growing temper. "As I mentioned earlier, Watchers were and still are at a premium, even more so than Slayers. Teaming half a dozen or so Slayers with just two Watchers was the most prudent way around the problem. Moreover while a single Slayer is a mighty warrior, a group of Slayers is a force of nature."

"Perhaps," Roger nodded. "And with all these changes, all the truces your agents have worked with the world’s mages, with creatures of magic, and knightly orders, what has been accomplished? The Council has over three hundred Slayers. It has Illyria, a resurrected Old One, Willow Rosenberg, the mightiest magus in untold centuries, and even," Roger sniffed disdainfully. "Angelus and his spawn. And yet for all this, what has your resurrected Council achieved?"

Giles fought back a snarl. It appeared Roger was intent on dancing on his last nerve. "In the past four years, our teams have prevented exactly thirty-three apocalypses. The Craven Cult, The Church Of The Holy Chaos, The Crimson Order, and a dozen other demonic groups have been wiped out. Records indicate that worldwide demon-caused deaths are down by a sixth from what they were in 2000."

"Yes, very laudable." Roger’s tone suggested the statistics were anything but impressive. "And what of The Circle Of The Black Thorn? What Of The Tarakan Order? The Fell Brethren? The Serpent Cabal? The Cult Of The Dragon? The Twisted Weapon? The Blood Clans? The Brotherhood of Loki?"

Giles’ heart hollowed as Roger reeled off the names of the world’s most powerful demonic organisations, a terrible dread twisting in his gut. "What are you suggesting?"

"Simply this." Roger glanced around the hushed boardroom. "In the old days when there was only one Slayer, the Council was justified in fighting a containing action. But now we have hundreds of Slayers and it is an outrage that these groups survive much less flourish."

"Stop dancing around the houses, Roger," Giles barely managed to keep an even tone. "And do me the favour of telling me what you want?"

"It’s quite simple, Rupert," Roger’s answering smile was filled with malice. "We want every one of these demonic organisations wiping out. We want the demonic threat eradicating once and for all."

Rupert’s heart sank. He couldn’t have failed to notice the older Watcher’s use of the word ‘we’. A glance around his fellow Board members only confirmed his suspicions. Roger had already converted them.

Realising his only hope was in persuading the others back to his side, Giles shook his head. "Yes, we have over three hundred Slayers, but most of these demon organisations have thousands and in some cases tens of thousands of members. Even with our increased numbers we’ll still be grossly out-gunned."

"Your every word proves your unseemly concern for the Slayers," Roger scoffed. "They are weapons with which we are duty-bound to protect mankind."

"And haven’t we done that?" Giles desperately argued. "Close to a score of demonic organisations wiped out, numerous apocalypses thwarted."

"It is not enough," Bernard Crowley disagreed. "Like you, I loved my Slayer. But I never lost sight of the fact that she was a weapon with which to protect the innocent."

"And what of the Shadow Council?" Giles hoarsely demanded. "I don’t know about you, but I’m more than a little concerned about them."

"Ha," Roger raised a disparaging hand as if to wave away his concerns. "Young Wesley was always prone to hyperbole. This group who use cyborgs as their agents seem more than a little interested in slaughtering demons. An aim we can emphasise with."

"True," Giles reluctantly nodded. "But we have no idea what their motivations or ultimate goal is. Do they hope to create a power vacuum they can move into?"

"If that is their aim, we’ll deal with them then," Roger confidently countered. "This is our world now! The demon threat has to be permanently eliminated!"

"A direct war," Giles shook his head. "No general worth his salt would enter such a conflict, what with his army so grossly out-numbered."

"The war chooses us, Rupert," Samuel put in. "It is not a war of freedom, land, religion, or political ideology. It is about our very survival. One day the demons will come for us. Now, when the Council is at its mightiest ever," Kendra’s former Watcher shot Roger a warning look, "thanks in large part to your stewardship, is the time for us to strike!"

Giles felt defeat’s bitter taste in his mouth at the mutters of agreement that filled the boardroom. He could continue to resist but would more than likely lose, and in doing so weaken his own position. Not that he cared one jot about running the Council compared to his Slayers, in truth he bloody hated the job, but his replacement would probably be Roger, and then all his modernising would more than likely be reversed and replaced by ever more draconian rules. Worse, he’d be unable to protect Buffy, Xander, and Faith from Roger’s petty revenge.

Giles took a breath. "Very well," he paused, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he decided to take the thorny opportunity to settle a very personal grudge. "Let’s deal with the Order Of Taraka first." He looked towards Robson, the head of their intelligence wing. "I understand they work in a cellular structure?"

Las Vegas, America West One

Kate crouched down beside the target building, its shadow enveloping her. Her .38 Police Special was already drawn, resting in her slightly sweaty palm. The building she was outside was curiously bland, surrounded by the strip’s glitzy casinos, night clubs, hotels, and strip joints. She supposed tourists passing by en-route to their next oasis of fun assumed it was some mundane every-day place of business.

She however knew better. The office was the west coast headquarters for the Tarakan Order, the place where its assassins got their assignments and where contractors posted jobs. And now it was apparently where the murderers would die.

Kate had been stunned when she’d received her orders three days ago. Judging from the way the attack was scheduled to take place at an exact time, she guessed that simultaneous assaults were being launched across the globe, something that worried her. Yes, she hated the vast majority of demons with an almost fiery passion. But the Council’s newly hawkish approach risked a backlash that could engulf them all.

Forcing aside her concerns, she glanced across at her team of Angel and Connor, her deputy in Pike with Illyria and Gunn at the back of the building. "Any last thoughts, Angel?"

"Yes," the vampire’s eyes flickered golden in the darkness, "this is a very bad idea."

"Yeah." Kate nodded. "I hear you." Her watch beeped, signalling zero hour. "Go!" She screamed into her mouth-piece.

Her two companions surged upright at the beep, moving at an indistinguishable blur. Angel’s first kick smashed through the bullet-proof window and then they were inside.

* * *

Oklahoma, America East One

Justine’s blood pounded with excitement as she crept through the undergrowth and towards the ranch, Colleen and Shannon gliding effortlessly behind. Colleen and Shannon, Justine shook her head.

She’d always thought of herself as tough, but that notion had been debunked the first time she’d met and sparred with one of the Slayers. And she hadn’t even met the legendary Buffy or the seductively deadly Faith

But her initial awe had turned to deep dissatisfaction in just a few months as she’d learnt about the world’s demonic landscape beyond vampires. With all the Slayers they now had she couldn’t understand why they weren’t doing more to wipe the monsters off the planet.

But she was only an assistant team leader. She had little influence with the Ruling Board. For some reason though, policy had changed, a fact she rejoiced in.

"Wait," Colleen placed a hand on her shoulder, the beautiful brunette looking up at her, "the rest of the way’s got no undergrowth. Me and Shan would best going the rest of the way on our own. You can rush in once we attack."

Justine scowled as she conceded the point with a curt nod. Stealth, another thing Slayers did far better than humans.

* * *

Hong Kong, Asia One

"US. Marine Corps, US. Navy SEAL, twice decorated. You have an impressive record for one so young Captain Finlay."

Riley, now head Watcher of Asia One, looked around the luxurious twentieth floor penthouse suite complete with ceremonial weapons hanging off the rug-covered walls. The suite overlooked much of the city’s booming business district, but very little of it could be seen thanks to the thick smog.

Riley returned his gaze to his host, a six feet tall scrawny red-eyed creature with two pairs of exceptionally densely muscled arms sat behind a desk. Riley smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

"What puzzles me through is why such a dedicated soldier who has faithfully served his government for ten years would want to switch his loyalties to our order?"

Riley smiled as his watch beeped. "I haven’t," he explained. "I just used the excuse of an interview to get inside your offices so I could disable your security system. That beeping was the signal my team are inside."

"Why you!" The demon flung the desk separating them aside and started to advance on him."

* * *

Nairobi, Africa One

Xander wiped at his forehead, the sweat he rubbed away replaced almost instantly by the day’s blistering heat. His clothes stuck to his body like a second skin. After almost four years in Africa, he still wasn’t used to the extremes in weather. Of course, he looked towards his wife, there were some people who looked good, make that unbelievable, with their clothes plastered to them.

Faith’s pony-tail rested on her shoulders, the sheen of sweat making her face gleam. Her sleeveless black gym shirt clung to her, revealing her high chest’s heavenly curves in addition to three inches of toned stomach. Her denim shorts likewise clung to her butt while displaying her long, tanned legs.

Suddenly his wife’s eyes snapped to him, ebony orbs bubbling with mocking humour. "Damn, you know how to leer."

Xander grinned. "I’ve won trophies."

"I know, seen ‘em." Faith bumped her hip into his. "Just as long as you’re leering at me and no-one else," she warned.

"Why would I look at sausages when I come home to steak every night?" Xander asked.

"You sayin’ I’m a cow?" Faith’s eyes narrowed.

"No, I’m saying steak’s better than-."

Faith’s throaty laugh interrupted him. "I get it. I get it. Ain’t ya just the sweetest thing?"

"I think I’m gonna puke."

Faith looked over her shoulder and poked her tongue out. "Shut it sis."

"With you two, it’s Valentine’s Day every day," Dana taunted.

Xander shook his head. Faith as a role model. It was frightening just how naturally she’d taken to her role as Dana’s mentor.

Faith snorted before turning her mocking gaze back to him. "Wipe away the drool, time’s a ticking. We’ve got business to attend to."

Xander glanced across to the adjacent building and then to the rope running from their roof to the target. "I do not like this plan," Xander complained. "Why can’t Harry and the others be doing this?"

"Don’t be such a pussy," Faith snarked. "I really see Harry swinging down a rope."

"Okay, okay," Xander gave in with a grumble. He’d known and agreed with what Faith would say before she said it, but had felt compelled to air his problems with the plan.

* * *

Marseille, Europe West One

The white yacht sat in the exclusive dock, bobbing gently on the almost-still waters as it bathed serenely in the moonlight.

It would have been almost romantic but for the chattering loon sat beside her, piloting the speedboat as it motored towards the yacht. Buffy shot Andrew a vaguely disgusted look. Just how Giles had managed to convince her that Andrew would make a good second in command? Oh yeah, he’d sold her the line that Dawn would be safer in England, but that she’d need an assistant Watcher.

And then Andrew had turned up to plague her and the Immortal.

"Hush," she almost snapped before calming down. "Sorry, I’m just tense."

Andrew nodded sagely. "Even the greatest of heroes must -."

Once again she tuned out her prattling pilot as she stared at the yacht. It was the perfect cover for a Tarakan base. A playboy’s yacht that could quickly mobilise and sail to either escape arrest or to another port to give out orders throughout Europe. She just bet it was registered in several countries under different name.

Buffy stiffened as their speedboat pulled up alongside the sleek yet hulking yacht. She eyed the two thickly-muscled guards ambling towards them. "Remember," she said through the corner of her mouth even as she beamed at the two thugs, "leave the talking to me."

* * *

Caracas, South America One

"I do not understand Miss Rosenberg’s reluctance, is it not a warrior’s duty to fight?" Groo asked.

"Preachin’ to the choir, Groo," Kennedy distractedly replied as she watched the bar close and the last of the patrons leave. "I think Will’s more into protecting innocents than killing demons."

"Are they not the same thing?" Groo queried.

Kennedy glanced at her companion. "They are to me, but Will…"

"Still, Miss Rosenberg is a wise and compassionate woman."

"Not to mention babealicious," Kennedy added.

She hid a grin at Groo’s uncertain expression. He always looked like that when she used slang. It was one of the things she liked about the other-dimensional warrior. "Quite so."

Kennedy looked down as her watch beeped. "Time to get serious."

* * *

Las Vegas, America West One

The moment Angel and Connor stepped over the regional base’s threshold, the office was bathed in yellow light. Doors to the left and right slid soundlessly open, and vampires swarmed in.

The first came at him with a leaping spin-kick that Angel caught in mid-air before flinging the demon up into the ceiling and staking it as it fell down. "Amateur."

A right hook took the smirk off Angel’s face. Ducking under his close to seven feet tall and WWE-built attacker’s follow-up heel-kick, Angel smashed a straight right into the giant bloodsucker’s gut. A grunt was the monster’s only response before hitting Angel with a backhanded slap to the head.

The force of the blow lifted him off his feet and threw him into a beverage machine stood at the far side of the room. Angel grunted as he crashed into the machine, the force of the impact shattering the vending machine’s toughened glass front "Okay," he rolled to his feet and vamped out, "so you want to play hardball? Hardball it is."

Angel leapt across the room, crashing feet first into the rival vampire’s vault-sized chest. The force of their collision propelled the massive demon into the wall but still didn’t leave his feet. "Unbelievable," Angel muttered as he ducked beneath a clubbing left and slapped aside an attempted knee to the face. Hooking his hands around the demon’s leg, he twisted at the waist, hoping to accomplish with leverage what force alone couldn’t.

The bigger vampire stumbled and growled, the sound like an avalanche’s rumble, before stumbling into a chair. The moment his hand fell on the chair, the vampire lifted and threw it at Angel. Angel ducked the makeshift missile and leapt forward, tackling the demon around the waist. "Bad idea!" he grunted as pain exploded between his shoulder-blades when his opponent slammed his clasped fists there.

His gargantuan rival snatched a hold of his shoulders and flung him into the counter with enough force to shatter the wooden reception deck. Shaking the hurt away, Angel snatched up a splinter and thrust it up at his advancing rival.

The demon laughed as he kicked Angel’s arm away before grabbing his throat and flinging Angel over the ruined counter. "Owww!" Angel grunted as the back of his head smashed into the ground, a half-second before the rest of his body made contact. "It’s not the falling that hurts, it’s the landing."

His attacker leaned over and grabbed a hold of his throat. Angel responded with a toe-kick that shattered the demon’s jaw. The rampaging vampire roared, but didn’t release his grip, instead he lifted and swung Angel into the wall behind with enough force to crack it.

Angel grunted before swinging his legs up, grapevining the man’s arm and twisting. The demon howled as the room echoed to the sound of his arm breaking before dropping Angel to the ground. Landing in a crouch, Angel scooped up a piece of wood and slashed across the demon’s throat. Even as the giant vampire exploded in dust, Connor spoke, tone mocking. "You’re getting old, dad. I killed five, you got two."

Angel shot his son a wounded look. "Did you actually see how big he was?"

"When you two have quite finished, we’ve demons to kill," Kate snapped before smirking. "And for the record I got more than you too."

* * *

Oklahoma, America East One

The moment the two Slayers signalled her over, Justine hurried to the side of the house. As she reached the others, Shannon motioned her to hit the ground. Even as she complied, dust billowing up, the door exploded inwards thanks to an explosives charge.

Justine scrabbled to her feet a half-second after the Slayers. By the time she’d rushed through the doorway, the Slayers were already engulfed in battle.

"Ah." Pain exploded in Justine’s scalp as a hand reached out and snatched her hair, pulling on it with incredible force. "A regular flame-haired pretty."

Ignoring her pain, Justine drove her elbow up into her attacker’s face. The moment her assailant released his grip, Justine spun to face him.

The blood drained from her face as she recognised her assailant from Council files. "Lyle Gorch."

"That’s me darlin’," the demon backhanded her to the ground. Swallowing her terror together with the blood in her mouth, Justine kicked out, catching the demon in his meaty thigh. Gorch laughed before again grabbing her by the hair, and yanking her back to her feet. "Fiesty, I like it."

Justine spat a mouthful of the blood remaining in her mouth into Gorch’s eyes. "Ahhhh!" The now blinded demon stumbled backwards.

"Like this?" Justine challenged as she reached into her jacket, drew a stake and swung it at the demon’s chest. The vampire blocked her attack on his elbow.

But not the stake she’d drawn with her other hand, swung under his defences, and into his heart. Justine smiled into the former western outlaw’s shocked face. "Guess not."

* * *

Hong Kong, Asia One

"You madman!" The four-armed demon raged as it leapt at him. "Who do you think you are?"

"I think," Riley jumped out of way of the demon’s charge, "I’m the head of the Council’s Asian Operations!"

"Finn!" the demon hissed, forked tongue sliding over pointed teeth.

"Oh," Riley pulled out a broadsword off the wall. "You’ve heard of me," his voice faltered. When the demon reached into his obviously tailor-made suit and pulled out a quartet of knives, "it’s good to be recognised. I think."

The demon came in fast, the blades a blur. And then Riley dropped to one knee, drew the polymer snub .32 he’d smuggled past the metal sensors in an ankle holsters, sighted, and shot. The demon’s head disintegrated in a shower of blood and it slumped lifelessly to the ground. "Never bring a set of knives to a gunfight."

* * *

Nairobi, Africa One

"Whoo! Whoo!" Faith whooped and hollered as she slid down the line, wind whistling in her hair. She hit the windows sneakers-first. The bullet-proof glass exploded inward under Slayer-power. The three men sat lounging around a table leapt to their feet at her entrance, the cards they’d been playing dropping to the beer-stained carpet as they grabbed for their guns.

"Ahhhh!" Faith titled her head to one side hurt look on her face. "You’re not pleased," she launched herself off the rope and into a drop-kick, knocking the nearest man into the far wall," to see me." The second one threw a left hook that she caught on her right elbow before upper-cutting him. Bone cracked under the blow and blood exploded out of the man’s mouth as he flipped head over heels over the couch.

Faith spun around to deal with the third only to find Dana stood over his body, eyes sparkling. "That was fun!"

"I’m surrounded by mad-women."

"We’ve all got problems." Faith smirked at her husband stood by the window. "I’m married to a Grade A pain in the ass!"

"Bummer," Dana giggled.

Faith winked at her fellow Slayer. Xander on the other hand let out a long-suffering sigh. "Can we get to business?"

* * *

Marseille, Europe West One

"Mon jolie," the man’s eyes roamed over her body as he strode towards to the yacht’s gold railing, "you cannot be here."

Buffy assumed a guileless expression. "But I’m expected for a party on ‘The White Princess’."

"Mon jolie," the man looked towards his two companions as he relaxed his grip on the sub-machine gun holstered under his armpit, "this is ‘The White Prince’."

"Silly me!" Buffy smiled disarmingly and threw her hands up. The moment her hands were level with the ship’s railing, she grabbed hold of it and flipped into a handstand, kicking the nearest thug square in the face.

Blood sprayed out of the man’s face, splattering Andrew and their speedboat, as he crashed to the ground with splintering impact. Buffy landed in a crouch before the other two hoods. Even as their eyes widened in shock, Buffy sprang back into the air, spin-kicking the two men in the head.

"What’s going on?" Buffy twisted at the waist as she landed. Her heart dropped as she saw a straggly-bearded man coming onto the deck, a rising shotgun in his hands. Fifteen feet between her and the gunman, she was done for.

And then Andrew crashed into the man, knocking both of them to the ground. The man elbowed Andrew in the chest, knocking him off. Sulphurous curses polluting the sky, the thug reached for his shotgun.

"Sorry." Buffy shook her head as she stamped on the man’s hand, shattering bone. "I don’t like this dress with bullet holes." The man looked up in time to catch a fist to the face. Buffy smiled as she grabbed Andrew under the arms and pulled to his feet. "Nice save."

* * *

Caracas, South America One

Kennedy leaned on Groo, his arm around her shoulder as she played the drunk girl-friend. "They’re vampires," she murmured into Groo’s ear as they crossed the poorly-lit street. Groo’s nod was the only confirmation he’d heard.

"Listen love," growled the bigger of the two, an apparent Cockney standing around six feet tall and weighing 300 lbs, his arms and legs like tree-trunks, "this is a private club."

"We wanna," Kennedy belched, she liked to get into character, and poked the demon in his barrel-sized chest, "party!"

The demon growled, deep set eyes hardening. "I won’t tell you again," the bulky vampire loomed over her, "bugger -, oof!"

Her foot caught the vampire full in the nuts. Even in the street lamp’s light, Kennedy saw the already pale-skinned vampire grey. Yet despite his obvious pain, the demon still managed to smash an overhand right into her left temple.

Blood erupted like a faucet. Ignoring her own pain, Kennedy smashed a left hook into her rival’s bulbous belly. The demon roared and back-handed her across the face. Head ringing and legs wobbly, Kennedy dropped to one knee and drove an uppercut into the demon’s crotch.

The demon gasped and fell onto its knees. Kennedy looked into its pained eyes as she shoved her stake home. "Well," Kennedy wiped the blood off her face and grinned at Groo, the other demon slain by her companion, "that was fun. Now, let’s get down to business."

Las Vegas, America West One

Angel gasped as he stepped through the darkened doorway to see a tiny, mini-skirted figure stood glaring at him, legs apart and fists on hips. "H….Harmony?" Angel gaped as he recognised the blonde vampire.

"Don’t Harmony me, mister!" The blonde jabbed an angry finger at him. "And do you know how long it took me to get a new job after you blew up Wolfram & Hart? We’re talking compensation, mister!"

Regaining his poise, Angel smiled. "Given the reference I gave you it must have taken you a while."

"Why you!" The blonde leapt at him. And landed on his stake, exploding into dust.

Hearing chuckles behind him, Angel turned and glared at both his companions. "You can both shut up," he glowered.

"Remember who’s in charge here," Kate sniggered.

* * *

Oklahoma, America East One

Justine gasped as a huge scaled and red-horned demon rushed her as she stepped through the doorway, lunging out of the shadows. Justine had only half-turned when the creature caught her with a welting back-hand. Head ringing and blood misting her eyes, Justine fell to her knees even as she reached inside her jacket.

And then Colleen and Shannon were past her and intercepting her attacker, gliding into attack with their usual combination of unearthly grace and uncanny speed. They slashed at the monster even as they ducked its thudding fists. Soon blood was spurting from numerous wounds, its crimson soaking the walls and carpet as it crashed to the ground, body thrashing in its death throes.

After a studied look at the demon, the two Slayers rushed over to her side. "Are you alright?" Shannon asked.

Justine wiped away the blood streaming down her forehead before weakly nodding and struggling to her feet. "You don’t have to come with us," Colleen offered.

"No," Justine winced at her thudding head. "I do." She was a Watcher, it was her duty.

* * *

Hong Kong, Asia One

Riley darted out of the office only to dive back in when bullets peppered the air. Hitting the ground on his shoulder, he rolled up and pulled out his polymer pistol. "Five shots left and they sounded like sub-machine guns," Riley muttered with a grimace. "Not good-." He grinned at the distinctive sound of his wife and Oz’s Mossbergs, and his attackers’ screams. "Cavalry’s coming," he crouched by the wall, gun in hand, ready just in case his wife and her companions didn’t win through.

His shoulders slumped, tension easing from his body when Sam rushed through the entrance, shotgun held ready. Sam grinned when she saw him, throwing him a spare shotgun. "When are you going to get off your ass and join us in dealing with these demons?"

"Join you?" Riley grinned as he caught the shotgun and jumped up. Already the room was filling with Slayers, two Sunnydale veterans in Chao-Ahn and Caridad, and three newer girls, with an ever watchful Oz brining up the rear. "Who dealt with security system and him?" he nodded towards the multi-limbed demon lying dead on the ground.

"Details, details, details." Sam’s grin disappeared. "Let’s get the clear out finished."

* * *

Nairobi, Africa One

"Shit!" Faith flung herself backwards as a huge claw reaved the corridor’s air just before her. Dropping onto her back, she reached up, snatched Xander’s shotgun from him, and gave the hulking demon lunging at her both barrels.

Cordite burnt the back of her throat and her ears pounded to the shotgun’s boom. All that was rendered unimportant next to the sight of the demon being torn in half, its blood and entrails decorating the wall behind. "Damn!" Faith jumped. "I love it when a plan comes together!" Xander groaned as she passed him his shotgun back. "What?" she arched a saucily suggestive eyebrow. "If you didn’t want me to quote the show you shouldn’t have made me watch the DVDs!"

"I thought we were meant to be killing demons?" Dana eagerly interrupted.

Faith scowled at her fellow Slayer. "I know who’s killing the joy."

* * *

Marseille, Europe West One

The Immortal grinned as his cell beeped. "Mon amour is ready," he whispered to his companions. "Now it is our turn." Cloaked by darkness, he led the trio of Slayers to their target and climbed on-board. He kissed his beloved on the cheek and nodded at Andrew.

"Andrew, you and Erna stay here," the German-born Slayer glowered at being left out but nodded. "Anyone gets past us, you deal with it." Buffy looked at the rest of them. "You, with me."

Buffy led them down the darkened, narrowed steps, the yacht’s wood-panelled walls echoing and vibrating to Metallica. "Yet more proof money doesn’t buy class," the Immortal muttered disdainfully. It was eight hundred years since he’d been cursed with immortality, to see all those he’d loved grow old and die, by a wizard who’d discovered him squiring the enchanter’s bride. You’d have at least thought he’d wait until he’d finished before casting the spell.

Gah, the English, they just didn’t understand.

In those eight centuries he’d heard all types of music, classical, jazz, pop, Tin Pan Alley, and another hundred besides. But none were so clearly the sound of Satan as Heavy Metal.

Not even rap. Spelt incorrectly without the ‘c’ in front.

They stopped at the doors of the galley. The Immortal looked around. "How many?" he whispered.

Buffy pressed her ear to the tan-brown door for a second before answering in a whisper. "Five or six maybe." Buffy licked her lips. "I’ll kick the door open. You do the gun thing."

Knowing his girl-friend’s religiously held feelings on guns, the Immortal nodded. Drawing his sawn-off, he stepped back. "On three," he tersely muttered.

"One. Two. Three." Buffy’s foot slammed into the door, snapping it open. The Immortal had the briefest glimpse of five men sat around a long glass table laden with cards, beer bottles, and sub-machine guns. And then he was firing.

* * *

Caracas, South America One

A single kick sent the door crashing open. The darkened room beyond was empty, but the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps could be heard. Groo’s torch swung in the direction of the noise.

Even as the torch-light fell on a quartet of vampires racing down the nearest side of the double-pronged stairwell, their golden eyes gleaming and fangs glinting in the torch light, the demons leapt into the air.

Before either demon who’d leapt specifically at her had landed, Kennedy had already flung a stake through the left demon’s heart. The second caught her with a thudding left hook that inflamed her already aching head. Dazed, she staggered back, barely managing to duck under a right cross to the head, and block a kick to the ribs. The demon snarled before leaping up into a thrust kick that smashed into Kennedy’s chest.

Pain roared through her gym-toned pecs, the force of the blow flinging her over a table. Hitting the ground on her shoulders, she barely had time to roll away from a leaping stomp to the face.

Kennedy hand-sprung to her feet, ducked under the on-rushing demon’s wildly delivered clothesline, and planted a hook-kick to the small of the vampire’s back. "Rrrrr!" the creature howled before stumbling and falling to its knees.

The vampire looked up in time to catch her kicking a field goal with its face. The demon’s head snapped to the side and the demon fell onto its back. Before the monster had chance to react she’d dropped onto one knee beside it and thrust her stake through its heart.

"Hey sweetie."

Kennedy grinned as she looked up to see her girl-friend stood behind her. "Hey yourself." She looked up to the second floor. "Shall we stop in on the big cheese?"

* * *

Las Vegas, America West One

Oscuro Malva raised a hand as the vampire freak and his cohorts entered her inner sanctum. The trio instantly crashed into the wall behind them with enough force to crack it.

The effectiveness of her defence failed to alleviate her bad mood. Her Order had been around since Solomon’s time and the Council dared to think they could take them on? A lesson had to be taught.

Malva levitated and pointed the blonde’s automatic at the helpless hybrid’s head. The room resonated to the sound of the safety being pulled back. Malva sneered at the desperate look on the vampire’s face, her power holding the freak to the wall. "Watch your son die, traitor."

"I think not." Malva’s gaze snapped to a blue-haired, leather-clad woman stood in the doorway. She waved an indifferent hand at the intruder. A wave of magic hit the elven-sized figure but instantly dissipated on impact. "As I said," Malva gasped as the figure strode imperiously towards her, "I think not." The last thing she saw was the blue-haired woman’s fist rushing towards her face.

* * *

Oklahoma, America East One

Justine looked around the devastated ranch house. Doors had been torn off, what walls remained were splattered with varying coloured bloods, furniture smashed, and corpses littered the floors and stairwells.

Exhausted by the fight, Justine slumped against the dining room door. Despite her fatigue, Justine felt a smile tugging at her lips. "We did it," she muttered. "We took out the Order."

"That we did."

Justine stared at her dour-faced immediate superior. "So what’s the problem?"

"What’s the problem?" Robin Wood scowled. "The problem is what we’ve done today will make some very powerful demons and mages nervous. And nervous people make stupid mistakes. This could get out of hand and fast."

* * *

Nairobi, Africa One

"Haaa!" Harriet screamed as she ducked, her attacker’s fist smashing into the wall. Harriet swung her sword at the demon but it just bounced off its scale-covered hide.

The creature, an Umla male, stood just over seven foot with a weight-lifter’s muscles to match. Its entire body was covered in grey scales, barbs sticking out of its hands’ knuckles and its forearms, its mouth filled with fangs, and a horn sticking out of its forehead. There were few monsters in the demon world as ideally built for murder and mayhem.

Suddenly the demon had her by a handful of swinging ringlets and she was airborne, crashing into the far wall, and sliding down to the threadbare carpet. Her head ringing, Harriet attempt to regain her feet but her stunned limbs failed to obey her. The Ulma lumbered over to her, a horrid smile twisting its stony face.

And then Faith and Dana were between her and the monster. The two Slayers blurred into action, their movements too fast for the Ulma’s swinging hands, their axes slicing the demons to pieces, blood spurting from a multitude of wounds. Finally even the durable Ulma couldn’t take any more and slumped to the ground. "Yo Curly!" Faith turned to her, dark eyes flashing angrily. "Where the hell are your Slayers?"

Harriet stared up dazedly at the Slayer before answering. "Dealing with two Martocs-."

"And you just left them!" the lead Slayer snapped. " Jesus, Har, you know the fucking rules! You don’t leave your Slayers!"

"You left Xander," Harriet weakly parried.

"Don’t even," Faith shook her head. "Xan’s been through more demon shit than any of us."

"Plus he doesn’t listen to her," Dana added.

Faith glared at the younger Slayer. "I swear…"

* * *

Marseille, Europe West One

The Immortal’s shotgun took the nearest three gunmen full in the chest, shredding and tossing their lifeless bodies to the ground. The table was likewise obliterated by the attack, splinters flying up, striking one of the two survivors full in the face.

Blood gushing down his ruined face, the man attempted a lunge for his sub-machine gun only for Buffy to fell him with a hastily flung knife to the throat. The last survivor discarded his weapon in favour of diving for a latched door towards the back of the galley.

The moment the latch was clicked loose, the door was torn off its hinges and a demon charged out. Buffy’s heart chilled as she recognised the monster as a Turok-Han. "Leave it to me!" she ordered before leaping forward, snatching the Immortal’s shotgun from him before charging into the room.

By the time she reached the uber it had already torn the final assassin’s head off, showering itself with blood. Then, as the uber’s mouth opened in a gleeful howl, Buffy shoved the shotgun’s muzzle between its teeth and pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked in her hand and the creature’s dark blood and brains splattered the walls behind it, the creature dusting a half-second afterwards. Buffy spun around to face the others. "Where did they get an uber from?"

The Immortal peered into the entrance from which the demon had sprung. "I would guess that they," the Italian playboy glanced at the corpses strewn throughout the gallery, "were told it they were attacked that they should throw that latch either for aid or a magical escape route. Instead they unleashed a Turok-Han somehow held in magical stasis until the latch was loosened."

"Yeah," Buffy impatiently interrupted, "that’s great, but how did they get their hands on an Uber?"

* * *

Caracas, South America One

Willow looked around as she led her group onto the landing, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Something very bad was about to happen. "Down now!"

Such was the urgent command in her voice that not even Kennedy questioned or hesitated before diving to the ground. And not a moment too soon.

The landing’s solitary door exploded off its hinges with enough force to fling it into the landing’s brass railing, the door splitting on collision. The door was followed by a fireball that scorched the door frame en-route to flying at Willow and the others.

Willow glared at the approaching fireball even as its heat caused her forehead to bead with sweat. As if frightened by her rage, the fireball stopped, and reversed direction back into the room it had come from.

"Ahhhh!"

Willow winced at the inhuman scream and the stench of burning flesh, an ashy taste forming in the back of her throat. Fire was such a painful way to die. Willow looked over her shoulder to her supine team-mates. "You can get up now, it’s over."

For now at least.

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