Hell, 2003

Darzus laughed as The First was defeated. "Imbecile." His smile widened as he sensed something. He looked around his fiery domain and to his minions. "Our time is at hand," he declared. "The bars on our prison loosen."

"Will it be soon sir?" hissed one of his servants, a leathery-winged gargoyle with a cobra’s head, his forked tongue sliding out of his mouth.

"Soon enough," he replied. "Start preparing our master’s legions."

* * *

San Diego, May 2005

"Hey dad, we have a guest!"

Angel looked towards his son stood in the doorway of Angel & Son Investigations’ office. He blinked he recognised the lantern-jawed man stood there. " Groo?"

The former champion of Pylea flashed him a gleaming smile. Guy should have been a toothpaste model. "It is Angel," the man confirmed before looking around, his expression hopeful. "Where is Princess?"

Princess? Angel’s stomach hollowed as he recalled that had been what Groo had called Cordelia. "She’s," for a second words failed him, "dead."

* * *

Detroit, May 2005

"Damn!" Faith jumped backwards, the creature’s slashing claws narrowly missing her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her Watcher and ex lead the demon’s would-be sacrifices to safety.

Satisfied that the people were saved, Faith concentrated on going for the kill. Ducking beneath the monster’s flailing arms, she snapped out a kick that smashed into her adversary’s knee, knocking the creature off-balance and towards her. Taking advantage of the demon’s momentary distress, she brought her sword flashing up, decapitating it. Grinning slightly at yet another victory, Faith back-flipped out of the way of the toppling demon before sauntering out of the cavern. "Are you alright Faith?"

"Natch," she flashed her ex a smile. "Piece of cake." Her and Wood might not have worked out – a combination of the Woodster’s mommy issues and the fact he was brought up by a traditional Watcher, and she wasn’t, she chuckled inwardly, exactly a traditional anything. But at least he’d been the first guy to treat her right, to teach her that she was worth more than a quick fuck. And for that she’d always be grateful. He just wasn’t the one. "I’m going for a drink, you get rid of the civilians, k?"

"Faith!"

Ignoring her titular Watcher’s protests, she sauntered off into the swirling night, the wind caressing her face like a lover’s touch. A few drinks, some dancing, and another fight lived through. That sounded like a good night to her.

* * *

Nicaragua, May 2005

"Incoming!"

Riley ducked at his wife’s cry, narrowly avoiding a jet of flame shooting out of the mouth of the airborne lizard they were battling. "Thanks!" he roared as he joined Graham in shooting grenades into the monster’s gaping maws. Turning to his fellow team-members, he yelled. "Down!"

Without waiting to see if his best friend and other team members had obeyed, he dropped face-first onto the jungle’s muddy ground. A half-second later, the ground shook with the after-effect of the grenades exploding. Ears still ringing, he struggled to his feet, conscious of the sweat that caused his filthy fatigues to stick to him. Despite his discomfort he grinned at the sight that greeted him.

The monster’s twin-horned head had been completely destroyed, blown to smithereens by the twin attack, leaving behind a green-scaled body, a trail of one foot long spikes running up its back, a pair of butterfly shaped wings the size of a small car also attached. "Don’t forget our victory cigar."

His grin still in place, he turned to Graham and reached for the proffered cigar. And had it snatched away from him by Sam. "Hey!"

"I told you, no smoking!" his wife scolded before crouching down beside the monster.

"And I told you, whipped."

Riley shot his best friend an irritated glance. "Shut up," he replied before turning his attention to his wife and second-in-command. Noting her concerned look, he hurried over. "What’s up Sam?"

"Yeah," Graham said from behind him. "Demon’s dead? What’s the problem?"

"Problem is," Sam scowled, "this is a Modaz dragon."

"So?" he queried.

"So Modazs were reported to have died out seven hundred years ago," his wife retorted.

"We’ve hunted demons we didn’t know existed before ," Graham pointed out.

"Yes, but for the most part even those we didn’t know existed, the Council or some other occult group knew about," Sam replied. "But it was a Slayer in 1297 who killed the last family of these in Mexico."

"So how come they are back now?" he queried.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "That’s the question."

* * *

Rio De Janeiro, May 2005

Willow moaned as her girl-friend pulled her closer, her body pressing against her, her scent filling her nose. She was oblivious to everything – the dancers around them, the samba pounding out of the nightclub’s speakers, even the strobe lighting. Her whole world was the gorgeous brunette grinding against her. "I want you now," she managed to whisper.

"In that case," the Slayer’s full lips pulled up in a smile even as the brunette whispered in her ear. "We better leave and go home now."

"Sounds like a plan," she eagerly agreed before dragging the laughing Slayer through the throes of writhing dancers.

The moment they stepped out of the sweaty club and into the cool night the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Before she knew it she was on her knees and throwing up, her vomit splattering the ground. She was vaguely aware of Kennedy pushing the club’s bouncers back but all she could hear was the sound of inhuman screaming.

After what seemed an agonising eternity she felt Kennedy’s hand on her shoulder. Ignoring the pain shooting through her head, she looked at her girl-friend’s concerned face. She opened her mouth several times before finally managing to speak. "Need. To. Get. To. Giles."

"What’s wrong?"

"The," she took a rasping breath. "End of the world."

* * *

Rome, May 2005

"This is," Buffy took a sip of her wine before glancing around the exclusive, discreetly lit restaurant, "div-." Her face tightened as she saw a raven-haired teen charging towards her, evading the waiters’ attempts to restrain her, a sultry, busty beauty, and a willowy blonde following behind. "Dawn." She scowled at her sister as she stopped beside their table. The Immortal waved the approaching waitress away. "What do you want?"

"Oh nothing much," her sister tersely replied. "Except well maybe that!" Dawn pointed out of the window.

Buffy’s eyes widened at the sight of a helicopter approaching their fourth floor restaurant. "What is-."

And then the shooting began.

* * *

Nigeria, May 2005

Xander glanced over his shoulder. He shot a tight-faced Amy a reassuring smile, resisting the urge to shake his head in disbelief that he was working with the Wicca. When they’d decamped in England twenty-two months ago, they’d found Amy studying with Giles’ Devon coven.

At first he and Buffy had been nervous of Amy’s presence. Kennedy had been, Xander allowed himself a wry grin, the word was definitely pissed. But Giles and Will had explained they’d organised for Amy to recuperate and learn after her run-in with Willow and Kennedy. And if he could give Will, and Faith second chances, and in Buffy’s case a third and fourth, he guessed he could extend the same courtesy to Amy.

And that was how she’d ended up joining him, Vi, and Rona in moving to Africa eighteen months ago. And how the Witch found herself with him and the others in a tunnel searching for an unnamed book of prophecy. "Life sure is unpredictable."

"Be quiet Xander," Amy hissed. And yet, Xander grinned to himself, still being bossed around by women. Some things never changed.

His amusement died when he reached the edge of a ledge overlooking a circle of eight demons surrounding a blood-coloured pentagram with a thick leather-bound volume in the centre of it. His skin prickled both at the black robed demon’s jaundiced skin and slanted, violet eyes, and their ominous chanting. "What’s going on down there?" he muttered.

"The Ritual of Cleansing," Amy hissed back, her eyes filling with horror. "That book is so foul not even demons can read it without first completing the ritual."

Oh, oh. That did not sound good. "In that case we better stop them," Xander glanced at his companions. "Right?"

"Right," Amy nodded. "Only don’t step into the pentagram."

"Why not?" Rona queried.

"It’s a doorway to hell," Amy replied.

Xander gulped. "Why do none of these doorways ever lead to Disneyland?" he complained.

* * *

Devon, May 2005

Giles smiled fondly as he climbed out of his jet-black MG, the one sop to his new position as Council head that he’d allowed himself. Up ahead was a traditional rustic Devon cottage complete with a neatly trimmed garden, not dissimilar to hundreds maybe thousands around the country, lucky enough to escape the current class-obsessed government’s rampant hatred of country-folk.

Except this was the place that first he, then Willow, and finally Amy had all recuperated and rehabilitated following their various black magic escapades. And this morning Andrew had taken a phone call from the Coven’s leader summonsing him here for some reason or other. Giles chuckled as he made his way up the winding path, the gravel crunching underfoot. Probably to tell him off for not visiting in four months.

He knocked on the white panelled door. After a minute, he stepped away, his brow furrowing. His puzzlement turned to concern when he noticed all the flowery curtains were closed. And in the middle of the day. After muttering a quick prayer, he crouched down by the lock and jimmied it. After a few seconds, the lock clicked open. "This is probably a really bad idea." Taking a breath, he stepped through the doorway.

* * *

New Orleans, May 2005.

Lorne supped half-heartedly at his Sea-Breeze, the depression he’d been suffering since running from LA. refusing to shift. He jolted as a scaled demon began singing on stage. "Oh boy," he took a gulp of his drink, some of it spilling over the edge of his cocktail glass on account of his shaking. "I think it’s time to get back in the game. Oh, short and silent," he sighed, "the phone."

"Trouble?" Oz asked as the pink-haired musician who’d been his business partner for eight months passed him the Mickey Mouse shaped phone.

"Only the biggest. Elvis in ’77 big. Mama Cass big. Barry White big."

"I get the point."

"My Princess?" Angel forced himself to relax at the Pylean’s approach, confident in his ability to restrain Groo with or without his son’s assistance. Besides, he doubted that the demon\human hybrid would attack him. At least until after he’d explained. "What happened to her?"

Where to begin? "You see, Cordelia’s visions -." He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. "Sorry I’ll have to take this." Grateful for the interruption he picked the receiver up. "Hello. Angel & Son Investigations. How can I-."

"& Son? Gotta say, I didn’t see that coming!"

Angel gaped at the unexpectedly familiar voice, so shocked that it took him a few seconds to respond. "Lorne?" a rare smile slowly spread across his face. "It’s been a long-."

"No time!" Lorne’s voice was suddenly brittle with fear. "You need to get out of your office now!"

The urgency in his long-lost friend’s voice compelled him to surge to his feet. "Everyone out now!" Connor’s mouth opened in a question and then the front window exploded, knocking them all to the ground with its force and showering them with glass. Over the roaring in his ears, he heard a cold voice. "The vampire’s the priority, but kill them all."

* * *

"How long until we get there?"

"Ten minutes ma’am," John Staham replied, risking a look into the rear-view mirror at his passenger. Man, the brunette was a looker, a brunette in her early twenties, her lithe, athletic body only emphasised by her eye-boggling PVC catsuit.

"There’s an extra hundred if you make it in five," the client ordered. Irritation flickered across the beauty’s face. "And keep your damn eyes on the road."

"Yes ma’am!" he exclaimed before obeying. As he turned back he heard the woman mutter ‘damn conscience’ under her breath.

* * *

"Any idea why Control wants us back in NY?" Riley had to shout to be heard over the roar of the transport plane’s engines.

"No idea," his wife winced as the back of her head banged against the plane. "But the message was urgent."

"Yeah," Finn agreed. They’d done emergency pick-ups like this before. But on each occasion it had been to quell an urgent and major demonic uprising. The thought of one in the middle of the Big Apple made his stomach hollow with fear. "Guess we’ll find out soon."

"Guess we will," Graham put in.

* * *

Faith glanced at her watch, peering through the club’s murky darkness to its illuminated dial. "Two-forty-five." It was three hours, a dozen dances, and eight beers since they’d saved the hostages, but she was still buzzing. What she needed now was a really good-.

Reminding herself that she was worth more than that, she glanced at her companions, a trio of frat-boys. "Sorry boys," she drawled. "A girl needs her beauty sleep. Been fun."

She started to rise only for one of the college boys to grab hold of her hand. "Hey now Faye," the kid leered. "We’ve been buying you drinks for hours babe. Time to settle the bill."

Jesus, Faith rolled her eyes, the fucker couldn’t even get her name right. "You’ve got the wrong girl." She firmly removed the man’s hand from her arm. The man opened his mouth, but something in her eyes stopped him from speaking. Satisfied, she turned and sauntered out of the sweltering club.

She’d barely gotten two blocks when she heard a trio of footsteps following her. Faith smirked, they probably thought they were gonna to have a little fun with the poor defenceless girl. "Boy are they in for a surprise." Noting a fire escape just above, she leapt up, and nimbly clambered onto the landing. She watched as the heedless trio walked on underneath her. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed two things.

Firstly they weren’t the frat boys. And second they weren’t human. "Great," she hissed. "Just great."

* * *

"Have you called Giles yet?"

Kennedy cast her girl-friend a worried look. The red-head was curled up in a shaking ball on their bed, her face ashen-grey. It had taken the Wicca a good five minutes to stop throwing up and her an hour to get her the normally twenty minutes’ walk home. "Yeah," she replied, "but Andrew says he’s out of the office -."

"Try his cell!"

Kennedy started at her girl-friend’s almost snarl. "I have. No signal. Baby," she walked over to her girl-friend and stroked her hair off her sweat-soaked brow. "What did you see?"

"The end of the world." Willow moaned. "Get us booked on a London flight, we need to get back to HQ fast."

* * *

"Get down!" The moment she saw the jet-black, tinted helicopter with its two machine-gun wielding thugs hanging off it, Buffy tipped the table over, sending glasses and plates shattering to the ground, before launching herself at her sister, grabbing Dawn around the waist, and powering her to the floor. Looking up, she saw the Immortal and her fellow Slayer rapidly following suit.

Others in the fourth floor restaurant weren’t as lucky. Bullets tore through the air, ripping through hard-up waitresses and wealthy patrons alike, death the final equalizer. Their bullet-ridden bodies crashed to the carpet, its plush light-blue material rapidly turning red. Buffy tore her eyes from the massacre to stare in horror at a wide-eyed Dawn. "What. Is. Going. On. Here?" she screamed over the constant roar of their attackers’ weapons.

"We were rousting Antonio’s," Buffy glared at her sister’s Slayer escorts, they were meant to be keeping the former key out of trouble, not taking her to Rome’s answer to Willy’s. "While we were there, this Cvuthla demon told us there’s an open contract out on you, Angel, and Faith!"

"Angel!" Buffy’s heart missed a beat at the vampire’s name. "Does he know?"

"Oh for god’s sake!" Dawn’s face contorted in anger. "Can we not obsess over your ex for once? How are we," Dawn ducked as a splinter flew off the table protecting them, "going to get out of this?"

Buffy peered around, her lungs clogging with the cordite in the air. She had to admit she was stumped. Machine-gun toting maniacs weren’t exactly what she was used to. "I don’t kno-," she grimaced as she noticed something, the beginnings of an idea germinating in her mind.

* * *

Rona and Vi leapt off the ledge to the cavern twenty feet below while Xander joined Amy in taking the less direct route – hurrying down the stone steps. Xander scowled as they were confronted by a scythe-wielding demon. After ducking beneath its weapon-swing, Xander thrust his sword deep into the monster’s thickly muscled thigh.

Blood jetted out of the wound, covering his previously gleaming blade in an murky grey. The beast howled before coming at him with another slash at his neck.

"Damn!" Xander squatted further down to avoid the attack. "Just great!" he groused when doing so caused his blade to slip out of his grip. Thinking quickly, he scurried backwards, careful to keep himself between the demon and Amy.

Its lipless mouth parted in a menacing sneer, the monster charged. Xander quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out his S&W .44, a going away present from G-Man, and placed a trio of bullets into the beast’s thick chest. The revolver’s booming retort made his ears ring, but also had the effect of knocking his adversary on his ass.

Almost immediately the monster began to rise. Hurrying forward, Xander dragged his sword out of the creature’s thigh and beheaded it. Body bathed in sweat and chest heaving, he looked around to see if either of his Slayers needed any help.

Instead he saw Rona dropping the last of the demons. Xander raised a wry eyebrow. Seven demons between the two of them in the time it took him to kill one. A man would have to be a complete idiot to get sexist around them. "Wish they didn’t stamp on my manliness quite so much," he muttered. He groaned inwardly at Vi and Rona’s stereo grins. They’d heard him, and knowing Slayers as he did, they wouldn’t let him forget it.

Turning, he saw Amy was levitating the book out of its surrounding pentagram, a grimace of effort on the Wiccan’s face. Which kinda got him to thinking. In the past eighteen months he’d seen Amy do far more powerful spells that this with much less apparent effort. Which meant there had to be something else going on.

He waited until the witch had lowered the book to the ground beside her before speaking. "That looked to be hard work," he commented, careful to keep any hint of criticism out of his voice. He’d learnt the hard way that Wiccas didn’t react well to it.

The scathing look Amy sent his way indicated he hadn’t been quite careful enough. "I also had to cast a protective cleansing spell to ensure my magic wasn’t corrupted by the pentagram," his fellow Sunnydaler explained before crouching down to pick up the heavy text. "Oh no."

Xander groaned at Amy’s gasp. That did not sound good. After exchanging worried looks with his Slayers, he spoke. "What’s up?"

Amy’s expression was haunted. "We need to get England now."

* * *

"Oh my lord." Giles’ hushed voice rang through the eireely silent cottage. His palms sweaty, mouth dry, and heart pounding, he stepped over the threshold. Skin prickling, he halted in the narrow hallway, some instinct telling him to draw the MI5 licensed gun he carried in a shoulder holster. Taking a rattling breath, he stepped towards the living room door, opened it, and stepped through.

And right into hell.

The limbless corpses of women he’d been proud to consider his mentors were scattered around the floor, their blood soaking the carpet and the once comfortably traditional furniture, and the stench of death hanging heavy in the air. Bile rose in his throat as he noted that the faces of all the corpses shared the same terrified expressions. Shaking his head, he turned towards the door, intent on getting the hell out of the cottage.

The blood drained from his face when he saw the unmistakably demonic writings scribbled all over the walls. He recognised some but not all of the languages and dialects, although in his shocked state he couldn’t concentrate enough to translate it. Dazed, he stumbled out of the house, dropped to his knees and vomited into a near-by flower pot. Once he’d finished throwing up, he reached a shaking hand into his jacket’s inner pocket, pulled out his mobile, and hurried dialled the Watchers’ HQ. "Andrew," he rasped, his throat rough from vomiting. "I need a clean-up team at the Devon Cove, psychics, Watchers, translators, Slayers, and Mages. Hurry!" After hanging up the phone, he allowed the tears to flow.

* * *

"You off to Angel?" his business partner asked.

Lorne nodded at the pink-haired former guitarist that fate had sent his way some eighteen months ago in need of guidance. "Back to the unbeating bosom of Angelcakes," he confirmed. He didn’t want to do it, but the vision was pretty clear. And visceral.

Although that just might have been the part where his former boss got his hands on him. "Oh goody," he muttered. This was going to be less fun than a Vanilla Ice comeback tour.

"I guess we’ll go by car?"

"I sort of stand out at air -," Lorne’s head snapped towards his best friend. "You’re coming with me?"

Oz shrugged, his face wearing its usual stoic expression. "I like to save the world between paying gigs. Call it a hobby."

Lorne beamed. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought. "Let’s pack."

Ears still ringing, Angel rolled to his feet. Spinning around, he saw a quintet of bald, one-eyed bipeds with spiked tails and the physiques of WWE wrestlers. Recognising them as Baldara demons, Angel grimaced. They were dumb, basically just low-level thugs, but very strong and tough.

Gathering his wits, Angel leapt into the air, dropkicking the lead Baldara in the chest. "Shit!" he cursed as his feet slammed into their target and he bounced off the monster’s armour-plated chest. Hitting the ground on his side, he sprang back to his feet just in time to sway away from a three pronged claw strike at his throat.

How did you kill an armour-plated demon, Angel wondered as he snatched up a letter opener from the wreckage that had been his desk and flung it at the monster’s violently green eye. The moment the Baldara made to slap it away, Angel dived forward in a baseball slide, his feet smashing into his adversary’s shins. The Baldara let out a high-pitched scream before pitching forward. Angel rolled away from the plummeting monster, not wanting to get stuck under its six hundred pound body. Standing, he kicked the rising Baldara in its face, knocking it back down to the carpet. Before the monster had chance to rise again, Angel grabbed his desk and flipped it onto the creature’s head, crushing it like a melon.

"That hurt!" Angel vamped out as a claw tore through his left shoulder from behind, blood gushing out of the wound. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he twisted around to face his attacker and snapped a right cross into its face, knocking its head to the side.

The monster grunted and swung at him again. He swayed away from the attack before leaping into the air, wrapping his feet around his attacker’s head and twisting. The creature’s column-like neck snapped like a twig and the monster fell soundlessly to the ground.

Landing on his feet, Angel just managed to duck a decapitating claw-slash, instead taking the blow on his forehead, opening a nasty gash. Blood dripping into his eyes, he staggered backwards.

Suddenly the monster exploded into flames before disintegrating to dust by his feet. Wiping the blood out of his eyes, he blinked at the lithe brunette in front of him, his mouth dropping open in recognition. "Gwen?"

The thief smirked. "Hi Angel, pleased to see me?"

Angel opened his mouth to reply, and then groaned as he noticed something. Another wrecked office, what was this, the fourth? "Office insurance sucks!"

* * *

Her heart pounding with a familiar mixture of fear and excitement, Faith leapt off the fire escape, plummeting towards the demonic trio. Her eyes widened when one of her opponents looked up, and shot out a five-foot long forked tongue. "Shit!" she roared. "Why can’t I meet a stud with a tongue like that?"

Still in mid-flight, she twisted away from the tongue and made to grab it. "FUCK!" she screamed as acid coating the tongue blistered her palm. Tears blurring her vision, she thrust her hunting knife through the tongue. She grinned slightly at the monster’s answering screech. "Like that mother-fucker?"

Landing on the cobbled ground with her knees bent to minimise the impact, she spun away from on of the assassins’ charge, leaving a foot behind for her would-be assailant to trip over. Her eyes widened as she noticed something gleaming on the monster’s hand. "Oh cra-, ah fuck!"

She screamed as her back exploded in blazing agony, her body arching in an instinctive attempt to pull away from the pain. Shaking it off, she saw the forked tongued monster, a grey-skinned giant toad, leaping at her, powered by his massively muscled hind legs. Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the monster’s shoulders, and flung it into the air, impaling it on the fire-escape ladder above.

Head swimming from a combination of blood loss and pain, she turned to face the two surviving demons. One was a short monkey-like creature, the knuckles of its long, ropy arms scraping the ground, kinda reminded her of some of the losers she’d boned back in the day. The other was a dark-skinned, powerfully-built vampire. The vampire leered at her, his lips parting to reveal his fangs. "In three centuries I ain’t never killed a Slayer. Would have done before if I knew how pretty you were."

"Oh yeah? I’m flattered. But I ain’t dead yet," Faith answered with a wolfish smirk. Despite her bluster, Faith knew she was chest-deep in the shit. Out-numbered, with what felt like a knife stuck in her lower back, things did not look or feel good.

Suddenly the monkey launched itself at her, its hands wildly flailing. Grunting with the effort, she turned sideways and thrust kicked the demon in the chest.

The demon crashed into the side of a near-by dumpster, bouncing off to the ground. Even as the demon rose shakily, Faith grabbed a near-by trash-can lid and flung it like a Frisbee. The steel lid sliced through the monster’s neck, sending its head flying through the air.

"Ah!" Faith screamed as the knife in her back was twisted. Eyes tearing, she fell to her knees, the fall’s impact reverberating through her already tortured body. "Oh god," she wheezed.

"So pretty." The vampire purred in her ear. Faith’s skin crawled as his hands began to caress her body. "Oh, I’m going to have fun with -."

The demon grunted as she drove an elbow into his groin. Taking advantage of the offered respite, she staggered to her feet and turned to face the demon. "You want some of this honey," she struggled to take a breath, "come get some."

The beast vamped out. "Gladly." The monster leapt towards her.

And right onto the wooden splinter she’d picked up off the ground. The vampire’s eyes widened a half-second before he exploded into dust. "Well that was easy," Faith blustered. And then her world went black.

* * *

Xander watched as Amy paced the ground in front of him before glancing around their surroundings, a deserted landing strip, one of dozens perhaps hundreds dotted around the continent used by poachers and smugglers alike. "Pacing won’t get the plane here any quicker."

His mild comment earned him a scathing glare. "We have to hurry," the Wicca declared.

He shuffled uncomfortably under the Wicca’s intense gaze. Having been on the bad side of one rampaging witch, he really didn’t want to get on Amy’s bad side. Swallowing down the unease that was choking him, he spoke. "What’s so important about this -."

He was interrupted by the sight of their plane taxing down onto the solitary landing strip. "Thank god," he stood. "Let’s get out of-," his voice trailed off at Amy’s ghostly white face. "What’s up?"

The Wicca pushed the book into his hands. "Get this to Giles. There’s demons coming."

Skin crawling, Xander looked into the surrounding shadows. Failing to see anything, he returned his gaze to his friend. "There’s nothing there," he declared. "And if something does turn up," he reached for his sword, "we’ll fight them off."

"No," Amy shook her head, the Wicca’s face pale in the moonlight. "You can’t fight them. I’ll hold them off."

"What!" Xander exclaimed. "No way. I don’t leav-." Amy nodded to one of the Slayers behind. Something smashed into the back of his head and then nothing.

* * *

Amy nodded as Rona caught Xander’s body as he fell forward. "Get him out of here," she ordered.

Vi looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Remembering the promise she’d made to Willow, she nodded. "Just go!"

The moment the two Slayers hurried towards the plane, carrying Xander’s limp body between them, Amy swung back to the bushes surrounding the tiny airfield. Wiping away the tears rolling down her face, she readied herself. "Oh god," she whispered hoarsely. She didn’t want to die but neither did she want to fail again. She closed her eyes, centring herself, allowing the magic to flow through her.

Her concentration was shattered by an ear-splitting roar. Her breath caught as she opened her eyes to see a ten foot tall, rail-thin, grey-scaled creature with staring black eyes and talons hanging from each of its six arms standing some two hundred yards away. "Oh goddess."

Gathering herself, she sent a surged of magic towards the beast. The monster let out a high-pitched screech before exploding in a mist of yellow viscera. Amy bit her lip as she saw about a dozen of the monsters clamber out of the bush and charge her.

Amy took a breath as she allowed the black magic enter her, turning her clothes, hair, and eyes as black as the night itself, and empowering her more than she’d ever been before. She’d sworn she’d never use the dark arts again, but in a few minutes it wouldn’t matter. Behind her she heard the plane taking off. She smirked, she’d kept her word, made it up to Willow.

Amy unleashed her power, obliterating demon after demon. Her eyes widened as one of the demons made it through her attacks. Before she could react, his claws ripped through her.

* * *

"Michelle! Pass me that table cloth!" Buffy ordered, one eye on the hovering helicopter. She nodded her thanks at the French Slayer as she did as she was told.

"What are you going to do?"

Buffy gestured Dawn to silence even as she tied a lasso and flung it towards the fire extinguisher fastened to the wall beside the bar. She grinned as the lasso fell perfectly around the extinguisher’s neck. "Always wanted to be a cow-girl," she muttered before yanking.

Slayer strength tore the extinguisher from the wall, taking with it some plaster, and sent it rolling towards her. "Bella! What are you doing?" yelled the Immortal over the threatening rattle of machine gun-fire.

"This!" Buffy exclaimed. Rising the moment the guns fell silent, she flung the extinguisher at the helicopter’s pilot with all her might.

The cockpit’s glass shattered under the force of an enraged Slayer’s attack; a half-second later, the makeshift missile smashed into the pilot’s helmet en-route to smashing into his skull, splattering the cockpit with blood even as the man’s neck snapped. The two gunmen’s faces contorted in horror as the helicopter dropped like a stone.

"Yes!" Buffy turned to her companions, her elation dying as she saw the carnage wrecked in an attempt to kill her. Twisted bodies lay all over, their blood drenching the carpet, pain-filled wails and hysterical sobs from the injured filled the air. An empty feeling forming in her stomach, she turned to the others. "Whoever did this, dies," she declared.

Haifa, Israel

Hannah Cohen stifled a yawn as she watched the booming nightclub from across the busy road. Over the past month, six teens had disappeared from the area surrounding the new hotspot in town. The rumour mill had a number of theories including organised crime, terrorists, and just plain runaways.

But she knew the truth. Two nights ago her Watcher and her, she glanced up at the beautiful former American cop stood beside her in the shadows of a book store, had found one of the missing teens in an alley drained of his blood. Vampires. Hannah felt her hackles rise at just the word.

Forcing her instinctive loathing under control, Hannah spoke to her companion. "That car has been sat watching the club for a long time," she nodded towards a battered, blue-grey hatchback parked across the road, one building down from the club.

"Well done child," her Watcher nodded, the ghost of a smile flickering across hrt lips. "But don’t worry about them. Just policemen running surveillance."

Hannah hid a smile, proud of the rare praise from the former detective, Lockley. "But what will we do about them if there’s a vampire outside the club?"

The former cop opened her mouth to reply. Her head snapped to the right at the sound of a car screeching down the road towards them. "What the-."

Hannah screamed as a gun muzzle poked out of the car’s open window. Bullets jetted out of the gun, ripping through her and her Watcher before the car sped away. Hannah’s last thoughts as she plummeted to the ground was that she’d never get to see inside of the club.

Or her Mamma again.

* * *

Vancouver, Canada

Becky danced eagerly from foot to foot as she observed the depilated warehouse she and her two fellow Slayers were going to raid tonight, a warehouse apparently occupied by a group of 6 – 8 vampires. As a member of one of Canada’s trio of three Slayer and one Watcher teams situated in her home nation’s largest cities of Tronto, Vancouver, and Montreal, she’d been handling such routine missions for just over two years, so tonight’s mission was nothing special. No, the reason for her excitement was some thrilling news her Watcher had shared with them the previous day.

He’d told them that Robin Wood and Faith Lehane, the Council’s mobile troubleshooters, would be visiting Canada’s teams next week. She was going to meet actual legends. True they weren’t actual Scoobies, she’d die if she ever Mr. Giles or Ms. Summers, but they were part of the Sunnydale legend.

"Hey kid." A hand affectionally ruffled her hair. "Calm down, or there’s no more coffee for you."

Becky grinned up at the gorgeous, model-like red-head beside her. "Sorry Trish." Being a Slayer was a hard deal, but it would be a lot harder without Trish and Jo, her fellow Slayers who treated her like a little sister, it would be a lot harder.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready." Trish nodded at her Watcher, a haughty Quebecer by the name of Jules Fontaine. Once her fellow Slayers had murmured their assent, they crept towards the building.

Once there, Fontaine placed some C4 on the thick double doors. "Step back," he ordered in the exotically-accented voice she’d originally found sexy until she had got to know the annoyingly conceited French-Canadian. Once they’d all stepped back, Fontaine pressed on the detonator. The door imploded dramatically, propelling splinters into the building. "Inside!"

The three of them and their Watcher burst into the shadowy warehouse, rushing through the building. Trish’s mouth dried with terror as she sensed the demonic presences surrounding them from all sides. Far too many for the small band they believed were here, maybe 25 – 30 in total. They were dead.

Forcing her trembling limbs to steady, she hefted her stake. She swore to sell her life as dearly as possible. A suited vampire stepped out of the shadows and smirked at them all in turn before speaking. "Kill them."

* * *

Hat Yai, Thailand

Tears rolling down her cheeks and lungs heaving, Sunee pushed her aching body as she ran through the maze-like streets of one of Hat Yai’s many shanty-towns, the fetid, heavy air making sweat pour off her. Her mind reeled as she thought about her friends, her fellow Slayers, slaughtered in a surprise attack on their home. Now, she sobbed deep in her throat as she careered around a narrow corner made even tighter by the refuse dumped there, she was alone and running.

Sunee screamed as the back of a rickety house exploded and an eight-foot biped lizard bounded out to block the way ahead. Sunee backed up as she looked up at the towering beast, her blood chilling as she saw the spade-sized hands that had dismembered her friends and the blood-stained fangs that had fed on their corpses.

Gathering her courage, she drew her sword. The lizard roared before charging her, its hand slamming into the side of head with such force as to break her neck.

* * *

Perth, Australia

Arana smiled at her friends, the two white Slayers who were now closer to her than even her Aborigine friends. But then, she stifled a sigh, her childhood friends were part of her pre-Slayer life.

"You okay Arana?"

She nodded meekly at Louise, the daughter of one of Australia’s most powerful businessmen. "I’m fine," she answered. How strange that some mystical power would pick her, a dirt poor Aborigine, and Louise, a wealthy white girl, two teens with nothing in common as its warriors.

But the gods had spoken and her people always obeyed. Duty was a harsh mistress sometimes. "Patrol was quiet tonight," commented Marie, the third of their trio, a buxom brunette who like Carol was three years older than her fifteen but was at least from a similar class as her.

"Yes it was," Louise agreed as they reached their Watcher’s house, a three storey colonial house in Perth’s comfortably middle-class suburbs. "Calm before the storm probably." Arana grimaced, silently agreeing with her companion’s appraisal. "Anyway," Louise irritably flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder, Arana abstractedly wondered how anyone could ever be annoyed with hair that looked like flowing gold, "at least we’re home now." Louise pulled her keys out of her Gucci purse, Arana smiled inwardly as she remembered her friend buying her one, an act of casual kindness that was so like her. She didn’t care about Summers or Lehane, or any of the other Slayers, none compared to Louise in her book. "There it is!" The tall blonde slid the key into the lock and turned it. Arana heard a click, then another click, and then the ground shook as an eardrum-bursting explosion erupted from within their home.

The last thing she saw was a ball of fire rushing towards her.

* * *

Oslo, Norway

Aud coughed, the blood that spurted from her mouth staining the crisp white snow she was laid upon. She shivered helplessly, pain shooting through her body at even the slightest movement but the biting cold winds whipping at her ensuring she didn’t have a choice. She had to wonder what would kill her first, her wounds or the biting cold.

"ARR! YAR! GRR!" The ground shook under the gruff bellow. The shaking only increased under the approach of a pair of heavy feet pounding the ground.

"Well that," she coughed again and laughed weakly. "Answers that," seconds later, a sixteen foot tall, massively muscled man with craggy features and a long, swirling beard was stood above her.

"Little one!" her head thundered with the giant’s boom. "You fight well, killed Magne’s brother. But now," she shrieked as the giant roughly yanked her off the ground. Her head slumped into her chest, blood dribbling down her chest as she breathed rattlingly, unable to resist her adversary. "You die!" Her bones popped as the giant began to squeeze.

Her last thought as death engulfed her was that even knowing about vampires she’d have never guessed the old Norse legends were true.

* * *

Hamburg, Germany

The combined smell of the sewage and salt wafting in from Hamburg’s busiest port made Elke’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Desperate to take her mind off the stench, she turned to her Watcher, a wiry man barely a couple of inches taller than her 5’5. "Dieter," she was careful to put a whine in her voice and a pout in her lips. "Why do we have to patrol here? It stinks!"

As usual her plea fell on stony ground. "Just because these people work in less than ideal circumstances does not mean they deserve protection from the forces of evil."

"But why do I have to-."

"Because Germany’s other Slayers were assigned to other cities."

"And that," her heart stopped when a sleekly suited man, no not a man, a vampire, stepped out of the shadows ahead of them, flanked by a quartet of demons she recognised as Polgara demons from her studies. "Is why they MIGHT live through tonight. You on the other hand," the demon morphed out. "Will die. Kill them."

* * *

Santa Cruz, Bolivia

Morela ran through the darkened streets, conscious of every noise, every footstep, every slammed door, every raised voice, her heart pounding in terror, images of her murdered Watcher flashing before her. A strangled sob escaped her, she’d loved Pepe, he’d taken her out of one of Bolivia’s cramped orphanages, raised her as his own daughter, and in turn she’d loved him with a child’s love. And now he was dead, sacrificing his own life so she’d have a chance to escape.

Seeing a ten foot wooden fence up ahead, Morela forced herself to concentrate, lengthening her stride as she powered over the fence. Hearing the sound of something whirling towards her, she raised her right hand to ward it off even as she looked towards her.

And screamed as a throwing star ripped through her fingers, chopping two off at the knuckle. Grace forgotten in a world of pain, she hit the dirt-packed ground face-first. It took her a second to steel herself to twist her head and stare in dazed disbelief at her mutilated hand, the blood pumping out of the stumps staining the ground. Gathering herself, she pulled herself up to her knees.

In time to see a double-bladed axe swing at her neck.

* * *

A Private Plane Over The Atlantic

"MY GIRLS!" The red-head’s body arched up, convulsing wildly as she burst awake from her fitful sleep. "They’re killing my girls!"

In an instant Kennedy was by her lover’s side. "Will," she whispered into the shaking witch’s ear even as she struggled to hold down the wildly twitching red-head, shocked by her strength. "It’s alright."

"It’s not alright," fat tears rolled down Willow’s eyes even as she babbled. "My girls! My girls!"

"Gwen?" Angel blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you sugah," the thief purred.

"Who is this woman, Angel?"

Gwen glanced towards Groo and smirked. "This woman’s too expensive for you, judging from your clothes. Shame," Gwen licked her lips before turning back to him. "Recognise the brat, but who’s the body?"

"The brat!"

Angel motioned his son to silence. "Gwen, please," he pleaded. "What’s going on here?"

The striking brunette’s face turned serious. "Not here. Place has been compromised."

Angel nodded. He could already hear the approaching sirens. "Let’s go."

* * *

"Gunn’s dead?" Gwen couldn’t believe it. The first, the only, man she’d ever been with, dead.

"I’m afraid so," Angel confirmed. "Fred and Wes too." The vampire paused. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Collecting herself, she nodded. "I heard a rumour about a hit being organised. I wasn’t really interested until I heard another rumour about it being on a Champion. I did some digging and found you were in town, so I headed down to warn you."

"Thanks," the vampire said. "Any idea who organised it?"

"No, but it’s big. Five million."

Connor whistled. "Wolfram & Hart?" the vampire’s son suggested.

"Perhaps," Angel retorted. "But I’d think they’d have their hands full with putting themselves back together, internal power struggles, and the like."

"Then who?" Connor queried.

"I don’t know."

* * *

New York

Riley looked up from the reports he’d been given an hour ago, upon his arrival at a hidden bunker just off from an unused subway tunnel. "Is all this right?" he queried. "Am I reading this correctly?"

He was dismayed when Control nodded. "Ever since the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, demonic activity has increased at an exponential ra-."

"Excuse me sir," Graham’s voice echoed through the cavernous chamber. "Wouldn’t closing the Hellmouth have cut down on the amount of demonic activity?"

"No," Control shook his head. "In point of fact," Riley hid a grin. It was phrases like that that made him wonder if the pudgy man they knew as Control was a former Watcher. "We think the Hellmouth acted as a sort of a magnet, drawing the significant players there. Now it’s more widespread."

There was a few seconds of silence. "And the increase in natural disasters?" asked Sam, her face intent.

"The earthquakes, hurricanes, flash flooding, volcanoes, and avalanches are all indicators of Mother Nature attempting to fight back against hell’s advances."

"Uh, uh." Ever the sceptic, Graham raised an eyebrow. "And of course you have proof?"

"Yes," Control nodded before reaching up to massage a chubby cheek. "A widely discredited prophet, Aramis The Eloquent -."

"Whoa," Graham interrupted. "Widely discredited, you," his friend looked over to him, "heard that right?"

"I heard that," Riley agreed.

He winced slightly at the glimmer in Control’s eyes. If he was any judge a trap had been well and truly set and triggered. "Widely discredited because of his far-fetched apocalypse prophecy. Which," Control paused, possibly for dramatic effect, "has now come true."

Riley winced. "Let’s hear it," he prompted.

Control read from the papers on the rickety desk between them. "At the mouth of hell, surrounded by many Slayers," Graham groaned theatrically at the mention of Slayers, "shall the ensoulled member of Aurelius die to save the world. And yet be reborn, only to finally die with a fallen Old One defending the world against The Wolf, The Ram, & The Hart." Control paled as he continued. "And one year from then shall the final battle commence."

"That vampire but would be William the Bloody, correct?" Control nodded. Riley winced, any prophecy mentioning Spike; that had to be bad news. "So what are we going to do?"

"The Council have been informed," Riley heard Graham swore under his breath. "You’ll be on a flight to England in two hours."

While Graham continued to swear, Riley winced. Graham still held a grudge against Buffy for Forrest dying, refusing to accept that without the Scoobies they’d have all died. He on the other hand had long since made peace with his ex. It was his turn to swear as he realised something, Faith was another matter entirely.

* * *

"Oh crap."

Noise washing out from the emptying clubs forced Faith to wakefulness. Groaning, Faith pushed herself up to her knees, conscious of the blood dripping down her face from a cut on her forehead. "Shit." She spat out a pair of teeth before using the near-by wall to drag herself to her feet, sobbing hysterically at the shakiness of her limbs. Noting something gleaming on the ground, she reached down and picked it up before stumbling off.

* * *

"Wood! Wood! Wood!"

Wood groaned at the weak but insistent pounding on his hotel room door. His eyes bulged as they fell on the clock beside his bed. "Four-fifty?" he groaned. Faith was an amazing girl with plenty of great qualities, but her lack of discipline and dedication to her duties was appalling. What was worse was all the younger Slayers idolising her. "Faith! It’s the middle of the night!"

"Please, Woodie, I need help!"

He suddenly recognised the pain and fear in his ex’s voice. Leaping up, he hurried to the door and flung it open. He had a split-second to register the Bostonian’s blood-stained face, her dilated eyes, and misshapen mouth before she fell into his arms. His eyes widened at the ornate dagger jutting out of her back, and the signet ring she’d dropped to the carpet. "Oh my god," he breathed. "The Order."

* * *

Heathrow Airport

Kennedy glanced with concern at her girl-friend. During their flight the Wicca had begun to recover, regaining her colour and calm. Still, her eyes were still glazed over. "You feeling better honey?"

Her girl-friend nodded as they passed through passport control, their Council IDs ensuring them priority clearance. "I’ll feel a lot better when we’re at the Council Head Quarters."

"Then let’s go."

* * *

Xander groaned as he fought his way back to consciousness, his head pounding. After counting to five he forced his eyes open. It took him a few more seconds before he was able to focus enough to see his Slayers peering down anxiously at him. He opened his mouth several times before finally managing to speak. "Whooy blihit meez?" The Slayers exchanged puzzled looks, he tried again. "Who hit me?"

Both Slayers flinched at his tone. Finally Rona spoke. "It was me."

"Damn it!" Pushing aside the vertigo, he struggled to his feet, and glared at both girls. "How could you?"

"Willow made us prom -."

"Damn it!" Xander slammed his fist into the wall of the cargo plane. He’d thought he’d finally escaped Sunnydale, that he was his own man. But no, he was still helpless Xander, who needed to be kept safe. His heart chilled. "What about Amy?" His companions failed to reply. "Answer me!" he exploded.

"S..she’s dead."

Rona’s answer hit him like a thunderbolt. Another Sunnydaler dead. When would it end?

* * *

Andrew rushed out of the cottage to throw up in the garden for the third time. Not that Giles blamed the lad. Even battle-hardened veterans were having trouble with the carnage, two of the Council psychics, and an empath were all receiving counselling. Another was in a coma.

"What a mess," Giles sighed. For him the first shock had faded, to be replaced by his usual cool consideration. Far from all the writings had been translated as of yet, but those that had indicated something bad was on the way. No, something very bad.

"Mr. Giles?" he turned to see his pale-faced personal assistant. "It seems my manliness trai-."

"Quite alright Andrew," he soothed while all the time wondering what had possessed him to hire the nitwit in the first place. Oh yes, that was it, pity. "Completely understandable." The boy shuffled from foot to foot. "What is it Andrew?"

"Um, five minutes before you rang, Wood did. Apparently the Order," his blood chilled at this blast from the past, "attempted to murder the formerly rogue Miss LeHane. She survived but -."

"And you forgot to mention it until now?"

Andrew paled at his growl. "Well, with all -."

"I’m sure there’s some job you should be doing." He dismissed Andrew from his thoughts as the little plonker scurried away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his mobile and hurried dialled Wood’s number. "Yes, Robin? I’m afraid I only just got the message. How is she?"

* * *

"Bella, are you sure about this?"

Buffy glared at her boyfriend. "I tend to get snippy when people try and kill me."

"Oh, does she ever."

She ignored Dawn’s mutter as they all clambered into the Immortal’s spotlessly white sports car. "Who will have organised this hit?" she pressed, having already asked the question a number of times.

The Immortal sighed. "Very well. Don Franco runs all criminal activity in the country. He’ll have supplied the hit-men if not actually ordered it himself."

"Why haven’t you closed him down?"

The Immortal shrugged at Dawn’s question. "My responsibilities over the supernatural side of the city leave me little time for more mundane evil-doers."

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. "That changes now."

* * *

"I was only 24 hours from Tulsa!"

Oz glanced at his singing companion and smiled. "I suppose the extra two hundred I spent on the car radio was a waste." Turning his attention back to the road, Oz’s brow furrowed as he considered the possible dangers awaiting them. If nothing else, things would be interesting.

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