TITLE: Nightscape, part 2
AUTHOR: Memnoch
EMAIL: clarkk3nt@aol.com
RATING: NC-17
CONTENT: Extreme violence, lots of language, m/m sex (non-consensual), bondage, Angel/Xander, Xander/Buffy. This story contains graphic imagery, not for the faint of heart!
SPOILERS: Little bit dealing with Faith.
SUMMARY: The vampire who's spent a good portion of eternity causing evil must now fight the evil that threatens to destroy his lover. Warning - as with part 1, this story is not for the faint of heart.
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, as long as you email me to let me know.
FEEDBACK: Anything at all you'd like to say, I'll eagerly listen! I also try to respond to all the feedback I get.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Read Nightscape, part 1 (can be found at www.deadboyandxander.com) before even attempting to read this. Also, this story deals somewhat with ceremonial Wiccan practice, and although I've taken time to research some angles, I've also taken liberties with the religion. In writing the ritual, I've adapted the works of Silver Ravenwolf and Gerald Schueler. The word "magick" (with the letter "k" at the end) is used in Wicca to seperate a Witch's ritual magick from slight-of-hand/illusionistic magic done by magicians like David Copperfield. As for content, if you're looking for mushy love, this isn't what you want. It's a horror story, plain and simple.
SPECIAL THANKS: Thanks to Lilakdragn for helping me beta this fic! I'd also like to thank anyone who's given me feedback in the past; any writer will tell you that it is a wonderful feeling to both give and receive feedback on works.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters -- "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" was created by Joss Whendon and is owned by a bunch of companies that I have nothing to do with. Oh, and if you're under-age or not mature enough, don't read this please!
FINAL NOTE: This story was very difficult for me to write. The entire Nightscape fiction, although only two parts long, took an extremely long and taxing amount of writing and drafts before it turned out the way it did. I went through five endings before finally becoming happy with the conclusion. Therefore, I need a breather. This is my last fic... at least for the near future. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I liked writing it. I love everyone at Whiteknight -- you are so supportive of your writers! I can't wait to see what stories appear next on the list! Thanks for reading.
Memnoch
Nightscape
by Memnoch
* * * * * * * * *
"Every person, all the events of your life are there because you have drawn them there. What you choose to do with them is up to you."
- Richard Bach, "Illusions"
* * * * * * * * *
- 1 -
The apartment - 2:05 a.m.
"Guys, we're b--" The Slayer, flanked by Amy and Willow, didn't bother to finish her sentence. The redhead had a few old texts tucked safely in the crook of her arm, while Amy carried a set of matching brown paper bags. All three felt the cold chill as they entered the apartment, and Buffy's heart began to race when she noticed the breath expelled by her last words was visible in the freezing air. Something wasn't right, something far worse than before. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and all three young women let their eyes fall to the living room.
"Oz?" Willow asked, fear immediately creeping into her voice. The man in question was huddled in the corner near the sliding glass balcony doors. His face and the fingers of one hand shivered and pressed against the surface of the glass. His glassy eyes were lined with red from tears. Amy nearly dropped the bags, but as calmly as she could, she set them on the floor. Buffy held out her arms in silent direction for Willow and Amy not to approach Oz before they made sure he was truly Oz.
Buffy slowly crept closer to his quavering frame as the two Witches still stayed near the front door. The lead guitarist for Dingoes Ate My Babies was whimpering, his face nuzzled in his arms, his clothes disheveled and streaks of blood highlighting the lines of his hands. "Oz?" The Slayer said, her voice quiet and soothing.
Oz's head flinched and his eyes were suddenly plastered onto her face. "I... C-cordelia... I.... she's, uh, I..."
But even as Oz struggled to get the words out, Buffy's head turned and saw the object of Oz's bewilderment. Cordelia's still form lying amongst the rubble of the shattered coffee table. Crimson-laced glass sparkled morbidly on her body, her face and arms scraped and marbleized with blood.
At first, her heart rose in her throat and the Slayer was certain the ex-cheerleader was dead. She managed a sigh of relief when she saw Cordelia's chest moving ever-so-slightly up and down. The unpaced rise and fall of her lungs was distinct enough to show she was in no danger dying, only of getting a harsh concussion and perhaps some stitches. She turned to Willow and Amy. "She's alive."
Willow put her hands over her mouth, not even concerned with Cordelia's health, but rather losing her mind over Oz's condition. Against Buffy's small protest, she went to her fiancé and put her arms around him, letting him cry on her shoulder. "Shh... she's alive, Oz; you didn't hurt anyone. You could never hurt anyone..." Her voice, soothing and motherly, relaxed his body and he pulled away, his wits together, and leaned against the wall.
"What happened?" Amy asked, surveying the scene. Her tone rose as she realized that no one else was in the room. "Where's Angel and the others?"
Oz blinked, for a moment not even registering what she said. When Buffy turned to him, the same questioning look of concern on her face as Amy, he remembered. "Angel broke down..." He closed his eyes, trying to stop the shaking that racked his body. "He ran into the bedroom, and Anya and Giles went after him. I-I... I heard a, uh, a scream. Two screams, and I thought..."
"Oz, it's okay," Buffy tried to soothe. "Just calm down, you're going to send yourself into shock. Breathe and--"
"Oh God, I thought I killed her!"
Although she hated to put anything else over a friend's feelings, Buffy had no choice but to ignore his pleas. There was more to be afraid
of than Oz's condition at the present. Her eyes wandered purposefully over to the bedroom, and a sudden sense of de ja vu washed over her. Only hours ago was she faced with the same situation -- a closed door, a disturbing silence, and the knowledge that something bad was going on behind that door.
"Buffy?" Amy asked. "Are you all right?"
"No," the Slayer responded. She turned back to Oz. "How long have they been in there?"
Oz swallowed and searched his mind. "An hour... maybe longer. Don't know... I'm not sure."
"Christ..."
- 2 -
Nightscape - no time
The sound was piercing. There was a loudness about the room, a high-pitched wail that showed no intention of stopping. And yet, the room was dead silent. Not a sound. But in his mind, in the vampire's psyche, that scream wouldn't die. He lay there, his hands cupped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, afraid of opening them to see the truth. That piercing roar.
The demons were speaking amongst themselves. The black hole of the room was void, barren, and totally bleak, save for the simple, four-post bed off to the side. There were no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Just them, in the Nightscape. The door sat nearby; the door that would take them back to the real world, the apartment -- safety. Xander's body was on the bed, lying on his side, his legs bunched up against his chest. He was still clad only in torn, wet boxers. Layers of sweat evaporated before they could drip from the slick, white flesh of his face. His eyes were no longer instruments of sight; now the ocular cavities served only as two gaping black pits, filled with the green light of preternatural activity. The voices continued to speak in their incessant babble that was far removed from human language.
Giles was face-down on the floor, his neck crusting over with blackened, coagulated blood, spilled from the wound Angel had drank from. His glasses were on the floor beside him, broken, one lens cracked and the other lying in hundreds of tiny shimmering shards on the floor. His mouth hung slightly ajar, saliva oozing down his chin, his eyes glazed and open, but unseeing.
Angel rose to his hands and knees, forcing his eyes to open. The thunderclap bellowed inside his mind and pressed against his temples. He saw Giles beside him and felt his stomach rising. The taste of the Englishman was still on his tongue; the sweet, hot blood was still warm in his mouth. "Rupert?" He immediately cringed at the sound of his own voice. It was the rough, hoarse, beaten voice of a man who had lost it. But he wasn't really a man, now, was he? Angel shook his head and fought back the nausea. He touched Giles, pressing his fingers gently against the man's neck, feeling for a pulse.
"It's disgusting to play with your food." The voices spoke. Their combination was just as awkward and nearly unintelligible as before. Angel winced and shrank back a few feet. He could smell them. Xander wreaked of darkness. It wafted off of him like the scent of a newly-made fledgling. Angel cringed, fear creeping through his cold body. As Xander spoke, he could see the haze of breath coming from his mouth. It was below freezing in the room.
"We're no longer in a room." Xander replied to Angel's thoughts. "Just Nightscape, no more, no less." The voices laughed bitterly. "A place of the mind." He spoke, his face a sour, pallid yellow. The glowing green of his eyes flashed brighter for a second, and emerald steam rose into the air around them from the cavities. Finally, he sat up on the bed and stood, his body moving towards Angel. The vampire froze, unable to move from his dog-like position on the floor. Xander reached out with a clammy hand and brushed it lightly over Angel's human visage. "Welcome home."
"Don't touch me," Angel forced out, and pulled his face away from the touch. Xander's hand was colder than the vampire's own skin.
"Angel, please touch me... please." Xander asked. It was Xander's voice. Angel cowered on his hands and knees, his head falling down, his face inches from Xander's bare feet
Angel whimpered, tears almost free from his eyes. "I can't help you..."
"Just touch me." He moaned, and Angel rose his head to see that his lover's boxer shorts were gone. Xander's flaccid, limp organ now hung before him, the scent of arousal drowning the vampire's senses. Angel brought his hand up and stroked it, causing a slight stir. It began to rise and he leaned forward, still on his knees, and put Xander's member inside his mouth.
The voices moaned, but Angel only heard Xander moan. He rolled the hardening manhood around in his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue, sucking it with the muscles of his jaw. Xander began to slowly pump his hips in time to Angel's sucking. "Just... j-just there... touch..."
Angel's hands were on Xander's naked hips, but as he felt his own arousal pressing against the inseam of his pants, he brought them down to his crotch to relieve the pressure. Xander saw this, and he grabbed Angel's arms, bringing them back up to his hips. "No... just me. Just touch me," the demons spoke in unison. Angel couldn't hear their demands over the screaming howl in his brain. "Just let me fuck your face, you blood-sucking cum-swallower."
The vampire froze his actions and his eyes rose to Xander's face. The demons looked down at him through Xander's eyes and Xander's mouth slithered into a coarse grin. "I'm fucking your face, Dead-boy."
Angel's mind whirred and he tried to pull back, but Xander's hands were on the back of his head before he could even try. Xander bucked forward hard, pressing his hardness against the back of Angel's throat. The vampire gagged, but Xander pushed harder. "LET ME FUCK YOUR FACE!" The voices screamed, and Angel could feel Xander's member growing harder than it should have. It's long shaft went past the wall in the back of Angel's throat and began to go down his esophagus. "SHUT UP!" He bellowed as Angel's gags produced harsh, heaving sounds.
Angel fell forward and coughed up blood as Xander ripped himself out of the vampire's throat. He stared at the blood on the floor, his headache reaching its peak, Xander's commands and the screaming of the voices sending him over the edge. He barely had time to gather his strength as Xander picked him up off the floor -- by the waistband of his pants and the nape of his bare neck -- and tossed him onto the bed. He flew for a few feet and then crashed onto the hard mattress, face down. His head was bleeding at one temple and, even as a vampire, he felt an enormous amount of pain from what he believed was a dislocated shoulder. "Xander..."
The voices told him to shut up. He did. He felt his arms being pulled outward and then the chains that had once held Xander were being clasped around his wrists. The bed was spinning, and he closed his eyes to make it stop. His feet were secured to the lower two bedposts, and his hands were quickly fastened as well. "Xander... please don't..."
"Our name isn't Xander." The boy said as he ripped off the vampire's hindering pants and slid into Angel quickly. Both moaned, one in pleasure and the other in pain. Xander closed his eyes and began to rhythmically pump in and out of Angel's rear, his tongue hanging from between his lips like a dog in heat. The vampire squirmed as much as he could, but the chains made it impossible to do anything that would give him a means of escaping.
Xander's hand came under his hips and grabbed onto Angel's hardness, stroking it in time to his plunges. The situation, horrific and painful, was enough for Angel's own inner demon to rise to the occasion, in more than one way. He found himself enjoying the simple movement of Xander's rough, unlubricated phallus tearing in and out, while the clammy, cold hand stroked him. He let out a tiny gasp, and this time it was of enjoyment. Groaning. Sliding. Grinding. Xander's sweaty chest ran against Angel's wet, naked back, sliding over the tight, toned muscles that ran beneath his undead flesh. Bucking his knees, Xander continued to masturbate Angel as he thrust harder and faster, while the vampire felt his resistance dying and the want to come even more inviting.
The voices cried out, but the language was indecipherable. Xander's hand suddenly paused and squeezed Angel's part, which sent both of them over the top. As the black, demonic seed shot into Angel, the vampire ejaculated into Xander's palm with a scream. Xander's hand became a rubbery glove of semen as he continued to pump Angel and thrust those final, post-orgasmic thrusts into the bowels of his partner.
Angel closed his eyes once more, unable to let himself realize that he had enjoyed it as much as the voices had. He felt Xander's face now buried in the crevice between his thighs, lapping at the excess jizzum as it creamed out from his rectum with his tongue. The sensation was enough to almost make him explode again, and when Xander's tongue came up his face with large licks, smearing the demon's creamy semen all over his cheeks and mouth, he wasn't ashamed. His mind was going on him, the mind that had kept him alive for two and a half centuries. He could feel sanity slipping away. The Xander Harris that Angel had come to love was buried so far inside the voices that he wasn't sure if he could ever reach him again. Just an eternity of torture. What's another couple hundred years?
The sound of the door opening didn't catch his warped attention, but the scent of a fresh body did. The scent of Buffy. That familiar residue of the outdoors, of stakes carved from fresh pine, and the leather jacket she'd worn for the last eight years of her life. Angel's head didn't move, but he opened the slits of his eyes wide enough to see a silhouette of her image, her form, standing in the doorway light like some savior. He might have mumbled her name, although later he wouldn't remember if he'd actually spoke it or not in his condition.
Xander's face jerked around and he watched Buffy with a quiet curiosity. Remembrance came into his eyes and he grinned that unholy uncharacteristic demonic grin. A flash of ivory-white teeth, each shaved to a delicate razor-sharp tip. A sparkle of emerald in the face. "Hello."
Buffy stood stationary in the entrance to Nightscape, and she kept her focus on the face of Xander. "I came to take back my friends. That includes Xander."
"I remember you," the voices cooed. "I dug my cock into your tight little cunt. You fought a lot. But you had a nice little pussy."
Buffy took a step forward. "Do you talk like that in front of your mother? If I was her, I'd wash out your mouth with soap."
Xander didn't reply, but he looked down at Angel again. "Poor guy. it's so much more fun when you fight." His attention went back to the Slayer. "Angel fucked your Watcher."
She gulped, and tried not to let his words affect her. She couldn't allow him to control her thoughts, as he had everyone else. This wasn't Xander in any form except body, and she had to remember that she was dealing with an extremely dangerous demon.
"Yup yup. Fucked him, raped him, worked him over real good. And he sucked him dry."
This heightened her senses, and Buffy saw Giles lying on the floor near the bed. The gaping wounds on his neck were not fresh, but small trickles of blood still oozed from the crusty wounds. "Son of a bitch," she mumbled. "You motherfucking son of a--"
"Ah, now watch it missy. I'll wash your mouth out. With shit." And with that, the voices erupted into an obnoxious, hysterical fit of laughter. He laughed and cackled until he was bawling, the black tears running down his face like cheap, water-soluble mascara. Buffy could only stay still, the muscles in her stomach tightening, her own eyes wanting to release tears.
She looked at Giles, unable to tell from her distance if he was still alive or not. Slowly she made her way to him and bent over, running her hand along his face. His skin was cool, but not freezing. Her fingers slid beneath his jawbone and pressed against the flesh that shielded the unharmed side of his throat. A pulse. Weak, but steady.
Buffy looked up at the bed and Xander was gone.
Angel was on his stomach, his bare feet hanging off one end of the bed and his arms hanging over the opposite side. Blood was running down one leg and gathering on the ball of his foot. He was awake, but his eyes were empty. Buffy quickly stood up and looked around. "Xander?"
No response from anywhere. The room was dead silent. Buffy felt her heart racing, and wished she could see easier in the dim, enormous space. Angel moaned from the bed and she walked over to him. Sweat greased over her face and hands as she continuously searched the area for Xander's presence. "Xander?" She wanted to throw up from fear, but she held it back using that same panic.
At that moment the room was itself again. Giles was still on the floor, and Angel was still on the bed, but the room was a room. Walls, a ceiling, pictures on those walls and a desk in the corner. A lamp on the table next to the bed. Buffy, bewildered, sat down next to Angel. She felt as if she was in a trance, but the sounds of crickets outside and the muggy hotness of the room seemed to validate that this was, in fact, very real. "Angel?"
He looked up at her with sincerity and desolation in his appearance. His chest was a battered, beaten, bruised surface. Purple welts lined the flesh, while patches of blood decorated his torso and private regions. Only his face remained unblemished by harm, although his countenance suggested that this was a man who had been broken in both body and spirit. He forced his mouth to open, wincing at the dry, chapped feeling. "I can't... help him anymore. I'm weak. He... he needs me and I, I c-can't help him."
The door to the bedroom, which had been ajar slightly, now slammed shut. Both of them jumped, and Buffy stood. Angel propped himself up against the headboard, his eyes widening. "He's going to kill us." The room was as it was. No walls, no floor, no ceiling, no semblance of reality. A void of blackness, of entropy. The door stood in it's bizarreness some distance away from them. Buffy screamed and ran to it, slamming her fists against the thick wood.
"Willow! Open the door!" She cried out, her hands finding the doorknob and realizing it wouldn't budge. She pounded her fists and continued screaming, wondering in the back of her mind if perhaps Xander hadn't left them in the room and escaped to the outside world, leaving them trapped.
Angel buried his face in the bed and sobbed, his fingers digging into the hard mattress and his naked body writhing on the sheet-less bed. "Oh God, we're going to die... we're going to die in here..."
- 3 -
The apartment - 2:24 a.m.
Willow and Amy were unpacking the supplies from the paper bags when they heard Buffy's pleas for help. The door slammed shut and then all they could hear was the Slayer, her voice screeching. Amy dropped the candles she held onto the floor, their glass containers shattering. Oz jerked up from his position of rest on the sofa, but Cordelia was in the other bedroom, unconscious, and she stayed that way.
The two Witches bolted across the room, while Oz remained on the sofa, his face anxious and startled. Willow was there first, and she tried the doorknob. It was stuck -- locked from the inside.
"Buffy!" She screamed through the door. The two-inch surface separated them and there was no means of getting through to either side. "Break it down!" Willow advised.
There was no sound from the bedroom. Amy put her ear to the door. "Buffy?"
They could hear sobbing, but whether it was Angel or Buffy they couldn't tell, for the crying was too soft. Both of them held their breath, waiting for some sort of sign from inside of the bedroom. Angel's voice broke through the silence.
"NO!"
Something slammed against the door, shaking it violently. Both girls jumped back. Buffy screamed, her voice piercing and full of terror. Willow had never heard that scream before, and she put one hand on the door. "Buffy..."
"WILLOW, OPEN THE GOD-DAMN FUCKING--"
Another scream, and a metal tip came through the middle of the door. The sharp metal was covered in blood, which ran down and began to collect on the carpet. Both girls screamed, and then the metal was gone, leaving an empty, inch-long slit in the door, through which blood was coursing.
* * *
Nightscape - no time
Buffy couldn't see Xander. Angel was lying on the bed. Suddenly, Willow's voice came through the air: "Buffy! Break it down!" Her best friend screamed through the barricade. The Slayer was relieved to realize that Xander hadn't escaped, but that meant he was still in Nightscape with her. And she couldn't see him. That made things bad.
"Slayer," the voices called out to her.
Buffy whirled around to see Xander, only inches from her face, the grin on his face gone. In it's place was a harsh look of punishment. Buffy backed against the door, but could not force herself to scream. Her breasts heaved with every breath she took, and Xander reached up with an icy hand and cupped them, digging the tips into the flesh of her bosom, pinching the nipples through her shirt. Her eyes became glassy as she saw him pull the knife quickly from behind him.
Angel tried to move from the bed, his wits slowly coming back. He saw the blade and understood. "NO!"
Buffy pressed her back against the door. "WILLOW, OPEN THE GOD-DAMN FUCKING--"
Her words stopped. Although she saw he was naked, somehow the knife was in his hand. It came out of nowhere. So did the thrust, as the blade slid through her skin, layer after layer at the speed of thought. Through her thorax. The blade sliced out of her back and jammed itself in the door, pinning her to it. Blood immediately sprung from the wound and gurgled down her midsection, down her thighs. Slowly, Buffy lowered her face and looked at the large, gaping spot of blood on her shirt. She felt the knife in the door and realized she was nailed to it. Raising her head upward, she screamed in complete and utter agony. When Xander retracted the knife, it was as if her body was pried from the surface of the door, and she slid to her knees. She held her stomach and gagged on the next scream that was trying to make it from her throat.
"Buffy, NO!" Angel snarled, jumping from his position on the bed. Attempting to take the voices off-guard, he grabbed Xander and threw him roughly onto the floor. Xander only looked up at him, his face even more malformed in the darkness away from the bed.
The vampire jumped on him, wrapping his hands around Xander's throat. "GET OUT OF HIM!"
Xander closed his eyes and squealed, finding Angel's desperation hilarious. When he finally gazed back into Angel's hopeless stare, his smile of amusement was gone. His lips twitched into a melancholy expression and he raised himself just enough to kiss Angel gently on the cheek. As Angel shuddered at the coldness of the touch of those lips against his own undead body, Xander brought his mouth to Angel's ear and kissed the lobe gently. His whisper was barely audible. "No."
Angel's gameface gnarled its way onto his face and he slammed Xander's head against the floor so hard he could hear a cracking sound. "Listen to me, you motherfuckers." His voice was the low, cocky voice of the demon Angelus that the true Xander had learned to fear all those years ago in Sunnydale. "I don't know what you are, and I don't really give a flying shit... but I know that you're gonna leave him alone!"
There was no response from Xander, save the sudden outburst of laughing again. The chuckle became a chortle, and then it was the high-pitched, inhuman collection of many voices coming from one mouth, all laughing and cackling, all trying to be louder than the other. His eyes flared the bright jade glimmer, and he all but ignored Angel's demands, preferring instead to wallow in the demonic laughter that resounded throughout.
Angel growled and belted Xander's skull to the floor again, his fingers pulling at the soft black hair of his lover's body. "Take me!!"
The voices' laughing grew louder. Angel's violent outburst grew more intense and black blood started seeping through Xander's hair where his head continued to be slammed against the floor. "Take me instead!!"
Buffy stood up, leaning against the door for support. "Angel, no! You'll kill him!"
"TAKE ME INSTEAD!" He cried insanely. Xander's head struck the floor again and his eyes shut. Angel threw himself off the boy and raised his hands to the endless black above them. "Why are you doing this to him?! Why?"
The door burst open seconds after Buffy moved away from it. Willow and Amy appeared, out of breath and their faces flushed from panic. Buffy clutched her bleeding torso and closed her eyes in relief as her friends entered. Angel didn't even notice their entrance, lost in his own mentally detached world of pain and loss. Willow raced to Xander's body and put her hand on his throat, then looked back up to the group. "He's just unconscious."
Amy whipped her hair behind her shoulders and helped Angel to his feet. "Yes, but for how long?" Angel was mumbling under his breath, shaking, and sweating. Buffy pointed to Giles.
"We need to get everyone out of here," the Slayer demanded. "Then you two can do your stuff."
Willow nodded, looking at the bed, and the chains which they would use to restrain Xander once more for the final attempt at rescuing their friend, and themselves, from oblivion.
- 4 -
Nightscape - no time
Xander awoke quietly, the voices realizing that there was an assiduous clobbering feeling on the back of his head. A small lump had risen in the flesh where the blood had scabbed over, and his ears were filled with a steady ringing. An annoying ringing. He wanted it to stop. So did the voices. Although he wasn't truly conscious -- the voices were -- he could understand what was occurring. He knew that he now shared his body with the other things. He could see through the bright, green eyes, but he couldn't communicate through the mouth he'd used for all of his life to speak with. He wanted to scream, but the voices only muttered.
Xander looked at one wrist; he was chained to the bed. The other hand was clamped as well. A small tug alerted the voices to the realization that the body was imprisoned tighter than before. There was even the possibility that he wouldn't be able to escape this time. He tugged harder. The chains didn't move. The voices became angry.
His feet were bound by chains as well. The bed was stripped, as it had been before, and the bedposts were secured so that the chains couldn't slip off them. He roared, his eyes pulsating. "FUCK!" The dozen voices screeched. "MOTHER FUCKER!"
Willow ignored the obscenities. She closed her eyes and finished laying out the last candle. Taking into her hand the hefty, black-handled knife, she gazed at her distorted reflection in the flawless blade.
"What's that?" The voices asked casually, amused. The bed was circled with white candles, none of which were lit. Behind Willow stood Amy, and behind them, the locked door.
Willow raised an eyebrow. "It's called an athame. It's used in my Craft as a ritual tool, and in this case, to save my best friend."
Xander grinned. "What're you gonna do, stab me until I leave your friend?"
Neither of the girls responded. Willow raised the athame to the sky and closed her eyes. Amy lifted a plain-looking chalice in the same manner as Willow, and the voices only watched in curiosity.
"I conjure thee, oh great circle of power, so that you will be for me a boundary between the world of men and the mighty spirits, a meeting place of perfect love, trust, peace, and joy; containing the power I will raise within thee. In the name of the Horned God and the Mother Goddess, thus do I conjure thee, oh great circle of power!"
Willow began with a whisper, and her voice grew louder with each breath. Amy opened her eyes after the incantation, but Willow's remained shut. Xander only stared at them, resisting against his chains, but not speaking. His eyes flickered jade and became black for the first time since his demonic inhabiters had arrived. When Willow opened her eyes, nothing had changed.
"What the fuck was that?" Xander quipped, the voices laughing childishly, his eyes coming back to their green brightness.
Neither girl chose to speak. Suddenly, a cold chill passed over his flesh, and Xander realized something. It was a room. The bedroom. he began to sit up, but the chains held him down. The bedroom was solid, tangible, material. There was no Nightscape, just the physical world of a moderately-sized Los Angeles bedroom. Willow took in a small amount of breath and then turned to Amy, calm and composed. With the Witch's back turned to him, Xander saw the series of candles surrounding the bed suddenly erupt into flame, each wick lit with a bright golden luminescence without human touch. The bedroom lit up as the virgin candles burned steadily.
Willow dipped the tip of the athame into the chalice of water Amy held. "As above, so below, this circle is sealed." The redhead spoke with an infallible, mature tone of voice that was beyond her years.
Amy stood back as Willow moved to one side of the rectangular bed. Raising the athame, she spoke softly, "Hail the Spirits of the North, Powers of Earth. Be with us here tonight. Bring your strength, prosperity, and stability into our circle. Please witness this rite and guard our sacred space."
Xander pulled at his chains, which did not budge. Willow moved to the back of the bed, behind the headboard, only two feet from the two holes of flaring green light that were Xander's eyes. "Hail the Spirits of the East, element of Air. Bring us your wisdom and your positive thought. Please witness this rite and guard our sacred space." With the last of these words, Xander pulled again, harder, but the chains held fast.
"You fucking Pagan BITCH! You think this will bring him back? You think we will let go? You really think that? " The voices blared obnoxiously. Willow ignored them and moved to the other side of the bed, still tightly gripping the black-handled athame.
"Hail the Spirits of the South, element of Fire. Bring us your courage, your passion, and your creativity. Please witness this rite and guard our sacred space."
She moved to the front of the bed, where Xander's bare feet were chained to the posts, and raised the athame one final time. "Hail the Spirits of the West, element of Water. Bring us your transformation, your love, and your joy. Please witness this rite and guard our sacred space." Willow took the athame and tapped the edge of the blade on the floor, then held it close to her chest. The blade snuggled it's way in between her breasts and rested there, it's power generating softly. Willow's eyes lit up with a dim flash of their own, of whiteness, of light. It was dim, but it was there. And it would grow.
The voices growled and then forced themselves to relax the body, for there was no way of escaping the chains. They were wrapped and locked too tightly. They realized that Willow was someone who could actually contend for control of the body, and they couldn't have that. They would have to think, reserve it's energies. They would let her have the bedroom, the control, the power. And then when their powers were focused, and concentrated, they would kill. So, the voices retreated, and watched. And waited.
- 5 -
The apartment - 3:28 a.m.
Angel stood on the terrace. He was alone. Buffy had dressed her own wounds and then, with Oz, drove Giles and Cordelia to the hospital. They would all be fine in the long run. A scar here, a concussion there... scar tissue, it all fades. Who said that? Someone said that once, and now he couldn't place the quote. But it stuck out in his mind like a sore thumb. Time was unending for him, wasn't it? And now he stood here as he had earlier that night, the sticky, hot Los Angeles night prickling the hair on the back of his cold, undead neck.
He'd drank from Giles. The Watcher's blood still slithered through his veins, hot. He'd raped him, and then let himself be raped. He had felt Angelus so close to the surface as the violence grew, and in suppressing it back, so had he felt his own sanity being suppressed.
L.A. was busy, even at three-thirty in the morning. He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. At this very moment, he realized that Willow and Amy were fighting for their lives, as well as the life of the person he held most dear in the world. Xander Harris. The road to where they were now was hard and confusing, but they had made it. How this boy had come to be possessed by such angry, disruptive entities had still been left unanswered, but in the long-run he didn't think it would be answered. In this world and the next, there would always be people who are the random victims of such demonic ploys. He'd seen it happen before, and it scared him to know that he'd never seen anyone come back from the brink of madness, with the memories of the cruel things they'd done to their families, their friends, themselves. He would know, he reminded himself, having been possessed by a demon for two and a half centuries.
This last thought tripped a switch in his mind. Earlier, they had discussed so briefly about how Jenny Calendar had been cured from her possession from the demon Eyghon. How when it was threatened, it would move to another body, and therefore walked into it's own defeat at the hands of the demon that dwelled within Angel's body. Angel put his hands on his face and breathed a sigh of exasperation. Sure, he didn't need to breathe, but it felt good.
He thought about the Nightscape demon. Or demons. Legion. They weren't threatened, and they knew Angel was a vampire. They wouldn't go into his body even if Xander's body was in danger. Maybe. Demons would do crazy things in desperate situations. But would these? He couldn't risk harming Xander just to take a chance that the demons would leave. He couldn't.
Suddenly he realized that L.A. had become silent. As if it was hiding in it's shell, waiting for some storm to pass.