The Ravages Of Hell
folder
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
17
Views:
2,925
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
17
Views:
2,925
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of its characters. . Nor do I intend to make any profit from this story.
11
FIC: Ravages Of Hell (11/?)
Vatican City
“Cardinal! Cardinal!”
Cardinal Alex Kane turned at the shout, irritated that the haughty building’s silence had been shattered. “Please Father Denya,” he made a show of looking around the vaunted corridors. “Have a little decorum.”
The Russian priest’s round face fell at his scolding. “Yes sir, sorry sir,” the East European’s eyes brightened. “But have you heard the news?”
Kane raised a greying eyebrow. “The news?”
“The world’s magicians and witches dead!” the priest’s eyes danced with excitement. “A considerable strike against Satan!”
“Quite,” Kane said even as he stared at the jubilant man stood before him. It frequently disappointed him as head of the Papal Occult Offensive Department the sort of men the Vatican sent him as underlings. It was as if his superiors felt that by sending him incompetents they were downplaying the horror of what they faced. To his thinking all of mankind was touched by the devil but free will meant that each person could chose to be good or evil. Of course a magician was a greater threat if they turned evil, but until such a point and in fact even beyond, they were god’s children.
Still, those were the sort of thought that if voiced would get him labelled a heretic and excommunicated. “And what do we know of the force that has done this great deed?” he asked.
“Sir?” Father Denya looked confused.
Kane sighed inwardly. The man was an idiot, it was an unchristian thought, but nonetheless true. “Do we know what that the force is? Given their power and ruthlessness they could be a great ally or a fearsome -.” His voice trailed off as he glanced out of the outer window, distracted by shouts. Bemused, he stepped to the window and looked out.
Normally at this time the courtyard would be filled with the Swiss Guards that made up the Vatican’s security flawlessly drilling. But today it was filled with screaming men dying as ungodly creatures tore into them. “Oh Mary,” he muttered. “Mother of God.”
“Sir,” he glanced across at his pale-faced subordinate. “We must flee.”
“Of course,” he nodded dazedly. “But what-.”
Both corridors’ doors smashed open. His blood froze when he looked left and right to see both escape routes blocked by four foot tall, thickly built one-eyed monsters with scaly green hides, razor sharp talons, and drooling fangs. Limbs shaking, he dropped to knees, took his crucifix in his hands, and began to pray.
* * *
A Chateau In The French Alps
“And our candidate for the post of new BND chief?”
“Has been accepted sir.”
Kiefer Erickson nodded in satisfaction. Not that he was surprised; it was a brave or foolish man who dared oppose him. Heads of states, tycoons, industrialist, award-winning scientists, and high-ranking public servants all hurried to obey him. In his time he’d served as deputy chief of the CIA, ambassador to London and the UN, and a special advisor to no less than three presidents. But all those exalted posts faded into insignificance to the one he now held.
He was now the defacto head of the Bilderberg Group, the informal and international association of power-brokers that orchestrated relations between Europe and North America. And as such he was one of the most powerful men in the world. He smiled as he looked around the spacious board-room, nodding at the three dozen group members sat there. The fruits of success tasted very sweet indeed.
His gaze snapped towards the room’s entrance when the door crashed open, splintering at the hinges at it fell onto the ground. The unexpected intruder was a towering seven tall and rail-thin with a grey skull-like face and jagged, curved talons hanging off its ropey arms. “W….what are you?” he breathed.
“Your death,” a rattling voice over his left shoulder explained. Erickson’s heart froze when he looked up to a huge, bat-like creature with the distorted face of a man grinning down at him. He opened his mouth to scream.
And then the beast was on him.
* * *
A Fortress In The Bavarian Alps
“Some more information on the Vatican harbouring Jewish gold?” Baron Fredich Von Kruger shook his head impatiently at his minion’s report. As head of the Bavarian Illuminti it was his duty to prove the untruth of one supreme being and the hypocrisy of the world’s religions. And decades old scandals weren’t enough. “Surely there’s something more recent?”
His subordinate glanced down at his notes. “Some statistics on how the Church’s approach is actually helping not hindering the spread of AIDS in Africa.”
“That’s something,” Von Kruger took a sip of his Château Margaux 2000 before continuing. “And the others?” he grimaced. Just hinting at the world’s religions gave his otherwise delicious wine a sour taste.
“We have a report linking a Lutheran arch-bishop to an abuse scandal in an orphanage he worked at in the late 70s. There’s no evidence he was involved but,” his underling, a scrawny, pale-skinned man in his early sixties, smirked, “facts can be slanted. An investigative reporter had linked a prominent American Rabbi to a homophobic organisation and a London cleric to a charity funding Islamic terror groups.”
“Excellent.” Von Kruger nodded, that was more like it. More proof of the corruption that lived and breathed through ever pore of every religion, that science was the only truth. “Have all this leaked through our media sources.”
His minion nodded. “At once sir,” his minion hurried towards the door.
Kruger gaped when the door crashed open and a bulky, grey-skinned monster with one eye stepped into his office. After tearing his subordinate’s head off, his blood splattering his bookcase filled with first editions, the grinning beast leapt across to land on him.
His last thought was if there were demons maybe there was a god. And then death claimed him.
* * *
Bangkok, Thailand
Chow Pan wiped at his had. It was the middle of the day and outside it was thundering and lightning. Yet despite that, the day was oppressively hot, perhaps a hundred degrees in the shade.
After loosening his tie and taking a sip of his iced water, he looked around his compatriots. Like him they were all middle-aged greying men dressed in business suits. And like him, their banality hid their ruthless natures and the fact they were the leaders of Oriental organised crime. The Japanese Yakuza, the Chinese Tongs, and the representatives of the gangs that ruled Vietnam, Korea, and Thailand were all seated around the long table. Between them, they ran criminal activity throughout Asia and the vast majority of heroin in the entire world.
All that made him and his companions very wealthy men indeed. And as members of the Golden Dragons, the cartel that ran Asia, very powerful ones.
He rose and started to speak. “Honoured friends, it is good to see you -.” He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire and screams in the street outside. “The pol-.”
His voice trailed off when the door crashed open and a horde of beasts that could only be described as nightmarish rushed in, attacking him and his companions.
In his youth he’d worked as a torturer for one of the Hong Kong Triads and considered himself an expert in pain. But now, as a spindly six-armed creature tore into him he discovered what true agony was.
* * *
The Gobi Desert, The Knights Of Byzantium
Knight-Commander Arnold nodded smugly, briefly allowing himself the sin of pride, as he watched his troops flawlessly drill. It was the middle of the day and baking hot, but despite that, his troops were unfaltering in their diligence.
It had been a hard three years since Glorificous had annihilated their Order. But he’d done it, rebuilt the Order to the point there were thirty score of them, more then there’d been since their halcyon days of the 12th and 13th centuries.
Knight-Commander Arnold’s mood darkened as he considered the urgent need for the need for the recent increase of troops. All the portents said the end of days were fast approaching. And it was their duty to face it. Their last leader had been an arrogant fool, the way he’d alienated their potentially greatest ally in the Council. Now, thanks to him they stood alone. But they would not fail this time, he would not allow it.
A long shadow was suddenly cast over the drill ground. Puzzled, he looked up, shading his eyes. His heart dropped at the sight that greeted him.
The sky was filled for as far as the eye could see with gargoyles, hideous, muscled monsters with huge wings and glaring eyes. “My lord Jesu,” he whispered. Gathering himself, he drew his sword and turned to his troops. “Formation!” If they couldn’t be there for the final battle, they could at least strike a final blow for good.
* * *
Washington DC.
Colonel Glenn Archer stretched as he stood, his middle-aged body creaking back into position. He shook his head ruefully. “Getting old,” he commented. It hadn’t been like this a few years ago, even two years ago when he’d just finished his twenty years as a US. Ranger officer, having served his country for the past ten of those in black bag operations. He’d been looking forward to his retirement when he’d been approached by a suited man who’d told him his nation, his world still needed him. He hadn’t been interested at the time, he’d given enough.
And then the man had revealed the truth about the Sunnydale sinkhole and his world had changed forever.
For the past two years he’d worked tirelessly to recruit an army of special forces troops to protect his nation, nine teams of twelve so far, and another three teams in the planning. He knew about the Slayers, but leaving the world in the hands of adolescent girls rankled.
Looking around his well-ordered office, he nodded. Everything was in order, decades of army training had regimented his mind, ensuring he detested messiness. Satisfied, he turned to the door and grabbed the door handle.
The moment he pulled it down, he heard a beep. His eyes started to widen. And then the door exploded in a ball of fire, the force of the explosion lifting him off his feet and flinging him across the office. His head smashed like a melon against the far wall.
* * *
“Is it done?”
Drazus nodded before kneeling before his master. “Yes my lord, the behind the scenes organisations that ran the political, industrial, and crime world have been decimated. Confusion and fear reigns.”
“Excellent. Next….”
“The Council, sire?”
Satan smiled, almost blinding him with the brilliance of the fangs in his seven mouths. “Soon, oh very soon,” his master hissed.
Vatican City
“Cardinal! Cardinal!”
Cardinal Alex Kane turned at the shout, irritated that the haughty building’s silence had been shattered. “Please Father Denya,” he made a show of looking around the vaunted corridors. “Have a little decorum.”
The Russian priest’s round face fell at his scolding. “Yes sir, sorry sir,” the East European’s eyes brightened. “But have you heard the news?”
Kane raised a greying eyebrow. “The news?”
“The world’s magicians and witches dead!” the priest’s eyes danced with excitement. “A considerable strike against Satan!”
“Quite,” Kane said even as he stared at the jubilant man stood before him. It frequently disappointed him as head of the Papal Occult Offensive Department the sort of men the Vatican sent him as underlings. It was as if his superiors felt that by sending him incompetents they were downplaying the horror of what they faced. To his thinking all of mankind was touched by the devil but free will meant that each person could chose to be good or evil. Of course a magician was a greater threat if they turned evil, but until such a point and in fact even beyond, they were god’s children.
Still, those were the sort of thought that if voiced would get him labelled a heretic and excommunicated. “And what do we know of the force that has done this great deed?” he asked.
“Sir?” Father Denya looked confused.
Kane sighed inwardly. The man was an idiot, it was an unchristian thought, but nonetheless true. “Do we know what that the force is? Given their power and ruthlessness they could be a great ally or a fearsome -.” His voice trailed off as he glanced out of the outer window, distracted by shouts. Bemused, he stepped to the window and looked out.
Normally at this time the courtyard would be filled with the Swiss Guards that made up the Vatican’s security flawlessly drilling. But today it was filled with screaming men dying as ungodly creatures tore into them. “Oh Mary,” he muttered. “Mother of God.”
“Sir,” he glanced across at his pale-faced subordinate. “We must flee.”
“Of course,” he nodded dazedly. “But what-.”
Both corridors’ doors smashed open. His blood froze when he looked left and right to see both escape routes blocked by four foot tall, thickly built one-eyed monsters with scaly green hides, razor sharp talons, and drooling fangs. Limbs shaking, he dropped to knees, took his crucifix in his hands, and began to pray.
* * *
A Chateau In The French Alps
“And our candidate for the post of new BND chief?”
“Has been accepted sir.”
Kiefer Erickson nodded in satisfaction. Not that he was surprised; it was a brave or foolish man who dared oppose him. Heads of states, tycoons, industrialist, award-winning scientists, and high-ranking public servants all hurried to obey him. In his time he’d served as deputy chief of the CIA, ambassador to London and the UN, and a special advisor to no less than three presidents. But all those exalted posts faded into insignificance to the one he now held.
He was now the defacto head of the Bilderberg Group, the informal and international association of power-brokers that orchestrated relations between Europe and North America. And as such he was one of the most powerful men in the world. He smiled as he looked around the spacious board-room, nodding at the three dozen group members sat there. The fruits of success tasted very sweet indeed.
His gaze snapped towards the room’s entrance when the door crashed open, splintering at the hinges at it fell onto the ground. The unexpected intruder was a towering seven tall and rail-thin with a grey skull-like face and jagged, curved talons hanging off its ropey arms. “W….what are you?” he breathed.
“Your death,” a rattling voice over his left shoulder explained. Erickson’s heart froze when he looked up to a huge, bat-like creature with the distorted face of a man grinning down at him. He opened his mouth to scream.
And then the beast was on him.
* * *
A Fortress In The Bavarian Alps
“Some more information on the Vatican harbouring Jewish gold?” Baron Fredich Von Kruger shook his head impatiently at his minion’s report. As head of the Bavarian Illuminti it was his duty to prove the untruth of one supreme being and the hypocrisy of the world’s religions. And decades old scandals weren’t enough. “Surely there’s something more recent?”
His subordinate glanced down at his notes. “Some statistics on how the Church’s approach is actually helping not hindering the spread of AIDS in Africa.”
“That’s something,” Von Kruger took a sip of his Château Margaux 2000 before continuing. “And the others?” he grimaced. Just hinting at the world’s religions gave his otherwise delicious wine a sour taste.
“We have a report linking a Lutheran arch-bishop to an abuse scandal in an orphanage he worked at in the late 70s. There’s no evidence he was involved but,” his underling, a scrawny, pale-skinned man in his early sixties, smirked, “facts can be slanted. An investigative reporter had linked a prominent American Rabbi to a homophobic organisation and a London cleric to a charity funding Islamic terror groups.”
“Excellent.” Von Kruger nodded, that was more like it. More proof of the corruption that lived and breathed through ever pore of every religion, that science was the only truth. “Have all this leaked through our media sources.”
His minion nodded. “At once sir,” his minion hurried towards the door.
Kruger gaped when the door crashed open and a bulky, grey-skinned monster with one eye stepped into his office. After tearing his subordinate’s head off, his blood splattering his bookcase filled with first editions, the grinning beast leapt across to land on him.
His last thought was if there were demons maybe there was a god. And then death claimed him.
* * *
Bangkok, Thailand
Chow Pan wiped at his had. It was the middle of the day and outside it was thundering and lightning. Yet despite that, the day was oppressively hot, perhaps a hundred degrees in the shade.
After loosening his tie and taking a sip of his iced water, he looked around his compatriots. Like him they were all middle-aged greying men dressed in business suits. And like him, their banality hid their ruthless natures and the fact they were the leaders of Oriental organised crime. The Japanese Yakuza, the Chinese Tongs, and the representatives of the gangs that ruled Vietnam, Korea, and Thailand were all seated around the long table. Between them, they ran criminal activity throughout Asia and the vast majority of heroin in the entire world.
All that made him and his companions very wealthy men indeed. And as members of the Golden Dragons, the cartel that ran Asia, very powerful ones.
He rose and started to speak. “Honoured friends, it is good to see you -.” He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire and screams in the street outside. “The pol-.”
His voice trailed off when the door crashed open and a horde of beasts that could only be described as nightmarish rushed in, attacking him and his companions.
In his youth he’d worked as a torturer for one of the Hong Kong Triads and considered himself an expert in pain. But now, as a spindly six-armed creature tore into him he discovered what true agony was.
* * *
The Gobi Desert, The Knights Of Byzantium
Knight-Commander Arnold nodded smugly, briefly allowing himself the sin of pride, as he watched his troops flawlessly drill. It was the middle of the day and baking hot, but despite that, his troops were unfaltering in their diligence.
It had been a hard three years since Glorificous had annihilated their Order. But he’d done it, rebuilt the Order to the point there were thirty score of them, more then there’d been since their halcyon days of the 12th and 13th centuries.
Knight-Commander Arnold’s mood darkened as he considered the urgent need for the need for the recent increase of troops. All the portents said the end of days were fast approaching. And it was their duty to face it. Their last leader had been an arrogant fool, the way he’d alienated their potentially greatest ally in the Council. Now, thanks to him they stood alone. But they would not fail this time, he would not allow it.
A long shadow was suddenly cast over the drill ground. Puzzled, he looked up, shading his eyes. His heart dropped at the sight that greeted him.
The sky was filled for as far as the eye could see with gargoyles, hideous, muscled monsters with huge wings and glaring eyes. “My lord Jesu,” he whispered. Gathering himself, he drew his sword and turned to his troops. “Formation!” If they couldn’t be there for the final battle, they could at least strike a final blow for good.
* * *
Washington DC.
Colonel Glenn Archer stretched as he stood, his middle-aged body creaking back into position. He shook his head ruefully. “Getting old,” he commented. It hadn’t been like this a few years ago, even two years ago when he’d just finished his twenty years as a US. Ranger officer, having served his country for the past ten of those in black bag operations. He’d been looking forward to his retirement when he’d been approached by a suited man who’d told him his nation, his world still needed him. He hadn’t been interested at the time, he’d given enough.
And then the man had revealed the truth about the Sunnydale sinkhole and his world had changed forever.
For the past two years he’d worked tirelessly to recruit an army of special forces troops to protect his nation, nine teams of twelve so far, and another three teams in the planning. He knew about the Slayers, but leaving the world in the hands of adolescent girls rankled.
Looking around his well-ordered office, he nodded. Everything was in order, decades of army training had regimented his mind, ensuring he detested messiness. Satisfied, he turned to the door and grabbed the door handle.
The moment he pulled it down, he heard a beep. His eyes started to widen. And then the door exploded in a ball of fire, the force of the explosion lifting him off his feet and flinging him across the office. His head smashed like a melon against the far wall.
* * *
“Is it done?”
Drazus nodded before kneeling before his master. “Yes my lord, the behind the scenes organisations that ran the political, industrial, and crime world have been decimated. Confusion and fear reigns.”
“Excellent. Next….”
“The Council, sire?”
Satan smiled, almost blinding him with the brilliance of the fangs in his seven mouths. “Soon, oh very soon,” his master hissed.