The Ravages Of Hell

The Ravages Of Hell (9/?)

Xander looked at his street map of Prague and shook his head in despair. “I can’t make sense of this!” he exclaimed. “It might as well be in Swahili!” He paused for a second. “Except I can actually read that!”

“You can?”

He turned to Oz stood beside him on the busy street corner. “And three other tribal languages. I kinda got sick of being the village idiot.”

“And they say thing never change.”

He glared at Oz. “Enough with the wit,” he retorted. “We’d best get back to the others.” The werewolf sighed. “What’s up?”

“Twelve women.”

“Yeah,” Xander nodded in understanding. “Funny how the reality never matched our dreams of being out-numbered by gorgeous women.”

“I never dreamt that.”

Xander looked warily at Oz. “Gorgeous men?”

Oz smiled slightly. “Winning a Grammy.”

* * *

Angel realised that Connor was talking. Shaking himself out of his deep reverie, he turned to his son sat beside him on the Council executive jet. “Sorry?”

Connor chuckled. “For a master vampire, your hearing sure sucks.” His son’s grin widened. “Sucks! Get it?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “I got it. You’ve not been talking to Xander Harris.” He smiled slightly at his son’s bemusement. “What did you say?”

“Yeah,” Connor looked embarrassed. “That Buffy’s kinda small isn’t she?”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you and Wes used to talk about her, I sorta expected some muscle-bound amazon. But her?” Connor shook his head. “She beat both Angelus and Faith?”

Angel chuckled, amused rather than offended by his son’s doubt. “Some think you’re just a scrawny kid.”

Connor smirked. “But they only think that ‘til I kick their ass.” His son’s face sobered. “How did it feel, seeing her again?”

Angel leaned back in his seat, his lips pursed in thought. That was the million dollar question. He’d been so disappointed in her lowering herself to Spike and then there was his love for Cordelia. But seeing her again had been like a stake through the heart. Finally he replied. “I don’t know son. I don’t know.”

Connor sighed. “I’m disappointed.”

Angel’s brow furrowed. “Disappointed?”

“Two and a half centuries and you still don’t have the answers.”

Angel shook his head. “Son, Methuselah never understood women. Don’t expect me to.”

* * *

“How did it feel bella?”

Buffy glanced at the Immortal, considering his question even as she examined him. He was a tall man – although not as tall as Angel. Handsome too, although not as good looking as Angel. “How did what feel?” she replied.

The Italian chuckled before rubbing the bridge of his Roman nose. “Seeing him again?”

Buffy stared at her boyfriend, remembering the less than happy reunion. “Difficult,” she finally replied. Yes, that was definitely the word.

* * *

“I heard you got caught up in the middle of a Scooby brawl?”

Faith tore her eyes from the breath-taking view of night-time Rio and to her fellow brunette Slayer. Man, back in the day she’d never have dreamed to get out of Boston’s south side, much less get to Rio. “You got bunny ears Ken?”

“Oh, I hear everything,” Kennedy strode over to stand beside her on the balcony.

“Must be nice,” Faith hated herself for the unavoidable bitterness she heard in her own voice. “Being on the inside like that.”

Kennedy chuckled. “I’m not on the inside, just dating someone who is.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Faith asked, suddenly curious. “X and B being closer to Red than you?”

“Xander?” her companion shook her head. “No, he saved my life and always treated me with respect. But Buffy,” her fellow Slayer’s eyes flickered, “the way that bitch sneers at us all.”

Faith chuckled, remembering her first time in Sunnydale. “She’s wicked good at sneering. Olympic sport – gold all the way.”

“And I think she was Willow’s first lesbian crush.”

“Oh yeah?” Faith smirked. “Given me an interesting image there Ken.”

Kennedy bumped her with her hip. “Shut up. How come you care so much?”

Faith glanced down at the carnival city, taking a second to soak in the flashing lights and the sound of the beating drums. How did she explain never having a friendship like Red and X’s? How she’d never had anyone want her for her, someone she could trust from the day she could walk like Red and Xan trusted one another. Finally she shrugged. “Friendship’s important.”

Kennedy shot her an all-knowing look, kinda like those Fang had used when she’d tried to bullshit him during a prison visit. “And Xander didn’t react too well did he?”

Faith chuckled humourlessly. “Guy doesn’t like me much,” she replied.

“And that bothers you?”

Faith shrugged, as usual unwilling to share her feelings. Truth was when she’d returned to Sunnydale, she’d have been wicked scared at what the Scoobies would think. Well not B, as far as she was concerned the arrogant bitch wasn’t the sort of person she wanted to be friends with. But the others were good people. G had accepted her back and so had Red, she guessed it guessed it was the shared evil pasts. But X on the other hand….

Even before Fang, Xand had been the first guy to try and be a friend for no other reason than she’d needed one. Of course, suspicious bitch that she was she hadn’t taken him up on the offer. The night he’d come to comfort her about Finch, she’d figured he was trying to work an angle to try and blackmail her into bed and after years of abuse she’d decided she wasn’t going to be used anymore. Next thing she knew she was strangling him. Ironic thing was she’d intended to let the poor bastard go once she’d scared the piss out of him. But then Fang had rushed to the rescue. And then the Council had got involved and things had spiralled out of control.

When she’d gone back to Sunnyd, she’d meant to apologise to Harris she really had. But having no experience in saying sorry, her nerve had failed her. She’d gone to see him half a dozen times in the month following the Last Battle of Sunnydale, but one look at his glazed, grief-stricken face and she’d back off, telling herself next time.

And the thing of it was, the kind of a guy X was he would have willingly accepted her apology, but now he thought she didn’t give a shit. “I ain’t known many good guys.” She sneered. “Most are louses like Spike, can’t get their eyes off my tits for long enough to look me in the eye. When a good one like Xan doesn’t like me, it pisses me off.”

“Uh, uh.” Again Kennedy shot her that knowing look, which was starting to piss her off a little. “How about we go down to the beach, give me a chance to leer at some bikinied beauties?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Faith grinned at her shorter companion, her good mood returning. “Oh Ken, I’m hurt,” she slowly ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “I thought I was enough woman for ya. I’ve even got this wicked black g-string I could model for ya!”

Kennedy laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I know you’re straight. It sort of ruins the fantasy when you know that and you’re trying to imagine yourself with a girl.”

“You know I’m straight?” Faith arched an eyebrow. “First time I was in Sunnyd, half the male population thought I had a zen for B. Sick bastards.”

“Yeah right,” Kennedy snorted. “You’d have to be not only gay but a masochist too.”

“Truth.” Faith grinned at her fellow Slayer. Kennedy shared her dislike of B? Definite basis for a friendship. “Should we get Vi and Rona?” she suggested.

“And spend all night talking shop?” Kennedy shook her head. “Don’t think so. And that bikini you mentioned.” Her fellow Slayer grinned. “I wouldn’t mind a look.”

“Knew you couldn’t resist!” Faith laughed. She had thought Kennedy was just another spoilt bitch playing at hero, but she seemed pretty cool. “Give me a minute.”

* * *

Hearing a knock on his office door, Giles looked up from his work. “Enter!”

After a second the door swung open and Riley and his group entered. “Mr. Giles,” Riley greeted.

“Please Riley,” he waved a hand. “Back in Sunnydale it was Giles. Despite our relative promotions we’re still the same people, Giles is more than adequate.”

The Iowan farmboy smiled. “Thank you, Giles.”

He smiled back at the youth. The soldier was a good man, loyal, dependable, and brave, only an American soldier true, but nobody was perfect. He’d never met Riley’s wife, but given the reports he’d read he judged her to be a very talented demon hunter. As was Mr. Miller, although Graham’s continuing disdain for Slayers was a worry. “Please take a seat.” Once the three soldiers had obeyed, he continued. “I suppose you’re wondering why I requested you be sent here?”

“No,” it was Graham who replied, his tone flat. “We just follow orders.”

Giles chose to ignore the lack of warmth in the younger man’s voice. “For five thousand years there has been a Council of some sort. China, Assyria, Egypt, Greece, Rome, and Britain, the Council had always been based in the era’s great civilisation,” which explains why they’ve always avoided America. “But always before there was several hundred Watchers to one Slayer. But now there are hundreds of Slayers,” well there was until a few days ago. Pushing that distressing thought aside, he continued on. “And rather less Watchers than before. Now, instead of one Watcher to a Slayer, we have one Watcher running teams of 3 – 5 Slayers.”

“I’m sorry Giles, but we’re more than happy with our current posts.”

“No, no,” he shook his head at Riley’s comment. “You misunderstand me. Much as you would all,” he directed his gaze towards Mr. Miller, assuring the young man that this included him, “be welcome I can only applaud your loyalty. I merely illustrated my organisation’s history to give you an understanding of the recent and radical changes the Council has undergone.”

“It must have been hard Giles?” Riley queried. “Modernising the Council?”

“Yes,” Giles agreed. It had been terribly difficult. First there’d been the laborious process of sorting out the Council’s finances, finding a new base, recruiting former and new Watchers to his cause, and finding the new Slayers. Next had come the re-organisation, stripping away the old ways that had treated Slayers as weapons rather than people. Without Buffy, Willow, and Faith’s back-up, the hard-liners would have won the day. As it was, he’d been forced to exhibit Ripper’s ruthlessness, make a few examples. “At times it makes me yearn for simpler,” he smiled wryly, “although more adrenalin filled days.”

“And what do you need us for sir?”

Giles noticed how Graham had discarded his request to call him ‘Giles’. Ignoring that, he continued. “Did you notice the strange shape of the estate’s outer wall?” Seeing the others’ confused expressions, he explained further. “The original owner and builder of this estate was Earl Thomas Greene. In addition to being an exemplary warrior and accomplished politician, the Earl was also an occultist and alchemist of some considerable note. To that end he designed this place in the shape of a white arts pentagram. Should any evil demon enter these grounds they’ll be overcome with a debilitating feeling of dread. The really clever thing is that the more powerful the demon, the greater the effect. Of course this magic only works to a demon of certain level. It wouldn’t hold against something the strength of an Old One.”

“You want us to fight the Old Ones for you?”

“Good lord no,” he shook his head at Mrs. Finn’s question. “The only one of us who could possibly withstand an Old One is Willow and then only in an one and one confrontation. If the Old Ones escape from the Deeper Well, we’ve lost.”

A long silence followed his proclamation. “Then what do you want us to do Giles?” Riley demanded.

“Given the co-ordinated attacks on Buffy, Faith, and,” he was unable to prevent a sneer, “Angel, there will inevitably be a full-on assault here. My girls have experience at fighting all manner of demons -.”

“But not organised humans?” Sam interjected. “But why didn’t Earl Greene make the pentagram include humans?”

“With evil demons there is no grey area, only black. With humans,” he shrugged. “Who amongst us hasn’t done evil?” he shrugged. “Lied, cheated, said something just to hurt someone? People can have dark pasts and yet be good, Willow, Faith, and I are proof of that.”

After a second Riley nodded. “Okay, let’s talk defences and strategies.”

* * *

Whyndham-Pryce fumed as he stalked his apartment. “Abomination!” he scowled. Once the Council had stood for something – honour and discipline.

And then that bastard Rupert Giles had been allowed to return to the Council after his disgraceful desertion. If not for the influence of Giles’ grand-mother and father, his ‘Ripper’ phase would have ended his Watcher career before it began. And then Travers, who really should have known better, had been sufficiently impressed by the whippersnapper’s apparent diligence, to send him to be Miss Summers’ second Watcher.

That was the point where things had really begun to go wrong. First the stupid pillock had ignored age-old traditions to allow Summers to have friends who not only knew about her Calling, but also aided her in Slaying. Worse still was her disgusting relationship with the vampire Angel. If not for the forged reports Mr. Giles had filed at the time, the blonde would have been taken care of by the Council wetworks team during the Angelus fiasco.

And then the nefarious bastard’s influence had spread to Roger’s own son, his heart tightened with shame, causing the boy’s inevitable downfall with that Lehane slapper. Even worse was the boy’s subsequent servitude to the damn vampire, heaping yet more disgrace on his once esteemed family name. Eleven generations of Watchers, stretching back three hundred years, ruined by Giles.

When the original Council had been destroyed he’d expected to be installed as the new Council head. After all he had over a decade more experience over the nearest candidate. Instead the modernists had championed Rupert to the position of Head Watcher.

”Bloody hell,” he muttered. The ruination of the Council and his own family was solely down to one man. Roger smiled bitterly. But soon the bastard would pay.

* * *

Willow looked around the hushed, shadowy library, the greatest known collection of occult tomes stacked on the vast room’s shelves. In one corner Dawn and her team worked, the former key’s uncanny language skills aiding her in translating the books of long-dead civilisations. In another Andrew worked with a couple of demon-language experts translating extensive selection of demonic texts. She herself was leading a trio of Wiccas fortunate enough to be working with the Council rather than the Devon Coven in reading the magic books, looking for any edge.

“Oh no.”

Heart clenching at Dawn’s rattling whisper, she looked to see the teen staring back at her, her friend’s face an ashen-grey. “What’s up Dawnie?”

Her eyes wide, Dawn swallowed before speaking. “I know why the Order are after my sister, Angel, and Faith.”

Willow stared at the former key, confused. “But we already know that,” she said finally. “To stop them from getting their Tridents.”

“No,” Dawn shook her head. “Anyone can get the tridents, but only the three chosen champions can use them.”

It took a second for what Dawn was saying to sink in. “So even if we have the Tridents-.”

”Without all three champions we’re screwed,” Andrew put in, the youngster’s face a matching grey.