Willow: The Onslaught of Asylum (Post-season 7; contains spoilers)

[No, I am Doyle]

Part I - The Etherium

Ethereal winds caught auburn strands of hair as Willow floated through the Astral Realm following the bright green speck. Exhilarating as it was, she was filled with a sense of expediency. She could still make out the essence, slayer for certain, but weak, as though a thick curtain separated her from her quarry. She had not even had this much trouble the first time she had caught wind of Dana.
"Where are you? I know you are out there," Willow whispered to herself. "This is so confusing!"
Feeling her energies dwindle, she knew that she would have to return to the material plane shortly. Maybe today wouldn't be her day after all. Empty handed once again. She thought for sure that her advanced locator spell would finally help her to locate this newest find, with most of the newly empowered slayers already in training, this search should be easier than it was. But something seemed to keep them apart. That, however would have to wait for tomorrow.
The strand that anchored her to her body shook slightly, heralding the arrival of an Ether Wraith.
"No you don't!" Willow yelled as she moved like lightning down her strand, the Astral Realm whipping by. As she approached the radiant beast she saw its giant, smoky husk, lined with hues of green and blue and yellow. Scarlet light poured from its mouth as it roared, and it fixed its solid black orbs on the witches own blackening eyes.
"Hecate, I beseech you..." but she was cut short by the slamming of a second Ether Wraith’s wispy body into hers. She was sent flying back for a moment until she regained her sense of up and down. That still took some practice. Changing tactics, Willow began a new chant, this time with both beasts, now side by side, in mind. As they let out another ear piecing roar, the winds quaked. A vortex streamed from Willows fingertips in a rush of shear force, and as they assaulted the Wraiths they shot them far from Willow presence.
"They're going to come back...with friends. I've gotta go." Willow resigned to herself. "I'll try tomorrow." She flew along her silver cord, the one thing that allowed her to find her body and Kennedy.
As she neared her destination she clearly heard the agony racked weeping again. Stopping her descent, she fully reemerged into the world of the Ethereal once more. Though exhaustion began to grip her, she lingered, straining to her the once again almost imperceptible shuddering cry. She waited. She listened. It sounded as though it would vanish on the breaking winds. Then it came on strong, like a rising crescendo of a demonic symphony, the cry assailed her. Pure misery filled Willow’s being and, as if like a spell, carried her from her own thoughts. Alien images, thoughts not her own filled her head. Too chaotic for her to discern, she was presented with random, crackling, muddled images. And the sounds. Oh, the horrible sounds.
“Oh Goddess!” she screamed over and over, until she was brought from her own horror by a gentle cool hand. Kennedy’s face loomed inches from her own, deep concern etched into the set of her gaze.
-
“Are you alright? Willow? Are you alri…”
“Yes love, I’m OK,” Willow said breathlessly, as she looked around, to Xander, and then back to the woman she had grown to love over the last year, “I felt it again. All scary and, and…. This time I did feel something new. Something, I mean someone in lots of pain. I could almost feel it myself.”
“Do you still think it is a slayer?” Xander asked.
“I am sure of it now, I could see her thoughts, or memories. I am not sure, but they are horrible. I think that some demon has got her. She needs us and I still don’t know where to start looking.”
“I just got off the phone with Andrew, in England, and he says that their coven still can’t sense anything. Are you sure it’s really a slayer? It could be, you know, like a decoy, something to throw the old Will-hound nose off the scent. You know the Italian branch of Wolfram and Hart is dying to get their hands on some of the new slayers before we can get to them. Maybe they found a way to block you or confuse you?”
“No Xander,” Kennedy said, helping Willow to her feet, the witch’s body trembled. “If Willow said she is sure, then she is sure.”
“Kennedy.” Willow said weakly before falling backwards, Xander and her lover both rushed to catch her. To Willow, the whole world seemed wrong. That thought carried her into unconsciousness.

-
Part 2 - Silver
The energies began to crackle, leaving the air thick with static. The warlocks’ hands ran up and down the etched runes of the metal Golem’s armored body. Deep chanting added extra weight to the atmosphere of the dark stone chamber.
Pale light from ever burning torches lined the walls every five feet. Between them, circles were sprawled, drawn in blood. Some were of summoning, some of protection; and one meant to trap a soul in place was located on the ceiling. This most complex circle kept the soul of a recently deceased child contained in the area, unable to escape the unfortunate fate that was in store. Then a tremendous demon entered the room, joining the ranks of the seven warlocks. It’s taught skin was deep crimson, muscularly built, with giant smooth black horns, and cloven feet. With him entered a slight of a man, no more than 5’ 8’’, with oily aged skin and dressed in greasy overalls and a ball cap. At a glance you could tell that bathing was a foreign concept to him.
“Well boys,” the demon’s voice was raspy, like it was talking with a mouth full of gravel, “this is Jim, one of the best engine guys in Cleveland. You should have seen the wonders he did with my nephew’s Corvette. Ran like a dream. Well, until I clubbed him with it.” The chanting continued as though the human warlocks never heard him. The demon, Lofthre, shrugged and turned to face Jim. “They always were into their work. You have GOT the respect a work ethic like that.”
“So is my beauty ready to go in. I can’t wait to see it under the hood.”
“As long as ya got my cash, she’s yours. It’s up in the garage.”
Lofthre raised his giant hand before him, and spoke a few words in his native tongue. A briefcase appeared in the clawed fingers. “Twenty-five large. You can count it if you don’t trust me.” It’s toothed maw twisted into, one could almost say, a suave smile. The filthy man grabbed the case from it and set it next to the entrance. “That’s OK pal, I know you won’t screw me.”
“Bring me my engine, it is time to see what this puppy can REALLY do.”
Jim left the chamber. The deep chant followed him as he climbed the staircase. He returned moments later with a giant engine, 32 cylinders in all, on a large floating disc. Each piece of the motor held one intricately carved rune on its polished surface. No vehicle could ever house this monster of an engine.
The chest of the titan golem opened up, steam firing out of several parts of its metallic frame. The disc hovered above, and then lowered the motor into place at the center of the creation. The disc then disappeared.
Lofthre became giddy, as much so as any demon had before, “ Tighten it in. I want to hear her purr.”
Jim pulled out his wrenches and torqued each bolt into place; even the bolts were covered in runes. He then inspected his work, breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped back for Lofthre to see the finished product. Instead he saw that the demon had begun to chant now as well. The energy in the room became livid, snapping and popping, and arcs began to climb the metal body; Jim’s hair would have stood on end if it were not so filthy. Then, like dominos, the warlocks stopped chanting, each grabbing his chest. They emitted a low groan as they fell to the ground, dead. A child’s scream filled the room; terror and pain resonated in the voice. Then all went silent. No chanting, no hum; all silent.
“Did it work?” asked the greasy little man. Before Lofthre could answer, and deafening engine roar answered his question. The golem’s foot twitched, then it’s thick fingers, and finally it shot up quickly. The demon’s smile widened from ear to ear.
“Now this is American engineering at it finest.” Lofthre said. “Care to see what she can do, Jim?”
“No, I think I’ll take my money and leave you two alone.” Jim replied. “I’ve got places other than here to be.” He collected the briefcase, and moved to the door. I slammed shut before he could exit.
“Now Jim, you should know better than to trust a demon, especially me.” Lofthre turned to the 15’ tall machine, “You are my very special little boy. Yes you are. Why don’t you show the bad man what you can do?” It’s motor revved as Jim began to squeal in terror. He clawed at the door, frantic to escape. It took its first step, toward Jim. He pounded at the door, screaming, “Someone help me, Please help me!”
The machine’s fist shot out, practically vaporizing the fragile man’s body under its weight. The briefcase was imbedded in the stone wall.
“That’s a good boy. You shall be my little doomsday device. But you need a name,” The demon thought for a moment, “I like Asylum.”

Part 3 - All You Need Is Some Rest
Willow’s eyes opened heavily. On the bed sat Kennedy and Xander. While Kennedy sat looking at her auburn haired lover with worry, Xander rubbed his eye patch. Willow let out a tired giggle. He was still not fully adjusted to it. Seeing that she had come to, Kennedy placed her hand on her forehead.
“Buffy, she’s awake.” Xander called out, and then moved closer to the woman he loved more dearly than anything else in the world. “How are you feeling, Will?” he asked.
“My head is all poundy… but I’ll be alright.” She was taken back by the thought of awakening to a similar sight six years ago, after what Xander now called Angel’s little episode. Only then, Oz was in Kennedy’s place. Echoes of screams still linger in her head, as though they longed for resolution that may never come.
“She’s awake?” Dawn asked as she entered the room, “You are. I was so worried.”
Kennedy wiped beads of sweat from Willow’s forehead; her own was drenched in perspiration. The weather had been hot in Italy lately, and Buffy’s air conditioning not working didn’t help matters any. Willow sat up in the bed.
“Willow, be careful. I don’t want…” Kennedy began, but was cut short by the witch’s resolve face.
“I am going to be fine, you are such a worry wart.” She grabbed her slayer’s hand. “I have felt worse. Buffy entered the room, with a genuine smile, which contained a warmth and contentment she had not seen on the Slayer’s face in years. It did, however, carry with it a solemness since the death of Spike. Still it was a much nicer sight than the prepackaged smile she was getting so good at. Her hair was much shorter than Willow had ever seen it.
“You gave us all a scare.”
“Funny. You face the armies of hell, and yet, my passing out is scary.”
“Well I figure anything that knocks you down is worth my worrying. What was it?”
“Only some Wraiths,” she regarded the ability of the Ether Wraiths to sap the life essence of unfortunate travelers on the Astral Realm through the silver cords that bound them to their earthly body, “but that wasn’t the problem. I felt it again, like when the potentials were first changed. This time it was like someone was in pain. Oh Buffy, there was so much pain. I could feel it. So much worse than Dana.” She could still recall the silent soulful cry of the new slayer Dana on the light, ethereal winds of the dimension, but this was something much darker.
“What do you think it could mean? I mean Xander thinks that it’s Wolfram and Hart trying to confuse. They’ve taken too active an interest in preventing the new Watcher’s council. Giles has already had a couple of run-ins and I wouldn’t put it past them.” Already three potentials had joined their ranks under very lucrative offers.
“No Buffy, I could see her thoughts. They were too chaotic to understand, but they were real. I mean really real. I know it,” Willow certified. Kennedy handed her a glass of water from the nightstand. Willow drank deeply, quenching her thirst.
Dawn said, “Maybe there is some kind of spell that is trapping her somewhere, like ok, I have been reading that some spells are used on prisons for demons to keep anyone who might try to free them from actually finding them to start with.”
“Like at Giles Two over here, all some spells this and this mojo does that,” Xander said kidding. Dawn threw him a relatively mean glance. He put his hands out in surrender. But Willow conceded, “She’s probably not far off the mark.”
“Will, how ‘bout you, are you gong to be Ok. You’ve been making too many mind trips in the last couple a days. It looks like it’s starting to wear you down,” Buffy interjected.
“Yah,” Kennedy agreed, “you’ve been dead to the world the second your head hits the pillow the last couple nights. I really think you should take a break.”
“I agree, you should take a day or two off, take a break, and, you know, rest up,” Said Xander.
Willow replaced the glass on the table next to her and, not really looking at anyone at the moment thought about all that she had sensed.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Do you really want to kill yourself,” Dawn piped in, “ I mean you can almost read Prada on the bags under your eyes.”
“We should find her Willow, I am in full agreement mode, but lets see if Giles’ Coven in England has had any luck,” Buffy added.
“And besides,” said Dawn, “you’re getting a little ripe.” All four gave her a foul, but lighthearted, look. “What! I am just teasing. Well, sort of. You do have a bit of an odor.”
Too weak to not overlook their arguments, Willow gave a resigned sigh. “I suppose your right, a day can’t hurt anymore than the last couple have already. I’ll give myself some time.” She looked at Kennedy, then Xander, Buffy, and Dawn. None of them looked like they really believed her.
“You promise?” Buffy insistently asked, “This isn’t one of those No, Buffy, I won’t try to fight Glory alone things, is it? Because that almost went badly. Just promise me that you’ll give it a day before you go on another mind walk. OK?”
“I promise, no mind walk. Really.”
Kennedy leaned forward and gently kissed her soft cheek. “You’d better, cuz I’ll kick you ass.” Willow smiled at this proclamation, and took her hand in her own.

Part 4 - Playing In the Rain
It felt nothing, not the breeze in its hair, nor the drops of rain on its skin. It could sense these things, but not appreciate them. Besides it had neither skin nor hair. The rain pinged off the metal of its outrageously sturdy body. It did remember that it had seen such splendors before, and that then it could feel anything. But it did not know where or when. This made it angry, so very angry. It wanted to play in the rain, to frolic and play. Lofthre had told it to go out and play, to get a sense of the world, but it remembered it already. It just wasn’t sure how.
So, now here was Asylum, out in the rain and the mud of Cleveland’s industrial sector, playing like a good boy. Fourteen crushed cars, three collapsing buildings, and twelve broken human bodies later, it began to wonder if it was a good boy yet. Would it get to feel again? Asylum surely hoped so. Its answer came in the form of a crossbow bolt to its red, crystal eye. The bolt shattered on impact. Asylum looked in the direction it came from. Three young women, each with a crucifix around their neck and axes at the ready, stood fourteen feet away. One charged in with a war cry, bringing the axe down with a not very skillful overhead chop. It skittered down the runed armor of its body harmlessly. The second two snapped into action, coming at the golem, from the sides, with great ferocity.
All three stopped dead in their tracks as Asylum’s motor revved nightmarishly to life. The deafening growl was accompanied by the smashing of its forearm into the closest slayer’s body. She flew through the air like a doll, and landed broken and unconscious, but still alive.
"Julia!" the other two slayers called out.The second two slayers changed tactics, dropping low, just out of the range of The Machine-beast’s massive arms." You take left, I'll get his right!" Asylum swung its arms anyways, and the women dove through the air, twisting their bodies to face around, as they went. Each slayer’s axe landed perfectly on target; straight to the back of the heavily armored knees of the juggernaut. Each axe shattered at the impressive force of the blows. The slayers landed in a roll, and wound back up on their feet, never breaking momentum for a second.
Still growling, the titan’s body shot steam as armor plates shifted from its shoulders to its back to allow it to move in new ways. Its head twisted around and it began to run backwards its arms spinning in their sockets. One of the slayers dropped low and spun around with a tripping kick. This proved to be her great mistake. The leg of, even, a slayer could not stop the force of Asylum’s legs in a charge. Instead it cracked as she was thrown to the side. She screamed out in pain. Dropping to one knee with alarming speed, the golem crushed her other leg, eliciting anouther scream. It then stood back up, whipping around and began another dash.
"Go Ann, run!" the wounded slayer called out before shock gripped her. Asylum kept going forward towards the only standing slayer, arms swinging in a motion of pure bone crunching impetus. As it drew within range, she fell back, and using Asylum’s momentum against itself, propelled it a few feet beyond her. Only then did she realize how heavy that it really was. Her wrists ached horribly, as did her ankles.
Ann ran to her fallen companions, throwing one over one shoulder and the other in the free one. She knew that this was not a fight she could win; they needed bigger guns. Something like a bazooka she thought to herself to distract her from the pain in her joints. Their watcher would know what to do, they always did. As she ran, she heard the horrible sound of Asylum’s motor firing off, heralding its anger, its unabashed rage.
All Asylum could think was that it was not done playing yet, and it would break those little girls, were it the last thing that it did. It charged forward, propelled by emotion, that and a modified spell-matrix driven engine and three tons of classic Cleveland steel. Its motor, capable of perpetual momentum sent it forward through the debris of the last building it had capsized. It could still hear the slayers footsteps, and it had no intention of loosing her. With the force of a locomotive, it charged through the building wreckage, blasting out on the other side. It slammed a passing car as it continued on; not even noticing it was there. The car spun over three dozen times before finally coming to a rest, allowing it’s confused and very dizzy occupant to exit. The slayer looked back, driven by terror for herself and her two wounded companions, and saw that the juggernaut was fast approaching. Ann's ankle hurt horribly, but she kept going running around the corner of a building and out of its sight, she stopped.
Asylum kept on forward, smashing brick and metal as it continued to build speed. It crashed out the other side, not ten feet from where the slayer rested. She began to run again, through the courtyard of an abandoned riverside factory. Asylum began to follow, not intending to let his quarry escape. They were going to play some more, of that it was certain. It had seen her face when it broke through the building; the fear, the pain; hers almost matched its own. It wanted them to know what it felt. It wanted more tears to flow. It felt bad for that, but it did not know why. It only understood want, and desire. It only wanted to make Lofthre happy. Would this do that? Asylum was certain to find out.
The slayer made good time getting to the factory, not even bothering to slam the door shut behind her. She looked for anywhere to hide. She saw dank offices on the second floor of the decrepit building. Up the stairs she went, the thing was so heavy, it couldn’t possibly climb the decaying stairs to get to the three of them. Both her companions looked as though they had one foot in the grave, and she was sure that she wasn’t going to let them put the other in as well. As she reached the top, Asylum burst into the building with a shower of brick dust and plaster. It caught the last moments of Ann dodging behind a corner of the offices upstairs, and moved to follow. The stairs gave easily under the weight of its tremendous foot. It tried to think of how to get up to them. It strained to hear her, but couldn’t. It activated on of the runes on its temple, and suddenly it could hear not only her labored breathing, but also her heartbeat pounding in Ann's chest.
Asylum followed the sound to under its source, attempting to quietly stalk, but only succeeding in loudly crunching the floor to bits under it. Stealth was something it didn’t realize that it lacked. Under the source of the sounds, it tried to reach up to the ceiling, but it was twenty-five feet up. Asylum stooped down as low as in could and leapt straight up. The slayer screamed as it crashed through the floor right in front of her and the two others. Up she stood, taking her comrades with as she ran through the maze-like offices. Beneath her she could hear the titanic steps of the metallic monstrosity following her. She screamed again as it jump up through the floor once again, this time knocking her to her butt, the two others falling to the floor hard. She looked ahead and saw a window, boarded up, and collecting the other slayers again, ran to it. The wood of each plank cracked and broke easily behind the power of her fist. Pain coursed throughout her body with each blow. With a steadying breath Ann and her companions began the dive into the river below.

-
Please feel free to critique. You're comments are more than welcome, they are wanted.

It has only just begun.

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I want to try out a new feature. It won't be used too often towards the start, but more towards the conclusion. I am goint to let people vote on who, of the pre-established characters, will be the central character of Part 5. This will help mold the story somewhat. Who do you want to read about next?
The cast to chose from for Part 5:
Giles(has not yet been introduced)
Faith(has not yet been introduced)
There are other characters, but we will not center on them at this time. A Giles or Faith part would fit best for story continuity. But the choice is yours. Just find your voice.
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[No, I am Doyle]

(The readers have spoken, and they have picked......)

In his several years in America, he had developed an appreciation for American single malt. Its quenching fire eased Rupert Giles’ parched throat and set his nerves at ease. He strained his eyes on the documents before him. The dim lights did little to help. He glanced at the window to a sudden disturbance. It was merely the ancient oak tree that held the massive residence that now comprised the Watchers Council, scratching against the glass. Things had never been busier for Giles, with the recent awakening of all slayer candidates. They, surprisingly, sprung up all over the world, with more joining the ranks as the weeks progressed.
The small mansion resided in seclusion in a private lot fifteen miles outside of Liverpool. Late in the fall, nature had reared is creative splendor in crisp reds, oranges, and browns. It was late, already half past eleven O’clock, and the brunt of the storm was at its pinnacle. Powerful winds swept much rain across the countryside, howling in delight. Rarely did the earth so passionately get to express its bittersweet emotions. Thunder shook the windows of Giles’ study and yet he found it all comforting.
He gently removed his glasses and rubbed his throbbing temples. After a moment he began to clean them with a clean, pressed handkerchief. His let his thoughts run away with him, and he pondered the many outcomes his life had led him to. The mistakes he’d made, to Giles, seemed to be piling like lumber before winter. But he was determined to correct that. All he needed to do was re-establish the Council well enough to handle the influx of new slayers that required training and sanctuary.
And Wolfram & Hart was making that prospect difficult to attain. Already they had interfered with several recoveries, and had this evening acquired the services of their fourth slayer. Giles took this very personally as half of full weight of these responsibilities fell on his shoulders. He was, after all, watcher to the slayer that lead her armies into battle again the Turakan armies of the Hellmouth, and forever altered the fate of the slayer line on the day that Sunnydale collapsed. He had access to all the Council’s resources that were not destroyed by Caleb’s bomb. It wasn’t an endless fortune, but it would sustain the activities of the new regime indefinitely. If only that damned law firm would sink in its own mire, Giles thought to himself. And Angel taking over the Los Angeles branch was just another wonderful tidbit of news. He might as well be Angelus again. The Burk thinks he’s going to change the system from inside. How bloody daft does he have to be to think that will ever happen in his immortal lifetime.
The ringing of his telephone disturbed his reverie. He sipped his scotch again and set the glass down. Picking up the receiver he greeted, “Rupert Giles.” He rolled his eyes slightly at the voice. It was Andrew.
“Yes Andrew, I did receive the documents.”
“No Andrew, I haven’t had the time to look them over completely…. I have only had them since you sent them to me five minutes ago.”
“Alright Andrew. I am really pleased that you are enjoying London.”
Giles set his glasses back down on the desk and began to rub his weary eyes; Andrew continued to ramble. Outside the elements continued their tantrum. The old structure creaked and groaned solemnly, like a grandfather that barely gets to stretch his cramped muscles.
“Well I am simply ecstatic that you trip went well,” Giles said, a dribble of sarcasm marking his words, “Now, how about you escort the young lady back to the Manor, and then return to London and see if the Coven has located the essence that Willow is trying to track down.” The Manor was the Slayer training ground on another plot of land in the outskirts of **********. Both Slayers and Watchers practiced their respective trades in secrecy on these grounds. There was a high demand on those men and women who could handle the rigorous and hazardous lives that Watcher lead.
“Yes Andrew,” Giles sighed, “ I wish you good luck.” In the several months since the battle at Sunnydale, Andrew had begun to show some potential. He did respect the frequently daft and whiney prat a bit more than he dared tell another being that breathed. Andrew had, after everything else, survived the war with the First. Even Anya had fought ferociously and given her life bravely to save him, as Andrew frequent stated in his overstated tales of the day. It took the whole of the slayer force a week to get the bloody camcorder out of his hands after that.
Truthfully, he was glad to return to England, happy for his time away from his former charge. After the wake of recent events, things still remained somewhat strained between the incredible young woman he loved as his own daughter and him. Work, he decided, would take his mind off everything he didn’t care to remember. The winds began to die down and pick up ferocity at random intervals, soothing Rupert’s senses. He yawned wearily; maybe he would go to bed. He did have to be up early in the morning to tend to the most recent recovery, four slayers from South Africa. They were all very disciplined student, and would do fine by Giles’ estimation.
Downing the last two sips in his scotch glass, Giles gathered up the documents he had received, and skimmed them to see if they we important enough to warrant him tending to them now. He barely heard the knock at the entrance door. Shuffling them into a stack, he set the papers on his oak desk. Walking out of the book-laden office, he called out, “Just a minute.” Grumbling to himself he lamented, “I wonder if they realize it is damn near midnight. As bad as Americans. What are they doing out in this weather, at any….” He opened the door and froze. His eyes were playing their cruelest trick on him ever.
“Rupert,” said Jenny Calendar.

[ana8]

Write next part....Immediately!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[No, I am Doyle]

It was close to midnight and the Manor had finally quieted down. Out side a storm raged that swept half the countryside of England. Its fury had diminished little in the last several hours. Faith and Wood didn’t mind one bit. The two continued to spar in the center of the dimly lit main practice hall. Faith was wearing a red jogging suit; Wood was clad in sweatpants only. Perspiration rolled down the defined muscles of both warriors. Their breath heavy from long exertion, the two circled one another. Their gazes locked, Wood came forward with a few simple jabs at Faith’s face. She easily blocked them and countered with a spinning backhand, which Wood dropped below. Keeping pace with the barely audibly music playing on the boom box, the two kept circling.
“Come on, your going to have to try a lot harder than that,” Faith taunted Wood. His response was a coy smile, and a sweeping kick that took her off guard enough to strip her of her center of balance. Wood shot back up to a standing position and caught her arm. He spun her around, wrapping his forearm gently around her neck.
“You mean something like that.”
“Yep, that’s better,” she whipped around with her elbow, glancing his chin, and kept the momentum build into a jumping roundhouse. Wood leaned back to dodge, but Faith’s foot connected fully with the side of his face, eliciting a groan and knocking him down much harder than she had expected. As she landed her expression changed to surprise.
“Crap! I’m sorry, Wood.” She reached down to help him up. Wood, looking at her with a pained smile, took her hand and pulled her down to him. Taking her into an embrace, he rhetorically asked, “That’s OK. You’re going to make it up right?”
“Of course,” she replied, her nose grazing his, her warm breath caressing his neck. Faith’s lips locked firmly around his and the two enjoyed a lingering kiss. It was the kind that no one can ever tell you it is time to end; it simply does when it pleases. His hands softly cradled her cheeks, fingers stroking her temples. She broke off the kiss, smiled, and licked her lips of the trace of his saliva that remained.
“Hey mister, I thought we were only going to practice fighting in this room. To many slayer brats running the halls after hours.”
“I wouldn’t worry to much. I locked the doors before we started. Anyone who would see us would have to be able to see through walls. I think we are safe,” he said intrepidly. Secure in that knowledge, she quickly leaned in for a more passionate kiss. This man had more deserved confidence than she had ever known a man to have. In the last several months she had realized he might have reined her in. In years past, she never would have believed it possible, but she was startlingly aware that she had strong feelings for him. What pissed her off the most was that he knew it.
After she thought she had lost him in the fall of Sunnydale, she had kept him pretty close to her. He traveled with her to Brazil, Africa, and now to the Manor in England, where she helped to train both slayers and watchers in fighting strategy and technique. Wood was hired on as an advisor, but never felt that becoming a watcher was something he really cared to do. All she really cared was that he only became more appealing as each day passed.
His hands ran down her sides and onto her hips; hers circled his neck and back tenderly. They had little time, lately, to physically express themselves. But now, the bustle had finally cooled down. The back of his fingers ran lightly across the taught muscles of her stomach, bringing a pleasurable shiver to Faith, and a smile from her reaction to Wood. His hand flipped around and moved ever so slowly upward, lifting her top slightly.
“Um, sorry to bother you,” Andrew said as he turned his back to them, “I, ah, just thought you’d like to know that everything went fine in London.” A little annoyed, Wood answered, “Good to know.”
“I thought you locked that door,” Faith said quietly, matching his annoyance.
“Well, I thought I did.”
“I, uh, also wanted to tell you that Wolfram & Hart sent their Boba Fet to try to, uh, hire Emily,” Andrew continued, “ but she came to our side anyways. She’s getting unpacked in her room, right now. So, OK, that’s all I wanted to let you know. Uh, I’ll let you get back to… things.”
“Well thanks for the update, Andrew,” Faith said impatiently, and then laughed as Andrew uncomfortably left the room.
“How about we take this back to our room,” suggested Wood.
“I think that’d be a good idea.”

[ana8]

It's great..Even tho Wood is not my fav character I'm starting to like him:)

[No, I am Doyle]

The day gave way to evening, and the evening, in turn, gave way to night. The heat wave had finally, after a week, left Rome leaving behind a strong, cool breeze. Foul dreams haunted her sleep. Her nighttime mind dwelled on the images she had seen, trying to decipher their meaning. Unfortunately, this meant seeing many of the horrible sights all over again in their frightening splendor. Willow awoke to Kennedy slipping under the covers of the bed where she rested. Willow rolled over and gave an exhausted smile.
“You’re awake,” Kennedy said.
“Only sort of.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better… and worse,” Willow replied. She understood more and more little by little. “Where’s Buffy?”
“She had to leave for a while. A week or two. She took Dawn with her. She did want me to make sure that you rest up before you go back out to that "Astral" place.”
“Astral Realm,” Willow interjected.
“OK, "Realm". But anyways, I think she is with the Immortal. She said we could stay here at her place in Rome for as long as we need to, though. Xander’s still here,” said Kennedy. She pulled loose strands of hair from Willow’s face. “And besides, I’m right next to you,” she said with a smile. Willow smiled back, but it was short lived, as it turned to a slight frown.
“Kennedy?”
“Yes, Will.”
“I am afraid. Well, a little afraid. I have seen more of the funky mind movies playing in my head. They’re not good… at all. I don’t think that slayer is on Earth.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s, It’s just that, they are filled with sadness, lots of sadness,” Willow continued, “and pain, not like emotional, my boyfriend broke up with me and I’m in pain pain, but real, scream at the top of your lungs pain. Wherever she is, it is bad. I keep seeing devices, like for torture, and, and I can feel her spirit break. I want to help her, but I don’t know how. How can I? I don’t even know where she is.”
“We will find a way.”
“But will we be in time?” Willow shot back building a light frenzy, “ I can’t stand the little glimpses I get, how can it be for her. How long has she been there? I mean she might not even know she is a slayer yet, she’s just a scared girl.” Kennedy placed her cool hands on the sides of Willow’s face and let them slide down very slowly, focusing Willow on her face. “It’s OK, Willow, we’ll get there and save the day. And if not, we were not meant to be able to help. We are just going to have to accept that.”
“But…” Willow began.
“”But nothing,” Kennedy said evenly, almost sweetly, “we will do everything we can, you know that, we always have. But right now, you NEED to worry about yourself a little. You can’t help her if you are tired and worn out.” Her thumbs ran along Willow’s ears, soothing out some of her lover’s tension. Willow gave a fully resigned nod and touched her forehead to Kennedy’s. “And besides Xander has been at the books Giles sent us for anything on alternate dimensions and spells for demon prisons, he may come up with an idea.”
The two lay there, silently enjoying each other’s presence for quite some time, listening to the breeze howl outside and the trees shake against each other. They faced each other in the bed. Fingers interlocked, they held hands; Kennedy’s thumb sliding gently over Willow’s knuckles. They reveled in the quiet surprises that wait for those who can be quiet long enough to find them; the echoes carried on the wind.
“Willow?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow night there is a new club opening up. It’s called Centuries Old. Funny, huh. It is supposed to be very sheik.” Kennedy didn’t bother with subtle manipulation anymore, mostly because Willow had caught on, “ I just figured if we are taking a day off from our search, you know, we could go, and check it out. Maybe even have a few drinks, maybe even dance a little. It’ll be like going to The Bronze again.” Willow thought about The Bronze. It had been the only place in Sunnydale that was really worth going to, if you were part of the under thirty crowd. She had spent many nights at work and at fun there. It had housed several near-massacres, a troll attack, and many awesome bands.
“Sure,” Willow said dreamily.
“Really!” Kennedy replied a little too excitedly, Willow had been all about business since a couple of days after they had awoken the slayer line. This was a welcome change in her attitude.
“Yes, really,” Willow said with a giggle, as Kennedy moved in for a kiss. Willow reciprocated, placing her hands on Kennedy’s neck. To their joy, the kiss seemed to last for an hour, a very passionate hour at that. When Kennedy, pulled away, Willow could see the look on her face. It was a little devilish, in the good way. She moved back in for another kiss.
The two made love as the evening breeze poured through the window and around their bodies, as though the very elements were blessing their passionate interlude.

[ana8]

As always great..Can't wait to read more:)

[No, I am Doyle]

Its fists slammed into the dirt and rock below it again and again. Asylum had already moved hundreds of thousands of tons of rock in only a few hours. Not a scratch had appeared on its silvery armored hands. Something had led it to this very spot, like a sense of urgency. Vast power lay below, and it knew that it was suppose to go to it. It had already dug down a few hundred feet. All that separated it from its destination was the very Earth itself. As though that would be enough.
Each punch shook the ground for a hundred yards. Its engine fired up with each tremendous blow. To Asylum, it was only playing in the mud, like it did once. Or did it? Asylum wasn’t sure. It was sad, so very sad. It was also driven. Lofthre had told it that when it was completed with its task, it would be a real boy.
“I see you have been very busy, my child,” Lofthre yelled down the large opening. “Just keep digging, you will find what you are looking for.” Asylum stopped its strike against the ground and looked up to its master. It tried to smile, unaware that it did not have a mouth to smile with. You could even see the sorrow in the multifaceted gems that operated as its eyes. Soon it would smile and laugh and cry and feel. Soon.
“Keep up the good work Asylum,” Lofthre said with a smirk. It spoke a few words in its native tongue and ran a claw through the air. The world before him split harshly; behind the fissure a world of red skies and sharp, broken, black rock and blue fire lay. The red demon stepped through, and the split closed on Lofthre’s departure. Asylum shrugged and went back to its toil.
An hour and a half latter the ground below the machine’s massive feet gave way, dropping the eight ton golem into a deep underground chasm. Asylum fell for almost a thousand feet. Its massive body smashed against the bottom of the void. The air was humid, it could sense, the ground warm. It wanted to feel the warmth and moisture. It felt like it should be able to. Asylum stood up, unharmed from the fall and incapable of soreness, and looked around at its surroundings.
All around it, crystals of all colors of the spectrum stuck from the cave walls. Asylum thought that they were the most beautiful things that it had ever seen. It didn’t ponder the fact that it had only come to life that very night. It still contained some of its prior memories, though not enough to remember anything of the life it lived before this. Its feet clunked as it began to walk through the cave in the direction that desire told it to go. It touched the rune on its temple and, after a slight swishing noise; it could hear faint sounds from a great distance down the tunnel. Asylum headed towards their source. As it left the chamber it had fallen into, darkness overtook it. It retreated to the light. Fear gripped its soul. It was terrified of the things that lie in wait of little boys in the dark. It remembered that one of those monsters had already found it, but it couldn’t remember when. Instinctively it touched the metal that shaped to a wide brow above its crystalline eyes. The whole of the darkness vanished and it seemed as though it were in the daylight. Comforted it began it journey again.
Close to an hour later it happened upon the source of the noise. It saw many monsters standing at the mouth of a new tunnel. They were gray humanoids with glowing, red eyes, wicked clawed hands, and serrated teeth. They were the monsters under the bed, Asylum was certain of that. Behind them, from the tunnel, it could see pale light and hear what sounded like violent play and children laughing at the whole spectacle. Asylum couldn’t muster the courage to go forward, into the din, but the urgent sensation led it to step into view of the demons. Many voices shouted, and Asylum was surprised to discover that it could understand what they were saying. It simply didn’t care. As the demons readied cruel looking swords and spears, Asylum could hear hundreds more approach. They all stopped dead when Asylum’s motor roared to life. The juggernaut sprang into action waving its arms back and forth in front of it, fear still in heart, like a child swinging a stick to fend off something bad. The stick just happened to be very big and swung with explosive force. The golem moved forward and began to build velocity. The spells that powered its engine magically allowed it to build perpetual momentum, increasing speed and power, even when heavy obstacles lay before it.
The demons crashed, broken, into the walls of the cave as Asylum broke through their front ranks with no effort. It charged down the rock hallway trampling all unfortunate demons in its path. Those that did get a strike off against the titan quickly learned that its hide could not be pierced or cut. They began to yell this out to those who still stood between Asylum and the rest of the cavern. They, more importantly, yelled to hide the children as the beast was coming through.
On the inside, Asylum was faced by ten of the demon ranks that looked as though they held no fear. In awe of his own power, the golems own fear lessened. It stood tall, almost confident before the proud demon warriors who were now circling it trying to assess the chinks in its armor. Three of them came forward, equipped with spears, each dropping under the swing of the machine’s arm. Air whooshed with the force of its blow. Every demon made note of the power, that they did not want to feel if it was as bad as it sounded. Under the blow, the three planted their spears in carefully aimed spots, one to the stomach, one to the ankle, and one to the groin. All three glanced off. They rolled to the side as four more came in, two springing off the wall, two cutting low again. The two in the air planted their spears firmly where the collarbone should be; the other two attempted to sever the tendons of Asylum’s ankles. The demons quickly became aware that such weak spots where nonexistent on the monstrosity, the body was designed to take physical damage all day without harm. As each new assault took place, the demons were quickly learning this lesson.
Asylum fired back into action, catching two of them by the throat. It exerted a little pressure and reveled in the sensation of their heads popping off. All eight of the remaining came in with an all or nothing assault. Two leapt up, off the wall and planted their spears in its temple. Asylum shot both arms out straight and felt their bodies crumble under the force. Three came at it with swords and it continued the motion of its last kills into a downward strike. One’s head was now also where its feet were; the other two, destroyed, flew into the walls as its hand swept outward. The arm rose high in the air, met with its companion arm, and came back down; hands clasped together, and hit the last three with eviscerating impact.
Many of the demons had already gone into hiding, but thirty more warriors came out, most brandishing weapons. Those without weapons had a different surprise. Each hurled a basketball sized glowing orb at Asylum. As each orb hit, it exploded with enough force to rock the titan back on its feet and down on its butt. They were very potent explosives and did tremendous damage to the cave walls around and behind the golem, but as Asylum stood back up the demons realized that they would not stop the now blackened machine. All they could do was give their lives so that their families would escape. Each resigned themselves to death, and gave most respectable, vicious roar as the thirty demons ran to meet their attacker. Asylum fired its motor in response.

[Magui]

Yes!,I was able to open the thread!!!:D:D:D:D::dance::


I love the whole story!...post more...soon!

[ana8]

Very cool..Can't wait for more..

[No, I am Doyle]

Giles was dumbstruck, fearful that the First was beginning a cruel new plan. He could only think that she was not possibly real. Jenny Calendar, soaking wet from the rain, closed fast and gripped him with an embrace so tight, one would think she was trying to stop him from disappearing. She was very much real and as Rupert realized this he closed his arms around her. Tears of joy streamed from his eyes, a flood he had no care to stymie. How was it that she could be here, in the flesh? He knew this must be some kind of a trick, but for the moment he didn’t care.
After a long moment, she said, her face as damp with tears of her own, “My god, it’s you. My god.” Giles began to harden in disbelief and backed away from her, looking her up and down. She was too perfect a double, but she shouldn’t be alive. Angelus had stripped her of life when he broke her neck many years ago. The dead do not return to life… unless someone brings them back he realized.
“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” he said coldly.
“Rupert, please believe me. It’s me. I have been so lost, and I couldn’t find you,” she pleaded. Her wet, raven hair clung to her face; her clothes held fast to her body.
“You can’t be Jenny, she died a long time ago!” he shouted angrily.
“It is me, I have never stopped loving you. I was in a place of joy, I was happy and fulfilled. People took me from that place. Oh. Rupert, I waited for you for so long.” She began to sob.
People? Giles became confused by this announcement. Who would have, could have done this. He knew his answer was not overtly difficult to deduce. It had to be Wolfram & Hart; they stunk of this. His heart lightened again by the smell, the sight, they very presence of this woman. This time he came forward and silently held her for a minute, tightly so she would not be taken from him again. She kissed him; her kiss was filled with more longing than he had ever before felt.
“How long have you been back?” he asked. “How did you come back?”
“I don’t know how, but I have been alive for a week now. They kept me in a suite in London. They wouldn’t let me leave, but one of them mentioned your name, said that you were here. I hit one of them over the head and stole his keys yesterday. I took his car and found my way to you. God, it is so harsh here. It’s all like I am living in a painting. It hurts a little to be here. But it is better now.”
Giles listened intently, and then led her out of the rain. He took her to his den, to the fireplace to warm up and then said, “Let me get you some dry clothes.” Many watchers stayed here on a semi-regular basis, so there should be something to fit her. He went down the hall to a room on the first floor.
Jenny stood in the den looking around at her surroundings. The walls were covered in tasteful wall hangings. On the fireplace sat a few pictures, some of Buffy, Willow, and Xander, old and new. Some were of people she had never seen, one of Willow hugging a young woman with light brown hair; one was a young woman standing with Xander. One was of Olivia. She picked that one up and felt as though she should not be here, that she was out of place in this living, continuing world. Things, of course, would have gone on without her. She placed the picture back in place and hugged her arms around herself, as he began to wonder if she should leave.
“I set them on the bed for you, they should fit. Are you tired?” Giles said as he reentered the room.
“I’m very tired, but that’s alright. I don’t think I could possibly sleep right now.”
“Are you hungry? Would you care for some tea?”
Jenny smiled, but it quickly fell. “Is, uh, your wife going to be back soon?”
“My wife?” he followed her gaze to the picture of Olivia. “Oh, heavens no,” Giles chuckled a bit, “I am not married. That is a dear friend, but we are no longer romantically involved.”
“Oh,” she said a slightly embarrassed. She did relax more though. “So, no girlfriend?”
“No, no girlfriend.” He could barely contain his elation.
“Boyfriend?” she asked coyly.
He gave her a curt but friendly look. “No.”
“Just checking,” she said with a smile. She excused herself to dry up and change her clothing. Giles went to the kitchen and water to boil. He entered the den and saw Jenny stand there in a red lace top and slacks. Rarely had he seen a vision so lovely. The both sat on the couch together. Jenny rattled off many questions, about his life until now, about Buffy and her friends. She was shocked to hear that Sunnydale no longer exsised, that a crater was all that was left. She sat in amazement as Giles told her about how Angel had returned, and then left for Los Angles. When the water was ready, he made tea. Hours passed as he told her about the many twists and turns that had befallen the lives of the Scoobies. She however had no memory of Dawn. That was something that intrigued Giles. When he was done, he had some questions of his own.
“What do you remember from when you were brought back?”
“I was in a cage, a bunch of people in suits were standing around it. They were British. They said that they worked for Wolfram & Hart, a law firm, a law firm of all things. They said they had a,” she mocked a business demeanor, “vested interest in me. Then they took me to the suite and there I stayed until I broke free and came to find you.” Giles took a few moments to compose his thoughts. More questions came to mind. Why had they done this? He couldn’t understand what they had to gain from bringing her back.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asked with deep concern.
“I am fine Rupert, but I am a little hungry now.”
“Certainly. Please, let me fix you something,” Giles set her up a plate of bread, meat, and cheese. He set a pastry on the side. When he returned she already lay in a deep sleep on th plush sofa. “Oh well,” he thought food would have to wait until morning. Setting the plate on the table in front of the couch he picked up Jenny, noticing how she really was there, and carried her to a bed. She barely stirred. Giles went to his study to think on all that had transpired that night. Questions floated about in his head, more than he would ever care to have unanswered.
After an hour the phone waked him up. His glasses were smudged and disheveled, and a little drool had caked at the corner of his open mouth. He was quite groggy when he answered the phone.
“Rupert Giles speaking.” It was Nigel in Cleveland. He sounded a bit worried.
“Rupert,” said Nigel, “I think we have a problem.”

[ana8]

Loved it..Keep it that way(giles and Jenny must be together now:))

[Magui]

No, no girlfriend.” He could barely contain his elation.
“Boyfriend?” she asked coyly.
He gave her a curt but friendly look. “No.”


LOL,that was funny:D

Post more!...I'm an official Giles/Jenny shipper now:D

[PrettyasaPictur]

Can't wait to read more. Keep up the good work No, i am Doyle!!!!

[No, I am Doyle]

The rapid flapping, like tremendous insect wings, startled Willow. She sat upright in the bed, looking around like a startled deer. Beside her, Kennedy lay asleep, oblivious to the world around her. She heard the sound again, this time from outside the window, where the cool night dwelled. It seemed to ride the waves of wind as they caressed the buildings of Rome. A third reverberation, now closer, echoed violently in the otherwise gentle air. Willow set her resolve. She figured if anything came looking for a fight, she, her best friend, and the slayer snoring beside her would be ready to give it one. She knew that her side seemed to have a habit of winning.
Again the noise flapped eerily outside, like it was fast approaching. Willow stood up and walked to the window. She looked down to the street, four stories down. Willow noticed that she felt well rested, as she stood at the window deeply inhaling the mild air. Her mind wandered again, and was then reigned in quickly by a small green light traveling through the streets below. What the source lacked in size, the light made up for in its intensity. Quickly zooming through the avenues and streets, the emerald, pixie-like glimmer stopped and started frequently. Every time it began to dance about, the sound echoed throughout the streets. Those few still out enjoying the nightlife seemed not to notice.
Moments latter the glimmer jumped up above the rooftops. It swirled in midair for a few long moments, and then flew straight towards the open window Willow stood at. It stopped a foot from her, lightly bobbing and moving. It was the advanced locator spell Willow had employed on her search earlier that day. Why hadn’t it ended? More importantly, it seemed to take on a life of it’s own. Willow sensed living energy radiate from it. She wondered if another spell had gone awry, or had just changed its nature on her. This beacon of green darted around the room for a few moments, flapping as it went, and then came to rest as it nuzzled Willow’s lower back. It began to push her forward with strength that it shouldn’t possess. In fact, it shouldn’t have a physical manifestation Willow rationalized. Yet, here it was, trying to push her to some unknown destination.
“So you’re not just a locator spell anymore?” she mused. “You’re a escort spell. How nifty is that?” The spell stopped trying to push her and flew around the room in livid protest. It then went back to trying to goad her forward.
“I can’t go THAT way,” she said pointing out the window, “I’ll get smooshed.” Willow twisted her body around and the speck propelled itself out the window, stopped, and fluttered for a moment. Willow slipped on her shoes as she hurried down the three flights of stairs and out to the sidewalk below. The spark was dancing franticly in front of her face in a moment.
“What are you trying to tell me?!” the witch exclaimed. She wasn’t sure that it could understand her, but she tried to communicate, “What do you want? If I’m supposed to be following you, then go, lead the way. Show me where Timmy is?” As she let out a small sigh of confused defeat, the talisman of light rose above her head and began to release a dusting of flakes of pure jade light. They covered Willow’s head and were absorbed into her being. She began to feel as though the world dropped away from under her feet, her very breath almost pulled from her. She deeply inhaled and looked down to see her body was no longer on the ground, she hovered a few feet above.
“OK… now what, Tinkerbell? Happy thoughts?” Almost as if in response, both she and the speck shot up into the sky. She shrieked, a combination of exhilaration and fear, as she watched the world shrink below her. A great distance up in the sky, the two stopped abruptly. Willow loomed in midair, thinking about how bad it would be for the energies powering this spell to come to an end. She felt a sensation, like an invisible thread passing through the center of her chest. It became almost taut, pulling her forward. She increased velocity as she moved, and soon the lights of towns passed by in flashes. Shortly after, the Atlantic came into view as she sped along, the flickering light right in front of her. Crashing together, hues of blue churned and bubbled. Waves slapped at each other as the ocean eternally played. This was the power of element that brought Willow to appreciate the Wiccans. Nature’s gentle fury, its casual aggression; it all took her breath away.
At the superior speeds they were traveling at, Willow was able to see the night sky lighten into an evening sky. After a while, she crossed over the peninsula of Florida. It was early evening here and the sky was only beginning to go dark. They continued forward, leaving the land mass behind them, and soon enough they were speeding over the Gulf of Mexico. As they soared the skies, they dipped down low; Willow’s slippered feet nearly plunging into the crashing surf. She skimmed along the top of the water’s surface unable to keep in her sheer delight. This was so much better than flight in the Astral Realm. Everything was crisp and clear, and seemed so much more real. The drops of cool water spray on her face invigorated every part of her being.
Soon after, the two reached the rocky ground of Mexico. They climbed higher in the sky. She breathed in the hot, dry air. It was like being in southern California again. After a while, the desert landscape was replaced by growing jungle forest. Again, they rose out of the reach of the giant, ancient foliage. As they reached the center of South America, Willow felt her momentum wane. She and the spell lost speed and began to rise high into the sky, still slowing. All movement halted, and the two lingered for a moment in the air, as though waiting for something. Seconds later, they began a fast, frightening freefall straight to the waiting land below. Willow let out a scream of terror, it seemed as though the ride had ended early. Down through a small clearing in the treetops they fell, Willow wanted to cry out for help, but she knew that nothing would save her. She saw the Earth rise up to meet her, and she prepared for the worst. Arms covering her face and legs tensing, she tried to brace for the impact. As she connected with the dirt, she passed through and continued to fall through the dense earth. Realizing this,combined with being swallowed by complete darkness, Willow became increasingly apprehensive as to where her trip would end.
Willow and her guide exited unharmed from the ground they had passed through, as though it was only a glamour, into a large underground stratum. She saw many beings here; weak looking imps laboring hard for disgusting demon masters wielding metal wrapped whips. Though she passed mere feet over the heads of many, none seemed to notice her presence. This gave her some comfort, but were things to end, she would be in a dire situation indeed. Heavy with grunts and yelps, the air was otherwise stagnant with age and despair. As she passed deeper into the cavern, she saw more of these small demons toil small sites in the earthen reservoir pulling silvery flecks of metal. Larger demons fired and ran huge vats, pouring red molten silver into various molds, sometimes on insubordinates. Willow began to pass through walls with some frequency as the caves became smaller. These rooms were filled with various pens of ferocious demonbeasts.
She began to slow again, passing unseen through the various caverns, but then slowed to a stop in a chamber that held the equipment of the darkest of all magics. Inside the chamber, a giant red demon with large dark horns ripped its way through the fabric of space with its claw. Willow followed right behind as it passed through the threshold of the portal, entering into a tremendous giant dark hallway. The gateway slammed shut behind her. The walls of the corridor looked as though it were living flesh, “breathing” as though they contained life in some horrible way and bones protruded from corners, walls, and surfaces. Ripe with groans and screams, the hallway itself seemed to sing songs of pain and woe. Rarely had Willow been more terrified. Vampires wandered these halls, though they looked a bit more formidable that the average vampire. These pseudo-demons moved in groups with precision and order. Many a victim’s remains stood as landmarks of the numerous dangers. Some, though ancient and rotten, still screamed out.
“Hell…” she said meekly, “I’m in Hell.”
"Well, you ain't just wistling Dixie!" came a voice from behind her. As she floated along, she saw the source of the comment. A drying corpse had been leaned against a wall lolled it's head in her direction, one eye still intact. It attemped to smile, sinuey muscles cracked at the effort. Willow’s guided flight continued slowly down through the corridor, light seemed to come from nowhere. Every twenty feet a new hallway began, each the same as this one, going on for what seemed like forever.
“Alright, any minute now I am just going to…wake up!” she tried to rouse herself from a sleep, “Wake up, come on Willow, you can do this. Just wake up.” She kept pleading with herself for some time, as she floated towards her unknown destination.
She passed through the right hand wall of the eternal hallway and then again through another, into a large antechamber. Blue fire billowed up from pits in the glassy, black floor; human and demon remains, cracked and syrupy, lay in scattered piles in corners of the room. At the center, a thirty-foot tall door stood ominously, and all the more frightening as every last inch of the black and red door was writhing and moving with animation. Willow’s heart fluttered violently, she knew that wherever this ride was taking her, she was almost there. Finally, she passed through the door and landed back on the sharp ground on the other side, the energy of the spell exhausted.
Her five senses where overwhelmed. The pungent stench of decay assaulted her nose; pained screams and moans assailed her ears. The dimly lit chamber house several unfortunates, bound, in various states of torment. Willow’s soul sank at the sights and sounds. How many had suffered here. The crack of a whip, followed by a pitiful scream brought her back to what was going on now. Willow, fearful of what she may see, slowly walked around the corner to the source of the anguished cries, and at this new sight she nearly swooned.
Immense in frightful grandeur, a demon unlike any she had ever before seen, stood forty feet tall. Its rough flesh was black, its talons like swords dripping with pitch. Purple orbs burned in their sockets and a long tail, sixty feet in length total, lashed about. This had to be a true demon, from before man, for nothing about it could ever lead Willow to believe that it had anything in common with the demons of Earth. Mammoth, muscular arms snapped a giant metal whip from side to side. A smile of sheer cruel delight played on its inhuman face.
Lashed to a table before it, a young woman lay whimpering. It was the slayer that Willow had felt; somehow she simply knew it. Willow could take no more.
“Stop!” she screamed, a mixture of grief, hatred, and magic played in her voice. Her hair flashed white for a momentand then back to red. The beast’s arm stopped mid swing, the whip held fast in the air. Even the sounds from the room came to a sudden halt. The only sounds that could still be heard were the sobs of the woman on the table.
“H, h…. help…. me, please… help me…” the young woman pleaded in French, her arms stretched out, hands clenching and unclenching. She spoke with a strong accent, and then began rambling in the language. Willow ran foreword to her. Tears filled Willow’s eyes as she saw the woman’s back, lacerated beyond comprehension. How could anything ever do this she thought to herself? How could anything that was good ever allow such cruelty and suffering to continue? She pulled at the wire bindings, cutting her own fingers in the process. Willow knew that she was corporeal again. Sniffling, Willow began to stare hard at the wires. The bindings unwound themselves, freeing the young woman’s arms and legs. Numerous wounds covered her extremities and back, only few were superficial. To weak to get up on her own, Willow helped the woman rise to her feet, the woman nearly fainted. The two began to hobble to the exit of the chamber. Behind them everything seemed to whoosh into motion. Willow looked back, the demon now staring intently at her, its whip snapping into place on the now empty table.
An angry roar resonated from it, as another smile sprawled across its beaklike lips. It came forward, flailing the whip to the side with graceful flight through the air. It connected with the table in front of it, splintering it to pieces. The demon stalked slowly towards the young women, speaking in guttural tongues, spouting curses and threats in its unknown language. Willow chanted as it brought the whip above its head. It came violently to rest on a shield of force spell enacted by the powerful witch. Cursing more, voice booming now, it punched the force field. Willow groaned under the strain. She made her way to the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
Chanting again, the door slammed open with great force, busting off its hinges. The two kept going, the monstrous footfalls from behind indicated that it had taken up the pursuit. The woman fell to the ground, and Willow tried to pick her up; however she had fainted away. Willow knew that she had no hope of standing her ground against such a demon, and hadn’t the first clue as to how they were going to get out of this hellish prison. The demon ducked under the doorframe and stepped out into the antechamber. Its roar shook the walls of the room. Some of the skeletal remains actually crawled to the fiery pits and dropped into them at the demon’s awesome and fearsome presence.
“Oh, that’s promising,” Willow joked, without any humor, to herself. Chanting again, Willow used her magics to pick up the massive door and smashed it into the demons face. It recoiled and screamed out in pain… for a moment. It began to charge out and Willow screamed. Desperately, she began to cast again.
“Willow!” Kennedy yelled and shook Willow’s screaming, sleeping body. “Willow, wake up! It’s just a bad dream!” Willow’s eyes snapped open, horror clearly visible in them. At that moment, Willow’s hair turned white, and the spell that she had cast in her slumber was set off. Thick arcs of powerful lightning struck out at Kennedy. The slayer ducked low, her reflexes saving her from most of the damage, but not all. The witch’s hair returned to its auburn color.
“Kennedy!” Willow screamed out, afraid that she had hurt the woman she loved. Tears still streamed from red, swollen eyes, she was sobbing strongly now. Kennedy propped herself on the side of the bed, her right arm and shoulder burnt. The walls and ceiling behind her were close to ruined.
"It was just a nightmare," Kennedy reasured Willow, her voice thick with pain. She winced and rested her head against her left hand. "Only a dream." she repeated.
“What is it? What's going on?” Xander called out as he ran through the door to the room "Willow? Are you ..." He tripped hard, and fell to the ground with a great “Oof”.
"Ouch! What the hell is that?" he asked.
Looking at his feet, he saw the naked and beaten body of a young brunette lying on the floor.

-
Ahhhh! Finally to part 10. Now the story begins. I hope you are all enjoying this so far. Please post if you have comments.

[PrettyasaPictur]

This part has nice momentum to it......& the last paragraph is great!!!!!.....MUST post more very,very soon!!!!

[No, I am Doyle]

The steaming water rained down on Faith’s head and shoulders. On the other side of the steam fogged glass, Wood quickly trimmed and neatened up the light beard he had let grow for the last few days. She ran her fingers through her soaking wet hair removing conditioner and then spat out a mouthful of clean, warm water. She slid the shower door open slightly and peered out at Wood.
“So, let me get this straight. The slayers tried to fight a train?” She asked with honest confusion.
“No, my dear, Giles said they said the thing they fought MOVED like a train. It seriously injured two of them and broke the other one’s hands. They couldn’t do anything to hurt it. Whatever it is, it’s covered in some kind of serious armor.
“Wow. Well they must have been new, because they should’ve remembered to use its size against it. Well, you know, the really big demons are usually pretty slow,” She strategized.
“You can tell them that when we get there.” He shot back, smiling.
“Listen mister,” she shot back as she shut the water off, “Don’t make me come out there and kick your ass.” She smiled and pointed her finger at him, reaching for the towel. “Besides,” she continued as she wrapped herself in the thick towel, “I thought that one of them jumped into the river, all macho, with the other two and saved their lives. She should be proud. In the last few years, I’ve learned to appreciate the little victories. You know. Girl’s green. Not used to seeing, let alone fighting, big bad nasties,” She stepped out of the shower and wrapped her hair in a second, smaller towel. “Gotta hand it to her, she managed to keep her head level enough to save her comrades.”
“So, let me see it?” he asked.
“Alright, but I don’t want any crap from you about it, pal.” Faith unwrapped the towel from her hair. Damp, curly blonde hair hung down around her shoulder blades. He turned and folded his arms, regarded her for a moment.
“It’s nice. I like it,” he said honestly, “But, next time you should let me pick the shade.”
“Hey, I pulled off the Buffy look for a couple days, and I did it better than B ever has!” she defended.
Wood splashed cold water on his face a few times and wiped his cheeks with a small hand towel. He could only smile at her vigor; he had always appreciated the slayer spirit.
-
Wood held the airport door open for her. Faith was beginning to enjoy her newly founded status of traffic stopping blonde. She crossed the walkway in a tight red top and black leather pants, her trademark. Her hair was tied back and she carried a small bag under her right arm. Wood chuckled to himself a bit. The men could stare all they wanted, he knew that he was hers and she was his. He just loved seeing his woman flaunt it.
“Andrew should be meeting us at the paper stand with your new passport and identification.” He said. “So, we are going back home. I just can’t wait for a nice juicy cheeseburger and a side of fries, American style.”
“I know. Bangers and mash, not really my thing. This British grub is killing my stomach worse than the food in prison.” She realized that, by the looks cast her way, that she had said that last part a little too loud. She smiled with mock embarrassment and passed through the doors.
-
Andrew stood next to a bookstand called Sam’s Papers and Magazines. He was dressed in his “a little too British” suit again. Faith swore that he looked like he had stepped out of a Sherlock Holmes novel, grabbed a pipe and said, “Today, I feel like becoming a watcher”.
“Glad to see you two made it safely,” Andrew tried to sound formal, accomplishing only to sound pretentious.
“Yah… you too.” Faith shot back. Andrew reached into his file brief, extracting some paper, and handed them to Faith.
“You are now, Sofia Picard, um, you know, like Jean-Luc.” He said; a bit too pleased with himself.
“Who?” she asked, both mocking and honestly.
“Oh come on, you have to know who Picard is. Hello, captain of the Enterprise. I, uh, swear you people never get any culture.” he replied.
“Contrary to “popular” belief, Andrew,” Wood said, “Star Wars isn’t culture.”
“Star TREK. It’s Star Trek. And oh contraire, my friend, many people live their lives by the philosophies of Star Trek.” Andrew defended.
“And they all need to get a life,” Faith said. Andrew sighed, and shook his head.
“Well you live and work as an art dealer in London, and are on a business trip to a gallery in Cleveland.” Andrew continued.
“Right, so, artsy fartsy and all that stuff,” Faith summarized, “London, gallery, business trip. Think I gottcha.”
“Remind me to take you to the Lovre one of these days,” Wood said to Faith.
“Fat chance, mister.” Was all she said.
-
The airplane had finally reached the altitude it would be at for the rest of the trip. The fasten seatbelt sign had just shut off, and the flight attendants had just begun to set out with their carts; offering refreshments. Andrew shuffled through some of the papers Nigel had faxed him from Cleveland. Next to him Wood sat, quietly, with his hands folded in his lap; and next to him, Faith was listening to the music on the headset. She had discovered that some European bands were pretty good.
“So,” Andrew began quietly, out of nowhere, “ Uh, this thing rampaged through some of the industrial district. It, um, took out seven buildings, a whole bunch of cars, and killed over sixty people.” Faith took of the headset off to listen in. “We have to be careful, because the FBI is already beginning to investigate.”
“Do we know where it is now?” Wood asked.
“After it berserker rage, it just disappeared under the radar. Nigel still doesn’t know it’s, uh, location,” Andrew answered.
“Right,” said Faith matter-of-factly, “so we’ll just go in and kick its tin can ass. Case closed. It goes back to hell. We take in a little slice of Americana. Everybody goes home happy.”

[ana8]

Great..I'm really curious what's going to happen now...

[No, I am Doyle]

Jenny began to stir. The soft bed and comforter tried to keep her in bed with promises of comfort. Then she remembered where she was. She practically jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. She was still dressed in the clothing from the previous night. Her heart began to jump. She was determined to not miss another second with Rupert. She became somewhat lost in her surroundings. The mansion was small, but maze-like. She passed by sliding glass doors in the rear of the house calling out Rupert’s name softly. It was early morning still, and the sky outside was beginning to turn a deep navy blue. She had only slept a couple of hours.
She found his study and chuckled at the sight of Giles passed out, his face in books, his glasses set to the side. Next to him was a computer, on and set to a web page about demons.
“Well, at least he got over his dislike for computers,” she said to herself. She slowly approached the desk, her left hand running along the cool wood. Jenny tilted her head as she looked at the ancient text and computer printouts lying in mass disarray before him. There was a picture of a giant demon in armor holding a wicked looking sword.
“Almothnon… the ravager,” she said quietly. She couldn’t figure out why so many demons felt the need to advertise what they like to do in their names. She figured that a person would probably figure out that they were “terrible” or “destroyers” when you saw them. She put her hand on his shoulder and shook lightly.
“Now look what you did Andrew…” he said as he awoke with a start. “Oh,” he put his hand on his chest, “it’s you.”
“Good Morning,” she smiled as she spoke, “You looked so comfortable, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“This, oh, um, this is just… well, we had a bit of a problem and I guess I just passed out. It has been a long evening.” He stopped quickly, as though he thought he had said something the wrong way. “I, I don’t mean that seeing you was long, just, many things have happened in the last twelve hours, and I can’t even begin to understand any of it.”
“Don’t worry Rupert, I get what you’re saying. And yes, it has been a very long last twelve hours, very long week. Until last night, all I wanted was for it to end.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked with genuine concern. “Are you hungry?”
“I am famished.”
-
Giles began to clear the table of some the dishes as she finished the last few bites of breakfast. She chewed a bite of toast slowly, took a sip of coffee, and wiped her mouth with napkin. As she had eaten, he had continued to fill her in on the many happenings in the world, as well as with the old group. He told her about Willow’s powers, and Xander’s perished love, a twice-former vengeance demon, and about how Buffy, as well, had returned from the grave.
“You know, Rupert, it doesn’t seem so long ago, to me anyways, when you couldn’t stand computers. Didn’t you call them idiot boxes once?” she asked him slyly, changing the topic.
“Oh, uh yes, I suppose. Well, they have proved a boon in helping with my duties as a watcher. They can be quite remarkable. Especially since we lost many sacred and unique texts last year. Who would have thought that someone would have put some of them on the Internet?”
“See, I told you,” She said, amused. Outside, the sun was only beginning to peek up above the horizon. The phone in the kitchen rang.
“Rupert Giles speaking,” he answered. “Willow? Willow calm down. What is it?” Jenny furled her brow in wonder.
“What?” he asked poignantly. “Dear lord.” He leaned against the counter, listening intently. “And she’s alright?” He shifted his weight uncomfortably; his face fell. Jenny took her plate to the sink and rinsed it off. “And you are OK? No, I don’t think I could possibly explain what transpired last night. Perhaps, um, you went to the Astral Realm without even knowing it, or like you said, your locator spell was simply far more advanced than you thought. I can’t be sure.” He scratched his head; a puzzled look crossed his face.
“No, certainly, I will get the first flight out immediately,” he continued, looking up at Jenny with trepidation. She exchanged an equally quizzical look back. “Certainly,” he said, “of course, I’ll contact the coven. All right then, I will see you soon. Alright, goodbye.” He hung up the phone.
“That was Willow,” he said.
“Yes, that part I guessed.”
“Seems she has just pulled a slayer from out of her dream. Jenny, I… I need to go to her, and find out what is going on.”
“Of course you do, it is your job and I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way.” She smiled at him warmly. “And I am coming with you,” she firmly stated.

[ana8]

It was such a sweet part..Please post another one soon...

[Magui]

These last three parts were great:D!.I love Andrew:).(Sorry I couldn't log last night:p).
Post more!:D...and when is 'you know who' part coming?

[No, I am Doyle]

She lay on the bed, eyes wide, staring blankly. The young slayer hadn’t stirred at all. Her wounds had been bandaged. The bandages covered almost ninety percent of her body. They had dressed her in Buffy’s cow pajamas. Xander watched her intently, hoping that she would move even an inch. For the last hour he kept vigil over her, praying for a change. A twitch, a groan; anything would be better than this. Outside the room, he heard Willow sniffling. She had cried for a while. Kennedy stepped into the room.
“How is she doing?” he asked her.
“Well, she's had quite a scare. I wish I could tell her that it was all just a dream, but…” she raised her hand and pointed towards the catatonic slayer eyeing the ceiling. “Now, I don’t know what to think.” Xander looked at her shoulder. It had been burned badly, but he had bandaged it. Besides, slayers heal really fast. In a week, you wouldn’t even know what had happened.
“Anything?” she asked.
“Not a peep. Nothing but a staring contest with the ceiling. And I think she’s winning,” he said. Kennedy walked around to the other side of the bed, and placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. She was very cold, but she was still breathing; shallow breaths, but breath none the less. Kennedy pulled Dawn’s comforter up to the woman’s neck, and tucked it under gently. The slayer’s eyes were blank; no fear, no anger, no sadness.
“Where do you think she came from?” Xander asked. “How do you, you know, think she got here?”
“Well, Red said she came with her from that hell dimension. She swears that she left the apartment, and flew to hell. But…”
“But that’s impossible,” Xander finished for her, “because Will never left the bed. Then how did she get here, and where has she been? Has she been there the whole time since we did the spell?” Xander did not need to clarify what spell he was discussing; He was, of course, referring to how Willow used the scythe of the slayer to unlock the slayer line, at the battle of Sunnydale. All potential slayers, those waiting in line for the current slayer to pass on, had been infused with the full power of the slayer. They had altered the fates of the slayer line forever.
“She hasn’t moved at all, has she?” Willow said, entering the room, having composed herself.
“No, she hasn’t,” Xander said, “I am just waiting for her to snap out of this.” He put his hand on her shoulder, comforting, as she stood next to him. She smiled at Xander as warmly as she could. Willow stood over the unconscious slayer.
“I don’t think this is something she can just snap out of, Xand,” Willow said with concern. “You should have seen that, that place. It was icky and wrong, in every way it could be wrong. I don’t know how long she was there, but I was only there for a little while, and it traumatized me a bit. I don’t see how she could be after weeks,” she became flustered, “or months. Oh my goddess, you don’t think she was there for months, do you?”
“She might have been,” Kennedy said distantly, snapping her fingers over the woman’s head.
“Kennedy,” Willow said angrily.
“Whoa, back down Willow, “I am only saying that we won’t know until we ask her. Any ideas on how to do that?”
“Without hurting her, that is,” Xander finished. “You have any ideas?” he asked.
“Well, I might have one, but I, uh, I am not sure we should do it,” said Willow
“What’s that?” asked Kennedy. Willow turned to Xander.
“You remember when Buffy went all coma-ey on us, and I went into her mind?” she asked him. Xander nodded.
“Well, I COULD do the same thing, but I am a bit afraid,” she said as she peered out the window looking at the breaking dawn
“Why’s that?” Xander questioned.
“Well, first, it could hurt us both. And second,” she turned to face him, “I don’t know if I want to see what I’m going to see.”
“What could it hurt?” interrupted Kennedy. “If you can help get her out of this, then you should do it.”
“It’s not that simple,” Willow retorted, “There’s repeating scenes and bad memories, and, and, I could do a lot more damage than help. What if I say the wrong thing to her mind self? Can I even talk to her? She wasn’t even speaking English when I saw her on the table. If I say, or, or if I do the wrong thing, she may never come out.”
“How are you going to know until you try?” Xander interjected calmly, with a disheartening smile, “If anyone can do it, you can, Will. I know it. I mean look what you have already done. I mean, I believe you can do it.”
“But…” she began. Kennedy put her hands on Willow’s shoulders, wincing at the effort.
“But we will stop it if things look sour,” Kennedy reassured.
“Darn tootin’ you’d better,” was Willow’s unsure response. “I am going to need some things, then.”
-
Close to an hour later, the slayer had been propped against the headboard of Dawn’s bed. Across from her sat Willow, finishing the final preparations for the spell. Candles lit around the room, Willow looked straight into the eyes of the woman. She held the gaze for a moment. Bright light flashed before Willow’s eyes.
-
Willow stood in a dank, long chamber. In front of her stood a tall banquet table with a single chair; on the other side, a gigantic throne of human of human bones and sinew rested. Both chairs were unoccupied. Willow jumped as a large door, thirty feet tall, slammed open with great force. The demon that had attempted to assault her in her dream ducked under the slightly too small entryway. In its oversized arms, the young slayer was carried, severely bruised and torn. She was dressed in a surprisingly elegant, black evening dress. Her forehead had deep cuts in it. The demon unceremoniously dumped her in the smaller chair.
“S’asseoir!” it demanded. The demon spoke a few words in an unknown language, and several large, dirty, silver, platters appeared on the table. The slayer tried to buttress her weary head up with her bruised arm. Her glance shifted to Willow. Everything but two women slowed to a crawl.
“You don’t want to be here,” she said in English.
“You speak English?” Willow asked.
“Oh yes,” the woman replied, her voice still heavy with a French accent and quivering with several agonies, “I, I, I do. He,” she indicated the demon, “He always, he always said he wanted me to, to be able to scream in all languages.” Willow shuttered at the thought. The demon, still moving very slowly, lifted the lid of the platter to reveal the sickening sight of a human hand, aged and ridden with maggots. Willow wanted to wretch, her reaction quite visible. The slayer just scoffed at her.
“I, I told you, you don’t want to be here,” she avowed flatly, frowning pitifully, she turned her head back to the demon and the horrors before her. The scene shifted back to real time. The demon took a seat in its throne.
“Manger jusqu'à la dernière miette, Mon ravissant,” it said, hands sweeping in display across the table.
“Wait,” Willow pleaded with the woman, “Please… stop.” Time slowed again, and the slayer looked at her.
“You can’t save me, but you can join me if you really want,” she declared.
“What? No,” Willow said, “Please, just… j,just tell me your name.”
“The young woman thought for a few moments and then said, her eyes widening, “It, it is…was R, Rene.” She began to weep deeply; sorrow flowed out of her like a waterfall. Rene buried her head in her folded arms on the table.” Willow was silent, herself beginning to cry from sympathy.
“Don’t you dare pity me!” Rene screamed at Willow. She hid her head again and continued to cry.
“Rene, you aren’t here anymore. Do you know that?” Willow asked.
“Yes,” Rene said, without looking up.
“Why are you staying in… in this place,” Willow stretched her hands out to indicate the nightmarish dimension. You are safe now.”
“Am I?”
“You are already safe,” Willow said trying to cheer both Rene and herself up, “I mean… we, my friends are watching over us.”
“It is a sweet thought,” Rene said, lifting her head lightly to regard the witch.
“It is true, Rene. You are torturing yourself here. The demon’s gone.” Rene looked up at the hellish beast, her face soaked in tears.
“I, I know.”
“Why are you staying here?” Willow was flustered. She couldn’t understand how anyone could subject themselves to this, especially any more than they would have to.
“I…It, It’s safe here,” she said. Willow’s eyes lit with confusion. Rene continued, “It is all I know.”
“B, but, you can come home; you don’t have to be afraid any more. You have been made a warrior, like an Amazon. You have so much to look forward to now,” Willow announced, trying to comfort her, “You can come home. You are a slayer now.”
“I know,” said Rene. She though hard, like there was something she was trying to remember. “My watcher’s name was De’Claud.” “Was”, Willow thought to herself; a deeply puzzled look crossed her face.
“Did... did Andrew find you?” Willow tried to reason with herself as much as Rene. She had not heard of a slayer that had disappeared recently. “How long have you BEEN here?” Willow inquired, knowing that it would have been longer for the slayer, than it had been on Earth. Time in hell dimensions usually ran at a much faster pace.
“E…every year since I, I was brought here, he,” she pointed to the demon, “he… celebrated my anniversary. O...only way to know how, how long I have b...been here. The…the last time… he, he said it was my thirty-two thousand and fourth anniversary.”

[Magui]

Wow,is that girl old?!lol:p....I like Buffy's cow pijamas:D,don't ask:p.
Keep posting:D...can't wait to read more:)

[ana8]

Excellent..Hoping to read next part tonight...

[PrettyasaPictur]

Very nicely done!!!...Faith a blonde?...lol...i kinda like that....ya,& the cow pajamas was cute....& we got cliffhangers,nice!!!....Anyways, more, please!,soon!

[No, I am Doyle]

Giles carried Jenny’s and his bags out to his silver Mini-Cooper. Her bags were filled with what women’s clothing he could find in the mansion. Most of it was either too prudish or not conservative enough for Jenny’s tastes, but that was a moot problem. Several watchers and their charges had shown up in the last few minutes, but Giles offered little explanation for his sudden departure. The two got in the car and Giles hit the gas. As Giles’ car sped away, one of the new slayers stood out on the foyer wondering what the rush was all about.
“So, let me get this straight, Willow’s been tracking a slayer for the last few days with magic, and today she dreamed her and pulled her out?” Jenny asked. “No wonder she was able to pull off the curse.”
Yes, her power has grown exponentially. She was able to bring Buffy back from the dead, and she nearly burned the world like a flare.”
“I just, well, I can’t believe that sweet little Willow has become so… so…”
“Well,” Giles said, “As Andrew put it; she has become a regular Gandalf.”
“Who?” Jenny inquired, quite confused.
“The fictitious wizard from…” he cut himself off, realizing that she had been dead when those movies had come to the cinema, and he became mortified at the revelation that he was beginning to understand so many of the younger member’s pop culture references. He shook his head and said, “Bollocks, Never mind… I have been spending too much time around those kids.”
“But they do need your guidance, Rupert,” she reassured him.
“That is the problem. Buffy,” he began, “really all of them haven’t needed me for a few years now. Buffy has become in incredible young woman, a leader… a general really. My presence only seems to undermine her plans anymore. Besides, I am quite needed in my new station in helping to run the council.”
“Can I join your little pity-party?” she lightheartedly asked him
“Oh, uh, no I don’t mean that in a self pity way. I am very pleased that Buffy has managed to surpass the need for my council. I just, sometimes, um, miss the way things once were.” He began to stare intently at the rear-view mirror as he spoke, becoming increasingly distracted.
“If it’s any consolation… I uh, well I…”
“Hold on to something!” he interrupted. A black van sped up from behind them and slammed into the back of Giles’ car. It didn’t back off, only kept applying pressure to the now crumpled bumper. Jenny let out a scream. The van backed off slightly and sped into another collision. The Mini- Cooper barely held its track; Giles slammed on the gas petal and shifted to a higher gear. The two vehicles raced along the highway, both accelerating to lethal speeds.
“Who the hell is that, Rupert?” Giles looked into his side mirror, but couldn’t make out the forms inside the van through the darkly tinted Windshield.
“If I had to guess, Wolfram & Hart have discovered where you went,” he said breathlessly. Jenny turned to look back, just as the van collided again. The rear bumper fell off and was ground underneath the weight of the pursuing van. The van pulled alongside the smaller car in the oncoming lane, slamming into the passenger side of the Mini-Cooper. Jenny let out a hurt yelp as the car recoiled from the sideward charge. Giles whipped the steering wheel to the right and then to the left. The van pulled back to the rear and charged forward again. Giles glanced at Jenny, who was now facing him. Blood began to poor from a large gash in her right temple.
“Bloody damn you!” he spat.
Determination and desperation to protect Jenny drove him to new depths of bravery. Slowing down a little, he veered to the right lane as the van moved to the car’s former location. He cranked the wheel to the left, his car catching the van by the front fender, sending it off of the road and into the ditch. The van’s speed sent it into the forested regions near the road. It slammed, hard, into a tree, demolishing the front.
Looking back, Jenny and Giles breathed a sigh of relief. The Mini-Cooper clunked unhappily down the road towards Liverpool.
-
The five men inside the van all let out groans of pain. The three in the back were actually seriously injured, one of which was mere minutes from death, while the two in the front only suffered soreness and superficial injury.
“Ouch,” said the driver, “where’s the sodding radio?”
“I have it," said the man in the passenger seat, quite pleased with himself. He clicked the device on. Static crackled. “Olympus, this is Cupid,” his voice had a thick British accent.
“Yes Cupid, this is Olympus, over.”
“Let your bosses know that the arrow has been delivered,” said Ethan Rayne.

[PrettyasaPictur]

Well, wasn't quite expecting that....well, not Ethan Raine anyways, at least not yet....but, i enjoyed none the less!!...Keep up the splendid writing,& now all i can say is,,,,MORE,MORE!!!!

[ana8]

It's really getting boring..me saying every time that the parts rocks..
Well this one was no exception..Ethan Rayne-a very good idea...MORE!

[No, I am Doyle]

It was still in the dark hours of morning in Berdyans’k, Ukraine. The city was covered in a thick blanket of mist. It was an unusually cool morning for spring, and the seagulls voiced their protests and desires at regular intervals. Two large sea vessels had pulled into docks of the Sea of Azov an hour prior. Their massive, black metal structure and solemn visage cast an eerie contrast to the rest of the ships in the harbor. Many rough, but weary looking men and woman continued to unload the ship of large machines, equipment, and tents. Others had begun to set up tents and placed the vehicles in their appropriate places. Many set up the colorful mechanisms in preparation for the fun they were meant for. Their demeanor was quiet. Not a single conversation was carried on between them; they merely worked as though they hadn’t a second to loose.
Two men exited from one of the first established tents, carrying on a conversation in Italian. One was finely dressed in an expensive suit; a red silk scarf wrapped around his neck was tucked into his dress coat. He had slicked back salt and pepper hair and wore expensive spectacles. In his hand, he carried an intricately decorated pocket watch. The other wore dirt stained jeans and T-shirt and a thick flannel coat.
“Look at them. You would think that they were afraid of me… working like busy little ants, preparing for harvest,” said the poshly dressed man with sick satisfaction. The other looked around, finding no humor in his companion’s last comment.
“So, tell me Stalvos, why’d you pick this place? I mean, wouldn’t America be a better spot for your needs?” said the dirty one of the pair.
“Why?” said Stalvos, amused, “Benny, this place is a convergence point for great violence and disaster in the last century. Hitler, Lenin, Stalin, all gave their very best to the cause of hatred and violence. The conflicts in the Balkans have nurtured it; Chernobyl added seasoning. So many factors in recent years have germinated the seeds for something great. And now, my friend, it is ripened. Man doesn’t seem to realize that so much destruction and slaughter and despair can create pockets of hellish delight right here on Earth. Now, my employer wants to cash in on the loan, paid in blood, man has granted him. He leaned against the railing in the front of the tent. “If you listen carefully… you can still hear the echoes of now silenced screams. My god, it is a beautiful sound.”
“So, we’re really going to create a new Hell Mouth?” asked Benny.
“All in due time, Benny. All in due time. For now, we shall have a carnival,” said Stalvos, with a hearty laugh. In the fields in front of them, the many workers prepared the various rides and booths.
-
He was still having some difficulty with the new guitar riff. For some reason, his heart wasn’t into the music. Instead, he had spent the better part of the last few days in reflection over the last few years of his life. Always the philosopher, Oz was frequently cursed with long periods of introspective reflection. He just wished that he could get back in touch with reality, if only for the music.
He had realized, four years ago, that six months in a Tibetan monastery would not cure him fully of his unusual condition or his many woes; seclusion simply wasn’t the answer. He had traveled for some time, touring through much of Africa, Asia and, in the last year, Europe. He had gained a new level of control on his transformations he had never before possessed. The meditations he had been taught were a true boon. Then the unusual had struck.
One night, and only once, he had suffered from the worst migraine of his life; however this monster headache was accompanied by many sight, smells and sounds; all of which had driven him here to the Ukraine. These “visions” had forewarned him of real danger here in the Ukraine. He had some suspicions as to their cause; he had once met an Irishman who had described having a similar condition. Of course, the man went on to quote Angela’s Ashes. Well, that or the Flintstones, Oz couldn’t be sure; but an old acquaintance, Cordelia Chase, has confirmed that what he said was true. He remembered that the man had told him that the Powers That Be, the universal spirits that bound and animated all things, sent him these visions to prevent tragedy. Well, if this was the case for himself, who was he to argue.
Oz had spent the better part of the last year waiting for those things which were pumped into his head to come to pass. Black skies, a towering spire, countless screams, rivers of blood, and the stench of death; all these things still lingered in his thoughts and dreams.
“I thought you’d like a beer,” said Natalie, the young woman he had been seeing for a few months now, as she entered the door to the shabby apartment he had been living in. She was from Russia, and though she spoke decent English, she still carried the strong accent. They had met when he played in with a band at a local club in Mariupol, a city less than a hundred miles away. They had met when he sat in with a band at a local club. Natalie was kind, intelligent, and had lush red hair. Her visage reminded him of mistakes of the past, but he did not mind, he loved her for the person that she was. He had moved on with his life. He caught himself staring at her with a crooked half smile; he was always calmed by her presence.
“What is it, Oz?” she asked, a little flustered.
“Nothing,” he said disarmingly. She handed him the bottle of Russian lager. He sipped on it for a moment and then set it down. He readied his guitar, and began to finger the frets in practice. Natalie sat down backwards in a metal chair, took a drink of beer, and rested her chin on her hands on the back of the chair. She loved to listen to him play. His fingers ran effortlessly across the strings as he finally got the riff correct.
“What do ya know,” he said to himself.

[ana8]

Very cool..But waiting impatiently for more:)

[No, I am Doyle]

“What?!” Willow asked, almost in denial of what she had heard. It couldn’t be possible; how could she have survived for so long. She peered into Rene’s aura. It was not fully human anymore, but it contained none of the telltale signs of death. Buffy’s soul had been altered, if only cosmetically, by crossing the breach twice, Rene’s had no such signs. It, however, contained the taint of dark alterations, darker than any human or slayer’s soul should ever be. It held no evil intent, only immeasurable sadness. Still, if what Rene said was true, then new questions remained. How had the slayer line been passed along if she hadn’t died? As well, how had Rene found her way to the horrible torture dimension Willow had found her in, the one reflected in Rene’s mind now?
The world around Willow flashed brightly. They now stood in an old cottage. Moonlight shone through the windows. Flames crackled in the fireplace, old volumes lined wooden shelves built into the walls. Willow took a moment to adjust to the surroundings of this new memory. Rene looked confused, like she should remember this place, yet couldn’t. Taking gasping breaths from fear, she walked over to the shelves and pulled a leather-bound book from it. She skimmed the pages, stopping on one and flipped the book around in her hands for willow to see. On the page, was a hand drawn picture of a vampire, the text was handwritten in French.
“I, I, I was suppose to, to fight the demons, I, I was a, a, a fighter,” she said.
“Yes, Rene, you ARE a slayer. You fight the monster and vampires. Do you remember? Your life?” Willow responded. Rene dropped the book and began to weep. She dropped hard to her knees.
“L…leave, me, alone,” she begged through her gasps, “Go a, away. Y, y, you are not r, real. I, I remember, you have done this to me so many times before.” She began to mutter incoherently in French.
"What? No! I am real. Rene," Willow continued, putting her hand on Rene’s shoulder, eliciting a sever jump from the timid woman, “I am here to help you.” Rene brushed her hand off and ran to the bed in the corner. Huddled, she began to sob again.
“I, It is a trick,” she repeated to herself, over and over again, rocking back and forth on the bed. Willow didn’t know what say, what to do. She had hit the proverbial dead end with Rene; no matter what she said, Rene ignored her and held herself, crying and rambling. Willow sat down on the edge of the bed. The slayer edged closer to the wall, eying her suspiciously. Willow heard her rattle on about how HE did this to her over and over again. She would escape or be rescued from her awful torment. Making it safely home only to have it soon revealed that her “saviors” were only demons and her home a mere illusion. Willow’s heart sank at what she was hearing. She didn’t know how she could convince her that she was now actually safe; her rescuer real. Long moment passed, Willow looked at Rene with tearful concern.
Then the world flashed again. Willow watched as Rene stood before a stone mausoleum, stake in hand and broad sword in sheath on her back, fighting two vamps. Both seemed to realize that they faced the slayer, as worry was etched into their otherwise grim demeanor. One leapt at her. She caught it in midair and, rolling with its weight, pinning it to the ground with her weight. The slayer quickly delivered the killing blow. It turned to ash in a second. She turned her head, seeing that the second vampire was intent on taking advantage of her supposed lack of attention. Still on all fours, her right foot shot straight out, catching it in the gut. It reeled back, clutching its stomach, and then came back in. She spun around on the ground and knocked it on its back with a sweep kick.
She jumped to her feet and came down at its heart with the stake. It blocked her attack with both hands, the stake piercing the vampire’s hands. It brought its arms above its head, stripping her of her weapon. The remaining vamp kicked its feet up, catching her in the chin, knocking her to the dirt. It used the motion to bring itself to its feet. The vamp pulled the stake from its hand. Rene tried the same, to kick herself to her feet, but the vampire ran forward and caught her full in the face with its bare foot. Her lip began to bleed, sending the monster into a blood frenzy. The vampire brought the wooden spike above its head and tried to impale it in her face. Rene kicked it hard in the knee, breaking the joint to the side. It howled in pain, dropping the stake, and collapsed to the ground. She quickly took to her feet, and drawing the sword from its scabbard, brought the sword down to sever its head.
The world flashed again, and Willow stood with a much younger Rene in the cottage again. Rene trained hard, punching a wooden post wrapped in silk rope. She brought two quick jabs out from the right and then struck again with left hook. Outside, a horse neighed and Rene smiled enthusiastically. She ran to the door, Willow followed. As she opened the door, the white light poured through, and she was again standing the personal chamber of the great demon that kept her prisoner for so long. Muffled screams came from many bizarre devices designed for extreme cruelty.
“I, I’ve had my turn in a, all of these more times than I ch, chose t, to remember. Th, that’s o, one of the g, great things a, a, about being… a slayer. Y, you can live through so much m, more than o, other p, people,” Rene said to Willow, not looking at her. Another flash came and Rene was wired into the table Willow had first seen her on. An invisible entity slowly delivered lashes to her back, drawing screams and blood from her. She writhed in place. Willow could not take anymore; more tears welled up in her own eyes. She waved her hands over the wires, but they wouldn’t budge. This place operated under Rene’s rules, Willow realized, not the real world’s.
“Please Rene,” she pleaded with the slayer weakly, “please. You don’t have to be here anymore. PLEASE come back with me.”
“I, I, I’d rather stay here,” Rene said flatly, taking another strike. She yelped, and for all her power, Willow had never felt more helpless. How could she make this stop? She had to find a way to convince her she was safe, to stop torturing herself.

[Hero]

I've been slowly keeping along with this story, but I finally got a chance to stop and post. I really love this story. It's very well written. I can't wait until you release the next part. Keep up the good work.

[MentPatient]

WHOA... thats good...... CMON PLZ HURRY UP THE CONTIUATION................................

done yet?

how bout now...

GAH!!!!!! CANT WAIT!!!!!!!!!

[ana8]

I've to say that I think this part was the best of all:) I absolutely love it,please hurry up with next part:)

[MentPatient]

NOOOOO!

ur didnt post yet........
PLZ HURRY!!!!!!........ i got no life........ waiting 4 this............ so bored............. plz hurry............ GAH!............ :(

[No, I am Doyle]

Xander sat in Dawn’s room, hands folded, diligently watching the two women locked in the thrall of the spell. Kennedy was in the bathroom, cleaning up her burn. He had seen and experienced so much since the day he met Buffy Summers. Mostly the times were good, sometimes they were bad, and occasionally things became peppered with the worst. It had been close to a year now since Anya had died, and Xander was beginning to pick his life up, to deal with the last few emotional gremlins. He just made sure to keep himself busy with some independent contracting work. Nothing gets your mind off bad times like hard work. And besides, he thought while eying the badly charred wall in Dawn’s room, why shouldn’t the tradition of him fixing Buffy's place continue.
The phone on the bedside table rang. Xander hurried to pick it up, as not to disturb the spell.
“Hello, Summer’s residence,” answered Xander.
“Xander,” said Buffy warmly, “Hi. How’re things.”
Looking at the scorch marks, he said, “Uuum…Not too bad.”
“I trust that there have been no demon attacks since I left,” she said, jokingly.
“Nope. Uh, no demon attacks. We’ve been one hundred percent demon free,” he said, not planning on lying, just hoping she wouldn’t ask the wrong questions. Behind him, several objects began to lift off of the dresser, floating slowly, in the same formation that they sat on the dresser, towards the bed.
“So, um, is Will up? I kind of needed to talk to her?” Buffy asked.
“No. no. no she, uh isn’t,” he said as he noticed the objects in midair, a flabbergasted look nesting in the middle of his face, “Uh, Iaaahh. No. She is still, um, out of it, at, the, moment.”
“Alright, Xander,” she said slowly, incredulous to the claim that all was fine, “Well, I am going to be gone longer than a couple of weeks. Dawn and I are going to be gone for a month, maybe two.” More objects, pictures and stuffed animals began to dance through the air. Xander was trying futilely to get them to stay on the ground. “See, the Immortal has a cabin,” she continued, “we kind of need a break from things, thought we could get some R & R time, a little mountainy air, and Dawn and I can vent for a little while.”
“Absolutely,” he said as he used a foot to hold down a large white stuffed animal, “I, uh, couldn’t agree more.”
“OK, now I know that something isn’t right’” Buffy’s tone changed from puzzled to worried, “You are being Jerry Lewis Xander, and you’re only Jerry Lewis Xander when something bad has happened… Oh my god. There wasn’t a robbery, was there? Maybe we should come back.”
“No, no robbery. No just, you don’t need to come back. We can handle things here. Just...uh, make sure to have some fun for me, Buffy.”
Not quite convinced, but willing to let it go, she said, “Well, Alright, um, just remember that the police and fire numbers are next to the phone in the kitchen. And, um, the fire extinguisher is…” The bed rose, very slowly; its two occupants oblivious.
“Well, Buffy,” he cut her off, “Tell Mr. Swarthy-pants I said hello. You, uh, have fun on that trip. Got everthing, know where the…" The bed began to shake violently. "Buffy, I have to go.”
“Well, Ok, uh, bye Xander, oh and make sure that Willow doesn’t do any magic until…”
“Yes, until tomorrow, I will make sure to tell her that, when she is up. OK, bye Buffy,” he said abruptly.
“Um, bye Xander,” she said, a little worried still.
“Bye Buff,” he hung up the phone. Looking around the room at the floating bedroom set, said to himself, “No magic… a little late for that!”

[ana8]

Great..When can we expect to read next part???:)

[No, I am Doyle]

It was about three in the afternoon, and Faith, Wood, and Andrew had already met for conference with Nigel to get on the demon’s track, but they refused additional slayer backup.
Faith told him candidly, “Too many feet pitter-pattering around will only make it harder to find this thing.” They had just left the private medical facility on the grounds of the American Watcher’s council. All three young slayers had one hell of a night. One was in a coma, her body was broken, but she would live. The second was in surgery; her knee had been destroyed, even beyond a slayer’s ability to regenerate fully on its own. The third one, Ann, had told them all she knew of the events that evening. Then, she began to cry a bit, she had received the scare of her young life as a slayer. Faith had comforted her with her preplanned speech.
Now, Faith and Wood waited in a café, eating lunch, and watching the news update on the events that had happened last night. The telecaster was now saying that the reported cause of the devastation had been a small earthquake. Wood shook his head; he knew how the veil worked. Ordinary people frequently would not, could not, believe that the world of the supernatural existed; even when faced with indisputable proof. Usually they will convince themselves that the most implausible lie based in the real world is more likely than the simplest truth based in the supernatural.
“You’ll never believe what I just found,” Andrew said, far too excited for his own good, as he came up behind them. Both lovers jumped a bit.
What is it, Andrew?” Faith asked as she turned around, expecting evidence of the demon’s whereabouts.
“The entire collection of Dr. Who. I mean ALL of it.… you can’t even find it all in one spot in England!” he said, again with far too much enthusiasm.
“You were supposed to be checking out the scene,” Wood impatiently interjected.
“Relax; don’t go all Piccolo on me. I already checked out the spot. The FBI left after they, uh, decided it was an earthquake. AND, I found its trail. Now, can I eat? Cuz’ I am starving.”
“Sorry kid,” Faith stated, enjoying herself a little much, “we’ve gotta get on the trail before it gets cold.” She and Wood grabbed up their belongings and walked out. Andrew tried to stuff as many of their French fries in his mouth as he could.
-
They found the gaping hole Asylum had punched into the Earth, about twelve miles outside of the city limits. The sheer size of the crater was imposing; ten feet in diameter, and going down seemingly forever. Every square inch if the soil and rock moved had been flung out from the hole and now rested up to three hundred feet away. They now realized that they were going to need rappelling equipment to continue their search.
“Someone’s been busy,” said Wood, stating the obvious.
“Thing’s got to be real strong,” said Faith.
“I’ll bet this thing couldn’t beat Goku” said Andrew, eliciting sour looks for his two companions.
-
They had returned some time later with the equipment. Wood, Andrew and Faith noticed the crystals as they descended into the dank darkness of the cavern. They reached the bottom, the same place Asylum had discovered his fear of the dark, and clearly saw his trail leading down one of the dark tunnels. The three turned on halogen flashlights, and proceeded to follow.
“It doesn’t SOUND like it is nearby,” Andrew stated loudly.
“Shhhh!” came from both Faith and Wood. They continued for some time, the trail rarely getting to difficult to follow.
“Whatever this thing is,” Wood whispered, “It doesn’t know how to cover its tracks.”
“Or it just doesn’t care,” quietly interjected Faith.
“It could be a master plan to lead the vampyre slayer extraordinaire into a trap,” theorized Andrew, equally quietly. Faith stopped and snapped to face him.
“Alright!” she said loudly, throwing away the edge of stealth. “First of all, it is vampire; not vampyre, you little toad sucker,” she said mocking his accent and way of speaking. “And second; the nasties out there have a lot more to worry about than just me and B, anymore. There is a whole world of slayers out there just looking to kick demon ass.” She turned around, her peace spoken, and began to walk forward. Wood stood there as equally stunned by her little outburst as Andrew was.
They all continued down the tunnel, but lost the trail at a three way fork in the road.
“What?!” Faith became frustrated. “Awe man, you have got to be kidding me.”
“Well dear, it is a cave, after all,” said Wood.
“So what do we do now?” asked Andrew. “Wait! I know. We can each go down a cave until we find tracks, another split, or hear noises,” he offered out. Wood and Faith, both, agreed that it wasn’t a bad idea under the circumstances.
“Alright, but no heroes here,” said Faith, “come back immediately if you see or hear anything “
“Will do,” said Andrew, with an unnecessary salute.

[ana8]

Very cool..Loved Faith's attitude here...

[No, I am Doyle]

Most of the memories that Rene had taken Willow through were choppy and incomplete, as though she only could remember fragments of things. She seemed to, to Willow at least, not remember what her watcher De’Claude’s, the only name she had produced besides her own, face looked like. Mostly, her memories were muddled together. Some parts were from the real world, some from the hell dimension, and some cast Willow as random people from the past. Willow understood that she must have been the only face she had seen, besides the demon’s. This was a promising sign. It meant that Rene was beginning to associate with her, even if she didn’t trust her. But these were the seeds for trust, and this was the only way she would get her to come out of her impenetrable shell.
After all this time, they were back to the torture chamber again, and Rene had latched herself to the table yet again. Willow was about ready to leave the slayer’s mind, to return and rest; to consult Giles when he arrived. Then, Willow had an idea, something that might spur the slayer to return to the real world.
“You know what Rene?” she said, throwing her hands up, “I give up. I give up. If you want to stay here in this little icky, Hannibal Lecter zone, go right on ahead. But I am done with this place. Have fun.” She turned a walked to the large doors, trying to ignore the building screams of the imaginary people bound in the metal devices.
“W, wait,” Rene said to herself. Willow continued to walk. “W, w, wait,” she cried a little louder, but still nearly inaudibly to Willow. The doors slammed shut with intense force. “W, wait… wait, please!” she screamed out, piteous fear carried in her voice. Willow stopped and turned around, inside smiling that she had bet on a winning horse.
“Yes,” Willow said, “did you need something before I go?”
“P, please? Pl