“Son of a bitch,” Faith murmured down into the cold, stone floor on which she'd just woken up. Her head wasn't pleased, but she seemed to have avoided being concussed; after all, she knew exactly why she was flat on the floor, even if she didn't know where that floor happened to be. “OK, that went a whole lot better in my head.” She rolled lazily onto her back and stretched her arms up before looking around. Seeing that she was alone was enough to jolt her into action. She jumped up and took another look around in case she'd somehow overlooked an unconscious, blonde girl.
She hadn't. The only things keeping her company in the small space were the thick, metal bars on one side, too closely packed to squeeze between even if she spent the next month starving in her cell. The remaining walls were built from solid stone. She picked one side and hammered her fists against it. “B!” she shouted into the wall. “Buffy, wake up!” There was no response, and the opposite side offered the same lacklustre result.
Maybe Buffy had managed to escape. It was a fleeting thought; Faith found it hard to picture her getting away from anything more mobile than a one-legged demon with a severe case of vertigo. She'd hoped to hold off the demons for longer, to give Buffy more of a head start, but after being caught in the back of the leg things had gone downhill fast.
Angry that she hadn't managed to do more, she turned her attention to the front of the cell. Glowering at it, as if it was somehow to blame for everything, she kicked out time and time again, thrusting the base of her foot against the bars. They barely even rattled, not making half the racket she would have liked, but she refused to stop until she'd started to calm down.
Only then did she notice that there was something missing from the front of her cell: a door. She looked to the ceiling, figuring she must have been dropped through some sort of trapdoor, but it looked no less solid than the walls.
Rather than waste time dwelling on how she'd gotten in, she focused on getting out. With her back flat against the wall, she grasped one of the closest bars with both hands. After taking a couple of deep breaths to ready herself, she pushed out with both arms, hoping to shift the bar out of place. She channelled all her strength up through her arms as she tried to extend them. When they began to shake she simply grit her teeth and carried on, pressing harder still, and the resulting sound that escaped her throat was closer to a growl than a groan.
For a moment she was certain the bar was ready to give in, but several seconds later it still stood just as straight as it had started out. “God damn.” Giving up, she lashed out with one final, frustrated kick. Something was off; the bars looked sturdy enough that she didn't expect to easily snap them in half, but she should have been able to do some damage.
Something clicked in her head and then suddenly everything made sense. “I freaking hate magic,” she muttered.
----------
Buffy watched the clear sky – void of clouds or birds – through the scraggly hole in the wall that served as a window. It was large enough that she could squeeze through if she tried, but the straight drop waiting on the other side wasn't all that appealing. She wasn't sure how long she'd fall for, but it was safe to say the ground would win that particular battle. And given that her leg was feeling far better, she'd rather not put an end to that by breaking the both of them. How or why it felt better, she didn't know. While the large scab remained an unwanted reminder of being bit, there was no sign of the black lines that had started to grow across her leg. When she'd woken up on the floor a short time ago they simply weren't there, and she really wasn't about to complain.
With murals carved into the walls in excessive detail, displaying battles between her captors and various species she'd never come across, the room didn't look much like a prison. She still felt very much like a prisoner though, and she doubted the guards – four in total, two at each of the doors leading from the room – would strand aside just because she asked nicely.
She wondered why she wasn't already dead. In her experience, if the bad guys didn't want to kill you it wasn't because they'd suddenly grown a conscience. And where was Faith? Why wasn't she there as well? Buffy didn't have a clue, but she tried desperately not to jump to any awful conclusions. Killing only one of them didn't make any sense, she'd remind herself every time those dark thoughts tried to make themselves heard. Nothing short of laying her eyes on Faith would keep them from trying again though.
She picked up on the low clicking of footsteps moments before the double doors on one side of the room were pulled open. The guards quickly straightened, their eyes still trained her way. Another half a dozen demons filled out the room, each of them armed with pikes or swords, and trailing shortly behind came one more.
Buffy instantly knew the final one was different. Not only because the head of each demon dipped as it passed them by, or because it looked old enough to be the parent of the rest of them, but because her eyes were drawn to the drooping necklace that hung over the top of its dark-golden robe. On it were a variety of small, assorted bones, so tightly packed that she could barely catch a glimpse of the thin material holding them all together.
She studied its face, noticing the wrinkles that covered its forehead and the way its skin drooped around its cheeks. The loose skin almost left the mark burnt into one cheek unrecognisable, and she had to squint a little to convince herself it was the same one Giles had shown her in his books.
“Welcome,” it said, thankfully not offering out one of its bony hands, “to my home. I am Shek K'zar. This-” It held its arms out wide, and if Buffy had still had her stake then she might have driven it straight into the unguarded chest. “-is my world.”
Buffy had already guessed who it was, though from what Giles had told her she'd expected Shek to be a little more warrior-esque. Maybe that had been the case once, but if so then it had definitely succumbed to age. Tall but thin, and with the bones on its wiry wrists almost visible, it didn't look much of a threat to anyone. The welcome had sounded genuine, but oddly enough Buffy wasn't in the mood to return the courtesy. “I know who you are,” she said blandly, letting it know she was unimpressed.
“And I know what you are.” Shek's hand started at the top of the necklace and slowly slid down, two fingers and a thumb plucking at several of the bone fragments as they passed. Reaching the bottom, the demon lifted the necklace up and outward, and the bones slid to either side, showing there was still space for one or two more. “Unfinished business from many ages ago. That will soon change though.”
She understood the implication, but while she still drew breath she wouldn't let her world become a notch on some portable trophy rack. “It's never going to happen.” That was a promise.
“Tell me then, what is it you plan to do about it?”
“Whatever it takes to put every last freak you send in the ground.”
Shek thrust out a finger with the speed of someone who looked like they should be frantically writing their last will and testament. “I don't take kindly to insolence.”
Buffy smirked, not even blinking when its nail stopped only an inch from her eye. “Then maybe you should wait outside.”
Its finger curled back and its arm dropped to its side. It considered her silently for some time before smiling. “It sounds to me as if you still have some fight in you. You're in luck. We have just the thing for that.”
----------
Many of the street lamps running along the desolate street were broken and had likely been that way for some time. One of them had enough life left to occasionally sputter on for a few seconds, flickering light over nearby derelict houses. Ethan looked nervously from side to side, suddenly wondering if cutting through the more dangerous parts of Sunnydale – which really was saying a lot – to keep out of sight was such a smart idea. He couldn't spot anyone, human or otherwise, but he still picked up his pace.
He'd decided that the fate of Sunnydale – and perhaps the rest of the world – would have to rest in someone else's hands. The airport would already be open, and within hours he would be on a flight back to England to collect his prize from the Watcher's Council. He'd be the first to admit that things hadn't gone perfectly, but he congratulated himself on what had ultimately been more successful than not. In fact, he was so busy mulling over his success that he rounded a corner and bumped straight into the demon stood cross-armed in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Mr Rayne. It's been a while.”
Ethan recognised the demon, much to his relief; things seemed to be looking up. It was one he'd done business with recently, and it could offer him just the thing he needed to ensure his final hours in Sunnydale ran smoothly. “Mr Grolloch, I was just thinking about you,” he lied. “I realize this is short notice, but perhaps I could loan a few more men from you – demons, that is. It'll only be for a couple of hours. Straight forward security gig. Nothing lavish.”
The demon spoke in a gruff voice that slowly rumbled out each word. “Do you know what it is that makes it a loan and not a purchase, Mr Rayne?”
“The cheaper prices?” Ethan offered optimistically, but he was suddenly remembering a small detail that might prove to be a deal breaker.
“The return.”
“Ah, yes. About that. You see, it really wasn't my fault. There was an unfortunate--” His excuses became trapped half way up his throat by the tight grip of a four-fingered claw. “Slayer,” he tried to get out by way of explanation, but it came out as more of a gurgle. When the demon released him, he bent over coughing and patted his neck to make sure it was still the right shape.
“My associates found the remains of our last business transaction. They also tell me you turned down the insurance protection plan. Is that right?”
“Well it seemed a tad overpriced at the time.” Ethan gave a nervous grin and stepped backward. The solid wall behind him stopped him from taking any more. There hadn't been any such wall there a moment ago, and he looked over his shoulder to find two other demons behind him. He knew them as the lower level grunts used to send payment reminders to customers. “I don't suppose I could take you up on that offer now?” The leader's response was an unamused snort. “Forget I asked.”
“Boys, see what you can do about making Mr Rayne comfortable. Explain to him what happens when people break my merchandise.”
“Wait, no. I – I can pay you?” Chaos could be a surprisingly expensive hobby sometimes, but he had no intention of actually paying up. He just needed a little more time. “Yes, yes, I can cover any expenses and then some.”
That got the demon's attention, and it nodded its head in interest. “Throw me a number, Mr Rayne.”
Ethan considered it for a moment, wondering what a reasonable offer would be for three dead demons. Surely new supplies shouldn't be too hard to come by, he decided – after all, this was a Hellmouth. “How about two hundred bucks?”
It nodded again, its upper body rocking back and forth along with it, before it looked over to the demons behind Ethan. “Start with his legs.”
Ethan's features twisted in extreme disapproval of that plan. “Wait, err, make that five hundred.”
“If one of them should come off, beat him over the head with it.”
A large hand on each of Ethan's shoulders began to pull him backward toward the alleyway, and he desperately called out, “Three thousand!”
The demon gave a single clap before reaching out to knock away the other demon's hands and straighten out the shoulders of Ethan's shirt. “That's why I like you, Mr Rayne. Your strong business acumen.”
Ethan smiled weakly, but he relaxed a little; the next time they came to collect he'd be a thousand miles away.
“Let's go,” the demon continued. “We'll escort you to the nearest cash machine. Make sure nobody gives you any hassle on the way. Think of it as a good will gesture to our continuing business relationship.”
Ethan's small smile stayed in place only through sheer force of will. “Right now?” he asked.
“Now works for me. Does now work for you, boys?”
“Sure, boss,” and, “Yeah, now's good,” were the simultaneous replies from the underlings, and there was nodding of heads all around, minus Ethan's.
His mind furiously ticked over, and from nothing he suddenly had an idea of how he could turn the whole situation in his favour. And so, with one last roll of the dice, he said, “The thing is, I've never been one to trust my money in other people's grubby mitts. I'm sure you can appreciate that. I'd have to take you to my shop.”
Mr Grolloch didn't seem concerned by this. “Lead the way.” Ethan was nudged forward by one of the demons behind him, and he started walking. “This shop of yours, it have a name?”
Ethan grinned at himself. This could prove very entertaining, he thought. Very entertaining indeed. “The Magic Box.”
----------
Buffy stood in a circular arena, waiting to find out what she'd be facing. The surrounding walls reached only as high as her waist, but if she needed to retreat she'd have to somehow get through the hordes that stood watching from behind them. The single tunnel she'd been herded through offered the only other exit, but she had a sneaking suspension that the gate hanging above it would be coming down real soon.
On paper, the deal wasn't half bad, assuming Shek K'zar was a demon of its word. If she won, both her and Faith could go free. If she lost, Faith would get another chance while Buffy – well, that much was obvious.
Forty feet above her, Shek stood watching from the stone-age equivalent of a director's box. There were no cosy glass walls surrounding it, and she suspected phone-in room service was out of the question, but it offered a pretty nice view of the action. Their eyes met and she stared a silent promise that she wouldn't go down easy, no matter what was sent out through the tunnel.
Another figure stepped up by its side. Buffy's heart skipped a beat, and she was smiling before she knew it. She'd already been told that Faith was alive and well, but seeing the proof with her own eyes was a lot more reassuring. Faith looked back, but her own smile was gloomily short-lived.
She looked dismayed, her posture weary, her features soft and sagging. Buffy couldn't really blame her though; the very idea of being forced to watch as Faith fought to the death made her stomach churn. “I'll be OK,” she mouthed up in an attempt to put Faith at ease, and no sooner had she done so she hoped that her final words to Faith wouldn't be a lie. She wondered if Faith would cry if she did die, but she quickly shook that thought from her head, annoyed at herself for being so morbid.
The crowd erupted, the collection of cheers almost deafening. Buffy found a single, green-skinned demon heading her way. That raised her hopes – it wasn't even as large as the one that had attacked Faith on her birthday. That meant she might have a fighting chance.
Once the demon was stood opposite her, the gate lowered as expected. That must also have served as the proverbial ringing of the bell because the demon instantly started to circle. Keeping her distance, she did the same. She had yet to have the chance for a fair fight with one of their kind, and as soon as the creature withdrew a pair of large axes from behind its back she realized that wasn't about to change any time soon. “I don't suppose one of those is for me?”
It didn't speak a word, but when the answer came it couldn't have been much clearer, and she had to dive to the side to avoid being split in three from head to toe. The twin blades dug into the dirt floor, leaving behind a large pair of dents when they were hoisted back up.
“Didn't think so,” she muttered, her words drowned out by another round of cheers.
The demon came at her again, the swing of its axe looking to take off her head. She didn't struggle to duck under it, but when she stepped forward to go on the offensive she was instantly forced back as the second axe began its own arc.
The battle continued in much the same way, with Buffy remaining on the defensive, doing enough to keep herself alive without making any solid progress. Any opening the demon left was small and risky, but she knew she'd need to gamble on one of them eventually. Its attacks were slow and methodical, not likely to tire either one of them. But the longer she played the waiting game, the more she risked being a split second too slow.
Having backed too close to the arena edge, something caught her by the shoulder. She instantly turned and lashed out, but the demon that had grabbed her backed off before her fist could connect with its face. She stared at it, debating whether to jump the barricade and make a point.
The distraction almost proved lethal. Instinct alone had her dropping to the floor, just in time to witness the pair of axes clank angrily against the top of the stone barricade. Trapped awkwardly beside the demon and the wall, she couldn't manoeuvre away fast enough to stop the demon's foot crashing down into her mid-section. She clenched her stomach, absorbing the brunt of the blow, and she instantly took her revenge, kicking a leg up while the demon raised an axe. She caught it on the chin, lifting its head back and winning her some space. Seeing her best opening yet, she flipped to her feet and delivered a roundhouse kick, her heel making direct contact with the side of its face and staggering it farther.
As she kept pressing, a desperate swing of an axe came much too close for comfort, almost removing one side of her face. The swing of the other was just as wild, but she had to drop back completely to avoid having her stomach sliced open, and that gave the demon enough of a reprieve to steady its feet.
----------
Towering over the arena, Faith watched on as the battle continued. Her ever increasing anxiety had left her a fidgeting mess, and as one foot tapped impatiently against the floor, her hands grasped helplessly at the barricade in front, desperately needing to do something to help. She trusted that Buffy would get the job done in hand to hand combat, but the way things stood she'd be lucky to get anywhere near her opponent without losing a limb. Instead Buffy was forced to duck and weave, doing little more than putting off the inevitable. So far the girl hadn't made a mistake – other than letting herself get distracted by the audience participation, and even then she'd recovered swiftly – but Faith knew the risks. One hesitation, one slip, and that would be it. Buffy would be gone forever.
She eyed the guard stood to one side before turning her attention to its leader on the other. “So much for an honourable battle,” Faith accused Shek. “This is nothing more than an execution and you know it.”
“This is a one on one duel and nothing more.”
“Right, except I can't help but notice how your guy's kitted out like Conan.”
The demon stared at her blankly.
“Giant axes,” she clarified.
“Your companion had time to prepare. She could have taken any weapon she possessed. Given her unfortunate situation, I even offered up a sword from my personal collection.”
Faith wasn't buying that for a second. “Sure. Next you'll be telling me it didn't go with her outfit.”
“No, but did she did make an intriguing counter offer. She offered to trade access to my weaponry for the chance at your freedom too, and I granted that request.”
Faith's snarky look dropped straight off her face. She could feel the colour instantly drain from it, leaving her cold and on the verge of gagging. “What?”
For the first time, Shek offered her its full attention, a whisper of a smile showing on its face. “If she wins, you both go free. A very admirable trade. One which must be respected.”
It wasn't obvious if it actually respected Buffy for the decision or if it was just mocking her. Faith glared at it, but she was definitely far more pissed off at the other Slayer. What the hell did Buffy think she was doing? Of course, Faith then realized, Buffy just has to play the hero; to hell with what anybody else thinks or feels. Buffy probably hadn't spent five seconds wondering what Faith was supposed to do without her.
Faith had thought they would both be fighting for their respective freedoms, and this new information was more than she could handle. She had to do something right away. She couldn't be the reason that Buffy died. That meant she needed to let go off her anger for the time being and focus on coming up with a solution. And then, if they both made it out of there, Buffy had better have one hell of an explanation lined up.
She stared absently into the arena, the movements below quickly becoming a blur. Her initial thought was to jump down there, but if she made the fight two versus one then it might not take long before it became two versus one hundred. “So let me get this straight, the only reason she can't use a weapon is because she doesn't have one?”
“That is correct, but once again I must stress that it was her own decision.”
“Huh. Interesting.” Faith added nothing else; that was all the clarification she needed. As soon as Shek returned its attention to the fight, she stepped back and threw an elbow straight into the nearest guard's stomach, doubling it over. Before the others could close in, she snatched the long, curved sword off the guard's exposed back and tossed it down into the arena. It landed some way behind the demon, and Buffy's eyes set on it immediately.
A clubbing blow to Faith's back sent her stumbling into the barricade. She recovered quickly, turning around only to have the tip of a spear nestle against her throat. The guard she'd disarmed stepped forward and unleashed a strong backhand across her face, and she had to clench teeth and fists both to keep from retaliating.
Shek watched her intently but said nothing. The clanging of metal from down below caught her ear. She hoped that if she was to be impaled for her actions then she'd already have been spraying blood across the floor. She risked a cautious step to the side, leaving the spear pointing at empty air. When she found herself still alive, she returned her attention to the battle.
----------
The demon possessed two blades to Buffy's one, but she evened the odds with a light-footed finesse that had it spinning in circles as it feverishly tried to track her. Any remaining worries soon faded. The onlooking crowd, the surrounding prison, the overwhelming odds of escape, it all slipped away as she fell into a pattern that was four years in the making. This was her element. This is what she did.
And she delivered that message with an unmistakable clarity. She leapt seamlessly from point to point, spinning, weaving, her feet constantly on the move. Whether high or low, each swing of an axe met only with the steel of her sword. Her wrist twisted and turned, and any blow that would have left her a corpse was effortlessly parried away. The sword was as much an extension of her hand as each and every finger, one that felt like it had been with her since birth.
She moved with both speed and grace, and while the demon had matched her so far, she knew that really, when it came down to it, she was doing nothing more than waiting. The fight was already over; she just had to write the ending.
When an opening presented itself, she brought the majestic display to an end by blocking the high swing of one axe, knocking away the low swing of the other, and then spinning around as she extended her arm.
She didn't need to look behind her to know the demon's severed head would be bobbing across the floor, and the murmuring from the audience fell away as her intense, challenging stare moved slowly across the front row. Breathing hard, adrenaline beating against her chest, her fingers still clenched inhumanly tight around the sword, Buffy looked up to find Faith watching her. She gave a nod and a smile in thanks, but only got a vacant look in return. Slightly unsettled by Faith's total lack of enthusiasm, Buffy furrowed her brow in question. She wondered if Faith knew something she didn't; if perhaps one or both of them were still in imminent danger. But she could glean nothing more from Faith's hardened face.
The rumbling of the gate being hoisted up snapped her from her thoughts, and she turned to the tunnel, half expecting a cluster of new opponents to emerge. Nobody else came though, and when nothing else happened, she dropped her bloodied sword to the floor and casually made her way out of the packed but silent arena, stretching to step over the headless corpse along the way.