Dark and dingy were essentially the bread and butter of the Slayer calling, but Faith hadn't taken to her current surroundings any more than she had the sewers. It wasn't that she took offence to there being nothing to look at but rock, rock, and more rock, but for as long as she could remember she'd simply hated being caged in. She wasn't claustrophobic, and she wasn't about to burst into tears either. But it made her antsy, and fighting in a confined area didn't leave her much room to stretch her legs, so to speak. One improvement over the sewers, at least, was the generous amount of torches affixed to the walls either side of her. She'd gotten used to things jumping out at her a long time ago, but she still preferred to see them coming.
She didn't know how anyone, human or otherwise, could find their way around down there. It wasn't just the cave tunnels that looked the same, but even the sewers had left her wondering if Buffy had known where they were going. Sure, Boston had sewers, but she'd been lucky enough to avoid them for all but a single, brief visit to finish off a fleeing vampire. That was something she supposed she should be grateful for, and it was also one of the few good things her home town had ever given her.
Luckily her path choices were limited to either carrying on or heading back, so she was unlikely to end up lost in the depths of Sunnydale for the next decade and a half. She edged her way around the gently curving tunnel, sticking as close to the rough walls as she could without scuffing the back of her jeans. It wasn't much longer before the tunnel gave way to another wide, bare area, and there she found herself stood across from the big, green oaf.
In a way she supposed she should thank him – she might never have made a move on Buffy if it hadn't been for him. On the other hand, that night had turned out to be one of the worst in her life, so she figured she'd compromise and thank him by making his death quick.
It must have been dinner time, she realized, and a look of disgust crossed her face. “Not to be all holier than thou or anything, but I'm thinking you need some better quality control on your meals. Honestly, I've seen better meat in a butcher's trash can.”
He lazily turned to face her before digging his teeth deep into the limb of something Faith had no desire to recognise. He took a single tug with his grinning mouth, and while he chewed he tossed the rest of his half-eaten meal to the side. He didn't feel the need to get through the swallowing part before he started speaking. “The runaway.” As he barked out a laugh, chewed up remains were spat everywhere, and Faith took a hasty step back, wanting absolutely no part of that. “I can count on one hand the opponents that have escaped me. None were fool enough to come back to Tarroth for more.”
Faith shrugged her indifference. “What can I say: it was this or infomercials.” She planted her feet a shoulder width apart, distributing her weight evenly and digging her heels into the ground, and she took a firm grip of her axe with both hands. “So how about it – one more spin, winner takes all?”
Still grinning, Tarroth unsheathed his broadsword and pointed the tip toward her throat. “For your spirit I shall tell the tale of our encounter for years to come. I will even leave out the part where you fled in fear.”
“And I appreciate the offer, but unless you've got resprouting limbs then that's gonna be tricky.” She frowned, suddenly realizing she didn't know what these demons were capable of. “You don't, right?” she asked, only half serious.
Tarroth didn't offer any clarification. He moved forward, crossing the room with a handful of long strides, and he brought his sword in a downward arc toward Faith's head. Unlike the last time they'd met, she was equipped to parry it. With one hand wrapped around each end of the axe handle, she held it up and outward, and metal clanged against metal, the solid steel standing up to the brunt of the broadsword.
More than a foot taller than Faith, Tarroth used his considerable size advantage to lean over her, pushing his weight down on the blade as he tried to drive it home. Both his hands and a series of drawn out grunts weren't enough to budge it an inch; Faith's arms were locked in place, and even as they began to tremble under the pressure they successfully held it at bay.
With a surge of energy she forced his sword away to the side before swinging her axe at this throat, but he recovered in time to parry her own attempt. Back and forth they went, taking turns with their vicious swings. A single blow should have been enough to bring the battle to an emphatic end, but neither of them found a hole in the other's defence.
A low, upward attack from Tarroth swung harmlessly by Faith but ended up getting lucky, the top of his sword hooking under the neck of her axe. She held on tight as he tried to lift it out of her hands, and for her trouble she received a hard elbow that caught her in the eye. It proved a big enough distraction to allow her weapon to be hoisted from her hands, and she watched as it flew across the cave. She instantly set her sights on recovering it, but Tarroth took a wide step to his side to block her route.
“Guess fair doesn't translate well,” Faith muttered, looking the smirking demon in the eye. “Fine by me.” Done with the pleasantries, she kicked low, and the toe of her boot landed right between his legs. With a roar of complaint he doubled over, and he moved a hand down far too late to protect himself. Gotta love the classics, she thought to herself, smirking back. She grabbed his ears with both hands and jumped, pulling his head down to meet her rising knees.
----------
With both hands loosely holding her dangling sword behind her back, Buffy stood patiently across the room from the demon as she waited for her to finish securing the prisoner in place.
“Hi,” she offered casually once Slarrine had turned around and noticed her.
Slarrine paused, seemingly taken aback. When she frowned, one of the thick, black veins that ran across her forehead looked like it was about to pop right out, and Buffy didn't know whether to laugh or gag.
“You again?” Slarrine asked.
“Me again,” Buffy confirmed.
“Unexpected,” Slarrine admitted before holding out an arm. “But I do hate to repeat myself.” Her eyes flashed, and a glob of black, swirling particles flew for Buffy's feet.
That, however, wasn't unexpected, and Buffy coolly back-flipped out of the way and then watched as the ground in front of her exploded, sending a cloud of dirt into the air and leaving a sizeable hole in the earth. “You should really be careful with those things,” she said, echoing the admonishing voice she'd heard so many times from her mother. “Somebody could lose a finger.”
Slarrine's eyes flashed again, and Buffy began to sprint. Pushing her legs as fast as she could, she circled around the room, avoiding a series of three more blasts before diving behind a low wall of rock. It proved enough to keep her safe from the next projectile, though she was left coughing on the large shower of dust that the explosion flung into her face.
“Is this your plan to defeat me? Run and hide?” Slarrine asked before letting out a wicked laugh.
The demon had a point. Buffy knew that, but she wasn't about to risk running head first into a flaming ball of death either. If she wanted to win she had to be smart. And she had to be quick about it, too, because she was pretty sure if she got hit by anything being thrown her way then things would go downhill fast.
“Move! Above you!”
The male voice could only have come from the man tied against the wall. Buffy had no idea who he was, nor did she take the time to consider whether he was trustworthy, but even as she glanced up she was already rolling to her side. That was lucky; the slightest of hesitations would have left her buried in the rockfall that turned her small hiding place into a giant mound of earth.
She hopped to her feet and took off again, that time darting into a tunnel and out of sight.
“This is becoming pitiful,” Slarrine called after her.
Buffy didn't respond, already busy scaling the surrounding walls. She'd had to leave her sword behind, so had tossed it along the tunnel for safe keeping, but it wasn't going to do her much good if she couldn't get into striking distance anyway. Stretching out, with her palms flat against one side of the tunnel and her soles pressing into the other, she inched up as fast as she could. First one hand, then the other, and then the same for her feet.
The pattern continued until a single slip saw her boot scraping a line of dirt from the wall, and she had to clamp her mouth shut to stop a gasp of shock from escaping. Her midsection sagged downward, and she was half a second away from plummeting right back to the ground. She pushed out harder with her remaining limbs, and that was enough to keep her held in place while she recovered. She allowed herself a quick, calming breath before carrying on.
She'd made it twelve feet up – almost the entire height of the tunnel – by the time Slarrine sauntered in. Another ball of magic sat nestled in her hand, likely ready to turn Buffy into a smouldering corpse, but she didn't think to look up. Had she, she might have been able to react before Buffy dropped down, grabbed her by the forearm, and forced her to slam her spell into her own face.
The outcome wasn't quite as Buffy had expected, the resulting explosion producing enough force to send the two of them flying in opposite directions. Buffy didn't stay in the air long, but the momentum kept her going long after she'd hit the ground. She skidded along, tumbling as she went, her hair and clothes picking up clumps of dirt. By the time she came to a stop her left cheek had cut open against the gritty ground, and she wiped away the small dribble of blood from her face.
Thinking it had to be over, Buffy was more than a little surprised to see Slarrine already back on her feet. Having only made it as far as sitting up herself, she stared up and groaned in disbelief.
“You can't win,” Slarrine stated matter-of-factly. “My own magic can't hurt me, and you won't get that close again.”
“Yeah?” Buffy shot back. “Well you forgot about one thing.”
“And what's that?”
Buffy eyed the sword lay a few metres away to her side, knowing she could be on top of it in a single lunge. “My magic.” She pulled the flash light from her pocket and arced it as high into the air as she could.
Slarrine tracked it with her hands as it spun through the air, and before it could begin to descend toward her a single word sent a bolt from her hands to the small, harmless object. The few fragments that survived the impact were sent flying in multiple directions.
Slarrine's amused smile didn't last long, transforming into a look of shock as she looked down. Half of Buffy's sword was protruding from her chest. An ever-growing river of blood crept down the side of the blade, covering up the shine of the metal with its deep, matte colour. Wordlessly she felt at her chest, her mouth still gaping open.
Buffy calmly walked forward and took the hilt of the sword in her hand. “FYI?” Slarrine looked at her silently, her eyes wide. “Magic might have been a bit of a stretch,” she admitted, “but hey, it got the job done.” She retrieved her sword with a single tug, and yet the demon still stood staring at her.
Better safe than sorry, Buffy told herself before removing Slarrine's head with a single slice. That most definitely did the trick, and the rest of the body crumpled to the floor.
Leaving the corpse to wither away of its own accord, Buffy gingerly made her way back to the previous room. She was still feeling the effects of the spell, but it wasn't serious enough to warrant concern.
“Thanks for the heads up,” she said as she approached the prisoner.
“Thanks for getting me out of here,” he replied. “I wasn't looking forward to spending the holidays down here.”
Buffy smiled and tugged at one of the ropes securing him in place, forcing the metal restraint out from where it had been secured into the wall. “So what's with the soldier getup?” she asked curiously. “Little late for Halloween, isn't it? Or is this some sort of frat party thing?” He looked about the right age for it, give or take a year or two, though she had the feeling there was more to it than that – he seemed far too calm given the situation.
“Right. Frat party. You know how it is.”
“Not really,” Buffy remarked before freeing his other arm just as easily. “You think you can find your way out?”
“I should be fine. Been down here a couple of times before.” Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow. “With my... frat brothers. Fraternising.”
“Because bars are so passé.” Given his flimsy cover story, she could safely rule out him being a spy. Whoever he was, he seemed harmless enough, and she had more pressing issues to deal with than figuring out how he'd gotten himself involved in the whole affair. However, she couldn't resist asking one thing. “You know, you seem awfully calm for someone who's just been abducted by a bunch of... well, let's just say it's not really something you see every day.”
“You've clearly never been to Iowa,” he joked.
Buffy watched him curiously for a few moments. “Thanks again,” she said before stepping out the way.
“You sure you couldn't use some backup?”
She smirked. “Backup from a frat boy?” she asked, a playful hint to her voice.
“Well I may have a small amount of experience with martial arts.”
“Is that so?” She briefly considered the offer before turning him down. With one demon already taken care of, things were off to a promising start, and it wasn't like she didn't already have the best backup she could hope for. “Get out of here. And keep your eyes peeled. Trust me, there's still plenty more creeps a creeping.”
Buffy had planned to follow him back the same way, but he'd barely stepped foot into the tunnel when she heard something from the other direction.
----------
Once Faith and Tarroth had both been disarmed, their fight had quickly devolved into a pure slugfest. Faith had the speed advantage that came with not being a Hulk impersonator, and she ducked and weaved to ensure she took less blows than her opponent; unfortunately, the hits that did land were leaving much more of a mark. Her left arm throbbed from where a cross-hook had landed full pelt, and the cut above her eye from their last fight, which had almost faded away altogether, had now been replaced by a new, fresh version.
All of that only served to to spur her on though, and she goaded the demon in before planting her heel into the back of his knee. The moment he dropped down she grabbed his head with both hands and drove it into the nearby wall. She raked it down over the rough surface for an enjoyable few seconds before he found the wherewithal to reach out and shove her to the floor.
She rolled over once before bouncing straight back up, ready for more. Blood was already trickling out from the various small cuts that littered his face, though it didn't seem to have phased him. His nostrils flared as he set his sights on her once again.
“Come on then. Let's end this,” Faith said. Her hard eyes were set on his, begging him to come at her.
Tarroth charged. Faith flicked her foot up into his head the moment he stepped into range, but he ran straight through it, knocking her leg aside and ramming his shoulder into her face. Her head snapped back with a harshness that guaranteed a serious case of whiplash come morning. What came later was the least of her worries though, and she grunted as a giant, balled fist jabbed at her kidney.
She growled in anger and threw back her own series of punches, some high, some low, all hitting their mark. The results were negligible. It seemed like the longer the fight went on, the less effect her attacks had on him.
He thrust his big, beefy head into hers, leaving her trying to blink away stars. Following up, he reared back his arm before throwing his fist out again. The wind up gave Faith time to prepare, and she ducked under his arm, jumped up on his back, and wrapped one arm tight around his throat while the other held on to his head. He didn't even try to pry away her grip, instead reaching back over his head, grabbing two big handfuls of hair, and yanking Faith straight up and over like it was the easiest thing in the world.
She landed back first, and wasn't given any time to recover before he was leant over, repaying the favour, his thick fingers constricting around her neck. She struggled to free herself with her hands, but to no avail. Her air supply remained cut off, and she switched to plan B, bringing her knee up into his head.
That proved more fruitful, and she felt his grip loosening. After another two shots he let go completely and stepped away. Faith rolled onto her front and pushed herself to her feet.
Tarroth was heading for his sword. She ran up behind him, jumped, and just as he was bending down to retrieve it she delivered a kick straight to his jutted out butt. He stumbled forward, arms flailing. His sword got left behind, and Faith scooped it from the floor.
She didn't afford him the opportunity to see the attack coming, driving the sword into his back. It didn't make it in much more than an inch, but he must have felt it because he straightened up and his loud gasp was difficult to miss. Faith didn't wait to see if that was enough. Her spinning kick landed straight on the end of the sword, sending it the rest of the way in.
He dropped to the floor and knelt there, snarling loudly. He slammed his knuckles into the floor, let out a roar of pure rage, and then reached behind his back to take hold of the sword.
Faith watched in awe as he began to pull it out. She was starting to wonder what it was going to take to finish him off. She glanced around, trying to lay eyes on her own axe, but just as she spotted it he suddenly went still. His arm dropped. A beat later he collapsed on to his side.
She waited. For the best part of a minute not a single thing happened, and then she breathed a sigh of relief and muttered, “About damned time.”
----------
Buffy was heading farther away from the rendezvous point when she next heard the noise. It was so quiet at first that she had to strain her ears to hear it, and she figured whatever was making it was still a tunnel or two away, but then in a single heartbeat it became too deafening for her to stand. It seemed to spawn from inside her, furiously buzzing around her head, high-pitched and painfully piercing. She almost lost her footing as the cave walls spun about every axis. She turned frantically, looking for something to stick her sword in, but she was alone. The volume continued to rise, the screeching reaching an unbearable level. Her sword dropped free to the floor as she planted her hands tight over her ears, but even that couldn't dilute the noise.
She dropped to her knees, holding her head in her hands as she bowed it toward the floor, trying to hide it away. The pounding obstructed her thoughts, and she wasn't sure if a grand piano dropping right on top of her head would have made things any worse.
And then it was gone. Just like that, everything was back to normal, her own breathes the only thing left disturbing the silence. Well not exactly everything – her dizziness remained, the only proof that she wasn't losing her mind. Cautiously she removed her hands from her ears, and when the silence still remained she forced her watering eyes open. In front of her were a pair of blurry legs, and she knew Faith hadn't been wearing the plain, brown slacks that covered much of them. The girl didn't usually have a whole lot in the way of green skin either, she thought. Still on her hands and knees, she reached out blindly to her side, hoping to get a hold of her sword, but it wasn't long before she found out exactly where it was.
She heard the rapid series of snaps as her ribs cracked apart, and a blistering pain overloaded her senses. Her fingers clawed at the ground, digging deeper even as small pieces of rock cut beneath her fingernails. Her cry sounded far louder in her head than the muted version that made it out through her mouth. Her arms and legs were rooted in place, frozen from shock and barely able to hold up the weight of her body.
She hesitantly looked down, not because she was feeling brave but because, for some inexplicable reason, it seemed like the right thing to do. The blade – her blade – was sticking proudly out her front, an inch wide of her sternum, and blood was freely flowing off the tip into a fast forming puddle beneath her. She didn't dare move, terrified of the possibility that she'd somehow manage to make things worse.
Staying put didn't work out any better. Without warning, the sword was ripped all the way back out, and Buffy screamed as another jolt of agony ricocheted through her chest. Her supporting elbows gave way entirely, her arms spreading out to the sides. She fell flat again the floor, the side of her face hitting against the cold, damp dirt.
It felt like her chest was locked in a vice grip, and her short gasps of breath weren't enough to gather the air she needed. She lay motionless, listening to the slowing thump of her heart, willing herself to remain conscious when it would have been far easier to simply fade away. Time seemed to have slowed to an agonizing crawl, cruelly taunting her while her insides burned away. It felt like the blood was trickling out from her wound in slow motion, and it melded with her sweater, sticking it tight against her skin. She wanted to pull it away, wanted to put an end to the sickening sensation of her own blood clamping against her body, but she couldn't even cobble together the strength for that.
Nassnia circled around her, trailing the bloodied sword through the dirt, and Buffy could only watch as a pair of leather shoes stopped right in front of her face. “It is fortunate for you that I have a portal to open, otherwise your suffering would have lasted far longer than this.”
Buffy struggled to make out the words. It sounded like she was wearing headphones. Her mind flashed back to the time she had faced The Master. She'd been unconscious as she'd drowned, none the wiser to the shallow pool of water that had slowly been killing her; the sharp prick as his fangs sunk into her neck was the last thing she could remember before waking to find Xander kneeling over her. It had been nothing like this; she could feel herself suffocating. Her lungs were screaming in agony, begging for one more mouthful of air to keep them going. It didn't seem to matter how deeply she sucked – the result was never enough, and trying too hard only choked out a feeble splutter.
She tried to get up, to get away, but managed only to roll on to her side. There was too much pain to block out, and her body was ready to throw in the towel, but she grit her teeth with enough force to make her gums ache as she focused on dragging her uncooperative hand in the direction of her jeans pocket. Maybe she still had one more chance, she told herself, her eyes never leaving the feet in front of her. She figured somewhere higher up would provide quicker results, but she was hardly in a position to be picky.
Her hand had slipped its way through the thin opening of her pocket when she felt the sharp point of cold steel begin to press through her hair into the side of her neck. She couldn't even edge away, her head already flush with the floor.
Her fingers felt swollen and weightless, like they were trapped in a fuzzy mitten three sizes too small. She couldn't tell where each one began and ended, and it took several attempts to convince them to wrap themselves around the syringe. Nassnia was slowly adding pressure to the blade, and Buffy's skin admitted defeat, letting it push through the first layer of her defence.
“You seem awfully quiet down there,” the demon mocked. “I hope you're staying with me, dear. There's still a way to go.”
The sword inched down again, and Buffy yelped in pain, her back and shoulders involuntarily tensing up. Every finger and toe squeezed just as tight, and she made out out the small, terrifying sound of the syringe cracking in her hand. Her eyes widened in horror as the cool liquid oozed down through her fingers, and with it the small, final remnants of her fight also drained away.
----------
The only thing waiting for Faith at the proposed meeting point was a boatload of fast-acting concern. She hadn't made quick work of the demon and yet Buffy was nowhere to be seen. It didn't mean anything, she quickly told herself before she had the chance to freak out. Whichever demon Buffy had gone after had gotten a head start; she would probably be back any second.
That thought was enough to settle her down for long enough to pace the length of the room a single time. “Screw it,” she muttered. She'd never been the type to see patience as a virtue, and it really wasn't the time for a change of heart. She looked down the two tunnels Buffy had chosen from, and the answer was obvious. She knew Buffy was a stickler for planning – she doubted the girl could even hit the mall without drawing up a ten step outline first, though she'd never risk saying as much to Buffy's face – and you couldn't plan for what you didn't know. Convinced Buffy would have gone with option gross-and-veiny, Faith headed after her.
It didn't take long before the green, veiny corpse let her know she'd made the right call, though she was still left wondering why Buffy hadn't returned after taking it out. Her fears started to murmur their unease, but she was quick to squash them down – she reasoned that a dead demon was about the best sign she could hope for, short of seeing Buffy herself.
It wasn't until she'd passed through several more tunnels that those fears came back ten-fold, and she ran into them like they were a brick wall. The sudden halt would have taken her from her feet if she hadn't been rooted to the spot in horror. “B?” she said, her voice coming out a whisper. “No.” Forcing her shock back, she sprinted across the room. Her legs were weak and unsteady, but they held together long enough to reach their destination.
Nassnia turned, but she couldn't react before Faith beheaded her in a single swipe. Strands of wispy, white hair fell away as the head was catapulted across the room. Not waiting to admire her handiwork, Faith dropped to her knees, skidding the final few inches to arrive at Buffy's side. “B? Buffy!”
Down on her back, Buffy lay eerily still, her only movement coming as her eyes rolled to the side to look at Faith. “Fai...” Her voice was faint and raw, and her dilated pupils stood out from the middle of her glazed over eyes.
“It's OK,” Faith promised, hoping to convince herself as much as Buffy. “I'm here. You're gonna be OK.” She put a hand on Buffy's side, ready to help her sit up, but she flinched back when she felt an unexpected wetness press against her hand. She stared at the back of it, scared to turn it around even though the substance smeared on the other side had an unmistakable feel to it.
“Oh God.” Buffy's black sweater had hidden it well, but now Faith could see every drop clearly. The material was completely soaked from top to bottom, the entirety of Buffy's front doused in a layer of blood.
“No, no, no, no!” Faith's voice rose with each utterance, but it never reached the same levels as the desperation inside of her that was screaming at her to do something. Anything.
She tried again, swallowing nervously as she placed one hand back on Buffy's side and squeezed the second behind her upper back. She tried to ignore the fact that her second hand now felt as damp as her first, though that proved an impossible feat. She started to slowly ease her up, but hesitated once again when she noticed Buffy's eyes were completely shut.
“Come on, B. Just stay with me,” Faith pleaded. There was no response. She shook her by the shoulders, softly at first before quickly becoming more forceful. “Buffy? Please. Come on!”
Again there was no response, and a feverish panic erupted inside her, clogging inside her throat as it shot up from the pit of her stomach. Her thoughts scattered, squeezing themselves into any deep, dark corner they could find. Her head felt light. The room was starting to spin, and the sight of Buffy's blood on her hands made her gag. She clamped the back of her hand against her mouth and forced herself to take several deep breaths.
Buffy's eyes were closed, her mouth frozen open. She didn't look peaceful or calm; she looked like she was still in pain. Like she was dying. Without thinking, Faith ran her hands back over her head, pulling at her roots. She was trying to rouse her thoughts into action but did nothing more than coat strands of her hair with the blood of the only person she'd ever loved.
Realizing what she'd done, she gagged even harder. There was nothing she could do to stop it that time; she twisted her neck to the side as the contents of her stomach forced their way free. She couldn't stop herself, continuing to retch until there was nothing left inside her. Still she carried on, dry heaving as tears ran freely down her face.
Her throat was raw by the time she had dragged together enough control to stop. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, partially clearing her vision, and she found herself looking straight at Buffy's neck.
She knew what she had to do next, no matter how desperately she didn't want to. She couldn't take losing Buffy. She just couldn't. Anything but that, she silently pleaded. Two fingers crept forward, inching their way toward Buffy's carotid artery. Faith's own pulse was excessively elevated, a fear like she had never encountered before keeping it hammering along. Her hesitant fingers hovered right next to Buffy's neck for several long moments, knowing that if there was no response then that was it. It was all over.
She closed her eyes, clamped her mouth shut tight, and held in a deep breath. Her index and middle fingers landed on Buffy's neck.
Nothing.
Her eyes shot open. She moved her fingers down a bit and pressed harder, leaving a pair of small, pinks marks on Buffy's skin. Still nothing. Down again. To the side. Pressed harder still.
She swallowed. Another pair of tears ran down her face. A small cry croaked from her throat.
But it was a cry wrapped in the slimmest thread of hope. She could breathe again, even if only a little. There was still a pulse. It was slow. It was shallow. But it was there, and that was something.
That something was all it took to jolt her into action, and she hoisted Buffy up, cradling the still, limp body in her arms with the kind of painstaking gentleness usually reserved for a newborn baby. She shifted Buffy's head to prop up against the inside of her arm, keeping it from hanging lifelessly to the ground. “Stay with me, B,” she whispered softly to Buffy. “I need you, OK? You have to stay with me.”
She was short on breath, her frantic emotions having taken their toll, but it didn't stop her from sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her; if she couldn't save Buffy then she'd damn well die trying.
She hadn't gotten far before her route was blocked. She recognised Jacob from their brief encounter, though neither one of his two wingmen.
“Ouch, well she's looking a little--” Jacob began.
There was no warning. No holding back. Pure adrenaline was all Faith had left, and it fuelled a single fierce kick straight through Jacob's chest. She heard bones break, and she saw him fly back into the wall, his head cracking against it before he dropped to the floor in a heap of still, muddled limbs. She didn't even blink. The lackeys quickly backed off, one of them stumbling over the hem of his robe as he scurried to get out of her way.
Paying none of them another thought, she bounded straight for the sewers. She hit them fast and kept going, splashing water into the air as she tore through a long, deep puddle. Four tunnels and as many turns later and she was finally forced to pause.
“Shit.” She looked left and right but couldn't remember which way they had come. She desperately wished she'd paid more attention on the way in. She wished she hadn't suggested they split up. She wished she could start the day over and try again. But it was too late for any of that, so she did the only thing she could: she took a wild guess and kept going.
Twists and turns constantly thwarted her efforts to find a way out, and she had to waste far too much time doubling back after she reached a complete dead end. Time she couldn't afford. Time Buffy couldn't afford.
Once she had finally found a ladder leading to the surface, getting to the top proved awkward. After delicately readjusting Buffy over her shoulder, she was left to climb with only one hand while the other was protectively wrapped around Buffy's back, securing her in place. She hastily grabbed from one bar to the next before gravity could send the two of them crashing back down.
They reached the top, and Faith wrapped her arm around the side of the ladder, locking herself in place while she pushed the metal grate above out of their way.
Finally back on higher ground, Faith didn't need long to study her surroundings. A row of run-down shops, two of which had remained boarded up ever since she'd first arrived in Sunnydale, were enough for her to gain her bearings.
She knew they still had a way to go. Even at a run, the hospital was still at least a quarter of an hour away. Her shoulders were starting to stiffen, but she shrugged it off; she'd run to every corner of the world if that's what it took.
But as she cradled Buffy in her arms once more, she caught sight of Buffy's still, vacant face. She noticed how blue her lips looked against her ghostly pale face. She noticed how those same slightly parted lips were as lifeless as her motionless, blood-stained chest.
And Faith knew, she just knew, that she was already too late.