SquidgeWorld Archive

Chapter Text

"Hmmm..." Xander muttered, taking a step back from his subject and assesing it with a critical eye. "That's pretty good, but I think we're still missing something."

"This is ridiculous," Cordelia complained.

"What??" Xander said, frowning a little. "You think it's too over-the-top? We're gonna have to be extreme if we wanna create the right effect, Cor."

"No, the outfit is okay," Cordelia said slowly. "I meant you giving me advice on how to dress is ridiculous!" And she burst into a fit of giggles. Xander gave her a 'we are not amused' glare, and she struggled to control herself. "I know, I know, you're the closest thing we've got to an expert on how a Slayer dresses."

"Well, more than that," Xander said, walking around Cordelia thoughtfully. "Since you're not a real Slayer, your biggest objective is to intimidate. That's something that the costumes of comic-book heroines and villainesses have been designed for, at least in part."

"Ahd you're our comic-book 'expert' too, huh?" Cordy gave a mock sigh. "Heaven help us. So, tell me, expert, what's missing?" Cordelia was dressed mostly in midnight blue spandex, top, pants, and even a mask that changed the lines of her face enough to make her hard to recognize without restricting her field of vision much. Her legs were hugged three-quarters of the way up to the knee by leather boots, low-heeled but with reinforced, pointed toes, (to deliver maximum damage on kicks.)

"Um, maybe a belt of some kind?" Xander muttered, rooting through the available acessories to find one. Amy knocked on the door and then came wandering into the room. "Hey, Amy, how's the witchly side of 'Project Slayer' coming?"

"Pretty well!" Amy said with a tired smile. "We've scrounged up a few potions of heroism that will make Cordelia totally strong and dangerous, but still we'll have to save those for important missions. For the rest of the time, we've come up with a series of spells to cast - bless, hasten, and the strength of the righteous." She watched as Xander found a wide brown belt, pouches and pockets of various sizes built onto it, and tossed it to Cordelia, who snapped it around her slim waist. "What are you going to do about the hair?"

"What's wrong with my hair??" Cordelia screamed, outraged.

"No, it's fine. But they're going to start looking for this 'Slayer' soon. Lustrous dark brown tresses could be a giveaway to everyone in town that it's you, Cordelia."

"Well, she still has to show up for work duty at the Bronze," Xander pointed out. "It's not as if she can dye her hair for every mission and dye it back afterwards. And the 'wash it out' haircolors don't change the color much."

"Since when are you such an expert on hair dyeing?" Cordelia asked with a wry smile. A sad look crossed Xander's face. "Oh, right, Buffy. Sorry."

"I could cast a small glamour to change her hair color," Amy suggested. "And to add any costume features that you can't get right for real."

"Hey, seriously," Cordelia protested. "The hair stays as it is. You don't touch the hair. I have always taken pride in this hair!!"

"But come on, this is a question of your life," Amy wheedled. "And haven't you ever wondered if we blondes really do have more fun??"

* * * *

Buffy caught up with the others as they stalked purposefully down a hall that led into more and more critical Tarakan facilities. They had presumably stopped along the way to clean out a few important rooms and 'dispatch' a few key Tarakan figures. Experienced Slayer though she was, Buffy felt a wave of nausea that was hard to force back down.

This wasn't battle, it was cold-blooded slaughter. Murder. It was also the only way they had a chance. These things were evil, and it didn't really matter how they died, only that they did.

Even the one Tarakan who, from the look of his internal organs, was apparently human...

"This way," Franco said, leading the way down a side corridor. Suddenly a demon was leaping down upon him from above. The spanish Watcher tried to wrestle free. to get into a position where he had the leverage to use his mace, but the beast was holding his arms helpless. Buffy finally twigged that they were under attack and fired a shot off, but the crossbow bolt ricocheted harmlessly off of the fiend's armored back. Willow tried clubbing it with her staff, to no better effect, and Angel tossed a throwing knife into an unarmored gap beneath the things arms, but didn't seem to be causing more than a flesh wound.

Meanthile, the demon was orienting, pointing the tip of its head, (which Buffy realized was also strongly armored and slightly wedged,) towards Franco's chest. Suddenly it pounded down with it weaponlike cranium. Ribs cracked as Franco's upper torso caved in slightly.

"NO!!!" Buffy charged forward, dropping the crossbow and fumbling the sword into her hands again. She slashed deeply into the demon's abdomen from behind, but apparently that couldn't stop it. Once again, it repeated its crushing motion into Franco Belone's chest. This time, the effects seemed more significant. The space where his heart and lungs would be had been severely compressed - was it even possible that he could survive such a blow?

Only one way to find out. Buffy dashed up the demon's side and struck again - at the lightly armored neck. Not armored enough. The fiend's dreadful head fell off and Buffy shoved the rest off of Franco's arms and legs.

"Is he alive?" Willow screamed frantically, dropping down beside France and checking for a pulse herself. Obviously, the results weren't encouraging. "NOO!!" Somewhat desperately, Willow started breathing into his mouth.

Meanwhile, Angel had also gotten to the Watcher's body, and was somewhat more objectively examining the man's injuries. "Lungs collapsed, every rib snapped, heart seriously bruised and torn," he diagnosed. "Spine crushed in. Come on, Willow, we're not going to be able to save him."

Willow didn't even seem to have heard him, she just kept on doing mouth-to-mouth, oblivious to the blood trickling out of Franco's mouth. "Come on, Willow!" Angel screamed, rushing towards her and pulling her away. "He's dead. We've got to move on!"

"No!!" Willow yelled. "We... we can't just leave him here! Not Franco, too!!"

Buffy wondered for a second what she had meant by that. And then it fell into place - Buffy's own mother, murdered in Limbo. They had never had time to find her body before dispersing that dreadful pocket dimension, and if her body had come back to earth, they had never found it. Oz had been slain by a Tarakan hunter in England, and while they had been able to take his body out of Spike's lair, it laid in a cemetary near Liverpool, not here in America where his home was.

"There's no choice, Willow," Angel told her fiercely. "We've got a job to do here!!"

And as that unfortunate truth sank in, Willow suffered herself to be led away from Franco's body. Buffy brought up the rear, trying to shake the grief out of her own body. Time enough to mourn a noble man later. Right now, sorrow would only get them all killed. She had to keep her mind on the fight.

* * * *

Angel walked steadily into an antechamber. After making their way to the gathering hall of the Order, he, Buffy, and Willow had fought side by side for a time with their renegade Tarakan allies, who, true to the agreement, had been murdering their former masters and causing confusion as soon as the first signs of Buffy's attack had begun. Buffy and Willow were off trashing one of the summoning rooms. Angel had a different job to do.

Bursting through the next door, Angel held his spear at the ready. Sure enough, sitting at an incongrously normal-looking wooden desk, (definitely of human manufacture, probably by one of the finest carpenters in europe,) sat as somewhat old and wizened-looking ram-headed demon. Angel recognized him easily, having learned enough about these species to demon to tell individuals apart. "Taraka, I presume."

"Yes?" The demon turned to face him squarely, and flinched in shock as he took in the copper spear pointed at him. "Agravanakalika!!!"

The incantation was obviously intended to create some dramatic effect, but the only visible result was that the medallion around Angel's neck glinted slightly. Angel had been about to throw the spear when he realized that Taraka was spell-casting, but realizing that he was unharmed, he hesitated.

"So, protected from my magic you are, to at least a certain extent." Taraka sounded uncommonly like a nastier version of Yoda from the 'star wars' movies, Angel realized with a start. "I could still call down fire to destroy you, but you would kill me in the process too, vampire. So, let us both stay our hands from killing, and perhaps find a way for both to live."

"You cannot make deals with me, demon lord," Angel replied through gritted teeth, edging into the room. Taraka kept turning his chair to face his attacker dead on.

"Why not? There is a price for all things, even the life of one so old as myself, and I can offer you much. But to comprehend that which you might wish, I must first identify you, strange vampire. Oh!! Are you the souled one? Who helped the slayer fell Octarus??"

"Yes I am," Angel answered simply. He had already learned that that was the name of the first Tarakan assasin to attempt to kill Buffy, at the skating rink, two years ago now.

"Angel, yes??" Taraka continued, laughing wheezily. "The vampire with the heart of a man. I know your price, the thing you most desire."

"That's for Buffy to survive," he growled. "And for that to happen, you have to die."

"I can let you live again, o dead one!!" That surprised Angel so much that he was speechless. "Yes. I can restore you to the living state, if you allow to keep what passes for my own life."

Angel frowned and shook his head. "Impossible. I'm dead, and can't become alive. For god's sake, as a human I'd be more than two hundred years old. If I could be turned back into a living human being, I'd take one step and die of old age."

Taraka rose to his, (its?) feet with a surprising grace. "How little you understand of the ways of magic, little Angel. Your body has not aged for the time in which you have been a vampire. Should you be restored to mortal life, you will resume at the physical age at which you were slain - twenty-three, I believe it was?"

Angel was weak enough to want to hear more. Even if it was all a lie, a fabrication that the demon was weaving to try to trick him, Angel couldn't leave the tale forever half-told. "Such magic exists, then? I have researched in many magical texts since I was cursed, and have found no traces of them."

"Ah, yes, your explorations of the Pergammon Codex, and the library of Rupert Giles," Taraka continued, once again displaying a frightening knowledge of Angel's past. "Quite good reference volumes, and many of them may well claim, in all sincerity, re-mortalization of a vampire to be impossible. But, to correct a human poet, 'There are more things in hell and earth than are dreamt of by your philosophy.'" Taraka's scratchy voice had assumed a lilting quality with that phrase. "I am old enough to remember the wizard who perfected vampire re-mortalization, three and twenty centuries ago."

"And you know the spell? You would cast it on my behalf?" Angel scoffed.

"Not I personally," Taraka said softly, shaking his head so that his ram's horns waved through the air solemnly. "But I know where the information is to be found." Angel's head twitched slightly, from side to side. "Not here in the retreat - you will not find it by searching the premises. Its hiding place is so well hidden that you could comb the earth until the sun dies and not find it - unless you know precisely where to look." Taraka straightened to stand erect before Angel. "I can provide you with the charts, and I will - at the price of my own life."

Angel was shaking his head doubtfully. "And what do I tell Buffy and Willow?"

"The truth." Taraka waved to the door, and Angel noticed with some surprise that the two girls were standing right there, as surprised as he was. "Neither of them would deny you your hearts desire in this. They each love you far too much to."

Swallowing with surprise, still not daring to shift his gaze from Taraka for more than an instant lest the sorceror decide that he could destroy them all and escape retribution, Angel called out to Buffy and Willow himself. "Is that true??"

"Yes, of course, Angel," Willow said, nervousness and reassurance warring in her voice. "If you want to take the deal, we'll take the deal."

"Agreed," Buffy said, nodding. "I wouldn't want to be the one to take this away from you. It's your call - it has been all along."

And Angel stared at the six thousand year old demon prince, weighing his life and Taraka's death in his mind...

To be continued...