To Conquer Death
by Rainne
Interlude: The Watchers' Council - Prophecy Fulfilment
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Dobson hung up the phone and placed a transatlantic call to a contact she'd had standing by since the rogue Potential disappeared. "It's time," she said. And that was all. She smiled at the thought that her plans were all taking shape, and she clapped her hands gleefully. "How exciting. All my many years of planning, all come to fruition. Thank you, little Miss Markham. Divide and conquer. Yes, indeed, divide and conquer." As she spoke, her shape slowly changed until she was barely recognizable.
The thing that had been Dobson shambled out of its hotel room and toward the cemetery, determined to meet its prey on the way. It was too late — by the time it caught up with Quentin Travers, an ordinary vampire had already drained the man dry. The thing that had been Dobson roared its displeasure and took its anger out on the corpse. Then it shambled away towards Sunnydale Memorial Hospital, where at least it knew it could find three defenseless Watchers to finish its vendetta on.
It was Dobson again when it entered the hospital, inquired politely after the whereabouts of its compatriots in its gentle British accent, and took the elevator up to the fourth floor ICU. It was Dobson when it entered the room of Miss Beecham, who was sleeping quietly, and pulled the curtain shut around her. And it was Dobson again when it slipped out from behind the curtain, leaving her with enough blood to keep her alive for the few moments it would need to find Campbell and Frasier and dispatch them both as well. But between those moments, it was a Karvuil demon, last of its kind, which had been relentlessly hunted by Watchers and Slayers for centuries. The Council had thought the shape-changing demon extinct and, indeed, the ninety-two-year-old demon was near the end of its natural lifespan. But right now it had a mission to complete.
The cell phone at the demon's waist trilled as it left Frasier's room, and Dobson answered. It heard two words and began to smile a smile that was incredibly unpleasant as it closed itself into Campbell's room. Campbell was awake. "Dobson," he whispered. "Vampire."
"I'm dreadfully sorry, David," Dobson replied. "But I simply don't care. You see, even now, the Watchers in London are all dead. Explosives, you see. The Watchers of London are no more. And now, neither are you."
David tried to shriek in terror as Dobson began to shift and change before him into something like all the most horrible monsters Stephen King could ever have written of, all melded together. But his voice was weak, and frozen with fear besides. And the last thing he saw before the demon tore out his eyes was its horrible smile.
Dobson strolled out of the hospital, whistling a jaunty tune, and set its nose to the wind, trying to suss out where the Slayers might have stashed the last of the Watchers.