Shades of Darkness
by zingrrrl
3
[reviews]
Warning - character death.
-three-
Warren's legs twitched constantly as he tried to calm himself, taking deep and regular breaths, funneling the nervous energy burning in his body. He banged the palm oh his left hand repeatedly against the arm of the red cloth covered sofa in which he sat, like he was trying to keep time with an amphetamine fueled drum beat. He wiped the beaded sweat from his brow with the back of his right hand.
How long will I be able to buy? Warren asked himself. A day or two? Long enough for a head start? Do I risk running? What the fuck am I going to do?
"So, she bought it?" Warren asked, looking into the dead black eyes of the sorcerer seated in a brown plush leather chair on the other side of a coffee table filled with old faded magazines and empty styrofoam food containers, hoping for a clue to what ever was going on in the man's twisted mind. "She killed the doppelganger?"
Warren wondered if he even had a shot at a future at all. Slayer on his ass would cut deeply into most men's life span. And a guy like Warren, hell he didn't even have any powers of his own, so what could he hope to accomplish in a protracted fight against the Slayer. He'd been a fool thinking something as simple as a gun could take out Buffy Summers. He couldn't have been the first to try it, he now realized.
"For now," Rack said, shrugging. "And it's a golem. Doppelganger's your evil double. And kinda ghostly." He ran his finger through his uncombed shoulder length brown hair. "This thing was of flesh ... kinda. A construct to fool the senses, but not good for much more. She'll probably figure it out though. This Slayer? She is a smart one."
Unnerved by the way Rack stared at him, lifeless and unmoving, without blinking, Warren shook his head rapidly, chewing his lips and squinting his eyes. Why is he helping me? Warren asked himself, doubting the sorcerer's motivations. Can't be good for his health, and I doubt he needs the dead presidents I've been sending his way. What is he really after? "Look, I tried to do us all a favor and eliminate the Slayer, but I ..."
"Guess it didn't take," Rack said, smirking. "Killing the Slayer, that's big business for a kid."
"I'm not a kid!" Warren shouted, irritated.
"My bad," Rack said, standing, holding his hands out palms forward. "She's the new power, man. Anybody with intuition can feel it. She's going to blow this town apart." Rack walked over to Warren, poked him in the chest. "Starting with you."
Warren wanted to shove Rack's hand away, but he was afraid of challenging the man. Who knew what the fuck this demented freak would do, but Warren was positive it wouldn't be anything he wanted to experience. "What do you mean? New power?"
Rack shrugged. "Embraced her inner demon?"
"Slayer's a demon?" Warren asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.
"Of course the Slayer's a demon." Rack laughed hard, from the gut. "What the fuck you think makes those little girls so fucking strong?"
"Why are you helping me?" Warren asked, completely convinced Rack was playing some game in which one Warren Mears was just a little, slightly significant pawn. A pawn in which the sorcerer could care less if it lived or died.
A smile spread slowly across Rack's face, a smile filled with sadistic mirth and malevolence. "Starting to figure it out, huh? That you're just a little pawn in a very big game. A game that's been going on for so many years that the little pawns aren't even aware of its existence."
Warren swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth and throat. He nodded as his eyes bugged out in fear. And not just fear for his life, but fear for his soul, a soul he'd sold along time ago, even though he wasn't aware the soul was no longer his.
Rack chuckled. "She'll probably kill me for helping you. Well, not really helping you, but keeping you alive long enough to make her nothing but a creature of pure rage and hate. You have any idea what it'll do to the balance if this Slayer is turned to the dark side?"
Warren just stared at the sorcerer as his already pasty skin lost its color.
"It'll fucking shatter it! Alive or dead, my place among the prince's of hell will be secured!" Rack laughed maniacally.
*---BtVS---*
The door to the Magic Box slammed open, sounding a rather annoying bell hanging in the doorway. Buffy stepped into the store, marching toward the counter. Anya, behind the counter, just stared at the grief stricken slayer.
"Buffy," Anya said.
"Where is the Anam Bás?" Buffy asked, her tone flat.
"You don't know any spells," Anya replied.
"I know one. Merrick taught me. It'll do me here." Buffy smirked. "Now, where is the Anam Bás?"
"Something terrible has happened, I know. But you don't have to do..."
Buffy glanced up into the loft, at the bookshelves, the chest hidden in the floor, just in front of the shelf containing the dark arts books. "I need power," she said, smiling.
Anya came out from behind the counter, moved between the ladder leading up to the loft and Buffy. "Not like that, Buffy. I can't let you!"
Buffy cold cocked Anya, her fist smashing into the vengeance demon's jaw with a fraction of the force she could muster. Anya's demonic nature kept her jaw from disintegrating under the impact of Buffy's tiny fist, yet Anya sank to the floor, conscious but stunned, unable to move. Buffy climbed the ladder into the loft. Once in the loft of the store, she knelt down and lifted the rug off of the trap door.
Anya looked worried as she watched Buffy write silver glowing glyphs in the air with a fingertip. Buffy took a deep breath and placed her hands on the top of the metal chest. Finished with the glyphs, Buffy's left index finger sank into the lock. Wiggling the ethereal digit, mystically tripping the tumblers and canceling out the protection wards, she forced open the lock. As Buffy pulled her fingers out of the lock, she slammed open the chest.
The Anam Bás, or Soul Death, rested atop all the other relics they'd collected over the years, magical devices too powerful to trust in anyone else's hands. It was a circular object, leather like, about the size of a human palm, black with a red starburst off center, flat and thin. Three rings of brass jutted out from the edge, finger holes for the thumb, ring, and index fingers. Buffy picked it up and held it against her left palm, slipping her fingers into the holes. Her hand shimmering with blue and red mystical energy as she looked down at Anyanka, who'd once been her friend Anya. Buffy jumped down from the loft to stand before the vengeance demon, her lips drawn in a taut death's head grin.
"Damn, Anya, if I'd known you were this lame of a vengeance demon, I wouldn't of been so damn worried about any trouble you'd cause."
As Anya tried to back away from Buffy, still sitting on her butt, moving like a crab overdosed on LSD, Buffy reached down to her and grabbed her hand with the hand wearing the Anam Bás. Anya screamed, a high pitched, piercing shriek, filling the empty shop with the sound of pain, ringing Buffy's ears. Unable to move, eyes fluttering, heart thudding against her chest so hard Buffy could hear its marching beat, Anya just barely managed to open her mouth and beg for her life.
"Buffy please! Why? I never did anything to you!"
Buffy laughed bitterly as she felt Anya's soul being tugged out of its human like housing, traveling along a live wire of energy, the essence of the demon's being distilled into the power of the Wish, infusing Buffy with the mystical energies. "You're a demon, I'm a Slayer. Isn't that enough?"
Anya's eyes dimmed as her eyelids sank slowly closed, her breath, already raspy, suddenly stopped with one last heave. Buffy no longer heard Anya's heart beat.
Buffy stood as the annoying bell sounded signaling the door to the shop being pushed open.
"Have you seen Buffy?" Willow asked, stepping into the shop. Buffy turned around, facing Willow, smiling wickedly. Willow gasped as she saw Anya's dead body. "Oh god, Buffy. What have you done?"
"Why didn't you say it was like this, Will? You've been holding out on me!" Buffy shouted, smirking.
"Buffy, not like this ... Please!" Willow implored Buffy. "I'm here to help you."
"Like you did last time? Gonna cast another spell on me?" Buffy replied, her anger washing away her smirk, turning her face into a twisted mask of red and rage.
"To help you save yourself," Willow clarified.
Buffy scowled at Willow, her face contorting in rage. "I don't need your help," she spat. "Look what your help has gotten me! I had a right to die before she did, and you stole that from me, Bitch!" Buffy stepped toward Willow. "It's your fault! He'd have never been there to kill her if you hadn't ripped me from heaven! You should have left me in the fucking ground where I belong!"
Willow closed her eyes, trying to hide herself from Buffy's hate laced accusations. If she looked at Buffy's face, she knew she'd loose it, freak on Buffy, break down. And then she'd loose Buffy forever. Willow couldn't live with that, it just wasn't an option. They'd been through too much together over the last five and a half years to go down that path.
"Buffy, please listen to me!" Willow demanded, opening her eyes, trying to ignore the black bulging veins popping out on the slayers small face, but unable to ignore the fact. Oh god, she's powering up for some dark mojo, Willow thought. She quickly traced a glyph against the side of her thigh, praying to the Goddess that it was enough of a ward to protect her from Buffy's coming attack.
"I hate you!" Buffy shouted, launching herself at Willow, a fist stretched out in front of her, smashing into the witch's chest. Willow's chest exploded with pain, overpowering her ward and sending her flying back into a display of stacked slug smelling candles. Gasping, Willow tried to breath, but found it nearly impossible to expand her lungs.
Willow stood, trying to shake off the pain and breath. She needed to concentrate. That spell should have absorbed most of the blow's kinetic energy, but it failed to protect her from the Slayer. Where had Buffy been hiding this kinda power? she wondered, but didn't have time to follow that train of thought.
Buffy circled Willow, watching to see if the witch would through another spell at her. Willow's left index finger traced golden glowing glyphs in the air before her face. The marks of power spun around a point, forming a small ball of energy that Willow sent flying at Buffy with a gentle puff of breath. Buffy hadn't wasted her time. One of the powers she'd just stolen from Anya was the knowledge on how to counter such attacks. She chanted in Babylonian as the energy ball came at her. Willow's spell slammed into Buffy's chest and exploded. Standing her ground, Buffy felt the shield she'd just cast heat up as it absorbed the energy.
"Damn that's a pretty strong spell, Will. You have to show it to me someday. You know, when we're not trying to kill each other."
"Buffy, please," Willow tried again. "I'm not trying to kill you."
Buffy took a quick step toward Willow. "You forgot one thing, Will."
"What?" Willow asked as Buffy swung her fist for the side of Willow's head, connecting with the redhead's temple.. Willow crumpled, falling to the floor with a thud.
"That I'm the Slayer," Buffy answered Willow's unconscious body. She ran out the door.
CONT.