Devil's Truth: Delay
by MattK
Angel bustled around the lobby of the Hyperion, gathering supplies. He tossed the Nikraan ritual dagger on top of a pile that already included a broadsword, a battle-axe, Vocah’s scythe, three crossbows, and a flail. Then he went for the fridge to fetch his blood bags. “We should leave the second the sun sets,” he was saying. “If I could leave *now*, I would. Actually, maybe we should. I could lie under a blanket in the back seat. Gunn has his truck, he could catch up.”

Wesley didn’t even acknowledge that his employer had spoken. Instead, he flipped through yet another book, shook his head in frustration, and carelessly tossed it onto a pile of books he had already rejected. Cordelia had never seen him treat books that way. He had to be really worried. Which worried her. Which made her angry, because neither of them would take the time to explain to her why she was worried.

“Look, what is the deal here, anyway?” She demanded. “We’ve given Buffy her warning. Why can’t we just let her handle it?”

“You had a vision,” Angel said shortly, dropping his blood bags into a cooler. “That means that I’m supposed to be involved.”

“Remember how it worked out the *last* time you went running to her rescue?” Cordelia said.

“I learned my lesson, and I’m not going to repeat it. I called ahead, I told her I was coming, and I’m going to work *with* her this time.”

*God* but he could be dense sometimes. Couldn’t he tell what she was really asking? If one of them didn’t give her some real information but *fast*, she was going to scream.

“She doesn’t *want* your help, Angel. I think she’s made that pretty clear.”

“She may not want it, Cordelia.” Wesley said, looking up. “But she needs it. Belial is the Corrupter. He’ll turn her into a monster worse than any demon.”

“Have a little less faith, why don’t you?”

“It’s not about faith. Belial is the greatest of tempters. People who successfully resist him become renowned as saints.” He stood, triumphantly tapping on a line of text. “I’ve found something.”

The door opened. “Congratulations.”

Angel entered from his office. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re—“ Angel froze, a wide-eyed look of shock and terror on his face.

Cordelia whirled. She’d never seen Angel look so frightened. It had to be—a guy. In a navy business suit. She instinctively knew that it was the highest-quality, most likely the most expensive suit she’d ever seen. Impressive, yes. Scary? Not hardly.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

“It’s—this is—it’s him.”

“Him? Him who? Oh, *him*.” She turned her head to stare at the new arrival in disbelief. “*This* is Belial?”

Their guest nodded pleasantly. “Of course you knew. All demons instinctively recognize their masters. If you weren’t so distracted, I’m sure you would have noticed me sooner.”

“I’m a little disappointed. I expected something scarier. I mean what does this guy have on a sixty-foot snake?”

Belial cocked his head at her. “Scarier?” He asked mildly. Suddenly, the frosted windows on either side of the door shattered. Cordelia jumped back, shielding her eyes with her forearm. As soon as the glass stopped flying, she lowered it again, then wished she hadn’t. A bulky man with an assault rifle stood in each window. Or maybe a bulky woman. Or a skinny man. Or a small child. All that Cordelia was really paying attention to were the assault rifles. “These aren’t scary enough?”

“No, no, those actually do the job pretty well,” Cordelia answered, backing away. *Now would be a good time to show up, Gunn.*

“Good.” Belial turned back to Angel. “Those weapons can turn a human body into spaghetti sauce, Liam. The lumpy kind. And they will unless you come peacefully.” He looked down sharply. “You can stop shifting your weight. Forget about pouncing. You could only reach one of them while the other is painting the walls with your employees.” Angel froze in place. “Good boy.”

“What assurance do I have that you won’t kill them anyway?” Angel demanded.

“They’ll be useful for corrupting Buffy. Not as useful as you—either one and even both are certainly expendable. But useful. I won’t kill them if you give me the choice.”

Angel locked eyes with the True Devil for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides, his whole body trembling with tension and the desire to move. His huge, strong body, all his supernatural power, and he could do nothing. And the depthless cold in the True Devil’s eyes told him all he needed to know. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax.

“Wise decision,” Belial said. “Now, I understand that you really hate it when people shoot you?”

Angel’s head jerked up in alarm.

“I must apologize for this, then.”

It seemed like forever that Angel jerked and danced as the bullets strafed him, that Cordelia screamed his name, that Wesley tried desperately to think of anything to do, but it couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds. Then there was silence, broken only by a click and a clatter as the gunmen ejected their clips and slapped new ones in place.

“Very good,” Belial pronounced, nodding in satisfaction. He looked at where Cordelia and Wesley stood, desperately wanting to run to each other but not daring to move, staring at their fallen friend. Cordelia had her fists pressed tightly to her mouth, trying to keep the screams in, silent tears running down her face. Wesley just stood, trembling violently, his hands at his sides. “He’ll get better.” Belial informed them. “Come quietly, or you won’t”


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