The Man With A Thousand Faces: Forty Four
by redmoon
Forty Four
4 May, 2002, Amsterdam, Netherlands
Indris looked down at the small paper card set atop the packing paper which filled the long crate at his feet. He cocked his head slightly, then looked down into the crate. He smiled.
Master Necromancer,
Considering the rather unsatisfactory conclusion to our first encounter, I feel it is not entirely suitable that you receive our agreed upon price. In place of the slayer, therefore, I offer you something much more unique. Perhaps the most unique being to die on this earth. Place him where you choose, since his affiliation is questionable.
Graciously,
Loki
Indris, still grinning, watched as his servants lifted the body from the crate, arranging it stiffly in a casual pose on one of the empty pedestals. As the servants stepped back, Indris himself stepped forward, reaching up and tugging the fedora down into place over the shadowed eyes. Wonderful. Simply wonderful.
4 May, 2002, Los Angeles
Loki looked raptly into the glowing Dagon Sphere. It was the past. He told himself that over and over. It had happened: It was true. There was no interpretation, no ‘desired’ future. This had actually happened. Whatever the hell was looking out for him, it had just kicked Destiny in the teeth.
“Not this time. She won’t forgive me for this. It changes... it changes everything.”
Loki brushed his hand lovingly over the sphere. He nearly giggled in excitement as the image of Dawn storming away from the vampire flitted across the sphere’s surface. Excellent, he thought, his mind charged with energy. It was time. The bastard had finally shown his true colors and alienated everyone. Now was the time for action. “Ha ha!” the conjurer laughed, triumphantly, rising from his desk and reaching for his duffle bag. “Destiny is my bitch!”
As he turned for the door, however, his eyes narrowed. What the fuck was this? Tory stood blocking the door, resting his hands on his cane as if waiting for a bus. There was not a chance in hell this little peacock was going to stop vengeance.
“I’ll make you a deal,” the demon said calmly. “But first you have to assure me that we can both remain civilized. I detest corrupt businessmen.”
“Get out of my way,” Loki warned, his voice cold and restrained. There was nothing. There was no demon in his way. There was Destiny writhing beneath him like a wounded lamb and there was Spike sullenly waiting in his crypt to be killed. That was all. “Get out of my way, or so help me—”
“Who will help you?” Tory asked, intrigued. “You swear by no power but your own. You have no moral center to guide you. You have abandoned meditation. You are nearing an end.” The statements struck the conjurer like insects did a windscreen.
“I don’t have time for you,” Loki said forcefully, making a move to step past the demon, but a hand came up from the knob of the cane to block his path. “With no moral center,” the conjurer spat, “I expect I will find it very easy to kill you.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Tory said calmly. “We still haven’t made our deal.”
“Tell me,” Loki said angrily, “would killing a corporate corruption demon mean the stock markets would stabilize? Because I’ve been thinking of doing some investing. And being quasi-evil and all means I’m not bothered by a little... insider trading.”
“Spike is gone,” Tory replied, his voice even and confident. Nothing like Whistler. “He left the continent.” He could tell the words were hitting Loki now more like bricks. “And I have no intention of telling you where he went.”
Loki was breathing heavily now, the surge of anger rising as it had in the café. “That’s your deal?” he nearly shouted. For a moment, he seemed to find a calm space in his mind. “You really are new at this, aren’t you?”
Tory tilted his chin up. “I can’t abide dancing around the truth. Spike is gone to fulfill prophecy and you’ll not find him. That is what I came to say.”
He seemed to look about him, noticing Loki’s proximity, and looking like he wanted to leave, but Loki stretched his mind out, surrounding the two of them in his fury. The kaya that was fierce, that was red and sore from so much use, enveloped them and prevented the demon’s teleportation.
“This,” Loki said fuming, “is what I have to say.” He stretched out his hand and found the demon’s collar. Lifting him off his feet, he began to levitate until the two of them were very near the ceiling. With a motion much like an uppercut, Loki slammed the demon’s head into the ceiling, causing his stupid hat to fall to the floor below. The demon’s fearful eyes looked back as Loki thrust up again and again, bashing the impudent man’s head into the boards of the ceiling. Bits of drywall rained down about them.
“I say,” Loki said through clenched teeth, feeling the bitter taste of the oil in his mouth —was that this demon’s only trick?— “I say that if the Powers send any more fucking puppet specters like you to do their work for them–” Tory let out a whimper of pain as the ceiling cracked through around his skull, “that I might just go up there and dish out some serious—”
Stabbing pain exploded into the conjurer’s stomach. He fell back to the floor, dropping the demon in the process. Landing hard and rolling, he was back on his feet in seconds, one hand gripping his injured stomach and the other raised to fire bolt after bolt of orange energy. Glancing down for an instant, he noticed a puncture wound above his navel. A red circle of blood was slowly expanding on the white silk. Looking back up, he saw Tory standing defensively, holding his cane out before him like a sword, it’s brass tip red with blood. He looked even more ridiculous as he tried to snatch his hat from the floor without taking his eyes off the conjurer.
Loki threw his hands out and laughed at the ceiling. “This is what you pit against me?” The statement seemed to wound the demon’s pride, for he charged —with a yell, no less— and made a swing with his cane.
Without hardly a glance down from the ceiling, Loki caught the cane and in his hands it became as flexible as rope. Turning it back on the charging demon, he solidified it again and drove the now curved spear into the demon’s stomach, feeling it protrude from his back.
Tory’s eyes grew wide as he realized what had happened. He stood, frozen, his hand still on the knob of the cane which now bent solidly back and disappeared into his bloodied vest. With a gurgling croak, he slumped against the conjurer. Perhaps he had made a mistake taking this assignment? As he collapsed to the floor in a pool of his own blood, the conjurer’s words sounded like distant echoes in his ears.
“Tell your task masters, if they should choose to save you now, that Loki writes the future.”
5 May, 2002, Sunnydale
Loki appeared in the smell yet again. Unwashed clothes. Cheap incense and cigarettes. He hated cigarettes.
“What do you want now?” Rack demanded, lifting his hands defensively. Though pink energy sparked off his fingers, he knew he would very likely find himself against a wall if it was the conjurer’s plan.
“I need to find Spike. I hear he’s left. Where has he gone?” Loki was in no mood for torture the scum-bag. If Rack didn’t choose to answer, then he would be killed.
“Who the hell cares about some vampire?” Rack asked, lowering his hands incredulously. “You want action, the witch is the one to find.”
“The witch?” Loki asked blankly, the pusher’s comment throwing him. “The slayer’s pet witch?”
“Word is she’s got power like nothing this side of darkness, I can feel her from here,” Rack turned away and began rearranging stones on his sofa. “She’s the important player right now, I guarantee it.”
Loki shrugged. “And that means what to me? I want Spike.”
“You want the vampire, I want the witch...” the pusher shrugged, “we’ve all got problems.”
“Are you trying to make a deal with me?” the conjurer scoffed. “I could crush you like a bug.”
“But how long will that rage last, Tears?” Rack asked, a small leer appearing on his face. “Even you need to recharge. Face it: it’s guys like me who keep guys like you up and running.”
Now that Loki thought about it, the fury that was fueling him was fading. The pounding in his temples that had lifted Tory to the ceiling was gone now. “You can give me more power?” Loki tested, knowing full well he was still capable of shattering this building with a thought.
Rack straightened with a grin. “You know I can. Just let me take a tour...”
Loki’s hand intercepted the dirt-bag’s before the intended assault. “Maybe some other time,” the conjurer smiled condescendingly. “I’ll get you your witch, and you find me my vampire.”
Rack cocked his head. “Shall we shake on it?”
Loki considered that a moment as he gripped the man’s wrist. With an annoyed frown, he landed his fist in the man’s gut. “Just find him. I’ll send her to you.” He left the smelly place as Rack groaned, holding his gut.
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