The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart: Nietzsche II
by redmoon
Nietzsche II

And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

As the three walked abreast into the haze of the inferno, they began to identify the figures there and against what they were toiling. They were clothed in a variety of garments, some in rags, some in suits, some naked. They were all sweltering under the heat.

The intense heat seemed to come from nowhere. From everywhere. The room was ablaze as if everything was on fire, but nothing was actually burning. The figures were pulling at long thick irons chains which stretched the length of the chamber. The chains disappeared into either wall, circled a spool, then reappeared again, tended by other sweltering souls. They worked ceaselessly, pulling at the chain, making it circle the spool, then pulling it back. Like slaves on their oars. Pulling and releasing. Buffy could see the chain burning their hands each time they touched it, many of them exhibiting signs of agony. But none tried to escape, none complained or even moaned. They pulled.

The large figure who sat by the door, the only one in the room besides the adventurers who was not tending a chain, rose from his rock throne. He was covered with boils from the heat, his eyes swelled shut with the burning of his skin. He was, however, no human. He stood at least eight feet tall, his huge, muscular arms manacled with iron, keeping him near to his throne.

Buffy stepped back, with Willow and Spike, as the demon went to the extent of his chains.

“Your numbers,” he grumbled, his voice dry like the cracked surface of his flesh. In a grotesque display of control, he opened his swollen eye sockets, gazing at them with blood red eyes. “Your marks...” he growled. He stared for another moment, then plodded back to his throne of captivity. “You are expected,” he muttered, then closed his eyes and sat still.

Buffy frowned, her grip still tight on the one handed axe in her rucksack. She looked to the others, but they shrugged. “Okay, then,” she cocked her head. “We’ll just move on then.” As they passed the chain gang, they noticed the marks on each of them. All had seven digit marks on their necks, some ancient numerical system. The men had the same number under their right eyes, in smaller print, the women, under their left.

With caution and an uneasy stomach, Willow followed the other two to the end of the blazing room. She was tempted to just walk over to one, touch her on the shoulder. See what this was, why she was here. Just as she took a step towards the woman that caught her eye, however, the woman turned to face her.

“Oh my god!” she rushed forward. Tara stared back at her, blankly. Her hands clasped the red hot chain, her hands sizzling as her flesh burned. The gunshot wound still festering that had killed her. “Tara! Honey, it’s me!” Tears streamed down Willow’s face, she pulled her dead lover from the burning toil, down on their knees, grasping her shoulders, then pulling her into a rough embrace. Her tears boiled off her face as soon as her eyes released them.

Buffy paused mid step when she heard Willow’s cry. In an instant, she was at her friend’s side. Unsure of what to do at first, she felt Spike’s hand on her shoulder. Buffy looked up to him, his grim expression telling all. Buffy gently broke the hug between Willow and the unresponsive Tara. Buffy looked Tara directly in the eyes, seeing nothing but a grief and despair to which she had long ago surrendered. Buffy’s tongue wet her lips, she then took a breath and turned solemnly to her friend who was still counted as alive. “Will,” she said calmly, “we have to leave.”

Willow looked from Buffy to Spike, urgency, desperation in her eyes. “B- but we have to take her with us,” she said reasonably. “We can’t... we can’t just leave her here!” Willow pleaded, pulling the vacant-eyed Tara into another, more desperate hug.


“Will,” Spike’s voice was unnaturally calm and sympathetic, “we’re not here for this.”

“Then what are we here for?” she snapped back. “I’m sorry,” she immediately amended. As Buffy squeezed her shoulder, she took a deep breath. “Tara, sweety,” fresh tears dried on her cheeks, “I have to go now. I’ll come back for you on our way out. Okay?”

Tara said nothing, looking at nothing somewhere behind them all. As soon as Will had reluctantly let go of her, she rose from her knees and took up her position at the chain again. Soon she was pulling as if nothing had happened.

Willow wiped the tears from her eyes with a grimy hand. “She’s gone,” it was a statement, filled with regret and self loathing. She swallowed and gritted her teeth. “Let’s find these bastards.”

With arms around Will’s shoulders, they left the inferno, entering a world of complete black.

This story archived at: The Slayer\'s Fanfic Archive
The Slayer\\\\\\\\'s FanFic Archive - http://www.slayerfanfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=9443