The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart: Nietzsche IV
by redmoon
Nietzsche IV
Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torments of man.
The trio walked for an eternity in the cool dark, tears drying. Somehow, the flare remained lit for the hours that they walked. Finally, they heard the echoes of their steps, signaling the presence of the far wall.
As the wall became a surface before them, they could see it was nothing like the other walls they had passed. It was smooth and mirror-like, portraying a hazy reflection of the flare-lit tomb-raiders as they approached.
“How do we get through?” Spike asked, being the first to speak in hours. He approached, placing a hand on the smooth surface. It was cold to the touch. His fingers left streaks as he let it trace down the wall.
“Open,” Willow commanded. There was nothing. “Reveal,” she said, her voice losing none of its power. The surface did not respond.
“Shatter,” Buffy commanded, bringing her axe down on the surface, hard. The wall still did not respond. “Damn.”
“If you two are finished,” Spike muttered, “we could try this.” He stepped forwards and vanished into the wall. His hazy reflection remained, staring back at them.
Willow glanced from Buffy to the wall and back to Buffy. “What just happened?”
Buffy raised an eyebrow and stepped forward. She too, disappeared into the surface. Willow’s world was now illuminated only by the reflection of the flare, still held in the reflection of Buffy, still standing in the surface.
Willow sighed loudly, then stepped forwards herself, disappearing into her own reflection which could not itself disappear.
On the other side was just that. The exact opposite of the place from which they had just escaped. It was a blinding white, a searing shrill sound piercing their ears. Willow saw the other two ahead and dashed towards them. They were already running.
“Are we in a hurry?” She huffed as she caught up to them and kept their pace.
“This light hurts Spike,” Buffy said as she began to fall behind the running vampire. He was trying to hold his collar as high over his face as he could, his skin sizzling in the ultraviolet radiation. He said nothing as he approached the small black spot which grew out of the distance.
It was a low tunnel of some kind, set into the wall of whatever place this was. Spike dove down onto the smooth white ground, disappearing into the black tunnel. A few moments later, Buffy and Willow joined him.
Buffy laid a hand on Spike’s shoulder. He was squatting low, cradling his scorched hands. His scalp and forehead were similarly burned. Buffy opened her mouth to say something consoling, but couldn’t find any appropriate words.
After a moment, the vampire stood, without turning to look at her, he stalked away, rounding a corner in the rock. Buffy looked after him, dropping the flare as it went out.
Willow had slowed her panting as she rounded the corner with Buffy who was getting ready to strike the next flare. What they saw stayed the Slayer’s hand.
Spike was on his knees, his scorched hand reaching out to what lay before him. A golden chalice resting on a rock outcrop on the far wall, frozen in a beam of white light. Spike whispered in admiration and desire. “The Cup of Perpetual Torment.”
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