Angelus looked in the mirror, which was just as useless as it had ever been. All he saw reflected in it was the Spartan bedroom he’d made out of an old office. That was just as well. He knew what he would see: Liam. It seemed that after nearly 250 years, Liam was his "default" form. The form that his injured body healed toward.
The thought disgusted him.
Not that it mattered anymore. He had absolute control over this body now, and he could mold it like putty, into any shape he wished. But even that seemed rather pointless. This body had become a hollow shell, a crust over his true self. It mattered no more to him than a rather beat-up old suit of clothes that he’d never really cared that much for in the first place. If Liam and his little friends showed up—as he was sure they would—expecting that battering at his body would actually affect him, as it had before, they were in for a surprise.
All he had left to do was break the shell and shed it. The cracks were already showing in some places.
Soon. Tonight. But not yet. Right now, he had to go out and talk to his dupes.
Troops. Of course he meant troops. The face that he found so repulsive quirked into a sarcastic grin.
Time to make history…end.
*
"This is crazy."
"It’s going to work."
"This is *suicide*."
Wesley sighed, lowered the binoculars he’d been looking through, and glanced up at Xander.
Both of them were in the top floor of an abandoned building across the street from the Scourge compound, waiting for nightfall. There’d been some discussion of attacking in daylight, in the hopes that the sun would still have some effect on Angelus, but that plan had been scrapped on the grounds that it took two of their most powerful Warriors out of play. Besides, there were several hundred Scourge who didn’t mind sunlight at all.
They’d been watching for hours, since soon after Lindsey MacDonald had called. Wesley, taking his turn, was crouched in front of a broken window. Xander stood beside it, careful to keep himself hidden behind the wall.
"It’s *going* to work," Wesley repeated more forcefully. "Unless you can think of something better, in which case, *please* speak up because this is the best we have."
"I don’t know—have Riley call in the National Guard?" Xander suggested. "We don’t have to tell them they’re demons. We could say it’s a neo-nazi terrorist group."
Wesley paused and thought about that for a moment. It made a surprising amount of sense, considering the source. The boy seemed to have grown a brain since he’d last seen him—and why not? Hadn’t he, himself, grown a spine since then?
After a moment more of thought, Wesley shook his head. "They’d be slaughtered. And if Angelus reached his final form, we’d be faced with several hundred Kakistos-level vampires with assault weapons."
"Damn. Good point."
Wesley turned back toward the window, raising the binoculars back to his eyes. The Scourge had been surprisingly bold, patrolling the warehouse compound and even the neighborhood, as if they really were Nazis—in the Germany of 1940. They hadn’t really been noticed because this street, for some distance either way, was an abandoned wasteland just waiting for the politicians to get their kickbacks in order before the demolition crews started their work. The only inhabitants had been the homeless, and they had either fled or suffered unpleasant fates in the past few days.
Now the Sun had set into the Pacific, and only a last tint of scarlet light stained the sky. The Scourge patrols had pulled in from all parts of the compound and neighborhood, locked the gates behind them, and started to gather in front of the largest warehouse.
Wesley put down the binoculars, pulled out his cell phone, and flipped it open.
"It’s time."
*
The two Amalthiss demons who had been left at the main gate never even had the chance to raise the alarm, despite their heightened senses and telepathy. They were standing at their posts one moment, the next moment two crossbow bolts flashed out of the night and struck each of them in their third eye, and they were down.
The Scooby Gang emerged from the shadows, crossbows up and at the ready. Firearms were kept holstered. It was too early to announce their presence.
Buffy stepped forward and tugged at the gate, to no avail. "It’s locked," she whispered back over her shoulder. Of course, between her, Faith, Angel, and Spike, a locked chain-link gate was little obstacle. But breaking the gate down created the same problem as gunfire.
"Do you want to pick the lock, or should we?" Willow asked Giles, holding up the hand that she had clasped with Tara.
"Let me try first," he said. "Magic might be sensed." He stepped toward the gate and Cordelia’s hands flew defensively to her hair, but rather than steal a hairpin from her, he pulled a pouch of lock picks out of his breast pocket and set to work.
"Glad to see that you’ve stocked up on the proper tools for your juvie skills," Cordelia said.
"These are Angel’s," Giles replied without looking up from the lock.
A number of surprised faces turned to Angel, but he just shrugged. "Sometimes subtlety is better than force," he said. "As we’re seeing right now."
Click.
"Ah." Giles stood and slid the gate open. "And voila."
*
They had a parking lot to cross. They didn’t like that—too much open space. But what else were they going to do?
They crossed carefully, avoiding the pools of light from the lonely, scattered lampposts and scurrying between buildings.
They could have just walked boldly up to the back of the crowd. The entire Scourge was gathered in front of the largest warehouse like a cult awaiting a revelation from their god—and wasn’t that just what they’d become?—and their full, rapt attention was on the door. Nothing else.
After a few more minutes, when the last of the sun-stain had faded from the sky and the stars twinkled down from the ice-clear blackness above, a motor suddenly whirred to life inside the warehouse, and the great door started to rattle upwards.
Angelus, dressed in his customary black leather pants and wine-colored silk shirt, emerged from the mouth of the warehouse, and a murmur ran through the Scourge ranks. Only the officers had been in to speak with the reborn Old One until now. Why had their messiah chosen to take such a repulsive form?
Angelus mounted the makeshift stage and surveyed his audience. One by one, the Scourge grew silent.
The Scooby Gang crouched deeper into their hiding places, trying to see, but even more importantly, trying to avoid being seen.
Angelus stepped to the lip of the stage and raised his arms. The silence became absolute. "My brothers!" He boomed. "The Night is upon us!"
The Scourge broke out into applause, but Angelus did not lower his arms, and after a moment, they quieted.
"Tonight is the night that demonkind shall rise up from the cracks and crannies where we have hidden, and throw *down* our human oppressors!" He closed his hands into fists and slowly began to lower them. "Tonight is the night that we shall purge the human infection from our races, and we shall destroy the collaborators who live among humans, live like humans, and sell out their own kind!"
The Scourge began to applaud again, and this time, Angelus simply stood with his hands at his sides and let it come. He resumed speaking when the applause started to fade.
"The humans will not easily surrender what they have stolen," He warned. "And many of you will die. But have no fear. You will die in service to the most glorious cause history has ever seen, and you will die knowing that our cause will spread like wildfire among all the true demons of the world." He gave a wide sweep of his arm, illustrating that worldwide fire-front. "And when the world has been cleansed, and only the purest children of the Old Ones remain, that is the day that the Old Ones shall return, to find the world finally made right!"
His arms shot into the air, and the Scourge burst into uproarious applause that just went on and on.
Fools. Saints below, how he despised them. When he was finished with the Earth, there would be no pie-in-the-sky demon paradise. There would be no return of the Old Ones. Maybe he would have settled for that once, but not now. He wasn’t going to end human history just to have demon history take its place. No, he would burn it all down and salt the Earth so there would be nothing left, and nothing would ever rise from it again.
His vision had grown even beyond that vision that he had shown to Liam. He would descend into the depths, yes, but not to pick his teeth with a few fish, no. In the days since his release from the prison of Liam’s body, he had realized the reason that a disproportionate number of vampires were male, and why women were such a favorite food. He had realized the true purpose of the vampire race itself. A purpose he could now accomplish, since he was no longer bound to blood as his medium for devouring life.
He would descend into the depths and devour the very life force of the planet, drink from the throat of Gaia Herself. He would accomplish what vampires had been created to accomplish, what each secretly wanted in their unbeating hearts. He would murder the adulterous Earth Mother.
Then he would rise up from the depths as the Earth and all potential she would ever have to support life—including the Old Ones—died around him, and he would laugh in the face of the widowed Sun. Oh, the Sun had his eight other barren lovers to shine upon, yes, but Angelus would murder his wife and children. The Sun’s scream of rage and grief would burn him away, yes, but he would laugh even in the flames and his laughter would echo among the stars forever.
The skin on his palms cracked, and blood started to drip onto the ground and run down his arms. And it wasn’t human blood. Oh, my, no. The blood was *alive*. And as it struck and writhed away, the wood—even the blacktop—was left warped, pitted, and scored. Scarred.
Stigmata. Under other circumstances, a holy miracle. A twisted blasphemy now.
"I know this, for I have seen the signs," he said. "I know that this is the Night, for tonight is the night—" Black claws slid from his fingertips. Blood trickled from the breaks they made in his skin. "—that I shall be—" He hooked his claws into his shirt and tore it off in wine-colored shreds.
Underneath, the skin of his chest looked like translucent, flesh-colored glass. Beneath it, showing through, was a moving, writhing darkness. It began to flow up his neck into his face and out his arms, as if it had been concealing itself until then, and now felt free to reveal itself.
"Transfigured."
Darkness flowed into his eyes, and they were transformed into depthless black orbs.
Angel, who’d been holding his broadsword up over his head for the past minute, let it drop.
Half a dozen crossbow bolts and a volley of gunfire tore into the back ranks of the Scourge.
A few of the gray-suited demons fell silent to the ground. A few more fell writhing and screaming. The rest turned to face their attackers.
The previous day, the Scooby Gang and Angel Investigations had faced the vanguard. Dozens of Scourge.
They’d nearly lost.
Now, they faced hundreds. Two Slayers, two witches, a werewolf, two vampires—one of whom had a soul—and eight normal humans stood against hundreds of angry demons and a reborn Old One.
Best to strike first then. And make it count.
Before the Scourge could fully get their bearings and realize what was happening, the assembled heroes charged.
The five Warriors, Spike, and Oz formed a flying wedge, with Buffy at the point, flanked by Riley and Angel.
Their initial hit was devastating.
Riley, ecstatic to have an actual assault rifle in his hands again, poured fire into the Scourge ranks. Maybe bullets didn’t *kill* all of their opponents. But they sure didn’t feel *good*.
Meanwhile, Oz, with feral grin and a laconic comment that "The rules are different this time," once more unleashed red-furred death among the gray-clad demons.
Faith, having learned her lesson about reach the last time, had perhaps overcorrected. Still, the huge claymore she had borrowed from Angel, nearly as long as Buffy, was doing its job perfectly well.
The second rank was composed of everyone else except Willow and Tara, who were in the very back, holding hands and chanting.
The initial charge slowed, starting to bog down. There were hundreds of Scourge. Hundreds. Might as well be millions. Sooner or later, this clumped, flat-footed mob would regain its wits and start surrounding them. Even if it didn’t, the Scourge could just keep coming at them in never-ending waves until the Scoobies were too exhausted to run or fight, and then finally take them down like deer pulled down by wolves.
They couldn’t win. But that was okay. That wasn’t the plan.
Now the Scourge were starting to push back. Oz, who had gone off on a bit of a merry rampage of his own, returned to the relative safety of the line, throwing a few shuriken—some of which were cold iron or silver, because hey, who knows?—to cover his retreat.
Now they were starting to lose ground, and the second rank stepped up to join the first, firing guns and slashing with swords and axes and Anya swung a staff into the spot on a Shinmeer demon’s side where the ribs didn’t *quite* cover the lung.
The Scourge just kept coming. Riley had already slapped in a third clip and soon that assault rifle would be nothing but a particularly unwieldy club, but it didn’t matter.
All they had to do was hold the line. Just a little longer.
Tara and Willow finished their chant with a triumphant shout.
A hole appeared in the middle of the Scourge ranks as a ten foot by ten foot square of ground fell out from under them, dropping them into the sewer.
"Go!" Buffy shouted.
With a final heave and volley of gunfire, the Scoobies hurled their opponents back, then turned and ran.
With a cheated, enraged howl, the Scourge gave chase.
Angelus shook his head in disgust. Idiots. If he gave a damn one way or the other how this fight came out, he’d be pissed.
*
More and more Scourge fell into the hole, pushed and driven by the surging mob. Still, it wasn’t that far of a drop and none of them were really hurt. Maybe humans would have been, but not demons.
One of them, a lieutenant whose mostly humanoid body had a spiky, crablike carapace, wondered if they were really that stupid, or if they had further plans.
Several valves started turning by themselves, and it had its answer.
It only had time to say something in its native tongue that was roughly equivalent to "Oh, shit!" before the gas main ignited and the steam conduits opened.
*
*Openspaceopenspace must get to open space.*
The Scooby Gang burst out of the cluster of warehouses and into the parking lot.
*Safe! Or safer at least.*
*
Manhole covers flipped into the air like coins throughout the compound, propelled by geysers of fire and steam, spewing clouds of searing, scalding death into the Scourge. The largest such eruption, of course, was the hole down into the sewers. Square in the middle of their ranks.
Similar explosions ripped through the warehouses, setting them afire and turning their windows into fusillades of whickering glass shards.
Several such shards sliced Angelus. He stood calmly, ignoring the damage to his body entirely as more of the living blood started to trickle from the new wounds, and tendrils of darkness started to rise from them like black smoke.
*
Stung, burned, and furious, the Scourge howled on in raging pursuit. Some of their victims in the past had fought quite hard, but never had so few caused so much damage.
Some of them had already taken to the air. There was no way the heroes would even make it the hundred yards or so across the parking lot, let alone escape.
But that was okay. That wasn’t the plan.
*
"That’s the signal," Lorne said as he saw the entire warehouse compound burst into flames. He raised his sword over his head and waved it to catch the attention of the fifty or so demons gathered behind him. "Charge!" He shouted
*
Angel didn’t even slow down when the first flyer landed in front of him, attempting to cut him off from the rest of the retreating group. He just brought his axe up to his shoulder and swung it with his full, running momentum behind it.
The vulturelike creature fell out of his way in two pieces, but then Angel noticed that the rest of the group had turned to stand.
And he saw what was coming behind them, and oh, wasn’t it a beautiful sight?
Upon first seeing their prey slow and stop, the pursuing Scourge had sped up in anticipation of victory. Upon spotting the approaching mob of demons, they’d slowed down. Then, their triumphant grins turned to scowls, they speeded up again. Just a bunch of half-breeds. What could they do?
Lorne, dressed in studded leather armor that he’d also brought from Pylea, his sword raised high, led the charge through the gate. Mowl, who’d been right at his side, just lowered his shoulder and crashed through the section of fence right beside the gate.
The two forces came together with a sound like rolling thunder, and at first the Scooby-led spearhead of Earthbound demons made good headway into the disorganized, wounded mob that the Scourge had become. Mowl stampeded right over these threats to his coming calf, and Lorne danced through them with razor-edged grace. But it was still dozens against hundreds, and the Scourge was on familiar ground now. Perhaps human weapons, human magic, and human ingenuity had confounded them, but they could fight other, impure demons. Killing demons was their *purpose*, killing demons was what they *did*.
The Scourge didn’t see the irony. And if anyone on the other side did, they didn’t think it was funny. Naturally powerful and aggressive they might be, but many of Lorne’s demon force weren’t as experienced in combat as the Scoobies, and things started to get ugly rather quickly.
An Anomovic bridesmaid took a venomous porcupine-quill in the eye. A scorpion-demon’s stinger impaled the Brakken groomsman who’d been diving to prevent it.
Oz dodged just an instant too slow, and a quadruple-line of slashes appeared across his right shoulder.
Faith took a bludgeoning tail-slap to the knee. Anyone but a Slayer would have been crippled. She was a Slayer, and she was left hobbling and dropping back from the front line.
A Ru-shando demon in Lorne’s force had been keeping the Scourge disoriented and easy prey with its telepathic abilities until its reptilian, antennaed head was bashed in.
Joyce chopped down the scorpion demon, but a creature like a three-foot, bat-winged lamprey latched onto her neck. It was pulled away and killed before any serious damage could be done, but it still left a ring of bleeding pinpricks behind.
A group of Asclepians had joined Lorne’s force in order to avenge their fallen brother. He might have been an embarrassment, but he was still a brother, and he had died for refusing to breach his ethics as a healer. They were at the rear, trying to return the wounded to action as quickly as possible, but there were getting to be more wounded than they could handle. And they could do nothing about the dead.
For a brief moment, Lorne found himself back to back with Buffy in the chaos of the melee. "It’s getting bad out here, little sister!" He shouted. "I hope there’s a plan B!"
"We expected this to happen!" She shouted back. "It’s all part of Plan A! Just have your people fall back!" She raised her voice even higher and shouted "Willow! Fireworks!"
Angel, the nearest member of the Scooby Gang, heard her shout and raised his own voice. "Fireworks!"
Riley, his voice accustomed to shouting orders in a situation like this, bellowed "Fireworks!"
The word leaped from one member of the Scooby Gang to another, until it reached Willow where she and Tara were, back near the Asclepian demons.
"That’s the signal," Tara said.
"I’m on it," Willow said as her hand filled with crackling energy. In a moment, her hand had disappeared into a sparking blue orb.
"Here goes nothing," she muttered as she drew her arm back and hurled the orb into the sky.
It shot up like a just-launched comet until it hit the peak of its flight and exploded into a shower of blazing, multicolored sparks.
All up and down the street, engines roared to life.
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