She was running. God help her, she was trying to get away from this madness as fast as she can. Her terror was just intense as the beauty of the woodlands she had found herself in. Sunlight streamed through the trees, somewhere in the distance a brook gurgled happily and the chirping of birds and insect contrasted her quickening breath.
Daring to look back, she found nothing there. She tried to calm down but she couldn't. Something was wrong. Deadly wrong. She heard a twig snap in front of her followed by ghostly mirthful laughter. "Where the hell am I?" she cried out.
"Nice guess," a man said, appearing at her right. She whirled and froze with fear. Golden eyes bore down on her amusedly. Unfortunately, the girl felt as if she was staring in the eyes of death. she thought worriedly.
"Fact is, you are in Hell." A woman appeared at her left. One of her, two of them. The girl felt as if an army surrounded her. The woman at her left smiled impishly. The girl saw a shudder go through the woman.
"Mmm, the terror of this one is intoxicating, isn't it, Rem?"
"You picked a good one, love."
"I always do." The woman smiled at the man she called *Rem*.
The girl bolted, her brown hair flying.
"Oh, now we have to chase her again," the woman replied indifferently. "Let her go for a while. We'll meet up with her soon enough."
They waited a few minutes before they heard someone crashing through the undergrowth.
"Here she comes again, June."
"Let's not waste anymore time, I'm hungry."
"Okay, love." With that, Remington disappeared into the trees and soon came back dragging the girl behind him. He shoved the girl towards Juniper. "You first."
Juniper raked her claws down the girl's back. Her victim shrieked in agony. Exquisite.
"Let me go," the girl sobbed. "Why me?"
"Because you're lower than dirt, that's why," Juniper crooned, licking the glowing substance off her claws. "You've been very bad during your lifetime and we're here to punish you."
"What did I do?" the girl asked, crestfallen. Her eyes still rolled in fear.
Remington laughed. "June, lying isn't good for you." He looked good-naturedly at the girl. "You didn't do anything wrong. We just took your soul from that mindless, lucid grey area where your kind can rest in peace and put you in here. Welcome to our realm, Cordelia. You're gonna die hundreds of times over before anyone on that *other side* realizes that you're missing." Remington shook his head. "Overpopulation," he sighed mournfully. "When are they ever going to improve their census methods?"
Cordelia's screams went unnoticed as the birds and insects continued to buzz and chirp.
* * *
Arthur woke up with a sense of dread. He didn't know why he had it but it was the kind of feeling that made him wish that he could stay in bed and hide from whatever horror that would visit upon him.
Feeling slightly foolish, he got up and headed for the toilet and washroom. Walking down the hallway, he perceived a desklamp glaring near a desk. he thought observing the bright sunlight streaming into the living room. He switched his destination and went towards the light. Raising his eyebrow, Arthur gazed at the spectacle.
The Slayer had fallen asleep over her desk, her head resting on some ancient manuscripts. Arthur stared at the sleeping girl with mixed feelings. Her unorthodox ways, more than once had set his teeth on edge. Despite his distaste for the girl, Arthur couldn't help but respect her. After all, she was twenty-eight years old and still fighting the forces of darkness. Arthur admitted to himself.
Thinking back to his conversation with Whistler last night, Arthur found himself wondering what Buffy would have been like if she never got her calling. Damn it, that demon was a meddler. It was so obvious what he was trying to accomplish last night.
Unfortunately, Arthur conceded, the demon was right. The Council had become much too set in their ways. What was once revolutionary had become obsolete. Arthur's eyes hardened, however, at the memory of Yuan-Li. He couldn't become close to the Slayer. He simply couldn't. With that firmly in mind, he turned back towards the toilet and washroom to ready himself for the day.
* * *
The Director stared woodenly at the gay decorations being placed in preparation for the Gathering tonight. 'It's worth it,' he thought to himself. 'It has to be.'
* * *
Whistler thought darkly. He didn't like a single thing in the packet Buffy had found. Moreover, why on Earth would Giles get his hands on that thing? How would he have gotten that?
Whistler shook his head. He deliberately pushed away those questions and thought about the more urgent dilemma at hand.
"Geez," he said aloud. "I'm gonna ask the Slayer to die?"
*
Buffy awoke to the aroma of pancakes emanating from the kitchen. "What the…?" Groggily, she stared at a clock. 10:30 AM, it read. "Whoa, slept late." She stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth. No need to offend the Watcher with bad breath.
Buffy thought that the Watcher was decidedly stuffy. Then again, Giles was too when she first met him. It's been so long since she's had a Watcher. Buffy startled herself. Travers? As her Watcher? What gave her that absurd idea?
Travers, like all the other Watchers, had a problem of the idea of a Slayer who can actually think and have opinions. Buffy wondered if Travers was ever assigned a Slayer. She entered the kitchen.
"Good morning, Buffy," Arthur said, dropping some batter into the pan.
"Mmmph," she replied, sitting on a stool. She eyed the ingredients. "Where did you get all this?"
"Here and there," Arthur replied. "Whistler brought some of this over."
"It smells good."
"I hope so. I spent a lot of time on this." Arthur smiled.
What a dear old man he is, Buffy thought, hesitantly returning the smile with her own.
"Well, here, the first batch of them are ready. There's strawberries and cream on the table."
Buffy deeply inhaled the food. "Geez, I haven't had this good a meal since…" Buffy looked away, pausing at the memories again, and spotted something on the counter. "What's that?"
"It's a, er, a breadmaker," Arthur replied, slightly reddening. "That's one of the things I asked Whistler to bring."
"You reduced that demon to handmaid? I'll give you Kudos for that one," Buffy said, taking a huge bite of her pancakes. She saw Arthur's look turn into confusion.
"Kudos?"
Buffy gave a smirk. "Never mind."
Arthur took a stool across from her with his own plate of pancakes. Neither of them said anything for a while. Both stared at their plates listening to each other's clinking utensils.
Buffy was the first to speak. "You know, Travers, about Giles…"
Arthur put his fork down and looked at the girl. He was surprised to see her so vulnerable. Arthur realized that he was witnessing a rare moment when the Slayer's guard was down and he said nothing, silently encouraging her to go on.
Buffy looked around- anywhere but at him. "I-I never thought it would go this far. I mean, when Giles…passed away… I was still, well, kinda mad at your Council and the thought of having a new Watcher just didn't seem like a good idea at the time." Buffy gave a small, wry smile. "Quentin and Wes kinda convinced me that any other Watcher other than Giles would have the emotional mentality of a mushroom. A-And I didn't think you guys would care a bit if you found out Giles was gone anyway."
Arthur started to speak but Buffy unhurriedly went on. "Well, I did a lot of thinking wondering why you guys would ever send Giles to be in charge of me. I mean, he gave away plenty of hints about what he was like when he was a teenager. Ehyghon, cursed candy and so on. And besides, look at how I started. I never knew I was Slayer potential. Like, Kendra was more typical Slayer material when she started out. So I put those things together and I figured that you guys just wanted to get rid of both of us and activate a Slayer who would hopefully be more predictable."
Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You're not wrong."
Buffy closed her eyes. Arthur was startled as he saw tears running down her face.
"You guys don't know. He was the best Watcher any Slayer could ever have."
"Buffy," Arthur said gently. "Rupert was raucous in his youth. He started his training as a Watcher late and didn't even complete the program when he was named. His father, more often than enough, resented his son's behavior. Unfortunately, Rupert was an only child who was expected to carry on the family tradition of raising some of the finest Watchers in our Council." Arthur paused. "The Director is Rupert's father."
"Oh my God," Buffy said, stunned, and looked at Arthur, horrified. "Are you going to tell him?"
Arthur sighed. "I must. It is my duty."
There was an unhurried silence and then Buffy wiped her eyes and sighed. "Well," she said briskly. "You may as well get it over with it. After you make that call, let's go do a little more research. I want Remington and Juniper to lose because I'm not a happy camper when I do. Lose, I mean." She gave a puzzled look at Arthur's now white face. "What?"
Arthur swallowed. "You want who to lose?"
"Remington and Juniper," Buffy replied cautiously. "Why?"
Arthur slumped down on his chair. "Good God."
"What? What's going on? You've heard of them?" Buffy saw the Watcher's eyes drift off to space. There was a pause before Arthur began to speak.
"About ten years ago, Remington and Juniper wanted to make our world into something that would respond to their hunger and hate. My Slayer managed to stop them," Arthur narrated unemotionally.
Buffy wondered silently.
"Yuan-Li was killed when those demons found out. She was no match for them." Arthur paused, his eyes tightening at the memory. "Couple of years later, Remington and Juniper found where my wife and four year-old son were living and murdered them both." Arthur closed his eyes. "I found them both reveling in my wife and son's flesh."
Buffy's eyes widened but she didn't say anything. Arthur's story forced her to think about her grief. She wanted to say something but couldn't think of anything that would not make her sound foolish.
Arthur looked expectantly at the Slayer, waiting for words of comfort. He heard none and saw that her eyes clearly understood the kind of pain caused by such a tragedy. Words would only defile such memories. Arthur was forced once again to revise his opinion of the girl.
"Well, well, what have we got here?" Whistler asked as he entered the kitchen.
"Couldn't you have knocked?" Buffy asked somewhat peevishly.
Whistler eyed the two sitting at the counter. "Looks like you two resolved your differences."
Meddler, Buffy thought. "So what about those manuscripts I found last night? What were they about?"
"Manuscripts?" Arthur asked, crinkling his forehead.
"I found something on the Pergamum Prophet himself. Drat Vee something."
"Drach Vier Pergamanti Sicost, Deathlife of the Pergamum Prophet," Whistler corrected quietly. "It's in a demon dialect. And a difficult one also. I spent all night translating and reading."
"And…?" Buffy asked impatiently. "Details, Whistler. What's a deathlife?"
Whistler sat himself on the counter. His face clearly showed his reluctance on his findings. "Let's say that the Prophet was born a really long time ago. Like, really long. Probably way before even Atlantis was built. Sometime during his normal life, he discovered his gift of looking into the future regarding the entire line of Slayers. Unfortunately, he realized that a lifetime was not long enough for him to write down everything that he saw so he sought a way to prolong his life."
Arthur gave a low whistle. "Immortality."
"Exactly," Whistler agreed. "After all that searching, the Prophet realized that to live forever was to somehow abandon his mortal body for one that would last longer."
"Meaning…?" Buffy asked suspiciously.
"He became a demon, Slayer. He went to Hell to write down what he saw in the future."
"But demons don't have souls," Buffy objected.
Whistler looked at himself. "So? I don't have a soul but here I am, helping you."
"But wouldn't changing into a demon make him lose his ability?"
"Not really. If you don't have a soul, there are a lot of things you could do without worrying over ethics and such. Like, my helping you isn't based on any morality on my part. And remember, like I said before, there are thousands of different kinds of species of demons. Juniper and Remington represents the worst, unfortunately."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "So that's it? The Deathlife of the Pergamum Prophet is nothing more than just a biography of some guy who lived a really, really long time ago?"
Whistler squirmed uncomfortably. "There's more. Now let's think through this. If the Prophet has turned himself to a demon, we can now go back to our theory that he's still alive in Hell right now."
Arthur felt a lurch in his stomach. A small suspicion began to inch into his mind.
"Go on, Socrates," Buffy said sarcastically.
"And who else can write the last piece of the Codex? The Prophet, right?"
Buffy gave a long, suffering sigh. "Yes, Whistler. What are you getting at?"
"The way I see it, is that we find that Prophet and ask him where the last piece is."
"What are you talking about!" Buffy exclaimed.
"It means that Whistler's asking you to die," Arthur whispered hoarsely. "To meet the Prophet you must become a demon such as he."
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