"Oh, Rem!" Juniper's eyes sparkled. "Wasn't yesterday incredibly fun?!"
"Yes, love," Remington agreed. "We haven't turned anyone in ages."
"So where is he? Where is our esteemed demonic Director of the Watcher's Council, Edward Giles?"
"Why should it matter, June? Hell's a huge place. He could be practically anywhere."
"True, true." Juniper smiled. "After all, we still have this one." She pointed to Edward's soul who cowered against the base of an escarpment with his fellow Watcher souls. "Welcome to our world," she said sweetly.
"We're going to give you two days here to get a head start to try and hide in our Forest," Remington said gallantly. "After that, woe to you who gets caught. Bye now."
The pair with the golden eyes disappeared. All the souls glanced hatefully at the embodiment of the Director and then quickly melted into the underbrush and ravines. Edward Giles remained where he was and buried his head in his lap for what seemed like a long time.
"Father?"
Edward's head shot up. Oh no… "Rupert?"
"Oh my God," Giles moaned. "They got you too?"
"Y-yes…"
"Come along then," Giles urged. "We must keep moving. A stationary soul has more of a chance of getting caught."
The pair started walking through the vibrant growth surrounding them.
"What happens?" Edward asked dully. "What happens if one gets caught?"
Rupert Giles visibly swallowed. "They kill us. Eat us. Being souls we can't ever die. Eventually we become whole again and the cycle would continue." Trembling, Giles held up a stump of his right arm. "I'm still waiting to be whole again."
Edward closed his eyes. He couldn't tell his son what he had done. He simply couldn't.
* * *
Edrikyn gazed through the ominous landscape, drinking in the sites of his new homeland. His memories were distant now. He recalled being a leader in some organization to help Slayers. They were now his enemy. He was indifferent to the four hundred souls plus his own that he traded to become the man he truly was now.
He remembered his task, however. Something that in his previous, mortal life, he so deeply ingrained into his entire being. He could not forget it, as much as he would like to. He must find the Pergamum Prophet and kill him.
Upon killing the Prophet, he surmised, the game those mysterious higher beings played would become null and void and then he could prevent Juniper, Remington, and the Slayer from ever trying to find the Codex. Edward Giles had hated leaving the actual fate of the entire world in the hands of one girl versus the most vicious creatures in Hell.
Edrikyn smirked. They were now the second-most vicious creatures in Hell. He'll see to that. In the distance, he saw two burly demons heading in his direction.
Coolly, Edrikyn waited until they approached.
"Get off our territory," one of them snarled in a guttural demon dialect. "Or die."
"I go where I please," Edrikyn replied indifferently.
"We're warning you," the other growled, flexing his massive, scaly arms.
"Warning," Edrikyn snorted. "If you were half the demon you pretend to be you would've not given any warning and attacked." His hand and arm turned into a blade and precisely cut off one of the demon's head.
The remaining demon looked at disbelief at the carcass of his companion and then snarled at Edrikyn. He lunged, fully intent on smashing his current enemy's torso. The demon was easily blocked. Edrikyn raised his hand-blade.
During its descent, it blurred into a ball with spikes all over and promptly smashed into the victim's face.
Edrikyn casually dropped the limp body and calmly crossed the barren landscape.
* * *
Whistler muttered an incantation while throwing what looked like sand in the direction of the four winds. Then he patiently waited.
A faint rumbling noise eventually started. It grew in more intensity as sparks of light flew throughout the room.
'With power comes light shows,' Whistler thought disgustedly. 'Just appear already.'
The light swirled and then slowly coalesced into a pool of light.
"Why have you summoned us, demon?" the light spoke sternly. "You have received your instructions."
"A man has recently turned himself into a demon," Whistler said seriously, getting right to the point. "What are his motives?"
"That is irrelevant to your task."
"This man was the Director of the Watcher's Council," the demon pressed. "He had some knowledge of the task you have laid upon myself, the Slayer, and the others. His death and unholy sacrifice coincide too greatly to be pure chance."
"So?"
Whistler rolled his eyes in response.
"The Prophet can handle such trivialities. You waste time if you continue to speculate on such irrelevant material. Such wayward thought would bring the other side closer to their goal."
"I see. One more question," Whistler said.
"Mine ears hunger for your words."
Whistler's face darkened at the sarcasm. "Should the Slayer decide to enter Hell, must she go through the Gates?"
"We are not permitted to answer that."
Whistler ground his teeth in frustration.
"Your care for this Slayer is not natural. Almost un-demonic."
"I can do without the comments," Whistler grated. "Since when did you become so sarcastic anyway?"
"We're not permitted to answer that either," the light replied glibly. Then it vanished.
Whistler's shoulders slumped in the darkness.
* * *
Buffy pushed herself off the sofa. She felt oddly tranquil. Like so many times in the past, after a dream (or dreams, she thought ruefully) she knew what she had to do. 'It's because I'm the damn Slayer that I do this,' she said silently. "Craaap."
"Pardon?" Arthur blinked, poking his head from the kitchen.
"Nothing, Travers," Buffy yawned. "What's for breakfast?"
"Eggs, bacon, potatoes. And may I recommend English breakfast tea to wash it down?"
Buffy made a face. "Not really. Orange juice will do just fine." She got up to wash her face and brush her teeth.
While going through the morning motions, Buffy stared deeply in her reflection's eyes. Who was this girl in the mirror? And what the heck was that dream last night all about? For some reason, Buffy was convinced that the answered lied somewhere in her. Was that what she was looking for, staring at a mirror?
Arthur noticed Buffy's somber mood when she slid on a stool by the counter. Silently, he handed over her plate filled with food. Buffy began to generously appease her hungry stomach.
The two were silently eating when Whistler walked in, looking haggard.
"Didn't sleep well?" Buffy asked in mock concern. "I did."
"Buffy," Whistler said somberly. "Your time is running out. You need to make a decision soo-"
"I'll do it." Buffy's voice hardened. "On one condition."
Whistler raised an eyebrow. "Name it."
"That I don't pull off an Ascension or sell souls. That when I become a demon, you will guarantee that that creature will do its job."
"That sounds like more than one condition to me," Whistler replied blandly.
"Whistler!"
"Sorry, kid. That sincere attitude of mine just before needed to be balanced by something false, naturally. Anyway, there's more than one way to become a demon. The character of a human-made demon often depends on the procedure of the ritual."
"Why don't you ever tell me these things in the first place?" Buffy asked exasperatedly.
"Because you always overreact or walk away whenever you hear something you don't like. Besides, would you have listened?"
Buffy decided not to answer to that. She laid down her fork and looked at the demon. "So how do you do it?"
Arthur thought that it was a decidedly dreary morning. Still grieving from yesterday's news, he silently waited for Whistler to speak.
"I tried to find another way to get you into Hell, Buffy. I really tried," Whistler said, his eyes taking a pleading look. "There are certain portals here and there that would allow you to walk into Hell without losing your life."
"So why can't I go into one of those?"
"You can. I'm giving that option to you but you have to hear what I say first."
"Meaning, you're trying to convince me that going through the Gates is the only way possible."
Whistler winced. "Yeah."
Buffy felt her stomach tighten. "Alright, I'm listening."
"Hell is big," Whistler began. "Let's just say that 'it's a small world after all' doesn't apply to a place like that. The portals that would allow you to walk through Hell alive are set with an incredibly huge distance between them. Something like energy conflicts, I'm not too clear on that. Traveling those distances can take years, even decades. And who knows what you might run into if you stay there too long. Living humans aren't generally welcomed there, as you'd probably imagine."
Arthur immediately understood. "The Pergamum Codex is known to be extremely specific. If precisely translated, one could determine the exact date, time and location of a predetermined event." Whistler nodded as if to motion the Watcher to continue. "We were able to determine that the Prophet had written the Codex in Hell based on the very opening of the document. 'Behold, for behind the Gates I undertaketh this task,' et cetera, et cetera. I would say that to find the Prophet, the quickest way is to enter the Gates. Perhaps he is literally right next to it waiting for someone to approach him. To enter any other portal, as Whistler indicated, would make you end up wandering in Hell for years. It would give plenty of time for Remington and Juniper to guess what you're doing and then beat you to the Prophet."
Buffy frowned. "I have a feeling we're missing something here."
"Oh?"
"I'm not sure what it is though," she admitted. "I'll let you know if it ever becomes clear."
"So you'll do it? Go through the Gates, I mean?" Whistler asked intently.
Buffy sighed. "Yes." She looked at Arthur. "As soon as I'm gone, activate another Slayer." Buffy paused. "Were all the Watchers killed yesterday?"
"Most of them were," Arthur replied evenly. "Why?"
"I want you to find the remaining Watchers, whether it's one left or twenty. Can you do that?"
"I'd have to go to the Council's headquarters. All the names and such are archived there."
"You can still go there?"
"The Gathering never takes place where the Council is organized, if that's what you mean."
"Alright. You go back to your mother country, activate a Slayer and try to rebuild the Council." The Slayer gave a small, wry grin. "It's a good thing they sent you here, instead of going to the Gathering, right?"
Despite the warm California sun streaming into the living room, Arthur felt chilled. "Right."
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