Title: You Forgot To Mention Hell, Horatio
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Complete
Warnings: Nope. Not this time.
Category: Crossover with Highlander
Disclaimer: All other characters belong to their respective owners and are used without permission. This story is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights, nor is any profit being made from it.
This is what happens when you get involved with too many different fandoms.
Universe setting: For you Highlander fans, this story takes place sometime after ‘Archangel’ (sorry to all those Richie Forever people). Please forgive me for playing with the timelines of the shows, but hey, it’s fan-fic and I can do that ;-)
Thanks: As always, to Carrie, and to Marius, the oak and the ash to my birds in the forest.

Total silence descended upon the room the moment Angel’s last cry mutated into a desperate gasp of air. As he released the unnecessary breath from his useless lungs, the vampire’s head slowly returned from its thrown-back position. With an amazing level of sensuousness, Angel parted his lips before lazily opening his eyes for the first time since his ‘reversion’.

Starting at one side of the room, those rich, brown orbs meandered across the crowd. Turning his head slowly, he viewed the assembly with an expression that resembled apathy. The nonchalance he was exuding gave off the impression that he often awoke suspended from chains in front of an audience.

In fact, it was only when his gaze happened across Eleni that he began showing any real interest in his present situation. Turning to face the vampiress directly, one side of Angel’s mouth quirked up into an evil smirk. Making a show of it, Angel eyes traveled thoroughly up and down Eleni’s body like a predator hungry for its next meal.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled slowly. Settling his eyes on the generous swell of the vampiress’ breasts, he continued his thought. “Look what we have here. All dressed up...,” he began, finally raising his eyes upwards to stare straight into those of his captor. “...and isn’t that a damned shame?”

Even the Spanish vampiress could not miss the meaning behind Angelus’ lust-filled leer as he spoke. Eleni, however, remained silent, biding her time. Her lack of reaction was noted by her captive, but he ignored it with a remarkable amount of aplomb.

“So what’s the story here?” Angel questioned, seeming to notice the chains binding him for the first time. “Oh, don’t tell me that the little soul-boy, Angel, went and did something naughty,” he sneered. “Did he have his wicked way with you? Is this gonna be a stake-gun wedding? If it is, I’d like to suggest we skip the vows and cut right to the reception, ‘cause I’m a little hungry right now...,” Angel’s eyes once again settled somewhere in the vicinity of Eleni’s cleavage, but shot back up as he completed his thought, “...and I could eat, too.”

Finally, a triumphant smile spread across the vampiress’ face. Turning to the crowd, she made a sweeping gesture in her captive’s direction.

“I give you, Angelus!” she proclaimed.

And the crowd cheered.

With the noise from the main chamber masking the sounds of their rapid footsteps, the witch and the Immortal finally crossed the invisible fifty-foot line of demarcation.

The first sign Eleni had that anything was wrong came from the corner by the left tunnel. Her followers had practically been frozen in place, enraptured, she believed, by the greatness of her presence. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, it appeared that a fight had broken out in the back of the room.

Before she could gesture to her guards, a ferocious spike of pain almost sent her mentally reeling. Using both hands, Eleni clutched at the sides of her head, desperately fighting for control over her panicked inner-demon. Even with her advanced age and sheer determination, the vampiress was barely able to keep from capitulating to her demon’s demands to flee.

“What is happening?” Eleni screamed. Her cry was not in fear, but rather in pure rage at this disruption of her night of triumph.

No one answered, her cry lost amidst hundreds of shrieks of terror.

Had she looked behind her, Eleni might have noticed the grim smile of satisfaction on Angel’s face.

The cavalry had just arrived.

The effect of the Immortal’s approach spread through the room like a blast wave from an explosion. Not surprisingly, the vampires nearest to the left tunnel were the first to be affected. One minute they were busy celebrating the successful conversion of Angelus, and the next they were overwhelmed by blinding pain in their heads. As the demons within each individual vampire fell into a state of absolute terror, they gave only one overwhelming order to their hosts -- escape!

But it was not that simple.

Packed shoulder-to-shoulder into the stone auditorium, there was little room to move, let alone to flee. Instinctively sensing that the source of their pain was coming from the nearby tunnel, they began pushing and shoving at the vampires who unknowingly blocked the way to the only other available egress.

It took only seconds for every undead creature in the room to feel the effect. All determined to escape the encroaching threat, they began turning on each other. Blindly they fought against one another, clawing, biting -- anything that would clear a path away from the impending danger.

Those on the opposite side of the chamber immediately ran for the unblocked exit. A few skidded on the suddenly slick floor, tumbling ungracefully to the ground. Unfortunately, those who followed behind them cared little for their fallen comrades. In their own hurry to escape the coming danger, they trampled over any and all impediments in their way. Once they cleared the main archway, dozens upon dozens of vampires poured into the tunnel that they believed would lead them to safety.

“Here they come!” Giles shouted needlessly.

Having spent the last five minutes anticipating this very moment, Xander was already prepared for what was about to happen next. Squatting down beside the large puddle on the floor, the teenager looked at the small household item he held in his right hand.

“Don’t wait for them,” the Watcher instructed as the squishing sounds of approaching footsteps grew louder.

Xander, however, needed no instructions. Flexing his finger to press the ‘trigger’ to strike the flint of placed the long, plastic fireplace ‘Clicker’, the teen brought the open flame to the viscous substance on the floor.

As usual, Xander showed an eerie amount of calm in the face of danger. It was only before and after tough situations that he tended to fall apart. Such were the joys of growing up on a Hellmouth.

Nevertheless, at the sight of a dozen or so panicked vampires running directly at him, Xander flinched. Swallowing hard, he attempted to cover his nervousness with his normal defense: humour.

“Hey G-man,” he called as he waited what seemed like forever for the fluid to ignite. “How do you like your vampires? Regular...”

Even as he spoke, the thick liquid finally erupted in fire. With a muffled ‘whoosh’, the fire slowly spread across the flammable trail laid out for it. Just in the nick of time, too, since the incoming vampires had closed the distance down to about twenty feet.

“...or extra crispy?”

The student and librarian were able to watch with satisfaction as the tunnel quickly mutated into a vampiric holocaust. As the flames continued to spread down the passageway, they consumed most of the vampires as well.

Only the three closest to Xander made it out of the inferno. Protected by their fire-gear, Giles and the teen quickly and efficiently dispatched two of the burning vampires with stakes. The third, already aflame from head to toe, managed to slip past them. By the time he made it another ten feet down the corridor, the fire overwhelmed him completely. As his body failed, what little flesh remained of the vampire abruptly collapsed into a pile of ash. The same thing happened to the other burning vampires that had been closing in on the two Slayerettes.

“Son of a bitch,” Xander exclaimed in awe. “It’s working!”

And so it was. Who would have thought that the key to the world’s salvation would rest with something as common as run-of-the-mill cooking oil?

As soon as he saw the ghostly orange flicker of flames in the mouth of the manhole, Oz took off running in the direction of the other tanker truck. Phase two of their plan had obliviously begun. It was time for him to get to his position for phase three.

Back under the ground it was, to put it simply, total chaos.

From his suspended position over the altar, Angel was too weak to do anything other than watch the events unfold before him with a kind of detached fascination. The blinding pain of Adam’s approaching presence thundered in his head like a jackhammer cutting through pavement. As if that weren’t enough, only moments later a slow rush of flames came creeping from one of the room’s exits, consuming everything...and everyone in its path.

As the fire spread through the room, the already terrified vampires suddenly swayed and switched course like a school of fish threatened by a predator. Those nearest to the fire were more than willing to take their chances with whatever was approaching from the other tunnel, while those closer to the threat of the Immortal would rather be scorched by the flames. As for the rest, they were simply stuck in the middle.

Then, as if out of nowhere, Angel saw them. There was no mistaking the pair as they stood out in their heavy fire gear, even if he couldn’t directly see their faces. If Angel needed any confirmation that they were on his side, the sword in Adam’s hands was the clincher. It was the identity of the Immortal’s companion that gave Angel pause. With a sickening sense of dread, the suspended vampire noted the petite stature of the second person. It wasn’t, however, until he saw one of the panicked vampires turn to dust after blindly attacking the figure that Angel knew her identity without a doubt.

“No,” he pleaded softly to himself, closing his eyes in useless denial. When he opened them again, the tableau had shifted. With the fire stalled about half-way across the room, the gathered brethren closest to the Immortal had seemingly decided to fight their way to the tunnel. Watching helplessly as the combat switched to hand-to-hand, Angel was unable to prevent the cry that escaped his lips.

“Willow!”

Angel’s cry, however, did not reach across the din of the room. Standing directly in the archway that led to the tunnel, Adam was busy hacking and slicing anything that approached him. Only a few feet away, Willow blindly held her arms out, allowing her protective spell to do her dirty work for her.

Once she overcame her shock and despair at her first sight of Angel, Willow joined the battle with a ferocity that would have startled many. Not the Immortal, however. Her determination was something that Adam had, quite frankly, counted upon.

“Go, Willow!” Adam commanded, cognizant of the fact that her protection spell was running on a clock.

Nodding in acknowledgement, the redhead began making her way toward the altar, taking out any vampire that happened to have the misfortune of being in her path. As she crossed through the chaos surrounding her, Willow’s eyes never left Angel's suspended figure.

Once he hurried Willow on her way, Adam forgot all about her. In fact, as the battle thickened and as minutes passed by, the Immortal began slipping away from the present-day holocaust surrounding him. Instead of the here and now, Adam Pierson was mentally revisiting a distance time and place.

Instead of the heat of the fire, the Immortal’s mind registered the hot, dry sun beating down upon the desert sands. The odd taste in his mouth came not from the oxygen coming from the tank on his back, but from the indigo dye he used to decorate half of his face. His sword wasn’t cutting through the undead, but rather through the flesh of the inhabitants of another of the caravans and villages that he brought wholesale slaughter upon. In that time, his own name had no meaning -- only the title bestowed upon him by the few who saw him and lived to tell the tale.

In his mind, the Immortal was once again the living personification of Death.




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