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*Underground of the Temple Mount, Jerusalem, Israel, early September*
The rank, hot, and dimly lit maze of tunnels under one of the most known holy places in the world was filled with blood and gore. Screams rang out so loudly, it was really fortunate that the temporary containment spell didn’t allow any noise to be heard by the pathetic humans swarming around up above, believing themselves to be the rightful owners of this place.
Dracula knew better.
This place, this Temple Mount, as well as the entire city that surrounded it, was God’s. Now, His most faithful servant had finally arrived to claim it in His name, once and for all. As was his custom, first would come the demons and other assorted supernatural beings, followed by the witch covens, slayers, evil lawyers, and the like, all of them facing the same choice: join or die! The battle raging all around him was just that—all those who would have dared oppose him had been tricked in believing he would be on a solitary pilgrimage to the hidden chamber underneath layers of rubble that had once held the Ark of the Covenant. The idiots had come running. Wave after wave of attackers, clans of demons who had fought for control of one square meter or another, were united against him, in a move unprecedented since the arrival of Christ Himself.
Vlad crushed them all. Holding Stefan’s sword in one hand, the Circle’s broom in the other, he was a whirling dervish of death and destruction, all the while his serene smile never leaving his face—like the eye of a storm. By the end of the night, his armies would count another victory in their holy crusade, and all the demons in the holiest city on Earth would be his to command.
Then it would be time for the humans.
His teams of raiders were already prepared to unleash the greatest terror-bombing campaign that Israel would ever know. All the pockets of resistance to his rule would be blown up, culminating with what would be his erstwhile crowning achievement: the destruction of the Dome of the Rock. Blowing up one of Islam’s most important mosques would undoubtedly lead to another world war, this one fueled by righteous religious reasons. He would unite the demons while the humans slaughtered each other, and then he would finally unleash the full wrath of the underworld on the hapless mortals. As the book of Apocalypse foretold, he would assume the role of the Antichrist in order to ensure the coming of the Kingdom of God. The dead heart within his chest almost ached with joy at having been chosen to undertake the task of cleansing humankind of its evils.
~~~***~~~
*Buffy’s study, Slayer Castle, Scotland, UK, later that week*
After a few seconds, the waiting screen finally went away, and the video connection was established. Spike leaned forward in the chair, his hand twitching for the millionth time since his arrival at the castle, in a way that Buffy identified as ‘I wish I could light up’. “Hey there, Captain Cardboard!” Despite the demeaning nickname, his voice was completely devoid of malice.
Riley nodded in greeting. “Hi, Buffy! Hello, Captain Peroxide.” Both men smiled—something that Buffy still wasn’t fully used to yet. And she probably never would get used to it.
Her idea of locking her vampire boyfriend—and that was something that she still wasn’t used to calling Spike—up in a room with her previously completely prejudiced ex and her best male friend, who had been equally prejudiced in the past, had worked out like a charm. The rules were simple: no killing or maiming. By Xander’s report, the other two had initially tried to beat each other senseless. Spike had won that round, but not without any bruises. Then they had yelled at one another, calling each other all the names they could think of. Again, Spike had emerged as the victor, although the margin was much smaller than Xander had predicted—apparently one of Riley’s favorite past-times in the jungle had been learning to curse in as many human and demon languages as possible.
Then they had apparently started boasting about their successes as demon hunters, which had devolved into talking about weapons, cars, sports and every other ‘manly’ endeavor they could think of, while avoiding the subject of women as best as possible. After about half a day, lots of bruises, and a fair amount of alcohol, they had finally hashed out the subject of ‘Buffy.’ Although none of them was willing to say what exactly had been said, or what had happened afterwards, they had shocked everyone except Dawn when they’d finally stumbled out of the room—drunk, holding each other up, and singing bar songs like three good friends. Buffy’s sister had apparently expected nothing less.
Now, Spike and Riley couldn’t exactly be called ‘friends,’ but neither were they behaving like enemies anymore. There was a grudging respect obvious between them, and they even had a few inside jokes, that left everyone—including Xander—on the outside looking in sometimes. Buffy couldn’t have asked for more from either of them. In fact, it had been none other than the vampire himself who had volunteered to keep in touch with Riley, while the latter was off to Washington to report to his superiors at the Pentagon.
It warmed Buffy’s heart to see the two of them on such civil terms, still sniping at each other, but with all the anger and hurt drained away from their interaction. As soon as the call ended, she left the folders she’d supposedly been looking over, to lower herself in Spike’s lap, kissing him for all she was worth.
“Not that I mind, love, but if my talking with Soldier-boy gets you this hot, I just might have to call Peaches right up and hang back while you shag me senseless in front of the camera.”
She swatted his arm playfully but decided to otherwise just ignore his words. “I love you!” His eyes lit up at her words, just like they always did when she confessed her love for him. He lifted her, spread her on the desk, and began undressing her, all the while professing his love for her.
She managed to think that the door was unlocked before he started to eat her out, and it became irrelevant.
~~~***~~~
*Outside Giles’ office, Spire Building, London, UK*
Mark was waiting patiently for Giles to end his daily ‘discussion’ with his slayer overseer. He knew perfectly well that not one of their talks had gone by without copious numbers of veiled threats, lies, and subterfuge. The girl, Tania, was young and full of ideals, while the watcher was old and full of disappointment, so whenever they met one could feel the temperature plummet. This, of course, did nothing but please Mark to no end.
An added reason for him to avoid the fiery purple-haired slayer was the immediate and clear distaste they had for each other. To complicate matters even further, they were both among Giles’ closest advisers, with Mark as leader of covert operations and Tania as head of security, both vying for many of the same missions. The fact that the girl was seen by many, including Giles, as an interloper and a spy for the Slayer Council gave Mark a clear advantage. A competing claim was the fact that Tania had access to all the files and supposed overview of all operations, as per Buffy Summers’ orders. Then again, the more they could all keep her in the dark, the better.
Thinking about Tania’s influence on Giles’ actions brought Pendelberry’s eyes to the former watcher’s secretary. Ever since the young slayer had shown up, old Rupert had become increasingly irate with his lot in life, finally finding a somewhat cliché, but perfectly delicious escape valve for all his feelings of worthlessness and rage: his secretary. The buxom blonde—and that was her natural hair color, a fact that Mark could personally attest to—was currently doubling as Giles’ personal plaything, their carnal relations growing more and more extreme and more demeaning for the woman with each passing encounter. Of course, this led to Mark’s current mind game, called ‘What S/M paraphernalia is the secretary/sub wearing under her clothes today?’ His personal choice for today would be nipple clamps, randomly vibrating panties and a remote-controlled inflatable butt-plug. Of course, he would find out for sure come morning, when the woman would send her personal report to him, concerning Giles’ actions.
~~~***~~~
*Somewhere on the slopes of the Galdhøpiggen, Norway, mid-September*
The silent monotony of the small mountain village was disturbed when two cars rolled in. Once they stopped in front of the town hall, the occupants filed out quietly. The two groups of three passengers were quickly ushered inside by the two guards outside the old building, while the cars were driven off.
Oz and Erika were leading the group, followed by Willow and Dawn, with Alia and Yatviga hanging a step back from the rest. The representatives of the Slayer Council were there to finally meet with the Circle for the first time face to face, after the two groups had steadily gained each other’s trust over the previous weeks. Willow was particularly anxious to meet the mysterious witches, especially since she’d felt a certain pull from the moment she had stepped off the plane on her way there. With each step she took, the lure of power became greater, in a way that at the same tame set her on edge as well as soothed her. Luckily, Alia’s presence just behind her lent her the necessary focus to keep herself in check.
The group reached the main hall, and Willow took in her surroundings. The space must have also doubled as a dance hall, since it was large enough to have tables for twenty on either end, while the empty center could fit at least ten dancing couples, by the looks of it. The walls were covered in various multicolored woven tapestries, which probably doubled as insulation for the thick wooden walls during winter. On the wall opposite the entrance, there was a great fireplace that housed a small fire despite the early date. All in all, it reminded the young witch of some of the places she’d visited back in Sighişoara, or some of their neighboring villages back in Scotland. Across from her, stood a single elderly woman, dressed in simple clothes, but with the countenance of someone deserving of great respect from others. By the feel of the power radiating from her, Willow guessed that she had to be one of the leaders of the Circle.


The old woman stepped forward and greeted the newcomers. “Welcome back, my children!” She placed her right hand first on Erica’s cheek, then on her mate’s. “I’ve missed having you two around, but it couldn’t be helped.” Giving the rest of the group a once-over, she smiled. “I see you’ve brought back some powerful friends to talk to us. You’re all welcome to our humble village. I am Maryun, of the Circle. Be warned that everyone here is a witch, a wolf, or a human helper, so please refrain from harming anyone, for whatever reason. We have our own laws, and we abide by them.”


It had been decided that Willow was leading this expedition, so she took it upon herself to respond. “As long as nobody tries to harm us, we have peaceful intentions, and we won’t interfere with your laws and customs.” The stiff language reminded her of UN proceedings, and for a second she thought that, for their supernatural-infused world, this was probably as close as they would get to diplomatic talks. “I am also charged with extending the Slayer Council’s regret over the actions of the Slayers previously affiliated to the Watcher Council and to promise you that our forces won’t harm you or yours from now on ever again.” She waited a bit but felt compelled to add. “As long as you don’t harm innocents, that is—otherwise, all bets are off.” The words were accompanied by a narrowing of the eyes and a sideways hand gesture to stress their finality.


The benevolent smile never wavered from Maryun’s face. “Don’t worry, child; I understand perfectly. I promise you, though, that you will never be in the position to make good on that threat.” The statement and the tone of the old woman’s voice made Willow turn slightly red with embarrassment. It was almost like listening to her grandma talking, and having just threatened her seemed just wrong. “Now, tell me about yourself, Witch of the Hellmouth.”


“Witch of the what, now?”


The old woman laughed softly. “We have lots to talk about, my dears. Why don’t we all take a seat, have some dinner, and talk about the magic that is life?”


They all readily agreed.


~~~***~~~


*Later that night, guest house, Circle’s village*


Willow couldn’t sleep. She had her eyes closed, her breathing was slowed, her muscles were relaxed, and the bed was very comfortable, but her mind was in turmoil. Maryun had shaken her belief in who and what she was deep down, as well as made her take another look at some of the happiest and also some of the worst moments of her life, filtering everything through the lens of the new knowledge. Her fist reaction had been to get angry. Using every single technique she knew to try to allow the rage to flow through her without taking her over, or harming anyone, including herself, she let the rest of the feelings surge through. By the end of the exercises and of the evening, Willow had felt like she was sleepwalking, but despite the weariness, sleep still wouldn’t come. So many questions and ideas were jumbled around inside her head that she realized she would never be able to sleep until she took another deep breath and put her thoughts in order.


She was the Witch of the Hellmouth. That title that had previously meant nothing to her was now molding itself to encompass everything that made up the person she’d thought she was, twisting and turning her into something that she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to become. Maryun had explained that, just as a Slayer was called in each generation, so it was that once a Witch of the Hellmouth died, another was born, on the site of the Hellmouth that her powers would be connected to. The one that had held the title before Willow had been a really chaotic person, siding with whomever she pleased, crossing a lot of people and demons alike, until one of her previous associates—after being back-stabbed by the volatile witch—finally killed her in a rather gruesome way. The events leading up to and including that witch’s death made it virtually impossible for the Circle, or any other coven, to detect Willow as the new incarnation of the Hellmouth.


The thought made a shudder crawl up the redhead’s spine. To think that the immense power Willow was able to call up, even when she was an inexperienced teenager, had actually been a part of the energy of the Hellmouth itself was chilling. This did explain some of her problems with control, as well as her eventual stint as a super-villain bent on opening the same thing that provided her with power, and ending the world in the process. She had to admit that the thing she hated the most about the revelation was her lack of choice in the matter. She’d been chosen since birth to bear a supernatural burden she wasn’t even aware of until someone informed her, in a very motherly way, that she never even had a chance at a normal life. Under normal circumstances, the Witches of the Hellmouth were so corrupted by the powers inside them that seldom made it past their twenties. She’d never felt closer to understanding Buffy in her life and the ting that hurt was realizing just how callous she’d been with the blonde woman’s calling. Now that she shared such a similar fate, despite the peace she’d fought so hard to obtain and maintain within herself, her initial instinct was to try and find a way out of it.


There was no way out of it, just like she’d known there wouldn’t be as soon as she’d started to understand what it all meant. What Slayers were for the run of the mill demon hunters, Witches of the Hellmouth were for practitioners of the magic arts. Alia stirred behind her, shifting her hand over her lover’s body so that her palm was now on the redhead’s hip. Buffy has thousands of Slayers to help her now, thanks to me and I have dozens, if not hundreds of wiccans, warlocks and witches that can, have, and will help me, too. The last bit of information on being a WotH came back to her. The power should have died with the rest of Sunnydale when Spike destroyed the Hellmouth. The fact that Willow was stronger than ever was not only an anomaly—it was unprecedented. Maryun’s opinion was that it probably had to do with the spell to awaken the Slayers, as well as the way in which the whole battle with the First ended. All the other Hellmouths before had been either depleted, closed by the use of very powerful containment spells, or simply blocked when something was unsuccessful in passing through in a cataclysmic way. In fact, the medallion Spike wore was probably the same one that had been used on two separate occasions before, both times worn by Slayers. So it was probable that the addition of Spike’s soul, demon, and dead human body, coupled with the proximity of the Scythe, and the ‘Slayer wake-up spell’—Dawn’s pet name for it—had done something to Willow herself that shouldn’t have been possible.


Her thoughts turned once more to Buffy and Spike. Both of them had said that they’d been changing ever since the day Sunnydale fell, resulting in Spike’s ability to walk in the sun, Buffy’s super-Slayer-strength, and so on. Willow thought back on how her own power had spiked since then, sometimes allowing her to do things that only a few trusted members of her coven were aware of—time manipulation, dimensional teleportation, building levitation, and so on. She had to wonder: had the three of them been caught up in the same web of prophecy and danger? What were they all becoming? What, exactly, were the two supercharged blondes really capable of, since they had to have been holding some of the information back? Suddenly exhausted, she snuggled closer to her slumbering lover and finally drifted off to a deep, dreamless sleep.





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