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Author's Chapter Notes:
I hope you all enjoy, sorry about the delay in posting. RL takes over, and you know the drill. Some of the dialog was borrowed from Angel episode "The Ring", but most of it came from my own crazy mind! Thanks to Sanityfair for fixing my mistakes. Any that are left are mine, so blame me!
While exiting their room, Spike felt Buffy’s intense gaze and smelled her impending tears. Still his pride wouldn’t let him look, not until it was too late. He was already through the heavy metal door. She was concealed by its partial closure before his stubbornness finally released his eyes from their forward gaze.

As he was being led away down the barren hallway the deep gnawing within called forth thoughts of Buffy. Never before had one person stirred such intense, contradictory emotions within him: love, hate, bliss, misery, faith and doubt. This one tiny woman turned his entire world upside down and thrust his heart and mind into unknown territories with a single gaze, one word, just a smile. Regardless of this and the hundreds of other reasons why having feelings for Buffy was wrong, he never wanted to go back to who he was before meeting her.

Even though his heart hadn't beaten in over 100 years, he felt when he was with Buffy this dormant piece of him had now awakened. Once the bitter truth was spoken that she still saw him as a vile disgusting demon, despite what they had been through in these past few days, his heart went from almost beating to breaking in a matter of moments. It was as if their time together didn’t mean a thing.

”Well, not for long. She’ll know what’s in my mind and heart…all of it. In the end, if she chooses to keep her head in the sand and deny what we’ve shared, then when I get out of this bloody ‘ell hole, ‘m packin’ up the DeSoto and gettin’ out of Dodge for good,” Spike silently vowed, before he began to mentally prepare for the “’kill or be killed—take your bloody pick’” portion of the evening.

Entering into the main room, a distinct and unsettling scent assailed him. Instantly, his demon flashed forward. A primal warning growl rumbled from deep within his chest, and with a steady steely gaze, he scanned the area. Mere moments passed before he spied who caused this violent, innate reaction—Angel.

Standing within the demon’s holding area behind the red line stood Angel, with his demon firmly in place echoing Spike’s growled warning. Without delay, the guards hearing both the vamps’ reactions to one another, pulled their tasers from their holsters and had them at the ready.

“Now, now, save it for the ring, leeches.” Darin McNamara’s arrogant voice rose in an attempt to stifle the growling vamps further, as he walked forward through the parted guards toward them. Dual golden stares moved from one another to the portly middle-aged man as he continued to speak,

“Seems the higher-ups are calling this match a battle for the ages, which may I add is quite lucrative for me, especially since I don’t have to split the profits anymore. They told me this fight was between a childe and its grandsire, whatever the hell that means, in a no holds-barred battle to the death—“ As he spoke, Darin’s voice rose into an excitable, boisterous level, sounding like a ringmaster at the circus.

Spike’s scarred brow lifted, silently questioning both Darin’s excitability and his reference to a “’battle to the death’”. Noticing the blond vamp’s reaction, Darin amended his words. “Right, how ridiculous of me. You two are already dead. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter the nature of your life now, only who wins and will face—“

Unable to listen to this man’s incessant prattling a moment longer and more so not wanting Angel to know about Buffy being there, Spike snarled his interruption.

“Your finances mean sod all to me! All I’m interested in is feelin’ this soddin’ poofter’s dust fall through my greedy little digits! Enough talk, let me earn my fourth win!”

Hearing Spike’s brash words caused Angel’s body to instinctually lurch forward to attack. Remembering what he had witnessed when another demon passed over the line, Angel stopped just short of the deadly line separating him and his infuriating grandchilde, before his hardened gaze rose, meeting Spike’s.

“You’re the only one who’s going to fit in a dustpan—boy!” Angel seethed through clenched teeth, his chest heaving with unneeded breath.

Before Spike could retort, Darin signaled with a nod to the guards for them to escort the blond vampire to the ring. Despite two of the guards placing their hands on Spike’s biceps to lead him away, his body remained rigid, until the recognizable humming of several tasers held by the other guards buzzed in his ears. Spike knew this sound was the only warning he’d received before a taser or two zapped him into submission. Reluctantly, he allowed them to lead him away.

Spike stood on the threshold of the arena as the announcer’s voice echoed off the enclosure. Instantly, the crowds’ cheers and applause welcomed him as he swaggered into the arena.

“He’s a highly skilled fighter with a taste for blood and torture. For those that are keeping track this is his fourth appearance. Let’s welcome– William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers–Spike!”

Ignoring the deafening crowd and the briefly blinding lights surrounding him, Spike, once arriving in the center, turned, with determination set in his features, and waited for his grandsire to enter. Several moments passed before the announcer heralded Angel’s entrance.

“Spike’s challenger makes his ring debut tonight. He’s a master vampire, with over 200 hundred years of death and destruction. Let’s welcome – Angel!”

Following his introduction Angel stalked into the arena, and once his vision cleared from the bright lights, his focus fixed on Spike that remained motionless in the center of the ring awaiting his approach. Angel continued forward until he was several feet away from Spike. Instinctually, both vamps’ bodies assumed and maintained mirrored postures, resembling tightly coiled snakes preparing to strike. Each pair of golden eyes glared at the other with disdain and contempt, during their silent standoff. They held their positions until Angel, noticing the newly healed wounds on his wayward grandchilde’s body, commented.

“I see your mouth got you in a bit of trouble your body couldn’t cash, boy,” Angel spat, before he began to move with measured side steps. Matching his movements, Spike followed as each vamp circled one another engaging in a primitive deadly dance. Their predatory gazes flickered over one another as they looked for weaknesses and opportunities to dominate the other.

Bristling after hearing the word “boy”, Spike’s eyes narrowed and with a clenched jaw, he snarled his response. “Not your boy, Peaches, haven’t been in quite some time.” Motioning to his chest, Spike scoffed and continued, his voice scathing. “And these, mere flesh wounds. Got me fresh human blood on tap, far better than that rat swill you’ve been slurping on.”

Angel’s immediate response to Spike’s admission and ability to continually feed on humans was a deep animalistic rumble escaping his throat. Ignoring him and his threatening growls, Spike’s mocking words persisted. “Add to that my posh digs and not having to shack up with every other Tom, Harry, and yours truly the Dick of the threesome, and voila…star treatment for the most revered and valuable demon here!”

Spike’s words struck deep and incited Angel’s suppressed side, Angelus, to rise to the surface. Even with his soul remaining intact, Angel brought forth Angelus’ personality of blatant arrogance and superiority that he had used— along with his fist, fangs, and cock— on the younger vamp during the first two decades while he was a fledgling. Attempting to unnerve his over confident grandchilde, Angel/Angelus’ heavily laced Irish brogue filled the air.

“As always, delusions of grandeur, Willy, thinkin’ yer more than what yer truly are. Even after 120 years, yer still the same ol’ sod Drusilla brought home. No matta whatcha do, nothin’ will change what yer were and still are… pathetic.”

Angel/Angelus’ harsh words instantly drew forth Spike’s deep-rooted self-doubt that had never truly disappeared, regardless of his hundred-plus years of making a name for himself. Despite all this time, Angel/Angelus’ words were still able to unlock his inner William: a weak willed, soft spoken, easily preyed upon Victorian gentleman, whom loved and cared for his ailing mum. He was a pathetic man, who remained a bachelor late into his twenties, with no prospects of marriage, despite how much he craved love.

Spike’s mind flashed to the hours before his death, or more specifically to his true birth. During that evening’s festivities, as with many gatherings before, he was among those whom he hated yet needed to endure due to his station in life. With his words as his only companion, he finished a poem for a woman whom he loved. With his heart on his sleeve, he proclaimed his feelings for her, and in return she responded with ridicule and demeaning words, and finally a callous declaration—“You’re beneath me”. Shamed and broken, he fled into the night with tears staining his cheeks and his pitiful poem clutched in his sweaty palm. He fled from her words, his insecurities and mediocrity into the arms of his savior. With one glorious gift, he became a creature of the night that no longer lived by society’s rules, beliefs, or limitations.

As a Phoenix rising from the ashes of his past life, William transformed into Spike, a being that was no longer weak but strong, both in mind and body.

“Never again. Never will I be beneath another,” Spike growled menacingly, his eyes flashing with renewed rage as he released a thunderous roar that instantly silenced the arena. Without further warning, Spike launched himself at his grandsire.


**** ****


An Hour Before


Standing on the outskirts of the crowd that had appeared to double in attendance from last night, Cordelia and Wesley observed those dressed in thousand dollar outfits waiting with clear anticipation to enter a place to witness death first hand.

Wesley eyed the crowd with disgust amazed how money seemed to dismiss, within their own minds, the wrongness of their actions. It was almost as if the money they possessed gave them forgiveness or absolution somehow. Cordelia, on the other hand, felt a small pang of jealousy seeing those around her. She once was one of them, known as Queen C, until the day daddy lost everything. Lost within their thoughts, they remained silent until Wesley spoke,

“I believe due to the increased patronage and security, it will be far more difficult to enter. How do you suppose we manage this?”

With a confidence left over from her previous life, Cordelia instructed, “I know how to handle people like these, just follow my lead.”

Entering into the crowd, Cordelia spotted and headed toward a couple exiting their car. Despite a few issues: Wesley forgetting his fake badge and his over dramatization while he claimed there was “something going down with the man,” Cordelia was able to trick Ken and Barbie into believing she and Wesley were undercover detectives investigating an illegal sporting event. With well-placed words and an air of superiority—her specialty—Cordelia convinced Ken to give her their tickets. Following Ken’s silently mouthed “thank you,” the couple entered into their Barbie dream car and left.

Once inside Cordelia and Wesley stood on the balcony gazing down on the fighters below. Engaged in the throes of battle were two battered demons. There was blood and another thick black substance that was most likely another form of demon blood, coating the opponents’ fists and the ground below their feet.

Placing his hand into his trouser pocket, Wesley’s fingers brushed against the “key” that would release Angel from the mystical restraint encircling his wrist. Once he and Cordelia returned to Angel’s Investigations last night following their first visit to The Ring, they immediately began working on creating a key from a bracelet, similar to one Angel currently wore, that Cordelia had stolen. Following hours of failed attempts, he and Cordelia had finally managed to create the object Wesley now touched while his gaze searched for a way to reach Angel in the holding cells below.

Noticing a stairwell on the opposite side of the room, Wesley quickly devised a plan. Once he finished explaining this simple plan to Cordelia, following her smile and a nod in agreement, they headed toward then down the staircase leading into the basement.

Approaching one of the guards, Cordelia attempted to distract him as she pretended to be a helpless, mindless woman who couldn’t find her way through the clearly marked hallways to the restrooms, while Wesley headed down the hallway toward the holding cells.

After several moments, Wesley located and approached the holding area. Looking through the barred window, he noticed numerous demons standing around a metal grate looking outward. Possibly sensing Wesley’s approach, one demon pulled away from the group. Walking toward him and then stopping part way stood a green with yellow-patched smooth skin demon that resembled a frog— if frogs were extremely intimidating and muscular that is. Wesley hoped this was his chance in finding and helping Angel as he addressed the demon standing before him.

“Excuse me. Psst. Come here. Yes, you.” Hearing Wesley’s words, the demon walked a few steps closer. “I need to see Angel. Tall fellow – prominent brow…”

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Mr. Demon Frog responded brashly.

Blanching from his statement, Wesley gulped then asked, “Dead?”

“In about 20 seconds he will be. He’s fighting a bleached vamp that already has three wins. And who the hell are you?”

Relief quickly replaced dread as Wesley began to explain the reason for him being there. “Uh, I’m a friend. Perhaps we can help each other. I have a key.”

“A key?” Mr. Demon Frog asked, his black eyes appearing to flash with interest.

Wesley pulled the key from his pocket and held it up near the bars to show him. With a touch of pride, Wesley began to explain the small metal stick with horsehair mounted to the end.

”It is quite simple really, placing this end to the cuff will cause the mystical mechanism inside to disengage and it will open. Help me save Angel and I’ll get you out. All of you. If we band together—“

Mr. Demon Frog’s tongue suddenly shot out from his mouth, quickly snatching the key from Wesley’s hand. Wesley didn’t realize what had happened until the demon held the key in his palm, and with what could be construed as a smug smile filling his full amphibian mouth, inspected it.

“What are you – give that back! – Hey!” Wesley shouted ineffectively.

Ignoring his words, the demon brought the small piece of metal, horsehair side down, to his band. With a slight click, the band opened then fell from his wrist. Hearing the chanting from the arena increasing in volume, the demon headed over to where his fellow demons stood. Wesley, knowing he wasn’t going to get the key back, and needing to see what was happening to Angel in the arena, ran from the holding area and headed toward the stairs. Meeting up with Cordelia in the hallway, Wesley informed her of what had taken place as they headed toward the arena.

Once they reached the balcony, they quickly excused themselves through the crowd to be able to see down into the ring. Staring in disbelief they witnessed the opponents battling below. Cordelia, breaking from her stupor first, spoke,

“Spike? What the hell is he doing here? No wonder why this place is packed. Two Master vamps battling to the death, well, to the dusty-ness. That sleaze Darin must be making a fortune off of this one fight! He so better pay us for the fake case he sent us on and—“ Noticing Wesley eyeing her incredulously, Cordelia quickly amended her words. “Um, yeah, so how are we going to get Angel out of there?”


Chapter End Notes:
Yes, I know Angel wasn't evil for over 200 years, it's called marketing people! LOL! The crowd would lose interest pretty quick if you said he was bad, then got a soul--now good, but then he was bad for a few months, now he's good again. Anywho, let me know whatcha think!

Oh, and some shameless self promotion, take a peek at my new story Helluva Day. Yes, I understand some of you don't like AH stories, but I assure you if you like my twisted humor that story is brimming with it!



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