“Slayer?” questioned a voice from the adjoining cage.
Buffy spun towards it before she could think, but was unprepared for the sight that greeted her. Spike. There he was in his standard black t-shirt and jeans, clear blue eyes staring in surprise at her. The other demons in the cage with him seemed to have redirected their attention elsewhere, taunting others she couldn’t see. Buffy was expecting the typical feelings of exasperation and drive to kill, but instead found the dominant emotion was one of relief. Here was someone else with super strength. Someone who she knew and could kinda trust, infinitely more than anyone else in here anyway. She slowly approached the adjoining wall, Spike mirroring her movements on the other side. “Spike, where the hell are we?”
“’Fraid you pretty much called it,” he said, casting a glance around them. “Haven’t been here long myself but it definitely has an otherworldly feel to it.”
“Other—you mean Hell? As in comma the?”
“One of them. Yeah. This one seems to be run by some bloke named—“
“Ken. Yeah. We’ve met.”
“Really? Haven’t seen the blighter myself. He how you got here?”
“Sort of. He’s been running a scam through a blood-selling place and outreach for homeless people, turning them loose, crazy and dying. Lily and I—“
“Came to save the bloody day?” he asked, something between wry amusement and amazement coloring his voice, along with a tinge of condescension.
“No. Well, I don’t know. Lily was all wrapped up in this outreach thing and finding her boyfriend…one of the nameless dying people. But…I didn’t…I don’t…” She sighed. “I’m not the slayer anymore.”
His scarred brow rose at that. “Really? How you figure that?”
“I quit.” She said it so simply, almost detached, but Spike understood the subtext.
“I’d wager I know why you’d want to but it doesn’t work that way, pet.”
She bristled at the use of that endearment. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m the slayer and I quit. Seems pretty cut and dry to me. And you know nothing about my reasons…What the hell are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be off with your ho, creating mayhem and destruction? Or is crazy Miss HoBag around here too?”
His blue eyes blazed, flashing gold for a split second, but she hadn’t missed the pain that fleetingly entered his eyes. “None of your bloody business you soddin’ cow.” Gone was the almost friendly tone he’d been using, in its place a cold hiss that, for the first time in a very long while, sent shivers of fear up her spine. This only served to piss her off more.
“Well, neither is my slaying! Except when I finally introduce your sorry ass to the business end of Mr. Pointy!” They stood nearly toe to toe, separated by the metal bars of their cage. He was about to retort when a clanging bell sounded, echoing up and down the long room.
Xarcala now stood a few rows away and could clearly be heard, even over the clamor of the myriad of demons and the still ringing bell. “Next match: the yethra from R5 and the greter’n from B7. Prize to be drawn from T7.” The captives on the other side of Buffy’s cage began crying and, in some cases, howling. She watched as one of the armed guards approached the cage door, holding the spiked club aloft as he opened the door and positioned himself in the threshold. The flurry of activity in the cage made it easy for him to isolate one girl, human-looking aside from her bright blue skin, from the rest as she was jostled too close to the door. She screamed and thrashed, but his vise-like grip was sufficient to drag her close enough for another guard to chain her. The chains, Buffy now noticed, moved of their own accord once extended toward the target, coiling with perfect accuracy around her wrists. The extra length of the chain was still in the guard’s hand and he yanked hard on it, causing her to scream again as she toppled backwards into his grasp. Once she was outside the cage, he began pushing her toward the big double doors, leaving the other guard to lock up. The girl continued to cry as she was forced through the doors, followed by four more guards, each pair escorting a demon. The doors shut with finality.
It was as if a spell had been cast upon the rest of the room. It seemed most of the other occupants were now looking at something to the left of the doors. Buffy craned her neck to see over the heads of her fellow captives, witnessing as a large screen flickered to life. While her view was still partially obscured by the bars and other people, she could see enough to tell that the footage was of some kind of arena, complete with boisterous crowd and announcer box. Beneath the announcer box but above the floor of the arena was a cage, much smaller than any of those in this room; in fact, as the blue girl was forced into it, Buffy saw that it was standing-room only. Though the cheers and hollers of the on-screen crowd eclipsed any other sound from the arena, the girl’s anguished pleas were clearly telegraphed as she searched the crowd, beseechingly. Buffy wanted to look away, the image of the girl’s face one that she knew would stay with her for a very long time, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She had to know what this was. What my fate is, she thought dismally. The slayer side of her that she so desperately wanted to ignore, rebelled at the thought, an almost primal rage threatening to develop but she tamped it down, knowing it would serve no purpose at the moment.
Onscreen, two doors at either end of the arena floor opened to admit the two demons that had been escorted out. Someone in the announcer box identified them by name and breed, to further cheers from the crowd, before stating that the fight was one to the death and the victor would receive the girl as a reward. She was evidently not identified by name, a fact that made Buffy’s blood boil, but only as a kristnat demon. Then the fighting began. The display was more brutal than anything Buffy had ever seen or could even begin to imagine.
Vibrant blood soon soaked the arena floor, and still Buffy watched. A girl in her cell retched in one corner. She couldn’t say how long the fight lasted, but its end almost prompted her to join the girl in the corner. The yethra, a sinewy, ochre demon with bone-like claws that extended like blades over its hands, forehead, and tail, had pushed one hand through the chest cavity of the greter’n. Its hand turned and it spun around, launching the greter’n into the center of the arena and in the process ripping its chest open from groin to neck. The yethra was declared the victor to a mix of cheers and boos from the crowd before being escorted out of the arena by two red demons. Buffy noted that while the yethra was still as much a prisoner as it had been before, its victory granted it a decrease in security, the guards leaving their weapons down at their sides.
The yethra reentered the chamber, followed by a single guard dragging a near-catatonic kristnat. The unexpected turn to the right caused Buffy’s eyes to shift from the group to the cage they were now clearly headed toward. This one was different, the same metal as all the others but with red markings coiling around the bars. It was higher up than the main cells, partially recessed into the wall. The kristnat female was thrown in without ceremony and the yethra allowed to follow. The guards seemed to be conveying information of some sort as they locked the door behind the yethra. It was only then that Buffy noted the heavy curtains that were tied to each corner; the yethra seemed to eye them for a moment before making a gesture that could have been a shrug and turning toward the kristnat.
Having figured out all too clearly where this scenario was headed, Buffy was finally able to force her eyes away, turning her back on the cage. Unfortunately nothing could block out the screams that soon emanated from the krisnat, broken by growls from the yethra and other demons in the room, who were all too happy to watch. Unbidden, Buffy’s eyes were drawn towards Spike, dreading that he too was watching what was happening in the cage. Instead his blue eyes were focused on her, conveying sympathy and something she could not name. For some reason, this only served to heighten her own awareness of her present circumstance and she felt fear gather in an icy pool in her stomach. Without being aware of it, she moved toward Spike and extended her hand through the bars as he did the same. As soon as their hands touched, the rising panic abruptly stopped, and she decided then and there that, however unwise the decision may prove to be, she would place her trust in Spike. After all, if there was anyone who had proven an uncanny ability to escape certain death situations with his hide intact, it was Spike.