The Devil Went Down To Sunnydale XV (Patreon)

The Devil Went Down To Sunnydale XV


– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

"RAAAAHHHH!" The first vampire lunged, a blur of movement that came at Xander with a spiked bat swinging wildly. He ducked low, feeling the whoosh of air as the bat missed his head by inches. He pivoted, slamming his fist into the vampire's stomach with enough force to send the leech skidding back into a parked car, the metal crumpling under the impact.

In his last two months as a devil, Xander had been required to undergo some mandatory education. Normally, he wasn't much for learning. School? No thanks. Hard pass.

If he understood something, he understood it. If he didn't get it quickly, eh, he didn't really feel like putting in that effort. Some people called him lazy, but he preferred the term selectively motivated, thank you very much.

Because, honestly, with the right motivation, he could pick up on almost anything.

Before he could catch his breath, another was on him. It swung a chain, the metal looping towards his neck. Xander grabbed the cold metal links mid-air and yanked it hard, pulling it and the surprised vamp towards him.

Just die already. With an actual audible growl, he spun and slammed a high kick to the face of the vampire with the chain, the crunch of bone under his boot satisfying to hear.

The nightlife of Sunnydale was that motivation. Nothing like the threat of being eaten to really light a fire under your butt. And seeing as he was a member of that nightlife, well… you get it.

One of the major things his education revolved around was vampires. Because of course it did. 

What they were, the different types and how to kill them. Stake through the heart, sunlight, fire, beheading... the classics.

One of the major things about vampires is… they grew.

Not like get older, or age, or whatever.

I mean, technically… they do, he acknowledged, but not like an actual living being.

Anyway, even though theyre dead, the stuff that makes a vampire a vampire gets stronger the older it gets.

The animus.

Sam had been telling him a lot about vampires since he started at the Rosen Queen, from their habits to the different vampire bloodlines to how they work even.

And he had a lot to say about the animus.

The power, the instincts, the unlife force of a demon that makes vampires what they are.

Inside a vampire's heart, the original blood their sire fed them is still there, powering all that animus. It's what kept them undead and not just dead dead. And the longer they lived, the more that blood thickened, getting more powerful.

A newborn vampire wasn't all that strong or that fast, really. I mean, compared to a Slayer or yours truly.

Not superhumanly. Just your average, everyday corpse strength. Nothing to write home about, right?

Wrong.

A bat swung through the air, connecting hard with Xander's shoulder as he ducked a spiked fist from a long-haired blonde biker vamp. “F-!” He staggered, nearly losing his footing as another slammed into his head, the ground seeming to tilt beneath his feet.

Crap, they're starting to swarm, hethought, his vision blurring for a moment as he shook his head, trying to clear it. A biker took the chance and reared forward, growling at him.

Growling back, Xander leapt away and rushed behind a set of cars, ripping off a side mirror with one hand and the wiper blade of a second with the other hand, both in one swift motion. With a powerful throw, he flung the first like a frisbee, catching one of the vampires in the throat. The creature stumbled back, clutching at its neck, gurgling in surprise and pain.

The teenager rushed forward, blurring as he forced himself to move as fast as he could manage. In a split second, he covered nine meters and shoved the wiper blade through the vamp’s chest. The bloodsucking biker stumbled back and fell to the ground, unable to move, but far from dusted. The teen grabbed the windshield wiper and twisted it roughly, almost stirring the thing in the vamp’s chest till… poof.

Xander let out a sigh of relief and quickly did the same to the vampire cradling his broken throat before he quickly jumped back to avoid another chain. God, I fuckin’ hate that about these things. Vampire durability was a bitch and a half to deal with if you didn’t keep wood handy. Either wreck the heart completely or get rid of the head… somehow. Stupid corpse strength.

This corpse strength meant that a newborn could use more strength of their once-human body without really worrying about getting tired or tearing muscles, making them generally capable of lifting about... what? 

Maybe… from what he could tell, three hundred pounds and running at about thirty miles an hour. Give or take. 

Still, the major lesson with Sam was about learning the general vampire hierarchy.

And his devil of a boss made sure he knew his stuff.

Newborns were the ones fresh out of the grave, less than two years old. High off demon anima with new instincts making them really stupid in addition to overconfident psychopathic sadistic predators, a skilled human could pick one off, honestly. If they had a lot of training, Xander amended, ducking under a wild swing from a snarling vamp.

Fledgelings were almost in the same boat as newborns, despite being a little older. Anywhere between two to twenty-four years old, they were somewhat cocky due to being young and slightly more powerful than newborns, but nowhere near as high off bloodlust or eager to rush in. Both were usually foot soldiers and often got dusted by trained vampire slayers, and not even The Slayer, either.

Just regular guys with some training and a whole lot of guts.

A heavy blow to the back of his head made his vision swim. “Son of a b—!” He felt his knees buckle as something spear tackled him, sending him hard into the side of a car, the impact denting the metal and shattering the window beside his head. Xander gripped the side of the door, glass shattering under his grip and the metal squealing slightly as he raised his head, blinking away the stars dancing in his vision.

Death Knights — or neonates — were the guys you'd expect to see running their own little vampire gang. Anywhere between twenty-five to seventy-four years old, these guys were worth about twice any fledgling on average. And hitting almost twice as hard too, Xander thought with a wince, feeling the ache in his ribs where one of said vamps had gotten a lucky shot in.

Around seventy-five to two hundred years old, a vampire officially became something called a Night Lord — I know, right? Could they be any more pretentious? — and they were comparable to about five newborns. This wasn't a straight multiplier, either. It was more of a combination of their strength almost doubling, their speed growing by a bunch and their bodies getting a bit tougher. Still only half as strong as Buffy and barely as fast. That girl can go highway speed, honestly.

Then there were the Blood Princes. Leeches on Angel’s level from what he could tell based off the guy’s age. Anywhere between two hundred to five hundred. They were considered the Slayer killers, vampires on par with Buffy, fighting her as equals. And mowing their way through at least 15 fledglings alone.

This kept happening every few hundred years with about two more ranks with even worse titles that Xander didn’t really understand but it wasn’t his job to understand vampires.

More handle them.

Preferably with a stake through the heart or a good old-fashioned beheading, he thought with a grimace, eyeing the remaining vamps as they circled him.

He charged, closing the distance with a burst of speed that caught the nearest vampire off guard. His fist connected with a satisfying crunch against its jaw, sending the leech flying back into a car’s windshield.

Almost immediately, another vampire swung a bat towards Xander’s head. Ducking under the swing, Xander grabbed the vampire's arm, twisting it behind his back until he heard a snap. The vampire howled, but Xander shoved him into two others approaching from the side, sending them all tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs..

Already breathing heavily, Xander scanned the parking lot, seeing the vampires he had yet to kill. Ten to one, he thought with a humorless chuckle, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Long story short, the hierarchy was simple, getting rarer and stronger the higher up you went. Just like Megaman Legends, Xander mused, backing up slowly as the remaining vamps advanced on him, their yellow eyes glinting with hunger and malice.

Problem is, the only real way to know exactly what sort of vampire you were dealing with - weird face aside - was to stake it fresh out of the grave. Past that, you were just guessing based on how hard they hit you.

Speaking of hitting… Xander thought, his attention snapping back to the present as one of the leather-clad vamps swung another chain at his head. He ducked, the links whistling past his ear as his eyes widened as he saw something else approach at high speed.

"Son of a bitch, you socked me!" he yelped, more out of surprise than pain as another vamp's fist connected with his jaw, the force of the blow snapping his head to the side. He stumbled back a step, shaking his head to clear it, his tongue probing the inside of his cheek where he'd bitten it. "... hmm." 

Not too old, he worked his jaw with one hand, feeling out the hit. Not too young. "...Wait, real quick, how old are you guys? Like fifty? 'Cus you feel like more knights than fledgeli-?"

The statement died on his lips as a chain lashed out at him again. On instinct, Xander snatched it before it could hit him, gripping the thing tight as it wrapped around his arm, the links biting into his skin through his sleeve. He shot a smug smirk at the vampire who threw it.

Said vampire and his friend both holding the chain grinned back, their fangs glinting in the darkness.

Oh no.

They tugged hard, combined strength yanking Xander off his feet and sending him flying towards them like a fish on a hook.

"Waitwaitwaitwai-"

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –



Buffy let herself into the Bronze through a broken window. Crossbow in hand, she searched the balcony, then took the stairs one at a time, sweeping the area with her gaze.

As she reached the main floor of the Bronze, she thought she saw the silhouette of a man some distance away. But when she spun around and took aim, there was no one there.

No thing there.

She continued her hunt, moving in the dark stillness. Stripped of lights, people, and noise, the Bronze was an eerie, otherworldly place.

A battleground.

She heard a crash of broken glass and aimed into the darkness again.

“I know you’re there,” she called out, sweeping the area with the bow. “And I know what you are.”

“Do you?” As she zeroed in, Angel spoke again, but this time his voice came from a different location. “I’m just an animal, right?”

“You’re not an animal,” Buffy said. “Animals I like.”

She quickly shifted her weapon. Then her eyes widened as he stepped forward, very close. He wore his vampire face.

He growled. “Let’s get it done.”

He leaped at her, moving extremely fast. It took her a moment to adjust to his speed, her own senses ramping into high gear in the way she was familiar with, and by then he had hit the nearby pool table. She brought the crossbow up, sighted, and fired, but the bolt flew across the club and lodged in the far wall as Angel vaulted straight up into the balcony.

Buffy reloaded the bow, crept around the pool table, and aimed up into the darkness. She searched for him, turning slowly. Her heart was thundering. Every sense was on full alert; every Slayer reflex was hair-trigger—

He dropped down behind her, slamming his feet against her neck and sending her flying onto the pool table. Bracing herself against it, she rammed her boot into him with a roundhouse kick, knocking him backward.

While he was out of commission, Buffy scrambled off the pool table and slid onto the floor, reaching for her crossbow. She rolled onto her back and raised up slightly, pointed the deadly weapon at Angel, and kept him in her sights.

He rose, and faced her, presenting her with the perfect shot, growling all the while.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Then Angel’s appearance morphed from his vampire features into the handsome young man who had so attracted her when they had first met. Who had battled beside her against the Three.

Who had taken a blow to save her life.

“Come on,” he said in a hard voice. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

Buffy let the bolt fly. It missed him by a mile and sank into the post beside him.

“A little wide,” he observed.

They looked at each other.

“Why?” she asked quietly, getting to her feet, her voice shaking with anger. “Why didn’t you just attack me when you had the chance? Was it a joke? To make me feel for you and then…” 

She stopped herself for a split-second. “I’ve killed a lot of vampires. I’ve never hated one before.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, also quietly, also emotionally. “Feels simple.”

“I invited you into my home,” she went on, needing to express her hurt, feeling again her shock and despair. “And then you attacked my family.”

“Why not?” he asked almost offhandedly, but his expression was filled with pain. “I killed mine. My father for being hard on an idiot son. My mother for never taking my side. My sister, who never did anything but love me.”

He started closing in on her. “I killed their friends. And their friends’ children. For a hundred years I offered an ugly death to everyone I met. And I did it with a song in my heart.”

She detected the merest hint of self-loathing; she raised her chin slightly and asked, “What changed?”

“Fed on a girl,” he told her. “About your age. Beautiful.” He looked off into the distance for a moment. “Dumb as a post. But a favorite among her clan.”

“Her clan?” Buffy repeated, unsure of his word choice.

“Romani,” he explained after a moment. “Gypsies. The elders conjured the perfect punishment for me.” He waited a beat. “They restored my soul.”

“What,” she asked, regaining a bit of her fire, “they were all out of boils and blinding torment?”

“When you become a vampire, the demon takes your body but it doesn’t get your soul. That’s gone. No conscience, no remorse. It’s an easy way to live.”

She remembered how he had asked her if it felt good to hate him. Simple.

He stood in the weak light, surrounded by darkness, facing an armed Slayer who was bent on revenge. And yet he made no move to attack, nor to escape. Instead, he said, “You have no idea what it’s like to have done the things I’ve done and to care. I haven’t fed on a living human being since that day.”

“So you started with my mom?” she flung at him.

“I didn’t bite her,” he said very seriously.

She was taken aback. “Then why didn’t you say something?"

“I wanted to.” For a moment Buffy tried to pretend that he was answering her question. But he was confessing that he had wanted to bite her mother. As if to underscore that thought, he said, “I can walk like a man but I’m not one.” He paused. “I wanted to kill you tonight.”

She knew that. She had wanted to kill him, too. She looked down, laid down her weapon, and walked to him, tilting her head slightly, offering her neck.

“Go ahead,” she said. With all her heart, she prayed he would not attack her. With all her soul, she believed he wouldn’t, and yet, every ounce of her being protested the way she left herself defenseless. She was the Slayer, and he was a vampire.

He remained silent, gazing at her with his haunted eyes. Something lifted for a brief instant as the two of them stared long and hard at each other.

She nodded slightly. “Not as easy as it looks,” she said.

He almost smiled.

“Sure it is,” came a voice from the shadows.



– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –



Willow and Giles raced through the night, searching for Buffy.

Willow said, “We’re near the Bronze. Xander’s not here. What now?”

“While those super soakers would have come in handy, we’ll simply have to make do,” Giles answered quickly, “We keep looking for her.”

“But what if…” Willow ventured, clearly worried. “What if we find her and she’s fighting Angel or some of his friends? What are we going to do about it?”

Giles didn’t answer.

Giles didn’t have an answer.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Xander let out a hard grunt as he was slammed into a concrete pillar, the impact driving the air from his lungs. A hard foot slammed into his back, driving his head into the concrete one more time. Great, bloodsuckers with strategy.

Pushing off the pillar, Xander spun and squared his stance, hazel eyes darting from vamp to vamp. They moved with surprising teamwork, not in unison or even synchronized but clearly able to stay out of each other's way despite being a dozen strong. He could tell they were wary, some even scared, but they weren't going to break unless things looked really bad. Yeah, he thought with a wince, blood running down his forehead, definitely Blood Knights.

"Looks like you guys want me to get serious!" he yelled out, raising one fist in front of his face. His voice was hoarse, his breathing ragged, but he forced a grin on his face even still. Gotta bullshit with the best of them.

He felt the energy in his gut spike with his scream, the heat responding to his emotions like it always did. He drew on it, imagining it surrounding his fist and just like that, red energy began to bubble around his hand, pale and flickering like semi-translucent oil suspended in the air.

"I honestly didn't feel like doing this," he half-bluffed, staring out at his attackers past the crackling energy. Shit.

He wasn't the best at using his Demonic Power, he knew that well enough and Sam only confirmed that for him. His Evil Piece was a Pawn, apparently, and his brand of Devil were just meant for hitting stuff. Apparently, magic and easy energy control was meant more for Queen Pieces and Bishop Pieces. He didn't really have the control to do shit like this efficiently, at least not right now, and on top of that, it really only worked best for him when he was pissed off.

Funny enough, being pissed off also didn't lend well to much control.

To make things worse, he was irritated, sure, but not pissed off yet. Curse my amazing self-control. Although, with the way this fight was going, he had a feeling that wouldn't last long.

A vampire rushed at him, spiked brass knuckles glinting as he roared, his fangs bared in a feral snarl. The leech covered half a dozen meters in a half second, moving with inhuman speed. Xander rushed forward to meet him, his own roar tearing from his throat.

The vampire swung, his fist a blur of motion.

Xander swung, pouring every ounce of his strength and his power into the blow.

Fists met chests with a sickening crunch.

Xander stumbled back, grunting in pain as he gained several new wounds to add to his growing list, the spikes tearing into his flesh. The vampire was thrown back into the air with a flare of red, a ragged hole over his chest where his heart was and a look of surprise on his monstrous face.

Before he could even hit the ground, his body dusted, crumbling to ash in mid-air.

The parking lot was dead silent for a few seconds, Xander and the others staring shocked at the space where the vampire had been just moments before.

What the- Xander blinked, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. Okay, that was… wow. He'd never done anything like that before, never even knew he could do anything like that. I feel like that a lot.

Clenching his fist again, he raised it up once more, the red energy still crackling around it like a live wire. "Who wants some?" he called out, his voice stronger now, more confident. Please buy it. Please buy it. I've only got one of those left in the tank.

Three hesitated. Xander could see it, the ones he had hurt before, sent flying with his inhuman strength. Come on, come on, he thought, his eyes locked on theirs. Just run.

His smile grew as that turned to four, their resolve crumbling under his gaze.

Then five.

A second passed, and all five ran for it, their forms blurring as they fled into the night.

Leaving… four.

Shit.


– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Darla strolled toward Angel and Buffy with her hands clasped behind her back, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She drawled, “Do you know what the saddest thing in the world is?”

Buffy shrugged. “Bad hair on top of that outfit?”

“To love someone who used to love you.” She glared at Buffy.

Buffy glanced in surprise at Angel. “You guys were … involved?"

“For several generations.” Darla clearly enjoyed telling Buffy all this.

Buffy tried to regroup. She remembered Darla now. 

She was the one who had lured Xander’s friend Jesse to the cemetery on Buffy’s first night in Sunnydale. She led Jesse to his death. “Well, when you’ve been around since Columbus, you’re bound to pile up a few exes. You are older than him, right?” She leaned forward, sneering at Darla. “Just between us girls, you’re looking a little worn around the eyes.”

Darla bared her fangs in an evil smile. “I made him,” she said triumphantly, as if she knew this would be even harder for Buffy to hear. “And there was a time when we shared everything.” She focused her full attention on Angel. “Wasn’t there, Angelus?”

Angel said nothing. Darla’s smile faded. “You had a chance to come home. To rule with me in the Master’s court for a thousand years. But you threw that away because of her.” She said in disbelief, “You love someone who hates us.”

Buffy tried to hide her surprise. She glanced at Angel, who looked worriedly back at her. 

“You’re sick,” Darla told Angel. “And you’ll always be sick, and you’ll always remember what it was like to watch her die.” She spoke in a singsong tone very like the Master’s.

She turned to Buffy, saying, “You don’t think I came alone, do you?”

Buffy replied, “I know I didn’t.” With a flash of movement, she stomped on the crossbow, sending it flying up into her hands.

Darla chuckled. “Scary,” she admitted. From behind her back, she brought forward two enormous revolvers—.357s—and pointed them directly at her.

“Scarier,” she said, and began firing with both hands.

Buffy dove under the pool table. Angel took a bullet to the shoulder and slammed into the wall with the crossbow bolt stuck into it. With a grunt of pain, he slid to the floor.

“Angel!” Buffy cried.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Darla said easily. “Bullets can’t kill vampires. They can hurt them like hell, but—”

She fired at Buffy again.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

In the warehouse alley, Willow and Giles froze.

“Did you just hear—?"

Gunshots. They both heard them.

They ran toward the Bronze.


– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Buffy crouched behind the pool table, listening to Darla rant as she closed in. “So many body parts, so few bullets. Let’s begin with the kneecaps. No fun dancing without them…”

Bullets hailed in Buffy’s direction. Buffy summoned her courage, popped up, and got off a crossbow shot. It slammed into Darla’s chest, and Darla doubled forward. For a moment, Buffy thought she was home free. She spared a glance in Angel’s direction. He was pulling himself up by holding on to the crossbow bolt in the wall.

Then Darla straightened back up. She said, “Close. But no heart.”

She pulled the bolt out of her chest and dropped it onto the floor.

Willow and Gules entered the Bronze through the broken window on the second floor and made their way to the balcony. They looked in horror at the destruction below.

Giles whispered, “We must find a way to distract her.” He saw at the same time that Buffy did that Buffy was out of bolts. “Fast!”

Willow shouted frantically, “Buffy, it wasn’t Angel who attacked your mom. It was Darla!”

Darla whirled in their direction, raining bullets on them. They ducked.

On the main floor of the Bronze, Angel, breathing hard through the pain, pulled the crossbow bolt out of the wall.

Darla jumped and landed with both feet on the pool table. Buffy rose and yanked the table toward her, knocking Darla off balance. Darla slammed onto her back as Buffy now pushed the table with all her might. Darla’s guns blazed as the table flew backward; she tracked Buffy’s course as Buffy ran to the Bronze’s coffee counter and threw herself over it. The glass case shattered above her.

Giles spied a light board nearby. He scrambled over and started pounding and punching the buttons. Spot lights flashed on, and then a pulsating strobe.

For a moment, the vampire named Darla was disoriented, and Giles let out a mental cheer. 

But then she advanced on Buffy again, her movements nightmarishly jerky in the strobe’s relentless flash. She fired at Buffy, who was huddled behind the bar. Upside-down glassware exploded like crystalline land mines as Buffy dodged the bullets.

“Come on, Buffy,” Darla laughed like a witch. “Take it like a man.”

Darla fired again, grinning, delighted, as if victory was almost hers. And then, in the wild strobe light, Giles saw Angel behind her, a crossbow bolt in his hand. He rose without warning and plunged the arrow into Darla’s back.

Giles shut off the strobe. All that remained was moonlight and silence.

Darla staggered. The guns clattered to the floor. She turned.

“Angel?” she murmured in disbelief.

She grabbed onto him for a moment, but only a moment. Angel watched as she collapsed, then exploded into a scream and dust.

His sire. His lover. 

She had made him, but someone had made her into a demon first. And no one had given her back her soul. And, in the old days, how they had raged together. It was she who had given him the Gypsy girl, never dreaming it would mean the end of them, or that it would bring them to this night when he would destroy her forever.

Buffy, the beautiful and courageous human who loved him, rose from behind the counter and looked at Angel with huge eyes. He didn’t know what to say to her. He wasn’t sure he could speak. 

With the death of Darla, he had crossed many lines. 

He had gone too far. And he could never go back.

Slowly, Angel turned and walked away.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –


The last four remaining vamps were coming at him from all sides now, a whirlwind of leather and fangs and chains. He dodged and weaved, his enhanced speed giving him an edge, but there were still too many of them and he was getting real tired.

Gotta thin the herd, he thought, his eyes darting around the parking lot, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. Come on, come on, there's gotta be something...

There! A broken piece of wood, probably a chunk of a pallet or something, lying next to a dumpster. Xander darted for it, his fingers closing around the rough edge just as a chain wrapped around his ankle, yanking him off balance. The metal links bit into his skin, the sudden superhuman jerk sending a bolt of pain shooting up his leg.

He hit the ground hard, the air whooshing out of his lungs as he landed on his back, the asphalt scraping against his already battered body. The vamp with the chain grinned down at him, all fangs and yellow eyes, as it pulled the chain taut, dragging him towards it. Stupid fucking chains, Xander thought, his teeth gritting as he felt himself being pulled across the rough ground. What is this, a biker gang or a BDSM club?

Xander gritted his teeth, his fingers tightening around the chunk of wood. Not today, fang-face.

With a snarl of his own, he jackknifed up, the wood stabbing into the vamp's chest, shattering in half as it sunk in. The vampire let out a surprised gurgle, its eyes going wide, before it exploded into dust, the chain falling slack as its body crumbled. One down, three to go, Xander thought, a grim smile tugging at his lips as he snatched up the length of chain from the ground as he leapt to his feet properly.

But he didn't even have a second to catch his breath as two more vamps were on him in an instant, their fists and chains swinging in a flurry of motion. Xander dodged and weaved, using his superior speed to avoid the worst of the blows, but he couldn't evade them all. A fist caught him in the back, another in the jaw. The second sent him reeling, his head snapping back from the force of the blow.

Focus, Harris! he scolded himself, spitting out a mouthful of blood, the coppery taste coating his tongue. 

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the chain in his hand lashing out, the metal links wrapping around a vampire's ankle. Xander pulled, yanking the creature off balance and sending it crashing to the ground, its skull cracking against the asphalt with a sickening thud.

As he tugged on it, a fist caught him in the ribs, the same vampire landing another in the jaw, his jaw rattling as he felt his lip split from the spiked brass knuckles. Fuck me running, Xander thought, his vision blurring for a moment as he shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Is that all you got?" he taunted, voice hoarse as he wiped blood from his lip, his tongue probing the inside of his cheek where he'd bitten it. Keep them angry, keep them stupid. Angry means mistakes, and mistakes mean openings.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the same vampire swinging at him, its fist aimed right at his head. Xander ducked, feeling the rush of air as the leech's right hook went wild, sailing harmlessly over his head. He surged forward, his glowing red knife-hand driving through the creature's unprotected chest, the bones of its ribs shattering under the force of the blow.

The vampire's eyes went wide as he twisted it, and then it exploded into a cloud of dust, the glowing ash of its undead body scattering on the night breeze. Last one in the tank, Xander thought, his breathing ragged as he felt the energy drain from his body, the red glow fading from his hand.

Xander spun around as a hiss came from behind him, a scream spilling from his mouth as a heavy bat slammed into the back of his elbow. A sharp, splintering pain shot through him, and he knew without having to check that his arm was broken.

Gritting his teeth, the teenager slammed his fist into the cackling vampire's jaw with a sound like muffled ceramic shattering, the leech’s head snapping to the side from the force of the blow. The vamp staggered but didn't go down, its jaw hanging loose, the bone clearly broken. He charged forward, his good arm driving a fist into the vampire's face. 

It gurgled with rage, and lunged again, its movements frenzied and wild. Xander sidestepped, grabbing the vampire's arm and using his momentum to hurl him over his shoulder, the creature's body slamming into the ground with a heavy thud. The vampire crashed into the ground and his foot slammed down on its neck before it could move, its neck splitting in half from the force a full second before it dusted, its body crumbling to ash under his boot.

I could do this all night, he thought, but the strain was starting to show, his body screaming at him to stop, to rest, his injured arm hanging uselessly by his side. His movements were slower, heavier, as fatigue began to gnaw at his muscles, even his good limbs feeling like lead weights. Even still, something inside him shook, his drained energy rustling erratically like a handful of pop rocks inside the last mouthful of a coke can. Now where's the last one? He scanned the parking lot, his eyes searching for any sign of movement, any hint of where the final vampire might be hiding.

Xander turned just as a series of sharp pains exploded in his side, the sensation like white-hot knives being driven into his flesh. He let out a raw gasp, his eyes widening in shock as he looked down to see a knife buried deep in his ribs, the blade glinting in the harsh light of the parking lot lamps.

"Gotcha," hissed the vampire who had managed to sneak up on him, a malicious grin splitting his face, his fangs gleaming in the darkness.

With a roar, Xander launched himself at the grinning vamp, tackling it to the ground, his hand smashing into its face as they struggled. They rolled across the asphalt, Xander headbutting it until it stopped struggling. Straddling the leech from behind, he wrapped his good arm around the creature's neck and twisted, the sickening crack of breaking bone echoing loud and powerfully. With a roar, he tugged harder and with a sound like tearing leather, the head came loose, the vampire's body instantly crumbling to dust beneath him.

He had a moment to see the leech's terrified face before it exploded all over him, a pile of dust and ash that smelled like the grave, like death and decay.

Xander stumbled back, panting, the large serrated knife still jutting from his side, the blade buried deep in his flesh. Blood seeped between his fingers as he pressed his good hand against the multiple wounds, his head spinning, his vision blurring at the edges. Not like this, he thought, his legs giving out beneath him as he fell back to the ground, the knife falling free, clattering to the asphalt beside him. Shit… Willow… Buffy… Sam…


– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

In the dead of night, Xander's unconscious body began to move slowly across the ash-covered parking lot towards the front of the hospital, his leg elevated as if being dragged by some unseen specter.