Title: You Forgot to Mention Hell, Horatio (17/20)
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Previous parts at: www.angelfire.com/de/theparlor/buffy.html

Huge thanks to Marius and Carrie!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	In the end, the mobile Slayerettes were
forced to haul Giles, Cordelia and Angel up using
harnesses hastily fashioned out of the fire hoses.  
The constant jarring of his injured arm made the
entire process excruciating for the reserved
Watcher.   Cordelia fared little better, not with
the three broken ribs she had suffered from her
earlier impact with the tunnel wall. 

	For Angel, however, it was another
matter.   At some point during their journey down
the tunnel, the vampire mercifully slipped into
unconsciousness.   Even the trip up through the
manhole was not enough to wake him.

	Once topside, their most immediate
concern was getting the hell away from the scene
of the crime.   Although the whole ordeal had
scarcely lasted seventy minutes, time was still of
the essence.    By that point, the police had surely
discovered that the bomb threat Xander placed
with 911 was a hoax -- a simple distraction to
keep the law from interfering while the
Slayerettes dealt with the now-defunct Army of
Legion.

	“Oz?” Adam called softly.   “Are you up
to handling transportation?” 

	“On it,” Oz replied.  “Xander, where is
the key for the rental?” 

	“Huh?  Oh...,” the teenager rasped.  They
had barely finished bringing Angel up from the
tunnel before Xander collapsed to the ground
next to his girlfriend.   Now, he found himself
struggling to remember a minute detail from what
seemed like a hundred years ago.  
“Back...driver’s side...door...is open.  
Key...under mat.”   

	Oz acknowledged Xander’s words with a
simple nod of his head, leaving Adam to watch as
the werewolf left on his appointed task.   Once he
was out of sight, the Immortal turned to other,
more critical issues.	

	The halting way Xander spoke left Adam
frowning with concern.    Truthfully, of all the
noticable injuries, the teenager’s was the one that
most worried him.    Broken bones, scrapes, and
bruises  -- those were all problems the Immortal
could handle, but smoke inhalation, well, that was
a bit trickier.   He would have to keep a close eye
on the boy.   

	But first thing was first.   If they wanted
to get moving quickly, Giles’ shoulder needed to
be attended.   His first choice for an assistant was
naturally Willow.   The witch, however, had her
mind on other things -- namely Angel.   At the
moment, she was sitting indian-style with the
vampire’s head in her lap.   She was whispering
softly to Angel while gently running her fingers
through his dark hair.

	“Xander?” Adam spoke quietly.

	“Yeah?”

	“I need your help here,” the Immortal
requested.

	Rather than actually making the effort to
stand, Xander rose to his knees and shuffled over
the few feet necessary to reach the librarian’s
side.   There was something surreal about the
way the Watcher still maintained a white-knuckle
grip on the large metal cross with his good hand.
Wisely, neither Xander nor Adam made any
comment about it, though.

	“What are...we doing?” Xander
questioned.

	“We need to put his arm back in the
socket,” the Immortal explained to the blanching
teenager.

	“I just want...to say...for the record: 
Euww!”  Xander replied, with a noticable
grimace.	

	“It will be easier on your throat if you
don’t talk so much,” Adam suggested, using a
gentle tone to soften the abruptness of his words.   

	The way the teenager gave in without an
argument spoke volumes of just how serious his
condition was.   Nevertheless, they had work to
do.   Spreading his hands in a classic ‘what now’
position, Xander awaited further instructions. 
With the teenager ready to assist, Adam
explained what was about to happen.

	“Get on the other side and brace him.  
Giles, I don’t think I need to tell you...,” the
Immortal warned the librarian.

	“Just bloody get it over with,” the
Watcher snapped, his face contorted with pain.

	“All right.   On three, then.”   Adam and
Xander took their places while Giles took a few
deep, cleansing breaths to prepare himself.  
“One...two...and three!”

	Very carefully, the Immortal rotated the
Watcher’s arm, maneovering it until it slid back
into its proper position.   Despite Adam’s attempt
to be gentle, Giles screamed out in utter agony.  
His eyes rolled up, but sadly, the librarian did not
pass out completely.   With the joint back in its
socket, the pain decreased somewhat, but
nevertheless, it continued to throb mercilessly.

	Adam was looking around for something
to use as a temporary sling when Oz drove up in
the rental car.   After a cursory glance at his
friends, the werewolf took off again, this time to
fetch the other pump truck.   Their original plan
called for leaving the water-filled truck behind,
just in case.    That way, if the hot-spots in the
fire below flared up into something more serious,
the firefighters would have a little something
extra with which to work.

	Adam was just mentally reviewing which
person should ride in which vehicle when a
horrified cry made all of the Slayerette’s heads
turn to look.   

	The tormented sound had come from
Willow.   She was still in the same position she’d
been in the last time Adam glanced at her, but the
tender expression of concern that had graced her
face only moments ago had vanished.   In its
place was a ghastly look of sheer dread.	

	With an aching slowness, Willow raised
the hand she was using to lovingly stroke Angel’s
face.   The young witch’s expressive emerald eyes
were pointedly focused on only one thing -- the
palm of her own hand.   

	Suddenly, without so much as a word,
Willow drew her fingers together, rubbing her
thumb over the tips of the other four digets as if
testing something.    Whatever it was, it caused
all of the colour to rapidly drain away from the
redhead’s face.

	“Giles!” Willow cried out in panic.

	Like the other Slayerettes and their
Immortal allies, the Watcher found himself
squinting in attempt to see what exactly it was
that left Willow so obviously disturbed.   The
witch must have felt their eyes on her, for she
spread her fingers wide apart, turning her wrist to
expose the inside of her hand to her friends.

	Willow’s palm was obviously covered
with something.   Judging by the white-ish/grey
flakes, not to mention the black smudges on the
tips of her fingers, Adam’s first thought was that
Willow must have brushed up against some ashen
residue of the underground fire.   

	That, however, he realized was unlikely.  
Like all of them, Willow had removed her mask,
hat and gloves once she made it back out of the
tunnels.   Where then, he wondered, had the
redheaded teenager brushed up against any ashes?  
What exactly had she touched?

	That was when realization struck – not
only the Immortal but the Watcher as well.  The
gazes of both men automatically dropped directly
to the vampire cradled in the witch’s lap.  The
figure there was almost unrecognizable as their
friend and ally.

	It seemed that Eleni’s mistreatment of
Angel was not over yet.   Without a heartbeat to
push it through his veins, the vampire’s blood
was slowly leaking away.   Like water draining
out of a sponge, the loss of the fluid that
sustained him left Angel a shell of the figure he
had been only the day before.

	Normally pale, the vampire’s pallor had
gone an unnerving shade of grey.   Angel
appeared emaciated, his skin drawn tautly against
the underlying bone.   Most unsettling of all was
the way that the way the top layer of the
vampire’s skin was visibly flaking away.  In some
respect, it was similar to a human’s skin peeling
off after a bad sunburn, only much, *much*
worse.

	“Dear God in Heaven,” Giles gasped.  His
hushed, horrified tone was enough to trigger a
panicked response from Willow.  

	“Angel?   Angel?  Please wake up,” the
teenager begged.   The sound of the heavy truck
pulling up drowned out the rest of Willow’s
words, but the pleading expression on her
suddenly tear-streaked face said it all.   By the
time Oz cut the engine, the redhead was beyond
speaking.   Her head was bowed forward, her
hands hovering over Angel’s face for fear of
damaging his skin even further.

	“What’s going on?”  the werewolf
questioned as he stepped down from the open
driver’s side door.   One look at the stricken
expressions on his friends’ faces was enough to
stay any further inquiries.   

	“I’ve heard – or rather read – about this
before,” Giles offered in a reverent whisper. 
“He’s bleeding out…slowly.”   What the Watcher
did not need to add was that Angel’s condition
was ‘killing’ him.  Unlike a quick stake through
the heart, though, the vampire’s impending
disintegration into ash was happening gradually.

	“What can we…is there anything we can
do?” Oz asked.

	“Short of replacing the blood he’s lost?”
Giles asked rhetorically before shaking his head. 
“No, nothing comes to mind.”

	“So, let’s just get some blood and feed
him,” Cordelia suggested with her usual measure
of common sense.

	“It’s not that simple,” the librarian
insisted.   “Angel is deteriorating too rapidly to
reach either his apartment or the butchers.   That
means that the only blood source close enough to
help him is, unfortunately… well…*us*.”

  	Apparently, some part of Willow was still
there – still listening to the conversation around
her.   Even before Giles finished speaking, the
young witch was reaching up to undo the
fastenings on her collar.   Her actions did not go
unnoticed, though.

	“Willow!  N…aarrgghh!”  Giles grimaced
after an abortive attempt to stop her.   Cradling
his injured shoulder with his good arm, 
the Watcher accepted the fact that there was
nothing he could physically do to prevent what
the witch was planning.   Instead, he did the only
thing he could, use his words to persuade her.  
“You mustn’t!   If you allow him to feed from
you, he’ll most likely kill you!”

	“No,” Willow emphatically denied.  
“Angel wouldn’t hurt me.” 

	“That could be,” Giles placated, managing
to keep his doubts of the teenager’s belief to
himself.   Recent memories of Angelus’
unexpected -- and tragic -- return lurked too
close to the surface of the librarian’s thoughts. 
“Even if that were true, the threat to you
wouldn’t come from Angel, but rather the
*demon* that resides within him.” 

	“But Angel’s got the demon under
control…,” the witch interrupted.

	“In some circumstances, yes,” the
Watcher conceded.  “But the demon’s very
existence is at stake, and Angel may very well be
too weak…” 

	“He won’t hurt me,” Willow stated flatly,
her absolute faith in her friend shining brightly in
her emerald eyes.  By that point she had managed
to undo the top buttons of her coat.   
 
	“Why take the chance?” 

	The unexpected sound of Adam’s rich
voice startled all of Slayerettes.   Like Willow,
the Immortal had been surreptitiously
unbuttoning his jacket.   Shifting to his knees,
Adam shrugged his coat off of his shoulders and
allowed it to fall to the ground.   Reaching for the
sword that sat abandoned at his side, the
Immortal grabbed it by the hilt before standing up
completely.

	“Wha…what are you doing?”  Willow
asked, her emotions overriding her normally
powerful intellect.  

	“With luck?”  Adam countered as he
closed the distance between himself and the prone
vampire.  “Saving him.”

	That said, the Immortal skillfully brought
up his sword.   With great precision, he lined up
the tip of the blade with the very bottom-most
edge of his right palm.   Taking a deep, fortifying
breath, Adam pressed down on the hilt, forcing
the razor-sharp edge to cut deeply into the tender
skin of his inner-wrist. 

	“Damn it!” the Immortal hissed at his
self-inflicted pain.   Within seconds, blood was
freely spurting from the tangled web of severed
veins that rested under the surface of the broken
skin.   Without removing his eyes from his newly
opened wound, Adam barked an order to Willow. 
“Get his mouth open.”

	The redhead jumped at the Immortal’s
snappish command.   She hurried to comply with
Adam’s demand, her hands only momentarily
faltering when she remembered the condition of
the vampire’s skin.   After a split-second of
indecision, Willow chose what she believed to be
the lesser of two evils.   Once she pried Angel’s
jaw apart, the witch saw the Immortal fall to his
knees, this time holding his dripping arm directly
over Angel’s open mouth.   

	All of the Slayerettes watched the scene
unfold before them in rapt fascination.  It was
reminiscent of a car crash -- they didn’t
necessarily want to look, but nevertheless, they
felt compelled to do so.  Even Oz, who normally
took the horrific events around him with casual
aplomb, looked shaken by the Immortal’s suicidal
action.   

	It was grusome, really.   There was so
much blood on Angel’s face, they had a difficult
time believing that any of the life-saving
substance was actually making it *into* the
vampire’s mouth.   The assumption was only
bolstered by the fact that Angel was still
non-responsive, lost in the unconsciousness that
had enveloped him since their escape from the
underground.

	Then, after what felt like an eternity,
Angel’s throat spontaneously contracted.   It was
as if a flood gate had broken.  One sip of blood
was enough to pull the demon residing inside
their friend back from its hibernation.   Although
the mere presence of the Immortal kept the
demon from emerging in Angel’s ‘game face’,
there was no doubt that it was in control of the
vampire’s body and growing stronger with each
passing second.

	The demon’s benefactor, however, was
not faring nearly as well.   Given his Immortal
abilities, Adam had been forced to make the cuts
extremely deep, lest his body heal itself before
Angel could be pulled back from the edge of
‘death’.   Even as the vampire was regaining
some of his strength, the Immortal was losing his
own.

	With his blood draining away, Adam’s
skin turned a ghostly shade of white.   His skin
quickly grew clammy, a tell-tale sign of shock
from the massive trauma he had inflicted upon
himself.  In less than three minutes from the time
he made the wound, Adam’s knees gave out
completely.

	To everyone’s surprise, Angel leaned
forward to follow as Adam’s arm dropped away
from the vampire’s waiting mouth.  Using his
rapidly returning supernatural strength, Angel
reached out and brought the Immortal’s arm back
to his lips.   

	Since he was denied the ability to slip into
his game face -- and subsquently his long, fanged
incisors -- the vampire was forced to simple
suckle at the the opened wound.   Never once did
he notice the disgusted grimaces on his friends’
faces at the smacking sounds that were a
by-product of his unorthodox method of feeding.

	But feed he did, up until the point where 
the Immortal’s heartbeat slowed, and then finally
stopped altogether.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Once the blood ceased to flow through
Adam’s veins, the vampire lost interest in the
vessel that had been his salvation.   He tossed
away the arm in his hands like a human would an
unwanted chicken bone after a large dinner.

	“A...Angel?”  Willow gasped, her eyes
wide at the display she had just witnessed.  

	At the call of his name, the vampire
cocked his head in the witch’s direction.   He
spent a long, tension-filled moment looking
directly at Willow.   Then, as if changing his
mind, the dark head turned away with a deep
growl.

	Startled by the sound, the young witch’s
eyes flew towards Giles.   The Watcher shook his
head slightly, signaling that while it may have
been Angel’s body lethargically resting on the
ground, the demon that resided within it was
obviously in control.

	“H..how is Dr. P..Pierson?” the Watcher
queried, ignoring the need for reassurance he saw
in Willow’s expression.   

	Fighting down her own panic, the
teenager cautiously reached two fingers out in the
direction of the Immortal’s neck.   Willow took
care not to rile the motionless vampire, especially
not the way he was hovering over Adam’s body
like a lion keeping watch over a recent kill.   

	Although Angel growled at her again, he
reluctantly allowed her to proceed with her
intention.   Releasing a breath she was unaware
she’d been holding, Willow’s hand completed its
trek toward Adam’s neck.  After a moment or
two of feeling around for a pulse, Willow shook
her head negatively.   

	“I...I thought he...couldn’t die,” Xander
whispered roughly.

	“It’s not a matter of dying so much as...,”
Giles began.

	“Look!” Oz interrupted whatever the
Watcher had been about to say.   All of their
eyes, including the rich browns of the vampire,
followed to the spot that the werewolf indicated
with a pointed finger.

	The place that Oz found so interesting
was Adam’s sliced-opened wrist.   For
underneath the thin, glistening layer of blood,
hundreds of tiny, electrified threads of blue were
suddenly emerging.   Like some kind of mystical
thread, each strand twined and curled,
regenerating skin and knitting together the edges
of the wound.   Within seconds the large gash
that had ended the life of Adam Pierson had
completely disappeared, leaving behind a whole
and healthy layer of flesh.  In fact, if it hadn’t
have been for the thin layer of blood that
remained from the earlier wound, it would have
been impossible to tell that the area was even
injured in the first place.

	Each and every one of the assembled
humans looked on in slack-jawed astonishment.  
After all, it was one thing to intellectually grasp
the concept of immortality.   Seeing it in action
was something completely different.  Unnerved
and at a loss, the group sat somewhat anxiously
waiting to see what was going to happen next.

	Seconds or minutes -- none of the
Slayerettes would ever be able to recall just how
long they had been forced to wait.   But not one
of the Slayerettes had the slightest idea what they
were, in fact, waiting *for*.    It was not long,
however, before their attention shifted, though,
because it was at that point that Angel began
moving again.

	He did not go far, but after his long
period of stillness, the way Angel lifted his head
and began to peer from Slayerette to Slayerette
was definitely unnerving.  It left all of the mortals
with the distinct impression that the vampire was
looking for his next meal.   His face contorted,
not changing into his demon visage, but into that
of a pain-filled wince as he internally struggled
for control over his baser nature.

	Then Angel’s line of sight shifted, drifting
out into the dimly lit street beyond them.   The
vampire cocked his head, as if he were sensing
something off in the distance.  Before he could
identify it, however, Angel’s hands flew to his
head in a useless attempt to ward off the pain that
suddenly hit him.   

	The source of the pain was soon to
become abundantly clear to the rest of the
Slayerettes.

	It happened suddenly to say the least. 
One second, Adam Pierson was just another
corpse -- dead from massive blood loss.   In the
span of a heartbeat, the Immortal’s eyes
dramatically flew open.   With a huge, gasping
breath, Adam sat up, drawing much needed air
into his empty, oxygen-starved lungs.

	The rest of the group remained frozen in
place, in shock over the miracle they had just
witnessed.   Their surprise stemmed not so much
from seeing a body suddenly reanimate -- after
all, they lived in Sunnydale, the vampire-haven of
the West Coast.   No, what was so unusual was
watching a dead body actually come back to
*life*.
	
	“I hate that part,” Adam mumbled
more to himself than to anyone else.   

	No matter how it appeared, reviving after
a death was both physically and emotionally
draining to even the most resilient of Immortals.  
It was always a struggle to put the pieces
together -- to remember what the cause of death
had been this time, and more importantly, to
make sure that whatever had caused the last
death was not still lying in wait.

	It only took a single glance at the stunned
faces before him for Adam to accomplish the
former.   Sadly, he never got the opportunity to
attempt the latter.

	Once the feral version of Angel got over
the surprise of witnessing Adam coming back to
life, instinct quickly took over.   Reaching
forward with a bone crushing grip, the vampire
grabbed a hold of Adam’s head and chest from
behind.   Too weak and disoriented to react,
Angel had Adam pinned to the ground within the
blink of an eye.  Roaring in satisfaction, the
vampire sprang forward over his newly-acquired
captive.  

	As if sensing the impending danger to the
still-groggy Immortal, Willow shuffled forward
on her knees.   She had no idea why her friend
was attacking Adam, especially after the
Immortal so graciously allowed the vampire to
feed from him.   Whatever the reason, though, the
young redhead hoped that she might be able to
‘get through’ to the Angel she knew and called
her friend.

	The vampire, however, was decidedly
unreceptive to Willow’s attempted intrusion. 
Shifting his hold to keep the Immortal immobile,
Angel freed one of his hands, swiftly raising it
against his closest friend in the world.   With all
the precision of a striking cobra, he reached out
and shoved Willow away from both himself and
his prey.

	Worried about his ex-girlfriend, Oz ran
forward, determined to pull her away from
possible danger.   It was clear to the werewolf
that, despite his recent feeding, Angel was clearly
not yet himself.   Oz’s suspicions were confirmed
moments later when the vampire once again
lashed out, not only shoving the teenager away
from himself, but from Willow as well.

	Staring menacingly at the pair sprawled
on the ground, the vampire snarled not only at
them, but at the rest of the Slayerettes as well.
Somewhere deep within, the werewolf part of Oz
recognized the warning in Angel’s growl -- one
predator to another.   Oz instinctively lowered his
eyes, clearly trying *not* to antagonize the
vampire by looking directly at him.   Taking care
not to make any sudden movements, the
werewolf backed slowly away, pulling Willow
along with him as he went.

	For his part, Angel never took his eyes off
the retreating pair, even as the Immortal beneath
him continued to struggle.   Adam’s fidgeting was
useless, however.    The vampire had him trapped
like a fly caught in the center of a spider’s web.
Sensing that fact, Angel finally leaned down and
savagely attacked Adam’s long, exposed throat.

	Like all Immortals, Adam’s neck was the
most vulnerable place on his body.   Sever the
head and the Immortal would die.   Even smaller
wounds -- bruising, strangulation -- to the area
were slower to heal than other places on the
body.   Damage to any other part of an
Immortal’s body would completely heal, leaving
the area as pristine as before it was injured.   But
when it came to the neck of an Immortal, it was a
different story.  Cuts to the area often left behind
deep scars that never completely regenerated.

	Perhaps it was this deep-seated
knowledge that caused Adam’s initial confusion
to be instantaneously replaced by hundreds of
years of survival instinct.   Faced with the
possibility of a death that he would not be able to
revive from, the Immortal tried to defend himself
from the vampire’s assault with all his might.

	It was intense, to say the least, and yet
after Willow’s and Oz’s attempts, none of the
humans dared to enter the fray.   Angel was
growling fiercely, using his superior strength and
leverage to keep Adam immobile.  At the same
time, the Immortal was struggling as best he
could to free himself from the vampire’s clutches.

	To make matters worse, Angel’s inability
to switch to his game face was drawing out the
fight.   Without his fangs to quickly -- and neatly
-- pierce the tender skin of Adam’s throat, the
vampire was left with no choice but to use his flat
front teeth to gnaw, slowly biting through the
uncooperative flesh.    The results were not only
grotesque, but frustratingly painful for both men.

	The sounds of two distinctly different
screams echoed through the stillness of the night
as Angel’s teeth finally bit into Adam’s jugular
vein.   For the vampire, it was a cry of elation as
copious amounts of warm, luscious blood began
flowing into his mouth.   The Immortal, however,
was howling in outrage at this unexpected
violation of his person.

	Both Adam’s screaming and flailing
faltered as time and massive blood loss took their
toll.   If anything, death was coming faster this
time -- probably because his body had not yet had
the time to repair itself completely from the last
attack upon it.   
	
	If the Slayerettes had been disgusted by
the feeding they watched only minutes earlier, the
second one left them filled with abject horror.  
Giles had long since turned away, left praying
that Jenny’s death at Angelus’s hand had been
nothing like this prolonged nightmare.   Cordelia
and Xander chose ignorance over knowledge,
holding desperately on to each other with their
eyes tightly shut.  

	That left Willow and Oz braving it out to
watch the atrocity taking place before them.  
Eventually, even the werewolf’s eyes wandered
away, staring intently off in the direction of the
nearby water truck.   Finally, Willow was the only
one left to bear witness to what transpired next.

	It began as a throaty moan, recapturing all
of the Slayerettes attention as it increased and
intensified.   Without any warning whatsoever,
the vampire brutally shoved the Immortal’s
unresponsive body away, staring at it in horrified
disbelief.   

	“No...No...NO!” Angel protested,
refusing to accept what he had just done.   

	No matter what he wanted to believe, he
could not deny the truth when the proof of his
actions was lying on the ground in front of him. 
Leaning over to clutch the dying Immortal in his
arms, Angel’s vampiric hearing picked up the
weakening sounds of Adam’s heartbeat.  
Rocking the slender form back and forth, Angel
heard the erratic sound gradually slow, and then
completely stop.   

	Had he been thinking clearly, Angel might
have recalled that Adam was an Immortal.   But
he had been through too much that night and,
despite the new blood occupying his veins, Angel
was still too far gone to recognize the reality of
the situation.   All he knew was that, once again,
he had ended the life of another individual, and it
was simply too much for the vampire to bear.  
Throwing back his head, Angel howled his
despair and outrage into the night.

	Of all the spectators, Willow was the only
one brave enough to try and approach the
distraught vampire.   Rising to her knees, the
redhead attempted to shuffle closer to her friend,
trying admirably not to startle him while he was
so obviously distressed.   Whispering his name
softly, the young witch reached out a hand in the
direction of his shoulder.

	Her attempt, however, was foiled when
the vampire all but collapsed sideways, dragging
Adam’s now-dead corpse with him.   Angel’s
eyes were damp with what they all assumed to be
guilt-driven tears.   Calling out his name again,
Willow was surprised when the vampire’s hands
flew up and began pressing tightly against his
temples.

	“Angel, it’s okay,” she tried to reassure
him.   She heard distance footsteps striking the
pavement in the background somewhere behind
her, but she did not bother to turn around,
assuming the cause was one of the other members
of the Scooby gang coming over to help her.  
Focusing all of her attention on Angel, Willow
continued to try and reach the distraught vampire
with her hushed words.     “You didn’t do
anything permanent.   Dr. Pierson... Adam...he’ll
come back.   Just give him a few minutes.”

	“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

	Jolting at the unexpected sound of a new
voice, Willow turned around and found herself
ten feet away from a sword-wielding stranger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	As if of one mind, all of the Slayerettes
turned in the direction of the intruding voice. 
They were all more than a little taken by surprise
at what they found.   

	If they had to guess, most of them would
have said the man standing there was in his early
thirties.  Somehow, his dapper manner of dress --
Brooks Brothers, Cordelia noted with an
approving eye -- seemed to reflect the upper-class
British accent with which he spoke.   He seemed
normal enough, except for the pair of what
looked like Adam’s high-powered binoculars
hanging around his neck.  Well, that and the fact
that he was holding a rather well-polished sword
in his right hand.

	Which also meant that he was probably an
Immortal.   

	Coming to the conclusion at the same
time, both Willow and Giles stole quick glances
at Angel.   The Watcher mumbled something that
sounded like ‘of course’ under his breath as he
noted the vampire’s state of discomfort.   

	At first, Giles had assumed that the
vampire’s renewed state of agitation was caused
by his guilt over feeding off Adam the second
time without the Immortal’s consent.   Only now
did the Watcher realize his mistake.  

	And if Angel’s reaction was not enough
proof, then the sword the stranger was still
holding at the ready was definitely the giveaway.

	“Who...are you?” Xander rasped,
breaking the silence that had settled over the
group.

	“None of your concern, lad,” the stranger
replied in a clipped tone.   A look of curiosity
crossed the Immortal’s face as he continued.   “I
have to admit that I’m left wondering what all
this,” he used his free hand to gesture from the
trucks to the open manhole, “is about.   But then
again, it’s not really my business, now is it?   I’m
just here for *that* one,” he nodded in Adam’s
direction, spitting his last words with great
distaste.

	“That man just helped to save thousands
of lives tonight,” Giles defended, pulling the new
Immortal’s attention away from the pair on the
ground.   

	“I don’t care,” the Immortal sniffed airily.

	“Now see here...”  the Watcher began. 
Before he could continue to protest, however, he
was interrupted by a shaky voice.

	“The...only way...you’re going to get to
him,” Angel said as he struggled to his knees,  “is
by coming through me.”
	
	By speaking aloud, Angel drew the
attention of the new Immortal, thus providing the
direct eye contact he needed.    Once their gazes
met -- both filled with an intense wariness -- it
relieved the discomfort that plagued the vampire.  
Instantly feeling stronger, Angel reached for the
broadsword that lay abandoned at Adam’s side.  
	
	The Immortal, however, seemed to take
Angel’s threat in stride, simply rolling his eyes as
if it were to be expected.   Even the additional
menace of Willow and Oz taking a step closer to
the unmoving man on the ground did not deter
the newcomer from the challenge he had just
issued.  He was a man on a mission, and that
mission was to take the head of the Immortal
known as Adam Pierson.

	“So you know what he is.   I thought as
much after what I saw.  I don’t want to fight
you,” the man stated calmly, although he
grimaced a bit at the sight of Angel.   

	The Immortal’s reaction was not so
surprising, given that the vampire’s face was still
covered in blood from his earlier, excessively
messy feeding.   Even without the ability to
morph into his vampire visage, Angel’s current
appearance still left him looking like some
creature straight out of Hell.   Having noted the
Immortal’s reaction, Angel decided to use the
man’s discomfort to his advantage.
	
	“And I don’t really want to fight you...”
the vampire trailed off, but then quickly
continued as if he had just suddenly changed his
mind.  “No, I take that back.   That one didn’t put
up much of a fight.   You might be more
challenging.”

	“You’re not even one of us!” the
Immortal gasped.   But Angel was already
bringing his borrowed sword into an offensive
position.

	“Maybe that should tell you something,”
the vampire warned.  “After all, he’s dead -- well,
for the moment, anyway,” Angel smirked in
Adam’s direction, “and I’m still standing.”

	“Fine,” the Immortal countered.  “If I
have to go through you to get to him, so be it!”

	With that, the newcomer began the first
volley.  The sounds of metal clanging against
metal rang loudly through the air as the pair
parried and countered each other’s moves.   They
were testing each other, getting a feel for what
level of skill they were up against. 

	Sadly, between the two, it was Angel who
came up short.

	It was a fact the vampire had known even
before he challenged the stranger.   Angel’s
knowledge of swordplay was severely limited,
especially when compared to that of Immortals,
who lived and died by their swords.   Immortals
fought with heavy blades, utilizing the dozens --
sometimes hundreds -- of different techniques
that they practiced constantly.  It was a far cry
from the brief ‘what a wealthy, Irish, second son
should know about dueling’ lessons Angel had
received as a lad.

	He had been able to hold his own against
Buffy all those months ago, but then again, her
skills were on par with his own.   Somehow
Angel doubted she would fair any better in this
fight than he was.

	And he was losing badly.

	Even if he had started the fight in full
health, odds were that Angel’s vampiric speed,
strength and endurance would have simply
prolonged the fight.   As it was, Angel was being
pushed back, happily giving up ground as long as
he drew the newcomer away from Adam’s
still-unanimated body.   After all, buying Pierson
the time to recover was the vampire’s goal in this
fight, even at the cost of Angel’s own existence.

	A life for a life -- the ultimate atonement.

	It was difficult to say which of the
combatants was more surprised when an
arrowhead suddenly emerged from the front of
the newcomer’s coat.   The Immortal instantly
fumbled his weapon, scurrying backwards out of
reach from Angel's sword.   Hissing in pain, the
man peered down to find a crossbow bolt deeply
lodged in his right shoulder.

	Stunned, Angel glanced over and saw the
crossbow-wielding Oz standing at Giles’ side.  
While the teen may have been the one to fire the
bolt, it was apparent that the command to do so
came directly from the Watcher.   Their gazes
remained impassive as they faced down the
furious Immortal.

	“You have no right to interfere!” the
stranger growled.   His protest was immediately
followed by a hiss of pain as he grasped the
pointed end of the arrow, pulling the bolt the rest
of the way through his shoulder.

	“We have every right,” Giles snapped. 
“Or have you forgotten that he isn’t one of your
kind?   Your one-against-one rule doesn’t apply
here.”

	“Well,” the Immortal countered, his tone
changing to one of smugness.  “It would appear
that it will soon be a moot point.” 

	And it would.   For on the ground nearby,
Adam Pierson was beginning to stir.
	
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	As the saying goes, Adam’s awakening
was ‘deja vu all over again’.   A gasping breath,
the body convulsing with a single, sudden spasm,
the expression that spoke volumes of confusion --
all of those gathered had seen it before.   It did
not, however, prevent the tension in the air from
rising another notch...or ten.

	Adam sensed the presence of another
nearby Immortal from his first moment of
consciousness.  Acting purely on instinct, his
frightened hazel eyes flew about wildly as they
tried to determine the source of the ‘buzz’
echoing in his head.   The sight of the Slayerettes
brought back the memories of where he was and
what he was doing there, but it was not until his
eyes met Angel’s tortured browns that he recalled
just *how* he had died.   But there would be
time for recriminations and remorsefulness later.
	
	Or so he hoped.

	First, however, there was a new problem
that needed addressing.

	“Well, well, well,” Adam drawled.  “Look
what the Hellmouth dragged in.”

	“Pierson.”  The other Immortal all but
spat out the name while keeping a wary eye on
Angel.   But, like the other Slayerettes, the
vampire was motionless, waiting to see how the
scene played out before interfering any further.

	“Steven Keane,” Adam acknowledged,
finally putting a name to the stranger.

	“We have a debt to settle, you and I,”
Keane announced.

	“A debt?” Adam queried in confusion. 
“Perhaps I’m missing something here, but it
appears that your head is still attached.   As long
as you’ve settled your differences with the
Highlander, I have no quarrel with you.”  

	“It’s a pity, because honor will be satisfied
here tonight.”  Despite the confused look from
the Immortal on the ground, Keane took a
menacing step in Adam’s direction.

	His advance, however, was halted by the
sudden appearance of a blade at his throat.   The
Immortal looked down and then up to find Angel
glowering at him.   Although the vampire was
tense, it was not his intention to fight again.   He
was only giving Adam time to collect himself
before the situation progressed any further.  
Keane glared at Angel but nevertheless stayed
where he was.

	Grateful for the brief respite, Adam used
the time to focus his chaotic thoughts.   It was a
task done in two quick yet calming breaths.  
Once that was done, he used his mastery of
manipulation to consider what his options were in
the present situation.   

	Steven Keane.   He was fairly young by
Immortal standards -- maybe only a few years
older than Angel.   Keane was tenacious - Adam
would grant him that - especially when the
younger Immortal believed his cause was a just
one.   And from Adam’s perspective, the kid must
have had a lot of causes since he possessed a
code of honor that would put a Star Trek Klingon
to shame.

	Or a Highland-born Immortal.

	Adam had only crossed paths with Keane
once over the years, and that time had been a
mere six months earlier.   Keane had come to
Paris, looking to settle a two-hundred-and-fifty
year-old score with Duncan MacLeod.   It was
boy scout against boy scout, and it quickly
spiraled out of control.

	The problem came not from lack of skill
with a sword, but rather from a lack of
motivation.   Put simply, MacLeod truly believed
that he was guilty of the offenses with which
Keane charged him.   Believing that Duncan was
not of the mindset to fight his best fight, the
Immortal thief Amanda sought out Adam’s help. 
His solution had been radical, to say the least.  
After shooting MacLeod in the back, Adam took
Keane’s challenge in the Highlander’s place.

	Granted, Adam did end up leaving Keane
alive, but only after a newly wakened -- and
terribly pissed off -- Duncan MacLeod threatened
to take Pierson’s head himself if Adam took
Keane’s.   After that point, Adam stayed out of it. 
As far as he knew, Keane and MacLeod had
settled their differences through trial by combat.  
The Highlander won, obviously.   In atonement
for his supposed sins, Duncan allowed Keane to
keep his head.   End of story.

	Except, Keane was now in Sunnydale
issuing a challenge to Adam.   Had he missed
something, the Immortal wondered?   It was a
question he couldn’t resist asking, especially not
if he was expected to fight because of it.

	“Keane, whatever slight you’ve
imagined...”

	“Imagined?” he barked.  “Tell me, did I
*imagine* the blade that cut into me that morning
at the Luxembourg Gardens?   Did I *imagine*
your underhanded tricks?”

	‘*That!*’ Adam marveled.  ‘That is what
this is all about?’

	Shortly after his fight with Keane at the
Gardens began, Adam had slipped on the gravel
underfoot.   Just as the other Immortal was about
to take his head, Adam pulled a short sword from
his coat.   Not expecting a second blade, Pierson
was able to run Keane through before the other
man was even aware of what was happening.   

	While the move may have been
considered ‘dirty’ or ‘dishonorable’ to some --
MacLeod certainly thought so -- it had saved
Adam’s head.   And as far as the older Immortal
was concerned, all was fair in life-or-death
situations.   That went doubly so when it was his
own neck in the line.

	Underhanded or not, it had not mattered
in the end.   After MacLeod’s intervention, Adam
simply forgot about the entire matter.   Keane,
apparently, had not.

	“Give him his sword,” Keane ordered
Angel before turning back to face Adam.   “And
you...there will be no surprise blades tonight.”

	Knowing that this was one challenge he
could not walk away from, Adam hurried to strip
off the encumbering fireman’s jacket.   Although
he would have preferred to lose the heavy pants
as well, he did not have the time to cope with the
maze of buckles that held them in place.   Once
free of the jacket, Adam raised his arms slightly
and slowly turned around, showing Keane that he
was free of any other obvious weapons.

	When his opponent conceeded the fact
with a single, precise nod of his head, Adam
pivoted to face Angel.   Awaiting the moment,
Angel balanced its weight and carefully lofted the
sword so that it would come down hilt first.

	Which was exactly how Adam caught the
heavy weapon.   Using the tail of his black shirt,
the Immortal wiped off the traces of Angel’s
blood that smeared the grip.   It was hardly the
vampire’s fault that his previously injuried wrists
were still oozing, but even such a minor detail
could prove to be fatal in the fight Adam was
about to undertake.

	Once he was ready, the two Immortals
closed the distance between them.   The challenge
was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	They started off slowly, the two
combatants giving each other a wide berth as they
warily moved around one another.   Keeping their
swords raised and their knees slightly bent for
increased speed and agility, the Immortals stared
at one another with an intensity that was almost
tangible.   As the seconds ticked away, their
circles began growing smaller as it grew time for
the impending confrontation to begin.    

	It took Angel a minute to realize that,
despite Adam’s apparent intent on Keane, Pierson
had craftily managed to put some distance
between the Immortals and the wounded
Slayerettes littering the ground.   In fact, it was
so subtly accomplished, the vampire was left
wondering whether or not Keane was even aware
of it.   Raising a brow in admiration of his
reluctant ally, Angel moved off to watch the fight
with the others.

	Used to seeing the ‘Adam Pierson,
College Professor,’ persona, the group from
Sunnydale was taken aback by the noticeable
change in the Immortal’s demeanor.   Adam
was tensely focused, his eyes and facial
expression cold and calculating as he carefully
watched his enemy, waiting to see what the
best course of action would be.

	“I did a bit of asking about you, you
know,” Keane stated in a conversational tone,
breaking the intense silence of the night.  
“MacLeod’s mysterious friend.   It took me three
months just to discover your name.”

	“I suppose the fact that it’s unlisted didn’t
give you a clue?” Adam countered, waiting to see
if Keane would make the opening move of the
fight.   

	“They say you’re new among us,” Keane
continued, unfazed by the interruption, “another
of MacLeod’s students.”

	“Oh?” Adam replied, his voice adopting a
tone of utter disinterest.   Internally, however, he
found the very notion being mistaken for one of
MacLeod’s students quite humorous.   Adam’s
personal amusement came rapidly to end with
Keane’s next words. 

	“I heard rumors about what happened to
MacLeod’s last one,” the other Immortal shook
his head in distaste.   “Cutting down his own
student...I should have taken his head when I had
the chance.”

	“Would that have been before or after the
Highlander had you on your knees with his blade
at your throat?” Adam goaded, either unwilling
or unable to keep his anger in check for the
moment.

	“Struck a nerve, have I?” Keane replied
lightly.   “Funny that you should mention being
on your knees.   It seems that is where most of
the people I talked to believe you prefer being...at
least with MacLeod at any rate.”

	“Oh come *on*, Keane.  I’m
disappointed.   Surely you can do better than
taking a pot-shot at my masculinity.”

	“Fine,” Keane snarled, throwing back the
very same words Adam had used to open their
last confrontation, “it’s your call.”

	With those words, the fight was on. 
Keane attacked swiftly, his movements a flurry
of precise cuts and thrusts.  For his part, Adam
weathered the blows.  Nevertheless, he was
forced to retreat by their strength, parrying
each thrust expertly, as though he could read
the mind of his opponent and see what move
was coming next.  

	‘So, he’s been practicing since last
time,’ Adam noted clinically.   The first blows
had been strong, but were nothing he couldn’t
handle.  He defended and parried with ease,
giving ground in retreat while using the time to
gauge Keane’s current style and new level of 
skill.  

	At least until a lucky move on his
opponent’s part cut deeply into Adam’s left
arm. 

	Feeling the sting of the minor wound,
something changed internally within the
Immortal.   Deciding it was time to actively
engage in this fight, Adam waited for an
opening between cuts.  When the opportunity
came, he shifted the weight of his broadsword
to his other hand in order to throw a sharp
punch to Keane’s face.  Surprised by the
unexpected jab, the other man was knocked off
balance. 

	Adam moved in quickly, taking
advantage of the situation to press forward his
attack.  A rapid succession of blows rained
down upon his opponent, turning the tide of
the battle as Keane was forced to retreat from
their strength.   It was not long before both
adversaries were littered with scores of small
cuts and the blood that flowed from them.   

	As the fight continued, the upper-hand
continued to swing back and forth between the
two Immortals.   While Adam was the more
skilled of the pair, he was obviously not quite
at his best.   His Immortal healing ability was
still struggling to cope from the two painful
deaths in quick succession.  

	On any other given day, it would not
have been a problem.  For if there was one
thing this particular Immortal had learned over
his many years, it was how to ignore pain --
both mental and physical.   It was simply an
issue of mind over body.

	This, however, was not any given day.

	Despite the romantic, ballet-like
motions that most people usually associated
with it, sword fighting was anything but.   The
heavy weapons were quick to sap away their
wielder’s strength.   Each blow was
horrendously jarring.   While most of the force 
was absorbed by the sword arm, the impact
nevertheless reverberated achingly throughout
each of the men’s bodies.   The hard exertions
left both Immortals struggling for breath and
dripping in sweat.    

	Unfortunately, swordplay is as much, if
not more, a mental battle as a physical one. 
And like it or not, Adam was weary.  Weeks’
and months’ worth of worry over his missing
friend had taken a hard toll on the long-lived
Immortal.  The long days he had just gone
without sleep and the struggle in the fight with
the Legion left the Immortal’s mind even more
tired than his body. 

	Put together, all of those factors left
Adam at a distinct disadvantage.   It was a turn
of events that Keane was exploiting to his
fullest ability.

	During a recess in the fighting, the
younger man stood panting.   Neither man
attacked, mutually taking advantage of the slight
break to catch their breaths and reformulate their
respective strategies.   Rather than standing
completely still, though, they circled each other
warily, keeping vigil against the inevitable
resumption of their fight.  

	 “Surely you must have already thought of
the one thing that you *haven’t* asked me yet,”
Keane finished.

	Not surprisingly, Adam knew exactly to
what his opponent was referring.   The real
question, the one Keane was so obviously
awaiting, was not merely ‘how’ he had tracked
down Adam, but rather the ‘whom’ he had used
to do so.   And most importantly of all, to the
older Immortal at any rate, was the consideration
that the ‘whom’ was still alive after giving Keane
the location where Adam could be found.

	“Who?” Adam demanded tersely, shifting
his sword ever so slightly in anticipation of
launching the first strike of the continuation.

	“Who better than an old friend of yours?”
Keane offered lightly with a reptilian-like smile. 
“After all, she was ever so helpful in aiding me to
track down MacLeod.”

	“Amanda,” Adam hissed softly.  Yet, the
way he spoke the Immortal thief’s name was
completely emotionless, neither condemning nor
worrisome.

	“Oh, don’t think poorly of her,” Keane
reassured.   “She was reluctant to the last.   Even
her quickening was filled with sorrow over her
betrayal of you.”

	“You wouldn’t take her head,” Adam said
with total confidence.

	“Now why would you think that?” the
other Immortal countered.

	“I’ve told you before, I’m a student of
human nature,” Adam reminded.  “And it’s not in
yours to take the heads of innocents.”

	“Somehow ‘innocent’ isn’t the first
description that comes to mind when referring to
Amanda,” Keane replied, chuckling slightly.

	Adam acknowledged the truth of his
adversary’s words with a small cat-like smile
before pressing on to deliver the facts of his
argument.

	“Nevertheless, you didn’t kill her, or
myself for that matter, while you were after
MacLeod.”
	
	“That may have been true then, old
man...”

	Adam Pierson jerked sharply, not only
at the surprising choice of words, but also at
the sudden, menacing, other-worldly tone in
Keane’s normal tenor.   But the change in his
opponent’s voice was quickly superceded as
time and space began to shift in tableau around
Adam.   From out of nowhere, a heavy red
haze poured seemingly out of the ground itself,
covering both pavement and sidewalk like a
thick English fog.   While the sight may have
distracted him for a fraction of a second, the
older Immortal’s attention snapped back as the
overlaid voice of Keane continued.

	“...you must know that things have a
way of changing when you least expect them.”

	Despite the harrowing events that
occurred during the fight against the Army of
Legion, it wasn’t until that precise moment that
Adam knew his first real taste of fear for the
evening.   Thoughts of Amanda...of Joe
Dawson...of the Highlander himself
freewheeled through the Immortal’s mind.   

	And yet, through it all, there was only
one constant that rose to the surface like
flotsam after a shipwreck.   It was a single
thought, a lone name that had been burned
deeply into his consciousness over the past few
months.   Almost unbidden, it escaped Adam’s
lips in hushed whisper.

	“Ahriman.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~	

	Huddled together off to one side, the
Slayerettes had been watching the battle
progress with varying degrees of trepidation.  
With the exception of Giles and Angel, the rest
of them barely had any knowledge about
swordplay, but they desperately wanted to
believe that the man who had just helped them
defeat the Army of Legion was holding his
own.  

	Together, the Slayerettes silently
cheered whenever their ally pressed an attack.
Just as each time Adam was cut by Keane’s
blade, they found themselves involuntarily
wincing in sympathy.  Even in the shadowed
dimness of the night, they easily saw the blood
soaking into Pierson’s shirt, and they prayed
for the wounds to heal faster.   

	More than anything else, though, their
collective attention was held rapt by the
beautiful poetry in motion of the deadly
swordplay.

	Perhaps that was why Angel was so
surprised when, out of nowhere, an unexpected
chill ran down his spine.  A quick glance at his
fellow Slayerettes left him certain that he was
not the only one to experience the sensation,
either.   Before the vampire had time to
speculate over the source of his discomfort,
Adam Pierson kindly provided the answer to
the vampire’s unspoken question in a simple,
ghastly whisper. 
	
	Ahriman.   The demon whom Adam
had initially come to Sunnydale to research.  

	“Terrific,” Angel heard Xander groan.
“Just what we need around here -- *another* 
demon playing tourist on the Hellmouth.”

	With his guilt over his double-assault of
Pierson still raging within him, Angel managed
to ignore his own weariness -- forcing himself
to be ready to fight.  Out of the corner of his
eye, the vampire noticed that the other mobile
Slayerettes were all making similar
preparations, ready to watch the back of the
Immortal who, just a short time before, had
fought so valiantly by their side.

	“Is this what you did to MacLeod?  
These parlor tricks of yours?” Pierson asked
with only the slightest edge in his voice.

	Then the oddest thing happened.   As
far as Angel could tell, Keane was completely
silent, and yet after a long moment, Pierson
spoke again, as if answering some unheard
reply to his previous question.

	As the one-sided conversation
continued, Angel found himself following
Pierson’s line of sight, attempting to find the
other participant of Adam’s dialogue.  
However, like his friends, the vampire could
not seem to be able to find it.   The only thing
visible in the night were the two circling
Immortals.  

	Where, then, was the demon, he
wondered to himself?
	
	Not sure where else to look, Angel
once again focused on the two Immortal
combatants.   Only then did he notice that some
dynamic of the picture had changed.   Keane.  
Something was different about him  -- not his
face or body, but rather something about the
other Immortal’s eyes...

	...they were glowing red.

	Just as Angel was placing the pieces
together, a war-cry in a long-dead language
split the air.    Moving in a blur, Adam Pierson
launched himself at the other Immortal.

	‘Oh hell!’ Angel thought silently.
	
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	From the first moment Ahriman
manifested itself, Adam felt a sense of fear
clench around his heart like a tightened fist.   In
the past, the demon had been limited to making
seductive promises of power and glory in the
confines of Adam’s dreams.   Although Pierson
had long suspected that Ahriman had been
sending Immortal’s to do his physical dirty
work, he hadn’t had proof -- until now.

	A wave of sympathy for Duncan
MacLeod swelled over the normally cynical
Immortal.  He remembered all too well the
confusion -- the uncertainty and the unabashed
terror that had marred the Highlander’s face
for days after Ahriman first started manifesting
itself to the Scotsman.  

	Just as it had done with MacLeod,
Ahriman taunted Adam.  Not only did it goad
the Immortal with cruel words, but it also
began casting illusions, replacing Keane’s
features with the faces of those whom had
fallen under Adam’s sword in the past.  
Friends, lovers, enemies -- all dead and gone --
and all by Adam’s hand. 

	Victim after victim literally morphed
away before the Immortal’s eyes, each one
reopening wounds Adam had long considered
closed.   Like waves against a beach, every
long-dead face the demon presented eroded
away another layer of the Immortal’s legendary
pragmatism.   

	“...Silas...Byron...Kronos...Alexa...” the
demon listed, its face transforming to match the
names it spoke.     “...and now Amanda.   How
many more will die because of you, old man?”

	There was a brief flash of guilt in the
mercurial hazel, one so swift it was almost
overlooked.  Almost.  But the demon missed
nothing.  Hoping for a reaction, it continued. 

	“She fought to the last, trying so hard
to protect you.  Noble, but foolish -- and all
too unexpected for a thief.   It was a shame to
ruin such beauty.  But that is the nice thing
about you Immortals.    Just wait a few minutes
and ‘voile la’,” Ahriman threw back one of
Adam’s favourite expressions at him, “you can
start again from the beginning.   Her agony was
exquisite, her screams something to savor.”

	Forcing down a wave of anger, Adam
somehow found the strength to keep his face
totally impassive.  

	“This one will be next,” Ahriman
taunted, morphing into the familiar, comforting
face of the mortal Joe Dawson.   “It shouldn’t
be long now, not for one with such a weak
heart.   When they cut him open, it will look
like his heart exploded within his chest. 
Sounds painful, does it not?”  

	“Bastard,” Pierson hissed, his eyes
finally narrowing in anger.   

	“And what of Duncan MacLeod of the
clan MacLeod?”  Ahriman sneered.  This time,
the demon chose to wear the face of the
Immortal Cassandra; the woman who had
sworn to one day avenge Adam’s crimes
against her.   “An Immortal Champion who
turns tail and runs, leaving his ‘friends’
unprotected at the first sight of danger?  Not
much of a friend, is he?  But then again,
MacLeod stopped considering you his friend
after Bordeaux, didn’t he?  Tsk, tsk.  If only
you’d told him the truth from the beginning.”   

	“MacLeod is the Champion,” Adam
insisted, trying and failing to ignore the
demon’s verbal attack on the Highlander.

	“MacLeod will fall soon enough,”
Ahriman insisted.

	‘Not,’ Adam thought silently, ‘if I have
anything to say about it.’  

	The methodical progression of
Ahriman’s list of victims did not escape the
Immortal.   First Richie, then Amanda,
followed by himself and Joe -- it could only
mean one thing.   The demon intended to
eliminate the few people that comprised the
inner-circle of what Adam often jokingly
referred to as ‘Clan MacLeod’.    After all,
what better way than to demoralize the
Highlander than by eradicating those that he
most often turned to for support?

	What did surprise the Immortal,
though, was Ahriman’s vehement pursuit of
Adam in particular.   Perhaps the demon’s
destruction of Amanda to find him was nothing
more than convenience -- killing two birds with
one stone as it were.   But maybe, just maybe,
there was an off-side chance that Ahriman
somehow feared Adam more than Mac’s other
friends.   That meant it was possible that Adam
could somehow pose a more significant threat
to the demon.

	It was that thought that gave the
Immortal hope.

	‘It’s time to end this,’ Adam decided
with a firm sense of determination. 

	Summoning all of his considerable
willpower, the Immortal forced himself to keep
his gaze on the one constant in whatever form
the demon took on:  the steel cutlass in its
hand.   Focusing intently on the deadly blade,
Adam began the laborious process of tuning
out the demon’s words.   It took a few
agonizing minutes and all of his hard-earned
mental discipline, but finally Adam was able to
look past the many guises Ahriman was taking
to see the empty face of Steven Keane.

	With his sense of reality restored, Adam
gave into his more primitive urge to attack.  
Accompanied by a long-forgotten war-cry, he
launched a vicious offensive.   This time
Adam’s moves were smooth, logical, and
methodical -- each one full of purpose and
grace.  He was breathing heavily and sweating
from his efforts, but every cut, every jabbing
thrust slowly forced his opponent to give up
precious ground.   

	Before long, Adam had maneuvered the
other Immortal to the six-inch curb that
separated the street from the sidewalk that
paralleled it.  A particularly unyielding thrust
caused  Keane to stumble back over the uneven
ground.  Never one to let an opportunity pass
him by, Adam pressed his advantage.   All it
would take for a quick kill was one last
punishing stroke.

	He might have actually been successful
had it only been Keane’s skill he was fighting
against.   Unfortunately for Adam, though,
Keane’s body was currently little more than a
vessel for a demon that was considerably
stronger than the Immortal.

	Anticipating Adam’s forehanded strike,
Ahriman was quick to manipulate Keane’s
body into feinting left.  Adam fell for the move,
and in doing so, found himself overextended --
and completely exposed.  

	Lashing out with unnatural swiftness, 
Keane’s hand reached forward and grabbed
Adam’s right wrist, holding it in place with
superhuman strength.   As that hand also
happened to be the one with which Pierson
held his sword, Adam was helpless to prevent
Keane’s own blade from slicing deeply into his
chest.

	A searing pain -- one that was unique
to deep cuts -- flared out from the wound
itself, tearing through Adam’s nervous system
like ripples on the surface of a pond.  The
metal of Keane’s blade had torn open the older
Immortal’s flesh, creating a deep gash about
six inches long.  Had Adam been mortal, the
wound would have required sutures. Even with
his Immortality, it still hurt like hell.  

	Summoning all the strength he could
muster, Adam kicked out at the body before
him, connecting sharply with the thigh that
supported most of Keane’s weight.   While the
move managed to break Keane’s grip on his
wrist, the force required to execute the move
knocked Adam off balance.   Losing his footing
as he stumbled away, Pierson found himself
prone on the cool asphalt of the ground.  

	As quickly as he could manage, Adam
rolled away.  While not immediately
life-threatening, his newly-inflicted wound was
painful enough to be a distraction -- one the
Immortal could ill-afford in the middle of a
fight that put his very survival on the line.  
Schooling himself to ignore the throbbing
coming from his chest, Adam resumed a
defensive posture as Keane, seeking to take
advantage of a wounded foe, renewed his
attack in earnest.  
	
	He took a deep breath and countered,
seeking an opening.  Keane tried another feint,
but this time Adam successfully avoided it. 
Steel slid against steel, the friction creating a
shower of white sparks that rained down upon
the exposed hands of both men.  Their swords
were still pressed together near the hilts, but
Adam shifted his weight and forced both the
sword and the other man away from his body. 

	A vicious cut missed Adam’s neck by
inches, forcing him to duck and roll, a move
Adam had been successfully refamiliarizing
himself during his sparring matches with
Duncan over the past year.   Adam threw a
desperate punch in the direction of his
opponent’s face, hoping to buy a much-needed
moment to regain his footing.  

	But it was not to be.

	An expression of horror marred
Adam’s features as he realized his error.   At
almost the same moment, Keane’s face twisted
into a triumphant sneer.   Not only did the
demon easily dodge the poorly aimed fist, but it
also took advantage of the breech Pierson had
made in his own defenses as the momentum
behind the punch forced the other Immortal
off-balance.

	With a sharp thrust, Keane thrust his
sword into Adam’s stomach, completely
running the older Immortal through.  A harsh
jerk of Keane’s arm extracted a gurgle of pain
out of Pierson’s throat.  Smiling coldly at the
sound, the demon pulled the blade out of his
opponent’s abdomen with a slowness that was
intentionally cruel. 
  
	Adam’s face was a horrific mask of
pain and shock as wave upon wave of agony
radiated outward from his perforated gut.  
Without Keane’s sword to hold him upright,
the Immortal stumbled forward, almost
unknowingly sagging directly into Keane’s
body.  The sight of Adam, unable keep his head
up, unable to maintain more than the loosest of
grips on his sword, filled the demon with
pleasure. 

	 “I wonder if this is how you felt when
you almost took Keane’s head?”  Ahriman
pondered with a tone of feigned curiosity.  
Raising Keane’s sword to shoulder height, the
demon positioned the blade for what would be
the final blow.

	Keane was shocked to see Adam’s head
shoot up with a surprising measure of 
strength.  Instead of the defeat it expected to
see, the demon found itself the recipient of a
cold, vicious look from those mercurial hazel
eyes.  

	Taking advantage of the demon’s
surprise, Adam’s haphazard grip on his
Ivanhoe tightened immeasurably.   In the blink
of an eye, his left hand joined his right on the
hilt of the broadsword, drawing it upwards
while he simultaneously executed a flowing
pirouette.  

	Three quarters of the way through the
turn, Adam’s Ivanhoe clanged loudly as it
found its way back to Keane’s cutlass.   While
visually stunning, the move was purely tactical
rather than aesthetic.    Put simply, it changed
the direction of Adam’s attack from the
forehand to the backhand.    Caught unaware
by the move, Keane’s body weight was still
borne by his forward left foot.   In fact, the
suddenness of his opponent’s unexpected move
forced the younger Immortal to lean forward
against Adam’s sword.

 	Leaning even closer, Adam made sure
he had Keane’s complete attention before
spitting out his answer to the other Immortal’s
previous question.

	“How did it feel when I had him on his
knees six months ago?”  Adam repeated to the
demon in a tone so cold it could have frozen
vodka.  

	The hiss of metal sliding again metal
echoed in the night as Adam manipulated his
sword repeatedly around the other Immortal’s
longer weapon.  With a flick of Adam’s wrists,
Keane’s sword went flying.  The Ivanhoe flew
rapidly toward the unprotected and exposed
neck, only to stop within mere centimeters of
its target.   With the threat of his blade, Adam
forced Keane to his knees as he completed his
thought from a moment earlier.  

	“As I recall, it felt a bit like this.” 

	Drawing back his blade to gain the
momentum necessary for the killing blow,
Adam finally allowed all the anger he’d been
repressing during the fight to come to the
surface.   There was nothing but hatred in the
Immortal’s sneering mouth and narrowed hazel
eyes as he threw one last taunt to his
other-worldly opponent.    

	“There can be only one, you demonic
son of a bitch.” 

	Adam’s blade was little more than a glint
of silver as it moved toward Keane’s exposed
throat.    The only noise on the otherwise silent
street was the ‘swoosh’ the Ivanhoe made before
its razor-sharp edge cut cleanly through its target. 
It was followed moments later by the sound of
two uniquely sickening thuds against the
pavement.

	The silence returned as Adam’s exhausted
gaze rose to meet the eyes of five horrified-yet-
relieved mortals and one concerned vampire.  
The Immortal wanted to say something -- to give
some acknowledgement that he was all right, but
he never got the chance.

	Because a moment later, the night
exploded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	Although they had no way of knowing
it at the time, the sight of Adam Pierson
removing Steven Keane’s head from his body
would be the cause of days -- even weeks -- of
Slayerette nightmares.

	It may have a been a bit odd, all things
considered.   With the horrors and atrocities
they saw on a daily basis, what was a simple
beheading in the grand scheme of things?  
After all, they *did* live on a Hellmouth. 
Fighting all manner of vampires and other
demonic creatures was par for the course for
them by that point in time.

	At least that was what they were all
busy trying to convince themselves.

	It was difficult, though.    The problem
was that while they heard Adam’s one-sided
conversation with the demon, Ahriman had
only revealed itself to Pierson.   Save Angel,
with his heightened night-vision, the other
Slayerettes saw nothing of the demon -- only
the pale-faced Englishman whom Ahriman was
using as a host.

	A host that -- Immortality aside --
appeared far more normal than the usual
demonic opponents that the Slayerettes usually
fought.  And without fangs...or pointy
horns...or a horribly disfigured outward
appearance, the body of the late Steven Keane
was a little too ‘human looking’ for the
Slayerettes’ comfort.  

	Not knowing what else to do, they
ended up staring in humbled silence.    At first
they couldn’t keep their eyes from wandering
between the body on the ground to the head
lying a few feet away.  But eventually, one by
one, they pried their eyes away from the
headless corpse in favour of the Immortal that
was still left standing.   

	Despite their horror over the results of
his actions, the Slayerettes silently reminded
themselves that Adam had only been acting in
self-defense.   But the sight of him --
half-slouching from both his injuries and
exhaustion, with a bloody sword in hand -- was
still a bit unsettling.   That feeling only grew as
Adam, feeling their eyes upon him, turned to
meet their gaze.

	For a moment, it looked as if the
Immortal was about to say something -- but
whatever the words were to have been, they
were lost as the unbelievable began to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
	
	At first, Angel thought his eyes must
have been playing tricks on him.  He blinked
and refocused, but the white glow that began
to form around Keane’s body and head was no
illusion.   In fact, it continued to grow as the
long seconds passed, making the vampire’s
light-sensitive eyes water from the glare.

	The hair on Angel’s neck rose up as the
air surrounding the vampire filled with energy.  
An involuntary shiver raced down his spine, his
nerves jittering in reaction to the electric static
that quickly surrounded and enveloped not
only himself but also the other Slayerettes as
well.   And somewhere deep inside himself,
Angel felt his inner-demon go ballistic. 

	More than a century earlier, the
vampire known as Angelus had been fortunate
enough to unwittingly stumbled across an
Immortal Quickening in progress.   Armed with
that knowledge in the present day, it was all the
vampire could do not to give in to his demon’s
panic-driven impulse to run.

	But Angel refused to abandon his
companions.

	“Get back!  Now!” Angel shouted to
the mortals around him, using his arms to herd
the mobile Slayerettes out of harm’s way.

	But it was too little, too late.

	Looking back over his shoulder, Angel 
witnessed the energy forming around Keane’s
body brighten and intensify.   At last, the
energy seemed to reach critical mass.   There
was a long moment as the strange power
coalesced, hesitating for the span of a single
heartbeat as if deciding upon a destination.

	Then, without warning, it exploded
outwards, arcing forward to hit Adam Pierson
directly in the chest.

	Reacting instinctively, Angel threw
himself against Willow, knocking them both to
the ground.   The vampire used his larger form
to cover the redhead, trying to protect her from
the barrage of discharges that continued to
charge through the heavy night air.    Even on
the ground, the level of energy was so intense
that it made Angel’s skin tingle, as if a
thousand invisible ants were crawling across it. 

	Raising his head to see the spectacle
before him, Angel looked up in time to see
another bolt of lightning hit Adam squarely in
the stomach.   The Immortal was screaming,
but whether from pleasure or pain the vampire
couldn’t tell.  The tall, slender man began to
convulse, twitching repeatedly from the sheer
intensity of energy that continued to strike him.   

	Almost belatedly, all of the windows of
the surrounding buildings shattered, followed
quickly by the streetlights blowing out one by
one.   Angel was quick to pull Willow’s
shaking body even closer in an effort to protect
her from all the flying glass shards and other
debris that rained down upon them.

	And through it all, Adam was barraged
by bolts of the energy.  Although Angel’s ears
were ringing from the explosions around him,
he could still hear the Immortal’s cries into the
night sky.    As if reaching the crescendo of the
event, Adam struggled to raise his sword over
his head, even as the forces that pounded into
him drove him to his knees.

	Finally, it was over -- the Quickening
ending just as swiftly as the stroke that had
triggered the event in the first place.    Adam
crumpled heavily to the ground.   Whether he
was unconscious or just simply exhausted,
none of the spectators knew for certain.

	With the ceasing of the violent
outburst, the sudden stillness of the night
seemed almost unreal -- almost as if someone
had abruptly turned down a loudly playing
stereo.   One by one the Slayerettes began
rising from their crouched positions.   Their
initial movements were timid and wary,
uncertain whether or not the danger was truly
over.

	It was only when he felt something
squirm uncomfortably underneath him that
Angel realized he was still pinning Willow to
the ground.   He pulled away from her rather
quickly, half-embarrassed by the way his body
had been pressed so intimately against hers.  
The other half of him, however, was too busy
wallowing in just how good it felt to be so
close to her.

	Before he could react, though, a raspy,
shaken voice broke the silence that pervaded
the street.

	“So, do you think these guys are
available for parties?”
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~