Angelus moved through the hallways with the grace of a natural predator. It hadn’t taken him long, once turned, to acquire that grace; as a human, Liam was a natural thief when it came to the many items in his family’s estate. Though a drunken whoremonger, when he wanted to Liam possessed a stealth that rivaled vampires hundreds of years old. 

As a vampire, Angelus perfected that stealth, surpassing Darla and Nest in short order. It was a rare feat when a vampire, and one considerably younger than those around him, could sneak up on his Sire and Grandsire. Angelus wasted no time rubbing that in, earning another mark against him from Nest, and a suspicious sire for nearly all the time he and Darla traveled together. 

Ah, Darla, Angelus thought as he turned the last corner, the thick metal door looming ahead. He did miss his sire; she was a wicked woman, to be sure, but she did have a love of the hunt so few could still maintain after four hundred years. And she knew how to do things with her body only a professional could. It was something she’d honed long before Nest turned her. 

Still, as much as he enjoyed his sire, and as much as he wouldn’t mind doing so again, now he had Buffy. Buffy who, with a look, could turn him on. Buffy with her hot body and her uninhibited responses to him. Buffy with her reluctant need of him, that shameful desire that she wanted so badly to give in to, and yet refused to. Her hot touches, her passionate kisses…Angelus couldn’t wait for the day she willingly responded to him. 

With Buffy, Angelus felt as if he could be reborn in her; as if the powers Acathla granted him were nothing compared to the strength, the everything that being buried inside Buffy make him feel. 

Letting his senses expand outwards, Angelus let his new powers flow through him, testing both himself and Acathla before the big day. Power unlike anything he’d ever felt before surged within him, rising upwards and outwards, and moving in a force that would’ve bowed over anyone else. But he was the chosen, he was the key, the only one who could open Acathla, therefore, the only one who could contain and control those powers. And it was wonderful, Angelus thought with a low chuckle as those powers let him know things he’d never before dreamed of. 

He could feel the mass of beings that populated the planet: the humans and their confused terror, the demons who were just starting to wake from their long night’s sleep, and those who were wondering, who were sniffing out this world, this transformed Hell-Earth. He could feel them, if he concentrated enough, could feel all of them as they went through their lives. 

Angelus wasn’t yet up to full strength, and he knew that; Acathla’s energies were still testing him, probing his worthiness, and even this small display weakened him. He was, however, strong enough to know where his darling little slayer was. He’d always know where she was, that much he was sure of. There she was, with Dru, just as he’d instructed. He wasn’t surprised Drusilla obeyed him, but he was that Buffy allowed his mad childe near her. 

She listened without protest, eating from the tray of food on the table; her body still humming in near pain from her denied orgasm, wound so tightly that she was unconsciously squirming in her seat in a futile attempt to bring her release herself. She must have realized it wasn’t going to work, because she rose from the chair, holding the sheet that carried – even to him so far away – the combined scent of their passion and moved to where Drusilla stood. 

Dru chattered away at the slayer, obviously pleased to have such a captive audience, pointing out the various dresses that hung in the wardrobe to a still dazed Buffy. Dazed and horny, angry to be sure, and ashamed that she'd begged him. Delicious. 

But she was a Buffy who made no protest to the vampiress’ presence. In fact, Angelus thought as his power swirled red and blue behind closed eyes, his aura humming brightly, she seemed more relaxed in Drusilla’s presence than his. Hmm, maybe there was some potential there yet. 

Her tears had finally stopped, though he could still scent them around her. Angelus smiled at that, at the fact that he could make her cry, make her admit to all those emotions, and make her need him just as much as he needed her. He couldn’t wait for the day when that happened and knew that when it finally did – it was inevitable – then that day he’d make her his bound and marked mate. Dru was helping her dress now, and Angelus wondered why either bothered. As soon as he was finished with Spike – for the day that was – he intended to have Buffy again. 

He was sure he’d never grow tired of his passionate and feisty slayer. 

At that mental image, he licked his lips, eyes glowing a multitude of colors as his fangs elongated and his cock hardened at just the thought of being buried in her tight heat again. He smelled her arousal, and felt his erection grow harder, and wanted to turn around and bury himself in her once more. Just watching her stand there was enough to stir his lust again, and he could just imagine her as he walked through the doors, imagined her dropping the sheet and opening her arms for him, uninhibited in every way he desired. Baring neck and body to his carnal wants, giving herself totally over to her own carnality. 

It was then that the strangest thing happened.

As Angelus thought of all the things he wanted to do with Buffy, as he imagined her willing and fiery responses to the many things he’d teach her, Buffy turned from where Drusilla was ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ over her clothing, and looked him directly in the eye. Startled, Angelus drew short of the steel door he’d slowly been moving towards, halting everything as he watched her. She shouldn’t be able to sense him watching her, he thought in a moment of confusion. He was the one with Acathla’s powers, not her, so what was this? 

She looked him directly in the eye, her own normally hazel eyes flashing with a mixture of black and gold. Buffy seemed neither afraid nor intimidated by the fact that she’d just caught him spying on her from floors away. Their eyes locked for a split second before Buffy slammed a door closed, effectively shutting him out. Jerking his head back as if the door actually slammed in his face, the metaphorical sound still echoing in his mind; his eyes flew open, effectively breaking the connection. All Angelus could do was stare at the real metal door in front of him for long moments in question. 

What had just happened? 

(I always know where you are, he said smoothly as he walked through the pile of dust she’d recently created. And I, always know what you’re doing, she countered, dismissing him and the pile of dust at her feet.) 

He didn’t like mysteries when it came to Buffy, it…not worried him, but made him…not nervous, but cautious. After all the trouble he went through to woo her and remake this pathetic world into somewhere he could have her all to himself, Angelus wasn’t about to lose her. 

So what in all his kingdom had just happened? 

Buffy, Angelus admitted as he stared at the door before him, had always possessed a strange affinity when it came to him (Angel), always knowing where they were, that he was following her, stalking her. (How did I not know you were a vampire? I know all the others; I can sense the fact that they’re vamps a mile away. Why do I only sense you when you’re near?) 

Did that have something to do with this? Or was it something more? There was something tickling the back of his mind, telling him that yes, it was indeed more. But Angelus couldn’t put his finger on it right then. Still, if it involved Buffy, he wanted to know and he wanted to know now. 

Nothing, ever, was to happen to her that he was not the direct cause of. 

Opening the door, Angelus shrugged it off, vowing to research it later, and in intimate detail, and entered the dungeon. Immediately all eyes focused on him, and he smirked at the attention. Letting his eyes travel slowly over each occupant – and the newest member, Buffy’s absentee dad now housed with his ex-wife – Angelus laughed. It was a chilling sound that echoed over the room, causing more than one prisoner to shudder. 

“Let the fun begin, boys and girls.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Hank Summers had no idea what was going on, and his ex-wife was certainly no help. 

He’d gone to sleep, last night, the night before, he couldn’t remember now, and woke to a changed world. Y2K hadn’t come early, terrorist factions hadn’t bombed America, an asteroid had not collided with Earth, California had not fallen into the Pacific in a massive earthquake, and aliens had not come in peace. Something, however, had happened. And he had absolutely no idea what. 

The once bright LA world he loved so much…changed. Drastically. A red haze descended over everything, covering the land, the sky, even the water. Creatures of some sort all but danced merrily along the streets as Hank walked out of his house and gawked along with the rest of his neighbors. He hadn’t time to take it all in when a long sleek limo pulled to the yard and a well-dressed couple exited. 

The woman walked with a grace that was learned, not innate, her dark hair a nice contrast to her skin, bringing out the sparks of power behind her eyes. The man next to her carried himself with a haughtiness that seemed to hide something. Then again, they both seemed to hide something behind nearly identical smirks on their faces. Sharks circling their prey, Hank thought and wondered why he had. 

“Hank Summers?” The man asked, not extending his hand, not moving closer than the several feet that separated them. Keeping the distance, another tactic that Hank recognized as something he did when showing his superiority to underlings. When Hank reluctantly nodded, they seemed to take that as some kind of signal. 

A swarm of black-clad men appeared out of nowhere and all but dragged Hank into the limo, stuffing him inside and waiting only moments for the couple to enter once more before driving off. None of his neighbors did anything to help him. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said and her smile was definitely shark-like, more so than anything Hank had seen in a long time. Considering the corporate environment he worked in that was saying a lot. “And believe me, the pleasure’s all ours.” 

The drive was longer than he’d imagined to wherever they were going and neither the man nor woman answered his questions. He stopped asking them and sat in his plush seat in silence. It was only as the limo pulled in front of a massive gate, that guarded an even more massive…palace, that the woman smiled and spoke. 

“Welcome to your new home, daddy-dearest.” The black clad men yanked him out of the car and pushed him behind the couple, who were now talking quietly amongst themselves. He didn’t understand any of what was happening, and once again, his demands for answers went unheeded. 

He was kept outside the room they entered, still guarded, but knew he was in trouble when the door opened and a beautiful woman exited, black hair piled high on her head, her long velvet dress looking elegant on her slim and frail figure. 

“Ooh,” she’d said and caressed his cheek with a far-off smile. It was the smile that worried him the most – it didn’t seem at all sane. “Mummy will be so very pleased with this! But I think daddy will be even happier.” She clapped her hands once, and several beings appeared from nowhere. “Take him, and put him with the others,” she commanded in a stern voice that was so different from the one seconds before. 

“Others,” he asked, his voice loud and demanding, “What others? What’s going on here?” 

They obeyed, nodding once at her, and looking at him a little too closely for Hank’s liking. He felt like prey. “Oh, and remember,” she said again in that innocent girl’s voice that still managed to send shivers of dread down his spine, “No snacking. Daddy’ll be mad.” 

A collective shudder went through the three beings surrounding Hank, and they nodded once more, obviously terrified of this woman’s father, whoever he was, and this mother she cooed on about. What a bizarre family, Hank remembered thinking. And how was he now involved with them? 

So now, he sat in some cage, Joyce next to him, seven others in more cages around the room. Two of them were arguing, a boy and girl who looked about Buffy’s age, two more were curled together even through the cage bars. An older gentleman sat on the cot with his eyes closed, yelling at the yelling kids to ‘shut the bloody hell up!’ He looked injured, as if he’d been tortured. In fact, several of them looked the worse for wear, and Hank wondered why that was. 

A man near the end of the semi-circle, next to the girl and older Brit, laughed in a self-mocking way, telling them that ‘you’re not helping the situation, folks; he doesn’t care about you.’ And the badly dressed man next to him sat quietly, saying nothing, doing nothing, merely sitting there. 

“This is all your fault,” the girl shouted, pointing stridently at the boy from across the cages. “If you had kept your eyes to yourself, or better yet on me, then none of this would’ve ever happened, and I wouldn’t be stuck here in this god-awful dungeon with you!” 

“No, you’d be dead!” The boy shouted back. “Look around you, Cor, this isn’t my fault. I think we all know where to lay the blame-” 

“If the both of you don’t shut the bloody hell up,” the man sharing the girl’s cell threatened, “I’ll torture and kill you myself!” 

Hank looked at Joyce in confusion. “What’s going on? Where’s Buffy, why isn’t she with you, who are these people, and what the hell is going on?” 

Joyce opened her mouth to answer but found she didn’t know: not where to start, not the whole story, not anything. So she shrugged. 

“I don’t know where Buffy is; we fought, and I kicked her out of the house. She showed up here a bit ago, looking like Princess Di during her more fashionable years, but didn’t say anything. As for this, welcome to your cell, Hank Summers, I don’t think we’re ever getting out. We’ve been kidnapped, are now prisoners; hell, they tell me, has come to Earth, and…” Joyce shrugged again, wishing for a shot of whisky. 

Like she knew what was going on; she didn’t, Buffy never confided in her, and that lie that her daughter told her before storming out of the house wasn’t something Joyce wanted to believe. “I’m not really sure.” 

“Joyce,” Hank said in a condescending voice as he looked at the woman he’d married so long ago. “Make some sense, please. What did you and Buffy fight about? And what do you mean, you kicked her out?”

“Long story short,” the now non-arguing boy said, huffing a bit and folding his arms over his chest like a petulant child. Both the boy and Hank ignored the glare the older man sent their way. “Buffy couldn’t kill her blood-sucking boyfriend, said blood sucking fiend opened the gate to hell, and here we are.” 

The blonde near the end of the cages snorted in laughter again, but remained silent. The redhead at the other end of the cages shot the brunette boy a quelling look and offered, “It really makes much more sense when you know the details, Mr. Summers.” 

“No it doesn’t,” the blonde said cheerfully, in his cockney accent. 

“Joyce?” Hank asked, pleading with his ex-wife to make sense of it all. He scowled when all she could do was shrug yet again, and sit more comfortably on the cot.

That was when the door opened and an imposing man entered, standing entirely too still for Hank’s liking, his dark eyes looked over the cages. Something like hungry satisfaction lighted those eyes, making Hank think of a hunting lion. Silent, deadly, precise. And after them. 

“Let the fun begin, boys and girls,” he said, and Hank couldn’t help the shiver that coursed down his spine, turning his blood cold.
~~~~~~~~~~
“So you’re Buffy’s dad, eh?” Angelus asked as he stood in front of the closed cell door. “I’m sure,” he sneered, “She’ll be so happy to see you.” 

Dismissing the father of his lover, Angelus looked around the rest of the room, noting Xander’s look of irate impotence, Cordelia’s annoyed huffing, Giles pain and self-hatred, Oz and Willow as they sought comfort from each other, and Whistler as the Destiny Demon continued to act as if everything was perfectly right in the world. Or would be as soon as he was out of the cage. 

“Not gonna happen anytime soon, Whistler,” Angelus said to the silent demon. “You’re here forever. Or until I decide to kill you.” 

He dismissed the demon with another sneer, ignoring the look Whistler leveled on him. Startled, the demon was definitely startled. And still cocky, even in a dungeon cell. 

Angelus walked to Spike’s cage, the predatory look in his eyes showing the younger vampire just what was in store for him. It was no less than Spike expected, not with what he’d done and failed to do, but somehow, it was more than he’d anticipated.

Angelus was always into family. Sure, it was save yourself first but given the chance, you had damn well better return for your family. It was ingrained in each of his childer, and their childer. 

It was one of three cardinal rules: Never get caught, ‘You’ve been turned by an Aurelius, and we don’t get caught’; don’t bring undue Watcher/Slayer/Hunter attention to yourselves; and never leave family behind that you haven’t tried to save first. Spike hadn’t the chance, really, to run with Angelus before the whole soul thing, and that time in China he returned to the fold didn’t really count, but the nearly fifteen years they were together, the elder taught him and taught him well. 

Watching Angelus move towards the cell door, noting the lack of lock and how the metal door swung open without Angelus even touching it, for the first time since that initial punishment Angelus meted out all those years ago, Spike seriously feared for his life. His plan had been simple: conspire with the slayer to stop Angelus from destroying the world, thereby saving all their meals, stopping Angelus from letting his crazed obsession with destroying Buffy obliterate everything, and save his family. 

It had not worked out like that. 

And now he was paying the price for it, stuck in a cage with the slayer’s loser friends and family, and some demon-something with bad clothes and an awful hat. He wasn’t about to make it easier for his grandsire and stayed where he was, sitting on the cot, leaning against the bars. Eyes open to mere slits, and a cocky grin on his face, Spike waited to see what happened. 

He was completely unprepared for the shiver of power that Angelus exuded; the bastard was always strong, age and talent making him so. But this was more, and for once Spike wished he’d listened to his History of Demons 101 class a little better. Or maybe read up on Acathla before joining forces with the slayer. A hand reached out and wrapped itself around his neck, effortlessly pulling him off the cot. 

“Come here, Spike, my boy,” Angelus taunted, and his Irish brogue was more pronounced now than it had been in a long time. Why did Spike find that so…threatening? “And show me just what you were thinking when you went behind my back.” 

Snorting in indignation, knowing no matter what he said the torture was coming, Spike smiled, “Just wanted to see your pathetic whipped ass stopped by that hot little slayer.”

Angelus’ nails dug into Spike’s neck, blood trickling down the pale skin, and making the younger vampire vamp out in pain. He was thrown through the air, hitting the concrete wall with a thump. Spike didn’t bother getting up, there was no reason too. Angelus was already there, yanking him up by his bloody neck. Another fly through the air, and Spike landed next to a room that hadn’t been there before. 

Angelus’ special chamber… 

Oh, joy, let the torture begin. 

Not wanting to go down without at least a little fight, Spike swept his legs out, catching Angelus by surprise. The elder vampire didn’t, however, go down as Spike knew he should have. He flipped around, executing a graceful spin that had nothing to do with obeying the laws of gravity, and landed back on his feet. It was, quite simply, amazing, and Spike was too stunned to move for the seconds it took Angelus to right himself. When Angelus was again standing before Spike, he laughed. 

At least his boy hadn’t lost all sense of style. Ah, but he’d missed Spike, missed his mouth – the boy did have talent in various areas – when he’d spout off about something or other, missed his reckless abandon during the hunt. Back then Spike always pushed the boundaries of being the Beta, but knew his place well enough. Angelus had hoped for a return to that, but Spike had to fuck it all up and try to destroy all Angelus’ carefully laid plans.

And in the process, almost got Buffy killed. That was something Angelus couldn’t forgive. 

“That’s it, Spike?” Angels taunted in a quiet voice, knowing it’d get to the younger vampire more than shouting. “That’s all you have left? What happened to you, the blood thirsty childe who wanted to travel the world with me?” 

“That childe grew up and had to travel by himself with Dru because you deserted us. You and that soul.” Spike spat, finally saying what he’d wanted to since coming to Sunnydale and realizing the rumors were true, that Darla was right, and that the vampire he looked up to, the only one he had, was in fact nothing more than a souled freak. 

(You were my Yoda, man!)

The backhand wasn’t at all surprising, and Spike took it quietly. 

Of course, the backhand also sent him crashing into the room, and that was something Spike wasn’t expecting. He knew, he knew, Angelus wasn’t this strong the other day. Sure, in a (semi-)fair fight, Angelus could always beat him, but Spike knew he could hold his own for a bit against the elder. Now there was no holding. Spike was getting his ass kicked but good. 

Angelus hauled him back up, snarling in his face as he did so. Pressing him against the wall, Spike found himself securely chained without Angelus so much as touching the chains. What the fuck happened to his grandsire? 

“What the fuck did you do to yourself, Angelus?” Spike asked from his bloody mouth. 

Angelus smile was entirely unpleasant. “You really should pay more attention to your history, Spike. Acathla opened his mouth, and hell came to this planet. The demon came forth to swallow the world and every creature living on this planet. That Demon Universe exists in a dimension separate from our own you know that; with one breath, Acathla created a vortex that pulled everything on Earth into that dimension. And where any non-demon life will suffer horrible and eternal torment.” 

He backed up a little, moving to the sidebar where his tools were carefully laid out. Spike was sure that he hadn’t seen them when he’d flown into the room. “Now, what really happened wasn’t in any books. Acathla was never meant to swallow the world; that was a rumor spread by Watchers who wanted to rally the troops. Instead, his worthy successor was to inherit his powers, and rule over the hell that Acathla’s awakening brought to Earth.” 

Picking up a razor-thin knife, Angelus slowly walked back to where Spike hung, an evil glint in his eye. “Say hello to his worthy successor.” The knife sliced downward, from Spike’s left shoulder to the top of his black pants as Spike stared into Angelus’ eyes, the brown mixing with blues and reds. 

His shirt hung open, revealing the gash Angelus created with the blade. It was minor compared to the things Angelus wanted to do to the boy who dared put his slayer in harm’s way and who thought he could actually stop Angelus, and Spike knew it. The younger vampire was well aware of the many methods of torture Angelus excelled in and wasn’t looking forward to any of them. 

Spike learned from the best, and Angelus was the best. 

“I find it hard to believe that you,” Spike said as he ignored the pain radiating from his chest, damn, that hurt, “Were worthy.”

“To the end, eh?” Angelus said as he dipped the knife into a jar of holy water. “Unrepentant to the end. Well, that’s fine,” he continued, pressing the flat of the knife to Spike’s open wound. “There’s plenty more to do to you. I’ve brought hell to this miserable planet, Spike,” he said, “You really think it matters to me what you think?” 

“Fuck,” Spike hissed as Angelus poured the holy water into the wound, making sure to open the sides just a little. Looking down, Spike watched in awe as some of the blessed water splashed onto Angelus’ hand. 

It didn’t burn. 

Nothing happened. There were no welts, no blistering of the skin, no hissing pain, or burning flesh scent. For long moments Spike stared in shock at what the water did to him and didn’t do to Angelus. 

“You really think I’m not above such petty things as holy objects? You really think I’m not immune to everything?” Angelus asked as he traded the knife in for something else Spike couldn’t see. 

“I really think you’re a wacko,” Spike said, his voice laced with pain. “I think you’re still Buffy-whipped, and that is making you crazy. Come back to your family; kill the bitch, and get over it!” 

It was perhaps the worst thing Spike could say. 

Carefully setting the whip back on the table, Angelus methodically walked over to Spike, and released him from the chains. His large hands caught the younger man before he could fall or escape, and Angelus made sure that he had Spike’s full attention before slamming his fist his childe’s face. Staggering back, but unable to go far with a stronger Angelus holding him, Spike shook his head and smiled. 

Again and again that fist made contact with Spike’s face, the elder never allowing the younger to fall to the floor. Face bloodied and bruised, nose broken, teeth loose, lip split in several places, Spike struggled to keep his eyes open. He wouldn’t give Angelus the satisfaction of passing out. 

“She’s mine,” Angelus said as he tossed Spike’s body back into the main room. “Mine, she always was, and now she always will be.” Picking Spike up by his tattered shirt, Angelus ripped it off him and dug two fingers into the closing knife wound. “She’s not going anywhere,” he reiterated with a snarl, the very thought of losing Buffy still sending him into a furious panic. 

He couldn’t bear that, couldn’t lose her, he went through all this just for her. Everything he did, it was for her; and to think she’d somehow die, somehow be lost to him, was unacceptable. And if there was one thing Angelus was good at, it was turning the unacceptable to his way. 

Another punch to Spike’s broken face, several to his ribs, cracking two and bruising the rest. The door to his cage opened with a thought, and Angelus shoved Spike into it, shirtless, blood everywhere. “Think on that,” he snarled as the door closed, and the other occupants looked on. 

“Think of that while you sit here with no one but these for company, while your consort shares my rule, while Buffy shares my bed. You never could plan anything, Spike, and now look what you’ve done to yourself.” 

Letting his eyes travel over the other cages, Angelus smirked at Rupert, silently promising the still injured man that their time together was far from finished. Dismissing Buffy’s parents, Cordelia, Xander – ah to see the pet dog in a cage, how apropos – and Willow, Angelus locked eyes with Oz and said, “Think of it, werewolf.”

The werewolf said nothing in return, ignoring his girlfriend’s questioning gaze. Angelus just laughed as he looked at Whistler. “And you thought you had problems?” Angelus asked the destiny demon when the smaller man looked at him. “You should’ve stayed out of it, Whistler,” he finished with a look that told the older demon to try it, just try it, and see the world of pain it brought. 

Laughing, Angelus turned and left, the metal door slamming in his wake. 

“That’s Buffy’s boyfriend?” Hank asked. “She’s sleeping with the psycho who kidnapped us all?” 

No one answered, everyone heard the comment, but it was pointless for them to dwell on it longer. But it was obvious that the Buffy they knew was no longer, not if she was in league with Angelus, not if she was sharing his bed, as Angelus blatantly pointed out, not if she was his ‘Goddess’ as he’d told Cordelia. 

“Oh,” Xander said as he stared holes into the steel door as if he could burn their way free, “It’s so much worse than that.”

Buffy was no longer their savior, they slowly realized, she was in league with the enemy.

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