After the Fall
by Electra
Author's Notes: This is a Post-Chosen fic; try to keep an open mind. :p I started this a while back and am posting it here now in hopes that my muse will be inspired to continue. I'd love to hear your thoughts if you can spare the time. :)
Chapter One
Life is to be lived, not controlled, and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat. – Ralph Ellison
BUFFY’S POV
Suffice it to say, I think that we were all a bit more than shocked when we lost the battle against the First. Seven years of fighting the good fight to lose against this entity that we couldn’t even see or touch. Failure was likely inevitable, but we had no choice but to fight or die.
I know you probably have a few questions, and I probably have some explaining to do. But honestly? I don’t know what happened. One minute we were kicking ubervamp uberass, and the next minute newbie slayers were getting plowed down like weeds.
The last thing I remember seeing before I got run through with my own sword was the last bit of the slayer army being backed into a corner and surrendering. Faith was beaten unconscious and left for dead atop a pile of bloodied corpses. Spike was burning up in a corner somewhere, believing until the very last minute that the amulet was going to somehow miraculously save him.
I can’t really tell you the fate of anyone else because, well . . . I just don’t know. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen or heard from any of my friends and loved ones. Actually . . . sixteen months, eleven days, and eight hours if you’d like to be precise. I’ve tried to get info out of some of the other slayers that I’ve come in contact with, but the answers are always the same. No one knows anything for sure.
After the battle, it took me about four days to come out of the coma that I seemed to have been in. Yeah, blood loss . . . it does crazy things to a girl. While I was knocked out for those few days, I’m pretty sure I had some slayer-dreams. Or visions. Whatever you
wanna call them, they all had the same message: Dawn was alive. My friends were alive. At least most of them were, anyhow. I’m not sure how I got the messages, but I’m pretty sure that’s what pulled me out of my slumber. I knew that I still had a duty to do: I had to save them. I had to make things better.
But the world I woke up to was not the world that I remembered. Ninety-six hours and the fate of the world had been completely turned around. The bodies of humans littered the streets like debris along a highway. Houses burned, land scorched . . . the world that I had known had turned into a burnt-out shell of what it used to be.
All because I had failed at what I was meant to do.
Those humans who had survived the first wave of massacres went on to become slaves to the several ruling demon clans that existed. The First was the power source behind the whole scene, but now all of the big and nasties had stepped up to stake out their part of the spoils. Unlike many of the other survivors, I remained in what was left of California, trapped in a war between the ruling demon clans in the area.
I belonged to a clan of vampires at first. They didn’t have any human slaves . . . they just had this big horde of Slayers. It seemed really odd at first, because they weren’t killing a single one of us. As far as slaves go, we were kept fairly comfortable. Apart from the odd beating or taunting, they pretty much left us in our cells and let us interact together. Not once did they try to feed from us or turn any of us. Right away, I knew that something had to be up. Vamps just don’t pass on Slayer-blood when they have a live stock of it locked up beneath them.
After a few hasty escape attempts that resulted in my solitary confinement and more bruises, cuts, and broken bones than I can count, I stopped trying to run away. Even if I did . . . where would I go? There were no freedom fighters, no renegade humans that were trying to take back what was theirs. They were all dead, or slaves, or . . . I don’t even know. There were others with fates worse than slaves, but that’s not what’s important now.
What is important was that there was no escape. If you managed to dupe your guards and get out, you faced miles and miles of harsh landscape and demons running around all willy-nilly, only to find yourself running into the arms of another less friendly demon clan.
So, I sat tight. I tried to regain my strength. I used every ounce of resolve and perseverance that I had just to NOT break down when I had to think about my family and friends. If I was ever going to stand up and fight, I need to be strong. I needed to be patient. And I needed allies.
About three weeks into my stay at the Chateau Craphouse, as I liked to call it, I finally began to work my way through the camps, assessing the girls there and determining who would be best to align with.
Yes, they were all slayers. But . . . some of them were so young. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old, plucked from their everyday lives because Willow called them early. I wish she had never done that spell. That . . . is my biggest regret. They weren’t ready. They had no warning. And it’s our fault that they’re dying now.
I was surprised to see how many of us they had thrown in the camp. Originally, I believed that there were about twenty of us, but was soon to find out that number was only in our sector of the camp.
When I walked outside our sector for the first time, I literally fell down onto my knees and just let the tears run as I gazed upon the hundreds of newly-called Slayers that filled the place. Bunks were so full that some girls had to sleep on the dirt in the middle of the open.
Bloodied clothes hung from the stone and barbed-wire walls that were sixteen feet high, serving as a sign to people on both sides of the wall; it told the demons that were roaming nearby to stay close, the fresh slayer blood on the clothing tempting them closer and closer every night. And for us, it warned that we could get over the fence, but we probably wouldn’t survive what was waiting for us on the other side.
After the initial shock wore down, I stood and began to scout the camp for familiar faces and capable bodies. A thirteen year-old girl that was crying for her mother wasn’t any use to me. I needed strong people. I needed fighters. I needed . . .
“Buffy?”
I turned around upon hearing a hoarse voice call my name to come face to face with Kennedy.
Now, I know that she and I had never had a good relationship, or been close, or had even liked each other for that fact. But in that moment, we clung to what was familiar and found ourselves in a tight embrace as we chuckled and cried and laughed.
“I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you Kennedy.” I laughed out, wiping some tears from my eyes.
“Likewise,” she agreed, trying to calm herself down. “I’ve been walking around this place for days trying to find some familiar faces. All I keep finding is scared girls and horror stories.”
We moved to sit on a large stone in the middle of the yard, hopping up on it and trying to get as comfortable as possible in the hot midday sun.
“So, no one we know then?” I asked, deflated. I was hoping that I’d find a few of the girls we had fought the First with. At least I was aware of their capabilities and personalities.
“A few here and there. Rhona is in Bunker 2 with Chao-Ahn. I saw Vi a few days back along the fence.” She looked down at her hands and got real quiet then.
“Ken?” I asked quietly, trying to make her continue.
“She was wrecked, Buff. A real basket-case. She was talking about going over the wall. I . . . I didn’t try to stop her. I just walked away and went back to my bunk.”
We both got quiet for a few minutes, just letting all of the new information sink in.
“Hey, it’s not your job to baby-sit, Kennedy. We’re in a rough situation here. Take care of yourself first and your friends later. You can’t help them if you can’t help yourself.”
I know, that really doesn’t sound like ‘Buffy’, huh? I’m sure that if Willow or Xander was there, I wouldn’t have been singing the same song. But the fact was, they weren’t there. And I had to focus on keeping myself alive so that I could help them. End of story.
I was pulled from my thoughts when Kennedy spoke again.
“No, you don’t get it, Buffy.” She raised her shaky arm to point up at a bloody shirt hanging from the fence. “That was hers. She . . . she hopped the wall and got killed, and I didn’t do a thing to stop it. I just let her die.”
She looked like she wanted to cry, but the tears weren’t falling. The body can only handle so much trauma and pain before it starts to shut down.
I sighed and rested my hand on her leg, trying to offer a bit of comfort.
“Kennedy, listen to me. I know you want to help people, and you don’t want anyone hurt. It’s the slayer in you. But you can’t take responsibility for everyone here and the decisions they make. If you did, you’d find a whole lot of dead people, and a whole world of hurt just waiting for you. For the moment . . . learn to live for yourself. Keep yourself safe. Help others when you can. But do NOT take their pain and misery unto yourself, or you’ll never make it outta here alive.”
I knew I had a bit of the old Buffy left in me. Sergeant Buffy. Pep-talk Buffy. Positive-in-the-face-of-danger Buffy. She was still there. She just needed to be prodded a little.
Kennedy and I spent a few hours together, not really talking so much, but just observing. We watched the guards around the perimeter and at the gates. We learned their patterns. We searched through the girls to find which ones had taken on natural leadership positions. We pretended not to take notice of the guards watching us from the towers and snickering with twisted grins on their faces.
When the sun finally started to fall and the even more dangerous night began to fall upon us, we took our leave and promised to meet at the same spot the next day.
The whole night was spent thinking not about what-if’s and maybes, but about what could be done to turn things around. I had been pessimistic up until then. I had told myself that I wouldn’t try to escape anymore because there was no hope.
But something about my meeting with Kennedy gave me hope. I got to put on the leader-shoes again, and it felt like that’s what I was supposed to be doing. I knew that I could lead those girls, as long as I had help. Kennedy, Rhona, Chao-Ahn . . . it wasn’t a bad start. It still looked pretty hopeless, but . . . at least I knew I wasn’t in it alone.
It was the first glimmer of hope that I had felt since the fall.
The next day, I met with Kennedy in the middle of the yard again. She brought Chao-Ahn and Rhona, and we all just sat in silence for awhile. We knew Chao-Ahn couldn’t understand a word that we were saying, but she was happy to just be around people that she was familiar with. We tried to talk a bit about the possibilities of a plan, but it seemed that the guards were paying too much attention suddenly. They never really cared before, but we saw them leering down on us from the towers and from across the yard.
I knew something was up when I saw Nikolos, the head of our clan, make an appearance amongst the guards. When I noticed that he was paying particular attention to us and only us, I hopped up from the stone and walked across the camp, hoping that the girls would catch on and do the same.
See, I was pretty sure that if he saw us bonding, he would cry conspiracy and we’d be in for a whole world of hurt. I could take it, but I didn’t want the girls getting hurt at my expense. So I abandoned our plan for a coup right then and there and decided that I’d have to do it on my own.
I wouldn’t put hundreds of lives on the line again. Not after it ended up so badly the last time I tried.
*********************************************************
It was just after sunset when we were all settling in for bed when we heard loud sirens blaring. To say that it was startling is an understatement, cos the camp was used to being pretty much left alone for the most part. The guards started running into the bunks and ushering us all out and through a large tunnel in the side of the one wall.
They were pretty much just your average everyday demons and vamps, but . . . there was something really ferocious about them. Maybe they were just really bitter cos there was a full pool of slayer blood at their fingertips and they couldn’t even take a little taste. Nikolos’ orders.
I thought maybe it was because there was a bit of humanity left in him. After all . . . rumors spread in the camps. We knew for a fact that the non-slayer camps were much more brutal and harsh. Compared to them, our time was like a walk in the park.
But as always, I was wrong. It only took time to prove that to me.
When we came out the other side of the tunnel, I noticed that we weren’t underground at all. We were in the open. The wide open. As the lights flickered on around the perimeter, a familiar place was lit up in front of our own very eyes.
McAfee Coliseum. Home of the Oakland Raiders.
Dread filled me as I heard hordes of demons start to yell and shout as we walked out in our tattered and bloodied clothes, looking very much like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.
I knew that things were about to get a whole lot worse.
I tried to be calm and help the girls that were crying and upset, but I quickly found that I was being ushered to a different area by the guards . . . right out to the middle of the arena. I threw a few elbows and punches, but it only drew their wrath. A few kicks to the ribs later, I found myself huddled in the middle of the arena with Kennedy, Chao-Ahn, Rhona, and a few other random girls from the camp. The tough ones.
The crowd roared as Nikolos appeared one the one balcony, smiling and waving at the masses and masses of demons before him. He held up his hand and the crowd fell silent, waiting for him to speak.
A huge smirk appeared on his face, and I instantly knew I was wrong about him. There was no humanity in him. He was the cruelest one of them all.
“Welcome to the Coliseum!” He shouted and the crowd roared again, louder than just a moment before. “I have a lovely treat for you, kiddies. I know you’ve been waiting patiently, but we’re finally ready. Let the games begin!”
The yelling and stomping was so loud that I thought the place would cave in. So loud, in fact, that I didn’t even hear the clatter of the swords and daggers that fell just before our feet.
My eyes met Kennedy’s just after we both noticed the pile of weapons. I couldn’t have heard her even if she had tried to speak, but we both knew what was going on. Even poor Chao-Ahn knew what was going on.
I held my arms straight at my sides and refused to look at the weapons again. Kennedy and I stood next to each other, looking at the guards with defiance. We were not going to fight them for their own pleasure. There was no way that this horde of demons would let us kill their brethren without retaliating or lashing out in some way.
A guard grabbed me and threw me to the ground, causing me to land just next to the pile of blades.
“You will fight, by order of Nikolos.” He yelled.
I stood up and spit at him, the defiance clear in my actions as well as in my words.
“No.”
“You will fight, by order of Nikolos. You will fight or you will die.” He repeated.
Again, I shook my head.
“No, I won’t fight you. I won’t fight any of your friends either.”
I was taken aback when the guard and those surrounding us started laughing raucously.
“Stupid cow,” he commented, “you will not fight my friends; you will fight your friends.”
He held out his hand and pointed towards the groups of girls in the center of the arena, their faces becoming more and more pale by the second. Realization quickly sunk in: they didn’t want us to fight them; they wanted us to fight each other.
I spun around to face the guard again, suddenly feeling strong. You can take away a person’s freedom, but you can’t take away their choice. Or so I believed then. They couldn’t make us fight it we refused.
“Are you kidding me? You expect me to fight these girls . . . my friends? NOT gonna happen.”
The guard grinned evilly as he laughed plainly at me.
“You will fight, or you will die.”
I swallowed hard, my jaw clenching tightly.
“And these other girls?” I asked as I indicated the few hundred other girls waiting in the wings.
“They will fight, or die.”
I laughed at the tears fell from my eyes.
“This has gotta be some kind of joke. What you’re essentially telling me here is . . . kill or be killed. Forget friendship. Forget sides. Forget alliances. Dismiss what we know, and kill each other so your demon hordes can get their jollies on? NO. I won’t fight. Neither will they.”
I kept my gaze locked on the guard who was still looking at me with a sick grin on his face.
“Maybe you should talk to your little ‘band of friends’ before you go making their decisions, cupcake.” And just like that, all of the surrounding guards were laughing as well.
I turned around to see what was going on, only to find that the group of girls had already grabbed their weapons and were waiting in fighting stance. Not waiting for me, but for some sign that this was real, and that they would really be fighting to defend their lives from their so-called peers.
I looked directly to Kennedy who was wielding the largest sword of them all. She looked scared, but she was ready to battle nonetheless.
“Kennedy, please don’t tell me you’re serious. Put down the sword.”
She chuckled nervously.
“You’re the one that said it, Buff: take care of yourself first, take care of your friends later.”
I chuckled bitterly, tears still falling from my eyes.
“And from that, you got, ‘protect yourself and kill your friends?’ Kennedy, what kind of insane troll logic are you using here?”
“Don’t let my brand of logic stop you here, Buffy. Pick up your weapon and show me that my logic flawed.” She leaned down and got the last short-sword and tossed it over so that it lay at my feet. “Show me that there’s another way to do it.”
But I didn’t know how. I wouldn’t kill these girls, but I wouldn’t let them kill me either. Not when I was still clinging on to that last ray of hope that our situation wasn’t completely helpless. That I could lead them, and maybe get out of this hellhole and make some changes.
I was so wrapped up in my confrontation with Kennedy that I failed to notice the bustle of activity that had broken out around us. The few girls that had been led out to the center with us were now engaged in one-on-one battles, knowing simply that if they did not fight, the guards would kill them, and that if they did not fight, their peers would kill them.
It was survival of the fittest at its most dark and desperate level. Kill . . . or be killed.
I watched in horror and awe as the young girls fought sloppy and ruthlessly, not yet in tune with their slayer strength but knowing full well that they had to fight or they would die anyhow. A few bodies lay around the arena now as the group got smaller and smaller, the cheering and yelling so loud that I could hardly think.
I managed to stay outside of the fray long enough, keeping the blood of these innocent girls from spilling on my hands. Kennedy had jumped into the fray, but only to make it look like she was fighting. She was putting on a show. Because in the end, she knew that it had to be her and me. She was either being really brave, or she was planning something really stupid.
And as always, stupidity won out.
As soon as Kennedy took out Rhona, the last girl standing, she turned to me with a lost look on her face.
“Their blood is on my hands, Buffy.” She managed to get out. I was just barely able to hear her with my slayer hearing.
“You coming for mine now?” I asked, stepping up to her and gazing down upon her. I kept my eyes on hers as she took a step towards me, but then I surprised her. I threw my sword down and held out my arms. An invitation for her to finish her job.
It was her call now. Would she kill me?
Tears fell from her eyes like a river as she got real close to me, speaking in a tone as soft as a whisper.
“That wasn’t part of my logic or my plan, Buffy.” She explained sadly. I frowned at her and she continued. “Their blood isn’t on your hands . . . it’s on mine. I can’t live with that. And that’s okay, because I can’t lead them either. Not like you can.”
I furrowed my eyebrows at her, wondering just exactly what she was saying.
“Kennedy, I . . .” my words we cut off as I felt her slip the handle of her sword into my hand. I looked down at my hand in shock, in complete disbelief of what she was expecting me to do.
“You told me that ‘you can’t help anyone if you don’t help yourself first’. Here’s your chance, Buff. Lead them. Make things right. I can’t be the girl to do all of that. It has to be you. Tell Willow I love her when you fix this. Now . . . just do it.”
I shook my head no, tears falling from my eyes.
“Kennedy, there has to be another way. I can’t . . . I won’t . . .” I tried to continue, but my voice was lost in the loud boos coming from the audience, wanting to see the last bloody killing.
I watched Kennedy as she took a step back and opened up her arms, waiting for me to strike one final blow. But I couldn’t do it. I’m a slayer, not a murderer. Or at least I was. I don’t even know anymore.
All I know is that I looked up at Nikolos when he ordered that I finish her off, and by the time I looked at Kennedy, she had lunged forward and impaled herself on the sword in my hands.
The crowds cheered and sirens rang out in the night, and I cried and fell to my knees as a couple hundred scared girls watched on in utter fear as I became crowned the champion Gladiator of the night. The one girl that had walked out of the arena alive. The last slayer standing.
And the one girl that they knew could kill them all, who held their very fate in her hands.
But it was all for nothing. Kennedy’s sacrifice . . . it meant nothing. She spared me so that I could lead the other girls in a revolt. But in essence, she squashed any chance of that ever happening. Cos there was no way I could be friends with those girls and take them under my wing if I was going to be made to go out and kill them every night.
I made a hard shell of my heart as I knelt in the middle of the cheering arena with Kennedy’s bloodied and lifeless body at my knees. I would not lead these girls. There was nothing I could do to save them. One by one they would kill each other, and many of those lives would be at my own hands as the reigning champion.
The last glimmer of hope that I had to get out of this place and turn the fate of the world around fizzled out that day, and I became what I am today.
The gladiator. The killer. The deadliest girl in the coliseum circuit. When they put me in the ring . . . I never lost.
All of my hope was gone. Faded. But little did I know that it would only take one person to help me find a little faith . . .
Chapter Two
Have you ever stood and looked at yourself in the mirror so long that your eyes blur and you can't make out your features anymore? Your eyes -- once bright and lively - are now sad and dark, filled with all of the pain of your sins. Your skin pale and dirty, your lips dry and cracked.
You try to squint, hoping that you'll be able to see a shimmer of the girl that you once were. All you see is the devil that they created. The monster that you were forced to become.
You think for a moment that it's only a trick of the light. That if you had a proper light bulb instead of dull white candle light and burning torches, you might be able to find a hint of innocence left there.
But when you pull the candle closer and you stare more intently at the mirror, you see your features start to shift. Your teeth grow to sharp fangs, your eyes cover in black oil, making them look like obsidian pools, and your skin turns to scales, showing the true monster that resides in your hollow body.
And then you wake up, sweating and screaming from within your solitary cell, your hands running over your cheeks and lips to see if the monster remains. You're sure that you feel neither fangs nor scales, but your mind won't let it go. In a panic, you run to the small 4-inch mirror shard that a guard has smuggled in for you and put your hands to your face. You feel your skin, soft and dry. You feel your teeth, flat as ever. Your eyes, though sallow and dark, are your own.
When the tears finally spill onto your cheeks, you fall to the ground and weep. The sad truth is that you're not a monster. You're a pathetic shell of a girl who used to be a warrior of the good, who saved lives and fought for what was right.
But anyone else would tell you that, though you still are a girl on the outside, you've become a monster on the inside. The things that you have seen, the things that you have done . . . no girl would do. No warrior for the cause of good would do.
So you wipe your tears from your face and you steady your breathing . . . one breath, two breaths; long, slow exhale. You stand up and shake it off, because you can't be weak. Weak people die here, and you can't die. Not when your sister, your friends . . . are waiting for you to save them. Not when they need you to save them so that you can save the world.
Again.
And just like that, you become a shell again. A robot. You follow your orders. You do as you're told and you don't make waves.
Inside though, you're waiting. Always waiting, always watching for that one chance when they drop their guard, for a hole to appear in their defenses. That's when you'll strike. That's when you'll make your move.
But they never do quite drop their guard, and their defenses never falter. They are many, and you are one.
Sixteen months pass and not a thing has changed. You are their prisoner, and you haven't come a step closer to breaking them. To breaking out. To breaking free.
With a sigh, you steady yourself and walk back to your cot and sit on the edge. They'll be coming for you soon; come to collect their monster to do their bidding.
You sit and wait, closing your eyes so that you don't have to look at your harsh surroundings for a moment longer than you have to.
You don't sleep, but you're well aware that you're stuck in a nightmare nonetheless.
*********************************************
It's been over sixteen months since the day I woke up in this hellhole. Over sixteen months since the day that they tossed me into center stage with my . . . friends . . . and made me a murderer. Though, in all reality, I wasn't a killer that day. Kennedy forced events.
I didn't become a killer until about a week after that.
After the first night, the guards decided that they didn't like my little act of defiance. They knew that I was the original slayer; that I should have been the best and deadliest fighter out there. And when I didn't perform for them? Well, they got a little bit snippy.
I was sent out of the arena with a dislocated shoulder, a face I could barely recognize for the swelling and bruising, and more cracked ribs than I could even start to count.
And really, they're such great guys. They gave me a whole week to heal up and prepare myself to go back into the ring.
I guess that my first little excursion in the arena was only a small taste of things to come. Nikolos wanted to see how things would go, how the crowd would react, how much bloodlust he could create among his minions.
And yeah, they were thirsty for slayer blood and wanted to see it spilled. Often.
Maybe it was some kind of vengeance for the demon population. For thousands of years, the slayers have been killing demons and foiling their evil deeds.
I guess now that they had the descendents of the original slayer, they were going to exact their revenge in the best way they knew how: they wouldn't kill us and tear us limb from limb; they would sic us on each other and let us take care of their dirty work.
In essence, it was the evilest thing that they could have done to us.
Instead of letting the younger girls duke it out while I was on the mend, they decided to keep the coliseum shut down during that time. They let the anticipation build, let the word get out.
Nikolos wanted all of the demons there that the place could fit. He wanted it to be an expo that would attract thousands.
And basically, I was the main attraction.
Sure, there were other girls. All slayers, all preternaturally strong, all inherently good.
But they weren't me. They weren't the slayer.
I was almost relieved that Faith had likely died in the big battle. There was no way that she would have sat by and took their orders. She would have fought them, and they would have done worse things to her than killing her.
In my mind, she had it easy, wherever death had led her.
Nikolos . . . he knew that I had been the slayer for seven years. He knew how many of his brethren I had wiped out. Now it was time for him to watch me kill mine.
So, I was given a week to heal and to cope. I'll admit that it was a complete mindfuck, for lack of a better word. How exactly does one come to terms with the fact that she'd be killing people for sport? That Kennedy, scared and helpless and hopeless, made the biggest sacrifice so that I could survive and lead.
Or maybe she knew that our fate was to die, and she just wanted it to end fast so that she didn't have to go through prolonged suffering.
Maybe she wanted me to live, and suffer.
I couldn't come to terms with it. I cried, and I struggled with myself, and I said that I couldn't do it. That I'd let them kill me before I'd take a life. I couldn't go out there day after day, night after night, and murder these girls for the sake of myself.
I knew that it was the `big night' when I heard the demons begin to filter into the coliseum around dusk. Many had been there all day long, the hazy sunlight not an issue for them. Once the sun went down, the vamps came out to play and Nikolos was ready to kick off the events.
It was such a sick feeling . . . my skin crawling, my slayer senses tingling . . . the slayer in me wanted to dance, but I had to rein her in. I knew that the first time I'd raise my hand to a guard or any demon there, I'd be taken out. And as stupid as it sounds, I had to let Nikolos know that I wasn't willing to fight before he killed me. It had to be on my terms.
My situation may have changed, but I was still the same old Buffy then. Things were always on my terms.
The guards gave me some ridiculous armor to change into, but it could barely be called armor at all. It basically looked like a metal bikini of some kind. Try to wear it at the beach though and you'd sink like a fashion-challenged stone.
I tried to hand it back to the guard; I told him that I was fine fighting in my tattered jeans and top that looked like rags hanging on my body, covered in dirt and blood, but he insisted that I change.
By order of Nikolos.
And then he insisted that he stay in my holding cell while I changed.
Not only did they want me to fight the other slayers, but now they were going to stand around while I changed?
I was angry, and sad, and confused, but mostly . . . I was humiliated.
There weren't many people in my life who had made me feel powerless, and who held it over my head and watched with a smirk as I clung to what was left of my dignity.
After a very embarrassing struggle with my clothing and the armor, I was finally dressed as they wanted me. I looked like one of those gladiators that you see in the movies. Picture Russell Crowe in that movie . . . you know the one I'm talking about. Now make him a girl and give him armor that barely covers his body . . . and bam, you have me.
I don't know how they could even call it armor; I was more exposed than I was covered. Maybe some young slayer would get lucky and catch me off-guard. There was no way I would survive a wound to my mid-section, especially if I was supposed to use my slayer healing as my only means of first aid.
The only bit of it that made sense was my wrist guards. The metal clung tightly to my forearms, ensuring that I wouldn't lose my hands in battle. Cos, as amusing as it may appear, I'm sure that a one-handed slayer wouldn't provide much entertainment if she couldn't hold up the heavy weapons with only one hand.
I'm pretty sure that they didn't want me to die though. They wanted me to stick around so that I could entertain them for endless days. And they wanted me to feel the pain of my actions each and every day. They wanted me to hate them; hell, they just wanted me to hate. Because as long as I had an emotion as strong as hate strong in me, I would fight.
Then they would never be bored.
The guard ushered me out of my cell and up the long corridor that led to the coliseum. Once out in the arena, I could see just how many demons were there. It was appalling. But even more appalling was the fighting that was already going on.
The bodies of several young slayers lay strewn about the arena. A few of them lay crying as they died slowly, their attacker not having the heart to completely finish the job.
Along the sides of the arena, slayers sat tied to a long bench which was anchored in the ground. They were forced to sit there and watch as they awaited their turn.
My stomach lurched as I looked upon it all. Before I could even walk the last few steps out of the corridor and into the arena, I crouched against the wall and wretched again and again, pouring out the remaining contents of my nearly empty stomach. I hadn't eaten much that morning, so it was mostly stomach acid that burned my tongue and lips as it passed. My eyes watered, and I wasn't sure if it was from the pain or if I was crying.
I was really only sure of one thing at that point: I wanted to die. I wanted it to be over; I didn't want the blood of those innocent girls on my hands. I felt completely and utterly hopeless and I was ready to just give in. To give up.
But I didn't have time for self-pity. I was being yanked out by my hair before I could even get to my feet.
I looked up towards one of the balconies as I stumbled along with the guard, the same balcony that Nikolos had stood on the last time. As I thought, he was sat there surrounded by a gang of vampires, all of them hooting and hollering as two slayers fought in the middle of the arena.
When Nikolos spotted me, he stood up and walked to the edge, smirking the whole time. He said something to one of his guards, who punched some buttons on a console in front of him. A moment later, Nikolos's image appeared on the giant screen under the scoreboard, pulling the attention of everyone in the arena from the fight to the screen.
Immediately, the crowd roared, cheering him on.
The two slayers in the ring were pulled back to the bench, pure terror etched on their faces. Sure, they were spared for now. But for how long? How long did they have to cherish what was left of their lives? Unsure what to do and who to turn to, the two girls clung to one another, forgetting for a moment that they had just been trying to kill each other.
“Tonight is a special night,” Nikolos began, pausing to let the crowd cheer at his words. “Tonight,” he continued, “we get to see some real entertainment. Last week was just a paltry taste of what's to come. We've found the best of the best. The cream of the crop. And tonight, we will see her in action.”
The crowd cheered again and I couldn't help but tremble. He was talking about me. I was the big reason that the coliseum was completely packed.
Nikolos held up his hands to silence the crowd and he waited until you could hear a pin drop.
“Slayer!” he called, looking down to me. “Are you ready to show us a good time?”
The crowd cheered yet again.
I kept eye contact with him and gritted my teeth, seething with so much hatred for him. When the crowd began to quiet again, I turned my head and spat before I met his gaze yet again.
“Do whatever you want to me . . . I'm not fighting. This place, this outfit,” I said and paused to indicate my meager armor, “it's a joke. You're going to kill us anyway, so just get it over with. I'm not playing your games so you can get your rocks off.”
The crowd began to boo and laugh, taunting me from all angles. Nikolos just stood and chuckled.
“I think she needs some motivation,” he said with a smirk, his eyes never leaving mine. He nodded his head and his guard began to press the buttons on the console again.
I saw something flicker from the corner of my eye . . . the large screen . . . but I continued to glare daggers at Nikolos.
“Buffy . . .”
Oh god, I thought. Please, no. I remember feeling my heart sink in my chest. I didn't want to believe it could be who I thought it was.
But when I turned my head toward the screen, I fell to my knees as I realized that the voice belonged to whom I thought.
Dawn.
“Buffy, please . . . you have to get me out of here,” she pleaded. She was on some type of live feed television.
My eyes watered as I looked at her. She was amazingly unhurt, untouched, but I could see how scared she looked. How much she needed me. There were guards standing behind her, not touching her, but smirking and chuckling as she talked. They had been holding onto someone . . . I strained my eyes to see whom. When I saw a flash of red hair from under the one guard's large meaty hand, I realized who it was.
“Dawn! Willow!” I cried out, wanting nothing more than to jump through the screen and save them. Dawn looked fine, but Willow was . . . she was a mess. I could see bruises in different stages of healing all over her face and arms. There was dried blood on her shirt, though I couldn't tell where it had come from.
A few months later I found out where it had come from, but I'll get into that at another time.
I couldn't help but panic. If something happened to Willow, what would happen to Dawn? Who would look after her?
I stood and turned to Nikolos, anger etched across my face. I'd found my strength again.
“Let them go,” I said, my jaw clenched.
Nikolos laughed, causing the entire crowd to laugh along with him.
“Interesting request, but I think I'll pass,” he said with amused look. “But,” he continued as he stepped forward and grasped onto the handrail, “I'll let them live. Maybe.Would you like to see them live?”
I'm not stupid; I knew what he wanted. What he was holding out for. He would let them live if I followed his orders; if I fought. But if I refused . . . I couldn't even think about what would happen if I refused.
I took a deep breath and glanced back at the screen. Dawn was still stood there, a look of panic on her face.
I had to save her. I had to save Willow. We had to regroup. I kept thinking that if I could only get to Dawn and Willow and Giles and Xander and Anya, we might stand a chance. We could come up with something brilliant to change the outcome of this . . . hell. We had done it before, and it seemed to me to be the only option at the time.
God knows it killed me inside, but after taking one last glance at the screen, I dropped my head and closed my eyes. I tried to find my strength. My will to survive.
And I nodded my head.
Nikolos laughed and the crowd cheered, stomping their feet in anticipation of what was to come.
“Let the real games begin,” Nikolos said loudly, his voice echoing over the crowd.
I kept my eyes closed as I heard footsteps and scampering around me. I tried so hard not to lose it. Over and over I told myself that it was for the greater good. That I could save the world if I could only get out of there.
And if getting out of there meant waiting for an opening while I had to commit certain . . . acts . . . I thought I could justify it in my mind.
It was only a few moments before I heard the clanging of falling weapons before me. I opened my eyes and looked over them, my stomach churning when I noticed that several of them were already bloodied.
There were weapons there that were designed to inflict pain, some to maim . . . and some that were meant only to kill.
I remember reaching into the pile, my hand trembling as I tried to avoid getting blood on my hands.
Blood never washes off, you see. The blood itself does, but not the memory of it. Never the memory of it.
There was a longsword in the mix, sharp and unused, and I pulled it slowly from the pile. The sound that the metal made as it scraped against the other metal weapons made my head hurt, sounding very much like it was piercing my very soul.
When I looked up, I noticed that the guards had brought five new girls out into the arena and untied them. As soon as they noticed that I had chosen my weapon, all five girls made a mad dash for the pile, trying to find the best of what was left. I stood completely still and didn't move as they passed me, unafraid that they would hurt me.
They couldn't hurt me.
I was the best. Giles had trained me that way. I was fluent in the art of physical combat, and after seeing Dawn and Willow . . . I had something to live for. I had a plan.
There was no way that I would die willingly at that point.
When one of the girls lunged at me, I easily stepped out of the way. The other four girls looked on in terror as the girl swung at me over and over again, missing me every time as I easily stepped backward to avoid her lunges. I didn't raise my sword once. I didn't need the shield that a guard had tossed my way. I easily stepped over it as the girl continued to unleash her fury upon me.
I wasn't angry at her; she was trying to survive. Maybe she thought she'd have an easier time with the other girls if she took me out first.
After sidestepping her advances over and over again, I finally felt myself nearing the edge of the arena. I could hear the snarling of the demons as they got closer and closer to me. At that point, I was more afraid that they could hurt me while my back was turned toward them than of the girl who was swinging a mace wildly about, trying harder than ever now to hit me with it.
The only time that I raised my sword was when I felt my back hit the wall. By then, the girl was so tired from swinging the heavy mace about that she didn't even notice my sword.
I won't tell you exactly what happened . . . I can't, because I've blocked it out of my mind . . . but I can tell you that she died quickly, easily, and in as painless a way as I could manage.
There are pretty much two areas on the body where damage will cause almost imminent, immediate death: head and heart. That's where I always went for.
I was later told that my whole life I'd gone for the heart and the head, but again, I'll have to tell you more about that at another time.
As the young girl's lifeless body slid from my sword and onto the ground, the crowd cheered louder than I could have imagined. I didn't know her name.
I didn't know any of their names.
But it was done. I was a killer. Still, I was trying to convince myself that it was for the greater good at that point.
They made me into a monster. Just like they were.
I stood and watched with vacant eyes as two demons came shuffling out of a side door and moved the body onto a sheet, then scurried away with it back through the same door. I couldn't even let myself think about what was going to happen to her body.
As it was, there were four more girls who stood in the center of the arena. They watched the whole display with wide eyes, fear evident on their faces. When I started to slowly walk toward the center again, one of the girls panicked and ran toward the side of the
arena. She jumped up over the side, hastily trying to escape.
But she had jumped right into the arms of a blood hungry crowd.
I blocked out the sounds of her screaming as I approached the center, my body doing what it needed as my mind drifted off to a different place.
To this day, I'm still not sure what happened. I remember blood, and I remember tears. The blood belonged to the girls, but the tears were my own.
When I finished what I had to do, my mind came back from whatever happy place I had sent it to. I looked around the arena and into the crowd, watching with disgust as they cheered and cheered.
Like before, Nikolos stepped to the edge of the balcony.
“I've spoken with Khayet, who tells me that his clan will be joining us in the months to come,” he spoke to the crowd. “I expect that we'll be in for some real treats, kiddies. Do remember to join us again.”
I soon found out that Khayet was the head of another clan, filled mostly with warmongering demons. They'd have more slayers, I was sure. More people to kill.
More sin to commit.
As the crowd began to filter out of the arena, I was led back to my cell by the same guard as earlier. He seemed less aggressive then. His grip was less firm, his words were less harsh.
When he let me into my cell and told me he needed to collect my armor, he left me to undress while he disappeared into the corridor somewhere.
I slowly peeled the bloodstained armor from my body, noting that it felt ten times heavier with the weight of my crimes on it. A moment or two later the guard - Dervin - returned with a large bowl full of water and a clean rag. He didn't say anything to me; he simply took the armor from the dirt-covered floor and left, locking the door behind him.
For several minutes I sat in the pale candle light, naked except for my underwear. I watched as the blood on my skin and the tears on my face dried in place.
From that point, I told myself that I wouldn't cry anymore. Not for something that I was forced to do; not for something that might save us all in the end.
I remember placing the bowl of water on a little stool and squatting in front of it, using the rag to wipe the dried blood from my skin. The water quickly turned bright red and I couldn't bring myself to use it to wash my face.
Before I climbed onto my cot, I walked to the wall and looked into the small shard of mirror that Dervin had given me days before.
I looked like me. There were tear stains on my face, but I still looked like the same girl. Same old Buffy.
Nevertheless, I wasn't the same girl. I had done something that I found unforgivable when done by someone else at a previous time. I wondered if I'd ever forgive myself, the way that I thought I'd forgiven her.
But then I realized that forgiveness wasn't something that could be given by the guilty.
