bloodysoul (bloodysoul) wrote in bearandbarnacle, @ 2009-01-24 14:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | arrival, spikepost |
Spike: Other: Arrival
Hordes of monsters and demons and other scary-looking things were rushing towards them, weapons drawn. What looked like...could it be a dragon??...was swooping down at them. They all knew that this was most likely the end. They had fought the good fight, proven their point, but there was no way that Spike could see any of them getting out of this. Well, maybe Illyria. Out of sheer defiance of death.
As blows began flying, Spike found himself wondering what it would be like now, to finally die. The final sort. How many times could a bloke come back, after all? Well, Angel had done it a few. And Buffy. But really, maybe it would be nice to rest now. Except that, either because of his re-earned soul or in spite of it, he was most likely going to be headed for some version of hell.
He was fighting valiantly, but it was not going well. Everything hurt, and he could feel the blood dripping down his face. There were too many of them. He couldn't even see Angel, Gunn, or Ilyria at all in the sea of fighting. And that was when, in his moment of glancing away and losing a bit of concentration, that the butt of a crossbow hit him square across the head. And then, the sea of monsters and blood spun and abrutly went...black.
"Mmmph," was the first sound he realized actually came from him. His head felt like it was on fire, almost as bad as when the chip would activate and send electricity through his brain. Though, he suppossed, maybe pain was a good thing. Maybe it meant he wasn't dead after all. That would be surprising. He was able to move his arm (another good sign), and he touched his face. It was sticky. But it was there. Corporeal still, then.
It was awfully quiet. Couldn't be that they'd beaten the whole horde back, but not likely the horde would have given up and wandered off either. Was he a prisoner then? The ground was decidely soft...and...grainy. Sand? What the hell?
"Balls," he groaned. Or at least tried to. Still came out more like "Bthhh". He was going to have to try to open his eyes. He squinted them tightly and then slowly opened. Stars and the moon in the night sky greeted him. He turned his head (ever so slowly) and saw that he was lying on sand. A beach. Waves were lapping against it not far off. "What the hell?"
Spike grunted and gingerly forced himself up, taking in the surroundings. He was alone, on a beach. Decidely not in the heart of LA.
"Well, Dorothy, looks like we're not in bloody Kansas anymore."