Under a blood red sky

Saerian sat in Jack's apartment, eyes shut, hands moving as though he were directing an orchestra. He was dressed in a nice three-piece suit, once Jack's favorite. His shoes were immaculately shined, his eyes shone in the dark.

A cigarette dangled between his lips, and while he paced, Saerian used his mind to find the people of York that were sleeping. At this hour, it was really most of them. It was shortly before dawn, a time when vampires were settling down to sleep and humans would still be asleep at least another hour.

He could do a lot of damage in that hour. And he intended to.

It was about 8 p.m. when Saerian tracked The Key to the book store.

It was a cookie-cutter book store, one of those corporate things that ruined the written word and paid homage to greed.

He loved it.

Inside, there were, of course, books, but also there was a coffee shop--a full one, a corporate one, and at this time of night it was mostly empty, which was good. York wasn't huge, and its population was never so knowledge-starved it needed to be in a book store.

This one was near the campus, which made sense. Hungry minds needed caffeine and required reading materials.

He knew The Key had some preferences as far as coffee went, and these were not them. But there was a book she'd been looking for that the library had not had, so here she was.

Saerian wanted to use her. Despite the immense power boost he'd gotten from The Conduit, he hadn't become who he was without a healthy dollop of greed. The Key. Slayer's blood. Both in the same body.

If he could at the very least corrupt her, there was no telling the things he could accomplish. If he could drain her, all the better. Get her energy, amazing.

He had a feeling that Dawn Summers was tired of being looked at as the slayer's little sister, and a little girl. Something to be watched.

This was why he offered her a polite, fang-hiding smile as he approached the counter to get a coffee he wouldn't drink. It was one that Jack would give her, too. She was a little young for Jack, but just his type.

Good. Everyone'd be happy.

The Conduit had given him an incredible gift. Saerian knew that, and he also was not such an idiot as to not realize that it came with a catch.

That little extra, that 'surprise' that he'd been given...

Jack's body was human. It was destined to always be human, and would've been, even with Saerian inside, without the intervention of Wolfram and Hart.

Once he left the White Room, Saerian was pleased to realize his body was reverting back to what he considered to be his natural state, aside from his expansive, non-corporeal shape. He felt his teeth elongating, and he felt Jack's death when it happened, doubling him over and bringing him to his knees. He stayed there as the remainder of the town went berserk, shambling like zombies, wielding chain saws... he was easy to ignore, as a corpse. And once that was all over, he rose, almost invincible.

The playing field was now above level. He was, now, a stronger version of his child: a vampire with some mixture of demon. In his case, the demon would always be stronger. In Phaedra's, it was the opposite.

The first thing he needed to do was show Phaedra he was not done, not by any means.

So he found another victim, this time draining the woman of blood and leaving the puncture wounds before carving the symbol into her wrist. He left her in a heap in a supermarket parking lot and receded into the shadows, waiting to watch, waiting to see what this little bit of bait caught.

Saerian followed Freddy, and Freddy followed Saerian. It was almost a game, and a happy one, at that.

The demon knew, without question, that this was not *really* Freddy. It was a man named Kyle, who also worked at the Renaissance Faire in the summer as a knight. He knew how to joust, he had two kids and a beautiful, exotic-looking wife. But during the fall season, Kyle joined the troupe that worked the corn maze as a legendary, razor-fingered killer.

The truly interesting part, the demon mused, was that Kyle's thoughts were becoming Freddy's thoughts the longer this cat-and-mouse game went on. The man was, for all intents and purposes, becoming Freddy. He believed. He believed. And that made it so, because Kyle would run loose through York tormenting people, killing...

Oh, this was all too good. The demon wondered who else was in the maze. He hoped someone was Hannibal Lecter. Dear God, he hoped.

From below where he sat, hidden, Saerian heard the sound of metal scraping metal. Kyle was running those metal fingers down the wall of the building, and they'd hit the dumpster. Saerian had forgotten the watch in his pocket but could hear it ticking, now. He knew Kyle could, too. He was counting on that. When he turned the watch over, after leaving the curiosities tent, he'd read an inscription on the back of it: THE WHITE ROOM AT MIDNIGHT.

What Kyle didn't seem to really care about, and the one thing that made this less fun for Saerian, was that this was not a dream. This was the real, waking world. Saerian knew a thing or two about torture through dreams. It was why he was participating in this little chase at all.

He waited for Kyle to find him, to recite a bad line from "Nightmare on Elm Street," and smiled up at him. "Freddy," Saerian said, getting to his feet, "we're going on a trip."

The demon clapped his hand onto Kyle's sweatered arm, opened the pocket watch, and waited until the second hand hit 12.

Like they'd never been anywhere else, Saerian and Kyle simply appeared in the White Room. The Conduit sat there, in the center, motionless.

This was when Freddy decided to lose it.

Maybe it was the teleportation. Or the large predatory cat sitting right in front of him. Saerian would never know for sure.

"Where are we?" he growled, raising his glove. "I'll cut you in two." The threat was calmer, not that growl. Trying to keep the upper hand.

All at once, the big cat shifted, changed, and grew. As any Wolfram and Hart employee would tell anyone who needed to know, the Conduit didn't choose its shape.

Its beholder did.

A perfect clone of Phaedra stood there, now, where the cat had been. Smiling. "Interesting choice, but not surprising. This," she said, circling Kyle, "is interesting."

Kyle swiped at her stomach, cutting it open. It healed almost immediately. Freddy did not look pleased.

"Glad you got our message. You see, we hate you, you hate us," the Conduit said. Saerian nodded. "But if we help you, truly help you, you'll have the upper hand. Without us, you won't." The Conduit smiled, then. Phaedra's smile. She reached out a hand and levitated Kyle, willing him to be quiet. He was quiet.

Her eyes focused on Saerian. "We would like to supplement your power. That makes your bringing this one with you somewhat perfect."

All at once, The Conduit flexed its hand, then made a fist. A glowing blue light spread from Kyle's chest, outward, engulfing his entire body. Once that was done, The Conduit turned her eyes to Saerian.

"All of his power. It's yours."

Saerian arched an eyebrow. "His?"

"You said it yourself. He believes he's Freddy. Freddy's power. Over nightmares."

The demon laughed. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but are you fucking insane? Freddy is a fictional fucking character. I've got an A-class wizard riding my ass, a handful of hunters and a vampire I personally designed to be indestructible. I cannot help anything in nightmares."

The blue light was transferring now, from Kyle's chest to Saerian's, in a thin line of power. Saerian could feel it vibrate down to Jack's skeleton.

"You think we aren't being generous enough? I should kill you where you stand."

But just the same, the light changed from blue to red. "What's that?" Saerian asked, a slight hint of nervousness in his voice.

"It's a present," the Conduit answered.

Once the lights had dissipated, Kyle lay lifeless on the floor. The Conduit removed the glove from his hand and handed it to Saerian.

"What kind of present?"

She put the glove on his hand, and backed away, smiling. "You'll have to see. Enjoy ruling their dreams. And I wouldn't worry too much about the wizard. Or the hunters. Or her." The Conduit looked down at its body, then back up to his face. "What is it she says?"

"I now leave you to God," Saerian said, without hesitation.

The Conduit smiled and disappeared.

When night fell on the Monday before Halloween, the Corn Maze was open for business.

There was a line extending back from the entrance of the maze to the fair parking lot--a decent distance, to be sure. Costumed actors walked through the line, trying to get cheap scares out of the waiting fright-seekers. The noises of revving chainsaws could be heard from within the maze, as well as a well-placed scream, here and there. Jack-o-lanterns sat in strategic positions, glowing from within.

Then all at once, it changed.

Saerian felt it as he entered the maze. He didn't see it--no one would. But he could feel it. The shift.

An actor dressed as Freddy Kruger jumped in front of him, and then, all at once... he wasn't an actor anymore. Saerian smiled. "Freddy," he said, his voice sing-song. He beckoned with one finger, and Freddy grinned in return, holding up his famously sharp hands.

Saerian wandered the fair grounds on the fair's fourth night of operation. He had no interest in rides, only in the people here, and what they were up to.

It was no secret that this place was under the effects of the Hellmouth, and the Gates. He'd seen some of the side effects already. It was great, some of it; he wished he'd thought of some of these things. Everyone who'd attended, who'd played a game or gone on a ride, all of them walked away changed. Even if they didn't know it.

Tonight he stood near the ring toss. This was a game he hadn't figured out yet. The idea itself was simple--drop the ring into the bowl, win a fish. But something about it hummed with energy. Something about it was wrong.

He needed to see how.

The man with the pipe had his tent set up sort of off of the main drag, away from the noise and the rides. It was at the edge of the fair, near trees, and it was hung with white Christmas lights.

The tent had a sign that read CURIOSITIES, and nothing more. There was an arrow pointing to the tent flap, and an ornate tassel with which to pull back the flap and see inside.

Inside, the man with the pipe waited, seated in an armchair that appeared rather out of place, reading a book. There were tables inside the tent, and glass cases. Items were on the tables, sitting on displays and inside the cases, lit from beneath. A generator hummed next to the tent.

The man with the pipe waited.

He'd just have to go get the Jeep tomorrow. At least Murphy could watch Molly for the night. With all the panic the girl was going through, he didn't want to put her in his place with Phaedra. Knowing his luck, Molly would attack Phaedra, then Phaedra would defend herself, and Harry didn't want to have to wake up from his painkiller coma to pull the pair apart.

His goddamn shoulder hurt, his head hurt, and he still wasn't sure what had happened. Molly was good at mental work. She'd wiped part of his memory before, so smoothly he didn't know it. This wasn't as smooth, but her state had been a complete wreck. There had been evocations, his own magic. And his rings were depleted. All of them. ( What the HELL? )

Being the new girl meant that Jo was perpetually on the closing shift at the bar. Nobody in York liked to stay out later than they had to, even the bartenders. This was especially true now that the body of one of the missing bartenders had been found in the woods.

Days had passed since they'd gone to Harry's and gotten the wizard's 'diagnosis' on what had brought her back. Jo was still trying to get it out of her mind. She'd spent her days poring over newspapers, researching in the library and hunting when she could. Nights were spent tending bar and not talking to Dean about the fact that she was still having nightmares and the only thing that helped keep them at bay (sometimes) was sleeping in his arms.

For that matter, she and Dean both hadn't brought up the conversation they'd had about what Phaedra had suggested to each of them, or the fact that Jo had kissed him. She was beginning to wonder if she'd imagined him kissing back. Beginning to wonder if she'd imagined all of it.

She wasn't ready to bring things up. She'd batted the ball into his court and she wasn't sure herself that she was ready to put him in a position where he had to let her down easy. For that matter, she wasn't ready to face those nightmares alone.

So instead, she just kept going at a pace that she knew she wouldn't be able to keep up forever. But for now, it was working just fine.

The night was winding down and Jo did her best to focus on the simple tasks of wiping down the counters, restacking the glasses, making sure the napkins were well stocked for the next night. Music filtered through on the jukebox, giving her mind something to wander to.

There weren't any more customers. It was just about last call and, well, the customers seemed to want to get in earlier these days too.

Now it was just a matter of finding things to keep her busy until she could lock up for the night and head back to the motel.

Character interaction may be NSFW. You were warned.



Phaedra watched a little girl and boy playing, saw the little girl trip and fall, and the boy walk away. It was just after sunset, and she was heading back to Harry's, past a park near an old church.

She had time to gasp as she saw the little boy walking back to his fallen playmate. And before she had finished a thought, she realized the boy wasn’t alone. He walked, freckled face smiling, hand in hand with a good looking man she recognized. Well, recognized might not be the right word. But he felt familiar

( The set-up )

It is remarkable how, in times of certain apocalypse, everyone seems to disregard the government.

As all the supernatural authorities rushed into clandestine meetings, hotly debating the fate of humanity, it seemed that they forgot to invite the humans themselves. Of course, just because they weren’t invited, didn’t mean they weren’t aware. From the moment Wolfram & Hart began to mobilize the various powers into conference, the Initiative couldn’t help but take notice. Ever the masters of surveillance, they might not have been seen, but they were certainly listening.

Immediately upon York's identification as a hot zone, the Initiative was there. While the other parties were still discussing strategy, agents were slowly put into place, beginning to monitor and prepare for Armageddon prevention. If the Initiative had their way, when all was said and done, this would be a minor blip on the evening news. An exploded gas main, a natural disaster, something that could be explained away. Apocalypse prevented and denied.

…and heading the mission was a man who had seen and denied his share of supernatural danger: Riley Finn.

Certainly it was a position of importance and trust, and Riley couldn’t help but feel a little pride of the confidence the newly rejuvenated Initiative had placed in him. However, there was a part of him, beneath his solider’s veneer, that was having trouble reconciling his proximity to another Hellmouth. The last time he had been positioned at the precipice of Hell, everything he had known was rocked to its very foundations. He had lost trust, belief, and love. It had taken him a lot of time recovering some semblance of the man he was, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled to be thrust into a situation that could drudge all that up again.

However, he was a man of duty…and duty always came before the self.

Things in York had been relatively tame since he arrived, a few minor instances with low-level vamps and demons. Although his network of informants had begun to spot some of the major players in town, thus far everyone was keeping quiet. This suited Riley for the time being. He didn’t want action sprung on him that he wasn’t ready for.

Tonight was a rather routine investigation around the streets, patrolling the town’s perimeter for any unwanted beasties. Although Hellmouth containment was the primary mission, Riley couldn’t ignore that the streets were becoming less safe for the town’s residents, and if he could do his part to put every last undead son of a bitch in the grave, he would.

Sidling down a back alley, Riley was alerted to a slight noise. Rats, perhaps. But, having lived in Sunnydale, he knew that rats tended to be the camouflage of bigger vermin. Slowly un-holstering his semi-automatic, Riley defensively turned the corner. Uncertain of what he might find, his heart began to race. A feeling with which he was very familiar.

…a feeling that he loved.

When Phaedra left Seattle, Saerian left, too.

It wasn't that he didn't have anything to do there. Murdering women who bore a passing resemblance to Phaedra, carving her tattoo into their wrists... that was fun. He'd really been enjoying that. It was just that having someone else from Benning and Son figure out the punch line was sucking all the joy out of what he was doing.

After 300 years of crawling back to a position of power, Saerian wanted her to suffer. And she was going to damn well suffer. This was not how it was supposed to be. He'd picked a mortal telepath hoping to imbue her with even more power, make her even more terrifying. And, he realized, he had. But cunning and mean as the higher demon was, there was little he actually understood about allegiance.

Her family. Her tribe. The destruction of both. Those were the things that had hurt her, not actually losing her life to a trick.

This time, he'd be paying attention. And this time, even without the vampire body, he had a few good tricks up his sleeve.

The name of the man whose body he was using was Jack Robbins. He'd picked Jack for simple reasons: he liked Jack's vices, he liked the look of him, he liked his sins, and, most importantly, Jack had no close family. He was easy to take hold of.

Saerian leaned against the side of the gas station with his newly-purchased pack of cigarettes, tapping the tobacco into the top part, where the filter was. Fucking filters. Even though there was a lighter in his pocket--one that was soon to be very, very important-- he kept it hidden.

And when the guy in the Stetson walked past, he asked him for fire.

"Hey, man," he said, nodding. "You got a light?"