Growing Pains IV

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  "RAAAAHHHH!" The first vampire lunged, a blur of movement that came at Xander with a spiked bat swinging wildly. He ducked low, feeling the whoosh of air as the bat missed his head by inches. He pivoted, slamming his fist into the vampire's stomach with enough force to send the leech skidding back into a parked car, the metal crumpling under the impact.

  In his last two months as a devil, Xander had been required to undergo some mandatory education. Normally, he wasn't much for learning. School? No thanks. Hard pass.

  If he understood something, he understood it. If he didn't get it quickly, eh, he didn't really feel like putting in that effort. Some people called him lazy, but he preferred the term selectively motivated, thank you very much.

  Because, honestly, with the right motivation, he could pick up on almost anything.

  Before he could catch his breath, another was on him. It swung a chain, the metal looping towards his neck. Xander grabbed the cold metal links mid-air and yanked it hard, pulling it and the surprised vamp towards him.

  Just die already. With an actual audible growl, he spun and slammed a high kick to the face of the vampire with the chain, the crunch of bone under his boot satisfying to hear.

  The nightlife of Sunnydale was that motivation. Nothing like the threat of being eaten to really light a fire under your butt. And seeing as he was a member of that nightlife, well… you get it.

  One of the major things his education revolved around was vampires. Because of course it did.

  What they were, the different types and how to kill them. Stake through the heart, sunlight, fire, beheading... the classics.

  One of the major things about vampires is… they grew.

  Not like getting older, or age, or whatever.

  'I mean, technically… they do,' he acknowledged, but not like an actual living being.

  Anyway, even though they're dead, the stuff that makes a vampire a vampire gets stronger the older it gets.

  The animus.

  Sam had been telling him a lot about vampires since he started at the Rosen Queen, from their habits, to the different vampire bloodlines, to how they work even. And he had a lot to say about the animus — the power, the instincts, the unlife force of a demon that makes vampires what they are.

  Inside a vampire's heart, the original blood their sire fed them is still there, powering all that animus. It's what kept them undead and not just dead-dead. And the longer they lived, the more that blood thickened, getting more powerful.

  A newborn vampire wasn't all that strong or that fast, really. I mean, compared to a Slayer or yours truly.

  Not superhumanly. Just your average, everyday corpse strength. Nothing to write home about, right?

  Wrong.

  A bat swung through the air, connecting hard with Xander's shoulder as he ducked a spiked fist from a long-haired blonde biker vamp. "F-!" He staggered, nearly losing his footing as another slammed into his head, the ground seeming to tilt beneath his feet.

  Crap, they're starting to swarm, he thought, his vision blurring for a moment as he shook his head, trying to clear it. A biker took the chance and reared forward, growling at him.

  A knife came out of nowhere and he swiped wildly, the serrated large blade looking like it was made for ripping flesh and tearing through muscle more than anything else.

  Growling back, Xander leapt away and rushed behind a set of cars, ripping off a side mirror with one hand and the wiper blade of a second with the other hand, both in one swift motion. With a powerful throw, he flung the first like a frisbee, catching one of the vampires in the throat. The creature stumbled back, clutching at its neck, gurgling in surprise and pain.

  The teenager rushed forward, blurring as he forced himself to move as fast as he could manage. In a split second, he covered nine meters and shoved the wiper blade through the vamp's chest. The bloodsucking biker stumbled back and fell to the ground, unable to move, but far from dusted. The teen grabbed the windshield wiper and twisted it roughly, almost stirring the thing in the vamp's chest till… poof.

  Xander let out a sigh of relief and quickly did the same to the vampire cradling his broken throat before he quickly jumped back to avoid another chain. Hell's bells, I fuckin' hate that about these things. Vampire durability was a bitch and a half to deal with if you didn't keep wood handy. Either wreck the heart completely or get rid of the head… somehow. Stupid corpse strength.

  This corpse strength meant that a newborn could use more strength of their once-human body without really worrying about getting tired or tearing muscles, making them generally capable of lifting about... what? Three hundred pounds and running at about thirty miles an hour. Give or take.

  Still, the major lesson with Sam was about learning the general vampire hierarchy. And his devil of a boss made sure Xander knew his stuff.

  Newborns were the ones fresh out of the grave, less than two years old. High off demon anima with new instincts making them really stupid in addition to overconfident, psychopathic, sadistic predators. A skilled human could pick one off, honestly. If they had a lot of training, Xander amended, ducking under a wild swing from a snarling vamp.

  Fledgelings were almost in the same boat as newborns, despite being a little older. Anywhere between two to twenty-four years old, they were somewhat cocky due to being young and slightly more powerful than newborns, but nowhere near as high off bloodlust or eager to rush in. Both were usually foot soldiers and often got dusted by trained vampire slayers, and not even The Slayer, either.

  Just regular guys with lots of training and a whole lot of guts.

  A heavy blow to the back of his head made his vision swim. "Son of a b—!" He felt his knees buckle as something spear tackled him, sending him hard into the side of a car, the impact denting the metal and shattering the window beside his head. Xander gripped the side of the door, glass shattering under his grip and the metal squealing as he raised his head, blinking away the stars dancing in his vision.

  Death Knights — or neonates — were the guys you'd expect to see running their own little vampire gang. Anywhere between twenty-five to seventy-four years old, these guys were worth about twice any fledgling on average. And hitting almost twice as hard too, Xander thought with a wince, feeling the ache in his ribs where one of said vamps had gotten a lucky shot in.

  Around seventy-five to two hundred years old, a vampire officially became something called a Night Lord — I know, right? Could they be any more pretentious? — and they were comparable to about five newborns. This wasn't a straight multiplier, either. It was more of a combination of their strength pretty much doubling at least, their speed growing by a bunch and their bodies getting a bit tougher. Still only half as strong as Buffy — most of the time — and barely as fast. That girl can go highway speed, honestly.

  Then there were the Blood Princes.

  And that's when shit started to get really bad.

  Leeches on Angel's level from what he could tell based only off the guy's age. Anywhere between two hundred to five hundred years old, with all the growing strength and experience that came with that. They were considered the Slayer-killers, vampires that could fight Buffy as equals, with all their years of combat serving to match the supernatural skills of their natural enemy.

  This rank-up-ing kept happening every few hundred more years with about two more ranks with even worse titles that Xander didn't really understand — but it wasn't his job to understand vampires.

  His job was to handle them.

  Preferably with a stake through the heart or a good old-fashioned beheading, he thought with a grimace, eyeing the remaining vamps as they circled him.

  To make things worse, all this only really applied to one breed of vampires, or Clan or whatever the proper name was.

  The Nosferat.

  But considering they were the only brand of bloodsuckers barreling around the Hellmouth, that's all Xander felt the need to worry about.

  He charged, closing the distance with a burst of speed that caught the nearest vampire off guard. His fist connected with a satisfying crunch against its jaw, sending the leech flying back into a car's windshield.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Almost immediately, another vampire swung a bat towards Xander's head. Ducking under the swing, Xander grabbed the vampire's arm, twisting it behind his back until he heard a snap. The vampire howled, but Xander shoved him into two others approaching from the side, sending them all tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

  Already breathing heavily, Xander scanned the parking lot, seeing the vampires he had yet to kill. Ten to one, he thought with a humorless chuckle, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

  Long story short, the hierarchy was simple — each rank of vamp got rarer and stronger the higher up you went. Just like Megaman Legends, Xander mused, backing up slowly as the remaining vamps advanced on him, their yellow eyes glinting with hunger and malice.

  Problem is, the only real way to know exactly what sort of vampire you were dealing with — hideous game-face aside — was to stake it fresh out of the grave. Past that, you were just guessing based on how hard they hit you.

  Speaking of hitting… Xander thought, his attention snapping back to the present as one of the leather-clad vamps swung another chain at his head. He ducked, the links whistling past his ear as his eyes widened as he saw something else approach at high speed.

  "Son of a bitch, you socked me!" he yelped, more out of surprise than pain as another vamp's fist connected with his jaw, the force of the blow snapping his head to the side. He stumbled back a step, shaking his head to clear it, his tongue probing the inside of his cheek where he'd bitten it. "... Hmm."

  Not too old, he worked his jaw with one hand, feeling out the hit. Not too young. "Wait, real quick, how old are you guys? Like fifty? 'Cus you feel like more Knights than Fledgeli-?"

  The statement died on his lips as a chain lashed out at him again. On instinct, Xander snatched it before it could hit him, gripping the thing tight as it wrapped around his arm, the links biting into his skin through his sleeve. He shot a smug smirk at the vampire who threw it.

  Said vampire and his friend both holding the chain grinned back, their fangs glinting in the darkness.

  Oh no.

  They tugged hard, their combined strength yanking Xander off his feet and sending him flying towards them like a fish on a hook.

  "Waitwaitwaitwai-"

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

  ?

  Buffy let herself into the Bronze through a broken window. Crossbow in hand, she searched the balcony, then took the stairs one at a time, sweeping the area with her gaze. As she reached the main floor of the Bronze, she thought she saw the silhouette of a man some distance away. But when she spun around and took aim, there was no one there.

  No thing there.

  She continued her hunt, moving in the dark stillness. Stripped of lights, people, and noise, the Bronze was an eerie, otherworldly place.

  A battleground.

  She heard a crash of broken glass and aimed into the darkness again.

  "I know you're there," she called out, sweeping the area with the bow. "And I know what you are."

  "Do you?" As she zeroed in, Angel spoke again, but this time his voice came from a different location. "I'm just an animal, right?"

  "You're not an animal," Buffy said. "Animals I like."

  She quickly shifted her weapon. Then her eyes widened as he stepped forward, very close. He wore his vampire face.

  Angel growled. "Let's get it done."

  He leaped at her, moving extremely fast. It took her a moment to adjust to his speed, her own senses ramping into high gear in the way she was familiar with, and by then he had hit the nearby pool table. She brought the crossbow up, sighted, and fired, but the bolt flew across the club and lodged in the far wall as Angel vaulted straight up into the balcony, vanishing into the shadows.

  Buffy reloaded the crossbow, crept around the pool table, and aimed up into the darkness. She searched for him, turning slowly. Her heart was thundering. Every sense was on full alert; every Slayer reflex was hair-trigger—

  Angel dropped down behind her, slamming his feet against her neck and sending her flying onto the pool table. Bracing herself against it, she rammed her boot into him with a roundhouse kick, knocking him backward.

  While he was stunned, Buffy scrambled off the pool table and slid onto the floor, reaching for her crossbow. She rolled onto her back and raised up slightly, pointed the deadly weapon at Angel, and kept him in her sights.

  He rose, and faced her, presenting her with the perfect shot.

  Angel growled.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  Then Angel's appearance morphed from his vampire features into the handsome young man who had so attracted her when they had first met. Who had battled beside her against the Three.

  "Come on," he said in a hard voice. "Don't go soft on me now."

  Buffy let the bolt fly. It missed him by a mile and sank into the post beside him.

  "A little wide," he observed.

  They looked at each other. "Why?" she asked quietly, getting to her feet, her voice shaking with anger. "Why didn't you just attack me when you had the chance? Was it a joke? To make me feel for you and then…"

  She stopped herself for a split-second. "I've killed a lot of vampires. I've never hated one before."

  "Feels good, doesn't it?" Angel asked quietly. Emotionally. "Feels simple."

  "I invited you into my home," Buffy went on, needing to express her hurt, feeling again her shock and despair. "And then you attacked my family."

  "Why not?" he asked almost offhandedly, but his expression was filled with pain. "I killed mine."

  He started closing in on her.

  "I killed their friends. And their friends' children. For a hundred years I offered an ugly death to everyone I met. And I did it with a song in my heart."

  She detected the merest hint of self-loathing; she raised her chin slightly and asked, "What changed?"

  "Fed on a girl," he told her. "About your age. Beautiful." He looked off into the distance for a moment. "Dumb as a post. But a favorite among her clan."

  "Her clan?" Buffy repeated, unsure of his word choice.

  "Romani," Angel explained after a moment. "Gypsies. The elders conjured the perfect punishment for me." He waited for a beat. "They restored my soul."

  "What," she asked, regaining a bit of her fire, "they were all out of boils and blinding torment?"

  "When you become a vampire, the demon takes your body but it doesn't get your soul. That's gone. No conscience, no remorse. It's an easy way to live."

  She remembered how he had asked her if it felt good to hate him.

  Simple.

  Angel stood in the weak light, surrounded by darkness, facing an armed Slayer who was bent on revenge. And yet he made no move to attack, nor to escape.

  Instead, he said, "You have no idea what it's like to have done the things I've done and to care. I haven't fed on a living human being since that day."

  "So you started with my mom?" she flung at him.

  "I didn't bite her," he said very seriously.

  She was taken aback. "Then why didn't you say something?"

  "I wanted to." For a moment Buffy tried to pretend that he was answering her question. But he was confessing that he had wanted to bite her mother. As if to underscore that thought, he said, "I can walk like a man but I'm not one." He paused. "I wanted to kill you tonight."

  She knew that. She had wanted to kill him, too. Buffy looked down, laid down her weapon, and walked to him, tilting her head slightly, offering her neck.

  "Go ahead," she said. With all her heart, Buffy prayed he would not attack her. With all her soul, she believed he wouldn't, and yet, every ounce of her being protested the way she left herself defenseless. She was the Slayer, and he was a vampire.

  Angel remained silent, gazing at her with his haunted eyes. Something lifted for a brief instant as the two of them stared long and hard at each other.

  She nodded slightly. "Not as easy as it looks," she said.

  He almost smiled.

  "Sure it is," came a voice from the shadows.

  – o – o – o – o – o – o – o –?

  Willow and Giles raced through the night, searching for Buffy.

  Willow said, "We're near the Bronze. Xander's not here. What now?"

  "While those super soakers would have come in handy, we'll simply have to make do," Giles answered quickly, "We keep looking for her."

  "But what if…" Willow ventured, clearly worried. "What if we find her and she's fighting Angel or some of his friends? What are we going to do about it?"

  Giles didn't answer.

  Giles didn't have an answer.