Merrick
was amazed by Buffy. He had known
intellectually that the Chosen One knew what to do, having seen her
preparations on the way to the gym. Yet
a part of him had not truly believed that she knew how to do what she did. Always the Slayer needed to be trained, as
their bodies could not follow through on what their instincts and their dreams
told them were possible. Further, it was
through training that new possibilities, unique to the particular Slayer, could
be discovered and made a part of their own individual style.
Yet
here he was seeing a newly-called Slayer, in her first battle, fighting like a
veteran. Oh, with his long years of
experience as a trainer, Merrick could already see areas in which Buffy needed
improvement. She was not as strong as
she could be, nor as fast. Her agility
was admirable, yet she did not utilize it nearly enough. Yet she was brave and cunning. Her initial move of distracting Lothos with
the thrown axe was audacious, and had nearly worked. Buffy was a Slayer that came along . . .
perhaps never.
Merrick
would have continued analyzing the fight, even as his heart was in his throat,
when he felt the slightest itch at the back of his mind. He jumped up and felt the merest touch upon
his ankle. Looking down, he saw a hand
reaching up from the loosening dirt floor.
More hands began bursting out of the ground, as vampires began to dig
themselves out of makeshift graves.
“Buffy!”
shouted Dawn, as she dance away from the rising undead. Merrick took the time to admire how unafraid
the girl sounded. “Minions!”
“Bit
busy! You got this?” yelled back Buffy,
even as she dodge a swipe from Lothos and returned it with a slice of her axe
that took a bloody chunk from his side.
“Yeah,
no problem,” said Dawn. She stabbed
downward with her spear and the vampire beneath her turned into dust, its
skeleton briefly visible and illuminated by the fiery pyre of his combusting
flesh.
Merrick
quickly loosed a single crossbow bolt into an emerging vampire, and then began
shooting at the rest with his pistol.
After a pair of shots hit a vampire in the chest, with them staggered
with pain, he followed up with a stake to the heart. In all, he and Dawn killed at least seven
vampires between them in a few minutes.
Yet there were perhaps a dozen more left, more cautious now but entirely
free from their graves and thus able to maneuver. Merrick and Dawn moved back towards the
tunnel entrance, with Dawn stabbing at any vampire that came too close and
Merrick reloaded his pistol.
Meanwhile
Buffy was having trouble with her own vampire.
Her left arm hung loosely by her side, as blood dripped down from her
shoulder. Her right eye was swollen
almost to the point of uselessness. Yet
she continued to fight, even if she was noticeably slower. Lothos was not untouched, of course. His side continued to bleed, and he had lost
nearly all of the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand was entirely
gone. Lothos jumped into the air and
floated there near the ceiling, beyond Buffy’s immediate reach. She merely stared up at him, but not before
casually beheading a vampire that came too close to her. Then Lothos swept down from the ceiling, his
right hand scoring a deep cut across Buffy’s jaw and neck. Lothos swept down again, only to miss as
Buffy rolled to the ground and chopped down with her axe, cutting off a
foot. Lothos howled in rage and pain.
“Getting
to be a little ‘Boxing Helena’ there, Lothos,” said Buffy, panting.
“Ew!”
cried Dawn as she staked a vampire with her spear.
Screaming,
inarticulate with fury, Lothos flew toward the tunnel, barreling through the
lesser vampires. He swept aside Dawn’s
spear and knocked her into the side of the tunnel. He grabbed Merrick by the neck with his
remaining fingers and lifted him up.
Merrick, choking, tried to bring the stake down on Lothos’ back. Before he could do so, however, Lothos had
his teeth in his throat and clamped down.
Merrick
howled in pain. He had known, ever since
his father had introduced him to the truths of the world, that this was the way
he would die. Even during Vietnam, in
that rotting, hellish jungle, he had known that he would not die in that
war. It was in the true war, the eternal
war between good and evil, that he would fall.
Still, in the heartbeat between Lothos starting to feed on him and his
death, Merrick took his pistol and fired into the vampire’s chest. What strength he would have gained from
Merrick’s blood would now be used to heal the bullet wounds, and hopefully it
would be enough damage for the Slayer to finish him off finally.
Merrick,
his thoughts racing as his blood drained from him, regretted that he could not
have been Buffy’s Watcher for longer than those hours since their meeting at
the mall. He would have been a good
Watcher, he thought, teaching her all the things that a Slayer needed to
know. Not just how to fight, but how to
live. That the mission of the Chosen One
was for life’s sake, and that living was the ultimate victory for good against
evil.
The
world grew dim, and he felt time slowing.
Yet for some reason there was no pain.
The terrible pressure that had been at his throat was gone. In its place was a brief heat upon his face,
like the summer sun, and then something like feathers and snow. The air smelled of ash, like a fire pit at a
camp site. He had gone camping with his
father many times, and they would always cook over an open wood fire.
Merrick
missed his father, and hoped to see him again soon.
was amazed by Buffy. He had known
intellectually that the Chosen One knew what to do, having seen her
preparations on the way to the gym. Yet
a part of him had not truly believed that she knew how to do what she did. Always the Slayer needed to be trained, as
their bodies could not follow through on what their instincts and their dreams
told them were possible. Further, it was
through training that new possibilities, unique to the particular Slayer, could
be discovered and made a part of their own individual style.
Yet
here he was seeing a newly-called Slayer, in her first battle, fighting like a
veteran. Oh, with his long years of
experience as a trainer, Merrick could already see areas in which Buffy needed
improvement. She was not as strong as
she could be, nor as fast. Her agility
was admirable, yet she did not utilize it nearly enough. Yet she was brave and cunning. Her initial move of distracting Lothos with
the thrown axe was audacious, and had nearly worked. Buffy was a Slayer that came along . . .
perhaps never.
Merrick
would have continued analyzing the fight, even as his heart was in his throat,
when he felt the slightest itch at the back of his mind. He jumped up and felt the merest touch upon
his ankle. Looking down, he saw a hand
reaching up from the loosening dirt floor.
More hands began bursting out of the ground, as vampires began to dig
themselves out of makeshift graves.
“Buffy!”
shouted Dawn, as she dance away from the rising undead. Merrick took the time to admire how unafraid
the girl sounded. “Minions!”
“Bit
busy! You got this?” yelled back Buffy,
even as she dodge a swipe from Lothos and returned it with a slice of her axe
that took a bloody chunk from his side.
“Yeah,
no problem,” said Dawn. She stabbed
downward with her spear and the vampire beneath her turned into dust, its
skeleton briefly visible and illuminated by the fiery pyre of his combusting
flesh.
Merrick
quickly loosed a single crossbow bolt into an emerging vampire, and then began
shooting at the rest with his pistol.
After a pair of shots hit a vampire in the chest, with them staggered
with pain, he followed up with a stake to the heart. In all, he and Dawn killed at least seven
vampires between them in a few minutes.
Yet there were perhaps a dozen more left, more cautious now but entirely
free from their graves and thus able to maneuver. Merrick and Dawn moved back towards the
tunnel entrance, with Dawn stabbing at any vampire that came too close and
Merrick reloaded his pistol.
Meanwhile
Buffy was having trouble with her own vampire.
Her left arm hung loosely by her side, as blood dripped down from her
shoulder. Her right eye was swollen
almost to the point of uselessness. Yet
she continued to fight, even if she was noticeably slower. Lothos was not untouched, of course. His side continued to bleed, and he had lost
nearly all of the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand was entirely
gone. Lothos jumped into the air and
floated there near the ceiling, beyond Buffy’s immediate reach. She merely stared up at him, but not before
casually beheading a vampire that came too close to her. Then Lothos swept down from the ceiling, his
right hand scoring a deep cut across Buffy’s jaw and neck. Lothos swept down again, only to miss as
Buffy rolled to the ground and chopped down with her axe, cutting off a
foot. Lothos howled in rage and pain.
“Getting
to be a little ‘Boxing Helena’ there, Lothos,” said Buffy, panting.
“Ew!”
cried Dawn as she staked a vampire with her spear.
Screaming,
inarticulate with fury, Lothos flew toward the tunnel, barreling through the
lesser vampires. He swept aside Dawn’s
spear and knocked her into the side of the tunnel. He grabbed Merrick by the neck with his
remaining fingers and lifted him up.
Merrick, choking, tried to bring the stake down on Lothos’ back. Before he could do so, however, Lothos had
his teeth in his throat and clamped down.
Merrick
howled in pain. He had known, ever since
his father had introduced him to the truths of the world, that this was the way
he would die. Even during Vietnam, in
that rotting, hellish jungle, he had known that he would not die in that
war. It was in the true war, the eternal
war between good and evil, that he would fall.
Still, in the heartbeat between Lothos starting to feed on him and his
death, Merrick took his pistol and fired into the vampire’s chest. What strength he would have gained from
Merrick’s blood would now be used to heal the bullet wounds, and hopefully it
would be enough damage for the Slayer to finish him off finally.
Merrick,
his thoughts racing as his blood drained from him, regretted that he could not
have been Buffy’s Watcher for longer than those hours since their meeting at
the mall. He would have been a good
Watcher, he thought, teaching her all the things that a Slayer needed to
know. Not just how to fight, but how to
live. That the mission of the Chosen One
was for life’s sake, and that living was the ultimate victory for good against
evil.
The
world grew dim, and he felt time slowing.
Yet for some reason there was no pain.
The terrible pressure that had been at his throat was gone. In its place was a brief heat upon his face,
like the summer sun, and then something like feathers and snow. The air smelled of ash, like a fire pit at a
camp site. He had gone camping with his
father many times, and they would always cook over an open wood fire.
Merrick
missed his father, and hoped to see him again soon.