The Wheel
Book Two: The Chariot
by Cynamin

This was it. Now or never. The demons were gathered in and around the high school library, deep within the school and right on top of the Hellmouth. The group with the greatest firepower was the Initiative soldiers, so they were charging straight in to draw the brunt of the attention from the demons. Everyone else came in behind them, circling around and taking out the stragglers while they were distracted.

That wasn’t good enough for Angel. Over night his despair and loss had turned into an all consuming anger. It burned under his skin, beating with a pulse like the heartbeat he did not possess. It needed to be released, and there was only one way that was going to happen.

Kill them all, or die trying.

No one else had any clue as to what was going on in Angel’s head. He kept his anger under close control, just as he had controlled his own demon for so many years. Perhaps that was part of where the anger came from – the demon’s constant rage at being unable to fight anything. Angel wasn’t always able to separate his demon’s basest instincts and his own. In this case, it didn’t matter. The feelings were still there, and Angel was still able to hide them.

No one suspected. No one at all.

Angel stayed to the shadows, unnoticed by the demons he entered the school. He’d managed to loose his friends as well. None of them were as good at blending into the shadows as he was.

A figure moved in the darkness in front of him. Creeping at his stealthy best, Angel waited a moment, then came up behind the vampire and beheaded him before he was even aware of Angel’s presence. The vampire burst into dust and Angel continued confidently on his way.

Already he could hear up ahead the sound of fighting; the Initiative was facing off against the Cult of Spikura. A fight was going to be impossible to avoid this evening, if Angel had wanted to avoid a fight. He strode right into the battle.

The first demon unfortunate enough to spot Angel’s entrance in the library met the sharp end of Angel’s axe quite quickly. He made an odd gurgling sound as he died, alerting the demons right in front of him. Angel found himself the center of attention, and it wasn’t a good place to be. He let his vampire face show through and growled at the approaching demons.

Those demons nearest him – at least, those not already engaged in battle with members of the Initiative or busy with the ritual – took that as a signal to attack. Angel didn’t care about them – he only cared about the ones they were protecting, the ones conducting the ritual. They had to be stopped.

Angel barely even noticed the demons right next to him. He just kept going, kept his axe and his body moving. He paused only long enough to know aside anything that got in his way. He didn’t even take notice of what he was hitting. It didn’t matter if they were down and groaning or down and dead, so long as Angel was one step closer to stopping this ritual.

The closer Angel got to the center of the gathering, the harder he had to fight for each and every step he took. Even so, he barely felt any blows that landed on him. If he was hit, he simply staggered a step before getting rid of whatever hit him any way he could. Once, a large, hairy demon with nasty looking claws managed to knock Angel all the way to the ground. Some vague part of his mind recognized that the demons claws had inflicted some pretty serious damage, but he didn’t have time for that right now. He rolled right back to his feet, using his momentum to swing the axe back around and into the hairy demon’s chest.

He felt absolutely no triumph when the demon fell. One death was nothing compared to the loss of Buffy. He simply turned and looked for his next opponent.

Instead he found himself deep within the library, right up against the ritual space and the Hellmouth itself. There were only three demons wearing robes of sorts within a circle marked on the ground. Moving forward, he frowned as he stepped into the circle. He could smell it; the circle had been drawn with human blood. Angel doubted it was from a willing donor.

Angel held his axe in front of him. “You’re not taking any more lives,” he declared, mostly for his own benefit.

The three demons stood, identical only in the looks of outrage on their faces. They growled, snarled, and drooled at him and Angel knew this battle within the battle was going to decide it all. He swung his axe wildly at the closest demon. It moved quickly, sidestepping the blow. The axe buried itself in the altar. At the same moment one of the others hit Angel hard from behind, making him stagger. He didn’t cry out; he just gritted his teeth and kicked out at the slimy demon that had hit him. The demon fell backwards several feet across the blood circle.

One of the other demons ran at Angel with a growl. It was blue with heavily ridged skin and was quite large. Instead of getting in a punching contest with this one, Angel ducked under his massive arms and went for the axe again. As he reached for it the third demon barreled into him from the side. They landed on the edge of the altar, bringing part of it down on top of them. Even as Angel felt something sharp dig into his side he reached for a stake he had in one of his coat pockets. With a massive shove he buried the piece of wood into the demon’s chest. As the demon pulled back in shock, Angel shoved it off of him. It collided with the largest demon as it fell back, and Angel scrambled to his feet. He wrenched the axe from where it had fallen with the altar. With one smooth, strong motion he beheaded them both at once. Then, with the last of his strength, Angel destroyed what was left of the ritual supplies.

Finally Angel stood and looked around him. Some of the demons and vampires were beginning to run off. Others were dead. No matter what happened to the Cult of Spikura, this battle was over. This war was over.

Suddenly, the pain of Angel’s injuries made its way through his battle fogged mind. His shirt was wet with his own blood. His back and side burned. Angel did not even bother to look at what the extent of his injuries was. Instead, he sighed in relief and let the darkness of unconsciousness overtake him.

The End

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