And Yet More Fic
Apr. 4th, 2007 06:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jmatonakFight! Fight! Fight!
Chapter Seven: Ruins of the Hyperion
Angel examined the man hanging in the night sky critically.
He was about six feet tall, wiry, with product in his hair, good shoes, and an even better watch. The half-smirk on his face was regulation-issue for senior Wolfram and Hart lackeys, and Angel realized for the first time exactly how god-awful tired he was of seeing it.
"What is your business with me?" Illyria asked.
"Actually, o king, my main business is with Mister Angel here. He owes the Senior Partners quite a bit, and I'm here to collect."
"Believe me," Angel called out, "I'd like nothing better than to see the Senior Partners get what's coming to them. But I got a lot on my plate these days, so I'll make you a proposal. Give us Anya, and you get to keep both of your eyes."
"Empty threats. I'm very impressed." Ambrose reached into a pocket and threw-- jellybeans?, Spike thought crazily-- a handful of somethings to the ground. As each of them touched down, it became a four-armed hulking creature with a grin like a staple remover.
Illyria cocked her head and blurred forward.
Anya watched, tight-lipped.
Spike and Angel glanced at each other and braced themselves.
Gunn dove for the collapsed pile that used to be the weapons cabinet.
Ambrose chuckled softly.
Spike wouldn't have been able to articulate anything about what was going on his head. He had opened a mental filing cabinet marked Big, Slow, Sharp Teeth and was riffling through it as the creatures advanced. No visible privates. No obvious soft spots. But no weapons other than hands and ludicrously big teeth. Cake. As the creatures came on, Spike danced backwards and waited for his chance. Finally, one of them made a lunge that was just a little too eager, and Spike grabbed the upper left arm and threw it to the ground. It began to get up- using the lower pair of arms first, Spike noted- and he stepped as hard as he could on the back of its neck. It stopped moving.
Angel, by contrast, put a lot less emphasis on footwork. As each of them stepped up, Angel would close and do something brutal. They got their shots in, but that didn't seem to matter. Angel realized they must be stronger than a human, but their punches hurt even less than Hamilton's had- well, Hamilton after I fed off him, anyway- and their numbers really didn't seem to matter.
Spike slammed into a wall at the terminus of a four-armed throw. He shook his head like a dog shaking off water and bounced to his feet.
Illyria was occuping almost half the demons by herself. Since she had closed with them first, they had all moved to grapple her, and essentially tackled her by sheer numbers. She would shrug them off, perhaps kill one, and repeat. Over time, that's enough. Monotone nonincreasing-- Fred had enjoyed drawing mental diagrams. Illyria cut the thought off angrily and put a little extra viciousness into the next kill.
Gunn, meanwhile, had found what he was looking for. He raised the rifle and sighted in on the flying man. He wasn't really surprised to see the bullets flare up before they reached the guy- can't catch a break, he thought. He sighted again, aiming for an eye, and briefly mused, That line was a little hardcore for regulation Angel... The thought was interrupted when he heard the speech.
One of the demons was ordering the others around. Gunn could hear the strange growls. But he could also hear, clear as a bell, accentless American English, like audible subtitles.
Press the attack, my warriors! They are few and we are many!
"Angel! That one!" When Angel looked over, Gunn pointed a thumb at the rabble-rousing demon. Angel began heading over that way. Gunn had to quit watching and unlimber his axe, what with the oncoming nasties.
Angel walked over to the one Gunn had indicated, knocking the others out of his way as appropriate. He was pleased to see that, once his destination became obvious, the other demons stopped even trying to interfere.
Single combat. Demons are suckers for that.
Sure enough, the nearest minions backed off to form a wide circle around their chief, and allowed Angel to step into it. So predictable.
"Shall we?"
The demon roared and closed with him. Angel grabbed its- his?- upper arms and twisted the demon about so Angel was at a bad angle for its teeth. At the same time, the lower pair of arms slammed into him, and Angel felt a burst of pain as something gave. Oh shit, this one's a lot stronger than the others, I better do this fast-- He heard the massive jaw shut with a distressingly loud snap for something that close to his head. He thought, might as well go for the standard ending, put on his demon face, and sank his fangs into the neck before him.
Ambrose began to chant softly. Gunn was sure he could make out the words, had Ambrose been just a little closer.
It took a while for the demon leader to go limp. When it finally happened, Angel shook away his demon face. He looked up at Ambrose. "I'd say you're in serious trouble."
A line of purple light lanced from Ambrose's left hand into Angel's chest. Angel stiffened.
"Huh. I wonder if Angelus agrees with you?" Ambrose said.
to be continued
Chapter Seven: Ruins of the Hyperion
Angel examined the man hanging in the night sky critically.
He was about six feet tall, wiry, with product in his hair, good shoes, and an even better watch. The half-smirk on his face was regulation-issue for senior Wolfram and Hart lackeys, and Angel realized for the first time exactly how god-awful tired he was of seeing it.
"What is your business with me?" Illyria asked.
"Actually, o king, my main business is with Mister Angel here. He owes the Senior Partners quite a bit, and I'm here to collect."
"Believe me," Angel called out, "I'd like nothing better than to see the Senior Partners get what's coming to them. But I got a lot on my plate these days, so I'll make you a proposal. Give us Anya, and you get to keep both of your eyes."
"Empty threats. I'm very impressed." Ambrose reached into a pocket and threw-- jellybeans?, Spike thought crazily-- a handful of somethings to the ground. As each of them touched down, it became a four-armed hulking creature with a grin like a staple remover.
Illyria cocked her head and blurred forward.
Anya watched, tight-lipped.
Spike and Angel glanced at each other and braced themselves.
Gunn dove for the collapsed pile that used to be the weapons cabinet.
Ambrose chuckled softly.
Spike wouldn't have been able to articulate anything about what was going on his head. He had opened a mental filing cabinet marked Big, Slow, Sharp Teeth and was riffling through it as the creatures advanced. No visible privates. No obvious soft spots. But no weapons other than hands and ludicrously big teeth. Cake. As the creatures came on, Spike danced backwards and waited for his chance. Finally, one of them made a lunge that was just a little too eager, and Spike grabbed the upper left arm and threw it to the ground. It began to get up- using the lower pair of arms first, Spike noted- and he stepped as hard as he could on the back of its neck. It stopped moving.
Angel, by contrast, put a lot less emphasis on footwork. As each of them stepped up, Angel would close and do something brutal. They got their shots in, but that didn't seem to matter. Angel realized they must be stronger than a human, but their punches hurt even less than Hamilton's had- well, Hamilton after I fed off him, anyway- and their numbers really didn't seem to matter.
Spike slammed into a wall at the terminus of a four-armed throw. He shook his head like a dog shaking off water and bounced to his feet.
Illyria was occuping almost half the demons by herself. Since she had closed with them first, they had all moved to grapple her, and essentially tackled her by sheer numbers. She would shrug them off, perhaps kill one, and repeat. Over time, that's enough. Monotone nonincreasing-- Fred had enjoyed drawing mental diagrams. Illyria cut the thought off angrily and put a little extra viciousness into the next kill.
Gunn, meanwhile, had found what he was looking for. He raised the rifle and sighted in on the flying man. He wasn't really surprised to see the bullets flare up before they reached the guy- can't catch a break, he thought. He sighted again, aiming for an eye, and briefly mused, That line was a little hardcore for regulation Angel... The thought was interrupted when he heard the speech.
One of the demons was ordering the others around. Gunn could hear the strange growls. But he could also hear, clear as a bell, accentless American English, like audible subtitles.
Press the attack, my warriors! They are few and we are many!
"Angel! That one!" When Angel looked over, Gunn pointed a thumb at the rabble-rousing demon. Angel began heading over that way. Gunn had to quit watching and unlimber his axe, what with the oncoming nasties.
Angel walked over to the one Gunn had indicated, knocking the others out of his way as appropriate. He was pleased to see that, once his destination became obvious, the other demons stopped even trying to interfere.
Single combat. Demons are suckers for that.
Sure enough, the nearest minions backed off to form a wide circle around their chief, and allowed Angel to step into it. So predictable.
"Shall we?"
The demon roared and closed with him. Angel grabbed its- his?- upper arms and twisted the demon about so Angel was at a bad angle for its teeth. At the same time, the lower pair of arms slammed into him, and Angel felt a burst of pain as something gave. Oh shit, this one's a lot stronger than the others, I better do this fast-- He heard the massive jaw shut with a distressingly loud snap for something that close to his head. He thought, might as well go for the standard ending, put on his demon face, and sank his fangs into the neck before him.
Ambrose began to chant softly. Gunn was sure he could make out the words, had Ambrose been just a little closer.
It took a while for the demon leader to go limp. When it finally happened, Angel shook away his demon face. He looked up at Ambrose. "I'd say you're in serious trouble."
A line of purple light lanced from Ambrose's left hand into Angel's chest. Angel stiffened.
"Huh. I wonder if Angelus agrees with you?" Ambrose said.
to be continued
