TITLE: Rayne of Chaos 4/7
AUTHOR: Jaydn Michelle
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Giles, Ethan, Buffy, Willow, Xander, Angel, Cordelia, Jenny Calendar, Quentin Travers, Randall Scott, Merrick and Eyghon are the property of people bigger than me. In other words, it's not mine, never will be mine, yada, yada, yada.
FEEDBACK: Always welcomed

A heap of broken images where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only,
There is a shadow under this rock,
(Come in, under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow in the morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
...I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
- T.S Eliot
'The Waste Lands.'

"I know who you are Rupert, and I know what you are capable of. But they
don't, do they? They have no idea where you come from."
- Ethan Rayne
(Halloween).

________________________________________________________________________

LONDON 1977

...kill her...

Dayel couldn't get those words out of his mind, they pounded in his head like the rhythmic beat of a drum.

His Slayer - a twenty year old girl who had saved the world a dozen times over - and they wanted her dead; because she couldn't perform her duty, because they needed a new Slayer. There was a part of him (and god help Dayel), that could understand the reasoning behind the motive. But Jesus, Emma had never done anything wrong, and they were the good guys... weren't they?

There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he entered the library. He knew Emma, and by association her boyfriend, if the lad could be found anywhere...

"Rupert Giles! We need to talk - now!"

His voice echoed strident and clear, carrying down the rows of books. He could hear the dry rasp of the air filtering system, the distant rumble of a lift as it swung into motion, and the silent litany that rambled in his own mind. They were going to kill his Slayer...

"Dayel?" The voice was wary.

He spun, seeing Giles directly behind him with a book clutched under one arm. The flushed excitement in the young man's face gave way to suspicion as he studied the older Watcher.

Dayel's eyes were fixed on the book, voice a mere breath, "You found a solution?"

The Council wouldn't agree with this - and to a degree - neither did Dayel. Magic was dangerous, for any number of reasons, but the chief concern was that it altered the harmonies of the world. Sorcerers, witches, warlocks... they drew their power by diverting it from another source - and so floods washed across the continents and soil gave way to drought as the balances were altered. In some ways, sorcerers were just another version of vampire - sustaining power by stealing it from someone else.

Giles hesitated, then nodded: "It's the right book - I just need to find the appropriate passage."

"It's not important, Giles, listen - the vampires are out in force and the Council wants a Slayer."

"Give me an hour and they can have one."

"No, you don't understand. The Council ordered a hit..."

He never completed the sentence - Giles was already past him, face pale and eyes a livid green, feet pounding up the stairs because waiting for the lift would take too long.

Cursing, Dayel took off after him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"He's not as powerful as you, though."

Ethan glanced at the girl, eyes sparkling. They were nearing the Watcher estate, walking companionably in the darkness. Without her abilities, Emma was feeling a mite vulnerable, and the conversation had turned to magic - chiefly, Ethan and Giles' abilities to protect her. It was a falsehood - ironically this was the one instant in her life that Emma was perfectly safe from the vampire population. If the local master had issued an edict that said she wasn't to be harmed - then she wouldn't be harmed. But Emma hadn't thought it through yet, and if she needed time to deal, then Ethan was determined to provide her with a distraction. "Actually, I don't know. Giles has a certain... *something*... but it's turned inward."

"Inward?"

"Protective almost. Rupert might be the type to be knocked around but he'd be a bugger to kill."

"And yours isn't?"

"Oh no - my magic is definitely turned outward," he grinned irreverently, then added, "I wouldn't mind seeing what he was capable of though, if he ever let go."

Emma considered it until a shiver traversed her spine, voice barely audible when she replied: "I wouldn't."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jason Runch had served seven years with the S.A.S before being approached by the Watchers. He was one of a team of six who dealt with 'disagreeable elements' - Slayers turned vampire, Watchers of dubious moral integrity, matters of protocol. The internal security and justice of the Watcher Council.

It never occurred to him to question orders, seven years in the military did that to a man, but he knew first-hand of the horrors of mankind. It was the other form, the demons that terrified him. The unit he commanded was similarly inclined - six bodies with one mind, their intentions and orders absolute.

The target was simple - and unsuspecting, she already approached.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ethan stopped when he heard the shout, standing in the spot-light of a street lamp with Emma a few steps ahead... it had sounded like Giles.

A second later he saw his friend vault over the Watcher's fence, landing awkwardly before pushing to his feet. Movements desperate as he zeroed in on them, a shout carrying indistinctly.

Concerned, Emma hurried forward.

There are instants in time when actions slow to a crawl - and others that seem to be speeded up beyond human perception. This was neither. Indeed, to Ethan it merely seemed as if Emma stumbled, tripping over her own feet and twisting slightly. He caught a glimpse of her face, slack surprise, and then she crumbled.

It was only when she was lying prone and her body jerked with the impact of a second bullet, that Ethan realised what had happened; the top of her head disintegrating with the second shot.

A part of Ethan was waiting for the retort, the angry bark of a distant gun, but there was none. //Muzzled, the weapon must have been muzzled//, and he could feel the itch in his shoulder-blades, awaiting a third shot. It never materialised - the silence disrupted only by the low sound Giles made when he reached Emma's side.

The Watcher was crouched by her corpse, hands flinching from the broken body, and there was something terrible in the washed blankness of his face.

Ethan stared, transfixed, at the widening blood, at Giles, at the six men who approached from hidden positions, and was dimly aware that Giles was muttering. It was a cadence unfamiliar to Ethan - the tone flowing and ancient, speaking of lost civilisations and the beat of a distant sun. Where dead gods stood watch with cruel indifference - something shivered in the air. Like the caress of a blind woman, washed in purpose and feather light.

When Giles raised his head, the light cast his eyes in tones of feral gold and the shiver solidified - becoming a hum of vibrating power.

Involuntarily, Ethan stepped back.

The soldiers, they never knew what hit them... with a *crack* the barriers surrounding Giles unfolded.

It was like watching the slow emergence of a desert mirage, a shimmer of heat that distorted reality and clung to the young man in a widening arc; palpable with emotion. But unlike a mirage the earth where it touched was scorched black.

The soldiers hesitated, uncertain. The distortion looked alive somehow, it looked *sinister*... and then they had no more time for thought as it exploded outward with tortuous speed.

Form and shadow coiled with a rumour of claw - and Ethan heard the wet, breathless screams of the six men. The slash of blood as skin and uniform were torn.

And the breeze howled as if funnelled down a wind-tunnel, the moon casting silver and grey on a scene of carnage. Like the cold, unblinking stare of a lost god, illuminating two young men; one bent double and sobbing - the other standing wordless by his side.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Have you found him?"

"No. He hasn't shown up at Oxford and the house is cleaned out. The boy's gone, sir."

Three men in a meeting, speaking as if at a church or library, and Masters closed his eyes.

The third man spoke, "He killed six of my men, sir, do you want him taken out?"

//Taken out?// - "I knew his father, Mark. Henry was a good man - and a damn fine Watcher. We have time."

"To let him run rampant using the dark arts? If you don't want him dead, fine, but at least bring him in. Talk to the lad - tell him why."

"Oh, I have no doubt that Giles understands the why of it - I just don't think he agrees with the principle." Masters' voice was dry as he leant back, watching as Ives paced. "Has the new Slayer checked in?"

"Yes. Kate, a pleasant girl - Irish, I believe."

Masters nodded. It was regrettable that Giles had witnessed the execution, but in all honesty, the senior Watcher wouldn't hesitate to take the same course of action twice. Focusing his attention on the third man he conceded, however, that Ives had a point. "You know what the boy's capable of, Mark. If you can find Rupert and bring him in, all well and good, but don't get killed in the process."

The smile was humourless. "Not my intention, sir."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Randall Scott stared at the statue and decided, with the considerable expertise of his modern art degree, that it was butt ugly.

At twenty, Randall's blond hair was cut shaggily, purple tinted sunglasses, a choker necklace, and blessed with attitude to spare. He was a good looking man and had a laid back, drug induced calmness that inspired a certain following.

Ethan, who was sitting before him, wasn't part of that clique though and Randall nudged the other man softly: "Who's the two-faced son of a bitch?"

His long time friend, and some time lover, placed a proprietary hand on the statue and declared, "Janus - mythical god of Chaos."

"Chaos? Why Chaos?"

"Let's just say that I've seen the forces of all things good and pure; forgive me if I decide to take my stand elsewhere."

"Cool."

Ethan didn't always speak a whole lot of sense, but he was cute - and Randall was about ready for some of that. He stepped forward, a slow smile of invitation that was cut off when Ethan's eyes went distant and blank, staring past Randall's shoulder. Ten seconds later, Ripper appeared.

As friends went - they were odd.

Ethan had a sly charm and a talkative manner - Ripper was near silent, a slow rage that could only be calmed with violence. It was disconcerting. But not nearly as disconcerting as the look Ethan shot Giles whenever he entered the room. Randall recognised it - it used to be directed at him.

Ethan's eyes were thoughtful as the other man slipped out the cottage door, leather jacket and the smoke dangling from his mouth at odds with the idyllic countryside. After a beat, Rayne followed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Giles had walked two kilometres when it struck.

Ever since Emma's execution and the death of the six security agents, he'd been waiting - but a part of him always expected it to arrive in the form of a bullet, not a dart.

He stared down at the feathered protrusion for a bare second, and then collapsed, landing on all fours like a dog. His vision wavered unsteadily, blurring out of focus as he tried to chant - attempting to summon up a form of protection.

Running footsteps - and something slammed into his back, driving him forward.

Breath exploded out of his lungs, eyesight veering near black before sharpening into focus. Giles tried to struggle upwards, to gather arms and limbs, but it was as if the strength had vanished. A hand snaked into his hair, jerking his head up brutally until his neck was strained and his mouth was wide open - gagging as a cloth was pushed between his teeth and tied off securely. Ripper was released, a second blow to the back of his kidneys shoving him into the dirt.

With the gag in his mouth he couldn't draw breath, and he pushed as it feebly - until his hands were snatched and wrenched backwards, the cold hard click of steel biting into his flesh. Handcuffs. He had time to realise it before a third, and final hit, knocked him unconscious.

Mark took pause to study his handiwork, namely, that the gag was secure enough to prevent the boy from casting when he awoke - and that the handcuffs were firm. The skin was pinched white around the rings of metal, and Mark conceded that he'd probably snapped them on too tight. But given what had happened to the first team, he wasn't inclined to care. That done, he sat back on his haunches.

There was a fine film of sweat on his body, and his heart was beating like a trip-hammer. He'd done the job alone, unwilling to risk any more of his men, and had watched Giles for close to two weeks now. The youth had a tendency to walk, not at the same time or hour, but mostly in the same direction and so Mark had waited.

To his advantage, the student Watcher had spent the last three months in the country - which at least provided Mark with the opportunity to snatch and grab without drawing undue attention.

Sighing, he slipped the tranquilliser gun into his belt and grabbed the boy by the collar, hauling him up and over his shoulder in a fireman's carry - only to freeze, staring into the wry features of a second youth, who declared, rather calmly: "That belongs to me."

Mark dropped his burden, hands snatching for the gun even as an invisible force slammed into his chest, breaking three ribs and hurling him through the air. He crashed into the trunk of a nearby tree, eyes rolling upwards as he sagged.

Ethan smiled sardonically. Ever since Emma's murder he had been hyper-aware of Giles and he *knew* their friendship had been altered. The influx of power that had washed through Ethan in order to reach the six dead security agents had been the root of it.

It hadn't harmed Ethan, but had bound him - in rather the same manner that he had once tried to bind Giles in the streets of London, when a shadow of demon had attacked. It was like a gossamer thread that was stretched between them. Magic to magic, like to like, and Ethan had found a way to burrow, secure in the knowledge that he was part of Giles now, inter-woven.

He could do this - he had time.

Time to wait for Giles to recognise what lay beyond their friendship - and he knelt beside his unconscious friend, unknotting the gag carefully.

Randall, a few paces away, stated with remarkable insight: "It's a pipe-dream, you know, Ripper isn't built like you and I."

Ethan shrugged, one hand brushing the hair out of his eyes, and turned to face his jealous lover with a mask of ambiguity: "Maybe." There was a van parked at some distance - probably Marks' - and the mystic smiled faintly, "Come on, give me a hand."

Randall complied, grabbing an arm as they wrestled Giles upwards, "Where are we going?"

"Back to London - no point staying here."

"What about Ripper?"

Ethan shrugged, "The sedative will wear off - but we'll probably be home by then."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Giles came to it was sudden, body wrenching upwards, eyes snapping open. He was in a room - Ethan's - a flat that was located on the east side of London.

"Easy," the mystic was reclined against the desk, arms folded.

The panic subsided, breath catching; his mouth was dry, the lighting seemed unnaturally bright and the pang in his arms was telling - the handcuffs had been on far too long. //Shit//. He covered up the fear with a snap of annoyance: "You could have taken them off."

Ethan smiled sweetly. "True, but the thug wasn't carrying a key and besides - you look rather fetching."

Giles ignored him. Curling his body into a ball he worked the handcuffs over his buttocks until they rested near his ankles, drawing one foot and then the other through the loop. Hands now in front of him, he stood up, resting beside Ethan as he searched the desk for a paper clip or anything of use. The mystic didn't move, sharing space, and Ripper straightened as he set to work. With a click the cuffs snapped open, falling useless to the floor.

Ethan tilted his head, "Sixty-five seconds flat - who needs magic?" and smiled faintly, knowing by Ripper's demeanour that they were going out tonight - to rage with bloody violence.

______________________________________

PRESENT DAY

"Ah-huh!"

At Willow's near shout all heads spun, Buffy zeroing in on her as the red-head approached, balancing a book and declaring excitedly: "It's not Egyptian, it's Etruscan, mistaken for Egyptian because of the design pattern! Look - 'the mark of Eyghon, worn by its initiates. Eyghon, also known as the Sleepwalker, can only exist in this reality by taking possession of an unconscious host. Temporary possession imbues the host with a euphoric feeling of power!'" She glanced around, a near grin of triumph on her features.

No one looked impressed.

Buffy was frowning, the pen in her fingers tapping at rapid speed, "What about non-temporary?"

"'Unless the proper rituals are observed the possession is permanent, and Eyghon is born from within the host'."

"I'm guessing eeewww," Cordelia glanced at the others with a winkled nose.

"Wait, listen - 'once called, Eyghon can also take possession of the dead. But his demonic energy soon consumes the host and it must jump to the nearest dead or unconscious person to continue living'."

There was silence for a moment, the group digesting the information and coming up short. It was Buffy who voiced the one opinion shared by all. "I *still* don't get what this has to do with Giles."

"I don't know about Giles, but ancient sects used to induce possession for bacchanals and orgies." There was no real opinion in Willow's voice, she merely stated it as a possible fact.

Xander's eyebrows however, almost disappeared. "Okay, Giles and orgies used in the same sentence - I could have lived without that."

Willow glanced at Buffy.

The Slayer had a slight frown on her face, staring at the book-cage as she muttered, "Wait a minute, the dead guy's all puddly now."

Cordelia perked up, "Right, so the demon's gone, there was no one dead for it to jump into. I mean, we're all not dead, right?"

"No. No one dead."

And it was Xander who met Buffy's eyes, having made the same conclusion. "But someone unconscious."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was the edge of seduction to Jenny's movements - the slow network of movement and dance as she sidled past, accepting the drink with the faintest of touches. Fingers trailing across skin.

She smiled at the uncertainty in his voice, at the way he edged back surreptitiously, and answered... "You *could* drive me home - or you could take advantage of me in my weakened state."

"Jenny, I really am very attracted to you."

"Good," her voice was a purr, bodies close as if to scent him, or re-acquaint herself with his form, and he almost tripped in his haste to put some distance between them.

"...but now isn't a good time."

She caught him, hands knotting in his shirt, twisting, watching as Giles stumbled into the couch and dropped, eyes wide.

Jenny didn't hesitate, sitting astride his lap and catching his jaw, forcing his head back with unnatural strength, kissing him long and hard.

He surrendered, too shocked to respond, and then pushed her back, the first hint of suspicion warring in his voice. "It's not right."

She tilted her head like a bird's, eyes cadaverous and her tone bored as she spoke: "God, you never change, do you?"

The Watcher's eyes closed, voice a whisper. "What?..." and he *knew*, knew that he'd been too late after all. The world washing grey as memory flooded back.

Randall. Ethan.

"'It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be proper.' You're like a woman, Giles, you cried at every funeral."

Her smile was ravenous - and the tattoo embedded on his skin seared white as the demon slowly emerged. Eyghons' slur against Emma like a fist, making him reel.

"...you don't deserve me, but guess what?" Jenny's voice flickered, becoming deep and resonant. It was Randall's voice, altered by a demon, both twisting the knife in the play of Giles' memories. Randall's hands, caressing down his cheek with cruel anticipation, "...you've got me *under your skin*!"

He tried to jerk back even as she wrenched him forward, biting down on his lip until his mouth opened. He remembered this - the slick persistence - except this time it was a woman rather than the hard planes of a supposed friend. Jenny broke off, wiping blood from her lips, voice grating and demonic, "Was it good for you?"

She/he/Eyghon didn't wait for an answer, slamming his head down against the pine desk and hurling him back, watching with indifference as he slumped beside the kitchen counter.

It wouldn't matter what he tried, Giles knew, Eyghon would win... he always won.

Jenny moved forward with the slow purpose of a seductress or predator, action exaggerated and body coiled. "Oh, you never had the stomach for me, Rupert, but that's alright - because I'm going to tear it out."

There were nuances to that statement that rested beyond the obvious, a sick reminder of things that had been done, and he wondered idly if Eyghon would keep his word this time and kill him. Because he wouldn't survive the alternative - not this time.

And it was odd that as the demon approached it wasn't Buffy, or even Jenny that his mind turned to, but Ethan. Remembering the ashen look on the chaotian's face.

____________________________________

1979

"You want to do *what?*"

Randall ignored him, focusing on Ethan instead, "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"It's a demon, you idiot!"

//Pretend he's not there and he might go away, focus on your old lover instead - Rayne will see the coolness of it//. "Yeah, but it's a *sex* demon, raised for bacchanals. Come on, what better time than the present for something like that - it only takes six to control."

"Then why don't *you* raise it."

He wasn't going to get out of this without at least acknowledging Ethan's shadow. Randall snapped an irritated glance backward. "Because I don't have the juice, you moron - you and Ethan are the mystics."

A snort, "Right, and we'll be the ones to pay for it if anything goes wrong."

"Nothing will! I'll observe the rituals, you have my word, and so will the other three, and..." Randall's brain suddenly caught up with his mouth and he frowned, "Wait a minute, why won't Eyghon bother with me if anything goes wrong?"

It was Ethan who answered, looking up with a shark's grin, "Because he'll probably kill you outright."

"Oh, right, much better. You need to work on your definition of 'suffer'." Randall sighed, running a hand through his mussed hair, and swung back to Ethan. "I need this, please," and his voice went low as he added, "It's not like I'm getting any other form of action."

Whatever Rayne would decide on - Giles would follow, they were practically inseparable. The two men conferred silently, communicating in a manner that Randall couldn't begin to understand.

It was Giles who responded, speaking as if quoting Scripture, "You need six players to call Eyghon forth - all marked with his signature. One to act as host - five to guard. When the proper rituals are observed the tattoo will bind the demon to the will of the group. But if the rituals are broken, the reverse is also true, and you'll be little more than a puppet to his command - can you handle that?"

Randall's expression turned infuriatingly bland. "I have no intention of disrupting the rituals."

Ethan stepped in, voice smooth, "Who are the three friends?"

"Thomas, his girlfriend Deirdre... and Phillip," there was an open challenge in Randall's voice, staring at his old lover defiantly.

Ethan nodded. Phillip was a run-down two bit thug with a drug problem and bad social graces, but if he were keeping Randall occupied, all well and good. As for him and Giles, they could raise the demon and clear out, leaving the two couples to it. Or they could experiment, see what it would be like to share existence with a monster. "Okay, just make sure your friends know about the mark - and we'll figure something out."

_________________________________

PRESENT DAY

With a crack the door splintered open, and Buffy took a single glance before deciding she didn't like.

Her foot lashed out, catching Miss Calendar as she spun and knocking the woman flat. It didn't appear to affect her much, the pagan rolling to her feet like a miniature terminator.

Buffy didn't have time for it - attention sliding inexorably toward her Watcher, and deciding that she didn't like what she saw over there either. "BACK OFF!"

Eyghon paused, eyes widening at the fury in the child's voice, then smirked, following the Slayer's gaze to the man beside the counter. "Three down... two to go. Be seeing you."

With a splinter of glass, she shot out the window.

Buffy reached Giles just as he sat up, noting the bruise on his forehead (another one), and the dilated pupils. She touched him gently, some internal instinct telling her to tread carefully, "Are you alright?"

He didn't seem to hear - eyes fixed to where Miss Calendar had disappeared, "Oh, god, Jenny."

Appeal to his mind - get him *thinking* rather than reacting. "Giles, how do we stop this?" There was a cold fear inside of Buffy, something she couldn't bare acknowledge - she had already lost one Watcher... losing Giles would destroy her. //Please, answer. Come back from wherever Eyghon sent you//.

His eyes closed and she could feel the faint tremors from where her hand rested on his forearm, voice muttering, "Oh god, what have I done?"

"Talk to me, Giles - you're *scaring* me."

Her voice was small, impossibly young, and his body went still as he faced her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry - be Giles." Buffy almost smiled, partly relieved that he was back, focused on her - another part screaming that Giles didn't *act* like this - and whatever had him rattled was bound to be bad. "Come on, we fight monsters, this is what we do. They show up, I beat them, they go away - this isn't any different."

"It *is* different."

"Because you don't know how to stop it?"

"Because I created it."

__________________________________

The first time Eyghon was summoned - Giles acted as host.

The possession lasted exactly half an hour and then the five of them banished the demon from his body. Ethan spent the next seventy-two hours watching Giles like a hawk, trying to determine if there had been any ill effects and maintaining a close observation on their bond.

The second occasion proceeded much the same. Except Ethan was the receptacle and the possession was extended to an hour. After that, it was thought to be 'safe', and Randall's party stepped forward, ready to reap the benefits of Eyghon's unique calling.

The demon, as he entered each of their subconscious, found the crack he was looking for with remarkable ease, and with casual aplomb, systematically set about destroying them.

Love was a many splendoured thing.

_______________________________

Giles was resting with his back against the wall, arms resting on his knees, trying to figure out how to start, and he couldn't... not really. How can you sell a life-time story in thirty seconds or less? Impossible.

But Buffy was staring at him with the blind trust that he remembered on the face of a different Slayer. Giles didn't *want* to share this story - what the Watchers had done, what he had done - all the little, blind steps that led to a certain course of action and the biggest fall of all.

Didn't want to see the disgust on her face when she passed judgment on an organisation that she was bound to. Or the so called wisdom of that same institution when they sent her a man like him.

But he could do abridged. Pat it down nice and neat and hope that she didn't furrow her brow and ask the *why* behind it all - abridged was acceptable: "I was twenty one..."

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