TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 23/31
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.

POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies translation from another language.

"Get up." Lilithu's command was impatient - and the frown she threw at the Slayer held more than a little impatience. "Foolish child," she hissed. "You can't kill something that's already dead. All you do is hurt the spirit it contains - and yourself by doing so. Save your strength."

"Go to hell," Buffy muttered, watching the dead thing, not its mistress. The fall had broken bones. It heaved itself back to its feet with difficulty, one arm twisting at an impossible angle, and its body leaning drunkenly to one side. The sliver of wood that had been embedded in its back had been driven right through its chest; the point of it now jutted out of decaying flesh while fluid bubbled up around it.

{Oh god, that *had* to hurt …}

The zombie seemed unconcerned by its injuries. It staggered forward again, limping and lurching as its damaged left leg dragged beneath it. Buffy gagged and struggled for breath, fighting back tears of anguish, anger and frustration. She didn't want to *do* this, nor could she let the thing anywhere near the staff.

"You know," she said shakily. "If I could do this any other way …" Her words were pained, filled with apology. She knew there was no need to seek forgiveness, but she still needed it. She'd sparred with Giles a thousand times, beaten him, knocked him down, even knocked him out a couple of times - but she'd never *attacked* him - not like this. It wasn't right, and it wasn't *fair*. She didn't want to hurt him, but she had no choice. He was bound and helpless, unable to defend himself - and she was the Slayer; she wasn't pulling punches.

A step, a little bounce - and she swung into action, spinning into roundhouse kick that slammed the side of her foot across the dead man's face. It twisted away in reaction. There was a sickening *snap* - and the thing's head lolled drunkenly to one side.

But it still continued to shuffle forwards.

"*God*," Buffy choked, stepping forward to strike the heels of both hands hard against the zombie's shoulders and drive it backwards. "What do I have to do? Tear him apart? Rip him into pieces?"

"Probably," Lilithu smiled, amused by her efforts - and what they were costing her. "It's *dead*. It exists only to serve. All you do is delay the inevitable. And hurt one you love. But then - we *always* hurt the one we love. Don't we?"

"Dammit. Damm *you*," Buffy cursed, lashing out through a haze of tears. She was striking to cripple now, to break bones and disable limbs. Her hand punched into an unresisting shoulder. Her foot cracked an already damaged knee - and then there were hands clawing at her from behind. Lilithu had signalled her followers and two of them had raced in to seize her, dragging her away, kicking and struggling.

"Enough," the vampiress commanded. "Slaughter lacks season without screams to add to its savour. And I grow weary of this foolish dance. Hold her." She barked an imperious command to the zombie, which stumbled forward in a broken parody of a walk.

"No," the Slayer protested, struggling and twisting, all to no avail. The vampires had learned from their brother's demise. Their grip was solid and she couldn't break free. "*No*."

It was too soon. There hadn't been enough time. Willow's spell had taken too long, had failed to free the Englishman's captive soul - and now Lilithu would be the one freed from enchantment. Buffy's heart - already aching from what she'd been forced to do - shivered with inner pain. She'd done her best - and her best just hadn't been good enough.

A dead hand reached down, groping for the length of ivory that lay sprawled across the floor. Time stretched into infinity as cold fingers closed around the carved surface and began to lift the staff from the ground. Somewhere, oddly distant, Buffy heard Wesley's voice choke with desperate horror; "Oh dear *lord*." Cordelia whimpered. Lilithu smiled triumphantly.

And then the corpse caught fire.

It was a subtle reaction at first. Smoke began to eddy up from the clenched hand as it swung the ivory staff upright. A hint of flame licked at the curve of zombie fingers and then rippled along its arm, eating into the tattered shirt and sending a hint of cooked meat into the air. The dead man showed no sign of distress. No sign of *any* reaction in fact. It completed its unsteady return to its feet, turned to face its mistress and carefully planted the end of the staff firmly on the ground.

By the time it had done so, it was shrouded in smoke and shimmers of fire were dancing in its hair.

"*No* " Buffy yelled, throwing herself back into her struggles with desperate effort. It was bad enough she'd had to break and beat him. But to see him stand there and simply burn alive … "God, *no*. **Giles!** " Her cry was like a catalyst. The gently smoking zombie went up like a roman candle, its body bursting into furious flame. Lilithu took a startled step backwards. Her children echoed the reaction, their retreat dragging Buffy back from the sudden wall of heat.

"*No…*" she sobbed, her knees giving way as a wave of anguished despair washed over her. The corpse still hadn't moved. The flame was peeling flesh away from bone, melting muscle and skin like so much warm wax. There was a soft click from nowhere in particular, and water began to rain down from above as the museum sprinklers kicked in, reacting to the heat and the smoke. Nobody even noticed; every eye in the room was fixed on the macabre sight at its centre, the image of a man devoured by unholy fire.

It didn't take long.

The flame ate him from inside and out, stripping him down to bone in bare seconds. Then even that succumbed to the fire; it cracked and crumbled, disintegrating into little more than dust and splinters. The skull tumbled back, shattering into pieces as it hit the floor. The rest of the body collapsed after it, leaving the staff unsupported. It stayed upright for a moment, softly shimmering with a hint of power - then it too fell, landing across the charred remains with a muted clatter

After which there was nothing but a soft hiss from the still discharging sprinklers - and the quiet sound of gulping, shaky sobs as Cordelia fought unsuccessfully to control her tears.

Buffy didn't even try. Her face had been wet long before the impact of the fire control. She let the grief well out of her, let it spill down her cheeks to mingle with the moisture that was busy dripping from her hair. Stunned, silent tears; warmth and hope washed out of her, leaving her cold and empty of everything - except the ice of certainty, the resolution that someone was going to pay. The eyes that she lifted to seek out Lilithu held bitter determination, a silent promise of death.

One way or the other, only one of them was going to leave this room.

The vampiress wasn't even looking at the Slayer. Water was cascading across her bare shoulders, but she didn't seem to have noticed; she was staring at the tumbled staff with bemused fury, her whole body trembling with anger.

"This cannot be " she denied with a hiss. "He was worthy. I *know* he was worthy." Her eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. "The vessel - the vessel was flawed. It could not hold his spirit and the staff - *yes*. Yes. *Curse* them " Her hands went wide, expressing her anger; glass splintered on every side, windows, cases, even the fluorescent tube lights shattered under the impact of her rage. "The sons of *jackals*. Taking what I had, using what I am. Turning my shadow against me. When I am free," she announced, looking up to glare at her children with disquieting menace, "I will drag their souls back from eternity and make them suffer as I have suffered. I will drown in their screams and feed on their agony …" She paused, her eyes caught by something - or someone - behind the captive Slayer's shoulder. "And I will be free." A cruel smile curled across her lips. "The night is not over *yet*."

{No …}

Buffy had been savouring the vampire's anger, finding bitter satisfaction in her frustration and rage. Lilithu's plan had failed. She couldn't touch or take the staff, couldn't use it, couldn't free herself from its chains - and as long as that remained, as long as there was still a chance that she could be destroyed - then Buffy could convince herself that her Watcher's sacrifice had not been in vain. She'd not stopped to think that her secret weapon - her *second* Watcher, supposedly intent on unravelling the last of the ritual - might also hold the key to the she-demon's freedom.

Not, that is, until Lilithu sought him out - and smiled that confident, knowing smile.

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