Splatterhouse: The Ballad of Tara McLeay

Disclaimer: I do not own buffy or Splatterhouse. Enjoy. This story is rated for blood, gore and lesbian themes.

Phase One: Tara's Masque

Location: Sunnydale, CA, West Mansion

Tara McLeay wept, for she had failed. She had failed not only her friends and her principles but she'd failed her.

Willow Rosenberg, the lover of Tara's young life was being hauled away, kicking and screaming by the twisted sorcerer Dr. Henry West, the new principle of newly rebuilt Sunnydale High.

Tears fell from Tara's eyes as she sat in a spreading pool of her own blood and the blood of her companions.

Buffy was dead. She fought like a warrior. She took down so many of the vampires and demons and abominations that West had at his command but they proved too great in their combined numbers for the slayer.

Around Buffy's cooling corpse lay the bodies of demons and the ashes of vampires. Chunks of brain and skull splattered all over the walls where Buffy's sword broke and she took to ripping apart her enemies with her bare hands. Once the slayer was dead the rest fell soon after.

Anya was dead.

Xander was dead.

Giles was dead.

Oh fuck, it couldn't be real! Please, oh please, goddess let all this be a nightmare! PLEASE!

Tara gasped as her hand accidently squished against a chunk of her own intestines, lying outside her body. She'd been hit by a demon's spiky arm at the start of the fight and disemboweled.

Willow fought. Willow had always been stronger than Tara, as both a witch and as a person. He heart was pure and strong and she'd fallen madly in love with the mousy Tara.

All of that would come to an end now. The forces of Light had failed and Tara rightly or wrongly blamed herself.

Tara tried to raise herself up, to follow, to try and save her loved one from the twisted mad scientist and his eldritch creations but she fell back to the ground.

Tara coughed up blood. The smell of it was so thick that were she whole and uninjured she'd want to puke.

"Willow," Tara whimpered, "I'm sorry," and she lay in the pooling that was her and not hers. Death seemed near.

And then came the opportunity of a lifetime.

"He took your girl, Tara," said the voice, dark as the night and as seductive as sin.

Tara's eyes widened at the mysterious voice that seemed to speak into her mind.

"He took your dreams," the voice continued, and as it spoke it sent a tremor of fear through Tara's dying body.

"He took your life," the voice almost hissed. It was a gravelly voice, yet strangely seductive; and just hearing I made Tara feel filthy.

Looking around in terror, Tara choked out, "Who's there?"

Then she saw it. Sitting there on the floor, innocent as can be; was a mask. A white bone mask looked at Tara with its empty eyeholes. Just a perfectly innocent mask carved out of human bone.

"Ah," sighed the mask in that sly, oily voice, "Only thing you got left is your soul."

The thing paused and gloated, "And that belongs to me." If it had a face, surely the mask would be smiling from ear to ear with rotten teeth and dark, romance novel type eyes.

Tara was caught between revulsion and desperation. The voice was toxic as well as intoxicating. It made her queasy and even in her state it also made her feel . . . strangely aroused.

It must have been blood loss at work. This was all a hallucination, she didn't have long left anyway; but this is Sunnydale and this was no hallucination. "Who are you?" she hardly dared to ask the infernal thing which seemed to be sucking up the blood around it.

Tara could almost fancy the thing licking its lips as it thought up a response.

"Let's just say I'm God, your god; at least the only God that's listening to your prayers."

Tara wanted to ask this thing what it wanted but her vision was starting to blacken and words just weren't coming. She would go into shock soon.

The mask however seemed to read her intent rather than her words, "What do I want? Eh, same as any god: a little faith."

Against her better instincts, Tara starts to slowly and painfully crawl towards the terror mask. It fascinated her more than it frightened now.

"For without faith, I am nothing," the mask waxed poetically. "And without me, you're fucked!" it snarled.

Tara didn't want to trust the mask. It wanted to take her soul. Probably it wanted to haul her toff to some hell dimension and ass-rape her for the rest of eternity.

"She doesn't have to die," breathed the mask, striking into the very heart of Tara's weakness. The thought of willow dying was worse than hell. Tara would gladly give it all for Willow. She owed it to the girl who made her heart flutter, who made her feel special, made her feel whole.

Her hands touched the mask and it made her too cold for blood loss to account for.

"We can save her," the mask's words were growing faster, as if in great anticipation. "If you show me some faith—

Tara lifted the mask with her dying strength.

If you trust me—

As the last spark of life began to leave her, Tara brought the mask to her face.

If you put-me-on!

Tara put on the mask . . . may the Goddess have mercy on her soul for what she did.

The mask chuckled, "It's show time."

Tara screamed as the power of the terror mask pulled her back from the brink of death. She could feel its invisible claws ripping into her flesh. Her screaming only stopped when she began to spew up blood as her organs ruptured and started to reform.

In vain, she tried to claw the foul thing off her face but it was stuck tight as her own skin.

Terra's screams resumed as she writhed in agony. Giving birth to a child didn't hurt this much. Getting stabbed didn't burn the nerves like what Tara was feeling. Crucifixion would have been a pleasure next to this.

Suddenly, Tara's arm shot out, growing in both length and muscle mass: her agony multiplied tenfold.

Her upper body began to expand, ripping through the sweater she wore. She stood up involuntarily and the enormous weight of her now gorilla like chest snapped her right leg in half.

"Quit whining," snarled the pitiless demon mask. "Did I say it was going to be fun?"" it taunted her suffering.

Tara shrieked as the transformation finished. Her cries were attracting every demon, vampire and freak in this godforsaken mansion.

"You're going to have to learn to love the pain, there's a lot more of it to come," said the mask with false sympathy and eager anticipation.

Tara gasped as her body had finished being torn apart at the molecular level and rebuilt in the mask's image.

Her mind was still foggy from pain, that was why she didn't scream when she saw her hands had become huge, gnarled fists with sharp claws.

However she got a good shock of fear when she saw her reflection in a mirror.

"I'm hideous," croaked Tara hopelessly, her voice being the only part of her that was unchanged.

Gone was the timid five foot six brunette. In her place was a nine foot five bruiser with muscle upon muscle and limbs like tree trunks.

Her top had torn and her breasts were reduced to withered paps on her chest. Her huge arms hung almost down to her knees but mercifully her sweat pants were still intact but they were now as tight as a thong.

And somehow her fancy sneakers were intact. Tara liked those sneakers. They were w gift from Willow.

Worst of all though, were the eyes. Tara's eyes were soulless glowing orbs that burned a sickly yellow. She ran a clawed hand down the mask that totally covered her face; which looked kind of life a hockey mask.

Tara began to stutter, "W-w-w-what the fuck i-i-is this?"

"You're wearing me, I'm inhabiting you. You provide a host and I provide the power,' the mask explained in that oily, seductive voice. "We're a team now. I help you get your sweet little Willow back and in return you give me all the blood and carnage I want. Fucking easy, now let's go!"

"B-b-but, what are you?" Tara asked her new, dubious friend.

"You freed me. I owe you. That's all you need, to know, Tara."

Tara however was starting to gather her thoughts. "Somehow, I think there's more to you."

The mask was getting impatient, "Somehow, I don't give a shit. You're better off not knowing anyway"

It was then that company arrived. The vampires came first, dressed in the black clothes and huge trench coats that Dr. West had supplied them with. One in three vampires had some kind of cybernetic enhancement that looked painful and shoddy: giving them enhanced strength.

"Man," said one of the vampires, "That's a huge bitch."

Small, hunched demons also approached. The demons were spiky things, with one arm ending in a barb covered club. These eyeless demons somehow seemed able to "see" Tara.

For a moment, Tara was afraid of all these demons. Then the terror mask reminded her of the new power that it'd granted her.

"Come one," it hissed, "Let's go kill something. It's been too long and I'm waaay out of practice." If the mask had a physical body it would have a huge, throbbing erection at the mere thought of actually murdering a living thing.

The vampires and demons charged and in that moment, Tara unleashed the fury of a woman scorned. She wasn't using any particular style, just pure rage and brute force.

Throwing herself forward faster than anything that big had a right to, Tara punched right through the lead vampire's head. Brain and skull fragments splattered everywhere before the vampire's body turned to dust.

The spiky demons charged at Tara like Feral animals Tara grabbed two of them out of the air and smashed them together. The bodies of the demons exploded like rotten fruit and unlike the vampires the blood and gore didn't turn to dust.

"YES!" shouted the mask, practically having an orgasm as the glorious bloodshed.

Tara grabbed a vampire whose arm had been replaced with a nasty looking drill and grabbed the revenant by his ankles. Pulling apart, the vampire ripped in two like a wishbone

Letting out a wordless scream, Tara flew a hailstorm of punches at her enemies. Where the punches landed flesh was rent and bones shattered.

The terror mask was loving every single fucking moment of it. "Ah say good day, sah!" the mask cackled gleefully in a fake southern accent as Tara completely and utterly sidefucked her enemies.

A vampire had its arms torn off before Tara grabbed a big marble slab out of the floor and squashed it like a bug.

"Rip 'em apart!" shouted the bloodthirsty demon mask loud enough to rattle Tara's eyeballs.

Grabbing another demon, Tara threw it to the ground and held up her hands. Her sharp black claws instantly grew to three feet in length and punctured the demon like a pincushion.

Changing her tactics, Tara began to swipe and claws with the killing tools literally at her fingertips.

Enemies were slashed into five or more pieces each. The cybernetic enhancements of the vampires did not save their undead asses and the ferocity of the demons only ensured that they died extra quickly and painfully.

Still moving with pure brain stem animal fury, Tara grabbed the last demon and retracted her claws. Her huge mitts held the demon's lizard like head easily and with the smallest of effort, burst it like a grape.

Tara spun around screaming, but alas there were no more enemies to slay, only vampire ashes, broken cybernetic parts and demons lying about like broken toys.

It then sunk in on Tara not only what she was becoming but what she was capable of.

A blur of emotions ran through her mind but the mask was at east.

"Ah, sexy. Ya never forget your first kill," he sounded like he wanted to light up a cigarette.

"What just happened?" Tara asked herself more than the mask. But because the mask was a no good jerk it answered anyway.

"Well, I'd say you fucked up these guys royally. What do you give a shit? If I remember correctly, you've got a red haired dyke that needs saving."

"Hey," Tara snapped, "Don't call her that!"

The mask chuckled darkly, "I love redheads, I love me some fire-crotch."

Tara was confused, "Fire crotch, what—oh, you're mean." He flicked the mask with a finger, hoping to rattle it.

The mask however showed no sign of discomfort. "Come on, I'm sure Willow's about to be raped and beaten or some shit like that. Let's just kill something, okay?" It was getting a little impatient

And so Tara started to run when she heard a scream. "That's Willow!" Tara shouted.

The mask started imitating Willow's voice, "Oh, Doctor West, what are you doing? Oh my! It's so big!"

Tara was starting to lose it with this damn mask, "Will you shut the fuck up?"

The mask did not reply. It seemed to be casting about. Tara could almost feel psychic probes this way and that. "Second floor, move your ass if you want to save her. Just get me something to kill. I'll settle for babies and grasshoppers if that's all you've got."

Tara however had no witty, awkward Buffy style retort for the rude, smartass mask. She had to go out and save her love.

And that's all folks . . . for now :D As things stand, I'm super busy not only with fanfiction but with school. This will remain a one-shot for now but I promise that I'll update this one day. I've always loved Tara McLeay. Not only do I think she's kinda cute but I loved her shy personna and how she had a deep reserve of inner strengh that she never knew she had until Willow showed up.

This takes place in the Fourth Season, before Tara died. I hope I do her justice now that she's got a rude, violent demon mask that's voiced by Jim Cummings. Check out the game Splatterhouse by Namco some time. It's like if God of War decided it wasn't gory enough.

Ta

Master of the Boot