"The Replacement: Reloaded" by Shadow Master

email: ryley[underscore]breen

(BtVS/Original Four Devil May Cry Games/Final Fantasy XV/Bayonetta/Others)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the copyrighted material contained herein. They are the rightful property of their respective creators and/or associated companies. I make no profit off of this whatsoever and I have no intention of changing this at any point in the future. I write stories like this because it's fun and because there are those readers who enjoy reading what I write. Therefore I would appreciate it if no legal action were taken against me. I can promise you that whatever money you get from me won't even cover a fifth of your legal fees.

Note 1: Yes I know that I already have a BtVS/DMC crossover posted but it's been such a long time since I wrote it I thought it might be best to keep things fresh by starting over. Also as you may be able to tell by the list of titles there have been some developments over the last year that've snagged my muses interest revitalizing my desire to work on a story like this. I will almost certainly take some material from the original crossover material or at least appear to because let's face it there are only so many ways to do certain things or get things going in the direction I want to take them. However it is my hope that with some help from Holyknight and perhaps some comments from you the readers I can make this into a story worth reading.

Note 2: Timeline-wise this will start early Season 3 for BtVS, Pre-Devil May Cry 3, Pre-Final Fantasy XV:Kingsglaive,

Note 3: As with all my stories I will do my best to adhere to the canon source material for each property as best I can but if something gets in the way of the story I wish to tell then it's going to get altered. Besides it's a matter of fact that all these properties were never designed with the intention of making them mesh perfectly so some changes are inevitable to keep contradictions/inconsistencies to a minimum. In any case if you're the sort of reader that considers any deviation from canon facts to be blasphemy of the highest order I recommend that you turn around right now.

For those of you with somewhat more flexible minds…LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!

The Replacement: Reloaded

Somewhere in South Western North Carolina

January 23rd, 1999

Vergil's POV

Looking at the old fashioned home that his search had brought him to, he hoped that the 'expert' he had consulted had been truthful, otherwise they would have to discuss his… displeasure in a very direct manner.

In the years since his mother's death he had spent a full decade learning to harness both his own demonic abilities as well as those of his Devil Arm Yamato. He'd travelled the world despite being a child, looking for anyone he deemed suitable to instruct him, often being forced to both lie as well as manipulate the teachers in order to get what he wanted. Despising the weakness of his human half, he ignored the philosophy and codes of honor his various sensei tried to teach him, focusing exclusively on mastering his powers and his weapon. For those who did not offend him he merely disappeared once he felt that he'd learned all he needed to. For those who sickened him but still possessed the knowledge he needed he tolerated them only until he'd learned all he needed to before killing them as his own personal graduation exam.

Once he felt himself ready he began the quest he'd sworn to take ever since that awful night fifteen years ago: to claim the power of his father, Sparda.

He'd learned a great many truths that night but one stood high above the others: without power, nothing you had was safe. Without sufficient power any possessions you had could be taken from you by beings that possessed more power than you did. Without enough power you could not protect those you were… fond of because they'd die by forces stronger or faster than you were. As such it was pointless to begin building anything, gaining anything, until you possessed enough power that none could even approach you without tasting bitter defeat.

While he still trained daily to push his own abilities to their limits, he'd realized three years ago that he was swiftly approaching the extent of what he was capable of as he was now. He was only half-devil, after all, and as much as he hated the fact, until he found a way to burn off his human heritage it would always exist to weigh him down. He had in the past briefly considered utilizing one of the various arcane means of replacing human weakness with demonic power but had dismissed the notion since no demon currently walking the Earth was acceptably strong enough. All of them were half human or less and even those boasting great power belonged to a species that had proven itself unable to withstand an assault by humans. Granted, the humans that killed a member of their race had possessed some skill and power, as small an amount as humans were capable of anyway, but still they had fallen and thus failed to meet his standards.

No, only the power of his father Sparda would be suitable for his ambitions.

This took him across the world a second time seeking out ancient libraries, scholars and beings that were old enough to have been around millennia ago for the answers he sought. Most were fools who believed the rumors and speculation of previous generations or coveted books that were obviously attempts at misdirection by his father. Nevertheless, piece-by-piece, he began to assemble an accurate history of what came before as well as clues that hinted at where his father's true demonic power resided.

That was what led him to the home of the human occultist Jude Arkham.

According to the source that had directed him to this house, the man, oddly enough, had started out as a priest before some tragic event caused him to abandon his faith in favor of the power that demons could provide. Ultimately it mattered not what the man's reasons were, only that they'd served as motivation enough to compel the human to search the darkest corners of the world in order to gain the power he desired. While he had never heard of the man prior to his source naming him, proof that the human had failed in his efforts to gain power, such exhaustive searching naturally implied that Arkham had conducted extensive research on the topic of demonic power.

A learned man such as that might very well know of Sparda as well as what happened to the Dark Knight's power.

Striding forward through the open gates, he could feel the wards and the spells that had been laced about the property but, from what he could tell, they were mostly dormant. Only those that would serve to notify Mister Arkham of his arrival were operating. This indicated that either the man had no talent for sorcery or that he preferred to keep the potent magicks under his direct control. Both options, automatic and manual control, had their benefits as well as their weaknesses. To leave something on automatic meant that the wards and spells would continue to act until they lost power or were destroyed. However much like mechanical security systems protections of a magical nature had yet to acquire a means by which they could adapt or think for themselves. Various mages had attempted to bind the soul of a suitable person to the security measures to direct them but this did not produce viable results. As a result being left on automatic made the spells and wards fairly direct in how they responded to the specified criteria, making them predictable and easily overcome.

In this case, in which the protections were under manual control, the one wielding them could cause them to strike with greater efficiency and strategy, increasing overall effectiveness. The downside though was that, once the controller was killed, the entire system went down. Thus all one needed to do was make their way to the one pulling the strings and end him in order to become safe.

Seeing ten shadows separate themselves from the objects they should've been attached to, he let his mind evaluate the oddity and soon came to a conclusion.

A group of creatures from the Seven Hells of the Demon Army from the evidence he saw before him.

With an almost whimsical use of his power he sent ten of his summoned magical swords at the shadows, piercing them clean through the middle.

As expected sounds of agony and fading unlife came from the shadows until they broke apart into fine powder carried off into nothingness by an unseen wind.

Proceeding up to the front door he was unsurprised to find it locked but two swift swings with Yamato corrected that issue, allowing him to enter. Looking about he saw that for the most part the décor was consistent with turn of the century sensibilities, with only a few modern additions incorporated likely out of necessity. A few scattered paintings, some tables with various accessories atop them and other random items but, from what he saw, Mister Arkham did not particularly care about the upkeep of his home. Either it had only recently been purchased or the man was more devoted to his arcane pursuits than he was about entertaining guests.

However when he witnessed three of the stone statues that were placed about the room come to life, looking at him with a singular eye, spinning into existence crimson energy arrows, he supposed the man did not like receiving visitors, invited or not. Deciding that the stone these constructs were made of would make them more resilient than the member of the Seven Hells, he unsheathed Yamato and lunged at the closest one, the tip of the blade leading the way. Most kenjutsu teachers he'd learned under would say that a katana was not meant for thrusting moves but rather slashes, but those teachers did not know anything about Devil Arms. Often taken from the souls of defeated foes, they were infused with demonic energy and made of materials no mortal swordsmith had ever encountered.

As a result, instead of breaking or bending away from the point of impact, his treasured sword knocked the animated statue onto its back, allowing him to execute a five hit combo that neatly cut its limbs off before killing it.

For the next he merely encircled himself with summoned blades before firing them off at the second statue, turning it into a rather uninteresting pin cushion before it fell over, lifeless.

He didn't even spare the final one much thought before executing a single Judgment Cut, ending its existence.

Surely he doesn't think that this can hold me back, he thought with a bit of annoyance as he proceeded to where he sensed the strongest concentration of magic.

There were few threats in the mortal would who could pose a serious challenge for him thanks to his years of thorough training, but what'd been sent at him thus far were less than dust in his eyes. Sent against ignorant humans and fools who thought themselves demon hunters it would've been enough but to him, a son of Sparda, they were nuisances more than anything else.

Still, one would think that someone capable of operating all of the arcane protections and sending demons to his will would have the ability to detect how powerful he was. Surely as a Devil-Human half-breed he warranted a stronger response than this. While there was a possibility that these resources were being sent at him to test his prowess, Arkham would have to do better to see ALL that he was capable of.

As he strolled down the hallway that would lead him to his objective, he sensed two presences pass from one wall to another behind him but when he turned to see what they were he saw nothing. However unlike some he would not dismiss his senses as mistaken and instead resumed his journey, maintaining a mental lock on his unseen followers. For the moment they seemed to be observing him, keeping pace with him but not overtaking, making him think that perhaps they were to be Arkham's trump card should their 'discussion' prove provocative.

Not entirely without merit but the tactic had failed the moment he'd detected them.

Arriving at the double doors, behind which he suspected Jude Arkham was waiting for him, he pushed them open, his eyes falling upon the one who might possess the answers he sought.

"You are Jude Arkham?" he asked in order to confirm what he already suspected to be true.

"I am. And you are?" Arkham asked, closing a book that he'd been reading before letting the holding arm drop to the side.

"Someone who seeks the location of the doorway to the Underworld," he replied, knowing from experience that in certain circles giving up your name freely was potentially lethal. "I'm told you're the sort of expert who knows things that others do not."

"I will admit that unlike others in my field I do not cringe at the mere mention of forbidden places," Arkham said, showing some pride on that point. "As to the doorway to the Underworld there are several, some more famous than others, and some do not lead to the same Underworld but rather a similar environment. I would need more information before I could determine if I have what you seek."

"I seek 'the tower that has been sealed' as it was referred to in a book I came across," he replied, deciding to test the man to see just how much Arkham knew. "The book implied that the tower has not been seen by mortal eyes in two millennia."

"Well, that does narrow down the list of potential locations," Arkham replied as he walked over to a bookshelf. "As it so happens I actually possess in my keeping a book I believe focuses on the location you seek. I had contemplated going there myself to see if I could acquire some small sliver of its power but when I read of the… gate keepers within, I decided discretion was the better part of valor."

Those who seek power but do not have the resolve to obtain it do not deserve to possess any at all, he thought with contempt at the failure of a man standing before him.

The pulsing scar on the side of his head and the flawed power within were proof enough that Jude Arkham had attempted to soar to new heights in the past but had failed miserably. Still, he was somewhat reassured that a new source of information might well be within his reach bringing him that much closer to his goal.

"If the location in that book is indeed what I seek then you're free to plunder what you want from the tower once I am done with it," he said, deciding that the time had come to broach the topic of payment. "However I must insist on inspecting the contents of the book myself before I agree to anything more."

Stepping towards the man, he felt the two presences that had been tailing him rear up in preparation to strike but he was not worried. With a pulse of power he teleported himself behind his pursuers and, with two slashes from Yamato that would be beyond the human's ability to perceive, cut them in half. Two distorted death cries echoed throughout the room, fading as they travelled, even as the ting of his katana snapping the final inch into its sheath put the exclamation point on their end.

"But of course," Arkham said, his eyes only slightly widening at the display.

Solid composure and some strength of will.

Both qualities would make the man a suitable subordinate for what he had planned…

…until he outlived his usefulness, of course.

Jude Arkham's POV

Huh… the fool actually believes he came here of his own free will, he thought as he watched Vergil, son of Sparda and the human woman Eva, leave to go ahead to the location of Temen-ni-gru.

Then again he supposed that, given the man's pedigree and the reports of his travels abroad, a bit of arrogance was not unfounded. Ever since the failed ritual that cost him his wife and the departure of his daughter Mary, the pain throbbing on the left side of his face served as a constant reminder. Up until the beginning of the ritual he'd been so certain that he'd memorized all the details and followed all the preparation steps to the letter. However as his scarred visage and the other costs he'd been forced to pay confirmed he would not ever consider the events of that night a success.

He chuckled as he remembered his early years before he'd set foot in the domain of the supernatural.

In the beginning he'd been your typical collar-wearing drone, completely devout to the teachings of the Church but then something had happened that had changed his life forever. He had been walking home from some last minute paperwork at the chapel when he'd heard a woman's scream of fear and, while he'd been tempted to simply find a phone to call the police, he chose in the end to go to the woman's aid.

What he'd found had been shocking to say the least and had almost caused him to freeze.

Sitting on the ground, holding a cross in front of her, was a brunette woman in her mid-twenties looking for all the world like the object she held was the only thing keeping her alive.

What was threatening her life? Demons.

He hadn't recognized them at the time and to this very day he had been unable to find a reference to them in his extensive library, but it'd been clear all those years ago what they intended. Rational thought hadn't been with him at the time and so he'd grabbed the nearest strong implement, a rusted lead pipe, before charging the demons, swinging at the first one to come within range. It connected but he still attacked, intent on doing so until he was sure it would not get back up and once the first was down he'd gone on to attack the others. Reflecting on that encounter years later, he surmised that the demons had been stupefied at the sight of a priest wielding a pipe, coming out of nowhere and yelling like some sort of Viking berserker. In the end it'd been more luck than skill that'd allowed him to emerge victorious with only a minor laceration from one of the demon's claws that needed tending to.

What followed was your typical good citizen routine, with him asking if she was okay and offering to take her back to his church for her own safety. The woman, whose name he later learned to be Kalina Ann de Marli, tentatively accepted his invitation but he'd been able to see even then her wariness when it came to trusting strangers. Deciding to be patient with her, he'd taken her back to the church, holy ground where no demon could tread, and tended to her wounds before offering what little food and drink was stored there. It hadn't been until nearly a week later that he'd possessed courage enough to inquire as to why the demons had been after her.

Kalina had told him of how they'd attacked her in the next town, speaking in their guttural language as they attacked her, but that she hadn't been able to understand more than bits of what was spoken. As far as she'd been able to determine they'd been demanding to know the location of the gateway to the underworld and threatened to kill her rather than just drain some of her blood. The woman's recollection was fragmented, most likely due to the fear, but the last thing she'd been able to recall had been the words 'Temen-ni-gru'.

He, of course, being a mere town priest, didn't recognize any of what the demons had spoken of and so he had contacted the most learned priest he knew of who occasionally performed exorcisms when the situation called for it. Most of what he'd told Father Perlich had only garnered a concerned reaction but when he mentioned Temen-ni-gru the man's disposition changed significantly. He'd then been instructed by his elder priest to immediately perform the necessary purification rites around the church and regularly sprinkle holy water over every method of entry. Father Perlich had said that he'd be there soon with help before hanging up.

At the time he'd been overjoyed at the prospect of having someone truly trained to combat the forces of darkness come to drive the demons away.

What a fool he'd been.

In the few days that followed the demons had made numerous attempts to breach the defenses of the church but they had been unsuccessful, with a few being fatal failures. It was on the fourth day that a black car followed by a similarly colored van had pulled up to the church and Father Perlich emerged along with others clearly garbed to fight demons. As was polite and appropriate he'd welcomed them all as well as thanked them for their speedy arrival before beginning to explain the horrors that'd assailed them since the phone call.

Father Perlich, though, had quickly cut him off and asked to see Kalina Ann himself in the interests of hearing her story firsthand. Thinking nothing of it he'd led the entire group inside to where the woman he'd saved sat reading the newspaper. From there the meeting had begun, with Father Perlich first asking for a retelling of the events surrounding her initial attack by the demons and continuing up to his rescue of her. His learned elder had been somewhat cold and harsh but at the time he'd simply assumed that the man viewed details as very important and took his job seriously. After nearly an hour of hearing the tale and pressing for every detail possible he'd carefully inquired about what they would do next.

He'd assumed that Kalina Ann would be escorted out of the country and placed on the holiest ground possible in order to keep her safe.

Instead the men that'd accompanied Father Perlich had drawn rather ornate looking daggers that nevertheless looked quite lethal from within their robes and advanced on the woman. Naturally he'd demanded to know what was going on and why they were threatening someone they should've been driven by their oaths to protect. Father Perlich had at first refused to answer and had only ordered him to step away from Kalina Ann but, when he'd refused, the man had seemingly deigned to give SOME information.

Apparently the term Temen-ni-gru referred to an unholy structure created over two thousand years ago with the purpose of opening a gateway between the human world and hell. His elder admitted that the church did not have all the details or, if they did, he had not been informed of them, but one thing that had been made perfectly clear was this: the structure must NEVER be used. When he had done the logical thing and inquired what that had to do with Kalina Ann, Perlich had merely said that for the greater good of all humans threats must be eliminated without exception.

As if it were some great consolation he promised that the church would pay her funeral expenses in full with genuine prayers for God to forgive her and grant her admittance into heaven.

It went against everything he had ever been taught, everything he'd ever believed, about the church and, in a storm of shock, instinct took control. With speed born of desperation and quite a bit of adrenaline he rushed the closest armed man, punched him square in the jaw and stole the dagger before moving onto the next closest one. Before Father Perlich could react half his men were dead. When the remaining half and his elder priest acted to stop him he'd already come to the conclusion that he'd passed the point of no return. He'd committed multiple acts of murder and attacked men of the church.

With this in mind he'd pushed himself to his limit to kill everyone but him and Kalina Ann, for that was the only way either of them would've lived long enough to come up with a plan.

His efforts hadn't been pretty and by the time he'd gazed into the expiring life in Father Perlich's eyes he had quite a few bleeding wounds, though nothing severe enough to keep him from standing. Kalina Ann had been shocked into speechlessness by what she'd seen but he'd known that they didn't have time to talk things out. He'd feared that Father Perlich might've been expected to submit a status report within the hour and, when it didn't happen, the hunt for him and Kalina Ann would've been on. Taking the elder priests car keys he'd dragged Kalina Ann out to the vehicle and put her inside before taking the spare fuel canister from the trunk and sprinkling the gasoline over the outer walls of the church.

A lit match later and the church had been ablaze, the bodies of his victims still inside.

It'd been his logic that, by the time the rubble was sorted through and the bodies identified, he and Kalina Ann would be far away.

For four days and four nights they'd travelled, one sleeping while the other drove, until he'd been convinced that the two of them were well outside any search range the church would abide by. Taking anything of value from the vehicle, he'd pushed it off a cliff he'd found on a road that hadn't looked very well-travelled before walking to the nearest town. Together they'd concocted a story that their car had suffered a serious problem and had gone out of control, causing them to dive out of it moments before it'd gone off a cliff. He'd been certain that any clues that might've brought the wreck to the attention of the authorities or the church would've been destroyed either by the impact or the flames generated by the explosion.

For a time they'd cautiously maintained an awareness of their surroundings, warily watching for signs of pursuit or suspicion, but after half a year with no cause for concern appearing they'd allowed themselves to believe that they were finally safe. The two of them had used the money gained from the silver implements that'd been in Father Perlich's car that they'd sold, after melting the more conspicuous ones into bars, to buy a small home. He'd later gotten a job at the local library while Kalina Ann gained employment at a supermarket as a cashier. Between the two of them they were able to make ends meet and within a year of purchasing the home they'd been blessed with another bit of good fortune; their firstborn, Mary.

For a time both he and Kalina Ann basked in the joy of parenthood, feeling all but certain that their time of horrors and danger had finally passed.

Then a group of demons came.

Then another.

And another.

Each time they were able to use what they'd salvaged from Father Perlich's car to fight them off in relatively short order, leaving the rest of the people in the town they called home in the dark. However both of them knew that it was only a matter of time until their store of demon killing tools ran out or became too few to deal with the number set against them. However, in an effort to ease his wife's concern, he chose to begin to seek other avenues of solving their dilemma besides what they'd… inherited from the instigators of their flight from the church that terrible night.

He'd known from the beginning that the protections of God the Almighty were outside of their reach after what he'd done, so instead he'd sought out the pagan gods of old. By his logic if demons truly existed, perhaps other beings of myth and legend also existed as well. If so he could plead with one of them to extend their protection over him and his family. It was not easy in the beginning since he was more familiar with Holy Scripture than genuine texts on the occult and the gods of old. Nevertheless, with a scrutinizing eye and some trials, he gradually developed the ability to discern the works of fiction from the genuine articles.

It had even been fun at times learning ancient languages and deciphering ancient puzzles.

However it soon became clear to him after four failed attempts at casting a spell of protection upon his property that something was amiss. He'd then contacted the dealer who'd sold him the book, hoping that the man would know why the spell had failed as well as how to ensure success next time. It was then that the dealer revealed that the pagan gods did not bestow the sort of protections he wished to amateurs. No, it took years of devoted service and prayer to earn a successful casting of the spell.

This had angered him greatly because he'd known that they would not last the years needed with what methods of protection they already had at their disposal.

Thus he'd asked to whom or what could they request such protections without such a long waiting period and the man had given but one answer: demons.

If they performed the correct rituals and showed sufficient subservience, it was likely that they could gain the defenses they desired.

He'd hung up on the man right then, furious at the corner he and his family had been pushed into. Seek help, from demons, the very ones who wished to take his wife from him?! Ludicrous! For a time he'd continued to seek answers from the pagan gods of old, determined to find one that would not be so stingy with their protection, but when Kalina Ann had been injured to the point of needing hospital care desperation and fear forced his hand. In a room with a door that could be locked in the basement he'd begun to seek out the name of a demon which, while powerful, would not necessarily wish for the gateway between the realms to be reopened. From everything he'd learned in his research there existed an order of authority amongst powerful beings dictated by their present circumstances. Some welcomed change since it gave rise to opportunities to gain more power while others preferred to keep things as they were in order to keep from losing what they currently possessed.

He'd been convinced that, if he could find one of the latter and gain protection from that demon, it would be an ideal situation.

Three months later, a few days before Mary's tenth birthday, he'd found the one that seemed to fit the description quite nicely. An ambitious demon but, based on his understanding of demonic politics and hierarchy, the demon would not benefit at all from an opening of the gateway between the demon world and the human world. With this decided he'd began preparations and, once he was ready, made sure to secure the room he was in so that neither his wife nor his daughter would accidentally stumble in during the ritual.

Thus, when the clock had struck midnight, he began the ritual being sure to pronounce the words right and follow the requirements of the ritual to the very letter. When the candles burned twice as hot and crimson smoke streamed up from them to form a cloud overhead he'd known that he'd been successful. From there he'd continued with the usual pleasantries, extolling the demon's power and influence, before finally approaching the topic of his request. He didn't go into any detail with Kalina Ann but at the same time kept to the truth. While there had been some suspicious moments, he'd anticipated those and therefore had been prepared to navigate around them in order to ensure he'd not be taken advantage of. In the end he'd believed that the negotiations had gone swimmingly, with him avoiding the traps meant to weigh the arrangement in the demon's favor while also ensuring that he'd get what he desired.

The priced named by the demon had been steep, his most precious possession, but for the sake of his wife and daughter he'd agreed.

Even years after leaving the service of the church he still thought much like a priest would and had believed at the time that his most precious possession was his soul.

He'd been wrong.

As the demon had built up power to hold up its end of the bargain, a terrible scream of fear and agony had shattered the silence of the night and he'd immediately recognized it as belonging to Kalina Ann. Not being a fool he'd made the connection and demanded that the demon stop what he was doing as it'd not been what they'd agreed to. It was then that the demon had revealed that the most precious possession that'd been offered had not been his soul but the soul of his wife. The demon had then gone on to say that, while it'd been willing to fulfill its obligation of protection, it was hardly the most powerful demon of all. It would not take the chance that one of its brethren would find the woman and destabilize the life it'd made for itself, so the deal had indeed been ideal for it.

Infuriated he'd picked up a bit of 'insurance' he'd procured while gathering the rest of the ritual's ingredients and immediately used it on the mass of smoke representing the demon's presence; a blessed nail from made holy both by the crosses inscribed on it as well as soaking in the consecrated water of the top ten most influential churches in America.

The demon had howled in pain at being introduced to something so contrary to its nature and he'd hoped at the time that it'd have been enough to shatter its hold on Kalina Ann. Instead all it'd done was release an explosion of demonic energy that burned the left side of his face even as he tried to shield himself from it.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious but, when he'd woken up, he'd immediately gone to the bedroom he'd shared with his wife, desperate to find out if she was okay. Throwing open the door he'd found her form on the bed, sheets in disarray from thrashing about, staring vacantly at the ceiling with her mouth slightly ajar from the passage of her soul. He'd felt such pain then, such sorrow, with his plans for keeping what he valued most safe from harm doing the exact opposite. From that sorrow soon came a blinding rage at the unfairness of it all, rage that made rational thought impossible, causing him speak ill of his wife and of the demon he'd sought to barter with. He blamed the former for coming into his life and for not being strong enough to resist the demon's power just a little while longer so he could do what needed to be done. He blamed the latter for breaching the terms of their agreement out of selfish self-preservation.

In the end it'd been Mary, come from her room no doubt to see what the yelling was about, that'd dispelled enough of his fury to regain half of his lost composure.

He'd calmly, perhaps a bit coldly, told her that her mother had passed away due to a seizure and so as not to arouse her suspicions, he'd done the best he could to play the role of a grief ridden father comforting his only child. Mary was too young to get involved in the matter and he'd doubted very much that she'd have understood even if he had explained the situation to her.

The mess with the authorities and then giving her a proper funeral had tested his patience but he'd managed just the same. As soon as he was certain that any possible watchers had gone back to their normal daily routine he'd begun his quest with two objectives in mind.

The first objective was to find a means of travelling to where the physical form of the demon resided.

The second objective was to gain enough power so, when he stood face to face with the demon, he would be able to reap his terrible vengeance upon the bastard until he was completely satisfied.

In the five years that followed he devoted almost all his time to accomplishing his two objectives, only taking breaks when he absolutely needed to. Usually this was when he had no choice but to play the role of Mary's father or acquire enough money in order to fund his quest, but he never did more than he needed to. The burning fires of vengeance inside of him would not wait any longer than necessary to get the payback he desired.

It was when Mary was just about to graduate from junior high that matters had become… complicated because Mary broke into his private room. Apparently she'd been feeling neglected and had been determined to find out what he'd been spending so much time working on that was more important than her. Needless to say finding a room with various forms of occult materials and books was pretty incriminating, especially when she'd revealed upon being discovered that she'd overheard his entire rant the night of the ritual. She'd accused him of intentionally sacrificing his own wife and her mother in some selfish bid for demonic power, yelling that she hated him.

Briefly he'd contemplated denying the accusation and explaining the entire situation to her but his vast knowledge of demons stopped him. All the knowledge he'd acquired since that night had made it clear that the power he sought would stain his soul, fracturing it and forever barring him from a peaceful rest when he died. For Mary, the sole remaining thing he had to remind him of Kalina Ann, he could not risk damning her soul as well by involving her in the matter. As a result he'd chosen to play the role of a villain, affirming her accusation, all the while making sure to keep his true intentions to himself.

Within a day she'd left, taking all that she needed so that she'd never have to return.

In a way it'd been a relief that she would no longer be near him and potentially be in danger but it also made the years that followed lonely. All that'd kept him going had been his memories of better times and the absolute belief that vengeance would one day be his. Revenge was so all consuming to him that he hadn't given any thought to what would happen to him after he'd gained retribution for the loss of his wife.

Now, though, after all the time that'd passed, he'd revised his plans a little.

He would still gain great power and he would still get his revenge against the demon who'd crossed him so long ago but, once that was done, he would go on to a much larger goal.

He would become the God of this world since, in his mind, the Almighty that he'd prayed faithfully to for so long was either dead or cared nothing for his mortal children. How else could one explain the wrongs committed against him and Kalina Ann? The injustices that had been perpetrated against them! He had lived his life according to the teachings of the Almighty, Kalina Ann had been a kind soul who'd never done a malicious thing in her entire life, but both of them had suffered for things that were not their fault. Therefore, if the Almighty would not use his power to protect two good people such as them, then he would gain the power of a god and take up the responsibilities the ruler of heaven had ignored for so long.

Temen-ni-gru was his big power play.

Throughout his studies of sources of supernatural power he'd focused entirely on those that did not require any aid from supernatural beings but could be acquired by whoever laid their hands on it first. Never again would he trust another being of power to give him what he wanted! By all the research he'd conducted, all he needed was to bring the tower back to life and, once the gateway was open, venture into limbo to claim Sparda's power. If the scrolls he'd read were truthful then the sword it was sealed in would not care who claimed the demonic energy and the power of the most powerful demon swordsman in Hell would be great indeed.

More than enough to claim dominion over the Earth and make things the way they were supposed to be.

To that end he'd laid a trail of bread crumbs at Vergil's feet to lure him there so he could spin the tale of Temen-ni-gru before him and convince the son of Sparda to let him come along as a loyal 'servant'. He already knew that Dante, by mere chance, currently lived in the city beneath which the tower was sealed, so ensuring his involvement would not be difficult. As for the final guest at the party he intended to throw, he knew all he would need to do would be to leak his name and description to the freelance demon hunting crowd and the information would find its way to HER.

However there was still an element of chance to his plan that acted like a splinter of irritation beneath his skin.

His entire stratagem was to guide the three to the final level so that they'd arrive at more or less the same time. Then they would fight, using up the last of their remaining strength so that he could step onto the stage, best all of them and claim the final prize on his own. His current form would guide Vergil while another one would ensure that Dante kept pace with his twin brother and, with the two half-breeds killing the majority of the tower's residents, SHE would have an easy time following. However even he did not know all of the dangers that lingered within the tower, so it was feasible that one of them might very well succeed in killing one of his key players.

That could not be permitted.

However hiring one or more people to ensure that the three arrived where they needed to be might well make them suspicious enough to derail his plans somewhat. All he needed was for two sons of Sparda and the direct descendant of the priestess who worked with the Devil Knight to seal Temen-ni-gru to make it to the final chamber. The mixing of their blood as well the presence of the reunified mystic amulet would undo the final seal on the tower, opening the gateway but if even one was missing it would all be for naught.

Then what I need is a spare, he thought as a contingency plan began to form within his mind. And as luck would have it, I know where I can find one such spare.

Sunnydale, California

January 26th, 1999

Evening, Xander's POV

I can't believe he folded! he thought as he walked away from the school.

Even though he'd been driven by the desire to save his friends and prevent the Hellmouth from being opened up, there had always been the undercurrent of fear in his body. Rooted in years of his father's abuse, he had never quite had the courage to tackle something like O'Toole and his bunch on his own. As much as he hated the others for treating him like some useless burden, he couldn't dispute that even with the echo of Soldier Boy in his head he was a poor opponent for anything stronger than a fledgling vampire. But when O'Toole had bullied him into being the driver for his zombie gang, those same 'friends' of his refused to give him the time of day. He'd tried to pass on the knowledge of what the Z-Boys were up to them but they'd just brushed him off before making tracks, so he'd been left with no other choice but to tackle the matter himself.

He'd mostly just been reacting to things as they'd happened and doing whatever seemed to be the right thing to do at the time.

He'd managed to pull it off and BOY wasn't it a boost to the old self-esteem!

Now he was on his way home and in such a good mood that even if Tony was up and about in his usual drunken rage, he'd still smile.

Well, maybe not. If he smiled that might just piss off Tony even more and it'd be pretty hard to smile with a broken jaw.

As he walked down the street he marveled at what he'd managed to accomplish a short while ago because to him it proved that, while he might not physically have what it takes to fight the good fight, he definitely had it mentally. After all there was no way that someone who'd managed to bluff O'Toole into disarming the bomb so close to detonation and save Faith from some she-demons could not have what it took to fight the darkness. As for the physical side of things, it wasn't that he didn't want to learn how to fight but rather that there were so few options for doing so. Actually, only one that'd probably be effective and Giles was busy enough as it was keeping up the act of a high school librarian and doing his job as Buffy's Watcher. Some people might say that G-man should MAKE time for someone like him since it was the responsible thing to do but personally he was a little more understanding. Giles couldn't train him during school hours, obviously, since that'd get the troll Snyder's attention and that was something no one wanted. As for the evening and part of the night, that was also out since those times were devoted to solving the latest demony hijinks or training Buffy. All the rest of the time would be for sleeping and he was the last person who'd deny anyone a good night's sleep.

Besides, the Watcher's knowledge and training methods were geared towards a Slayer using them in a fight not a human being. While a Slayer might be able to slice a demon into sushi without trouble, an ordinary human being would have just a LITTLE bit of trouble without superhuman speed and strength to back them up.

Without Giles there weren't any other teachers in Sunnydale who could instruct him in what he wanted to know. Sure, there was the odd boxing club or karate school but they were all focused on teaching the sport version of their disciplines rather than something that could be used in actual combat. Also most of the things that Buffy and Faith fought would kill him before he could land a single blow or laugh in his face if he did manage a lucky strike. Guns would solve many of the issues of fighting in close but not only were some of the demons too fast to get a bead on but shooting anything would bring the local P.D. down on his head. While they might as well not exist when it came to protecting people, they were very good at pouncing on anyone who rocked the boat or showed them for the cowards they were. There was also the fact that guns didn't work on many demons often, just annoying them into choosing to kill you slowly rather than immediately.

Then there was the fact that he was still too young to own a gun legally, assuming he could even scrounge the money up to buy one along with ammunition.

So he was stuck making do with what he had and hoping that it'd be enough.

Walking down the sidewalk whistling a jaunty tune, he realized too late that he should've paid more attention to his surroundings. Out of nowhere a magic circle flared to life around him with a radius of about fifteen feet and it made him wonder why he hadn't noticed it sooner. He was pretty sure he would've noticed it since chalk, ink or whatever else someone would use to draw a magic circle would stand out pretty good against the sidewalk or the street. Nevertheless he was now in the center of one and it was glowing brighter by the second, telling him it would soon fulfill the purpose for which it was created. With fear and a desire to live he sprinted for the outside of the circle to escape but, just was he was steps away, the circle shot upwards, blinding him completely.

Then he hit something hard face first, causing him to fall backwards to the ground.

"Ow! What the hell?" he muttered even as he sat up rubbing his sore nose as he did so.

Looking, he was shocked to find that he was no longer on the streets of Sunnydale but rather some sort of stone hallway that looked like it belonged in the lower levels of a castle. Standing up, he looked and unfortunately there were no windows or anything else besides stone walls and torches placed about a foot shy of the ceiling so he had no idea where he was. Still, he could work out the logic well enough to understand that the magic circle he'd gotten caught in must've been a teleportation circle of some kind. As for where it'd sent him, he had to figure it was either the basement of someplace in Sunnydale or somewhere else decidedly far away from California. However there was but one question that needed answering, why had he been brought here? He knew that he hadn't done anything remarkable enough to warrant some mage singling him out, he was just support-o guy for the Slayer, so either he was hostage material or just a random catch of the day.

Probably dumb luck, he thought as he got up off the floor. It's the only kind of luck I get these days.

Still, he had just survived a stare down with a bomb AND fought alongside a Slayer for over two years, so he'd be damned if he'd just sit there and let someone use him however they wanted. Picking a direction at random he started walking and he kept his eyes open this time for even the slightest sign of the occult or demonic. There was no way that he'd be able to live it down if he wound up stumbling into something a second time, even if he'd be the only one who knew. Still, in this unknown place he'd definitely prefer some sort of weapon to protect himself with rather than his own two hands. This place absolutely screamed demon hangout and he wasn't something as stupid a Slayer, so he'd only get killed trying to fight them with punches or kicks. That being said, grabbing the first thing to catch his eye would be stupid since there was no telling what hidden features might be found in a weapon stored in a place like this. He'd look for something old and decrepit since that'd imply that whoever owned this place didn't consider it valuable enough to maintain. Of course he would make sure that it was in good enough a condition that it'd hold up in a fight at least until he made it into the open air. After that he'd make for the closest piece of civilization, all the while thinking up a way to ask Giles to send him enough money to get back to Sunnydale.

A way that preferably wouldn't get him laughed at, lectured or give them even more reasons to push him out of the Slaying gig.

It was a little while later that he came to an old looking metal door that probably hadn't been washed or otherwise maintained for at least a decade but, as he turned the handle, he found it still worked.

There was something to be said for the old ways of making things since this door had clearly stood the test of time.

On the other side of the door he found a rather spacious room that looked relatively empty except for a single pillar in the center, upon which rested twin sheathed scimitars, a belt included. From where he stood they looked to be fairly well made but had a design that made him think that the craftsman was aiming for something more Hollywood than historical. He'd seen enough swords in Giles' arsenal to know that scimitars were usually no wider than say a katana blade from hilt guard to tip. These clearly followed the design commonly shown in various movies such as the swordsman who challenged Indiana Jones to a duel without taking into consideration an invention called a 'handgun'.

Was he supposed to take them? Or were they a trap meant to lure him in?

I suppose I could just go back the way I came and go in the other direction, he thought as he turned around to do just that…

…Only to find that instead of a hallway the path behind him had somehow gotten turned into a small room with no visible way out other than forward.

Guess someone doesn't want me to give into any second thoughts, he thought as he stepped through the door, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As he figured would happen the door closed behind him without any assistance on his part and, with a sound that could not be considered natural, he knew the doorway he'd come through was now gone. As he approached the pillar on which the weapons rested he wondered if this was some sort of test or if he was being used as a sacrificial lab rat so that someone else could acquire something. He didn't know for certain but, with his lack of experience and knowledge, the odds were good that it was the latter.

Because, really… HIM? AND TESTS? Not the best of relationships without Willow doing a heap of studying with him, cracking the proverbial whip if he slacked off.

Upon reaching the pillar he noticed some small writing on the sheaths but it wasn't in a language he'd seen during his time helping with the research and definitely not English. For a moment he pondered them but then shrugged and picked up the weapons, wrapping the belt around his waist. There was no point to him trying to figure them out since he wasn't a book nerd like Giles or Willow, so he'd shelve the issue for the time being and focus on getting out of wherever he was.

Looking for another way out of the room he was disappointed to find none and that meant that he'd likely have to use the new weapons he'd acquired in some fashion before one would appear. He didn't know what that something would be but, as luck would have it, he didn't have to wait long to find out. One after another dark clouds blacker than anything that could be created naturally manifested on the stone floor around him, each not much bigger than a basketball. Worried about what might come out he gripped one of the scimitars by the hilt before pulling on it to release it from its sheath… only to find that it wouldn't budge.

"Huh?" he said even as he tried harder to pull the weapon free to no effect.

He made three more attempts to pull the weapon free, even going as far as to give the other one a try, only to find it being just as stubborn as the first one he tried.

"What the fuck?! What's the point of giving me weapons if I can't even get them out of the sheathes!?" he exclaimed even as he watched thin claw tipped hands began to emerge from the clouds.

As the beings the hands belonged to fully emerged from the clouds, he was a little relieved to see that they weren't much bigger than babies in size and even their claws were only the size of rice grains. All in all he figured that, unless they had some wicked ability, he could probably handle them with his own fists easily enough. Then he noticed that the clouds weren't vanishing once the little evil baby things finished clawing their way out and, to his surprise, more were coming through. It took him a second to realize that whoever had set this up was going for the quantity over quality approach and that he might just be in a bit of a pickle. Deciding to take the initiative he charged the nearest one… and just barely managed to dodge when it belched a small ball of flame at him. It moved at the sort of speed one would expect during a game of dodge ball, meaning he could dodge it if he was careful and quick enough but, given the number of demon babies popping up…

Yeah, 'what the fuck' pretty much described his current predicament.

Still, he probably wouldn't be able to leave this chamber unless he defeated them all and he doubted that these demons were going to just leave him be if he left them alone, so fighting was the only option. Being ready to dodge he resumed his advance towards his initial target and, once he was close enough, he performed a quick feint before field goal kicking it with his right foot. It proved successful and the foul creature was sent flying into the nearest wall, exploding into black mist upon impact. Not the reaction he expected, that being for it to slump to the ground, but it at least meant he wouldn't have to worry about a defeated foe rising up to stab him in the back.

After that initial victory things got pretty hectic since the demonies wouldn't let him fight them one at time, but rather in groups. It made sense since with their small sizes and limited attack options they wouldn't do very well if they tried to handle prey solo. Fortunately for him a lot of the jocks who got knocked out of dodge ball early had an annoying habit of targeting the social outcasts still in the game. Worst of all was when the gym teacher was in a bad mood and added more than one ball to the mix, sometimes going all the way up to four at the same time. As a result he only got tagged by the mini-devils when they came at him in groups larger than four but, since their claws weren't all that big, it hurt more than did damage.

Still, he'd heard the phrase 'death by a thousand bites' often enough to know that even if each individual wound wasn't anything to worry about, the blood loss from several at the same time would cause problems sooner rather than later. The more blood he lost, the harder it would be to move and if he lost too much he'd lose the ability to fight the tiny terrors and it'd be all over for him. It'd be another thing entirely if he could use the scimitars to extend his reach and keep them at a distance but since that wasn't possible he'd have to make due.

After a while he stopped consciously thinking about what he was doing and just reacted, instinct and his accumulated experience fighting them dictating his actions. Probably the only reason that this was working out well was because he was subconsciously tapping into his other instincts. Whatever the reason as long as it kept him alive that was the important thing.

In the end he finished off the last of the mini-demons but was left moderately out of breath, even as he kept his reflexes on edge for any more surprises.

All that happened though was that a door appeared on the opposite side of the room than the one he'd come through so, with only slightly less wariness, he walked towards it. The wounds he'd received from the mini-demons hurt but it wasn't anything he couldn't work through and hopefully he'd be out of this place soon enough to get them treated. He didn't think that they'd need stiches but they'd definitely need to be bandaged up if they were to heal properly. Pulling the door open, he found himself beholding another long hallway of stone lit only by the torches on the wall a foot or so below the ceiling. With a sigh he passed through the door and proceeded down the hallway, hoping that there wouldn't be too many more of these tests.

If every single one of them wound up leading to a room with a weapon he couldn't use against the demons that appeared soon after… it'd be a test of endurance he might well lose.

I hope someone's having a good time from all of this, 'cause I'm definitely not.

The Central Chamber

Arkham's POV

Hmmm…Praeteritum and Mellontikós refused to be drawn, he thought as he watched Alexander Harris proceed to the next test chamber. I suppose it's understandable. They are Devil Arms, after all, and in most cases such weapons will only deign to serve those who prove their strength.

While he had been somewhat optimistic in the beginning that the young man's survival atop the most active Hellmouth in North America would prove to be enough, it looked as though more was needed. True, the vermin that he'd enchanted to appear in the room were weaklings that were often more than enough to deal with ordinary humans, so defeating them did win the young man a measure of respect. Then again fighting for so long alongside the Slayer without dying did imply a degree of strength and resourcefulness since most new demon hunters rarely lasted six months, never mind over two years. Still, the next two rooms would truly test the lad's mettle and prove once and for all if what he suspected was true.

Ever since he'd begun looking for a suitable substitute for one of the Sons of Sparda he'd had trouble finding a close relation in the human world. Naturally he'd started with relatives of the mother, Eva, starting with her immediate family and then branching outwards to find a suitable match. While it might be the case that it was the devil half of their heritage that was needed to breathe new life into Temen-ni-gru, he wasn't about to discount the possibility of their human sides playing a role. As it turned out it was only just before he'd received word that Vergil was close by that he found a likely candidate. While the bloodline connection to Eva was not as strong as he would've liked when he'd used a sensory stone in the young man's presence, it had reacted in a way that could not be dismissed. It implied that the lad had a strength to him and that the necessary genetic markers were present, so he'd cast a strong yet subtle monitoring spell on the teenager. It wouldn't be detected by the Watcher and he doubted it would interest Richard Wilkins enough to warrant more than a casual monitoring of his activities.

Once he'd concluded his discussion with Vergil he'd immediately gone to Sunnydale and acquired his potential replacement but there'd been one final thing that'd needed doing.

He needed to find out just how much work he'd have to do in order to make the young man into a Son of Sparda and a potential opponent for the genuine articles should things become problematic. As such he'd transported Xander via arcane circle to an obstacle course of sorts where he'd find both the tools he had prepared for him and foes to see how strong his specimen truly was. This first test was relatively easy so it was little surprise that the Californian had managed to defeat his foes, but the fact that the Devil Arms had refused to be used was troublesome.

Perhaps if he succeeds in passing the second test it'd be enough to at least allow him to use them as ordinary weapons, he thought as he watched the young man proceed down the hallway. If not then perhaps the ranged Devil Arm I placed there will be more cooperative.

He did, of course, want to ensure that his crafted replacement had all he needed in order to successfully counter his 'older siblings', after all.

Xander's POV

Well this looks a little more promising, he thought as he entered the next room.

What was more promising? On a small wooden table in the center of the room there rested not a bladeed weapon but rather something decidedly more current. Two revolves that looked to be of the same make and, judging by the configuration of the holsters, they were shoulder holsters rather than ones worn on the hip. Much like before there was no other door in the room other than the one he'd come through and, when a familiar sound reached his ears, he knew the door he'd passed through had vanished. With a sigh at the dramatics of what he was being put through he walked up to the table before taking a closer look at the new weapon he'd been presented with. He couldn't see much of the revolvers due to the holsters but the barrel length definitely wasn't short, but neither was it so long that pulling the firearm from the holster would prove troublesome.

Deciding to try to pull at least one of the revolvers out before strapping it on, hoping that by doing so he could at least do so before his 'opponents' made an appearance, he reached out and gripped the top revolver, pulling on it. Much to his relief the firearm left its holster without any unexpected resistance or issues, so that was one thing the gun had over the twin scimitars strapped to his waist. Looking at the gun his mind instantly made a connection making him smile with recognition since he knew what model revolver he was holding.

The Smith and Wesson model twenty-nine, or, more precisely, the forty-four variant made famous in one of the manliest movies ever.

It wasn't a precise copy since the one he held had a pronounced gold color that didn't look like it'd been painted on or just used as a coating, but rather as if the gun was made of a gold-like metal. Also, instead of having the usual engravings denoting Smith and Wesson as the manufacturer, along with the specific model written into the metal elsewhere, the only thing he could find was a single symbol between the grip and the cylinder. At first he thought it was a human skull but he could faintly make out little horns poking out of it, though they were hard to make out with the circle surrounding it. There was also some decorative engraving along the barrel of the weapon and on the grip that definitely wouldn't have been used by a reputable company. It looked more like something from a movie that was trying to mix modern firearms with a story about the occult and demon hunting.

Still, he wasn't getting a bad vibe from the gun so he didn't think it had any mojo in it, plus he was pretty sure he'd have been hit with something already if there was any bad juju attached to it. Putting it back into its holster he then put the shoulder holster on, making sure it was secure but did not interfere with his arms' range of movement. It was only after he finished that he realized that he hadn't seen any ammunition other than what was in the cylinder. With six shots per revolver that meant that if there were any more than twelve opponents for this room he'd be screwed. If things followed the usual pattern then the enemies in this room would be a few levels above the demon babies he'd faced in the first one. While he might still be able to deal with them using hand-to-hand, he'd likely get hurt worse than before, as well making getting to civilization harder.

Not a minute after he'd finished securing the holster to his body five clouds of darkest blackness appeared on the floor but instead of larger versions of what he'd fought earlier a new threat emerged. First was a hand with fingers that were tipped with claws that could better be described as spearheads in his opinion, then came an arm covered in green scales. It was only then that a lizard's head clad in an actual metal helmet appeared before fully emerging from the darkness to show him what he was up against. Humanoid lizard demons with armor to protect their heads and a shield in one hand to protect, while the other hand was no doubt offensive in nature.

Best test just how good those shields are. He pulled a single revolver from the holster. If they can hold up to a shot from this baby then I'm going to have to time my shots properly.

Taking proper aim he pulled the trigger but much to his surprise and dismay the recoil was so powerful he could feel it all the way up to his shoulder. Still, the shot flew true and impacted on the shield held by one of the lizard demons, but instead of piercing it all the projectile did was dent it moderately. Depending on how good their reaction time was and how smart they were, it meant that getting a hit on flesh was not going to be easy. Still, the recoil wasn't so bad that he had to worry about breaking bones or tearing muscle like the stereotype most people had about powerful handguns. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating the whole bone breaking and muscles tearing but most people did think that unless you were Mister Muscles trying to fire a gun like the twenty-nine was impossible. Still, he was sure that he could bear it so long as he went extra far in bracing himself before each shot and didn't keep his arms locked in place.

Just grip with both hands and let your arms fly up a bit to take the recoil, he thought as he waited to see what the lizard men demons could do.

If they just moved like normal people he could probably handle it… but since when have inhuman demons ever moved at human level speeds? Deciding to take the initiative he dashed to the left, intent on getting around the shields so he could strike at the less difficult flesh behind them. Unfortunately the lizard men took this to mean the fight had begun and went on the offensive themselves, two charging him head on and the remaining three… firing the claws in their free hands at him like harpoons!? Since when did that make sense?! In any case he dove into a roll and brought himself back up into a kneeling firing position, firing off a shot at the exposed side of the demons. However instead of hitting the body he wound up mangling the thing's shield arm as the demon tried to bring it into position in time. He had only a moment to feel good about that before the two that wanted to get up close and personal got a little too close for comfort.

Diving into a roll just as clawed hands came down from above, looking like it would've dug into his flesh pretty deeply if it'd managed to connect. Bringing his revolver up once he came to a stop, he tried to take aim at the one that'd tried to attack him but, after hearing a disturbing sound that caused his danger sense to spike, he used his feet to push backwards just before a trio of projectile claws flew by.

Then can regrow them that fast?! NOT GOOD!

He'd thought that even with a regenerative ability it'd take at least five to ten minutes before they'd grow back but now it looked like a minute was the most he could hope for. Bringing the revolver up one handed, he took aim at the one that'd just shot at him and pulled the trigger. More by luck than skill thanks to the fact that he hadn't taken up a proper two handed grip, the shot managed to hit the shoulder of the arm that'd fired at him, causing it to go limp at the demon's side. Coming to a stop he quickly pulled the other revolved from its holster and aimed it the way he'd come before opening fire. While the Soldier Boy in him insisted on the proper grip he realized now that he didn't have the luxury of observing that rule given his current predicament. With threats at both ranges to worry about he couldn't afford to use a two handed grip or fire in only one direction at a time. It would take too long to adjust the aim of a single gun to this many targets with only a window of a few seconds to take the shot. By using two revolvers he'd cut the adjustment time in half and hopefully this would be enough for him to bring down these demons before he received a serious wound.

Keeping himself on the move so that the lizard men demons couldn't gang up on him, he did his best to adapt to any possible reduction in accuracy firing one handed might cause while also going for vital areas. By his count he'd fired three shots so far, meaning he had a total of nine shots remaining and, given that there were five of them, that meant he could only afford to waste four shots before the rest absolutely had to kill his foes.

Not the most ideal of circumstances and definitely not the infinite ammo you usually saw in Hollywood movies that had themes similar to his current predicament. Still, he had no choice but to give it his best and hope that it was enough.

The lizard demons at least looked a little more careful with their approach than before since he'd managed to injure some of them. Still he'd have to work to make all nine bullets he had left bring about the results he wanted, so he went to work. When your foe decided to be cautious it was a good time to be reckless as contradictory as that might sound. Their wariness would cause them to hesitate as they made up their minds and those few seconds could be all you need in order to turn things around. Charging in headfirst towards the nearest demon, he could see it was surprised at this bold action and, by the time he got within swiping distance, it was only just preparing to attack him. Bringing up one of the revolvers, he angled it so that it would get under its guard while simultaneously bringing the other up in the general direction of the next closest demon. The second he believed both were in place he pulled the triggers, causing one bullet to fire diagonally upwards, hopefully hitting some vital organs while the other would discourage taking advantage of his divided attention.

"RIAGH!" cried the demon he'd intended on hitting as the bullet tore through its body.

He didn't have time immediately to examine his work visually since his delaying tactic only worked on one of the five, but once he'd dove, rolled and darted to a temporarily safe distance he turned back. With a small grin he watched as the one he'd managed to nail in the body dropped to its knees, clutching the bleeding wound before keeling over completely to the ground. While he couldn't be completely certain that it was dead, he was fairly certain that it wouldn't be getting up again any time soon, freeing him up to deal with the others.

Looking about he spotted the one whose arm he'd managed to mangle and decided that would make a suitable number two target, since he'd only need to get to the side of the useless arm to score his second kill of the night. Moving towards it he still kept his senses peripherally on the other three, knowing that they'd likely want to join the party either by slashing him or impaling him. Diving under a barrage of spearhead claws and using a one-two side step on another, he was soon within range of his target. It looked like it was trying to bring its one good arm up to shoot his claws at him but its wound was making moving fast a bit difficult. As soon as he got into prime position he brought the second revolver into position, this one looking like it'd either been coated in silver or made of it, before squeezing the trigger.

This time the shot had a much more favorable resolution than the first, successfully managing to go straight through the monster's chest roughly where the human heart would be. However, unlike the small bullet wound he'd been expecting, what appeared in the demon's chest was something more akin to what you'd get from pipe impalement.

Minus the pipe, of course, but he couldn't fault the results though.

With a gaping hole where its heart had possibly been, the demon dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

And where there were five now there are three, he thought, proud of the fact that he'd managed to evade getting hurt thus far yet had taken down two of his foes thus far.

Too bad that even with the numbers reduced to three on one he was still in sticky spot.

The others looked to be rather angry with him for killing two of their allies but this could work to his favor since angry foes tended to get careless. Deciding to have another go at getting into their midst, he moved forward only to find himself facing a hailstorm of launched claws, fifteen in total. Fortunately for him rolling to the side to get clear of their target area saved him from that and, with their claws temporarily gone, all he had to worry about was getting hammered to death with their shields.

On a whim he decided to try an unusual tactic and set up two of the demons to hit each other rather than him. All he needed to do was make sure that they were so mad at him that being careful was the last thing on their minds.

Might as well go with my strengths, he thought. "Well, that's two piece of luggage ready to go. Wanna make it a set of five?"

Judging by the screeches of fury he got as a response, he felt it was safe to say that they were quite pissed at how disrespectful he was being. At a speed he'd usually only witnessed with the older vampires they came at him and he found himself wondering if he'd maybe gone a step too far. Even if that were so, though, it was hardly like he could offer them an apology and expect them to calm down. Instead of wasting energy on regret and self-recrimination, he pooled it all into evading the assaults sent his way while waiting for the right moment to end it all. Sadly, unlike his previous exchanges, he was unable to keep taking hits and, while it wasn't with claws, the lizard men struck with a strength that did not match their slim arms. It wasn't much worse than getting hit by a newly risen vampire but it still wasn't pleasant or easy to recover from. Nevertheless, for every five blows they sent his way only two could qualify as direct hits while the rest were grazing blows.

Gotta sew this up. Painful bruises were created with every blow, direct or grazing. Otherwise I'm not going to be able to even bring my arms up, never mind shoot anything.

Pushing himself he forced his body to move faster, for his reflexes to react to their attacks better and for an opportunity to end the fighting to appear. He'd heard the saying that all good things came to those who waited but he wasn't sure how long he could just take the hits believing that a chance would appear.

It soon became apparent that Lady Luck wasn't through with him just yet because before his very eyes the three remaining lizard men demons lined up almost perfectly. Almost immediately he knew that THIS was his moment to strike, so he brought both revolvers to bear, pulling the triggers. Even though it put strain on his arms he kept firing, adjusting his aim with each shot for maximum coverage over each target with the rounds he had left. He couldn't afford to keep soaking up damage like he was and with this opportunity to end it all before he became unable to walk. His instinct to seize the opportunity presented before him paid off and each of the remaining demons got two bullets each. One even laughably managed to land square between the eyes! Wherever they landed, though, the result was the same as the three demons dropped to the ground dead, covering the floor around their bodies with blood.

As the danger passed he realized that he was breathing heavily and that his arms were sore enough that willpower was what was keeping them aimed in the direction of the demons. However, with the tension of battle and the confirmation that the threats to his life had been killed, all the accumulated damage he'd received hit him like a freight train. Bruises, cuts, muscle strain and many other things caused him to drop to one knee as his body tried to cope with the workout it'd been given. Even with the times he'd gone off with Buffy on patrol or helped her fight the latest big bad of the week, he'd never gotten so sore. Looking at the revolvers in his hands, he saw that every chamber of each cylinder was empty, confirming that he'd used up all his bullets. However, just as he was about to put them back in their holsters, something happened that he had not anticipated as the blood of the demons was drawn off the floor towards the revolvers. Up through the business end of the barrels the blood went even as the cylinder spun on its own and before his eyes the liquid began to take the shape of bullets before turning into real ones with a flash of crimson light. With every turn of the cylinder this continued to happen until both revolvers were fully loaded and ready to kill demon scum.

"Shit. If I knew they could do that I'd have been a lot freer with the shots," he muttered even as he slid both guns into their holsters, deciding to ignore the magical bullshit that he'd just seen.

It took a little more than five minutes he reckoned before the soreness went away enough for him to stand again. Once he was on his feet he turned just in time to see the door that would take him out of the chamber appear. For a moment he didn't want to go through as he was certain that he would only find another chamber, another weapon and even more dangerous demons to fight. In the shape he was in, unless it was a minigun with his back to the wall and the foes were particularly dumb, he was unlikely to win.

Still… remaining in the room, never to see the sky again, never to see his friends again, was a future he could not abide.

He walked towards the door, towards the fight to defy the abomination called Fate.