He waited in the room. There were bowls and blades. The scent of piss and pain, Zuko's suffering, still soaked the room, but if Harth noticed, he didn't give terr to any discomfort
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The door opened again, and Giles was dragged in. He looked a bit messed up like he tried to fight back. There was a stoic expression on his face, despite the cuts and bruises. He was then tossed in bodily onto the floor.
"Always the stalwart white hats. What did you say about life to Buffy? The goodguys are always known by their white hats-- the badguys always have black hats, or horns..."
He shakes his head, unable to clearly remember the words imparted to another life time, another person, the Girl he wasn't. But he doesn't care. He has work to do, and an appointment with destiny.
"I've found something. Something bigger then this. But to truly use it-- I need you. I need what's in your head... and I have a pure, sweet conduit for it."
A crown of blood-annointed hair from a virgin, dark brown, wiry and rough; one for each of them. Ritual markings on the ground.
"I need your knowedlge, Giles. Just-- think of it-- as training another Slayer. After this? You'll be free to go." He smiles, almost dreamily. "I'll be nearly complete."
He'll be closer to what he is supposed to be-- but still, still, so far apart.
"Buffy. Kendra. Faith. The Many. How many of them could I name? Kennedy, Amanda--"
He could rattle off names all night. He could. But he doesn't. He just smirks, and then lifts the crown over Giles head.
"If you move, and disrupt the ritual, Slow Death will break both you arms." The magog stood ready. "I trust you are not stupid enough to defy me so far. You will live too train another Slayer-- and possibly end me-- if you simply... cooperate. Just once."
The boy stepped back; the door was open -- he merely had to turn the key.
He went back, and took up the matching crown, and laid it upon his own head. It was damp with blood and it smelled of Katara; both brought a strange arousal to him, and he began to intone words in a tongue long forgotten, and most profane.
You cannot escape. I am inside you, and what you know will be mine. Your magic, your wisdom, your years. I will take it.
Giles tensed, but yes, it felt like someone had torn his mind wide open. With claws and teeth. Everything laid bare. All his secrets, everything he tried to hide. No place to hide now.
"No, stop," he all but whimpered at that. Even though he couldn't stop it. Not now. The ritual was in place, and he was powerless to do anything.
It was mercifully fast; the bond between vampire and Watcher coalesced into a physical form -- a horrible ravaging of mind and spirit. He took everything there was to take; love, life, thought, idea -- He lived in Ripper's skin, took on Rupert's--
--he sobbed with joy and grief, on his own knees-- and then, then felt his own violation, the bleed of the suffering, the anguish--
He felt Giles' hatred and made a sound of animal pain, gutteral and ragged, and tore the crown away. The link snapped like an over-stretched rubberbound, rebounding between them, leaving the man only with the helpless image of a skinny boy, blue eyed and tired behind it all.
A soul.
Harth collapsed, panting, weak, ecstatic and despairing all at once. The magog did not move, did not know what to do. Their master had fallen, but they could not tell if he was overjoyed... or near his end.
For his part, Giles reeled as he likewise felt and experienced everything in the vampire's life. His childhood with Mel and Erin, growing up in Haddyn. Being sired. The joy in feeding. Reveling in the taste of blood. And a thousand depravities besides, and even the Ripper in him took interest at it all.
And as the link snapped, Giles fell to the ground as well, panting, crying, angry, and sad.
Oh God... He thought wearily as he removed the crown, also very tired.
"More intimate then you've been with anyone, hmm?" Harth says, rubbing his face; there is blood on his brow, then his knuckles.
He licks them clean.
"You'll be freed tomorrow. Erin will take you to the apartments. Remember my sister's name: Melaka Fray. She's your Slayer."
He rolled to his side, and climbed slowly to his feet. "Slow Death. Two Talons. Make sure Katara is recovering. If House did a good job... give him another vicodin."
Then, he turns and walks away.
He does not bother shutting the door behind him. After all, Giles is weak-- and the ritual is complete. He has what he needs. IF he wants to escape... let him.
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He shakes his head, unable to clearly remember the words imparted to another life time, another person, the Girl he wasn't. But he doesn't care. He has work to do, and an appointment with destiny.
"I've found something. Something bigger then this. But to truly use it-- I need you. I need what's in your head... and I have a pure, sweet conduit for it."
A crown of blood-annointed hair from a virgin, dark brown, wiry and rough; one for each of them. Ritual markings on the ground.
"I need your knowedlge, Giles. Just-- think of it-- as training another Slayer. After this? You'll be free to go." He smiles, almost dreamily. "I'll be nearly complete."
He'll be closer to what he is supposed to be-- but still, still, so far apart.
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He eyed the crown, and sternly, "You're not a Slayer. You never should have existed."
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He could rattle off names all night. He could. But he doesn't. He just smirks, and then lifts the crown over Giles head.
"If you move, and disrupt the ritual, Slow Death will break both you arms." The magog stood ready. "I trust you are not stupid enough to defy me so far. You will live too train another Slayer-- and possibly end me-- if you simply... cooperate. Just once."
The woven crown descends.
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He tried to wall up his mind as much as he could. But then the crown was placed on his head anyway, blood dripping onto his brow.
I can still stop you with my mind. Cripple you with my thoughts... I...my mind... Mind...thoughts...
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He went back, and took up the matching crown, and laid it upon his own head. It was damp with blood and it smelled of Katara; both brought a strange arousal to him, and he began to intone words in a tongue long forgotten, and most profane.
You cannot escape. I am inside you, and what you know will be mine. Your magic, your wisdom, your years. I will take it.
Reply
"No, stop," he all but whimpered at that. Even though he couldn't stop it. Not now. The ritual was in place, and he was powerless to do anything.
Reply
--he sobbed with joy and grief, on his own knees-- and then, then felt his own violation, the bleed of the suffering, the anguish--
He felt Giles' hatred and made a sound of animal pain, gutteral and ragged, and tore the crown away. The link snapped like an over-stretched rubberbound, rebounding between them, leaving the man only with the helpless image of a skinny boy, blue eyed and tired behind it all.
A soul.
Harth collapsed, panting, weak, ecstatic and despairing all at once. The magog did not move, did not know what to do. Their master had fallen, but they could not tell if he was overjoyed... or near his end.
Reply
And as the link snapped, Giles fell to the ground as well, panting, crying, angry, and sad.
Oh God... He thought wearily as he removed the crown, also very tired.
Reply
He licks them clean.
"You'll be freed tomorrow. Erin will take you to the apartments. Remember my sister's name: Melaka Fray. She's your Slayer."
He rolled to his side, and climbed slowly to his feet. "Slow Death. Two Talons. Make sure Katara is recovering. If House did a good job... give him another vicodin."
Then, he turns and walks away.
He does not bother shutting the door behind him. After all, Giles is weak-- and the ritual is complete. He has what he needs. IF he wants to escape... let him.
Reply
Eventually he would stagger back to his cell, but he needed some time.
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