Fic: Tainted Soul (1/3)

["sochankitsune" <annelise@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

This is a rewritten fanfic taken from an earlier work called 
Sokuseisaibai, originally a collaboration between myself and Fox.

It may seem slightly off-topic right now, but trust me when I say it 
won't be by its conclusion! :>

Anne-Lise,
Avoiding the flames.

--

Where was the rain? Willow's soul felt dull and grey. The sky 
impudently refused to respond to her emotions with thunderstorms and 
rainclouds. She knew she could change it all with her magic, but she 
hadn't the will. It didn't matter anyway. The world without Buffy 
would be forever colourless to her. She felt like going back to bed 
and just lying there, thinking about everything and nothing, let the 
world just... go away. Yet a part of her knew it would be futile; the 
world would be waiting for her, hungry to hurt her some more. She 
couldn't live her life as a hollow shell, despite her feelings. 
Still; maybe for a little longer, just a little longer...
Giles had gone away to England to report Buffy's death to the 
Watcher's Council in person. Willow felt a twinge of guilt and 
sympathy for Giles. The Council would probably rake him over the 
coals, or perform terrible acts of English torture to him. Perhaps 
confiscate his scones, or something. Before he left, Giles had asked 
her to take inventory of the magic shop. With rampaging trolls and 
preparations for their fight against Glory, the shop was in need of a 
real stock-take, and Giles hadn't really trusted the inventory 
performed by the Council on their last visit. Or maybe he had, and 
maybe just given her the task to perform to keep her occupied. 
Whatever.
Willow turned into the alley that led to the rear of the magic 
shop. Beyond the neon safety of the street lamps, her thoughts and 
emotions became a swirl of grief and pain. She stiffened as a patch 
of darkness broke away from the shadows and moved determinedly 
towards her.
"what've we got here?" The voice, male and guttural, startled Willow 
from her troubled reverie. "Little girls should know better than to 
be out alone at night." He laughed. "At least in this town."
Willow's mind snapped back to the reality of her situation, but 
still she felt disorientated. The vampire stalked carefully towards 
her and Willow shrank back against the alley wall. Where was Buffy? 
She needed her so badly...
But Buffy was dead, and the shock of that knowledge burned through 
her, inflicting worse torment than anything this vampire could 
provide. And as the vampire bared his fangs and lunged for her neck, 
Willow kicked him hard in the groin and ducked under his flailing arm.
"Bitch!" The vampire snarled. "So, the little girl wants to play!" 
Despite the banter, there was no humour in the vampire's angry 
countenance. Willow ran, but the vampire was easily the faster, and 
brought her crashing down to the floor. He pinned her down and let 
out a triumphant laugh when he saw the fear in her eyes.
"My sweet little bitch." The vampire leered as he gazed down at his 
victim. "How I'll enjoy playing with my food tonight."
Willow felt only anger. Anger that she was powerless against this 
unholy monster, anger at Buffy for selfishly dying and leaving her 
alone. How could she leave her friends to face these monsters?
The urge to live welled up within her, and then nothing mattered 
more to Willow than staying alive. Alive, and elsewhere. As the 
vampire forced her head to one side, exposing her neck, Willow 
mouthed the words she hadn't remembered learning. Primal magic flared 
from her hands, and in blinding whiteness the weight of the vampire 
was no longer upon her.
She lay still, her depleted energy slowly returning, her breathing 
softening as the adrenaline slowed its rush through her laboured 
heart. The flashes that'd obscured her vision moments earlier became 
less random and frequent, and the dark shapes that defined the 
interior of the magic shop became less obscure. Somehow, she was 
inside the magic shop. She stumbled carelessly over to the wall, 
where the light switch provided welcome and comforting illumination 
over scattered boxes, gaudy displays... and the crimson red splotches 
of vampire blood that soaked through her favourite sweater, 
explaining the wetness she felt.
Unable to help herself, Willow burst into tears.

*

Cataloguing the contents of the magic shop was methodical work and 
took up far too little of Willow's grieving mind. The raw wounds in 
her side, remnants of her fight against the vampire, ached abysmally 
and renewed her physical pain with stabbing agony whenever she tried 
to lift anything heavy.
Her old self would've headed straight for Sunnydale's Accident and 
Emergency, where she'd have been stitched back together and teased 
gently by concerned scoobs; but right now she simply wished to be 
alone. She couldn't face her friends, didn't want to mouth inane 
platitudes or share mendacious smiles and tacit nods. She wanted the 
whole world to just go away and leave her alone. So she made do with 
a splash of fiery iodine and a bandage from Giles' small first-aid 
kit, the one he kept in the training room out back.
A savage fury filled Willow's heart in a way she couldn't quite 
express. She was angry at the world, with Buffy for leaving her 
unrequited, with herself for feeling the way she did now. How could 
she focus on counting the remaining packets of newt's eyes, or 
whether the mugwort was fresh and usable? It was maddening! And 
yet... despite this unfocused anger, she tried to continue with her 
reckoning. The manacles of duty had been instilled deeply within her, 
forcing her to continue. Even so, more than a few items had to be 
recounted at least once.
The shelves were in disarray, organised by a mind that appreciated 
profit over any semblance of utility. At the front were boxes of 
items that sold quickly, but behind these were the dustier crates of 
the more obscure; some left unopened from the day they'd been 
carelessly packaged prior to the destruction of Sunnydale High's 
library. Others remained from the previous owners awaiting the warm 
caress of human hands once more.
Ordinarily, Willow would have delighted in the prospect of delving 
amongst the dust and boxes, seeking hidden treasures amongst baubles 
and stigwart. Right now though, it all seemed rather pointless. An 
aching depression descended upon her once more.
A faint noise caught at the edge of her hearing. A susurration, not 
unlike the choral whisperings of massed voices. Willow looked around 
her trying to determine the origin of the sound, but failed to see 
anything that could have caused it. Perhaps it was imagined. And what 
did it matter, anyway?
In one corner, a big crate had been shoved against the wall. From 
the dust that coated its rude wooden surface, it'd probably lain 
there undisturbed for years. Willow dutifully levered off the top of 
the crate sending fresh waves of agony through her wounded side. 
Clouds of dust billowed out as the lid scrawnched onto the floor, and 
Willow dissolved into an agonised coughing fit as she choked for a 
moment on the dust cloud.
Inside, almost as an anticlimax - no body parts or gloves of power -
Willow discovered various small packages; mostly books wrapped in 
vellum or hide. She lifted them out, examining each with interest and 
piling them carefully on top of the old oak table that served as 
Giles' writing desk. Finally, she came across a long, thin package 
that had been buried at the bottom of the crate. The whisper came 
again and passed just as swiftly. She looked around, and still she 
saw little to arouse her suspicions, but even so her anxiety grew. 
Nothing moved, no tacit awareness of movement in the periphery of her 
vision; was she going mad? Now, on top of everything else?
The package was incredibly heavy for its size, and something 
tickled her awareness, which further intrigued her and pulled her 
thoughts away from morbid recollection. Slowly, almost reverently, 
she unwrapped the yellowed cloth packaging to reveal the intricate 
scabbard of a sword. Willow recognised it as a Japanese warrior's 
sword; a katana.
The katana had a slim blade, unlike the swords used by the Chinese, 
and its hilt was long enough to be wielded in two hands. The 
whispering came again, but this time the anxiety she'd felt no longer 
affected her. She could almost make out the words, even, words 
addressed to her, speaking to her.
Willow was unable to withdraw her gaze from the sword. It 
captivated her, entranced her with its magic and promise. She drew 
the blade slightly, the pale illumination of the shop's interior 
lights glittered along its razor edge. And with the blade's naked 
emergence into the light, the whispering grew to a deafening roar.
A rush of wind, thunder without sound, roared through the magic 
shop causing dust and minor debris to sweep into the air and swirl 
about her. Willow doubled over into another coughing fit that again 
brought agony coursing through the wound in her side. She sneezed, 
and a fiery dagger of raw pain knifed her, causing her eyes to well 
with tears and fury to bubble up inside her once more.
Screw the inventory! Damn Giles! Willow rocked back and forth 
cradling the katana in her lap as the pain engulfed her. Finally she 
felt reprieve, and she was able to sit upright once more. She saw 
that the katana in her lap had been smeared with blood, her own 
blood, that had oozed from the wound in her side, and from where her 
hands had gripped the blade's naked edge. The blood stood out stark 
against the lustre of the lacquered wood and polished metal.
Willow swore. Everything was turning to shit today. Then, as she 
watched, the blood coating the blade drained away as if it'd never 
marred that polished blade. Her sliced hands, and the wound in her 
side that'd caused her to spasm so violently... They were gone now, 
erased.
The whispering returned in a torrent, a deluge of commands and 
promises, words beyond meaning, words that spoke directly to her 
soul. The voices promised power beyond imagining, strength to rise 
above all pain, an end to the darkness of her misery.
And Willow listened.

*

"Still no word from her, then?" It was more a statement than a 
question. Xander could tell by the drawn look on Tara's face that 
there was no good news to hear. He stirred his mocha absently without 
drinking it.
"It's not like her to just disappear without t...telling anyone." 
Since Buffy's death, Willow'd seemed withdrawn and distant, but Tara 
had never expected anything like this.
"There was this one time when Buffy ran away," Xander began, but the 
mere mention of Buffy's name caused him to break off and return to 
brooding. They sat in silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. 
Around them, cheerful people lived their lives free of armageddon, 
death, and vengeful gods.
Willow had been gone over a week now, and the scoobs were worried. 
Anya had arrived at the magic shop to find the inventory apparently 
in progress, but no Willow present. By the time Xander arrived, she 
was in a panic. Or at least as panicked as Anya ever got. Recent 
events had them all on edge, and Willow's sudden disappearance at 
this precise time was enough to open wounds that'd yet to heal over.
Xander had arranged to meet Tara to discuss their progress in 
searching for their missing friend, but clearly there was little for 
either of them to say. So when their drinks had gone cold, they left. 
Xander walked Tara back to the place she shared with Willow, on the 
pretext that it wasn't safe for her to walk the darkened streets 
alone, half hoping that Willow would waiting to greet them with a 
quirky smile, and some tale of bizarre adventures. And everything 
would be alright again.
"You don't think she might have gone to see... to the cemetary?" 
Tara asked. They'd both visited Buffy's grave several times thinking 
it an obvious place to find their grieving friend.
"Dangerous place to hang out after dark," mused Xander. "Worth a 
try, though." He hefted his bag to indicate how prepared he was to 
kick any undead booty that might show up.
The moonlit sky was clear as they picked their way through the 
headstones to Buffy's grave. It was hard to believe she was gone. 
They'd met so many creatures that'd returned from the dead that 
sometimes it felt like hell had almost a revolving door policy. How 
could it be, then, that the one they really wanted back was gone?
Xander caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.
"You know, I'm beginning to think this was a really bad idea," he 
whispered. He took Tara's arm and virtually pushed her ahead of him, 
attempting to move nonchalantly towards the gate as fast as possible. 
A figure stepped out in front of them, ridged eyebrows and long fangs 
confirming his suspicions. They turned to see yet another vamp behind 
them. Xander frantically reached into his bag for a stake, but the 
vampire knocked his bag to the ground with terrifying speed, and 
hurled him up hard against a tombstone. Xander shook his head, 
dizzily, and started to rise. Tara frantically tried to cast a spell 
of protection, but the words just wouldn't come.
"Leave them alone!"
The two vampires paused and turned to face the newcomer.
"Willow!" cried Tara and Xander together. But the Willow that 
stepped out of the shadows was not the one they recognised. This 
Willow was more remeniscent of the vampire Willow from an alternate 
world, clad in black leather. 
The larger of the two vampires laughed guttorally. "Willow? The 
Slayer's Willow?"
Willow stared at him levelly.
"So you were the Slayer's friend, and we all know what happened to 
her! And now you're gonna go join her!"
Willow brought her arm up and pulled out a slice of moonlight. The 
big vampire rushed her, but she barely seemed to move before he fell 
crashing to earth, head bouncing to one side while the rest slumped 
in another. Dust. The second vampire hissed and lept at her, and 
again she made a graceful, complacent gesture, and the vamp split 
into two even pieces before disintegrating.
Tara stared open-mouthed, unable to keep up with events. She 
lurched forward, but Willow had gone, vanished into the night.

*

"You were seen," Warren said. "Now they'll search harder still for 
you."
Willow nodded. "It couldn't be avoided," she replied. "I'll go to 
them. It'd be better that way. They can't go where I'm heading 
anymore, and a proper goodbye might be for the best."
"Perhaps," Warren replied, taking Willow in his arms. "Somehow, 
though, I don't think they'd understand."
Willow's eyes slowly returned from ebon pools, as Warren's mouth 
closed on hers.
"Tainted souls," she whispered, as their kiss ended. "I didn't think 
anyone could ever understand. The darkness, the light; they're not 
seperate. You need to face the darkness to live in the light."
Warren nodded. "I do understand. No more letting the demons and 
governments ruin it all... We'll crush them, and renew the world in 
our own image!"
Willow's pulled Warren back to her for another kiss.
"Tomorrow is soon enough," she whispered.

*

End Part 1.