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Author: Chris Cook
Email: alia@netspace.net.au
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are the property of Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy;
She-Ra: Princess of Power characters and concepts are the property of Mattel/Filmation.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to the whole RKT team for their awesomeness, in particular Sally and Justin for beta-comments, and watty-boss for snark and bossiness.
Note: for a brief overview of
She-Ra: Princess of Power check out the
Wikipedia entry; if you're interested in the She-Ra/He-Man fandom, check out
He-Man.org.
Note #2: Just to clarify for any He-Fans, Eternia and the denizens thereof form no part of this story, so forget the whole 'He-Man's twin sister' thing.
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Willow dreamed of being the forest.
She, her sleeping consciousness, stretched for mile upon mile, horizon to horizon, an eternal life in the silent dark. Her body was cocooned in a heart of ancient wood, and within her heart the forest's timeless pulse thudded, patient as the seasons.
She stirred. Something was present that wasn't her. Wood and leaf and moss receded before it, uncoiling from around Willow's form, leaving her gasping and naked and unsure on a bed of hard rock. She opened her eyes.
Dark clouds were swirling towards her - not alive with thunderstorms, but dead with ash. All around her the forest was retreating, in fear, before the advance of the unalive darkness. With the trees' fear coursing through her, Willow stood, shielding her nakedness with trembling arms, and faced the wall of shadows.
A figure appeared, emerged. Clad in darkness, wreathed by it, cocooned as Willow had been by life. Willow wanted to run, to hide in the heart of her forest from this faceless apparition. Yet her hand raised, and reached for the figure, and now the shadows were retreating from
her, were uncoiling, revealing blue eyes in the darkness-
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Willow woke with a gasp, wrenching at bedsheets that were twisted around her limbs and heavy with sweat. She struggled for a moment, then took a deep breath and slowly disentangled herself, kicking the sheets off the foot of her bed with an exasperated sigh.
Yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes, Willow stood, swaying a little as she found her balance, and walked to the near wall, her feet padding quietly on the smooth slate of the floor. Three walls of her cluttered, sprawling dwelling were fashioned from brick and timber; the fourth, which Willow leaned against and relaxed as her bare skin pressed against the ancient bark, was the side of an enormous river oak. Willow flexed her hands, and the deep crevices in the old bark seemed to shift slightly, aligning with her fingers. Her breathing calmed, and she straightened, more properly awake.
Picking up her discarded sheets and dumping them in a basket on the way, Willow crossed to the shelves and stone counter that served as her kitchen, and retrieved an apple from a ceramic pot, munching thoughtfully. The crisp bites sounded unusually loud in the dawn stillness, with barely a murmur of noise outside the shuttered windows. Willow moved around the furniture and arcane paraphernalia cluttering her living area and descended a few steps, coming to a doorway. Bracing herself against the morning chill she opened it and ventured outside, into a small, ersatz bay where the river oak's huge roots splayed out on either side of her home, one emerging from the wall on the near side, the other resting over the roof, as if the house had been there first, and the ancient tree grown around it.
No-one was out on the lake so early, affording Willow the privacy to bathe in peace. She gave a quick hiss, an intake of breath, as her toes dipped into the water from the stone steps, then squared her shoulders and took a shallow dive, surfacing a few metres from the shore, flushed red from the sudden cold.
"Will?" a voice sounded from inside her home. Willow shook her head and dragged strands of wet hair from her face, and paddled back to the steps, where she crouched, keeping the waist-deep water over her shoulders.
"I'm in the bath," she called back.
"It's just me," the voice replied. Willow relaxed and stood, crossing her arms across her chest, apparently feeling this was sufficient modesty. A young man in faded leather pants and a loose vest emerged from the doorway, and tossed a rolled up towel to Willow, which she caught one-handed.
"What's up, Xander?" she asked, rubbing her hair somewhat dry. She shot the young man a sly grin. "The lunar alignment rites aren't enough naked Willow for you?"
"Darn, you got me," Xander joked, sitting on the steps above the waterline. His expression grew serious. "Buffy's called a meeting, as soon as you're ready. There's still no word from the
Sea Hawk." Willow's face fell.
"Liam's always punctual," she said grimly. Xander politely looked away as she waded to the edge of the steps and climbed out of the water, wrapping the towel around herself.
"I know, and he's two days late now," Xander nodded. "Buffy's worrying herself sick. And the scouting party got back from Devlan late last night." He sighed and shrugged helplessly. "The Horde garrison there has doubled. They're not taking any chances of us gaining a foothold outside the forest."
"That's what," Willow frowned, "eighty Hordesmen?"
"Eighty, and an aerial wing," Xander said. "We don't have the numbers to take the town, let alone hold it."
"Some resistance we are," Willow grumbled. Xander began to nod, then caught himself and offered a smile to the redhead.
"We're doing what we can," he said. "There's a lot of people living free inside our borders, we're sabotaging the Horde where we can, and when you consider what we're up against..."
"We should be doing more," Willow said firmly. "There's a lot
more people outside the woods, with the Horde's boot on their necks. They've..." she trailed off, and sighed. "They've got the whole world. And we're just hiding in our forest, and hoping one day we'll be able to actually
do something, because at the moment all we can do is-"
"Hope," Xander said quietly. "It's better than giving up." Willow gave him a long stare, then sighed glumly and rested her head on his shoulder.
"You okay?" he asked. "I just ask because generally Buffy's the doom-and-gloom queen, and you're the one who keeps us all chirpy."
"I had a... dream," Willow said softly.
"Not a happy cheerful dream, then," Xander guessed. "Was it frogs?"
"No, I'm better with frogs now," the redhead grinned faintly. "It was... actually I have no idea what it was. Which is kind of ridiculous. What's the good of having prophetic dreams if you can't make sense of them?"
"Was it?" Xander asked. "Prophetic, I mean?"
"It wasn't a normal dream," Willow shrugged. "I know that much. There was something... dark. A person. And a cloud covering the sky, pushing the forest back..." She raised her head and looked around, taking in the hulking roots of the river oak, its massive canopy above, filtering the morning sunlight, and the expanse of the lake with its layer of mist making it seem as if it went on forever.
"I don't feel safe," she said.
"This is your forest," the young man offered.
"The Whispering Woods aren't the only magical power in the world," Willow said quietly. "There's something out there I don't have a defence against."
"Come on," Xander suggested after a moment's thought. "Buffy's waiting."
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The rebel settlement - in fact, not much more than a scattered encampment - was a hive of activity by the time Xander and Willow, fully dressed now in warm leggings, a crimson jacket and soft leather boots, made the short walk from the edge of the lake up to the array of groves where most of the buildings had been erected. Some were still in the process of being built: carts and pack animals made a steady procession by the framework of a two-storey hall that was slowly taking shape, while a group of trainee archers were already making use of their range while a barracks was still having its roof put on behind them. Xander ran an expert eye over their form as they aimed for their distant targets, and gave them a wave when he was noticed by their sergeant. Willow looked aimlessly around the storehouses and shelters, with some interest in the trees that continued to grow among and around the buildings, trunks and roots forming parts of their structure, but for the most part her thoughts were elsewhere.
"Xander!" Both looked into the distance, spotting a metre-tall figure sprinting out from behind the settlement's modest smithy, appearing strangely blurred and indistinct as it moved.
"Cecile?" Xander called.
"Willow, you too!" the figure called, puffing as it neared. As it slowed the vagueness of its shape vanished, and it resolved into a miniature woman, waist-height and with pale purple skin. She bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
"Glimmer," she panted. Xander knelt down next to her.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine," she nodded. "Running... Just came from... the other side of the camp. Glimmer needs you."
"We know, we're on our way," Willow said. She took the sprite's hand gently, and strength seemed to return to the exhausted figure.
"Thanks," the woman smiled, no longer seeming fatigued at all. "It's not that - there's been a message, a carrier bird. Glimmer said she needs you both at once, it's an emergency!"
"Want a lift?" Xander offered. Cecile climbed easily onto his back, and he and Willow jogged past the archery range and the half-finished hall, towards a line of trees beyond which a small forest of tents could just be seen.
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Xander and Willow, with Cecile behind them, entered one of the tents to find its sole occupant standing at a
map table, with her head bowed. Her hands were flat on the table, supporting her; beneath one was a folded piece of paper.
"Glimmer, I... found them," Cecile spoke up, hesitating as her voice broke the heavy silence. The blonde at the table nodded, but didn't look up.
"Thank you Cecile," she said. The sprite gave a fleeting smile, then backed out of the tent and vanished. Xander and Willow shared a wary glance.
"Buffy, what's happened?" Xander asked. The woman, Buffy, held up the folded paper in her hand.
"From the
Sea Hawk," she said.
"Is Liam-" Willow began.
"It's not that," Buffy shook her head. She looked up at last, turning a lifeless stare on her two companions. "He couldn't make port in Blackmoor Harbour. The Horde is landing an army."
"What?!" Willow exclaimed.
"That's impossible," Xander protested. He looked at Willow. "Isn't it?"
"The whole bay is within the Woods' sphere," she said, frowning in furious thought. "There's no way a hostile vessel could navigate it, the currents, the shoal waters... they tried a season ago and every ship was smashed and sank before they got within a mile of land..."
"Liam's message says they've got fifteen troopships on the shore," Buffy replied flatly. "Infantry, war engines, everything. He saw it with his own eyes."
"But..." Willow began, they paused. "Give me a moment. It's a long way away, but maybe..."
Xander and Buffy followed as she left the tent and approached a patch of open ground, an expanse of grass on a slope beneath the nearer trees. She unbuttoned her jacket and tossed it aside, leaving her in just a thin, sleeveless cotton shirt, and say cross-legged on the ground, stroking her fingers across the tips of the grass. Her breathing slowed, and the grass around her seemed to shiver.
Slowly the thin blades of grass began to grow, curling around Willow's fingers, reaching up her arms. All around her the greenery thrived, stretching up about her, covering her legs, wrapping tightly around her waist. The strands creeping up her arms gently tugged at her, pulling her back to lie flat as they wove over her shoulders, and reached up her neck; her legs, indistinct beneath the tightly wound grass, straightened. She opened her mouth, and an instant later was covered completely, visible only as a slowly writhing shape beneath the mass of plant life.
Buffy and Xander watched, the blonde somewhat uncomfortably, as the mass slowly stilled, now seeming to be nothing more than an unusually-shaped mound in the grass.
"When she does that..." she began.
"Hmm?"
"It looks... I don't think I could do it," she shrugged.
"Being swallowed by forest-stuff?" Xander nodded. "Yeah, it's probably something you have to get used to."
After a moment the mound shuddered, and all of a sudden withdrew leaving Willow gasping on the ground, shivering and covered in sweat. Xander and Buffy knelt by her side at once, Xander helping her to her feet, Buffy scooping up her jacket and covering her shoulders with it.
"It's true," Willow panted. "We... I, saw. There's a force inside the Woods' magic, something that's worked its way in. Everything between Blackmoor and the sea is... well, paralysed."
"Blackmoor castle?" Buffy asked sharply. Willow nodded.
"The Horde could march right through the marshlands if they wanted," she added.
"I bet they do," Xander said darkly. With Willow's arm over his shoulder for support they returned inside, where Buffy strode up to the map table and stared bleakly at it.
"There's thousands of people in Blackmoor," Buffy muttered. "If the Horde lays siege to the castle... we have to stop them, somehow."
"Fifteen troop ships," Willow said. "We don't have the strength to defend the castle against an army that size."
"If we called the garrison from Brightmoon," Buffy replied quickly, "every soldier my mother can send-"
"No time," Willow said, gulping down a mouthful of water from a flask Xander handed her. "I felt how far the Horde had moved into the Woods' sphere. They're in the marshes already, half a day from Blackmoor. Brightmoon is three days away."
"Us, then," Xander said. "We get every fighter here and ambush the Horde before they reach the castle. They'll have to go through the fen valleys... Willow, if you're there in person, could you strengthen the forest magic?"
"Probably," Willow nodded.
"We'll catch them in the valleys," Xander went on resolutely. "Box them in, sow some havoc... if we get their vanguard and rearguard on the defensive, you can bog down their whole force, and we can take them apart. Or at least do so much damage that they won't be able to move on Blackmoor without reinforcements." He looked from Willow to Buffy and back again, awaiting their opinions.
"I can do it," Willow ventured.
"If it doesn't work, they'll rout us," Buffy cautioned. "They have the numbers, we don't."
"We can't lose Blackmoor," Xander countered. "If we don't make a fight of it now, we might as well admit defeat."
Buffy looked to Willow, who nodded.
"Decided, then," the blonde agreed. "Xander, rally the troops. We leave in a quarter of an hour."
The young man looked questioningly at Willow, but she gave him a smile and shrugged her arm off his shoulders.
"I'm fine," she said. "Go on." She and Buffy watched him go, then the redhead sat on a bench at the side of the tent and sighed. Buffy gave a last glance at her map, then approached and sat beside Willow.
"You're sure you're okay?" she asked.
"Yeah I just need a moment," Willow said with a quick grin. "I've never pushed that far before. From here all the way to the sea... for a moment, I was all of it."
"It looked... difficult," Buffy said hesitantly. "Painful, even." Willow gave a chuckle and shook her head.
"Exactly the opposite," she grinned, fanning herself. "Oh deary me... But very draining."
"You'll be ready?" Buffy asked.
"If I fall asleep in the saddle on the way, catch me before I hit the ground," Willow joked. "I'll be fine. Five minutes and I'll be good as new."
"Good," Buffy said. "Good... I suppose."
"What?" Willow asked. Buffy gave a helpless shrug.
"We're going to war," she murmured. "The word 'good' just doesn't feel right."
"No argument there," Willow sighed.
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The fen valleys were uninviting at the best of times. Sandwiched between the broad Blackmoor marshlands seaward, and the highlands on the other side, they were a stretch of dismal, treacherous swamps scissored by jagged ridges of rock, like huge rows of teeth thrusting into the sky.
Through the widest valley, a mechanised Horde army was slowly closing on the highlands, where Blackmoor castle and its scattered townships waited. First came the scouts, low-built, sleek vehicles whose wide tracks supported them well enough to cross the swamps without falling prey to their camouflaged sink holes. Above them glided scores of tiny flying machines, surveying the foreboding terrain beneath them with ruby red bionic eyes.
Behind them came the bulk of the army: slow, clumsy pathfinders, steadily laying down metre after metre of dull grey steel in their wake as they rolled onward, and on the new road they were building rank after rank of armoured Horde troopers marching in perfect step, malevolent battle tanks, mechanised siege weapons, and hulking dreadnought walkers.
At the heart of the force was a single vehicle that stood out from the rest, a mobile fortified tower rumbling forward on heavy tracks, sporting a heavy cannon turret at its base that slowly covered the terrain, swinging its barrel back and forth above the heads of the elite troopers surrounding it. Atop the tower, slowly surveying the army's progress through the swamplands, stood a lone figure, clad in a long scarlet cloak with bulky Horde armour beneath, yet clearly not of a kind with the machine-like troopers. Strands of blonde hair lay over the figure's armoured shoulders, which bore the rank patches of a Captain; full lips pursed in impatience as soulless black eyes scanned the ranks of soldiers and squadrons of war engines slowly advancing.
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A flash in the sky far ahead drew the Captain's attention. She gestured smoothly with one hand, without taking her eyes from the distant vanguard of her force; below her vehicle, a squad of troopers stepped out of formation and sprinted forward, fanning out across the swamplands on either side of the Horde's artificial road. There was another flash up ahead, this time from somewhere on the broken rocky ridge to the right of the valley. The Captain brought a scope to her eyes just in time to see an arrow, coated in blue flame, explode against the shell of one of her scout flyers, sending the tiny machine spiralling down into the marsh.
"Flyers evasive," she commanded in a strong, steady voice, as more arrows appeared, scattering the swarm of flying machines. "Pathfinders shield, artillery salvo at thirty degrees, range five short to five two-"
"Rearguard under attack!" a mechanical voice interrupted her from her tower's communicator.
"Defensive formation!" she barked, spinning around to peer into the distance behind her army, where more streaks of blue fire were lighting the sky, these forming shallow arcs that fell into the tail of her army. Around her command tank the heavy siege weapons were extending support legs to take their weight from their tracks, and slowly swinging their huge barrels towards the ridge the fire was coming from, while the ranks of troopers spread around them, readying for an assault from any direction.
A chorus of sirens drew the Captain's attention back to her immediate surroundings. On either side of the roadway the troopers, and the scout tanks that had ventured onto the marsh, were sinking into the dark, thick ooze. Even as she watched ridges of rock were vanishing under the marsh, swallowing troops and tanks that had been relying on them for stability. Several squads of troopers were already gone, or buried so deeply they had no chance of freeing themselves; a scout tank gunning its engines managed to free one track, but the other remained stuck fast, and it slewed around into its escort troopers, smashing several of them into the murk, their armour cracking to reveal the remnants of living men inside them.
The siege cannons fired with a staccato booming like a thunderhead, and the Captain turned to watch their shells burst on the distant ridge, while still gesturing to her troopers to pull back to the safety of the roadway. She faltered though, when after two eruptions of fire and mud in the distance the third shell seemed to vanish without a trace into the jagged rocks, and then another, and another - the crashing detonations continued to wash back over the army, as if the shells had landed, but there was no trace.
"Flyers down to half strength," the Captain's communicator reported neutrally. "Evasive action ineffective. Cannot track incoming fire-" A deafening crunch from nearby drowned out the rest of the report, as one of the siege tanks began to sink through the road into the mire; the Captain stared at it in furious disbelief, then movement from beneath the tank's neighbour caught her attention, and her eyes widened as she saw vines and roots rising up through the steel lattice of the road surface, winding tightly around the metal, slowly buckling and crushing it.
"Artillery, fire on heat signatures!" she yelled over the din as another section of roadway began to collapse. She drew a sleek sword from a scabbard on her back and aimed it at the vines, sending them shrinking back out of sight beneath the marsh before they could finish wrecking another length of road.
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"They're targeting the archers!" Willow warned from her vantage point on the rocky height above the army's main force, seeing the siege tanks turning their barrels. "Buffy, drop the illusion, hit the tanks now!"
"Damn it," the blonde grimaced, "thought that'd have 'em confused longer." She withdrew the hand she had been holding out towards the end of the valley, and the ridge which had seemed immune to the tanks' shells shimmered and vanished, revealing a row of craters where the artillery bombardment had landed. On the opposite side of the valley several dozen rangers, Xander leading them, came into view as the illusion covering them faded, and realising their danger they scattered before the first tanks had finished aiming at them.
"Get some distance," Buffy warned Willow. "They're going to see right where this came from." The redhead nodded and sprinted away, pausing now and then to press her hands to the rocks beneath her, sending new waves of plant life up to assault the Horde's road, dragging down troopers and vehicles as the surface steadily weakened. Buffy watched her go, wiping sweat from her brow, then turned her attention to the army beneath her.
"I hate illusions," she muttered. "
This is much more my style."
Abandoning her hiding place she stood up on top of the ridge, arm outstretched towards the largest concentration of tanks. Light seemed to bend around her, colours formed in the air out of nowhere, streaming into a sphere in her palm that grew bright white, almost bursting with energy. Buffy shut her eyes against the intense light, which for a second seemed to bleach out even the sunlight, then she released its power in a beam that leapt from her palm into the heart of the Horde armour, slicing straight through a siege tank and into the side of a pathfinder.
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Willow, now a hundred metres away along the ridge, ducked instinctively as the tank erupted in a fierce ball of flame, and kept her head down as a second explosion sounded after the first. Looking around cautiously she saw Buffy scrambling down the far side of the ridge, clear of the impacts of the light guns which had been turned on her the moment she revealed herself. In the valley the siege tank she had hit had been near vaporised, reduced to scattered debris, blackened and twisted as they sank slowly into the swamp. The mechanised road-layer had fared little better, torn open from side to side, its inner workings scorched beyond recognition, and behind it a battle tank had been destroyed too, probably from some piece of flaming shrapnel tearing into its fuel or ammunition - it was a wreck, its rear torn apart leaving the shell of the front useless and burning fiercely, keeping back the troopers trying to advance towards the source of this new threat. A dozen or more had had less luck: having been close to the exploding vehicles, they were scattered about the scene of devastation in pieces, circuits and hydraulic muscles mingled with scraps of flesh.
An explosion from nearby caught her attention: the Horde Captain's command tank had levelled the main cannon beneath its tower and blasted away a chunk of the valley side, raining debris down onto Buffy as she sprinted along out of sight beyond the top of the ridge. The redhead let out a relieved breath as she saw the blonde emerge unharmed from the cloud of rock dust, and turned her attention back to the battle. In spite of the faltering surface beneath them, more and more of the Horde's heavy vehicles were bringing their guns to bear on their ambushers, firing scattered salvos at the ridges in an effort to force them into the open.
"Buffy, the cloud!" she called over her shoulder.
"Not yet!" the blonde shouted back.
"We have to, now!" Willow insisted. "They've got too many big guns! Cloak me!" She saw Buffy toss her head in frustration, then nod and raise a hand towards her, and she braced herself against the pins-and-needles sensation that washed over her. Light warped around her, hiding her from view, and in the space of a second everything around her was darkness, and what sight she had was magic alone.
A spike of pure light leapt up behind her from the incandescent outline that was Buffy, a signal to the other rebels to press home their assault. Willow moved as quickly as she could, over ground she could see only by its magical aura, thin and ephemeral on the rocky ridges, more intense but blurred in the marshes below. None of the Horde troopers scrambling over the few remaining outcrops of rock in the swamp seemed to see her as she moved past them, the footprints in her wake too subtle to be seen in the confusion of battle, and quickly oozing back into the marsh in any case.
A reverberating crash signalled another salvo of fire from the Horde tanks, and Willow drew to a halt, less that twenty metres from the command Tank, almost at the edge of the steel roadway. She could feel the sensation on her skin weakening, as light began to force itself back through the distortion Buffy had placed about her; wasting no time she knelt down and plunged both arms elbow-deep into the bog, chanting under her breath.
The Horde Captain swore as another laser-like blast of energy from Buffy devastated a trio of dreadnoughts, throwing the troops sheltering behind their armour into disarray. She hammered a command into her cannon's controls, then swung her sword at a shower of arrows raining in from where the rearguard had been, dispelling the blue fire clinging to them so that they clattered harmlessly off the armour of the troopers they hit. She turned to check her cannon's aim, but an instant before she could fire the swamp around her army erupted, ejecting a miasma of thick dust and cloying gas into the air. The Captain swore as her visibility was cut in half, and aimed her sword where Buffy had been, creating a magical whirlwind that began dispelling the dense vapours blinding her army.
Momentarily exhausted, Willow crouched in the shelter of a piece of tank debris, the last of Buffy's cloaking spell gone, but safe for the moment as the Hordesmen stumbled about in confusion, firing randomly into the fog, which baffled even the enhanced vision of their red-tinted artificial eyes. She cautiously poked her head up to take in the scene, and caught sight of the Captain, still working to dispel the clouds of vapour.
"That's not dark magic," she muttered, her brow furrowing. A glint of light drew her eyes back to ground level - safely concealed by the fog from mundane sight, Buffy had ventured closer, safely crossing the swamps that, thanks to Willow's reinforcing magic, the Horde tanks were finding too treacherous to venture into.
The blonde fired quick, lethal bursts of light, faster now that she was closer to her targets, blasting apart tanks and troopers with deadly efficiency. Magic-tipped arrows from Xander's rangers were falling ahead and behind, but as planned they kept their fire clear of the very centre, where they knew their two sorceresses would be. Stumbling in a confused panic, unsure where their attackers were, or even where they were, the Horde were being whittled down.
Willow saw Buffy turn her attention to the command tank, sending a beam of light straight down the barrel of its cannon. The Captain clutched the top of her tower as something inside the vehicle detonated, nearly throwing her from the vehicle. She glared around, caught between anger and panic, and to Willow's surprise their eyes locked, the Captain somehow piercing the miasma of fog to find the redhead. She lifted a hand and drew her hood back, peering as if entranced by the sight of the forest sorceress crouching behind the debris of one of her tanks.
Willow tensed to run at the first sign of attack, but the Captain seemed caught, her sword lowered at her side. With her heart hammering, inwardly raging at herself to run or fight, the redhead stood up, never taking her eyes from the blonde Captain. Her eyes watered with the effort of not blinking - she felt that, if she looked away even for an instant, they would be a rebel and a Horde soldier again, but for now they were something else...
A brilliant point of light caught Willow's eye, breaking the spell - she whipped her head around to see Buffy drawing power for a second blast, this one aimed to shear off the top of the command tank, surely obliterating it and the Captain in an instant.
"Buffy no!" she yelled instinctively. The Captain looked away from her, realising her danger. She hit a control, bringing petal-like panels of armour up around herself, but Willow knew they would do no good. Without thinking she thrust her right arm, still caked with mud from her last exertion, back into the ground, and a huge mass of plant life erupted through the roadway beneath the side of the Captain's tank.
Willow watched in slow motion. The vehicle, already damaged, tilted and then broke, spilling fuel as the tower tore free of its mounts and toppled sideways. Buffy's blast caught the edge of the tower, slicing through the half-deployed armour plates, missing the Captain by inches. Droplets of white-hot liquid metal showered down into the stricken body of the tank, catching the ruptured fuel tank and engulfing it in flame, as the wrecked tower crashed into the swamp.
"Willow get the hell down!" Willow looked up to see Buffy at her side, and wondered how the blonde had moved so fast. Then she realised that she herself had moved too - she had been running, in clear sight of the nearer vehicles, towards the wrecked tower, which was slowly sinking into the mire. She struggled free of Buffy, then paused a moment to conjure up another, smaller, torrent of airborne dust and vapour, shielding them from sight for a moment, before resuming her dash towards the fallen tower.
"Just destroy their damned road and let's go!" Buffy insisted, staying by Willow's side. "The cloud's dispersing, we haven't got much time- What are you doing?"
"Help me would you?" Willow shouted, reaching the tower and hauling at a piece of bent metal, managing to shift it a little. Buffy stared at her incredulously for a second, then pitched in, and between them they managed to slide the jagged chunk of debris out of the way, revealing what remained of the top of the tower. The Captain was still inside, face down in the murky water that now half-filled what had been her command post.
"Okay she's dead, now can we... Willow?" Buffy asked, as Willow lifted the blonde out of her would-be grave.
"We have to keep her alive," Willow insisted. Buffy stared at her, then shook her head.
"You get crazier every day," she sighed, helping Willow lift the unconscious Captain and standing guard while the redhead checked her breathing.
"She's alive. Help me get her out of here."
Buffy cast her gaze skyward for a moment, then closed her eyes and put a hand on Willow's shoulder, and on the Captain's arm. Willow gasped, and Buffy grimaced in pain, as a cloak enveloped the three of them.
"Move, it won't last long!" Buffy snapped, getting her shoulder beneath one of the Captain's arms. Between them they carried the blonde slumped between them, moving quickly across the marsh which seemed to solidify beneath their feet just long enough for them to pass.
"I thought you couldn't do that again so quickly," Willow said warily.
"I probably shouldn't have," Buffy replied without looking at her. "But you're intent on getting this
person," the word came heavy with irony, "out of here alive, and I'm damned if I can think of another way to get clear of the fighting in one piece. Just make sure when we get home you've got a good explanation for this."
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On the other side of the world, while Blackmoor fell into evening darkness, it should have been broad daylight, but as it had been for decades here, the sky was a dull, unchanging red. No stars ever shone at night, and even the sun, when it was in the sky, was reduced to a sickly orange glow; factories and towers belched fire and thick smoke into the sky around the clock, turning the air and water and land into a desolation as bleak as the fortress that dominated it. Those of the land's inhabitants who remained, corralled into decaying villages and forced to work in the mines and foundries, called it the Fright Zone: a vast industrial bastion, sprawling for miles in every direction, consuming metal and soil and water and air like some voracious, titanic parasite, slowly eating the world it had sunk its claws into.
At the heart of the Fright Zone stood the Citadel Prime, the heart of Horde power. Above tiers and tiers of cells and barracks and torture chambers was the Citadel's imperial tower, a cathedral in praise of power. Within it, in the throne room, huge bones stood like columns, melded with oily black metal, welded and carved with endless repetitions of the Horde's winged skull standard. The cavernous chamber, sealed off from the world outside, was lit only by the pools of oozing lava flanking its marble floor, casting a bloody glow over its inhabitants.
Two of them, a fierce-looking woman with unbound black hair, and a hulking bestial creature nearly twice her size, approached the throne at the far end of the hall. Between them was a short, middle-aged man outfitted in expensive seaman's clothes, and looking like he would very much rather not be there. The beast man's heavy claw on his shoulder kept him in place, however, as they neared the throne, though he couldn't help but glance at the blackened, shrivelled shapes hanging from thick iron poles protruding from the lava pools - waist-deep, so as not to die too quickly.
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"Master," the beast rumbled, slurring slightly as its thick lips moved over large, carnivorous teeth. Torches on either side of the throne dais flickered to life, casting their light on the form seated at the heart of the Fright Zone. His face, such as was visible beneath the segmented iron mask he wore, twisted into a semblance of a grin, revealing razor-sharp teeth.
"H-Hordak," the man stammered, as the Horde master's red eyes fixed on him.
"First Mate Swen, of the
Sea Hawk," the iron-faced creature said flatly.
"Yes Master," the beast replied. It gave what it may have intended to be a reassuring nudge to the man's shoulder, thrusting him forward.
"M-my Lord," the sailor said, flinching from the sound of his own voice. "My Captain h-has betrayed the Horde."
"What?" Hordak leaned forward, pinning the trembling man with a glare.
"It's true my Lord!" he insisted. "He's been in communication with the rebels, and he's met them in person, when he lands at Blackmoor Harbour-"
"How long has this been going on?" Hordak demanded.
"F-for... I've been aware for... seven months, my Lord," the traitor replied, shrinking under the Horde master's fierce crimson gaze. "Forgive me my Lord, I didn't dare, until now... if he'd found me-"
"I see," Hordak said slowly. "And now...?"
"Wh-when we stood off Blackmoor Harbour, and saw the force landing there... Captain Liam sent a message to the rebels, then approached the paymaster of the Horde army, offering to carry messages. I think he hoped to learn the Force Captain's plans, but... we got a message, at nightfall, to be brought here... Captain Liam ordered a course set for the Ice Coast, and I knew he meant to switch sides permanently... I waited for full dark, then stole a sky sailer and-"
"And came here," Hordak finished for him. "You might have simply joined the army at Blackmoor... but if I may guess your mind, you hoped you would be rewarded for your information? And Hordak himself has access to far greater riches than a simple army paymaster."
"M-my Lord," the traitor said haltingly. "I only thought... I wasn't sure who I could trust-"
"Indeed," the Horde master cut him off. "What was this message, then, that the
Sea Hawk's Captain hoped to keep from the Horde?"
"A-a battle, my Lord." The man gulped, then steeled himself and continued: "The Blackmoor army came under attack, in an ambush. The rebels... captured the Force Captain."
"What?" Hordak bellowed. The man shrunk back, bumping into the hulking beast man behind him, which seemed unnerved itself by its master's anger.
"The Rebellion captured the Blackmoor army's Captain?" Hordak demanded. "You're sure of this?"
"Yes my Lord!" the traitor said pleadingly. Hordak's eyes blazed for a moment, then dimmed.
"Grizzlor," he said quietly. "Summon the Shadow Weaver to my throne room. Then take a squadron of Vultures with full crew, and find the
Sea Hawk. Return only when that blasted ship has been burned out of the sky!"
"Yes Master," the beast nodded, stepping back then turning and lumbering out of the throne room. Hordak leaned back in his throne, studying the bones decorating its arm for a moment.
"You," he said at last. "First Mate Swen... You served for seven months on a vessel you knew to be disloyal to the Horde. But much time might have been lost had you not been in a position to deliver this news now... Do I offer you reward, or punishment? What manner of reward would you seek?"
"My Lord, I..." the traitor hesitated.
"Perhaps Faith," Hordak grinned slyly, indicating with a clawed finger the woman standing beside the sailor. He looked at her, and couldn't help his gaze lingering on her body, of which her armour concealed little.
"She has certain... appetites," Hordak went on. "I'm sure you could satisfy her... Would you consider this a suitable reward for your loyalty to the Horde?" The traitor seemed paralysed by indecision; Faith, evidently feeling he could use some help, licked her lips and drew a sharp fingernail up her abdomen, slitting open the purple gauze that stretched beneath the metallic winged skull covering her breasts.
"Say yes," she purred.
"Y-yes," the man echoed.
"Good," Hordak smiled. "Faith... you may satisfy your appetite with this... traitor." Swen turned to look at Hordak, suddenly fearful at the edge on the last word, but already Faith was advancing on him, taking him in her arms, opening her mouth, which stretched out of her face, becoming a feline muzzle, with sharp, vicious fangs.
Hordak watched with a modicum of enthusiasm as the woman tore out the traitor's throat, crouching over him as he fell and digging her snout into the wound, snarling and chomping as arterial blood gushed over her face and chest. Then he stood, sensing an unseen presence in the shadows behind his throne.
"Shadow Weaver," he said quietly, with absolutely no affection. A pair of glowing yellow eyes opened to slits in the darkness.
"Hordak," a damaged voice rasped in reply.
"Let's dispense with you pretending you were not aware of this," the Horde master growled.
"I would have informed you at the proper time," the voice replied. Its owner emerged into the fiery half-light of the throne room, revealing itself as a female form in a flowing crimson dress, which trailed loosely on the ground as the Shadow Weaver floated. A matching cowl covered her head, and the lower half of her face - what remained was wreathed in ghostly shadows, leaving her glittering eyes, and the pale, dry hands half-hidden by her trailing sleeves, the only evidence of the being within.
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"The proper time," Hordak muttered, circling the hovering witch. "That would have been
as soon as those rebel scum took my Force Captain!" The throne room shook in sympathy with its master's anger. Unheeded, Faith retreated warily, evidently deciding that the now-dead remains of Swen were not sufficient incentive to remain in Hordak's presence.
"It was at your insistence that she led the Blackmoor force," the Shadow Weaver hissed, unmoved by the fury facing her.
"Do
not seek to pass on the blame for this!" Hordak replied heatedly. "She is the perfect Force Captain - she can only have been overcome by magic. If you'd trained her in witchcraft half as well as I had in command, this would never have happened! But that would never do, would it," he sneered. "The power within her may have eclipsed you... I've often wondered whether you've kept her from realising her gifts simply to maintain your own position."
"If I were you," the witch rasped pointedly, "I would be far more worried about that power falling into the wrong hands. The enchantments on her are strong... but so are the energies of the Whispering Woods. If the shadow on her were broken..." She stared levelly at Hordak, watching him restrain his fury with visible effort.
"Is that possible?" he snarled at last.
"I have been tracing her," the Shadow Weaver replied. "She was taken first to Blackmoor, then deeper into the Woods, beyond my reach. There, it is... possible."
"Damn you, witch," Hordak muttered darkly.
"If I am to be damned for this, it will not be alone." The veiled threat hung in the air between them for a moment.
"Go
in person," Hordak commanded eventually. "Faith will assume command of the Blackmoor offensive. She will have
full autonomy... but the moment Force Captain Tara is recovered, you will take charge of her, and see to it that
nothing turns her from her loyalty to me."
"It will be done," the Shadow Weaver rasped.
"Those words preserve your miserable life," Hordak warned. "See that they do not prove untrue."
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To Be Continued...[/center]
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Oh, I thought Willow’s driving was a big turn-on too. I love me a woman who can drive a car like that. (I almost wanted to say “a woman who can drive stick like that," but unlike some people I’m no good at puns and don’t want to sound stupid. 
I also liked the fact that Snyder ended up being arrested by Flutie.
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The funny thing about many classic TV shows is how readily all the BtVS characters lend themselves to fitting in to other roles, at least in my opinion. Other shows that were considered: Three's Company, and Gilligan's Island. I think it would be easy to cast the Buffy characters in many classic sitcoms and dramas. Maybe there will have to be a WTTV sequel. 
