- Location
- In the Depths, Lurking...
... "Waiter, how's the Alphabet Soup today?"
"Incomprehensible but plentiful, Sir."
Taylor is DOOMed
- Thread starter mp3.1415player
- Start date
- Crossover
"Incomprehensible but plentiful, Sir."
I see what you did there.It's actually a good thing there isn't real magic. A spelling error could be disastrous in that case, never mind what would definitely happen when someone tried to work magic in twitspeakWho knows what would happen, aside from it not being even slightly what was desired...
...And now I want to write that story
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
The sheer undiluted power of stupidity is more than a match for mere laws of physics.
- Location
- Here
I acknowledge that my grammar is not the best, and that in forums like this I tend to use capitalization for emphasis, but at least what I write is intelligible as English. Which is why I hope to keep the Grammar Nazis away.
No one likes a Grammar Nazi.
No One.
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
While that is correct, up to a certain point, they fulfill a vital role. And please do not use the word Nazi to describe them, considering the rather negative connotations of the word. I know it is a common way of doing it, but I suspect that a Significant portion of them do not follow an abhorrent ideology that preaches mass murder...
Which is what Nazis do (the word Nazi, if you do not know is a short hand for Nationalsozialistische Arbeiterpartei (in Of itself an incorrect name for what their ideology actually was, it lets ignore that it was a propaganda name with little real relevance). Those people were responsible for WW2 and the Holocaust. The worst genocide in living memory.
michaelb958
(Verified Michael)
- Location
- Wherever I am, there I am
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Given we got from grammar to Nazis, I think we should give the derail a rest.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Godwin's Law has been invoked, so this discussion is at its end.
Let's discuss something nicer and more topic-related instead; like soul-torturing demons from Hell and how fun it is to shoot them in the face and watch them die.
Eh, most move too erratically for that kind of precision. I prefer aiming for the torso. With a shotgun.
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
Sounds like you're too far away, have you considered closing the distance? I assure you, the face is quite easy to hit if you're close enough.
Cacodemons and Pain Elementals being the exceptions of course; they're all face.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
I prefer a shotgun cause it's quick, efficent, and makes such a satisfying noise when fired. I'm already in their grill. If I need to fight at a longer range then I pull out an assault rifle or a pistol (depending on which has more ammo) and aim for center mass since it's the easier target to hit.
EDIT: That is, of course, only when dealing with demons. If I'm facing zombies then it's a pistol at long range, and aim for the head.
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Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
What are these 'pistols' and 'assault rifles' of which you speak? I do not believe I have heard of such weapons. Are they anything like Chainguns, Heavy Cannons or Plasma Rifles?
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
In my playthrough of Doom 2016 I rarely pull out the chaingun. Takes too long IMO to spin up, and eats through ammo too fast. Plasma rifle is okay, but again it tends to burn ammo too fast. Same with the assault rifle. They mostly get pulled out for the really big stuff, if I don't have enough fuel in my chainsaw at the moment. On the other hand, I tend to save my chainsaw for the big stuff.
When playing Arizona Sunshine, I prefer pistols. Ideally the revolver or .357 magnum since they have more stopping power, thus take fewer shots. They also have the best iron sights IMO. I'll keep a sawed off shotgun on hand, usually, in case things get too close.
In most shooters though, I favor a sniper rifle
When playing Arizona Sunshine, I prefer pistols. Ideally the revolver or .357 magnum since they have more stopping power, thus take fewer shots. They also have the best iron sights IMO. I'll keep a sawed off shotgun on hand, usually, in case things get too close.
In most shooters though, I favor a sniper rifle
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
Gasp!In my playthrough of Doom 2016 I rarely pull out the chaingun. Takes too long IMO to spin up, and eats through ammo too fast. Plasma rifle is okay, but again it tends to burn ammo too fast. Same with the assault rifle. They mostly get pulled out for the really big stuff, if I don't have enough fuel in my chainsaw at the moment. On the other hand, I tend to save my chainsaw for the big stuff.
When playing Arizona Sunshine, I prefer pistols. Ideally the revolver or .357 magnum since they have more stopping power, thus take fewer shots. They also have the best iron sights IMO. I'll keep a sawed off shotgun on hand, usually, in case things get too close.
In most shooters though, I favor a sniper rifle
You don't play Doom Eternal?
The horror! *dies*
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
I don't buy Bethesda games anymore, no matter how much I want the game. They burned that bridge with Fallout 76. Not their new games, not their back catalogue, none of their games. The ones I already own, I play. But I'm not giving another dime to Bethesda.
girador
There are only four circles in this picture
- Location
- behind a screen
The problem i have with this kind of idea is that it gives the company no reason to fix their shit. I'll put money towards their good games but i will go ahead and actively avoid garbage like Fallout 76. Companies tend to do what makes them money so they don't care about the people that just stop buying stuff and as a result the only people that make a difference are the ones that actually shell out the cash.
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
I understand the feeling, but you are really missing out; Eternal is great.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Oh, I'm sure it is. I've watched a play through of it, and the game looks like a lot of fun. But after Fallout 76 I decided to vote with my wallet. That was just the last in a string of issues I've had with Bethesda, and the worst one by far. So now I refuse to give them any more of my money. A boycott isn't very effective after all if you are still buying the company's products.
Now, if the game's included with a subscription service like X-Box Game Pass, that's one thing. But I am not giving Bethesda my money again.
Now, if the game's included with a subscription service like X-Box Game Pass, that's one thing. But I am not giving Bethesda my money again.
- Location
- SoCal
Less units sold is a good reason.
- Location
- NYC
It always amazes me to see how small novels translated from English into Japanese are. I mean, yes the paper is thinner, and but total surface area required to communicate a sentence is way smaller in most cases. I'm not sure if it's any faster to read though, as it's certainly slower for me as a non native speaker.
Guardsman_Sparky
The Clueless Wonder
- Location
- Virginia
If you let go of the bow while still holding the bowstring, yeah.
But if you're holding the bow in an open grip (with the bow in the nock between finger and thumb and only the pressure of you holding the string keeping it in place), when you let go of the string, the bow won't shoot forward, but it will jump out of your hand.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Considering he was still holding the arrow, yeah he was holding the string still when he let go of the bow.
Guardsman_Sparky
The Clueless Wonder
- Location
- Virginia
I'm pretty sure that was just for comedic effect. The only way you can do that IRL is if you don't actually nock the arrow in the first place.
FaerieKnight79
Verified Pixie
- Location
- The Internet
Well, yeah, that's a given. However what is shown is he notches the arrow, pulls back the bowstring, lets go of the bow rather then the arrow, and the bow flies forward while he's still holding the arrow.
7. Omake - DOOM R&R: Fallout
- Location
- The general area. Possibly behind you.
There will be more of the main story, I promise! However there has been quite a lot of work-related shenanigans for the last couple of weeks which has really got in the way of doing sustained writing sessions, so I can only snatch an hour or so here and there. Not wanting to waste it, I used todays hour to bring you more of this...
After a faint but distinct click, a whirring sound was followed by seven echoing bongs as the two hundred year old and extremely valuable grandfather clock in the corner of the large wood-paneled room struck the hour, as it had been doing since it was installed there a month after it was made. None of the men gathered together paid any attention to it. Most of them were reading through a set of bound reports that had arrived only hours ago, and had been distributed to only those present for several reasons. Outside, three floors below and on the other side of very well soundproofed and heavily warded windows the evening traffic of London could barely be heard, while the sound of the currently torrential rain was entirely inaudible. Only the spatter on the windows in the darkness betrayed it to those inside.
One of the readers lowered the report, open to the last page, and looked at the only person there who wasn't reading. He had already done that, four times, with growing incredulity on each occasion.
"Umbral Plains?" the man said in a hoarse voice.
Quentin Travers nodded somberly.
"Umbral Plains!?" his colleague repeated, much more loudly and in a voice that melded sheer horror with complete disbelief. "A demon unlike anything on record told the Sunnydale Watcher, our man on the spot literally on top of the single most active Hell Mouth on the entire planet, that he was an agent of the literal ruler of the fucking Umbral Plains?" The man, Charles Gifford, the senior Watcher's Council lore master and possibly the single most well read person on the subject of demonology in the world, was as white as a sheet and looking on the verge of a coronary.
"According to Watcher Giles, that is exactly what it said, yes," Travers acknowledged.
There was dead silence for a while, everyone else having stopped to listen, all of them looking disturbed in various ways, proportionate to their knowledge of what this might mean.
"May god protect us," Gifford finally breathed, dropping his head back on the expensive leather of the wingback chair he was sitting in and closing his eyes. "Do you have even the slightest understanding of the seriousness of this if the creature was being truthful?"
"I have a fairly good idea, I believe," Travers assured him, picking up the small glass of Scotch next to him and taking a small sip.
"I strongly suspect you in fact do not or you wouldn't be sitting there drinking," Gifford retorted, his eyes still shut and his face so pale he looked positively unwell. "If this demon was indeed correct and not lying, we are in shit so deep we'd need a submarine to even begin to find the bottom." He opened his eyes and lifted his head, while Travers looked mildly offended at his language. The other three people there exchanged glances, then went back to listening.
"The Umbral Plains are a legend. One so old we have no idea at all where it comes from. It predates everything. Literally everything we know, all legends of any species we have any information on. It's even older than the myth of the First Evil, older than the Old Ones, older than the Big Bang itself. Hardly anyone has ever heard of that phrase but the ones that have know what it truly means."
"Which is?" Travers took another sip, while studying the man talking.
"Literally Hell. Not the demonic realms on the other side of the Hell Mouth, as bad as they are. Not even the Christian version of it, or that of any other human religions, although they are all in various ways based on rumors which in turn are based on the legend of the Umbral Plains. No, we are discussing a place that is right at the bottom of creation itself, a place from which all that is may have ultimately originated, quite likely before the universe even came into existence. And what inhabits such a place..."
Gifford trailed off, looking sick. No one said anything while he swallowed a couple of times, then resumed.
"What inhabits such a place is the stuff of nightmare. True nightmare, making vampires and all that which we oppose look like a mild inconvenience by comparison. No, not even that important. It is a candle flame next to the sun. The most trivial demon from the Umbral Plains could most likely defeat almost anything we know of with ease. Yes, legend says that they can be killed, but it is phenomenally difficult even in the case of the lowest of the low. If one of the true Lords of Hell walks this earth, I know of nothing that could do more than annoy it. No Slayer in history would stand a chance. And there are things much, much worse there."
He shook his head, an unhealthy sallowness to his complexion. Travers had put his glass down and was sitting still, now looking rather less confident than he'd been minutes earlier.
"And if this visitor to the Hell Mouth is to be believed," Gifford finally continued after the silence had grown uncomfortable, only relieved by the steady ticking of the clock, "the actual literal Ruler of Hell is among us. Has opened the Hell Mouth and gone through it for reasons unknown. And has left an unknown number of her subjects wandering freely throughout the surrounding area." His voice was low and appalled, forcing them to listen carefully. "Watcher Giles's reports state that the Doom Queen, to use the demon's sobriquet, appears as a human woman wearing unusual armor, who can manifest strange weapons. Clearly this is the result of magic far beyond anything we know, and her true appearance must be utterly alien. Why she should appear as such I have no idea, because who could understand the mind of something of that nature?"
The man looked at the report on his knees, opening it again and flipping through the pages almost helplessly. "We don't even know if this being has a gender at all. It's possible that what the people present saw was only what their own minds produced in the face of something so far out of human experience they couldn't otherwise handle it. Or it might be a deliberate ploy of the entity for reasons of its own. Giving a human name suggests any number of unpleasant options… We can be sure it is not human in the slightest though."
"From what you're saying this creature, this… Doom Queen… is a being on a par with one of the known Hell Gods such as Glorificus?" one of the other Watchers asked. Gifford glared at him.
"No. Have you not been listening? This being makes something like Glorificus look like nothing. It could eat her for breakfast and want more."
The other man paled even more than he'd been up until now.
"If this is true, there is nothing I know of that is even vaguely close to being in the same class of power," Gifford went on in heavy tones. "And I have not the faintest idea how we could possibly stop it doing whatever it wanted." He tapped the report. "From what this says, the lesser demons are for reasons known only to them purging the entire city of vampires and other pests. Possibly this is as Watcher Giles suggested because they don't want the competition, although it's hardly that in any case, and they have ulterior motives concerning Sunnydale. Possibly they are simply bored. I have no idea why they are doing this. Nor why they are apparently only doing so to hostile demonic forces. "
He shivered a little. "With any luck they will finish what they are doing and leave at that point. If they do not..." Gifford shook his head slowly. "We may be facing something that makes any previous apocalypse look… irrelevant."
In the corner the old clock chimed once, indicating the quarter hour. It was the only sound that disturbed the room for nearly a minute. Eventually, Travers nodded. "Thank you, Charles. As always your knowledge is exceptional. We will consider what you've told us carefully."
Gifford looked at him, then stood, the dismissal being clear. He dropped the report in his hand onto Travers' desk. "Do not underestimate this situation, Quentin," he warned in a low voice, leaning over the desk with his fists on the surface. "This is not something you can turn to your advantage, believe me on that. It could easily blow up into something that could destroy everything and there is not a damn thing we can do about it. Only a fool would risk provoking this entity."
"I understand, Charles, never fear," Travers replied, looking him in the eyes. "Your information is quite clear."
Standing upright, Gifford examined him for a few seconds, then turned on his heel and headed towards the door. He was visibly sweating and much paler than he should have been.
"It goes without saying that none of this is to be mentioned outside this room," Travers commented as he reached the door.
"I have no intention of telling anyone anything," Gifford replied, his hand on the doorknob. "There is no good that would come of it. And right now, I intend to go home and become rather more inebriated than is probably good for me. I may be late tomorrow." He opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind him.
The people left behind exchanged looks.
Eventually, Travers reached out and picked up the report Gifford had left on his desk, opening it and leafing through slowly. "Where is Watcher Zabuto at present?" he asked the room at large.
"His current assignment is in Mexico City," one of the others replied immediately. "He and Slayer Young were dealing with an infestation of lesser demons resulting from the accidental uncovering of a Mayan temple during building work two months ago. His last report said that they had managed to eliminate virtually all the demons after considerable effort and the aid of a local hunter group."
The head of the Watcher's council nodded. "Good. Get word to him, he's to proceed to Sunnydale immediately and carefully verify the information Watcher Giles has submitted. Tell him to keep his Slayer on a short leash, just in case." He looked up from the document at his subordinate. "Pass on only that there are an indeterminate number of unknown demons present and that they are possibly non hostile if unprovoked."
"You think Watcher Giles is mistaken?" He transferred his gaze to the man who'd spoken.
"Perhaps. Or possibly compromised due to his… non-orthodox arrangement with Slayer Summers and her friends. Giles has always been..." He looked for the right word. "Willful. It's not entirely impossible that the situation is not as dire as reported, but that he has either misinterpreted it or has deliberately tilted the truth in a direction that would make it seem unwise to interfere." He closed the report and put it neatly in the middle of his desk, then clasped his hands over it. "We have had minor issues with him in the recent past, after all. His loyalty to his Slayer, while admirable, is… possibly excessive. This may be coloring his outlook more than is ideal."
"I understand." The other man nodded. "And if Watcher Zabuto does verify this report? What then?"
Travers thought for a moment. "Despite Charles' impassioned lecture, I do rather doubt that the literal Queen of Hell is actually wandering around Sunnydale wearing armor out of a fantasy novel," he finally replied with a small smile. "I find it much more likely that some unusually powerful demon is utilizing the legend Charles spoke of as a method to scare off anyone who might interfere with their plan, whatever that is. Seizing control of the currently active Hell Mouth would cause every evil organization and individual in the world to immediately get involved somehow. But if they could frighten off any competition, well…" He spread his hands. "It's not impossible and would fit some of the more elaborate plans we've seen in the past. It certainly seems more likely than the issue Charles fears has come to pass, don't you agree?"
The other three appeared thoughtful and not entirely convinced, but eventually signaled acceptance.
"Clearly we can't allow such a thing to come about," the third man said.
"No. But if Watcher Giles is even vaguely accurate, it's not a problem one Slayer, or even a pair of them, can definitively handle." Travers thought again, tapping a finger on the report in an absent way, then nodded decisively. "All right. Get the Special Ops Team on the next flight to Sunnydale. Tell them to take anything they require for an insertion into a serious demon incursion, but to remain inconspicuous for now and await further orders. On no account are they to announce themselves to either Watcher Giles or Watcher Zabuto. They are our ace in the hole."
He looked out the window into the rainy night, his face hard. "If there is something to all this, I want it dealt with permanently. Regardless of local casualties, as it could be too important to be subtle. Obviously it would be preferable to minimize fallout but make sure that they know it's not essential." Turning back to the others, he added, "Slayers, after all, are replaceable."
"Understood, sir," the man replied. "But Humanity is not."
"No," he agreed. "Which is of course our entire reason for existing."
The other three men stood. A few seconds later he was alone in his office. Picking up his half-depleted drink he also stood and walked over to the nearest window, looking out into the night as he sipped and examining the distant dome of St Pauls, which stood out on the skyline. "Doom Queen," he finally said quietly, his face in a darkly amused smile. "We shall see. Demons, after all, cannot be trusted to speak the truth, by definition. It will be interesting to discover what it really is..."
Finishing the whiskey, he returned the glass to his drinks cabinet after rinsing it, then went home, satisfied with the outcome of the day.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Opening the paper and spreading it out on the table, Giles scanned it looking for the article he'd been advised by Angel to read. It was on the second page.
The total collapse of the Los Angeles headquarters building of the prestigious law firm Wolfram and Hart last night has been blamed on subsidence into a previously unknown sinkhole under the structure, possibly triggered by the swarm of minor earthquakes that have struck across much of California in recent days. These tremors, which according to seismologists are not considered serious or precursors to a more significant seismic event, have clustered around several locations in the state, which is now thought to indicate a fault line that has been inactive for centuries. Suspicions of a link to a major fracking operation just outside LA has caused the state government to issue a cease work order for one month to allow investigations to be carried out into whether the company has violated any regulations.
In a stroke of luck the Wolfram and Hart building was almost empty due to the late hour when the collapse happened, leading to only three known fatalities and a dozen minor injuries, four from passers-by who were hit by debris during the event. The building itself is a total loss, the hole it fell into being at least two hundred feet deep. Subsequent flooding from a ruptured high pressure water main completely filled the sinkhole making recovery of the bodies of the deceased highly dangerous. The collapse was accompanied by loud noises described somewhat poetically by one witness as being "The screams of the damned howling in despair," although other nearby residents noted that they heard what sounded like enormous explosions deep underground. Experts say this was most likely the noise of stressed rock fracturing which they explain can produce a wide variety of sounds ranging from squeals to bangs, these being audible over significant distances due to transmission through the bedrock.
Authorities have said that it will take at least four days to pump out the sinkhole before there can be any attempt at an investigation into this extraordinary event, and possibly as much as two weeks before the bodies of the three unfortunate souls who were known to be inside at the time can be located and recovered. They warn that due to the magnitude of the collapse it is possible that the bodies will never be found, although they promise to spare no effort.
Wolfram and Hart have moved operations to their Denver office while they assess the damage and contact all clients impacted by the loss of data, contracts, and other vital documentation. This operation is complicated by a recent intense fire in their San Francisco branch which was apparently struck by lightning two days ago during a freak thunderstorm. Staff have been sent home on full pay until further notice.
Having read the article, Giles slowly polished his third set of glasses in as many weeks while thinking hard and carefully. He'd heard things about Wolfram and Hart. Things that made him suspicious that not all was entirely right in that corner of the world.
Things that made him wonder exactly what, or who, was behind the company's recent misfortune.
Or, possibly, below it…
The slamming open of the library door made him start violently, nearly dropping his glasses. Turning he saw Buffy, Willow, and Xander standing there looking shocked.
"Must you barge in like that?" he said with asperity. "The school only just got those doors repaired after all."
"Sorry, G-man," Xander said, waving that off. "But we just saw a huge demon with rocket launchers on its shoulders chasing the mayor down the middle of Main street."
Giles stared at him.
"We thought you should know," the boy added helpfully.
Giles stared at him some more. Then he pulled the chair closer to him, sat in it, and put his head in his hands.
"Bloody hell, this town will be the death of me," he moaned into his palms, wishing his bottle of amber memory eraser wasn't empty. A refill was clearly in order.
He really needed some right about now.
Through the open window of his office, he heard a distant whoosh sound followed by a thump.
"You are not worth HER time, insignificant worm," a very faint but very deep voice said, even at that distance sounding horribly amused in a dark fashion. "We serve HER will."
He moaned again, then stood up and closed the window. No good could come of listening further, he was certain.
After a faint but distinct click, a whirring sound was followed by seven echoing bongs as the two hundred year old and extremely valuable grandfather clock in the corner of the large wood-paneled room struck the hour, as it had been doing since it was installed there a month after it was made. None of the men gathered together paid any attention to it. Most of them were reading through a set of bound reports that had arrived only hours ago, and had been distributed to only those present for several reasons. Outside, three floors below and on the other side of very well soundproofed and heavily warded windows the evening traffic of London could barely be heard, while the sound of the currently torrential rain was entirely inaudible. Only the spatter on the windows in the darkness betrayed it to those inside.
One of the readers lowered the report, open to the last page, and looked at the only person there who wasn't reading. He had already done that, four times, with growing incredulity on each occasion.
"Umbral Plains?" the man said in a hoarse voice.
Quentin Travers nodded somberly.
"Umbral Plains!?" his colleague repeated, much more loudly and in a voice that melded sheer horror with complete disbelief. "A demon unlike anything on record told the Sunnydale Watcher, our man on the spot literally on top of the single most active Hell Mouth on the entire planet, that he was an agent of the literal ruler of the fucking Umbral Plains?" The man, Charles Gifford, the senior Watcher's Council lore master and possibly the single most well read person on the subject of demonology in the world, was as white as a sheet and looking on the verge of a coronary.
"According to Watcher Giles, that is exactly what it said, yes," Travers acknowledged.
There was dead silence for a while, everyone else having stopped to listen, all of them looking disturbed in various ways, proportionate to their knowledge of what this might mean.
"May god protect us," Gifford finally breathed, dropping his head back on the expensive leather of the wingback chair he was sitting in and closing his eyes. "Do you have even the slightest understanding of the seriousness of this if the creature was being truthful?"
"I have a fairly good idea, I believe," Travers assured him, picking up the small glass of Scotch next to him and taking a small sip.
"I strongly suspect you in fact do not or you wouldn't be sitting there drinking," Gifford retorted, his eyes still shut and his face so pale he looked positively unwell. "If this demon was indeed correct and not lying, we are in shit so deep we'd need a submarine to even begin to find the bottom." He opened his eyes and lifted his head, while Travers looked mildly offended at his language. The other three people there exchanged glances, then went back to listening.
"The Umbral Plains are a legend. One so old we have no idea at all where it comes from. It predates everything. Literally everything we know, all legends of any species we have any information on. It's even older than the myth of the First Evil, older than the Old Ones, older than the Big Bang itself. Hardly anyone has ever heard of that phrase but the ones that have know what it truly means."
"Which is?" Travers took another sip, while studying the man talking.
"Literally Hell. Not the demonic realms on the other side of the Hell Mouth, as bad as they are. Not even the Christian version of it, or that of any other human religions, although they are all in various ways based on rumors which in turn are based on the legend of the Umbral Plains. No, we are discussing a place that is right at the bottom of creation itself, a place from which all that is may have ultimately originated, quite likely before the universe even came into existence. And what inhabits such a place..."
Gifford trailed off, looking sick. No one said anything while he swallowed a couple of times, then resumed.
"What inhabits such a place is the stuff of nightmare. True nightmare, making vampires and all that which we oppose look like a mild inconvenience by comparison. No, not even that important. It is a candle flame next to the sun. The most trivial demon from the Umbral Plains could most likely defeat almost anything we know of with ease. Yes, legend says that they can be killed, but it is phenomenally difficult even in the case of the lowest of the low. If one of the true Lords of Hell walks this earth, I know of nothing that could do more than annoy it. No Slayer in history would stand a chance. And there are things much, much worse there."
He shook his head, an unhealthy sallowness to his complexion. Travers had put his glass down and was sitting still, now looking rather less confident than he'd been minutes earlier.
"And if this visitor to the Hell Mouth is to be believed," Gifford finally continued after the silence had grown uncomfortable, only relieved by the steady ticking of the clock, "the actual literal Ruler of Hell is among us. Has opened the Hell Mouth and gone through it for reasons unknown. And has left an unknown number of her subjects wandering freely throughout the surrounding area." His voice was low and appalled, forcing them to listen carefully. "Watcher Giles's reports state that the Doom Queen, to use the demon's sobriquet, appears as a human woman wearing unusual armor, who can manifest strange weapons. Clearly this is the result of magic far beyond anything we know, and her true appearance must be utterly alien. Why she should appear as such I have no idea, because who could understand the mind of something of that nature?"
The man looked at the report on his knees, opening it again and flipping through the pages almost helplessly. "We don't even know if this being has a gender at all. It's possible that what the people present saw was only what their own minds produced in the face of something so far out of human experience they couldn't otherwise handle it. Or it might be a deliberate ploy of the entity for reasons of its own. Giving a human name suggests any number of unpleasant options… We can be sure it is not human in the slightest though."
"From what you're saying this creature, this… Doom Queen… is a being on a par with one of the known Hell Gods such as Glorificus?" one of the other Watchers asked. Gifford glared at him.
"No. Have you not been listening? This being makes something like Glorificus look like nothing. It could eat her for breakfast and want more."
The other man paled even more than he'd been up until now.
"If this is true, there is nothing I know of that is even vaguely close to being in the same class of power," Gifford went on in heavy tones. "And I have not the faintest idea how we could possibly stop it doing whatever it wanted." He tapped the report. "From what this says, the lesser demons are for reasons known only to them purging the entire city of vampires and other pests. Possibly this is as Watcher Giles suggested because they don't want the competition, although it's hardly that in any case, and they have ulterior motives concerning Sunnydale. Possibly they are simply bored. I have no idea why they are doing this. Nor why they are apparently only doing so to hostile demonic forces. "
He shivered a little. "With any luck they will finish what they are doing and leave at that point. If they do not..." Gifford shook his head slowly. "We may be facing something that makes any previous apocalypse look… irrelevant."
In the corner the old clock chimed once, indicating the quarter hour. It was the only sound that disturbed the room for nearly a minute. Eventually, Travers nodded. "Thank you, Charles. As always your knowledge is exceptional. We will consider what you've told us carefully."
Gifford looked at him, then stood, the dismissal being clear. He dropped the report in his hand onto Travers' desk. "Do not underestimate this situation, Quentin," he warned in a low voice, leaning over the desk with his fists on the surface. "This is not something you can turn to your advantage, believe me on that. It could easily blow up into something that could destroy everything and there is not a damn thing we can do about it. Only a fool would risk provoking this entity."
"I understand, Charles, never fear," Travers replied, looking him in the eyes. "Your information is quite clear."
Standing upright, Gifford examined him for a few seconds, then turned on his heel and headed towards the door. He was visibly sweating and much paler than he should have been.
"It goes without saying that none of this is to be mentioned outside this room," Travers commented as he reached the door.
"I have no intention of telling anyone anything," Gifford replied, his hand on the doorknob. "There is no good that would come of it. And right now, I intend to go home and become rather more inebriated than is probably good for me. I may be late tomorrow." He opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind him.
The people left behind exchanged looks.
Eventually, Travers reached out and picked up the report Gifford had left on his desk, opening it and leafing through slowly. "Where is Watcher Zabuto at present?" he asked the room at large.
"His current assignment is in Mexico City," one of the others replied immediately. "He and Slayer Young were dealing with an infestation of lesser demons resulting from the accidental uncovering of a Mayan temple during building work two months ago. His last report said that they had managed to eliminate virtually all the demons after considerable effort and the aid of a local hunter group."
The head of the Watcher's council nodded. "Good. Get word to him, he's to proceed to Sunnydale immediately and carefully verify the information Watcher Giles has submitted. Tell him to keep his Slayer on a short leash, just in case." He looked up from the document at his subordinate. "Pass on only that there are an indeterminate number of unknown demons present and that they are possibly non hostile if unprovoked."
"You think Watcher Giles is mistaken?" He transferred his gaze to the man who'd spoken.
"Perhaps. Or possibly compromised due to his… non-orthodox arrangement with Slayer Summers and her friends. Giles has always been..." He looked for the right word. "Willful. It's not entirely impossible that the situation is not as dire as reported, but that he has either misinterpreted it or has deliberately tilted the truth in a direction that would make it seem unwise to interfere." He closed the report and put it neatly in the middle of his desk, then clasped his hands over it. "We have had minor issues with him in the recent past, after all. His loyalty to his Slayer, while admirable, is… possibly excessive. This may be coloring his outlook more than is ideal."
"I understand." The other man nodded. "And if Watcher Zabuto does verify this report? What then?"
Travers thought for a moment. "Despite Charles' impassioned lecture, I do rather doubt that the literal Queen of Hell is actually wandering around Sunnydale wearing armor out of a fantasy novel," he finally replied with a small smile. "I find it much more likely that some unusually powerful demon is utilizing the legend Charles spoke of as a method to scare off anyone who might interfere with their plan, whatever that is. Seizing control of the currently active Hell Mouth would cause every evil organization and individual in the world to immediately get involved somehow. But if they could frighten off any competition, well…" He spread his hands. "It's not impossible and would fit some of the more elaborate plans we've seen in the past. It certainly seems more likely than the issue Charles fears has come to pass, don't you agree?"
The other three appeared thoughtful and not entirely convinced, but eventually signaled acceptance.
"Clearly we can't allow such a thing to come about," the third man said.
"No. But if Watcher Giles is even vaguely accurate, it's not a problem one Slayer, or even a pair of them, can definitively handle." Travers thought again, tapping a finger on the report in an absent way, then nodded decisively. "All right. Get the Special Ops Team on the next flight to Sunnydale. Tell them to take anything they require for an insertion into a serious demon incursion, but to remain inconspicuous for now and await further orders. On no account are they to announce themselves to either Watcher Giles or Watcher Zabuto. They are our ace in the hole."
He looked out the window into the rainy night, his face hard. "If there is something to all this, I want it dealt with permanently. Regardless of local casualties, as it could be too important to be subtle. Obviously it would be preferable to minimize fallout but make sure that they know it's not essential." Turning back to the others, he added, "Slayers, after all, are replaceable."
"Understood, sir," the man replied. "But Humanity is not."
"No," he agreed. "Which is of course our entire reason for existing."
The other three men stood. A few seconds later he was alone in his office. Picking up his half-depleted drink he also stood and walked over to the nearest window, looking out into the night as he sipped and examining the distant dome of St Pauls, which stood out on the skyline. "Doom Queen," he finally said quietly, his face in a darkly amused smile. "We shall see. Demons, after all, cannot be trusted to speak the truth, by definition. It will be interesting to discover what it really is..."
Finishing the whiskey, he returned the glass to his drinks cabinet after rinsing it, then went home, satisfied with the outcome of the day.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Opening the paper and spreading it out on the table, Giles scanned it looking for the article he'd been advised by Angel to read. It was on the second page.
The total collapse of the Los Angeles headquarters building of the prestigious law firm Wolfram and Hart last night has been blamed on subsidence into a previously unknown sinkhole under the structure, possibly triggered by the swarm of minor earthquakes that have struck across much of California in recent days. These tremors, which according to seismologists are not considered serious or precursors to a more significant seismic event, have clustered around several locations in the state, which is now thought to indicate a fault line that has been inactive for centuries. Suspicions of a link to a major fracking operation just outside LA has caused the state government to issue a cease work order for one month to allow investigations to be carried out into whether the company has violated any regulations.
In a stroke of luck the Wolfram and Hart building was almost empty due to the late hour when the collapse happened, leading to only three known fatalities and a dozen minor injuries, four from passers-by who were hit by debris during the event. The building itself is a total loss, the hole it fell into being at least two hundred feet deep. Subsequent flooding from a ruptured high pressure water main completely filled the sinkhole making recovery of the bodies of the deceased highly dangerous. The collapse was accompanied by loud noises described somewhat poetically by one witness as being "The screams of the damned howling in despair," although other nearby residents noted that they heard what sounded like enormous explosions deep underground. Experts say this was most likely the noise of stressed rock fracturing which they explain can produce a wide variety of sounds ranging from squeals to bangs, these being audible over significant distances due to transmission through the bedrock.
Authorities have said that it will take at least four days to pump out the sinkhole before there can be any attempt at an investigation into this extraordinary event, and possibly as much as two weeks before the bodies of the three unfortunate souls who were known to be inside at the time can be located and recovered. They warn that due to the magnitude of the collapse it is possible that the bodies will never be found, although they promise to spare no effort.
Wolfram and Hart have moved operations to their Denver office while they assess the damage and contact all clients impacted by the loss of data, contracts, and other vital documentation. This operation is complicated by a recent intense fire in their San Francisco branch which was apparently struck by lightning two days ago during a freak thunderstorm. Staff have been sent home on full pay until further notice.
Having read the article, Giles slowly polished his third set of glasses in as many weeks while thinking hard and carefully. He'd heard things about Wolfram and Hart. Things that made him suspicious that not all was entirely right in that corner of the world.
Things that made him wonder exactly what, or who, was behind the company's recent misfortune.
Or, possibly, below it…
The slamming open of the library door made him start violently, nearly dropping his glasses. Turning he saw Buffy, Willow, and Xander standing there looking shocked.
"Must you barge in like that?" he said with asperity. "The school only just got those doors repaired after all."
"Sorry, G-man," Xander said, waving that off. "But we just saw a huge demon with rocket launchers on its shoulders chasing the mayor down the middle of Main street."
Giles stared at him.
"We thought you should know," the boy added helpfully.
Giles stared at him some more. Then he pulled the chair closer to him, sat in it, and put his head in his hands.
"Bloody hell, this town will be the death of me," he moaned into his palms, wishing his bottle of amber memory eraser wasn't empty. A refill was clearly in order.
He really needed some right about now.
Through the open window of his office, he heard a distant whoosh sound followed by a thump.
"You are not worth HER time, insignificant worm," a very faint but very deep voice said, even at that distance sounding horribly amused in a dark fashion. "We serve HER will."
He moaned again, then stood up and closed the window. No good could come of listening further, he was certain.
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M. H. Fuzzball
Aperture Science-certified Horrible Person
- Location
- Sector 2814
I fully approve of an omake of Taytay beating Glorificus over the head and shoulders with most of Sunnydale.
Of course not! One, she's on the other side of the Hellmouth. Two, it's sci-fi armor.
Is he breaking them, or just polishing the lenses into nothing?