by Lisette: Lisette_an@hotmail.com

Legalese: The television series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters and material belong to Joss Whedon and UPN.  All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling.  I claim ownership solely of the story idea - no profit will be made by this.

Author's Note: If you're looking for music to read this chapter to, check out either Evanescence's "Bring Me To Life" or Tatu's "All The Things She Said."  While the words of Evanescence's song really go with the theme of this story, it's the beat of both that really make for a wonderful fight scene. ;p And at least I left the cliffhangers until the very end, right?  And you thought I was evil for the LAST cliffhanger!  Also, I'm so happy that the action scenes have been going alright for you all - I swear that action is the hardest thing to write!  Give me a good old fashioned inner monologue any day! ;p  Also, thank you all for your support and your concern - it's appreciated more than I can say.  Thanks to Kiwi, X-Lander, Angel, poppie, Claddagh, c.s., Rosie, jezowen, Harry, alyssa, Catlimere, SparkySparkles, Empress, AP, VB, Gaeriel Mallory.

Rob: My sincerest and most heart-felt apologies for the koala mix-up!  As you can tell, I am very much NOT Australian and therefore fall prey to misleading stereotypes.  My bad! ;p

Jo: *blushes something fierce* I'm delighted to hear that you're enjoying this tale so much!  I have to admit that it pains me to having it come to an end so well - the journey getting here was so much fun!  I almost find myself trying to slow this frantic posting that I've been doing so far... until I remember the death threats that such a move would most likely garner! ;p Just enjoy the story for what it is and hopefully inspiration will strike me soon with another story to play with.  Actually, it's more of just waiting for my mind to decide which story needs to be told first for two are currently toying with me.

KaylsDaeAlMon: I was always kind of thrown by that as well for it's been alluded to by so many that Buffy's real name is Elizabeth and that Buffy is a nickname.  Also, since for all appearances it seems that Dawn was the one who came up with the writing on her tombstone (her only real family remaining seeing as how her dad is MIA), I think it's conceivable that Dawn wanted Buffy on the tomb, and not Elizabeth because Buffy never WAS Elizabeth. *grins* At least my own take on it.

"There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.  From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one.  Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine.  And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale – one superlative song, existence the price.  But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.  For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain."
-Anonymous-

    It must have only been seconds, but to Buffy it felt like hours had passed from the moment that she had effectively lost control of the fight.  She wasn't even entirely sure how it had happened.  One moment she was giving the most enjoyable thrashing of her life, making Voldemort bleed for every sin he had ever dared commit against her friends and family - and some for those she had never met.  And then.. well, then it had all quickly gone to Hell and now Buffy found herself on the really wrong end of the ass kicking.  Namely hers, getting too black and blue for her liking - along with every other body part that she could name, and some that she couldn't.

    Grimacing, Buffy limped out of the way of yet another statue as it careened towards her on an intercept course.  Luckily, the statues must have been harder to control for she was able to dodge those a little easier.  But it was the hordes of other damn things he kept creating out of thin air that were getting a little tiresome.  Like that table, for example.  With barely enough time to brace for impact, Buffy felt the heavy oak table collide with her hip, crying out as she was flung, yet again, across the room, landing in a painful pile by the closed door to the chamber.  Biting her lip to keep the whimpers at bay, Buffy struggled to her feet, all the while praying that Harry would get his groove on just a bit faster.  She imagined that in the real deal, getting his focus was probably a bit harder than in Dumbledore's office, and her numerous grunts, yells, and screams of pain probably weren't helping his case any.  Then again, she hurt - maybe even worse than she had ever hurt before.  Well, at least she was doing her job as Voldemort was obviously having far too much fun beating her senseless to really pay attention to Harry.  After all, he had disarmed the teen and in his mind, that probably meant that he was no longer a threat.  She just had to hope that Harry would soon be proving him wrong.  Really soon.

    Grunting, Buffy didn't even have time to move as a heavy set of silver chains seemed to materialize out of the very air before her and then proceeded to wrap around her neck in an unforgiving noose.  Gagging, Buffy wrestled with the chains even as they tightened and lifted in the air, carrying her with them until she was suspended a good ten feet off the ground, her feet dangling below her as her hands desperately pulled on the unyielding metal.  Her weight was dragging her down and choking her, and even now she watched as her vision began to grow hazy.  She needed air.  She needed air.  She needed - to quit panicking.  Forcing herself to calm, Buffy lifted her hands away from the chains around her neck and instead reached higher, wrapping her fingers around the lengths above her head.  And then, ignoring the pain in her already aching muscles, Buffy pulled with all of the strength that she could muster and arched her body until her legs were wrapped around the chain above her, pulling her up and easing the pain from her neck as she hung upside down.

    Gasping, Buffy drank in eager lungfuls of air, her mind already turning towards what in the hell she was supposed to do now, which was when Voldemort answered the question for her.  Crying out, Buffy felt the chains suddenly go slack as the floor began to plummet towards her.. or rather, she began to plummet towards it, her head about to be smashed into the unforgiving stone below.  Seconds before impact Buffy curled herself into a ball and twisted her body, her right shoulder slamming into the ground and taking the brunt of the beating even as the rest of her rolled to the side and emerged relatively unscathed.  Relatively, for even as she finished the roll and forced herself to her knees, Buffy knew that the arm was useless and the shoulder very much in a dislocated state, if not shattered completely - a fact that didn't seem quite as important to Voldemort as the Dark Lord's chains split into two, one wrapping around each wrist and jerking them forward so that she fell flat on her stomach.

    Grunting as the wind was knocked from her, Buffy felt her world begin to spin as the chains began to drag her down the center aisle and back towards the pool of water that sat before the large figurehead before her.  Grimacing, she could only wince as sharp bits of stone scraped against her bare arms and snagged at her clothing, drawing blood and staining her body.  Then, as the stone gave way to the shallow pool of water, she felt her body become weighed down as the blood was washed away, the chains finally growing still.  Shaking, she slowly pulled her legs beneath her, even as she tugged ineffectively at the unyielding chains that pinned her wrists beneath the water.  But Voldemort wasn't done playing with his new toy yet, and she didn't even have the time to find him in the chamber and point out the entire lack of fun breaking his toy would be when two more chains wrapped around her ankles and pulled them out from under her.

    With enough sense to grab a quick lungful of air before her body was submerged in the shallow pool, Buffy felt her body pull taut in a spread eagle before she was able to arch her neck back far enough to free her head from the water.  Gasping raggedly, Buffy fought back the moan that wanted to break free as her aching body protested against the brutal beating that it had endured.  But Buffy was stronger than that.  Maybe she wouldn't have been so brave a year ago, but after six months of endless torture and cruelty at the hands of the Centre, she was certainly strong enough now.  And even more importantly, she was used to pain.  She could handle pain and it no longer frightened her as it once had.  Instead, she thought past the pain and pushed it to the side, locking it deep within herself and allowing her to regain the fire that burned in her eyes as she glared at the monster that she sensed was drawing near.  Who'd of thought that Lyle's favorite game of Beat the Buffy could work so well for her?  "Didn't your mother ever tell you to play nice?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.

    "My mother is dead-"

    "Well so is mine, you want a cookie?" she asked before common sense could stop her - if she even would have listened to common sense by this point.  From the way she was feeling now, probably not.  She was just hurting way too badly to try and attempt to curb her sharp tongue.  Manners and common sense be damned.

    "Yes, your mother is dead," Voldemort murmured as he knelt beside her, his blood dripping from his own wounds and distilling in the water, polluting it.  "I've actually learned much about you, Buffy," he stated. 

    And for reasons unknown to her, the sound of her name rolling off his tongue caused a grimace that had nothing to do with the pain that radiated through her body.  From his lips, her name, the same one that she had thrown about almost casually for the past eighteen years, for the first time sounded vile.  Tainted, like the water that soaked her clothing and held her captive.

    "I have even read of your exploits from your Watcher's diaries," he whispered as his hand settled lightly on the bared skin of her upper back, just above the dip of her black tank.

    Shuddering at the feeling of his cold hand on her skin, Buffy tried to shift away - all to no avail as her chained bindings didn't allow such a luxury of movement.

    "I even read about your first death," the Dark Lord continued, his red eyes meeting Buffy's and refusing to allow her to turn away.  "Drowning, wasn't it?" he asked as he slid his hand up the wet skin of her neck until it was tangled in her loosened French twist, long fingers interlacing with her wet locks in a grip that was painful.  And then, smiling grimly, he used his hold to push Buffy's head down until her head was submerged in the foul water and then held her there.

    Frantic, Buffy pulled at her bindings, not caring about the blood that began to turn the water pink from her wounds as she struggled to pull away.  But the magical chains were far stronger than even her slayer strength and soon she found even that strength fleeing her as the fight to hold her breath began to lessen.  She needed oxygen - air.  Just one breath was all she needed, just one breath to feed her starved lungs and to clear her muddled head.  So just breathe.  Just open your mouth and breathe - but no, she knew she couldn't do that.  Some part of her knew that to do so was death... but what was this darkness that was already descending upon her?  In the end, it seemed that either path would lead to darkness.  A darkness that she couldn't fight nor would she be able to climb from.  Just.... darkness.

    The silence was thick and heavy in the room and Harry welcomed it, allowing the silence to free his mind of thought so that he could focus inward.  The screaming, the pain - it had all stopped and he refused to think on what that could possibly mean.  He couldn't.  He had to concentrate because if he didn't find his focus, he never would and then there would be no escaping the fate that Voldemort began for them all sixteen years ago.  He had to do this and save them all.

    Exhaling slowly as Dumbledore had taught him, Harry reached deep within himself and found the core of his power.  Gently, he began to stir the embers until it was roaring in a bright flame that, could he see it, he knew would have blinded him.  Slowly, he opened his eyes, never allowing his concentration to falter as green eyes drifted around the chamber, locking on the dark figure of Voldemort standing in the middle of the pool of water before the mouth of the statue.  He knew that once before that mouth had opened and released a basilisk that had nearly claimed him, but he quickly pushed that thought away.  There wasn't time for old fears - only for the present.

    Standing tall, Harry slowly moved away from the shadows and into the center of the large chamber, his footsteps muffled and his movements lost on the Dark Lord.  As he drew closer, he vaguely realized that Voldemort was talking out loud - his words a mere whisper - and it was only as Harry stepped closer that he was able to see at last what had been hidden.  Who had been hidden.  Buffy.  Voldemort was taunting a Buffy that was so battered it was almost painful to look upon.  Even beneath a sheen of blood and water, it was easy for his eyes to see the bruised flesh, the swollen joints, the bloody gashes... the pain.  And then, as Voldemort trailed his hand upon skin that he had no right to touch and tangled long fingers in hair that was dark and heavy with water, Harry finally found the focus that his magic had been lacking.

    As Voldemort forced Buffy's head beneath the murky water and held it there, Harry built the fire that was within him until its heat was almost too much to contain.  And then, as Buffy's struggles begin to lessen he finally unleashed a small portion of that energy in a wave that lifted the Dark Lord and slammed him against the large statue before him, catching him completely unawares and freeing Buffy from her bindings as the chains dissolved back into nothing.

    Gasping, the small slayer quickly jerked her head from the water and then fell back on her knees as her wide green eyes lifted, turning to find Harry standing tall behind her, his eyes asking her a silent question.  Coughing, she ran a shaky hand across her lips before pulling her useless arm against her side, nodding once to show that she would live before Harry allowed his eyes to return to Voldemort.  "I'm no longer the boy that you threatened and bled," he whispered, his magic causing the air to crackle around him as his hardened green eyes met Voldemort's red.

    "And so you're not," Voldemort concurred as he slowly regained his footing once more, red eyes boring into the boy's.  "And it seems that the old fool taught you well," he added, a small sneer lifting his lips.  "But not well enough," he added as he lifted his wand.  "Avada Ked-" he began, the rest of his curse broken as Harry unleashed another wave of energy that lifted and brutally slammed the Dark Lord against the rock once more.  This time, however, Voldemort was ready and while Harry took a second to recuperate from the magical depletion Voldemort was already muttering a simple curse that hit the boy and sent him tumbling back and to the stone floor, effectively breaking the boy's concentration.

    Then, even as the boy lay gasping on the ground, Voldemort was already casting a second spell as he turned towards the slayer who was rushing him as fast as her battered body would allow - but not fast enough.  As she launcched a stunning kick towards him his spell was already in the works as a single chain was conjured to replace the ones that the boy had wiped out, the heavy metal links pinning her arms to her side and wrapping tight.  Grunting, the girl stumbled back and stared down at the chains in confusion, humorously trying to wrestle herself free.  Smiling grimly, Voldemort narrowed his eyes and, following his bidding, the chains instantly began to tighten, answering the girl's unasked question.

    As pain flared within her body, Buffy was unable to fight the scream that tore from her lips as her legs buckled beneath her weight.  The chains were tightening, bit by bit, and were crushing her arms against her side - encircling her waist and crushing her.  It was agony and Buffy found herself on the verge of blacking out as she fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she heard bones crack and shift, desperately trying to adjust to the pressure.  Yet even as the pain began to build and blind her, Buffy still lifted her eyes and watched as Harry frantically tried to come towards her, his steps halted as he was thrown back by an invisible force, colliding with a stone statue and landing in an groaning heap on the ground a few feet away.

    "But not good enough," Voldemort repeated as he slowly lifted his wand, his red eyes practically dancing as they glanced from the slayer and to the boy that was only barely attempting to reclaim his feet.

    At that moment, time seemed to slow to a crawl as Voldemort began the killing curse once more.  It was history repeating itself as Buffy once again found herself helpless, unable to do anything to help her loved one from the death blow that she knew was coming.  She was helpless and Harry was going to die.  He was right there in front of her and needing her, and she couldn't do anything.  She was powerless and that thought was killing her inside.  She couldn't watch this again - not again.  But she couldn't not watch this.  She couldn't just look away and not see the end.  Not see his fate fulfilled.  Even as her mother's face seemed to superimpose over Harry's, and Lyle's over Voldemort, Buffy knew that if this was Harry's destiny - if everything had led up to this - then she didn't want to go on any longer anyway.  She couldn't keep living in a world that insisted on taking those that she loved from her - brutally taking them right before her very eyes.  She couldn't.  More importantly, she wouldn't.

    With that, Buffy felt her resolve strengthen as a wave of images nearly overwhelmed her.  How many times had she sat in Dumbledore's office and wasted the afternoon and evenings away in her little corner, always watching as the aged headmaster imparted his wisdom upon Harry, instructing him in the art of wandless magic?  Look deep in yourself.  Feel the magic.  Feel the magic within you.  And she could.  Buffy could feel the magic that was at her most primal core - the magic that made Buffy Summers the sslayer.  It was a magic that was never meant to be touched - a magic meant only to sustain her and carry her through battle - make her quicker, deadlier, and heal faster from her injuries.  It was what made her the slayer but in this moment, that magic was failing her.  So instead, Buffy took that magic and changed it to her needs.  She changed it to what she needed to survive.

    Focusing on that burning energy within her, Buffy turned towards Voldemort and felt it all building, building... and then it was gone.  A part of her wrenched itself free and it was agony.  It was absolute agony as the magic was twisted and used by her in a way it was never meant for and sent forth in a wave of light that attached itself to Voldemort and propelled him back, pinning his body against the stone mouth that rest behind him.  Gritting her teeth, Buffy locked her deadened green eyes on Voldemort's eyes, red eyes that were widened with shock and sudden understanding.  And even as she felt a stream of deep red blood began to trickle down her nose, Buffy refused to look away.  She had to do this.  For Harry.  Even though it was burning her up inside.  She had to do this for Harry.

    Without fully understanding what was going on, Harry nevertheless took advantage of it as he quickly struggled to his feet.  Immediately he began drawing upon what remained of his magic, pulling it and fanning it to a flame.  He could feel Voldemort's power as the Dark Lord struggled against whatever held him.  He could feel the power and as Harry's own power built within him... he understood that it wouldn't be enough.  In that moment, Harry realized again what he had realized earlier that night: while he had gained a significant portion of Voldemort's magic the night that his parents sacrificed themselves for him, it was only a portion and could never be greater than the might that was the greatest Dark Lord the world had ever seen.  And even now, with all of the training that he had undertaken, Harry intuitively knew that even were he to give all of himself, it would never be enough.

    Which was when he felt her.

    Turning, Harry found his eyes drifting until they locked on Buffy.  The small slayer was on her knees a few feet away, bruised and bloody with heavy chains encircling her waist and slowly crushing the life from her - and yet she continued to fight.  Her eyes were locked on Voldemort and slowly, as he let his senses reign free and as he extended himself to that unknown part to her, he could feel what she was doing.  He could feel her seizing her magic and using it much as he had before when he had apparated them together within the walls of Hogwarts.  She was using her slayer core to hold Voldemort, giving him the time needed to somehow save them all.  She was doing it and it was burning her inside - and it was all for naught.  But Buffy understood that too.

    Slowly, her green eyes turned until they locked and in that instant, Harry felt the slayer open herself to him even as a part of her maintained her tenuous hold on the Dark Lord.  Without having to speak, he understood this unspoken invitation and even though he thought he understood the consequences, he finally understood what this was all about.  What it had always been about.  Despite the hopes of the wizarding world in large, he, Harry Potter, wasn't strong enough to destroy the darkness.  Dumbledore wasn't strong enough, and while Harry was stronger thanks to the infusion of the Dark Lord's power with his own... it still wasn't enough.  But then a slayer had been sent to them - a slayer who had been shattered and reduced to a shell of herself.  A slayer who had been torn from her friends and family and forced to endure hell - a slayer whose experiences forced her away from the place that she had vowed never to leave.  Fate had pushed her away from the Hellmouth and to the one place where she was unknowingly needed more than ever.  They brought her to him.  Small circumstances, small twists of fate had shaped their pasts and combined their futures and all for this one moment.  For in the end, Harry finally understood.  The defeat of Voldemort wasn't merely contingent on Harry Potter, but on the Boy Who Lived and the Slayer who would stand beside him.  It was their Destiny.

    With that thought fueling him, Harry resigned himself to his and Buffy's fate and accepted her invitation.  Slowly, he moved within her, hearing her agonized screams rip from her throat even as he dug and scraped at her core, taking everything that he could, all that she had, and mixing it with all that he had within him.  Tediously he worked and worked, forcing his mind to merge these two magicks that were so different - merging them into something that was unnatural - powerful and unnatural.  Deadly.  Together, he took everything that remained of either of them and then faced the Dark Lord once more.  It was time to end this.  For the world depended on this.  Their fate was this.  It was their destiny.

    In one blinding, pulsing wave of magic that burned both he and Buffy to their cores, agonizing screams ripping from them both, a deadly arc of white light burst forward and raced towards Voldemort.  And as that light connected with the Dark Lord, everything coalesced into that one moment before everything seemed to explode in an outlash of magic that rocked the very foundation of Hogwarts itself.  And then... and then came the silence of oblivion.

    The cavernous tunnel was dark and long, plagued with rocky steps that were synonymous with the promise of twisted ankles and begged of caution.  But neither man could afford caution in this juncture as they both raced forward, their steps unnaturally light and practically dancing as they flew over the craggy walk, drawn by some inescapable need to reach their destination.  Mere minutes had passed, but it already felt like hours since the wave of power seemed to have rocked the school, rocks and boulders tearing lose from their homes and pounding around them, beating against their skin as they faltered for only moments - moments in which their eyes locked, green with blue, and similar fears were passed between the two.  A horrid knowledge of what awaited them.  A knowledge of what couldn't possibly await them.

    As the two danced over the fallen rocks the last bend opened before them to reveal a large, circular stone door that was engraved with the still images of serpents: the door to the Chamber of Secrets.  "How do we get in?" Giles demanded, his breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he practically fell against the damp stone, his green eyes boring into the man beside him.

    "Harry... Harry is a parselmouth.  He spoke to the door and it opened for him," Sirius muttered, his steps faltering before this obstacle.  For some reason he hadn't thought further than the need to get to his godson, and in his rush, he had completely forgotten about this final obstacle that barred their way.  As it was, neither of them would have even made it this far had it not been for Moaning Myrtle and her ghostly assistance in opening the first portal.  Her desire to help the boy that she had fancied for years worked for them then, but nothing they said could convince the spirit to journey with them further.  After all, she knew what lay below the school and what rest in these damp caverns.  She could sense the evil that resided there.

    "Well, since neither of us are parselmouths, that does pose a problem, doesn't it?" the watcher quickly retorted, his anger not really directed at the ex-prisoner but finding release in him nonetheless.  Sighing, he quickly shook his head as visions of his slayer danced in his mind's eye.  The cavern around them was quiet - far too quiet and Giles imagined that he should have been able to hear the sounds of battle coming from beyond this gate.  He should have been able to hear something.  The fact that he didn't... it only caused the fear in him to grow as he thought once more that... "We're too late."

    "We can't be!" Sirius growled, surprising them both as Giles hadn't fully realized that he had spoken aloud.

    Sighing, Giles allowed the other man's anger to fuel him as he quickly lifted his wand and motioned for Sirius to do the same.  "The reductor curse, together on the count of three," he stated, hoping that their combined strength would somehow be enough to blast this particular solid object free of their path.  "One.  Two.  Three," he murmured as in tandem they lifted their wands and performed the complex twirls and twists.  "Reducto!" they ordered, their desperation carrying through and driving their magic to explode out in a blast that rocked the tunnel around them and blew the door from its hinges.

    Yet even as the rocks tumbled free and the dust cascaded down, Sirius and Giles were already hurrying forward, both lifting their wands and casting the lumos charm as their eyes looked blankly into the darkness that opened before them.  Sirius wanted to call out for his godson, but the eerie hush that filled the large chamber stilled his words.  Instead, he stepped further into the room, his eyes darting back and forth to the stone snake statues that lined their path, a path that continued forward until it finally ended in a shallow pool of water that sat before a massive carving of a man's face.  Salazar Slytherin.  Grimacing, Sirius allowed his eyes to trace over the statue's hardened features until he glimpsed the smoking robes that lay submerged in the shallow water.  Breath catching in his throat, he quickly hurried forward, his robes swirling and slowing him in the shallow water as he tentatively reached down and gripped at the heavy material, feeling Giles gathered beside him as together they turned the figure - and recoiled at the charred flesh that stared back at them.

    "Voldemort," he murmured, knowing instantly that this time, there would be no resurrection for the Dark Lord.  He was dead.  Grimacing, he slowly stepped back and turned, lifting his wand higher as he stumbled to dry land, his gaze earnestly searching out his godson - and freezing as his eyes locked on the two forms that lay forgotten on the ground a few feet away.  "Harry," he whispered, his breath leaving his locked throat in a whoosh of air as he staggered across the smooth stone floor and fell to his godson's side, his eyes locking on the pair of glasses that lay smashed a few feet away.  "Harry?" he whispered again, feeling the tears burn his eyes as he gently gripped his godson's shoulder and pulled, turning the boy over and freezing as his eyes trailed over the boy's bruised, still face.

    Alerted by Sirius' frantic call, it took only seconds longer for Giles to reach his slayer's unmoving form as he fell into a similar crouch by her side.  "Oh God, Buffy," he whispered, his voice wavering as he gently lifted her small shoulders and cradled her in his arms, the tears trailing down his face.  Gasping pained breaths, he lifted a shaking hand and gently touched the blood that was already drying on her face before allowing it to slip down, lightly fingering the bruised and bloody marks that encircled her pale throat, wrists, and then down to the scrapes on her arms - which was when the pained gasp rasped from her bloody lips.  Startled, Giles froze in his questioning ministrations as his green eyes locked on Buffy's still face.

    When he had entered the chamber and everything had been so silent... with the huge magical blast that had rocked the school... and seeing her so still and silent, Giles had just assumed that she was...  "Buffy?" he asked, barely able to believe that it was true and then dimly realizing that if he didn't get help for her soon, it wouldn't be true for much longer.

    Likewise, Sirius was so wrapped in his own grief that he didn't realize that he was mourning his loss so prematurely until Harry's pained groan broke him from his near-hysteria.  "Harry?" he asked, relief and panic flooding his voice at once as he practically attacked his godson as rough hands gripped Harry's shoulders and pulled at the teen's limp body, causing him to moan his pain once more.  "Hang on, Harry," Sirius quickly ordered, his words falling into a desperate whisper as he quickly reached down and lifted his godson into his arms with a strength born of desperation.  Staggering to his feet, he turned to see Giles standing before him, his slayer bruised and bloody in his own arms.

    As one their eyes met and both passed along a similar, heartfelt and desperate message in one glance: they were alive - for now.  Turning, they both held their wards tighter against their chests before they practically fled down the corridor, frantically retracing their earlier steps.  Both had only one thing on their mind, and in one hollered plea they let that need known.  "POPPY!!!"

To be continued...