Hell's Forecast
by Amberina

Lindsey awakes in his hotel room to the sound of thumping on the roof. Hard, irregular, continuous thumping, as if the raindrops were suddenly 200 pounds each and it was the weirdest fucking storm known to man. At his window, he pulls back the curtains to find his windows are coated in blood, thick and red and it is coming in his room.

Lindsey gets dressed faster than he ever has before, and runs down to the lobby, only to find people, piles and piles dead. Demons all over, and everyone mangled and spurting blood and what the fuck can he do but fight?


It's a weird kind of battle that has slayers-in-training and Wolfram and Hart rejects, healed electrofreak cat burglars and comic book-obsessed former super-villains, fighting together on the same side. The world has become overrun with demons. All sorts, the hells have opened up and created the ultimate hell on earth. Blood and bodies rain from the sky and fuck Gwen if it's a lot freakier than even the time the fire rained. Lilah was quick to assure everyone that Wolfram and Hart really had nothing to do with this. Even they didn't plan on something like this.

It wasn't prophesized, there were no visions to warn, the fucking Powers That Continuously Fuck You Over didn't even seem to have a clue this would happen. And no one knows how. Giles and Wesley were left baffled. There is no mention of this anywhere.

They walk knee-deep in blood, climb over piles of twisted and naked dead bodies - their friends, their family, complete strangers, it doesn't matter. No one is recognizable now. The superheroes and the champions lay broken and bloody, Buffy and Faith, Angel and Spike. The battle has claimed all but Kennedy, Lindsey, Gwen and Andrew now and they fight for their lives. They hold hatchets in their hands, swinging and chopping at whatever demon they can. A hatchet is required now just to walk down the street. And they have no dellusion that they can stop this, this ultimate end of the world - they know they can't. And they know they will die.

But they fight anyway. Because it's better than laying down and dying, offering yourself up to be mutilated. Hope is something that doesn't exist anymore. Just pain, and death, blood, and guts, horror and terror.

They don't even have time to mourn their lost friends. No time for tears, or God fucking forbid, a decent burrial. Not that they could identify which body was which now.

"I can't do this," Andrew cries, as his hatchet beheads a random demon. "I can't - Gwen, I can't."

"Shut up!" Gwen orders, sticking her own hatchet in a demon's back. "You have to. Stop being a weak little pansy and get the fuck over here."

Across town, Kennedy and Lindsey stand back to back, their hatchets swinging around, killing anything that gets within a three foot radius of them.

"Fuck," Kennedy swore, green demon blood getting splattered on her face, mixed in with the red blood that was already there. "This is never going to stop."

Days, it's been days. But they don't keep time anymore. They don't sleep or eat or do anything but fight. And they just keep coming.

Lindsey swings his hatchet and it doesn't connect with anything. He blinks rapidly, not sure if he's seeing right. The demons have disappeared, leaving the hellish wreckage, and the river of blood and all the bodies - god, the bodies. For the first time in forever, Lindsey takes the time to breathe though he wishes he didn't. The smell of millions of rotting bodies assualtes him, and his stomach turns and soon he's puking all over the place and Kennedy jumps back.

The demons are gone across town as well. Andrew is clinging to Gwen, breathing hard, tears falling down his cheeks freely. Gwen isn't sure what to do, so she just tries to comfort him, though really she could use a bit of comforting right now. The landscape around them is horrifying. So many people dead . . . so much blood . . .

Slowly a black-cloaked figure rises out of an especially large pile of corpses. A voice booms, and everyone jumps. Everyone listens in horror as the figure, the Wraith tells them the truth.

"Truth is, you're dead, and this is your hell's pit."

And just as this sinks in, it starts all over again. Lindsey awakes in his hotel room to the sound of thumping on the roof. Hard, irregular, continuous thumping, as if the raindrops were suddenly 200 pounds each and it was the weirdest fucking storm known to man.


The battle is over, and there are four casualties. "They're dead," Giles confirms sadly.

Willow and Lilah, Angel and Buffy stare at the motionless bodies. Willow is the one that breaks down. Buffy walks away, trying desperately to get the picture of the mangled bodies out of her head. Lilah and Angel seem to accept the deaths, grim looks on thier faces.

"It's wasn't even that big of a fight. Hardly an apocalypse," Dawn says, in something resembling shock.

There is complete silence for what seems like an hour, before Anya breaks the silence. "Will I need four black dresses, or can we just combine the funerals?"


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