Liliaeth (liliaeth) wrote,

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Fic: The Master's New Clothes (prologue, 1,2,3/?)

And here it is. A bit late, and still unfinished, but I really hope that fan_spagle will like this. My entry for the 'What if'-ficathon. Request is at the bottom

Title: The Master's New Clothes
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Summary: When the Master is poisoned there's only one way to save him, to place his essence into that of a vampire of his own line. Spike gets volunteered.

Saturday, March 15th, 1997

The boy sat, horrified, at the foot of the throne. He was chained to it like a dog, his own dog’s collar sinking in his neck, too small by far, but the tear streaks along his face were long since dried up. There was nothing to do about it, just like he hadn’t been able to save his dog.

He wondered if his mom was still looking for him, or if she’d just accepted his disappearance. They’d stopped looking for his brother after two weeks, and after that, it was like he’d never even existed; too painful to talk about him. Michael wondered if he’d be forgotten just as easily.

The screaming somewhere in the distance had finally ended. He wasn’t sure when it had started and he had even less of an idea of when it ended. Someone lit a torch in the back, and the light hurt his eyes. He was thirsty. He just needed something to drink, anything…

The monster came up to him; its dark red eyes shining as they stared at him…Fingers playing on his skin, leaving red marks over his back.

“Shhhh, soon everything will end, no more pain, isn’t that what you want?”

He no longer begged for mercy as the white haired monster bit into his neck, knowing that this was the closest to freedom he’d ever get.

“Do you have to kill him so fast?”

She was back again, the blond girl that he’d followed, leading him to his death. She’d told him her bike was broken and he’d gone along to help her. He should have known better, but she’d looked so pitiful then.

White hair on the monsters head made him look like death. Pale death…

Claws encased in leather.

“Do you dare question me?”

Michael died before he could hear the answer.


Monday, March 10th, 1997

The Master could feel death coursing through his veins. It had been so long since death had been an issue, so long since he’d left the mortal tedium of living and dying behind him.
"You're certain there's no cure." His voice sounded shaky and soft even to him. He forced his tone to grow harder, but his throat suffered from the effort.

"Yes, my Master."

Master, was this really him, this slowly weakening shell already caught in this cage of his own making? The Hellmouth had become his cage rather than his kingdom and now his throne would be his deathbed.

He pushed forth, up on his feet, pacing through the ashes of the vampire that had dared betray him; the vampire that had poisoned him; the vampire that had died screaming for mercy after Luke peeled off his skin bit by bit, inches of flesh scraped away, until nothing was left but the heart.

It had been his own arrogance that the fledgling had gotten that close. He'd never thought that a minion so powerless could ever be a threat to someone as powerful as him. And now he was paying the price. Rotting away because of a poison that would take a week before it killed him, with no known cure.

"There's nothing left for me to do?"

Nothing but to destroy the order, for there was no way that he'd hand over his power, his role, to anyone. Especially not now that he didn't know who had been his betrayer, who had been the one to send the fledgling after him. No idea which viper it was that had wormed its way into his nest.

"There's a ritual." Luke said. "It's old and ancient and very dangerous. But it may be the only chance we have to save your essence, if not your body."

Hope lit in his long dead heart and he stood up, back straight, once more the proud ruler of the order of Aurelius, even if only for one last hallelujah.

"Let's hear it."

He cursed his own weakness.


Tuesday, March 11th, 1997 04:04 am

Drusilla laid out her cards over and over, but the stars wouldn’t change. Her Spike was playing in the city and she couldn’t warn him. Oh God, what harm would befall her poor poet, her lovely boy raised from her blood? And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

She took her gloves and slowly pulled them over her fingertips. The soft lace embraced her skin and made it sing. She placed her hat on her head, over her curls. A lady should always be ready to receive her visitors, even if her visitors were rude and came over without invitation.

An axe split through the door and he came through first. Big and frightening he was, but not fun like her daddy. She whispered her William’s name, still wishing that she had listened to the stars when they had tried to whisper their secrets earlier in the morning. But the daffodils had been giggling and she’d been unable to refuse their call.

“The king will wither and die.” she said, hoping still for her boy to come in running and save them both from this unfortunate misunderstanding..

“No he won’t.”

Drusilla turned around, barely able to get up out of her chair. Ignoring the empty space in the mirror in front of her. Mirrors lied.

“He is mine,” her eyes wide and clear, holding more sanity than it had in the past century, “you shall not take my toys and break them into your furnace.”

Not that that meant much.

Luke stood there, unflinching, two dear boys at his side, big and faces like a mule. Drusilla wanted to hiss in their face, but they stood side by side and she couldn’t cross the lake. They wanted to grab her, use her as a hostage; she held her robes and stared at them.

“Such pretty dolls you have my uncle, why not take one of them. I only have one of mine.”

“Lunatic.” One of the minions sneered.

Drusilla didn’t hear it. Miss Edith was hidden in the cabinet; she would hear all their words for her princess. She backed off, desperate for a way out, a way to warn her dark knight, tell him to run for their daddy. But daddy would break him worse than the king would.

Pretty spatters, she thought, as the stake pierced her skin and she watched her blood spatter over her white dress for a mere second before she flew away in the wind.

“Run and catch, the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch.”

William watched her die and her name followed her in her death. Poor, poor William, he thought he was done, how could he know he’d barely even begun.


Tuesday, March 11th, 1997 04:11 am


Ashes blew in the air in front of him as his dark rose shattered to dust. Spike still stood there, the wood of the broken door against his hand, a shard nicking his fingers, leaving him to bleed. He barely even noticed it.

“Grab him.”

For a moment he was caught as two newborn fledglings grabbed his arms and tried to pull his hands behind his back. He didn’t care. He kicked one and literally tore the head of the other. Coming face to face with Luke while more and more minions entered the room from behind him.

Should he be insulted or flattered that they thought to need so many of them?

“Don’t damage him.” He heard someone yell. It didn’t matter. He tried to run, get back at Luke when the odds were more even, but he was surrounded. Finally he did the only thing he could do. He jumped at Luke, his steel tips weighing him down as he started hitting the older vampire with the shard of wood from the door still in his hand, again and again, no matter how much the others tried to stop him. He shook them off easily. Luke smiled, Spike didn’t even realize how he managed to kill the other vampire; he just knew that one second he was sitting on top of him and the next dust flew away beneath him. He lost his balance and the minions forced his face to the floor before he got it back again.

Her dust on his hands, his heart broken. Drusilla was dead and he went limp in their arms, fighting tears for his dark goddess, feeling rage, but most of all desperation. His sire was gone, what did he have left to live for?

“Just kill me already.” He begged, but they wouldn’t. So he had to watch while they scooped her dust up in a small black vial. A century of loving her and that bit of ashes was all that was left of it.

It was almost a blessing when they knocked him out.


Wednesday, March 13th, 1997

The chanting had rang through the walls even before he’d managed to enter the cave. It hadn’t taken him long to try and find the source of the echoes. The master stood there, in the middle of his pool of blood, a struggling body at his feet. His sire stood at her sire’s side, on bended knee before him, holding a golden chalice in front of him. Jealousy made him gnash his teeth just at the thought of her serving the old bat face, before he remembered that she was no longer his. Hadn’t been his since the day he’d been ensouled.

The words of the ceremony chimed around the cage, echoing back whenever it met a surface. Increasing the volume by natural design, but making it impossible to understand at the same time. There was a victim at the master’s feet, probably a sacrifice for the ceremony. Bended back, hand and feet tied to the floor. Angel knew there was no chance to save him, if he did something now he was as good as dust and the slayer was still in LA.

A second later he was glad he’d waited as the victim roared in game face. A vampire, he felt familiar, but so did most of the vampires surrounding the master. All family, all blood, every last one of them.

The victim was naked, white hair, the scent of his blood was almost overpowering and oh so familiar. He should know this vampire, he just couldn’t remember….not…The master was naked and he seemed almost skeletal no longer covered in his usual dark leather. The victim flinched back at the master’s touch, yet his treatment didn’t even seem all that harsh. The master kneeled beside him, soft hand on his face, his cheek. The victim was a young man, a young vampire. No mere human to be discarded after one use. A kiss was pressed on the victim’s head, kindness rather than a harsh beating. This wasn’t a punishment. There was nobody to call for help, but he needed to know what was going on.

The victim’s head was pulled up and Angel saw perfect blue eyes looking back at him.
God no.
The demon inside him screamed to go to his boys rescue but he stayed in place.

Then Spike’s screams filled the room while Darla dropped the chalice. Blood spattered over the floor of the cave while the master dusted and Spike kept screaming. Angel stood frozen, forced to keep watching until Spike finally fell down, his scream ending abruptly.

Someone threw a coat over his body, enveloping him in it. The young vampire looked up his way and Angel ran, anything to get away from the dead red eyes coming from his former childe.

The master was gone; long live the Master.


New life, new school, new home and a young girl that shuddered in her sleep. Dreams of blood and pain that followed her all the way from LA because no matter how much she wanted to leave it all behind her, there was nowhere she could run to get away from destiny.

Dawn was running around, little miss Muffet learning to count. None of the boxes had been unpacked yet, but that shrieking voice rang through the house demanding her diary. Buffy picked up some of the boxes and moved them up the stairs. She sat down, head leaning on her hands as cold shivers ran down her spine.

Something was wrong, horribly wrong. She turned around to the shadows and cold red eyes looked at her from the depths of the empty closet. What little light there was reflected on the white hair above the eyes.

“Too late.” A deep voice whispered. She ran down the stairs, desperate to get away from it.
“Too soon, never no more…help.”

She opened the door, desperate to get out.

And legions descended upon her.

She woke up screaming.


Thursday, March 14th, 1997

Vampires ran through the halls of the cave, preparing the masters wishes. Wishes to be left alone while he dressed. A victim brought to his feet, someone to eat. It had been easy to find that. And then a demand to be left alone and no Aurelian dared refuse that order.

The three took guard at the centre of the cave, keeping away all trespassers. Darla ignored them. She saw the chaos around them, he would need to take charge.

“Nice job Darla, offering your own get as the master’s new body.”
Darla ignored her cousin’s words. Stephen was a fool, he’d never gotten the point before, so why would he do so now. He was probably still pissed off about his sire’s death. But then again, Luke had never been the smartest tool in the box. It was something he shared with his offspring.

“I wouldn’t want to be one of yours, if you throw them away this easily.”

“William was a fool, at least now he served a purpose.”
She said almost mechanically.
“I’m honoured that the master chose one of my blood for this.”

“Of course you are.”
She ignored him, but he wouldn’t let her, keeping on blathering.
“Do you think that any part of him is still left in there Darla? Aware, but incapable of moving his own body. Do you think he’s still screaming, trapped like that under the master’s might?”

“He’s the Master now Stephen. Nothing can change that. Nothing.”
Stephen eyed her up and backed down, trembling under her glare.

She was Darla, beloved of the master and they’d better remember that. Darla waited until al the minions left her and the Master alone. The body of her once and former grandchild was seated on her sires throne. She touched a bottle in her pocket, knowing that she might need it a few seconds from now.

If her plan had failed she’d be dead and she wasn’t planning on that happening any time soon.

“Why did you do it Darla?”

And the voice was familiar, oh so familiar. A pale white body now clad in the masters leathers.

“Because he would have destroyed us all. Spike.”

Spike got up out of his throne and strode up to her, furious.

“You killed Dru.” He grabbed her by her throat, his strength now that of the Master.


“You had them kill her.” Growls.
Darla stared back at him and said ‘no’.

“I didn’t know Spike. I didn’t know they’d stake her.”

His face growing more ancient with the second.
“She was mine too. I didn’t know.”

“Then what do you want, Darla?” It was getting harder to talk, his hand still on her throat.

He dropped her and she fell on her knees.
“On the throne, ruling in his place.” With her by his side, but it was better not to mention that part of it. He might not like it too much.

Spike held his hand to her.
“I could tell them, let them know that the master failed, that you’re still in charge.” She didn’t bother saying that he could dust her before that. He knew he could. But someone needed to confirm him as the real thing and she was the only way he had to do so.

“Who says he failed.”

Darla froze, looking in his eyes.
“I do.”
He didn’t ignore her kiss. She smiled, she hadn’t even needed to threaten him with Dru’s dust, the one thing that would permanently erase him from his body and give the master full control, the one thing she’d neglected to mention when the Master had asked her if everything was ready.

Spike would be putty in her hands and as soon as he knew that, she’d be able to use him however she saw fit.




Name or LJ name: Fan_spagle
What If requested: What if Spike was the master in season one (without the batface*G*)
Spike Pairing requested: Spike/Angel
Up to three things you would like included in your story: Buffy having nightmares about Spike. Spike being Darla's sire and Angel's grandesire. Red eyes (When vamped) and strong powers.
Up to three things you would not like in the story: no bashing anyone. No stupid Luke, Darla is his right hand. No Dru, you can explain why anyway you want.
Rating preference: Any you want.
What you are willing to write: Anything
Two Spike Pairings you will not write: Riley or Gunn.
Three things you cannot write (other characters, genres, smut, het, slash): song fics. evil, dark fics. Non-consensual fics.
Anything else: nope
Tags: ficathon

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