Positioned near the bottom of the staircase, Hel pressed her shoulder against the wall and listened in. Everyone, with the exception of Buffy and herself, was gathered in the dining room, speaking in hushed tones.
A refined English accent recognisable as the voice of Giles drifted faintly through the opening. "We could make plans as we always do, but the truth is, Buffy was our plan. There is no back up."
"Giles, she looks bad." Willow replied worriedly.
"They both do. I'm afraid there may be internal bleeding."
Her tone rose with sudden panic. "What does that mean? Will they—"
"Die?" He finished her sentence for her bluntly. "I don't think so. I don't know."
"What do we do if neither of them can fight? If they can't beat this thing?"
The hardwood creaked beneath her as her weight on the steps shifted, and silence fell in the other room.
Not wishing for her presence to be known, Hel turned and headed back upstairs. She made her way back down the hall, into the bathroom. What she saw in the mirror twisted her gut.
Several shallow cuts adorned her face. One ran the length of her bruised right cheekbone, another was carved across the bridge of her nose, and a third was drawn along the arch of her left eyebrow. Dry blood crusted the split skin of her lower lip.
It occurred to her that Spike was mostly likely being tortured by the First, and that his injuries were probably far more severe than her own.
She turned her head, revealing four a column of small, round bruises where the Turok-Han had gripped her neck. Hel lifted her stinging hands, examining the bloodied knuckles. Glancing down, she raised the hem of her black tank top and winced from the pain. A large, fist-sized bruise was imprinted on her abdomen.
She lowered her shirt. Tilting her head to one side, and then the other, she felt the satisfying succession of clicks in her vertebrae.
Turning on the tap, Hel bent her head over the sink and gently rinsed her face with warm water. Her cuts stung, but she was accustomed to ignoring pain. Straightening, she dabbed her face dry gingerly with a towel.
"You look horrendous."
Hel raised her head, staring coldly at the mirror-image of her mother, Angrboda. "Don't you have anything better to do than being a pain in the ass?"
The First clucked her tongue disapprovingly, and pressed her plump lips together. "Oh, dear. Such crude language." She approached Hel, standing directly behind her. "Why do you resist so? You know you're going to lose. Why fight it?" She crooned, her sea-green eyes scrutinising as she arched one dark, narrow eyebrow.
She averted her eyes from the mirror, avoiding her own reflection, and gripped the rim of the sink.
"If I am to die, then I will die with honour. I will fight to my last breath."
"You should rest, eat something." The false Angrboda advised, feigning concern. "You're going to need your strength."
"Don't ever try to get inside my head." Hel ground her warning out through gritted teeth. She lifted her head, only to discover she was alone again.
Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly. She was dead tired. Her weary eyes begged for rest, and her strength had been drained dry. Her mind was lethargic, struggling to focus.
Gathering her composure, Hel left the bathroom and headed for the stairs, descending the steps to the ground level of the house. Upon joining everyone else in the dining room, she carefully sat herself down on one of the chairs. She draped both arms lightly across her tender stomach.
Dawn, Anya, and the Slayers in training were also seated around the dining table. Xander and Willow leaned against the far wall. Buffy was not present, her absence understandable given the circumstances.
Giles was pacing back and forth anxiously. "We're back at square one."
"Which square would that be, exactly?" Came Xander's frustrated reply.
"I'm not sure. The First predates anything we've ever known, or can know. It's everywhere. It's pure. I don't know if we can fight it."
Buffy strode into the room, catching everyone off guard. She had been severely beaten by their opponent, her face bruised and bloody. "You're right." She began solemnly. "We don't know how to fight it. We don't know when it will come. We can run, can't hide, can't pretend it's not the end, 'cause it is. Something's always been there to try and destroy the world. We've beaten them back, but we're not dealing with them anymore. We're dealing with the reason they exist. Evil. The strongest. The First."
"Buffy, I—I know you're tired—" Giles attempted feebly, but was cut off.
"I'm beyond tired. I'm beyond scared. I'm standing on the mouth of Hell and it's gonna swallow me whole. And it'll choke on me." She declared resolutely. "We're not ready? They're not ready. They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. They want an apocalypse? Oh, we'll give 'em one. Anyone else who wants to run, do it now. 'Cause we just became an army. We just declared war. From now on, we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one, until the First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself. There is only one thing on this earth more powerful than evil, and that's us. Any questions?"