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No Rest For The Wicked...	By : MissWritesAlot Category: BtVS AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 8235 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nor do I make any money from writing this series! All credit goes to Joss Whedon.

Chapter List
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A/N: UPDATE: 4/10/2014: I am picking this series back up! I will be editing the already published chapters, cleaning them up and making them more presentable, and Willow's story will continue as planned! Don't fret - we'll get to the good bits soon enough!
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He was free.
            The screaming was music to his ears as he glided down Main Street, the dead blood singing in his veins as all of the pleasurable sights, sounds, and scents convened to play havoc with his newly awakened senses. Sunnydale, California had been a strange and ugly place before he rose and made it beautiful again. All of California and the west coast of America would be next, and then the whole of the world would follow as his children swarmed its surface and sated their hunger – all of their hungers…
            He had been ensconced in his underground prison for far too long as he waited for the Anointed One to be born - but he had been patient, and his patience had borne fruit, just as he knew it would. He had become too powerful so long ago, the most lethal and vicious vampire on earth – he had become their maker, their leader, their Master. The powers of Light had conspired to drag him under, to send him back to the darkness from whence he came. Even their forces could no longer hold him at bay after the Anointed finally surfaced as prophesized, baptized in fire and blood, to free him from his grim prison. The Anointed One had been lost in the initial battle upin the Master's rising, a heavy loss indeed. No matter, in the end, as Lothaire the Master of all Vampires had been freed...that was the boy's main purpose, after all.
            Now, he walked freely amongst the humans, observing his children and their enjoyment, but not partaking in any of it himself. No, he was not hungry. The blood of the blonde Slayer with the ridiculous name still coated his insides, fuelling his power to new heights. He was renewed, re-born, for he had taken it all. There had never been a sweeter taste to tingle upon his tongue than the blood of a dying, frightened Slayer. True to form, she had fought him bravely, but had ultimately lost, as no Slayer had ever killed a Master Vampire, let alone the Master of them All!
            His ideations for his New World had admittedly changed over the millennia that he was trapped beneath the earth’s crust. Total domination was what he sought at his beginning; blood running like rivers and fornication in the streets. Blood and sex were like gourmet chocolate and fine wine, they belonged together – at least in his mind. But, over the centuries, he soon found that something more subtle would further suit his purposes. What was more dangerous : a blood-thirsty horde one could see coming from miles away, or a platoon of snakes in the grass? Donning their human masks had aided his kind since the very first days of the Vampyre. Why break with tradition? He could send his wolves among the hapless flock that was mankind, and the poor things would never know the difference. Yes, subtle domination fit into his plans much better – for if he unleashed his children fully, the humans would be made aware, and awareness meant preparation. Preparation meant organization, and organization spelled rebellion. And he was not willing to spend his time squashing human rebels when he could be feasting and otherwise building the glory he had lost thanks to so-called divine intervention.
            Damned meddling Powers That Be!
Or were, in this case…
            Since he had unleashed the power of the Hellmouth in its entirety, a shift in the balance of nature had occurred, tipping the scales ultimately in his favor. Especially since he was now in possession of what was perhaps the most lethal weapon in this dimension and many more… It was surprising to his minions that once the Hellmouth opened its gaping maw, that hellfire and brimstone didn’t immediately envelop the earth. Well, honestly, it was surprising to him too, at first, but then he realized that as the one to deliver the sacrifice of blood, he was the Master of yet another marvelous creation. He wished the Earth to be his and his alone, not destroyed. While he had a list several miles long of things he was itching to change about his world, the continued existence of the Slayer line included, he rather liked the way things had progressed. Humans were so inventive that it was almost cute. These modern machinzations and inventions would make living on that earth much easier, providing luxuries Lothaire had never possessed in his day. True, he was aware that this also meant the continued existence of technology that could potentially harm even him...but as long as he and his were prudent and elusive as ever, they had no reason to fear the more destructive gadgets of man-kind.
            The wails of despair and pleasure that greeted his ears from the various alleyways cutting through his fair city were apparent only to him and his superior senses. His ashen, grotesque features closeted by his hooded cloak, he picked his way through the human scum flooding the streets quickly, yet confidently, seeing all with his new eyes. The sheep around him were more or less oblivious to the fate of their more unfortunate fellows in the occasional back-alley, becoming one of his various children’s meals or new playthings. It was amazing how the most out of place sounds, even outright cries for help could go unheard if the people around you were oblivious, or selfish enough. Sunnydale, as a rule, was filled with such self-contained imbeciles, for only those truly blind to the world around them would choose to live in a town with the highest mortality rate on the west coast. In the month since he had risen, Sunnydale, California had surpassed Washington D.C. in an already close race on the charts – Sunnydale was now murder capital of the world.
He couldn’t be more proud.
            And the source of his pride was a group of the most powerful Master Vampires alive in this time. They went by many names, but most of those who were informed enough, called them The Scourge of Europe. He called them family. Darla, the sire of all of them through blood, was descended directly from his pure, potent blood-line, so it really was no surprise that they were all as powerful and vicious as they were.
            Angelus had immense potential, his ferocity unmatched. His penchant for mind-games also served to amuse his Master; oh, how creative the monster with the face of an angel was! Drusilla, on the other hand, was one the Master could never understand – if the others didn’t watch their back, she might surpass them all in power one day. The insane vampiress was extremely powerful in her own right, but her visions addled her brain. It was thought she consistently saw the past and future more clearly than the present, which would certainly explain her eerie foresight and extremely accurate judge of character. But all in all, he could not be more pleased with who Angelus had chosen to sire. Drusilla’s unusual powers had proved useful to them, and him, countless times – one just had to go through the trouble of ciphering what in the seven hells she was saying in order to make any use of it…
            William the Bloody, or Spike, as he now chose to be called, was something different altogether. He was ironically the most human of the Master’s children, enjoying simple human creature comforts. Hell, he even acted the part altogether much better than the rest – and that’s what Spike’s strength was. Manipulation, smoke and mirrors – always an ulterior motive; his clever, quick mind always working to find ways passed your defenses. Angelus and Spike were in many ways evenly matched, but while Angelus was very manipulative and loved to play with his food for long periods of time via his unusual amount of patience, Spike was more subtle. He let his victims believe that they had a fighting chance, that he was possibly even on their side. Angelus showed his dominant, heavy hand outright, where Spike would temporarily switch the tables of power, just to give them a taste and draw them in. Quite ingenious, really. It was fair to say that he loved all his children equally, but for different reasons.
            But despite this, he still had a special attachment to Darla. She was brutal, efficient, ever one to stay on course until her work was done. But most of all, she was obedient, loyal, eager to please him. Of course, he knew she was capable of managing herself quite well, the whip-smart, independent little thing she was. But he also knew that Darla had come to love and depend on him, just as he had come to love and depend on her. What few knew was that Darla herself was not simply the progeny of a progeny of a progeny of a progeny of his – she was his childe, and he her Sire. Naturally, this made her extremely powerful, and able to get away with much with him. And oh, she did have her days where he dearly wanted to punish her - but then he’d remember she was the sole heir to his Kingdom, and then his anger would wane - he would remember why he chose her as his first and last childe in the first place.
            His night out had both excited and exhausted him. He had wanted to tour his new home, get to know its inhabitants - now that he was strong enough - and ultimately make it clear who was in charge. Getting the message out was easy, getting the message through, was an entirely different story. So it was no surprise when Spike rounded a corner, his trench-coat billowing behind him, looking a mess. Nursing a heavily bruised face and a busted lip, the vampire fast-limped towards him, and then respectfully fell behind him, and did not get on bended knee until his Master was safely back in the entrance hall of Black Thorn Manor, his new base of operations.
            “Master, the Turgiae demons have surrendered to your will, and send this tribute.” Spike pulled an object swathed in red silk from his duster, and presented it to his Master with his head bowed. The Master reached a pale, gnarled hand out to unwrap the offering, before running his claws lovingly over the beautiful necklace he found within.
            The Gem of Frelkayr, how fitting. Tell their leader I am pleased, and will cause them no further harm. Have them ready their forces and meet me at sunset this next night. We have much to discuss…”
He stroked the braided, intricate silver chain as he spoke, a plan regarding this priceless and powerful artifact’s use already forming in his mind. Red, slightly clouded eyes focused on the large, tear shaped emerald that glittered at him invitingly.
            “Yes, this will work quite nicely…” he snapped his fingers, and a tall, scrawny young man with stoic features was at his side within moments. “Daniel, find me a…witch…”
The young man turned to leave immediately, but a motion with a talon-tipped hand stopped him.
            “Oh, and Daniel? Do try to find a pretty one.” He drawled lightly, letting the werewolf leave only after expressing his understanding.
“Master, why do you call the werewolf by name?” Spike queried curiously, now standing with his Master’s permission.
“Because ‘Oz’ is such a tasteless name, and ‘werewolf,’ is far too plain for someone so useful,” He replied blithely, before back-handing the blonde vampire for questioning his actions. “It is the beginning of a new world, my son. I suggest you learn and live by its rules.” Blood red eyes looked down on his least favorite child [yes, he finally admitted to having favorites now] and offered him his hand in an age-old gesture. After a moment’s hesitation, Spike pressed his even more busted lips to the large ruby on his Master’s right hand.
            “Of course, Master. Please forgive my insolence.” Spike intoned, his ice-colored gaze lowering to the stark marble floor.
            “I shall,” The ancient vampire replied coolly, “this time.”
With that, Lothaire turned on his heel and made to retire to his rooms, alerted to the heralding of the dawn by chirping swallows.
Spike, left alone in the entrance hall of his grandeur surroundings, scoffed now that his Master was nowhere to be seen. Taking a hit from his flask, he relished the taste of blood and potent liquor. Toasting the Master’s distant footsteps, he muttered to himself,
“To the bloody new world, ya twisted wanker,”
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Excerpt from’ I. Bedknobs and Broomsticks:’
“She is everywhere, here. When I first tasted her, I had to taste again. Her energy is young, but vast. Oh! So vast! And she tastes and smells like the most fresh, ripe, sweet, strawberries you’ve ever imagined. I can’t tell you her name, or what she looks like, but I can give you a taste of her...”
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No Rest For The Wicked...