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- Final Battle -

--Valley Of Death--

32

The ravaged U.S.S. Enterprise, almost crippled and barely holding herself together, coasted in high orbit around Epsilon Ursae Six. Between her and her terrible enemy hung the planets' layer of charged plasma. The same substance that had aided them in their military operation now served as a hindrance, preventing them from simply beaming the Army of Darkness into the brig.

Commander William Riker had taken the shuttlecraft Feynman through the blanket of ionised gas in the atmosphere and, on the surface of that inhabited world, had set up a series of transporter pattern enhancers close to the crash site of the Klingon flagship. Working in conjunction with a series of relay probes, a limited transporter beam could be ferried through the thick cloud of interference and reach safely to the triangular point on the surface within the field created by the pattern enhancers.

In small groups, landing parties from the Enterprise and Rutherford began setting up a tactical base of operations for the combined ground-force mission:

Defeat, capture, or destroy the enemy threat and minimise or neutralise any damage to the natural development of planet Epsilon Ursae 6.



*



Now rescued from their shuttle, the interdimensional Sunnydale posse were finally reunited as a group onboard the Enterprise. Giles had been found in sickbay tending to all manor of war casualties. It gave a vivid vision of the true horrors of combat. Doctor Crusher had been so far beyond grateful to him that she'd even offered to prepare a Scottish broth in his honour at a more convenient time.

They also discovered the fate of their escape pod - having hit the atmospheric boundary of the 5th planet off-course, and burning up completely on entry. Xander had received hugs all-round from the girls for that one.

Buffy was personally thankful for the turn of events that had occurred. And moreover, she looked forward to finally setting foot on solid terrain to face a real enemy as the Slayer once again.

Indeed, things were truly taking shape and wheels were setting in motion. The whole effort rolled toward a final conclusion.

In Rupert's new quarters lay the recovered spell ingredients: A triangle of sand in a circle of 12 candles with a 13th candle in the very centre with incense and bloodied talisman.

The casting was set. In Buffy's place, Anya would take on the important role as anchor - keeping Willow's spirit tied to their reality.

They're own mission statement: To contact and bring forth the First Sorcerer - repeating the first cast spell out of all time and imprisoning the evil spirit of Darkness - the one named Rhamhal of the Pestihl'nhar. Son of the Dark Lord of the underworld - spawn of the Devil himself!



*

Soon enough, the final landing party made up of the remaining Klingon force was ready to beam down from the Enterprise.



The doors to the transporter room parted for Buffy and she entered dressed in her new combat uniform. Worf had replicated for her a Klingon warrior's grey and black battle-suit.

The black material hugged her form tightly and the grey armour offered her protection. Her hair now also tightly woven back into a single braid that was a perfect reflection of Worf's.

Spike - in his freshly replicated black coat - entered behind her carrying a small satchel.

They were faced with a large squad of blood-thirsty vengeful warriors. At the head of the group stood Worf and Chancellor Martok.

Buffy's heart had been racing at the thought of going to war. And the situation, coupled with the nature of the atmosphere created by the Klingons, gave her the feeling she was stepping into an ancient Samurai battle. Hands-on, in-the-thick-of-it, nowhere-to-run combat. But, on stepping into the transporter room, she would swear the Klingons were preparing for a night on the town.

The warriors were eager and angry... yet also in high spirits.

Buffy, however, still felt a chill. Something inside of her told her this was going to be like no fight she'd been part of before. There was something terribly sinister about this one.

She made her way across to Worf, swallowing the lump in her throat, and took the brown bag from Spike.

Martok stood tall in her presence. "The Great Warrior Slayer," he greeted. "Worf speaks highly of your abilities." He rubbed at the memory of a bruise on his face. "And, having experienced them myself, I look forward to going to battle with you."

"Uh-thanks," she uttered in response and gave the sack a shake. "Here - I brought some goodies for you to hand out to your friends."

The Chancellor leaned over the satchel and peered in with his good eye. "What are they?"

"Wiccan pouches." She reached into her collar and drew one out from her bosom. She held it out to them, pulling the string taught around her neck. "They're for protection," she explained, to which Martok scoffed. "Trust me," she went on, "you need it. It'll protect you against possession...and...if you die...it should keep you from coming back. So take them." She gave them all she had bar one. The one meant for Picard. He would lead the Alpha Team. Worf, Martok, and a few others nearby threw the pouches around their necks as Buffy tucked hers away.

The first pouch had needed a spell on the spot to work, and had worked only briefly. But, with the help of La Forge, Willow had improved them greatly. Now they were already active - glowing with a golden aura - and were expected to last a few hours.

"I have something for you in return," said Worf, presenting her with an ancient and glorious Klingon sword. "Gor'agh was son to a house of craftsmen," he informed her, speaking of his young aid that had been killed on the zombie-infested station. "His ancestors were the most skilled of swordsmiths. This... was his bat'leth." He flipped it in his hands so the blades were reaching skyward. "He wove it himself as Kahless did. You fought bravely at Sal Fusia six and brought honour to his name by slaying his killer. Gor'agh had no heirs to continue his house. I believe it would please him if you were to take this... and again bring honour to his name."

She flushed and almost dropped her jaw on the floor. "How can I accept this?"

"With two strong hands!" called out Martok. "And with the grip of a warrior!"

Worf thrust it into her palms... and she took it without further comment.

The handles seemed to be polished bone - wrapped in a material like leather. And parts of it were decorated with animal hide. It was far more ornate compared with Worf's simple tool. The blade of Gor'agh's bat'leth was far darker - and it looked like it had been formed using hair rather than metal - like the horns of a Rhino. But a quick test with her finger proved the blade to be exceptionally sharp. It was a beautiful piece of art more than it was a weapon.

"Thank you," she replied at last in awe.

"Could be worth a few bob," Spike chirped.

She shot him down with a glare, then focused on the demons. She explained to them how demons can be killed in a myriad of different ways and that the only sensible course was to, simply put, chop 'em up. "Hack, slash, whatever it takes," she said. "Just cut them up."

"Then, even if the buggers' don't die, they won't go far," added Spike, lurching suddenly as a heavyweight Klingon passed behind him awkwardly.

It was General Kuhl, merrily drinking from a goblet and rejoicing in the inevitable battle. The bloodwine in his grip holding a deadly secret.

Spike huffed. "Why's he so bleedin' happy?"

"He is singing an ode to his last great battle," Martok mused.

The vampire turned to view the General disapprovingly. "Well, that's a morbid ditty to be blastin' out at a time like this."

"The General is old," Worf explained. "His body has grown ill. He has fought gloriously many times but now his strength has faded. He will not live to see tomorrow."

"Then what's he playin' at? The old coot should stay up here and leave the fightin' to the young and strong."

"Where is the honour and glory in dying of frailty over long weak years?" Martok almost spat. "He will have a fitting end - as he deserves."

"Sounds like suicide to me."

"Then you know nothing of true Warrior Spirit, Vam-Pire!"

On hearing that, Kuhl whipped around to face them. "True Warrior Spirit?!" Slurring somewhat, he seemed to focus his drunken words right toward Buffy. "To find your true spirit you must first learn who you are! ... For a warrior, such as myself, BATTLE is the means by which we enrich our spirits and discover our nature!" At that, he cheered and turned his attention elsewhere.

She watched after him. Maybe he had something. Always she treated slaying like exercise. A workout. But, on failing to learn her true being from the Sorcerer...

Buffy wondered if this battle would be her chance to find herself.

Death is your gift...

Maybe her last chance.



*

"Commander?"

La Forge turned in the centre chair to face Lieutenant Daniels; back at his tactical post finally.

"The last escape pod is requesting permission to dock, sir," said the security chief.

Geordi examined the terminal on the arm of the captain's seat for a short time. "Give them the all-clear to moor at port fifteen, Lieutenant."

Daniels complied and gave his jaw a stretch. Still a little numb from the demon snot, he was glad to have speech again. Moreover, he considered, after the horror of the zombie station and the traders' planet skirmish that had gradually numbed every muscle in his lower face to the point of uselessness, he was glad to be alive at all. He noted some of the data before him. "Sensors are picking up some of the enemy shuttles still hovering around out there."

"Our closest shuttles?"

"The Solo and Nightingale," Daniels responded. "But they're tied up with another hostile."

"See if you can keep track of them. Signal the Solo and Nightingale soon as they're /un/tied."

"Aye, sir."

The engineer stood and glanced around at the many monitors around the bridge. He wasn't one for the captain's chair. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Transporter room three reports the final landing party ready to beam," reported the security chief.

"Green light, Mr. Daniels," Geordi said, sitting back down. "Give them our best."



*

A short time later, on the surface of Epsilon Ursae 6:



A new world formed around Buffy as the transporter effect subsided and immediately the climate suffocated her. The heat and humidity were beyond description. She found herself among the Klingons in a dark and eerie alien jungle. A muddy land of patchy green and tall foliage in a clearing ringed by a thick forest of trees.

"Welcome to the boondocks," Spike remarked.

Buffy shuddered even in the heat. The place came straight from a nightmare.

And she felt something else... There were the whispers of dark thoughts in the air.



Nearby, the Starfleets' had prepared a makeshift military base. First they came by the Ops centre - amazingly to Buffy it was a simple tent as would be found in her own time. There they learned the results of their sensor equipment. The Army of Darkness had been picked up moving toward the planets' inhabitants. They would, however, have to cross a small ocean with strong tide to reach the landmass with native humanoid life. There was no way off this rock for Rhamhal without going through them first. But the thing that had most encouraged Captain Picard, she noted, was when a scan returned with the clear reading of something called a positronic signature. Apparently, that meant Data was intact and functioning. Buffy, on the other hand, found that less than encouraging. Data was too damn strong.

The second tent was a medical camp. They met Doctor Crusher again there as she managed the medical effort. The whole set-up brought on images of Vietnam.

Buffy moved on to explore her surroundings.

Soon, she came to find they were on a slight rise in the landscape around a vast plain over which hung a sickening dirty cloud of mist.

'The Mists of Malice' she recalled, as a vision flashed through her mind of the ancient battle shown to her by the First Sorcerer. And she wondered...

How much blood will the mists hide beneath them on this day?

The ground-fog grew thicker where the line of trees began. Trees tall and slim - much like bamboo trees, though darker and higher-reaching. A handful of them grew at an angle out of the embankment - their hanging foliage casting dull shadows in the low light over the sea of mist.

A dead mist.



Spike joined her to look out over the plain. In his hand, a Klingon double-spear. Bound by animal hide into the shaft of a splintered wooden staff two metres long, sat a pair of ornate serrated blades - each almost 2 feet in length - one bound to each end of the staff.

Nothing was said for a time and Buffy allowed her mind to wander beyond the trees.

Her thoughts drifted up over the dull sky to the Starship Enterprise. She considered her team up there. Anya, Willow and Giles. Thinking of Giles caused her to consider Doctor Crusher's dinner invitation again. And that thought brought her back to the medical camp close by. It seemed they were expecting heavy casualties. Buffy looked at the people around her - people who would likely die - and felt grateful Willow and the others weren't there.

Yet, beside her was Spike. Someone she never imagined fighting beside on judgement day. He stood on the rise, watching out with such focus that he didn't notice her staring at his face. She suddenly had the compelling desire to know what was going on in his head... What was motivating him in that instant? What had happened to his earlier protests against genocide? And, was he doing this just to be close to her?

She fancied she could poke a hole in his head right then with her mind and get the answers. But, then again, his mind was one place she didn't really want to go.



Picard and Riker came to them.

"Our scans indicate the enemy have turned back," the captain stated, remarkably including Buffy's group in the Op. "If possible, we'd like to lure them here to this flatland - out into the open."

She nodded approvingly then appealed to Spike: "Does he know we're here?"

The vampire winced. "He knows." He took a step forward, focusing beyond the far trees, and concentrated... "He needs to go through us to get back to Earth. He's comin'. They're all comin'." His teeth knitted together.

Picard made use of the information and ordered Riker to set his units out along the ridge. The men moved off to plot their tactics.

Buffy turned to Spike then with concern. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Peachy."



*



Before them, a short, steep incline seemed to be the easiest access point to the valley bellow. A Starfleet infantryman with his rifle in one hand and a tricorder in the other, moved slowly down the bank. His sensor device chirped and beeped.

"Beware of the plants here!" he called out over the rise. Carefully he moved closer into the patch of foliage and handled one if the branch stalks. The stalk disappeared into a mess of green and rich red leaves that reminded him of a rhubarb plant and, on the end of it, the stem formed a sharp, dark point with tiny stiff hairs along the tip. This point looked like it could easily pierce the skin and detach. He held it in front of his tricorder scanner. "The barbs are toxic!" He viewed his surroundings. "There are patches of them all around this site!"

It appeared to everyone that the landscape was becoming increasingly hostile. Never the less, an armed security SWAT team moved down toward the mist along with the Klingon group.

Buffy brushed her sweaty palms over her pants and followed them down. Spike moved with her. Yet, she halted at the base of the incline and observed the mist-covered ground before her feet with uncharacteristic trepidation.

The warriors about her did not, however - marching into the plain fearlessly.

But something held her back. A fear. The fear of her own future. Her destiny. Still she wondered if death would be her gift on this day. Then, looking up and around her one more time, she saw Xander perched high on the ridge with a rifle. A sudden panic rushed her. She had thought her friends were safe on the spaceships... now she realised one of them was here in this dangerous place... she had to get Xander away...

He gave her a thumb.

At that, a calm came over her suddenly... and she felt safe then... knowing he was there to cover her back... and she smiled up at him.

Worf stepped out before her and took a heavy breath of the thick air. "Today is a good day-"

"To WIN," she finished, marching forward and finding, beneath the mist, a marsh of soft, sludgy earth.

Worf seemed at first offended by the alteration she made to the time-old Klingon saying. But he readied himself and simply added: "That too."

Indeed, Xander had his own place on the ridge. He was part of a sniper unit circling the entire plain. Freeman had awarded him the temporary field position of non-commissioned Midshipman and given him a Starfleet uniform. A three-chevron pip graced the yellow neck of his shirt. Freeman wasn't far from him. Just a few metres away he lay in firing position beside beardy Riker - the leader of the sniper Op. Also scattered along the ridge he saw Vaun from the Rutherford. And Gataana - the big hairy one.

From his kneeling position, he soon became aware of Commander Riker's presence behind him as he circled his team.

Their eyes met for a moment. Long enough for Will to notice Xander's new beard. The Commander continued on, rubbing at his own chin self-consciously.

Xander grinned victorious - until-

The foliage far ahead on the other side of the clearing began to rustle with movement.

Riker gave the order to ready weapons and, looking back to Xander with a final stern gaze, he moved down the line to take his place by Freeman.

Xander quit gloating and dropped into position.

It was time.



*

*]Captain Jean-Luc Picard - uniform jacket removed; red polo unzipped, a hand-phaser holstered to his right hip and another device holstered to his left, joined the Alpha Team with a phaser rifle in his hands. He arrived next to Spike and checked his left utility pocket to confirm he had the device. Of everyone on the entire planet, only he knew what it was. And, looking over to Worf, he also eased his mind by confirming he carried the actuation device on his Klingon belt. But he had one more thing to carry, and it was the Summers girl who gave it to him. A pouch said to hold powers he truly couldn't grasp. He wore it, however, because who, at the end of the day, could say what was believable anymore? It didn't hurt to put her gift around his neck so that's just what he did.

He could hold the soft little glowing bag in one hand. It felt so delicate in his palm. Bringing it up to his nose he caught the wonderful aroma of nature itself. Such a calm and sweet thing it was. He dropped it to his chest, though, on hearing a mighty crack from beyond the trees ahead.

The enemy approached. His army was here.

Silence fell.

The mist came alive in the distance as something came out from the dark forest and into the valley plain.

The creatures had finally arrived... From Hell.

They seemed to appear as if ghosts - fading into view like apparitions. Hideous tortured things. Breed upon breed of demons, and Klingons - pale and withered. Their features seemed to have no flesh - like skin stretched too tightly over bones. Their eyes glazed and sightless.

Before all their horde was in view it was clear they were an army a thousand strong.



Buffy saw Spike pull his spear from the soil and grip it with both hands.

"Can't help but feel like we're facin' the day o' reckonin' here, Slayer," he said under his breath.

"We've had worse days," she muttered distantly.

"I'd say we've had better days too."



The movement ahead ceased and any doubt that their time was up had passed away.

Old General Kuhl could be heard by all as he rattled his bat'leth in the air and let out a deep guttural laugh.

Spike raised his spear and rammed it into the ground at his feet before making the wise choice to remove his heavy coat. He set it aside gently and gazed around as he reclaimed his weapon. "These crinkle-heads are really ready to go down in a blaze o' glory?"

"It's what they live for," Buffy replied.

"Live to die, is it? Well...good thing they've got a couple of Scoobs along."

He wasn't looking, but she shot him a glare at that moment. That he had the nerve and cheek to call himself part of the Scooby Gang!



"STEEL YOURSELVES! GLORY AWAITS US!" came a Klingon cry.



The blonde vampire turned to face her with a reserved glint in his eye and said: "That's our cue. Last one in's a rotten egg." He charged forth with his spear held like a lance in both hands.

The Klingons were moving and the Starfleets' went with them.

Buffy caught herself, took a breath, and went forward.



Running through the oil slick of mud beneath the mist proved difficult and distracting for her. All around the Klingons were roaring their battle-cry. As she approached the wall of death, the closer it drew, the more terrifying it became. But Buffy, ever defiant of evil, gained pace and quickly took the lead; feeling in her throat something crawling up from deep within her - growing intensely until her lungs burst open and a warrior's cry came bellowing from her mouth.

She hit the dead-wall roaring and the two sides met like a tide against rocks; kicking up a geyser of viscous sludge. They cut into one and other with the hacking and twisting of swords and spears, phasers igniting all about, serrated alien discs slicing through the air around them. Rocks too, and blades there were falling among them like missiles. Zombies and demons fell - decapitated, severed at the waist or legs. Many caught the lashing energy blasts from the Starfleet rifles and burned up as the line that divided the Federation from the Hellions quickly blurred. People also fell. Gutted. Slashed. Torn and ravaged by beast, or impaled by the serrated discs and other flying weapons. And all the time a swamp of dirt dragging at their feet.



Clawing Crawling Gnawing Choking Biting Drowning Burning Cloudy BLOOD

Dark Flowing Cascading Surrounding Filling Red Danger DEATH!



The Klingons fought with passion and the Starfleet infantry fired their weapons in a torrent.

Sniper-fire from the far-off hillock took out a pair of demons, leaving Worf faced with an undead minion of human origin. Faced with a thousand similar monstrosities, each having to be dealt with as swiftly as possible, the ambassador held his bat'leth in one hand and severed the zombie in half.

Martok fought beside him. On his back he had sheathed his ritual scimitar-style sword and, in his belt, the chancellor wore a Klingon disruptor. But he fought only with his ancient bat'leth - driving one tip through the neck and collar of a bastardised fellow warrior. There he twisted it sideways and sliced it loose, letting the creature's head tear away and vanish into the mob. When the remaining corpse had keeled and dropped out of sight, three more of its companions had been cleaved by Martok's sword.

Picard fired his rifle in all directions without pause. But, for every enemy he evaporated, two more stood in line behind. He made the risky choice to stop and set his phaser gun to automatic. Though the time lost was made up for when he opened fire again and saw a host of savage monsters turn gaseous as the barrage from his phaser beat the enemy down and made a pathway into their legions.

Spike went for the demons. The zombies were too easy. But he knew demons and they offered a challenge. If he was gonna get finished off here he wasn't gonna take the easy path.

Cutting the beasts down, the Slayer stormed into the enemy ranks like a hurricane whirlwind. Infused with a wealth of new combat knowledge and a passion to put it to use, she took her training in the Klingon Arts and fed it to the savage evil things. Worf had given her a greater understanding of large-scale warfare and his teachings imbued her with a heightened awareness of the activity around her. She flowed from each move into the next gracefully as if in a dance. And her soul lit up with fire.

Covering their rear, a battalion of brave Starfleet soldiers backed them up with their guns.

*

Through his scope, Xander saw as a handful of Hell-freaks filtered through to the squadron of infantrymen. Some of the men had their weapons snatched from them, leaving them defenceless from their attackers. As he watched the horrific slaughter, he grew ever thankful for his position of safety along the surrounding ridge.

Yet, so far, he hadn't fired a shot. When he looked through the sights he saw enemies everywhere within range but amongst them he also saw his own team. And he couldn't seem to get over his sudden fear of hitting one of them by mistake. Oops just wouldn't cover that kind of slip-up.

He steered away from the carnage he'd just witnessed and dropped the tip of his rifle down an inch. Beside him on both sides, weapons zapped loudly and rapidly.

He stopped the gun. His sights fixed on a familiar little blonde warrior. So many of the beasts before her and on both sides. What drew his attention was the pair sneaking behind her. It appeared that a cowardly demon was manoeuvring a zombie from behind. In the next instant, Buffy surprised him with the speed in which she spun, beheaded the undead pawn, and spun ahead again.

But she'd missed the crouching demon that sneaked behind it.

*

The Slayer sliced open the guts of the creature ahead and reeled at the blast of energy that erupted behind her. Spinning, she discovered a sharp bone inches from her back. Connected to it - the elbow of a demon in the throws of death. It gasped a horrible gurgling cry as it disintegrated and joined the mist.

She looked back to the far rise and her heart warmed. Somehow she knew it was Xander.

*

He knew she couldn't see him, but Xander could see her face clearly looking his way. He'd done it. His aim was perfect. Just like in all the simulations. He could hit exactly what he wanted... as long as it didn't move so fast. Pulling the gun tight into his shoulder, he gripped the trigger and zapped some baddies.

*



Doctor Crusher played nervously with her medical tricorder as she watched the battle from her high-ground position. She saw as many of their people fell injured in the boggy plain. Even if they could make it to the slope, it was unlikely they could navigate the steep rise to reach the medical centre. And the fit members of the unit were too overwhelmed to stop and ferry their fallen colleagues to safety. After biting her lip and watching a while longer, her medical ethic got the better of her. Beverly ran back to the camp and grabbed her field kit. She also grabbed a team with a bunch of gurneys and stretchers before taking her ward to the injured. A small sniper team broke off and covered them as they entered the terrible valley.

*

A penetrating scream filled the valley and rose up from it to the heavens as a human ripped open and fell away into the ground-fog.

Many cries followed it of men and of beast with each coming of death, as it constantly stamped out souls with its heavy hand.

Deep in the fray, the A-Team fought on.

With a fierce cramp in his side, Kuhl could barely swing his sword to defend himself. His path was proving too much to manage yet he remained steadfast and resolute and his bat'leth saw blood after blood of many a monster.

Spike identified a Znlg Demon swinging a mean looking scythe about and drew its attention. When it caught sight of him, recognition appeared to register across its upside-down face. "Spiiiike," it snarled and aimed the scythe at him. "Traiiiitor!" It moved in fast. "Betrayer of us aaaall!"

The vampire knew its weakness. Avoiding the blade, he struck it through the gut with one end of his spear - snapping it in half.

The demon's death grip cracked the scythe in two and Spike caught the blade end. When the monster toppled, Spike was left with both of the short weapons and an eagerness to abuse them. With his scythe and half-spear, he carved a way both bloody and fiercely through the sea of Hellbeasts. As did the Slayer until something unexpected occurred...



Buffy hit a patch of quick-mud and sank. The earth took hold of her by the feet and swallowed her up until everything below her waist was crushed under the heavy cement of the landscape.

The sword fell from her grip and she reached down in vain through the mist to push against the ground but all she found was a thick brown soup. Fearing the loss of her arms in the swamp and becoming defenceless, she tried to tear them back through the fog... but only one came free.

She slipped further until only her face and arm remained above the dirty mist. Horror struck her heart when the realisation hit her that she was doomed. She couldn't bare the thought of drowning. Not in this bog.

Then her salvation appeared over her: A hair-covered alien zombie rippling with inhuman muscle. It held in its iron grip a club no smaller than Buffy herself. A club with a great spike rammed through the end. It offered the promise of a quicker death. When it raised the massive cudgel to the sky, it was to impale and bludgeon her skull to mulch.

The heart in her chest froze. She couldn't breath anymore with the crushing force of the earth on her lungs.

Death is your gift...

She was tired of hearing that same line rolling around in her head. If she had a gift to give it seemed time to give it./ /She closed her eyes.

The next sensation she had was hearing the sound of the heavy mallet impacting with a slap and something thick and wet splattering across her face. Something thick, wet, and cold.

Opening her eyes again, she saw the mace in front of her, half in the mud. Under it, her own hand gripped the spike tightly.

She'd caught it with her free arm! It appeared she wasn't ready to part with her gift quite yet. Something wasn't right. She didn't want to die. Not now. Not as long as she still had a chance to look Rhamhal in the eye while she shoved her foot down his throat.

Only now she was truly stuck.

The creature eyed her distastefully and tugged at his club. Nothing happened.

"Gonna have to try harder than that," she managed with her last wincing gasp.

It tilted its head at her. With a roar it took the weapon in both hands and tore it out of the ground. Still on the end of the club, Buffy tore out with it. She was free!

The zombie swung her through the air and hammered her back into the mud. The landing stunned her intensely and nothing within her could prevent the dead beast from lifting its weapon again and bringing the spike down into her chest.

Worf stepped in, kicked the mace aside and swung his bat'leth through the alien's neck.

The Slayer gasped in relief. She found her strength again and repaid Worf by taking out his legs. Surprised, the Klingon found himself in the dirt. He spat the sludge from his mouth and spun to see she was looking beyond him. Turning, he found there to be another of the zombie creatures hovering over him. A dead Klingon swinging a sword. He decided time for gratitude could come later as he took his own sword and buried it deep into the dead man's bowels. The zombie screamed before Worf ripped his bat'leth from its body and cut it off at the ankles. It collapsed, flailing to the ground, and Worf rammed one point of his sword into its chest - giving him support to stand while it was pinned. On his feet again, he removed his crescent sword from the creature, grasped its clothing, and flipped it over onto its chest. He took a hold of its armour, pulled it out of the low fog, took his bat'leth, and sliced the head away.

Clean job.

Buffy took the hand Worf offered her and let him pluck her up from the slime.

For the moment, the army around them paid them no attention. Worf paused enough for Buffy to recover her bat'leth, then both of them went looking for trouble.

Some distance away, Picard barked orders to his gunners. Some ceased fire, threw their rifles over their shoulders, drew back, and hurled explosive grenades far into the crowd of creatures.

Within moments, there came a loud pop and a fountain of dirt threw up with it blood and bodies. Seven more similar explosions went off. But there was an eighth grenade. That one came hurling back into the midst of the Starfleet ranks and blew with terrible results. The thick juice of the earth kicked up in a tidal wave that carried with it the remains of many Starfleet officers. The blast lifted Picard off his feet and pounded him into the soft soil before the tidal wave and all its debris came down and flattened him.

General Kuhl saw it all. "Ah! That was NOTHING!" He ran far ahead with as much haste as his body would allow. Already out of breath - the sword heavy to his arms like never before.

Exhausting the last of his energy, he buried himself deep into the enemy lines until he was hopelessly surrounded.

Old as he was, he knew that his strength was diminished. No longer the Klingon youth he remembered from years long since past. Surrounded on all sides by these foul creatures - many of which were the dishonoured remains of once-proud Klingon warriors - he would not be satisfied with freeing just one of them before his life was ended. He wished his final act to be one so bold as befitted a great warrior in great songs.

And, so, he bore forth the truth of his bloodwine from which he would allow no other to drink. For, within his tankard, had been more than Klingon wine. Mixed in with it had been a volatile chemical most used in Klingon explosives. Now swimming deadly in his stomach. A dark menace to rival that circling him. Soon the poisonous chemical would kill him. However, Kuhl meant to choose his own time and place of ending.

So, here it was that the stout and loved Klingon General removed the disruptor pistol from his belt and drew the point to his gut...

Klingon monsters closed in on him until their outstretched fingers brushed against his armour...

"May our brothers sing songs of this day for all eternity," he said. "I shall release you from your tormentor and join you all in STO-VO-KOR!"

His finger wrapped around the trigger...

"FOR HONOUR!"



Worf witnessed the massive explosion as Kuhl tore apart and the blast ripped up the earth.

[*