The Wages of Sin by Flurblewig

Blood of a slayer is said to be a mighty powerful thing, according to Spike. Course, we got a lot of folks just clamouring to tell stories about how they killed a slayer, but Spike's my favourite. He can tell about how he killed one - sorry, two, got to give credit where credit's due - and then about how he fucked one. Got to say, though, half the time I can't tell which is which; way that boy tells it, there ain't a whole lot of difference between the fighting and the fucking.

So yeah, I'm looking forward to spilling me some juicy slayer blood. Bathing in the blood of a virgin was thought to be the secret of eternal youth, once upon a time, although I sure as hell won't be getting any of that from this slut. Purity and chastity never exactly featured high on her agenda now, did they? Not that I need the secret of eternal youth anyway. I'm beyond that. I just really want to see some blood flow. Her blood.

It was a crying shame just how many of those little slayers-to-be weren't virgins, either. They were supposed to be waiting on a sacred calling and instead they were out whoring their filthy bodies to any diseased soul willing to take them. Oh, they didn't want to admit it, but it's surprising how often the point of a knife starts releasing the truth along with the blood. Five minutes with me or my boys, and the little harlots couldn't wait to confess their sins.

Just like she will. My Slayer whore. I'll hear her confession, then show her the quality of my mercy.

And she needn't think she'll be sparing me any details. I know it all anyway, heard it a hundred times from - well, not her own lips exactly, but close enough. We know her, just like we know all the dead. They're our flock, our congregation in hell, and they sing for us whenever we demand it. But I want to hear her tell it. Want to watch her use that fleshy, pouty little mouth. Want her to show me some of those skills she's learned. Girl obviously has no scruples about what she'll put her mouth or her hands on, so I'm sure it won't be a chore. Sluts like her just can't control themselves.

Lack of any kind of self-control is what's always brought her down. Seventeen year old girl who's supposed to have the welfare of the world on her mind, and she can't even keep her hands off a filthy demon. That depravity was always there, eating away at whatever shrivelled sense of righteousness she had. She's a slave to her own sick desires, and ain't it just a crying shame?

I'll exorcise that from her. Beat the demons of lust from her body. She'll thank me for it. Unchecked lust will never lead to anything good. You'd think she would have worked that out after the first vampire, wouldn't you?

I've spoken with that one, too. He's not as much fun. Only had the girl once, and she barely knew what she was doing then. The destruction that came afterwards was kind of entertaining, but considering I've had a little experience in that field myself, it wasn't really anything exceptional. Once you've snapped one neck, you've snapped them all. Angel likes to think he's something special, but he's not. He's a minor league player that hasn't really mixed it up with the big hitters yet, that's all. He will, though. Soon. They all will. They think they know - what's to come, what they are. But it hasn't even begun. They'll think that they've won, but the seeds of corruption are planted deep. And we will bring them to flower.

Parker Abrams was even less enlightening. Boy didn't even know who she was, didn't know what he'd had. He was just hankering after another notch on the bedpost, and she happened to be handy. He didn't even remember her, at first - but just like the others, one taste of my knife soon brought it all back to him. I let him talk for a while, but the boy simply couldn't stay on track. I wanted to hear about her, not listen to him beg for his own worthless life. He cried and whined too much for my liking, so I slit his throat like the dog he was. Then we were able to have a much more productive conversation.

Abrams still didn't have much of value to contribute, though. He really should have paid more attention. Probably would have, if he'd known his roll in the hay with her was going to cost him his life, but there you go. Life's just full of little surprises, ain't it?

The solider boy was more of a challenge - and more of a reward. I don't mind expending the effort so much if I'm going to be repaid for my time. He wasn't easy to flush out, but she gave me a break when she brought him to the surface herself. I would have found him in the end - once I've set my mind to something I'm a dog with a bone - but she gave me a head start, and I appreciated that. It's a beautiful thing to watch someone betray one of their own, 'specially if they don't even know they're doing it.

We went to him wearing her face, and he came along meek as a lamb. The meek don't inherit the Earth, you know, not in any way, shape or form. What the meek inherit is slaughter.

At least we had some fun with him. Solider boys learn not to whine and beg, no matter what you do to them. I admire that. Didn't stop me gutting him, of course, but I did it with respect.

He liked to talk about the Slayer, and he had a lot of tales to tell. Tales about rutting like animals, but none about love. Not on her side, anyway. It fair broke my heart to see a boy like that brought so low by that pussy-whipping bitch.

Slayer's forgotten how to love, see. If she ever knew in the first place, that is.

And that's just fine with us. Love might keep her alive, and that just wouldn't do now, would it? Girl's always been a sinner, and it's high time that got addressed.

And I'm just the man to do it.

The wages of sin is death, children, and don't you be forgetting that now.

.End