In the heart of a forest, a dense overhead canopy of foliage and thick branches blocked most of the light such that it was truly impossible to gauge the time of day with any degree of accuracy. The patches of cloud-covered sky that could be seen enveloped the area in a gloomy and ominous atmosphere.

The motionless bodies of Buffy, Faith and Kennedy, obviously unconscious, were stretched out in the center of some type of small clearing, which was bordered on all sides by what appeared to be impenetrable undergrowth and closely-knitted trees.

Of the three Slayers, it was Buffy who began to recuperate first. Tentatively, she slowly opened her eyes and took stock of the compact greenery looming above. Her hands scrabbled absently at the ground as she grabbed fistfuls of fallen leaves and gritty dirt. The unexpected sensations seemed to spur the blonde in her recovery and she made a determined effort to sit up. The action was successful, albeit a tad unsteady. Through groggy eyes, she surveyed her surroundings and noticed Faith and Kennedy nearby, both ostensibly still out for the count. She struggled to regain total sensibility.

Faith, dressed in a leather jacket and matching pants, was closest and so Buffy chose to crawl initially in that direction. She seized the dark-haired Slayer by the front of her navy t-shirt and began to shake.

"Faith. Wake up," she hissed.

Faith began to stir, but her awakening lacked the rapidity experienced by Buffy. One eyelid cracked and then immediately closed again, like a kid who doesn't want to get up for school in the morning. She swiped at the blonde's hand in an irritable manner.

"—can handle another one," she slurred. "No way you're cuttin' me off, motherf—"

Buffy let loose of the shirt and seized Faith by the shoulders. "Wake up," she demanded with a vigorous shake, causing Faith's head to snap back and forth.

With a vast degree of effort, Faith's eyes squinted open. Her expression was pained and weary, laced with an abundant heaping of grumpiness.

"Where...?" she grunted and then realized she was looking into Buffy's face. "Okay, guessin' there's some really good reason why you're here and why I feel like I just got smacked in the head with an 18-wheeler. 'Sides the obvious." Still dazed, she blinked but by then, the blonde had disappeared from view.

"Not so much," came the reply. "Look around."

Raising herself on one elbow, a bewildered Faith surveyed the area and then focused on the prostrate figure of Kennedy, clad in a denim jacket and jeans. Buffy had gathered a fistful of gray tank-top and was shaking with much the same vigor as she had used on the dark-haired Slayer.

"The hell?" griped Faith. "Damn, that'll teach me to take mixed drinks, no questions asked."

Tight-lipped, Buffy declined to comment. Instead, she gripped Kennedy firmly by the shoulders, presumably reaching the conclusion that what had worked once had a relatively good chance of working again. It did, but with an entirely different reaction.

As her eyes flew open, Kennedy roughly broke Buffy's grasp on her left shoulder and with her right hand, lunged for the blonde's throat. Buffy's response was immediate as she reached out and clamped Kennedy's wrist in a vice-like hold, trying to wrench it free from her windpipe.

"Hey!" accused the blonde with a rasp.

Kennedy shook her head to clear the fog and her eyes registered recognition. She relaxed her fingers as Buffy scuttled backward.

"Sorry," mumbled Kennedy.

The blonde massaged her neck and treated Kennedy to a glare, which went largely unnoticed by the other woman as she sat up and looked around, suspicious and befuddled.

"Nice reflexes," Buffy finally admitted.

"Thanks. I work out," responded Kennedy in a distracted tone. "Now somebody feel up to cluing me in?"

Faith took it upon herself to provide an answer. "You were knocked unconscious and dumped in a forest." The statement was met with a grim glower but Faith simply shrugged. "Now you know what I know," she told her.

Getting to her feet, Buffy brushed at the twigs clinging to her sweatpants. "Cut it out, you two." Her tone was clipped and authoritative. "We need to figure out what's going on here."

Kennedy also stumbled to a standing position. "Boy, it's a good thing you're around," she grumbled. "I might've spent the next five hours sitting on my ass and admiring the lack of view."

"Could you not?" snapped the blonde. "We might be in serious trouble here."

"Suits me," stated Faith, pushing herself up from the ground. "I could do with somethin' more challenging than puttin' up with you two."

"Oh, sure, cuz having a healthy dose of Faith in our lives is always such a pleasure." Kennedy's tone dripped with overt sarcasm.

"That's enough!" cautioned Buffy, obviously running low on patience.

In unison, both Faith and Kennedy delivered a visible eye-roll.

"Sir, yes, sir," sneered Kennedy.

Taking a long breath, Buffy dug deep for composure. "I think we've got enough to worry about right now without you two competing for the 'biggest pain in my butt' award." Before either could protest, she quickly continued. "We don't need bickering, we need answers, and we need them fast."

"Worry not, ladies," a voice comforted. "All will be made clear."

Back stiffening, Buffy released her glower on Faith and Kennedy as all three Slayers whirled in search of the interrupter's location. They eventually found what they were seeking floating just above a nearby thicket. It was a translucent imp, sporting leathery skin and bat-like wings. Its eyes were oddly humanoid, except that the whites were black, causing the green irises to stand out rather prominently. Nonetheless, the extraordinary orbs shone with an intelligence not often detected among demonkind.

"Dude, tell me you guys're seein' that too," muttered Faith, "else I'm all kinds'a new worried 'bout that drink."

Kennedy nodded slowly. "I see it."

"I am no hallucination, I assure you," the imp curtly informed. "My name is Hamaculo, your guide for this hunt."

The Slayers exchanged a puzzled glance. "Hunt?" Buffy repeated cautiously.

"Yes," affirmed Hamaculo with a decisive nod. "You are each guests of Barradon, great hunter of the Ohndi Clan."

Kennedy puffed with disgust. "Tell him his hospitality stinks."

"Didn't even get a mint on my pillow," groused Faith.

"Or a pillow," Buffy added.

Hamaculo waved away the objections with a dismissive claw. "Please, do not interrupt. There is little time. Within a few moments, the hunt will begin. My master has selected you as suitable targets to test his prowess and gain status for his clan. The rules are simple – you need only survive and escape these woods. Do so, and you are free to go. Use any means and methods you desire."

"Wait, we get out of the forest and we're free to go?" questioned Buffy warily. "That's it?"

Faith crossed her arms. "Why'm I thinkin' it ain't gonna be that simple?" She wrinkled her forehead in mock contemplation. "Oh yeah, because it never is."

"Clan traditions prevent the selection of any target more often than approximately one of your dimensional years," the imp continued in a polite and official manner, "and the rules are clear: successful evasion or the termination of the hunter both end the hunt."

"And what if we refuse to play your little game?" Buffy challenged, crossing her arms and glaring defiantly. "I think I read this short story once. I was nowhere near impressed enough to want to act it out."

Cold, emerald eyes affixed themselves to the blonde Slayer, but Hamaculo merely shrugged. "Then this will be a swift hunt indeed. Flee or fight. To do otherwise only seals your fate."

Kennedy was quick to acquiesce. "The gremlin has a point. Not seeing a whole lot of choice here."

"Imp, thank you," Hamaculo corrected Kennedy icily before addressing all three women as a group. "And now, I must take my leave. I suggest you move quickly. My master has not failed to apprehend his target in approximately one hundred and fifty of your years. A record for which he is rightfully proud. My final advice to you: he cannot be everywhere at once. If you dissolve your functional unit, perhaps one of you will survive." He considered the possibility for a moment. "Perhaps. If you are exceedingly lucky."

And with that, the imp began to vanish inch by inch, rather like the Cheshire Cat, until only the fascinating orbs lingered and they too shortly faded into oblivion. The Slayers peered for a brief second at the now vacated spot and then turned to each other.

"Is that thing kidding?" scoffed Faith. "We're not—"

Her words of derision were brought to an abrupt and untimely halt by an arrow whizzing past her left ear. It embedded itself in a tree a little over ten feet away and quivered at the impact. Three heads promptly swiveled in the direction from whence the projectile had initiated, but there was nothing to be seen in the depths of the forest.

"Run," Buffy told the other two tersely, giving the order to retreat.

Faith stood her ground. "No way, think we can't take this thing?"

"We can't fight what we can't see," explained Buffy in haste. "This guy's got the advantage. We have to regroup someplace else."

Still, Faith refused to give way. "You run if you want, but I'm—"

For a second time, she was cut short by the flight of an arrow. Straight and true, the projectile moved rapidly from a distance toward its intended target. Lost in her bullheadedness, Faith never even saw it coming – but Kennedy did. Reacting with incredible speed, she plucked the arrow neatly from the air before it had the opportunity to perform open-skull surgery.

Snapping the lethal missile in one hand, Kennedy tossed the two halves to the ground. "We can make a stand," she gritted, "but not here. Let's get moving."

Faith hesitated, but it was really only a show of stubborn defiance. "Fine," she grudgingly agreed. "Come on then."

And with that, she led the charge as the trio took to their heels – apparently not a moment too soon as yet another arrow sullied forth with wickedly graceful precision, piercing the trunk of a tree which grew mere inches from where its deadly partner had formerly found a home.

Xander and Tara walked down the front steps of an apartment complex and toward the parking lot. The blonde thoughtfully regarded the folded rental magazine held in her hand and then glanced back at the building. It was modest by New York high-rise standards but rather impressive for a small town like Trillium and the area was enveloped within a peaceful atmosphere.

"I really liked it," sighed Tara, disappointment showing plainly on her face. "You're sure about the construction?"

"Really shoddy," Xander told her ruefully. "You're okay while you've got no neighbors, but the second someone moves in next door or above you? You'll hear everything. Very distracting. Sorry," he apologized regretfully.

"No," Tara hastened to assure him. "I'm glad you said. I like my quiet."

As they approached the car, Xander opened the passenger door and, throwing him a smile of thanks, Tara got in. The carpenter moved to the other side of the vehicle and hopped behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition. Neither spoke for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. Xander seemed to be concentrating all his attention on driving as Tara became engrossed in the magazine, chewing absently on her pen as she flipped over the pages. But then, he threw her a discreet glance and seemed about to say something before apparently changing his mind. For a moment, the carpenter's focus returned to the road but before too long, he glanced briefly at Tara again.

"Something's on your mind," she prompted gently, eyes never leaving the magazine.

"You know it's freaky when you do that," he told her.

Tara looked at him with a smirk. "Sorry."

"Nah, it's cool. And yeah, there is."

Tara waited patiently through the hush that descended once more.

"I got a question for you," Xander announced without ceremony. "An' I know it's gonna sound weird, but it's important."

"Weird but important," repeated the witch, working to keep the atmosphere light despite the obvious gravity surrounding them. "Sounds about right for us."

Xander smirked his appreciation, but soon sobered again. "Where you were ..." he began and then fell quiet, almost seeming embarrassed for wanting to broach the topic forcing its way to his lips.

"It's okay to have questions," the blonde softly encouraged.

"It's just ..." the carpenter shifted uneasily in his seat. "I know it's hard for you to talk about."

"It is," acknowledged Tara. "But you can ask. So long as I retain the right to not answer," she added with a slight grin.

Xander nodded. "Deal."

There was a long pause. The carpenter swallowed painfully as though his throat were raw before speaking. "Was Anya there?" His voice cracked as he spoke the words and the audible note of desperation immediately affected Tara. She watched with a pained and sympathetic expression as Xander's jaw worked silently and his focus remained on the road. Then her eyelids drifted closed as her head leaned back to rest against the car seat.

After several seconds passed without reply, Xander's eye darted anxiously from the traffic to Tara, repeating the motion multiple times and becoming increasingly concerned by her pallid complexion and total withdrawal.

"I shouldn't have asked," he sincerely apologized, upset at the thought of being the source of her apparent distress.

Opening her eyes, Tara turned to the carpenter, eager to offer assurance. "No, it's okay."

She pondered on his question, struggling to provide an adequate answer. "Anya ..." she began haltingly. "I don't really know. I wish I did."

Xander's disappointment clearly showed in his face, but he fought valiantly to maintain a stoic front. It was quite obvious that the last thing he wanted was for Tara to feel badly about the lack of information she was able to supply.

"Wherever I was ..." she continued slowly, "I can't really remember much. If there were other people ..." She shrugged her shoulders in defeat and shook her head. "I was ..." The blonde frowned. "...waiting. I think I was waiting."

A shiver coursed through her body as she fell silent. Then, with a resolute firming of her jaw, she forced a return to the present. "I'm sorry I don't have the answers," she told Xander with regret.

The carpenter acknowledged the statement with a tight nod and then threw her a somewhat self-effacing grin. "I don't think I really expected you to," he admitted. "If it were that easy, we'd all be John Edwards, right?"

"I miss her too," Tara confided.

Xander's commiserating smile reflected a deep sense of melancholy. He settled himself more comfortably in his seat as the pair continued their journey in silence.

Within the Circle Room, Seneca faced the door. In front of him stood a figure, cowl of the robe pulled up over the head. With mages milling around everywhere, the area was a hub of increasing activity and the overpowering atmosphere was one of charged anticipation.

Throwing open the door, Robespierre stormed in unannounced, as he was so often wont to do. Quickly surveying the room, his eyes alighted upon Seneca and he immediately hurried in that direction.

"You!" he challenged. "Where is Madrigan? And don't give me any of this no talking nonsense, I—"

The robed figure before Seneca slowly turned and the infuriated Robespierre found himself face to face with – himself. The double was a perfect match down to the most infinite of details, with the exception of the eyes. They shimmered almost constantly, shifting from the blue of Robespierre's to an unearthly yellow, never quite settling on either. Openly gaping, Robespierre took an involuntary step backward as he took stock of the familiar image.

"What is this?" he growled.

A flawless facsimile of his own voice replied. "What do you think? Do I look dour enough?" The double narrowed his eyes and hunched over, brooding ferociously. The impersonation did little to improve Robespierre's dark mood and he clearly seethed.

"Madrigan," he began, tone overly low and deceptively calm, "what are you doing?"

Madrigan began to circle the older man, maintaining his magnificently accurate persona and heedless of the real thing's furiously blazing eyes that tracked his every move. "Seneca and I were talking about going to one of those LARP things, you know. The real-life D&D stuff?" The mage halted when Robespierre was situated between himself and Seneca, and twirled gracefully to face his unfortunate dupe. He threw out his arms dramatically and looked Robespierre square in the eye. "I'm thinking of going as the irritating know-it-all."

The veins of Robespierre's neck began to pulse as his complexion became a livid shade of coronary purple, causing the disfiguring scar to almost glow white in comparison. "How dare you? How dare you, you insufferable little street magician?"

For the first time, the other inhabitants of the room started to actually pay overt attention to what was transpiring around them, but the only action they took was to favor Robespierre with a wide, wide berth – otherwise, they simply continued about their business.

As for Madrigan, rather than giving way to anger, he raised a hand to his chest at the affront while his expression became one usually reserved for tiny puppies attempting to protect what they perceive to be their territory. Given that he was wearing the mask of Robespierre's face, it was an especially surreal moment. Madrigan spared a glance over the other man's shoulder toward Seneca, who quirked an extremely amused eyebrow.

"You approached the Assemblage with an offer of assistance," Robespierre raged, "and this – this is what you bring? Parlor tricks? Smoke and mirrors? You need us far more than we need you."

Again, Madrigan glanced at Seneca, who was now holding up an unseen hand behind Robespierre's back and moving his fingers in a yapping, 'blah blah blah' motion while rolling his eyes.

Robespierre, realizing he had momentarily lost Madrigan's attention, poked viciously at the mage's shoulder. "Perhaps you need a reminder of that."

Then, seeming to have suddenly lost every vestige of patience that he might have one time possessed, Robespierre blew past Madrigan and stomped his way to the exit. The mage 'tsk'd' and sighed heavily for a second before jogging after Robespierre, the fake visage dissolving to reveal his own face.

He quickly caught up to the older man and, darting in front of him, effectively blocked his escape route. "Robby, Robby!," he cajoled. "It was a joke, man! I was just funnin' ya! You know, 'fun'? That thing you're gonna outlaw when you rule the world? Enjoy it while you can."

"I am not here for 'fun', Madrigan," glowered Robespierre, most certainly far from amused. "I am here for results."

"And I'm here for the ambiance and your gorgeous smile," countered Madrigan, oozing charm.

Huffing, Robespierre made another attempt to leave, but once again, Madrigan barred the way.

Robespierre's eyes narrowed threateningly. "I am the only one who can release the Antediluvian to your possession, Madrigan," he warned. "I suggest you bear that in mind next time you desire ... 'fun'."

Madrigan's tone was also laced with something akin to menace. "Y'know Robby, maybe you're no longer quite as original as you like to think."

Somewhat taken aback, Robespierre blinked and straightened. He scrutinized Madrigan's face, but the pasted smile never wavered – although it did seem rather less jovial now than before. However, the impression was fleeting and in a flash, Madrigan was once again his jocular self.

"Ahh, you're such a grumpy bear," wheedled the mage, beaming brightly. "Now c'mon, ya big lug."

Throwing a companionable arm over Robespierre's shoulders, Madrigan steered the other man toward the casting circle, where stood Seneca and where the other members of the faction had been frantically working. Robespierre regarded the arm very warily, but no longer appeared quite as certain of himself as he had formerly. As the pair arrived at the perimeter, all but the most essential personages scuttled out of the way – presumably to continue their varied and sundry duties elsewhere.

"I got somethin' that'll perk ya right up," Madrigan confided, giving Robespierre's shoulder a friendly shake. Then, as though he were trying to entice a small child, added in a singsong voice, "Guess whose prime weapon we released today?"

Robespierre instantly swallowed the bait and displayed nothing but avid interest. With a grandiose gesture, Madrigan indicated the casting circle and Robespierre eagerly peered closer, pulling away from the mage's arm. Madrigan glanced over at Seneca, who returned the look with an upward twitch of his eyebrows and exceedingly smug grin.

Dead pine needles and damply decaying foliage squished beneath the Slayers' feet as they sprinted through the woodlands. The overhead canopy seemed to be getting no less dense, although there were a few glimpses of a gray sky between the close-knit boughs. With expert agility and an air of urgency, they ducked beneath low-hanging branches and leapt over gnarled tree roots as they ran, but their movements were controlled and there was no sense of terror or panic.

"Can I just say this sucks?" griped Faith.

Buffy glanced in her direction. "You have said this sucks."

"Several times," added Kennedy. "Nobody cared then either."

Clumps of wet mud flew from the soles of Faith's boots. "It's this runnin' crap! It su—"

"If you say it sucks again," warned Buffy, "I will personally make you eat the next solid object I nearly run into."

"I don't like it either," Kennedy agreed, "but with some unknown whatever the hell, where-ever the hell shooting god knows what at us, we need a second to figure stuff out."

"Like, say, where we are?" queried Buffy, checking out the skyline as proficiently as possible given her rate of speed. "I can't see anything through these leaves, but I don't hear any traffic. I think we're somewhere isolated."

"There's a preserve or something not too far outta town," Faith informed her two companions. "'Bout five, ten miles. Pretty dense. I think we're there."

Buffy shot Faith an appraising look. "I guess that's as good a possibility as anything else."

"Do you think there's anyone else here?" asked Kennedy and then clarified her question. "Any other Slayers?"

Buffy appeared doubtful. "I don't think so. Why would he keep them separate but us together? And that goblin thing seemed pretty fixed on just us."

"Really no way to be sure," replied Faith. "Best just to work on what we know."

"Speaking of, what do we know?" Buffy glanced quickly from side to side, waiting for possible theories while simultaneously ducking underneath a thick tree limb directly in her path.

Kennedy spoke first. "Not a lot. Somet—"

"Aw man!" Faith's tone was highly indignant. "Now that's just wrong!"

She slid to a halt and, after going a few more paces, so did Kennedy and Buffy.

"Faith, come on, we need to keep moving," urged Buffy.

Kennedy frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Jerk took my knife! Dammit," spat Faith viciously. "That was my favorite!" She narrowed her eyes and regarded Buffy with some bitterness before adding, "Second favorite."

The blonde sighed. "It was years ago. Get over it."

"Okay, so we're weaponless on top of everything else," summed up Kennedy as she looked around in disgust. "Figures."

"I haven't even met this guy yet and I already hate him," spat Faith.

Glowering angrily, she stomped across the floor of the forest but hadn't gone more than a furious step or two before the area around her suddenly erupted, sending a flurry of leaves flying everywhere. Acting on instinct alone, Faith took a graceful leap to the side, tucked herself into a roll and then landed on her feet again moments later. She focused on the area of former danger – a large net had efficiently scooped up everything in the immediate vicinity, which would have included Faith had she not been so quick off the mark.

"Oh. Traps. Yay," declared Buffy flatly.

"The whole forest's probably wired," remarked a thoughtful Kennedy. She turned to Faith. "You alright?"

"Five by five," nodded Faith. "Be better when I can punch somethin', though."

The squelch of a footfall, approaching steadily from behind caused all three Slayers to reassess their present predicament.

"Come on," was Buffy's recommendation. "Let's keep going."

Neither Faith nor Kennedy voiced any objection as they raced after Buffy, but they had only gone a short distance when Faith rebelled.

"Nah, you know what?" Her tone was firm. "I had enough'a this. We're Slayers. We don't run from scary crap, scary crap runs from us, know what I'm sayi—"

She stopped short as she almost collided with a bulky object directly in her path – the hunter had arrived. Displaying nimble expertise, Buffy and Kennedy also skidded to a stop, flanking Faith who had obviously been startled by the abrupt appearance but, as always, was making a fast recovery.

"Nice trick," she sneered. "Who'd you learn that from? Jason Voorhees?"

Barradon either failed to get the joke or didn't find it particularly amusing. Faith, however, seemed unconcerned at his lack of mirth.

"Guess you're the big nasty guy, thinks he can take on the Slay Team Supreme an' score a few more notches on the belt buckle, huh?" She eyed him critically. "Sorry to disappoint."

The words were barely out of her mouth before she delivered a backhanded punch to Barradon's jaw with enough force and momentum to shatter bone – had he been human. Which he most certainly was not. Therefore, the only visible effect was a slight jerk of his head to one side. Faith blinked in surprise at the minimal reaction.

"You're strong," the demon admitted with a smidgen of admiration. "Excellent. Though I'm guessing you meant for that to hurt this much?"

And with that, Barradon drew back his arm and struck Faith with a blow that mirrored perfectly the one she had delivered to him. This time, the outcome was far more impressive. Lifted off her feet, Faith literally sailed through the air, crashing into – and ultimately through – a small copse of slender trees. She fell in a tumbled heap upon a pile of rotting twigs and pinecones. Instantly, Kennedy and Buffy rushed to her side, but Barradon was in no great hurry.

"This is great," the monster enthused. "When I kill you three, I'm betting I'll get so many points, I'll leave those Blohdi weaklings crying in the dust."

Kennedy glowered at Barradon as Buffy peered anxiously into Faith's pale face. Her eyes were closed and there were the beginnings of a purple fistmark showing on her chin. With a small shake of her head, the blonde opened her mouth as though to speak.

"Don't say it," threatened Faith, her lids still clamped shut.

With a snap of her jaw, Buffy grudgingly complied with the request and then nodded tersely at Kennedy. Together, they hauled the fallen Slayer to her feet, threw one limp arm over each shoulder and then fled the area as swiftly as possible.

Barradon was nonchalant as he watched them go. "Oh yeah," he whispered, black eyes glittering like polished onyx. "They'll be worth so much more then that sniveling sorcerer."

A huge grin crossed his face, revealing the wicked canine fangs. He settled his bow and quiver more comfortably on his massive shoulder and gleefully rubbed his hands together before resuming his relentless pursuit.