The Fall of Triumvirate
“Who’s coming?” Clem asked. “And… when?”
Lorne scanned the skylight and the empty booths across the restaurant. “Hold your horses,” he said. “It’ll happen. It saw
it.”
They paused, holding their collective breaths. “Any second now,” Lorne said. And they waited.
And waited.
Clem said, “How long’s it been since you had your empathy filter cleaned? ’Cause, me, I’m of the supernatural ilk, and I’m
reading a nada on the paranormal scale.”
“No n-no no no,” Lorne said, turning a sharp circle. “They were here. Right here.”
Finally, Clem couldn’t stand it. He asked, “Who’s they?”
As if in answer to Clem’s query, the dance floor split open before them in an earth-shattering sinkhole of spraying sand and
ash. Both demons teetered, arms pin-wheeling, cursing as most demons are wont to do, on the edge of a black abyss. Lorne
shifted his weight backward, thankful for all of his Akido lessons back at Wolfram & Hart, and taking Clem with him, they
tumbled backward, away from the gaping, howling maw.
Over the screaming wind that filled Triumvirate, Clem shouted, “Duck now, Boss?”
Lorne swallowed a mouthful of sand, but choked out a ‘No’ as they crab-crawled backward to the tiered steps that led into
the dance floor.
Then just as suddenly as the hole had appeared it began to iris closed, with a small lifeless figure dangling above it, drifting in
the air. Lorne and Clem watched in terror- as the figure looked as though it would drop back in, when the sinkhole vanished,
dumping the figure and a few windblown swirls of sand.
Lorne rolled to his knees. “It’s him,” he said. “Red-head kid. Stick by me.” Lorne crawled with urgency toward the prone
figure.
“Don’t touch it,” Clem cautioned as they neared the body. “It’s probably diseased, or poisoned. It’s Hell’s version of
Typhoid Mary. We’re talking lesions. Boils. Re-runs of What’s Happening?”
Lorne gave Clem a quizzical look, but crawled onward. “It’s not. He’s back, which means…”
He looked toward the doors as they rattled in their frames. A heartbeat later, shadows formed in the frosted glass. Tall,
looming shadows that filled the windows top to bottom.
“They’re here,” Lorne muttered. He trembled from the tips of his horns all the way down to his purple polka dotted socks.
He pulled himself upright, dragging Clem with him. “Think unified front,” Lorne said. “Think circle of protection. Think… let
them do the talking.”
“And duck on your cue?” Clem double-checked.
Before Lorne could nod assent, the front doors splintered open, showering them with glass.
Lorne had heard stories about the Sulkquelawtna, children’s stories meant to frighten any demon who thought about taking
the high road right back on to the crooked path. Their ruthlessness was legendary even among demonkind. Fierce, blood-
thirsty, craven and depraved, they would kill for the slightest slight, or for fun, or to just stay in practice. And all of that
was probably compounded due to the fact they’d been in exile for millennia. He had no idea what to think or feel when he
saw them. Fortunately, instinct had him hard-wired for blind fear, and really, what else do ya need?
There were twelve of them, each 8-feet tall, dressed in armor that appeared to be crafted from bones and torn strips of
steel-belted radials. They entered through the wreckage of the front doors in pyramid formation, the leader and his two
lieutenants flanking him, the others fanned out in perfect staggered rank. As they neared, Lorne felt his knees quiver like a
plate of lime Jell-o. He felt the fist of panic wrench his heart, squeezing and squeezing until he thought it might burst. But it
didn’t, and in its next beat, he stood looking up into the face of the Sulksquelawtna Clan Leader, and Lorne found himself in
a shallow and unexpected sea of calm.
He had seen this part play out when Clem hummed “As Time Goes By.” As he figured it, Lorne had an edge, and he could use
that.
The Clan Leader had a mouth full of jagged red teeth, like he’d spent his afternoon casually shredding hunks of raw meat. His
skin appeared gray and transparent, like latex balloons filled with sewer sludge which jiggled nauseatingly when he breathed.
His breath gave off the same sewer water stench. But it was the demon leader’s eyes that gave Lorne the jeebiest heebies.
They were the color of rotten egg yolks with concentric rings of gray all the way to their black centers. They fixed Lorne
with a baleful stare, appraising him, and correctly assuming he was in charge, the demon leader addressed him.
“I am Sabnock, Grand Marquis of Hell. Clan Despot of the Sulksquelawtna, most feared, most reviled, most hated of the
demon lords in all Circles,” he said in a voice that grated like two plates of steel ground slowly together. “I claimeth this
place, this Triumvirate, in mine own name, and will rippeth out the entrails of all who oppose me, and weareth them as
garments to our victory fires.”
Lorne opened his mouth, not knowing what might come out, and was surprised at what did. “No can do, big fella,” he said,
forcing a smile. Then he paused involuntarily as Sabnock’s lieutenants sneered with a haughty smugness that told Lorne he
was next on the menu. He hastened to explain. “You see, this one belongs to Nig’han’het, of the Order of Kimaris, as
circumscribed by her Circle…”
“The Circle is broken. Her claims, forfeit,” Sabnock growled. His clan-mates growled in what might have been laughter, but
sounded the utmost in creepy. Sabnock swiveled his eyes to Lorne and went on, “As are the lives of all who served her. Their
blood will water the soil where the seeds of war are sown.”
“Where seeds of war are sown,” Lorne reiterated the words to himself. This was it, the part he’d seen…
“Now!” Lorne cried. Clem dropped to his knees beside Oz. The downward stroke of Sabnock’s scimitar screamed through
the air less than a quarter inch above Clem’s head. Lorne himself reeled backward, but he caught himself and stood firm in
the face of the imposing demon clan. Beside him, Clem uttered a small ‘whew’ of relief.
Sabnock studied Lorne for a long, agonizing moment – so long that Lorne desperately hoped that Sabnock wasn’t craving
flank of Pylean. Finally, the demon grunted. He said, “Dost this establishment serve chili-cheese fries?”
Lorne stammered. He’d only seen as far as Clem’s demise. That successfully dodged, they were on their own, empathically
speaking, and he had no idea at all what the demon had just said.
“Certainly it dost,” Clem answered, raising a flabby forearm.
Lorne flashed him a warning glare, knowing full-well it certainly didst not.
Clem tilted his head forward, as if to say, Don’t worry, this one’s on me.
“I’m the cook in this joint,” Clem told Sabnock. He got up from his knees, but kept his head bowed, either out of fear or
subjugation, Lorne couldn’t be sure which. “I can whip up chili-cheese fries, a blooming onion, a mean guac-queso. You name
it.”
Sabnock paused, considering. “Guac-queso,” he said, rolling his disgusting gray tongue over his teeth.
Clem nodded fervently. Lorne smiled and bobbed his head along.
“Put raw flesh in it, and thou hast a deal,” Sabnock said at length.
“Done,” Clem answered.
“And I’ll have a diet Coke,” ventured the lieutenant to Sabnock’s left. Two others echoed the desire with couple of
staggered ‘Me too’s.
Clem started to absent himself, and fast, when the leader spoke, halting him. “It is good,” he said. “We shall set up
operations here. Thou shalt servest us.”
“Not to throw monkeys or wrenches into your machinations, big guy, but remember Nighna’s protection?” Lorne said.
“Triumvirate belonged to her. This place marks the X of neutrality.”
The leader’s eyes roamed to center on Oz. “Nig’han’het has perished in the flames of Hell. Her Circle broke to allow this one’
s return. By our count, two of the final seven seals, broken. Hell hath been unleashed. Nig’han’het is dead.”
Dead? Lorne thought. Was it possible? Could Nighna actually be dead? Lorne looked down at the still form of the red-head kid.
He remembered that this was the one who joined up with them late in the game, but who’d known Buffy and the gang since
the beginning, or almost. Lorne was unclear on all of the details except for one, which stared him in the face: Hell had
opened up to let this kid through. And only him. Whatever became of the rest? Lorne knew he could only have the answers if
– when – the kid woke up.
Lorne swallowed hard and tried to blink back his tears. The kid laid there with the responsiveness of a Cabbage Patch Doll,
which is to say, not much responsiveness at all.
“Yes,” Sabnock pronounced. “We shall rule here. Cede your surrender, prove thyself worthy in our service, and you may
leave here with your lives.”
All around him, the Sulksquelawtna spread out, making themselves at home by upending planters, tables, booths and bar
stools. Somewhere behind him he heard the discordant crash of broken glass, followed by the twisted-gears sound of their
laughter.
Lorne felt his knees weaken with a sapping kind of sadness. He dropped to the floor beside the red-head kid and inspected
him closer. Oz. The name swam up to him, along with Eve’s final words before Oz and the others disappeared into the
Deeper Well.
“Hero-ing’s not my line of work anymore,” Lorne had said.
To which she responded in her noncommittal cryptic, “That’s too bad.”
Lorne had wondered then what she meant by that. Now he thought he was getting it.
“Hey,” Lorne whispered. “Can ya hear me? Oz?”
Oz rolled his head toward the sound of Lorne’s voice. Sand scaled his eyes and clogged his ears. His lips, parched and
cracked, parted to utter one word: “Luxe.”
Lorne’s flesh crawled. “Oh. That guy.”
“He’s on his way,” Oz said. He tried to sit up, but Lorne placed a discouraging hand on the kid’s chest to keep him down.
“Best not to mention it. Yet,” Lorne said, glancing around. He saw Clem come out of the kitchen with one of the large
waiter’s trays laden with a bounty of steaming appetizers. The Sulksquelawtna descended upon it like carrion birds on fresh
road kill. Clem scampered away, fearing that they just might add him to the menu.
Oz tried to shove Lorne’s hand aside, but had the equivalent strength, it seemed, of a paper napkin.
“We have to tell them,” Oz groaned, sounding miserable in his defeat. “Luxe is on his way, and Hell is coming with him.”
Lorne watched the Sulksquelawtna making mince of his lovely Triumvirate, which had been more a home to him than a place
of employment. He watched as Sabnock dipped his meaty claws into the koi pond, plucked out one of the plump and glorious
golden carp, and bit its head clean from its body. Strings of slimy fish guts dumped down Sabnock’s torso, and the demon let
out a triumphant howl of satisfaction. Lorne retched, and averted his eyes.
“Hate to say it, kid,” Lorne said. “Hell is already here.”
“Who’s coming?” Clem asked. “And… when?”
Lorne scanned the skylight and the empty booths across the restaurant. “Hold your horses,” he said. “It’ll happen. It saw
it.”
They paused, holding their collective breaths. “Any second now,” Lorne said. And they waited.
And waited.
Clem said, “How long’s it been since you had your empathy filter cleaned? ’Cause, me, I’m of the supernatural ilk, and I’m
reading a nada on the paranormal scale.”
“No n-no no no,” Lorne said, turning a sharp circle. “They were here. Right here.”
Finally, Clem couldn’t stand it. He asked, “Who’s they?”
As if in answer to Clem’s query, the dance floor split open before them in an earth-shattering sinkhole of spraying sand and
ash. Both demons teetered, arms pin-wheeling, cursing as most demons are wont to do, on the edge of a black abyss. Lorne
shifted his weight backward, thankful for all of his Akido lessons back at Wolfram & Hart, and taking Clem with him, they
tumbled backward, away from the gaping, howling maw.
Over the screaming wind that filled Triumvirate, Clem shouted, “Duck now, Boss?”
Lorne swallowed a mouthful of sand, but choked out a ‘No’ as they crab-crawled backward to the tiered steps that led into
the dance floor.
Then just as suddenly as the hole had appeared it began to iris closed, with a small lifeless figure dangling above it, drifting in
the air. Lorne and Clem watched in terror- as the figure looked as though it would drop back in, when the sinkhole vanished,
dumping the figure and a few windblown swirls of sand.
Lorne rolled to his knees. “It’s him,” he said. “Red-head kid. Stick by me.” Lorne crawled with urgency toward the prone
figure.
“Don’t touch it,” Clem cautioned as they neared the body. “It’s probably diseased, or poisoned. It’s Hell’s version of
Typhoid Mary. We’re talking lesions. Boils. Re-runs of What’s Happening?”
Lorne gave Clem a quizzical look, but crawled onward. “It’s not. He’s back, which means…”
He looked toward the doors as they rattled in their frames. A heartbeat later, shadows formed in the frosted glass. Tall,
looming shadows that filled the windows top to bottom.
“They’re here,” Lorne muttered. He trembled from the tips of his horns all the way down to his purple polka dotted socks.
He pulled himself upright, dragging Clem with him. “Think unified front,” Lorne said. “Think circle of protection. Think… let
them do the talking.”
“And duck on your cue?” Clem double-checked.
Before Lorne could nod assent, the front doors splintered open, showering them with glass.
Lorne had heard stories about the Sulkquelawtna, children’s stories meant to frighten any demon who thought about taking
the high road right back on to the crooked path. Their ruthlessness was legendary even among demonkind. Fierce, blood-
thirsty, craven and depraved, they would kill for the slightest slight, or for fun, or to just stay in practice. And all of that
was probably compounded due to the fact they’d been in exile for millennia. He had no idea what to think or feel when he
saw them. Fortunately, instinct had him hard-wired for blind fear, and really, what else do ya need?
There were twelve of them, each 8-feet tall, dressed in armor that appeared to be crafted from bones and torn strips of
steel-belted radials. They entered through the wreckage of the front doors in pyramid formation, the leader and his two
lieutenants flanking him, the others fanned out in perfect staggered rank. As they neared, Lorne felt his knees quiver like a
plate of lime Jell-o. He felt the fist of panic wrench his heart, squeezing and squeezing until he thought it might burst. But it
didn’t, and in its next beat, he stood looking up into the face of the Sulksquelawtna Clan Leader, and Lorne found himself in
a shallow and unexpected sea of calm.
He had seen this part play out when Clem hummed “As Time Goes By.” As he figured it, Lorne had an edge, and he could use
that.
The Clan Leader had a mouth full of jagged red teeth, like he’d spent his afternoon casually shredding hunks of raw meat. His
skin appeared gray and transparent, like latex balloons filled with sewer sludge which jiggled nauseatingly when he breathed.
His breath gave off the same sewer water stench. But it was the demon leader’s eyes that gave Lorne the jeebiest heebies.
They were the color of rotten egg yolks with concentric rings of gray all the way to their black centers. They fixed Lorne
with a baleful stare, appraising him, and correctly assuming he was in charge, the demon leader addressed him.
“I am Sabnock, Grand Marquis of Hell. Clan Despot of the Sulksquelawtna, most feared, most reviled, most hated of the
demon lords in all Circles,” he said in a voice that grated like two plates of steel ground slowly together. “I claimeth this
place, this Triumvirate, in mine own name, and will rippeth out the entrails of all who oppose me, and weareth them as
garments to our victory fires.”
Lorne opened his mouth, not knowing what might come out, and was surprised at what did. “No can do, big fella,” he said,
forcing a smile. Then he paused involuntarily as Sabnock’s lieutenants sneered with a haughty smugness that told Lorne he
was next on the menu. He hastened to explain. “You see, this one belongs to Nig’han’het, of the Order of Kimaris, as
circumscribed by her Circle…”
“The Circle is broken. Her claims, forfeit,” Sabnock growled. His clan-mates growled in what might have been laughter, but
sounded the utmost in creepy. Sabnock swiveled his eyes to Lorne and went on, “As are the lives of all who served her. Their
blood will water the soil where the seeds of war are sown.”
“Where seeds of war are sown,” Lorne reiterated the words to himself. This was it, the part he’d seen…
“Now!” Lorne cried. Clem dropped to his knees beside Oz. The downward stroke of Sabnock’s scimitar screamed through
the air less than a quarter inch above Clem’s head. Lorne himself reeled backward, but he caught himself and stood firm in
the face of the imposing demon clan. Beside him, Clem uttered a small ‘whew’ of relief.
Sabnock studied Lorne for a long, agonizing moment – so long that Lorne desperately hoped that Sabnock wasn’t craving
flank of Pylean. Finally, the demon grunted. He said, “Dost this establishment serve chili-cheese fries?”
Lorne stammered. He’d only seen as far as Clem’s demise. That successfully dodged, they were on their own, empathically
speaking, and he had no idea at all what the demon had just said.
“Certainly it dost,” Clem answered, raising a flabby forearm.
Lorne flashed him a warning glare, knowing full-well it certainly didst not.
Clem tilted his head forward, as if to say, Don’t worry, this one’s on me.
“I’m the cook in this joint,” Clem told Sabnock. He got up from his knees, but kept his head bowed, either out of fear or
subjugation, Lorne couldn’t be sure which. “I can whip up chili-cheese fries, a blooming onion, a mean guac-queso. You name
it.”
Sabnock paused, considering. “Guac-queso,” he said, rolling his disgusting gray tongue over his teeth.
Clem nodded fervently. Lorne smiled and bobbed his head along.
“Put raw flesh in it, and thou hast a deal,” Sabnock said at length.
“Done,” Clem answered.
“And I’ll have a diet Coke,” ventured the lieutenant to Sabnock’s left. Two others echoed the desire with couple of
staggered ‘Me too’s.
Clem started to absent himself, and fast, when the leader spoke, halting him. “It is good,” he said. “We shall set up
operations here. Thou shalt servest us.”
“Not to throw monkeys or wrenches into your machinations, big guy, but remember Nighna’s protection?” Lorne said.
“Triumvirate belonged to her. This place marks the X of neutrality.”
The leader’s eyes roamed to center on Oz. “Nig’han’het has perished in the flames of Hell. Her Circle broke to allow this one’
s return. By our count, two of the final seven seals, broken. Hell hath been unleashed. Nig’han’het is dead.”
Dead? Lorne thought. Was it possible? Could Nighna actually be dead? Lorne looked down at the still form of the red-head kid.
He remembered that this was the one who joined up with them late in the game, but who’d known Buffy and the gang since
the beginning, or almost. Lorne was unclear on all of the details except for one, which stared him in the face: Hell had
opened up to let this kid through. And only him. Whatever became of the rest? Lorne knew he could only have the answers if
– when – the kid woke up.
Lorne swallowed hard and tried to blink back his tears. The kid laid there with the responsiveness of a Cabbage Patch Doll,
which is to say, not much responsiveness at all.
“Yes,” Sabnock pronounced. “We shall rule here. Cede your surrender, prove thyself worthy in our service, and you may
leave here with your lives.”
All around him, the Sulksquelawtna spread out, making themselves at home by upending planters, tables, booths and bar
stools. Somewhere behind him he heard the discordant crash of broken glass, followed by the twisted-gears sound of their
laughter.
Lorne felt his knees weaken with a sapping kind of sadness. He dropped to the floor beside the red-head kid and inspected
him closer. Oz. The name swam up to him, along with Eve’s final words before Oz and the others disappeared into the
Deeper Well.
“Hero-ing’s not my line of work anymore,” Lorne had said.
To which she responded in her noncommittal cryptic, “That’s too bad.”
Lorne had wondered then what she meant by that. Now he thought he was getting it.
“Hey,” Lorne whispered. “Can ya hear me? Oz?”
Oz rolled his head toward the sound of Lorne’s voice. Sand scaled his eyes and clogged his ears. His lips, parched and
cracked, parted to utter one word: “Luxe.”
Lorne’s flesh crawled. “Oh. That guy.”
“He’s on his way,” Oz said. He tried to sit up, but Lorne placed a discouraging hand on the kid’s chest to keep him down.
“Best not to mention it. Yet,” Lorne said, glancing around. He saw Clem come out of the kitchen with one of the large
waiter’s trays laden with a bounty of steaming appetizers. The Sulksquelawtna descended upon it like carrion birds on fresh
road kill. Clem scampered away, fearing that they just might add him to the menu.
Oz tried to shove Lorne’s hand aside, but had the equivalent strength, it seemed, of a paper napkin.
“We have to tell them,” Oz groaned, sounding miserable in his defeat. “Luxe is on his way, and Hell is coming with him.”
Lorne watched the Sulksquelawtna making mince of his lovely Triumvirate, which had been more a home to him than a place
of employment. He watched as Sabnock dipped his meaty claws into the koi pond, plucked out one of the plump and glorious
golden carp, and bit its head clean from its body. Strings of slimy fish guts dumped down Sabnock’s torso, and the demon let
out a triumphant howl of satisfaction. Lorne retched, and averted his eyes.
“Hate to say it, kid,” Lorne said. “Hell is already here.”
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.Chapter Index.
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Time Is Running Out
Primal
Anywhere Out
of This World
Blood, Pressure
The Drawing Board
All's Well
Anywhere Out of
This World
Mourning Sickness
Welcome to Hell
Relative
Matters of Time
& Fishes
International Calls
Empty as Houses
Lusty Wrong Feelings
Enthralled
Thanksgiving
Seduced
Innocents Lost
Burn
Flashback
Not A Chance In Hell
Empty Rooms
Two Roads Diverged
Starfall
Blindsided
Not Her Own
Outta Here
The Valley of the
Shadow of Death
Comes the Rain
Smoke and Mirrors
Drawn to You
Team Angel
By Fire Reborn
Salvage
Ashes to Ashes
Life Is...
With A Little Help
Appearances Deceiving
Familiarity
Sweetness
Not All Who Wander
That Old Black Magic
For Lorne
Drawn Together
Lost to Sand
Fall of Triumvirate
Parallel Lives
The Lovers
Avenger
Double Cross
Pursuit
Ripper's Girl
Pandemonium
Negative Space
Raveled Threads
Asunder
Human Hands
Singular
Fragmented
Symmetry
Plans
Rogue Squadron
Legends
Mea Culpa
Things Unsaid
Home Sweet Gone
Eleventh Hour
Last Call
Time Is Running Out
Primal