•••

"Oh," Xander whispered, shivering slightly. Spike buried his face in the boy's neck, hiding from the fierce glares of invisible eyes. He could feel them boring into him. Doyle saw their fear and tried to swallow his own. It wouldn't do any good to make them hysterical by acting like a coward. He held himself strongly and turned back to them.

"We'll win this one," Doyle told the pair. "If not... Well, we will! We just have to wait for help to get here."

Xander crooned tunelessly, soothing the now shaking vampire. He could tell that Doyle was scared; who wouldn't be? Maybe it was his sudden, inexplicable desire to comfort Spike that made Xander want to wrap an arm around Doyle and assure the ghost that everything would be alright. "So, how often do people from your circle--the no-hopers-- come out this way?" Xander asked, hoping to distract Doyle.

It didn't work. Doyle shuddered uncontrollably for a long moment. The Irishman slowly regained his composure, but Xander could see tears threatening to fall. "No, we don't come down here much. This isn't my first trip, though. The witch Erichtho sent me to the lowest circle to fetch a Judas. It wasn't a pleasant experience." He glanced around the dismal area. "This swamp is one of the most desolate places in all of Tartarus. Never touch the waters, they breed anger and rage. Neither the dead nor the living are..."

Doyle's voice faded into nothingness and Xander leaned forward to catch the last words. He stopped when Spike stiffened and moaned. "What is it, Spike?" Xander asked, cradling the vampire close.

"Furies," Spike whispered, looking over Xander's shoulders, at the tower they'd passed. Xander turned slightly to take in the sight. Three once-beautiful women stood on the edge of the tower, glaring down at the men. Verdant snakes wrapped around their torsos and twined in their hair.

"The Erinyes," Doyle murmured. "Megaera, Allecto and Tisiphone." He shivered as they pointed at him and the others.

"Medusa!" The Furies shouted. "Come down here! There is fresh blood, blood of the living who have never seen you, and one of the dead who has escaped your beauty once before!"

Doyle grabbed Spike and Xander, throwing them to the ground. "Cover your eyes," He ordered, rolling them onto their stomachs. "Don't look at anything, especially not her face. She'll turn you into stone, and you'll be stuck here forever."

"What about you? She can hurt you too, can't she?" Xander asked as Doyle covered his face with a rather solid, warm palm. Spike pressed himself into Xander's embrace, hiding his face in the boy's chest. The vampire's demon was whimpering in his mind, cowering behind his soul.

"I'll be fine," Doyle insisted as he covered the two men completely. It was his job to get them out alive, not save his sorry ass. Still, he couldn't repress a spurt of warm gratitude when Xander hauled him down to join the two men on the ground. They twined together in a mass of warm and cool bodies, faces safely tucked away. Between Doyle and Xander, Spike finally ceased shivering.

Screaming, vicious wails rose from the Styx and wind whipped over the ground. Xander huddled with the others, back turned against the onslaught. The young man felt something wet on his neck and realized that Spike was crying. Xander tightened his hold on Spike once again. They needed to get through with this ordeal soon; he wasn't sure how much more Spike could take of this place. He had a feeling that the vampire really was afraid that he'd end up here--and if all his past atrocities got counted, he would. Xander couldn't make himself think that Spike deserved this kind of hell, though. Then again, from what little he'd seen of Doyle, he didn't think their guide warranted it either. The man was too kind, too brave, too... well, too levelheaded.

Doyle felt a telltale shift in the air. "Xander, get up," He ordered. "Look into the mist."

Xander decided to trust Doyle and lifted up, bringing Spike with him. The two men stared into the seething miasma, watching as a form solidified out of it. "The messenger," Spike whispered. As soon as he spoke, a tall, dark skinned man strode out of the fog.

He walked right by the three men as he approached the gates. "That's Forrest," Xander murmured to Spike and Doyle. He was happy to see that Riley's buddy hadn't suffered in the afterlife for what had happened in Sunnydale.

Forrest stopped right in front of the gates. "Who the hell do you think you are? You got kicked out of the Summerlands; you've got no right to interfere with the business of those we claim as our own. Let them pass or you'll get the business end of a whole bunch of pissed off warriors!"

The gates swung open and Doyle jumped up, dragging Xander and Spike with him. They walked past Forrest, who acknowledged them with a curt nod before disappearing into the fog.

As soon as the entered the fortress, Xander wished they'd remained outside, forever thwarted. Steaming, seething pits of red-hot metal lined the walkways. Thick vapor stinking of charred flesh rose and swirled in the air, choking the boy. Spike waved the steam away from Xander's face, wincing in sympathy. "Doyle? Do I want to know?" Xander asked.

"Probably not, but I'll tell you anyway," Doyle murmured. "They're the arch-heretics; those who betrayed their chosen paths with self-centred and blind greed." Spike peered into the sepulchers, noting the high concentration of religious figures. It seemed that in death these figures were all draped in the official clothes of their professions. He also spotted quite a few Watchers, obvious for the symbols of office they wore around their necks.

Xander nodded and moved on, Spike in tow.