•••

Xander took one last look at the suicide-trees and Liam's torn body. He pulled away from the others and went back, collecting discarded boughs along the way. When he reached Angel's human form, Xander covered it with the branches, hiding it from the prying eyes and razor-fangs of the wild dog pack.

"White Knight," Spike murmured as Xander rejoined them. The young man shrugged and walked behind Doyle, noting how the trees were thinning out and the soil was becoming sandier.

"Wow, talk about a psycho beach party," Xander said as the three men came upon the next part of Tartarus. In front of them stretched a wide expanse of glowing, shimmering sand. On the sand were bodies of every description--old and young, tall and short, male and female. Each one was lying down in the dry, dusty stuff, quivering and jerking as fire rained down on them.

"Er, Doyle?" Xander called out. "Got a minor problem here. I left my asbestos aloha shirt at home." Delicate flakes of fire floated through the dark sky, making idle trails through the fetid air. It looked like snow--someone's bad acid-trip idea of snow, of course. The damned upon the sand reached out with charred hands to put out each flame as it fell, at the same time trying to avoid as many of the flames as possible as they landed on their sooty backs.

"Hmm..." Doyle hummed, wondering how they were going to cross this next part. Perhaps if they went very quickly...

Spike glanced back towards the woods. Maybe they could make some sort of cover... He was about to strip out of his duster and offer it up as a canopy when something struck him on the head. "Fuck!" He screeched, catching the item instinctively. The screech of a harpy punctuated his invective as she flew away, flapping madly.

"What the hell..." Xander started, looking at what Spike was holding. The long, narrow package was wrapped in what looked like baby-shower paper; little cherubs and clouds covered the material with a shiny glint.

"It's from Tara," Doyle said decisively, peering around Xander.

"How do you know?" Xander inquired.

"The paper," Doyle replied. "Where else around here are you going to get something that..."

"Bloody cute," Spike finished, ripping the paper off. The contents of their parcel sent the vampire into paroxysms of laughter. Both Doyle and Xander tried to peer into it, but Spike was doubled over, hiding the gift.

"Spike!" Xander said loudly, reaching around the blonde. "Come on, give it up!" Doyle joined in, trying everything they knew to get the parcel out of Spike's twitching, grasping arms. They tickled, but that just made Spike crouch down more. Xander attempted to yank Spike's arms up, while Doyle grabbed his legs, but that just sent Xander to the ground as well, straddling Spike's lap. Doyle was jarred by the maneuver, so he stood up. However, he overbalanced and ended up between the two men, cradled in their arms.

"Fancy meeting you here," Spike said, still laughing madly. He rocked back enough to sit down, taking pressure off his feet.

"Give it up, Spike," Xander said, moving his arm up to support Doyle's neck. "What's in the package?"

"Doyle's sitting on it," Spike replied, wriggling under the ghost's body. "It'd be easier if ghosts were actually ghostly down here," He remarked. Doyle tried to lift up a bit, so that Spike could retrieve the parcel.

"Wouldn't be as much fun," Xander reminded him. "So, what made you laugh so hard?"

Spike revealed the parcel with a flourish. A single press of a button opened up an enormous, black umbrella.

"Fuck," Doyle said, staring at the thing. "Gonna have to have a talk with that girl."

"Shh..." Xander whispered. "Having a serious Mary Poppins moment here."

Doyle shook his head. "Nah, she's farther down." He managed to lever himself onto his feet, taking hold of the umbrella. Spike and Xander stood up as well, huddling with Doyle under their new protection. The ghost led them onto the sands, noting that the fiery rain simply slid off the umbrella without leaving a single mark.

"So," Xander started, looking around. "Just what did..." His voice dropped off for a moment as he recognized one of the people on the sands. "Glory?"

"Blasphemers," Doyle said succinctly. "They lie on burning sands, forever subject to raining fire."

Glory looked up at Xander, seeming at first to recognize him. However, he soon realized that she could see nothing at all; her eyes were burned to nothingness.

"Pretending to be a god is definitely blasphemous," Spike marked as he urged them all along. Though the sights around him were bothersome, this ring of Tartarus didn't affect him as much as the others. His very existence as a vampire was a blasphemy, so he figured his final resting place would be based on something more serious than that.

"Isn't that the Judge?" Xander asked Spike, pointing out towards a large figure.

"Looks to be that way," Spike confirmed. "Hard to believe that blasphemy is the worst thing he ever did, though."

"Oh, just you wait," Doyle warned. He saw that they'd stopped again, so he urged them on.

"Er, guys? Could you wait up?" Xander asked. "'Cause I've got a problem here."

Spike turned back to look at Xander, who was huddling at the edge of their umbrella. "What is it?"

Xander picked up one foot--which dripped a gooey black substance. "My shoes are melting." The sands glimmered because they were extremely hot, and his shoes weren't holding up too well. Apparently Spike's were in better shape.

Spike frowned, thinking quickly. He reached out and picked Xander up, draping the boy's back over one arm and his knees over the other. "Better?"

Xander wriggled a bit to get comfortable. "Yeah, even with the whole unmanly-being-carried-by-another-guy thing," He replied. "Of course, if we start to factor in all those times you--"

Spike growled and began to walk. "Harris, you would bring that up."

Doyle just laughed. "You two are cute, you know that?"

Neither Xander nor Spike deigned to reply to that statement. They simply slogged through the sands, watching the blasphemous try to protect themselves. A few minutes later, Doyle stopped at the banks of a stream. The sands looked cooler, so Spike let Xander stand on his own.

"Hey, Doyle?" Xander called out. "That stream, it's made of blood." It looked a lot like a miniature version of the one the Centaurs had carried them across. The path they would walk ran next to the crimson waters.

"It's Phlegethon," Doyle confirmed, nodding.

"Where's it coming from?" Xander inquired, peering into the waters.

"Old Man of Crete," Spike murmured softly.

"Yeah," Doyle said. "He's under Mount Ida."

"And he makes rivers?" Xander asked.

Doyle took Xander's and Spike's hands, leading them on the path. "Story time again, boys. The Old Man of Crete has a gold head, silver arms, bronze stomach, iron legs, and a clay foot. Most of his body is all cracked up, though. He cries all the time, and those tears form the four rivers of Tartarus--Acheron, Phlegethon, Styx and Cocytus."

"What about Lethe?" Spike asked curiously.

"That's for later on," Doyle said seriously. "It's where the repentant go to wash away their sins. Come on," He urged, making them walk faster. "If it's ok with you, I'd like to get going."