Spike stuck close behind Doyle as the three men traipsed past the last of the flatterers. For a moment, the vampire sighed in relief--he was finally past the rotting stench of feces. However, within seconds he regretted ever taking a celebratory breath, for once again his nose was assaulted with the odor of burning flesh.

"You know, it's bad enough that I know what roasting human flesh smells like," Xander whispered, "But when I start to get used to it..."

Doyle flinched. "Sorry about that, Xander. There's not much I can do, though. We have to pass every part of Tartarus before we can leave." Spike nodded slightly and urged Xander onward, hoping that the next part of their journey wouldn't involve fire.

As they crossed over a narrow, rocky bridge, Xander glanced down. This area was covered with narrow, deep-looking pits. In most of the recesses lay human bodies, hidden except for their lower legs and feet. It was there that he found the source of the burning flesh-smell; each tortured person's feet were aflame, as though painted with oil and touched with a match. The young man suppressed a giggle as he imagined the pained twitching of those feet as some sort of demonic minuet. They did look like they were dancing, just upside-down.

One person twitched and burned brighter than all the rest, though. The fiery feet glowed with a red haze, as though they were radiating out all the heat of Tartarus itself. "Who's that?" Xander asked Doyle, pointing down. "The really bad one."

Doyle abruptly stopped walking, his attention focused on the person Xander had mentioned. The boy bumped into him, pushed there by Spike, who hadn't seen Doyle stop. The three men stood sandwiched together while Doyle studied the damned below. "Funny you should ask," He finally replied. "Why don't we go down and take a look?"

Before either Spike or Xander could complain, Doyle had taken Xander by the hand and begun to drag him down a narrow, creeping path that descended down the far wall of the crevice. Spike followed hurriedly, unwilling to let either man leave his sight. "What did they do, anyway?" Spike asked as they clambered towards the bottom. "To get roasted like this?"

"Simonists," Doyle muttered. "The lot of them."

Xander's face screwed up in confusion. "Simonists? As in 'Simon Says'?" As he spoke, a rock jumped up and tripped him. Pale hands caught flailing limbs as the boy fell. When Xander found himself pressed between Doyle and Spike, he just leaned back and grinned. "And in the future, Xander promises not to talk and walk at the same time."

"Right," Doyle said dryly. "Simonists are people who sell church positions. Covers a few other types of bastards too, though. You'll see." He continued moving forward, reluctantly leaving Xander in the care of their vampire compatriot.

"Church positions? Who would want to buy one of those?" Xander asked curiously. "I mean, they don't pay well..."

"They can," Spike said darkly. "Depends on which one you've got."

Xander refrained from questioning anyone further until they reached their destination. "Er..."

"Ask him who he is," Doyle whispered, urging Xander on. The boy fidgeted briefly before moving closer.

"Um... who are you?" The boy asked, directing his voice towards the burning feet that danced just in front of his face.

"Rupert? Is that you? Bloody ponce, it's about time you died. What did you do, sacrifice yourself for that blonde bitch?" The damned man said harshly, feet shaking with rage.

Doyle saw that Xander knew who the man was talking about and quickly stepped in. "Just tell him you're someone else," The Irishman whispered harshly. Xander nodded, though his face was a mask of rage.

"Sorry, I'm someone else. Who did you say you were?"

The damned man sighed, his feet calming down somewhat. "I'm Quentin Travers, and before you ask, I sold positions on the Watchers' Council to whoever had the most money. Didn't do me much good, now did it? Ended up here, with my feet on fire and annoying little bastards asking me who I am."

Spike watched as various emotions streaked across Xander's face. After a moment, rage settled in as the dominant one. "You *sold* positions on the Council? To anybody? What about the Slayer? About protecting people and preserving knowledge? Did you ever care? About anyone other than yourself, that is," Xander screamed, voice lashing out where his hands could not. "How could you? People *trusted* you, you miserable excuse for a human being. If you weren't already dead, I'd kill you myself. I doubt I'd end up down here for that."

Doyle and Spike decided simultaneously that Xander wasn't going to stop any time soon, so they reached for the boy. Each man took an arm, literally dragging Xander back towards the trail. He didn't quit screaming until they were once again back above the crevice. The three men knelt down on the rocky soil, two cradling the third as he cried and raged out his anger.