The Undead Don't Have Heart Attacks
Standard disclaimers apply, I don't own Death Note, Spike or BtVS, sigh, grumpy
Light sat in the darkened warehouse, notebook out, pen ready to take out any enemies who dared approach. Next to him lay a pistol, just in case anyone had their faces covered. L was on to him, and he had taken a step he had never before considered: he had the shinigami's eyes. With them, he was invincible. All he had to do was eliminate L and his team, and he would rule the world. Everything was falling into place. Soon, he would be God.
Suddenly, the doors exploded inwards, showering the room with splinters. Light blinked in surprise; were they shooting grenades at him? But no, the glow of the streetlights faintly illuminated the figure of a man, a man with bleached blond hair, draped in black leather. Light peered at him in confusion; although the man's face was uncovered, he could see no name or lifespan, almost as if he didn't exist at all. No matter. He quickly reached for his gun and emptied the clip into the man's chest.
To his shock, the man staggered but did not fall. As he advanced into the warehouse, Light could see his face contorting into a demonic mask. “Sorry to disappoint, pet,” said the monster in a strange cockney accent. “Since I'm already dead, that notebook of yours can't hurt me, same as those bullets in your gun. Now, I'm all for mass murder and such, but I don't hold with anyone ruling the world and such. 'Sides, with you killing off all the scum and such, all the rest are turning into nancy-boys and poufs. Hard to have a bit o' fun anymore. Reckon even the Slayer bint and her bloody gang will thank me for this one.”
Seizing him quickly, Spike sank his fangs deeply into the throat of the most dangerous man the world had ever seen. As the shadows fell, and Light faded from the world, the last thing he heard was “at least I know
I'm an evil, soulless monster. What's your