Disclaimer: I don't own Angel or Buffy or any of the characters that the great Joss has created, they belong, or course, to Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt and Mutant Enemy.

But that doesn't mean I've stopped trying.

Angel brought down the bloody sword he still wielded in his hands upon the neck of the scaly demon standing before him, yellow, rotting teeth bared, filthy pointed claws glinting red in the light of the full moon, courtesy of the night's full moon. The demon was dead before he even had a chance to register the image of the powerful looking vampire blocking his path.

A dull thunk echoed eerily around the back alley behind the Hyperion, and as Angel glazed around at the hundreds, maybe even thousands of dead bodies that littered the alley way behind and in front of him as far as the eye could see, it was then for the first time that Angel truly realised what had just happened. What he had done.

They were dead.

The demons, vampires, dragons, even the small smattering of Gods Angel could have sworn he'd seen enter somewhere into the fray, throats ripped from their bodies, stomach torn open so that their multicoloured insides splattered the ground and outside walls of building like some twisted paint ball fight had just taken place. Every single one of them was dead, and he had won. He had won, won the fight that he had been struggling against for the last fives years, defeated the senior partners.

Well, as least for now, who knew when they were going to strike again, come at his when he was least expecting it, raining down on him like some deranged swarm of angry bees?

But that wasn't what was bothering Angel, wasn't what was making him feel like he should give up right there and them, surrender himself to the forces of darkness, revert back to being Angelus like he knew he so easily could. The fact that the senior partners could send some sort of super God like demon to destroy him right there and then didn't even register in his brain.

No.

He was thinking about his friends. or, more accurately, what was left of them.

Or, more accurately, what was left of them.

Gunn had been lost early in the fight, he knew that, had watched the brief moment when his face finally went blank. His ten minutes had passed quickly, his mangled body dropping silently to the ground amidst the hordes of still raging demons.

Illyria had been next; Angel had caught a glimpse of her blue hair buried deep in the debris while he was fending off the monstrous dragon demon, probably was pierced on the end of one of the large, thin metal daggers sported by a group of towering, vicious looking Karlran demons he could just make out from the corner of his eye. He was surprised; he had been expecting the former Hell God to outlive all of them.

Then there was Spike. Angel had seen him go; it was the dragon this time, God awful creature, well, at least in Angel's opinion. The peroxide vamp had been incinerated by the first roar of fire that issued from the terrible beasts mouth. Angel watched as the last few specks of Spike dust where spent away into the screaming battle, the other great vampire champion lost forever among a sea of chaos. He'd had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying.

So that left him, Angel.

Alone.

No shanshu, no friends, no enemies, no nothing. Just standing here, in a dank, dirty alley way, the pounding rain soaking through what remained of his torn and blooded clothing, with only himself for comfort.

Or, at least, that's what he thought.

Ahhh, poor Angel cakes, all alone in the dark little alleyway. Don't worry, Wesley will be along soon to cheer him up. The next chap is basically just gonna be about how Wesley is reincarnated and how he discovering Angel, but in chapter 3 there will be lots of lovely slash grins evilly.

So hurry up and review to tell me what you think, any comments are apprecticed, as long as you don't want to tell me you hate me.

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