Title: Legacy of The Promised
Author: Pikawhore
Disclaimer: Joss owns em. I just play with their minds.
Spoilers and Timeline: Extensive spoilers for 'Hero' in this part. The rest of the fic will be set in season five so anything up to that is fair game.
Feedback: Feedback is mandatory. Pants, however, are optional.
{} denotes thought
Prologue:
The Legacy of The Promised One
To every generation, one is born
Whose heart is pure and will is strong
He alone shall defend the weak and protect the innocent
And stand tall against the dark soldiers with the purest of bloods
He is the Promised one.
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Los Angeles Harbour
Late 2000
"What does this thing do?" Francis Allen Doyle asked in his thick Irish accent as he, Angel and Cordelia stood on a platform in the cargo hold of the Quintessa, facing a light emitting device that was suspended above the hold.
"It's light kills anyone with human blood." Angel answered, his usually stoic voice laced with panic.
"Well, it's getting brighter and that doohickey," Doyle answered. "it's fully armed, isn't it?"
"Almost. If I pull the cable, I think I can still shut it off."
"How're you going to do that without touching the light?"
Angel gave his compatriots a knowing look.
"Angel, that's suicide!" Cordelia cried.
"There's got to be another way." Doyle stated desperately, trying to reason with him.
The souled vampire looked towards the floor of the hold where the group of Lister demons were staring up at the bright beacon, fear and fascination dancing in their eyes. {If I die, It'll be worth it.} He looked towards Cordelia and spoke in a comforting tone. "It's all right."
"No!" The former cheerleader's stubborn reply fell on deaf ears.
Angel turned his gaze toward Doyle and put an arm on his shoulder and in reply Doyle gripped Angel's arm. The two of them stood like statues, just staring at each other for a moment, letting their eyes speak of the camaraderie and brotherhood shared between them since they started to working together.
"The good fight, yeah?" Doyle started, breaking the silence. "You never know until you've been tested; I get that now." His right hand suddenly shot forward, clocking Angel in the chin and sending the vampire crashing down to the floor of the cargo hold with a thud.
Doyle turned around to face a very terrified and worried Cordelia, and mingled they're lips together in a gentle kiss. He pulled back, a melancholic smile on his face.
"Too bad you'll never know," Doyle morphed into his demonic visage. "If this is a face you could learn to love."
Ignoring Angel's plea for him to stop, the Bracchan Demon jumped toward the beacon of light and grabbed onto the metal frame. Ignoring the scorching pain coursing through his body, he grabbed ahold of the cable that was supplying power to the deadly device. He tried with all his might to sever the connection, even as his skin started to char and melt. He finally managed to separate the cables, right before turning to dust.
The Lister demons looked on in shock, none of them understanding yet all of them grateful that this practical stranger had sacrificed his life to save theirs. A teary eyed Cordelia was being held in a comforting embrace by Angel, who himself had drops of blood streaking down his cheek.
{Goodbye, my friend, we hardly knew you.}
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"Another one, lost to the cause." Whistler stated philosophically as he observed the drama playing out in the cargo hold of the Quintessa. "Why do the good souls always die young?"
"All true champions realize they're lives are not theirs to own," The male oracle started.
"and would gladly sacrifice themselves for the greater good." The female oracle finished seamlessly.
"Spare me the PR bullshit, ok?" Whistler spat out acidly, adjusting the lapels on his jacket. Even though he worked closely with the them, he was always under the opinion that the oracles took human life too lightly. "Not that this wouldn't make compelling TV viewing or anything, but why did you summon me to witness this?"
"Another Promised One has fallen…"
"and you are to call the next."
{Geez. I wish they wouldn't do that whole finishing each other's sentences thing. That always did creep me out.} "So which schmuck's life am I going to ruin this time?"
The female oracle handed Whistler a photograph. He took one look at it and raised his eyebrows in confusion.
"Him?" Whistler asked in a bemused fashion. "But… but he doesn't… I mean… he isn't even a… are you two out of your freaking togas?"
"Silence!" The male oracle boomed. "It is not your place to question our wisdom. You are to do as you are told."
"Geez. Ok, ok… no need to get your panties in a bunch. I'll go and make the call."
"You had better do it quickly." The female oracle added forebodingly. "His services will be desperately needed soon."
"Yeah, yeah. Though I don't know how he could do anything to stop them. He is so not ready that he can't see ready from where he is standing."
"You will prepare him. We are confident you will find someway… or someone who is qualified. Do not disappoint us, Whistler." As he finished the last sentence, the male oracle as well as his female companion faded out of sight, leaving the badly dressed demon alone.
"That disappearing into thin air thing is another major creepy." Whistler thought out aloud to himself. He took another look at the picture he held in his hand and let out a slight chuckle as he started walking away.
"Buckle up, Xander Harris, you're in for one hell of a ride."
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Author: Pikawhore
Disclaimer: Joss owns em. I just play with their minds.
Spoilers and Timeline: Extensive spoilers for 'Hero' in this part. The rest of the fic will be set in season five so anything up to that is fair game.
Feedback: Feedback is mandatory. Pants, however, are optional.
{} denotes thought
Prologue:
The Legacy of The Promised One
To every generation, one is born
Whose heart is pure and will is strong
He alone shall defend the weak and protect the innocent
And stand tall against the dark soldiers with the purest of bloods
He is the Promised one.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Los Angeles Harbour
Late 2000
"What does this thing do?" Francis Allen Doyle asked in his thick Irish accent as he, Angel and Cordelia stood on a platform in the cargo hold of the Quintessa, facing a light emitting device that was suspended above the hold.
"It's light kills anyone with human blood." Angel answered, his usually stoic voice laced with panic.
"Well, it's getting brighter and that doohickey," Doyle answered. "it's fully armed, isn't it?"
"Almost. If I pull the cable, I think I can still shut it off."
"How're you going to do that without touching the light?"
Angel gave his compatriots a knowing look.
"Angel, that's suicide!" Cordelia cried.
"There's got to be another way." Doyle stated desperately, trying to reason with him.
The souled vampire looked towards the floor of the hold where the group of Lister demons were staring up at the bright beacon, fear and fascination dancing in their eyes. {If I die, It'll be worth it.} He looked towards Cordelia and spoke in a comforting tone. "It's all right."
"No!" The former cheerleader's stubborn reply fell on deaf ears.
Angel turned his gaze toward Doyle and put an arm on his shoulder and in reply Doyle gripped Angel's arm. The two of them stood like statues, just staring at each other for a moment, letting their eyes speak of the camaraderie and brotherhood shared between them since they started to working together.
"The good fight, yeah?" Doyle started, breaking the silence. "You never know until you've been tested; I get that now." His right hand suddenly shot forward, clocking Angel in the chin and sending the vampire crashing down to the floor of the cargo hold with a thud.
Doyle turned around to face a very terrified and worried Cordelia, and mingled they're lips together in a gentle kiss. He pulled back, a melancholic smile on his face.
"Too bad you'll never know," Doyle morphed into his demonic visage. "If this is a face you could learn to love."
Ignoring Angel's plea for him to stop, the Bracchan Demon jumped toward the beacon of light and grabbed onto the metal frame. Ignoring the scorching pain coursing through his body, he grabbed ahold of the cable that was supplying power to the deadly device. He tried with all his might to sever the connection, even as his skin started to char and melt. He finally managed to separate the cables, right before turning to dust.
The Lister demons looked on in shock, none of them understanding yet all of them grateful that this practical stranger had sacrificed his life to save theirs. A teary eyed Cordelia was being held in a comforting embrace by Angel, who himself had drops of blood streaking down his cheek.
{Goodbye, my friend, we hardly knew you.}
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
"Another one, lost to the cause." Whistler stated philosophically as he observed the drama playing out in the cargo hold of the Quintessa. "Why do the good souls always die young?"
"All true champions realize they're lives are not theirs to own," The male oracle started.
"and would gladly sacrifice themselves for the greater good." The female oracle finished seamlessly.
"Spare me the PR bullshit, ok?" Whistler spat out acidly, adjusting the lapels on his jacket. Even though he worked closely with the them, he was always under the opinion that the oracles took human life too lightly. "Not that this wouldn't make compelling TV viewing or anything, but why did you summon me to witness this?"
"Another Promised One has fallen…"
"and you are to call the next."
{Geez. I wish they wouldn't do that whole finishing each other's sentences thing. That always did creep me out.} "So which schmuck's life am I going to ruin this time?"
The female oracle handed Whistler a photograph. He took one look at it and raised his eyebrows in confusion.
"Him?" Whistler asked in a bemused fashion. "But… but he doesn't… I mean… he isn't even a… are you two out of your freaking togas?"
"Silence!" The male oracle boomed. "It is not your place to question our wisdom. You are to do as you are told."
"Geez. Ok, ok… no need to get your panties in a bunch. I'll go and make the call."
"You had better do it quickly." The female oracle added forebodingly. "His services will be desperately needed soon."
"Yeah, yeah. Though I don't know how he could do anything to stop them. He is so not ready that he can't see ready from where he is standing."
"You will prepare him. We are confident you will find someway… or someone who is qualified. Do not disappoint us, Whistler." As he finished the last sentence, the male oracle as well as his female companion faded out of sight, leaving the badly dressed demon alone.
"That disappearing into thin air thing is another major creepy." Whistler thought out aloud to himself. He took another look at the picture he held in his hand and let out a slight chuckle as he started walking away.
"Buckle up, Xander Harris, you're in for one hell of a ride."
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