The night is dark and full of terrors. And among them a bleach blond vampire was not insignificant. No mere monster under the bed, but a bogeyman to give bogeymen nightmares. At least, that was the case. Now defanged, literally. The fight outside the Hyperion had taken a lot out of him. His quintessential vampireness being the most important along with half his spleen and a couple of fingers.
That sort of left him useless to everyone in the fight. So with a great sense of shame, he staked a nearby vamp and tossed his bloody ripped duster on top of the ashes before sneaking off. He didn't think anyone would mind. Wesley and Gunn were dead, Angel had boarded the nastiest fucking dragon possible and Illyria was ripping of heads like it was going out of style. Not that it ever would. Ever ever. That shit was fun when you weren't in danger of imminent death.
So it was adieu to the whole hero schtick, fun while it lasted, satisfying at times, maddening at other but, still fun. It was time to start another chapter in the life and times of William the Bloody, bloodier than ever given a good bit of Kailash demon innards were decorating what was left of his clothes.
Lighting up a bent cigarette, Spike whistled as he walked into the future.