Disclaimer: Buffy: the vampire slayer and all the characters and
places here-in (to include Sunnydale and the city of Los Angeles *smile*)
are owned by Joss Whedon and friends. I'm sure Joss devoted much time and
energy into creating said characters and I in no way wish to steal or
deprive him of any rights, there-of. I only wish to bask in the success
which he has obtained by enriching our lives and making us strive to be
better people for humanity… In other words, don't sue.
………………………………………………..
ANGEL: I'm leaving. After the Ascension, after it's finished with the Mayor and Faith. If we survive, I'll go.
Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer…
JOYCE: Buffy? If you're going out, why don't you take your sister?
Shot of Buffy and Dawn looking annoyed in Joyce's direction.
Buffy and Dawn (in unison): Mom!
MONK: The key is energy.
BUFFY: Dawn.
RILEY VOICEOVER: Buffy's like nobody else in the world. But she doesn't love me.
Riley talking to Buffy.
RILEY: They want me back, Buffy.
BUFFY: Are you going?
RILEY: I don't know. If we can't work this out...
BUFFY: This is goodbye?
Riley in the helicopter lifting off.
Buffy yelling up at the helicopter.
BUFFY: Riley!
Buffy watching the helicopter fly away.
BUFFY: Just tell me what kind of demon I'm fighting.
QUINTON TRAVERS: Glory isn't a demon.
BUFFY: What is she?
TRAVERS: She's a god.
Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
"Darksword"
Prologue
He couldn't even remember how long he'd been chasing her. It had been the scent, the unmistakable smell of everything that was her that had first caught his attention. From the shampoo she used, the smell of her sweat, the body soap that smelled like spring flowers. He knew them all by heart. But…something was wrong. He knew something wasn't right, because mixed in with her scent was something he wasn't used to sensing. Not in her…
Fear.
She was afraid. Of what, he couldn't say. At first, it had appeared that she was chasing something, and then he felt the terror. Her terror. It had slammed into him with a force, a life, of its own, and, in an instant, he realized, the hunter had become the hunted. The hurt he felt coursing through her veins had been enough to nearly knock him from his feet.. So he had called out to her. He had called and she hadn't answered. What was she doing in Los Angeles? And why had it brought her to him? All of these questions and more raced through his mind as he ran down the alley after her. He had to know.
The alley was littered with debris and dirt. A large, overflowing dumpster aged on the left side of the alley, while rotten cardboard boxes, wet with rain and torn and smashed by age and time, lined his right. He barely noticed as he raced after her. As he made his way down, deeper into the alley, her presence began to fade. He couldn't see her, he couldn't hear her, and, finally, he could no longer smell her. He had lost her.
He turned to leave, only to be confronted by an old man, wrapped in a torn and dirty overcoat and reeking of liquor. The homeless man smiled up at him through crooked, yellow teeth and chuckled without humor.
"What's your hurry, son? Can't you spare something for an old veteran?" He stuck his hands in his pockets, searching for something to give the old man. Nothing.
"Look," he began, looking back over his shoulder towards where she had gone. "I don't have anything on me right now, but I could help you find a place to stay the night. Maybe, get a bite to eat?" He never heard the old man answered, or if he even had, because behind him, lost in the shadows, he heard her call to him.
"Help me, Angel. If you ever loved me, help me. Save me." He turned around to once again face the old man and saw it.
The figure was shrouded in darkness, standing right behind the homeless man, a sword raised over its head. As the sword came crashing down, Angel lashed out, throwing the homeless man to the side and grabbing the figures hands at the wrist. He twisted its arms to the side, spun it around and in one swift motion, released its wrists, reached up and with both hands, snapped its neck. The body went limp in his arms and he heard the sword clatter to the ground. He could still hear her behind him, pleading for help. He let go, turned and ran. Behind him, he heard the man begin to get to his feet and the last thing he could make out before he disappeared into the night was the old man's crackly old voice.
"God bless you, son! I'll pray for your soul!"
Angel slid to a halt as the alley ended abruptly. The light! The light was too intense. He could still hear her words echoing against the stone walls.
"Angel, please! If I was ever truly yours, help me! Save me!" He made up his mind to jump in that second. Whatever was beyond that light, they would face together. He moved to do it, but felt a hand restraining him. His first instinct was that he hadn't killed the creature enough and he spun around prepared to finish the job. His eyes widened in shock.
She was standing there. She had the sword in her hand and the old man's blood dripped down its silver blade. He could see her head lulled slightly to one side where he had snapped her neck. She looked at the sword for only a second before turning her gaze to Angel.
"You killed me, Angel."
It was her. He was sure of it. He could see her clearly now. How could this be? He looked over his shoulder. The light was still there. He could still hear her calling to him, asking him to save her.
"Buffy?" She smiled an evil, knowing smile as he looked deep into her eyes. They were dark and hollow. Devoid of all emotion. They reminded him of...
"Faith," she corrected. Angel stumbled backwards a step. She looked at the blade one last time before she took a step and jammed its pristine blade deep into his midsection. He gasped in pain and horror. Images of what had happened before Acathla came rushing back to him, but this was different. A fire swept through his body, torching his soul.
…………………………………………………………………………..
Angel shot up from his bed, his hand gripping his torso in desperation. Beads of sweat rolled down his face in waves, drenching his pillow and sheets. "Buffy!" he gasped.
Wolf howl. Opening credits.
………………………………………………..
ANGEL: I'm leaving. After the Ascension, after it's finished with the Mayor and Faith. If we survive, I'll go.
Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer…
JOYCE: Buffy? If you're going out, why don't you take your sister?
Shot of Buffy and Dawn looking annoyed in Joyce's direction.
Buffy and Dawn (in unison): Mom!
MONK: The key is energy.
BUFFY: Dawn.
RILEY VOICEOVER: Buffy's like nobody else in the world. But she doesn't love me.
Riley talking to Buffy.
RILEY: They want me back, Buffy.
BUFFY: Are you going?
RILEY: I don't know. If we can't work this out...
BUFFY: This is goodbye?
Riley in the helicopter lifting off.
Buffy yelling up at the helicopter.
BUFFY: Riley!
Buffy watching the helicopter fly away.
BUFFY: Just tell me what kind of demon I'm fighting.
QUINTON TRAVERS: Glory isn't a demon.
BUFFY: What is she?
TRAVERS: She's a god.
Buffy: The Vampire Slayer
"Darksword"
Prologue
He couldn't even remember how long he'd been chasing her. It had been the scent, the unmistakable smell of everything that was her that had first caught his attention. From the shampoo she used, the smell of her sweat, the body soap that smelled like spring flowers. He knew them all by heart. But…something was wrong. He knew something wasn't right, because mixed in with her scent was something he wasn't used to sensing. Not in her…
Fear.
She was afraid. Of what, he couldn't say. At first, it had appeared that she was chasing something, and then he felt the terror. Her terror. It had slammed into him with a force, a life, of its own, and, in an instant, he realized, the hunter had become the hunted. The hurt he felt coursing through her veins had been enough to nearly knock him from his feet.. So he had called out to her. He had called and she hadn't answered. What was she doing in Los Angeles? And why had it brought her to him? All of these questions and more raced through his mind as he ran down the alley after her. He had to know.
The alley was littered with debris and dirt. A large, overflowing dumpster aged on the left side of the alley, while rotten cardboard boxes, wet with rain and torn and smashed by age and time, lined his right. He barely noticed as he raced after her. As he made his way down, deeper into the alley, her presence began to fade. He couldn't see her, he couldn't hear her, and, finally, he could no longer smell her. He had lost her.
He turned to leave, only to be confronted by an old man, wrapped in a torn and dirty overcoat and reeking of liquor. The homeless man smiled up at him through crooked, yellow teeth and chuckled without humor.
"What's your hurry, son? Can't you spare something for an old veteran?" He stuck his hands in his pockets, searching for something to give the old man. Nothing.
"Look," he began, looking back over his shoulder towards where she had gone. "I don't have anything on me right now, but I could help you find a place to stay the night. Maybe, get a bite to eat?" He never heard the old man answered, or if he even had, because behind him, lost in the shadows, he heard her call to him.
"Help me, Angel. If you ever loved me, help me. Save me." He turned around to once again face the old man and saw it.
The figure was shrouded in darkness, standing right behind the homeless man, a sword raised over its head. As the sword came crashing down, Angel lashed out, throwing the homeless man to the side and grabbing the figures hands at the wrist. He twisted its arms to the side, spun it around and in one swift motion, released its wrists, reached up and with both hands, snapped its neck. The body went limp in his arms and he heard the sword clatter to the ground. He could still hear her behind him, pleading for help. He let go, turned and ran. Behind him, he heard the man begin to get to his feet and the last thing he could make out before he disappeared into the night was the old man's crackly old voice.
"God bless you, son! I'll pray for your soul!"
Angel slid to a halt as the alley ended abruptly. The light! The light was too intense. He could still hear her words echoing against the stone walls.
"Angel, please! If I was ever truly yours, help me! Save me!" He made up his mind to jump in that second. Whatever was beyond that light, they would face together. He moved to do it, but felt a hand restraining him. His first instinct was that he hadn't killed the creature enough and he spun around prepared to finish the job. His eyes widened in shock.
She was standing there. She had the sword in her hand and the old man's blood dripped down its silver blade. He could see her head lulled slightly to one side where he had snapped her neck. She looked at the sword for only a second before turning her gaze to Angel.
"You killed me, Angel."
It was her. He was sure of it. He could see her clearly now. How could this be? He looked over his shoulder. The light was still there. He could still hear her calling to him, asking him to save her.
"Buffy?" She smiled an evil, knowing smile as he looked deep into her eyes. They were dark and hollow. Devoid of all emotion. They reminded him of...
"Faith," she corrected. Angel stumbled backwards a step. She looked at the blade one last time before she took a step and jammed its pristine blade deep into his midsection. He gasped in pain and horror. Images of what had happened before Acathla came rushing back to him, but this was different. A fire swept through his body, torching his soul.
…………………………………………………………………………..
Angel shot up from his bed, his hand gripping his torso in desperation. Beads of sweat rolled down his face in waves, drenching his pillow and sheets. "Buffy!" he gasped.
Wolf howl. Opening credits.