Connor Riley ran down the street, the broadsword in his hand dripping in purple demon's blood. He wasn't entirely sure what kind of demon it was, but he was definitely kind of sure it was a kind of demon that got pissed when you chopped off the head of its mother. He ducked around the corner of a building, back flat against the wall, and waited.
He didn't wait for long. Connor may have the speed of a vampire, but whatever the hell this demon was, it was just as fast. But Connor had been fighting evil for the past seven years, and when he stepped out from behind the building to ambush the purple blood demon, he was able to thrust the broadsword straight through its heart. Of course, if he had done the research on these demons like he was supposed to, he would have known that the only way to kill this particular demon was by chopping the head off.
The demon chuckled. "Not quite, sonny."
Connor pulled the broadsword out of the demon's chest, but by this time, the demon had his own sword out and the swords clashed together as they each went for a killing blow. But instead of continuing the fight, the demon lowered his sword, and took a step back, a smug grin spreading across his face.
"You've got spark, kid. I'd say you're a slayer, but you're kind of the wrong gender for that."
Connor shrugged. "So I've been told. What do you want?"
The demon ignored him. "You do seem familiar though. Have we fought before?"
"No, I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if I had seen a face as ugly as yours," Connor said, raising the broadsword up a little more. At the movement, the demon's eyes narrowed as he took in the sword. Connor's gaze followed the demon's. After a few seconds, the demon's cocky grin grew even larger.
"Angel."
Connor's head snapped back to the demon. "What?" he said, suddenly on edge.
"Angel. You know, vampire with a soul. He used to help the helpless or the hopeless or whatever? That guy?" The demon's tone was mocking, full of disgust.
"What about him?" Connor snapped.
"That's his broadsword, if I remember correctly. In fact…" The demon paused, the grin on his face now down right psychotic. "In fact, isn't that the very same broadsword he used in LA?"
Connor had the demon pinned to the wall in a matter of seconds, so fast, the demon wasn't even aware that he had moved. "What do you know about it?" Connor hissed, trying to keep his voice steady.
The demon didn't seem fazed by his new position at the tail end of the broadsword in question. He laughed again, and the laughter sent chills down Connor's spine.
"I was there. I saw the whole thing. Angel may have been successful in bringing down Wolfram & Hart, but some of us were able to get away. I will admit, though, him taking down that dragon was mighty impressive. But hearing his screams as the fire consumed him, now that was music to my—"
The demon's head fell off his shoulders and rolled to Connor's feet, still wearing the smirk that remembered Angel's death. Connor stared at it, feeling sick to his stomach. It had been seven years. He was 26 years old now, in a committed relationship. He had a job at the new Watcher's Council. He was thinking about getting married. On the outside, his life seemed pretty good. But it was the inside that struggled, for everything that happened in his life in the past seven years, whether it good or bad, was haunted by the memory of his father. More than anything, he regretted turning his back on Angel that night, as the Wolfram & Hart building collapsed around them. Maybe if he had stayed, Angel would have lived. Yeah, maybe, he thought. He was always thinking of maybe's. Buffy kept telling him not to.
Just as he remembered he was supposed to have reported back by now, he heard footsteps running toward him. Three pairs, to be exact. Shaking off what the demon had said, and all thoughts of his father, he turned, just as the others arrived.
He smiled, and held up his father's broadsword. "Got him."
Buffy, Spike, and Faith sighed out of relief. They all smiled back at him.