Her time was near. She felt it. Again. Inching up, crawling beneath her
nerves. She bit her cheek, already tasting the stale blood. She thought she
was dead. But she never gave up. If her body was bleeding and broken into
various pieces, she would find away. Some way. She did. What was left,
after love? After you saw everyone that could ever mean anything to you,
trampled, torn and butchered? There was one thing. Something she thought
she could never feel again, this tempestuous, this burning. This rage.
She pulled herself up the wall, leaving blood trails. She let out a scornful, painful laugh.
"You thought it would be over? You thought if you killed and maimed, things would just end?" Glory turned at the sound of the pitiful Slayer. She dropped her umpteenth body.
"Okay, listen, sugarlips, I'm not even breaking a sweat, and yet I still seemed to have broken everything in your body. I would say, it is beyond over." She smiled. A smile of triumph. Of finally being able to go home. But the slayer, she shook her head. Glory arched her sculpted eyebrow. Buffy sucked on her teeth, spitting out blood. As if she didn't have anymore to lose.
"Everything, huh? Nope, not done yet. I'd say you were wimping out. I mean, here I am, all bloody and I am still ready to kill your skanky- knock off wearing ass." Glory's eyes widened.
"Knock off?! Knock off?! I don't think so little one! This dress was five hundred dollars! Imported from Italy and used only the finest, costly, silks! And you, dead Slayer, call this a knock off?!" her voice was growing and the glow in her eyes seemed hotter. Buffy had her attention now. She swallowed the blood that crept up her throat while she stepped away from the wall. She did a quick scan.
Glory's apartment was in shambles. Huge craters of dry wall lay forgotten on the cranberry carpet. Paint was stripped away with fire stains and splashes of human life. She couldn't count how many bodies there were. She didn't want to. She knew they were all gone. All of them. Her body wanted to contract, to push up any fluids that were in her body. Willow and Tara did a good job. They knocked Glory out for a while, Giles and Xander, they took good care of her minions. Anya knew how to handle a shovel; she had beaten many a bad men to a gruesome death. But they didn't last. Spike, oh Spike, how he fought and killed for Dawn. But he was too late. She laid quietly while Spike stroked her hair and rained tears on her pale face. He went after Glory, after whoever was closest. She could hear his anguish screams and painful bellows. He fell with a soft crumple. But at least he wasn't dust. There were only two now. One would bring this world to its lowest instant and the other, the other would rip apart anything that would kill her family. So this is what built inside of her. Her eyes burned, not with tears, but with hatred. Her knees shook, with fury and the yearning to lash out. Her nails drew torrents of blood from her broken hands, trembling with uncaged ire.
She felt Glory step closer, her movements too fast for her eye. Time slowed. Light ballooned in her head, flashing distorted images of her past life. That's what it was. Her past life. She was dead. She no longer needed to breathe. Everything finally came to its end. And this was hers. She thought it would hurt, thought were might be a peaceful music, but still behind all this light, there built her rage. 'Death is your gift', the First Slayer had said. 'I am dead', came her first response. She opened her eyes, Glory still stood, but the carnage didn't vanish. She turned her head slowly, seeing the soft wisps of her friends travel Heavenward. Willow helped Tara up. Xander held Anya and she held out her hand to Giles. He gratefully took it and glanced over at Buffy. He smiled a proud smile and too soon they were gone. Her body lifted up, straining to join them. But a heavy hand held her in place. She struggled, fighting bonds that wouldn't ease up. 'Noooo!' she screamed. Heart wrenching and agony filled. Dawn rose up. She looked over at her sister, smile softly leaking from her face.
"Don't fight this. Death, is your gift. This is your gift. Immortality, Buffy. All this, everything you fought, you loved was for this. You are needed, here, forever. Don't fight it." Willow reappeared. She took Dawn's hand.
"It's time to go Dawnie." She said. As if just up to bed. Not a tear fell when they vanished. Spike didn't move. She knew he was still there. She stared into Glory's eyes. Time had frozen them into a set of pure smugness. She knew she was going to win. That's all she ever knew. But never once, never in all her thousands of centuries, did she meet a loved Slayer. An enraged Slayer. A Slayer that grew into her full peak as she died. As every Slayer before her, filled her every cell. She was just a toy. Something that the world had been waiting for. Slayers died for her to live, to fight, to then die again. So they could make it. So that they could rise up, from their deceased, generation born bodies, and join hers. In the last Slayer body to ever walk the earth. And as the First Slayer joined the rest, she said,
"We are your gift." Time snapped back. Buffy gulped and her body shuddered with its new, unbridled power. Her eyes grew orange, just as they did one year ago.
"I don't do knock-offs." She seethed, right as if time kept going. Buffy just blinked. Every wound, bruise, broken and bleeding bone was healed. She cocked her head to the side and sighed.
"Am I boring you child?" the God asked.
"As a matter of fact," her voice boomed deeper, stronger, smoother, "I was just going to say that!" Glory flinched. She saw the sudden change, the surge of strength and radiation of power.
"Who are you?" she softly asked. The Slayer's tongue peeked out and wiped her pink lips.
"Buffy, The vampire Slayer. And you, my cheap whore, are dead." Her hands flashed out, the motion not able to show in neither space nor time. One punch sent the god crashing threw three of her stained walls. The Slayer flew across the dead, landed inches away from Glory's leather soled feet.
"There is a Slayer borne into every generation. One girl in all the world, with the power and strength to fight evil. And I, I am the last one. Not what you would call a dying breed. Every girl, every child that was forced upon this world to save it, to sacrifice her life, that is me. I am her. Them. We are One. And together We will rid this world of evil. Of the First. And it seems We are going to start with you." She grabbed out her heart, not flinching at the suction it made. Glory's body twisted and jerked, spasming. Buffy dropped it like a flower and walked out.
Glory sat up.
"Ow! That was a bitchy Slayer! What the hell was she talking about, 'We'? Jeez! A little power and she starts referring to herself in third person!"
~ ~ ~
He still stared at her. Them, or was it just her?
"So, all of them are in there? With you?" she nodded.
"But I mean, its not like I'm a schizo, I mean, I'm still me. But with all of them." She shrugged.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" she looked up at him. She had marred his beautiful face. It was bleeding, from several deep punches. She thought maybe, his jaw was broken and there was a lot of internal bleeding.
"Yea, but let me help you, okay?" he looked down at himself, seeming to just notice all the blood that seemed to puddle around his feet.
"I think that could work." She wrapped her small, deadly arm around his big waist and half carried him away.
She stared into the brown tea. Idly stirring it. He was worse than she thought. Over the years she thought she had a handle on her power. On Them. But she guessed, maybe she didn't. She sat at his small wooden table. His place was small. Brick walls, some covered with ancient paintings, most just bare. He had an old fashioned refrigerator. The kind she remembered when she was a mortal. The floors were cement, but smoothed down. A lone black faded gray couch sat in the middle of the adjoining room. Before it sat a coffee table, stack two feet high with musty books. From this distance she easily read the titles. In The Dark Ages To Come, Demons of This World and Others, Black Arts and The Secrets to Taming Them, The Codence and Alice in WonderLand? She chuckled. She stood up when she realized his drink was ready. She picked up the pot from the wood stove and poured the ingredients into it. She heard his muffled groan and walked softly into his one room. He lay in black sheets, half rumpled on the floor. He heard her clicked steps and opened his eyes.
"Hey." He said. She smiled, but a cold one. Something she wore for benefit. Maybe for his. She handed him a cup.
"Drink." She ordered. He immediately smelled her blood. He pushed the cup away.
"I'm not drinking that. Its your blood! What are you thinking?" she sat next to him and took the cup from his hands.
"I'm thinking that by drinking this, you will be healed in a matter of seconds, so what I was thinking seemed to be a good thought." He shook his head.
"No, Buffy. I'm not going to." She thought she remembered an argument like this many decades ago. Just like this. With him. She held the warm cup between her small palms.
"I could have killed you tonight." She said softly. A frown creased his mouth.
"I know things are uneasy between us, Buffy, but I don't think you could of."
"Angel, I wasn't even trying. I was holding so much back. I wanted to hurt you, but then, I didn't."
"You were holding back? That, was you. Holding back?" he asked skeptically. She nodded. She turned to face him.
"Please, just drink this. I don't want to have to really hurt you." She smiled lightly. He took the cup from her and held it to his lips. He locked eyes with her and she turned away. The smell, it took over his whole body. His senses were going wild and he was almost shaking in anticipation. With one swallow it was gone. His body began to jerk and the cup flew from his hands, with ease, Buffy caught it. He moaned and clutched his arms to his body. She watched as her blood filled his veins and rejuvenated his dead body.
"Oh Gods." he cried. Buffy held him down and within seconds his demon showed. He jumped from her grasp and landed two feet from the bed. He stared back at her in awe.
"I don't think I've ever felt this powerful, Buffy. How..how did you know?" she shrugged.
"You learn a lot in two hundred years." He nodded. Angel stared down at his cement floor. It felt cold under his bare feet. So did this room. He turned and walked into the only other room. Buffy set the glass down and followed suit.
~ ~ ~
She pulled herself up the wall, leaving blood trails. She let out a scornful, painful laugh.
"You thought it would be over? You thought if you killed and maimed, things would just end?" Glory turned at the sound of the pitiful Slayer. She dropped her umpteenth body.
"Okay, listen, sugarlips, I'm not even breaking a sweat, and yet I still seemed to have broken everything in your body. I would say, it is beyond over." She smiled. A smile of triumph. Of finally being able to go home. But the slayer, she shook her head. Glory arched her sculpted eyebrow. Buffy sucked on her teeth, spitting out blood. As if she didn't have anymore to lose.
"Everything, huh? Nope, not done yet. I'd say you were wimping out. I mean, here I am, all bloody and I am still ready to kill your skanky- knock off wearing ass." Glory's eyes widened.
"Knock off?! Knock off?! I don't think so little one! This dress was five hundred dollars! Imported from Italy and used only the finest, costly, silks! And you, dead Slayer, call this a knock off?!" her voice was growing and the glow in her eyes seemed hotter. Buffy had her attention now. She swallowed the blood that crept up her throat while she stepped away from the wall. She did a quick scan.
Glory's apartment was in shambles. Huge craters of dry wall lay forgotten on the cranberry carpet. Paint was stripped away with fire stains and splashes of human life. She couldn't count how many bodies there were. She didn't want to. She knew they were all gone. All of them. Her body wanted to contract, to push up any fluids that were in her body. Willow and Tara did a good job. They knocked Glory out for a while, Giles and Xander, they took good care of her minions. Anya knew how to handle a shovel; she had beaten many a bad men to a gruesome death. But they didn't last. Spike, oh Spike, how he fought and killed for Dawn. But he was too late. She laid quietly while Spike stroked her hair and rained tears on her pale face. He went after Glory, after whoever was closest. She could hear his anguish screams and painful bellows. He fell with a soft crumple. But at least he wasn't dust. There were only two now. One would bring this world to its lowest instant and the other, the other would rip apart anything that would kill her family. So this is what built inside of her. Her eyes burned, not with tears, but with hatred. Her knees shook, with fury and the yearning to lash out. Her nails drew torrents of blood from her broken hands, trembling with uncaged ire.
She felt Glory step closer, her movements too fast for her eye. Time slowed. Light ballooned in her head, flashing distorted images of her past life. That's what it was. Her past life. She was dead. She no longer needed to breathe. Everything finally came to its end. And this was hers. She thought it would hurt, thought were might be a peaceful music, but still behind all this light, there built her rage. 'Death is your gift', the First Slayer had said. 'I am dead', came her first response. She opened her eyes, Glory still stood, but the carnage didn't vanish. She turned her head slowly, seeing the soft wisps of her friends travel Heavenward. Willow helped Tara up. Xander held Anya and she held out her hand to Giles. He gratefully took it and glanced over at Buffy. He smiled a proud smile and too soon they were gone. Her body lifted up, straining to join them. But a heavy hand held her in place. She struggled, fighting bonds that wouldn't ease up. 'Noooo!' she screamed. Heart wrenching and agony filled. Dawn rose up. She looked over at her sister, smile softly leaking from her face.
"Don't fight this. Death, is your gift. This is your gift. Immortality, Buffy. All this, everything you fought, you loved was for this. You are needed, here, forever. Don't fight it." Willow reappeared. She took Dawn's hand.
"It's time to go Dawnie." She said. As if just up to bed. Not a tear fell when they vanished. Spike didn't move. She knew he was still there. She stared into Glory's eyes. Time had frozen them into a set of pure smugness. She knew she was going to win. That's all she ever knew. But never once, never in all her thousands of centuries, did she meet a loved Slayer. An enraged Slayer. A Slayer that grew into her full peak as she died. As every Slayer before her, filled her every cell. She was just a toy. Something that the world had been waiting for. Slayers died for her to live, to fight, to then die again. So they could make it. So that they could rise up, from their deceased, generation born bodies, and join hers. In the last Slayer body to ever walk the earth. And as the First Slayer joined the rest, she said,
"We are your gift." Time snapped back. Buffy gulped and her body shuddered with its new, unbridled power. Her eyes grew orange, just as they did one year ago.
"I don't do knock-offs." She seethed, right as if time kept going. Buffy just blinked. Every wound, bruise, broken and bleeding bone was healed. She cocked her head to the side and sighed.
"Am I boring you child?" the God asked.
"As a matter of fact," her voice boomed deeper, stronger, smoother, "I was just going to say that!" Glory flinched. She saw the sudden change, the surge of strength and radiation of power.
"Who are you?" she softly asked. The Slayer's tongue peeked out and wiped her pink lips.
"Buffy, The vampire Slayer. And you, my cheap whore, are dead." Her hands flashed out, the motion not able to show in neither space nor time. One punch sent the god crashing threw three of her stained walls. The Slayer flew across the dead, landed inches away from Glory's leather soled feet.
"There is a Slayer borne into every generation. One girl in all the world, with the power and strength to fight evil. And I, I am the last one. Not what you would call a dying breed. Every girl, every child that was forced upon this world to save it, to sacrifice her life, that is me. I am her. Them. We are One. And together We will rid this world of evil. Of the First. And it seems We are going to start with you." She grabbed out her heart, not flinching at the suction it made. Glory's body twisted and jerked, spasming. Buffy dropped it like a flower and walked out.
Glory sat up.
"Ow! That was a bitchy Slayer! What the hell was she talking about, 'We'? Jeez! A little power and she starts referring to herself in third person!"
~ ~ ~
He still stared at her. Them, or was it just her?
"So, all of them are in there? With you?" she nodded.
"But I mean, its not like I'm a schizo, I mean, I'm still me. But with all of them." She shrugged.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" she looked up at him. She had marred his beautiful face. It was bleeding, from several deep punches. She thought maybe, his jaw was broken and there was a lot of internal bleeding.
"Yea, but let me help you, okay?" he looked down at himself, seeming to just notice all the blood that seemed to puddle around his feet.
"I think that could work." She wrapped her small, deadly arm around his big waist and half carried him away.
She stared into the brown tea. Idly stirring it. He was worse than she thought. Over the years she thought she had a handle on her power. On Them. But she guessed, maybe she didn't. She sat at his small wooden table. His place was small. Brick walls, some covered with ancient paintings, most just bare. He had an old fashioned refrigerator. The kind she remembered when she was a mortal. The floors were cement, but smoothed down. A lone black faded gray couch sat in the middle of the adjoining room. Before it sat a coffee table, stack two feet high with musty books. From this distance she easily read the titles. In The Dark Ages To Come, Demons of This World and Others, Black Arts and The Secrets to Taming Them, The Codence and Alice in WonderLand? She chuckled. She stood up when she realized his drink was ready. She picked up the pot from the wood stove and poured the ingredients into it. She heard his muffled groan and walked softly into his one room. He lay in black sheets, half rumpled on the floor. He heard her clicked steps and opened his eyes.
"Hey." He said. She smiled, but a cold one. Something she wore for benefit. Maybe for his. She handed him a cup.
"Drink." She ordered. He immediately smelled her blood. He pushed the cup away.
"I'm not drinking that. Its your blood! What are you thinking?" she sat next to him and took the cup from his hands.
"I'm thinking that by drinking this, you will be healed in a matter of seconds, so what I was thinking seemed to be a good thought." He shook his head.
"No, Buffy. I'm not going to." She thought she remembered an argument like this many decades ago. Just like this. With him. She held the warm cup between her small palms.
"I could have killed you tonight." She said softly. A frown creased his mouth.
"I know things are uneasy between us, Buffy, but I don't think you could of."
"Angel, I wasn't even trying. I was holding so much back. I wanted to hurt you, but then, I didn't."
"You were holding back? That, was you. Holding back?" he asked skeptically. She nodded. She turned to face him.
"Please, just drink this. I don't want to have to really hurt you." She smiled lightly. He took the cup from her and held it to his lips. He locked eyes with her and she turned away. The smell, it took over his whole body. His senses were going wild and he was almost shaking in anticipation. With one swallow it was gone. His body began to jerk and the cup flew from his hands, with ease, Buffy caught it. He moaned and clutched his arms to his body. She watched as her blood filled his veins and rejuvenated his dead body.
"Oh Gods." he cried. Buffy held him down and within seconds his demon showed. He jumped from her grasp and landed two feet from the bed. He stared back at her in awe.
"I don't think I've ever felt this powerful, Buffy. How..how did you know?" she shrugged.
"You learn a lot in two hundred years." He nodded. Angel stared down at his cement floor. It felt cold under his bare feet. So did this room. He turned and walked into the only other room. Buffy set the glass down and followed suit.
~ ~ ~