A Night at the Games: Angelus (A Darkworld Tale)
by Philip S.
Summary: When Angelus is challenged for his throne, all of Los Angelus appears to watch the show. Even those not welcome in his kingdom.
Spoilers: This is an AU that branches off from canon Buffy in late Season 3. Spoilers up to that point.
Rating: R for language and violence
Pairing: B/Aus
Disclaimer: Buffy and associated characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. The concept of Darkworld belongs to Yours Truly.
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Los Angeles, 2005
I really have a dislike for people who always give you citations of what famous people said in order to appear smart or well read. Me, I've been on first name basis with quite a few famous writers and artists, politicians and generals, in my time, most of them weren't all that smart or well read themselves, just charismatic. Still, some of them said a few words of wisdom.
Like the line about bread and circuses. People, or non-people, really don't need much more to be content. At least the stupid ones.
The bread, in our case, is the human population. Or life stock, as my little girl Nero calls them. Plenty of them here in my beautiful city, enough for everyone. All those not smart or not quick enough to get out in time. Their prison is the city, no further walls or locked doors needed. During the day they might even manage to make themselves believe that they still have some measure of control over their lives. Once the sun goes down, though, ...
They are still people out there who think that the confines of their own home are safe. Sure, we can't enter without invitation. You'd be surprised, though, how quickly the people come running out of their safe, cozy home once you set fire to it. There are always fires burning in LA at night. It's really a pretty picture.
As I said, that's the bread. The people. Now, about the circuses ...
It was Drusilla's idea, more or less. Fun and games for all the good, undead citizens of daddy's little kingdom. She had a lot of fun about 150 years ago when we were in Spain. She loved the arenas, loved seeing man pitted against beast.
She was just disappointed that man always seemed to win.
"Can we have the people lose?" She asked me in her innocent little girl voice. I love that voice, really. It sends shivers down my spine. How could I ever say no to her?
Hence, the games. In the past I abhorred this kind of entertainment. I always preferred the pleasure of doing my own kills, making them as difficult and artistic as possible, to watching two sweaty bodies club each other to death in the arena sands. These days, though, I have to admit that it has a charm all its own.
What can I say? I've changed.
We converted a baseball stadium into our little arena. Ripped out the grass and replaced it with sand. I never liked baseball, but I love the smell of sand soaked with blood. Human or demon blood, doesn't really make that much a difference. Another famous citation. The smell of Napalm in the morning. Well, for me it's blood.
Tonight we have a packed house. Vampires, demons, even a few humans daring enough to come out into the open. Their guts might even cut them enough slack to get out of here alive, who knows?
Drusilla throws a white handkerchief onto the sand and the games begin, causing her to clap her hands with glee.
Anyone can enter. Human, demon, vampire, whatever. We don't discriminate. Of course the human contestants are mostly forced to be here. Most humans are not dumb enough to step into an arena to face off with a demon. Some are, I've seen them, but the general IQ is just high enough to avoid it. So, seeing as most demons just love to see humans killed, we need some supply here.
A few rounds of mindless mayhem, nothing very entertaining. A vampire makes quick work of a Grimlack demon. A Priomortu pulverizes three humans unlucky enough to be pitted against it, nothing fun. I still smile, though. I just happen to know we're going to have more entertainment here tonight.
Should begin momentarily.
"ANGELUS!" A voice thunders across the arena, where a fight has just ended.
I look up at someone standing on the other side of the arena, near the entrance. This is all about appearances, of course. Why else do you think I'm lounging on a throne in the VIP booth of the former baseball diamond? Why else did we replace all the electric lights with torches? Appearances, is all.
What fun would the game be without the proper atmosphere?
The vampire striding into the arena with a small entourage by his side certainly has the appearance of the confident challenger down pat. I've never met him before tonight, but I know of him. I know his name, I know why he is here.
"Welcome to my city, Azrael." I do not rise from my throne. Can't have gestures of respect here, after all. "So nice of you to drop in uninvited."
Azrael was a Roman general in life, or so I'm told. He's old, very old, and powerful. His real name is long lost, so he named himself after a devil. Supposed to be intimidating, I guess. He is a big one, too, probably a few inches taller than I am. Broad-shouldered and wearing a goatee like the Hollywood villains did before we ate all the producers.
I like his style.
"I am here to challenge you, Angelus." He thunders, making sure that everyone in the stadium hears him. "I challenge you for the rule of this town."
"Do you now?" I ask him, smiling.
Azrael is about a thousand years older than I am. I doubt he can still slip back into his human visage. I don't doubt that he thinks he can pulverize me with a gesture.
"Do you accept the challenge or will you show everyone what a coward you are, Angelus?"
Many people, and non-people, have called me a coward during my long life. What can I say? I like to stack the odds in my own favor. I don't like to enter battles unless I know, or am at least very certain, that I will win. Cowardice? Or just common sense? I guess it depends on who is doing the badmouthing.
"Your challenge will be met, Azrael." I tell him, still smiling. I can see him studying me, looking for the fear he knows I must be feeling. After all, will I not be facing a vampire much older and more powerful than me? One not addicted to my sweet little drug like the ones I have already gathered around me?
Gee, I think I should be terrified.
"As challenged," I tell him, "I reserve the right to call a champion, of course."
Azrael doesn't seem surprised. I guess he never expected to face me man to man, at least not right off the bat.
"Very well. I have my own champion." He says, waving for one of the vampires in his entourage to come forward. Even bigger than he is, built like a tank, a face that reminds me more of a rabid bull than a human being.
"Who will fight for you, Angelus?" Azrael asks, his smile superior, almost mocking.
My family stands by my side, as always. Drusilla watches the happenings with the smile of a delighted child. Penn glares at Azrael, clenching and unclenching his hands. His eyes stray to a beautiful female vampire that is part of my challenger's entourage. Maybe I will give her to him when all this is finished. I know of the things Penn likes to do to beautiful women, alive or undead.
Nero looks at me, awaiting my command to spring into battle. I have been challenged before, though not by anyone in Azrael's league, and most of the times I let Nero do the fighting for me. She likes it, she is good at it, and she puts the fear of God, or the next-best thing, in those who would challenge me.
Not tonight, though.
"Come forth, my dear." I gesture behind me. "Time to play."
A murmur goes through the crowd as she steps from the shadows behind my throne, where she has been all this time. Dressed all in leather, the way I love it, and with a smile on her lips that could melt steel. The stench of fear permeates the arena, those that recognize her giving it off in waves.
"My champion, Azrael." I do the introductions. "The Vampire Slayer."
Now those that haven't recognized her are catching up. Ah, the sweet stench of fear. It's intoxicating. I look at Nero by my side, she looks a little disappointed. Giving her an encouraging smile, I tell her to watch and learn.
"I heard that you had a housebroken Slayer for your earthly pleasures, Angelus." He mocks, still confident. "Tell me, is she good in bed?"
"You will never find out!" Buffy tells him, smiling wickedly.
"What say we let the battle begin, Azrael?"
Buffy leaps from the booth and lands on the arena sands like a cat, a long knife appearing in her right hand as if by magic. Everyone in the crowds is leaning forward, craning their necks in order not to miss any of the action. While it is common knowledge that I have a Slayer in my family, she is not often out in public.
Wouldn't do, considering how precious she is to me.
"Come and get it!" Buffy teases the big vampire Azrael has fighting for him.
He does as told and charges her, head of steam and all. He looks like he could break right through the concrete walls of the arena without even slowing down. At least three feet taller than Buffy, he reaches out for her with giant hands, looking to crush her into paste.
I could have told him that this is the wrong strategy.
Buffy never blinks as she leaps over him, twisting in mid-air and slashing at his back with the knife. She lands on her feet even as her opponent roars in pain, a deep gash in his back showering the arena sands with blood. He turns, his eyes full of rage, and sees Buffy licking his blood off the blade.
"Bland!" She pouts. "I've tasted better."
Eyes blazing with rage he charges again, but he never even gets close. Buffy dances around him like a dervish, moving with the grace of a panther and striking with the speed and ferocity of a cobra. Two minutes into the fight Azrael's champion is bleeding from a dozen and more wounds. He hasn't even managed to touch her.
Azrael's eyes narrow as he realizes what I've known all along. This isn't a fight. It's a spectacle. An execution.
Two more minutes and Buffy gets tired of toying with her opponent. Ducking under a wild punch she steps into his reach, drawing a stake from her jacket without breaking the motion, and rams it into his heart.
Emerging from the settling ashes, Buffy basks in the applause of the crowd.
Rising from my throne, I look at Azrael. "Was that your best?" Some laughter rings out among the onlookers.
"I am impressed." The elder vampire nods his head. "You have managed to draw quite a skilled warrior into your camp, Angelus. But tell me. Does she do all your fighting for you these days?"
I smile. He has lost the challenge and he knows it. Yet one doesn't live over a thousand years by giving up so easily. I could send him away now and he would have to leave, rules older than the both of us are broken at one's own peril. His only other option is for me to accept a second challenge. Maybe one that questions my personal courage or manliness?
"Face me demon to demon, Angelus!" Azrael walks closer, sifting through the ashes of his easily vanquished champion. "Or are you too much of a coward for that?"
There is one thing one has to remember when ruling through fear, like I do. It's well and good if the rabble fears your soldiers and warriors. It's great if they tremble when Nero flashes one of her knife-edge smiles, when Drusilla begins to sing lullabies, or when Buffy so much as steps out of the shadows.
I am the ruler here, though. And they have to fear me the most.
I rise from my throne and leap down into the sands of the arena, tearing off my shirt in the process. Gives the whole thing a more gladiatorial feel, I might say, fighting with a bare chest. Also I know that my lover is enjoying an eye-full.
"Very well, Azrael." I smile at him, seeing just the slightest waver in confidence. Didn't expect the 'coward' to accept your challenge this quickly, did you? "Shall we dance?"
"Well met, Angelus." He grins, tearing off his own shirt. I don't know if he is old enough to have witnessed the actual gladiatorial games in ancient Rome, but he certainly knows what the crowd wants to see. "Let's!"
We circle each other for a minute, neither of us foolish enough to just rush into battle like his idiot champion did. Buffy is leaning against the arena wall but a few meters away, playing with the knife in her hand, while Azrael's entourage watches as well. Thousands of eyes are resting on us, the excitement around us thick enough to cut it with a knife.
Then Azrael attacks.
No one among the crowd even sees him move, he is too fast for them. Only a handful of them, the old and powerful, will see more than a blur as he throws a blow that could cave in brick or take the head right off a fellow vampire.
I duck him with ease.
"How ...?" Azrael stumbles, off-balance by my unexpected evasion, surprise playing across his demon features. I know what he is thinking. How can someone as young as me, not even three centuries dead, move fast enough to evade an elder? This battle should have ended within a few punches, his victory assured.
I don't actually feel sorry for shattering his illusions.
"Will you make me work up a sweat?" I ask him innocently. "Or should I kill you quickly?"
Again he attacks and again it is the easiest thing in the world for me to move out of his way. There is fury blazing in his eyes, not enough to lose his cool completely, but he's mad. Oh yes, he is mad at this upstart vampire that dares defy him. Come now, Azrael, show me the error of my ways!
After three more attacks the game is wearing thin. So when Azrael strikes once more I catch his fist in mine, at the same time delivering a kick to his midsection that brakes at least half a dozen ribs. He drops to his knees, groaning with pain, his fist still captured.
When he looks up I drive my boot right into his face, smashing his jaw to pieces. He drops back into the sand, blood flowing from his shattered face.
"Too easy." I shake my head, stepping over him.
"How ...?" He mumbles, barely able to form the words.
"That would be telling."
The crowd is chanting my name now, calling for the kill. They smell blood, they want more blood. Oh, how easy they are.
"Vox populi, Azrael, do you remember it?" I lean down, grabbing his head by the hair. "They want to see a death. We wouldn't want to disappoint them, do we?"
With that I tear off his head and watch him crumble into dust. The crowd goes wild, jumping to their feet and cheering my name. I turn to face them, Azrael's blood on my chest, and I now that, at least for today, they are mine. All of them.
"ANGELUS! ANGELUS! ANGELUS!"
I raise my arms, basking in the cheers. This is what I like about the games. This is what I love about this city of mine. Everyone loves a winner. Of course some might consider it unfair. Azrael didn't know it, of course, but he never had a chance.
I look over at my beautiful Slayer, who smiles back at me with a sparkle in her eyes. Many a vampire has killed a Slayer, yes, but no one ever managed to break one to their will before. No one ever relished in their sweet essence like I do.
I thread in the ashes of Azrael and smile. You should have known, old boy. I might just be three centuries old in this world, but I've endured thousands of years in Hell. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And even the strength of thousands of years of life is nothing compared to a mere five years of drinking Slayer's blood. Not just the meager, thinned variant I give to my lieutenants. The real thing. Sweeter and more potent than anything else.
"ANGELUS! ANGELUS! ANGELUS!"
Did I mention it's really good to be me?
THE END
