Title: Sword of Darkness (part 3)
Author: Icealin
E-mail: icealin@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: do I look like I'm bald? Didn't think so, so nada
Spoilers: up to season 2 on BTVS and ATS is kinda existing but in a Buffy
way, do I make sense?
Summery: B/A(us)-angst- when the remaining scoobie gang (Angel, Willow, and
Xander) have met a match that's out of their league they go to LA to find
the mysterious Avengers, a demon fighting gang that's both respected and
feared in the underworlds of both humans and demons
Rating: SAS (same as show(s))
Distribution: just tell me
Authors Notes: Janna's not dead and is dating Ripper, Angel is more Angelus
like and is dating Willow, everything else is a big surprise.
Feedback: Please, for the love of all things B/A(us) send me feedback and
ideas of how you'd like the story to go.
Dedication: to Jenn who 'convinced' me to start writing fanfics, Nicky
who's in denial about being Xanderish, Danici, and Chyna-Whyte.
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the next morning in sunneydale, in Xander's room in the mansion
As Xander woke up he felt a overwhelming sense of despair and foreboding of badness. He was confused for a second but then he remembered Cordy leaving and his heart broke all over again. Though it had never been said he really did love her, and deep in his heart he had hoped against hope that she did as well but apparently she didn't, leaving them all behind so coldly and calmly as if she didn't even care. And that hurt, a lot.
Suddenly he jumped from his bed, he could've sworn that he heard his name being said outside his room, in Cordy's voice. As he crept towards the door his heart started to pound with anticipation, maybe she had come back to him. But he was also filled with dread, it was possible that she was just at the mansion to get her stuff (the scoobie gang had moved into the mansion in case of an emergency). As he put his hand around the knob instrumental Chinese music filled the air, finally gathering all the courage he needed he twisted the knob and opened the door.
To find a very strange scene indeed. In front of him, instead of a hallway it seemed to be a collage of three different scenes. On the left the theme was fire, the middle was a forest, the right was ice. In each was a throne-like chair in which sat each a teenage girl/young woman. In the fire throne sat Buffy, dressed in black leather pants, a red silk tank top, a black leather duster, and a necklace with a blood red ruby pendant in the shape of flame, on the throne that looked liked something out of a nymph's castle was Cordy, dressed in hip hugging suede pants, a green silk mock peasant shirt, and a necklace with an amber butterfly pendant, and on the throne of ice sat a girl no older than 14, dressed in straight black jeans, a cotton black sleeve-less, a black sweater duster, and a necklace with a sword pendant.
This young girl had raven black hair that went halfway between her shoulders and elbows with bangs that just reached her strong, proud, and confidant chin. She was a petite and athletically built. Her eyes were dark brown with specks of black, they spoke of confidence, a quite but strong spirit, cunning, and wisdom. Xander knew almost instantly that she was a slayer, and that made him wonder, was she Buffy's replacement or Kendra's. But if she was Buffy's then why was Buffy in his dream as well. And what did Cordy have anything to do with this?
With a start he woke up. He was confused, sometime during the dream he had realised what it was, and somehow he was, with deadly certainty, sure that it was a prophetic dream. Though he had never had one he was sure, he would bet his soul on that.
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In L.A., Isadora's penthouse that she shares with young Ice
Isadora's eyes flew open, the echoes of her dream still ringing in her ears. Death and destruction had been the theme. It was memories, memories of her sisters long past. Their lives and their passions. All these memories had one thing in common, her passion. The one being that she truly loved and truly hated with all that was within her. She sighed and got up from her bed to get ready for the up coming day. A day that she dreaded with every fibre of her being, and everyone one of those also longed for the main event. The faceoff.
A shower later.
As she padded down the hallway to the living room Isadora saw the young slayer by the name of Ice. She was outside on the porch meditating. Isadora sighed, Ice was so cold, distant, and quiet. When you think about it though it's not really a surprise, what was though was that she was so strong, determined, wise, and cunning, Isadora had no doubt that if it were any other child they'd be suicidal by now if not dead. Deciding that breakfast can wait, she steered her course towards the porch. As she stepped out into the bitter winter wind without a single sound she was startled by Ice's soft bittersweet voice.
"Hey," her voice reminded Isadora of the winter wind. "Hey," Isadora greeted in turn while she studied the young huntress. She was so dark, even when she was smiling. Which she wasn't doing, at the moment her eyes were closed and her hair was whipping in the wind. Isadora marvelled at the way that she was able to stay so calm and collected in any situation. Just like oz. "So, what's up?" Without even opening her eyes or moving she replied, "The sky, or so it seems." Chuckling Isadora said, "You're way to much of a thinker for your own good." If possible Ice darkened even more, "If I don't think then I'd be dead." Isadora nodded gravely. "However I believe I should be asking you that." Groaning, she replied. "How do you do that?" Finally Ice opened her eyes to reveal dark brown eyes that had black specks, identical to those of a tiger, complete with the predatory gleam. "Do what?" she said with a smirk that had driven demons to their knees begging for mercy, of which they would be denied. "That, know what we're thinking when we're trying to hide it from ourselves". With that Ice laughed softly and Isadora shivered. "Simple." The older slayer waited for a beat or two. "So?" "So what?" "I give up, you're even worse than Oz."
At that exact second they both hear a voice that would make even the cruellest demon to shiver, but not Ice, nor Isadora.
First of passions' flames, second of fearies' grace, and third of winters winds, 'tis time to wield the swords of eras past. To dance under the darkest of the dark realm. Time to release the demons within; the protector, the saviour, the friend, and the huntress, these paradoxes are the greatest paradox of all. For eternity is never ending and the dark shall overcome.
Isadora frowned and looked over at Ice. Who just tilted her head and said "Ripper?" "Janna." Isadora agreed.
And with that Ice rose and put on her sunglasses that hid her eyes, dressed in straight black jeans, a cotton black sleeve-less, a black sweater duster, and a necklace with a sword pendant she looked every inch the predator that she was. As did Isadora, dressed in black leather pants, a red silk tank top, a black leather duster, and a necklace with a blood red ruby pendant in the shape of flame. And together they left their penthouse to venture to the mysterious unknown.
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the next morning in sunneydale, in Xander's room in the mansion
As Xander woke up he felt a overwhelming sense of despair and foreboding of badness. He was confused for a second but then he remembered Cordy leaving and his heart broke all over again. Though it had never been said he really did love her, and deep in his heart he had hoped against hope that she did as well but apparently she didn't, leaving them all behind so coldly and calmly as if she didn't even care. And that hurt, a lot.
Suddenly he jumped from his bed, he could've sworn that he heard his name being said outside his room, in Cordy's voice. As he crept towards the door his heart started to pound with anticipation, maybe she had come back to him. But he was also filled with dread, it was possible that she was just at the mansion to get her stuff (the scoobie gang had moved into the mansion in case of an emergency). As he put his hand around the knob instrumental Chinese music filled the air, finally gathering all the courage he needed he twisted the knob and opened the door.
To find a very strange scene indeed. In front of him, instead of a hallway it seemed to be a collage of three different scenes. On the left the theme was fire, the middle was a forest, the right was ice. In each was a throne-like chair in which sat each a teenage girl/young woman. In the fire throne sat Buffy, dressed in black leather pants, a red silk tank top, a black leather duster, and a necklace with a blood red ruby pendant in the shape of flame, on the throne that looked liked something out of a nymph's castle was Cordy, dressed in hip hugging suede pants, a green silk mock peasant shirt, and a necklace with an amber butterfly pendant, and on the throne of ice sat a girl no older than 14, dressed in straight black jeans, a cotton black sleeve-less, a black sweater duster, and a necklace with a sword pendant.
This young girl had raven black hair that went halfway between her shoulders and elbows with bangs that just reached her strong, proud, and confidant chin. She was a petite and athletically built. Her eyes were dark brown with specks of black, they spoke of confidence, a quite but strong spirit, cunning, and wisdom. Xander knew almost instantly that she was a slayer, and that made him wonder, was she Buffy's replacement or Kendra's. But if she was Buffy's then why was Buffy in his dream as well. And what did Cordy have anything to do with this?
With a start he woke up. He was confused, sometime during the dream he had realised what it was, and somehow he was, with deadly certainty, sure that it was a prophetic dream. Though he had never had one he was sure, he would bet his soul on that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
In L.A., Isadora's penthouse that she shares with young Ice
Isadora's eyes flew open, the echoes of her dream still ringing in her ears. Death and destruction had been the theme. It was memories, memories of her sisters long past. Their lives and their passions. All these memories had one thing in common, her passion. The one being that she truly loved and truly hated with all that was within her. She sighed and got up from her bed to get ready for the up coming day. A day that she dreaded with every fibre of her being, and everyone one of those also longed for the main event. The faceoff.
A shower later.
As she padded down the hallway to the living room Isadora saw the young slayer by the name of Ice. She was outside on the porch meditating. Isadora sighed, Ice was so cold, distant, and quiet. When you think about it though it's not really a surprise, what was though was that she was so strong, determined, wise, and cunning, Isadora had no doubt that if it were any other child they'd be suicidal by now if not dead. Deciding that breakfast can wait, she steered her course towards the porch. As she stepped out into the bitter winter wind without a single sound she was startled by Ice's soft bittersweet voice.
"Hey," her voice reminded Isadora of the winter wind. "Hey," Isadora greeted in turn while she studied the young huntress. She was so dark, even when she was smiling. Which she wasn't doing, at the moment her eyes were closed and her hair was whipping in the wind. Isadora marvelled at the way that she was able to stay so calm and collected in any situation. Just like oz. "So, what's up?" Without even opening her eyes or moving she replied, "The sky, or so it seems." Chuckling Isadora said, "You're way to much of a thinker for your own good." If possible Ice darkened even more, "If I don't think then I'd be dead." Isadora nodded gravely. "However I believe I should be asking you that." Groaning, she replied. "How do you do that?" Finally Ice opened her eyes to reveal dark brown eyes that had black specks, identical to those of a tiger, complete with the predatory gleam. "Do what?" she said with a smirk that had driven demons to their knees begging for mercy, of which they would be denied. "That, know what we're thinking when we're trying to hide it from ourselves". With that Ice laughed softly and Isadora shivered. "Simple." The older slayer waited for a beat or two. "So?" "So what?" "I give up, you're even worse than Oz."
At that exact second they both hear a voice that would make even the cruellest demon to shiver, but not Ice, nor Isadora.
First of passions' flames, second of fearies' grace, and third of winters winds, 'tis time to wield the swords of eras past. To dance under the darkest of the dark realm. Time to release the demons within; the protector, the saviour, the friend, and the huntress, these paradoxes are the greatest paradox of all. For eternity is never ending and the dark shall overcome.
Isadora frowned and looked over at Ice. Who just tilted her head and said "Ripper?" "Janna." Isadora agreed.
And with that Ice rose and put on her sunglasses that hid her eyes, dressed in straight black jeans, a cotton black sleeve-less, a black sweater duster, and a necklace with a sword pendant she looked every inch the predator that she was. As did Isadora, dressed in black leather pants, a red silk tank top, a black leather duster, and a necklace with a blood red ruby pendant in the shape of flame. And together they left their penthouse to venture to the mysterious unknown.