He stared at the hundreds of people standing in the pews in front of him. Their bedraggled, dirty faces stared back at him. He was their redeemer, their deliverer from the land of Goshen. The land of Goshen cast them out onto the streets as fodder for the supernatural forces. But no longer, their reign would come to full eclipse and his flock would be delivered. He smiled with such thoughts. His message would be spread across the world and the demons would cringe at the sound of his name. The Pope now listened to him and the best soldiers of the church were now under his banner. Tomorrow night, the world would be redeemed and the city of Zion would be created. His thoughts were interrupted by the calls of his ministry.

Micah Luke was a tall man, standing at about six foot three and with gelled blonde hair that pointed upwards and a small beard that lined his chin. His cold blue eyes radiated with fervor as he railed from the pulpit.

"The time has come for the oppressed and the downtrodden to inherit the earth from the arrogant servants of Satan! The city of Zion shall be brought to the mortal plane and the damned shall be brought to justice! God has instructed us all to carry on his righteous crusade against the forces of darkness and we shall heed his call. The infidelity of our society shall be destroyed by righteousness and piety and you shall bring it to this city. Yes friends, we must start tomorrow and torrents of blood from our enemies shall flow into the gutters of these streets. The earth shall tremble before us and everyone shall know the power of Micah Luke!" His voice raised a crescendo and reverberated across the church to the frenzied crowds of followers.

The followers chanted his name as they raised their weapons ranging from clubs, knives, axes and swords to spears and pikes. Besides the ragtag ranks of his brethren, a group of black coated men flanked him. The light from the candles reflected on the gold crosses adorning their jackets and on the long swords they clutched in one hand and on the guns holstered beside them. These were the disciplined members of the Jesuit order who had been sent to heed his call from Rome. They would fight to the death and were better armed than the rest of his followers. Yes, Micah grinned, he knew he would have to strike first against the Slayer and Angellus. Those two had been harassing his flock and murdered his poor blood brother, Caleb. Caleb was a fool to align himself with evil, but he was still a brother to Micah. They would be brought to justice and after they would fall, all evil and would bow before him, especially the haughty First and the irritating Powers that Be; and he would rule the world. Of course, he first had to complete a ritual tonight that would render him with the power of the archangels at his disposal. The roar died down as he walked into the back of the church to begin the ritual.

Meanwhile, Buffy and Angel were in the park discussing their relationship. They had consummated their love, but barriers still existed between them. Angel noted Buffy had seemed strangely cold that night, as if her life was devoid of all joy and didn't seem to display any true affection before him.

"It's Spike, isn't it?" he withdrew his hand from her shoulder.

"Yes," she answered him in tears, her blue eyes saddened as she remembered the loss of her other lover, the blonde vampire with a cocky disposition.

"I know you can't love me and you love.him, but I just wish that we were still in Sunnydale before any of this came about."

"Those were the days. Before college, before you left for LA, before Faith, before the First, before Willow went lesbian, before she tried to destroy the world, before everything, I almost wish that I wasn't a slayer. Then my life would have been perfect, no vampires, no watchers, no demons, no apocalypses; just a loving mother and devoted friends, maybe even a dark, handsome boyfriend," she smiled at Angel.

Angel tried to smile back, but Buffy turned around. "But I guess I can't really determine my life, in fact, it seems I have nothing. Spike's gone, my friends aren't the same friends they used to be, Giles is different, you're different, heck, even Faith's reformed. It's as if my life's a failure. I stopped the end of the world from happening so many times I can't remember, but I won't even be remembered for it. I have no legacy. My name will just vanish into nowhere after you all are gone. The forces of good will just find another slayer, another champion to lead the cause of light."

"Buffy don't say that," Angel tried to interrupt her, but she ignored him.

"Spike was the only thing I had in the end. And now he's gone. There's nothing here for me, Angel and I know sooner or later, I have to say goodbye to everyone."

"But what about Dawn?"

"You and the others can take care of her, although I'm sure she can handle herself now. In fact, none of you need me. It's best I just pursue my own path and fight evil across the world but without you all. I have no future here or with you. And I'm sorry Angel, but this is how it has to be," Buffy sighed and walked away, leaving Angel alone in the darkness of the park.

Angel gritted his teeth and savagely attacked a nearby tree, ripping apart branches and overturning shrubs in a fit of rage. For the first time in years he actually felt he had a chance with Buffy. Now, memories of her were almost nonexistent and she had changed. Spike was her man now and she could care less about him, oh and he was her true love and all but it didn't matter to her. Nope, Buffy always had to do everything by herself. He finished his attack and surveyed the devastation he had wrought in the park. Sighing loudly, he walked off into the darkness back towards the hotel.

The clang of steel against steel reverberated across the desolate streets as Faith and La Morte clashed. The taller man blocked Faith's attack and tried to strike her under her guard with his free hand, but she delivered a slice on his hand with her other blade. He silently yelped and withdrew his blade, nursing his wound.

Faith grinned, licking the blood from the blade. "Tasty," she smiled as she tensed up for his attack. La Morte yelled a loud battlecry and put all his might into the next blow which sent one of Faith's blades clattering onto the street. Faith delivered an uppercut and sent her adversary reeling. She ran over towards her other blade still holding the other one in her right hand. La Morte chased after her and kicked her in the back, sending her sprawling against the pavement. He brought the sword down and only Faith's quick reflexes saved her from decapitation. She buried the knife in his arm and kicked upwards, knocking him away from her as she searched for the other blade. La Morte staggered backwards and gritted his teeth as he pulled the blade from his arm. Faith grabbed the blade and jumped back up, taunting her foe.

"I'm still five by five, babe. But I reckon you're a bit worse for the wear. And did anyone tell you that you're ugly? Well, if not I would have to say that besides that, you fight like a girl," she grinned back at her adversary.

Surprisingly, he fired right back. "I'm just getting started, wench. I've killed a dozen of your kind and I'm ready to make it thirteen."

"Thirteen's an unlucky number, I'd watch out if I were you."

La Morte resumed his attack.

Xander and Gunn watched the battle riveted to their feet. The impressive strength of the dark knight made them slightly apprehensive about intervening in the fray. Connor spoke up to them.

"I suggest we regroup at the hotel. If Faith wants to get herself killed, well, then let her," Connor whispered to Xander.

Xander muttered yes and bolted, followed in hot pursuit by Connor and Gunn, who abandoned Faith and La Morte to their duel.

"Looks like your friends left you, I guess they're a little smarter," grinned La Morte as he smashed Faith against a wall.

"Some friends," Faith replied and she blocked his sword with her one remaining blade. She gritted her teeth as his strength overcame hers. He knocked her blade away and seized her throat with his one hand and brought the point of the sword against her throat with the other. His hot breath blew into her face as his face came closer to hers. She tried to resist him, but to no avail.

La Morte smiled, he was savoring the moment. Soon, this slayer would be another trophy to his collection. But for once, his bloodlust was interrupted by other feelings. Human feelings. The attraction he felt towards the black-haired slayer in black hot pants and a maroon top suddenly interrupted his thoughts and he wavered for a second. He suddenly sheathed his sword but maintained his grip on the slayer. "What are you doing?" Faith yelled as she watched him sheathe the sword, her eyes lit with fear.

"I've always liked bad girls," he grinned, "but you're the first I've wanted." With that, he connected his lips with hers and kissed her. His tongue entered her mouth and he brought his face against hers, his eyes closed with passion.

Faith tried to resist, but even her hatred dissipated and her hands reached around his shoulders in an embrace when seconds before they were struggling against him. The two embraced and consummated their sudden passion in the desolate streets.

A figure watched them from about fifty feet away. His purple hair stood out in the moonlight and his short, slender frame concealed a powerful spirit inside him.

"Oh hell," Oz exclaimed.