AUTHOR'S NOTE: As several people have asked me this by now I want to make a brief statement regarding the absence of Spike in my story. Apparently some people missed the brief mention in the chapter "Wild Country", which told how Spike died saving the Scoobies from the zombie Willow raised in her botched attempt to resurrect Buffy. That is and will remain the sole appearance of Spike in this story (though he might be mentioned a few more times when I get around to the inconsistencies regarding his chip and the Initiative). My decision to leave him out of this story so completely is due to the fact that, after the last two seasons of Buffy, I find myself with such a violent dislike of the character (if one can even call him that after all the writers did with him) that there is no way I could in good conscience incorporate him into this story. So I decided to put an end to Spike at the point where he still had some semblance of character left (end of Season 5) and leave it at that. Sorry to all Spike fans, but that's the way it'll be in my little corner of the universe.

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The Angel's Knight #18 - Pieces on a Board

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Los Angeles, October 15, 2017

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I look around the table with an amiable smile on my lips, my business spotless and without so much as a single wrinkle, and I know that some of the people present have to maintain rigid self-control to keep themselves from running in fear. It's interesting how a simple return from the dead can unnerve even the worst of men. Some of them probably suspect that things are not quite as they seem, but none of them would dare speak out loud.

People who speak their mind usually don't last long at Wolfram & Hart.

"I am glad to inform you," I tell the assembled employees, "that the day we have all been working for is just around the corner. The senior partners are very pleased with the job we have done and I can say with some confidence that all of you can look forward to quite a substantial bonus package."

There are some smiles, some anticipation, but nervousness still holds sway and I can see some pearls of sweat here and there, glistening in the dimmed light. I always felt meetings like these should be held at night with dimmed lighting. Gives the whole thing the proper atmosphere.

The people sitting here in this expensively furnished meeting room signed their souls away for money and prestige; working towards a goal they all believed - or fooled themselves into believing - would not be reached within their lifetime. Of course we left them that little fantasy. Working towards the apocalypse is easier when you believe it will happen after you're safely dead.

"Within the next few days," I continue, "we will deal with the final preparation work. The main objective is to make sure that certain individuals you are all familiar with do not interfere with our business at this vital stage. As you know we have taken some measures to insure this already, but I want all of you on your toes. We are approaching the end zone, people! Let's make sure we don't stumble on the final leg of our journey."

The meeting goes on for some more minutes and I give them the rest of my pep talk. Some more sports metaphors strewn in, more talk about bonuses and how great things will be once we have achieved our goal. Of course none of them know what the ultimate goal is. The end of the world? Yes, in a way. The complete subjugation of mankind? That will probably happen somewhere along the line. The fiery extinction of every living being on Earth? Certainly not.

When the meeting ends they begin to file out of the room. Good little soldiers all. Their uniforms are thousand dollar business suits and their weapons are leather briefcases and endless stacks of paper. Some of the less informed might think it strange that we, of all people, would ever want anything to do with the law. Those are the ones that don't understand. The easiest way to win is to use the enemy's weapons against him.

Lilah walks past me and I lay a hand on her shoulder, which causes her to flinch. The touch of a dead man is a scary thing for the living.

"Lilah, a moment?"

She smiles at me, only the barest of hesitation. "Certainly, Holland."

Holland Manners, yes. That is my name, at least at present. Not my first, certainly not my last, but very convenient for the moment. I walk towards the nearby bar and fix us both a drink, knowing how uncomfortable Lilah is with being alone with me. Not that I can blame her. She saw me die, after all. She attended my funeral.

She thinks I'm Holland Manners, returned from the dead. Naïve little girl.

Lilah is one of those lucky few women who have aged well. Of course it helps that she has access to quite a few resources to help her with that, both magical and mundane. She does not look a day over thirty. She is also quite fascinating for less superficial reasons. There are very few people who manage to completely rid themselves of all morals while still retaining something of a human disposition. She is not evil as such, just one hundred percent pragmatic, willing to do whatever it takes to advance in the world.

She has also managed to retain a healthy amount of fear and respect towards her superiors. Not that she has so much as a single clue as to who her superiors really are and what they want, but that's okay. Ignorance breeds fear. We like fear. It usually leads to good results.

I hand her the drink. "How is our little last-minute distraction coming along?"

"It is ready," she answers, now smiling confidently. "We will send her on her way the moment you give the word."

"Good. The word will come sooner rather than later, I believe." I sip from my own drink. Holland preferred wine, I believe, but I like Scotch better. "Until then I want you to make sure that she enjoys all possible comforts. It wasn't easy bringing her here. Protect our investment."

She nods, sipping from her own glass. I have no idea whether she likes Scotch, but I do know she would drink even the most vile of poisons if I told her to. Not because she is so loyal a soldier, no, but because she is fully aware of the consequences should she refuse me. And through it all her smile never slips.

"I can guarantee you, the good Ms. Summers will want for nothing."

"Very good. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting coming up."

Lilah seems relieved to be dismissed, but little to nothing shows on her face. She drains the last of her drink, sets the glass down, and walks out the meeting room at normal pace. Humans. How very much they value their facades. I wonder whether any of them have ever realized how much pain they could have spared each other over the centuries if only they would do away with all the deception and masks.

"If they were that wise," a new voice catches my attention, "we might actually have to worry, wouldn't we?"

I turn around and there is someone sitting at the meeting table, someone who wasn't there a minute ago. He resembles a man, short, overweight, dressed in clothes that went out of style decades ago. Only those with superhuman senses would realize that he emits neither scent nor warmth and does not cause so much as a ripple in the air around him. Keen observers might also notice the complete lack of a shadow.

I smile, having expected his presence. Fixing two more drinks at the bar I walk over and take the seat beside him. Just to even things out I decide to cast a second shadow, one that does not look entirely human. He raises an eyebrow at that, but says nothing. The air around us grows noticeably darker. I like it better that way.

"Will you ever stop using the guise of the dead?" he asks me, sipping his drink. "Doesn't that get boring after all this time?"

"Not really, no," I tell him. "It is quite amazing, actually, how much people's attitudes toward you change when they think they are facing someone from beyond the pale."

"Ah, yes. We remember that little elevator ride you gave our mutual friend Angel a few years back. Nice piece of work. You almost got him with that."

I shrug, slouching in my chair in a way the cultivated gentleman I resemble would never have done. "Sadly, almost doesn't count. I gave a good showing, though, didn't I? He actually thought he was dealing with the late Holland Manners and riding an elevator down into Hell."

I chuckle, remembering the look on Angel's face when the elevator doors opened and he found himself back where he started. I wonder whether he grasped the truth I showed him back then. I wonder whether he has accepted the fact that there is no such place as Hell. Never has been.

Out of nowhere a chessboard appears on the table in front of us and my guest gently brushes his fingers over the pieces. Never quite got the hang of that game myself, but I am not surprised he likes it so much. Wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with its invention, either.

"We are almost sad this little game will end soon," he says mutters, fondly beholding the chess pieces.

"It has been one of the most amusing ever, hasn't it?"

"Indeed. You know, if it wasn't so important a matter, we would almost be tempted to draw it out a few more centuries, just for the fun of it."

I know what he means. This world isn't the first one where we have played our little game, of course. There have been thousands before and no doubt there will be thousands after it. In the great scheme of things it does not mean much, really, but I can't help but feel a certain fondness for it. I just wonder whether the next world will be even remotely as amusing as this one.

"I must say," I continue, "I really like what you did with that Slayer of yours."

"Really?" He looks up, smiling.

"Yes. A brilliant piece of work. That whole conversation among the clouds thing, that speech on how you are not allowed to interfere directly. Even I had a hard time telling the truths from the lies. I really liked it."

"Thank you."

"That bit at the end, though... I can't believe she fell for that whole 'you are not allowed to remember who you are' crap. I really thought you had pushed it too far with that."

He shakes his head. "With some people it would not have worked, but with her..."

"A really special girl, yes. I remember how much she whined about the rules and such. How she delighted in breaking them more often than not. You would think that would draw her over to our side. Well, it might still happen. You do know, of course, that bringing her back into the game this way might backfire on you, right?"

Picking up one of the pieces - one that now looks very much like a blonde teenage girl with a stake in hand - he shrugs. "We do not enjoy inserting random elements of chance into the game, but there is a human saying that sums it up quite nicely: No risk, no gain. You should know that. Isn't that why you raised that thing in the wooden box? Darla?"

He makes air quotes as he says the name and I can't help but chuckle. I never used to chuckle before coming to this world. Sometimes the players are influenced by those they play with. After all, what would a great mythical villain be without some kind of evil chuckle? I doubt all these amusing behavior patterns and fancies I have picked up over the eons will last long once the game is over. They never do. So I might as well enjoy them as long as I can.

I sip the last of my drink as he stands up, putting on the hat that has been lying in the chair next to him. It fits with the rest of his clothes. You would think someone like him would always dress immaculately; crisp business suits with no wrinkle to be found and such. Kind of like me. Well, what I said earlier about using the enemy's weapon against him goes both ways, of course. We both like to pretend to be something we are not.

"We can chat more later on," he tells me. "You no doubt have as much work left to be done before the game reaches its final round as we have, correct?"

"Of course. It was nice of you to drop by."

"The pleasure was ours. Oh, that reminds us, we've been dying to ask you one thing ever since we started this game, but somehow it never came up."

"Well, you might not get another chance before this is over, so ask away!"

"Why 'First Evil'? We have a hard time keeping a straight face every time we have to utter that name. Couldn't you have come up with something better than that?"

I laugh. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

"Yes, I can see your point. 'The Powers That Be' is so much more imaginative a name. I should probably forfeit the game before you blow me away through sheer originality."

We both laugh. An observer would probably think we are the best of friends. Nothing could be further from the truth. Still, if you fight someone in a never-ending war for what boils down to complete control of all creation, you can't really help but get close to him.

Or her. Or them. It's not like we are restricted to a single gender or form. Sometimes it's really difficult to keep all the personal pronouns straight.

"It does make more sense than yours," he says once he has recovered from his laughing fit. "We are power and we exist. The Powers That Be. Logical. Precise."

"And boring, yes. I know that is the kind of stuff that gets you off, my friend. Us, though, we like things a little more roundabout. Granted, we are not evil, if there is such a thing, but people often enough perceive us as such, so we might as well give them what they expect to see."

"We should be going then." He gives me a mock bow. "Prepare to be blown away, 'Holland'."

He does the air quotes again. There is something incredibly amusing in seeing the earthly manifestation of a primal force do air quotes.

"Looking forward to it, 'Whistler'."

A moment later he is gone. I walk toward the big window, looking out across the spectacle of nighttime Los Angeles. It's the early hours of the morning and the streets are almost empty, many of the lights extinguished. It looks so calm and peaceful. Orderly. Like nothing could ever disturb this picture of urban serenity.

"Soon," I whisper to myself. "Soon it will be over."

Figures take shape around me, guises I have used in the past, ones that I will use in the future. Names are whispered in voices belonging to other people, people who have died, and their voices are lanced with fear. The First Evil. The Senior Partners. Chaos. The Old Ones. Many people have had many names for me / us. Names have power. Names can mislead and distract. Names can cause such wonderful confusion.

"It's the end of the world as we know it," one of my voices sings. "And I feel fine."

TO BE CONTINUED