The Angel's Knight #28 - Onslaught Commencing
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110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017
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I'm not good at making quick decisions.
Never have been. When my soul was restored to me I needed a century to work out what that meant for me and even then I needed the help of a demon. Whistler. I wonder what happened to him in the meantime. When it was revealed to me how dangerous my very presence was to the people I loved the most, it took me the better part of a year to work up the necessary resolve to do the right thing and leave them behind. When Darla returned I needed forever to decide what to do and when the time came to kill her I couldn't go through with that, either.
Maybe it's one of the drawbacks of being immortal. Too much time ahead of me. Or maybe it's just me. The few impulsive decisions I've made in my life - following Darla that night in 1753, sleeping with Buffy on her 17th birthday - turned out to be disasters. Is it a case of once burned, twice shy?
One part of me would really like to just sit down somewhere and think this over. Brooding, as some of my friends would say. It's as good a name as any for it, I guess. The only problem is that we have no time to sit down and think right now. The mouth of hell might be opening right in front of us and, as usual, we are the only ones in a position to stop it.
That, and the fact that the other part of me is longing to tear something to pieces and gorge myself on my enemies' blood.
I feel my hands shaking. So many things have happened these last 48 hours. Diana, the new Vampire Slayer, who has awakened feelings inside of me that I have resolved never to feel again, that I can't afford to feel again. Wolfram & Hart sending me this ... this thing, made worse by the fact that one of Cordy's visions actually showed Buffy returning to me. I'm hoping that this is what she saw, that it's over, but some part of me doesn't believe that.
Angelus is stirring inside of me, spurned on by the rage of seeing Wolfram & Hart spit on Buffy's memory in this way. He, too, loved her, though in a perverse, obsessive way. He would gladly have killed her, but would have torn everyone else to shreds who dared to touch her. I can count the times in my life when the demon and I were in perfect agreement on the fingers of one hand. Today is one of them.
And now this. Darla and this girl, Celeste. My daughter? I don't understand how this can be possible, but somehow I know that it's true. I look into her eyes and I know it's true. It doesn't make any sense, even with what she has told us. Even if I were to accept that vampires are creatures born from human fairy tales and superstition by way of this Torch, how can two such creatures create a human child between them?
Trying to find a logical solution to everything that is happening is not made easier by Darla's presence. The last time we met I promised I would kill her the next time we met. I see her steal glances at me and I know she remembers that promise. I know she is afraid of me. As well she should be. All the things she has done to me ... but then I see her looking at Celeste and there is so much love in her gaze that it can't be faked. She loves this girl ... our girl. Something else that doesn't make sense.
There was some discussion on whether or not to go ahead with the attack after what Celeste told us. Was it the truth? I'm afraid there is no way to tell, but somehow it sounds right. We have always regarded the Powers That Be as a force of good, but did we ever see any concrete proof?
Celeste said we are working for their cause, not our own. Does that mean their cause is something we shouldn't get behind? If I understood her right the Powers want a world without myth, a world devoid of magic and the demonic. Would that be such a bad thing? No vampires, no monsters, no forces of darkness.
I don't know. I'm really not good at making quick decisions.
There was no real question about the attack, though. If nothing else we can get behind preventing the world from being overrun by creatures of myth. I remember Phylea. It didn't look horrible on the surface, far from it, but once you looked a little deeper ... humans as slaves, demons ruling everything, all laws of physics superseded by magic and the supernatural. For years I wondered what kind of connection Wolfram & Hart had with the rulers of that strange and terrifying world. Now I know, at least if Celeste is speaking the truth. They work for the same people that made that world what it is.
So we go, following the rudimentary plan we laid out. Go in with guns blazing, hoping we have enough momentum to reach the center of town and prevent the dark mages from freeing Willow and opening the Hellmouth that way. We discussed the option of sneaking in like Xander did, but I don't think that's an option we have anymore. Even from this far away I can feel the power of the Hellmouth growing, calling out to me. We're running out of time.
Fred took some moments to explain what she found out about the nature of the Hellmouth. Among other things it means that my experience after tumbling into Akathler's portal wasn't quite what I thought it was.
There are no hell dimensions. Everything I experienced during those five months that felt like hundreds of years was of my own doing, my own unconscious design. The demons that tortured me, the pain I felt without break, all my own doing. Come to think of it, why am I surprised? Faith once said that the main thing the two of us have in common is self-hatred, a desire to see ourselves punished for the things we did over and over again. Is it really so far-off that, immersed in a realm that would adapt to my own unconscious mind, I ended up in a giant torture chamber?
No more time to muse things over. We get moving and before we know it we are past the city limit. Almost immediately the first creatures attack us. Mantises, dozens of them, as well as a virtual army of zombies that has gotten its first whiff of fresh meat in years. I can hear some of the people in our ranks utter prayers beneath their breaths, but no one is hesitating, no one is pulling back. All of them have faced the demonic before, though I doubt more than a handful of us have ever imagined anything like this.
The fighting starts and I surrender myself to the rush. Faith is beside me, Diana directly behind us, and we tear through the obstacles in our way as if they were paper. The thunder of automatic weapons fills the air around us as demonic and decomposing bodies are cut into pieces by hailstorms of lead. Magical lightning crackles through the ranks of our enemies as the witches put their own power into our push.
Some leftover landmarks enable me to recognize this as the former main street of Sunnydale. Have we gotten this far already? Whether it's the rush of combat or the siren call of the Hellmouth, I've lost all sense of time. I take a second to look back and see our way littered with demon bodies, as well as the occasional still form in uniform or street clothing. Armored vehicles begin to fan out along the side of the street, opening up our corridor and preparing to guard our eventual retreat. Some of them are moving sluggish already. We must be approaching the no-tech zone in the heart of Sunnydale.
Even as I cut a vampire down in front of me I see that we seem to have received some unexpected aid at the last minute. A group of werewolves have joined our ranks. Wesley mentioned something about the negotiations with them, but I didn't pay much attention at the time. I guess he came through. The wolves are led by a huge, shaggy alpha male whose scent I recognize as Oz'. I wonder whether anyone managed to tell him about Willow. I wonder if he still loves her. I look at Diana, fighting beside me, and force myself to stop wondering. We're in the middle of a fight and our enemies are beginning to slow us down by sheer numbers.
No time to think, no time to muse over anything. Just push forward, remove everything that stands in the way. Faith on my right, Diana now on my left, and ... Darla? Darla is fighting on the far left flank. Separate from the main thrust, as no one wanted her at his or her back, and tearing into vampires and demons with a ferocity I've never seen in her before. Then I see that Celeste is only a few steps behind her, her face as serene as if she was walking through a park at noon. Darla tears apart anything and everything that even comes close to Celeste.
Interestingly enough, though, most of the creatures don't even bat an eye in the girl's direction. It's as if they don't even see her.
Again I push the thoughts away for later. The air in front of me begins to shimmer and I recognize the specific scent of a magical spell about to break. The street ahead of us is filled with black-robed shapes.
"They're going to hit us with magic," I yell backwards toward Tara and the other witches. "Put up a shield!"
Tara, Amy, and the others begin to chant, surrounded by soldiers whose main objective is to keep them safe at all costs until we reach the center of town. The black mages unleash a torrent of energy, only to be met with resistance in mid-air. Our side is vastly outnumbered on the magical side of things as well, but they only need to keep them at bay for the few seconds it takes us to get close. No matter how powerful a witch or a warlock, when it comes to hand-to-hand combat they are just human.
We advance deeper into the ruined town and without even turning around I know the ranks behind us are getting thinner. I can smell blood in the air, and it's not the stale, dead variety the zombies and vampires carry in their veins. I wonder how many of our 600 have survived this far into the charge and chase the thought away a moment later. The time to mourn will come afterwards, if there is such a thing.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity consisting of nothing but fighting and screams, our goal comes into view.
"We're almost there," Xander yells from behind me. "The statue is right where the library used to be."
Nothing much is left of Sunnydale High and the ruins are crawling with demons, vampires, and black-robed mages. The only reason they haven't massacred us yet is their complete lack of strategy and cooperation. Even Xander vastly underestimated their numbers. I take a quick moment to take stock of our own forces. All the armored vehicles have fallen behind, staying safely outside the no-tech zone, everyone who made it this far is on foot.
I really wish we had horses.
There are about two hundred people or so, many of them in less than perfect shape. I don't want to calculate how many of the remaining four hundred stayed behind to keep the corridor open and how many stayed behind permanently.
"Okay, people," Riley barks from behind me, jamming a fresh cartridge into his rifle. "Let's finish this!"
Moments later we are back in the breach and the world consists wholly of enemies to be killed and allies to watch out for. We know the direction we need to go and even if we didn't, by now even those among our number who have no sensitivity at all when it comes to the supernatural would have no trouble finding our goal. Every instinct in my body screams at me to go there, the Hellmouth or whatever it is drawing me in like a moth to the flames.
Did I even wash the dark blood of this creature that impersonated Buffy off my hands? I can no longer tell after tearing dozens of zombies to pieces, tearing the guts out of at least five Mantises, and God alone knows how many vampires. Did I slip back into human face once after that first fight went down? I don't think so.
The walls around me bear no resemblance to the school corridors I remember from the time I lived here, from the time Buffy went to school here. Ruins, nothing but ruins, overrun with the very creatures she spent her youth destroying. The red haze that has fallen over my eyes ever since that creature revealed its true nature grows yet more intense. These things don't have the right to be here.
I lose all track of time as more and more of the creatures fall before me. I receive wounds in turn, but I barely feel them. I'm aware only of those directly beside me. Faith, Diana, and now Darla. I almost laugh at that. All that's missing is for Spike to rise from his own dust and fight by my side. Considering what happened to Darla that might not be as impossible as it sounds.
Somewhere ahead of us there is a bright light, cutting through the remains of the dust storm with ease. The light makes my skin crawl and the magic around us is thick enough to cut it with a knife. We increase our pace, all of us sensing that even a second's delay might cost us dearly now.
What was once the library is now a clearing, all rubble removed, and filled with black-robed mages and demons. I look for the statue Xander and Amy talked about, the same statue Cordy saw in her visions, but the light hailing from the center of the clearing is too bright to look at directly. I can hear chanting in the air.
"Tara," I scream, trying to shield my eyes from the glare. "Disrupt their spell! Quickly!"
I see Tara and Amy clasp hands, combining their magical power for one last push. I don't see the other witches anymore. I see Diana and Faith, as well as Darla and Celeste. Riley is there with a few men, Graham not among them. There is no trace of Xander, Gunn, Wesley, or Giles.
"We're too late," Tara yells over the din. "The energy is reaching critical mass. It's going to..."
Her words are drowned out as the clearing explodes around us, light burning all the shadows away. I can feel my skin smolder, the demon inside screaming as something almost like daylight burns our shared flesh. Attackers and defenders alike are thrown to the ground by the force of the unleashed energy and I can feel the ground heave beneath us, the very earth shrieking in protest.
Then it's over and a heavy silence spreads over the clearing like a blanket.
The light ahead of us hasn't gone out, but it's burning lower now, the brightness just this side of agonizing. Something is moving inside that light. A shadowy outline even my superior senses can't quite make out yet.
It's coming towards us.
"Willow?" I hear Tara whisper. At the same time Amy mouths her mother's name.
The light fades and we can see clearly again.
TO BE CONTINUED
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110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017
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I'm not good at making quick decisions.
Never have been. When my soul was restored to me I needed a century to work out what that meant for me and even then I needed the help of a demon. Whistler. I wonder what happened to him in the meantime. When it was revealed to me how dangerous my very presence was to the people I loved the most, it took me the better part of a year to work up the necessary resolve to do the right thing and leave them behind. When Darla returned I needed forever to decide what to do and when the time came to kill her I couldn't go through with that, either.
Maybe it's one of the drawbacks of being immortal. Too much time ahead of me. Or maybe it's just me. The few impulsive decisions I've made in my life - following Darla that night in 1753, sleeping with Buffy on her 17th birthday - turned out to be disasters. Is it a case of once burned, twice shy?
One part of me would really like to just sit down somewhere and think this over. Brooding, as some of my friends would say. It's as good a name as any for it, I guess. The only problem is that we have no time to sit down and think right now. The mouth of hell might be opening right in front of us and, as usual, we are the only ones in a position to stop it.
That, and the fact that the other part of me is longing to tear something to pieces and gorge myself on my enemies' blood.
I feel my hands shaking. So many things have happened these last 48 hours. Diana, the new Vampire Slayer, who has awakened feelings inside of me that I have resolved never to feel again, that I can't afford to feel again. Wolfram & Hart sending me this ... this thing, made worse by the fact that one of Cordy's visions actually showed Buffy returning to me. I'm hoping that this is what she saw, that it's over, but some part of me doesn't believe that.
Angelus is stirring inside of me, spurned on by the rage of seeing Wolfram & Hart spit on Buffy's memory in this way. He, too, loved her, though in a perverse, obsessive way. He would gladly have killed her, but would have torn everyone else to shreds who dared to touch her. I can count the times in my life when the demon and I were in perfect agreement on the fingers of one hand. Today is one of them.
And now this. Darla and this girl, Celeste. My daughter? I don't understand how this can be possible, but somehow I know that it's true. I look into her eyes and I know it's true. It doesn't make any sense, even with what she has told us. Even if I were to accept that vampires are creatures born from human fairy tales and superstition by way of this Torch, how can two such creatures create a human child between them?
Trying to find a logical solution to everything that is happening is not made easier by Darla's presence. The last time we met I promised I would kill her the next time we met. I see her steal glances at me and I know she remembers that promise. I know she is afraid of me. As well she should be. All the things she has done to me ... but then I see her looking at Celeste and there is so much love in her gaze that it can't be faked. She loves this girl ... our girl. Something else that doesn't make sense.
There was some discussion on whether or not to go ahead with the attack after what Celeste told us. Was it the truth? I'm afraid there is no way to tell, but somehow it sounds right. We have always regarded the Powers That Be as a force of good, but did we ever see any concrete proof?
Celeste said we are working for their cause, not our own. Does that mean their cause is something we shouldn't get behind? If I understood her right the Powers want a world without myth, a world devoid of magic and the demonic. Would that be such a bad thing? No vampires, no monsters, no forces of darkness.
I don't know. I'm really not good at making quick decisions.
There was no real question about the attack, though. If nothing else we can get behind preventing the world from being overrun by creatures of myth. I remember Phylea. It didn't look horrible on the surface, far from it, but once you looked a little deeper ... humans as slaves, demons ruling everything, all laws of physics superseded by magic and the supernatural. For years I wondered what kind of connection Wolfram & Hart had with the rulers of that strange and terrifying world. Now I know, at least if Celeste is speaking the truth. They work for the same people that made that world what it is.
So we go, following the rudimentary plan we laid out. Go in with guns blazing, hoping we have enough momentum to reach the center of town and prevent the dark mages from freeing Willow and opening the Hellmouth that way. We discussed the option of sneaking in like Xander did, but I don't think that's an option we have anymore. Even from this far away I can feel the power of the Hellmouth growing, calling out to me. We're running out of time.
Fred took some moments to explain what she found out about the nature of the Hellmouth. Among other things it means that my experience after tumbling into Akathler's portal wasn't quite what I thought it was.
There are no hell dimensions. Everything I experienced during those five months that felt like hundreds of years was of my own doing, my own unconscious design. The demons that tortured me, the pain I felt without break, all my own doing. Come to think of it, why am I surprised? Faith once said that the main thing the two of us have in common is self-hatred, a desire to see ourselves punished for the things we did over and over again. Is it really so far-off that, immersed in a realm that would adapt to my own unconscious mind, I ended up in a giant torture chamber?
No more time to muse things over. We get moving and before we know it we are past the city limit. Almost immediately the first creatures attack us. Mantises, dozens of them, as well as a virtual army of zombies that has gotten its first whiff of fresh meat in years. I can hear some of the people in our ranks utter prayers beneath their breaths, but no one is hesitating, no one is pulling back. All of them have faced the demonic before, though I doubt more than a handful of us have ever imagined anything like this.
The fighting starts and I surrender myself to the rush. Faith is beside me, Diana directly behind us, and we tear through the obstacles in our way as if they were paper. The thunder of automatic weapons fills the air around us as demonic and decomposing bodies are cut into pieces by hailstorms of lead. Magical lightning crackles through the ranks of our enemies as the witches put their own power into our push.
Some leftover landmarks enable me to recognize this as the former main street of Sunnydale. Have we gotten this far already? Whether it's the rush of combat or the siren call of the Hellmouth, I've lost all sense of time. I take a second to look back and see our way littered with demon bodies, as well as the occasional still form in uniform or street clothing. Armored vehicles begin to fan out along the side of the street, opening up our corridor and preparing to guard our eventual retreat. Some of them are moving sluggish already. We must be approaching the no-tech zone in the heart of Sunnydale.
Even as I cut a vampire down in front of me I see that we seem to have received some unexpected aid at the last minute. A group of werewolves have joined our ranks. Wesley mentioned something about the negotiations with them, but I didn't pay much attention at the time. I guess he came through. The wolves are led by a huge, shaggy alpha male whose scent I recognize as Oz'. I wonder whether anyone managed to tell him about Willow. I wonder if he still loves her. I look at Diana, fighting beside me, and force myself to stop wondering. We're in the middle of a fight and our enemies are beginning to slow us down by sheer numbers.
No time to think, no time to muse over anything. Just push forward, remove everything that stands in the way. Faith on my right, Diana now on my left, and ... Darla? Darla is fighting on the far left flank. Separate from the main thrust, as no one wanted her at his or her back, and tearing into vampires and demons with a ferocity I've never seen in her before. Then I see that Celeste is only a few steps behind her, her face as serene as if she was walking through a park at noon. Darla tears apart anything and everything that even comes close to Celeste.
Interestingly enough, though, most of the creatures don't even bat an eye in the girl's direction. It's as if they don't even see her.
Again I push the thoughts away for later. The air in front of me begins to shimmer and I recognize the specific scent of a magical spell about to break. The street ahead of us is filled with black-robed shapes.
"They're going to hit us with magic," I yell backwards toward Tara and the other witches. "Put up a shield!"
Tara, Amy, and the others begin to chant, surrounded by soldiers whose main objective is to keep them safe at all costs until we reach the center of town. The black mages unleash a torrent of energy, only to be met with resistance in mid-air. Our side is vastly outnumbered on the magical side of things as well, but they only need to keep them at bay for the few seconds it takes us to get close. No matter how powerful a witch or a warlock, when it comes to hand-to-hand combat they are just human.
We advance deeper into the ruined town and without even turning around I know the ranks behind us are getting thinner. I can smell blood in the air, and it's not the stale, dead variety the zombies and vampires carry in their veins. I wonder how many of our 600 have survived this far into the charge and chase the thought away a moment later. The time to mourn will come afterwards, if there is such a thing.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity consisting of nothing but fighting and screams, our goal comes into view.
"We're almost there," Xander yells from behind me. "The statue is right where the library used to be."
Nothing much is left of Sunnydale High and the ruins are crawling with demons, vampires, and black-robed mages. The only reason they haven't massacred us yet is their complete lack of strategy and cooperation. Even Xander vastly underestimated their numbers. I take a quick moment to take stock of our own forces. All the armored vehicles have fallen behind, staying safely outside the no-tech zone, everyone who made it this far is on foot.
I really wish we had horses.
There are about two hundred people or so, many of them in less than perfect shape. I don't want to calculate how many of the remaining four hundred stayed behind to keep the corridor open and how many stayed behind permanently.
"Okay, people," Riley barks from behind me, jamming a fresh cartridge into his rifle. "Let's finish this!"
Moments later we are back in the breach and the world consists wholly of enemies to be killed and allies to watch out for. We know the direction we need to go and even if we didn't, by now even those among our number who have no sensitivity at all when it comes to the supernatural would have no trouble finding our goal. Every instinct in my body screams at me to go there, the Hellmouth or whatever it is drawing me in like a moth to the flames.
Did I even wash the dark blood of this creature that impersonated Buffy off my hands? I can no longer tell after tearing dozens of zombies to pieces, tearing the guts out of at least five Mantises, and God alone knows how many vampires. Did I slip back into human face once after that first fight went down? I don't think so.
The walls around me bear no resemblance to the school corridors I remember from the time I lived here, from the time Buffy went to school here. Ruins, nothing but ruins, overrun with the very creatures she spent her youth destroying. The red haze that has fallen over my eyes ever since that creature revealed its true nature grows yet more intense. These things don't have the right to be here.
I lose all track of time as more and more of the creatures fall before me. I receive wounds in turn, but I barely feel them. I'm aware only of those directly beside me. Faith, Diana, and now Darla. I almost laugh at that. All that's missing is for Spike to rise from his own dust and fight by my side. Considering what happened to Darla that might not be as impossible as it sounds.
Somewhere ahead of us there is a bright light, cutting through the remains of the dust storm with ease. The light makes my skin crawl and the magic around us is thick enough to cut it with a knife. We increase our pace, all of us sensing that even a second's delay might cost us dearly now.
What was once the library is now a clearing, all rubble removed, and filled with black-robed mages and demons. I look for the statue Xander and Amy talked about, the same statue Cordy saw in her visions, but the light hailing from the center of the clearing is too bright to look at directly. I can hear chanting in the air.
"Tara," I scream, trying to shield my eyes from the glare. "Disrupt their spell! Quickly!"
I see Tara and Amy clasp hands, combining their magical power for one last push. I don't see the other witches anymore. I see Diana and Faith, as well as Darla and Celeste. Riley is there with a few men, Graham not among them. There is no trace of Xander, Gunn, Wesley, or Giles.
"We're too late," Tara yells over the din. "The energy is reaching critical mass. It's going to..."
Her words are drowned out as the clearing explodes around us, light burning all the shadows away. I can feel my skin smolder, the demon inside screaming as something almost like daylight burns our shared flesh. Attackers and defenders alike are thrown to the ground by the force of the unleashed energy and I can feel the ground heave beneath us, the very earth shrieking in protest.
Then it's over and a heavy silence spreads over the clearing like a blanket.
The light ahead of us hasn't gone out, but it's burning lower now, the brightness just this side of agonizing. Something is moving inside that light. A shadowy outline even my superior senses can't quite make out yet.
It's coming towards us.
"Willow?" I hear Tara whisper. At the same time Amy mouths her mother's name.
The light fades and we can see clearly again.
TO BE CONTINUED
