Hello everyone! I know I took ages with this chapter, and I'm sorry, but, if it's any consollation, it's big and it's bad. Well, not bad, but, badass. If you get what I'm saying. Apologise for the delay, here is the start of the really apocalyptic chapters.
Remember to review!! Thanks. Enjoy.
RECAP
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1792, Luxembourg:
"I take it you're Asheara." Angel met a white-robed priestess who spoke to him of the world inevitable end.
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Angel broke into Wolfram and Hart to find Wesley, who'd been captured by Lilah in trying to determine her fate in a prophesised apocalypse.
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"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."
Lilah found a place she could research what she had been told. A ghostly appearance of scrawled words that spoke to her, told her to take a marked book. She was attacked by two, identical human-looking men.
She captured Wesley to translate the book. Wesley discovered about the two men,
"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."
He discovered a line of text crucial to the coming apocalypse.
Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.
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Gavin and Lynwood have been killed. Connor met a powerful man, clad in a dark leather jacket and with deep blue eyes.
"That's right, brother. You and I are part of something big, from now until the very end we are immortal. You can be wounded of course, well, you've already found that out haven't you? You may be wondering why I'm telling you this, and, I'll tell you that as well. It doesn't matter what I say or do, the end is inevitable, the revelation is near and there is no way to stop it."
He was knocked out by the man and rescued by Angel Lilah and Dylan. They fought their way up to the weapons room to get explosives for their plan of escape (Blow out the front of the building) and were almost shut in.
The man killed the girl in the white room.
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Apocalypse Nowish
Chapter 14- A Bloody Greeting
The man was smiling with satisfaction as he held the lifeless corpse of an ancient demon, though supposing he had a soul to bear it would not seem that way to his heart. Even in death her face remained an innocent texture and her body that of a sweet child. Her eyes were still open, he mused, as he glanced at her, noting her odd gaze up into the eternal roof of white above, though in death she had risen somewhere. Yet he felt no compassion, nor the yearn for it, as he was soulless, a sharp, sleek killing machine nothing less. And as he dropped the body to the floor, it landed with a harsh thump, a cold heavy thud that destroyed anything poetic about her death or life after it. Suddenly he smiled to himself, feeling an arousing tingle flow through his body. He sighed with content as he defined the sensation that came over him, relishing the fear he felt from below him as he always did. Loving every wave of despair and terror he felt churn beneath him, he let out a sudden and wickedly hearty laugh. He knew that fear was all he was likely to receive from this building tonight, as he knew that, despite the situation they were in below, they would survive. Not only did he know it he counted on it, for he did not want them to die yet, those people below whom had been so conveniently assembled here were important.
An eerie phasing sound came from behind him and he whipped around to face it, his jacket tailing behind. There against the void of white stood a leather coat laden man, with a similar smile to the man who was now inspecting him, not with surprise but an impatient interest. He who had just appeared into the room with a spacey sound was standing straight, his face cold and fixed, clearly unhuman in its thoughts. The other man, his striking blue eyes studying the stern gaze with a stumped brow of interest.
Breaking the drawn silence the blue-eyed man spoke first. "And this is the part where you clap hastily then sternly remind me of Asherea," he said, with a slightly cheeky grin. The other man wasted no time in replying, as though he wished to incorporate efficiency in to conversation.
"Do not underestimate her," he said coldly, his face a harsh glare, "lack of failure in the past doesn't guarantee success in the future, and you know there is a chance." His voice remained consistently stern as he spoke, a blunt drone.
"She knows, ergo she is a threat." He continued.
"I assure you she is a priority." he replied assuredly, though the man answered with a forcefully expectant look. "The priority," he hurriedly re-concluded. The man nodded approvingly and turned his back to him, speaking a little more warmly as he walked away. "I'm sure you'll add this to your history of success." And with those final words he began to disappear, as though consumed by the white around him. The man turned his head to the floor as the other man faded to white behind him, and stared at the white. Once again, through his preternatural sense he felt the blood and fear of battle begin to swell bellow, gathering intensity and force. It flowed through his body once more and he closed his eyes to savour the exciting tingle. He stood like that for a long time, amongst the ghostly silence of the room, but a statue beside a lifeless corpse.
Both Wesley's mind and body moved in a sharp and efficient unison that he prided himself on, whipping the shotgun previously lodged under his arm into action and turning to face the closing door as he jammed it between the door and the wall. The door crashed to a halt against the shotgun and Wesley pulled the handle down, the barrels facing up and right into the face of a man behind the door. He grinned and a cruel bang shook the air around them, the man's face no longer staring at him through the gap. Blood splashed sharply through the gap that the shotgun held between the door and the wall and hit Wesley in the face and across his shirt. As he heard Lilah and Angel jump into action behind him, without thought or worry of any kind he pulled out the shotgun and once again tucked in under his arms as he groaned with the weight of the door his was tugging open. It slowly slid open until he felt other grab the handle on the other side, then he leaned back and grunted with all the might he could muster. Blood was pumping through his body now and his heart beat fast, so as did his mind, devoid of all thoughts and considerations he was now the killing machine he'd become. This was the side of him that took over in a crisis, the dark side of his soul that was willing to do anything to get what it might want, the sharp, logical mind that had been born when he'd let emotions take priority, when he'd taken Connor.
He looked back behind him to see Lilah hastily grabbing at the weaponry in racks on the steel walls around her and Angel scooping up a black sports bag that he assumed to be full with plastic explosives. "Angel!" he shouted as a succession of sharp clicks hit the room. Angel swung the bag around his back and ran up to the door just as it had began to slide backwards. He looked over when he heard the clicks as Angel grabbed it behind him, his power hitting the steel, to see Lilah standing with a large, thick black assault rifle held tightly into her hands. He was about to instruct her when he saw her quickly jog up to the wall facing the slight gap in the door. Holding his words he watched her quickly aim the rifle and squint with concentration, impressed by her coolness under the situation. "Let's make it easier," Angel said, noting the involved look of concentration present on her face, his eyes occasionally darting to the red digits in the shadowy room's centre. He nudged Wesley and, following his lead they both dived away from the door, releasing the confronting force they held against the many men pushing behind. The door swung wide open as they hopped backwards, struggling to stay standing, revealing a crowd of stumbling men. All of them identical and falling forwards with the sudden absence of confronting force, disoriented by it. Wesley swung his head to Lilah to make sure she was ready to fire, as he knew they wouldn't be unbalanced forever. Yet a sudden and powerful awakening of sharp cracks sliced the air and pulled at his ears, answering his question. He looked right into the room almost full of the men and watched as bullets rained upon them, sudden bursts of blood flying into the air and hitting the walls and men behind. The sound of fire and the bullets to flesh was accompanied by a tingling sound of the empty shells falling to and bouncing across the ground. Their bodies writhed and twisted unnaturally as they were knocked back by the bullets, flipping over backwards, falling to floor or against the wall, as the bullets collided with them with a harsh suddenness.
Even Wesley was beginning to feel sickened by the waves of death that crashed upon the floor in front of him and he was breathing heavily, unnerved by the bodies sprawled cruelly across the ground. Suddenly the loud cracking of gunshots ceased and Wesley looked over to Lilah as her gun gave a final, defeated click. As she released the cartridge and let it clatter to the floor he swung his head back to the scene in front of him. About five of the men were left and now they charged fourth with a seething visage of hatred. Everything seemed to happen slowly now, and he felt all of his companions move quickly as he did. He flicked out the gun from under his arm and caught it with his right hand, his finger already tightly wrapped around the comforting trigger. He lifted the gun up as Angel began to run past him to meet the men, his sword raised above his head and he cried fiercely as he charged. Wesley quickly aimed the gun with an innate precision and squeezed the trigger. The man fell over backwards as the bullet hit him in the face. He looked over to Angel to see him take a punch in the face. Diving forward at Angel's attacker Wesley flipped the gun in his hand and caught it again so that now he held it by the butt, the handle making an effective weapon. He smacked the man across the face and his body twisted with the force as he was knocked back against the steel wall. Looking to the side as stood back to full height he saw Angel's sword shimmer past him, and he followed it to its target who grunted as it shot through his head. Noticing an incoming fist just in time to swerve around it, keeping his balance as he dodged it by hopping backwards. He twisted around the man who threw the punch and elbowed him in the side of the face, sending him flying back into the steel room, of which he was now in the doorway, Angel just ahead of him.
Another click echoed amongst the scuffle and just as Angel swung a mighty punch, knocking down a man a short burst of shots whizzed past him, sudden splatters of blood hit the wall and the man fell. Wesley looked over to Lilah who had swung her gun to the man he'd knocked back into the room, putting the gun to his head and executing him as he struggled to stand up. Silence descended once more, until an abrupt and shocking beep reminded them of their predicament. Everything from the moment Wesley had jammed his shotgun between the doors had seemed to be a rush and now, as Angel began to jog forward around the corner of the next room and Lilah, after throwing Wesley a loaded rifle followed, was no different. It seemed there was a rapid drum beat shaking the floor and his mind, forcing him to keep to its quick rhythm. He dropped his shotgun to the floor and gripped the rifle as it clattered on the ground. He began to hear the drumbeat now, realising it was footsteps, running footsteps, and many, as though a stampede charged them. He wasted no time in pulling the door back towards him, relieved as he heard it click softly.
He ran through the room that lead to that armoury and out into the halls from which they had entered. Angel and Lilah both stood there, Lilah with her gun held at the ready, slightly trembling with the tenseness that engulfed them. Angel stood straight, with his sword held at his side and a large, heavy bag held over his back. He had a strong air of concentration and Wesley could tell he was listening to the approaching footsteps, the ones that rattled the floor with their power. He gazed down into the darkness of the hall before him, blood splattered walls either side, eventually enveloped in the darkness beyond the capacity of his eyes. "Angel," Wesley said, unlike the others seemed to be, aware of the situation, "we should move." Angel looked as though a bucket of water had been thrown into his face, bucket and all. He shook his head, clearly having been drawn into the thick, sweaty air of dread, and quickly reverted to a serious and commanding visage. "Let's go," he said, aware that both Wesley and Lilah looked at him curiously.
"I put a muzzle on the explosion, closed the door. The steel should hold a lot of the blast." Wesley said quickly. Angel nodded with approval and Lilah looked over to him, her face devoid of emotion but for a rock-hard determination, though he could tell she eyed him with respect. Another short moment passed and then Angel burst into action, sprinting down the halls the way that they had come and away from the ever-approaching noise. Both Wesley and Lilah jumped into a sprint and followed him as best they could.
Cordelia felt the smooth wooden door handle as she carefully and quietly closed it behind her, purposefully attempting to remain oblivious to the solemn crowd scattered around the lobby. They didn't look too bad, not on the usual tragedy scale, tipping Cordelia that no one had died or been kidnapped since she had left. She was relieved at that but they still bore strange expressions of heavy thought that told her something was up, plus she noted that only Fred, Lorne and Gunn were present. She frowned softly as she listened in on the conversation.
"So," said Lorne, far more lightly and enthusiastically than the others looked, "what's the plan of action? Is there a plan of action or possibly my variety of plans in which action is absent."
"Plans would be good but I'm just not sure that we need to worry about anything, I mean this could just be a panicky paranoia thing." Gunn spoke doubtfully.
"Or perhaps one of those pesky apocalypse's, you know the apocalyptic type." Fred said hotly.
"Hey!" he said in a lightly hurt tone, "All I'm saying is: Angel can handle himself if something big goes down, and, unfortunately we can't. So what good would it be for us to roll up without a hand to lend?" Fred's face cooled a little as he spoke though she still seemed determined to do something. For she alone had seen what she'd seen and the others could not understand how it'd felt, like the eye wasn't on the screen, as though it was in the very room watching her gleefully. None of them felt the sharp wave of cold that had struck her and the profound sense of evil that had reached out to her through that dark, smiling figure. Smiling. Yes, she remembered the feeling, every second of it and she was not willing to simply discuss what she'd seen, rather she yearned to take action.
"And we'd be rolling up on shanks' pony, which despite our steadfast legs is not the kinda thing you want to roll up to death's door on." A sudden realisation hit both Fred and Gunn and they sighed with exasperation and a hint of agitation. Silence froze the air once more and Cordelia remained still in her spot, a short smirk on her gleaming face, however dour the situation was she still was pleased to see them. She stood there in the silence a little while longer before she couldn't stand the tension, "Come on guys! Sing the Hyperion anthem and knock that door down! No door too deathy for my gang!" She exclaimed merrily as she happily viewed the dumbfounded faces staring at her with wide eyes and growing smiles. The silence remained for a little while longer as the gang reeled from the sudden shock of her abrupt contribution.
"Cordy" Fred cried, suddenly erupting with joy and glee as she ran up to her and embraced her in a warm and hearty hug. Cordelia happily returned the enthusiasm and smiled at her as she stood back. Gunn walked up to her briskly, an unbelievably relieved and cheery expression slapped across his recently whethered face. He slowly advanced in a hug, but suddenly found himself tightly embraced, and with a smug grin, as Cordelia pulled him in. Lorne looked very happy, though, of course slightly less sentimental
, Cordelia noted, as she stepped back from Gunn and glanced around the room. Gunn, standing beside Fred, eagerly gathered around Cordy watched as Lorne approached. "Cordelia!" He shouted in a jovial astonishment. She grinned even more than she had been, the joy of the reunion consuming her. It was welcomed in its strong disburden, and its appeasing forsake of woe, fears that she had carried of uncertainty. Until just then as she walked into the arms of her friends, she had not known where and when she was.
"Lorne!" She shouted back playfully.
He gave her a light hug then sat on the step next to Gunn. Cordelia walked into the middle of the lobby, feeling the lightly curious eyes follow her as she gave the room her eye, from the roof to the top of the tall ceiling. She felt warmer and warmer as she felt the sense of home she had longed for since her harsh arrival, and the love that smiles behind her carried, feigned not, they welcomed her earnestly.
She noticed the royal marble floor was devoid of the dark red pentagram, but, thankfully, less that, it was the same place she had left. "Well, is everything up to scratch?" Gunn asked merrily. She looked back over to them and smiled, seeing them patiently assembled. "Well, you get points for the lack of pentagrams."
"Yeah, Fred and I had way too much time on our hands." He laughed.
"Not that we didn't look for you of courseBecause we did, a lot." Fred added, finishing rather frantically.
"Yeah, about that," she said in a deep, serious voice, "how long was I gone?"
Fred gave a short glance to Gunn, not exactly a grim one but certainly doubtful. She wasn't sure how Cordelia would reply, as she had no idea what had happened to her. "About a week. Not that long, really. I mean, as long as you weren't, you know, trapped in a demon dimension. Pylea anyone?"
Lorne snorted then looked to the side, with a short grin. Cordelia smiled, relieved that she hadn't been gone for too long. "No thanks, and I guess that'll be your second question, where I was? Well, just bear with me for a little longer, one more question then you can interrogate me. Where are the others? Well, maybe not Wesley, but, Angel, Connor?"
"Yeah, that's the question we've been asking all week, it's been hectic. Where's Angel, where's Cordy, where's Lorne when you need the green machine, where's Connor?
"What do you mean?" She said, darkly, her face harshly devoid of it's previous merriness.
"Oh, no, no, it's alright, we found Angel," said Fred, noting Cordelia's deep sigh of relief.
"And me." Said Lorne.
"Yeah, and Wesley's doing ok, he's the one who found Angel, God knows how."
"All, good news. Me like. Connor?"
"Good news or the bad news?" said Lorne, taking the lead for a change.
"Good."
"He's not here."
"Bad." She said, again sharply, though this time in a grimly curious tone.
"He put Angel in an air tight steel container and dumped him off the ocean."
The others, though having long discarded worry over this, apprehended her dumbfound silence and the room was soundless for a short while, as Cordelia's pale face of shock slowly recovered. "Well, looks like things didn't exactly turn out for the best."
"I hear that." Replied Gunn earnestly.
"So, Cordy, tell us, what the hell happened to you?" Asked Lorne, the others, looking over to Cordelia with the same ardency he did, all of them eagerly awaiting her story.
Dylan shivered again as he heard himself breathe, not because it was cold, far from it, as the sweaty air was thick as water. No, he shivered with fear, for, although the empty and vast shaft retained a gloomy silence that accompanied its desolation he heard sharp sounds and a constant every more audible rumble of footsteps. He feared, not only for the lives of Angel and Lilah but for his own and after all that he had seen here to day, how his entire life had been turned upside down in a matter of hours, his mind was wandering into the darkness that loomed above and below him. He hadn't yet felt the pain of seeing those he knew fall to the ground in a puddle of their own cold blood, their eyes devoid of humanity or life, but now he felt it creep up on him and he found it harder and harder to think for himself. Rather he fell more and more in to deep thought and despair. He looked down at the limp body just below him, swinging slightly on the steel rope; his arms and legs drooped down to the darkness below and his lifeless eyes gazing above. His torn open and slashed shirt was covered in blood and his chest faired little better with the wounds he bore. A pale, only slightly stained strip of blue could be seen wrapped tightly around his shoulder where Dylan had tended to the wound and bandaged it with his own sleeves. Dylan felt a spark of rewarding hope at the fact that he had done something good, confidence now kindled from his own endeavour from time only shortly past.
He gulped down his far and took control of his shivering, sweat covered body. Now focused he could hear the footsteps thundering ever closer, and the occasional crack of a gunshot only slightly muffled by the thick walls around him. He looked over to the open lift door and turned to face it, breathing heavily and staring dutifully in its tensile wake. He waited and waited, though only a few seconds since he'd faced it he felt as though he'd stared away a lifetime. Suddenly, in the darkness through open jaw of the lift a group of hurried figures brought dancing shadows to his eyes. They were turned to the lift and sprinting with all the speed in the world, straight at him they came. Behind them he suddenly saw a tightly packed bunch of men swerve the corner the others had just seconds ago emerged from. They too sprinted as though whips hit their backs, though they ran with a hateful aggression unlike the fear that drove the others ahead. Suddenly Angel's face and flapping coat came into view and he paused at the lift door as Lilah and Wesley, side by side caught up to the open doors and, without pausing for a second dived off the edge and caught onto the rope. Dylan hastily climbed farther up as they grabbed the rope, Wesley but inches below his feet. Without pause, as the rope swung wildly around the shaft, they held fourth large rifles and pointed them in unison through the doors. Angel gave the doors a hard tug and jumped through as they hit each other suddenly. He landed below Lilah and the rope shook uncontrollably again. He gripped the thick, heavy book that was held under his arms more tightly as they swung fiercely, knowing that it was important.
Dylan's mind was hit by the sudden commotion and was shocked to see Lilah, Wesley and Angel doing everything so fast and efficiently as though they were in a panicked yet powerfully coordinated state of mind. They didn't stop even now as the constant and threatening thuds that were being powerfully indented into the closed steel doors, and as Dylan's mind was panicking they bandaged their hands, and Dylan began to see the plan. "Dylan. We're going down. Get ready." Angel said sharply as he tied a ripped stretch of his shirt around the centre of his hand. Dylan followed suit hastily as the thuds continued to hit the shaft, and the door, which was now bending outwards and littered with deep fist-shaped lumps. Lilah did the same, so now everyone's clothes were torn and shredded, stained in blood and sweat, but for Wesley who took out his brown leather belt and tied it around the rope and tightened it as hard as he could. Dylan pulled the last knot tight as Angel suddenly plummeted down into the darkness below. Wesley loosened Connor's knot and let him drop so he too fell like stone, though still loosely held to the rope. He began to shiver with the prospect of sliding down now, as Lilah, looking slightly worried slid downwards. When she was no longer in sight Wesley, holding the protruding belt strap left over from the tight wrap around the rope slid down the rope, his jacket flapping behind him with a slick whoosh.
Dylan shook his head and let out a nervous sigh, loosening his tight grasp and sliding down the rope, drooping into the deep, dark shaft below.
In a room of black and white, a dark figure with his head facing the floor, an attentive grin spread across his face stood against an eternally bright void of light. He was watching things below in the dark, blood stained halls. Watching with his mind, feeling every fear and drop of blood through his body. He felt the ground rumble at his feet, only literally this time, not but a feeling from far below. It shook and then quietened once more.
The bomb...
He smiled as he felt Angel and his friends below, scampering about in the darkness. They had survived but he was neither surprised nor unhappy, for he wished only to bring fear to them and this world which he had only just stepped upon; it was ripe for the picking. His men crawled after Angel below but he knew they would not catch him, not Angel, the champion, he always pulled through in the end, little did he know that the end was nigh and it could not be stopped.
I'll give the World a wake up call...
He thought to himself with a wicked glee and an excited sensation that only came to him when he incurred fear and enacted destruction. Putting his hands up in the air, and out from his side though he was embracing the air above, he looked up into the sky, his face gleaming with joy. His hands began to clench together and shake slightly and his body trembled as he felt power surging through it, from his fingertips to the end of his toes it came in unbelievably powerful waves. Soon, though not in this white room as it was not a physical room as known to earth, he began to feel the earth tremble beneath and around him. His hands shook more fiercely and as did the ground of the world, everywhere from London to below Angel's feet it shook. He breathed in deeply and tasted the turmoil all over the world it was thick in the air just as panicked car alarms, splitting concrete, and shattering glass was on the streets. He began to laugh loudly, his voice empowered with a tone of sheer delight. The powers above were giving him power as they always did, it fell down to him in this room, from the Sinice, or Senior Partners as they made themselves known man on Earth, and from the Powers That Be.
Willow was walking down a charming hall in Buffy's house, it's white walls and mellow carpet gave a sweet aura of comfort and that was what she always felt here. Comfort, something she sought in every minute of her day now, her confidence and the trust she once had in herself dashed recently, and the sorrow still dragged her heart down in the darkness, at night in her sleep. It was but a few weeks since she had become evil, since she had thrown all of her friendships upside down, and even now she found herself hard pressed to care for that, her friendships she used to hold so dear, now nothing, no one seemed to matter. Tara was gone and, though constantly occurring in movies and everything involving death it hadn't left her with a hole, not just that. It had consumed her. Tara's death had changed her, thrown everything she thought she cared about out of perspective, or into it, however life really was. Now she cared little for anything and all though she felt grief for the pain she had inflicted on her friends, and they had accepted her back, even still she lived here, but she felt no love for them, nor anything. Yet she lived on, and occasionally enjoyed herself, but, although she was not in a stew of grief and sadness, she was but an empty shell, rather than weep or mourn she just blocked everything out.
She strolled down the steps and turned in the kitchen. Dawn was at the table and Buffy stood behind the central bench, leaning over it and watching dawn, clearly they'd been in conversation. She walked in, gave a short smile to them both and opened one of the top cupboards, reaching for a box of cereal and placing it on the bench next to Buffy. "Hey Will," Buffy said warmly.
"Good morning!" replied Willow, as amiably as possible. Dawn looked up from her bowl of cereal expectantly. "And to you too of course." She hurriedly added. She gave a weak smile then turned around, and as she reached for the cupboard once more something hit her. It crashed into her mind with such pure suddenness it knocked all though out of her mind and pained her. Falling to the ground she gave a sharp cry and gripped her head. "Willow!" Shouted Buffy.
Willow had never felt anything like it, and it screamed through her head and body, purely feeling and sensation yet so dense that it burned her. Fear, doubt, a fierce image of fire and blood ravaged her mind. Dawn and Buffy had ran over to her, and tried to control her struggling body, grieved by the pained expression on her face. She continued to scream and writhe as suddenly the earth gave a shudder. Buffy shivered as she felt it beneath her feet. No it rumbled constantly, building up force shaking the whole house. Pots and pans clattered and banged against the sound of shattering porcelain and breaking glass. Dawn's bowl had slide off the table and crashed to the ground and everything propped on benches and cupboards seemed to follow suit. As Willow screamed behind her Buffy looked around, a suspicious frown on her face, knowing well earthquakes always spelt trouble.
A young woman strictly dressed in grim business attire walked briskly down a wide hall with offices either side, all containing stern men behind desks either on the phone or just looking important. There were a few other men who walked past her, all in tight, neat suits. She reached the end of the hall where a grand, rich oak door stretched across the wall, it's radiant brown made it imposing face at the end of the hall. It's striking significance held something over the room, as though it was watching all who worked there. She swung open the doors and walked onto the luscious red carpet that royally lined the floor. Closing the door behind her she looked into the centre of the room where an old, senior man sat in the wake of a dark wooden desk, with thick legs and much decoration. He was ever majestic against the strong light that shone through tall windows behind him, and by the rich and dignified room he occupied, shelves and bookcases lining the walls and adorned by lavish objects. He looked up at her and, taking off his glasses, he smiled in an unnervingly warm manner, as though he meant well but it went against his nature and the usual expression on his face.
"Lydia," he said in welcome. "What brings you to me today?"
"I have the report, on noteworthy supernatural occurrences, sir." She said quickly and professionally.
"Excellent. Is there any mention of the slayer? I still wish to keep close tabs on her and her friends, and especially the witch, after recent events she poses quite a threat to the council."
"Agreed, sir, but news of the slayer is harder than much to attain, though reports so far indicate that she has continued to live as normal in her residence."
"Sunnydale, yes." He said, trailing off into thought and reflection. Silence descended and Lydia walked up to his desk and placed the papers by him, smiling to him as he cogitated in silence. She turned to leave the room at that, but just she reached the large oak doors once more she felt something run through her body, an unnerving tremor.
The old man looked over to her, awoken from his bout of thought by the same, unexpected rumble. She turned to him and they gave each other curious frowns, with a potent edge of grim suspicion. The low rumble lightly shook the room again and now they both looked around with expressions of wonder. It became a harsh and brash quake soon and the room shook powerfully, many antiques balances precariously vibrated and slid off the tables crashing to the ground all around the room. As things tumbled and shattered all around the room, Quentin Travers, head of the Watchers Council rose to his feet, pushing his antique chair behind him as he eyed the room, his mind wandering fiercely.
A middle aged man with light, greying hair sat back into his tall, leather seat, looking out the large window that was enframed against the sleek white wall before him and letting his mind rest. He was a busy man, his mind and voice always working hard to keep his authority status and the respect many held for him. As he did, in his highly important job, the management of such this high-end division of the military, one so secret and held in such high regard and priority. He wore pale grey uniform, not that of a soldier or an officer but one above, though he did not like to see himself that way, above others. He was more an overseer of the project, not running it directly but he linked it to the government, or the service inside the government, and they gave him orders. He took them and now he sat in this chair in a position of both comfort and significance. He was a hard man, and though he considered himself to rely on his mind above all else he never let himself down in his leadership or his own skills when it came to hard times.
And now he simply rested, barely aware of the view that stretched before him, the city. He was resting in this manner when he was suddenly awoken, or at least his mind was, he always kept some of himself awake at all times. It was a low rumble and, though he thought it unusual, perhaps even impossible, he was sure he'd felt the floor rumble. He swung back around in his chair and looked over his desk thinking, waiting for something to happen, and hoping he could affirm his beliefs. The air was tense enough to be shattered when the second tremor came, shaking his desk and everything on it. It smoothed out into a constant rumble, growing ever stronger as he searched the room with a frown as though it could have been a prank of some sought. He stood from his chair and walked to the window, and looking out at the city below he knew he was in the middle of an earthquake. His sat back down in his chair and watched the show below in a bemusement, watching the chaos the city quickly fell into, no fear crossing his mind that was not quelled by the assurance of the building's quake security. Smiling to himself as he heard commotion coming from the many offices behind him, taking brief note of the event and then calmly relaxing in his chair. As the earthquake shook fiercely he put his mind to rest once more.
Faith was lying on the hard concrete on the floor, looking out into the unreachable distance beyond harsh fences, and admiring the view of the world beyond. She was sweating in the strong heat of the sun and grunted as she lifted her weights for the thousandth time, her face contorted with pain. Though she was strong and resilient her slayer strength was not infinite, after long periods of hard labour it leaves her just as strength leaves anyone. She lifted the weights over her head and softly placed them on the ground behind her head, standing up as she let out an exhausted sigh of relief. Her body felt light and her mind the same, as it always did when she exerted her rage through physical labour, the very reason she spent hour after hour of her time sweating and aching. Now though, she let her mind wander, no longer concerned with all that had happened in her past, though she knew it would not take long for dark memories to surge back. She savoured the affectionate breeze as it flowed through her hair and against her hot face, and the beautiful view of life beyond the fence, golden fields and shady trees, all exquisite to her now. She slowly walked up to fence, knowing well the guard would have his eye on her, as none of the staff here trusted her, yet she approached it and placed her hands on the cruel wire, curling her fingers around it and sighing with a freeing sadness.
She stood there for a long while, admiring the world in a way she could only do since she had sentenced herself to prison. Now having a totally different outlook on the freedom she had before, then condemning it as oppressive, she wished only now to be free in it. The goings on behind her did little but reach her ear and even then as but a soft drone, meaningless chatter and commotion. She was in the outdoor section which was closely guarded but nonetheless refreshingly a place of freedom, where others chose to brawl and shout and Faith to lift weights. Yet her sweet admiration of the vast landscape before and beyond was destined to be interrupted as a soft rumble sent a shiver through her body. She cut out of her dozed gaze to stare sharply at the concrete ground as it echoed the tremor, only harsher and bolder. Still staring at the floor with her usual steely glaze, the one she'd worn since she entered prison, it erupted, now constant and screaming with an unusual power that gave her a spine tingling suspicion. "What the..." She said softly to herself.
"So, apart from all the bad stuff that's been going on around here, what have you guys been up to?" Cordelia asked cheerfully, once again surprising the others with her uncanny joviality.
"Well, I went to Vegas!" Lorne said, hopefully.
"Great!" She caught on, happy to be able to have a conversation in which the absentees were not discussed. "So, what was that like?"
"Well, not so great, busy, yes, but, honestly, I'd prefer demon monks any day, well, maybe, as long as they were pacifist demon monks, who appreciated good singing." He finished off slightly flushed and confused at his own sentence. Cordelia smiled, noting again how good it was to be back in the game, back home. About to speak again she held her tongue as the felt a light shiver go through her body, looking around the room she saw the others had felt it too. Frowning now, all thought of conversation gone and replaced by a foreboding curiosity. It happened again, this time crystal clear and with a resonant rumble of power that shook the room, furniture moving and ornaments rattling. The gang looked around then at each other again as it erupted once more, now quaking mightily. A few seconds later, after Cordelia had eyed the moving room in thought she ran into the office, her expression panicked as she frantically caught falling items that fell from the bookshelves. The others soon aided her, all intent on keeping everything safe.
Angel hit the ground with a hard thud; his feet taking a powerful hit and the pain quickly spreading up his jarred legs, making them ache. Yet he had to be quick, running on non-stop adrenalin now he could not help but be constantly moving, and he had to be ready, as above him Connor was swiftly sliding down the rope towards him. His whole body ached and seared with pain now, his muscles sore and weary, his bones shaken with the force of his landing, and his skin cut in many places. He braced himself for impact with all the strength he could, which was little, as he nearly struggled just to stand now. He stood under the rope as Connor, still limp and silent whizzed down the steel rope, and he landed in Angel's arms heavily, throwing Angel off balance. Angel fell over backwards, the force of the explosive loaded bag over his shoulder pulling him down viciously. And as he pushed Connor tenderly to the side, checking his son's pulse once more, Lilah appeared suddenly before them, hanging onto the rope tightly with her fabric laden hands. She had screeched to a halt, looking dazzled as she jumped off to the floor, ripping off the torn pieces of her shirt that protected her hands and throwing them to the floor. She still held the rifle she had acquired above under her arm, keeping it forcefully, as though it were her child, knowing full well that she had nothing else to fend off those men. A soft, slick whizzing sound came from above and the others looked up to see Wesley descending swiftly, holding on to the edge of his belt, which gripped the steel firmly. He managed to slow his descent and his feet came to the ground softly. He whipped the belt off the rope and tightened it around his trousers again as the others stood back, watching above for Dylan. Wesley and Lilah had both shifted their rifles into ready positions as Dylan came to a halt just above steel littered ground.
Angel looked around at the mess they were all standing on, huge chunks of steel and scattered debris of the felled lift made a mountain of bent and broken steel. He looked to the left, seeing the top of the closed silver doors, half buried amongst the remains of the shattered lift; that would be their exit. As Dylan jumped off the rope and stood around in the middle of the rubble, impatiently staring around at the others who were surprisingly still, all deep in thought. "You know, Angel," spoke Wesley from behind him, his eyes not moving from his fixed gaze above, "the explosion will probably blow the hell out of the door up there." Realisation dawned on Angel as those words escaped Wesley's lips, it seemed as though he had just been slapped in the face, awoken from a silent dream, one he had readily succumbed to, his tired mind and body searching for rest. Yes, his rest had been torn cruelly and now, though his muscles pained him so, he knew that they had very little time to escape from the door, that, as wide as the silent shaft might be, could quite possibly kill them all. Wesley, after finishing his unusually calm speech looked over to Angel, with an anxious expression, though Angel saw an unnerving sense of glee in his eyes, the savour of risk of death that the Wesley he once knew would never have taken to. The others also looked over to him, worried, until Angel suddenly jumped to his feet, and, as the others jogged behind him, dived to the door. He drew his arm back with his fingers strictly straightened to a pointed knife, and jabbed them as hard as he could into the middle of the two, jammed doors. Behind him Dylan was carefully dragging Connor's body over, whilst Wesley heaved as he lunged the heavy bag of explosives over his back. Angel's fingers were in and he groaned with the pain his throbbing muscles bore as he began to open the door ever so slightly. His arms were shaking as he heaved once more, Wesley putting in his own hands through the gap and pulling in the other direction. Their faces were read, and Lilah and Dylan watched anxiously, looking above and almost biting their lips with utter distress.
Dylan knew what was coming, and he knew it was coming soon, so, feeling spent and useless he kept his eyes on the shaft above, almost in tears with a tense fear. He saw it in Lilah too, almost a relief to him after the indifferent expression she'd retained for so long. Angel and Wesley were screaming mightily now as they put all their force onto the resilient door. Just then, Dylan's fears erupted and distress turned to fearful panic as a huge rumble came from above, the building shook and the sound boomed mightily down the shaft. "Shit!" Shouted Lilah as she breathed wildly and looked around the room frantically, her eyes almost in tears with pressing fear. The sound of a deep, powerful explosion faded quickly, but just as fraught silence descended, a dreadful clung hit the shaft. The powerful sound of steel, strong and heavy steel, hitting the concrete, echoed through the dark shaft, accompanied by Angel and Wesley's desperate grunts. Dylan, still looking up, saw and felt the air around him tremble, it loomed above, the door, a small sharp glint of metal affirmed his terror and he quickly turned back to the lift. To his disbelief the lift was already open and Angel and Wesley were both on the other side, holding Connor between them as they helped Lilah scramble through the barely open doors. Looking back up as she hastily clambered through, he saw it clearly, it's imposing size sending a shiver through his spine as it sailed silently down through the darkness towards him. Lilah was through. He was sweating heavily and his breath was erratic as Wesley called him. He dived into the Elevator and began to squeeze through himself, almost crying as he pushed himself through, his mind racing with fears of being stuck. Yet he still held the book, which he'd passed through to Wesley, and now, with a huge sigh of sheer most relief he fell through and onto the marble floor, the sudden crash of the elevator door ringing in his ears.
His heart was pounding and he was lying scrawled across the refreshingly cool marble floor, gazing up at he vaguely white roof in the darkness, relishing his sweet relief and regaining his strained breath. Wesley was sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, and Lilah was still standing, rapidly gazing around the room unquietly, looking into her eyes he could still tell her mind was racing, restless not with fear but a bold determination. Angel lay on the floor further up from Dylan and he was all but restless, his mind and body, once again, falling into a deep trap that lay before them in their weariness. He saw it and remembered just a minute ago, when Angel had all but fallen to a deep sleep. Although he was tired also, he felt a powerful sympathy for the beaten and maimed vampire, having a strange respect for him, as though he'd come to know him as a friend in this short time.
They were all worn and wearied, he didn't have to look further than the general vibe of the room, the very feeling of restless ache, itself enticing rest, was potent in the foul air. The air itself gave every movement a burden of its own; the thick odour of sweat made the air, already tensile with fear, hard and hot. Though his eyes had adjusted quite well to the deep black curtain that had been pulled over his every sight, it still unnerved him, short dreams of dark figures hiding in the blanket of shadows and around every corner.
Angel's eyes were closed, and almost his mind too, certainly the yearn for it, yet even in this time of fear, tire, and looming darkness that now began to eat away at his soul, a part of him was awake in the darkness. Part of him belonged there, and, after seeing and being so much of it, darkness was like a second language to him, it was always there, and sometimes he though it was what made him such a good warrior. He had almost too much to handle of late, one tragedy after the next; it almost seemed like an eternal loop, taking part of his hope, his light, with every swing. And now, looking over to his son, lying unmoving on the floor, his shirt torn and adorned with dark blood, as his chest, he felt it all worse than ever. He needed something to tear him out of his sinking thoughts, his ever-flailing humanity. Sinking, he thought, I've been doing enough of that lately.
For what seemed like an eternity they all rested, then, suddenly his answer came, the thing that would give him a reason to go on; it shook his mind with its force, awakening it to suspicion and the spark his life drove on. It came with an innate power, and, although seemingly natural, the earthquake shook the building with a formidable whiff of supernatural force. Watching the roof as everything shook, he saw sharp cracks emerge in the ceiling amongst a deep rattle of the groaning building. A chunk of plaster fell beside him and he sat up as the tremor ceased abruptly. Looking around, seeing, amongst the damage along the walls and roof, the others doing the same, all but Wesley looking slightly fearful. It came again, stronger than before and the building trembled in its might, the walls and roof prey to its fierceness, not yet the floor, having been constructed with the finest and strongest of stone. Angel smiled to himself, a private smile, one he'd not want the others to see, his dark side shining through in the shadow; this was how he smiled when he felt everything go to hell. He heaved as he stood up, that itself a mighty feet, and watched the empty halls ahead. He slung the hefty bag over his shoulder once more, and, hearing the others get up behind him, walked towards the front lobby, now but the next room. As he neared slowly footsteps suddenly joined the sound of rumbling earth as about fifty of the identical men rounded the corner, sneering eagerly as they spotted him. Angel raised his sight to them, his eyes, surrounded by a tired, blood stained face, cut out at them with a seemingly impossible confidence and excitement, the sweet blood lust running through his veins. He was a warrior, nothing but death in battle would stop him. He smiled as he ran towards them, bullets whizzing either side of him, hitting many in front of him, their blood thrown into the air.
The man, bathed in a glorious white, from the floor to the vast void surrounding him, bore nothing less than a cruelly merry smile, wicked pleasure evident in the crafty grin. He felt pleasure flow through him, throbbing through his veins, the passion and savour of mayhem strong in the air. He lowered his raised hands, knowing the Earthquake would attack the Earth for minutes to come.
"Knock knock." He said softly, grinning ever more malevolently as he swivelled around, his jacket swishing at his side. He walked away coolly, the darkness of his attire and his visage disappearing softly into the white.
An orchestra of chaos echoed through the empty city street, devoid of people. Noise had erupted and was abundant. Car alarms, cracking concrete, shattering windows. Cars swerved across breaking streets and fires burned across the city, fierce and mighty against the backdrop of grim, ashen skies, a harsh orange to the sombre grey. A pale white truck parked neatly beside the curb shook with the street, rattling profoundly even in the havoc that surrounded it in the burning city. Sleek grey steps in front of it, leading up past luscious lawns and gardens, came eventually to a large granite block with sharply gleaming letters upon it. Wolfram and Hart. Though the letters gleamed, they gleamed dourly for the overcast skies cast but the palest light over the city, and to the very edge of the horizon. Past the steel letters the building stood, slightly shaking with the quake, not yet cracked on the outside. It's usually, clear-glassed doors were not to be seen, and instead dark, rusted steel doors covered every window and door in the building. As though it had been painted a consuming black just for the grim scenery that lay in it's shadow and the shadow of all buildings.
Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a mighty roar erupted inside the building, accompanying the music of destruction that already enveloped the air. The thick, sturdy steel plates blew outwards, though they were but thin sheets of plastic, the walls of a baby's crate, a shower of glass in its wake. An arm of fire shot out of the front of the building, which was all but blown away for three storeys, and reached out over the long steps. Steel and stone littered the land before the dark building, and, as the explosion settled, against a deep yellow backdrop of fiercely blazing flame a group of figures emerged through the shattered front. Debris still landed all around them as they ran down the steps, and the earthquake still invoked its malice and might. They didn't look behind them as they ran towards the truck at the bottom of the stairs, nor fourth as fear layed whip upon their tired heels, they had little thought for anything but escape. They reached the trembling truck and, as Angel placed Connor lightly into the back of the truck, he jumped into the front placing his hands on the wheel. The car revved loudly and had already began to drive forward when Lilah and Dylan clambered into the back, Wesley diving into the front seat beside Angel as they sped off, eyes on the comforting road ahead.
Connor felt a feint yet comforting sound reach his ears. He let his mind wander as he savoured it, letting it, and despite the pain that still tore at it, his body seem tranquil. He had his head against the harsh metal on the floor of the back of the track and was hearing the low rumbling of the engine, as the metal all around him clanged and rattled. Something felt wrong inside his head, and it was this incoherency in his thoughts, this nagging sense, that pulled open his eyes and awoke his tired mind to the world. Is eyes were staring into the grey sky above, an imposing sea of grey loomed above, souring the air with a chilly moistness. Yet it was not his eyes that caused him to pull himself up, with significant strain, and see the road trailing behind the speeding truck, his ears heard the chaos instantly, and powerfully as he woke. Now he looked at the savaged city behind him, fiercely luminous flames burned wickedly against the solemn sky in many corners of it, and prominently over the garden of the tall building just behind the truck. He watched the tall flames burn grass, trees and at the wrecked building. Gazing intently as it fell further from view his eyes suddenly caught a sharp silhouette of a human figure. The figure was pure black and given focus to by the yellow flames around it. As it became smaller and smaller he looked into it's faced, startled when, as a flame blazed brightly behind it a small portion of it's face was illuminated, striking blue eyes gazed right back at him, smiling with their cruel sight.