Hello all the brilliant people reading and reviewing my story! Thanks again, especially Sahid who was the only person to give me feedback on my latest chapter! Every chapter takes quite a bit of effort you know, so please make the effort to tell me how I'm going. Anyway, here is the latest chapter, which I feel is pretty damn fine, as things begin to heat up again here. It took the usual 4 weeks which is now my official deadline, which will not change. Please enjoy!
Apocalypse Nowish
Chapter 16- Assail
"Dude, that's screwed." Gunn exclaimed profoundly. Wesley, not seeming to surprised at his reaction, admired the collection of dumbfound expressions gathered in the vast lobby. Fred looked shocked and intensely intrigued by his recount of Wolfram and Hart. Lorne's brow was dipped in a concerned frown, and Cordelia seemed to be gazing at the bare wall with deep and unheard thoughts streaming through her mind. As he scanned the group quickly he caught a morbid glare from Lilah. She lay back into the couch, her hard glare facing the roof sternly. She seemed disconnected, lost in heavy thought. Angel had a relaxed visage and posture, sitting back next to Cordelia and smiling with a resonant and resilient grin. Wesley pondered at how suddenly Angel's attitude had changed, one minute, in the dark halls of Wolfram and Hart he'd collapsed to the ground, the next he glowed happily, as though not a burden or fear in the world could crack his smile. In those halls, Wesley, for the first time, had witnessed Angel in despair. He hadn't just been out of breath; he'd been out of heart. He felt the radiance of content from Angel, and realised Angel had found what he'd been fighting for. This apocalypse that raged just metres away was but a movie, something he neither feared nor cared for. He was with family, and Wesley could plainly see how much stronger that made him.
Lilah's distant frown worried him deeply. She was not stupid, or slow, and the moment he'd mentioned the line he'd translated from the book, silent and invisible tears came to her eyes. She seemed truly afraid, something that tingled his hardened spine just to consider. Ever since he'd seen her after her encounter with the girl in the white room he knew that there was something powerfully different about her. The way she walked, talked, her expression. It was as though the apocalypse had sparked something long hidden inside of her, and her heart became determined to find the truth. He could never imagine her the way she was now, strong, but undeniably emotionally fragile. Her distempered mind bore a morbid realisation; he could see that.
Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Ram, for the soul of the Hart.
She was the Wolf. And she was scared. As he mulled this over something uncanny occurred to Wesley. He felt something he hadn't felt for seemingly a million years: Compassion. Where he had heard nothing but sharp, resolves from his mind he now felt his heart beat. How ironic that the one person he thought had no humanity, received his first ounce of it. The others could not ever truly see Lilah the way he did. Their relationship, however physical, had given the both of them a clear insight into each other, and through that, themselves.
As a loud chatter followed Gunn's outburst, Wesley shifted his gaze to a soft footstep by the stairs. Angel wondered past Gunn and Lorne and through the swinging doors that led to the darkness outside. They clattered shut as Wesley watched in wonder.
Angel strolled slowly over to the dark wooden railings overlooking the small courtyard. The air was thick, with not only a cool presence of moisture, but with the dampening feeling of a despairing sigh. The atmosphere was so different out here than it was inside. Even now he heard their cheerful rumbling. His mood changed with the air, and now his heart was heavy, yet he couldn't feel why. He had conquered his goals and achieved his deepest wish: to have everyone together again, to be a family. Last year the group had been severed, Wesley closed the door to them, Lorne had left for LA, and he and Cordelia were pulled apart viciously. He forced himself over an over in his mind to not blame Connor. Although he should be punished, Angel's determined strive for action had been replaced by a warm feeling of content, and he could not bring himself to allow Connor to hate him again, if he still didn't now. Even after she explained it, just minutes ago, he was unclear as to the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, but he also felt unwilling to uncover that mystery. Out here, in the cool, breezy air, his thoughts accompanied by the raging of fire and chaos, his warm hope for togetherness had not diminished. He simply felt something else, darker, and stronger than a happy fluster.
The sense of approaching misfortune was clear and he despised it for ruining what he'd fought so hard to get. It had come to him like a sharp spark carried by the mysterious air, and he knew, just knew, that something was coming.
The door behind him clicked softly and he felt Cordelia's strong presence. He didn't turn his head or even move his body, his eyes still fiercely gazing at the burning city in his view. The fire was quite close to them, burning mightily just a few blocks away. They stood beside each other, both of them gazing at the dancing shadows of sharp orange flames on the cold grey concrete. A strong wind blew through the air, whistling through trees and buildings and creating a haunting howl under the deep black sky. A shiver rand down Angel's spine as a sharp gust blew into his intently staring face, his jacket flapping behind him. Cordelia's hair was blowing wildly as she turned to face him.
"Hey." She said to the side of his face, turning back to the courtyard.
"Hey," he replied with strained warmth. They paused and their silence listened to the eerie howl of the wind.
"So, why the steely gaze and disheartened brow?" She asked again, this time, just to the air in front of them.
"I wish I knew." he slowly answered. They paused again.
"What are you going to do about Connor?" Cordelia eventually inquired. Breathing in the icy atmosphere and shivering a little. A laugh came from behind them, from within the warm light that only touched them from behind. They were both wearing dark clothes and the light from inside the hotel sat, golden, on their backs. Their shadows were pressed onto the ground below by it.
"I never thought I'd have to answer a question that hard." he replied, sincerely.
"Don't dance around it. All you have to do is punish him or forgive him."
"It's just that. I know I should punish him, he deserves no less, but I want so desperately to forgive him." Cordelia nodded as he spoke. " Our relationship is already too fragile," he continued, "It's like playing nuclear warfare on a sheet of foil. Any more tears and, well, I don't have any more sticky tape up my sleeve."
"It's not your fault though, that he's the way he is."
"Every time he said it, father, he was talking about Holtz. I hate how much that tore at my soul, not just that he says it, but that a small part of me agrees. What is a father? He who raised a boy, or he who watched him be born? Sometimes I truly wonder whose son he is. Sure, he may look similar to me, but his every thought is wrought from his life with Holtz, and that life was all for disowning me. This is why I don't blame him, why I stop myself for punishing him. He's just a toy for Holtz, his words are Holtz's, and his actions are Holtz's. Holtz took his own life just to make my son hate me."
"A family for a family." Cordelia said.
"I could have killed him, many years ago, but I turned and laughed. I remember all my thoughts as Angelus; none make me sick so much as what I felt then. I remember saying to myself, let him live, and let him suffer till his last breath, the memory of his slaughtered family always with him. But now I know what family means, and I hate what I did to him."
"What would you do to him were you in that same situation again?"
"I would snap his neck like a twig." Angel spat sharply, his eyes narrowing and his face hauntingly sincere. Silence gripped the immediate air as Angel glared at the ground with a bladed expression, watching the flickering shadows, illuminated by the warm orange from the distance. Cordelia's throat had tightened with his words, her heart clenched. It hurt her to hear such honestly cruel words as these. But, as she slowly breathed out, she understood his deathly hatred. Angel would, and should, do everything in his power for his son. She decided not to speak, instead watching the burning buildings ahead, giving Angel some space to breathe, and his strained mind time to settle. It was obvious to her that somewhere, deep inside of his soul, he was troubled. It was as though he knew he should be happy but a feeling he couldn't pinpoint was brutally dragging him down.
"I hated my father, before and after I killed him. I don't blame myself though. He didn't know how to be a farther, only how to have a son. He told me so often what he thought of me, scum, and a waste of breath. That was all I saw and heard, what his face and words told me, but really, under that stern mask, he loved me. I understand that now, because, when I look at Connor, I know he's a part of me." Cordelia's heart smiled warmly, sensing the heartfelt earnestly in his words. He was speaking from the bottom of his soul.
"I want Connor to know that." He concluded resolutely.
Cordelia looked towards him again, with an affectionate smile, her thin hair blowing wildly across her face. Angel turned his head slowly and met her eyes. He wore a pale, almost sickly face, with a solemn smile. Through a harsh wind their glistening eyes saw each other. For a long while they stood there, each of them staring intimately into the other, their own thoughts running silently and calmly through their minds. In this drawn moment the blazing flames, whistling wind, and orchestra of chaos were all meaningless and did little but ring ineffectually in their ears. The booming sound of a helicopter raged through the air, and they both looked up, awoken from their trance, to see it's sleek black body cut through the air towards them. The bushes in the courtyard raged rabidly as it flew over their heads, disappearing behind the building.
"It's good to have you back," said Angel, as the heavy sound faded and the air settled to a strong breeze. He smiled lovingly, and she understood his feelings for her. It was moving how innate their friendship was, how strong and sturdy their amity remained through the tragedy that was last year. They both seemed to click then and they felt the warmth in the air. It was not one of lust, or passion, but connected them deeply. It felt as though their soulful affinity could never be broken.
They both turned back to the railing and watched the ashen sky. A flicker sharply lit the air. And a bright blue streak could clearly be seen carved across the thick, foreboding clouds. Cordelia jumped back a little, and Angel frowned grimly, sensing a frightening power ebb through the electric air, towards him. A sharp crackle proceeded the sudden lightning and Angel stood to his feet as he felt the air shake in terror. It died into a low crackle, but Angel stood sharply still, his expression grave and apprehensive.
Cordelia was breathing fast, not just from the previous shock but from the portentous dread that Angel radiated of. "What is it?" She asked suddenly and with a slight edge of panic. "I feel something," Angel replied, "and it isn't friendly." Cordelia frowned. "That's why I came out here," he continued, "I felt something carried to me through the air, a premonition of sought. Now I feel the sky watching down, holding its breath with terror. The air tells me something is approaching."
"What kind of thing, the rain? I feel th..."
"I see rain. It's heavy and with it will come burden. And I see footsteps, moving swiftly with evil purpose" Cordelia, now hopelessly unnerved was looking at Angel with confused fear. Angel seemed to drop out of his unnatural stance and breathed out strongly. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cold air sharply. Cordelia jumped back as he suddenly opened his eyes, the flames reflecting off them seemed to be but windows to his soul. He slowly raised his narrowed eyes to the street behind the trickling fountain. Cordelia watched intensely, and felt horror overcome her as they widened with fear. She twisted her head to see what he saw. There, in the middle of the road, and in the centre of the Hyperion's exit, which was cut out from two pale brick walls, stood a tall, sturdy man. She frowned with grim wonder as she noticed many other figures lurked in the shadows of buildings behind him. There must have been at least a hundred men standing at the ready.
Angel stepped back, his eyes wide, as the man on the road smiled cruelly, then, as Angel turned and burst through the Hyperion doors the man put his polished black shoe to the ground, stepping forward with excited glee.
Asherea's foot, donned in a light, practical, sandal, leapt from the rough grey concrete, as she sprinted down the footpath. Cars crashed, people shouted and pillaged, and fire raged beside her. Yet none of that mattered to the least. Her eyes were firmly glued to the path ahead, and her mind set on the Hyperion, the location of which she had spared no time in learning. She felt footsteps of another kind touch the ground with hers as she ran. Heavy, slow, she could sense the power behind them, and the calm eagerness to destroy. It was no normal evil, not hate, not lust for revenge; it was a sharp passion for evil, that only a soulless creature could emit, and that she now could feel, through her minds eye, from miles away, having been in its presence, and at the end of its blade so many times. Her rapid pace intensified as she felt the fear, realising that the Risen had wasted no time in moving to objective B in her absence. Nor would he spare any power in enacting it. Time was crucial.
She ran with all the power she could muster, and with a powerful spirit bred from her focused will. She was not going to lose this dimension. And there was nothing she wasn't willing to sacrifice to stop its end. A cold speck of water hit her cheek as she swiftly and agilely rounded a corner, turning into a wide, and extremely long, street. She was close.
Lilah walked briskly down a tight corridor, bemusedly noting the numbers of the doors she passed. Though that never reached her brain, which was already drowned and dense with bladed and anxious thoughts and questions. She knew the second it had escaped Wesley's lips, the implications, though not their credibility.
Blood of the Wolf, blood of the Ram, for the soul of the Hart.
Her breathing was pained and had a resonant panic of apprehensive despair. Her footsteps silent on the luscious green carpet, she came to a halt, her face crumbling with the harsh erosion of her much-needed coherency. She remembered being desperate to discover her fate, how she fitted in to the scheme of things, as the Wolf. Now she knew, and she couldn't handle it. It was clouding her mind, and even her vision now, as weak seeds of tears plagued the corners of her eyes. For the first time in many years, she was afraid of something, mortal fear, the only kind she knew to dread, and she hated it. The feeble hope that the prophecy was false weakened further every time she ran the idea through her head. This wasn't the usual prophecy, one that could be created or averted, as Sahjan's was last year. There was something profoundly and fearfully resolute about this.
She had escaped the pressure of concealing her doubt, particularly from Wesley, by leaving the room with a weak excuse, saying she had to use the bathroom. She had practically felt Wesley glance towards her as she disappeared up the stairs, his stern sympathy, and his professional disprove dispiriting her further. She hated to be, either empathised for, or looked down upon, and especially by Wesley. The person with whom she had fought for respect through their deeply entangled and impassioned relationship. And, worse than Wesley, she felt she was letting herself down. Her hardened image of stone cold fearlessness was shattering before her eyes, and she felt herself becoming weak. Leaning against one of the doors she had her head drooped, coldly glaring at the carpet, as she calmed her breathing and tried to loosen her knotted mind.
Just as she felt calmness come back to her, and her thoughts began to organise themselves, her mind was turned upside down as a powerful yell shot up through the floor.
"Get to the weapons! We've got company! Lots of it!" Came Angel's muffled voice.
Holding her breath and holding a pristine silence she listened worriedly to the commotion that shook the floor from below. Her slow, distant fear was suddenly forgotten as immediate danger gripped her heart with its feared hand. Suddenly she wasn't just waiting and listening, as her mind had abruptly thrown her a pointed dilemma. Her mind flooded with uncertainty as the question cut through her every thought.
Should she run? Can they protect her?
Doubt was quickly overcoming her and, the window, though only darkness lay beyond it, out of the corner of her eyes, seemed inviting. She heard another window smash loudly, and the glass softly tinkle. It felt unnervingly close, but out of her sight. Lilah turned her head away from the end of the hall, where the window stood, and saw the corner that turned to the next hallway, where she predicted the sound to have originated from. Gazing at the wooden wall across the gap she let her ears wander down the hall, blocking out all sound she could but that of the hall just past the edge of the wall she leant against.
Her heart was beating fast as several more shouts vibrated the floor beneath her, and sounds of battle began to drift up through the floor. She tried desperately to calm her breath as she struggled to focus her hearing. A drop of sweat fell from her chin as she heard a chilling creak in the floorboards. She swivelled round, covering her own mouth to stop herself from letting out a loud gasp. The creak was closer than she was expecting to here something. Whoever or what ever was just around that corner was only a few metres away, and trying very hard not to be heard. Looking back over the window, her breathing becoming more erratic with every second her heart pounded fiercely.
Suddenly her mind clicked with a sharp resolution. She put her hand over her back pocket and felt her handgun; it's cold steel reassuring her to no end. She quickly strode away from the corner, where she knew an intruder lurked, taking off her shoes and carrying them in her hands, to reduce the noise of her footsteps. Her mind was becoming clearer and clearer with every step she took, with every step further from the next hall she was. Holding her breath with forceful effort she finally reached the window. Glancing back over her shoulder nervously, to see any sign of the intruder she slowly began to slide the newly oiled window up. The cold, damp air sent a shiver through her hot, sweaty body as it drifted in through the window. Biting her lip furiously to hold in her fear-inspired desire to scream the edged it open further bit by bit. The wind was almost soothing, despite its harsh coldness, as it blew strongly into her face. The white curtain danced in front of her as she let loose a hearty sigh of relief, the window now fully open, revealing the dark churning sky looming above the bright burning landscape. It was a powerful view, one that she would never imagine seeing, let alone seeing again. It was perturbing, really, how quickly the city had fallen into a rampant chaos. It didn't take long for people start to attack each other under this kind of fear. Little did the general population know that a woman, seemingly alone in the world, prophesised to die, would be watching them, her eyes gleaming with an overwhelmed fear. She lifted her leg over the sill, and carefully felt for the ledge below. Feeling the safety of being in the open, her mind jumped into a rush to escape the trapping confines of the building. Her skin tingled with the cold air as her hair blew wildly across her face. She was now outside the building, on the third floor, turned, and looking down into a wide alley below. She saw several shadow fingers lurking below, as her heart, beating hard and fast, rang in her ears. Suddenly the ringing in her mind was interrupted, when a loud crash came to her. She carefully turned around and saw one of the identical men, whom she had come to know from her time trapped in the bowls of the Wolfram and hart building, fallen to the floor, his body leaning limply against the timber wall. His eyes didn't face her; they stared blankly forward, down into the hallway that she couldn't see. Jumping into swift action she ducked down below the sill, weary of being seen by the man, and, as stealthily as possible, made a hasty descent down the side of the building, using the many fire exits that ran out from the rooms.
The alley that lay below her was dark and foreboding and stood in the Hyperion's shadow, as though it was out of they Hyperion's protection. She had attempted a quiet descent, always keeping a watchful eye on the unmoving figures that stood in the distant end of the alley, the flames of buildings further strengthening their menacing shadows. Her hands were tired by the time she had touched upon the damp, dirty ground. She had made sure her presence was not known in coming down neatly behind a large dumpster. Now she crouched anxiously, shivering as she desperately rubbed her shoulders to gain some heat. She had long ago discarded her jacket in the sauna of Wolfram and Hart, and now she was left scantily clothed for the warmth, with only a torn and blood-splattered white shirt and thin trousers donned. The low, yet mighty rumble of the burning city remained ever present as she hid there. After a short while she drew her pistol from her back pocket and released the cartridge. Taking out the bullets one by one she nervously counted 6. She reloaded it again, remaining as silent as possible, slightly dispirited by her concerning lack of ammunition, something she was sure she would have to bet on to survive whatever was thrown her way.
She quickly became restless and impatient, of the opinion that she should relocate. Cautiously, she leaned out from behind the dumpster, looking right down the long, dark alley, to the silhouettes at its mouth. Observing attentively she soon managed to reach a concrete number of men guarding the alley.
6
Fear was beginning to take hold of her once more, as she realised that she had no hope of escaping, not while these identical men stalked the alley. And she was becoming doubtful at how long that would be as well, after having noted how little they had to move, and how long they'd been standing. They were practically machines, and she wasn't. What could she, a mere human do against all this? Nothing. She was way over her head, and she was beginning to see it.
"Shit" She spat softly. Dispirited by her apparently dire situation.
Suddenly an ear-catching screech cut the tense silence of the alley. It was that of a car, swerving a corner harshly. Looking out from behind the dumpster she saw a car roar past the end of the alley, a black Plymouth. It sped from view, and Lilah just managed to spot the people jammed inside the large car. The thought of the champions in that car, whom she had so often tried to defeat, yet who'd averted so many seemingly unstoppable apocalypses, running from danger really sent a chill down her spine, one that lingered in her heart, degrading her confidence further.
She began to sigh despairingly as she let her sight fall to the grimy concrete. Her feet would probably be black by now, smeared in the black layer of damp filth that lined the floor of the alley. Yet, just as she felt her mind begin to crumble, lose all strength, she heard the clear echo of pounding feet. The sound of clattering shoes rampaged the alley, and, breathing in deeply, summoning all the bravery she could still muster, Lilah peered out from the safety of the dumpster, fearful that the footsteps might be heading in her direction. The small ounce of hope that she had grasped dearly despite the fear suddenly sprang alive with a whole new zest. She felt like laughing as all of the men ran swiftly from the alley, turning down the street, clearly following Angel's car.
The stars, however hidden they were by a thick black blanket of cloud, were on her side. Swinging herself back against the cold metal wall of the dumpster. She looked up at the clouds, and now, as a cool breeze blew into her face, she felt not imposed by their mighty shadow. Sitting there, kneeling off the dirty ground and leaning against the dumpster, she found herself again, her true self. Fear, despite being something she always condemned in others, and her fight to disown it, had come over her like a chilling wave. She felt as though she had left herself down now, having been so despaired and hopeless. Every part of her life went against that, and, in fact, seemed solely to fight it. Fear was a weakness, and she wasn't weak. She smiled at the clouds defiantly as self-praising thoughts rushed through her mind, seemingly rain washing the gutter clean. Words written on paper can be no more than that, simply words. The prophecy meant nothing to her.
She put her hand to the gun in the back of her trousers, and, grinning with a powerfully determined visage she stood to her feet. To hell with the prophecy, to hell with Angel, to hell with Wesley, to hell with the clouds...
Death's finger will be broken before he lays it on me
The world will see me fight before it sees me die
A gust of wind blew through the dark alley as she strode fearlessly into its centre. As her torn shirt flapped at her waste and he collar, she saw a still human figure, hidden at the end of the alley, under the shadow of the wall. It hit her mind hard and then rolled off. She didn't care; she wouldn't let herself be afraid by anything ever again. She wasn't worried about dying, only about letting herself die a coward.
Powerful pride and boldness shook her body as she laughed out loud. It was almost lost in the shrilling wind and roaring flames, but it's wicked and empowered tone succeeded in reaching the ears of the remaining identical man. A cruelly happy smile crossed his own face as he stepped out into the orange light that the flames behind him poured into the alley. His long and unnaturally unmoving shadow was projected deep into the alley, almost to Lilah's bare feet. Lilah's laugh died down as she looked over to him, with a cool grin. He almost let a frown cross his face when the man saw her sweetly confident and inviting smile across her face.
Her hair blew wildly behind her, revealing her brave, battle-hardened face, bruises and cuts tainted her otherwise smooth, white skin, pale from the cold of the air. He felt power behind her gaze; yet, fear was something that he was unable to feel. Even if he knew he was to die, if it was for the cause, for the coming end, he would have charged forward, whether it be foolish or not. Smiling back at her coldly he began to rush forward, his feet pounding against the damp concrete ever faster as he raced towards the tall figure ahead.
Lilah, subtly clicked off the safety on her gun, and, trying not to look overly confident, held it tightly, waiting till the fast approaching man was close enough. Her heart was beating faster and faster as the man closed the distance with increased speed. His steps suddenly became loud, and the sound quivered through the air. As her heart pumped and seat gathered across her forehead and lined her hands she began to draw the gun. It seemed to take forever for it to be in both hands and out in front of her, but as the man skidded to a stunned halt just a few feet in front of her, toppling over backwards and falling to the floor, a sharp smile crossed her face. He struggled to get to his feet but she quickly and accurately brought down the gun to a steady aim, and, her eyes blinking shut with the sharp sound, fired a single, piercing shot. A thunderous crack echoed throughout the alley as a sharp splatter of blood shot out onto her stained shirt and the soft ringing of an empty shell came from the ground. The man fell back and lay still, never to move again.
Her smile remained steady as the sound of the shot died away, and her face remained unfazed, still glowing with resilient strength. A heavy drop of water touched her soft cheek as she clicked on the safety and tucked the gun back into her pocket, sending a chill down her spine. She took another look at the body sprawled across the ground in front of her, then at the hateful flames that, with their brightness, reached spitefully up to the black sky. A strike of lightning cut through the air as she turned her back to the city and calmly left the alley.
Connor's eyes opened slowly as his mind awoke from deep slumber and his hazy view slowly focused itself and became adjusted to the dim light that held the room. Although he was still waking physically, his mind was already heated with panicked thoughts rushing through it, born from the unsettling sound he had awoke to. It had been a sharp, yet very soft and seemingly distant sound that had broken his sleep, and he was sure he wouldn't have heard it, or woken to it, had his mind and ears not been attuned to suspicious noises. Many a time he had had to wake within an instant to defend he and Holtz from being victims to merciless demons, which crept about the night with sinister stealth.
He had heard it clearly, and began to worry, wiping his eyes to rouse himself, and sitting up on the messed bed. It had taken him little time to drop into a deep sleep, and he hadn't concerned himself with covers or anything at all, simply falling asleep spread over the cool and soft blanket, not a though left in his tired mind. He knew the sound; it was shattering glass. Frowning with a grave suspicion he rose to his feet and eyed the solid wooden door forebodingly.
Fear was beginning to creep up on him as he stood, waiting for another sound, or sign; yet, to his advantage and relief his body was no longer succumbed to tiredness. However short his sleep had been, it had been deep and undisturbed, and his body felt alive with strength, as though his wounds were gone. Yet sweat still trickled down his face, and his breathing became slightly erratic as he concentrated ever harder on the hall behind the door. Suddenly he held his breath and his eyes widened as he heard a sinister creak in the floorboards, ever amplified by his own focused silence. It was close, far too close for comfort, as he believed it to be right outside his door.
He jumped into action, silently springing from beside the bed to against the wall, closely adjacent the marginally ajar door. He tried to calm his heavy breathing as he waited there, unmoving, his fear that it might be the man he had fought in those dark halls of Wolfram and Hart. He was the only thing he'd feared for a very long time, longer than he could remember. Fear was a liability in Quor'Toth, yet, despite his grown indifference, there was something about that man, as human as he looked, that sent a shiver through the air and down his spine, even though he was but a memory now. Something ate at the back of Connor's vulnerable mind that told him resolutely, that he could not be beaten, ever.
The door suddenly began to drift open slowly, as though by but the air, and Connor pressed himself against the wall, fear on his sweating face. The door swung open unhurriedly and eventually stopped at the doorstopper in the carpet, almost right against Connor's face. He held his breath as soft, cautious footsteps against thick carpet reached his ears. The man, who was beside him, through the open door, paced forward stealthily and eventually, came into view.
A gush of relief suddenly swept over Connor as he cast an eye on the side of the intruder's face. Something told him instantly that he was not the man who he feared, the man before him lacked a certain radiance of power. Upon closer inspection he realised that the intruder was one of the identical men who's beaten him at Wolfram and Hart. Fear left him with an instant and was replaced by a vengeful confidence. They had been in great numbers then but he didn't doubt that he could take this one alone, and have fun in doing so.
Grinning ruthlessly he stepped out from behind the door silently, and tapped the man, who was now peering over the bed in front of him, on the shoulder. He awaited a reaction with a cool smile. Instantly the man, his face glaring with hate, faced Connor, and his fist struck out at Connor, with the speed of a bullet. As Connor watched the clenched fist snap at his face he cut the air with his own arm, meeting the enemy's punch with a forceful block. Pain rang through his arm but he quickly grabbed his dumbfound opponent by the wrist and through him out of the room. He man stumbled backwards but hit the floor with his feet, holding his balance, and stopping himself from hitting the wall of the hallway he'd been shoved out into. His bladed eyes shot out at Connor, with a glare of malice, and he stepped fourth, charging at Connor, fist readied. Connor stepped out into the hall, and, swinging his body to enhance its force swung his leg into the air and his foot around into the storming man's face. Spinning around with the astounding force of the blow, the man was sent flying back down the hall and into the wall at the end, his head knocked right through it.
He walked forward calmly and slowly as the man coughed and gathered himself, pulling his head back through the window. Clearly he was in a concussion-induced daze, as he stood up and shook his head, struggling to keep standing, and totally oblivious to Connor who strolled right up to him and, without the slightest moment of hesitation, placed his hands on his neck, bloodied by the crash, and snapped it. A sharp crack rang through the air as his body slumped to the floor, his neck bent sharply.
Connor, with a victorious smile, looked down on the corpse of his foe, relishing the feeling of being able to fight again, to have power against something. Being chained up was the worst experience of his life, as all he knew was to fight back, and without even the ability to move, he had lost faith in himself. Then, with his cruel defeat by the hands of power far beyond his own, he had felt real despair and hopelessness. He smiled again, this time a more content and heartfelt smile, as he remembered that Angel had saved him. He had sent Angel to a fate worse than death, yet he'd come storming to Connor's rescue. Angel wasn't the monster, otherwise why would he do that? He was a monster though, a vampire, a creature of the night, evil. Yet Holtz had abandoned him, and Angel had fought with all he had to save him, how could he believe that Holtz was good and Angel bad?
Suddenly his heavy moment of reflection was ceased by a panicked shout, that rose, muffled, through the floor below.
The others...
He turned and ran down the hall, towards the junction that led to the next hall, heading determinedly toward the lobby. As he swerved into the next hall he saw another identical man jump through the shattered window in front of him. Charging down a small set of stairs, footsteps pounding at his heels, he reached the overlooking path that lead to the lobby stairs. Over the short steel railings he could see an intense and shocking battlefield spread before him. He didn't have time to stop and stare though, as an identical man, reached the top of the stairs and ran towards him. He dodged a punch at his face as they both skidded to a halt in front of each other and smote him on the chin with a sharp upwards elbow strike, sending him into the air and tumbling down the red-carpeted stairs. He gazed down into the battle intense Lobby once more, and, noting the rapidly approaching footsteps of the man running at him from behind, watched in awe as Angel, his sword seemingly red with fire, smote his enemies down one after the other, as though he were a beacon of valiance and hope. The others also fought, all of them constantly evading and striking, and the whole room crammed with identical men, hungry for the kill.
He smiled suddenly as he felt the presence of the man behind him, and the air part to make way for his striking fist. He swung around and, moving slightly to avoid the blow, jabbed at his attacker's face with such overwhelming force that he was thrown over the railings and down into the fierce engagement below. As Connor turned back to the stairs he saw an endless line of men swarm up towards him, eager and vicious expressions glaring at him as they came, but, more importantly, he caught a brief, yet strong glance from Angel from amongst the fray.
He looked at the men indifferently as they swiftly approached, without fear, without misgivings, he put his foot forward and his mind in stone.
No one would separate him from Angel now, from his father.