Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own Buffy and Angel. I used to own Joss Whedon's soul (picked it up cheap on eBay), but I traded it to a mysterious stranger for a handful of magic beans.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, and feedback (especially the constructive kind) is much appreciated. Also, despite the summary, this is not a comedy. There will be no wackiness. Well, probably not. Mostly this will be about the Scooby Gang reconnecting, since as an old-school Core Four fan I was displeased by their estrangement in Season 7. After the first chapter, Illyria will be the only Angel character making an appearance (for a while). Hope you enjoy it. And if not, please tell me why, because my writing could definitely stand some improvement.
"Well, personally," said Angel, taking a few steps forward, "I kinda want to slay the dragon." He took a tighter grip on his sword as the others stepped up beside him and the demon army drew closer. Briefly, he savored the freedom of this moment. All the pain and loss and mistakes and burdens of destiny were behind him now, and the blessed release of death was only minutes away. Then the demons were upon them. "Let's go to work," Angel said, and swung his sword at the nearest ones.
Beside him, he heard Spike howling exultantly, and Illyria moved past him in a flash of blue, slaughtering their foes with her bare hands. Angel quickly fell into a rhythm, slashing away at the hapless demons around him. Ahead he could see some extremely large demon towering over the hordes below, and above that, the dragon circled in the rain-swept sky. But soon his world shrank to the circle made by his sword-arm, and the endless foes that loomed out of the darkness, clutching at him only to be cut down.
Sudden shouts of triumph drew his attention. Turning, he saw Gunn collapse, his axe falling from his hands. The mob of demons surrounding the stricken man piled onto him, then lifted him up and began carrying him toward the portal. Cursing, Angel fought to get to Gunn's side. Out of nowhere, Illyria and Spike waded into the fray, and the three scattered the demons surrounding their fallen friend. When they reached him, Gunn lay on his back, his eyes glassy, and the puddles of rainwater underneath his body began staining red.
Angel knelt down and clasped Gunn's chilled hands in his own. Above him, Illyria and Spike held off the surrounding demons ,but Angel's attention focused on his friend. Gunn looked up at him and smiled. "Helluva ride," he whispered. Angel felt the life leave his body, and he closed Gunn's eyes. A wave of grief passed over Angel, but anger quickly took its place. He stood up and attacked his enemies with renewed vigor.
Angel and Spike fought back to back as Illyria stormed off, seeking more victims. "You notice somethin'?" Spike said after a few moments. "They're not tryin' to kill us." Angel boggled at the inanity of this statement, but then a chill settled over him as he focused on the way their enemies were fighting. The demon warriors were armed with a mixture of swords and clubs, and Angel realized they had passed up any number of opportunities to swipe off his head. The ones with the swords seemed to be directing most of their strikes at his arms and legs, and those with the clubs were the only ones attacking his head or body. "They want to capture us," he gasped. "Bingo," said Spike.
Above it all, the dragon had settled down on the roof of the Hyperion, overlooking the carnage below. It made no move to attack, simply watching the battle. Suddenly, it called out something in a voice like a thousand bass drums, in a language Angel could not understand. The tall demon, which Angel had lost track of, suddenly loomed out of the darkness and batted Illyria aside. The godling hit a nearby wall with enough force to crack the brick, and slumped to the ground, stunned. The demons that had been fighting her quickly turned towards Angel and Spike.
The two vampires fought desperately, fear of capture giving their tired limbs new strength, but they were outnumbered too badly. With a suicidal disregard for their own safety, the demon warriors threw themselves at Angel and Spike, swamping them under. Angel could hear a wordless roar of fear and desperation, and he wasn't sure if it was Spike or himself making it. Losing his grip on his sword, he continued to strike at his assailants with his fists, but they piled on top of him and dragged him to the ground. Their clubs pounded into him, breaking his bones and preventing him from regaining his feet.
A giant hand suddenly reached down and plucked Angel from the ground, squeezing his arms to his sides. He struggled in vain, unable to break its grip. Angel looked over to see Spike, apparently unconscious, clutched in the giant demon's other hand. The demon turned and began marching toward the portal. Ahead of it, the dragon and most of the lesser demons were already streaming toward the glowing portal. Angel twisted his head around and glimpsed Illyria getting to her feet. A desperate hope flared up in his heart, and he renewed his wiggling struggle. But he could see a dozen or so demons, acting as a rear guard, converge on Illyria, blocking her from pursuit.
Up ahead, the portal glowed brighter, and Angel felt hope die within him. The giant demon squeezed him tighter, ending his struggle. Angel could now see through the portal to a hellish red sky and black rock, and thousands of demons. And standing just on the other side, grinning at him, was something that looked a lot like Lilah Morgan. Angel slumped in the giant's fist and felt a bleak, despairing chuckle force its way though his lips. It was over, and he had lost. No glorious death. Instead he had condemned Spike and himself to eternal torment. And it was no more than they deserved.
Angel turned his head one last time to look back at his world. It wasn't much of a view, he reflected. A dark, rain-soaked alley filled with dead demons. He could see Illyria still battling, but there was no chance she would reach him now. And then Angel felt a tingle of ozone as the giant demon passed through the portal. Almost as soon as it had, the portal closed, with Angel and Spike on the wrong side. The demon did not loosen its hold, though. Angel turned his head to look down at Lilah. She smirked up at him.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you, Angel," she said. "And let me be the first to welcome you to your new home. Now and forever." And Angel felt the cold truth of her words. There would be no miraculous escape engineered by the Powers, this time. They were done with him. He wanted to say something defiant, but the words turned to ashes in his mouth. There just wasn't any point.
Illyria could see Angel and Spike being carried through the portal, and attacked the pathetic creatures surrounding her even more fiercely. She finished them off quickly, but it was too late. The vampires had been taken, and the portal was closed. With her power to move between dimensions gone, Illyria could not follow. She cast her gaze around the alley, but there were no more opponents to kill.
Illyria felt another unwelcome emotion filtering through her. Consulting the shell's memories, she realized it was called "despair." Illyria did not know what to do, and this displeased her. The Circle of the Black Thorn was destroyed, so she could not keep killing them. The minions of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart were gone or dead. With Wesley and Charles dead, and with Angel and Spike taken, there was no one to serve as her guide to this unfamiliar world. She briefly considered assuming the form of the shell and seeking out the Burkles, but the shell's memories told her they were unlikely to react well to her true appearance. They would not be able to serve as her guides.
After a while, Illyria walked over to Charles' body and gazed at it. Like Wesley, he did not appear very different for being dead, save for the fact that he no longer breathed or moved in any way. For the Old Ones, death was merely a time of sleep. The permanence of death for lower beings was something Illyria did not understand, and did not care to contemplate. They were really nothing but muck, and she should not have these feelings of grief. And yet she did.
Bending over, Illyria picked up the body and carried it into the building called the Hyperion. The shell had many memories of this place, some happy, some unhappy. But it had been an important place to the shell, and to the others as well. Illyria carried Charles' body over to where she had placed Wesley just before the battle, and laid them next to each other. The she sat down on the steps nearby, and wondered what she was going to do next. She sat there for a long time, unmoving.
She might have sat there until the walls fell down around her, but after several hours the air in the place changed, and Illyria smelled magic. She stood and turned to see the air crackle and flash, revealing a single individual. Illyria regretted that she would not be able to kill more, but she flexed her fingers and moved to confront the intruder.
What she saw was a small human woman with red hair and green eyes. Although the human seemed innocuous to the naked eye, Illyria could detect the presence of great power within her, power that rivaled that of the sorcerer Vail. Illyria hoped this woman would prove more of a challenge than he had. As she moved to confront the human, Illyria felt the shell's memories prickling at her. The shell had known this person, and did not consider her an enemy.
Willow Rosenberg stood facing Illyria, her eyes widening in shock as she glimpsed the bodies of Wesley and Charles laying on the floor behind her. She looked back at Illyria, her eyes growing dark as anger and magic welled up within her. Illyria prepared herself for an attack, but the woman kept control, and did not unleash her power. Instead she said, without preamble, "Who are you, and what the hell is going on here?" And Illyria felt that was a most pertinent question, indeed.