A/N: These things seem to be comin' out pretty quick, I just can't back away from the keyboard. I appreciate any and all reviews. These first chapters may be a bit confusing, I'm still working out the story's kinks in my head. Right now, your guess is as good as mine.

Wesley tore down the blood soaked alley, a pair of pistols breathing fire toward the great mass of demons before him. He hadn't been too late. He had gone to Vail's mansion, knowing that he was to die. Once again, Death failed to claim Wesley-Wyndam-Price. It was becoming a rather nasty trend. He unloaded the last of his two clips and simply tossed the pistols aside. From the burdensome sheath on his back, he un-holstered his 12 gauge pump. Bullets didn't work on vampires, but they decimated the demons that charged before him. Just beyond his intended targets, he could make out four figures, fighting back to back. He smiled. His friends had made it. He leveled his Winchester at the head of the last demon that stood blocking his path to his friends. With a smirk, he pulled the trigger and watched the demon's head explode into a flurry of blood and bits of bone. He strode forward and joined his friends, chucking the shotgun and extending the collapsible saber concealed beneath his jacket sleeve.

"Since when did you pick up on the dramatic entrances, English?" hollered Gunn, as removed his makeshift axe from the carcass of yet another demon.

"I couldn't let you have all the fun Charles," Wesley replied grinning.

He caught glimpse of Illyria, simply punching through the chest cavity of a demon that had no idea the power of the being he had attempted to battle. She locked eyes with him as her face twisted into a sort of sardonic smile. Wesley nodded.

"Illyria," was all he could remark.

"I am glad that you have survived Wesley. I believe that you will enjoy this." Illyria responded, a wild look forming in those cold blue eyes.

Wesley suddenly felt his stomach sink. What was she talking about? He looked on as he saw Illyria turn to Gunn. Wesley couldn't move fast enough. Everything seemed to slow down and his body refused to cooperate with what his mind wanted to do. He looked on in terror as Illyria strode over to Gunn, raised her fist, and proceeded to ram it completely through his face. The crunch was sickening. Gunn's lifeless body fell limp and pitched over to the ground. Wesley screamed, but so sound would escape his mouth. He couldn't breathe... he couldn't move. He was helpless. He watched in horror as Illyria's smile grew wider, her face more twisted and sadistic. He picked up the ax that was still clutched in Gunn's hand. With a smile she spun and brought the ax home across the back of Spike's neck. He never saw it coming. A cloud of ash exploded at the spot where the vampire once stood. Again, Wesley tried to scream... tried to run. But he was motionless. His mind raced franticly, trying to conjure up any incantation that would free his body. Dread flushed over him. He knew what was next. Angel's back was turned, still fending off the army that pressed around them. He hadn't even seen Illyria behead Gunn and dust Spike. With one last ghastly look, Illyria heaved the blade toward Angel's abdomen. The sheer force of the swing sliced the vampire in two, both halves of his body turning to dust before either could hit the ground. Wesley could not take it. He cried out in anguish, but no words would come. He suddenly felt disoriented and his sight began to darken. He looked down to his stomach and saw a gaping wound, blood flowing from it profusely. His lungs yearned for air, but he could not inhale. Suddenly, he was forced to his knees. He looked up and saw Illyria, a vicious smile beaming from ear to ear. He watched her, eyes mixed with both sorrow and rage. He heard a whisper, but he saw no movement across her face.

"In your name..." the voice rasped as wild-eyed Illyria raised her ax and began a slow, calculated march towards him. He pitched forward and all was black.

He awoke with a start. His body was racked to pain, and the simple task of trying to open his eyelids proved to be tiresome. He felt as if he was on fire, and yet at the same time, he could feel ice cold sweat dripping from his brow. He had to be in hell. The horrors he had seen were still burned into the back of his eyelids. He couldn't shake that sadistic smile. He knew that he was the reason Illyria was still alive. The blood of his friends was on his hands. The blood of the world was soon to follow.

"Shit Wes! You busted the stitching!" came a cry from across the room.

Now that didn't make sense. If he was dead, he would not need stitching. And why was Faith screaming at him? He felt her push his shirt up and cool feel the cool moisture off of the damn rag she was using to clean whatever wound he had reopened. What the hell was going on? With a low grunt he finally forced his eyes open. The room was dimly lit, which he was thankful for. He eyes ached terribly, and had he opened them in any kind of light he was sure he would be blinded for life. He tried to take in his surroundings as best he could. Wood paneled walls that were cracked in places, an old chest of drawers whose dark green paint had began to chip ages ago, and lamp with a shade adorned in scenes from what looked like a duck hunt, and a television set that was probably top of the line five years before he was born. Wesley had died and gone to the hell dimension of cheap hotels.

Faith worked gently around the large wound that was sloppily stitched along Wesley navel. She cleaned blood with a damp wash cloth from the bathroom. She hadn't dared use the rusted sink, settling instead of a bottle of water she had bought many miles back. She instinctively ripped a shred of cloth from her tank top and applied to where the stitching had busted. She placed his hand on top of the cloth, and then pressed down on it to slow the seeping blood. She was so thankful he was awake, but she knew they weren't out of the woods yet. Another sudden movement would bust the stitches further, and she was running out of tank top to patch her old Watcher up.

"Enough with the herk and jerk buddy. You bust anymore stitching, we'll be in a wicked tight squeeze."

His eyes met hers and he cracked a small smile. How this man had survived this long was beyond her. She was a Slayer, super-healing and all. Wesley wasn't. Yet he had a remarkable way of landing on his feet. Scratch that, he had remarkable way of using his own body as his landing pad.

"Faith," Wesley croaked out. "Where are we?"

She quickly broke the stare the two shared and turned away.

"Somewhere around El Paso," she replied quietly.

"El Paso! El Paso, Texas! Why the hell are we in El Paso bloody Texas!" was Wesley's response.

He attempted to sit up, but the pain radiating from his stomach told him it would be a stupid move. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Angel... Gunn... Hyperion... what... what happened Faith? What happened Faith? Why are we in El Paso and not Los Angeles?"

Faith didn't know how to respond. She had been waiting for what seemed like years for him to come back to consciousness. He had slipped in and out, but he was always steeped in a fever-induced hysteria. Now that he was awake, she had to explain to them why the two of them had trekked halfway across the country to wind up in a rent-by-hour motel.

"Wesley," she choked out. "Los Angeles is gone. I... I... I don't know about Angel or Gunn. I never saw them. It all happened so fast... I panicked. We had to get out of there Wes... I couldn't fight them all alone. I had to get us to safety..."

Faith's reply had turned into sobs. Wesley wished he could pull himself up and wrap her in his arms, for no other reason than to console her. But his body ached far too much for movement. He could feel the temperature in the room begin to rise. His vision was becoming blurry. If he didn't calm down, he would slip away again. He had to keep a level head. He had to figure out what was going... what had happened, and what the next move was. He shut his eyes and tried to relax. The nausea began to slowly subside. Eyes still shut, Wesley addressed Faith.

"Faith, you did the right thing. If the numbers were too great, retreat was the only option. But we have to know what happened, so that we may make our next move. Faith... what happened in Los Angeles?"

Faith, in the midst of drying her eyes, turn back to Wesley. His eyes were closed, but she knew he could sense the gravel in her voice.

"I've never seen anything like it Wes. One minute, we were checking you into the Emergency Room. The doc had started stitching up that wicked gash in your gut. Then the next thing I knew, there were demons everywhere. They were killing everything... even each other. I grabbed you and any pill bottles that were around and got the hell out. I've never seen that many demons Wes. By the time I got to the car, I knew we had to get out of LA. I drove as far and as fast I could... I'd look back and see nothing but carnage. It was like hell opened on Los Angeles."

Wes, trying to keep himself grounded in consciousness, let all that Faith said sink in. Demons fighting demons? That was nothing new. Blood feuds, prejudices, occasional thrills... demons fought demons all the time. But never on the scale that Faith described. To his knowledge, the demon population of Los Angeles wasn't even large enough for this kind of destruction. Then it dawned on him.

"Wolfram and Hart," Wesley muttered through clenched teeth. Faith's head turned slowly back towards him. His eyes met hers, and again he felt his stomach sink. No doubt the Sunnydale gang had informed her of Angel's decision to take over the evil law firm. For a second he thought he could see disgust flash across her eyes.

"You mean you and the Angel gang's little project," she replied with a bit of malice in her voice. "I don't think it was them, or you, or whatever... most of the bastards kept shouting a name... Ill... Iliad..."

"Illyria," Wesley replied.

"Bingo."

At that moment, everything around Wesley stopped and came crashing down. His mind shot back to the remnants he still had of his dream. Her face... the blood... oh God! Oh God! What had he done? He had brought Illyria into the fight. He was the one that had bloody well kept her alive! He thought he might find some spark of humanity... but that seemed all but lost now. What had he unleashed upon this world?

"You heard of her?" Faith asked, interrupting Wesley's train of thought. That was not a question he was willing to answer at this moment. Not truthfully anyway.

"Yes I have heard of her. And if what you say is true, we are in very grave danger."

"No sweat. We're a long way from LA now. We'll just get a hold of Giles and B and come up with a plan. Putting your two superbrains together, there's no way in hell we can lose." Faith remarked. As long as Wesley knew what he was fighting against, she'd trust him. They had both come along way in such a short time, but she knew deep down that this man wasn't simply a fighter. He was a survivor.

Wesley simply nodded at her solemnly. This is where it hit the proverbial fan. Giles had made himself perfectly clear the last time they had been in contact. Angel, Wesley, Gunn... they were all evil in his mind. This was something that they had unleashed, and Wesley doubted very seriously that neither Giles nor Buffy would put their necks on the line for old times' sake. But he wasn't going to say anything to Faith. Not yet. He was going to need her for this fight. He knew the others were dead. He refused to believe it, but in the dark corners of his mind he knew. And he knew that he was responsible for it. He had gone off to die that night. All he wanted was peace. Instead, he had lived while countless others had perished because he refused to give up his lost love. He had grown so weary of trying to do the right thing and have it blow up in his face. He kept his eyes closed and clenched his teeth. The all too familiar taste at the back of his throat brought his rage full force to the front of his mind. He made himself a promise, before whatever God or gods or Powers or whatever there might be. He would right this wrong. He would find Illyria. And he would kill that bitch once and for all.

"How long has it been since we left Los Angeles, Faith?"

"Th-three days," Faith replied.

"Three days... I pray that it isn't too late. We need to rest now Faith. Tomorrow you can put that call into Giles after we take a visit to the local hospital. If we're going to fight, I'm not going to be able to do it lying on my back."

He looked on as Faith nodded.

"And Faith? Thank you."

That statement took Faith a little by surprise. She had expected any number of reactions from the ex-Watcher. Just not that one. She turned back to face him, but when she did he was already asleep.

"Crazy bastard," she muttered to herself before laying back and dozing off herself.

Illyria looked on smugly. Her war was far from over. The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart commanded many legions, and more and more seemed to be pouring in. But her numbers were growing as well. Her name was still one that struck fear into their hearts. Soon she would herself face the trio of beings who used to hide from her sight. She would destroy the three and then reclaim this world as her own. Walking down a lonely desolate street, she took in the sight which spread before her. Bodies were strewn to and fro. Chaos and destruction had taken hold in this collection of human dwellings. She enjoyed its refreshing sight. She decided then that this was where her throne would be exalted. She would rise above all, atop her temple built on the bones and ash of those who had dared to trifle with her. Her time had been millennia in the making. And now, her time was at hand.