Sorry for the delay everyone. Life does what life does, and that's get more hectic ever'damn day. Between exams, papers, and everything else, I've been pretty pressed for time. Guess that's just the way it goes. Thanks for all the reviews, and here's the next chapter. It might be long, but it needs to be. Next chapter is the finale!
Giles and Xander each stood looking out the rain splattered windows of the Hyperion Hotel. California wasn't particularly known for freak thunderstorms. But it seemed only fitting. How often do you fight an apocalypse on a beautiful summer evening? Behind them, Giles could hear pacing footsteps. They're soft patter atop the hardwood floors made for an unmistakable rhythm. Dawn was pissed. Not only was she pissed, she was livid. He knew that she had proven herself in battles before. But Giles knew that the allure of the Key was too much to risk. Especially in the presence of an Old One.
Suddenly, a hard knock came at the large oaken door. Giles and Xander exchanged a pensive glance. They had erected a mystical barrier and a sanctuary spell. Anything trying to barge in should, in theory, be repelled. Their eyes both widened when the door simply swung open and a shaggy looking teenage boy came stumbling in, drenched in the already pouring rain. Giles immediately leveled the crossbow in his right hand at the figure, more than willing to pull the trigger. As if on cue, the boy's hands shot up as he attempted to shake the soaked locks from his face.
"Whoa whoa! I'm a friend of Angel's!"
"Really?" Xander quipped, pulling into view his own crossbow. "Got a name? Or are you just another ex-employee?"
The figure simply grinned.
"My name is Connor. I was sent here to protect a girl... uhhh... Dawn I think..."
With that, Dawn came walking towards the terrace where the three figures stood. She eyed the newcomer with a mix of curiosity and apprehensiveness.
"Who are you, again?"
Connor looked forward, trying to suppress the sheepish smile that was forming on his face.
"I'm Connor. I'm Angel's... errr... son."
Faith's brain simply locked up. And, considering the source, that was unbelievable. Her mouth simply hung in place, unable to complete the sentence that she had begun. She turned toward the green demon, whose sharp blue suit had taken almost taken a purple look due to the rain. He simply flashed her a smile, then began to tread out of the alley.
"W-what! What the hell do you mean? I don't..."
"No time for that now sweetheart... you've got a big piece of pie by the name of 'apocalypse' to chew on..."
With that, Lorne continued his trek out of the alley. His heart broke with every step he took. He hated walking out on his friends, especially under these conditions. But he had told Angel he was finished. And he meant it. There were no bright colors left in his spectrum. Everything seemed to blur between black and white, forming an ugly color of gray that not even Armani could convince him to don. He pulled the pistol out of his jacket pocket and simply dropped it on the rain soaked pavement. He didn't know where he would go from here. Los Angeles had been his home since he arrived from Pylea. But there was too much pain and not enough booze to make him forget the loss. Everyone had lost so much in the past few years... but he was going to be the selfish one this time. He was going to take his losses and walk away. He had never been one for the fight... it just wasn't his style.
Faith continued to look on slackjawed as the green demon slowly disappeared into the darkness. Her sight quickly fell on both Angel and this person that was supposedly her son.
"What the hell does he mean?"
"Don't put any stock in it Faith," came a clipped British reply from behind her. She turned to see Wesley eyeing the scene before him like a hawk. "This man claims to be from the future. He is says that he is our son."
Before Faith could react, another voice rose up from behind her. This time it was the man in the felt hat.
"I make no claims. I'm only tellin' ya the truth."
"Or what you claim is truth. I have no doubts that you are nothing more than another foil from our good employers the Senior Partners."
"Have you lost yer damn mind! Awful lot of string pullin' for this to be a set up there Pops!"
Wesley made a menacing step forward.
"If you do not refrain from calling me that, so help me I will..."
"ENOUGH" came the roar from the back of the crowd. Angel stepped through the crowd that was beginning to form around the two men.
"We don't have time for this! The fight's down the alley, not here. We all came here to finally tip the scales in this war. If you're gonna piss and moan between each other... then get out!"
A hush filled over the group that was assembled in the rain. Angel had more or less sat back and let everything play out the way Jake had foretold it. Now he seemed to have had enough. The group looked down toward the opposite end of the alley.
It was hard to make out single figures through the darkness, rain, and the sheer multitude of demons moving their way. Angel could feel the heat. This was the fight they had been waiting for. The fight that he had been waiting for. He let out a semi-wicked smile, feeling the ridges rise on his forehead and his teeth begin to slightly drop.
"Let's roll."
Without warning, Angel's billowy duster leapt into the fray. He was followed by Spike, and next by the rest of the group. The demon force was impressive to say the least. But like all foot soldiers, they seemed to be easily pushed back. Angel and Spike lead the point, slashing away visciously with matching bloodstained broadswords. Buffy and Faith were on either side of the vampires, also attempting to perfect the hack and slash. The rest of the group was spread across the alley on both sides. Wesley did not believe the man fighting to his right, but he had to admit, the two shared an eerily similar fighting style. Rather then simply charge ahead with a blunt instrument, both men had pistols leveled at the oncoming horde, meticulously picking out targets one by one by. But, the farther the group seemed to push, the less ground they seemed to be making. The demons pouring out were too many. The fight had just begun, but already their line in seemed in danger of being broken.
"Now would be a good time for the Supergirls," Spike drawled as he removed his sword from the abdomen of a now lifeless demon.
"They're on the way Spike!" Buffy replied, trying to keep her focus ahead on the demons before her, and not over her shoulder to make sure that Spike didn't suddenly turn into a cloud of ash.
But the tide was turning faster than they had all expected. Suddenly, a group of demons burst through the line, officially bringing total chaos to the front of everyone's mind.
This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Jake never held the intention of taking part in this battle. His mission was clear. Kill Illyria and let the Champions duke it out with the Senior Partners. Now, not only was he fighting off a demon horde from every direction, but he had lost sight of Illyria. He knew she would turn during the fight. He had to find her and kill her. The consequences mattered little. He had come too far and brought too many people together to come up short.
Wesley fought with the cool demeanor you would normally find only in an assassin. Under other circumstances, his calculating moves might scare the hell out of even himself. But he was determined to see this fight to the end. However, he was even more determined to protect Illyria from any harm that might come from Jacob. He unloaded the final round of his second Beretta into what appeared to be the skull of a demon before him, shucked his pistol and swung out his saber. Two good chest-high swipes brought another demon down before him. It was then that he saw the scene unfolding to his left. Amidst the choas, he could make out the chartreuse locks of Illyria. Only she wasn't fighting. She was standing perfectly still. Wesley slashed forward. She couldn't be hurt. Not yet. He didn't see the demon claw coming from his blindside. All he heard was the sickening crack in his ear.
"Shit Wes! Don't Watchers normally... watch!"
It was Faith, coming through right in the nick of time. Her sword had separated the demon's claw from its upper arm. The being went down in a howl of pain. Wes simply gave his former Slayer a wry grin and turned his attention back to Illyria. He rushed forward, not hearing Faith hot on his heels. Neither was prepared for what they saw next. Illyria, with a legion of demons kneeling before her.
"No... no... it can't be..." Wesley muttered to himself.
"The legion has gathered Wesley," came the almost ominous reply from the God King before him. "With them lies victory."
Wesley was shell-shocked.
"No... Illyria... this is not the way!"
"Why! Why is this not the way! You believe the time traveler? You believe the vampire? The half breed that raped your mind and distorted all of reality to put you down? Or is what your son said true? Do you truly feel a life connection to... her?"
Illyria pointed in Faith's direction. Wesley had not even noticed her standing there before. This could not be happening. He wouldn't allow it.
"Illyria... he's not my..."
"Silence! You know the truth Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You would betray me... betray the Burkle persona for your torturer?"
"Look here Fred err... whatever... I don't know what got in to you but..."
Faith was cut off as a dagger thrust into the side of her abdomen. She looked up in horror to see Illyria hand clutching the dagger, hilt deep as blood slowly began to trickle down her shirt.
"I will not allow it," Illyria rasped, pulling the dagger free. Faith took a step then slowly slumped to her knees.
Wesley looked on in horror. It was all true. All of it. Everything he had tried to deny was unfolding before him. How had he been such a stupid git!
"I shall turn this tide. With or without you Wesley. I shall have the Key and I shall rid the world of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart."
Illyria suddenly found Wesley's saber at her neck. It couldn't tell whether the water streaking down his face, washing the blood from his cheeks was rain or tears. It didn't really care.
"I cannot allow you to do this. This is not the way."
Illyria let out a shrill laugh.
"You cannot kill me Wesley." Suddenly, Illyria transformed. The figure standing before was no longer the blue haired God-King Illyria. It was the trembling figure of Winifred Burkle.
"You wouldn't... kill me... would you Wesley?"
Wesley gut wrenched into knots tighter than any human's should. He now found the edge of his blade at the throat of his dearly beloved.
"Please Wes," it said, pushing the blade away slowly. "We can make it all end. It will be just you and me... the way it was always meant to be..."
"It's not true Pop. You know it."
Both Wesley and Fred/Illyria's gaze turned behind them. It was Jake, standing with his pistol leveled in Illyria's direction.
"Shh... don't listen to him Wes... he's not your son... don't let him take me away from you... not again. Please Wes... let me stay..."
In the blink of an eye, Fred's shell pushed Wesley away and let loose the blood soaked dagger in Jake's direction. It caught the man square in his right shoulder, ripping him to the ground.
"Now it ends," the Fred-shell rasped out, stalking towards Jake's body.
Jake clutched wildly at the dagger in his shoulder. The pain searing through him was unbelievable. Finally grasping hold of the slick handle, he ripped it out, bellowing in pain. He heard Illyria's remarks and the footsteps coming towards him, slapping through the rain.
"Yer damn right," he bit out. He rolled to his side and discharged a round. The bullet ripped through the rain, hitting its mark in Illyria's shoulder. The force of the shot sent Illyria backwards and to its knees. Still in the visage of Fred, it slowly ran its hand to the bullet wound, then back to the ground examining the wound. It locked eyes with Jake, who now lay frozen on the pavement in both pain and anguish.
"You missed," it drawled out in Fred's slight Texas twang. It rose to its feet and began to stalk forward. Then it happened. Out of nowhere, a blade shot through the shell's chest and quickly retracted. Both Jake and Illyria met in a shocked gaze. Illyria slowly turned around, and it locked eyes with its assassin. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. It tried to mouth something to Wesley, but the words never came. The visage began to dissipate as Illyria slumped to the ground. When its lifeless husk finally reached pavement, all that was left was the blue haired demon they had been accustomed to. Jake looked up and saw the look in Wesley's eyes. There was nothing there. No feeling. No emotion. Just a window to a hollow soul.
Wesley slumped to his knees sobbing. His mind was locked. Seized. He waited for some demon, somewhere to finally give him peace. Just kill him. He could hear the legion roar just yards behind him. Maybe the end would be quick. He turned slightly to open death, but instead was met by surprise as a flurry of crossbow bolts buried into the legion charging his way. The Slayers had finally arrived. He turned back to see Jake, slowly limping towards him. The two locked eyes, Wesley almost too ashamed to speak.
"You've got to take care of her now," Jake nodded and turned back towards the fight. Wesley simply traced Jake's gaze back to the body laying merely feet away. There lay Faith, bleeding heavily from the dagger wound, but still breathing.
Angel could hear the cries of the teenage girls roaring down the alleyway behind him. He turned to see the Slayers in full force, not only beginning to eliminate the demons who had outflanked them, but beginning to shore up the lines that had pressed down the alley.
"S'like the cavalry has 'rrived," Spike drawled. A flash of light suddenly erupted at the other end of the alley, causing the fighting to come to a complete standstill. At the back of the demon horde, three figures emerged from the flaming light. The Wolf... the Ram... and the Hart.
"Looks like they both have," Angel gritted out.