Ezekiel

Disclaimer: Do not own Buffy.

A/N: overview.

Monastery in the Czech Republic, 2000 A.D.

The two monks ran into the Great Hall as fast as they could, fearing for their lives as they did so. They stopped momentarily to seal the door, using a large beam to do so. Once it slid down, the two monks turned to each other.

"It's coming," the second monk said in their native language, "It's going to kill us!"

"Our lives are unimportant," the other responded, "We must protect the Key!"

The monk turned and ran to the center of the room, followed by his companion, where the two were met by an older monk. He was setting up magical elements and candles for their ritual.

"Help me to perform the ritual," the eldest monk said.

The trio sat down on the floor and extended their arms. They chanted the spell that would save everything that they had worked so hard to keep maintained. As they said their incantation, the doors were met by a fantastic force which threatened to send their only protection into oblivion.

"Concentrate!"

The doors exploded inward as a great surge of light escaped the center of their formation.

Hidden Chamber, Vatican City: 1996

She ran down the halls as fast as her weakened legs would take her, ignoring the bleeding along her face and her chest as best as she could. The creatures were after her, and she had to defeat them. But, not yet.

She turned to her right down the hallway.

When the unholy creatures came to the hall, they found it empty. The sniffed and began to search around, but could not find her. Then, a stake flew out of the air and embedded itself into the vampire's chest, returning it to the dust which first spawned its original form.

The demon turned to see the one who had slain its companion, only to meet his own death as an iron blade went through his skull.

She leaned against the wall of the hall and awaited her judgment. While today was not the day that she was long awaiting, she knew it would mark a very important day of her life.

As she waited, she thought back.

Dawn Harris walked out of the bathroom near the hospital waiting room, wishing she could hide the tears. Her brother, Alexander, was stronger than her, had always been, and she had to be strong for him. He had saved her life.

All around her, the doctors and nurses were moving around, avoiding her. They knew, just as she did, that she was different, that her brother was different. There had always been something about them both, something that set them apart from the crowd. She chose to believe it was because of their morals. And their intelligence. They both were abnormally smart for their age, and, yet, they often chose to appear like everyone else. To be accepted.

Dawn was only two, barely a month away from her third birthday. Her brother was three, the elder. As she walked down the hallway, she noticed her brother speaking with a man in a black outfit, a white cloth ringing his throat.

It had been a different time for the Warrioress of God. Back then, her name had been 'Dawn.' Today, it was 'girl.' She thrust the memory down and forced herself to return to the task at hand.

The doors opened and an army of demons stampeded inside.

She whispered a prayer to her God and prepared for the slaughter.

Temple of the Trials, Vatican City: 1996

Dawn Michelle Harris gripped her chosen weapon, a simple stake, as she awaited the final stage of her trials. She was fueled by her love of nature, her devotion to her faith, and the love of her brother, who had already moved on to the real world and was making a difference, from what her trainers had told her. She leaned against the stone pit and looked up into the sky. There stood His Holiness, the Pope, alongside Cardinal Zax, and Mother Bethany, her personal trainer and abuser, just as Father Straughts had been for Ezekiel.

She sighed as she awaited her next opponent. If she defeated this final vampire, then she would be able to accept her gift, her branding, and her name, then leave this place. She would probably have to make her way to wherever she would go. Most likely, she would follow her brother to where he had made to go. From what she had heard through the grapevine, the Warrior of God known as Ezekiel had made his way through Europe to America and was crossing the continent even as she stood here. She swore that she would make him proud of her.

She smiled as the next vampire came into the fore, a mass of bulk with probably little to no brains. He would soon be dust.

As the dust settled, the Warrioress of God crossed herself and muttered in Latin. Unlike her brother, she had faith in what she had been taught, just not much if any in those who had taught it. Which, she supposed, was something like Ezekiel, but, at the end of the day, he truly didn't care, so long as he was able to do what he did: save lives.

"A grand example of battle, my child," the Cardinal said in an arrogant voice, "The Holiness is most pleased with your work."

The Pope, unlike when her brother had ascended to the level of Warrior of God, did not wait to hear the Cardinal's input, but simply stood and walked out onto the metal plank. As it descended, the Pope reached into his robes and withdrew an object that she could not see. Once it reached ground level, Dawn dropped onto bended knee and bowed before The Holiness.

"Rise, child," he said to her.

She stood up, but remained at the position of attention, as she was trained to do in the fore of superiors.

"You have a special purpose on this plane of existence, my child," the Pope said to her, a smile in his voice, "And for such a special one as you, there are few gifts that can be given. Your brother, who reached the title of Warrior not so long ago, was given blessed gloves. For you, I feel that this would be more worthy."

He held the object out to her and she accepted the leather box with a bow. She pulled the safety catch and released the locking mechanism, then gazed down upon her first gift. It was a steel dagger with a leather handle. Upon the hilt was a painting of the Tree of Life on the right side, and a painting of the Earth on the left. The dagger held runes upon the blade, each rune from a different language or dialect, along with a few that she could not recognize. She took a quick moment to translate what she could and smiled to the Pope, a silent thank you for the words of encouragement.

She heard the two Sisters coming to hold her down, but The Holiness held up his hands.

"Let her do this on her own," he said.

The Sisters could do nothing but obey. Dawn went down to her knees and felt the air as she pulled her jacket off, revealing her shirt which was open at the back. She grounded her fingers into the dirt and gritted her teeth. She could smell the burning. She had seen the cross design that had been made for her, the first Warrioress to be named in over a thousand years. It was a cross encircled by wreaths, ivy, and flowers. The cross itself was covered in runes with a gothic design. Upon the top of the cross was a pointed tip, a final design: the Chinese symbol for strength.

She tried as hard as she could to keep from screaming. Instead, she cried out as the searing pain stretched across her back. For what felt like a century, but must have only been a minute, the pain remained against her bare skin. Finally, it was taken away. No gust of wind came to alleviate her. She stood, slowly, her legs wobbling slightly, and crossed herself.

"And, now, as your final gift," His Holiness said, "We will bestow you your name, your identity. As per tradition, it is my duty to give you that name, for it is the final blessing to every hunter trained underneath Vatican Law, it is the final penance for your forsaking your past self in exchange for the new one.For you, Dawn Michelle Harris of Sunnydale, California, United States of America, the last remaining daughter of your family's bloodline, wehave chosen your name with little trouble. Your soul and your heart and your loving nature hath been proven to your teachers, and thus, to me, time and time again.

"I turned first to the Bible to discern which name you should be given. However, I could find none that were particularly worthy of you, and so, I turned to the language of the church, to Latin. Still, I found none that were worthy of you. And, so, I turned to the native language of God's chosen people: the Hebrew.

"From the moment your training began, you were a commonplace with nature. You were the Earth's sister, always out inside the world where stone is geographical, not moved and humane like our halls, to our gardens, where you meditated in peace and comfort. By the Hebrew language, there is a name which means 'lover of nature.' And, so, I have chosen this name for you. You and your brother, the first two Warriors of God to be related by blood since the time of Solomon, are a grand part in the Almighty's plan for us all. May he bless you in the years to come.

"And, so, on this day, Dawn Harris is no more than the withered flower upon winter's pearly mass. Rise up, and let it be known that from today until the End of Days that your name be Tivona."

24 Miles Northwest of Rennes, France: 1997

Tivona walked along the countryside of France. She was dressed in tight, green pants with a brown shirt that left little to the imagination. She had on a forest green trench coat which concealed her body entirely, which was a good thing, considering her amount of weaponry. She had four knives strapped to her legs, two on each, a rapier sword strapped across her left shoulder, and her rune dagger in a sheath along her belt near her butt. Upon her back was a pack filled with her supplies.

She had been traveling Europe on foot ever since she had left Vatican City, and was making excellent time for even the best cross-country runner. Her intention was to make her way to the English channel and barter passage to the UK and, from there, make her way to America. It was basically the same route her brother chose to take.

Sighing at the sudden remembrance of Ezekiel, or Alexander as he was once called, she continued upon her path. However, before much more progress could be made, the night sky began to set in. Ordinarily, this did not stop her but, considering that this area was well known in demon hunting circles as 'werewolf country,' and tonight was the full moon, she decided that it would be in her best interest to find shelter.

She searched around, her head held high, until she caught sight of the perfect place: a tree with a folding of branches that would hold her body comfortably and safely. Smiling to herself, the Warrioress of God stared at the tree for a moment, backed away, and braced herself. She charged forward and, at the last moment, jumped up four feet into the air and pressed one foot over the other. The second she hit the bark of the living creature, she pressed with all her might and flew another six feet into the air.

She grabbed a hold of the nearest branch and pulled herself up. She was at the folding, where many of the branches of the huge tree came together to make a nearly solid landing. Smiling, she set her bag down and began to prepare for the night.

It was around midnight when she awoke to the sound of thunder. Literally. It was pouring down rain, buckets of it, soaking through her jacket. The huntress was grateful that she had decided to sleep with it on, otherwise, she'd be in a very compromising position for anyone coming along. She smiled as she felt the rain pouring down upon her. Tivona had been in love with nature since she had been brought to the Vatican. One of her teachers, Sister Henrietta, had taught her many things about the earth, about the cultures of the world and, most importantly, the natural beauty this great world had to offer. Her teachings had remained with the Warrioress from six to present and would, hopefully, remain with her always.

Sighing, she sat up and looked down upon the ground below her. It was truly beautiful, a thunder storm. Once you looked past its pure rage to see it in its unadulterated form, it was truly spectacular. It brought heavenly water in the softest of droplets, to the hardest of hails. It sent forth bolts of blue light crashing down to the dirty earth, scorching it anew. It renewed the people, reminded them of their continued vulnerability during a time when man seemed almost invincible, save from himself.

She had been staring at the ground for so long that she truly hadn't even been aware of what she had been looking upon. She glanced around as she saw movement and finally became completely aware of her surroundings.

A werewolf was running around down there. Its movements were erratic, as though it were simply fleeing and had no purpose aside from its objective: to run as fast as it could in the other direction. She saw the reason why a few seconds after it came to her tree. She saw from her spot a large chunk of the tree get blown off by a blast from a rifle.

She did what she was trained to do under fire…she disappeared.

Cain had been hunting werewolves for their pelts for as far back as he dared to remember. He had been in France for nearly two days after he had gotten wind of this little puppy that had been starting up trouble near Rennes, and now, he had that cub right where he wanted it.

He had even taken the time to find out who it was in human form. It was a little kid, barely even eleven, who had been bitten accidentally by a senior werewolf last month. Tough luck for the kiddie, he wouldn't live to see his first pair. Oh, well. That wasn't his problem. His problem was to get back to Sri Lanka and sell that pelt before his contractor got pissed off at him.

He moved on through the storm and caught sight of his prize.

"There you are," he whispered as he lined up his sights, "Now, play dead."

He shot off but, a flash of lightening caught his gaze and made him hit the tree instead.

"Lucky bastard," Cain whispered to himself.

He took off through the countryside after his prey, who was now running like a madman or, in this case, mad-wolfman. He smiled at his own joke and ran off after the wolf.

Tivona stuck to the overhead and kept her eyes focused upon her prey. The storm was beginning to dissipate, lucky for her, lucky for the hunter, unlucky for the werewolf. While she had been taught by Mother Bethany and Cardinal Zax that forwerewolves, in spite of the fact that it wasn't their fault that they were turned into what they were, to kill them to keep other people safe, Tivona had been taught by the Sister Henrietta that their lives are worth the same as any other would be.

She leapt to another branch and squatted down as the hunter dropped to a knee and took aim.

"See you in Hell," Cain whispered.

As he cocked the rifle in his arms, he took aim and prepared to sling a piece of led into the creature's heart. Before he could pull the trigger, however, he heard something whistle. He felt the jerking of his weapon as it careened forward and jerked the trigger back on instinct, causing his foot to explode in pain.

He fell to the ground, howling like a maniac as he gripped his foot, blood flowing slowly from the wound. He heard something come near and, fearing that it was the wolf, looked up.

He was met by darkness that consumed his soul.

Tivona watched the wolf as it slept, a chain wrapped around its neck. It had taken a few minutes but, the Warrioress had managed to subdue the creature. The hunter was also asleep, hanging from a tree branch with his hands tied behind his back. She sat back in her folding of branches and looked down at her watch. There was an hour till sunup.

Sighing, she grabbed her canteen and flung a lot of water into his face. He woke up with a grunt and began to blink away his sleep. When he came to finally, he began to look around and his eyes eventually settled upon her. He bared his teeth in a snarl and glared at her.

"What the Hell are you doing," he growled to her.

"You know," she said with a smile, "That's a nasty looking blast. You might want to have it looked at."

"Who are you," he said, the blood rushing to his head and causing his thinking to go down much farther than its already slowed down process.

"That's not important," she said, "This is the way it works, boy. You can either quit hunting like this or get killed by the things you hunt."

She pointed down. There, sniffing and snarling, was the werewolf, awakened by the growling of the hunter. It snarled up at its former predator and leapt up into the air, only missing the hunter by three feet. He yelped out as he saw its fangs and damn near pissed himself.

"Now," he turned his head to look at Tivona as she drew her rune dagger, "If you don't meet my demands, then…"

She brought the blade down upon the rope and carefully began to slice. Immediately, the hunter's fear began to grow by the meter as he realized that he was faced with either giving up his trade or dying. There was no choice there. He nodded his head violently, and stopped as he began to grow dizzy.

"Good," she said with a smile that seemed sweet, but was anything aside from, "Now, I'm going to steel your jeep that is so conveniently just a mile away. Have a nice life."

With that, she flung her dagger at the wolf. It struck the creature on the forehead with the blunt end forward, sending it into a blissful sleep. The huntress leapt from her perch and picked up her dagger. After she replaced it inside its sheath, she scooped the beast up and placed it into a fireman's carry.

"Hey," Cain shouted, "You can't just leave me here!"

"Consider it penance of a sort," she said as she left, "After all, you skinned them, didn't you? Be happy that I didn't decide to take full retribution."

Tivona drove with the werewolf in the back through the countryside till around three hours after dawn to get some food and gas. The station she was at had a fish and chips place run by an Englishman by the name of Nigel. She decided to ask him where the closest crossing to the UK was.

"Oh, that's an easy one," the British man said, "There's an airport at Brest that takes a group of passengers to Plymouth. From there, you can move on to London. Is that bloke alright, lass?"

The Warrioress turned back to see who Nigel was speaking of. Her werewolf friend was a brunette boy in the back seat, which had a soft top over it. He was wrapped inside of a wool blanket she had found in the front seat. Smiling, she turned back to the Brit.

"Yeah, he's alright," she answered, "Poor boy just got pooped from the ride. He should be waking up anytime soon. By the way, do you have any clothes that might fit him? All of his got soaked and he'd die of pneumonia before we got to a station. The nearest town was, well, here."

"Ah, I see," Nigel said with a grin, "Poor blaggard. You his mum?"

"For the moment," Tivona said.

"Well, I think I got a little something for the bloke," the Englishman went into the back and came out with a pair of jeans and a gray shirt, "Here you go. Free of charge. Take it as a gift for gracing me with your presence."

"You're welcome and thank you," Tivona said with a smile.

"Wake up," he heard, "Come on, sport. Wake up. I'll just dump you here and call it a day, eh?"

He blinked his eyes open again and again as he began to come to. When finally his vision became correct, he saw a beautiful woman with red hair standing above him with a smile.

"Hey, there, sport," she said to him, "Welcome back."

"…It was around a month ago that it happened," Nigel translated for Tivona, "I got bit. My mother and father were so ashamed that they ran me out of the village. I've been traveling ever since."

"Were you heading somewhere," the Warrioress asked the boy, Mason.

"No," the Englishman answered, "I had nowhere to go."

"…Nigel," Tivona began, "Do you know anyone that could take care of him?"

"I don't even know what the bugger has," the man said, "Werewolves? Never heard the like before, my attractive friend. Makes me wish I'd listened to that blaggard Marcus when I had the chance."

"Marcus? Who is he?"

"Oh, ugh, he's a scientist," the man answered, "He used to live in my flat building in London. Nice bloke, just…a wee bit mad. He kept on doing these experiments on what he claimed was werewolf blood. Said he was close to solving it. Whatever the blood hell 'it' was."

"Do you think you could get in touch with this 'Marcus?'"

"Doubt it. Bugger died nearly three years ago. Murdered in his room. That's why I moved here. Less crime than in greater London."

"Why was he killed?"

"He was eaten by a dog, or, at least, that's what the bobbies told us. Besides, I don't know what he could have done. The question is what can be done for Mason?"

"No clue. I've never had to deal with werewolves. If I could find another way…But, no, I can't trust them."

"Who?"

"The Vatican."

"What?"

"See…this is hard to say, but, ugh…I'm an agent of the Vatican."

"Cool. Sorta like Jack Crow in John Carpenter's Vampires. Wait…are you allowed to tell anyone?"

"Sure. They do not care what is said to whoever there is so long as those people that are informed don't use that information against them. Besides, there are so many rumors around about secret organizations and societies within the Catholic church, it's practically useless to say there are more than there are already suspected. And, it's not like Warriors are unknown. They're in a lot of books and texts from the Crusades."

"Well…I guess it makes sense. I don't really know. I'm Jewish, myself."

"Hey, that's cool by me. I don't care what your faith is so long as you don't kill, maim, or rape people. And if you do, I will kill you."

"Good thing I don't, right?"

She glared at him.

"Ok, calm down, lass. Anyway, what do we do about this bloke? And why can't you trust the Vatican?"

"Well, I can't trust them because a lot of people in the church are bigots when it comes to werecreatures."

"I can buy that. So, again, what do we do about this bloke?"

"…I really don't know about that one. I don't even know why I got you involved."

"You needed a translator."

"…You British people and your logic. Make an American person feel stupid, why don't you?"

"That's what we British do best."

"Sure. We still kicked your asses in the war."

"We saved your asses in the French and Indian war."

"We saved your asses in both World Wars."

"…As the French say, touché."

"Ha! So, what do we do?"

"…"

"…"

"I could take him in," Nigel suggested, "I mean, he's a werewolf. Sure, but, I need help around here in the area. Plus, I got a cage in the back that I use to keep blaggards out of the propane tanks. I could just store them in the basement and use the cage to keep Mason here in check."

"…That might work. Let me see it."

The Englishman nodded and said something to Mason, who looked up with fear, but nodded and followed Nigel around the back, Tivona following from behind. When they got to the cage, Tivona became convinced that it would serve the purpose. It was cast iron, well maintained, and crossed by several bolts and a combination lock. The top was closed down, welded together, but it would have to be welded some more in order to insure that wolfboy didn't get lose.

"It should do," she informed him, "But, weld the overhead some more. Keep it down."

"Sure, sure," the Brit said, "Now, let me run it by the kid here."

Nigel got down on his knees and stared the boy right in the eyes as he spoke to him in French. For a few moments, the two conversed, making Tivona feel very left out. Why didn't I bother getting French down while they were training me? Finally, Nigel stood up and turned to her, a smile on his lips.

"He says that he'd like to stay here," the Englishman said, "However, he wants an answer to a question."

After no continuation, Tivona became impatient.

"What question?"

"…'Are you an angel?'"

Tivona slept in the hunter's jeep that night near the cage. The werewolf was trumpeting around but, for the most part, contained. Her confidence in this arrangement was growing, but only just. Nigel seemed like a nice man and, yet, he might possibly have an ulterior motive. However, he had done nothing to spark her suspicions so, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

She watched as Mason slammed his body up against the cage, rampaging in his miniature style. It was almost entertaining to watch the midget werewolf rage around. Almost.

With a final sigh, the huntress drifted off into sleep.

Cain limped around the back of the gas station with a grimace. It had been hard, cutting himself down, stealing a car, and then finding the nearest town but, it had been worth it. Now, he stood just a few feet away from his prize werewolf and the woman that had prevented him from collecting his prize.

He limped up to the jeep and quietly took aim. The moonlight came out like fire all of a sudden as the clouds shifted and he received a full look upon her. She was truly beautiful. Cain forced a lump to go down his throat and began to rethink what he was going to do. Smiling, he silently placed his rifle against the ground and reached into his pocket.

A little trick he had picked up in Botswana about werewolves was that they were attracted to sexual heat. And, it just so happens that he had come across a dead succubus while there. Succubae were well known for their lusting abilities with both men and woman, but, it wasn't the aura or the erotic smells that caused both genders to fall to their graces. It was the blood. When it was heated, it caused their infamous effects: lust, desire, and most importantly, sensual heat. While there, he had found that succubus and had nearly gone necrophilia on her corpse. Fortunately, a prostitute had come by and that had managed to get him a nice fuck along with a bagged werewolf. Ever since then, he had carried around a syringe filled with succubus blood. If he couldn't find a spot where the hormones flew, then he would get the hormones flowing.

Leering at the sleeping girl, he slammed his fist into her face, keeping her out for another moment, hopefully. He knew from his past experience with her that she could most definitely kick his ass even if he landed his best punch on her but, considering that she was resting and her defenses were down, he believed that he could knock her out. Theoretically, she should have been alerted by his presence earlier when he had come but, he was a hunter. He was used to being sneaky, even with a limp.

He took the syringe out and pressed down, allowing some of the fluid to go through. He looked up as the wolf began to press harder against his steel cage.

"You'll get your turn soon enough, pal," Cain said as he gripped the girl's arm.

He was about to pump her full of the sweet nectar when he heard the sound of a rifle cocking.

"Drop it, you blaggard," Nigel said as he pointed his weapon at the hunter's head.

Cain backed away and threw the syringe to the ground and, as he flung his arm down, grabbed his rifle and pointed it at the man's head.

"Drop it," they shouted at each other.

"Hey," a feminine voice said, "Where's the party?"

Cain felt the recoil as the Warrioress's leg swept up and kicked his weapon away, along with the loosening of a tooth as she embedded her fist into his skull. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

Tivona sneered down at the body before her.

"You lousy piece of shit," she growled down.

"What'd he try to drug you with," Nigel asked as he set his weapon down against the jeep and knelt down to examine the fluid.

"Don't know," the Warrioress said as she too bent down, "Probably some kind of knockout agent."

"Don't think so," Nigel commented, "He hit you. I saw him, then went for my rifle. Right lucky too, eh?"

Tivona didn't comment. There was something different about the air, she could sense it, but what was it? Sighing, she turned her attention back to Nigel. The second she did, she noticed just how handsome he was. He had rugged, black hair and dazzling blue eyes. She could let herself be wrapped within those eyes all day if she wanted to. He had broad shoulders and a well-toned upper body, not to mention a not-so-unpleasant looking lower body.

She looked up to see that he too was checking her out. Slowly, the two moved closer without realizing it.

"Yeah," Tivona said in a daze, "Lucky."

"Lucky," he asked, not truly remembering his comment of old.

"Lucky you came," she said with a seductive smile, "When he tried to drug…"

Hold on a second. Cain was trying to drug me? And that fluid's all over the ground, in the air…

"Bastard," she cried as she stood up.

"What," Nigel asked, his entrancement still unchanged.

"That prick tried to pump me full of love potion," she said with a grimace, "That's what" she made a big show out of pointing from her to him, "THIS is."

"oh," Nigel said as blood began to rush to his face, "OH."

The two stood there in uncomfortable silence.

"Right," the Englishman muttered, "Maybe I should call the coppers?"

"That'd be great, yeah," the Warrioress muttered as she tried to keep from falling underneath the potion's spell.

Nigel walked back inside his gas station, muttering about the injustice of sex.

"Think that bugger'll be free anytime soon," Nigel asked Tivona the next morning.

Cain was glaring at them from the back of a cop car with two police officers conversing in the front as they began to pull away. The Warrioress wasn't really too involved in their conversation. She was thinking about what could have happened the night before had she not realized what was happening.

"Tivona," the Englishman asked.

"Oh, sorry," she turned back to him, a shy smile on her face, "Just thinking."

"Last night?"

"Right."

"Sorry about that…I mean, I know it wasn't my fault, or yours, for that matter, but still…You know?"

"I know."

"Jolly good. So, guess this is goodbye."

"Guess so, too."

She turned away from the street and walked back over to the jeep she had liberated from the hunter. Mason was leaning against it, a look of confusion upon his face. He asked her something and she instinctively turned to Nigel.

"He's asking why you're leaving," he explained.

"Tell him," she took a moment to consider her explanation, "…Tell him that this angel has work to do."

Nigel smiled at her and spoke to the boy in French. The young boy's eyes lit up in understanding and asked another question.

"For God," Nigel translated.

"Yes," she said with a grin, "For God."

A/N: this is the first chapter of Dawn or, in this case, Tivona's story in the Warrior-verse, as I'm choosing to call it. There will be three to five in total and the next chapter will be in, guess where? That's right! Merry old England, which I plan on visiting sometime soon. Till then, tootles!