LEGAL A/N: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, UPN and the WB. The Dead Zone and all characters belong to Shawn & Michael Piller, Stephen King, Lion's Gate Television and USA Network. No profit is being made off of this and no copyright infringement is intended.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Sequel to Real. Post-BTVS S7 "Chosen" and post-DZ S4 "Vanguard"

11: Sacrifice

Johnny felt a strong tug on his arm. "John!" he heard a loud, familiar voice calling to him, but could only see darkness. "Johnny, wake up!" It was Bruce. Slowly, blurry, dark shapes appeared as his eyelids opened. Then suddenly, he was able to make out every shape and line very clearly, his eyes having adjusted almost instantly to the darkness as soon as he regained full consciousness.

Johnny groaned as he grasped Bruce's outstretched hand. He pulled himself up to a sitting position as he gazed around groggily.

"John, what happened?" Bruce asked with concern.

"Buffy…" he whispered. "Where's Buffy?" Johnny looked around to see the hotel room torn apart, a gaping hole where the front door used to be as the full moon sparkled brightly over the city skyline.

"She's gone," Bruce replied grimly.

"They took her…" Johnny declared with a worried tone. He grasped the edge of one of the beds and pulled himself to his feet. Without hesitance, he stumbled towards the doorway and walked out of the hotel room, gazing out at the parking lot to see nothing but Bruce's rental car parked outside. He yanked his body out of his daze, but could feel himself growing stronger as his raging blood began to boil.

"Johnny, you need to get to a hospital," Bruce said, rushing up to his side. "You're weak."

"No," Johnny breathed as he stared down at his hands. He squeezed his fists together, feeling more powerful than he ever had in his entire life. "I feel… strong."

Bruce stood back and stared at him in a mystified awe, uncertain of the change that he had obviously gone through. There was a fire in his eyes and soul that he'd never seen – especially not recently. Johnny snapped out of it and into action as he began to march down the sidewalk, brushing off his dusty black slacks and navy blue shirt. Bruce gazed around in confusion, then rushed over and followed Johnny down the sidewalk towards Bruce's rental car.

"They're going to kill her," Johnny declared, a cold resolve in his voice. "Stillson and Ethan Rayne are going to use her as a sacrifice."

"We've got time," Bruce observed. "You said she dies in front of that painting, right? Walt's with Buffy's friends right now and he's got NYPD all over the airport looking for Ethan Rayne. There's no way they're getting on a plane to L.A."

Johnny froze, his attention obviously elsewhere. He stared at a magazine rack as Bruce followed his eyesight to the smiling, victorious face of Greg Stillson on a local magazine. "Stillson's speaking at an art gallery," Johnny declared with shock, the puzzle pieces fitting together. He snatched the magazine up with horror as he stared at it in shock. "They moved the painting," he explained as he took off in a dash. "The painting's in New York!"

Buffy was yanked into a gigantic, musty, dark room by three vampires, their eyes a glowing gold light, thick with Ethan's spell. She struggled as much as she could, but could not gather enough strength to pull free. She had been weakened by a needle that they had shoved into her arm, despite her best attempts to fight off the sixteen vampires that were holding her still. Now it only took a handful of vamps to subdue her.

She grunted as she twisted around in their grips, but they eventually dragged her by arm, leg and hair to the center of the room. Buffy hissed and shouted as they pulled her to the ground and ripped her arms apart. Four crushingly strong hands grasped her wrists and dug them into the concrete ground as the Slayer felt the cold vampire flesh being replaced with cold metal.

Buffy stared around into the darkness as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light instantly. She was in the lower level of some sort of crate-filled warehouse and the ceiling was at least another story above her. No light from the sky was to be seen anywhere in the room as the vampires stepped back away from her. Buffy tried to stand but was yanked back down.

Buffy looked down at the floor and made out chains running from the cement ground to the iron shackles around her wrists. She could hear the creaky hinges of a door in the distance as it swung open. The room was suddenly flooded with light. She squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, and then opened them to see that her predictions were correct – she was inside a storage warehouse beneath an art museum.

Crates were stacked all along the walls, but had clearly been moved aside for something major. Buffy was near the center of the clearing, chained to the floor with shackles. On the floor around her, a large, ornate, circular symbol 30 feet in diameter was painted on the cement. In the absolute center of the circle, a ten-foot, crimson, highly-polished statue of a bony, lanky, bald demon with a widely agape mouth brandishing two rows of jagged teeth. The face of the demon was freakishly outstretched, reminiscent of Van Gogh's 'Scream,' and the body, yet muscular arms ended out with long, bony fingers with sharp claws at the end. One arm was extended towards the heavens while the other reached out for all who dared to gaze upon such a terrifying and kingly sight. A bizarre symbol was carved into the muscular chest of the demon – an eye in the middle of a pyramid. The only color besides a deep, high-gloss red was its two ebony-black eyes that glared at those who cowered beneath the statue.

"Ms. Summers," a casual voice declared from behind her. Buffy turned around to see a tall, lanky man in a black suit and tie with slightly long brown hair that was neatly combed back. He walked up to her smoothly, without a care in the world and in complete control of every situation, and extended his hand out to the demon statue. "May I introduce you to Utarefson."

Buffy didn't turn back around to face the creepy statue. It felt too real. Too alive as it is. Buffy's unfortunate past experiences with demon statues led her to believe that soon enough, it would be.

Instead, Buffy's attention was focused on Janus' ring – a red ring with a pyramid and an eye in the center. That answered one question.

"Who the hell are you?" Buffy demanded.

"Now is not the time to forget your manners, Ms. Summers," Janus replied. "But forgive me for forgetting my own. My name is Malcolm Janus. I've brought you here to help me."

"What have you done to me?" she spat in fury.

"Nothing permanent," Janus explained. "Nothing you haven't been subjected to before. An organic compound of muscle relaxers and adrenal suppressors." Buffy eyes widened as she recognized the answer from her past. Janus stared at her with a small smile, knowing that she knew exactly what was wrong with her and that it terrified her. "I believe it was used by the Watchers Council previously for a test. Not sure about all that, though."

Buffy's face grew darker as she began to face her grim reality. "I'm powerless," she whispered to herself.

"Look at me," Janus smiled. "I'm just wasting time. Let me introduce you to the man you're really anxious to meet." Janus stepped out of the way as Buffy looked up at a handsome blonde man strolling towards her wearing a navy blue suit and red tie. The recognition of his face sent chills across her skin and down her spine. It was him.

"So here's the lovely lady everyone's been talking about," Greg Stillson declared as he slithered towards her with the utmost charm. He smirked ravishingly at her as he glanced her up and down. "I'd like to thank you for contributing to my campaign."

Buffy gazed at him in silent – stunned into awe with her overwhelming feeling of disgust. "You're the one," she said in bewilderment as she shook her head with pity. "You're the one who's responsible."

Stillson paused, staring at her confusedly as he tried to figure out how to react. He then let out a bemused chuckle. "Shoulda known," Stillson sighed. "All you Smith fans are nuts."

"You're never going to win," Buffy spat. "Johnny's going to stop you."

"You leave Johnny Smith to me!" he shouted in a sudden fit of rage. Janus gave him a chastising look and Stillson tried to calm himself down.

"You think just because you're all dressed up in fancy clothes this thing's going to want to possess you?" Buffy spat with a disbelieving laugh. "Get real. You're nothing but a weak, worthless little prick—"

The back of Stillson's hand stingingly connected with the side of her face and she was silenced in astonishment of how much it hurt. Images shot through her mind of Stillson in youth and burned inside her skull as badly as those of Armageddon did. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to contain the pain. Buffy balled up her fists and opened her eyes, glaring at him lividly.

"See?" she smiled angrily. "You have to chain me to the floor to beat me. Weakness." Stillson glared at her as she continued, his insides boiling. "Your father knew it. Everyone here knows it. And you know it to." She stared at him defiantly as she declared, "You're a lot of things, but you'll never be a god."

He glanced over at Buffy with dangerous eyes as he gazed at her, reveling in her vulnerability and helplessness. Just having him stare at her made Buffy sick to her stomach.

"Silly girl," he grinned. "I am god." Buffy stared at him quietly as his twisted smile stretched. "Soon," Stillson whispered with a maniacal tone. His eyes gazed down to the left side of her neck, her long, blonde, wavy locks curtaining it. He pushed back the golden strands of her hair and gazed down at her neck, his fingers brushing her flesh.

Buffy saw a dust cloud covering an open plane. In the endless cloud, the figure of a woman that had just regained consciousness appeared. She was a thin, short, gentle-looking, brown-skinned girl with dark, doe eyes and long, dark hair. She stumbled along and gazed around in terror, her face bloody and bruised.

Out of the mist beside her, another young girl about the same age, with dark skin and the same, bloody bewildered look gazed out at the devastation. Next to her, two more girls, a blonde and a red-head stumbled out of the dust cloud. After that, dozens of more young girls of all races, shapes and sizes could be seen wandering around with terrified expressions and cries of help.

Buffy opened her eyes in confusion as she stared up at Stillson. She looked over at Janus who watched her carefully. "We survive," she declared, stunned. "Slayers survive." Buffy gazed down at the floor as her mind raced through her memories, "That's why Willow's spell worked… That's why we were able to turn the Potentials into Slayers… We were meant to. There had to be more than one."

"What are you talking about?" Stillson scoffed.

Buffy didn't pay him any attention. Her mind was deep in contemplation as she continued speaking to herself, "The human race has to evolve to survive. That's what we are, Johnny and I. Evolution." She shook her head in astonishment. "Life always finds a way."

Buffy looked up at Stillson with a new, terrible thought in her mind. "Wait," she said to herself in confusion. "That doesn't make sense. It's not over? Killing me won't stop it… Why did Cordelia—?"

"Enough of this," Stillson snapped, shaking his head in frustrated confusion. "I've got a speech to give." He turned around and marched out of the warehouse as Ethan Rayne entered, wearing a black robe.

"I told you this wasn't finished, Slayer," Ethan grinned as he glared at her angrily. "Now you're all grow'd up. And you've never been more powerless."

An unknown man in a black suit and tie matching Janus' but with dark sunglasses approached Janus and whispered into his ear. Janus turned to Ethan and declared, "We have a situation. It seems Mr. Knox is dead."

"Pity," Ethan answered without the slightest care. There's not a bloody thing anyone can do now." Buffy gazed up at him witheringly without the slightest clue of how to save the world.

Xander walked up to the hotel room door as they heard loud, continuous banging. "I'm coming!" Xander shouted as he opened the door. "I'm — eh… great googly-moogly!" He found himself staring into the cold, angry face of Angel who stood in a dark grey suit and white shirt, staring at him irately.

"Giles," Angel said casually.

"Angel," Giles responded, coming to a stand as he, Willow, Dawn and Walt looked over at the door. "What happened?"

"Been busy lately?" Angel glowered. "I've been trying to call."

"What's with the 'tude?" Xander shrugged coolly. "No kiss, no hug?" In a flash, Angel reached out and grabbed Xander by the collar, pulling him towards him lividly.

"Angel!" Willow snapped as she came to a defensive stand. "Let him go," she quietly demanded.

Angel considered her threat as he gazed into Xander's eye and then shoved him away. Xander pulled himself together as Angel turned to Giles fiercely. "My friend died today," Angel hissed. "A very horrible death. Now I can't get her back. I would've told you this before, but you seemed to be busy. Couldn't get a hold of you for backup."

"I'm sorry," Giles answered honestly with compassion. "But what do you want me to say?"

"What I want you to say," Angel repeated. He strolled inside without the need of an invite as he continued with a sarcastic, angry smile and light-hearted tone. "Well, you see," he began, "I've been retracing my steps, rechecking the loyalty of my employees, trying to figure out where I went wrong and it all seems to lead back here to this city. I'd like you to tell me why you're all sitting on your asses tonight while Utarefson is being raised?" He looked over at Walt with a glare. "And who the hell are you?"

"Utarefson!" Giles repeated with deep concern. "Good lord…"

"Why is that bad?" Dawn asked.

Giles answered, "They need the blood of the Slayer to bring him forth."

"But not just any Slayer," Willow added. "I'm guessing one who's been tasted four times already?"

"Buffy?" Walt suggested in confusion.

"Buffy?" Angel repeated.

"Wait," Xander shook his head, "Buffy hasn't been…" He paused and began to count on his fingers until he got to four. "The Master, Dracula, Spike…"

"And me," Angel declared with growing concern.

"Oh," Xander answered. "I guess that's four."

"Oh, no!" Willow exclaimed. "She's the sacrifice!"

Walt's cell phone rang as he answered in, pulling away from the conversation as Dawn turned to Angel and rambled an explanation, "She ran away from a mental institution, then she came here, then she got lost with some psychic, then… it's a really long story."

"That was Bruce," Walt announced, hanging up the phone. "They're at the art museum on Ninth and Forty-Second."

Buffy pulled and struggled with her chains, but remained in her locked down position. She looked up as Janus exited the room, leaving Ethan alone. "Children of Utarefson," Ethan declared, outstretching his arms. "I call you forth now."

The double doors opened as a dozen vampires of all shapes and sizes entered the room. Each of them already vamped-out, they dazedly wandered in with a zombie-like expression. Their yellow eyes were glowing a gold color, the symbol of Ethan's hold on the demon inside of them.

Buffy gazed at them fearfully as Ethan signaled them around the circle. The twelve vampires moved to their positions around the ornate circular symbol as Ethan took his place at the head of the circle, facing Utarefson's statue. Buffy was chained to the floor in between Ethan and Utarefson.

"What's an Utarefson?" Walt asked as he sat in the back of Giles' rental SUV. Angel sat in the passenger's seat while Walt, Dawn, Willow and Xander remained in the back.

Giles answered, manning the steering wheel in the front, "The mythological god of all vampires. The first of their kind. According to legend, he is the purest and most perfect of them all."

"Legend?" Walt repeated.

"For thousands of years, that's all he's been believed to be," Giles replied.

"If this guy's so perfect," Xander asked, "why haven't I heard of him before?"

"Supposedly," Angel added, "he got fed up with the way the vampire race was becoming. So in an instant he just left, no one's really sure how or where he went. That's why people really haven't believed in him. They believe the whole thing goes along with the theory that modern vampires have become too civilized. Too human. Too detached from their inner demons."

"As if they're not scary enough," Dawn sighed.

Willow asked, "So they believed Utarefson was just some scary daytime story to tell vampires so they'll get back to their roots?"

"Precisely," Giles continued, with a nod. "The myth states that one could actually resurrect the god and possess a host with its divinity, if the host proved itself worthy. If successful, the host would become, in essence, the most perfect vampire in existence. He would be invincible."

"Okay, so let's say somebody tried to bring him back," Walt asked, still with a shred of disbelief. "What would 'the host' have to do?"

"There's a series of stages that they have to undergo to become possessed by Utarefson," Angel replied. "If it's incomplete, it won't work."

"So how do we do that?" Willow asked.

Giles sighed, shaking his head at a loss. "It is unclear."

Inside the art museum, a crowd of a hundred of New York's elite was gathered with champagne glasses and beautiful clothes inside the banquet hall, completely unaware of what was going on beneath them. A podium was set up with Greg Stillson's name posted across it and immaculate lighting for perfect picture opportunities.

In a hallway leading to the banquet hall, Janus and Stillson stood with secret security all around. Greg was busy fixing his tie and checking himself in a mirror being held out for him by a lovely, female assistant whom he was sure he had slept with at least once, but couldn't quite remember her name.

"Thank you, darling," he nodded to her, and she took her cue to leave. He turned to Janus. "Is everything on schedule?"

"The ritual has already begun," Janus answered. "Our security team has completely blocked off the north wing. No one but us will be going down into the storage unit below."

"What's the plan?"

"Promptly after your inspiring speech," Janus explained, "you will exit the banquet hall and proceed with security down to the lower level gallery and straight to the storage unit." Stillson turned as he caught a glimpse of two, beefy men at least a foot taller than he was wearing black suits and ties – part of their security team. One of them turned to him as Stillson could catch a slight glimpse of a flash of gold light in his eyes.

"I assume we have a secret service helping us tonight?" Stillson asked.

"Vampires," Janus replied. "They're slaves to Ethan's words. They belong to us."

"The best situation, I might say," Stillson smiled. He straightened his jacket as he heard his name being announced outside.

"Ladies and gentlemen… the future of our nation – Greg Stillson!"

Stillson pushed open the doors and marched out, receiving the endless applause given to him by his adoring fans. With a practiced smile of charm and grace, he strolled up to the podium like a king among peasants. Soon he would be a god among ants.

"Slow down, Andrew!" Willow said as she held her cell phone for all to hear. Andrew Wells spoke to the car passengers through the speakerphone from England.

"Please," Giles added. "Now explain it once more… We haven't much time."

"Right, right," they heard Andrew's tiny voice replying nervously. He was flipping through the pages of old texts back in England, reading and reciting furiously. "The-There's a number of stages you have to go through for this to work. First, the possession - 'the demon shall enter and instantly begin to kill the host unless it is made clean with the blood of the lamb.'"

"Let's just scratch the lamb title and call her Buffy," Xander declared.

Angel asked, "What's next?"

"Second, the slaughter," Andrew explained. "'The host consumes the blood of the lamb… or, er, Buffy – but the host now must prove himself worthy to Utarefson.'"

"Self-righteous jerk," Xander scoffed, under his breath.

"Third," said Andrew, "the sacrifice of hatred. The host has to kill someone out of pure hate. This begins a countdown, sorta. Fourth is the transformation. 'The host begins to lose his soul as the demon inside becomes a god.' This is the last time at which the host can be killed before…'" The words faded away as Andrew stared at the page with fear.

"Before what?" Walt asked, frustrated.

"Andrew, go on," Dawn snapped.

"Sorry," he answered, his tone much darker. "The last phase is the ascension. 'The host becomes the god Utarefson, soulless, invincible, immortal and perfect in all ways. No being, living or dead, can defeat him.'"

"We can't let it come to that," Willow declared with resolve.

"You guys need to run," Andrew slowly added. "Your mission is futile."

"What?" Dawn exclaimed in shock.

"Thanks, Kirk," Xander scoffed. "I think we've got it from here."

"This will be worse than any demon ascension," Andrew exclaimed with worry. "When this guy Vader's out, everything within a fifty-mile radius of the epicenter will be gone. If you're there, you'll die."

Giles turned to Angel and the others, the passengers of the car giving each other grim looks of anxiety. "Leaving is not a luxury at our disposal," Giles answered.

"Do we have to kill the host once the ritual's begun?" Walt asked.

"No, the host can actually be saved by a… kind of an exorcism," Andrew answered, reading on. "But it's sketchy. 'A sacrifice of hatred shall bring him forth and a sacrifice of love shall cast him out.'"

"Oh," Xander rolled his eyes in disgust. "That is so cliché."

"And what is a journey?" Stillson gently declared with a charming grin. His admiring guests watched him, hypnotized by his handsomeness, smooth voice and admirable features. "Is it simply distance traveled? Time spent?"

He gazed around at them all. "No," he smiled, shaking his head simply. He gripped the podium and announced with an emotional declaration, "It is what happens on the way. The things that happen to you. And at the end of the journey, you're not the same."

Johnny Smith peered fiercely at Stillson from the back of the room as he slipped past security, Bruce Lewis behind him every step of the way. The psychic was wearing a navy blue blazer that he had swiped from the coat room to appear more presentable to the crowd as he tried to move his way through it unnoticed. Johnny glanced over at Stillson from across the room with a pent-up, burning rage as Greg smoothly pronounced his speech probably written by some kid Buffy's age. "Today," Stillson declared firmly, "is about change. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing—"

Stillson's eyes found Johnny's and locked on him, a sudden feeling of alarm coming over the politician. He looked over at two security guards and signaled them into the crowd. The guards leapt into the crowd, pushing past people to get to Johnny while they shouted into their radios, causing a stir among the guests. Johnny turned to see the vampires headed towards him, then attempted to rush away towards the back.

Bruce looked over at Johnny, then towards the oncoming security. He suddenly made a decision and jumped up on a chair nearby. "Hey!" Bruce shouted, his voice distracting all in the room as the vamps approached. "Everyone! Let's give it up for Greg Stillson!" He began to clap wildly and hoot, "That was a great speech, man! Who else thinks so?"

His clapping grew slower as people gave him strange, quiet, motionless stares until his claps were non-existent. "No?" he quietly added, gazing around and soaking up the strange glares. The vampires approached him as he sighed, rolling his eyes, "Okay…"

Bruce pulled his fist back and punched one of the guards. His hand felt as if it was going to break, but that didn't stop him from tackling the other guard. Screams erupted as the crowd backed away from the fight as more guards rushed Bruce.

The vampire guards standing outside the doors of the museum turned back towards the shouts coming from inside. The call for backup sounded out on their radios, but the seven guards standing outside had troubles of their own.

Lightning flashed in front of them as a woman marched up the cement stairs to the front door, her hair blowing white in the night wind. "No, really," Willow smiled as they stared at her in awe. "I'm here for the convention."

Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see Xander, Dawn and Giles jump out of practically nowhere and rush them from the sides. The seven guards vamped out, their eyes glowing gold as they took on the four Scoobies. While the guards were distracted, Angel and Walt dropped down from the awning over the front doors, both of them going through the doors undetected.

"Utarefson!" Ethan boomed. "Hear my call!" A fierce gust of wind began to blow through the warehouse as the twelve vampires lifted their heads up to the sky. Suddenly, they each exploded into a cloud of dust that was taken up and carried off with the wind. The swirling clouds of vampire remains encircled the statue and when they came in contact, the red demon statue began to glow. A low, monotone groan could be heard throughout the warehouse.

The lights flickered inside of the lobby as Angel and Walt ran through it and up to the doorway of the banquet hall where they could hear shouting. They stopped in the doorway to see the chaotic scene. Walt saw Bruce being dragged away by three vamp guards, while Angel spotted the good congressman from Maine sneaking out into a hallway, being flanked by several black-suited guards.

"You know him?" Angel asked.

"Yep," Walt answered. "I'll help him—" Angel already was holding out a stake to Walt. The sheriff stared down at the wooden shaft in confusion and bewilderment, trying with everything he had inside of him to tell himself that this really wasn't happening. "Huh?"

"In the heart," Angel ordered as Walt took the stake and stared at it strangely. "Don't miss." Like a valiant stallion, he was off into the crowd as he rushed over to a wall and pulled the fire alarm.

Sirens rang out and lights flashed everywhere as the unsettled crowd broke into panic and began to stampede out of the doors. Angel ran through the crowd, disappearing down the hallway where he saw Stillson exit while Walt rushed over to Bruce's aid.

Inside the storage warehouse, Ethan paused and gazed around the room as the lights began to flash and sirens began to howl. The other remaining vampire guards looked around in confusion, the wind whipping their black jackets fiercely. "Take care of it!" Ethan barked at them, and the guards rushed off leaving Buffy and Ethan alone.

She glared up at him lividly as she appeared to be at rest in her crouching position on the floor. "We finally get to be alone," Buffy declared as Ethan stared down at her, the wind blowing their clothes harshly. "Now you can tell me how you fooled Stillson into thinking you were playing on his team."

"He's a politician," Ethan grinned. "They're always only thinking of themselves anyway."

"And you're not?" Buffy scoffed. "That's what this is all about – you. This spell you're working? It was never for Stillson, was it? It was for you."

"Since when do I care if some country bumpkin from Maine gets elected President?" Ethan spat in disgust. "Do you think that is the kind of being worthy enough for Utarefson? The only thing he'll probably ever amount to is another Washington scandal ended by a self-induced bullet to the temple. Utarefson's is the power of the gods! That is a power no ordinary man can handle! Utarefson will only grace a true Champion."

"You're calling yourself a Champion?"

"I am a Champion," Ethan declared. "For the Powers of Darkness as you are for the Powers of Light. And in just a few moments, with your blood – I will be the Champion. The only one left standing."

"If I were to die, Armageddon wouldn't happen the way we saw it," Buffy concluded. "Because you would have your own Apocalypse."

"Precisely," he grinned. The wind picked up speed all around them as the room began to flash with red lightning as if a million fireworks were all around.

"There's just one problem with your planning," Buffy hissed with a half-smile.

"What?"

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon." She glared at him dangerously as a sudden look of worry came across his expression. "The difference between you and me is that I tend to get over my issues," Buffy explained. "Emotional and physical." With a thrust, she stood up and broke the chains, only leaving the shackles behind. Ethan gazed at her wide-eyed as she came to a defensive stand. Buffy soaked in his terrified expression, but it suddenly transformed into one of maniacal glee.

"I had hoped we would do it this way," Ethan grinned. He extended his hand out and electrocuted her with a force of magic from his arm. Buffy was thrown back several feet to the base of Utarefson. Groggily, she stared up at him as a sword suddenly appeared in his hands – one too familiar to be forgotten that burned in her memory.

"The Sword of Acathla," Ethan grinned, pleased as he brandished it. "The exact one that you used to kill the man that you love." He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Ah… that was always my favorite of your adventures. Well, anyway, I found it befitting to pierce your wretched corpse a while before I sacrifice you."

"A sacrifice of hatred," Buffy remembered.

"And the slaughter of the lamb," Ethan declared. "Two birds with one sword. And I believe I'm strong enough to beat you to a pulp before Utarefson awakens and takes the one of us who offers himself up."

"How do you know he won't pick me?" Buffy asked. "I'm cuter."

"Well," Ethan shrugged. "You'll be too busy screaming." He reared back his fist ferociously and punched Buffy, knocking her across the room.

Walt grabbed Bruce and pulled him away from his vampire attackers. He was still clinging onto the stake protectively, but had no idea of how to use it. "Bruce!" he called. "We've got to get out of here." Walt pulled back his fist and slammed it into the jaw of a vamp guard. Suddenly, the guard turned back around and roared at Walt in vamp-face. The sheriff stared at him, bewildered, and suddenly understood everything.

He gazed down at the tiny stake. "Screw this," he spat, pulling out his .45 pistol and shooting the vamp guard in the kneecap.

Johnny ran down a hallway leading to a flight of stairs that would take him down to the lower level. He came to an intersection of hallways and turned around, glancing behind him when he felt his body collide with another person.

Johnny was standing with a broadsword raised high in the air. He was in some sort of dark, abandoned building and Cordelia, with straight, short, black hair at her chin was lying unconsciously and pregnant at his feet, dressed from head to toe in black clothing. She grimaced in pain as he raised the sword higher, his heart nearly breaking. He couldn't bring it down.

Johnny was then standing in some sort of fancy, temple-like building with wide, marble floors and pillars. Wes was standing on one side of him with the platinum blonde vampire named Spike standing on the other side. In front of him, a thinly-framed woman with pale skin, long, blue-and-black hair, and bright blue eyes peered at him with alien-like curiosity, wearing a black-and-red, skintight bodysuit. He felt his stomach sicken as he stared at her, knowing that she could not walk around on this Earth alive.

He snapped out of it and turned around, facing a man he'd seen at the start of his journey in one of his visions. "Angel," Johnny exclaimed, staring at him bewildered. Angel stared at him strangely as well, as if he had sensed the vision too. Another meeting of two Champions.

Angel gazed up at Johnny peculiarly, almost as if he recognized him in some strange way. "Do I know you?" he asked. Johnny stared at him in silence as he considered the last two visions. What did they have to do with anything? But it didn't matter right at that moment.

They turned to see a handful of vamped-out security guards running towards them. Johnny turned to Angel with an all-business face. "Cover me," he ordered. "I'll get to Buffy." The vampire stared at him with a bizarre sense of trust, as if he knew this stranger before him.

He nodded at Johnny. "Go." Angel turned towards the oncoming vampires as Johnny rushed off down the staircase.

"Keep Stillson out of the basement!" Johnny called back as he disappeared down the flight of stairs. Angel took on the first row of vampires, knocking them out swiftly while retrieving a stake and dusting another.

Buffy was thrown through the double doors of the warehouse where the statue was left as it began to glow brighter than before. She crashed through the doors and into a closed-off wing of the gallery, landing hard on the tiled floor. Ethan came charging at her with the sword in hand as she lifted up her leg and kicked him across the face. He grabbed her by the ankle and threw her into another wall.

She came to a stand and kicked him in the stomach, ducking out of the way of a swing of Acathla's sword. She couldn't dodge the force of Ethan's powerful fist as he punched her into a clay statue on display as she and it came crashing to the ground. She looked over at it with exclamation and regret.

"Ooh… sorry…" she said, staring at the destroyed antique.

Giles cut off the head of the last vampire with his battle axe as he gazed up at the sky, the clouds brewing and spinning above their heads. He heard a strange metalic creaking noise and looked down to see it coming from his wristwatch. The hands of the watch were wildly spinning around all the numbers. "It's beginning," he announced. "Utarefson is coming." The other three stopped and gazed up at the sky with anxious expressions. They headed inside the lobby without any further hesitation, but were stopped by a new gang of vampires inside.

Willow sighed as she glared at the new obstacle. "Come on, Johnny. Stop this from happening."

Stillson swiftly marched down the hallway towards the basement when one of the guards in his entourage was snatched away and dusted instantly. Stillson turned around in shock to see Angel standing before him with stake in hand.

"Senator," he nodded politely, and then proceeded to attack the other three vampires with him.

"This is the end for you, Slayer," Ethan Rayne declared as Buffy came to a bloody and beaten stand, weakened severely with broken shackles on her wrists. The two of them squared off again and prepared for the next and last round of their fight.

"You can't defeat me!" he shouted with fury. Buffy charged at him as he punched at her. She blocked his punch and delivered two of her own. Buffy spun around and kicked him square in the chest, knocking him against a wall, but this didn't defer him any. He shoved his elbow into her face and back-fisted her, knocking her backwards and spinning her into landing on her stomach.

As Buffy pushed herself off of the ground, she felt a sharp stab in her back. She gasped and gazed down at the end of the sword piercing her stomach. Ethan twisted the sword inside of her, and then ripped it out violently, reveling in her agony.

She stumbled as she faced him and fell to her knees in utter pain. Ethan gazed down, victorious over her as he pulled back the sword and aimed for her neck. The Slayer gazed up at him in a daze as if the world was about to fall away from her and could slowly see the sharp, bloody blade of the sword headed for the left side of her throat. Buffy suddenly leaned to the right, the sword passing over her head.

She came to a stand with the last of her strength and ripped the sword away from Ethan. He stared up at her in horror as she pulled the sword back and decapitated him in the blink of an eye. The two parts of his body fell to the floor as Buffy slowly drifted down to her knees again as Johnny entered the room.

"No!" he shouted as he caught her before she hit the floor. "No…" he whispered as he gazed down at her bloody and broken state. Buffy looked up at him with a warm smile.

"I didn't…" she began, struggling to form her words. "I didn't… think that I'd ever see you again." Johnny sank to the floor cradling her in his arms.

"Buffy," he said, shaking his head. He was getting that familiar losing feeling again.

When the last vampire had been dusted, Angel turned to Stillson with a grin on his face. Angel pulled back his fist and punched Stillson in the face, throwing him backwards. He hit the ground as Angel slowly strolled up to him. Greg looked up at the wall to see a red button sticking out and his eyes found a metal railing across the ceiling in the hallway.

"I think now's a good time for me to establish my civic duties," Angel began casually and he walked up to Stillson. "Let me start by suggesting a few changes that should be made to the system." Stillson leapt up and slammed his hand down on the button. In a flash, a metal gate came down between Angel and Stillson, locking the vampire out and providing the congressman direct access to the stairwell.

Angel gazed at the gate in shock. Suddenly, he could hear Walt's voice calling to him from down the hallway, "Angel!" He turned around towards the direction of the voice, then turned back to Stillson.

"Looks like you haven't got the time," he grinned victoriously. "I sure as hell don't." Stillson turned and ran towards the staircase, leaving Angel locked out on the other side of the gate.

Now both the warehouse and the gallery were glowing red as the double doors whipped around in the strong wind coming from the statue. Johnny paid it no attention. He sat there with the love of his life in his arms, caressing her face as blood began to form at the corner of her mouth. He wiped it away, staring at it in disbelief.

"You have to kill me," Buffy whispered to him. He stared down at her in shock. "I killed Ethan. I already made a sacrifice of hatred. Utarefson's going to come for me… You can't let that happen."

"Buffy," he shook his head. He said the same thing that he knew to be true for a very long time. "I-I can't…"

"Please…" she cried in agony, her face twisting with pain. "I don't want walk around without a soul." She took another slow breath. "I don't want to be a monster."

Johnny walked over to her, watching carefully as she stared at her Dark Willow in disgust and terror before she looked away suddenly, unable to stand the sight of someone that meant so much to her become such a horrible monster.
Johnny stared down at Buffy in confusion as the random memory flashed through his mind. "I didn't want to kill him," Buffy shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. "I don't know what came over me. I'm… I'm sorry."

"Come to get me? Gonna feed me to Angel? You know you're never gonna take me alive."

"Not a problem," Buffy declared with angry eyes, the eyes of a brutal killer.

Johnny shook the memory out of his mind. "Shh," he comforted as he held her tightly. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is," she softly whispered. "The world's still going to end. If not by Stillson… then by me."

"How can you possibly help?" he heard Buffy ask.
"I can help," Johnny affirmed. "I can stop him. We can stop him together."

Buffy looked up at him with a grim, knowing expression as tears rolled down her face. "I think it's time to say goodbye now," Buffy whispered. Johnny gazed at her, dumbfounded. She was dying… now. He had done nothing to change the future. Nothing made sense anymore.

"No," he softly replied, shaking his head. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," Buffy answered, forcing a half-smile on her face.

"You can't… I can't let you… I-I… need you…"

Buffy looked down at the floor with a sigh of despair. Her head lifted up to face her friends as Johnny viewed her moment of pain. "It's not just the memories they built. It's physical. Dawn… is a part of me. The only part that I—"

Her words were the screams coming from his broken heart.

"You don't need me," she smiled warmly. "I have to do this alone." The ringing of her last word brought him to a sustained pause. He stared down into her eyes as the memories of himself standing over a pregnant Cordelia with a sword in hand and in the temple staring at the demon woman with Spike and Wes flashed through his mind.

"So here's the part where you make a choice," Buffy declared.
Johnny gazed at her, and then turned around with an awed expression as he gazed at the statue of Utarefson as bright red clouds of mist began to float out of its mouth and drift towards Johnny and Buffy. The answer was so clear. He turned back towards Buffy with an expression of resolve.

"You're not alone," he declared, gripping her tightly. "I'll protect you." Buffy stared up at him in amazement with worshipping eyes as he leaned down and kissed her goodbye. They shared a bittersweet moment that seemed to last an eternity – a small fraction of what they wanted. "I love you, Buffy," he declared, gazing at her in peace. He pulled away from her and came to a determined stand.

"No…" she breathed, reaching for him. Johnny turned around and faced the mist with a defiant glare.

"Take me," he ordered. In a flash, the cloud burst and shot through Johnny's chest, the spirit of Utarefson entering his body. The lights exploded all around the gallery and warehouse as Johnny howled with torturing pain.

He fell to his knees as the demon entered his body, his chest heaving rapidly as his heart beat sped up to a dangerous rate. Johnny stared down at his chest and pulled open his shirt, revealing a burst of flame searing his skin. Buffy watched helplessly, but no longer thought of her own pain. She reached out to her suffering boyfriend as she pushed herself off the ground.

"Johnny!" she called as the last of the mist entered his body completely. The flame burned Utarefson's eye-in-the-pyramid symbol into Johnny's chest, replacing the cross symbol left behind from his previous vision. He fell forward to his hands and knees as he struggled to breathe, but could not keep himself still. His body began to convulse slowly and he felt as if his organs were melting.

Buffy crawled to him as Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the agonizing pain to end. "No!" she screamed as she grabbed him and pulled him to a stand. "I won't let you die!"

Without another thought in her mind, she grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face into the left side of her throat with enough force that she drew her own blood. Blood poured from her wound into his mouth as his heart began to slow down. He felt himself drifting away from the world, getting farther and farther until he recognized that it was blood he was tasting.

He wanted to pull away. But he couldn't. The thing inside of him was stirring and awakening. The blood of the lamb was being consumed. Johnny's eyes suddenly popped open – his irises black as night.

In a flash he clasped Buffy's arms and pulled her closer as he buried his fangs even deeper into her throat, causing her to cry out a bit. The last of her strength was fleeting from her quickly as she grabbed onto his back in pain. His heart began to speed up as he drank her blood, his own blood rushing rapidly through every part of his body.

The rush was so intense that he did not realize that Buffy was losing her grip on him or that she was even Buffy at all. The images around him became blurry and undistinguishable. He barely even recognized La Musique Aux Tuileries hanging on the wall, or why it was important to him in the first place.

Buffy whimpered in torment, her fingers tightening as she scratched her nails helplessly across the back of her attacker, tearing four slashes into the back of his navy blue blazer. Blood poured down Buffy's shoulder as her head rolled back and she fell into her attacker's arms.

Johnny held her; still biting her on the neck for a few more moments until her body finally fell out of his arms and landed on the ground, her wound dripping with crimson life.

Johnny also fell to his hands and knees as he gazed down at the floor, his hands shaking. The images around him suddenly became clear – very clear. He looked up at the world with demonic, blacked-out eyes as he gazed at the sharp colors and lines of La Musique aux Tuileries… memories coming back into his skull. He looked down at Buffy, who lay motionlessly before him with his eyes closed.

Johnny froze, not being able to pull his eyes away from the awful sight. He stared at the wound – the same he'd seen before in his visions – made by his own jaws. He gazed disgustedly at the blood draining from her lifeless body and cringed with an enormous amount of sorrow and regret. He wanted to shout and die all at once. He had destroyed the only thing left that belonged to him… the one good thing that had happened to him in a long time.

He felt his heart tear into a thousand pieces. This was his destiny – to be alone. It was his actions that led him here. He gazed at Buffy, shaking his head in terror and heartbreak. A very human part of himself had died with her. There was a cold, livid, blood-thirsty vengeful demon left behind.

Slowly, the sadness disappeared from his eyes. A fiery sickness darkened his already ebony eyes that slowly burned inconsolably. The only thing left was an astounding abhorrence for those responsible.

Buffy, wearing a knee-length, baby blue jacket, leaned over the body of a dead teenage girl with brown skin and a slash across her throat. Johnny stared at the body ominously as Buffy's heart broke. He stared down at her as tears welled up in her eyes.

Johnny gazed down at Buffy's body, feeling the same emotions that she had felt when she found Kendra – wanting more than anything in the entire world to punish the two people accountable. Greg Stillson… and himself.