Fury of the Beast 23

Author: Nick

Disclaimer: The World of Darkness and all of its myriad denizens belong to White Wolf, and Xander, the Watcher's Council, and related things belong to Mutant Enemy. I own some of the concepts and characters, but I'm still not making any money off of this.

I know you guys have been waiting for this, so here you go, I hope you all enjoy it.

Wolfram Hart, Head Office, somewhere in the multiverse

"What do you mean he escaped?" General Kyannar roared. "I gave all of you orders that he would never leave until he died! Do you have any idea what he can do?"

The other, now seven remaining, members of the board flinched. When Kyannar didn't like you, you tended to die. When he got upset, somebody usually ended up dead, sometimes randomly, sometimes not. With Kyannar downright angry now, it was nearly certain. Somebody was going to be worked over, probably a very long session in the deepest, darkest hole Kyannar could find.

As bad and dangerous as it was, working under Kyannar, usually he didn't kill someone just because you delivered bad news to him. He often killed you for being stupid or for not giving your best. In the case of the previous kill at this very board, the angelic one, Zephon, had been working against Kyannar in his own plot to take the head of the resources of Wolfram and Hart. His death was not only a dismissal of Zephon's position and power, it was also a message to the others conspirators. Kyannar was not to be trifled with.

Kyannar, his features rippling as his illusion of humanity threatened to fail, sat down in his chair at the head and glared at the other figures. More calmly, he spoke quietly. "What happened? How did he get loose? And I don't want to hear any excuses, Malfor."

The demon made of volcanic rock stood up. "Lord Kyannar, Alleron escaped when the Devil Lord Nicholas infiltrated your chambers and killed the guards. Your troops suffered fifty percent casualties in the ensuing chaos, and it seems Nicholas also robbed one of your soul repositories."

Kyannar grumbled, hissing out. "How many were stolen from me?"

Malfor cleared his throat, and continued. "About five thousand, my lord. It's not a large loss compared to your total number of three hundred million, but it's unlikely you'll ever retrieve those souls. Nicholas absorbed them immediately. With him dead, they've no doubt scattered throughout the realms by now."

Kyannar stood from his chair, stabilizing his illusion. He clenched his fists, his body shaking with a mixture of rage, and fear. "They're of no import." Turning to the devil with a pitchfork, he spoke. "Manakel, I will require bounty hunters on Alleron's head. The bounty will be one million souls."

Manakel's eyes widened. One million souls was enough to transform a minor demon, say a vampire spirit, into a demon lord, ruling his own kingdom. While demon lords were not as powerful as Devil Lords, it was a tempting offer indeed. "Understood, my lord. I will put the word out across the dimensions."

Kyannar nodded. "Good. Now, get out. All of you have jobs to do."

The other seven devils stood from their seats and shuffled out, closing huge, black, basalt doors as they left. Kyannar sat back in his chair, rubbing his face. He lifted his head as he felt another presence in the room with him. Tilting his head back a bit, he spoke. "So, you've finally decided to show up, huh?"

A beautiful, but inhuman, figure walked into his view. The figure was a succubus, created to tempt all creatures into acts of carnality. Scowling, Kyannar stood up from his seat. "Don't play games with me. I'm not in the mood for it."

The succubus giggled at him. "So you thought you could just shut me out that easily? You want out of here. You want the power to reshape the universe. You can have that power with my help."

Kyannar shook his head. "You forget, I'm not one of your children. I don't care what you say, I'm not going to rip apart the cosmos just because you got scared of what could be. You're a shortsighted arrogant little bitch, you know that?"

The succubus' smirk dropped away in an instant. "I should flay you alive for your words, Kyannar. You're nothing compared to me! You sit here in your ebony tower scheming and plotting on how to gain more power, but you ignore the facts. I created the multiverse. I am greater than anything you can ever imagine!"

Kyannar couldn't help but smirk at her words. "Oh yeah? Try and hurt me. Go ahead."

The succubus scowled at him. His grin grew. "You may have been around for longer than I, or even Ifrit, or Lucifer himself, but you are not the creator of anything more than a bunch of failed, weak, parasitic species. You have no power. You're worthless, a relic of ages gone by. I may be young, but I know you've barely got enough power to manifest your astral image and annoy me. How does it feel, to have your source drained away to nothing?"

She didn't say anything. Kyannar pressed on. "I don't need anybody else to tell me what I need to do to advance. I don't need your shortsighted shortcuts. I don't need you. You're the progenitor of the demons, but I am a Devil. Think about that the next time you want to bother me."

She scowled, and began to fade. Just before she vanished completely, Kyannar called out. "And next time, don't show up in the guise of my wife. If you do, I will find your corporeal form and rip it to pieces."

She had a look of shock on her expression as she faded out completely. Kyannar smirked to himself, folding his hands and considering his options.

'Well,' he thought, 'any day you can annoy the First Evil is a good day.'

Rain. He'd forgotten what it felt like. To have liquid water run down his face, into the cracks of his armor. Running off the ends of his horns and dripping in front of him. The feeling of it, sheeting across his batlike wings, softening the feel of them. Alleron enjoyed the feeling immensely.

What he didn't enjoy was the sight before him. Upon punching through the dimensional barriers, Alleron returned to his corporeal state in what he remembered as a metropolis, the greatest city known to the civilization of the Five Races. Elves, dwarves, halflings, orcs and trolls all built the city together.

And to Alleron's eye, they all died together.

As far as his eyes could see, bones belonging to all the races lay scattered throughout the streets. Wild animals had long since picked the bones clean, and judging from the pattern, some of them died, lying up against walls or in burning buildings, as evidenced by the burnt out wrecks of some of the houses. But the others, those in the streets, lay haphazardly around, in large groups.

'What happened to my home? What could have happened to destroy everything I settled down for? It looks like the people rioted, but why? And more importantly, why can I not sense a single life form in the city that is more intelligent than a wolf?'

Attempting to find his way through the rain, the Devil Knight carefully walked among the bones. With every step, he was assaulted with images, memories. Living here with his wife and daughter. Hunting wild deer for them one day, and smiling as Allandra, still a child, made a face at the meat, until she tasted it. His marriage to his lovely wife, Yolanda. He could not help but wonder if the bones he was stepping over belonged to a friend, a guardsman, a neighbor.

Coming up to what had been his home, over forty years ago, he opened the old, rotting wooden door. Stepping inside, he looked around, a lump in his throat as he looked for a sign, any sign, of hope. He cried out lowly as he moved towards the bedroom, his bedroom. A complete skeleton lay on the rotting timbers of what had been his bed. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak. All he could do is lean against the doorframe as his legs, capable of carrying over fifty times his own weight, threatened to fail.It could have only been Yolanda.

For over half an hour, he stood there, tears running down his face, nearly indistinguishable from the rain. As he slowly gathered himself from his grief, he turned and continued searching what had been his home. Walking into Allandra's bedroom, he gathered his strength, preparing himself for whatever tragedy may reveal itself to him next.

Only to find it empty. He sighed, shaking his head. 'She's not here. Still, though, I can't sense her anywhere on this plane. I hope she found a way out, I don't like the idea of my daughter being dead.'

Returning to his wife's remains, he gathered up her bones, to commit them to the earth.

Dropping the shovel, Alleron sighed, looking at the newly created grave of his wife. Digging the grave in the driving rain wasn't easy, the dirt almost instantly turned itself into mud. He'd been forced, repeatedly, to blast the dirt with his hellfire to solidify it into stones and glass, so it wouldn't collapse on top of him.

Panting heavily, not out of exhaustion of the body, but from being emotionally drained, Alleron placed the marker of her grave. It was a simple thing, a small monolith, with her name carved into its surface. He sighed to himself, feeling as if part of his heart was missing now.

Seeing no hope here, no chance at reclaiming what he'd left behind, Alleron turned, spreading his wings and taking off into the air. He began flying northward, towards the incarnation of the Gate on this world. He knew exactly where it was, because when the Magi on the first world constructed theirs, he observed and recorded in his memory exactly how to do it. When he arrived here, he created another Gate, just in case.

Apparently, he'd have to use it once again, just to leave a dying world. If he'd wanted to be alone, he'd have opened a portal to Purgatory. He wanted people to interact with. He wanted a life.

Landing in front of the unimpressive Gate, he sighed to himself. 'It's been so long since I first came here. I thought I could be happy here, but it seems just like everything else in my life, everything I touch turns into ashes. I suppose it's only natural for me, but I am tired of this.'

Channeling his energy into the Gate, he envisioned his destination, deciding that he should begin his search from the first world he came to after escaping Hell the first time, over two thousand years ago. With the literally billions of worlds in the multiverse, with enough time, he just might be able to find some peace.

The next night, in the same warehouse that Buffy had met her end, Xander and Wilhem faced off against each other, unarmed. Wilhem's greater experience, age, and power easily defeated Xander's attacks as Xander kept probing for holes in the elder Brujah's defenses. Wilhem kept pushing Xander to the floor, but the younger vampire refused to give in.

Wilhem smiled a bit. 'I have to give the child credit. He's got determination, he's got the old Brujah inner strength. If he'd have been born a few centuries ago, he'd have easily become a Promethean. That is, if some other clan didn't forcibly Embrace him.' He rose his hands. "Enough. You've proven your determination, Xander."

Xander nodded, rubbing his forehead. "Good, I'm getting tired of you tossing me onto the concrete floor, man. It's not getting any softer. Though if I smack it a few more dozen times, it might."

Wilhem chuckled, shaking his head. "It would probably. Just be careful when you're landing, I'd hate to see you soften your skull."

Xander shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah, couldn't happen. My skull is as soft as a sponge as it is."

Wilhem frowned, thinking to himself. 'It seems he has some self-confidence issues. I wonder what happened to him to cause this? Not many Brujah would Embrace somebody who wasn't strong, at least of mind if not in body.' He spoke. "Do you really think you're not worth my time?"

Xander flinched slightly. "Well, don't get me wrong or anything, but you know, I don't get why you're willing to help me out. All the older vamps I've met are either pricks or somebody who wanted to kill me. I've got some friends among the younger community, but not too many. The only older vamps who were willing to teach me anything about us were my sire and her sire, and I had to leave them soon after I was Embraced. I haven't been able to contact them again."

Wilhem nodded slowly. "I see. We'll get to whatever may have been left out by her. Can you shoot?"

Xander nodded. "As well as anybody, yeah. I'm pretty rusty though, guns aren't too effective on vampires or other beasties around here, and while I've been somewhat trained with a blade, I'm by no means an expert. I'm still kinda like 'the pointy end goes into the other guy and the sharp edge you cut with,' guy. Though, I am pretty good at the latter, but I've yet to actually get into a swordfight."

Wilhem smirked a little bit. "I think it's time I fixed that."

Xander looked at Wilhem suspiciously. "I really don't like the look in your eye, man. Really."

Wilhem just kept smirking.

About an hour later, Xander walked into his apartment, his eye twitching. His clothes looked like somebody had decided they didn't like the look of them, and had happily cut them up into thin little strips. While Xander was still wearing them. Looking down mournfully at his torn up shirt, Xander sighed.

Wilhem had shown Xander just how good he was with a sword. Wilhem was fond of a certain little one-handed broadsword, and he was very, very, very good with it. For evidence, Xander had his shirt. Despite its tattered condition, there wasn't a single drop of Xander's blood on it. That scared Xander, a lot. Not that Wilhem was so skilled with a blade, but that the elder vampire apparently found it necessary to refine his skills to that degree.

But despite the damage to his wardrobe, Wilhem's instruction was very useful. While at this point Xander wasn't an expert swordsman, he was more than capable, and definitely more than a match for most of the denizens of the Hellmouth. The young Brujah vampire walked into his room, tossing off his ruined shirt and replacing it. Straightening his clothes in front of the mirror, he nodded to himself and knocked on Allandra's bedroom door.

"Come in." Her voice called out.

Xander opened the door, walking in and looking around for her. She was humming to herself softly, brushing her hair with fine brush, looking at herself in a large mirror. She moved her wings back and forth, almost experimentally flapping them as she tended to her appearance. She spoke quietly. "Something's changed, Xander."

Xander leaned on the doorframe, raising an eyebrow. "Okay. What's bothering you, Allandra? You're looking a bit shaken up."

She sighed, putting down her hairbrush. She rubbed her eyes slowly, speaking quietly. "I'm not sure. I just dreamed of my home, back on Atarra, my homeworld. When I fled there, my city was in the midst of a riot, some of our people came to the Gate with some others from the other races. I remember the flames, brightening up the night sky. My dream showed me what was left. Bones of thousands of people in the streets, being picked over by animals. I just..don't want to remember my friends that way."

Xander came up behind Allandra and hugged her slowly. He was painfully aware of his cool hands against her warm skin, further reminding him the distance between himself and the mortal world. Though Allandra had already shown she was half-demon, she was still alive and with everything that entailed. He sighed, feeling her gently relax into his embrace.

He spoke quietly into her ear. "I find it helps if I remember the happy times. When I think about how I'm still around now, with only Oz who was around back then, it hurts. I just think about the good times, when Buffy would come back all hyped from a patrol. How Giles would clean his glasses whenever we made a weird comment. How Willow would babble incoherently sometimes, usually when flustered or annoyed. I miss them all, but I remember how they were, and I just live well, it's all I can do now."

She nodded, patting his hands. "I know. I know the plague killed off my friends a long time ago. I just didn't like to think about what was left over. I don't like the idea of nobody being there, it was my home. It's been a long time since I've thought about it, I'm just sad I couldn't bring myself to face it sooner."

Xander rose to his feet, Allandra turned and looked up at him as he spoke. "Listen, I know what you're going through. I kinda wish you didn't have to, but there's no way around it now, I guess. If you want to talk on this, I'll listen, okay?"

Allandra nodded, giving him a slight smile. "All right. I'll think about that, Xander. Are you going out again tonight?"

Xander nodded. "I've got a couple more things to do before I come back for the day. I need to find out everything I can about a kind of three-eyed vampire."

Allandra rose an eyebrow. "Three eyes? That's unusual."

Xander chuckled. "You're telling me. The woman claimed she belonged to an old clan of vampires, one that's nearly extinct. She said she was Salubri, whatever the hell that means. I've got to find out what she is for sure, I don't need another demon walking around Sunnydale."

Allandra rose to her feet. "I think I'll go with you. If this woman isn't who she says she is then you might need some backup. It's not every day a three-eyed person shows up somewhere, even here."

Xander smiled a bit. "I hear that. I'll meet you in the living room."

Sandra rubbed her eyes as someone knocked on her door, and she muttered to herself. Rising from her desk, where she'd been pouring over old tomes, she opened her front door, revealing Xander and Allandra. Nodding to them both, she spoke. "Xander, Allandra, what can I do for you?"

Xander rubbed the back of his head, replying. "Well, we'd like to take a look at your books real quick, or at least drop another research assignment on you if we don't find it soon."

Sandra nodded, stepping aside so the pair of them could enter. Allandra closed the door behind her as Xander began looking through the books. "I met somebody unusual last night. She had three eyes, and said she was a Salubri. Do you have any idea what that is?"

Sandra spoke up. "Don't bother looking through the books. I can tell you what it is right now."

Xander and Allandra stopped and turned to Sandra, a bemused expression on both their faces. Xander found his voice first. "Okay. That was quick. What is she?"

Sandra rubbed her eyes. "The Salubri are a rare type of demon. Legend says about a thousand years ago the race went into a war with the vampires, because the vampires and the Salubri have a common source for food, that is, humanity. The Salubri devour souls, they need them to survive. Every Watcher on the face of the earth has standing orders to destroy any Salubri that they find, because the Salubri have repeatedly attempted to end the world, and a single Salubri is more than capable of doing so. I assume you've met one?"

Xander nodded slowly. "Met and killed, yes. I need to know if they travel in groups or something, I don't need a world-ending demon around Sunnydale. I kinda like my town not being a suburb of hell, you know?"

Sandra nodded, not noticing Allandra's frown. "Impressive, I suppose. I'll look up anything else I may have on the Salubri, but there aren't very many texts. They were a secretive type to begin with, but after the war with the vampires, they went even deeper underground, it seems. I'll have to order the texts from the Watcher's Council."

Xander nodded to Sandra, glancing at Allandra. "I guess we'll go out and scout for any friends she may have had, huh?"

Allandra nodded. "I'll watch your back, Xander."

Sandra cleared her throat and spoke up. "Be careful, you two. Creatures as powerful as the Salubri in my texts would likely have several demons enslaved to them, and they would no doubt seek revenge for the death of their master."

Allandra nodded to Sandra. "Right. We'll be careful. Thanks Sandra."

After the half-demon and the vampire left the Watcher's home, Allandra asked quietly. "So, what do you think?"

Xander frowned, his voice filled with doubt. "I don't know. I mean, it's possible she's an evil demon trying to end the world in a marvelously overdone, overused plot like that, but she didn't seem like that to me. Also, while the Watchers have a lot of info, it wouldn't surprise me if it was biased against non-humans. Before I subscribe to what Sandra's told us today, I'm going to see if I can get a second opinion."

In the wastelands of what was once Washington State, the Gate suffered a flurry of activity as it burst open in a marvelous, rainbow hue. From it, the traitorous Devil Knight Alleron strode from the portal, his eyes taking in the devastation before him.

He shook his head, closing his eyes as he extended his senses outward. 'The last time I was here I felt about eight hundred thousand humans. I certainly hope this entire world doesn't look like this, I liked the humans. They taught me what it meant to have some compassion.'

He reached further and further. 'There's nothing alive here. Not for hundreds of miles. The only things are desert creatures, not worth my notice.' Then he paused, unsure if his senses were telling him what he thought they were telling him.

'Elves? Dwarves, orcs, halflings and trolls? They're here? How can this be? Unless... Therowyn, you old fool! You must have figured out how to use the Gate!' He began to laugh out loud. 'And knowing Therowyn, he'll have left a marker for me somewhere, and all I have to do is find it.'

He cast the thought out. The name of a dragon they'd been forced to kill, nearly seven hundred years ago, soon after Alleron came to Atarra, the world he'd so long called home. 'Sifithrisir.' A moment later, he felt the response. A wave of welcoming energy fluctuated out from the east, resonating from the other side of the continent. A place Alleron would learn is called New York City.

What Alleron didn't know is that by casting out the name across the world, he'd also set off every mystic in the world with any psychic talent. A shaman in the Watcher's Council screamed as the name Sifithrisir echoed in his mind. A dozen Methuselah Kindred, now the oldest of the old of vampires, stirred in their cold tombs. Mages of all kinds, whether the kind that alter reality itself, or the more mundane but no less dangerous ones belonging to the newcomer races, stiffened as a chill ran down their spines.

A psychic, working for Wolfram and Hart, fell over, blood running from her nose as the power of Alleron's call overloaded her mind. A member of the Technocracy, one of those attempting to place immutable laws on reality, while attempting to create their own version of the Gate, felt a sudden wrench in his mind. He immediately went insane and killed half a dozen of his friends. One of the fallen members of the Celestial Host, having fairly recently escaped from the Abyss, stiffened as she heard the call.

A hundred Garou felt the call echo throughout the Earth, not knowing where it originated or its meaning. With a flurry of activity, they tried to find out what Sifithrisir meant. A Gangrel Kindred in Sunnydale tried to figure out what was it that had scared the animals she was so easily conversing with before.

And finally, an event that wouldn't be noticed by the world for decades, but perhaps one of the most important events of all of these, took place. A stasis chamber in the basement of Angel Investigations went offline, releasing two dozen eggs that had been safeguarded for forty years. Nothing happened for a few minutes, but soon the lightest tapping was heard, and one of the eggs cracked open. Out climbed a small, red-skinned creature that had not existed on Earth for a very long time, but had been a strong race on Atarra. On the most primal level, they heard the name and responded, overloading the stasis chamber and finally allowed themselves to be born.

With a single event, Alleron had not only begun a chain of events that would eventually lead him to his progeny, he had unwittingly allowed his enemies to know he had arrived. He had tipped off to the Watcher's Council that something was wrong, something powerful had arrived from beyond. He'd allowed the Technocracy to scramble about, trying to determine what was behind this latest disruption in the crumbling reality they had worked so hard to build. He let the Garou know he'd arrived, much to his chagrin. And perhaps most significant of all, his arrival and calling out had allowed the dragon race to finally be reborn.

In the headquarters of the Watcher's Council, two figures walked down a narrow hallway in the dark basement of the place. The first was dressed in a standard Watcher's attire. Tweed jacket, glasses, a partially trimmed beard. The other was anything but. He was wearing a tan trenchcoat, sunglasses and gloves.

The one dressed as a Watcher opened a door into a storeroom, revealing a place filled with treasures that many men would kill to possess. Indeed, many of these artifacts had been killed over for greed or desire. It didn't matter where in the world they came from, anywhere the Watchers had influence, an artifact was from that place.

On the right was a simple wooden cup. The man in the trenchcoat took that one and put it in his pocket, knowing the true value of such an item and what many would do for it. The other spared him a brief glance, but shrugged. The pair passed over many other priceless things, a suit of armor here, an ancient blade there. A single gauntlet on one side, a black mask, radiating evil on the other.

Reaching the back of the room, the man in the trenchcoat turned to the Watcher and spoke. "Alright Wesley. There's a secret passage beyond here, I'll get inside and open it for you."

Wesley sighed. "Hurry it up, would you? I don't need to be caught down here, there's anti-magick fields going and I couldn't get out through an armed team."

The other one nodded, dissolving into mist and flowing towards a wall. The vampire passed through a valuable painting and beyond, rematerializing on the other side and opening it for his human companion. Wesley stepped through, closing the passage behind him as they moved into a second, even more valuable room.

Relics of vampires and other creatures stood here, radiating power that was only barely dulled by the anti-magick shield placed in the Watcher's compound. The vampire strode forward, eagerly looking for two items belonging to his kind. He found the first, a scroll sealed in a display case, which he opened by extending an unnaturally sharp claw and cleaving out the glass. Wesley looked around the room, looking for two prizes of his own.

Smiling as he saw the first one, he advanced on the stasis chamber, holding a single dragon's egg. The Watchers had gained property of it over thirty years ago, stealing it from under the nose of Angel Investigations. Since then the Order of Hermes, a Mage order that Wesley belonged to, had been trying to retrieve it. If only the Watchers knew Wesley Wyndham-Price was still alive. Although, Wesley suspected that someone up high in the Watchers did know.

His vampire companion gave a small laugh of triumph as he found the second thing the vampire was interested in. He picked up a stone tablet, examining it with a critical eye. Wesley came up behind him and spoke. "Found what you were looking for, I see. What does it say?"

The vampire shook his head. "I don't know yet, I'll have to bring it back and translate it elsewhere. We can't let the Watchers keep ahold of these things though, after I study them it'd be best to destroy them. It's a pity, I rather enjoy such things, but I think it's rather important that many other vampires don't get these. It would be pretty dangerous."

Wesley shrugged. "I suppose so. Help me find the staff, would you? We don't have much time before the security grid comes back online."

The vampire nodded, looking around the room through his sunglasses. Wesley moved around in the opposite direction, smiling as he found his prize, a staff covered with runes and carvings. Upon touching the Mage's hand, the runes glowed briefly and then faded. The staff itself then shrunk into a cylinder, which Wesley put into his pocket.

Turning back to the stasis chamber, Wesley deactivated it and removed the small egg, gently taking it in his hands. The vampire nodded to Wesley, indicating he was ready to go.

The pair left the Watcher's compound, moving without attracting attention by simply appearing as if they belonged there. Walking back to a secured apartment building, the vampire and the former Watcher reviewed their prizes.

The vampire unwrapped the scroll, placing it on a table as he scanned it. He smiled slightly as the knowledge came to him. It was his only passion left.

Wesley read the scroll right along side the vampire. He spoke quietly. "So Beckett, it's true. The Ainkurn was forged in vampire blood. Old blood at that."

Beckett nodded. "Oldest blood, actually. I didn't believe in the Antediluvians before they rose, but since then I've been trying to figure out how Christof defeated them. It looks like the Ainkurn was forged specifically to fight them. It was made to repress their powers, thus making it possible for its wielder to defeat them. With Antediluvian blood as part of its forging, it broke past their powers and made them more vulnerable. Using their own powers against them. Impressively genius, I'd say."

Wesley had to agree. "Quite. What about the Tablet of Amara? Is it complete this time?"

Beckett smiled. "Yes, it's complete." He set aside the Ainkurn Chronicles and looked on the tablet. "It says that Amara the Devil made a pact for the souls of two Cainites. He would grant them immunity from their weaknesses in exchange for their souls. Readily agreeing, the vampires accepted, only to realize it was part of the trap. The vampires were used as a power source for two rings and the rings could be used to walk in the sunlight."

Wesley frowned. "Angel had one of them. He destroyed it, saying it would only hinder him on his path to redemption. I remember Cordelia telling me about it a long time ago."

Beckett nodded. "The other one is probably in the hands of the Council or another vampire somewhere. I assume you'll attempt to track it down?"

Wesley nodded. "Of course. I suspect it'll be here in Europe, luckily the Order of Hermes has quite a large power base here. We'll find it. I'll let you study it, of course, as part of our agreement."

Beckett smiled. "I'd enjoy that. Now, what will you be doing with the egg? Returning it to its former quarters?"

Wesley shook his head. "No, I won't be doing that. It was stolen easily enough before, and besides that, it should be hatching soon enough. Without the stasis field on it, it'll only be a matter of days before it comes to term. Now I have to ask, what are you planning with your last item there?"

Beckett shrugged, taking the wooden cup out of his jacket and placing it on the table, next to the Ainkurn Chronicles and Tablet of Amara. "I intend to study it, of course." He took off his sunglasses, revealing his yellow, cat-like eyes. "I'm interested in finding out if the properties of the water poured from this cup is true. If it is true, it would possibly mean an end to those that consider vampirism a curse."

Xander and Allandra strode through the sewers. Allandra kept scrunching her nose as she moved through, following Xander and avoiding rather nasty spots. One misstep would mean a ruined pair of boots. It just wasn't possible to salvage a pair of leather boots from being soaked in sewage.

Xander kept tapping various pipes along the wall, causing the echoes to pass down the pipes, deeper into the sewers. Allandra grumbled at this chore, speaking quietly to Xander. "I don't see why we have to go down this way to meet with the Nosferatu. Can't we just give them a call or something?"

Xander chuckled. "Yes, I could, if I had their phone number. Besides, if you want to find a Nosferatu, this is where you have to be. Any other way and it's the Nosferatu that finds you. Besides, if Jessica really is a world-ending demon, I wanna know about it. I've got enough problems here on the Hellmouth. I don't need yet another Saturday morning cartoon villain trying to destroy the world. I swear, it's like Pinky and the Brain every week around here. 'What are we going to do tonight Brain? Why, take over the world of course!'"

Allandra smiled at that. She licked her lips and began. "Xander, I want to know something, if it's alright with you?"

Xander nodded absently. "Yeah, sure, shoot."

Allandra bit her lip, and spoke quietly. "Do you feel anything for me?"

Xander stopped and turned, his eyes questioning. "Yeah, I feel for you. Maybe if I was still a human being I'd know for sure if what I feel for you is real, and not just an echo of who I am. Was. Whatever. I'm not making much sense am I?"

Allandra furrowed her brow in confusion. Xander sighed and began to explain. "As a vampire, it's not easy for me to connect my feelings with other people sometimes. There's times when I don't feel much of anything, and it's only because I remember and know what I've lost I feel anything. Or so I think, I'm not sure. It's like aside from some basics, some of my emotions just aren't there at times. Anger, rage, fear, those easily come to the surface. But the other things, caring, forgiveness, compassion, they often just don't rise to the surface in me when they used to. I feel for you, Allandra. I think I can grow to love you, but I need to know if the feeling in me is a genuine one. I need to know if there's enough humanity left in me to truly love you, and not fool myself into thinking I do."

Allandra nodded slowly, tears welling up in her eyes. Xander moved close to her and hugged her gently, patting her on the back as Allandra fought her emotions for control. He spoke quietly to her. "I wish I could say for sure that I love you, Allandra. You're beautiful, smart and helpful. I know if you came onto me when I was still alive I'd be doing cartwheels in joy. Yes, even with the wings."

She smiled into his shoulder at that, but her heart still felt like lead in her chest. "But you're saying you can't feel that way now, because you're a vampire. You're saying you don't know what you feel because you feel you've lost who you are." She pulled back from him and looked into his eyes. "Don't you see, Xander? You haven't lost who you are. You only think you have. Your heart is still strong, even though it doesn't beat anymore. You leapt to my aid when we first met without hesitation. You stopped Buffy because you loved her."

He blinked at that. She smiled at him slightly. "Yes Xander. I know you loved her. You loved her so much that you didn't want her to live on as a corrupted reflection of herself. You loved her so much you were willing to forever let her go. You killed her because you loved who she was, and I know while it was hard to kill that thing wearing her face, you did it because your heart is great. I love you for your heart, Xander. I love you for who you are, not just who you were. Whatever you may become, I will still love you. I'm hoping that you can bring yourself to know if you can love another. Even if it's not with me, I want you to be able to be happy."

With that she slowly removed herself from his embrace and continued down the sewer tunnel, leaving Xander to collect his wits. A few seconds later, he squeaked out, "Hey! Wait for me!" And ran after her, his feet clunking on the ground as he followed her trail.

Unknown to either of them, the wraith of Buffy Summers had watched the entire ordeal, and she crossed her non-corporeal arms. Smiling to herself, she spoke into the darkness of the spirit world. "You go girl. It's about time you made him open his eyes. He's a great catch, a bit dense, but with such a big heart. Kinda wish I could be there for the wedding, but hey, we of the dead can't have everything."

With Xander's love to her finally acknowledged and brought to light in him, Xander's soul made another step towards reclaiming the humanity he'd lost on the night of his Embrace into the Brujah Clan. With this task done, Buffy smiled as she felt the last thing holding her spirit to the world was finally released. As her form was enveloped by white light, she felt the promise of things to come, things laid out in advance for the vampire who'd once called her his hero, and unknowingly to him, he became hers. In the dark world of the dead souls and spirits, she vanished completely, finally now going onto her eternal reward.

Vanessa patrolled Sunnydale, relying on his aural sense to guide her as she moved through the graveyards. Ever since it was confirmed Jack had died in the hospital fire, she was overcome with several hard, conflicting feelings.

Her rational side argued that Xander was right in not turning her teacher into a vampire. It wasn't a way to live, she couldn't see her Master being happy as an undead, bloodsucking creature of the night. Xander, while he joked around and felt strong, filled with some hope, didn't feel happy. He was right in that he felt cold and cursed.

Her emotional side didn't simply argue. It raged. Had Xander chosen to turn Jack that night, he would still be alive and with her. Damn Xander for not doing what she asked of him when he had the chance. Now the one person she looked upon as a father figure in her life was dead and it was because the vampire didn't want Master Morris to suffer. How much did he suffer as his flesh burned off of him, as his organs boiled and body blackened from the intense flames? How much pain was he in as he desperately tried to crawl away from the fire, his legs dragging uselessly behind him?

Pausing at a mausoleum, she leaned against the wall as she tried to collect her thoughts. 'It's not right to place blame. Xander didn't know Master Morris would be in a fire that night any more than I did. It couldn't have been stopped. I just wish he was still here with me. I wish I was a better Slayer, if I was I'd have been able to defeat Beth myself and he never would have gotten hurt.'

Sighing heavily, she spoke to herself out loud. "Master, I wish you were here right now. I never got the chance to say goodbye, and I miss you so much."

Her aural senses screamed an instant of warning at her, and she instinctively dived into a roll, coming up to her feet as an assailant came at her with shocking speed and strength. She blocked one blow, dodged another, lifted her leg to parry a third and retaliated with a roundhouse kick that sent her opponent back three feet into the wall of the mausoleum.

She stopped in shock as she gained a good look at her enemy's face, and he grinned at her. Her aural senses told her this was a creature of darkness, an enemy of great power and skill, one to be reckoned with and defeated without mercy. Her eyes told her a very different story.

Kail the Devil Knight spoke snidely to the Slayer. "Good to see you, Vanessa. You're still dropping your elbow. I think I'll fix that." He rose his hands into an unfamiliar fighting stance, and Vanessa felt something within her respond. She growled at him and attacked, her fists whirling towards the creature that wore Jack's face. Kail ducked under her first attack, slamming his palms into her belly. She barely felt it, however, and quickly delivered a knee to his face.

Kail fell back, landing on the grass with a grunt. Vanessa moved with rage driving her now, rage coming from a source she didn't know. She rose a foot to stomp on Kail's head, which would have likely shattered his skull and whatever contents within, when a sudden blow to the head from elsewhere knocked her off her feet.

As Vanessa fell to the ground, she quickly rolled back to her feet, her balance almost completely compromised as she felt blood running down her face. Through her bleary eyes, she could see Jack and Oz smiling at her, the werewolf armed with a baseball bat. She narrowed her eyes in confusion, not quite capable of thinking clearly with the concussion. Jack moved in, swinging a backhand at her face. Vanessa tried to grab his arm, but with her depth perception messed up, she overestimated and Jack easily changed his angle of attack. He got past her defenses and landed a blow on the side of her head, knocking her out.

Goral shook his head at Kail. "You know man, that was pretty pathetic. She nearly had you back in Hell only a few days after you got outta there. Were you asleep at the switch or what? I've seen you fight demon dragons on your own and come out on top."

Kail snarled at his brother Devil Knight. "Hey, my host taught her the value of self control at all times. I didn't expect her to go berserker on me. I did see something familiar though, and now I know why. No wonder she got pissed."

Goral laughed at Kail. "You're damn right. I wondered what happened to him, back in the day. Didn't you sleep with his wife?"

Kail shrugged. "And knocked her up. A few thousand times. What's your point?"

Goral snickered. "Nothing, nothing at all. Just saying you got what you deserved man. I'd say it'd be a good idea for you to stay out of the way until the master's done with her. She's liable to take your head off if you come in at the wrong time."

Kail rolled his eyes. "Gee Goral, got anything else extremely obvious to say? Why don't you go and jump in a pool of liquid nitrogen, I hear it's rather refreshing."

Goral shrugged. "Nah, don't feel like it." The Devil Knight possessing the werewolf picked up the unconscious Slayer and began walking towards the church Ifrit used as his home. Kail muttered to himself as he followed, the tatters of his dignity trailing behind him.

There you go, chapter 23. Wait a second? 23? I never expected this fic to go on this long...ho boy.

Anyway, any thoughts, comments or suggestions are welcome. I just hope you all enjoyed this part.

Later all.

Nick.