Fury of the Beast 24
Author: Nick
Disclaimer: I don't have any rights over Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or White Wolf's World of Darkness. I'm not making any money off of this, nor am I doing this for anything other than fun. Suing me over this would be pointless, so please don't bother.
A/N: It's occurred to me that I've rarely responded to reader reviews on more than a one-on-one basis. From this point forward, feel free to ask any questions up front, on either or Xanderzone. I'll try to answer however I can.
2nd A/N: For those of you who are a little angry with me over the differences between Ifrit and Alleron, and the lore from Demon: The Fallen, I just ask that you keep an open mind and bear in mind that it's impossible to merge Buffy lore and Demon lore without stepping on a few toes here and there. Ifrit isn't like the regular Fallen, he went to a different Hell so he's got some other powers and weaknesses. No more or less powerful, just different.
I'll also note, this chapter has some things in it which may step on some of your toes if you're religious. In response to this, I have only a few things to say. One, any offense is not intended. I respect all religious beliefs even though I might not share them. Two, this story is set in the World of Darkness and such things would be, while not in the public highlights, more common than it is here. What I'm showing here is definitely the exception, not the rule of organized religion. A lot more like a cult, actually. Third, the story is entirely the work of fiction, and it's all for fun. So please, lighten up a little bit. It might make you a more forgiving person.
When Vanessa awoke, she found herself bound by chains, very effectively held immobile. She felt the cool feeling of a stone wall on her back, and as she raised her head, she realized she was bound in a cellar somewhere. Using her aural senses, she found that there was three beings upstairs, probably talking over what to do with her.
Oz she recognized. Strangely, he didn't feel any different than when she first met him. He felt as if he was on the side of good, but then why was he working with whatever Jack had become and the third entity?
She tried focusing on the third one, only to let out an involuntary scream as his aura flared like the sun, forcing her to instinctively shut down her aural senses to prevent damage to her own mind. Above, she could hear a terrible laugh erupt, probably from the one with the aura that had just caused her such pain.
A few minutes later, a plain looking red haired man appeared in her field of vision. He smiled at her, almost warmly, but something told her he wasn't truly capable of such emotion. It was like watching an act.
He spoke quietly, in a voice that echoed throughout the cellar. "Hello child. I trust you slept rather comfortably."
She glared at him. "You've got some nerve, chaining me up down here, demon."
He sneered at her. "You presume I am a mere demon? How pathetic you are. I'm not a demon. I am Ifrit, Lord of the Flames, Devil Lord and a General of Hell. I existed for millions of years before your world was spun out of the nothingness. Demons are a pathetic shade of a broken primordial spirit that has gone on to achieve nothing. I am far greater on every scale."
She spat at him, but it fell short and landed on the floor. Ifrit couldn't help but smile. "Ah, you still have that spirit, Vensarra. Good. It will make it all the easier for me to retrieve your true essence."
Vanessa frowned, narrowing her eyes at the Devil Lord. "My true essence? What the hell are you talking about? I am who I always was. And I can sure as hell kick your ass the second I get out of these chains."
It may have been a bluff, but it did sound good to her, at least. Ifrit just smiled slightly. She was beginning to wish he wouldn't smirk so much.
He began speaking again, somehow quietly, yet his voice easily reached her ears. "Thousands of years ago, this planet was under the domain of the demons. I was a part of the force that defeated them as a whole and drove them back into other, infernal planes. After that, we had our little civil war, and I was cast out into one of the Hells. Make no mistake, I was once a god, most of those pitiful creatures you battle never knew even a tiny fraction of what that means.
"And yet, it didn't end there. I found myself in a world ruled by demons, and along with a few friends of mine, we set ourselves up to be Devil Lords. We created the Devil Knights, and conquered the entire world, placing our order upon that realm of chaos. But, ten thousand years ago, a few, foolish magi ripped a Devil Knight from our world, tearing apart her memories and leaving only instincts, hatred of others, and martial skill. They injected this essence into a young girl, forcing her to become a Slayer. She was the first."
She shook her head. "You're lying. All I can think about right now is ripping your heart out. If I had a Devil spirit within me, I'd probably want to join you."
Ifrit chuckled lowly. "Ah, but you're making assumptions. The Slayer spirit is quite insane at this point. She only wants to die. That is why so few Slayers reach the age of twenty. It drives them into darkness, embracing their deaths, ensuring they do not live long and happy lives because it seeks oblivion. Unfortunately, due to the magi who first exploited it, it cannot die for longer than a short while."
She pulled at the chains, trying to rip the chains off the wall. Despite her best efforts, however, the wall and the chains held firm. She wasn't going anywhere that easily. Ifrit just smirked at her.
"It will take a little time, but soon enough we will tear the Slayer spirit out of you. There will be no more Slayers, and I'll have another bodyguard. Not that I need one, but I like having those with at least a little strength by my side." Ifrit spoke, his smirk growing wider as he did so.
Xander and Allandra finally reached their destination underground. The leader of the local Nosferatu made his home in a niche, carved out of the sewer walls and surrounded by dirt, with more than a few wires and lines entering the hovel. They supplied television, phone service and power for his computer.
The Nosferatu in question, however, was nowhere to be seen. That in itself wasn't surprising. Xander called out. "Hello hello? Anybody home? Come on man, I'd have brought pizzas but I know we've got problems with solids lately."
Allandra looked at Xander. "You sure he's here? I don't see anybody, and there's not exactly a wall or anything for someone to hide behind."
Xander shook his head. "Nah, he's here. He's just hiding in plain sight is all. I think it's a national pastime for these folks."
Xander felt the sensation of a tap on his shoulder. He rolled his eyes and turned around, coming face to ugly face with the Nosferatu he'd met so long ago, Leon. "Hey Leon, how's it going, man? Wondered how you were doing."
The Nossie rolled his eyes. "All right, you stomped into my home, what do you want this time, Xander?"
Xander shrugged. "Looking for information on a vampire clan, the Salubri. Ever heard of them?"
Leon just gave him a look.
Xander nodded. "Right, I forgot. You Nosferatu know everything. So what's the sitch, boyo?"
Allandra just watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Can we please hurry this up? I don't want to insult you, sir. But I don't like the smell of this place. It's unsanitary, to say the least."
Leon just chuckled. "Sure, for you toots, anything." Turning back to Xander, he spoke. "The Salubri are nearly extinct. There's just a few of them, running around, doing their thing. Most of them are pretty powerful, but not too many are over a hundred or two hundred years old. Bitch is, the Tremere and some nasty folks called the Baali nearly killed them all, because they were dangerous to their agendas."
The Nosferatu shrugged then. "Shame, really. My sire always said that the Salubri were the best among us vampires. Most human, most humane. They could heal wounds and even restore another's lost humanity. I heard of a vampire that fell completely to the Beast once. A Salubri came along one day, locked the sucker up and a few days later the crazy vampire came out again, as calm as a saint. That kinda crap just isn't supposed to happen, but hey. The world's screwed up, even a blind idiot knows that."
Allandra furrowed her brow. "Didn't Sandra tell us that the Salubri was a type of powerful and evil demon? How could there be two such conflicting information about the same people?"
Xander shrugged. "Propaganda. Any idea who'd be behind spreading bad press about the Salubri in the Watchers, Leon?"
Leon nodded. "The Baali clan. I would say the Tremere, it suits their style, but the Tremere are either extinct or hiding in a really deep rathole. Considering their style, I'd bet on the former. Nah, it's the Baali. The Watcher's Council is older than clan Tremere ever was, and that faulty info was spread throughout their ranks a long time before Tremere rose. They've probably got an agent in the Council somewhere."
Xander sighed. "Joy. Now, forgive my totally stupid question here. But who are the Baali, exactly? Any info you can give me could be helpful, man."
Leon got a sly look on his face. "It'll cost you."
Xander nodded. "Okay, what do you want?"
Leon leaned in and whispered something in Xander's ear. Xander blinked and looked at the Nosferatu in surprise. "You're joking. You can't be serious."
Leon shrugged nonchalantly. "Take it or leave it, man. Feel free to try and get this information somewhere else."
Xander sighed, and nodded his head, slumping a little bit. "Fine. You've got it, Leon. But after I get it for you, I don't owe you any more debts, alright?"
Leon smiled, a hideous thing to see on the Nosferatu's face. "Deal, X-man. The Baali are a hidden clan of vampires. They don't really expose themselves too much. Their big thing is inhumanity, demon worship and corrupting other things. Lately there's been a few rumors here and there that the Baali are allying with demon-worshiping magi and moving towards some goal. Some of us are on it."
Allandra scratched her chin, and then spoke quietly. "I think it'd be best if we searched Sunnydale for any signs of these Baali. If they worship and serve demons, this place would be quite a tempting place to go to, wouldn't it?"
Xander nodded. "Yeah, it'd fit. But why would a Salubri come to demon central then? There's gotta be something else." Xander then paused, and wiped his face. "Dammit, this on top of everything else. I'm going to have to skip town for a few days until I get my self-control back, and just when this happens I have some other important crap drop in my lap."
The streets of New York teemed with life.
It marveled the rogue Devil Knight. The place was so totally unlike anything he had seen humans, or any other race, for that matter, create or achieve in his six thousand years of existence. They even managed to get machines to fly through the air, whirring about on spinning blades.
He turned his gaze from the sky, beginning to move through the crowds, both seen and avoided, but unnoticed. Shape shifting wasn't one of Alleron's talents, unlike his father or some of the other Devil Knights in Hell. Instead, Alleron produced an illusion around his body, providing the appearance of a middle-aged human with angular features and long black hair.
Passing though the crowds, noting to himself that the numbers of the Five races were low here, vastly outnumbered by humans, he walked into a cathedral next to an office building. Such strange decisions for the placement of buildings.
The sounds of a hymn, sung by a young human choir greeted him as he walked into the holy place. He felt ripples of energy in this place, attempting to confront the Devil Knight, to banish him from this holy place and cleanse the blasphemy he was committing with his very presence. It, however, was light, little more to him than the touch of a feather on his awareness as he walked unobtrusively down, between the pews. He took a seat in an empty pew, carefully draping his wings around his true form so he might sit comfortably. To any observers, it merely appeared that Alleron had drawn his coat more tightly around him, as if he was cold.
He listened to the hymn, words called out to the same God that Christianity worshiped when he had left this plane a thousand years before. The religion he had seen commit so many atrocities upon so many others because other humans refused to bow before the altar the true believers did. There was nothing quite as dangerous as blind faith.
'Funny how that's true, for mortal beings or for us Devils. My blind faith to my father made me fight a never-ending war for three thousand years. Blind faith in corruptible men caused so much suffering as the souls of the so-called 'holy warriors' were sent to us to be used as slaves and entertainment. It's a pity they could not meet the man they so blindly worshiped as a son of God. Now He was one-of-a-kind. Hearing that man preach from the hill was perhaps the most important thing done for humanity in thousands of years. It's a pity the message was nearly completely lost as power-hungry men took it and twisted it for their own purposes.'
The Devil Knight tilted his head as the hymn ended, and the humans around him listened to a fat, balding priest as he began to speak about the fire and brimstone that lay beyond for those sinners that refused to follow the rules of their religion. He couldn't help but smile a little bit. 'I can feel the taint of your own soul, mortal. You're going to get quite well acquainted with those flames. A simple repent at the end of your life doesn't cut it. Such arrogance. You are no greater than any other mortal I have seen in my long existence, nor will you slip through the cracks of the gates of Heaven. Pity I'll never see which crimes you've committed.'
He closed his eyes as the congregation knelt so they might pray. He moved into the same position, merely to blend in, not to actually pray to a higher deity. His father was once a god, and now he was corrupted and twisted beyond recognition. He'd met other former members of the Celestial Host, now only Devil Lords and escapees from the Abyss. Though the escaped members of the Celestial Host was fairly new, he had his father's memories of what they were before. He was painfully aware that the Celestial Host was just as flawed, if not more so, than the mortal creatures they helped to shape and champion. Though they did not have human traits, they had their own flaws nonetheless.
He stretched his senses out during the moment of silence. He could feel the object of his search nearby, the thing that he had called out across the world, and that which had responded to his call. But it felt odd, fragmented, incomplete. He frowned slightly as he tried to figure it out.
Hearing the corrupt priest call the moment of silence to an end, he began a new speech, one that caused Alleron to clench his hands in barely suppressed rage.
"Now as we all know, ever since the newcomers came through the dark portal of the Gate, they have been spreading throughout our world like a cancer. They have taken work from us, the chosen people of God, and made themselves stronger while we weaken. We gave them mercy and they took it for granted, and now they continue to take what rightfully belongs to us. Humanity was created in God's image, and it is our divine mission as God's chosen people to rule over them. Their numbers are few, yet they have as large a voice within our government as us! I ask you all, is this fair?"
The crowd roared. "No!"
"We walked on our world for thousands of years. We have accomplished things that they could never have dreamed of. We have sent men to walk on the moon, while they could not even understand the basics of medicine before we taught it to them. Make no mistake, we are the superior race. They came to us, and spread the disease of their magics into our world. Some pureblood humans even now are born with the ability to use this unholy power. Such cannot stem from God, thus it must come from Satan!"
Alleron seethed. 'Now I see clearly that which I did not see before. He is another of those men who twist the name of goodness and light to his own goals. He is a bigot, a man afraid of that which is different, of that which he cannot control. With the magic of the Five Races, they would be beyond his blandishments, and thus provide a convenient scapegoat. It is his own path to power. Fool.'
Alleron listened raptly, using his millennia of self control to keep his emotions in check as the bigoted priest spread his tainted message. To his surprise, his perceptions flickered, and he caught a glimpse of something else occupying the same space as the priest.
He caught a glimpse of armor, gleaming and white, as gray, feathery wings were spread from his back. The face seemed noble and pure, once, but something had twisted it, rendered it sinister, dark. It was a beautiful face, but regardless of its beauty, there was no mistaking the twisted sense of evil that radiated from it.
Alleron blinked momentarily, and the vision was gone, leaving the fat, balding priest in the same place. Settling back in his pew, he began to realize several truths. 'It is not the holy ground here that attempted to repel me. Now that I focus my senses more, it welcomes me. It is this being's spells that attempted to banish me from this sacred place. I don't recognize his face. But then, that's no surprise. I don't have all of my father's memories. I didn't actually participate in the War of Wrath, but I can see this one has. He is taking the faith of these ignorant mortals and giving them dulled realizations in exchange. A complacent flock to harvest for eternity, all in the name of the One Above.'
He began to listen once more as the fallen angel in human guise finished his sermon. "Go with the blessings of the Lord. Amen."
"Amen." The congregation murmured quietly, and began to file out.
Alleron sat in the pew, waiting for everyone else to have left the church before he finally rose to his feet. He strode towards the altar and the fat priest, his face, both human disguise and true form, as furious as a thundercloud. The fallen angel took a step back, speaking slightly nervously. "Can I help you, my son?"
Alleron shook his head, almost growling out. "What in the name of the Allfather do you think you are doing?"
The pudgy priest narrowed his eyes, all fear leaving his expression as he caught a glimpse of Alleron's true form. "Doing what I must to survive. I am sure you understand, your form is far more corrupted than mine. Do you enjoy people running in fear from you if they so much as catch a glimpse of you?"
Alleron let the illusion of normality drop from him entirely. The fallen angel looked at Alleron's form curiously, as if he was simply examining an insect. He took in the Devil Knight's bat-like wings, the ram's horns sprouting from his head. The claws which tipped his incredibly strong hands, the black armor that protected his form. The glowing veins in his face and his body, as if molten lava flowed through his arteries instead of blood.
The Devil Knight clenched a fist. "You make too many assumptions. I can feel the stolen power you have, murderer. You spread the words of lies and pain, you spread anguish and despair, why? You spread hate against those who least deserve it, and for what? For your own amusement?"
The fallen angel shrugged. "Why not? These beings are lower than us. Weaker than us. They do not deserve kinship or pity. They deserve only to be our pawns. I don't need any filthy elves or bastardized orcs in my world. I simply gather those who agree with me."
Alleron closed his eyes in barely suppressed fury. When he opened them again, he was facing the form of the angel, the fallen warrior who had once been in the War of Wrath.
It was a strange irony that the force of good and justice would come from a creature that would only be called a demon, should people see it. That the force of hate and lies would come from the beautiful, angelic form standing before it, possessing the body of a corrupted man of God.
Fallen Angel and Devil Knight faced off against each other, each watching the other for the first move that would start their battle.
Alleron moved first. He began to move in a blur, swinging around and behind the angelic figure in a blur of motion that only the most powerful among the Kindred could follow. With a single punch, the angel flew through the air to land in a heap in the middle of the aisle between the pews. With a roar, the angel stood up, lifting majestically into the air, gathering white energy to his hands to launch at Alleron.
The legendary Devil Knight was faster, however. Just as the fallen angel let loose his blast, Alleron let loose his own. The energy from the fallen former god collided with the hellfire Alleron shot out, the two beams crashing into each other and causing bright, white light to flare out from where they met. Alleron stood his ground and kept adding energy to his hellfire, as the angelic figure smirked at the Devil Knight. He could sense no power from mortals infusing his enemy. He wouldn't be able to keep up his attack for long, and then his power would destroy the Devil Knight before him.
However, slowly and ponderously, the hellfire began to push back the white energy of the angel. His eyes widened slightly in fear as it began to approach, inch by inch, getting closer and closer to him. When the colliding energy reached three feet from his hands, his expression grew worried. At two feet, it was panicked. At one foot, he was downright terrified.
Finally it slammed into the fallen angel, and Alleron's hellfire enveloped his enemy. The former divine being screamed as the flames, as hot as volcanic lava, wrapped around his form, burning into his body, bypassing his defenses and ripping the stolen power of hundreds of blindly worshiping humans from him.
The creature fell to the floor, groaning in pain, his angelic body burnt almost unrecognizably. He looked up as Alleron strode towards him. Too weak to even attempt to scramble away, he watched as the rogue Devil Knight reached down and picked him up in one hand.
Alleron spoke quietly. "I pity you. I truly do. That's why you're not going to go back to the Abyss, the lake of fire that you so rightly fear. I am sure you are aware that, once made, nothing can be unmade, yes?"
The fallen angel nodded slowly, grimacing as he remembered that first lesson from the One Above.
"I will free you, fallen one. You'll have a chance to return to the light which you long for, but it will be long and hard, and you will not have the advantage of knowledge. You will have to ask, to wish to reenter the Celestial Host humbly and truly, not as a conquering emperor, but as a citizen, like the rest of them. No being deserves truly eternal damnation. Thus, I release you." Alleron spoke.
Raising his hand, Alleron roughly probed the fallen angel's mind with his own. His opponent's name was Joraeal, and he had been an archangel, or by another definition, a warrior god. He had been on the front lines which beat the demons back from this world before they guided the young race of man into their paradise, so they might grow. Joraeal had fallen in the War of Wrath, and was cast out with the other untold hordes of those beings which had made the multiverse possible. Then the slumber, and the slowly growing hatred of reality itself, and the wish to destroy it. Eventually, sweet, sweet freedom, sudden clarity being brought into his mind once his soul passed the soul of Reverend Bob Egland. A new mission, a new purpose. To cleanse the world of all but those chosen for it.
As the memories flashed through Alleron's head, they drained from the soul of Joraeal. Eventually, it was left a blank slate, purged of all traces of its previous existence as a god. Cleansed and pure now, he coaxed what leftover power he could from it, and when it was done, he sent it into the ether. The soul would be born as any other soul would, as a normal mortal.
Letting his mind come back to the mundane plane, he dropped the reverted, and now very dead, body of the Reverend Bob Egland. It was burnt, badly. Nobody would question the cause of death. Shaking his head, he recast his illusion, and went into the back of the cathedral. Looking through the various rooms, he finally found the signature of what he was looking for in an old chest. Ripping off the lock with his unnatural strength, he opened the chest, hoping to find something of his own.
He sighed with some sadness as he beheld the contents. Reaching down, he picked up the hilt of what was once his constant companion on Atarra. The blade was once long, five and a half feet. It had always burned with white hot flames whenever Alleron had held it, reflecting the power within his soul. It had a stylized skull at the pommel, serving as a slight counterweight, though the Devil Knight never needed it with his immense physical strength.
Now, the blade only reached half an inch from the hilt. The rest of the blade lay in cracked, tiny unusable fragments at the bottom of the chest, its magic having long since dissipated. Though the weapon had once stored enough of Alleron's power to defeat all but the most powerful of Devils, now all it could do is respond it its owner. This is what had welcomed him when he cast out the name of Sifithrisir.
He sighed, looking in the chest for any sign of any other objects, perhaps one that his friend Therowyn left behind. He found such evidence in a small red stone, glimmering with recognition at Alleron's presence. Lifting it in his hand, he closed his eyes and accessed the message within.
In his mind's eye, the figure of Therowyn, now a very old man, stood before him. His hair had long since turned completely white, and he leaned on a staff. He was holding the gem in his left hand, carefully imprinting his words and image into the stone.
"Hail once more, Alleron. It can only be you accessing this message. By now you've no doubt discovered that we, the members of the Five Races, have escaped through the Gate and ended up on this world. We came here as refugees, we were trying to escape a plague that ravaged most of our population like a fire in dry grass.
"Out of the three billion of us, only a million survivors managed to reach the Gate. Elves were the most common survivors, but even the strongest of us were killed so swiftly it frightened the strongest warriors. To our grief, we found that the plague was something easily cured, here. A simple antibiotic made by these humans wiped it out." Therowyn then sighed, rubbing his eyes in grief and sorrow.
"I'm afraid that Atarra itself is probably a dying world now, however. I regret to inform you, that Yolanda was one of the first to die from the plague. Despite my best efforts, there was nothing I could to do prevent her death. I am glad to tell you, though, that your daughter lives. Allandra helped bring the survivors through the Gate to this world. The last time I heard from her, she was living in a city, much like this one, to the west. It is called Los Angeles. I am certain you are resourceful enough to find her, even there. I am afraid I was immersed in my studies, so I cannot tell you where she is at the very moment I am making this message.
"I am afraid that your weapon was destroyed some time after we came to this new world. The magic within seemed to be linked to you, and without your presence and soul to recharge it, eventually it crumbled. I've also determined there's no way for me to reforge it, but I am certain you will be capable of that with the proper materials.
"Finally, old friend, I feel I must tell you of the last, our hidden race. The dragons were the first ones infected by the plague, I am afraid that there are none left alive on Atarra. In desperation, we took some of the eggs with us through the Gate, and we entrusted them to the most vocal and helpful of our supporters when we arrived. His name is Angel."
Xander stood in his washroom, carefully examining his reflection in the mirror.
He didn't like what he saw too much. His skin was pale from lack of exposure to sunlight for a very long time, his lips were almost colorless, and his eyes seemed haunted to him. Opening his mouth, he watched with a slight amount of amusement as he extended and retracted his fangs at will. Closing his mouth with an almost audible click, he rubbed his face, trying to gather his thoughts.
It became worse this evening. He felt like he was about to lose control over the Beast within and he was scared about what he might do if he let the last bit of control he possessed slip away from him. At the most he'd be able to hang on for another day, but he wasn't about to risk that.
He'd quickly packed his bags. He took along a portable powered cooler to store some blood in. Though the hunger was building in him as if he didn't have any rich or strong blood in him, he still needed it. Blood was the one thing that separated Xander the Kindred from Xander the corpse. Hopefully in a few days the hunger would actually calm down and he'd be able to deal without the gnawing in his gut.
Walking out the door, leaving only a note behind telling of what he was doing, Xander Harris of the Brujah Clan drove off into the night, into the desert, to face this latest, and perhaps, most trying trial of his existence.
Wesley had his nose deep in a book.
For the eighty-eight year old Hermetic Mage, it was a common pastime. The pursuit of knowledge was one he had always enjoyed, even before he had Awakened to the true nature of the world around him. Regardless, however, of his state, there was one thing he knew for sure.
Such peaceful moments were too good to last.
In this case, the moment was shattered when a thud came from the kitchen, followed by a crash. Wesley sighed, leaving a slip of paper in the book's pages to mark his place, and he got up from his seat and walked into the kitchen.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead at the sight that greeted him. Already he was considering how long it would take to clean up the mess.
If Wesley didn't know better, he'd say a cereal box, Cap'n Crunch, to be exact, had become possessed and was jumping around the kitchen, knocking over various items, including glasses, from where it had fallen off of the counter top, plates from the drying rack, and a dishtowel. Once in a while, the box made a little jump, and a little more cereal popped out, almost explosively.
Grabbing the box, he shook it a little bit, hearing a startled squeak come from inside. Rolling his eyes, he opened it, pulling out the bag, containing a lot of yellow cereal pieces and one very blue, very cute, baby dragon. The little thing looked curiously at Wesley through the plastic of the bag, before diving her head down to grab another bite of sugary cereal.
Reaching into the bag, he grabbed the tiny blue dragon, which was still small enough to comfortably perch on his fist, and pulled it out of the bag. She hissed a little bit at him, but also seemed engrossed in the sugary spoils of war she had so rightfully earned. She chewed on the cereal, looking into Wesley's eyes without a hint of guilt, perhaps even a little bit of smugness.
Wesley chided the little creature. "You do realize it will take at least an hour to clean this up."
The dragon ignored him, swallowing another bit of Cap'n Crunch cereal.
Wesley shook his head, carefully petting the little dragon on the head. She purred at him, almost like a cat. A tiny tongue snaked out and licked his finger in between pets. Wesley couldn't help but smile at the little life literally in his hands.
'To think, in time she might grow to be as large as a house. That would indeed be something to see. When she reaches that point, I wonder if she would remember me? Ah well, there will be plenty of time before that happens. It would be at least a century before she gets even close to that size. I wonder if I will still be around when she reaches adulthood. Ah well, no sense in dwelling on what may be, first I have to attend with the dealings in the present.'
The phone rang suddenly, disrupting the moment. Wesley coaxed the little dragon onto a counter, then he reached for the phone. "Hello?" He spoke.
"Wesley, it's Tara." The reply came over the phone.
"Ah, yes, Tara. It's good to hear from you. Is there something I can do for you?" He smiled as he pictured the girl in his mind's eye, knowing that he wouldn't have to age her in his mind. He frowned slightly as he remembered the constant state of grief she was in.
"Maybe. Have you heard about Xander's reawakening?"
Wesley's frown grew deeper at that. "No, I have not. This is the first I've heard of it."
"Well, I've been able to piece things together since he woke up. He killed several workers in Los Angeles, due to the hunger he had from not feeding for about sixty years. He trained with Angel for a bit, then he came back to Sunnydale, and he's been organizing a new group to watch over the Hellmouth."
Wesley nodded to himself. "Yes, that sounds like something Xander would do. What's the problem?"
Tara's voice grew frustrated. "Oz is here too. Aura's been angry over it."
Wesley sighed. Ever since Oz became possessed by some infernal creature from beyond, he'd managed to wreak a lot of carnage in the right places. He was one of those who prevented entire werewolf tribes from coming back together and reorganizing into a force of their own. The Apocalypse they so worried about was beaten, barely, and the ranks of the werewolves were nearly wiped out because of it. Oz's demon likely sought the total destruction of every tribe. "That's a problem. Have any of them caught on to the danger?"
"Not from what I've managed to find out. It's a pretty dire situation though. Xander drank some Slayer's blood a little while back, now he's left town for a while and I'm having trouble finding him. I'm guessing he's left so he could regain his control without hurting anybody, but he's still in danger from the Order of Teraka."
Wesley blinked. "Wait, perhaps you should tell me everything."
He listened as Tara went through every detail, step by step. It was quickly obvious that Tara didn't have all the details about what was going on in Sunnydale, but she knew enough to make Wesley concerned. It was possible that the demon that had possessed Oz was seeking to raise his master from beyond the dimensions.
Wesley shuddered at the thought of a high-level demon lord walking the world, doing whatever he desired. It would be far too much for any force of good on earth to handle. Even forces of darkness recruited against it couldn't survive against such a creature. Wesley, and a few other members of the Hermetic Order knew what it was that gave such creatures strength.
The answer was simple. Mortal souls. A soul's power was infinite in some ways, properly harnessed a single, everyday normal human could become as powerful as a god. This rarely happened, for few humans lived long enough to discover the proper ways to that state, but the potential was there. The various Mage factions of the world was proof enough of that.
Now a being that had taken hundreds of thousands of souls, absorbing them into his own body, kept in check with the twin chains of hopelessness and torture, they would provide immense power to the being in question. Not quite as much as a single soul's power used to its complete potential, but more than enough to be just on this side of invulnerable. Normally such a powerful creature could not ever hope of passing through the dimensional barriers, but weak points exist. The Hellmouth was one of those. The only problem is if one that powerful managed to break through the barriers, he or she would also take a multitude of infernal creatures along for the ride.
Wesley spoke into the phone when Tara had finished her tale. "I see. Oz is being assisted by another like him, and they've managed to worm their way into the graces of those trying to protect Sunnydale. This is a rather difficult development. I'll contact Beckett, we'll meet in Sunnydale. I should be there in a few days, I'm not sure when Beckett would get there."
"All right Wesley, I'd appreciate it. Give him my regards." Tara spoke, a little bit of fondness seeping into her voice at that.
"I will. See you soon." With that, Wesley hung up. A moment later, he lifted up the phone once more and began dialing. After a few rings, he heard the pickup on the other end of the line.
"Beckett? It's Wesley. Your childe just told me a rather interesting story..."
Compared to Wolfram and Hart's head office in the infinite reaches of the multiverse, the chambers of their opposites, the Powers were quite empty.
They went by many names among the many groups in the world they looked over. The world of Earth, which was, despite their best efforts, was slowly being dragged down by the forces of darkness. Despite a singular, but immense victory for their side, with the destruction of the Antediluvians, the dark forces continued to spread. They were the ones who empowered the Imbued, the Hunters of the supernatural monsters. The Imbued called them The Messengers. They perhaps had the clearest view of them, though it was not whole, merely a small piece of the puzzle.
The Garou saw them in a guise, a single face of life, embodiment of the life of Earth, unaware that they assumed the guise to further their goals. They were called Gaia by the Garou. Among the Mages of the Celestial Chorus, they once again set up a guise, although it was less of a guise than with the Garou. They were called The One by them.
Despite everything, they came to a single, overwhelming conclusion.
They were losing.
It was due to a simple fact. Lack of power. During the War of Wrath, they numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Had they been visible to humanity during that time, their numbers could have blotted out the sky.
Now, they only numbered two. The others who had not been corrupted and fallen to the side of the enemy had long since abandoned this world, going out to create new worlds, other worlds that were not so close to the darkness that had taken so many of them. They had stayed, partially out of a feeling of responsibility to what they had wrought. The other reason was to try and guide humanity into evolution. If they made it far enough, evolved far enough, they could have become something great. Perhaps given enough time, they would Ascend and become even greater than they.
But it seemed to be for naught. The First's plots managed to corrupt Lucifer. Lucifer in turn corrupted hundreds of thousands of others, more than half their number rebelled against the old order. More than half had embraced the banner of rebellion, against the order of the One Above. The one who spun the multiverse out of nothing. The one who made them.
Now the pair was watching over one young vampire drive off to an old abandoned house out in the desert, seeking refuge from mortals so he might be able to regain his self control.
The female turned to the male. "Michael, you can't be considering destroying him just because of what he is. He had no choice in the matter."
Michael shook his head. "You know how dangerous he is. If he is allowed to live he might become capable of so much more than anything we'd ever thought of. His status as one of the Children of Caine makes him that much more dangerous! He is an abomination! He should have died over six decades ago. That was the whole point of nudging the demonic one into attacking him, but the fool tortured him and then sealed him inside of that wall instead of killing him. You should know, Sariel. You've been guiding them since the beginning, with failures all around I might add."
Sariel glowered at Michael. "You just fear what could happen if he managed to reach Unity. If his body, mind and soul became one, he could become capable of just what I've been trying to accomplish from the beginning. Why do you fear that so much?"
Michael glared at Sariel, then he sighed and rubbed his face. "He was exiled for a reason, remember. He has no business returning to our level. He doesn't remember anything of this and I would like to keep it that way."
Sariel shook her head, sighing at him and throwing her arms up in frustration. "We are losing. We're not even able to maintain a true holding action against the darkness. In less than three hundred years, humanity will destroy itself. Not because of Kyannar or the King of Hell, or the Wyrm reborn, or even a Mage destroying reality. It will be because they will have no hope of anything better and turn on each other like rabid wolves. He can help prevent that, even without any vestige of what he was. All he needs is a little guidance!"
Michael turned on Sariel with a look of rage on his face. "Your guidance hasn't done a single bit of good in the entire time you've watched over humanity. He will die soon, and when he is reborn perhaps he won't throw our plans off track so badly. These actions would not be needed if he had simply stayed on our side during the War of Wrath, but he chose this, remember?"
Sariel shook her head. "He is just a human soul. This is not Lucifer you are denying here. This is the one who altered destiny, the one being who stood on both sides of the light and the dark and emerged stronger for it. Even losing his memories every lifetime he's managed to alter events with every life he's lived. Or she's lived, in some cases."
Michael shook his head adamantly. "A man without destiny is a danger. He defeated the Codex Prophecies with his actions. His change into a vampire has already disrupted several others. The Antediluvians were supposed to rise, the Celestial Host should have returned and mankind would have been judged. Yet, his presence as a vampire, his mere presence, in the world, managed to wipe away the destinies of that crusader and his wife. Now the others may never return."
Sariel sighed. "We no longer need them, Michael. The situation has changed, it has become dynamic. It is growing, changing, living. Where before it was spiraling into certain death, it is now growing stronger, returning to life. With the right influences in the right places, our project will not destroy itself, it will finally heal! We will no longer be alone, Michael. Please, don't stand against me on this."
Michael shook his head once more. "No, I'm sorry. I can't risk it. I'm afraid I can't allow you to interfere with him anymore. If we leave things as they are, events will take care of themselves and we will be able to balance everything out. As long as he lives in his state, he will be capable of disrupting everything."
Sariel interrupted him. "Or redeem everything."
Michael snorted and disappeared. Sariel sighed over her companion's actions. 'Ever since Gehenna failed to come, Michael's become more and more erratic. Perhaps it's time I took matters into my own hands. Young Alexander does not deserve damnation, no matter what he has done in his first life. I think it is time I ended his exile. But first I will have to help him overcome his next trial.'
She watched, her eyes growing wider as she realized just how important it was she interfered with him. She saw the final two assassins of the Order of Teraka taking positions outside the small shack the vampire was taking for the day.
The first was a human, setting up on a small hill with a perfect view of the shack. He set up a tent for shade, obviously for the daylight that would make the desert unbearably hot. He assembled a sniper rifle and took his position, training the scope at the shack.
The other was an elf, a young blond one who had two blades strapped to her hips. She was dressed completely in black, even with a black scarf tied around her face to conceal her face. She drew a blade and began sharpening it with a whetstone, looking at the shack with a hungry look in her eyes.
Sariel scratched her chin as she decided the best course for interference in the upcoming events. No matter what Michael might think, Alexander Harris was needed if anything they worked for would be worth anything.
Xander set down his cooler, moving all of the bottles of blood within into the fridge in the shack.
He was slightly surprised the place was still intact. He remembered his uncle Rory had lived in this small place ages ago, and the six decades that passed by hadn't been too hard on it. It served his purposes well, however. He needed isolation. He needed time to recover his control. As a human, self-control hadn't been his strongest point, but as a vampire he was forced to get a large grip on himself. The last thing he needed was for it to crumble, and make him do something he'd regret.
He walked down into the cellar, dragging an old cot down with him. It didn't smell too good, but it'd be better than sleeping on the floor. He could always take a shower when he returned home. Bemused, he looked around, noting just how many empty bottles of beer were around the place. 'Looks like Uncle Rory really enjoyed his declining years. I wonder what happened to him, he was the only member of the Harris family who didn't treat me like dirt. Wait, scratch that. Dirt is useful for something. Gah. Why is it I could only find good people outside of my family?'
He heard the slightest signs of movement through the floorboards upstairs. Realizing he wasn't alone, he frowned and considered his options. He knew for a fact there wouldn't be any friends coming after him here, so it had to be the Terakans. Or a Terakan. He remembered they worked alone.
Moving so he was underneath the stairwell, he looked out between the wooden steps. From this position, he would have a perfect opportunity to cut off the foot of anybody who tried to come down that way.
Reaching into his coat, Xander pulled out his katana with no flourish, just slowly and silently. He crouched down, and waited.
Well, there you guys go, chapter 24. I hope you guys enjoyed this.
In case you're all wondering, Michael means Angel of Miracles. Sariel means Angel of Guidance. Joraeal is completely made up.
Any questions, comments and suggestions are quite welcome.
Later, all.
Nick.