Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event

Part 59

Empty Places, Part 1

You've got no place to hide

And I'm feeling like a villain, got a hunger inside

One look in my eyes

And you're running 'cause I'm coming

Gonna eat you alive

Your heart hits like a drum

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)

The chase has just begun

(Oh, oh, oh, oh)

Monsters stuck in your head

(We are, we are, we are)

Monsters under your bed

(We are, we are)

We are monsters, oh, oh

(We are, we are)

We are monsters, oh

-"Monsters", Ruelle


Sunnydale, California—Main Street

11:43 p.m.

Days Left Before the End of Days: 14


BOOM!

The glass windows of the "Simply Chiq Boutique" store on Main Street shattered, sending glass shards everywhere courtesy of a blast from Warren Mears's raygun.

Alongside him, Amy Madison, dressed in a slinky black dress and hurling deadly hex bolts around the block, striking several people dead and blowing up the building entrances of nearby stores as hundreds of people began scattering and screaming for cover.

Behind them, dozens of robed, knife-wielding Harbingers were smashing and killing anything that moved. A few vampires that normally lurked in the shadows even started getting into the mayhem, grabbing a few stray fleeing bystanders for a quick pre-midnight meal, pulling them into dark alleys to meet their final fate.

It was pandemonium. It was chaos. It was wartime Bosnia come to life in California.

And in the center of it all, surveying the carnage… Jasmine / The First looked around and smiled at its most brazen attack yet.

"I guess what they say is true," Jasmine / The First chuckled. "Ain't no party like a West Side party…"

It reached out and suddenly grabbed a fleeing shopkeeper, whose eyes widened in fear as he found himself being lifted off the ground like he was just a toy in the grip of this force of nature made flesh.

"...Cause a West Side party don't stop," Jasmine / The First flashed the quivering man an evil grin.

CRACK!

The sound of his neck cracking echoed in its ears and the long-disembodied malevolent entity found the sound akin to something orgasmic, closing its / her eyes as it relished the sound of death around it.

Dropping the dead man to the ground as he stared vacantly into nothingness, Jasmine / The First stepped over his corpse dismissively. "Well, except maybe for you," she / it snorted.

Draped in a new fur coat that she had looted from a trendy women's clothing store, Amy, feeling heady from the rush of power she was displaying, gave Warren a sloppy kiss as the macabre couple basked in the carnage around them.

Breaking off the kiss, Amy gave Warren a steamy smile. "God, I love a good massacre," she chuckled.

"Isn't it cool, baby?" the fleshless Warren smiled back at her, his ray gun still warm from having charred three bystanders into burning corpses.

Passing by them, Jasmine / The First gave them a somewhat stern glance. "Ease up on the kissy-face, you two. There's still work to be done," she / it instructed among the screams of terror down the once-peaceful streets. "We're sending a message here."

"And what message is that?" Amy wondered aloud.

As the screams of innocent people grew louder and survivors fled for their lives amid the burned and cut bodies of victims strewn about the heart of Sunnydale's business center, Jasmine / The First couldn't help but to smile.

"That this is our town now," Jasmine / The First declared triumphantly. "And the Slayer is just living in it…and not for long."


England—The Cotswolds, outskirts

Home of The Deeper Well

Now


SH-RRZZACK!

The sound of magick sizzling angrily as it clashed against equally powerful magick crackled through the air.

On the one side for The First Evil's cabal of villains, Ethan Rayne, an experienced, skilled and deadly sorcerer, and black and Chaos magician, adept at performing curses and transmogrification. Casting a deadly hex spell against the heroes his forces had surrounded, determinedly uttering the magickal spell from a book Whistler and Drogyn recognized from its markings as The Black Codex, a forbidden book of nearly-forgotten black magic so rare, deadly and powerful that only two copies of it were ever made, one of which came into the possession of Wolfram and Hart. The other, once thought to have been destroyed, was now in the possession of the unctuous Chaos worshiper.

It was a book the ages-old beings knew and dreaded, for they had to defend themselves often from its power wielded by The First's Harbinger priests a millennium ago when they fought alongside Cassandra Rayne and Catherine Ui Neill, the Slayer of the time, in many battles as they desperately tried to stop The First from bringing about the apocalypse.

On the other side, Alasdair Coames, legendary Archmage and war hero of the Ley Line War of '78. His eyes scrunched in concentration, uttering a powerful spell of his own protecting Angel and his friends, channeled through the glowing blue lantern in the aging Archmage's hand. That lantern was the legendary Beacon of Saint Benedict. Few items on earth were powerful enough to withstand the raw, deadly power of The Black Codex. But the Beacon of Saint Benedict was one such item. Blessed by Saint Benedict, a patron saint known for his protection from spiritual harm, the lantern was powered by the The Fire of Sigilla, which came from a piece of the soul of Sigilla, a pixie goddess and protector of the moorland areas around Cornwall renowned for her immense power and magick. Its power was both feared and revered across the demon underworld.

Behind Alasdair, Angel stood determined, holding Hope's Dagger tightly in his hands, ready for battle. At that moment, he heard his cell phone "ping!" and "pong!" nonstop with warning text messages that were only now being received since he was back above ground.

He swiftly reached for his phone with one hand, and the messages flew at him instantly:

FRED

ANGEL. You're in danger. The First could be sending minions your way. No time to explain. Get to safety as fast as you can! Please stay safe! And come home!

GUNN

Angel, big trouble headed your way. Lawyer Boy spilled the beans to Caleb, some new player who packs a mean punch making waves for The First. Did you know Lindsey and this Caleb cat are brothers? Whatever. Bad guys coming for you. Stay sharp, stay alert, get home safe.

ANYA

Angel, it's Anya. You know, Xander's ex-fiancee? The First and its minions are coming for you. Lindsey blabbed to Caleb, the First's new head lackey, about what you're up to in England. Considering the damage he did to Xander, Buffy and the others, I'm thinking you should duck and cover. Unless you're already dead by the time you receive this message. In which case, sorry we didn't get it to you sooner, I guess.

LORNE

Angel, babe, mucho peligro inminente. Looks like Lindsey gave up the ghost on your fellowship quest to get Hope's Dagger to this new creepy preacher, dresses in all black, name of Caleb. Apparently, he's Lindsey's long lost brother or something. Big right hook, big on hating women for some reason, bad news all around. He already wiped the floor with us about a day ago in a battle that made the Alamo look like Care-A-Lot. He killed a bunch of the kids. And he blinded Xander in one eye. Get to high ground ASAP, we need you back here in one piece, Angelcake. Especially Buffy. She really needs you right now. Stay safe, kiddo. And come home.

KATE

Angel. Wherever you are, stay on alert and get to safety. We've got a new black hat, Caleb. He's unbelievably strong, and it seems he's the First's new lieutenant. He killed a bunch of the girls and Rondell's kids, and Matthew, he blinded that Xander guy in one eye…and he took down Buffy, Spike, Faith and even Connor without breaking a sweat the first time we fought him a day ago. He's coming after you and the others. Whatever he's sending your way is bad news. Do not engage, do not fight him, he is too strong, maybe even for you. Just stay safe and get your vampire butt home NOW. Things are falling apart here. We could really use your help right now. Get home ASAP. Good luck.

DAWN (Squirt)

Angel! I've already left you, like, three voicemails! Please answer your phone! YOU'RE IN DANGER! This creepy guy Caleb is coming after you. He's really strong…like, Glory-level strong. Wherever you are, get to safety NOW! Please stay safe, I miss you. BUFFY misses you (not that she'll ever admit it). Things are so bad here. Please come home soon, we NEED you!

UNKNOWN CALLER

Hi, Mister Angel. It's Andrew Wells. I've been cooking for you guys a lot lately? Um, Buffy and the others said I should text you. And I'm a little concussed right now since she wall me against the through…no, wait, through me against the ball…no, wall…no, whatever, the point is, you're in danger from this new bad guy Caleb, who kinda reminds me of that evil preacher from the 'Johnny Pneumonic' or Henry Kane from 'Poltergeist', which I always thought would be really good as a series on the Sci-Fi Channel…okay, Anya just slapped me upside the head after she saw what I was writing. Passing out again, wherever you are, stay safe!

BUFFY

Angel…you're in danger. It's…bad. The others have probably texted you already. There's a new player. His name is Caleb. He's been doing a lot of damage here. I fought him already, and I barely…it didn't go well. We think he and a posse might be headed your way. If you get this message, get to safety. Do NOT engage, do not fight, do not try and do that hero thing you do. Just run. Stay alive, stay safe…and please come home. – Lov...Signed, Buffy

The last message from Buffy made Angel's heart ache in longing, but the torrent of information being received too late made Angel grimace in regret as he beheld the circle of enemies looking to bring him a painful death.

"Now they tell me," he muttered in consternation.

"The world-famous Alasdair Coames, the Terror of the Ley Line War of '78," Ethan Rayne smirked, casting his spell with all of his might. "I've heard much of you. Though from what I see, perhaps your legendary reputation was a tad overrated."

"That's funny…considering I've never heard of you at all," Alasdair replied gruffly, focusing intently on his counterspell.

"Of course, where are my manners? Ethan Rayne, at your service," the Chaos mage preened somewhat.

Angel, Alasdair and the others only gave him a blank, nonplussed stare.

Miffed, Ethan tried to clarify his titles. "Master of the dark arts? Exalted practitioner of black magic and loyal servant to The First Evil, son of Chaos?"

Decidedly unimpressed, Alasdair gruffly snorted. "Sonny Jim, I'm old, tired and don't easily impress. They dole those titles out like toffee to tourists these days."

A flash of offended anger appearing on his face, Ethan pushed harder into the spell, momentarily overpowering the counterspell before the powerful archmage Alasdair focused and pushed back harder, putting Ethan on the defensive.

"Rayne?"

Off the stunned question coming from the spirit of Cassandra, Angel glanced down at his sword. "Unfortunately, yes. Cassandra, meet Ethan Rayne. I'm told he's a great, great…something of yours. A descendant."

"That's impossible," Cassandra said, her disillusioned tone indicating she did not want to believe it. "And yet…no, it's true. I sense something about him…some kinship…but how can this be? The House of Rayne has defended the light and order and justice for generations. But the foul taint of dark magicks surrounds him, I can sense the Chaos in his soul…"

Angel gave his sword a sympathetic look. He wondered for a moment if the shame Cassandra felt was what his own father felt when he had disowned Angel, then merely Liam of Galway, all those centuries ago for being nothing but a drunken, whoring lout. The sense of shame that his progeny was letting down not only himself, but his entire bloodline.

"Sorry, Cassie," Whistler looked to the sword embodying the spirit of his lover. "I'm afraid this apple fell pretty far from the tree…and collected rot."

Looking around the brilliant energy surrounding him, Angel could see the Bringers eagerly awaiting outside of the makeshift forcefield Alasdair had created, Pearl and Nash waiting outside with evil intentions.

This was getting them nowhere, Angel decided. It was time to go on the offensive.

"Alasdair?" Angel called out to the archmage. "I need a backdoor. Now."

Without breaking his concentration, Alasdair asked, "What? Are…are you sure?"

"Yes. Guys?" he looked to Drogyn and Whistler. "Get ready. We go on three. One…"

The mystic warrior and the half-demon Agent of the Powers nodded, understanding instantly what Angel had in mind.

"Two…"

Angel gripped his sword tightly, which only seemed to grow brighter in his grasp.

Showtime, he thought.

"THREE!"

A door-shaped hole appeared in the forcefield and Angel, sword in hand immediately leapt out of it, sword slicing through the air as he decapitated one Bringer with ease…

…and watching with awe as its body immediately combusted from contact with the blade.

Whoa, Angel thought in surprise.

Whistler and Drogyn followed and the fight was on.

As he fought, Angel felt the heavy blade seem to get lighter and lighter within his grasp. Two Bringers came at him, only for the Champion to slice through one attacker's arm, watching as it screeched in pain as the stump of its severed appendage caught fire. With a swift swing of the blade, Angel brutally put it out of its misery as the blade cut through its neck, severing its now-fireball of a head from its body.

The other one was a bit more skilled, slashing at Angel with its sword with lethal blows. But Angel was superior to his attacker in every way, parrying the blows with Hope's Dagger, the blade dispersing a small burst of light with each sword clash.

"Don't fight the dagger, Angel. Use it. Let yourself become one with it," Angel heard Cassandra instruct him.

"I'd rather let it become one with his skull," Angel grunted in reply as he batted the Bringer's sword aside, then buried the blade deep in the crown of its head, the demon acolyte's skull combusting instantly.

The souled vampire detective raised an eyebrow as he kept battling a new batch of Bringers. "Neat trick," he muttered.

"Hope's Dagger was forged from the essence of the Flame of Life, the origin of which was the Eye of Creation itself," Cassandra explained. "That was the first ray of light to ever shine upon the world, giving it life. Its touch is meant to light the darkness, and to burn it and all touched by it away."

"So, in other words, it sets the bad guys on fire?" Angel asked, grunting as he dispatched another Bringer with a sword slash through the torso that ignited the demon's body like kindling.

"In a nutshell, yes," Cassandra replied, the blade growing lighter in his grasp and shining brighter with every attack, like a piece of pulsating silver starlight in the night. "It's even deadlier to vampires or other demons sensitive to sunlight. Though it has many other abilities that will reveal themselves over time, with practice and patience."

"Right now? Neither one is something I have boatloads of time for ," Angel gritted out, plunging the sword through the chest of another Harbinger and watching as its chest immediately combusted into flames, whirling the blade around for another head-slicing blow that finished it off for good.

"Wait…if it's deadly to vampires, how am I able to touch it?" Angel asked, suddenly concerned as he plunged the blade into the torso of another Bringer that ignited into flames.

"Your soul," Cassandra explained, the sword pulsating like a beating heart hard at work with every blow and slash. "Though you may have been tainted by darkness as a vampire, your soul is that of a noble warrior. A Champion. And you have been chosen by your victory in the Trials of The Champion as worthy of wielding the Dagger. You, and only you, may wield me."

It was strange, but Angel noted how it wasn't just the sword that got lighter the more he fought…it was like he was somehow getting stronger. Faster. And it was all connected to the sword. Like it was a key to some hidden well of power hidden deep within him that he hadn't realized was missing that had now opened, letting out a torrent of speed and power that even he didn't know he had.

Like he had just unearthed an entirely new level of power and he had only taken his first step on a brand new plateau for him to discover.

Angel turned for a moment to check whether his allies needed help, but found it unnecessary to do so.

Alasdair was still deadlocked in his magick battle with Ethan, but the aging Archmage appeared to be getting the better of the younger, but comparatively less experienced Ethan.

Like a force of nature, Drogyn the Battlebrand, wielding his legendary flaming warhammer Messor, Latin for 'Reaper', swatted one Bringer brutally, the impact exploding its skull like a rotted fruit. With a brutal backhand, he dazed another knife-wielding Bringer attempting to slash at him, the eternally young warrior rearing back and caving in the demon's chest with a bone-crunching hammer shot from his massive weapon that the powerful Drogyn handled like it was but a toy. As far as Angel could see, Drogyn was every bit the warrior that made Nazis tremble when he and Angel fought side by side in Lviv all those decades ago.

Whistler easily held his own, breaking the neck of one assaulting Bringer with little effort at all before grabbing the hand of another one attempting to slit his throat, breaking it with just one hand, and driving his knife right into its throat. Angel reminded himself how easy it was to forget just how powerful his old mentor really was under his rumpled exterior.

Alarmed at the speed of how the newly-armed Angel and his allies were making quick work of their reinforcements, Pearl and Nash decided to make their presence known.

Hovering menacingly above Angel, Pearl flashed Angel a dark smile. "You've gotten a little more spry in your old age, old man. Far more agile than you were when we were thrashing you around in Vegas a few decades ago. Good."

Her eyes began to glow their deadly greenish hue as did her brother's, their hands charging with lethal plasma energy. "That means for once, you won't be able to take the fun out of things when we go about killing you."

The half-demon twins discharged four bolts of fiery green plasma from their hands directed straight at the Champion…

"Hold the Dagger up! Like a shield. Aim it towards the demons!" Cassandra firmly instructed at Angel.

Confused, Angel frowned. "What? Why–?"

"DO IT!" the disembodied voice of the legendary warrior shouted.

Acting quickly, Angel did as Cassandra instructed, shielding himself with the sword as the blasts reached him.

TZAMM!

As if it was a mirror, the sword sent the deadly plasma bolts back towards Pearl and Nash, who were caught unprepared as their own attacks reflected back at them.

While Nash narrowly avoided the blasts, Pearl was not so lucky, catching them full in the chest as she was sent spinning and dazed into a nearby tree.

"PEARL!" Nash shouted in concern after his sister.

Angel briefly admired the trick the blade had pulled off. He had been on the receiving end of Pearl and Nash's plasma blasts before. They could melt down metal, punch through concrete, reduce a body to ashes almost instantly. Yet against Hope's Dagger, the lethal bolts were apparently as ineffective as a laser pointer pen reflecting off a dressing room mirror.

"Yet another ability," Cassandra said. "Against virtually any light and energy blasts, the Dagger is impervious. Making it just as effective a shield as it is a weapon."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Angel noted.

"More than you can imagine, Angel," the blade replied.

Enraged, Nash, green eyes burning, flew at Angel in blinding speed, knocking him backwards onto the ground with a powerful punch.

"Bastard!" Nash hissed, picking up a dazed Angel by the front of his shirt. "You hurt my sister. I was going to drag this out, Angel. Make it as painful as possible before killing you." His right hand reared back, glowing with deadly green energy. "But you just punched your ticket to a quick and horrible death instead."

Then a vicious smile appeared on his face. "No, wait…I think I can still have a little fun with you before I kill you."

Dropping Angel to the ground, the male, winter-hued half-demon picked up Hope's Dagger, lying just in front of his feet.

Nash smirked, unimpressed. "This is what's been causing all the fuss? This is the legendary Hope's Dagger, the Blade of the Champion? Hard to see what all the hullabaloo is about. But no matter." He raised it over his head, intent on taking Angel's head off with his own sword. "It'll make a fine mantelpiece after I've used it to end your miserable life, Angelus."

Suddenly, a female, polished British voice thundered at Nash, "UNHAND THE DAGGER, SCUM!"

ZZZZZ-AAAAP!

Without warning, the sword discharged a jolt of powerful electric-like magic, making every nerve ending in Nash's body open in flaring pain. The half-demon let out a pained scream as he was thrown back, dropping the sword back onto the ground.

Angel managed to get his bearings long enough to see what his new weapon did to his foe.

"Wow," he muttered, amazed. "You can do that?"

"Is there a part of 'For the Champion and Only the Champion' that confuses you?" Cassandra's voice dryly retorted. "None may touch Hope's Dagger unless they are deemed worthy. And he was most certainly not worthy."

Angered, Nash, recovering quicker than expected, snarled at Angel. "I've just about had it with this. I would have enjoyed the poetic irony of dusting you with your own sword, Angel." A green energy sword formed in his hand before Nash flew at Angel with murder in his eyes. "But I guess I'll have to settle for the quick route."

Suddenly, Angel's eyes snapped open, his vampire face emerging as he grabbed the enchanted sword. "You're going to have to settle for less than that, Nash," he snarled…

…right before his sword hand rotated and raised up swiftly like a helicopter propeller, cleaving Nash's right hand clean off.

"AAARGH!" Nash howled in agony, his severed hand clattering to the ground as Angel landed in a crouch.

"Or should I call you…Lefty?" Angel smirked grimly at the wailing half-demon, still staring stupefied at his stump of a hand.

"NASH!" Pearl cried out, soaring through the air as she regained her senses. Her glowing jade eyes were nuclear with blinding rage. "Angelus, you son-of-a–OOF!"

She was cut off as Nash's body suddenly flew into hers, the maimed half-demon thrown by Angel as if he was nothing more than a bag of trash. The impact sent both pale half-demon twins crashing back into nearby trees and onto the ground, effectively neutralizing them.

"With language like that, Pearl," Angel scolded mockingly as his face shifted back to its human guise, "it's no wonder you had to settle for Spike."

Meanwhile, Ethan found himself beginning to sweat as he found his spell beginning to wane under the might of Alasdair's raw power.

"You…you cannot…stand against…the power of the…Black…Codex…" Ethan wheezed through a strained voice, yet the sweat on his forehead and the worry in his beady dark brown eyes betraying his boast.

The wise Alasdair only gave the younger warlock a pitying look. "Here's a life lesson, Mister Rayne. Spend less time bragging about your skills…and more time honing them. Then maybe you'll have something to brag about. REPELLO!" Which in Latin meant "repel."

FWOOSH!

The Beacon of Saint Benedict burned a brilliant whitish-blue as it sent a wave of overwhelming power towards Ethan. The force was too much for him, overwhelming the Chaos warlock as it sent him flying backwards and skidding across the ground…

…only to come to a stop at Angel's feet.

Casting a cool look at the disgraced member of the Rayne bloodline, Angel pointed Hope's Dagger at him in warning. "Stand down, Ethan. It's over."

Despite knowing he was overmatched and in no condition to fight the more powerful Angel, Ethan's vanity refused to let him concede. He chuckled coldly at the Champion. "Is it? You took your eyes off the ball, Angel, old boy. Left your pretty little tart girlfriend Buffy and her pals high and dry back home in Sunnydale. I must say, you did us a favor there. Much appreciated."

Reminded of the urgent messages from his family and friends to get back home, Angel growled. "For your sake, she'd better be okay. Otherwise, you're the one who might not make it home."

Angel had only briefly met Ethan during his time in Sunnydale, but he disliked the troublesome warlock almost as much as Buffy and Giles did. And he had neither forgotten nor forgiven Ethan for nearly getting Buffy killed on several occasions whenever the warlock had visited Sunnydale to screw with Giles and the others.

"Oh, I had…ahem…nothing to do with that," Ethan coughed back in reply. "But let's just say The First has resources that you haven't even dreamed of yet."

Unable to stay silent anymore, Cassandra spoke harshly to her wayward descendant. "How dare you call yourself a Rayne! How DARE you sully my family's name and honor! I was a soldier of light! My family, our ancestors devoted their lives to protecting the innocent, fighting for justice, for peace, for all that is good…and this is what my bloodline has come to? This?" Her disgust was evident in her icy, damning British tone. "I can feel the foul taint of dark magick and Chaos in your very soul itself. You are a disgrace to the House of Rayne and all that came before you. You repulse me."

Bitterly, Ethan spat out a glob of blood as he eyed the legendary sword that contained the spirit of his great ancestor. "The feeling is entirely mutual, Madame. Pfft. 'The House of Rayne'. I'm well aware of the pointless crusades that you and the other idiots in our family tree waged. 'To Serve With Honor, To Die in Glory,' yeah? Yet what glory did all that fighting for 'all that is right' get you? A living death, trapped forever in a sword? Unable to touch or feel anything anymore? Oh, I know who you are…Cassandra. Do you even know what happened to your children after your fight with The First? To your husband? They suffered and died without you. The mighty Cassandra Rayne, protector of all that is good…and yet you couldn't even protect the ones you loved. Pathetic."

Angel scowled at Ethan as he hissed out those poisonous words at his ancestor, yet watched as the blade began pulsating quicker, almost angrily. Its color began to grow brighter, as if the temper of Cassandra herself was beginning to boil white hot.

"If that's what fighting for good gets you, then I'll gladly try playing for the other team," Ethan smirked weakly. "The First offered me power beyond my wildest dreams. A fair trade for my services. And that power will be mine, ancestor. The Awakening is upon us, and nothing any of you can do will stop it—"

"SILENCE, dog!" the sword holding the essence of Cassandra thundered at Ethan. "Be thankful I don't have a body, or I'd silence you myself if I were able."

"Who says you can't?" Angel replied simply, right before he tightened his grip on the sword hilt and viciously struck Ethan in the face with the blade holding his disapproving ancestor's spirit inside, the souled vampire watching in satisfaction as the warlock slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"My thanks, kind sir," Cassandra said to Angel in warm gratitude.

"Don't mention it," Angel wryly grinned at the glowing sword. "Besides, that guy always talked too much."

Slowly regaining their senses, Pearl and Nash realized they were quickly becoming outnumbered. Whistler and Drogyn were finishing off the last of the Bringers. And with Hope's Dagger, Angel had become a far more formidable foe than he was in their last encounter decades ago. It was as if he had grown more powerful, more intimidating. And the power of his new weapon was not to be trifled with. Though it would displease The First Evil if they came back without fulfilling their mission, it would be far worse if they allowed themselves to be captured by their enemies, Pearl realized.

"We need to go, brother. Now," Pearl said to his twin.

Yet despite his severed hand, Nash hesitated. He hated the idea of leaving the job unfinished, especially when the job involved one of his hated enemies. Especially after what Angel had done to his hand. "No…we can…still—"

"Still what? Get diced and sliced some more?" Pearl scolded him. Combining the age, experience and strength of Angel with the awesome might of the legendary Hope's Dagger made him a most deadly foe…maybe even an unstoppable one. After the way he had so easily dispatched them both, Pearl realized another attack on him without their backup would be suicidal. "Your poor hand. You need to get it treated immediately. As much as I hate to admit it, Angel has us outmanned and outgunned."

"We should have…taken…the Beast…as backup," Nash hissed, clutching his stump of a hand in pain. "Or…the witch…"

"We can't worry about that now," Pearl said, taking a small potion vial and throwing it behind them. Instantly, a portal swirled into existence. Their only gateway out of here. "Come now, up with you. We'll settle the score with Angel for what he did another time. We need to go back to the vineyard and report what we've seen."

Begrudgingly, Nash leaned on Pearl and slung his arm around her shoulders for support as the half-demon twins began limping towards the vortex, Angel and the others too distracted finishing off the last of the Bringers.

Just as the began to disappear into the portal, Pearl turned back to see Alasdair Coames whirling the famous blue beacon weapon of his around like a mace and decapitate a Bringer. Pearl's eyes glowed green with rage, remembering how a much younger Coames used that same lantern to kill her mother and put dozens of her demonic children to death in that fateful Oklahoma night raid in 1970.

Her fist glowed a white hot neon green, watching as the Archmage had his back to them amid the battle. If she couldn't get even with Angel, she decided then and there, she could at least make sure the miserable child-killing bastard who took her babies from her drew his last breath. With a special attack she had been saving just for such an occasion.

As she reached into her pocket for a black crystal amulet that was a hidden forbidden relic of her family, Pearl raised her hand, channeled every drop of hatred and fury into her fist, uttered ancient words of an ancient black curse her late mother had taught her and took aim.

"For my children! My mother!" Pearl cried out, eyes aflame with hot green fire. "Burn in hell, Alasdair Coames!"

Her scream attracted Angel's attention…who realized what the vengeful Pearl intended to do as she took aim at Alasdair's unprotected back.

"LOOK OUT!"

Angel moved faster than he could think as Pearl's blast discharged from her hand, sending lethal green energy hurtling towards the unprotected back of the aging Archmage.

Without thinking and barely a moment to spare, Angel knocked Alasdair out of the way…

ZZZZZRA-CKOOWWW!

Angel cried out in pain as he took the full impact of the bolt, the dark energy overwhelming him, burning him.

Every cell, every inch of him felt like he had been doused with gasoline and set ablaze.

"ANGEL!" a wide-eyed Whistler shouted.

"NO!" the bodiless voice of Cassandra cried out.

After a few agonizing moments, Angel toppled over and fell to the ground.

Unconscious.

Still clutching Hope's Dagger in his hand.

As his allies surrounded him to tend to him, Pearl smirked darkly.

"Not what I expected…but it'll do," the half-demon femme fatale smiled, pleased with herself.

Then she and an injured Nash quickly disappeared through the portal, which closed behind them instantly.

"Oh, geez," Whistler uttered in dismay, kneeling down and patting Angel's face frantically. "Angel? C'mon, kid, get up. Can you hear me? Angel!"

"Is he alright?" Drogyn asked, his handsome face etched in concern.

"He's hurt. Badly," Cassandra's voice echoed from the sword. "Whistler, I sense…magick around him. Black magick. Foul. Evil. My God, it's practically swallowing him."

Alasdair extended his hand, trying to sense the dark energy around the nearly-catatonic Angel. As he did, his eyes widened and he retracted his hand, a look of dread on his face.

"I know this magick," Alasdair said in awe. "It's a curse. A dark one. I can't say for certain, but…the energy here might come from magick as old as language itself."

"Can you heal him?" Drogyn asked, worried about his old friend.

Alasdair shook his head. "I cannot," he sighed grimly. "But I know someone who might. For a price."

"Whoever it is, pull the trigger on it, buddy," Whistler said, looking on as Angel lay in an almost vegetative state. "We're short on time, and from the looks of it, so is Angel."

Drogyn took a moment, before he made up his mind. "Then I shall come with you. Until I make sure Angel is properly healed."

Whistler looked at the eternally young, grim warrior with surprise. "Whoa. Drogyn, you can't leave the Deeper Well, the Powers—"

"Can take it up with me another time," Drogyn said gruffly, his tone leaving no room for debate. He looked back at Angel, his hardened gaze softening for a moment. "Angel saved my life once. And he helped me liberate an entire village of innocent people when they desperately needed help. I owe him this. He's not just an ally, he is a friend. A brother."

"My love, we must hurry," Cassandra said to Whistler, her voice tinged with urgency. "I can feel this curse working quickly. It would have killed the Archmage had it struck him. Even as a vampire, Angel won't hold out long. I think the only reason he hasn't turned to ashes by now is because the energy of Hope's Dagger somehow protected him. But we must get Angel help now. Or he won't survive much longer."

Whistler got it, and nodded. There wasn't any time to argue with Drogyn anyway. He learned long ago to trust Cassandra's instincts. If they didn't get Angel help now, all would be lost.

The ages-old half-demon looked at Alasdair. "Okay, gramps, better make with the mojo and get us to this guy of yours. If we don't get Angel back on his feet ASAP, he's toast, and we're all doomed."

Alasdair nodded, standing up and holding the blue lantern towards the sky as he chanted his teleportation spell.

As an afterthought, Whistler turned to Drogyn. "We'd better take old Ethan over there," the half-demon Agent of the Powers said, motioning to the still unconscious Ethan Rayne not a few feet from them. "Taking him off the board could help set back The First a little. Plus, he might have some juicy tidbits to spill."

Drogyn nodded in understanding, walking over to Ethan's body and picking up the Chaos worshiper off the floor by his shirt with only one powerful hand as he returned to the others.

As glowing blue light surrounded the five men and the enchanted Hope's Dagger while they began teleporting away from the battlefield, Whistler gave the still unconscious Angel a sad smile.

"Just hang on, champ," he uttered quietly. "We'll take it from here."


Sunnydale, California—Summers Residence

12:19 a.m.

Days Left Before the End of Days: 13


"What do you mean Connor's gone??" a wide-eyed, nearly hysterical Dawn all but screamed at Buffy.

Looking guiltily at her little sister, Buffy sadly said, "He's gone. Connor packed up his stuff and left through the window. I'm sorry, Dawn."

Not far from them, Darla sat, her face tear-streaked, Wesley offering her comfort as she leaned on his shoulder, the beautiful blonde ex-vampire looking weary as the former Watcher let his arm comfortingly sling around her.

Buffy took notice of them out of the corner of her eye. The look of pain in Darla's eyes over her son's disappearance, the pained, glassy eyes her little sister Dawn stared at her with…I did this, Buffy guiltily thought. This is all my fault…

Dawn couldn't understand. Couldn't process it. "How? Why? Where is he?"

Images kept flickering in Dawn's head. Connor, outside in the darkness. All alone. Cold. Hungry. Facing down Bringers and vampires and Caleb by himself, fighting alone, dying alone…each image broke her heart, pushed the tears closer to spilling from her eyes. Made her want to run out into the streets and find him herself.

Letting out a guilty sigh, Buffy had no words of comfort for her sister. "I…I don't know, Dawn."

Yet Dawn picked up on that. How Buffy wouldn't quite meet her gaze. How her older sister's body language seemed to say she knew more about why Connor was gone than she was letting on.

And in that moment, Dawn decided she was done with people keeping secrets from her. Especially about Connor.

"What happened to Connor, Buffy?" Dawn demanded, shaking with emotion as her eyes sought out the truth.

Buffy hesitated. "Dawn…I…"

"What did you do?" the younger girl asked Buffy, accusingly.

Sensing how tense things were getting, and wanting to avoid another Summers family smackdown, Spike, from his corner of the room, decided to intervene. "Oy, easy there, Nibblet," he said placatingly, making his way closer to Dawn. "Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Spike!" Dawn angrily shrugged off his hand, her eyes glassy with worried, unshed tears. "Connor's out there, all alone, he could be anywhere, and I'm supposed to calm down?"

"Dawn," Wesley's firm voice called out, which drew all eyes to him.

Off Darla's questioning gaze, Wesley offered her a soothing glace, brushing his thumb gently across her palm in assurance. " I understand you're upset, and why you're worried," he said in a gentler tone now to the worried Dawn. "But if Connor doesn't want to be found, he won't be. Not tonight, at least. Give us until the morning, and we'll try to find him starting then."

"No!" Dawn's insistent outburst shocked most of them. "We have to find him now! He could be in trouble, or scared, or-or-or–"

"Dawn, there's nothing we can do right now," Buffy said, trying to calm Dawn down. "We'll find Connor, I promise, but—"

Dawn angrily whirled on Buffy. "You really think I'm going to trust anything you say right now? Knowing that you're the one that drove him out of here and you won't even tell me what you did?"

Buffy felt the sting of those words, but closed her eyes and let herself excuse that swipe. Besides, she realized with guilt, Dawn was right. Buffy knew that if she hadn't accidentally revealed the near-tragic actions of Darla during her pregnancy, Connor might very well still be here.

"Dawn, I get it," Buffy replied, taking a deep breath. "But we can't just go barging out into the night, we don't have the manpower right now to—"

But Dawn was beyond trying to be reasoned with. "Fine! Then I'll go find him," she declared, stalking towards the door, only to have Buffy's hand grasp around her bicep.

"Dawn, no," Buffy replied firmly. "You're not going out there."

Her pulse rising in her chest, Dawn glared angrily at her older sister. "You gonna stop me? Because you're gonna have to."

For a brief moment, Buffy remembered the same words leaving her own lips three years ago, when Angel and her had come to harsh words, and blows, over Faith, who had sought sanctuary with Angel after spending the last month forcibly switching her body with Buffy's and trying to kill Angel himself on a contract with Wolfram and Hart.

Shaking off the flash of that bitter memory, Buffy's eyes narrowed as she eyed her baby sister, her legal charge. "Dawn, I mean it. Don't take another step towards that door. Connor going missing is bad enough. I'm not losing my sister, too."

Straightening up to her full height to tower over her sister by that one inch, Dawn's nostrils flared, her own eyes lit with anger. "If you think I'm going to let you stop me from finding Connor, Buffy, you're in for another fight."

"Connor grew up in Quor'toth, Dawn," Wesley said, his tone a little more firm, but still soft enough to let Dawn know he understood her grief. "He knows how to handle himself. Trying to bring him back here against his will won't work, we found that out the hard way from experience. We'll do everything we can to bring him home, but for now, we have to leave him be."

Taking a slow, steadying breath, Darla looked up at Dawn, her red, tear-filled eyes soft with understanding as she beheld the teenage girl. "Wesley's right, Dawn. Nobody wants Connor home right now more than me, believe me. But…we have to give him some time before we try and find him."

Their words gave Dawn pause, and despite her overwhelming urge to run into the night and find her lost boyfriend, she managed to take in deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. Reluctantly, she nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as unhappy tears welled up in her eyes.

As Buffy watched her younger sister walk towards the window, stare out into the streets forlornly, as if trying to will Connor back home with nothing but the power of her heart, the Slayer felt more sadness, more disappointment in herself creeping in.

If only she had managed to keep quiet about Connor's birth when she was talking to Darla, Buffy silently chided herself. If only she hadn't lost control…yet she had. And she had let down the people she loved. Again…

Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in her gut, and she doubled over slightly. She hadn't been hit or punched, and she wasn't sick as far as she knew, and yet a pain, deep and intimate, familiar, spread in her stomach and reverberated into the deepest parts of her, her heart, her soul…

Soul?

Angel, Buffy realized in dread. Oh, my God

Something had happened to Angel. Something terrible. She could feel it.

And there was nothing she could do about it. She had no idea where he was, if he was still even alive…

Spike caught her look of distress. "Buffy? What's wrong?"

As the others turned to her, Buffy didn't know what to say. How could she explain it so they could understand? And should she explain it? What if she was wrong about Angel? What good would it do to worry them all now?

And yet, Buffy sensed with dread that she wasn't wrong…

Suddenly, Gunn and Fred came through the door.

"Guys, something's happened downtown," Fred said, her eyes wide with urgency.

Gunn walked over quickly to the nearby television set in Dawn's room, pressing the button and turning it on.

His expression was grim as he turned back to Buffy and the others. "I think you need to see this."

On the screen, a news anchor from News 12 Sunnydale was delivering the news as the graphics on the screen below him read chillingly:

'BREAKING NEWS: 20 dead and counting in downtown Sunnydale following massacre; police onhand'

"And these are the scenes from what was once quiet Sunnydale on Main Street that our cameraman is picking up. We apologize for the graphic nature of the footage we are showing you at home," said the grim voice of anchor.

Flickering on the television screen…horror.

Images of dead and dying people strewn about the sidewalks of Main Street.

Emergency workers tending to the wounded.

Stores burning. The dead covered in white, blood-matted sheets. The streets buckled, scorched with black marks.

Downtown Sunnydale had been turned into a warzone.

Everyone watched the screen in stunned silence.

Buffy's jaw dropped, silent horror spreading across her beautiful face. She didn't understand. How could this have happened? How could they not have known?

Why couldn't I stop this? She wondered in endless guilt.

"Authorities are still investigating the cause of the massacre, but eyewitness accounts and videos taken at the scene are reporting what was described as an army of robed figures with knives led my several other people including a dark-skinned African-American woman at the center who appears to have been the ringleader," the anchor said. "No word yet on the…cause of…the…the massacre…"

The male anchor stammered, his eyes widening in shock amid the audible screams in the background of the TV studio.

Out of nowhere, the source of his worry came into view on the screen.

Jasmine.

Or rather, The First Evil in the body of the fallen PTB.

Buffy watched in shock as Jasmine/The First slowly walked behind the anchor's desk, grabbing the man's tie gently, though he rose to his feet, shaking in terror.

"Thank you, Bob," Jasmine/The First smiled serenely. "I'll take it from here."

CRACK!

With a sudden, vicious move, Jasmine/The First snapped the neck of the anchor, barely interested as she/it shoved the man's dead corpse to the ground.

Dawn let out a small yelp of horror as she stared at the TV, Gunn and Fred also equally horrified. Wesley had a grim look on his face as he watched it all, while Darla's hands flew to her mouth, an audible gasp leaving her throat. Even Spike, who had grown accustomed to seeing terrible things over the course of his long life, look disturbed at what he was seeing on TV.

Buffy recoiled, horrified at what she saw: a live murder on TV. The First Evil in its most brazen move yet.

As if she were some kind of regal monarch, Jasmine / The First sat down in grandiose style onto the anchor's chair. Stared right into the barrel of the camera.

"People of Sunnydale…good evening," she/ it greeted pleasantly. "And welcome…welcome to The End."

Buffy stared frozen as she watched her enemy greet the people she was trying to kill like they were friendly neighbors being invited over for pie.

"The end of your denial. The end of the mundane. The end of your pestilence on this world," Jasmine / The First continued. "For years, you've been in denial. Denying why your murder rates are so high. Why your clergy never seem to last long in your pathetic little town. Why you're afraid to go out at night. But rejoice, good people. I have the answers for all."

Jasmine/ The First smiled darkly into the camera. "It's me."

Buffy looked around at the faces of her stunned friends and family. The shock on their faces said everything.

"The massacre on Main Street tonight was my message to all of you. And my message is this: I'm tired. Of all of you," the mocha-skinned fallen Power's smile grew more wicked. "I'm tired of your existence. Of your pollution. Of your ignorance. Of your audacity to think that vermin like you have the right to exist, because you don't. You never did. And in a week and change? I'm planning to rectify that. The world as you know it…everything as you know it…all comes to an end. And it happens right here in your pathetic Podunk little town. And there's not a damn thing that any of you…and I mean any of you…Slayer…"

Jasmine/The First smirked knowingly into the camera. As if she was looking right at Buffy herself.

Buffy's eyes narrowed, feeling her fists ball at her sides as she stared right back at her enemy.

"...can do to stop me," Jasmine / The First smiled. "Three days. That's how long you all have to clear out of town…my town. After that, it's open season on all of you. You think a few blown up buildings and massacres the last few days and nights is the worst that can happen? I assure you, Sunnydale, this is only child's play compared to what's coming next. Be afraid, Sunnydale. What was, will be. What is…will be no more. Now…is the season of evil."

"Ghostbusters 2. Cool," Andrew's voice drew everyone's attention. Off their stares, his smile faded. "Um…it's a classic."

Buffy shot the foolish boy an irritated glare before she returned her focus to the TV.

"And in case you think I'm not serious…you'd better think again," Jasmine/ The First's smile faded into a scowl. "Because I assure you, this time…I'm playing for keeps."

Her eyes suddenly went milky white, uttering an ancient tongue long forgotten to the ears of man.

"Ash A'ggat Ku'nezz'ghaa aaa 'Sa Mo'sh muresh M'Gazzz Ra'Aat."

Without warning, the earth began to quiver…and then it shook.

"Wh-what's happening?" Fred cried out, eyes wide in fear.

"Earthquake! Get down!" Gunn shouted, throwing himself on top of Fred as the others scrambled for cover.

Amid the screams in the Summers household, Buffy managed to stand up and make her way to the window.

Her eyes widened in fright and horror at what she saw. Oh, God…

Blood.

The sky rained blood.

Lightning came next, errant bolts crashing down and striking streets, cars, homes. The lights of practically every home on her block came on, whole families running in terror, fleeing for cover.

Birds began to fall dead from the sky, littering the street with their tiny corpses.

It was like nothing Buffy had ever seen, not even when Glory had opened the portal. Not even when the Master rose. Not even when Mayor Wilkens had destroyed her high school during his Ascension into an One One.

It was like the world was about to end.

Buffy began to take shallow breaths, feeling herself start to panic before she willed as much control into herself as possible. Oh, God…oh, God…

Angel was gone, possibly dead. Faith was clinging to life. Her allies were scared, battered and bruised. And her town was falling apart at the seams.

It was if the entire ground beneath Buffy was opening itself up and swallowing her.

From beneath you, it devours, she remembered the cold warning that had haunted her for months. And it truly felt like that now for Buffy.

The world had gone mad, and it was trying to swallow her, bones and all.

Shaken, Buffy turned her eyes back to the TV screen.

Jasmine / The First smiled again.

"Three days, Sunnydale. And then the real killing begins. Get out now while you can, all of you. For the life you save might be your own," she/ it grimly warned. "Oh, and Buffy?"

Buffy's lips trembled in a thin straight line as she stared back at the screen where her enemy taunted her.

Jasmine /The First winked. "Sweet dreams."

-WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES. PLEASE STAND BY-

And then the airwaves died into static snow.

Her family, her allies all looked to her questioningly, seeking her guidance. Her protection. Answers.

Yet as she turned to look at them, Buffy could only stare in frozen disbelief, paralyzed by her own horror.

She wanted to protect her family. Her friends. Her people outside in the streets, screaming and afraid. She wanted to tell them it would be okay. That she's got this. That as bad and as scary and as horrible as things seemed, they could still turn the tide. That they could survive. That they could win…

But she couldn't.

For the first time since this nightmare began months ago, when she began having dreams of all those Potential Slayers around the world getting murdered, Buffy began to doubt herself.

Began to wonder…

What if I really can't win? What if I can't stop her?

What if…what if this really is The End?


Sunnydale, California—Main Street

8:35 a.m.

Days Left Before the End of Days: 10


Sunnydale was falling.

The Hellmouth's jittery pressure cooker had finally boiled up into panic.

It was worse than any war zone Buffy had seen on TV as the inhabitants of Sunnydale fled for their lives.

It had been four days since Faith had escaped her brutal captivity and returned to the Summers residence.

In the wake of The First's latest set of attacks, particularly the one the local media was dubbing the "Massacre on Main Street", the people of Sunnydale, who had long operated under a delusional sense of denial as they went about their daily lives while living on top of the mouth of Hell itself so they could stay in the remarkably affordable and scenic northern California town, had finally reached their breaking point.

They could no longer deny reality, see what they wanted to see, believed, or not believed, what they wanted. The message had been delivered:

Something wicked this way is coming.

Something wicked this way is here.

And they had to get out while they could, all of them, for the lives they saved might be their own.

Across the shattered remains of Main Street, chaos raced up the street as men, women and children buzzed about trying to flee.

Surrounded by the charred remains of destroyed stores, shop owners were shutting down for the last time; cars were blocking each other along gridlocked streets as families stuffed everything they could into their vehicles and tried to get the hell out of Dodge to anywhere but here. The town was the picture by Edvard Munch called "The Scream."

It was Picasso's "Guernica."

It was wartime Ukraine.

It was super-heated terror, and it was all that was left.

Surrounded by throngs of scared and fleeing civilians, the Slayer walked alone.

As she surveyed the mayhem and the chaos like a cop walking her beat, Buffy felt guilt and a sense of defeat and failure creeping in from the corners of her mind.

This was her home. This was her town.

She was supposed to prevent this. Protect them. And she failed. The First and its minions had brought the devil out, and now her town's citizens felt no other option existed but to leave. Because she couldn't stop The First. Couldn't stop Caleb. Couldn't stop anything.

She rubbed her arms together, as if to comfort herself. I let this happen… I failed them…

Somewhere in the chaos, floppy-faced Clem leaned out of a brand new bright red VW Beetle and called out to her, "Hey, you!"

She brightened, seeing a familiar face. "Hey, Clem," she softly greeted with a wane smile. At least somebody around this town wants to see me, her mind bitterly thought.

Relieved at seeing a friendly face, Buffy walked over to him as he shook his head at the chaos around them. "Can you believe this mishegas?" he said in disbelief.

Buffy chuckled wryly and shook her head. "It's like these people have never seen an apocalypse before."

Then she gave him a knowing look after realizing Clem's car was also stuffed with home items and personal belongings. Buffy rose an eyebrow at him. "And you're just out for a quick spin, right? Maybe out to the 7-11 . . . in Nebraska."

Busted, Clem sheepishly relented.

"It's getting bad here, Buffy," the friendly Loose-Skinned demon sighed. "Really bad. Hellmouth acting up again, people feeling it, getting crazier. And after what happened the last few days, I think people have just had enough. Even the demons are getting restless. The more peaceful ones have already started to clear out and head for higher ground. You can't swing a cat without hitting some kind of demonic activity."

His eyes widened as he realized what he just said…and who he just said it to. "Uhh…not that I . . . swing cats! Or eat… Nope." Clem added weakly, "Cutting way back. Cholesterol." Oops! "Morals! I mean…morals," he laughed nervously.

"Right," Buffy replied, her skeptical eyes showing she didn't quite believe him, but being too busy with end-of-the-world-sized problems to worry about Clem's possible animal abuse.

Before Buffy might possibly smack him, or stake him, the kind-hearted Clem scampered back to the less-controversial topic of mayhem.

"Level with me, Buffy," he asked her honestly, his ruby-red eyes boring into her. "This Big Bad thing coming, the scary hot chick on the TV the other night…can you stop it?"

Buffy knew she couldn't tell Clem much out of caution, yet she so badly wanted to give him some assurances. She wanted to tell him she could stop it, like she always had.

But she couldn't. She couldn't tell him something even she wasn't sure about. Deep down in the pit of her being, Buffy wasn't sure anyone could stop The First now. If she couldn't beat Caleb, how could she beat something that nearly killed her with only four moves while she broke her hand punching its face? That turned her town, the place she was supposed to protect, inside out in a matter of days?

"I…I don't know, Clem," she told him honestly. "I know I'll try. But I don't have any answers right now. I'm not even sure if I'm asking the right questions."

Clem respected her honesty, and gave her an appreciative glance, but The Slayer's confession only further solidified his worries, and he didn't even know the score like she did.

"We've seen bad stuff in this town before, but, you know, this time, it's like, it just seems . . . different," the floppy-faced demon sighed. "More powerful. More…nasty. Violent. Like we're standing in the path of a bulldozer and tying ourselves to a tree isn't going to stop it from running over us. I don't think anyone's gonna be able to stop it."

Off the surprised, and somewhat hurt look in Buffy's eyes, Clem looked further busted. "I mean, I'm sure you're going to do fine. Complete faith in you! If anyone can do it, you can, 'cause . . . you rock!" He added brightly, "If you save the world, I'll come back, we'll have a drink . . . when!" He caught himself again. "When, I mean. When you save the world. It's going to be great with all the…" He hastily held up the Ozzy Ozbourne rock hand gesture. "...rocking."

He nodded at her eagerly, flop-flop with the entire face, which, to an outsider, might seem to be made entirely of flapp-y bunny ears.

Buffy could only nod at him, but inside, it just felt like even more affirmation that she had lost control of this war. If even the friendly demons like Clem had lost faith in her ability to protect the town, that didn't bode well, and she knew that. How much longer before the more hostile demons decided that Sunnydale was ripe for the picking? Or worse…what if they decided to join The First?

Buffy knew she and her allies were already on the ropes. How much more could they take before they hit the mat and went down for the count?

How much more could she take?

God, she missed Angel, she realized, wanting, needing for him to put his arms around her now, make her feel warm and safe and loved, tell her soothingly that they could find a way together, that they could get through this, that they could win, even if it was a lie.

Yet her mind…The Slayer in her…angrily swatted that thought away. Even if he was still alive, and she was beginning to doubt that herself after that awful feeling she had days ago about Angel…she got the message before he left.

Angel didn't want to be with her. And if that was the case, then screw him, she angrily thought.

After all, she was The Slayer.

Buffy Summers.

Chosen One.

'Little Miss Save the World'.

She would find a way. She would find a way because there was no other way.

So distracted in her thoughts was Buffy that she almost missed Clem's concerned glance at her.

He weakly gave her a concerned piece of advice. "Maybe . . . maybe you should just get out of town this time, Buffy. In poker, you gotta know when to fold them sometimes. And this game might be just about over."

"Yeah," she said, looking down for a moment, her hazel-green orbs clouded in doubt. "I probably should."

Yet because she was The Slayer, she didn't move an inch.

Because she was Buffy Summers…she stood her ground.

Running was never an option for Buffy. Fighting was. And even if this was really The End, she vowed The First would have to make sure her last breath had left her body, because she would not give up without a fight.

"You take care of yourself, okay?" Clem said to her, sincerely. Which, to an outsider, might have seemed like a stupid thing to say. But to Buffy, she saw it for what it was…possibly a final goodbye from a sweet friend.

Buffy nodded, and waved him goodbye as Clem waved back, and then his red Beetle slowly drove off into the…few inches that traffic had budged.

Having said her goodbyes, Buffy wondered to herself if she would ever see the friendly, even cuddly demon that she had once asked to guard her sister again someday. Or if this really was the last time they would ever see each other in this life.

Buffy had no answers. She didn't have answers for much of anything right now.

But she knew she had to find them. The Awakening was days away, and she was running out of time.

Somehow, Buffy knew she had to find a way. She just had to.

In the wild, frenzied crowd, a troubled, stressed look on her beautiful face, Buffy Summers, the mighty Slayer, walked down the street.

Alone.


To Be Continued…


Next: Empty Places, Part 2 - With Connor missing and Sunnydale reeling, Buffy struggles with getting her friends and allies to trust her as the End of Days draws near. Clinging to life, Angel connects further with the spirit of Cassandra Rayne as he comes to terms with his past…and his future. As Willow and Oz get closer, she discovers the key to recovering her powers may be closer than she thinks. Spike finds that Faith may not have returned from her captivity quite the same as before. And Caleb targets an unsuspecting Buffy; what horror and humiliation does he have in store for the unaware heroine as the Awakening nears?


A/N: Got to go. Next update is coming soon. Let me know what you thought in the comments and messages! Please read and review!

Best,

Jean-theGuardian