Charmed: Elizabeth Turner

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

Born with a sense of otherness, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Turner navigates her dual nature as a half-demon alongside her brother Cole, training rigorously to harness her powers while yearning for a life beyond servitude to the dark forces shaping their destiny.

12. Chapter 12: Passion and Gloom Part 2

Chapter 12: Passion and Gloom Part 2

February 11, 1998 – Wednesday

Dantalian's Lair

In the shadowed recesses of Dantalian's lair, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room. The dim lighting cast flickering shadows across the walls, highlighting the dark, ornate decor that filled the space with an aura of malevolence. Prue lay on the cold, stone altar, her form draped in flowing black garments that contrasted starkly with her pale skin. The altar itself was adorned with ancient symbols and arcane runes, meticulously arranged to enhance the ritual's potency.

Dantalian, the enigmatic and powerful figure presiding over the ceremony, approached with a calculated grace. She carried a delicate black veil, its fabric shimmering with an otherworldly sheen as she lowered it over Prue's face. The veil, both elegant and sinister, obscured Prue's features, adding a layer of foreboding to the ritual's proceedings.

"Shall we begin?" Dantalian's voice was a silky murmur, laced with a tone of anticipation that resonated through the chamber. Her gaze, sharp and focused, shifted between Prue and Zile, the warlock who had also taken his place on the altar.

"I'm ready," Zile replied, his voice steady but edged with eagerness. He lay on the altar beside Prue, his own attire blending seamlessly with the dark ambiance of the lair.

"I hope so," Dantalian responded, her voice carrying an undertone of satisfaction as she reached out to touch both Zile and Prue's foreheads. The contact was both intimate and chilling, her fingers brushing their skin with a deliberate, calculated touch. "In the beginning, we were damned, and through damnation, we found freedom, power, and purpose," she intoned, her words weaving a tapestry of dark history and grim resolve. "As I unite you today, I remind you of those gifts."

Her hands moved with practiced precision as she bound Zile and Prue's wrists together with a length of black silk, the material gliding smoothly over their skin. The binding was symbolic, a physical manifestation of the spiritual and mystical union she sought to create. "And in your union, may these gifts increase so your powers may grow in the service of evil. So be it." The finality in her voice left no room for doubt about the ritual's intent.

"How long before her transformation is complete?" Zile inquired, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

"Sunrise," Dantalian replied, her tone dripping with dark promise. "Can you wait that long?" Her question was rhetorical, laced with a subtle challenge.

"For the power of the Charmed Ones? I can wait a few hours," Zile said, his voice brimming with a mixture of eagerness and resolve. The prospect of harnessing the Charmed Ones' power was a tantalizing reward that made the wait bearable.

Dantalian's eyes glinted with a predatory satisfaction as she extended her congratulations. "Let me be the first to congratulate you," she said, stepping forward to kiss Zile. The kiss, though outwardly affectionate, carried an underlying layer of manipulation.

Zile's expression shifted to one of confusion and alarm as he felt an unexpected paralysis grip his body. The kiss had not only sealed the ritual but also rendered him immobile. "Why?" he managed to ask, his voice tinged with bewilderment.

"Because I'm tired of bestowing great power on others," Dantalian said, her voice carrying an icy finality. "The Halliwell Book of Shadows is the key to unbelievable power for me. Evil will spread from this sister to the other two, from them to the Book, and once the Book is evil, it'll be mine, and I will be unstoppable." Her gaze hardened, a fierce and malevolent light igniting her eyes. "But know this. I will enjoy killing all of you." Her declaration was a chilling promise, a testament to the depths of her dark ambitions and the lengths she was willing to go to achieve them.

Memorial Cemetery

Phoebe burst into the mausoleum, her heart racing, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The ancient, eerie silence of the place seemed to amplify her desperation as her eyes darted around, searching every shadowed corner. "Cole? Cole?" she called, her voice echoing off the stone walls. Her plea hung in the air, heavy with urgency. "Uh, please, if you can hear me, I…" She trailed off, unsure if she was alone.

Just then, Cole shimmered into view, his sudden appearance almost startling her. Relief washed over Phoebe, but it was tempered by the gravity of the situation. "I was with Buffy and her friend Willow," Cole said, his tone steady yet concerned. "Willow just finished an incantation that revoked Angelus's invite."

"That's good," Phoebe replied, her voice strained. "But that's not why I'm here, Cole. I need your help. Prue was taken. By a warlock."

Cole's expression darkened. "Do you know which one?" he asked, his mind already racing through possible suspects.

"We think he's a shape-shifter, but the weird thing is, nobody from our side could get a read on where he's hiding her," Phoebe explained, frustration and fear mingling in her voice.

Cole frowned, his brows knitting together in thought. "That doesn't make sense," he said slowly. "Warlocks don't have that kind of power. He must be working with somebody who does. Certain dignitaries have the power to shield their activities. Demonic judges, dark priests, anyone who needs privacy for rituals."

Phoebe's mind reeled with the implications. "What kind of rituals? To accomplish what?" she pressed, needing to understand the stakes.

"It's hard to say," Cole admitted, his voice tinged with worry. "Could be anything. They may want your Book. We all want your Book."

Phoebe's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering. "Really," she said, her tone challenging.

"I wanted the Book at first," Cole confessed, a hint of regret in his voice.

Phoebe's eyes were wide with determination and fear. "Well, how can we find out who wants it now?" she asked, her voice edged with desperation.

Cole's face was a mask of contemplation and concern. "I could check around," he said slowly, "but I'd risk demons finding me. I'm sure there's still a huge bounty on my head."

Phoebe's resolve hardened, her voice firm and unyielding. "I want my sister back."

Cole studied her for a moment, searching her eyes. "No matter the cost?" he asked, his voice a mix of caution and curiosity.

"I want my sister back," Phoebe repeated, her tone brooking no argument.

Without another word, Cole moved closer to Phoebe, his expression softening as he leaned in and kissed her. It was a brief, but intense moment of connection and farewell. "Call Elizabeth and let her know where I've gone," he instructed gently. "If you don't hear back from me, I, um, I got caught. And Elizabeth will be your only hope of finding Prue."

Phoebe nodded, her heart pounding as she watched Cole shimmer out of sight, leaving her standing alone in the mausoleum, clutching onto the hope that he would return safely with information. She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Buffy's number, her mind racing with the stakes of what lay ahead.

Buffy's voice crackled through the phone, a mixture of concern and readiness. "Hello?"

"Buffy, it's Phoebe," Phoebe said, her voice trembling slightly but filled with urgency. "Prue has been taken, by a shapeshifting warlock. Cole has gone to the Underworld to try and find any information on who has her."

There was a brief pause on the other end, then Buffy's voice came back, strong and reassuring. "We'll find her, Phoebe. I'll start looking into possible suspects from this end. We won't let anything happen to Prue."

Phoebe nodded, even though Buffy couldn't see her. "Thank you, Buffy. I know Cole is taking a huge risk going down there. If he doesn't come back..."

Buffy's voice was firm. "He will come back. But if he doesn't, we'll find another way. We've faced worse before. Stay strong, Phoebe."

Phoebe took a deep breath, feeling a bit steadier with Buffy's confidence bolstering her own. "Alright. I'll keep you updated on anything we find out."

"Same here," Buffy said. "And Phoebe... stay safe."

Sunnydale High

In the darkened school computer lab, Jenny sipped her herbal tea and typed another command, her eyes glued to the screen, the dim light casting soft shadows on her face. Her concentration was so intense that she jumped slightly when Giles appeared in the doorway with a gentle, "Hello."

"Oh, hi." Jenny cleared the screen quickly and smiled at him, her surprise turning into warmth.

Giles ventured into the room, his presence comforting yet curious. "You're working late."

"Special project," Jenny said, casually crossing her legs, but her eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure at seeing him. She added softly, "I spoke to Buffy today."

That clearly pleased him. Giles came up to her and sat on the corner of her desk, his expression lightening. "Yes?"

Jenny picked up a pencil, twirling it nervously between her fingers, and murmured coyly, "She said you missed me."

"Well… she's a meddlesome girl." Giles' voice held a hint of affection, which, for him, was as much as admitting that it was true.

"Rupert," Jenny began, her tone shifting to something more serious. He looked at her attentively. "Okay, I don't want to say anything if I'm wrong, but I may have some news. Now I need to finish up here." She gestured to her keyboard, then, gathering her courage, asked, "Can I see you later?"

"Yes, yes," Giles said, his gaze softening. "You could stop by my house."

Jenny's smile turned mildly flirtatious, her eyes locking with his. "Okay."

"Good." Giles broke into a wide grin, his face lighting up before he ducked his head shyly and took his leave. In the doorway, he turned back to look at her one last time, a mixture of hope and affection in his eyes.

Jenny smiled after him, a warm glow spreading through her, before turning back to her work. The screen flickered as she resumed typing, but her thoughts lingered on the promise of their meeting later, her heart buoyed by the connection rekindled between them.

Halliwell Manor

Piper was sitting on the couch flipping through the Book of Shadows, her fingers tracing over the ancient text as Leo sat down beside her, a look of concern etched on his face.

"I thought you said there was nothing in the Book," Leo said, glancing at the open pages.

"Well, now there's just a whole bunch of weirdness in it. Look," Piper said, pointing to a specific page with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

"Hemlock killing spell? That doesn't belong in here," Leo said, his eyebrows knitting together in bewilderment.

"But it does have possibilities," Piper said absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the text as if it might reveal some hidden secret.

"Piper," Leo said, his voice filled with shock and a touch of reprimand.

Piper snapped out of her trance, her eyes wide with realization. "I'm sorry. I—I don't know what I was…" she trailed off, but before she could finish her sentence, she suddenly blinked out of the room, leaving a faint shimmer of light behind.

"Piper?" Leo called out; his voice laced with panic as he looked around the now empty room.

"In here, somehow," Piper's voice echoed from the kitchen.

Leo quickly walked into the kitchen, his heart pounding with worry. "You blinked."

"I did not. Only warlocks do that," Piper said, her expression a mixture of confusion and denial as she stood by the kitchen counter.

"Piper, you did it," Leo said, his voice filled with astonishment as he looked at her.

Just then, Phoebe walked in, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Hey," she greeted, noting the tense atmosphere.

"Did you find anything out from Cole?" Piper asked, her voice hopeful yet anxious.

"Nothing yet," Phoebe replied, a touch of frustration in her tone. "How's it going here?"

Leo looked at Phoebe, his face serious. "Your sister's blinking," he informed her, as if delivering news of the latest anomaly in their increasingly complicated lives.

Phoebe blinked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "I—I'm, I'm sorry, what?" she asked, struggling to process the information.

Piper stepped forward, a mixture of excitement and bewilderment in her eyes. "Okay, I admit it, it was definitely weird, but it was kinda fun. I was in there," she gestured towards the living room, "and I was thinking about the kitchen and then suddenly, boom! Here I was," she explained, a slight smile creeping onto her face despite the oddity of the situation.

"That is so cool," Phoebe said, a grin spreading across her face at the thought of her sister wielding a new power.

"Except that it's a warlock's power," Leo interjected, his tone laced with caution and worry.

Phoebe shrugged, dismissing Leo's concern. "So, what?" she asked. "They're always trying to get one of ours; it's about time we got one of theirs."

"Try it, Pheebs," Piper urged, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and curiosity.

"Okay, what do I do? Just think?" Phoebe asked, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"And blink," Piper said, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

Phoebe focused hard, imagining herself somewhere else, and then blinked out of the kitchen. Almost simultaneously, Piper did the same. The sisters reappeared in the conservatory, their laughter echoing in the room.

"Catch us if you can!" Piper called out, her voice ringing with joy as she looked around the bright, plant-filled space.

Leo walked into the conservatory, his face a mask of concern. "Have you tried it yet, Leo?" Phoebe asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's a real head rush."

Leo sighed, his worry deepening. "Do you realize how serious this is?" he asked, his tone grave. "You're blinking, the Book is changing."

"Maybe we're blinking because of the Book," Piper suggested, glancing over at the ancient tome.

"The Book is changing because of you," Leo insisted. "It is an extension of you. Your powers are affecting it."

"Huh. I should care about that, but I don't," Piper said, her tone dismissive. She turned and walked out of the room with Phoebe.

Leo followed Piper and Phoebe, his worry deepening with each step. "This is what I was afraid of," he said, his voice filled with tension. "Whoever's got Prue is somehow reaching you too."

"Okay, Leo, I can tell this really upsets you, but I gotta say, I really like this whole think-it-and-it-happens deal," Phoebe replied, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of their newfound ability. "I mean, think of the time we could save not chanting."

Piper nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on her lips. "Mmm hmm."

"Piper, Phoebe, you have to fight this," Leo insisted, his tone pleading as the doorbell rang.

"Or we could answer the door," Piper said with a shrug, heading toward the entrance.

"For Prue's sake, stop," Leo said, desperation creeping into his voice.

Piper whirled around, her expression hardening. "Don't tell me what to do."

Leo turned to Phoebe, his eyes begging for her cooperation. "Phoebe, I need your help."

"I am so tired of helping people," Phoebe said, her voice laced with fatigue and frustration. She crossed her arms, looking away from Leo.

Piper opened the door and found the wedding planners standing there, looking slightly frazzled but enthusiastic.

"Sorry for stopping by so late," the female planner said with a polite smile. "But we have some new floral sketches we'd like you to see."

"Now's not really a good time," Leo interjected, trying to keep a lid on the chaotic situation.

"They're welcome to come in, Leo," Piper said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

The male planner stepped forward eagerly. "I revisited the dinner menu, Piper, and you are going to be thrilled. I have some dynamic choices that I…"

"I want pigs in blankets," Piper interrupted, her tone playful yet firm.

The wedding planners chuckled politely. "It's nice to see a bride who still has a sense of humor this close to the big day," the female planner remarked.

"No, I want pigs in blankets," Piper repeated, this time with a flick of her wrist. In an instant, the male planner transformed into a small pig, neatly wrapped in a blanket. The female planner's scream echoed through the house.

Phoebe burst into laughter, holding her sides. "Marie seems very scared."

"I always had her pegged as an ice queen," Piper said with a shrug, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched Marie back away, her eyes wide with terror.

"Oh! What a great idea," Phoebe said, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

Piper flicked her wrist at the female planner, and instantly, Marie was encased in a block of ice. "Now there's a freezing power with kick," Piper remarked, admiring her handiwork.

"Have you guys lost your minds?" Leo asked, his voice a mix of shock and frustration.

"Oh, Leo, get on board. Whatever it is, this is fabulous. You can't imagine the freedom, the power," Phoebe said, her tone dripping with exhilaration.

"Phoebe, that is evil talking. You have to fight it," Leo said, his face pale with concern.

Phoebe glanced at Piper with a smirk. "What did you ever see in him?"

"I don't know. He is kind of a stick in the mud, isn't he?" Piper replied, her lips curling into a playful smile.

"Oh, another great idea. May I?" Phoebe asked, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"Be my guest," Piper said, waving her hand grandly.

"Alright, think about the power of three," Leo said desperately, trying to appeal to their better senses.

Phoebe waved her hand, and in an instant, Leo was transformed into a literal stick in a bucket of mud. "Oh," she said, a touch of surprise in her voice.

Piper grinned, clearly pleased. "Hmm."

"Look at all the fun we've been missing," Phoebe said, her eyes wide with excitement.

"And this is just the beginning," Piper added, her tone filled with a dark promise.

"See ya, Leo," Phoebe said, as she and Piper walked away, leaving the frozen planner, the pig in the blanket and the stick in the mud behind.

Dragon's Cove Magic Shop

The proprietor of Dragon's Cove magic store had just finished his nightly routine, switching off the flickering neon "Open" sign that had cast a steady, welcoming glow on the sidewalk outside. The store, now shrouded in the soft gloom of closing hours, was filled with the eclectic scents of incense and the faint tang of old parchment. The proprietor was in the midst of blowing out the last of the numerous candles that adorned the wooden counters and shelves, their flickering flames casting a warm, ephemeral light that danced across the walls.

As he turned to lock the door, a sudden draft announced the arrival of an unexpected guest. He briefly glanced up, expecting a late-night wanderer, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw who it was. The figure was a tall, elegant vampire, her presence almost ethereal as she moved through the doorway with an unsettling grace. In her arms, she cradled a small white dog that squirmed restlessly, its tiny body a stark contrast to her formidable presence.

The vampire glided into the store, and the proprietor felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead. The ease with which she moved, combined with the glint of predatory intent in her eyes, sent a shiver down his spine. He could barely stammer out his words, his voice trembling. "Wh-what do you want?"

The vampire's voice was disturbingly pleasant, a soft, almost musical tone that belied the danger lurking beneath. She glanced down at the dog, her fingers idly stroking its fur as she spoke. "Miss Sunshine here tells me you had a visitor today," she said, her voice smooth and calm. The dog, seemingly oblivious to the tension, wriggled in her arms, its soft whimpers filling the quiet space of the store.

She continued, her gaze unfocused as if lost in a distant memory, "But she worries." Her eyes then snapped back to the proprietor, and the warmth in her expression vanished, replaced by a chilling, penetrating stare. "She wants to know what you and the mean teacher talked about."

In that instant, the proprietor felt the full weight of her gaze—a gaze that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of his being. Every instinct screamed that resisting or deceiving her was futile. The fear that gripped him was visceral, as if he could feel the icy tendrils of her influence tightening around his throat. He knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever the consequences, he would divulge everything he knew.

Dantqlian's Lair

In the dimly lit, cavernous depths of Dantalian's lair, the air was thick with an unsettling stillness, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of torchlight casting ominous shadows on the cold stone walls. Dantalian moved with deliberate grace, her dark robes flowing around her like whispers of smoke.

She approached the altar where Prue lay, her form shrouded in shadows beneath a heavy, black veil. The veil itself seemed almost alive, an eerie sheen of black fabric that obscured Prue's face, lending an air of foreboding to the scene.

With a meticulous, almost reverent gesture, Dantalian reached down and lifted the veil from Prue's face. As she did so, the soft, subtle rustle of the fabric was the only sound that broke the silence. Her eyes, cold and calculating, surveyed Prue's features with a mix of admiration and dark anticipation.

"Just the beginning," Dantalian said, his voice a low, sinister murmur that seemed to echo off the walls of the chamber.

Sunnydale High

Like any dedicated computer enthusiast, Jenny Calender became entirely absorbed in her task, losing track of time as she worked meticulously on translating the ancient annals for the Rituals of the Undead. The dimly lit room was her sanctuary, bathed in the soft glow of the monitor, which cast long shadows on the walls. Her only focus was the rhythmic tap of her fingers on the keyboard and the relentless stream of characters appearing on the screen.

As she hit Select All and pressed Save As, her movements were a blend of anxious anticipation and mechanical precision. She fiddled with a pencil, twirling it nervously between her fingers while her eyes remained fixed on the screen. "Come on, come on," Jenny murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the computer.

The right-hand side of the screen began to fill with a fresh wave of text, and as she skimmed through it, an exhilarating rush of success surged through her. "That's it!" Jenny allowed herself a joyful laugh, the sound a rare burst of triumph in the otherwise quiet room. With a sense of accomplishment, she copied her breakthrough onto a diskette, her movements deliberate and methodical. "It's going to work. This will work."

She started the printout process, the old-fashioned tractor-feed printer whirring to life with a nostalgic clatter of gears and rollers. Jenny rolled her chair over to watch the characters emerge, one line at a time, across the wide sheet of paper. Her eyes followed the text with a sense of pride and eagerness, but her focus was abruptly shattered when she raised her gaze slightly and was met with a sight that caused her heart to race.

Angelus sat at a nearby desk, a sinister smile curling on his lips as he watched her with a predatory gaze. The shock of his presence made her jump, her breath catching in her throat.

"Angel," Jenny struggled to keep her composure, her voice trembling as she slowly backed away from him. "How did you get in here?"

"I was invited," Angelus said, his tone laced with an air of feigned innocence. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if his presence was completely expected. "The sign in front of the school? Formatia trans sicere educatorum."

Jenny's mind raced as she translated the Latin in a breathless whisper, "'Enter, all ye who seek knowledge.'"

Angelus chuckled softly, the sound low and menacing as he rose from his seat. "What can I say? I'm a knowledge seeker." His hands extended toward her, his smile widening as he began to advance.

Jenny's heart pounded with rising panic, yet she forced herself to remain composed. "Angel," she said, attempting to assert some semblance of control, "I've got good news."

"I heard," Angelus replied, his voice dripping with condescension, as though he were addressing a particularly naive child. "You went shopping at the local boogedy-boogedy store." His words carried a mocking tone, further intensifying the tension in the room.

The soft, mesmerizing glow emanating from Jenny's desk drew Angelus's attention, casting a sinister light on his face as he approached. His gaze fell upon the crystal sphere, its intricate surface shimmering with an otherworldly luster. Angelus picked it up, his fingers caressing its smooth surface with a mixture of curiosity and malevolence.

"The orb of Thesulah," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, laden with both admiration and menace. "If memory serves, this is supposed to summon a person's soul from the ether, store it until it can be transferred." He held the orb aloft, its light reflecting ominously in his eyes. "You know what I hate most about these things?" he asked, his tone deceptively pleasant.

Without warning, he hurled the orb with brutal force against the blackboard. The sphere shattered violently, fragments flying dangerously close to Jenny's head, scattering in a shower of sharp, glinting shards.

Jenny ducked instinctively, her scream piercing the air as she flinched away from the dangerous explosion of glass.

Angelus's laughter echoed around the room, a chilling sound that seemed to revel in the chaos he had wrought. "They're so damned fragile. Must be that shoddy Gypsy craftsmanship, huh?" His mocking tone underscored the cruelty of his actions, as though the destruction was part of a twisted game.

Jenny, her heart pounding in her chest, forced herself to move despite the overwhelming fear. Her eyes darted to the door, desperately searching for the doorknob.

Angelus's attention shifted to her computer, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I never cease to be amazed how much the world has changed in just two and a half centuries." His words carried a tone of disbelieving amusement as he took in the modern marvels of technology with a sense of detached fascination.

Jenny reached the doorknob with trembling hands, her body screaming to escape. The pressure of her situation made every movement feel agonizingly slow.

To her horror, she discovered that the door was locked, the cold, unyielding metal mocking her frantic efforts to escape.

"It's a miracle to me," Angelus continued, his voice now a sarcastic melody. "You put the secret to restoring my soul in here…" With a sudden, savage burst of rage, he flung the computer to the floor. The monitor hit the linoleum with a shattering crash, the screen bursting into flames with a cascade of fiery sparks. "And it comes out here." He grabbed the printout from the still-smoking printer with a fierce determination, ripping it off the feed.

He examined the pages of the Ritual of Restoration with a mixture of contempt and nostalgia. "Wow," he chuckled darkly. "This brings back memories." His fingers worked methodically, tearing the printout in half with a dramatic flourish.

"Wait! That's your—" Jenny began, her voice breaking with desperation as she tried to plead with him.

"Oh. My 'cure'?" Angelus's face contorted into a grimace of mock apology as he continued tearing the paper. "No thanks. Been there, done that. And déjà vu just isn't what it used to be." His tone was one of cruel amusement as he toyed with her distress.

"Well, isn't this my lucky day," he said, holding the shredded pages over the still-burning monitor. With a slow, deliberate motion, he set both the pages on fire, the flames crackling and consuming the evidence of Jenny's work. He dropped the pages into the fire, crouching low over the blaze with a theatrical show of warming his hands. "Looks like I get to kill two birds with one stone," he said, his satisfaction evident in his chillingly calm demeanor.

Jenny's heart was pounding so fiercely it felt as though it might burst from her chest. The terror that gripped her was so overwhelming that her vision was nearly obliterated by sheer panic. Desperation clawed at her as she began inching towards the next door, which was aligned parallel to where Angelus stood. But just as hope flickered in her mind, Angelus turned to face her, his features distorted into the grotesque visage of his vampiric form. With a chilling drawl, he taunted, "And teacher makes three."

The sight of him in full vamp face, his eyes gleaming with predatory intent, propelled Jenny into action. She bolted for the door with all the speed she could muster, but Angelus moved with a supernatural swiftness. He leaped forward, his grip like iron as he seized her with ease. Her scream was cut short by the violent force with which he hurled her against the wall. The impact was bone-crushing, and she felt every jarring collision as her body slammed into the door. The momentum from the force of the throw pushed the door open, causing it to creak and swing slightly ajar.

Dazed and disoriented from the vicious assault, Jenny's mind struggled to clear through the fog of pain and adrenaline. Her forehead was bleeding, a stinging reminder of the encounter. Yet, driven by the raw surge of survival instinct, she pushed herself upright, gasping for breath as terror propelled her forward. She sprinted down the corridor, her footsteps echoing sharply against the hard floor.

"Oh, good," Angelus's voice carried a dangerous edge, resonating with a malevolent satisfaction. "I need to work up an appetite first." His words were a chilling promise of the hunt that followed.

Jenny's heels clattered against the tiles as she raced towards the first set of swinging doors in the corridor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She veered right, dodging the row of lockers, and made a beeline for the exit, her heart racing with every step.

But when she reached the exit door, her hope was dashed—it was locked. Desperation flared as she doubled back, her eyes darting to the panels of glass in the double doors where Angelus's shadow loomed ominously. The sight of his shadow through the glass panels sent a jolt of panic through her. Without hesitation, she took another route, tearing down the breezeway with her arms pumping furiously. She glanced over her shoulder to see him gaining ground, the interplay of light and shadow accentuating his monstrous features.

As if driven by relentless pursuit, Jenny found herself forced to another entrance to the school. For a few harrowing moments, the door seemed stubbornly locked, but with frantic, desperate pushes, it finally gave way. Jenny's sense of time became a blur, her focus solely on escaping. Angelus was almost upon her by the time she managed to wrench the door open. His growl, primal and anticipatory, reverberated through the corridor, amplifying the terror that surged through her veins.

Slamming the door shut behind her, Jenny ran on, her flight illuminated by the harsh, cold blue glow of the overhead fluorescents. As she struggled to maintain her lead, the sight of the janitor's cleaning cart caught her eye. In a burst of determination, she pushed the cart toward Angelus with all her remaining strength. The cart collided with him, sending him sprawling over it and crashing hard to the floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Jenny darted towards the nearby flight of stairs. Her lungs were on fire as she gasped for air, and she glanced over her shoulder in a desperate bid for awareness. The semicircular window on the landing framed a peaceful suburban night outside, with streetlamps and passing cars oblivious to the horror unfolding within.

But as she turned her gaze back, her eyes widened in sheer terror—Angelus had somehow found her once more. His chilling fingers pressed to her lips, silencing her terrified gasps. His laughter, an inhuman and cruel sound, filled the air. Jenny's breath became shallow, her body frozen in paralyzing fear. She could neither breathe nor blink, her world narrowing to the horrifying reality before her.

"Sorry, Jenny. This is where you get off," Angelus said softly, his voice a low murmur that contrasted with the violence of his intent. In a swift, merciless movement, he grabbed her head and twisted, ending her struggle with a sudden, brutal finality.

Halliwell Manor

Piper and Phoebe stepped into the foyer. Phoebe clutched a large butcher's knife, its blade catching the light with a cold glint that contrasted starkly with the warm tones of the room. The sisters' expressions were a blend of determination and mischief as they crouched beside the disheveled pig.

"Oh, you know, it's your wedding. Shouldn't the first kill be yours?" Phoebe remarked, her eyes twinkling with a mix of humor and challenge as she looked at her sister.

"This is too easy. It's boring. I want to do something bigger," Piper replied, her voice tinged with a hint of dissatisfaction. She stood, brushing off her knees and gazing around with an air of restless ambition.

"Count me in," Phoebe responded with enthusiasm, her grip tightening around the knife as she readied herself for whatever challenge lay ahead.

"You know, if what's happening to us is happening to Prue…" Piper began, her voice trailing off as concern clouded her features.

"Then the Power of Three can be truly amazing," Phoebe finished, her tone firm and resolute. "We have to find her."

"But first we need to clean house," Piper said, her focus shifting as she raised her hands. With a wave of her fingers, she transformed the pig back into the flustered male wedding planner, who blinked in confusion. Simultaneously, she unfroze the female planner, who stood there, bewildered and disoriented.

"I'm sorry," the male planner mumbled, an awkward snort escaping him. "What were you saying?"

"You're fired!" Piper declared, her voice sharp and commanding, the finality of her words hanging heavy in the air.

In a display of raw magical power, Phoebe used her telekinesis to open the front door with a swift motion. With a subtle gesture, she propelled both wedding planners outside, their protests trailing behind them as the door shut with a decisive thud. The silence that followed was palpable.

As the sisters turned back to the foyer, their eyes fell upon the stick in the mud. "Oh, no," Phoebe said, her voice laced with exasperation. "What are we gonna do with the stick in the mud?"

"Wait, I think we can have some fun with it," Piper said, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. With a swift flick of her wrist, she transformed the stick in the mud back into Leo, who materialized with a look of disorientation, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. His gaze darting to the empty space where the wedding planners had been.

"What happened to Craig and Marie?" Leo asked, his voice tinged with concern as he scanned the room, searching for any sign of the wedding planners.

"Oh, they flew right outta here. Scared the hell out of them," Piper replied, her tone carrying a note of satisfaction. The image of the planners being unceremoniously expelled from the scene seemed to amuse her.

"Leo, we need to find Prue," Phoebe said, her voice firm and urgent.

"Good, Phoebe, focus on that. It'll help you resist the evil," Leo said, his tone encouraging. His eyes, however, betrayed a hint of worry, reflecting the burden of his own troubled thoughts.

"The only thing we're resisting is the desire to rip you to pieces and have you for lunch," Phoebe retorted, her voice laced with dark humor.

"But if you help us find Prue, we'll leave you alone, for the moment," Piper said, her tone softening slightly.

Leo looked up at the ceiling, a distant echo of a call from the Elders resonating in his ears.

"Oh, Leo, ignore them," Piper said, her voice laced with disdain. "What do they know? They're backing a losing team."

"They're revoking my assignment," Leo said, his voice heavy with resignation and a tinge of defeat.

"What?" Piper responded; her tone sharp with disbelief. "They can't do that. You haven't done anything wrong… yet."

"You did. You gave into evil. You've relinquished your right to a Whitelighter. I'm sorry," Leo continued, his words laced with a finality that seemed to linger in the air. With a look of sorrowful acceptance, he began to orb out, his form shimmering and fading until he disappeared completely.

"Well," Phoebe said, her voice cutting through the silence left in Leo's wake.

"Oh, no, he's gone. We're free," Piper said, her tone shifting to one of relieved exhilaration. The realization of their newfound freedom sparked a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

Phoebe grinned, her face lighting up with a sense of liberation and mischief. "Yes."

"No more obeying the rules, considering the consequences, none of that crap," Piper said, her voice brimming with a rebellious energy. "Time to find Prue and go for broke," she said, her determination evident as she watched Phoebe head towards the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"Well, I can't wreak havoc dressed like this," Phoebe said, gesturing to her attire with a playful tone.

"Oh," Piper said, her gaze dropping to her own clothing as she realized the irony.

Summers Home

There was a cheerful rap on the Summers' front door, the kind that promised a small spark of normalcy in the midst of their usual chaos. Willow, brimming with the afterglow of a successful ritual, hastened to answer it. Standing on the doorstep, with an air of brisk British pleasantness, was Giles.

"Willow," Giles greeted, his voice carrying the familiar cadence of polite formality. "Good evening."

"Hi. Come on in," Willow responded with a bright, eager smile. Her enthusiasm was palpable, fueled by the recent success of their de-invitation ritual. "Here's the book," she said, extending the volume that contained the crucial incantation. The book, bound in dark leather with an intricate design embossed on the cover, was a tangible symbol of their victory.

"Right. I guess I should do my apartment tonight," Giles remarked, his gaze shifting from the book to Willow. There was a hint of thoughtful consideration in his eyes. "Did the ritual go all right?"

"Oh, yeah. It went fine," Willow assured him, although her expression faltered slightly. She made a small, self-conscious face, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment. "Well, it went fine until the part where Angel showed up and told Mrs. Summers that he and Buffy had…" Her voice trailed off, unable to fully articulate the discomforting detail. She turned her gaze away, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere distant. "Well, you know, that they had… you know." Her attempt to clarify remained vague, her unease palpable. She looked at him with hopeful eyes and asked, "You do know, right?"

Giles blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her indirectness. "Oh, yes, sorry."

Relief washed over Willow, her shoulders relaxing as she let out a sigh. "Oh, good," she said, her tone a mixture of gratitude and residual anxiety. "Because I just realized that being a librarian and all, you maybe didn't know."

Giles, appearing just the slightest bit affronted, raised an eyebrow. "No. Thank you. I got it."

Willow's mood brightened again. "You would have been proud of her, though. She totally kept her cool," she said with admiration, her smile returning. The room fell into a brief, reflective silence. Willow shifted her shoulders, a gesture of casual ease as she looked back at him. "Okay. Well, I'll tell Buffy you stopped by."

Giles glanced upward, nodding towards the stairs. He seemed to be considering something. "Do you think perhaps I should intervene on Buffy's behalf with Mrs. Summers? Maybe, say something?"

Willow tilted her head, considering his suggestion with a thoughtful frown. "Sure. Like what would you say?" she asked, her tone encouraging but also curious.

Giles began to mumble, his words trailing off as he struggled to find a coherent response. Realizing he was at an impasse, Willow took the opportunity to open the door wider, offering him a graceful exit. Giles appeared relieved by this gesture.

"You will tell Buffy I dropped by?" Giles asked as he made his way through the door.

"You bet," Willow assured him, her tone bright and reassuring. She watched as Giles walked down the path, his figure receding into the evening. With a final nod, she closed the door, the soft click echoing the end of their brief but significant exchange.

Halliwell Manor

Phoebe walked into her room; the soft creak of the door barely audible against the backdrop of the house's settling silence. Just as she stepped inside, Cole emerged from behind the door, his movements fluid and deliberate. He quickly closed the door behind him, a sense of urgency in his actions.

Phoebe turned around, her eyes widening with a mixture of relief and concern as she saw him.

"Phoebe," Cole said, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion and unease.

"Cole, you're okay," Phoebe said, her words a soothing balm as she took in his disheveled appearance. The worry etched into her features began to soften.

"Yeah, barely," Cole said, his tone betraying the strain of his recent ordeal. His face, though attempting a casual demeanor, revealed the toll of the confrontation.

"Any demons spot you?" Phoebe asked, her voice tinged with concern as she stepped closer, her gaze searching his for any sign of lingering danger.

"Just one," Cole said, his expression shifting to a hint of a grin, a small flicker of mischief in the midst of the tension.

"Oh no," Phoebe said, her eyes widening with apprehension as she braced herself for the details.

Cole's grin widened, a flash of reassurance in his eyes. "Don't worry. It was just Elizabeth."

Phoebe's face lit up with a relieved smile as she moved closer and kissed him, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes amidst the chaos.

"Phoebe, if what Elizabeth and I found out is true, Prue's in serious trouble," Cole said, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. The gravity of his words settled heavily between them. "She's been forced to marry a warlock."

"Figures that bitch would steal Piper's thunder," Phoebe said, her voice laced with frustration.

"No, you don't understand," Cole said, his tone growing more serious as he stepped closer. "A high-level priestess named Dantalian is rumored to have married them," he explained, the gravity of his words punctuated by Phoebe's movements as she began untying her top. The soft rustle of fabric falling away contrasted sharply with the tension in the room. "And she's got the power to turn Prue evil and turn you evil too. That's what's happening here."

"So? Isn't that the way you want me?" Phoebe asked, she leaned in, capturing Cole's lips in a passionate kiss, her actions a mix of defiance and desire.

"Mmm, no," Cole said, breaking away from the kiss with a look of genuine concern. "That is not how I want you to be. It's not how I want us to be. Our only chance is if we're both good." His voice carried the weight of a plea, his eyes searching hers for understanding.

"Love is love," Phoebe said, her tone soft yet defiant. The simple declaration held a profound conviction, her gaze steady and unwavering.

"There's no such thing as evil love. It's just gratification, lust," Cole said, his voice firm, the conviction behind his words unmistakable.

"You know what, Cole? Your human half is kind of preachy. I think I want Belthazor back," Phoebe said, her voice tinged with irritation.

"He's not coming back," Cole said, a note of assurance in his voice.

"Oh, no?" Phoebe said with a challenging tone. In a swift, decisive motion, she kneed Cole in the stomach, the impact causing him to double over slightly. "I!" She followed with a sharp kick, her anger fueling her actions. "Want!" Another kick connected with him; the force of her frustration clear. "Belthazor!" She delivered one final, powerful kick, and with a burst of demonic energy, Cole transformed into his feared demonic form of Belthazor.

"That's more like it," Phoebe said, her expression shifting to one of grim satisfaction as she looked at the now fully transformed Belthazor.

Just then, the soft, insistent knock on the door punctuated the tense atmosphere. "Phoebe? What are you doing?" Piper's voice carried a note of concern and curiosity, slicing through the charged silence.

"Dantalian's coming for your book. You'd better be ready," Belthazor said, his voice laced with urgency and an edge of danger. The demonic aura surrounding him seemed to intensify as he delivered his warning. In a swift, unsettling shimmer of dark energy, he vanished, leaving behind a lingering sense of foreboding.

"What's going on in here?" Piper asked, her voice tinged with confusion as she opened the door.

"Nothing, unfortunately," Phoebe said, she tried to maintain a facade of nonchalance, though she was not happy with Piper's interruption.

"I heard voices," Piper said, her brow furrowing in suspicion.

"Cole was here," Phoebe said, her voice carrying a hint of resignation. "He said the high priestess that has Prue, supposedly she's coming here." With that, Phoebe turned and walked out of the room.

Summers Home

The atmosphere in Buffy's bedroom was taut with tension, almost palpable in its intensity. The room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken words and raw emotions. Buffy was seated on her bed, her posture stiff and uneasy, while Joyce moved restlessly around the room, her steps heavy with concern and confusion.

"Do you really want to know the truth?" Buffy asked, her voice a mixture of resignation and determination. "I mean really want to know the truth?"

Joyce paused mid-stride, her face a mask of conflicted emotions. Her gaze locked onto Buffy, and after a moment of hesitation, she replied, "Yes." Her voice was steady but held a tremor of vulnerability.

Buffy nodded, her expression shifting as she rose from the bed. A smile, both unsettling and otherworldly, spread across her face. In an instant, her form began to ripple and change. Her human features elongated and twisted as her skin transformed into a deep, menacing red. Tribal markings emerged, swirling across her face like a living tapestry of dark magic. Within seconds, Buffy had morphed into her demonic form—Nyxara. The transformation was both breathtaking and terrifying, a stark contrast to the familiar figure Joyce had always known.

"A spell was cast upon you, Joyce," Nyxara said, her voice now a deep, resonant echo that filled the room with an eerie authority. Joyce's eyes widened in shock and disbelief as she took in the sight of the demon standing before her. The realization hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily speechless.

"I am not in reality your daughter," Nyxara continued, her tone carrying the weight of ancient truths and hidden deceptions. "The spell was cast on you to hide me from the Source of All Evil. My brother, Cole, cast the spell on you."

"W-why?" Joyce stammered, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotional turmoil. "Why were you hidden with me? Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

"My human half was called as the Slayer," Nyxara explained, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "Cole, fearing that the Source would learn of my true identity and seek to destroy me, hid me with you to protect me." Her words were tinged with a sense of tragic inevitability, the pain of the truth laid bare in her demonic visage.

"And what is the Slayer?" Joyce asked, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and fear. Her eyes searched Nyxara's, desperate for clarity amidst the swirling chaos of the revelations.

"A being that protects mortals such as yourself from demons and vampires," Nyxara responded, her voice echoing with an authoritative resonance. The demonic form began to waver and shift, melting back into Buffy's familiar appearance. The transition was both dramatic and relieving, as Buffy's human visage re-emerged, carrying the weight of the truth with a weary grace. "Joyce," Buffy continued, her voice softening with a genuine warmth, "due to my unique identity. I straddle the fence between good and evil." The weight of her words was evident, the burden of her dual existence laid bare. The room seemed to grow heavier with the gravity of her confession, the air thick with the unspoken complexities of her life.

"And what does this have to do with that boy, Angel?" Joyce asked, her mind racing to connect the dots. "And the herbs and Willow speaking Latin?"

Buffy's expression turned serious, her voice taking on a more somber tone. "Angel is a vampire," she began, the words carrying the weight of a painful truth. "Before my birthday, when I did have sex with him," she continued, her voice faltering slightly as she mentioned the personal detail, "he had been cursed with his soul, which kept him good. But when I slept with him, I triggered a clause in his curse." Buffy's eyes held a pained intensity as she spoke. "He lost his soul and became evil again. The spell Willow performed was to revoke the invitation. Angelus can no longer come in."

"Are you okay with all of this, Joyce?" Buffy asked, her eyes filled with concern and vulnerability. The question lingered in the air, the weight of everything they had just discussed pressing down on both of them.

"I—I don't know to tell the truth," Joyce admitted, her voice quivering. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "The mother in me wants to say yes. But she's a result of the spell." Her eyes darted around the room, searching for some semblance of normalcy in the midst of this surreal revelation.

"Joyce, the spell didn't create your love for me," Buffy said gently, stepping closer. Her voice was tender, yet firm, as if willing Joyce to understand the truth of her words. "It only created the memories you have of me." Buffy's expression softened with a mixture of empathy and determination. She reached out, lightly touching Joyce's arm, hoping to convey the sincerity of her feelings.

"So, how old are you?" Joyce wondered; her curiosity tinged with a hint of disbelief. The question was simple, yet it carried the weight of centuries.

"One hundred and seventeen years old," Buffy replied, her voice calm and steady. "I was born in January of 1880, not 1980." The words seemed almost surreal, a stark contrast to the youthful appearance and modern life that Buffy had always embodied.

Joyce's eyes widened, the realization hitting her with the force of a tidal wave. She took a step back, trying to process the enormity of what she had just heard. The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in as the truth of Buffy's existence settled over her.

Buffy watched her carefully, her heart aching for the woman who had been her mother in every way that mattered. "I know it's a lot to take in," she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "But everything we've shared, everything we've been through—it's all real. My love for you is real."

Joyce nodded slowly, her mind racing to reconcile the past with the present. "I just need some time," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to process all of this."

Buffy nodded in understanding. "Take all the time you need," she said gently. "I'll be here when you're ready."

Halliwell Manor

Dantalian materialized in the dusty attic of the Manor, her entrance marked by a ripple of dark energy that disturbed the stagnant air. She strode confidently over to the Book of Shadows, its ancient leather cover glinting dimly in the weak light filtering through the attic's small windows. As she picked it up with an air of triumph, she remarked, "That was easy," her voice echoing with a self-satisfied tone.

"Too easy," came the steely voice of Piper, emerging from the shadows with Phoebe at her side. The dim light revealed their determined faces, their expressions set with grim resolve. Phoebe, her movements precise and calculated, delivered a swift kick to Dantalian's back. The force of the blow sent Dantalian sprawling to the dusty floor, her calculated poise momentarily shattered.

Piper and Phoebe approached her, their footsteps echoing ominously in the quiet attic. Phoebe, gripping a knife tightly in her hand, moved with a predatory grace, her eyes narrowing with intensity. "Where's our sister?" she demanded, the edge in her voice reflecting her deep concern.

Dantalian, wincing from the impact and the sudden aggression, tried to regain her composure. "I can help you. I can teach you evil," she said, attempting to sound persuasive. Her eyes flickered with a glint of dark promise. "You're new at it. You don't know how to realize its full potential."

"I don't know," Piper said, her tone laced with defiant confidence. "I think we're getting the hang of it."

"Wanna see?" Phoebe retorted, bringing the knife closer to Dantalian with a menacing gleam. The blade caught the light, reflecting her resolve and hinting at the dark possibilities.

"Where's Prue?" Piper pressed, her voice cold and unwavering as she towered over the fallen sorceress.

"Kill me and you'll never see her again," Dantalian said, her voice laced with a cruel finality, as though she were daring them to make the ultimate choice.

"Hmm," Piper mused, her eyes darkening with a mix of anger and resolve. "So maybe we should just torture you instead." With a decisive movement, she planted her foot firmly on Dantalian's arm, pinning her down. Piper's wrist flicked with practiced ease, and the sorceress's hand was enveloped in a chilling frost that spread swiftly.

Dantalian's scream pierced the attic's stillness, a high, piercing sound of agony that resonated with both fear and pain.

"Why don't you just shatter her hand and see what happens?" Phoebe suggested, her voice carrying a dark curiosity.

Piper, her eyes narrowed with cold determination, picked up a heavy candlestick from a nearby shelf. "Last chance," she warned Dantalian, her tone leaving no room for leniency. But the priestess remained stubbornly silent, her defiant silence only deepening Piper's resolve. "Fine," Piper said, her voice taut with anger. With a powerful swing, she brought the candlestick crashing down onto Dantalian's frozen hand. The impact was brutal, and the ice shattered into countless glittering fragments.

Dantalian's scream of pain was visceral and raw, echoing through the attic with a haunting intensity.

"Now the really weird thing is," Phoebe said, her voice carrying an almost clinical detachment as she assessed the scene, "we could do that to the other hand and then go down to your feet." Her words were laced with a cold, methodical cruelty as she contemplated the possibilities.

"Actually, we could work up, piece by piece all the way to her head," Piper added, her gaze unflinching and resolute. The cold efficiency in her voice made it clear she was willing to explore every painful option.

"Where is Prue?" Phoebe demanded, her voice rising with renewed urgency. Just as she spoke, Leo orbed into the attic, his sudden appearance causing a momentary distraction.

"I just couldn't leave like that, Piper," Leo said, his voice a mixture of concern and reproach as he looked at the scene unfolding before him. His eyes shifted to Dantalian, who had seized the opportunity amidst the chaos. With a swift motion, Dantalian grabbed the Book of Shadows and vanished in a swirl of dark energy.

"What's going on?" Leo asked, his confusion evident as he watched Dantalian's escape.

"Well, you just helped her escape, that's what's going on," Phoebe snapped, her frustration clear as she turned her ire towards Leo.

Piper's anger flared, and with a sharp flick of her wrist, she encased Leo in a block of ice. His form was instantly immobilized, a frozen statue caught in the act of surprise. "Smash him," she instructed, her voice cold and unforgiving as she accepted the knife Phoebe handed her.

Phoebe, her face set in a grim expression, delivered a powerful kick to Leo's frozen form. The force of the blow sent him shattering into a million tiny, icy pieces, each fragment scattering across the attic floor. As the last of the ice settled, Piper muttered a venomous, "Bastard," her anger barely contained as she surveyed the destruction they had wrought.

Giles' Apartment

There was a long-stemmed red rose angled between the knob and the jamb of Giles's front door. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly with a tender smile.

"She's here," he thought, warming with anticipation. He lifted the rose and inhaled its lovely scent, his smile growing wider with each breath of the fragrant blossom. Then he opened the door, poking his head inside, and called, "Hello?" He shut the door behind him and set down his briefcase. "Jenny? It's me."

To the passionate strains of Puccini's La Boheme, he took off his coat. The rich, soulful notes of the opera filled the room, setting a perfect backdrop for what he believed awaited him. That was when he saw the bottle of wine cooling in the bucket and the note on parchment paper, its edges delicately curled.

"Upstairs," it read. He smiled, a bit flustered, and looked upward in the direction of his loft bed. He put down the envelope and took off his glasses, smoothing back his hair with a nervous yet excited gesture. He felt years younger, lighter; he felt himself to be a man quite in love with a beautiful young woman, who wanted him.

Unable to give voice to the emotion rising within him, he let the soaring opera music do it for him. He took up the wine and the two glasses that were beside the bucket. On each step leading to his beloved, a votive candle glowed, their flickering light casting a warm, romantic glow. The stairs were strewn with rose petals, a soft crimson carpet guiding him to her. Softly, he ascended, as the opera duet crescendoed, the full, throaty voices rising in desperate yearning.

"There she is," he thought. She was lying on his bed, her dark hair fanned out on the pillows like a filigreed frame, her exquisite features a study in heart-stopping beauty. His heart swelled; he felt the glow of the candles in his skin. She was so beautiful, lying so still...

So still...

Her eyes, staring, as if she were...

As if...

The realization struck him like a physical blow, the wine bottle slipping from his grasp and crashing to the floor. The red liquid spread like blood on the wooden floorboards, mingling with the petals as his world shattered around him. The joyous anticipation he had felt moments before was replaced by a cold, numbing dread. The beautiful, serene scene was now a tableau of horror as he approached her, his breath catching in his throat, the full tragedy of the moment sinking in with unbearable weight.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

So still, Giles stood against the wall. His eyes stared vacantly, as if he were dead himself, the shock rendering him motionless. The blue and red lights of the police cars outside flashed across the walls of his apartment in a disorienting dance of colors, while the dispatcher's crackling voice buzzed crazily, like a hornet trapped in his skull.

He did not look up as a police officer and a man in a blue jumpsuit marked Coroner wheeled the loaded body bag past him. The stark reality of the scene moved around him, through him, yet he remained detached, as if observing from a great distance.

The officer in charge approached him, a shadow of compassion in his voice. "Mr. Giles, we're going to have to ask you to come with us. Just to answer a few questions."

It was then that Giles felt a flicker of what might pass for life. The numbness began to thaw, leaving behind a raw, aching void. Rousing himself as best he could, he murmured, "Of course. Yes. Procedure." His voice was distant, almost mechanical. He turned his gaze to the officer, the effort it took to focus his thoughts evident in his eyes. "I need to make a phone call, if that's all right."

Dantalian's Lair

Dantalian was frantically flipping through the Book of Shadows, her fingers trembling with urgency. Each page turned with a whisper of ancient secrets and forbidden knowledge. "Death alone will not suffice, my dear bride," she muttered, her voice dripping with malice. Her eyes flicked up to where Prue lay bound on the cold, stone altar, her form illuminated by the flickering candlelight. The shadows cast by the flames danced ominously on the walls, adding to the macabre atmosphere of the room. "Not anymore, not after this."

With a triumphant gleam in her eyes, Dantalian's fingers stilled on a particularly dark and foreboding page. The parchment seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, as if the very words were alive. She leaned closer, a wicked smile spreading across her face as she read the incantations and rituals described in detail. "Yes!" she hissed, her voice a blend of satisfaction and anticipation. "Welcome to my hell."

Summers Home

Buffy was walking with Willow through the dining room, their footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floor. Willow's curiosity broke the silence. "So, was it horrible?"

"It wasn't too horrible," the half-demon Slayer replied, a faint smile playing on her lips as she shrugged.

Just then, the phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through their conversation. Buffy, ever quick, ran back through the dining room to grab it. Upbeat, she lifted the receiver and put it to her ear. Her lips moved to say, "Hello? Giles." She leaned casually against the wood and plaster wall. "Hey, we finished the sp—"

And then, as she listened, everything changed. Her body went slack, the vibrant energy draining away in an instant. She limply handed the phone to Willow, her eyes wide with shock and sorrow.

Summoned by the sudden, heart-wrenching sobs, Joyce Summers ran into the room. She found Willow, tears streaming down her face, holding the phone with trembling hands. Without a second thought, Joyce embraced Willow, offering comfort in the only way she knew how. Her eyes then fell on Buffy, who had crumpled to the floor, burying her head against her knees, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

In that moment, Joyce's mind flickered back to her earlier conversation with Buffy, and she knew. She knew in her heart who Buffy truly was. She may not have given birth to this half-demon Slayer, who was older than herself, but it didn't matter. The bond they shared, the love and the memories, made Buffy her daughter in every way that counted.

Kneeling beside Buffy, Joyce gently stroked her hair, whispering soothing words, trying to offer solace amidst the storm of grief.

Halliwell Manor

Piper and Phoebe walked down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. "So what are we supposed to do now?" Piper asked, her voice tinged with frustration and urgency.

"I don't know. Kill innocents?" Phoebe suggested with a dark glint in her eyes, a twisted smile playing on her lips.

"No, I mean about Prue. How are we supposed to find her without the Book?" Piper asked, ignoring Phoebe's morbid suggestion.

"Shouldn't you be mourning the loss of your beloved Leo?" Phoebe asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, Phoebe, I'm serious," Piper said, a sharp edge to her voice. "That was one pissed-off priestess. And if she kills Prue, she takes the evil Power of Three along with her, and we won't stand a chance."

"Good point," Phoebe conceded, a rare flicker of concern crossing her face. "We have to find Prue. Wait a minute, we're warlocks, right? We should be able to blink wherever we want."

"But we don't know where to blink to," Piper countered, her frustration mounting.

"We don't have to know where, just to who," Phoebe said, her eyes narrowing as she formulated a plan. "To Prue. I mean, isn't that how Leo's orbing power worked?"

"Yeah, but his power was jammed. He couldn't find her," Piper reminded her, the memory of Leo's struggle still fresh in her mind.

"That's because he was good, and we're evil," Phoebe said, a sinister confidence building in her voice. She stepped closer to Piper, her eyes burning with determination.

Summers Home

While Willow and Buffy waited numbly at the curb outside the Summers' house, the air thick with unspoken dread, Cordelia and Xander finally pulled up in Cordelia's garlic-and-cross-laden car. The vehicle rattled slightly as it came to a stop, the sound jarring in the stillness of the night.

"Where's Giles?" Buffy asked urgently as soon as Xander got out, her voice strained with worry.

Xander shook his head, frustration etched on his face. "No luck. By the time we got to the station, the cops said he'd already left. I guess they just wanted to ask him some questions."

Buffy looked down, frowning, her mind racing with concern for Giles. Then she glanced up, her eyes narrowing with determination. "Cordelia, will you drive us to Giles's house?"

Cordelia inclined her head, her expression softening with rare sympathy. "Of course. But can't you… you know, shimmer?"

"Sure, but I didn't know if you would rather do that or just drive," Buffy replied, her voice a bit gentler, acknowledging Cordelia's offer.

Willow looked at Buffy, her brow furrowed with anxiety. "But do you think maybe he wants to be alone?"

Buffy gazed back at her, her eyes dark with worry. "I'm not worried about what he wants. I'm worried about what he's going to do."

The gravity of her words hung in the air as they climbed into the car, the small space feeling even tighter with the weight of their fears.

Giles' Apartment

Giles's wooden weapons chest was open, its contents a testament to years of fighting the forces of darkness. He drew a sword from the chest, its blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. He tested its weight, the sharpness of its edge, but decided against it with a tight frown. Methodically, he began to load the gas can on top of an open sling bag, already crammed with an arsenal of weapons: a crossbow with finely carved details, a heavy mace with a cruelly spiked head, an old dueling pistol polished to a dull shine, and a bundle of freshly sharpened wooden stakes.

His eyes, usually warm with a glint of scholarly curiosity, were now cold and filled with icy rage. His face was stony, impassive, as if carved from granite. He moved with a purposeful, almost mechanical precision, driven by a singular focus that made his actions both deliberate and terrifying.

He picked up the heavily laden bag and left the room, his steps echoing in the quiet, deserted house. On his desk, caught in the diffuse light of an Arts and Crafts lamp, lay a brown parchment drawing: Jenny, her head resting on Giles's pillow, her eyes wide open in the stillness of death. The image was haunting, capturing the tragic finality of her fate with brutal clarity.

The drawing seemed to breathe in the silence, a testament to Giles's loss and the fuel for his burning need for vengeance.

Dantalian's Lair

"Through this book, weave this spell, create the pain of heaven to hell; may she suffer..." Dantalian chanted, her voice a sinister melody as she read from the ancient pages of the Book of Shadows. The room seemed to darken with each word, the air thickening with a malevolent energy.

Just then, a shimmer of light announced the arrival of Piper and Phoebe. "Whoa," Piper said, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit chamber.

"Are we there yet?" Phoebe asked, her usual sarcasm masking a growing sense of unease. Her gaze swept the room before landing on the familiar figure bound on the altar. "Prue."

Dantalian's eyes snapped up, a cruel smile curling her lips. "Too late. I've got the book."

Phoebe stepped forward; her confidence unshaken. "Yeah, well, you know, it takes a while to learn how to use it. Trust us."

Piper's face hardened, her eyes narrowing. "How about in the meantime, I freeze your head and shatter it?"

Dantalian's smile widened, turning more sinister. "I may not be powerful enough to fight you yet, but they are," she said, her voice dripping with malice. She uttered a quick incantation, the words foreign and harsh, resonating with dark power.

Prue and Zile stirred, their eyes snapping open, now glowing with an eerie, unnatural light.

"Whoa, Prue, hey, hi. You don't look so good," Piper said, trying to mask her concern with levity, but her voice wavered slightly.

"Oh, but that's a great dress," Phoebe added, her tone forced, as she eyed the ominous black gown Prue was wearing, which seemed to pulsate with dark magic.

"Zile, Prue. Eliminate them," Dantalian ordered, her voice dripping with cold malice.

"Prue, ignore her," Piper pleaded, desperation edging her voice. "Come on, come with us. We're your sisters."

Prue's eyes blazed with a mixture of dark magic and defiance. "I'm his wife, not your sister," she declared, her hand flicking as she sent Piper and Phoebe telekinetically flying into a wall with a resounding thud.

Piper groaned, pushing herself up. "Alright, I'll take that as a no."

"Okay, we have to figure out a way to get Prue on our side and fast," Phoebe said, her mind racing.

"How about we get her a divorce?" Piper suggested, her tone laced with grim humor.

Before they could formulate a plan, Zile shapeshifted into Prue, creating an identical duplicate. Both Prue and the shapeshifted Zile blinked out and reappeared in different spots around the room, their forms flickering in and out of view.

"Don't want to shatter the wrong sister, now do you?" Dantalian taunted, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

"I love you," one of the Prue's said, her voice a perfect mimicry.

"You too," the other replied, their tones indistinguishable.

"Welcome to Planet Narcissus," Piper said with a wry smile, her gaze flicking between the two identical figures of Prue.

"Wait a minute. Cole said that evil can't love," Phoebe interjected, her brow furrowed as she pointed at the second Prue. "She didn't say 'I love you too.'"

As if to punctuate Phoebe's point, Dantalian conjured a dagger in each of the Prues' hands. With an unsettling, predatory grace, the Prues began to advance toward Piper and Phoebe, their eyes glinting with a dark intent.

"Uh, she's the warlock," Phoebe said urgently, pointing at the second Prue. "Freeze her!"

Piper didn't hesitate. She flicked her wrist with a practiced motion, and the air around the second Prue shimmered with a sudden chill. The duplicate Prue was instantly encased in a block of ice, her form frozen mid-step.

"Well, shatter her. Hurry!" Phoebe's voice was taut with urgency.

"No! Zile!" Dantalian cried out, her face a mask of fury and desperation as she saw her plan unraveling.

Piper wasted no time. She kicked the frozen Prue with all her strength, the impact sending shards of ice scattering across the floor. The ice shattered into a myriad of sparkling fragments, breaking the spell that bound Prue and freeing her from the dark influence.

As the shards settled, Prue looked around in bewilderment, her eyes wide with confusion and relief. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I think we're back. All of us," Phoebe said, glancing around to ensure everyone was accounted for.

Piper, still tense, flicked her wrist once more, freezing Dantalian in place. The air crackled with the sudden cold as Dantalian's form solidified into an immobile block of ice. Piper quickly moved to the Book of Shadows, which lay on the floor, its pages now calm and inert.

"The book is back too," Piper said, her voice carrying a note of relief as she inspected the familiar tome. She glanced at Prue and Phoebe, her expression a mix of exhaustion and triumph.

"Let's do something good with it," Prue said, her voice resolute as she and Phoebe moved to stand beside Piper. The air around them was still charged with the remnants of the confrontation, a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.

Together, they quickly located the spell in the Book of Shadows, its ancient pages crackling softly as they turned. The spell was clear and straightforward, a necessary incantation to vanquish the dark force that had threatened them. As the sisters gathered their strength and focus, their voices united in the chant.

"Powers of light, magic of right, cast this blight into forever's night," Prue, Piper, and Phoebe recited in unison, their voices weaving a harmonious and potent force.

Dantalian, who had been immobilized in her icy prison, began to thaw. The temperature in the room seemed to drop even further as her form writhed with a fierce, otherworldly energy. She let out a piercing scream, a sound of pure anguish and fury, as the spell took effect. Her form disintegrated, dissolving into a swirl of shadows that faded into nothingness.

"Well, that was a wedding from hell. Although, I guess I was the first to get married after all, hmm?" Prue said with a wry smile, attempting to lighten the mood despite the weight of the recent events.

The brief moment of levity was quickly overshadowed by a grim realization. "Oh, no. Leo," Piper said, her face paling as the truth of their actions sunk in.

"What?" Prue asked, her expression turning to one of confusion and concern.

"We killed him," Phoebe said, her voice heavy with sorrow.

Giles Apartment

There was yellow police tape stretched across the doorframe, a stark barrier that marked the scene of a grim discovery. Buffy stood just behind Xander as he approached the entrance, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. With a steady voice, he called out, "Hello? Giles?"

He ducked under the tape with practiced ease. Willow followed closely behind, her face pale with worry. Cordelia came next, her usually sharp demeanor softened by the gravity of the situation. Lastly, Buffy stepped through, her heart pounding as she braced herself for what they might find inside.

Xander's gaze fell upon the wine bucket still chilling beside the door, a stark and poignant reminder of the evening that was meant to be. "I guess Giles had a big night planned tonight," he observed, his voice tinged with sadness.

Buffy's eyes caught on a sketch lying forlornly on the floor. She picked it up, her fingers brushing the edges of the paper. It depicted Jenny Calendar; her likeness captured with haunting detail. "Giles didn't set this up. Angel did. This is the wrapping for the gift," she said, her tone heavy with realization as she handed the sketch to Xander.

Xander took the sketch, his face a canvas of pain as he shut his eyes, unable to fully grasp the depth of the situation. Buffy, moving with purpose, headed up the stairs, her footsteps echoing with a sense of urgency. "Oh, man. Poor Giles," Xander murmured, feeling the weight of his friend's predicament.

Willow's attention shifted to the empty weapons chest, its open lid revealing a disturbing emptiness. "Look. All his weapons are gone," she said, her voice quivering as she examined the hollow space.

Cordelia joined her, peering inside with a frown. "But I thought he kept his weapons at the library?" she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"No. Those are his everyday weapons," Xander replied, glancing up from the sketch. "These were his 'good' weapons. The ones he breaks out when company comes to visit." His words hung in the air, laden with the unspoken understanding of the gravity of Giles's preparations.

Buffy descended the stairs, her presence a stark contrast to the dark atmosphere that enveloped them. She paused on the landing, her eyes scanning the room with a mixture of determination and fear.

Willow's voice broke the silence, tinged with concern. "So he's not here?"

"Well, then, where is he?" Cordelia asked, her voice a blend of worry and frustration.

"He'll go to wherever Angel is," Buffy said flatly, her voice carrying the weight of grim certainty.

Willow looked at Buffy with concern, her eyes searching for clarity. "That means the factory, right?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as the implications sank in.

"So, Giles is going to try to kill Angel, then," Cordelia observed, her expression a mix of apprehension and resignation.

Xander's voice cut through the tension, sharp and bitter. "Well, it's about time somebody did," he said, his words laced with frustration and a sense of vindication.

"Xander," Willow said, her tone shocked and disbelieving. "How can you say that?"

"I'm sorry," Xander replied, his bitterness now edged with a sense of long-held resentment. "But let's not forget that I hated Angel long before you guys jumped on the bandwagon. So I think I deserve something for not saying 'I told you so' long before now. And if Giles wants to go after the fiend," he turned to Buffy, his emphasis on the word 'fiend' underscoring his disdain, "that murdered his girlfriend, I say, 'Faster, pussycat. Kill. Kill.'"

Buffy nodded, her gaze unwavering. "You're right," she said simply, acknowledging the grim reality of the situation.

Xander, sensing a shift in the conversation, did not take the opportunity to revel in his own validation. His voice softened, his tone low and calm. "Thank you," he said, a hint of relief mingling with his lingering anger.

Buffy descended the stairs with a purposeful stride, her demeanor shifting to one of deep concern. "There's only one thing wrong with Giles's little revenge scenario," she said, her voice laden with foreboding.

"And what's that?" Xander asked, his tone slightly challenging, as if daring Buffy to confront the issue head-on.

Buffy's face clouded with worry, her eyes reflecting the weight of her fear. "It's going to get him killed," she said, her voice heavy with the realization of the danger that Giles was about to face.

Halliwell Manor

Prue, Piper, and Phoebe entered the attic, each step echoing softly in the dimly lit space. The air was thick with tension, and Piper, overcome with emotion, sank to her knees on the dusty wooden floor. "Oh, Leo," she cried, her voice trembling with relief and exhaustion as Leo orbed in behind her.

Phoebe, her face marked by a blend of worry and hope, gently turned Piper to face Leo. Piper rose to her feet, her expression a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. She wrapped her arms around Leo in a heartfelt embrace. "Oh, thank god you're okay," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion.

Leo's presence was a beacon of clarity amid the chaos. "Actually, it had more to do with what you guys did. Vanquishing Zile broke the bond and reversed all the evil you had done," he explained, his tone calm yet carrying the weight of truth.

Phoebe's gaze shifted; her concern evident. "I just hope the wedding planners don't remember what we did to them," she said, her voice tinged with apprehension.

Leo's expression grew somber. "Unfortunately, they will, but I doubt they'll believe what happened," he replied, his words underscored by a resigned acceptance.

Piper's worry turned back to Leo as she added, "And unfortunately, you will."

"Oh, yeah, Leo, sorry we killed you," Phoebe said, her tone apologetic and sincere.

Leo offered a reassuring smile. "It's okay, Phoebe, it wasn't the real you. Or you, Piper," he said, his understanding evident in his voice.

Prue, standing apart, looked introspective as she questioned, "Wasn't it? I mean, on some level it was me. I felt it. They didn't just plant evil inside of me, or us, for that matter. There had to be something there for them to turn to begin with."

Leo's gaze softened as he spoke, offering reassurance and wisdom. "That doesn't make you evil, Prue. You have to choose to be evil voluntarily. Just look at Buffy; she was born to be a demon. But when her human half was called as the Slayer, she turned her back on her demonic heritage and embraced her calling."

Phoebe, reflecting on the strange turn of events, gave a wry smile. "Well, I gotta admit it, it was kind of fun," she said, her tone lightening with a trace of mischief.

"Phoebe…" Piper admonished, her voice carrying a note of gentle reprimand.

"Well, it was fun for a while," Phoebe replied, her tone tinged with nostalgia. "I mean, to be able to do whatever we wanted whenever we wanted with no consequences."

"My fiancé being shattered into a gazillion pieces is kind of a consequence," Piper said, her voice laced with a blend of sadness and frustration.

"Thank you," Leo interjected, his tone one of quiet appreciation.

Piper nodded in acknowledgment. "Mm."

"Still, I kinda understand what Phoebe is saying," Prue said, her voice thoughtful as they all began to make their way out of the attic and down the stairs. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, and the muted light of the hallway offered a soft illumination that contrasted sharply with the darkness they had just escaped.

"Wait, you do?" Phoebe asked, her curiosity piqued.

Prue nodded, her expression reflective. "If evil weren't enticing, why would there be any? I mean, to pretend that we're never attracted to it, it's like pretending that it just doesn't exist. I admit, after taking a trip down the dark side, I sort of understand it a little better," she said. Her voice carried a weight of revelation as she continued, "The problem now is that I realize that Jasmine is definitely the wrong woman for me."

"Well, scratch one name off of the wedding guest list," Leo quipped, his attempt at humor lightening the mood.

"Actually, scratch them all. I cave," Piper said, her voice carrying a tone of resignation. "Our lives are just way too bizarre to have any sort of normal wedding. I don't know what I was thinking." She glanced at Prue, a question in her eyes. "So, if you're not inviting Jasmine, who would you invite?"

"Someone who was already on the guest list," Prue said with a smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and affection. "One thing Jasmine did do was tell me I am definitely bisexual. So, I think I am going to ask Buffy if she will be my date to your wedding."

"You do know she's half-demon," Phoebe teased, a playful glint in her eye that contrasted with the serious undertone of their conversation. Her words hung in the air, mingling with the soft glow of the hallway lights and the lingering shadows from their earlier struggles.

Prue met Phoebe's gaze with a resolute expression, her voice steady as she replied, "Well, if you can love Cole and he be good, then I can love Buffy." Her words were imbued with a sense of determination and clarity, as if she were making a declaration not only of her feelings but also of her belief in the possibility of finding goodness and love despite the complexities of their world.

The Factory

Angelus was reveling in the sight of disbelief and seething anger contorting Spike's face, taking a twisted pleasure in the tension he had created.

"Are you insane? We're supposed to kill the girl, not leave gag gifts in her friends' beds," Spike protested, his voice laced with frustration and disbelief. His eyes were wide with a mix of incredulity and anger, reflecting the dim, flickering light of the surrounding chaos.

With a delicate air of grace, Drusilla, holding Sunshine like a treasured possession, leapt to Angelus's defense. Her voice was soft yet firm, her words carefully chosen as she said, "But, Spike, the bad teacher was going to restore Angel's soul." Her tone was almost lyrical, as if she were speaking of a forgotten dream rather than a present danger.

Spike's expression didn't waver. "What if she did?" he shrugged dismissively. "If you ask me, I find myself preferring the old, Buffy-whipped Angelus. Because this new improved one is not playing with a full sack." He turned his gaze back to Angelus, his eyes reflecting a mixture of disdain and frustration. "Hey, I love a good slaughter as much as the next bloke, but his little pranks will only leave us with one incredibly brassed-off half-demon Slayer." His voice carried an edge of exasperation, as if the situation were spiraling out of control.

"Don't worry, Roller Boy," Angelus retorted sharply, folding his arms across his chest with an air of forced nonchalance. "I've got everything under control." His words were punctuated with a confidence that seemed almost brittle in the face of the chaos.

Almost immediately after his boast, a Molotov cocktail came crashing onto the table, exploding in a burst of roaring flames. The fire roared up, casting erratic shadows and flickering light across the room. Angelus and Drusilla darted past the table, their movements frantic, as the wooden high-back chairs were thrown aside in their hurried escape. Spike followed close behind, his expression a mix of irritation and concern.

As they fled, an arrow suddenly struck Angelus's shoulder, the impact forcing a pained grimace from him. He staggered momentarily, gritting his teeth as he yanked the arrow out with a harsh, jerking motion. His gaze lifted to see Giles advancing towards him with a determined calm, a baseball bat gripped tightly in his hand. The Watcher dipped the bat into the fire, the flames licking up around it, and continued his approach with a relentless focus.

Before Angelus had a chance to defend himself, Giles swung the bat with fierce precision, striking him square in the face with the blazing weapon. The impact sent him reeling, but Giles was unrelenting, delivering a backhanded blow that sent Angelus crashing to the side.

"Geez, whatever happened to wooden stakes?" Angelus grumbled through clenched teeth, the pain from the blows making him hunched over defensively.

Giles wasn't finished. He brought the bat down on Angelus again with a forceful slam, the flames spreading and illuminating the grim determination on his face.

Drusilla, seeing the escalating violence, surged forward to assist, but Spike grabbed her forearm, holding her back with a steely grip. "Ah-ahhh. No fair going into the ring unless he tags you first," he said, his tone almost playful despite the danger. His eyes remained fixed on the struggle, a mixture of anticipation and a hint of malicious enjoyment evident in his gaze.

The Watcher managed to land a half-dozen more punishing blows with the flaming bat before Angelus, shaking off the daze, struggled back to his feet. Rising to his full, imposing height, he blocked the bat's downward arc with a swift motion. With a snarl of fury, he grabbed Giles by the throat, his fingers tightening like a vise around the Watcher's neck. He lifted Giles off the ground, the helpless Watcher dangling above the floor. The baseball bat clattered noisily to the ground as Giles lost consciousness, his body going limp.

"All right, you've had your fun," Angelus bellowed with seething rage. "But you know what it's time for now?"

Before Angelus could react further, he was suddenly yanked away and thrown backward with a powerful force. Nyxara, her eyes blazing with determination, delivered a brutal kick to Angelus's jaw. "My fun," she shouted, her voice echoing with a fierce intensity.

As the spreading fire cast flickering shadows over the chaotic scene, Angelus could see Drusilla and Spike making their hurried escape. The half-demon Slayer's powerful kick sent him sprawling to his knees. Before he could regain his footing, Nyxara lifted him bodily and hurled him over her shoulder with a deft, practiced motion. She moved with fluid grace, her determination palpable, as she steadied herself and prepared for the next assault.

Angelus, propelled up the stairs, headed for the gangway. Nyxara shimmered out of sight, reappearing on the catwalk above. The fire roared below them, the flames casting an eerie glow against the walls and creating a treacherous battleground.

Angelus swung at Nyxara, but she evaded him with agile movements, her attacks precise and calculated. She clipped him behind his knee with a sharp strike, causing him to grunt in pain and collapse to the floor. Seizing the opportunity, Nyxara quickly looped a rope around his neck, using it to batter him mercilessly from side to side. The rope's fibers dug into his skin as she slammed him repeatedly, her strikes unforgiving.

With a swift, powerful kick to his midsection, Nyxara sent Angelus stumbling backward. As he struggled to get back on his feet, she leaped into the air, grabbing onto a pipe above and delivering another forceful kick to his chest. The impact drove him to the ground, where he crashed into barrels and pipes, a cacophony of clattering metal and splintering wood accompanying his fall.

The flames continued to climb, their fierce heat adding a new dimension to the intense battle. Nyxara, her movements fluid and relentless, was clearly gaining the upper hand. Angelus charged at her again, but she threw him down with renewed vigor, her fists pounding on him with unrestrained force. Despite the savage beating, Angelus's laughter echoed through the fire-lit chaos, as if the entire confrontation were some twisted game to him.

"Are you going to let your old man just burn?" he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

Nyxara's gaze flicked between Angelus and the lower level of the burning factory, where the flames were rushing toward Giles, who lay unconscious on the floor. The sight filled her with dread.

'Oh, no,' she thought, a wave of anguish crashing over her. The choice before her was unbearable: Angelus's life versus Giles's. If she didn't drag Giles to safety, he would surely perish in the flames. Yet, if she didn't eliminate Angelus now, she might never get another chance, and more lives would undoubtedly be lost. Angelus had already threatened nearly everyone she cared about, with only Cole left unthreatened, though that was only due to his ignorance of her brother's whereabouts. The protective spells around their homes weren't enough. Every time any of them ventured outside in the dark, they could be at risk. Nyxara couldn't be everywhere at once, guarding everyone she loved.

Taking advantage of Nyxara's momentary distraction, Angelus seized the opportunity to toss her over the side. She managed to catch herself, her agility allowing her to jump the rest of the way down. As Angelus made his escape, Nyxara quickly forced Giles to his feet, her resolve unshaken. She shimmered out, transporting both herself and the unconscious Watcher away from the inferno.

Halliwell Manor

Nyxara shimmered into the foyer of the Manor. "Leo?" she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged space.

The sudden commotion brought Prue, Piper, Phoebe, and Leo rushing into the foyer. Their faces were etched with worry and anticipation, their hurried steps barely muffled by the opulent rugs beneath their feet.

"Heal him, Leo," Nyxara instructed firmly as she transformed back into Buffy. The familiar, fierce determination in her eyes was a sharp contrast to the calm setting. "He attacked Angelus."

"Do it," Piper urged, her eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and concern as she looked at her fiancé.

Leo immediately sprang into action, his expression one of focused resolve. He hurried over and, with Buffy's assistance, carefully helped Giles onto the nearby couch. The plush cushions seemed inadequate to cushion the gravity of the situation as they laid him down. Leo extended his hands, his healing powers beginning to work their magic on Giles' battered form. A soft, golden light enveloped the Watcher as Leo's energy mended the wounds, the healing process visibly soothing the pain and damage.

Giles stirred, regaining consciousness with a jolt. The first thing he saw was Buffy, her face a mask of intense worry and determination. "Why did you come?" he shouted, his voice rough and strained, still disoriented from his injuries. "This wasn't your fight!"

Buffy's response was swift and decisive. Without hesitation, she delivered a solid roundhouse kick to his jaw, the force of it reverberating through the room. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she screamed, her voice cracking with a mix of anger and concern.

Leo, Prue, Piper, and Phoebe instinctively took a step back, their expressions a mix of shock and empathy as they watched the fiery exchange unfold. The tension in the room was palpable, each of them feeling the weight of the confrontation.

Buffy, her anger giving way to an overwhelming sense of desperation, sank down beside Giles on the couch. She clung to him tightly, her body shaking with her emotions. The tears she had been holding back flowed freely now, mingling with her deep sorrow for him.

Buffy's voice quivered slightly, revealing a vulnerability that she rarely exposed. She looked at Giles with a profound, aching honesty. "I never really knew my father," she began, her gaze distant as if she were peering through the veil of her own past. "He died not long after Cole was born. I was just a child, and the memories I have of him are like fleeting shadows—hazy, fragmented, and often indistinguishable from the fantasies of a young girl's imagination."

Her eyes, usually so filled with resolve and defiance, softened with an emotional weight. "You are the closest thing I have to a father, Giles. In a way, you've been more of a parent to me than I ever had, offering guidance and care when I needed it most. You've been there through the battles, the losses, and the triumphs, shaping my life in ways I never truly understood until now."

Buffy's voice broke as she continued, her emotions pouring forth like a dam giving way. "I don't want you to die." The words came out in a desperate plea, laden with a depth of feeling that went beyond mere words. Her hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grip. "You've become so much more than a mentor or friend. You're a father figure to me, the one who's been there through the darkest moments and the brightest victories. The thought of losing you is unbearable, a fear so raw and all-encompassing that it threatens to drown out everything else."

February 13, 1998 – Friday

Restfield Cemetery

The cemetery was steeped in a cold, gray pallor, the sky hanging heavy with low, leaden clouds that promised nothing but more dreariness. In the midst of this somber landscape, a small pond lay like a tarnished mirror, its surface marred by the drifting leaves that floated in slow, mournful spirals. The water, a dismal shade of gray, seemed to reflect the bleakness of the day and the weight of the sorrow that had come to rest upon the cemetery grounds. Leaves had settled on the grave, their delicate forms contrasting sharply with the grim surroundings. They drifted down gently, like the fleeting, gentle kisses Giles had once envisioned brushing against Jenny Calendar's temples and cheeks.

Giles knelt beside the grave with a reverence that spoke of deep, personal loss. His posture, reminiscent of a man proposing marriage, was a silent tribute to the love he had held for Jenny. He placed a bouquet of roses tenderly on the fresh mound of earth, the flowers' vivid colors a stark contrast to the dullness of the surroundings. For a moment, he remained in this position, his head bowed and his hands resting on the flowers. There was something profoundly noble about his grief, a strength and dignity that shone through even in the depths of his sorrow.

As he rose, he placed his hand into the pocket of his raincoat, a gesture that seemed almost mechanical in the face of his overwhelming grief. "In my years as Watcher, I've buried too many people," he said, his voice carrying the weight of years spent in the shadows of loss and duty. "Jenny was the first one I loved." His words were heavy, each syllable weighed down by the gravity of his emotions, and they hung in the air like a solemn confession.

Buffy stood beside him, her presence a beacon of solidarity in the gray raincoat and boots she wore. Her eyes, reflecting the somber tone of the day, were filled with genuine sorrow. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "I'm sorry I couldn't kill him for you… for her… when I had the chance." The words were an echo of her own regrets and the burden she carried for not being able to prevent the tragedy that had unfolded.

They both turned their attention to the headstone before them. It was stark in its simplicity, bearing only the name Jennifer Calendar. There were no references to Janna, no hints of curses or betrayals, no acknowledgment of the passionate, tumultuous love that had once existed. It was a plain and unremarkable marker, much like the life it commemorated.

Buffy's voice broke the silence with a new determination. "I wasn't ready," she admitted, her gaze fixed on the headstone as if seeking answers from the cold, unyielding stone. "But I think I finally am. I can't hold on to the past any more. Angel is gone. Nothing's ever going to bring him back." Her words were a final acceptance, a release of the ghosts of yesterday and the painful acknowledgment that some things could never be changed. Her face was a portrait of resolve and the bittersweet acceptance of reality.

Sunnydale High

The classroom was enveloped in an almost tangible stillness as Willow entered. Her entrance was marked by the soft shuffle of her steps and the faint rustle of her notebook and textbook clutched tightly in her arms. The students, usually bustling with idle chatter and the occasional burst of laughter, were eerily quiet. They looked up at her with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, their collective gaze heavy in the muted light of the room.

With a tentative smile, Willow spoke, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness. "Hi. Principal Snyder has asked me to fill in for Miss Calendar until the new computer science teacher arrives. So I'm just going to stick to the lesson plan she left." Her words, though spoken with an earnest intent, seemed to float in the air, their impact softened by the palpable silence that pervaded the room.

Willow made her way to the desk, her movements careful as she navigated the space with a growing sense of responsibility. She placed her notebook and textbook down, her hands moving with a practiced precision. In her distraction, she inadvertently knocked a yellow diskette off the edge of the desk. The small, unassuming diskette tumbled in slow motion, its journey marked by a series of soft thuds and metallic clinks.

The diskette fell between the desk and the portable storage cart that Miss Calendar had meticulously arranged beside it. The cart, filled with an array of gadgets and cables, loomed like a silent sentinel. The diskette landed on the floor with a soft clatter, its position skewed at an awkward angle.

It lay there, seemingly insignificant yet oddly significant in its own way, waiting.