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Wrong Place, Wrong Time

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Summary: More than he was, less of a clue, and lost as hell. Just another week for Watcher Xander Harris.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Star Wars > Xander-CenteredArchrFR1537,06037717,9423 Nov 0618 Sep 09No

Prologue

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Disclaimer- The characters here are not mine, never have been, and I wish they were. I would be nicer to them than their original owners, I think.

A/N- This is inspired by Greywizard. He knows from what. Thanks for the help with editing and everything else. Also thanks to Anime Ronin, Cyclone Knight and Yorath, for listening to my ranting. Note, this may seem a little similar to another fic on TTH, but I wrote this nearly a year ago.


***


I’m not sure how to begin this, so I guess I will just start from the beginning. I am writing this for two reasons. First, I am attempting to learn to write in the local language, since the spoken form is very close to the English I am used to. The written is definitely different, but I need to learn it so I can survive here. Second, this is to chronicle what has happened to me. I need some record to try to explain this to my friends, if and when I find a way home, or they find me.

To start off, I disappeared from the continent of Africa.

I had started in Cape Town, and then slowly worked my way north. I had discovered twenty seven Slayers in the thirteen months of my travels. Most of them remained in their villages, but I did travel with a few from place to place. Seven decided to go back to the Council and help protect the rest of the world, and the rest stayed to protect this part. I learned a lot from them and their people, as well as teaching them the basics of Slaying and how to get in touch with the Council to request aid for whatever problems they may face, demonic or mundane.

After about six months there, I was hit with a nasty illness that had no technical name that I was aware of. The rough translation of the local name is something like “That which kills the strong”. I guess I should be flattered. The shaman told me he could use his skill to help me fight it off, but it could have side effects. I told him it was better than death.

You would be surprised what you can live through. I went to sleep as he began his ritual. I woke up two weeks later. To say I was hungry would be an understatement. After I had eaten enough to get my mind working, as much as it normally does at any rate, I realized I could feel a significant difference in myself. My senses were more acute, my balance and coordination were almost like that of my Slayers, and my strength and endurance were also much higher than before. It took me a few minutes to really put the pieces together, and the final nail in the coffin of any normalcy I may have was the confirmation of my suspicions by the Shaman.

I alone was not strong enough to fight off the illness. Of course, I had never really been alone since my sophomore year of high school. The Shaman had strengthened and bound the spirits that still existed within me to my body and soul. The Hyena. The Soldier. I knew those two were there.

I had forgotten about the third one, though.

And the traces of three others.

The third was the Slayer Spirit, the one invoked during the ritual we’d performed before the battle with Adam. It gave Buffy the magical skill and knowledge of Watcher Rupert Giles. It gave her the raw power and talent of the Witch Willow Rosenberg. It also gave her a piece of my soul, the Heart, to balance all the other pieces. All of us still had been bound together for the few short moments of the battle, and also in a more permanent, but not very noticeable way, afterwards, I now realized.

. And it turns out I also seemed to have more of an affinity for water than most people. Swim team legacy, gotta love it.

All this and the energies I had absorbed when trying to talk Willow down from her world-ending-vengeance kick, too.

Apparently my mind, body and soul had absorbed all of these little (an not so little) pieces and fragments over the course of my years helping with the Slaying.

Xander Harris, the unknowing mystical junk collector – I’m kinda surprised that’s all I ended up collecting ,considering the usual Hellmouth influence on anything in the Area.

Turns out the Shaman had not been overly optimistic in his ability to save me, as it takes a lot of spiritual power to burn through this illness. While I was not the first he had treated, I was the first to survive.

Yay me.

Now, more than ever, Africa was where I needed to be. I had to learn how to deal with myself all over again, else I would be getting an exorcism once I got home and they Gang got a look at me.. That one would kill me. Literally. The spirit fragments were now an integral part of me and I was now a whole that might be greater than the sum of his parts.

I knew the languages, I knew all the lore. I could feel the magic and the earth. I felt the darkness and the wild. I was a hunter.

And I was in serious need of balance.

It took me about three months of running around the jungle to get my act together. I also had managed to leash my own need to use any magic that I had available, but I still lacked control. I thought Giles might help me when I got to talk to him next.

I put that off for a long as I could. How could I explain over the phone that all of the things that had happened to me over the years had all come to roost on me, and not sound like I was either a lunatic or actually possessed (again)?

I guess I waited too long.

There was a raiding party of demons in the area, and I led a team of four Slayers and twenty local fighters against them. They were nasty, and not local. We had them beat, but the leader, mage, priest, whatever, was holding a great big honkin’ crystal that glowed with barely restrained power. So not of the good. In between the curses and threats, he growled out that it would open a portal to bring a hundred thousand of his brothers and sisters through and lay waste to our realm.

No. Way. In HELL!

I told the others to get back, since all that remained of our group were eight warriors and two Slayers. I killed the last baddie almost absently, taking the crystal from his steaming corpse; while I drew on anything and everything I could to try to bind the crystal and its power. All on instinct, I wove a shield around myself and it.

Perhaps that was not my best idea.

I pushed my energy in at the crystal, at the power within, feeding it more and more of what I had to give. I figured if I could ‘burst’ it within the shield, it would prevent the Demonic Family Reunion from stopping over in dear old Africa.

As I said, not one of my better ideas, but it worked.

Sorta.

I saw light. A lot of light. Oh, did I mention the light? The pain was pretty intense too, but there was a lot of light.

Then it got dark.

***


I woke up with a mouth full of sand.

Looking around, I could see that I was in a desert. This was not anything unfamiliar to me. The fact that the sky held two moons, though, THAT was new.

In case I had not mentioned it, my name is Alexander Levelle Harris, call me Xander.

I was seriously lost.
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