Prologue - The Eve of Death
You know the drill: I own nothing except the creativity of melding these two preexisting universes together. Joss Whedon and his constituents own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Kage Baker owns The Company
series of novels. By the way, if you haven't read them, you are missing out. Very compelling stuff. In The Garden of Iden
really changed my outlook on a lot of things. You really should read it. Anyways, on with the story. . .
I am many things. I am sorrow, I am pain, I am loss, I am eternal. I am Death.
I will live forever, only to bring death and destruction to the enemies of the Company. A Company that plays at being gods.
I know a bit about gods. . . I've killed more than a few of 'em in my day. It was almost a million years ago when I first met one, all power and confidence. That first one almost did me in. . .
What was its name? A million years of memories is a lot to sift through. Now, let's see. . . it was called--
It's on the tip of my tongue, and if I concentrate hard enough I'm sure I could remember it. But it's not important. I'm writing this journal to prove to myself that what I remember is what really happened. Somehow, putting it down on parchment just makes it feel all the more real. I need such certainties in a time like this.
You see, the year's 2355, and I'm going to die tomorrow.
I am the last of my kind. We three Quean Slayers, the only ones in existence, each with a previous life before we died in our different eras, only for our essence to be captured that we could live once more. So that we could live forever.
Funny, that. None of us got to see eternity. That fucking witch Darvulia got poor, sweet Thorko. Lilith was turned by Akhkharu, and I haven't seen her in four hundred thousand years.
I have lived 275 sars, twice the lifespan of the Anunnaki, and so my time is come. I have lived twice as long as a god, and I have paid dearly for it. . . I have lived outside of time, of civilization, for a hundred millennia, and have slept for a hundred more: waiting to be called, to save the Earth and the Company once again.
I don't know how it's going to happen, but I can tell you who made the weapon that's gonna kill me. My fucking cousins, that's who. Those clever little shits who can create a freakin' satellite TV out of some aluminum foil and rocks (no, really, I've seen 'em do it) but couldn't fix themselves a sandwich if there was a smorgasbord in front of them with instructions written on the plates.
But you know what the fucked up part about it all is? The one I miss the most, after all these years, and after everything I've been through, is a brunette chick I used to know from my previous life, before I died the third time. Her name was Faith. Faith something. Now what the hell is that?
But I'm getting ahead of myself. That's the middle of the story. You need to know how it all began. . .
Well, the first thing you need to know is my name. I was born (the first time) Buffy Anne Summers, but now I'm something so much more. I am Quean Buffy, and this is my song. . .
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