In every generation there is a chosen one. This story was caused by my thoughts on this phrase and the consequences of empowering the potentials.Disclaimer:
All characters, concepts and locations from Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions. I do not own Highlander, the concepts used from the series are the property of Davis-Panzer Productions.
I have probably used themes/ideas which originated in other fiction/fan fiction, I read too much for this not to happen, no offense/infringement is intended by this (I usually don’t know where my ideas come from but I do know better than to claim they are original). If this refers to you, please accept my apologies and admiration - after all imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
The only things here I can claim as my own is the specific order of words which follows (mostly forming coherent sentences).Spoilers:
While possibly not considered a spoiler any more, this story starts as the final series of Buffy ends and may mention events in the show. I know little about Angel beyond what was connected to Buffy, I have been informed this has caused me to write something inaccurate... therefore let me say it here - Angel canon will not be adhered to.Completion:
While this story is finished and contains a completed story arc, it is part of a series which is not. If you do not enjoy reading unfinished works you may wish to consider this before continuing.Spelling/Grammar:
This was my first fanfic and much of this story has only ever been self edited. This means that there are errors in there. I do keep reviewing this to catch them but I would be the first to admit that I’m fallible. If you spot any errors, or are confused by anything in the story please don’t hesitate to let me know.Feedback:
Is always appreciated. Theories, questions and especially criticisms keep the imps well fed (and me unable to sleep until I write down their ideas).Additional Disclaimer:
Originally some phrases in this were very similar to ones in Faithunbreakable's fic 'Nobody Ever Asked
'. This was unintentional - somehow, without my realising, her words had stuck with me and been inadvertently reused. It took me a while to write an adequate replacement for her emotive words (and they probably still have some similarities as the emotions behind them remain the same). Her story is a beautiful Harry Potter crossover dealing with Buffy post-Chosen and, as with all her writing, is far better than anything I could hope to achieve.A Slayer Reborn
In every generation, there is a chosen one,
She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness.
She is the slayer.
~ ~ ~
Buffy stood on the edge of the chasm that had been her hometown looking down. Lost in the destruction they had caused, she dimly heard someone ask, “What do you want to do now?”
What do I want to do now?
It had been so long since she had even thought about that question.
Rarely in the past couple of years had her plans run further ahead than the next day or week. Beyond the current threat she had to defeat. She had saved the world once again... Saved the world. That used to be such a simple concept.
She, they, had fought to protect themselves countless times from the attention of various foes. And if in the course of staying alive they happened to prevent the destruction of the world as we know it… well they patted themselves on the back doubly hard and carried on. Waiting until the next enemy came along that needed more planning to defeat than the average nest of vampires.
But this time saving the world had meant leading an army of unprepared teens into the bowels of hell and turning them into something more, knowing that there wasn't a chance they would all get out. This time to save the world they had changed it.
She was now a Slayer not the Slayer. It may have appeared as if her duty was shared with friends, family, even other slayers; but Buffy had always ultimately fought alone. She was the one all looked to when things were truly bleak. The respite granted by assistance was all too fleeting, the responsibility resting solely on her.
Now there was nothing left to fight. Weeks, months, years with her duty shared by others eager to bear her burdens were spread before her. Without a purpose. Without an end.
It didn’t feel real, not with the call of the grave she’d crawled out of singing through her veins, reminding her that the life she led wasn't hers anymore. That it should have ended a good two years previously, her body lifeless even before it crashed onto the concrete.
Perhaps her friends had been right in doubting her intent as she pushed for attacks, encouraging any fight that might challenge her, praying that every wound would be fatal. That each adversary would be the one to best her. Pushing her skills to the edge in a desperate attempt to reclaim what had been taken from her. Forcing herself to the edges of her ability where somehow there were always reasons to live on, to fight to the bitter end; always something else bigger, bader she still had to defeat. To protect those who had so easily betrayed her.
Since they brought her back, leaving her to push her way out through the soil she’d forced herself to function, found ways to live from one day to the next and one of these was the unfounded belief that there was some purpose in it all. That they wouldn’t have managed to get her back unless there was something she was needed for, someone she must defeat.
And behind this the thought, not even voiced in her own mind, that if there was a purpose then, once it was all done, once the world had again escaped the grasp of evil, she could return.
Yet here she was. Still standing after it all. After the world she had known for the past seven years had literally crumbled beneath them. This shadow of a life would continue even though there were now hundreds with the strength to take over the sacred duty that had been hers.
These children who might be told of the lessons Buffy had gained in blood and tears, but would never really understand that it would take more than this new power to fight the battles of a warrior.
These mockeries of slayers who would never learn that to be a Chosen One you had to be alone, alone in the crux of the battle when the responsibility for the world feels like a deadweight on your shoulders. Alone in your last moments when the exit from the never-ending war is finally within reach.
~ ~ ~
Buffy felt the adrenaline of the fight drain out of her system and pain racked through her midsection. Perhaps the ultimate prize hadn’t escaped her as it had so often before. A faint smile crossed her face as blood started to pool at her feet. Blood loss and exhaustion finally took their toll on her body and she slumped to the ground.
Supposedly when you die, your life flashes before your eyes as you fade. As the pain became less intense in a way that had nothing to do with healing, visions and voices bombarded Buffy.
Not just her life, but what seemed like the lives of countless slayers assailed her. She fought innumerable battles, prevented thousands of apocalypses, died over and over again. Each time feeling the peace of knowing that the battle had ended, returning to that place of love and light, only to be reborn, recalled and eventually, killed once more.
As she slipped into oblivion, Buffy recognised the voice that has been haunting her thoughts as it whispered over the memories with its final words.
You think you know who you are, what is to come? You have only just begun.
~ ~ ~
Hundreds of potentials around the world had been empowered by Willow’s spell. When Buffy hit the ground hundreds of slayers joined her, falling to the earth when the power left, sensing the imminent ruin of the one place it belonged.
‘In every generation there is a Chosen One.’ Strange when you think of it… ‘In every generation’ yet here were hundreds of girls with the potential in one generation waiting to be called. Few realised the truth in those words. In each generation there were many slayers, more with the potential than could ever be needed, but there is only and will only ever be one Chosen.
The power of the slayer, unlocked and reaching its full potential rejuvenated the body. It rose from the dust glowing with an unearthly aura as the energy enhanced senses and muscles.
A slayer taps into more and more power as they age, became used to their strengths, but never had more than a fraction of the true slayer essence been unleashed. Until now.
Every cell in her body was healed and then strengthened. The air around crackled with waves of energy pouring from her skin, surrounded her with a blinding light.
~ ~ ~
Buffy awoke to the sound of a crackling campfire and the endless noise of the dessert winds rushing over sand, the desert from her vision quest. As with the last time she came to this place, she saw the first slayer through the flicker of flames.
This time the first slayer was not alone, she was flanked by girls whose appearance and clothing gave them vastly varying nationalities, spread them through time, with most aged between 18 and 25 years old. Buffy focussed on the obvious spokesperson for the Slayers. The first of their kind.
“Am I about to get a repeat viewing of slayers through the ages, or are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”“You know.”
She wanted to refute the statement but in a way it was true. There was an answer to all this jumping up and down in the back of her mind begging to be acknowledged.
“You have remembered us, we have come.”
As she… they spoke a longer sentence Buffy realised what had been so odd about the voice, the one that had echoed through the visions. The lips of all the slayers standing around the fire moved when the First spoke, all saying the same thing but not the same words. They all spoke in their own native tongue.
Spanish, French and English were prominent but there were others… so many others that they were masked by the drone of modern languages, and somewhere trapped beneath everything that made sense was the low guttural utterances of the first slayer communicating.All the slayers spoke as one…
Her mind turned that thought over and over trying to reach a different conclusion to discard the understanding she’d reached when she saw the lives of all these girls as her own.
Buffy finally accepted the truth, and all the slayers converged to leave behind… her own image. With a voice that still consisted of hundreds, thousands of interlaced voices speaking simultaneously she spoke.
“We are the Chosen. We are one”
She could see their lives. But now as a pose to being haunting visions, Buffy accepted them for what they were; memories. She was them, they were her.
The image of herself flickered and changed form hundreds of times, and each was as familiar as the face in a mirror. The figure stepped forward through the flames then into her and peace washed over Buffy as her soul was completed.