Summary: When your world has just has the rug yanked from under your
feet, what do you do?
Crossover: Berserk, Flame of Recca, Naruto and Neon Genesis Evangelion.
Disclaimer: I don't own what other people do.
Feedback: (I don't write *this* part -- you do! Think of it as the
audience participation aspect.)
Pre-reader: Chandra Bridges
Well, we're getting rolling with this.
"Angels and demons inside of me
Saviors and Satans all around me"
- Rush, 'Totem'
Buffy stared at Willow. She tried very hard to remember that she was
Buffy Summers, a Slayer. This became very easy, as she felt the memories
and urges leave her quickly.
Willow stared at Buffy. One part of her, a lesser part, wanted to start
questioning Rayne, while the other wanted to put something decent on.
"Should I Slay him?," Buffy asked, a tone of hope in her voice.
"Well, he's scum, but he isn't that bad," Willow said, upbringing
fighting fading memories. "Besides, you know, turning kids into demons
and turning them back."
"Did he really count as human?," Buffy asked. "Not, you know, superhuman
or something with all the magic?"
"Well, yeah," Willow said. "Amy's mum was human. It's academic, now,
"What do you mean?," Buffy asked.
Willow pointed at the shop door with one hand, while the other pulled
her dress closed. "He's long gone."
"We could track him," Buffy offered.
Willow blushed. "I want to get some decent clothes on first!"
Xander began to laugh, as Formynder left. It was a broken laugh,
"Time to go home now, I guess," Xander whispered.
He picked up the now-plastic Dragonslayer, putting it on his back
harness with an ease that spoke of Guts' lingering memories, and
possibly his skills. In the distance, he could still see the little kids
running. They'd instinctively ran from the infinitely more powerful
Black Swordsman when he cut down their betters, and survived as a
result. Most of them were already running into their homes, doors
slamming behind them.
It had been such a good night, too. His team had amassed a small
mountain of kiddy heaven, and all they'd remember of it would be terror,
death, and blood...
He opened the door to his home, stumbling in. With a dull crash, he
found himself leaning on the hallway wall.
"Hahahaha! Som' on' got hisself beaten again," Tony laughed coarsely.
The acrid smell of cheap spirits mixed with another set of smells Xander
always ignored as best he could. "Was it yer blonde or yer redhead
"Funny story behind that," Xander said. "It kinda involves slaughtering
a horde of demons, but you wouldn't be interested in that."
The drunken man paused in his ramblings, as he and Xander established
eye contact for a moment. He felt a chill fear shiver down his back.
Blinking, he lifted the bottle to his own eyes. "Hmmm. Heaven Hill."
He threw it out the window, reaching for a bottle of Jim Beam instead.
"Ain't never buyin' that crap again."
Her long white dress began to grey, as Drusilla wept over Spikes' ashes.
She drew patterns in the remains, before beginning to scoop them into a
small, tidy pile. Large black eyes that stood out in her thin, pale face
stared mournfully at the remains.
"I told you, lovey!," she remonstrated. "I told you the wolf was coming
to have the headsman for supper! Poor Spikey, all gone now..."
Sweeping the ashes into a small vase, she capped it then stared after
"No peace -- no peace for the Struggler, no peace for the Branded, no
rest for the Sacrifice... this, I Fore-tell on him."
Her eyes gazed into the black distance, seeing something only her insane
eyes could see.
Giles stretched, back making cracking noises as he did so.
"Well, I hope the man returns soon," he said.
Giles had found a surprising amount of information on the Godhand --
very little, considering the size of his reference library. What little
he did have made him apprehensive.
On the one hand, the five Godhand could not affect their set of
dimensions, due to having no connections (portal or otherwise) to it.
On the other hand, if they did have access...
Giles opened his bottom drawer in his office, pulled out a small address
book, and looked at it thoughtfully before putting it in his back left
Wilkins stood at the window to his office, looking out on Sunnydale.
Streetlights outlined the suburbs, with houselights filling in gaps.
"What's on the board for tomorrow, Alan?"
Finch flipped the sheet on the clipboard to the back. "First is your
eight o'clock with the Preschool Association, and after that we have
your nine thirty with the Chamber of Commerce. At eleven o'clock is your
meeting with Mister the Bloody, and your afternoon is pretty much free."
"Good, good," Wilkins said. "Do make sure that Mrs O'Leary knows to make
scones for my eight o'clock, please?"
"Yes sir," Finch said, making a note. "Jam and cream?"
"Absolutely," Wilkins agreed. "Oh, yes. By the way, allocate resources
to keep tabs on the four special students, Alan."
"Summers, Chase, Rosenberg, and Harris?," Finch asked, wanting to be
"Yes," Wilkins said. "I think I'll turn in now -- it is getting late,
and early to bed, early to rise and all that."
Xander's eyes closed, only to open half a second later.
"Where am I?," he whispered, looking around.
He was in a vaulted dungeon, stained with the bodies and blood of dead,
dismembered soldiers. His soldiers.
His long, long sword held firmly in his right hand, he walked calmly,
yet furious, down the length of the dungeon until he saw the cause of
all the death and bloodshed.
Nude, body painted with the blood of his enemies, the heavy set being's
eyes were wide open, his face calm.
Letting out a cry of rage, Xander ran towards Zodd, sword now held in
both hands in a swing that changed into a block as Zodd retaliated, his
heavier sword coming down towards Xander. The force of the strike cast
him backwards into a pillar, as the corpses that had been impaled on the
blade thumped down beside him. Xander was afraid, but the fear only
seemed to empower his rage further.
"You can dodge my sword," Zodd rumbled. "Little lad, you are pretty
With a snarling, bestial roar of rage, Zodd swung his immense blade at
Xander, who brought his own around to block, releasing the block when he
found it hard to counter Zodd's strength. Sliding away from the blade,
it cut through the stout stone dungeon pillar behind him.
Zodd quickly swung again at Xander, several times -- lesser power, but
quicker this time. He blocked with his sword again, holding his metal
left arm bracer against his blade to brace it against Zodd's weapon.
With a sudden burst of strength, Zodd pushed his sword forwards,
flinging Xander back-first into another pillar.
As Xander slowly rose to his feet, Zodd regarded him.
"Great!," Zodd said, eyes calm of the bloodlust that had burned in them
not a second ago. "I haven't met anyone who can block my sword for the
last fifty years..." This guy's a demon for sure,
Xander thought, teeth gritted against the
Xander panted as his bedsheets, slick with sweat, slid down his torso.
"No," he whispered. "My name is Alexander LaVelle Harris, and I'm just a
teenager! That's all!"
Maybe... if he avoided the swords in the bookcage, the memories would
just... go away?