Chapter 2: Prophecy in the Works
Disclaimer: I don’t own it, duh. . . I do not know Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, or Angel the Series. I am making no money off of this story.
Angel pulled himself out from beneath the dragon, leaving a sword protruding from its serpentine head. He stood up, losing his game face and cocking an eyebrow. He nudged the reeking body with one boot. The dragon stayed down.
“That was . . . easy.”
He heard the grisly sound of snapping bones and turned to see Illyria decapitating a demon with one hand. Her blue eyes darted toward the dead dragon.
“You could have accomplished the task of “slaying the dragon” in a much shorter amount of time,” Illyria commented.
Angel snorted, pulling the sword from the dragon’s skull and slicing a small sized demon in two. He prepared to charge another, but Illyria called out to him.
“Angel, we can not take this force. By now, Gunn will have fell, and I have already lost sight of Spike. Wesley was dead before this began. We are losing.” Her blue tinged eyes remained on Angel as she broke another demon’s neck.
“What were you expecting?” Angel snapped. “I told all of you that we would probably fall in this battle! I told you to live your last day well. Did no one hear my end-of-the-world speech?”
“I will fight to the end, Angel.” Illyria remained unmoved. “However, know that the demons we do not defeat will spill out onto the streets, a trail of our blood following them. The innocent will fall. The cries of women and children will fill the air. Their blood will stain the Earth. . . Because we did not call for help when we knew we were defeated.”
“I’m getting the picture.” Angel raised his sword and gutted a many legged creature. “If you’re saying I should ask for help from. . . .” Angel frowned, a pained look on his face. “Buffy wouldn’t come. She doesn’t trust me anymore.”
“She would help you on this night,” Illyria said without doubt.
“There’s no time!” Angel’s patience was wearing thin. He had thought of this all before. He had wanted help, but none would come. “There’s nothing she could do anyhow. It’s too late for all that.”
“Contact her.” Illyria stood firm as she crushed her fist into her enemies face.
“How am I supposed to do that?” Angel shouted, taking his frustration out on a few nearby demons.
“I would suggest using your cell phone,” Illyria answered coolly.
Angel’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He patted his side pocked, realizing that his cell phone was indeed still intact and on him. Hope glimmered in his eyes for a moment but then he frowned again.
“Illyria, do you know how to use a cell phone?”
It was Illyria’s turn to raise a brow.
“Angel?” Buffy couldn’t believe her ears. A shaky breath issued from her mouth. Then the melodramatic moment ended abruptly. “Angel, is there any chance that hell has risen in Los Angeles and now you and three others are fighting its demons?” she asked quickly.
There was a short silence. “How? Buffy, you knew? What’s going on?”
“I'll take that as a yes.” Buffy grimaced at the reality of the situation.
“Dear Lord,” Giles sighed from her side, rubbing his eyes.
Dumbledore coughed to catch their attention. “Miss Summers. A word, please?”
“Hold up a second, Angel,” Buffy said, covering the receiver. “Wizard-man?”
“Tell Mr. Angel that help will be arriving shortly,” Dumbledore replied. “I must be going now. I will be back to you shortly. Rupert, contact Wilhelmina Granger as soon as possible. It is of the utmost importance.” The elderly wizard disappeared into the fireplace.
Buffy put the phone back to her mouth. “Back.”
“You put me on hold! You know I’m fighting Hell and you put me on hold?” Angel snapped.
“Calm down,” Buffy snapped back. “Listen, help is on the way. I assume some weird people with magic skills will be showing up soon. I don’t know them, but I’m guessing they’re of the good.”
“Thanks—I think,” Angel answered, slowly. “What do these magic people look li. . .”
There was silence, followed by a stream of beeps.
Buffy hung up the phone, praying that Angel was alright. She turned to the watcher. “Giles, would you like to fill me in on this whole ‘school of magic’ thing?”
**Los Angeles (further down the alley)*
Spike realized that one never gets use to being thrown through a wall. He stood, slightly dazed from the number of bricks his head had recently made intimate contact with. He looked down in fury.
“Bloody, Hell! My jacket!” Spike shouted. There were now three strips of cloth missing from his duster where demons had gotten a bit too close.
Realizing that he was no longer covered in demons, he looked around. He was in what appeared to be an abandoned storage facility. He took in a few locked doors around the room and large unmarked boxes in its corners. In front of him was a gaping hole in the shape of his body that showed demons rushing past down the alley. Buggers hadn’t even come inside to finish him off.
Spike suddenly realized that he could run, having found such a convenient way out of the battle, but where the hell was the fun in that?
He walked out of the building and was immediately engaged in a fight with a four foot demon with an attitude. Spike twisted the demon’s neck with ease and let the creature fall. He looked up, prepared to take on another when he saw a body up ahead. Gunn. Spike made his way through the oncoming creatures toward his friend’s still form.
A demon was bent over Gunn, preparing to put a clawed hand through the young man’s stomach wound. Spike lifted the demon off the man and tossed the creature into the crowd. He grabbed Gunn by his shirt front and threw him over his shoulder.
Spike retraced his steps to the opening of the building. Unfortunately, demons had decided to explore this new open space. Spike kicked back a trio that met him at the opened and slipped by the rest toward the nearest door. The demons were turning their attention to the newcomers. Spike slipped through the door and barricaded it with a chair.
This new sanctuary was crummier than most tombs. Light from another street filtered in through a barred window, showing the shadowy features of what seemed to be a small work office. Spike laid Gunn down on a rusty metal desk covered in a layer of grime and scraps of paper.
Spike put a hand to the man’s neck. He was alive, but he was quickly fading. Spike checked Gunn’s wounds, but there was nothing he could do but hold a hand tightly against them. Nevertheless, the blood continued to flow.
“I’m sorry, boy,” Spike muttered, squeezing the man’s shoulder.
Gunn’s eyes opened weakly. He seemed surprised that he was still alive. After all, Illyria had given him about five minutes to live when he’s shown up for the battle. Instead, he’d fought for half an hour before passing out.
“Spike,” he coughed.
“Quiet, boy. Save your strength,” Spike answered, looking down at the man. He didn’t let any pity slip though. He knew Gunn hated being pitied.
“I. . . I,” Gunn began.
Spike could barely hear him for all the ruckus the demons were making outside the barricaded door. They would be inside in minutes, but until that time, Spike planned on putting all his attention on Gunn. After all, a dying man’s words were more important. That thought pained Spike. He wondered what Wesley had told Illyria. He wondered if he would be able to pass on Gunn’s message in the end, if he would be alive to do so.
“Say it again, Gunn,” Spike asked, leaning over the man to hear him better.
There was a sudden popping sound from behind Spike. He guessed it was a demon breaking through the door. However, he soon realized it was not a demon at all.
Spike felt a wooden stick being pressed against his back.
“Turn around,” ordered a voice.
Spike obeyed, not liking the stick so close to his heart. A young woman stood behind him. She had bubblegum pink hair and was wearing robes that put Drusilla’s wardrobe back into style. The stick she was holding to him looked like an anorexic stake, but Spike didn’t dare scoff at the obvious weapon.
“Back away from the muggle!” she shouted.
“Vampire, I said back away from that man!”
“No, you didn’t, but I’ll not argue that point,” Spike commented. “Are you, by any chance, a slayer?”
The young woman looked confused. “No.”
“Well, then who are you, and what are you doing in my town?” Spike asked, casually pulling a cigarette from his duster’s pocket. He noticed that it was broken in half, however, and tossed it behind him.
“Your town?” smirked the girl.
“Well, officially, it was Peaches’ first, but now we play the place together. So, if you have ill wishes toward this place, pack your bags, or I’ll be forced to kick your arse.”
The pink haired girl tried to put on a threatening face and prance forward, but she stumbled over her own feet. Spike grabbed her arm before she fell.
“My name is Spike, by the way.”
The womanl’s eyes widened. “You’re one of the ensouled ones. You know the souled vampire Angel, don’t you?”
Spike was about to answer when heard Gunn moan behind him.
“Listen, girly,” Spike began. “My friend here’s hurt. I have to get him help.”
She nodded quickly, seeing Gunn’s condition. “I can help him,” she said quickly, “but I have to take him with me now.”
“Bloody hell, you will!” Spike snarled. “How do I know you’re not evil? I don’t even know your name!”
“Tonks,” she answered briskly. “Listen, what does it matter? He’s dying here. If you let me take him, he may have a chance. Trust me.”
“Fine,” Spike muttered. “But if you put him through any more pain, I’ll have to rip your throat out.”
Tonks looked shocked at his threat. She moved forward and grabbed a hold of Gunn. She pulled a bottle cap from her pocket.
“What’s that suppose to do?” Spike asked.
“It’s an emergency portkey,” she replied. At Spike’s confused face, she continued. “It will take us to the hospital. Don’t worry; he’ll be right as rain once they’re done with him. The other aurors will be here to aid you soon. Good luck, Spike.”
The girl ran her finger along the inside of the bottle cap, and she and Gunn disappeared before Spike’s eyes.
“What’s an auror?” Spike muttered.