Rating: PG-13 (I figure if that’s what they gave the movie, that’s probably what I should give this fic)
Disclaimer: If I did own them, I’d have done a sight better job than Ratner, Penn, and Kinberg.
Spoilers: X-Men: The Last Stand DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE MOVIE! MAJOR SPOILAGE!!
AN: Ok, I’m trying to get over my writer’s block on HES, and work out some serious ire directed at Brett Ratner right now. That &@#(*@$#&@#$@#$)()& just killed one of my favorite movie franchises. I’m also a little pissed at Bryan Singer write now. He should have stuck it through to the third one; if he had, The Last Stand would have never been made, and that travesty of bad non-fan fiction would never have been put on screen. OOGH. I could just… ugh.
Also I found out AFTER I got home from the theatre that there was a clip at the end of the credits that alters the entire movie.
Anyway, I wrote this as a way to expend my pent up frustration creatively, and as a way to maybe get back to writing as this is the first time I've felt inspired in two months.
Oh, and for those of you who enjoyed the movie, please don't bombard me with emails or reviews detailing why it was so great. You're allowed your opinion as I'm allowed mine
Something was wrong.
No, something was VERY wrong.
Willow had been feeling it for several hours now, ever since she had been jolted out of her sleep in the late hours of the night, unsure of what had awoken her, and unable to pinpoint the cause of her distress.
She had reached out with her connection to the Slayer line first, searching for an apocalypse that was about to not be averted, or the rising of a new evil power that their seers hadn’t caught, but aside from a slayer that had died fighting a nest Qik’thaks in Taiwan, and another that had fallen taking out a Slb’trk’n scorpion in Nevada, her girls were all fine and accounted for.
So she called the coven in Devon. Then the ones in Lome, Yueyang, Lahaina, Suriname, and Bixby. They hadn’t felt anything. But, as several of the older magic practitioners had quietly pointed out, Willow had the deepest connection to Earth that anyone had possessed for the last thousand years; and she was the only one that they had ever heard of who could feel the life force of every living thing on the planet.
What they left unsaid was that Willow was the only one they had ever heard of who could extinguish all those lives in a moment if she so wished, which left her feared and mistrusted by them all.
Well, except for Susan in Oklahoma. She had simply said that if only Willow was feeling it, then it was either a very small matter (in which case, Willow should leaver her and hers the hell alone), or it was a very large matter and was therefore probably something that only Willow could or should deal with (in which case, Willow could leaver her and hers the hell alone).
By the time she had finished contacting ever major power for good in the magical community, four am had come and gone as had an entire pot of coffee.
She had called Giles, and, after five minutes of caffeine-accelerated Willow-babble trying to get through to a just-awoken Head of the New Watchers Council, she received a promise to send an alert through the Scoobie grapevine and set up a teleconference for early that afternoon.
Willow had then given herself the magical equivalent of a shower, and quickly got a semi-decent breakfast into her, before setting up a circle to cleanse and center herself before entering onto the outer planes.
Two hours later, she was gathering up the used incense and candles and debating within herself which plane would be the best to start looking for answers, when she felt it again.
This time, sleep was not muddling her senses; her power was ordered and controlled allowing her to more clearly feel the force that was making her hair stand up. Plus whatever had suddenly vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared earlier that morning seemed to be staying around a bit longer this time
It was power. A great power concentrated in a single area, probably a single being, and it was radiating shock-waves throughout the earth. It carried a flavor that Willow was all-too familiar with.
She set the candles down as she turned to look out her kitchen window, where the first rays of dawn were lighting up the French country house where she was staying.
As she slowly walked to the window in the direction that the power was coming from, she pushed her essence forth into the earth to more closely examine the energy that was being driven into the world like a sharp lance.
It was fueled by rage, yes, but there were other emotions that she could feel pouring off of it. Pain was the next strongest, carrying with it the distinct colours of grief and guilt. There was confusion and division as well, though they were overshadowed by the others.
It took a moment for the familiarity and significance of what she was sensing to click. When it did, her head snapped up from the windowsill that she had appeared to have been examining, and her mouth parted slightly as her eyes focused off into a distance that only she could see.
It was herself that Willow was feeling, Willow as she was on the day that Tara died, on that morning when she stood on Dead Man’s Bluff, and decided that the world could not continue.
The morning when Willow knew, without a single doubt, that there was no power in the universe that could stop her.
Until, of course, love did.
Her eyes narrowed as the spike of power seemed to withdraw some and the waves that were coursing through the earth became unsettled ripples that sent the unease that Willow had felt that morning subside into a steady flow.
Something was terribly wrong, but now she knew what.
Somewhere, someone, or something, had suddenly amassed a great deal of power, and was currently capable of using it for only one thing.
Her previous course of searching through the planes now abandoned, Willow called Giles, and, finding only his answering machine, quickly left a message detailing what was going and instructing him not to disturb her, but wait for her to contact him.
She then gathered herself, and teleported to the Slayer safe house in Boston. Once determining that whoever was disrupting the balance of the world was somewhere within a thousand miles or so, she instructed the Watcher on duty there to prepare her a room where she wouldn’t be disturbed, and gathered a few supplies.
Then once she had situated the small bedroom on the second floor that they had gotten for her, cleansed and warded the area, she lay on the bed, closed her eyes, and after three deep breaths, found herself looking down at her body from the edge of the bed, as her physical being settled into a deep meditative state that would remain until she returned.
She then turned, and, finding the beacon of power more easily felt in this form, sent herself toward it, riding the energies of the world, until a current led her to the source.
And found herself standing outside an older two-story house in a nice, almost quaint suburb. Whoever it was, and Willow could tell now that it was a person, likely human, they were inside.
Willow briefly glanced around, noticed the name ‘Grey’ on the mailbox, and the neatly tended lawn which would make anyone skeptical of the idea that one of the most powerful beings in the world was inside.
And Willow had no doubt, whoever was inside was as powerful as she was.