TITLE: ONE LAST APOCALYPSE - Prologue
AUTHOR: PhenDog
AUTHOR E-MAIL: PhenDog@hotmail.com
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Set in the aftermath of the AtS Season finale. Now that the legions have been loosed on the Earth, the war will begin…
WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS!
PAIRING: Pairings will emerge...anyone who knows my OTP will guess at least one of them.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy, AtS or anything else except my beloved computer named "Slate." (Obviously I don't own them, or I'd own a lot more than Slate and you'd have to pay to read this.) The Buffyverse belongs to Joss, ME (yes I know, old joke), and a whole bunch of alphabetical TV networks, `specially now that it's gone into syndication. Please don't sue, I know I don't have permission. Bad me. All my money went to bootleg X-files and Buffy episodes and Slate doesn't want to leave me!
DEDICATION: To Joss the Lord of Evil for killing Wes and ticking me off enough to need to write this. Also to ElizaBuffy, my tat buddy who would kill me if she wasn't mentioned in here somewhere! ;^)
FEEDBACK: PLEASE!!! Lay it on me at PhenDog@hotmail.com Good feedback will be treasured, printed, and taped on my wall. Flames will be treasured, printed in large typeface, matted, framed, and hung with care on my door for all to see. Either way, you'll be encouraging me to write more! Constructive Criticism treasured above all else.
DISTRIBUTION: www.buffygiles.com/efiction, GRB for now…more to follow
A/N: I have way too much to do right now to continue this right away, even though I've got it mostly outlined (see? I do SO know how to make productive use of my class time - who needs to learn in college anyway? ;^) Still, after the trauma that was the finale last night (which, although terrifying, may just have been a gift in disguise to ficwriters), I just had to get this out there into the world.
Also, if you find any errors (i.e. what time were they supposed to meet in the alley anyway?) please let me know…I'm a nice friend and already mailed off my tape of the episode to my poor, poor friend who didn't get to see it because an evil person called and wouldn't let her go…
Los Angeles, California, 19/05/04
3:04:58 AM local time/ 10:04:58 GMT
Lorne debated with himself, as he approached the alley. He'd told Angel that the vampire would never see him again after their parting earlier in the day, and he'd meant that. But he also knew he had to know. They may have been a strange bunch, and he might not agree with the current politics of their leader, but they had been his friends, and that counted for something too. Chances were, at least some of them wouldn't have made it back after tonight's events.
Even before he reached the alley, he heard the screeching and howling, and as he reached the end, he paused momentarily in awe. There they were, as he had expected them to be…or at least some of them—he only managed to count four—standing battle-ready against literally legions, pouring toward them, funneled by the buildings of the city into a massive tidal wave of hell and destruction.
The thought of running to the proud, yet doomed group to join them as they met their fate only crossed his mind briefly, then was dismissed the very next instant as he turned and ran. Even four of the mankind's greatest heroes wouldn't be able to so much as slow what faced them in this moment; someone had to escape to warn the world.
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Private Residence of Rupert Giles
Bath, England, 19/05/04
11:43:04 AM local time/ 10:43:04 GMT
As the phone split the silence of the room, Giles sat up so fast he didn't even have time to fully process where the sound had come from before the adrenaline hit, and an unexplainable lump settled hard in his gut. It was the line he'd had installed for his communications concerning the reformation of the Council, and there was no reason the phone shouldn't be ringing this time of day. Nevertheless, there seemed to be almost a panicked urgency about the need to answer it. Papers flew off the desk and onto the floor as he scrambled for the receiver.
"Hello?" he asked out of breath.
"Rupert Giles," the caller demanded. The Watcher had to strain over the incredible amount of background noise, but could tell it was an unfamiliar voice. That did surprise him. There weren't many he didn't know who had this particular phone number.
The flat, insistent sound of his caller's tone told him it wasn't worth taking the time to ask where he'd gotten the number. Right now it was more important to find out who was calling him and why. "Yes, it is…and this line is protected so you can speak freely without worry."
There was a humorless laugh. "I don't think that'll be a problem; not when the final apocalypse is in the process of happening right now. There isn't much time, and—"
"Who is this?" Giles demanded, cutting him off.
"No time."
"Make time." He suddenly had to know.
"My name is Lorne, though you might know me as The Host. Many do."
"You work with Angel."
There was a frustrated noise. "Look, this is serious, and you need to know. In a few minutes the whole world will know anyway, but someone needs to start preparing now, because there's going to be chaos. Angel went after something big tonight. The Circle of the Black Thorn. And…and I don't know how to say this, but something went wrong. Somehow he unleashed the hordes of hell, which are now busily making a snack out of the all-night buffet that used to be called Los Angeles, and I really doubt they have plans to stop once they're done here."
"What? How…" The story seemed far too insane to be true, but something deep inside told him doubt wasn't an option.
"I'm not sure, but I don't exactly have time to sit around and chat. I'm hiding in an empty donut shop right now, but it's only a matter of time…"
"Put Angel on the phone."
"I…can't. As far as I know, he's dust by now. Actually, they probably all are." Lorne's voice informed him, sounding incredibly sad in that moment.
Giles was about to ask for more details when he heard a crash and then the sound as the phone on the other end fell to the floor. There was just enough time to catch the scream before the howling became unbearable and the line went dead.
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Watcher's Council Temporary Headquarters
London, England, 19/05/04
11:55:32 AM local time/ 10:55:32 GMT
"Council of Watchers, Terry Parks," came the answer as the newly appointed co-Chairman picked up the phone at what was currently serving as the base of operations.
"Terry, thank god. I'd thought everyone might be out to lunch." Without waiting for a response, Giles shared what little information he'd been given in short staccato tones, ending less than a minute later.
"Good god! How bad?"
"Quite frankly, I've no idea…but if it's even close to what was being implied…"
"What do you want me to do?" the younger man asked as he mentally prepared himself for the chaos that would inevitably come of the next several hours.
"Call…" Giles closed his eyes for a second as he thought about all that needed to be done. "Everyone, particularly anyone with a fair amount of magical ability…the Council owns some land in the less populated part of northern California where we won't be too conspicuous. Gather them there; have someone give Wood a heads up so be expecting them. He's in Cleveland just now, but have him go over and start setting up with whomever else he can find. I'll start talking to the Heads of State, beginning with the American President. Hopefully we can keep this contained."
"And the Slayers?"
"Yes. Move as many of them as you can as well." Then a thought hit him and he momentarily clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. Something told him this war was going to be big, and if so, many would be drafted. Still, there was one person who he knew he couldn't force—not after the years of hell that had been her life so far. She would only be asked to fight if she agreed to do so of her own free will. "Except Buffy. I'd…I'd like to talk to her myself."
Terry agreed, and Giles could hear him barking orders to others at headquarters even as he hung up the phone.
Quickly, he rifled through his desk drawers until he pulled out the folder he wanted. Immediately he turned to the page of numbers and let his fingers start to dial the overseas code, praying that the new Watcher's Council would be allowed as much credibility as the old.