Chapter 2: The Deal

(There’s time enough. I wanted to say goodbye first. You are the one thing in this dimension I will miss, lover, and you know that. You’re the one thing in this dimension worth changing it for.)  

(Changing? Changing what?…Wasn’t he going to destroy the world? What was he talking about?) 

(I will drink…the blood will wash in me, over me, and I will be cleansed. I will be worthy to free Acathla. Bear witness…as I Ascend…as I Become. Everything that I am, everything that I have done, has led me here.)

In his entire existence, Angelus couldn’t remember ever being so tired. 

The night he rose, he felt strong, energetic, all. That morning, when he first (felt/sensed/knew/feared) the harmful rays of the rising sun from the safety of Darla’s bed, the new vampire understood weakness, and fell into an exhausted sleep. That morning had nothing on this one.

The energies that coursed through him from his…(merging/absorption/being)… Becoming with Acathla drained him and made him powerful; exhausted him, yet Angelus had never felt so strong in his life. He knew so many things now, and knew more revelations were to come with his final merging. 

If only he could hold onto the powers that were not his, but that were his by right of prophecy and destiny. Those powers wanted to rend him asunder, still testing his worthiness, still fighting to become him. Not because they wanted to, but because it was the nature of the powers, to (test/prod/examine) the Successor. 

Oh how he wanted to sleep, he wanted to close his eyes and shut the rest of the world out and block it all; hold Buffy close to his chest, rest his weary head on her breast and sleep. It was a weakness he’d long ago admitted to; and one he couldn’t wait to actually execute knowing that now Buffy was all his, and there was no possible way for her to leave, to escape, to want to.

She was his one and only weakness, and Angelus had to take care not to let that rumor spread, for once the demons of the world realized it, she’d be in more danger now, as his Mistress, as his Mate, as his Queen, as his Goddess, than she ever was as the Slayer. 

Rest called to him, but he resisted. 

Because he was Angelus. Lord and Master of ALL, and that was literal now. There was a lot on his agenda: demons to conquer, people to kill, order to maintain – to an extent, survival of the fittest was the law – his rule was absolute, after all. There was tribute to collect and hell to control. He didn’t have time for this rest his body needed. 

As he watched, the rising sun was blotted by a reddish haze that covered the land, muting the harmful rays yet leaving a (perpetual dusk/dawn) in its wake. Rivers ran as blood, and the vampire laughed at the irony of the Plague of Egypt that that foretold. Yes, yes this was it, this was the end, but God was not here to judge them.

Angelus was.

Angelus was also god, but that was another lesson in terror this planet would soon learn. 

Sleep tugged his subconscious and the (vampire/demon/being/god) wanted to give in. But he couldn’t show weakness, he couldn’t let them see how this affected him; he would win because this was his destiny, this was what he wanted and now he had it. But oh, sleep seemed like such a good idea. And Buffy was waiting there, (warm/soft/inviting), waiting for him to do just that, to join her. 

“Angel,” Drusilla whispered reverently as she appeared before him.

Her gaze was captured by the vista from the balcony where they stood, her hand clasping around his arm as she gasped in delight. Before her lay a vast land of red, an ever expanding nothingness that began just over the edge of the palace that was expanding as the town of Sunnydale was slowly receding. 

“Oh, daddy, it’s so beautiful!” She squealed, and Angelus smiled an affectionate grin down at his favorite childe as he ran a hand along her dark curly hair.

They watched the sun not rise and the wind blow smoothly across the land, and that very land open up and yawn, awakening with things yet to come and things almost forgotten. New things and ancient things, all things that would bow down to Angelus once the gateway to Hell woke and the Hellmouth spewed forth its denizens. 

“Daddy, thank you,” she whispered and kissed his cheek in thanks, smiling up at him like a child, her dark eyes glowing in the perpetual twilight. “It’s wonderful, so beautiful, just like in my dreams. Can I play with the dollies?” 

Angelus gave her another indulgent smile and stroked her hair. Dru was loyal these last months, helping him move his plan along to his own conclusion; she played the way he wanted, and her visions were instrumental in finding Acathla and keeping the soul at bay. She deserved a treat, a nice reward for that, but Angelus was unwilling to let her play with his collateral so soon after acquiring them. 

He hadn’t even had the chance to barter with Buffy yet. “Play only, Dru,” he warned with a sharp tug to her hair that had her whimpering. “I want nothing to really harm them, not yet at least.” 

“Yes, daddy,” Dru murmured demurely and looked out at the sky again, her demeanor changing instantly. “The stars are weeping blood, daddy; they’re weeping in joy for you and for her. Oh, but the star, the only star still shining, she calls for you. Her sleep is disturbed and her light diminished. Only you can nurture it.” 

“Dear Buffy’s not awake yet?” Angelus asked, frowning. She should be; he hadn’t knocked her out that hard. 

“No,” Dru murmured and lay her head against Angelus’ arm, “The energies, they pull at her, draining and filling, draining and filling until she doesn’t know what to do, and her body is so weak. She needs your dark light, my Angel.” 

With one last look at his lands, Angelus swept from the balcony, never seeing the happy grin on his childe’s face. Her daddy’s energies were so entwined with the slayer’s; they fed off each other because they were so close to each other when Acathla woke. It was a strange twist to the foretelling, but then so was the love between a slayer and a vampire. Now, now that all was happening as it was supposed to, the bright star, the slayer, she was somehow entwined with Angelus.  

Angelus needed sleep, if he didn’t rest, the power that was the demon’s wouldn’t stay within, and everything would revert to as it was. Drusilla wasn’t about to let that happen, she’d worked so hard for this, waited so very long for it, that now that the time was upon them, she needed to see how it all played out. She needed to see that it played out as Angelus wished. 

But her daddy was strong, stronger than the pretty star-slayer and stronger than Acathla’s energies, he always was. He’d won, after all, and hell had come to Earth.  

Humming gaily, Dru left the balcony to head for the dungeons to play with her new dollies.
~~~~~~~~~~
(Now, what are you going to do? What are you prepared to do? What are you prepared to give up?) 

(There was nothing left to give up, she’d already given everything she had to this fight. What more was there? What was this stupid little man talking about?) 

(We never saw you coming.) 

(So uch for the all knowing, all seeing Powers, eh? What good are you if you can’t see?) 

(What are you prepared to give up?) 

Buffy tossed in her sleep, trying to block out the nightmares that ran continuously through her mind. The past couple of days were the absolute worst of her life, and yet that wasn’t when everything started. 

(Hello, lover.) 

She’d failed Angel by not being able to restore his soul, by letting Angelus kill Ms. Calendar (You know why I’m doing this, lover) before she had the chance to cast the spell, before it – and the gypsy woman – was lost to them (Survival of the fittest, baby). She’d failed her mother (You walk out of this house, don’t even think about coming back), and her friends who blamed her for the deaths that piled higher and higher in Sunnydale, for the deaths of half the junior class (Escalating his attentions towards Buffy, courting her, all about her, don’t touch my baby, boy…). 

Buffy was nothing but a failure in all those aspects, and she knew it. The only person she hadn’t somehow failed was Angelus, because with every one of her failures towards anyone else, it was a victory for him.

(Hello, lover…miss me?) 

He often greeted her, that sexy smirk on his face as his eyes raked her body in anticipation of…something, anything, everything. The way his hands seemed to unconsciously caress her when they fought, the way his lips brushed hers. Their coolness, their electric touch on hers, the way she responded even when she didn’t want to, craving more, always craving more. 

The way he watched her, the way he followed her, the gifts he always left, the notes, the messages, the... (Soon, my love, it’ll all be over soon). (Soon), he often said, and Buffy was equal parts torn between wanting that soon, and working past her weakness for the demon (lover, soul, demon, lover) so she might finally kill him. 

(It’s not about you; it was never about you). He said but what, then, did that mean? It wasn’t about her and yet nearly everything he’d done indicated that it was about her, about them. So what did he mean, then? Did he mean that he’d finally tired of her, that he was through with their game (And you fall for it every single time!) Was all this just some kind of mental fuck where Angelus made her think he wanted her, played on her feelings for Angel and the indecisiveness she felt towards the demon that wore her lover’s face? 

A tear fell from her closed eyes, but Buffy didn’t realize it. She felt the coolness against her cheek but wasn’t aware that it was anything. Still, her body finally relaxed in her sleep, and she let out a sigh even as she curled near that which she loved and hated the most. 

Angelus smiled, as he lay stretched across their bed, one long finger lightly, gently caressing her cheek. When Buffy moved closer to him, when she sighed into his touch, the predatory smile widened. This was it, then, this was all. This was his destiny, and it was hers. Angelus knew what that loser Whistler said to her, about how this was Angel’s big day, stopping Acathla. The demon was wrong…and now he was trapped in this world, imprisoned in the dungeon with the rest of the collateral. 

A single teardrop escaped Buffy’s closed eyes, and Angelus caught it, raising it to his lips; it was delicious, that single small evidence telling him what he wanted most. That she was totally and completely his. The moment she woke, he’d have to explain the details, go over the rules – which were simple, whatever he said went – and ensure her, ah…(submission, love, acceptance) cooperation. 

Ensure her willingness, her compliance to his world. The rules had changed now, and Angelus was the one making them. He planned a great many things for both himself and his beauty, and they all revolved around her acquiescence to him. Her submission, her very…enthusiastic submission. The vampire had no doubt that that submission would come, in time, but until then the battle of wills between the pair would no doubt be legendary. 

Sleep tugged at him, and Angelus reluctantly gave in, tugging Buffy closer as his eyes closed. Since they’d started their little game of predator and prey, this was the first time he’d allowed himself to relax, the first time he could relax. 

He didn’t acknowledge that he could do so only with her in his arms.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jesse Woodruff looked out his window early that morning and wondered if this was some kind of weird solar eclipse. He hadn’t heard of one; but that didn’t mean anything, he rarely had time to follow the news these past weeks. 

The death toll in Sunnydale was rising consistently since mid January, and all he heard on the news anymore was of that…he’d stopped listening for that sole reason. As the Deputy Chief of Police, Jesse saw his share of strangeness over the years; Sunnydale seemed a Mecca of Strangeness, but the pay was decent for a small town, and Jesse was tired of the stress and constant action of LA. Things seemed to get better about a year ago, but then suddenly changed, getting worse than ever before, and the Mayor was on everyone’s backs to put a stop to it. The worse was in a strange way; it seemed there were more deaths, but less strangeness. 

He didn’t understand it and hoped that he never fully did. 

He needn’t worry about that. 

But now, as his clock said the sun was supposed to make its way across the sky, Jesse wondered if this was it. If this was when he fully learned about everything that went bump in the night. He had enough nightmares as it was with his job, he didn’t need his worst suspicions confirmed, thus ensuring he never got another moment’s peaceful sleep. 

It was so much worse than that, and Jesse needn’t have worried about another night’s sleep. 

The sun never really rose that day, and the perpetual red haze that blanketed the land made the news everywhere. No one knew the reasons; scientists were baffled, meteorologists were stumped, the leaders of every major nation conferred on what could be causing this, but no one had any answers. At least no answers they were willing to share. And none that Jesse wanted to hear, anyway, he was sure. 

They didn’t realize that in Hell nothing but that which the God of Hell deigned, survived. With perpetual twilight, nothing living thrived, and everything undead did. 

The moment Jesse Woodruff stepped out of his house to head to work, he was dead. He just didn’t know it yet. 

By the time he reached the station, calls were already coming in from frantic citizens, and the mayor – the one man no one wanted to piss off – wanted answers as well. That should’ve scared Jesse the most, the mayor usually knew what was happening and wanted cleanup to ensure the conspiracy of silence remained – but it didn’t. 

Because during his first shift out of the police station, in the barren land that was rapidly, starting with the high school, swallowing Sunnydale up under a strange new…castle, Jesse Woodruff was eaten by a young vampire relishing the effects of no harmful sunlight. 

Unfortunately, Jesse’s story was not unique.
~~~~~~~~~~
Lilah Morgan looked out her window and smiled. 

Eh, so it wasn’t their planned apocalypse, but hey, it’d do. Why? Because it was successful. That was the sole reason, the only reason, and frankly, it was all that mattered. Besides, they were the bad guys – whoever had orchestrated this apocalypse was on their side. Hearing someone enter her office, she turned, a frown already marring her pretty face. 

“Lindsay,” she said flatly, hating the fact that she ‘had to have’ this partner, and hating even more that Lindsey MacDonald was every bit as ruthless, cunning, and mean as she was. It was a huge turn on, but Lilah preferred being the Dom in any relationship, work-related was no exception. 

“It seems our initial reports were correct,” Lindsey said as he looked up from the sheaf of papers in his hands, glancing briefly out the window before settling his shining eyes on Lilah. He knew a cobra when he saw one, and Lilah Morgan was as vicious as they came. That didn’t stop the handsome lawyer from admiring her, but it did stop him from perusing her. 

He liked his woman a little more…womanly, less brittle. Whatever happened in Lilah’s life to make her the mean-streaked viper she was, Lindsey understood and pitied that person. They all had their reasons for signing on with Wolfram & Hart, and they all had their own personal demons, the ones Wolfram & Hart didn’t provide. 

“It was Angelus?” Rivalry forgotten, Lilah crossed the room to look at the papers Lindsey held out to her. Scanning them quickly, she nodded and waited for his report. She so hated to wait.

“Yes,” he replied with a smug grin. “It seems he has this penchant for screwing up everyone’s plans. Apparently, The Souled Vampire was supposed to stop Acathla and earn something called Shanshu – he was supposed to become human for earning his redemption and averting the apocalypse. But the Unsouled Vampire was supposed to rule Acathla’s energies. It was a tossup, and the Powers hedged their bets by bringing Angel to Sunnydale to help the slayer. Angelus wasn’t supposed to make a return engagement. Guess who won.”

The red-hazed landscape was enough an answer for both brilliant lawyers. 

“Souled vampire? There’s no such thing,” Lilah scoffed, but quieted when Lindsey only smirked wider. “What do you know?” 

“Only what the Senior Partners told me,” he said, the smirk still on his handsome face at having the upper hand. 

“Did they accept our offer, then?” Lilah asked, still irked that Lindsey won the toss to propose it to them – she suspected the coin and/or the toss was rigged somehow, but couldn’t prove it. Or maybe she was paranoid; working for Wolfram & Hart was a job that promoted paranoia. 

“Again, yes. They’re very interested in Angelus, according to Holland, they always were. Wanted an eye kept on him but lost track of him a little over a hundred years ago. No one knew what happened until that meddlesome immortal pain in the ass, Whistler, showed up and recruited Angelus.” 

“So they found him again,” Lilah continued the story, only mostly guessing, “But he’d vowed to help the other side, yes?” At Lindsey’s nod Lilah continued. “So what happened between helping and turning the world into Hell?” 

“You’re not going to believe this,” Lindsey laughed and made himself comfortable on the corner of her desk as she stood with her arms crossed, waiting. It was actually kind of funny that he hadn’t rigged the coin toss, but got his way nonetheless. For that, for the chance to see Lilah’s face when he dropped this little bomb, he’d give up almost anything. 

Well, anything he had left that didn’t belong to Wolfram & Hart already. 

“It seems he was cursed with a soul,” Lindsey confided with a grin and watched the shock on Lilah’s face. Oh, yeah, this was worth it. He watched her a moment longer, memorizing her reaction for future moments of entertainment. 

“But it gets better. The gypsy clan that did the cursing? They left a loophole a mile wide; one moment of true happiness and the soul is gone. So, Angelus – the souled one – falls in love with…you should sit down for this,” Lindsey warned as he continued to watch Lilah. She didn’t sit, but he couldn’t wait. 

“The slayer.” 

Lilah sat. She looked at her partner, stunned, and then started laughing at the irony motioning for Lindsey to continue. 

“So they fall in love, make love thereby achieving that elusive ‘One Moment of Perfect Happiness,’” Lindsey looked sarcastic and mocking…and maybe just the slightest bit envious. “He loses his soul, and ends up bringing Hell to Earth.” Oh, yeah, it was worth it to see her reaction. He should have videotaped it, just for posterity. 

Controlling herself, her shocked laughter, her desire to hear it all again just for the laugh factor, Lilah stood and crossed behind her desk. Well, Lindsey was good for several things; this story was only one of them.

“And this slayer? What’s her place in all this? We need to know.” Her voice hardened, “I don’t like not knowing all the players in this.” 

“We know the bare facts,” Lindsey admitted, turning on the desk to watch her (Never turn your back on a viper). “And those we had to dig deep to find. It seems after she set her LA high school gym on fire, thereby destroying Lothos, all information on her mysteriously disappeared.” He shrugged then and gave the barest of rundowns on the current slayer. “Buffy Summers: seventeen, residence: Sunnydale, California. Lives with mother, Joyce, father Hank lives here in LA.” 

“Here,” Lilah murmured thoughtfully. “Her father lives here in LA.” 

Lindsey just nodded, eyes narrowed and continued. “What’s gone on in her life, or even about Buffy since she left LA is sketchy since the move. Whoever destroyed her information, did a thorough job of it.” Lindsey wondered if it was the Watcher’s Council, or someone else. He was betting someone else, the Council was as uptight for records as the Senior Partners were. “Sunnydale sits…or sat, atop the Hellmouth. Unfortunately, we can’t find a photo on file.” 

“And the status of the Slayer now?” Lilah asked.  

Lindsey shrugged. Another thing they didn’t know in the situation. 

“What do the Senior Partners want us do, then?” 

“Just as we proposed,” Lindsey nodded. “We’re the new ambassadors from Wolfram & Hart to Angelus, God of Hell.” 

“And this slayer? What’s her place in all this?” 

“Don’t know,” Lindsey admitted. “All the Senior Partners would say was that she was with Angelus, and that she was a prisoner there.” 

A smirk spread across Lilah’s beautiful face as she thought of Hank Summers, residence, Los Angeles. “And I have just the thing to ensure our proposal is heard.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The agony was immense, forming and changing, and molding to the way IT wanted things to be, but which Angelus refused. 

He was worthy because he was stubborn, because he was a leader, because he was strong. Not because he could so easily be molded. As the world scrambled for answers, as his hostages wallowed in the dungeon, realizing they’d failed and there was nothing they could do about it, as Buffy slept peacefully at his side, wrapped in his tight embrace and as yet unaware of the changes he’d wrought, Angelus grew even stronger. 

Becoming that which he wanted – Everything. 

No longer was he the vampire with a soul, or the vampire without one, the Scourge of Europe, the vampire who took the slayer as a lover. No, now he was more than that. Now he was master of the denizens of hell, he ruled the world as that world was slowly swallowed by the nightmare he’d brought to it. All Acathla’s knowledge was now his, all the demon’s thoughts, feelings, and plans. 

In three days time, Angelus was set to receive the nobility of Acathla, those who kept the stone demon’s rule alive in their master’s absence. Apparently they were simply waiting to see who the heir apparent was to be, and once Angelus awakened Acathla, once he received those memories and plans, Angelus became more than Acathla’s heir, therefore fulfilling the prophecy. 

It was indeed, Angelus’ big day. 

In three days time, everyone would see if Angelus could keep the power he’d harnessed, if he was truly worthy. Angelus was determined to see that he was; he hadn’t made it this far only to fail. Failure was simply not an option. 

So he slept, letting the energies change him as they would, but even now, unconsciously, fighting them to retain his sense of self. It wasn’t that Acathla’s power would change him, physically, but it would enhance certain aspects, kind of like turning a human into a vampire. 

Angelus grew stronger and faster. He now wielded the power of Acathla’s Hell Magicks with a flick of his hand. Even his senses were better, farther eyesight, keener hearing, a better sense of taste and smell. A greater craving for Buffy. Admittedly, that could actually be him, not Acathla. 

There were other changes to the vampire, noticeable ones; he no longer needed to feed. The hunt, death, still held the same appeal to Angelus, but now he no longer needed that blood to survive. His face no longer changed to that of a vampire because he was so much more than a vampire now, though his fangs still elongated when he willed them to. The golden eyes of his demon were also gone, changing to the swirling reds and blues of Acathla’s power. 

Gasping for a breath he didn’t need, Angelus woke suddenly, sitting straight up as he did so, jostling Buffy with his movement. She didn’t wake, merely mumbled her displeasure and remained sleeping. He’d slept for the entire day (which was relative as day had no meaning any more), and during those hours his body had transformed, had retained Acathla’s powers, and made them Angelus’ own, adding to the (former) vampire’s considerable strength and prowess. 

Looking at Buffy, still asleep beside him, Angelus smiled as his slayer slept off the aftershocks of Acathla’s awakening, and finally, finally caught up on the months of restless slumber in the arms of the demon beside her. She whimpered when Angelus moved, but did not wake, merely shifting to the spot he’d occupied moments before, breathing deeply of his scent. 

Smiling smugly at her, Angelus kissed her forehead before rising from the bed, crossing to the shower, stripping as he did so. Within moments he was cleaned and dressed, scrutinizing his reflection in the wall-length mirror – another addition from Acathla, this reflection of his. It’d been over two hundred and fifty years since he’d seen his reflection and even then the reflecting glasses of the Eighteenth Century left much to be desired.  

Angelus always knew he was a handsome man (demon), knew his looks got him whatever he wanted over the years, but now, as he looked in the mirror for the first time in forever, he realized something else. It wasn’t totally his looks that got him what he wanted, it was the way he moved, the way he acted, the way he held himself, many of which attracted Buffy in the first place.  

Smiling at the thought, at his lover’s reaction to his reflection, Angelus crossed back into the bedroom, eyes automatically finding Buffy on the huge bed.  

The fine leather caressed his body, the velvet of his shirt the only sound in the room as he moved stealthily across the wide expanse. The clothes were the finest around because he wished it so. When one ruled hell, one ruled all. His highly polished boots, also of the finest leather, reflected the red haze from the large windows.  

His closet was filled with only the finest; leathers, silks, satins, velvets, furs. Buffy’s closet was filled much the same, her gowns fit for a Goddess – only the best for his lover.  

Placing another kiss on Buffy’s cheek, Angelus caressed the velvety softness of her skin. “I told you, my darling Buffy. It was only a matter of time.”

Walking out of the room, he headed for the dungeons. He had hostages to see, but first he wanted to make sure Buffy wasn’t alone when she awoke, and Drusilla would be perfect. His childe desperately wanted to be a part of Angelus’ reign, even if it meant playing second to Buffy. 

He couldn’t wait until Buffy woke, couldn’t wait to start the rest of eternity with her, couldn’t wait to see, touch, taste, feel her reaction to her new situation. 

“Let the fun begin.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Drusilla walked into Angelus’ room, smiling. 

Everything was working out nicely and soon, soon Angelus would have no competition when it came to this world. (Two more days, only two more days to go, less actually, and then he’d rule over everything just as was foretold.) Or the dimensions around it. Scenting Buffy and the remnants of the tears the slayer shed, Dru wandered to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she stretched one arm out towards the blonde. 

The bright glow around the slayer drew the vampiress closer, and she couldn’t resist touching her. Slowly caressing Buffy’s cheek, Dru leaned down and pressed her lips to the blonde’s warm ones, drawing in the warmth, the need, and the hopelessness with that slight touch. 

Settling herself more comfortably on the bed, Dru took Buffy’s hand in hers and waited for the slayer to waken.

Part 10 of Chapter 1: The Courtship        Next Chapter

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