Royalty

She didn’t, knowing that that would bring attention to herself, and knowing that Angelus would like that less than anything she’d done to test his authority so far. Sitting as still as possible on the plushly cushioned throne, she listened with half an ear to what the demon was saying. Angelus was at her left, his posture negligent as if he already knew the outcome of this little gathering – and he probably did, the arrogant bastard – and couldn’t care at all what the gaudily dressed demon was saying.  

All eight demons waited in a semicircle around the opened Hellmouth, each dressed in finery Buffy wouldn’t have thought them capable of achieving. Then again, her experience with demonic fashion sense was that it wasn’t at all up to date. They all looked demony enough, however, with large teeth, clawed hands, and scales.  

They were Acathla’s nobility, those who waited and ruled in his place, as the demon went forth to find his successor. They asked Angelus no questions, offered no tests, and wanted no proof. Apparently, it was enough to know that Acathla awakened, Angelus now held his powers – ostensibly, they knew this as soon as the Hellmouth opened – and they could enter Earth and live. Once Acathla breathed, and Earth transformed into this, the environment was safe for them. 

Great, that wasn’t what Buffy needed to hear.  

The leader told the story of how Acathla went forth from his dying dimension to find a new home for his world, a place that he could transform with one breath. It was long ago foretold that Acathla’s dimension was dying, which gave the demon plenty of time to find a new one; the prophecy was complete, so far as anyone there thought. On Earth, he found not only that place – their new home – but also found the second half of the prophecy. The one that told of his coming, here. 

In it, Acathla opened his mouth and breathed, but died immediately afterwards; his Heir received all his powers and knowledge. Searching for this Heir, Acathla instead found the virtuous knight who pierced his chest with a sword, sending the demon into a hundred, hundred years of stone silence (or, in the actual words of the demon, stasis and exile). There he waited for his Heir to be born, reborn, and once again, and for the Heir to find him here.  

He’d been waiting for Angelus. 

God, she hated this, hated the demon’s words, hated that she let this happen (show no weakness), and hated that she could do nothing to show any of that. 

“And on the third day he rose again, stronger and more powerful, in fulfillment of the prophecy.”  

Because it made her uncomfortable, and somehow Angelus knew that. 

She wasn’t an overly religious person, her parents stopped sending her to church about the time they started arguing. Being the slayer made her start again.  

There was something about unburdening herself to a priest who couldn’t repeat a damn word you said to anyone; it made her feel better that at least someone knew what she was doing. Father Pat was a kind elderly gentleman who believed her when Buffy sobbed over vampires and demons, who listened to her when she told of another person she couldn’t save, and how her parents committed her to an institution because they couldn’t believe her, and who held her as she cried over her life and destiny. 

It was Merrick’s idea, and one that Buffy didn’t think he entirely believed in.  

But then revenge killed him because Buffy couldn’t save him. 

His advice was simple. If Holy Objects are harmful to vamps, then it was for the best to be as well versed in all Holy Objects as possible. The problem was, Buffy didn’t understand either Hebrew or Islamic or that Indian chanting stuff, either. So she stuck to the Catholic Church of her upbringing. At least they spoke English. 

It was Father Pat who consecrated the ground where Merrick was buried in broad daylight because Buffy didn’t want to take the chance with his life. It was Father Pat who held Buffy as she sobbed over her watcher’s grave, not because she and Merrick were close, but because she only then realized the burden she carried. And it was Father Pat who intervened with her parents when she burned down the school; he was one of the few reasons she wasn’t sent to prison, juvie, or an all girl’s school. The one with the twenty-foot high walls. 

And it was Buffy who had to stake him because one of the vamps she hadn’t sensed followed her after patrolling one night. She’d been in a rush to meet Pike, and hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings. The vamp waited until the priest left the church, and headed up the block to his rectory. Buffy hadn’t walked him because he had others to see that night; others who wished to unburden themselves as she had, and hadn’t wanted a teenager hanging around while they did so.  

The vamp purposely turned him. 

It was up to Buffy to ensure that he never realized what happened. She stayed at the cemetery for three days, and waited for him to rise. Her friend, her only true confidant, for Pike really didn’t understand the pressure that came with her Calling, her true ally. Father Pat saved her soul, Buffy was convinced of that. Now she had to kill the demon that took over his body and pray for him.  

The second he rose, she was there, stake ready, tears already running down her face. 

He said only, “Buffy?” And she was all slayer thrusting the stake into his dead heart, turning the priest to ash. Buffy fixed his grave, so no one would know that it’d ever been disturbed. The vamp who sired him was there, waiting with some of his friends. None of the five made it out of that cemetery that night. 

She went to Father Pat’s church and prayed all night. Prayed for his soul and for hers. 

She hadn’t been back to church since then. 

Shortly after the priest’s death, Joyce and Hank divorced, and Buffy moved to Sunnydale, leaving Father Pat’s grave, but not his wisdom, behind.  

Briefly, Buffy wondered what happened to Pike, she hadn’t spoken to him since the previous summer when she visited her dad in LA. Her dad, God, what happened to her dad? So many people she’d lost touch with, so many who were now most likely dead. Buffy hated that, she hated it all. For the briefest of seconds, she closed her eyes and begged forgiveness from the priest who helped her through the beginning of her calling.  

She may have stopped believing in the Church, but she hadn’t forgotten any of what the good Father taught her. 

The Apostle’s Creed had that same line. ‘And on the third day he rose again in fulfillment of the scriptures. He ascended into heaven and is seated to the right hand of God. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom shall have no end.’ 

Buffy was sick to hear the demon before her spouting something so very similar about a God she no longer believed in: “And on the third day he rose again, stronger and more powerful, in fulfillment of the prophecy.”  

If God truly were real, then wouldn’t He have saved her Angel? Angel who hadn’t ever done anything to anyone, not really. It was his demon, the being next to her, that committed all those atrocious deeds. Angelus was responsible, but Angel suffered his punishment. If God were truly a Just Creator, then He would’ve seen that. 

It didn’t stop Buffy from hating that the really ugly blue thing, the first demon to exit the Hellmouth, with a sick feeling in her gut, and a need to behead it. She may not Believe anymore, but that didn’t mean that she could stomach the sacrilege he spouted. 

Then again, if there really were a God, wouldn’t He have stopped Hell from covering the Earth? 

“Angelus,” the demon was saying, “Heir to Acathla, Heir to His powers, His knowledge, His will, His kingdom, we bow to your glory. Let your name spread across this land in praise; as our God, our King, and our Savior. We vow to always abide by your law and will.” 

Angelus nodded from his seat in his throne, and Buffy was sure she was going to throw up. Nevertheless, she rose with him, by his side as he’d demanded, hating every moment of it. Walking to the railing, Angelus looked down at the masses before him, gathered in his name to see him crowned their new ruler.  

Word didn’t need to spread fast when it was obvious that the planet they were used to had changed. Drastically.  

Standing straight and quiet next to him, her chin tilted, eyes blazing with suppressed emotions and powers that drew even those who waited on Angelus, Buffy watched. Angelus seemed cool, calm, and why shouldn’t he? He knew what he had and knew that he was the only one to have it. Taking an extended moment to look out over the waiting supplicants, he allowed a smirk to grace his face. Buffy watched it spread over his handsome features, watched how his eyes hardened, the colors of his power more evident than before in the eddying of his eyes. His hands were loose at his side, stance waiting, waiting…

“As Heir to Acathla, as Ruler of his world, I accept.” 

The crowd burst into cheers and applause, shouts of ‘Angelus!’ echoed around the courtyard, and any who hadn’t known what was happening certainly did now. Buffy spared a brief thought to Giles and her mom, and hoped they knew this wasn’t her idea, that this was something she had to do, something she needed to do to save their lives. She was made that way, made to sacrifice herself, not because she was the slayer, or not only because of that. But because that was what she believed. Or had until Angel (left her) lost his soul. 

Having no idea what to do, should she stand there and watch? Play the dutiful concubine and fawn over him? Jump into the fray and kill as many demons as she could before they killed her? Buffy simply waited, looking out over the shouting crowd of demons, more than she’d ever seen in her life. Ever wanted to see. They noticed her, Buffy knew they did, and that was fine. 

She certainly couldn’t keep her anonymity with Angelus there, could she? As much as she wanted to do just that, Buffy knew that everyone would know her by day’s end, know that Angelus captured the slayer and kept her as his. Not the details, of that she was sure, and the slayer would never reveal that her closest family and friends lay below in prison cells because of her.  

No, Buffy would let the world believe that Angelus had her because she wanted to be there, because she wanted to be with him and only him. It was a matter of pride, after all, hers. She didn’t want the world to know of her circumstances because that meant that she was laid bare before them. To talk of and dissect her inner most thoughts and feelings. To taunt and mock. 

It was a matter of self-respect, again hers, because she didn’t want anyone knowing that she was so easily beaten, so easily captured and held. Even those friends and family, Buffy realized now, she didn’t want them to know the real reason she was with Angelus. If they knew, would they even care? Yes, but would it truly matter to them when they lay in a dungeon below and she had the run of the world?  

No, and bitterness and hatred would spread. They probably would anyway, Buffy now knew, but that didn’t matter. 

They were alive, and that was all that mattered. 

It was a matter of safety, because, as Buffy watched the crowd below, she realized that the danger to her life was now intensified, not diminished. 

She was Angelus’ weakness.  

Power, that thought gave her power, and Buffy turned to look at Angelus in a new light. Knowing he had it all planned already, the kidnappings, the opening of Acathla, all of it he always did, Buffy knew something else now, too. From afar, it looked as if she were looking at him in adoration, in love and devotion, because that was how they wished to see the Royal Couple. In reality, her face was carefully blank, knowing that the moment she let loose her emotions, they were both probably dead. 

She was Angelus’ weakness; she was possibly his only weakness.  

Drusilla said something to that effect, Buffy remembered now. Something like he’d remade a world just for her, that he’d changed everything about their world into one where they could and would be together. He had the power over her, true, he held everyone that meant something to her in the basement of the grandest palace ever to grace the planet.  

But she held the power over him as well. 

Because she was his weakness, because he had remade everything for her; because he’d done all this, not for the power it brought him, not for the adoration and accolades and supremacy it brought him. 

But because it brought him her. 

“Come, my love,” he said, and waited for her acceptance, hand held out for her.  

Hesitating only a second, Buffy did so, walking the few paces that separated them to his side. Suddenly everything made sense, Buffy realized, in the brief moments between Angelus accepting his new role in this world (his world, her world, his world for her), and now. He’d done this for her. And as much as she hated it, as much as she hated this new world, hated that her family was trapped below, hated that so many innocents died, and were dying and would die, she understood. 

She held the power. Because without her, Angelus had nothing in life. 

His smugness was clear for all to see as she stepped to his side, forcing a smile to her face; they thought it was over his new sovereignty, his new position, his new reign. Buffy knew otherwise, and it was another realization. She knew it was over her obedience. Her pathetic obedience.  

She’d obey, Buffy vowed, had already vowed, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t find a way to work around his ‘rules’ and commands. Because if she was right, and this truly was all for her, then there was a way to get Angelus to do her bidding. She just had to be careful, had to be sneaky about it. 

It was all official now; Angelus ruled here, he was God. Whatever he said went and if he wanted to kill her mother, then there was nothing and no one to stop him. Not even her, no matter what he had done and would do for her, and Buffy knew it.  

She’d never give him a reason. Oh, she’d already thought as much, already vowed to do so, but now, with this newfound knowledge, her resolve hardened. She’d play his game. She’d follow his rules. She’d keep her family and friends safe. And she’d do it because she held the power over him. 

Her hand tucked securely into his arm, as she stood at his side, watching his face for any reactions. He turned his head, and she knew what that reaction was. Triumph, victory, conquest. He’d won. She’d lost. For a split second, his eyes told her that, they told her that he knew what she thought about her new situation, the demons that worshiped him and the ones that obeyed him without question, and knew, just as she did, that it was hopeless.  

Running to save herself, to save whatever she could of the planet at the expense of her friends and family, wasn’t who she was. Staying and blindly doing his bidding wasn’t who she was, either.  

But that was what drew Angelus to her in the first place, that fire and passion, that willingness to fight for herself and her family, to fight for innocents she didn’t even know, strangers she wanted so desperately to save for the simple reason that she could. Or should. 

“Welcome your acolytes, my love,” Angelus said and gestured below. “They bow to you, to us. You’re their goddess, their Queen.” He raised her hand to his lips, placing a slow kiss to her palm, eyes never leaving hers. It was an erotic gesture that wasn’t lost on the crowd below, nor was Buffy’s immediate arousal.  

They cheered louder, shouting their approval that the Slayer, the Killer of Demons, the Angel with Wings of Blood was now one of them. The irony wasn’t lost on many in the crowd.

‘Angel with Wings of Blood?’
‘Sure; she’s the ultimate Warrior for light, she’s the fallen Angel sent to rid Creation of demons, she’s the Chosen One. What better than a Chosen Angel who has Fallen from Grace to fight the forces of darkness?’
‘But if she’s fallen from Grace, then would she fight the darkness?’
’If she was made to do so, then yes.’
‘And was she?’
‘Ah, but your question was about the Angel with Wings of Blood. And she’s that; the Force of light, the Angel – ethereal and beautiful, pure but filled with the will, the need, and the ability to fight. Her Wings tipped in the Blood of her foe.’ 

Buffy’s eyes darkened, not to the hazel of her humanity, nor to the swirl of colors that predicted her heightened emotions. They turned a dark silver, piercing Angelus with their intensity, and making the demonic god wonder just what Acathla’s powers had done to his lover.  

She smiled then, a smile full of understanding, of unthinking lust, and something else. A Knowledge that Angelus wasn’t aware of, that he wanted to understand because he wanted to understand all of Buffy but that he was sure she wouldn’t let him. Not yet, at least.  

He kissed her then, drawing her slowly closer to him, the white of her gown reflecting the fires of hell, a stark contrast of all below, the golden light that first drew (Angel and Angelus, soul and demon) him to her. Slipping his hands along her molded curves, feeling the heat of her body beneath the fabric, the humming of her skin, the drumming of her blood, Angelus captured her mouth in a kiss that told all below just what place the slayer held in his life…and in his bed. 

Buffy slowly lost herself in his kiss, unable not to, letting the coolness of his tongue play over hers, his hands touch her through the silken material as he held her to him. His body pressed against hers as they molded together in a seamless fit. Yes, came the hazy thought, she knew this. Knew this was her only weapon, her only defense. Slowly, Buffy raised her hands to Angelus’ arms, clasping his wrists, and pressing closer to him, a moan of pleasure escaping her mouth into his. 

Raising one hand to touch his face, thumb caressing the cheekbone, and more roars of approval. Tenderness, partly calculated and partly Buffy, the gesture was enough to ensure her place by his side, even though Angelus’ actions already had.  

Angelus smirked as he withdrew from her delicious heat, opened his multicolored eyes, and looked into her silver ones. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes half closed in her passion, her lips swollen from his kiss. She willingly displayed her need for him in front of the world and Acathla’s nobility, something he hadn’t ordered her to do for fear she’d refuse him. 

This was his final step, then. The final item he needed to secure his position. What no one but Acathla knew, despite the demon’s warnings, was that without Buffy by his side, Angelus cared less than nothing for this world. It only made sense; if he’d create it all for her, then he wasn’t going to do anything in this world without her. With her public display, with her unrestricted affection, Angelus both won and lost. 

She was now his greatest ally and everyone knew that. 

She was now his greatest weakness and everyone knew that. 

He was willing to let that be, for Angelus had no intention of ever letting anything happen to her. If he had to destroy everyone else in this world, then so be it. Buffy was his, through this world and the next.

Guy, the Sloth Demon from Willy’s Bar, stood in that crowd and told the story of Before. Before this New World where he could wander wherever he pleased, before Angelus became the god before them. Guy told the story of how Angelus defeated the Intersife Alpha because that demon wanted to kill the Slayer. And how the beautiful golden Slayer ran to Angelus’ side, so concerned for his minor wounds, so proud of her lover as he fought for her. 

Those who listened lapped it up, Angelus and his Queen were their new heroes, the new celebrities. They loved it, and even the hardest amongst them sighed at the romanticism so inherent in the story Guy told.  

“Forever Angelus,” the lead blue demon said, “Heir to Acathla!”
~~~~~~~~~~
“If I’d have known that this demon didn’t speak English, I’d have brought my Universal Translator,” Lindsey said with a scowl. 

All he’d heard throughout the ceremony were words like “Yat’tt’oo’way, yat’tt’oo’way and hee’cl-way, hee’cl-way.” Whatever those meant. What was the point of ‘inviting’ he and Lilah to this little soirée, if they were to be treated like commoners?  

Lilah shared his scowl, but simply shrugged as the cheering grew in crescendo. What the hell was happening up there that they couldn’t see? The two of them were stuck a level below the main balcony, with Angelus’ crazy childe for company. Or guard. Probably both.  

“Daddy has her now,” Dru said with a smile at Lindsey that the lawyer found equal parts unnerving and intriguing. Her pale cold hand caressed his cheek, before she kissed it. “This world was made all for her.” 

“Who?” Lilah asked, knowing that there was more to this whole Acathla thing than anyone on their end knew. That the Senior Partners were seriously in the dark, and for an Interdimensional law firm, something like this wasn’t at all good. 

Dru turned back to the balcony where she’d been admiring the throngs of demons who gathered for her daddy and mummy. Over her shoulder, she smiled at the pretty lawyer. so very ruthless, and yet so very dumb; poor pretty lawyer, she knew nothing. 

“It’s time for tea,” was all she said, and headed for the door, expecting them to follow. They did, utterly confused, and at a total loss as to what just happened. “Miss Edith would be so very upset if you missed afternoon tea.” 

“Think they’ll have this in a nicely typed English version transcript of this event?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Tara screamed. 

It attracted the attention of just about everyone in the surrounding blocks. Only two people rushed to help her in the tiny town in Nevada. One was her sister, Dawn, the young teen who traveled with her witch sister because of more than just their father’s abuse.  

The other was Faith. 

It wasn’t coincidence that Tara, Faith, and Doyle happened to be in the same place at the same time; Tara had been searching for the slayer for ages now, not realizing that in reality, it was only a few days. The Powers hadn’t completely left this world to fend for themselves, but it was close. Still, they did manage to help their three main players gather together away from Angelus’ watchful eyes.  

“Tara!” Dawn screamed, and hoped with everything that was left in her that none of the beasties that roamed the land now had heard her. Tara had told her that they preyed on humans, that they wanted to hurt all of them, and that Dawn should be very quiet all the time. But with her sister screaming, falling to the ground, Dawn didn’t know what to do. 

“What happened?” Faith asked, as she ran up to the crying girl. “Hey, you have to be quiet,” she said, when all Dawn did was cry and cradle Tara closer. “You don’t want to attract attention here.” 

Dawn continued to cry as she tried to explain to the dark haired woman. “My sister, she fell. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, she sees things that I can’t, and tries to protect me.” 

Faith stared at the small girl; her long brown hair tangled around her pretty tearstained face, and sighed. What was with her and these people getting visions? Was it just her? Was this some Slayer thing? Did she just have the worst luck ever? 

“Look,” Faith said, as she tried to gently pry the girls’ hands off her sister. She was no good at this kindness thing, it wasn’t in her. “I know some people who can help, okay?” 

Dawn nodded, and Faith took the sister into her arms, noting that they seemed about the same age. “I’m Faith,” she said as she carried the woman to the warehouse she, Julie, and Doyle were hiding out in.  

“Dawn,” the girl said shyly, “This is my sister, Tara.”

Chapter 2: The Deal        Next Part

World Enough and Time index        Christine's Page        Home