Richard Wilkins the first, second, and third liked chaos as much as the next not-quite pureblooded demon.

Only when it was his chaos, when it was his order he was disrupting, when he was in charge, and damn it! When his time was here. A year – three hundred and seventy-two miserable days if one were specific – left before he could ascend and what happened? A hundred years – ninety-nine if one was specific – of planning, of manipulating, or controlling, and this…this was what happened.

How typical was that?

He watched from the crowd of well-wishers and onlookers and petitioners, and so many others. Angelus, well, he never would’ve thought that the vampire had it in him. Richard had had the vampire watched since he came to town, but the only thing that he seemed to do was help the slayer. Not that Richard blamed him, no not at all. Buffy Summers was beautiful and powerful, with a strength even she didn’t realize. But then something happened, and everything changed.

Ah, it was wonderful to have sources willing to seek it out for a price. Richard later found out that it was a group of vengeful gypsies that cursed the demon Angelus and returned his soul. Wincing even now at the thought – no soul should have to endure being ripped from the aether and forcefully returned to one’s body – Richard continued to watch the couple receive their guests.

Hell on Earth was all well and good for others, but for him, it ruined all his hard work and plans. Now if Angelus had come to him in the first place, maybe they could’ve worked something out. A sharing of power or something not quite so…Richard looked around the room and out the windows at the barren landscape. Permanent.

They could have had something together: the vampire could have had all the power he desired, and even that feisty slayer, while Richard could’ve ascended, controlled the world – minus Angelus’ part – and everyone would’ve lived, or not as the case may be, in perfect chaotic harmony.

But that wasn’t the case, and now all his plans were ruined, and he had none of the power he wanted. Of course he had no one to blame but himself. This past year was full of if only’s: If only he’d had the slayer killed when she first arrived in town. If only he hadn’t built Sunnydale atop the Hellmouth for demons to feed on, then the slayer wouldn’t have been transferred there to begin with. If only he’d realized Angelus’ affections for the slayer and expectations for their lives together sooner…the list went on.

So here he was, stuck without his staff, without his right hand man, Alan – those vampires would pay for using his assistant as merely a meal – without his promised power, and the payoff for his sacrifices. A picture of his wife flashed before his eyes, and not for the first time did Richard bemoaned the fact that he met Edna May after his sacrifice and tribute for immortality.

Oh, how he loved that woman; he’d wanted her by his side forever. Alas, that wasn’t to be, there was no way to transform her into what he was, no way – that he could find – to have her become at least immortal if not partial demon.

Humans weren’t made to become immortal, sacrifices needed to be made, and Richard wasn’t sure he wanted to sacrifice that part of Etna Mae. He loved her too much; she had such a beautiful soul, such spirit, so much love in her. If he made her like him, that would disappear, and he’d lose that which he loved the most.

He looked on, however, had looked for years without her ever knowing that he was something different. He looked and never found what he sought. The price for his sacrifices was to watch his beloved die of old age and senility, cursing him in one breath and promising everlasting love in another. To this day it broke his heart, and he wished that maybe, maybe things were different.

For her and only for her would he have changed.

Because of her death, because of his inability to find anything to make her life forever with him, Richard would make the world pay for taking his beloved away.

Which brought him to another point as his gaze returned to the vampire and slayer – god and goddess – at the front of the immense room, accepting tribute from the last of the crowd.

Buffy was human. A slayer, true, but she was human. She would eventually grow old and die. Oh, later than most, especially now that she had no actual slaying to do. But that didn’t erase the fact that she was human…as far as Richard knew at least. Sipping from his champagne glass as his eyes focused on the young woman at the front of the room, Richard wondered at that.

Where had all that slayer power come from to begin with? Was she born that way, and if so, then how?

If she was, then all that power had to come from somewhere. And it had to go to another when the current slayer died. What was it that Angelus knew that he, Richard, didn’t? He’d already requested, and been granted an audience, with the god, and had several questions he hoped Angelus would answer. He also had several secrets he wanted to keep on the off chance that they could be used in the future. Secrets about what Angelus had been up to these last hundred years.

So many new questions, so much new leverage with which to play. Deciding to give the new ‘god’ a chance to revel in his kingdom, Richard turned to leave, heading out of the room, and to the guest wing where all well-wishers were allowed to stay. He had serious issues to speak to Angelus about, but they could wait. He wasn’t getting any older, after all.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Watcher’s Council was situated in London, an ancient building that survived the Great Fire of 1666, the Plague both bubonic and pneumonic, and various razzings of the city all the way back to the beginning of the country as such. It was originally simply a Branch, like so many others around the world, a Branch to the Main Headquarters in Mesopotamia. Thanks to various civil wars, tribal infighting, rise and falls of civilizations, and conquests, it became the Main Headquarters.

It didn’t hurt that it was situated on an island north of the Continent’s problems, either.

Once Mesopotamia fell, Byzantine took its place, through Christianity and Islam, then Mecca, then Rome, steadily moving northwards. Of course, many reasons England became home to the headquarters of the Council had to do with political mechanizations that brought the London Branch to the fore of their society.

Second only to the Holy City, Vatican City.

Deep below the City, surrounded by more guards from more countries than ever graced a battlefield, lay a maze of tunnels that rivaled the immense Sunnydale sewer system. Here were the archives of a dozen religions and a thousand cultures dating back to the time before language was written. The journals from that time were mostly third generation oral tradition, but were as accurate as possible.

Especially those on the Slayer and her purpose for The Powers That Be.

Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Babylonian mythology rested in great tomes next to Norse, Celtic, Japanese, and Chinese ones. Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Shinto, Christianity took up entire wings of their own, while African and American tribal histories took up another wing.

And still all that was known of Acathla was the one prophecy that predicted his coming and eventual opening by ‘someone worthy.’

(Someone wasn’t worthy…)

Leaders from all walks of Christianity, Islam, Judaism, and Hinduism met with frequency to discuss various magickal and supernatural happenings that took place the world over. Now, they met to undo what could never be undone. The World Council of Churches ‘knew nothing’ of the Watcher’s Council, and yet they were extremely well funded for so secret a society.

“It’s clear that The End of Days Apocalypse has been averted,” Quinton Travers spoke to his assembled colleagues. “And that something much worse has taken its place. Acathla has awakened, and even now the Earth transforms more each day into his hell dimension.”

“What of this new leader,” a rabbi asked, “The one who opened Acathla?”

“His name is Angelus,” Travers spat in contempt. “He’s a vampire.”

“Was a vampire,” the lead Orthodox patriarch corrected the brash Englishman in his heavily accented voice. “He was a vampire, sir, and now he is more. Angelus possesses all the powers of Acathla, a demon god who was so closely tied to his world that, when that world sickened, so, too did he.”

The Catholic Cardinal nodded in agreement, his Anglican Bishop counterpart eyeing Travers with distaste. While many approved of the Council’s methods regarding the Slayer, Quinton Travers was widely viewed as a despicable man who should never have ascended to the head of the Council. There was, however, little they could do; the war they fought was too important to the survival of humanity, and not something they could end simply because they detested the current leader of the Council.

“People are beginning to lose hope,” a Shaman added, rubbing his tired eyes. The changing of the land affected them all, especially those close to that land. “They see what is happening, and that their God can do nothing to stop it. Already the entirety of North and South America is transformed, and it has only been days.”

“Where is the slayer?”

Travers looked around the room at these so-called leaders assigned to work with (for) him; many knew what truly went on in the world, but there were those who had no idea what they truly fought, those who thought to increase the Slayers’ life simply because they felt a girl so young shouldn’t be called to battle demons. They were fine with it hundreds of years ago when the average lifespan was thirty or forty, but even religious men could change with the times, he supposed.

It was just as well the Watcher’s Council had not, else they’d all be dead; overrun by those very creatures the people gathered here were sworn to defeat.

‘I knew I never liked them; look at that! Posturing idiots.’
‘You had another reason, other than the obvious?’
‘Well, okay, yes. But I knew there was another reason. How did a group led by people so stupid ever achieve such power?’
‘The question of the ages, my boy, the question of the ages.’

“She is traveling to California to assess the situation.”

The uproar had Travers’ lip curling and anger sparking in his cold eyes. “Withdraw her, immediately!”  “Return her here!” “Bring her back to the fold!”

“No,” Travers snapped, “I won’t. We need to know what the situation is there, what armies Angelus controls, what became of the other slayer and her watcher.”

“We know all that,” The Islamic Imam argued back. “Angelus controls half the world, his influence spreading daily. He possesses all the powers of Acathla, making him the strongest being in the world, and a god to the Heathens. As for the slayer, may Allah have mercy on her soul; it is hoped she is dead, if not I fear for her.”

The religious leaders actually knew what happened to the other slayer; she was trapped as Angelus’ prisoner, inside his castle. Their network was vast, their informants everywhere; the moment the Slayer failed, and Acathla passed his power to the vampire, they knew she was a captive. What they didn’t know was the status of her soul.

“Recall the Slayer,” several others agreed, “Recall her to here where she will receive new orders.”

Reluctantly, Travers nodded. There was nothing he could do no matter what he wanted. The real power lay in this room, money, influence, all the tomes and scrolls he needed to defeat Angelus, and without their permission, he had no access to any of that. He’d recall the slayer, that wasn’t the problem, and she was of little concern to him, one way or another.

The problem was that once she was here, she’d have more influence than he…she was their leader, though no Slayer ever knew that. Because she was a mere child when called, no Slayer truly knew what power they held – and since only one in two thousand made it past the age of twenty, no Slayer ever had the chance to wield that power.

Without her, without the Slayer Line, none of the people in this room were anything, and they all knew it.
~~~~~~~~~~
Drusilla wandered around the ballroom, one eye always on her bright star.

She wanted to tell Angelus of the Prince’s offer, but hadn’t the chance; she also wanted to make sure that her Star was aware that nothing the girl didn’t want would happen to her. It was the deal, after all, and Dru wasn’t going to go back on her word to daddy.  Even the Prince Bret’lc knew that, and agreed to the terms.

She watched her star glare at the demonesses who tried to capture Angelus’ attention, who tried to make themselves known. Laughed with unrestrained glee when nearby vases were destroyed, and the glasses they held shattered in their hands.

They never stood a chance, but Dru’s poor jealous star didn’t realize that. Buffy’s eyes were a swirl of silver, blue, and red; angry sparks shooting off at any who dared trespass on what she considered hers. Oh, but her poor bright star didn’t yet realize the influence she held, nor did she appreciate her position – not only in her new world, but in Angelus’ life.

Angelus, Dru knew, enjoyed it immensely. Possession was something he understood and well; it was also something he’d never submit to. Or hadn’t yet.

“Tut, tut,” Dru whispered to no one in particular. “Daddy better be careful; my bright star doesn’t like it when he strays.”

Angelus didn’t seem to hear her, but that was okay, too. The slayer had other things in mind for him, and Dru knew she would see to Angelus’…fidelity. She may hate him, but the passion Buffy felt for her lover wasn’t easily ignored. Nor was it easily accepted, but then that was half the fun of the game.

“Dru, dear,” Angelus called to her, and she immediately went to him, smiling up at her Sire.

“The lawyers from Wolfram and Hart,” he asked as he ran a hand down her hair. “What do they want?”

Buffy stood to Angelus’ side, listening to the conversation between Sire and Childe. Oddly enough, she wasn’t jealous of the affection Angelus showed to Drusilla. Buffy couldn’t explain it, but she knew that the vampiress meant nothing more to him than his favored childe. Why she should care that that was all between the two, Buffy didn’t know, but she did. And she hated that she did.

Buffy watched as Dursilla looked around the room as if searching for the ‘emissaries’ from Wolfram and Hart. The slayer wanted to know what the two lawyers were up to, as well; other than Lilah’s obvious come-on to Angelus.

More, she didn’t want to be forced away from Angelus’ side. It wasn’t that she wanted to be next to him all the time, but she wasn’t comfortable with the room full of demons all waiting to either kill her for who she was – the slayer – or worship her for her place in this world – their goddess.

She couldn’t win. Life was so unfair.

Of course some of those females, and a few males if Buffy was right, wanted her out of the way just so they could get to Angelus. As Angelus’ goddess, his equal, there was bound to be some jealously, and Buffy could see that. She, and she alone, shared his bed; no one else would, ever.

She’d see to that if she had to kill every being – living, undead, or otherwise – to prove her point.

“They’re lackeys, daddy,” Dru whispered, and swayed between Angelus and Buffy. “Their bosses want what you have; they want the power, the control. They play by rules no one follows, and they hold too many secrets in their cards.”

“Who are their bosses?” Buffy couldn’t help but ask.

“Evil, bad, things that aren’t here, they’re not allowed here; they’ve been banished and aren’t allowed to return to the place that’s not their home.” Dru swayed closer to Buffy, and smiled at the smaller woman, her hand caressing her cheek.

“They want you, my Bright Star, they want the slayer and the power you hold, they want you because they think you’ll leave. But you won’t, will you, mummy?” This last was spoken in a childlike voice, hope heavy in the words as if Drusilla was a little girl who couldn’t bear her mother to leave her.

“No, Dru,” Buffy sighed in resignation. “I’m not leaving.”

Angelus smirked at that, and pulled Buffy closer to him. “No, my love, you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Like I didn’t know that,” she mumbled.

Huffing, Buffy shot him an annoyed look and sipped her champagne. She probably had entirely too much, she could feel the alcohol in her blood; her head felt light and her eyes slightly blurry. Still, it was nice, this detached feeling. But Angel didn’t like it when she drank, that one time with Cordelia and the big snake, he was so worried for her.

Then again, if Angel could see her now, he’d be so disappointed in her. Would he understand? Buffy hoped so, but she’d never get the chance to ask him, never get the chance to explain that this was something she had to do.

“What are you thinking, Buffy?” Angelus asked with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Damn, she hated it when he did that, when he knew what she was thinking. Shrugging, she tossed the rest of the drink back, and set it on a tray an always-willing demon had at the ready for his goddess.

“That I’ve had too much to drink and need to lie down.”

Eyes narrowing at her, Angelus nodded. “Dru, take Buffy back to our rooms and ring for Serra. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, daddy,” Dru smiled, and gripped Buffy’s arm as if the slayer was actually going to run or something.

Halfway down the hall that would take them to their private wing, Dru told her, “Prince Bret’lc wants the dark-haired one; he wants to add to his concubines.”

For a brief second Buffy thought Dru mean Xander but the mental image was too much, and she hoped the vampiress meant Cordelia. “Who’s Break it?”

“Prince Bret’lc is quite smitten with her,” Dru went on with a smile, hand now caressing Buffy’s arm. “He’s from a warrior clan very loyal to Angelus.”

“Loyal before or after this change?” Buffy wanted to know.

“Bret’lc has always been loyal to Angelus, mummy; they were friends from before daddy found me.” Dru whispered this, sharing secrets with Buffy, and giggling like a schoolgirl.

“And this prince, he wants Cordy?” Buffy couldn’t believe that, but decided that demons probably didn’t have much taste. It didn’t matter; the deal with Angelus was that no harm came to any of them, and that included selling, trading, or giving anyone away to the first (or second) demon who wanted them. “What does she think of this?”

Dru frowned as if she didn’t understand it. “The dark-haired one does not like it.”

“No surprise there.”

Opening the door to her room, Buffy entered, and immediately began undressing. She hated the heels, and the dress made her feel venerable; she didn’t bother trying to remove the jewelry Angelus had given her, she already knew none of the items would unclasp. Damn vampire.

Heading for the shower, she didn't bother to see if Drusilla stayed – she did, and they both knew she would. Buffy stepped into the stall and turned the water on full force, trying to scrub her day away. Too many demons, her slayer sense was going wild, her head ached from too much alcohol, nothing to eat, and stress she never imagined dealing with.

Wrapping a towel around her, Buffy reentered the bedroom to see Serra turning down the sheets, and Dru eyeing the other vampire for flaws. Her body sagging, Buffy turned to Serra and dismissed her, knowing nothing about the vampiress and caring even less. Serra bowed out of the room, gathering the white dress from where Buffy dropped it as she did so. Dru was a different matter and not so easily dismissed.

“Dru, I’m tired, you can leave now.”

Dru didn’t move. “Daddy doesn’t want you left alone,” she said and moved to sit on the bed.

“Yeah, I know, I know, but in this place? I’m not alone. There are so damn many people here, that I’ll never be alone.” Buffy sighed, still wrapped in her towel and wanting nothing more than to crawl beneath the covers. She didn’t have the energy to change into a nightgown, and doubted Angelus wanted that anyway.

(His mouth found her neck, softly caressing the sensitive skin there, as hands, large and cool, slowly molded her body, seeking out ever hidden crevice, every curve, every secret. “Your body is beautiful, soft and welcoming, humming with passion, craving my body.” He kissed her then, slowly as he entered her, filling her completely. Perfection. Home. And she cried out his name, arching into him, urging him to move, to give them both the pleasure they so craved in the other. Only in the other.)

Which made her move to her bureau and search for something. Just to piss him off. Pulling out a long green negligee, Buffy slipped it over her head, and dropped the towel. Knowing Angelus, the thing was probably see-through, but the satin material felt nice on her skin, and was cool enough in the heat of hell to be comfortable.

Irritated, angry with herself, and Angelus, Buffy snapped at Drusilla. “Go away, Dru, I’m gong to sleep.”

“Daddy wouldn’t like it,” Dru repeated stubbornly, and refused to move from her place on the edge of the bed.

“Whatever,” Buffy mumbled, and slipped under the sheet. Maybe if she slept long enough, all this would go away.

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