The plan was simple. 

Actually, the plan was all about vengeance, revenge, getting back, taking over, destroying. It was hardly a simple plan, having been in motion for more years than humans could count or even conceive, but it was a very well thought out one. No, simplicity was hardly the word one would use to describe it. More like…the end. 

Not the end of the story for in all actuality the story was ongoing and never ended would never end and anyone who thought otherwise was as delusional as The Powers That Be in thinking that playing by the rules was what evil did. 

No this was the end as in the end of the chapter or the book but there was always another one lurking right around the corner, a new page on which to write and a new tale to tell. Crossing out the old, remaking the new, that sort of thing. Okay, so maybe that was a bit more poetic than necessary. 

In truth, this was the end. 

As in THE END. 

The end of all, the end of everything that this dimension had come to know and cherish, the end of good and evil and the beginning of absolute. Absolute evil that was, there was no middling point, no halfway mark that was shaded in those gray areas talked about by so many. 

This was it, what the First Evil, the malevolence that was the root of everything bad, every mean thought, every nasty intention, every harmful act ever in the history of history, since the time before time, had wanted since the dawn of Its – and indeed of everything and everyone’s – existence. The Powers That Be were the only thing to rival Its age and scope and at the moment they hardly mattered to It. 

The wars were coming to a head and the warriors for light had yet to even realize the battles had begun. It was perfect, absolutely and utterly perfect. 

Maybe this plan was simple, but the nuances were what made It savor Its victory for a moment longer than one would have thought necessary. After all, how often did one win EVERYTHING? Not everyday, that was for damn sure. 

So, this was the day and It intended to gloat, to glory and wallow and shout to everyone that It had won. 

It was all in the nuances, after all. Those tiny little details that screamed this or that could go either way, could be the defining detail or just another little matter that was really unimportant in the grand scheme. Shades of gray might not exist to It, but that mattered not when It looked at what It had accomplished, for those shades of gray had brought It… 

Him. 

Ah, it was brilliant. To think that both she and he had actually believed all those years ago that Its plan was to destroy. How wrong they were. Well…no, they were right, for that was Its plan, after all, It was Evil with a capital ‘E’ and how could it not be? But the plan was not to destroy in the immediate sense. 

It laughed, loud and long and the sound was not pleasant, far from it but it was joyous in a malevolent kind of way, the kind that said ‘I HAVE WON! Ha Ha!’ And it was right, for all Its careful planning had finally paid off. 

That pathetically famed vampire with a soul was not unique any longer, and for a moment, It paused, wondering why one would actually wish for a soul but quickly dismissed that from Its thoughts to focus on the more pleasant aspect of Its news. Anyway, there were two pathetic vampires with souls. And one was currently chained for Its mocking pleasure already used to open the Gate. 

The Gate That Was Forbidden. The Gate that was Its most cherished prize, Its most treasured trophy, Its…beginning. And end. Ah, wasn’t everything grand… 

No, the First Evil mused as It morphed into the image of a dark haired vampire the all but broken creature before him knew all too well, not only was the soul thing no longer a unique occurrence, but the gamble put into motion several short years ago had paid off beyond even Its wildest imaginings. 

Angelus had left the slayer, the one being in all the cosmos who would have actually helped him, stood by him, won damn it and been a giant damn thorn in Its proverbial side. The images from that one Christmas when the Powers actually thought they were helping (and maybe They had if the vampire and the slayer had listened but that never happened and It chortled with glee once more) with the snowfall that had prevented the sun from being seen, that day flowed over It as It reminisced. 

Laughing loudly once again It, now in the guise of the blonde Slayer, howled with unfettered glee. 

Even after that stupid Morha demon crashed their little reunion a year afterwards (what, you think The First Evil didn’t have resources?) and blurted out the key to winning it all hadn’t mattered because Angelus was ‘in love’ with the slayer and wanted her to ‘live’ even if it wasn’t with him. Pathetic, really, but what did one expect from a warrior who knew nothing of his destiny? 

A destiny that was now firmly in the hands of The First. 

“Did they actually think,” It began to tell the young vampire who looked at It through swollen eyes, again in the guise of Angelus as if It couldn’t make up Its mind as to who It should be. “That I wanted him dead? Okay, it was an option and a really good one, but not really the plan. What’s the simplest way to get to Angelus, William?” 

Spike didn’t answer, he wasn’t entirely sure he could what with his mouth bloodied and bruised. But he had a horrible sinking sensation deep in the depths of his newly returned soul that he wasn’t going to like the answer. An answer he thought he knew already. 

“Simple, my boy,” The evil that was ‘Angelus’ continued, “The Slayer. If he thought that she was in danger from himself, he’d leave, correct?” Spike still didn’t answer but It saw a gleam of recognition in his eyes. Perfect. 

“He didn’t want to drink her, didn’t want to turn her, was terrified that in doing so the world as they knew it would fall into darkness and chaos. And he was right but, unfortunately, that didn’t happen here. Damn shame, too, it would have been so much fun.” 

Waving that off with a twist of Its wrist and only a little wistfulness for what might have been It continued. “No, the purpose of my little jaunt all those Christmas’ ago was simple to distance the Slayer from her Vampire lover and champion.”

Chortling with glee once more, It turned into Drusilla again, noting that Spike’s eyes had widened as much as possible considering their swollen state. “See, my pet? Once they were parted they lost that drive, the will to live, to fight, to win. Glorificous wasn’t planted here accidentally oh no my dear, it was a fine plan if I do say so myself and what did it get me? Not Hell On Earth, true, but The Slayer DIED!” 

‘Drusilla’ laughed again, undisguised glee on her face. This was so much fun! “She died and even though that bitch of a witch brought her back with those pain in my proverbial ass Powers That Be, she sank. Darkness engulfed her and her vampire changed from a true champion – despite that distance – into…a blind man.” 

Leaning over Its toy ‘Drusilla’ whispered, “Do you really think that two vampires could procreate? Hardly. That boy, the so-called destroyer, is the ultimate combination of good and evil, so much more so than Angelus himself. He has no true parents; he is the essence of all that They are and all that I am.” 

Oh, but existence was good, this was all so…perfect! “Where was I? Ah, my little chat with Angelus several Christmas’ ago…right, it wasn’t about destroying him then, it was about destroying what he had with The Slayer. Marvelous, was it not? I think so and it worked, so much better than I had ever even hoped.” 

As the First reveled in Its plan Spike’s brain started to function again. And what it started to process was anything but good. In fact, it was the antithesis. It was what he feared most, well, second most maybe. 

The first being both Buffy and Angelus as soulless creatures of the night - Angelus on his own was bad enough and Spike had no illusions that he was not going to be high on his Grand-Sire’s list of favorite people. But the two of them together? The world would burn as they made love in its ashes. 

“Psst, my pet, do you know what’s happened now?” 

Spike didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to know now or ever. In fact, if he turned to dust this very moment it wouldn’t be soon enough. (So long as he wasn’t brought back, he hated it when that happened.) 

“Angel’s lost his soul, Angelus is back and I’m about to win.” 

Spike stopped breathing. Well, his body stopped all minimum function required to function in an animated hundred plus year old corpse. Ironically enough his first thought wasn’t for Buffy or the world or what was going to happen to him. Not that they didn’t crowd his brain immediately, but his first thought, the very first thing to pop into his head when the First said those dozen words was for his princess. 

Drusilla, wherever she was, would love it that Angelus returned. And now he, Spike, had a soul and would never be truly worthy of his dark princess. And he so missed her. 

“How…?” He croaked, not really wanting to know but feeling a morbid sense of needing to know. 

“Ironically enough it was hatred. Not perfect happiness for that, unfortunately is only attainable through The Slayer, but through absolute hate. Well, alright, that combined with a desperate need, but that’s another discussion we’re talking about hate tonight. Delicious, really, wouldn’t you agree? His son fucked the seer, the woman with whom he had erroneously and pitifully believed himself to be in love. He saw them and…cracked.” 

Spike didn’t know what to say, nothing penetrated the haze that had enveloped him. Angelus was never going to let his hold on his body go this time. And wait…if the First knew this and divulged the secret to him, then that meant…It had major plans for Angelus. 

Screw the world – that was already gone. 

And they were all more than dead.
~~~~~~~~~~
Looking around the hotel room he called his own Angelus sneered. 

Not bad, really, but they (he) could do so much better. Honestly, no money to fix this place up? What was Angel thinking? Oh, that’s right, he was on the Holier Than Thou kick that prevented him thinking much less from spending more than a tiny fraction of their admittedly ill begotten gains. 

Well not him, whatever he had worked long and hard to earn, Angelus was using. What was the use in having it if he wasn’t going to spend it? 

“Pansy,” he said to no one in particular, as there was no one there. 

Now then, what was the first order of business? Hunting? Yeah, that was important for he had the horrible taste of stale pig’s blood and soul in his mouth. But there was something more important than even that.

Revenge. 

Even the thought tasted sweet, bringing to mind better times when he did as he pleased and answered to no one. Oh, wait, that’s what he did now. Silly him must be some residual soul stink that was clouding his judgment. And that was another thing, no fucking up like last time. 

This time he wouldn’t try to destroy the world. Well, maybe without first taking it over. Suddenly Wolfram & Hart seemed to be the best way to do that. Not that Angelus ever really had much use for them, any more than Angel had, but in these beginning times they might just prove useful. 

At the very least, they had rooms full of files he should find interesting. 

But no, alas, it was his so-called family he wanted to deal with first. The ones who insisted he loved Cordelia – what a laugh. As if the anorexic bleached seer could ever be his worthy mate. And that little scene with his so-called son? Pity fuck if ever there was one. Pathetic, the both of them.

Still, there was fun to be had with the seer; it was all in the delivery. Getting what you wished for was sometimes not what you expected. And Angelus planned on that being the case with Cordelia. Oh, the things he would do to her. But only in the position of slave, she’d never be a worthy mate, not for him. 

Besides, Angelus thought as he moved around the room, a predatory smirk on his handsome features. He already had a mate. 

And it was long past time to reclaim her. 

But there were steps he had to take first. And they began with those pathetic excuses for a ‘team.’ 

Angel screamed in the pits of the demon, crying out not for any one in particular though his screams were loudest in regards to Buffy. He wouldn’t allow harm to come to his friends, or to the city he had taken as his own and sworn to protect. Not at his hands, not at his demon’s hands.

The fact that he was weak and effectively trapped beneath the demon’s rage mattered not at all to the soul. There was a way and he would find it, that elusive way out. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. 

Buffy…  
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy jolted awake from the fitful sleep she had fallen into after spending days searching for Spike, the First Evil, and the First Vampire – not in that order, any would have done. They were all on the list. 

Giles had all but threatened to admit her to the hospital if she didn’t take a few hours and rest. He knew his slayer and knew that she’d only push herself harder, longer, faster, until the danger was vanquished. The problem with this new (old?) danger was that when it was finally vanquished, and he had a strong belief it would be, his darling Slayer may be to worn out to appreciate it.

He’d seen it when Angelus had appeared all those years ago, this same drive and determination. Not so much with the mayor, though it had been a very good plan on Wilkins’ part to poison Angel, Adam was just one giant nuisance if they wanted to be frank, but it was there again with Glory. 

If he ever needed a reminder of how much Angel and Dawn meant to Buffy, he only had to compare how hard she drove herself when faced with their possible demise. Spike he could attribute to guilt, she felt guilty that he was feeling such guilt and was being used by the First because he got his soul for her. Frankly, the newly souled vampire wasn’t worth it in Giles’ opinion, but he never said so. 

No, Giles was worried, there was no doubt about that, but he was worried for more than one reason. Not that the anxiety he felt over Buffy was at all slim or unimportant, but there was something else that was bothering him. 

The reports from LA were disturbing at best, cause for more alarm to be sure. Fire raining out of the night sky, falling in heated lights upon an unsuspecting populace. If this wasn’t the symbol of the end then nothing was. And no one on Angel’s team answered his increasingly distressed calls. 

So when Buffy jolted awake from her position on the couch he was worried. She had often had prophetic dreams though in the past years they had been all but absent. At first he thought it was either a nightmare or a vision. Or both as they weren’t mutually exclusive. 

“Angel!” 

But then he heard the word that echoed throughout the downstairs and his blood ran cold. Giles had long ago put whatever animosity he harbored against the souled vampire to rest so it wasn’t that that caused his entire body to freeze. And he knew, contrary to what Buffy wanted others to believe, that she still loved Angel and that she always would no matter what the world said otherwise. 

Something was wrong with Angel, he knew this and once his brain unfroze and worked on putting the pieces of the jumbled puzzle together he knew, he just knew, that the end of the world was nigh and Angel and Buffy were right in the middle of it. 

“Buffy?” He asked walking into the living room, concern radiating from every inch of his body, infused in his voice. 

Turning haunted eyes to her watcher, her friend and father, Buffy blinked back tears. 

“He’s gone, Giles, I can’t feel him anymore.”

Stifling the sorrow that came with the (as yet unverified) knowledge that Angel was dead, Giles took her into his arms, rocking her as he had on that long ago summer when her lover had left Sunnydale for LA. “I’m so sorry, Buffy,” he said as Willow and Dawn held each other, tears marring their pale cheeks, the remaining slayers in training looking on with confusion and not a little trepidation. 

But tears wouldn’t fall from Buffy’s stinging eyes. He was gone, truly dead. And so was she. Everything they had worked for these long years, every hope and dream and wish they had made, together and separately, would never come true. 

There was a small part of Buffy that refused to believe this feeling that firmly believed she could still feel her mate, her lover, her reason for continuing. But that part was weak, buried beneath sorrow and pain and anger and a harshness she hadn’t had until he had left her.
It was that part that knew it was so much worse than Buffy believed. Angel wasn’t dead. He was Angelus. And Angelus wanted revenge, he wanted to hurt and pillage and plunder…and he wanted her back.

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