FIC: The Slayer's Conquest
Title: The Slayer's Conquest
Summary: Before history even existed, the Slayer fought the forces of darkness. Yet the key to victory would not be realized in a bloody battle.
Spoilers: Irreverent at heart, pompous in tone. Vague spoilers for BtVS.
Warnings: None.
Rating: G
Word Count: 755
Into every generation, a Chosen One is born. She alone will battle the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.
The First Slayer fought in darkness. She breathed death and destruction. Her weapon was her fist. She’d rip out the hearts of demons and snarl in pleasure as they burst into dust, their ashes mingling with the sands of the desert.
Then came the Scythe, a balance of wood and mystical metal, forged for slaying the pure demons, the ones whose carcasses could not be pierced with a furious jab. The weapon was powerful and with it the First Slayer banished all pure demons from the Earth. It was the first and greatest victory in the battle between humanity and the demonic forces.
After the epic battle, the Scythe was hidden by the Guardians to protect the source of its power and the line of the Chosen. Slayers to follow fought with stakes, crosses, holy water, sunlight and fire. They were brave, they were heroes, they were martyrs. Each met a violent end, the gasp of death taking them across the divide and into a final peace richly deserved.
The battles were all the same, repeating in varied victory for good and evil. For every vampire slain, another rose. The plague of vampirism spread amongst humanity and the Slayer stood against this raging flood, beating back evil but never vanquishing the darkness.
A balance was struck and evil planted new roots in the human world. Entrenched in tradition, the Slayer fought by the rules of the Watchers, heeding their council and bleeding for humanity. No hope for victory, no lasting resolution in the air. The only reprieve came at the dawning of each new day, however brief, waiting for night to fall again and for her to raise her weapon.
Every night the Slayer fought, returning home bloodied and covered in ashes. Every night. Again and again. The world existed on the brink of destruction and she danced along the edge, saving humanity from the fall. Every night the Slayer saved the world, yet the world was never safe. The Slayer never rested till death took her and another girl shouldered her burden.
This was the life of the Chosen One. Brief, painful, doomed. An endless cycle of loss and bittersweet victory. Triumph was hollow at the count of innocents sacrificed and the neverending struggle. Evil did not retreat or admit defeat, but merely ebbed and flowed, the rising tide swallowing good, devouring victims and pulling them back into the dark sea with the ascent of the sun.
Then she came. Unexpected and unpredictable. She didn’t follow the rules. She didn’t heed tradition. She didn’t fight alone. She listened to her heart and blazed through the darkness, a shining light. A beacon. An inspiration. Even death could not fully take her. No rules were left unbroken. Even the most sacrosanct she defied and turned to her advantage. Slayers and vampires were enemies. Yet this Slayer dared to love a vampire and this vampire with a soul dared to love his executioner.
The first time it happened, the Watchers were incredulous. When the affair ended and the world still stood, they dismissed it as an anomaly. A past worry that would not change the ritual of battling evil. The second time it happened, the Watchers were struck dumb. This next vampire failed to even offer a soul as excuse for his conversion to the side of good. The third time it happened, the Watchers felt insanity take hold. Then the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and on and on.
Not all were a credit to the first Slayer to love a vampire. No, the Slayers to follow her example bred this change. Hundreds of Slayers activated in their potential thus ended insidious darkness not through violence, but love. There was no reason to catalogue. No methodology to record. The plague of vamipirism that leeched away at humanity was fought not in destroying the heart of the demon, but in restoring it.
All is fair in love and war - Love conquers all - All you need is love. The platitudes became the longest entries found in every Watcher’s diary. The battles no longer read as violent wars, but gripping romances. This spelled the end of the Watcher’s Council. While there were stories still to be told of Slayers and the demons they conquered, they could not bear to write them.
Becoming romance novelists was beneath them.
Summary: Before history even existed, the Slayer fought the forces of darkness. Yet the key to victory would not be realized in a bloody battle.
Spoilers: Irreverent at heart, pompous in tone. Vague spoilers for BtVS.
Warnings: None.
Rating: G
Word Count: 755
Into every generation, a Chosen One is born. She alone will battle the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.
The First Slayer fought in darkness. She breathed death and destruction. Her weapon was her fist. She’d rip out the hearts of demons and snarl in pleasure as they burst into dust, their ashes mingling with the sands of the desert.
Then came the Scythe, a balance of wood and mystical metal, forged for slaying the pure demons, the ones whose carcasses could not be pierced with a furious jab. The weapon was powerful and with it the First Slayer banished all pure demons from the Earth. It was the first and greatest victory in the battle between humanity and the demonic forces.
After the epic battle, the Scythe was hidden by the Guardians to protect the source of its power and the line of the Chosen. Slayers to follow fought with stakes, crosses, holy water, sunlight and fire. They were brave, they were heroes, they were martyrs. Each met a violent end, the gasp of death taking them across the divide and into a final peace richly deserved.
The battles were all the same, repeating in varied victory for good and evil. For every vampire slain, another rose. The plague of vampirism spread amongst humanity and the Slayer stood against this raging flood, beating back evil but never vanquishing the darkness.
A balance was struck and evil planted new roots in the human world. Entrenched in tradition, the Slayer fought by the rules of the Watchers, heeding their council and bleeding for humanity. No hope for victory, no lasting resolution in the air. The only reprieve came at the dawning of each new day, however brief, waiting for night to fall again and for her to raise her weapon.
Every night the Slayer fought, returning home bloodied and covered in ashes. Every night. Again and again. The world existed on the brink of destruction and she danced along the edge, saving humanity from the fall. Every night the Slayer saved the world, yet the world was never safe. The Slayer never rested till death took her and another girl shouldered her burden.
This was the life of the Chosen One. Brief, painful, doomed. An endless cycle of loss and bittersweet victory. Triumph was hollow at the count of innocents sacrificed and the neverending struggle. Evil did not retreat or admit defeat, but merely ebbed and flowed, the rising tide swallowing good, devouring victims and pulling them back into the dark sea with the ascent of the sun.
Then she came. Unexpected and unpredictable. She didn’t follow the rules. She didn’t heed tradition. She didn’t fight alone. She listened to her heart and blazed through the darkness, a shining light. A beacon. An inspiration. Even death could not fully take her. No rules were left unbroken. Even the most sacrosanct she defied and turned to her advantage. Slayers and vampires were enemies. Yet this Slayer dared to love a vampire and this vampire with a soul dared to love his executioner.
The first time it happened, the Watchers were incredulous. When the affair ended and the world still stood, they dismissed it as an anomaly. A past worry that would not change the ritual of battling evil. The second time it happened, the Watchers were struck dumb. This next vampire failed to even offer a soul as excuse for his conversion to the side of good. The third time it happened, the Watchers felt insanity take hold. Then the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and on and on.
Not all were a credit to the first Slayer to love a vampire. No, the Slayers to follow her example bred this change. Hundreds of Slayers activated in their potential thus ended insidious darkness not through violence, but love. There was no reason to catalogue. No methodology to record. The plague of vamipirism that leeched away at humanity was fought not in destroying the heart of the demon, but in restoring it.
All is fair in love and war - Love conquers all - All you need is love. The platitudes became the longest entries found in every Watcher’s diary. The battles no longer read as violent wars, but gripping romances. This spelled the end of the Watcher’s Council. While there were stories still to be told of Slayers and the demons they conquered, they could not bear to write them.
Becoming romance novelists was beneath them.