(no subject)
Title: Sires (Portal, Pt 2)
Author: kanedax
Continuity: "Wish"verse, circa "School Hard" (season 2)
Word Count: 5,090
Rating: Hard R for language, violence, partial nudity, and sexual content
Summary: Darla's brood revolts against her sire, as The Master sires new commanders.
Characters: Darla, Spike, Drusilla, Xander, Willow, Luke, The Master
Notes: This is hopefully the first in a series of "Wish"verse stories that I've been planning for a while, but, since this is the only one that could conceivably follow continuity, I thought it would fit well in this contest. I don't own Joss Whedon. Thanks to frozencatnip for the beta!
Ten People / My Fanfiction Page / The Real World
September 29, 1997
He exhaled smoke through his nostrils as the Sex Pistols played quietly over the eight-track. Normally he liked to play it loud, but he didn’t want to awaken the raven-haired woman next to him. Reaching down to the door, he unrolled the window just long enough to flick the filter out into the night.
Bloody things, he thought to himself as turned the crank. Used to be you could get a pack of fags without those damn sponges hooked to the end. Not like I’m getting lung cancer, or anything. Hell, I don’t even need the nicotine.
He knew that he could easily buy a packet of tobacco and some papers. Even more easily, he knew that he could kill a tobacconist for some tobacco and some papers. With some blood on the side.
He also knew that he was too impatient to roll his own smokes, too proud to just snap the brown ends off and smoke the stub like some nancyboy. He figured he’d have to deal with these damn Marlboros.
He heard a small moan coming from the passenger seat. The slender woman’s small chest rose and fell slightly beneath her white dress. He never understood why the air passed in and out of their bodies even though they couldn’t breathe. He’d never thought to ask. Action was more his thing than thought.
And, starting tonight, he thought to himself as he laid his hand on the thigh of his sleeping love, he was going to take action.
The headlights landed upon his target.
Welcome to Sunnydale, the sign read. Enjoy your visit.
Hell yes, I’ll enjoy my visit, he thought as he took aim, preparing to make his first mark. I haven’t tasted Slayer’s blood on my lips in almost twenty years. And she’s never tasted it.
It’s going to be sweet.
The front grille of the car was less than twenty feet from the sign when the body ran out in front of it.
“Bloody hell!” he yelled as he slammed on the brakes. Too late, as the woman’s legs buckled under the impact of the car. Her body rolled up the hood and slammed into the windshield. The glass spiderwebbed in his vision as he heard the body tumble over the roof and the trunk, falling to the pavement behind.
“Fucking bitch,” he mumbled to himself as the car squealed to a stop. The woman next to him continued to sleep. In any other situation that would surprise him, but considering all that they’d been through since Prague, she deserved a little rest. He opened the door and pulled himself out.
“Oy!” he yelled, slamming the door behind him as he walked towards the body. “What do you think you’re doing, jumping out of nowhere like that? You wrecked my fucking car!”
It was a blonde girl, appeared to be in her teens. She was dressed in some black schoolgirl outfit, with a sweater and a short skirt. Her arms and legs didn’t appear to be broken, and her head was moving back and forth slowly.
Still alive, he thought. Good. I could use a snack.
“That car’s been driving since we got to New York,” he continued to yell. “Do you realize how difficult it is to kill someone who owns a classic like that?”
The blonde pulled herself up to her hands and knees he bent down beside her.
“They don’t grow on trees, you know,” he breathed in her ear. He grabbed a hold of her hair and pulled her to face him. “You’re gonna pay for…”
“William?”
His jaw snapped shut. The girl was looking up at him, her eyes filled with recognition.
“How do you know my name?” he asked. He didn’t recognize her. He hadn’t used that name in decades… how could this little slip of a girl know him?
“Don’t you recognize me?” the girl asked as William loosened his grip on her hair despite himself.
“Can’t say that I do,” he said as he stood up.
“Spike?” came a voice from behind him.
“Get back inside, Dru,” Spike said, his eyes never leaving the blonde. “You’ll have car-side delivery any minute now.”
“Is Grandmother alright?” Drusilla asked, her hand drifting idly across the hood of the car.
“Dru,” Spike repeated, spinning around. “I said get back in the bloody car!”
“Hello, Dru,” the blond said. “You’re looking just as psychotic as always.”
Spike spun around in fury. “What did you say?” he growled, stepping toward her. “Nobody talks about Dru that…”
Once again, he was struck speechless. The girl’s face had contorted, taking on the wrinkled, fanged visage that all at once brought back a flood of memories.
“Bloody hell…” he mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
Darla smiled, pointed teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “It’s nice to see you too, Spike.”
Tortured screams echoed down the hallway of what used to be The Bronze, the swankiest… well… the only nightclub in Sunnydale. Within the past six months, it had become The Bronze, the most dangerous nightclub in America.
Alexander “Xander” Harris barely heard the screams. He barely felt the wooden shaft that was rolling between his fingers, barely felt the sharp point on the end, the point that he himself had whittled not two days before.
He sat numbly on the cement floor, his back leaning against the bars of his cell. His eyes were riveted to the body locked inside with him.
That’s all it is, his rational mind cried out. It’s just a body.
His eyes felt dry. Puffy. He had cried when it first happened. The tears were all gone; he had teared out hours ago. He couldn’t remember even blinking since then. His eyes couldn’t pull themselves away from the dead girl in front of him, her red hair covering what little of her face wasn’t pressed against the cold floor.
He knew that he should go to her to roll her over. To make sure that her eyes were closed, her arms clasped over her chest. To straighten the simple brown dress, one of the many that her mother had bought her, had forced her to wear even before the vampires had taken over the town. To pull the skirt back down to her knees, the skirt which had been rucked up when the vampires carelessly threw her into the cell with him.
(That was how it happened, wasn’t it? he asked himself absently. The skirt only came up when they threw her in? They didn’t… do anything to her… I was there the whole time. I would remember, wouldn’t I? I don’t know anymore. I can see some of her underwear, so I don’t think they did anything, but oh God…)
“Oh, God,” Xander moaned to himself, knowing that he could do none of these things. To move her, to touch her, to look into her beautiful face, would be like the final nail in the coffin. He didn’t want to know that Willow Rosenberg was dead.
“It should have been me,” he mumbled for what felt like the three thousandth time, his head shaking back and forth, his rational mind failing to recognize that the rest of him was slowly going insane. “Take me, not her. Take me, not her…”
“She has power.”
“No!” Xander yelled to the voice in his head, the voice that sounded like that pale, bald bastard. “She doesn’t have power! Jenny was the witch, and your goons killed her! Willow was just a witch in training; she can barely levitate a pencil. Take me, not her. Me, not her…”
Their squad was on their regular patrol when the vampires attacked. Owen was the first to die, his head torn from his neck by a particularly big vamp. Jenny, Miss Calendar, tried to cast a spell to protect the rest of the group, but three of the vamps fell upon her at once and sucked her dry. Xander briefly wondered how Giles, the leader of the White Hats, would react to that little piece of news, but quickly realized that he didn’t care that much about what anyone thought about anything anymore.
Fresh screams echoed through the back rooms of the club, and this time Xander heard them. Recognized the voice. Realized that he wasn’t the only surviving member of the squad.
“Sounds like they still have Angel,” he said to no one in particular. But found he really didn’t care much about that, either.
“They have Angelus,” Darla said as she lowered herself onto the swing set.
“They?” Spike asked as he sat on the picnic table next to her. Drusilla lay beside him, her head in his lap. He idly ran his hand along her hair as she quickly fell asleep. They had left the car along the side of the road after Darla convinced him that a wreck wasn’t exactly a suspicious thing in this town anymore. The three were now sitting in a deserted playground about a half-mile away.
“The Order of Aurelius,” Darla replied, wiping a trickle of blood from her already healing forehead. “My Master’s legions.”
“Your Master,” Spike snorted. “The big bald bloke? The one with the lipstick?”
“My Master is marked with the stains of a thousand throats,” Darla snapped.
“Yeah, right, whatever,” Spike said, lighting a cigarette. “So he’s the Big Bad around here.”
“He arose from his crypt on the Hellmouth last year, during The Harvest. He took the town within hours of his ascension, and rules the humans with an iron fist.”
“Pretty words,” Spike said, his lip curling. “You’re not just blowing out your ass, are you? I’ve seen plenty of vamps in my day who talk big, but in the end they just read too many issues of Tomb of Dracula, think they’re the next Daywalker or whatever...”
“Look around,” said Darla, wrapping her arms around the hanging chains. “Listen. Do you see any humans? Hear any loud music? Laughter? Did you see so much as a single car along the road as you came in?”
Spike, never one to notice the small details, did as Darla said. He heard a few crickets chirping. No cars. He looked around at the houses surrounding the playground, and noticed that there were very few lights on inside them. Those that were lit were hidden behind heavy shades. No music. Not even a dog barking.
“They hide because of their fear,” Darla explained. “Fear of my Master.”
“Alright,” Spike shrugged. “So he’s got the town. What’s the Slayer have to say about it?”
Darla’s face paled. “The Slayer?”
“Yeah, the Slayer,” Spike said, taking a drag. “She’s fought The Master, right? He must have killed her, or else he probably wouldn’t be in charge anymore.”
“There is no Slayer,” Darla said, her voice filled with almost religious dread. “There has never been a Slayer here.”
“There hasn’t?”
“No!” Darla said. “Never speak of her!”
Spike’s lips puckered in irritation. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, flicking away his cigarette. “When I get back to New York I’m going to kill that fucking…”
“You’re here for… She Who Must Not Be Named?”
“Hell, yes, I’m here for the Slayer!” Spike yelled. Drusilla sat up quickly from his lap, allowing him to jump to his feet. “Dru’s sick. There was some mob in Prague that did a number on her. She could use some Slayer blood to get back on her feet again. That fucking Tony, calling himself a Seer…”
“But you’re not here to kill The Master?” Darla said, her voice filled with fear and disappointment.
“Of course not!”
“Do you want to?”
Spike stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to Darla, who was looking at the ground, in shock that she had just said such a thing.
“What?”
“Daddy’s in exquisite pain,” Drusilla said, her arms wrapped around herself, an erotic smile crossing her face.
“Do you want to kill him?” Darla said, her head rising to meet his eyes.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because he has Angelus,” Darla said firmly.
“Let me repeat myself…”
“There’s no Slayer in Sunnydale,” Darla explained, standing up. “The only resistance is a group calling themselves The White Hats. A bunch of humans who don’t know when they’re beaten, but they have others in their mix. A few witches, a few warlocks. Even a possessed ventriloquist dummy.”
“Weird…”
“And one vampire.”
“Angelus?”
Darla nodded, and flinched when Spike erupted into laughter. “Angelus the Vampire Slayer!” he said between bursts. “Pretty boy got himself a soul, and decided that he’s better than us, eh?”
Darla looked down at her feet.
“Still has the soul, has he?”
“He was captured right after sundown,” Darla explained. “He and two other White Hats. One of them was killed, probably turned by The Master. The other was imprisoned, left for food later on.”
“And what about Captain Broody?”
“The Master recognized him. Knew Angelus from the day that I brought him before the Order. The day that I left the Order the first time, so the two of us could travel the world. The Master’s too old to let past grudges die easily.”
“So they have him?”
“They’re torturing him as we speak,” Darla said, her voice cracking with an emotion that Spike was shocked to hear.
“What about you, then?” Spike said, putting his foot up on a park bench. “What are you doing here, and not there, helping with the torture?”
“He’s my boy!” Darla yelled. “For one hundred and fifty years we traveled the world, killing and fucking and…”
“And?”
“I asked The Master to release him,” she continued. “Begged him to either give Angelus another chance, either as a member of the Order, or else as a spy inside the White Hats. Then I begged him to give Angelus a quick death. He’s been tortured enough.”
“His soul slithers inside him,” Drusilla muttered, running her fingers up and down her chest. “They’re trying to cut it out of him.”
“Like I said,” Darla said quietly. “The Master is too old to let past grudges die easily. He held one for Angelus. And he held one for me, a century and a half later. He released me from his service after I proved to him, yet again, that Angelus was more important to me than he was. I’ve been exiled from the kingdom.”
“Which is why you’re out here?”
Darla smiled. “Fate’s a damn fine thing, isn’t it?”
“Lovely,” Spike said. He turned back to the table. “Dru, we’re leaving.”
“What?” Darla said, stepping forward. “You can’t leave!”
“Watch us,” Spike said, grabbing Drusilla’s arm. “She and I are going back to the East Coast. I’m going to find Tony. I’m going to snap his neck. And then I’m going to find another Seer. One who actually knows where the bloody hell the Slayer is!”
“But Angelus…”
“What about him?” Spike turned. “He had a chance. He chose his side. It just happened to be the wrong one.”
“And what about you?”
“I remain a free agent.”
“So you won’t fight?”
“You’re not asking us to fight,” Spike growled. “You’re asking us to go against an army of vampires to save a bloke who wants to see us dead!”
“This isn’t the William I knew,” Darla spat. “William The Bloody would never turn away from a challenge.”
“I say let him be tortured,” Spike continued. “I never much liked him anyway. World would have been better off if he had never been with us.”
“You don’t mean that…”
“Oh, yeah?” Spike said, straightening up. “Probably would have had a few three-ways with you two if he weren’t there, killing my Mojo.”
“So you’d rather see him tortured?”
“Better him than me.”
“Think about it, William,” Darla said seductively. “Defeat The Master, and this town will be yours. The vampires will fall to their feet, worshipping you. You’d have Angelus in your debt. Make him do whatever you want. We could be the whirlwind again, the four of us…”
“And what if I don’t want him with us again?” Spike said slowly.
Darla shrugged. “Why let The Master have all the fun torturing, when you could do it yourself?”
Spike’s lips pursed, his brow furrowed. Drusilla chuckled beside him, biting her lip.
“Daddy’s been naughty,” she purred. “We should give him a spanking.”
The yellow crayon.
Xander Harris smiles despite himself.
I wonder if she even remembers that. The time in kindergarten when she broke it.
(Remembered that, you mean, the cold voice answered in his head. The voice of reason that sounded eerily like Giles. She’s dead.)
Or that time in second grade, when Sheila caught us playing Show and Tell in Willow’s bedroom. How we were grounded for a week, but went through five notebooks communicating with each other through our bedroom windows.
(It’s not her, Giles said strongly. She’s dead. She’s gone.)
Xander, his eyes still wide with shock, played with the stake that was still in his hand. There was a tic pulsing in his cheek, but he barely even noticed.
(You know what you have to do, Giles ordered. Put the stake through her heart. Try to fight your way out. You have to rescue Angel.)
He watched numbly as a fly landed in Willow’s hair. Watched as it cleaned its legs, and crawled around the red strands.
She asked me out so many times, Xander sobbed in his mind. She asked me so many times, without even saying a word. Why did it take something like The Master to make me realize it?
(Angel won’t give them any information. He’s strong, and he’s souled. If she comes back as a vampire, she won’t hesitate to tell them all about us. Our location. Our numbers. Everything.)
All those Valentines over the years. She hated Transformers. She hated GI Joe. But she kept convincing her mom to buy them anyway. Kept giving them out to our entire elementary school class, because she knew that I liked them. Thought that I might like her more because of it.
(Think of those who are still alive! Giles was practically screaming in his mind now. Think of Amy! Larry! Ethan!)
The time we first kissed. All of the times we kissed after the first time. The past year’s been like a dream. I don’t want it to end.
(Oz! Nancy! Sid the bloody Dummy!)
Willow, Xander thought despairingly, his head slamming hard against the bars, hard enough to bruise. He didn’t care.
(Think of your family!)
Willow! Please come back to me!
A shuddering gasp filled the cell, and the fly lifted off from the jerking red head. It flew down the hall, taking the voice of Giles, the voice of reason, with it forever.
“Will!” Xander yelled as Willow pushed herself to her knees. Before he could stop himself, he had dropped the stake to the ground and flew toward her, wrapping his arms around her small body.
“Xander?” she said weakly, looking around the cell. “Where are we?”
“We’re in the Bronze,” Xander said, his face buried in her shoulder. “Thank God, I thought I lost you.”
“Xander…” Willow whispered, pulling him away from her.
“What is it, Will?” he asked. Xander saw a smile curl onto her lips, a new kind of smile that was both Willow and yet not Willow. And Alexander Harris was lost completely.
“You’ll never lose me,” the body once known as Willow Rosenberg said, her voice filled with a calm Xander only wished he could feel. “We’ll be together forever.”
“Yes,” Xander said, damning himself with a smile. “I want to be with you. Forever.”
“Are you sure she’ll be safe?”
“Safe as anywhere else in this burg,” Darla said as the pair, reunited after almost one hundred years, walked down the shadowy alley. “The Master forgot about that tomb the moment he left it. The last thing he’d want to do is go back there.”
“Good,” Spike said, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Because if anything happens to her, the torture I’m going to put Angelus though will be a fucking trip to the chocolate factory compared to what you’ll feel.”
“Don’t worry, William,” Darla said calmly. “I wouldn’t give you the pleasure. Besides, we might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”
“Only two?” said Spike. “That’s disappointing. I was hoping to kill a few more than that.”
“There’s a text,” Darla explained. “Written by duLac. Some of The Master’s researchers were able to translate it. It talks about a ceremony that restores weakened vampires to their former selves.”
Spike stopped in the middle of the alley. “And you’re just telling me about this now?”
“It involves killing the vampire’s sire,” Darla said simply. “If Angelus decides to cooperate after we take out The Master, the four of us can hunt down your Slayer. If he doesn’t cooperate…”
“I think I like ‘Plan B’ better,” Spike smirked. “I’ve already killed two Slayers. Never killed an Angelus.”
“We’ll play it by ear, then,” Darla said, and continued to walk. Spike held back a moment watching her. He knew that Darla was just playing him. Making sure that she could get what she wanted, no matter what. She had no intention of letting Angelus die, just as Spike had no intention of letting him live.
She thinks she can save him, Spike thought. Thinks that she can turn him back into the beast he used to be. The beast that loved looking down on Dru and I whenever he pleased.
“Times have changed,” Spike muttered. “We’ll see who’s got the biggest wrinklies now.”
“We can sneak in through the back door,” Darla explained as Spike jogged to catch up. “Break out Angelus, and the three of us can fight our way through to The Master.”
“Sounds like fun,” Spike said. “I’m not one for the sneaking, but the fighting our way through sounds like a blast.”
As they approached the metal door, Darla stopped and looked around. A broken wooden chair, one that had probably been tossed aside by looters as they rummaged through the nearby warehouses, caught her eye. She picked it up, smashed it into the pavement a few times, and tossed Spike a few of the fragments.
“Good,” Spike said, hefting the newly-made stake, “I was wondering if we were going in unarmed.”
“Never,” Darla said, smiling the half-smile that Spike had seen so often in the past. “But, remember… The Master’s old. He’s got a lot of ribcage.”
“All the better to tear his head off,” Spike said as they turned to the door.
“You ready?” Darla said, her voice showing the first hint of fear, the fear of finally facing the creature that created her four hundred years before.
“Born ready,” Spike replied, his voice showing no fear.
Darla grasped the handle and pulled the door open, revealing the dark back halls of The Bronze. She stepped inside. Took two steps. Three. Spike followed behind her, one stake tightly gripped in each hand.
He never saw the vampire in the shadows of the door, waiting for the pair to enter. Didn’t know about the vampire’s orders: Darla lives, the others die.
He didn’t even know the sword’s blade was there until it connected with the back of his neck.
Darla heard the familiar noise behind her. The sound of air being sucked back into place (nature abhors a vacuum) combined with the sound of a screaming demon being released back to its hell. As she spun around, the sound was followed by two sharp clacks as the stakes hit the ground.
She saw the silhouette in the doorway, twice as large as Spike and ten times as imposing. The sword hanging loosely from its right hand did nothing do tarnish the image. William’s cigarette, still smoldering in the ashes, glinted a flicker of red light off of the polished blade.
“Hello, traitor,” a deep voice drawled, its calm tone still able to boom through the hall.
“Luke,” Darla said quietly.
“I’m not Luke to you anymore, traitor,” Luke said, stepping towards her. “You lost the right to speak to me the moment you decided your own personal feelings were more important than the Order.”
Darla stepped backwards as Luke advanced. “Luke, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“It’s not?” came a slightly lisping voice from down the hall. “Because it looks to me like you and Captain Peroxide were attempting a little coup d’etat.”
“Master,” Darla breathed, the stake dropping to the ground as the tall pale figure slid smoothly towards them.
“But, like you said, it’s not what it looks like,” The Master said smoothly. “I suppose the Girl Scout cookies must be outside? Or are you selling Avon products?”
“Master,” Darla blubbered, all courage gone as she looked into her Master’s eyes, “Please forgive me. I did this only for you. William arrived in town, and was speaking of overthrowing you. I brought him here so you could…”
“Hm,” The Master said, running his long finger across his cheek. “I heard that you and William were planning on destroying me, taking Angelus, and using him to cure his bitch and rule my kingdom.”
“No!” Darla screamed. “Of course not! Master, you know I have always served only…”
“Shhhh…” a voice breathed in her ear. “Bored now…”
Darla felt a hand glide up and down her side, cold through the fabric of her black sweater. Felt hair tickle her shoulder as the fingers brushed along her back, around to her chest. The hand traveled down to her skirt, and she felt a moistness as a tongue slid along her neck.
“Darla, my dear,” The Master said as the faceless, sexual advances continued to assault her body. “You have served me for four hundred years. In that time, you have turned away from me twice. And I, being a merciful lord, have allowed you to return with open arms.”
“Master,” Darla gasped, her body numb with terror as the hand slid along her thigh. “Please, I have always served you.”
“Times have changed, Darla,” The Master said in both sadness and cold fury. “I’ve found a replacement.”
“Mmmmm,” the faceless voice purred. Darla felt its lips close on her neck, felt sharp teeth nipping, not yet breaking the skin. Arms wrapping around her, along her breasts, down to her legs, up to her chin.
“But I see you’ve already met,” The Master said. “Willow?”
The redhead turned Darla around to face her. Their bodies pressed together. Through the wrinkled face, the sharp fangs, Darla recognized the girl who had been brought in with Angel.
“Hello, Darla,” Willow moaned, kissing Darla hungrily on the lips. Darla closed her mouth tightly, trying to keep the girl’s tongue from entering her mouth, when she felt the hands move upwards.
Willow grabbed Darla’s head and tore it from her body with a quick twist. Moaned into the evaporating neck as Darla turned to dust in her arms.
“Thank you, Willow,” The Master said quietly. “You have served your Master well.”
“I think I came a little,” Willow replied, licking the remaining bits of dust from her fingers. She turned slightly to Luke, who was looking down at the pile that used to be Darla, a touch of horror and revulsion breaking through his usually emotionless demeanor.
“Your skill is impressive,” The Master said quietly. “Having a vampire mystic could serve me very well…”
“My magic is gone,” Willow replied. “Magic is life energy. I’m dead. The spell that I used to find your Darla, to warn you that she was coming, used up what I had left.”
“Oh,” The Master said, and then waved his hand impatiently. “Oh, well. C’est la vie. Welcome to the fold, my dear.”
“I will always serve you, my Master,” Willow said, dropping down to one knee before him.
“Oh, and Willow?”
“Yes, my Master?”
“I run a respectful Order,” he replied. “I expect a little bit of decorum. Your choice of clothing is… grossly indecent.”
Willow looked down at her body. The brown dress she was wearing was torn open, as was the white button-down shirt underneath. One strap of her bra was snapped, and the cup was flapping in the wind. Her nylons were missing completely, as were her simple cotton panties.
“I’m sorry, my Master,” Willow said, her smirk telling him that she was far from sorry as she covered her bare breast with her hand. “My boy and I got a little rambunctious when he awoke. Sixteen years of pent-up hormones, you know?”
“It happens,” The Master shrugged. “When one first comes to the power, they find that it goes to their head a little. Just don’t let it blind you to who is truly important.” At this, he waved his hand over the pile of dust. “Darla forgot that.”
“Of course,” Willow said. “As soon as Xander is able to feel his legs again, we’ll go shopping. There’s this fetish shop I’ve always wanted to buy something from.”
“Wear whatever you want, just so long as it covers your naughty bits,” The Master said. “And when you’re done, we'll discuss the White Hats. Also, I would like to talk to Xander myself. I’d like him to meet Luke.”
“Master?” Luke said, stepping forward. “Why would I…?”
“Times have changed, Luke,” The Master said, smiling. “Darla got too comfortable. Started thinking for herself too much. You’ve been with me for a century. You’ve become comfortable in the role of my right hand.
“I think a little competition is healthy.”
Drusilla awoke to the screaming stars.
Her boy was dead.
Her grandmother was dead.
And she was alone.
Alone in this horrible tomb. A tomb that used to be a church.
She could feel The Master’s rage beating from the walls. He had been here for decades, and his aura had soaked into the stone.
She felt a tear fall from her eye, but it was all the mourning that she would give her lost family.
She had been told. The crickets told her that William would die. The mice told her that Darla would die.
But that was fine.
Her father was still alive. The Slayer was still alive.
DuLac’s spell wasn’t going anywhere.
There would be plenty of opportunites, Drusilla knew.
For now, she’ll rest. She lay near the Hellmouth, and she could already feel its power affecting her.
Her strength will return eventually.
And then Drusilla, and Drusilla alone, will be the whirlwind.
Ten People / My Fanfiction Page / The Real World