Part Thirty-eight: New World Order

“You’re pretty good for an old guy,” said Faith, dodging Doc’s sword. They were winning—Connor’s fist landed on Xander’s face, knocking him unconscious, and Angel’s son was already spinning to help Faith. Doc was holding his own—she was stronger, but he was definitely faster—but there was no way he could take both of them.

“You’re not so bad, either,” said Doc, genially. “For a puppy.”

“You calling me a dog,” said Faith, her fist colliding with his head. “Cause that just pisses me off.”

Doc was faltering, staggering backward.

“I assure you, young lady,” he said. “I meant nothing of the sort.”

“Well good,” said Faith, closing in for the coup de grace, “because then I’d have to get testy.”

Faith froze, unable to move forward, and an unearthly light began to emanate from Doc’s skin. She blinked, and he was gone.

“Well,” said Doc’s voice near her ear. “I’d hate to have that.”

Faith felt a blow against her skull, and the next thing she knew, she was on the ground.

“Now, then,” said a familiar voice. “Get the slayer out of the way, and let’s finish this.”

Faith looked up, and Wesley was walking toward them, his eyes near alight with manic energy.

“Wes,” said Faith. “What are you…”

“That’s not Wesley,” said Dawn, from nearby. Faith had forgotten she was there.

“Very astute,” said Wesley. “No, I’m afraid I’m not. Very astute. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is dead.”

“The First,” said Faith, under her breath. “Ah, man. This just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” said another voice, also English.

“Ethan Rayne,” said Dawn, as the aging sorcerer strode behind the First. “I thought you were on Oz’s team?”

“Really, now,” said Ethan, “Does that seem likely?”

“No, it really doesn’t,” said a woman’s voice, and even though Faith couldn’t lift her body from the ground to move, she could feel the chill in his voice as Connor spoke her name.

“Lilah.”

“And it’s good to see you, too, boy wonder. Tell me, have you heard from Batman lately? Oh, wait, no. He’d dead.”

“Trapped in a now-destroyed time pocket, along with the best of you,” said the First, still wearing Wesley’s face. “The real slayer, that insipid werewolf—all gone. Illyria's power is now flowing fully into Doc. The rest of you will be hunted down and reconverted into slaves.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Dawn, defiance growing in her voice. “And Connor and I get to be sacrifices, we heard it the first time.”

“Sacrifices,” said Lilah, her voice a purr. “Doc, you didn’t explain this deal fully, did you?”

“I have to confess, I didn’t.” said Doc. “You see, kid, Connor gets to be a sacrifice. You get to be the new host for the Beast.”

“Everybody gets to be a part of the New World Order,” said the First. “And there’s no one left to save you.”

And from somewhere nearby, barely audible, Faith could have sworn she heard a giggle.

Part Thirty-nine: Gathering thunder

Giles watched as Amy and Justine burned. The energy was now ripping through their bodies. There was no way they could hold it together.

Willow rose shakily to her feet, blood still spilling from her torso. Giles moved to stop her, but she waved her hand and shot him a look that practically commanded that he stay back.

The young witch turned her attention to the two young women disintegrating before them. A look of resolve settled on her face, her, eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Tentatively, she reached her hand into the vortex, and the current began to pulse through her, too. Her hair transformed from red to shock white as the blue wave pulsed through her body. She reached in further, grabbing Amy and Justine’s hands.

There was a blinding flash of light, and suddenly, the three women were gone, replaced by Oz.

“Daniel?” said Giles, stuttering mildly. “But Willow … Amy…”

“Yeah, I know,” said Oz, his face stoic and unreadable. “We have to get out of here. We’ve all been had. There’s a new plan.”

Thunder cracked across the sky of the once-silent city, and Giles followed Oz as he hurried out of the room and into the stone streets.

Giles looked up, and the sky now seemed on fire. Above them, a dragon flew, casting its shadow across the dead city. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of a million monstrous feet marching.

Oz stopped, as if listening to something in the distance, but Giles could hear nothing over the cacophony.

“This is it,” said Oz, a low growl building in his voice. “This is the final battle.”

His face began to contort, his bones bent as he allowed the wolf to come forward.

“Daniel… Oz…”

“It’s time to show them what we’re really made of,” said Oz, before his voice was lost all together beneath a lupine howl, and the wolf sprinted to greet the thunder growing in the distance, Giles hurrying behind.

Oh, the happy. McTabby eviscerates another set of fanfic loglines. [link]

A mysterious girl crashes into Hogwarts and the trio try to piece the scant clues together to find out who she is.

Drinny, with mentions of Harmy and Rona.

Five years after the final battle, Harry is the star cellist of the London Philharmonic.

Five years after the final battle, Harry is the star cellist of the London Philharmonic.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Part Forty: All Fall Down

In an instant, the burning was replaced by cool breeze and the taste of ocean. Justine opened her eyes to sunlight glistening of the surface of the water, waves rolling gently onto the shore. Willow and Amy were beside her, staring slack-jawed at a beautiful, dark woman.

“We’re alive,” said Willow, looking up at the woman. “But the world …”

“Is still in peril,” said the woman. “But you had done all you could.”

“I know you,” said Justine. “I … I had lost you, but now… You’re here. You’re … Jasmine.”

“Those days are passed," said Jasmine, looking almost embarrassed, “and now I repay my debt to your world, for the trouble I caused. You women did your work well. You’ve bought the heroes time.”

In the sky, images appeared of a battle. Faith, obviously turned again, wrestled with Buffy in the endless city. Angel dodged Doc’s sword, but nearly fell before his contaminating touch, until Giles—arriving on the scene—pushed him out of the way, the fall of Doc’s hand re-releasing the demon Eyghon. Spike and Connor fell back to back against the encroaching horde of monsters, now moving directly under the influence of the First, who wore Wesley’s face.

“So, wait,” said Amy. “That wasn’t Wesley? So why did he do all this, bring us here? It’s all a little …”

“Byzantine,” said Willow.

“I was going to say, loopy,” said Amy, “but that works.”

“There is more to this game than seems apparent,” said a voice. The women turned to face it, to see Wesley standing before them. As one, they readied for a fight, but Jasmine stilled them with a wave of her hand.

“Wesley is not here to fight,” she said. “Indeed, this is all going according to plan.”

“Plan?” shouted Willow, losing her temper. “The world’s going to Hell, literally, and nearly every person I love is fighting for their life in some extra-dimensional time share. I need a lot more than secret-decoder ring clues, here, Wesley.”

“The First is destroying Illyria’s being,” said Wesley, his voice low. “Illyria is composed of almost pure temporal energy. If he succeeds in eradicating Jasmine and what’s left of Illyria, he’ll be able to resurrect Glory, and she’ll lead an army into an Earth that borders all dimensions, trailing behind her an army composed of Wolfram & Hart’s monsters, led by your friends, corrupted by evil.”

As the images in the sky cascaded, Xander’s fists fell like rain onto Gunn’s face, over and over again, until the man fell unconscious.

“So can we stop it,” said Willow. “Can we save everyone?”

“Everyone?” said Wesley. “No, I don’t think we can.”

The images in the sky changed again—this time, it was Los Angeles from above, electric lights billowing out in all directions for miles. Illyria’s city seemed superimposed on it, now, the combatants seemed like a movie projected on the skyscrapers’ walls.

“Illyria’s energy was bound together by the tattered remnants of Fred Burkle’s soul,” aid Amy, her voice growing more somber. “And Illyria’s composed of temporal energy. She’s made up of time.”

“I get it,” said Willow. “We need to reassemble Fred’s soul, leave Illyria’s energy disparate.”

“Yes,” said Wesley, the word hanging icily in the breeze.

“Can we even do that?” asked Justine. “And if we do, what happens to…”

“We can do that,” said Willow, looking up at Jasmine. “You know how, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Jasmine, “But there is a price for this magic. A high one.”

They were all silent for a moment.

“I’ll pay it,” said Willow. “I’ll do anything to save the world.”

A flash of light strobed from Amy’s hand, and Willow fell to the ground.

“Sorry, babe,” said Amy, “looks like you’re benched for this one.”

Amy gulped, as she realized the enormity of what she was about to do.

“Lay it on me, Jasmine,” she said. “It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.”

Part Forty-One: To End All Wars

Oz watched the scene with a wolf’s eyes. A monstrous ogre descended on Riley and Samantha, who were quickly running out of ammunition. Oz leapt at the beast, his fangs tearing into its throat. The blood fed his frenzy. He looked for a moment at his human allies, and then tore into the fray.

“That was … that was Oz, wasn’t it,” said Samantha. Riley only furrowed his brow. “Let’s push on,” he said. “We need to get to Buffy and Angel, see if we can pull our troops together.”

Oz could see them disappear into the melee, and he himself pushed toward the center of the conflict. Angel was savage now, his fangs bared, his face distorted and covered in blood. Oz was no longer sure who was on whose side. He pushed on. He could smell all of them, all his friends and enemies, all miraculously alive. That wouldn’t last.

Oz was running now, and all were so rapt in combat that none thought to stop him. The First-still wearing Wesley’s face—was at the center of the storm. Oz looked around, and could see traces of Los Angeles appearing. They were translucent, like a city of ghosts.

Dawn was unconscious, and Doc was tying Connor to a slab. Spike lay defeated at his feet. Oz growled.

“Ah, the werewolf,” said the First. “I see you escaped our trap, too. No matter. I suppose you’ll die fighting, too.”

Oz transformed into his human self, and the fighting around him stopped at the sight of him, standing calm and naked in the middle of a war.

“Nah,” said Oz, coolly. “You see, I think I’ve figured out a few things. I don’t think I’m going to fight you at all.” “What?” said the First. “I don’t understand.”

“You never did,” said a voice, emerging from a glowing portal beside them. Jasmine stepped forward, flanked by Justine, a very groggy Willow and the ghost of the real Wesley. “There are parts of this that neither of us understood.”

“I’m afraid you’ve been had,” said Wesley, watching the mirror of his face with great intent. “You speak through a part of me, true, but in that, a part of me also speaks through you.”

“What are you talking about, little ghost?” said the First, its voice growing increasingly low and inhuman.

“I did make arrangements before I died,” said Wesley, “I did have a sense of something coming.”

“So he reached out to me,” said Jasmine. “We set you up to bring our game pieces here.”

Willow strode toward Oz, quickly regaining her strength. Justine felt a twinge as the two clasped hands, Willow’s hair shifting color from red to white.

“We were always opposite numbers,” said Jasmine, to the First. “It’s why we strode the Earth at the same time not long ago. But we both represent forces that belittle mankind. They need to not be swayed by mere good or evil, but to move beyond us.”

“Keep your mind still, Oz,” said Willow. “The First feeds on violence. We’re chilling everyone out.”

The pair began to glow, and as the glow spread from them, the fighting fell to a standstill, monsters and heroes laying down their arms. Doc, screaming, leapt forward, swinging his sword, but Justine plowed her fist into his face, sending him flying.

Oz looked at her.

“OK, violent. But I did it coolly.”

Oz simply smiled, and laughed, and he felt the peace he held within himself spread, saw the First’s influence release his allies. Faith and Xander fell sweating onto the ground. Giles' face uncontorted as the demon left him. The monsters began to back away. The mark of the vampire fell from Angel’s face, and he stepped forward, toward Jasmine.

“This isn’t over, is it?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and her smile was tinged with heartbreak. It very much isn’t.”

And all eyes rose to the sky, which was filled with the visage of Amy Madison, pulling strands of time together in her hands.

Did I say forty parts earlier? Let's try forty-three. Ish.

Clapping.

Clapping

Thanks, but ending the world? Harder than it looks.

Worth the wait, then.