A Buffy the Vampire Slayer YAHF
by P.H. Wise
Prologue: The Dark Before...
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is Joss Whedon's baby, and belongs to Mutant Enemy. I am not Joss Whedon. No copyright infringement is intended; please don't sue me. I'm not making any money off of this. This story contains spoilers for the final episode of Angel.
In the alleyway behind the Hyperion, death was everywhere.
Demon carcasses lined the alleyway from front to back, with so much blood and gore coating the pavement that it could scarcely be recognized for what it was. The demon corpses got thicker and closer together the further into the alleyway one cared to look, until near the very end they were piled up one on top of another so high that there seemed a mountain of the festering dead. The rain fell, and the gore and the blood mixed with rainwater began to flow into the street.
There, beyond the mountain of corpses, at the very end of the alleyway, a well dressed young man of African descent lay dead. Next to him, two piles of ashes had been long since turned to a thin film of mud and washed away by the pounding rain. And at the forefront, where the demonic remains ended and the remnant of the dead Champions began, Illyria lay dead.
It should have ended there; it should have ended with the unnoticed end of the ensouled vampires, the death of a young lawyer with a troubled past but a bright future now cruelly cut short, and the death of Ages of knowledge, and of an endless thirst for conquest.
But that's only the beginning of the story.
In a terrible flash of chaotic energies, a man appeared in the alleyway. His brazen act of undisguised time-traveling set off magical alarms from San Francisco to Moscow, but he cared little for the temporal monitoring of Wolfram and Hart. He would be gone long before anyone came to investigate. He had dark hair and a cruel face, and was dressed well enough, though his nice clothes were now quickly becoming soaked with the blood of demons. This man was Ethan Rayne.
Ethan looked over the bodies with a practiced eye, and shook his head in disappointment. Then his eye fell upon the body Illyria, and he brightened considerably. He strode across the mountain of bodies and hopped down to kneel beside her carcass. Without any sign of emotion, he set to work stripping her body. Once that grim task was completed, paying no heed to the nude corpse at his feet, he held up the mottled leather catsuit that he had stripped from her, and inspected it very carefully. At last, he smiled. "Yes, this will do," he said. "This will do nicely." With the catsuit in hand, he uttered a word of power, and vanished in a swirl of chaotic energies.
The story should have ended in that alleyway. But some people just can't leave well enough alone.
Author's notes: The devil made me do it. Well, Joehundredaire, actually, but close enough, yes? He made me a challenge, and the plot-bunny grew, and nibbled, and looked so adorable that I finally had to give in. Yes, this is Yet Another Halloween Fic. So far as I know this particular variation has not been done before. If the very thought of what's going on in this fic hurts your brain, well, it hurts mine too. I can only plead insanity.