For Tomorrow We Die
The world is an interesting place. Humanity is even more so. It boggles the mind, really, that those who dwell upon this earth could even retain a concept of ‘fair.’ Across the world and across all of history, life and nature have extracted their price for the continued existence of this species, and yet most of mankind is ignorant of even the simple fact that the price exists, much less who pays it. Somehow, they continue to see nature as innocent and harmless; and continue to imagine that life could possibly be fair. People are indeed foolish.
Nature is neither good nor evil; it simply is. And it maintains a balance; good and evil hanging forever poised on a delicate scale. Both strive constantly to achieve dominance in this world, somehow failing to grasp the simple truth that such can never be. For there must always be balance, no matter what the cost. Evil without Good cannot grow; Good without Evil stagnates. What if the balance tips? All is destroyed then; rendered down into the chaos from whence it first came. And so both Evil and Good pay a constant price for their existence: the continued existence of their counterpart.
I am the guardian of Chaos; the deep whirlpool at the galaxy’s center from whence all came, and to whence all shall return. I am the keeper of the balance; sworn to guard Chaos and prevent it’s return. Usually I simply sit and watch, for Good and Evil are near equally matched, and they maintain the balance simply by striving with each other, but it is not always so. And when the balance tips I MUST restore it, no matter what. Sometimes this means striking down those who uphold evil, and sometimes those who champion good. So it was that I came to this world, on the very edge of the galaxy. For here the balance had shifted, and the effect was felt throughout the universe. What was to be done was clear, and necessary. One death. Just one, and it would prevent the destruction of all that was. With a sigh that was all the regret I could permit myself, I entered the small house that stood so innocently, so near a gateway into Hell itself.
The Slayer’s room was a tangle of shadows; the wind lashed branches of the tree outside the window casting their weird shapes across the bed and its tiny occupant. Shifting lightly in the grip of some dream or another, she appeared a normal, innocent girl; as unaware of the terrors that filled the night as any other. But one glimpse of her face, even sleeping, told a different story; this was no sheltered, helpless child– rather it was the face of a warrior who’d grown up long before her time, the face of one who’d faced trials and heartache such as none should ever know. The watcher studied the sleeping child coldly, impersonally, no emotion at all registering on her still visage. None ever did, or ever had. Yet within– something wept for the prices exacted by heartless necessity upon this child, and that same something was coldly furious that it was her very selflessness and willingness to pay those prices that had summoned her here tonight.
::In truth, child, you have brought this upon yourself. You did nothing wrong– and that itself is why the pattern now demands your death. I feel no regret for this –such is not my nature– but truly, you deserved better.::
A whispered moan from the sleeping figure drew her attention back to the bed, and with a long mumbled sentence ending with "Angel....please...Ang..." Neither compassion nor regret were part of the Guardian’s makeup, but curiosity was, to some extent. With only a slight hesitation she gently reached out and touched the young Slayer’s thoughts... and jerked upright with an almost-unsuppressed exclamation of pain.
::No one NO one should hold that much agony within them,:: she thought grimly. Compassion was something she could never comprehend, but something deep within her immortal heart still protested. Looking out at the sun peaking over the horizon, she reached a decision. ::Very well, then. What must be will be, but I give you what I can. Till tomorrow’s dawn, Slayer; one day in which to live your dreams. One day, and then the price comes due.:: Reaching down, she brushed her fingers lightly across the girl’s face, imparting her message and all its import directly to her mind. ::Hate me if you will; I serve necessity only– and have done more for you than I have ever done for any other. And just this once, live before you die.::
Chapter 1:
A harsh wind cut through the town of Sunnydale, quiet now that dawn had as good as arrived. It blew past a run-down mansion at the edge of town and in among the houses till at last it whispered past the bedroom curtains of one Buffy Summers, the Slayer. As the wind died away, she stirred, gradually at first, then she sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide with fear. Skin near white from shock she trembled violently, struggling to convince herself that it had been a dream or– or something. But she couldn’t, not even momentarily. As she desperately tried to focus, for some reason all she could see were her hands, white across the knuckles, clenched so tightly in the covers that she could feel her fingers going numb.
Staring at those hands that had killed so many, protected even more, and given up so much for others, her mind could only whisper, over and over, ::Not fair, notfair, notfairnotfairnotfair– :: Shaking her head sharply, she drew in a shuddering breath and managed to regain at least a semblance of control over her wayward thoughts. ::So this is what it comes to,:: she thought bitterly. ::All those years... busting my ass... fighting when all I wanted was to lay down and die... and now they tell me that I have to. Well isn’t this just peachy. Who the hell are they–:: she stopped, knowing just how futile that course of reasoning was. The sheer inhumanity of the figure she remembered, the utter lack of anything resembling regret or compassion–
::Why didn’t she just kill me? She still will; why let me agonize over it all fucking day, just to kill me in a few hours? Why the hell– :: She stopped suddenly, as half-remembered words drifted back into her consciousness, and with a startling clarity she understood. Not the motivation of the ghastly figure, but rather, just what it was she’d given her.
*::Very well, then. What must be will be, but I give you what I can. Till tomorrow’s dawn, Slayer; one day in which to live your dreams. One day, and then the price comes due.::
::Hate me if you will; I serve necessity only– and have done more for you
than I have ever done for any other. And just this once, live before you
die.::*
::Oh my God. She– :: the young Slayer couldn’t even finish the thought; no words would come. All she could see was him. His face, his image, his love, which she had been told she could never have. As she dazedly pulled on a coat and left her house, not even thinking to close the door behind her, the only coherency she could achieve was a vague puzzlement that she could truly feel gratitude towards the one who had promised to take her life.
The furnishings of the room really didn’t suit the house’s exterior; looking at the opulent mansion, one would likely have expected the interior to be similarly extravagant. Truth be told, in some rooms it was, but this was not one of them. The furnishings were spare, almost Puritan in their plainness and functionality. The bed was no exception; except for the lush crimson velvet covers and the barely-visible silk of the ebon sheets, it was as plain as the room that held it.
The same could not be said for the man who slept there. Heavy drapes shrouded the room in a gloom more appropriate to a funeral hall– yet upon closer examination of the sleeping man, it seemed much more fitting. He lay as one dead, from his too-pale skin to his absolute stillness, the image of an artist’s masterwork, rather than a man. The illusion was shattered, then, by movement; a faint stirring, a fluttering of dark lashes, a slight clenching and unclenching of his fist. As he slid deeper into the grip of whatever dream held him, his movement increased; now his head lashed to the side, and his fingers seemed to almost reach out to something– something that remained perpetually beyond his grip. No human could have heard the whispered words that brushed past his lips, but the soft silver presence that shaded the room could.
"Buf– please... no, don’t please..." It was heartrending, the pain in that whispered plea. A sound to make an angel weep. The eyes of the watcher, barely visible through the dusky silver she cloaked herself with, were unchanged. There was a shimmer, as if of the raising of an incorporeal hand, and for a moment the silvery radiance grew stronger. Then the figure was gone, leaving behind a vampire too wrapped in private pain to have ever noticed her presence.
Below, the door of the mansion creaked open and a single small figure entered. Still dazed, Buffy barely had the presence of mind to remember to close the door behind her. She felt so lost –alone– and it had never even occurred to her to tell her mother, or Giles, or anyone where she was going. They’d probably worry, she reflected absently as she ascended the stairs with the kind of inhuman stealth that she never even noticed, let alone thought about. Somehow, the thought of worrying her friends and family didn’t faze her any longer.
::Soon, it’ll be irrelevant anyway. Why tell them? They don’t need to know I’m dying. Besides, I’ve lived only for others for years now; and on my last fucking day, I’m going to live for me.:: Surely that much, at least, was owed her. She tried, but couldn’t escape the thought, ::It’s the least they can do.::
Reaching the door of the room where Angel usually slept, she opened it noiselessly, and, when she saw her vampiric lover, slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Now, suddenly, she had no idea how to proceed. How was she going to approach him? What if he didn’t believe her? A sickening thought struck her. ::What if he just doesn’t want me?:: The two of them had never really discussed the events that had occurred while he’d been soulless; he’d clearly been uncomfortable with the entire subject, and she hadn’t been particularly eager herself. But what he’d said a while back about the nature of vampires had struck a nerve.
::How much of what –he– said was just a demon’s cruelty? Angel would never have said the things he did, true, but– God, the number of women he must have been with. Honestly, how well could I have compared?:: All but trembling with uncertainty now, she turned to leave, eyes burning with unshed tears. Stumbling towards the door, she bumped against the low table set against the wall. Any human would never have noticed. Angel’s eyes snapped open.
Sitting up, slightly dazed, he looked at her in inquiry. "Buff– what’re you doing here?" Already slightly confused, his eyes narrowed to slits when she didn’t answer, but, rather, just huddled against the doorframe. Then he heard the near-inaudible sounds of her tears. That was enough to draw him to his feet, and he quickly went to her side. "Baby," he whispered, "what’s wrong?"
Silent sobbing.
"Buffy," he all but pleaded. Helplessly, he gripped her shoulders and turned her unresisting form to face him. Gently, he lifted her chin and brushed gently at the salty trails of water that trickled across her cheeks. "Please, baby," he begged, "tell me. What is it?"
Despite the growing dread within him, he wasn’t prepared for her reaction. With a wail of grief, she threw herself against him, clutching his shoulders and burying her face against his chest. Part of him was disgusted by the fact that, even now, in a situation like this, he could still feel desire, but the rest of him was far too absorbed in holding the sobbing Slayer and trying to deciper the incoherent choked-out words she was crying.
When he succeeded, his eyes shot open, and he jerked back in mingled shock and horror. "*Die*?!?!"
More to come……..