A Halloween to Remember (AHR)

The Coming Storm

Author: Forgotten Code <forgottencode96[at]hotmail.com>

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer or Angel the Series. They are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, WB and UPN. I'm merely giving them a little spin with my own ideas. The story however, is mine.

Pairings: None right now

Spoilers: Canon up until the end of season three, more or less, then AU.

Feedback: Please, please email me at forgottencode96@h... .

Notes: Please read the Prologue if you haven't yet. Otherwise the story will be a little hard to understand. Also, Xander will have a part in this story soon. He is a focal part to this series, just not yet.

Latest addition

The afternoon started as many had before and hopefully many would afterwards. It was a nice day - the sun was shining high in the sky, basking the cityfolk with its benevolent rays. The smog in the area was surprisingly thin for the time of day and the air felt clean when it was breathed in, tickling the wind pipes of many on the way down. All, and all, to the citizens of the City of Angels, life was looking up. The forecast was clear of rain, and it seemed that Southern California was in for some good times in the upcoming days.

However, to the few occupants of the Hyperion Hotel, things weren't exactly so cheery. Angel was sitting on a chair in the shadows of his office, drawing. He had long ago tuned out the noises of the room beyond his room's door, and was lightly shading the picture on the page. Though he had left Buffy and Sunnydale behind the year before, she was still very much in his thoughts, especially after the whole Faith going to prison episode. She had moved on and found a nice boy, she said, a normal boy. Angel, however, couldn't move on, and so he was left to sit quietly in his office, copying his memory of the blonde onto the page.

In fact, Angel looked to be perfectly at peace with his pencil lightly dusting the page. The scene outside his office was so different, it was almost comical. Wesley and Cordelia were arguing again. This had come to be a daily routine.

The two of them would rise in the morning, shower and dress and then descend the stairs to eat. They would arrive separately, Wesley always first, looking fresh as ever, to tackle the day, and then Cordelia, yawning, with a hand rubbing her tired eyes would appear a few moments later. Without acknowledging the other, they would move around the hotel's kitchen, collecting the items they wished to eat, and then sitting down to consume them.

Wesley's place was very clean, with his utensils meticulously lined up side by side and his plate in the center. His cup of coffee was always placed at a forty-five degree angle from the center of the dish. He would place each item and then leave the room, only to return with the newspaper underneath his arm. He then opened it up, briskly perusing the world news events, leaving the rest of the paper on the counter, near the stove. Sitting down, he would then eat with small breaks to read his news.

Cordelia on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. The way down the stairs, she looked like a zombie, her eyes staring straight ahead with no sense of life in them. However, as soon as she entered the kitchen, and smelled Wesley's coffee, she became a whirlwind of energy. Food flew from the cabinets and fridge onto her plate, which was haphazardly tossed on the table. She always drained at least one cup of the brown tinged brew before sitting down and gobbling down her food.

Afterwards, both would leave the room. They would eat entire meals without talking to each other, because the talking, and yelling, would happen later. The two would ascend the stairs and clean up before returning downstairs where the arguments would start. It was humorous how predictable the two were. Angel used their noise as an alarm clock, letting the ensouled vampire know it was around noon. They would argue about everything and anything, and sometimes nothing except for the sake of arguing.

Today of course, was no different. Angel winced involuntarily as Cordelia's voice spiked into her upper register. His peace and quiet shattered, he strained to listen to what they were saying.

"Your all powerful demon database is useless, Wesley! How could you have spent Angel Investigation's money on such a waste of space?! That money could have been used to give me a much deserved raise! You're always thinking about yourself and never about me," Cordelia whined, furious for whatever reason.

"Useless? The database isn't bloody useless, my dear. It is chalk full of relevant information that will aid us to accomplish our missions. As for your supposed raise, perhaps if you spent your time thinking about ways to upgrade the office like I have, instead of constantly thinking of yourself and your non-existent acting career, you might be surprised by the outcome."

"Non-existent acting career?! Excuse me? I'm just in a low point right now. You have no right, none whatsoever to make fun of me that way", she retorted.

Angel rubbed his eyes. This seemed like it would be a doozy. What a day this was turning out to be. He sighed and was about to return to his drawings when he heard Cordelia scream. At first he thought to dismiss it as part of the argument, but the scream was not one of anger, but of total anguish. Leaving his implements aside, Angel rushed from the room to find Wesley cradling Cordelia in his arms. She was thrashing around as Wesley made sure she didn't hit her head on the floor. As far as visions went, if the way it came was any indication, this one wasn't going to be fun at all.


The Demon Lord Azrael was having a good day. The demons at the council he had called had been receptive to his idea, and he had entered the concrete planning stage. A couple of them had even given him good ideas on how to proceed. He spent most of the early part of the day doing what he enjoyed the most - the tormenting of innocent souls that had slipped through the cracks and ended up in Hell. Eventually the bookkeepers in Heaven realized their mistakes, but by that point, the souls were sufficiently corrupted that they wouldn't fit into the blandness of Heaven anyways. Once done, the Demon Lord returned to his Cathedral to begin putting his plan into motion.

Azrael peered into a large pool of blackish liquid and mumbled the words to a spell. His plan had many complexities and was one that surely the so called "Forces of Good" would attempt to stop. The first item on his agenda, this day, was to find exactly who was being notified on Earth, so he could send the appropriate team to deal with them. The spell he had cast was to wait until someone received a vision from the Powers that Be and then pinpoint the exact location of that seer. She or he would appear, with their surroundings, in the pool for his viewing pleasure. Since he didn't know exactly when the vision was to be sent, he sat down upon a chair made of various human bones and waited.

He waited patiently for the equivalent of two Earth hours before the liquid began to swirl. Azrael smiled and peered into the pool, as the water churned into an image. He was looking at the inside of an American household. A normal looking family was eating dinner and the man of the house was saying grace when suddenly his wife started to rub her head and moan in pain. Her husband looked on in concern as she began to thrash around, whimpering. The water swirled again and the scene changed.

This time, Azrael found himself looking inside an Earthly church. The priest was in the middle of mass, spouting doctrine like only a holy man could. His audience was quiet, all sitting or standing enraptured by what he had to say. And then, the vision started. At first the priest began to sputter a little, as if he was forgetting the words. Questioning mummers rippled throughout the audience. The priest fell to his knees, grasping at his head. Silence enveloped the room for a split second before the altar boys came running to his aid. He collapsed to the ground, as the parishioners started to speak in worried tones. The water swirled again and the scene changed.

The pictures were appearing and disappearing faster now, so that only a glimpse of the seers was possible. First an old homeless man, then a young waitress, and then a police officer. After that point, it was impossible to see the images at all for they were one big blur of multicoloured water. Azrael was shocked at the scene in front of him. Anyone who has existed for millennia is in fact surprised by very little, and if the being is a Demon Lord or Archangel, even less. There had to be something wrong with the spell. Azrael checked to make sure he had done everything right, but it was a simple incantation, one he had cast many a time before and he knew nothing was off in the casting. But then, how would this effect have happened?

Azrael knew there were at most a hundred or so seers up on Earth and yet he had just witnessed thousands, it not millions of humans getting visions. How was this possible?

"Blasted Powers," he whispered quietly. In the past, the so called Powers that Be had been easy to outsmart. All it required was careful planning and his extensive skills in the matter. This time, however, the tables were turned. The humans in pain continued to flash on the scrying pool and Azrael felt his supernatural calm, draining into a slowly burning rage.

He lept to his feet and with a growl, pushed over the pedestal and the pool above it. The force given toppled the piece to the ground where it shattered, and the water, still flashing with images on it's decent, splashed everywhere, ending the spell. Azrael cursed in some forgotten demon tongue as his rage grew. His eyes became a mask of fury and anger. After kicking the remains one last time, he strode from the room. He had to find something to do to calm down. As he strode from his Cathedral, he thought of just the thing. He almost pitied the poor soul that was going to feel the wrath of a Demon Lord.

Chapter 2

Cordelia's screaming, moaning and thrashing continued for quite some time. Wesley just held her, cradling her head in one hand and the rest of her in his other like a man holding a fragile priceless piece of art. Angel was pacing. At first he had kneeled down next to her, trying to help Wesley out, but quickly realizing it was pointless he stood up. This vision was taking a long time to finish. Usually they took a moment or two and then Cordelia was babbling about what she had seen, while Angel and Wesley tried to make heads or tails of it.

This one however was different for some reason. Angel's thoughts were interrupted by the noise of the radio. He hadn't noticed it being on before, with the arguments and then Cordelia's current situation. He also surely didn't remember anyone using it earlier – strange. Seeing that Cordelia for the moment was resting in Wesley's arms, Angel decided to listen to whatever station was currently on. What he heard would have caught the breath in his thought, if he indeed needed to breathe.

"This is Brody Rogers from CKGF 900 News. If you're just tuning in, something unexplainable has just happened. Somehow, people all over Los Angeles are having seizures. No word in yet, on what the cause of this epidemic is. The victims of this strange occurrence have been described as healthy men and women of many different ages, who do not have epilepsy or a similar disorder." The voice paused for a moment. "This just in. It seems that these seizures aren't limited to Los Angeles, but are taking place all over the country. I promise you, listeners, that as soon as I get more details, the first people to hear about it, will be you."

Angel listened, mouth agape. How was this possible? There was only one seer in the Los Angeles area that Angel knew of, and she was in the next room, and yet it sounded as if hundreds or thousands of people were getting the vision. What the hell was going on?

The most important thing at the moment however, was not that many people were having vision-like symptoms. No, the only one that mattered right now was Cordelia Chase, who at some point while he was listening to the radio had stopped screaming. In fact she was totally still. Wesley was brushing the hair out of her eyes whispering words of encouragement that Angel's vampire hearing allowed him to hear. "You're strong, Cordelia. Come on. You can break out of this vision. Come on, Cordelia, please, you can do it."

Angel almost laughed. He knew in the past Wesley had had something for the brunette ex-cheerleader, and Cordelia needing someone to fill the void when Xander had hurt her, reciprocated some of those feelings. It made sense in a way. With all the amount of arguing they did, they acted somewhat like a married couple. A smile came to Angel's lips. His thoughts started to swirl about the two in front of him, and turned back to the journalist's report on the radio.

Now that Cordelia's vision seemed to be over, Angel decided he'd like to speak to some of the thousands of vision-victims, just to see what they saw. Perhaps it could help to bring new light to the details that Cordelia would give as soon as she woke up from the state she was currently in. The ensouled vampire sighed. He knew each person who had been affected would be brought to hospitals and under watch from the authorities, except Cordelia of course, because she was a seer. Angel knew he could force his way into a hospital room, but these weren't demons or someone he could intimidate into giving information – these were the people he was trying to protect.

He would have to do this the normal, legal way, and the only way he knew to do that was to use Kate Locksley. Unfortunately since Kate's father had been killed, she was blaming all her problems on Angel. Getting a favour out of her would not be an easy task – perhaps it wasn't worth the potential benefits of the information he would learn. But regardless, it was something to think about. Calling Kate – there was something he never thought he'd do again. It was almost humorous how the Powers that Be were constantly throwing his life into these blasted loops.

He was brought back to the present by Wesley's voice. "You can do it, Cordelia. However bad this vision is, we'll deal with it. I promise. That's what we do, remember? We help the helpless. That was your idea, that catch phrase, remember? Come on, Cordelia, wake up, please." He was repeating basically the same words, over and over and over again. He voice was quiet, but thanks to Angel's vampiric senses, he could hear it just fine. Wesley was in the middle of his mantra when Cordelia moaned and cracked open her eyes, tentatively at first, as if she had never seen the light of day before. Wesley's whisperings stopped as Cordelia blinked a few times to clear her vision and then shook her head, seemingly like she was clearing the cobwebs of a long-forgotten room.

She seemed confused for a moment, as if she didn't know where she was, and looked around, taking in the fact that she was in Wesley's arms and that Angel was watching intently. She tried to sit up, but every fiber in her being exploded into pain, and she winced, but didn't move.

"Wesley?" she managed to whisper, "can you lift me off the floor? As fun as lying on the floor is, I'd like to sit down and maybe have a cup of coffee? Don't worry about the vision. I don't think I'll ever forget this one."

Wesley looked down at her for a few minutes, his brain trying to comprehend that she had spoken politely to him, of all things. The vision must have been a bad one, for her to have a change in character like this. "I would be glad to, Cordelia." He picked up the seer, carefully, adjusting his arms to support her properly and carried her into Angel's office, since he had the most comfortable chair. He placed her down on the seat and once she seemed to be all right, left to get her coffee. Angel stepped into his office and took a seat, not saying a thing – just observing.

Once Wesley had returned, Cordelia took a sip of the caffeinated brew and sighed contently. Wesley picked up a notebook and prepared to copy down the contents of the vision.

Cordelia breathed in through her nose and began to speak – hesitantly at first and then once she caught her groove, more smoothly. "There was a church, a big one – with a high ceiling, and artwork, there's a name for it," she paused and Wesley said, "a cathedral?"

"Yeah, a cathedral. The vision took place there. But this place was nowhere I've ever seen before and the artwork was disgusting, like ew. It looked like people were hanging from the ceiling and blood was all over the place, not somewhere I'd want to go, ever." Though no one else noticed, at this description, Angel blanched, his skin becoming paler than usual.

"And it was filled with demons and gross things with tentacles and slime, and yuck. And there was a man-looking thing talking to them. He looked a little like Nick Nolte, except his skin was green or something. I got the feeling he wasn't a very good guy. A voice, maybe one of the demons, called him The Fallen." She stopped for a moment to breathe. "Then the scene changed. I saw Sunnydale all over again, except the nightlife was stronger than usual. Lots of death, and blood and things that make me want to go ew. But something was missing – it was like the air didn't smell right or something, and then I woke up."

Wesley shook his head. "The Fallen? Can't say I've ever heard of a demon or anything else known as that. Angel, how about you?" Angel didn't hear anything Wesley had to say however. His brain was trying to process what Cordelia had said. He had been subject to many events during his tenure as Champion to the Powers that Be, but nothing like this. He would have to speak to Kate, no matter how much he didn't want to. The Fallen – that was a name he never wanted to hear again. It was a name that meant torture, pain and worst of all what had transpired almost two years ago. Ignoring everything around him, Angel was brought back to the mansion that terrible night – when Angelus had attempted to activate Acathla and end the world.


Cut to the mansion. Buffy raises her sword to dispatch Angelus, but stays herself when he suddenly gasps loudly and groans in pain. She sees his eyes glow bright red for an instant and go back dark. He looks up at her, but quickly collapses to the floor, crying. Buffy stares down at him, but still holds her sword raised behind her. Angel raises himself back up, his eyes heavy with tears, and looks into her eyes.

Angel: (softly) Buffy? (sobs) What's going on?

She just looks at him, confused but not yet ready to lower the sword. He looks around a bit and gets to his feet.

Angel: Where are we? I-I don't remember.

Finally Buffy realizes that the curse has worked, and she slowly lowers her sword.

Buffy: (softly) Angel?

Angel: (sees her wound) You're hurt.

She looks down at her wound and feels his gentle touch on her arm. She ignores her cut, looks back up at him and steps closer. He embraces her tightly.

Angel: Oh, Buffy... God.

She still isn't completely sure that it's true, but accepts the hug.

Angel: I... I feel like I haven't seen you in months.

Finally she accepts it, closes her eyes and breathes out a deep sigh.

Angel: Oh, my God, everything's so muddled. I...

He holds her even more closely.

Angel: Oh...

He sighs deeply and kisses her on the shoulder.

Angel: Oh, Buffy...

She cries into his shoulder and hugs him back. Behind him Acathla lets out a low rumble. Buffy opens her eyes and stares in shock as Acathla's face contorts. His brows angle down, his eyes glow red, his mouth opens grotesquely and the swirling vortex to Hell opens, small at first, but growing steadily in size and emanating a deep, red glow. Buffy lets go of Angel and looks up into his face.

Angel: (confused) What's happening?

Buffy: (whispers reassuringly) Shh. Don't worry about it.

She brushes her fingers over his lips and across his cheek. She lays her hand on his cheek and kisses him softly. He returns the kiss, and it becomes more passionate. Behind them the vortex has grown to about five feet across and continues to get larger. Buffy breaks off the kiss and looks deeply into Angel's eyes.

Buffy: (whispers) I love you.

Angel: (whispers) I love you.

She touches his lips with her fingers again.

Buffy: Close your eyes.

She nods reassuringly, and he closes his eyes. She tries hard not to start crying, and kisses him again gently. She steps back, draws back her sword and thrusts it into his chest. His eyes whip open in surprise and pain, and a bright light emanates from the sword. She steps away from him. He reaches out to her and looks down at the sword thrust completely through him. He looks at her imploringly, completely bewildered by this turn of events. She can only stare at the sword protruding from his chest, and slowly steps further back.

Angel: Buffy...

Behind him the power of the sword begins to swirl into the vortex. Buffy steps further back, still looking only at the sword in his chest and not into his face. The vortex has enlarged to about twelve feet across, and the two energies begin to interact. Angel still holds out his hand to Buffy. When the vortex finally meets him it suddenly closes into Acathla's mouth without so much as a spark, taking him with it.


Cordelia's invocation of The Fallen brought back more memories than just the fateful night – it brought back his memories from Hell. He remembered one moment particularly in detail – it would be burnt into his mind until even after his time on Earth was finished – waking up chained to an altar of black marble – his bonds magically enhanced to stop him from escaping and the face of his tormentor looking down on him with the eyes of a predator. Angel had never been one to be afraid of much and Angelus even less, but that look terrified both him and the demon he was sharing a body with.

"To find the vampire with a soul, in Hell of all places! What a treat this will be. Oh, where are my manners. My name is Azrael."


Chapter 3

That name, Azrael, was familiar, Angel thought. But now wasn't the time to ponder; it was the moment to escape. The ensouled vampire channeled every ounce of his super strength into his arms to break the chains. He was hoping they would shatter and he would either fight or flee from his tormentor. Already the wheels were turning in his head, creating the skeleton of a plan, when the chains didn't budge at all. It was like a six year old human child was trying to break the chains – his power had the same effect, that is to say, none. Angel felt the fight slip out of him as he resigned himself to accept his fate. Until something changed to give him a chance to escape, he was stuck here in the care of this Azrael.

It was then that Angel realized his captor was laughing. In fact, he had likely been laughing for a long time now, while the vampire was struggling with his bonds. While his thoughts were focusing on a plan, he hadn't realized it. Angel frowned and waited for his host of sorts to calm down. It didn't take long – a moment later, the predatory mask had slipped, once again, over Azrael's features.

"Now that your futile, but expected escape attempt is over, perhaps we can get down to business. I'm very interested to hear how the great Angel, only member of the soul-bearing vampire club, and protector of humankind is here in Hell. I'd like you to tell me, in your own words of course, what happened to you."

Azrael's tone infuriated Angel. He was speaking as if talking to a friend on a quiet walk in the park. This demon had no fear of the vampire at all, and was talking as if Angel were a pet, one who automatically answered anything requested of it. "That's none of your business. You won't get anything from me."

That answer turned into another pitch of laughter from the tormentor. "Ah, good. You won't give up easily. I was wondering if this little game would be amusing or not, but now I know it will be. Great. Let's see what I need to do to convince you." Azrael smirked at his captive and stood up. He brought his hands together and flexed them, cracking the knuckles. For a moment, he was lost in thought, pondering what method of interrogation he should use. His eyes flickered to a set of torture instruments, but he shook his head. His guest was a special case and should be handled with something he had wanted to try for a while.

Recalling the words to a powerful, but little used spell, Azrael spoke the phrases in the tongue of Angels. From a higher being, the language was beautiful. Those who heard it would always imagine their greatest fantasies becoming reality and they would play out in the listener's heads. However from the mouth of Azrael, the words were transformed into a twisted, evil hybrid. His words brought the same desires to mind, but this time as the situations played out, every time the listener's worst fear would be drawn into their fantasies, leaving scarred memories and dreams.

As Azrael chanted the words for the spell, his hands began to pulse a pure blue colour. A moment later, the incantation finished. He stalked towards his captive, standing behind where Angel's head lay. He whispered, "I'd say this won't hurt a bit, but then I'd be lying." With a smirk, he touched the tip of his fingers to the sides of Angel's head. The blue colour flashed and then transferred itself into Angel's skin, where it buried deep inside the vampire's brain. Azrael waited a moment and then a horrible scream was released from Angel's throat. Azrael smiled, closed his eyes and waited.

Angel had never felt anything like this. Even in all the years that Angelus controlled their shared body, he had never seen or heard of this effect. His brain was getting eated from the inside of his skull. He couldn't feel anything – except pure, blinding pain. It came from everywhere, and it was both constant and sudden. A dull ache grafted itself to his consciousness. It felt like someone was digging out one of his eyes, but that wasn't the worst part of it. Jabs of extreme, mind-blowing agony echoed through his head at random intervals, so there were impossible to prepare for.

Images started appearing – pictures Angel thought had been forever buried in the hidden sections of his mind. Portraits of actions and times Angel didn't want to remember, but now found himself watching, while dreading the next one that would flash in his mind.

Azrael smiled. At last the spell was taking effect. It would take the most hidden memories of the victim and play them like a movie inside the caster's mind. The thoughts portrayed would either be events the target wanted to forget or those he or she wanted to cherish and remember forever. Though he had never found the right opportunity to use this power before, Azrael was certain it would give him an understanding of the creature on the altar. Whether Angel would talk or not to attempt to end the pain, he would find the answers he sought deep within the recesses of the vampire's mind.

Angel shuddered as the images began to coallesque in his mind from flashes to something tangible. At the same moment, Azrael smiled and waited for the scenes to play out.


Angelus was standing in a room that had once been part of a happy home. The stupid humans had believed him and Spike to be preachers of some sort and had no problem inviting their death inside. He was watching them die, humming a happy tune. The master of the family, a hardworking man in his forties had been crucified on the stairwell. The man was still alive, but with the iron spikes that Drusilla's childe had hammered into his hands and feet, he wouldn't be breathing for long. His breaths came in short gasps, as he prayed for salvation. Angelus chuckled and turned his eyes to the next victim.

The man's wife was chained to a bedpost. She had not been harmed yet, but her eyes were being forced open by an iron contraption one of Angelus' minions had created. That vampire showed promise. Perhaps had he exhibited similar ideas as a mortal, he would be more of the minion he currently was. The wife was weaping as she watched her family got butchered.

Lastly came the child. This had been Angelus' masterpiece of the evening, and perhaps one of his best works of art yet. The family had a wooden stove in the kitchen. As it was nighttime, the embers were still burning slightly from the day's supper meal. The baby was sleeping contently in it's crib when Angelus carefully picked it up, making sure the child didn't awaken. The wife had whimpered when she saw what was going to happen, but was powerless to stop it. The prayers of the two mortals began to escalate, but God wasn't going to help them, and they watched as Angelus placed the baby inside the wooden stove.

Angelus pulled forth a match from his pockets and relit the smoldering embers. The couple screamed in agony as they caught fire and soon the child's wails joined them as he began to be burnt alive. Angelus smiled and turned to the wife, deciding on how her fate would be sealed.


Angel was cramped inside a dark alleyway watching Buffy as she walked up the stairs at Hemery High, chatting with her friends. It had only been a few weeks since Whistler had found the ensouled vampire a mess, as he tried to come to terms with the guilt of his actions of a soulless demon. He knew Buffy had been called – he had watched her first fight with the undead with anticipation, and found himself following her from afar, to protect her if needbe, which he secretly hoped he wouldn't have to do. He wasn't ready to speak with her yet. He needed time. This was new to Angel, and when the moment arrived, he didn't want to ruin it.

The blonde beauty was chatting with her friends as they slowly walked up the stairs to enter the school. Angel knew he soon wouldn't be able to see her anymore and would have to wait in his place of hiding until nightfall. For her it was worth it and he contently watched over her. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, even if she was a little young – he knew she would blossom into a perfect woman. He just had to make sure she reached that stage.

He felt for her. Being introduced to the undead was never something humans took easily. There was always the moment of denial, as what you were seeing or hearing was impossible – a trick of the light or an illusion, before the truth dawned on the spectator. Angel had never had a chance to feel that, Darla had made sure of that. His introduction to the creatures of the night had come instants before his own death. But Buffy was being thrown into it in a less precarious situation. He felt for her, but he knew she would make it through all right. With his help of course. But for now, all he could do was watch and protect the new Slayer from afar.


Angelus was standing inside a church confessional. He had merely come here to terrify and then later kill the priest here, a man who testified that faith alone would defeat the monsters of the world. But in coming here he had been introduced to a girl who captured his lust. She was an innocent, and one who got visions from the powers of good. And yet, what did these sightings give her? Nothing at all. She was called crazy even by those who should have loved her. But her innocence was like a powerful aphrodisiac that Angelus knew he had to have. As he parted words with her in his guise as the priest, he decided then and there that this girl, this Drusilla, would become his first childe and newest member of the Order of Aurelias.


Angel gasped in terror. "I give, I give. Stop the pain and I will tell you what you want to hear." His lips had cracked from the pressure and blood streamed down his face. The agony reached the point of near unconsciousness. And then the pain filtered away until there was nothing left but an empty space. It seemed the feeling had been there forever, when it maybe was only an hour. Now that it was gone, Angel felt something was missing. He tried to remember the memories that had been shown and found them gone. He could still remember the general events, but the details were no longer there. Tears began to leak from his eyes and mix with the blood on his face – good or bad, those memories were part of him and now they were fading away, leaving a void where they had been.

Azrael nodded in appreciation at his victim. Angel had lasted an hour, quite a long time considering the nature of the pain. He decided then that he would let the ensouled vampire go, eventually, once his fun was over. After all, this creature would prove to be an interesting watch once he was free of Azrael grasp. Using one of his nails, he cut off a piece of Angel's hair, but did it softly, so the vampire wouldn't notice. It was much easier to scry on someone if you had a piece of them. Placing the hair away in his component pouch, he sat down on a chair made of human bones and began to interrogate his prisoner.


It was both Wesley's and Cordelia's pleading that eventually broke Angel out of his flashback. He shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, I was just thinking. That name, the Fallen, brought back memories I didn't want to ever remember."

Wesley glanced at Angel with a look of anticipation. "I see. Well, unfortunately we need to know as much as possible about our adversary. If you know anything about this Fallen, It would be best if you told us about it."

Angel sighed. He knew as soon as Cordelia mentionned that name he would have to talk about his time in Hell, but he was dreading it all the same. Recanting his experiences there almost required him to go through them all over again – each agony and each horror one by one.

Angel shook his head slightly. "I'll speak of my time in Hell. Perhaps it would be best if Cordelia doesn't listen to this, some of it is quite violent and bloody and I don't think she'll be able to take it."

Cordelia goggled at this, "Hello? Right here. It can't be as bad as some of the stuff I saw in that vission." She stopped to shudder before continuing. "I want to know what the Powers have gotten us into this time. So I'm staying. And there's nothing you can do about it."

Her intense glare almost caused Angel to smile. Instead, he nodded slowly and making sure Wesley had his notepad out (he did), began to tell his tale. He spoke for quite some time, answering Wesley's questions while Cordelia's expressions showed her feelings for some of the more disgusting parts. As he continued, his thoughts began to relive the events of that terrible time.


Azrael smiled as Angel finished speaking. The Demon Lord had asked no questions and said nothing while the vampire spoke. Angel found himself telling this creature his innermost secrets. He knew he had said he would speak his mind, but he found himself unable to lie at all. Whoever this Azrael was, he was powerful indeed and Angel hoped when he escaped this predicament, he would be able to avoid this creature until his existence was over. He just knew there was no hope in killing this one – he didn't know how he knew that, he just did.

Once Angel was done, Azrael spoke, "What a positively lovely story, Angel. A vampire in love with a Slayer, I have to say, I'm impressed. I'll bet the others of your kind are disgusted with you, but then I don't think you care. And the end of your story, how sad, that your lover had to kill you to stop the world from ending? I should send her a thank you card." He chuckled a little before continuing. "Ah, Acathla. What a fool he was. All about ending the world and all that. Couldn't he see that humans are so much more amusing to watch as it is now? Were they here, we would eventually get bored of tormenting them."

Azrael rolled his eyes. "Acathla was always such a nuisance. The others at least understood the Covenant." Angel perked up at this. Why was Azrael mentionning all this? He looked at the Demon Lord and saw the creature wasn't looking at him any longer, but longingly into space. Perhaps he would continue to divulge information. Angel kept listening.

"Turned to stone you say? That's why I couldn't scry him. I thank you Angel. Perhaps I will turn you free after all. I had been wondering what happened to my erstwhile brother."

With that, he turned to Angel, picking up a sharp looking tool on the way. "However, I am not done with you yet." A moment later the vampire's screams echoed through the unholy cathedral.


Angel shuddered and stood up, his recollection complete. Azrael had kept him chained there for a long time, perhaps years on Earth until he found a new plaything. Angel had been able to escape, but was unable to save the newer soul the Fallen had chosen next. He sighed and cleared his head. The other occupants of the table were looking at him with terror etched on their faces.

Wesley was the first to break the silence. "A brother of Acathla. I don't know what to say. Perhaps if Acathla was defeated, this Fallen can be defeated as well? I will have to research these possibilities. If you'll excuse me, I have some research to do." With that the ex-Watcher and current rogue demon hunter stood up and left the room.

Cordelia just stared at Angel with an expression of anguish. "Next time I want to hear something you don't want me to hear, order me not to, ok?" She stood up and left as well, mumbling under her breath, "I didn't sign up for this. Why couldn't I just be a successful actress? Argh."

Angel sighed and found a bottle of whiskey. Breaking the seal, he downed about a quarter of the bottle before pulling up for air he didn't need. The liquid burnt slightly on the way down and somehow made him feel a smidgen better. He sat down at his desk and recapped the bottle. The day had begun so regularly. But then the vision and Angel turned storyteller, speaking of the one tale he never wished on anyone, and now, now he had to call Kate. Lovely. Swearing quietly in Gaelic, Angel picked up the phone.