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The Slayer at the End of the World
©2005 Evenstar



Chapter 1

The peaceful sound of birdsong surrounding him gave him hope in a strange sort of way. As did the rustling of the trees around him when the cool spring wind danced through the forest. The sun shone and cast lacy shadows over the mossy forest bed. Spike sighed and let the warmth infuse his body. For over one hundred years the vampire had been able to walk in the sun without burning and every day astonished him, and heartened him. He couldn't remember exactly when it had happened. It was decades after the final battle with the Senior Partners, fighting side by side with Angel. He had no knowledge as to whether his grandsire or Drusilla were still in the world, but a tiny part of him hoped they were and had found peace. They were still family afterall.

Coming into the sun had literally been like waking from a dream. As it had happened, Spike had gotten on the bad side of a rather powerful and baneful witch. In the end, he'd put a stop to her evil ways, but not without paying the price. She'd put a curse on him that had put him to sleep for forty years. He groggily came out of her cave into the noonday sun in all its glory and didn't turn to dust. After regaining some of his strength and muscle bulk, he set out to find his path again. Spike had always been able to adapt and it was what had enabled him to survive to his four hundredth birthday. He'd marked the day with a drink, remembering his past and those he'd loved. His last thoughts always to be of his Slayer. His Buffy.

He didn't feel guilt over the fact that he still loved her best, even after the other women he'd loved over the centuries. She'd been the impetus for his journey on the long and winding road of redemption. She would always be the one for him. On his birthdays he'd shed a year's worth of tears, saving them for this day. He cried for the friends and lovers he'd lost and for the son he'd shared a day with. Discovering he could have children was a miraculous moment for him and contrarily, the source of his greatest anguish. He'd married a beauty from Israel called Naomi. He'd been travelling for years without direction, merely going to wherever struck his fancy at the time. He'd loved her dearly and meant it when he said it. They settled in for a simple Tel Aviv life. He had no doubt when she told him of the child to come that it was his. He knew it in his blood. He knew he'd changed in more ways than simply the ability to be in the sun. If the Powers That Be couldn't give him the Shanshu, they'd at least gifted him with a few aspects of humanity.

There was a car accident.

A random event. And all his dreams were shattered. The baby was delivered prematurely from a dead mother. Spike had named his son William and stayed with him in the hospital until his tiny body could no longer fight to live. He was simply born too soon. At the time Spike had grieved with such anguish that even the Powers heard him and pitied him. After burying his family, the vampire was shown in a dream the doings of a beast that had broken loose from a prison in another dimension and was enslaving a village in Peru. Fueled by grief and loneliness, Spike submersed himself in his good deeds. As he did so, little by little he was shown that the world - though cruel at times - was still beautiful. He vowed however, never to let himself love again. Never father children. The risk was too great, even for the bravest warrior who walked the Earth.

He'd held true to his promises to himself until he heard tell tale of a Slayer unlike any other. When the generation of Slayers created from the Scythe at the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth had all died, it was back to one Slayer at a time. He met them occasionally. Sometimes he trained them and passed on his stories. Other times he had to fight for his life, soul be damned.

Casting a glance to the skies he estimated that it was past noon. He'd been walking through the forest of primarily bamboo trees since before dawn. Behind him were miles of untamed land and in the wilds of the Jiangxi Province in China. He'd made the effort some years ago to speak the language which procured him reliable information and directions for what it was that he sought.

A few months ago he'd been sitting in a cafe in San Francisco's Chinatown, for the most part eavesdropping on conversations. He'd been living up in Seattle for several years, spending the majority of his time by himself with a guitar overlooking Lake Washington. It always amazed him how the cities had persevered through wars, and the ravages of Mother Nature. It gave him comfort to know that Big Ben still chimed on the hour.

Spike had overheard the conversation of a son having returned home from visiting his father's village and the whispers of a strange legend in a haunted forest. The village had been plagued by a ruling family of demons that demanded the first born son of each family as homage. Powerless, they were about to acquiesce, but then she appeared.

The woman was young and small in stature, but with eyes of green that blazed with all the power of Heaven behind them. She slayed them all. And from the way the son told the story that he had been told, she'd been poetry in motion. When the storyteller got to the part where the Slayer asked for a nonfat yogurt for her troubles, Spike nearly fell off his chair.

After gaining as much information as he could from this random man in a cafe, Spike was on his way to China for the first time since the Boxer Rebellion. The more he'd listening to the stranger's story, the more he convinced himself that the Slayer was Buffy. It wasn't entirely blind faith that compelled him to travel to the other side of the world. There was a sudden stirring in his soul that was like a voice in the distance. He had to follow.

Finding the village was no trouble, especially now that there was no language barrier. But finding someone who would disclose information about the supposed Warrior in the Woods was another matter. Spike was stonewalled every step of the way. That was until an elder of the village, one whose own mother had been a Slayer - asked her great-great-granddaughter to send for the pale man with the white hair. Spike had bleached his hair again after eons of wearing it natural. He wanted to be as he was in Sunnydale, just in case she remembered him. He'd also donned a black leather duster as close to his original as he could manage.

Though he wasn't completely ignorant of ancient ways, Spike was still discombobulated when he was asked to participate in a ceremony to be granted an invitation to the elder's house. Over tea, the woman listened to the vampire's tale of his love for the Slayer and the final battle to close the Hellmouth. When he was done and near tears, she told him to head west towards the abandoned monastery three days journey into the forest. The elder called the Slayer a force of nature, one that walked the perilous edge between woman and beast; one so lost that no one could find her. But Spike knew he could. And if by some stroke of madness Buffy had been resurrected, or a by a miracle from Heaven she'd been returned to the world, then he would do anything to be near her again. She was the champion of the people, but she'd always just been his girl.

Buffy had been his lodestar. In all the centuries of his afterlife, he remembered the details of her voice, her eyes, her body, her soul, better than anyone else's. She was still his light, even after all this time. And he still followed her. At least, he hoped and prayed it was her. He'd always imagined that Buffy had lived out her natural life, maybe even had children of her own with a new bloke. He'd never had the courage to find out. When he thought about it, he realized he was unaware of the fate of any of them. He always supposed he'd just know instinctively if she was gone, but he'd never felt it. Having ignored his instincts for so long had his emotions in knots and his mind plagued by questions he couldn't answer.

The trek wasn't arduous and was in fact rather pleasant. There was little wildlife besides the birds and small mammals, but the forest felt truly alive and teeming with mystic energies. It was a well-balanced place; a safe haven. It was no wonder that a Slayer would seek Sanctuary here and why monks had centuries ago. He had made good time and expected to reach the monastery by morning if he walked on through the night. In the pack on his back he had a few items of necessity, such as bags of blood as well as mementos he hoped would please Buffy.

By night the forest had quieted down to near perfect silence; the only sound his enhanced hearing could detect beyond insects were his own footfalls on the soft earth. There was a definite bite to the air and he buttoned up his duster to keep the chill out. He still preferred his temperature to be warm if he could help it. It was when he was concentrating on the task of bundling himself up that she pounced on him. Shifting immediately into game face to enhance his vision and senses, Spike managed to shrug off his opponent a split second before the stake was to pierce his heart. He rolled away and snapped back up to his feet, but this time he took a punch across his jaw and stumbled back until he was halted by the trunk of a tree. The demon face melted away when he saw who his attacker was.

"Buffy!" he exclaimed, joy evident in his voice. She didn't so much as flinch when he spoke her name, but advanced with stake poised ready to dust him.

It was a struggle to get rid of his backpack, but once he had he was able to move more freely. The leather of the coat made him seem like a bird floating around her as she rained kicks and punches at him along with jabs to his chest with the stake. There was no glimmer of recognition in the Slayers eyes and Spike knew he had to be sharp, or he'd be dust before he'd had a chance to get through to her.

She'd forgotten that he knew her every move. As they fought - their dance as lyrical and beautiful as it was deadly - Spike took in her appearance. She was not as he remembered, but he didn't expect her to be the young sunkissed Californian he'd first seen dancing and swaying to music in a club. This Buffy looked pale and tragic. She was thin and wiry and any womanly curves were hidden under her dark robe. Her hair didn't shine in the moonlight, but was dull against the black of night. Her eyes were dangerous and feral and Spike knew that if he didn't get through to her, they'd go on trading blows till dawn.

"Buffy, love, it's me. It's Spike. Remember? Sunnydale? Hellmouth?" She seemed to ignore the sound of his voice and punched him square in the nose. "Ow! Bloody hell! Not the nose! If you don't stop to listen, pet, I'm going to have to get serious."

He was surprised to hear her utter an honest to goodness growl and lunge for him. Spike slipped to the side and kicked her aside, letting her crash to the forest bed. He felt a pang of remorse, but silently promised to make it up to her later. She was getting angry and Spike knew that too often that it empowered her, but sometimes made her reckless. A straight punch was predicted and Spike countered it with a move that had always proved successful. He twisted her arm under and around her back while his arm went around her waist. He pulled her close while she struggled against him.

"Bit too much Slayer in there, pet, and not enough Buffy." His face changed and she felt his fangs graze her neck. She stiffened against him. "Don't worry, I love you." And with that his fangs descended and tore through her flesh.





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