__Living Out the Fantasy__
By Jae Kayelle
When he first arrived in Los Angeles he'd been the big, bad Rogue
Demon
Hunter. Or he had pretended to be. He quickly found out that that
wasn't who he really was. He had been alone then. The Watchers
Council
didn't want him, he was useless in Sunnydale on the Hellmouth, and his
entire life needed a major overhaul. The fantasy was a way to glamorize
the state of his life so that it wouldn't hurt as much. Living on the
streets and in seedy hotels, relying on the good nature of demon brothel
madams for shelter and a meal and a few perks, it all went against what
he was accustomed to, who he was. Still, he'd taken what he could get.
He had to survive. He'd gotten good at it, too.
The fantasy was nothing like reality.
Until now, that is.
They were all gone now.
Cordelia had experienced one of her visions and, when none of the rest
of them had been around to go to the assistance of the child in
jeopardy, she had gone out on her own leaving a note for them to follow.
They found her about an hour too late. She lay with the little girl's
hand clutched in her own. The girl sat next to her brushing Cordy's
dark hair off her bloodied brow. The corpse of the Oorag lay nearby.
Cordelia had killed it then died of the injuries she'd sustained in the
battle.
Gunn died in the streets where he'd lived and fought and taught his
young friends how to defend themselves against evil. An evil that no
one should have to acknowledge as real let alone come face to face with
in a dark alley. Several of Gunn's friends came to the hotel one night
and told them. Charles had gone out in a blaze of glory. He took down
three Zehra demons and their lair with him. Only the charred rubble and
the scorched bones remained. His friends couldn't get in to bring him
out and had watched helplessly as the fire consumed all.
Angel. Well, Angel's story was different. It was always different.
Wesley shook his head. He never thought it would come to this. The
Shanshu prophecy was that Angel would live through several demonic
uprisings and the Apocalypse. In Wesley's mind that meant he was
supposed to live long past the rest of them. He was supposed to
**live**. He was supposed to win his humanity as a reward for all the
good he'd done. Angel was the vampire with a soul and a good heart.
It was so unfair. It was so bloody unfair.
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Rogue Demon Hunter, gripped the handle of
his axe
tighter and shifted his feet. He leaned forward slightly, settling his
weight better so that he was centred. He was getting dizzy from the
blood loss. The wound in his side bled profusely, but he refused to
back down. He had to do this. It was his destiny.
The sweat poured off his forehead, running into his eyes. He had never
been so frightened in his life. Not because of the danger he faced.
He'd long since become hardened to that, able to confront his foes,
vanquish them as easily as any of his late colleagues and then allow
himself the luxury of fear afterwards. No, he was terrified of what
this particular confrontation meant.
Staring into the crazed eyes set deep in a ridged face that was smeared
with the still warm blood of the bodies lifeless on the ground between
them, Wesley knew that this was the end. This demon was wounded but
still incredibly strong.
He drew back his arm and swung with the last of his strength, certain of
the outcome. To his surprise there was no opposition, no avoidance, no
attempt to step away to safety, no attempt to fight back. Dark brown
eyes held his and did not blink. They were both of them too tired of
the fighting, of the lies and deception, of the long, long road they'd
traveled together and more recently on different paths. This was the
final battle. The axe bit into undead flesh, momentarily meeting
resistance, and then carried through as the face of the devil
transformed into that of an angel. In the end the good soul won out, as
it was meant to be.
Wesley staggered back, away from the shower of dust. His stomach
clenched but a deep breath of the cold night air settled it. He shifted
his grip on the axe then turned and walked away.
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Rogue Demon Hunter. Alone again.
* * *