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Epigoni by P.H. Wise

Prologue: Amidst the Ashes  next

Like most stories, ours begins with a girl.

Well, no. Actually, it begins well before that. It actually starts with a vampire. And he was the meanest vampire in all the land. All the other vampires were afraid of him: he was such a bastard. Then one day he’s cursed: by gypsies. They restore his human soul. And all of a sudden he is mad with guilt. You know: ‘What have I done?’ You know, he’s freaked.

That’s when the girl enters, stage right. She was a pretty little blonde thing, Vampire Slayer by trade. And our vampire falls madly in love with her. Eventually the two of them, - well, they get fleshy with one another. Well, I guess the technical term is perfect happiness. But when our boy gets there, he goes bad again. He kills again. It’s ugly. So when he gets his soul back for the second time, he figures hey, he can’t be any where near Miss young puppy eyes without endangering them both. So what does he do? He takes off. Goes to LA to fight evil - and atone for his crimes. He’s a shadow, - a faceless champion of the hapless human race.

This vampire, he gathers friends to help him to fight the good fight, yeah? And for a while, things are good. But then he gets offered the offices of Wolfram and Hart – the law firm representing the biggest bads in the world, and he does what anyone would do. He takes it. Only thing is, doesn’t just intend to run the place, he intends to bring it down from within. And with the help of those friends of his that had survived this long, he does.

But the cost...

That would have been the end of the story. By all rights, it should have been. But if all life’s a stage, and we’re all actors, then, well, just because one set of actors is done doesn’t mean the play is over. And until all is said and done, you never really know who’s playing the really important part.

Our story begins with another girl.

Well, ok, so it actually begins with another guy. He’s not a vampire, but he’s not human either.

When the story of one group of Champions came to an end, the story of another pair was only beginning; and it all began that fateful, blood-soaked, rain-drenched night...

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Epigoni
by P.H. Wise

An Angel crossover fanfic

Prologue: Amidst the Ashes

Disclaimer: I don’t own Angel. I don’t own Stargate. Please don’t sue me. This story contains spoilers for the final episode of Angel.

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The dead lay strewn in great rotting piles across the alleyway beside the Hyperion Hotel, and the steady rain-beat mingled with the fading heart-beats of those who were yet dying; battle and carnage had come to Los Angeles, the human streets with inhuman gore imbrued, and the rainwater mingling with the blood of the fallen, demon and mortal alike. Here was the place where the Champions had made their final stand; here was the place where they had met their grisly end; and all around them lay the bodies of their enemies.

Charles Gunn lay facedown on the cold pavement, his dark features made unnaturally pale by the blood loss that had claimed his life; the legacy of his battle with the Senator and her vampires. Near at hand were twin piles of dust made mud by the rain, and a sword close at hand, the only remnants of the only two ensouled vampires in the history of the world.

The city itself was in chaos. The army of the Archduke, leaderless and driven mad by the death of their leader, raged through the streets like a plague of locusts, killing and destroying everything in its path. Hell had been poured out upon the Los Angeles basin, and this time there was no denying it; humans fled or died or fled and died. The police were dead or scattered, and the entirety of the Los Angeles basin had been quarantined, with none allowed in our out by a massive military blockade, which also instituted a complete media blackout. Those who had run the Initiative knew full well that the general public was not ready for this, and they would do all that they could to prevent this news from leaking any further than it had already.

Sword in hand, the Groosalug surveyed the battle-site grimly. He was too late. He was too late to save his Princess, and too late to avenge her; too late to fight at Angel’s side in one last glorious stand against the darkness.

Too late.

With a mighty roar, Groo drove his sword point first into the concrete, and it sank down to the hilt, cracking and buckling the pavement around its point of entry.

As if in answer to his bellow, a body shifted amongst the pile of demon-rot. He rose at once, rushing immediately towards the source of the movement, to save if it was human, and to destroy if he found it otherwise.

There.
Movement.

Stooping down, the Groosalug hefted a partially eviscerated demon corpse aside. Beneath it lay a woman with metallic blue eyes and hair, clad in a red leather catsuit, and covered in blood: some her own, but most her enemies’. She coughed weakly and struggled to rise, but to no avail.

Groo stared at her for a long moment before he felt the sudden shock of recognition. “You!” he exclaimed. “You are the one known as Fred!”
Cold blue eyes met with black, and for a time, there was only the sound of squelching gore and shifting leather as she vainly continued her efforts to rise unaided.

At length, Illyria spoke. “You speak of my shell.”

Groo’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You are not the one called Fred?”

“I am Illyria.”

She paused again, and this time the silence was almost painful. Finally, the ancient god-king did a thing that she would not have been capable of even weeks before: she humbled herself, and asked for aid. “...I require assistance.”

Groo offered his hand, and she took it. And there, in the rain-drenched, gore-imbrued back alley of Los Angeles that had become a grave of Heroes, the story of the Afterborn began.

End Prologue

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Author’s notes: Feedback is most definitely welcome – particularly constructive criticism. Nothing makes me happier than to know what specifically you (the reader) liked, what you didn’t like, and (most importantly) why.


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