Rating: Pg 13
Disclaimer: They are owned by the Evil Whedon. *GRR*
Archiving: Permission is granted to archive this story please make sure credit is given.
Feedback: Pretty please?
Dedication: For those who's faith will always remain, through worst of times.
PLEASE READ NOTES BELOW! Notes: This is just a prologue of my trilogy. I need to make sure that I have some people hooked first.
Summary: The end of days is approaching...

In Shadow, on a rooftop, he stood. Scanning the vast city. His city. The city of lost souls. Like every night, he watched as people made their way home. It was safer there. unnoticed to them, Unimaginable horrors brewed here. They took the innocent as their victims, their pray.

He was the warrior of the darkness, the souled vampire. Angel...

He felt it. An imbalance. Something was coming, something big. A chill of death, of terror, crept through Angel's body. A pang through his heart told him that she knew also. The chosen one, the slayer. Buffy Anne Summers. The small battles leading to the full fledged war were over. It was beginning, the end of days...

*****************************

-Part One-
The Magic Shop
Sunnydale California
7:23 P.m.

Anya groaned. Willow sighed. Xander whimpered and, for the tenth time in the past hour, Giles cleaned his glasses.

Willow's eyes followed Giles circular motions of his fingers as he continued to clean the lens of his glasses with his shirt.

Grabbing her head in dizziness, Willow attempted to keep herself from vomiting. "OK, no more watching Giles."

Xander had to admit. It was getting annoying. Grabbing the glasses from Giles's hands, he threw them across the room so they landed square in the trash can.

"You know Giles, if you had kept cleaning your glasses like that, you would've worn a hole right through the lens. I had to stop you man, and plus Willow was about to throw up."

Giving the others an apologetic look, Giles went to retrieve his glasses out of the wastebasket. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe I've ever been so incredibly board in all my life."

"No leads on why the hellmouth is so quiet?" Anya said as she continued to roll a pencil back and forth on the table.

The mysteriously quite hellmouth had the Scoobies not only out of a daily job, but left them unbelievably board.

"I don't have any idea, but a possible two or three theories." Giles answered. Even Mr. watcher was clueless.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew the door in. A lone figure stood in the door frame. The darkness out side and the burning lights inside created a shadow effect. Stepping into the light, the figure took shape. It was Buffy.

The others exhaled, not realizing that they had been holding their breath the whole time. Yes, it was Buffy, their Buffy, a very scared Buffy, a very wet Buffy.

Giles approached Buffy and withdrew his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around her slim ones. "Dear God Buffy, why are you all wet?"

She was trembling. Xander noted mentally that he'd never seen Buffy look so frightened.

Giles attempted to get Buffy to speak again. "Buffy, why are you so wet?"

She didn't make eye contact. Her bottom lip trembled. "It's raining."

Willow arched her eye brows and looked out the shops windows. It wasn't raining. "Buffy, don't take this the wrong way, but it's not raining."

Giles's jacket slipped from her shoulders as she turned to look out the window, at the door, then back at her friends. "Can't you feel it? The horror, the pain, the evil?"

Anya bit her bottom lip, trying to hold in laughter. "OK, is it just me or has she pulled a Drusilla act?"

Buffy couldn't believe the looks from her friends. "The end, it's coming. I can feel it," crying out in frustration, she grabbed Giles by the shirt collar and forced him to make eye contact. "Tell me you feel it!"

The action took Giles by surprise. "Yes, I feel it!" He lied, he was almost begging.

She slowly let go of his shirt and stepped away from him. A shaky hand went through her wet hair. "It's coming."

Slowly, Giles stepped a foot closer to his slayer. "Buffy, what's coming?"

Tears of complete terror cascaded down her face. "The end... Of days."

***

Out side, drops of water continued to cover the streets of Sunnydale.

***

part two-

The headlines were buzzing. News papers and news stations through out the world were on fire. Over the past several hours, unexplainable occurrences were taking place all over the world. Sky quakes, rain of toads, mass murders (More specifically around the neck area) It screamed the work or hell, of the hellmouth.

**

The Angel investigation's hotel laid quite on it's calm street in L.A...

The resent chain of events baffled Cordelia and Wesley. The twosome were up all day, researching, checking local papers and stations. Now, almost twelve hours later, they came up empty handed. Tired and frustrated, Cordelia slammed her laptop shut and took a swing of her, now, cold coffee.

"That's it! I'm done! I give up, the forces of hell WIN!" Cordelia declared. Moving out from behind the front desk, she plopped herself on a chair, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and pouted.

Wesley, who was most amused by her childlike demonstration, tried to soothe Cordelia's ranting.

"Cordelia, these events could be a sign. I very important sign. It's crucial that we figure it out." Wesley reminded her, in hopes that she would care.

Her response to his lecture was to throw a paper weight from the coffee table at his shin.

Nearly dodging the weight, Wesley lost his nerve. "Cordelia, with all do respect, do NOT take your hormonal crazed time of the month ordeal out on me."

She was about to come up with a comeback when Angel, strolled through the front door.

"Get all the books you can on the End of Days, dig out the scroll with Prophecies of Aberjian, phone Sunnydale and tell them to get here as fast as possible, weapons and all." Angel directed, as he made his way over to the weapons chest.

"What is the deal of great importance that we must phone Sunnydale?" Wesley carefully questioned. He learned, from all his years working with Angel, not to cross judge his decision unless he felt he needed to.

Stopping mid track to stare at his coworkers, Angel care fully removed a long, sharp sword from it's black shell. Raising it above his head to thoroughly examine it, Angel took an unnecessary intake of breath.

"Were going into war."

-Part four-
11:56 P.M
same day...

Death. It's painful, permeant. Sometimes it happens fast, sometimes you feel it coming. Stirring inside you like a virus, ready to erupt at any moment. It's just waiting for to except it, because once you do, it becomes you...

***

The basement. Angel's new home. It was dark, cold, empty. It reminded him of his heart before Buffy. His Buffy.

***

Training wasn't relieving the pain. Hitting the punching bag several times in a row, Angel could have sworn he was going to draw blood. The knuckles of his fingers were raw and blistered. Funny thing was, he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except this God damn pain in his heart that wouldn't go away.

His Buffy. Dead Buffy. The very thought of it made Angel's eyes flash yellow. After all they've been though, he expected to have a fairy tale end. Guess not. Angel felt his blood run between his fingers. Ceasing to punch the bag, Angel washed the soars on his hand with some cool water from a near by bucket...

Turning to face the dart board, Angel released the small dagger from his hand and to the board. He missed. By a long shot.

***

She felt his fear. It was intoxicating. She felt drawn to him, spiritually, mentally, physically. Opening the door to the basement, Buffy watched as he hit the punching bag. She watched as he struggled to keep control, failing at one point when his eyes flashed yellow and his knuckles began to bleed. Slowly, he backed away from the bag and rinsed his hands.

She felt sick. Buffy was causing Angel all this pain, her and this thing called destiny. Descending down the steps, she watched as Angel began throwing small daggers a a dart board across the room. He missed.

Boy, did he miss.

***

"Stop lifting your left shoulder," Buffy instructed softly once she made her way off the stairs. His back was towards her.

He threw the dagger again. Missed. Angel smiled, he lifted his left shoulder. Maybe intentional, maybe not.

Smiling, Buffy came around and took the dagger from his hands. She stood in front of him, facing toward the dart board. Angel watched from behind her. Slowly, Buffy closed her eyes and concentrated on the board, not the tingling sensation of Angel.

Keeping her eyes closed, she threw the dagger. Bulls eye. Angel's hands. His hands were on her body.

***

Snaking his arms around her body, Angel nuzzled his face in her neck, leaving butterfly kiss on her skin. Feeling Buffy relax under his touch, Angel pulled her closer yet, needing to be as close as possible. He wasn't going to lose her, it wasn't an option.

Turning in his arms, Buffy reached eye contact. As if in slow motion, Angel lowered his lips to hers. It was fire. The feeling of such lust, love, and passion being released in that one kiss. Growly quickly out of control, Buffy clung to him. She need him, she needed his lips on hers, his arms around her.

Screw destiny, it screwed them

**

-3:36 A.M.-

Next Morning...

Angel closed the book he was reading and looked at Buffy's sleeping figure in his bed. Kissing her was torture, both knowing, that's all they can do.

Glancing out his window, Angel found his answers. They were written in the heaven's stars...

Go to the next story The Color of Dawn

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