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Martyr
by Settiai
Disclaimer: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and other related characters are
all properties of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other related
corporations. No infringement is intended. This story, such as it is,
was written as a sign of respect and love for the characters, the show,
and their creator. I claim no ownership of the aforementioned show and
characters.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Spoilers for the seventh season of BtVS (mainly "Selfless" and
"Chosen") and the fourth season of AtS (mainly "Home").
Summary: Even in the most senseless death, the victim sometimes emerges
as a willing martyr. The question is, however, how do you know when they
are?
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Willow's spell should have worked.
As Anya knelt down, she pulled her cloak even more tightly around her.
The icy wind felt almost like a knife, biting into her exposed skin with
a vengeance.
It hadn't worked though, and there had been nothing but death.
The light in her eyes was gone, replaced by darkness. More tears than
could ever be spilled in a lifetime hid there, yearning to be freed.
The Potentials had been the first to die. They hadn't stood a chance
against the army of the First.
Anya didn't allow the tears to fall though. When the world had first
started to go to hell, she had allowed them to fall. Not since then
though. Not since then.
She hadn't been down there to see it, but she knew that Buffy, Faith,
and Spike were gone. There had been too many monsters, and they were
only three people.
The former demon took a shaky breath as she slowly reached into her
small duffel bag. Her hands trembled slightly as they slowly opened it
and moved to pull out the objects that it held.
They had sprung from the Hellmouth like a torrent, killing everything in
their path. From where she stood, the sound of Xander's cry of agony and
Dawn's scream of terror had been clear as a crystal.
She quietly pulled out the supplies that she would need, her eyes moving
over the surround area nervously. There weren't any Turok-Han that she
could see, but it wouldn't be long before there were. They always came.
The Bringers were attacking Andrew, and she saw the one coming in for
the kill. Anya started to fight them, to save him--but at the last
moment she glimpsed a hint of movement from behind her. She spun around,
her sword cutting through the Bringer like butter.
Cries rang in the distance, and Anya quickly poured a circle of sand out
on the ground in front of her. "Please work."
She heard a cry of pain from behind her, and she once more turned
towards Andrew. He was staring at her with wide eyes, his face as white
as chalk. Suddenly, with a wave of blood, he collapsed onto the
ground--his blank eyes still focused on her.
Her face turning even paler than before, Anya frantically reached into
the bag. "God, where is it?"
Anya stared at Andrew's body for a moment before turning around and
running as fast as she could. Deep inside she knew that she shouldn't be
doing this, that she should still be fighting, but at this point she
really didn't care. As she ran, she caught sight of Giles and Robin from
the corner of her eye. They were both laying in pools of blood, their
eyes staring into nothingness.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she pulled the small amulet out and
held it up in front of her. For a moment she merely stared at it,
feelings that she had thought were long buried awakening once more.
Tears streamed down her face as she jumped into the nearest abandoned
car she could find, her body moving almost automatically. Anya didn't
know what was happening, all she knew was that she didn't have much time
left.
A single tear trickled down her face as an images of the past briefly
flashed in her mind. "I'm going to make everything right. I promise."
Anya watched in horror as one of the Turok-Han grabbed Angel's head and
twisted as hard as it could. A hint of a smile appeared on his face as
he exploded into dust, and his lips mouthed a name that made no sense to
her. Connor.
Wiping the wayward tear away, Anya gently held the amulet out over the
circle of sand. "Beatum sit in nomine D'Hoffrynis."
Anya started slightly as the woman, Fred, grabbed her by the hand and
pulled her towards one of the many elevators inside of the Wolfram and
Hart building. "Come on, follow me. Angel made sure that there was a way
for some of us to escape if... If this happened. He said that at least
one of us had to make it out alive."
Her voice trembled with fear as she quietly finished the encantation.
"Fiat hoc spatium porta ad mundum Arashmaharris."
She stared at Fred's broken and bloody body for a moment, silently
asking why this had all come to be. The First never should have escaped
from Sunnydale. None of this should have happened. There had to be...
Her eyes suddenly flashed with inspiration as a thought made its way
into her mind.
A bright flash of light suddenly appeared in front of her, and she
couldn't help but turn her face away as her former employer
materialized. "Behold, D'Hoffryn. Lord of Arashmahar. He that...
Anyanka? You're still alive? Pity. Why did you summon me?"
She ran, her heart pumping wildly within her chest. They were coming,
she was certain of that. They couldn't find her yet though, not yet. Not
until she had the amulet.
"If all the humans are dead, then there won't be any work for vengeance
demons. And really, D'Hoffryn, do you actually think that the First is
going to keep you around? You're not important or powerful enough to be
considered an asset. We both know it. I think that I know of a way to
help us both."
As she finished talking, Anya slowly let her eyes move upwards to face
D'Hoffryn. She stared for a moment, dimly aware that the sounds of the
First's fighters were coming closer. "Do you want to hear my idea or
not?"
She was tempting fate by coming back to Sunnydale, to where the First's
power was the strongest. Somehow, however, it didn't seem right for Anya
to perform the spell anywhere else. For the sake of all those she had
lost, she had to perform it here.
D'Hoffryn slowly nodded, his eyes slowly focusing on her face. "I am
listening, Anyanka. Tell me why you summoned me here."
She let out a shaky breath, a hint of hope appearing on her white face.
"All you have to go is grant a wish. A wish of vengeance upon the First
Evil."
Anya stared at what had once been 1630 Revello Drive, her eyes moving
over the remains of what everyone had dubbed Casa Summers. She had
wanted to do the spell inside, where the memories were the strongest. It
looked as if she was going to have to make do with the fire scarred
backyard though.
There was a light in his eyes that could almost be considered as pride
as D'Hoffryn looked down at the human woman who he had known for over a
thousand years. Even he had to admit that, in some ways, she truly was
remarkable. "Are you certain that you want to go through with this? The
odds of survival are not in your favor."
Her voice shook slightly, but the determined expression in her eyes
never faded. "I know that. It's worth it though."
He nodded in what seemed to be understanding before fixing his gaze
steadfastly on her. "Make your wish then."
She took a shuddery breath, her eyes moving once more over what had once
been her home. "I wish that Willow's spell to make all of the Potentials
become Slayers had worked. And I wish that they had kicked the First
Evil's non-corporeal ass."
As the past started to change, both of their bodies slowly started to
fade away. D'Hoffryn stared at her for a moment, surprised at the fact
that he almost seemed to be saddened by the fact that this human girl,
who he himself had tried to have killed, was going to face an almost
certain death. "Goodbye Anyanka. Or, if you prefer, Aud."
She turned towards him, her face shining with a skeleton smile. "It's
Anya."
She saw the Bringer preparing to bring its scythe down on Andrew, and
she didn't even think. Her sword flashing in the darkness, she spun
around and brought the creature down.
She never even saw the one that came behind her. One minute she was
standing there, and then she was falling to the ground.
Aud.
Human.
Anyanka.
Demon.
Mrs. Xander Harris.
Loved.
Anya.
Forever.
end
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