These people… these humans, they would speak to me of the great revelation as if they have even the smallest idea of what it was. As if they could even begin to wrap their very small and very human minds around the bloodshed and violence that consumed the city they call Los Angeles. It should have been the end of all things, for this small world, for this puny civilization. They thought it was. They also thought they knew what was coming. I wonder, if they had, if they would still have so willingly sacrificed their lives for it. Hell on earth. It is a phrase that is overused in my opinion. In this singular instance, it was an accurate description. It was good. It allowed me to sate my desire for more violence for a while. A very little while. I did not like to feel these irrelevant emotions. I am not meant to feel loss. Anger – anger I am accustomed to. And anger, and righteous wrath, the demons felt in full. No. Not in full. In as much as I was capable of, being trapped in this shell, that reeks of mortality, and humanity. I waged war nonetheless. I took their spines, their skulls, their horns, their tails, their spikes, and any other protruding things that I could find on their bodies and I killed, until there was nothing left to kill. The others that came, they took kills that should have been ours, but Angel said we should not kill them for it. That they were allies.
They had saved Gunn. I had not expected to see him again, not living. Vampires, they called themselves, but not like the ones that I had known in my brief time in this world. They were not filled with the darkness of those like Angelus, or Spike was once. They were filled with the darkness of a human soul, only with immortality to sharpen their desires. Immortality. Another word they use without understanding. They are not immortal. Their bodies die with little more effort than a human. And they still think that they can rule the world. That they can pull the strings of fate to suit their whims. It amuses me when it suits me to be amused. I do not find I am given to much amusement, of late. There is, still, something stirring. There is always something stirring, though, is there not? Something that looms over these ants, and their anthills? Shadows creep and angels weep, and darkness never sleeps.
Something calls to the darkness. I can feel it, an ache in my ancient bones. This war, it is not over. I wonder if it has truly begun. The others feel it too, though I do not know if they know it yet. They are so easily distracted by this woman child that they call Buffy. Their slayer. They would end the world for her, I think. Perhaps they shall. They say it is for the world that they moved. One city to another, they are all the same to me. Anthills. Waiting to be stepped on. This one they call New York. I wonder, where is the one that was Old York. In the ashes beneath this one perhaps? It is much the same here, as it was before the screaming and the dying in the city of angels. They call this city, too, the city of dreams. I do not dream here. It is … interesting to me, that they do not call it the city of good dreams. Angel dreams, but I do not think they are of good things. Spike, my pet, I do not think he dreams at all, unless it is of blood. He enjoyed the war. It pleases me that he survived. My Wesley… he did not, and yet he is here, in this city of dreams. Bound to the Wolf, Ram and Hart. It still does not please him, what I am, and who I am not. I believe I have said much. I will say no more, this no longer entertains me.