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Author: Chevy Impaler, a.k.a. Toys Dream Angel of MemoryLorne had been the first to fall, his resilient demon's body shattered beyond repair. Then Wesley and Gunn, fighting back to back like brothers once more. And Spike, burning again, a living torch whirling and cursing and laughing like a madman as he tore into the ranks of the Black Circle, until at last the flames consumed him. Then, at last, there was only Angel... He sat slumped on the stone floor of the chamber, lit only by the flickering light of the fiery curtain that sealed its entrance. Bodies were scattered everywhere about him, the bloody remains of the secret masters mingled with the broken bodies of the friends he'd sacrificed in this last desperate battle. At last there came the hollow clack of footsteps, and Angel raised his eyes to see Illyria standing before him. The fallen god tilted her head with a clockwork click, and regarded him quizically. "What is it," she asked, "that you have in your hand?" He held up the vial, a glass tube stoppered with a fragment of cork. "My redemption," he said. "My shanshu. Turns out it comes in liquid form after all." Illyria stood there, immobile. "This is what you wanted, then. You have accomplished your purpose." "And all I have to do now is drink it." Angel lowered the vial again, staring at the murky fluid that swirled within. "Then I get to live and die again as a mortal. My sins forgiven, my past washed clean. Of course, there's always a catch." "Of course," Illyria said. "But this is your destiny. You have no choice but to accept it." Angel continued, ignoring her. "And then my past becomes a blank slate. All memory of who I was, what I've done..." He waved his hand, taking in the bloody carnage that surrounded them. "And the people who fought and died alongside me. All of it will be washed away." "These memories cause you pain." Illyria seemed puzzled by his hesitation. "When you take the draught, the pain will end. You will begin anew." She frowned. "Were I in your position, I would accept it." "You would?" Angel looked up at her again, genuinely curious. "The memory of who I was, what I've lost... It torments me." Illyria turned away abruptly. "I would rather forget all my centuries of glory than continue to exist with this knowledge. Even the memory of grinding that man Hamilton to dust between my fingers, satisfying as it was, is no compensation for that loss." She paused for a moment, then looked back at Angel with what could almost pass for an accusatory stare. "You of all people should understand this. You've made the same choice for others." Angel sighed. "First for Buffy, and then for Connor. For Gunn and Wes..." "And for Winifred Burkle." Illyria swiveled back to face him. "Why was this an acceptable bargain for them, and not for you?" "Because... Because I was always there to remember them." Angel stood, finally, wincing at the pain from his wounds. "Doyle. Cordy. Fred. Wes and Gunn and Lorne... even Spike. But if I forget them... then there's nothing of them left." He jammed the vial into the pocket of his coat. "I can't accept that. I can't pay that price." Illyria was silent for a moment, considering. Then she offered him a gauntleted hand. "Then give them to me. These memories that are so important to you, that bring you so much pain... I can preserve them for you. In me, they will last for an eternity. Their stories will outlive the brief life of this fragile planet, outlast the sun and the stars." Angel stared at her in shock for a moment. "But--why? Why would you be willing to do that?" A flicker of doubt crossed Illyria's face. "I... I do not know. Perhaps it is because I have been thwarted from fulfilling my own destiny that I wish to help you attain yours." She blinked quickly, like a lizard, and then pushed her hand forward insistently. "The offer stands. Accept it or not, but do so quickly. Already I tire of this place." Angel retrieved the flask from his pocket, weighed it in the palm of his right hand. Then he turned to face the god who stood before him, and slowly, hesitantly, he raised his left hand to take Illyria's gauntlet... [end]
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