The circular table was lit with a central candle held in a battered brass holder that had seen better days. Streams of multi-coloured dried wax coated it in a testament to its prolonged use and the lack of amenities that most of the world was suffering from since the beginning of the longest war pitted against good by the minions of hell and their timeless masters. The ten people sitting around it all shuffled in their seats, some moving to lean forward, others crossing their arms against their chests and a couple looked down, unable to believe what they were about to agree to.

The West Coast of the so-called free world was now a battleground, saturated in blood and tears. So many lives had been snuffed out, extinguished just as easily as the single flame illuminating the last hope for those on the side of good gaining back all that had been lost in a moment of futile posturing.

It wavered and flickered as a grey-haired bearded man sighed heavily and nodded. His actions were echoed by all the figures in the semi darkness. A slim battle-scarred woman with her long hair plaited tightly and wound around her head wrung her hands briefly and nodded. Her hand unconsciously swept over a small tattoo on her inner wrist and rubbed obsessively over the two letters intertwined. Of all of them she should have been the hardest to convince-but not anymore.

The hubris that had shaped the strange new world they all struggled to survive in could only be laid at one being's feet and there was no defending him, not anymore. What had to be done would be done - it was the only way to save them all and to save the dimension if not the entire universe. She could no longer be an apologist for the being she had once loved and who had wrought havoc on the world she had died twice to save.

The original speaker pulled a slim stiletto knife out of her hand and deftly slashed her palm, allowing the blood to drip on the table.

"For Gunn..." A small spark of electricity escaped her fingertips. She handed the stained blade to a middle-aged woman who sat leaning against her sombre-faced husband. They both slashed their hands and let their blood flow. She stared at Buffy, wondering why their leader was so mute; she had eventually had to take over the final meeting and get everyone going.

"For Fred," the older couple echoed in unison, their soft Texan drawls indistinguishable from each other and nearly muffled by the tears that were choking them.

They handed the knife over to a bookish looking man with mousy brown hair. "For Emma... God rot Jasmine." Julian slashed down hard and clenched his hand into a fist; of all of them he was the one with the least contact with their target, but had in fact been the one to gather the desperate council together. Jasmine's reign had destroyed his life and his family, they might've been one of the goddess's many victims, but they were his family. He had nothing left-nothing to live for. It was time for vengeance.

"For Cordy..." her father whispered. His mind also filled with images of his wife dying in his arms, her torso littered with gashes and blood soaking the frozen ground they were slumped on, begging him to fix it all.

"For Lindsey..." Eve threw her hair back and glared defiantly at all her companions.

"For my Faith..." Robin slashed his palm in a jerking motion. His scarred face bore testament to the last desperate fight against the horde of murderous Chaos demons as he futilely tried to save his girl from their clutches.

"For Wesley..." Roger Wyndham-Price's crisp British tones made the woman sitting next to him sit up straight and leave the tattoo on her wrist alone. His pale blue eyes were firm over the half moon glasses he wore, defying all of them to call him on his presence. Gone was the career politician, a man dedicated to climbing the heights of the Council of Watchers' political ladder no matter the cost, instead there was a hardened magic user who was determined to make amends. Many of them knew that he and his son had had a difficult relationship, but as far as he was concerned a father should never outlive his son. He handed the stained knife over to his companion in arms.

"For Dawn." She cut into her hand, her fingers curling compulsively as she stared unblinking at the slash and the blood welling out of the wound. All she could hear were her own words echoing down time to taunt her, ‘Summers blood,' uttered in a desperate moment to a long-dead sister who she had sacrificed her own life for, only to have it all thrown in her face by his actions, his choices and his arrogance that taking on the source of evil with no definite game plan would succeed.

How wrong he had been.

Buffy pressed the point of the stiletto down into the fleshy part of her faintly scarred palm, cutting along the love line in a determined way, "and for Spike..." As the fresh wound poured her blood over and down her wrist, Buffy handed the knife over to the white-haired woman next to her. She stared down at the burn scars that littered her hand and tried not to burst into tears.

Willow stared at the blade and then took a deep breath. She slashed her hand, "For Xander," the words seemingly booming around the room and making them more hollow for the lack of his existence. Her mind was filled with images of her recently murdered childhood friend. Up until a week ago she had refused to be involved in this last frantic plan, calling them all desperate and insane. Xander had been one of its leading champions, he wanted to fix it all - anything had to be better than the nightmare they lived in. In his honour Willow had agreed, for his death there would be reparation. She had not wanted to compromise her magicks by once again using the spells that had been created from chaos, dark magicks and neutral powers to achieve their ends. But now what was the point? Everyone she cared about was slowly being picked off, so why not throw in with the others and see if maybe they could save them all.

She had been terrified she might lose herself in them. It had all changed when Xander had fallen forward into her arms, blood welling from the corner of his mouth and a spear pushed through his devoted heart, its tip gleaming in the flames of yet another battleground, she had finally vowed to do something to change it all. She was not losing anyone else. No way, no how!

"For Giles..." The sharp-featured man cut his hand and winced before handing it on. He ignored the piercing look Buffy directed at him and straightened his silk shirt. Time had moved on, allegiances shifted and friendships developed. He had once been an enemy and now he was a friend, their alliance forged over the body of a man who they had both loved. One as a father, and the other as a friend and saviour from the hellhole the Initiative had left him in.

Area 51 had been abandoned as the US army had been called out to fight; any and all servicemen and woman had been needed to stem the tide. Personnel had been called out of retirement, reserves called up but to no avail as they were already fighting against a greater army, armed with supernatural strength and speed that humans had little defence against. They held the line finally, in New York, blowing bridges up and creating a small haven.
So many lost...

The inmates of their abandoned high tech prison had been left incarcerated to die a long and lonely death. Rayne had been woken by a flash of light and the sight of his long time nemesis standing over him with a grim expression. In that moment it had all changed. He was one of the good guys now and proud of it. Ripper had saved him and now it was his turn to repay the favour - and sod ‘em all if they were damning their souls and buggering up the gods' plans. Enough was enough.

"So we are agreed then, we do it." Gwen tossed her hair over one shoulder, the streaks of red and blue long gone. In their place was a white flash of hair that had crept in as the dark days and nights had progressed. She caught each of the others' eyes, her face settled in stern lines, determined that they would all be in accord. It was all or nothing. All of them nodded briefly. "Good. We meet tomorrow night, make sure you are all packed and ready as we will leave immediately."

Buffy stood, pulling Willow to her feet. Roger Wyndham-Price rose too and flanked the longest surviving slayer. Now the only surviving one. One by one, all the newly called girls had fallen under the tide of demons and monsters that had been unleashed on the world, canon fodder for the damned. Each and every novice slayer fought bravely before succumbing to the cold hand of death just as quickly as they had been called into service as champions for the invisible and seemingly absent Powers.

The aged watcher had formed a strong bond with the once ebullient girl who had become the now taciturn woman she was. An unlikely mentor and her friend, they were all that was left of the Council in the USA. The rest had remained in the UK, the last remaining stronghold of good in Europe, the island having the natural defences of the sea. Buffy and Xander had laid the charges that had collapsed the Chunnel sealing off the Continent once and for all. With the demonic conduit gone, the Watchers and several covens had then laid in a protective shield around the island. Only mortals could enter and the Council was ever vigilant, ready to defend the Emerald Isles from all incursions. The shimmering wall of magicks was a beacon of defence against the hordes of demons who worked for the Senior Partners. They hammered at it from all angles, trying to stamp out the largest focus of remaining mortals on Earth, so far, thankfully, to no avail.

"Tomorrow," Buffy nodded.

"Justice will be served." Eve clapped her hands in anticipation.

"Yeah... Justice..." Buffy echoed hollowly. She knew it had to be done, but part of her still hated the idea of killing someone without a fair fight.

But it had to be done...his hands were soaked in the blood of too many innocents. There was no way he could ever make amends for all that had happened.

It was time for him to die and stay gone.