The Californian Sage, Equaling Olympus

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or Percy Jackson

Chapter 1: Origins

Xander Harris was not having the best of days. Strike that, he was not having the best of month.

His 'seeing all fifty states' road trip had come to an abrupt stop at Oxnard. His uncle Rory's gift of a Chevy Bel Air convertible turned out to be a Chevy Bel Air piece of shit with a decent paint job.

Xander had found that out when it had collapsed like a clown on the highway. Ten miles from Oxnard. In the middle of nowhere in the desert. At high noon.

Needless to say, he made for a bewildering sight for the locals as he manually hauled his luggage into town, sweating like a pig and covered in enough dirt, dust and sand to blend into the side of the road if he lay down on it.

A quick report to an amused desk worker at the local PD and he was quickly trying to find cheap accommodation for his stay until everything was figured out. The one slice of good luck he had during the whole month he had been in this Hellmouthy town, was being able to get a room at a local B&B.

When the report came in for his Chevy POS, he had been far from happy. It was a complete wreck, unable to be repaired, having so many faults that it was a surprise he had even been able to get as far as he did.

Which brought about another problem. Well, two actually.

Transportation and Funds.

His road trip fund was too small to even afford a decent second hand car, which meant in order to get more funds, to get a new car, he needed a job.

Thankfully, there was one place in town that was looking for workers, and was willing to sign up some kid who had just graduated, grades unseen.

Not so thankfully, said place was the local strip joint.

For the next month, he had slaved away, washing plates and glasses, barely getting two words from the other staff.

It had felt like being back at Tony and Jessica's. Despite what he said aloud, in his heart and mind, he would never refer to them as his parents. Only Joyce, Giles and Jenny had that privilege, or were even worthy of being called so, despite the fact you only had two parents, not three.

The highlight, or perhaps lowlight may be a better description, was the time one of the male dancers had called in sick.

The events of that night would forever be sealed behind mental steel doors, ten feet thick, locked with a metric ton of chains and guarded twenty-four seven by an entire platoon of US Marines,

In other words, it would never be spoken of. Or even thought of, if he had his way.

Regardless, that last night was able to push his cash over the line to be able to afford a new car. Not a brand new car, granted, but a new car all the same. One that actually worked this time.

Not wasting anytime, he had quit the job the moment he had the cash reserves for what he needed and had been quick stepping back to the B&B with a slight smile on his lips for the first time in a month.

His new car was practically singing to him, telling him to leave this place far behind, and let the memories rot, dead and forgotten, in the depths of his mind.

Of course, true to form, this was the cue for everything to fall apart for one Alexander Lavelle Harris.

Again.

Returning to the present, we find our intrepid hero cornered in an alley by multiple lowlifes of society. Their golden eyes burning fiercely beneath their ridged and craggy brows as their teeth, like a shark's mouth, readied themselves to bite down on their prey once they had pounced.

Vampires.

Xander was mentally cursing himself a blue streak as he tried to keep his eyes on all of them at once. The one night he forgets to bring even a stake, because he had never seen or heard of any vamp activity in the area and had relaxed his guard slightly after a month of his nighttime hunting senses dulling, and then he was cornered by a full half dozen of his mortal enemies.

Correction, six mortal enemies plus one smug bastard in a heavy black robe and hood who stood behind the vamps. Xander couldn't make out any features, the robe covering every inch of skin, but the way it stood seemed to convey a vast amusement and satisfaction.

Seeing how dire this confrontation truly was, and not willing to become a vamps newest Bloody Mary, Xander did what he did best, even as his eyes noticed a possible solution for him out of the corner of his eye.

Talked fast.

"Now guys," he said taking a step back again as they approached, "can't we talk about this? I mean," he babbled faster, stepping back even further, as they kept approaching. They had been near the entrance, having herded him into this alley, while he was about three-fourths of the way down it, "I'm just a single guy. Scrawny and little and full of cholesterol. There wouldn't be enough to go around, not to mention the blood problems you guys will have if the cholesterol gets into you."

"Oh we don't mind," a tall and lanky vamp, one of the leaders in Xander's opinion, even as he backed himself against the bak wall of the alley. A dead end, "to us, the young and scrawny like you are like a dessert. Small and sweet."

Xander laughed hesitantly, even as the speaker's compatriots did, "you say such the nicest things," Xander admitted, his hand drifting to the side subtlety and gripping his hope for survival lightly, just so he didn't attract attention from the fang-faces, "but I am obliged to tell you that I don't swing that way."

The lanky spokesman guffawed at the gallows humour from the young man, "I like you, kid, you have spunk and gumption. As reward for impressing me, I may just Turn you," around him, his sub-ordinates all cracked their knuckles and growled lowly, ready to fight.

"Thanks for the offer," Xander said, even as he saw the leader was now in the 'zone', as he liked to call it, "but I'll have to pass. How about a counter-offer?"

Then he moved.

He pushed himself off of the wall violently, giving himself just that little extra speed that needed to survive this assault, turning it into a quick leap, moving faster than he probably should have been capable of, and thrust the old wooden mop handle, thankfully broken and splintered at the end, that he had seen and pierced the heart of the spokesman before he even knew what had hit him.

But it didn't end there.

Knowing that the elements of speed and surprise would be his greatest asset in this fight, he kept moving, ripping out his makeshift weapon from the now dusting vamp and moved towards the others, who were all frozen in surprise at the demise of their leader..

Another was conveniently within reach, suffering the same fate as its comrade, even as Xander's foot lashed out to take the legs out from under the next nearest one. A palm thrust with just enough force to knock the body off the wooden spear, a twirl of the wood to gain momentum, and the third vampire of the night was killed, spear nailing him to the stone ground through his hear briefly before being ripped out.

By that time, the other three were beginning to stir, recovering their wits enough to defend themselves. Xander once more did the 'swift leap', short and low and fast, bringing him into the range of the next vamp. A grab from the undead, blindingly fast, was seen through effortlessly from the human and dodged. A swift swing of the staff took the legs out from under it and a powerful stomp to the throat, the sound of crushed, if unused, airways was heard clearly. Reflexively, it made the vamp gag and hold his throat, instincts from the time he was amongst the living having not quite deserted him.

Xander quickly stabbed again before it could recover.

As it was nailed to the ground, Xander held the staff firmly and used it to leverage himself up and over it, like a gymnast, avoiding the retribution of another undead blood-drinking solar-challenged abomination. He practically did a hand stand on the top of the pole for a moment, before letting himself complete the move, and kept falling forward, swinging his legs to side slightly, and used the staff as leverage an aerial double kick, centre mass, on the just dodged vampire, launching him an easy ten feet, and sending him skidding a few more back to the feet of the robed figure.

The last vampire looked at him hesitantly, not sure what to make of a seemingly normal human that had been able to take out five of his brethren within a New York minute and now seeming sat in the air, hovering a few inches off of the ground, as he braced his hands and arms on the very tip of the staff to keep him that way for a moment. To the recently turned vamp, what the boy had performed was more like something out of a chop-socky flick than a real life fight.

He didn't have time to contemplate more as the boy, or whatever the hell he was, used his arms to propel him up and towards him, feet first, in a move that should have been impossible. His disbelieving face had bootprints stamped into it a moment later, knocking him down, which was followed a whistling in the air and ashen oblivion another moment after that.

Xander panted slightly heavily, hiding the true extent of his exhaustion. Even as his muscles felt like they were filled with acid, dissolving slowly beneath his skin, he stood tall as he looked carefully at the robed figure and the groaning figure of the remaining vamp at its feet.

It had been quite a while since had pulled off the tricks he had just done, so he was a little out of shape and resolved to make an effort to bring himself back to where he should be. These skills were one of the few things he could use and develop from his little Halloween experience. Some of the more esoteric skills of the character he had gone as wasn't available to him, nor was he even close to as strong or fast as he was, but the memories, a full lifetime's and even longer, had stayed with him, never allowing them to fade or become diluted.

Memories of battles, of war, of mischief, of penance, of friendship.

And training. Lots and lots of training.

With them as an aid, and a few spars and discussions with Giles, who had been quite impressed by the raw skill he had shown, however he had obtained it, he had become quite the formidable staff-user. Even if Giles could still beat him into the ground if he had a mind to.

Those lessons, along with the older male helping him to keep a grip on his own mind so as his psyche would not be swept away by the weight of an immensely older and experienced mind, had proved invaluable now in saving his arse.

Soft clapping drew his attention to the robed figure, pale bony hands emerging from the voluminous sleeves of the dark robe and softly applauding, "Impressive," the figure murmured, carrying easily to Xander's ears despite the lack of volume, "I can see why they were so concerned about your actions," poisonous yellow eyes, different from a vamp's, vividly glowing, were glimpsed through the darkness of the hood for a moment before disappearing, "and the resulting consequences."

OOO-kay. That didn't sound ominous at all. Xander was suddenly more wary than he had been before. Whoever this guy was, he was bad news. Not only did he seem powerful enough that the vamps had taken orders from him to kill his innocent self, but it also seemed that he had been informed about him from sources higher up the mumbo-jumbo food chain.

Yes, Xander was pretty sure it was a really, really, really shitty day to be him.

The vamp at the bottom of the creepy guy's feet groaned louder and stirred from his kick induced slumber. Xander had been rather happy with what he had managed to do to the vamp, even if it had almost strained a couple of his muscles in doing so. A vamp in pain always brought a song to his heart. Maybe a little sadistic, but he honestly believed vamps were little more then vermin that needed an exterminator.

The robe shifted a little, like the figure was glancing down at the injured vamp, "Disappointing," the voice, now raspy and cold, freezing the vamp in place. A long finger pointed at the fallen form of the vamp, "Away with you."

Before the vamp could even say a word, an orb of power, like lightning, shot from the finger of the figure and struck the vamp, consuming it in a surge of crackling power. A moment passed, and not even ashes were left.

Xander stared a little wide eyed at what the figure had done, even as his guts turned to ice. Yeah, it was a really shitty day to be him, alright.

"Now," the figure's voice returned to the smooth, urbane tone, cultured and polite. It made Xander want to bash the brains out of this oily snake, "what should I do with you, Alexander Lavelle Harris?"

"Ahh," Xander said, raising a finger in futile hope, "I don't suppose 'letting him go on his merry way' is on the table, is it?"

The figure chuckled approaching him slowly, almost seeming to glide over the concrete, "Unfortunately for you, no it is not, Mr. Harris."

"Please," Xander interjected firmly, finding a slice of bravado even as he knew his end was coming, "call me Alexander or Xander. I prefer not to be linked to my unfortunate sperm donor."

The hood shifted, like the figure had cocked it's head in curiosity, "I suppose I could do that," the figure allowed, "I'll consider it a mercy for a dead man," the feeling of smirk was felt by the young man, "a 'last request', if you will."

"Thanks a bunch," Xander said, firmly gripping his makeshift staff, knowing it would do little against a being who could throw this much power around with barely a word, "though, could you satisfy this dying man's curiosity? I really want to know what I did to earn this little execution."

The figured paused, just out of reach of his 'zone', damn it, "I suppose so," the figure responded before explaining, "it just do happens that many of your...misadventures... on the Hellmouth have disturbed a great many beings, powerful ones, and nearly destroyed many of their plans. Managing to save the Gypsy woman was one of them, she has been quite the pest among the lot of your troupe."

"She's a good woman," Xander said with a shrug, "somewhere between a fun aunt and an older sister. Besides I was only in the right place at the right time," he grimaced slightly, remembering the nasty game of cat and muse he and Jenny had played against Angelus and his vamp-mooks, all through the school, until dawn had managed to arrive, forcing them below ground and gone. It was the scariest night he had ever experienced and not one he was willing to repeat if he didn't have a choice.

"Perhaps," the figure said in agreement, "but you still prevented her from being removed from the playing board," the figure snorted slightly in annoyance, "the Clans were never the most predictable or trustworthy of servants, too much passionate and too little reason," a yellow gimlet eye pierced the resigned boy, "though that was only a mere annoyance compared to the utter chaos you caused with what you did to the Slayer-line. Twice."

"Hey!" Xander objected, his anger now returning full force, stung at what the figure had implied, "Was I supposed to just let my friend lay there, dead and dying?"

Oh now the Xan-man was pissed. Whoever the scum were that was calling this guy's shots, had managed to make his shit list. Wanting to kill him for saving his friends, reviving Buffy and managing to revive Kendra? That just wasn't cricket and showed that the Big Boss wasn't the most benevolent person around.

"If you valued your own life, you would have," the figure responded drolly, "but then, for a person who seems to make the most suicidal of schemes and battle plans, it shouldn't be surprising that your ignorance blinds you from the big picture."

"Your big picture is painted with the blood of innocents and champions," Xander growled, disgust in his voice. He could now see what the man was talking about. Sacrifice one to save ten, kill ten to save a hundred. All that blood, created from murder, for there was no other way to describe setting up someone's death even if they hadn't pulled the trigger the themselves, just so these morons could reach the promised land, as decided by them.

"So," the figure shrugged, "people die everyday, living out there meaningless little lives, wasting them away, and doing nothing of value before their death. We just make sure that, when you die, your death actually does something to help the 'White-Hats', giving them an edge, even if we have to fudge the lifespan and cut it a little short," the figure snorted again, "you lot breed like rabbits anyway, its not like they were truly important any-"

Smash! Crack!

The figure rolled to the side to avoid the makeshift staff when it was smashed down where he had been just a moment ago, making the broom handle snap and break in half, by the angry fist of Xander Harris, whose anger had given him the strength and power to move quick enough, even if the figure was out side his 'zone'.

Fury was all that filled Xander's mind. Uncaring of his physical state, of the delicate balance of his mind, gave himself over to the memories that were housed within him, letting them take the reins and battle his foe, backed by his indomitable will and immense anger and rage, channeling it into power to force his limbs to move that little bit faster, to hit that little bit stronger.

For the first time, in a long, long time, the fury of an Ape descended upon the mortal realm.

"Shit!" the figure swore tersely, avoiding a wicked stab from the splintered end of the broken mop and another dodge to avoid its twin, placing him with his back against a wall, with no way out.

"Fuck!" he swore again as a the shattered staff halves smashed into his ribs, making him double over, only to set straight with a knee directly to the solar-plexus, cracking his sternum judging from the sharp blinding pain in his chest, and crunching back into the crumbling wall.

Fists, wood, knees and elbows rained down on the still hooded figure, giving him a working over the Famiglias would take notes on. Xander's rage knew no bounds as he tore down the figure, who was obviously stronger than himself, never letting him get a breath to retaliate, How dare he put down the sacrifice of his friends! How dare he call them unimportant!

So deep in his rage was he, that he missed the glow of the now desperate figure's hands.

He didn't miss the explosive force that hit him though.

Xander felt as if her was just hit by a rocket to the gut, the force sending him flying back. The pain in his gut was soon matched by the pain in his back as he was buried into the wall on the other side of the alley, making a snow-angel in the brick and mortar that now held him up.

"T-That" the hooded figure coughed wetly, spitting out blood and bile to clear his throat before continuing, "That is quite enough," a yellow eye burned deeply as it glared at the one that had closed it's partner by an elbow to the socket, "you will pay for that, boy," the figure hissed and rasped, trying to speak normally through a damaged throat.

"Fuck you," Xander said hoarsely, weakly. His body was spent, pushed beyond all reasonable bounds in his rage, and he was now paying for it, his body feeling like it had gone through a blender, his muscles and tendons torn and ripped in his rage.

Helpless in front of a pissed-off enemy.

The figure growled, "Originally, I was supposed to kill you," the figure was now hissing like an angry serpent, "make it look like a rescue gone wrong, just so the troupe of yours can be kept off balance, make them pliable," the figure was finally able to stand again, even if he was leaning heavily on the brick wall behind him, "it would have been painless, a quick unconsciousness followed by a draining. You wouldn't have been Turned, despite what the fool had said. But now," he growled angrily, "now, you have royally pissed me off. Death would be too kind for you."

Xander's apprehension grew as the figure stiffly reached into the folds of his robe, drawing out a simple scroll, tied in an emerald green ribbon that seemed to glow.

"Do you know what this is, boy?" the figure mocked, "this is ancient scroll that has within it, a sealed portion of power that was stolen from the monks of Dagon. It was reputed that the holder of this scroll could go anywhere, enter any realm, without a toll being extracted for doing so, even the world of the dead can be entered, neither Hell's nor Heaven's gates could bar them entrance."

A glint of cruelty crept into his unswollen eye, "Turned around, this scroll is able to banish foes from the world, cutting the links they have to their native realm to ensure that they are unable to return."

Xander's eyes widened in understanding and horror.

"I see you understand," the figure said amusedly, "I am going to use this to banish you from this place, never to return. But you will live. You will live knowing that time marches on, your friends and family will scarcely remember you.

"And you will not be there to protect them from our plans."

"Damn you," Xander growled as he tried to work himself out from the wall. That damn bastard was threatening his friends, to make them dance his tune, ending in their deaths so as to reap their own rewards from their sacrifices.

"Goodbye, Alexander Lavelle Harris," the figure smirked, showing sharp teeth, as it loosened the ribbon from the scroll, "have a pleasant trip."

The scroll began to glow brightly, a vivid green that reminded the struggling boy of the Green Lantern from DC Comics. The light began to tremble, quiver, quake and ripple, like green water in the air. It spun in place above the above the scroll, seeming to search, before locking onto the boy pressed into the wall and launching itself forward.

It had traveled only a foot, when time seemed to stop. The world was still, the air unmoving, frozen in place. Those caught in this sudden stoppage, were completely unaware.

"Well now-" a light male voice spoke as a new figure stepped seemingly out of the wall next to the frozen and oblivious mage, before being interrupted.

"This is-" a deeper male voice continued, coming from just as close by, from almost the same mouth in fact.

"Interesting," the two spoke in unison.

Stepping into the dim light of the alley, was a strange man. Taller than the average human and much more solid, the being looked around with his four eyes, two for each face it had. The left hand side and the right hand side mirroring each other with a thick but neatly trimmed dark beard connecting with the side burns, making his faces look framed by the pitch black hair.

They/he stood between the two frozen combatants, one a robed mage, quite powerful if the being discerned correctly, and thoroughly evil. Not a word he used lightly, as good and evil were often subjective, but this mage's soul was blacker than pitch, twisted and distorted beyond the original concept of 'soul' due to the acts blasphemy and abomination he had performed, simply for the mere joy at doing so.

It was quite frankly disgusting for him to witness, his divine sight letting him see more, delving beneath the surface of the skin, than any mortal could.

His attention then turned to the other person in the alley, one that had a trace of his own power upon him. That skerrick of lingering power being used is what drew him to this place.

Black hair, brown eyes and rather young, still in his teens. The divine being frowned slightly as he sensed the familiar power resting on the boy, covering him like a blanket.

"Hellmouth," the face turned toward the boy embedded in the brick wall said to himself softly. This boy was from a Hellmouth, probably Sunnydale if the he got the location of this town correct. More than that though, the sheer power of the miasma from the Hellmouth that blanketed him indicated something that he hadn't seen in quite a while.

A Fell.

A Fell was the name of a being that had been born within the influence of an active Hellmouth and had grown up within said influence, passively absorbing the power a Hellmouth naturally gives out, which in turn granted the Fell a few boons and disadvantages. As the Hellmouth was a dimensional disturbance, Fells had a way about them, something that disturbs the order of things, capable of breaking natural laws, by shifting the chances of phenomena happening unconsciously, such as wooden plank going to strike them suddenly snapping for an unexplainable reason, or even mystical laws, such as prophecies.

In short, they were the ultimate wild card, completely unpredictable.

This, of course, led to both sides of the fence, who both wanted the order of things kept how they wanted it, wanting them out of the way. Considering they generally killed off such beings before they hit puberty, it looked like they missed one and were rectifying that oversight.

Easier said than done though, considering that they grew stronger the longer they stayed atop a Hellmouth, and this one seemed to have never left it until about a month ago. Making the boy quite a rarity.

There was also the other little features a Fell had. One of which is being a demon magnet, or rather supernatural magnet. As his aura is juiced by a Hellmouth, his aura in turn also emits a slightly weaker but almost identical field, drawing the 'night life' to him like a moth to a flame. The 'night life' probably doesn't even do it consciously, just letting their instinct draw them to him.

The second feature, which was more of a bug, was the distortion effect. Essentially, any magic cast by him, or on him, will never go as planned, often having side-effects unforeseen or even backfiring completely. No witch worth their salt would be stupid enough to cast magic on a Fell, not with even the slightest chance of it coming back to bite them hard on the arse.

Properly trained, and identified, and a Fell was the 'underground's' and the 'white sky's'. Worst nightmare. Able to almost waltz through their security like it wasn't even there and able to bring down even the mightiest of foes with a little bit of luck.

This made them even greater targets for the various hatchet men among the upper halls and the lower depths. Which is probably why the boy was set against a mage of immensely powerful proportions, his magical power and skill able to overcome the distortion effect.

The boy needed to die, no ifs, ands or buts, in the opinion of the many in power among the lower and upper realms.

Janus wasn't going to let that happen.

He finally recognised the boy, the lingering presence of his own power jogging the literally two-faced god's memory. One of his followers, an Ethan Rayne, had performed a spell on the Hellmouth some time ago, drawing on his Chaos aspect, and changed any who had worn an item from his store into their costume.

The boy, with a Fell's luck for drawing out the strange and unusual, had been caught up in it, changing into a character from myth and legend.

When the spell broke, all the costumes had returned to normal and there were only brief lingering effects among the possessed, which had faded away by the time a fortnight had passed, their memories of that person returning to the ether.

As a Fell, and a powerful one, the effects were somewhat different for the boy. The memories had stayed.

Each night he went to bed, he relived the life and times of the being that had possessed him, knowing each and every one of their sorrows and triumphs, their grief and joy, their glory and death. It had taken a formidable will for the boy to not be completely taken over by the much older and experienced personality, his psyche able to weather the mass amounts of memory from the timeless being that had inhabited his body for a few brief hours.

Even then it had changed him a little.

Apparently, some of the skills had drifted over if the way he had seen the boy use the mop handle as a weapon was any indication. Post-cognition was really handy like that. Also his skills in the old Chinese languages were impeccable, and when spoken, it was without a trace of an accent.

There were a few other minor changes, little quirks of the possessor passing on to the possessed, but other than that, there were almost no changes. The side-effects had still allowed the boy to be able to do a great deal of harm to the Pricks-That-Be's little plans, even more so than he would have done if he had chosen the soldier costume instead.

Still, Janus was somewhat fond of the kid, who made decisions based in his own beliefs rather than relying on words inscribed on scrolls before toilet paper had been invented to guide his course. The boy believed firmly in free will, the right to make their decisions, their own mistakes, and to learn from them.

This was something that Janus, the God of Choices, could appreciate and had earned the boy his favour.

It would seem now was the time for the favour to be called in.

"We can't keep him here," the right head said, still looking at the green bolt of light frozen in the air with a frown, "our influence is limited in this realm and that bolt is made from the Key."

"True," the left side answered sadly, "but we can shift the destination to somewhere more...palatable. With a going away present, of course."

The right side thought for a moment, before it's eyebrows shot up, "you don't mean there, do you?"

"Our influence is limited," the left explained, "but with our existence there, we have a bit more power to call on," the left smirked a little, "not to mention it is close to home for the boy. Sun, sand and monsters galore."

"True," agreed the right, "so shall we?"

Without a response, the entirety of the toga wearing deity began to glow a bright blue, readying himself form a powerful spell...

"Wait!" A hoarse voice called.

Only to be surprised, and greatly shocked, as another being exclaimed at him, despite the fact he had frozen time for a duration. Only the a being stronger than he could have done so.

His glow dimmed as he began to question the intruder, turning in the direction of the voice, "Who call- aaahhhh," Janus sighed in understanding, and slight sorrow, as the being staggered into the light.

Clad in black silk pants that were taped at the ankle, making them puff out at the knees, and a small vest that barely covered the top half of his torso, leaving the rest of the muscular v-cut body bare, with vivid burning red eyes staring at the deity beneath the white gold hair even as a slight smirk showed off the figure's enlarged canines, creasing the laugh lines around the lips and corners of the eyes. His bracer adorned muscular, like a fighter not a body builder, arms carried a large red silk bag slung over his shoulder.

Despite the slightly inhuman face, a subtle cast to it that made many a mortal think 'ape', he cut quite the impressive figure, the strength of his aura drawing people's attention, like bees to flowers.

At least it would have, if not for the sense of exhaustion, the bone- no, the soul- deep weariness that Janus could feel beneath the physical facade. A tiredness that came only from time, time without knowledge or repute, without acknowledgement or worship.

The tiredness of a Fading god.

"I said 'wait', you two-faced rock head," the coarse and hoarse voice snapped, even as it's owner leaned heavily against an alley wall.

Janus' eyebrows, all four of them, twitched in irritation, in unison. He had almost forgotten the disreputable manner this particular deity carried himself with. It made for excellent entertainment at parties, watching as other gods tried not to lose their temper at this ones disrespect, making their faces look like an artist's palette, right up until you were the target of his disrespect and crude humour.

Janus wasn't going to take that lying down, no way in Pluto.

"This coming from someone literally born from a stone," both faces retorted, "tell me, were you stupid as child, or did working in the stables of the Jade Emperor only add the amount of horse shit in your brain pan, o Bimawen?"

The figure growled at the insult, "Don't mention that again. Ever."

"You started it," Left said with a whine.

"Enough," said Right sharply, before the older, more powerful, even if he was Fading, deity could retort, before the face of Janus sighed heavily, "what is it that you want, Sun Wukong?"

The Monkey King shifted uneasily, as if he was ashamed, something that had Janus-Right raising an eyebrow. For a deity known to mock even the Buddha, shame was almost alien to the being.

"I felt the boy," the King of Apes said, like he was pulling his teeth, gesturing to the boy embedded in the bricks, "and the danger he was in, just before you frozen the moment," the King sighed heavily, looking older suddenly, "I'm not as fast as I used to be."

Janus, both sides, blinked. If they took that comment at face value, then Sun Wukong, one of the most irresponsible and wild of deities, was coming to the aid of a boy that, to his knowledge, he had no link to.

Maybe the Nordic Ragnarok had started when he wasn't looking?

"Why would you do that?" Janus-Right, the more negative of the faces asked, suspicious of the god's attentions. While the boy may not be a true worshipper, he came pretty close, preaching his words without the benefits of access to the blessings of his followers, which earned a decent degree of respect. For a mortal.

Not to mention he still owed the kid a favour. Watching the uptight Bastards-That-Be run around like headless chickens for the last two years due to the boy's actions had been hilarious, for those above and below alike.

Served them right removing the majority of the gods, from all pantheons, influence on the world, reducing them to a slow, lingering death by Fading. They had not been pleased.

Not to mention many of the Greek Gods, at least those still around and not having Faded, had a major case of the blue balls without the relief of taking a mortal lover.

The Monkey King merely looked at the boy in question. There was a tenderness there, much to Janus' surprise, a gleam of true affection, devoid of the falsity and the mischief that usually surrounded the troublesome ape.

If he didn't know any better, Janus would have said it was like...

No. Janus shook his heads violently, ridding himself of the ridiculous thought. That was impossible.

"I have been around a long, long time, Janus," Sun began answering obliquely, "I have seen ages come and go, along with empires, dynasties and what have you," the ape sighed as he raised a large hand to stare at it, Janus' four eyes widening as he saw golden dust, fleeting, ephemeral and majestic, drifting off of the hand, as if in a gentle breeze, before dissipating into the ether, leaving the hand to seem to flicker, like a badly tuned television.

"And now it is my turn."

Janus bowed his heads for a moment, in respect and sorrow. He had known the old ape had lost a fair bit of his power because of the BTB's decision to Seperate, following their hogwash dogma of 'balance'.

Janus snorted slightly. The only way they would achieve their 'balance' is if they completely eradicated all the players on the board. Good and Bad. Janus personally preferred the world the way it was and the way it had been. A mix of light and dark, order and chaos, constantly changing and shifting in order to adapt and survive.

That cauldron of chaos had shaped heroes of yore. The warriors. Achilles and Hector. The strategists, Iskander and Attila. The sorcerers of the likes of Merlin and Morganna. Each of them, despite their differences, powerful enough to be remembered, to shape the world with their footsteps and to leave their footprints in history even if they are dead.

Any of them, despite some of them being mere mortals, and all of their fellow heroes of similar and even lesser renown, could have torn apart a Slayer, the so called Champion of the BTB, that Janus preferred to call 'slave', who now supposedly guarded the world due to the lack of direct divine influence.

It honestly made Janus rather angry to even think about it, so he tried not to do it too often.

(It should be noted that all elevators currently in use were frozen in their tracks at this time, their doors refusing to open or move up or down the shaft. Emergency services were worked to the bone the next day rescuing the trapped and getting them working once more. There hadn't been such an event since the Lock Up of '92, when all electric doors had refused to open around the world.)

Many Gods, reliant on the belief of their worshippers to survive, to exist, had then begun to Fade. It is the equivalent of death for an immortal, or maybe even worse. For a mortal, with life span comparable to a mayfly's to the Gods, death was inevitable, their spirit/soul or whatever you wish to call it, departing the material plane, returning to the Well of Souls and waiting to be reborn in a new body. For an immortal, one whose soul was crafted from the dreams and belief of mortals mingling with the power of the Earth itself, when they lost their lives, they lost their individuality, their sense of self, as they dissipated, forgotten, and the power returned to the bosom of the Earth-Mother.

Never to return.

For some who had seen ages come and go, remembering the better times for immortals, it was almost a blessing to return to the Earth, having come to despise the way humanity had changed without their involvement and under the yoke of the BTB.

For yet more, it was almost a curse to forced to linger, the stories of their existence among the mortals keeping them a step away from death, their powers weak, like a cancer patient in endless agony but unable to die.

Yet others still managed to retain a large portion of their powers, their priest hoods managing to mingle with the times despite the efforts of various BTB lackeys to commit priestly genocide, their worship changing to reflect society as it evolved but still retaining that kernel of true worship from the days of old.

Janus was part of the third category, his Domain of Change making him, and by extension his priesthood, able to see the way the wind was blowing, enabling them to hide, mingle and survive where others stood tall, strong and defiant, before being cut down like wheat before the scythe.

Sun Wukong, however, was a unique case. His legend was strong, almost universally known throughout the world due to widespread media. Songs and stories, plays and movies, these and many more were crafted, keeping him alive, keeping him strong and powerful even through the rise of Communism in his homeland, when many other cultural icons had fallen to their desire to wipe out the past.

But they did not worship him.

Idolise, yes. True Worship, no.

And without that worship, despite all his strength and power, all he could do, was watch, as the world spun on, humanity's path of self-destruction clearly seen by his ruby red eyes.

There was nothing worse for a warrior, than to raise a sword, only for it to have no meaning.

The early days of Separation had seen the rise of the Monkey King's rage, something not seen since the times of the 'Journey to the West', as the shock had worn off and Stone Monkey had finally understood the full extent of this decree.

It had made the Trojan war and the more recent World Wars seem like a water balloon fight as the Monkey had trashed and destroyed the realm of the BTB, destroying them as well, if they tried to face him.

The BTBs may have more Authority, given by the Creator herself, that allowed them to order around the Gods, but the Gods themselves had much more power, through the infinite power of collective dreams and beliefs of humanity.

But Authority meant little to a Hero, a Trickster.

Finally, after what seemed to be a century long tantrum, the Monkey King had merely looked at the fallen and crushed, but unable to die, BTB, contempt and hatred in his glaring red eyes.

'My eyes,' he had said, gesturing to the crimson orbs, 'were created in a Celestial oven, along with the rest of my body, over the course of 49 days and 49 nights, in an attempt to kill me. In the end, I broke myself out, stronger than before, and my eyes could see evil, wherever it was, however it hid.

'Tell me now, o worms, what do you think I see before me now?'

He had then left without another word, going into seclusion, the last of his fires, the spirit of the Victorious Fighting Buddha, becoming mere embers to the wildfire it once had been.

The BTB had then been, very, very careful around the Monkey King from then on, not eager for a repeat performance.

It finally seemed, however, that his lack of worship was finally catching up to even the old Trickster.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Janus-Left, the more light and soft part of the entity called Janus, admitted sincerely, and he truly was. The old ape was one of the few contemporaries he still had among the Gods.

Not to mention the shared like of causing chaos and disruption for the BTB.

"I knew it was coming," the ape waved off, more dust falling, "I just wanted to do one last thing before I passed."

"And that is?" Asked Janus-Right, and eyebrow raised a little suspiciously.

Another odd look at the boy from the ape caused the Roman Deity to frown again. Maybe that thought hadn't been so stupid after all...

"This boy dressed as me you know," the ape said conversationally, never taking his intent ruby orbs off of the boy, as if memorising his features, "for Halloween. Not as Son Goku from Dragonball as most kids do these days, but as the true me, the real Monkey King instead of some cheap knock off."

"I know that," Right said impatiently, "what is the point?"

"Ummm, maybe-" Left said hesitantly in warning, before he was interrupted.

"I also know," a hand was suddenly thrust forward, a simian finger extended to just in front of the Roman's nose, despite the distance between them, "that you, empowered a spell on the boy, making him as if he was I during that night. Becoming me."

Janus looked down the suddenly long, long arm of the Chinese Hero, reputed to able lift over eight tons of weight like it was a feather, feeling that he may have just bitten off more than he could chew.

"The boy saw all of my memories," the simian Hero continued, never moving his eyes or finger from their positions, "my birth, my youthful days, my training, my adventures, even my imprisonment in the hand of Buddha and feeling the flames of the oven.

"And I, in turn, saw his."

The finger retracted into a dusty golden fist, clenched and cracking.

"What I saw," the voice was now soft and deadly, yet still retained a depth of affection Janus had never seen from the old monkey, "stirred my heart. Feelings of hatred and protectiveness, rage and love, bloomed in my breast for the first time in an age, not since my sons had passed on had I felt this."

Janus suddenly realised that those odd looks had not been for show. That they truly were what he had thought they had been.

The looks a father gave a precious child.

"I tracked the boy's progress, watching what he did after he had received my memories and was no longer driven by them as he had been during Halloween."

Sun Wukong's face smiled, the old air of mischievousness remerging after such a long time hidden and buried beneath the rage at the BTB.

"I couldn't have been prouder. Even without the natural skills my birth sons would have had, he acquitted himself as well as he was able, never giving up or giving in, and giving the BTB a headache similar to the ones gave the Jade Emperor," true laughter spilled from the ape's throat for the first time in a long time, joyous and full, "he was more like my self than any of my five birth sons were, without the arrogance that I once had."

The laughter and joy dimmed, the more familiar edge of ugly rage crossing his face, something that had dwelled there since the Separation.

"And now the BTB wants to take him away," a truly ferocious scowl crossed his face, suddenly looking more along the lines of an angry and protective wolf than the impish ape he was, "not this time."

"You can't stop the banishment," Janus said urgently, but carefully. He didn't want an angry warrior to fall on him like the wrath of Heaven over a misunderstanding, thank you very much, "the mage is using the captured power of the Key. Despite my power over the Doors, the best I can do is alter the destination, not stop it entirely."

"I know," the Ape said calmly, "and I am furious at myself at not noticing the danger before now, but what is done is done," he sighed heavily, his head bowed, "that's why I want you to hold this Space for a little longer while I do what I came here to do and then you do what you came to do."

Janus raised all his eyebrows in question, before all his eyes bugged out as the simian Hero began pulling items out of the silk bag he held.

A golden cap with a red feather, a set of sandals trimmed in green, a set of golden mail were drawn out and placed before the boy, making Janus gape at what he thought the old ape was doing.

He almost lost control of the Spacial Freezing spell as the last three items were drawn from the bag.

A long black staff with golden caps on either end, a set of slightly glowing purple rosary beads, numbering a 108 if Janus were a betting man, and a simple golden headband, the front of it curling like two monkey's tails.

Each of these items were named in legend and myth, the treasures of an age when human and God still walked side by side. They were the sacred items of the Monkey King, especially the staff.

At it seemed that they would all be given to the boy.

"Sun Wukong," asked Janus in shock, "what are-?" Janus froze at the next actions of the Ape King.

Squelch! Squelch!

With a sickening noise, and without even a whimper of pain, the ruby orbs of the Monkey King were torn from their sockets and carefully placed, without hesitation, on top the chain mail.

Janus had gone beyond shocked now, frozen in place as the Hero God tore himself apart.

And the the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, wasn't finished.

The Chinese god's body rippled for an instant, shaking briefly and violently. The hair which he had used in his adventures to great effect, floated off his body, leaving him bald, and gathered into a bundle inside the rosary, three glints of gold were seen amongst the black by the horror struck four eyes of Janus.

What was this fool planning? The thought tore through the Roman's mind. This is mindless butchery and mutilation! It is almost like he is sacri...

...

Oh.

Eyes dawned bright in understanding, even as the Monkey King, blind and bald, dropped his knees before the boy, as if in prayer.

A slight smirk then covered both faces of the God of Beginnings and Endings. Well, this would certainly put a cat amongst the pigeons. Entertaining to watch though.

A soft mutter of prayers filled the dead quiet alley, as the Monkey King prepared the spell he knew, but had never used.

Blood of crimson and gold, floated from the destroyed sockets, glowing with power, and becoming a mist that slowly floated over to the boy still frozen and unaware boy, entering his mouth and nose. More blood flowed from the absent eyes, more glowing mist was created, more of it flowed into the boy's body, for several minutes as Janus watched with a slightly sad smile, sorrow, laughter and triumph present in that curl of the lips.

The muttering stopped abruptly, as the Monkey fell silent, his form flickering violently for a moment, before resolving back to solidity.

Abyss filled craters 'looked' up at the boy, as if still able to see him, a smirk of mischief and pride on the lips.

A Word was barked from the King, filled with Power and Authority, the air trembling beneath its strength.

As if commanded, the various items placed before the boy leapt up, even the red silk bag, hovering in the air, before glowing a burning gold light and shooting towards the boy, blinding even the Roman god.

"Was that really necessary?" Right complained as he blinked his eyes to adjust.

"Yes," the monkey's voice was more hoarse, weaker, than it had been, the now blind ape getting to his feet slowly and easily. It impressed the heck out of the Roman to see the endurance of this old ape. Blind, weak and Fading, he still looked like he could battle a whole Pantheon and come out on top.

It was rather humbling to be honest.

Janus glanced at the boy he had originally been ready to help, as was still going to once the whole thing was done, and was rather impressed.

He was mainly the same, even if the muscles were a bit more emphasised and was a few of inches taller, making him an even six foot six inches with a inch or two more to grow if the state of the body was any indication. The only major differences were the presence of the rosary around his neck, dropping to the heart area due to its length and the size of the beads, the state of his hair, still black as night but sticking up and bristling, Janus also thought he could faintly see a glint of gold somewhere in there, and lastly, the boy's eyes, brown and crimson chaotic swirling orbs that were rather disturbing, even to the God of chaos.

Janus thought the eyes alone would scare the living shit out of many of the monsters that still tread upon the Earth.

"Are you sure you made the right choice?" Right said seriously, frowning, "even if he does play on the side of angels, said angels may not be the most accepting of someone of his potential."

The Monkey King merely ignored him, looking at the one who had inherited his mantle, the heir of the Great Sage. His empty sockets seeming to see the boy and approve of what he saw.

"The choice has been made," a repeatedly flickering hand was extended, stroking the boy's face in the gesture of affection, "there is no going back."

A click of the dusty, almost vanishing fingers, and a small scroll, sealed in red wax with the stamp of the character for 'Monkey' impressed into it, appeared and was quickly tucked into the boy's pocket.

The Monkey King then moved away from the boy, backing off until his flickering form was directly beside the mage, his empty sockets conveying his rage as he looked at the mage briefly.

"You done?" Asked Janus, more out of form than anything else. He didn't see how anything else the old ape could top what he had just done.

At a nod, the Roman began to glow again, a short phrase of Latin was spoken, making the boy, the young Alexander, glow the same colour, before both glows vanished.

"There," Janus grunted, "that should keep the boy safe when he lands and alert my counterpart. He'll look in on the kid, give him a heads up and an introduction into the 'who's who and what's what' of the realm. If he's lucky, my counterpart may take him as a protege or something of that description."

"Good," the flickering Hero sighed tiredly, "good."

"We better go," the Roman suggested looking up suddenly, feeling something. A presence, like a hawk searching for its prey, "the BTB are starting to wonder why the kid isn't dead yet and are looking. They won't miss this bubble when they lock onto their lackey."

The Monkey King's face twisted in hate, despising the fools, before nodding in agreement...

And suddenly striking out at the mage, the Spacial Freezing spell doing little to stop his battle-trained hand from crushing his throat in a swift movement, then ambling up to a smirking Roman.

"You know that isn't going to do anything to stop the spell, you know?" Janus said as he glowed a brilliant hue.

"Maybe," the rapidly Fading Monkey King admitted, "but he dared to touch my son."

The Roman chuckled as a portal in the air opened, gesturing the King to go through first, "After you, o Monkey King," he said with a double smile.

"I am not the Monkey King," said Sun, as he walked through, leaving a trail of golden dust fall behind him. He glanced over his disappearing shoulder, darkness glimpsing the boy's brownish-red, "there is a new king now. I am merely as I was long ago, Shi Hou."

The monkey then passed into the portal, returning to the Realm Above.

But never reaching the other side.

Janus frowned sadly, feeling the force of an old friend disappear. Another friend lost to the decree of those fools and bastards.

"You heard your father, kid," he said to the oblivious boy, as he began to enter the portal, "your a King now, show them what you got when you get there," his feet entered the portal, rippling like a still lake from a thrown pebble.

"And keep up the good work," he said with a smirk as he began to disappear as well, "anything that gives those old hags a headache is good in my book."

These final words spoken, Janus stepped through portal, disappearing from the mortal realm, even as time started flowing once more.

The bolt of emerald green shot for the unknowingly changed boy, even as the mage stumbled back, choking and gasping for air that would not come, even as his body fell limp, unable to receive signals from the brain to tell it to move.

The former Monkey King's strike had done more than just crush the mage lackey's throat.

The last thing Xander saw before his world was consumed by emerald light, followed by a deep blackness of unconsciousness, was the confusing sight of the mage that had cast at him choking to death.

The mage saw the emerald flash and sudden disappearance of his target, making him grin slightly even as he died. He hoped the kid enjoyed Hell, cause that was where he was going. He had heard it had done wonders for a certain vampire with a soul, maybe it would do something similar to the kid?

His last breath, was a laugh that cleared his throat, distorted, before he expired, slightly satisfied.

Let us leave him to his delusions, shall we?

Far above, amongst the high clouds, hidden from the sight of mortals and immortals alike, beings that seemed made of light nodded in satisfaction, sensing the 'Disturbance' cease to be. Now they could focus on their plans, without that irritating boy interfering. They were already behind schedule with the chaos the boy had kicked up with his actions, now was the time to get it back of the proper track.

The Powers-That-Be would soon find that getting their 'Master Plan' back on track to be harder than they thought. Especially with a legacy of the young man they had killed left behind, in all it's brunette green eyed glory.

Not to be confused with the Goddess Glory.

Though damn if the legacy didn't have one a body to rival one, the Shadowy One she had dressed as only enhancing her features slightly. After all, Scathach, while a beautiful woman, almost without rival, was a warrior born and bred, and many a God had fallen to might, magical and melee.

Hate to be them right now, wouldn't you?

Xander groaned to himself as he groggily began to awaken, "what the Hellmouth hit me? And did I get the bastard who did the hitting?"

Xander looked around blearily, before slamming them open, clearing them abruptly, as realisation hit him like the front bumper of a speeding truck.

It was daytime, about mid-morning if he was any judge by the height on the sun. In the distance, from his place laying beneath a large tree, he could here the honks and roars of cars and trucks, making him think he was near a road, probably a highway.

It was most certainly not the alley he had been in, fighting several vamps, winning, and then fighting a damned mage, losing, and then being punished by supposedly being banished.

"Well," Xander said to himself, wondering what, in the name of all things Hostess, to do now, "Shit."

Well folks, how did you like this story idea?