Disclaimer: Til i figure out a proper one ill simply say DO NOT OWN.

The dragon fell in with a trail of flames behind it, and Angel alongside. The only reason Spike knew Angel was still among the undead was the recently renewed blood bond that he and Angel shared. To think that, not too long ago, he shared a poem that hadn't been spoken aloud since Cecily's rejection and shared a bed and blood with his grandsire, which hasn't been done for over a century.

Spike didn't know how long ago the army of slayers, and one wicked witch, had joined the four of them – no three, Gunn hadn't lasted as long as Illyria predicted – but he was grateful. The sun was slowly revealing itself, and he couldn't stick around much longer.

"Oi! Poof! You had better get your bloody arse moving, we ain't got much time left!" Spike screamed over the din.

Faith snickered at his side. It was a shock to see him, for both her and the other Sunnydale survivors, but she was glad he hadn't really changed. He was a little more serious than the last apocalypse, particularly when telling them that under no circumstances was Illyria to be harmed. The way he seemed to hold the blue girl back, however, felt as though Illyria was the one who would do the most harm.

"Illyria," a voice rasped behind them. As noisy as an alleyway filled with demons and slayers can be, Angel's voice still rang true.

Angel began limping a little closer, his sword dragging behind him. The fall and the dragon's flames had damaged his entire left side – it would take weeks to fully recover, even on a diet of human blood. Once he reached the center of the circle that was somehow created by Spike, Illyria and Faith, Angel dug into his pocket and pulled out a familiar looking jewel on a long thin chain.

Spike shook slightly, unnoticed as the amulet sparkled in the rising sunlight. "You're really gonna do this," he asked, "You said that was a last resort and–"

"And it's time for it to end," Angel interrupted, walking to Spike's side. Lifting his injured hand, he gripped onto Spike's shoulder. "Everything's going just as planned so don't worry your-self."

Standing straight, Angel dropped his sword and placed both hands on the amulet. Turning towards Illyria, he nodded, then slowly turned towards the rising sun, his eyes never leaving her back.

"Faith," he started, "I want you and Spike to take everyone back to the hotel.

"Even though things won't occur as they did in Sunnydale," he continued before either of them could get a word out, "it'll still be too dangerous for anyone in this alley once the sun rises. It's best if all of you leave now." He could still feel their hesitations as he prepped himself for the spell he had to begin the moment the sun crossed the horizon. "Now!"

Spike nodded shortly. He wasn't very fond of the jewel that set him aflame and Angel was the last of his family – well the only one that would tolerate him, he knew Dru wouldn't take him back and he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to her – he didn't want his Grandsire to suffer the same way, despite how much he disliked Angel.

Taking a step away from Angel, Spike and Faith began calling for a retreat into the safety of the Hyperion Hotel. Although it was abandoned for the past year, the spells the Furies placed to ward the location, and prevent all violence within, was still active there. Should any of the army get pass Angel, they wouldn't be able to bring harm to the others.

As the last of the slayers left the alleyway, and the first rays of sunlight shone, Angel began to speak the words of the spell aloud. Around him, bodies fell with heavy thuds as Illyria worked to keep him safe. The spell was one Angel had found when he and his team were researching the reason Spike existence, particularly since he was non corporeal at the time. It was written that the amulet held the power to create a sort pocket dimension that would be protected from outsiders until the spell caster released what was put inside. With the assistance of trusted friends who were knowledgeable in old magic, portals and alternate dimensions, Angel was able to create a new spell he hoped would seal Wolfram and Hart from this dimension for all eternity – that is, should he survive feeding from an Old One and the rising of the sun.

"Angel," Illyria spoke from beside him, "Is it time yet?"

Angel's voice rose with the rising sun. He shook his head to the God-King's question – they needed to wait until the sun had fully entered his sight before he was to drink from her, no matter how much it burned. As a demon that walked dimensions, the power of Illyria's blood and of the sun was the key to the spell's success. So until the amulet activated, it would be dangerous to distract his only protection.

The amulet glowed once the incantation was complete and the sun had finished crossing the horizon. Not moments later, Angel transformed and Illyria side stepped behind him, wrist placed against his lips.

The blood of the God-King had to be the most disgusting thing he'd ever tasted - and he used to survive off rat blood. The power, however, was nothing he'd felt before, not even drinking off Hamilton compared. He could feel every cut, burn, fractured and broken bone heal as the power flowed through him. It was only the spell that kept him from imploding on Illyria's power.

Throwing his head back he felt a blast of energy run from the sun through Angel before send off a shockwave similar to that of a nuclear bomb. The energy was blinding and all the demons, save for Spike, Illyria and Angel, him self, throughout L.A. were thrown on impact, although many closest to him died the instant the wave touched them. Hundreds died while many more fled in terror of being pulled in by the spell.

Within five minutes Hell A was at peace.

The sky turned purple as the last vestige of energy flowed through Angel's body. Illyria knew that her protection wouldn't last much longer and that it removing the Half-breed from sunlight was the only way to ensure his survival. Usually, the God-King would never debase herself into something as low as carrying such a weakling out of danger, but the Fallen king had grown on her and she could tell how much her pet cared for his broken leader. Her pet lost too much, they've all lost too much, in recent time and she didn't wish to add to it.

The God-King entered the hotel slowly, using the memories of both her shell, Angel's contingency plans, and her own patrols of the building to move about quickly, quietly and unnoticed by those who occupied the place. She had to admit, fallen king though he may be, Angel had a fortress of a castle, so long as you knew how to make use of it.

Settling the fearless warrior in, Illyria began to walk toward the lobby to check on her pet.

A/N: old piece, still working on lots n lots of kinks. Reviews would be lovely in helping me get back on my feet.