madimpossibledreamer

This song was absolutely perfect and was part of the planning the minute I heard it. Thanks, Poets of the Fall. That being said, this is probably one of the chapters where the lyrics are really important and I absolutely encourage you to listen when you read this chapter. "Wake up, your chains are porcelain/Like a phoenix from the ashes we will rise again."
I apologize for the cliffhanger, but if you're too worried check the warnings.
Not in graphic detail, but like last chapter this absolutely has Jojo’s/Buffy violence.
We were always heading here. This was planned from the prologue and I almost can't believe we're actually here. What a ride it's been, and I hope you continue to stick with me.

Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure/Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU
Chapter Summary: Xander faces down his latest prophecy.
Word Count: 1264
Rating: Teen
Note: HERE THERE PROBABLY BE BUFFY/JJBA SPOILERS
Warning: Jojo’s/Buffy violence warning for this chapter for sure.

        Johan’s usual battle strategy usually goes something along these lines: he babbles at the enemy, confusing them or infuriating them or something useful. He’s managed to talk down Angelus once using only words. And then he’d run away, or use his Stand, or the power of the Ripple.
        As it is, he can do none of those things. It’s really smart, honestly. If he was free to speak as he wished, he might be able to interrupt just in time to mess up the ritual somehow. Because that’s the key, really, isn’t it. Everything Wesley has is focused on this, and plans of ritualistic sacrifice could be put on hold if he had to improvise to fix it, maybe, just maybe, giving the rest enough time to show up and save the day.
        He’d say he’s not used to counting on other people. That feels right and wrong at the same time. It’s probably more along the lines of, he’s not used to counting on anyone but Buffy, because Buffy always shows up in time to save his reckless ass. He’d made fun of Fitz, but he understood exactly how the blond, how Darling, too, just didn’t remember to think about the fact that they had backup, because all too easily that wasn’t a given.
        The chanting still continues, albeit a little garbled. Interestingly, the slow improvement of Wesley’s speech is enough to estimate the rate of his healing. While he can’t be sure of the exact speed, given the fact that all those memories are distant and faded, if he’d have to guess, he’d say it’s slower than DIO, but faster than Straizo. Hopefully that interfered with the process somehow—although, hang on, if it did, he wouldn’t have used the Stone Mask on himself before that part of the ritual. If there’s anything that probably didn’t change, it would have been how through and meticulous the guy was. If anything, the questions way back when about the Stone Masks and how they worked were probably either planning on how to locate one or figuring out how to use the artifact they’d found. The idea that he’d been used like that feels all too familiar, all too painful, and he’d feel worse about it if he wasn’t just absolutely furious instead. If looks could kill, Wesley would be recovering from a mortal blow, and maybe that would interrupt the control over his Stand. Just a little pain clearly isn’t enough to do it. But then, there’s absolutely no way there’s a wish demon in the vicinity, and he’s not enough of a fool to put the lives of his friends or the state of the world on the line just to get an idle thought like that fulfilled, so he needs to move on.
        The Stand probably only works on one person at a time. Unless it already had, and his friends were all already—
        No. He can’t let his mind go there. He can’t lose any more friends, not when his list is already so short. Clever Fitz, such a joy to tease. Adaptable Darling, breaking out of her shell. Dependable Robin, full of hidden depths. Sharp Beefheart, hiding behind her formalities. Magnificent Buffy, who’d come into her own. Smart Willow, who’s come to wear the humble look well. Wisecracking Dawn, who reminds him too much of himself.
        There’s no hope, no future if he lets himself think about it that way. And, in any case, it wouldn’t make any sense. Stands are powerful, yes, but if the Stand could control absolutely everyone at exactly the same time, there’d be absolutely no point in him having sent agents when he could just as easily have done the job himself. Even if an activation of some kind was required, they’d all been together, so if Writing’s On the Wall could target more than one person at once, he would’ve done it then. No, he’d been lured away for a reason.
        It’s probably long-ranged. He doesn’t know how far he’s come, but just going by how this usually works, they’re in the deepest part of the pyramid, which is probably a pretty long way away from the entrance. Which probably also means that Wesley’s own control over his Stand is...not that precise. Adapting to new circumstances might prove to be a challenge. It probably also means that his control over Xander isn’t absolute, which would be more helpful if ‘go to location and wait for sacrifice of self’ wasn’t so bloody effective.
        He has a feeling he should know, does know exactly how the Stand works. It’s a strange certainty. Hopefully it’s not just the blood loss making him forgetful, because this might actually be somewhat important to his survival.
        It’d help if he’d seen the list, the explanation of the ritual, what’s actually required. So he’d know the countdown in the form of a grotesque to-do list.
        Wesley comes to the end of what sounds like a passage. As much as Xander would’ve said he would prefer the chanting to stop, the silence now is deafening, ominously threatening in its presence.
        The figure makes its way around the altar, back to the lake of blood. By the sound of it, he’s now drinking it. Eww. But he’s not watching, his attention turned away from Johan. Maybe this is his chance, if maybe it works a little like Stereo Love and it requires some sort of concentration? He puts every ounce of strength he has into silently calling Pretender, if nothing else to go for help, however that might work, given that unlike Writing’s On the Wall, Johan’s is absolutely a close-ranged Stand (pretty much like all of his relatives, he thinks distantly). Something twinges, but he can’t tell if it’s just wishful thinking.
        And then a shimmering circle of blood rises out of the blood lake, out of the corner of his eye. He strains his muscles to look, but all he’s accomplishing is giving himself a headache. The inside slowly forms an image, which might be a view of...a full moon? How long had they been in here? How long had he been out? But—oh, of course, it has to be the timing. The Mayor had been super particular about the timing for his Ascension, too.
        Wesley rises, in all his bloody, terrifying glory. “This is going to hurt,” he promises, with a smile that could be described almost as ‘kind’ if not for the fact that in the next moment he breaks one of Johan’s ribs, and he can’t even grunt in pain. The moon’s started to change color, taking on a reddish hue, and—oh, yeah, that’s got to be a Blood Moon. Appropriate, for becoming a creature whose life revolves so completely around blood.
        He’s started to sink into the haze of pain by the time Wesley finishes with his ribs and takes what feels like the serrated knife to Xander’s chest, marred only by his mind mocking him. Is this what they’ve come to? All that observation, all that planning, all that waiting for a rescue or your perfect moment, and for what? Is this really how it all ends?
        “Xander!” a voice calls. He can almost put a name to it. It puts the ghost of a smile on his lips, even through the blood and the pain.
        for once in my life, someone cared. Like he’s being treated as human, as someone who actually matters. It’s a startling thought, one that makes no sense, but the darkness swallows him before he can puzzle it out.