Angel - City of Fear

City of: Book 1. Doyle didn't have much with him, even after death. If he even decided to make something else as a neat reminder of him it probably would have been gone in a night. An Irish, half-bred demon who received visions from The Powers That Be. Angel and Cordelia had made a private investigation agency thanks to him; "Angel Investigations: We help the helpless". But one night, one night is what changes his fate and his path to redemption. It began with a chase. And ended in the way Doyle didn't expect...nor did Angel.

(Second Angel Fanfiction on Wattpad, posted 3.2.2014)

(Completed 6.4.2014)

(Cover by EKShortstories)


8. A new Contact ta help


    ....Wesley's room..

    ...7:43 AM....

   Recently being fired by the Great Council (Or better way to say as in, quit) wasn’t the best event in Wesley’s life...Besides trying to bring back an undead animal as a child. And trying to impress his father. But; going out as a rogue demon hunter who didn’t actually have experience in the field was possibly a great opportunity. Or it just made his situation in demon hunting a tad bit worse.

   Wesley has been having  these unusual dreams (that felt like years went by) for the past month.

   But this felt like months had went.

  “No!”  Wesley woke up, rushing forwards from his bed with sweat.

 “Fight the good fight, right?”

Wesley is sweating, breathing in and out.

"No, please, Doyle!"

 Wesley gets out of bed, then takes out a book from a drawer and flips to a page.

“Much ado…Wesley read  a passage.  He turns on a lamp. His eyes light up in a magical way reading a line. He gets a pen and drawing pad from  a desk drawer (Which is part of a hotel room) then closed the drawer.

   He takes all three objects from the bed to the desk.

"I knew practicing Art would come in handy." Wesley sat in the chair in the front of the desk.

   Wesley's attention returns to the book.

   His eyes light up at a line.

 “Wait…what. Did I just read this right?” Wesley follows the paragraph lines. "To change what has been foretold...And lead a different, but a better outcome."

 Wesley sketches what he had seen in this dream on white paper; one of a kind dreams that started in a dark room with Angel and ended on a bright, square box.  Anyway, when Wesley finished the drawing it ended up like this: There was a man standing a few feet from the box.  Wesley taps the pen on the drawing making small, rounded dark dots.

    He must be Doyle, Wesley makes a lucky guess,It she loves him.

  There  is a demon in this sketch near Cordelia keeping her from going after this man.

  Wesley scratches his chin.

   A part of Wesley, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, could feel this demon wasn’t supposed to be there.

 “This does not feel right.” Wesley comments,as he leans back in the chair.

  Then the other dreams he had been having for the past week finally made sense; He saw what his future would be…Becoming a powerful wizard who fell in love with a really, smart woman (Not Cordelia) and died with a god copying the woman’s appearance. Wesley rubs his cheek. It didn’t seem to be the ideal things to be part of a contract for an evil corporation that had his undead soul do some…things.

 “Not worth it.”  Wesley looks back to the drawing.

 Surprisingly, Wesley found himself eager to meet Doyle (Who he had seen morph into a demon) in person.

 “I will be there.” Wesley decided, doing something his father never would have done. He would at least make somebody proud of him.  “And I won’t be hunting demons for the rest of my life.”

  ….1:38 PM….

 …Inside an Alley…

Wesley ducks a punch from a demon.  Then he shoots at it this  violent demon sprouting fire and shaking his wide trumpet shaped horns from side to side. There are people in this world who are not capable to notice what is happening in the dark. Noises mostly make people ignore what is going on in the unimaginable places. Wesley is more like the shadow that most citizens do not bother noticing, such as Demons and supernatural things

 Wesley had to be careful taking him down.  

“Horns are the most vulnerable part…” Wesley reminds himself, taking out the blade.

The Vlarenoha Demon, this demon who had been causing quite the disturbence recently, paws at the floor.

Ring Rin Ring

“Die demon hunter!” The Demon yells, his trumpet-horns blew flames at Welsey.

 Wesley cuts off the Demon’s left arm.

“Uh no.” Wesley takes his ringing phone out and flips it open. He clicks on the green banana button. Then he puts it to his ear.“You better have a good reason to call me,” The demon staggers back. “I just cut off the wrong part from a nasty demon!”

 “Hello, Wesley.” Qurden greets him, in the most calm but collective manner. “I have a friend who can use your expertise.”

Wesley ducks a punch.

 “Get on with it.” Wesley  cuts off a horn from the Demon’s forehead.

The demon screeches.

 “Doyle.” Qurden said.

 The Demon knocks down Wesley.

 "And you are hunting down a demon; maybe I should call somebody else." Qurden said, with a short laugh.

 Wesley gets back up then  threw his own shoe at The Vlarenoha Demon.

 "No way!"  Wesley still has a grip on the phone. "What kind of trouble has he gone into?"

“He’s  being chased by Dean Dexter."  That name rang a bell in Wesley's head; Dean Dexter is at least 270 years old, at least old by Vampire standereds. Dean Dexter is not quite dangerous as Angelus (Angel) had been but was an fighter who loved to torture like Spike. "He needs Dean slayed in order to reunite this kid and his dad.”

 The Vlarenoha Demon is more than furious blowing steam here and there.

“Where do I meet him?” Wesley asks, ducking a fire blast from his opponnet.

Qurden isn't slightly amazed by his question.

“Outside a building in our world; the Station.” Qurden said, tapping his long reptile claws on a body table. He takes out a long, sharp medical tool then digs it into  some part of a demon (Matter of death is unknown), using a little rounded mirror as guidence.

 Qurden's put in a toothpick and began chewing on it. 

"You will pay dearly for this!" The demon snorts, struggling to stand still. He is gradually going into a unbalance state and be unable to blow off fire from losing a lot of Demon blood.

Wesley shoots an arrow that hits The Vlarenoha Demon's left ankle.

"Could I get any other specifics from Doyle?" Wesley asks, loading up his weapon again.

 Qurden flips over a skin to see the demon body (he's operating on) had his windpipe crushed. But that didn't kill  this demon on the table.

 “Welesy,” Qurden starts, in his most 'acceptable' tone of voice. This kid does not  give up.  This way he doesn't like a principal giving a world of a lecture  to Wesley.

Wesley takes out a small, but intact, wizard book from his pocket. The Vlarenoha Demon struggles to stand upright, feeling a bit woozy. Almost as though life is draining from it's body the war hog-hunchback demon tips back. Landing squarely on his really uneven backside. Wesley sighs, relieved to have this one finally down.

“Don’t use the book.” Qurden finishes, knowing Wesley a bit too well.

Wesley laughs, putting a crate over the demon’s body.

“You  are more wrong than ever right now.” Wesley tells him, very deceivingly. “‘I am going to take the doorway at 221B Baker’s street.”

Qurden takes off his glasses.

This kid is predictable,Qurde breaths on the glasses, lying is not useful.

“There is no doorway there,” Qurden reminds Wesley, knowing a few doorways himself. He wipes the glasses clean. And then Qurden puts them back on. “You big liar.”

 Garden learned about Wesley from a few friends in Sunnydale (Who Wesley miserably failed at killing) before meeting him.

   "So is Doyle there?"

   Qurden rolls his tongue.

 "No."  Qurden sarcastically  replied. "He's out in the middle of no where getting a ruddy sun tan!"

  Wesley puts a blanket over the crate.

“I’ll see you there;" Wesley  said, then he laughs knowing which demension   he'll probably be coming to. "But where’s Doyle at, again?”

“He’s waiting for you at the Station.”

“Which is where again?...”

   Qurden groans, lying his head on a curshion attached to the rolling chair.

“...Wes, it’s right outside our very own Walmart in front that's always a ‘sunny’ beach.” Qurden raises his voice. The phone on Wesley’s end abruptly screeches electricallly.He puts the phone away from both ears slightly annoyed by this reception.  It read 'line has been disconnected' on the mainscreen in blue.

   Qurden shook his head, clicking the 'Okay' option.

 "That Wesley is a big idiot." Qurden tosses the phone once, catching it on his first try. "Humans are far more fascinating than Demons. I'll hand that to them."


    Angel walks through the underground tunnels, carrying what apparently is bucket towards a couple of tied up demon goods. One demon has a face similar to a starfish-catfish bred together, meaning  this is a Graven Demon, the kind that is sly and sneaky but has some whiskers that aid in searching.  However that has been debunked by Angel. A fraud can get 'D.B.' meaning Debunked or do some Sweevil (Sweet evil) to their debunkers.

  "What the--"

 Angel puts down a stool.

 "Oh my Sea Anemome!" The Graven demon shrieks. "It's Angelus!"

 Angel kicks over a tin can that draws a thin, white thread against the graven demon's neck.

 "It's Angel." Angel corrects them, his accent from Ireland had faded away quite a deal. "I know that you have a connection to Dean Dexter."

The wide awake, clearly scared Graven gawks at him.

 "W...Which..Which Dexter?" The Graven assks, earning a stare from the vampire. "There's two. One, the cartoon. Second, I've heard there's been a pilot concept about this murderer named Dexter who kills deh worst killers."

   Angel gets up from his seat.

  "The demon hunter," Angel said. "I am not giving up my friend. if Dean wanted a exchange, He should have given us a location to meet him."

  The Graven spat at him.

 "Why would I?" The Graven said, in utter disgust of Angel.

  Angel delivers a hard punch to The Graven's jaw.

 "You don't have to look far,"  Dean's voice comes from behind Angel. "I am already here. I don't see the irish demon.""

 The Graven smiles,  as blood is seen coming from the corners of his mouth.

"No way in helll I am giving Doyle!" Angel said, turning around towards his direction. His hands are in fists.

  Dean has sly grin.

 "Didn't you say 'There's nobody left I care about'?"  Dean points out. He knew Angel from different sources, but the most notable one stung an image of Angel without back up and a single-handed Vampire with a soul going after the evil: To help the helpless.

Ange's face changes into his vampire face.

 "Doyle'is an exception, he's my friend." 

   Dean drops his weapons.

 "Face me like you mean those words," Dean taunts him. Doyle has gotten some beef to protect him, let's see how he fares against me, pointing a finger at the vampire,  And he is my target. I will get a lot of cash from taking down Doyle. And that he had some unfinished business with Doyle. "For his life. If I win, I take him down. If you win..."

 "Doyle will get rid of you," Angel said, "I've seen him get rid of much terrible demons than you. Enough chat!"

 Graven watches Angel get into a fight with Dean.


  Paul assumed it was safe to go meet Doyle at The Station where a doorway to Los Angeles is hidden. Only problem is he didn't know if his son,Demonic, would be mad at him for leaving him and his mother. Paul takes another a drink from his bottle, leaning against the wall. How come Doyle's late? Paul paces  in the hall many times not patiant to wait for hours. The floor  has gotten worse marks on it than his big, rough shoes.

    "Tom!" A scottish voice caught him off gaurd. "I am warning ye not tae invade an old hoose. Ye know how supiticous thay are."

   Paul hid behind a tall couch (About 7 feet tall) when a furry-rocky looking Demon (Probably Tom) came by.

  Paul never, ever felt this scared since he got the last baby tooth removed!

  "I don't smell humans here," The furry-Rocky demon said, sniffing.  "But I do smell dinner outside."

 "Seriously Tom?" The Demon's unseen friend asks. Paul didn't see his friend.  But what he could tell is this friend had a scottish accent. "Stop exaggerating about dinner, Ma stomach's growling. We shuild geit going before thay come."

      Tom turns away from the couch, grumbling.

  "I hate it when you do that, Edwarn." Tom yells back, halfway out the building.

  That's a weird name...

  "I hate it when ye bring in these unwanted chicks into the hoose!" Edwarn replied, his foot is heard outside the door tapping on the floor.

   Paul sighs, relieved the Demon's leave.

   "I had not ever believed hearing Scottish would send chills up my spine." Paul gasps. "But now I do."

   A figure came from out of nowhere.

   "Ah really?"

  Doyle is leaning on the side of a doorway, when Paul finally noticed.

 "Jeeze!" Paul nearly shouts, hitting his head on the wall. "You just scared me, Irish demon!"

 Doyle has a smile on him, like he has heard this more than once.

 "It doesn't get old." Doyle has a small laugh, shaking his head. His hands were both in his jean pockets.  "For me."


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