# Title: The Darkest Spark
**Setting: Sunnydale, Season 3, Episode 2 ("Dead Man's Party")**
Stiles Stilinski remembered the cold. He remembered the blood pooling under him after the Alpha Pack had finished their work in Beacon Hills. He had died a human, a "weak" spark.
He woke up in a whirlwind of black smoke and shadows. He wasn't in California anymore. He was the Dark One—the heir to a lineage of darkness that had been extinguished in another realm, only to find its new home in his soul. But he was more. He was an Upgraded Original, a predator that shouldn't exist. He felt the hunger of a vampire, the power of the Vault of Darkness, and a total lack of consequences. There was no price for his magic. No "magic always comes with a price." For Stiles, magic was free, and it was infinite.
He had spent months in the shadows of Sunnydale, learning. He had forged a ring of black gold using his own will to walk in the sun, though the sun didn't truly hurt him—it was just annoying. He had the memories of Rumplestiltskin, of Nimue, of Emma Swan. He knew every trick, every curse, and every kill.
Now, it was time to play.
***
#### The Bedroom
Buffy Summers sat on the edge of her bed. She was back in Sunnydale, but she felt hollow. The weight of killing Angel, the weight of being the Slayer—it was too much.
A puff of purple-black smoke swirled in the center of her room. Buffy jumped up, reaching for the stake under her pillow, but she froze.
A young man stood there. He wore a sharp, dark suit and a smirk that looked like it was carved out of obsidian. His skin had a slight, shimmering pallor, like crushed diamonds under moonlight. This was Stiles.
"Who are you?" Buffy hissed, her Slayer instincts screaming at her to run—not fight, but *run*.
Stiles didn't move. He simply looked at her, and his eyes shifted. For a moment, they were the reptilian gold of the Dark One, then the deep, blood-red of a hungry vampire. He appeared in front of her instantly—not with speed, but with a blink of existence.
He caught her chin in his hand. His touch was cold, but it sent a spark of electricity through her that made her knees weak.
"Look into my eyes, Slayer," Stiles whispered. His voice was like velvet over gravel.
Buffy tried to look away, but his power was absolute. His compulsion didn't just suggest; it commanded the universe to obey.
"You will not tell a soul what I am about to do to you," Stiles commanded. "You will not speak of my presence unless I allow it. You will remember everything, but you will be silent."
Buffy's pupils dilated. The defiance left her body. "I... I won't tell."
"Good girl," he murmured. He leaned in, his nose brushing against the pulse point on her neck. Her blood smelled like heaven—like power, duty, and sweetness all wrapped into one. It was addictive. He felt the fangs slide out of his gums, longer and sharper than any Master or fledgling in this town. "When I bite you, you won't feel pain. You'll feel a bliss you've never known. You'll feel mine."
He sank his fangs into her neck.
Buffy's eyes went wide, but she didn't scream. A wave of pure, golden euphoria washed over her. It was better than any dream, better than any love she'd felt. She slumped against him, her hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders to pull him closer. She let out a soft moan as he drank, her Slayer blood revitalizing the dark god within him.
After a moment, he pulled away, licking a stray drop of blood from his lip. He healed the wound with a wave of his hand.
"I'm going to be seeing you at school tomorrow, Buffy," he said, smoothing her hair. "You're mine now. My favorite little pet."
Before she could speak, he vanished in a cloud of smoke.
***
#### The Next Day: Sunnydale High
Stiles walked through the halls of Sunnydale High like he owned the ground it was built on. He didn't need a backpack; he didn't need a schedule. He just walked.
He saw the Scooby Gang—Willow and Xander—talking near the lockers. They looked at him, confused by the new, handsome stranger who radiated a terrifying aura of cool.
But Stiles wasn't looking at them. He was looking at the girl walking toward them. Not Buffy.
It was Faith. The second Slayer. The "bad girl."
Faith stopped in her tracks as Stiles approached. She felt the predator in him immediately. "Who the hell are you, Suave?" she asked, putting a hand on her hip, trying to hide the fact that her heart was racing.
Stiles smiled, showing just a hint of teeth. He reached out and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Faith tried to flinch away, but she found she couldn't move.
"I'm Stiles," he said. "And you're the other one. The wild one."
"Get lost," Faith growled, though her voice lacked conviction.
Stiles leaned in, his voice a low hum that only she could hear. "I already have Buffy. I think I'll take you, too. Two Slayers... a matched set of pets for the Dark One."
Faith's eyes widened. She tried to swing a punch, but Stiles caught her wrist with a grip of iron.
"Don't," he whispered, his eyes flashing red. "You're going to love being mine, Faith. Just ask Buffy how I taste."
He turned and walked toward his first class, leaving a trembling Faith and a dazed Buffy, who had just arrived, staring at his back. The Dark One had come to Sunnydale, and the Hellmouth didn't stand a chance.