The first time Spike fell off of Glory’s tower, he was destined to die an awful, and subsequently dusty, death.
Now the annoying thing about falling, no matter if you are human or vampire, is how very difficult it is to fall and scream at the same time. You’re plummeting down, you can see your imminent death beneath, you open your mouth to give voice to a magnificent scream – but you can’t. You’re fighting the turbulent forces of ice cold air rushing in, freezing your tongue, drying your throat, choking your vocal cords – the most you can achieve is a series of pathetic grunts that give no real expression to the intense terror inside you.
If Spike could’ve taken a time out to pause – in his rapid descent from Glory’s tower – he would’ve gratefully shared his own personal experience of the aerodynamics of free fall, on the proviso that he not resume his experience to its inevitable end.
The speed with which Spike was falling certainly guaranteed permanent death. Though he was a vampire, the force of impact on the metal pipes and cinderblocks strewn about the concrete below would separate his right arm from his torso and bend his neck so completely his head would be severed: neatly ensuring his instant explosion into dust.
The only thing that saved him that night was that world’s particular set of mathematical equations involved in Air Resistance or ‘drag’. In layman’s terms, Spike’s fall was slowed – not by much, but just enough to place him perfectly for entry into one of the many portals that were ripping into existence mid-air. The moment he fell through, the portal vibrated, squealed, and then shortly after, snapped shut.
At the very moment the portal Spike fell through closed, it sent strong ripples through the very fabric of the multiverse, that permanently affected countless worlds.
In one world, a warrior stood alone against a dragon in a desolate swampland. As she braced herself for its attack, a crackling black portal engulfed them like the wide open beak of an enormous bird and swallowed them whole.
In another, a young girl was sobbing alone on the steps in a great castle, while a scarred man with a magical eye leant heavily on his good leg and awkwardly attempted to pat her on the shoulder. The next second, an electric white portal moved at high speed through the castle, and they were both gone.
And in yet another, the goddess of Spring had just looked her husband-to-be in the eye while she delicately placed six pomegranate seeds, one by one, from his trembling hand into her mouth. As she placed the last on her tongue, he reached up to touch her face – and then she disappeared in a vortex of magenta and blue.