Work Text:
That year, three women – three out of many – died of internal bleeding and trauma to internal organs. One of them died in a busy ER, one of them in her home, the third in the field where she worked.
Only one had had any warning; hours before she had gasped and clutched her stomach and thought, oh, that one's strong.
One of them could have been saved, perhaps, if she had been treated sooner. She would probably never be able to have children again; she would definitely lose this one. Her uterus was too badly injured. As it was, in the end, so were her lungs.
If the ER hadn't been quite so busy, one of them might have caused a doctor to write a report that would lead to her husband being suspected of beating her and leading to her death. He hadn't, so it was probably better that way.
None of them got noted as a medical mystery. And, in truth, none of them were.
The story, and there was no story, was found by no one. In London, Slayers were gathering to teach and learn and look. In Beijing, a woman would soon begin travelling Asia, searching for others who shared her gift. In a small village in Yemen, a man saw a vision and took in a girl who would one day save the world. He had to marry her to do so, but the journey continued.
It would be years before anyone noticed. There were Slayers of every age now; sixteen and nine and sixty, little girls growing up unafraid and grandmothers too frail to handle their new strength. No one was looking for the six years old ones, the three year olds, the ones just born. The earth was awash with Slayers. It would be dozens of years before the last of them was gone.
Beneath the earth, the First Evil smiled.