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New fic!
I've been working on the next part of 'Only a Girl' and it is almost finished, but before that I give you the first part of a new (and probably very short) fic. Maybe 5 chapters in all, possibly less. I hope you like - I'm sorry it ends so abruptly, but it couldn't be helped.
Title: Illyria, Alone
Setting: post-NFA, but only just.
Rating: Not sure. PG?
Beta: The always lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine - everything belongs toIllyria Joss!
Feedback makes Illyria smile!
Dedication: Forlillianmorgan. If there is such a thing as anti-schmoop, then this is probably it. Consider it a very, very, very delayed birthday fic. ;)
ETA: Total word count: 8900 words approx.
Illyria, Alone
When morning dawned, Illyria was far from the alley where the fight had begun. The first rays of sunlight flashed across the sky and illuminated the god-king where she stood, alone amongst the dead. The blood of untold enemies slowly drying on her hide, her hands and body sated from the all-night slaughter, she raised her face, which was not her face, to greet the sun; a giver of life just as she had once been.
The battle had raged far and wide, the army of The Wolf, The Ram and The Hart spreading out and bringing chaos wherever it went. But in the early morning all was now quiet. Illyria looked around, noting the devastation her hands had wrought. An entire army, dead at her hands as was only proper - she who was beauty and destruction.
As she stood still, letting the warmth of the sun soothe away the last of her rage, she heard sirens in the distance. The humans were here already, interrupting her silent triumph. Busy, busy, busy; each one an alien conundrum of hopes and fears - thousands of disparate impulses guiding them in ways she could not understand. Strange, repulsive and illogical, and yet they had arranged themselves into a society as carefully as ants in an anthill.
In this world of men, she was but a mote. Unknown, alone. Never before had she felt small, and the feeling was not welcome.
How could her plans have gone so awry? She should have been the sovereign now, the world swaying to fulfil her wishes. But her armies were dust, her followers few and scattered, and she was trapped in the body of a lesser being, her powers diminished. And yet she could feel that the undercurrents of power had shifted in this night that had gone. The Circle of the Black Thorn had left a vacuum and she was drawn to it, like a bee to nectar.
But the cost had been high...
Her Qua’Ha-Xahn - her Wesley - was dead.
Her vampire Champions were dead, as were their friends.
The only places that had been familiar, her sarcophagus, the W&H building, were gone.
What could she do? She could not leave, and she would not stay - doomed to inhabit such an inferior place. But she did not have the tools for reigning in this place. The humans, with their sneakiness and guile, had taken the world from the demons. And she could not bring the demons back.
Angel had followed the orders of Powers she had once outshone. Helping and protecting people, holding back the dark powers for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. He had talked about sacrifice and saving the world - all words for servitude.
But she was Illyria, and all she knew was to rule.
And then she smiled, her hard, frozen blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight, because she suddenly realised that her first Qua’Ha-Xahn had given her the best gift of all.
Chapter 2.
Title: Illyria, Alone
Setting: post-NFA, but only just.
Rating: Not sure. PG?
Beta: The always lovely
kathyh.Disclaimer: Nothing is mine - everything belongs to
Feedback makes Illyria smile!
Dedication: For
lillianmorgan. If there is such a thing as anti-schmoop, then this is probably it. Consider it a very, very, very delayed birthday fic. ;)ETA: Total word count: 8900 words approx.
When morning dawned, Illyria was far from the alley where the fight had begun. The first rays of sunlight flashed across the sky and illuminated the god-king where she stood, alone amongst the dead. The blood of untold enemies slowly drying on her hide, her hands and body sated from the all-night slaughter, she raised her face, which was not her face, to greet the sun; a giver of life just as she had once been.
The battle had raged far and wide, the army of The Wolf, The Ram and The Hart spreading out and bringing chaos wherever it went. But in the early morning all was now quiet. Illyria looked around, noting the devastation her hands had wrought. An entire army, dead at her hands as was only proper - she who was beauty and destruction.
As she stood still, letting the warmth of the sun soothe away the last of her rage, she heard sirens in the distance. The humans were here already, interrupting her silent triumph. Busy, busy, busy; each one an alien conundrum of hopes and fears - thousands of disparate impulses guiding them in ways she could not understand. Strange, repulsive and illogical, and yet they had arranged themselves into a society as carefully as ants in an anthill.
In this world of men, she was but a mote. Unknown, alone. Never before had she felt small, and the feeling was not welcome.
How could her plans have gone so awry? She should have been the sovereign now, the world swaying to fulfil her wishes. But her armies were dust, her followers few and scattered, and she was trapped in the body of a lesser being, her powers diminished. And yet she could feel that the undercurrents of power had shifted in this night that had gone. The Circle of the Black Thorn had left a vacuum and she was drawn to it, like a bee to nectar.
But the cost had been high...
Her Qua’Ha-Xahn - her Wesley - was dead.
Her vampire Champions were dead, as were their friends.
The only places that had been familiar, her sarcophagus, the W&H building, were gone.
What could she do? She could not leave, and she would not stay - doomed to inhabit such an inferior place. But she did not have the tools for reigning in this place. The humans, with their sneakiness and guile, had taken the world from the demons. And she could not bring the demons back.
Angel had followed the orders of Powers she had once outshone. Helping and protecting people, holding back the dark powers for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. He had talked about sacrifice and saving the world - all words for servitude.
But she was Illyria, and all she knew was to rule.
And then she smiled, her hard, frozen blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight, because she suddenly realised that her first Qua’Ha-Xahn had given her the best gift of all.
Chapter 2.
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Perfect place to pause - IMHO!
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But...you killed Spike and Angel! ::weeps::
;-)
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And maybe they shanshued or something? All she knows is that they're gone.
Thank you so much for reading - and I'm determined to catch up on your new fic at some point!
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And thank you! :)
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He might have shanshued... or something. ::pets you::
And yay for being hooked! ;)
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Ooh! I love it. Very nice Illyria voice you have here. I can't wait to see where you're going with this, and if our Spike will indeed stay dead.
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I'm so sorry I haven't responded to it til now, only just managed to find some 'net time now ::pouts:: Nevertheless, this was a wonderful treasure to discover :)
What beautiful language and imagery you've used throughout, and yet you convey this complete feeling of devastation, through the brutally cold voice of Illyria. Anti-schmoop this definitely is!
The blood of untold enemies slowly drying on her hide, her hands and body sated from the all-night slaughter, she raised her face, which was not her face, to greet the sun;
Wow - so final. 'Which was not her face' - I love that idea that she is seeing the world through human eyes, feels distance from it through her very senses.
In this world of men, she was but a mote. Unknown, alone.
Yikes, that's very powerful and yet it is difficult to illicit some kind of feeling for Illyria. You did that there. Well done!
Really like the ending, you've certainly piqued my interest and now I want to know if everyone really is dead or whether you're going on to a different tangent.
Heeee! Great stuff. Love that you're head-spinning us :D
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Mostly I can't believe that it's taken so long (not this particular piece - writing something for you generally). And don't worry about the 'late' reply - as I was posting I suddenly remembered that you were housesitting. ::facepalm::
you convey this complete feeling of devastation, through the brutally cold voice of Illyria.
Thank you - what wonderful praises you heap on my head! I'm very glad it worked.
feels distance from it through her very senses.
How amazingly put. That is probably what I was trying for, but I wouldn't have been able to articulate it!
it is difficult to illicit some kind of feeling for Illyria. You did that there.
Yay! And also there is this tiny bit of humanity seeping into her through her grief for Wesley...
I'm afraid this is definitely going on a tangent. But hopefully one you'll find interesting! So glad you liked it, and thank you soooooo much for your fabulous feedback - it's brightened my morning immensely! :)
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Here via
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(And yes, those read for the first time had... like 8 months to wait before the whole thing was done.)