Title: Time is Nothing
Author: Aquatic Butterfly
Rating: Screw the new system, its PG.
Summary: Illyria reflects on herself and the final battle in "Not Fade Away."
A/N: This is actually a prologue to a story that I have planned out, but little more than this is actually written. Enjoyit as a standalonefor now.

Peaceful.

Serene.

Nothing but healing. Nothing and I begin to approach recover…

I am conscious.

She jolted. What had startled her so as to rouse her from her woken slumber? Eyes fluttered as she focused her energies into sensing the presence of anything that could have disturbed her. She searched her surroundings, and felt a band of molecules in the air near her left cheek that were vibrating at a rate much quicker than the surrounding particles.

She followed the stream of heat in the air towards a vent in the floor. Meal preparation must be occurring in the space below her, and the heat generated from the warming of food had simply traveled upwards and into this space.

This was not a revelation, nor a thought process she needed to spend anymore healing time pondering. Her back straightened and she reverted back to the ancient stance. Darkness was all that was visible as her mind drifted away into the calm trance when…

What is this I am thinking? Particles? Molecules? Vibration? These are not words I would have never concerned myself with, even had I known they existed. What are they? I understand their meaning, but why? They are filthy words of science; examining life and the world where no-one need bother. How did they come into my presence, and why did I use them?

The shell. The shell was a being of science, of numbers and equations and pointless facts that had no use whatsoever in the chain of events that affected this terribly weak species' lives. A trace of its memories still exist somewhere within my subconscious, in the form of electromagnetic pulses and signals that felt free to invade my thoughts whenever they feel it suits them. I grow weary of sad reminders of the shell. The shell was human and infinitely weak.

Weak like all the rest susceptible to time. These beings are hopeless. I see it, I sense it. Even the grandest of demons that populate this wasteland lie in their existence of immortality. They are not immortal. Like the rest of the humans and animals and plants, they will die eventually. I feel it now as I was connect to the earth my slowly regaining power; there is not one being on this plane of existence that had aged over a period of two or three eons. As far as I can sense, I am the closest being resembling immortal.

The wolf, the ram, and the hart are not immortal. They hide on their solitary plane because they are too cowardly to face the screaming mortality that is waiting for them here. Disgusting, really. They have access to what is seemingly unlimited power, yet they hide. Cowards! Using lesser beings, below minions, to do their dirty work. Destroying worlds. How I loathe the wolf. What is it they are trying to accomplish in bringing about the apocalypse? Do they consider themselves worthy of worship by promising absolute and certain oblivion to their disciples? Is this what they have achieved by seizing my throne and ascending in hierarchy since my time in this world? From nothing to complete influence on the darkness and evil incarnate. A respectable turn of events if the wolf, ram and hart were worthy of such responsibility and supremacy. It's infuriating!

She rose. It was quite obvious that she was in no state to meditate. The mystics were rejecting her, and quite frankly, what essence would be patient with a supreme being having a temper tantrum? Magic and the spiritual did not respond kindly towards anything with hostility in their immediate thoughts, and she had noticed a steady decline in the calm serenity that was required of an individual to rejuvenate oneself.

Well, that is not a fully genuine claim, is it? There are plenty of magicks who feed on anger, loathing, and vengeance. There are powers out there who feel the darker the soul's wrath, the more worthy they are of altering the natural order. However, frustration is not an emotion that the essences responsible for healing find the least bit appealing.

Her movements around the room were not swift nor commanding; the nearly fatal blows, had she been mortal, had done some damage to her. Three gashes in her left arm that went as deep as her demony sinew had recently ceased pouring the sanguineous fluid, and the hole in her chest where a human heart would have been found had grown slightly since a Slogbathe demon had punctured it with its razor studded tongue. Even after she had removed its head from its bushy and greasy torso, joy had not returned to her as she had spent several minutes of the battle failing to pull the tongue out slightly before ripping it out in one hasty heave.

The blood, the pain, and the death. The screams of agony as I ripped their lives from the filth who call themselves demons. They believed they were immortal. Their world crushed, in my hand; it's all so very depressing and… satisfying. The taking of a life that is not a life, it feels justified. I was justified in wreaking bloody vengeance on the entire population of half-breeds and imitators that so much as hinted a twitch defiance.

Vengeance. Another strange word that is vaguely known to me. No, not a word of the shell. Indeed, I knew of vengeance before the human race had emerged from the earth's core and plagued this earth with their sickness. But vengeance was a concept lost on me. I was ruler; all hailed to me in this dimension and the next and I was not betrayed nor wronged in any way that resulted in my feeling an obligation to return the wrong back in kind.

Vengeance was a trait of the lowers; my minions and my followers. Every so often, it would creep into the dealings of my lieutenants and generals, causing mayhem and unnecessary devastation to my universe. But all that is forgivable, she sat on the bed as the wounds had drained her energy, and the effort spent into sealing said wounds had left her incredibly weak, because they were truly weak. I may now be a shadow of a shadow of my former self, but I am not susceptible to time. The weakness comes not from time itself, but the willingess in allowing time to change what you are. Aging, growing, shifting, learning, forgetting and dying, all these traits of those who were born into the world. Armies fall, temples rot, universes collapse and the fact that things change changes nothing. Not anything is immortal because immortal means forever, and nothing is forever because forever is a measurement of time, and…

She did not like where this train of thought was leading her. Her contemplations on meaningless things were in themselves meaningless and she wished it to stop. Leaning back on the pillow that was too soft for her to find it the least bit appealing, she realized that her thoughts had been circling around something while trying to avoid the brutality of it all, and it sickened her.

Grief.

Grief for Wesley.

Amusing, she thought, I ruled over a world where my subjects were subject to death and pain everyday. Fields and temples built in my honor reeked of blood and bone and the fetid stench of rotting corpses, yet I never so much as batted an eyelash. I knew that their time had come and frankly it was not a concern of mine if a lower being was no longer alive.

What is it then? It is not grief for a lost comrade, that is certain. What was our relationship? There is no absolute definition. Was he my mentor? My guardian? My loathed enemy? My jailer? My link to the world? No, he was not my link to this reality. How could a man whose time had already passed teach me how to live in this one?

I could sense it in the first few precious seconds of my rebirth; his time here had ended seconds beforehand. His link to the shell was too intense; too much emotion was shared between the two of them. I could feel it every time I glanced upon his broken form, that the shell's return of his affections transcended her soul and were etched into the core of each memory. Her desperation to cling to this…life…was painful to be reborn in. I feel no remorse or regret for my coming into being again, but I truly do feel pity for both their souls, wherever each is now stationed.

Damnation!

Avoiding putting pressure on her now humbled arm, she slid off the bed onto the soft carpet. On her way down, her hair was caught in the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. In her frustration, she flung the wooded contraption across the room into the door. It barely even splintered, but the noise created from the collision was enough to increase the ache her mind. She struggled to rise into a standing position, and stumbled towards the dresser drawers. She leaned over, hands and legs firmly placed shoulder width apart and too much of her weight was being supported by the injured arm. Her hair streamed down her face and she glanced at the shambles of a reflection that now stared back at her like an angry ghost who had lost her way. She understood the jerked reaction she had had earlier to the heat resting on her face; another large gash had found it's way onto her left cheek, and it felt as though it had opened slightly since performing the healing ritual. The price of healing.

I am an angry ghost who has lost her way. Look at me; does this broken little girl look like the grandest being who now is a permanent resident of this rock? Not only have I been thoroughly crushed, and lopsidedly so, she noticed as she realized that most of the near fatal damage had occurred on the left side of her body, I am overwhelmed by grief for a creature who I should not have the least bit of compassion for. Yet I do, and without him I feel as though I have been stripped of my purpose. I look into my reflection, I do not like what I see, and this is the first time…

A slight knock on the now splintered door pulled her out of her thoughts, and she turned back to the mirror. With (literally) the batting of an eye, the reflection showed the blue locks, eyes and pale silver skin engulfed and replaced by wavy brunette, hazel and soft alabaster.

"Yes, mama?" she shouted in a higher voice that was natural sounding and matched much better with her new head than the red leather demon suit that still clung to her weak and dismantled body.

"I heard some sort of clatter, sweat pea." the voice behind the door answered back. "Is everything alright in there?"

She stumbled as her weak arm gave way and she nearly lost her balance. "Aww, don't worry, mama. Everything's fine. I just tripped over my dresser. Nothing to be bothered 'bout."

A slight pause, than in an unsuspicious tone, the voice responded, "Alright darlin'. It's all as well, anyways, since dinner will be on the table in a roundabout 5 minutes."

"Alright mama. I'll be down soon."