Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured in this fic.
A/N: Written for Fag End's Halloween 2014 Zombie Uprising Challenge for the prompt "The Divine Right of Kings."
So. She just fought a god.
Kinda been there, done that, but this time it's a god king, and that's pretty new. Glory was only a third of a king. (Or queen. Glory probably would have used queen. Like Cordelia.)
Illyria is neither down nor out, but she's also not punching her anymore, so while she didn't win exactly, not in the strictest or most literal sense of the term (or any sense of the term she knows of) but she didn't exactly lose either. And, bonus, she didn't die this time.
Buffy wipes some of the blood off her nose, the gesture starts out rough and quick before she discovers that broken noses really hurt (sorry, Spike from three years ago) and dabs at it more tenderly. "Are we done?" she asks, trying to make it sound kinda scornful and full of energy even though she hopes the answer is yes. "Or are you having fun getting your ass kicked? 'cause I gotta tell you, I am way over that kink."
Illyria lifts her head and stares down at Buffy, unfazed. Honestly, the stare itself is going to faze Buffy though. All wiggy and birdlike. "We have resolved nothing. But my power has been weakened, and you will perish long before he does. The halfbreed and I will outlive you by eternities. Your time together will be nothing to me. This fight is meaningless." Then she turns away and walks out, leaving Buffy to fume behind her with nothing to hit or yell at.
Apparently satisfied that he can enter the rink without being smashed into a wall for interfering again, Spike hurries to her side and puts an arm around her to keep her upright.
She leans into him, even though that kind of hurts her ribs a little, and takes more pressure of her left leg and throbbing knee. "'Her pet,'" she grumbles as Spike guides her over toward the wall to sit down. "Who does she think she is?"