Title: My Wish
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Joss is God, blah-de-freaking-blah.
Rated: T (contains violence)
Summary: One-shot darkfic. Post NFA. Illyria said that she wished to do more violence. What if, after the battle was over, she was unable to stop? And what if she had to go up against the Slayer school? Warning: contains character death.
Feedback: would be very highly appreciated. I don't mind criticism, but try to be constructive.
I remember telling the two half-breeds and the dark primitive that I wished to do more violence. I remember how in the moments that followed (which the others did not survive), I got my wish.
I remember how my slaughter of the demon warriors did nothing to quell my grief over the loss of my Qwa'ha Xahn, my guide…my Wesley.
My thirst for violence was not quenched by the battle; instead, I only wished to do even more. Part of me (the Fred part?) wishes to stop, and yet I cannot.
I remember how, after the battle in the alley, I kept on killing, leaving hundreds of bodies, primitive and otherwise, in my wake.
And so I now find myself in the place known by the primitives as Cleveland.
Due to the remaining pieces of my shell's memories, I know about the ones known as Slayers, the female primitives with the strength to fight the monsters who threaten their fellow primitives.
Monsters like me.
I know that this place is what the Slayers would refer to as their "headquarters."
I sense that they are coming. The Slayers know about the blood-stained path I have made between Los Angeles and here. They know I have arrived in their city. And I know that I will not survive this battle against them, especially without the powers that Wesley stripped from me.
And yet, somehow, knowing my fate makes me desire to fight them all the more.
I see the first one coming, a primitive as dark as the one I fought alongside back in the alley, waving an axe in her right hand. She swings it, I duck to one side. I grab her right arm and break it, then quickly reach over and snap her neck.
The next one, a thin one with red hair carrying a sword in both hands, screams in anger at the loss of her companion. She jumps in the air and kicks me in the stomach. I realize how strong these so-called Slayers truly are; that kick causes me to stagger back several steps.
Recovering, I stand there as she charges me with the sword with the intention of running me through with it. Stepping to one side, I snatch it from her hands and swing it. The blade passes through her midsection, and she falls to the ground in two pieces, a look of shock on her face.
The third one, who has dark, wavy hair and is dressed in black, approaches. She looks familiar…someone that my shell had met?
Several other Slayers are not far behind the third. "Faith, be careful!" one of them shouts.
The one called Faith proves to be a formidable adversary. She jumps up and spins around in the air, slamming her foot into the right side of my head. I go flying to my left; that blow would have instantly killed a primitive.
I immediately get back up. The right side of my head feels wet; I touch it, and my hand is dark red when I look at it.
"Bet you didn't see that coming, you blue bitch."
I look up, and Faith (for some reason, I respect this one enough to refer to her by her name) has pulled out a knife from her belt, and is now approaching. Tightening my blood-covered hand into a fist, I lunge at her, intending to shatter her skull with one blow.
Faith deflects my punch to one side, and raises her right leg, kicking me in the abdomen with her shin. As I stagger back, she uses her right hand to drive her knife straight into my chest, right where my shell's heart would be if it had not been liquefied. She tears the knife back out, and steps back into a defense stance.
Blood pours freely from my chest wound and over my leather suit, and I feel myself fading; I won't last much longer. Faith can tell that I am getting weaker, and does not waste the opportunity. She jumps at me with the knife.
In a move that is completely unexpected on her part, I grab her knife hand, stopping her blow, and shove my hand into her chest. She looks at me, her face betraying shock.
Then, another look appears on her face…a look of recognition.
"Fred?" she whispers right at the moment I rip her still-beating heart out. She closes her eyes and falls to the ground, the gaping wound in her chest staring up at the sky.
I hear shouts and screams, and I look up to see that there are now many Slayers present. Several of them fire their crossbows at me all at once. I hear the bolts whistle through the air right before embedding themselves in my chest; I do not even try to dodge them. I fall to the ground, right next to my adversary, whose heart I am still clutching in my right hand.
The last thing I see is several of the primitives standing above me, raising their swords and axes. I wonder what will happen to me; will I go back to the Deeper Well? I will find out soon enough.
I smile as the blades descend.
Author's Note: Just thought I'd try a slightly different take on the post-NFA Illyria. Is she out of character in this fic? Probably so, but I decided to write it because it was something different; I do like to experiment, you know.
Anyways, make sure to leave feedback, and if you get the chance, check out my other Illyria oneshots and review them as well.