Disclaimer: I do not own Angel: The Series. If I did, the show would be still on.
Title: The Bitter End
Summary: Post NFA. Illyria's thoughts on the battle she just fought in. One-shot and Drabble.
I feel numb and empty.
Like I did before … he died. Except I wasn't this empty or numb, just … what did they say? Confused? I felt more … confused and lost. But I never show these worthless human emotions because it would've made me weak. And I'm not weak.
I'm the God-King, Illyria who once ruled these lands.
Once.
My hands would have crushed these pathetic life-forms, take their spines and use them as necklaces … but all of that I lost to these pathetic life-forms, the mortals, the humans.
I would have destroyed them but some of these … people? Some of these … people would save them.
Like this group of mortals and half-breeds. Those … people, mortals and half-breeds, are heroes.
But as I look around, I only see the demons' mutilated bodies. The ones with crushed skulls, windpipes or caved in chests were done by me. The ones with stabbed chests, missing heads or limbs were done by the others.
The others…
The half-breed, leader, Angel and the white headed half-breed, Spike.
The mortal who got me extra sour cream at that taco place, the one who gave me life whether by accident or not, that mortal who goes by the name Charles Gunn.
Charles Gunn. I cannot see his body on battle ground, he is no where to be seen. But I do know that he lasted more than ten minutes, going to a full twenty minutes, taking as much demons with him before he went down.
And the half-breeds, Spike and Angel went down around the same time, only five seconds in between before they went.
Angel, the leader of this group, got crushed by a troll. A troll picked him up by the head, and squeezed his fingers, crushing the skull of the half-breed.
Spike. He gotten beaten the most, second to Charles Gunn. He didn't have power like the God-King, like I did. He didn't have the Senior Partners blood going through him, like Angel did. He only relied on his strength and skills.
A worthy hero, going down in a blaze. A fireball directed at him from the dragon that Angel wanted to slay. He didn't move fast enough to avoid the fireball due to his injuries. He had a peaceful look upon him as the blaze took him.
And I, Illyria, watched as the sun rises, battling the darkness that would plague the world every night, and winning this time. I watched the dead demons lie there, their blood staining this world, contaminating the water as it reaches the drainage system, falling into the darkness void, the light coming from the grates that lead to the filthy sewers.
There is nothing here for me. Wesley is dead; everyone else that this shell once counted as a friend is dead.
But how can I die when the battle I fought is the place I should've died?
How can a Former God-King die?
I do not know the answer but neither will I find out as no one knows me. As no one can help me …
Rather depressing drabble.
It just popped up in my head at one in the morning as I was having problems getting to sleep.
Might be OOC for Illyria but tried my best to keep her in character.
Review please!
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