Author's Note: I really wasn't planning on adding to this, but I got all that feedback and I began to feel that I should. I never dreamed I'd get such a positive response from you guys. I really appreciate it. Thanks! Well, anyway, here's part two. Sorry it took so long. Also, I lifted so much Illyria dialogue from 'Shells' that I kind of feel like a plagiarist.
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"Illyria?"
"My name," it muttered angrily, moving towards Angel. "You would presume to speak my name. Because I have returned in the body of this half-breed, you think you can speak to me. It's disgusting. I thought the humans and the half-breeds would have long died out by now. Instead, you've grown bold."
Angel said nothing to this creature's tirade. He felt so much pain, so much rage. There was no Spike. Not anymore. All that was left was this demon god that had gutted his Childe from the inside out like some goddamn fish. It took all of Angel's self control to not blindly attack the thing now standing before him. The demon in him screamed for blood, but Angel knew how foolish it would be to strike something as powerful as Illyria. He almost didn't care.
Illyria gave further indication whether or not Angel was still worthy of its notice. Instead, it turned away from him and again examined his Childe's body. "Spike is the name of shell I'm in."
"Don't call him that!" Angel snarled, barely suppressing his demon face.
Illyria glanced disgustingly in his direction. "This is grief. I'm watching grief. It is like offal in my mouth."
Illyria gave off no scent, even from this distance. There should have been a scent, but there was none. It was unnatural, unsettling. It was like there was nothing where Illyria now stood. It served to further prove that Spike was gone. Still, Angel clung to a hope, a small hope that somehow -
"There is nothing in this world but grief," Angel whispered, walking slowly over to Illyria. "The humans stink of it. They excrete it from every pore of their being. They cry. They sweat. They bleed. They feel. They can't help it. If you remain here, you'll taste it every day." Another step. His lips were almost on Spike's ear - no, Illyria's ear now. "You could leave. Leave this shell. Return when they are gone."
Swiftly, Illyria turned around. "You seek to save what's rotted through. This carcass is bound to me. I could not change that if I cared to, but you have opened my eyes to truth. If the world is truly overrun by humans" - Illyria put his hand on Angel's chest and effortlessly threw him across the room - "then I have work to do."
10 minutes later
"Okay, see ya soon," said Fred dejectedly, hanging up the cell phone. "That was Wes and Gunn. They're coming back now."
Knox looked up from his microscope. "Any news on Spike's condition?"
"Nothing," cried Fred, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "There's nothing."
"Hey, hey, Fred," said Knox, walking up to her and giving her a hug. "Don't cry, we'll find a way - "
"No! You know as well as I do that England was our last shot. Spike - he's, he's as good as dead now."
Fred hadn't known Spike that long, but she considered him a friend. A good friend. A good soul. It had taken her a while to convince the others what she knew from her first meeting with him, but she had done it. Her friends had finally seen what Spike was. They saw that he was like Angel, a champion. They had accepted him into their circle. They had loved him. Well, at least she had. At least Angel had.
"You don't know that."
Gently, she pushed Knox away from her. "Yes, I do. I'm not a little girl, Knox. You don't have to lie to me because you think I can't handle the truth. I'm stronger than that." She paused. "It could have been one of us. I keep thinking about that. If Spike hadn't been here to take the infection, Illyria would have - oh, God! Is it wrong that I'm glad it wasn't us?"
"It wasn't you," muttered Knox.
"Yes, it wasn't me! Is that so wrong that I'm - Knox? Are you even listening?"
"Huh?"
Suddenly, the door burst open and there stood Spike. No, it couldn't be Spike. Spike wasn't blue. Illyria. Instinctively, Fred took a step back. She glanced over at Knox, who had an odd grin on his face. That grin scared her even more than Illyria.
Illyria eyed both he and Fred coldly, before quickly turning its attention completely to Knox. "You are the Qwa'ha Xahn."
Knox spoke animatedly, fanatically. "I am your priest. I am your servant. I am your guide in this world." He pulled up his shirt, revealing a small skull protruding from his chest. "I've taken your sacraments and placed them close to my heart according to the ancient ways. That's why you were called to me. We're bound together."
"And her?" said Illyria, gesturing toward Fred. "I am drawn to her as well."
Knox hesitated. "She was to be your vessel, my liege."
"What?" exclaimed Fred. Of all the words she had expected to pop out of Knox's mouth that particular string of letters hadn't even begun to cross her mind. Illyria had been meant for her. Why? Why would Knox plan this for her? And she had let him touch her! She had let him comfort her. She had let a murderer comfort her.
Illyria ignored Fred's outburst. "She appears to be more suitable than the vampire. Why was she replaced with the half-breed?"
"She wasn't. The vampire interfered. I tried to stop him, I really did, but he - "
"Silence! Your incompetence will be addressed later. Right now, we have work to do." Without another word, Illyria ripped off Spike's clothes and pressed its hand on to the sarcophagus. A thick, rubbery substance began to spread over its body. When that substance covered Illyria completely, it hardened into something akin to a body suit.
Knox appeared mesmerized while Fred felt horrified. Her mind could barely process what was happening. Illyria. Spike. Knox. It was too much too fast. She wished Wesley were here. He'd know what to do.
"I'm ready to begin," Illyria stated, waving its hand. "Bring the girl. She could be of use to me."
"You mean I don't have to kill her to prove my loyalty to you, your worshipfulness?" asked Knox. "That's cool." He pried his eyes off Illyria's body suit and turned back to Fred. "C'mon, Fred, it'll be fun. Think of it as a date."
2 hours later
"Always messy when you have to open 'em up," complained Doctor Sparrow, cleaning the last of his instruments and putting them back into the tray. "That's why I prefer the less invasive procedures. Never got used to the sight of blood. Ugh. Still makes me nauseous."
"Then I have a feeling you're not gonna like this conversation," said a voice from the doorway.
"Mr. Angel," greeted Doctor Sparrow cheerfully. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He had the nerve to smile.
"Cut the crap, Doctor," said Angel, walking into his office. "I know you're involved with Illyria."
At the mention of the demon's name, Doctor Sparrow's cordial manner disappeared. "It's taken you a long time to sniff your way back to me. I had expected a man of your semi-intelligence to move much quicker. I suppose you were a little preoccupied..."
"By now you must have heard about Illyria taking Fred and Knox from the lab. You've probably seen the surveillance videos. According to Knox's cell phone, you've called him three times in the last hour. Call me crazy, but I don't think those calls were social."
"They weren't."
"Of course they weren't." Angel grabbed him violently and pushed him into the patient's chair. "Have a seat, Doctor."
"Of course."
Doctor Sparrow was getting worried; Angel could sense it. Cowards never could put up a brave front for long. He must have known about Angelus's exploits. It was all the employees could talk about the first few days after Angel had taken over. Everyone had been so excited. Then they realized they were getting the ensouled version of the Scourge of Europe and they got quieter.
Sparrow's current fear made his heart beat that much quicker, pump his blood that much faster. It was intoxicating, familiar. That fear. He loved causing it, loved how his victims used to beg. It was wrong that Angel was enjoying himself. He found he didn't care.
"Here's how's it's gonna go, Doctor. You're gonna tell me where they went. And you're gonna do it in the next thirty seconds, or I'm gonna start playing with some of your equipment." Angel reached into the nearby tray and picked up a freshly washed blade. "Ah, scalpels. I remember those. See, the trick is to do shallow cuts. Nick the skin, but not deep enough to be fatal. Shallow cuts always hurt the most when you pour oil on 'em. Don't ask me why. In my experience, they just scream louder. There was this one guy I managed to cut over three hundred and twenty times before he begged me to kill him. He was a proud bastard. Ya wanna know what I did when I got to three hundred and twenty one? I asked you a question, Doctor."
Sparrow was beginning to sweat. "What did you do?"
"I moved on to the fingernails. I cut them off and then I went to the more - shall we say - sensitive body parts. I kept him alive for days. He screamed so much that at the end he couldn't even speak. He just screamed and screamed and screamed. It got kinda annoying really. I ripped out his throat just to stop the sound. He called me a bogtrotter."
"What?" croaked Doctor Sparrow.
"Ya know, a bogtrotter. It's a racial slur against the Irish. The guy I killed was English. You know how the English are. I believe the year was 1783. Or was it 1784? One of those years. There've been so many - but that's not the point. I kept that guy alive for the better part of a week because he offended me with a word. Now, I ask you good Doctor, how long do you think I'll keep you alive on account of what you did to Spike?"
Sparrow was really nervous now. He knew Angel wasn't lying. Why would he be? Why would he need to when the truth was so much more shocking? "It wasn't supposed to be him! It was supposed to be - "
"Fred. I know. I gotta tell ya, Doc. Bringing her up really doesn't help your case." He stopped twirling the blade between his fingers and moved the scalpel closer to Sparrow's face. "I usually don't start with the eyeballs, but I'm willing to make an exception."
"Vahla ha'nesh!"
The scalpel stopped moving. "What?" Angel was somewhat disappointed that Sparrow had broken so easily. He must have really hated the sight of blood.
"It's Illyria's temple. It's where they're going. Illyria was supposed to be resurrected there. There is an army. Together, they'll purge the world of this human filth and Illyria will reign supreme."
"That's it? That's all you know?"
"Yes! I swear it!"
Swiftly, Angel plunged the scalpel into Sparrow's neck. "Thanks. You've been a big help."
2 hours later
The half-breed had not ceased to irritate it. He had murdered Illyria's Qwa'ha Xahn, much to the discomfort of his followers. The ooze had followed Illyria through the portal into Vahla ha'nesh. He was following it now. Illyria briefly wondered why it did not destroy the vampire and be done with it. He was a distraction, an insect that needed to be crushed. Still, Illyria had no immediate desire to kill him. He was amusing. Almost as intriguing as the girl, Fred, only more so. This vampire had been with the shell when he died. There had been feelings between the two. Had they been lovers? Perhaps. A word kept echoing in Illyria's head. A word that was not its own, but that of the shell.
Sire.
The vampires' connection to each other did not interest Illyria. The Old One did not care for any relationship other than that of master and slave. It was a waste of energy to be concerned with the half-breed and his shell. They were of no consequence. Soon, the humans would be eradicated. Illyria would take its rightful place as supreme ruler and the fragments of the corpse it wore would trouble it no longer.
"You are too late," Illyria called to the trailing half-breed. "My army will rise. This world will be mine once again."
Illyria had no idea how empty those words were. Not until it reached the nave of its temple and found - nothing. Illyria's army was dead, its statue destroyed. Vahla ha'nesh was in ruins. Nothing remained. Nothing. Pain coursed through it. So much pain! It was uncontrollable, consuming. There was nothing left.
"It cannot be," Illyria gasped. "It's gone." No longer caring about the vampire's presence, Illyria collapsed on to the ground and ran the dust through its hands. "My world is gone."
Illyria did not expect the half-breed to offer words of sympathy, but it did not expect him to whisper what he did.
"You're grieving."
He said no more than that. He did not need to. Illyria understood now. Understood true suffering. The grief between Illyria and the half-breed was the same. They were linked.
Illyria could not continue to haunt its vanished temple. It needed to get out, needed to think. Quicker than the half-breed could process thought, Illyria reopened the portal that would take the Old One back to the place the Qwa'ha Xahn had called a museum. Illyria disappeared through the hole, and, feeling benevolent left it open for the half-breed to follow.
1 hour later
Angel was in Spike's apartment. He had only been in it once before. It was just after Spike had gotten his hands cut off. He had driven Spike home because the younger vampire's grip had been too weak to clutch the wheel.
The apartment smelled like cigarettes and peroxide. It smelled like Spike. There was no trace of him in Illyria, but here he was everywhere. There were his clothes in the drawers, his blood in the fridge. He had a baseball bat for whatever reason. He had hated baseball. Claimed it distracted people from Manchester United. He probably just had the bat to smash things. Spike had liked to smash things. Hyperactive idiot that he had been.
Angel didn't know why he was here. There was nothing left. Just an echo and a fading scent. He missed him. He didn't think it would hurt this much, but it did. Spike had been - Angel didn't know exactly. They had been connected by blood. There was no connection now. There was no screaming. There was nothing but the emptiness. Nothing but Illyria. He wanted to kill the god. Wipe Illyria from the face of the earth; to stop seeing Spike in that thing's face. He hated looking into Illyria's ice eyes and wondering why they didn't sparkle. Spike was gone. There was nothing left but a body and a god that manipulated it like a puppet.
Just like Cordy.
Angel closed his eyes. He couldn't think about her. He couldn't compare the two. He might start to lose it if he did. Blood. He needed blood. Needed to soak himself in it. Needed to forget. Killing Sparrow and Knox hadn't been enough. It hadn't been nearly enough. They had gone too quickly. Angel had wanted to drag their deaths out. Make them feel a fraction of what he now felt.
Fred had been the most shocked when the bullet had hit Knox's stomach. Her eyes had gotten all wide and she had put her hand over her mouth. She hadn't expected him to do it.
Gunn had called it an "Angelus moment." It wasn't. Angelus wouldn't have used guns. Knives. He would have used knives.
Wesley had called him "unreasonable." Of course he was being unreasonable. Spike was dead. What use did he have for reason? And where did Wesley get off questioning his mental health? Unlike a certain ex-watcher, Angel didn't leave revolvers just lying around in office drawers. If that wasn't unreasonably paranoid and creepy, he didn't know what was.
It should have been Fred. Angel was glad it hadn't been, but it should have been her.
No Fred.
No Spike.
Which was worse?
It didn't matter. It couldn't matter.
There was no Spike now. No William. No Childe. No blood.
Hollow. Angel felt hollow.
In a way, it was Gunn's fault. He was the one who had signed the custom papers that had allowed Illyria's sarcophagus to enter Wolfram & Hart. Yes, Angel knew about that. He couldn't hate Gunn for it. Couldn't hurt him. Wanted to, but couldn't. Gunn had just been doing his job. He wouldn't have even had that job if it hadn't been for Angel's deal with Wolfram & Hart. Angel's interference. He had done it because of Connor. He had done it to save him. Was Spike the price? His Childe's life for the life of his son?
It was Angel's fault, more than anyone else's, that Spike was dead. He killed him just as surely as if he had driven a pool stick through his heart.
There was an empty mug resting on the coffee table. Curiously, Angel picked it up. World's #1 Boss was written on the front of it. He was wondered what had happened to that cup. Spike must have nicked it from him when Angel wasn't looking. Spike always had been a bit of a klepto.
Rage suddenly filled Angel. He hated that cup. Hated the stupid, happy, bubble letters. Hated the chipped handle. Hated how the cup still had some blood in it. Hated how, on that cup, Spike's scent was mingled with Angel's.
"You grieve still. For a single life."
Angel gritted his teeth together. Illyria. It must have tracked him here. Angel balled one of his fists together, the one not clutching that damned mug. The fingernails broke the skin. "Get out."
Illyria ignored him and walked in. "This place was part of the shell."
"Don't call him that!" Angel growled, hating that cold, emotionless voice. Hating the stiff, jerky way the demon moved. Hating that it wasn't Spike. "He had a name."
"He had many names. The first was William. You were a part of him. You were part of the shell."
"Stop calling him that!" Angel snarled.
Again, Illyria ignored him. "He cannot return to you. Yet, there are fragments. When his brain collapsed, electrical spasms channeled into my function system - memories." Illyria held up its hand, making a gap between its thumb and index finger. A blue spark formed between those two fingers. In Spike's voice, Illyria repeated his Childe's last words. "Oh God, Angel, why can't I stay?"
"Stop it!" Angel erupted, throwing the cup he was still holding at Illyria. The god caught it easily and crushed it to dust.
"You presume to think you could do me harm?" Illyria sounded more amused than anything else.
"Get out!"
"I've nowhere to go. My kingdom is long dead." It sounded almost regretful. "Long dead. There's so much I don't understand. I've become overwhelmed. I'm unsure of my place."
"Forgive me if your problems don't encourage my sympathy."
"I exist here. I must learn to walk in this world. I'll need your help, Angel."
Illyria uttering his name only served to further enrage him. He had no desire to play Sire to a demon wearing Spike's face. "Go find someone else to be your little lapdog!"
"There are women. They are not here. You are all that is left. You killed my Qwa'ha Xahn."
"He destroyed what was mine."
"And that made it just?"
"Yes."
Illyria smiled slightly. "You will help me. You will help me because I look like him. Is it true what you said before? Is there anything in this life but grief?"
Angel thought of Spike's defiance. He thought of Connor's anger and Buffy's love. He remembered Cordy's smile and how it would brighten a room. He remembered how they had given him joy. They had been his hope. They had been his world. They had been his everything. He remembered how they were gone. He remembered how he now felt hollow.
"There is nothing in this life but grief."
"That is not enough to live by."
"No," Angel agreed, "it's just enough to survive."