Return of the Queen
Return of the Queen
by P.H. Wise
An Angel crossover shortfic
Jean-Claude drew himself up to his full height as he considered the woman before him. She was a new one for him; he had never seen her kind in his city before, but she had killed two of his vampires, and she was in his city without permission. She would be made to pay dearly for her crimes. "You dare to enter my city without permission?” he began. “Lovely you may be, Cherie, and I can forgive much to beauty, but I am the master of this city; you are a preturnatural creature. It is by my condescension that you are allowed to exist here... gaaak!"
'Gaak!' is a strange sound, covering so many and varied noises. Sometimes, it's the sound of someone vomitting. Sometimes, it's the sound of someone retching. Other times, it includes the sound of the air being knocked out of someone's stomach. In this particular case, it represents the sound of residual air escaping from Jean-Claude's windpipes just after Illyria tore his head clean off his shoulders with one clean, knife-handed stroke.
Illyria spared a glance at the now dead vampire. "You will be silent, half-breed," she said, as if he could still hear her command. She looked imperiously across the assembled court; she could sense their fear, and for once, the stink of emotion came near to pleasing her. "Is there any other muck that dares defy me?" she asked, the challenge clear in her voice. She had ruled here once, long ago, when her kingdom stretched across the western face of Pangaea, before the continents had separated, and the world had changed. She would now rule here again.
Anita came storming into the room, power roiling around her as she prepared to face the creature that had killed Jean-Claude. Already, she could feel the tendrils of his death seeping into her. She wouldn't be far behind. "You bitch! You killed Jean-Clau... gaaak!"
Illyria tossed Anita's head next to Jean-Claude's and gave the rest of the court an irritated look. "Anyone else?" she asked.
The rest of the court shrank away from her, cowed by the fullness of her glory and divinity (or perhaps her brutality). "No," came a small, terrified voice from the back, "We're good."
Illyria sat down in the seat from whence Jean-Claude had once ruled his court. “You may call me Illyria. I was once god-king of the primordium. Now, I am god-king of St. Louis. Soon, the rest of the world will follow.” She looked out upon the court. Her court. Had she been other than she was, she might have smiled. “Now,” she intoned, “Kneel before your god.” Her tone brooked no disobedience, and any who considered such had the very clear example of the decapitated bodies of Anita and Jean-Claude to serve as a reminder of the fate they would suffer if they refused.