Soul for Sale
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Joss Whedon owns Illyria and Fred, and every other Buffy/Angel character, while the references of Stargate, the places, the people, and annoying Mr. McKay all belong to the creators of Stargate. Now on with the show!
If there was one thing that perturbed Illyria more than weakness. It was the unknown. You see, Illyria had gone through the Stargate to Atlantis as she had planned. Her essence had healed itself and she had become as powerful as she had once been in ages past.
And then she left the wormhole and entered Atlantis proper.
Elizabeth Weir was still trying to figure it out. Blue Haired girl comes through the Stargate after transmitting an Earth code. Blue Haired girl explodes. Blue Haired girl reforms. Atlantis goes crazy.
It was an odd turn of events. The woman—Illyria, as she calls herself, literally exploded in blue light. The force was a concussive one, knocking everyone to the ground. They climbed to their feet to find Atlantis’ systems fully charged. The saying ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ was referenced, but Elizabeth had to wonder if this went for sapphire tinted gift horses as well.
Illyria hated the Ancients. They were her eternal bane. She knew now the grave mistake she had made. She had returned to this world which was at one point, her own, and there was the trap of it all. She had forsook logic for lust. The Ancients never underestimated anything, except perhaps themselves, and thus they created this city structure solely to bind Illyria should she return.
The power she gained immediately channeled itself into the city upon her entrance, and literally remade her into a form suitable to the Ancients. Illyria knew the power of the Ancients, but even she was shocked and appalled at this new revelation. Deep within her essence, mixed into the remnants of the shell, and the dregs of her power, was a soul.
In the words of the half-breed Spike, how the bloody hell had the Ancients created an artificial soul? Not only was one created, but it now had made itself a home within her essence. For all intents and purposes, Illyria the God-King, Illyria—The Shaper of Things, Illyria who had once lived seven lives at once—had a soul.
The Ancients were cunning in their machinations. The soul was not just any neutral thing. It was a good soul, a moral soul, an innocent soul. Their plan was to destroy her utterly. How better to do that then to drive her insane with grief for the unknown amount of atrocities she had committed in her heyday?
To add insult to injury, the scholar known as Rodney McKay had been poking her with needles for the last half an hour. The needles would break, Rodney McKay would curse, and the process would begin again. His theories about her ran the spectrum from nanobot robot murderess to highly advanced wraith, to robot-wraith hybrid. These inane ramblings annoyed Illyria. She did not know what a wraith was, but the connotations of the word pointed towards bad, and she only knew of nano technology through the shell.
Yes. Illyria hated the Ancients. But perhaps, she hated Rodney McKay just a little bit more.