Summary: Not everything turns to dust.
Disclaimer: Own nothing, yada yada Illyria felt the power of the Old Ones often in this modern era. She had always believed it to be a cult or last husk of devoted followers, siphoning ancient power, drop, by tiny drop. For had that not been how she herself had been reborn? Foolhardy followers with access to toys that were above them. Illyria never had any reason to investigate it further, she was too consumed with learning how to survive in this world of humans. How many times could one lament the past before they simply stagnated? God-Kings did not stagnate. The self proclaimed Shaper of Things did not stagnate. It was as the last demon within the alleyway where the half-breeds made their last stand fell spineless at Illyria’s feet that she decided. It was time to investigate.
She had been travelling for days on foot, heading eastwards. The power fluctuations seemed to grow stronger and stronger as she moved closer to the source. It was as Illyria passed the state line of the state that the humans called ‘Colorado’ that she realized something. It was her power.
Spurred on by this realization she pushed the shell of Winifred Burkle ever onwards. Whispers of her own power lead her to an encampment held by this country’s government. It was painfully simple, eluding the guardsmen stationed at the entrance to the…’base’ The word came to her from deep within the memories of Winifred. The base had levels upon levels enclosed in rock and buried beneath mountain. The humans were..sneaky in this regard. Illyria was amused that she had reached so deeply without even one of the guards of this base spotting her, for surely there were troops this close to her power source. Just as she thought these words, a door to the left opened, and out stepped a man with spectacles. His hair was not unlike hers when she assumed the Burkle Persona. He carried scrolls and books. A seeker of knowledge. But what was more troubling was the ethereal buzz of the Ancients that thrummed just under his flesh.
“Wh-what are you?” What, and not who—He was smarter than she’d given him credit for.
“I am Illyria, God-King of the Pri-“ And that was when she felt it. Her power, power that she had not seen since her reawakening Without sparing the intelligent human a glance, she took off down the corridor at inhuman speeds. She incapacitated four guards at the front of a large metal door, shortly before tearing it from its hinges and dashing into the room that held her very essence.
Before her stood one of the constructs she thought never to see again. The Chapp’ai. Her Chapp’ai. She had never seen one in action ever, and she nearly wept at the sight. The Ancients had stolen from her, the plans for the Chapp’ai. They had taken them from her as she lay dying, betrayed by her brethren. Now it was Illyria who lived, and they who were banished. Illyria ignored the yelling and shouting behind her as she stepped upon the platform that lead to her gate. The glyphs upon the outer edge were moving, there seemed to be an incoming wormhole. Illyria stopped at the very edge of the Chapp’ai and did something she’d never done before. She laughed.
With a whooosh the event horizon of the Chapp’ai propelled outward to meet her, ensconcing her laughing form. As the ripples of power receded, she was met with silence. She turned around to face the beings of this compound and discovered them to be staring at her..what was the word….’slack-jawed’ her mind volunteered. It was then, in Illyria’s satisfaction that a soft female voice, laden with a Texan drawl spoke from beside her. She turned to meet the bearer of this voice only to find herself face to face with…herself? No, not herself. Winifred Burkle. Winifred Burkle radiating the power of the Ancients. Winifred Burkle in a white gown, enveloped in light.
“Winifred Burkle.” Illyria’s firm tone belied the surprise she was feeling.
“Illyria.” Winifred’s voice was happy, as bubbly as always. And just a little bit smug.
“How did this come to be? Your soul was consumed in my rebirth.”
“Now ‘Lyria, don’t you think that the Ancients are powerful enough to have saved me?”
“The Ancients. They presume that they are-“ Illyria’s anger grew as her satisfaction began to fade.
“I didn’t come here to argue with you, Illyria. Just to tell you something.” The shell—Winifred’s face softened as she spoke, the light about her dimming.
“What is it that one such as you would say to me?” Illyria’s anger was not abating. That was, not until Winifred Burkle spoke again.
“Feel’s like home, doesn’t it?” Winifred Burkle grinned.
And that was when Illyria realized that it did.
Feels like home