Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I know what it is like to no longer be feared," says the half-breed who forms out of a cloud of dust which appears from thin air. "It is so much harder, for one remembers what it is to be great and powerful. One yearns for the glory days which come no longer."

Illyria examines the half-breed. "Who are you?" she asks.

"I am Dracula."

"The shell was familiar with that name. She believed you to be fictional."

Dracula nods. "Those are the only ones who fear, anymore. Familiarity breeds contempt. Those who know are emboldened by the new balance of power, think a hundred Slayers will make them safer than just one or two. For those who I am just a shadow in the night, to them I am the true terror of darkness."

"Mystery creates the illusion of power," Illyria summarizes.

Dracula shakes his head. "Power is never an illusion, Old One. As long as they fear the illusion, the illusion gives one power. You never needed to learn that lesson, able always to strike down your enemy. But now you are as me, a remnant of a world that has passed. Welcome to a world which fears only what they do not understand."

"And so you suggest I seek to be misunderstood?"

Dracula nods. "Come into hiding, into exile with me. Let your name be whispered in shadows rather than spoken to your face. In the light, you are nothing more than an ex-god in the body of a mortal. Stay in the darkness, and the Goddess will live on."

He steps closer to Illyria, wraps his arms around her. "Come with me, Illyria."

The Old One presses the shell's lips to his and steps into the darkness.