Thrown into a world where Illyria still rules, always had and forever will; Wesley gasps for air and scrambles for a hold, and there is nothing in the monster that reminds him of Fred. A swarm of appendages beneath It, graceful somehow and deadlier than they seem, and they seem rather vicious. Pretty he thinks and he thinks giant insect and It turns fast his way and the tentacles hiss and swirl.

The language, of course, he does not recognise; maybe if it was written, and even then, unlikely. Behind her an army of creatures, all mutilated as Knox had been, carrying her sacred objects inside them. Since when had he thought of It as her?

She slides towards him, ten times his height, and though It has no face, no eyes to speak of, Wesley finds himself staring directly at it and knowing, for the first time - knowing maybe what he couldn't know when the thing had a face.

He speaks her name and she strikes him down but he lives and so he knows it was only a warning. Those limbs lift him up, higher and he tries not to look down. He stares ahead, and It examines him. It's never seen anything like him; there are no humans here. There never were.

It says a word; a short bark that turns into a sigil at the end, curves and swirls around itself like smoke. And Wesley understands...

He wakes gasping for air. "Hell," he says, "I've been to hell."

Doctors around him, and a white bed. Insane asylum? No, he relaxes when he looks around and sees the machines and the needle in his arm, and feels the pain bloom all over his torso. Just a hospital. One doctor checks his pulse and talks quietly to a nurse by his side.

Another doctor says, "We thought we'd lost you."

[end]

This fic was created in Thursday, May 31, 2007, and LiveJournal, during one of its malfunctions, wouldn't let me post it. Today is June 5 and LJ still won't allow posting more than one or two lines.