section7mfu | The Seven Days of Hallowe'en - Day 5

Napoleon didn’t like the imperious way the black-haired woman was staring at Illya and, when he turned to his friend, he saw he was now on his feet and his eyes were cast down subserviently. Solo had no idea what was happening to the Russian, but he was beginning to think he was under the influence of another insidious chemical; possibly Thrush, but there were plenty of other bad guys out there. He didn’t know how or why Illya had been compromised, but he wasn’t about to let it continue.

“Would you care to introduce me to your charming friend, Illya?” he asked, conversationally; not wanting to let on just how unnerved he was with the situation.

Amarande turned her attention to the interloper; anger flashing in her eyes.

“Silence insect!” she hissed.

She placed a hand in Napoleon’s chest and pushed him backwards. She was there for a purpose, and this man was insignificant. Napoleon noted that was a force behind the push which he would have still been surprised at had she been a seven foot weightlifter. While he tried to regain his balance to stop himself from falling, Amarande stalked across the room to her newest victim.

“Hello young one,” she murmured, stroking Illya’s cheek gently. “Are you ready to become your true self?”

Illya nodded passively, before raising his eyes to meet hers. Across the room, Napoleon stood in stunned silence as he watched. Illya seemed to be fairly far gone.

“There’s just one more thing for you to do, young one,” Amarande continued. Drink from me and eternity will be yours.”

“No!” Napoleon yelled, as he drew his weapon. “I don’ know what you’ve done, or who you work for, but this ends now!”

The woman turned to face him and smiled serenely.

“You will not harm me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he snarled.

However, before Napoleon could even think of pulling the trigger, Illya stepped in front of Amarande. He held his arms out in a protective gesture.

“Please leave, Napoleon,” he said. “This does not concern you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t!”

Stepping over to them, Solo shoved Illya aside and once again raised his weapon. With an almost unearthly scream of wrath, the Russian launched himself at the American. Solo fought with every ounce of strength he had but, against the rage and anger of Kuryakin, he was defenceless. Like Amarande, his strength seemed to have been enhanced somehow. Illya quickly gained the upper hand and threw Napoleon across the room, where he cracked his head against the bookcase. He landed, dazed, on the floor, and a trickle of blood ran down his face from a wound on his forehead.

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