Chapter Text
The report from the field had been impossible to believe—that THRUSH, in their haste to plunder an archaeological site to finance their nefarious work, it transpired that they had broken an ancient seal that had released some demonic creature that had preyed upon their blood. Local legends had claimed that the creature got close to its victims by using an illusionary magic to take on the form of the person they trusted most in the world. The moment the victim lowered their guard, it would reveal its true form and either attack, or if it was enamored by the target, drag them off and claim them as its own. Those who were taken were never seen again; it was said that they were dragged to the Netherworld, where they were doomed to stay and serve at the creature’s every beck and call unless someone slew the beast. But no one had ever succeeded in slaying the creature.
And if it weren’t for the fact that the field report had been written by Mark Slate, Napoleon wouldn’t have found himself believing it.
“I know it’s hard to believe…” Mark said, quietly, as Napoleon looked up from the report. “But I saw that thing in its true form when it attacked the THRUSHies. I gasped—couldn’t help it. That thing saw me, and…” He shook his head. “Right before my eyes, it changed—she looked exactly like April! It was just like the legends, Napoleon—taking on the guise of the person I trust most… so it could try to drag me to the Netherworld…!”
“It says here in the report that you ran—and that it vowed to follow you, wherever you went,” Napoleon said.
“Napoleon, it’s here.”
Napoleon arched an eyebrow.
“Mark, are you--?”
“I saw April following me in the hallway when I was on my way to your office.”
“…And April is currently in the Caribbean on vacation,” Napoleon finished.
“Exactly,” Mark said, a distinct nervousness in his voice. “I’ll bet that shapeshifter is waiting out there for me right now.”
Napoleon didn’t have a reply; Mark was not prone to believing things without good reason. Napoleon got up from his desk and opened the door of the office, sighed, and turned back to Mark.
“You can relax. It’s only Illya out there.” He turned again to face his partner as Mark sighed in relief. “You don’t have to loiter out there, Tovarisch. It’s hardly a private meeting.”
Illya gave him a searching look, but then smiled—it was a strange smile, Napoleon realized. And for some reason, it was rather unsettling.
“Illya?” Napoleon asked. “Are you alright?”
“Of course I’m alright. Are you?” Illya asked, still looking at him with that searching gaze. They both observed Mark seize the moment to dart out into the corridor, now safe for him to make a break for it.
“I’m fine. Mark’s a bit out of it. Apparently, a shapeshifter is in the building, masquerading as April. …You didn’t see her, by any chance?”
Illya shook his head, still looking at Napoleon with that odd expression.
“We need to have a word with Del Floria and Internal Security,” Napoleon said, as he headed back inside the office he and Illya shared. “Find out if any of them checked April in…”
The door closed automatically as it always did, but Illya suddenly seized his arm. And something about it sent a chill down Napoleon’s spine. Illya grabbed his arm all the time; why was it feeling all wrong now?
“Napoleon, are you certain you’re alright?” Illya asked, looking at him with a twinge of twisted amusement that didn’t suit him. “You seem so tense. Is something troubling you? Can I help you?” He drew closer, and Napoleon found himself wanting to tear away from him.
“I’m fine, Illya…” he said, attempting to back away. But Illya’s grip on his arm didn’t loosen; if anything, it tightened.
“You don’t look it,” Illya said, now gripping Napoleon’s other arm with his other hand. He still tried to hide his amusement. “I think you’d better come with me…”
Unbidden came Mark’s words from earlier--it was just like the legends, Napoleon—taking on the guise of the person I trust most… so it could try to drag me to the Netherworld…!
The person he trusted most… Of course, it was Illya—always. And this person, attempting to keep him from fleeing, attempting to restrain him, and staring at him with that amused expression as though he was enjoying Napoleon’s distress, was not the real Illya.
Napoleon brought his knee up against this familiar stranger’s chest and kicked him away; the being released him, and Napoleon fled out of the office and down the corridor, stopping as he nearly ran into the very image of the blond man he had just left in his office.
“Napoleon?” Illya asked. “Napoleon, what is it!?”
There was genuine care and concern in those blue eyes as the Russian beheld how shaken his partner was. And that was all Napoleon needed to see; he drew the Russian into a hug, baffling him greatly.
“It’s you…” he sighed in relief.
“Da, of course it’s me,” Illya said, confused but returning the embrace anyway. “Who else would it be?”
“There’s a shapeshifter in our office, and it was masquerading as you just now, trying to… well, I don’t think it had any good plans for me.”
Illya looked up at Napoleon, stunned.
“How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know, Tovarisch,” Napoleon said, shaking his head. “All I know is that it masqueraded as April first, trying to get Mark, but then decided it wanted me instead and went as you.” He looked back towards the closed office door. “We have to stop it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” Napoleon admitted. “But I’d feel a lot better knowing that the real you will be by my side, ready to help.”
“Of course I will help!” Illya said, with a nod.
Napoleon nodded and managed a smile. They would stop that thing together—one Illya was all he needed, and he would accept no substitutes.