"A truly potent weapon," Illyria notes quietly. Had she not already bound herself to Wesley's wish, that would indeed be an avenue of extermination worth pursuing. Wipe away the traces of the vermin that populate every dark corner and crevice. Cleanse this miserable world of their filth.

The thought is satisfying, and disturbing for reasons Illyria cannot fully describe to herself. She pays no heed to that disagreeable sensation. It is not of her concern.

"There is no means for defeating one such as yourself." This symbiote - it acts like a virus, perhaps, swallowing everything. Or its little creatures are merely too mindless to be anything but viciously potent against all they touch.