The act of becoming an Illidari, the final rite is one of consumption. Brutal training, sleep deprivation, hunger, sparing, pain, suffering… all lead up to the moment. Where the inner darkness of your soul is pulled forth and used to summon the foul creatures we hunt.
The strength of your soul dictates the enemy you face. Your soul then must dominate the monster, then devour them. Binding the essence to your own many Illidari lose themselves to madness.
Taking in the sheer amount of chaos and fel in one gulp is like trying to cradle an inferno. There will never be pain like that again. Your very soul is engulfed in their malice, and it seeks an outlet.
The adage that the eyes are the gateway to the soul is not wrong, this energy erupts in a torrent of fury, and in doing so, we go blind to the greater world around us. Fel seared eyes are the reminder of the pact with our inner darkness…
Through alliance, subjugation, or mutually assured destruction we hunters endure this ongoing struggle. If our resolve weakness, if our hunger grows, or in moments of extreme passion these demons may find their way through, claiming us, taking over, and in our own hatred we become the force of the Legion we seek to burn.
When my time came, and Arax-Barash was pulled from my anger there was only one option. To eat him first. The Wrathguard stood no chance and with his soul subsumed the true conflict began.
I would not allow this wretch to exist in my body, his power was mine, his strength, ferocity, rage… they belonged to me. My hatred for this creature, for this torture, for my past it overwhelmed him.
I tore the demon’s soul piece from piece. Breaking down, integrating, I became the demon I consumed. There would be no other presence in my soul, there would be no other force to keep at bay.
And in an endless ocean of my disdain I sundered the grasp of his very soul.
…. From this chaos comes my rebirth. In my glorious resurrection to Felsunder one sole truth echoed before everything else.
The Illidari watched as his opponent entered the combat arena. Fel seared eyes bore into the very soul of his adversary. “So Wretch, do you know why I summoned you here?” His tone was like iron. The other man could only lower his head and nod. “You failed the Cabal, and worse, you failed me. I gave you this task, I thought you could handle a simple smash and grab. Break into the Legion Camp, Kill the Eredar leader, Steal their Relic, and come home. And yet here you are.” Arms stretched wide Zanarian had summoned others, this was no private reprimand, this was a lesson to those that followed him. “Do you remember my motto Wretch?”
Blind eyes shifted to face the Overseer, crimson cover blocking his view. The lesser illidari wet his lips, they were dry, It was hot in the arena and as a sweat dripped down his spine he heard his leader tapping his foot. Short patience growing ever more tired. “...Victory or Death.”
“Victory or Death.” Zanarian’s tone was questioning as if he waited for the Hunter to continue.
Realizing his mistake the unnamed hunter lowered his head further. “Victory or Death, my Overseer.”
Smile returning to Zanarian’s face he trailed his tongue along his fangs. “And yet you stand before me, the demon lord alive, the relic in his possession, and your cowardly little heart, still beating.” Hands clenching he stepped closer to the almost groveling man. “So here is the rite, as always, prove your power to me, prove it to the Cabal. For your weakness you have been stripped of your rank, you have been stripped of your name, and you have been stripped of your identity. I do not need more Wretches in my Cabal, I need weapons that can do as I command. Now rise, the time to atone is now.”
With a cold shock running down his spine the Wretch listened. It felt as if a predator was pacing before him, waiting for the moment to devour him. Zanarian was a monster that challenged every member of the Cabal. Defeat was not an option. Swallowing any fear he stood up to the Overseer. “Yes, Sir, I am ready!”
Facing his back to the whelp the Overseer turned to the gathering crowd of Hunters. “This is the fate of any that dare fail me. I will offer any sign of weakness with a chance! Prove that is was nothing more than a fluke, or suffer!” Pivoting to the lesser hunter he licked his fangs again. Eyes burning with excitement, the anticipation running through his veins. “Come at me Wretch, bring your full fury to bear. Hold nothing back, for I won’t, and if you want your name, you will have to beat it out of me.”
The Wretch could feel the air in the pit warm even more. The aura of the Mana-Eater seeping through every inch. It was an oppressive fog, but he would not be slowed. Respect and redemption lay in this challenge. There was no room for weakness. Knuckles whitening on his glaives he let out his battle cry and raced into the fray. Leaping into the air he tried to use Zanarian’s weakness.
The Overseer’s wings were destroyed in captivity. Once the pride of man he used them to hunt the Fel drakes of outlands. Now though the white haired man was grounded. Blades out and roar on the ears the Wretch dove at Zanarian, a powerful blow to prove he was strong.
It was quick, and he was right, it did hurt. Pain radiated through his face and even without his eyes the fallen hunter could sense it. Before he could react his commander had retaliated. A single fierce strike with the back of his hand had sent him flying. Now with his face against the floor doubt sunk in. Pushing off the ground the Wretch ignored the pain, and with grit teeth he could sense the misalignment in his jaw.
“Was that it? The sum of your strength? Keep that up and I will just kill you here.” With the Overseer squaring off for another attack all the injured man could do was gulp and silence any fear left. Tapping into the darkness and chaos inside he urged the second presence to give him power.
He is strong, but he is a brute. Speed will be your ally, get past his defenses.
Energies of the nether swirling around him the Wretch charged again.
Jaw shut tight the painful pop of his bones finding their place pulsed. Zanarian had met the charge in kind and with a quick adjustment met the Wretch’s face with a knee. Skirting across the floor again the fallen was left with only one option. He would have to embrace his partner and become an even worse monster then his leader.
Squeezing his glaives he could already sense the changes in his body. Bones expanding, muscles growing. Horns and spikes rending out of his skin. Scales and crown covering the Wretch he flexed his wings. The demonic form gave him confidence gave him strength, he would prove the Overseer wrong and reclaim everything taken from him.
Now is the moment, we will strike him down. Show everyone that Felsunder is nothing more than another hunter. Just another Illidari.
The voice in the pit of his soul sang of glory, sang of temptation. He was right, the time was now, the stage was set, this would be his shining moment. For a third time he ran at his opponent. In a flash they were face to face, and as Zanarian’s eyes met the blinded look of the fallen he was filled with disgust.
Just like every embarrassing moment before, the wretched fallen hunter found himself in the air. Before crashing into the ground with crunch. Wing splayed out and the room spinning he gasped for air before any hope was forced from his lungs. Another sound of snapping as the full force of the Overseer fell upon him.
“You are far too weak to serve the Cabal.” Zanarian’s tone was dripping with the ichor of ire as he climbed on top the fallen demon. Taking a fist full of hair he dragged his opponent’s head off the floor. “The Legion will show you no mercy, nor will I.”
The wet sound of fist on flesh echoed for the crowd. Some voices cheered, others hissed, and even more stood silent as the fallen wretch of the Dying Sun was ‘educated’
Rising to his feet Felsunder looked among the crowd. Watched in delighted horror their responses. “This is the price of failure” Red blood dripping off his knuckles he flicked his wrist. spraying it over the fallen. “Let this be a warning to all who would fail me a second time.” Stalking back over to the bested hunter his eyes narrowed. “Victory, or Death.”
The wet indiscernible gurgle of protest was silenced by an iron grip cutting off any hope of protest. Lethargic hands swatting in vein at the Overseer attempting to get any reprieve from the asphyxiation. As the darkness closed in at the edges of his vision the fallen could only see the aura of his commander as it smiled back at him.
Lifting up the flailing demon Zanarian split into a cruel grin. “You do still have some fight left in you...good. I’ll give you another chance to avoid being my meal.” Clenching harder on the Wretch’s throat he reveled in the struggle. “Better hope your wings still work. Hitherian, take us outside. We are about to have a man overboard.”
