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.
Yall can rip multiracial Nursey from my cold, dead, biracial hands tbh!! Half black, a quarter Navajo (bc I'm thirsty as fuck for more mixed ndn representation) and a quarter Arab. 😌.
Wayward daughters sort of reminded me of an AU idea I had a while back / had wondered if they’d ever considered.
Instead of Jess dying in the fire it is Sam, who doesn’t want his girlfriend to go the same way their mother did.
And then the show becomes about these two grief-stricken humans trying to right wrongs. Jess learning from Dean how to be a hunter, Dean learning from Jess what a “normal” upbringing can mean.
The two of them learning to be siblings (like Alex and Claire). Jess eventually learning that all the killing is never going to bring back Sam.