stock: typewriter

fic:purgatory/AtS,SPN/Gen

Title: Purgatory
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 600
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. Angel the Series and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.





There were moments, perhaps eons, in the seemingly endless span of Illyria’s existence that had fallen out of sequence. The past, present and future were irreversibly jumbled as the events which surrounded the fracturing of her shell. Eternity, apparently, now played havoc on her perception of time’s linear progression and while this grated Illyria found that the memories of her guide, of Wesley, seemed to always remain the closest to her present.

She did not find those memories unpleasant after humanity faded to ash, after the dimension Illyria considered her own dissolved into the ether and the few, like herself, that still persevered fled into worlds unknown when the walls between those dimension thinned.

A Mother had greeted them, many arms held wide and sharpened teeth bared in welcome, in warning—half truths.

This creature showed them a new world of perpetual twilight with a starless sky that rippled above them. Opaque mountains pierced that sky and sent it surging downward to howl against Illyria’s shell, dark embers flicking through her hair. This world, this purgatory, held beauty beyond reason and, thus, was utterly boring to one such as her. She watched, disinterested, as the beings there struggled for dominance, struggled for scraps of shimmering and smoking rock.

Beyond that rock was an ocean, that remained unchanging, unmoving throughout Illyria’s time in purgatory.
The ocean, like humanity, was sneaky. It ate most things, quietly sucking them under, when they wandered too close to its shore, but this feasting did nothing to abate its growing hunger. Wesley would have studied it and, in some moments, Illyria could hear the sound of her guide’s meaningless chatter urging her into action when she watched, impassively, as the ocean devoured another.

In those moments his memory bothered .

In others, such as when the Mother left behind her children to walk another plane, Illyria had listened and stopped the paupers from destroying one another in her absence over smaller and smaller bits of rock.

She’d listened again when the ocean moved, arching upwards, towards the hole that had torn open the sky. Illyria had fled into the canyons in the mountains, slid down the deepest fissure and had watched as all those, including that quiet, ravenous ocean were devoured by a creature that appeared a mockery of humanity.

The sky was dormant above her and the cavernous depths, which had once been covered by the ocean, were bared for her and her alone to see.

Thus Illyria waited for humanity to once again open the gates. Wesley’s tales of human soul’s urge to consistently bring itself to the brink of destruction and her own experiences held her still and waiting until once again the sky rippled, coming back to life with a howl.

Illyria climbed those souls being flung back into purgatory until she reached the opening and her hand found purchase on a cool, smooth surface. Her fingers splayed out and she tugged herself free of purgatory to stand beside the one that had devoured all those before, the one that had attempted to devour her.

It stank of carbon and good intentions and she caught human shoulders in her gloved hands and shoved, tumbling it forward and into the void she’d escaped. Illyria watched him disappear as the ocean broke apart and pieces of that fractured whole swarmed towards her, towards freedom.

The hole closed and quiet reigned.

A quiet that was broken by a tepid, “Son of a bitch.”

She turned and found the three humans gazing upon her in horror.

Illyria looked to the muck at her feet and smiled.




The end.
  • Current Mood: dorky dorky
I adore the way you write Illyria. You manage to capture her derision of humanity right along with her intrigue brought about by Wesley's term as her guide. She's such an amazingly layered character that you effortlessly plumb. Love that she continues to think of Wesley and 'hears' his voice.

And those poor boys have no idea what they are about to get themselves into with her. :D
Thank you! She's an exceptionally hard character for me to write so that's a lovely thing to hear/read. I think Illyria would latch onto her memories of Wesley when her world keeps narrowing and once she does that I think he'd remain,

Those poor boys might not make it through the night. ;)
My Supernatural interest tends to ebb and flow depending on the season. Though it's mythos is just plan fun to write in at times. I adored both Fred and Illyria; both characters are terribly interesting to me and I don't think I'd be comfy picking a favorite between them. ;)

Illyria the conqueror of the Supernatura'verse, :D