Casually, the man in the black suit entered the room. Any joy or excitement he felt for what was about to happen was not apparent from his pace of walking- he was Crowley for Christ sake, nothing was going to cause him to lose his elegance or demeanour. His face however told a different story. Mischievous, wicked eyes had rested on the centre piece of the dark, empty room from the moment the King of Hell had entered the room, and had not removed them just as a predator would not lose sight of its prey. At the heart of the room, a metallic- almost autopsy like- table had been constructed upon which lay a shirtless, motionless man. When Crowley arrived at the foot of the bed, he paused and allowed himself to savour the moment of victory that he had achieved, a smirk emerging on his face as he did so. Licking his lips, he began to examine the body in front of him; short blond hair, which he noticed framed his face well; a handsome appearance, sporting chiselled features with soft, fair skin; and a strong, well-built physique, particularly considering the vessels age. "Balthazar", the demon whispered in his velvet soft voice.
Of course, getting hold of the recently departed angel's vessel had been fairly easy- easier than it should have been at least. After becoming God, the baby faced, trench coat loving angel had clearly not given much thought to the brother he had murdered just a few hours before (certainly not enough to return his body to heaven, or at least give him an appropriate burial). Well, that was his mistake. Getting the angel's essence, his life force that had been removed when the blade had passed through his intercostal muscles was another thing entirely. So many deals made. So many souls traded away. The banks vaults of hell were nearly empty and Crowley had almost run out of chips to bet with, but the investment would pay of when he had Balthazar under his control.
Slowly, the demon traced his fingers up and down the man's chest. "I suppose I should appreciate the quiet while it lasts" he dryly thought to himself. The vessel had been restored to its former glory with the only mark still present being the stab wound that ran through the middle of him. After firmly securing the body to the table by the wrists, ankles, and torso, the demon climbed onto the table and straddled the figure that lay upon it. Reaching into the inside pocket of his tailored suit, Crowley extracted a vile whose contents shined so bright, it illuminated the entire room. When he poured it on to his hand it formed a sustained mist around it which Crowley was able to control. Now for the difficult bit. With his free hand, the King of Hell pulled apart the wound, exposing the inside of the body in the process, and began to work the mist covered hand inside. Concentrating hard, the demon began to disperse the blinding vapour around the vessel, feeling as it flowed into each space and willing the two elements to connect with each other. The process was painful and tiring, and was taking longer than anticipated. "Come on you fucking bastard!" the demon cursed through gritted teeth. "I have come too far to be stopped by you." As if in response, the motionless piece of meat below him suddenly began to real against the restrains tying it to the table. With an arched back, the angel let out a terrible scream that nearly made Crowley let go, but the stubborn demon did not relent until he felt for certain that he had been successful. Panting, the demon extracted his hand just as the angels eyes rolled back into his head. After concluding that there were still life signs present in his captive, Crowley withdrew from his position and went to pour himself a scotch. Resurrection- as first times go, it could have gone worse.