The shrill scream of a witch was nothing new to the Winchesters, particularly when they were the cause of the scream.

Sam watched as the woman writhed and howled at the tip of his white birch stake, disintegrating to ash and ember before him; but he didn't have time to stop and think about the kill he had just made. With the end of the witch's shriek, the sounds of fighting were evident.

Dean's body slammed into the wall of the abandoned home, the shelves rattling and falling from their supports, clattering to the ground. Castiel dodged a ball of fire, dilapidated curtains catching flame.

"Where is it?" he demanded, angel blade at the ready.

"Not here," the woman chuckled with a sing-song tone. "We don't have your precious 'Weapon of Heaven'. Your source must be … misinformed," she teased.

Dean pushed himself from the floor, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "So you don't know where it is."

"Not a clue," she cooed.

"Great. Which means you're just as good to us alive as you are dead."

The sickening, wet crunch briefly precluded the witch's surprised expression as she looked down to find the point of Sam's stake protruding from her chest, soaked in her own blood. "Bastards," she whispered as she crumpled into heated dust.

"Any more of 'em?" he asked as he warily searched the area.

"One more, I believe," Castiel replied with a concentrated crease to his brow as he scanned the room.

"You know, it would be really helpful if Hannah would tell us just what we're looking for," the hunter grumbled. "Just saying one of your weapons was stolen doesn't exactly make the search any easier. I mean, we could be looking for the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch for all we know."

"We do not have a holy hand gre—" Castiel caught himself as he turned his confused squint to Dean.

"Oooohhhh, what you're looking for is much better than some measly hand grenade," teased a tall woman from the door, the hem of her long velvet dress a trail of navy behind her.

Brandishing his stake, Sam demanded, "Tell us where it is!"

"Why? If I tell you, you'll kill me. If I don't tell you, you'll kill me. I fail to see some incentive here," she answered with nonchalance, her heels clacking the floor as she took two elegant steps forward, pausing only when she saw all three men readying their stakes of birch. "This hardly seems fair."

"Give it back."

"Or what?"

"She's obviously not gonna talk," Dean growled as he lunged forward, to be thwarted by the sudden disappearance of the woman, her laughter echoing throughout the room.

"It doesn't matter," she taunted melodiously as she reappeared to their left. "You're too late."

"Too late?" Castiel asked as Dean regained his footing and scowled at the woman.

"Your precious Heaven?" she continued as she vanished again, only to appear again behind Sam. "It's doomed. All of it." Dagger in her hand, she swung at the tall hunter who managed to turn in time to counter the blade with his stake. Again, she vanished.

"And you are doomed!" her voice cackled. "You are all doo—"

Dean's machete sliced through her neck as she reappeared for the last time, the witch's head falling from her shoulders to roll across the floor, her body crumpling soon after.

"That was rude," she spat.

"Don't be cute," the hunter growled as he grabbed a handful of her blood-stained golden hair to hold her face in front of him, his brother joining Dean at his side. "I hate bitches who try to be cute."

"Last chance," Sam insisted as the wooden stake hovered over her left breast. "Give us the weapon."

"I don't have it," she answered with a crisp bite to her tone.

"Then where is it?" Dean grilled.

"Right where it belongs," she sneered. "Away from you."

"Sam."

At his brother's word, the younger hunter stabbed the woman's heart, her body crumbling away. Dusting off his hands with a frown, Dean looked over to the angel. "Cas?"

But Castiel's expression was not one of contemplation or even disappointment. No, the angel had a look of worry as he glanced upward.

"Cas, what is it?" Sam asked as he stood.

But the angel said nothing as his expression faded from concern to panic; he looked to the Winchesters with eyes that could only be described as horrified.

"… Cas?"

...

...

...

The chanting was a roar, hundreds of robed individuals stood shoulder to shoulder in rings upon rings surrounding a stone table illuminated by the golden light of numerous golden torches. Beside the table stood three men in robes, the closest holding a white, silken material within his hands. Beneath the hoods of all present, eyes were covered by similar cloth.

Upon the table lie a woman covered by a golden sheet; long locks of chestnut hair concealed her face, clashing with a single streak of silver within its tresses. Her wrists and ankles were bound by chains to the corners of the table.

Voices grew louder in unison, led by a man in a cloak of emerald, a broad smile on his face as the chanting rose in volume and intensity. Those in the surrounding rings lifted an identical ceremonial dagger to his or her neck, and as the air continued to resonate with the final word of the chant, each blade sliced into its holder's throat. Hundreds of bodies slumped to the ground with resounding thuds.

Darkness surrounded the four remaining, no sounds but their exhausted breaths and the crackling of flame … that is, until the rush of a loud ring filled their ears, the earth rumbling beneath their feet. Their screams of pain were quickly drowned within the ringing as it grew into an unbearable roar, blood trickling from their ears. The light soon followed—blinding and white—as the wind gusted around them.

"NOW! DO IT NOW!" screamed the man in green, one of the others knocking over a torch. Immediately, a ring of holy fire ignited around them, encircling the stone table and those surrounding it. The light faded instantly, as did the deafening noise.

The robe of white was quickly cast over the chained woman, the man removing his hood and the sash covering his eyes to reveal their smoldering holes, burned away by holy light despite the protection.

"Darkness shall reign," he whispered before slicing his own throat.

His body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Only the man in the emerald cloak remained, removing the sash from his eyes to reveal a gaze of pure black as he stared at the unconscious woman upon the table.

Her fingers twitched.

To be continued.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading the first chapter of my first fic ever. I'm still new to this site so please bear with me as I become more familiar with its ins and outs. Thanks!