1. Unexpected Meetings

I sat down somewhere in the small coffee shop and watched a few humans glancing at me.
Not me in particular, but the black haired pretty girl I was possessing.
Already dead by the time. Died of blood loss. It was a nasty one-on-one fight with a demon when I escaped from Crowley's hideout, he cut me deep enough to make my vessel die, but somehow, I managed to survive without leaving the meatsuit. As always, I escaped death with a small side jump before it reached me.
It had his pros from time to time. I was alone in this body, with a clear mind and without a whimpering voice in the back of my (or rather her) head. Her little soul must be sneaking happily somewhere in heaven, as long as Crowley let her go there, instead of forcing her into a sightseeing tour downstairs. He quite enjoys doing so.
A young waitress asked for my orders. I picked some useless coffee just so I could stay here and she walked away, with a fake smile on her face.
It was late and raining outside. And I had enough of hitchhiking all day over the country, since my powers were limited to the ground due to healing my wounds.
Nonetheless, within a single day I left Chicago and almost reached Kansas City, before that guy who picked me up from the gas station started making disgusting moves on me.
I had to knock him off.
With mercy this time, he wasn't even bleeding.
Why should I shed useless blood? To me, humans are just livestock making contracts and letting us demons get their souls dragged to hell, as well as becoming vessels for us. Frankly said, they are walking meat to me.
So I do not feel the slightest sympathy for them, but neither do I hate them.
One of the other reasons I do not really care might be the lack of memories about my past, before I came to hell.
It must be Alistair's work.
Sometimes I wonder. Was I good? Bad?
Did I make a contract out of desperation?
For money, acknowledgment?
Out of fear of someone I wanted dead?
Then again, I doubtthat all that really matters. I have seem to been stupid enough to sell my soul, so why even bother for the reason behind it? It is too late.
Only my memories from my time in hell itself haunt me until present day. It was painful, ugly, bloody and incredibly long. Going through suffering day by day is not one of my favorite hobbies. For every single soul, it is a personal hell. Emotionally and physically. A soul gets tortures in any way until it gives in. It is ironic that you have to surrender, be weak, to receive the demon powers.
When one finally says Yes to let the suffering stop, a demon, talented in torture, takes one off the spit over hell's fire. He let one torture the souls oneself. For me, it was Alistair.

I know everything about torture from his lessons. I know the cruelest ways to let someone experience the pain I had to endure. I sure did this for a long time, since time in hell was so much slower.
After many years, almost centuries, I stopped caring anymore about who I was torturing.
So many souls gave in during my time. People who feel pain for doing nothing bad but selling their soul.
Then, someday, Azazel, the demon who even made the contract with my human self, told me that he would let me out of hell. I was confused. Did he know?
How could he even know? How could he know about how sick I got of those screams, sick of the blood that only exists in the souls imagination?
I was tired back then already, without even knowing about the war that took place so far above me.
I thought he would free me from all of this — let me rise from the ashes of pain and regrets — when he told me that we will flee to earth.
But I was so wrong.
I chuckled sarcastically, nipping from my cup of coffee, and a few faces turned to me. I smiled at them until they felt uncomfortable enough to turn around again and continued reflecting on the past, staring outside, where the heavy rain slowly wore off, softening until almost becoming mute.
Azazel told me that someday, Lucifer, the fallen angel who created us, will be freed from his cage, and to make that happen, it will be my mission to kill the angels who come in the way.
Angels?
Really?
I did not believe him at first and I would not have proof for a long time. I mean, who believes that god's bitches really exist?
He called me precious. He told me that I had potential. That I was born a warrior.
He was my tutor, the best replacement for a father that I had.
Teaching me to fight with simple human knifes, we killed so many vessels that I stopped counting at some point. Their screams were in my head, and I tried to ignore it. I did not feel that much of pain, but there was confusing blood running out of their wounds. Red, thick, hot and just disgusting.
But Azazel praised me, he acknowledged my fast progress. I smiled through the mist of blood.
And one day, he told me I was ready. He gave me a blade to protect as much as my life and let me out of the abandoned building that has served as a hideout.
For the first time in my life as a demon, I was not forced to feel pain, not torturing souls, nor inside a place protected by the Enochian sigils that kept angels away.
It was easy to get spotted by those winged bastards, since they always see the true face of a demon and truly hate us. I killed many of them, in harsh, bloody fights. I killed many vessels. No matter how much I was harmed, I was never hurt enough to get killed. I guess it was just luck.
Most of my companions that I met later, died. Somehow I always ended up alone. Tired, ready to give in anytime. But I was fighting to survive in this world. I was concerned about not getting myself killed. It mattered to see Azazel one day again.
Sometimes, he appeared out of nothing, looked out for me to be sure I was alive.
But those times became fewer, until he did not search out for me at all. He had bigger things in mind than me. He did not care about me. It was frustrating. I was lost. I became tired. I did not want to follow his orders anymore.
Suddenly, there was news in hell. A rebellion of demons who were against Lucifer's rising, killing demons who were destroying seals. Willing to crush Azazels plans.
The rebellion was led by a demon called Crowley, and he would run hell for many decades.

Azazel appeared in front of me with a request. But I begged him. I didn't want this anymore.
I gave in. I expected him to kill me, but he did not. He said that there was this one thing to do and he would let me off the hook. He would not kill me, he would let me live my life, just if I make the playing ground clear for him.
It sounded so simple when he said it.
I was supposed to kill Crowley.
We had a plan, we were in a small group, we were prepared. But Crowley was already one step ahead. With spies that he had almost everywhere, we were infiltrated from the inside and I was to blame, leading the force. And I was also the only one to get away.
So the plan failed, Crowley almost killed me. A demon stabbed me, I ran, barely alive, and endured the pain until it was gone. The backfiring bullet missed me with only an inch or even less.
And right now, I am in a small coffee bar next to Kansas, without a clue where to go. Where to hide from everything. I cannot. I just want to die and leave everything behind. As if there is anyone who really needs me for anything but as a tool. As a weapon, disguised as a warrior.
Looking outside, I noticed that at least it stopped raining. I could move further. Further into nowhere until I find a way to die. On the run just to die, it sounded just so ironic.
I drank out the cup of coffee and left a few dollars I stole from the guy who harassed me.
When I left the shop, a demon was leaning by a car. A demon I knew.
"Hello, Meg." said Victor.