Crowley stalked through the halls of his palace, fuming hatred poisoning every corner of his mind, even almost turning his vision red. The demon had never really experienced this kind of anger before, but there was a first time for everything. And what else would be the cause than those damned Winchesters? Damned hunters, always trying to make a fool of Crowley, always trying to kill him five minutes after he'd helped them through yet another one of their blunders.

And yet, Crowley was not surprised by this behavior. This was how it had always been, of course. But then, why did it hurt? The demon shouldn't even be able to hurt. And yet here he was... feeling betrayed by a couple of half-wit hunters.

Crowley straightened his shoulders, and cleared his face of any trouble. Now was not the time to let his apparently resurfacing emotions get the better of him. What was it that panicked lackey had told him on his way in? Crowley frowned. Right. Intruders in the palace, heading for the throne room. He'd tried to ask who it was, but the demon had been out the door before the question could even form in his mind.

Crowley advanced down the hall that led to the throne room, or as he liked to refer to it, the most painful, tortuous room in all of hell. It was the damned paperwork. They needed his signature for this, they needed his signature for that, blah blah blah. It was always the same. Crowley wasn't really sure why Abaddon had ever wanted the damned job. Why did anyone? Why had he?

Who the hell would be stupid enough to try and steal my throne? Crowley thought spitefully. He abhorred his position, but it wasn't like he was going to let anyone else have it. The minute he did, the new king (or queen) would have him executed on the spot, and who really wanted to deal with that?

Crowley's eyes narrowed, and, for the first time, he noticed the bodies that littered the floor. They lined the hall, and all of their eyes were burned and bleeding. The signs of an angel blade. Had the Winchesters actually come to the palace, looking to kill him? They didn't usually do things so directly, but maybe they were just tired of Crowley's shit. Well, he was tired of theirs. Maybe it was time to send them to meet their maker. Oh wait. They already had. Well, who needed technicalities? Maybe Crowley would get lucky, the Winchesters' dumb luck would run out, and they would both get sent down to him.

Here's so hoping. Crowley stopped in front of the double doors that led to the throne room and took a breath. Then it occurred to him. The Winchester brothers wouldn't bother heading to the throne room to kill him. They would just wait for him to come to them. They weren't really much for symbolism, like killing the king in his throne room. So it wasn't the denim-clad nightmares.

Who then?

An image of the tiny Earl Phantomhive and his powerful demonic butler flashed through Crowley's mind, and he shuddered. It couldn't be them. Phantomhive had stayed out of everything to do with demons for the fifty plus years they had been in the States. Why get involved now? It just didn't make sense.

The king made a face, then cleared it. There was no time for this nonsense. No time to be "scared" or "worried." Just get into the room, find out who it is, and deal with it. It wasn't nearly as complicated as he was making it out to be.

Crowley shoved open the doors, walking over the threshold as the resounding bang echoed through the chamber. His eyes took a moment to adjust, and when they did, Crowley found that his second guess had been correct.

Ciel Phantomhive sat on the throne, legs crossed, with his chin resting on his fist. The butler, Sebastian, stood next to the throne, clutching the oh-so-dear Guthrie by the back of his suit jacket with an angel blade pointed at his heart.

"Lord Phantomhive," Crowley said, as though he wasn't at all surprised.

"Ah, look, my lord. The king has arrived." The cheerful tone threw Crowley off for a moment, and he simply stared at the butler, wondering what the actual hell.

"Don't be an idiot. The king arrived fifteen minutes ago, and has been awaiting his predecessor since then."

Crowley's gaze moved to the little Lord Phantomhive, and was again unnerved by the darkness in those eyes that betrayed his childlike appearance. There it was, just like it had been a few years ago.

He found himself not at all surprised that a demon like Sebastian had taken this deal. Sebastian was one of the oldest of demonkind there was, one of the most powerful. He had taken the deal at a time when demons still ate their pray's souls. Ciel Phantomhive's would have been a rare catch, indeed.

"Quite right, my lord." Sebastian's stare was more than a little uncomfortable. There was something almost... hungry, in it. "I'd quite forgotten."

"Do be sure you don't forget it again, dog." Utter disdain dripped from Ciel's voice, and Crowley wondered how the hell the kid dared talk like that. Sebastian could kill him with the flick of a finger. Ah, but of course. Crowley was forgetting. The deal. The deal was what prevented that.

Nothing but a small, amused smile ever crossed the demon's face. "Of course, master."

"You two done?" Crowley asked, making sure to inject all the annoyance he felt into his tone. "'Cause I'd like my throne back, and that won't happen when you're acting like the most demented couple in existence."

Ciel uncrossed his legs, leaning forward in his seat. A smirk played across his features. "Didn't you get the message, Crowley? You won't be getting your precious throne back, because it belongs to me now. And I could have Sebastian over here gut you like a fish for saying something like that to your new king, so be sure to watch your tongue."

Sebastian waved his blade in a small arc as if to put truth into his master's words. Crowley wondered if he was enjoying this. One look into the dark red eyes told him that, yes, Sebastian was very much enjoying this.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Very terror, your Highness," he said mockingly. "It does, however, look like your dog is a little busy with Guthrie over there."

"Oh, I could be done with him and starting on you before you could say knife, but I will not do so unless my Lord tells me to." And still, the uppity, cheerful tone was out of place amidst the blood and gore the throne room had been redecorated with.

"Speaking of," Crowley said to himself. "Guthrie. What the hell? Why have you allowed this to happen?"

"Many apologies, my Lord." Guthrie seemed to be hard-pressed to speak, but still, he managed. "This little bra-," Sebastian's grip tightened, and the angel blade pressed into his chest, "-the new king and his... butler... surprised me. Forgive me, your Majesty."

"That would be the "demon formerly known as your Majesty" to you, I think." Ciel sat back in his seat, hands folded and eye thoughtful. "Kill him, Sebastian."

"Well, it's not like I'm not gonna perform 'cause you said my name wrong," Crowley muttered, then, aloud, "Guthrie, you monumental failure. I'd gut you myself if I held the knife. What kind of a butler are you?"

"I must agree with you there, former king," Sebastian said, a mocking grin appearing, blade rising.

"A true butler would never let his guard down when intruders are near, would never let danger come close to his master. A butler must be quick, efficient, and ruthless when it comes to dealing with his master's enemies. Take heed of my example."

The blade came down, and Guthrie's blood was added to the decor, momentarily lit up with an orange-yellow glow and accompanied by a scream of pain. Then nothing.

The blade dropped to the floor, and Sebastian grinned ferally. "This is the kind of deadly efficiency which makes a Phantomhive butler, and if I could not do something so simple as this-," he turned to face his master and took a bow.

"What kind of butler would you be?" Ciel finished, looking and sounding bored. "How many times have you said that phrase in the past one hundred and thirty years?"

"Too many to count, my king."

Ciel sighed, but he didn't order his butler to stop saying it. He had a feeling that even an order wouldn't keep Sebastian from repeating one of his favorite lines.

"You done?" Crowley asked for the second time that day. "Honestly, you haven't even gotten rid of the true king yet and you're already acting as though you've won?"

Ciel stared at him with one, piercing blue eye. "Well, yes. See, the first thing I had Sebastian do upon arriving was kill every supporter you have in this palace. It wasn't hard to weasel them out. They were the only ones trying to defend the throne room for you. Now that they're gone, you don't have an army to challenge me with."

Ciel stood, and before Crowley would have been able to say knife, Sebastian had him on his knees, kneeling before the new king of hell. He grunted, glaring up at his rival.

Ciel simply stared at him for a moment, a slightly childish, though demonic, smile tugging at his lips. "I am king now, which means I have no use for you. Whatsoever." The smile widened threateningly.

"So I think I'll just keep you as my new dog."

A/N: Yo! Look at me, trying to update quickly! And Failing Miserably!

Oh well. This was my version "maximum effort" that Deadpool spoke of. Not so great, is it? Didn't think so. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and thanks again for favorites, follows, and reviews!