Chapter 8 Monster
Danny
Danny had barely escaped the angels by the skin of his teeth. He had felt someone create an angel banishing rune and had felt the angels flee. That was when he struck against the powers holding him. Danny usually wouldn't have been able to fight them, just because of the sheer number of angels. But he slipped away under all the confusion about "the Michael sword being lost."
Good for Dean.
A painful cough ruptured from his lips and ectoplasm splattered into his hand. Danny grimaced and wiped the disgusting liquid on the ground in the field he'd taken shelter in. he was leaking, falling apart. This always happened when he expended too much energy. He was an abomination that had never existed before now. Humans and Death were never supposed to mix in this way, inside a flimsy body filled with ectoplasm and blood, fighting between life and death all the time. He was unstable and one day he'd dissolve into nothing. He might leave a corpse behind if he was lucky. If he wasn't, then he'd just be a puddle of ectoplasmic goo.
He collapsed into the grass. Everything hurt. His head pounded, his lungs were flooding, and Danny was pretty sure his muscles were freezing up in rigor mortis since he could barely move. Nothing too major then. He'd been worse, like that time his organs nearly shut down. Danny's eyes fluttered shut. He just needed to rest for a few hours, and then he'd be functional enough to—
Something happened. Danny could feel it in the wind, in the taste of the air. Ozone frying, sulfur, and rot invaded his lungs and Danny spazzed with another gut-wrenching cough. He pealed his eyes open, but there was nothing there—only tall weeds and the starry night sky he once dreamed of visiting. But he couldn't dream. Especially not now, not when it was finally his time. Not during the apocalypse.
Lucifer had risen.
