Sophia's Chronicles

Chapter 48: The Prince of Darkness

(Lucifer POV)

Cleveland, Ohio – 14 August 2011, 5.13am

It was dark in the small apartment. Under the blue sheets lay an unsuspecting man in his mid-thirties by the name of Nathan, worn out by the stresses of normal, everyday life and sleeping soundly. As his mind neared the end of another cycle of deep sleep, his ears slowly became attuned to the ambient noises of the apartment – the rumbling in the heater which he needed to get fixed, the occasional car that cruised down the empty streets and the unchecked cat which knocked things over in the alley below. He unknowingly paid attention to all these sounds as he turned over to his side to nestle into a more comfortable position. Then there was something that didn't quite fit in. His eyebrows crinkled slightly as his mind suddenly became more alert. It sounded like… words. A voice. Who could that be?

His eyes reluctantly opened, spurred on by his piqued curiosity. Weariness tugged at his muscles as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. The words became clearer and he eased up a bit, recognising its static background to be from a radio. Still, he had an odd feeling. It was only when he opened the bedroom door and stared into the living room, lit only by a dim table lamp, that he realised that it was the radio in his own apartment which was switched on. It was the old radio that his father used to have around him all the time before he died and it was really old – it still used an antenna. There it was, on the dining table, sat upright with the antenna pulled up. Sensing that something wasn't right, Nathan carefully inched towards the radio, keeping his eyes open for anything weird. "You're listening to radio 66.6FM, playing only the hottest hits from the pinnacle to the pit. But before that, we want to hear about your desires…" the voice from the radio wafted.

Light glinted off the engagement ring on his finger as his hands traced the dusty exterior of the radio until they found the 'off' switch and flicked it. Silence fell. Insects chirped in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow shift and he spun. Suddenly, he didn't feel safe anymore. His irises scanned the room intently, now wide awake. The hairs on the back of his neck stood. A 'click' sound was heard. "I want to stab my aunt until she's lying in a pool of her own blood." Nathan flinched. The radio was switched on again. The voice was much deeper this time, not even sounding human.

"Right on! Thank you for sharing that with us, caller," a cheery voice that he recognised to be the RJ said. "Up next we have Steve from Indiana. You're on, Steve. Tell us what you desire." Nathan had a sick feeling in his stomach as he stared at the radio again, unable to believe that it had just turned on by itself. His eyes were fixated on the dial as he heard what came on next.

"I don't know man, sometimes I come home and I'm just by myself and then my mom walks in and all I can think about is ripping her guts out man. All I want is a pepsi but she won't give me my damn pepsi! I wanna bash her head in with a pepsi…" the caller confession ended.

"Radical, my man. Go for it," the RJ encouraged.

"I'll do it right now, just you wait," Steve continued. Inaudible murmurs sounded, along with the clanking of something metallic and then suddenly, sharp, feminine screams pierced the air.

"You're a star, Steve," the RJ commented, his voice drawling and becoming deeper as Nathan listened on. Then the radio only played static, like the signal had been lost. A shudder ran through his body. When he looked away from the radio, he realised that the room he was standing in was much darker… and redder than before. The table lamp glowed an intimidating shade of red, which began to alarm Nathan as he desperately tried to recall buying red lights and failed. An indistinct rumbling sounded and Nathan spun towards it. It seemed to come from the darkness at the end of the hallway – the bedroom. Chilled to the bone, Nathan grabbed a kitchen knife before slowly making his way into the dark abyss.

"H-hello? Who's there?" he called out, as they always do.

More rumbling followed. It resembled that of a lion which was threatening its prey before sinking its deadly teeth. Nathan's breaths grew shallow as he walked with the knife extended in front of him into the dark bedroom. There was something in there with him, he knew it. Several possibilities raced through his mind, none of them good. His animal instincts perked up, telling him that he was in danger. If it was a robbery, they wouldn't have woken him up with the radio. In adrenaline-pumped moments like these, one always tends towards the irrational and so did Nathan, as he mentally-prepared himself to fight off whatever came to disturb his peace at night. "Show yourself!" he demanded, though his trembling voice was evidence that he didn't want to see what the dark had in store for him.

The faintest glimpse appeared before him. A flashing of scarlet eyes. Nathan staggered backwards towards safety and as he looked around the room again, he couldn't discern the form of anyone with him. He slashed the air before him in a futile attempt to get the invisible creature. His body shivered even more, the fear of being murdered crawling through his skin like an army of insects. He feared that he would drop the knife if he didn't hold it in an iron grip. As he took a hesitant step forward towards the light switch, he felt a breath on the back of his neck and quickly spun around. He was just in time to make out the figure of a hand striking him as he instinctively moved to block the strike and stab whoever was in the darkness. The hands struggled and scratched at him as he pulled out the knife and stabbed the person again, and again, until he felt the sticky blood spilling all over his hands. The body fell limp onto the floor and the crimson liquid pooled around it as he knelt to get a better look at who it was.

He felt for the stranger's hand and traced it with his fingers as his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. As he felt something unusual on the dead person's finger, he felt like his heart stopped. His eyes widened in realisation and he gasped. It was a ring. He scrambled to his feet and flicked on the light switch. "No, Evie, no!" he exclaimed as the weight of his actions pressed down on his shoulders. His chest tightened as he saw his dead fiancée lying on the floor, multiple stab wounds on her abdomen. "What have I done!" he began to bawl as he sank to his knees and stared absently at the blood on his hands.

Sat invisibly on the bed, Lucifer smiled, satisfied with his work. There was a great release in his chest, like he'd found some peace from what he had made happen. Another man driven insane by the loss of an important woman in his life. That was the third in just that one night. He didn't want to be so conspicuous at first, but the impulse was so strong and needed to be fed that he just couldn't resist. He needed someone to understand, someone to relate to, that he'd do anything to achieve that satisfaction, no matter how temporary. He'd thought about going back to Hell for a while, but he realised how much more fun it could be to remain as an unseen force of destruction on earth. He found it amusing to watch the looks of total shock and peril in these humans as he toyed with their lives, not killing them but making them wish they were dead. But really, he was procrastinating. The whole 'praising Satan' thing that demons had was kinda getting old. He didn't care much for being worshipped. Or was it their worship that he grew tired of? He certainly craved attention, but the only person whose attention mattered had abandoned him.

Sighing, he got up and flew away, wandering the streets and the underground of various cities. In the darkness of the night and just before the crack of dawn, he always found the most curious, covert aspects of humanity surfacing in places where the ordinary-minded folk preferred not to go. He thought of it as doing research. He didn't have a plan yet, but his creative juices were tingling and he couldn't wait to come up with something as entertaining as it would be destructive. For this reason alone, he thought it wise to stay unnoticed by angels and demons alike. Perhaps, then, taking an ageing hair-metal rockstar as a vessel was not the best way to go about doing that. It doesn't have to be boring, he told himself.


(Winchester POV)

Singer Salvage Yard, Sioux Falls, South Dakota – 15 August 2011, 7.33am

"Mornin' Sunshine," Dean greeted his younger brother, who looked like he had a nest of bees living in his hair. Dean pursed his lips as he regarded Sam's hair. "Dude…"

"Shut up," Sam cut him off. He knew that look in Dean's eyes, which always seemed to say, 'Get a damn haircut'. Sam drudged to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee before settling down in front of his brother at the table.

"Anyway, Bobby's got a case for us," Dean slipped printed articles across the table.

"Teenager brutally murders aunt while whole family is sleeping", "25-year old bashes in mother's skull with a pepsi can", "Man repeatedly stabs fiancée to death" – Sam's expression contorted into one of disgust and confusion as he skimmed through the articles. Other than the bizarre outbursts of violence, one thing all the cases had in common was the fact that the perpetrators themselves had called the police and turned themselves in. He looked at the date of all the articles. They were all arrested on the same day, all the reported incidents were within Cleveland and all the perps had no priors. In fact, they were upstanding citizens. Definitely stinks of supernatural origin,he thought. "What're we thinking? Demon possession?" he inferred.

"Looks like it," Dean answered.

"But Crowley…"

"Should this surprise us? We trusted a demon," Dean ranted, clearly already having considered Crowley's reassurance of revoking demons from the surface of the earth. "We gotta do what we gotta do, Sam. We'll work the case, and then we'll figure out what to do about Crowley."

Sam didn't pursue the conversation any further, though he foresaw where it was headed. Things were getting tight now that Lucifer was free and they needed all the help they could get to stop him. He simply nodded and got ready for the road trip.

Cleveland, Ohio – 17 August 2011, 10.25am

"I'm Agent Page, this is Agent Plant," Dean introduced as they flashed their fake FBI badges at the local police station.

"Hm…" an elderly police officer with a distinct white moustache studied them for a moment. "Why's the FBI interested in a few small-time murders?"

"We get orders, not reasons, Officer…" Sam studied the man's badge. "Williams."

"Boy do I know the feeling…" Officer Williams lamented, recounting his youth in the force. "Come on in."

As the officer let them into the restricted areas of the police department, the boys wasted no time in their preliminary investigation. "So, officer, did you notice anything weird about the case?" Dean probed. "Cold spots, sulfur?"

"Sulfur? Why would there be sulfur?" the officer looked puzzled.

"Just some routine questions," Dean replied, flashing him an innocent smile.

"It seems like a regular case of undiagnosed crazy, if you ask me," the officer remarked. They came to a stop outside the interrogation room, in which a traumatised Nathan was seated and cuffed to the table. "According to his friends and family, he was the happiest guy they knew. He loved his girl and they were going to get married and everything and then this… happened. Just shows you how you can't tell who's crazy and who's not until it's too late, right?"

"Thanks, we'll take it from here," Sam nodded, watching the officer take his leave. As they both entered, they noticed Nathan's tear-streaked face and his weary brown eyes gazing at them. He shrank in his seat, clearly intimidated by the Winchesters' heights and muscular build, not to mention the cordial suits they wore as part of their disguise. "Nathan…"

"I did it," Nathan bluntly stated, voice choked with grief. "I know I did it and I'm going to jail for the rest of my life."

The Winchesters exchanged puzzled looks. "Okay, buddy, but what made you do it?" Dean asked.

"I… I…" Nathan's eyes were fixed on the table. "I don't know… It felt like a nightmare… and I don't know what got into me… but when I snapped out of it, I saw her… covered in blood…" An unobstructed tear fell from his eye. "I don't even understand it."

"Did you see or feel anything weird?" Sam asked.

Nathan sniffled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he told them, shaking his head in disappointment. "I think I'm going nuts."

"Try us," Dean said firmly.

Nathan regarded the both of them for a moment, studying their expressions for signs of mockery. Finding that there were none, he continued. "My dad's old radio… it just turned on all by itself. I got out of bed to turn it off and before I knew it, the whole apartment was covered in a strange red light… except for the bedroom. I thought I was alone at first but how could I? I was living with my fiancée and it was like I'd just forgotten about that completely! Then I heard a noise and I took a knife with me because I thought someone had broken into the house and that's when… that's when it happened." The poor guy was trembling by this point. "I stabbed the love of my life because I thought she was an intruder who had come to hurt me! What is wrong with me?" He began sobbing uncontrollably.

Sam's eyes softened. "Your dad's old radio, you said? Did you feel anything strange like… cold spots in the house when you got up to check the radio?"

"What? No…" More sniffling. "But the radio… there was a weird station I'd never even heard of playing. There were caller confessions where… oh God…" He frowned as he tried to recall what he'd heard on the radio. "One guy said he wanted to stab his aunt and another guy named Steve said… he said he wanted to kill his mother with a pepsi…" Sam gulped, recognising the stories to be those of the other headlines they'd read. Now they knew for sure that these cases were linked. The fact that there were no cold spots ruled out ghosts. And the police officer seemed to be sure that there was no sulfur so demons were an unlikely cause, which meant that they had nothing to go on.

"Nathan, we need you to tell us every single detail you remember," Sam requested, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible.

"Why? It's probably just all in my head…"

"Humour us," Dean ordered. "Let's say we believe you. Tell us everything you saw, heard or even smelled."

Nathan hesitated. Sam, picking up on this, said, "Look, we know you're a good person. You have no history of criminal offences, not even a DUI. Everyone around you is just as confused as you are. So why don't you help us sort this out, and tell us your side of the story." Nathan nodded in understanding, and proceeded to tell them story from the beginning, with more detail this time. The boys intently listened, noting down details which they thought could be relevant. That was when something caught their attention. "Red eyes? Did you say you saw red eyes?"

"Yes. They came out of nowhere."

Sam and Dean briskly walked down the street to the car as they contemplated their next move. "That rules out demons," Sam sustained as they both pulled open the doors of the Impala and entered it.

"Don't be so sure," Dean was unconvinced.

"But there wasn't any sulfur," Sam argued.

"Could be a demon who cleans up after himself." Dean turned the key in the ignition, awaiting the warmth of the engine.

"What about the red eyes?"

"Crossroads demons have red eyes."

Just then, a new voice greeted them. "Didn't realise how much time you spent staring into my eyes, Dean. It's quite flattering, actually," the British voice said.

The boys jumped in their seats, turning abruptly to see their uninvited guest. "God!" Dean exclaimed. He hated being surprised by angels and demons. Why couldn't they just call like normal people? he thought.

"No, it's Crowley," the demon replied with his usual suaveness. "Heard you boys were in town and I had to come check up on you myself. That's what friends do, right?"

"We are not friends," Dean declared.

"So I take it you don't want help with the case?" Crowley's gaze flickered between the both of them, cleverly anticipating their response.

"The case? So it is demons?" Sam pressed.

"Could be a rogue element within my kingdom but I assure you, I will rain Hell on whoever is doing this. King's promise," he held up two fingers in solidarity.

"Okay, you know what, I'm done with this," Dean rolled his eyes. "What game are you playing, huh?"

"I assure you, there is no-"

"Cut the crap. You know what I think? I think you've been lying to us this whole time," Dean spat out.

"Dean," Sam tried to stop his brother, caught off-guard by his sudden outburst.

"Think about it, Sam. It's been weeks since he said that Lucifer was free. But how many times have we actually seen the guy?" Dean stared daggers at Sam. The younger Winchester noticed that something was bothering him and it wasn't just the case, or Crowley. Dean's gaze returned to Crowley. "Hell, we've never even seen Sophia around. I think that maybe Satan's still in the cage. I think that maybe you're just trying to get the weapons from us and bolt. Well bad news, you ain't ever getting your hands on them."

"Are you done?" Crowley looked bored. "Have you ever thought that maybe you should be grateful that you haven't seen either of them? I'm just as confused as the both of you that the two angels with the most pent-up anger are this quiet. You don't see me pointing fingers at anybody!" Shaking his head in disappointment, Crowley pulled out a file from his coat. "I've been doing my own reconnaissance lately. Had to keep it on the DL so that the demons don't flock to their returned Prince. You want proof that Lucifer's free? Here it is. You're welcome."

Dean's unrelenting scepticism showed on the lines on his forehead as he took the file and opened it. Inside were a bunch of photographs, all of rotting or decayed corpses. They looked like they were burnt from the inside, especially from the eyes, and some even had a greyish, ashen colour. "What's this supposed to tell us?"

"Lucifer's been vessel-hopping. Obviously, they couldn't contain him and we're left with a trail of burnt-out vessels," Crowley elaborated. "See, Satan is real."

Dean sighed in resignation as Sam quickly shifted the topic of conversation back to matters at hand. He, for one, didn't have much trouble believing that Lucifer would be free, after witnessing first-hand the lengths to which Sophia was willing to go in order to make that happen. "Alright, so what can you tell us about the case?"

"3 murders in one night, so we're probably looking at a group of demons operating at the same time," the demon replied.

"That's it? That's all you got for us?"

"I'm here to investigate treason within my own ranks, Samantha. I don't think they'd leave memos to update me on what they're doing," Crowley shot back.

"Then we're back to motive," Dean suggested. "What links the three murders?"

"Other than a flair for good bashing, I got nothing," he said.

"He means that this is the part where we talk to the families of the people involved," Sam explained.

"Ah," Crowley nodded. "I'll take pepsi can guy. I quite like his determination." Sam and Dean just stared at him. "What? Three murders, three of us, I'd say we're evenly split for this one. Chop chop, fellas, we don't have all day."

"Nuh-uh, no way. You're not doing this on your own," Dean ordered, still untrusting of the demon. "You're coming with me. Sam will meet us later at the motel." Despite Crowley's sighs of protest, the trio split just as Dean described.


(Lucifer POV)

Cleveland, Ohio – 17 August 2011, 12.50pm

"Dude, it's noon. Let me in," Tommy knocked on the door to Vince's hotel room. The door swung open and Tommy came face-to-face with a brand new man. "Whoa, look at you." He walked in, still in awe of what he was seeing. Lucifer was wearing a fitting leather jacket with pants to match and it gave his vessel a whole new look, like he was ten years younger. "Pretty dressed up for rehearsal, don't you think?"

"Rehearsal…" Lucifer repeated, playing around with the idea in his head. There was a gig tonight, his vessel's memory showed him. Rehearsal was when they practised the same old songs for the concert. Meh. Music wasn't really his thing – it was Sophia's. She always loved singing. He exhaled belatedly, deciding that rehearsal wasn't really the best use of his time. He didn't want to be reminded of her at this point. He just wanted to smash things that resembled her.

"Brother, are you okay?" Tommy's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Lucifer didn't even realise he was in a daze until then.

"Yeah, I just can't make it to rehearsal," he stated, nonchalant.

Tommy frowned. "You got better plans?"

"I do," a mischievous glint shone in the archangel's eyes.

"Vince, I'm serious."

"So am I." Lucifer took a few steps towards the window, looking out at the wealth of opportunities the earth had to offer him.

"Alright, look, stop screwing around." Tommy, unsettled by his friend's demeanour, grabbed him by the shoulder. That was a mistake. Lucifer jerked toward the human, infuriated by his action. Get your hands off me, you disgusting mortal! In that moment of quick temper, Lucifer's eyes glowed red as he seized Tommy by his shirt and flung him backwards, breaking the fragile wooden door in the process. Wood shards littered the hallway as Tommy lay still for a moment, unable to believe what he had just experienced.

"I said I had plans," Lucifer said, undeterred. A sinister smile formed on his face as he walked past the human sprawled on the ground. Invisible again, he roamed the streets. He opened up his senses, looking for a very particular kind of signal. All these wavelengths of humans thinking and praying, focusing on certain kinds of divine concepts, filtered through his mind. Suddenly, a wave of prayers to his father washed over him and he turned to see where it was coming from. His face contorted with disgust. A church was nearby. Scoffing, he took off in the opposite direction. Then, finally, he heard the faintest whisper.

"We invoke thee, O Dark Lord. Hear our prayer," the voice said. Lurking in the darkness, the archangel approached the four devotees. He found them assembled in the basement of a shared house, shrouded in dark robes and standing around a ritual set-up. There was a pentacle drawn on the table, with candles placed around it and other materials. "Attend now my calling and show thyself, Lucifer!"

Lucifer simply frowned, remaining in the back of the room. He was a little… let down. The ritual set-up was amateur at best, there was no sacrifice or even bloodshed, and their prayer basically demanded he arrive. You demand me, human? The shrouded people looked around themselves briefly. "Well, where is he?" one of them asked.

Under another hood, glossy pink lips burst out into laughter. "This is ridiculous, Larry," she said. "We just look stupid." You're right about that, Lucifer thought.

"Just hold on a second," the one they called Larry rushed to speak. "We're just not concentrating hard enough."

"You know what," the third one sighed. "I only came down here because I was bored. This is lame." She pulled down the hood, removing the robe. The others agreed and began to take their own robes off too.

"Wait, guys, wait," Larry insisted, beckoning them to stop with his hands. "We can try something else. Maybe another spell? Scott?"

Larry looked to Scott for support. The ginger simply shrugged. "Dude, you asked us to do this stupid ritual with you and we did. But Sheryl's right. It's kinda lame," he admitted. "But you can still have your Goth street cred."

Larry looked dejected. As though to rub salt into the wound, the girl with the lip gloss spoke again. "Yeah, Larry. And you bought that book on Ebay for like five dollars! What did you think was gonna happen?" She burst into a reverberating laughter.

"Magick can work, Gina!" Larry argued. That didn't stop Gina's mockery.

"Oooh lookie here, we're gonna make a deal with the Devil. Ooh I'm soo scared!" she taunted.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. The lights flickered, drawing the kids to a silence. As they all turned up to look at the ceiling lights, Lucifer appeared in between one moment of light and the other. "Oh, but you will be," the archangel said to them, amidst gasps.

"But you," Scott gaped. "You're… you're Vince Vincente! My mom loves you!" Lucifer rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist, instantly snapping the kid's neck. Sheryl's scream pierced the air, suddenly bringing the others to terms with the reality of the being before them.

"N-No way…." Larry stuttered, his breaths becoming heavier. "Y-You're r-real… Really… real…"

"Here's the thing, kids," Lucifer began in a disappointed but instructive tone. "Your magic is too basic to work. You're lucky I was in the area. But to make it work… you're going to need to charge the set-up first with energy." Lucifer made appear two knives appear on the table with a flourish of the hand. "Usually in the form of blood or sacrifice."

"W-What are you d-doing?" Sheryl asked, hands trembling as she eyed the curved ritual blades.

"Tell you what, if any two of you can band together and kill the last person, I'll give you anything you want," he laid out.

"No way, man," Sheryl shook her head. "That's cr-crazy." She looked to her two companions, who were themselves pale and frozen to the spot.

Gina nodded, muttering words of agreement. "Yes… sir… we ain't doing that…" Her hand traced the lining of her robe, cautiously looking for an opening to reach into the back pocket of her pants and pull out a cell phone, all while making her movement slow as to not trigger a reaction from the large man before them.

"If no one kills anyone, you all die," Lucifer said sharply, making them flinch. Larry, however, studied the knife, tracing the hilt and picking it up with a hand. "So what's it gonna be, Larry?" The archangel observed the black-haired kid, seeing as he had been the first to consider the offer.

"Larry… what are you doing?" Gina glared at him, half in fear and half in disbelief. Was he really going to do it?

Larry's gaze slowly moved up to meet hers and for a moment she could not imagine what must be running through his mind. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for what he was about to do. "The right thing…" With a swift swing of the arm, he spun and plunged the knife into Lucifer's abdomen, ready to come to terms with stabbing another person. Gina gasped, her shoulders jerking. A brief glimmer of hope lighted in his chest to see the blade buried in his body and blood pouring forth. I did it, he thought, until he looked up to see the unmoved figure of Lucifer. The archangel was emotionless, his eyes bearing into Larry's with a bored but vexed intensity.

Larry stepped back hesitantly but Lucifer's gaze was fixated on him. A sick feeling stirred in the pit of the kid's stomach as he felt his end nearing. They watched as Lucifer pulled out the knife like it was nothing to him. Feeling time grow short, Gina hurried to pull out her phone, her finger scrambling to unlock it. "If you're what's left of my following on earth…" Lucifer hissed. Instantly, he reached out grabbed Larry by his neck, igniting him. Sheryl screamed again as she watched her friend combust, flames reaching into the ceiling. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. She staggered backwards as Lucifer briskly began towards her, closing the gap between them. Her screams were stifled by his iron grip which crushed her throat before he violently bashed her skull against a pillar again and again and again until blood poured out from all her facial orifices and her skull became deformed.

Meanwhile, Gina took cover behind a couch, struggling to control her frightened heavy breathing. With shaky fingers, she dialled 911. As her phone rang, it dawned on her how quiet the room became. She froze. Her eyes roved over the ground in front of her, finding a pair of leather boots. Her head jerked up and her voice got stuck in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes as she begged for mercy. Shadows danced on the wall as she dropped her phone. "911, what's your emergency?" a voice asked on the other end of the line. There was a scream and then a noisy splattering of blood on the walls. "Hello? What's the emergency? Are you okay?"

Lucifer looked around the silent room, disappointment still weighing on him. He felt insulted that these cowardly, conformist children would dare even utter his name, let alone try to summon him. Fondly, he remembered Zara. Her ritual was amateur too, but he felt her spirit calling to him with such force and determination that it surprised him. And when he had asked her to leave everything behind and help him, she had done so. Despite her futile attempts at escaping later, she had always shown courage in facing uncertainty, which was something he could respect. The sound of his boots echoed as he stepped over the dead bodies and approached the table. There he found the rip-off spell book, full of nothing but try-hard invocations and instructions. He studied its back, finding a small inscription – Church of Satan, it said. "Hm. This better be good."

Following the address, he found himself in front of a well-furbished establishment. As he approached the front desk, the receptionist suppressed a gasp as she looked at him. "Is this the Church of Satan?" Lucifer asked her, flashing a warm smile.

"Uh…" she giggled nervously. "Yes it is… uh… Vince." She immediately got up, extending a hand towards him. "Nice to meet you. I'm a fan."

Lucifer obliged, shaking her hand. "It would seem so…" he remarked as he read the words in large font above her desk that read 'Church of Satan'.

"What can I do for you?" the blonde lady asked, captivated by the man standing before her.

"I read one of your books…" he held up the spell book. "And I was interested to learn more about what it is that you do here."

"Oh," she chuckled. "I could show you around."

"Yes, that would be lovely, uh…" He looked at her nametag. "Harley."

The excited receptionist didn't hesitate in leaving her post, seeing as they didn't get many visitors on a weekday. Eagerly, she led him down the hallway. "So here we have the Eleven Satanic Rules and the Nine Satanic Sins," she showed him a large wooden board with words inscribed in gold font.

"Who taught you all of this?" he asked as he read through all the statements. They seemed fair enough, but they lacked a certain… call to action that he'd hoped to inspire.

"Our church was founded by the late Anton LaVey, who authored many books on Satanism and laid out these rules and sins as the core of our philosophy," she explained, pointing to a picture of LaVey himself on the wall. They then moved into the altar room, where there were rows of benches just like you'd find in a church. In the front hung an inverted crucifix with a statue of the Baphomet poised in front of it. Inverted pentagrams were drawn on the pillars. "This is where we congregate for Sunday Mass. We perform our own rituals here, focusing on self-improvement." Lucifer wasn't sold. A Baphomet, really? This was starting to look more and more like something people would do to feel like they were participating in something bigger when in fact, it meant nothing. Especially since the symbols and sigils they used weren't being used correctly. Some didn't even deserve a place in a shrine of his worship!

"These rituals… Were they also designed by this LaVey?" he asked.

"They were," she nodded. "He was a talented and brilliant man, rest his soul." Rest is the last thing he deserves, if this is the shoddy work he puts up in my name! "Not to worry, the rituals don't actually involve any sacrifices or anything like that. The Church of Satan doesn't condone violence in any manner and we are frequently misunderstood in that regard," she reassured him, though it achieved the opposite effect.

Lucifer simply seemed puzzled, a visible frown forming on his face. "Why not?"

"Well…" Harley herself was confused at the question. She wondered for a moment whether he was being serious, but the answer to that question was well-explored in their doctrine. "Sacrifice implies a belief in a supernatural being to whom we can transact a service from. We here in the Church of Satan don't believe in supernatural beings. We are atheists."

"Seriously? None of you actually worship Satan?"

"No, that would be foolish and would convince Christians that their fanciful doctrine is actually right! Satan is merely a symbol for pride and liberty," she elaborated, proud of representing her organisation.

"Then what's the point of this place?" Lucifer crossed his arms, admittedly wounded by what he had just heard. He felt a mixture of despair, rage and disgust all at once. What kind of an impression was he leaving on Earth if this was what his supposed followers were doing?

"This church exists merely to oppose and spite the Abrahamists and our rituals are a form of therapy for our members. By engaging in a hyper-reality where magic is seen as real for a short moment, we are focusing our will on the goals we want to achieve and strengthening our resolve to achieve them. Our congregation also encourages our members to pursue their worldly desires in abundance because we don't believe in the afterlife." So… a lot of mindless indulgence in sex and drugs, then?

Lucifer nodded slowly as he pondered on what she said. His mind still wondered about the rituals. It all seemed so ridiculous to him. "Not even an animal sacrifice?" he asked, eliciting another confused glare from Harley.

"No…" she shook her head, puzzled but still trying to maintain a courteous demeanour. "Most of us are vegan."

Vegan? He huffed. I must rid the world of this pansy-filled abomination at once! He nodded shortly, breaking into a smile. "So there's Sunday Mass, you said?"

"Yes, every Sunday at 10am," she answered, encouraged by his smile. "If you sign up to be a member today, you can attend this Sunday's one. Membership fee is $200." You've got to be kidding. You're charging for membership? You're no better than the Christian establishment, soliciting monetary favours for a superficial experience of spirituality!

"I need to think about it," he said, already formulating a plan to massacre them as they all gathered here. It became high-priority on his to-do list. He wanted to make an example of them. "But thank you, Harley, for the wonderful tour." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, her pleased giggle becoming a contrasting prelude to what would be her screams of terror as he dragged her down the basement of the building and ripped her throat out. As he stood over her bloody corpse, he ruminated despondently on the lack of spiritual support he was receiving from the earth. How does Sophia deal with being so unknown? he wondered. Something had to be done about this. Humans either trust God too much or fear the Devil too little, he realised. There used to be an abundance of energy generated by the mere fear of him that spread throughout the Middle Ages like a plague. It was so strong that he could feel it from the cage but now, that feeling was rapidly fading away. He needed a way to harvest all of that energy stored in the human ability to form egregores or thought-forms, a kind of unconscious magic that all humans performed. If he had that, he could become stronger and unstoppable.

That was when he remembered. The gig tonight. "Lucifer, you're a rockstar," he told himself. He broke out into a wide grin and smirked.


(Winchester POV)

Cleveland, Ohio – 17 July 2011, 6.48pm

Back at the motel, Sam and Dean compared notes over dinner. "Hey, where's Crowley?" Sam asked as Dean started hungrily ravishing his box of Chinese takeout.

"He went off," Dean's voice was muffled by the noodles overflowing from his mouth. He paused to chew and swallow before elaborating. "He said he'd check his 'sources' to speed up our progress because we were going at "snail's pace". What a self-righteous prick." Stirring his noodles with a chopstick, he shook his head. "Anyway, there's no consistent MO. We don't have jack shit to go on," Dean ranted.

"I wouldn't say that. All three men murdered women they admired or loved. That's something," Sam argued.

"That's about as useful as a pixelated porno, Sam. The victims and the perps are not even in the same age group. We don't even know how this thing is picking out its targets," Dean continued. "Hell, we don't even know how many demons are involved."

A 'beep' noise interrupted their conversation. It was Dean's phone, ringing with a message from Crowley. "House of Blues, 9pm," it read.

"Hey, look," Dean showed Sam the message. "Looks like we got something after all."

Sam's eyebrows crinkled as he remembered something. "House of Blues?" He checked the date on his phone. "Isn't Vince Vincente playing there tonight?"

Dean gave him a quizzical expression. "Vince Vincente? The hair-metal guy? How do you even know that?"

"Well…" Sam stuttered. "It's all over Facebook."

"Right… I expected better from you, Sammy."

"Oh come on. That third album wasn't so bad."

"Seriously?" Dean's face contorted into an expression of disgust. "As an older brother, it's my duty to make sure you don't listen to pop garbage, Sam. Hand over that Walkman."

"It's 2011, Dean. No one uses a Walkman anymore." Sam sighed.

Later, the Winchesters got out of the Impala in front of the House of Blues. Shouts of excitement sounded from the inside. It was a full house that night with all kinds of fans, young and old, waiting to see the famed Vince Vincente. Eyes skimming over the stocky bouncers, the boys decided to sneak around the back. Flashing their FBI badges, they got in with relative ease, gliding down the hallways with their eyes peeled for anything unusual. Dean dropped a text to Crowley, asking where he was. But there was no sign of the demon anywhere. Their keen hunter instincts perked up as they scoured the various rooms, finding only rusted equipment and dressing rooms. "Dean," Sam called out as he spotted something.

They both stepped cautiously towards the door leading to the backstage, guns cocked and ready to fire. As Sam held watch, Dean checked the bodies, putting two fingers to their carotid arteries. "Dead," he concluded. "Dude, what's going on here?"

Sam exhaled slowly, just as confused by the sight before him as his brother. "Where's Crowley? He said he'd be here, right?"

Dean shrugged, checking his phone again. A loud wave of muffled cheering sounded through the door. It was the concert, almost about to begin. "Vince, Vince, Vince!" they chanted his name. These rockstars sure love hearing their own names, Dean thought with disgust. A scream pierced the air. The boys jerked towards the noise. It came from behind the door. As Sam prepared to rush in, Dean instinctively held his younger brother back. A bright flash of light came from the small gap between the door and the ground and they just looked at it in horror. They immediately recognised it to be angelic. A chorus of screams sounded and then slowly faded to silence. Tension was thick in the air as the brothers exchanged shocked glances and then advanced together to the backstage.

It was dark, the only light being the one filtering in from the stage through the curtains. Amidst the trail of dead bodies of the staff working the night, the Winchesters hurried to the stage. A deep, maniacal laugh echoed, amplified by the mic. "Feels good to stretch my wings," he said to no one in particular.

As they rushed, guns blazing, onto the stage, they were greeted by the sight of one man alone. "Vince?" Sam called out at the man, who was standing with his eyes closed and arms outstretched like he was receiving from the heavens.

Lucifer opened his eyes and straightened up, turning towards the interruption. "Oh look, it's Beavis and Butt-Head," he said. "Come to join the party, boys?"

He gestured towards the rest of the hall. There lay piles upon piles of bodies with their eyes burnt out, extending throughout the hall. There were approximately 600 dead, as Sam estimated. It chilled him to the bone. That's when things started making sense for him. The red eyes, angelic grace, the burnt-out eye sockets of the dead, "radio 66.6FM" as Nathan described – he realised who it was standing before him. "Lucifer," he recognised, much to the shock of his brother. His limbs grew weak, remembering his time from the cage. He'd struggled so much to put it all out of his mind, not including the time he'd been walking around with a fragmented soul. Now it was all coming back to him like a tidal wave. Inside, he felt a growing sense of impending doom.

"The one and only," the archangel tugged at his jacket, posing obnoxiously. "You know, I'd really love to chat with you, Sam. Using my fists." Within the blink of an eye, Lucifer knocked Dean backwards and grabbed Sam by his collar, tossing the younger Winchester around. "There's a lot you need to answer for. Unless, of course, you want to say a little three-letter word. Then we'll be even."

Sam used his elbows to prop himself up, tasting blood in his mouth. His vision was all blurry but he could make out the figure of Lucifer walking towards him ominously. "Never," he spat out. "Even Sophia couldn't break me. I'll never give you my consent again."

"Oh, I heard about that," Lucifer picked Sam up again, holding his face close. "She's screwed up a lot of things lately. But you know what, I can do without her. It's you that I really need. And I don't intend to repeat her mistakes." Lucifer pulled back an arm, ready to strike.

"Hey assbutt!" Dean yelled. Lucifer turned to look at him, puzzled by the expression. Dean slammed a bleeding palm against an angel-banishing sigil. With a bright flash of light, the archangel was expelled, leaving only the Winchesters to catch their breaths.

Narrowly escaping with their lives, the Winchesters headed back to the motel. "At least now we know that Crowley wasn't lying about Lucifer," Sam remarked.

"Damn right I wasn't," the demon showed up, uninvited.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean explained, drawing out his angel blade and pointing it at Crowley. "Where were you?"

"I was in the general vicinity," Crowley nonchalantly responded. "I thought you boys would have it under control." When they didn't relent, the demon sighed. "I gave you the location. I didn't say I was coming."

"Wait a second," a thought occurred to Sam. "Did you know what we were getting into? Did you know that Lucifer was possessing Vince Vincente?"

Crowley held Sam's gaze for a moment. "I was… testing a theory," he confessed.

"You used us as bait!" Dean exclaimed, ready to carve some sense into him.

"No, I confirmed my suspicions. And I knew the both of you would make it. You're… persistent that way, like a tumour," he dismissed. Crowley held out his arms to beckon them to let up. "So? Are we gonna discuss this or what?"

Reluctantly, Dean lowered his weapon and Sam did the same. "Talk," Dean ordered.

"Lucifer has no plan."

"Well he killed an upwards of 600 people without a plan," Sam announced.

"You sent us face-first to the Devil and that's all you got?" Dean became flustered.

"Oh and he's acting all alone. No Sophia, no son. We can all rest easy," Crowley said.

"Oh yeah I'll sleep like a baby," Dean retorted, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "How are you so sure he's acting alone anyway?"

"Dean," Sam began. "He said, 'I can do without her.' And he sounded kinda pissed when I mentioned her name. I think Crowley's right. Sophia's not with him."

"Thank you, Moose," Crowley adjusted the collar on his shirt.

"This just leaves us back at square one. What do we do now?" Sam asked.

"We follow the plan," Crowley answered. "Bust out the weapons of Heaven, hit him with all we've got."

"What's that gonna do? He won't die easy," Dean rebutted.

"It'll weaken him. If we can't kill him or trap him yet, this is the next best thing." Crowley seemed quite sure of himself. Perhaps a little too sure.


(Crowley POV)

The sound of heels clanking echoed in the hallway as Crowley waited for the person he wanted to see. He was in a regal office, among wooden furniture and an assortment of interesting, classified materials. There was a map of the USA sprawled on a large table at the centre, with all kinds of markings and notes attached to it. Laid on the map were a few files with a tell-tale emblem on all of them, denoting the institution they belonged to. There were photos on all the files, clipped to the front, of faces that Crowley recognised – Sam, Dean, some other hunters and even Zara. The footsteps stopped abruptly at the door and a stifled gasp was audible. "Crowley," the woman greeted. "You could have made an appointment."

Crowley turned to her, giving the lady a furtive smile.


A/N:

I had a lot of fun writing Lucifer's POV. We'll see a lot more of that soon enough. I hope the first scene was as good as what you'd expect of a "first five minutes of Supernatural" scene.

My portrayal of the LaVeyan Church of Satan is partly fictitious. While they are atheists and believe in self-empowerment, they do not conduct mass rituals or Sunday Mass or advocate hedonism. They are actually Epicureans, which means they believe in pursuing pleasure as an absence of pain and fear; they believe that 'sober reasoning' and indulgence but wise restraint is the path to pleasure. Also they don't actually have a church-like setting, if I'm not wrong. I also don't mean to hate on vegans or anything. Just think about what the Prince of Darkness would be like. Anyway, point is, Lucifer is pissed at them for being really lame and not hardcore enough.

So… that ending. Can you guess where Crowley's at? You get ten internet points if you can guess where he is and twenty if you can tell who he's talking to. Bonus if you try to guess what he's there for, depending on how accurate you are (I won't hold it against you if you can't get this one).

I've also just started college and things have been getting really hectic for me. I barely have time to sit down some days… I have more chapters written so I'll still be able to post regularly for a while but my writing speed has slowed down so much because of all the work I have to do so I apologise in advance if I can't make it on time on some days! Thanks for your continued support :)