Sophia's Chronicles

A/N: This chapter, which you may notice is pretty darn long, was written to be like a full supernatural episode. Once I started the plot of this chapter I just couldn't stop myself. It took a huge amount of planning and time to get it done so I hope you enjoy it! It's gonna take you a while to get through it, tbh

RECAP: In the Void, Sophia and Sixty-Six leave the Omniverse to investigate a strange noise. During this trip, they become accidentally trapped in an inescapable room full of creatures that put deities in a 'guilt trip' trance while sucking the life force out of them until they die. They find a way out, only to be confronted by a deity who angrily rants about how conflict zones will cause trouble. Sophia thinks these conflict zones are linked to the Keys of Conflict, the keys to Omega's prison. Sixty-Six warns her to trust the other doppelgangers less. || In the flashback, Abaddon helps Zara make friends with a Hellhound named Orias. Zara and Orias are on a mission in Varanasi, a holy place in India, to track down a temple where the goddess Sita is known to bless chosen devotees. Zara poses as a worshipper to get in and then uses violence to intimidate the goddess into submission. Jack had been following her without her knowledge on this mission and brought a storm to put out a village-wide fire that Zara accidentally caused by leaving a stove on. || In the present day, Zara, Sam and Dean had investigated a mill during their time in Missouri where they stumbled upon a demonic battle – Crowley and Lucifer's soldiers were fighting. It was found then that Crowley had two hostages in a truck whom he escaped with. The CCTV footage was too much for the hunters to analyse by themselves so they passed it to Jack who would ask Vampire Boy on the Deep Web to help them.


Chapter 82: Wicker Man

The Void

I stared into that empty galaxy for a while. Perhaps an identity of this universe could tell us where we were. I compared the scene from this window to the adjacent windows. There had to be some pattern, some numbering of these universes. Following them up to the first could lead us to the Omniverse. Perhaps the age of the galaxies. After further thought, that too fell flat as a solution.

"Hey, look at this," Sixty-Six called out. I found her, head craned upwards, staring at a fixture on a far wall. She was intrigued by a faint symbol, almost unnoticeable, etched into the wall. It had a signature to it – a kind of curviness only the language of the Void had. I say language, but there was no language here. These symbols were some encrypted code that only Khaos knew how to decipher. But He put it there, no doubt. We'd seen symbols like this one in other places and heard of them from stories told to us by our sisters of their patrols. I had a mental image of every symbol recounted to me. Each time, they were different. My companion knew this too. "I suppose there's no use to asking what it means."

I didn't reply. I was still introspecting, running this symbol against the ones I knew in my mind. There was a semi-circular arc on its head, some chaotic squiggle below, straight lines forming a base and a spine, and dots interspersed. "Do you remember our sister who found a symbol like this one, and found that it led her to the prison area? The one who made it back," I asked. "That symbol was in a stable point. A room that never shifted."

"Yes, and I also remember our sister who tried to use one of these symbols and was never seen again. It was her partner who had the wisdom not to touch strange inscriptions," she huffed.

"But there has to be some pattern to it all. Maybe something about the symbol would tell us if it leads to the Omniverse or some ill fate," I ventured.

"Don't you remember what we've been doing? Every time someone finds a symbol, they shoot something through it, and we've been recording when it works and when it doesn't," Sixty-Six pointed out. "Forty-Two ran it through the interface. We got nothing. No pattern."

Forty-Two… An image of her popped up in my head. I saw her face. And an indecipherable, one-sided smile. She was the only one who knew how to work the Interface. One in thousands. And so she was the only one who could run the analysis of our results. That was a lot of trust to place in one person.

"Maybe it's just not possible. The symbols are too complex," Sixty-Six continued on. Her voice faded into the background, taking a secondary position to my distracting thoughts. "You see how much variety in line structure and points of construction there are in this one symbol? Imagine how many millions of permutations there are! Even if there was some kind of pattern, Khaos has hidden it too well."

"That's what she would have you believe," I muttered monotonously, an exhale in my dazed state. I blinked out of it and looked back at her.

Her head tilted as she gave me what seemed to be an amused smile. "Well look who's having trust issues now? Better late than never, I suppose," she said. "What do you think, is she like the Devil or what?"

My lips pursed. "You're the Devil. She's sketchy," I answered. "But I don't have any evidence to make that claim."

"You have an instinct. Instincts are powerful. It's like your mind's already run the numbers," she reassured me. She placed a hand on my upper arm. "If you think she's gonna stab us in the back, I'll stab her first."

"Thanks, I guess," I replied, returning the smile. "See how the dots in the left balance each other out? I think that means this one is safe."

"I…" she looked at the symbol again. Eyes crinkling, she made no indication of recognising what I saw. "Seems like a bit of a stretch."

"But you just said to trust my instinct," I rebutted.

"Yeah, about people. But this… I'm not sure," she countered. "All I see is complexity. I don't even know what you mean by 'balanced out'. And why did you choose the left side over the right?"

"Something about the arc at the top, I suppose," I said, voice wavering. "Look, I can't be sure, okay. I'm going off based on the other symbols. I know the Interface said there was no pattern, but it feels like there is one. I feel like this is it. We have to try."

"Look, you're clearly seeing this differently from me. But you've been doing alright so far so I'm gonna take your word for it," Sixty-Six began. "But just to keep it real, you could either be right, or really really wrong."

A tense silence fell between us. I looked at the symbol again. I looked at her again. My hand reached for hers and she yielded. "Here's to hoping," I whispered. We both intensely eyed the symbol, extending magic towards it. It glowed with a golden intensity. A rush of movement engulfed us. Our grip on each other's palms tightened. And then, we weren't in the same place anymore.


Rufus' Cabin, Whitefish, Montana – 28 October 2012, 12.58pm

"No, Jack, I don't want to illegally set the zoo animals free on Saturday," Zara said into the phone, pacing at turtle speed in the kitchen. Dean looked up from the newspaper he was reading, brows furrowed. "How would we even open all the enclosures fast enough without getting caught?"

Dean heard the static rumbling of the angel's voice coming through the receiving end of the phone.

"Okay, say you did do it when the park's closed. Then what? Where are you gonna take the animals?" Zara flustered, visibly bewildered though Jack couldn't see it. He immediately responded with his answer. "Oh yeah, you can take the zebras back to Africa or whatever. I know how this goes. You ever seen those videos? The ones where the people 'save' some squirrel or mouse that accidentally got into their house? The moment Stuart Little runs for freedom, some eagle swoops in and snatches it right away. That's what's gonna happen to those zebras. Some tiger's gonna hunt 'em down, rip them apart. Is that what you want?"

"What I want, is for those animals to be FREE, and not exploited for a quick buck by the dirty money-grubbing system!" he yelled so loud this time that Dean could make out all the words and Zara held the phone away from her ear. "Can you imagine? All those dumb parents and their dumb kids enjoying it? 'ooh mommy look at that giraffe, it has a long neck, I want one'," he devolved into a mocking tone. "'Mmhm sweetie mommy's gonna get you whatever you want, because you'll eat shit and want more if that's what the rest of the world tells you is normal'. I hate this."

Zara rolled her eyes into the back of her skull. "Look, I get that you're… upset," she pointedly said. "But if you pull this off, it's gonna be really conspicuous. I mean, people are not gonna let this go. Do you really wanna draw all this attention to yourself? And besides, those animals are gonna live long and healthy because they won't be attacked by predators. There are vets who'll take care of them. You can always secretly pet them if you'd like. No one's stopping you."

Some pacifying reflection was muttered from the other end of the line. Dean could tell from the fact that he couldn't make out the words anymore that the angel had calmed down. Zara said her goodbyes and cut the call. As she sat down next to Dean, a deep sigh awoke from her lungs.

"God sent him to watch over you?" Dean asked.

"He's very passionate," Zara weakly defended. "Anyway, his friend got back to him about the CCTV footage."

"About damn time," Dean folded up the newspaper and set it on the table.

"What Crowley was running was a storage unit," Zara said. "He must have been having a slow business day when we showed up 'cause there were definitely more than two people being held hostage there."

"But what were they for? Crowley didn't seem like he wanted to kill them. He kept them alive," Dean recalled.

"Yeah. And just tracking the number plate on that truck did no good. The truck stopped somewhere in Utah and Jack went to look for it. He said he found it tipped over in the middle of the desert," she reported, bemused. "It was empty."

Dean let out a puff of air, mulling over what she said. "Did seem like Crowley was preoccupied. Running from a mob of Lucifer's ants," he posited. "Does this mean we don't have a lead?"

The way he said that, all dreary and tired, could have made Zara feel something for him. Maybe pity. "From the footage, no. But we have another trick up our sleeves," she responded. "That little monkey that followed us around. Jack thinks it knows where to go. It's been watching us but it's also been watching Crowley's people."

"Our very own double agent huh," Dean mused. "So, where to?"

I'm glad you asked, Zara thought. In a couple days, the three hunters found themselves south in Idaho, surrounded by mountains and trees. It was peak autumn by now and there were swatches of reds and oranges as far as the eye could see. Riding through a quaint little town in the Impala was a treat for the soul on its own.

"So what's the sitch here? Did Jack give you any more details?" Sam asked from the passenger seat.

"Oh yeah," Zara nodded. He didn't, but I will. "He said those people Crowley took were from here. Apparently there's been a string of missing persons cases from around these parts. They take turns with all the towns so it doesn't look suspicious."

"Yeah, would be weird if 50 people went missing within the same few months from the same town," Sam added. "I get that. But it's not like no one's taken notice. There are online blogs about the missing people."

"I almost thought it was a joke," Dean huffed, slowly cruising down the road. "They think it's aliens. Or lizard people. Or lizard aliens. So of course the authorities aren't taking it seriously."

"But it's a lot of people, Dean," Sam emphasised. "Aliens or not, that's something to worry about, isn't it?"

"Hunters will worry about it, for sure," Dean replied. "Heard from Robinson's crew yet? Didn't they come here some time ago?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "He said they found a trail going all the way to Oregon and get this – a snake infestation."

"Snakes?" Zara asked, as if she didn't know.

"No ordinary snakes either. Armenian creatures known as the Shahapet. The hunters had to destroy a whole nest of those snakes to stop the killings," Sam recounted. "But some of them got away."

"Major yuck," Dean cringed. "So they didn't find the missing people?"

"No, they didn't. It's weird though. They went to solve one mystery and found another one instead," Sam surmised. "I think mostly they're just recovering from the hunt. But when I told Robinson we were coming here, he seemed a little spooked. Wouldn't tell me why."

"Something about seeing just a bunch of reptiles rooming together totally knots my insides," Dean confessed. "I'd be spooked too."

Zara eyed them both from the backseat. When she first got her orders, she was a little puzzled by it. After all, Idaho was supposed to be Hell's little secret. There were certainly other 'secrets' like this around the world, and one going down wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but she still doubted the necessity of bringing the boys here. It was a little too close to the truth. Of course, Jack had nothing to do with them being here. As she stared out the window, she noticed the demon standing outside a bar, closed for the morning, looking straight at the Impala as it drove past. The demon occupied a woman who was a little above average height with short blonde hair. Zara was surprised that the boys didn't notice the demon just standing still on the sidewalk and following the car with her gaze. More specifically, the demon was looking at her.

The demon gave a short nod and went into the bar. The Leaning Owl, the place was called. The 'Closed' sign was flipped. Now a welcoming 'Open', in all red font, greeted the outside world.

The Impala stopped outside the police station, which stood out from the surrounding buildings with its khaki-coloured exterior. "Agents Kilmister, Clarke and Nicks," Dean greeted the sheriff, with the trio holding up their fake IDs. "We're here about the missing persons cases."

The sheriff, an older man with whitened hair and a cartoon moustache, regarded them with some amusement. "What about them?" he simply asked. "A few people skip town, and all of a sudden the Feds are worried?"

"A few?" Sam repeated, befuddled. "Six people have been reported missing in the last two months alone."

"And?" the sheriff questioned. "Small town like this, people get bored quick. All these poor young people – they have so much energy and this town ain't enough for them. The older generation here, they're a little paranoid about letting their young 'ins free but I can assure you, those kids want nothing more than to make it out there in the real world."

Sam immediately grew alarmed to hear that. "But Sheriff…" he glanced cursorily at the nametag. "… Miles. Not all of the six missing people were 'young'. Some of them were in their forties."

"Boredom is an affliction that doesn't care about age," Sheriff Miles shrugged.

Dean exchanged a vexed look with his brother and Zara. "This isn't the only town with folks going AWOL," Dean said. "Ten people from Warmark, another ten from Cochmont and four from Emerstone. That's only counting the last two months, in this part of Idaho alone. You gotta understand why we're concerned."

"This area is surrounded by the thickest of forests and steepest of mountains. Some of those places you mentioned? They've been having wild animal problems for some time now. What you're noticing isn't some strange event. It's a pattern. It's Man against Nature. Save yourselves some time and go home, fellas. And ma'am," he tipped his hat towards them.

"Then where are the bodies?" Zara pressed. "So far, none of the reports mention any animal attacks. Don't you think the search parties would have found something by now? A corpse, a limb, maybe just blood?"

Miles focused his stoic, light blue eyes on her. Compared to the Winchesters, whose eyes were curious and truth-seeking, hers were cold and knowing. Exactly how he remembered her. "I know the folks in the other counties and they'd have let me know if something came up. But it hasn't. I'm sorry, it's a cold case. But you really shouldn't worry. The people here are fine. Everyone who finds themselves under a roof knows what they're getting into, with all this wilderness."

Without even a goodbye, the sheriff went back into his office. No one had to say anything for the three of them to acknowledge that this was weird. "He's definitely hiding something," Dean said.

A little bell jingled as they entered the diner. Its pristine chimes echoed into the stark silence as the hunters stepped onto the glossy chequered floor. There wasn't a lack of people. The people there sat mostly quiet as they ate, perhaps only whispering every now and then. As they inevitably settled into the booth, Sam, Dean and Zara found themselves being cautious about noise without even meaning to.

"Hi, welcome to Sunshine Kitchen. May I take your order?" a silver-voiced young waitress came to attend to them. Her volume, though, was normal.

"We'll just take your lunch specials," Sam answered. Some eyes turned towards them. Mostly other men dressed like lumberjacks. Then they turned back to their own tables. An odd feeling stirred inside Sam's abdomen. "And coffee with that. Thanks."

The waitress scribbled the order on her notepad. "Three lunch specials, three coffees…" she murmured to herself. "Would you like some pie with that?"

"Yes," Dean answered almost immediately, an intoxicated smile lighting up his face. Sam, however, wasn't so easily soothed.

"Sorry, I didn't see pie on the menu," he interjected, despite his brother's disapproving look. "Is it part of the set or…?"

"Oh no it's alright," the waitress reassured them. "It's on the house."

"On the house?" Sam repeated.

The waitress locked eyes with Zara. Zara gave her a knowing look. "Yeah, for first time customers," the waitress answered. "Especially for people with important business. I mean, the suits? Let us show you our hospitality."

Dean seemed impressed. "Speaking of important business, mind if we ask you a few questions?" he said, cueing the display of FBI badges. "It's about missing people."

"Oh-" her smile faltered but soon recovered. "Sorry, I- I'm on the clock. But I'm sure you can ask around town."

She rushed off into the kitchen to get their orders. "I think you scared her," Zara pointed out.

"Hm." Sam looked out the window. A single black crow shot across the sky, its beak sharp like a spear. "According to these files that the sheriff gave us earlier, the people we saw Crowley nab didn't live too far from here. One Theo Butler and a Mia Parker. Maybe their folks know something."

The younger Winchester brought out his laptop to do some more research in the meantime. He began to search the victims' names on social media sites. Dean and Zara, on the other hand, split the case files and scoured through them. The waitress interrupted them to serve coffee. "Look, if you wanna talk to some people, there's a farmer's market all week. Everybody's going," the waitress said, again with that wide cherry smile. "It's almost Halloween so maybe you can pick up some fresh pumpkins."

Dean grinned a thanks and she left, serving other customers with the same plastered smile. He looked out the window momentarily. Across the road, a woman walked casually down the sidewalk. A man approached closely, grabbed her handbag and made a run for it. The woman stood dazed, while another man chased after the thief. Almost as soon as the pursuit began, the man tackled the thief, pinned him to the ground and punched him. Dean thought it would be over then. But the man kept pummelling the thief's face with fist after fist.

"Hey, there's something going on over there," he said, tapping a spot on the table in front of Sam. As Sam turned to look, the guy stopped assaulting the thief, gave the lady her purse back and continued walking as if nothing happened. The thief lay unconscious on the ground and no one cared. Dean got up to leave the diner, but someone else interrupted him.

"Jimmy, go take care of it," the waitress called out to a guy sitting at the counter.

"Another day, another shithead," Jimmy grumbled as he reluctantly left his coffee. The boys watched in tense curiosity as Jimmy crossed the road and sat the thief up before lifting him up. Now that the thief was upright, Dean could see the blood dripping on his face.

"Jeez," Sam remarked as Jimmy dragged the wounded thief in some direction. "Where are they taking him?"

"He's gonna spend the night behind bars," the waitress simply said.

"He looks like he needs a doctor," Sam told her.

"What he needs is to understand that stealing is wrong," she coldly said, before flashing her wide smile again and going back to work. There seemed to be nods of agreement among the other patrons. At least lunch went smoothly, without any violent interruptions. Later, an ordinary-looking house on the suburb greeted them. The house of Theo Butler, a 39-year old man who worked as an accountant. At least, that's what his social media revealed about him.

The door opened soon after Dean knocked on it. When it swung open, a rosy-cheeked older woman opened the door. "Is this Theo Butler's house?" Dean asked. The sound of conversation brewed from inside the house. As the boys stared in, there was quite a number of people in the living room. He counted nine, maybe ten people from where he stood.

"Why, yes it is. I mean, was. Who's asking?" the lady said, not too bothered. Zara suppressed a shiver from looking at the lady's clothes. A teal cardigan over a floral dress, and a pearl necklace around her neck. Betty Crocker-ass clothes.

Again, badges were shown. "We're here to investigate his disappearance. Is this a convenient time?" Sam asked.

"Of course, please come in," the lady beckoned them in readily.

"Are you sure? Looks like you got people over," Dean concerned.

"Oh it's just friends and family. People who knew Theo," she reassured them and led them in. "I'm Grace, by the way. I was his mother."

"Then I'm really sorry about your son," Sam began.

Grace turned around like there was just a mild disturbance in the wind. "Right," she simply said. "Please, meet the family. My husband Jerry, my daughter Rose and my grandson Pete," she introduced them. The family just smiled at them in greeting, in a postcard fashion. "They're here about Theo."

"What about him?" Jerry, the older man, said, before bursting into laughter. The family, along with their unintroduced guests shared the light mood. While the Winchesters seemed to be shifting uncomfortably, Zara stood still as a statue. She crossed her arms. The laughter died and Jerry grew sober, though he kept his warm demeanour. "Don't be afraid to ask questions, Sa…" he cut himself off when Grace gave him a stern look. "…say, what were your names again?"

"Agents Kilmister, Clarke and Nicks," Dean pointed out. "What can you tell us about the disappearance of your son?"

"Sheriff Miles said he must have skipped town," Grace answered. "I'll admit, we were shocked to hear the news, but I can't say it was unexpected."

"Why's that?" Dean probed. As the others talked, Zara explored a wall-side table that had some framed photos, as any normal house would. She inspected them, finding poorly-edited images of the victim with the rest of the family. When she saw the awful work, she turned back to make sure the boys weren't looking before turning the photos away from them.

"He was always an adventurous young man, talking about doing wild things," Jerry said.

"Wasn't he an accountant?" Dean continued.

"Yes," Rose answered this time. An awkward pause punctuated her sentence. "He loved numbers. C-Couldn't stay away from them."

Dean gave them a curt nod. "So who reported him missing?" Sam took over. Zara looked into the kitchen, which was exposed by an archway next to the table. Everything seemed normal, except when she looked down. A spot of yellow powder sat unattended. Sulfur. Rolling her eyes, she swept it away with her foot until it was inconspicuous.

"It was me," Grace confessed. Her face turned sombre and her eyes became inconsolably sad. "When I noticed he wasn't in his room, punching those numbers in his favourite calculator like he always does, I knew something was wrong. And he hasn't shown up since."

"Uh huh…" Sam said. "So he lives here with you?"

"Has his whole life," she said. "All thirty-nine years of 'em. We like to keep our family close."

Zara's shoulders tensed at the whole performance. She couldn't stand it, but as long as the boys did what they had to it would be alright.

"These woods… they're full of mystery to keep anyone occupied," Jerry added. "Theo always wanted to explore them. We just hope he's happy there."

Sam released a sigh. "Well, I'm sorry to break this to you but… we found your son in Missouri and we think he might be in danger. Do you know anyone who might wanna hurt him?"

"Hurt him? No, he was really… nice," the sister said. "People liked him. He was a good accountant."

"Right," Dean commented. He scanned all their faces. The little boy, Pete, just stared blankly at him through thick glasses, not saying a word, not moving. There was always something about children that was so innocent and in need of protection. But Pete seemed fine all on his own. Too fine. Dean dismissed those thoughts. "So he never actually told anyone where he was going, but you're convinced he went to the woods."

"It's where people go when they want to find something greater than themselves," an unintroduced lady finally spoke. She, and the nameless others, also seemed to form a similar family structure. "It's what happened to our Mia."

"Mia? Mia Parker?" Sam recognised. "She went missing too."

"She did," the lady said a little too enthusiastically. "She was my daughter."

"Wait, so you all know each other," Dean inferred.

"It's a small town," Grace said. "We've found that it helps us to move on if we supported each other through this time of pain. We've all lost family but at least we have a community. And isn't that what it's all about in the end? Coming together for a good cause?"

"And what about the other families? There are other victims too," Zara chimed in this time.

"We haven't forgotten about them. You'd be amazed how close this community has become through these tragedies. If you stay for the Farmers' Market, you can see it for yourselves," Jerry added. "Despite our troubles, our town is finally growing to its highest potential. It's almost like our people were taken away, only to give us gold in return."

"God's plan and all that," Rose said. They all looked at each other for a moment and exchanged smiles.

"Okay, uh, thank you for your time," Dean closed. "We'll be in touch if we find anything." The moment the trio walked out the door, they released a collective exhale. "I don't even know what's normal anymore. A thirty-nine-year old never leaving his parents' house and the families of both our vics in that house together just when we're visiting? It's gotta be some freak coincidence to see those two things in the same day."

"Not to mention how not bothered they were," Sam huffed. "Maybe they're dealing with it in their own way, but still…" He caught a glimpse of a black crow perched on a tree in the front yard before it flew away. The dry rustling of the auburn leaves sang through the still air as he watched. A shiver threatened to erupt on his skin, but he suppressed it. He did snap out of it, only to see Zara engrossed in her own thoughts. "You barely said anything."

"I didn't feel safe in there," she monotonously said. Dean huffed in a chuckle. He must have thought it was a strange enough thought about a grieving family, but she knew better than him what they were. She reciprocated the laugh.

"What do you think they were talking about? The forest and serving some cause," Sam wondered.

"I don't know. This whole case stinks of something," Dean muttered.

That would be the sulfur. "Notice how they brought up the Farmers' Market?" Zara pointed out. "The waitress told us about it too. Maybe we should check it out."

The boys agreed. After a brief break in the motel, they changed out of their stiff suits and set out again in the early evening. Zara made some excuse about needing to stock up her 'lady products' and promised to meet them at the Market. Once they parted ways, she marched down the street confidently in those obsidian heels and found the bar – The Leaning Owl. People took notice of her and nodded in her direction. The blonde demon from earlier paused wiping the bar counter and greeted her. When Zara entered the back room – authorised personnel only – the demon followed her in.

"How'd it go?" the demon began, nervously fiddling her thumbs but managing a shaky smile. "Did you like what we did?"

"Like? I don't even know a word to describe it," Zara snapped at her. "Your job was just to make a believable cover story for two people who aren't even from here. It's not even halfway believable."

"We put a lot of thought into it," the demon protested. "Maybe we got a little carried away, but did you see the amount of effort that went into the production? The fake social media accounts? The photos?"

Zara's lips formed a tight line. "Do you have any idea how lighting works? The photos were terrible. They look like an amateur's work. You couldn't have hired a professional? You're lucky the boys didn't look at the photos."

The demon appeared a little disheartened from that. "At least the hunters bought the spiel. That's what I heard from the actors," she stuck her chin up.

"Oh yeah, your 'actors' were terrible. Do they even know what normal people sound like? This is what I mean. There are humans here and you could have asked them to do this. Instead, you insist on making demons pretend they're humans. The amount of sulfur that must be in that house…" Zara ranted.

"I told them to wear perfume," the demon retorted.

"The whole storyline you set up here doesn't make sense. The boys are gonna figure that out," Zara stated. "Shoehorning the forest into the backstory wasn't subtle and it just came off as weird. But you know what, the boys will probably check anyway."

"So… mission accomplished?" the demon ventured. "When they see what's in store for them there, they aren't going to ask any more questions."

"They'd better not," Zara warned. "This has to go perfectly."

"It will," she reassured her. Then, with a shy giggle, the demon said, "They told me all about what happened. Is it true? You just walk among the hunters and they- they think you're like them? They don't even question you?"

Zara didn't really want to answer that question. She just stared as the Hellion gave her the widest grin.

"They really think- they really think that you're a good person?" The demon grinned from ear to ear. Zara turned to leave.

"Get everyone ready," Zara uttered a final command. Now the creature looked upon her with determination.

"Ave Satanas," the demon hissed, baring her black eyes.

Hand on the doorknob, Zara looked at her one more time. A dead stretch of the lips. A cold gaze. "Ave Satanas."

Farmer's Market, Westney, Idaho – 28 October 2012, 6.42pm

The sun had just begun to wane, but that didn't stop the air from being chilly all the time. Only now, the hope of warmth wouldn't be seen for another twelve hours. The colours of all the fresh fruits and vegetables were still vivid but not for long.

"The waitress wasn't kidding when she said everybody was gonna be here," Dean said. Crowds of people bustled about, visiting the stalls. A cacophony of bargains, music and the brittle screams of children running around surrounded the Winchesters. "And look at how much food they have. Looks like it's enough to feed two towns."

"Guess it's what happens when the 'community comes together'," Sam dryly remarked. "I mean, I'll admit, they look happy."

There were contests going on too. Pumpkin-carving, pumpkin-eating, pumpkin baked goods – it was all there. The boys split up to cover more ground. Sam came up to a stall selling berries and grapes, all of them plump and bursting with fruity aromas. "Try one," the seller urged him.

"I'm not looking to buy," Sam brushed it off.

"You don't have to," the lady insisted. "We're all here to reap the rewards of our hard work and sacrifices. So go on."

He felt the chubbiness of a grape, plucked it from its stem and took a bite. "Hm," his brows jumped in pleasant surprise. The sweetness exploded in his mouth as he chewed the soft insides. "It's really good."

"Feel free to sample the others," she simply said, and left him to serve other customers. Meanwhile, he studied a couple of the locals who were inspecting the red apples. Sam watched one of them take a bite.

The man's teeth serrated the crimson flesh of the fruit and the juicy interior dripped down his jaw. His mouth seemed married to the bite. He couldn't get enough. Tongue lapping up the juice like each drop was worth a fortune. He took another bite, ripping a piece right from its body. Yet another masticatory assault forced out more juice, except this time the juice was red. Red just spurted out of the apple but the man kept going. What? Sam's eyes flickered to the second person. An arterial spray of blood ejected itself from the apple and continued to drip down his forearm in thick, branching lines. More chewing was all he could hear. More blood stained their teeth, chin and hands. Blood, so much blood. Where's it all coming from? The images ingrained themselves into his eyes.

"So, you like it?" a voice snapped him out of it.

"What?" Sam looked at the lady and back at the two men. They were completely clean. No blood. "Uh- yeah, it's all really good."

"All that blood was worth it," she said. He jerked to look at her. "All the blood, sweat and tears. I've never seen everyone so happy before."

"Before when?" he pursued.

"Last few months," she said. "It's always nice to have some spirit of community. You know, when you can give a part of yourself for the good of everyone?"

"Yeah, totally," Sam simply said, and walked away. He'd gone some distance when something knocked into his leg. He looked down to see a young boy baring teeth at him. "Pete?"

It was that voiceless kid from earlier in the house. He just giggled and joined hands with his little friends, who started dancing in a circle around Sam. "Ring a-round the roses! Pockets full of roses! Ashes, ashes! We all fall down!" they sang. At the last line, they all dropped to the ground. A large butcher knife came down and split a carved pumpkin in half, sending a tremor through Sam's chest. Pieces were amputated remorselessly from the fleshy fruit. Screaming for no reason, as kids usually did, they took off in a second.

On the other side of the event, Dean keenly observed the town folk. They came as families, chuckling and talking amongst each other. Some people made conversation with the sellers and bought bags of fruit. Normal as it was, Dean couldn't help but feel something rubbing him the wrong way. Looking at these people was like standing behind a one-way glass. He could see them, but it was like they were in their own world, being observed by him. When he saw a familiar face, he had to talk. "Hey, you're Jimmy, right?" he stopped the young adult.

The twenty-something-year old just gave him that cynical nod which seemed like a staple expression of his. "And you're the Fed," he replied lazily, twisting his black newsboy cap over his short black curls. "Sheriff Miles told me."

"What happened to the guy you took to the station?"

"He's fine, unfortunately," Jimmy said. "Forget about him, boss. Don't let trash distract you from all of this."

"Say, where are your parents?" Dean asked. "Everybody here's with someone. Except you."

"I'm with everybody," Jimmy emotionlessly answered. "Everyone's family when you're an orphan."

"I'm sorry to hear that, then," he empathised. "I know what it's like. I lost both my parents too. Just have a brother now."

That eased the stiffness in Jimmy's eyes. He eyed Dean with a little less weariness, giving the Winchester an upward nod in acceptance. "I lost my Pa when I was little. Cancer. And Mama wanted to walk into the woods," he said. "She wanted me to do right by her. Make sure this town grows while she's gone. Make sure she played her part."

"Wait, your mom went missing too? I'm not sure I saw an older woman among the missing people list," Dean mentally ran through the names in his mind. But something else about what the boy said bothered him too. "You think she's dead?"

"This is what she wanted so yeah, I didn't report her missing. Truth be told…" Jimmy lowered his voice. Dean shifted closer. "More people left than you see in the papers. Sheriff helps to keep the sitch under wraps, so government cronies like you don't show up. Clearly he needs to pick up the slack."

"The Sheriff, huh?" Dean sighed, staring off in some other direction.

"And don't get me wrong, it's not that people don't care. It's the opposite. We want him to keep it quiet. Everyone knows where people go when they walk into the woods. And everyone knows they don't come back," Jimmy said. A lady walked past with a basket of fruits, offering everyone something to eat. Jimmy took two apples and offered Dean one. The Winchester accepted his invitation.

Dean's brows settled into their signature frown. "And no one goes looking for them?"

"Not unless they've settled all business in town and said their goodbyes," the boy answered, biting into his fruit. "It's nothing to worry about, really. It's a matter of peace. I'm just glad that my mom found some." For once, he looked up at the sky. The setting sun cast a brushstroke of warm pink on his face. Jimmy smiled. "Look around you, man. People always say happiness is what we create. But it's more than that. What are you willing to give up for happiness? Would you give an arm? A leg? Your soul?"

As much as Dean wanted to shove someone against a wall and demand answers, he couldn't. The way everyone seemed, so happy and tranquil, made him feel so out of his depth. He'd seen evil, he'd seen crazy, he'd even seen cults. But this was none of the above. So far there was no sign of any kind of evil. No EMF, no reported deaths, no bodies. Nothing but the obsession with the deep wooden abyss that innervated the town. Everything seemed so perfect but at the same time, a slithering prickle climbed up his back.

"Tell me where they go, Jimmy," Dean asked. Jimmy chuckled breathily and threw his finished apple into the trash. "What do they do? Some kind of ritual? Suicide?"

Jimmy said nothing. He sauntered towards a small gathering, close enough to witness the spectacle but far enough not to get immersed. People were chugging beers and dancing spiritedly. Others were clapping and singing and creating a bubble of collective merry.

"All this talk of sacrifice and souls," Dean caught up with him hurriedly. He put a hand on Jimmy's arm to stop him from moving away. "You know something. Everyone in this town does, don't they? Just tell me, plain and simple."

"I'll tell you plain and simple," Jimmy casually uttered. "You're no FBI agent. You come here, tell lies and now you want to get all up in our business. If I were you, I'd just enjoy the hospitality and leave."

"Listen to me, you can't possibly think that this is right – whatever's happening here. Something out there is taking your people. You know it," Dean insisted.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "You're not getting it, man," he challenged. "We're fine just the way we are. No one's killing anybody. We're free to be us." A familiar movement caught Jimmy's eye and he finally let up an emotion of serenity. "Speaking of free…"

The blonde waitress from earlier approached him. All smiles under that cherry lipstick and freed hair, she brought with her welcoming gait two open beer bottles in her hand. "I've been looking everywhere for you," she greeted. As she handed him one of the bottles, he wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Well I've been right here, with our guest," Jimmy gestured towards Dean. He took a swig of his beer.

Her round eyes finally shifted from her beau to the Winchester. "Oh, I- I didn't see you there," she stuttered, straightening up before regaining her composure. "Where are my manners-"

She offered Dean her bottle, but he refused. Jimmy held up the bottle to show Dean the logo. Within an orange circle was the image of a black snake baring its venomous fangs and over it, a crow mid-flight with its wings spread wide. "It's a local brewery," Jimmy told him. "Try it if you can. Good stuff." Then he looked to the lady on his arms. "I've been trying to tell him how free we are. He thinks it's a problem that our folks wander off sometimes. He wants to know where they go, what they do."

"Well if it's answers the agent wants, just tell him what he needs to hear," she said, meeting Dean's eyes. "If you want something bad enough, you will find it. If you can give it all you got."

She held his gaze, stoic, almost entranced as she gently rested her head on Jimmy's shoulder. "Yeah, that's right, 'agent'," Jimmy added. "Think about what you want, man."

Jimmy and his girlfriend burst into laughter and limped away clumsily to spend their evening somewhere else. That left Dean staring, having less clarity after the conversation than before. At least Sam had found him by then. The younger Winchester had this look of absolute bafflement, like everything around him was a freak spectacle. "What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean drifted towards his brother. "You look like you've seen a clown."

Dean snickered but Sam's wandering gaze did not falter. "Didn't you?" he asked in turn. "He was juggling knives, Dean. Knives! Something about this place is massively messed up."

"Yeah, no shit," Dean quipped. "People here don't even seem convinced there's a problem. What're we thinking? Mass possession, cult or demon deals?"

"I don't know, but," Sam answered, fishing out his phone. "But I did find something. Things weren't always Kumbaya here. Before three months ago, this town was on the verge of absolute chaos. Suicide rates were high, the crops weren't growing. They barely had food and clean water. They didn't even have the finances to import anything they needed. And now, other than the missing people, there are no suicides, their harvest is… well just look around. They're doing fine. More than fine."

"What could turn a whole town around like that?" Dean questioned. "Some kind of deal's involved, for sure. Miracles don't come cheap. We just need to know what kind of evil's behind it. My bet's on demons."

"Maybe. But no sign of omens. No cattle mutilations, no freak storms and crop failures… they've had those for a long time. The soil here wasn't so good, or at least that's what a report from last year says," Sam further reported, referencing something he pulled up on his mobile.

"Who knows, maybe they're learning to cover their tracks. I wouldn't rule it out. What with Crowley and Lucifer butting heads, this could be a part of it," Dean reasoned. The very thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Making all these people happy and getting rid of their problems, it looks good on the outside but it's gotta just be someone's power move. Whatever's doing this probably doesn't even care about them."

Sam nodded in solemn agreement. "We gotta hit up the lore and see what we can get."

"Right. You seen Zara?" Dean asked. He and Sam scanned the scene before them, visually inspecting the crowd to see if their companion was among them. The cacophony from earlier had begun to wane and sellers were packing their produce to wrap up for the day.

Like a sword slicing skin, a chorus of cawing noises exploded in the still air. Sam and Dean jerked to turn around, witnessing the obsidian murder of ravenous crows fleeing from the shrivelled embrace of a withering tree in the distance. Black arrow-like movements fanned out from the tree and scattered in all directions. "I'm right here, silly," Zara greeted, dressed in a warm smile and a coal black coat. The boys' pupils finally centred on her, needing but a short downward shift. "So, you guys find anything?"

"No, but I have an idea of where to start looking," Dean mentioned. "Jimmy – that kid from the diner earlier – he said that the Sheriff's been covering up cases. Way more than just six people vanished from here. And it looks like the whole town's been keeping it under wraps. I'm gonna head back to the station, ruffle his feathers a bit and see if he quacks."

"I'm gonna hit up the lore," Sam offered. "Figure out what's going on here."

Back at the motel,

"This is crazy, right?" Sam said as he flipped open his laptop.

"Yeah," Zara huffed. Her hand dived into her bag to retrieve a hunter's journal, not unlike the ones the boys used. "On my way back, I saw a little girl playing with a dead raccoon." Her eyes widened at the memory. "I think she killed it."

Sam exhaled, frown deepening as he took in what she said. "I uh- I saw apples bleed," he confessed. The scarlet was fresh in his memory. Even the sounds and the smells were so vivid that his fingers were frozen over the keyboard. "But it wasn't real. I don't think so."

"And everyone acts like this stuff is normal," Zara noticed. That was something to add to the journal entry. "This isn't rational."

"Could be a demon deal. Maybe when their time's up, they'd rather be mauled by a Hellhound out of sight rather than in the town square for everyone to see," Sam suggested. "But then again, demon activity on such a large scale would leave a trace."

"Sure, but why would so many people would be okay with this? From what Dean said, it sounds like people are encouraging this. That's weird, isn't it? Not one person stood up and told their brother or their daughter that they shouldn't sell their soul?" Zara further questioned. "They seemed sad, but not really."

After a moment of silent rumination, she showed him what she'd written on the case. While he perused her notes, she browsed the items she got from her little shopping trip earlier.

"Would ya look at that?" she brought out a tiny bottle. "I got a free sample of moisturiser. The lady said it was a local brand."

Sam didn't much care for it but a brief glimpse caught his attention. "That logo – it's the same one on all the beer," he noticed.

"It has a mild note of citrus," she sniffed the lotion, before generously applying it on her arms. His avid interest in the bottle, however, was clearly not about the formula. He held it up to study the logo more closely. The crow and the snake.

"Huh." That spurred some thought in his mind. "The Shahapet are friendly spirits," his eyes drifted. "They don't harm people unless threatened, in which case they cause strife and leave. At least, that's what the myths say."

"And why's that relevant?" Zara tilted her head.

"Why would hunters find these snakes killing people? Something must have hurt them. But if they really did turn on people, and if they really were gone, we wouldn't see any of this abundance anymore," he reasoned.

Zara nodded slowly in halfway understanding. "So the hunters didn't really get rid of all of them," she inferred. "Maybe they've gone into hiding. I think the Farmer's Market is evidence enough that the Shahapet are still blessing this town. But why did they turn in the first place? The fact that they did at all should be reason enough for them to leave."

"Exactly," Sam agreed. "I mean, visions… collective consciousness…" he mumbled to himself as he typed.

"You think it's all connected?"

"It's gotta be, right? None of this is happening in isolation. It's all happening here and now," he said, deeply engrossed in searching his online sources. "Something is telling the Shahapet to stay. It could be the same thing that's telling these people to walk into the woods." The 'enter' key released the sound of a single, determined tap. "We're dealing with an egregore."

Zara blinked. "Thought forms? Don't those need some kind of symbol?" she wondered. "Like a cult leader, a messiah, a story… religious imagery of some kind?"

"Yes. But the thing is… it could be anything as long as it's constantly reinforced in people's minds," Sam deduced from the paragraphs on his screen. "Like this." He held up the bottle to show her the logo. "The snake is an obvious reference to the Shahapet but they don't live in plain sight. We haven't seen a single one since we came here and we know it's not because they're all dead."

"The crow-"

"It's the crows," he rapidly muttered. The look of deep concentration on his face made Zara smile but she quickly suppressed it before he glanced at her. "I keep seeing them and the creepiest vibes have been haunting me."

"Crows have always been thought to be a sign of death," Zara mentioned. "Every time my mother saw one, she'd tell me Satan's finally come to take me home." Her gaze despondently roved over the table for a still second. "Anyway, your theory makes sense."

"Yeah…" Sam trailed off, wondering if he should ask further questions. Seeing that she'd already returned to her regular self, he decided not to. "The only problem now is that we can't possibly kill every single crow in town. That's kinda ridiculous actually."

"You mean like what Robinson and the others tried to do?" Zara pointed out, an inappropriate humour curving up her lips on side.

"Hunters aren't exactly known for their analytical skills. We just find the monster and kill it, which, now that I think about it isn't a sustainable strategy at all," Sam rambled with a mild eye-roll. "Bottom-line is, it's not gonna work because we don't know what's keeping the egregore alive. Crows are just like other birds. Just because they're here doesn't mean things are gonna go all Wicker Man. There must be something else we can find that'll kill the egregore."

"So you're saying we need to kill all the birds with one stone?" Zara prided herself on that pun.

His lips formed a tight, straight line, though he couldn't help but give in to her amusement. "That's Dean-level of wordplay, but yeah, that's what we need to do," he accepted.

At the police station, 20 minutes ago,

The officer gave Dean a suspicious side-eye as he entered. She remembered him from earlier but his presence here again felt like a defiance. "Can I help you?" she pointedly asked. He glanced over her features – short-cut dark hair, light blue eyes and a passive-aggressive tone. He tried not to think too much of it.

"Is Sheriff Miles around? I've got some questions," Dean admired a paperweight rather nonchalantly.

"I thought he answered them this morning," she crossed her arms. That certainly got his attention.

"And I have to follow up," he responded in turn, though he kept his calm. A tense silence brewed between them, eye contact almost standoffish.

"Well he's busy now, doing real, important things to keep this town safe. An outsider probably wouldn't understand that," she said in one drawn-out exhale. "I'm sorry but you'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Ma'am, I appreciate everything that county officers like you are doing for this great country," Dean began with a sigh. "But as mandated by law, you're required to cooperate with any ongoing investigation by the federal agency. So why don't you just mosey on down the hallway and tell the Sheriff that Agent Kilmister wants to see him. The sooner you do that, the sooner I can get out of your hairs."

She was about give him another snide response when another voice quieted her. "It's okay, June," a silver beard came into view from behind the counter. "I can handle this. Send him in."

The inertia of reluctance tugged at her arms but she made to press the button. A buzz sounded and Dean could enter the door to the main office area.

"Officer Pratt's very protective. It's that Mama Bear instinct. Every town needs a woman like her. You understand," Sheriff Miles reassured him once they were in his office.

"Sure," Dean simply said. "Listen… I've been around this place. Heard some whispers. It could just be rumours but I need to know-"

"Before you say anything else, I have something to show you," the sheriff lowered his voice. He invited Dean to come over to his side of the desk. His sudden eagerness put some pause in the Winchester's feet but he moved to oblige anyway. The old man's wrinkled fingers had a slight tremor as he made some clicks with the mouse. Despite the yellowing 2000s monitor and the poor resolution on the computer screen, the message was pretty clear.

"That's the thief from earlier," Dean recognised on all four panels.

"This was an hour ago," Sheriff Miles pointed out. The guy on the black-and-white screen tapped his foot impatiently. He stood up and walked around a bit too. Dean didn't quite understand why he was being made to watch it, until the static appeared. Just a couple seconds later, the screen came back on in rhythm with the deafening thud of Dean's heartbeat. The criminal was sat on the bench with an eerie stillness. His head bobbed about him a little. Then dark fluid burst out of his head through all his orifices. There was barely a sign of struggle. The man just slumped over, then succumbed to gravity and fell face-first onto the concrete.

"The hell?" Dean mumbled under his breath.

"If you'll follow me…" the Sheriff led him out of the office. He briefly checked the hallways for stray pairs of eyes until they made it to the lockup. Soon they stood right outside that very cell. In plain sight, the blood seemed much more gut-wrenching than the monochromatic security footage suggested. It was everywhere, absolutely coating every surface exposed with its slimy texture.

Dean had nothing to say. He knelt slowly and inspected the corpse through the bars. He'd seen exactly what happened on camera, so there was no point asking. When he stood back up again, his jaw was tight.

"I hope you'll see, Agent, that bad things happen to anyone that threatens the harmony of this town," the sheriff said. It was easy to understand that as a threat, but when Dean looked at the officer – really looked – he saw how pale he'd become. How his eyes tried to tell him something else, especially darting up to where the CCTV camera was. "That could've been you, if I'd answered all your questions."

The hunter stepped closer to him, firm with anger in his posture. "Come clean. I can help you," he whispered to him. "Is someone threatening you?"

Sheriff Miles nodded stiffly, then straightened up like a brand new person. Dean didn't understand why until the sound of footsteps reached his ears too. "I'm sure you'll find this town so great, that words can't describe it," he said in a much louder, more animated voice. "You'll just have to see for yourself."

A head popped around the corner. It was Officer Pratt. "Sir, the clean-up crew is here," she said, before her pupils rounded on Dean.

"Uh, send them in," Sheriff Miles approved. "And don't worry, I told the agent how this town works. He'll be out in no time."

It was only then that June cracked a smile. "That's a relief. Someone finally understands us," she simply said, before disappearing again to her corner of the building.

Miles gestured with his head and Dean followed him back to the office. The door had barely closed. "Give it to me straight. Would you say she's possessed by some unholy spirit?" Dean demanded to know. The sheriff sank hopelessly into his seat while Dean remained towering over him. When he didn't respond, Dean grew more impatient. "Why are you hiding the fact that way more people have gone missing?"

"I can't stop it," the man whimpered, gaze fixed on the table. "I had no choice."

"No choice in what?" Dean gripped the spine of his chair.

"I can't speak about it. They'll know," his voice wavered. "But maybe you can do something about it."

A sudden spur of motivation drove him to scribble some words on a post-it and give it to Dean.

"I know you ain't no Fed," he looked at the hunter. Dean frowned more deeply, partially offended. "But you're the first man who's looked me in the eyes and spoke to me with any kind of sanity. You seem like the kind of guy who isn't afraid of anything. You have to help me save this town."

He grabbed Dean's arm. "I will," Dean promised. "But you need to answer some questions." The sheriff was about to protest when he reassured him. "I'll keep it real simple. Just say yes or no."

Later,

"Gutted sheep, check. Freak weather, check," Dean listed as the other two listened, back in the motel room. "Dying crops, double check. The omens were here. Until something powerful enough came along to mask it. My guess is the same thing that sanitised this place, like you said. The Shahapet."

"The sheriff told you all that?" Zara was sceptical. She blinked in disbelief. "He could've saved us hours."

"Someone's keeping his mouth sealed," he answered. Something heavier weighed on his lips. He took out his phone to show them a photo he'd taken. "Whoever did this to him."

Sam and Zara shared a similarly befuddled look as they studied the image. The sheriff had rolled up his sleeve to reveal something etched into his forearm resembling a tattoo. It was blood-red. The symbol had some clear reference to infinity as well as some indecipherable scribbles around it.

"I've never seen anything like it," Sam said, clearly intrigued. "Did he tell you anything about it?"

Dean shook his head. "Guy was scared shitless. But we don't have time to sit around and decipher chicken scratch. Cas and Kevin can help out with that," he took the cue to show them the post-it too. "We have a date in about forty-five minutes. Pack your best knives."

"Wait, Dean," Sam interrupted. "It's gotta be a trap. You think he'd just give you a time and a location? Especially if what he's saying about someone threatening him is true."

"I know," he reassured him. "But you didn't see what I saw. That was real fear that I saw in that man's eyes. He really needed someone to hear his truth. In any case, what other choice do we have? Whatever's about to happen, stay sharp. Both of you."

When night fell, the hunters prepared their weapons and headed in search of danger. As they neared the street named by the post-it, the density of buildings fell, until a faint trail entrance made itself clear at the end of the sidewalk. Streetlamps no longer covered the path and a faded sign indicated the beginning of the forest. Beware wild animals, the sign said with the appropriate warning images below the text. It was a different world beyond the safety of the streetlamps. In that dark realm, the freezing air and ambient insect noises were subtle reminders that they were still in the land of the living.

They ventured into the forest. Among the trees, a faint yellow light blinked in the distance. That mysterious destination being all they focused on, the hunters didn't notice the slithering on the ground or the flight in the canopy that stalked them. An opening presented itself. Sam, Dean and Zara stayed hidden in the bushes. A campfire roared with its bright tangerine wings. Five people, presumably locals, circled the fire. They couldn't take their eyes off it. But that wasn't all. Another person sat at some distance from the fire, knees up to his chest, just watching.

"Jimmy?" Dean recognised. "What's he doing here?"

"Not much, it looks like," Sam noticed. It was true – he did nothing but watch and gulp his beer from time to time.

A single drumbeat burst through the air. The five stopped in their tracks. Another drum beat. Hushed whispering could be heard, but no one appeared to be speaking. An ashen, burnt hand reached out from the flames. Even from their vantage point, the hand's claw-like nails could be seen. One of the five offered her hand to the fire. Their contact was gentle. No force was needed. Slowly the hand from the flame retracted and the worshipper followed. She stepped into the fire. Her dress went up in flames and so did the rest of her. It didn't take long for her to start screaming, every wail sharper than the last.

The three looked on in abject horror. There was another drumbeat. Another hand reached from the flames and another person offered themselves to it. The hunters dashed forward. Zara sliced the creature's arm cleanly while Sam hauled the woman away from the fire.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded to know. No one answered. The three of them looked on in stunned silence at the townsfolk. The crackling of fire was all that spoke to them.

"Jimmy," Dean approached him. The boy simply took a swig from the bottle – the same brand he'd been sipping on earlier. "Give me answers. Now."

Zara eyed the beastly arm that lay still on the ground. No blood flowed from its stump. The woman Sam pulled away seemed frozen, entranced. As much as he tapped her cheeks or waved his hand before her eyes, she remained catatonic. The drumbeat sounded again, but this time, it came in a continuous chorus. "There's your answer," Jimmy said, beckoning with his eyes to the fire.

Dean turned to the fire. The other townsfolk walked towards certain death. "Zara!" he called out. Sam instinctively jolted to where Dean's eyes pointed. A thin, black figure emerged from the flames. Only its shape was visible. It towered from behind Zara. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unresponsive. The creature wrapped its stick-like arms around her shoulders and pulled.

In a split second, Sam lunged forward to grab her, but he was too late. She disappeared into the fiery gates, even as his sleeve caught fire. Her ivory screams froze him to the spot. All other sights and sounds faded away. Z- Zara? Before he could even think his next thought, he blankly found the other people walking towards that same fire. In his periphery, Dean rushed forward and slapped away the fire on his arm. As soon as consciousness returned to Sam, the painful sting of heat washed over his arm. He saw his brother yelling at him and working hard to talk some sense into those people and pull them away.

It was like time slowed down. Sam already knew that nothing worked. The fire got what it wanted. Dean couldn't handle four suicidal people at once. Even when Sam snapped out of his daze and helped his brother, the creature came back from the flames to claim its victims. All it needed was a touch to repel the hunters and take what belonged to the fire. When everyone was gone, the drumbeat ended. The fire spat out one last breath into the sky and dimmed, returning to a more normal intensity.

The Winchesters gaped at the sight around them. It was like nobody had been there to begin with. No ashes, no bodies. They were gone. Except for a shiny silver that glistened from the ground. Sam knelt to retrieve the archangel blade. Zara had dropped it in the ordeal. Now that he held it, he could finally consider the absence it implied. Dean was in shock too, but could do nothing but see his own emotions expressed in his brother. But he refused to be quiet. He marched off and picked Jimmy up by the collar, causing the young man to lose grip of his bottle.

"Why didn't you stop it?" Dean growled at him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"There's nothing to be done," he croaked an answer, looking at the hunter with an untold melancholy in his eyes. "You just saw what happened. You can't stop it."

"Then why did you come here?" the hunter's jaw clenched.

"It's a reminder. I think about it a lot – what it took for my home to become… a home. I-" the boy choked on his words. His eyes twitched and tears soon flooded his eyeballs. "I never want to take it for granted."

Dean threw Jimmy back onto the ground. If anything, he felt sorry for the kid. Sam, on the other hand, was furious. He trudged past Dean and knelt in a fluid motion next to Jimmy, his very speed triggering a primal fear in the young man. "Listen, kid," Sam began. "If you won't help us stop whatever's happening here, it's gonna be you burning next."

"Okay, okay, okay," he muttered at train speed. "Th- the girl… she's not gonna die. At least, I don't think."

"She just got burnt alive. So did the others," Dean knelt down on his other side. "How can they not die?"

"There are- there are forces in this town. Dark forces," Jimmy admitted. "Y- your girl… They need her. They think she's special," he looked at Sam. "She's not dead. But that's all I know."


Motel Room, Westney, Idaho – The next day, 7.03am

The boys didn't even notice it was sunrise until the birds had begun chirping. They'd been up all night putting their heads together. Sam had tens of tabs open on his browser, frantically scanning through paragraphs to find something. Meanwhile, Dean was on the phone.

"This is… unheard of," Castiel said from the other end, voice blaring as Dean put the call on speaker. "Pagan and demonic forces working together? I'd say it's troubling, but I suppose you already knew that."

"Yeah," Dean shut his eyes, willing the tiredness away. He haphazardly rubbed his eyes. "Is there anything you can tell us from your end?"

"We're still working on that symbol," Cas said. "It appears to be Enochian. But the signature is distinct. I can't quite place it, but some reading and contemplation is likely to shed light on the issue."

"And what about the severed arm?" Dean emotionlessly muttered. He paced about in the room, unable to remain still.

"Sometimes, when demons refuse to take new vessels, they may manifest in such ghastly forms," Cas explained. "Although, most demons prefer to blend in with humans. As you may know, that makes it easier for them to deceive and cause strife."

"So the thing that took Zara away was a demon that didn't own a mirror," he surmised.

"You mentioned she might still be alive?"

"Yeah. I don't know. Maybe the kid was rambling so we'd leave him alone. He also told me that he thought his mother was dead. I don't know. But if there's even a chance, we have to do something," Dean said. "Sam hasn't said a single word in the last five hours."

Though Sam was in the same room, he didn't so much as look at Dean. That's how he knew it was serious. "I know it seems like there are more questions than answers right now. But you can't lose hope. I know Zara trusts the both of you. And she's quite capable herself," the angel consoled. A sigh was heard from the other end. "From what you've told me, it doesn't sound like the demons are killing the townspeople. Not immediately, at least. Why would they take the bodies with them if they already took everything they needed? It seems to me that these people are nothing more than hostages. They've been taken somewhere else. The fire could just act as some kind of barrier or a portal, perhaps."

"Demons enjoy torture too," Dean added, grim memories flashing in his mind of his own little journey downstairs. "They might be alive, but that isn't saying much."

"You're right. But if it's any consolation, Zara is wanted alive by both Crowley and Lucifer. You'll find her, Dean."

Despite the familiarity of the angel's assurance, a reel of morbid possibilities played over and over in his head. He couldn't help it. Dean pulled a hand down his face. "We barely handled being the hot chics at the pool party during the apocalypse. I don't know how she's dealing with this. But you're right. She dropped the archangel blade. Maybe it was an accident, maybe she knew what she was doing, but it's the only thing that can kill anything. It's gonna help us kick ass when we find those sons-of-bitches. Keep us posted." He turned to Sam, who just intently eyed his laptop screen. "Sammy?"

"I think I got something," he finally said. Sam blinked once, long and hard, and then a few more times to soothe his dried eyes. "I think I have a way to find her." He grabbed a pen and paper and took down whatever he'd found. "She still has the hawk inside of her."

"Yeah, Raz said it's too soon to tell if it's a problem, right?" Dean recalled. "Personally, I'd rather not wait until it becomes a problem to take it out of her."

"No, Dean. It's our only shot at finding her," Sam rapidly uttered through caffeine-sped lips. "Th-the hawk lets her mimic Sophia's magic, right? An- and Sophia could summon the archangel blade at will. The hawk and the sword have a connection. If we somehow trigger the connection, the blade could be like- like a compass. It could take us to her."

"And how would we do that?" Dean pressed.

"It's- it's silly, but, I think any tracking spell could do it," Sam suggested. He got up, stretched once and got moving while Dean eyed his brother's energetic movement.

"Hey, about what happened…" he began, finally finding the courage to say what he had to. "I'm-"

"Don't apologise," Sam cut him off. "This isn't on you."

"You warned me-"

"Just… don't, okay?" Sam gestured with a hand for it to stop. "We did what we had to. Zara would agree. Now let's take down some damned demons."

An hour and a half later, both of them stood ready at the campsite. Sam knelt down to light a small fire made of dry twigs and leaves. He set the sharp end of the blade into the fire. Then, he took the arm Zara had previously severed – it had been hard to ignore the pungent sulfurous smell. In broad daylight, it's scorched colour was much more jarring. It had a decomposed look to it, which had been present even when it was attached to something living. Sam grabbed the thumb and twisted it to break the joint before cutting it off with a knife. The sharp, discoloured nail on the thumb could have been a knife on its own. Sam threw it remorselessly into his small setup.

For the next step, he brought out the Bible. "Seriously?" Dean wondered.

"Sophia was a fallen angel. She rebelled too," Sam reminded him. He opened Genesis and tore out the pages, ripping them to shreds before feeding them to the heat. After reciting some Latin words, he cut his own palm to shed a couple drops of blood. The brothers waited a second.

"Did it work?" Dean chimed behind him. Sam looked longingly at the fire, begging the cosmos to respond. A flash of forceful wind swept past them, killing the fire. When Sam picked the blade back up, the green etchings on its grind glowed madly in vicious green. The blade jerked with such force that he had to stand up to tame it.

The blade drove Sam's arm to the east. "I think it's this way," he said.

Fallen branches crunched noisily under their heels. Sam swallowed volumes of cold air, letting the archangel blade guide his momentum. The further they went, the more they were lost in the speed of their run.

"Sam, wait," Dean called out, huffing for breath. "Wait, stop!"

His words finally registered in Sam's head and the younger hunter slowed to stop, though he still kept his firm grip on the blade. "What?" he flustered. Then he looked around himself. "Oh."

The sudden lack of visibility became obvious then. Sam had been so caught up in following the blade that he didn't even notice the day had suddenly gone dark. "Either we've been running forever, which is impossible for me, or we're somewhere completely different," Dean said.

"Yeah, how is this possible?" Sam's vision darted around himself. Just as he contemplated that, a sudden burst of lightning above them made them both flinch. The electric surge in the sky cast purple hues on the clouds. Despite the ominous sign, at least the brief flash of light illuminated each other's faces as a reminder of the safety they had together. Soon, a thunderous roar erupted to keep the branched lightning company.

"I think the spell's worked and we're in wherever the 'nest' is," Dean guessed. "Take it slow, alright? We must be close. Let's not jump the gun just yet."

Sam nodded. Some careful trekking later, sounds of people reached them. Dean grabbed his brother by the sleeve and they both ducked for cover behind a bush. Two people approached what looked like a hole in the ground, one of them wheeling a cart. Once they reached a suitable position, they turned towards the hole – the boys could only see their backs – and they unloaded the contents of the cart into it. From where the boys stood, they couldn't tell what was going on and the darkness obscured their activities further. But as soon as the two men left, Sam and Dean snuck up to see what they had dumped into the ground. A deep, black pit appeared before them, going into the ground for more than ten feet.

The void in the ground was a great expanse for all kinds of morbid imaginations. From the acrid smell alone, a churning sensation built up inside Sam's chest. The boys brought out their flashlights and shined them below. It confirmed their worst suspicions, but was somehow even worse. Dean's light found the foot end of a leg, which was smeared in dirt and cuts. He followed it up the leg, only to find no body was attached to it.

Sam's findings were about as grim. Nausea washed over him in waves. Severed limbs, torsos, unplaceable flesh and even heads appeared to him, each one more jarring than the last in the extent of abuse and decay. "Fuck!" he sharply cussed as he turned away. He couldn't bear to see it any longer. In fact, the nausea was getting so bad that he squatted in an effort to let it subside. That was when the evidence grew worse yet.

Something light-coloured and shiny caught his attention, hidden in the dirt. It was like it had been waiting there for him this whole time, having been spared the mass burial the other corpses were given. Sam gently brushed away the dirt under him, revealing the object in its full form. Once recognition hit him, he felt like the breath was knocked out of him.

"Dean!" he called out, voice wavering into a sob.

When his brother knelt to see what he'd got, he lifted up the necklace in his palm. A crucifix hung from its end. Sam remembered it from all the nights he'd found comfort in her arms. Her face appeared in his mind, vivid as snow, only now her eyes were lifeless and her neck bled from a clean amputation. His chest heaved. His breathing grew rapid.

"Hey, hey," Dean rubbed his brother's shoulder. "We don't know anything for sure yet. And look, the blade isn't pointing here."

He was right – the blade lay still on the ground, glowing, but it looked toward another direction. Sam nodded, repeating hopeful thoughts in his head even when his nerves didn't believe it. He pocketed the necklace, picked up the sword and mustered his strength. Dean kept an eye out on his brother's six. He knew well enough the storm building inside Sam would annihilate anything in his way but be blind to what approached from behind.

On the way, some things became clearer to them. For one, the eerie lightning and thunder became a staple of the forest ambience. And then, plain and clear, carcasses lay bare on the ground. A deer, a couple of squirrels and an unidentifiable mass were strewn in the path dictated by the archangel blade. Its emerald glow helped illuminated the naked ribs and swarming flies around the dead animals. "The omens," Sam said. "Guess they can't be masked here."

"Explains why it's so damn quiet here too," Dean swallowed the bitter taste growing in his mouth.

It wasn't long until they found the demons themselves. The blood and gore grew more obvious the closer they got to the epicentre. The hunters studied the outpost from a vantage point atop a short cliff that overlooked the whole scene. They identified as many hostiles as they could and noted their routines. The demons patrolled the outskirts of a large cabin. Some of them had recognisably human vessels and some gave the boys flashbacks of being trapped in Hell.

Quietly, the brothers crept up towards the front while using the dark for cover. Dean crept up to a corner, biding his time until a demon walked around before shoving his knife into him and dragging the body to the bushes. Sam made do with the archangel blade, which by now had lost its green glow as the locating spell wore off. At least that was the least morbid explanation available. When the front end was cleared, it was time for them to enter the cabin.

Sam first pressed his ear against the door of the cabin. He heard muffled crying and moans of pain, but it seemed otherwise quiet. Taking a deep breath, he swung open the door, blade ready in his hand. Nothing jumped out at him yet. Inside, red light lit up the hallway. The brothers timed their entry and jerked to make sure nothing was waiting around the corner. So far, so good. They proceeded with caution, splitting up to cover more ground.

A room appeared to the left. There was no door. The moment Dean stepped in, a strong iron smell hit him hard. He used his flashlight to illuminate the darkness. A woman recoiled at the light, slightly groaning. She was cuffed to the wall. With further exploration, more people appeared in shackles just like hers, all of them wounded and bloodied. Not all of them seemed alive. Dean approached the woman. Upon seeing her weary eyes and cracked lips, he quickly reached into his bag and offered her a sip of his water. She obliged.

"It's gonna be okay," he reassured her. When he moved to pick the locks on her shackles, she said nothing. She barely even responded. He blamed it on the exhaustion and torture. "We're gonna get you out of here."

"Why?" her voice was soft and raspy. "I don't want to leave."

"Come on," Dean simply said, dragging her to her feet. They had barely made it out of the cabin, with her hobbling while he put her arm around his shoulder. The moment her bare feet touched the soil, she screamed.

"HELP! HE'S TAKING ME AWAY!" she yelled with such a high register that she could have torn his ear drums. She pushed him away and with no support she just fell to the ground. Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked at him. "HELP ME!"

Dean stood paralysed. A stampede of footsteps hurried towards him.

From inside, Sam remained hidden in the darkness of another room. He saw the demons rush towards his brother from further inside the cabin and from the back of the compound. But at least he could now tell how many of them there were. Here goes. He charged towards the demons, attacking them from their blind spots.

The familiar tango ensued. The demon kicked Dean's leg, causing his knee to buckle. Still, Dean managed to swing an arm and slice the demon's thigh, before pouncing on him to finish the job. A demon took the chance to put him in a chokehold while another one pummelled his torso. Sam made quick work of some of the backup. The element of surprise gave him an advantage. A good number of demons fell to the archangel blade before they began putting up a fight. By then, he was prepared to counter their attacks.

One demon, however, split away from the ambush and made for the cabin with the hostage Dean tried to save. "It'll be over soon," he muttered.

"It's a good thing you're here," the demon assaulting Dean grinned menacingly. "It's getting a little cold."

Blood gushed from Dean's mouth. All he could feel then was pain searing his abdomen. The demon picked up his angel blade. The opal eyes bore into him, their monstrous intensity heralding the prospect of death. Just then, the demon's eyes widened. A slicing sound was heard. The chokehold relented. Dean fell, but not before the comfort of hearing his captor choking on blood. He'd barely gotten back up before the archangel blade flew past his head and cemented itself in the other demon's chest. He shared a nod of acknowledgement with his brother as he recovered his own angel blade.

"What do you think the psycho meant?" Dean asked as he visually inspected the area for more threats. He received his answer a little sooner than he would have liked.

"Wait, Dean. There are more," Sam warned, eyes wide and pointing towards the arcane cabin. "Zara's gotta be in there."

For the second time, they stepped into the dark building. At least this time, the fact that their ordeal had left most of their targets dead could put them at ease. "Where'd they go?" Dean whispered. In the dim hallway, his eyes sharpened like the sword he held in his hand.

"There's no return," an ear-biting whisper cut through the air. The boys flinched in a frantic attempt to identify the direction of the sound, but could find no one. They entered the rooms again. The woman Dean had found was cuffed to the wall again but this time, her eyes stared dead ahead. She wore a necklace of blood, one that gifted her soiled dress with fat scarlet droplets.

"Shit," he cussed. He gently shut her eyelids. He shined a torchlight on the others. To a grim confirmation, all the people he saw, drenched in blood and chained to the wall, were unmoving and lifeless. When he reunited with Sam in the hallway, his brother merely shook his head solemnly. A newfound determination invigorated their bones. They marched further into the cabin in search of the remaining demons.

The distinct squish of knives plunging into flesh oiled the air. Sam quickened his pace to a run. He didn't even bother with checking the corners anymore. He was so pumped with adrenaline that he could punch a hole in the wall. The sounds came from upstairs. Dean decided to search the remaining rooms on the first floor while Sam practically leapt up the stairs.

The beam of the torchlight crawled across every inch of the dilapidated wooden walls. More dead. No matter how many times Dean had seen scenes just like this one, and no matter how many people he'd saved, it was always the dead that first appeared fresh in his mind. There was always an inevitable sense of faithlessness during times like these. The walls were practically painted with streaks of blood from whatever kind of torture these people endured. And to think they would have resisted rescue… it made him sick beyond belief. The fresh cuts and dripping blood stood out to accuse him – they had only been inflicted minutes ago, when the demons had spotted him. A guilt he knew was irrational gnawed at him. If only I'd been faster…

He took the time to close all their eyelids. He recognised some of them from the reports which only further confirmed that all these people were innocent, brainwashed townspeople. There was one corpse, however, suspiciously adorned in a suit. It was also out of shackles. Despite the siren ringing in his mind, Dean gave in to the dense remorse in the air and approached the corpse, willing to give it the same last goodbye he showed the others. His hand drifted towards the man's face. In a split second, the man's hand grabbed his. Dean flinched. The corpse had black eyes.

The demon threw Dean back. "You can't stop us," he growled as he stood over the hunter. "The fires of Hell will burn on earth. And there will be pandemonium."

As Dean scrambled to regain his composure, the demon cut his own palm and slapped it against a wall. Dean didn't hesitate to lunge at him and end him with the blade. But as the body fell, he witnessed something far more sinister. Where the demon had struck the wall, a deep red glow emerged in the shape of some kind of circular, intricate sigil. As the sigil became fully illuminated, its light spread laterally where smaller lines of symbols extended from its sides. The line of symbols went on and on, lighting itself up. It appeared to continue as one long stretch that grew from this room to the rest of the cabin.

Dean was awestruck. It was all too much to take in. It was only when the thought of his brother returned to him that he actually noticed how warm it had become. The wood creaked and hissed. It was too late. By the time he dashed up the stairs, the walls had ignited. Scorching fans of fire roared and convulsed about in a dance of death. A line of bodies lay at his feet. Sam's handiwork.

"Sam!" Dean called out. A faint thud reached him. He hurried to the end of the hallway. Inside one of the last rooms, Sam had a demon pushed up against the wall.

"Where is she?!" he barked, one palm bunching up the demon's fabric while the other pressed the archangel blade against his throat. The pressing heat didn't seem to bother Sam.

The demon just laughed.

"Answer the question!" he yelled again.

It was clear from where Dean stood that the demon wasn't going to give in. After all, they'd already destroyed everything. They clearly didn't give a crap anymore. "Sam, we gotta go!" Dean warned.

"Not until he tells me where Zara is!" Sam stood his ground. Smoke rose in clouds through the floorboards. He coughed violently to expel it but somehow still kept his grip on the demon.

"There's no time!" Dean had had enough. He tugged at his brother to yank him away from the demon, finished the creature and dragged Sam into the hallway. "We have to go. Now."

"No, no, this isn't right," Sam protested. He paused at every door-less room, trying to search the faces for one that he knew, even though he'd already done it once. "We gotta search them all again."

"The bodies are all toast now," Dean was relieved that they had even made it to the first floor. The scaffolding was beginning to give way, falling apart around them. "You're not gonna see shit."

"No…" Sam struggled to move, hard realisations weighing heavily on him. He felt his knees going weak and held onto a wall for support. Dean grabbed his arm and didn't look back until they made it out. Once the both of them collapsed onto the ground outside, blanketed by cold, fresh air, the cabin let out one last bellow as the structure caved in on itself. Sam was on his knees, heart sinking into his gut, as he saw the charcoal smoke rise into the sky. He panted heavily. Whatever smoke he'd inhaled was burning in his throat and made his eyes water. To make things worse, his right arm still stung from the burn he'd endured the night before. He couldn't even remember if he'd run it under cold water.

"She wasn't in there," Dean rubbed his shoulder.

"But the blade… it led us here," Sam insisted. Though he spoke with conviction, it was a considerable force to push the words out of his lungs. "It pointed right there, Dean. What does it mean…"

"I…" Dean stammered, mouth opening and closing but nothing good to say. He tried to believe his own words, but the evidence was stacked against what he wanted to think. They have her, don't they? The realisation was finally dawning on him. Zara could be gone by now. Taken by demons. They could have killed her. Or worse, taken her to the worst of the worst. If there was anything he took away from this, it was that he was going to have a hard time sleeping that night.

The archangel blade lay on the ground. Sam just stared longingly at it, hoping it would speak to him. A voice came to him, but it wasn't from the blade. A low growling. Sam looked up. It was one of those formless demons, limping towards him from the burning wreck. There's more? His soul was exhausted. At the very least, it didn't seem like there were more following it. Dean stepped forward. The creature yelled a deep, hoarse battle cry, baring its long pointed nails from cadaveric hands. A wave of air burst forth with the ear-deafening shout, propelling the elder Winchester backwards. Now it was just the demon and Sam.

He looked down at the archangel blade. Sam thought his eyes were playing a trick on him. The handle quivered when he tried to reach it. As he stared more intently, he saw its shudder intensify. Before he could even process it, the blade flew out of his line of sight. His head jerked up. The blade buried itself in the demon's face. A hand reached out, frozen mid-air, as the demon fell. Zara's unmistakable form emerged from the flames as she hobbled out, bleeding from the mouth and looking generally dishevelled. She was covered in ash, which she dusted off like it was nothing and divorced the sword from the demon's head. A deep frown of concentration riddled her forehead amidst the bloodstains.

"Zara…" Sam whimpered, unable to believe his own eyes. She came to him in sputtering steps, clearly drained from whatever she'd been through. He opened up his arms from where he knelt to welcome her. Her eyes softened at the sight of him, filling her up with a great release on the inside. She dropped the blade next to him and sank into his embrace like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

All the pain in his muscles vanished as soon as he felt her living, warm body against his. He leaned forward to bury his head in her neck.

"I thought I lost you," he exhaled. His hand circled her waist ever so lightly, like he was testing the waters. When she felt the way she always felt to him, he leaned in more fully.

She put her arms around his shoulders and held him close, caressing the back of his head. "I knew you'd come for me," she said, her breath tickling his ear. She leaned her head against his. Despite herself, she had to admit how little she had to try for any of this. Everything came naturally. Unfettered tears even rolled down her cheeks. Soon, Dean approached, unharmed. He didn't need to say anything. That murdered-dog look in his eyes said everything. She managed a reciprocal nod at him. "I had faith in you."

The sky had lightened somewhat by now, tuning in with the actual daylight albeit very slowly. The scene around them was bathed in the azure light of early dawn, including all their faces. Zara looked up at Dean. It may not have been very bright, but she could see the scars inside him – that forlorn, beaten down look from the things he must have seen. But more importantly, there was a relief there in his steady breathing rate. Relief that they'd all saved this mortal connection among them. He seemed happy even, to see his brother so comforted. But Zara saw something more. She sniffled. Looking over Dean's shoulder, burning red eyes met hers. Dean thought she stretched a weak smile for him. It was the blond Devil behind him whose matching grin she awaited.


Motel Room, Westney, Idaho – 29 October 2012, 10.23am

Zara lifted her hair up in front of the mirror. It had grown a little past her shoulders. She mentally reminded herself to get a haircut at some point. Sam slid the crucifix back around her neck and clasped it. She beamed, feeling complete. Her positivity was contagious – Sam hugged her from the back, pressing his lips against her forehead for a moment before kissing her. A magnetic attraction tugged against her skin. She turned around and pulled him closer to her just so she could sink into his warmth.

Nourished and showered, the stink of ash and sulfur finally washed off. But worry still haunted them. "We still don't know how many more are out there," Zara concerned as she looked him in his melting hazel eyes. "It's probably the same story for the other three towns. That's so many demons."

She sighed, craving the ground to open up and eat her from just how tired she was. "There might be another way. Remember how we talked about killing all the birds with one stone?" Sam reminded her. That lightened them up a little bit. "We'll find a way to destroy the egregore. And the demon nests. I promise."

"What I want you to promise, is to never jump into a fire for me," she retorted with snark in her tone. She gently ran a finger over the reddened area of his forearm.

"It's just a first-degree burn. It's nothing," he dismissed.

"It could have been self-immolation," she stated as a matter-of-fact. "I really mean it, Sam. You and I both know this is just gonna keep happening. I can't have… anything happen to you because of my own blindness. I need you to promise me."

"No," he protested. "We're stronger together. Don't you see?"

They continued to stare longingly at each other when the opening and closing of the door interrupted them. Dean came in, phone in hand. "Right, thanks," he said and cut the call. "That was Cas."

"He figure out the sheriff's problem?" Zara asked.

Dean scratched the back of his head with the phone. "It's um- it's not looking good," he plopped down onto a chair. "He said the symbols are some version of Enochian. Like the kind on the tablet."

"Proto-Enochian?" Sam guessed. He could tell from that weary look on Dean's face that he'd already lost hope. But after the impossible situation he'd just found himself in, Sam refused to give up. "Would Kevin be able to read it?"

"That's the thing. He can't. It isn't God's writing," Dean said. The thoughts were stirring in his head, no doubt. "It has the signature of an archangel, he said."

Only one possibility remained. "Lucifer," Sam's eyes widened. He turned to Zara, who appeared to have retreated into herself. He held her hand. "That explains the demons."

"Let's put it all together for a minute," Dean prompted as he put his hands together in a steeple. "So people go missing in the woods, possibly mind-controlled by demons. It's all linked to the weird mark on the sheriff's hand, which has Lucifer written all over it. Two of those people somehow get nabbed by Crowley all the way to Missouri. And when we show up at the mill, literal hell breaks loose."

"Sounds like some kind of turf war. Crowley stole Lucifer's goods and they're fighting over it," Sam inferred.

"That makes sense and all," Zara began. "But look around you. Look at this town. So Lucifer controls this place and all we've seen is… prosperity. Does that sound like the Devil you know?"

"I remember when he buried a whole town just to release Death," Dean recalled. "And Crowley isn't the kind of guy to openly go to battle with someone either. Something funky's going on."

"But this is what the evidence is showing us," Sam chimed in. "So about that mark."

"Cas says it's archangel magic. It can only be undone by another archangel," Dean told them. "So we basically have nothing." He took in a whole lungful of air and knocked back his head before letting it all out. "Everything we went through was for nothing."

"Hey, don't say that," Sam folded his arms. "What's gotten into the both of you?" he gave both Dean and Zara stern looks. "We got through the damn apocalypse. We've all been to Hell and back. A couple hours of fighting demons and the both of you think you can just give up? That's rich coming from you, Dean." The elder Winchester was too tired at this point to fight back. He just took it. Maybe he wanted to hear it. "I say we go talk to the sheriff again. He's the final piece of the puzzle."

At the station,

"Y-you're alive," Sheriff Miles' blue irises darted among the three of them. Dean crinkled his eyebrows. "I mean, you're alive. I'm… relieved. I didn't think I'd see you again."

He let them into the main office, which was admittedly sparse for the morning hours. Every table they passed revealed the personality of the officer who used it, some with documents strewn all over and some neatly arranged. "You mean to say you sent me- sent us to possibly die?" Dean clarified as they entered his office.

"Like I said, you seem like a fearless guy. I needed to know if that was true," the sheriff replied, shifting uneasily in his seat. "I can't risk my ass or anyone's, for that matter, just because some guy came walking in demanding answers. I needed to know that you were the one I could put everything on the line for."

"You could've given us a heads-up," Sam pointed out, half as impressed as Dean. "You have any idea the things we saw? You have some serious explaining to do." He bit back a harsher response, fuelled by the horrors ingrained in his mind. "You were so smug about the missing people. Your people. You know what, we did find them. In a mass grave. Chopped to bits. You woulda recognised a leg or two if you were there."

The sheriff flinched. Sam's words were so piercing, borne of the hot blood that raced through his veins, that Zara had to put a hand on his chest to pre-emptively prevent any assault. "He's right," she said, though much more calmly than the other two. "Maybe you've been blissfully ignorant all this time, but it's time to wake up."

Miles stuttered half-words to begin a sentence, but found his pent up guilt surfacing instead. His breathing grew shallow, just at the thought of what Sam had suggested. "It's- it's all my fault," he snivelled. When he looked up at them again, his eyes were glassy. "I- I couldn't say or do anything. Because they're always watching. Always listening. I was trapped." His gaze begged Dean for understanding. "You saw what happened to that guy in lockup."

The uneasy feeling from the day before stirred in his stomach again. Dean neared the sheriff's chair and assumed a folded-arm position. He sighed and rubbed his chin. "Listen, we think we know what that thing on your arm is," he went easy on the man with his tone. "You made a deal with the Devil."

Miles just nodded, neck stiff. "The demons," he said. His breathing grew desperate. "They came in about six months ago. It was raining blood." The memory was fresh in his mind. "I'd never seen anything like it. Our produce was usually weak, but this time, all the crops straight-up died. So did our cattle. Even cats and dogs dropped like it was the plague. And pretty soon, it was our own people. That's when he showed up. The Devil in the flesh. I didn't think he'd be blond."

"Lucifer came here?" Sam repeated. "Why? What did he want from you?"

"He never said," the sheriff shrugged, eyes eerily fixating on a point on his desk. "He asked me what I was willing to do to save this town. He said that everyone was gonna be rotting in their houses in no time. That if I didn't do anything about it, I might as well stick a .22 in my mouth and pull the trigger. He even pointed to the window, right there…" he stuck a finger towards the window behind his chair. "…and said I should jump if the people who I swore to protect were gone. And I bought it. Because I just couldn't stop all the death. I tried my darnest. I really did. I was at the end of the line here. People came in here every single day with a new problem, a new… person they needed to mourn. I couldn't take it anymore."

"So what did you do?" Zara prompted, a tang of sourness hiding in her voice. He refused to look at her.

"He offered me a solution," the sheriff said. He took a sip of water. "All he wanted was for me to… sign some document. He said everything would go back to normal. Way better than normal. He said the town would look like a town again – the really happy kind you'd see in the movies."

"So you said yes…" Dean trailed off.

"You talk like there was a choice. I wasn't a fool. I knew that it was all part of the Devil's plan. If I said no, everything would've… would've been gone," he admitted. "He didn't come here to bargain. So I signed where he told me to, and he made this mark appear. To brand me his bitch."

The boys were mildly surprised by the old man's language, but he seemed still caught up in the memory and unable to acknowledge their reaction. He remembered when the Devil held his arm and rolled up his sleeve without so much as a warning. And he remembered the girl too – the one standing in front of him now. She'd been right at his side then, when she cut her palm and bled over his arm. Whatever ritual Lucifer worked, the blood danced about on his skin until it formed the symbols it did and stayed that way. No matter how much the sheriff tried to wash it off, he couldn't be rid of it.

"His words, not mine," he clarified. "It was almost instant. Everyone I met was happy and healthy. They were smiling at me and at each other. They found their footing again. I didn't want to jeopardise that. All I had to do was stay quiet about it all and let the demons do whatever they wanted. But I can't do it anymore. I know it isn't real. I can't live in this fantasy anymore."

"You don't have to worry about the demons anymore," Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. "We wasted a whole bunch of 'em in the woods. What we're really worried about is that thing on your arm. It needs to go."

"We have an archangel blade," Sam said, more as a reminder to the hunters. "I say we scratch that thing off. It might hurt a little."

The sheriff gulped again as he lay his arm out on the table. His fingers visibly trembled as he rolled up his sleeve again to reveal the mark. "Whatever it takes," he agreed.

"I don't think a few scratches can kill the magic," Dean countered. "Maybe we should cut his hand off. Then burn it in holy oil for good measure." That alarmed the man even more. "Sorry, pal. An archangel did that to you and only an archangel can undo it. There aren't many of those wandering around."

"Dean, come on," Sam argued. "We gotta at least try not amputating him first."

"Fine," Dean relented with an eye roll. Zara handed him the archangel blade. He mentally prepared himself.

"I can't let you do that," a thin, female voice interrupted. The still figure of the cop from yesterday appeared at the door. She was firm and unmoving, light-coloured eyes blank but fixed on the sheriff's arm.

"June," Sheriff Miles called out. "Y-you don't know what you're doing."

"I know that this is wrong. And you do too, Sheriff," she said. It was uncanny how only her mouth moved to convey the message. None of her other facial muscles seemed to participate.

"Just do it," Miles urged Dean in a hushed voice, though his insides began to twitch at the sight of his colleague appearing so dazed.

Dean swiftly administered a small incision onto the mark. Thunder erupted. "Stop this!" Officer Pratt yelled.

What happened next was a test of reflexes. It all ended with a 'bang'. In a split second, she reached for her gun. Sam lunged at her just as her arm pointed it towards Dean. The framed medals and photos on the wall shook as he pinned her against it, one arm grabbing her wrist and the other pushed against her shoulder. When Sam visually checked her gun, he saw her finger squeezing the trigger. Her eyes still faced the sheriff, but her grip weakened and the gun fell. He was still stunned, frozen in shock, but his heart practically stopped when his periphery spotted red.

"Dean!" he heard Zara's voice yell. She rushed over to the hunter, who'd fallen back. Even Dean seemed shocked, but once the deafening shot of the gun had worn off, things were clear again. He slowly reached for his shoulder. His fingers pulled away blood.

"It's just a graze," he exhaled. "I'm fine." A wince escaped his mouth when he stood and Zara gently handled his shoulder. "Sam, get her out of here."

"She's not herself," the sheriff stood abruptly. "Don't hurt her."

"He won't," Zara reassured him. "We just need her out of the way."

She glanced at Dean again, itching to patch up the wound, but he refused. "Let's put an end to it once and for all," he stated. He took the blade again and made another cut. Miles ground his teeth to keep from moving too much.

The sky was acting up in a thunderous tantrum. All they'd done was make a giant 'X' over the mark. It began glowing viciously like the symbols Dean saw earlier in the cabin, even as the sheriff's blood cried all over it.

"I don't think it liked that," Dean observed. "It must be working, right?"

A hoarse scream pierced the air. "STOP IT!" the voice cried out. A brief look past the door showed Officer Pratt protesting her cuffs as she yelled. Sam just secured her to a table before getting back to them. "YOU HAVE TO STOP!"

The metal of her cuffs clanged violently against the table as she writhed and struggled. "How's it coming along?" Sam asked. But one glance down at the arm and bewilderment overrode his expression. "I thought you cut him?"

Dean's eyes shot back to the mark. It was fully intact. "What the-"

"It healed itself," Zara gasped. "How's that possible?"

"Doesn't matter. We're getting it off one way or another," Dean was determined.

Zara nodded. Her hands trembled as she hugged them to herself. She knew what choices remained, and she didn't want to look. But something outside the window caught her eyes. "Uh, guys," she called out. "We have company."

True enough, the scene that awaited them was one that could make anyone feel small. It was only then that they realised that the ambient noise wasn't from the sky alone. Yelling and shouting faded into consciousness. Outside the precinct, a mob of people appeared. For streets on end, people were marching down, weapons in hand. They were approaching at some speed too.

"Shit," Sam sharply cussed. "We need to lock this place down. Both of you, handle this."

With that, he took off down the hallway. A momentary eye contact with the sheriff was all Dean could give to prepare the man for the excruciating pain that would come. He held the man's arm down and took aim for his elbow. He raised the blade over his head. "You ready?"

Sheriff Miles panted heavily for breath. "Just do it," he said.

In one swift motion, Dean brought down the blade. The sheriff's eyes were shut tight. He braced himself, but felt nothing. A loud crash forced his eyes open again. He saw a broken bookshelf, and underneath it all, Zara knelt close to where Dean had fallen. Miles looked down at his arm. The mark appeared stronger than ever. And his arm was still attached to his body.

"This isn't working," the sheriff worried, eyes wide and a sense of impending doom making his head light. "What have we done?" He looked out the window. People were banging against the station's doors violently. It was chaos like he'd never seen before. They were like animals, screeching and yelling and clawing to get in. "You should get out while you can. This is the end."

"Why didn't it work?" Dean muttered, groaning as he lifted himself up. By now the aches grew stronger.

"It's archangel magic. It's really powerful," Zara told him as she held his arm. "Dean, I don't think we can stop it."

"No…" he protested.

"You're hurt," she pointed out, eyes welling up.

"I'm fine!" he argued. "We just need help. Call Cas, Raz, anyone."

"Look…" she stammered. "If it's archangel magic we need, there might be another way."

She rested a hand on her sternum. Dean understood.

"Are you sure about this?" he checked.

"I can try. It's the only option we have left," she convinced him, looking him in the eyes. He nodded.

"What's going on?" Sheriff Miles looked between them.

"I need you to relax," she instructed him. She took his arm gingerly with both hands, intently focusing on the mark. Zara took a deep breath in and closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes again, they glowed green. Just like she'd been taught by the witch, she broke the mark down into its constituent elements.

What Dean witnessed with his own two eyes blew him away. The smaller inscriptions rotated sequentially. The movement was slow but the fact it was there at all proved to be some relief to him. "Holy crap, it's working," he said under his breath. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Zara hissed almost breathlessly. "I- I think I can pull it off. J- just make sure… there a-are no interruptions. Find Sam."

Dean was more than willing to oblige. As he hurried down the hallway, the cuffed officer was stiffly sat against the table. "We won't let you take everything from us," she snarled at him. Dean ignored her.

When he made it to the lower floor, he rushed over to help his brother with shifting a table. A barricade had been improvised, mainly using any furniture Sam could find. The doors themselves were precariously locked with only a few brooms slotted through the handles in case the locks gave way. That, on its own, wouldn't last much longer either.

"I don't know how much longer we have," Sam raised his voice to outcompete the ruckus.

"We only need a little more time," Dean responded with an equally loud volume. The banging on the door was getting unbearable. "Zara's handling it."

"How?" Sam worried. When his brother hesitated, the answer became obvious. "I thought you were against it."

"We don't have a choice," Dean replied. Wood shattered messily in vertical pieces as the ambush wore the door down. As they watched, another loud assault on the door devastated its integrity. The mob had got hold of an axe and it was doing its job. "We can't hurt them. They're being mind-controlled. We just need to hold them off."

"Hurting them's not the issue," Sam mentioned with a withering voice. "They wanna hurt us."

In no time, the doors gave way. To a jaw-dropping, blood-curdling end, the boys identified knives, axes and guns in their arms. People advanced in a slow, zombified pace like a great flood coming in from afar. Sam and Dean had no choice but to hurl anything they could find to make the path messy for the mob. There was so much happening at once. So many targets to focus on. Someone started shooting and they ducked behind the barricade for cover. Bullets whizzed over their heads in a near miss.

"Come on, Zara…" Dean prayed. "Anytime now…"

Upstairs, Zara continued her work, unbothered. With uninterrupted concentration, she'd managed to shift the symbols to where they needed to be. It was like a key turning in a lock. Once she felt the magical 'click', she produced a final spurt of energy to break the symbol. In a soft burst of air, the symbols shattered and disappeared.

"It… is it gone?" the sheriff dared ask. "This is it, right? Now we're free."

"You'll never be free," Zara coldly uttered.

"B- but we had a deal," he protested. "I- I don't understand. I did everything as you asked."

"You did," she agreed, standing up from her seat on the table's edge. She dusted herself off. "Now your town can go back to being the shithole it was when we found it. Better yet, everyone will know what you did. Sold them all out just so you wouldn't have to take responsibility."

He averted his eyes. A painful sting in his heart brought upon him true understanding.

"Yes, you're free. You're free from me, free from Lucifer, free from the demons. But you'll never be free from your conscience," she derided with a serpentine malice in her voice. "You thought everyone was disappointed in you before? Wait till they realise how many of their own are gone. And trust me, they'll know who to blame. The evidence is in plain sight."

The barricade didn't hinder the townspeople. If anything, it was a slight inconvenience. Many had already begun trying to scale over it. Dean tried his best to push them away. Out of the corner of his eye, the sight of a shotgun sent all the energy of a speeding train into him. A man had the end of the barrel aimed directly at his brother. Without a second thought, Dean sprinted and dived through the air to tackle Sam, just as a deafening shot resounded.

They lay frozen on the ground for a moment, staring at the smoking end of the shotgun. Every instinct told them to make a move, but something had changed. The man didn't reload his gun. Instead, he merely looked on at them in a confused trance. "W- what's going on?" he asked in a deep voice.

In fact, most people lowered their arms, remaining rigid where they stood. There were murmurs of disorientation. They looked around amongst each other.

"You think it worked?" Sam hoped.

"We'll find out," Dean stood first. When he saw that no one was itching to attack him anymore, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Why don't we all take a breather and get some fresh air, huh?" he announced to the crowd.

Though it was slow at first, they seemed to agree. The townspeople moved out of their way and assembled outside the station, giving the boys some much-needed space. Taking deep breaths, Sam and Dean took a single step out the non-existent doors. That was all they took before a swift drop from the sky stopped their hearts once more.

Thud. Something large fell before them at breakneck speed, making Sam hold his brother back for safety. There was a harsh cracking sound as the body bounced once. People in the crowd gasped. "Oh my God!" someone yelled.

White hairs were stained indelibly. In the sunlight, the burgundy glimmered like diamonds as it spread from the sheriff's face. He was sprawled across the sidewalk in an awkward position, arms and legs twisting unnaturally. He choked on his own blood once, causing a bubble to form, but went limp right after. His dead eyes stared relentlessly at Dean, begging for release even at the end of his life.

While some of the townsfolk offered to help with the sheriff, the boys went back into the building to make sure everything was okay. Officer Pratt was where she was before, but now, she sat with her legs pulled up. Some unknown terror seemed to have struck her. Her body visibly trembled and she appeared like a bird rescued from the rain. Dean knelt to unlock her cuffs.

"Oh my God, I'm so… sorry," she whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to shoot you."

"I know," Dean reassured her. "But you have to be strong right now. Everyone's waiting downstairs. You need to tell them something. Give them closure. Help them move on. Can you do that?"

She nodded shakily. Dean watched her disappear down the stairs. Meanwhile, Sam headed into the office. When he saw Zara sprawled on the floor, he scurried to her side. "Zara," he called out, picking up her supine figure and holding her in his arms. "Hey, are you with me?"

He tapped her cheeks lightly. She groaned slightly. "Sam…" she hoarsely whispered.

"It's me," he said, heart racing. "You okay?"

"I… I couldn't stop him…" she mumbled. When she opened her eyes, the world spun around her. The blurred lines of Sam's face took its time becoming clearer.

"It's all over now," he consoled. If anything, he was grateful to feel her pulse under his fingers. She soon came to and he helped her up, offering water. "We did it. You did it."

He finally felt safe enough to crack a smile. A gentle breeze blew in through the window to celebrate with them. The merry singing of innocent songbirds replaced the ominous cawing of the crows. Zara looked out the window. There was a building not far from them. On the roof of that building, she saw a tiny animal scurrying away. Mission accomplished.


Westney, Idaho – 29 October 2012, 5.34pm

"You're sure you're okay?" Dean asked for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, Dad," Zara rolled her eyes as she stared out of the Impala. "Turns out that archangel magic really knocks the breath out of ya. But I'm just tired. A good night's rest and I'll be fine. There are still three more towns, just like this one, that need our help. At least now we know what needs to be done."

"Okay," Dean let up, checking the side mirrors before making a turn. "Just don't want you to get an aneurysm or something."

"On the bright side," Sam chimed in. "We have a clear sign of what Lucifer's been up to. What do you think he wanted to accomplish by getting the sheriff to sign a deal?"

"How is it even possible?" Dean wondered. "How can anyone sign a deal to sell someone else's soul?"

"Well, the sheriff is a respected member of the community. A leader, even," Zara speculated. "I think that would give him the power to make a deal on their behalf. It's not totally ridiculous. Just hundreds of years ago, priests would retreat into caves and temples to perform rituals and pray to the gods for help. Priests back then also advised people on all kinds of things, kinda like what the sheriffs do."

"Makes sense," Sam nodded. "We still don't know what's going on in the bigger picture. This is probably just one tiny piece of Lucifer's plan."

"Hey, if we can put a dent in Lucifer's shoe in any way, I'll take it. It's a win," Dean remained optimistic. "We'll figure it out, Sammy. Don't worry about it."


Somewhere in India,

Nocturnal insects chirped noisily in the dark forest arena. Deep in the jungle, several little monkeys pranced about a well-hidden cave. But one little monkey waddled in with purpose. He made it past the entrance, down the shaft and into a vine-ridden crevice. Once he'd pushed through the vines and made it out the other side, he was welcomed by a horde of his brothers and sisters, all equally tiny as him with those amber orange eyes as the only light source in this deep, dark hole. He scurried through them, even using some of their backs to climb up to the top of the ledge.

He screeched a bunch. From the expanse, a deep rumbling shook the entire structure. A spirit rose from the crevasse below. Nothing much could be seen of him, save his large rotund figure and sharp, silver eyes. "(What news do you bring, my child?)" Kumbhakarna asked in Sanskrit, looking down on the monkey with a caring attentiveness.

The monkey jumped up and down, animatedly telling the god what he'd learned from Idaho.

"(The King of Hell, ousted by some hunters? The others will want to hear about this)," he muttered to himself. "(I'll tell them immediately, right after my nap)."

Soon after, he descended back into his shrouded bed. A steady rise and fall of air ensued from the deep abyss, as well as low rumbling sensations which could only be inferred as him snoring. The monkeys went back to chattering among themselves. Except for one.

This one, however, watched the whole thing from afar. This little one went back out the same way the other one came in – through the vines, up the shaft and out the cave. This one hopped all the way to Illinois. A far more beautiful landscape awaited him. Plenty of space to play in, fruits all abound – it was paradise for any living being. The monkey trotted up to the front porch.

"Paws?" Jack recognised. Smoke tumbled out of his mouth when he spoke. He exhaled the rest of it. "What's wrong, little guy?"

He rested the hand holding up the joint on the porch to lean back comfortably and brandished a banana with the other. Paws accepted the treat eagerly. The monkey gibbered in between hungry bites of the fruit.

"Speak slowly, you're not making any sense," he instructed. He waited for the creature to finish his meal. Jack casually brushed the long strands of his hair to the back before picking Paws up and cradling him in his arms. When Paws finished his report, the archangel was immediately sober. "This um…" he stuttered at the implication of it all. "This is news."

He took his joint and the monkey and marched back into the house with purpose.

Westney, Idaho – Three Weeks Later

"This is the last of it," Jimmy told the guys who loaded a crate of fresh fruits and vegetables onto the back of the truck.

"It's not much," an older man said. The two of them shared a sombre look, both of them knowing what it meant. "We'll just have to ration it then."

"Maybe we could sell it. Use the money to buy more seeds," Jimmy said. The man didn't seem very convinced by his idea. "We have to try something, Carter. We can't just give up. Not after everything we've endured. We don't have to let them screw us over anymore."

"This isn't on them anymore," Carter told him. "This town… this soil – it's cursed. It was never meant to be."

Those words struck him hard. Jimmy frowned so deeply he could have gotten a headache. But instead of anger, it was tears his eyes expressed. A delicate hand rested on his shoulder. He turned to see his beautiful girlfriend standing at his side. "Whatever happens, we'll get through it, okay?" she consoled him. "We have our freedom and that's all that matters now."

Everything he remembered weighed heavily on him. He thought of his mother. A pang of guilt struck him in the heart.

An engine rumbled. Jimmy turned towards the disruptive noise. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next. A long line of SUVs drove down the street. There were so many of them that there was no point in counting. Many had disappeared into other streets, but those that stopped on the road he stood on carried mysterious passengers, all of whom wore black suits. At a moment's notice, they alighted and assumed positions at regular intervals down the sidewalk.

"Hey, who are you?" Jimmy approached one of them. "What's going on?"

They stood at attention, refusing to engage him.

"Hey, I asked you a question," he roughly placed a hand on one of them.

The demon bore its eyes and grabbed his hand with the force of an extrusion press. He winced in pain, but it wouldn't be all. The demon threw him yards back. The civilians rushed towards him to help, taken aback by the spectacle.

The line of demons extended throughout the town, covering every street, every inhabited area. At the end of the line, Lucifer stood proudly. His icy gaze surveyed the town in one big sweep from his vantage point atop a hill.

He clicked the walkie-talkie, opening the line. "Incendo," he said.

That one word was enough. Every demon aimed as far as their hands could reach. In one united gesture, fire erupted from their palms. No surface was spared.

Lucifer chuckled to himself at the sight. The whole town went up in flames. Their screams of agony caressed his ears. Some people tried to escape, either by foot or by vehicle. The demons took care of that.

Per Aspera Ad Inferi.