Sophia's Chronicles

Chapter 87: Fire and Brimstone

The Void

"Stop it, you'll hurt someone!" Forty-Two yelled.

The knife viciously sliced the air. Someone screamed. Another one moved quickly to disarm Sophia Fifteen. "You'll not take the crown. Never!" the delirious one yelled with a distinct crisp in her hoarse shriek. Three of us had to hold her down as the blade was yanked out of her grasp.

"Pass me the knife," I ordered with trembling fingers reaching out. I took a deep breath to steady myself. While Fifteen was held down, I quickly sliced her where needed. Her stifled shouts were more like fierce roars. I felt disgusted with myself for needing to do this, but no one stopped me. They knew why I was doing it. On the count of three, I slipped my hand into her sternum. My sisters did their best to hold her absolutely still. Once I pulled out the nasty Leech, all the disbelievers were converted. This wasn't a skill to be proud of, but did anyone have as much experience stabbing this thing to death as me?

Now that they'd seen what it would be like, I'd hoped it would strengthen them. Fifteen grew sober soon, amidst the stinging pain that I'd messily tried to ease with the heated blade. For the first time, the warrior queen was moved to tears. Whatever the Leech made her see had turned her into an absolute sobbing mess in the arms of another. Maybe that was the final straw – to see the most tenacious and mightiest one of us reduced to this. Hope was fading away rapidly and so was trust. For none more than me.

Despite all our measures, the infections seemed to continue. Some of us weren't so lucky as to have a very public hysteria tipping off the rest of us. Some clearly suffered in silence and rid themselves of the infection without the desire for survival. It had been such a toll on me to see, time and again, someone with a slit throat or a knife to the gut by their own doing. This wasn't what I had intended by showing them how to kill the Leeches. My own lifeline seemed to grow shorter with every death. It was a mystery to me how any of this continued even after Forty-Two had manually driven the blade through all the corpses in the quarantine zone. Why wasn't I surprised?

As if that wasn't enough, the patrols still didn't return. After the first couple missing pairs following the attack, I decided to rescind the need for a patrol entirely. This decision seemed to be met with much relief. Make no mistake – this didn't improve my favourability amongst them. I could feel their scepticism rising. All those questions, all those empty stares, all their secretive murmuring… I needed a win. We needed a win. Yet some dark corner of my mind insisted that I would never leave the Void alive.

And so I became intent on fixing the situation. Without input from the first expedition, it became harder to motivate the second crew. I tried my best to reconnect with the vessel that had been sent to the first conflict zone, but success eluded me despite repeated attempts. I couldn't sit there and do nothing, so I decided to look into the universe's specifications again. Perhaps there was something I could do by myself that would both constitute a victory and not rely on re-establishing contact with a team that was in all likelihood dead.

The Interface showed me the work logs from when we'd first accessed this universe's data. Hm, weird. It showed me a snapshot of the chaosmeter at that time. The chaos levels in the multiverse were… abnormally high. It was at this time that the first expedition was sent out, which, according to my analysts in the control panel, should have caused a decrease in the chaosmeter. The chaosmeter should have never been this high. Just to be sure, I checked the logs from before this time and after. It confirmed my worse suspicions. The chaosmeter had been rising this whole time, gradually, on its own. Khaos was somehow fuelling Himself without being able to even locate Himself in the Void. This wasn't just a matter of sight, however. If the chaosmeter rose, conflicts in the multiverse would rise too. An apocalypse here or there didn't matter, but all at once? All of existence would collapse in on itself until it became no more than a full stop on a page.

"I don't wanna ask, but what's that look on your face supposed to mean?" Sixty-Six came up next to me. It was a relief to see her then. I needed someone with a sense of humour around. "I've heard of stares that could kill, but that's one that wants to die."

"It doesn't matter what I want," I hopelessly sighed. "Take a look at this." I showed her the increments in the chaosmeter. "This has been happening for so long under my nose and I didn't even know. Why's that?"

"The same reason why you can't do everything at once," she muttered monotonously. The optimism I expected from her suddenly hid behind a seriousness I'd regretted bringing into the conversation. "All of us have our place here, to share the load. Someone wanted to cut the line. Someone thought they knew better than to report something so important to the Commander." She shrugged. "Someone who probably thought they'd make a better Commander."

"Okay, let's not jump to conclusions here," I stopped her. "There must be some explanation."

"What could possibly excuse this?" Sixty-Six added, with a bewildered look to match. "If we'd all known the chaosmeter was rising earlier, we could've done something about it. We could've prepared for the attack. This isn't just omission. It's negligence."

"Understandably, you're angry. I get it. But I can't let emotions cloud my judgment now," I stated firmly. "Where are we on the investigations?"

"I looked at the ocular matrix inhibitors as you said. Even climbed down a musty vent," she reported. "I think you should come take a look."

We went back up to that lonely room with more elaborate apparatus that we were inexperienced with.

"So here's where you 'duct-taped' the inhibitor system wires," she pointed. "But if you look at the upstream connections…" she led me to where the wires passed through these peculiar tiny glass cylinders. "These are the fail-safes. They're basically like fuses. Notice anything?"

"They're fried," I gasped. "Some powerful surge has ripped through them and destroyed the wiring."

"But wait, there's more," she said with a mock enthusiasm that never reached her eyes. Following these wires further upstream, we came upon a vent that she'd opened. "Yes, I did climb in there. All the way down. Some of us do go the extra mile. If you're considering a promotion…" she winked. Now there was the Devil I knew. "The wires go into the Interface, which means the surge came from below."

"I don't like how this is looking," I admitted. "The surge melted some of the wires, but that wasn't enough so someone slashed them to finish the job."

"I hope my work has been insightful," she stood cordially, with hands clasped behind her back. "It's the least I could do, considering the missing patrols case was rather fruitless. I really couldn't trace anything to those who had disappeared. And that's no figure of speech. If I didn't know any better, the only evidence that these sisters of ours even existed is the shift assignments. Numbers on a screen. Sad, isn't it? To be gone and have no one remember you as a distinct person? You just become… another lost one."

"Yes, it's terrible," I agreed. With all these thoughts heavy in my mind, it was hard to entertain the company of someone else. "You've been very helpful. Thank you."

She understood that as a cue to leave and obliged. Numbers on a screen, huh? I inspected the wires more closely at the open vent shaft. On the surface underneath, a series of numbers were inscribed into the wires. They were so tiny, almost like fine print in a service agreement. I entered these numbers into the Interface but an error message popped up. Power source needed, it said, along with the number of a terminal I had to check. So I did. This terminal was a socket hidden in a wall in some room that no one frequented. There was a simple reason why – the room was empty. I should've known that no room was ever truly empty in The Void.

This terminal could only be unveiled by opening a latch in the wall, which, one would never notice without knowing what to look for. Who could know what to look for? I yanked open the latch eagerly, only to be met with emptiness. The terminal was empty. Hm. Certainly, though, if someone had a power source, they'd put it here. Someone already has. And now they've hidden their evidence.

As for the shifts, there was no need to check that. I'd seen the logs. I knew who gave the assignments. The questions were beginning to pile up. What can I be sure of? As much as I didn't want to, I forced myself to revisit that foul place deep within the infirmary. Killed every Leech, my ass. The air was still floating with spores, which shouldn't be the case if all the Leeches were dead and clearly, they were not. The only dead I saw here were more of my own. To some relief, I saw that most of them had been stabbed in the gut as instructed. Save one.

It was very obvious which one was spared. The corpse had become a – I hate to say it – nest. It took all of me not to recoil at the sight. It was like a repeat of what I'd seen in the inescapable Leech room from before, except somehow surpassing it in how slimy and wormy I'd remembered the creatures to be. My poor dead sister was barely recognisable. The black tentacles had spread all around her and in her and through her, stripping away any dignity she deserved to have in death. On her torso, sizeable lumps had clung to her like babes suckling at a teat. In all that mess, her colourless eyes stared straight up and her mouth hung open.

"Leave her be!" My eyes stung ferociously.

I wielded two knives at once as I attacked the parasites. They bled and exploded as I did so, spraying their disgusting life fluid everywhere, but I didn't care. I even heated a blade as I delivered divine justice, thinking it a worthy pain to inflict on them. When I was done, the sting of loss still remained. Nothing felt like it had changed, even now. How could I ever get justice for you? Since the parasites were gone, the dead archangel had nothing to do except melt away. After all that, her form couldn't even be preserved.

God, do I have to inspect every single thing around here? I backtracked the Interface logs further back than I had before. There, I found the most damning piece of evidence. Sometime after Sixty-Six and I had left to investigate that strange noise, someone had actually managed to track the room we were in. Not exactly, but she'd marked the symbol we used to teleport back here as something of interest. Opening the file led to the specs of that room, which had clearly indicated, in code, the presence of the infectious Leeches and us.

My palms gripped the Interface with an increasing intensity I found hard to control. I've been such a fool. My eyes grew damp. Any dampness, however, vaporised instantly. Anger is always described as 'burning hot', but even that was an understatement.

"Where have you been?" an unsuspecting voice called from behind. It was the traitor herself. "The ladies in the control panel have been meaning to speak to you."

I straightened up, and turned around slowly. I was a nova contained within a glass box and I could tell, from just how intensely the green of my irises now began to spray onto her face like a light bulb. Without even a word, she instinctively stepped back.

"W-what's wrong?" she dared ask.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I repeated, taking a step forward myself. That certainly got the attention of the others. "How many of us have perished in this endless war? When will the lies end? When we're all gone?"

"Have you- have you been infected again?" she looked around herself uncertainly, before eerily fixing her eyes on me again. "Sophia, you've morphed into your Dark Form."

Some part of me already knew. I normally never did this. I preferred the form Lucifer had always known me in, but the situation had forced me to become someone unburdened with deception. "Why do you think the infections are still happening?" I questioned pointedly. "Maybe because you didn't finish the job."

By now, the others had come closer but not close enough to fully surround us. "I did exactly as you asked," she insisted. "What's this about? Why are you talking this way? Just speak to me."

"I suppose it's easier to get away with a half-truth than a whole lie," I reasoned, not bothering to hide the bitterness. "You stabbed all the dead except one. Just one was needed for the Leeches to hold on to dear life."

A shaky breath left her jaw. What a convincing actress she was. Even that petrified look in her eyes could've made me feel something. "That's not true," she denied. "I put a knife through every single one of them. Three times over, even, just to be sure. I know you want an answer to the things that have been going on, but this isn't it."

"Okay, well we're just spoilt for choice when it comes to answers, aren't we? Why don't we start with the most basic – the chaosmeter. You had to have known that it was rising way before the attack," I brought up. Gasps and murmurs spread through the others. "You let the rest of us believe that it wasn't going to be a problem."

"Because it wasn't," she spat out desperately. "I knew it would alarm you, but I assure you, it isn't what you think it is."

"Really? So the chaosmeter rising exponentially didn't restore Khaos' strength enough for Him to launch an attack?" I pressed. I could tell from the looks of the others that I was speaking their minds.

"Didn't you watch the monitors?" she asked in turn. "All the universes are experiencing multiversal chaos particle infusions. Your earth is about to erupt in war, Commander. So is mine and everyone's! So of course the chaosmeter is rising. This is natural. Khaos isn't at His peak yet. You said so yourself."

"Would you have let Him reach his peak?" I asserted. "At which point was I going to hear about this from you?"

"When it became unnatural!" she answered like it should've been obvious. "You cannot seriously believe that I would undermine you in any way?"

"I don't know what to believe. Between the ocular matrix inhibitors being blown out by an Interface command and several of our sisters going missing on patrol, I have no idea what to think," I tried to keep the tears in.

"What do you mean?" she looked straight at me like we were the only two people there. "What happened with the ocular matrix?"

"You act as if you don't know." I didn't know whether to be frustrated or disgusted. "Someone caused a surge of energy through the inhibitors to fry them and then cut them. To do this, you'd need some understanding that this was possible at all. Some expertise on how this awful machine works. And where were you right before the attack? Convenient of you to be gone moments before tragedy struck."

"Sophia-"

"And weren't you the one who sent so many of our sisters out on patrol? Knowing they'd go missing? Where did you send them, huh?" I demanded answers.

"Listen to me!" she begged. No one could have found this confrontation more difficult than me. After all those sweet words I had needed to hear in times of pain… "You're not thinking straight. Something or someone has fed all these lies to you."

This time, I didn't have to say much. Eighty, one of my trusted, came forward. She, like the others, was clearly disturbed and disappointed. "The evidence speaks for itself," she said. "None of us saw you until right before the attack. Where did you go?"

"I…" her eyes frantically darted about. Then, they met mine. "I… left." My head tilted in askance. "I left the Void. Went back to my universe. But there's a good reason why, I assure you."

"All of us had good reason to leave before," Thirty-Seven stepped forward to question. "We stayed because there was a war to fight. And because we were trapped. How the hell do you know where the exit is?"

"Because I've been here a while," Forty-Two simply said. "I went back home, because Michael has one of the strongest armies in all the multiverse. I had to request him to send them immediately should an emergency signal be warranted. Then we'd have more people fighting on our side."

"Where were they, then?" Thirty-Seven further probed, getting tense herself. "I didn't see them."

Forty-Two sighed deeply. "Like I said, all the universes are erupting in conflict. So was mine and he needed them stationed there. While my husband is always willing to drop everything to come to my aid, I had to weigh the risks," she explained. "This attack wasn't the direst of battles, you had to admit."

More disapproving murmurs erupted. "I think you'll find that literally no one agrees," I said. "But it doesn't matter, because no one believes you anyway. Truth is, you've always been Khaos' favourite. He trusted you more than anyone and you were His perfect little doll. At least the rest of us suffered for standing by our principles." I slowly walked towards her, only stopping at a comfortable distance. "You let us all run around in circles wondering what was causing the infection, when you knew perfectly well what this was. You knew where Sixty-Six and I were trapped and you knew the Leeches were there. Did you make them follow us back? Did you let them in when they came knocking? Or were you just going to let them kill us so you could take your place as Commander and sell the rest of us off to Khaos?"

"It is true that I haven't been completely honest," she admitted, brows crossing. "Moments after we all suspected that you were forever lost, I did track you to that awful room. But I knew escaping it would've been impossible. That room was a death trap. No one's ever gotten out of it before." She looked at me like it was I who had betrayed her. It was hard for me to take it. Her eyes grew moist, and soon rained tears. "You have no idea how painful it was for me to know you were out there somewhere, and have…" she paused to sniffle. "And have no way of reaching out to you. The crushing thought that I'd just have to wait idly as your life force disappeared."

I hated that my cheeks were damp too. "I had so much faith in you…"

"And I you," she retorted. "We're practically identical. I've always thought of you as my own self. It's how I even managed to track you down. Please, Sophia, I would never hurt you."

"I want to believe you. Terribly so," I wiped away my tears. "But the facts remain. You let the infection fester. You hid the chaosmeter's readings while Alpha became stronger than we left Him. You never explained that. How could a blind Khaos find any way to power Himself?" A harsh breath escaped my lips as I figured it out. "Was it the missing ones? Were they led straight into His arms?"

"This is ridiculous," she protested. With a sudden strength, she continued, "Everything you accuse me of is based on nothing but circumstantial evidence. You can be accused just as easily as I. You had access to the Interface. You've spent time under Alpha's tutelage. You were missing right before the attack too. And being the first among us to have seen the Leeches, couldn't you have brought them in with you?"

The circle around us seemed to grow tighter. Sixty-Six stood firmly next to me in solidarity. "Are you saying that our Commander would do all of that and horribly mutilate herself on purpose, just to sabotage everything she's shed tears and grace to build?" she asked sharply. "If Khaos thinks He can get away with using one of our own to sabotage us from the inside, He's wrong."

I saw nothing but agreement in the majority. "No, please. I helped build this operation too," Forty-Two implored. Those behind her seized her immediately and forced her onto her knees. "You're just looking for someone to blame!"

Someone put a knife in my hand. I approached her. I felt like I was about to murder my own self. But I supposed I knew this was coming, right from the start.

"Why would I set you free…" she sobbed, looking up at me. It felt perverse to have someone of her stature in this position, prostrated and begging for mercy. The depravity of the situation never escaped me. "…just to betray you again?"

"If you'd been honest, I'd have mercy," my own tears dripped onto her cheeks. "But all these lies… this remorselessness… this loss… has to stop. It can't be forgiven."

The knife plunged through her chest.


Brimstone, Washington – 10 December 2012, 5.05pm

Any spectator would have been immediately overwhelmed. There was no shortage of action to take in. On the sidewalk, the fire hydrant exploded into smithereens. Water shot into the sky in a firm pillar. The Chinese man with the dragon tattoos waved his hand to shape it however he wanted. What he wanted, though, was to hurl it straight at gladiator right before him. "Life is for the living," he mumbled to himself. The crushing sounds of broken zombie bones was muffled by the ambush of water.

The flooding street gave the Chinese Dragons all the ammunition they needed. Ammunition was not lacking in either side of the fight, clearly. The piles of dead civilians would attest to that. The gravel was cracked, buildings torn down and skies painted with blood and fire. Just a slither of light could come through after all of that. Just a small slice of the sky peeked through the smoke and battling gods. The humanfolk held onto that image. It was the only hope left.

"You have to get out of here!" a man roughly yelled. The people turned to the voice. By now, they had been worn down. The monsters didn't always look like monsters, so they didn't know what to think. But something about those green eyes, twisted in a sincere smoulder, was reassuring. Despite the dirt and blood on his face, and the shotgun strapped to his shoulder, he was the first to impose order on the chaos. "We have a way out of town. You have to follow me!"

The man in the leather and the flannel pointed towards a bus. The open doors showed another man, slightly larger and with shoulder-length hair, manning the drivers' seat. He too ushered the people in. "Get in!" the driver yelled.

The unquestioning civilians piled into the bus. They had had enough. Sam jammed the pedal, taking off instantly. As the vehicle drove down the street, total destruction did not cease to pose a threat. Some winged being meteored straight towards an adjacent building, spraying rubble everywhere. Sam hit the brakes, reversed a little and drove past the mess. It was only when he was well out of the city's radius that he let out a single breath. The sight of bare land around was akin to the sight of Heaven for everyone. Eventually, they came upon the campsite.

Each person took a shaky step onto the ground. They were immediately greeted by people who looked like they knew what they were doing. Nurses came up to them to perform preliminary inspections to see if they were hurt. They were brought into shelter and given refreshments. The whole site spanned a considerable distance. The hunter Robinson, dressed in the uniform of leather and flannel, helped a lady who had difficulty walking on her left leg.

"We need medical attention here," he called out, beckoning a nurse. The nurse, who was currently tending to another person, gave him a nod of acknowledgement and signalled to the empty bed in turn. He put the lady's arm around his shoulder and helped her over. Being larger and stockier, he could bear her weight, no problem. That intimidating beard could've fooled anyone, but his gentle mannerisms were a golden comfort here. "There you go. Easy now."

The woman was still trembling from the ordeal. "A-are you military?" she asked him.

Robinson gave her a conciliatory smile as he poured her a glass of water. "Sadly, no," he answered. "We're just people who wanna help."

When the nurse came to take over, Robinson took his leave. It was a strange sight to see, not because literal gods and monsters were hate-banging in the city, but because the hunters weren't hunting. Instead, they bustled about making sure supplies were sufficient and bringing help to those who needed it. This wasn't exactly the part he had thought he'd be playing, as much as he was grateful to help at all.

"Sam," he approached the Winchester, who had just directed a group of people towards bedding.

"Hey," Sam greeted with a hand to Robinson's shoulder. "Thanks so much for coming on such short notice. We couldn't have handled all of this without your help."

"Of course," Robinson nodded firmly. "I just um," he scratched his nose for a second. "Don't get me wrong – this right here is important. I just can't help but feel a little out-of-place. Shouldn't we be where the action is? Taking down those sons-of-bitches before they can kill more people?"

"I know, man," he reassured the hunter, sombreness contorting his eyes. "Truth is, this is bigger than we can handle. Guy who set up this camp and arranged for all this medical help insisted that the hunters stay here. That was the deal. He didn't want us running into a fight we couldn't win. I don't like it, but I have to agree. He has a point."

"This guy… he sponsored all of this?" Robinson's curiosity was piqued.

Sam exhaled as the sheer scale of what had been set up dawned on him. He blinked rapidly, almost in disbelief, but gave Robinson a convinced look. "He's a miracle-worker. That's for sure," he stated firmly. "He saved all these people."

"Then I gotta shake this man's hand," Robinson said. Just then, a couple hunters urgently carried a man who was severely bleeding from the chest into the infirmary. Luckily, there were more staff inside who could immediately attend to the man. Within moments they'd managed to obtain blood to replace what was lost. "Can he fix our healthcare system next?"

Sam huffed in genuine laughter. "I'm sure he'll be happy to," he remarked. "But um," Sam paused. "None of this came easy. Jack really pulled out all the stops to make this happen. So if he says the only way this works is if we help the people who survived and not get involved in the mess that's happening in there, then I have to keep my word and do as he says."

That almost made Robinson feel guilty. He pushed down his hunter instinct and took Sam's message to heart. "If you trust this man, so do I," he assured him. "Where'd he come from, anyway? Is he just a really loaded hunter?"

"No, actually…" Sam wondered if he should say anything. "He's an angel." Immediately, he followed up with, "He's one of the good ones, I promise. He's kind of a- a freelancer."

"I don't know, Sam," Robinson doubted. "You know these guys usually want something in return."

"You haven't met him," Sam defended. "He's been fighting the good fight with us since Day One. He's in Brimstone right now, trying to find a way to stop all this mess."

Without anything better to say, Robinson simply gave him a solemn exhale. "Like I said, I'll trust you and your brother any day," he relented. "I'll get back to it, then."

Sam just watched as the hunter rushed to help some of the others set up more shelter. Despite all their questions, none of them hesitated to give their all to make this operation work. The Winchester felt some pride at that. It was time for him to take his shift watching the border, so he looked for his replacement.

"Dennis, you seen Zara?" he came up to the younger lad.

The younger hunter just stared at him blankly. "She didn't tell you?" he said. "She went off to help Dean."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. He looked to the distant metropolis again, suddenly feeling a strong longing. "Get on the bus," he ordered. With Dennis driving, Sam mentally prepared himself again for the sights he would see. This ritual was necessary if he had to maintain any kind of sanity to deal with the rampant insanity. They knew they were back in the chaos when they could smell the dust and the soot again. "When you get the people in, don't wait for me. Just get them out of here."

"What're you gonna do?" Dennis worried.

"I'm gonna find my brother," Sam declared. With an encouraging pat to the shoulder, he left the hunter to do his job. The moment he stepped onto the street, he looked back to the bare slice of the sky. The plump blood moon now nestled comfortably in its spot. Though its colour, vivid and majestic, stood out in the azure of the evening sky, it certainly wasn't at its peak yet. Sam knew that it meant that things were only going to get worse.


Jack marched confidently down the street. Some deformed reptilian creature hissed at him. The moment it shot its long neck towards him, he grabbed its throat. Their eyes met with an intense intimacy. All he had to do was clench his fist harder. Its spine broke under his grip. He tossed the thing aside. He could tell where he was in the city just by what attacked him. The divisions had become clear – Lucifer's people came in from the West while Rama's came in from the East. At least, that's what Lucifer wanted them to believe. The peak of the blood moon would make Lucifer's point crystal clear. This was how Jack learnt that his father had a keen sense of poetic justice.

He came upon the broken glass doors to the Hotel Onyx. From the outside, one could only see the dilapidated interiors, the frizzing lights. The tiny monkey blinked its tangerine eyes at him from above the large signboard. This had to be the right place. Shards of glass crunched under his feet. He clicked the button to the elevator. An enthusiastic ding greeted him. The lights flickered as the lift took him up. He lowered his chin slightly, letting his hair fall front and shadows deepen the natural hollow of his cheeks and eyes. His strategy was as indecisive as the lights. To be the force of light or the force of darkness, that was the question. He was locked in a quantum superposition.

The elevators opened. The moment he stepped out, the demons were quick to jump on him. Move, he thought. With barely a flinch from the archangel, the demons were pinned against the wall. They formed a forced welcome, unable to do much as the archangel created an aisle for himself between the two rows of immobilised demons. He pushed open the double doors into the grand suite.

Floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the far end offered a premium view of the city's destruction. Just before the windows was a smaller table containing the witch's handiwork – a bowl with glowing purple emissions that he could safely assume was nothing good. Not surprisingly, the witch and her demon lover had jerked to face him.

"We meet again, Jack Pierce," Crowley drawled with his usual smarminess. "Or should I say, Malachiah?"

"I don't care what you call me," Jack spat out. It was taking all of him to be so calm. "We need to talk."

"And so we do," the demon agreed. "You weren't quite the intrusion we expected but…" he made a vague gesture to Esther. The witch waved her hand. A ring of fire erupted around Jack. "You had to have known that we'd be prepared."

"I came in through the front door, didn't I?" Jack remained calm, even as the orange light of the flames danced on his face. "I didn't come here to threaten anyone."

"Hm." Crowley sauntered as close as he could to the holy fire. Seeing the angel's mysteriously glassy hazel irises towering over him was something to reckon with, especially with how still Jack was. Just his eyes eerily fixated on the demon. If Michelangelo's sculptures had come to life and glowered with murder in their eyes, this was what it would feel like. "You rarely do, isn't that right? I've heard a lot about you, Jack Pierce. What you don't speak with your words you put into action. I've got to say, what you did in Afghanistan – count me as a fan."

"So you've seen what I do to those who don't have any mercy," Jack inferred, steel-gazed. "In that spirit, I've come to negotiate peace."

Esther huffed. "Oh, darling," she was genuinely amused. "That's cute, but it isn't going to save you."

"I don't need to be saved," Jack replied, irises flickering to her. "But there are those who do. I'm here for them."

"As I see it, you're already on the case," Crowley replied, raising his head. "Doctors-Without-Borders would be jealous if they knew."

"These people aren't just collateral damage," Jack declared with a measured rage. "This war needs to stop, for the sake of everyone involved."

"I couldn't agree more, you know," Crowley confessed. "This whole bloody thing's a messy affair, but if that's what it takes to stop the mad King from destroying everything, it's what we have to do. It's our duty, even."

"Like you give a rat's ass about duty," Jack retorted. "You ain't fooling me, buddy. You're in it because it's good business, just like everybody else."

"It isn't just the war that's good business," Crowley dug his hands into his pockets. "Do you want Daddy watching over you 24/7?"

Jack's brows pinched slightly at that, but that was all the reaction he was willing to give. "I don't have a daddy," he hesitated.

"You will once Lucifer takes over the world," the demon argued. "Everyone will be in his pockets, including you. What will become of your little justice crusade then?"

"It's not me that'll have to deal with him. He'll have to deal with me," Jack said confidently. "So don't you worry your infernal head about it. You want the war to stop? I have a proposal for your friends." Air cleared between them as Crowley went over to a wall-side table and poured himself a finger of whiskey. "I understand that Rama and his friends are reasonably flustered after losing Sita. What if I brought her back to them?"

That certainly got their attention. Esther, who'd been watching him with a keen frown, raised an eyebrow. "You know where she is?" she asked.

The gentle dancing of the holy fire circle crackled around Jack. He thought very carefully about his next words, especially based on their attentive gazes. "Make them promise to stand down," he cautiously demanded. Though his voice and jaw held with them a certain firmness, his eyes betrayed the slightest bit of sympathy. "I'll release her. But they have to give their word first."

The liquor warmed the back of Crowley's tongue. He rolled the whiskey on his tongue to savour the taste with the same inspective thought he gave the angel's demand. "Do it then," he taunted. "You wouldn't bide your time when so many innocents could be saved, now would you, angel of virtue?" He touched the tip of his index finger to his chin, as if in thought. "Oh wait, you can't. You don't know where she is because if you did, there wouldn't be a need for this conversation."

"You say that so confidently, as if you knew anything about me," Jack snidely remarked. "I'm no fool. I know that the Hindus need a little motivation to stand down. Between the both of us, who do you think is better placed to find out where Sita is? Here's a little clue for ya – I'm the one with the inside source."

"Your little spring chicken," Crowley recognised. "She's a hard one to catch, I'll tell you that. You really think she'll betray her saviour Lucifer for you?"

Esther twitched just a little, but Jack took notice of that immediately. "Doesn't sound impossible, does it?" Jack prompted her. She crossed her arms, disavowing the sudden attention to herself.

She met Crowley's expectant stare and decided to turn away, instead taking interest in her ongoing spell. "It's one thing to free a witch out of a momentary bout of sympathy," Crowley spoke for her. "Lucifer would've installed a software update since then to fix the bug. You'll have as much luck as I did trying to capture her."

"Now you're just refusing an opportunity," Jack pointed out. "If you had any part to play at all in bringing Sita back home to her husband, the rewards will be plenty. Unless, of course, you want this war to continue for some self-indulgent reason. I don't think that'll be a good look for you when I free Sita all on my own."

That put a tight-lipped smirk on Crowley's face. "You're good – I'll give you that," he conceded. His chin lifted to cast a smug narrow-eyed look. "It really makes me wonder though. If you're about stopping this nasty war and all that jazz, wouldn't you set your sights on the aggressor? None of this would be happening if Lucifer let the pagan gods be. Why is it that you're putting your foot down here and not in Hell? So much for all that tough talk, unless, of course, you want Lucifer's siege to continue for some self-indulgent reason. I don't think that'll be a good look for you when they finally push him back into Hell where he belongs."

A guilty pang gnawed against Jack's insides. "What makes you think I don't have a plan for him?" he challenged. "I like to believe that there's always a way for us all to get what we want. I'd tell you to think about it but we are desperately short of time. If you're not gonna help me, get out of my way."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Crowley shifted the tilt of his head. "Until Lucifer surrenders, you'll have to be comfortable in your little halo."

Jack's irises hardened. "You don't want to do this," he dropped all illusion of friendliness. His voice was low, but now it dropped an octave. The mask was falling away.

"Actually, I do," Crowley goaded. "I'm not unaware that you're a wanted man yourself, Jack. You want peace? Maybe I'll sell you off to Viktor Kavinsky as a slave. That fanged Stalin and I used to be friends, you know? Until he spit in the face of everything I did for him to get on Lucifer's good side." The demon shook his head solemnly in remembrance of the betrayal. "If the Hindus and their allied forces win, I win. And if they don't, I'll sell you to the Devil."

"That's not gonna work," Jack sharply said. "Because this isn't gonna work," he gestured towards the holy fire. "Face it, Crowley. You're just a dog who knows his place to them. Once this is all over, they'll cast Hell and the demons aside. They don't want you in the picture. Why would they, when they could have it all? Now though, things aren't set in stone. If the dividing lines stayed put, you'd all have a slice of the pie. Help me stop their greed."

"I underestimated you, Jack Pierce," Crowley sat on a chair as he set the whiskey glass on the table. "I've severely underestimated your ability to nark anyone in a fifty-foot radius. For that alone, I'm tempted to run over your little refugee camp."

Esther smirked, lavender-painted lips curving up on one end. "We have tanks," she said, placing a hand on the spine of Crowley's chair. "We could flatten the land a little, and maybe use the dead as compost."

"You will do no such thing," Jack asserted. His jaw tightened. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a lid on it. There were forces that begged for escape within him. "Those people are under my protection."

"You can't protect anyone, silly boy," Esther provoked. "You made your first mistake walking into this building. Now you're never gonna leave," her silvery voice mocked sympathy. She leaned down closer to Crowley's ear. "The angel needs to learn a lesson."

The fervour in her light green eyes amused Crowley. He was tempted to make light work of her request himself. "My sweet demoness, your desires burn hotter than the Lake of Fire," he sighed. "If that should please you…"

"You don't want to be my enemy, Crowley," Jack warned.

"Keep talking, Hot Wings," Crowley encouraged. "We have all day."

All this conversation had let the archangel stew in the circle of holy fire enough. On a normal day, he'd be a stick of dynamite, but today, he was a nuclear reactor. Little by little, his magical resistance to the confinement had built up to a breaking point. With just a slight push of wind, the holy fire waned and blew out like a candle. "We do," Jack agreed, grinding his teeth through a maniacal smile. "We have all day to whoop your ass!"

The circle was no more. Nothing stood between them. Esther almost choked on her own breath. The moment she regained her lucidity, she shot into action. She fired a gust of wind at him, instinctively feeling nature coarse through her arm. Jack fell back. He swung his legs back to gain momentum and then thrust them forward into the air to pounce onto his feet. He was immediately greeted with four demons attacking him at once. He punched one, square in the jaw, as two more struggled to hold his elbow back. Elbowing them both in a fell swoop, he grabbed the fourth demon by the throat and burned him inside out, before proceeding to do the same to the others. Just as the last demon fell a corpse, he turned towards the witch. An angel blade plunged straight into his abdomen.

Crowley gave the blade a good jostle and even twisted a little. His face was contorted madly with a determination to kill, but found nothing but an anticlimactic squish. He looked up at the angel, who looked like he'd been nothing more than minorly inconvenienced. With a resolute grunt, Jack swung a fist at Crowley, who fell sharply to the ground. The angel pulled out the blade with no consequence and let it clamour noisily onto the floor.

Esther backed away slowly, frozen by the complete absurdity of what she saw. While Jack took the time to pummel Crowley a little more, absolute rage dictating his compulsive fist-throwing, Esther rushed over to a wall. She roughly lugged a painting away from the wall, revealing the precautious angel-banishing sigil. Quickly slicing her palm, she tossed her bleeding hand towards the sigil. Not so luckily, her palm never made it to the blood sigil.

She took a couple breaths. No matter how much she tried to push her palm forward, the larger hand clutching her wrist was much stronger. She could only passively feel herself being spun around so swiftly and then pushed up against the wall with his other hand clamped against her neck. The sigil was so close – it was right next to her – yet hope was lost.

"What was it you said?" Jack accused. Up close, the fury in his eyes was mad, delirious even. She felt herself disintegrate internally from the look alone. "Flatten the land, make compost out of the dead? I think a witch would make great compost, don't you?"

She didn't dare protest from this vicinity. If she moved a single inch, even to speak, she knew she'd be gone. "What are you?" her quivering lips asked. Her light eyes intensely studied him for a single clue but his walls were impenetrable. "Why didn't the blade kill you?"

"One of those warm days in eternity, you'll know," he muttered, his eyes not sparing her a moment of safety. "I'll see you in Hell, bitch."

He tightened his grip on her throat. "Bite this, Saint Peter!" Crowley hollered behind him.

Puzzled, Jack turned his head towards the sound. The last thing he saw was the burning Molotov hurling straight towards him. Once the oil caught onto Jack, there was no stopping what happened next. A loud, pained cry erupted from his gut and that was it. He burned away and disappeared all in an instant. Blood dripping down his face, Crowley staggered towards the table and placed a hand on it for support. He looked at Esther. She had backed against the wall and lowered herself to the ground. They had the same bewildered look on their faces.


It was in the grand stadium that Lucifer's soldiers found themselves approaching their next onslaught of enemies. Lucifer's demons were dressed from head to toe in a black suit, only distinguished by red cuffs and collars that Crowley's demons didn't have. On one side, demons stood with the Chinese Dragons, the Egyptian beetle people sent by Khepri, Chernobog's black ooze-dripping spawns, the Armenian Nhang (vicious crocodiles-turned people) and Dullahan. On the other side stood Crowley's demons, Rakshasas, Roman zombie gladiators, Greek centaurs and giant vultures. The two forces glared menacingly at each other, though Crowley's side was beginning to waver. The gods were still putting up a fight in the sky but the soldiers on the ground could see who had the victory of numbers – it certainly wasn't the resistance.

The red-cuffed demons slowly began towards their enemies. Malicious smirks were painted all over their faces as they gripped their weapons tightly. These were no mere toys – the elaborate Enochian spell-work on the wooden exterior of these sabers or the barrel of these strange guns would guarantee success. It was all thanks to the British Men of Letters' base that had been raided about a year prior. Those guys were certainly crafty and now it paid off.

As the two sides met in battle, Lucifer's demons swiftly pushed through the resistance, invading their half of the stadium with an uncanny ease. It was still some battle, though. They were locked in arms until the sky darkened. As much as nightfall was approaching, the collision and inferno of the gods kept the city illuminated enough that one could feel trapped in the day. Things were getting bad. In the upper atmosphere, Kali and Morrigan faced each other, both of them armed to the teeth. Each led a charge of gods and demigods. They locked eyes for a moment. It was clear that neither of them wanted to be in this position. Yet they swung their weapons at each other. The fiercer and the more powerful the gods were, so would their armies on the ground be strengthened. To anyone, in the air or on the earth, it was clear that Kali wasn't going to give up so soon.

Time to even the odds. Zara picked the precise entrance to the stadium. A calculating move, just to get Dean closer to the resistance side of the battle. A woman clutched her toddler close to her chest, cowering on the ground as the scary man with the black eyes slowly approached her. He snarled menacingly and reached out a hand towards her. A shiny blade penetrated his torso from the back. When it was retracted, the demon fell away, dead. The lady screamed.

"Are you okay?" Dean's concerned voice came as a relief. She nodded hesitantly. "There's a bus getting people out of here. Just head straight over there and don't turn back, alright?"

With newfound purpose, the woman carried her child in her arms towards the spoken direction. He followed them with his gaze just to make sure they made it to the turn of the street. "Dean, watch out!" Zara yelled. He spun quickly to engage in combat with a couple more demons. Zara herself was embroiled in a tussle. Her expert movements allowed her to parry two at once. At the first available opportunity, she pulled a demon down by the neck and plunged the archangel blade into the back of his cervix. With a hand still on the hilt of the blade, she brandished the demon-killing knife and stabbed the demon that grabbed her shoulder. In swift motion, she spun in a half-circle, throwing the archangel blade at the next incoming demon and the demon knife in Dean's direction. The knife thrusted itself exactly in the eye of the demon in his blind spot. The moment he dropped a demon in his front, he found the knife sticking out of the other one behind him. The narrow escape had been clear – the demon would have landed some critical shots on him otherwise. He exchanged a glance with her in acknowledgement of his gratitude.

It was at this point Sam had found them. "Aren't you supposed to be back at camp?" he questioned Zara, flustered by the narrow escape he'd just witnessed. "You had me worried."

"I feel more useful here," she retorted, locking eyes with him. A tense air stood between them.

"Doesn't matter. This isn't part of the plan," Sam argued. "We can't let every hunter run headfirst into danger because they want to. This is what Jack wanted."

"I can deal with Jack," she said resolutely, crossing her arms. "He'd understand that contingencies were needed."

"Okay, cut it out, you two," Dean stepped in before any more heated words could be exchanged. "She risked her neck to save mine. Let it go," he told his brother, who had vehement disagreement written in his eyes. Dean's gaze flickered to the stadium in fair distance. "Besides, I'm willing to bet there are more people in there."

Sam gulped. "I could hear the ruckus in there from ten blocks away," he said. "I don't think it's because anyone's scoring touchdowns."

Just then, an ear-deafening explosion sounded. A large chunk of the stadium's top was blown away in a spectacular crash. "We have to get in there," Zara suggested.

"What for?" Sam asked in a desperate attempt to speak sense. "If anyone's left in there, they're probably dead."

"We don't know that for sure," Zara argued. "Are you really gonna take that chance?"

"There are whole neighbourhoods that we haven't covered yet," Sam stated. "If you risk your life here, who's gonna save them?"

"That's all the way on the other side of town," Dean reasoned. "I just saw some hunters heading there. But this place…" he gestured towards the stadium. "We have to try, Sam."

As defeated as the younger Winchester felt, he wasn't about to let his family run in there alone. Through demons and other monsters, the trio slashed and slew until they made it in to the hallway leading to the locker rooms. They frantically searched all these areas hidden deep in the facility, but no one but the dead could be found. Eventually they came upon a control room, full of computers and wires. For some reason, the cameras were still operating. All the violence and gore was on naked display here.

"Uh, guys," Zara's wide eyes were fixed on a very specific square on the screen. That was a shock she couldn't mask. "We have incoming."

On the camera input just a few hallways down from the door, demons marched down with rifles in their arms. If one paid attention very carefully, the unified marching of their steps could be heard very faintly. They were rapidly heading towards the door on the far end of the room, opposite the double doors used by the hunters to come in. Approaching in line with the demons was none other than Crowley and Esther.

"Is that slimy son-of-a-bitch coming for us?" Dean wondered. "Doesn't seem like there's anyone else on this floor."

"We have to bust out of here, stat," Sam ordered.

"Wait," Dean stopped them. "That's the witch, isn't it?" When the two stared blankly at him, he elaborated, "Blood of a powerful mage. We need it for the exorcism."

"Seriously?" Sam snapped. "They're gonna ambush us anytime now. There's no time for a blood bank moment."

Before he could protest, Sam grabbed his brother and the three made towards the double doors they came from. From the shadows in the hallway, two figures emerged. The demon and the witch.

"Not so fast," Crowley greeted. The hunters were forced to step back. Sam swung a fist towards the demon, but soon found himself pinned to the ground. As quick as they began, Dean and Zara too found themselves kissed by magic. Zara hissed as the demon responsible for her tightened the ropes uncomfortably behind her back. It was like he wanted to be extra certain that she wouldn't get out of them. At least the three hunters had been allowed the comfort of chairs. "You boys just have to dip your chiselled noses into everything, don't you?"

"I gotta ask," Dean said, already starting to get bored. "What happened to your face?"

Crowley was suddenly reminded of the constant metallic taste in his mouth. He glared at Dean with his hands dug into his pocket. "A really preppy angel," he shrugged. "But he's not going to be a problem. Ever."

Hearing that, Zara's heart dropped. "What did you do to Jack?" she demanded to know.

"Let's just say Colonel Sanders found a new recipe," Crowley enunciated, knowing every word of that sentence was causing her some pain. "Kentucky Fried Angel, anyone? Gets my mouth watering just saying it."

Esther towered authoritatively over Zara. Compared to everyone else, her long lavender dress was still in immaculate condition and so was her pristine manicure with a colour to match. "Your friend – what is he?" she crossed her arms.

"A reason to gut you," Zara spat out caustically. Esther clenched her fist in the air, immediately crushing Zara's throat.

"What kind of angel is he?" Esther asked again through clenched teeth.

Through choking breaths, Zara said, "Go to Hell."

The witch conjured the darkest thoughts in her mind, ready to execute every one of them on Zara. Just then, a large flaming mound burst through the ceiling. The whole roof of the place was wiped away like nothing more than dust on a table top. Now they were all exposed to the sky and the noise again. A new coat of grey dust smeared all over them.

Sam struggled against his ropes. "Do you really want to do this? Now?" he challenged Crowley. "Those are your people down there too. Shouldn't you be helping them?"

"I am," Crowley insisted. "Shall we play a little game of The Price Is Right, Moose?" He walked over behind Zara's chair. "On the first showcase, we have: the vessel of the archangel Sophia, desperately needed by Lucifer and wanted by every pagan god on this planet. Place your bids. How much do you think she's worth?"

"We're not playing your games," Sam said definitively. "She's not for sale."

"Not with that attitude. Where's your positivity?" Crowley teased. "You've been played a fool. This five-foot-something succubus is the only thing that can force Lucifer to stand down. Stop the attacks, even. But you won't listen because… feelings. Tell me, Samuel, do you really believe that this monster loves you? Let alone that she's capable of love…"

"She's. Not. For. Sale," Sam repeated slowly.

"Did she ever tell you about what happened before the two of you were reunited?" Crowley pressed. "About her little summer of love? Not such an innocent little flower as you might think."

Crowley stroked her cheek, despite her resistance. "You mean the pain you caused me?" Zara pointedly said, violently tugging at her ropes. "Your day will come, just you wait. Karma's a bitch, bitch."

Crowley nonchalantly turned to one of his aides. "Prepare for transfer," he ordered. A few demons took their leave. Now it was just a waiting game.

"What about the Winchesters?" a demon asked.

Crowley gave it some thought. "They're just taking up space at this point," he ruminated. Then, like it meant nothing at all, he said, "Kill them. Then lay waste to their campsite."

"Don't do this," Dean warned. "Crowley!"

"Oh, and…" Crowley twirled the archangel sword about in his hand. "Thanks for this, again."

The demons closed in on the hunters. "We have a way to stop Lucifer!" Sam yelled. Crowley motioned for them to stop. In that sudden silence, Sam panted heavily for breath. "We're working on a spell."

Esther's curiosity was certainly piqued. "What spell?" she asked.

"We're not telling you," Sam's face hardened assertively. "You have to let us go. All of us. You might even be able to help us."

"How do we even know you're telling the truth?" Esther remained cynical.

"You don't. But think about it. Why wouldn't we have found a way to deal with Lucifer? We're the ones who stopped him before," Sam suddenly grew confident.

"You've helped us before," Dean pointed out. "With the colt, with the fate-killing blade. How 'bout one more for old times' sake? Then we can go back our regularly scheduled programming."

Internally, Zara was now yearning for Crowley's original plan. That would have been better than getting him involved in the stupid spell. She desperately hoped he didn't believe them, but a worthy distraction would arise. A sudden piercing thunder erupted in the sky. Everyone flinched to look up. Dense thunderclouds had materialised out of seemingly thin air, swirling dangerously over the city.

"The plot thickens," Crowley muttered under his breath. He looked to Esther. "Find out what's going on."

She nodded in assent and took a few demons with her to check out the disturbance. Palms held up in front of her, she tried to trace the origin of the energy signal emitted by the oncoming storm. With all the noise around, it was getting difficult, but it seemed to be coming from the other side of the stadium.

Minutes earlier, on the other side of the stadium,

The archangel staggered down the steps between the two blocs of seats. It wasn't any injury causing his odd gait. He was frozen stiff with rage. Some effort it had been just to pull himself together back into existence. It wasn't pleasant, he'd tell you that much. What was worse, however, was the scene he came back to. From his vantage point, the chaos was painfully clear before him. All that aggression and magical emission was driving a fury into him like he'd only known a few times before.

"Stop fighting," he mumbled under his breath through clenched teeth. Anger was like a tsunami, crashing into his mind absolutely and all at once. It was a sharp ringing in his head, which he had to keel over to suppress with hands clutching the sides of his head. It didn't remain like this, however. All that explosive energy was soon morphing into something more deadly. He stood up slowly. Eyes burning hot, he raised his hands to the sky. Winds thrashed about in a violent mosh, flicking the little people on the field about with barely any effort. The flicking grew more and more forceful, now combining with other elements of nature. The ground shook beneath the field. Fire burst into existence in random splotches in the battlefield. Combined with the wind, the soldiers flew and ignited at the same time.

A deep breath engulfed his lungs. He stomped a foot forward. With a mighty roar, Jack skinned the earth beneath them and hurled it in fiery balls in all directions. One happened to knock the roof off the control room. The stadium was now losing more of its recognisable quality, instead standing as some random amalgamation of rocks and plastic. But that wasn't enough. Going down some more steps, he pulled together all humidity to form those ashen clouds. The world seemed to shake around him as he commanded its forces in his mere hands. The archangel lived, breathed and perceived nothing but static and wind and fire.

The clouds swirled over the stadium, extending far outwards into the city. As he did this, he noticed the lady in the lavender dress staring at him from across the stadium. He knew it was the one he'd been looking for, but he didn't much care in that moment. He could feel her terror-stricken eyes pointing at him all the way from over here.

Esther kept her palms facing him. She shut her eyes tightly and repeated an incantation under her breath. Expedio, expedio, expedio… She focused the signal as clearly as she could, running it through her mind to put a name to it. Where have I known this before? A few breaths in, a few breaths out. Her eyes flung open. "Oh my God," she realised. The memory of Zara came to her – specifically from when they were in Hell. The energy signature of this being was so similar to what she had felt in Zara's hands. "He's…" she didn't dare utter it. As she watched, the eye of the storm shot a lightning straight down onto the ground. She flinched. Jack continued to assault the ground with electricity, even supplementing it with gusts of wind approaching hurricane speeds. The plastic lawn caught fire with little protest. Now the proof was undeniable. A gasp slithered its way out of her trembling lips. "He's… an archangel."

'Archangel…' the word whizzed across the distance into his ear. 'Archangel,' it reverberated in his head. He turned a frantic eye towards the witch.

Strike Two, Death's voice told him. He'd broken another rule. Jack cursed at himself.

"Fuck!" he sharply cussed, bringing with it a loud clap of thunder. The small figure of the lady in the distance hurried back into the hallway, obscured from his view. "Shit."

Just after Esther left,

"It's an exorcism spell, just so you know," Dean told Crowley. The demon saw Zara's foot twitch slightly – the smallest give-away that this was probably the real deal. "Don't ask us how we got it."

"I won't," Crowley promised, much to Dean's surprise. "What do you need?"

"We can get most of the ingredients ourselves," Dean said in half-truth. "But there is one you can help with. That witch…"

"Her name's Esther," Crowley interrupted.

"Esther has something we need," Dean corrected himself. "Here's a clue: there's six litres of it running through her veins. We don't need all of that good juice, of course. As much as you're willing to spare."

"That's it?" Crowley puzzled.

"If we pull it off, we send him back to the Cage," Sam laid out. "He'll be out of the picture. For good."

With all that sincere conviction in Sam's eyes, Crowley was finding it difficult not to sign up. Much better than the boys, though, he knew a liability when he saw one. "Esther and I can help with your little spell," he agreed, stroking his beard with a finger. "Get everything you need and call us at daybreak."

"Tomorrow?" Dean flustered. "That's fast."

"If you haven't noticed, Dean Winchester, the world is falling apart at the seams," Crowley hissed. "So perhaps you should bloody step on it!" Though surprised by his outburst, their hesitation revealed more to the keen demon. "Unless, of course, you haven't gotten the other ingredients. Because why would you? Why would you be so prepared?"

"Hey, calm down," Sam urged, still tied to the chair. "We're working on it."

"Work faster," Crowley persisted. "What else do you need?" The boys exchanged sceptical looks, unwilling to divulge the critical information. "It's the end of the world – no need to be so coy." Sharp spikes of lightning shot down from the sky, grabbing everyone's attention without fail. "See what I mean?"

Zara straightened up in her chair. She couldn't take her eyes off the spectacle. "What is going on down there?" she asked. She met Crowley's gaze, and in that one shared moment it was clear that neither of them expected that kind of retaliation from either of their sides. A brief glance down at the battlefield showed people from both coalitions getting their asses handed to them indiscriminately. It was truly an enigma.

Sounds of fighting reached them from the hallways. Demon voices that Crowley recognised grunted and gasped, until a burning could be heard. Then, nothing. The clanking of heels grew louder and faster. Esther finally came in, hand resting against the door.

"What is it?" Crowley asked her.

Panting, she straightened up. "It's-" she did a vague hand gesture. "That guy-"

"Spit it out, then!" he grew impatient.

"Jack!" she yelled back. A tall, dark figure briskly came up behind her, emerging instantly from the shadows with no warning at all. "He's an-"

He grabbed her by the throat. One millisecond later, he ignited her without a second thought. Every inch of her was engulfed by the fire. He looked her straight in the eyes from the moment it began, through her delicious screams, until the skin turned ash and no life sign emanated from her anymore. As soon as he dropped her, the soot began to dust itself off her.

The whole sight had struck the fear of God into everyone watching. Perhaps Zara was the only one exhilarated by the rush of panic and adrenaline through her body. Thank Jack. No witch meant no witch's blood. It took all of her not to cheer him on. Crowley, on the other hand, was rooted to the spot in absolute horror. His every instinct told him to run, but the sight of his beloved reduced to nothing more than a pillar of ash changed something fundamentally in him. His grip on the archangel blade tightened.

The blade sliced in a sideways motion in an attempt to cut the angel. Jack smoothly stepped back, gliding to avoid the reach of the blade with barely any movement. Crowley stepped forward more boldly, bringing the blade down straight towards the angel's neck. In that small window of time, Jack materialised his own blade in his hand. It had a red hilt and a broader blade than the average angel blade – for one, it wasn't an angel blade. He swiftly blocked Crowley's attack and parried expertly. Every swing that Crowley aimed at him was matched with a loud clanking of metal. Eventually, he pushed Crowley back enough. Jack increased his own speed of striking, which Crowley found difficult to keep up with. The demon thrusted the blade straight towards the angel's lower abdomen. Jack simply side-stepped in line with Crowley's forward movement, allowing him to grab the archangel blade straight out of the demon's grip. He knocked the demon back with his elbow. Crowley scurried backwards as the angel towered over him with two blades.

"I've had enough of you," Jack grimaced. His face was difficult to discern amidst the long dark hair hanging down his face, but the dead stare was clear enough. The smell of fresh blood wafted in the air. Jack saw a demon complete the angel-banishing sigil on the far wall. There was only one thing left to be done. Jack's jaw tightened. He bellowed. He let out a roar straight from his gut in a deep, nasty growl. The hunters, still tied to the chair, were frozen stiff at the deafening sound – it thudded in their chests. When Jack was done, those demons were nothing but bloody smears on the wall. The sigil had lost its form. He looked down. Crowley was gone – but certainly not dead from the clear stainless spot he'd left.

The archangel blade sliced the ropes away. Sam hesitantly brought his wrists to his front and rubbed them, lost in thought. Dean snuck a look behind himself – the angel was stone cold, but seemed to have a calmness about him like he didn't just paint the walls red with an unholy shout. No bodies could be seen. Zara's legs trembled as she stood up. The sound was still echoing in her head. She couldn't believe that her best friend had just done that. She flinched when he handed her the archangel blade, hilt first. Seeing that it wasn't a threat, she took the blade and sheathed it in her belt.

"You guys alright?" he asked monotonously.

The air was uncannily still. Dust still visibly floated about and the field was on fire. The crackling of the distant fire burst intermittently, reminding them of its existence at every turn. It had become obvious that there was no more fighting on the field. After all, there could be no fighting if there was no one to do the fighting. "Y-yeah," Dean nodded. He spoke for the group.

Zara noticed a small rip near the bottom of Jack's navy blue shirt, as well as dark stains around the area. "You're hurt," she approached him.

The angel gulped. He eyed her with the delicate concern he always had. It was surprising to see his emotion, considering what they'd witnessed him doing, even if they'd known this expressiveness had always been a part of him. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Take a breather, why don't you?"

He made three water bottles appear in his hands and offered it to them. They didn't complain about the temporary moment of peace. In fact, they needed to collect their thoughts. Without a roof, or a significant portion of the walls, this room offered a great view of the city. On the left side, Zara silently observed the burning bodies on the field. On the right side, Sam and Dean took in the sight of the completely destroyed city.

Jack approached Zara first. "I couldn't stop it," Jack regretted. "There's nothing but ugliness now."

His face seemed to have lost all sign of life, which was something she'd never thought she'd see. It hurt to look at him like this. She put a hand on his upper arm. "You need to stop taking responsibility for the things that go wrong in the world," she advised.

"It's not about responsibility," he denied. "If there's something I can do, why shouldn't I? I just want the world to change. All our lives, people tell us we're insignificant. They only say that because they're afraid of what we're really capable of. I'm not gonna let these people get away with this."

"I believe you," she said, turning back to the field. "I don't know what caused this or if you had anything to do with it, but it seems fitting." The image of the witch catching on fire was burned into her memory. Now she could see nothing else when she closed her eyes. "I guess I should thank you for what you did to Esther. They wanted her blood for the exorcism and you know that's not something that needs to happen. You did the right thing."

"Well I didn't do it for you or Lucifer, if I'm being very honest. She threatened me. She threatened to kill all those people we saved. I couldn't let that happen," he said stiffly, arms crossed. Another half-truth – he told himself he'd look back on all of those with a sense of humour someday. As true as it was that he hated the witch's threats, it was self-preservation that had motivated the murder. A sense of absurdity washed over him to think that he was the dishonest one, even when it was Zara who'd been morally questionable this whole time.

"Fair enough," Zara nodded. A brief pause later, she studied his expression again. This firmness, this strength in him she'd witnessed was refreshing. "I like this angry you. You should let it out more."

"You don't know what you're asking for," Jack warned. "That's not a side of me anyone should see. I… lost control of myself. There are consequences I'll have to pay." He popped a blunt into his mouth and lit its end. Its green smoke dripping out of his lips was the only tranquil sight in this whole place. "It isn't civilised for anyone to let loose like that."

"It sounds like you're suffering from a little self-hatred there," Zara pointed out. "Don't be too hard on yourself. I wouldn't blame you for the things you did."

With a comforting rub on his arm, she left to join the boys. Jack stared out into the mess he created. He invoked the image of Death, knowing the Horseman would listen. "There aren't any witnesses. It doesn't count," he softly muttered. "That's not breaking the rules."

Where Sam and Dean stood, pillars of smoke could be seen rising up into the sky from various points in the city. In the short time they'd been here, the scene had transformed into something wholly unfamiliar. The strange clouds continued to graze across the sky. The same lightning from before battered the rest of the city. Even more prominently, the gentle swirl of hurricanes could be seen forming in the distance.

"What the hell could cause that kind of thing?" Dean wondered, brows knotted.

"There are literal gods battling it out here. I'm not surprised," Sam answered with the same dread in his chest. "You think the world knows what's going on here?"

"I don't see a single helicopter or camo in sight, so no. All the people here… gone and the world will go on like nothing happened," Dean answered. A stinging numbness was all he felt now.

"Did you hear from Cas?" Sam asked him. If he hadn't brought up the angel, Dean would've completely forgotten about it. From his silence alone, Sam got his answer. "Call him."

Dean closed his eyes. He pushed away all the images of dead people. "Cas, if you're listening – everything's gone to shit. We could use your help," he prayed. It was at this point Zara approached, and soon, Jack.

Wings flapped. The trenchcoated angel appeared before them. Lines riddled his forehead from a permanent frown. For a moment, Castiel just looked around himself to take in the destruction.

"What happened?" Dean asked him. "Did you get them?"

Castiel sighed. "Sorry I couldn't come sooner. I was held up in Heaven," he told them. His defeated glance told Dean all he needed to know. "Raziel and I tried to speak reason . We argued with them for hours. The council doesn't want to get involved."

"Fuck's sake," Dean cussed. "What are they waiting for? A special invitation?"

"They think this is a waste of manpower," Castiel recalled. "They were… unconvinced that the people here needed to be saved."

Sam's mouth hung agape in disbelief. "You have to be kidding," he exhaled.

"Unfortunately, I am not. There is a silver lining, however," Castiel revealed. "The council pledges its intention to push back Lucifer's siege. They won't fight him or talk directly to him, but they want to train human soldiers to fight his control."

Jack was intrigued. "Where are the soldiers, then?"

"They… didn't want to deploy them," Castiel regretfully informed. "This is a relatively new initiative and they didn't want to lose these soldiers so quickly. It would betray their only advantage to Lucifer."

"Wait, wait," Dean gestured with a flattened hand. "Are we just gonna move past the fact that angels want to use human shields?"

"According to Raziel, the chosen people will be trained to tap Heaven as an energy source. They won't go into this war helpless," Castiel reassured them. "It's not ideal, but neither is the world right now."

Words didn't seem fruitful. The shameless breeze swept past them, like any comfort could ever be gleaned from it. "So what happens now?" Sam spoke up. "What do we do?"

Jack had suggestions. "I'll do a sweep of the city. See if there's anyone left alive," he offered. A bitter hopelessness left a miserable scowl on his face. A moment later, he flapped his wings and was gone.

"Raziel's trying to look for Lucifer," Castiel brought up. The others straightened up to hear that. "He's tired of the council's indecision."

Dean nodded once in complete understanding. "I wasn't even there and I'm tired of it too," he agreed. "But isn't that going behind their backs?"

"Most definitely," Castiel answered.

"We should join him," Zara immediately proposed. "He shouldn't have to confront Lucifer all alone."

"We have an archangel blade," Sam said in support.

Not much had to be said among them. "Are we really doing this?" Dean wondered. The idea was absurd but so was the situation. "I guess we are."