We, he, sit in his private office in California as he goes over the projections for the new app. The light plays through the curtains gently, contradicting the dark subject of Crowley's attention. The room was beautiful, reminiscent of one from earlier seasons in the show. Tasteful dark wood and brushed bronze with red and cream accents created a tasteful ambience. Dark, but not forbolding unless you knew Crowley, or were meeting at night.
We hadn't been bothered for days. Crowley had a rule after all. If he was brought a problem, and he, or I, unbeknownst to them, solved it within five minutes, whoever brought the problem to him was put on the rack. Same went for paperwork. If it was something someone else could sign off, or he was given something without a summary attached… well it meant someone was wasting his time.
He didn't like his time being wasted with boring things. It was a known rule. Waste the King's time with anything boring...You'd wish he had killed you because you'd be used to alleviate his boredom.
The app, the new business, that was interesting… for now. Projections were up, thirty people had bought and used kits in the last month. Five of them had bought kits that were actually meant to work. Out of the thirty, twenty three had visited crossroads. Ten deals were made. Two had wanted to become a demon then and there. One had signed a contract with Crowley specifically; and not the standard rider one.
There's a fizzle as the soul next to me fades away and joins the glitter in the red smoke. I cringe. I had finally gotten used to having a roommate, and I realized quite suddenly why Crowley wanted me to.
It had taken a while. He started by letting bits, memories, experiences, out of wherever he kept the other soul. Training me until I could withstand being next to the essence of a person and a demon at once. I got used to it, didn't mind it, grew comfortable, and then...they died. Gone into the red storm that was the King of Hell. It was horrifying, and he wanted me to see it. He rode that high of horror for days. He never told me if those souls still talked, still were people. If they were just suggestions, ideas of who they were. Or even if they were just gone. He held it over my head, a fear he could tap into whenever he had a whim.
And then...years later...the second revelation happened. I watched as those white sparks of light that caused his red miasma to glitter, dull, turn pink. They were being corrupted by their constant contact with the red smoke. I watched as they were corrupted, turning into some type of proto demon soul. I was concerned, but it was understandable, being in contact with a demon soul, being buffeted and thrown about for years. Of course they would be a little corrupted... But then...they turned red, not black. They were gone. There was just...Crowley. Crowley and I. Just us.
I am the one that amuses him, give him the basic abilities that come with a human soul...the others just enhance it, until they faded.
There are always new ones though, his red storm always glittered with white and pink. There is just...more of him. I remain, fearful I'd be next and wondering if I wanted to be. Terrified and comfortable at the same time. Horrified but numb.
It kept him entertained, so he kept me… Or perhaps it was because I was broken in. Perhaps it was because my contract was the first. Perhaps he actually enjoyed my company. There were many perhapses, never any concrete answers. I thought he would have grown bored of me by now.
It has been years since he first took me from my body. Many things had changed. Three things hadn't. Me, Crowley's addiction, and his personal contracts.
Crowley ignores me except for a smile and a jolt of pain to bring me back to the present situation. He is looking through more prospectives, people who might make deals via the app based on their purchasing trends with it and other similar programs over the last few years. He had found one, an older man. He had bet his life savings away, twice, and needed money. He was desperate and Crowley's scouting department had noticed three hits from his IP address on websites that were related to demon summoning. A possible new soul, one I had damned to something weird, to unknown nothingness by discovering this phenomenon.
After 20 years and some 30 plus contracts, about half of Crowley's signers never reached Hell. Each soul… he didn't just get high, his powers were growing.
"Thanks to you Chew Toy." I sigh, a thought not a physical action, I have no body after all.
There is a knock on the door and Crowley looks up from the papers and his phone. People don't bother him in his private office unless it is an emergency. If he is in his private office it means he is focusing. This might be trouble.
"Enter." A small demon walks in, a young girl, no more than 10. She has a hole in her shoulder, and a rather bad gash on her face.
"Sir, my position at the Terantin's has been compromised."
"Obviously." There is silence, and even I can't help but be annoyed. C'mon man, explain. "Well!? How?!" Crowley voices his own annoyance that is amplified by mine, a more common occurrence than I'd like to admit. I am rather impatient when it comes to incompetence myself.
"Hunters sir. Combing the area for a specific demon. Found me talking to-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence because Crowley holds up his hand.
"Save it. I believe I'm about to find out myself." I feel a tug, we both do, and an odd squeezing sensation as Crowley is summoned.
We appear in a dimly lit room, the tail end of a recorded summoning spell echoing off the walls. Crowley immediately looks around and finds the expected devil's trap. Carved into the floor. Whoever this is, they aren't taking chances with paint.
Crowley looks around and sighs. The house is old, a log cabin, and wherever we are, it's daytime and warm. The man standing above a bowl with a bloodied white cloth around his hand can't be more than 45 but his eyes look far older. He is tired. His brown hair is cut short, too short to be grabbed, and he had a long scar on his neck, a vampire bite. Apparently Crowley hadn't quite gotten them all. The hunter stands there, silent, and Crowley fumes. He thought his rapport with the hunters had been ok.
Maybe his, but his demons? Seems there was a hiccup.
"Can I help you?" The hunter glares. "Really, you've summoned the King of Hell, trapped him, and you have nothing to say?" The wooden table between us and the hunter creaks as he leans on it, using it to bend over the chair and pick up a shotgun. "Well, getting right down to it are we? I'm not even here five minutes and I'm being assaulted without being told why." The shotgun is pumped and pointed at Crowley who just sighs again. "Rude." Stupid was more like it. Boring was another word, or suspenseful. So many options that both Crowley and I were tired of.
Either way it is wasting time that Crowley's Hellhound is surely using to reach its master. They were on a hunt before this summoning, it will take a tiny bit to get here.
The hunter kicks the wall three times and there's a creak from another room. Crowley glances over, interested at the two new hunters walking into his view.
The younger one can't be more than thirteen, while the older one looks into their early twenties. The older one has red cropped hair and a red leather jacket with a rather ugly grey shirt underneath. Their face is very fair and covered in freckles, only marred by a scar above the right eye. I have no idea if they are male or female. The younger one is probably male, but also very fair. He has sandy hair and is wearing a puffy burgundy winter vest over a green long sleeve shirt that had seen better days.
The older one is carrying a flask.
"So to what d-" Crowley is interrupted by the older kid throwing water on his face. Crowley blinks and wipes the holy water off, ignoring the sting that was barely there anymore. "I'm becoming less inclined to help you by the minute." I couldn't say I disagreed, the hunters were being horrible hosts, and still hadn't told us what they wanted. "I'm assuming this is about Eliza?" The older kid blinks, confused.
"No… and I thought you were supposed to be the King of Hell?"
"I am. The King of Hell with a wet suit. I-"
"Then why didn't you burn? You're not a demon if you don't burn."
"King of Hell, has its perks darling. Hurts just enough to make me tingle in all the right places." That was true, well not the tingling, not right now anyway, but these immunities had nothing to do with the crown. That was thanks to me, and the other souls flitting around in broken pieces like glitter in a hurricane called Crowley. The kid adjusts their shoulders, uncomfortable with the suggestions that their actions turned him on, just like Crowley wanted. "Now, will Someone please tell me Why I'm Here!?" The youngest hunter backs away at the yelling and the shotgun is aimed a bit more at Crowley's stomach. "Oh put your metal dick away, there's no need to prematurely ejaculate salt everywhere when we haven't even come to a disagreement yet." Crowley looks at the older man. "What, demon got your tongue?"
"No, griffon." Says the hunter holding the flask. At this Crowley looks at the older man with a bit of respect, and awe at his stupidity.
"Really, you went to a griffon nest? You actually passed through the veil... to the fae lands... to hunt a griffon. Why?" Huh, so that was apparently a thing. Although, I guess a different dimension didn't really count toward 'monsters on earth,' so Crowley hadn't really broken his contract with me.
"It was hunting here on a regular basis." Crowley turns to the youngest hunter.
"Really, see I find that hard to believe, because the spell for anything other than a faerie to break the veil requires Fucking Thumbs to cast."
"It doesn't matter, that's not why we're here." Says the one with the flask as they put their arm in front of the younger hunter protectively.
"Oh, so you don't want to make a deal to get his tongue back?" The shotgun shifts again and there is a grunt from the older man.
"No. We need a demon killing weapon. Angel blades are kinda expensive on the black market." At this Crowley sighs. It happened at least every two years or so. Some demon would mess up, and rather than face Crowley's wrath would go rogue, and some demon's would mess up at that too by bringing attention to themselves.
"If they are being that obvious they probably aren't one of mine. Tell me who they were wearing and I'll take care of it."
"They said they were acting on your orders." At this Crowley looks interested, I had to say I was too. Had someone interpreted something wrong, or just lied?
"What exactly were they doing that warranted calling me?"
"Contracts with children."
"Single digits?"
"Don't know." Crowley is quiet at this. He was being truthful when he said that children's souls weren't often worth much, unless they had really rich lives, or really poor ones. So any contract with a child under 13 had to last at least 15 years before collection so their soul could actually mature into something useful. Children didn't make good demons. Woe to the demon that brought Crowley a useless contract or soul.
"Long term or short term?" We both hear the gun shift across the room and there is a bang. The salt stings quite a bit and Crowley takes a step back from the force of the shot. He looks down at his suit and frowns.
"Ow!" The hunters ignore him and the talkative one continues on his tirade.
"It doesn't matter, all contracts-"
"Are evil, blah blah. Really, you wouldn't have cellphones if it weren't for contracts. You like those don't you?" The sound of the shotgun being reloaded fills the air. "Would you give it a rest, you've already ruined my suit!" It was a nice suit, one of the more expensive ones too. He had been wearing a very dark blood red dress shirt with it, literally the only piece of colored clothing he owned. I had liked that shirt. We had both liked that shirt.
"We want something that can kill demons, and you're going to give it to us." The gun snaps as it is closed and Crowley sighs as the hunter holding it walks closer so the next blast will do more damage.
"And why should I give it to you?"
"Because if you don't, we won't let you out." Crowley raises a brow.
"Really, that's your big plan? Wait me out? I do believe my life span is just a bit longer than yours. By infinity." There is a bang and the shotgun once again shoots salt at Crowley who snarls at being painfully blasted back five feet to the ground and edge of the trap. The salt stings again but we both feel a rather strange far more intense pain. His left hand is burning as if Hellfire is eating it. He doesn't look, but makes a show of getting up so that during his switch to a more vertical position he can see what's going on.
His hand is on the outer circle of the trap. His pinky is over it.
I can feel the cruel anticipation radiating through him; the ideas he is having, and the bit of annoyance he didn't know about this when he was in the bunker. If it had even worked then, it could have been the one last soul he had taken last month that had pushed him over the edge.
Either way, he didn't have to wait for his hound at all if he wanted, but he was gonna take this slow. I can tell, and honestly, after the poor treatment and unoriginal plans, I didn't blame him. He is a demon and an actor, and this type of set up was too perfect to not manipulate into a piece of art.
He stands up and dusts off as if nothing had transpired. "Would you stop that?! It's doing nothing other than leading you ever closer to a naked demon."
"We can do it forever."
"Correction, you can do it until someone, or something, gets here to help." Crowley removes one of his hands from his pockets to look at his phone.
"No signal out here." Says the youngest one.
"You don't have my carrier." Huh, what cell carrier does the King of Hell have? "All of them darling."
"Pardon?" Says the hunter in the red coat. Crowley looks up from his phone, which indeed has no signal. We must be in the fucking wilderness.
"Yes?"
"All'a them?" Asks the older kid, still holding the holy water.
"Ah, sorry, bit of a one sided conversation if you can't hear my friend." The hunters all stiffen and look around frantically to find this 'friend.' "Oh, she's not out there." The hunters turn to look at the King of Hell, confused and concerned. "She's in here, with me." The older kid stares, looking closely at the circle and then frowns at Crowley, thinking he is about to call him on a bluff.
"There's no one else in the circle." Crowley smiles.
"Oh you thought... No. No no no. Not the circle. I mean, in here." And he points to himself. "I'll let you in on a little secret gents. I have over 20 souls in here with me, most are dissolved into little bits, lending me power, giving me a high...wonderful for date nights." He walks slowly toward the edge of the circle. "But one, one is special, because with the other's help, she... lets me… do this." And as he speaks he walks over the edge of the trap. It burns like Hellfire to me, perhaps like holy fire for Crowley, but like I say about all physical pain...it passes.
The hunters all twitch and take a step back as Crowley stands outside the circle. He picks a bit of salt off his sleeve and looks around, smiling at the group. "Hello, so nice to meet on an even playing field. Well... not even. I suppose it's a slippery slope for you now. Three souls against over… let's say 20 for your comfort, and a demon isn't exactly even."
"Why-why are you telling-" The youngest hunter trembles, but looks defiantly at the King of Hell as he half voices the question. I am also wondering about this. If they died and went to heaven, the angels could-
"Don't worry darling, I have it covered." Crowley looks at the hunters as they stare at him in confusion and fear; he rolls his eyes and whistles...although nothing seems to happen. He sighs and looks at them. "Because you're not only going to die, you're going to Hell in a hound basket." There is a creak and through Crowley's eyes I can see the massive Hellhound filling the door. It's eyes are bright red, like Crowley's, and drool is dripping to the ground from between sharp fangs. "This would be where you run." The hunters turn as one to flee toward the door, toward the Hellhound, toward death and worse. Crowley chuckles and flicks his wrist, a familiar blade appearing in it. He apparently had decided to get his hands dirty today. "I'd tell you to close your eyes Chew Toy, but... well…"
….
There is blood literally everywhere except Crowley as he leans against the table and watches his hound swallow the soul of the oldest hunter.
"Good boy Growley, now finish your hunt and take them all to Hell, my quarters. Wait for daddy there." The hound growls happily as it snuffs at the ground and the corpses. "Yes, by all means, take a treat." To anyone who couldn't see the monstrous dog, it would appear as if the entire upper half of a corpse was floating roughly through the air. Crowley looks around for a clean piece of cloth, but finds none. He glances at his blade, slick with blood and sighs, waving his hand so it vanishes.
"Well, that was certainly a learning experience." I shudder inside the smoke. Yes. It was. I knew intestines were long, but That long. I really couldn't imagine. Crowley ignores my disgust and horror for now, focused on other things that were far more important that a mere feeling he might enjoy. He walks over to the devil's trap and looks at it for a moment, before stepping inside. From there he holds his hand over the edge again and the pain returns, he doesn't even flinch. He leaves his hand there and the skin starts to blister a bit.
So there is still a consequence. He files that information away and steps over it again, still burning internally. As I watch him testing this new ability I wonder what else he is immune to now. Smiting? Bloofer dust? Bone burning? Death by-
"Anything it seems." Even bone burning? "Let's not test that just yet." You'd better hide your bones well, Crowley. "Frozen in an iceberg should do the trick. Even with global warming it will take a rather long time. Long enough for me to finally outgrow that idiotic reliquary, which may be soon." Huh, an iceberg. How'd he get his bones into the middle of that. "Darling, if you can't figure out how something was done the answer is usually, 'magic.'" We walk into the kitchen. There are liquor bottles everywhere, someone was a heavy drinker. Crowley sneers. He didn't care about the alcoholism, no, that was approved of. It's a sin he can manipulate after all. The smell however...this was not good liquor. If you were going to drink that much, drink something good. I disagreed. This hunter wasn't drinking to taste or have fun, he was drinking to forget. Getting black out drunk on good alcohol is a waste.
He continues walking about the house, looking for anything of interest or use. "Now we still need to find out about this Eliza and these child contracts, if they are indeed going too young. Children can't keep their mouths shut." Wouldn't that just mean they violate the NDA sooner and come to Hell? "And the damage would be done, and I still wouldn't have a soul that was actually, useful." Crowley looks around, finally deciding there is nothing of interest, besides a sports bra that tells us the hunter with the red jacket was female. With a thought we are gone, back in California in the office that had rays of evening sun breaking through.
This whole escapade has taken less than an hour and the young demon is still waiting in a chair. He jumps as Crowley appears and stands at attention.
"How did it go sir?" Crowley ignores him and goes over to his desk. The demon stands still, except for some shifting, as the king grabs a folder from a drawer. I smile internally. Crowley always knew when to do things with speed and a snap and when doing things slowly and visibly would make more of a point. He hands the folder to the young demon, or the demon in the young girl, and they take it and wait expectantly for orders.
"All the demons on this list are to return home. Send out retrieval teams if any refuse. Court will be in an hour." The demon nods and turns to leave. "I was not Done Yet!" They swallow and once more look at their king. "Your operation is, as of now, canceled. You will take care of the clean up, including any hunters. Do you understand?" The demon nods. "Good, on your way out, send the architect to my chambers below." The demon nods.
"Yes sir." There is silence and once again Crowley and I sigh.
"Go!" The demon rushes out and the door closes loudly behind him. Crowley shakes his head, and waits a moment before following him. He locks the door with his personal skeleton key, made from the skeleton of the first human soul to enter Hell, and looks to the guards. Neither shift an inch. Satisfied Crowley moves on. He walks the halls and I wonder what his plan is. He had just found out something monumental and isn't really reacting to it. He doesn't say anything. He didn't like talking to me mentally, and he didn't want any demon to know exactly the extent of what he was doing with souls. Not yet. Not until he thought he was powerful enough to withstand a fight if I got taken from him. He wasn't stupid, he was proud, but he could admit my human soul, the one other full one he kept with him, and the parts he kept to flee to if he was killed, still mattered. I am the back up, the soul that kept him safe between contracts. Which he was about to fix.
We reach his room, guarded by two Hellhounds who sit up when he approaches.
"Good girls." He pats them both before he opens the door with his key. The warding outside flares for a moment as he walks in, but allows him to pass. He closes the door behind him and locks it again before going to the painting on the wall and opening the cabinet behind it. He whistles as he breaks the warding there too and from behind us there is a low growl. Crowley gets out three empty jars and turns to Growley, holding one out.
"Drop it." The Hellhound makes a very undog-like sound and hacks up a glowing ball of light into the jar. Crowley closes the lid and looks at it. He nods. "Hello Don. Your ten years are up. Time to come to daddy." The Hellhound whines, Crowley pauses. "Are the other three making your stomach hurt?" There is another whine. Crowley grabs another jar and holds it out.
One after the other the three hunter souls are deposited in jars, which are screwed shut and placed in the hidden cupboard. He wanted to do some research on them before deciding whether or not to trump them in the 'fish tank'.
There is a knock on the door, accompanied by growling outside, and from Growley. Crowley looks at his hound and gives her a pat.
"Go make some noise so he knows I'm in here." There is an affirming growl and the monstrous dog walks to the door and leans against it, making it creak. Crowley meanwhile regards the jar with Don in it. "Had a fairly successful 10 years didn't we?" The soul flits nervously in the jar, I have no clue who this is but I feel sorry for them. "Don't darling, trust me." Crowley opens the jar and snaps his fingers. The soul thins and twists into a line of light, before zooming into the waiting red smoke. I feel Don settle in next to me and I flinch. I knew this man, and I did not want to know him more.
"This will be an interesting year." I cringe. Great. I am learning truths I don't want to from the soul next to me, and it's breaking from the information it is gaining from me. It will die. In the worst possible way. Don starts to try to bargain with the King of Hell, who just laughs as he puts away the jar, locks the cupboard, and replaces the painting. He already had what he wanted from the soul, they had nothing to bargain with. Not even other people's souls, which was the first thing Don offers. Crowley could get them by himself easily after all. Case in point he opens his liquor cabinet, opens a drawer with glasses, and pulls out a folder hidden in a corner. The folder is of prospective 'homes away from home' he had looked at and deemed top choices. He had already forgotten about the man from the app. Crowley shakes his head.
"Don't be daft Chew Toy. I just have someone particular in mind." He looks through the files and pulls out a paper on a young woman, twenty five, whose career was failing due to an inability to get noticed. Too many other painters out there. Crowley takes that dossier and puts it into another folder, the one for souls he was currently holding a part of, and then returns the entire collection to the liquor cabinet, which he also locks, but not before getting himself a drink.
He snaps and the door to his room unlocks, showing an old shaking man with white hair waiting on the other side. The man's clothes are work clothes, and he has a clipboard and pencil.
"Go play in the pits Growley. Lionel." The two denizens of Hell pass each other as Crowley looks at the awkward dance. Lionel stands in the center of the room looking around and nodding.
"I like what you done wit it sir, much better den what Lilith did."
"Of course it is. Now, I have three jobs for you." Lionel nods and holds up his clipboard ready to write. "I want a devil's trap painted on this side of the door on the ceiling, another engraved into the ground in the center of the courtroom, and a third engraved in the top world courtroom. I want the Hell courtroom done in...35 minutes." The architect looks confused and worried, but nods nevertheless. "Good. I have some business topside to attend to. I will return to see them complete, or to see your blood used to paint what isn't finished." And we are gone.
The art gallery is empty, except for the art and the artist. And Crowley. The young woman looks hopeful as he regards a painting entitled "Flower in snow." It's an abstract realism collage, the representation of the flower provided by petals suspended in clear acrylic over white oil paint. It looks like she had put the petals and acrylic on while the oil was still wet. It gave an interesting textured effect to the whole piece. A piece that costs $240.00. The young woman stands to the side patiently.
"It's unique." Says Crowley, as he turns to the artist. "Like you." The woman blushes. "Unique things should be noticed, but it's hard amidst so much clutter, isn't it?" She nods. "I'm in the business of making things that should stand out, stand out. I could help you if you want."
"Are...you a collector?"
"Of sorts. I'm in the business of making dreams come true. And dreams like this…" he points to the white painting, "deserve it." I snort at the coercion, but can do nothing.
Twenty minutes later, a contract, a kiss, a bit of soul, and we are on our way out the door. Even moments after the contract has started five people are on their way in... and one demon with a sniper rifle sits on a rooftop somewhere nearby. We walk around the corner and midstep into the courtroom in Hell. Lionel is putting the finishing touches on the engraved devil's trap, he has decided to fill the engraving with gold. Crowley stands over it, and watches.
"Why the gold? I didn't ask for gold."
"More noticable, more durable sir den just a carvin."
"And if I want it filled in and removed?"
"Den I'll remove it. I've rebuilt dis room from scratch tree times, I kin change a simple engraving." He had good points, but you never knew with Crowley. Fortunately the king is in a good mood. He nods in approval as soon as Lionel is done polishing the last small section.
"Stay for the meeting, see the outcome of your work."
"I'd rather no-"
"I insist." Lionel nods and backs to the corner. Crowley walks to his throne and sits in silence; thinking, planning. I have a feeling I knew what is going to happen. Show of force..
"A reminder, " He says as the doors open and demons walk in "why I'm in charge." The doors close behind the group of demons and Crowley stands from his throne and begins to pace. The sound of his shoes on the stone is the only sound, there is no moaning, no screaming. All the torture had been moved to a lower level. It of course wasn't just so the sounds of the damned didn't bother Crowley, no. It was so that when Crowley spoke in court, he's the only thing that can be heard.
"Let's play, twenty questions." There is silence, awkward shifting, and confusion. The king was often odd, but this was surely a jest? Crowley continues. "Who here...has been making deals...with children, minors?" There is silence. "Step forward." After a moment of hesitation, five demons do so. Crowley approaches them, carefully and pointedly skirting the circle, then walks behind them. "Who here, has been making deals with children and using the standard 15 year contract?"
"I-" A demon with dreads pipes up and is immediately shot down.
"No. No talking. Just step forward." All of the demons in the row step forward, closer to the trap. "Who here, has been making deals with children and think they may have gotten the attention... of a hunter?" There is silence, but eventually three demons step forward. Crowley continues pacing. "Who here... hasn't reported that?" One demon steps forward.
"I was goin-" Crowley interrupts the demon as he walks behind him again.
"Who here has made deals with children under the age of 13 Without My APPROVAL?" The demon sighs in relief. He hadn't done that.
It didn't matter. He had still failed. Crowley pushes the demon the remaining two steps into the trap with a wave of his hand. "You didn't think hunters noticing your contracts with minors was worth reporting to me!?" The demon stumbles, his short dreads waving back and forth as he shakes.
"I was going to try to handle it myself so you wouldn't be bothered with trivialities."
"Trivialities. Trivialities!" Crowley glares at the demon in the circle and then at the rest. "Did we learn nothing from the previous family of hunters?!" There is shuffling and Crowley's face twists in anger and disappointment. "Hunters, are one of the few things I should Always be bothered about. Immediately! I take care of them! I make deals with them! I was building a rapport so hopefully, one day, we could have the same deal we had in Britain in America! Especially since the Brit's contract is done!" He frowns and there is a growl from outside the doors as two Hellhounds make their own loyalty to the king known. How many had he decided to train since his rise to the throne?
The demons shift, nervous, there is no escape, and the fact that there wasn't means that the king has something planned. Something that he wanted them to see. Crowley glares as he paces in front of the trap. The demon inside stands stiffly still, only his eyes following the king. "All of the older demons Always underestimated hunters, one family in particular! Half of them are Dead, and the ones that aren't have been removed from their earthly duties because they could not grasp the simple concept of friends close enemies closer." He walks toward the devils trap and there is a murmur as he steps over it. "Fortunately today's hunters have not tried to fill the flannel shirts of the previous ones...yet. I still had to deal with some this afternoon. Luckily for you, they didn't do any damage." He stands next to the demon in the center.
"I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again."
"No. It won't." I know what's coming and feel the slight twist of his wrist as he summons the angel blade. There is barely a sound as the blade slides into the demon's gut but the room echoes for a moment when the body slumps to the floor.
The silence after is louder and oppressing. The king is in a devil's trap, in front of his court, vulnerable. Crowley sighs and wipes off the blade on the clothes of the dead demon before pushing him out of the circle.
"Let this be a lesson; hunters, are, dangerous." He stands and looks at the court, and then turns...and with the second soul beside mine it barely burns as we cross the edge of the trap. There are hushed whispers and shifting as he returns to his throne and sits, regarding his court.
"But so am I."
The court is silent. They just saw their king, an average, albeit powerful, crossroads demon, do the impossible. He treated a devil's trap if it were a mere marking on the floor. No beings besides gods were immune to the sigils completely. Only humans.
Crowley's eyes flash red at my thought, providing more proof to his subjects that he was still in fact a demon. They could sense him, but he felt...different. There is more shifting and murmuring from the crowd as nervous energy and fear spread.
"Dismissed." The word echoes a moment before the demons start to remove themselves from the room, quickly and with hushed whispers.
Soon the room is empty again. We are alone. Save for Don who has been gagged by Crowley's smoke due to his incessant attempts at bargaining.
He sits in silence for a moment, waiting for the faint sound of footsteps to fade before voicing his question.
"So, Chew Toy. What should I do about my bones?"
(Sorry I've been away. Work has been happening. My whole plan for marketing and my entrepreneurial endeavor went out the window this summer, for obvious reasons. I hope everyone is safe.)
