Time to go check on Crowley. He's not having a good day so far and it is about to get far worse.

Crowley's return to consciousness was heralded by a dull throbbing through his skull. While the concussion was mostly healed before he passed out, it wasn't enough to banish all the pain. He would have tried to repair the rest and push away the lingering discomfort, rather like an unpleasant hangover if he was honest, but that brought his second issue into focus.

Still barely aware, he reached for his demonic power to combat the pounding headache. But Crowley couldn't seem to reach it. There was something keeping him separate from it. His demonic miracles bound and tied away. Something blocking him from that part of himself. Something with a tinge of holiness restraining him, both white-hot and ice-cold.

And he couldn't even fight against that foreign power because there was another problem. His true form was paralyzed by twin scents filled the air until they were at a nearly suffocating level. A sweet, citrusy, warm, rich, sweet-woody scent and a piney, sharp, bitter, almost medicinal scent. Both of them familiar and terrifying.

Frankincense and myrrh.

Crowley tried to wrestle his panic back under control. While burning frankincense and myrrh resin had the reputation of banishing demons, [10] it didn't directly repel them. Instead, demons immediately fled at the first traces of the aroma because of what it could do to them. Separately or combined, their scents could affect them on a metaphysical level. Paralyzing a demon's true form and leaving them helpless. Even moving their corporation, while possible, was a struggle in that state. It left them vulnerable. That's why any demon with a shred of self-preservation would run. It was safer and smarter to escape before the paralysis could kick in.

And unfortunately, Crowley was already past that point.

He couldn't panic. He knew that he couldn't let himself panic. Granted, his head hurt, something binding his powers and possibly more, and his true form was paralyzed by someone burning frankincense and myrrh. None of which boded well for him. Though it still raised a lot of questions about what was happening.

Trying to get a better idea about his circumstances, Crowley finally started paying more attention to his corporation than just his aching head. It wasn't just his powers that were bound. Something was clamped painfully tight around his throat, his wrists, and his ankles. Holding his limbs and stretching him into an awkward position. Arms pulled out and up, forcing him up on his toes with all of his weight. The crucifixion pose was a little cliché, but it was effective and painful. The pose made it hard to breathe and exhausting after a while if it was done right. There was a reason why humans used it for so long as a method of torturous execution.

Crowley didn't want to open his eyes. He already knew where he must be and who was responsible. His head might hurt, but his memory leading up to unconsciousness was clear enough. But he needed to get an idea of how bad it was. He needed to look around to see if he could get away somehow.

He needed to look around and see if she'd captured Aziraphale too.

Wincing slightly as he pried his eyes open, Crowley found himself strung up in a large white room. No windows, but he could see at least two golden censors with glowing embers. Which were currently where the frankincense and myrrh were being burned into a paralyzing smoke. And while shifting his head slightly took far too much effort, Crowley could spot heavy iron manacles clamped on his limbs with chains attaching to the ceiling and floor. He suspected the heavy and uncomfortable thing around his neck was a similar type of restraint. He didn't see any summoning circle like he'd expected. But powerful binding spells that should have been on the floor were engraved into the metal of the manacles alongside the sigils for Crowley's True Name, the symbols glowing gold and bright.

Heaven was apparently getting clever. Crowley didn't like them learning new tricks. His experience with Hell's Annex had already taught him that it was bad when other demons and angels got imaginative.

But the important part was that he didn't see Aziraphale strung up alongside him. That didn't eliminate the possibility that he was tied up behind Crowley somewhere, but Michael seemed like the type who wanted them to see whatever she had in mind for their partner. She would position them to watch each other suffer. If Crowley didn't see the angel, then Aziraphale was probably safe.

Aziraphale was safe. Whatever happened next, his angel was safe.

Now that he'd established that he didn't need to rescue Aziraphale, Crowley tried to focus on getting himself out. With no demonic miracles to help, his options of getting out of the manacles and whatever binding spells were on them were severely limited. Even shapeshifting into a serpent wouldn't work. He was stuck with purely human methods.

The one around his neck would be the trickiest. The manacles around his wrists might come off if he broke his thumbs and sacrificed a decent chunk of skin. After that, if freeing his arms provided some slack, he might be able to escape the manacles around his ankles if he smashed enough bones. Crowley certainly wasn't looking forward to the pain. [11] But once he had access to his powers again, he could always heal the damage and run for it afterwards. And it was better than chewing off limbs to get free like a trapped animal.

Of course, that plan had a few issues. Like his paralyzed true form and a barely responsive corporation.

Crowley quietly decided to work on a Plan B.

The room wasn't dead silent. Not like that awful place where they locked up Aziraphale. Crowley could hear his heart pounding in his ears and his shaky breathing. But the room was very quiet. Quiet enough that he could make out the faint and occasional sounds of the smoldering contents of the censor shifting slightly if he really strained himself. Quiet enough that he flinched when he heard a door open and determined footsteps.

Crowley immediately forced his barely-responding muscles into a calm and controlled expression, as if he didn't care about the situation and wasn't afraid. It was a useful defense mechanism when dealing with other demons or aggressive humans. He hoped it would work on angry and ruthless angels. Crowley just wished that he had his sunglasses. It was easier to maintain the illusion with something to hide behind.

He wasn't surprised when Michael walked around to stand in front of Crowley. What was a surprise was the large surgical tray that she rolled in on silent wheels. He couldn't see what was on it. Not at his current angle. But it didn't take much imagination to guess that it contained a variety of pointy objects.

Were Archangels taking torture tips from high-ranking demons? Because while the clean and shiny state of everything was new, chaining someone up and bringing in some sharp instruments was standard operating procedure. From there, people generally started screaming as skin was flayed off their bodies or digits were sliced off. The more ambitious demons took notes from the Spanish Inquisition, but the entire Torture Division were good with knives. Angels didn't have the same reputation for torturing that demons did.

Though Crowley suspected that Michael would be a quick study. She had the ruthless streak for it.

"You know," said Crowley, the words struggling to come, "I was under… the impression that we had… an understanding. Heaven and Hell leave me and Aziraphale alone… and we leave all of you alone in return? And yet somehow none of you can just… go with it. First you try discorporating us… and locking us up. Then Hastur tried… stabbing Aziraphale. And now… you're dragging me up to Heaven? Clearly… we should have gotten the deal in writing."

"I do not make deals with cowardly and treacherous demons," she said sharply. "Heaven might be willing to let you get away with what you've done, but I intend to see justice fulfilled."

Crowley was about to snark about the lack of trial involved in her justice, but the words shriveled up and died in his mouth as she picked up a blessed blade from the surgical table. A long and narrow one with the same golden bronze-like color as Aziraphale's sword. [12] She set it down and picked up a shorter one with a curve to it. After inspecting it, Michael selected a third one. A large one with a gut-hook built into it for pulling out innards after stabbing someone. Then she selected a serrated blade, perfect for carving. She continued to inspect a variety of knives and daggers even after Crowley stopped counting.

Blessed blades were not a good thing. That meant she had more in mind than just going after his corporation.

Then Michael picked up her final blade. A sword instead of a knife. She ran a thumb along the edge, judging the sharpness carefully. She swung the sword a few times to warm up before sliding it into a sheath at her side. [13]

"Torture for information," asked Crowley slowly, "or revenge?"

"I told you. It is justice for your crimes," she said, picking up one of her knives again.

"Really? Adam not wanting to end the world… means I should get tortured? Definitely need to… work on your definition of fair."

Grinning in a way that seemed to be more of a ruthless baring of teeth than anything else, Michael said, "This isn't about the failed Apocalypse."

"It's not?"

"No."

The knife slipped under the fabric. Slicing through the material until it parted open and exposed his chest. Then she dragged the tip along his skin as she searched for a good starting point. Crowley closed his eyes, trying not to react. His breathing was a little shaky, but nothing beyond that. The frankincense and myrrh actually helped. With his true form fully paralyzed and his corporation barely able to respond to him, it was easier to hide his reactions.

He couldn't show any weakness. He couldn't reveal any vulnerability. Any demon would take advantage of them. Michael wouldn't be any different.

"This is for murdering Ligur," she hissed, driving the blade between his ribs.

A sharp and deep pain jolted through him, Crowley trying to clench his teeth to keep from screaming. It wasn't enough to stop the hiss that managed to slip out though. The knife not only slicing through flesh, but into his true form. Cutting into the most vital part of himself. He would have thrashed and fought, but the frankincense and myrrh were weighing him down. Making even the slightest movement nearly impossible.

"Being the Warrior for the Lord means that I know how to destroy Her enemies," she said coldly. "But it also means that I know how to avoid ending you. It doesn't matter what immunities that you may have gained. Your destruction isn't my goal." Michael twisted the knife slowly, dragging a pained whine out of Crowley that he tried to smother. "I want this to last."

They'd regrouped at the Jasmine Cottage to devise a strategy of how to locate and retrieve their missing demon. It was better than standing around the abandoned Bentley and wringing their hands. Anathema immediately started preparing her tracking spell in case Aziraphale was wrong about him not being on Earth. She liked to eliminate all possibilities.

But they were also working on a way to handle the situation if he wasn't. A plan that involved summoning Crowley if necessary. It would normally be tricky to summon a discorporated demon without a physical body to inhabit, which was a distinct possibility since that was what they tried last time, but Newt had already volunteered [14] to let Crowley possess him if necessary until Adam could fix him up a new corporation.

But all those preparations were taking place inside the cottage. Warlock and Adam were outside. Supposedly to give them some space to work. Warlock, however, had a more proactive plan in mind. One that he'd spent the last ten minutes outlining to Adam.

"You know Uncle Aziraphale won't approve," said Adam, kneeling next to Dog with one hand on his back.

Shrugging, Warlock said, "That's why I'm not asking. I'm getting Nanny back. You can come with me and help. Or you can stay here and I'll go alone. Wouldn't be the first time I headed down there."

"And you really think he's in Hell?"

"Dog reacted to something at the Bentley, so it was probably angels or demons who went after him. One or the other. Now, if they discorporated him, Nanny would end up in Hell. And Hastur tried to kill Aziraphale. They're the ones who've tried something more recently and they're the ones who had him last time he disappeared. Maybe Heaven is up to something, but I'm betting on Hell," said Warlock. "And if it is Hell that took him, then I can do something about it. I can make them give him back to me."

And if the demons of Hell didn't return Crowley, Warlock would make them regret it. Severely.

Adam hesitated a moment. Then he slowly stood up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and gave a short nod. Warlock smiled slightly in return as the knot in his stomach loosened. He knew it would be a lot easier to handle things with some backup.

The former Anti-Christ and the not-quite Anti-Christ. Together, they were something more than a single Anti-Christ. Not limited by destiny and their role. United on a single goal, they tended to create a feedback loop of influence. And if that goal was believing that Warlock was the Anti-Christ, it would be very hard to stop them.

Warlock had long since claimed the title from Adam, but refused to let destiny control what kind of Anti-Christ he intended to be or how he would fulfill his chosen purpose. He would do the job the way that he saw fit. And an Anti-Christ unbound by his destined role was a force to be reckoned with.

As far as he was concerned, Hell was about to have a very bad day.

"Let me grab a few things and I'll meet you in the woods," said Warlock.

Nodding, Adam said, "I'll get our stuff from when we broke into Heaven. If we're doing this, we should be prepared."

Michael would almost be impressed if she didn't hate him. While the vile creature didn't give off the impression of being as soft and weak as Aziraphale did, he did always seem cowardly in comparison to some demons. Even his calm and unconcerned behavior during the trial didn't completely erase that assumption. He seemed like someone who would slither away from a fight and probably couldn't handle pain. Hence why he would use such a cowardly method to kill Ligur. And yet he didn't scream.

Hissing, panting, whining, and a few other small sounds of pain and distress, but no screaming. He passed out a couple of times though. Which was annoying because Michael would have to pause and wait for him to regain consciousness. There was no point if he couldn't feel what she was doing.

While she'd left his trousers, she'd eventually torn away the rest of his clothes to expose his torso. Giving her open access. Like an artist with a fresh and empty canvas. That's where she focused her efforts. Carving deep lines up and down his chest. Digging in and twisting at carefully chosen spots. Slicing along his back, his ribs, and his arms. And burying knives into the demon, manipulating the blades until his true form was deeply wounded as well.

Since Crowley's true form had started mimicking his corporation after inhabiting it for so long, there was some overlap on the vital areas. And Michael knew exactly what would be a fatal strike on either plane and carefully avoided them.

She paused a moment to study her work. The demon dangling limply in the chains, panting heavily and trembling weakly. Sweat coated his body. Blood ran down, red mixed with black ichor. [15] That left his skin pale in comparison, patches of scales rippling down his body occasionally with the pained shivers. He couldn't hide what he truly was. And if she Looked toward his true form, he seemed just as badly injured as his corporation.

She was familiar with such damage. She remembered the first War and slicing apart the traitors. Leaving them broken, weak, and vulnerable to a final blow. It reminded her of those days, even if this was slower and more controlled than the frenzy of combat.

If she couldn't use holy water to make him melt out of existence in agony like he'd used to kill Ligur, this was at least fairly satisfying.

But unfortunately, Michael needed to stop temporarily. Everything in Heaven didn't stop just because she'd caught the demon and chained him up. She had responsibilities as an Archangel that she couldn't ignore. She had to make an appearance or someone might get curious about where she was hiding.

Michael used her current knife to lift Crowley's chin, forcing his head up to look at her. His sickly yellow eyes were ugly things. And he either couldn't or wasn't bothering to mimic a more human shape. His serpentine eyes glared back at her without a trace of white, the vertical slits dilated wide from strain and pain.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take a short break. I cannot shirk my duties," she said. "But I wouldn't want to risk you somehow slithering out while I'm not watching."

Dropping the knife on the table with a clatter, Michael drew her sword. She placed her free hand on him right below the restraints around his neck to steady him, the demon shuddering slightly at her touch. As if she was the foul and disgusting creature instead of him. And focusing her Sight on Crowley's true form to ensure that she aimed it perfectly, she plunged the blade deep into his chest. The choked gurgle was rather satisfying. But even with the sword buried at a downward angle through his sternum, damaging the true form more than the corporation due to the sword's unique properties, it wasn't fatal. She was a better warrior than that.

But if the sword shifted in any other direction, it should be fatal to any normal demon or angel. And she was betting it might destroy Crowley as well. Aziraphale certainly took her threat of using such a blade on Crowley seriously during their previous confrontation. Whether he knew for certain or not, the idea worried him. As far as Michael was concerned, it should serve as a decent deterrent from the demon attempting any form of escape.

"I strongly suggest not moving. It won't end well for you," she said. "Assuming that you are capable of moving at all, of course. I'll remove it carefully when I return. Until then, try not to discorporate while I'm gone. I can't imagine it would be pleasant."

She couldn't quite make out the low, choked, and ragged words that he managed to gasp out somehow. But Crowley's tone suggested that it was a curse.

A small miracle banished the blood and ichor from her hands and blades. A second one refilled the censor with resin, ensuring that the frankincense and myrrh remained thick in the air. And once she was satisfied that everything was settled and there was no sign of her earlier acts of violence, Michael strolled out.

[10] Along with consecration, purification, and protection from various sources of evil. They were also worth a great deal of money in the past. Which was why a certain three wisemen included both frankincense and myrrh as gifts for a certain special child. It was like bringing a combination home security system and gift card to a baby shower.

[11] Pain wasn't exactly a novel experience. Both humans and other demons experiencing jealousy of his success made certain that he was familiar with it. Crowley could bear a decent amount of pain when necessary. That didn't mean he was fond of it.

[12] Not actual gold. It would be too soft of a metal. And it wasn't bronze either. It was a material not found on the periodic table, forged exclusively in Heaven and with the ability to interact with the metaphysical in a way that most physical substances couldn't. The actual name for the metal was not pronounceable by human tongues.

[13] Only an Archangel could pull off the nice-suits-and-swords look without seeming ridiculous.

[14] Or had been volunteered.

[15] True forms didn't bleed. But when occupying a corporation, the physical body would try to translate damage to their true forms by bleeding ichor.

I know it isn't the longest chapter in the world, but it felt like a reasonable stopping point. And I'd made you wait long enough for an update.