【the Unholy Order】
Intestines stretched meters from the corpse's body folded over a picket fence. Another body, a woman's, lay decapitated while her head turned slowly on the old windmill. Full locks of auburn hair fell over her shocked and frozen face before hanging freely and turning with her once more, some strands were stuck on the blood in her mouth. A third body, a man's, hung upside down in the tin water silo. Only his lower body was visible, knees bent against gravity, one shoe off and hanging by its laces from a rusted sheet.
It was chilly midday in Cold Oak, South Dakota. Inside a wooden saloon were the only two survivors: a crying young man with a knife and a woman tied to a chair. The man had been pacing but he finally stopped to face his captive, clenching the bowie knife while tears rolled off his face.
"I'm sorry. This is the only way. The yellow-eyed man, he said to me that only one of us was allowed to live."
"Scott, no…" the woman sobbed. "He lied."
"I wish I didn't have to… But they'll keep killing us until there's just one left." He stepped toward her, knife shaking in his hand.
"I was supposed to get married. Scott, you can't."
"I'm so sorry…" He took another step. Stared into her frightened blue eyes. Then he fell forward on his hands and knees, overcome with grief and the knife clattered away. He broke down and the woman stopped crying and rolled her eyes.
"Pussy."
"Wh-what?"
"And here I was thinking if I broke you enough you'd be able to do it."
"Ava? I don't understand-?"
"Troy could've done it. Vanessa had a bit of kick to her. Carl, well he reminded me of an old ex from high school. So I made him die first, jackass. But you Scott, I left you last cause I wanted to see what you're made of. But this is just pathetic. I can't believe I used to have a thing for sensitive guys." Her conversational tone became wistful and bored, eyes on the ceiling.
Scott just stared at her from his knees, the tears frozen on his face. Then behind him the little girl demon extended her claws, teleporting close and gouging them into his back. He gave an agonized shout, blood pouring out his mouth while the acheri giggled and pulled chunks from him. After it was done she vanished, Scott fell forward and his spinal cord gleamed amidst the ripped meat of his back.
Ava stuck her tongue in her cheek. Another pageant win, another fresh round of dead kids. She began wiggling her arms and trying to undo the knots, gnawing her tongue. Slow clapping made her stop. Suddenly the rope fell free and Ava massaged her wrists. The man with the yellow eyes pushed through the saloon door.
"Bravo, bravo. Another win. Daddy's very proud, sweetheart."
"I take it I'm not dreaming this time?"
"Not this time. You've been here one month and passed every challenge. This is becoming less of a competition and more of a bloodbath. The undefeated heavyweight champion, Ava Wilson." He put his hands in his pockets, gazing about the room.
"Is this whole thing - whatever this is, done now?"
"Not by a long shot, unfortunately." He went to the bar, leaned back and crossed his arms.
"Look, dude-"
"Call me Azazel."
"Okay, A-za-zel? My fiancé Brady has probably been freaking out this whole time. I dunno, maybe Sam found him and they're both out there looking for me."
"Afraid not. And as for Brady, I'm sorry to say he got in the way."
"Brady's dead?"
"You're not going back to Illinois. You're not going back to your cushy secretary job. You're called for greater things, sweetheart." He raised his chin, giving that leery demon smile.
Ava turned away, expelling air in a quick huff. Her old life was really over. In the five weeks she'd been at Cold Oak she'd battled with her desperation for survival. Giving into the demon powers was what saved her. She'd twisted and felt herself snap, now her thoughts came in a hot rush. Monsters and killing didn't freak her out at all anymore.
"Ugh, whatever." Ava shrugged.
"I want to reward you for your stellar efforts. And also, give some of the other kids a fighting chance." At his words she looked at him again. "I'm sending you on a little trip to Minnesota. You get one month free. All you have to do is deliver a message. After that I'll take you right back here to finish up. What do you say?"
"Okay… what's the message?"
"Tell him ol' Azazel wants his help with the plan, to serve our former master."
"I don't understand. Who…?"
"You're to contact Beelzebub. He's hiding out in the state. I'll send you what help I can, but it's up to you to track him down. I want his help to prepare for Lucifer's return."
"Well it sounds crazy. But sure. Whatever gets me out of here."
"That's my girl." He turned to leave.
"Wait. There's more isn't there? Why are you sending me?"
He stopped in the doorway, a yellow eye glancing back "...well demons are too afraid of Beelzebub. He has white eyes. But you would fascinate him, I expect."
Ava turned her head, not sure she could believe him. He continued out the door and she felt him vanish. Totally ignoring Scott's corpse, she stretched and leaned her head back. She bunched her sleeves and sighed.
"Just great, Ava. No wedding in Peoria. No visiting your parents in Palm Beach. We're going on a road trip to Minnesota on strict demon business." She blew raspberries at the ceiling.
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Feeling eyes on her while working was something Jo Harvelle was used to. She was wiping tables in the Sandpiper, a bar in Duluth, Minnesota which was her new place of work after leaving the Roadhouse and her mother behind. She still flashed back to that fight and how angry she'd been, packing her things and walking out. So mad and laser-focused she'd barely had time to farewell Ash. But now she was free. Free from her mother's rules and free to hunt. Not that she'd progressed beyond the research stage, but that was soon to change. There were strange happenings in Minnesota.
The jukebox changed tracks and Jo peered through her curtain of blonde hair. A man with a chopper beard was giving her the look, breaking into a smile when their eyes met. Just an old perv. She gave the briefest, barely-polite smile back before finishing up and trudging off to the backroom. She didn't like the men here. The Roadhouse patrons had mostly been hunters. Heroes that she respected, even when they were trying to get their rocks off with her. The guys here were just... city scumbags.
She threw down the tablecloth and picked up a dishrag, moving around a co-worker and heading back out the swinging door. She went to the sink and started filling it up with hot sudsy water. Everything had to be ready before the seven o'clock rush. As the tap flowed Jo took a breath and looked around. She liked the Sandpiper, a spacious wooden bar with posts and a deer head on the back wall. Pool tables and the smell of leather upholstery and pine. It was a good old pub, similar to the Roadhouse but a touch more new. The stitching on the furniture was much less frayed and there were chequered 80s inspired coasters. As she dipped and washed off the glasses, they felt cheaper and more breakable than what she was used to back home, so she took extra care before hanging them upside-down on the wrack to drip-dry.
Jo had conferred with Ash over email and arranged to have the weekend off for a road trip. A rural town had reported bizarre sightings, cattle deaths and unnatural swarms. Maggots and gnats plugging up waterholes. People were dying, from sickness and accidents, but in suspiciously higher amounts. This job was close to home, which at least meant she didn't have to spend all week hustling men out of pool and shooter game money. Her last hunt had been her first, trapping Henry H. Holme's ghost under several tonnes of concrete. Even if they'd saved a girl and stopped him, it had rattled Jo. Without the Winchester boys she wouldn't have made it out. But this time she had no intention of going in half-cocked. She was going to be packing more than her late father's pure iron knife.
For the next several hours Jo pushed hunting from her mind and did her work. She handled the night rush, endured sloppy drunken complements, then helped pack up and shut down. Her apartment complex was only three blocks away, but the night walk always kept her conscious of the knife in her handbag. It was standard caution for a woman alone. She got back without any hassle, prepared to get a few hours sleep before hitting the road the next morning.
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