AN: Hey guys! I'm juggling a couple different stories, so updates are all wonky-like, but I have a new chapter written for this and ready to go, so I wanted to upload it for you guys. I hope you'll let me know what you think. Enjoy!

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Crowley sat low in his seat, bored. His chin was on his chest and his long legs splayed out. His arms hung over those of the chair and a half-empty bottle of whiskey rested near his foot.

Midnight had come and gone and Lilith never showed. One AM, two AM, three AM, and four. Lilith never appeared from the shadows, snuck up behind him, appeared in a puff of smoke, or knocked on the door. She hadn't even bothered to call.

Around twelve-thirty, he decided to have a drink while he waited. She was usually punctual, appearing just as the clock struck the appointed time, but he assumed everyone was allowed a mistake. That didn't mean she wouldn't be properly "punished" for it later, however.

The longer he had to wait, the more bored he became, so the more he drank to pass the time. He didn't glance to his watch again after it chimed one in the morning, but he knew it was late. The pale purple hue to the sky outside his large windows told him so.

Crowley arched a brow at the sight of the rising sun. The thought to call and ask why she hadn't shown up flashed briefly in his mind, but it disappeared almost the instant it formed. He wasn't the one to call someone, to go after someone, which was exactly what it would be if he did call her. That wasn't his style. People came to him, not the other way around.

"Welp," he said with a lazy slur. "S'pose that means we're done now."

With another sigh, he shoved himself to his feet and left his office. As he retreated to his bedroom to take a shower, he snapped his fingers. Every candle –now half-melted or already waxy soup- vanished as though they'd never existed.

Her body was sore, her head ached, and her skin felt disgusting. Dried blood and viscera was smeared across her arms, a bit splattered across her face and clothes, and chunks of demonic flesh were caked beneath her fingernails.

She'd fought viciously against her attackers, but she was eventually overrun, and subdued. Something hit her hard enough that she was knocked unconscious and when she woke again, an untold amount of time later, she knew she was in trouble.

Lilith had been chained to the floor, secured tighter than she ever had been before –which wasn't insubstantial. More than once she'd been tied up, but that was with rope, strips of ribbon or cloth, and even leather, but this was different. Lilith was chained with demonic steel, something so strong that it could hold a Fallen. She might have been strong, but she wasn't that strong.

Her shoulders ached because her arms were clasped together so harshly behind her back, then chained to the floor so she couldn't stand or move much beyond kneeling.

The cell she was in was darker than night, darker than anyone living would possibly experience because light had never and would never pierce into Hell. Lilith was grateful her eyes weren't normal, but it still wasn't entirely helpful. The walls were blank, there were no windows, and the slat in the door was closed.

She was so furious that she'd begun to shake. Hell had finally gotten her. They'd managed to finally get their hands on her and she couldn't actually put into words how angry she was because of it.

The sound of multiple locks clicking echoed loudly in the hollow chamber. She clenched her fists, the points of her fingernails digging into her palms.

After what was a ridiculous amount of time, the door finally opened. In all honesty, she was a bit proud that they felt the need to use so many locks to keep her in. It was flattering that they were so afraid of her, but it did mean that her escape would be tricky.

When the thick steel door finally opened, Lilith was presented with a horrific smell. It hit her so strongly that she genuinely cringed and had to fight the bile rising in her throat. Lilith tried to shield her nose with her shoulder, but she was barely able to manage.

The sound of buzzing met her ears and whether she was really ready for it or not, she looked up through her lashes to see the horribly-dressed and foul-smelling Beelzebub. It stared down at her with goo of some unidentifiable make clinging to its face while it was surrounded by a swarm of flies.

"Lilith," It said. "So kind of you to vizzzit."

"Piss off," Lilith hissed through her teeth.

"Oh, that's not very nice," Beelzebub said with mock offense. "You should show me more respect than that. Especially since you won't be going anywhere any time soon."

Lilith's glare deepened. "I'm not going to fight for you. The Apocalypse is done, over. It isn't going to happen. Let me go."

"Oh, no. I don't think so." Beelzebub's voice was light and soft, almost lyrical, which was disturbing to hear. It approached Lilith with its hands still hidden behind its back. Lilith shifted away slightly. "You should've helped us when you had the chance."

"Why?" She grimaced at the demon Lord. "Why would I ever help you lot?"

"You're a demon." Beelzebub began to scowl hatefully. "You're obligated to help us fight the angelzzzzz."

"I was human!" Lilith snapped. "Why do you things keep forgetting that? I was made human first. I'm not a Fallen. I'm not one of you creatures. I have no obligation to either side."

"Enough!"

Beelzebub's shrill voice pained Lilith's ears as it resonated in the small room. Clearly, the demon Lord was high-strung at the moment and in no mood for Lilith's defiance. While silenced, the Mother of Monsters continued to glare hatefully at her capture.

Beelzebub took a moment to breathe deeply before it turned its cold eyes on her once more. Finally, its hand withdrew from behind its back and it revealed what it'd been hiding. A blade, curved and ancient in appearance, was clamped firmly in its hand.

Lilith knew the intent without it being said out loud. She wasn't a fool and the second Beelzebub took a step forward, Lilith shot back. She struggled against her bonds so violently that her shoulder was immediately yanked out of the socket. She cried out in pain and crumbled to the cold, unforgiving floor beneath her. The wound would heal soon enough, but the pain was very real and very powerful.

She laid on her side, panting heavily while she did her best to will the pain away as Beelzebub drew even closer. Her vision was blurry from the inadvertent tears that had formed, but Lilith could still clearly see the glint of the blade.

"Now," Beelzebub said. "This won't kill ya, but it'll hurt an awful lot."

Lilith wiggled once more, attempting to do anything that might put more space between her and the Demon Lord, but it didn't work. She felt the fiery edge of the blade soon slice into her arm. Beelzebub told someone else, a shadowy figure who'd entered the cell too, to make sure not a drop touched the floor.

The sloshing sound of her own blood falling into some sort of receptacle met her ears seconds later. Lilith jerked again, but made no headway. She was bound too tightly.

Untold minutes passed before the wound on her arm naturally closed on its own. Only then did Beelzebub and the other demon step back. Her shoulder had healed as well, but Lilith was still a little dazed. In the almost comically large brandy glass, one large enough to house a goldfish, she saw it was nearly half-filled with thick crimson. It looked as though they'd taken a gallon from her.

"Don't worry," Beelzebub kept that sing-song tone that turned Lilith's stomach. "We'll take good care of thizzz."

And with that, the demons retreated. The door was slammed shut and the locks soon latched back into place.

Lilith knew, locked away in her little cell, that she had to escape soon or they'd bleed her dry just to make more monsters.

She'd seen what a drop of her blood could do if given to a normal human being. It wasn't like in the movies when creatures like her –vampires, really- gave their blood to turn or heal someone. What really happened was much worse. Her blood touched that dark, evil side of the human it infected. It twisted them from the inside out. Their soul was the first to die, and not painlessly, either. And then, their body would twist and contort. It would change into something truly wicked and monstrous. The creature would inevitably tear through the skin of the human, completely obliterating what it once was.

Lilith didn't want that power to be in the hands of the Fallen. They were dangerous enough on their own with their possessions and whispers of sin, but humans still had freewill. Lilith's blood would rob them of that.

A tear slowly trickled down her cheek at the thought of what would happen and the helplessness she felt knowing that she couldn't warn anyone.

Beelzebub had been unwilling to allow someone else to handle the task, so it was there. Beelzebub, Hastur, and Dagon all rose through the Earth, punching through the crust as though it were nothing more than tissue paper. Hastur clutched the small jar of Lilith's blood that they chose to take with them to the surface.

The sun had set long ago, bathing the entire hemisphere in night, but their only concern was their immediate vicinity –for now.

Beelzebub led the way down the street, its eyes focused on those still wandering. It could see the goodness in them along with their potential for evil. It wanted to try Lilith's blood on someone truly cruel first. That would be the easiest conversion to be sure.

As they neared a dark alleyway, a volunteer emerged. A man clad in dark clothes with a balaclava and glinting knife grabbed Dagon and threw the demon against the wall.

"Give us yer wallet, now!" the human yelled, pressing the knife to Dagon's cheek.

Unafraid, Dagon turned its eye to its compatriots. It smiled wide, its lips curling over row after row of sharp needle-like teeth.

"He's perfect," It said.

"Oi!" The assailant shouted. "I said, give us yer-"

But the words never fully emerged. Before he had the chance to finish his threat, Dagon swept its clawed fingertips across his neck. The mugger gasped and choked as he began to bleed. He dropped his knife as he stumbled back, clutching the wound.

Hastur and Beelzebub approached, the three demons standing over the man crumbling to the ground. He stared up at them in fear, while they stared back with indifference.

Beelzebub watched closely as the life began to leave the human's eyes and knew it was time. It took the blood from the demon at its side.

"Hastur," It said. The demon with the warty, slimy toad barely hidden beneath the white wig glanced up. "Hold him."

Hastur did as it was beckoned and crouched down to grab the man.

"Open his mouth," Beelzebub said as it began to unscrew the lid to the jar.

As before, Hastur did as commanded. With the lid gone, Beelzebub knelt down and poured the entire contents of the jar into the human's mouth. He sputtered and coughed and tried to expel the liquid, but it was no use. Having lost so much of his own blood, the mugger was too weak to fight the two demons.

With the last drop gone, Hastur closed his mouth and held it tight.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened more than the further loss of blood. Beelzebub arched a thin brow at the sight. The life had soon slipped from the man's body and he went limp. Hastur growled. The demon snarled and dropped the man to the ground before he stood. All three were growing agitated with the situation.

"Is that it?" Dagon asked.

"Maybe we needed more?" Hastur suggested.

Beelzebub looked at the jar. It had held perhaps two cups of Lilith's blood and they'd poured the lot down the human's throat.

It should have worked.

The Demon Lord growled its own frustration. More than willing to leave the human body on the dark, bloodstained ground of the alley, it turned its back. Hastur and Dagon, while slow to follow, soon did.

And then they heard it.

A sharp snap met their collective ears and caused them to pause. There was another and then another. It was the delicious sound of breaking bones.

The three demons gradually turned. Behind them, the human body had contorted into an unnatural shape. Once limp, an arm was now arched over his head, his shoulder bulging at an abnormal angle. A leg had done the same, the knee bent in the opposite direction.

As they watched, the mugger's head suddenly jerked to the side so severely that his chin was almost pointing straight up. The sound of the bones in his neck breaking to accommodate was intense.

The transformation continued, quicker than before. Limbs began to twist and shift, bones continued to break and snap. A low, unnatural sound started somewhere in his chest and grew louder and louder by the second. And then, without warning, whatever was growing within him began to push its way to the surface.

Seams formed in his skin, seams that soon tore open. A creature burst out of the man's body, a creature that was truly horrifying to see. It crouched low on four legs, black, angry claws jutting from each toe. Black fur was slicked down with blood and still held a few pieces of both skin and clothing.

The size of a small horse, the creature looked almost wolf-like, but the head was wrong. In fact, it was nothing more than a skull –cracked and smeared with even more blood. Long, razor-sharp teeth shined in the dim light that pierced the alley and when it opened its mouth, a horrific sound emerged. It was neither a roar nor a shriek, but instead something that had been a combination of the two, a warped, distorted sound that nothing on the human plane should be able to express.

Beelzebub smiled at the monster they'd created.

"Perfect," It said.

Its voice drew the attention of the creature. It stared at them with its black, fathomless sockets. A serpentine tongue darted from its mouth, swept briefly across its teeth, then disappeared once more.

"What is it?" Dagon asked in a slightly trembling voice.

Beelzebub's grin widened. "The beginning."

Three Days Later:

Aziraphale was in the process of opening a freshly-delivered box. He could barely hide his excitement.

Though someone's passing was always owed a proper amount of mourning, Aziraphale could hardly pass up the opportunity to purchase items from the estate sale. The books in the gentleman's collection were priceless and the angel knew they would be given the proper respect and sold to a loving home.

Once the cardboard flaps were out of the way, Aziraphale slipped on his pair of white cotton gloves. His glasses hung low on his nose as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tenderly, oh so tenderly, he lifted the mass out and set it down. Each book had been packaged separately, wrapped in shipping paper and tied off. They were like little presents, and he so loved presents.

With care, Aziraphale untied the string and began the task of unwrapping the book. It took a moment or two, but eventually he could see the front cover peeking through. A smile spread across his lips as more and more of the beautiful leather was revealed.

When it was finally given the chance to breathe, Aziraphale let out a soft sigh. He lifted the heavy tome into his hands and marveled at it. The leather binding, the craftsmanship of the lettering and the attention to detail was worthy of a moment of praise.

One by one, four of the books he'd purchased were set out, finally free of their little, individual prisons. In the distance, Aziraphale heard the tinkling of the bell above his door, but paid it little attention until he heard his name called loudly.

"Aziraphale!" Crowley's voice traveled easily. "Aziraphale, where are you?!"

He sighed and pursed his lips slightly. "In here!" he said back.

Crowley sauntered into the back of the shop shortly after with his typical ease. His attention quickly fell to the table where Aziraphale's new collection sat.

"What's that?"

"New purchases," Aziraphale said before delicately lifting an incredibly thick book into his hands. "Look," He showed his oldest friend a burgundy leather book with ornate, albeit slightly worn, writing. "Don Quixote," he beamed while Crowley only rose a single, hardly-impressed brow. "Now, true, it may only be a second edition, but it is nearly perfect." He flipped through some of the pages, marveling at the drawings within, "And they had the complete set! The others will arrive in the next few days. It's a wonderful find."

He set it down with the same tender care.

"What's that one?" Crowley pointed at a slightly tattered book not far from the one Aziraphale had just held. The corners were a bit dented and the cover wasn't in the best condition. Its binding was a little weak, too. Basically, it showed signs of multiple readings. It was a well-loved book. "Bit broken for your tastes, idn't it?"

Aziraphale began to shift uncomfortably. He held his chin a little higher than normal and averted his eyes from Crowley's. He was embarrassed, and Crowley noticed it quickly.

"What?" he asked with a slightly knowing tone.

"It's not for me," Aziraphale said.

He must have been more obvious than he intended because, when he attempted to grab the book, Crowley snatched it away. He swept it off the table and spun, presenting Aziraphale with his back so he could go over the piece. Aziraphale scowled slightly.

"Blake's Poetry Prose." Crowley read. He turned a curious eye to his friend. "What's this for?"

"It's a gift," Aziraphale snatched it away and set it gently back down on the table. "If you must know."

"Eh," Crowley muttered a sound of acknowledgement, but nothing more.

"Why are you here, anyway? You haven't said."

"Oh!" Crowley seemed to only just remember. "You haven't spoken to Lilith lately, have you?"

Aziraphale's brows tugged together. "No, why? Should I be expecting her?"

"No," He almost sang the word in a way that told Aziraphale that he was attempting to sound more indifferent than he felt. Crowley slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "Just wondering."

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes skeptically on his oldest friend. He slowly approached him, drawing the demon's gaze. Crowley raised both brows in that mockingly innocent way.

"What?" he asked in a tone to match.

"Has something happened?"

"Nah,"

There was that tone again, the tone that Aziraphale was beginning to dislike.

"Crowley," His voice was slightly disciplinary.

"Well, I don't know!" He said quickly. "She was supposed to meet me a few days ago, but she never showed, and I haven't heard from her since."

A sinking feeling grew in Aziraphale's gut. He didn't like it.

"Oh, dear." Aziraphale muttered.