Sam carved the last sigil, his ears still ringing with his brother's stifled cries and curses. Raising the bloody knife high ready to plunge it deep, he chanted the last words.
A hard wind kicked up, stirred the trees, rattling the leaves. When it died, Ammut stood near, her ethereal beauty dark and corrupt. She smiled.
"Come closer," called Sam. "Claim what I offer."
She sauntered forward nearer the altar. Dipping three fingers in Dean's warm blood, she raised them to her mouth and licked away the viscous liquid. Her eyes rolled in ecstasy.
"Do it," she purred, eyes a-glitter.
