Two Weeks Earlier
Emma twiddled the finger in her hand, ignorant to its owner's screaming. She wiped her blood smeared hand across her victim's beaten face. The man strapped to the metal table was in his mid-thirties and was a wreck. In addition to the recent loss of his finger, his face was covered in blood from cuts and broken skin. The little amount of skin that wasn't was black with bruises. One of his eye sockets was obviously fractured and the swelling had forced his left eye permanently closed. The rest of his shirtless body was no better, littered with cuts, bruises and the occasional stab wound.
Returning the small garden clippers to the bench, Emma's heavy army boots covered with plastic booties squelched fresh red footprints on the stained cellar floor. The bench had an assortment of household and garage implements, each with various amounts of fresh and dried blood and fond memories. She returned the clippers to their rightful place on the hanging rack and let out a long sigh, running her hand along her favorite set of pliers. She was getting bored. Her victim has told her everything she wanted to know hours ago, the torture was just for fun. Unfortunately, just like a piece of gum, it had lost all its flavour and it was time to wrap things up.
Taking a heavy pipe wrench out of a toolbox, Emma stood at the head end of the table and leaned over the man who was still screaming weakly. "Thanks for playing, sweetie," she said and before bringing it down on his forehead with inhuman strength. The room fell silent and Emma surveyed her handiwork for a moment before ripping the blood-covered apron off. She threw it at the body and walked to the sink, untying the blue ribbon that kept her long golden blonde locks neatly tied into a bun. Her blood-soaked hands took a few minutes to scrub clean and there was a knock at the door as she did.
"Come," she commanded.
The door opened slowly and one of her 'henchmen', as she liked to call them, stepped in. He was thoroughly distracted by the body on the table.
"Eyes over here," Emma said irritably.
He immediately snapped to attention, concerned he would end up worse than her latest victim. "Apologies mistress," he stuttered. "The information was correct, we found Mr Savage and we're waiting for your orders."
"Beautiful!" Emma smiled happily. "Let's go pay our old friend a visit."
"There's something else, Mistress," he said hesitantly, trying to gauge how good of a mood she was in. "There's a rumour going around Crowley's camp that Abbadon is dead."
Emma cocked an eyebrow as she dried her hands with a barely clean towel. "Someone managed to off big sister? I doubt that very much." She grabbed her dark brown trenchcoat off a hook by the door and inspected herself in the mirror on the wall. She tutted when she saw that her white blouse had received a few flecks of blood on the collar. "Perhaps I should go and visit," she muttered, trying to rub the blood off. "Nah" she turned and walked out of the room, coat floating behind her.
"Excuse me mistress?" Her demon henchman asked cautiously.
"Round up the boys and girls, sweetie," she said, not looking back. "Let's go invite Vandal to our party."
Present Day
The rising sun was lurking just below the horizon when Ivy finally arrived in Burney. The small town was quiet, the main street was eerily devoid of life, though not surprising for such an early hour. Weary and desperate for sleep, the signs led Ivy to a motel. She parked and grabbed her bag. The front office was occupied by a female attendant who had nodded off. She was a young girl in casual clothes, but she could still snore quite loudly.
Ivy rapped the bell on the counter and the girl woke with a start. She looked around confused and lost for a moment as to what had disturbed her, before her eyes fell on Ivy.
"Oh, hey," she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. "What can I do for you?"
"I need a room," she said, putting one of her many credit cards on the counter.
"Sure, just fill this form out please," she said handing her a small piece of paper. "Long night?"
"Yep," Ivy replied, not looking up from her writing. The girl examined her as she wrote, trying to figure out why she was covered in layers of crusty mud.
Once Ivy had her key she marched straight to her room. It wasn't the worst motel she'd stayed at. As long as the bed had a mattress, she didn't care about the room's shortcomings. The room had a musty smell, but the well-made bed looked too enticing. She threw her bag on the couch and face-planted the pillow. She was asleep almost instantly.
One Week Earlier
The security camera footage showed a grainy black and white still image of Emma and several of her demons entering the foyer of the office building. Vandal Savage gently stroked his rough chin stubble as he examined the image on his computer screen. He was alone in his office, lights out and no window, the only illumination came from his computer monitor. The glow made the man's face look aged and tired, though that was a compliment from those who knew Vandal. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his dark brown hair and sighed. He hadn't ever thought he'd see that blonde in his life again.
There was a heavy knock at the single door opposite his desk. A heavy steel door was between him and the intruders; a thankful security measure when the sirens outside began wailing. The door shuddered as it was hit hard. Unfortunately, it was not designed to withstand a demon assault; an oversight that Vandal reminded himself to address later. Vandal opened his desk drawer and took the ornate revolver lying under a discarded folder. An old relic, he mused to himself.
The room thundered with the sound of warping steel. Although the wall was also reinforced, the plaster covering them began to crack and dust trickled down around the doorway. He opened the chamber and checked his ammunition, spinning the barrel and flicking it closed. Once more the demons battered on the door, this time it could hold no longer. With an explosion of dust and splinters, the door flew away and the room was filled with an eerie light from the hallway beyond. Three figures in dark suits walked through the dust cloud and approached Vandal's desk.
"I would walk right back out that door if I were you," he snarled. "Do you even know who I am?" Vandal said with a touch of irritation, standing slowly from his desk.
The demons didn't reply, instead they stood at the ready, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Another figure appeared from within the settling dust cloud.
"Is this how you greet an old flame?" Emma's shrill voice made Vandal cringe slightly. "You don't call, you don't write. I'm beginning to think you don't love me anymore, Vandal," her mocking tone only irritated him further.
"There's a reason for that Eligos. I'm surprised Lucifer didn't rip your heart out after your betrayal."
Emma's eyebrows dropped a fraction in annoyance. She hated being called by her old name. "Why does everyone still have their souls in a knot about that? Can't a girl just have her fun?" she pouted.
"Not even Loki himself would find enjoyment from your kind of 'fun'," sneered Vandal. "So, you disappear for a few hundred centuries and then turn up unannounced just to bash down my door?"
"Now that big bro is locked up downstairs and the angels are nothing more than flightless dodos, I thought it might be time to stretch my legs again," she motioned to her three henchmen. "And I need that hunky old body of yours."
The three demons moved towards him, but Vandal was ready. Centuries of training and his inhuman reflexes allowed him to fire three shots off at each demon in the space of a second. With glowing eyes and screams, the demons dropped dead around the room. Emma looked around, a somewhat impressed look upon her face.
"Awww," she whined with a smile on her face. "Won't you just come along quietly like a good boy?"
"Not for you, Eligos," he fired the revolver directly at Emma's face. Her head snapped backwards and she screamed briefly, more in shock than pain. She slowly looked back at Vandal, the wound already healing. She grinned at him evilly, her fingernails extended and sharpened to form two inch claws and her eyes turned a familiar solid black.
"Ohh, it's been so long since someone put up a real fight. Let's play old boy," she leapt across the desk as Vandal fired off another shot.
Present Day
A knock at the door woke Ivy from her sleep. She lay there, waiting to see if it came again, hoping that it would go away and let her sleep longer. The knock came again and Ivy groaned. Sitting up was more difficult than she expected as she was both sore from her tumble the night before and dried mud was attempting to keep her stuck to the sheets. The door knocked again.
"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Ivy sat up on the side of the bed and stretched. Flakes of dried mud fell off her like dirty snowflakes as she walked to door. Still half-asleep, she forwent her usual cautiousness and opened the door. A man dressed in flannel and jeans stood at her door, a few inches taller than her. Everything about him shouted local hillbilly or american hunter, she assumed the latter.
"Can I help you?" she asked wearily, partially blinded by the bright daylight outside.
"Well, you look like someone pulled you out of a pile of shit," the man said with a touch of excitement in his voice.
"Do I know you?" she replied irritably, still tired and not in the mood for insults from a nobody off the street.
He looked disappointed. "Really? How could you forget this handsome face?"
She examined him closer, squinting in concentration. Ivy took a few moments to dig through her sleep-fogged mind to recall the name. "Wait, Slashy?"
The man pulled up his left trouser leg, revealing a large knife, its handle covered in etchings and marks. "Still got it," he smiled.
"Oh my god!" Ivy exclaimed, rushing forward to hug him.
Miron had been a close friend when they were younger, back when Ivy was travelling the states with her father. The pair held each other for a few moments, standing out the front of the hotel in the warm sun.
"What are you doing here?" Ivy said happily, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside the room.
"I put in a call to your boss to get some help on a case, he might have dropped your name," he brushed the flakes of dried mud away Ivy had left on him during their intimate moment.
"He's not my boss," Ivy corrected him. "And why are you even calling them? I thought all the hunters here hated the Battalion?"
Miron pulled out one of the dining chairs and checked to see how stable the rickety wooden chair was before sitting on it. "I didn't have much of a choice," he replied. "Everyone is scattered and out of touch. After the angels fell, shit hit the fan, and everyone's gone underground. I haven't even heard a scrap about the Winchesters for months, and they're basically celebrities," he paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "So when I found out about what's going on here, I needed someone to watch my back, I'm just really unlucky that they sent you," he said with a smile.
Ivy looked away with a little smirk. "Damn straight you're not lucky," she sat down heavily on the side of the bed. "So why have you brought me all the way out here to god knows where?"
He pulled a phone out of his pocket and, after pressing a few buttons, tossed it at Ivy. She caught it and saw that he had put photo on the screen for her. The photo showed a blonde woman and three others in well-pressed suits dragging a badly beaten man. The blonde was looking directly at the camera, her eyes a familiar demon's black.
"That's from two days ago. The man tied up is Vandal Savage," Miron said, leaning back carefully in the chair as it groaned under his weight. "Does the name ring any bells?"
Thinking for a moment while she studied the photo, Ivy shook her head. She'd never heard that name.
"What about the story of Kane and Abel?" he probed.
"What, Adam and Eve's kids?" she asked, confused by the sudden shift in topic. Miron nodded in reply. "Kain killed Abel out of jealousy, or something like that," she waved her hand dismissively. She never cared much for the old stories.
"Vandal Savage is Abel's brother," he added, waiting for Ivy's reaction.
She looked at him in surprise. "That would make him…"
"Hundreds of thousands of years old," Miron finished. "There's various stories and rumours circulating around. Some say he's been several influential figures throughout history. Alexander the Great, Vlad the Impaler and Genghis Khan to name a few. At least, that's what the dossier your boss sent me says."
"He's not my boss," she corrected again. "So what's the point of dragging me all the way out here?"
"Because we don't know who she is," he motioned to the picture on the phone. "Vandal is a pretty top-tier guy, and all of the circles of hell are supposed to have orders to stay off his radar. For someone to make a move on him like this," his face deepened into a worried frown. "Something big is going on, and we need to know what."
Two days ago
The van floor smelled of oil and blood as Vandal was forced to endure lying face-down on the ground, hands and ankles bound in heavy leather straps. His clothes were blood-stained and torn, all of the blood was his. His injuries were still raw and painful, he was reminded of it every time the van bounced, but they were healing, slowly. Being unsecured in the van, the demons guarding him would occasionally kick him back into the center if he bounced too far to either side.
What a disgraceful position, he thought to himself. A man of his stature, forced into this compromising and disgusting position. He resolved to make sure that these lowly demons would regret laying eyes on him, preferably by ripping their eyes out.
Vandal strained his neck to look up at Emma's long blonde hair flowing out around the front passenger seat. She disappeared almost three thousand years ago, yet here she was, like nothing had changed. Where had she been? With all the chaos that had been going on, it was perhaps not much of a surprise that she would make a reappearance now. What did she want with him though? He didn't exist on any listings, any database. Yet she specifically sought him out at great effort. What she wanted with him was perhaps more unsettling than seeing her again.
A boot in his rib ended his train of thought.
Present Day
The night was quiet except for the chirp of an occasional cricket or bird. Ivy and Miron, flashlight in hand, were walking through the scrub. Their destination was an abandoned industrial complex a few miles out of town. The road was being watched, so the pair opted to cut through the scrubland to approach from the west. Ivy had changed into her combat gear, while Miron was in usual american hunter's attire: flannel and jeans.
"So…" Miron attempted to break the silence. "How's the Battalion treating you?"
"It keeps me going," she shrugged. "And at least they pay my bills."
"What about your dad? What does he think of them?"
"He…" she paused. "We don't keep in touch."
Miron didn't know what to say after that, so they continued on in silence until they reached the perimeter fence of the complex. The chainlink fence was topped with razor wire and covered in law-threatening signs. Ivy pulled a pair of small wire clippers from her belt pouch and snipped a vertical line up the fence. Miron pulled it aside and motioned 'ladies first' to her. She smiled and quickly ducked through so he wouldn't see her slight blush.
"Which way?" Ivy asked once he had squeezed through the gap in the fence.
He looked around with the flashlight to get his bearings. "They're most likely in the foundry as their cars were parked around there," Miron pulled the 13 inch blade from his leg sheath. "You ready for this?"
She scoffed and pulled aside her coat, withdrawing a small pistol with an oversized silencer. Miron nodded approvingly, before turning off the flashlight and taking point. They creeped forward, staying close to the buildings and in the shadows. Ivy lowered her wide goggles and pressed a button on the side, activating the infrared vision.
There were two beat-up vans out the front of the old steel foundry and four demons dressed in casual clothes hanging around the front entrance. They snuck around them and entered the foundry through a side door. The foundry smelled odd, Ivy noticed, like sulphur and herbs.
"What's that smell?" Miron asked quietly, sniffing the air cautiously.
Ivy motioned for him to be quiet and they pressed on. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway ahead of them and they ducked into a side room that was once an office, but now lay bare.
"...I still don't get how she can even read that thing," one of the demons said as they approached.
"That shit's written in some ancient angel babble, she can't read it," the other replied.
"Great, so now she's just mixing potions blindly in the hopes she doesn't blow us all to purgatory."
"Nah man. Some crack-head angel translated it for her in exchange for something."
"Oh wow," the demon laughed nervously. "Because that's far more comforting."
Miron nodded to Ivy as the pair passed their doorway. In an instant, he lunged out and slashed the neck of one demon deeply. He kept his momentum and crashed into the other demon, pushing it against the wall followed by his blade into its chest. Both bodies dropped to the floor with a fizzle.
"Still works like a charm," Miron smiled, flicking the knife around in his hand.
"Still likes to show off," she rolled her eyes and grabbed one body by the wrist.
He shrugged and stabbed the other body in the shoulder. Using the knife as a handle, they dragged the bodies out of the hallway and tucked them away in the office they had hid in.
"Let's go," Ivy whispered.
"Ladies first," Miron waved his hand towards the door and bowed slightly.
Elsewhere
Vandal was tied to metal pillar and was uncomfortably close to the large bonfire that was raging in the foundry's open smelting pot. At Emma's command, her 'henchmen' had thrown whatever they could find as fuel, which consisted of a lot of rubber and oils. He coughed as he was forced to inhale another breath of the toxic fumes. Emma stood over the fire on a catwalk, watching it dance with great interest and unaffected by the noxious fumes and radiating heat.
"Almost reminds you of home, hey sweetie," Emma said to him, still entranced by the flames.
"Never had the pleasure of visiting yours," he snarled.
She stood motionless and silent for several more minutes until one of her henchmen walked in wheeling a large cooler on a trolley.
"Ah, we finally have the snacks for our party," she exclaimed gleefully, leaping from the catwalk.
Her servant opened the cooler for her and she reached inside, pulling out what looked like a heart, but it was almost completely black and a size or two larger than a human's. She held it up for him to see.
"This was a very tricky prize to get a hold of," she paused for dramatic effect. "The heart of a Leviathan!" She licked it gingerly, but cringed at the taste and poked out her tongue. "Should have taste-tested the snacks first, but oh well!"
She threw the heart into the bonfire, which only caused it explode with more radiant heat. After a moment the flames turned blue and the heat dropped to a much more bearable temperature. Emma began to chant incantations in a language that Vandal had never heard before. As she spoke, the flames began to dance and flicker around wildly as if blown by a strong wind.
Vandal noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the demon that delivered the cooler be shot in the head and drop to the floor with a dim flash and sizzle. Two figures approached, one armed with a knife and the other with a silenced pistol. Emma was oblivious to what was going on behind her, concentrating on the incantations and deafened by the blazing fire in front of her. The pair were clearly Hunters and he motioned to them to untie him. The male approached him and cut his bindings, freeing him from the pillar. Vandal quietly thanked him and turned to the female. A wave of panic washed over him and he called out as loudly as he dared, but he was too late.