Howdy folks! Thank you for reading and sorry about those empty tumblr things! I didn't know I couldn't boost my own things on my stories!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the computer I type this on and the brain with which I think up my plots and ideas
I am also changing this story to M (just in case) and for things to come!
Enjoy this little foray into Hell and bring some snacks along for the ride!
The Mark of Cain: Chapter 3
The sounds of tortured screams fill the room, as the man sitting in the chair, tied up and writhing in pain, can no longer hold it back. His entrails lie in a tastefully lain out pile by his feet. He hangs onto consciousness by a simple thread, his black eyes swimming, going in and out of focus. The knife that was just launched into his sternum is being slowly dragged out by a sinister porcelain hand, with expensive red nail polish painted on each delicate, but deadly finger. The owner of this demonic hand wears a sinister smile upon her ruby red lips. Her smile might feign happiness, but her cold eyes scream murder.
…As does the man in her torture dungeon.
Well, not really a man.
More of a demon.
A demon who just called her a bitch.
Well… now she's a bitch with slippery hands.
"Whoops."
And now the de-man is back to screaming.
"Now, now, Mr. McScreamy," she purrs, "all this could stop with just a word."
The knife is back in his chest.
Through the gritting teeth and murky blood, she hears a no.
No?
Does he know who he is talking to? Who he is saying no to?
Abaddon, the reigning queen of Hell, that's who!
The knife ever so slowly inches down his body, leaving a river in its path.
"I'm only going to ask this one more time: What. Is Crowley. Planning?"
The man looks up, and motions his finger in a way that means, come closer. Abaddon inches her head forward, coming close enough she can smell the sulfur reeking off the barely there demon. He comes closer as well, as much as he can. He opens his mouth…
And spits a mixture of mostly blood and saliva straight onto her cheek.
He doesn't last long after that.
As she's cleaning off her favorite torture knife, she hears the ever-telling sound of an arriving demon. Her head turns to see one of her trusted advisors come into the room, only stopping short as they notice the other body in the room.
"Busy? I can come back…"
"Not really," Abaddon waves the other demon off, "me and McScreamy were just finishing our little chat." Her hands give the corpse a little shake as the head rolls off the neck and onto the ground next to the chair.
"Oh… good then."
"So, what do you have for me?" she asks as she makes her way to the customary throne of skulls, which every evil villainess needs in her torture chamber. Her legs swing over the arms of the chair, and she rests her chin on one hand while the other plays with her fiery red hair.
"Well… our resources have new information on Crowley's forces."
"Really? Well that's good," Abaddon says. Her eyes rake over the room until they land on the dead body in the corner of the room. "Looks like we didn't need you, handsome…"
A short silence is shared between the two before Abaddon is nodding her head for the other demon in a female meat-suit to continue.
"Oh," she shakes her head, "right." Her heels click across the cold rock as she makes her way towards the queen on her pedestal. "It looks like Crowley is searching for something to defeat you…"
Before she can continue, Abaddon snarks back. "Is he looking for gumption? Because the only thing he's gonna find…"
"Is the First Blade."
The snarky smile is now on the assistant's caramel cheeks as Abaddon deflates before her eyes. The mistress of maliciousness sweeps her legs over the bones of a departed enemy, and marches herself over to the dead demon in the chair.
"Repeat that, will you?"
"Sources say that he is now scouring the oceans for the First Blade, and he's closing in on its whereabouts."
"And, did your sources also tell you…who… can wield that blade?"
"The bearer of the Mark of Cain-"
"That's right!" Abaddon turns towards the woman. Her boots were made for walking and she is stomping up a storm, bringing her fury upon the demon. "Cain! Only Cain can handle that… cursed weapon. And do you know where Cain is? He's not with us anymore. He's gone. Gone, gone, gone. Done. Cain is-"
"Alive."
This stops the red-haired raver in her tracks. The blood that wasn't running through her veins turns cold. She turns back towards the corpse again.
"W-what?"
"Cain is alive. As in… not dead."
"But… but he can't be! I saw him die!" She's fingering the corpse now, touching the severed neck, circling the area where the head used to be, lost in thoughts of what used to be.
"Well… he's kicking. And shucking. And bee-keeping…"
"Can you get on with it!" Abaddon turns back towards the speaker, failing at keeping her anger in check.
"He's alive!" She peeps behind her clipboard.
"And what? He's decided to join with Crowley? Betray me and the knights even further? Lose what little trust he still had? Which was none!?"
Throughout this little tirade, her voice kept rising in volume, until she unsheathed her trusty knife and stabbed the corpse in his gaping neck-hole.
"Actually… he's not aligned with anyone."
Abaddon's breathing goes down to a reasonable rate, and she moves her body until she's behind the body.
"So? Why is Crowley looking for the First Blade? Only Cain can operate the weapon."
"That is why I said the 'bearer of the Mark of Cain'."
"And…?"
"Cain willingly gave up the Mark… and Crowley has found a poor soul who'd take it."
Abaddon's fingers move to her nose, pinching the bridge as she closes her eyes. "I'm not going to like who Crowley has as the Mark bearer, am I?"
The demon looks down before she quickly replies: "It's Dean Winchester, ma'am."
What the lady demon was expecting was a string of curse words followed by harsh pain, but what she did not expect was a huff of laughter. Followed by a good, belly-holding laugh fest. While the future queen of Hell holds her sides next to the now rotting corpse, the assistant looks on with the upmost confusion. Finally, the laughing stops and the ruler regains her composure.
"Of course it is…" She looks back up. "Anything else?"
"No, that's it."
"Well then you're as useless to me as this guy over here."
And with that she picks up the knife and throws it at the un-expecting demon… hitting her square in the forehead and dropping her where she stood. The queen of mean strides over to her limp lackey, and nudges the body with her foot.
Tsk. Tsk.
"It is so hard to find good help these days."
"It is so hard to find good help these days."
Crowley, clad in his midnight black suit, stands at his desk after menacingly glaring and threatening his team of demons after their search of the Indian Ocean was a bust. Seriously, did he get all the duds on his ticket? Brushing invisible lint off his shoulder, he moves around his desk towards his personal map, where he crosses the Indian Ocean off in red ink.
"One body of water down… only more to search."
His teams have gotten through the Indian, the Pacific, and the Mediterranean. You would think everything that's lost would find its way towards the "Lost City of Atlantis", but, que sera sera.
Not time to worry about that.
Only time to worry about the uprisings, the murders, the deals… and the betrayal.
Always the betrayal.
Specifically the one he is working on with a certain Dean Winchester, bearer of Hell's special claim.
Funny, how he worked with the one boyfriend for power, and now he's working with the other for the same thing.
However… he will be doing the betraying this time.
Crowley is a changed man. He knows that when he gets involved with "Team Free Will", you need a back-up plan. Otherwise, you can just kiss your life good-bye. Just ask… anyone really. Kevin. Jo. Ellen. Bobby.
…He missed Bobby. He was always a good soul down here, little bit of pleasure he allowed himself from time to time.
Curse the day little Bullwinkle decided to spring him from his hellish prison.
Go-go cages aren't made like they were used to.
But life must go on… and his extra three inches must be put to use elsewhere.
'Like finding this blasted blade!'
He's wasting precious time he could be using to… campaign for his cause, searching for a lost artifact that could seal his place as reigning king of Hell.
Pun completely intended.
Now he's staring at a map, red marker in hand, as his mind races with a million thoughts.
Sometimes it isn't fun being the king.
But he would never trade this position for any other.
Because the only position left… is death.
And really you don't want to die a demon. If you think Hell is bad… you don't want to know what's next.
It makes Hell look like Purgatory. And even that is being nice.
But he can't think about that, because then he makes it a possibility. And he wants to avoid that from being any more than a wayward thought.
The opening of a door signals that another demon has come with information.
He doesn't even turn around when he utters: "Unless you have anything that isn't 'not found yet'… I don't even want to see you."
The door quickly closes again.
Crowley stalks back to his desk and takes a seat. He spins his chair once… twice…
He's thinking…
Really, he doesn't even understand why he's being challenged. Hasn't he provided well for his demonic peasants? Gotten them all the souls they can want? Given them the ability to go to the surface and stake a claim in poor, unsuspecting communities and gather all the souls in town in little time?
'Who is this… trash… thinking she can come into my castle? Take my crown? Usurp my power?'
She obviously must be stuck in the dark ages if she thinks her way is the only way.
'My way is the only way.'
Now he's stuck in his little office… okay maybe not little… in his cozy office, while his lackeys circle the globe, searching every little crevice of the ocean for the only thing that can fix his little pest probem.
"Sir! Sir! Breaking news!"
A demon runs into the room, swinging the door open as he stops inches away from his leader on the desk. He's out of breath, but a giant grin is on his face.
"What? What's going on?"
Crowley has a good idea what is so great, but he's going to wait until the words are spoken.
"We've found the First Blade! Apparently it was nestled in the Bermuda Triangle! Right between Amelia Earhart's ribs!"
Crowley feels stupid after the discovery.
"Of course! If you want to find something evil, you've got to search where evil was born!"
Crowley is now on his feet and on the move. He exits his office with his servant hot on his heels. "Where is the damned thing?"
"It's in the examination room. Our best demons are going over the finer points of the blade to see if there is any way we can re-create it."
"There's no way you can, you daft fool! It's an artifact of Hell!"
Sometimes, he can't believe the people he works with.
Finally, the two make it to the room where the first murder weapon is being housed, being gawked over by a couple of demons in lab coats.
"Away, you blithering idiots, away! I need to see this for myself!"
The demons look offended, but know which battles they should fight. Any with Crowley, mean none. They leave, and only Crowley and the blade are left.
And the lackey.
He picks up the First Blade, and proceeds to stroke it covetingly.
A cough is heard in the background.
Crowley turns his head to see the lackey from before still there, with his ever-present smile stretched over his young face.
What is he, only sixteen?
What a waste…
With a quick swipe of the blade, he strikes the teen's neck and the head rolls off to the corner of the room. He takes out a rag and begins to wipe down the offending blood from the precious testament to time.
Besides, he's got work for this weapon. And he needs it clean before he… taints it.
"So… what are you doing again?"
Abaddon's new assistant, a pluckly little brunette with big shoes to fill and an even bigger cup size, stands to the side in confusion as Abaddon works the ground into a series of sigils.
"I'm making sure we don't lose this war."
When she's done with her work, she takes her knife and slits her hand, taking the leaking appendage and placing it over the smallest of sigils.
A great series of lights stem from each sigil, until the biggest one glows the brightest, making both the assistant and the demon queen cover their eyes.
When the makeshift Aurora Borealis finally stops, two figures are left in its wake: a handsome, striking, tall man and a little imp of a man. Well, they aren't really men…
…More like… angels.
"What do you want, Abaddon," the littlest one sneers.
"Metatron, Gadreel, nice to meet you both."
"Cut the casualties, lady," Metatron bites back, "why have you summoned us?"
"Let's just say… I'm looking for a little… insurance."
Crowley places the blade onto his desk, and drags out a couple of ingredients. He brings out everything he needs for what he is about to perform.
He meant what he said when you need a back-up plan when dealing with Winchesters & Co. And… let's just say this little doozy has been cooking in his mind since he first saw the Mark on Dean's arm.
As his words lilt over the incantation he's come to know by heart, he can't help but let his mind drift.
It drifts to the important question:
Why is he doing this?
'Let's just say I'm looking for… a little insurance.'
Dun Dun DUN!
What are these two little schemers planning!?
Well… that's for me to know and for you to find out…
I hope you enjoyed this little dive into the depths of Hell, because next time we're back on the surface!