Warning: Swearing.

Much, much thanks to the awesome Kiss316, who, even though she was not feeling well, took the time to find my typos and my inconsistencies. She is amazing!

Legend Killer Chapter 20

The gunslinger walked steadily forward, guns drawn. Things ran ahead of him. Things that howled with fear and bewilderment. Things that thought they were immortal. Things that were never supposed to die. Behind the gunslinger there was only cold and stillness.

And silence

Disoriented, Dean returned to consciousness. There was cool wetness on his throat and warm breath on his face. He peeled open his eyes and looked directly into the bright eyes of a huge Coyote standing over him. The Coyote lolled its tongue out and laughed at him as he scrambled away in surprise. "Get out of here, mutt!" he hollered. It may have been the moonlight, but Dean swore the Coyote winked at him before it turned around and disappeared into the dark. He reached up and felt his neck, fully expecting to find a bite there from the coyote but it felt like only a shallow cut, little more than a scratch. He frowned, unable to remember how he got it. Bright stars blazed above him and the full moon rode the western sky, illuminating the towering granite mountains. Then memories came flooding back and with a quiet curse he looked around for Roman. Dean found him lying on his back nearby. There was no sign of Seth or Randy, or their horses.

"Roman," Dean whispered, reaching over to shake Roman's shoulder. "Wake up."

Eyebrows twitching as he groaned low in his throat, Roman peeled opened his eyes. "What the fuck?" he asked. His voice was hoarse. He raised a hand and rubbed his forehead, feeling hung over. Then he remembered and sat up abruptly, looking around for Seth.

"He's gone, and so is Orton." Dean said with disgust. Scanning the area he saw something gleaming faintly in the moonlight. It was Randy's Smith and Wesson's. He picked them up, idly twirling one. By their weight he could tell they were empty. "We fucked up, Roman. We led Seth right to him. We were so stupid!" He kicked a rock in frustration. It rolled a few feet away then stopped.

Still sitting on the ground, Roman felt sick. Seth had played them like a violin. He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to think of something productive they could do, something to reverse the damage they caused. He failed.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked. Judging by the position of the moon, Seth had a head start of several hours and they had no horses.

"I don't know," Roman admitted. Dean dropped to the ground beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, they sat in the grass, completely dejected. The prairie was dead silent except a bare breath of wind through the tall grasses. The pre-dawn air was cool and slightly damp. Roman sat up straight when he saw a light in the distance. He had no idea where it had come from. One minute the prairie was dark, the next minute there was a flickering fire. With no better option, he nudged Dean and gestured to the fire. "Guess we should check it out," he suggested.

Dean shrugged. It beat sitting there in the damp grass.

They walked up to the crackling and popping campfire. The only occupant was an old Native American sitting cross-legged and staring into the fire. The flickering light deepened the age lines of his face. Though he was ancient, there was an unmistakable aura of great power around him. Dean and Roman looked at each other. They didn't need to be told who he was. His lively dark eyes shifted to Dean who crouched down opposite him while Roman remained standing. The old man gestured and spoke to Dean, his voice was deep. The liquid language he spoke wasn't English. Dean just shook his head. He didn't understand.

"He says Coyote thinks you are crazy like he is," a familiar voice said as a new figure limped into the circle of firelight. It was Punk, standing tall with a scowl and his arms crossed.

"Holy shit!" Nearly falling over, Dean scrambled back to his feet in shock. "Punk?" he asked, his voice was hoarse with surprise and his hand was on his revolver ready to draw. Then Dean realized Punk didn't feel like a demon. His next thought was it was a hallucination. And yet with a quick glance at Roman, he could tell Roman could see him too. His mind raced back to the previous morning. He had a thousand questions, but all he managed to ask was, "How?"

"Told you I was protected," the black-haired man said. Both Roman and Dean gawked at him, unable to fathom how it was possible. Punk didn't have the time or the inclination to tell them how his soul was connected to all the souls of his people and most importantly to their land. The demon couldn't destroy it when it possessed him. But he had been lucky Randy and Dean had no access to the Colt Walkers and Randy had brought him home. As an added bonus, rattlesnake's spirit venom had poisoned the demon, making it much easier for Crowfoot to drive it out of his body and for Punk's soul to return. Dwelling with his people in the spirit lands had finally brought him a sense of peace and belonging. Being forced to return was extremely painful and heartbreaking. Crowfoot had apologized but Punk was still needed for a time in this realm. Still, Punk wasn't in a good mood. He limped up to Dean and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, jerking him forward. His face was dark with anger and not just because his leg still hurt from where Dean had shot him. "Why did you bring the angel here? Do you know what the hell you've done?" he demanded.

"It's holding the body and soul of our friend captive. We brought it here to ask Crowfoot to drive it out," Roman said, stepping towards them trying to calm the situation. "He tricked us."

"That's because you're idiots," Punk told them, letting Dean go with a shove. "Legend Killer was under our protection. Because you brought it here, the spirits didn't attack it. They sensed the two of you were like him. They would have defended him otherwise!" Roman's jaw clenched. Randy had thought he was safe here and they fucked that up. Fuck. "And now Hunter has Legend Killer thanks to your stupidity." Punk stepped into Roman's personal space.

"Hey! We didn't know!" Dean shouted back, moving in to shove Punk away from Roman. "Yes, we fucked up, we not denying it. But I'm not going to let you talk to Roman like that."

"Knock it off!" Crowfoot told them. His flat accent was very thick but they could understand him. "You sound like a couple of old women."

Startled Dean and Roman looked at the old man. "He speaks English?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, but only when he's really pissed off," Punk said, annoyed with himself. He had let his temper get the better of him and time was precious.

Satisfied he had their attention, the old man gestured for them to sit around the fire. After they arranged themselves, Crowfoot threw a handful of sweetgrass into the fire and started intoning a prayer to the spirits. The sweet scene wafted towards them. After breathing it for a few minutes they felt calmer and their heads felt clearer. They gradually became aware of a deep rhythmic sound, like an impossibly huge drum. Their hearts settled into the rhythm. Seeing they were ready, Crowfoot tossed some more into the fire and looked directly at Roman and Dean. He spoke to them in Peigan and the words burned in their minds, almost on the edge of understanding.

As the firelight illuminated the planes and angles of Punk's face, he translated the words for them. "Grandfather had a vision." The old man spoke without pausing, making Punk talk over his words. "He is talking about the white-man's village to the south of us, where they dig deep into the earth for the gold."

"Helena," Roman said.

Nodding, Punk continued, trying to keep up with the old man. "The spirits say the Beast is not dead but wounded and is very angry. They say it lays in wait there."

Roman looked grim while Dean grinned a death's head smile. They had already known they hadn't killed the Beast. It looked like they would get a chance to correct that.

"The spirits also says they brought the Legend Killer to that place and have trapped him deep under the city to use as bait to kill the demons, but this will not work as the Death Walker is gone from here."

"Death Walker?" Dean asked.

"You know him as the Saint of Killers," Punk told him as Crowfoot kept talking. Then he scrambled to keep up with the old man's words. "He says the Beast is hunting Legend Killer and that it will find him. But this is all the spirits say, so he doesn't know if Beast kills Legend Killer. He thinks it does." The fire popped loudly, making both Dean and Roman jump. Above them an eagle keened, but deep down they knew it was more than just an eagle. Their hearts beat in time with the steady throbbing of the unheard drum, the heartbeat of the land itself. "He also says when the Death Walker returns, he will visit much death on your people if Legend Killer dies." Throwing another handful of sweetgrass into the fire, Crowfoot went on and Punk translated. "Go to the white man's village, but you must go together. And I am to go with you," Punk said, glancing at Crowfoot for confirmation but the old man's gaze was fixed on the fire. "This is what the spirits say."

In the firelight, Dean's eyes widened. While Roman hadn't been there when the Saint of Killers had found out about Heaven's plot, Dean had experienced the immeasurable rage first hand. By the sounds of it, if Randy died because of the Beast, then both he and Roman would be conduits for that wrath and they would pay with their bodies and their souls. And while he couldn't care less about himself, Roman was too important for Dean to allow that. Somewhere close by a coyote yipped and Dean decided he had heard enough. He jumped to his feet and walked directly away from the fire, heading south. Confused Roman hurried after him. "Dean, wait!" he called. "What is it?" he asked as he caught up to his brother. Dean ignored him and kept walking.

"Dean!" Roman grabbed his arm and Dean spun around, the muzzle of his revolver under Roman's chin. "Whoa!" Roman said, swatting the gun away. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded, starting to get angry. He didn't need Dean to go off the deep end now.

Not looking at Roman, Dean stuffed his gun back into its holster. He had drawn it purely on reflex to being grabbed. Roman should have known better. "You don't need to be involved in this, Roman. You stay here and I'll take care of it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Roman snarled at Dean. That made no sense whatsoever. Dean was going to explain his reasoning, as illogical as it was, until Roman understood what was going on in that head of his.

"It doesn't have to be both of us." Dean told him. "Only one of us needs to go."

"Dean, we're brothers! We watch each others backs!" Frustrated, Roman wanted to shake some sense into the lunatic. "What? You think you can protect me, but you won't let me protect you? Fuck that! You heard the old man, we're in this together."

"You weren't there! You don't know what it was like!" Dean burst out, trying and failing to make Roman understand.

"What was what like?" Roman asked. Studying Dean's pale face in the first glow of the dawn to the north-east, he softened his voice like he was calming a skittish horse. Dean tended to respond better to that than yelling. "Tell me," he coaxed. Now that he could recognize it, he could still faintly feel the drum. It reminded Roman that time was slipping by with every beat. Yet despite the sense of urgency, Roman would take as much time as Dean needed.

A bit calmer now, Dean said, "I can't… it was cold." Frustrated, he exhaled and shifted his balance. Seeing Roman wasn't getting it but waiting patiently for him, he tried again, searching for the words to describe the indescribable. The image of Hell frozen by that hate had been forever branded in his mind. Hate wasn't supposed to freeze the fires of Hell, yet it had. Even Randy had been shaken by the Saint's cold hatred. He ran a hand down his face at the memories he had been subjected to when he killed Barrett. "It was cold, so deep I can still feel it in my bones. But that wasn't the worst part. It was his hate. I've never felt anything like it. It was like drowning in a frozen lake. And it hurt so much. Roman, I don't care what happens to me, but…" he trailed off.

Roman waited but that was all Dean was going to say, so he nodded. It was obvious Dean didn't want him to experience what the Saint had put Dean and Randy through. Dean was trying to protect him in his own way. God, he loved Dean, even as insane as he was. But what Dean should have remembered was Roman would never willingly abandon his brothers to face danger alone. "Then we save Orton before the Beast can get to him." he said, making it sound simple. "We do that; the Saint won't go on a rampage."

With a glimmer of hope, Dean asked, "How? You heard the old man. There are miles of mine tunnels below Helena. We don't even know where to start."

Even though the thought of being trapped underground again made him break out into a cold sweat, Roman gave him the 'are you kidding me?' look. He reached out and pulled Dean to him. "We'll find Seth. That son of a bitch will know exactly where Orton is." Hearing Dean's indrawn breath, Roman pressed their foreheads together as he finished. "And we save them both."

Hearing Roman say it, Dean believed it. He smiled.

"And I'm going with you." John told them from a few steps away. He was holding the reins of his bay mare and looking like a gentle breeze would blow him over.

Both Dean and Roman jumped in surprise. "Son of a bitch!" Dean said, clutching his gun. "You almost gave me a heart attack, you fucker!" Once again he put his revolver away. If this kept up, someone was going to get shot.

"John?" Roman asked, looking at the US Marshal warily. "How are you doing?"

John was very pale. There were dark circles under his eyes and he had aged several years in the last few days. He shrugged. "Crowfoot is as good as advertised," he said lightly. He was not going to talk about what he gone through a few hours earlier. And he completely understood why Randy had looked at him with pity. Having part your soul eaten by a wendigo was something that would have him waking up at night screaming for the rest of his life. He felt less than he did before, he felt diminished, like something was missing from deep inside of him. The emptiness was horrifying. He wondered if he would ever learn to live with it. There was no getting used to it.

"So you're fine now?" Roman asked, still eyeing him with some suspicion. "Nexus isn't going to possess you anymore?"

"No," John said flatly. "And if they try again, I'll kill myself first." He didn't care anymore what the scriptures said about suicide.

"Good thinking," Punk told him as he walked up to the group, leading his appaloosa. He turned to Roman and Dean. "Do you have a plan how to deal with the angel?" he asked. Roman was forced to admit that aside from beating the shit out of it, he didn't. Punk nodded like he expected no less. He didn't tell them that he and Crowfoot had already discussed it and they did have something in mind. It was very risky and he was sure that Roman and Dean would strenuously object to what he intended to do. But Punk felt it was warranted for what the Seth had done to his friend. "Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"We need horses." Roman said, indicating Dean and himself.

Smirking, Punk whistled and Roman's and Dean's horses come trotting up from where they had been patiently waiting. Dean smiled his first genuine smile in days as he grabbed the reins of his mustang. The horse wuffed into his hair as Dean rubbed the horse's neck. He turned to Roman. "Let's ride."

Grinning, Roman touched his fist to Dean's. As he swung up into the saddle, he looked back to where Crowfoot's campfire had been. He swallowed hard when he saw there was no trace of the old man, or the fire itself.

Below Helena, the mines ran long and deep. Some of the tunnels ran directly under the city and allowed for the miners to pass under the entire city without once seeing the sun. All had been dug to find the precious yellow ore. Except for one special tunnel deep beneath the city had been created with a different purpose in mind.

As he returned to consciousness, Randy had the impression a long time had passed. He woke up sitting with his back to a rough wall of solid rock. They had taken his shirt and jacket so the cold seeped right into him. He blinked his eyes in the bright flickering light and the smell of burning pitch.

Torches.

He felt the presence of demons nearby and a shot of adrenaline had him attempting to scramble to his feet. But as soon as he moved he felt the heavy weight of thick iron shackles on his wrists and ankles. The chain binding his ankles was about two feet long and made of solid iron. The shackles on his wrists were fastened lengths of chain anchored to the wall by large bolts sunk deep in the stone behind him. His stomach sank but he quickly realized he wasn't going to escape by losing his head. Instead he took his time looking around and rose to his feet. He was in a windowless room of rock, probably in a mine shaft or some sort of tunnel which explained the torches. The small chamber he was in was bare. He heard a sound and turned around, taking all his willpower not to react to Hunter and a satisfied looking Seth Rollins standing and watching him from the doorway. The open door was made of thick oak reinforced with iron. Behind them were two similar-looking demons, their unblinking eyes were pinned on Randy. Standing next to them was a bald brute holding a pair of revolvers pointed at Randy. Behind them were two smaller men holding the torches. Randy glared but held himself still. He forced himself to be patient. He needed the odds to be more in his favor. He tilted his head back slightly and waited.

Hunter broke into a smile of pride as he watched Randy calmly assess his situation. The boy had definitely grown up. He let his eyes travel over Randy's body, admiring the changes. The last time he had seen Randy, the Legend Killer still carried the look of youth, still soft around the edges. But now Randy had fully matured. He was all hard muscle with the cold dead-eyed stare of a natural-born killer. The burns across his shoulders absorbed light like the Abyss in the flickering torchlight as he turned to face them, chains on his wrists clinking. Hunter had expected Randy to test the manacles but instead he stood tall and waited. Yes, Randy had learned patience. "Hello, Randy," he said.

"Hunter," Randy acknowledged, ignoring the others.

"Been a long time," Hunter said, savoring this moment. He had waited years for Randy to come back under his control. Between Seth and now Randy, his day was certainly looking up.

"Not long enough," Randy growled. As he looked at Hunter, Randy noticed the judge looked much older. His short hair was shot with gray and age lines had worn deep into his face. He'd always had a hard time reading Hunter's mind, the man had a great poker-face. But with the demons present, Randy had sinking feeling of what was coming. He didn't allow any of his thoughts to show in his voice or on his face. He wouldn't give Hunter that satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

The demons moved towards him, inhaling deeply. "Benoit," one of them said, licking its lips as it stared at Randy. "I can smell it." The demons moved closer, their gaze fixed on Randy's shoulders. Seeing the naked hunger in their gaze, Randy unconsciously took a step back, the iron shackles shortened his step considerably and his back fetched up against the cold wall. Scowling with annoyance, Hunter pushed them back, ignoring the growls of displeasure as he did.

"I hope you're comfortable. We had this room made especially for you." Hunter gestured widely at the empty space.

Randy didn't reply. He just stood there with his eyes narrowed.

"I see you've finally learned patience," Hunter observed with approval. He come a step nearer but not within Randy's reach. Behind Hunter, Seth smirked but didn't say anything.

"Okay Hunter, you finally caught me. Let's get it over with," Randy said as if he were bored with the situation.

"Get what over with?" Hunter asked knowing exactly what Randy was talking about but couldn't resist toying with him. A calm, confident Randy was something to behold and Hunter almost regretted what he was going to do to the younger man.

"Killing me," Randy said. "It's what you want, isn't it?" He hoped that Hunter hated him enough to actually do it, but he wasn't optimistic. Hunter was too cold and calculating. But Randy thought that maybe he could provoke Hunter into losing his cool. He was good at that. "I killed Ric and Shawn. According to the law, I should hang," he challenged. He was ready. Death was infinitely preferable to being handed over to be tortured by demons again. There might not be any afterlife for him, but at least he could face death like a man.

But to Randy's disappointment, Hunter didn't fall for it. "Randy, you know better than to try to outsmart me. I'm not going to kill you. You're far too important." Behind him Seth scoffed. Hunter ignored him, and heaved a huge, fake sigh of regret. "But I can't have you running around free either. No, you're going to stay right here where we can keep an eye on you." He stepped even closer and Randy could clearly see the deep lines around Hunter's eyes. He didn't move even when Hunter finished his sentence. "Forever."

"Get used to those chains, Randal, because you'll wear them the rest of your life." Seth smirked, but Hunter gestured for his to be quiet. Seth pouted but did as he was told.

Randy's gaze flicked to the demons in the tunnel outside the heavy door and back to Hunter. Hunter smirked cheerfully. "You have no idea how much having you here will help me out. You see, now I can make deals with our demon friends," he nodded towards the two demons. "For the longest time I've had to rely on you or one the others for the Saint to kill them before they can kill too many people and attract attention, like from the Pinkertons. And now, even though the Saint has abandoned you, you're still very useful to me. Did you know what those marks Benoit put on your shoulders are? Did you know they drive demons absolutely crazy? Let's take the Ascension here, for example. Those marks are so attractive to demons that they'll do anything I ask for the chance to, how can I put this delicately? Oh hell, I'll just say it: the chance to fuck you. Of course they know better than to get carried away and kill you, but anything up to that is fine. And once we put word out that the Saint is no longer protecting you? They'll be lining up to have a chance at you. You've made damned sure the demons know about you, and you better believe they'll want their turn."

If possible, Randy glared even harder but there was no other reaction. Hunter's words didn't bother him too much because he already planned what he was going to do as soon as he was alone. But once again Hunter read his mind. "Come on, Randy, how stupid do you think we are? We've already found your little toy." He held up the skinning knife that Randy had kept hidden in top of his boot. Seeing that, Randy felt sick. "You're not getting out of this," Hunter chided, then dropped the fake friendly air. He leaned towards Randy and growled. "I've wasted too many years and friends hunting you down. You're right; I do want you to pay for Ric and Shawn. Dave too. If demons are willing to work with me in order to get a chance at that body of yours, then that's how you'll pay. I know you have experience with this sort of thing already." Seeing Randy's white hot glare, Hunter stepped back just as Randy lunged. The heavy chains around his wrists brought him up just short of reaching Hunter. Hunter smiled widely. "Hey, look on the bright side. By the time their done with you, you'll have plenty of motivation to kill them if the Saint ever does come back."

With that, he stepped back out of the door. Randy kept pulling against the chains for all he was worth but they were forged too strong. He glared at Hunter as the door swung shut and he heard a heavy oak crossbeam slide into place with a terrible finality. As Hunter, Seth and the Ascension moved away back down the tunnel, the light from the torches faded so even the meager light that slipped under the door faded to pitch black. Desperate, he turned and grabbed the chains that held him to the wall and pulled, testing its strength against his own. He pulled harder, channeling his rage and terror into his muscles. Sweat dripped down his body, his muscles trembled with the effort and blood welled between his fingers but the chains refused to break. For long minutes he pulled until eventually his body gave out. Exhausted, he stopped pulling and sank to his hands and knees, panting. His sides were slick with sweat. Then he thought about Hunter's threat and he wrapped his bloody fingers around the chains and pulled again, and again, and again.

The chains refused to break.

Gasping for breath, Randy felt his way back to the wall and placed his back against it. Shivering, he wrapped his manacled wrists around his legs and glared at the darkness. The future spread out in front of him as dark as the room he was trapped in. For the first time since he was held down and forced to watch his two friends be tortured to death, he felt utterly helpless. But his rage burned hot at one being in particular.

Old man, why have you abandoned me again?

Far above where Randy was trapped in his own personal nightmare, Hunter was surveying his new office with a pang of grief. It used to been Shawn's. The office was well lit with sunlight, with the glass window panes freshly installed. There was a lingering in the air of something that reminded him of his friend and he felt a fresh surge of hatred for Randy for taking away his truest friend. Only the thought of Randy in chains, alone in the dark and waiting in anticipation of demons, kept Hunter from throwing things across the room. Mentally torturing Randy was as much revenge as he could allow himself to take. He was too pivotal to Hunter's plans to physically incapacitate.

The soon-to-be sheriff had his own office across the street in the jailhouse. But he had no interest in investigating such mundane things. Instead he followed Hunter into his office, which meant Jamie and Joey were also there. Seth had healed them earlier and that only made them worship him even more, which he felt was completely deserved. Ryback had been left behind to guard the entrance to the long tunnel that led to Randy's cell.

It was still early in the day but Hunter was already tired. The road from Virginia City had been long and bumpy and he wasn't young anymore. He had been juggling the demands of Heaven and dealing with escaping demons from Hell for a long time, and it was starting to wear on him. He wondered how much longer he could manage it. He poured himself a large glass of whiskey from Shawn's well-stocked cabinet and carried it to the oak desk, sitting down with a sigh. Seth, looking unbearably smug, perched on the edge of his desk. And as irritating Seth was, he had done in one day what Shawn and Hunter working together for years had failed to do. Hunter tried not to scowl at Seth's self-satisfaction. No matter how it had been done, they had finally contained Orton. As long as Randy was under Hunter's control, he could make deals with the remaining demons. He wasn't exaggerating when he told Randy the demons would do anything Hunter asked to get at the Legend Killer. Privately he knew it was, at best, a temporary measure to control the demons. But until a better solution presented itself, using Randy as a bribe was Hunter's only means to ensure the local human population wasn't slaughtered by bored and/or hungry demons.

"What's our next move boss?" Jamie wanted to know. Joey stood near the window and kept glancing out, looking for possible threats.

"We just have to take care of Ambrose and Reigns," Hunter told them. They were so close to achieving their ultimate goal. Why hadn't Seth killed Ambrose and Reigns when he had the opportunity? Hunter was annoyed but upsetting Seth right now would be counterproductive. He needed Seth to settle down and mature.

"Are we going to hunt them down?" Jamie asked. His eyes were bright with excitement at the prospect. Both Reigns and Ambrose had been self-confident to the point of arrogance as deputy US Marshals. Seeing them get theirs was something Jamie was looking forward to.

"No, they'll be on their way to us. We need to prepare for them." Hunter had to make plans, which is why he wanted some time alone. He needed to think. And Seth and the others were distracting.

"They're nothing. I'll take care of them," Seth promised them.

They beamed at his attention and Hunter couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You should have taken care of them already," he said bluntly, trying to be patient with the angel. Shawn had been similar in his self-centered view when Hunter had first met him. But gradually after years of working alongside Hunter, Shawn had grown out of it. The trouble was Hunter didn't have the time or the inclination to deal with Seth. "Are you sure your seals will keep the demons out?" As they had exited the tunnel, Seth had sealed the entrance with his power.

The angel scowled, annoyed at being questioned. "Yes. No demon can enter the tunnel unless I undo them."

"Good, we wouldn't want Mr. Orton to have unauthorized visits." Hunter looked satisfied at the thought. Demons would get to visit Orton as a reward when they had proved cooperative to Hunter's goals. To be strictly honest, he may have underplayed Randy's ability to fight back against the demons. They wouldn't be strolling in to rape a helpless victim like he let them think. No, they would be entering a viper's pit.

And hopefully, a viper armed with a Colt Walker.

And by keeping Randy isolated, the other demons wouldn't know their fate until they walked through the thick wooden door. Hunter was rather proud of himself.

Looking solemn, Jamie exchanged glances with Joey, who nodded in support of what Jamie was about to say. "Boss, I gotta say, while we're not the biggest fans of Orton, what you're doing to him? That's pretty fucked up."

Joey nodded in agreement. Both of them stiffened and stepped back when Hunter glared at them.

"He deserves everything he has coming," Hunter growled. It was important to maintain the illusion that revenge was all he cared about. "Why don't you take Seth over to the jail? He can get settled in and you can start teaching him his new duties."

It really wasn't a suggestion but Joey and Jamie knew they were dismissed. They waited for Seth who pouted but didn't argue. With a sigh, he stood up and gestured for Jamie and Joey to precede him. With their hands on their guns, they left the room with exaggerated care, looking for any sign of a threat.

Finally getting some peace, Hunter sat back in his chair. He needed to send a telegram to Vince soon, updating him on the situation. Cena had been a bust. He had known Cena would try to catch Orton rather than kill him. Cena wasn't a killer. Vince had informed Hunter that Cena was proud and predictable that way. Hunter had hoped to get him acclimated to the idea of angels and demons and eventually use Cena as a vessel for another angel to work with him and Shawn. Then, after the Saint of Killers situation was sorted out, he had planned to send angel Cena back out east where it could guide Vince himself. Vince was getting on in years and the goal of getting into Heaven was becoming a priority in the old man's mind. But Cena had stupidly gotten himself infected by the Nexus, ensuring no angel would ever consider possessing him. But Hunter always had a backup plan and Seth was a fine replacement, even better in some ways than Cena. Seth had been able to get close to the Saint's men and capture Orton. For that, Hunter was willing to put up with a lot from the arrogant angel.

And at some point, Hunter needed to write a letter to his wife Stephanie. He missed her and their daughters very much. They had moved back out east when the demons had started showing up. Taking another sip of whiskey, he leaned his head back against the high back of the chair and closed his eyes. First and foremost, Reigns and Ambrose would be on their way if he calculated everything right. He just had to ensure those two died, and then finally, finally he would achieve his goals. Heaven would be satisfied that it could control the Saint, and Hunter would have a way to make sure demons would be disposed of with minimal causalities. Of course Randy's life would be a living horror, but that would just be icing on the cake as far as Hunter was concerned.

He was still annoyed about Owens, Bálor and Itami. He had high hopes for them, and for whatever reason they had betrayed him. So he had sent the Ascension to kill or capture those three with the promise of getting the first chance at Randy if they were successful. It was nice to have something the demons wanted and were willing to do anything to get. And he was sure Randy would be able handle them with maybe some difficulty. He didn't want to make Randy's life too easy.

He opened his eyes at a brief knock on his door and the last person in the world Hunter wanted to see walked in. He put his poker face back on even as his stomach sank.

"Good afternoon, Judge Hunter. My name is Paul Heyman, and I am the advocate for the Beast." the lawyer started but Hunter waved for him to get on with it. Hunter wondered not for the first or even the fifth time how this lowlife lawyer had so much influence over the Beast. But he didn't ask. There were things even he couldn't stand to know.

"We have learned you have taken the outlaw Randy Orton into custody," Heyman announced his self-satisfied smirk was unbearable. "The Beast demands to know where you are holding him."

TBC