Chapter Sixteen

At Kali's request, she and Crowley departed for Europe to inspect Baal's fortress a second time.

The goddess spent a long time simply observing it from a nearby mountain cliff, her face expressionless. Crowley, having already scoped things out the first time, hung back and conferred with Melchiah on the collecting of the world's rugaru population.

"Too many of them were combative," Melchiah reported solemnly. "As it stands now, we only have a couple hundred willing to fight for you."

"Better than what we had when we started," Crowley remarked with feigned positivity. Melchiah was grim. "How many were there before?"

"At least five hundred."

"Bloody hell," Crowley muttered, turning away from Melchiah and looking out towards Baal's castle. Five hundred rugaru would have made storming the fortress a cakewalk. Now with only two hundred at their flank, it would be considerably more difficult. Mutely, Crowley thanked Murron again for unconsciously summoning Kali; she'd at least give them the upper hand.

"Shall we try for another race, sir?" Melchiah asked. Crowley turned back to him, a look of deep consideration on his face. "Rugaru aren't the only mindless beasts out there."

"It's possible Kali over there might be able to provide us with something," Crowley replied absently, walking over to where the goddess stood. She cast him a brief glance out of the corner of her eye, a very small grimace curling her red lips. She still loathed the idea of helping him, he realised with a smug smile. Too bad for her she had no choice: her honor bound her to the task, however repulsive. "Don't suppose you have any mindless zealots I could use?"

Kali looked down at him, sour. "You are aware is it the twenty-first century, not the second?" she asked dryly. Crowley smirked. "No, Crowley, I do not have any zealots, mindless or otherwise. I have only myself and that has been enough."

"Let's hope so," Crowley remarked, glancing back at Melchiah briefly. "Since it's all we have right now."

"Problems with your fodder?"

"Don't be cute, Kali," Crowley sneered. "It doesn't suit you."

"Sarcastic avoidance suits you, however, Crowley. To what humans would refer to as a 'T'."

"You planning on making this little flirtation more interesting or am I to go away unsatisfied?"

At that, Kali turned slowly on him. "I am not Murron. You will not address me so carelessly, demon. Your charm, if that term even applies here, has no effect on me. I am only here on her request. Once I have defeated your enemies, I will leave. This association galls me."

"Hadn't noticed," Crowley replied jauntily, quirking his brows at her suggestively before going back to Melchiah. Kali resumed her observation of the fortress, seemingly all to happy to shut the demon king out.

Crowley nodded towards Melchiah, who approached. "Fetch what we have. I want to have a look at them."

"Sir," Melchiah bowed and vanished. In another moment, he returned, accompanied by the rest of Crowley's demon army, all clasping thick chains. At the end of each chain was a snarling rugaru, many of which had completed the full transformation. Only a handful still bore some resemblance to the humans they'd once been; these seemed far more subdued. Some were even afraid, as evidenced by the cautious looks they cast about themselves.

Forcing himself to be satisfied, Crowley went back to Kali's side. "If we're going to do this, we should do it now," he informed her quietly. Kali didn't respond straightaway, closing her eyes instead. Crowley waited, his patience, already thin, wearing further. Finally, she opened them again and nodded.

"Begin your attack. I will follow after," she replied, then disappeared before Crowley could respond. Now more than a little annoyed, the demon king looked back at his meager army. So much for the goddess's help, he thought bitterly. As with most things, if he wanted something done right...

"Melchiah, take the beasts and release them at the fortress gates. Put the hungry ones in front," Crowley commanded from the cliff's edge, his voice carrying through the thicket. The thrill of bloodshed rose in him and his eyes flashed to red. It had been a long time since he'd been able to indulge in this kind of mindless slaughter. Normally he would have kept his hands pristine, but now he was fighting for something worth getting messy for. The excitement of the oncoming kill fueled his inhuman hunger and he grinned maliciously at his men.

"Let's have ourselves a war, boys."

The rugaru made short work of the demons guarding Baal's fortress gates. As Crowley and his men descended into the fray, the bridge and towers were already littered with the broken bodies of sentries and lesser demons. The rugaru snarled their rage as the first wave of Crowley's army hurried past them, but were reluctant to leave their carnage. Only Crowley himself remained somewhat behind, casting aside any who would attempt to still his assault.

Where the hell was Kali? Crowley scowled inwardly at the goddess as he snapped the neck of two guards in the inner courtyard. He was drawing close to Baal's sanctum; without Kali's assistance, Crowley would never stand another chance against the fallen angel. He paused briefly, looking about him in hopes of spying the goddess's approach. When no shadow darkened the portculis, Crowley scowled again and pivoted about to begin the final assault alone.

Then, a great roar came from the front of the castle. Crowley whipped round again, a wild grin spreading across his face to see the figure of Kali, mounted on what appeared to be a massive jackal, thunder over the stone drawbridge. Her skin was the stark blue of her pantheon's deities, hair unbound and streaming like a writing mass of black serpents behind her. Blood-red markings covered her frightening visage, her tongue snaking out every time she took down a demon with her golden trident. Most alarming of all was her arms: she'd manifested two more and in each she bore another weapon.

Kali drew her mount to a halt as she neared Crowley, leaping from the beast's back and landing at the demon's side. She towered over him now, having grown to stand at an impressive seven feet. A third eye darted about in the center of her forehead, its red gaze piercing all who looked upon it. She fixed her stare on Crowley. "I haven't much power," she boomed, her voice carrying throughout the compound. "This form will not last forever. If we strike, we strike now."

"Can the foreplay then?" Crowley quipped, unable to resist. Kali ignored the remark, readied the weapons clasped in her red palms, and started for the final door barricading their way to Baal. Crowley vanished after her, reappearing on the opposite side of the door just in time for Kali to plow through it.

At the head of the chamber, Baal stood with his back to the intruders. He'd come to the party just as well-dressed: his wings, manifested in flesh and bone, fanned out majestically, catching the air as Baal turned and greeted them with a sardonic smile. "Have you come to die, demon?"

"Not this time, sweetheart," Crowley returned, snapping his fingers. Flames erupted behind Baal, forcing the angel to bound away from the heat threatening to scorch his wings. "As you can see, I've got a date. Baal, meet Kali, Hindu goddess of destruction. I'm sure you two will have a nice chat before I smoke you into the ground."

"Your words are boastful and empty, filth," Baal sneered coldly, bending forward defensively. "If you think a weakened goddess of a long forgotten pantheon can defeat me, you have truly taken leave of any senses left to you."

"You Westerners never cease to amaze me with your arrogance," Kali thundered. "If you think my faith dead, you clearly have been locked away in this dungeon for too long."

"I may be of the fallen, whore, but I am still of the most powerful religion in the world!" Baal cried, clenching his fist in Kali's direction. "Let's see if the faith your followers have in you allow you to survive this."

"Gladly." Kali twirled her scimitar and trident, their deadly points aiming straight for the angel's heart. She stomped her red feet, summoning blue fire to join Crowley's blaze. The fire ate away at Baal's throne and dais, causing the entire room to fill with black smoke. Being creatures of the flame, neither Crowley nor Kali were affected by the suffocating clouds. Baal, on the other hand, pumped his mighty wings and took to the ceiling, blowing away all smoke in his wake.

Crowley bolted out of the way just as Baal descended sharply towards him. The angel landed forcefully, his feet forming a crater around him. Kali lashed out with her trident, catching Baal's right wing and wounding it. Baal howled in pain and flew at the goddess. She parried his strikes with her third arm, slicing down with the scimitar. Blood spilled from the angel's chest, staining his white raiment in red. As they wrestled, Crowley retreated back a few feet to cast flame spells at the angel's back. Baal's left wing took the hit, the feathers curling and burning.

"Fools!" Baal shouted, whipping the burning wing out sharply and snuffing the flames. "You cannot defeat me! I am an angel of the Heavens, a servant of Hell, and a brother to Lucifer, Lord of Flame! These pathetic attempts on my life will only cause the loss of yours!"

"Keep talking, Polly," Crowley mocked, sending up another gust of flame towards Baal. "It only makes it more interesting."

Kali, taking advantage of Baal's momentary distraction, drove the point of her blade into Baal's right leg. The angel staggered to the ground, blood gushing from the wound. She brought her trident down, pinning Baal's flailing left wing. Thus tethered, she gripped his right wing in all four of her arms and pulled. Muscle and sinew tore away from Baal's back, his intense cries of pain bloodcurdingly shrill. Kali succeeded in her gruesome task and cast the mutilated appendage aside. As Baal continued to shriek in pain and surprise, Kali seized his arms, two hands to each of his wrists. He cast a terrified look up at the goddess, his bloodied lips moving in silent pleas. These fell on deaf ears as Kali pulled outwardly at Baal's arms. She stretched him to the point of pure agony, ignoring the angel's grotesque sobbing as she severed his arms from his torso. Her mutilation complete, Kali put one foot on Baal's chest and kicked him away in disgust.

Baal's broken and severely damaged body rolled towards Crowley. Crowley dug his foot into Baal's neck, savoring the horrified look in the angel's eyes. He bent over and retrieved the scimitar from Baal's thigh. This he cradled in one hand, fingers caressing the bloodied blade obscenely. "I'm sorry, Baal, what was that you were saying? Something about this costing us our lives?" Crowley taunted loftily. The angel, delirious from the beating he'd undergone, could only work his jaw on words that refused to come. "You've been hiding here too long," Crowley continued, leaning forward. "Should've been in it with your big brother. Maybe then you would've had a chance at surviving me."

"Hurry, Crowley," Kali pressed. "I don't know how much longer I can hold this form."

"My apologies, love," Crowley replied graciously. He looked back at Baal. "You should've surrendered when I gave you the chance." Before Baal could react, Crowley brought the scimitar down on his neck, freeing his head from his body. The wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed head of Baal spun away like a ball on ice, coming to a stop when Kali put her foot upon it. She bent over, gripped the hair, and hoisted it into the air triumphantly.

"I appreciate the souvenir," she told Crowley, smiling for the first time since their agreement. Crowley grinned, the scimitar resting over his shoulder casually. "Our arrangement is complete, my task is fulfilled. You have proven yourself a worthy associate, Crowley. I do not say that lightly to many; you should be honored."

"Oh, I am, love, I am," Crowley assured her. "And should you ever need anything, let me know. I always return my favors."

"I will remember that. Farewell, demon." Kali shimmered out, the same trace of incense billowing behind her. Alone, Crowley permitted himself a satisfied glance about him. He could still hear the sounds of carnage raging outside. The battle was won and now it was time to complete his claim on Hell. Now there was truly nothing left standing in his way.

Crowley!

Crowley frowned, a strange sense of foreboding settling in his stomach. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt a severing. He squinted, searching inwardly for the cause. Unable to locate its source, he shrugged, lowered the stained scimitar from his shoulder and disappeared.

The cottage was quiet when Crowley reappeared in the living room. He laid the scimitar on the coffee table, careless of the blood still upon its blade. He glanced up towards the ceiling and called, "Murron?"

A great shuffling sounded from the space below the bathroom, followed by the door opening wildly. "Crowley? Is that you?" Murron's voice was cautious. He grinned. He couldn't blame her for that; the last time she'd assumed it had been him, she'd been ambushed by hunters.

"Who else sounds this sexy?" he returned, chuckling to himself. "Come down. I've got a present for you."

"A present?" Murron muttered, partially to herself. She went silent for a moment; he could hear her moving about in the bathroom still. She appeared at the head of the stairs presently, wrapped in her bathrobe and her hair bound in a messy ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin moist. She looked at him with bright eyes as she cleared the bottom landing and approached him. Spying something amiss, Crowley gestured at her neck.

"What happened to the coin?"

Murron clasped her throat instinctively, looking crestfallen. "It was destroyed."

"How? By whom?"

"The first witch, Patience, and her creepy daughter, Angelica," Murron explained bitterly, moving to sit on the sofa. She cast the scimitar a startled look, pulling back further into the cushions. "Tell me that's not my present."

"What, this?" Crowley lifted the sword from the table and presented it to her, blade-first. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. This is angel blood. Fallen, but angel all the same. I thought you might like it for your pantry."

Murron stared blankly at the proffered blade, then took it gingerly by the curved guard. She put it carefully back on the table, grimacing to see the blood stain already forming on the polished wood, and looked back up at Crowley. "They have an angel," she declared quietly. "It - Puriel - almost killed me. At least, that's what I thought he was going to do when he told Patience I needed to be 'cleansed'."

Crowley took a seat beside her, confusion furrowing his brow. "But you escaped?" he prompted. Murron nodded. "What else happened?"

"Not much. I tried to go in for the kill, but she was stronger. I think they were ready to torture me like they did those demons, like in the news. They certainly had the equipment to do it!" She shuddered. "It was like something out of a horror movie. I don't know that I can defeat them. Not yet, at least."

Crowley wasn't sure how to respond. He rubbed his palms together absently. "But you have an idea?"

"I do, actually," Murron nodded. "I had your man, Victor, go find out how to kill an angel."

"A god worked out for me," Crowley replied cheekily. Murron blinked at him. "Nevermind. So Victor was the one to get you out?"

"Yes. Uhm," Murron shifted nervously. "Thank you, for having him look out for me. I would've surely died if you hadn't."

"Just protecting my investment."

Murron sighed and leaned back, a tired smile on her face. "Of course you are. Just as I'm protecting mine." She lightly jabbed at his chest where the sigil still throbbed. "Nice to see it's working. I was a little afraid it wouldn't this time."

"It's working out incredibly well," Crowley assured her. He kept the victory against Baal to himself, as well as Kali's involvement. All she needed to know was that her work had done its job. Hopefully, it would continue, further allowing him to crush anyone else foolish enough to oppose his claiming Hell's throne.

"What will you do now?" Murron asked, rolling her head towards him. He gave a small shrug. "If you're coming home with a bloody sword, I'm guessing you managed to get rid of your big problem?"

"What makes you think I had a problem?"

"I'm not an idiot, Crowley. You come home all beaten up and too weak to even teleport safely and you expect me to not think about it or notice? I might not know the particulars, but I know you were up against something pretty bad."

Crowley held her gaze for a long moment, debating whether or not to tell her about Baal. He chose against it, as he always did when it came to revealing too much about himself or his business. "I was. Now it's gone. That's all you need to worry about."

"So no more coming home half-dead?" Murron prompted, giving his sleeve a little tug. Crowley smiled faintly in response. "Good. You'll turn my hair white."

"Might be a good look for you, darling," Crowley teased, coaxing a laugh out of her. "What about you, then? What's your next step?"

"To do whatever I must to get rid of Patience and her sisters," Murron replied with a small sigh. "Hopefully, your Victor will come back with something and I can go from there." She touched the space where the coin once lay. "I hate not having it. Got so used to it there."

"They're easy enough to replace," Crowley remarked. He gestured briefly. Another coin on a leather cord swung out from his fisted hand. Murron sat up so he could put it on her, tying it securely beneath her hair. He let his fingers rest on her pink skin a moment longer, enjoying the shiver that passed through her. She looked back at him with longing in her eyes, her parted lips trembling. He could feel the heat coming off her in waves and for a moment he considered offering her his company in bed. He refrained, sliding his fingers from her shoulders languidly and turning away. She'd just have refused him, anyway, seemingly still bent on keeping herself in eternal torment. It still annoyed and confused him, but he kept his opinions to himself. He didn't want to invite another emotional display.

"I guess I'll go to bed, then," Murron whispered haltingly, blinking as though waking from a dream. She rose from the sofa in a daze, her head moving this way and that like a sleepwalker as she moved towards the stairs. Crowley watched her go up them, her hand trailing along the guard rail limply. When she'd disappeared into her bedroom, the door closing behind her softly, Crowley sat back and grimaced faintly.

This was beginning to get complicated.