Chapter Eighteen
With Baal dead, those who'd originally been against Crowley's reign soon turned their coats and joined his ranks with characteristic demonic ease. What few holdouts supporting Lucifer existed were quickly snuffed out. However, even with the extra backup, Hell was proving resistant to dominance in itself.
The demons who'd yet to travel through the Gates were enjoying the relative freedom, no longer held back by the restraining hold of masters like Alastair and Azazel. The crossroads demons ran somewhat amok as well without Lilith there to report to, or Crowley himself. Many went AWOL; these Crowley had to overlook for the moment as his hold on the throne was still tremulous.
In the days following Baal's defeat, Crowley spent much of his time in the Pit, readying it for his vision. The reconstruction, as he jokingly called it, wouldn't take long at all. It was rounding up the demons that were to be given new roles that proved the most difficult. Some still viewed Crowley as the Crossroads King, joyfully ignoring his orders when he gave them. They weren't crossroads demons! they taunted. They didn't have to listen to him! These dissidents were handled swiftly, often being sent to the icy ninth circle of Hell where they could 'cool their heels', as Crowley put it. Someone else had been sent back to the ice to also cool their heels, as it were. Crowley, feeling boastful one evening, descended into the depths of Hell to pay that someone a visit.
The Cage was not a cage at all, at least not in the traditional sense. It was actually a massive cavern that had once been sealed and marked as forbidden to enter. Crowley stepped over the bodies frozen in the ice, ignoring their shuddering cries for mercy and continuing on into the very center of the cavern. There, also partially encased in the ice, hovered a pair of flickering energy beings: Lucifer and Michael.
Lucifer was as brilliant as the star he was named for, shining silver in the chill air. Beside him was Michael, a golden god of an angel, his face still that of the Winchesters' half-brother. Between them another small light shivered. It was around this light they bent over, turning only when Crowley's footsteps alerted them to his presence.
"Hello, boys. And guest," Crowley greeted with mock civility. "Enjoying your chewtoy, then?"
"What do you want, demon?" Michael asked, his voice like a cathedral bell. "Is it not enough that you've chained us here?"
"Me? No, I didn't do this. I wish I could take credit, but I do believe you have the Winchesters to thank for your little problem," Crowley corrected the looming angelic spirit. At Michael's side, Lucifer released a shrill cry of anger. The sound of it was like lightning shattering an iceberg. Crowley winced. "That's entirely unnecessary, Luci, darling."
"You will release me, demon," Michael continued, shifting as best he could within the ice cap to move closer to Crowley's small form. "I have no reason to be here. I need to return to Heaven."
"From what I've heard, no one's been trying to mount any rescue attempts for you, Mikey," Crowley informed him. "In fact, from what I've heard, your brother, Raphael, has been planning a coup to take over Heaven. Had I known he was the ambitious one, I would have gone to him first."
"Raphael, however misguided he may be now, would never have helped you defeat our brother, demon," Michael replied. "If you insist on holding one of us here, hold the one who deserves to be here." At that, Lucifer reared back and hammered his forehead into Michael's shoulder. The two tussled like a pair of bulls, shaking the cavern and sending stalactites raining to the ground to pierce the frozen lake. Crowley avoided these obstacles easily and sighed. He let the angels exhaust themselves before speaking again.
"I'm not letting either of you out," he told them firmly. "You're easier to control down here. I have fought too hard to claim Hell to let you self-righteous pigeons ruin it."
"Do you refer to your 'defeat' of our fallen brother?" Michael asked, his tone haughty. Crowley narrowed his eyes. "Fool."
"Baal is dead. I saw to it myself," Crowley insisted hotly. Michael and Lucifer both laughed, the sound echoing like colliding boulders around them. "He is dead!"
"Baal lives, you pathetic excuse for a king," Lucifer boasted. "If beheading the vessel was enough to kill an angel, especially one as powerful as our brother, those Winchesters would have stopped the Apocalypse far sooner."
Crowley felt his stomach drop into his shoes. They were just taunting him, looking to make a fool of him. How could Baal have survived what Kali had done to him? Impossible! "Baal is dead!" he repeated forcefully. "I killed him!" His protests were drowned out by the angels' continuing laughter. Snarling, Crowley rounded and started for the upper levels again, the angels' cruel laughter following him.
Crowley returned to Murron's cottage, face black with rage. He ignored Murron's customary hello as he stormed towards the cellar door. He heard her calling after him, but this, too, he ignored, hellbent on locating the angel sword she'd acquired recently. If Baal was still alive - a fact that still seemed impossible in his mind - Crowley would just have to finish the job with a weapon guarunteed to work.
The angel sword lay on the scrying table where she'd left it. Crowley snatched it up and spun around, intent on smoking Baal out himself, when Murron appeared behind him, both hands held in front of her to halt his frantic pace. Crowley paused reluctantly, eyes a storm of furious emotions.
"I can see something's pissed you off, so I'll make this quick," Murron started carefully, shifting when Crowley jerked to her left as if to dart past her. "One, what the hell happened, and two, where do you think you're going with that?" She pointed at the angel sword clutched in his hand.
"Murron, if you're smart, you'll get the fuck out of my way and let me handle my business," Crowley growled. "As for your angel poker, I'll bring it back. I have a more pressing need for it than you at the moment."
"I get that," Murron replied gently, lowering her hands in what Crowley took as a calming gesture. "And fine, you can have it for now. I won't need it where I'm going today. I just need one thing from you."
"What?" Crowley demanded impatiently, his grip on the blade tightening.
"Come back alive."
At that, Crowley felt his body relax. Of course. Murron was still the only real supporter he had right now. She never questioned his motives or his methods, never once demanded he take another route when dealing with an enemy. And even though he could've taken the blade without a moment's hesitation, she was still willing to step out of the way and let him go to who knew where with it. Nevermind she'd been the one to get him out of the original Baal situation in the first place. Even with the sword, Crowley wasn't usually one for hand-to-hand combat. He would need an escape route.
"Take this," Crowley produced two more coins, putting one in his pocket and the other into her open palm. "I'm trusting you to keep your ears open. The second you know I'm in serious danger, you pull me out of there, like before."
"Crowley, how serious is this?" Murron asked fearfully as she closed both hands on the coin. "You've never asked me to save you outright before. What's going on?"
"I can't risk telling you, love," Crowley replied. "You stay here, don't worry about your witchy problem today. They can't get to you, anyway. Consider yourself my half-step ahead."
"Is it Baal?" Murron asked suddenly. Crowley froze.
"How do you know about Baal?"
"The dealer I got the angel sword from asked for the bloodied scimitar you brought back as payment, calling it the sword that had killed Baal. He wanted the blood on it, but I'd collected it before giving it to him. He was pleased with it, regardless, so he gave me the angel blade. And now you're taking the only thing that can kill an angel. Is Baal an angel?"
Crowley could see he had no means of avoiding the issue now. He was already trusting her to summon him out should things get heavy; explaining the situation seemed the least he could do, though it galled him to be so forthright. He led Murron to the lecturn stool and bade she sit down. When she had, he explained, in as broad terms as he could think of, Baal's importance and what had really happened the night he'd come back half-dead. She listened with fear in her eyes, but said nothing, not even when he'd finished.
"My hold on Hell is shaky still," Crowley admitted after a long silence had passed. "If Baal is still alive, he'll be coming for me. I don't think it's safe here now, not for me."
"But the wards -" Murron protested, partially rising from the stool in alarm.
"Don't protect against angels," Crowley finished for her. "You never had a reason to ward against them before, love, and even if you tried now, I believe he'd see through them. No, I have to do this alone. And away from you."
"I'll still summon you out of there, even if I have to do in the middle of a cornfield in Kansas," Murron swore, grasping his arm in a desperate grip. Crowley offered her a weary smile.
"Stupid girl," he murmured. "Have it your way. But you stay here, away from those witches. You're my ace in the hole and I need you alive."
"I promise. I won't even poke my head out the door."
"Good." He paused, looking into her scared face uncertainly. There wasn't much he could tell her that would soothe her nerves; hell, there wasn't much he could tell himself. Then, he touched his chest. "I've still got this, yeah? It's worked so far. Put your faith in that if nothing else. You need to be ready."
"I'm trusting you to get yourself out alive. I'm hoping you won't need me at all this time," Murron whispered, her voice catching. Her fingers tightened on his arm, curling into his suit jacket sleeve.
"You sell yourself short, darling," Crowley told her quietly. "You can't be doubting yourself now. When I get back, you'll still have something big to face."
"I don't care about what happens to me, Crowley," Murron replied, bowing her head. "If I did, I never would have sold you my soul in the first place." She looked up at him again. "Just come home."
"Always do," Crowley reminded her with a smile. Gently, he loosened her hold on his sleeve and backed away. "Be ready, like a good girl," he reminded her. As he turned away to vanish, Murron was upon him suddenly, her arms wrapped about his shoulders. He felt her bow her face against his back. "Murron..."
"I don't care," she replied tightly. "Just suck it up."
Crowley chuckled. Let her have her moment. She pressed her lips to the back of his head, her mouth moving on words he couldn't hear. When she finally released him, he murmured a goodbye, and blinked out.
Crowley materialized in the center of Baal's fortress. The place was less a castle and more a smoking ruin since the battle. The floor of Baal's throne room was still covered in the angel's blood and the scent of smoke permeated the air. Crowley couldn't be sure what had prompted him to return to the castle; he was certain Baal had abandoned it since his previous vessel had been killed. Still, it remained the only 'lead' he had at the moment.
"Kali!" Crowley bellowed, raising his head to the charred ceiling. "I know you can hear me, goddess! Come now!"
"I thought it was I who was to be looking for the favor, not you, Crowley," Kali's voice sounded beside him. Crowley spun towards her, the angel blade drawn. She stared down at it, and something flickered in her dark eyes: recognition.
"So you do know what this is," Crowley hissed, advancing a step towards the goddess. "When were you planning on telling me?"
"So you know Baal is alive," Kali replied, unimpressed with the demon king's outburst. "He came for me first. I've been running from him since."
"You know where he is?"
"I know he won't stop chasing me. I wager he's on his way here now. Is that why you called me?"
"No, but it may benefit us both in the end," Crowley said tersely, tucking the blade into his coat. "Think you've got a round two in there?"
"Only just. If you have the blade, why do you need me?"
"You're going to hold him down while I plunge this into his heart."
"It may not be as easy as you think, demon," Kali warned him. "He has grown in strength as well as anger. And he will not be alone again."
"What are you saying?"
"He has summoned others from the Pit to aid him in your removal, Crowley. Your hold on Hell is unsteady still, is it not?"
Crowley stiffened. "He can call up Cerberus itself and it still would do him no good!"
"May your bravado keep your head attached to your neck," Kali remarked mildly. She jerked her chin towards the entryway. "He comes."
A cluster of lightning struck the blackened drawbridge beyond the inner courtyard. From the smoke emerged four figures, Baal undoubtedly at the front. Beside Crowley, Kali shifted to her true form, new weapons in three of her four hands. Crowley drew the angel blade from his coat and held it before him. Two against four seemed like crap odds, but there was little either could do in this case. And at least Crowley had a way out. He couldn't speak for the goddess, nor did he really care to. All that mattered was getting out of this alive, secure in the knowledge Baal was finally dead.
Baal passed through the broken doorway, his wings manifest once more. Two of the three with him also boasted wings, but the third did not. This one smelled different, though Crowley couldn't place it. Kali, on the other hand, crouched low, her red eyes widening. Crowley cast her a hasty glance. "What is it?"
"He has brought a god."
"He's done what?!" Crowley looked back at the fourth figure. "Which one?"
Kali inhaled deeply. "Ares."
"Holy mother of sin...!" Crowley breathed, mouth agape. He'd never taken on a god before and he wasn't sure he wanted to start with this particular one. "You can handle him, yeah?"
"We have shared the battlefield before; I know his style. Unfortunately, he also knows mine. This could be complicated."
"No, really? I hadn't thought of that!" Crowley sneered. Ahead of them, Baal lifted his chin proudly.
"I see you've grown a brain, demon," he taunted, gesturing to the angel blade. "But it will do you little good here. My comrades will not give you the chance to get close enough to use it. Though you are welcome to try."
"So who're your dates, Baal? I feel a bit out-numbered here with just Kali," Crowley returned, disguising his anxiety behind a mask of wit. Kali said nothing to this jibe, only twirled her scimitar to prepare herself. Baal laughed, a hollow sound in the empty chamber.
"I had to go very far down into the Pits to find them. Fortunately, my brothers were all too happy to point me in the right direction." Baal held his hand out towards his companions. "Astaroth. Barbatos. And you know Ares, I'm sure. He was all too eager to assist me when he heard Kali was with you. Seems they have old scores to settle."
"He lies," Kali declared. "The god of war and I have never been at odds."
"That isn't what he's told me," Baal replied smoothly. "I will let you decide who is a liar and who is not." He stepped aside to allow Ares to advance. The god, having grown a fair number of feet since entering the room, loomed over Kali. Kali glared up at him, refusing to be intimidated by the other's impressive height. He dwarfed her by three feet, a mighty ten to her seven.
"Take it outside, Ares," Baal instructed. "I will handle the demon king."
Ares beckoned to Kali, who circled him carefully till her back was to the door. She backed out of the chamber, Ares always in her sights. Soon, they'd cleared the bridge and the sounds of their might clashing echoed through the fortress.
Alone, Crowley sized up his opponents. Three fallen to his single blade. He gripped the handle tighter. Without Kali there to distract the others and later to pin Baal, he wasn't sure what route to take. Astaroth was a strong one, that he knew. It wouldn't take much for him to rip Crowley to shreds. Barbatos was far less muscular, favoring the archer's build he'd become known for in legend. In the end, it had to be just Crowley and Baal. He would have to take out the other two first.
No time like the present.
Without warning, Crowley lashed out and sent both Barbatos and Astaroth careening into the far walls. They crashed into the crumbling stone with surprised grunts and collapsed to the floor. They wouldn't be down for long, Crowley realized, and sent forth another wave of telekinetic energy at them. This forced them through the walls and into the moat. He heard them strike the water like rocks and grinned. So much for Baal's pals!
Baal, on the other hand, simply applauded Crowley's efforts in a slow, mocking way. "Very good, demon. I see you've grown in bravery since our last encounter. But you will not have such an easy time with me, with or without your new weapon. For as you can see, I am not quite so unarmed." He withdrew his own blade from behind him. It was older than the one Crowley currently possessed and colored a shining gold. Hopefully, the newer model would prove just as potent.
"I beat you once, can do it again," Crowley boasted, spinning the blade in his hand. "This is it for you, Baal. End of the line."
"We shall see."
Baal launched himself at Crowley, barely giving the demon enough time to raise his weapon to parry his strike. Baal bore down on Crowley with great strength. The demon king shuddered beneath the force of the angel's attack, then summoned a blast of energy to push Baal away. Baal slid against the stone floor, the pressure behind the blow forcing the angel's feet to dig into the ground and create furrows. Crowley hurled flame at the angel as he backed away to create more space between him and his enemy. He wasn't strong enough to take Baal out in a physical fight: it would have to come down to trickery before he could deliver the killing blow.
Baal dodged the fire Crowley kept sending after him, snaking around it as he attempted to close the distance between them. Soon, Crowley ran out of places to back into. This made the fallen angel laugh cruelly as he drew near, cornering Crowley at the very rear of the chamber. "Nowhere left to hide, demon," he taunted, bringing his golden sword up. "I pray you've made peace with yourself, for this is the end!" He drew the blade back and up in a mighty arc, intending to bring it down upon Crowley's head.
In the next instant, Crowley found himself looking at Murron. He was still poised against Baal's oncoming blow, his blade raised high to deflect it. When he realized he was safe, he lowered the sword and leaned against the cellar wall with a weary sigh. Murron, shock and terror plain on her white face, could do little more than stare at him. Now she knew, Crowley thought. Now she knew what he faced. And she was afraid for him, had every reason to be. He looked back at her, summoning a very weak smile as if to assure her everything was under control. She shook her head silently, face crumpling as the tears shining in her eyes flowed down her cheeks. She knew she couldn't help him, not with this. The impotence she felt paled in comparison to Crowley's own.
It would take more than an angel blade to defeat Baal. What that was, Crowley couldn't imagine.