"It worked," the man in green whispered as he watched his captive's fingers twitch again. "You're mine now." He rushed to her side, but she did not move again. "So much power," he cooed as he touched her hair adoringly. "So much power, in such a small space …"
Her fingers moved again.
"Ohhh, you're not going anywhere," he reiterated with a malicious smirk. "Those chains are engraved with Enochian sigils. There's no escaping them—"
But he was silenced when the woman's left arm suddenly jerked, the chains clinking and rattling with the force. Confident they would hold, he relaxed and chuckled. "So strong, but so powerless," he taunted.
Again, the chains jarred weakly. He laughed. "We have use for you."
The third yank of the chain pulled its bolt free of the table, stone shattering at its end.
"What—" he panicked.
The other arm jerked again, ripping the metal from the rock.
"This isn't possible!" he protested, staring wide-eyed at the woman, her face hidden by tangled locks. "The sigils! Why aren't they working?!"
Both ankles were freed as the woman staggered onto her knees.
"You can't do that! You can't! NO!"
The man was silenced as he suddenly tripped over his own robes, cracking his skull on the edge of the stone table and killing him instantly. The woman was unfazed as she rolled weakly off the platform, falling to the ground in a weak heap.
It took several minutes for her to muster the strength to rise to her knees again, arms limply rising to give the stone table one mighty shove which caused it to fall over the fire, knocking a space within the flame. She clawed at the ground in an attempt to slowly crawl to freedom, but despite the desperate digging of her nails into the dirt, she was too weak to pull herself forward …
...
...
...
"Cas!" Dean called out in concern at seeing the look of sheer terror in his friend's eyes.
"I can't hear them," he whispered, petrified.
"Can't hear them? Hear who?"
"Everyone," he explained with a slow monotone, mechanical, as though in a trance of fear. "Angels. Humans. I can't hear them."
"What? You mean, like, static on the Angel Radio?"
"No. Static would imply there is something there. This … this is silence. Pure ... silence."
"Someone pulled the plug on the tower?"
"No ... the tower is gone."
"What?"
Castiel vanished.
"Cas?!" Dean shouted. "CAS!" Panicked, he looked to his brother. "Okay, what just happened?"
"I don't know," Sam said, shaking his head as he started toward the exit, rushing outside and looking around.
"Dude. If Cas is freaked out, then this is definitely bad."
"The witch said we were too late. What if this is what she meant? What if the weapon was something that took down the angel's line of communication?"
Following Sam to the Impala, Dean tossed his stake into the backseat. "This is bad news. No Soul Phone, no Heavenly Backup."
The familiar sound of Castiel's trench coat rustled nearby.
"Cas!" Dean started as he saw the alarm on his friend's face. "Hey. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Selaphiel is gone," the angel explained.
"Who's Selaphiel?" Sam asked.
"The Archangel of Prayer. Selaphiel is how we are able to communicate with mortals and with each other. And now he is gone. All lines of communication have been severed. Heaven is in Chaos."
"Cas … you okay?" Dean asked carefully, noting the look of distress on his friend's usually calm face.
"No," the angel replied honestly. "Selaphiel has always been there. Always. In times of war, times of peace, everywhere in between. He has always served as that open line of communication. Even when I was human, despite the turmoil in Heaven, he kept the lines open among the fallen, delivered my prayers to Muriel. He has always … always been there. Now he is gone and we cannot hear the prayers of mortals, let alone each other."
The Winchesters exchanged worried glances. This was very, very bad.
"That's a bold and clever tactic," Dean remarked. "Taking out the enemy's method of communication."
"This was a diversion," Castiel added.
"Makes sense. Heaven's so focused on finding this weapon that they didn't realize something would happen to their chief communications officer."
"He's an Archangel, Dean. Selaphiel is perfectly capable of taking care of himself."
"Except when he's not," Dean quipped, which warranted a scowl from the angel.
"Dean," Sam interjected with a light warning to his tone to indicate that now was not the time. "So where could he be, Cas? He's not …"
"He can't be dead. We would feel it," Castiel insisted as he glanced around, as though looking to the air and sky would suddenly make him able to hear his brothers again. "I can't sense him anywhere."
"Okay, so what do we do?" Dean asked.
The angel suddenly looked to the brothers with determination. "Pray."
After a beat, Dean scoffed with disbelief … then settled with a scrunched brow. "You're serious?"
"Dean," Sam protested. "Selaphiel is the Angel of Prayer, right? It makes sense. If we pray, he should hear us."
"And if he doesn't? I mean, what if he can't?"
"Then we can scratch that off the list of possible solutions? I guess? Couldn't hurt to try?"
Straightening his posture, Sam closed his eyes and lifted his hands to his sides as he attempted to concentrate. "Uhm, let's see … dear Heavenly … Commander?"
"General," Castiel corrected quickly.
"General. Right," the hunter repeated as he regained focus. "Dear Heavenly General Selaphiel … uh … hi?" This was proving to be as awkward as it was difficult; Sam wasn't exactly sure what to say. "It's me. Sam Winchester? Uhm … we've never actually spoken before and, uh, well, I guess we have technically spoken before, but not directly, I mean, I've never spoken to you directly, I think, but uh … thanks for delivering all the messages in the past … I just …" He cleared his throat nervously.
Dean opened his eyes a slit to watch his brother.
"Where are you? We kinda need you and Cas is obviously freaking out over here, so if you can hear me, just, uhm, give us a sign? Let us know where you are? If you're okay?"
Silence.
Castiel's eyes continued to scan the air for a sign, focused more upon the sky as though dreading the sight of a falling star.
The brazen gong of a church bell pierced the still night air.
Immediately, the trio looked at each other; scarcely even a second passed until they rushed toward the source barely a block away.
Within the bell tower of a small church, the bell continued to vibrate with its sound, gradually swinging to a stop over the body of a woman who wore a single silver streak within her chestnut hair. The figure was upon her knees, hear head upon the floor as the white cloak billowed around her, embroidered with golden Enochian sigils, its hem still smoldering as though she had passed through fire, the smoke rising and lingering as ghostly grey tendrils in the air.
Castiel froze several feet away, both fear and relief in his expression as the woman's head gradually turned toward them, loose locks of hair falling from her face.
Her eyes opened. Ocean grey eyes of pain, anger, sorrow and … power.
Castiel stood noticeably straighter, a soldier standing at attention as he whispered the name.
"Selaphiel."
To be continued ...