Post by AZAZEL on Jul 23, 2021 18:42:41 GMT
I see the bad moon arising I hear the voice of rage and ruin |
What God had done wrong Lucifer had made sure to change. Angels were weak, shackled to their father and his rules, burdened with a thankless task to watch over vermin who were unworthy of those that now walked among them. Grubbing around in humanity, pleading for the agreement of one ‘worthy’ enough of them before they could even take a human form. Even the great Lucifer, the father of every demon that had been birthed from hell was forced to do the same. A weakness the Winchesters had taken advantage of before, one they would now try and avoid if they believed Sam would be in enough harm from the attempt. ”All this time and still there is no way around his rules.” A hissed edge to his voice as Azazel refused to speak God’s name aloud. ”Sammy boy won’t have the chance. The witch will find a way to blind him, to keep him too preoccupied to try.” Rowena had sworn she was capable of it, bragged so when she had dragged him from the Empty. Of course, there was a chance she wouldn’t follow through.
He knew better than to question his father about her abilities though. Temper already flared in Lucifer the moment questions were tossed in his direction, Sam’s meaty shoulders shrugging as his own gaze dropped away from his father’s eyes. Pushing too far would only result in that lash of temper towards him. The smile that had come instead only a temporary screen for what boiled beneath. ”I trust that you have thought it all through, father,” he promised, dipping his head. His jaw flexed as he shook his head, glowing yellow eyes narrowing to neon slits as they came back up. A secret from him too? ”You have a way to defeat them…” He knew than to beg, doing so would only leave him driven to his knees. Impertinence was impertinence, even if it came from one of his most loyal followers, the only Prince left standing.
There was still a chance though …
The Winchesters had managed more than any of them would ever would have given them credit for. Finding ways none of them had anticipated to fight back. Azazel’s teeth flashed, yellow eyes searching for some sign of who Sam was behind those green eyes. ”He wasn’t entire himself when he hid the blade. He was anticipating what we would do, where we would look.” Mind games on both sides, played to a T by Hell this time around. Tilting his head, Azazel gritted his teeth, his expression feral. ”That would be the beauty of it, hide it in plain sight when we tie ourselves up looking everywhere else for it. Even if Bobby doesn’t know anything about it, I guarantee it the blade will be there.” Where better to hide it than behind the walls thrown up by a paranoid old hunter, one who had survived longer than most.
Azazel began to move, a slow circling of the throne room. The corner of his mouth ticked up, the ferocity in that smile warming with an inner pride. ”It is at Singer’s.” No question to it. When he had Singer cracked and bleeding Bobby would tell him exactly where it was. ”Do tell. It’s about time we paid him a visit.” Maybe some foot soldiers would fall in that first approach but that was the reason for their existence, cannon fodder to protect those more important, demons willing to throw themselves on a grenade for their father.
He would never believe that Sam would do the same for Lucifer, no matter the promises he had made before he had allowed Lucifer to wear him out of the cage. The Winchesters lied as easily as they breathed, believing those lies were invisible, that they would one day triumph. Azazel clucked his tongue. ”They are more forgiving of each other than you could believe. Now, if Sam had slaughtered Ben, perhaps…” His hand had been stayed at the very last moment. Azazel sighed, settling down on the edge of the platform the throne rested on. ”We kill two birds with one stone. The blade in our hands, the truth of just what Sam had been prepared to do in Hell revealed in minute detail. We turn the blade on the son. A coup d’etat. It will put a stop to both of them, don’t you think?” All that drive erased with Ben’s death. Dean Winchester brought to his knees again by the death of his son … at his brother’s hands. There was a beauty to the circle it would draw.