Locking the Gate(Invite Only)

[Jilak]

"Run. I have to run. If I slow down for even a second, he will kill me. Always knew he was a traitor, but they never believed me. Exiled me, left me somewhat stranded here. Not strong enough to get back on my own. And now he's gone rogue, and I have to warn them. Warn them not to trust him. Even worse, the monsters are here. I've heard the stories, but I never believed them. The three murderers. One day, they would descend on your home, and take away everything. And none could reason with them, or stop them. Said they weren't important, but I knew they were. The door has to be here somewhere, it has to be."[/] A girl, of about 19 years, thought to herself. The expression upon her face did nothing to express the true horror she felt.

She turned a corner, and tripped... over a chalk drawing on the pavement beneath her feet. She looked up, and sure enough, there he was. Staring at her with those beady eyes, smirking to himself. He was always so proud. Looking to her left, she saw it. The door she'd been looking for. She'd been so close.

"Hello, dearie. Who could have guessed we'd run into each other in a place like this? Well, I did, obviously, but otherwise, it was a complete mystery." He sneered. She'd always hated that accent of his. It made him sound so... pretentious.

"Don't give me any of your crap, Crowley. You might've turned tail, but I still believe. One day our father will return to us, and we'll take what's rightfully ours. The man with the yellow eyes is gathering followers. Even you can't stop him, 'king of the crossroads'." She returned, smirking.

"Not me, no. But the Winchesters, now they might stand a chance. You've heard the stories. Important or not, they still came pretty close to killing that 'yellow eyed son of a bitch' not too long ago." Crowley responded, walking closer towards his captive. She backed as far as she could, unable to cross the devil's trap.

"That... that was just a fluke! Face it, Crowley. You bet on the wrong mare, this time. And what's more? You can't kill me. Way I hear, you lost the Colt. Worst you can do is send me back to hell." She said, laughter growing. She had him here. There was nothing he could do.

Crowley paused for a moment, a look of faux disappointment gracing his features. Only briefly, however.

"I'd almost forgotten how naive you were. Let's say... you're a big, important demon. Bit of a stretch for you, but I can suspend my disbelief. Now, let's say you're turning on your entire race, with no comfort but the fact that maybe a few hunters won't try to kill you on spot. Do you give them the actual Colt without giving them some sort of test first? Well, you might, you're not that bright. But I needed to be sure little Sammy wouldn't get too trigger happy... again." Crowley concluded his sentence by pulling the supposed actual Colt from his pocket, pointing it towards his captive.

"You're... you're lying! You have to be!" For once, she dropped her outward composure, her horror becoming quite blatant. He was going to kill her.

"You know I'm not."

"What do you want? Fame? Is that it? Do you want to be the king of hell? I... I could help you. I'd be invaluable. They trust me!" She responded. It was a failed bargain for her life.

"You and I both know you're lying. Down there, everyone thinks you're mad. Going on about how the Winchesters will be their undoing. No one trusts you. Do you even trust yourself? As for what I want, that's simple. A bit of peace and quiet for a tic." Before their banter could continue, Crowley pulled the trigger. She stumbled a bit, before toppling over, out of the devil's trap. Her host body was finally free. At the cost of its life.

Crowley then turned to the large, grey tombstone her eyes had fallen upon once she had realised her ultimate fate. There it was. Took a bit of searching, and the loss of his tailor, but he'd found it.

"Devil's gate. A door straight to Hell. Time to lock 'er down."

[mugenginga]

(OOC: Honestly I have little to no idea what this thread was supposed to be about beyond Zandor and the angel blade. So I'm... just gonna... do things here. XD)

On another part of the Island, a stray angel was threatening a demon of a higher rank than he. Attempting to kill him with one of the few weapons in existance able to do so. Getting said weapon caught in said demon's shoulder blade, and promptly losing said weapon when the demon fled. Which removed suppression from a Demon Lord. All that was backstory that occurred elsewhere. What mattered here was the odd lack of resistance the local graveyard had to the darker angle of supernatural entities. For the love of the gods, it surpassed even the Hellhole!

In any case, the lack of resistance meant that a blind leap away from certain death meant that a certain old man host for a demon manifested here from his lack of aim. And revealed that Crowley was the sort to pull a Xanatos Gambit, with plans for every possible outcome. Such as knowing the weak points in what little resistance the graveyard had, and setting up devil's traps in each. To put it another way, Zandor materalized righ ton top of one, sparks coming up from the brimstone that marked his arrival and faceplanting as it dragged him out of his teleport and into the physical mortal world.

"What the- Crowley?!"

Through sheer effort the middle-aged man was able to push himself up. Crowley would probably key right into the blade sticking out of the back of his shoulder. It was no small prize, after all...

[Jilak]

Crowley's eyes flicked to the weapon lodged in Zandor's shoulder blade for half a second. He let a smirk dance across his lips for an even shorter time. This was perfect. An angel blade was just what he needed. He might be able to gain the Winchesters' trust by reloading the Colt for them, and putting forth his plight. The angel, though... he'd be a bit trickier. But what better way to earn someone's trust than to return a relic gifted to them by the individual's father? He shoved the Colt in his jacket pocket, turning to face Zandor fully. The gate could wait a bit.

"Ah, Zandor. Mission didn't go well, eh? I ask as a rhetoric, before you answer. I know it didn't go well. If it had, I don't imagine you'd have been in such a hurry to teleport away. And if you weren't in a hurry to teleport, well... you wouldn't be here, in this Devil's Trap. Unless of course you're just that sloppy. Which, of course, is still on the table." Crowley mused, chuckling.

Truth be told, he was lucky Zandor had been the one to find him. He wasn't sure how rapidly word would spread. That he was helping the Winchesters, for his own agendas. If he could keep up this façade, which he likely could, he might be able to talk his way into a nice angel blade.

He didn't particularlyneed the Winchesters' trust, nor the angel's, but it would be nice to have at least one group of people not trying to kill him after what he was about to do.

"So, tell me, Zandy--can I call you Zandy? I ask as another pointless rhetoric, because you of course have no say in the matter. Not to worry, though, it's a nice nickname. Very masculine. So tell me, Zandy, how could a plan so wonderfully constructed by yours truly and enacted by a strapping gent such as yourself go so wrong? If, of course, it did indeed go wrong and you're not just a horrible amateur." Crowley finished, walking towards Zandor. He now stood directly in front of the Devil's Trap, its invisible barrier being the only thing separating the two.