Last Login:
July 18th, 2019

Gender: Male

Age: 114
Country: United States

Signup Date:
June 22, 2019




07/17/2019 09:37 PM 

LET'S PLAY A GAME / ( horror drabble)


“Let’s play a game, shall we?” said Azrael as he stared at the two young men and two young women who were tied together. Their hands were bound with ropes, one palm facing down and the other up; arms were crossed across their chest, making an X with their arms.

Mouths were covered with duct tape and eyes red rimmed from crying.

The room smelled of sweat and fear; Azrael could almost taste the fear in the air as he opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out to lap at the air. His eyes shone brightly in the dim room.

Small grunts and cries were heard from behind the tape as he moved around the room, walking in a circle around the four young persons. With a snap of the finger, a flame ignited at the tip of his middle finger. With the flame so close to Azrael’s face, he gave the 4 young ones a full view of his demonic smile that was plastered across his face. Another round of cries and tears were administered as he continued to walk the circle around them. “Now, now, c’mon. Let’s have some fun! Let’s play a game!” demanded Azrael in a soft voice.

As he leaned down, Azrael shot the flame into the middle of the circle. A row of candles ignited, allowing them to see their surroundings. In front of the crossed legs of the 4 was a dismembered humans. Fingers were scattered like confetti around the circle along with human teeth.

The young redhead threw her head back, screaming behind her closed mouth. A fresh wave of tears trickling down her cheeks and down her neck toward the collar of her shirt.

“Shush now, little one,” said Azrael as he moved toward the redhead, petting her long hair. He wound the strands of hair between his fingers and tugged lightly, pulling her head backward further as he brought his mouth to her cheek.

He spoke against her skin, salvia dripping down the warm red skin, “Shush now. We’re having fun.” After a moment, he let go of her hair as he walked toward the male who sat next to her. He was at least 6’3”, lankier than most his size, and skinny. Not much meat on his bones.

“There’s not much to you, is there, bub?” echoed Azrael as he looked into the eyes of the male. They were a dark brown and red rimmed from crying, begging his life not to be ended by the demon.

The boy averted his eyes from the demon, closing them and wishing to be anywhere else but there at that moment. He regretted promising his friend, the other male with them, that he’d come to this stupid f***ing thing.

The 4 had been playing with a ouija board that they’d found in the attic, deciding to conjourn something. While, they thought it was a game, Azrael had been summoned and boom. There they were.

“Look at me,” said Azrael, softly as he waited for the boy’s eyes to look toward his. Nothing. Not even a peek. With a growl, his voice came out low and distorted, demonic, “LOOK AT ME!” The boy, shaking with fear, opened his eyes and stared at the demon.

Brown against yellow.

With a sniff, Azrael looked down and laughed. He smelled piss. The young man had pissed himself -- f***ing pathetic. Az tossed his head back and laughed; the whole house seemed to shake with the vibration of his laughter.

As his laughter died down, Azrael’s eyes gleamed at the young man, “Pathetic.” His voice echoed throughout the room before slowly dying out and then there was silence.

Nothing but the sniffles of the captives and the drips of water from the leaking sink in the kitchen of the house. Dark silence settled among the four as Azrael moved toward the doorway, disappearing into the night.

Whistling from the demon began to sing a song throughout the home in the tune of TipToe through the Tulips. The sound gave the young people chills to the bones; goosebumps erupted to the surface of their skin. A sheen layer of sweat collecting at the forehead of the two men as tears streamed down the faces of the young women.

A strike of lightning erupted outside, lighting up the room as they sat in a circle with just each other to look at. The eerie silence caused their hearts to begin to race.

Where had the demon gone? Had he left for good? Would anyone find them?

07/11/2019 03:52 PM 

do you ever dream of me? (1x1 w/ Dean)

TIME: 08:36 PM
ATTN: DEAN / feat. SAM 
Az had waited a very long time for this day. The sun was just beginning to set in the west, casting a glorious hue over the horizon as he stared from the hood of his 1987 Aston Martin. The smooth chrome of the car’s exterior was a perfect perching point for what he was waiting on.

His arrival was late, but after waiting, roughly 35 years, Az was willingly to wait another 15 minutes.

The air was stale in the countryside of the armpit of the United States. At least it wasn’t humid -- that would have been a buzzkill. Looking down at himself, he noticed the dirt and soot that covered the toe of his leather boots. He had on dark jeans with a loose, white button up. He had chains hanging to and fro from pockets, enjoying the ability to strangle anyone with it without a moment’s notice.

The dirt under his nails reminded him of the waiter that he’d killed about 3 towns back, soaking in the blood of the victim before sucking the marrow from the bones. A perfect way to end this long and exhausting mission.

A vibration in his pocket broke him of his reverie. Pulling the phone out, Azrael stared at the text that had arrived: 5 minutes.

Now he had to wait another 5 minutes on his son, Sam.

”I’m ready,” said Sam, his face stern, unbreaking.

Azrael was surprised by his statement as he furrowed his brows and leaned back. He thought that it would have taken much longer than just a few years to break Sam, but he’d done it. “Are you sure?” questioned Azrael as he began to fiddle with something in his bag, trying not to show his excitement -- or allow Sam to notice.

With Azrael’s back to the boy, Sam nodded, but then continued, “I’ve been waiting a long time to finally feel like I belong.” As Azrael turned to face his son, Sam continued, “I’ve always felt like an outsider to everyone in my life: Dad, Dean, Jess --”

The mention of Jess sent Sam’s eyes to flicker to Azrael with a hint of hurt behind that. Yes, yes. He’d killed his girlfriend, but that was like 15 years ago. Azrael thought Sam would have been over that by now.

Azrael opened his mouth to apologize, AGAIN, but Sam continued, “but since I’ve met you and you’ve showed me the real way -- the man I was born to be, I don’t know..” He trailed off for a moment, raking his fingers against the long, brown waves that sat atop his head, “I feel almost free.”

A warming smile spread across Azrael’s face as his eyes began to glow in the dim hotel room that they both sat in. A hesitant step brought Azrael closer to his son before placing a hand on his shoulder. Sam towered over the elder demon, but the feeling was there -- the boy had become a man and he had grown into the man that Azrael had birthed him to be.

He was the Boy King, as the demons in Hell had called him when he was just a lad. “You are my son,” said Azrael after moments of silence. His voice was soft in the room, weak even, with the overwhelming emotion that he’d finally finished his first and most important goal: Samuel.

The loud vibration of an approaching engine broke Azrael of his memories, bringing him back to the present. The Impala, infamous by design and by reputation, sat in front of him.

The Aston nose to nose with a Chevy and behind the wheel was his son, Sam. His hair was a mop from the wind that had blown through the open windows of the car on the drive up. “The prodigal son returns,” said Azrael with sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

“I know -- it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would have been,” said Sam as he pushed open the heavy door of the Impala before slamming it behind him.

The car jolted to and fro from the commotion in the trunk.

“I see you’ve started the process on our little problem,” Azrael said as he squinted his eyes, looking toward the trunk of the car.

The sun continued to set as the earth around them became dimmer and dimmer, but that did nothing for their demonic eyes. Azrael’s a bright, gleaming yellow, and Sam’s a black cloudy presence with specks of glow throughout -- a mixture of his mother and father.

As they rounded the car, Azrael ran his dirty fingertips along the cool paint. He’d been near this car so many times, but never close enough to touch it. Dean had done a marvelous job fixing this hunk of sh*t after Az had sent that lower level demon to finish Dean and John off all those years ago.

Felt like a lifetime to Sam or so Azrael thought. He was still so young and so much to learn as he gave into his demonic self -- into becoming the vessel for the next ruler of Hell, after his Azrael’s reign, of course.

This had been the moment that Az had waited 35 long years for: to rule with his son by his side until he was ready to step away and fade into nothing, staring off into the sunset, alone. “Father, he’s back here,” said Sam as he stood at the trunk.

Azrael pulled his fingertips away from the cool paint and rounded the car, standing next to his boy as Sam placed the key in the lock and popped the trunk.

Inside the dark, dusty trunk, atop the fake bottom of the Impala trunk bed laid Dean. He had a gag in his mouth, wrapped around his head. His nose was bloodied and a scratch across his left cheek.

It appeared inflamed; whether or not that was from Sam, Azrael didn’t know.

Placing his hand above his head and onto the roof of the trunk, Azrael smiled down at the eldest Winchester, finally in his grasp.

35 long years of this mother f***er standing in his way and now, Azrael had him all to himself. “This has been a long time coming, Samuel.”

Azrael could feel the nod of his son next to him as he smirked toward the man in the trunk. Blue/green eyes stared up into black and yellow.

“Hello Dean. Remember me?” said Azrael before allowing a bright, wide smile to overtake his face. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

With that, Azrael slammed the trunk closed.

07/10/2019 08:53 PM 



Azrael sat staring at his dirtied nails. Picking at the nail beds, he began to remove the dirt and blood that had been muddied into the light skin of his fingers. He looked at the tattoos that had been drawn onto the skin.

This was the end -- this is what he’d been fighting to avoid.

His Father, Lucfier, was on Earth and he planned to destroy it. And after much consideration and constant bickering between Azrael and Zelda, his soon to be wife, they’d decided that something needed to be done.

”I don’t understand why it has to be you,” said Zelda as she shook her hand, running her slender fingers through her dark hair in annoyance.

She did this often because of Azrael’s stubborn nature. She always had this.. fear that he was going to die, even with his constant reassurance that he couldn’t die.

There were few in the world that could end him and lower level hunters or demons weren’t on that list.

He remembered looking up from the glass of whiskey toward Zelda and smirked, the corner of his mouth of curling into that devilish grin she loved so much, ”Because I’m the only one who can. I am his son after all.”

She scoffed, another natural response from Zelda.

The clomps of her flat, chunky shoes brought him from his reverie as he looked away from his fingers and toward her as she approached him. She had these cute little overalls on over a striped t-shirt. The overalls were baggy, hanging off of her slender frame as she stood in front of him.

He sat on the curb of the sidewalk, staring up at his wife with a smile on his face, “Well?”

She rolled her eyes and pouted her lower lip, “They’re all in there -- like you said.” There was a pregnant pause and he knew she had more to say, “Az, are you sure you should do this? You’re literally walking into the lion’s den.”

Azrael looked over her shoulders and toward the newly established Roadhouse. Newly established because the old one had been burned to the ground by none other than himself many years ago.

That is what Ellen Harvelle got for messing with his plans.

His eyes flickered back toward Zelda as he stood up, towering over her. He placed his hands at her shoulders and rubbed the soft fabric of her shirt, trying to comfort her a bit more. “We need every fighting hand we can find, Z,” he said in a soft voice, hoping to comfort his future bride.

She rolled her eyes once more and then nodded, “Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.” With a nod, Azrael walked past the brunette, running his hand down her arm and cupped her hand, lacing his fingers with her, dragging her in behind him.

As he pushed open the door to the Roadhouse, the place was lively with Hunters. Many were sitting around circular tables, beers in hand. Laughter echoed throughout the establishment as he took a step in, Zelda behind him.

His eyes, a bright yellow, glowed brightly in the presence of the supernatural hunters. Walking toward the bar, he slipped into a bar stool with Zelda next to him. Her little legs swung against the large bar stool as she glanced around, uneasy.

The bar began to slowly become silent. Azrael’s presence known by each hunter. The man who sat next to him, stared. His eyebrows furrowed, leaning back and away from the demon. “You have a lot of balls,” said a voice from behind him.

Azrael swiveled into the chair as he turned to face a hunter, one that he’d come in contact with before -- but didn’t remember the name. “Was that a statement, because I have the normal amount.. Larger than most, I suppose.”

Zelda slapped her hand against his shoulder, muttering through tight lips to shut up, but Azrael shook her off; his eyes glowing brightly as he stood up.

The hunter wasn’t much taller than him -- slender and lanky. Easy enough to break in half, but that wasn’t why Azrael was here.

“I’m not here to cause havoc,” he said, meaning every word. That was one sentence he’d never said before. Especially to a hunter. “I need your help,” he admitted before looking around, gesturing to each Hunter in the room. “I need all your help,” he took a pause, looking back to the Hunter, “and you need mine.”

Laughter erupted from the room, echoing off of the wooden walls. Azrael rolled his eyes as he looked over to Zelda. She sat, quietly, in the bar stool, staring at the crowd in front of them.

If something was going to happen, Zelda would be easy to blink out of here -- but Azrael would have to fight and tear each of these Hunter’s apart.

The hunter who stood in front of him abruptly stepped closer to Azrael. Their faces were inches apart. Silence fell over the room as it began to get tighter, hunters stepping in closer and closer, trying to scare him. “Don’t make me kill you,” admitted Azrael as he felt Zelda’s hand at his shoulder tugging.

“Az,” she whispered out, her voice tense and scared.

His eyes never left the hunter’s, “Don’t worry, baby. It’s all okay.”

“What should we do with this one?” said a hunter to the left of Zelda, looking at the young woman. She was a demon supporter in their eyes -- probably thought she was possessed.

This caused Azrael to turn his eyes, his eyes glowing aggressively, “If you touch her, I promise I’ll tear each arm from your body and shove it up your-”

“Watch yourself, demon,” said another hunter.

Azrael’s eyes didn’t leave the hunter that had threatened Zelda. If he moved an itch, he’d be dead in moments -- Azrael could promise that.

"Listen, here's the deal: Lucifer is coming to take this world and I need you guys to help me stop him," said Azrael, quite frankly.

The room erupted into gasps and whispers. Lucifer had only been a myth to these people -- to these newbies. “The Winchester’s released my Father and he is coming.”

"A demon," the hunter that stood in front of him began with a scoff, "wants help from us? Why do you care?"

Hunters, witches, Angels, werewolves, vampires. He needed them all. "If there is no Earth, no Heaven, no Hell, then how can I rule?" stated Azrael.

Murmurs were all around them. Zelda’s hand still on Az’s shoulder as she stood up from the bar stool, hiding her small frame behind his. “Az,” she began, but couldn’t continue.

He placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close to him before continuing, “So, who’s in?”

07/07/2019 09:24 PM 



Purgatory: (noun) a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven. There are 7 layers to Purgatory before one may move to the gates of Heaven, seeking acceptable or denial inward. If denied, the soul will suffer in purgatory forever.

Flashes of fire and screams echoed throughout Azrael’s mind. Michael’s eyes burning from their sockets, melting into a thin stream down his cheeks was like a painting in burned into the back of Azrael’s mind.

His eyes opened to find gray. He furrowed his brows as he sat up from the green grass floor. Confusion washed over him as he looked around. It was vast and open and.. utterly silent.

“What the-” he began as he looked over his shoulder and then to his left and to his right. How’d he get here?

Last thing he remembered was sitting in the warehouse; Azazel had been right behind him, bawling her little Angel wings off. He remembered how red her face had been and how her blonde hair had been matted to the side of her face, sticking to her tears.

It’d been so real. Had it not been?

Azrael slowly pushed himself to his feet and turned in small, slow circles, staring. The grass was green and tall, needing to be mowed. It flowed with the wind, but Azrael felt no wind.

It moved to and fro, almost as if it were under water.

There was nothing for miles -- no rocks, no animals, no trees. Just grass and gray skies.

“Where the f*** am I?” questioned Azrael as began to walk through the long, moving grass.

He walked for what felt like hours, pushing through the long grass and hearing no noise with each step.

Had he gone deaf?

Finally, he stopped, unable to move any longer without sound. There had to be something.

Taking a deep inhale, Azrael closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. His ears picked up the noise of his own exhale as his body sagged, the stress leaving.

So, he wasn’t deaf. He was just.. hexxed, under a spell even? Which witch had he pissed off this time?

Had the little kitten Azazel done this?

Azrael shook his head as he began moving again; No, she couldn’t have done this. She didn’t have the attention span nor the knowledge of advanced witchcraft to do such a thing. Nor the time.

He’d been with her for months, working toward the death of Michael.

Before long, Azrael looked up and saw a tree. Furrowing his brow, Azrael looked over his shoulder once more and saw emptiness. Just green and gray.

How had he not seen this random tree before in the distance? He couldn’t have walked far. Curling his lip inward, Azrael chewed on the soft, pink skin as he took a hesitant step forward, toward the tree.

The bark of the tree was dark, black even. The leaves were dead, but hung to the branches. As they moved in the non existent wind, no noise was evident. Normally, Azrael would be able to hear the swish of the dead leaves against one another, but here? Nothing.

Moving toward the tree, Azrael brought his hand to the bark, running his fingers over the coarse wood.

As he drew his hand downward, the bark began to crackle and fall to the ground, exposing the insides of the tree. Azrael moved closer to examine, unable to believe what his eyes were showing him.

Inside of the tree, there were eyes staring back at him of all shapes and sizes. Different colors, some cross eyed, some bloody. Blood dripped from the exposed internal of the tree, the eyes all pushing together, trying to peer out into the world.

Azrael took a step backward, looking around him once more and down to his hand, which was covered in the blood that coated the tree. He brought his palm to the thigh of his pants and rubbed it against the denim.

The pale skin of his palm was now stained a light pink, which was a normal hue for his hands. But here, it felt different, foreign. Almost like it wasn’t actually blood. Some sort of synthetic red substance that made him wrinkle his nose.

“Hello?” said Azrael, loudly, in hopes that some sort of noise would echo back, but there was nothing. Not a single echo.

The tree moved to and fro once more in the “wind”, shaking the blood and eyes loose again before they focused once more on Azrael.

The pupils moved as Azrael took a step to the left, watching him. He stared back at the tree and moved to the right, watching as he was being stared down. Each pupil was focused on him and every move he made.

Where the f*** was he?

07/05/2019 02:04 PM 



The flames flickered in the middle of the dark room. Azrael sat, feet flat on the floor and arms perched on his knees. He looked sternly into the flame before turning his head and looking at the witch once more.

It was a common theme, having to work with witches to make his plans, realities.

“What do you see?” he asked as he stood up, dry rubbing his palms against the denim that covered his quads. He took a step toward the corner of the room, moving to the window and looking out into the distant.

The moon was at its highest, giving the witch the most power she could harness, along with his presence. Having the presence of a literal deity definitely helped.

“I see the line betwixt Heaven and Hell, entangled,” she whispered.

Azrael looked over his shoulder toward the witch. Dark hair covered her face, dangling just above the flames of the candles in front of her. Her hands were held out to her sides. He could just see the movement of her lips between the strands of dark hair. “Betwixt?” he asked as an eyebrow raised.

He turned from the window and walked back toward the seat he’d been previously perched, leaning his hands against the back of it. “Yes, Master,” she whispered out, drawing out the ‘R’ of master.

Her voice was harsh, but small, cracking from the weight of what power she was using. “How so?”

The witch took a deep breath, whispering Latin under her breath; she arched her back, deeply. Azrael heard a large crack as she moved. Her hands landed on the table as her fingers cracked and became stiff against the dark wood.

“There is a direct line -- much like you,” her voice had morphed, dark and deep. “The Holy Grail.”

With the mention of the sacred Christian relic, Azrael threw his head back and laughed. The laughter echoed throughout the room, almost as if the room were shaking itself. As Az’s laughter died down, the witch stayed silent.

“Another?” said Azrael, wiping at his eyes, “You can’t be serious.” Silence continued. Azrael began to grow restless, “Don’t toy with me, witch.”

His eyes began to glow as he bared his teeth; his hands itched at the sides to grab the witch by the throat, but he stayed in his stance, waiting.

Finally, after a pregnant pause, the witch sat back; her body loosened and eased into the chair, “There is another, a direct line that could stand in your way.” Her voice had eased back into the shy tone he’d met her with.

“A direct line to God,” pondered Azrael. He stepped away from the table and turned back toward the window, staring at the moon, high in the sky. “Where?”

“I can’t tell you, Master,” the witch said, shyly. He could feel her fear as she spoke the words. As he turned on his heel, she continued, stammering, “But-But I-I could fin-d-d someone to hel-lp.”

Azrael stood dead in his tracks and furrowed his brow before he continued, toward her, placing his hands at the table that sat in front of her, “Who?”



“Los Angeles,” said Azrael as he muttered to himself. He loathed LA; the quick moving city of “Angels”. What a bunch of bullsh*t.

After several meetings with multiple different witches, Azrael had finally found the Sorcière du Diable or so she’d been called throughout his studies. There had been multiple stories about this particular witch and her gifts. She was known for being able to find certain things, anywhere, but they had to have some sort of supernatural reasoning.

Which is why he came to this city -- to find this woman, Amy.

Azrael slid his sunglasses on as he stepped out of the small café and out into the hustle of Los Angeles. People walked next to him as he strolled through the sidewalks of LA. His sources told him that this woman wouldn’t be easy to track as she didn’t want to be found.

He wondered where this aversion to helping either side of the war came from: what held her from helping? Most people would do anything to help the Almighty in the war against evil.

Just the thought made him want to roll his eyes and retch.

Once he reached the edge of the sidewalk, just against the busy street, Azrael looked across the street at the people, waiting for the light to change as the words of the witch echoed in his mind. ”Once you see her, there will be a healthy purple glow about her,” said the witch as she laid the crystal against the map of Los Angeles -- the location of the woman. Her aura will be visible to you because of your demonic blood,” continued the witch.

In his direct eye line, there stood a fair blonde with a purple aura. She had her head down, nose in a book and her hair tucked behind her ear.

She was there. And he needed her.

06/30/2019 06:33 PM 


05:49 PM

The wings of each Angel hold many things. Each feather: holding a secret of Heaven, a prayer of their charge or a prophet, or a tiny bit of their humanity. 

When an Angel loses their wings, whether that be from being removed or falling from Heaven, they begin to morph into the exact things that they hunt.

Some phase into werewolves, destined to live their lives under the curse of the full moon. Some change in Vampires, living off of the mortals that they were charged to protect. Literally bleeding them dry to survive. 

Some turn toward alchemy: forced to use their knowledge to help light or dark light. 

And some turn into demons, choosing to help the other brother whom they’d sworn their whole lives to ruin by the Father.

Azrael stared at the wingspan that was Michael’s. Years and years of prayers, secrets, prophecies were held in his wings. Each feather ruffled just slightly at their attachment to his span. 

Michael’s head hung low; his breathing was shallow with a drip of blood at the corner of his mouth. His hands were tied above his head and hung from a chain that was attached to the planks above. 

Azazel sat in the corner, her long, lean legs were crossed in front of her. Her hands gripped the arm rests as she watched Azrael walk around the Angel, exposing his weak spots -- similar to his own as they had been created as complete equals. 

“Wake up,” said Azrael as he kicked the feet of Michael, jolting his weakened, hanging body.

The blonde’s head shook slightly, trying to gather himself. He looked around the room, illuminated with the circle of candles surrounded the two fallen and the one whom was still welcome through the pearly white gates. 

“Can we hurry this up?” said Azazel as she looked at her nails and huffed. 

Azrael had, had enough of her attitude. His nostrils flared and his eyes glowed brightly, feeling his rage shake through his body. With a quick stomp, Azrael appeared in front of his little sister, grabbing at her slender throat. 

He picked her up off of the ground. Her legs dangled toward the floor as he held her above his eyesight. “Do not toy with me, little kitten,” began Azrael, “I gave you a taste of my blood and you think you can run wild with it?” 

His breaths came out as quick, harsh huffs before letting the petite female fall to the ground with a thud and a cough. “Remember who made you,” he said as he turned on the balls of his feet and walked back toward his brother. 

Michael stared at the interaction between them both and looked from Azazel to Azrael; his eyes were worried, almost Father-like. 

Az couldn’t help but laugh as he looked from his brother toward Azazel, who sat on the ground, one foot tucked under the other, grabbing at her throat. Her pink, plump lips were in a permanent state of pout. “Oh,” said Azrael, still laughing lightly as he grabbed at his stomach for a hint of drama, “that’s right. Michael here made you, didn’t he?” 

He looked to his brother and grabbed the hair atop of his head, pulling back causing the Angel to huff out. A spray of blood released into the air from his mouth as his head was forced back. Az’s nostrils flared again, “She’s your literal baby, is she not?” 

With force, Azrael released Michael’s head and watched as it bounced forward. A large crack from the force of his drop echoed throughout the room.

“You know what you signed up from, Azazel,” Azrael said as he pointed to the young blonde; a large blade gleamed against the light of the candles, bouncing to and fro from the flickers. 

Azrael walked around to the back of his brother. As he ran the blade, lightly, along the spine of the Angel, Michael stared at his little one.

“It is okay. Azazel,” he whispered, lightly. His piercing blue eyes found hers as he nodded and winced as Azrael drew the tip of the blade against his spine, pricking just light enough to cause a drop of blood to drip.

“She agreed to this,” Azrael whispered against Michael’s ear as he ran his fingers along the whites of his feathers. They ruffled under his fingertips; static between Heaven’s strength and Azrael’s hand allowed a light strand of electricity flicker between the two. 

Azrael bit his bottom lip, looking at Azazel over the shoulder of Michael, gripping a feather between two fingers and plucking it from the span. 

Michael screamed out, loudly, as Azrael held the feather against his palm. “Ah,” whispered Azrael as he stepped away from the Angel. He traced his lips with the feather, feeling the softness of the secret. He looked to his little sister before placing the feather between his lips and into his mouth, swallowing it whole.

His eyes illuminated as he leaned back. The secret erupted inside of him, causing his translucent skin to glow from the inside out. His back arched as he screamed toward the ceiling, consuming Heaven’s almighty strength. 

His muscles twitched at the feeling of goodness inside of him. Azrael bent over, hands perched at his knees, breathing in and out of his mouth with harsh, hasty mouthfuls. After a pause, Azrael stood up and looked toward his little sister, smiling, “They mean to kill Sam. And soon.” 

With a quick movement, Azrael was at Michael’s back again, pulling and tugging at any feathers that he could. 

The room erupted out into vicious screams between Michael’s pain and Azrael’s tormenting laughter. Feathers flew throughout the cramped space of the warehouse that they’d holed up in, somewhere outside of North Carolina. 

The candles around the two men flickered brighter and higher with each feather that landed in the flame.

Azrael was consuming Heaven’s most powerful warrior, one prayer and prophet at a time. He learned of their secrets, what prophets to watch and listen to. He could hear the small whispers of Heaven as he continued to consume the almighty. 

His body thrashed, like he’d been drinking poison. His hands cracked and morphed, glowing with a radiant white light. 

Michael’s body shook as each of his feathers, the tie to his humanity, was stripped from him. His body thrashed against the chains, echoing throughout the room. “Help me!” he screamed, his body cracking and breaking in a desperate attempt to fly away.

Looking across the way, Michael saw his own -- one made of his own skin and blood, staring at the scene. She had her hands at her mouth, covering her screams and tears streamed down her perfect, ivory skin. 

She was watching her Maker die. 

Candles flickered around them as Azrael continued his consumption of his once brother. But before long, there weren’t many feathers left. 

With the loss of his feathers, Michael’s wings were exposed and raw, bloodied with Heaven’s blood. The same blood that ran from the Mary statue in Rome every time they found a dead angel in the streets.

Michael hung, limp and lifeless, against his chains. The toes of his shoes dragged across the floor of the warehouse, making a light screeching noise. His head hung; a line of spit dripping from his bottom lip. 

With heavy breaths, Azrael stepped away from the scene to look at his masterpiece. He’d dreamed of his moment for years and now that it was finally here, he was unsure how he felt.

He stared at his brother, thinking back to the moments that they’d had in Heaven, laughing and creating little humans and Angels. 

“We will rule under Father’s light and make this world our own, Brother,” said Michael as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Oh Brother,” said Azrael as he stepped forward, pushing Michael’s head up to stare him in the eyes. Blue against Yellow.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” admitted Azrael as he let go over Michae’s chin, watching as it dropped limp to his chest. “But you gave me no choice,” continued Azrael as he snapped his fingers and saw a flame appear.

A stifled, ragged sob erupted from behind the two men. Azrael looked over his shoulder as Michael brought his head up to look at Azazel, who hadn’t moved from her corner.

Her face was pink and splotchy with grief as she stared beyond Azrael toward Michael. 

“It-” began Michael as he took a deep breath and allowed a small smile grace his face, “It is okay, my child.” 

Azrael rolled his eyes at her humanity, with her wings in tact, and brought the flame to Michael’s raw, bare wings. 

Michael threw his head back, screaming a blood curdling scream, that Azrael could have sworn echoed throughout the world.

The ground beneath them began to shake as Michael’s eyes erupted with light. It escaped his mouth as he continued to scream. His body began to shake as the flames took over.

The scent of burning flesh caused Azrael to wrinkle his nose and take a step back before sitting on the ground and watching his handiwork.

He was mesmerized with the sight. 

06/25/2019 08:17 PM 



He watched from afar. 

The room was covered in blood. Bodies of the covenant laid spattered across the grounds. One body laid across the alter at the front, blood dripping from the cut at the neck of the corpse. The pool of blood gathered at the ground below. 

His son was magnificent. This had been the moment that Lilith dreaded -- the whole reason she wanted their son dead. He was going to end her. A sense of joy swelled up inside of Azrael as he watched Sam bring his hand up, stopping Lilith dead in her tracks. 

Her white eyes clouded over, anger overtaking her small, frail body.  She would finally be no more. Azrael couldn’t help but clap his hands together in giddiness. 

Ruby stood behind Sam, watching the scene play out. The room echoed with noise, Lilith’s voice, toying Sam on. She didn’t want to show her fear, the utter terror that she was going to be non-existent. 

Not just banished back to Hell to climb back up, but really gone. This was the prophecy that had been told to her. This was the reason Lucifer had orchestrated the whole ordeal that was Azrael and Lilith. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to have gone, though, with Lilith out of the picture, Azrael was completely happy with this outcome just as much.

He’d gotten everything that he’d bargained for, without having to deal with that God forsaken Mary Winchester. She’d been meant to carry his offspring -- that was their deal. Luckily enough for her (well, for the rest of her short life), she’d avoided that deal entirely. 

A soft thud brought Azrael back to the reality of the situation: Sam was becoming who he was meant to be. His vision consumed itself with black. The entirety of his eyes glowed along the rim with a yellow. It was faint, but it was there. Lilith fell to the floor; Azrael watched as her eyes white unclouded and returned to the normal blue that belonged to her host. 

Lilith was gone.

“You did it,” exclaimed Ruby as she breathed out in astonishment. 

Sam blinked his eyes, shaking his head as his eyes returned back to their brown before looking to Ruby, in confusion. “What-”

There was a beating at the door, echoing the annoying voice of Dean Winchester, calling out to his “brother”. Azrael used that term loosely when describing the boys. 

“You opened the door,” said Ruby, looking away from the floor and to Sam. “And as it is written, the first demon will be the last seal,” echoed Ruby as she watched the blood begin to form, light erupting from the lines of blood, breaking the ground beneath it. Azrael rolled his eyes, the first demon. Lilith loved to throw that in Az’s face, considering he wasn’t a born demon. He was a fallen angel. 

A loud boom echoed throughout the room, making Sam clinch his head.

It was here. Father was coming. 

The light began to shine brighter and brighter as Sam and Dean were reunited. A loud pitch erupting throughout the room. His son winced and fell to his knees, gripping his head between his hands. Dean was next to him, crouched in a similar fashion, desperate to ease the noise that was Lucifer’s rising. 

With a snap of the finger, Azrael sent the boys away -- he needed time alone with his Father.  Ruby had run in fear at the appearance of her maker, but Azrael stood his ground. 

From the hole in the ground, a large figure shone through the light as it began to dim and soon fizzle out. 

Lucifer stood whole, looking for the closest host he could use, though whatever host he could find wouldn’t last long. He needed Sam’s body to survive on this Earth, which is why Azrael sent him away.

“Father,” said Azrael as he walked toward his Father’s shape. Within an instant, on the dead bodies that lay on the ground, sat up. Blood covered the front of the Nun’s shirt. The dried blood appeared almost black in the dim light of the worn down church. Lucifer, now in the body, looked around the room before locking eyes with his son.

He tilted the Nun’s head, cracking it. “Azrael,” said Lucifer. His voice was dark and engulfing. It had been some time since he’d seen his Father. “Where is the boy? Where is my body?” questioned Lucifer as he stood up from the ground, wiping his hands on the front of the Nun’s dress.

It was an odd sight, seeing his Father in such a fragile human form. He remembered the fierceness of his Morningstar’s wrath. The mere wingspan when he’d been an Angel was as long as a football field. 

He was marvelous. 

“The boy is gone,” answered as he stood in front of his Father, eyes glowing yellow. Lucifer looked around the room, but at the mention of Sam being gone, the body began to shake uncontrollably. 

There was no way that the fragile human form could handle the pure rage of Lucifer himself. “What do you mean gone?” The room shook and cracked up the middle of the floor at the sound of his true voice erupting from the pale pink lips of the Nun.

Azrael shrugged his shoulders, walking in a slow circle around his Father, “He. Is. Gone. I’m unsure how else to put it.” 

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his son, noting the insubordination. “Where is Ruby?” Lucifer asked as he took a step forward, all the while Azrael continued his circular motion. “I need to speak with her.” 

“She ran away like the pu*sy hell bitch she is,” muttered Azrael, quickly, to his Father as he stopped, dead in his tracks. 

He stood face to face with his Father. A smile broke out across his face as he stared at the Morningstar.

“What are you looking at?” said Lucifer, his hands shaking at his side. “This body won’t last long, my son. We need to find something more permanent, for the time being.” 

Azrael stared in silence, watching his Father deteriorate in the mere moments of being in the Nun’s body. “No Father,” began Azrael as he brought his hand up, much like he’d watch Sam do not even 15 minutes ago.

Lucifer tilted his head and stared at Azrael hand before coughing. He looked at Azrael in betrayal, “Azr-Azr-Azrael,” he coughed out, grabbing at the throat of the Nun and clawing.

Azrael’s eyes glowed brightly, black forming in the middle and casting out. His eyes mimicked Sam’s, yet the yellow shone brighter than his son’s. 

The lights cracked around them; the bulb’s glass shattering and falling to the floor around them. 

The nails of the Nun began to claw at the skin at the neck of the host, blood spilling onto the ground from the wound.

Azrael stood his ground, watching as his Father began to cough up black and yellow fire. The black cloud fell to the ground, circling around the Nun’s body before the body fell to its knees in front of Azrael. 

“Hell is mine,” gritted out Azrael as he stretched his fingers out widely, feeling the skin between his fingers tear. 

Lucifer threw back his head and screamed; fire erupted and hit the ceiling of the building before turning purple, then blue, then fizzled out into an orange. 

As the last of the fire flowed from the lips of Lucifer, right before death, he dropped his head. Blood dripped from his mouth and onto the floor. The only sound was the echo of the drips. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” mumbled Lucifer before falling forward onto his stomach, face cracked against the floor.

With a flash of light, Azrael saw the wingspan of his once there wings burned into the ground. 

Lucifer was dead.

Returning his eyes back to their normal brown, Azrael stared at the scene in front of him. His Father, so strong and undefeatable, now dead. 

A loud bang erupted outside of the building, shaking the ground. Azrael walked to the window that was on the other side of the room, shades drawn. Pulling back the curtain, he watched as fire fell from the sky. 

Angels were falling to the ground, dying, breaking. The world around them would fall to flames. The Morningstar was dead, which meant that God, himself was weakened. -- And now, his children, his angels, began to die.

This was the beginning of the end. 

Samuel was Revelations and Azrael would guide him to victory. Sam would rule Earth and Azrael would rule all 4 worlds: Heaven, Hell, Earth, and Purgatory.

06/24/2019 08:14 PM 

"What an odd team we are? A slayer and a demon." / BUFFY + AZ


The crispness of the air protruded Azrael’s lungs, no doubt because of the chain smoking he was known for. Even with the thought in his mind, he had a cigarette, unlit, perched between his thin, pink lips. With a frown, he grabbed at the rolled up tobacco and pushed it back into the pack, when went into his back pocket.

This body was beginning to fail him. He needed to find blood and blood fast to bathe and drink from. The elixir of baby’s blood would do, or perhaps a witch, if he could find one. They were a dime and dozen out here -- but tricking one was becoming harder and harder as they learned their craft.

“F***ing Charmed,” muttered Azrael as he pushed through the dead of night, walking along the sidewalk.

Where was this beast? Angel had promised to meet him at this f***ing cemetary, to follow through with the rest of his contract. Azrael paced along the gate of the sidewalk before peering into the graveyard once again.

One thing that Azrael couldn’t stand was tardiness.

What shook him from his annoyance was footsteps: a pair of them. He looked over his shoulder, pushing his body into the shadows. His shoulders leaned against the cement of the barrier gate as his eyes glowed yellow.

“I’m telling you, Sammy,” said a familiar voice to which Azrael responded with an eye roll. They couldn’t be serious. Not here, thought Azrael to himself. He wasn’t prepared to come face to face with Sam again quite yet.

He still had planting of seeds in Sam’s mind to do.

Dean Winchester appeared first, his hands moving around incessantly as he spoke to Sam. “Fangs and blondie are going to be here.”

Sam hung his head and nodded to his brother, “Fine, Dean, but if you’re wrong -”

Azrael laughed at Sam’s empty threat. He’d do no such thing to that forsaken brother of his. What a little fool. He’d harden that boy up quick once he’d finished the first phase of his plan. He was Lucifer’s meat suit, after all. Boy needed a backbone for that.

After mere moments of arguing, Dean and Sam headed into the cemetery. Dean had a machete in one hand and his shotgun in the other. Sam had another knife and his .45 in his hand. The gun gleamed in the moonlight as they walked around the graves, finding a place to hide before the brute, Angel, got there.

What had Dean meant by the blonde, Azrael thought to himself as he moved from the shadows and through the gate.

Moving through the moist grass from the early morning, Azrael felt the wetness against the tops of his shoes. “Angel,” he said, telepathically. That was one beautiful thing of being the left hand of their creator. He could track them anywhere.

He could speak to them anywhere.

“I’m here,” said a loud voice to which Azrael looked over his shoulder to see the man. He was dressed in all black and accompanied by a petite blonde.

“Who’s blondie?” asked Azrael as he stood upright, well aware of the Winchester’s presence. He could hear the heartbeats of Sam and Dean speed up, meaning that they recognized Azrael’s presence in the scene before them.

Azrael heard the click of the .45, cocking the bulletin into the chamber as he heard the movement of the boys. He held his hands up and laughed loudly, “Oh boys, why don’t you come out and say hello?”

With the gun in his hand perched on top of the other with the knife, Sam’s eyesight was on Azrael. The look of true anger presented on his face cause Azrael to chuckle again, “Evening, Sammy. It’s been awhile.”

Dean looked from Az and back to Sam, his eyebrows raised in confused before looking back to the demon, vampire, and whoever that f***ing blonde was. “What are you doing here?” asked Azrael, finally. He then looked away from the Winchesters and back to Angel, “Did you invite these peasants?”

Reaching into his back pocket, Azrael grabbed out a cigarette and lit it quickly with a snap of the finger before taking a drag. “Can we get on with this? I’m quite bored.”

06/24/2019 02:27 PM 



“A blood sacrifice is required,” said the witch with a pursed look to her lips. Her unruly hair was piled high on her head and her eyes, a dark amber color. The room around her was covered in cobwebs and spiders, rats and serpents. 
Azrael placed his hands in front of him, clasping on wrist with one hand before nodding slowly, “You act like that is a hard task, Winifred.” His very existence continued because of blood: drinking, bathing, draining -- the possibilities were endless. 
Winifred moved around the small room; the cauldron sat in the corner, glowing a light green and smoke slowly escaping from the top. Az watched as the smoke fell to the floor, escaping across the floor with a cool feeling against his shins that he could feel through his pants. 

“I love it when Demons act like they know everything,” said a voice from behind Azrael. He turned on the ball of his foot and see the blonde sister, Sarah, walking into the room. Her hair flowed down her back; her breasts bounced with each step against her corset. 
“Because we normally do,” said Azrael under his breath before turning back to Winifred. He felt Sarah’s fingers creeping up his spine as she approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder, to draw his attention away from her sister. 
Her fingers danced along the hems of the clothes that he wore -- a tight fitted black vest with a looser, white shift shirt underneath. “I would have to disagree,” she responded before dropping her hand from his body and skipping over to her sister, looking into the cauldron. 
“Just tell me what you need the blood of,” said Azrael with a hint of annoyance lacing each word that escaped his lips. 
Winifred was quick to retort: “We need the blood of an infant, between the ages of newborn and 6 months.” 
A wide smile broke out across his face as he looked down at his hands and then nodded, “That will not be a problem, Sanderson.” With those words, Azrael turned on his heel and walked toward the door. 

He could almost feel the cool of the smoke from her boiling pot following each step out into the dead of night.


It didn’t take long before Azrael was back at the Sanderson house with a baby cradled against his chest. The baby was plump and light skinned. He belonged to an Irish family from a village one town over. The bright red hair was the giveaway. It cooed against his chest, burrowing further into the soft fabric that was his vest. 
“Someone ordered an infant?” said Azrael, pushing past the door of the Sanderson home. Winifred sat in the same place that he left her, hands wringing against one another at her front. Her eyes looked from the baby to the demon and smiled, one of the darkest smiles he’d ever seen. It might have even put some of his own cunning smiles to shame. Moving around the cauldron, Winifred outstretched her hands to Azrael, gesturing for the baby. 

“Shall I kill it first?” asked Azrael, looking at the baby in his arms. 
“If you’d like, or I may,” said Winifred, a little giddier to kill the baby. But the demon in him couldn’t help himself. He thrived on the kill just as much as the witches. With one swift movement, Azrael turned the head of the baby completely around, facing the wrong direction. He then tossed the lifeless corpse to Winifred and smiled, tightly, “Couldn’t help myself,” before shrugging and moving over to a seat that was perched near the window. 

With an eye roll, Winifred carried the lifeless infant by the foot over to the corner where the knives were. A quick cut to the jugular had the baby spilling over the floor. She bought the upside down corpse above the cauldron, allowing the blood to spill into the potion. 
The smoke from the top of the pot began to turn a light shade of pink, spilling out onto the floor. Azrael watched in silence, awaiting his next move. “Demon,” said Winifred, gesturing for Azrael to come over. “I need some of your blood, to bind the pact,” she continued, moving around the pot and toward Azrael as he approached. 
“Make it quick,” he said as he placed his hand out and watched as she cut the palm. Black goo erupted to the surface, spilling over the side of his hand and into the smoke. It boiled over, spilling a now shade of deep purple. 
“With a sip of this and the swap of blood from each of us, we will be bonded,” said Winifred, gripping the knife and cutting her palm. Azrael outstretched his hand out to meet hers, placing the cuts against one another and gripping her delicate hand tightly. 
His eyes glowed yellow, brighter than he’d ever felt them become. This was the beginning of the end and he couldn’t wait.


Azrael blew smoke rings toward the hazy television. He was bored and annoyed. The Winchester’s had been in this god forsaken town for weeks now. It was hot and humid and Azrael had, had enough of it. He was willing to start a plague somewhere else in the world just to drive the two numbnuts away from this f***ing town. 
“Dean!” shouted a voice from outside of the window. Popping up from the bed, Az brought the cigarette to his mouth, pinching it between his teeth as he leaned into the window, peering through the curtains. 
Sam stood next to the black Impala, leaning his arms on top of the hood, hands crossed in front of him. F***, that kid was tall. Az reached up and inhaled a deep lungful of smoke before exhaling from his lips and nostrils, watching the smoke twirl in front of his view. It was almost as if Azrael had said Sam’s name. Sam turned his head quickly toward the window, but was met with nothing. Just curtains. 
Azrael moved across the room, grabbing at his shoes and sliding them on as he heard the Winchester’s outside, bickering. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” asked Dean which was when met with a stuttered excuse that Sam had just thought he saw something. 
After moments, the Impala started up, shaking the hotel room as it departed and headed toward the building that they’d been sitting on for weeks now. This building held a coven, one that was in trouble. 
Why the Winchesters cared was beyond him, but wherever Sam traveled, Azrael was hot on his tail. After the car had departed and a few moments had passed by, Azrael cracked his neck and then down his spine, echoing across the room. 
“Phew,” he said as he shook off the remnants of the dead hooker that laid in his body before shooting finger guns and winking at her. “Thanks for the good time -” he trailed off, unable to recall her name, only that she tasted heavenly. 
“Yeah, whatever your name was,” he said as he shimmered from the room and next to the building that Sam and Dean drove, relentlessly, toward.

06/23/2019 08:18 PM 


SEPTEMBER 13TH, 2008 | 03:33 AM

The time had finally come for Deanna to be dragged to Hell by Lucifer’s puppies. The growls lingered with the screams of the blonde bitch, to which Azrael couldn’t help by smile. He was just sad that he couldn’t do it himself. He lived between Hell and Earth a majority of his days, following Samuel on Earth.

One of the best days of his life was when he saw the contract with Deanna Winchester’s signature on it. A life for a life. He remembered asking his father if they could frame it, to which Lucifer did not see fit to laugh back.

The dog’s dragged the limp body of the blonde into the circle of the woods in North Carolina. The town outside of these woods called it The Devil’s Tramping Grounds; there were many myths that Lucifer himself, trudged around in a circle in these woods, thinking up ways how to bring God to his knees for banishing him all those years ago.

It wasn’t complete bullsh*t, but Lucifer didn’t waste his time on Earth. In fact, he despised the place. At least until he could make Earth the way that he wanted it to be.

“Would you hurry up?” said Azrael in annoyance as the pups continued to drag the body into the middle of the circle before dropping it to the ground and staring back at Azrael with a growl. “Don’t test me, dog,” said Azrael before placing his hands at his chest in a pray form before pushing them out. Light erupted from his palms, blinding to anyone but Azrael and the pups.

The world around them vanished as they appeared in Hell. Hell appeared differently to everyone, but because he traveled with a human, it appeared as Deanna’s Hell. The real Hell looked nothing like any human could imagine.

The world around him was a dim, greenish color. Lightning struck behind him as he smiled. “What an imagination,” he said, staring at the blonde before a voice behind him interrupted his dialogue with the lifeless woman.

“Quit playing with your food, Az,” said the voice, causing him to look over his shoulder. Annoyance immediately caused a headache: Lilith. Her eyes were white and cloudy as she stepped up onto the platform and snapped her delicate fingers.

“What do you want?” he asked, “You’re annoying me already.”

Lilith clicked her tongue against her teeth and let out a little giggle, “I came to see the prize you claimed.” She walked over toward the lifeless body before snapping her fingers once more. “Are you going to take all day?”

A gremlin limped onto the platform and began work of setting Deanna up on the hooks. “Can’t find any good help nowadays,” said Lilith under her breath as she moved back toward Azrael. Her dark hair flowed down to the middle of her back. She was dressed in all black and her lips a bright red.

“So what do I have to thank for this occasion? I told you not to disturb me,” began Azrael as he watched Deanna being hung on the hooks. First her trap, pierced and blood dripping from the muscle. Then her bicep and quad. It was so wonderful to see such a specimen on the chopping block -- finally.

“I told you --” began Lilith, but Azrael hissed, growling and turning to grab her neck, pulling her off of the ground. His eyes were a bright yellow, black floating in the middle. “Az-Azrael,” she coughed out.

“I told you not to disturb me, you little bitch,” he said as he dropped her to the ground. He turned his back on her and heaved in and out, heavy angry breaths. “It would be wise for you to not be there when I turn back around, Lilith,” said Azrael as he closed his eyes and took a moment.

Before long, he heard a huff of breath and then opened his eyes. He was alone, finally, with a strung up Deanna.

Now, he just needed her to wake from that deathly slumber.


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