Rotting wood floor and thick ashen webs littered the inside a moist, dilapidated room as two figures- one hunched holding a staff of wood and another a tall gaunt figure wearing a dark suit- stared off at each other.
The hunched figure tapped its wooden staff against the floor, breaking part of it as golden-yellow pollen bloomed out of the staff's very cracks and enveloped the hunched figure.
"We had a deal, hound." The hunched figures' words were venomous and raspy, feminine, yet had a tinge of barbaric growl to them. "The contract has been sealed."
Deep growls that reverberated across the creaking floors followed the hunched figure's words as black smoke wafted from within the suit jacket of the gaunt figure.
"Our deal ended when your kin were led astray," replied the gaunt figure, its voice was eery and monotone. "But... we will endure the contract for the sake of our lives."
A murder of crows soon entered the room using the broken windows and their jagged holes and flapped their wings, cackling in approval at the gaunt figure's words.
"And after that?" asks the hunched figure, their grip on their wooden staff tightened, causing its already delicate surface to grow more cracks.
"After that... may He have mercy on your soul," the gaunt figure joined the cackles of the murder. The black smoke grew thick enough to envelop the whole of the gaunt figure as the glow from the silvery moon above their heads sent a ray of light that illuminated part of the gaunt figure's form. Revealing the inky black eyes of a tired man. "For my lord will not."
The smoke cocooned the man before dissipating faster than it was created, revealing the space where the tired man had once been.
The hunched figure groaned in pain, its body emitting loud sharp crunches as their hunched body deformed and mold into a straighter form. One last soul-crushing crunch of their spine echoed across the room before the glow of the moonlight shone the full form of the formerly hunched figure.
A tall wispy woman, with full red lips, shadowed upturned green doe eyes, luscious raven black hair, and flawless light skin. Her wooden staff transformed with her, growing longer until it reached her busty chest and full hips.
"Charlotte, my dear." She called out, her voice is silky yet had a hard tone to it that demanded utmost attention.
A series of footsteps rang amidst the cacophony of the murder's wing flaps as another woman wearing a thin white gown and a dark veil appeared before her. The woman, Charlotte, was the exact copy of her mother, enjoying the same black hair, green eyes, and heavy chest.
"You called, mamma?" Charlotte asked in a teeny yet endearing voice.
"Oh, yes, dear. How lovely you look." The woman cooed, stepping closer towards Charlotte as she caressed her face under her veil. "We must complete the contract as soon as possible."
Joy soon spread across Charlotte's face. "Truly, mamma? Oh, what joy. I must inform Hendricks and gather the materials quickly before sunset."
Charlotte nearly jumped for joy when she heard her mother's news, but her mother's firm hand halted her happiness.
"Change your targets, my dear. I would not want hunters on our tail for a very long time, understood?" The woman demanded her agreement, which Charlotte gave before letting her go.
Watching her daughter nearly trip herself, the woman could not help but laugh to herself as the golden-yellow pollen enveloping her body was siphoned back into her long wooden staff and the murder of crows flew out of the broken window and its jagged frame.
"Times are a-changing, indeed."
●●●Near Waterloo, Iowa●●●
Strangers on the internet. If there was ever the singular most feared aspect of modern society that parents, or even most adults, fear, then it was the strangers of the internet. Even back then in the future where Irwin had once lived, there were many a-tales of internet strangers and their technological wizardry. A few nude pictures there, an IP address here, a VPN everywhere, and, boom, all your information and your dirty little secrets at the powerful hands of one singular man.
"Quite terrifying, isn't it?" Irwin muttered, looking around the dim alleyway.
He had messaged his MySpace friend, Deput888y, and told them of their arrival in the city. Although they were reluctant at first, it only took some financial persuasion and haggling to convince them to meet in a neutral location. Hence, an alleyway beside a Mcdonalds' in the middle of the night.
"Well, oh, it's not like we're not packing and unless it's the demon we've been looking for and we're in a trap, oh, I think we're good," Garth replied, trying so hard to siphon all the yellow liquid dripping from his mouth.
"Yeah, well, wait. Are you eating honey from the Mcdonalds' packet?" Irwin asked exasperatedly. "We are in a midnight rendezvous. Garth."
"I know, it's just one packet, but I don't know how something so small causes so much chaos." Garth absentmindedly replied, his full effort to contain the drops of honey oozing out of the small white packet.
Before Irwin could admonish him further, he heard a series of footsteps in front of him. A figure emerged from within the shadows of the dark alleyway and into the warm yellow glow of the streetlight, revealing the form of a 30-something man with mousy brown hair, dark blue eyes, a sharp nose, and a lithe build. To Irwin's surprise, the man was wearing the standard brown uniform of a sheriff, complete with a sheriff's badge and standard Glock.
"Heya, folks." The man greeted, his hirsute hands held in front of his chest. "It's mighty late outside, you tourists?"
Irwin shared a look with Garth who was now fully paying attention to the man, the former eyeing the street around them before returning his gaze towards the man. "Yes, sir. We're, uh, meeting someone here."
"Uh-huh." The man hummed, scrutinizing them with much intent. "Richard Greythorne?"
"MySpace Deput888y?" Surprise arose from within Irwin's face as the man fully introduced himself.
Sheriff's Deputy Peter Gillham is a rather curious deputy who scours the internet for spooky stories to read while on his patrol. Once Deputy Gillham had befriended a friend of Richard who introduced the latter as a real-life werewolf, they began messaging each other and Gillham, quite surprisingly, was alarmed when Richard had not responded to his messages for quite a while. So, he sent the best thing he knew that would arouse his attention, an unusual murder case.
"That's why we're here," Irwin said as the lull in the conversation began. "That murder case with the eagle beak piercing the woman's heart. We need to investigate that."
Deputy Gillham laughed boisterously. " I can't do that. Look, fellas, I'm ok with sharing pictures and stories because who the hell would know, right? Not my boss. But I'm not gonna risk my job to, uh, let you see some spooky shit." Apprehension marred his face as he shook his head, rejecting Irwin's request quite forcefully.
"That's what I thought too." Irwin shrugged before taking out his fake badge and flipping it open, revealing his identity as a federal agent. "Special Agent James Bryce. This is my partner, Michael Crawford," Garth too showed his badge. "And, uh, we're investigating a recent spree of murders involving dead animals piercing the victim's hearts. I would appreciate your cooperation, Deputy."
"Oh, shit." Deputy Gillham cursed, palming his face. "Can't believe I got cat-fished by the FBI."
"I know, tough break, but we're not going to arrest you, Deputy. It is an unusual case and you have no lead whatsoever, but I'm just gonna remind you that copying and disseminating an active murder case violates a fuck load of federal laws. Don't do it again."
"Uh, yes, sir." Deputy Gillham nodded dutifully.
"Now, tell me about the cattle mutilation near the area."
"The cattle what?" Deputy Gillham seemed to be confused.
"Cows, bovines, cattle. They were fucked up about a few days ago." Garth explained. "Tell us about it."
"Ah, well, a farmer reported about nine of his cows being torn to shreds. We came in and blood is everywhere. We investigated and were told about a feud with a nearby cattle rancher, we interviewed him and he cracked, you know, very easily. Told us he bought one of those large mincers that he can operate like a vehicle and killed about half a dozen cows or so." He recounted.
"And you believe him?" Asks Irwin.
"Well, yeah. He led us to the mincer and there was a cow head inside its like a machine stomach." Gillham replied.
"Are you sure? He said half a dozen, that's six. Nine cows died, right? Did you smell any sulphur or spoiled eggs in the vicinity? Anything unusual?"
Deputy Gillham merely looks bewildered and bemused by the questions, looking back and forth between the two fake agents.
"Just answer the goddamn question, Gillham," Irwin ordered, suddenly raising his voice and startling both men.
"Uh, well, it's a goddamn farmhouse with pigs, so there's no like distinct smell like sulphur. And, uhm, yeah, he said half a dozen, but he said that he was also drunk on moonshine, so he might've miscounted. Sir." Deputy Gillham answered quite stiffly.
"Now, give this card to the sheriff and tell him to call us. We're also going to need you to drop off all evidence from the murder case at this address. Including the autopsy report. Understood?" Irwin's voice took a sterner tone.
His authoritative tone, however, seemed to work as Deputy Gillham replied with, "Yes, sir." to a man a few years younger than him
Seeing off Deputy Gillham and watching him absentmindedly stumble down the alleyway back to his car, Irwin shook his head with a sigh. "The dude could've wasted his life because he was fucking bored on the job."
●●●Hotel Room●●●
Checking in on a deluxe suite at the third fanciest hotel in the city and ordering almost every item on their menu seemed to be the pattern Irwin and Garth had created throughout their almost four days of travel.
A waste of time and money, Irwin thought at first, still clinging to the last vestiges of that poverty-born kid he used to be, but the constant coaxing of the sugar-rushed Garth and his need for comfort had endeared him to the life.
"Alright. Grab the file and tell me all the info we have with the Eagle case." Irwin ordered, grabbing a file himself and skimming through its long-winded content.
"Uh, ok. The victim's name is Meghan Doherty. 29, blonde, engaged to William McHale, Engineer, and recently went to an OBG-YN. She went missing for 48 hours before her fiance filed a report." He recanted.
"Alright. Very much different from our Stag." Irwin quipped. "Though that clinic visit sounds interesting. Erik was divorced and had an estranged kid."
"Eh, seems weak," Garth replied, rejecting his theory. "Well, woah. The police files say that she was found about a few miles off Klinger farmlands. Inside a bisected RV with a stuffed Eagle literally clawing her heart out. This time, though, she had no blood on her body and her surroundings."
"No blood?" Irwin clicked his tongue as he travelled across the room towards the bathroom. "What about her body? Did they finish the autopsy yet?"
"Uh, yeah. Toxicology shows no alcohol or poison on her body. But they did find a daffodil inside of her... vagina."
Irwin halted his steps as a short laugh escaped his mouth. "What? They found what in her what?"
"Daffodils inside of her fallopian tube. Like stuck in there." Garth repeated.
Irwin was silent for a short second before responding. "Give me a minute, will ya?"
●●●●●●
The Supernatural television show was produced by the CW network, a cable television network which means the bawdiest scene they can manage is dryhumping inside of a thick blanket while their most gruesome was some basic beating session with minimal blood and dark lights. Frankly, Irwin only watched their shows for childhood nostalgia. Well, that and shirtless Stephen Amell.
Irwin was so excited about the fact that he was in his favourite show that he might have forgotten that this PG-13 world had become rather too real a world.
Sure, there was some instance where he was flayed alive by the Ancestor or saw their family's governess gunned down like an animal by her daughter, yet all that event had been buried by the sheer excitement, adrenaline, and insanity of the situation.
"Fuck me."
Irwin tried to calm his quickening breath. Not aided by the fact that the glow of the headlight was growing bleary and fuzzy, his head buzzing with an obnoxious dull sound.
Irwin lurched towards the corner of the surprisingly large bathroom and grabbed the marbled sink as a pedestal.
It took him nearly five minutes to slow down his breathing and another five for the head buzz and fuzzy lights to subside. Irwin laughed to himself, cursing his mind regarding its untimely existential crisis.
"Ok, we're ok. IIt'sthe real world with real people." He said to himself, chard at work convince his mind to adapt to the situation.
"Jesus, fuck. A lot of people are going to die."
Just then, a realization hit him. The apocalypse, urge on by both Demonkin and Celestials, will wreak havoc across the globe and will inevitably kill millions in its wake. Even the advent of the apocalypse will lead to thousands of casualties with the release of thousands of demons, the breaking of the 66 seals and the rising of the four horsemen. All will cause chaos and destruction and, frankly, he does not have the power to stop them all.
The Apocalypse will not happen, sure, the Winchesters will make sure of that, but just the proceedings of its completion will cause massive casualties.
"I can survive the advent of the apocalypse. The Greythornes will survive the rise of the horsemen. I will make sure of it." Irwin's whispered his promise not only to himself but to the world and whoever was listening. If the world was destined to kill millions of its inhabitants and if that destiny cannot be swayed nor prevented, then Irwin will make sure that his family will live scott-free.
Was it selfish of him to use his powers and knowledge for the betterment of himself and his family? Absolutely, but Irwin knows of the inevitability coming to pass and if he can't save those all those people out there, then he'll make sure to save whoever he can.
"Hey, Richard. We got a call from Sheriff Dollard." Garth's urgent tone brought him back from his selfish musings. "Meghan's fiance agreed to an interview tomorrow at 9 a.m."
●●●Tomorrow, 09 a.m., Messy's diner●●●
Across the hustle and bustle of the morning rush hour inside the diner, three men were huddled in a corner with a serious atmosphere. Their table, although bedecked with food and beverages, was left uneaten and hot.
"Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. We know it's a horrible time for you and your family with the death of your fiancee, but we have some questions regarding her unusual death." Irwin said, internally patting himself on the back for saying the speech in one go.
"Uh, yeah sure." Replied a tall, brown-haired man with a full beard and dark, heavy green eyes. "Meg is a lovely girl and, uh, you know, we're just devastated to see her die," He said, a little too rigidly.
Irwin tilted his head to his response but continued. "Alright. Can you give us a timeline of the past 24 hours before Meghan went missing?"
"Uh, yeah. I woke up with her, at about 6-6:30 in the morning. Uh, had breakfast and she was a little bit pissed off and I don't know why actually. Then we went off to work by 8. I was having this huge headache and heartache at work, told her about it in a call and she sounded a little manic." William groaned and pinch the bridge of his nose as if remembering the feeling of the event. "Sorry."
"No... it's alright." Irwin narrowed his eyes, bringing a cup of coffee towards William. "Don't stress yourself. Just let it flow better."
"Oh, yeah. I bet you haven't had breakfast yet." Garth remarked, sitting beside Irwin as he devoured half of the food on the table. "Here have some chocolate sprinkled blueberry pancake."
Irwin sighed at his partner's antics, waving away the full plate of rainbow pancakes to the side. "G-Michael. We are interviewing the murder victim's fiancee, have some fucking respect."
"Right, sorry. Go on, sir."
William sighed. "Ah, yeah. We had a lunch date at 1. She was late for like half an hour or so and by the time she got there, my headache was very, very painful. I told her that I had to go to the doctor. She said no and I just need to sleep it off."
William suddenly closed his eyes and stopped his recounting of the day as he exhaled a shaky breath. "Can I- Can I tell you guys something? Jesus, I sound like I killed-" Realizing his words, William nearly jumped out of his seat. "I-I did not kill her. I didn't."
William hunched closer to the table and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "The thing is... I just don't care. I mean, I'm very sad for her family and certainly am a little bit sad that she's gone, but... I don't give a fuck about it. I-I'm even a little bit happy- no, unburdened? Yeah, unburdened about it."
The two fake agents shared an incredulous look before returning their gazes towards the purportedly indifferent and unburdened fiancee of the murder victim.
"So, is this why you, uh, filed a report nearly 2 days later?" Asks Garth with furrowed brows. "Because you don't care?"
It took a second before William responded, hesitation clear across his face. "... well, yeah. I mean, I-I told her family that I haven't seen her in a day, but there was just... such joy and a lack of expectation from her that I just wanted it to be longer, you know?"
It was clear to William that the agents did not, in fact, know for the expressions on their faces lead to only one conclusion: they were weirded out by his confession.
"Uh, Mister McHale, before she went missing, did she say something that would suggest her ending up in a van or the middle of a farm field?"
"Oh, yeah. When I went home, I called her and she told me that she would just be visiting her friend in Klinger. During the call, I heard like car honks and shit and some like people screaming?"
"Screaming? Like murder scream?" Garth asks.
"No, like a happy scream. She must've been travelling through the Circus Carnival."
Irwin looked at William. "Carnival?"
"Grimsby's Cantankerous Circus Carnival" William nodded, pulling out his wallet and showing off a Polaroid picture of him and Meghan enjoying a blue cotton candy below a large steel Ferris wheel.
"Carnival? This is a carnival?" Irwin was fascinated by the discovery as took the picture from William and scrutinized every part of it.
Looking worried for his partner, Garth turned his attention towards William. "Thank you for the time, Mr. McHale. Please call us if you have any information regarding the case. Is it possible-"
"Uh, yeah. You can have it. Just, you know, tell me if you find her killer, at least so that her family can be comforted." William pleaded which Garth promised to do so.
Belatedly noticing the missing person in front of him, Irwin turned towards his partner. "McHale. You notice something about him?"
"Uh-huh. Sound like something wore off of him." Garth remarked. "Do you think the demon sold her like a love potion?"
Garth's words brought back the memories of Sam Winchester getting married in season seven and that brought a sigh out of his mouth. "Damnit, forgot they can do that. But that still doesn't explain the Daffodil and Bay Leaves we found on their stomach."
"Maybe a witch?" Garth suggested. "Like I heard there are witches that deal with stuff like flowers and condiments?"
'Witches?' Irwin tilted his words as the word reverberated across his mind for there was something familiar with the word that somehow involves this case. For days no, they were coming up short of actual evidence linking the supposed demonic signals with the murder cases themselves. But there was something here that resonated within his mind. 'Menu.'
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[Character || Skill || Supernatural Record || Status || Quests || Trade Shop]
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'Supernatural Record'
"Uh, Richard? You ok there?"
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[Supernatural Record]
▪︎ Monstrosities
▪︎ Celestials
▪︎ Infernals
▪︎ Creatures
▪︎ Demihumans
▪︎ Spirits
▪︎ Cosmic Entities
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'Demihumans.'
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▪︎ Pagan Gods
▪︎ Reapers
▪︎ Witches
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'Witches.'
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▪︎ Borrowers
▪︎ Naturals
▪︎ Students
▪︎ Special
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Irwin read the list of Witch types and ordered his system to display the current information regarding Borrowers.
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[Borrowers are witches who harness the powers of a demon to use and practice witchcraft. Anastasia Greythorne, Witch of the Burning Woods, stated that the powers and abilities of the Borrowers are proportionate to the strength of the demon they summoned and made a contract with.
Most Borrowers often signify their deal with the demon by crafting specially made accessories and using said accessories as a conduit for their magic as well as the conduit for the demon deal.
Borrowers, unlike humans who sold their souls to Crossroad demons, have no apparent time limit to their deal, often only dying by natural or forceful means.]
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"Holy shit. I got it." Irwin exclaimed, chuckling joyfully as his eyes widened in realization. "I'm so stupid."
"What? You know something?"
Irwin closed in on Garth, holding him by the scruffs of his shirt as their faces were an inch apart. Excitement washed over Irwin's previously annoyed face. "We're dealing with Borrower witches. Witches who practice magic by making deals with demons."
"What? So the electrical storm?"
"It really was one, not just some city fuckery."
"Cattle mutilation?"
"At least one of those was due to a demon possessing some poor fuck." Irwin let out a huff of air, a smile never leaving his face. "Let's go kill some fucking witch!"
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Apologise for the delay. There was an error in the site's timer.
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