Prior to the Greythorne hunt, Garth had only seen the opulence and grandeur of his room in television shows and movies. Hell, even when he was a dental hygienist and was earning so much more than a hunter, he couldn't afford this room for more than a day.
"How have you been settling in, Mr. Griffith?" A gorgeous blonde woman in a tight navy blue skirt approached Garth as he contemplated his poverty.
"I, uh, yeah! This is great." He replied absentmindedly. "How much is it worth again?"
He gazed at the rather large studio apartment in front of him. Movers mill about as they place the furniture ordered by his employer's secret lover, Ella Thorrin. Of course, the two had denied ever having fraternised with each other, but Garth wasn't convinced. They were behaving exactly like he and Mary Kate did when they were in eleventh grade.
"$18,000 a month. But I assure you and your employer that every single dollar is completely worth it. It has 3 floors, and a secured basement. The security-"
"You-you don't need to sell it to me. I'm just living in it. He's the one who gets to pay it." Garth beamed at the lady. "How about that modification for the basement I sent you yesterday?"
"Oh, yes. I've already ordered the electronic locks and the metal boxes from the truck are already in placed." She gave a bright, yet almost robotic, smile. "My only question is the structural modification you sent. This pentagram-"
"It's a dogmatic circle created by a rogue Bhuddist sect." Garth replied with the prepared reasoning given beforehand by Richard. "I would very much appreciate it if you could conform the basement into my religion's restriction. Otherwise, that would be a breach-"
"Oh, no, no, no!" The lady hurriedly waved her hands, sweating at the thought of breaching the contract. Richard had his lawyers add a 5-million-dollar breach of contact penalty clause. A specialty of the firm. "I assure you! This was just a confirmation, just in case the file was misplaced or mishandled."
Garth merely nodded and gazed towards the picturesque view of his apartment. The French windows revealed the orange sun setting across the metropolitan horizon. His thoughts then swerved towards his mission.
He wasn't dumb. Sure, sometimes he likes to lighten the mood with his antics, but that was just because these people don't know how to be calm. They're so eager to fight or kill whatever is in their way.
His express purpose here is to build a base of operations. Somewhere in Wyoming is an important place in the mind of Richard Greythorne. But given the amount of resources dedicated to demons the man had sent, he could guess some reasons.
He then locked his eyes on the 'lady with the dump-truck ass', as his driver had so elegantly put it. Apparently, the apartment deal had been on Richard's docket for the past two weeks and, just yesterday, had sealed the deal.
"Can you show me the basement?" He interrupted the lady, whom quickly agreed, leaving the movers to their lonesome.
The basement was twice as wide as the apartment, bordering on 2,000-square feet, and, if the given blueprints were to be followed, will be widened by half as much.
Multiple metal boxes locked in top-of-the-line encryption software stacked neatly on one side while two long wooden chests were placed atop a metal counter. Dozens of metal grills, copper wirings, and a strange jade box were placed haphazardly on the side where construction will occur.
"Dammit! Who put this here?" Garth ran towards the jade box, gently lifting it and placing it on the metal counter. "This thing costs twice this building."
"Apologies, Mr. Griffith. I'll reprimand the crew. It won't happen again." The lady apologized automatically having been experienced with the eccentricity of high-end costumers.
"You know what? Don't worry about it, just make sure they stay safe, alright?" Garth waved off her worries. "Can you leave me alone for a sec?"
"Of course, sir. I'll be right up." She smiled and went back up, leaving Garth alone to his devices.
The jade box he was carrying revealed an intricate draconian emblem on its surface, yet, once peered closely enough, one could sense a mystical vibration embedded within the lining of the box itself. As if the dragon would come alive any second now.
Garth placed his thumb upon the head of the dragon emblem before the eyes of the dragon lit up in a red hue. The box clicked open, revealing a long cylindrical object with a pointed end wrapped in brown leather.
A post-it note was stocked upon the top cushion of the inside that said: "For use in case of emergency!"
He cackled at the note as he gently caressed the blade in with his fingers. Even under the thick leather binding, he could feel the incomparably sharp ends.
As he closed the box, a sudden feeling of nothingness pervaded his form. As if something important had been taken away from him. With a sense of curiosity, Garth opened and closed the box repeatedly. The pushing and pulling sensation of the blade entertained him and was reluctantly stopped only by the sounds of workers arguing in the room upstairs.
'Man, at least all this hard work saves a lot of people,' Garth thought happily as he ran upstairs to meddle with the commotion.
●●●Greythorne Manor, 3rd Floor●●●
Her name is Elizabeth 'Ella' Thorrin. She and her late mother had worked for the Greythornes ever since they had come to the Americas. In all her times as a servant, former servant, and now a secretary-slash-only-fucking-servant-in-the-manor, she had never felt a job to be too difficult.
But, now, as she carried a tray of personally made dished to the metal door at the end of the third floor, she could not help but curse Richard for leaving her to feed his 'pet' as she would like to call the dangerous witch.
"Fáilte"
The runes dimmed and unlocked the door, revealing the expectant form of Charlotte.
"Hey, Charlie!" Ella gave a sweet smile, stepping inside the chamber and placing the tray a few inches away from the circle that enclosed the witch's bed. "You can speak and eat, but you cannot cast any spell."
"Hey, Ella! Richard out again?" Charlotte smiled back. She stood from her seat and performed her routine exercises, mostly facial and muscle drills. Though her physique was greatly enhanced by her decades of magical practice, Richard had told her that soon that advantage would stagnate and cause physical deterioration within her body. Thus, he had allowed her ten-minute exercise before and after her meals and spell sessions.
"Ugh, tell me about." Ella rolled her eyes, complaining about Richard to his captive. "Listen to this: He leaves and the next hour, a damn crew arrives. Now, I'm shocked, because I thought that Dick had the decency to tell me about it. They tell me that they're gonna work on the armory and garden..."
Ella continued on her rant as Charlotte finished her routine and began eating. Surprisingly, over the past few days, Charlotte had grown to love Ella's cooking.
Although it was not as much as the flavor but the fact that she was eating hot meals everyday now. Usually, her mother would charm a fast-food deliveryman to give them his parcels. Eating hundreds and hundreds of only junk food for years would turn the stomach of even her mother, much less hers.
Before Ella could complain some more, a dull RING! echoed around the manor.
Ella gave a weary sigh. "God, that man is running me ragged."
"Why don't you leave, then?" Charlotte eye her curiously, licking her dainty finger. "With your intelligence, you could work for anyone. Hell, with your savings, you could not work anymore."
"Please, he'll die if I resign." Ella smiled in contempt, shrugging at her suggestion.
Before she could speak any further, another RING! interrupted her. With a huff, Ella fixed her attire and left the room.
Her left foot had landed on the first step of the stairs when she realized that she had not ordered Charlotte to stop speaking. The first of her three mistakes, the second being leaving the tray of dirty dishes in the room.
"Fuck, that'll crust." She muttered, but went down to the ground floor, anyway.
As she traversed the dust-stained halls of the ground floor manor, Ella could not help but picture a few more maids working all around the home. It will certainly make her workload lighter and give her enough vacation time for her hobbies.
But given the witch on the third floor, more servants would risk their secrets to be revealed. Even if Richard or her care not for them to be revealed in the first place, the confidentiality of their abilities would lift the rate of his plan's success by a large margin.
"Maybe he can hypnotize them? Or put magic collars on them? No, too much." Her mutterings scared her for a second. She clicked her fingers, washing away the thoughts.
She opened the double doors, revealing the masculine form of a brown-skinned priest.
"Ah, Ma'am. Do you know that your gate is open?" The priest, clad in a dark cassock and white collar, pointed at his old car and open metal gate.
"Don't worry about it." Ella waved off his worries. Anyone in the ten-mile radius knew of the dangers of the manor. No one in their right mind would enter it willingly. Even if someone did, it's not as if its inhabitants were docile little bunnies. "How can I help you?"
"I'm, uh, Father Elias. Your boss, Richard, called me here to bless... the pipes." Father Elias said the last part with hesitation, a light blush on his cheeks.
"Pipes?" Ella has heard various abnormal sentences from Richard, but this one might be one of the best. "Why?"
"Don't ask me, Ma'am. All I know is that he will send my diocese a hefty donation for doing odd tasks around the house." Father Elias shrugged, scratching his the back of his gorgeous brown hair. "I'm just an errand boy, I suppose."
"Well, come on in." She scanned his form and could vaguely guess his age as he went inside the manor. 'Around late 30s', she presumed.
She noticed the priest gazing around the hall in wonderment and couldn't help but chuckle at the amusing sight. "First time in a rich person's house?"
"You could say so," Father Elias responded, the blush intensifying. "Although our cathedral is as grand, I adore the manor's minimalist... exuberance, I suppose."
Ella's smile reached her ears when she heard his compliment. There was not much gaudy decoration in the manor, Archibald and Wallace took care of that fact. She had heard from her mother that the two brothers brought only the most practical and sentimental items from their old castle.
Ella made Father Elias wait in the parlor room before excusing herself and entered the study. With a giant huff, she contacted Richard, sure to give him an earful for leaving without telling his plans. For the second time in a row!
●●●Cold Oaks●●●
Contrary to what one might expect from the most haunted town in the world, Cold Oaks saw dozens of humans milling about its land.
As the advent of their hard work nears, Azazel whipped his children to work harder than they've ever worked before. Of course, given that his children were soul-sucking, chaos-driven, blood-thirsty demons, he needed a few insinuations and brutal example to properly motivate them.
One such demon, named Haborym, dashed towards the large bronze bell that hung at the center of the town. His aim was Azazel himself, surrounded by infernal sycophants.
"I want the Lilims set up in the basements there... there... and there!" Azazel pointed to various buildings, a smile harboring dark intent on his face.
"Apologies, my lord. But the daughters of Lilim were sent back to hell a few years ago." A demon wearing a dark-skinned female human bowed in reverence, fearful of his lord's anger.
"Oh, really? Damn shame." Azazel was quick to hide his anger, merely snickering in defeat. "Who purged them?"
"That'd be John Winchester, sir."
"Oh, well, look at that. I already avenged them. Aren't I a good father?" He replied as laughter filled his lungs.
The nearby demons joined in on the laughter, exchanging nervous glances as they inwardly sighed in relief.
Soon, Haborym neared the Prince of Hell and bowed in reverence. His eyes turning jet black as he uttered his report. "My lord. Vephar failed in his task. The Vulpine Witch, Richard Greythorne, made him three days into his operation and exorcised him."
Azazel's grin turned into a glower before he gazed sordidly at the messenger demon. Rubbing his hands across his face, eyes glowing in a dark yellow hue, he spoke. "Who named him the Vulpine Witch?"
"I-I did, my lord." Haborym replied, raising his shaking hands. "I just thought it would be good to have a code for our enemies."
"Let's just get something... very clear." Haborym felt the space around him waver and enclosed him. A sudden sense of extreme danger enveloped him as Azazel held up his hands, lifting it slowly.
Haborym felt the very space choking him as his meat puppet was lifted inches off the ground. He pulsed his essence and tried to burst out of the Prince of Hell's dominion, eyes glowing in jet black light. Dark smoke blew out of his visible orifices as Azazel clutched Haborym's corrupted soul and purged it from existence.
The Prince of Hell twisted his hand as Haborym felt the very space he hovered twist along. The demon tried to resist the power of his master, yet failed at every step.
All demons gazed at the cracked earth from which Haborym's infernal form tried to claw its way up, but the unholy plane of pandemonium welcomed its former denizen back to its wicked claws.
Azazel scanned his children and spoke in a slow manner, ''I am the only one to give out codenames! Is that understood?"
His voice, although spoken in a normal volume, were clearly heard by many. Murmurs of agreement and praise echoed around the town as the worker demons went about their way, their thoughts sinking towards the brutality of their tyrannical master.
A vicious smile appeared on the yellow-eyed demon as he faced the bright star above his head, closing his eyes in sweet epiphany. ''It's time. Contact the Bathins and let the competition begin."