CASTIEL'S REQUIEM

Chapter 40: Death Soldiers

The iconic rock band, Misfits, took to the stage, their instruments at the ready. The crowd, a sea of graying hair and wrinkled skin, erupted into cheers and applause as the familiar chords of their hit song, "Surrender", filled the auditorium. The fans, mostly in their fifties and sixties, with a sprinkling of younger generations, sang along, their voices hoarse from years of rock 'n' roll devotion.

Nicky Givens, the sixty-four-year-old lead singer, his voice still throaty and powerful, belted out the lyrics, his eyes closed in reverence. His twin brother, Danny, pounded away on the drums, his face set in a fierce concentration. Mitchell Giovanni, the bassist, his hair now a distinguished gray, still laid down a solid foundation with his instrument, his eyes gleaming with a quiet intensity. Chance Sawyer, the guitarist, his hair still a wild tangle of black locks, still shredded with the same intensity that had made him a legend in his heyday.

The crowd was a testament to the band's enduring legacy, fans who had grown up with their music and still found solace in its raw power. They sang along to every song, their voices echoing off the rafters, as they relived memories of a bygone era. Few young people were present, but those who were, were likely the children or grandchildren of the loyal fans, introduced to the music by their elders.

The absence of Cordy Winston, the former lead singer who had passed away thirty years prior, was palpable. Her haunting vocals still lingered in the memories of the fans, her songwriting skills still revered. Yet, the remaining members of Misfits had continued to rock on, their music a tribute to their fallen bandmate and a testament to the power of rock 'n' roll to transcend time and mortality.

As the night wore on, the band played all their hits, the crowd singing along to every word. It was a night of nostalgia, a celebration of a bygone era, and a reminder that even in the face of impending doom, rock 'n' roll would never die.

Rosa Giovanni, Mitchell's wife, stood on the sidelines, her arms crossed and a mixture of disbelief and pride on her face. She had never seen the band perform live with their original lead singer, Cordy Winston, who had passed away years before she met Mitchell. But she had heard stories about Cordy's incredible talent and the special chemistry she had with the band.

Rosa had met Mitchell a couple of years after Cordy's death, when the band was still reeling from the loss. She had helped him through his grief and had become an integral part of his life. Now, as she watched him perform with his bandmates, she felt a sense of pride and wonder. Despite the years that had passed since Cordy's death, the band still had a special spark, a chemistry that was evident in their music.

As she watched, Mitchell launched into a blistering bass solo, his fingers flying across the strings with a precision and grace that belied his age. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Rosa felt a surge of pride and love for her husband. She knew that he had always been a talented musician, but to see him up on stage, living his dream, was a truly beautiful thing.
"I'll enjoy this while it lasts," she mumbled to herself, her eyes fixed on the stage. Despite the impending doom that loomed over them all, Rosa felt a sense of joy and contentment wash over her. She knew that this was what it meant to be alive, to experience the beauty and wonder of the world, even in the face of destruction. And as she watched the band perform, she knew that she would always cherish this moment, this perfect snapshot of rock 'n' roll defiance in the face of adversity.

—_—

Metatron's eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings, his senses on high alert. He could feel the absence of Death's presence, a void that was palpable. The air was thick with the scent of life, a stark contrast to the eerie silence that usually accompanied Death's presence.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Zadkiel asked, his voice laced with concern.

Metatron's gaze never wavered from the building before him. "That remains to be seen," he replied, his hand still resting on the door.

He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he searched for any hint of Death's essence. But it was nowhere to be found. His eyes flashed with frustration as he exhaled, his hand dropping from the door.

"She's not here," Metatron declared, his voice firm. "But I sense trouble, and I know where to find it."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away from Raven Tech Inc., his long strides eating up the distance as he followed the thread of unease that tugged at his instincts. Zadkiel watched him go, a look of concern etched on his face. He knew that when Metatron sensed trouble, it was never a trivial matter. The fate of the world might just depend on what Metatron uncovered.

—_—

Cariel raised her scythe with all her might, its blade glinting in the fading light of day, and struck Castiel in the heart with a deafening crash! She watched in awe and unholy glee as a ray of golden light escaped the opening in Castiel's chest, like a dying breath, as she pulled out her weapon with a sickening squelch.

"I've done it!" Cariel's voice boomed, triumphant and maniacal, like a supervillain who had finally vanquished their arch-nemesis. "I've killed Death! Castiel has fallen, and so will everyone who sided with her!"

The multitudes of ravens and reapers, even the fallen angels, froze in unison, their eyes fixed on Castiel's lifeless body, their faces etched with shock and terror. The air was heavy with the stench of death and betrayal.

Then, chaos erupted! The angels, recovering from their initial shock, attacked the reapers with a ferocity that was almost palpable, their swords and axes slicing through the air with deadly precision. The reapers, now mere mortals, retaliated with their firearms, but their bullets seemed to ricochet off the angels' divine armor.

The battle raged on, the clash of steel on steel, the scent of blood and sweat hanging heavy in the air. The reapers, realizing too late that they were no match for the angels' supernatural strength, began to falter, their numbers dwindling rapidly. Panic set in, and they scrambled to flee, but it was too late. The angels were relentless, their swords and axes rising and falling with deadly precision.

Seventeen-year-old Caleb, a young raven, fell to his death, an arrow piercing his heart, his eyes frozen in a permanent scream. Cariel laughed maniacally, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light, as she reveled in her newfound power. She was the new Death, and the world was hers to command!
Cariel felt like a fucking god; was that what Castiel felt, like she could take on anyone in the world, like she was a god, like she was invisible? Cariel didn't care; all that mattered was she was Death now, and the world was under her feet. But first, she had something to do. She was going to cut off Castiel's head and keep it as a prize.

Swinging her scythe up with force, she lowered it toward Castiel's neck to sever it, but found Castiel's corpse gone. "Who took that deadbeat away? Where is Castiel's corpse?" She roared, searching frantically for the reaper who must have taken it.

"Looking for someone?" A voice whispered in Cariel's ear, causing the angel to look around for its owner, but saw no one. "Show yourself, you scoundrel!" she yelled, swinging her scythe around as a sense of dread rose in her.

"I'm not afraid of you," she taunted, standing boldly with confidence, knowing if the owner of the voice wanted her dead, she'd be dead already. "You asked for it," the voice drawled out slowly, causing Cariel to turn. A pair of mismatched blue and golden eyes stared at her with mirth and undisguised hatred, causing Cariel to gasp. She was so screwed.

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