"Find her and kill her," Cain commanded the following morning, "She has had me in her power long enough, now your time has come. But be warned, don't let her seduce you, or she will cast her spell on you and you will be as helpless against her as I once was."
"And what is so special about this Amara, apart from the fact that she is apparently stronger than a knight of hell".
"She is a goddess, but like any god, she can be destroyed"
"And what if not?"
"Then you've only made her angrier"
"Oh well that's very comforting" Dean sighed rolling his eyes "And how do I find Amara?"
"You don't, she'll find you as soon as she senses the mark has a new owner and has been activated"
"So that means I just wait here? That doesn't sound so exciting" he said, watching Cain leisurely stir honey into his tea.
"No, you won't wait here for her, I definitely don't need the darkness in my house!" countered Cain insistently, sipping his teacup with relish.
"Well then, I'll go find a new place to stay, thanks for nothing," Dean grumbled and stood up.
"I want you to report back to me as soon as you've met her," Cain determined, turning his attention to his morning paper as Dean left the house rolling his eyes.
***
Inconclusively, Dean wandered the countryside. The assignment he had received from Cain seemed unsolvable. No one had ever heard of the darkness, let alone seen it. And yet she was supposed to walk the earth, just like God. Only how should he recognize her. All Cain could tell him was that she also bore the mark. At least he had checked her name and all the Amaras of this land, but none of them bore the same symbol he had on his arm. Perplexed, he decided to get help from hell. Crowley had been useful a few times before, so he hoped that the King of Hell would be helpful this time as well. But what would a crossroads demon be if he didn't charge something for his services.
"That's how deals work, handsome, one hand washes the other. You make sure you find that slayer and I'll help you find Amara in return," Crowley replied calmly, handing Dean a note with an address.
Rolling his eyes, Dean pocketed the note and turned his back on Crowley.
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"Oh Dean," Crowley exclaimed, and the knight of Hell turned to him, "let her suffer.
Wordlessly, Dean turned back and left Crowley. Aimlessly, he roamed the city, moving from one dive to the next. Lonely, he sat at the bar and downed one drink after another. Thoughtfully he looked at the mark and traced the lines. He thought about what it had made of him. The innocent victims he had killed so far were people, not monsters. Actually, the hunter should feel remorse in him, but instead there was nothing but emptiness. Neither joy nor guilt. He didn't enjoy killing the humans, but it satisfied him in a way and the mark forced him to continue until his will was the same as the blade. When it was the time, it was going to be him who was out for the blood.
