Echoes of the Past

Epilogue

Hell – Deep Within the Corridors

Crowley strode purposefully through the dark, twisting corridors of Hell, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floors. The air was thick with the cries of tormented souls, and the flicker of distant flames cast ominous shadows on the walls. He wasn't in the mood for his usual charm or sarcasm; today, he had a point to make.

Stopping outside a heavily fortified cell, Crowley glanced at the guards standing watch, who immediately stepped aside and opened the iron door. Inside, chained to the wall, was Mr. Alex Green. After being exorcised by Sam and Veronica, Green had found himself back in the pit, where the other demons had wasted no time locking him up to ensure he wouldn't cause any more trouble.

Crowley stepped inside, his presence commanding the room as the door closed behind him with a heavy clang. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a serious expression that sent a chill through the air.

"Well, well, well," Crowley said, his voice low and dangerous. "If it isn't the infamous Mr. Green. How's Hell treating you, mate? Not as much fun when you're on the other side of things, is it?"

Mr. Green glared at Crowley from where he sat, bruised and broken from his time in Hell's darkest cells. He tried to speak, but the shackles around his wrists and neck burned with enchanted iron, keeping him subdued and weak.

Crowley tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Alex. But breaking the rules of Hell? That's just sloppy. You thought you could get away with going back to the living world and making a mess of things without permission?"

Mr. Green tried to muster a response, but the weight of Crowley's authority and his own helplessness kept him silent.

Crowley took a step closer, his voice lowering even more. "You know what happens when demons break the rules, don't you? There are consequences."

With a snap of Crowley's fingers, the cell door creaked open once more. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed as a tall, imposing figure stepped into the dimly lit room. His face was severe, and he carried an air of quiet menace. Charles-Henri Sanson, the enforcer who had served French royalty for six generations as the executioner, now served Hell under Crowley's command.

Mr. Green's eyes widened in fear, recognizing the infamous executioner. Sanson's reputation was well-known, even in Hell. He wasn't just an enforcer—he was a master of inflicting punishment with cold precision.

Crowley glanced over his shoulder at Sanson and then turned back to Mr. Green, his smirk finally returning, though it was far more chilling than usual. "Mr. Green, I'd like to introduce you to Charles-Henri Sanson. He's agreed to 'educate' you on the finer points of following the rules. You see, I've got more important things to do than babysit rogue demons who think they can play by their own rules."

Sanson took a step forward, his cold eyes never leaving Mr. Green. The tension in the room was palpable.

Crowley, satisfied that his point had been made, turned to leave, but not before offering one final parting shot. "Enjoy your lesson, Alex. You'll be in good hands." He gave a dark chuckle. "Well, maybe not good hands, but certainly effective ones."

With that, Crowley stepped out of the cell, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding finality. The sounds of chains rattling and faint, muffled cries could already be heard as Sanson moved in, his work about to begin.

Crowley adjusted his jacket as he walked down the corridor, his mind already focused on his next move. As the King of Hell, there were always bigger things to attend to, but it was good to remind his subjects now and then—Hell had its rules, and breaking them came at a steep price.