"What. The. Fuck." Dean breathed, eyes wide as he watched the sky turn a dark, deathly red, and crack with bright white lightening.
"Dean. We should go." Sam stated, a bolt of powerful electricity struck the Earth, sending dirt and rocks soaring.
The brothers raced to the Impala and shot off as fast as the car could go, not bothering with seat belts. Both sat in silence, the car's engine emitting a soft humming that broke their concentration. Sam and Dean struggled to piece together what could have caused the apocalyptic scenery that was forming fast above. The once blue sky, now was dark with shades of grays, reds, and purples and menacing clouds of black swirled furiously. Before any of the boys could speak, Dean slammed his foot on the breaks, nearly hitting the dark figure that caused him to suddenly slow in the first place. The man spun around with a edge of fear and weakness. What started as a regular vamp hunt got only stranger when they finally began to comprehend who was hunched in front of Dean's vehicle.
"Bobby?" Sam looked puzzled and utterly baffled, glancing at his brother for some sorry excuse of an answer for the resurrection of their dear friend and father figure.
5 Hours Earlier
"Scream for me louder, bitch!" Joan sneered, driving the serrated blade into the soul's chest and giving it a sharp twist to the left. The woman must have been in her mid-30's, aging too quickly from years of smoking and drug abuse. Whoever she was she wasn't important, just another soul, just another day in Hell.
"P-please. Stop, I'm sorry." She sobbed, blubbering from tears, snot, and blood. "Just don't hurt me anymore."
"You think sorry is gonna cut it? This is Hell you pathetic whore. You wouldn't be here if you didn't deserve it." An idea flashed behind Joan's clever eyes. "But you're lucky, I'm feeling very generous because as far as I know, today's my last day on the job. So I'll stop with the kinky knife play... I'll just gut your children while you watch."
The woman screamed and begged Joan not to touch her spawn but the ex-hunter was already set on the motion of slaughtering children. Joan left the room momentarily before returning with a look of disappointment. "I got good news for you. I won't be slaying your children, not today anyways, but I'll leave a tip for the next lucky bastard who gets to deal with your irritating ass. Don't worry, I'll see you again but not anytime soon."
Joan exited into the hallway, she'd been here for over 500 years and the nose-staining stench of blood, sweat, and bile is one she will never be used to. The green eyed girl stopped in the middle of the corridor and glanced over her shoulder, waiting for any sign of company. Nothing. She stood in place for another rough 10 seconds before diving into one of thousands of Hell's secret chambers.
"Good news?" Joan asked the man standing in the corner, brushing strands of long caramel colored hair out of her eyes then scratching the shaved side of her head.
"I got the last of it." Roman stated triumphantly. "Seven souls from Heaven, correction, seven virgin souls from Heaven. A bowl made from the skull of an ancient Greek priest. The heart of one Jackie Thuls, the last remaining Nephilim, well as far as I know. He was going to do phenomenal thing, for a kid who dissected house pets on his free time."
"Don't hate on serial killers." Joan laughed. "You're working with one. Ya know, for being the reaper who dragged my ass down here, you ain't so bad."
"Enough joking around. You have to start this now, the blood moon is almost gone, this is your last chance unless you're willing to wait another century or so." Roman instructed, staying stone cold serious. "One last warning." A look of anxiety crossed the reaper's bold features. "Once you start the spell there's no going back. If you stop mid spell, everything in this universe will be pudding in seconds. This is dark dark magic you're fucking with."
"Thank you, Roman, for everything. I'm excited to share drinks with you in Costa Rica." Joan showed a weak and nervous smile as she shook the reaper's hand, hopefully not for the final time.
"Just come out on top." And once she blinked, he was gone.
Five hundred-seventy one years, four months, two weeks, five days, twenty one hours, thirty four minutes, and forty eight seconds and counting. That's how long Joan has been in Hell to rot for all eternity. In actuality, she's been dead for a little over 5 years and 7 months, but that ended tonight. A hot burning sensation came from her abdomen and she gently lifted her shirt to see a dark burn mark.
"Another one? What the Hell? Fuck, I'll deal with this when I get topside." Joan thought as she barred the door before kneeling in front of the ingredients.
Joan was ready to leave it all behind, the screaming, the torture, though she didn't mind that so much, but between the stench of rotting flesh and assholish demons, this moment couldn't have come sooner. Breaking into the King's personal library nearly got her caught, actually finding the wretched book and the right spell, that almost got her fucked inside out. None of that matters now, she has everything she needs to ditch this hellhole. Flipping through musty pages gave Joan a headache that rivaled brain trauma, the smell knocked her on her ass but the ex-hunter quickly regained focus when loud footsteps came thundering down the halls.
She stayed silent until she found the right page. Now, the spell came with consequences but her ancient language skills were rusty, so warning labels were the least of her worries, especially when a soul piercing alarm went off.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Joan swore as she began to feverishly mix herbs, roots, and various body parts into the skull.
The concoction erupted in a puff of blood red smog and with that, Joan submerged her pointer and middle finger into the burning hot liquid and started painting sigils on the icy brick walls of the chamber. Demons banged on the entryway and threatened to bust the door down when a booming voice roared through the halls of Hell. "Whoever catches the bitch, I won't skin alive! No one escapes from Hell!"
Hastily, Joan spoke the Latin with minor stutters and slip ups, panic present in her ancient words. The illustrations on the walls radiated when she finished the phrase, packing the space with hot crimson brilliance. Chunks of brick and stone fell free from the ceiling while the floor shook and the portal unsealed itself. Without a second thought, every ounce of fear filled Joan's body before she plunged into the unknown, spellbook in hand.
