07-05-2015, 12:41 PM
Stepping out on the other side of the gate, Dean ended up in what seemed to be a savanna, well-travelled it would seem by all the tracks around. It was hot here, and the air was dry. At his feet were trampled patches of grass, and a few other forms of plant life. What there was a lot of were rocks. All around there were boring old rocks of all shapes and sizes. Into the distance he could see the usual desert stuff, like sand and dunes. It did look like as though was some sort of settlement nearby, so Dean decided that it might be best to start there before heading off into the wide blue yonder. Gripping the hilt of the first blade tight he made sure to keep it near him as he walked.
As he continued towards the settlement Dean thought he heard a noise off to his side and as he started to turn to face it he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder. Looking down, he saw the hilt of a crudely made blade in the hand of someone he did not know. Using a burst of demonic speed Dean reaches up with his free hand and tightly grips the hand around the blade in his shoulder, squeezing it until there is a sharp yell. Dean moved the mans hand, and with it brought the metal blade out of his shoulder. Apparently being a demon doesn't make you immune to pain, though Dean did notice that his blood was darker than normal. Shaking the man's wrist, Dean made sure his attacker dropped his blade before letting go of his arm and grabbing his shirt and lifting him up.
Looking up, Dean finally locked eyes with his would be assailant. A man, probably middle aged, in ratty clothing who was probably looking for a new Prime to steal from, looked back at him. As they continued their staring contest Dean forced his eyes to go completely black and stay in a way that caused the man to gasp and struggle to get free.
“Buddy, you picked the wrong guy on the wrong day...” Dean growled, letting the sentence trail off as he brought up his right hand and smashed the hilt of the first blade into the mans nose. Dean felt the warmth of the man's blood as it trickled down his hand. The mark was screaming at this point, it was almost deafening to Dean. The rage was flowing through his veins, and it had spiked in intensity when Dean had hit his prisoner. It was starting to feel good too, every time he gave into the marks lust for blood. This man should die, needed to die. THIS MAN WOULD DIE!
“If you had only threatened me I would have given you the chance to walk away, probably, but now?” Dean brought the hilt of the first blade down on the man's face again, “Now you are going to give me everything I want, if you want to live' pal.” The fear on the mans' face was palpable, Dean knew that he could get what he wanted from this guy. Sadly it seemed like the guy didn't have much to offer so Dean decided to get some information.
“Let's start with something easy. That town over there. What is it?” Dean used his blade to point at it and the man tried to answer as best as he could with a broken and bloody nose.
“C...Carrebore...” the man stuttered to Dean.
“Carrebore? You sure? Pinky swear?” Dean asked causing the man to shake his head. “No?” Dean hit him again, this time a bit harder. “Then why did you say it was!”
“C...Carre....Care..pphhhfff...” It became clear to Dean now what was happening. The man was basically drowning in his own blood or something. Pronunciation might not be a strong point right now.
“Carre...bore...phhhhhfffff...fffffffore? Carrefore?” His prisoner nodded this time and Dean smiled, and lowered his hand a little. “Some place I might want to go?” The man shook his head, so much for the easy road.
“Where should I go then?” As Dean asked this the man pointed off in a direction away from the settlement. “How far?”
“A b..bew biles...” was the chocked response.
A few miles, huh? Dean thought about this for awhile and then decided that the interview was over.
“Good news for you, I am out of questions!” Dean tosses the first blade in the air and then catches the hilt so the tip of the blade was now pointing down at the man's face. “Bad news, I am out of questions.”
Dean brought his arm down hard and fast, bringing the blade into contact with the poor soul's face. He could almost feel as the teeth on this jagged blade bit into flesh, tore through muscle with a sickening sound. The mark of Cain flared to life again, aching for Dean to do some serious violence. Dean raised his arm and paused while he listened to the screams, sobs, and all the other pitiful sounds this man was making. It caused him to smile, though to anyone watching it would like more like he was bearing his teeth in a snarl.
Then he bought the blade down again, and again. He continued this until he was covered in blood from the shoulders up, and only a bit of it was his own. He could feel it through his clothes and on his skin. It was currently the most wondrous thing he had felt in a long time. As for the poor guy who was probably just looking for an easy mark to get his next meal or something? Well, no one would recognize his face now. After the deed had been done Dean felt oddly at peace, as if the mark of Cain had been sedated, for now. His eyes shifted from the all back mark of a demon to his normal human eyes. His shoulder ached, reminding him of the injury had had received. Hopefully it would heal soon. He was pretty sure that was one perk of being a demon.
Dragging the lifeless corpse off to the side Dean dumped it, and he took a few steps away. Hopefully he hadn't been seen, but knowing his luck he was probably going to be a 'hunted man' now. That was if anyone cared for two bit wannabe bandits. Probably something about life being precious blah blah blah. Either way he had to get out of here soon.
He made his way to an open part of the field best suited for his current task, someplace directed at this town he informed was in this general direction. The one that he didn't get a name for. He concentrated on this Omnilium stuff, thinking of a way to get the hell out of here. It swirled around him and then moved in front of him starting to form that which he desired most.
First it formed the tires, then the frame work. Next followed the engine, then the seats, wiring, a mysterious box on one of the seats, body work and then windows. Finally it was starting to take shape.
As he opened his eyes Dean saw in front of him a car that put others to shame. It had a slab-sided body with a small "upsweep" at the rear quarter window, giving it a more formal appearance then most cars of its time. Every line and angel on the body was designed to make this car look bigger, tougher, and they were doing the job perfectly. The exterior was painted black, but not just any old black paint job would do. The paint was so expertly applied the surface was glass-smooth, and had a reflection that was miles deep. The insides were designed to match the outside, as everything that could be was also black. The soft leather seats looking rather inviting to him after all the walking he had been doing. The mysterious box on the front passenger seat contained something that was only important to Dean, cassette tapes. It was his baby, his chariot, it was what people would remember as he caused chaos in these lands. If he was going to ride, he was going to do it in style! Nothing said style better then a 1967 four door Impala.
Taking a walk around he made sure nothing was out of place before opening the door and getting inside, still covered in blood. He reached for the ignition but stopped, something was wrong. The speedometer only went to 80 miles per hour. Was the a rule of this world or did he mess it up somehow? After a brief moment he decided it didn't matter. Turning the key that was already in the ignition the engine roared to life and all around the immediate area music could be heard.
“There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, And she's buying a stairway to heaven...” Noooooooope. This would not do. Hitting the eject button on the cassest player on the dashboard Dean took the tape out and tossed it in the box that had formed on the seat before reaching in and taking another tape n its' place. Putting it into the player he waited for a bit to hear what would be offered instead.
“Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do, Goin' down. Party time! My friends are gonna be there too. I'm on the highway to hell...” This was perfect. Turning up the volume Dean forgot all about a quick and quiet escape and put his foot down on the gas pedal. The tires spun, kicking up dirt and grass, before finally catching and sending the Impala rocketing forward.
As he continued towards the settlement Dean thought he heard a noise off to his side and as he started to turn to face it he felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder. Looking down, he saw the hilt of a crudely made blade in the hand of someone he did not know. Using a burst of demonic speed Dean reaches up with his free hand and tightly grips the hand around the blade in his shoulder, squeezing it until there is a sharp yell. Dean moved the mans hand, and with it brought the metal blade out of his shoulder. Apparently being a demon doesn't make you immune to pain, though Dean did notice that his blood was darker than normal. Shaking the man's wrist, Dean made sure his attacker dropped his blade before letting go of his arm and grabbing his shirt and lifting him up.
Looking up, Dean finally locked eyes with his would be assailant. A man, probably middle aged, in ratty clothing who was probably looking for a new Prime to steal from, looked back at him. As they continued their staring contest Dean forced his eyes to go completely black and stay in a way that caused the man to gasp and struggle to get free.
“Buddy, you picked the wrong guy on the wrong day...” Dean growled, letting the sentence trail off as he brought up his right hand and smashed the hilt of the first blade into the mans nose. Dean felt the warmth of the man's blood as it trickled down his hand. The mark was screaming at this point, it was almost deafening to Dean. The rage was flowing through his veins, and it had spiked in intensity when Dean had hit his prisoner. It was starting to feel good too, every time he gave into the marks lust for blood. This man should die, needed to die. THIS MAN WOULD DIE!
“If you had only threatened me I would have given you the chance to walk away, probably, but now?” Dean brought the hilt of the first blade down on the man's face again, “Now you are going to give me everything I want, if you want to live' pal.” The fear on the mans' face was palpable, Dean knew that he could get what he wanted from this guy. Sadly it seemed like the guy didn't have much to offer so Dean decided to get some information.
“Let's start with something easy. That town over there. What is it?” Dean used his blade to point at it and the man tried to answer as best as he could with a broken and bloody nose.
“C...Carrebore...” the man stuttered to Dean.
“Carrebore? You sure? Pinky swear?” Dean asked causing the man to shake his head. “No?” Dean hit him again, this time a bit harder. “Then why did you say it was!”
“C...Carre....Care..pphhhfff...” It became clear to Dean now what was happening. The man was basically drowning in his own blood or something. Pronunciation might not be a strong point right now.
“Carre...bore...phhhhhfffff...fffffffore? Carrefore?” His prisoner nodded this time and Dean smiled, and lowered his hand a little. “Some place I might want to go?” The man shook his head, so much for the easy road.
“Where should I go then?” As Dean asked this the man pointed off in a direction away from the settlement. “How far?”
“A b..bew biles...” was the chocked response.
A few miles, huh? Dean thought about this for awhile and then decided that the interview was over.
“Good news for you, I am out of questions!” Dean tosses the first blade in the air and then catches the hilt so the tip of the blade was now pointing down at the man's face. “Bad news, I am out of questions.”
Dean brought his arm down hard and fast, bringing the blade into contact with the poor soul's face. He could almost feel as the teeth on this jagged blade bit into flesh, tore through muscle with a sickening sound. The mark of Cain flared to life again, aching for Dean to do some serious violence. Dean raised his arm and paused while he listened to the screams, sobs, and all the other pitiful sounds this man was making. It caused him to smile, though to anyone watching it would like more like he was bearing his teeth in a snarl.
Then he bought the blade down again, and again. He continued this until he was covered in blood from the shoulders up, and only a bit of it was his own. He could feel it through his clothes and on his skin. It was currently the most wondrous thing he had felt in a long time. As for the poor guy who was probably just looking for an easy mark to get his next meal or something? Well, no one would recognize his face now. After the deed had been done Dean felt oddly at peace, as if the mark of Cain had been sedated, for now. His eyes shifted from the all back mark of a demon to his normal human eyes. His shoulder ached, reminding him of the injury had had received. Hopefully it would heal soon. He was pretty sure that was one perk of being a demon.
Dragging the lifeless corpse off to the side Dean dumped it, and he took a few steps away. Hopefully he hadn't been seen, but knowing his luck he was probably going to be a 'hunted man' now. That was if anyone cared for two bit wannabe bandits. Probably something about life being precious blah blah blah. Either way he had to get out of here soon.
He made his way to an open part of the field best suited for his current task, someplace directed at this town he informed was in this general direction. The one that he didn't get a name for. He concentrated on this Omnilium stuff, thinking of a way to get the hell out of here. It swirled around him and then moved in front of him starting to form that which he desired most.
First it formed the tires, then the frame work. Next followed the engine, then the seats, wiring, a mysterious box on one of the seats, body work and then windows. Finally it was starting to take shape.
As he opened his eyes Dean saw in front of him a car that put others to shame. It had a slab-sided body with a small "upsweep" at the rear quarter window, giving it a more formal appearance then most cars of its time. Every line and angel on the body was designed to make this car look bigger, tougher, and they were doing the job perfectly. The exterior was painted black, but not just any old black paint job would do. The paint was so expertly applied the surface was glass-smooth, and had a reflection that was miles deep. The insides were designed to match the outside, as everything that could be was also black. The soft leather seats looking rather inviting to him after all the walking he had been doing. The mysterious box on the front passenger seat contained something that was only important to Dean, cassette tapes. It was his baby, his chariot, it was what people would remember as he caused chaos in these lands. If he was going to ride, he was going to do it in style! Nothing said style better then a 1967 four door Impala.
Taking a walk around he made sure nothing was out of place before opening the door and getting inside, still covered in blood. He reached for the ignition but stopped, something was wrong. The speedometer only went to 80 miles per hour. Was the a rule of this world or did he mess it up somehow? After a brief moment he decided it didn't matter. Turning the key that was already in the ignition the engine roared to life and all around the immediate area music could be heard.
“There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, And she's buying a stairway to heaven...” Noooooooope. This would not do. Hitting the eject button on the cassest player on the dashboard Dean took the tape out and tossed it in the box that had formed on the seat before reaching in and taking another tape n its' place. Putting it into the player he waited for a bit to hear what would be offered instead.
“Ain't nothin' that I'd rather do, Goin' down. Party time! My friends are gonna be there too. I'm on the highway to hell...” This was perfect. Turning up the volume Dean forgot all about a quick and quiet escape and put his foot down on the gas pedal. The tires spun, kicking up dirt and grass, before finally catching and sending the Impala rocketing forward.
Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole.
![[Image: yep.gif]](http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y180/captainmolotov/yep.gif)