Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

[Ada Wong]

It was almost as if the universe was actively seeking out new and interestingly improved ways to screw with his life. Crowley personally found that hilarious; it just figured that the whole of creation would be against him, as much as he had tried to save it.

There he had been, minding his own business in the way that most reasonable people should, scuffing his shoes beside the Fountain of Infinity with nothing to do but amuse himself by watching the strange, whimsical manner in which it transitioned into something new roughly every half hour. Bafflingly, it most commonly took the form of a deserted hot dog stand. After searching it for the better part of thirty minutes, at which point it became a miniature swimming pool, Crowley had unearthed absolutely nothing of apparent universal significance besides a few crusty, cobwebbed bottles of mustard and ketchup.

He had grown alarmingly used to his blank surroundings by the time something actually happened.

While he was standing around with his hands in his pockets, a loud, metallic racket rang out behind him. The fallen angel turned with some wavering trepidation, and then a confused, utterly mystified look passed over his features at what he beheld there.

A sword with a fancifully gleaming golden hilt was laying upon the ground, having apparently fallen out of the boundlessly empty sky. The demon meandered gingerly towards it, all the while eyeing the sky for any other pointy-ended projectiles. After casting a quick, shrewd glance around, Crowley concluded that the sword was simply ripe for the taking so long as no one else was after it.

Stooping into a brief crouch, his dark-colored tie swaying just above his bent knees, the demon hefted the— surprisingly lightweight— sword into the air, and observed the light glittering along its steely edge. It was like a tiny shadow running through blades of grass just as the sun was setting, short-lived and slippery as a muddy riverbed.

“Alright,” Crowley said, turning the weapon this way and that to get a more critical look at it. His eyes gleamed behind the dim shades of his sunglasses. “This isn’t half bad.”

Why, I should hope not! A completely flippin’ random voice replied from somewhere in his head, activating some hindbrain instinct that urged Crowley to jerkily toss it as far away from himself as possible. It collided with the Nexus floor with a wobbly, reverberating clang, and then was as still as the glittering waters of the kiddie swimming pool beside him.

Crowley stared at the sword. It did not stare back, for swords, to all appearances, do not have eyes.

“Hheehhh.” He wheezed, looking up, down, and all around for the source of the voice. When one was not made readily apparent, he again looked to the sword. The air was still and silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley watched as the swimming pool inexplicably morphed into a hot air balloon, the striped canvas thrumming as the fire feeding it flared to life.

One minute and a light shrug later, Crowley was once more holding the sword, although he wasn’t exactly happy about it. Talking weaponry was almost always a bad idea. Not that he had any experience with that kind of thing, it just seemed….. off.