Sam struggled to stay conscious amid the jolting. Looking down, he caught sight of a familiar figure sprinting after them through the shadows of the street below. It was Dean.
Good. Looks like the plan worked.
The dragon-man leaped across seven rooftops in succession before finally jumping through an open top-floor window of an abandoned factory.
Dean raced along the ground, angelic power flooding his legs, his eyes locked on the intermittent dark-red figure flashing through the sky.
He could feel his lungs burning and his leg muscles screaming in protest, but he couldn't stop. Sam's weak breathing came through the communicator; the microphone planted in Sam's collar was still working.
As the dragon-man pulled farther and farther away, Dean pulled up the display and checked the tracking location while running.
'Internet Addiction' worked quickly, mapping out the optimal route for him.
"He went into a factory... East District Old Textile Factory," Sam's voice came in broken bursts. "Third floor. There are cages."
"Hang in there," Dean replied between breaths.
The textile factory's main gate was locked with rusty iron chains.
Dean backed up two steps, took a running start, and kicked the chain connection. The chain snapped instantly, and the gate creaked open.
Inside was pitch-black. The air reeked of mold, dust, and another strange, indescribable stench.
It was sickeningly sweet, like blood, yet also like some kind of secretion.
Dean drew his broken sword. No metallic gleam showed on the blade in the darkness. He climbed the stairs, softening every step.
Then he heard sounds coming from where the sewers were—a clatter of metal, like an iron cage being opened, along with low growls and a girl's sobbing.
He stopped at the stairwell bend and peered around the corner.
The drainage area of the spacious old workshop had