But they did not know that the shadows were closing in.
In the depths of Hell, Lucifer sat upon a massive throne forged from melted demon skulls, his fingers tapping the armrest. With every tap, a wailing head exploded, and he casually inhaled the fragments of its soul.
Below the throne, Crowley lay prostrate on the ground, his soul so weak it was nearly transparent.
"So," Lucifer said lazily, "Wu Heng dealt with Eve, you crawled back like a crippled dog, and you even lost Purgatory's coordinates."
"Y-yes, my king." Crowley trembled, keeping his head lowered and his eyes hidden.
Lucifer fell silent. The only sound in the hall was the dull roar of churning lava.
"Crowley," he suddenly asked, "what do you think is the most laughable thing about humans?"
Crowley did not dare answer.
"It is that they always think they can control the situation." Lucifer answered his own question as he rose to his feet. Shadows filled the hall with his movement, and countless burning eyes opened within them.
"Eve wanted to raise them like livestock. Heaven wanted them as chess pieces. Even that Demon Hunter Guild president, Lohr Morik, thought he could keep the war within the bounds of a 'plan.'"
He walked to the edge of the hall and gazed at the window of blood.
Beyond it was not the scenery of Hell, but a warped projection of the real world. He could see the lights of the Demon Hunter Guild, see those tiny yet stubborn figures.
"Dean Winchester rejected Michael again," Lucifer murmured as if speaking to himself. "Sam Winchester is resisting my call. Humanity's resistance is becoming more organized, more effective."
He turned, cold excitement flashing in his eyes.
"The balance is shifting. Not toward Heaven, not toward Hell, but toward those insects