Season Three

Episode Two: Dark Territory

By Kittsbud & Tree

Part Two

Dean was pacing – pacing until he’d turned the snow at his feet into a thick brown sludge that threatened to engulf his boots.

Not that the hunter had noticed. He hadn’t noticed a great deal of anything since the realization hit that his little brother had duped him.

“I should never have let the big lug leave on his own. He has two huge left feet that have probably gotten him at the bottom of some ravine by now…”

“Are you always this way?” Gudrun picked up her pack, taking care to brush away loose snow before slinging it over her shoulder. “You’re not his mother, you know?”

Dean froze on the spot, his facial muscles hardening more than the Arctic tundra they were heading towards. “Maybe I am,” Dean snorted tepidly. “Seeing as your kind took away the real thing before he was old enough to even remember her.”

“Not my kind.” The blonde’s face softened, her cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment at her faux pas. “Sam can look after himself, Dean…but for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. We should go look for him.”

“Jeez, the voice of reason.” Dean let a hand glide under his jacket and retrieved his forty-five. Ejecting the clip, he checked it was fully loaded before tapping it back home. Maybe the automatic was useless against the tupilaq, but there was no guessing what else might lay in wait that it might work on. “Your reaper radar giving you any ideas which way the Abominable Winchester might have headed?”

Gudrun let a hand ruffle through her hair in thought, then brushed past the hunter to crouch by a nearby drift. Her eyes played across the ground, carefully picking out indentations that were quickly being filled by the fresh snowfall.

“Sam went this way…” She straightened, following the almost-hidden tracks without giving any more details.

“Jeez, it’s worse than working with friggin’ Tonto." Dean kept his weapon at waist height, eyes scanning the nearby trees while the girl pursued his brother’s overly-large boot prints.

At the base of a tree stump, Gudrun paused again, noting not one, but two sets of marks in the snow. “He’s hunting the tupilaq…”

Dean edged up to the girl, using his left hand to anxiously brush across his face. “Aww, that stupid sonofa…I knew he was gonna try something like this!”

“I don’t think he’s that far ahead of us-”

“Far enough to have gotten himself hurt or worse! Probably stepped in a damn bear trap by now,” Dean groused, trying to sound like he was half-joking, but to anyone who knew him – including Gudrun – it was easily apparent he was more than concerned about his brother.

“Sam is more capable than you give him credit for. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take that advice too seriously, given the source.” Dean pouted, nodding towards the trail it appeared Sam had followed. “Now can you just shut up and shag ass here? Or do I gotta leave you behind? ’Cause I’m telling you, that’s mighty tempting about now…”

Gudrun cocked her head, evaluating just what the hunter was really thinking. He was a dark horse, but very few people could fool her – Dean included – she’d simply been around mortals too long. “If we cut through here,” she eventually suggested, “we can shorten our time to the cabin…”

“Cabin?” Dean arched a brow, but didn’t argue when the girl dodged across a boulder and began clambering up a sharp incline.

Man, this chick just loves taking point…

Shaman’s Home

Soft grey wisps of smoke continued to spiral from the log hut’s chimney as if the fire beneath had recently been stoked. There was no obvious presence outside the building – nor any evidence of any kind of transport.

And yet, Gudrun faltered as she stepped onto the muddy pathway leading to the decrepit lodge.

“What’s wrong?” Dean clicked the safety off his Colt and eased himself past the girl, taking tentative steps up the sloping wooden porch. “You see Sammy?”

Gudrun shook her golden locks negatively. “There’s evil here.“

“Yeah, well then I guess we’re in the right place.” Dean pushed his back against the doorframe, sliding inside the abode sideways, gun poised. It was then that he felt it – the familiar crushing feeling that he’d always had in Haris’ company – except this time the atmosphere felt devoid of all oxygen too.

And was that a trace of sulfur in the air?

“I think we’re alone,” Gudrun noted as she moved across the room, opening a second door to what could loosely be called a bedroom.

“Yeah, you, me and Furbee’s dad.” The hunter gestured to the floor with the muzzle of his forty-five. “Looks like the husky decided to bite the hand that fed it.”

Gudrun grew pensive, cobalt pupils narrowing as she examined the dead shaman’s remains. Ravaged, torn bodies were nothing new to her, but this body and how it had died were very important. “You shouldn’t worry about Sam. He’s taken care of the creature and its master as I knew he would.”

Dean scrunched up his nose in distaste at the gory cadaver, realizing that the off-white pustules he could see were actually moving. Ugh, friggin’ maggots already…

The hunter let his thumb rub on the grip of his automatic, instincts telling him that something was still “off.” Just because Sam had somehow used his gifts to send the tupilaq against the shaman, it didn’t mean he was safe. “If Sasquatch already played hero then where the hell is his sorry butt?” He asked, pacing to the nearest window to double check outside.

“I…don’t know,” Gudrun admitted, fingering the whale bone carving Sam had examined earlier.

“Lady, you brought us out here. ‘Don’t know’ right now just doesn’t cut it.” Dean spun back around, about to pour out another verbal diatribe when he spotted the open trap door. “What the…” He bobbed his head, indicating the opening to the girl without actually speaking.

While he had a reasonably good view of the door, he had no clue if anyone was hiding below it in the shadows.

Gudrun nodded in understanding, joining the hunter to flank the hole. As her boots met the painted cryptogram around the opening, she froze, stepping back from the symbols as if she’d been bitten by some unseen serpent.

Dean ignored the blonde’s jarring retreat, instead dropping his pack into a moth-eaten chair to allow more movement. Once the bag was out of his way, he grabbed the Colt with both hands, lowering his aim to just above the trap door.

“Sammy, if you’re down there you better get your sorry butt back up here before I ventilate you by mistake…” Dean edged closer to the hole in the timbers until his own voice was echoing hollowly back to him.

The sound of his voice seemed muted, strange – off even – as it bounced around in the gloom below.

Dean winced when there was no reply, and taking the automatic in just one hand he began to poke into his jacket’s breast pocket in search of his tiny flashlight.

Before he could locate the light, Gudrun offered up a larger, somewhat brighter flashlight – although the hunter was at a loss as to exactly where she’d plucked it from.

“I thought your kind would be into flaming torches, you know, full-on Robin Hood style…” He smirked, but took the light before Gudrun had chance to snatch it back.

“Robin Hood was…interesting…” Gudrun shrugged. “But certainly nothing like Hollywood painted him.”

Dean inched his thumb forward, switching on the flashlight and aiming it down the hole, right along with his forty-five. “Yeah, Kevin Costner just didn’t have the accent for it – although Rickman was pretty cool.” He twisted the unit in his hand, arching the beam until it played all the way down the shaft, reflecting off the shiny rungs of an overly-used metal ladder.

When the wide ray still refused to show the bottom of the pit, Dean hunched over, daring to get close enough to hold the light at a right angle to get the best view. Finally, the washed out beam hit something solid, and the hunter squinted enough to make out it was a stone floor.

Moving the flashlight just a hint more, he paused, realizing he was looking at a shotgun – not just any shotgun – but the Remington Sam had taken from him before his little rebellion. What was worse, Sam wouldn’t have let go of the weapon unless he’d been forced, either by someone, something, or…

Dean judged the distance between the trap door and the dull granite glaring up at him from below. Right now, he didn’t even want to think about the “or.”

“Crap!”

Gudrun slowly nodded, her face turning into a sudden mask of pain and regret. “I know,” she muttered hollowly. “I think my friend is down there too.”

Dean’s brow shot up in surprise. He’d expected something more of a prison than a hole in the floor of a cabin. “Here?” He asked, grabbing a few items from his discarded pack as he talked.

The blonde pointed to the floor and the strange symbols she’d flinched away from. “This is part of a trap. Once inside, my kind cannot leave.”

“Oh yeah? So this is the part you wanted me and Sammy for, huh?” Dean feigned a hurt expression as he finally plucked out his smaller Maglite and handed back the girl’s more cumbersome flashlight. “Nice to know I have my uses.”

The hunter shook his head, swinging his legs into the darkness as he dropped fluidly onto the metal rungs below. As the bottom half of his body entered the shaft, he felt the temperature around him become colder, as if he’d ventured back outside without his insulated jacket for protection.

“I’m sorry, if I could come with you I would. This is more important to me than you’ll ever realize.” Gudrun’s eyes grew glassy and the hunter abruptly half-expected her to shed a tear. Instead, she pulled back away from the opening, her brief lapse of emotional restraint gone in the blink of an eye.

“Okay, so before I lower my ass into Hades, you mind telling me how we’re supposed to rescue your special buddy when we don’t know the guy, don’t have a clue what he looks like, and best of all, we don’t have your magical ass tagging along to lend a hand if things get screwed?”

“I picked you for a reason…”

Yeah, I know, everyone has a purpose.” Dean huffed, his brow knitting in frustration. “Let me tell you, my purpose is to find Sammy’s butt and drag it topside. At this point, I don’t give a rat’s ass about this Messiah-like dude we’re here to rescue.” He placed the Maglite between his teeth without waiting for an answer, making the tiny light illuminate his path while holding his Colt in the hand he wasn’t using on the ladder.

Gudrun watched silently as the stark ray from the light grew dimmer and dimmer until it was just a dull blob in the distance. Dean was vanishing into some unknown underworld, and all she could do was sit in the cabin and wait – hoping that at some point the bobbing beam of light would return, and the Winchesters along with it.

The Valkyrie peered down at the red daubed symbols on the floor and winced as if even eye contact was painful.

Backing away, she let a hand glide to Dean’s pack, dislodging it from the chair so she could sit down. Once perched on the squashed seat padding, her pale features turned from a glum scowl to a welcoming smile.

“Don’t you think it’s time you came in from the cold? You and I really need to talk…” Gudrun looked at the back door to the cabin expectantly, as if her gaze alone would bring the newcomer into the lodge’s midst.

Eventually, the log door swung inwards, its hinges moving so slowly it seemed like time itself had been put on hold.

Gudrun nodded towards the interloper. “It’s about time…”

Catacombs

Sam felt icy air enter his lungs and realized that despite crash landing not once, but twice, he’d managed to stay in the land of the living.

Planes, trap doors…what the hell next?

He slowly inhaled again, carefully noting that breathing wasn’t causing him any pain.

Next came the more drastic test of actually moving to see if his bones had been spared any more undue fractures.

Sam groaned as he tried to stretch out, his head spinning wildly as if he’d spent a day on a rollercoaster. Still, at least his body wasn’t protesting, even if his head was.

Great, probably got a concussion or something…

Sam rolled into a sitting position, edging backwards until his spine came into contact with something cold and slimy. It was too dark to see exactly what he’d pressed himself up against, but the hunter was hoping it was nothing more than a very damp granite wall.

He took a breath, closing his eyes until the “sea-sickness” appeared to abate. Swallowing hard, he touched a hand to his temple and wasn’t shocked when it came away sticky. The tunnel shaft wasn’t cleanly cut into the stone, and he’d probably caught one of the edges on his tumble into the abyss.

His ribs felt sore too, where they’d impacted with the ground, but somehow, he’d managed not to break anything.

“Dean is so gonna kick my ass for losing his shotgun.” Sam leaned forwards, hands patting the ground in front of him for any sign of the weapon. After a moment he grasped the fact that it was useless.

There was no stray light from above to guide him in his quest. Either he’d crawled away from the trap door and ladder without realizing it, or the door had been closed from above.

Sam squinted, forcing his eyes to strain as he tried to make out any sign of the metal rungs on the ladder, but that too seemed invisible in the impossible lighting.

“No gun, no light,” Sam grunted as he pushed his body upright. “What I’d give right about now for Dean’s freaky little Zippo…”

The hunter’s words seemed to reverberate back to him, bouncing around the stone catacombs endlessly. If Sam could imagine what it would be like to be trapped in a burial vault, then this was just how he’d envisage it.

Sighing, Sam let his ears do the work his eyes could not.

From somewhere to his left came the steady drip of water – apparently his new home wasn’t completely sealed off from the outside elements. That was good news, considering he didn’t know how long he’d be stuck in the cavern without food or drink.

Dean will find me…

But the harsh truth was Sam had chased off after the tupilaq without giving his brother any clue what he was up to. Even with Gudrun in tow, it would be like finding one Sasquatch in the whole of Canada.

Sam’s mouth creased into a smile and he wanted to laugh at his own thought. The nickname had become so commonplace even he was using it.

“Yeah, well, how many abominable snowmen does it take to find a light bulb?” Sam pushed away from the security of the wall and began to move his arms around in front of him, hoping to find something else solid to follow.

The air was stale with an odd odor, and there was no hint of a breeze to use as a source to follow to aid his escape.

After fifteen minutes of wandering aimlessly in the shadows, Sam was about to give up and sit back down when a pattering sound made him stop and listen.

The tapping grew louder as he strained to locate the direction it was coming from, and eventually, he realized he was hearing muted footfalls on the slime-covered floors.

The hunter quickly considered his options. This could be one of Lucifer’s people searching for him. Once they realized there was no body at the foot of the trap door, it wouldn’t take them long to want to find him, would it?

On the other hand, if there was such a thing as a good guy out here in the wilderness, could he risk gaining their aid?

Sam blinked, and when only darkness glared back at him he decided he had nothing to lose. If he stayed here like this, it would only be a matter of time before he succumbed to the temperature, lack of food or worse.

“Hello?” Sam hesitantly stepped into what he presumed was the center of the tunnel. “Is anyone there?”

To his left, a match ignited, flaring for the briefest of moments before settling into a small, but very welcome flame.

Sam honed in on the tiny burning stick, savoring the glow it offered. As he watched, the flame moved to light up a shaft of wood swathed in torn cloths.

“Finally, some company.” The voice had a strange lilt to it – not a full-blown accent, but more a conglomeration of several.

Sam followed the unusual drawl to its owner, taking in the man’s features before he responded.

The stranger looked to be around thirty, his short blond hair cut in much the same fashion as Dean’s. He had blue eyes that seemed to spark with energy in the radiance of his makeshift torch, and a thick growth of stubble suggested he’d been deprived of a razor for several days.

The man’s clothes were much the same thickly-padded arctic wear as Sam’s, although if he’d ever had gloves, they were long gone now, leaving his brawny fingers devoid of much color.

“My name is Jon Volsung.” The stranger offered a weathered and heavily scarred hand out in friendship. “I’m guessing you’re a prisoner here too?” He waited, seemingly in no hurry for an answer.

Sam faltered. Until now it had never occurred to him that he was a prisoner – or that the newcomer might be too. And if this man was a captive, did that make him Gudrun’s ally?

“Sam,” he responded cautiously, taking Volsung’s hand and shaking it firmly. “I…don’t really know if I’m a prisoner…”

Volsung’s sharp features broke into a smirk. “Oh, trust me, if you’re this side of that trap door, you’re here to stay. I’ve been trying for days to get out, but there are no other exits.” He sobered again, eyes downcast and voice hushed. “I don’t even know why I’m being held…”

“You’ve tried climbing back up the ladder? I mean, you have light, I’m assuming you can find the trap door again?” Sam turned in the direction he assumed was where the hole in the rock ceiling had been cut. Without light, though, the void around him was just another black chasm of dancing silhouettes.

“I’ve tried.” Volsung shook his head. “But every time I climb to the top I’m thrown back to the ground. Let me tell you, after a few harsh falls onto the rock floor I soon gave in. It was bizarre, like I was walking into some kind of science fiction force field.”

Or a Devil’s Trap, Sam pondered silently. This has to be Gudrun’s friend. The thing I saw on the outside of the trap door is holding him in here. But why doesn’t he realize that?

Sam stared at Volsung again, even though his gaze bordered on bad manners. He looked like any other man – acted like any other man – and what was more, he appeared not to know who or what he was.

“Look, I know I sound crazy, but trust me, I’m not,” Volsung continued, sensing Sam’s skepticism. “I’m a scientist myself. I know none of this should be possible…”

Sam arched a brow. Of all the things he’d expected of the man he’d come to rescue, a regular scientist was not on the list – not unless Volsung was some whacked out nuclear physicist Lucifer could use to blow up the world.

“Scientist?” Sam finally asked, intrigued by the new puzzle.

Volsung bobbed his head heaving a sigh as he explained himself. “I was part of a Norwegian Marine Biology expedition. I was out on the ice taking core samples one minute, and the next I was being snatched by two thugs.” He paused, considering whether to carry on.

“Thugs? Up here?” Sam prompted.

“I know, I sound like a madman, and it only gets worse but…they had black eyes. I mean all black. And I swear to you, so damn strong.” Volsung flexed his hand, balling it into a fist. “Trust me, I can hold my own, but those people were…it was like they weren’t even human…”

That’s because they’re not, Sam thought, turning away from the Norwegian just enough for his facial expression not to give him away. But then, maybe if I’m right, neither are you…

“So, you’re all the way from Scandinavia?” Sam probed, watching as the flame from the torch flicked and bobbed in the confined space of the granite maze. “Do you think the people who grabbed you could have been Greenpeace or something?”

The question seemed random, but the hunter had to know if he was talking to a man who could save the world, or destroy it. His country of origin suggested he was one of Gudrun’s kind, but appearances could often be deceptive.

For all Sam knew, he could be talking to Ferinacci in another guise – it wouldn’t be the first time an arch demon had taken on a false identity to gain information.

Volsung seemed to find Sam’s question amusing and he hoarsely chuckled. “What, my accent doesn’t give away my nationality enough?” He held the torch higher to search Sam’s face for sincerity. “The expedition I was on was a joint operation with Greenpeace,” he finally clarified. “I’m one of the good guys…”

“I guess you are,” Sam agreed, uncertainty making the pit already aching in his stomach widen into a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon.

Volsung suddenly shivered and his eyes seemed to glaze over as if he were reliving a past event. When he looked back up he feigned a smile, but it was obvious he was afraid.

And why shouldn’t he be?

The scientist had been kidnapped and held captive by creatures and devices that shouldn’t exist – and he didn’t even know why.

The crunch didn’t end there, though.

Sam suspected Volsung had a short, very sharp shock coming. After all, it wasn’t every day you were told you could be the savior of mankind – at least, if Gudrun was to be believed.

What the hell do I tell this guy?

“So, Sam, you know all about me. How about you? What are you doing way up here in the Canadian wastelands? Maybe we can figure this whole thing out between us and get the hell out of here.” Volsung gestured forwards with the still flickering torch, adding another strip of torn clothing as he moved ahead.

Sam followed the Norwegian, carefully choosing his words. “The plane I was on crashed. My brother and our friend Erika were trying to hike out when I found this place…” The hunter paused. It was time to test the water. “I think Erika is from your part of the world – her last name is Gudrun.”

Volsung shrugged, ducking his head as he bobbed under a low hanging ceiling shelf to pass into the next fissure in the granite. “Sounds like a good strong Norse name,” he smirked again, not understanding some of Sam’s logic. “Not like I’d know her though – I mean, there are over four and a half million people living in Norway alone, Sam.”

Sam felt his cheeks redden even though the temperature still felt sub-zero. Jon was pretty sharp with his wit – even if he didn’t realize the true reason why Sam was asking some weird questions.

Dean would definitely like the scientist. Sam could see the pair trading snark and sharing the odd lewd joke. Right now, though, that didn’t help their situation.

Jon may be something special, but he didn’t know it. Any unearthly talents he may possess were locked away just as Sam’s once had been.

Sam could risk telling Volsung he wasn’t normal, but what would that gain them? In all probability the man would think Sam had lost his mind and desert him.

See, you’re being held here because you’re some kind of Norse Superman and Lucifer is scared of you. Those black-eyed guys you met were actually demons, and the reason you can’t leave here is the red symbol painted on the floor…

Sam rubbed a hand across his temple. No matter how he played out the conversation in his head, there was just no way to explain himself and not sound like he wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

No, for now it was better if Jon remained clueless to his true identity and purpose – whatever that might be.

“So, this chick and your brother, you think they’ll be able to find us down here? I mean, if you were hiking together they can’t be too far off, right?” Volsung rammed the burning shaft into a crevice in the rock wall, and then sat down, using a jutting section of rock as an impromptu seat.

Sam joined him on a similar outcropping, finding the granite cold, but not as damp as he’d expected. “I kind of strayed,” he admitted ruefully. “Dean wasn’t expecting me to come this way. He’s pretty smart when he needs to be, though, and Gudrun…well, let’s just say she has a gift for finding her way…”

The scientist nodded, but he still seemed unfocused, as if something else more important than their current conversation was clawing at his mind. “She sounds like an interesting woman, but for her sake, I hope your brother doesn’t bring her here.”

He moved across the chamber into the darkness, returning with something swathed in another torn strip of cloth. Opening the ragged material he revealed thin strips of uncooked meat.

The raw rodent flesh reminded Sam of the shaman’s shredded corpse and he almost had to yank his head away to stop from gagging. Holding the back of his palm to his mouth he asked, “You’ve been eating that?”

Volsung snorted, sensing the young man’s disgust at his recent diet. “You will eat it too, soon enough, if your brother doesn’t find us. Like I said – not a place to bring a girl.”

The Norwegian’s eyes suddenly shifted as if he’d heard a noise in one of the adjoining tunnels and he quickly re-wrapped the precious meat, plucking a large blade from his ankle that Sam hadn’t noticed before.

The blood-encrusted knife was obviously what the scientist had used to kill the rats, but Sam doubted it was rodents that had Volsung on the alert right now.

“What is it?” Sam tried to see past the illumination of the torchlight, but his eyes were not nearly as well adjusted yet as his companion’s.

“'It,'” Volsung explained. “Is the other reason why I pray your brother doesn’t bring a girl here.” He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing over with fear. “You see we’re not alone down here-”

Sam snatched the torch from where it had been wedged, feeling the heat radiating from it across his face. In two long strides, he joined the scientist at the mouth of the nearest passageway. “I thought you said you were alone until I got here?”

“I meant alone in the human sense.” Volsung narrowed his eyes, peering cautiously into the insidious gloom. “Again, I sound mad, but you’ll come to believe me. You’ll come to know that there is something down here with us – something evil…”

“Have you seen it?” Sam pushed, leaning forward so that more light from the torch bounced off the shaft ahead of them.

Volsung shivered again, this time the shudder making his whole body quiver like he was having a mini-seizure. “I don’t have to see it,” he confessed. “I feel it watching me. Waiting until it knows I’m weak and easy prey…” The scientist looked up, apology flashing across his gaunt features. “And now, you’re its prey too…”

Shaman’s Home

An icy wind blew through the open doorway, bringing huge drifts of swirling snow in with it as it roared through the cabin. The small wood-fueled stove in the corner had no chance of competing with the elements as they ravaged the interior of the ancient abode.

Gudrun pushed up from her perch on the chair, crossing her arms defiantly without even feeling the now all-encompassing chill that had invaded her space.

“Come on in,” she invited. “I love a good party.”

The Inuit at the door’s brown eyes flashed over black, but he didn’t move. The raven orbs simply locked onto Gudrun, staring, boring into her soul.

If she had a soul.

“Ooh, the strong silent type.” Gudrun cocked her head, the unmistakable mocking tone of her voice cutting through the frigid atmosphere better than any fire. “Pretty archaic these days, even for you guys. I mean, no offence, but the best demons all have big mouths…and trust me, I’ve sparred with some greats in my time…”

The Inuit’s weathered face creased with annoyance, his lined features making his skin look like a well-aged piece of hide. “You won’t be so mouthy when you’re down there.” He nodded his head towards the trap door. “Right along with your hunter buddies.” He laughed, his cackle giving the impression his vocal cords had been sand-blasted long ago. “Did you really think you could come up here and outsmart the Master?”

Gudrun ran a finger along the edge of the table, her eyes tracing the contours of the marred wood rather than looking at the demon. He was insignificant to her – and she wanted him to know it. “You mean Ferinacci? Or should I say Lucifer?” She made a tutting sound with her tongue. “He’s really not so tough - too much ego, ya know?”

The Inuit growled, his throat simulating the sound of the husky she had heard earlier so vividly Gudrun was forced to look up at him. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, flexing his arm muscles so tensely sinew would have snapped had he not been a hellspawn. “You dare to slur the true Lord of the Underworld?”

Gudrun smirked, her every intention to enrage the demon more. “Dare insult him? Oh buddy, I invented insulting that bastard!”

The Inuit’s face seemed to melt just for a second as the demon within almost burst from its human shell in unadulterated rage. He dived forward, using his extra strength to grab Gudrun by the throat, tossing her over the table.

The Valkyrie landed among the eviscerated remains of the shaman, and was forced to let her hands sink into his putrefying flesh to push herself back upright.

She shook her palms, blood, segments of flesh and wriggling maggots flying from her hands in a shower of gore worthy of a Craven movie. “You people are just so messy.” She shook her head, moving sinuously across the cabin’s decking at her enemy.

The demon scoffed, picking up a glass jar filled with an animal fetus preserved in alcohol. The item had been stored for potion making, but now it made good use as a projectile.

Lobbing the receptacle, the demon dodged to his right, narrowly avoiding the table as Gudrun slammed it over and used it as a battering ram.

Shards of wood and glass filled the air as Valkyrie and Hell’s finest battled it out to see who held most power.

Gudrun held out a hand, an ancient and rare whale bone carving that hung from the wall drawn to her palm by some mystical force. She slammed the carving against the wall of the lodge, snapping it into a spiky lance. “You ever seen a Viking toss a hatchet?” She enquired, raising a brow teasingly. “And I’m way better with a spear-”

The demon lunged again, his boots sliding in the maelstrom of smashed jars, pottery and potions that littered the floor.

Gudrun anticipated his lumbering move and welcomed it. Racing sideways, she used the broken carving with expert accuracy, piercing the Inuit’s stomach with the jagged tip and thrusting it through until the yellowing bone fragment had exited his back.

The demon screamed – not in pain, but in temper as he was held fast in the girl’s grip. The possessed Native thrashed, trying desperately to pull torn flesh from the improvised spear and failing miserably.

Blood spattered the floor, joining the drying red carpet that had oozed from the shaman, but still the Inuit fought.

“Talk about dangling a worm on a hook. You people are so easy to snag.” Gudrun held the spear with one hand, showing her captive that she had just as much strength as him.

The demon laughed back, scarlet spittle showering the girl as his voice deepened. “You talk of how easy we are to catch.” His head lolled towards the red markings around the trap door and he half-laughed, half-winced. “Your kind are no better…”

Gudrun tilted her head forwards, chin jutting out in victory. “Maybe we aren’t…but I’m not the one who’s about to have to tell his boss he failed…” She could smell stale sweat, smell the iron in the leaking human vessel’s blood – and now, now she could smell the demon’s fear. “Tell Luciano I said Hi…”

Driving the broken bone shard even harder into the Inuit, Gudrun forced him backwards until the makeshift lance dug into one of the cabin’s log sections. She continued to push until she felt the timber give, knowing the demon was now held fast by her efforts.

“I’ll see you in Hell, bitch!” The demon jerked and spasmed, knowing what would come next if it couldn’t escape. He looked down, considering tearing his body off of the spear that now skewered him. “You don’t care about these mortals…”

Gudrun glanced at the trap door and what it meant to her.

It didn’t matter what the demon spouted.

This was her war.

Her chance at redemption.

The Valkyrie placed a hand on the Inuit’s writhing forehead and closed her eyes. Beneath her fingertips she could feel the throbbing energy from the creature – she could feel its power – and now, now she was going to extinguish that power.

It was a different feeling to taking a life in battle, a different feeling to collecting the soul of a soldier who had fought bravely and deserved his place in Valhalla.

But still, she was sending someone – something – away, even if it needed to be returned to Hell.

The Valkyrie felt the demon’s energy waning, but she held her hand fast, her palm sucking the creature from its earthly shell like the vacuum of space dragging air from a ruptured capsule.

The demon screamed, a black sooty cloud belching from the Inuit’s body as it tried to escape its fate.

The Inuit’s limbs fell limp at his side, any life he now had fading like a setting sun. And as the human husk expired, so did the creature that had controlled it.

The air in the cabin seemed to grow denser – every putrid odor intensified as Gudrun concentrated on her task.

The Valkyrie’s hand began to shake, but she didn’t falter or move away from the body – not yet.

The demon’s swirling mass enveloped her, fighting, screaming for its freedom, but it had no way to cheat death. As it had been sucked from the human, it was now dragged downwards, every particle of its being hauled into the ether of Hell where it had once resided.

Gudrun opened her eyes, her palms sweating as she finally let go of the dead native’s forehead. Blank, lifeless orbs stared up at her, but she ignored them. There was nothing she could do for him now, and although she had ultimately caused his demise, she felt no guilt, no pain.

His purpose had been served.

Brushing a hand through her tousled hair, Gudrun looked around her.

The cabin was a mess, but she had at least saved the Winchesters one fight with her actions. The open trap door caught her eye and she felt an abrupt pang of shame.

She had left the brothers to go on without her, knowing what may lie ahead.

It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t join them in the catacombs, but it was her fault alone that they were here.

Everyone has a purpose…

The blonde turned away from the hole in the floor. Maybe everyone did have a purpose, but what right did she have to invoke it this way – especially when she herself was so helpless?

Gudrun pursed her lips and glanced around her. There had to be something here she could use to aid the Winchesters. Information, anything that might give them the upper hand.

Except I trashed the place.

The Valkyrie peered at the shaman’s mangled remains. Would he, could he have anything on him that might be useful in their fight?

She crouched low, ignoring the gloop of flesh and bone that her knees rested in. Gently turning the cadaver, she began to rifle through his pockets.

The Inuit didn’t seem to carry many personal possessions, but then, his home wasn’t exactly furnished well, either.

There was a small pouch of tobacco hidden in a tiny pocket of his jacket, but as Gudrun opened the small bag she realized it had not been concealed because of the amount of Virginia’s finest. No, there was something else hidden here.

Delving into the tobacco, she let her fingertips pluck out a small carving not unlike the one the shaman had worn around his neck – at least, it looked similar – but its purpose was something much more sinister.

As her hand closed around the small whale bone, Gudrun’s sense of guilt was complete. This thing was pure Inuit magic – just like the tupilaq – only far more dangerous.

It looked innocent, like any other native craftwork, but in its true form, the kikituk could be deadly to the shaman’s enemies. The thing was a spirit helper to Inuit shaman’s and its ethereal form usually resided in the whale carving Gudrun now held in her hand. Usually, the kikituk would leave the carving only to possess its master and do good or evil on his behalf.

Sometimes, the spirit form had even been known to take out a shaman’s enemies by burrowing into their flesh and biting their hearts – not a death even Gudrun found heroic or worthy.

Gudrun let her fingers caress the bone, using her gifts to ‘feel’ for the kikituk. If it was still present in the carving, her intuition would tell her. She shut her eyes, probing for the spirit within the charm, but there was nothing.

Sighing heavily, the blonde set the table back upright and placed the carving on it.

The kikituk was free from its natural home, and it had not died with the shaman. That meant that somewhere – possibly in the catacombs below the lodge – the kikituk was running amok.

It was alone, without true form – and worse still – the creature was uncontrolled, like a wild animal uncaged in a big city.

Gudrun held her breath for the longest moment.

The Winchesters and the man they had come to rescue were probably trapped with a creature they could never comprehend – a creature they didn’t know even existed.

And the only way to warn them was to join them.

The Valkyrie dared to once again look at the trap door, and the strange cryptogram that guarded it. Once she crossed over, there would be no crossing back.

For her the war would be over.

Straightening, Gudrun crossed the room and stood at the edge of the darkness. She didn’t need a flashlight to see what was below.

For her kind, eternal damnation at the hands of Lucifer.

Stepping forward, she shook her unruly locks one last time and walked over the threshold, traversing the symbols on the floor and entering her own personal Hell.

Sacrifice in her system of belief was the ultimate mark of a hero, and already, the Winchesters had sacrificed enough.

It was time to pay back that debt in full.

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The Winchester Chronicles