"It's not about what I want," Sam answered. His voice was soft, a little empty, but it didn't lack in any confidence or authority because of that. "It's about what Hell wants. You were contracted down here, that makes you different from the average sinner; it means his influence was on you long before you stepped foot in this cell. It's been corrupting you, like an apple rotting while it's still on the tree."
As the demon blood in his own veins had corrupted him, long before he'd found himself down here. Sam stepped forward, wrapping the tie around and around his fist as he came.
"I know you're violent, and that you've been trained, but you should know that so am I. I've spent my entire life fighting, and I can kill a demon with a look, if I want to." And he had, but he knew that it corrupted him, made his soul blacker than anything else he could possibly do--that and magic. Lucifer kept him high on demon blood, kept the demons around him jealous and bitter, in the hopes that Sam would be forced to defend himself, but only one had ever risked Lucifer's ire to act against him, and since then, none had again.
As Sam approached, the nameplate engraved in his silver collar would be more obvious. It was a tightfitting thing, more elegant than practical, but it wasn't the only jewelery that Sam had been adorned with, since arriving in Hell. Eliot would discover it all, in time.
"I'm just here to make sure you keep rotting. Any old demon can break bones and make you eat your own innards, but I learned what I know from Lucifer himself--and look at me now. The perfect second act; obedient, inventive, and my stamina... Well, don't take my word for it."
no subject
As the demon blood in his own veins had corrupted him, long before he'd found himself down here. Sam stepped forward, wrapping the tie around and around his fist as he came.
"I know you're violent, and that you've been trained, but you should know that so am I. I've spent my entire life fighting, and I can kill a demon with a look, if I want to." And he had, but he knew that it corrupted him, made his soul blacker than anything else he could possibly do--that and magic. Lucifer kept him high on demon blood, kept the demons around him jealous and bitter, in the hopes that Sam would be forced to defend himself, but only one had ever risked Lucifer's ire to act against him, and since then, none had again.
As Sam approached, the nameplate engraved in his silver collar would be more obvious. It was a tightfitting thing, more elegant than practical, but it wasn't the only jewelery that Sam had been adorned with, since arriving in Hell. Eliot would discover it all, in time.
"I'm just here to make sure you keep rotting. Any old demon can break bones and make you eat your own innards, but I learned what I know from Lucifer himself--and look at me now. The perfect second act; obedient, inventive, and my stamina... Well, don't take my word for it."