Crowley tried his best to look around in the Void. He heard sounds around him; too scared to be angelic and too loud to be human. Crowley was new here. He had many chances to turn back as he sauntered downwards in the past. But, in the end, Crowley was still Crowley. However, he was not called Crowley yet.

Long before shades or snakes were invented, Crowley had found himself in this strange emptiness. He could see nothing but the eternal darkness that surrounded him. His once light feathers felt sticky; as though they were covered with a dark tar. Of course, such things were impossible, as tar was not yet created. The dark substance completely coated his wings, preventing him from flying. He could not fly. He could barely even move. He sat on his knees. His arms were being held apart by a set of invisible chains, and his feet were bound together in a similar; albeit slightly different; fashion. The former angel who would become known as Crowley screamed Upwards for what seemed like an eternity. It was not like anyone would listen, he thought. Others has warned him, but he had not cared. Afterall, why should he?

He tried not to think about it.

Crowley screamed and screamed. He could not see nor hear anyone else. Darkness continued to envelop him. Yet, he could feel another presence. Almost like being watched, he thought for a quick second. He shook his head, as much as he could, and decided against it. He was just going crazy.

Days, weeks, years. To the immortal, these units mean nothing. It meant even less when there was nothing changing around him. He had no way to tell anything in this Void. For all he knew, Time was nothing in this place. It stretched on eternally. Emptiness stretched on for eternity. The tar-like substance still coated his wings. Every once in awhile, a drop of the heavy liquid would fall off a feather with a "Ping!" sound. It was annoying, but it was the only stimulus Crowley had. Crowley thought about his wings.

They were once white, like the purest light. He smiled for a second remembering them. That smile was short lived as reality came crashing back down on the fallen angel. Of course, he thought, he let them tarnish as he did everything else he touched.

Crowley remained in that empty cell. Over time, his snappy remarks faded. His guile faded. His will to exist faded as well. Crowley no longer spoke. He no longer screamed. He no longer felt. He remained motionless, bound to the void. Any hopes of escape were long abandoned. Crowley had accepted his fate.

It was then a door opened. In poured a light. Not the pure Heavenly light to which he was once accustomed to. In poured a smouldering, orange light. The light of a fire, he noticed. No, he corrected internally, the light of many fires. Two men walked through. He would later recognize them as a couple bumbling Dukes of Hell.

Now, however, the grime-coated and tired demon looked up in hope. The taller one stepped forward.

"Crawley…" he began.

The other chimed in, "We have a very special job for you…"