By the time night settled in, the Impala had left the main road behind and rolled onto a narrow dirt track. The path ahead grew rough, uneven, barely wide enough, and after a few more yards Dean brought the car to a stop.
The engine cut, and silence filled the space around them.
"Guess this is as far as we go," Bobby said, pushing his door open and stepping out. "Cold Oak's the rest of the way on foot."
Dean followed, popping the trunk and grabbing weapons. Shotguns, shells, rock salt—everything laid out like routine. He checked the load, then turned and held one out toward the back seat.
"You gonna take one?" he asked, offering the shotgun to Henry.
Henry stepped out, closing the door behind him. He glanced at the weapon for a second, then shook his head, reaching back instead.
The katana slid free just enough to catch the faint light before he pushed it back into place. Then he pulled a handgun from behind his back, checking it briefly.
"I'm good," he said.
Dean watched that, one brow lifting slightly as he shut the trunk with a solid thud. "Suit yourself," he said, then gave the katana another look. "But what's with the samurai thing? You switch careers while you were on vacation or something?"
Henry didn't react much. "It works," he said simply.
Dean huffed once, half amused, half dismissive, but didn't push it further. "Yeah, well… let's hope it works on whatever's waiting out there."
Bobby slung his shotgun over his shoulder and looked ahead. The path disappeared into darkness, trees closing in on both sides, the kind of place that felt wrong even before anything actually showed up.
"Stay sharp," he said.
As they moved deeper into the woods, Henry broke away from Dean and Bobby.
Splitting up meant covering more ground, and time wasn't something they had in excess. He adjusted his pace, stepping carefully through the undergrowth, senses stretched, listening for anything that didn't belong.
The forest was too quiet.
Then came the sound.
Footsteps.
Henry stopped immediately. His hand moved to the hilt, and the katana slid free in one smooth motion.
The blade caught what little light filtered through the trees, and as he shifted his stance, faint markings began to glow along its length. The Mark of Aether responded, energy settling into his muscles, sharpening his awareness.
He didn't rush.
"Hello," he called out, voice steady, carrying just enough to reach without giving away too much. "If you're human, stay where you are."
Nothing answered.
The silence stretched, heavy.
"And if you're a demon," he continued, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees, "stop playing and come out."
The attack came without warning.
A shape dropped from above, fast enough to blur.
Henry moved on instinct. The katana cut upward in a clean arc, meeting the incoming body mid-motion. There was resistance for a fraction of a second, then the blade passed through.
The attacker twisted away in the same movement, landing several feet back with unnatural balance.
Something hit the ground near Henry's feet.
He didn't look down immediately.
When he did, it was a hand—severed cleanly, fingers still twitching.
The figure straightened.
Black eyes.
The demon didn't even glance at the missing limb for long before its attention returned to Henry. A slow grin spread across its face, like the situation amused it more than anything else.
"Heh," it said, voice casual despite the blood loss. "A Winchester with a sword. What, you give up guns and decide to go samurai?"
Henry adjusted his grip slightly, the glow along the blade intensifying just a fraction as he settled into position.
"Guns don't do much to you," Henry said, tone steady, the katana angled just enough to catch the dim light through the trees. "This works better."
He rolled his shoulder, settling his stance.
"With this, I can make sashimi out of you guys."
The demon's grin stretched wider, black eyes glinting.
"Let's see who ends up carved."
Its hand flicked.
A heavy log ripped loose and came crashing toward Henry. He stepped into it instead of away, blade rising in a tight arc. Steel met wood with a sharp crack, the log splitting cleanly as both halves tore past him and slammed into the ground behind.
The follow-up came instantly.
The demon slipped behind him in the same motion, silent and fast, driving its hand forward with precision, aiming straight through his back to reach his heart.
The strike landed.
And didn't go through.
There was force behind it—enough to kill—but it stopped cold, like it had hit something that refused to give. For a brief second, the demon's arm just stayed there, pressed against him, the moment stretching in a way that didn't feel right.
Which made Henry slowly tilt his head back, the motion stiff and unnatural, like a doll creaking on rusted hinges, a crooked, unsettling smile spreading across his face.
"Heh… you stupid demon," Henry said, voice low and off. "That's not going to work on me."
His eyes glowed blue.
The demon looked at him—and something felt wrong. Too wrong. Henry didn't feel human anymore. If anything, he felt closer to their kind.
Is this guy really a Winchester?
For a second, it didn't make sense—why did his face look more like a demon than his?
Why did it feel like the roles had reversed?
*****
🔥 For Advanced Chapters Join My Patreon 🔥
👉 patreon.com/DeathNote4455
🚀 Get early access to 21 Advanced chapters.