| “ | Saving people, hunting things, the family business.
— Dean Winchester
|
” |
Dean Winchester is one of the two primary protagonists of the ongoing television series, Supernatural, and is a self professed professional in hunting down the paranormal, ranging anywhere from ghosts to immortal demons. Both he and his brother, Sam were raised in this lifestyle by their father, after the death of his mother at the hands of Azazel. They were also both taught in the mystic arts, namely in the summoning and banishing of Demons and Angels. Ever since then, Dean had made it his duty to protect Sam at all costs, even risking his life on multiple occasions. They eventually dipped into the realm of Angels and Demons when they had acquired the Colt, a gun that could ignore the immortality of either and kill them permanently. This immortal-killing arsenal was further increased with the acquisition of Angel Blades. While the two were largely successful in their jobs at hunting, Dean eventually lost his life in protecting his brother.
However, Dean was part of a larger picture, coming back as a demon-knight of Hell that was only loyal to himself. He lacked the ability to be killed due to the Mark, resurrecting every time his rampage was stopped. However, Sam was eventually successful in removing it through the use of purified blood, at the cost of his dark powers being released into the world. His hunting activities would continue, forming alliances and friends with Archangels such as Castiel.
Battle vs. Kayneth Archibald (by Dargoo Faust)[]
A Prelude[]
"Blasted. Tricked in my own base! Just... simply... impossible!"
Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald was fuming, with a heat coming off of him rivaling the the chill in the air that bit at his nose. The Fourth Fuyuki Grail War had just begun, and he had just aquired information on the other masters and servants at the city's docks, and he had fallen prey so a sort of complex teleporation spell.
Mind, he thought, the dozens of contingencies I had in place. The layers of bounded feilds I had prepared to prevent such a thing!
Nevertheless, Archibald found himself shivering in the night, surrounded by the walls of a mansion, whose lights beckoned to him like the allure of a flame to a moth. Could it be the Einsbern mansion? Had they planned for this all along? he pondered to no avail. However, he could at least deduce that this wasn't the mansion of the Einsberns. There was a curious lack of any bounded field placed over the area, and he had seen the structure in reports from the Clock Tower - the architechture simply didn't match up. It was like looking at the base of his enemies in a funhouse mirror, although he hardly enjoyed the sight.
Thankfully, the vials and materials he could use to activate his mystic code, Volumen Hydrargyrum, were tucked safely in his coat. It was... an unlikely outcome, but he hadn't ruled out spatial displacement. It was a rare power, but he only expected the best from his enemies in capturing The Grail.
A thought hit him, and he nearly let a chuckle out. No bounded fields?, he thought to himself, then I doubt there should be any trouble doing this...
"Diarmuid! By the order of my Command Seal, return to me!"
He smiled. If his enemies were idiotic enough to teleport him with nothing to prevent the use of a Command Seal...
However, his glee immediately turned to utter dread when all he was met with was another gust of cold air. He rapidly brought up his hand... the seal had been used, that was no illusion, yet there was no positive response from his servant, nor were there any sign of a bounded field preventing such a spell from working. He was familiar with the concept of divine, higher-order magic, but it was outlandish to even ponder its existence in the modern world.
He pulled some flasks and vials, and drew some symbols into the dirt below him, setting up a rudimentary bounded field. He could feel its presence wash over him; absolutely nothing was interfering with his magic. Yet... it prevented the use of a Command Seal, a spell of a higher order than even a magus of his stature could produce.
A soft ding played, before a calm, automated voice spoke. "No outside assistance is to be allowed in the Tournament, in accordance with Accordance 2.11 and Accordance 6.39. Please do not attempt a summoning ritual again."
Tournament?
Dean Winchester coughed up some blood, before vomiting nearly all over the floor. This wasn't the first time he'd been teleported, but he couldn't ever get used to the sudden lurch that would hit him, and the nausea. Oh, the nausea.
However, the moment he recollected himself, he whipped out his M1911. He was in the middle of a ballroom chamber, with an array of twinkling lights that would catch him in the corner of his eye every now and then. Which didn't exactly help when nearly ever hair on his body was on-end.
Some music was playing on a recorder on the far end of the chamber, which was about the most cookie-cutter "generic fancy" music Dean had heard in his life. When he had noticed the coast was clear, he preformed a simple ritual that would at least keep out magical interference in the room he was in. He needed time to think, as being in a position with little intel and preparations meant a very dead demon hunter (or undead, in a particularly bad case). That, and Sam was probably going insane with worry at the moment. A treat in moderation, but not something he would want to drag out.
Dean was at least able to ascertain that whatever teleported him wasn't demonic in nature. He'd been to hell, and knew how it felt. Even when it pretended to be normal, there was always some bit of lingering dread that would hang off of him. What confused him more, however, was that it wasn't angelic in nature either. While attacks from an archangel were something Dean wouldn't want to think about too often, he at least knew the typical tricks they'd play.
Well, at least I'm not dead. Again. Dean thought.
He cocked his pistol, and stormed out of the room. He could already tell the mansion he was in was massive, with sprawling hallways going in either direction, as far as he could see. Nevertheless, all of them were brightly lit, in pristine condition, and decorated with the occasional nondescript painting.
Occasionally, Dean placed tracking spells as he traversed the maze of hallways, keeping a steady path to his starting point should he become lost. He nearly laughed at the irony; he had to keep track of himself instead of some demon for once.
Dean looked for windows, anything he could find that could signify an exit. Eventually, he managed to spot a hallway that transitioned into a glass corridor. Looking outside, he saw what was a massive courtyard, covered with a layer of snow and frost. He thought he noticed something moving, some sort of shimmer, before continuing towards door outside.
As he reached for the handle, however, he heard a calm voice broadcasting like an automated announcement. While it sounded like it came from every direction, Dean could tell it was telepathy. Can't trace the origin, damn.
"Combatants are within a 100 meter proximity. Beginning introductory speech."
The Hell?
"You have been selected for a tournament of magic, as part of a random thaumaturgic assessment of your respective universes by the ▜▚┣ ▄▚┃▞▙. Now that a minimal preparation time of five minutes has been completed, and combatants are within range, it is advised that you engage your opponent as soon as possible. Failure to comply will result in instantaneous, painless death. Thank you for your cooperation."
Before Dean could process what in the name of God was even going on, a thud hit the floor. He looked over, noticed a large droplet of liquid metal, which had made a decently-sized crater in the ground. He carefully looked up, preparing his gun.
A web of metal. Vibrating. He was caught, like a stray fly.
He leaped to the left, as he felt something rip off a few arm-hairs, centimeters from his body. Shortly after, the ground next to him crumpled and crashed before he could even process what was happening, and with a loud BANG dust and debris filled his view.
Can't Escape from Crossing Fate[]
Dean was running like hell.
Not the best analogy for a demon hunter, he noted, but the liquid metallic whips crashing into the ground behind him weren't giving him the most time to think of a better one. The crazed man behind him was cackling, as if he was high on something.
"Wonderful, just wonderful! A tournament to test the strength of mages? I'll be through with this nonsense in time to return to my proper place in the Grail War."
Dean fired some more rounds behind him as he tested how well the cardio exercises he did were kicking in, yet each was deflected faster than he could even notice, ricocheting into the walls.
"And they find such a pathetic opponent for me? Those were the most rudimentary of bounded fields you could have possibly stumbled into! How do you even call yourself a magus?" The man calmly stood on the amorphous mass of metal, with his back straight and his arms behind his back. Dean could be cocky, but this was an entirely new level for him.
"I'm not a 'magus', and, huff, shut the hell up, you crazy bastard."
He ran around more corners. The mass itself was fast to react, but lacked a high movement speed. He needed more distance...
"Agh!"
A whip that had extended across the wall smacked him at the side as if he was a fly, although thankfully he didn't hear anything snapping. It had just grazed Dean, but he could already tell a direct hit meant death. However, he had an idea, stuck in the back of his head.
The entire time, Dean was following his tracking spells, back to the Ballroom. He needed more space, as this metal blob he was fighting thrived in close quarters. He just couldn't tell if he could last long enough...
It was there, the same room. Thankfully the laws of geometry weren't entirely screwed over by whatever put him here. He dashed through the doors, slamming them ajar. What surprised him was that the blob didn't follow in with him. Instead, the fluid slowly warped around the entrance, as if there was some sort of barrier between it and him. It parted to reveal the man behind.
"Thought you could use my own tricks against me, novice? I know a bounded field when I see one, unlike you. Thankfully..."
The metal pushed through his wards like they were a big soap bubble, slowly permeating its way through, as the man went into the ballroom with at a brisk pace. The mercury's movements seemed more sluggish, however, and it began dripping parts of itself on the floor. Large droplets would form, before moving back to the large mass.
"I could half Volumen Hydrargyrum's strength and speed, and it would still rip you apart. And now that you've cornered yourself, I'll make this quick. I have a servant and loving wife waiting for me in my home, and several masters to rip into shreds."
Dean winced in pain. "You talk too much, dumbass."
He didn't want to resort to it, but he pulled out and cocked the Colt. Better to use a round than to lose the weapon entirely, he thought.
"More guns? Please."
"This isn't any ordinary gun." He fired off the Colt, the echo bouncing off the walls of the room.
"Fool! Fervor, mei sanguis!" The entire mass collected itself and wrapped around where Dean could guess where the bullet he fired was, forming what the man thought was an impenetrable shield. Dean gulped, knowing well enough that the bullets from the weapon could be blocked pretty easily.
"And it didn't seem like your weapon was special at all... the mana coming off that mystic code seemed massive, but in realit-"
The Angel Blade Dean kept on him was thrusted through the mass of mercury that protected Kayneth's back, cutting through it and the flesh in front of it like hot butter.
"Hrug.. ugh... how..."
Dean pulled the sword out in one swift motion, with the blob of metal falling onto the floor into a thick puddle.
"Aaaahh!"
"For someone who kept on yapping about 'bounded fields', you don't look like you know a damn about a ward. I don't need to cut off your magic, just slow it enough for me to slide this in while you focused on the Colt."
"I-impos-sible... a mage like me, to a novice..."
The man fell flat on his face into the puddle of metal, with a river of blood flowing over the thicker liquid beneath it.
However nearly as soon as his breathing stopped, the man's body and the pool of metal dissipated. The room shimmered for a bit, and the tables spread across the ballroom became fully furnished, with dishes of steaming food and cold beverages on top.
A voice began speaking in his head again. "Congratulations. Please wait while your next opponent is selected...."
Damn it.
A Hotel in Fuyuki City[]
Sola-Ui had already worn out her lungs from screaming and panic, and had sunken herself into a couch. Her husband was either teleported straight into a trap or outright killed. She had hated how he droned on about how many bounded fields he had placed to secure a base for them, but she at least hoped all of his jabbering meant something.
She looked to her side. The servant he had summoned, amazingly, had not dissipated. Did this mean he was still alive? Or was this some kind of skill? she wondered, but it didn't do much to relieve her stress. The servant, too, seemed distraught, looking down at the floor with a grimace, seemingly frozen. She had the same look on Kayneth whenever he had botched a ritual, or got in a pinch with the Association. It was deep and utter failure.
Suddenly, the servant bolted up, before looking directly at her. He keeled, placing one of his spears on the ground.
"My master has perished."
Her heart sank, yet it wasn't as painful as she expected it.
"However..."
She hung her head down, and tried to tune out the situation. In the corner of her eye, she noticed something forming on her hand.
Command Seals.
"... you have inherited his remaining Command Seals. While he hasn't commanded me to, I can imagine he would have wanted you to continue in his place, should he fall."
No, he wouldn't. Sola thought. He would have just sent another lackey from the Mage's Association in his place.
"So, I ask you," there was an energy coming off of him, like he was losing form. Kayneth really was dead. "Will you form a pact with me?"
She looked long and hard at the servant's... no, Diarmuid's face. Something deep and repressed was welling up inside her, a kind of freedom that lived in her dreams.
She looked at the Command Seals. She was going to win this War, but...
She looked at Diarmuid again. It wasn't hope welling up inside her, it was love.
She wasn't going to wish back her husband. She smiled, looking almost a bit sadistic, before preparing the ritual.
Expert's Opinion[]
Experts agreed that while Kayneth was certainly the better mage, and his Mystic Code outclassed Dean physically, it would ultimately be his confidence that would outdo him against someone experienced in fighting supernatural threats on a daily basis. Similarly to how he lost to Kiritsugu, Kayneth would eventually make a brash mistake that would be his undoing.