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Crowley’s goons found the bodies down by the river. Three of them. For whatever reason, Amara had sucked their souls out and decided to kill them this time. Their mouths had opened in horror as they felt the cold existence of soulless humanity. And their eyes were frozen just as wide as she drained their life out of them. No harm had come to their bodies. No blemish of violence lurked on their cold flesh or their hardened insides. An autopsy would be futile and the clueless investigators would have nothing but questions with no answers. As the King of Hell, Crowley knew these souls didn't traipse off into the golden fields of Elysium–or whatever humans would like to believe in this century. They were just gone. Not like humans that perished in Chuck's sandbox. Off to wherever Chuck designated them: cold storage for souls. Whatever fantasy kept their little monkey minds occupied for an eternity and the angels tethered to Daddy's infernal machine. Because Amara took these ones and Chuck was powerless in her kills.
The flunkies had called him like they were supposed to and the King of Hell popped down to the little river off of Watuppa Pond.
"Christ on a cracker," he mutters and kicks the corpses around to take inventory of his daughter's blasphemy.
"Why can't she just get tattoos or piercings like a good little daughter of a whore? Or some skeezy boyfriend that would give me an excuse to murder? Or maybe a tough little girlfriend for the Acting Out Starter's Set?" He shrugs. "Not sure I could murder a girlfriend, actually," he says nonchalantly. "Maybe just rent a dirty angel for a little memory wipe. Or maybe stomp her feet for not being allowed to go to the school dance?" he sighs, "Simple outrage." He thrusts his chin out and sniffs for a demon to dust his shoes off. The nearest flunkie grimaces and stoops to dust his spats.
"Burn 'em," he orders, "Three ought to be enough for tonight. Keep on her. Better she feeds on the humans than kills you morons for sport, I suppose. If she doesn't kill 'em. You do it." He stares at the heap of flesh.
"Wasteful…I suppose that's on point for a teenager." He rolls his jaw in impotent anger.
"Wish she'd just binge on an annoying salad or something."