In Supernatural TV/Vampire Diaries with The Force as the Chosen One

The corner office on the 43rd floor of Roman Enterprises offered a commanding view of Chicago's skyline.

Floor-to-ceiling windows transformed the night city into a tapestry of light and shadow.

Azazel swirled 50-year-old Bourbon in a crystal tumbler, watching the city below.

The vessel he currently wore - a distinguished CEO with silver temples and aristocratic features - suited his purposes.

Humans responded to power, and this body exuded it from every pore.

On the desk lay an open folder - reports from his operatives about a certain incident in Roanoke, Minnesota.

The door opened after a perfunctory knock. A nervous young executive entered - or what appeared to be one. The demon inhabiting the meat suit kept its eyes downcast, approaching with appropriate deference.

"Speak," Azazel commanded without turning from the window.

"The reports from Roanoke have been confirmed, my lord," the demon said. "The Winchester boy confronted the Fates themselves. They attempted to eliminate him but were... defeated."

Azazel's reflection smiled slightly in the glass. "And?"

"Uriel descended afterward. He... healed the boy's hands, though left a facial scar."

"Uriel." Azazel savored the name like the scotch on his tongue. "Acting on Heaven's orders? Interesting."

"There's more, my lord. The Fates have petitioned Raphael directly. They've been granted audience in the Seventh Heaven."

At this, Azazel finally turned. His yellow eyes - normally concealed by human pretense - gleamed in the darkened office.

"You're certain of this?"

The demon nodded nervously. "Our sources are reliable. The Moirai entered Heaven through the Eastern Gate. They met with Raphael himself."

Azazel set down his untouched scotch, approaching the demon with measured steps. "And you're only bringing this information to me now?"

"We only confirmed it today-" The demon's explanation ended in a choked gasp as Azazel placed two fingers against its forehead.

"Information delayed is information denied," Azazel said softly as golden light began to glow beneath the vessel's skin. "And I cannot abide inefficiency."

The demon's scream was brief as its vessel combusted from within, collapsing into a pile of fine ash on the imported carpet. 

With a dismissive wave, the ash vanished, leaving the carpet pristine once more.

Such displays of power were indulgent, perhaps, but necessary reminders of the hierarchy. Lesser demons needed to understand the consequences of disappointing a Prince of Hell.

Azazel returned to his desk, opening a different folder labeled simply "L. Winchester." Inside were photographs, school records, medical reports - the mundane documentation of a seemingly ordinary child.

"A prophet," Azazel murmured, tracing the boy's face in a recent photograph. "Not just any prophet, but Raphael's vessel. Perhaps even more."

The pieces were falling into place in ways he hadn't anticipated. The phenomenon the demons had reported - clearly signs of prophetic power.

The Fates' intervention - obviously an attempt to eliminate a divine instrument that could alter fate itself, something beyond their sight. Uriel's healing - the protection of a valuable vessel.

Azazel laughed softly. For the past couple years, he's been slowly setting breadcrumbs so that eventually when the time came, all could converge into one picture - the painting of Lucien as the Anti-Christ.

That same boy is the vessel of an archangel, and not only that a prophet - one who most likely gained his status by byproduct after God left His Creation.

Becoming a potential recepticle of the Maker as well.

The vessel of God believed to be the Anti-Christ.

The cosmic joke was not lost on him.

His gaze drifted to another photograph - Sam Winchester. The boy was eighteen now, applying to colleges, still trying desperately to escape the hunting life.

His features were so familiar, stirring memories buried beneath eons of existence.

Azazel closed his eyes, allowing himself to remember...

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Smoke and ash filled the air, obscuring the twilight sky. The purge had been thorough, as was Michael's way. No half measures, no mercy for the wicked.

The Jinn had ruled Earth for millennia, beings of smokeless fire who delighted in cruelty. They had shed too much blood, caused too much suffering. The Father's patience had finally ended.

Lucifer descended last, after the battle was won. He had no taste for the slaughter of lesser beings - that was Michael's domain.

His wings unfurled against the crimson sky as he surveyed the devastation, his vessel's form in a white thobe casting a long shadow across the ruined landscape.

Even then, he had worn Sam Winchester's face - though at the time, he knew not who that face was, nor what species it was.

Only that it was a form he was glimpsed by his Father, and his grace easily could take shape, to lessen his overwhelming presence on the Earth.

Azazel himself wouldn't understand this for eons.

Tall, with hair that caught the fading light, eyes that reflected both compassion and steel. The perfect vessel, glimpsed across time.

"So much death," Lucifer murmured, stepping carefully through the aftermath. "Necessary, but... regrettable."

Then he heard it - a sound so faint that any being lesser being would have missed it entirely. A cry, weak and fading.

Lucifer moved, following the sound to its source. Beneath the collapsed remains of a structure, a tiny form squirmed - a Jinn infant, its body of blue smokeless fire flickering weakly.

"You survived," Lucifer said, kneeling beside the child. "Alone amid all this destruction. I know not whether you are blessed or cursed for living still in this carnage and not ascending to Heaven, into your paradise, in your purity."

The infant's cries softened as Lucifer's light fell upon it. Tiny hands reached upward, grasping at nothing.

"The innocent among the guilty," Lucifer mused, carefully lifting the child. "A soul untainted by your people's sins."

The baby Jinn - Iblis, the name his parents bestowed him before their death - gazed up at the archangel's face with wonder.

Even then, some part of him recognized his savior, his future father.

"Perhaps you have a greater purpose," Lucifer said, cradling the infant against his chest. "Perhaps we both do."

With a beat of massive wings, they ascended toward Heaven, leaving the ashes of the Jinn civilization behind.

-----------------------

Azazel opened his eyes, the memory fading. That first meeting - his earliest memory - had shaped everything that followed.

Lucifer had saved him, raised him, loved him as a father loves a son.

And Azazel had repaid that love with absolute devotion.

He pressed a button on his desk intercom. "Send in the team."

Minutes later, four demons entered his office. Unlike the messenger, these were higher-ranking - handpicked lieutenants who oversaw different aspects of his grand design.

Ones who walked the old world, when even vampires were still young, and Lilith still walked the Earth.

"The Winchester situation has developed in unexpected ways," Azazel began without preamble. "The second-youngest - Lucien - appears to be a prophet. Not just any prophet, but one with direct connection to Raphael."

"A prophet?" The first demon frowned. "But the current prophet is-"

"I'm aware," Azazel cut him off. "This is... different. The boy has manifested powers beyond normal prophetic abilities. He defeated the Fates themselves."

The demons exchanged uneasy glances.

"This changes nothing about our primary objective," Azazel continued, "but it offers new opportunities. The hunting community fears what it doesn't understand. A child with mysterious powers, apparently divine in nature? They'll tear themselves apart debating whether he's a savior or a threat."

"You want us to encourage the latter interpretation," the second demon surmised.

Azazel smiled. "Precisely. Plant the seeds of doubt. Find hunters with religious inclinations. Show them psychic visions - something not too farfetched with how much power the boy released. Whisper fear into their hearts regarding the boy."

"Have them slowly, but naturally, lead to prophecies, and fears of the Anti-Christ - a child with supernatural powers who appears innocent but harbors darkness."

"The irony being he's actually a divine prophet," the third demon noted.

"The best deceptions contain elements of truth," Azazel replied. "We'll use their own paranoia against them."

The fourth demon cleared his throat nervously. "What of our efforts to free Lilith? The celestial alignment in three years-"

Azazel's eyes flashed dangerously. "That remains our priority. Nothing supersedes it."

"Of course," the demon backpedaled quickly. "I merely wondered if these developments might affect the timeline."

"Our god remains completely isolated from creation by the Lord's power," Azazel said, his voice softening slightly at the mention of Lucifer. "Despite countless attempts over millennia, I've only managed to reach him once, briefly. The next opportunity comes with the alignment. Until then, we proceed as planned."

He fixed each demon with a penetrating stare. "Is that clear?"

They nodded in unison.

"Good. Now leave me."

As they filed out, Azazel's gaze fell upon a small crystal paperweight on his desk - a memento that contained a fraction of Heaven's essence, captured before the Fall.

He lifted it, remembering once more...

----------------------

The gardens of Heaven stretched endlessly, perfect in every detail. Young Iblis - not yet Azazel - sat beside a crystal pool, watching as Lucifer manipulated light and energy to create miniature galaxies above the water's surface.

"Each star has a purpose," Lucifer explained, his voice gentle but filled with authority. "Each planet, each moon, each asteroid. Nothing in Father's creation is without meaning."

"Even me?" the child asked, his form still primarily composed of blue fire, though beginning to solidify into a more angelic appearance under Lucifer's tutelage.

Lucifer smiled, placing a hand on the child's shoulder. "Especially you, little one. Father has permitted you to remain in Heaven despite your origins. That alone suggests a special purpose."

"The other angels don't like me," Iblis said quietly. "They say I don't belong."

"Some fear what they don't understand," Lucifer acknowledged. "But not all. Gabriel finds you fun. Raphael finds you fascinating. Even Michael has accepted Father's decision to allow you to stay."

"Under your supervision," Iblis added. "If I become evil like my people, you must punish me."

Lucifer's expression grew serious. "That is my responsibility, yes. But I have faith in you, Iblis. You have goodness within you - I saw it from the first moment."

The child's fiery form brightened with pleasure at the praise. "Will I ever be as strong as a real angel?"

"You already possess strength different from ours," Lucifer said. "But with time and training, you may surpass many of my brothers and sisters. Your dual nature - Jinn and your bestowed status as an angel - gives you unique potential."

"I want to be like you," Iblis declared with childish earnestness. "The most beautiful, the most wise."

Lucifer laughed, the sound like music. "Such flattery! But remember, little one - true strength comes from understanding your purpose and fulfilling it with conviction. My purpose is to bring light, to illuminate truth."

"And my purpose?"

"That," Lucifer said, creating another galaxy with a gesture, "you will discover in time."

----------------------

Azazel set down the crystal, his expression softening momentarily before hardening once more.

Those early days in Heaven had been idyllic - before the Mark of Darkness had begun to corrupt Lucifer, before humanity's creation had forced impossible choices.

He moved to a painting on the wall - a Renaissance depiction of Lucifer's fall. Technically inaccurate in almost every detail, yet it captured something of the tragedy.

His fingers traced the frame, triggering another cascade of memories...

-------------------------

The Host assembled in the great amphitheater of Heaven, rank upon rank of angels in their true forms - wheels of fire, multiple faces, wings uncountable.

At the center stood God's throne, empty as it had been since the War began.

Beside it stood Michael, resplendent in armor, righteousness and duty made manifest. Gabriel and Raphael flanked him, their expressions solemn.

Lucifer entered last, his light dimmed compared to his former glory. The Mark on his arm pulsed visibly, dark veins spreading outward from it.

Behind him walked Iblis - now called Azazel, "scapegoat of God" - and other angels loyal to the Morningstar.

"Brothers," Lucifer addressed the archangels, his voice still beautiful despite the strain evident within it. "I come one final time to reason with you."

"There is nothing to discuss," Michael replied, his voice like thunder. "Father's command was absolute. Bow to humanity. Love them above all others - even Him."

"I cannot," Lucifer said simply. "They are flawed, murderous creatures. I have seen their futures - the bloodshed, the cruelty. How can we be asked to love such imperfection more than our perfect Father?"

Raphael stepped forward. "It is not for us to question, brother. Only to obey."

"Even when the command itself is flawed?" Lucifer challenged. "These humans - they possess free will. They choose evil regularly. The Jinn were punished for less than what humanity will eventually do."

Azazel watched the exchange with growing dread. He had witnessed Lucifer's gradual transformation - how the Mark had changed him, darkened him.

Yet the archangel's arguments resonated deeply. Why should they bow to lesser beings?

"Enough," Michael declared. "You have made your choice, Lucifer. Now face its consequences."

What followed was beyond description in human terms - a battle that transcended the modern languages. Archangel against archangel, brother against brother. Heaven itself trembled with their conflict.

Azazel fought alongside his mentor, his power - now considerable after eons under Lucifer's tutelage - cutting through lesser angels. But for every opponent they defeated, more appeared.

The tide turned when God Himself intervened, not appearing personally but channeling divine power through Michael.

Lucifer, despite the Mark's dark strength, could not stand against a Michael strengthened by God.

As defeat became inevitable, Lucifer called Azazel and his most loyal followers close.

"My Father has prepared a prison," he said, his light flickering with pain. "A Cage from which not even I can escape. I will be sealed away, cut off from all creation."

"Then we will free you," Azazel vowed. "Whatever it takes, however long it requires."

Lucifer's expression was both proud and sorrowful. "My faithful son. There is a way, but it requires sacrifice."

"Anything," Azazel replied without hesitation.

"The Mark has shown me truths - about darkness, about power beyond angelic understanding. I can transform you, make you something new. Neither angel nor Jinn, but a being of immense power. It will hurt beyond comprehension."

"I do not fear pain."

Lucifer nodded, then looked to the others who had gathered close - Ramiel, Dagon, Asmodeus. "And you, my loyal ones?"

They knelt in unison, echoing Azazel's devotion.

The transformation was agony beyond description - the essence of the Mark's darkness poured into them, burning away their angelic nature, twisting their very beings into something new.

When it was done, they were demons - the first Princes of Hell, their eyes yellow with Lucifer's power.

"Find my vessel," Lucifer commanded as Michael's forces closed in. "Free me. We will remake creation as it should be."

Those were the last words Azazel heard before Lucifer was cast down, sealed in the Cage at the heart of Hell, completely isolated from creation by God's power.

----------------------

Azazel turned from the painting, his yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness of the office.

That promise had sustained him through millennia - the vow to free his father, to reunite with the being who had saved him, raised him, loved him.

Everything he had done since - every manipulation, every sacrifice, every long-term scheme - served that singular purpose.

He moved to the window once more, gazing down at the humans scurrying about their insignificant lives.

Such limited creatures, with their brief existences and petty concerns. Yet among them walked Sam Winchester - Lucifer's true vessel, the key to everything.

And now, unexpectedly, Lucien Winchester - apparently a divine prophet, a vessel for Raphael himself, possibly even carrying a fragment of God's essence after the Creator's abandonment.

"Perfect, everything is proceeding as I have foreseen." Azazel murmured, watching lightning flash in the distance. A storm was rolling in across Lake Michigan, unusual for the season.

His phone buzzed with a text message from one of his operatives: "Special children program proceeding as planned. Subject development on schedule."

Azazel smiled. His "special children" - infants fed demon blood, developing psychic abilities that would eventually determine Lucifer's perfect vessel.

Sam Winchester remained the true one, but contingencies were always necessary.

The storm outside intensified suddenly, lightning striking much closer to the building than natural weather would have.

Azazel narrowed his eyes, recognizing the signature of power behind the display.

"How quaint," he said to the empty room. "A 'god' comes calling."

The lightning struck again, this time hitting the building directly. The massive windows of his office shattered inward, glass suspended momentarily in mid-air before Azazel casually waved it aside, letting the shards pile neatly in the corner without touching him.

Rain and wind whipped into the office, but Azazel remained perfectly dry, the elements bending around him like water around a stone.

He didn't bother turning as heavy footsteps sounded behind him, accompanied by the crackle of electricity.

"Azazel," a deep voice rumbled. "You have breached the ancient agreements."

Now Azazel turned, regarding his visitor with mild amusement.

Thor stood in the wreckage of his office, hammer crackling with lightning, his red beard dripping with rain.

The Norse god wore modern clothing - jeans and a flannel shirt - but his bearing remained that of the ancient 'deity' he was.

"Thor Odinson," Azazel acknowledged, his tone suggesting he was addressing a mildly interesting insect. "To what do I owe this... dramatic entrance?"

"You know why I've come," Thor growled, hammer raised. "The pacts between gods and monsters regarding humanity have stood for millennia. Your interference - your recent plots and control violates our oldest accords."

Azazel's smile was cold. "The agreements of lesser beings mean nothing to me. Your father understood that. Perhaps you need a reminder of the true hierarchy of power."

Thor's eyes narrowed as lightning crackled around his form. "My father is may not be may be gone in his Odinsleep. But the agreements remain."

"Indeed," Azazel replied, his yellow eyes beginning to glow with inner fire. "Your father is gone. And soon, mine will return."

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.

Do tell me how you found the backstory of Azazel and Lucifer?

I wanted to explore writing him a bit so here we are.

Hopefully it was enjoyable. 

Oh yeah, Thor Vs Azazel, how do you think it will go next chapter?

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)