Disclaimer: I own nothing, no one in the WWE, no real or stage names. I do own my own character, Erin Wylde. This book contains swearing (lots) and is a very dark fairy tale. This is rated M for torture, gore, and language. A/U set sometime after the crusades and before the 16th century. Just go with me on that one. There will be TONS of cameos here, but the main characters are Dean Ambrose, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins and female OC. Hope you enjoy!

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The smell of sulfur permeated the air as Dean padded down the halls of hell behind the giant demon leading the way. Lights flickered from the candles that dimly illuminated the hallway, guiding them along. Of course, he didn't need any light to see where he was going. His hound form could see just fine in the dark and his keen sense of smell would alert him to anything out of the ordinary. Besides, he knew the way well enough, he didn't need a fucking demon grunt to lead them there.

They'd been summoned by the bitch so many times during their 'service' to the Queen that he could have probably shut off his sense of smell and closed his eyes and still made it there just fine. He wondered what the fuck she wanted this time around. It couldn't be good if she had sent Kane, the lead dungeon master, to fetch them. The demon hated the pack of hellhounds with a passion and made sure to let them know at every turn. Dean watched as the demon's stringy black hair moved with each plodding step. He knew his mottled deformed face was hidden behind a red mask. The Queen didn't like to look upon ugly beasties and this guy fit the bill. Jesus fuck, the guy was hideous. Dean figured that he may be a fucking hellhound at this point in his life, but at least he didn't look like that repulsive behemoth.

Throughout the underbelly came the sounds of people moaning in pain. Hearing the screams of those being tortured didn't affect him anymore. Nothing really surprised him down here. He used to try to fight and save the people he heard, the ones he knew weren't here because they were evil. But now, the amount of torture and misery they saw on a daily basis had dulled all his empathy. There wasn't anything he could do about it anyway. Seeing blood flow out from under the doorway of one of the cells, he growled low in his throat at the smell. They must be having a good torture session in there. He didn't envy the cleaning girl her job today. His brothers followed behind him, sniffing every so often trying to sense any changes in the air. The evil hung thick like a blanket in the stagnant environment and none of them spoke while they made their way to hear their new mission. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed down here.

Dean thought back to the good days, when they weren't in hell. Back when they were free from this constant misery. The days when he and his brothers fought together as mercenaries on the battlefield. When they weren't a pack of fucking hellhounds. No one could touch them when they were together on the surface back then. Any battle they entered, they won. It was so fucking long ago. He had lost track of time down here. Every day passed the same, and every year melted into another. They would have probably been dead by now anyway, if they were still on the surface, if this whole shit hadn't happened. Well, he knew that two of them would be, at least. But if it hadn't happened that way, then how? Probably would have died of good ole' old age. Well, Seth and Roman probably would have. He was always a little bit more reckless than his two brothers.

He wondered how he would have died. A decent battle? A sword to the gut? No, fucking gut wounds hurt like a sonofabitch. An assassin slitting his throat? Oooh, what about a beheading? Beheading with a sword during a fight was always a good way to go. Yeah, something like that. Going out in a blaze of glory, but with not too much pain. He would definitely have been the first of them to go.

Seth would have probably gone next, he chuckled to himself. He might not have lasted to die of old age, however, Dean mused. Maybe not a even a battle wound would have done him in. He probably would have been killed by some jealous ass husband after he caught Seth fucking his wife.

Roman would have been the one of them who lived to be an old man, Dean thought. Yeah, he could see that. He was the most even tempered of the three. Dean could envision him finding some nice quiet village girl to settle down with after all their glory days of fighting were behind them. He would have kept their memories alive through stories around the campfire at night, telling his children and his children's children about the many victories on the battlefield and how their brave uncles always saved the day. Probably would have left out the part where Seth died in the arms of some slut though.

Glancing back at Seth and Roman he let out an involuntary grumble, they didn't deserve this. Fucking didn't deserve to be lowered to this status in life. They were warriors. Fighters of the highest caliber. Now they didn't even get to stand on two feet. Sure, they might not have been the best people in the world when they were human, but no one deserves to be turned into a demon and forced into servitude to the Queen of Hell... bitch.

Roman tilted his head curiously and sent a question into Dean's mind, "What are you grumbling about now?"

Dean huffed out a hot breath and responded with a quick thought, "Just thinking of the good ole' days, brother. Just remembering the good times."

Seth chimed in then. "Awww," he whined, "don't bring that shit up now. It always makes me yearn for a decent mug of beer and a good lay. I'm no use to anyone when I want a beer and a wet pussy to bury myself in." He trotted up to walk closer to Dean.

Roman snickered, "You always want a beer and a wet pussy. No wonder you've never been any use to us."

Seth growled back at him, "Shut up, Reigns." Bumping his snout into Dean's side he grumbled, "What's she want with us this time around, anyway? Kane tell you?"

"No, but it can't be anything good if he got us out of our cages without whipping and branding us before we get there. Cunt must need us primed and ready for some mission if he's getting us there without any marks." Dean groused.

"Maybe we've been here long enough and she's finally letting us go," Roman popped in Dean's head to say.

Dean hazarded a glare in Roman's direction. "You know she's not going to ever let us go, right? I appreciate the fucking optimism there Ro, but let's be real. She keeps fucking adding years to the original 100,000 for everything she thinks we do wrong. The fucking King just backs her up and makes the changes to the contract. I'm pretty sure we're here for the duration, brother. Might as well get used to the enjoyable red ass scenery and the heat."

Seth growled in frustration at Dean's statement. "When we do finally get out of here, I'm moving to Iceland. No more fucking warm weather. Ever. So tired of this heat. I'd probably have a luscious coat of fur if it wasn't for the constant burns."

Roman chuckled, "The ice is in Greenland, bro."

"What the fuck ever," Seth snarled, "you know what I meant."

Dean looked back up to where Kane was walking. He knew the demon couldn't hear their conversation, only the Queen could permeate their brains and twist her words in among their thoughts. He wished he had paid a little more attention in his younger years of learning. Shit, he wished he had even gone to some of the classes that the monks tried to get him to come to. He might have known how to keep an eye out for evil, how to prevent this whole situation. But, no, dumb ass he was, he had to work on his fighting skills day in and day out. That would always get him out of any situation, or so he thought back then. Shaking his snout, he huffed out in resignation. No use whining about it now. Can't go back and change the fucking past.

Kane approached the large metal door that barred demons from entering into the throne chamber of the rulers of hell. He raised a meaty hand to the door and pounded three times. It was quickly opened by one of the Bludgeon Brothers. He couldn't remember which one this was, they were both fucking horrific to look at. This one's red beard poked long out of his dead sheep's head mask. His black cloak covered his bald head and long antlers protruding from underneath the hood completed the look. In his hand he held a huge sledgehammer, ready to beat in the brain of anyone who crossed his path… well whoever he was allowed to beat up with permission from the fucking Queen.

Dean led the way for his brothers as Kane stepped aside to let the three hellhounds enter the room. Instead of following them in, he made his bow toward the throne and turned to walk back down the hallway. Huh, Dean thought, that was weird. Guess the monster didn't want to stay and see the show. Low level demons lined the sides of the room, watching stoically as the hounds entered. The three slowly approached the two thrones that stood in the middle of the room.

The king sat high on his throne. What was visible of his bald head shined bright in the light of the flames from the torches that lined the walls. Upon further investigation, Dean realized that the torches were actually people who had been tortured and killed. Their heads had been removed from their bodies and stuck on long pikes. Fire had been set to their flesh and the burning smell of hair filled the room. It was a gruesome sight. If he still had the normal feelings of a human, he probably would have lost his lunch.

Eyeing them with his steely stare, the King brought his hand up to stroke his beard in contemplation at their entrance. A silver crown sat high on his head and the attached chain mail covered his neck and shoulders. In his hand he held a long silver scepter with a trident on the end. Fucking ridiculous outfit for the King of Hell if you asked Dean. But nobody did.

At his left hand was the Prince of Hell. The demon, Finn Bálor, in his human form, stood by passively. His blue eyes seemed dull from what Dean assumed was boredom. He knew he would hate having to stand in a fucking throne room with his parents at all times. The fuckers couldn't even conjure up a damn chair for the guy to relax in. Dean had only seen the demon form of Bálor a couple times. He only changed when the Queen had a special need for his talents. Dean shuddered inwardly at the memory. That many eyes and mouths should never be on one body. He knew, however, once the demon Bálor was released in that form, no one he was coming for was safe.

The Queen sat next to the King at his right hand, in her own throne. She had her long brown tresses pulled tight up on the top of her head. It made her already sharp features seem more malevolent. She was dressed in some sort of skin tight black body suit. Dean snickered to himself that Seth would have probably enjoyed the view of her body, if she had one to fucking write home about that was. She smiled a wicked smile as her icy glare settled on her three visitors.

"Hello, my favorite pets," her poisonous voice echoed into their minds. "Are you happy to see your Queen?" Out loud she said, "Show me."

The three of them stood there, not moving after her order. They knew what she wanted, but they still had pride and some semblance of warrior spirit left in them. They hadn't been broken by this bitch yet.

The King bellowed out, "Fucking bow before your Queen, you filthy mongrels! Show her your respect!"

Dean sensed Roman and Seth dipping their heads down after a few seconds, attempting to assuage the rulers and avoid any confrontation. It wouldn't help to fight it anyway. But giving in still went against everything in Dean's nature. He hated this shit. He was better than this. They all were.

"Rowan, my sweet," the Queen murmured, her voice dripping with fury, "help that one out. It seems my little pet Dean has forgotten how to bow his head to his true master."

"Fucking bow your head, dude," Seth cried out in Dean's mind. "Just fucking do it."

"Come on man, don't make it harder on yourself," Roman encouraged quietly.

"Listen to your brothers, my pet, they speak only the truth," the Queen's voice oozed out viciously, making Dean's skin crawl. Cackling loudly in the throne room at the show of defiance, she glared at him with her dead black eyes.

Dean's anger rose again. He wouldn't submit. She wasn't really going to kill him. She couldn't. Besides, he was already dead inside anyway. It didn't matter if he was killed again.

Just after the last thought left his mind, Rowan raised his mallet and brought it down on the side of Dean's head. The formidable hit caused him to fall to his side with a whimper. He curled his legs inside his body for protection, howling out in pain. Seth and Roman tried to move closer to help him, but the Queen held them frozen with her power.

"Ah, ah, ah, my little pretties, just let him take his punishment like the good dog he is," she smirked, reaching out to take ahold of the King's hand. He smiled down at her indulgently. Rowan raised his mallet again and brought it down with as much force as he could. Dean's world went black.