This gripping show dives into supernatural with cool storytelling and mesmerizing characters. Mystery, suspense, a hint of fear fill the air. A group of people gets caught in a world where living and supernatural mix. They face evil forces, confront fears and go on dangerous quests. Courage is key as they uncover old secrets to save themselves and everyone else. With stunning visuals and a strong story, this tale keeps you glued to your seat. Don’t blink or you might miss something!

Meet the villains from Supernatural

Crowley

Crowley is the delightfully sardonic King of Hell who treats infernal politics like a spa day—calculating, stylish, and constantly amused by human chaos. He’s the kind of villain who orders takeout and then negotiates souls between bites, which is both terrifying and hilarious, and yes he probably owns a ridiculous number of waistcoats. There’s a weird, almost reluctant fondness for the Winchesters buried under the snark (don’t tell him I said that), and he’s equal parts ruthless strategist and theatrical diva. Also, he drinks tea sometimes? Or is that just his exile phase?

Abaddon

Abaddon is full-on Knight of Hell energy: armored, utterly ruthless, and obsessed with power like it’s a hobby she’s never going to give up. She’s terrifying in a very physical, smashy way—like “I will demolish your skull with a chair” the moment you laugh at her hair—yet also oddly formal, like she learned etiquette before apocalypse school. Ambitious to a fault, she chews through rival demons like gum and then complains about the taste, but she’s surprisingly classy about betrayals (sips fake tea, plots your downfall). Sometimes she sounds bored, sometimes gleeful, and honestly that mood swing is the whole vibe.

Demon Dean

Demon Dean is Dean Winchester’s worst and weirdly charismatic id: savage, gleeful, and terrifyingly confident, but also still orders pie and listens to classic rock like a boss. He’s violent and theatrical and loves making life miserable with a grin that says “this is fun,” which is actually the worst part. Underneath that gleeful cruelty there’s this uncomfortable echo of the real Dean—memories, smells, a stupid joke—that makes him both scarier and, ugh, fascinating. Also he keeps flipping a beer bottle even though he might not need it, classic Dean tic or demonic habit?

Rowena

Rowena is chaos wrapped in tartan and sharp wit—a witch who makes fashion statements and terrible decisions with equal enthusiasm. She’s fiercely proud, dramatic, and has the best evil laugh in the entire show, but will also knit you a sweater and curse your enemies simultaneously (useful combo). Maternal in the weirdest, self-interested way, she vacillates between savage betrayal and genuine care, which keeps everyone (and me) on edge. Plus she drinks whisky from teacups and will correct your Latin mid-insult, adorable and terrifying.

Azazel

Azazel (yellow-eyed demon) is the manipulative puppetmaster type who literally specialized in screwing up humanity with a smile, like the textbook charming sociopath. He adored experiments—on kids, on families, on fate—and had this creepy, patient fondness for creating chaos like it was art. There’s a cold politeness to him, like someone who sips bourbon then stabs you and apologizes for the stain, and also he loved orange juice? Wait, that’s probably a weird headcanon but it fits. He feels mythic and small at once, which is why his shadow hangs over everything.

Lilith

Lilith is the eerie, primordial first demon who speaks sweetly and then rips your soul out which is very on-brand; she’s icy, possessive, and supremely confident in her cruelty. She has that unsettling kid-voice vibe sometimes (creepy!), and yet she’s ancient and patient like erosion—slow, inevitable, terrible. Obsession defines her: once she fixates on something (or someone) it’s over, game set match, and there’s no mercy, only ritual and weird childhood-lore energy. She also has a flair for theatrics, like setting everything on fire because it matches the decor.

The Darkness

The Darkness (Amara) is cosmic to a ridiculous degree—like “bend reality while glaring” level—so moody and ancient you can practically hear the universe creaking. She’s both terrifyingly simple and terribly complex: wants love, wants revenge, wants snacks? (Okay, that last one might be me projecting.) Her power feels less like muscle and more like a stern mood that rewrites rules on a whim; she’s tender, petulant, and apocalyptic, sometimes all in the same breath. Also, very likely to sulk on a couch and ruin entire civilizations because she didn’t get a hug once, which is tragic and hilarious.

Lucifer

Lucifer is theatrical, incorrigible, and absolutely loves monologues—he tells you how doomed you are in such a polished way it almost flirts with you. Pride is his middle name, and he treats rebellion like a lifestyle brand; chic, cruel, and always with a soundtrack. He’s charming in a predatory way (so many smiles), capable of genuine vulnerability when he bothers, and then will turn around and set your moral compass on fire just for sport. Also collects vinyl? Or at least pretends to; he definitely appreciates a good entrance.

Metatron

Metatron is the bureaucratic, passive-aggressive scribe-turned-villain who believes in lists, structure, and the sanctity of long, pointed speeches. He started off obsessed with words and order, then decided humanity was messy enough to warrant rewriting (conveniently making him the villain, surprise). He’s petty in the best way—plots with footnotes, holds grudges like trophies—and has this weirdly human blend of jealousy and wounded pride that makes him oddly relatable. Also, he carries pens like weapons and will correct your grammar mid-confrontation, which is peak Metatron.