The words spilled out of his throat in a gutteral snarl.

"I'm the king of fucking Hell."

And on the last word, Crowley shoved outward with an immense amount of power -- and though it was constrained, trapped by the sigils and warding, the ground shook, for the barest moment -- a split second, no more, and no less, and Crowley curled his fingers into fists.

"I'm not a fucking foot soldier. Let me go, let my dog free, and I'll consider not sterilizing you."