The iron had the same effect -- it hissed, burned, and cut, and Crowley's cheek twitched as he felt his demonic self weaken underneath the binds. He couldn't move as it was -- this just made it worse.

"People don't do this unless they're into it," Crowley said evenly, his eyes not moving away from Magneto's. "Tell me, really, and be honest, I'm an excellent listener, did your father touch you when you were younger? Not hugged enough by mommy? Beaten by a drunk uncle? Need to exert your power and significance on beings bigger than you are?"

He shifted slightly -- the chains clinked and burned, but Crowley didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much it hurt.

"I've met hundreds like you, over the years. Victims of pedophilia, absentee parents, children of alcoholics and drug dealers and life just isn't fair, Mister Crowley, make it all better, I didn't mean to beat them over the head with a lead pipe, you understand, right?"

A rough chuckle.

"You're just like all the rest. Sick, twisted, mentally unstable, and you get off on torture like I get off on fine dining. Call it a spade if it's a spade, darling, we're all gentleman here."