awickedtime | End of Days

Enough is enough.

He's been in a black temper for days, since his conversation with the priest. He wakes up on a Sunday, the day dedicated to the worship of the false god, detirmined to have his way. Either Sabrina will reign at his side willingly, or he'll force her to, one way or another.

The bar is easy enough to find. It's underground, down a narrow set of stairs and then it's burnished wood and copper and soft light. It reminds him a lot of Gray's place in Greendale and, as such, seems like a perfect place to set up his throne.

The bartender puts up a small fight. There's a bullet wound that stings for a second before he heals it, leaving behind the faintest of silver scars on Nick Scratch's skin. He takes the man apart a piece at a time, buries his hands in viscera until his nails are grimed with blood. The man tastes sweet in all his pain and terror.

He stops hiding. He broadcasts his presence far and wide.
Let his daughter come.

It's time that they spoke face to face, with everything out in the open. It's time that this came to an end.

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The spear slides into his side and there's a white hot pain and his knees go hot, go liquid and he goes down, onto his knees first and onto his side and all he can think is that he doesn't want to die, he doesn't want to die, he doesn't...

His eyes roll back in his head again and a violent shiver goes through him.

Sabrina has told herself that she won't cry as this happens. She can't afford to cry, because she has to make sure everything happens as it's supposed to happen.

She lets go of the spear as he drops, though for a sick second she's afraid it's stuck to her hand. Sliding down next to him, she forces his chin up so she can see his eyes, needing to see when it happens.

His eyelashes flutter and he swallows convulsively. Every light in the bar flickers and goes out for a split second. Suddenly, the air is heavy with the scent of brimstone.

"Sabrina," he mumbles and then he's slipping, again, down into the dark.

He finds himself crudely ejected from the crucible of Scratch's skull and, for a moment, he is without form altogether. It takes a moment, costs him a lot of effort, to assume his angelic form. He surveys the scene in the bar for a moment.

"Stupid girl," he says. "Now you'll lose him for certain."

Without clear knowledge of what's possible for Lucifer, Marcus knows he's walking into a dangerous situation. Dan is here with him, because a part of Marcus feels like there's something there, something between them on which he can draw strength, but he stays out in the truck while Marcus goes in. He's keeping the engine running, prepared for them to run if they need to, and from the sight of Nick bleeding, Marcus thinks they'll need to.

But right now he and Sabrina need to focus on Lucifer. Stepping forward and into the light, Marcus brandishes the crucifix given to him by Mother Bernadette, holding it up as the weapon it is.

He expects mockery, but it's not as if he hasn't heard it all before and so he begins, "I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power, every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Begone and stay far from this creature of God. For it is He who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell."

He might be no common demon to be bound, but the words do have power, and, in turn, have their effect. His head swoons, like he's under the influence of strong liquor. He shakse it off.

"You think this is the first time I've been meddled with, priest?" he says, spitting the word like the foulest curse. "You think I haven't disposed of the likes of you before? I am no petty spectre. You're going to have to try harder than that."

Sabrina's dazed for a moment or two, and she knows it.

She thinks she might be forgiven, considering that she's covered in Nick's blood, the Devil before her and furious with her as ever, her hand aching from contact with the Lance, and Marcus's words rippling through her.

She can see, so close to her, Rosie and Charlie rushing to tend to Nick, and she feels like her heart might as well tear from her chest to stay there. But in this moment, Sabrina is not a healing, protective force.

She's a sword, a violent rebel in the image of the fallen angel that's created her, and she's turning against him. Her whole body screams with the effort, but she's up and turning and holding out a hand.

"I've been thinking," she grits out. "Lilith existed before you found her and twisted her. We don't have to get our power from you. We've always had it."

Sabrina searches for Marcus's face and breathes out. He doesn't believe God, false or not, hates her. So she calls out too, remembering a different set of words.

"I call forth the witches from the shade. Those who came before us, and died, so that we might live. Visit us, sisters, intercede on our behalf! I call forth the powers of Lilith, of Aradia, of Morgan le Fay. Visit us, sisters, intercede on our behalf!"

Marcus's hand drops, finds Sabrina's, his fingers thread with hers to draw strength from one another. Mother Bernadette's crucifix is held between their palms and the rosary beads tangle around her fingers as well. Her choice of words inspires his next set of words, too, and he pulls his aspergillum from his pocket and uses it to fling holy water in Lucifer's direction.

"Not a priest, darling," he answers. "Just an exorcist."

Then he smiles, he actually grins, and shouts, "Saint Mary Magdalen, Saint Agatha, Saint Catherine, all holy virgins and widows, all holy saints of God, intercede for us." His hand tightens on Sabrina's, the other using the aspergillum to fling holy water in the sign of the cross. "I adjure you, ancient serpent, by the judge of the living and the dead, by your Creator, by the Creator of the whole universe, by Him who has the power to consign you to hell, to depart forthwith in fear."

The water stings where it splashes and Lucifer hisses, handsome face of his angelic form twisting into something ugly and brutal. He steps forward, towards the pair, driven by nothing so strong as the impulse to destroy the two of them, to destroy the pair of mortals crouched over Scratch's sprawled body, to render this whole place down into nothing but bones and ash.

"I am the Great Satan," he snaps. "Lord of Hell, and I will not..."

End of Days

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