2036
MALLORY
PORTLAND, OREGON
They had lost. No official word had arrived, but she could feel the change in the air, smell death on the wind. She supposed she should be used to it by now, but it was a scent that still turned her stomach.
Closing her eyes and dropping to her knees, she allowed herself a moment to run her fingers through the overgrown grass of the lawn. Mallory had always felt the strongest connection to the ethereal realm when she was surrounded by nature, and her magic had been at its peak when she was outdoors.
Now, though, she barely felt a spark. The ethereal realm was almost closed to her, and her power was fading every day. Not that it mattered much now, she supposed. Unless someone had managed to devise an 11th hour Plan B (Plan X? Plan Y? It seemed all they ever did was hatch plans), she doubted she would survive past today.
Cordelia, why aren't you here? she asked herself. You always had hope, you always found another way. Why can't I find it?
Time was something Mallory knew she had in short supply, and spending it crying seemed like a waste, but she couldn't hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. She had been given a second chance to save the world, and she'd squandered it.
She had failed everyone - her former Supreme, her long-dead sisters, her surely doomed friends. Her job had been to save them, and instead she'd only succeeded in buying the world a few extra years, years that had been full of blood and pain and suffering.
But there was some love too, the voice in her head piped up. Finn, Elle, Siobhan. You're running out of time. Find them. Say your goodbyes. It's all you can do now.
Picking herself up from the ground, she took one last look at the sky. It was overcast, but in the distance, she could see a faint glow from the sun as it broke through the oppressive cloud cover.
If only we could find a way to do the same.
With a heavy sigh, she turned and made her way back inside the mansion.
It was hard to believe the Pittock Mansion had been a tourist attraction less than a decade ago. The formerly opulent estate had been converted to a quarantine zone during the Great Flu outbreak, but even the threat of infection hadn't been enough to stop it from being overrun during the riots.
Most of the furnishings were gone – stolen by looters, burned for warmth, or broken up to board up doors and windows. Now, rubbish, soiled medical supplies and old mattresses stained with blood, pus and vomit were strewn across the floors where period settees and gold painted tables had once been proudly displayed. It wasn't much of a place to call home, but it had been a refuge for Mallory and the other survivors for the past six months.
One thing that remained mostly unchanged was the grand old staircase. The marble was damaged in places and the wooden handrails had lost much of their lustre through lack of care, but it was otherwise still an impressive sight.
It was a place the group often found themselves meeting – there was some small comfort to being in a place that seemed largely unchanged despite the chaos surrounding them.
Today was different though. Mallory could cut the anxiety and confusion in the air with a knife. The entire household – which Mallory noted with dismay was now fewer than a dozen people – seemed to be gathered at the stairs, and through the low stream of chatter she could hear Finn and Elizabeth's names being spoken. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as a surge of panic ran through her.
"Mal?" A familiar voice broke through her racing thoughts.
Siobhan.
Mallory turned to face the petite Irishwoman and was stunned by her appearance. Siobhan was usually a sight to behold, with thick red curls and a figure so curvaceous it was nearly cartoonish. Her girlish features gave her something of an ageless quality, and she possessed the kind of megawatt smile that transformed her pretty face to into one that was downright gorgeous.
Right now, though, worry was so deeply etched into her face that she looked older than her 36 years, her usual beauty hidden by a deep and heavy grief.
"Von?" It came out as barely more than a whisper, Mallory's already pounding heart feeling as though it was about to burst through her chest when Siobhan flung her arms around her neck and began to softly weep into her shoulder. "What's happening?"
"Finn's dead, Mallory. I can't feel Aengus' energy anymore. Either can Elle. We have to assume Devan's taken the bridge."
No. Not Finn. Mallory felt like someone had punched her in the gut and cut off her air supply simultaneously. She shouldn't have been surprised – he was leading the charge on the Hawthorne Bridge after all – but he had made a habit of surviving the near-impossible for so long that Mallory had started to see him as almost invincible.
She hadn't expected them to win this fight, but she'd been so sure he, at least, would return. She had always pictured him by her side at the end.
Of course it was the fucking Hawthorne Bridge, she thought bitterly. Another Hawthorne, another Antichrist. The devil is many things, but original isn't one of them.
"Fuck, Von, I'm so sorry." Tears were streaming down her cheeks involuntarily, but she swallowed hard, burying her pain as much as she could. "I have to see Elizabeth, where is she? Why is everyone out here?"
"She wants to see you in the war room," Guilt flashed across Siobhan's face. "The rest of us…we're about to leave. She told us to run."
Mallory stared in disbelief. Elizabeth was not only a descendant of the bloodthirsty war goddess Morrigan, she was also Queen of the Tuatha Dé Danann, favoured people of the Celtic Gods. Rarely was a question posed where violence was not among Elizabeth's favourite answers, and fleeing a battle had never been an option before. "It's that bad?"
"The omens were clear. Staying was suicide." Siobhan wiped at her eyes. "That's not all. Mal, she's expecting to die here. I don't know what she's planning, she wouldn't tell me much, but…she abdicated the throne. She made me Queen." The redhead's voice became high with panic.
"It should have been Finn here, not me. I'm not like them, I can't…I don't have what it takes to do this…"
"Bullshit." Mallory took her friend by the shoulders. As a descendant of the goddess Macha, sister to Elizabeth's own goddess Morrigan, Siobhan was a member of the ruling class of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and a respected general and advisor to the Queen in her own right. She was the natural choice to ascend to the throne. "You can do it. You're strong. I know..."
She was cut off by a collective gasp filling the room. The sky outside was changing colour, and the light streaming in through the windows painted the mansion walls in fiery red.
Devan, Mallory thought. He's not far now. I need to see Elle.
"Shit. We're out of time, Von." Mallory gently lifted her friends chin, so she could look her in the eye. "Trust me when I say you'll make a great leader. I love you. You have to go."
Siobhan's lip trembled, but she nodded resolutely, and Mallory knew that despite her doubts she would rise to the challenge of being Queen. "I love you too, Mallory. This isn't goodbye. I'll see you again, somewhere."
"Until we meet again, then."
They embraced, and Mallory could feel Siobhan's energy encompassing her. It told her more than words ever could.
The 'war room' Siobhan spoke of was, in reality, the former music room. The harp and piano remained in place, too large for looters to comfortably move and not useful enough to sell or utilise, now doubling as a makeshift table and peg board of sorts.
They'd moved much of the salvageable furniture in there, so they could convene comfortably to plan their next move. When they weren't meeting in there, it was largely considered to be Elizabeth's personal office – as both a Queen and leader by default of the Portland survivors, she was granted the space to perform her rituals and generally clear her head.
Mallory could feel the force of Elizabeth's power before she even reached the room. It was a dark energy, tinged with malevolence and stronger than Mallory had ever felt before, and it filled her with sorrow for her friend. Pain and sacrifice were a way of life for the leaders of the Tuatha Dé Danann, necessary to fuel their power and appease their Gods. The greater the suffering, the stronger they were, and it was evident to Mallory that her friend was in a world of pain.
She opened the door to find Elizabeth sat on one of the raggedy chaise lounges, a drink in hand. Red light poured into the room, leaving a blood-tinted glow across her face.
Kind of fitting, Mallory thought. It feels like we're living in a horror movie. One that's heavy on foreshadowing right now.
"Mallory." Whatever Elizabeth was feeling inside, her cut-glass English accent was as calm and collected as ever.
She offered a small smile and gestured to an armchair beside her. Another glass full of liquid sat on a side table, a bottle of what was presumably some kind of alcohol next to it. "Join me. I've poured you a drink."
Mallory took her up on her offer. "What is this?" she asked, trying to inspect the worn label on the bottle.
"Whiskey. Nearly 150 years old. It's revolting, but it'll get the job done."
She took a sip. "Ugh. Tastes like the Devil's piss."
"Devan should be here shortly, I suppose we can always ask him if that's true."
"I'm sure he'd take that well." While this particular Antichrist lacked many things, Mallory thought a sense of humour topped the list. "Where'd you get this, anyway?"
"Georgiana. Apparently, she and Henry were saving it for his 85th birthday, but of course, neither one of them lived that long."
A day full of surprises. Georgiana Pittock was their resident ghost, the original lady of the house. That she was no great fan of the former Queen wasn't a secret. This was her family home, and to say she had been displeased by another woman giving orders around the place was putting it mildly. "A toast to finally being rid of you, I guess?"
"More or less. She was rather pleased with the idea of marking the end of my reign and my imminent demise," Elizabeth laughed bitterly.
"She did make me promise not to come back and haunt this place alongside her when I'm dead, though. I'm under strict orders to move on to whatever pagan hell we worshippers of false Gods apparently go to after Devan's done with me."
"I'm sorry to tell you, but you made a bad deal. This whiskey isn't worth going to pagan hell over," Mallory joked. "I'm guessing you didn't want me here just as a drinking buddy, though?"
"Not exactly." Elizabeth traced a long, white finger around the rim of her glass, and Mallory felt another surge in her power. She was hurting badly. "Mal, I'm sorry…about Finn." Her voice was suddenly strained, her tone clipped. as though speaking was an effort. "I'd ask if you're okay, but I know you're not. I know what he meant to you."
Mallory looked up at her friend with surprise. She wasn't quite sure when she had fallen in love with Finn, but she thought she had kept it well hidden. Hell, it had been something she had hidden from herself for a long time, her growing feelings something she had forced herself to ignore until one day she found herself staring into his dark blue eyes and realised she would do anything for him.
She had fought it, believing her feelings wouldn't be reciprocated. Finn and Elizabeth had known each other for 20 years, and by all accounts he had been smitten with his Queen for nearly all of them. It wasn't a shock to Mallory. The Tuatha Dé Danann were all blessed with great beauty, but none more so than Elizabeth. She was truly breathtaking, her dark eyes fringed with long black lashes, her lips red and pouty, her porcelain complexion still flawless at 39.
Mallory, now 42 and all but locked out of the ethereal realm which granted the Supreme her radiance, felt like she must have been close to last on his list of romantic prospects. She couldn't compete with Elizabeth, Siobhan, or any of the Tuatha Dé Danann women. Even if she could, the thought of a rivalry with her best friend for Finn's affections made her feel sick.
In the past few weeks though, something had changed. His devotion to Elizabeth seemed to have waned, and he and Mallory had been growing steadily closer. Before he left, they had shared a tender moment, and had they not been interrupted by a group of survivors, she wondered what it may have led to. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of her had believed when he came home from today's battle, he would find his way to her.
"He…I…" The pain Mallory had been pushing away came roaring back as she pictured his beautiful, bright smile, the sunlight giving a glow to his sandy blond hair, and suddenly she was sobbing into her hands.
She felt movement beside her, followed by soft lips pressing against her forehead and cool hands gently cupping her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The Tuatha Dé Danann were not known for their compassion, and Mallory was touched by the tenderness, especially as she could feel her friend grappling with her own grief and rage.
"I'm sorry, Elle," Mallory sniffed as she tried to regain some composure. "I should be looking after you. You cared for him longer than I did."
"Don't ever apologise. Finn was my greatest ally, my biggest supporter even before I was Queen. I owe him everything, and his loss is...excruciating. But he never was to me what he was to you." Elizabeth swallowed hard.
"I can't take this pain from you, as much as I'd like to. And I wish we could grieve him properly, but we're running out of time. I know it's cruel of me to ask more of you right now than I already have, but Mal, I need your help."
There was an edge of desperation to her voice that Mallory had never heard before. We really are at the end, she thought.
She nodded tightly and wiped at her nose. "Siobhan told me you had some sort of plan. She seemed to think it was likely to kill you though."
"To be fair, anything I do is going to end up killing me." Elizabeth picked her whiskey up from the side table and threw it back with a grimace before pouring another, topping up Mallory's glass too. "We're past fighting now. I've got to make a sacrifice to the Gods."
"To defeat Devan? We've made offerings to your Gods before, Elle, and Danu hasn't deigned to get her sorry ass up off her throne and help us."
"It's actually your sorry arse I'm betting on helping us." The ghost of a smile flickered across Elizabeth's face.
Mallory was taken aback. "Me? How? Why?"
"Because you can do what I can't. What no one else can do. Mal, you've got to go back again. It's all we've got."
"You know I can't do that." Mallory looked pointedly at the other woman. That her powers were at an all-time low was something Elizabeth was well aware of. She had witnessed first-hand the effect Devan's of chemical weapons on the witches, after all.
Unlike Michael, who had gone straight for the nukes, Devan had eased into his apocalypse with a little germ warfare. After testing the waters with a few superbugs and weaponised viruses, he had moved on to a biological weapon created by members of the Cooperative, who had had ample time to grow and increase their ranks in the wake of Michael's death.
The weapon, which caused paranoia, rage and excessive aggression in anyone exposed to it in high enough doses, was first dropped in Manhattan, leading to it being not-so-creatively dubbed 'Manhattan Madness'.
The unique chemical compound flooded the amygdala with testosterone while stimulating the production of cortisol and triggering the 'fight' response within the hypothalamus. Friends, families and total strangers turned on each other, resulting in nearly half the population being wiped out in a frenzy of senseless violence.
It had been years since the last release of Manhattan Madness, but the lingering contamination continued to cause problems. While the witches had a certain degree of immunity which prevented them from feeling the full effects of the bioweapon, the prolonged exposure to testosterone was devastating. It inhibited access the ethereal realm, and as a result, their powers began to gradually decline.
Mallory had been affected for years and was now at a point where she was barely able to perform even telekinesis. Time travel was out of the question.
"You can, if you have my power behind you." Elizabeth insisted. The Tuatha Dé Danann drew their power from a darker place than the witches, and any effects from chemical exposure was counteracted by the strength they gained from being surrounded by misery and death.
The only variable for them was whether or not their Gods accepted their sacrifices and granted them blessings. "With a great enough sacrifice, Morrigan should answer my call to take my power and grant it to you. If this goes to plan, you'll be strong again."
"If?"
"If. A big if. In theory it can be done, but I've never witnessed power transference in person, so I can't exactly guarantee success. I imagine it'll only be temporary too, so we need to be ready."
"So, your plan is to pray really hard while you're killing yourself, in the hope your Goddess relative will then give me your power for a little while?"
"There's a little more to it than that."
"I think you've officially lost your damn mind, Elle." It came out a little harsher than Mallory intended, but the thought of her best friend dying over blind faith pissed her off.
The Gods hadn't been particularly reliable or generous with their blessings, despite it being a really fucking good time to lend a hand, in Mallory's opinion. The chances of this working seemed minimal. "Your Gods know the world has gone to shit, and they still haven't exactly been delivering on the help front."
"They've lost one of their own," Elizabeth exhaled heavily. "When Finn died, Aengus lost his last blood descendant. His connection to this realm is tenuous now, at best. If we die out, their power in this world dies with us.
"They're fickle, yes, but the Gods are selfish too, and they don't want to lose their foothold here. They're taking notice now."
She tipped a little of her whiskey into her hand, and Mallory looked on with interest as the liquid became thick and crimson in her palm. Bloody water was one of Elizabeth's most ominous omens, foretelling death.
"I thought this was for Finn at first, but it continued even after I felt his death. I've consulted the runes, and the cards, just to be sure. It's for me. Sometimes it's for all of us. I get the same result if I choose to fight."
"And if you run?"
"Nothing changes my fate, Mal. But yours isn't set yet." She took Mallory's hands in her own. "If I do this, your fate – and Siobhan's, and everyone else's – it becomes undetermined. I know that's not exactly comforting, but it's a chance. If I'm successful, there's hope for us."
Hope, Mallory thought. I guess you are here in spirit after all, Cordelia. But why does our hope always have to spring from sacrifice? Why is the price for hope always the people I love?
"So, let's say you are successful," she sighed heavily. "And I go back and kill Devan. It won't destroy his energy. The Devil will find another host, and we'll end up back here."
"Mmm. I have some thoughts on this too, but I'll be honest, it's one of those bottom-of-the-barrel ideas that even I'm not convinced will work." Elizabeth pushed her long, chestnut hair back off her face. "What do you remember about the other Antichrist? The one before Devan?"
"Michael?" This hadn't been a topic Mallory was expecting. She hadn't really thought about the first apocalypse in a while – the memories were both painful and largely irrelevant to their present situation. "More than I'd like to. Why?"
"You said that he had wanted to be good, at least initially. Do you there was ever a chance for him to achieve some degree of goodness, or was he always destined for darkness?"
"These are some deep questions, Elle, and I'm no shrink."
"Perhaps not, but you can read people like no one I've ever known. I've always thought Devan was nearly devoid of any humanity, and I can't imagine him ever questioning his path or caring for another.
"I get the impression that wasn't necessarily the case with Michael. What did you get from him?"
Confusion. Frustration. A longing to be wanted for himself and not for what he could do.
It was true that Michael and Devan were vastly different. Mallory thought Elizabeth's take on Devan was pretty accurate – despite being born of two humans with cursed bloodlines rather than the product of a spirit and a mortal, Devan showed far less humanity than Michael. Whether that was innate or not, she wasn't sure – Devan had been taken from his parents at an early age and raised by Anton LaVey and his subordinates.
He hadn't aged as rapidly as Michael, taking his time to develop and mature into his dark power with the support and direction of the Church of Satan. If he had ever had doubts about his role in ending the world, they hadn't seen it, and everyone was expendable to him – he hadn't so much as blinked when they had destroyed the Church and with it, his twisted new 'family'.
Michael, by contrast, had struggled as Antichrist. He doubted everything, including himself. Madison had told the coven of her conversations with Constance Langdon and Ben Harmon, and while Mallory didn't put a lot of stock in either of their judgement and knew Michael was an expert manipulator, she believed Ben's claim that he had, at one point, desperately wanted to be good, and she believed Constance when she said his gifts of murdered animals were demonstrations of his love.
She knew first-hand that he had intensely loved Miriam Mead, and had both seen and felt his pain when the android version of his Ms. Mead was destroyed. He rewarded those who helped him – for a time, at least – and he was capable of loyalty and even mercy. He was a monster, certainly, but one who had never taken to the darkness with the gusto of his latest counterpart.
"He was evil, for sure, but also…kind of a lost kid, I guess." Mallory shrugged. "He was forced to grow up too quickly, handed too much power too soon and given no guidance on how to wield it.
"You know those kids that get famous at a young age, and have a lot of money and power but no consequences for their actions, so they grow up to be destructive, entitled assholes? Think that, but on a greater scale."
"If he'd had more guidance, positive guidance I mean, could he have been less destructive?"
"I don't know. Maybe? He had a father-figure briefly, and it was okay for a while, but when he started to manifest his power in…uh…harmful ways, his dad gave up on him. The only one who didn't was that Mead woman, so he was devoted to her," Mallory tapped her lip in consideration.
"He could have gone the other way too though. If he'd had the time to really mature, and he'd had the people around him Devan did instead of frat boys and maniacs who were desperate to prematurely pull the trigger on the apocalypse, he would have wiped us out.
"We were lucky, in a way. He was smart enough to pull off a nuclear war, but not wise enough to know how to tie up loose ends first."
Elizabeth nodded, clearly deep in thought.
"Why are you asking me this stuff?"
"Because I think maybe we should bring him back."
"Wait, what?" Mallory's head suddenly felt like it was spinning, and it wasn't due to the whiskey.
"I know, it's entirely fucking insane, but hear me out. If you go back and destroy Devan, we know Satan will find another vessel and we repeat the cycle. What we don't know is what we're up against. The next Antichrist could be the worst one yet." Elizabeth paced back and forth in front of the harp, full of nervous energy. It was thoroughly unhelpful to Mallory's head.
"We're at war, Mal. Knowing your enemy is an advantage. Might not be a huge one, but any advantage we can get, we need to take. We don't know enough about Devan to take a risk on him, and we know nothing about future Antichrists.
"We know enough about Michael that if we get to him early, maybe we can have some influence on him. We can buy ourselves some time to work out how to bind his energy, so it doesn't return again. And if that doesn't work, at least we have some idea as to what his next move might be, and a chance at preventing it."
"Quite literally better the devil you know."
"Exactly." Elizabeth stopped her pacing and looked straight into Mallory's eyes. "It's mad though, isn't it?"
"Oh, yeah, definitely."
"Hardly surprising given the amount of chemicals I've inhaled over the last few years, I suppose. Do you have another plan?"
"Not even the start of one, no," Mallory sighed. "Elle, I think this is the last time jump I have left in me. The others took something from me that never fully came back, so if we make a bad call here, I don't think we can undo it."
"I don't-" Elizabeth was cut off as an intense wave of powerful energy swept through the room. "He's here. That's it. If we're doing this, we do it now. And by that, I mean I'm doing my thing, so be ready to do whatever you will when the time comes."
Mallory paused, her thoughts racing. On the surface, the plan made sense, but it was too simple in its presumption of being able to sway the Antichrist. Elizabeth hadn't known Michael, couldn't predict how quickly this could turn bad.
But then, we're in the worst-case scenario right now, so how much do we really have to lose? I'll have my sisters back, and I'll find my new family again too. What was it you said, Cordelia? Satan has one son, but my sisters are legion, motherfucker. Plus, they say third time's the charm, right?
"Fuck it. Upstairs bathroom. Now."
The bath was putrid, and the water was freezing. It was nearly as unpleasant as the last time Mallory had gone back, and she was quite literally dying for most of that experience.
She clutched one of Elizabeth's rings in her hand – a seventeenth birthday gift, received shortly before the discovery of her lineage and initiation into the Tuatha Dé Danann. They expected it to take Mallory back to 2014, where she would warn the teenage Elizabeth that the day was coming when she would need to ally with the witches to save the world, before setting off on her quest to redeem the fucking Antichrist.
She looked over at Elizabeth and was surprised by her expression. Her friend was a politician's daughter before she was a Queen, and she had developed her poker face from a young age. To see a look of pure, undiluted fear on her face was new.
"Hey," Mallory called softly. "You okay?"
"I'm terrified, actually. When I came up with this idea, I expected I'd be braver than this. The reality though…it's just hit me for the first time."
"Dying's not that bad, I promise. I mean the poisoning wasn't pretty, but your body kind of shuts down a lot of the pain. You don't have to do this, though."
"No, it's not that. Well, it is a bit, but it's not just dying I'm worried about. I know that's going be painful. Very painful, actually, and I'm scared of that, but it's more…the other part." Elizabeth's voice was thick with emotion, her chest rising rapidly, tears falling to her cheeks.
"Mal, if this does work, all of this…it never happened. We never met, we were never friends, everything we went through is lost and I…you're like my sister, and I don't know how to say goodbye to you."
Of all the pain she had felt today, this hit Mallory the hardest. She was right. If this worked, their relationship would exist only in Mallory's mind. If it didn't, it was still the end, and there was no time for heartfelt conversations of how much they had meant to each other, how much they each had treasured their unlikely friendship.
"I won't forget us, okay?" Mallory was crying again, for what felt like the tenth time today. "I swear to you that I will find you, and we'll be sisters again."
Elizabeth nodded, swallowing more tears. "Just try to remember this version of me as much as you can. I was a horrible teenager. Pretty horrible into my early twenties too, I think."
"Finn said you were a little spoilt."
"To put it mildly. Don't be afraid to use my own words and secrets against me if I'm being a brat."
"I'll kick your ass until you're you again, promise."
"Good. In the new 2036, can we come for a tour of this fucking ugly mansion together and steal that whiskey? It's hidden behind a faux brick in the music room and used to have a painting hanging over it. Just remind me why I want to piss off Georgiana."
Mallory laughed through her tears. "Now that's a plan I can support. I love you, you petty bitch."
"I love you too." Elizabeth lay a knife on the side of the tub next to Mallory. "Just in case."
There was a loud bang downstairs as Devan and his crew forced open the front door.
"LADIES!" His voice rang out, loud and clear. "Aren't you going to come and greet me? I've brought gifts – I don't know which one of you had the little blond boyfriend, but you'll be pleased to know I've brought him home for you! Well, bits of him, anyway."
The women's eyes met, their expressions matching ones of disdain. This was typical Devan, no subtlety whatsoever. He was deadly, ruthless, fearsome, but dammit if he wasn't also hammy.
"Look away, Mal." Elizabeth whispered. "I don't want you to have to see this next part."
She began to chant something in Gaelic, and Mallory tried to turn her focus to a particularly interesting stain on the wall in front of her.
Is it blood? Is it mould? Who can tell? Kind of looks like a face from the right angle and FUCK I can hear them on the stairs…
Elizabeth's chanting stopped, and Mallory braced herself for the death sounds. When there was nothing, she couldn't resist a look over at her friend. Elizbeth stood in place, very much alive, looking confused.
"It didn't work." Mallory wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
"I don't know what – oh. Danu." Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise before her jaw was ripped off with a hideous crunching and tearing sound, the giant red hole where her lower face had been spewing blood down her neck and chest.
Mallory screamed and squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear more ripping and gnashing, and wet, gurgling attempts to scream. It seemed to go on for a lifetime.
How is she still alive? Mallory thought wildly. Stop hurting her, just let her die already!
The gurgling mercifully stopped just as she heard the bathroom door swing open, and with all the courage she had left, she dared to open her eyes. Devan's figure stood in the doorway, peering in at her with a smirk on his handsome face.
"There you are…" he trailed off as he noticed the ruined pile of torn flesh and broken bone that had been Mallory's best friend just minutes ago.
He laughed, a hearty, delighted sound. "Is that the Queen? Now just what have you been up-"
A surge of power hit Mallory with a force so hard it blew the Antichrist off his feet.
"We just ENDED you, you pathetic fucker. Enjoy oblivion."
She felt a wave of triumph but had to hold back her delight at his shocked and angry expression. She could gloat later. For now, she had to remove her ego.
Mallory let everything go, and slipped beneath the water.