Simon, Quinn, and Mike arrived a little too late, or they arrived right on time, Simon wasn't able to decide which one due to the chaos taking place around him. It was their arrival that forced everyone to stop and take sides. Cops on one side, Hunters on the other, with Simon and Santana in the middle. Mike and Quinn pushed their way to where Rachel was lying on the ground, and Quinn gave Simon a short nod when she checked Rachel's pulse.

"You shouldn't have done this, Mercedes," Quinn said. "You have no idea what you've done."

"You'll thank me when it's over."

Quinn huffed, but it was Santana who steered the conversation towards the situation at hand.

"It would be in your best interest to leave, and take your weapons with you. This matter concerns you not."

Simon winced. He hated how gravelly his sister's voice sounded. It reminded him too much of Solomon, too much of their father, and Simon could only assume it would get worse. But what bothered him the most was Rachel. Though Quinn gave him the okay, Simon could easily see Rachel was in bad shape. They were too late to stop whatever torture the Hunters participated in, and it seemed as if Rachel was in and out of consciousness. There was a fireplace poker protruding from her stomach, and Simon could smell the burning flesh from where he stood. Some of the Hunters had cigarettes dangling from their lips, and Simon noticed the small burns up and down Rachel's arms and chest. There were burnt matches tossed around. Simon guessed they took their jobs very seriously.

"Step aside demon. This one's ours now."

Santana hummed, and Simon took a step back. Flames rolled off his sister's body, like water, flowing down her arms, her fingers, over her fingertips and back up again. Simon saw the fire pulse and knew his sister was waiting, searching for a reason to give in. Santana had strong willpower, and not even her subconscious could make her break, but the past few days pushed at her limits. Fortunately for her, and unfortunately for everyone else, the choice came in the form of a command uttered by the Hunter closest to Santana.

"What the hell you lot waiting for, huh? A formal invitation? Kill them and help me get this thing on the back of the truck! The last train for New York leaves in two hours, and I wanna be on it!"

"Do. Not. Touch. Her," Santana growled.

"Or what?"

Those blue flames roared to life, and that was the only warning Santana gave.

"Quinn, Mike, move!" Simon shouted.

The two were unable to move in time, and as arrows flew from the crossbows, bullets from the guns, and there was even a knife thrown in for fun, his sister became a living bomb. Simon expected the impending explosion, but it still caught him off balance. Simon evaded the shrapnel from the trucks nearby but wasn't able to land on his feet. His arm snapped from the impact, and he felt wood slice through his back. He skidded through the dirt until he hit a tree and barely stayed awake long enough to watch what happened next. It was cliché, really, how at that moment it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

Santana's flames torched everything and anyone that wasn't an ally, or Rachel, and the very few lucky enough to escape jumped into the sole remaining vehicle and took off. However, just like him, Quinn and Mike suffered injuries because of the blast. Quinn got the worst of it, the angel unable to right herself before her face broke her fall, and Simon could easily see her jaw as it hung sideways from its hinges. Then there was Mike, who had to pull a piece of metal from his waist and, pinned beneath an overturned truck, was his shoulder.

There was a scream, one of pain and frustration, and Simon immediately knew who it was. Based on the overwhelming stench of burnt flesh, wood, and burning rubber, Simon assumed there weren't many survivors. He wasn't able to dissect his sister's response as much as he wanted, as his re-cracked ribs, broken arm, and his back combined to create so much pain that his body shut down. But one thing he did know was that the sudden silence bothered him to the core.

Where did his sister go?

Quinn flew back a couple of feet, nearly into the woods, but luckily enough, she was able to stay within shouting distance. Which, of course, did not go in her favor as she twisted at the wrong time, and the concrete cushioned her face. Quinn's jaw cracked and her nose shattered, and a rock embeds itself in the side of her temple. She couldn't call out, her jaw so out of whack it felt no longer connected to her skull, but what was worse was the body she landed next too.

Royce Jones, Mercedes's brother, and a once good friend.

Quinn only recognized him because the flames burnt everything from the neck down, and those warm chocolate eyes stared back at her in a frozen state of disbelief. Tears welled, and she cried for him. He wasn't supposed to get roped into all of it. Royce had goals of becoming a big city cop to get away from the small town politics. Royce was the one Quinn thought would break the cycle, but she guessed the pay was too good, and the price too high to ignore.

She rolled over on her back, moaning at the lack of feeling in her face, and she lifted just enough to see Simon across the street. He had shards sticking out of his back, and she saw his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Just down the way, she saw Santana hunch over, and as a scream left her lips, Santana vanished. Still echoing, Quinn could hear it even as she passed out from the pain, and the last thing on her mind was where did Santana go?

Mike manipulated his fall the best he could, but when the wind shifted, Mike was too late to move out of the way. The truck landed on his left shoulder, and he knew the nerves in his arm had ripped, and his shoulder dislocated. Mike then felt a sharp sting in his stomach, and he looked down to see a piece of metal stuck in his hip. Mike couldn't move, and it felt like his arm was going to fall off. It didn't help there was this searing pain on the right side of his face. When he wiggled enough to dislodge his shoulder, Mike glanced over the wreckage and saw Santana hunched over on the ground. She'd released a lot of power, and Mike had to think she exerted a little too much. When she screamed, Mike's assumptions were proven correct, and smoke surrounded Santana until the demon was no longer standing in the middle of the highway.

For a while, there was only silence. Simon was out for the count, as was Quinn. Mike closed his eyes, letting the pain flow through him when the wind warned him someone was coming. They weren't an enemy, but Mike didn't have the energy to try and wait up for them. Plus, if it were a real threat, Mike would've gotten a different warning. He decided Simon and Quinn had the best idea and thought maybe he should take a little rest as well.

Santana landed in front of an all-too-familiar throne, and she clicked her tongue against her teeth. Standing up, she brushed the dirt from her pants and knelt in front of her father.

"Get up. You and I both know you bow to no one."

Santana rose and dropped the honorable daughter act. She cocked her hips and waved her hand expectantly. "Well? How and why am I here?" she said.

"I am to assume your brother told you about the special qualities of Lima, Ohio?" her father asked.

"You would be correct in your assumption."

He hummed and placed his chin in the palm of his hand. In the privacy of the room, with not even Solomon around, Santana was grateful her father chose to act like the man she knew, and not the King everyone believed him to be. Small miracles, she guessed.

"The failsafe was in place long before that stupid law came to be. I have been waiting for you to get here for the last hour. No one else is here. Your brother is halfway across the realm trying to figure out why the dogs are throwing temper tantrums."

"Pardon?"

"To which part?" her father asked.

"If you think I care about the hounds, then you are mistaken. I meant the word failsafe. Explain what you mean by that."

"Ah, that. I believe it would be better if we had this conversation somewhere else."

"What could be more private than this place?"

Her father smiled thinly, and said, "You would be surprised how much things have changed since you were last a resident of this home."

Santana could always tell when her father was lying, and she was concerned to note he was telling the complete truth. "Why am I here?" she asked again.

Instead of answering, her father snapped his fingers, and the same smoke from before enveloped her. She held her breath, tired of breathing in sulfur, and when solid ground met her feet once more, she looked around and found herself on an abandoned rooftop.

"Las Vegas? You do know demons are hunted like crazy in this city, right?"

"Maybe, but we will not be here long enough for the Hunters to pick up our scent. I brought you here because this is where that half-baked prophecy, or however you refer to it now, came to find me in my prime."

"For the love of everything wrong in this fucked up world, can you stop being vague and tell me what's going on?"

"I see your penchant for colorful vocabulary has not changed," he said wryly. "But I will ignore it for now."

"You are not going to get an apology," she said.

"I was not looking for one. Come." Her father inclined his head towards the two chairs conveniently left on the roof, facing the strip, and added, "Sit with me."

Santana hesitated to follow him, realizing she'd been all too willing to let him take the lead, but a small part of her knew that if he wanted her dead, he would've done so at any time.

"If you wish to get back to Rachel, then I suggest you come and sit down."

At that, Santana's head snapped to him, and she took a step forward. "What do you know about her?" she asked.

"You mean what do I know about the one you lost everything to save?"

"Yes," Santana gritted out.

"Sit down, and you will find I know a lot more about her than you do."

Santana clenched her fists by her side, belatedly realizing she felt cold, and something told her that had something to do with whatever her father did. She threw her head back with a sigh and made the walk to where her father sat. He reclined in the chair, something you'd see on a patio somewhere, and Santana sat down beside him.

"To begin," he said. "I think I need to explain what happened was beyond my control. I exiled you on the hopes that one day you would come back to me, as promised to me, and it was a risk, but once you discover why, you will see I made the easiest choice."

"The easiest choice?" she repeated. "How was banishing me the easiest choice?"

"The other option was to watch you die, and I have my issues but I am still your father, and you are still my daughter. Seeing you like that would have destroyed me and left me with nothing."

"You say that like Simon and Solomon are just here for entertainment. You would have moved on," she said.

"They would be adequate replacements, but you are and will forever be my greatest accomplishment."

Santana twitched, and it seemed her father knew better than to let that comment stay in the air for too long. He crossed his legs and sighed.

"I never told you the truth about the prophecy, or the warning, as it should better be named. I was at this building, on this roof, when a woman came up here and told me I would raise the destroyer of man and humanity's savior. It was ironic to hear those words, but I humored her. She told me my children were blessings, but if I were reckless, I would singlehandedly be responsible for the eradication of humankind. She explained each of you in painstaking detail, and it became all too clear this woman was speaking the truth. So I listened, and when she left, I cried. Nothing hurts more than having to choose between your children, but at the end of the day, I made the right choice no matter how it might seem."

"Who did you choose?" Santana asked though she was sure she knew the answer.

"Is it not obvious?" he sighed. "I picked you."