Note: Well, thank you again, the last few chapters seem to have gone down a storm! This is another from the Devil's POV, and believe me, everything is go now. Without further ado, I present...

The Last Stand

Twenty-One

"No! No!"

The Devil was not sure quite why he was so set on preventing this sacrifice from occurring; whether it was because it would result in Constance's demise or his own eternal damnation. Either way, he knew that he had to stop it, he had to save the stoic woman who was dying in front of his eyes. He ran across the room, towards her hunched figure, crumpling as she was under the force and effects of the spell.

"No, Constance, stop this, don't be ridiculous!"

He reached the cloud that enveloped the deputy-headmistress, the air so saturated with visible magic that he could almost feel the glowing particles beneath his fingers as he reached through the swirling mist towards her. A bolt of blue lightning crackled through the air and shocked him away from the perimeter, a bolt of pure, raw magic. The Devil looked around, eyes darting, trying to find the source of the power. Was this simply the witch's final defence kicking in like it would always do when she was on the verge of death? No, surely not, this was different, more forceful. It took a few moments for him to realise that the magic had come from Constance herself. He could see her through the fog of magic, bent double with one arm crossed across her chest, her lungs no doubt aching from breathing in the magic that was surrounding her, killing her. The other arm was outstretched, and the Devil could see the last remnants of the sparks on her fingertips. She was getting ready to cast again, determined to keep him away from her and stop him from interfering in her noble mission. Momentarily her grip around her ribcage tightened as she gave a small exclamation of pain. The Devil already knew that she would not have the strength to cast again, not with the rate that the magic was affecting her and her hold on life was deteriorating. She looked up, her eyes boring into his. They were full of the steely determination and tenacity that he had always admired in her, but behind that, somewhere deep inside, he could see her pain, see her fear at crossing this final boundary into the unknown that was death. She may have chosen her path, but that did not mean that she could not feel trepidation when the time came to follow it. He reached out towards her again, but an imperious voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Leave her," it commanded. "This is the way she has decided it must be, for all of us. You cannot change her will."

As loathe as he was to leave Constance and give up his fight, the Devil was forced to turn and confront the voice, the Angel's voice, no longer coming from within Constance. He moved away from the fog of magic towards the shimmering light that was manifesting in the opposite corner of the room. The Angel's spirit was leaving Constance, ready for when her host body would die and she would be ready to imprison the Devil's true form beneath the ice forever.

The demon heard a low growling in the back of his mind. He was still connected to the beastly form below, he still shared the same superior consciousness with it; after all, it was from the true form that the metaphysical forms came. If that form was imprisoned for all time then the consciousness would be imprisoned too. He would never be able to create himself a new form like this one. A sense of desperation came over him. He didn't want to go back, he didn't want to give up this semi-corporeal, semi-metaphysical existence. Setting the power and the evil deeds aside, he found the mortal realm so utterly fascinating. He could have remained as an observer there for an eternity. Perhaps there was still time, perhaps he could strike a bargain. He would do anything, even forfeit his magic if he had to, as long as he could continue to watch humanity, to watch as bonds like those between the witches of Cackle's were nurtured and strengthened. Oh, the bitter irony that it was such an unbreakable bond that had led him to this situation in the first place.

"It's no use," said the Angel, as if she could read his thoughts. The Devil had never known whether she had been able to or not; he had never been able to detect any unwanted intrusion on her part and it had always irritated and intrigued him in equal measure. "There can be no bargaining now. It's too late. The process has already been catalysed. All that remains is for me to finish the job. Properly this time."

The Devil felt his brewing anger break through the other desperate emotions that he had been feeling, and he lunged forward at the Angel's newly-manifested form with a guttural growl. This was the woman that he loved, loved with a passion unknown to any mortal, and he was locked in magical combat with her. This was their paradox, doomed to remain in eternal opposition, controlled by forces even greater than themselves. Forces that were too great even for physical forms. He shot a spell at her, hating himself for hurting his Angel in this way but wholly unable to halt the action until a cry of pain from behind him made him freeze in his tracks. He spun round to see Constance collapsed on the ground, only just holding herself up on one arm as he legs gave out beneath her. He looked to the Angel and then back to her former host, watching her breath coming in ragged pants as the magic-filled mist began to thin and disperse, leaving her plight in clear view. It was obvious to him now; the Angel's spirit was still connected to Constance's psyche, and neither would be fully free until death separated them completely. In hurting the Angel, he was also hurting Constance, whom he had no intention to harm. Quite the opposite. He looked back at the Angel, his eyes narrowed, warning her that the perpetual fight that they had once again started was still not over, although he knew deep inside that it was only a matter of time before a victor was decided, and he knew that the victor would not be him.

He moved through the final dregs of the cloud towards Constance, his progress no longer impeded by the palpable magic. She made no attempt to stop him with a spell as he approached her; she was too exhausted by her ordeal, too far gone. The Devil shook his head. There was still time, there had to still be time. He sank onto the floor beside her, taking her shoulders in a gentle grip before her upper body collapsed fully onto his lap, no longer able to fight the inevitable. But she had to fight, the Devil thought frantically. She had to stop this, reverse this, she couldn't let this be the end.

"Constance, please," he said. "Please, fight, don't do this."

"This is the only way," she said, her choked, gasping voice barely above a whisper.

The Devil howled in his frustration. She had left him with no choice. He had always promised himself that he would never do this, that no matter the magic he used to coerce her, he would never sink to this depth. A person never truly died until their soul was released into the ether. That was why those who sold their souls to the Devil were doomed to an eternity within his terrible inferno; their bodies becoming his property as well as their souls, their physical forms never quite perishing despite the tortures heaped upon them. He had never taken a soul by force. He had always allowed it to be offered. But this time, this time was different. This situation was truly desperate. If he held Constance's soul, she would not die.

He pressed his hand against the skin above her heart, watching it burn red as he tried to pass his fingertips through, into her body to find her soul. He could see it, visualise it: the warm, glowing entity at the very centre of her being.

"This is best," he said, determined to proceed, determined to keep her from death even despite the resistance that she was showing. He swallowed as he saw the white forming in her hair from the strain of keeping him out. "It is always better to live than to die, Constance."

She opened her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, and looked up at him, mouthing a single word.

"Never."

He physically couldn't continue; he was forced to withdraw his hand as she gave a final sigh, closing her eyes once more, her neck going slack in his lap.

"It's too late," said the Angel. "Despite your best efforts, it was always going to be too late. Constance would never let you take her soul, even if it was all she had to save her."

The Devil did not respond, carefully laying Constance's head on the floor and standing once more before moving to face the Angel. Her manifestation was complete, a solid form standing where her glowing outline had heralded her arrival.

"You killed her," he said pointedly. "If it were not for you, she would not have needed to do this."

"She killed herself," said the Angel. "And I did nothing to coerce her. She knew what she was doing. She knew that as soon as she volunteered to host my spirit. I did not choose her, Devil, she chose me."

The Devil shook his head.

"You could have refused. Besides." He gave a hollow laugh. "I thought it was against your nature to kill."

"One person!" The Angel sounded exasperated, desperate to justify herself. "One sacrifice to save thousands from you! How many more would have to die if she did not? And you can hardly be the one to reprimand me, considering the many innocent lives under your name. Think of the Liaison Children!"

"I, my Angel, am a demon. It is in my nature to destroy as much as it is in yours to protect. You said that yourself only a few moments ago. It is even more in my nature to destroy anything I consider a potential threat."

"Was Marlon Spinder a potential threat, then? Was Della's father such a harmful force? Did you kill him because he was about to vanquish you?"

"Marlon Spinder died of heart failure," he growled.

"He was a non-magician! He had no way to protect himself!"

"Marlon Spinder died of heart failure!" the Devil roared.

"And the coroner said that it could have been caused by 'an unnatural shock'! I can't think of any shock more 'unnatural' than you turning up in his back room unannounced! Did Della Jones know you killed her father?"

They were screaming at each other, fingers curled at the grab-ready like a warring married human couple. The Devil could see the absurdity of the situation; he knew that they could simply settle this with magic the way that they always had done, but they seemed determined on battling with words this time.

"I did not kill Marlon Spinder," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "He had a heart attack. It could have happened to anyone."

"A heart attack that was caused by you casually mentioning that you were about to kill his daughter because she was a possible threat to your otherworldly demonic power despite the fact she had no idea what she was!"

The Devil could not reply, for his adversary had spoken the truth. He had always known that Della was a Liaison, no matter how well her parents had tried to hide her, and no matter how much he himself might have feigned ignorance of the fact. He had waited until she was at the ripe age for coming into her magical skills, for the time when the Foster's Effect that had always plagued her became too conspicuous to be put down to 'bad luck'. And then he had gone along to the book shop with the intention of ending her young life before she posed a problem to him. Unfortunately, he had met with her father before he had the chance, and before he had the chance to… deal with Marlon, the man had collapsed, clutching his chest and gasping for Della. It had unnerved him slightly, knowing that he had not caused this man's demise in any way other than simply existing, and he had left, dismissing the bookshop as a bad omen, thinking that if Della never came to the realisation of what she truly was, then he would be safe from her terrific influence.

The Angel raised her casting fingers, ready to forge the magic that would take him from this realm forever and banish him below the ice for the rest of his eternal existence.

The Devil closed his eyes. This was it. This was the end. The sacrifice had been made. The Angel had returned to her full capacity of magic and more. This was the end of everything.

He waited a few moments, but nothing happened. He felt nothing. Was this it? Was it over? He opened his eyes to find himself still in the room with the Angel, who was looking down at her casting fingers with perplexity.

"I don't understand," she whispered. "The power…"

"It didn't work," said the Devil.

"But the sacrifice was made," said the Angel, her voice panicked as she began to glow again. "I left her mind completely."

"Constance didn't give you enough power," he said. His voice was dull, emotionless; he felt elation and disgust in equal measure. He was safe from the influence of the Angel, she would not be able to fully vanquish him, but at the same time, there was Constance… Her sacrifice had been for nothing. All for nothing.

He made to cross the room towards her, ignoring the Angel and her continued exclamations of confusion, but halfway there, his progress was halted by a searing pain shooting through his chest, bringing him to his knees. He felt choked, as if he was drowning, icy water flooding his lungs and enveloping his limbs. This was the end, the end that he had expected and been totally unprepared for. He could feel his true form sinking into the ice, thrashing and trying in vain to save himself, but it was to be of no avail. How could this be happening? The Angel had not managed to use her incredible sorcery to vanquish him herself, she was fading before his eyes.

He looked across at Constance's lifeless frame. With his demise, so the limbo which they inhabited would cease to exit. He felt duty bound to return her to her own world, to return her body to its rightful resting place. He could not let her disintegrate along with his domain. If he could just summon up the energy to transport her away from here, then he would go in peace, he would fight it no longer.

He dragged himself across the floor, the pain excruciating. He could feel the ice enclosing, setting around him and freezing his physical limbs into place. He could barely move any more, collapsing about a foot away from Constance. He could just reach to encircle her wrist, and to his astonishment, he felt a thready pulse beneath his fingers. She was still alive, just, but if that was the case, how could his death be occurring?

"The road to Hell," came the Angel's voice, her form now completely faded from view, "is paved with good intentions."

The Devil sighed. He knew what she meant. Only Constance…

Then there was nothing. Nothing but ice.