Chapter 43


The sun was low on the horizon, the light red across the thin streamers of cloud that were all that remained from the night's storm, and across the snow that covered the island from end to end. It had been in the same position for the entire day, just above the flat line of the edge of the sea, circling them as they'd travelled along the island's length, a day of walking through the dusk, with purple and indigo shadows stretching out long from trees and rock and ridge.

Now, finally, it was sinking. Dean stopped, waiting for Alis and Castiel where the isthmus finally rose into the slopes of the volcano's cone, watching the red orb get closer to the sea. He felt Alis beside him and was about to turn to her, his mouth opening to speak, when he saw the flare and his attention sharpened on the star.

The red turned to gold as another, monstrous, flare shot out, seeming to be absorbed by the sea as the lower limb touched its edge.

"Did you see that?" He turned to Alis, who shook her head, then looked past her to Castiel. The angle nodded.

"It's the first sign, Dean. Solar flare." He looked up at the darkening sky overhead.

There were two more flares before the sun disappeared below the edge of the world, each bigger than the one before. Castiel watched in silence, his gaze flicking upwards every few minutes.

"What was that?" Alis' voice was small and quiet.

"The sun is actually a star, a ball of gases that burn brightly. Every now and then the gases become hotter and flare out. One of the signs of the prophecy was that the sun would increase its brightness ten-fold. In the latitudes south of here, it was probably a lot brighter." Castiel explained absently, staring upwards.

"What are you looking for?" Dean watched the angel.

"The northern lights." Castiel glanced at him, then back up. "With flares of that power, they should be strong tonight."

"And that's important because …?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just have a feeling about them." Castiel shrugged.

"A feeling?" Dean frowned at him. "Man, you are becoming human."

He turned away, looking up the slope of the mountain in front of him. "Any ideas as to where we're going to be able to get in?"

"He's using the eclipse in the ritual. So he will need an opening that lies east-west in the mountains side." Castiel turned, looking along the mountain's eastern flank. "Somewhere along there."

"Alright." He turned and started walking, bearing right as he followed a faint trail over the snow and rock.

The trail meandered up and down the slope, petering out from time to time and forcing them to cling to the slippery rockface as they tried to find footholds under the snow cover.


The lights began two hours after sunset, bringing them to a stop as the first pink and green snaking ribbons lit the sky over them, casting moving, flickering shadows in front of them. The colours shifted through the spectrum, blue and gold, red and white and sound filled the night, a monstrous hissing sound, that crackled and then cracked, fading away to the whisper of silk on silk before growing louder once more. The ribbons coiled and twisted and then became curtains, shimmering and fluttering in an unseen cosmic wind, stretching between the heavens and the horizon and sinking, the colours bleaching out to white and disappearing.

Dean, Alis and Castiel stood still for a long moment afterwards, watching the sky return to normal, the stars shine again over the snow and sea.

"There will be more later, I think." Castiel said quietly. "Come on, we're nearly there."

"Why was that important, Cas?" Dean strode after him.

"I don't know, Dean. Something to do with the power …," He shook his head. "I can feel it, but I can't explain it."

Dean glanced back over his shoulder, checking Alis was still behind him, then shifting his gaze to the sky. He'd seen the aurora borealis plenty of times, hunting in the north with his father when he was younger. He'd never seen them like that. That'd looked as if God had spoken to them.


Penemue sat under the low branches of the spruce, watching the fire. Four bowls sat before him, each filled with a different herb or powder. He checked that he had everything and began the incantation, his eyes closed, but still seeing the fire, the night beyond it. At each point of the ritual where he requested the help of a different entity, he threw the contents of one of the bowls into the fire, seeing the flames change colour and shape, hearing inside his mind the request rising on the heated air to the heavens above.

When all four bowls had been emptied, he waited, his mind dark and still, empty and receptive.

The heavy backdraught of the wings blew the heat of the fire at him, and he opened his eyes, squinting at the brilliance of the white light that surrounded the archangel, opening them a little wider as the light faded, and Michael stood on the other side of the fire, his construct human, yet not, the massive white wings lifted high above his shoulders and folded in against his back.

"Penemue. That spell has been banned for some time."

"It was an emergency, and the only way I knew of to contact you, Michael." The Watcher didn't fool himself that the meeting would be cordial. One of the many reasons he'd chosen to fall had been a dispute with the member of the Eighth Choir who stood before him.

"I'm here. Speak." Michael's hand rested on the elaborate basketwork hilt of his sword, his eyes, an unearthly shade of deep blue, staring at him.

"The spell the sorcerer is using to bring Lucifer out of the Cage early – it was originally from Heaven, wasn't it?"

Michael inclined his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That is the current consensus."

"Azazel stole it? Before he Fell?" Penemue pressed him.

"Thoth was sure of it." Michael shrugged, his wings rustling behind him. "The scribe caught his scent, down in the vaults. It was old, but Azazel had been his student, he was sure it was him."

"Cesare has been around for six hundred years, Michael, gathering the knowledge and the required ingredients for this ritual – how is that Heaven was caught on the back foot? Wasn't anyone watching the little bastard?"

"Of course we were watching him. He seemed to be making no progress. And we didn't know he had the spell, until he took control of the Watchers. The prophecy came from the dragons, Penemue, not from us. We only heard about it when you did."

"How is that possible?" Penemue scowled. "Is no one doing their job up there?"

Michael bristled at the accusation. "Lucifer wasn't high on the list of priorities. There have been other uprisings, more recently. Disturbing signs that some of our brothers were not the loyalists we thought they were."

Penemue looked at him. "Another civil war? Now?"

Michael shook his head. "Not that obvious, not yet. Call it … subversion. We are trying to find out who's behind it, but they're covering their tracks too well. And then this … it couldn't have happened at worse time."

"Perhaps that's why it did." Penemue rubbed his forehead. "What about the binding of the Moirai?"

"That was a part of the original spell. To change the course of the lines it was necessary to bind the Fates. Once bound and compliant, the rest could be set in place."

"Why aren't you doing anything about it then? Why are you leaving it to the humans to stop him, to kill him?"

Michael's face tightened, his eyes blazing. "The Mattara has forbidden our involvement. Forbidden it, Penemue. That order comes direct from our Father. We are not allowed to interfere at all."

Penemue felt the blood drain from his face. "Why? Why would He do this?"

"You tell me. I've prayed for answers, I've prayed to be allowed to deal with this, at the moment of his rising. I've heard nothing in return." The archangel turned away, closing his eyes.

"But, what if they fail?" The Watcher looked up. "They're human, Michael. What if they die trying to stop him and fail?"

"Then you better hope there's a back up plan somewhere, because if he succeeds in using the younger Winchester as a doorway, he will have access to Heaven again."

"What?" Penemue stared at him.

"That is the end game, for Lucifer. Sam Winchester, born after the sacrifice of Christ, his soul clean and washed in the blood of the Lamb. And Lucifer can pass through it, he doesn't even need to take it, just pass through and let that clean soul hide him as he comes through the Gates."

"He could've used anyone. Why Sam?"

"I don't know. But I don't think he could have used anyone. The brothers and Castiel have been locked together in this loop in destiny since it was first woven, Penemue. Even the Moirai cannot explain why. I even wondered if it was our Father, determined to wipe out the mistakes of Cain and Abel in some peculiar and illogical fashion." He shook his head. "I don't know why. But you know that once the players are woven in, they never change. So Lucifer could only use Sam. And his brother could be the only one to defeat him."

"There has to be something we can do, some way we can get around this."

"There isn't. On the eve of the winter solstice, Lucifer will come back into this world, and if the three of them aren't there, aren't strong enough to defeat him, then he will return to Heaven, and then you will see civil war. As you've never seen it before."

He looked up, his head tilted slightly as if listening. "They're calling for me. I wish I had a reason or a way out, Penemue, I do. But there is nothing we can do now, except hope and pray."

His wings stretched out to either side, gilded by the firelight along the pearl and alabaster and cream and silver feathers. The first downstroke lifted him fifty feet into the air; the second took him out of sight.

Penemue threw another few pieces of wood onto the fire, pushing the small iron pot of water over the flames. God had not intervened in the events on earth for thousands of years. Why was He interfering now?


Light, flame-red and golden and pale blue spilled out of the broad cavern entrance, over the lip and into the darkness. Dean crouched beside the opening, peering around the corner into the interior.

The vast space looked warm and … cheerful. That alone was disorienting. Dark pine boughs and branches had been placed around the walls and over the doorways, the smell of freshly cut conifer filling the warm air of the cavern, spilling out over him. Mistletoe and holly branches and berries were also placed strategically around the area, and to one side a massive wooden table had been set, the timbers groaning under the weight of the food that covered it, from roasted pig to entire haunches of venison, cakes and dried candied apples, biscuits and loaves of bread, mouth-watering scents competing with the sharper pine in the heat.

He leaned back against the wall, running his hand over his jaw. It looked like the dude was having a party. All that was missing was the 'Welcome Home' banner hanging somewhere.

"What is it?" Castiel hissed at him. "What do you see?"

"Norman Rockwell." Dean closed his eyes and then turned back to the room. It was empty for the moment, he couldn't see movement anywhere. "Come on, see for yourself."

He glanced at his watch as he stood. Ten o'clock. Two more hours. He needed to find Sam.

They slipped around the entrance, carrying their weapons ready in their hands. Everything else, save Alis' healers' pouch, had been left at the camp. Along the path from the opening directly into the room, circles had been cut into the floor, interlocking as they progressed deeper. The final circle was much larger than the others, and led to a channel that had been carved into the sigil of Lucifer, the stylised trident crossed by the horns of a beast. Dean looked down at it. Ground zero, he thought.

He didn't know what made him look up, instinct perhaps. He lifted his head, tipping it back and froze. Sam was directly above him, high above the floor, arms and legs stretched out, his head hanging down, eyes closed, hair falling over his face. He couldn't see how he was being held, but he could see the symbols that had been carved into him, over his chest and stomach, around his shoulders. The blood had dried, crusting over his brother's pale skin.

"Cas!" He dragged his gaze from his brother, looking for the angel.

Alis had looked up as well, her face drawn as she looked into Sam's face. His eyes opened and she backed up a step as she saw the red in them, overwhelming the hazel.

"Dean?"

He turned and looked up. "Sam?"

"Not really, Dean. Not anymore," Sam said softly, in a voice that wasn't his own. He was descending slowly, his head lifting higher, the red filming over his eyes becoming brighter. "I am the doorway and the way through to Heaven."

"Cas!" Dean backed away as Sam floated downward. "Sam, we're going to get you out of here."

Sam laughed, not his laugh, a deeper, darker sound. "You don't listen, do you?"

Dean watched him as he rotated, his feet gently touching the stone floor. In the brighter light, he could see the expression on his brother's face, and it wasn't one he'd ever seen on Sam before. The mage, he thought, controlling him as he'd controlled the Watchers.

"Sam isn't Sam." Castiel walked up behind him, stopping a few feet away. "Cesare, you might as well show yourself."

Dean watched the red dim in Sam's eyes, as footsteps sounded in the tunnel on the other side of the cavern.

"The angel." Cesare entered the room, and Dean half-turned, looking over his shoulder at him. He'd been expecting … he didn't know what, but the man who strode across the polished black stone wasn't it. Cesare stood three or four inches below his own height, a heavy man of about forty, smooth olive skin and black hair combed back from a high forehead, dark brown eyes hooded eyes under black brows, a wide, fleshy mouth framed by a black beard, threaded with silver. The mage wore robes, black underneath, a long white surcoat over, belted at the waist with a sword belt. Several rings flashed in the red light as he waved his hand in an expansive gesture around the room.

"And the Corival, I presume?" He ran his gaze over Dean, one brow lifted. "I have to say, you don't seem all that impressive."

"Try me." Dean looked at him coldly.

Behind the mage, Samyaza walked slowly, his silver eyes empty and blank. Castiel looked at him, then turned away, focussing on the mage.

"In due time." Cesare smiled. "I would not want to waste the opportunity to use your soul after you are dead."

Dean shrugged, glancing at Castiel, then at Alis. "Why is it that monsters are always so confident they're not going to be the ones lying on the floor?" He looked back at Cesare, half-turning toward the mage.

"Let's get this show on the road."

His sword hissed as he used the turn to bring up the blade, the short, flat arc aimed at the mage's throat, the long stride forward taking him within reach. Cesare lifted a hand and the sword stopped as if it had hit a wall, the impact reverberating through his wrists and elbows and shoulders. Behind him, Sam began to walk forward.

Alis watched as Dean's blow was stopped less than a foot from the mage, seeing Castiel's sword rising on the other side of them. She was surprised when her attack was met by the mage's sword, but let her blade slide down his, using the metal to feel the strength and skill in the hands and wrists that controlled it.

Stronger. Skilled. Greater reach. The assessment was filed away, and she turned away from the engagement, dropping to one knee under Cesare's lunge, and rising again, her sword a blur as she swung it up and over his arm, the tip striking his shoulder, slicing through the cloth and emerging on the downstroke with its tip reddened. She moved backwards, out of his reach as he stared at her, and the robe around the wound began to gleam as the blood soaked in. Cesare pivoted, following her movement, his face set and cold.

Behind him, Castiel's sword was raised, and he stumbled as the downstroke was stopped by Samyaza's sword blade, engaging his and almost pulling it from his hands. He hadn't seen the Watcher move, and he backed up a step, looking into his eyes, seeing the faint trace of red against the silver irises.

Dean had watched the speed of Cesare's attack on Alis, and moved forward, determined to draw the mage off her, when he felt a movement behind him, turning and dropping at the same time. Sam's blade brushed through his hair, his brother's hazel eyes tinted red, his face as expressionless as a robot's, the gaze fixed ahead, but the hands controlling the sword mobile and accurate. Dean rolled backwards, away from him, as he tried to keep track of both Cesare and Sam.

The mage's sword had touched her twice, on her left arm and low on the thigh, neither hits deep enough to prevent use of the limbs. He was faster than she'd thought, and she moved around him warily, knowing that he was too experienced to leave her an opening, she was going to have to offer one herself.

A part of his concentration was on his followers, she thought, controlling them must be taking effort and concentration. She saw the opportunity a moment later, as she saw Sam in her peripheral vision bearing down on his brother, his sword blade blurred in a relentless attack. Letting herself stumble, she turned slightly away, her sword swinging a little wider out to the side.

Cesare saw it, and smiled, driving in at her, the longer, heavier blade chopping down in a feint toward her throat, and thrusting into her side. As soon as the tip was in her, Alis straightened and turned toward it, biting down on the scream that rose in her throat, pulling his hand closer, her own sword arcing up and flashing down, both hands gripping the hilt as she aimed for his heart. It would have worked, if at that crucial second Castiel's sword hadn't pierced Samyaza's chest, the mage jerking slightly to the side as the sensation had hit him, and her own killing stroke was cheated, the tip of her blade flexing against his breastbone, and sliding off.

Cesare pulled his attention back to the woman, angling his sword upward where it was trapped in her flesh, and stepping close to her, his hand shoving her off his blade, sending her crashing to the stone floor.

Behind them, Samyaza crumpled to the floor, and Castiel took in the wide red stain on Alis' side, the mage turning to face him, in a swift glance. The angel took two long strides across the floor between them, and swung his blade.

Dean stared at Sam, circling him as he tried to work out the best way to take him. He hadn't travelled two thousand freakin' miles just to kill his little brother. But the mage was good, it was going to be hard to disarm and disable Sam without doing any damage. Behind him he heard the clash of metal on metal, and shut it away, watching Sam's eyes, waiting for the moment when the mage would be too busy to have full control over him.

That moment came as Castiel attacked Cesare. Dean saw the red fade from Sam's eyes, saw the sword drop a few inches as control was relinquished and he reversed the sword in his hand and moved in, turning fast, feeling Sam's blade skate over the mail that covered his torso, the heavy, weighted hilt hitting his brother's skull just behind and below the ear. Sam dropped instantly, the nerve centre paralysed by the blow and Dean spun around in time to hear Cesare's triumphant shout as his sword point drove into the angel's shoulder. Beyond them, his gaze was caught by Alis' crumpled body, and the pool of red spreading out from one side of her.

Time slowed, the seconds stretching out, every detail seen with extreme clarity.

His mind cleared, thought and feeling vanishing, and he dropped his sword, his hand reaching automatically for the gun at holstered at the small of his back. He watched Cesare pull the blade from Castiel, the angel dropping to his knees, watched the mage turning toward him as the gun cleared the holster and swung around in front of him, his thumb flicking off the safety, his finger settled against the trigger and pulling smoothly back as the sight lined up between Cesare's eyes.

He saw the mage's eyes widen slightly, then there was a small black hole between them, and the thunderous boom of the shot rolled around the cavern's walls, filling his ears. Cesare fell back, and Dean walked toward him, looking down as he put another round into the mage's heart.

Castiel lifted his head, looking up at Dean as he pressed his hand against his shoulder.

"Thunderbolts from his hands," he whispered and Dean came back from that cold, clear place, looking down at the angel, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"You alright?"

"No. But I'll live." He nodded toward Alis.

Dean turned and went to her, looking at the ragged wound in her side as his fingers felt for the artery in her neck. Her heart was beating, blood still flowing from the wound. It was on the edge of her side, just under the end of the lower ribs, and he thought – he hoped – that it had missed the organs. He pulled out his knife, cutting away the clothing and lifting the mail from the wound. Untying the pouch from her belt, he looked over the small pots it held, pulling out the one she'd told him to use on the cut on her head. Thoughts of infection floated through his mind, but there was no time to do this any better right now. Lucifer was coming, and they had to be gone when he got here.

He lifted the layers of armour and clothing from her stomach, filling the wound with the thick paste and wadding up two pieces of cloth to pack against the wound on either side. A wide bandage held the dressings in place, placing enough pressure on them to stop the bleeding, he hoped. She coughed and opened her eyes, as he tied off the bandage, and he helped her to sit up.

"I told you not to come," he told her. She looked at him and smiled.

"I am still alive." She looked around at Castiel, kneeling next to Samyaza, then to Sam, lying still on the floor where he'd fallen. "Is Sam all right?"

"Yeah, I had to knock him out." Dean glanced back at his brother. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, pressing her hand against her side as she rolled onto her knees. "Yes, see to Sam. We have to get out of here."

"No argument." He helped her to her feet and turned away, walking back to his brother. Sam lay sprawled in the same position he'd fallen. How had the mage controlled him? He looked up as Castiel walked up to him, looking down at Sam.

"At the base of the skull, where it joins the spine, you'll find a needle, embedded there." He glanced at Dean. "Pull it out. Sam will be fine."

Dean rolled Sam over, feeling along the back of his neck. His fingers found the round bead at the junction between neck and skull, and he pulled it out, looking at the black, fractured crystal with disgust. He dropped it, and lowered Sam's head to the floor again, thumbing up an eyelid. Sam's pupils reacted to the light, and they weren't blown. He'd hit him pretty hard, it might be a few minutes before he came around. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-forty. They had a little time, not much but a little.

He looked at Castiel. "You look like crap."

The angel stared at him sourly. "I feel like crap. I'm not going to be much use to you now."

"I'll manage." He lifted the edge of Castiel's cuirass away from the wound, looking at it, then glancing around for Alis. "We'll get you patched up."

Alis walked toward them, a bundle of clean cloth in her hands. "Take off his armour."

Dean watched her clean out the wound in Cas' shoulder, half his attention on his brother, as he followed her instructions, passing her the herbal pastes and dressings. When the stab wound was cleaned out and dressed, he was relieved to see Sam's eyelids fluttering.

"Hey."

Sam opened his eyes and looked up into his brother's face. "Did you get him?"

Dean glanced at Cesare's body and nodded. "Yeah, he's dead."

"He wanted to control the future." Sam muttered, lifting his hand and rubbing his forehead, all the information he'd been gathering for the last couple of months suddenly flooding into his mind. "He got the spell from Azazel. Lucifer wants to use my soul to return to Heaven."

Sitting up suddenly, Sam's gaze flicked from his brother to the glowing pool on the far side of the cavern. "The sacrifice, Atropos can cut the line if the children are freed."

"Whoa, slow down, Sam." Dean gripped his shoulder. "Let's get out of here first, then you can fill us in on all the details."

"No." Sam looked at him. "No, we can't leave. I have to free the children or Atropos can't cut the line."

"Okay." Dean frowned. "What children?"

"The nephilim children, the living sacrifice." He gestured wildly to the rear of the cavern. "They're there, over a pit of magma but I can't free them until Lucifer's through."

Dean blinked at him. "No!"

"Dean –"

"No way, Sam. We are not hanging around here and waiting for that sonofabitch to come through."

"It's the only way, Dean." Sam rolled onto his feet, swaying a little as he straightened up. "He'll be in his own body, not a vessel. A construct, flesh and blood." He glanced down at Castiel, who nodded slowly. "When he gets through there's some way I can free the children."

"Lemme get this straight, you want us to wait for him? And let him come through? In his own body?" Dean stared at him disbelievingly. "How hard did I hit you?"

"We don't have a choice in this." Sam started to walk to the back of the cavern. "I can't get near them now, but the Moirai said that when he comes through it'll be possible to reach them." He looked back at his brother, following behind him. "If this line isn't cut, he can still destroy this world. And in a mortal body, we can kill him."

"How do you know that?" Dean didn't want to hear that this was the only way. He wanted to get out of here, all of them, in one piece.

"Cesare told me about the plans that Lucifer had shared with him. Mostly lies, at least the bits that were promised to the mage, but his own plans … he wanted to come through my soul, to be washed in the blood of Christ so that he would be free of sin, and get back into Heaven."

"You're staying here makes that more likely, don't you think?" Dean scowled as Sam stopped, as close as he could stand to the ferocious heat of the pool of magma.

"Look." He pointed at the pool and Dean turned to look reluctantly.

The air over the pool was thick and wavery, like old glass, and wisps of gas rose from the molten rock, obscuring the three objects that were suspended over it. He could feel his skin drying out at this distance, could imagine it roasting off him if he got any closer. Through the shimmer and the tendrils of gas he saw the containers, saw what turned slowly within them, felt his stomach heave as he made out the detail.

He turned away, wiping his mouth. "Alright."

Sam looked at him with relief. He didn't want to be here when the devil came through, but everything he'd learned, it all pointed to one thing. This would be the only time, the only shot they would ever have of finishing the job properly.

Dean looked at his watch. Eleven-fifty. He walked back to Castiel and Alis.

"We have to stay. You two don't. You need to get clear of this side of the mountain, find a good place to hole up."

Castiel looked up at him tiredly. "It's too late for that, Dean."

Dean frowned at him. "No. It's not."

The angel gestured to the circles, running down in a line to the entrance. They were filling with a liquid, a bright, silvery liquid, moving slowly through the carved channels toward them. "It's started, Dean. I think when the mercury reaches Lucifer's sigil, he'll come through."

"Then get off your ass and get out of here, and take Alis with you!" Dean looked from the circles to Castiel furiously.

The light in the cavern changed and they looked out through the entrance. The northern lights were lighting up the sky again, and even within the rock confines of the mountain they could hear the great rustling and crackling of the energy as the colours filled the night.

"The flare energised the poles, and the lights transfer the eclipse's power, the conjoined flux from Moon and Sun here, to the circles." Castiel shook his head slightly. The phenomena had occurred once before, millions of years ago but it had been mostly harmless then, no creative minds to harness the enormous energy, to direct it. Balthazar had told him about it, he remembered distractedly.

"We can't leave, Dean." He stood up slowly. "We need to prepare ourselves."

Dean stared at the shifting, twisting light show outside the cave, feeling his mouth dry. The lights were reflecting on the silvery channels of the circles, on the polished black stone of the floor, on the faces of Alis and Castiel and his brother. They filled the cavern with patterns, banishing the shadows, combining with the red glow of the magma.

Sonofabitch. He nodded reluctantly, a glance at his watch showing him that there was now no time to do anything else. He looked down at the circles, choosing his position, pulling his gun from the holster and flicking off the safety, his sword hilt gripped tightly in his left hand. He pulled in a deep breath and felt the creak of the cracked rib, ignoring it as he turned to face the entrance.

"Get to the back, with Sam." He didn't look at them as they moved away, focussing his gaze on the progress of the mercury through the circles, when it reached the sigil, he would have to move fast.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The mercury flowed along the sigil and Dean stepped back as the air began to thicken over the carved symbol, twisting and spiralling, in colours that hurt the eyes to look at. He turned his face away from the slit of white light that appeared above the floor, spreading out, spearing into the cavern and bleeding the colours of everything it touched.

"Dean!"

He heard Sam's voice, distantly and took another step away from the tear in the fabric of reality, turning further. "Sam, stay back."

The … entity … that stepped through the blinding argent light was little more than a vague outline, floating above the polished stone and silver liquid, turning slightly as it emerged completely. As the door of the Cage closed, it began to condense, elongating, manifesting, the shape becoming solid, defined into bipedal, into humanoid. It was still too bright to look at directly, incandescently bright and he narrowed his eyes, one arm held over them as he tried to see how far it was progressing, when it would be substantial enough for him to empty his clip into it.

The temperature drop came suddenly, as he watched the shape gain solidity and weight, and he shivered as the walls and floor sparkled with frost, his breath coming out in a solid white fog, a deeper-than-Arctic chill biting through his clothing and armour, dragging at his body heat, stiffening his muscles.


Sam felt the temperature drop and suddenly understood, spinning around to the pool of magma, watching with wide eyes as the crust began to darken, thicken, harden. He saw the shapes of the Moirai against the far wall, and stepped closer to the magma, able to advance more as the heat was sucked from the pool and the rock cooled and became solid.

Alis and Castiel walked with him, getting closer and closer to the pool, shivering as the cold filled the space, dropping in small leaps as Lucifer manifested his construct, creating his mortal form.


Dean watched as the angel began to turn, arms stretched out widely, each revolution adding detail and substance to the body. He saw the angel's face transforming in front of him, high forehead and dark red, winged brows, the deep eye sockets and finely chiselled nose, wide, high cheekbones and the hollows beneath them, the full-lipped mouth, sharp jawline and square chin below those. The angel's eyes were closed, the revolutions slowing, developed muscle covering the wide shoulders, the broad chest, loose pants covering the narrow waist and long, muscular legs. Around his hips, a sword belt carried a long scabbard and a shorter one.

The angel stopped, facing him and he tightened his grip on the Colt automatic, levelling the barrel.

Lucifer opened his eyes.


The heat had gone from the pool and Sam jumped onto the hard, dark crust, without thought for whether or not it was strong enough, thick enough, to hold his weight. He reached for the glass container and wrapped his arms around, yanking it free of the field that held it, throwing it onto the black stone floor that lined the edges of the magma. The glass shattered, the blue liquid spraying out. The nephilim child, small and helpless, lay in the dissipating liquid, lifting his hands slightly. Alis and Castiel snatched the other two containers from their fields and jumped from the crust to the floor, dropping their containers one after the other as Sam knelt beside the first child. He could see the small chest rising and falling, could see the flutter of a pulse in the hollow at the base of the throat. The eyes opened, a brilliant, vivid green and focussed slowly on him.

The Moirai came out of the shadows, Atropos walking toward them. Sam lifted his head to look at her, as she reached into the air above the three children, her fingers closing around a golden thread that became visible as she touched it. The shears in her hand were silver, and the snap when they closed through the thread was loud.

"Done." She looked down at him. "The line is cut. You can kill him now, and nothing will bring him back again."


Dean stared into the neon-blue eyes of the archangel, and pulled the trigger, smoothly, unhurriedly, over and over. The gun's voice thundered in the cavern, and the bullets hit the pale but no longer shining flesh of the angel, punching through heart and lungs, through stomach and kidneys and liver and intestines.

The automatic clicked twice before he registered he was out. Lucifer was still standing, and one dark brow lifted queryingly.

"I take it that you thought that might kill me?" His voice was smooth and light, the seductive voice of a trained tenor. He gestured and the bullets exited the smooth flesh, falling to the ground as the holes closed up.

"Worth a shot." Dean dropped the gun, curling both hands around the hilt of his sword. "It would kill most mortals."

Lucifer smiled, moving to one side with the grace of a dancer. "But I am not most mortals, Corival."

"Yeah." Dean followed his movement, pivoting on the ball of his foot as he kept his weight forward.

The angel looked around the cavern curiously, then his gaze locked onto the small group watching from the end of the room.

"My soul." He moved toward Sam, and Dean swore softly under his breath, lengthening his stride and raising the blade in his hands.

He had to throw his weight backward as the angel spun around, his sword rising in a fast upward cut, scissoring around Dean's blade and pulling it from his hands, sending it flying to the wall.

"Not the right sword for me, boy." The vivid eyes stared at him. Dean stared back, watching the long silver blade in front of him, his gaze rising to meet the angel's as the sword slid back into the scabbard.

"You are not the Corival." Lucifer lifted his hand and swung it to one side, and Dean felt himself flung aside with the gesture, hitting the same wall as his sword had, pain exploding in his chest as the cracked rib broke with the impact, his head smacked against the stone, and he dropped to the floor.