It was perhaps fitting of Ford's allusions to the Hadron Collider that, for at least a few seconds, there was an effect not unlike it inside that giant Cathedral. The forces were immense. Curzon roared and screamed as his shadowy body swelled and pulsed in size from the sudden burst of energy. Ford had been quite correct, too, that the enormous, continuous surge from the Stanford Dynamo was sufficient to drive Curzon's instability into overdrive. But his fairly well informed leap of faith produced far more of an effect than even he expected.
The family dived behind the solid stone altar in horror as Curzon didn't just blow up or something. He went supernova. With an enormous, catastrophic rumbling, the stained glass surrounding the chapel shattered, the decorative mahogany and stonework began to creak and crumble, and, with a blinding flash of light, he reached his critical mass.
The family were unable to watch what happened next. The glaring mass was too bright, the noise too immense, the heat too unbearable. Bill Cipher and Curzon shared in their furious uproar together as the cataclysmic event unfolded before them, the portal rapidly changing, mutating and malforming as the energy coursed through Cankerblight's already unpredictable form.
Bolts of electricity flew, sparks scattered, and roaring blue flames erupted in thin streaks that licked the moist stone of the Cathedral's innermost structure. Roars and screams could be heard in all manner of accents and voices across the building's surface levels and above - Curzon's other faces and facades joining in his refrain of pain and fury.
It was like an enormous electrical storm. A giant nuclear burst that evoked equal levels of doom and awe.
For Pacifica and Dipper, it might have well felt like the end of the world had been brought by their hands.
For Ford, it felt more like every third tuesday during his extra dimensional travels.
For Stan, it was like a hallucination he remembered when he drank one too many gallons of expired apple juice and ate a stranger's cheese plant outside of Detroit in 1979.
It was there that Ford's ultimate hope - sort of - took hold. When Curzon's portal finally reached its limits… it began to collapse. And collapse with style . The supernova concept held clear as the inky black shadow creature became so large and so dense he fell into himself, the portal rapidly becoming its own, self contained weirdness vacuum. A black hole for oddity and anomaly.
"NO! NO! NOOO!" Bill Cipher screamed frantically as the portal began to swallow into itself, Curzon's black mass following it, stretching like saltwater taffy as it was swallowed in with an overpowering scent of fennel, mixed with the unmistakable scent of electrical burning.
It singed their sinuses, felt like it was burning their skin - the atmosphere in the room became an overwhelmingly unpleasant blend of acrid smoke, sizzling vapours and herbs - choking them in a clagging, sodden smog that felt hellish and aquatic. Pacifica had thought of herself as having been in a tight spot or two over the past few weeks, but for those few moments, she was certain this was it. This was how it ended.
The bubbling, burning, wretched breath exhaled by the wormhole was unbelievably unpleasant, Dipper almost disappearing from her view, the Grunkles' coughing and wheezing acting as her only recognisable refrain amongst that horrific whining, screaming and rushing of air that spelt doom for Cankerblight and his wretched existence underneath Gravity Falls.
Steadily, every ounce of Curzon - and every oozing, dripping mass of his presence, ripped out of the building, screaming as it flew through the mortar, brickwork and corridors of the manor, steadily returning it to the rightful state it had been in. Similar to Bill's influence upon Gravity Falls after Weirdmageddon, every bit of darkness and corruption was swallowed. Every bit of him was sucked dry from the building, like nougat inside one of Soos's emergency candy bars.
Floors shifted back into place. Earth shifted. Ceilings grinded back into place. Outside, the roofs became straight and aligned. Walls returned to their engineered shape and fireplaces ceased burning thick, clagging fennel vapours. The gardens drained of that purple and black flood of darkness and returned to their deep hues of green. Hedges and bushes suddenly returned to their initial shapes and positions. Lights returned to their warm glow.
The sky cleared, those swirling clouds above the building choking down its many chimneys as the fennel scented fog dissipated into faint waves of crawling dust - before being wrenched back into the rumbling manor in roughly the same amount of time it took for Mabel to bedazzle her face.
For Preston Northwest, it was a sight for sore eyes. His prominent brow raised in surprise as he stood victorious on his ride-on lawnmower, scythe in hand-battered, bruised, covered in the sticky, sap like excretions of the killer topiaries - which, rather irritatingly, hadn't been removed from his luxury cat burglar ensemble.
He smiled for what felt like the first time in well over a week.
His manor looked like home again. Ignoring the fact it definitely wasn't his home anymore. He took a cautious step forward and tapped one of his award running rose bushes gingerly, prepared to strike it down with his scythe should it start moving again.
It didn't. It just rustled before falling still and silent. Not a growl, not a gurgle, not a whimper - not even an irritating cockney accent. The air was suddenly clear, the sky suddenly normal, the mansion and its grounds standing back in its place as the rightful gem in the town's skyline.
He was impressed. If only momentarily. The Pines - for all of their worthlessness, their arrogance, their lack of class, their coarse language et al - they had done it. He still didn't like them, still didn't like his daughter mixing with them, but he was, at least, slightly more respectful of the town's washed up scam artist 'scientist researchers'.
He blinked as he realised. His daughter was in there with them. They might have done it, but were they safe? Was she safe?
And what could Cankerblight have told her? He was no fool - well, at least, not entirely. If Pacifica had heard more than he had wanted her to, then…
Then perhaps his hope to rekindle their family bond, as little as he genuinely understood it, had been thrown to the wayside. He couldn't allow that to happen. He needed to talk to her first.
He adjusted his designer catsuit, dropped his scythe, and made a beeline for the door. After all, he was still her father.
