"Egon, this has got me bugged. Why haven't we seen a single ghost?" Peter bent uneasily over the balcony's safety banister to survey the entry foyer below.

"They seem to have retreated for the moment -- probably waiting for instructions from the head spirit," the other answered coolly.

"Look, I'm going out to the car to get my proton pack; I'm very uncomfortable without it." Peter headed for the steps only to catch a glimmer of glowing blue energy flashing past his shoulder. It struck the banister, reducing half of it immediately to smoldering kindling. "Egon, have you gone nuts? You nearly turned me into a Pop-Tart!" Peter hollered angrily, turning around to see a strange glow emanating from Egon's eyes, not unlike the glow he'd seen earlier in Ray's. "Oops ... Egon, old buddy," he backed warily away from the apparition, finally feeling the wall against his back, "You feeling all right?"

"Never better, Peter, why do you ask?" Egon replied smoothly, pointing the particle thrower at Peter's chest.

"Well, for starters, you don't usually try to turn me into toast -- not on a good day anyway," he added. "By the way, when was the last time you had your eyes examined?"

"Peter, look out!" Ray yelled from the stairway above.

Distracted, Venkman had no opportunity to dodge Egon's second blast. It caught his arm, burning through his coverall and singing the flesh beneath. The psychologist yelped at the sudden pain; he dropped to his knees tightly clutching the wounded appendage. "Either Egon's gotten in some target practice, or something's a little off here," he gritted between clenched teeth.

"Egon...." Stantz descended the steps slowly, approaching the figure he believed to be Egon with wide-spread arms. "It's me -- Ray. Egon, do you recognize me?"

"Watch it, Ray," Peter cautioned, trembling with another wave of pain. "He's crazy!"

"He won't hurt me." Stantz' voice was soft and trusting; the occultist projected every iota of affection he'd ever felt for his friend through his coaxing words. "You won't hurt me, will you, Egon?"

The tall blond figure hesitated, his face creasing in confusion. "R-Ray?"

"Yes, Egon, it's Ray." A delighted smile lit the younger man's face. "Put the pack away, Egon," he suggested. "You don't need it now."

"Okay, Ray."

The Egon-figure acquiesced so easily that Peter's inner alarm began to clang. Naturally unsuspicious, Stantz accepted the gesture at face value. "You're okay," he sighed, relieved. "I was afraid...."

"I don't need a weapon," the blond interrupted, "when I can do this." With a speed too great to follow, the doppelganger brought up his arm, backhanding the unwary Stantz with brutal force. The smaller man caught the blow high on his cheek, the sheer power of it sending him backward a dozen feet to crash into the wall. Blood stained the yellowed plaster where he hit; he slid to the floor, collapsing in a heap.

The pseudo-Egon regarded the barely conscious figure with satisfaction. "You may not be the least intelligent Ghostbuster," it said, grasping Stantz by the front of his jumpsuit and pulling him erect, "but you are certainly the least wise." The creature ran one hand down Ray's rapidly bruising cheekbone, then tangled its fingers in his hair, forcing his face up. "Innocence is an unheard of commodity in my world," it purred, bringing its mouth close to lick delicately at the blood flowing freely down Ray's face and throat. "I shall enjoy stripping you of yours."

Ray stared uncomprehendingly into the familiar blue eyes. Peter, however, understood only all too well. "You slimeball," he grunted, gaining his feet only by an act of will. A burning rage ignited deep within him, hotter even than the fire in his arm. "Is that how you get your kicks ... whoever you are? Playing cheap pervert to a bunch of spooks?"

The Egon-figure regarded the wounded psychologist with contempt. "You dare speak to me in such a manner?" the Dark Lord asked incredulously. "Only the very brave or the very stupid would say such things to me."

"Wanna take a guess which one ol' Peter is?" came a mocking voice from the lower stair.

"Winston...." Peter sagged back against the wall, relief weakening his knees. "Winston, Egon's...."

"Not Egon," Zeddemore corrected patiently. "Lordaine." Without warning, he let loose a stream of hyper-charged particles. They smashed the wall a foot to the right of Lordaine's head, leaving a smoking crater in their wake.

Lordaine regarded the action unconcerned. "You won't shoot me for fear of hitting your friend," he observed, holding Stantz a little higher and shaking him like a terrier with a rat. "I, however, have no such restraint." With a cruel smile, the doppelganger regained the trailing particle thrower and took aim at the hesitating Winston.

Suddenly a flash of green streaked upward from the floor. Hovering in front of the start led double's face, Slimer gave him a raspberry that brought a smile to Peter's face. Before the Egon-figure could make a move, Slimer had removed the red-framed glasses and disappeared.

The doppelganger released Stantz, spilling the groggy man back onto the floor only seconds before a mystical explosion rocked the room, flinging the appropriated proton pack half-way up the second staircase. The Egon figure began to flicker, dissolving into a putrid black mist. Then, with a final crackle of lightning, Lordaine, Spirit of the Harvest, stood among them.

"It's Lordaine, Samhaine's brother!" Ray cried, cringing back against the wall.

"Hey, I knew that," Peter replied with characteristic sarcasm. "You wanna tell me something I don't know? Like how to stop him?"

"Hey, straw-for-brains, time to boogie!" Lordaine spun around to find Winston walking towards him, proton pack humming full steam. "You're gonna fry, Lordaine."

Winston pressed the firing button, but Lordaine was faster yet. The Dark Lord made a mystic pass with one gloved hand, and the floor beneath Winston vanished. The black man started to fall, then twisted in mid-air, managing to grab hold of a half-broken banister rail. He dangled, suspended by one hand, staring down at the long drop below.

"I hope this isn't the way you planned our rescue, Winston," Peter called out with an understandable lack of enthusiasm.

"Uh ... no, not really." Winston hung on for dear life as Lordaine recited another ancient spell. The floor below began to smoke and shift, then burst into a giant circle of flame. Suddenly the room was alive with hidden ghosts, come to witness Winston's final fate. The place felt like a furnace, and sweat dripped down Winston's face, stinging his eyes.

Lordaine laughed, a cackle of mad delight. "This is almost too easy. I was hoping for more of a fight from the great Ghostbusters." "Not so fast, Lordaine. You still have me to deal with." Startled, Lordaine stared up the stairway to where Egon crouched, buckling himself into the newly abandoned proton pack.

"You're just in time, Dr. Spengler." The Dark Lord gestured widely, indicating the three other Ghostbusters. "You decide -- who shall die first? The soldier?" The swirling flames below Winston suddenly leaped several feet licking lightly at his booted feet. Zeddemore yelped, clinging to his banister for all he was worth.

"Or shall it be the innocent?" Lordaine took a single step towards Ray, who looked as though he was trying to melt into the wall, a la Slimer. "The corruption of a soul would taste most sweet this night."

"Leave him alone, slimeba'll." Peter growled deep in his throat. "You wanna pick on someone, try me."

"No, Peter," Ray protested weakly, brushing vainly at the blood masking half his face. Then, stronger, "No!"

"You know what your problem is, Lordaine?" Egon began analytically. "Like Samhaine, you suffer from an excessive ego. Very understandable, after all: Samhaine is the living embodiment of Halloween and you are the Harvester. Pretty tough images for anyone to live up to, human or not."

Peter groaned in disbelief. "I can't handle this, man. We're about to be blown off the face of the planet, and Egon's giving out free psycho- analysis!" "What do you know of ego, flesh thing?" Lordaine spat. "What do you know of power?"

"Power, now there's an interesting subject." Egon descended the stairs slowly, then began to circle the Dark Lord, step by step, talking all the while. "Power is defined as a physical force or energy, also as authority. Now I'm not saying you ancient gods didn't have physical force." He backed away, coming up short with the wall at his back. From there, he could look across at Peter and Ray, both staring at him with twin expressions of bemusement. He could also see something else -- something he hoped Lordaine would forget about for just another moment more. "But your authority is long gone, Lordaine. It's a new world -- one where you no longer have a place."

Lordaine's cloak whipped about angrily, an extension of his own fury. "I need no authority, mortal," he snarled. "I am authority. I am power. Taste my power!" He gestured towards Egon and began a low murmuring.

"Now, Winston!" Egon shouted, bringing up his particle thrower and flicking the switch.

Twin beams of energy rent the misty air as Egon's stream was joined by Winston's. "Good talkin', bro," the black man said approvingly, adjusting his power levels to full. "You kept him distracted just long enough for me to stop playing like a chandelier."

Lordaine twisted in the brilliant light, the radiation disrupting the very essence of his being. "Nooo...!" he howled, gathering his own power around him like a shield. "You'll not escape me a second time, Egon Spengler. You will all die!"

"Slimer!" Egon's harsh summons brought the little ghost immediately to the fore. It floated up from the foyer, bearing a device half-concealed in its folds of green ooze. "Throw the trap, nowl"

And that was when all of Ray's patient training of the spectral mascot paid off for, with one expert heave, Slimer tossed the temporary containment unit precisely under Lordaine's writhing form. He then set the activator onto the floor and slid it under Winston's foot.

"Good going, Spud," Zeddemore cheered, stamping hard on the pedal. "And good-bye, Lordaine!"

The trap opened, bathing the dark god in a new stream of purest radiation. Any other spirit in the world would have been immediately sucked into its glowing maw, to reside there safely until it could be deposited in the permanent containment. Any other spirit ... but Lordaine wasn't 'any other.' The Dark Lord paled in the radiation bath he was taking, shimmered for a moment, then, unaccountably, began to grow. The accelerator packs whined with the strain of maintaining the streams and even the metal trap began to smoke and sputter. That was when the miracle occurred.

But can a miracle actually be called a miracle if it happens every day? The Ghostbusters later decided that it could, even though the miracle consisted of nothing more than the faithful sun peeking over the horizon.

The rosy luminescence passed the barricade of the broken windows with hardly a pause. The observing spirits fled its touch, leaving the great balcony empty save for the four Ghostbusters, and Lordaine.

"I don't believe it -- he's busting loose!" Zeddemore screamed, as Lordaine freed one gloved fist from its prison of light. "He's gonna make ill" "Keep it at full stream," Egon replied, recapturing the wandering hand with his own proton stream. "We can't give up now."

"No need to give up, human," a mocking voice echoed in their minds, seeming to come from everywhere at once. "I shall take my victory, n--" And that was when the second miracle occurred, for the creeping rays of dawn had made their silent way through both broken glass and murky path and had now reached the high boot of the Harvest King himself.

"The sunlight," Peter's joyous cry cut through the cloak of desperation which blanketed the four mortals. Even Lordaine looked up, his concentration distracted for the merest second before throwing himself back into the struggle with a frantic surge of strength.

"No good," Egon panted, continuing to play a steady stream of fully accelerated subatomic particles on the cloaked figure. "Light was Samhaine's weakness, not Lordaine's."

"No, not light - sunlight!" Ray Stantz roused himself from his panic and concussion-induced paralysis and began the long crawl to Peter's side. "It's the sun," he gasped. "It's sunrise!"

Ruby light flooded the musty old balcony, lending it a warm glow as the sun fully emerged from its cocoon of the night. Quite suddenly and without warning, Lordaine screamed. "Nooo...!" The grim visage twisted into a rictus of purest hatred. "I can't lose now. I won't...."