For the first time in years, the Hollywood sign was lit up. The 'Y' kept flickering on and off and a portion of the inside of the first 'O' had broken free with age, making the sign intermittently look like 'Hell wood' from a distance.

Michael's chosen few had assembled atop the H: Seven of the coven members were there with him, and Troy was there as well. It was Tisi who was tasked with setting off the firework that signaled the start of the ritual. A white goat that had been hauled up in a large black iron cage bleated as Alec let it out. He slipped a rope around its neck and led the nervous creature to the center, where Michael waited with his hunting knife in hand. The face of the girl who had once owned the knife surfaced briefly in his thoughts then he shoved her back down again.

Instead of her, he focused his thoughts on the Dragon. He put his free hand on the goat's head, taking hold of its nearest horn. The goat looked up at him, its hourglass eye wide and uncomprehending.

"Father!" he said, raising his voice boldly. He looked out over foggy Los Angeles. "I ask you to come to me!"

In a single, swift motion, he slit the goat's throat. Hot blood poured out, steaming in the cold air. Meg caught as much as she could in a large bowl. The animal wobbled and fell over, so she positioned its head over the bowl. There was blood everywhere and it got all over her, deep red against her pale skin and ashen clothes. When the bowl was full to the brim, she carried it over to Fiona, painted a large pentagram on the surface beneath their feet using an ancient brush carved with arcane sigils.

"Call to him," Michael instructed Troy when Fiona had finished the symbol.

"How?" asked Troy. "What do I do?"

"Call Him," insisted Michael. "How do you call someone?"

That was no help to Troy. He looked around and saw the witches looking back at him expectantly. He had no idea what he was expected to do, but it bolstered his ego to have captured everyone's attention, even the Son of Satan. They were all watching him, expecting great things. So, he tried tapping his religious schooling for inspiration.

Straightening up, he threw his arms wide like the illustrations of Moses on the mountain when he was speaking to God. "Prince of Darkness! Morningstar!" Troy projected, and his voice was magnified like he'd shouted into a loud-speaker. It was loud enough to make most of the onlookers cover their ears. "Hear our call!"

The silence that followed was almost as deafening; nothing living stirred for several seconds after the ear-splitting broadcast. As the seconds stretched, Troy looked around again.

"Maybe He didn't hear..?" the young man ventured.

"I did."

The voice was like a clap of thunder, surprising the assemblage with a sound that could be felt as well as heard. The darkest shadows coalesced into a single form positioned midway between Troy and Michael. Then the darkness fell back, like a cloak or a pair of great wings unfolding, revealing a striking man of unearthly beauty. He was so radiant and intense, His presence was like that of an atomic explosion or a black hole.

The relation between Michael and the new arrival was undeniably visible, though this creature's eyes were solid black, lacking any human semblance in that respect. His golden hair fell loosely about his strong shoulders and he was dressed in shadows that crawled over His body in a rough semblance of a toga that connected directly to his cloak-like leathery wings. Looking at him was to look at desire embodied. Every individual in His presence was smitten by Him, even the strongest of them. Several witches fell to their knees; many cried out in longing.

Michael stared at the fallen angel, stunned by His raw power. Even he wasn't proof against the ancient being's incredible magnetism. It took him a moment to remember why they were even there but when he did, he seized on the idea and drew strength from it. If this creature was potent, then so was he, as he was descended from the same line.

"You took a woman last night," he said. He tried to make his words fierce, but it felt like yelling into a hurricane. "I want her back."

Ignoring the others, the dark celestial assessed Michael with a gaze so penetrating, he could feel it pierce his soul. The angel's mind invaded his own, saturating it like a flood. His head pressurized with the weight of ancient thoughts, but he fought back the urge to bend. He kept his hands at his sides, though he longed to grab at his head because it felt like it was swelling. Strengthening his will with his own rage and determination, he gazed right back at the archangel. Even when his nose started to bleed, he didn't look away.

"So young," Lucifer said directly to his spirit, so that only Michael heard. The thoughts came as concepts, not words. "So frail. So full of potential but so pitiably human."

The intimate meeting of minds was uncomfortable on many levels, but familiar as well. It was the Dragon's voice inside him, the same that spoke to him when he was a child. The familiarity fueled his determination.

"I am the Prince of the Earth," he rallied internally. No words passed his lips. "I am your son. And I want Evangelina back."

Michael felt the sign shift under him as Lucifer drew closer to him. The thought occurred to the young man that another earthquake might be starting but he refused to allow anything to distract him from the contest of wills he was engaged in. If he let that happen, he might very well lose his chance to fix things the way he wanted. Around him, the onlookers watched, aware that something was happening between the two but unable to tell what.

"Should we do something?" Troy asked and was vehemently shushed by Fiona.

The witch shot him a deadly look. Michael was bleeding but the Supreme trusted her nephew to know his limits. Though she, too, was overwhelmed by the presence of the Lord of the Underworld, there was a kernel of pride in seeing him go head-to-head with a being so powerful. She would personally kill anyone who tried to interrupt the moment.

"She is the Mother of the future," the fallen archangel imparted to Michael, mild amusement suffusing the thoughts. "You will protect her. The offspring require instruction. They will lead new nations when the war is done."

"Return Father Jeremiah," Michael pushed. He found a surprising amount of untapped strength in his conviction. "He is the best teacher. I need him whole again. Please."

There was the slightest hesitation while the entity considered the request. Then: "Consent given. You will make an equivalent sacrifice."

Lucifer took another step forward, pressing two of His fingers to His lips as he did. He then placed those fingers on Michael's forehead, right over the area Misty Day called the Third Eye. At the same time, the 'H' sign they stood on leaned to the east with a groan of old steel. Michael didn't notice; his father's touch had knocked him senseless.

The shadows coalesced again, swallowing the fallen angel before shattering into thousands of inky fragments. Someone screamed when the sign started shudder and sway violently. Michael's unconscious form slid back toward the west. Troy, who was in his path and staggering to stay on his feet, was bowled over.

"We should get down," Pietre decided, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

The ghosts had it easiest: They weren't in any real danger since they could disapparate and appear where ever they wanted. The living were forced to make a hasty retreat back down the ladder.

"Get Michael!" Fiona demanded of Troy.

But the dark-haired young man had problems of his own, trying to get up while the sign was giving way beneath them. He ignored the Supreme and scrambled for the ladder on all fours.

"Fucking amateur!" Fiona spat.

Exasperated, she put a hand out and grabbed, drawing on the local ley lines to power the silent spell. A lesser witch would have had to use a focus, like a wand, to accomplish such a feat on the fly but Fiona had given up as many of those weaknesses as she could. She liked her magic raw, dark, and direct. Clenching her hand into a tight fist, she tugged. Michael slid back across the sign, toward her.

He regained consciousness on his back as he slid and found himself looking up at the black night sky. He could hear shouting and smell dust and rust. Then everything came back to him and he tried to get to his feet, but he was held. Fiona, feeling him struggle in her psychic grip, let him go.

"Come on!" she shouted and quickly headed the direction the others had already gone.

One after the other, the group scurried down the ladder. There was a screech of splitting metal and the 'H' tilted sharply to the east, striking the 'O' hard. The sound reverberated like a giant bell and somewhere below, something cracked loudly.

The ladder on the side of the 'H' gave way with all but Pieter still on it.

xxx

Author's Note:

Cue music, roll credits, end Episode 6.

So there he was. Grandaddy of 'em all. The square root of Langdon. Lucifer's humanoid seeming was largely inspired by old paintings and by Dream, a character in Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. Is it bad that I want him to show up again? Probably. Will he? I have no idea! I guess we'll all find out together.

Next Episode: Sacrifices. Lots of them.