The scene that met Michael was unusual to say the least.

Belial, Lord of Darkness, dominated the courtyard. He was roughly eight feet tall with thick, hairy black goat's legs and the large, curving horns of a bull jutting from his human skull. His muscular torso was sheathed in a stained old straitjacket only he could wear. Some of the tarnished buckles flapped free but his arms were still bound, which made his fight with Pietre strange to behold.

As Michael got his bearings, the fallen angel charged at Pietre, horns lowered to skewer the warlock.

Pietre met it with arms open wide. With a twitch of one arm, a long silver dagger slid from his sleeve, into his waiting palm. As Belial closed in, Pietre struck a downward blow aimed at the beast's neck. Belial turned his head then, and the blade struck horn instead of flesh.

Sparks flew. The knife was dashed from Pietre's hand. The strike wasn't futile, though: Belial's horn was lopped off. The black pointed end glistened on the ground.

Belial roared in anger and pain. Michael shifted through space to get closer but even he couldn't move fast enough. Belial slung his head sideways, raking Pietre's side as he twisted to avoid the blow. A normal man wouldn't have hurt him, but Belial was no mortal man. Whatever was left of Billie Dean after her possession, his physical entry into the world had consumed.

The warlock collapsed.

The triplets ran to their fallen father figure, moving even faster than they had on the Wild Hunt. One of the guards lost his shit and just sat down where he was. Clutched his head, unable to come to terms with what he was seeing. Fear propelled the other acolyte forward. Michael's wrath if he failed scared him more than the thought of death on the horns of a demon. He couldn't keep up with the supernaturals, though, and was quickly left behind.

Troy wasn't finding it much easier. He lost Michael when he disappeared. How was he supposed to assist the Antichrist if he couldn't even keep up with him? He couldn't teleport. He looked up and around at the surrounding institutional buildings. A ladder on the side of one gave him an idea.

—

Michael appeared on the dais, thoughts racing. Everything was happening too fast. He wasn't prepared for this battle. For the first time ever, he felt a taste of genuine fear. Fear that he might not be able to control the situation.

No matter how badly things had turned out in the past, he considered everything in his life to be a product of a choice he made. He instinctively knew Belial could somehow rob him of the ability to choose for himself. That scared him more than anything ever had.

"Belial!" he shouted.

Belial paid him no mind. The triplets were on the beast now, and Michael could tell they were summoning up something nasty. He had to stop them before they made the situation worse. So, he did with them what he did to Tate when he was making things worse: Michael made them "go away".

It was more difficult to move several living beings at once, but he did it. Once they were secure in the foyer of the Montgomery Mansion, he refocused on Belial, who had been readying to charge the trio when they vanished.

"Belial!" Michael shouted.

This time when he did, Troy was ready. From where he was stationed on the laundry building roof he ignited the whole back of the dais behind Michael. The cross went up in flames.

It was enough to get the demon's attention. It turned on Michael with a snarl.

"I'm not here to fight you," Michael projected.

Belial stalked over to the burning platform. Michael moved to the edge furthest from the flames. He didn't want his clothes to catch fire.

"What are you here for, then, Son of Lucifer?" The creature's voice was like boulders colliding.

"I'm here to free you."

Belial laughed. It was worse than his speaking voice.

"Why would you do that?"

Michael found it a good sign that the fallen angel was talking to him, not charging at him.

"I want your jacket," he said.

Belial actually smiled at that. Horns aside, he was an attractive man when not in a rage. Renaissance features. "It isn't your color."

Michael smirked. "Oh, but it could be. My grandmother always said I should be in one."

"Your grandmother was right."

Michael quashed the impulse to be offended and seized on the minor victory instead. "Then we're agreed: I should have the jacket."

Belial blinked. Then slowly he began to laugh. "You are clever, young one."

Michael smiled. "That's what I've heard." His back was warming up uncomfortably because of the fire, but he took the time to choose his next words carefully. "If I free you, will you let me have the jacket?"

Belial moved closer. He was terrifyingly beautiful in the firelight. Behind him, faces in the windows of the main ward watched on. Voices whispered.

"I have a counter-offer," Belial said. "You take your pawns and go, and I'll let you leave alive."

There was a short, wild tittering from the asylum windows. Like crazed chimps.

Michael squared his shoulders. He was sorely tempted to go completely ballistic on the fallen angel, but he wrestled back the urge. There was a lot at stake, and he didn't know just how incapacitated Belial really was. He knew Pietre was fading fast. Michael saw his winded acolyte arrive and had to make an executive decision.

"Ryan. Get Pietre."

Belial chuckled. The gravelly sound grated on Michael's nerves, but he kept a placid expression on his face. He steepled his hands in front of his hips, fingers pointed downward. It kept them still. Michael's remaining guardsman went and grabbed Pietre, hauling one of his limp arms over his shoulders. Ryan moved as quickly as he could to the blazing dais with his burden.

Michael waited till the guard was right beside the dais, then he looked at the demonic creature sneering at him.

"This isn't finished," he promised. His tone was matter-of-fact. Not threatening at all.

Belial laughed. Michael vanished himself, Troy, Pietre, and Ryan back to New 'Salem with the sound digging in his ears.

—

When the group arrived at Murder House, it was as one big group. Transporting so many at once after so much other stress made Michael woozy. He stumbled into the banister and grabbed the newel post to keep himself upright.

"Troy," he grunted. "You're lucky I'm gassed right now, or I would fucking...kill you." He was too worn out to inject any passion into the threat. He had to settle for mild irritation with his next statement. "Help me upstairs."

"Why're you mad at me?" Troy objected even as he moved to assist the Antichrist up the stairs. "I had your back!"

"You nearly cooked my back," Michael groused. He'd been intending to just use Troy as assistance to get up the stairs, but quickly found his legs not wanting to support him. "Next time, set the goddamned monster on fire."

"I thought you wanted to negotiate," Troy said, sounding more strained as he took on Michael's increasingly dead weight.

Downstairs, Tisi could be heard speaking loudly and urgently. The triplets had reunited with Pietre.

"Just put me to bed, dumbass," Michael mumbled. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "...need to work on our strategy..."

He was unconscious by the time Troy got him to the nearest bedroom. He put Michael on the bed face-up then allowed himself to lean on the wall for a moment to recover. Looked at Michael and thought he was deceptively peaceful for being the living embodiment of everything unholy.

Despite Michael's muttered threats, Troy knew he wasn't serious about the killing part. He wouldn't be talking about next times or strategy if he truly intended to kill Troy. Right?

He pulled a breath and held it for a few seconds, thinking. The idea of running did cross his mind. Then he thought about the other acolyte who had deserted at the asylum. Michael might not remember him immediately, but Troy suspected he wouldn't forget for long.

No. Running, for Troy, had stopped being an option a long time ago. He would be better off putting the time and effort into figuring out how his own body healed itself. He was certain it was supernatural, or he wouldn't have survived contact with the radioactive Wormwood or his own flames. If he could fend off that sort of damage, he reckoned there was something his system could do to fend off Michael's invasive bone-breaking powers. He just had to figure out how to activate it.

Not that he was likely to run even if he could protect himself. There was nowhere to run to. He had seen enough of the world to understand that. He had no interesting in creating his own society or managing the headaches such leadership entailed. He didn't envy Michael his position one bit. Troy couldn't go back to the religious group that raised him either and he wasn't interested in going it alone.

Downstairs, voices were raised. Something was happening, but Troy didn't care. Whatever it was could go on without him. He sat down and propped himself against the wall. He was intending to keep watch over Michael but coming down from a wicked adrenaline rush and all the recent chaos took its toll. It wasn't long before he was asleep.

...

Author's Note:

Been a bit between updates because I've had two major projects I've been working on. Now that I'm doing actual filming (!), my writing time is largely going into these projects. I'm also working on my Bachelor's degree. With mentors and team-members following me, I have to sneak in my for-fun writing while nobody's looking. The bright side is: I'm working on a couple of fun horror stories (a short film and a series) that will hopefully be coming available starting in 2022. Whatever you've missed out on during my downtime here I hope to make up to you there.

That said, I do intend to continue writing here. I have the last chapters all mapped out. Same with my Asylum fanfic, if you're following that. Just might take a bit longer than I'd like to post 'em.

Next time: Michael's mad. Probably not a shocking revelation, huh? Also: Is Pietre dead?