The smell of whiskey filled the room instantly, making John's eyes water.
'Aren't you gonna clean that up?'
John blinked. Chas was still there.
'John? Are you o–'
'Get out'.
John's words hung in the air, as strong as the alcohol. He wasn't blinking now and as he bored holes into the creature before him he saw its eyes dart uncertainly to his side; his hand was shaking, he'd cut it when he broke the bottle.
'Don't make me repeat myself', he clenched his fist and let the pooling blood make it clear that any repetition on his part would not involve words.
'John I – '
'Now.'
Chas was frowning deeply at him, eyes full of fear.
No, not his eyes. He's dead. This.. This thing is using his image to trick you. It thinks you won't hurt it if it looks like him. It's wrong.
But neither of them moved. They were locked staring at each other. John saw that the Chas-creature was shaking too. Somehow that made him even angrier.
The whiskey was the only thing moving in the apartment as it ran from John's hand and soaked into the floor. Now it seeped into one of his many cuts and the sudden feeling shook him out of his trance. He lunged at the creature, grabbing it roughly by its hair and yanking it's head back. It yelled and lashed out – John fought to stay standing, holding on even tighter, growling with the effort and with his free arm lunged to restrain it when he suddenly hit the floor – out of nowhere he'd been struck so hard he'd lost his grip and fallen backwards. He spun around thinking the creature had an accomplice but there was nothing there, it must have hit him. It was strong.
He didn't give it a second to recover, he threw himself at it again and pulled its head back, but this time he twisted into a position where the creature's arms couldn't reach him. Breathing heavily he lent down and hissed in its ear, 'I gave you a chance to leave. You chose the hard way.'
'John', the creature whimpered, it's hands trying pathetically to pry his off. With a kind of fervour he didn't know he possessed he pulled the creature around to face him, faces only inches apart. He wanted it to see his eyes, to see the face that would bring its end.
But that extra second allowed doubt to creep in. What if he was wrong?
The Balance, John.
Fuck The Balance, this thing used him to get to me, now it's going to suffer.
You're the one who'll suffer if you fuck it up. Is it worth damnation for this thing?
'John, what the hell is wrong with you?!', the creature half-pleaded/half-screamed, 'for God's sake John!'
Almost like it knew his thoughts. Slightly more in control of himself John stared at the creature and took a sadistic kind of pleasure in the fear he saw in its face, but after a few seconds he pulled the creature's head back again. He wanted it to feel the cold kind of fear it had invoked in him, but seeing the expression on its face quickly lost its satisfaction. It looked exactly like Chas, and just as he was sure the creature had hoped it made him falter to see the pain he was causing on that face.
It resembled the last time he'd seen Chas far too closely.
Just as before pulling its hair caused it to lash out but John pulled quickly out of its reach. 'Nice try', he snaked as the creature grabbed desperately with both arms at the bloody hand holding him and was almost thrown off by the same force that had hit him before.
Something's wrong.
'You are going to leave. Don't so much as think about trying this again. You will not leave here twice.'
Both arms.
Arms that John could see in front of him.
Okay, so what the hell just hit me?
He looked hard at the thing in front of him, at the two arms he could clearly see digging into his own. There was no way they could have hit him when he was looking right at them, and he realised he could still feel a bristling presence just to his side. An extension of the creature's demonic power? Then why wasn't it throwing him off right now?
Keeping his eyes locked on the creature he allowed his gaze to slide and include his surroundings. He saw at first dark, motionless shapes either side of him but as his eyes adjusted to their presence he saw that they weren't motionless at all, they were rustling. Whatever it was around him it was rustling.
'John', the creature whimpered again.
John followed his line of vision along the rustling mass to its origin and felt his stomach drop as he saw they led back to the creature. What made his stomach drop was not what they lead to but what they were.
Wings.
Feathered wings. Not webbed and torn like the wings of some species of demon, these were thick and powerful. Angel's wings.
Oh, shit.
Not for the last time that night, John found himself mourning the loss of the whiskey.