The glow of the coalesced aether was so strong, it flooded the room like a tidal wave, washing away any trace of shadow or darkness. Spreading out like a pair of gigantic wings directly above Vincent, its entrance was trailed by the sound of thunder and destruction, like the chariot of an ancient pagan god. The malignant apparition fizzled, like all of the candle flames; the possessions screeched, releasing their hostages — raising their arms to mimic Mathilda as she curled inward to shield her eyes.

“…and raise this wretched soul to Your heart, amen!” Lucian’s voice filtered in through the crackling of static and the destruction, and then there was a blur of black — the only darkness left in the entire room — directly on top of Mathilda, cassock skirts billowing in the hurricane-like air currents. Lucian’s hand grasped his rosary in a tight fist, bathed in the holy light of the aether gathering around it — then brought it straight down on the back of Mathilda’s head.

Aether crackled, surging into her skin. She crumpled like a toy, possessions following, tumbling on top of children that were screaming, crying, lying down, running.

There was a stomping of boots across the floorboards.

The glow of the aether curled in on itself, dissipating — replaced by the flood lights of the police squad stumbling in through the door.

“Stop! Police!” Vincent could barely hear Manfred’s voice above the din of the room and the ringing in his ears, then someone was jerking him up.

The shard in his hand clattered to the floor.

“St. Clair!” Lucian’s voice. “St. Clair, are you still with me?”

Vincent blinked. In the glowing aether, Lucian’s pale hair looked like a halo.

An angel’s halo.

Now in the flood of police flashlights, it just looked very annoying and human.

Vincent puckered his lips.

“Took you long enough, Lucy.” His own voice felt thin. It probably sounded thinner. “So… took so long.”

“Sorry. Those summoning circles kept breaking up the transmission from your piece. I couldn’t get a lock until that police girl helped me use hers to triangulate the exact location of this room, and then I, uh… I had to collapse part of the roof.”

"How in the fuck did you—" Vincent didn’t have time for the rest of that retort before he felt his legs give out — but the hard contact with the ground never came. Lucian grabbed him by the front of his armored vest, leaning Vincent against his own shoulder and lowering him down to a sitting position.

Did he die and go to hell or something? Since when was Lucian this attentive — or this gentle?

There was a darkness crawling into the spaces between his last remaining brain cells that were still firing. A very familiar, exhausting darkness.

He grabbed Lucian’s sleeve, willing himself awake for just a few more precious seconds.

“Anathael.” He said. “The demon - in the glass. His name is… Anathael.”

The last thing he remembered before he drifted off was Lucian’s hand, grasping his own.