Why yes, I'll take your soul

Alastor had expected Charlie’s soul to be potent. She was the heir to the throne, after all, but he had underestimated just how potent. The moment their deal was sealed, the surge of power had been unmistakable, as though the world itself had snapped into sharper focus. He would need to properly let loose to test the true extent, of course. But by his estimation, his power had more than doubled. ‘All thanks to my lovely new possession.’

Charlie, ever the hopeful idealist, had rallied the cannibals with little effort. Vaggie meanwhile, was able to convince Carmilla to arm them. They now possessed both the means and men to fight the exorcists. The planning had just finished, which mostly consisted of Alastor dealing with Adam while the others killed exorcists, and now they are having a party. One last hurrah before a desperate last stand.

Alastor would be lying if he said he wasn’t even a little bit nervous. He doesn’t think much of Adam, especially with his newfound power, courtesy of Charlie, but many an overlord have fallen to Exorcist blades. 

The lounge glowed with soft light and softer voices. Angel Dust laughed too loudly at something Cherri Bomb had said. Husk leaned against the bar, watching the room through half-lidded eyes, glass in hand.

Charlie floated between groups with practiced grace. She laughed at one of Angel’s jokes, complimented a cannibal’s hideous hand-sewn jacket, and made small talk with Cherri.

She was glowing. Or she was pretending to be.

That was what they needed. What she needed. If tonight was their last, she wanted it to be a good one. 

And yet.

Every time her gaze found Vaggie across the room, something inside twisted. Charlie wanted to go to her, to grab her hand and whisper something stupid and sweet. But the distance between them felt heavier than it had in weeks. 

Vaggie blamed herself for Charlie’s deal and Charlie knew it. But how could she convince her otherwise? How could she explain that it wasn’t her fault… that it had been the best option they had?

She didn’t know. So she didn’t try.

Above them, Alastor watched from the balcony with Niffty flitting at his side. 

The deal was done. That was what mattered. The hotel was safe. Or safer. The guests had a fighting chance. And if her smile felt like glass in her cheeks, that was the price.

That was what she told herself, again and again.

The music played on. The party danced and drank and sparkled.

And tomorrow, they would bleed.

“I'm about to end your fucking life.” Alastor says with relish, staring down the first man.

Adam was already flying toward him, blade glinting, mouth spitting some crude jest about jazz.

Alastor only smiled.

‘Let him speak. The dead are always verbose.’

He tapped his cane once against the roof. A quartet of shadowy limbs burst forth to meet Adam’s charge, writhing like an eldritch snake.

Radiance met shadow. Adam hacked through the first wave with brute force, guitar arcing wild and graceless.

Alastor side-stepped the clumsy swing, his coat flaring like a matador’s cape. More tendrils rose from the broken roof’s edges, lashing forward in precise rhythms.

“You really think you can take me on?” Adam sneered, driving into another swing. “A mortal soul is no match for me, edge-lord.”

Alastor’s grin sharpened.

"You should know better than anyone," he answered lightly, "what a soul can accomplish when they take charge of their own fate."

The shadow beneath Alastor cracked wider, his will reaching out, extending past brick and beam. A shadow-minion surged upward from behind Adam, its massive fist driving toward him.

Adam destroyed it with a snarl and a wild slash. "Ohoho, you think you’re tough shit, huh?"

“Tougher than you,” Alastor replied with a chuckle.

Another volley. Adam advanced, swinging in reckless arcs. Alastor’s movements remained liquid. He danced between the blows, weaving a pattern too subtle for Adam’s eye to follow.

"You lack discipline," he derided, voice slipping lower, "control..." His smile widened as the shadows coalesced tighter around him. His form flared crimson as he called forth the depths of his power. "And worst of all—"

His voice reverberated deeper, darker.

"—YOU'RE SLOPPY."

A fresh wave of shadow creatures burst forth, tearing toward Adam with frenzied speed. Adam flailed upward, rising through the air beneath their assault.

"And you’re—fuck—fuck you—fuckin’ red piece of—too much fuckin’ red—shut up!" Adam barked between blows, his words unraveling into pure fury.

Alastor seized the moment. A tendril lashed out, snaring Adam midair, slamming him into the blazing hotel sign with a sickening crash.

"Ha ha ha!" Alastor sang. "Poetry!"

Rage burned in Adam’s glare. He rose, guitar humming with energy.

"I’m gonna wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, 'CAUSE RADIO IS FUCKING DEAD!"

How quaint.

Alastor was already stepping forward, then the blast struck. A violent, concussive shockwave ripped across the roof.

When the smoke cleared, Alastor stood rigid. Voice gone flat. His staff, his microphone, lay shattered in his grasp. Splintered. Silent.

For a breath, all the world was still.

Then a single, quiet word slipped past his lips.

"...Fuck."

He had no time to mourn it.

Adam was already descending again, axe raised high, a grin splitting his face.

Instinct seized him. His hands shot upward, open.

Metal met flesh.

The impact sent a jolt through his arms, nearly driving him to his knees, but they held.

He caught the axe between his bare palms. It burned. 

For a single breathless instant, the two souls locked eyes.

Alastor grinned. A thin, strained thing.

Without her soul… that would’ve cut me in two.

He shoved. The force drove Adam back, wings flaring to catch his balance.

Alastor straightened slowly, chest heaving. Fingers trembling.

No staff. No tether. He can’t shred his soul now. ‘And what a waste, the first man's soul… slipping from my grasp.’

His eyes flicked downward. The battlefield was littered with ruin and wreckage, and amidst it, the faint glimmer of white.

An angelic spear.

Ugly. Crude. But necessary.

A bitter taste rose in his throat as he sent his shadow to retrieve it.

Alastor seized the spear, spinning it once to test its weight. Foreign. Inelegant. But it would suffice.

Adam laughed from across the rooftop. "You done jerking off your stick, freak? Let’s finish this."

Alastor’s smile spread. Tight and cold.

"By all means."

He lunged first.

The clash that followed was a blur of amateurish technique backed by overwhelming power.

Alastor lacked the fluid grace he commanded with his magic. A blade was no extension of his will, but strength flowed through his limbs, and he still had the superior footwork.

Adam met him blow for blow.

Steel rang against steel. Sparks danced in the air. Alastor’s form flickered between calculated thrusts and savage, desperate parries.

Each strike drove him closer to the edge. His breath ragged, his coat in tatters. This really wasn't his forte.

Yet still, he pressed on.

He might not be able to broadcast it, but he will hear Adam scream.

Their blades locked near the rooftop’s edge, grinding together in a shriek of metal.

Adam sneered, twisting his axe low. Alastor felt the shift a moment too late.

The blade slipped free, an arc of white-hot pain cleaving across his chest.

At the same instant, Alastor’s spear lunged forward. Driven by rage, by hunger.

The point struck true.

Adam gasped, a choked sound, his eyes wide.

For one frozen moment, they stood locked. Adam’s axe buried deep in Alastor’s ribs, Alastor’s spear thrust into Adam’s gut.

Vaggie crashed through the hotel’s outer wall in a storm of dust and debris, skidding across the floor with a snarl caught in her throat.

Pain pulsed in her ribs, but she didn’t stop. Not yet.

She rolled onto one knee just in time to see Lute barreling through the breach like a falling star.

Vaggie met her with a fierce cry, pivoting low and ramming her shoulder into the angel’s midsection. Momentum and fury carried them both, slamming Lute hard into a different wall.

Before Vaggie could follow through, Lute shot forward, grabbed Vaggie by the collar, and drove her into the floor.

CRACK

Vaggie’s head struck the ground. Once. Twice. Vision swam.

‘No. For Charlie!’

With a snarl, she wrenched her hips, flipping Lute off her, the spear still gripped in calloused hands.

Lute’s wings flared again. She lifted in the air, and in an acrobatic twist, hurled Vaggie against the wall with brutal force.

The world spun.

Before Vaggie could gather her footing, Lute lunged, sword aimed to skewer her where she stood.

Vaggie twisted aside at the last second.

Lute’s blade drove deep into the wall, skewering an angelic feather.

Without hesitation, Vaggie lunged in, spear poised to strike while the angel was pinned—

BOOM!

A blast of holy light erupted above them. A stray shot from Adam. The ceiling tore open, stone and steel cascading downward.

A jagged slab struck Vaggie in the back of the head.

She collapsed, her spear spinning out of reach across the rubble-strewn floor.

Through blurred vision, she saw Lute wrench her blade free.

The angel loomed tall over her, weapon high.

This is it.

Vaggie’s fingers twitched uselessly against the shattered tile.

‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’

A flash of white.

A wild bleat.

Dazzle.

The goat slammed full-force into Lute, horns gouging armor, sending her staggering back.

Vaggie gasped, trying to rise.

Hellfire flared across Dazzle’s form, body expanding, limbs lengthening, shifting.

Dazzle’s head fell to the floor.

Blood dripped from Lute’s blade.

Vaggie screamed.

Adam’s boot slammed into Alastor’s chest, sending him skidding backward across the rooftop. A ragged, staticky hiss tore from his throat as he caught himself, one hand pressing against the gaping wound in his chest.

He gritted his teeth, head snapping up just in time to see Adam rip the angelic spear from his gut with a snarl.

“FUCK!! That fuckin’ HURT, bitch!!” Adam roared, tossing the gold-slicked weapon aside .

“First time in a fight, hmm?” Alastor drawled in a mocking tone. “These things tend to happen. Now, S̵͚̄h̶͎̩̒͛ǘ̸̜̬̓͠t̶͕̋̃ ̷̟̉͠U̵̲̗̇p̷͈͎̈́͂ ̶̺̓̂å̸̛̦̫̄n̴̖̙̲̏̾͌d̶͍͖͕̍̂ ̶̖̀͆͝D̶͕͘ī̵̧̫̭e̶̡͓̓̀!̵͍̀”

With a flick of his wrist, shadowy tendrils snapped upward, seizing chunks of rooftop debris. Three hunks of concrete shot toward Adam in quick succession.

Adam sliced through the first easily, the second with a curse, but the third struck home, sending him stumbling back.

Injured and without his staff, even that paltry display of magic had been taxing. Alastor could feel the strain deepening in his limbs, every motion slower than it should have been. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up.

Adam recovered fast. Too fast. With a furious snarl on that holographic helmet-mask thing, the angel shot toward him like a missile.

Alastor’s fingers twitched. A shadowy tendril lashed out from the hotel’s battered sign, wrapping tight around Adam’s legs mid-flight, slamming him into the ground.

“F-FUCKING DAMMIT!” Adam bellowed, “STOP THAT SHIT, YOU FUCKIN' JAZZ-DOUCHE!”

Alastor’s grin grew predatory, full of confidence he didn't possess.

“Watch your step. Really, you should be more careful, my dear,” he said, sending a dozen shadow minions at him.

With a single, violent swing of his guitar-axe, Adam unleashed a searing wave of holy light, annihilating Alastor’s advancing shadows in a blinding flash. 

“You wanna fight like a little bitch? Fine!” Adam snarled.

He leveled one finger at Alastor, a cruel grin spreading across his face.

A veritable torrent of divine light surged forth.

Alastor barely vaulted aside in time, the blast scorching the rooftop where he’d stood a heartbeat before.

Things were not looking good.

Alastor couldn’t win this by trading ranged blows. His voodoo couldn’t kill Adam, not directly. But Adam’s magic, that could kill him, and easily.

His mind raced.

He needed another angelic spear. Without it, his options were dwindling fast. But even that was a gamble.

Adam, despite the gaping wound in his gut, was moving just fine. Alastor, by contrast, was wheezing now, blood seeping into his coat, shadows flickering weakly at his feet. He lost the last clash of blades, and if this kept up, he wouldn’t survive the next one.

Alastor once again sent his shadow crawling across the battlefield, slithering beneath craters and debris to retrieve another angelic spear.

A flicker of motion snapped his gaze upward.

Just in time to see Adam sneer and strum his guitar emphatically, launching another torrentious hail of radiant beams toward him, most going wide, thank Hell.

Alastor moved.

Left. Right. Leap. Left. Leap. Duck. Shit.

A shadowy tendril whipped around his waist, yanking him clear of the final blast by inches.

A heartbeat later, his shadows returned, coiling up to deliver the looted spear into his waiting hand.

“Finally gonna fight me like a fuckin’ man, edgelord?” Adam sneered, hovering high, eyes burning with disdain.

Alastor’s lips pressed into a thin line, smile brittle with predatory hunger, and though he’ll never admit it, fear. His crimson gaze narrowed to malevolent slits.

“I detest overgrown brutes like you,” he said smoothly, fingers tightening on the spear. “I can’t wait to find out how you T̸̬͓̍ą̸̻͝s̵̲̗͆̾t̵͈̱͑ȩ̴̭̄.”

Alastor surged forward with a snarl, driving the tip of his angelic spear at the space straight between Adam’s eyes.

The angel caught the shaft mid-thrust, hand clamping down with inhuman strength.

With the other, Adam swung his guitar-axe in a brutal arc.

No.

This can’t be how he dies. Not now. Not here.

BAM!

Adam’s head snapped sideways as a fist, Charlie’s fist, smashed into his jaw with staggering force, sending him hurtling across the rooftop in a blur of gold.

The battle was going well, on the ground at least. The cannibals were holding their own, driving the angels back one bloody inch at a time. The only casualty the hotel had suffered so far was Dazzle.

That hurt.

But Charlie would grieve later.

For now, there was still a fight to win.

Which was why she found herself climbing to the roof. The biggest threat tonight had been stray blasts from Adam. And from the glimpses she’d caught between the smoke and chaos, Alastor wasn’t doing so hot. He was ragged. Bloodied.

She crested the rooftop.

Adam caught Alastor’s spear in one hand. His axe lifted high.

She saw red.

The next thing she knew, her fist was slamming into Adam’s face.

Adam sneered.

"Aw, what's wrong? Jazz-Douche needs Lucifer’s bitch to bail him out?"

With a snarl, he lunged at Charlie.

Charlie met the blow head-on, bracing her stance as the axe crashed against her shield with a deafening clang. Golden sparks scattered.

Alastor charged in from the side, but Adam’s backswing caught him mid-step, blocked by the haft of his spear. sending him staggering back. He caught himself on shaking legs, chest heaving, blood streaming from his chest and lips.

Yet still, his grin remained, thin, vicious, and sharp as ever. Charlie would find it unsettling if he wasn't on her side.

Adam turned on him with a growl.

Alastor danced back, ducking under a wild swipe. He sidestepped the next brutal slam then lunged, scoring a golden slash across Adam’s cheek with the edge of his spear.

Charlie rushed in behind him while he was distracted, shield pulled back. She aimed to slam Adam off-balance, but the angel spun suddenly, eyes blazing.

In the blink of an eye, Alastor materialized in front of Charlie, catching the descending blade with the haft of his spear.

Adam growled, twisting his grip. With a vicious hook of his axe’s beard, he dragged the spear downward—jerking Alastor off-balance, then slammed his forehead into Alastor’s face with a sickening CRACK.

Alastor reeled back, blood streaming from a newly broken nose.

He’d been hurt, defending her. Why? Why was she so useless?

‘You’re the Princess of Hell’, she told herself. ‘Act like it!’

With a grim set to her jaw, Charlie raised her arm. Magic flared and a cluster of exploding shots burst from her fingertips in a crackling arc.

The blasts only forced Adam back a step.

"Ooh, fireworks. Very pretty," Adam snarked.

He soared into the air, climbing and climbing. Then, he dove straight for her like a comet.

Charlie braced. She raised her shield, slid one foot back, and sidestepped sharply, narrowly avoiding his charge.

He slammed into the ground beside her, and she struck, pivoting fast to punch her shield into his back.

But Adam twisted, catching the shield with one arm.

With a savage grin, he drove a boot into her chest.

Charlie crashed hard to the ground, air ripped from her lungs.

Charlie lay on the ground, chest heaving as she struggled to get up. She watched Adam walk towards her, towering above as he raised his axe overhead.

As Adam brought the blade down, something wrapped around her waist and dragged her away.

She looked down to see one of Alastor’s black tentacles coiled around her.

Charlie turned around and saw him.

Alastor stood barely upright, one hand clutching his spear like a crutch. His breath came in ragged bursts, blood running freely from a crooked gash across his chest. Red spattered his torn coat. Another line of crimson traced down from his shattered nose, dripping off his chin.

It was the first good look she’d gotten at him since the battle had begun.

He looked bad. Death's door bad.

“Fuckin’ dammit!” Adam shrieked, wheeling around toward them.

“JUST. SIT. STILL!”

He leveled his hand, light flaring at his fingertips.

A blast of searing radiant energy burst forth, streaking toward Alastor.

The Radio Demon tried to move, but he wasn't quite fast enough.

The blast scoured his shoulder.

Alastor hit the ground, and he didn’t get back up.

Charlie’s breath caught.

She shouldn’t have come here. She was just getting in the way. Getting Al hurt.

“Alright, Princess,” Adam drawled, a cruel grin splitting his face. “It’s time to end this.” He began stalking toward her, slow and menacing.

Charlie forced a breath through clenched teeth, steeling her resolve. Her arms shook as she raised her shield.

The gleaming tip of an angelic spear erupted from his chest, slick with golden blood. His swagger vanished as he collapsed to one knee.

Charlie’s heart lurched.

Behind him, Alastor stood, barely upright. His coat hung in tatters, body trembling, one arm outstretched.

Alastor is spent. He’s had to use an inordinate amount of energy protecting Charlie. It’s possible she saved his life earlier, he’s not sure if he would’ve managed to slip away in time, but beyond that she’s been nothing but a hindrance.

That throw took everything he had. His limbs trembled. His vision swam. He knew, without a doubt that if Charlie couldn’t finish Adam now… they were fucked.

And retreat? Impossible. Charlie's deal bound him. He couldn’t flee. Not until the others were safe.

For the first time ever, Alastor found himself wishing, wishing, that Vaggie was the one standing here.

At least she knew how to fight.

Adam still knelt, one hand braced on the rooftop, the other clutching the angelic spear protruding from his chest.

Each ragged breath came out wet.

Charlie slowly inched towards him.

His head lolled. Golden blood smeared his lips. Yet his gaze remained defiant, burning with sheer stubborn hate.

“I’m… fucking Adam… the First Man…” he rasped, voice a hollow echo of its former strength.

He trailed off, swaying slightly.

When Charlie drew close enough, Adam moved.

With startling strength, he surged upright, his fist snapping toward her in a brutal uppercut.

Charlie was knocked on her ass.

Adam materialized his golden guitar axe in both hands. “Fucking die!” he roared as he brought his axe down towards Charlie for a third time.

Alastor tried to rise. His limbs refused. They’re both going to fucking die.

But, almost as if the universe had a sense of humor, Charlie was once again saved at the last moment.

A swirling white portal opened in front of Charlie and a pale, slender hand shot through, catching the blade mid-swing. Effortless, casual.

Adam’s eyes widened. He pulled, once, twice, before the hand clenched.

With a shrieking CRACK! The blade shattered into a thousand gleaming shards..

Alastor blinked through the blood in his eyes.

“Sorry I’m late,” came a familiar voice, laced with amusement.

Lucifer Morningstar stepped fully through the portal, a wicked grin curling his lips.

Alastor should be annoyed, infuriated even, at being saved by Lucifer, of all people. 

And he probably will be. When he has the strength to care.

Right now, though... The only thought circling through the haze of exhaustion was, ‘Everyone’s safe now.’ as he melted into the shadows.