Page 105 of Which Witch is Willing?
It was who stood with them.
Sir Norman Barriston and his cadre of students, swords drawn, and patchwork armor clad. His elegant wife stood next to him clutching a cleaver from her kitchen.
Tacklebox, er Sunny—obviously not worried about being stabbed if all the piercings in her body were aught to go by— was armed with a chainsaw she’d pilfered from their shed. She revved it often and chortled manically, but Aerin sensed the fear beneath her bravado.
Uncle Sal, Mookey, Red, and Little Earl were armed to the teeth with enough firepower to give John Wick wet dreams.
These brave souls had gathered to buy them the time they needed to work their magic.
The Star of the Morning looked as she should, a woman of astonishing beauty. Tall, blond, and almost skeletally thin, her dark eyes as soulless and unfeeling as her farcical smile. She wore a robe not unlike theirs. Black, of course, just to avoid any confusion as to what anyone’s powers were, Aerin guessed.
She held a staff topped with labradorite, and it swirled with dark power as she opened her arms as if to welcome them to the apocalypse. “Don’t mind me, ladies, you’re here to end the world. I’m only here make certain you don’t do something stupid. Like save it.”
Claire notched up her chin. “We’ll end you first.”
“How many times must I tell you, you cannot,” Lucifer scoffed. “I am eternal. I am fed by the dark and I am—”
“Eat glass, devil barbie,” Aerin interrupted, all mature and stuff, before she held her wand to the sky, evoking bright forks of lightning. Her robes stirred in the summoning wind. “You are nothing but the archaic evil leftover of some long-forgotten vengeful God who’s been twisted through time to be a monotheistic ass weasel. You’re sloppy seconds. Old news. Yesterday’s bullshit. And you’re about to fall. Again.”
“Yeah!” Sunny yelled over the loud idle of her weapon’s motor.
“En garde, Beelzebub,” Norman dropped into a fighting stance, his hand in the air behind him as his brave charges did the same.
Drawing her palm over the stone in her staff three times, the devil conjured something like a projection onto the blazing sunset. “Whatever happens here, whatever battle you think you might fight, it won’t matter. The world is imploding. You’ve already lost.” Images of global devastation flashed above them. Crumbling pyramids, cities ablaze, people fleeing in fear.
“No,” Moira said gently, her voice somehow clear above the din. “We haven’t lost.” She pointed her wand and summoned a skein of water over part of the image, using it as a magnifying glass. There, in a throng of terrified refugees, people were lifting those who had fallen. They heaved the wounded onto their backs and carried children who did not belong to them. Witches the world over stood against the onslaught of disaster. Calming the fires and holding back walls of flood water so others could escape with their lives.
“Women—witches—know that they shouldn’t take power from each other,” Tierra addressed the opposing coven. “They should give. They should lift. They should empower. Because this still exists in the world, it means Lucifer has lost already.” She lifted her wand and the world began to shake. “We’re just here to finish the job.”
Lucifer’s laugh raised every hair on Aerin’s body. “Say your little spells if you must,” she cackled unleashing whatever chains held back her minions. “You won’t leave those stones alive.”
50
Nothing Aerin had seen on HBO could have prepared her for the sight of what Lucifer unleashed. The army of the undead advanced, their weapons often rudimentary, but no less terrifying for it. Machetes, axes, pipes, and even pistols—for those few who had tendons and fingers left.
She learned that too late, as one of Norman’s students fell to a bullet before someone could hack off the gun arm.
The horsemen spurred their mounts, launching into the fray, their weapons cutting down entire swaths of undead not unlike those monstrous harvest machines chewed through fields of wheat.
The coven wove wards against the magic of their lost sisters, slowing Lucifer’s advance.
Aerin looked to the left and the right of her as she and her sisters shared a moment of hesitation. They had to cast together to break the final seal. They had to end this, so they could mend it.
Moira breathed in and reached for her hand, “I am the storm of the sea,” she began.
Claire’s hand slid into the other side, clenching it tight. “I am the dance of the flame.”
Aerin drew from their bravery, glowing with love. “I am the breath of the sky.”
Tiera completed their chain, creating an unbreakable bond. “I am the heart of the earth.”
They all said, “Through me the prophecy is fulfilled.”
Four times, they chanted the words together.I am the storm of the sea.
Clouds gathered in the south, rolling and climbing over each other, clashing with lightning and thunder. Ice and hail pelted at the battle sharp and devastating, taking several of the undead out of the fray.
And elsewhere it was shown that storm surges overflowed their banks. Rivers redirected and floods swelled to encompass monuments to past invasions and surrenders, victories and defeats. Piles of trash that had been thrown into the sea were belched back up.
