Illya and the creature had been locked in a war of wills, of sorcery and power. Till the writhing mass felt its blood run hot, it’s time within the plane destroyed by the tiny golden flame that burned brightly. Next to the host was a human, dark and knowing of the evil that men are capable of and yet still within him he saw hope and felt the numbness of being taking into the void where neither time nor space would hold the fell creature.

It felt it’s essence hurled back across the black abyss and withered in the brunt of such true hope and love. It howled yet on this plane as the sky’s closed over the abomination, human ears heard only the keening of the wind.

Lost souls blinked back from unshed tears as they came to awareness around the glade, the Professor lying on his side, blood and foam frothed from his mouth and his eyes wild with unreadable fear. Holden approached the stricken man, incoherent words streamed from McKeigh’s mouth as he screamed and thrashed. With all the compassion he could must Holden hit him once, knocking him senseless until the medics could arrive.

Illya felt the sod of wet and cold earth beneath his knees as the entity entreated him to stand. Ariadne cringed on the edge of the forest as his eyes blazed again.

“Foolish child.” The entity spoke. “Your desire to control has driven you from this plane and from your true master’s heart. Get thee hence to endless night!” the voice grew sad as he raised a hand to her. Within a moment her body became rigid, like a clay clod corpse transfixed by the wrath of God.

Napoleon bowed on the ground and felt a cool hand against his shoulder rising him to stand as Waverly and Babushka looked on entranced.

“Well my old friend.” The entity spoke.

“Milord.” Lovecraft's true voice issued from Napoleon.

“Again you have seen to give aid to rid the world of foul beasts.”

“Have I yet paid my penance Michael?” Lovecraft asked.

“Yes my friend, come now, I have a light to show you that will never fade.” The entity spoke and with a passing caress on their souls both Illya and Napoleon were freed from their guests and left to shudder at the loss.

“Michael?” Napoleon asked.

“Of the heavenly hosts.” Babushka answered. “You know the names Napoleon, Gabriel, Uriel, Raphael and Michael.”

“Archangels.” Napoleon said in wonderment as his hand caressed the side of Illya’s face drawing the shuddering body towards his chest and clinging, heedless of the light rain and eyes upon them.

“You sound surprised Napoleon.” Babushka answered, “My milok has always been a heavenly babe, and now he does his line proud.”

“Line?” Napoleon arched an eyebrow and looked down as Illya blushed under the intense gaze.

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