For Martin Carver, it was a day like any other. He woke at precisely five o'clock. He showered for exactly seven and a half minutes (lather, rinse, repeat). He dressed in a perfectly pressed, navy blue suit. Today he selected the red tie. It was a Wednesday.

At exactly five thirty five, Martin ate one cup of Cheerios with one half cup of soy milk (lactose intolerance) and a cup of pure orange juice (no pulp, please) in his apartment's pristine kitchen. His keys, wallet, and morning newspaper were laid in a perfect row on the otherwise immaculate counter. He rinsed his bowl and cup and placed them in the rack. It was five fifty (on the dot) when he grabbed his paper, keys and wallet, along with his briefcase, and headed out the door.

A short subway ride later (fourteen minutes and thirty seven seconds, during which time he poured himself through articles about the republican candidate and the economic stimulus plan), he was unlocking the door to Hudson City's largest privately owned bank. Donahue and Roth sounded more like a law firm to Martin, but he was the bank manager. The bank was extravagant, with an expansive entrance with marble pillars and tiled floors that shined like mirrors, and a wall of flowing water in the back near the brass-inlaid elevator doors.

Six forty five. Charlie, the head of day shift security, greeted him just before shift change. Minutes later (four, to be exact), Lynn, the financial manager, and James, the first of many tellers strolled in. Martin had always liked James. He was always the first teller to arrive.

Martin had paperwork to catch up on, so he was in his office for most of the morning. That was, until this otherwise ordinary day, a day that started out just like any other, suddenly became very, extremely, and absolutely Unordinary.

* * *

The Apostate stood amidst the raging fires of Midian, in a space of broken pavement where the flames had receded around him like an audience in anticipation. He cradled the sleeping Magdelene in one arm, a half-empty grocery bag in the other. He had battled fiend and demon alike. Dodged the swooping imps and mephits. He crossed the river of blood, marched through his broiling city, choking on ash and soot, infant child in care. He stood here finally, his feet now frozen, exhausted and awestruck, staring up at the temple.

It towered over him, ornate and elegant in design, perfect in form and structure, as if the Lord Almighty himself presided therein. And, the Apostate noted, in some ways (the ways that counted) He did.

"You're not meant to go in there, Elijah," said a voice behind him.

A man stood across the street. A man, if you could call him that, though he was no more a man than any of the denizens of this burning plane. He wore a suit of perfect white, with shoes and tie and hat to match. He was clean shaven, perfectly groomed, and smiling. It was the smile that gave him away. The smile and the eyes.

"You've traveled a long way, my old friend," said the Devil, his voice sympathetic. "A long way indeed. But this is not the place for you."

The Apostate could not look the Devil in the eye, and had to instead look at the well polished white shoes instead. "I may be yours later, if I should fail in my Holy duty. This one is His." The Apostate held the cherub in his arms and took a backward step up the front of the temple's magnificent entrance. Magdalen cooed and suckled at a pacifier, feeling warm and safe with a fuller belly than she'd had in days.

He took another step up, and went to turn around, feeling safe. As safe as a child on base during a game of tag. He was on the Lord's ground now, and the Devil could not profane this land, this building, this magnificent edifice to His glory.

"Get thee behind me." The Apostate was terrified, but hoped that his faith would sustain him until he could make it into the safety of the temple. The Devil's taunt needled him - what if it was true? What if this was not the place for him and he was damned? Surely this place would offer sanctuary from the ceaseless taint of Midian.

"You are a poor vessel for this innocent, Elijah," the Devil replied bitterly. His voice lost all sympathy. It rumbled like brimstone. One hand reached out from behind his back. The Devil had long fingers, black at the tips as if dipped in tar. Behind him, a familiar congregation began to collect with avid curiosity. They looked almost hungry.

"Your time has come, Apostate," He continued to smile, though his eyes were filling with an inky, feral blackness. "Your mission here is done. Give her to me and I swear no harm will come to her."

"For you, I'm afraid, I can make no such promise."

"I am my sister's keeper, Opponant. If you could keep your word you wouldn't be here." The Apostate took another cautious step up the white marble staircase. "If I am cast out, I will reckon with you then. The girl is His."

It had taken all of his reserves to converse with the devil. The Apostate turned tail and leaped up the stairs in one massive bound, and ran for the entrance with Magdalen tucked in his massive arm. He was desperate to get her into the Lord's temple before the legion of demons below could get to him.

"I am warning you, mortal!" the Devil shouted from across the street. His patience run out, his rage roiled as abruptly as the city around him. The demons and fiends and wretches of Hell shrieked and howled. Just before the doorway, his hands reaching out to golden-wrought bars to the gates of his temple, the Apostate found his feet frozen.

Behind him, across the street, came a sickening sound. He dared not turn. The man in a white suit was no longer there. What stood in his place was a fearsome abomination. A creature of pure evil. A color of red like the Apostate had never seen washed over him, burning his entire body.

He dared not turn.

"I am Lucifer!" he shrieked in a voice that was beyond human. "Satan! Defiler of Worlds and Eater of Souls! There are places that you can hide from me, Elijah, but you can not hide for long. I will find you! Your time has run out!"

Then, after a breath, he was calmer. It was this calm that disturbed the Apostate more than the fury.

"I am sending Three to claim you. Expect them within the hour."

And the Devil was gone. Without turning, the Apostate knew. There was no flash, no smoke, no eruption of power. He was just gone. But his entourage was not and they pounced forward, racing across the streets, shrieking up the steps behind him.

Panic moved fastest, clawing at The Apostate's face with long spidery legs as he turned, moving without grace of elegance towards the doors of the temple, yelling in terror of hell's imminent agony. He shielded Magdalen with his arms and ran like a man possessed. As the large doors loomed closer, Elijah tucked his head behind his shoulder, and hit the door with a force an ice-breaker would envy.

* * * * *

Spending the night at the police station just seemed to complete her night. Following a fruitless wild-goose-chase through the entire Hudson City, one dismal scene after another, dodging slum and scum and flying glass bottles, trudging for miles on foot through the most dangerous sections of town in the middle of the night, these last seven hours, those she spent with her brother at the Riverside District Police Station were the longest and hardest.

It had been over twenty four hours since she last slept. The last thing she ate was the candy bar Sebastian had swiped from the Kwik-E-Mart at midnight. It was three hours before they were even able to meet with the detective from the church again, Detective Michaels, who wasn't any more helpful at three in the morning than he was the previous evening. They danced around yellow tape, paperwork and bureaucracy all evening, explaining, excusing, pleading and arguing.

At six, they finally met with the suspect. The six foot two, overweight and unkempt man was extremely intoxicated and obviously not the Apostate. He was unfriendly and violent and eager to claim responsibility for a number of crimes that he obviously didn't commit.

A perfect example of police work, it was a fitting end to their evening.

"These people are fools, if they believe that is the man who tossed a car through a church window. I wonder if the Academy is under pressure to produce cadets, or this is the future of law-enforcement in our city. Either case, scares me to no end. Another thing…"

"Dr. DiSantiago?" a familiar woman's voice interrupted him in mid-sentence.

Angered at being cut off, Sebastián turned to face the woman, fury burning in his eyes. Between the long tiring night, and the stress he was feeling through the bond he shared with Phi, it was a full 2 seconds before he recognized his secretary, Samantha. Closing his mouth, biting back the litany of derogatory comments, his gaze passed from her to the garment bag she was carrying with her.

"Samantha, I didn't recognize you at first. You are amazing, you got my message, and brought my change of clothes. You have no idea how badly I need to get out of these things. I've been in them all night, and I would hazard a guess they'd stand up on their own if I let them." Stepping forward, and taking possession of the bag, he turned to Phi "I'll be two minutes, I just need to change really quickly." Without waiting for her reply, he nodded to Samantha, and headed off to the restroom. Five minutes later, he returned, looking to all the world that he'd had a full shower. As he passed the garment bag back to Samantha, he gave her spoke. "OK, so take these to the cleaners, please, and reschedule my appointments for today. There should only be two, so it won't be that difficult."

"Three, actually sir. I'll handle it, don't you worry. Did you need anything else?" her eyes flickered curiously back and forth between Sebastián and his sister.

"No, thank you that will be all. Once you've done that, go ahead and have the phones transferred to our answering service, and take the rest of the day off." With a final nod of dismissal, he put his arm around his sister's shoulders, ushering her along. "I think we should get some breakfast, I know this little place near here. They have the best bacon."

Thankfully, Uncle Angelo had waited to call until they were walking empty handed out of the station's front doors.

"Go back to Bankhurst!" he said with urgency, even before she could get out a greeting. "Donahue and Roth, central branch. There's a silent alarm. If you hurry, you might beat the cops."

An almost blinding red washed over her vision as she listened to her uncle. She wasn't sure what it meant, an omen possibly or something related to Elijah, but she knew it was bad. "We'll be there." She immediately relayed the message mentally to her brother while she flipped her phone open and dialed JACE.

Groaning audibly, Sebastián started walking briskly to his car, thinking back to his sister. {I swear he deliberately is doing this to keep us from eating.} A burst of impishness and playfulness spiked through the bond. {Race you there?}

"JACE...Donahue and Roth, central branch, in Bankhurst. Hurry. Please Hurry. We'll be there as soon as we can."

JACE's head snapped up as his communicator activated. He had just finished a quick meal while he studied a map of the city, plotting out the Apostate's activities and trying to get a likely path of travel for him. It had proven an interesting study, since he had little knowledge of the Apostate's psychology and thus his goals. At Ophilia's words, he stood, wiping his mouth. His GPS plotted the location mentioned quickly and laid out a course. "Of course, Ms. DiSantiago, I'll be there in 1.3 minutes." Even as he spoke, his boot-jets activated and he launched into the air. A quick blast of power-assisted flight got him close, then he continued on normal flight the rest of the way.

* * * * *

Martin Carver had just left his corner, branch-manager's office to cross the lobby. He detoured around the central island of deposit slips and ballpoint pens on chains, and passed by the front door on his way to the desk of Sylvia Plume, financial adviser. She had called in sick today, but Martin needed one of her files.

Why he passed by the south side of the island instead of the north was a random act. But this seemingly inconsequential decision placed all five foot, seven and one half inches, one hundred and eighty two pounds of Martin Carver, resident branch manager directly in the Apostate's path.

At seven twelve AM on a Wednesday morning, a man that might have been nine feet tall and every bit of five hundred pounds barreled abruptly through the plate glass doors of the main, downtown branch of Donahue and Roth. His clothes were stretched or shredded, stained with blood. One arm held a swaddled infant, the other a grocery bag. He stumbled, writhing as if in pain, swinging the contents of his grocery bag like a flail across his own back and shoulders and even face, warding off some invisible affliction.

Martin Carver watched helplessly, haplessly, as the giant plowed over him like a steam roller.

* * * * *

The creatures of Midian were no match for the sanctity of God's house. Their flesh boiled and burst into flames. Their eyeballs erupted from their sockets. Their limbs crumbled into ash. Those that clung to the Apostate were dragged to this end: kicking, shrieking, wailing, scratching. Violently taken from one Hell to another.

The Apostate tore at them as they burned, flinging them from his body until they were no more. They clustered around the jagged glass maw that was the door to this temple, but dared not stretch a finger across the portal. They hissed, snarled. Angry. Hungry. But they stayed.

The temple was pristine white and gold. A grand edifice of polished marble and expansive tile. It was as pure and holy a temple that he ever had the honor of beholding. And, after this night, a most beautiful and welcome sight.

Elijah laughed in joy and relief, while glass shards and blood rained from him in a gentle shower. He fell to his knees, facing the back of the bank, the high altar.

"We made it, little one, we made it." He held the infant, who was quite still, above his head and in front of him in both hands, facing the high altar in the high temple, facing the Lord's earthly throne at it's most pure. Magdalen did not struggle, did not coo, did not kick. She did not breath.

Elijah held her there over his head and a stream of syllables and ululations erupted from his mouth in a fountain of the tongue of Angels. The Holy Spirit filled him, and his hands glowed from an inner light that rapidly grew blindingly bright, emerging from the backs of his hands in a blinding display. Magdalen twitched, and kicked, and squalled, and cried out with the half-voiced cry that newborns have.

The glow spread from Elijah's hands to suffuse his entire body, and when it dimmed he was unscarred, though the glass still fell from his hair in tempered chunks.

He had made it to the high temple, and there redemption waited for him, despite Midian's corruption. It had become defiled, however, not beyond a measure of corruption. And the Apostate felt his duty to cleanse it properly.

Elijah looked at the temple with fresh, tear stained eyes. He wore a smile of relief and serenity, which slid from his face as he looked around the temple. The place was crammed with booths, desks where deals could be done and money could change hands. It was as the Apostles had written it, and the Apostate was here in His stead. He stood and looked around, turning in a slow circle as he saw that there was such irredeemable wickedness in the temple, not even just outside the temple but in it, that he had to act. He was oblivious to the supine, moaning form of Martin Carver at his feet, but was aware of several people eyeing him warily, including a undereager security guard and a woman he would come to know as Lynn.

She appeared at least somewhat matronly, with hair frosted first by a time, then by a salon, and finally by industrial strength hair spray. She was dressed rather conservatively, which inured to her benefit more today than ever before. Elijah needed someone to tend to Magdalen while he worked, and Lynn had just been nominated.

"You there, woman," he said, pointing to her with a very large right hand. "Sit. I need you to tend to Magdalen while I work."

Elijah was enormous, and had just demonstrated tremendous physical capacity, capability, and resilience, and Martin still lay on the ground at his feet. Lynn sat immediately and without a word. He carefully handed Magdalen to the woman, and then scanned about the floor for the contents of the plastic bag he'd entered with. The bag had not survived Panic's assault, and there were diapers, a bottle, and cans of formula scattered around on the floor. He grabbed a bottle and a can of formula with startling speed for a man so large, and handed them to Lynn.

"You know how to feed the babe?" he asked. "She's been without milk for too many hours, I can't say how long. It's so hard to tell time out there while Midian burns." Elijah looked at the broken doors to the bank with grave concern on his face. before looking back at Lynn. She nodded, and held Magdalen closer to herself, protectively.

Elijah turned to the security guard, and his attitude changed considerably. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS OUTRAGE!" he bellowed. He pointed wildly at the bank teller counters, the central island with deposit slips, the tidily cubicled desks where loans were offered or not, the ficus trees and philodendrons and ferns.

The security guard, deeply troubled by the intrusion of this madman onto his bank, looked at Elijah haplessly and shrugged. He had a hand on his gun, but what he had just seen did not impress him as a problem that could be solved with mere gunplay. There was an infant and a super-powered madman. His training said "Be agreeable and wait for backup," and that was what he desperately hoped to do.

Then Elijah finally noticed Martin Carver as he rolled over onto his side and made a vain attempt to sit up. "YOU!" Elijah said. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE?" It was a rhetorical question. Martin Carver treated it like one, and crawled as fast as his battered body would carry him away from Elijah.

"All of this must go," Elijah said, mostly to himself. "The temple does not deserve to be defiled like this. The Lord's glory demands it." He walked to the central island, an elbow high desk with deposit slips and transfer slips and envelopes for money. It had a marble top and a stained wood pediment. Elijah placed himself behind it, and gave it a healthy shove. It rocketed out the front door with a scraping sound and a great splintering of wood as the island struck the threshold and inertia battled loudly with structural integrity. Deposit slips snowed from the sky, and the plastic holders for those slips skittered across the floor.

"That's a good start," Elijah said, turning towards the teller's counter.

He stopped to turn back to Lynn, who was looking very much like she wanted to run like hell. "Stay," he said ominously. Lynn nodded, wide eyed, and kept the bottle fixed on Magdalen's hungry mouth. Satisfied, Elijah returned to his work: freeing the high temple of the money changer's tables.

The air in the bank was filled with the sound of snapping bolts, groaning and splintering oak, and cracking marble. The Apostate made no sound save for grunts of effort and cries of "Hallelujah!" whenever another salvo of bank fixtures was ejected into the street through the massive open doorway. When the teller area went, so went the cash drawers there, and several thousand in cash, in small bills, rained down in the streets. Watching the money rain down, Elijah said to himself with some satisfaction "A man may love God or Mammon. Not both."

He turned to the guard, who had been watching the entire spectacle without drawing his pistol. This was clearly out of his pay range, and something for a SWAT team and an insurance adjuster to work out. This was not a Pinkerton affair.

"You there," Elijah said. "Where is the rest of the money?"

The guard took a step back, and raised his left hand. "Look man, you know I can't tell you that." There were some things he just couldn't do. Help the bank get robbed was one of them. He was in no position to save the day, but he sure wasn't going to help rob the damn place.

"You can and you will. You allowed, no, you protected the moneychangers in my Father's house for how long?" Elijah's right hand had clenched into a fist of whose capabilities the guard very much wanted to remain ignorant.

"Two and a half years."

"Where is the rest of the money."

"I can't tell you that."

"THE MONEY!" Elijah advanced a step and said it again. "THE MONEY! THE MONEY!"

"It's in the safe!" Lynn interjected. She had her hands over Magdalen's ears, but Magdalen was shaking in the startled way that only babies seem to recall how to do.

"The safe?" Elijah asked her, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

Lynn lifted on hand to point in the direction Elijah wanted. "Anything to keep you from yelling like that. You're terrifying your daughter, you know that?" As a loan officer, Lynn had seen what she considered to be much more fearsome than this outsized lunatic.

"She isn't my daughter, but thank you." Elijah turned and walked briskly in the direction of the large walk in safe, eager to see this temple of that which is most holy restored to purity and glory. Lynn cradled the child closer, wondering what tragedy this madman had brought to her.

The street outside the bank rained with coins, bills of every denomination, legal documents, and stored jewelry. It fell like in a technicolor snow on the rubble of the discarded desks, chairs, tables and bank teller drawers that littered the streets. As soon as it was empty, Elijah set himself to the task of removing the bank vault itself, door first, from the bank.

* * *

As JACE drew closer to the bank, he could tell immediately two obvious things. First, that something wasn't at all right. Second, that this was the end of his all-night-goose-chase.

A crowd had started to form, but not yet the police or the press. It was still early. Still recent. No one seemed interested in going in and nothing was coming out. He landed.

The pavement between he and the bank was broken and crushed. Footprints, reminiscent of yesterday morning's church fiasco, were embedded in the asphalt all the way up the steps to where the grand glass doors were smashed completely. Donahue and Roth was beginning to look like a war zone. And it was only going to get worse.

JACE activated his communicator. "Ms. DiSantiago, it would appear almost certain your quarry is here. If you intend to solve this without violence, I would recommend you expedite your arrival. I will content myself with reconnaissance for the moment, but I can't allow him to endanger anyone else."

"We're on our way."

The armored doctor moved closer to the building and activated his suit's scanners to give him a clear picture of the inside of the bank. Although he would prefer to wait until the press arrived to take any dramatic action, he couldn't afford to allow the Apostate to injure anyone further in front of witnesses like this.

His optics displayed on his HUD a scene that didn't make much sense. Inside the main lobby of the bank were all the personnel one would expect to find minutes after opening, each in various stages of station preparation; tellers, managers, financial advisers, security guard. While they didn't appear to be in immediate danger, none of them were doing anything at all -- each one frozen in place, fixated on the peculiar actions of one very large, hulking individual content in wreaking havoc. The Apostate was easy to spot.

JACE stepped neatly out of the way as another enormous piece of bank furniture was hauled through the front door. It sailed over the stairs and smashed to bits in the middle of the street. Traffic had come to a gnarled halt outside. Onlookers were starting to congeal. Money rained around them, though for the brief present, people seemed far too confused to do anything about it.

JACE scowled. It was reaching the point when he would have to do something, with or without the DiSantiagos. Of course, given the obvious power level of the Apostate, his options were limited. He moved down the street slightly, lining himself up with the window that allowed the quickest access to the monster inside.

*****

Both Sebastian and Ophilia were nestled back in the familiarity of their own cars as they headed as quickly as they could to the bank.

Weaving in and out of traffic, Sebastián checked the clock on his radio. He was making fantastic time. He had avoided any long lights, and overzealous police officers. Quickly changing lanes, he avoided running into the back of a car who'd stopped to make a last minute turn. Between that near miss and the anticipation of the upcoming confrontation, his heart was pounding. All of the previous weariness seemed to have left his body just thinking about it. Apostate. They were going to have to take him down, and who knew how they were meant to do that.

*****

The twins pulled up to the bank one after the other. Technically, they pulled up a block and a half away, which was as close as they would be able to get by car, since traffic was jammed in both directions and quickly getting worse with the impending morning rush hour. They rounded the final corner on foot, even as sirens began to whistle their distant approach.

They spotted JACE amongst a fast growing crowd of people, most of them frenzied by a seemingly endless downpour of cash and coin that rained from the shattered front doors of Donahue and Roth. They scarcely had time to react when, suddenly, the gaping mouth of shattered glass burst open even wider and belched out a massive, seven-foot steel disk. Oddly (or perhaps not so much) it resembled a bank vault door as it sailed like a frizbee, trailing remnants of cinder block wall like powdery streamers.

JACE turned just in time.

JACE reacted on instinct. He couldn't allow the door to smash into the crowd of people, no matter how base and ridiculous their thievery was. Uncertain his energy blast would have sufficient strength to deflect the door, he sprang into action. The forcefield around his suit crackled into life and he channeled maximum power into it, putting a serious drain on his power reserves. He channeled his offensive power into his melee enhancement, giving him greater physical strength. Even as his jets fired, his brilliant mind calculated the precise point in the door's trajectory he needed to intercept it.

Even with his forcefield up, the impact was crushing. Several warning lights flashed in his HUD and pain flared in the armored doctor's chest. Still, his calculations were correct and his forcefield and armor prevented any serious injury as he hit the door from below, driving it up and over the crowd until he was able to stabilize its flight. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his arms, he returned to the street, placing the bent door on the ground. JACE really hoped some news crews were able to film that. He would hate to have done it for nothing.

"Ms. DiSantiago, I hope you have arrived," the armored hero said through his communicator. "Our quarry has become very dangerous to the gathered crowd. He needs to be stopped now. If you aren't here, I'm going to have to go in after him before he kills someone on television."

"We're here." Ophilia's voice was flat as she and her brother joined JACE at the scene. She took a deep breath and began hurrying up the extravagant stone stairway towards the once lavish bank. She could feel Sebastian bristle behind her and knew that he wouldn't let her go alone. To anyone else, she most certainly looked insane as she hustled up the stairs without any obvious concern for her own welfare.

Standing for the briefest moments, Sebastián took the scene in. People scrambling for money, the front of the bank destroyed, what looked to be a bank vault door being set down by JACE. What the hell was he doing here? He was a psychiatrist, not some hero. Glancing around, to try to talk some sense into Phi, he realized that during his short hesitation, she had started up the stairs heading towards the bank. Swearing in spanish, he hurried after her.

JACE watched the two DiSantiagos approach the bank. Unwilling to let them go in alone in front of a crowd, probably with news cameras, he walked quickly over to them. "Be aware, there are a number of civilians in the bank. If this turns into a pitched battle, they will be in danger. I can tunnel and get some of them out, or fly them out, but it will take time." He stayed beside them, armor ready and forcefield activated.

His offer fell on deaf ears, however, as the twins hurried up the steps.

*****

"He's going to need a doctor..." James murmured, keeping a watchful eye on the giant. He was kneeling carefully over Martin, checking his pulse and breathing every so often. Once upon a time, James had been a lifeguard. Those skills were now rusty and faded.

The woman who sat next to him was a customer. Miss Jennifer Balmer, said the signature on her cashed checks. He could remember that, but not the basics of CPR. How funny is the human memory.

"Huh?" mumbled Jennifer Balmer. Her petite frame shook like a leaf. She was staring, eyes wide, at the giant, terror in her every expression as if she fully expected to die in the bank this very mundane Wednesday morning.

"I think his back is broken..." James explained.

"Who is he?" whispered Jennifer.

"Martin? He's the bank manager..."

"No, him!"

"I have no idea..."

Jennifer twitched, shivering as if it were forty below. "Why isn't the guard doing anything?"

James looked at her. "Like what?"

She turned back to him, eyes even wider if it were possible. She was incredulous. "I don't know!" Her hand waved wildly. "Shoot him!?"

James and Jennifer both turned back to where the nine-foot, five hundred pound giant was striding across the bank lobby, carrying cash registers in each hand like they were softballs.

Without turning, James managed: "What if he missed?"

*****

The Apostate had busied himself with the cleansing of the temple with such focus that he had lost all track of time. Before he knew it, he found himself standing in the grand nave before the chancel, wielding a heavy money changer in each hand, when movement through the front doors caught his attention.

Beyond the threshold, Midian continued to burn, fires dancing a taunt, lighting up the streets with conflagration and darkening the sky with ash. But there were streaks there, too. Behind the teaming mass of demons and fiends, imps and gremlins. Colors rich with sin made their approach.

The words rang hollow in his ears. I am sending three to claim you.

While the Apostate knew that his time had drawn to a close in this place and final judgment was nigh for him, there was another soul in his charge that he could not dismiss. The Devil wanted her, too. Magdalene was still in the hands of a mortal when three greater demons ascended the temple steps.

The first to break the seal was a terrible abomination. He was lithe and quick, with talons for hands and razors for teeth. Great black horns curled back from his head. Where he walked, footprints of acid etched the sacred marble floor.

Close behind him crept the second. Her true wickedness was no doubt masked behind her more benign, hauntingly attractive physical appearance. A ploy, the Apostate had no doubt: trickery of the Devil to send a Succubus.

The last of the three ascended the steps with purpose. He was armored in a chitinous, obsidian shell, adorned with wicked spikes and chains. Fire spilled from between the plates and his eyes burned an abyssal red. He was full of power and sin and he had come here to reap the Devil's work. He would not be easily banished.

No! The Apostate stopped in mid stride. One of the giant cash machines tumbled to the floor. Too early! They're too early!

"I need more time!" He barked, backing up, eyes wide and fixed on the advancing trio of Demons. "More time! MORE TIME!"

Lynn grew nervous as the giant neared to her desk. She guarded the baby to her chest, but when that massive hand reached out towards her she almost yelped.

"Give me the child," he ordered sideways to her, still not tearing his eyes from the doorway. She hesitated. A mistake.

"THE CHILD!" he whirled, eyes wild. "GIVE ME THE CHILD!" Lynn was powerless to resist and laid the infant into the open palm. She regretted it instantly.

"You!" the giant whirled on the security guard. "Remove these Heretics from my father's house at once!"

Charlie just stared. "Say what?"

The Apostate was growing weary of repeating himself. Yet he held his temper for a moment longer. "Your people. These thieves and liars and hypocrites. Remove them from this holy place, and do it quickly. Or I will."

Entering the bank was almost like crossing into another world. On the streets, the people scrambled and grabbed for the fluttering paper, knocking one another over in their greed. In the bank, everyone was huddled behind something, and quiet as church mice. Sebastián took the scene in as quickly as he was able, recognizing their quarry immediately, and forming a plan of attack in his head.

Glass crunched under Ophilia's heals as she ascended the last of the steps. She stopped abruptly before walking over the shattered threshold, and her eyes went wide when she took in Elijah's tormented form. Even from where she stood she could feel the wash of his demented mind flood over her. She swallowed hard as her hand came up to hold her heart, trying to force her labored breathing and her overly stressed heart back under her control.

The mentalist could hear the sound of JACE, right on her heals, and was comforted to have Sebastian standing in front of her. It was a little bit late, but the realization that being here with the intention of standing The Apostate down, was an inane one, finally caught up to her. She reached out forcibly with her mind, looking for a tangible thread of Elijah's sanity and called out to him. "Elijah! It's me. Ophilia. I need you to calm down, and Come With Me." It wasn't lost on her that there was a bank full of hostages and that she was a recognizable figure. Even though she was doing everything that she could to cloak her powers, there would be ample room for things to go very wrong for her right now.

This had been Phi's plan all night. Get her to Elijah, and she could calm him down. While Sebastián had complete faith in his sister, he also knew that back-up plans were essential in life. Casually walking over to JACE, he placed his hand on the armored shoulder and whispered "This will slow time down for you, making you react abit faster to things. It isn't very delicate on your body, so fighting will be a bit more taxing than you are used to. I personally think it well worth the price." His voice sounded calm, but JACE could feel his hand shaking slightly. Either he was pumped full of adrenaline, or scared out of his mind. Mayhap even a combination of both. The entire time he spoke, Sebastián's focus was on Apostate and his sister, ready to do react if things went badly.

JACE looked around, fascinated, as things around him seemed to slow down. He understood that the subjective nature of perception was affecting what he saw, it was similar to the reaction enhancers in his suit. He wondered exactly how the ability worked, and if it would interfere in any way with the function of his suit. Unfortunately, he didn't have his recording devices installed. That would make it hard to study the phenomena later. Perhaps he would be able to access the bank security systems.

Even as his mind considered the time dilation effect, JACE moved towards the civilians. Hopefully he could see a way to get them out of the bank. Rescuing hostages always looked good on the news. He considered the exits available, looking for one or more out of which he could usher the people. He kept himself between the Apostate and the people, ready to heroically protect them if necessary.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. The Apostate -- now a man who towered almost to the ceiling, whose shoulders were squared off like a bulldozer, whose arms were almost two feet thick at the bicep -- this new hulk stood in the center of the ruined bank, breathing heavily. His shirt was in tatters and bloodied, the same color which stained his pant leg and shoes. In one massive arm he held a tiny infant, swaddled in a dirty gray hooded sweatshirt. In the other hand he palmed an ATM, easily several hundred pounds. Behind him was an audience, paralyzed with fear and confusion. They shuffled, scurried -- anxious, uncertain -- but the Apostate was no longer concerned.

Strangely, the fact that concerned Ophilia the most was that she was unable to touch even a shred of the Elijah she once knew. If he was in there, he was buried deep.

"Get thee back from this place, foul spawn," he commanded. His voice was calm. Even. Despite all appearances, he spoke like a man in complete control of his faculties. He spoke with an almost unnerving conviction. "Flee this Temple, or I will smite you three where you stand and send you back where you came from, so help me."

Upon realizing that Elijah was completely lost in his madness, Ophilia's decision became clear. She reached deep within herself, past the exhaustion and fear, and pulled upon her raw will. With a burst of concentration she pushed her will into his mind, with a single command. "Put down the machine."

ooc: To Be Continued...