93 | THE SURGE

***MARI***

“This is insanity,” One of the older Trix mutter under their breath, eyes wide at the sight of the swirling gate before us. A literal gate to Hell, the black-bared entrance is wide open. One of the Shadow bars lays on the ground, a sickening greyish-purple puddle spreading out from the thing like one giant amoeba.

Behind us, the battle of *Śūra* Reapers with possessed creatures, rages with a building ferocity, just beyond the chain-link fence of the destroyed warehouse.

“That’s not…” A Reaper begins, nodding at the bubbling Shadow bars. “Natural.” The Reaper is pale, despite the glowing runes on their exposed skin, drawn out of *luxor* for protection. My own bubble of magic shielding me from the tendrils of invisible demonic energy feels like a bug zapper in the middle of a swarm of flies. The Śūra are keeping the majority of the possessed creatures from stopping us, but I can sense their waning strength. It was a struggle to get here, and now we must make the sacrifices worth it by closing the rift.

“Natural or not,” I tell them, opening my bag - still hanging off one shoulder. “We must seal the Gate before the damage is irreparable.” The bottles I need begin floating from my bag to hover in the air as I conjure them from my home in Tejas. We’re a long way from home, but the connection is strong here, out on the torn up lay line. Magic crackles in the air, making the chill of January feel more like a summer afternoon in my hometown rather than what it should feel like this far north.

“It’s going to take a massive amount of power to seal this up, Mari,” The youngest Trix tells me, his normally passive nature flickering to expose the terror and hesitation I know lays beneath.

“That’s why we must hurry. And why we have help.” I tell Obie, nodding at the five Reapers I know he can see. All Death Magicians can see the beings with even the smallest hints of Death essence in them. Even the supposedly invisible Reapers.

“What do you need us to do, witch?” The oldest Reaper asks, her classic Nordic features giving away her age more easily than the patterns of the war tattoos on her face or the clothing she wears. This one I know, only by reputation. Blair, the fallen Valkyrie, *Ghost* to her Reaper comrades. I can sense her aura, the connection to Death she possess, and the undeniable Magic of an ancient bloodline coursing through her.

It’s part of the reason she’s been called here. And her other four comrades. All of them are from incredibly strong bloodlines of four other kins of supernatural creatures. An incubus, Grim, Tutela, and the last…though her immediate signature is that of a freshly-made Reaper, there’s an underlying current of something more potent than even the Magic I possess. The daughter of Death. When she’s fully trained, I have no doubt she’ll one-day become an Ancient, or perhaps take over the role of Death itself.

With the seven fully-trained Trix family of Death Magicians, the oldest line of Dark Magic users in the country, along with the formidable line-up of the Reapers, I have every confidence that we can close and seal the Hellgate. Thirteen of us in total. The size of a witch Clan, and the diverse powers here, it should be done fairly quickly…

However, something about the tear in the Hellgate is bothering me. There’s a flimsy feel to time, for some reason, and a vague scent of apple pie in the air. A familiar energy that has me recalling the face of a young, yet powerful, hybrid in a town to the northeast. Perhaps this isn’t as it seems either.

“Everyone, please gather around the gate,” I instruct, shaking off the worry of my intuition. There’s no time to convene with the Ancients or try to contact the hybrid right now. The sounds of Hell are starting to leak through the rip in the veil. Shrieks echo from the distance, screeching like that of creatures not seen on this plane of existence in millennia soon follow.

The powerful, freshly-made Reaper, pales under her tan, eyes widening with horror and recognition. She jumps to attention almost immediately at my words, dragging the incubus after her and muttering under her breath about Hell on earth. The Trix follow my directions as well, humming chants or making patterned hand-signs to conjure up their magic. The remaining three Reapers spread out beside their comrades and soon, the circle is formed around the Hellgate.

By now, heat has begun to pulsate from the broken bars. Not the typical heat you’d feel from the sun or even a campfire, this heat is saturated with pain. It feels like a live entity, curling around any piece of unguarded goodness and draining it dry. All plant life around the immediate area begins to wither, the ashen darkness of their crumbling leaves and branches twisting as if scorched by a fire.

“Hurry!” Blair yells at me as I continue to weave bottles from my bag and begin my chant to create the barrier. Bottles and vials uncork midair according to my bidding, Magical energy from the Trix flowing to me as I work our combined power into the spell work.

“Shadow next, Tutela.” I call to the man standing beside the Grim. He nods to me, darkness stretching from him to join the mass of swirling blue created by the spell above the Hellgate. “More!” I call to him, shouting to be heard as the cries and screams from the now yawning abyss of Hell reaches new and terrifying volumes. The Tutela grits his teeth, closing his eyes and straining to conjure more of the ancient material from within himself.

“Runes, Reapers!” I order, briefly, breaking mid-chant to direct the words at the remaining four Reapers. On my command, the four hold up various tools, all glowing with energy from their souls, to inscribe the archaic language into the air. With all the energy rippling around us, the symbols are visible, floating into the spell as if they are smoke rings being sucked through an air current. The colors range from nuclear green, burning white, blood red, and raging gold - each from a different Reaper.

The Hellgate begins to tremble, shapes now taking form in the distance of the swirling darkness. The corporeal forms of demons, hulking and twisted, begin to materialize, becoming more solid as time drags. One of the Reapers starts cursing, the Descendant of Death, and the glow of her runes begins to burn brighter as she subconsciously puts more power into the symbols.

Forcing my focus on the words I’m chanting, I call up more energy, sensing the tear in reality warping - and growing - instead of knitting itself back together like the spell dictates. On my left, the Trix speed up their chanting, adding more of their strength and power into the mix. The flare of the Dark Magic begins to strain the spell work.

“Shadow!” I manage to yell as the heady surge of Magic spikes through me. Luckily, the Tutela seems to hear me, and increases the amount of Shadow he’s still weaving into the spell. The Dark Magic is now interlaced with runes and Shadow, the newly formed Hellgate slowly settling and solidifying - just as the first line of demons press through the last layer of the veil.

Pressure builds against the back of my eyes, and I shut them, switching mid-chant to the Latin version of the spell to help combat the demonic energy and increase the output of my own power. The tips of my fingers begin to numb, heating to unbearable heights, and still, I continue to coax signs through them. Even as I sway on my feet, the pressure in my head building from the force I’m exerting and channeling.

*They can’t get out. The demons must remain in Hell. They cannot be allowed to roam the earth in their corporeal forms, it would spell the end of times for everyone on this side of the cosmos*. I strain under the weight and seductive pull of Dark Magic, putting only what’s necessary into the spell and easing back as I feel the Trix fall under the thrall of temptation. Firey red burns behind my eyelids as the spell changes.

My arms tremble with power and the intoxicating flow of Dark Magic.

“Mari!” Blair yells to me, my eyes snap open, and I catch the bright flare of Magic closing over the freshly-reformed Hellgate…and the excess now pulsing off of the surrounding threads of time. The chords should not be visible, their elongated shapes pulsing like heat waves in the air around the Gate.

With a great effort, I draw back my power and shut off the connection to the other Trix witches…who’re still weaving their signs and chanting as if we’re in the middle of our spell. The moment I turn the connection off, a surge of power spikes, the pressure in my mind building, and now thrumming with the excess still coating the air.

“Enough!” I warn the other witches, but the Magic has them, their very souls fading from their wide-open violet eyes - now burning bright red. The remaining purity of their magic now burned away from their excess of power.

“Wh-what’s happening?” A Reaper screams over their chanting. The non-magical practitioners suddenly fall to their knees under the weight of the next pulse of energy. A sound like iron against iron clangs from the still closed Hellgate. A fresh crack zinging up the side of one pillar. I let out a string of curses and quickly begin weaving a counter spell, attempting to channel the excess power into strengthening the wards on the Shadow Gate.

“M-Mari!” Obie breaks through the allure of the Magic and starts to join me in my signs, his once-violet eyes burning red with the Darkness of a fallen Death Magician like the rest of his family. But unlike them, his will must be as strong as mine.

“Use their names, Obie!” I call to the Magician. As all witches are aware, our true names hold power over our souls and Magic, a built-in precaution to help control us if something like this were to ever happen. Since we’re the strongest of the channeling supernaturals who can control forces of Life and Death, it seems to be a necessity. For good reason. Obie is kin to all the Trix, and knows their whole names, it’s why I brought them with me to this Hellgate, and not my own - even if they are the oldest family in the country. We needed the reassurance that this kind of possibility could be stopped.

Obie stops his signs and begins chanting under his breath, closing his eyes and making completely different gestures - just as the ground around us begins to tremble.

Death Magic from the six Trix still overcome by their Magic is beginning to feel a lot like Necromancy. Horror at the possibility of this makes my spell falter, and another crack breaks through the other side of the pillar on the Hellgate. I force my focus back on mending the break, even as corpses begin to spring from the ground.

A resounding shout of the full Trix name echoes through the Magic, cutting off the Necromancer spell and releasing the building power with the sound of a too-loud-thunderclap. The surge of Magic throws everyone in the immediate vicinity back several yards, and the Hellgate fades back out of existence, leaving only scorch marks behind and the faint odor of ozone and sulfur in its wake.