"YOU GOT..." Molly trailed off, leaning over the board to inspect the dice she had just tossed forward. "Five."
"You're cheating!" Michael protested frustratedly, pointing his index finger against the glass pane of his mirror, still unable to cross through it.
"I have God on my side," she smirked sassily, taking the small metal car he had claimed was his piece and moving it forward five places, landing straight on the 'Go to Jail' section. She let out a sympathetic 'awe', pretending to feel sorry for him. "Hard luck, Michael!"
She lifted his little car straight across the board and settled it onto the 'Jail' picture.
The two had taken to playing Monopoly on a particularly extended dream session, to pass the time if nothing else. But as Michael was unable to cross into her room, and Molly wouldn't trust him enough to go to his, the game was mainly played by herself, who would move the pieces for him according to his direction.
"I can't even see the dice! How am I supposed to believe you!" He continued angrily, throwing his hands into the air like a child before crossing them over his chest.
"I think lying goes against my entire existence," she rolled her eyes in amusement. This wasn't the first of his flip-outs since their game started. Little did he know, that Molly had been playing the game with the girls at the academy since she arrived at the age of six. She wasn't only experienced, but a master.
To her surprise, Michael admitted he had never played it. His grandmother believed she was too old to engage in 'silly games'.
"I'm not playing any more," he huffed, looking away from the mirror.
"Oh, come on!" She whined, shuffling forward with a chuckle and shoving the board to the side. "But I'm winning!"
"Only because you're cheating!" He shouted back stubbornly, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at her.
"You know, for the antichrist you really are a giant child," she shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well I'm legally eight, so that's no surprise," he scoffed.
"Oh my god," she gasped quietly, suddenly interested in his ramblings. "You're eight?"
"Yeah, but I've been aged by my experiences," he nodded seriously, and Molly stifled a chuckle. It suddenly all began to make sense to her.
"But I'm eight!" She revealed, an undertone of excitement in her voice. His aloof demeanour faltered slightly.
"Really?" He asked, visibly relaxing. "So it happened to you as well?"
"Yeah, I guess," she nodded, "one day I was seven. The next, I wake up and I look about a decade older."
"That happened to me too," his eyes were curiously wide, regarding upon her closely as if inspecting to see if she still held any childish qualities. "My grandma got quite the scare."
"I wonder why it happened," she mused, "maybe you aged because I did? Or vice versa? Or the great fight needed to happen sooner? Delia couldn't figure it-" she cut herself off at the mention of her former guardian, inwardly cursing herself.
"Delia?" He questioned, not overlooking it as she wished he would have.
"The... headmistress, at the orphanage I lived at," she elaborated. He nodded, seeming to understand, what confused her was that he looked slightly saddened by the idea she grew up in such a place. Even he wasn't immune to the horror stories about children who grew up in such places. But Molly wasn't one of them.
Of course, she couldn't tell him the truth. That she lived with a coven of witches in an academy.
"You've met my grandma haven't you?" He asked out of the blue, his usual playful demeanour shrinking to a shy one.
"Yes, why?"
"Does she... does she ever mention me? Or anything?"
Molly's breathing hitched slightly at his question. Of course, Constance had mentioned Michael rather often. But never with a kind word or a reminiscent smile, which is exactly what he wanted to hear. She debated with herself on whether or not she should tell him that yes, his grandmother thinks of him and hates his guts. Or answer no, tell him Constance hasn't mentioned him.
She decided to withhold the truth, and realised that she had contradicted herself in saying 'lying went against her very existence', because it was all she seemed to do around Michael.
"I haven't spoken to her much," she answered finally, "so, no. Sorry."
"Okay," he nodded, allowing his expression to falter for a second before hardening up again instantly. "Oh well, I have my Ms Mead now anyways. She was a better mother to me than Constance ever was."
Molly stayed silent, for she didn't have anything nice to say about the Satanic-worshipping woman, and therefore wouldn't say anything.
"The satanist is a better woman than the Christian, how about that?" He smirked, teasing her now.
"Just because Constance says she is a Christian does not make her good, she will still go to Hell for her previous actions."
"Well the entry to Heaven is so exclusive these days, I'm shocked anyone gets to make it."
"The world has become a dark place," Molly concluded, with a grim expression.
"So don't you think it's time to wipe the slate clean?" He grinned wickedly.
"If you mean by getting rid of the devil's grip on the world, then yes," she challenged. He stared at her for a moment, brown eyes meeting blue and holding. She could have quivered under the intensity of his gaze, and reminded herself again that there was great irony in the son of Satan being born as the most handsome man she had ever seen.
He was entirely alluring.
"No need to be so dramatic, Christ," he let out a sudden laugh, his tenseness fading away. Out of boredom, he picked up the small ball he often played with, and threw it forward towards the mirror.
They both expected it to bounce off the glass, straight back into his lap, but to both of their shock it travelled straight through. The ball landing somewhere behind her.
They stared at each other again, full of surprise and wonder, before the corner of his mouth lifted up.
"Well, how about that. Your barrier is starting to crumble."
♱
"Where is our little devil?" Samantha beamed excitedly, practically jumping on the spot as she scrambled past Mead to get inside of her house. She looked all around her, hoping to catch another glimpse of the saviour.
Anton smiled politely, and instead waited for permission to enter. Although, Mead didn't miss the way his eyes scanned the room for any sign Michael was here, too.
"He's not here, he's off frolicking," she explained with a wave of her hand, heading off towards the dining table to sit down, gesturing for them to follow. "Which is exactly why I've called you here."
"What is it, Miriam?" Anton asked, getting straight to the point as he sat down across from her, next to Samantha. "Is there a problem?"
"Yes," her eyes narrowed, clasping her hands together. "And it's a big one, the size of a teenage girl."
"Ah," Samantha raised her eyebrows, the ever present smile on her lips growing. "Has our little antichrist found a girl to lay with?"
"I wish," Mead snorted, considering Michael's sexuality to be the least of her problems. "It seems our greatest enemy has come packing a weapon with a punch. And it poses a problem."
"Our greatest enemy," Anton repeated, pondering. "As in, the police?"
"Worse," she rolled her eyes, practically spitting the word. "Christians."
At this revelation, he barked a laugh, and it wasn't long before Samantha was snorting beside him.
"What could the Christians possibly have that would worry us? Bible bashers?" He joked, barking out another laugh.
"Honestly, Miriam," Samantha cooed, "you're a comedian."
"How about the second coming of Christ?" She spoke louder, cutting off their laughter as she tensed in frustration from their amusement. Their smiles faded slowly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as a result.
"Christ?" Anton echoed.
"Christ," she confirmed. "And it's not a thirty-something man in the Middle East, it's a plucky little teenage girl who can do a lot more than change water into wine."
"How powerful are we talking?" Samantha enquired, turning serious, as she always did when the situation called for it.
"I'd say, judging by the amount of times they've tried to kill each other and both failing, they're pretty evenly set," she let out an angry sigh, resenting the Christian God for his 'gift' to the world.
"It's nothing we cannot handle," Anton nodded, appearing confident with himself. "She'll be expecting you or Michael, she won't jump to defend herself against us."
"You read my mind," Miriam chuckled evilly. She could see as each day passed, the less passionate Michael became about killing her. A sure sign that the two were meeting in private, somewhere and sometime.
♱
"So, you're having trouble killing the Antichrist," Ben began, his notepad out and a pen poised to take notes.
His patient for today, for a change, was a live one. A restless Molly Cromwell lay down on the couch opposite Ben, who was to be her appointed psychologist today. It was by his own suggestion, when the others in the house were beginning to speculate why Michael was still alive and walking.
"Yes," she sighed, clapping her palm over her forehead exasperatedly.
"Is he... stronger? Or?" Ben trailed off, already at a loss before their session had even truly begun. Molly was a unique patient, in that she was quite literally a child of God himself. He was treading carefully with his questions, this feeling totally foreign to him.
"No," she denied quickly, eyebrows furrowing in offence. "He's not stronger."
"Then why can't you kill him?"
"I just..." she stopped, flopping her hand down and sitting up abruptly, appearing mildly distressed as she rested her elbows on her thighs and avoided his eyes. "I've never killed anyone before."
"Surely this should feel different? You were born for this."
"Okay, well it doesn't, alright?" She snapped, anxiously fiddling with the ends of her hair. "It doesn't feel different. The more we talk the less I'm convinced he's entirely evil, and the more human he becomes in my eyes."
"Ah," Ben spoke, nodding his head. "You don't want to kill him."
"No," she admitted, entirely shamed by her revelation.
"That's perfectly natural," he reasoned, "in your eyes, Michael's just another teenager with psychopathic tendencies. I thought the same thing. Not to mention, once he dies your time on earth is over as well. It's natural to feel hesitation."
"Then what do you suggest?" She sighed. "Because I see him every night, it's not like I can avoid him."
"My suggestion is that you force yourself to see the reality of the situation, Michael isn't just a boy. And you're not just a girl. He was put on this earth to destroy it, and the longer you allow him to stay alive the closer he gets to achieving that," Ben finished, his words harsh but true. Molly swallowed thickly, nodding her head despite her blatant disagreement. There was a human aspect of Michael, just like there was within her. Things weren't as black and white as Ben tried to picture for her.
Before she could answer, she was saved by the ring of the doorbell, despite it being a rare occurrence. Molly's eyes snapped to Ben's, who rolled his own in annoyance, expecting it to be another kid who was acting upon a dare.
The dare being to knock on the door of Murder House.
Nevertheless, Molly stood up and trailed towards the door, squaring up her shoulders when she saw two figures through the stained glass. Two very adult figures.
"Um, hello?" She politely greeted upon opening the door, eyes scanning over the middle aged duo in front of her. A man and a woman - all dressed in black, with a bald head and cropped black hair respectively. She didn't recognise them, but her senses immediately told her to shut the door.
"Hello!" The lady responded, her hand shooting up out of nowhere and pressing down on the top of an aerosol can. Before Molly could react, a blindingly hot substance was being sprayed into her eyes, causing them to burn viciously.
The young girl shouted in pain, hands coming up to cup over her fiery eye sockets as whimpers fell from her lips. She flung her hands out in an attempt at defending herself, but they had snuck behind while she was temporarily blinded to deliver a blow to the back of her head.
Anton smirked as he lowered the shotgun, the second coming crumpling to the ground in a heap. He shared a brief glance with Samantha, smirks evident on their lips before he raised the gun again, cocking it.
"You can't hit a girl, you bum!" Violet materialised out of thin air, one of her mother's prized China plates in hand as she swung it around and smacked it against Anton's head. It shattered to pieces, and caused him to double over in pain.
The distraction was long enough for Molly to recover from both the hit and the pepper spray, her enhanced body fighting against it as she swung onto her feet and flew her hands in the air.
An inexplicable anger had overtaken her, borne out of fear and provocation. She was tired of people walking over her, of thinking they could take her on. These two, she knew to be Satanists - she could practically smell the stench of it on them. Perhaps they had been sent by Michael himself, which was partly the reason for her anger snap. Despite being his one true enemy, and him hers, she couldn't ignore the sense of betrayal.
The anger bubbled up through her arms, dividing itself amongst her palm and fingers to send a surge of energy directed towards the two who had arrived at her door.
By merely closing her hands into balled fists, the sheer magnitude of the power she was releasing was enough to begin separating their bodies from within each other. Joints splintered, muscles divided, skin was stretched and within seconds - Anton and Samantha had exploded, blood splatters and a pink mist in their wake.
Horrified and exhausted, Molly dropped to her knees, feeling nauseous by the sensation of blood settling on her dark skin. Tears welled in her eyes out of fear, not for who they were and what intentions they had, but for what she had just done.
"Holy shit," Violet whispered, backing away from the scene with widened eyes. Tearfully, Molly lifted her head to look at the girl.
"I-I didn't know that was inside of me..." she whispered, ready to burst into sobs at any minute. "Please don't hate me."
"I.. I don't hate you," Violet denied. "It was you or them. They came here to kill you."
But Molly could sense Violet's true emotions. Which may not have been hatred, but was still something else as equally dark - she was scared.
Without saying another word, Molly closed her eyes shut and disappeared, keeping her next destination in mind and she transmuted herself there.