"The judgment and final death part is also important!" insists appointed expositor head.

_{"We don't know what went wrong!"}

_{"He said it worked and was just ambiguous, and it's not like we can summon him again."}

"Where I come from death is not final but I can be judgmental about it if that helps. I'm feeling really judgmental at this exact moment."

"Well, yes, they have to be delivered to the throne of God for judgment and thereby enter the kingdom of God or be cast into the lake of fire—that's what makes it 'final'!"

"Not just any judgment!"

"Is there nothing that can convince you to end the world?"

_{"He's the wrong demon anyway! Does it count if he does it? We need the real one!"}

The staticky feeling in the air seems to hum louder.

Hiss. Ears flattened back.

"Why do you want to end the world? You think Judgment Day is friendly to people who kick off the murder of every man, woman, and child on the planet? Everybody's grandma and everybody's baby brother?"

"The end of the world is fated," they say. "We are only the instrument of deliverance. If you are not the prophesied Beast, we have no use for you. In the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God, we banish you!"

In a unified chant, "Exorcizamus te, omnis spiritus immunde! Fuge, hostis antiquus, princeps tenebrarum!"

(Their spoken Latin is not any better than the quality of the circle suggests.)

"You already gave me your souls," he says. "You think you can banish me after that?" (They can't but mostly because he is not through talking.)

"The pact was never sealed! You are betrayed by your cowardice, deceiver! Our fell power still lies within us!"

No, the beast of the apocalypse—or close enough to catch their call—could hardly be banished by waving a cross and chanting Latin at it. But there's more than one way to put down a demon you called up.

"Dark Lord Satan, see this imposter who seeks to supplant your work!" one screams. Together, "Diabolus revelationis evoco! Igne et sulphure nascere! Viribus meis vinculo et nomen Satanae!"

The air crackles and heats. The fallen candlestick at the edge of the circle spontaneously bursts into flame, which begins to spread around the rim of the circle. The ceiling is starting to shake.

Ooh. They've given up on talking to him. That gives him options.

Like putting out the fire with water, and putting a supplementary roof over all their heads! How's that work out?

One of the bodies scream in anger when the fire is put out, but the wax seems to be heating up under water anyway, turning cherry red. They keep chanting. The ambient feeling of ineffable crescendo does not subside.

Does this mean they're no longer in timeout? Sir Meowalot has not really been following all the words in this conversation and is still blindfolded, but he's going to try gnawing at his titanium bindings, though he's mostly just giving it a lot of tooth marks.

Inquiring minds want to know.

"Cats, I want to talk to you too but if you kill this pile of dudes I have a problem," he says. "I do not necessarily have a problem if you stop short of that."

Titanium snaps. Fingers crossed. What if he fills in the grooves in the floor with more floor from underneath it?

Here's a fun fact about how things work around here. You never, under any circumstances, let a cat wizard sit around for a few minutes during a fight. This one is not quite on a full tank of juice after his little break, but he has a very big tank.

Would the pile of bodies like to be struck by a bolt of lightning? Two, mayhap? If that doesn't work, three?

:(

It stuns them enough to interrupt the chanting. It's not clear whether it's that or the circle meddling that does it, but the wax looks like it's cooling down, and the freaky ambience is also beginning to subside—though slower than one would like.

The Coven is stirring quick, though: temporarily incapacitated, not knocked out.

The brown one didn't really catch the part about not killing the pile of dudes, but angry meowing from the black one stops it before it can resume mauling in earnest. For now.

"Hey, here," a pile of dental cement on the floor, "if their mouths were full they couldn't talk to me. If that were my fault that would be one thing but if it were you guys who don't like them for reasons of your own my options open up."

There's some kind of game going on that Cam isn't explaining, but he seems to be coming around as anti-cultist and they're all in favor of no more demons.

Cement goes in mouths. Judicial application of additional lightning when they wake up enough to protest.

More paws make light work, after the brown one gets the idea. There are a lot of these, even with a third of them taken out by his earlier rampage.

"Oh, look at that, it turns out they are not in a position to pay me. Okay, cats, do you think the ceiling is going to imminently fall down and we need to deal with that before I figure out how to have a conversation with you?"

Blink. Catshrug. They don't look alarmed at the possibility, anyhow.

"Great. Love it when things don't collapse around me." And he will make his computer and a peripheral for it to let a catpaw type. "That workable for you?"

The brown one will watch the furiously upset pile of human while Solaire does whatever that is.

He has never operated a computer before but he can read the letters and figure out how the keyboard connects to what happens on the screen.

qwertyuio..,yes he types.

"Great! Would that we were meeting under happier circumstances. So, I'm Cam, what's your name?"