et separatur a plasmate tuo, ut num quam laedatur amorsu antiqui serpentes.  john steps in through the doors behind.
you're back early.
but i'm sure you spent enough.
tell me you found it.
that's not what i asked.
second century depiction of a sephiroth in the 4th realm.
it should counter the iconic plane --
must i remind you of what selling fake relics will do to your health?
why did you cut your trip short? john stops the counting, actually thinks about it.
what do you want from me? a shoulder to cry on?
they don't like you, john. you've deported how many back to hell?
right.
you must have just crossed over and didn't even realize it --
-- it's wet out, you're wandering around aimlessly, not to mention completely emotional --
okay, so you saw something. we've seen a few small ones slip through now and then.
john, you know my connections. any shifts or tremors in the planes and i'd hear about it. john just shakes his head, looks up -- convinced.
mammon has been trying to climb out of his father's shadow for eons.
because he's got the spear?
you're giving this girl way too much credit.
and you do? that would be a first. john swings open a storage room door -- looks in at large-scale relics -- statues, props, etc.
the chair?
it's a fine line that separates a hero from a fool.
and taint my establishment with your blood? i don't think so.
you know what that device can do to the ill-equipped --
-- and even in your most glorious days your brain was never your most powerful attribute --
once. john nods.
i have insurance issues. john clears off the seat, starts to sit. midnite blocks him.
you haven't surfed in decades.
you'll be lucky to reach an elemental plane.
in your condition your body won't take much.
and if you do -- what then?
listen to my voice inside.
i'll try and guide you out.
mammon was forced out of that girl when she jumped so unless he found a holding vessel to wait in, he would have fallen back to hell.
then watch yourself. he could be in anyone out there. john nods. midnite lifts a palm of insect wings in front of his face.
peter do caelis, deus, misere nobis. fili redemptor mundi, deus, miserere nobis.  a flash turns into a streak behind john's face -- stretching to infinity.
find the possessor and the spear will be revealed.  find them.  find them and follow.  the flash whips back toward us and john is suddenly somewhere else. he looks o.s.
you know these won't kill them. john adjusts the flames of a butane heater under a pan.
you probably won't even get close enough to use them. in the pan is that religious relic he brought from india. it's now melting. midnite has trouble watching it dissolve.
and it's not just the boy. john coughs, pours the melted gold into several small casting blocks.
you better worry about whoever's helping him. john gives the big guy a glance, dips one of the castings into a pot of water -- hissssss.
as much as i admire your blind faith even in the most dire situations -- expecting to just waltz into a facility that is about to become the floodgate of hell is reaching a bit, even for you. john stops the work, centers on him and midnite just knows what he's thinking. midnite sighs, heavily.
well i suppose two fools can die just as easily as one. john almost smiles.
hey, you think i'm trusting you to save the world? john taps the casting and out falls a gold-tipped bullet.
but we're going to need more than a few magic bullets to get inside. john centers on the sparkletts bottles positioned around the room. just like john's. hmmmm.
figures.
let's go. john drops ellie to the floor. no more pretty face -- no face at all -- yet the screams still come. john and midnite get to the doors -- shove through.
finish it.