SEE THE DEVIL ON THE DOORSTEP NOW

It's a gentle disturbance at first, little more than a draft through the cracks around a door closed into its frame, barely noticeable. Weariness or uncertainty winds through the connection as it solidifies, riding on the scent of fallen leaves and damp earth, the wild outdoors. The scent doesn't last long, fading to the cool firmness of steel and concrete.

Abigail? He's quiet, but in control. There's no unbridled agony lashing across the Ether now; he has enough focus to reach out for the witch alone. That uncertainty lingers even after he falls quiet, waiting patiently.

Abrupt and searing it hits the Ether like a rushing flame, white hot and unstoppable, sweeping ever outward, a primal, excruciated scream of something wild caught in the teeth of a savage trap. Copper and sweat and ragged gasps chase along on the tail of that flame, flashing images of violence and suffering in hungry pursuit, as it laces fleetingly throughout the city. As quickly as it appears and takes form, it is gone, leaving nothing but empty, aching silence.