D'Eartha speechifies that her plan all along was to achieve this particular goal. Every action of hers for the past several months -- the destruction of the previous Source, infecting Cole with The Source's power, finagling the dark marriage between The Source and a Charmed One, having those two conceive an heir, and then absorbing that heir into her own body -- was all to vanquish the Charmed Ones once and for all, thereby ushering a new order of evil into Hell. How...convenient. The Phoetus does not approve of his host organism wasting precious oxygen on half-assed justifications for a season's worth of plotlines, and pummels D'Eartha from inside. Prior Pock leads her to The Grimoire to begin the coronation ceremony as Raige snarks, "Doesn't look like she's having any more luck with that thing inside of her than you were." Raige realizes the cruelty of that statement almost as soon as it's flown from her mouth, and apologizes once more to Phoebe. Phoebe tells her it's okay -- the baby was never Phoebe's to begin with. Raige asks for clarification. Yes, Feeble One. Please clarify. Phoebe claims that from the moment it first invaded her body, she knew the Phoetus was "a black hole of evil" and "soulless." How...even more convenient than D'Eartha's revelation. Unfortunately, there is no longer a beast dwelling within Phoebe to pummel her insides as well. Raige giggles, "Phoebe? Told ya so." Phoebe giggles right along with her, drawing the evil eye of Prior Pock. The gals calm down and brainstorm for options. Okay, so for Phoebe it's more of a misty drizzle than a storm, but let's get this over with, shall we? Phoebe realizes that even though magic cannot escape from the cage, magic certainly can enter the cage from an external source. After all, didn't D'Eartha shoot a death ray through the bars in Phoebe's premonition? Raige notes that they could certainly use the Power of Three right about now. Phoebe begins to recite the "To Call A Lost Witch" spell from memory. Of course, she's not grinding up rosemary and taro root in a silver mortar with a couple of drops of her blood while chanting the spell over a lit candle, but I so could not care any less by this point.
Up in the Manor attic, Piper slams the Book of Shadows shut in frustration and asks the Dolt for his opinion. Always a bad idea, Piper. The Dolt crosses in front of her, blathering on about enlisting the aid of a demon, as a glissading noise hits the soundtrack. By the time he crosses back, Piper's vanished. The Dolt, being the Dolt, continues his babbling unaware of his wife's hasty exit.