"You say it's yours, so it's yours, huh?" William muttered with a sneer as he sensed Mephisto's projection vanish.
Only then did he look toward the priest still reciting the eulogy, and the grief-stricken face of John Wick.
After pondering for several minutes, William finally cast an illusion spell to mask his presence, then softly murmured as if speaking to himself, "Angela."
Five minutes later, a rainbow split the sky and landed beside William. Just a dozen meters away, those attending the funeral remained oblivious, unaware of the celestial light or the hooded assassin stepping out of it—thanks to William's illusion.
Wearing a form-fitting assassin's outfit under her cloak, Angela stepped behind William, silently observing the man who had hurled nuclear bombs into Hell like fireworks, yet now calmly stood at an ordinary human's funeral—utterly unfazed by Mephisto's promised vengeance.
She watched his back for several minutes before cautiously asking in a quiet voice, "Why did you call me?"
William pulled out the skull-engraved coin and tossed it to her. "Send this soul to the Tenth Realm—Heaven."
Angela caught it and sensed the soul within. After a moment, her brow furrowed. "This woman betrayed her own husband. She doesn't deserve Heaven. Even if we sent her, she wouldn't be treated as an honored soul."
"I never said she should be treated specially," William said flatly.
He remembered this woman, Helen. Before meeting John Wick, she had exposed her then-husband, arms dealer Yuri Orlov, to the international arms control authorities—out of some sanctimonious sense of morality.
To William, she wasn't worth caring about. "She means nothing to me. Just make sure the angels don't destroy her soul."
Then he pointed to John Wick. "When he dies, I want his soul to appear in Heaven."
Angela frowned, surprised by his authoritative tone. She looked toward John Wick.
In that moment, her expression changed sharply. "That man... soaked in blood, haunted by countless vengeful spirits—how could someone like him go to Heaven?"
"I don't care what methods you use," William said coldly. "I made a wager with Mephisto. When John Wick dies, his soul must ascend to Heaven."
He turned to Angela. "Tell those angels in the Tenth Realm that even if I can't break the seal Odin placed on their realm, I can still conjure an image of an angel before the Church's highest authorities—enough to keep the faith alive on Earth."
"Then why not help an actual angel descend?" Angela countered. "Once their task is complete, you could just send them back."
William gave her a withering look. "Do I look like an idiot? Or do you think I'd piss off your father over a bet involving a thousand souls?"
His gaze sharpened. "Don't test me. If you try anything funny, I will go to Odin and work with him to strengthen the seal on the Tenth Realm. After that, forget descending into any world—you Asgardians won't even be able to enter Heaven yourselves."
"You—!" Angela's eyes blazed with fury. Under normal circumstances, she'd have drawn her blade, even knowing she couldn't win.
But ever since William had casually nuked Mephisto's domain, she'd developed an instinctive fear of him.
She gritted her teeth, hand clenching around the hilt of her dagger, but didn't draw it. Instead, she yanked off the blessed necklace around her neck and tossed it at William's back.
Then, she shouted toward the sky, "Heimdall!"
A rainbow descended over her and teleported her instantly—first to Asgard, then onward to the Tenth Realm to relay William's demand to the angels.
William caught the suspended necklace with telekinetic force and pulled it into his hand. He stared at it silently, recalling scenes from a familiar movie.
Then he spoke to Sunday, "Helen left John Wick a beagle, didn't she?"
A pause, then Sunday replied, "Yes, sir. The dog's name is Daisy. She's currently at the Swarth Pet Store and scheduled to be delivered to Mr. Wick's home tonight."
"Send the necklace with it."
William tossed the necklace into the air. One of the spider-drone deployment units, which had been scouting the cemetery since yesterday, descended, retrieved the necklace, and flew off toward the pet store.
"Also, revise Helen's farewell letter. Let John believe that this necklace is her final gift to him—something even more important than the dog."
"Understood, sir. I'll handle everything."
"Good."
With that settled, William remained on the hill, silently watching the funeral wrap up hastily under the pouring rain.
Helen's friends and family left one by one, but John Wick stayed at the gravesite, unable to leave.
It wasn't until William approached that John stirred, turning to him with a look of heartfelt gratitude.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Devonshire," he said. "Helen always appreciated the respectable job you provided me. I never told her the truth about myself because of your identity, but... now I believe she'll understand. She's in Heaven now."
William shook his head. If not for his intervention, Helen would be roasting in Hell right now.
"She's waiting for you in Heaven," William said gently. "You'll be reunited someday."
John smiled faintly but soon fell silent. Then he asked in a low voice, "A man like me... could I really go to Heaven?"
"Of course," William said firmly. "Your hands may be stained with blood, but those men deserved to die. Don't worry, my friend. You're going to Heaven. You'll see Helen again."
"Thank you... thank you, Mr. Devonshire."
John Wick longed for Heaven—not just to reunite with his wife, but for redemption. For someone like him, with a moral compass twisted by violence, salvation became his final hope.
If the Church's penitent monks like Strauss were to one day display Holy Light before John, it wouldn't be hard to sway him toward the path of faith.
But without William's help rigging the game, no amount of good intentions would get John through Heaven's gates.
As Mephisto had said, someone like John Wick didn't belong in Heaven—not even God would overlook his sins.
But William wasn't God.
And this was his game now.
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