"You're dying," Marcus observed matter-of-factly, studying Constantine with his enhanced vision as the exorcist struggled to catch his breath on the ground.
Constantine's body was a catalog of self-inflicted damage. His lungs looked like oil-soaked sponges, riddled with the kind of damage that came from years of chain-smoking and exposure to supernatural toxins. Dark veins of corruption spread through his circulatory system, evidence of repeated magical backlash and demonic influence.
"Yeah, I know," Constantine replied with surprising calm, not even bothering to sit up. "Been dying for years now. It's become something of a hobby."
Most people faced mortality with terror or denial. Constantine discussed his impending death the way others might comment on the weather – with weary acceptance and dark humor.
"I'm trying to stay alive long enough to find a loophole," he continued, finally pushing himself into a sitting position. "See, my soul's already been claimed by Satan. The moment I die, I get dragged downstairs for an eternity of creative torture. So I'm highly motivated to keep breathing until I can figure out how to change the terms of that arrangement."
"Satan specifically?" Marcus asked with interest. "That's quite an honor. Most demons can't get the big man's personal attention."
"Yeah, well, I've made something of an impression over the years. Turns out repeatedly screwing over Hell's middle management eventually gets you noticed by upper leadership."
Marcus studied the fading mystical marks on Constantine's arm where he'd carved the binding symbols. "Your approach to divine intervention was interesting. Most people who steal power from demons don't follow it up with a genuine prayer to heaven."
Constantine shrugged. "I don't believe in God – at least not the way most people do. Heaven and Hell are just two competing power structures, each with their own agenda. Being a 'good person' might get you into heaven, but that doesn't mean everyone upstairs is automatically a saint."
He gestured vaguely at the purified ground where the artificial demon had been destroyed.
"And Hell might be full of demons, but some humans are worse than anything that crawled out of the pit. That stitched-together nightmare we just killed? Pure human creativity right there."
Marcus found himself impressed by Constantine's pragmatic cynicism. Most people either worshipped supernatural forces or feared them. Constantine treated both heaven and hell as resources to be exploited when necessary.
"Maintaining that kind of neutrality must make your life... complicated," Marcus observed.
"Complicated doesn't begin to cover it," Constantine replied with a bitter laugh. "But it keeps me flexible. When you're playing both sides against the middle, you learn to adapt quickly."
"Speaking of adaptation," Constantine continued, his tone shifting to curiosity, "there's something familiar about your power. That void energy you were throwing around – I've seen something like it before."
Marcus raised one hand, letting void energy swirl around his fingers like living shadow. The power writhed and coiled, emanating a cold that had nothing to do with temperature.
"This is void force," Marcus explained. "And trust me, you don't want prolonged exposure to it. The void doesn't just destroy things – it unmakes them. Spend too much time channeling this energy, and it starts unmaking parts of you as well."
Constantine stared at the writhing darkness with professional fascination and instinctive wariness. "That's... unsettling. But also explains why it felt so wrong when you used it."
Marcus dismissed the void energy and replaced it with something completely different. Warm, golden light flowed around his hand – the divine power he'd captured during Constantine's prayer.
"Now this," Marcus said with a slight smile, "might be more to your liking."
Constantine's eyes widened. "You actually grabbed some of that divine energy? How is that even possible?"
"Professional curiosity," Marcus replied, transferring the heavenly power into Tatsu. The blade immediately began radiating pure white light, its surface becoming almost too bright to look at directly.
"Holy shit," Constantine breathed. "You just created a sanctified weapon. Do you have any idea how rare those are?"
"Enlighten me."
"There are maybe a dozen true holy relics in existence. The Spear of Longinus, the Shroud of Turin, pieces of the True Cross – artifacts that were directly touched by divine power during Christ's crucifixion. The Vatican keeps most of them locked away because they're too dangerous for regular use."
Constantine struggled to his feet, staring at the transformed weapon with something approaching awe.
"And you just made one from scratch. In about thirty seconds. Using power you casually snatched out of the air."
Marcus tested the weapon's new properties by releasing a few enhanced dragon souls. Instead of the usual spectral fire, pure white spirits emerged from the blade, moving with obvious intelligence as they sought out and eliminated every trace of demonic contamination in the area.
"Effective," Marcus concluded with satisfaction. "Divine energy does seem particularly suited to demon hunting."
He allowed the heavenly power to fade from the weapon, returning it to its normal state. "Useful for specific situations, but I prefer more versatile options for general combat."
"Right," Constantine said, still staring at the spot where the divine dragons had cleansed the battlefield. "Because apparently creating instant holy weapons is just Tuesday for you."
Marcus began walking away from the purified clearing, his steps carrying an odd quality that made the landscape seem to compress around them. "We should track down whoever created that abomination. Someone with the knowledge to build artificial demons isn't going to stop at just one."
Constantine hurried to follow, immediately noticing the spatial distortion that allowed them to cover vast distances with each step. "Are you compressing space? Without any visible spell work?"
"Convenient for travel," Marcus replied casually. "Especially when hunting things that prefer to hide in remote locations."
"Who the hell are you?" Constantine asked bluntly. "I've met angels, demons, gods, and everything in between. But you're something else entirely."
Marcus paused in his tracking, considering how much to reveal. "Someone who's seen too many worlds make the same mistakes. Someone who's learned that the only power you can really trust is the power you build yourself."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting right now," Marcus replied, resuming his supernatural stride. "We have more immediate concerns."
They continued through the wilderness, the scenery blurring past as Marcus followed traces that only he could detect. Constantine found himself growing more intrigued with each impossible display of casual power.
After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes of compressed travel, Marcus suddenly stopped.
"Found the trail," he announced, turning toward a section of wilderness that looked identical to everything else they'd passed.
Constantine couldn't see anything unusual, but his nose immediately detected the unmistakable sulfur stench of demonic presence. "How did you—never mind. I'm learning not to ask."
As they altered course to follow the new trail, the landscape gradually began to change. Vegetation grew sparse and sickly, taking on the withered appearance that came from prolonged exposure to infernal energies. The air itself felt thick and corrupt, carrying the cloying sweetness of decay beneath the sulfur smell.
"You're in no shape for another serious fight," Marcus observed.
"I'll manage. I've got plenty of tricks that don't require bleeding myself dry."
"Maybe, but I prefer having allies who can actually contribute to combat rather than becoming additional liabilities."
Marcus's right arm suddenly transformed, taking on the appearance of some kind of advanced technological gauntlet. A floating supply crate materialized beside him, dispensing two glowing spheres – one red, one blue.
"Crush these," Marcus instructed, handing the spheres to Constantine. "They'll restore your physical condition and magical reserves."
Constantine examined the spheres with professional suspicion. "What exactly are these?"
"Think of them as concentrated healing potions. More effective than anything you'll find in occult shops, and without the usual side effects."
Constantine decided to trust his temporary ally and crushed both spheres simultaneously. Warm energy flooded through his body, washing away fatigue and pain with remarkable efficiency. His magical reserves replenished themselves, and even his chronic lung damage seemed to ease slightly.
"That's... incredible," Constantine said, stretching experimentally. "I feel better than I have in years."
"Good. Now we can both focus on the mission instead of keeping you alive."
Marcus dismissed the technological gauntlet and drew a sleek pistol from his coat. Divine energy flowed into the weapon, transforming it into another improvised holy relic.
Constantine stared at the sanctified firearm in disbelief. "A holy handgun. I've officially seen everything now."
"Demons respond better to overwhelming force than subtle tactics," Marcus explained, checking the weapon's ammunition. "And sometimes the best way to exorcise something is to shoot it with blessed bullets until it stops moving."
They approached the source of the demonic stench, moving with the careful coordination of experienced hunters. The sulfur smell grew stronger with each step, accompanied by other, more disturbing odors.
"You know what the real problem is?" Constantine said quietly as they advanced. "It's not the demons. Demons are predictable – they want to corrupt, devour, and destroy. Simple motivations, simple solutions."
"Humans are the wild card,"
Marcus agreed. "Demons might be evil, but they're consistently evil. Humans can be creative in ways that would make Hell's torturers jealous."
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