"Cough... cough..."
Constantine hacked as icy rain splashed against his body, but no amount of cold compared to the chill creeping through his chest.
He had just left the hospital.
Terminal lung cancer.
The doctor hadn't bothered with euphemisms. Go home. Prepare for the funeral.
After that, Constantine went straight to the church to find Gabriel-the one who delivered the beauty of the mortal world to God-and asked a simple question.
Could he go to Heaven?
The answer was no.
Dammit.
Constantine's mood was abysmal. He had been hunting demons since he was fifteen. By now, he didn't even know how many demons he had personally sent back to Hell.
And that still wasn't enough?
Meanwhile, those so-called believers who did nothing but pray got a free pass?
What kind of bullshit logic was that?
Anger flared, but beneath it was fear.
He had made too many enemies in Hell. If his soul ended up there, eternal torture would be the bare minimum.
Dammit.
"Cough... cough..."
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his lips, and flicked his lighter.
Then he froze.
Something felt wrong.
Like something was... on him.
Constantine looked at his left shoulder.
A large freshwater crab sat there.
No-more precisely, a demonic creature emitting a faint dark aura.
Still a crab.
"...What?"
He brushed it off instinctively and frowned.
Then the coughing hit him again-violent, tearing, relentless. He collapsed to his knees, lungs screaming, vision swimming.
"Brother, can I get a light? Brother?"
A voice came from the side.
Half-conscious from coughing, Constantine didn't think. He reached into his pocket and handed over the lighter.
Too late.
The "person"-or rather, the demon-grabbed his hand and slammed him into the ground.
If not for the holy relics Constantine always carried, the demon-an amalgamation of vermin and insects-would have killed him on the spot.
Constantine strained toward the lighter that had fallen nearby.
As an exorcist, he used everything.
That lighter had been left in a church for years, soaking in holy atmosphere. It was engraved with magic arrays. Even the fuel inside had been consecrated like holy water.
The flame it produced was holy fire.
Of course, the church never officially offered such services.
As for where the fuel came from...
Unorthodox.
But effective.
And besides, it was for demon hunting. Surely the Lord would forgive it.
Whether He actually would was irrelevant right now.
The demon sensed Constantine's intent and pressed down harder.
"Don't meddle where you don't belong, Exorcist," it hissed. "Or I'll torture you in Hell for eternity!"
"Even if I go to Hell," Constantine spat, "trash like you won't be the one doing the torturing!"
His hand was still an inch from the lighter.
He gave up.
Instead, he grabbed a nearby wooden stick and swung it.
Before it could land, a voice cut in.
"Septum Sempra!"
Something sharp sliced through the air.
The demon was severed in two.
Only the cut portion died. The rest still writhed. It was a swarm, after all.
"That didn't seem to work," the voice said again.
"Didn't you notice? It's just bugs," another voice replied. "You'd have to slice every single one."
"I know. Just testing. It's disgusting."
"Use holy water!" Constantine shouted. "Do you have holy water?!"
Please.
I'm fighting for my life here.
Why are you chatting?
"What's holy water?"
"...Holy water is water blessed by a priest or bishop," Constantine snapped. "Dew from the church font counts."
"That sounds arbitrary. Does it actually work?"
"We can grab some from a nearby church and test it."
Constantine nearly died.
Not from the demon.
From rage.
He recognized the voices.
The two "exorcists" he'd met earlier that afternoon.
He just hadn't expected exorcists who didn't know what holy water was.
How green could you be?
Fortunately, the demon-now split-was much weaker.
Recovering his breath, Constantine grabbed it and hurled it away.
"Nice throw," Tony said, switching spells.
This time, he didn't shout. Not Harry Potter magic.
Though honestly, Tony thought shouting was cooler.
Morin didn't stop him.
Being cool in the moment was great.
The aftermath?
Also great-once edited.
Another million.
Under Tony's spell, the demon froze mid-air.
"...What kind of artifact is that?" Constantine stood, brushing rain from his coat, eyeing the wand in Tony's hand.
"I made it from wood taken off the cross they used for Jesus," Morin said smugly.
"...I happen to have a piece of the Shroud of Turin," Constantine said, greed flashing in his eyes.
"Then all we're missing is Jesus's body," Morin replied cheerfully. "We could recreate the whole scene."
Tony coughed. "Uh... how do we deal with this thing?"
"Your turn," Morin said. "Exorcise it."
"This doesn't even need one," Constantine said, lighting a cigarette. "Low-level scavenger demon. A car would do the job."
"That would be a waste," Morin shook his head.
"What?" Constantine and Tony asked together.
Morin walked over and reached into the frozen mass, pulling out a large crab.
"Look at this shell. Smooth. Lively. Big," he said seriously. "Prime ingredients."
Constantine: "!!!"
"I must be insane," Constantine muttered later, walking ahead with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Under Morin's persuasion, he had actually performed a proper exorcism.
To "purify the ingredients."
Afterward, they picked out venomous snakes, crabs, and various unidentifiable seafood from the remains.
Fresh.
Lively.
Top quality.
Absolutely not because Morin claimed to know gourmet cooking.
Absolutely not.
Constantine glanced at the large bag Morin was carrying and swallowed.
People from a foodie nation...
They could cook, right?
Before that, though, he had business.
So they went somewhere.
Papa Midnite's bar.
"The boy on the bike."
After answering the pattern on the card-visible only to those with magic-they entered.
"Neutral ground," Constantine whispered. "Half-angels, half-demons. Don't start anything."
"Of course," Morin nodded earnestly. "We're peaceful people."
"Same," Tony agreed.
Constantine didn't buy it.
His instincts were right.
[Tony: This place feels wrong.]
[Morin: Half-angels, half-demons. Chaos.]
[Tony: That's blood.]
[Morin: Human blood. And flesh.]
[Tony: You're not doing anything?]
[Morin: Not yet. We'll clean house later.]
"...Just come with me," Constantine sighed.
Papa Midnite didn't rise when he saw him.
"Back again, Constantine. What relic are you selling?"
"Out of that business," Constantine said. "Busy."
He handed chairs to Morin and Tony.
"...Seafood?" Midnite eyed the bag. "Fresh faces. Introductions?"
"Two demon hunters," Constantine said after a pause. "Competent."
Then he got to the point.
"I banished a foot soldier today. Possession case."
Midnite chuckled. "Still sharp."
Constantine stared.
"...You don't think it could've succeeded?"
Midnite frowned.
"On the way here, I was attacked," Constantine said. "By a real demon."
"...Impossible."
"Evidence," Constantine said, glancing at the bag.
"Demons stay in Hell," Midnite said. "Angels in Heaven. Covenant. Always."
"I trust my eyes."
"...Perhaps your health-"
"Excuse me," Morin spoke up. "Why must angels stay in Heaven and demons in Hell?"
Midnite paused.
Constantine answered instead.
"God and the Devil made a bet. Human souls. No direct interference."
Morin tilted his head.
"Then why are human souls the stake?"
Silence.
"Why do human souls belong to Heaven or Hell?" Morin continued, eyes burning. "They should belong to humans. To nature."
"They aren't human. Why are humans born restricted, without resistance?"
This wasn't a question.
It was a declaration.
A challenge.
For both sides.