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Deep in Hell.
Dante lay sprawled on the scorched ground like he owned the place, hands laced behind his head.
Rebellion and Yamato were jammed into the dirt beside him, crossed like a lazy X.
"Bro, your swing's got no sauce today," Dante sang under his breath, grinning. "Feels weaker than last round."
Vergil stood tall on a jagged outcrop, staring down at his brother with ice-cold eyes.
"You rested enough?" he said flatly. "Next round. Now."
Dante opened his mouth to stall some more when his pocket buzzed.
He fished around and pulled out the communicator Nico built from some low-tier "sound-bug" demon. Thing could take a shotgun blast and still pick up Earth signals even down here.
Dante's lazy smirk sharpened into a real grin.
"Looks like the kid upstairs ran into some trouble." He hopped to his feet and rolled his shoulders. "Finally got an excuse to clock out."
Vergil's gaze flicked sideways. "That boy on the surface?"
"Some mortal drama. If he can't handle it, he deserves to die," Vergil said coolly.
"Can't say it like that," Dante laughed, slinging Rebellion over his shoulder. "Don't you wanna train him up? Kid's got potential. Give him a few more years and he'll trade blows with you for hours."
Vergil didn't answer, but deep in those cold eyes something flickered—just for a second.
Ravenscroft Psychiatric Hospital – Reservoir.
Gabriel's words still hung in the air.
Papa Midnight's face went ghost-white. He shot Soren a murderous glare. I swear to every god, I am never believing this crazy bastard again.
The disguise was blown. Soren stepped out of the shadows, eyes locked on the archangel, brows tight.
"You… know me?"
His right hand stayed hidden, thumb already mashing the communicator button.
Mammon was off the menu tonight. Staying alive came first.
He just hoped Uncle Dante wasn't off chasing tail in some random Hell corner. Otherwise the grass on Soren's grave would be two feet tall by the time he got back.
"Of course," Gabriel said coldly. "The moment you imprisoned that angel with your filthy tricks, I noticed you."
Soren's face darkened. He'd accounted for everything—except some angelic link.
"I know everything about my kind," Gabriel continued, smirking at Soren's sour expression. "But don't worry. I was merciful and kept it quiet. Once Mammon crosses over, we'll have a nice long talk about what you did to one of Heaven's own."
He turned away, done with the conversation.
Gabriel walked toward Angela, still lying motionless on the floor.
Constantine clutched his chest, gasping as he forced himself up.
"Save her, Soren… please," he begged, voice cracking. "I'm asking you, man—save Angela!"
Even knowing it was the Archangel Gabriel standing there, the guy who spoke for Heaven itself, Constantine couldn't stop seeing that little girl he'd failed years ago.
Soren watched, jaw clenched. He shook his head.
Even with Yamato he wasn't sure he could take Gabriel.
Constantine's heart sank. Despair flooded his face. Then a memory hit him—Satan's old promise: Your soul is mine, John. When you die, I'll come collect it myself.
His eyes hardened. He pulled a small knife from his coat and pressed it to his wrist.
If he died right now, Satan would rip through and blow the whole plan wide open.
The blade was half an inch from breaking skin when a hand clamped around his wrist.
Constantine looked up, stunned. Soren had stopped him.
"You summon the King of Hell now and my whole plan goes to shit," Soren said quietly.
"But if Mammon comes out, Angela dies!" Constantine grabbed Soren's arm. "I'm begging you—save her!"
Soren didn't answer. He looked back at Gabriel.
The archangel had crouched down, Spear of Destiny already in hand.
"Soren…" Carrie's scared voice came from behind him.
Soren stared at unconscious Angela, hesitation flashing across his face.
His original plan had been simple: wait for Mammon to finish crossing, then kill the weakened demon prince. With Yamato he was confident he could pull it off. Massive system rewards, huge bloodline jump toward 20% and full Demonization.
The price? Angela would be drained dry the second Mammon was born.
Kill an innocent for points and power. Solid business.
It also meant throwing away the last of his humanity.
He'd watched people die before—accidents, murders—but never because he let it happen.
Now one woman who should've lived was going to die because he stood by.
Soren's lips pressed into a thin line. His fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood, but the sting couldn't drown out the storm in his chest.
He wanted strength. He wanted to survive in a world full of gods and devils. He wanted to stand at the top so he'd never have to make choices like this again.
But was becoming a monster the only way to get there?
What would Dante think?
That white-haired idiot who could crack jokes with a sword through his gut.
Dante didn't protect humans because they were perfect. He did it because even with all their flaws—selfish, weak, stupid—they still carried that one stubborn flame called humanity.
And that flame was worth everything.
"Come forth," Gabriel said softly.
The voodoo array flared again as Mammon stirred inside Angela. Her stomach bulged upward.
Constantine turned away, unable to watch.
Gabriel raised the Spear of Destiny. Holy light gathered at the tip, illuminating his cold, perfect face.
"Mammon, son of Satan," he intoned. "I release you into the mortal world."
He drove the spear straight down toward Angela's swollen belly.
"Fuck this," Soren growled.
Yamato appeared in his hand.
The instant his fingers closed around the hilt, he vanished.
A blinding slash of light tore through the dark.
He became a streak that cut space itself, crossing the reservoir in a heartbeat and sliding between Gabriel and Angela.
The archangel's spear stabbed empty air and punched into the concrete floor.
Click.
The sound of a blade sliding home echoed.
Gabriel looked down. Clean cuts had opened across his pristine white arm. Pure white feathers drifted to the ground.
Lightning Iai — an instantaneous dimensional rush. One draw, one sheathe, multiple invisible slashes along the path.
Gabriel slowly turned his head.
Soren stood on the other side, Angela cradled in one arm, back to the angel.
"Actually…"
He gently laid her on the dry floor, then slid Yamato halfway out of its sheath.
"…I know a thing or two about C-sections."