"Hey, Matthew, what if we just left this guy here?"
Luke toyed with Baal's severed head, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Crush it already. What's the point of keeping it around?"
Matthew, having shed his combat gear, spoke with weary exasperation.
Lately, he'd been feeling off, as if something deeply tied to him was stirring just out of reach.
"I could be your advisor! I know tons about the occult. You can ask me anything!"
Baal's voice was desperate, his courage long shattered.
Luke eyed Baal's panicked expression, intrigued.
"Sounds tempting. Alright, tell me—can you eat an angel's kidney?"
Luke asked casually.
"Luke!"
Matthew snapped, his nerves frayed.
"I know, I know, I'm not some beast. I'm just curious."
Luke waved Baal's head carelessly, leaving the demon dizzy and disoriented.
"Strictly speaking, an angel's body is just condensed energy. It'd taste like nothing."
Baal fought through the vertigo. Lacking a body, speaking was already a miracle—vomiting was beyond him.
"When are we going after the Hand? I've still got years of grunt work for Bul-Kathos."
Luke no longer saw working for Bul-Kathos as a burden.
Being close to the Barbarian King was a shortcut to strength.
After experiencing the power of his gear, Luke's view of Bul-Kathos' "toys" had completely shifted.
"I'll look into it soon. Are you still going to that arms deal?"
Matthew's voice was tinged with exhaustion.
Spending time with Luke was draining.
Though Luke was a trustworthy ally, his bizarre ideas were hard to stomach.
"Of course I'm going. Wasn't our whole goal to wipe out evil?"
Baal, now a compliant statue, let Luke manhandle him.
"Then why not start with the one in your hands?"
Luke froze, holding Baal's head, hesitating.
…
"Ugh, the Vatican's the last place I'd be welcome. Can I bail now?"
Constantine, cigarette dangling from his lips, muttered to Angel.
She was Saint Angel now, but Constantine couldn't care less.
Religion and faith were worthless to him.
"You're free to do as you please, so long as it's just."
Blessed by God, Angel had undergone a clear transformation.
The psychic powers she'd chosen to forget had been reborn under holy light, now tinged with an angelic essence.
She was no longer frail.
"Geez, you're no fun anymore."
Constantine took a deep drag, then coughed violently.
His cancer, fueled by the blood potion's energy, had reached a terminal stage. Yet no one with the power to help had offered a hand.
"You could ask the Supreme Sorcerer—or even Bul-Kathos. They could definitely save you."
Angel's eyes held a gentle compassion, like a saint from a sacred painting.
"Angel, kindness isn't just pity. Pity's worthless to others, and I don't need help."
Constantine recalled Bul-Kathos ripping Mammon from his gut. He imagined the barbarian's cure for his cancer: a rough hand smashing through his ribs, yanking out his lung with a brutal tug, maybe jamming a crystal vial in his mouth, knocking out a few teeth if luck wasn't on his side, and then—a brand-new body.
He shook his head, banishing the thought.
He wasn't out of options for prolonging his life. They just all involved demons.
Angels wouldn't help for the sake of his deals, but demons? They were greedy enough to bite.
"I want to help, but all I can do is ensure you don't face your final moments alone."
Angel's voice was calm, her words earnest.
"Alright, I'll drop you near the Vatican. You can find the Church yourself."
Constantine clammed up, silently puffing his cigarette.
"John Constantine, care to make a deal? Your soul for my command, and I'll tell you how to cure your cancer."
An elderly gentleman, leaning on a cane, appeared before them.
"Save it, Mephisto. You've lost touch with your true self, haven't you?"
Constantine's face was unruffled, not a hint of nerves.
Mephisto wasn't a stranger. This deal-making demon sometimes played the philanthropist to pass the time.
Hell's power was limited in the mortal realm. Mephisto lacked enforcers—especially since his had betrayed him more than once.
After Satan's defeat, Hell's denizens would likely lie low, waiting for an opening to strike again.
This phantom of Mephisto, left behind in the mortal world, probably couldn't even open a Hell gate.
Signing a contract with him would gain Constantine nothing.
"A demon? What a strange, novel sensation."
Angel, now empowered, studied Mephisto's phantom with curiosity.
Finally able to sense supernatural forces, she examined him closely.
"Alright, let's try another deal. You tell me what happened before, and I'll share a cancer cure—guaranteed effective, nothing complicated. Information for information. You don't lose a thing."
Mephisto's phantom pulled a parchment from his inner pocket, etched with arcane patterns.
"Put away your tricks. You know I'd never sign your contract."
Constantine sauntered over, leaning close to whisper in Mephisto's ear.
"Satan—Lucifer—is dead. He's waiting to be reborn in Hell."
"If the girl beside you gives up her power, your life can be saved."
Constantine and Mephisto spoke in each other's ears, their words a secretive exchange.
"That concludes our trade. Good luck, John."
Mephisto's phantom vanished abruptly, as if in a hurry.
Constantine stood still, unmoving for a long moment.
"John Constantine, is the cure that difficult?"
Angel's voice was tinged with concern as she looked at him.
(Chapter End)
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