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The abandoned church squatted in the heart of Greenwich Village like a Gothic reproach to the neighborhood's bohemian pretensions. St. Bartholomew's had been decommissioned in the 1970s after a series of incidents that the Catholic Church had deemed "theologically problematic" a euphemism that, in Constantine's experience, usually meant "haunted by things that make Vatican exorcists wet themselves."
"This is your brilliant hideout?" Zatanna asked as Constantine led her and Nergal through the wrought-iron gates that surrounded the building. "A defunct church that's probably crawling with every supernatural nasty in Manhattan?"
"That's exactly why it's perfect," Constantine replied, fishing a set of lock picks from his coat pocket. "The local supernatural community avoids this place like the plague, which means it's the last spot anyone would think to look for us."
The lock on the church's main door was old but well-maintained someone had been taking care of the building despite its abandonment. Constantine made quick work of it, his fingers guided by skills learned during a misspent youth in Liverpool.
The interior of St. Bartholomew's was a study in faded grandeur. Stained glass windows cast colored shadows across empty pews, and the altar still bore traces of its former sacred purpose. But Constantine's enhanced senses picked up something else layers of mystical energy that spoke of decades of supernatural activity.
"Someone's been using this place," Nergal observed, his golden eyes scanning the nave with professional interest. "Recent workings, too. The psychic resonance is still warm."
Constantine nodded, already moving toward a side chapel where he could sense the strongest concentration of mystical energy. What he found there made him smile for the first time in days.
The chapel had been converted into a workshop that would have made any practicing magician weep with envy. Shelves lined the walls, filled with grimoires in languages both ancient and modern. Alchemical equipment gleamed on workbenches, and a complex magic circle had been permanently etched into the floor using what looked like silver and iron wire inlaid in the stone.
"Bloody hell," Constantine breathed, picking up a leather-bound tome that he recognized as a genuine copy of the Lesser Key of Solomon. "Someone's been collecting."
Zatanna moved deeper into the workshop, her fingers trailing over items that spoke of serious magical scholarship. "This collection is worth millions. Books that shouldn't exist outside of private collectors and university archives." She paused at a display case containing what looked like ordinary playing cards. "These are Tarot Imperiali Renaissance-era cards that supposedly channel the will of angels. There are maybe three complete decks left in existence."
"And our mysterious benefactor just left all this sitting here?" Constantine asked, though he was already forming suspicions about who might have prepared this sanctuary.
Nergal prowled the perimeter of the workshop, his supernatural senses probing for threats or traps. "The protective wards are extensive," he reported. "Layered defenses using at least six different mystical traditions. Whoever set this up knew what they were doing."
Constantine found the answer to his questions in a letter propped against a crystal ball on the main workbench. The envelope bore his name in elegant handwriting, and the paper inside carried the scent of expensive cologne and something else something that made his skin crawl with recognition.
My Dear John,
Welcome to your new home. I trust you'll find the accommodations suitable for your particular needs. The collection has been assembled over many years, drawing from sources both terrestrial and otherwise. Consider it a professional courtesy from one practitioner to another.
The protective wards will recognize you and your companions as legitimate occupants, though I should warn you that they're calibrated to prevent intrusion by beings of considerable power. This includes, but is not limited to, Sorcerers Supreme, Hell-Lords, and cosmic entities of various classifications.
The basement contains additional resources that you may find useful as you acclimate to your new reality. I've taken the liberty of installing equipment that should allow you to practice your particular brand of magic without triggering unwanted attention from local authorities.
Do try not to burn the place down. Good help is so difficult to find these days.
Yours in professional admiration,
A Friend
Constantine crushed the letter in his fist, but he couldn't quite suppress the chill that ran down his spine. Someone with serious resources and knowledge of his abilities had prepared this sanctuary someone who'd been watching him since his arrival in this reality.
"Bad news?" Zatanna asked, noting his expression.
"The usual," Constantine replied, lighting a cigarette despite being in a former church. "Someone who claims to be helping but is almost certainly playing a longer game than I can see." He gestured around the workshop. "Still, beggers can't be choosers. And I have to admit, this is better equipped than most of the places I've worked."
Zatanna was examining the permanent magic circle etched into the floor, her fingers tracing the complex patterns with obvious appreciation. "This is incredible work. The geometry is perfect, and the materials..." She looked up at Constantine with something approaching awe. "This circle could channel enough power to reshape reality on a local level. Maybe more."
"Which brings us to why we're here," Constantine said, stubbing out his cigarette and moving to join her at the circle's edge. "You wanted to restore chaos to magic, to bring back the old ways that got results regardless of cosmic bureaucracy. But trying to impose DC Universe techniques on Marvel's reality is like trying to run European appliances on American current you'll either get nothing or blow out every fuse in the building."
"So what are you proposing?" Zatanna asked.
Constantine knelt at the circle's edge, his fingers tracing the silver and iron inlays. "We adapt. We take the principles of chaos magic will over law, intention over protocol and apply them through Marvel's structured framework. Instead of trying to break the rules, we find ways to make the rules work for us."
Nergal watched from the shadows at the chapel's edge, his massive form somehow managing to blend into the Gothic architecture. "And how exactly do you propose to do that, Johnny? Marvel's cosmic order was specifically designed to prevent the kind of reality manipulation you're describing."
Constantine smiled, feeling pieces of understanding click into place. "By using their own system against them. Marvel's magic operates on three tiers Personal, Universal, and Dimensional energies. Most practitioners stick to one tier at a time, following established protocols and safety procedures." He stood and moved to the center of the circle. "But what happens if you draw from all three simultaneously, using chaos magic principles to override the normal safety limitations?"
"You either become incredibly powerful," Zatanna said slowly, "or you tear yourself apart at the molecular level."
"Exactly." Constantine's grin widened. "But that's where the beauty of this particular circle comes in. The geometry isn't just for channeling power it's for containing the feedback. Our mysterious benefactor has essentially given us a laboratory for experimenting with reality itself."
Zatanna stepped into the circle beside him, her expression shifting from skepticism to excitement. "Show me."
Constantine began the summoning ritual that had been building in his mind since their encounter in the subway tunnel. But this wasn't the crude dimensional breach that had brought his doppelganger through this was something far more sophisticated, a careful manipulation of Marvel's cosmic framework using techniques that shouldn't exist in this reality.
He started with Personal Energy, drawing on his own life force to establish the initial connection. Then he reached outward, tapping into the Universal Energies that flowed through Marvel's reality like blood through arteries. Finally, with careful precision, he began accessing Dimensional Energy not the chaotic, uncontrolled summoning that had brought Nergal through, but a measured draw on specific otherworldly sources.
The circle flared to life with golden light, but unlike his previous attempts at magic in this reality, there were no unexpected side effects or dangerous instabilities. The power flowed through him like a perfectly tuned instrument, responsive to his will while remaining safely contained within the workshop's protective framework.
"Incredible," Zatanna breathed, her own magical senses picking up the harmonics of what Constantine was accomplishing. "You're actually making it work."
Constantine nodded, sweat beading on his forehead from the concentration required to maintain the delicate balance. "The trick is treating Marvel's system like a musical instrument instead of a machine. Instead of following rigid protocols, you improvise within the established framework, using chaos magic principles to find new harmonies."
He demonstrated by manifesting a simple illusion a butterfly made of pure light that fluttered around the workshop before dissolving back into ambient energy. But the technique he'd used to create it was unlike anything Marvel's magical community would recognize, a hybrid approach that combined the best elements of both realities' mystical traditions.
"This changes everything," Zatanna said, her eyes bright with possibilities. "If we can teach this technique to other practitioners, we could revolutionize magic in this reality. Bring back the flexibility and power that the old ways provided without sacrificing the safety and structure that keeps cosmic forces from tearing reality apart."
Constantine let the circle's power fade, feeling only a fraction of the exhaustion that usually followed his magical workings. The workshop's protective framework had absorbed most of the dangerous feedback, leaving him feeling energized rather than drained.
"There's just one problem," he said, noting the way shadows seemed to be gathering at the edges of his vision despite the workshop's illumination. "Someone's been watching this whole demonstration."
The shadows coalesced into a familiar figure tall, aristocratic, wearing an expensive suit that somehow managed to look both timeless and cutting-edge. The stranger from the Mirror Dimension stepped into the circle of light with the casual confidence of someone who belonged wherever he chose to appear.
"Bravo," the man said, clapping slowly. "Truly inspired work, John. You've exceeded even my most optimistic projections."
Constantine felt his blood turn to ice as the full implications of the situation became clear. This wasn't just their mysterious benefactor this was the entity that had orchestrated his arrival in this reality, the puppet master who'd been pulling strings since the moment he'd awakened in that Hell's Kitchen alley.
"Who are you?" Zatanna demanded, her hands already weaving defensive spells.
The stranger's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Someone who's been waiting a very long time for this moment. Someone who's invested considerable effort in bringing the right players together at precisely the right time." His eyes fixed on Constantine with predatory satisfaction. "Someone who's about to collect on a very old debt."
/-\
If you wish to read more and if you like the story don't hesitate to support me because I really get exhausted of this work than check out my Patreon at
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