After eating and drinking their fill, Morin and Tony took their leave.
It was already late.
And Tony still had training to do.
Sleep?
That didn't exist.
With Morin's magic, even if Tony didn't sleep for a month, his physical and mental state would be no different from waking up after a full night's rest.
A student's nightmare.
-
Back at Constantine's place, he was smoking.
Whether he was savoring the aftertaste of the meal or thinking about what was coming next, even he wasn't sure.
Then there was a knock.
Constantine opened the door and saw a woman he recognized.
Quite a coincidence.
They'd met once at the hospital and once at the church earlier that day.
Neither encounter had been particularly pleasant.
"Mr. Constantine?" the woman asked.
"Yeah..." Constantine raised an eyebrow.
"Earlier today-"
"We really do have fate, don't we?" Constantine leaned against the doorframe, making no move to open it further. Even though Angela was beautiful, he didn't care. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm Detective Angela Dodson." She showed her badge. "There are some things I want to ask you."
"Oh. The police." Constantine gave up on closing the door and turned around. "So what does a detective want with me?"
"My sister was killed last night."
Angela stepped inside, her gaze briefly catching on the strange symbols carved into the doorframe.
"...I'm sorry." Constantine paused while lighting his cigarette.
"Thank you," Angela said. "She was a patient at Ravenscar Mental Hospital. She died jumping from the roof."
"From the way you're saying it," Constantine replied, "that sounds more like murder than suicide."
He picked up a leftover crab from the table.
"Want one?"
"No." Angela shook her head, then hesitated as the smell hit her. Her nose twitched. Regret flickered across her face-but she forced herself to look away. "I know Isabel. She would never kill herself. She was a devout Catholic."
"Heh. Catholic..." Constantine let out a cold laugh. "Sorry. Didn't mean anything."
"Didn't you?" Angela tilted her head.
"To be precise, I never did." Constantine shook his head, put the crab into the fridge, then took out a bottle of liquor. He grabbed two glasses and set them down. "I hunt demons and pray in churches because I don't want to go to Hell when I die."
He poured the drinks.
"So. If it was murder, why come to me?"
"I've heard about the circles you move in," Angela said. "Supernatural. Spirits. Exorcism. Just like you mentioned earlier."
She paused.
"Before my sister died, she had severe delusions. She talked about angels and demons. Later it got worse-she'd point at people on the street and say they were angels or demons. I think she was influenced by someone. A cult. Maybe hypnosis."
"Oh... a cult." Constantine nodded, but his hand paused mid-pour. "You said she pointed at people and claimed they were angels or demons?"
"Yes. That's not normal, is it? That's why she was hospitalized."
"Maybe." Constantine frowned and slid a glass toward her. "So what do you want from me?"
"Tell me what methods people like that use," Angela said. "And what signs they leave behind."
She still didn't touch the drink.
"Ha..." Constantine understood.
She thought he was a con artist.
Normally, he wouldn't bother explaining.
But tonight, Constantine was in a very good mood.
Morin had already shown him the effect of treating lung cancer.
One spell.
More than half of the cancer cells and toxins from years of smoking were forcibly expelled.
They hadn't removed everything.
There was still a plan.
Constantine needed to look like a man running out of time.
So he would still cough.
Medical scans would still show lungs on the verge of collapse.
But in reality, only the surface was damaged.
Inside, it had already been reborn.
Disguise was necessary.
And Constantine was more than willing.
Because he knew what Morin planned to do.
Angels and demons.
Both sides.
Together.
Demons?
He'd never had goodwill toward them.
And they certainly wouldn't spare him.
As for angels?
Any remaining goodwill vanished after Gabriel told him Heaven was closed to him.
And after learning Gabriel was working with demons, it turned into pure disgust.
Heaven.
Hell.
Angels.
Demons.
Screw all of it.
"I'll be my own master," Constantine thought. "Go to hell."
"If I told you," Constantine said slowly, "that your sister was actually the normal one... or rather, that what she saw was real-what would you think?"
Angela stared at him.
"So committed to being a con artist that you believe your own lies now?" she asked coldly.
She frowned when she realized he was serious.
"Just because you don't believe in something," Constantine replied, "doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Of course, it's also possible your sister was simply insane."
"Get lost."
Angela turned to leave.
Constantine sighed.
Then-
Something felt wrong.
The liquor bottles on the table vibrated faintly.
The liquid rippled.
Then the windows.
The table.
The chairs.
Even the floor.
This wasn't an earthquake.
It was demons.
Constantine's apartment was fortified to the extreme.
The doorframe.
The furniture.
The windows.
The floor.
Even the beer bottle.
Everything was cursed or blessed properly.
The tap water was holy water.
The wine was holy wine.
Armed to the teeth.
Through the demon-revealing enchantment on the window, Constantine saw them.
A massive swarm of winged Scavenger Demons.
How did these dregs reach Earth in such numbers?
Then he saw their direction.
Angela.
And he remembered what she'd said.
A sister who could see angels and demons.
A psychic.
And a powerful one.
"Mammon needs a powerful female psychic as a vessel..." Constantine muttered.
Everything connected.
He dropped his glass and sprinted out the door.
-
"Cough-cough... what was that smell?" Angela bent over, coughing violently.
"Scavenger demons," Constantine replied. "Sulfur. You get used to it."
He extinguished the Shroud fragment he'd just used and carefully tucked it into his coat.
A consumable.
And a rare one.
Unless he found Jesus and got a few tons wrapped up, this was precious.
Though if that happened, Constantine felt he could clear out Hell-assuming Lucifer stayed out of it.
"S-sulfur?" Angela coughed until tears welled up.
"Distinct, right?" Constantine lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, visibly relaxing. "So... you said your sister could see angels and demons?"
"She thought she-"
Angela stopped.
What she'd just seen made the words impossible.
"Seeing is believing." Constantine exhaled smoke. "So what about you?"
"What?"
"Your sister's dead," Constantine said calmly. "You're still alive. Those demons weren't after me."
He stared at her.
"They were coming for you."
Psychic abilities often ran in families.
Anyone who could see through half-angels and half-demons was powerful.
If Isabel was one, Angela almost certainly was too.
Constantine knew what the demons wanted.
Not her death.
Her body.
Mammon's birth vessel.
-
"The timing and spell choices were excellent," Morin said, looking down at Tony sprawled on the ground. "Your combat instincts are good. What you lack is experience."
The blood of Jesus wasn't God's blood.
There was still a difference.
To break the barrier and let Mammon through, Gabriel had chosen the right date.
When Hell and the mortal world were closest.
Right time.
Right place.
Right people.
As the day approached, weaker demons began leaking through.
Originally, they would've caused chaos.
Now, they were experience points.
Nothing was better practice than prey that resisted, had strength, and came with no consequences.
"I feel... awful," Tony muttered, not wanting to move.
"That's normal," Morin said smugly. "You burned all your mana. Beginners recover slowly. It's like waking up after going nine rounds in one night."
Morin almost laughed.
He remembered those days.
Instant depletion.
Then being useless for half a day.
That feeling...
Unforgettable.
Of course, that was impossible for him now.
His reserves were massive.
Even if emptied, recovery was instant.
Unless magic was completely blocked.
In which case-
He'd just leave.
If you can't win, don't force it.
"Wait." Tony stared. "You knew this would happen?"
"Of course. I was a beginner once."
"Then why didn't you warn me?"
Tony narrowed his eyes.
"...Was it so you could film another video?"
"Please don't think that badly of me."
"I don't think badly of you," Tony replied flatly. "I just think you're that kind of person."
As the number-one victim of professional 'photography,' Tony felt qualified to judge.
"Sigh..." Morin looked heartbroken.
Tony was unmoved.
Drama king.
Tony knew that too.
Then-
Morin instantly switched expressions.
"Actually guessed it! As expected of my apprentice!"
He pulled out a tablet.
The footage played.
Tony executing brilliant finishing moves.
Then collapsing.
Three seconds later.
Perfect stabilization.
360-degree immersive angles.
Exhibition-level quality.
First prize material.
"Look," Morin said cheerfully, "you have to believe in my moral character. This is teaching. Words are useless. Broken bones teach better. Now you know how awful running out of mana feels, so you'll never recklessly drain yourself again. That's the lesson."
"Heh."
Tony laughed coldly.
Logical.
Very logical.
But definitely not Morin's original intent.
This guy just wanted money.
The moral speech was improvised.
"Cough." Morin dropped his smile. "I think you misunderstand me deeply."
"Not at all." Tony corrected himself instantly. "I believe your teachings are sincere."
After this period of hands-on education, Tony was thoroughly convinced.
Handled.
Completely.
Morin could be irreverent.
But what he taught was real.
Useful.
And solid.
Some of Morin's casually revealed past experiences also inspired genuine respect.
In short-
Aside from occasional nonsense-
Everything else was excellent.