My hopes of getting a break lasted all of five minutes.
Another chorus rang out, followed by that familiar, gentle force lifting me upright, and I found myself staring straight into the unpleasant sight of John Constantine being carried in by the Simurgh.
"What a terrible face to wake up to."
"You said that aloud."
"I know."
"Rude." John scoffed, brushing himself off as he landed. "It's your own damn mini angel who dragged me here."
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it without hesitation. I felt so drained, I didn't even bother giving him shit for smoking indoors.
"I rounded up and cuffed those nasty little zombies, in case you're wondering," he went on, taking a long drag. "Six of the buggers. Got them sitting pretty in the Penguin's basement. If you're even listening to me, that is. Don't say good old Johnny boy doesn't pay his dues."
I gave a low grunt in response and tried to lean back, chasing even a second more of rest, but an irritated chorus and a sharp pulse of force shoved me upright again.
Yeah. That wasn't happening.
I let out a slow breath. "Fine. I'm up."
Damn, my responsible pet Endbringer.
"You look like someone shot your nan, kid. What the hell happened while I was out playing zombie hunter?"
I didn't have the bandwidth to explain, so I just pointed toward the massive pile of armor… and the still very much struggling, very ugly dog.
The lounge was empty now. Whether that was the Simurgh quietly ushering everyone out or just Gothamite survival instincts kicking in, I had no idea.
…Yeah. I was going to have a lot to answer for later.
"Did some poor bastard get polymorphed?" John chuckled, stepping closer. He waved a hand dismissively. "Who's the—"
He paled.
"…Bloody hell, that's a fricking god."John stumbled back and dropped onto his ass. "Who in the bloody hell did that!?"
"The Devil."
His head snapped toward me, the color draining even further. "You don't mean—"
"Blonde hair, suit, calls himself Lucifer—"
"Don't say his name, you idiot!" John hissed, shooting a nervous glance around the room like Lucifer might pop in just to prove a point. "How the hell did that even happen? Did you sign a deal or something, kid?"
"I think it's the opposite… kind of?" I rubbed at my face. "He got a referral from me."
John just stared.
Which, honestly, was fair. I couldn't feel fear or anxiety right now, not really, but my brain was still trying to process the fact that I had just casually met the literal Devil.
That came with… a lot of implications. About life. Religion. The universe in general.
None of which I had the energy to even start unpacking.
"You know," John muttered slowly, "I kind of want to ask what the hell that referral you're talking about means… or how the hell you managed to get him to do that." He shook his head. "But I think that's too much, even for me."
He jabbed a finger toward the dog. "So I'm going to focus on this instead. Do you know what that ugly little shite's deal is? And am I about to have a very angry pantheon knocking on my door?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I was quite literally passed out under the Devil's hands."
John swore under his breath, something about gods and idiots blending into one long, irritated mumble.
I ignored him and looked back at the still struggling dog.
"Just… making sure," I said, rubbing my temples. "That's not going to come undone, right?"
John snorted. "You don't gotta worry about that. The number of people who could pull that off can be counted on two fingers, and I highly doubt they'd do that poor bastard any favors." He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back to the dog. "Pretty sure good old Lucy left it like that on purpose to make a point. No pantheon on Earth is going to try and claim him after this."
He paused, then added, "Although… you might want to give up on traveling for a bit."
"…Is it a bad time to tell you he was some sort of alien general?"
John just looked at me for a long second.
Then he dragged a hand down his face. "You're going to be the death of me, kid."
He pulled out his phone and started typing rapidly, thumbs moving with practiced urgency before he dropped into the seat across from me. "Aliens aren't my bloody wheelhouse…"
While he was distracted, I turned inward.
The two shining tickets sat there, waiting.
…Well. Here we go.
[Rolling Platinum Gacha Ticket]
[Recycling Can]
|Elite Item|
A large metal can the size of a person. Whatever item you put inside of it will be perfectly broken down into its base physical materials.
I perked up slightly.
That was… actually useful. Really useful. Between alchemy and the sheer amount of trash and scrap lying around Gotham, this had potential. A lot of it.
Still, I didn't linger. My attention drifted, almost hesitant, toward the orange glow of the legendary ticket.
I had never pulled anything above Epic before.
My luck was already ridiculous.
So how far did the rabbit hole go?
[Rolling Legendary Ticket]
[Nine Lives]
|Mythical Trait|
Curiosity killed the cat, but it had 8 lives. You have nine lives; every time you die, one of these lives is exhausted, and you are returned to full health.
"Goddamn…"
I sat there, trying to wrap my head around it.
That was… absurd. Completely absurd.
Assassination attempts were going to have a rough time of it now.
If nothing else, it took the edge off everything that had happened tonight.
Not enough to process it all, though.
"Did you call someone to deal with the alien armor?" I asked, glancing back up.
"Yeah," John said without looking away from his phone. "Texted Batsy and Z. This is their problem. Spandex crowd, not me."
I turned toward the Simurgh. "I officially name you the Goonion's Justice League liaison. I leave it in your very capable hands."
A distressed chorus spilled out immediately.
I waved a hand, already just done with everything. "Do whatever needs to be done, Ms. Liaison. I have absolute faith in you."
The tiny angel let out a long, exasperated note before taking off, presumably to go handle… whatever counted as liaison work.
"Did you just make that position up on the spot?"
"All positions are made up," I replied. Then I leaned back slightly. "You want to get wasted and forget all about this?"
John huffed a laugh. "Kid. My middle name is wasted."
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on my Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.