The stranger's words were met with the resounding slam of the forge's door.
In this world, anyone might need help—but not Bul-Kathos.
Closing the door, he surveyed the forge, piecing together what had drawn that fool here.
"Uncle, what was that guy talking about?"
Jill's curiosity brimmed. The world's strange wonders were slowly unveiling themselves to him.
To a kid like him, these cryptic matters were endlessly fascinating.
"He was talking about this place being touched by demonic traces."
Bul-Kathos turned back to his forging. Where Nephalem tread, demons and angels hesitated.
The forge's demonic taint came from the weapons Bul-Kathos carried—blades steeped in demon blood through countless years.
Though time had dulled their aura, the traces lingered.
"Demons?"
Jill tilted his head, trying to recall the grotesque, vicious creatures he'd glimpsed in others' secret realm battles, still puzzled.
Too young to grasp abstract concepts like "aura," to him, demons were just ugly, savage monsters.
A rustling sound followed as a crumpled business card slid under the door, its cheap print reeking of tackiness.
"John Constantine, at your service for all your problems."
Bul-Kathos's irritation flared. He loathed chatterboxes.
Striding to the door, he decided it was time to teach this oblivious pest a lesson.
As he shoved the door open, the scruffy man stumbled backward, knocked off balance by the force.
A faint, barbaric aura began to radiate from Bul-Kathos.
If this Constantine could sense the demonic traces here, he'd surely feel Bul-Kathos's presence.
"What are you?"
Constantine's lazy demeanor vanished in an instant. This man, who'd tangled with demons and manipulated angels, had never encountered an aura like this.
Not magic, not demonic, not angelic, nor the quirks of some odd superhuman.
It was just… ancient, brimming with raw, unyielding power.
Constantine felt uneasy. Though Bul-Kathos exuded only a sliver of his oppressive might, the unfamiliar sensation caught him off guard.
He realized he'd provoked something extraordinary. The smart move was to leave—now.
He knew New York housed a cadre of mages, and this forge bore the distinct magical signature of the Sorcerer Supreme's lineage.
That's why he'd come, hoping to tap into the best backup a rogue mage could ask for when facing demons and angels.
Bul-Kathos stared down at the still-sprawled Constantine with icy calm, silent.
He had little desire to rough up a man like this.
Under Bul-Kathos's pressure, Constantine scrambled to his feet, fleeing without a backward glance.
He looked thoroughly spooked.
Jill peeked out from the forge, then stooped to pick up the crumpled card.
"Supernatural and paranormal expert, John Constantine."
Jill read the words in an odd, exaggerated tone.
"Alright, Jill, after lunch, we'll head into the city for a stroll."
Bul-Kathos dismissed the encounter, unbothered.
On the other side, Constantine's mind was racing with wild ideas. Having felt Bul-Kathos's aura, his scheming brain kicked into gear.
"Manny, any idea what he is?"
Constantine leaned against a fire hydrant, lighting a cigarette and addressing the empty air.
"I don't know…"
A passing patrol officer suddenly transformed into an angel with pristine white wings, responding in a bewildered tone.
Manny, the angel, was here to observe Constantine, a man with one foot in Hell.
He hadn't expected to encounter a being near Constantine that even he couldn't comprehend.
"You're an angel, aren't you?"
"You know angels aren't all-powerful."
Constantine regained his composure, perhaps aided by the cigarette's burn.
"I'd wager you know what it means to show up unannounced in the human world."
A calm voice interrupted their exchange. Clad in a dark yellow robe, Ancient One appeared.
In an instant, the surroundings were enveloped in a dimensional pocket.
"Honored Sorcerer Supreme, I have no intention of breaking your pact with Heaven. I'm merely observing him."
Manny bowed deeply to Ancient One, gesturing toward Constantine, who stood puffing his cigarette with a sly expression.
"I trust you know what you're doing, so you'd better behave."
Ancient One's face was shadowed beneath her hood, her tone sharp.
The human world, caught between Heaven and Hell, wasn't their playground.
The barriers forged by Agamotto ensured neither side could unleash their full power here.
And even if they could, so what?
Ancient One was a force capable of facing Mephisto head-on. Heaven and Hell had to tread carefully in her domain.
"May I have the honor of knowing your name, lovely lady?"
Constantine took a deep drag, sauntering toward Ancient One with a swagger that ignored all propriety.
To any normal observer, John Constantine was an unapologetic scoundrel.
His patchwork, half-baked spells were never his strength. His true talents lay in cunning words and masterful deception.
Oh, and he was bisexual—had even let a demon possess his body to conceive a child with another monster.
Human boundaries? To him, they were just a dull word.
Each time he crossed a line, he'd simply set a new one.
He was, undeniably, a scoundrel.
Perhaps with a flicker of justice in his heart?
Swaying, he approached Ancient One, reaching with a needle-scarred hand as if to lift her hood.
Naturally, he received a soul-shattering palm strike.
His incomplete, ethereal soul floated free, hovering in place.
His body slumped to the ground, the burning "Ska" cigarette still clutched in his hand.
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