"Is something wrong?" Constantine asked Zatanna as Martha made coffee in the kitchen.
"How much do you know about souls?" Zatanna's eyes grew serious.
Constantine surveyed the Kent home with a shrug. "I think no one understands them better than I do." He paused, then added with his usual grim humor, "They say prolonged illness makes one a doctor. Right now, neither Heaven nor Hell seem to want me, so I suspect I know a fair bit about which souls go where."
Constantine's life had been a long string of catastrophes. There was a time he'd hoped to do good, accumulate enough mercy to earn entrance to Heaven. But fate laughed at that notion. Instead, every contract with demons and fallen angels had made him less pure, trading damnation for survival. Magic had cost him dearly — physically, spiritually, and emotionally. His father's death in part was his fault, and ever since, chaos trailed him like an unwanted shadow.
Zatanna watched him, expression thoughtful. "The kind of soul I'm talking about isn't something you sniff out," she said, referring to the ordinary notion of good vs evil. "I mean the deeper soul consciousness that soul mages study. I sense an unusually strong soul emanation from Mrs. Kent. The child within her… it's not ordinary. It feels like a blessed soul, a powerful existence."
Constantine frowned. "Are you saying something's wrong with the baby?"
"I don't know," Zatanna admitted. "Magic can't detect it — I just sense it."
Constantine, serious for once, reached into his coat for a cigarette, then caught himself and tucked it away. "There are legends of Soul Stones," he said thoughtfully, "artifacts that preserve or transfer souls, even allow higher beings to be reborn in mortal bodies. Perhaps…" His gaze flicked toward Martha, who was carrying coffee over.
"The child in Mrs. Kent's womb," Constantine continued, "might amaze us both someday."
Martha set down the mugs with a warm smile. "Hot coffee, sorry if it's instant. Guests deserve something fresh."
"Actually," Constantine said with a crooked grin, "instant coffee has its own strange charm."
Jonathan entered the kitchen, looking wary at the pair. "You're friends with Adrian?" he asked. Despite their assurances, Jonathan still didn't fully trust these two, especially Constantine.
"We met at a book club," Constantine said with theatrical flair, pulling a worn book from his coat he claimed was signed by Adrian. "We discussed its plots, we shared dark meals, I am his loyal fan."
Jonathan blinked skeptically but didn't press it further.
"We heard Adrian hasn't been around," Zatanna added gently, "so we came to offer what help we could."
"Thank you," Martha replied with relief, just as the room trembled, ever so slightly.
Coffee splashed in cups and only Constantine's quick reflexes kept the mugs from spilling. He even blocked the coffee with his hand, instinctively protecting his own interests first — a habit of survival more than rudeness.
"What was that?" Zatanna asked, sensing magical energy in the air.
They stepped outside together and saw flames rising in the night sky, explosive booms shaking the earth.
"That's near Luthor's chemical plant," Jonathan said uncertainly. "Did something happen there?"
Constantine stepped forward, unusually serious, and lit a cigarette. "This isn't ordinary combustion. Not just gas or chemicals. The air feels charged with magic. If this spreads, the whole town could burn."
"We have to go," Constantine said urgently, already moving. Zatanna followed without hesitation, apologizing quickly to Martha and Jonathan.
"What did you see?" Zatanna asked as they raced toward the chaos.
Boom!
A massive flame burst erupted nearby, blasting outwards. Constantine was thrown back, landing hard on the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain.
"John!" Zatanna cried as another wave of magical fire struck without warning.
She braced to cast a counter‑spell, but Constantine stopped her. "Don't risk backlash," he warned. Instead he pulled out a scroll — something he'd won from a demon in a poker game — and ignited it. A powerful barrier flared up around them with a deafening roar as he grabbed Zatanna and pulled her toward Martha and Jonathan.
Across the farm Jonathan and Martha watched in horror as Lana hovered in the sky, eyes glowing with an unnatural pale light and a symbol of moon phases etched on her forehead. She unleashed purple beams of energy that detonated in explosions, consuming the land in waves of flame and destruction.
Martha stood frozen, unable to believe the farm she knew was being torn apart.
But Constantine, driven by raw instinct, pulled them all back inside. He reached into his pocket and produced a lighter — something Sir Winters had given him — and hurled it into the fireplace.
"I hope this thing isn't a trick," Constantine muttered through clenched teeth as the flames leapt up instantly.
Before anyone could react Constantine shoved Martha into the fire.
"What!" Jonathan cried, stunned.
"It works like a portal," Constantine explained with grim certainty, driving Jonathan and Zatanna into the flames as well. The magic transported them away in an instant.
Outside, a massive magical explosion rocked the house.
And then there was silence.
High above Smallville, Clark Kent hovered, eyes locked on the burning town in the distance. The Kent Farm lay in ruins before him, earth scorched and structures leveled. His heart felt nothing but disbelief.
He dropped to his knees, fists pressed into the crumbling ground beneath him, his breath shallow and cold. The seeds of hatred grew in his chest, feeding on shock and loss.
Clark's heat vision, fueled by rage and anguish, flared in his eyes, scarlet and searing with intensity. His mind was a hurricane of fury and fear, each heartbeat like a thunderclap in the quiet aftermath.
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