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Ravenscroft Psychiatric Hospital.
Soren lounged on the edge of the underground reservoir, legs swinging.
The once-spotless white tiles were now covered wall-to-wall in twisted, overlapping runes. Papa Midnight finished the final stroke.
The entire array lit up with a faint red glow for a split second, then faded like it had never been there.
Soren eyed the pristine floor. "How strong is this thing?"
Papa Midnight capped his brush and lifted his chin. "Hmph. Against something on the level of that last demon god, this chained voodoo array would pin it down for three, maybe four seconds."
"Even a higher-ranking Hell lord would feel the drag."
"Three or four seconds? That's plenty. You're the best, Papa Midnight."
Soren's eyes lit up with perfect salesman flattery.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
He stepped aside and answered.
"Soren! Angela's psychic gift is back online."
"She's seeing a lot. Now tell me—what else does Mammon need to cross over?!"
Constantine's voice came through tight and impatient.
"One more relic," Soren said calmly. "Something that can rip open dimensions and hold angelic power."
"Get it before they do and you might actually stop him."
"What is it?! Right now—"
Constantine cut himself off mid-sentence.
"Wait… you know all this. Why aren't you stopping it yourself?"
His tone had turned suspicious.
Why?
Because I can't beat Archangel Gabriel, that's why.
Soren kept that thought to himself.
"Mammon doesn't threaten me," he said with a light laugh. "If Los Santos burns, I'll just move somewhere else."
"Besides… I'm not exactly gunning for a Heaven ticket. I've got friends in Hell. If you ever get turned away at the pearly gates, look me up."
Silence on the line. Soren could practically hear Constantine chain-smoking.
The exorcist lived for that Heaven shot. He wasn't giving it up.
A beat later, Constantine growled through gritted teeth. "What relic?"
"The Spear of Destiny," Soren answered. "The one that stabbed Jesus on the cross."
"What?! Those lunatics found the Spear of Destiny?!"
Constantine's shout crackled through the speaker.
Soren added casually, "The guy guarding it is someone you know pretty well."
"Balthazar."
He hung up.
A few feet away, Papa Midnight was packing his tools. His supernatural hearing had caught every word.
Balthazar posed as a financier. In truth he was a half-demon who liked flipping a coin and treating human souls like poker chips. Papa Midnight had done business with him a few times.
But lately the half-demon had been acting shady and reeked of holy angel stink.
Papa Midnight had assumed they were hunting another demon.
Now he realized the job involved the Spear of Destiny—and Mammon's descent.
He looked at the array he'd just drawn and his face drained of color. "You people… you're not planning to fight Mammon right here, are you?"
"Bingo. No prize, though."
Soren snapped his fingers. "Since we've had such a good working relationship, you can still run."
"You crazy bastard! I never should've taken your money!"
Papa Midnight snarled, grabbed his suitcase, and stormed toward the exit without looking back.
Soren watched him flee, then tossed his phone into the Silent Hill domain.
Constantine was probably already dragging Angela off to hunt down Balthazar.
What Soren hadn't mentioned: Balthazar was secretly working with Archangel Gabriel. The Spear was already in Gabriel's hands.
All Soren had to do was let Constantine deliver Angela straight to the angel.
Everything would be ready.
Gabriel was a real piece of work. The archangel believed humans could sin all they wanted, say one quick sorry on their deathbed, and still get into Heaven. He hated it—thought God spoiled them.
So Gabriel figured the only pure faith came from people broken by Hell on Earth.
That was why he was pushing Mammon's descent.
But according to the system quest, Mammon was just the warm-up act for "The Darkness Is Coming." Gabriel was another pawn.
Soren was still turning that over when Carrie tugged his sleeve.
"Soren…"
She pressed close, pointing a shaky finger toward the reservoir entrance.
Soren looked.
Papa Midnight—the same man who had just bolted—was stumbling back down the hallway.
The usually sharp-dressed voodoo kingpin had a long tear down his suit jacket and sweat pouring off his forehead.
"If I ever take another job from you, I'll kick my own head around like a soccer ball," he growled.
"Traffic jam outside?" Soren raised an eyebrow.
Whatever was blocking the exit had to be serious if it sent Papa Midnight running back.
"Go see for yourself!"
Soren walked to the doorway and looked out.
The corridors on both sides were packed wall-to-wall with demons.
Some still wore suits and kept a mostly human shape, red light flickering in their eyes.
Others had dropped the act—twisted bodies, jagged teeth, no attempt to hide.
"Well, well. The welcome committee showed up early for their boss."
Soren smirked.
Mammon hadn't even arrived yet and these bastards were already running wild with Gabriel's blessing.
Carrie, standing behind him, had never seen anything like it. She backed up, face ghost-white.
Soren glanced at her, then gently rested a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the horde.
"Don't be scared, Carrie."
He took a step back and gave her a light push out into the hallway.
"They're all yours."