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"…Me?"
Carrie whipped her head around, eyes wide with panic. "No… I can't—"
The heavy door slammed shut behind her.
She pounded on the wood, but nothing answered. Despair hit her like a wave.
She turned slowly. The hallway was packed with demons—ugly, twisted things straight out of a nightmare.
Fear crushed her. In school, the bullying and laughter had sparked rage that woke her power. But these monsters weren't bullies. They were walking horror-movie props, and right now her legs felt like jelly.
A couple of the half-demons dropped their human masks. Their mouths split ear-to-ear, jagged teeth gleaming as they stalked closer.
Carrie's knees buckled. She dropped to the cold floor, curled into a tight ball, and covered her head with her arms.
One demon with its own head dangling from its chest lunged, jaws wide.
Right before its teeth sank in, a lightning-charged greatsword punched straight through the door, skewered the demon's skull, and nailed it to the opposite wall. The creature dissolved into black mist.
Soren stepped out, looked down at the trembling girl, and let out a quiet sigh.
He'd hoped the life-or-death pressure would force her power awake. Guess not.
"Looks like this method isn't working… we'll take it slow."
He scooped Carrie up, carried her back into the reservoir room, and set her down.
Then he yanked Alastor free from the wall, dismissed it, and drew the twin deer-antler blades.
Soren glanced at the stunned demons crowding both sides of the hallway and smirked.
"Let me entertain you instead."
The demons roared and hissed, trying to intimidate him with sheer numbers.
A second later the first head flew, blood spraying across the ceiling like black rain.
Soren didn't slow down. He crashed into the pack like a wolf in a sheep pen. The narrow corridor turned into a slaughterhouse. The deer blades carved through bone and flesh with wet, meaty sounds.
These low-tier demons—used to bullying humans and acting like kings—couldn't even block one swing.
Limbs rained down. Screams cut off mid-roar.
A few minutes later the hallway was silent. The last demon fell, turned to ash, and drifted away.
Not a single one was left standing.
Soren stored the blades back in the Silent Hill domain.
Papa Midnight, who had been hiding inside the room, stared at the unrecognizable mess of gore coating the walls and floor. His throat bobbed.
He forced his voice steady. "Now… can I leave?"
"I never stopped you," Soren said, glancing over. The red glow faded from his eyes. "You're the one who came running back."
Papa Midnight stayed frozen, sweat beading on his bald head. The memory of Soren blowing his skull open last time was still fresh. Even with his immortality curse, the pain was real.
When Soren didn't move, Papa Midnight exhaled and started walking again.
He just wanted out of this madhouse.
"Wait."
The word hit him at the corner. Papa Midnight froze, every hair on his body standing up.
Soren had remembered something.
Mammon might be descending here, but the ritual was being run by Archangel Gabriel. Soren needed a hiding spot close enough to strike when Mammon was weakest, but far enough that Gabriel wouldn't sense him.
Papa Midnight's voodoo tricks might have exactly what he needed.
"You got anything that can hide someone from an angel's perception?" Soren asked.
Papa Midnight relaxed a fraction when he realized it wasn't a death threat. He turned stiffly. "What angel?"
"Gabriel."
Papa Midnight went rigid, eyes bulging. "You said who?"
"Gabriel," Soren repeated with a shrug. "The archangel."
Papa Midnight looked like he wanted to scream. "You might as well cut my head off right now."
"Relax. It's only Gabriel's mortal vessel on Earth. Power's a fraction of what it should be. I just need to stay off his radar."
Soren patted the older man's shoulder. "You've dealt with worse. What's one archangel?"
Papa Midnight stared at him like he was insane.
...
Downtown Los Santos.
Rain hammered the streets, turning the city into a blurry neon smear.
A sedan pulled up slowly outside a sleek office tower.
Inside, Constantine coughed into a handkerchief, folded the blood-stained cloth, and tossed it aside. He lit a fresh cigarette with steady hands.
Angela sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring at the top floor of the building across the street. Ever since her psychic sight came back, the world looked completely different. A thick, oily black aura clung to the penthouse—rain couldn't wash it away.
The door locks clicked.
Angela spun. "Open the door!"
"Isabel's death is connected to whatever's in there. I'm going in myself!"
"Stay in the car," Constantine said, not looking at her. "The array I put on it will hide you."
He reached into the back seat and lifted the Holy Shotgun. He cracked the cylinder open and slid in gold-jacketed holy rounds one by one.
"Whatever's inside isn't something you handle with a regular pistol."
Constantine pushed the door open. Rain lashed his face and plastered his hair to his skull.
"You'd just be a snack."