A few days later, at the hospital.
The ward was filled with that same eternal, unchanging scent of disinfectant.
Even with Sephirot's robust physique, smelling that odor always triggered a sense of instinctive aversion in his heart.
"How's the recovery going?"
Sephirot pulled over a chair and sat down, looking at Constantine, who was lying half-dead on the hospital bed with several IV tubes plugged into him.
"Alright. Haven't kicked the bucket yet."
Constantine coughed twice. He looked at Sephirot's empty hands. "Is this how you visit a patient who ended up in intensive care just to help you out?"
Seeing that Sephirot didn't react to his complaining, he continued, "That meteorite you summoned that day... what the hell was that thing?"
"I swear, I've dealt with all kinds of demons my whole life, but that... was just overkill."
Summoning a literal meteorite just to crush a demon, this method had completely subverted his understanding of exorcism.
If Sephirot's previous use of weapons for physical exorcisms was something he could at least attempt to mimic, then this ridiculous feat of calling down a space rock...
Even if he worshiped God, he could never learn that.
"In our line of work, the biggest taboo is having too few tricks up your sleeve."
Sephirot waved his hand, not wanting to dwell on a topic that had effectively emptied his bank account.
"Get some rest. Get discharged early so we can handle that business with the policewoman, Angela."
He was currently very broke.
If it weren't for those ten million US dollars, and the fact that he was counting on Constantine, the expert, to wrap things up, he wouldn't have bothered coming to the hospital to visit him.
One man visiting another just felt a bit too crowded for his liking.
Hearing Sephirot's words, Constantine rolled over and cursed, "Even the demons in Hell have better social graces than you."
Just then, the ward door was pushed open.
Papa Midnite walked in, dressed in a deep purple suit.
He first glanced at Constantine on the bed, his tone cold: "Once you're recovered, remember to transfer the medical expenses I covered. I don't run a charity here."
Having said that, his gaze shifted to Sephirot.
Though he didn't speak, the meaning in his eyes was crystal clear.
Sephirot's expression stiffened as he felt a wave of awkwardness.
He had just beaten the man up not long ago, and now he found himself in the man's debt. He felt somewhat in the wrong.
"That five million... I'll owe you for a few more days."
A few days ago, in order to deal with Valak, Sephirot had spent a fortune to hire this Black Wizard to set up a magic circle.
But who could have predicted that Valak's regenerative abilities would exceed expectations?
Driven into a corner, he had no choice but to use the Faust Hat to forcibly summon a meteorite.
That world-shattering strike had instantly obliterated his bank balance.
As a result, he still hadn't managed to scrape together the five million in service fees they had originally agreed upon. Papa Midnite's gaze darkened instantly.
In the days following that event, he hadn't received the transfer. He'd had a growing sense of foreboding, which was exactly why he had made a special trip to find Sephirot.
"What do you think my rules are for?"
As a businessman, refusing credit was the bottom line upon which he had built his reputation.
But having said those words, Papa Midnite recalled the sight of the other man summoning a meteor with his bare hands.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the dissatisfaction in his heart.
When facing a ruthless character who didn't play by the rules, trying to collect a debt through a head-on confrontation was the height of stupidity.
"Forget it. If you don't have the money, fine. I'll consider this a long-term investment."
He shifted the conversation, revealing the true purpose of his visit today.
"There's a private dinner party in a few days. Do you want to attend?"
Seeing Sephirot frown slightly, seemingly uninterested, he added at just the right moment: "The guests attending are far from ordinary."
"Most are high-level figures from Los Santos' political and business circles. Since you're tight on cash right now, you might find a suitable deal there."
"..."
Sephirot originally intended to refuse, but the words Valak had spoken upon being summoned to the human realm suddenly echoed in his mind, "Human... is the vessel for my descent finally ready?"
Coupled with the technological equipment he had previously discovered on the Ancient Ogre and near the Jotunn...
He suddenly changed his mind.
Since demons and angels were lurking in the human world, gambling over souls, then among this crowd of politicians, there were bound to be many who colluded with them in secret for the sake of profit.
He wanted to probe these businessmen and see exactly what kind of schemes those hiding behind the scenes were plotting.
"Time and place."
—--
Evening, in the Lower District of Los Santos.
Several street thugs reeking of alcohol were grinning wickedly, cornering a tattered passerby in a dead-end alley.
Suddenly, a pitch-black venomous snake darted out from the shadows, coiling tightly around one of the thugs.
"Fuck! What the hell is this?!"
The snake coiled around his body tightened violently. Along with the sound of cracking bones, the thug let out a single scream before his breath failed him.
The sudden turn of events left his remaining companions pale with shock.
They hurriedly kicked the passerby aside, drew their weapons, and stared in terror at the shadows where the snake had emerged.
"Who's playing tricks there? Get out here!"
"You guys are actually quite lucky. You can be the first to test my new toy."
Sephirot stepped slowly out of the darkness.
A hood obscured half of his face, and he wore a Shadow Robe with a shroud of pitch-black mist flowing through it.
From the thugs' perspective, even staring at the black robe for a few seconds caused their brains to reel with vertigo.
It was like a miniature black hole, constantly absorbing the surrounding light, making it impossible to pin down the wearer's true position.
The thugs glanced at each other. Although this ghostly thing made their skin crawl, under the influence of alcohol, there was nothing they feared. One of the thugs reached behind his back, flicked open a folding knife, and hurled it straight at Sephirot's chest.
Sephirot stood his ground, unmoving, as if paralyzed by fear.
Seeing the flying blade about to find its mark, a flash of excitement lit up the thug's eyes.
Thump!
But then, a scene unfolded that made their skin crawl.
The knife passed clean through Sephirot's silhouette, clattering against the wall behind him.
Under the impact, Sephirot's form rippled like water, twisting into a cloud of black mist before dissipating entirely.
"What are you looking at, fellas?"
A cold voice rang out from behind them.
The thugs spun around in a panic, eyes locking onto Sephirot.
Sephirot raised a hand above their heads, and several thick, venomous snakes lunged from his arm like coiled springs.
In the next heartbeat, his body vanished and reappeared instantly above them, two short blades gripped in his hands.
Scream after scream echoed through the alley.
Seconds later, Sephirot sheathed his twin blades and stepped over the corpses littering the ground.
The Shadow Robe he wore rapidly dematerialized into black mist, shrinking and coiling around his right arm until it settled into a lifelike snake tattoo.
He scanned the tattoo on his arm with a look of satisfaction; the two puncture wounds at the webbing of his thumb had already healed.
This was the Devil Arm forged from the demon Valak.
Sephirot had given this new weapon, which combined both utility and offense, a fitting name, [Valak].
In its dormant state, this Devil Arm took the form of a small, slender black serpent.
The moment Sephirot had picked it up, it had wound itself around his forearm and transformed into a tattoo.
Once Sephirot channeled demonic energy into it, the tattoo would spring to life.
The snake's head at the base of his thumb would peel away from his skin, rear up, and sink its fangs in, injecting a frigid toxin into Sephirot's body.
Since Sephirot had crushed Valak to death with a meteorite, the demon's soul had remained defiant even in death, brimming with spite and resentment.
Thus, every time Sephirot called upon its power, it attempted to lash back at the man who wielded it.
However, for someone carrying the Sparda bloodline, the greatest discomfort this toxin caused Sephirot was the brief sting of the bite, like a needle prick.
As for the poison itself, he treated it like a light snack.
Valak's functions were straightforward.
The first was its Support Form.
When activated, it manifested a cloak made of pure darkness over Sephirot's body.
This robe didn't just absorb and refract ambient light; it blurred the vision of enemies and distorted the feed of any surveillance camera.
Whenever Sephirot used Trickster to dash or move at high speeds, the robe would leave behind an afterimage at his original position that was nearly impossible to distinguish from the real thing.
During this window, his body gained a brief concealment effect, allowing him to close the distance on enemies instantly.
The other form was the Attack Form he had just demonstrated.
The tattoo on his right arm could manifest into physical serpents that launched forward.
If they struck a target, the snakes would constrict them tightly, biting and injecting venom as they squeezed.
If the attack missed, the snakes acted as an anchor point; Sephirot could choose to blink to the tip of the serpent's position or simply let it dissipate.
Just then, the phone in Sephirot's pocket vibrated.
He opened it to find a message from Papa Midnite.
The dinner party was about to begin.