In a ruined church southeast of Gotham, a girl with dark skin, braided hair, and primitive-looking clothes crouched on the floor, tracing a magic circle with her finger.
Wherever her finger slid, the stone floor sank down like soft tofu.
The door swung open, letting in a shaft of light.
Her eyes turned cold, and she looked back sharply.
At the doorway leaned a man in a beige trench coat, short blond hair messy, holding a half-empty beer bottle.
"Constantine?" she recognized him instantly, her brow furrowing. "What are you doing here…"
Yes. It was John Constantine—or rather, Constantine's sub-personality inhabiting a Shadow Clone.
For reasons unknown, when Raymond entered this world, not only had Deadshot been replaced, but even the real Constantine had vanished.
Constantine had tested it himself the moment he returned.
Which meant that now—he was the only Constantine in this world. No one else.
"It's been a while, witch." Constantine's sub-personality greeted lazily, lifting his beer bottle in salute.
Just as she knew him, he knew her.
This woman was none other than the Enchantress—the very target the Suicide Squad had been tasked with handling.
As fellow magic-wielders, Constantine and the Enchantress were not strangers. They hadn't formed anything like the Dark Justice League, as Raymond knew of from another world, but they had crossed paths more than once.
And unlike the fumbling Task Force X, Constantine's sub-personality had found her almost effortlessly.
"You came here to stop me?"
"No. Go ahead, I'll just watch." He waved his hand, took another drink.
"I don't have time for your jokes. State your purpose, Constantine!" the Enchantress snapped, her voice low and threatening.
"Why so grumpy? Old friends meeting again—maybe not tears and hugs, but at least a smile?"
A beam of light blasted past his head, punching a hole clean through the church door.
"Speak. Or I'll make you."
But Constantine's sub-personality didn't even flinch. He leaned lazily against the doorway, grinning. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. So what's the point? If you want to kill me, then go ahead. Don't worry—I won't even fight back."
Her eyes narrowed, flickering with doubt.
If she could, she would have happily killed him already. In fact, most people who knew John Constantine wanted to kill him sooner or later. He was a walking curse—friend or foe, anyone who got close ended up suffering.
But wanting him dead and daring to kill him were two different things.
Because Constantine was never easy prey. Countless powerful beings had died by his hand—hell, even angels and demons had been tricked so badly they were still hunting him.
And yet here he was, still drinking, still scheming. That fact alone said enough. Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⟡𝕗𝗂𝗋𝖾⟡𝕟𝕖𝕥
The Enchantress was powerful, yes. She rarely took mortals seriously. But Constantine was one of the few she didn't want to provoke lightly.
Seeing him unfazed even after her warning, she dropped the thought of attacking—for now. Unless he tried to ruin her work, she preferred not to create more trouble.
"Hmph. Fine. Watch if you want. But if you interfere, I'll make you beg for death."
She turned back, continuing to carve her magic circle.
Constantine chuckled. "Same fiery temper as ever, witch."
She shot him a cold glare but didn't stop drawing.
He sipped again, then went on as if chatting at a bar. "That's an Extra-Dimensional Summoning circle, isn't it? Still trying to bring your people into this world?"
"You have a problem with that?" she snapped.
"No problem at all." He shook his head, smiling. "But as an old friend, I figured I'd give you a little advice—"
"Who's your old friend?" she cut him off without mercy.
"Not the point. The point is… are you sure summoning your kind here is really a good idea?"
"I know what you're thinking. You're strong enough to toy with mortals, to treat their lives like sand in your hand. So if your people arrive, you'll crush this world easily. Human weapons won't stop you. Right?"
She said nothing. But silence was answer enough.
Constantine grinned wider. "Ever think the only reason you've been able to run wild here… is because you're too insignificant to matter?"
Her eyes darkened. "Do you want to die?"
"You don't need to keep saying that. If you could've killed me, you would've already. And you know it." He chuckled, shaking his empty bottle.
He tossed it aside, dusted his hands, and continued. "You've never dealt directly with Heaven or Hell. You don't know how strong they really are."
"I admit, your power is impressive here. And your people are probably just as mighty. But compared to Heaven and Hell, you're nothing but ants. And me? I'm an ant too. The one they hate the most, actually."
"But you're still alive," she countered coldly.
"I'm alive because of this." He tapped his temple, smiling bitterly. "Not because I can fight them head-on. And you? Do you really think you're on my level?"
His gaze carried a mocking trace of pity, his tone equal parts smug and infuriating.
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