"I suppose they don't call you the devil for nothing," I said. It just occurred to me that he was the original deal-maker. Artisan was a pale imitation.
"That they do not," Lucifer said. "Though I prefer Lucifer. It's my given name."
"I appreciate the offer, Lucifer, but no thanks," I said. "I already have plenty of power."
He waved with his free hand. "No such thing as enough power. Just ask Superman." He leaned in conspiratorily. You know? You wouldn't be eliminating anyone truly innocent," he said. "And if their deaths aren't reward enough, the money and power will certainly be."
"I think I'll still pass."
"Well, that's disappointing."
Lucifer hummed and flicked his finger, and I felt pain rip through me from the inside out. It somehow managed to heal my soul while carving a fresh, deeper wound into it. The pain radiated from my chest and terminated on my left palm, where bloody marks were carved. They formed a rune I didn't quite recognize.
"It means Hell Gate in Enochian," Lucifer said, taking another sip from his glass. I urged my body to stop bleeding and manually accelerated the cell division and repair process with stamina. The wound vanished, but the scar remained, bright and red.
"Slam it straight into Artisan's chest, and poof, she's down under."
"You're branding him?" Constantine asked, his voice a little incensed. "I thought we agreed to an artifact?"
"You suggested it. I never agreed to it," the devil countered. "What I did agree to provide is a means to trap her in hell forever."
"She'll see him coming a mile away!"
"Like you could've gotten the drop on her with her new body and her techniques," Lucifer scoffed. "I did you both a favor. This way, you can't lose it or get rid of him. And yes, Julius can regrow the mark even if he loses his hand."
I couldn't decide if I was grateful or surprised. Either way, I was certain he didn't do this out of the goodness of his heart. He wanted to see us suffer and fight. Possibly butt heads with the Justice League. It was all deliciously melodramatic. And I couldn't help but think he was getting a kick out of it.
Lucifer winked at me, and I felt even sicker.
"Well, I'm a bus stop away if you ever change your mind," he said.
Against my better judgment, I slammed down the bourbon in my hand, placed the glass on a coffee table, and then made my way to the elevator.
Constantine had a choice word or two more for Lucifer before he joined me.
"Remind me never to trust you again, Constantine," I said.
"Yeah, well. We magicians are a dodgy sort." He patted down his trench coat and looked at him briefly.
"When did you plan on ditching us?" I asked. "Right after you delivered us to the Justice League. Or you used us to get to her."
"I—"
"I may not be able to hold you to your word with a binding vow, John Constantine, but don't think I don't have a thousand and one ways to kill you should you try and cross me," I said, my voice steely.
"Are you threatening me?"
"It's a promise I'd hoped I wouldn't have to make," I said.
"You don't want to get on my bad side, kid," Constantine shot back. "Whatever tricks you have, I have a thousand times more."
"I think I'll make the call to Batman and the League," I said suddenly. "Tell them of the developments."
"What?"
"I mean, Lucifer is right. This plan doesn't work without my hand and me," I said. "And it's clear you're not a trustworthy intermediary."
"You think you can trust them?" he demanded.
"Any more than I can trust you," I said. The elevator stopped at the bottom floor of the building, and I walked out. "Tell the guys I'm going for a walk."
It's time I figured out what was next.
--
"We are where the sleepy little town of Zandia used to be in rural Illinois. The FBI is still unsure what happened here, but they suspect it's another attack from the metal human terrorist organization Crucible." The presenter was a small blonde woman standing in what looked to be a wasteland at first glance. There was an audible tremor in her voice as she spoke.
"If you see any of the faces on this screen, please don't approach. They are to be considered armed and incredibly dangerous. Let the government Metahuman Containment team deal with them—Task Force X—deal with them."
The news broadcast showed outdated, sketched images of me, Gina, George, and a few other dead special grades. Idly, I wondered how much of it was blind ignorance and how much was calculated withholding.
I was in no rush to find out, with Artisan's fingers all over the organization that was supposed to be coming after us. I took a sip of Expresso, savoring the taste. Caffeine was too weak a stimulant to truly affect me, not when I have Psi-Clarity keeping my mind sharp always.
Speaking of which, it had inspired me to take a novel approach to my trust problem with the league. I brought a mug to my lips and drained the contents. None of my plans were perfect, but--
The world slowed to a crawl as I heard it. Tires screeching, metal scrunching, and people screaming. I smelled the blood immediately and knew several lives hung in the balance.
Slowly, I set my cup down, and I was out the door before I could really think about it. A cloth mask covered my lower face, and I switched techniques to ice formation and earth manipulation. Kicking off the ground, I exploded forward, cracking the asphalt as I catapulted myself above dozens of cars. I banked mid-air as I approached a turn and used airstep. Reddish energy exploded out from underneath my left foot, shooting me into oncoming traffic. My leather jacket whipped in the air, and I strained my perception sphere.
Another icy platform formed ahead of me and flung me forward as I reached it, throwing me just shy of the growing crash. The pile had grown from two to five in the time it'd taken for me to arrive, and I could already smell fire and gas. The SUV was about to go up. Breathing out, ice escaped my mouth, and I accelerated it, enveloping the engine complex of the car. It froze solid as I touched down gently, attracting dozens of onlookers and drivers.
I could feel the fear and uncertainty churning through them with my growing telepathic sense. They were scared. And intervening was as good as announcing where I was to the government and Justice League before I was ready to deal with both. Never mind the fact that my white hair and hidden face were distinctive enough that it would take a halfwit to suss out my real identity.
The contacts I'd slipped on after leaving Lucifer's place wouldn't help much in that regard.
--Still, I couldn't watch them die. Not when I could help. Not when it would cost me very little.