If you're enjoying these stories, consider leaving a comment, review, or vote.
You can also visit the Pat** on at: belamy20
Carrie stood there listening to the two of them bicker like an old married couple. Her pale blue eyes swirled with emotions she couldn't even name.
Ever since that day she'd accidentally turned a guy into red mist in the theater bathroom, she'd been living in pure terror—waiting for the cops to cuff her or some lab coats to drag her off for dissection.
But Patty hadn't treated her like a freak. She'd bailed her out without a second thought.
And this guy Soren? He'd just walked in and wiped out every single problem she'd caused.
For the first time in her whole damn life, someone had her back like that—solid, no questions asked.
"Thank you… thank you both," Carrie whispered, head down, voice barely louder than a breath. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I'll… I'll keep this place spotless. I swear."
…
The next day Patty was back at school, leaving just Soren and Carrie in the office.
She'd put on the apron Patty left behind and was attacking the dust with a rag like her life depended on it. Every wipe looked like she was trying to prove she was worth keeping around.
Soren lounged on the couch, a ball of purple demonic energy dancing across his palm—shaping into scissors, then a stick, then a tiny sword. He'd been practicing fine control the last couple days, getting a feel for how precise he could make the power.
He watched the energy twist and flicker, then pulled up the system panel in his head.
[Current Points: 3500]
[Demon Bloodline Awakening: 11%]
[Side Quest: Debt-Ridden Sparda]
[Current Progress: $12,500,000 / $100,000,000]
Soren eyed the points total and started mapping out his next upgrades.
He had Alastor now, sure, but in a real fight his moves were still too basic—slash, chop, stab. Good enough to mulch regular monsters, but against anything tough it felt clunky and easy to read.
He scrolled through the system shop until he landed on the Sword Saint Style talent.
If he could grab that, his close-range game would level up hard—death dances that never let up, air-cutting sword waves, million-stab barrages, mid-air combos that could carve a guy into pieces before he hit the ground…
But the price tag was brutal: 20,000 points.
Soren closed his fist and let the demonic energy dissolve. His brow twitched as an idea hit him.
The Sparda bloodline was literally built for this—born weapon masters, a fighting race. Maybe the Sword Saint Style would just unlock naturally as his awakening percentage climbed higher.
If he could get it for free, that huge point investment could go somewhere else—maybe emergency insurance or something bigger down the line.
Hell, once his demonic power was denser and his control sharper, he could probably start inventing his own sword techniques anyway.
But that was future talk. He shelved the long-term plans and focused on the now.
They already knew how the demons were sneaking past the Angelic Council's radar.
Next step: track down whoever was behind the whole operation—and that ouroboros-with-an-eye symbol he'd pulled off those mechanical monsters.
Time to swing by Constantine's and see if the chain-smoking exorcist recognized the mark.
Mixing demons with tech and occult shit? Whoever was running the show wasn't some amateur cult. They were serious, and they'd already tried to ambush him once. Next time they'd probably bring something nastier.
He was playing in the dark while they held all the cards. Worst-case planning was mandatory.
But the real headache right now was Mammon—the Son of Satan—trying to force his way into the world.
Constantine was out of the hospital, and Angela had that "I will burn the city down" energy. She was probably already dragging him into the whole "clear my sister's name" mess.
For all Soren knew, Constantine had already taken a quick trip to Hell and back.
Which meant Mammon's descent window was closing fast—maybe days away.
He glanced at the quest details floating in his mind.
[Darkness Is Coming Node Quest: The Demon Prince's Ambition]
[Description: Mammon, as the herald of the coming darkness, plans to tear open the barrier and turn Earth into his personal hunting ground.]
[Objective: Stop Mammon's descent ritual]
[Rewards: 10,000 points, Bloodline Awakening +5%, Mammon's Original Sin Demon Soul ×1]
Just reading the rewards made Soren's eyes burn with hunger.
Stopping the ritual alone paid that well.
If he waited until Mammon was weak right after crossing over and straight-up killed the bastard… the payout would be insane.
The Spear of Destiny was on his wishlist too, but he couldn't touch it before Mammon arrived. That would put him on Archangel Gabriel's radar, and that holy prick was the last complication he needed.
In the original story nobody even cared about the spear once everything wrapped up. He could just wait, let the chaos play out, and pick it up clean.
One roll of the dice: overnight riches and a massive power spike, or back to grinding as a broke demon hunter.
His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Soren checked the screen and smirked. Speak of the devil.
He answered. "Cough-cough…"
Constantine's gravelly, cigarette-rough voice came through. "Soren, I'm out of the hospital. That cop Angela… we've got a situation."
"Sounds like you're feeling better," Soren said, standing up from the couch. "What happened?"
A long beat of silence on the other end, then Constantine exhaled. "Ravenscroft Psychiatric Hospital. Come meet me. We'll talk in person."
The line went dead.
Soren pocketed the phone and looked over at Carrie, who was still scrubbing the desk like it owed her money.
"I've gotta head out. The office—"
He paused, coat halfway on.
If he was keeping her around, he couldn't just leave her locked up here forever like some scared bird in a cage. She needed to get used to the world again—and learn how to control that telekinesis before it popped off at the wrong time.
"Never mind. You're coming with me."
Carrie froze mid-wipe, then looked up, surprised but clearly happy.
"I'm not leaving you here alone," Soren added with a half-grin. "Last thing I need is you getting worked up and accidentally remodeling the place while I'm gone."
She gave a shy, embarrassed little smile, but the relief in her eyes was obvious.
She clutched the rag tighter and nodded hard. "Okay!"
…
Ravenscroft Psychiatric Hospital – Private Ward
Constantine paced the small room like a caged animal. The whole city felt wrong lately—too many shadows moving at once.