Constantine pointed at the vivid, blood-red droplets on the map, breaking into a coughing fit.
"Before this, there were already many true demons who ignored the rules set by Heaven and Hell. They used various means to sneak out of Hell and successfully descend into the human world."
"They seem to have mastered some method to forcibly suppress their murderous instincts, allowing them to evade detection by the Council of Angels."
"And this map, which my friend traded his life for, marks the approximate locations where most of them are hiding in the mortal realm."
Sephirot understood clearly.
In the original story, Darkness Approaches was information Constantine only obtained after dealing with the Kuchisake-onna incident. It was normal that he didn't know the specifics yet.
As for the concrete meaning of Darkness Approaches, the original work only mentioned it obscurely.
It referred to the fact that these supernatural events were premeditated and would affect the balance of power between angels and demons; beyond that, there wasn't much of an explanation.
The rules Constantine just mentioned were actually a contract established years ago between God and Satan in their struggle for human souls.
Pure-blooded angels and demons are absolutely forbidden from revealing their true forms in the human world, and they certainly cannot directly use divine or demonic power to seize human souls.
They can only take human form, lurking among humanity to conduct induction and seduction.
Of course, if you are a demon possessing self-awareness and reason, you can sneak into the human world and possess some poor bastard to experience life.
As long as you don't cause any major chaos, the higher-ups on either side won't bother with you.
Similarly, if you're unlucky and get caught and purified by a passing exorcist right after sneaking in, no one in Hell is going to stand up for you.
However, most demons born in Hell rarely possess things like reason or thought.
They are typically driven only by instinct, acting according to their own desires, which was the source of Constantine's confusion.
But now, demons had not only escaped to the human world but were also able to hide from the angels' detection. It was obvious that someone was pulling the strings behind the scenes.
"So, you want to investigate the reason why these demons are coming to the human world?"
Sephirot asked.
"Exactly. And why the barrier between Hell and the human world is being breached."
At this point, Constantine lit another cigarette. "I suspect there's an inside man helping them."
"..."
Sephirot rubbed his temples. How did investigating one Kuchisake-onna lead to this mountain of problems?
Clack!
The sound of a firearm being chambered suddenly rang out behind him, breaking the heavy atmosphere.
Lady, who had been sitting in the corner silently listening to their conversation, stood up. Not only was there no trace of fear on her face, but a faint, excited smile had emerged.
"Let's go blow that Kuchisake-onna thing to high heaven first!"
She licked her lips, her eyes burning with fervor. "As for those demons sneaking across the border... I honestly wish there were more of them. It'd be the perfect chance to warm up my gun barrels!"
—--
The following day.
In the Los Santos Lower District, at a living settlement converted from an abandoned factory.
On a high platform, a muscular Black man with a bare torso and a red ritual robe draped over his shoulders chanted loudly in an obscure, incomprehensible language.
Below the stage, a vigorous bonfire blazed. A group of believers circled the leaping flames, jumping and dancing, their hands waving wildly in the air, their expressions fanatical.
With a high-pitched shout from the man on stage, he pressed his hands down slightly.
The gyrating believers instantly fell silent, sitting cross-legged facing the bonfire.
A Black woman, guided by two attendants in white dresses, stepped onto the platform. She was cradling a funeral portrait in her arms.
The woman approached the man and respectfully handed over a thick stack of US dollars.
Papa Midnite skillfully took the bills, thumbing through the edges.
After confirming the amount was correct, he reached out to take the portrait from the woman's arms and asked, "Why do you wish to speak with your husband?"
The woman, named Maddie, looked at the portrait with an expression full of guilt. "Clark had cancer. He died right there in our bed."
"I just happened to not be there at the time. I didn't even get to see him one last time..."
Papa Midnite only listened to a couple of sentences for the sake of appearances before setting the portrait aside. He picked up a porcelain bowl filled with pig's blood from behind him and handed it to Maddie.
"Papa Legba, please open the gate for the lost soul..."
His expression grew solemn as he began to recite an ancient incantation.
Maddie closed her eyes and gulped down the pungent pig's blood.
A moment later.
Papa Midnite suddenly threw his arms wide, his chest heaving as he took a sharp, gasping breath.
Seeing this, the believers below let out a synchronized, low cry of awe.
He slowly bent his waist, his sharp gaze becoming somewhat vacant.
"Maddie... is that you? Maddie."
His voice carried layers of overlapping echoes, as if many people were speaking at once.
Maddie looked overjoyed. She recognized it: this was the voice of her late husband, Clark.
"It's me, Clark, I'm right here..."
She excitedly grabbed Papa Midnite's arm.
"Maddie, why can't I see you? It's so dark here..."
Clark's voice emerged fitfully from Papa Midnite's throat, laced with confusion and unease.
"Nice party you've got going here, Papa Midnite."
Right in the middle of this touching moment between the living and the dead, a voice suddenly drifted from below the stage, interrupting the seance.
Papa Midnite's consciousness instantly snapped back into his body.
He jerked upright, looking toward the source of the voice with a face full of fury.
"Sorry, I was in a rush this time and didn't bring a gift."
Sephirot stepped out from the shadows, smiling. "But then again, I really couldn't imagine what kind of dessert would be a fitting follow-up to that bowl of fresh pig's blood."
"Who are you?"
Papa Midnite felt the thick demonic aura radiating from the man, a flicker of wariness crossing his face.
"Ah! I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sephirot, and I'm a private detective."
Sephirot waved a hand dismissively. "I've heard a lot about you, Papa Midnite."
"A private detective? What are you doing on my turf? And why did you interrupt my sacred ritual?!"
Papa Midnite's expression was ice-cold.
The intruder had not only forcibly disrupted his ceremony but had also put his current deal at risk of failure.
"As I said, I'm here to stop this ritual from spiraling out of control. And, incidentally, I'm hoping you'll cooperate with me to end this farce."
Sephirot gave a cold laugh.
"Constantine, is this your man?" Papa Midnite demanded, his voice trembling with suppressed rage as he spotted Constantine appearing behind Sephirot. "Are you two together?"
"Don't get the wrong idea."
Sephirot pointed to Constantine beside him and corrected, "Actually, he's the one I brought along."
Once he confirmed that they were a team and were here to wreck the place, Papa Midnite wasted no more words. He shot a sharp look toward the crowd below.
The believers, who had been sitting cross-legged around the bonfire, stood up one after another. They began to close in from all directions, trapping Sephirot's group of three in the center.
Watching the encroaching believers, Constantine raised his fists in front of his chest. "Ha! I actually know a bit of boxing myself."
"Lady, I'll leave them to you."
Sephirot didn't even turn his head as he spoke to the woman behind him.
"Right."
Lady flexed her knuckles. Against these ordinary humans, there was no need to waste bullets.
She lunged into the crowd like a wolf among sheep. The martial prowess she had honed through years of battling demons was on full display.
Everywhere she passed, believers collapsed in rows, clutching their limbs and howling in agony on the ground.
Constantine, meanwhile, wasn't quite as lucky.
After managing to knock down one or two people with his fists, he was pinned to the ground by the sheer number of believers. He could only curl into a ball, shielding his vitals.
Where did this woman come from?
Standing on the high platform, Papa Midnite's expression changed drastically. A powerful sense of crisis stripped away his enigmatic composure.
He thrust both hands above his head, his palms glowing with an eerie green light. He began to chant voodoo incantations rapidly, cold and evil energy gathering in his hands.
Red light flared in Sephirot's eyes as the magic within him erupted. He moved, leaving only an afterimage in the air as he instantly crossed the dozen or so meters of distance.
Papa Midnite's vision blurred. A sudden gust of wind blew the red robe off his shoulders, and his pupils constricted.
One second, the youth was below the stage; the next, he was standing directly in front of him.
"Someone once taught me that if you're going to hit someone, hit their mouth first."
Sephirot sneered. His right hand shot out like lightning, seizing Papa Midnite by the jaw and slamming his head violently into the ground.
Bang!
The massive impact sent several bowls of pig's blood on the altar flying, and the fighting below instantly ground to a halt.
Sephirot kept one hand pressed firmly on Papa Midnite's head, letting his magic pour out without restraint.
Papa Midnite felt as if he were being stared down by an ancient, predatory beast. Even breathing became a struggle.
"Cough, cough!"
Constantine crawled out from the pile of bodies, bruised and battered. He straightened his hair and lit a cigarette. "Old pal, your voodoo toys can't even squeeze out a fart in the face of absolute violence."
Sephirot ignored the detective's sarcasm. Releasing his grip, he let that harmless, gentle smile return to his face. "Papa, can you cooperate nicely now? Don't force me to kill them all."
Papa Midnite struggled to push himself up from the altar. He glanced at his believers, most of whom were now sprawled on the floor.
He was a shrewd businessman and a man who knew when to fold. In the face of such an absolute power gap, holding out any longer would only lead to his death.
He grit his teeth and whispered, "What do you want me to do?"
(Translated by yourtl.app)