The air inside the chamber turned heavy, suffocating. The First of the Fallen stepped forward, the heat around him warping reality itself. His crimson eyes locked onto Constantine, amusement flickering in their depths.
"John bloody Constantine," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "How many times must I kill you before you stay dead?"
John forced a weak grin, blood dripping from his lips. "Dunno, mate. How many times does it take before you finally piss off?"
Liam stepped between them, gripping his new sword. His body tensed as Sparda's voice echoed in his mind.
"Well… it wasn't nice knowing you, kid. But thankfully, our time together is over."
Liam frowned. "What the hell are you on about?"
Sparda's voice was unusually grim. "That demon in front of you? He'll take all the power of Sparda to defeat. It's over."
Liam's grip tightened. "You keep calling me a bitch, but you're the first one to give up."
Sparda sighed. "I'll give you credit—you're not just a bitch. You're a crazy one."
Liam smirked. "Damn right."
He turned to Zatanna and John, his expression hardening. "Zatanna, carry John and leave. Now. I'll hold him off."
Zatanna's eyes widened. "No. We're not leaving you here."
Liam clenched his jaw. "Zatanna, John is dying. If that happens, all of us will die. Get him out of here—John, open a portal. Now."
John looked at Zatanna, his face twisted in pain. He weakly reached for her arm. "Zee… do it. Get us out."
She shook her head violently, tears welling up. "No! We're not leaving Liam behind!"
John coughed, more blood spilling from his lips. "Damn it, Zee! We don't have time for this!"
She turned back to Liam, her hands trembling. He gave her a soft smile before turning back toward the First of the Fallen.
"Go."
Zatanna hesitated for just a second—then, through tear-blurred vision, she watched as Liam charged at the demon, blade raised.
A Devil's Trial
Liam lunged forward, gripping his new sword—Chantinelle—in one hand and one of his pistols in the other. The First of the Fallen stood motionless, his expression unreadable. The air burned around him, his very presence distorting the world.
Liam didn't care. He pulled the trigger.
A hellish bullet, infused with demonic energy, roared toward the demon king. It never reached him. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the First of the Fallen deflected the bullet, sending it careening into the castle wall. The impact sent debris flying, but the demon himself remained untouched.
Liam gritted his teeth. "Alright, let's try something else."
He dashed in, swinging Chantinelle in a deadly arc. The blade, forged from the soul of a fallen angel, hummed with power, but the First of the Fallen merely sidestepped the attack. Liam barely had time to react before a powerful backhand sent him stumbling.
Sparda's voice echoed in his mind, dripping with disappointment.
"Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic."
Liam wiped blood from his lips, scowling. "Not now, Sparda."
"Oh, no, no. Now is the perfect time." Sparda continued. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? I was a god of sword mastery, and you're out here flailing like a toddler with a stick. You're bringing shame to my name, you insufferable idiot."
Liam snarled, charging again. He fired his pistol mid-dash, using the recoil to propel himself forward. His blade came down fast, but again—effortlessly—the First of the Fallen parried it with just two fingers.
"Is this really all you have?" The demon king sighed.
Liam's grip tightened. He spun, bringing the pistol up point-blank. The shot fired—the bullet screamed toward the First of the Fallen's head—only for the demon to tilt his head slightly, letting it pass an inch from his skull.
"You're joking, right?" The First of the Fallen said, sounding almost disappointed.
Liam's mind raced. He wasn't an expert swordsman—not yet—but he had to do something. He switched tactics, using Chantinelle as a whip. The blade extended, slicing through the air, but the First of the Fallen caught it mid-swing.
"Nice trick. But not good enough."
Before Liam could react, the demon yanked the blade, pulling him forward. A brutal knee slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing into the castle wall. The impact cracked stone, the air ripped from his lungs. He coughed, blood splattering the ground.
Sparda let out a long sigh. "I told you. You're outmatched."
Liam groaned, dragging himself to his feet. His vision blurred, but he wasn't done. Not yet.
The First of the Fallen flexed his fingers, stepping toward him. "This fight is getting dull."
Liam ignored the pain and reached behind him—his last resort. He pulled the Sparda sword free.
Sparda's voice immediately flared up. "Oh? You actually have a brain? Well, this is going to end in your death regardless, but at least you'll go out swinging."
Liam exhaled sharply. "Can you do that trick again?"
Silence.
Then, Sparda spoke, his voice unusually grim. "It won't matter. You'll die no matter what."
Liam twirled the Sparda sword in his grip, setting his stance. "Yeah? I'll take my chances."
The First of the Fallen's gaze lingered on the sword. For the first time since the fight started, genuine interest sparked in his eyes.
"That's an interesting weapon." He smirked. "I think I'll take it."
Then, he moved.
Liam barely had time to react before a wave of raw demonic energy exploded from the First of the Fallen's hand. It tore through the air, too fast to dodge—
The impact sent Liam flying. He crashed through a pillar, rolling to a stop across the stone floor. His whole body screamed in pain, but he forced himself up, spitting blood.
The First of the Fallen approached, looking down at him with a curious expression.
"I'll give you credit, boy." His voice carried a rare tone of amusement. "You've got guts, and you don't lack talent. Given a few centuries, you might even have stood a chance."
Liam panted, gripping Sparda's sword. "Yeah? Then why don't you wait a few centuries and fight me then?"
The demon king chuckled. "Because you chose the wrong battle." His expression darkened.
Hell's Grand Escape
Liam coughed up blood, his body barely holding together as he knelt on the scorched ground. His vision blurred, his arms trembled, and the weight of his wounds pressed down on him like chains. Despite it all, he smirked.
"At least… Z and John are okay," he muttered, his breath ragged.
The First of the Fallen chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement.
"Do you really think I would have let them escape? Hah! You poor fool. They are stuck here. And once I'm done with you, I'll take my time dealing with them."
Liam's eyes widened in horror. His mind raced, but his body refused to move. He clenched his teeth, his grip tightening around the Sparda.
"Well… I guess that's it," he exhaled, his voice calm despite the doom closing in. He raised the Sparda, flipping it in his grip until the blade was pointed at his own chest. His hands barely trembled.
"Thank you for giving me a chance."
He whispered to the sword, expecting some smart-ass remark from Sparda.
But for the first time since they met, the demon remained silent.
The First of the Fallen tilted his head, intrigued.
"Taking your life with your own hands?" He nodded approvingly. "I will allow you to die with honor. You fought well."
Liam closed his eyes, inhaling deeply—
"Oi, missed me, mate?"
Liam's head snapped up. His heart nearly stopped.
There stood John Constantine, perfectly fine, not dying, grinning like the smug bastard he always was.
The First of the Fallen's amusement twisted into disbelief.
"Impossible." His voice was low, dangerous. "That wound should have killed you. Not even the greatest magician could have healed that."
Liam's breath hitched. He stared at John, then at the complete lack of injury on him.
"What the hell…?"
John dusted off his trench coat and smirked.
"Good show, mate. You held your ground long enough. Now, leave it to me."
The Fallen's eyes narrowed. "What did you do, Constantine?"
John shrugged.
"Simple, really. I sold my soul."
A heavy silence filled the air.
The First of the Fallen stiffened. Then, his expression twisted into pure fury.
"But I own your soul!"
As soon as he spoke, the entire castle shook. The ground trembled as two more titanic figures crashed through the walls.
The Second and Third of the Fallen stormed into the throne room, their monstrous forms barely contained by the space.
"NO, I OWN HIS SOUL!" The Second of the Fallen roared.
"LIKE HELL YOU DO, IT'S MINE!" The Third of the Fallen bellowed.
The three demon lords turned on each other instantly, their voices rising in furious chaos.
"You conniving, backstabbing thief!"
"I made the deal first, you lying bastard!"
"You're both delusional, his soul belongs to me!"
John smirked, leaning into Liam.
"That's our cue, mate."
Liam blinked.
"You… you tricked three demon kings into thinking they all own your soul?"
John grabbed him by the collar.
"Bloody right I did. Now, let's get the hell outta Hell before they remember we're here."
Zatanna, who had been watching in sheer disbelief, snapped out of it and opened a portal as John dragged Liam through it.
Behind them, the three rulers of Hell were too busy ripping each other apart to notice their escape.
The Weight of Weakness
Back in Hell, the three demon kings finally stopped their battle, their monstrous bodies bruised and bloodied. They turned, scanning the ruined castle, only to find—
Nothing.
The mortals were gone.
The First of the Fallen clenched his fists, his rage boiling over. His voice echoed through the infernal halls, shaking the very foundations of Hell itself.
"CONSTANTINE!!!"
—
Back in The Pub, the moment they crashed through the portal, all three of them collapsed onto the floor.
For a few moments, no one spoke.
Their bodies ached, their minds still reeling from the chaos they had barely escaped.
John let out a long exhale and broke the silence with a nervous chuckle.
"Well… that was close."
Zatanna looked at him and started laughing too, a mix of nerves and relief in her voice.
"You think? We almost died, John."
John smirked, lighting up a cigarette. "Yeah, well… almost ain't the same as actually dyin', is it?"
The laughter faded as both of them turned their gaze toward Liam.
He wasn't laughing. He wasn't even moving.
He just sat there, staring at the ground, his hands clenched into fists.
Zatanna's smile dropped. "Liam…?"
She moved closer, placing her hands on his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug.
He hugged her back without hesitation, but she could feel it—his mind wasn't there.
In his head, he spoke to the Sparda.
"I'm weak."
For once, Sparda didn't mock him.
"Yes. You are."
Liam's grip on Zatanna tightened. His breathing slowed, his body tense.
He lifted his head slightly, eyes burning with something new—determination.
Looking at Zatanna, then at the sword, he finally spoke aloud.
"I need to get stronger."
Bro is motivated