Liam sat on a cold rock, staring blankly into the swirling red sky above. Silence weighed heavily in the air—until he broke it with a mutter.
"Z must be losing her mind right now... Wondering where I am."
Sparda's voice echoed in his head, dry and biting.
"Probably. Or maybe she's already given up on you. Moved on. Getting her cheeks clapped while you're sulking in Hell. You caused her a lot of trouble, kid."
Liam scoffed, leaning back on his palms.
"Same could be said about your wife. You were gone for what—centuries? She probably ran through entire towns by now."
There was a beat of silence. When Sparda spoke again, his voice was different—softer, hollow.
"She died. Long ago."
Liam blinked. The sarcasm drained from his expression. His voice dropped low.
"...Shit. Sorry, man. How'd it happen?"
"Long story," Sparda said curtly. "And I'm not in the mood."
Liam nodded slowly, the guilt lingering. "Alright… forget it. So, what now? We can't hide forever."
"No. And I'm guessing the heroes are out for blood. Sooner or later, we'll have to confront Batman. Either stop him… or stop this. You know he's tearing through every lead trying to find you."
Liam cracked his neck, forcing a dry chuckle.
"Hair changed after I fought the Titans. Might be able to blend in."
"Yeah, white hair, genius. You'll stand out like a black kid in a Mormon church," Sparda grumbled. "Maybe it's time we call Lucifer and beg for a ticket out."
Liam blinked.
"Wait. We never even asked him."
"You moron! How did you forget?" Sparda barked.
"You did too!"
"Fantastic," Sparda growled. "We're stuck. And I don't even have Yamato."
"What's Yamato?" Liam asked.
"My blade. It can cut through dimensions. Seal them, too."
"So… you're basically useless now," Liam grinned.
Sparda snarled, "Who's the one sitting on his ass right now?"
Liam stood and stretched, cracking his fingers.
"Alright. I'll try something."
He cupped his hands and shouted at the crimson sky.
"LUCIFER! LUCIFER!!"
Sparda groaned, exasperated.
"That's your brilliant plan? You fucking—"
Suddenly, the ground erupted in flame. A tall, sharply dressed figure emerged from the fire—devilishly elegant, smiling like he owned the world.
"Call me, and I shall answer," Lucifer said smoothly.
Sparda fell silent. "...I can't believe that actually worked."
Lucifer gave Liam a once-over, his smirk deepening.
"Liam. Kid. Why the hell do you look sixty? What happened to your hair? And more importantly… you ruined my suit. It's only been a week. I'm so disappointed."
Liam shrugged. "Sorry, Lucifer. I'll explain later. Can you get me out of here?"
Lucifer raised an eyebrow.
"I could… but I won't."
"What?" Liam frowned. "Why not?"
Lucifer's grin turned wolfish. "Where's the fun in that? Let's play a game."
"Of course," Liam muttered. "Nothing's ever free with you."
"I'm the devil," Lucifer said matter-of-factly. "Nothing is ever free."
Liam exhaled slowly. "Fine. What do you want?"
Lucifer waved lazily toward the north. "There's a set of ruins. Hidden in the wilds. Get through them, and you'll find your way out."
Sparda's voice cut in fast. "Too easy. What's the catch?"
Lucifer's grin widened.
"The ruins don't stay in one place. They shift—like a heartbeat. You've got a short window. I suggest you run."
Liam nodded, turning without another word.
"I'm going. Thanks for nothing."
LUX — Later
The club pulsed in low red light. Shadows danced along marble floors. Lucifer sat at his grand piano, whiskey in hand, watching the Infernal skyline with mild amusement.
Footsteps echoed across the room.
"You just send that kid to his death?"
Lucifer didn't turn.
John Constantine stepped from the dark, cigarette in hand, eyes sharp beneath his trench coat.
Lucifer finally glanced back, sipping his drink.
"Welcome, John Constantine. Worried about your little friend? I didn't send him to his death…"
He stood, swirling his glass, voice low and amused.
"I gave him a chance. Now it's up to him to survive."
John exhaled smoke. "You really are a bastard."
Lucifer chuckled.
"And yet you always come back, Johnny. Makes me wonder—who's the real addict here?"
Hell — Edge of the Wastes
Liam sprinted across the jagged ground, the heat pressing in from all sides. Every breath tasted of sulfur and fire. His sword, Rakkar, pulsed with power in his hand.
"Damn, this thing's fun," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "But draining as hell…"
"Stop treating it like a toy," Sparda snapped. "You're going to burn yourself out."
Liam rolled his eyes. "You're just mad I'm having fun."
"This isn't a game, Liam. Focus."
He didn't argue. Ahead, dark ruins shimmered in the distance—shifting, almost fading in and out of existence.
He didn't have time.
The ground split apart with a roar. A massive demon burst forth—four arms, each ending in a claw. Red eyes glowed with murderous intent.
Liam didn't wait.
With a roar, he swung Rakkar in a wide arc, cutting deep into the demon's arm. It screamed but kept coming. Liam rolled and pulled Satanus, firing two rounds. They hit, but barely slowed the beast.
"Tough bastard…"
He summoned Orabos' Gauntlets, slamming his fist into the demon's chest. The shockwave staggered it, but not enough.
"Still standing?" Liam growled.
The demon snarled, "You'll need more than tricks."
Liam grinned. "Good thing I brought more."
He darted in, using every weapon at his disposal—Rakkar slashed, Satanus fired, Orabos punched. Each blow pushed the demon back until it finally crashed into a pillar and burst into ash.
No pause. No celebration. The ruins were ahead.
Moments Later — The Illusion
The world blinked. Hell vanished.
Liam now stood in a gleaming arena—silent, pristine, wrong. He turned slowly.
Figures emerged from the fog: Satanus, Blaze, Orabos, and Rakkar—his devil arms.
"You really thought you could leave us?" Satanus sneered.
"What is this…" Liam muttered.
Blaze stepped forward, fire swirling in his hands. "You used us. Now let's see how long you last without us."
The demons attacked. Liam fought back with everything—blades, bullets, fire. But they were fast. Strong. They knew him. Every move.
Each time he struck, they hit harder. Faster. The arena blurred with flames and chaos. He fought until he couldn't stand. Blood pooled beneath him. The voices mocked. Laughed.
And then—darkness.
The False Home
Liam awoke, gasping. He was no longer in Hell.
His studio. Wood floors. Paint. Light. Home.
He staggered to his feet, walking outside. Familiar streets. Familiar trees. His parents on the porch.
"Liam," his mother smiled. "We missed you."
It felt warm. Too warm. Wrong.
He smiled back weakly. "I missed you too…"
Inside, everything was perfect. Too perfect.
Until he saw the mirror.
His reflection stared back—white hair, pale skin. Not him.
"What the hell…"
Voices whispered behind him.
"We forgive you, Liam. Stay with us."
His father. His mother. His old crush. Smiling. Reaching.
"No. This isn't real."
They crowded him.
"Stay. Everything's okay now."
He panicked. Ran.
Found himself at a bridge, cornered. Nowhere left to go.
He reached into his chest—his chain. His last weapon.
Sparda's voice whispered, "Do it."
Liam didn't hesitate. He drove the blade into himself.
The world shattered.
The Final Room
He awoke in darkness. Cold.
A fallen angel stood before him—wings torn, blood soaking the feathers.
The angel's voice echoed through the room.
"Banished by the demons you conquered. Betrayed by your world. And yet, you passed the trials."
Sparda's voice stirred in Liam's head.
"How the hell are you still alive?"
Liam grinned through the ache.
"Not my time. We're not done yet."
The angel raised its blade.
"To claim the Spear of Destiny… you must face me."
Liam stepped forward, eyes burning with resolve.
"I'm ready."