DC: My Name Is Not Billy Batson

"There are two hits," the demon said with a deep, mocking tone.

Despite the flame angel's imposing appearance, the demon easily evaded its strike. After all, the angel was merely a construct of magic, lacking true spirituality or sentience.

Constantine muttered under his breath. The magic of the divine system wasn't exactly his forte, and it showed.

"Next time, try something a little more effective," Batman said, his disapproval evident.

"Do you have any better suggestions?" Constantine snapped, clearly annoyed.

Batman's calm reply caught him off guard. "Do you know what I found in that missile?"

Constantine scoffed. "What else could it be? Just a bunch of metal."

Batman fell silent for a moment, unimpressed by Constantine's sarcasm.

Constantine sneered, "Look at you, acting like the world's greatest detective again."

But Batman ignored the jab and continued. "I took it apart."

Constantine froze, staring at Batman like he'd lost his mind. "You what? That was our only missile!"

Batman remained composed. "I only removed a small amount of nth Metal from it and added it to my darts."

He reached into his belt and pulled out a weighted bat dart, its surface glinting faintly with a peculiar sheen.

"I need you to buy me some time," Batman said.

Constantine's frustration melted into understanding. As a seasoned con artist and strategist, he quickly grasped Batman's plan.

"Fine," Constantine grumbled, raising his hand to command the flame angel.

The angel construct move forward, pursuing the demon relentlessly. The wall of holy fire blazed brighter, forcing the demon to focus on dodging and defending itself.

Still, Constantine's magic had its limits. The flame angel wouldn't last long.

It was worth noting that while Constantine was well-versed in many schools of magic—including divine and occult arts—his true expertise lay in black magic. That knowledge gave his spells a raw edge, but it also made divine constructs shaky under his control.

"Make it quick," Constantine muttered, his voice strained from the effort of sustaining the spell.

Batman didn't reply. Instead, he gripped the weighted dart tightly and took careful aim. This wasn't just a gamble; it was a calculated strike.

The demon, preoccupied with dodging the angel's relentless attacks, failed to notice Batman's precise movements. The stage was set.

Despite his frequent use of magic, Constantine preferred deception as his weapon of choice. He understood two things clearly:

First, magic often came with a price—one he wasn't always willing to pay.

Second, while his magical knowledge was vast, his innate demonic power was relatively weak compared to most demons.

"You should probably hurry," Constantine muttered, his voice strained as he pushed himself to maintain the flame angel. His magic and stamina were fading fast.

Batman, however, had already found his opening. With a flick of his wrist, dart streaked and struck the demon squarely, clinging to its chest.

The demon glanced down at the glowing blue light emanating from the dart, confused.

Before it could react, the batarang detonated with a sharp explosion. A searing shockwave tore through the air, and the demon—a creature impervious to swords and mundane weapons—was suddenly bleeding bright red blood.

It stumbled, clutching its chest in disbelief. "What did you do?"

Its voice trembled with shock. The demon had confirmed, over and over, that the figure in black was just a mortal. But now, it couldn't fathom how this "ordinary" human had wounded it.

"Surprise, motherfucker!"

Constantine suddenly lunged, a brass knuckle with a carved cross gleaming on his hand. The makeshift weapon was charged with divine power, and his punch landed squarely on the demon's face, shattering several fangs.

The demon, snarling in rage. As it scrambled to rise, a dark shadow loomed behind it.

"Don't move," Batman commanded.

The demon froze as it spotted the missile mounted on Batman's arm. The weapon glowed with the same ominous blue light that had wounded it earlier.

"Okay, okay," the demon growled, its wings twitching nervously. "Let's... talk about this."

Despite its bravado, the demon wasn't stupid. It had already paid a price to manifest physically in this realm, and it wasn't at full strength. Even so, it was powerful enough that a human should have been no threat at all.

But now? Now he was bleeding, cornered, and staring down a weapon that could kill it.

The demon sneered internally, Despicable humans. Do you dare fight me fairly?

Batman cold eyes left no doubt—if necessary, he'd take the demon out, even if it cost him his life.

For the first time, the demon hesitated. What if this human actually dares to die with me?

Finally, the demon relented, its pride giving way to survival instincts.

"Fine. Let's calm down," it muttered begrudgingly, raising its hands in a gesture of surrender.

Constantine exhaled heavily, relief washing over him. The hardest part was done. If the demon was willing to talk, they had leverage.

He grinned slyly, stepping forward. "So... you've seen what this thing can do. Interested in working together?"

The demon glared at him but said nothing, its red eyes flicking between Constantine and Batman.

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Constantine smirked. "Now, let's make a deal"

the demon's interest was piqued. "What kind of cooperation are you proposing?"

"You help me gather the other demons, and together, we'll kill Beroul. What do you say?"

The demon gave Constantine a skeptical look. "Aren't you working with him already?"

Constantine sneered. "Coerced. I had no choice." He took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dark.

"Think about it," he continued. "I'm British. I don't live in Los Angeles, so what happens to this city doesn't concern me."

His words carried a cold detachment, perfectly matching the demons' perception of his character—a cunning, self-serving survivor.

"You make a compelling case," the demon admitted, though its suspicion lingered. "But what do you gain from this? Why take such a risk?"

Constantine didn't hesitate. "There's a soul trapped in Beroul's grasp. I want her back, whole and intact."

The demon tilted its head, its expression darkening. "You're asking for the impossible. Retrieving a soul from a demon? That's like snatching food from a shark's mouth."

Constantine shrugged, his nonchalance as sharp as his grin. "That's my problem to solve. You just focus on taking down Beroul."

He gestured toward Batman and the weapons they had. "We'll even provide support—these weapons, for example."

The demon's eyes narrowed, its gaze lingering on the glowing metal. Greed flickered in its expression. "How many of these weapons do you have?"

Constantine exhaled a cloud of smoke, his smirk deepening. "Let's just say, not a lot... but enough."

The demon's confidence grew. It and its kind knew Beroul was a strong enemy. He'd been in Los Angeles long enough to regain significant power. Taking him down would require the combined efforts of the five remaining demons in the city.

Now, with Constantine's weapons and the prospect of turning on their temporary allies later, this might actually work.

The demon nodded, its decision made. "Fine. I'll help. But we'll need to plan carefully."

They worked out the details, the demon's though with its own secret plans. Take out Beroul, betray the humans, steal the weapon, and eliminate the remaining demons.

If it succeeded, Los Angeles would be his domain. With the agreement sealed, the demon disappeared into the shadows.

Batman lowered his arm, retracting the missile launcher. "It lacks any real sincerity," he said flatly.

Constantine didn't even blink. "They're demons, mate. Deception and betrayal are how they survive."

He flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground, crushing it under his heel. "But don't worry. As long as they see an advantage in it, they'll play along. And when the time comes..."

Batman raised an eyebrow. "You'll double-cross them?"

Constantine smirked, lighting a new cigarette. "Exactly. It's what I do best."

...

Pioneer Technologies, Inc.

Dane was alone in the room on the top floor, carefully studying the Godhead of the Death God encased in the crystal. The faint glow from the artifact illuminated his face as he delved into its mysteries.

His thoughts were interrupted by a call from the front desk.

"Mr. Davis, someone is here to see you."

"Who is it?" he asked, still focused on the crystal.

A smooth, melodic voice responded, distinctly different from the receptionist's usual tone. "I am the Queen of Angels, Mr. Davis."

Dane froze for a moment, the words catching his attention. He quickly realized what was happening—the Spirit of Los Angeles had made an appearance.

He chuckled lightly. "No problem. Since it's such a distinguished guest, they should be entertained."

A pause. Then the receptionist's voice returned, sounding flustered. "Uh… I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. I got distracted for a moment. What did you say?"

"Let them up," Dane replied, his interest piqued.

He leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing on his lips. The Spirit of Los Angeles coming to him directly? That was unexpected, but intriguing. He recalled the stories from Constantine's encounters.

The Spirit of Los Angeles had a unique ability—she could possess anyone in the city. Man or woman, young or old, it didn't matter. She could take on any form she pleased, weaving her influence into every corner of the city.

Dane laugh as he remembered a particularly infamous scene from Constantine's escapades. The Spirit had appeared to him as a stunningly beautiful woman, seducing him in a way only she could.

Dane thought, amused. The Spirit's reach was unmatched. She could claim, quite literally, every soul in the city.

It was no wonder Constantine could one day boast to the Angelenos: "I fucked all of you."

And the wildest part? He wasn't wrong.

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