"Keep attacking!"
Vampire soldiers broke free from the blinding glow of burning shrouds, charging forward in their relentless assault. A barrage of crude wooden-handled grenades rained down at Witch Heart Demon's feet, splitting the passage in two.
The underground chamber was meant to contain flames and explosions—lethal for mortals, but mere obstacles for vampire soldiers. Steady, calculated advances to divide and devour their enemies defined their strategy, and Witch Heart Demon, closest to them, was their first target.
Blasted airborne by the explosion, Witch Heart Demon crashed at the vampires' feet. The bloodthirsty horde, accustomed to tearing into prey with their fangs, descended on him with ravenous glee, their feeding frenzy rivaling a gluttonous spectacle, heedless of decorum.
Meanwhile, Hellboy's stone arm was locked in a struggle, entangled by Ghost Rider's iron chains. Caught in the middle, Steve and his team were in a bind. Thanks to Steve, Coulson's scavenged car door had shielded them from the blast's worst, leaving them battered but mostly unharmed. Still, the group was thrown into disarray—kinetic-absorbing car doors couldn't fully protect them.
The real problem? They were trapped between two raging battles.
"Specialist, what's with that skeleton?" Coulson asked, still grappling with Constantine's earlier mention of Mephisto's knight.
"Remember the 'hallucination' that threw a dagger at you? That was Mephisto," Constantine replied dismissively, sketching a crude magic circle on the ground with a marker. His options were limited, but summoning a helper wasn't too hard.
"Come on, Gabriel! We need you!"
Most mages wouldn't dare use such a rudimentary circle—imprecise tools invited disastrous consequences. But Constantine was different. His vast network of "acquaintances" meant even a sloppy circle could connect him to the right ally. For an angel like Gabriel, he didn't even need suppression runes.
"I thought you'd gone home, John," Gabriel's voice echoed from the circle.
John Wick raised his head—he, too, was a John.
"Gabriel, no time for chit-chat. This place is a mess," Constantine said, standing leisurely, his demeanor relaxed. He wasn't worried Gabriel couldn't handle it; he feared Gabriel might ignore his call after their last clash.
A flash of holy light heralded Gabriel's arrival through the circle, powered by Gabriel's own energy—the crude array lacked teleportation capabilities. Constantine's approach was like inviting a friend over and expecting them to bring dinner, without ever returning the favor. Luckily, Gabriel didn't mind.
"Angel? Demon?" Steve stared at the sudden appearance of Gabriel, his mind reeling.
"You're the woman who was with Bulkatho!" Melinda exclaimed, recognizing Gabriel from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s footage of Ancient One. The memory was vivid, despite seeing it only in recordings.
Gabriel's mind flashed to someone it feared. "No, you've got the wrong person," it quickly clarified, recalling Ancient One's disapproval of its form.
"You—" Melinda nearly retorted, "I'd know you even with a wig," but something told her speaking would invite trouble.
Gabriel surveyed the chaos, sucking in a breath that could've warmed the planet. "What is this, a convention? Vengeance spirits, Mephisto's son, Hell's spawn, and a pack of unnatural vampires?"
"Enough, you pathetic vermin!" Witch Heart Demon's voice roared from the vampire pile. With a surge, the soldiers atop him exploded into fragments.
"Soulless scum, daring to touch a lord of Hell!" he bellowed, ignoring that he wasn't quite a lord yet—or perhaps believing he already was.
"You don't have a soul either," Constantine shouted back.
Witch Heart Demon had no time to retort. On the other side, Hellboy gripped Ghost Rider's chain, yanking him close. As Hell's son, Hellboy was immune to hellfire. His massive stone arm smashed into Ghost Rider's skull with a dull thud.
"Look into my eyes!" Ghost Rider demanded, his spine cracking under the force. Human weapons couldn't harm a vengeance spirit, but Hellboy's hell-forged body could.
"Look at my barrel!" Hellboy growled, ignoring the hypnotic pull of Ghost Rider's voice. He aimed his revolver at Ghost Rider's face and fired. Smoke rose as Ghost Rider, releasing the chain, was sent flying.
"So, this world has angels too," Hellboy muttered, glancing at Gabriel, his sulfurous aura flaring in instinctive defiance.
Gabriel fought to suppress its own instincts, unwilling to reveal its damaged wings.
"Specialist, what now?" Steve asked, planting the car door like a shield.
Constantine shrugged. "No clue."
Fleeing was the best option—this place, swarming with Witch Heart Demon and Ghost Rider, was a death trap. Unbeknownst to Constantine, both hunted the scent of the Saint Van Helsing Contract he carried. Not that he'd care if he knew—screwing over allies was routine, even if it backfired.
Meanwhile, Matt sprinted toward the chaos, careful not to let the weapons at his waist nick him in his haste.
(Chapter End)
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