"Whoa, you've got some wild ideas!"
Constantine took the grenade from Coulson, turning it over in his hands with a curious glance.
He'd seen grenades before, but enchanting one? That was a rarity, even for him. As a mere detective, Constantine didn't exactly have easy access to military-grade explosives.
He placed Hawkeye's throwing knives into the magic circle first. A burst of flame enveloped them, and he bit his finger, letting a single drop of blood fall to seal the contract.
The knives began to transform almost instantly—whatever demon was on the other side was already at work.
Enchanting cold weapons was child's play for demons.
"Coulson, why didn't you just pull out that grenade earlier and use it?" Melinda asked, shooting him a sidelong glance before turning her attention back to the path they'd come from.
She was more focused on hoping S.H.I.E.L.D.'s backup would show up soon than on the current spectacle.
"This grenade was my last resort," Coulson mumbled, dodging her gaze.
"San Venganza Contract! Hand it over!" Witchheart's voice roared before his figure even appeared, echoing through the air.
Steve stood, ready to meet the demon head-on.
"Witchheart, let me remind you," Constantine called out, tossing the freshly enchanted knives to Hawkeye with a knowing wink. "Even your father only deals with me through bargains."
He placed the grenade into the magic circle next.
Hell was teeming with demons, each with their quirks. Some, the ones who frequented the human world, had a decent grasp of human tech. But this one? This demon felt like some shut-in nerd of the infernal realms.
The enchantment process seemed almost... old-fashioned.
Constantine suspected this demon hadn't set foot in the human world to see how far humanity had come.
As hellfire wrapped around the grenade, etching intricate patterns onto its shell, Constantine's gut twisted.
This wasn't right.
The flames were enhancing the grenade's exterior, making it look like a weapon better suited for smashing skulls than exploding. The infernal power would leave a lasting impression on anyone it hit, sure—hell's strength often boosted durability.
But for Constantine, this was bad news.
The last time he'd enchanted a grenade, the result was different. That time, the hellfire had condensed inside, creating an explosion that seared the air with soul-chilling cold, a blast so devastating it cost him another teammate.
That grenade had looked unassuming, just glowing a faint crimson.
This one? The demon had merely hardened the shell. Constantine doubted the gunpowder inside could even breach the reinforced casing now.
Whoosh!
Before Witchheart could fully emerge from the base's tunnel, a throwing knife streaked through the air.
Hawkeye Barton's aim was flawless.
The blade, trailing a fiery arc, pierced Witchheart's head while he was still in the passageway.
The demon hadn't expected a group of seemingly harmless humans to suddenly wield weapons capable of harming him.
The knife's power erupted on impact, tearing through his near-invulnerable body.
Witchheart burst from the tunnel, legs-first, utterly unprepared for the blow. He careened straight into Steve's fist, which connected with a thunderous crack.
"Give this a try?" Constantine said, retrieving the grenade from the magic circle and handing it to Coulson. He flashed an encouraging grin, though his eyes avoided Coulson's, lingering instead on the agent's receding hairline.
Maybe it was his lack of faith in this botched enchantment that sparked a rare flicker of shame.
John Wick seized the moment to toss his pistol into the magic circle. Facing non-human enemies was a new experience, and an enchanted gun sounded promising.
"John, that's a risky move," Constantine said, his tone teasing. He was used to being called John, so tossing the name back felt oddly satisfying.
Trusting a demon who'd already botched a grenade enchantment to handle a gun? That was bold.
Still, it wasn't like there was much to lose. Worst case, the pistol would just get tougher—good for clubbing someone, if nothing else.
Coulson pulled the grenade's pin and hurled it with precision.
Witchheart, still reeling from the critical hit, had a flaming knife lodged in his skull. His face twisted in agony.
Steve dove back, clearing the path of the spinning grenade.
No one needed to be told to hit the deck—everyone knew to avoid the full brunt of an explosion.
Witchheart snapped his head up, snatching the grenade mid-air.
"Who dares challenge me with Hell's power?" he roared, his face a distorted mask. The barrage of attacks had drained his strength.
He hadn't anticipated needing to recharge after crossing into the human world. Connecting to Hell for a power boost was beyond his limited authority now, but that didn't stop his bravado.
As the son of a Hell Lord, he had some clout in the infernal hierarchy.
Most demons wouldn't bother picking a fight with this brainless fool.
Unless they were even dumber.
Pop!
The grenade in Witchheart's hand let out a feeble whimper, a tiny puff of smoke rising from its tip.
Then, a blinding crimson glow erupted from the shell.
"Looks like this guy knows too much. Won't he lose out on this deal?" Constantine muttered, sprawled on the ground, watching the grenade's transformation with disbelief.
He yanked the angel feather from the center of the magic circle and flung it away.
Breaking the contract's rules had consequences—cracks spiderwebbed across his skin, like fragile porcelain on the verge of shattering.
"John Constantine, congratulations!" a voice boomed from the magic circle, one Constantine knew all too well.
His face darkened.
"How is it you?"
With Hell sealed off, Constantine had underestimated the lockdown's strength—and the chaos brewing in the infernal realms.
(Chapter End)
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