Azazel ultimately took Constantine back to his palace, where Constantine saw Lucifer.
"I thought you'd stopped caring about Hell altogether."
Constantine sat on the floor with his back against a pillar in the center of the palace. Azazel stood beside the throne, while Lucifer stood in the middle of the hall.
"If it were just the demon kings starting a war, I couldn't be bothered to interfere. But don't tell me you haven't noticed those Angels getting restless again."
Lucifer began pacing through the center of the throne room, his tone carrying an unusual weight.
"A few days ago, several uninvited guests visited my new bar in Seaside City. They weren't ordinary humans, but their disguises nearly fooled even me."
Constantine, who had been lounging against the pillar, frowned slightly. Lucifer let out a soft sigh and said, "Almost no one in the magical world knew I'd sold my Los Angeles bar and moved to Seaside City. For months, only ordinary humans had come here to drink."
"When those people entered the bar, I detected no trace of energy on them, so naturally, I assumed they were merely ordinary customers. That was until the experienced local bartender I hired told me there was something off about their expressions and movements."
"The bartender thought they were thieves, but I realized they might have come from the church—lackeys working for those Angels."
Lucifer stopped walking, folded his arms, and frowned. "Generally speaking, priests and bishops from the church carry obvious traces of faith power. I can smell that disgusting stench from miles away, but those people that day had no traces at all."
"It must have been Gabriel's handiwork." Azazel snorted and leaned against the side of the throne. "That molting chicken is best at this sort of thing. That's why Hell