Even Satan Has a Tough Job!

Gotham's night was thick as ink.

The century-old stone church was like a silent reef in the darkness.

The inside of the church looked even older than the outside. The soaring dome vanished into the gloom, the long rows of wooden pews on either side gleamed with the polish of age, and the cross on the altar at the far end cast a long shadow in the light of several rows of candles. The air was filled with a mingled scent of candle wax, old wood, and faint mildew.

"Old bastard! Get out here! I know you're listening!" Ian tossed Uclifre onto the nearest pew like a sack of potatoes, making a muffled thud. He clapped nonexistent dust from his hands, then planted them on his hips, tipped his head back toward the empty church dome, and shouted loudly enough to wake the dead.

His voice echoed through the church, shaking the candle flames into a wavering dance.

And yet.

Aside from his own echo, there was no reply.

"Stop pretending! You've got an omniscient view! You definitely saw what that bastard Lucifer was up to!" Ian kept shouting at the air, his tone full of resentment and grievance. "Come out and explain! What the hell is this supposed to be? He messed the timeline up beyond recognition and even made a fake uncle just to disgust me?!"

Still silence.

Only the faint sound of Gotham's nighttime police sirens drifted from afar, like the city's never-ending background noise.

"Damn it! Silent God!"

Ian irritably scratched at his hair.

He walked up to the altar, stared at the cross for a few seconds, then did something astonishing—he unfastened his pants and began opening the floodgates toward the cross.

No, opening the floodgates for a deluge. Otherwise, it would not show off