Crowley walked to the center of the warehouse and drew a circle on the floor with the tip of his leather shoe. Wherever his toe passed, the cement floor automatically corroded into a charred black groove.
The groove connected end to end, forming a perfect circle ten meters in diameter.
Then he opened his briefcase and took out three items.
The first was a metal canister. When he unscrewed the lid, it revealed a thick black liquid.
It was demon blood, but not from an ordinary demon. It came from a high-ranking demon that had lived for at least five hundred years, its heart pierced with a pure silver dagger and its blood collected before it drew its last breath.
The stench of blood was overpowering, carrying a mingled scent of sulfur and decay.
The second item was a bag of feathers.
Inside were twelve pure white feathers, each radiating a gentle holy light. These Angel Feathers had to be plucked from the wings of a living angel, and the angel could not resist during the process. Otherwise, the feathers would lose their blessing.
Crowley mixed the demon blood with the Angel Feathers.
The instant the two opposing substances touched, they hissed like red-hot iron plunged into cold water.
The black liquid and white feathers began to erode each other, eventually merging into a thick dark-purple substance.
Fine bubbles rose across its surface, and each one released a faint pulse of energy when it burst.
Crowley scooped up the mixture with a bone spoon and began drawing along the charred grooves in the floor.
His hand was steady. The angle at which he tipped the spoon, the speed at which he moved it, and the amount he poured were precisely consistent every time.
The dark-purple substance flowed through the grooves,