A soul?
At that question, Constantine almost laughed. His soul was quite valuable—it was just hard to collect.
After searching himself, Constantine actually found a cigarette. Since he was in soul form, all the injuries on his body were gone too.
Constantine carefully held the cigarette between his lips and looked up at the unfamiliar demon king. There were plenty of demon kings in Hell, and they were all quite ugly. This one was no exception.
By comparison, his old friend the First of the Fallen could even be called pleasant-looking in some respects. Yes, the poisonous snake that had tempted Adam and Eve into eating the apple in Eden.
He was God's old adversary, but he was quite reasonable. Constantine had heard that he had even built him a paradise for tormenting souls, guaranteeing Constantine a miserable afterlife once he went to Hell.
Constantine quickly shook his head. He had no intention of going to Hell. He had offended too many people—no, too many demons and demon kings. He had no idea how many demons he had helped Heaven throw into Hell.
But he had committed suicide. Under God's doctrine, suicide was a grave sin, one that would certainly send him to Hell. To get into Heaven, Constantine had become a professional exorcist.
Looking at the demon king before him, Constantine narrowed his eyes and took a drag from his cigarette. In Hell's dry, blazing heat, he inhaled the entire cigarette in one breath.
Constantine calculated whether he could sell his soul one more time. After all, he had late-stage lung cancer and might die at any moment. Although Zatanna had prolonged his life somewhat with healing magic.
But if there was a way to recover faster, why miss it?
"If you want my soul, bring something worthwhile. Let's