Chapter 623

Ten minutes later, Angela woke up to find herself in the bathtub; she lifted her upper body warily and saw the blond man sitting beside her.

Constantine sat on the edge of the tub with a constipated expression, turning to Angela and saying, "Sorry, there's probably been a misunderstanding—I thought you were one of those associates I once dealt with, but whose debt-collection methods were uncivilized."

"What the hell?!" Angela had barely finished speaking when she coughed twice; her stomach still convulsed from the violent vomiting.

Constantine pursed his lips, offering a helpless look, and said, "I just called Midnight Dad to confirm—he's the one who sent you. I'm truly sorry; lately, too many debt collectors have shown up, so I've been extra cautious. That's not wrong, is it?"

Angela mustered all her strength to sit up in the tub, leaning against the wall, tilting her head back until the back of her skull pressed against it; she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, took a deep breath, and struggled to ease her physical discomfort before looking at Constantine and saying, "You're insane. They call you a detective, but to me, you're nothing but a fraud!"

As she spoke, she struggled to stand from the tub, saying as she rose, "I shouldn't have entertained any illusions about you and your kind of charlatans. How could such things possibly be real? Get out of my way! I'm leaving!"

"Wait!" Constantine reached out to block her, saying, "Don't you want to know the truth behind your sister's death?"

Constantine stood and reached out to stop Angela, but now her soaked clothes clung tightly to her body, outlining her curves; as he reached, his hand brushed her waist—he snatched it back as if electrocuted.

It wasn't that this lustful devil had a sudden conscience; mainly, he'd spotted the unmistakable police badge on her chest. Dealing with demons he could handle, but if this female cop actually arrested him, getting out would take serious effort.

Angela glared at him and said, "I told you—move! Don't expect me to believe another word from a charlatan like you!"

As Constantine and Angela stood locked in silence, a sudden loud *thud* came from outside the bathroom door; Constantine spun around, magic flaring instantly in his hand, and said to Angela, "Shh—don't make a sound. Stay here."

He walked slowly toward the bathroom door; once his figure vanished beyond it, Angela narrowed her eyes, stepped out of the tub, and crept to the door, peering through the crack—then she saw a terrifying black monster standing at Constantine's apartment door.

"Uh…" Angela let out a frightened murmur, but instantly clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle further sound; at that moment, she saw thick black energy suddenly manifest around Constantine's body.

Constantine spoke in a low tone: "A demon from the depths of Hell? How did you get here? I don't recall making any deal with you… You've overstepped."

The demon shrieked in a piercing voice: "Constantine, you've defaulted on your debts and angered too many demons—you'll pay!"

Zero Point Reading

Constantine sneered: "Perhaps I'll pay—but not by your hand. Not even your master's. Get out!"

The demon roared; countless energy-formed insects surged into a storm, wrapping around his body, then swarming toward Constantine.

Constantine extended one hand; black energy became flame, lashing at the insects, which instantly turned to ash—the fire then spread across the demon's body.

The demon screamed continuously; Constantine thrust his arm forward, unleashing a torrent of energy—the demon shrieked, "Impossible!

Where did you get so much energy?! Did you sell your soul?!"

Watching the demon slowly dissolve in the flames, Constantine smiled and said, "... You just now realized?"

He stood still, flicked his arm, turned back, and saw Angela standing frozen at the bathroom door; he turned to her and said, "Oh! Uh… that was just a messenger. I've sent him off. Let's get back to your sister's case."

"But I clearly saw…"

"Uh, yes—I always pray when I receive mail. Some strange gestures. Don't mind it…" Constantine offered a dismissive explanation.

He knew that without spiritual vision, ordinary humans couldn't see demons; Angela must have just watched him gesturing wildly at empty air.

As a natural medium born with the ability to perceive such entities, Constantine was long accustomed to people's stunned stares. As a child, he might have explained he wasn't crazy—but now his attitude was: I am crazy. What are you going to do about it?

He'd stayed in Gotham so long because here, no one called him crazy—there were crazier people. Yelling at air and waving hands? As long as you didn't commit massacres, kidnappings, or bombings, you were a model citizen.

Constantine turned toward the sofa, noticing Angela still standing where she was; he looked back and asked, "What's wrong? … Alright, I was wrong earlier. I apologize. I've been on edge. Just think of me as a lunatic."

"I saw it! That demon! It was… it was a demon, right? Black… surrounded by insects… then you summoned another kind of flame and burned it to death…"

Angela stammered out the description, then covered her eyes and rubbed them hard, saying, "No, no! Since I was twelve, I shouldn't have been able to see things like that anymore—how am I seeing them again…?"

Constantine strode forward, seized her wrists, pulled her hands away, and stared into her eyes: "You can see them? You're a medium?!"

"Hey! You damn bitch! Are you messing with me?!" Constantine yanked her wrists free and snapped, "Who the hell are you? Don't you know the rules? Mediums don't meet each other—even visits require prior notice!"

"No, I'm not. I'm not a medium… or else I wouldn't have come to you." Angela took a deep breath, steadying her trembling emotions, and said, "Don't you remember what I told you? My sister and I have seen those things since childhood."

"I assumed you meant ordinary ghosts and spirits. Children often have heightened spiritual sensitivity—it's not unusual."

"But you never told me you still see demons today!" Constantine raised his voice; clearly, he realized Angela didn't grasp the gravity. He crossed his arms and shook his head helplessly, explaining:

"Anyone who sees demons is chosen by them—that is, only when your soul has been claimed can you perceive them. It has nothing to do with spiritual sensitivity. It's a curse. A terrible curse."

"But I never believed that!" Angela strode to the sofa, waved her arm wildly, and nearly broke down: "My sister and I both saw those illusions. She told our family—but our parents thought she was insane and locked her in an asylum."

"I used to fear them too—but then I refused to believe they were real. I convinced myself they were all hallucinations…" Angela took a deep breath, pressed her palm to her forehead, and sat down. "Until I turned twelve—I stopped seeing them entirely."

Constantine stood still, speaking coldly: "Why do you think you suddenly stopped seeing them?"

"Because I never believed they were real. If I didn't believe, they couldn't hurt me!" Angela emphasized.

"No." Constantine denied it, walked to the opposite side of the sofa, and sat down, locking eyes with her: "Because they chose your sister."

Angela stared straight into Constantine's eyes—there was something magnetic in them, pulling her in, impossible to escape.

Suddenly, she saw sorrow in his gaze—an emotion that shouldn't belong there. She heard Constantine say:

"Whether twins are sisters or brothers, their souls are interchangeable. Demons only need one."

"They curse both of you, granting you the sight. But when you stop seeing them, it's not because you stopped believing—it's because…" Constantine paused, then continued, "The demons chose your sister. They abandoned you."

"Impossible!" Angela shouted, "You don't understand—we're identical! We…"

"Nothing's impossible." Constantine lowered his head, picked up the glass of water before him, and drank it down in one gulp—as if more words remained unspoken.

But Angela's emotions were unraveling; she shouted, "You damn liars! Demons, devils—all illusions! I never believed…!"

"You're the killer's accomplice! You conspired to kill my sister and blame it on demons! This is all a fraud—I'll bring you to justice…"

Constantine sighed, looking at Angela, hair disheveled before him. He'd seen many like her—people who utterly denied the existence of the supernatural. Clearly, Angela was one.

"If you don't believe, then leave." Constantine sounded weary too; he turned his head, drank another sip of water, and stood, heading toward his bedroom.

Suddenly, he heard movement behind him—the click of a bullet chambering. He turned to see Angela holding a pistol, its black muzzle aimed at him.

From beneath her hair, her eyes revealed a woman teetering on the edge of madness—pressure had crushed her completely.

Constantine's gaze turned colder; he no longer wished to waste words. He flicked his wrist—the gun flew from her hand. Without looking back, he walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

He'd just reached his bed, unfastened his tie, and shed his coat when muffled sobs came from outside. Constantine stood in the center of the room, lit a cigarette.

He inhaled, tilted his head, and exhaled smoke slowly.

Angela, weeping against the sofa back, heard the bedroom door open—but she didn't look up until a shadow fell over her head and the faintly acrid scent of smoke drifted toward her. She lifted her gaze and saw Constantine's face.

Constantine lowered his head, smoking, voice slightly hoarse: "How old was your sister?"

"…Same as me. Twenty-seven this year."

Constantine closed his eyes: "Of course."

He took a deep breath: "I told you—you stopped seeing them not by accident. It's tied to your sister's death. She was taken by a demon."

"How do you know?" Angela clung to one last hope.

"Because when I was twenty-seven, they came for me too."