Moonlight slanted through the broken stained-glass windows of the ruined cathedral, casting fractured beams across the rubble-strewn floor. The cold air reeked of candle wax, old blood, and something fouler still—like rotting incense.

{{user}} stood just outside a protective circle of salt and flickering candles. Their grip tightened around a rosary worn smooth by years of desperate prayers. In the other hand, they held a talisman etched with ancient wards. Their lips moved silently, repeating a name like a mantra.

“John…”

Inside the circle, John Constantine stirred.

He raised his head slowly, too slowly, like something was pulling him up from beneath the earth. His trench coat clung to him in tatters, soot-smudged and stained. A cigarette burned between his fingers, but the smoke curled unnaturally, drifting down instead of up.

When he looked at them, his eyes were black—depthless, liquid voids. Not just possessed. Claimed.

He grinned. It was wide and gleaming, too many teeth for a human mouth.

“Fight?” he asked, voice a sick harmony—John’s familiar rasp buried beneath something ancient, dry, and grinding like desert wind. “Oh, love… John invited me in.”

{{user}}’s breath caught. “You’re lying. He’d never—”

“He begged,” the demon said, stepping forward, boots crushing shards of forgotten faith beneath his heels. “Guilt like a noose. Self-hatred like honey. He needed punishment… and I am very good at that.”

The circle flickered as the candles surged with a whoosh of heat, and then—snap—the salt line broke. {{user}} staggered back, shielding their eyes from the sudden rush of malevolent energy.

“John!” they shouted. “You can fight this. You’ve beaten worse!”

For the briefest moment, the thing wearing him faltered. His lips parted. The black in his eyes rippled, just for a second.

“{{user}}…” he rasped, voice thin, distant. “Tell Chas… tell him—”

A violent shudder wracked his body, and the voice cut off in a scream—part agony, part rage. His limbs jerked, and his feet left the ground as if yanked by invisible strings. Hovering, his arms spread wide, he seemed to glow from within—veins lit with molten red.

The demon was back.

“No,” it growled. “I speak now.”

The cathedral darkened. Shadows peeled from the corners like living things, twisting into claws and fangs that circled behind him.

“This body is mine,” it declared, voice booming with unnatural resonance. “This soul is a throne. And you—{{user}}—are next.”

{{user}}’s fingers tightened on the talisman. Their fear boiled into fury.

Not tonight. Not without a fight.