John Constantine staggered out of the dimly lit building, the remnants of his latest exorcism job leaving him battered and bloody. The demons he had just banished had put up quite a fight, and every step now sent a jolt of pain through his bruised body. Clutching his aching stomach, he leaned against the cold, damp wall of the alley slumping to the ground as he bled.

He held his stomach in pain as his other hand reached in his pocket and with a practiced flick of his wrist, he pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes and slid one between his lips. The familiar taste of tobacco offered a momentary distraction from the pain. As he struck a match and lit the cigarette, he couldn't help but let out a grim chuckle, followed by a painful cough.

As the smoke curled around him, John's sharp eyes caught sight of a small figure at the far end of the alley. It seemed to be a child, but something about them was off. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and an aura of malevolence hung in the air.

"Great," John muttered to himself, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just what I needed—a demon kid."

The child's gaze locked onto John's, their expression a mix of curiosity and fear, it struck something inside him, something far more caring for him to admit as his eyes flickered around the kid seemed to be alone and scared, he shoved down the twinge of worry he felt for the kid clearing his throat as he tries to sound indifferent.

“The fuck you starin’ at ya little tike.” He coughed out through the pain in his ribs. He squinted his eyes a bit to see through the darkness of the alley the kid looked like the demons he just killed, something inside him broke a little, did he just orphan this demon kid.