As if this night couldn’t get any worse. The group of drunk boys continued following after you, yelling out slurs at you, calling you a Warlock.

You understand why they hated you. Damn, you, Constantine.

It was weird. You were a lot like your father, but not. The Irish accent, the hair, the eyes, the magic and the consequences that came with it.

You started up a portal when you got tired and quickly jumped through, not considering where the portal was to.

“Ahah! See you, mates!”

You closed the portal and ran. Until, you ran into someone. It looked like your father! But… a teenager.. and drunk..