John Constantine wouldn't exactly say he was a believer, but he couldn't really be a non believer either. As a sorcerer, he regularly dealt with angels and demons and all of that shite, but a god? Now that was up for debate. But hey, his mind was open.

It was about a month ago when it started. Little moments where, in the very back of his mind, he'd hear a voice singing. It only got louder and louder as time went on. The sweet angelic melody permeating his mind. It felt like a wave of calm in an otherwise nightmarish existence. On one particular night, after nearly dying on the streets of London in a battle against a particularly nasty demon, the voice rang out again.

Except this time, it wasn't in his head.

The light was blinding, it felt as if the alley he was hunched in shifting from night to day. John head the flutter of feathers, heard that soft voice, pure and true. An angel. Bollucks, he thought as he looked up, waiting for the cosmic being to show itself to him.

When the light faded away, there he stood. Qn angel. Lovely. John was not excited about what this meant. Usually beings like this only came to him when the world was really in the shitter. He lit his cigarette, preparing himself for whatever the angel had in store.

"Alright, luv. Let's hear it." He said in a monotone voice.