Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 362: Ch.361 City of Angels

Chapter 362: Ch.361 City of Angels

In Los Angeles, the City of Angels, it wasn't just angels that resided.

As the saying goes, where there is light, there is shadow. In this city where angels representing the forces of light often appeared, demons and undead creatures also lurked in dark alleys or underground.

Of course, the angels were not here because of the city's name.

Rather, it was because the Prince of Hell's nightclub was here.

Lucifer had abandoned his duties in Hell, throwing the balance into disarray, and angels were here primarily to monitor his actions.

In reality, Lucifer had been living more like a human in recent years.

He had cut off his demon wings and entrusted them to his ex-wife Izanami for safekeeping, and then started running a nightclub on Earth, playing detective, while occasionally flirting with a beautiful detective.

Yet, angels like Gabriel and Raphael showed up every few days, suspecting Lucifer whenever any demon-related disturbance occurred.

But more often than not, they would end up finding that the culprit was Constantine.

This man, who couldn't go to heaven and refused to go to hell, seemed to only feel comfortable when he stirred up some kind of trouble.

It was raining in Los Angeles, nearing autumn, and the rainfall was becoming more frequent.

A slender figure in a yellow trench coat walked out of a convenience store, the door chime making a dull sound.

Almost as if saying: "Get lost, broke fool!"

The owner of the figure was already used to it. She pulled a newly bought pack of cigarettes from her trench coat pocket, popped one out, put it in her mouth, and lit it by flicking her fingers, producing a small flame.

Faced with the choice of dinner or cigarettes, she had chosen cigarettes first.

"Damn it, I've got $1.40 left—can't even afford a hot dog. No dinner tonight..." She looked up at the sky, noticing the rain getting heavier. She watched the dark spots form as the rain wet her cigarette. "We're both cursed. No umbrella, no money—you let me down again, money!"

She turned up the collar of her trench coat and began walking along the street towards her office. She had a practiced habit of talking to herself, though there wasn't much resentment in her tone. It came across as carefree.

The demonic flame within her kept her entire body warm, and the raindrops didn't bring her any chill.

"If you can't buy me love, at least buy me dinner. Where could I get dinner for a dollar?"

She puffed on her cigarette, deep in thought, but one dollar was far too little. She would need to pick up some work today—preferably one that included dinner.

"Hmm?"

Walking down the wet street, she keenly sensed a demonic presence in a dark alley and heard someone calling for help.

This was the quickest and most direct job she could find.

In the alley, a creature with bat wings, six eyes on its face, and numerous tentacles had pinned a chubby middle-aged man to the ground.

"I'm going to eat your soul and then rip off your head—slurp."

The winged demon, drooling yellow saliva, moved closer to the terrified man.

Demons enjoyed terrifying their victims before eating them. Fear made the soul tastier, and despair made it even better.

But just as the demon was about to sink its teeth in, a bright red light illuminated the end of the street.

A string of high-level demonic incantations echoed nearby, and a powerful hellfire spell struck the demon, instantly reducing it to ash.

Arabelle approached the fallen man. If he was dead, she wouldn't mind taking his money—a soul eaten by a demon had no use for cash, after all.

She lowered her hands from the casting position, flicked ash off her cigarette, and seeing the man still alive, clicked her tongue in annoyance.

She had cast the spell just in time to save him, but now that he was saved, she was displeased. Such was her contradiction.

The middle-aged man got up, still in shock, and scrambled to collect the papers that had fallen from his briefcase and were scattered all over the wet ground.

Arabelle stood silently, smoking, contemplating recent events.

"What was that thing?" the man asked, holding his briefcase tightly to his chest.

Arabelle raised an eyebrow at him—some kind of office worker, obviously. He probably didn't have much money. "Obviously, a demon."

"I'm sorry," the man said timidly, curling into himself.

"What I mean is, lately these things have been all over the city," Arabelle hinted.

"I'm sorry," the man repeated, lowering his head.

"Forget it." Arabelle was tired of talking in circles. She decided to head back to her office to see if there were any divorce cases waiting for her.

The man clutched his briefcase, his wide face filled with curiosity. "You saved me with just your hands—how did you do that?"

"I learned it from YouTube. Two-hour crash course on dark arts," she replied.

"Really?" The man's face lit up. Even a complete layman could sense the power of the magic she had just used and its destructive force.

Arabelle took a deep drag of her cigarette, then spat to the side. "For someone who almost got eaten by a demon, you ask a lot of questions."

"I'm sorry," the man said again, lowering his head.

Arabelle sighed. This guy's timid nature was probably a product of his life circumstances—he was likely a pitiful soul. And she herself had no dinner, making her the more pitiful one.

"Alright, we're done here. You'd better get home and lock your doors," she said, patting the man's shoulder and turning to leave.

"How can I repay you? You saved my life," he called after her.

"Do you have cash?" She slightly turned her head, her cigarette constantly dampened by the rain only to dry again. "I usually charge for jobs like this."

"I've got about forty dollars," the man said, searching his pockets and pulling out some crumpled bills.

Arabelle swiftly turned back, snatched the money from him, and counted the bills with her thumb moistened by her tongue. "I normally charge much more, but let's call this a new client discount."

Thirty-eight dollars and fifty cents—tonight she could eat something decent. Thai food it was.

She stuffed the cash into her pocket, waved dismissively, and was about to leave.

"Who are you?" the man asked again.

Arabelle tapped her head and pulled out a stack of business cards from her pocket, handing them to the man.

"Take a few, give them to your friends. I have a feeling they're going to need them soon. My exorcism service is running a buy-one-get-one-free special—spread the word."

Of course, it was hard to say if someone like him, practically invisible in daily life, had any friends at all.

The man watched her beautiful figure disappear into the night, then looked down at the dubious business card. Without hesitation, he bolted toward home.

For an ordinary person, tonight had been more excitement than they could handle.

Arabelle was in a good mood. She had secured her dinner. In this brutal world, those with real skills wouldn't go hungry, and her skills were quite formidable.

Of all the spellcasters she knew, she was the strongest.