"You sure about this, John?"

"Have I ever led you astray?"

"Once or twice."

John Constantine and Frank "Chas" Chandler were each positioned on either side of the entrance to a church. Both were pressed against the wall, ready to burst in at any moment. The two had been investigating this small town for some time now. There were rumors of black magic and such about. John had confirmed these rumors and tracked the origin to whomever was in the church at this moment.

"Just let me do the talking, eh?" said John.

"If you say so."

John pulled the doors open and rushed into the church, followed closely by Chas. The two looked across the empty pews to the individual standing at the altar across the room, facing away from them. He was a tall and slender man in a fine, black suit.

"Alright," said John, walking toward the man, "We've figured you out. You're the one who's been causing this town strife. Creating problems and then offering to solve them for a price. Just how many souls have you claimed in exchange for 'protecting' these people?"

"More than you could appreciate, John," responded the man at the altar, not turning around, "These people needed protection. In exchange for their measly souls, I promised no more demonic magic would befall this poor town."

"John," whispered Chas, "He knows you. If you know his name, this should be easy."

"Hardly narrows it down," said John, "Half the bloody population of Hell knows me."

The man turned around. His face was long and smooth, devoid of any hint of facial hair. His eyebrows were sharp and distinct. His lips curled whenever he wasn't speaking. This didn't help identify him either. Demons took all sorts of human forms. John would have to dig deeper to find out his true name.

"You're too late," said the man, "Just about every soul in town belongs to me now."

"Not for long," said John, approaching the man, "We're going to stop you."

"Stop me?" chuckled the man, "You? That hardly seems likely."

"Perhaps," acknowledged John, still approaching, "but I make a profession out of accomplishing the unlikely, you see."

"You stand no chance," responded the man.

"Plenty have said that before," declared John, "but few have had the record to back it up."

"They were not me," responded the man, "I have done this many times before, John. I have been acquiring and dealing in souls centuries before you were even born."

"You expect me to believe your collection of souls poses a threat?" scoffed John.

"You underestimate me," said the man, "My collection of souls is unrivaled. None can boast a stronger hold on the soul trade than I."

"I see," smiled John, "Well, there's only one demon I know with such a finger on the pulse of the soul trade."

"Wait…!" said the man.

"Neron!" declared John, "This ends now!"

John knew exactly what to do. There was a lot of power in a demon's name. With it, even a mortal could exert control. There were limits of course, but with John's knowledge and talent he had more than enough information to send Neron straight back to Hell. John thrusted out both of his arms as he began a Sumerian chant.

Neron roared as his eyes flared a bright red. Black energy coursed across the room. John was knocked painfully onto his back before he could finish his chant. Chas was also thrown to the ground. Neron smiled as he approached them both. He kicked John in the side and stepped onto his chest, slowly pressing down. To his surprise, John smiled in response.

"What!?" demanded Neron, "What is it!?"

"The deal you made with these townsfolk," said John, "it was that there would be no more demonic magic, yeah?"

Neron gritted his teeth. He had fallen right into John's trap. Demons' magic was only as strong as their word. If a demon ever went back on a promise or agreement, they would forfeit all benefits from that agreement. In this case by using his demonic magic against John, Neron had broken his deal with the townsfolk.

"You know not what you've done," hissed Neron.

"Oh I know exactly what I've done," responded John, "The people of this town were afraid of the demonic plagues you cast on them. You agreed to end these plagues in exchange for their souls. Only now you've broken your vow. Those deals are broken."

"John Constantine…" growled Neron.

"John!" called out Chas, "Is that really true? Is everyone in town free now!?"

"They're free of their deals, yes," said Neron, "but soon they will suffer the consequences of that."

"What do you mean!?" asked Chas.

"Their souls may be free," said Neron, "but there is nothing to stop me from slaughtering the lot of them."

The man's head jerked unnaturally to the side, the neck seemingly breaking. A claw then burst from the throat and ripped away some of the flesh. Another claw appeared a moment later and did the same. A towering black beast with horns, eyes red as flame, and a face that would terrify anyone. This was Neron's true form.

John resumed his Sumerian chant. Neron responded with a roar. John was blasted back by a burst of hellfire, landing on his back in the corner of the room. Neron chuckled and made his way out of the church to kill the townsfolk.

"Wait!" called out Chas, "Killing these people won't bring you anything, will it?"

"Don't try to talk me down, human," growled Neron, "I've already decided that this town will perish."

"But surely a soul is of more value to you!" called out Chas.

Neron smiled as much as a demonic face such as his could smile.

"Chas!" called out John, "Don't do it!"

Neron roared and unleashed a burst of hellfire at John. John uttered an Egyptian incantation and dispelled the fire, but Neron had already begun his approach on Chas.

"No deal is worth it!" called out John, "It's all a trick!"

Chas had been working with John for some time now. He was knowledgeable enough in demons to know what he was doing. Any deal a demon agreed to was absolute. If Neron agreed to Chas's terms, he would be bound by them.

"Take my soul," said Chas, ignoring John, "In exchange, spare the town."

"No!" cried out John, "Chas, you're dooming yourself to an eternity of Hell!"

"And saving an entire town," responded Chas.

"Even if Neron kills them," said John, "Their souls can find peace. You on the other hand… Chas, you'll be in Hell for eternity."

"Do it," said Neron, "or let this town suffer."

"I'm sorry John," said Chas, "but if there's anything I can do to help these people, I have to do it."

"Stop!" cried out John, "I offer my own soul up instead of Chas's!"

"John!" cried out Chas.

"This is certainly a surprise," chuckled Neron, "John Constantine's soul. That is quite the bargaining chip."

"Aye," responded John.

"There are many in Hell who would trade many a soul to get their hands on yours," said Neron.

"I know." said John, "I think we can all agree that's a better deal than Chas's soul, yeah?"

"John!" cried Chas.

"Oh bloody hell," sighed John, "You know everything I've done. I certainly deserve to go to Hell more than you and you know it."

"I asked first!" asserted Chas.

"Hardly relevant," said Neron, "John's soul is worth far more than yours."

John offered his hand.

"Shake on it?" he asked.

"Gladly," smiled Neron.

He offered his demonic hand to John. John clutched the hand. Chas went to interfere, but shielded his eyes as a bright red light shined out from the handshake. When the light faded, neither John nor Neron were anywhere to be seen.

The next moment was beyond sheer agony. A bright light engulfed John's eyes. He clenched his eyes shut, but the glare pierced his eyelids and stabbed into his eyes. John screamed as the pain erupted from his eyes and engulfed his whole body. It felt like every single one of his nerve endings were being torn away from him over and over again. Soon his throat and lungs were burning even hotter, snuffing out his scream. John couldn't see anything now; it was as if his eyes were gone. After a moment, it felt like the rest of his body was too.

Then the mental, spiritual, and emotional anguish began. It started as an excruciating headache, but then John's head was filled with thoughts of dread, misery, and shame. Every single regret he had ever had in his life ran through his mind. He felt as though his every fear was being realized. Every ounce of regret he had ever felt was ripping into him. It was more than he could bear. John would have done anything to make it end: bargain, plead, or even compromise his morals. Still, John knew there was nothing he could do. There was no escape from this suffering.

"Welcome, John."

John clutched the clammy dirt beneath him. He was lying naked on his stomach in a seemingly endless plain of dirt. He looked up to where the voice had come from. Neron had assumed his human form from earlier. He was dressed in the same fine suit and had the same smug look on his face. John took the opportunity to assess where he was. There was a heavy fog in the air. Distant wails and screams could be heard in the distance. Whether they were the screams of the tormented or the wails of angry souls, one thing was for certain: John was in Hell.

"Stand up," ordered Neron, "We must proceed."

"Not even going to offer me a towel?" chuckled John weakly, barely lifting his face from the dirt.

"Come now, John," smiled Neron, "Now's not the time to get modest."

"Very well," said John, determined to retain as much dignity as possible, "Just letting you know: I'm more of a grower than a shower, yeah?"

"Make your jokes," said Neron as he turned to walk away, "They may be your only hope of retaining any sanity."

John slowly got to his feet, moist dirt clinging to his body. He walked behind Neron, clearing his mind so not to think of his nudity. This was Hell, after all. He would have to get used to this new dress code.

"The ferryman awaits," said Neron, not turning back to John.

"I know, I know," responded John, "Do you really think this is my first foray into Hell?"

"This time will be different," said Neron, "When you travelled to Hell in the past, you took your corporeal body with you. The death of a mortal here merely returns them to the world of the living. But I have your soul, John. A soul never dies. There will be no escape this time."

John didn't respond. He figured it was best to save his energy. He had no idea what awaited him in the depths of Hell and it wasn't worth exhausting himself over a petty argument with a demon who hardly cared for such things.

As Neron had stated, the two came across a figure standing in the fog: a ferryman. The figure towered over both John and Neron. As the two grew closer they saw his defined muscles, appearing almost as a giant with his incredible height and mass. He had pointed ears, a long and tangled brown beard, and his skin was a faded blue as though it had begun to rot. He held a long ferryman's pole and the large ferry itself sat in the river behind him, gently rocking in the water.

"John Constantine," said the ferryman in a hoarse voice, "It's been a while by your mortal standards."

"Manann!" smirked John, "How're the girls? Niamh has to be getting to that troublesome age, yeah?"

The ferryman went by many names. Charon was probably the best known one, but he also went by Charun, Urshanabi, Manann, and many others. Different cultures had interpreted the being differently as he made his way into human legends.

"The last time we met," said the ferryman, "you left without me getting my payment."

"Aw, come now," said John, "You're not still bitter about that, are you?"

"You defied our agreement," said the ferryman, "Your soul is forfeit."

"Aw, that's a shame!" frowned John playfully, "I guess you're going to have to hand me over, eh Neron?"

The prospect of having his soul in the ferryman's hands was far preferable than it being in Neron's.

Neron, not even looking to John, tossed several coins the ferryman's way. The ferryman caught them out of the air and looked them over in his hand, counting them one by one.

"This should cover his expenses," said Neron, "and our passage."

"I guess I should be grateful," said John, "That's a nice chunk of souls to give up on my behalf."

The coins Neron had tossed each corresponded to a soul. The dealings of souls were the main source of currency in Hell and no one was more skilled in trading souls than Neron. This made it particularly unusual that he'd be willing to spend those souls to pay off John's debt.

"Every demon and monster you've ever damned to Hell wants your soul," said Neron, "It has more value than any of those worthless beings."

John grimaced. Each of those souls Neron was referring to was a person, carelessly handed over from one deity to another as if their lives meant nothing. Hell was a cruel place in more ways than one.

"Now," smiled Neron, boarding the ferry, "shall we?"

John stepped aboard as well and took a seat across from Neron. The ferryman pushed them away from shore and into the river. The ferry turned and began to drift down the river as the ferryman managed their direction with the ferryman's pole.

Within minutes John started to hear screams and cries for help. He looked around and saw lost souls wandering about in the fog, desperately looking around for refuge. Something was after them, but neither they nor John could see what. The souls would cry out in pain and run at random intervals, as if struck or stung.

John frowned. Though he sympathized with these tormented souls, he knew his torture would be even worse. They had only just entered Hell. The worst was yet to come. As these thoughts moved through John's head, he gazed down into the river. It was as clear as tap water, allowing John to see the sharp rocks just below them. Scorpions crawled along the rocks and scurried about. They were just one of many things that prevented souls from crossing this river on their own.

A smell much like burning coals filled the air. The fog began to lift as it grew hotter and hotter. Soon John was sweating and within minutes he was coated in a layer of perspiration. The fog finally gave way to the brownish red landscape before them. Tall mountains lined the horizon, many with rivers of bright red blood running down their sides down to the fields of flame below. Other mountains would crash into one another and crumble, only for more to grow in their place. The farthest mountain began to stir, only for it to turn around and reveal itself to be an enormous frog. John recognized the golden color as that of a poison dart frog, which normally carried enough poison to kill ten humans. The venom seeping from that behemoth could kill tens of millions. More likely, it was used to torment the souls damned to Hell with immeasurable pain without the escape of death. John watched as the beast appeared to stare blankly into the air, motionless.

"We've arrived," said the ferryman as the boat pulled up to the shore.

Neron and John both stood and exited the boat. John took care to avoid even grazing the river, knowing the unspeakable pain of a scorpion sting would greet him if he slipped. He wasn't sure why he was exhibiting all of this caution. Soon there would be no way to escape the unspeakable torment that would last an eternity.

Each step on the crimson ground burned into the flesh on the bottom of John's feet. He tried to hold in his reaction to the pain, but he couldn't help but wince with every agonizing step. Neron led him across the plains. John's winces soon became small hops to keep his feet off the burning ground. The heat only grew more intense, soon burning every inch of John's skin. The pain grew worse and worse until John couldn't stand it anymore. He let out a cry of pain, hopping about helplessly. Neron laughed.

"Don't worry John," he smiled, "We're almost there."

The two approached a pillar of reddish white flame erupting from the ground. The heat coming from these flames felt even more intense than the rest of the heat beating down on every one of John's nerves. Neron waved his hand and the entire pillar disappeared, leaving only a smoldering hole in the ground from which it had erupted. John barely had time to assess the situation before Neron shoved him from behind, sending him tumbling down in the darkness where he fell and fell.

John gasped for air. He felt as though he had just woken up from a distant dream. For a moment he could barely recall where he was or why. The air was cool, distinctly separate from the unending burning he had just endured. Had all of that been real? Was he really in Hell?

Everything was completely dark. John couldn't see anything, even his own hands when he lifted them up to his face. Slowly their silhouettes became clear as a harsh red light began to fill the room. Soon John made out the face of Neron illuminated by the bright light, now turned white. He had resumed his human form, smiling smugly at John. That's when John began to make out more beings in front of him. He wished he hadn't.

He was on some sort of cabaret stage, with the audience filled with all sorts of demons and damned beasts. The first being John recognized was a snake-like demon whose neck split into seven, each with its own head. Many of the heads had more than one face while others had none at all. Each of the eyes were staring hungrily at John. His hands looked human and twelve enormous bat-like wings sprouted from his back. It was the demon Azazel, who John had banished to Hell years ago after he was freed by a Satanist.

Beside Azazel stood the lion-headed flaming demon known as Nergal. He clutched a mace in one hand as he raised it into the air with a cheer. John had dealt with him in the past too, locking him down here in Hell as well.

Nergal stood beside a woman in a long flowing red dress and a pale white face with six glowing red eyes and rows of razor sharp teeth that practically gleamed as she cackled in delight. John knew her intimately. Her name was Blythe and he had condemned her here when she had tried to betray him.

There were dozens of others standing among them. Many of them were completely unfamiliar to John, either because they had changed forms or because John had never dealt with them directly. They all stared him down, inspecting John's naked body and plotting what to do to him. John wondered how many of them had been wronged by him and which of them had the worst torture in mind for him. He wouldn't give these monsters the satisfaction of his fear.

There was one more face John recognized. This one had chosen to assume a human form. John knew that hungry look in his eyes anywhere. It was Mammon, the son of Satan himself. The demon of avarice had crossed paths with John more than once. The value of John's soul made him a primary target for the greed-obsessed being. John had managed to avoid him thus far thanks to a deal he had made with Satan, though that deal would do him no good now that he had handed his soul over.

"I present to you," grinned Neron, turning to the crowd, "John Constantine!"

John ignored the cheers of the crowd as he tried to get a sense of his surroundings. He had assumed Neron would bring him to the torture pits, but that wasn't what this room appeared to be. This was definitely a theater, lighting and all, with Neron standing on the stage beside John as the bidders stood in the audience before him. John wondered whether this was the form Neron had chosen for the room or if this was simply John's mind rationalizing the horrors of Hell by presenting it as something recognizable.

"Let the bidding begin!" announced Neron.

Neron placed a hand on John's bare shoulder and shoved downward, forcing the man to his knees. John grimaced. His strength in Hell was nothing compared to a demon's. There was no way he could fight back. He had no choice but to kneel before these demons. Neron then grabbed the back of John's hair and jerked backward and upward. John reached up and grabbed Neron's hand as Neron forced him to kneel straight up on display for everyone, still clutching the hair tightly. The auction had begun.

Mammon raised his hand. A small burst of hellfire emitted from his wrist. Neron pointed to him. Then another demon raised a hand and released a slightly larger burst of hellfire. Neron then pointed at him instead.

Souls were a complex currency. Each and every one had different values to different demons and deities. One couldn't simply bid a human number of souls, one had to bid the souls' value. The value was represented in the burst of fire released. The value was determined by the souls bid and their values to the auctioneer.

"Have at it, fellas," scoffed John, "I'm flattered I matter so much to all of you.

"Shut him up!" shouted a demon from the crowd.

Neron snapped his fingers with his free hand, still grasping John's hair with the other. There was a hot burst of light in front of John's face. A small crimson plug had formed in the air before shoving itself forcefully into John's mouth. The audience laughed at the sight of his eyes widening in surprise. The gag felt like rubber, but tasted like nothing. It began to grow, forcing John's mouth open further as straps grew out of the sides and wrapped around the back of John's head, pushing the gag further in as it clung tightly to his head. John didn't even bother to try and pull it away. He knew he was trapped like this. He swallowed the brief feeling of shame as the laughter from the crowd grew.

After another half a dozen bids, Neron held up a hand. The bidding ceased. Neron held John's soul coin aloft for all to see. He shoved John forward to the ground with his other hand, smiling.

"These bids are pitiful," he said, "Let us remember who we're auctioning here. The great John Constantine!"

The soul coin began to shine. John bit down on the gag and screamed as an overwhelming pain flooded his head and chest, relentlessly crushing, burning, and stinging every nerve as it spread throughout his body. His jaw ached beyond measure from the pressure as he bit down on the gag. His posture weakened as he began to keel over in pain. He fought against it, unwilling to degrade himself to his enemies.

"Yours to command as you like," smiled Neron, "Yours to command to BOW DOWN!"

John's voice began to burn from the strain of screaming, but he couldn't contain it. The pain was unbearable now. It felt like his very soul was ripping apart his body from the inside. There was no respite of death to wait for. There was no hope of this agony ending unless he conceded to Neron's demands. Though John still consciously despised the idea, he found his body naturally conforming to bowing down onto all fours as Neron commanded. The audience applauded.

"See?" boasted Neron, gesturing to John, "The once proud warlock is yours to toy with as you choose."

John's body was at its absolute limit. His whole body was heaving from his heavy gasps for air, blocked by the gag still being forcefully pushed into his mouth. Everything hurt. It was all he could do to hold back tears.

Another demon released the largest burst of hellfire yet. It was quickly followed by several more in increasing size. John took note that none of his known adversaries were among those doing the bidding. Neron seemed to recognize too, frowning.

"Of course obedience is only one opportunity," said Neron, "Let's not forget the eternity of pain and suffering you can inflict on him."

"Could we have a demonstration?" asked Mammon with a smile.

"Yes!" hissed Azazel, "Give us a taste of his torment!"

Neron chuckled. John winced as he felt Neron once again grab a fistful of hair and pull him up to his feet. He had only released his grip for a moment before John saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. It was accompanied by the smell of smoke, the sound of fanned flames, and a sudden crack! He then felt a sharp cut across his bare ass that seemed to cut into him like a sword. He felt the stinging sensation long after the sound, as if the wound was still being cut deeper. John bit down so hard on the gag his jaw felt like it was about to burst. When the second blow came, he couldn't help but let out a loud grunt of pain as he struggled to hold in his agony. This got several loud guffaws from the crowd.

Neron held the whip in his hand, emitting smoke and the occasional flash of flames as Neron proudly brandished it to John, already preparing for the next blow. The show of torment renewed the vigor in the crowd. Blythe quickly bid an even larger amount and Nergal an even larger one after that.

So Neron struck again and again. John's tenacity allowed him to endure the burning pain of each blow without screaming, but groans and labored breaths gave away his pain and exhaustion. Tears had welled in his eyes from the sheer willpower he was using to hold in his reactions. Then the blow came that finally pushed John over the edge. He didn't know what it was about that particular strike. Maybe it was just the amount of pain needed to push John over the edge or maybe Neron had put more into that blow than the others. Whatever the reason, it burst open the levies under his eyes and let loose streaks of tears from either eye as John bit down hard on the gag, enduring both the pain and the humiliation of being broken before his enemies.

"More!" cheered Nergal, "Bring him more pain!"

"As long as your bids keep coming!" smiled Neron.

The gag disappeared in a burst of bright heat, allowing John's jaw a moment of much-needed respite. The relief was short-lived however. John cried out in pain as molten metal ensnared his wrists and ankles, pulling them together and completely toppling John. Though the burning remained, the metal itself cooled until they were a normal pair of cuffs keeping John's hands and feet together. As John got to his knees, he saw a small cage barely large enough to keep a person.

"No…" he whispered.

I'm John Constantine! he thought, I'm the Hellblazer: master of the dark arts and slayer of demons. I can't possibly be reduced to this!

But John knew he was wrong. From the moment he stepped onto that ferry he had given up any hope of maintaining his pride. Dignity was not a luxury afforded in Hell. While John had accepted that he would eventually have no sense of self-worth, he wasn't prepared to face this moment directly.

"Get inside," ordered Neron.

"Bugger off."

Neron manifested a knife from a burst of flame, clutching the handle in his hand with a grin. Then he plunged the knife down into John's shoulder. John screamed as the sharp pain exploded across his back and he felt the warm trickle of blood running down his spine. John clenched his fists and teeth to fight through it.

"Might I remind you that you can't die here," mused Neron, "I can do this all day. Or you can get in the cage."

John didn't respond at first, still writhing and moaning in pain as the wound on his shoulder slowly closed up. Neron smiled and stabbed John again in the exact same wound, only deeper. The audience burst into cheers as John cried out in agony, tears streaming from his eyes. Then Neron violently ripped the knife away, tearing at the flesh and causing John to collapse from the overwhelming pain. The wound had already begun to forcefully heal, a process brutally painful in its own right.

"Get in the cage," ordered Neron again.

John looked back angrily at Neron, but he still held the knife in his hand. John knew this would just continue until he was in the cage. Time had no meaning in Hell. John couldn't run out the clock. There were no clever tricks he could pull. This was his eternity.

"Get. In." ordered Neron firmly.

John let out a long sigh and began to crawl toward the cage. With his wrists and ankles cuffed, this was quite difficult. The demons in the audience chuckled at the sight of John slithering across the stage like a worm. Once he was inside the cage it promptly slammed shut behind him. The cuffs melted away from John's wrists and ankles, though the cramped cage still retrained his movement in its own right.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and others," announced Neron, "I present: The Great John Constantine!"

The audience broke out into uproarious laughter as a spotlight shined down on John's cage. John winced from the brightness. When he finally blinked his eyes open he saw the crowd of sadistic demons staring at him and cheering.

"Flog him!" cried one demon.

"Flay him!" cried another.

"Burn him!"

John clenched his teeth. He knew all of that and more was awaiting him in his eternal residence in Hell. John considered the inevitability of it all. Did it really make a difference how much he was tortured here? He had an eternity of that fate before him. John stared hopelessly at the audience as it became clear to him just how much he had sacrificed.

"All excellent suggestions," said Neron, "but consider another option…"

Neron gestured to the opposite side of the stage from the cage. Two large demons walked onstage, escorting a human between them.

No… thought John.

It was Chas. How was this possible? John had just seen him alive and well! John had sacrificed his soul, died, and gone to Hell with the explicit intent of saving Chas from doing the same. What was he doing here?

"Surprised, John?" scoffed Neron, "Time passes a little differently in Hell, so let me fill you in on what you've missed. After you sacrificed yourself, Chas here began looking into ways to save you. Eventually he was able to open a portal to Hell. We figured this was too exciting of an opportunity to miss."

So he isn't dead like me, considered John, He came here to save me. The bloody idiot.

John couldn't fathom what would happen next. Chas was still corporeal. He couldn't die in Hell, it would just send him back to the land of the living. So Neron couldn't torment John by killing Chas in front of him. John knew that meant something far worse would happen.

Chas looked sadly at John. John could see Chas's shame over his failure. John nodded in forgiveness. He couldn't blame Chas for trying. John had done stupider things.

The two demons shoved Chas forward, pushing him onto his face as the audience chuckled. Neron knelt beside him. John's muscles tensed as he instinctively tried to break himself free, but it was no use. Chas was still coughing from having the wind knocked out of him when Neron took his knife and stabbed it through Chas's hand, causing him to scream out in pain.

"CHAS!" called John.

Neron twisted the knife. John could hear flesh tear and bones crack over Chas's screaming. Neron didn't let up, twisting the knife around more and more.

"Stop it!" cried John, "I'm the one who made the bloody deal with you, not him!"

Neron paused, looked at John, and pulled the knife out. Chas let out a shrill gasp followed by a short whimper. Then Neron grabbed Chas's other hand, pinned it to the stage, and stabbed through it too. Chas's screams echoed throughout the theater.

"Stop!" yelled John, "Neron! Stop this! Please!"

"Maybe if you beg," whispered Neron.

John hesitated. Neron twisted the blade to elicit another wailing scream from Chas.

"Okay, okay!" cried out John, "I beg you! Just stop it already!"

"Like you mean it," said Neron coldly.

John bowed his head to the floor, pressed his hands together, and raised them up in pleading.

"Neron..." he whispered, "Please…"

"The great John Constantine," smiled Neron, "naked and bowing his head before a demon."

The audience chuckled.

"A concerted plea to be sure," said Neron, "but I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you down."

"NO!"

"AARRRGH!"

Chas's screams seemed to get louder every time. Neron was being careful not to kill him, focusing on prolonging his torture for as long as possible. John began to seethe with rage. Neron would make this as painful for him as possible. There was new use begging or pleading. There was nothing he could do.

Frustrated, John slammed his shoulder against the door of the cage. Nothing. He slammed into it again. He heard something click and fall out. The door was now slightly ajar. It was too easy.

This has to be a trap, thought John.

He looked over at Neron stabbing the knife into Chas's leg and leaving it embedded there. John shook his head. It didn't matter if this was a trap. If there was even the smallest chance he could alleviate Chas's pain, he had to try.

John burst out of the cage and rose to his feet. Neron readied himself for the attack, but John leapt to the side and tackled Chas instead. As John pinned Chas to the ground, his old friend looked at him in fear.

"John," he murmured weakly, "What are you…? ARGH!"

John had pulled the knife out of Chas's leg.

"I'm sorry Chas," whispered John, "It's the only way to save you."

"John-!"

John raised the knife up and brought it down into Chas's chest, stabbing through his flesh and piercing his heart. Chas looked up at John in frightful confusion. He didn't know this would free him from Hell. All he knew was that his close friend was killing him. Chas's look of desperation slowly faded until his whole body went limp.

John breathed heavily for a few moments. Then he screamed, pulled the knife out of Chas's body, and threw it aside. Finding that that did little to alleviate his emotional pain, John cried out as he pounded Chas's chest over and over again before the screams became sobs and John collapsed onto the body of his dead friend. John knew Chas had been freed and was now alive and well, but he couldn't shake the mental images of what he had just done. Tears flowed from his eyes as his breaths became labored. After a few moments, John lifted his head and glared at Neron with red, puffy eyes.

"You wanted me to do that," said John quietly.

"What better way to torture John Constantine," said Neron, "then to force him to confront the fact that he's just as murderous as the demons he fights."

John went to reply, but he couldn't. He knew Neron was wrong; what John had done was a mercy. Logically he knew that at least. John's sense of self and honor had been twisted by Neron's torture. Everything seemed hopeless. Right and wrong no longer seemed to matter. Nothing seemed to matter. There was no hope. John returned his attention to Chas's body, sobbed, and collapsed down on top of it.

Neron approached John and casually snapped his fingers. Hot metal manifested around John's wrists and ankles again, pulling them together and forming cuffs once more as John collapsed onto his side. Neron grabbed his hair and jerked him up to his knees, showing him to the crowd.

"Final offer," grinned Neron, "Who wants the opportunity to do this to him for eternity?"

"How about a wager?"

Everyone's attention went to the back of the theater, where a new demon had just joined the audience. This demon was smaller than the others, probably even smaller than John.

"I'm listening," said Neron.

Demons did love their wagers. Betting souls on anything from human events to rolling dice. In many ways, it was just another form of bargain. As the stories across cultures indicate, demons are quite fond of making bargains.

"A coin toss," said the small demon, holding up a coin.

"For the soul of John Constantine," scoffed Neron, "and what do you wager if you should lose?"

"My soul."

Murmurs rippled across the room. John knew exactly why. Demons were immortal. The only thing they valued more than mortal souls were immortal ones. Demon souls were highly sought after and rarely found. Demons almost never gave up their eternal life. Why was this demon so willing to risk it?

"Now we have an event!" smiled Neron.

"The goddess side I win the warlock's soul," said the small demon, pointing to one side of the coin and then the other, "The owl side you win my soul. Deal?"

"Deal."

The small demon flipped the coin into the air, adding a flourish of hellfire as they did. Everyone in the room watched the coin intensely as it fell back town and the small demon caught it in their open palm. Neron peered at the coin, growled, and kicked John in the side. John coughed as he was knocked over by the blow.

"Go ahead," hissed Neron, "Take him."

John slowly got to his feet. He knew there was no use resisting it. He belonged to this demon now, whoever they were. John had a bad feeling about it though. What kind of demon risked their soul like that?

The small demon guided John off the stage out of the theater. He ignored the glares and snorts of the scorned bidders as the small demon led him out of the room, taking tiny steps on account of the cuffs around his ankles.

Screams flew through the air like wind, coming and going. The scent of burning flesh hung thick like a fog, nearly suffocating John when he first emerged from the cave with the small demon. He saw countless torture devices performing horrific atrocities on the souls strapped to them, tearing apart their bodies in ways that would have killed them when they were alive, only for the bodies to reform to endure the torture again. John wondered which torture device this demon would use on him first.

"So tell me," said John, "What did I do to piss you off so much you'd risk your soul to get mine?"

"What's the matter, Johno?" smirked the demon, "Don't recognize me? It's been like, what, ten years for you?"

John's weak face of resignation slowly lit up to a smile. Only one person ever called him that.

"Well I'll be bloody well hanged," he said, "Charlie, is that you?"

"The one and only."

Charlie was a shapeshifter John had known in the late 70s. John was spending a great deal of his time in the punk band Mucous Membrane. Among the bands they often performed with was The Smell, Charlie's band. Charlie had disguised themself as a British punk rocker. John quickly deduced Charlie's status as a shapeshifter and after a small confrontation, the two became good friends.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked John

"Looking for you," said Charlie, still disguised as a demon, "I need your help."

"You must need it quite a bit to wager your soul," said John.

"Oh, that?" smirked Charlie, "That was a charmed coin. I couldn't lose."

"Cheating a demon," smirked John back, "Bold move. You know, if he ever finds out-"

An ear splitting roar rang out from behind them.

"YOU ARE NO DEMON, SHAPESHIFTER!"

"Guess they found out," realized Charlie fearfully.

"Someone must have seen through your disguise and told them," said John, "I certainly hope you have a way out of here, love. What the-?!"

"As a matter of fact I do," said Charlie as she slung John over her shoulder, "This way!"

"Where are we going?" asked John as he bounced up and down on Charlie's shoulder, wrists and ankles still bound.

"To our time ship," said Charlie.

"...time ship?"

"Yup," smiled Charlie, "Welcome to the Legends of Tomorrow, Johno."