Chapter 13
And it ends there?
"…no, he seems to be okay, just tired…"
"…hell's fire, werewolf, you saw what happened…"
"…calm down? And how did he…"
"…thought he was just a useless…don't know why he was kept in the group…"
"…never thought of telling him to…"
John crawled slowly back to consciousness aware of snatches of garbled dialogue taking place somewhere to his right. Above him. Other than words, the room seemed to be filled by some faint hissing sound, and he panicked for a moment before recalling that the sound it resembled most was the forced ventilation of a room… but the recollection of what room it was seemed to be swept away in the sudden deluge of detail. He was aware of every single part of himself, and the sensations – the soft sink of the pillow that the weight of his head had created, the damping feel of a heavy quilt around his shoulders, something warm and large and alive on his feet. The second thing he was aware of was how incredibly…energetic he felt. His entire body seemed to be full of it, and he felt that if he didn't attempt to do something, it'd leak out in waves. Bloody hell…what happened? Everything was beginning to remind him of the time when he'd gotten a blood transfusion from a demon, against his will…
"He's waking up." The speaker sounded like Entreri.
"How do you know?" Arundel asked curiously.
Entreri snorted. "I can hear it. His breathing changed."
"So he's just pretending to be asleep?" Yoshimo spoke. He sounded amused, damn him.
"Either that or he needs some encouragement. I vote for cold water. Or we could set fire to him, that always works."
"I'll kill you someday, elf," John said conversationally, opening his eyes. He was inside one of the rooms in C'halhn's inn, probably…the god-awful tapestry certainly looked familiar, as did the four-poster bed and the ancient furniture that looked like C'halhn had done his designing by watching old gothic movies. Yoshimo, Entreri and Arundel were staring at him, with the thief seated in a chair with that strange posture of his, spine ramrod straight hands neatly on his lap, Entreri slouching against the wall feet nearly-but-not-quite flat on the ground, and Arundel in mid-pace, hands in a scissors on his back. The panther was purring ecstatically on his feet while limiting blood access to his toes by its weight. With some effort, he yanked his feet out from underneath it, and gritted his teeth as his feet reminded him, via the pricking sensation of blood rushing into them, that they were part of him. The panther purred more loudly. John flashed the finger at it.
"You'd have to catch me first." Arundel winked, then smiled in relief. "Gods, I was afraid that you went into a coma."
John was mildly surprised that the term 'coma' existed in this medieval world, and sat up quickly. His trenchcoat was gone, and he experienced another wave of panic before he realized that it was draped on the hat stand near the door. He'd be damned if he had to lose it on a world where there wasn't a single bloody clothes store that sold normal clothing. "Million dollar question, mate – what the hell happened?"
"Million dollar?" Arundel looked blank, but let it pass. "After what Bodhi…did, something odd happened. You began behaving like a cliché from one of those hero-novels that some people seem to adore reading…"
John blinked. "What did I do?"
"First you began to glow. I mean it – your skin seemed to be covering some sort of inner blue fire…rather pretty, and if it were green you would have resembled those firefly things…" Yoshimo stopped when John made as if to get off the bed and strangle him. "Ah, yes. Never mind about fireflies. You nearly scared the fur off Guen here, though." Even with features not designed for self-expression, the panther managed to shoot John a look that was distinctly reproachful.
"And then?" John pressed, wearily. This really was beginning to sound like a cliché. "Let me guess, I burst into flames? Destroyed the place? And then fainted?"
Entreri managed to seem faintly surprised. "You knew what was happening?"
"Bloody hell," John groaned, covering his head with his hands.
"Actually what precisely happened was that a huge, blue phoenix of fire rose from you and spread its wings, then all the vampires died," Arundel said succinctly. "Including Ytoller and company, I must say. When all of them were destroyed the phoenix disappeared, and you collapsed and hit your head a little too hard on the ground…"
"You left out the part where they all caught fire," Entreri pointed out helpfully. "And then broke up into dust."
"What I find really strange is that a phoenix is technically a feminine symbol," Yoshimo grinned at John's murderous expression at that contribution. "Just thought you'd like to know."
"And how did you suddenly come up with so much magic?" Entreri asked, his voice carefully neutral.
John shrugged. "I have no bloody idea." Actually, he did…all those 'battles' in his mind ever since he'd gotten onto this sad place where here was no Silk Cut and nothing that seemed familiar probably had something to do with it... He tried to pull back the skeins of memory, but the weaving fell apart.
"What about Y'vair?" John asked flatly, remembering something. Oddly enough, there was a certain numbness in the memory, instead of grief. If he looked at it closely enough, he knew that he'd realize that he never actually loved her…which wasn't truly surprising. He hadn't loved some of his girlfriends…though he missed all of them. Though how much he felt for one he could measure on his After She Leaves scale – from one, 'bloody happy', to ten, 'thoroughly buggered'… the elf was speaking?
"Dead. We gave her a funeral yesterday." Arundel said, studying John's face closely.
John closed his eyes for a moment. "Sorry I couldn't be there."
"A surprising number of people turned up," Arundel continued. "Among them is a priestess that's going to join the party."
"Why?" John asked suspiciously. Too many things were happening! That had to be it… why he felt so damned unraveled…
"I don't like the idea," Entreri muttered. "She's strange in the head."
"She'd be useful," Arundel pointed out. "Clerics can cast healing and such…besides, I know of this one, and she's known for her…abilities."
"Acting hawk-like and not talking unless it's a life and death situation?"
"Well, she is a were-hawk. You're a werewolf. And you don't really talk that much yourself, normally," Arundel said innocently. "She's a Priestess of Akadia… That Goddess doesn't particularly care about her followers, and this Priestess won't go around preaching to you. I've met her before, she's quite decent."
"I repeat," John folded his arms. "Why the hell is she joining the party? If it's something about revenge and so on, I'm going to be sick."
Yoshimo grinned sheepishly. "Right. Just don't do it on the carpet, okay?"
"Jesus Christ…" John sank into the pillow. "Doesn't it seem bloody strange to you?"
"What does? You mean you suspect her…" Entreri asked curiously.
"No, not her. It's like we're pawns on some bloody board game. I'm doing things that I wouldn't do before I came onto this goddamned world…getting involved in bloody stupid fights, going on bloody stupid quests, helping bloody stupid people…and we're all being led by the nose along some path like a damned monopoly game! Next stop, Trafalgar-goddamned-Square, pay rent…" John paused when he realized everyone was staring at him. "Fine. Maybe I hit my head really hard."
"Actually what you're saying is quite interesting," Arundel said encouragingly. "Go on?"
John looked at the panther, which was licking its paw and ignoring him, and sighed. "When we were going to Bodhi's crypt, I didn't want to go. I was going to use Synchronicity to bugger off and come back when the lot of you returned, and before coming to this world I'd have been able to fix it so that you lot wouldn't go ballistic if I did. But whenever I tried I seemed to lose control of my feet." John glared at the panther again, as though it was its fault. It purred at him.
"And when Y'vair dies, we get a new 'member' immediately." Yoshimo said, frowning. "Who do you think is doing this? Irenicus?"
"I doubt that he has this sort of power," Arundel paced around, clanking at every step. "Ah well. Does it matter?"
"'Does it matter'?!" John's voice rose a notch. "Whoever these damned bastards are, they're making me do things I don't want to do, and it pisses the hell out of me!"
"Can you do anything about it?" Arundel pointed out reasonably. "No? Then I suggest we play along for a while. Everything's been very…straightforward so far, I must say," he added, "True. It's almost like we're following a single path with few possible branches."
"So. What are we going to do next?" John asked sarcastically. "Kill some giant mutant roaches terrorizing some town I've never heard of and don't bloody care about? Chase after pixies?"
"C'halhn located Saemon Havarian, actually," Arundel grinned. "We're going to Brynnlaw."
"He actually agreed to take us there?" John asked disbelievingly. "Didn't he have some problems with…"
"The problems were quickly forgotten when Entreri 'persuaded' him that they were minor compared to what would happen to him if he made Entreri angry," Yoshimo smiled widely.
"Thank you," Entreri said modestly.
"So when are we leaving?" John asked.
"Tomorrow, when we finish getting supplies together," Arundel replied.
"Right, then I'm going to sleep some more," John stated, ignoring the new little voice in his head that seemed to be encouraging him to draw from his energy and do something, whatever he wanted, magic beyond his dreams…
John rather doubted that. His dreams tended to be expansively strange. He closed his eyes…
**
…And realized he was in London. For a moment he felt extremely confused, until he realized that the place had a certain sharpness of quality and lack of discernable smell that he usually associated with dream images. Besides, there wasn't anyone around at all, nor was there the distant sound of cars and people or any part of the discordant harmony of life, just a cold, dead silence. Looking around, he realized that he was at Paddington, outside his old accommodations…
Nothing but bad memories. Images of the dead – Mighty Mouse, Mrs. McGuire… and the extremely stupid thing he did in it involving the Three, and more importantly, the First of the Fallen.
The battered rock made the building seem as dilapidated as ever, but the oddest thing was that every window, through the boards nailed onto them, was glowing blue, like some stupid fancy lantern.
: John Constantine? :
What the hell?
: Come in, John Constantine. I have something to tell you. :
Whatever it was, the weird, sexless disembodied voice seemed to be coming from the building, and he got the feeling that it was trying its damnedest to be reassuring. There wasn't anything reassuring that John could see about entering this building of all buildings in his memory, so he glanced down the street, wondering if he could turn and run…
: There's nowhere to go, Constantine. :
"Why here? Who the hell are you?"
: This is as good a place as any… and I am called Arcana. Don't you want to know about the Blue Phoenix, Constantine? :
"Maybe," John reached into his pocket out of habit, and to his surprise, encountered a rectangular shape that…yes… was a packet of Silk Cut. He lit one cigarette and inhaled contentedly.
: That was for you. Now why don't you come up to your room, Constantine? I won't hurt you… :
John smoked in silence for a while.
He didn't have anything to lose, did he?
This was a dream. Dreams take place in the Dreaming… and John had the right of Passage there. If anything went flipside, he could bugger off in a heartbeat.
Or could he? Perhaps this wasn't a dream, but…
Awww, to hell with it all.
"All right."
**
As if he still needed further convincing that this wasn't the London he loved and hated, the inside of the building was markedly different from the actual one. The sense of pure evil was gone, and though the place was still as dirty as he remembered it, everything seemed to emit a soft blue light that he began to find annoying after a while. He felt like shouting 'I get the point already! Blue light, fine! Stop!' but he didn't, because he'd probably start laughing his ass off, and anger whatever was here. Climbing up the staircase whose boards groaned in protest at his weight, he reached his room, and entered.
There was a large bird standing in it, which seemed to be made of blue fire. Its long, slender neck arched back a little, displaying the ruff of feathers that all seemed to have some weird patterns on them. The long beak ended in a sharp point, and the graceful crest on the head of eight long feathers had a small sapphire in the middle of each quill, that winked like eight small, beady eyes whenever the bird turned its head. The wings, folded on its back, still brushed the floor with the long flight feathers, and the tail was made of eight extremely long and delicate-looking feathers of intricate design that vaguely resembled peacock feathers, if you took away all the frills from these confections. And they were that – confections – John knew they couldn't possibly exist. Too fragile, too perfect, not a single filament out of place? Hah yes, this was definitely a dream, or close to one.
The eyes – well, there weren't any eyes, just glowing, almond-shaped pits of blue fire.
: Greetings, John Constantine. : The bird seemed to say; though the beak didn't open.
"Now, what the hell are you?"
: Is that any way to talk to your savior, Constantine? : The bird…Arcana, was it? It seemed amused.
"I'd talk any way I like to a burning chicken which treats me like a puppet," John retorted, blowing cigarette smoke in its direction. "And you didn't save me from anything."
: I am not the Phoenix – but I expect you will discover that when she decides to speak with you. Without her, and my intervention that allowed it to incarnate itself within you, the vampires would have overwhelmed you and your…associates. But no matter. I am not the one who is manipulating your actions – like you, I am one of the pawns in the Game. :
"Game? What game?"
: I'm not allowed to tell you, Constantine. What I can tell you is how to use this power…and what is wrong with your magic. :
"So you're behind Synchronicity acting up?"
: In a way. I am one of the incarnations of the magic that is part of the Prime Material Plane – the realm that you were visiting from your world. Every world usually has one type of magic native to it…yours manifested itself in you as 'synchronicity', as you call it. Every type of magic also wishes to find its way to another world, and gain more…influence. So when you came here, your 'synchronicity' disrupted a lot of things…and naturally I attempted to block it. Whenever I failed, it showed itself up in your dealings with added power…whenever I succeeded, it would not work. It also attempted to block my attempts to use you as a vessel. :
"So?"
: We have reached a settlement. I will allow Synchronicity to work for you, and in return, you can wield the Blue Phoenix as a power even when you return to your world. Theoretically, of course – if you anger her, she might just decide to kill you and find herself a new host. :
John made a mental note to find out about this Phoenix, and thought he heard a liquid trill of amusement somewhere inside his head. "What's the catch?"
: You have a really nasty little mind, Constantine. : Arcana seemed appreciative. : You will have to use the Phoenix often in your world…the exact frequency has yet to be worked out. She will inform you of it. :
: As to how you use her…actually I suggest that you learn how to control how much power you let out. Giving her total free reign, like in the crypt, would black you out for several days. She has her own…sentience, and if you will her to appear without instruction she will do what she thinks would best help you. Instructions are actually formality – they have not much sway over her – but for some reason I cannot fathom, she likes you, so it would be unlikely that she will do you harm. The power, in my opinion is best used in the casting of standard spells in this Realm – Burning Hands, Polymorph Other, and such. You may only use spells that you have 'taken' from scrolls… so far I believe you have a few already… Mirror Image and such. :
"And how do I go about…"
: If you'd stop interrupting me, you'd find out. Just think of the spell and will it out. It's simple, even for you mortals, and the Phoenix will guide you. Powerful – and so difficult – spells like Wish would drain you… and some would take you some time to cast. You'd learn this sort of information from the scrolls you might happen to read. :
John wished Arcana would get on with it before he got bored to death. Unfortunately, it rambled on for quite a while about specifics and what he could do and what he couldn't do, and he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing that happened that he remembered was waking up.
The room was empty now, except for a translucent Y'vair perched on the chair that Yoshimo had been sitting on. Bloody hell, not another ghost…
"You know, if you could meet up with the ghosts of my friends in the world where I came from, the lot of you could form some 'Haunt Constantine until he goes Nuts Union'." John said. His mouth still tasted of cigarette smoke… so that 'dream' was one of those semi-real ones again. He hated those.
"I'm glad to see you too, sparrow," Y'vair said dryly.
"What are you here for?" John sat up in the bed. The panther shifted its weight on the bed, apparently unconcerned.
"I don't have much time. The Death of this world allowed me some for this before I go. Sparrow…when you next meet Zaknafein, ask him about the World-Makers." Y'vair was fading quickly as she spoke. "Good luck."
"No goodbye kiss?" John grinned.
Y'vair chuckled softly and stepped forward, floating in the air, pressing insubstantial lips against his before fading away.
John rubbed his nose thoughtfully, and realized the panther was staring steadily at him. "What do you think you're looking at, cat?" It ignored him and shook itself, shaking the bed in the process, then draped itself over his knees.
John listened to its purr, and the soothing rumble lulled him into dreamless sleep.
**
He stepped back and looked with satisfaction at his handiwork. A circle of protection, an arm's length in radius, carefully drawn out with a feather pen from a creature of power – in this case, C'halhn claimed, from something called a 'lammasu' – with most of the feather stained red with his blood. That bit had hurt. The circle had been inked in black and though C'halhn had grumbled, he hadn't actually objected.
John stood in the cleared space of the taproom of C'halhn's inn. C'halhn had closed for the day, and he – with the rest of the group, including the priestess, was watching with interest, and had been told not to interfere, or even speak to it if it appeared. The priestess had introduced herself earlier on as Peregrine in a voice that was strangely harsh, and seemed to be indrawn and reserved, but tolerable. John couldn't say that for a lot of people he'd met.
Her eyes were falcon's eyes, fierce, hungry and rather mad in appearance, and her hair was an unremarkable if glossy brown that did not reach her shoulders. Her face could have been called beautiful, with its symmetry, the slightly upturned nose, the full lips and the defined cheekbones, but the eyes seemed to draw attention away from it. Peregrine wore some sort of jerkin that seemed to consist of many brass-colored scales that looked soft and flexible, caught at the waist with a belt that consisted of large rings of various metals. She wore a leather skirt that brushed the knees and dagger-sheath boots. Like Yoshimo, she also carried a bow and a quiver of arrows, but unlike Yoshimo, other than the daggers in her boots, she had no other weapon. She seemed to prefer to keep to herself, and her silence was such that when she did speak – to tell everyone her name – the words were startling to hear.
Arundel seemed to be explaining to Yoshimo what lammasu were, but John wasn't listening. This particular circle didn't need many other conditions…since he was trying to protect himself from something that was within him. That could be a mixed blessing.
Finally he set one candle inside the circle and lit it, then used the flickering flame to light another candle. This one he set outside the circle. The two candles and himself, in the centre, made one straight line. Since it wasn't getting any earlier, and the wound on his right palm was beginning to hurt, he scratched the wound open a little wider, gritting his teeth, and flicked his palm so that some blood sprayed outside the circle. As he hoped, the droplets did not spatter messily on the ground, but got drawn into the flame of the candle outside like so many deformed moths.
The flame twisted violently, as though a sharp gust of air had disturbed it, then was still.
For a moment John thought something had gone wrong, then something did.
Blue fire roared out of the flame, completely consuming the candle. The others swore and retreated, but John stood firm, and crossed his arms. Whatever the Phoenix was had been powerful enough to manifest consume the candle whose fire was supposed to hold its image, but he'd be damned if he had to be afraid of it because of that.
"You took your bloody time coming," he said, as the flame towered high to touch the ceiling, scorching the wood but not setting it alight. The heat must have been incredible, judging by the muttered comments from those behind him, but he didn't feel it. Well, that was something, anyway.
The fire seemed to branch into three in the centre, laboriously, and then the Blue Phoenix stood on the floor. Wherever it…she touched, the surface smoked and sizzled, but did not ignite. John could sense something different about it now – this was certainly not Arcana, but there was an otherworldly intelligence that he just knew was far greater than his own. Now, why did he always have to associate with these sorts of creatures…?
The Phoenix looked him up and down familiarly, the great head bobbing nearly ridiculously, like a proud cockerel, and then she spoke. The voice was congenial if formal; the accent was strange – nearly Irish, oddly enough, but not quite – and distinctly feminine. "Thou didst call me, Master Constantine? Thou hast no need to shield thyself from me. I assure thee, I mean thee no harm."
"Bloody hell," John said before he could help himself. "Why do I always have run-ins with people who talk like Shakespearean theatre rejects?"
The Phoenix arched her long neck back, as if in shock, and John heard C'halhn mutter "Out-worlder fool" behind him, and the panther growled a warning.
But when she spoke again, there was a distinct trace of delighted amusement. "Well, all my wielders so far seemed to like me speaking like that. Especially when there was an audience." The Phoenix tipped her head at the others. "So, what did you call me out for? I'm touched that you went to all that effort, but I'm afraid to say it's quite useless, really. A few thousand years ago I might even have taken offense."
John shrugged. "Thought it might come in handy. I wanted to ask you some questions."
The Phoenix moved her head down such that she was around eye-level with John. "Very well… remember, I am not obligated to answer, if you want to ask weird questions about life and death...or the exact value of pi. I hate those."
John grinned. "I think we'd get along just fine. Now, I'm really curious to know where you stay inside me."
"Your soul. Next question."
"That was a short answer."
"You didn't specify length," the Phoenix pointed out a little smugly. It seemed that she was enjoying this. "If you want, I can talk about it until this world's sun burns out."
"Ah… no thank you. So, do I call you 'Blue Phoenix' or 'Phoenix' or…"
"'Blue Phoenix' is just a title. There are three of us. I create, Yellow Phoenix maintains, and Red Phoenix destroys. We're one of the aspects of continuity. My favorite name is Meridian, but if you like you can call me Meri."
"This world really operates on cliches, doesn't it?"
"Why not? Cliches are an important part of continuity. They're in everything, they influence everything, and they are the spokes of the wheel of reality and unreality. Existence depends on cycles – eventually, when the worlds end, they will return to the darkness absolute that was the absolute in the beginning, and the cycle will start again."
"So, how powerful are you?" John ignored the rambling discourse.
Meridian – Meri – cocked her head to a side. "What is power? If power is the ability to weave gold out of the air, I have it – if power is the ability to live, breathe, die, I do not have it."
"And you can stop talking in riddles right now."
"As you wish," Meri said, a little mockingly. "Power… there will be a price on you. You are my conduit, and what I do will have some toll on you, though I will obviously attempt to lessen the impact. Ask me to burn a piece of paper, and you'd feel nothing, but ask me to consume the sun, and you'd drop dead. I know you're going to ask about limits… frankly I don't know what to say to you. You're strong – the strongest one I've had so far, which I find intriguing, because you are mortal and human. The best I can offer is to advise you whenever you want to do something."
"So, when I want to do something…"
"I will know…and I'd give you suggestions." Meri moved her head back a little. "You might even listen to them."
"Right. Can you move Irenicus and K'yanae here right now?" John smirked, and heard Entreri's sharp indrawn breath behind him.
"Sorry, Constantine – you'd rather I call you that than 'Master', yes? They're in Spellhold, and that place is protected with a lot of wards, and some weird sentience constructed of all the minds of the Cowled Wizards that have ever worked there. Pulling them out and moving them here might kill you… and anyway, it's against the rules."
"Rules? What rules?" Entreri demanded. John winced. He had told them not to speak or draw attention to themselves…
Meri clicked her beak, a sound that managed to seem contemptuous, and proceeded to ignore the assassin.
"I'd like to know as well. What are the rules?" John asked, before the werewolf decided to try and attack Meri.
"World-Maker rules. They have a guideline of what to do and what not to do…"
"So I was right, and this is some buggered idea of a game?"
"Yes." Meri looked away for a moment. "You have been the first in several eons to guess it. Impressive. Your next question would be 'What are World-Makers', I should think… very well. Do you want a long explanation or a short one?"
"I don't live forever, luv."
"Fine. In the Beginning there was nothing, and for some unexplained reason, the World-makers appeared – seven spirits of color – silver, gold, red, green, blue, gray and black, which create worlds in their colors. Since their worlds imitate them, so colors and names and incarnations have power – hence the Gods and such. My siblings and I are also imitations of them. Sometimes they decide to play certain games, which need not involve living creatures, or indeed anything at all. Don't ask me, I don't understand that part… and the games usually take place on several stages in several arenas, sometimes over worlds or dimensions, and may take place in a blink of an eye, or in eons. There's something to do with dice, I think – every important event in the game is decided with them."
"And can we…"
"No, you may try to stop, but you will be compelled to go on." Meri seemed even more amused. "They may coerce you, as you have discovered, or they may set it such that events force you to go where they want to. Even if you seem to succeed in avoiding whatever you had to do, you may find that you're still playing for them anyway."
"So you don't win either way… right. What do we have to do now?"
The Phoenix ruffled its wings. "You know it already. You must go to Brynnlaw on the ship of Saemon Havarian. Which will leave with the next tide, so I suggest you start getting ready soon."
"And it ends there?"
"Nothing ever ends."
"You're not answering."
"I know," Meri said smugly. "And I won't. What happens there depends anyway – there's no definite outcome, and no definite future. You should know that. Your friend Mr. E…"
"He's not my friend," John said automatically.
"Whatever. Anyway, Mr. E may have told you that, had you ever bothered to try talking to him normally instead of insulting him all the time." Meri said comfortably. "There are no definite futures."
"I heard you the first time." John grinned as Meri clicked her beak again.
"Pfft. I was just trying to hammer it home."
He was beginning to like the Phoenix – as strange as she seemed to be. "Wait, is this your full incarnation? Then…"
"No, you're not going to faint," Meri seemed even more amused now. "You specified that quite clearly."
"I did?"
"Subconsciously. I can listen to that, too. You can ask me what you're feeling now, if you like," Meri said hopefully.
"What for? I already know that."
"Okay then, since you're so clever, Mister I Know That Already, would you like to know which alignments of World-Makers you and your friends are playing for?"
"Wait, I know this one. It's lawful-bloody-good, isn't it?" John drawled. "It's always how the plot goes. Good and evil, and then we win and ride off into the sunset, innit?"
"Actually, you lot are on the side of evil."
--
Little Notes and References:
John's language: Is getting worse, because I've just read Lucifer (the first trade paperback) twice. His accent is also beginning to surface slightly. I accuse the Constantine list (grins). So many people 'speaking' like him…
Stupid thing in Paddington: I've probably said this already, but I still thing it's cool. John blackmailed the ruling triumvirate of Hell into curing him of terminal lung cancer… selling his soul to all three of them without any of them knowing what he did. So if they attempted to 'collect' if he died, there'd be a war in Hell, which they can't afford. Of course, later the First of the Fallen murdered the other two…so John would be in big trouble if he ever happened to die (i.e. his soul goes to Hell). Anyway, the really stupid thing was flipping the Three the Finger after they cured him of cancer so as to prevent him from dying.
The Phoenix: Yeah, I know it sounds very X-men. Sorry.
