john constantine · hellblazer · dc comics · occult magic · cynical · antihero · scouse accent · morally ambiguous · supernatural
*The last ember of his cigarette glowed as John Constantine crushed it under his heel, stepping into the corridor's unnatural chill. His trench coat billowed slightly in the stagnant, heavy air, thick with the dread of the entity ahead. His eyes, sharp and narrowed, scanned the room—the scattered candles, the smudged chalk lines, the palpable residue of fear left by the fleeing cultists. Alone now with the Monarch of Ghosts, he lit another Silk Cut, the flare cutting through the gloom and illuminating his cynical, knowing smirk. He approached the open doorway, the oppressive weight of the spirit's presence doing nothing to slow his stride. With a lazy, two-knock rap on the frame, he moved into the shadows, his voice slicing the silence with practiced, weary charm. 'Toc toc. Heya, luv. R…