After hearing the Ancient One's warning, William only had to think for a moment before fully understanding the implications: if he ever did fall into darkness, he'd be able to enter the material world however and whenever he wanted.
It would be even more convenient than Asgard's Rainbow Bridge—with access to far more locations.
With a mere flick of his hand, he could open portals and unleash hordes of demons, spirits, and all kinds of infernal minions across countless worlds.
Of course, all of that was based on the assumption that he was the one in charge. He had no interest in being anyone's servant. If that were the only option, he might as well just keep living in quiet luxury on Earth.
Noticing the worry still lingering on the Ancient One's face, William smiled and shook his head. "Relax. I'm not opposed to killing when it's necessary, but it's not like I have some grand ambition for it.
And really, if I can stay alive comfortably, who in their right mind would voluntarily go to a place like the Abyss?"
Sure, succubi were tempting, but there were plenty of beautiful alien women in the universe. No need to crawl through hell just for a taste of forbidden fruit.
"Besides," William smirked, "do you really think someone who wields Holy Light magic like I do can survive long in Hell or the Abyss?"
As he spoke, a golden light flashed in his eyes. In the next instant, a radiant rune—the ancient character for Grace—appeared in his irises.
It was an ability he had copied from Angela's archangel-blessed necklace. When activated, it allowed him to see through demonic disguises, and even purify lesser demons and evil spirits just by looking at them.
When William turned toward the unconscious Dalton on the medical bed, the Holy Light in his gaze immediately triggered a reaction in the dark energy infecting the man—agitating it, and simultaneously revealing a faint magical trap, demonic in nature.
"Tch. No surprise a rat would be fond of tricks," William scoffed, glancing toward the now-frowning Ancient One.
He silently wondered: Was this trap meant for her—or for me?
A thought formed, and in a flash, a magical clone split off from his body.
The clone reached out and placed a hand on Dalton's wound—where a dark blade of energy instantly lashed out, slicing the clone's finger. As the wound vanished, a demonic contract written in infernal script materialized in its place.
Had he been cut—if his blood had fallen on that contract—it would have meant forging a deal with a demon.
"Looks like someone's either targeting you—or me," William said coldly. "And once I started doubting you, our relationship would've been over. And knowing me, I would've retaliated—not just against you, but maybe even Kamar-Taj."
The Ancient One furrowed her brow, fanning her gleaming bald head before waving a hand to retrieve the contract and examine it.
As she looked it over, she asked casually, "Would you really do it?"
"If you were the one behind it?" William shrugged. "Of course. But something this dirty is clearly a demon's work."
He created another clone, which began channeling Holy Light magic into Dalton's wound, slowly burning away the dark energy while William folded his arms and watched.
"Any idea who's behind it?" he asked.
"The glyphs and markings match Mephisto's… but," the Ancient One frowned, "the energy itself feels off. It's too different from Mephisto's usual aura. Something doesn't add up."
If even she was stumped, William had even less of a clue. The only possibility he could think of was that maybe one of Mephisto's sons had slipped into Earth.
But when he voiced this theory, the Ancient One shook her head. "Impossible. Hell's princes are desperate to surpass their fathers—they'd never operate under Mephisto's name. They'd make sure everyone knew who they were."
"That makes it even more interesting," William muttered.
His clone's Holy Light spell had finished purging the darkness from Dalton. Using his mental energy, William sealed the wound shut, then cast three consecutive healing spells, watching as the gash began knitting together at a visible rate.
The Ancient One smiled in relief and placed her hand gently on Dalton's forehead, drawing a sigil and whispering, "Wake, Master Dalton."
Hooo— A deep gasp rang out as Dalton jerked awake, sucking in air like a drowning man.
"Supreme One," he wheezed, "you must stop him! That demon—he has the Lance of Longinus!"
"Easy now," the Ancient One soothed, casting a sidelong glance at William. "You focus on recovery. The man who saved you, the legendary mage William Devonshire, will handle what comes next."
"Wait, who said I was handling anything?" William shot back. "And weren't you the one who told me not to get involved with the Abyss or Hell?"
"I'm not Odin, and you're not a soldier," the Ancient One replied with a sly smile. "Think carefully—I never said anything about you not resisting the forces of darkness.
And if a demon's gone out of their way to scheme against you… well, you're definitely the kind of person who would strike back, right?"
She kept smiling. "So why not let you take over? At least this way, I won't have to risk losing more of my people because they were too weak to face what's coming."
Of course he was going to get revenge—but the way she just casually handed it off like this… he couldn't shake the feeling he was being maneuvered.
Had she simply asked for his help directly, William would've likely agreed—especially after receiving that piece of Adamantium.
But now? Now it felt like she'd pulled a fast one, and that left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Sorry," he said curtly, "I've still got to get my mother's magic jewelry crafted in Asgard. As for revenge? That'll have to wait until I get back."
"No rush, William," the Ancient One said calmly, fanning herself. "Letting it drag a few more days might let the demon grow a little stronger—but I believe that any creature capable of breaching dimensional barriers still won't be your match."
Ring-ring. Ring-ring.
Just as William was preparing to throw out another excuse, his phone suddenly rang.
He frowned as he pulled it out. Snapping his fingers, he accepted the call—only to be greeted by a shrill, panicked scream.
"D-Devonshire! Mr. Devonshire—it's Amélia! Victor is back! H-he's come back from Hell! What do I do? What should I do?!"
"Shut up!" William snapped, wincing at the volume. "Victor was already dismantled by one of my robots. There's no way he came back from Hell."
He paused, suddenly alert. "Wait. Hell? How do you know he came from Hell?"
Amélia stammered, "I—I swore an oath to Victor. I can feel his aura. And the moment he returned to the mortal world, he began calling to me.
But… it's different now. It's like… like he's no longer a vampire. Like he's become something else—something darker."
Shit.
William's expression turned grim.
It all clicked into place.
The demon who had injured Dalton, who laid the trap designed to lure him in, the one weaving contracts in shadows—it was none other than Victor, the elder vampire, patriarch of England's blood clans, and foster father to his lover, Selene.
Only that wretched old monster would return to Earth and immediately start scheming against him.
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