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A few days later, at the hospital.
The ward always smelled the same—like disinfectant.
Even though Soren's body was strong as steel, the scent still made him instinctively uncomfortable.
"How's the recovery going?"
Soren pulled over a chair and sat down, looking at Constantine lying half-dead in the bed with several IV lines stuck in him.
"Still alive," Constantine coughed twice. He noticed Soren's empty hands and raised an eyebrow. "This is how you visit a guy who ended up in the ICU helping you?"
When Soren didn't react to the complaint, Constantine continued, "That meteor you summoned that day—what the hell was that thing?"
"I've spent my whole life fighting demons, but that… that was ridiculous."
Summoning an actual meteor just to crush a demon had completely shattered his understanding of exorcism.
He could maybe copy Soren's brutal weapon-based style, but calling down a meteor from the sky?
Even praying to God wouldn't teach him that trick.
"In our line of work, the biggest taboo is having too few options," Soren waved it off, not wanting to dwell on the topic that had emptied his bank account.
"Rest up. Once you're out, we still have to deal with that cop Angela's case."
He was broke right now.
If not for the ten million dollars he still expected Constantine to help collect, he wouldn't have bothered coming to the hospital at all.
Visiting another man always gave him a weird "guy-on-guy" vibe.
Hearing Soren's words, Constantine rolled over and cursed, "Even the demons in Hell have better manners than you."
Right then, the ward door opened.
Papa Midnight walked in wearing a deep-purple suit.
He glanced at Constantine on the bed, tone cold. "When you recover, remember to transfer the medical fees I covered. I don't run a charity."
Then his gaze shifted to Soren.
He didn't speak, but the meaning in his eyes was crystal clear.
Soren's face stiffened—he felt a little awkward.
Not long ago he had beaten this man half to death. Now he owed him money. It didn't feel great.
"That five million… I'll pay it in a few days."
A few days ago, to deal with Valak, Soren had paid this voodoo priest a fortune to set up the summoning array.
Who could have predicted Valak's regeneration would be so insane?
In the end he had no choice but to use Faust's Hat and drop a meteor.
That world-ending strike had completely wiped out his savings.
Which was why the agreed-upon five-million service fee still hadn't been paid.
Papa Midnight's expression darkened instantly.
He hadn't received any transfer in the days since, so he had come looking for Soren with a bad feeling.
"What did you take my rules for?"
As a businessman, never extending credit was his bottom line.
But the moment those words left his mouth, he remembered the sight of Soren casually summoning a meteor with his bare hands.
He took a deep breath and swallowed his dissatisfaction.
Against someone who played by no rules, demanding payment head-on would be the stupidest move possible.
"Fine. No money? No problem. Consider it a long-term investment."
He changed the subject and revealed why he had really come.
"There's a private dinner party in a few days. Interested?"
Seeing Soren frown like he wasn't interested, Papa Midnight added at the perfect moment, "The guests are… not ordinary people."
"Most of them are high-level figures from Los Santos politics and business circles. Since you're short on cash right now, there might be some suitable deals for you there."
"…"
Soren had been about to refuse, but Valak's words when it first crossed into the human world suddenly echoed in his mind—
"Humans… has the vessel I requested finally been prepared?"
Combined with the high-tech monitoring devices he had found on the ancient Creeper and around Yutun, he changed his mind.
Demons and angels were lurking in the human world, fighting over souls. Among these politicians, there were definitely quite a few secretly colluding with them for profit.
He wanted to dig into these businessmen and see what the people hiding in the shadows were really planning.
"Time and place."
...
That evening, lower district of Los Santos.
A few drunken street thugs cornered a ragged passerby in a dead-end alley, laughing evilly.
Suddenly, a pitch-black venomous snake shot out from the shadows and wrapped tightly around one thug's body.
"Fuck! What the hell is this?!"
The snake constricted. Bones cracked. The thug let out one short scream before going limp.
The sudden change terrified the rest.
They kicked the passerby aside, pulled out weapons, and stared fearfully at the shadows where the snake had come from.
"Who the fuck is playing games?! Get out here!"
"Your luck's pretty good. Perfect timing to test my new toy."
Soren stepped out of the darkness.
A hood covered half his face. He wore a black robe with dark mist swirling inside it.
From the thugs' perspective, just staring at the robe for a second made their heads spin.
It was like a miniature black hole, constantly devouring and refracting light, making it impossible to lock onto the wearer's real position.
The thugs exchanged glances. The creepy thing gave them chills, but the alcohol made them bold.
One thug reached behind his back, pulled out a folding knife, and hurled it straight at Soren's chest.
Soren stood motionless, as if scared stiff.
The thug's eyes lit up with excitement as the knife flew true.
Bang!
What happened next made their blood run cold.
The knife passed straight through Soren's figure and embedded in the wall behind him.
The "attacked" Soren rippled like water, twisted into black mist, and vanished.
"Looking the wrong way, pal."
The icy voice came from behind them.
The thugs spun around in panic.
Soren stretched a hand toward the top of their heads. Several thick venomous snakes sprang from his arm like springs.
The next second, his figure disappeared.
He reappeared directly above them, twin blades already in hand.
A string of miserable screams echoed through the alley.
A few seconds later, Soren sheathed the blades and stepped over the pile of corpses.
The shadowy robe on his body rapidly shrank back into black mist and coiled around his right arm, turning into a lifelike snake tattoo.
He examined the tattoo on his arm with satisfaction. The two puncture wounds on his tiger's mouth had already healed.
This was the Devil Arm born from the Demon God Valak.
Soren had given this new weapon—equally suited for support and offense—a very fitting name:
[Valak].
Its default form was a thin black venomous snake.
The moment Soren picked it up, it wrapped around his forearm and became a tattoo.
Whenever he poured demonic power into it, the tattoo would come alive.
The snake head at his tiger's mouth would detach from the skin, rear up, and bite down, injecting icy venom straight into his body.
Because Soren had killed Valak with a meteor, the demon god's soul had died full of resentment and unwillingness.
So every time the weapon was used, it tried to bite back at its wielder.
But to someone with Sparda blood, the venom's only real effect was a tiny sting like a needle prick.
The toxin itself? Just a snack.
Valak's functions were simple.
Support Form:
When activated, it manifested a black robe made of pure darkness around Soren's body.
The robe absorbed and refracted surrounding light, blurring enemy vision and even fooling security cameras.
When Soren used Trickster to dash or shifted position at high speed, the robe would leave behind an afterimage that was almost impossible to tell from the real thing. During that brief window, his body gained short-term invisibility—perfect for closing in on enemies.
Attack Form:
The tattoo on his right arm could transform into a physical venomous snake and shoot forward.
If it hit, the snake would coil around the target, constrict, bite repeatedly, and inject venom.
If it missed, the snake became an anchor point. Soren could choose to blink to its position or simply dispel it.
At that moment, the phone in Soren's pocket vibrated.
He opened it. A message from Papa Midnight.
The dinner party was about to begin.