On the other end of the phone, Patty didn't know why, but hearing the title "Dark Sovereign," she couldn't help but shudder!
"Lulu is the Fae Sorceress!"
"Syndra is the Dark Sovereign!"
"When it comes to dealing with demons from hell, Syndra is a bit more professional."
Locke spoke smoothly, listening to Patty breathing slightly heavily on the other end of the line. He then let out a light laugh and said,
"You can go ahead and prepare, Patty. Once I locate that servant, I'll call you again."
With that.
Without waiting for whatever Patty was about to say next, Locke hung up the phone directly.
Yes.
The Dark Sovereign!
Locke had no way of dragging Lulu over, but Syndra, it seemed, could actually make an appearance.
That would be Carrie.
After all...
Locke's bottom line was highly flexible, but if anyone wanted him to switch to what was currently his most powerful identity—the Witch—it would require a literal life-or-death scenario. Otherwise, under any normal circumstances, Locke wouldn't even consider it.
But Carrie was different. Carrie was a natural-born witch to begin with.
Furthermore, it was about time for Carrie to start making contact with this real world.
Locke thought to himself as he looked at the apartment door in front of him.
*Creak!*
Locke turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open. Shifting his gaze downward, he noticed a transparent tripwire rigged just behind the door. He let out a short chuckle.
"Well, look who learned to be clever."
But what use was it?
Locke effortlessly neutralized the tripwire connected to the alarm system and stepped into the apartment.
The air inside was, as always, incredibly foul and stagnant, even carrying a distinct scent of decay. If anyone were to judge this entire apartment purely by its smell, they would likely suspect they had been brought inside a coffin that had been sealed for quite some time.
However...
A servant of a demon; if his home smelled like a garden in heaven, that would be the true anomaly. Not to mention, the entity this Nick Rice was sacrificing to wasn't just any ordinary demon.
It was a top-tier, second-generation demon within the infernal hierarchy.
Blackheart!
Locke, who had briefly closed his eyes, slowly opened them. After successfully matching the residual elemental data floating within the apartment, he looked down and couldn't help but chuckle softly.
"We meet again, Blackheart."
This wasn't his first time dealing with Blackheart.
Their initial encounter had taken place back in Augusta. At that time, Blackheart had been attempting to manipulate Carrie, intending to turn her into his personal 'Witch Carrie.' However, Locke had arrived just in time to rescue her, and incidentally, sent Blackheart packing right back to hell to obediently remain its eternal crown prince.
Who would have thought that after more than half a year, Blackheart would also come to New York.
Fascinating!
Originally, Locke had intended to wait until this Nick Rice, returned before getting out of his car. However, when he had looked up at the apartment earlier, his six senses had triggered a subtle intuition.
Acting on a sudden whim, Locke had come upstairs to take a look.
He hadn't expected another pleasant surprise.
A coincidence?
Locke absolutely did not believe this was a mere coincidence. How could an ordinary human successfully summon Blackheart on their very first attempt?
To look no further than Nina Bell—the entity she had summoned was merely a common, bottom-tier vengeful spirit that couldn't even make the cut in hell. Nina Bell, at the very least, came from a lineage of Voodoo practitioners and still only achieved that much. You, an ordinary citizen, where do you get the face to directly summon Blackheart?
Unless Blackheart had actively sought him out first.
That completely ruled out coincidence. Since it wasn't a coincidence, it was a deliberate, calculated move.
What exactly was this creature planning?
Did he come up here intending to exact revenge?
Locke thought to himself. Yet before he could even start taxying his brain or activating any system features, the answer practically jumped out and presented itself right under his nose.
Inside the Nick Rice's study.
This study couldn't merely be described as cluttered; it had reached a point where there was literally nowhere to step. On the floor, all manner of legal textbooks lay scattered everywhere, and the footprints stamped across them were exceptionally distinct.
In their place, prominently displayed on the desk, was a neat row of mystical books radiating a bizarre, unsettling odor.
It was the kind of unnatural, rancid smell one might encounter when retrieving something from a trash bin or a sewer, rather than the characteristic scent a mystical text ought to possess.
It was utterly absurd.
A student of the law, yet now, the law was cast down onto the floor, while the mystical arts—which stood in absolute contradiction to the law—sat grandly and legitimately upon the desk.
Did this display do justice to your ten years of grueling academic study?
"Shit."
Sensing the utterly foul quality of the air within the study, Locke suppressed his sense of smell. He walked over to the desk, his eyes locking onto a bundle of cloth that was rolled up out in the open without a shred of concealment, as if desperate to ensure anyone looking would know it held a secret.
He unrolled it.
Spreading it across the desk, a similarly bizarre oil painting entered his field of vision.
The painting was covered in strange runes written in an unknown language, and the core imagery depicted a massive conduit bridging Earth and Hell. Within that conduit, countless demons were rising with bared fangs and brandished claws, appearing as though they were orchestrating a massive, full-scale invasion of the mortal realm.
*Hiss!*
Locke let out a token sharp intake of breath, instantly understanding. "How barbaric. He's actually planning to turn Earth into a literal living hell?"
Considering what Blackheart was destined to attempt in the future, this answer seemed entirely logical.
As long as Mephisto remained alive, Blackheart would forever remain the crown prince. But to speak plainly, in Mephisto's eyes, the crown prince of hell held no more inherent value than any other common demon.
Naturally, Blackheart would never be content with his status.
For the longest time, Blackheart had harbored a grand ambition: to establish a hell entirely of his own making.
Usurping the throne?
It wasn't that Blackheart hadn't considered it. However, ten Blackhearts combined likely wouldn't possess enough raw power to withstand a single blow from Mephisto's hand. Furthermore, talking about familial affection with a demon was about as comical as discussing true love with a r*pist.
Therefore.
Blackheart's logical alternative was naturally to set up his own separate shop elsewhere.
But.
Utterly outrageous!
This is our human Earth!
If this can be tolerated, what can't be?
Locke's eyebrows furrowed, instantly adopting the righteous persona of a superhero who, having unraveled a major villain's grand conspiracy to destroy the world, clenched his fists tightly. His entire being radiated an aggressive, indignant battle spirit.
"This is our human world, demon. You will not..."
Locke spoke in a low, dramatic tone, but halfway through the sentence, he cringed hard, and he waved his hand dismissively.
"Forget it. That's not my line!"
He wasn't a superhero.
At the very least, superheroes needed to possess that specific brand of self-sacrificing spirit where they viewed death as a mere return home.
However.
This time was different.
He had personally discovered the plot, and more importantly, he had an active system mission on his ledger.
The most critical factor was that if he sat idly by and allowed Blackheart to succeed, what would he even have left to play with? If the Earth turned into a barren wasteland of ghosts, where on earth was he supposed to farm his system missions?
No one cherished peace more than Locke.
Peace meant that over the next few years, his guaranteed baseline reward would hover close to five hundred thousand system points annually.
If that massive hoard of points vanished, even butchering Blackheart into pieces wouldn't be enough to compensate for his losses.
"Huh?"
"Wait a moment."
Locke suddenly blinked, staring at the blueprints laid out so openly on the desk, completely unconcerned with anyone discovering the plan. He shook his head.
"So, this time, I'm not merely returning good for evil. You could practically say I'm eliminating a public menace for the sake of the people?"
Incredible.
Talk about blundering into a massive stroke of luck.
Locke raised his eyebrows.
The next second.
With a sweep of his right hand, Locke rolled up the canvas on the desk and deposited it straight into his inventory. Turning around to walk toward the study door, his gaze caught sight of a large wardrobe.
He chose to entirely ignore the female corpse sealed tightly in layers of plastic wrap hidden inside it, retrieved his phone, and dialed Carrie.
This Nick Rice technically had a girlfriend.
However, she had been missing for several days already.
Evidently.
The corpse packed away in the hidden compartment of that wardrobe belonged to Nick Rice's girlfriend.
Under normal circumstances, as a five-star good citizen of New York City, Locke would have made a quick call to report the body upon finding it.
But since that guy wasn't going to let the matter rest overnight anyway, calling George now would only introduce unnecessary complications to the operational timeline.
However...
Locke drove his vehicle into the underground parking structure of a high-rise building, stroking his chin as a calculating light flickered subtly in his eyes.
A short while later.
The passenger door was pulled open.
A flash of violet energy rippled through the air. Having completed her combat wardrobe transformation the exact instant she stepped into the vehicle, Carrie looked toward Locke, who sat in the driver's seat sporting his dark sunglasses.
"Is it truly that same demon again?"
Locke let out an affirmative grunt.
"Where is he?"
"Right now?"
Locke started the engine, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "The New York Police Department headquarters!"
Carrie: "..."
...
Inside the NYPD precinct.
George leaned back in his office chair, staring at Assistant District Attorney Nick Rice, who had barged into his office the very moment George arrived and immediately started shouting demands.
Nick Rice's reasoning for coming over was incredibly simple.
He firmly refused to believe that the previous night's shooting constituted a legitimate case of self-defense.
He insisted that the NYPD should immediately place the Sheldon couple under arrest, and subsequently forward an official recommendation for a manslaughter charge to the District Attorney's office.
But...
George remained entirely unmoved. While he couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly was wrong with this Nick Rice, he could distinctly sense that something was deeply off.
It was the seasoned intuition of a veteran law enforcement officer.
"Whether a case is forwarded to the DA's office is entirely our jurisdiction."
Nick Rice snapped back, "Then you should do your job and forward it!"
George's face remained completely expressionless as he raised his head to look at Nick Rice.
"Are you attempting to direct my operations?"
Nick Rice said in a heavy, commanding voice, "I am an Assistant District Attorney."
George let out a short, cold laugh. "And I am a Senior Captain of the New York Police Department. Even if your District Attorney came here in person, he wouldn't possess the authority to speak to me in that tone. As for you..."
Before the words could fully leave his mouth.
Kate Beckett came rushing into the office from the corridor outside. "George, we found a notice!"
George's head snapped up instantly!
***
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