He makes it his business to have nothing. What you don't have can't be taken away from you. He's rich but owns little aside from what he needs to continue the charade: the suits, the ties, the expense account, the offensively expensive trappings of a busy CEO who enjoys life to the fullest.
Which he doesn't, of course. What's there to enjoy? Everything is transient. Nothing is sacred. He's here as a businessman to charter your souls from your bodies and make sure they find rest with those below. It's been centuries since Balthazar has felt the satisfaction of a job well done. There's nothing. He is nothing. Just a little cog winding down the tick-tock springs of an infernal engine. He owns nothing so that nothing may own him... but that's not for him to decide.
Still, there are things-- memories, moments-- he keeps locked in his mind that are, you could say, precious to him. His first kill. The slickness of blood over his hands in the dark.
The look on John Constantine's face when he realizes Balthazar is present. Is present, has been present, will be present, despite his best efforts.
Which he doesn't, of course. What's there to enjoy? Everything is transient. Nothing is sacred. He's here as a businessman to charter your souls from your bodies and make sure they find rest with those below. It's been centuries since Balthazar has felt the satisfaction of a job well done. There's nothing. He is nothing. Just a little cog winding down the tick-tock springs of an infernal engine. He owns nothing so that nothing may own him... but that's not for him to decide.
Still, there are things-- memories, moments-- he keeps locked in his mind that are, you could say, precious to him. His first kill. The slickness of blood over his hands in the dark.
The look on John Constantine's face when he realizes Balthazar is present. Is present, has been present, will be present, despite his best efforts.
There are still things.
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