Chapter 962: Constantine's Demise (Part 2) (Patreon)

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Zatanna approached Constantine, kneeling in front of him, her gaze locked onto his eyes as she spoke softly, "I know you're not as evil and heartless as you seem. Your soul is overwhelmed with immense sorrow."

With that, she gently extended her hand, using her fingertips to caress Constantine's forehead, and continued, "But you need rest now. There won't be any devils haunting your dreams anymore. Sleep, John..."

Accompanied by her soft murmurs, Constantine slowly closed his eyes, his breathing gradually becoming steady. Zatanna let out a sigh and muttered to herself, "Well, now it's all up to me."

"Curses of Extreme Evil, chaos in Gotham, Hell and Heaven..." Zatanna muttered under her breath while rising to her feet, intending to leave.

However, just as she turned her back, Constantine leaped up and grabbed her by the neck from behind, pinning her to the ground.

Zatanna struggled desperately, shouting, "Constantine!! You madman!! Let go of me!!!"

Amidst her struggles, she saw Constantine's eye contact, and the madness within them told her she was wrong.

She had always believed that Constantine's descent into darkness and madness was a result of magic, curses imposed on him by devils, causing his thoughts to become chaotic, driven to madness by endless nightmares.

But now, the fire burning in his eyes, conveyed to Zatanna that magic was not the dye that stained his madness, not even the kindling to his madness. He was a madman first and a sorcerer second.

As oxygen gradually left Zatanna, she began to lose consciousness. When she stopped resisting, Constantine gasped for air as he stood up, despite his youthful and robust physique, the agony seemed to have left him, yet he still felt incredibly weakened, as if a piece of his soul was forever missing.

He reached for Zatanna's prop belt and opened it, revealing a collection of small tools typically used by magicians, but for Constantine, they would suffice.

Without a choice to perform magic within the Batcave, he staggered away from the scene, compelled by an urgent force. He quickly arrived at the underground chamber he had inhabited before.

This place was known as the "Spirit Realm Rift," providing the ideal environment for sorcerers to perform spells. Constantine arranged playing cards on the floor, drew intricate patterns with chalk, and lit a bundle of wheat with a lighter.

Kneeling within the magic array, he began to chant a summoning spell, his most proficient method for calling forth demons.

Midway through the incantation, Constantine sensed no presence of any demons, prompting him to abandon the spell. He stood up, found the broken shards of a bottle he had smashed earlier in the room's corner, held them in his hand, and returned to the center of the magic array.

He used the bottle shards to cut his own palm, allowing drops of blood to fall onto the charred wheat. Constantine attempted the incantation once more, but still, there was no response.

Initially, he could hear faint whispers, but once his blood joined the mix, the surroundings fell eerily silent.

Constantine slumped to the ground, realizing that both angels and demons were not going to be fooled twice.

Previously, he had borrowed powers repeatedly from various entities, leaving debts unpaid, all because of four words: "sunk cost." In the beginning, before he entered the world of mysticism, all sorcerers honored their debts. Demons were utterly unprepared because they never expected a feeble human to dare owe them without repaying. Demons were confident, knowing that human willpower was fragile, and a simple nightmare or curse would make them beg to settle their debts.

Demons couldn't have foreseen that Constantine not only had no fear of this pain but even sought it out, hoping that the agony could alleviate his guilt, wishing for more devilish encounters to bear the full weight of his actions.

Some demons fell for his trickery, lending him power and then being left with unpaid debts. Yet at the same time, other, less informed demons also lent him their strength.

Constantine found the first group of demons and threatened them, saying that if they didn't lend him more power, he would offer his soul to the other side in repayment.

These demons regretted lending him their strength and didn't want their rivals to enjoy Constantine's soul. Therefore, they reluctantly provided him with more power.

As Constantine amassed more power, he summoned even more formidable demons and borrowed greater strength. He continued this cycle, growing into one of the most powerful sorcerers in the mystic world.

Eventually, almost every angel and demon had been drawn into his web of debt. His sins piled up, making him a desirable target for all, each wanting his soul but unwilling to let it fall into another's hands. Thus, whenever he faced danger, they all rushed to his aid.

If they didn't help him or lend their power when Constantine was in trouble, it would not only mean losing their initial investments but also forfeiting any claim to his soul. Moreover, they would be indirectly funding their competitors. No one wanted to take such a loss, which was why Constantine always managed to secure help.

However, Schiller had settled all of Constantine's debts. In other words, when Constantine's company went through bankruptcy proceedings, all assets covered all debts, and all creditors received their due, with some surplus left.

So, at this moment, Constantine was starting a new company under his own name and seeking investments. But who would invest in him now?

Previously, they had kept pouring investments in, fearing they wouldn't recoup their costs and were stuck in a one-way deal. Now, after enduring countless hardships, they had finally achieved a favorable outcome.

All the investors breathed a sigh of relief, thinking they had been lucky to recover their investments. No matter how foolish they had been, they wouldn't make a second investment in a man who had lost all credibility.

In the room of the underground chamber, Constantine tried numerous magic arrays to summon demons or angels, but received no response.

All the magic power within Constantine's body had vanished completely as his wounds healed. Now, aside from his healthy physique and a mind filled with mystical knowledge, he had nothing left.

Sitting amidst the chaos of the underground chamber he had created, Constantine reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a cigarette. After lighting it, he took a puff, only to be choked by a fit of coughing.

Then he realized it wasn't just magic; his cravings for cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs had all disappeared. He had returned to the state of innocence and ignorance he possessed at the age of 17, experiencing a true rebirth.

Constantine contemplated taking another drag of the cigarette but seemed to remember something, and a smile that looked more agonized than joyful crossed his face. He tossed the cigarette aside, watching the ember slowly burn on the floor, and muttered softly, "A miraculous turnaround, Professor."

Constantine remained seated, covering his face with his hands. As he quieted down, the terror he had been avoiding began to engulf him. His breathing quickened, and he trembled uncontrollably.

"No... No... Don't think about it, don't think about them... Don't think about anything, clear your mind..." Constantine mumbled, instinctively groping around on the ground.

Beside his makeshift bed, he found a small pill bottle containing snacks he usually ate to induce pleasant dreams. With trembling arms, he opened the bottle and poured a handful of pills into his palm.

Just as he instinctively moved to put the pills in his mouth, he recoiled as if burnt, throwing the pills away and starting to wildly shake his arms. He then shouted, "No! John! What are you doing? You can't do this! You can't smoke, drink, or use drugs again... Think about what you've gained!"

Soon, his voice grew weaker, and he whispered, "But I need to divert my attention. I want to sleep, I can't think of them..."

"It's all your fault, it's all your fault, John. You've killed so many people, innocent children, trusted friends, and you wanted to escape that guilt through physical pain. Now you can't, it's all your fault..."

Constantine, like a suffocating fish, continued to make short, strained coughing sounds. Then, as if he had seen a hallucination, he stood up, facing the empty air, and said, "Astra, is that you? I can explain what happened back then, it wasn't me... I didn't mean to..."

His breathing rate increased, and his voice was filled with agony. Then he grew agitated and said, "Devils! It's all your doing! You took the souls of the innocent!"

Standing in the dim underground room, Constantine heard whispers in his ear.

"It's you, Constantine! Don't try to pin it on us..."

"It's the tragedy caused by your misuse of magic..."

"It's your arrogance and extravagance that led to all this..."

Suddenly, Constantine turned his head abruptly, looking to his side, but there was nothing there. He started shouting wildly, "No! This is your conspiracy! It's your plan for revenge against me!"

"Thomas!! I know it's you! You never died, you've been with me all along, trying to torment me in various ways. It's all you, a conspiracy to make me break down!"

Constantine continued to wave his arms, shouting at the empty air, "I killed you in our mother's womb! But so what? This world was never fair!"

"Father, after learning that our mother was carrying twins, only gave one of us a name! He gave you his name!" Constantine's voice was almost breaking. "Only you were called Thomas! I had to be John!"

"John... John... It was a name he heard at a gambling table, and he tossed it to me!"

"Every time I heard him call your name, I felt the fires of jealousy burning my soul! So, I had to kill you! Otherwise, he would never love me!"

As Constantine continued to wildly gesticulate, it was like he was dancing to the tune of a malevolent curse, a dance of madness, cruelty, and danger, a puppet manipulated by fate.

Soon, he stopped abruptly, like a winding toy coming to a halt, suddenly holding onto his knees, gasping for breath. Then, he whispered, "If I've truly done something wrong... Perhaps it's..."

As he muttered, he began searching the room. He found an iron wire used to secure the bed mattress next to the bed. He held the iron wire and looked up at the ceiling.

The walls of the room were oozing countless streams of blood through the cracks, dyeing the floor and ceiling a dark red. Water flowed in from the staircase, submerging the entire room in warm amniotic fluid.

Through the amniotic sac and the fluid, Constantine heard another heartbeat. He heard faint, muffled voices from outside his mother's womb, saying, "Little Thomas... Little Thomas..."

The voice was gentle and soothing, filled with endless hope and love.

In a daze, Constantine saw an umbilical cord swaying above his head. Another version of himself stood opposite him, pressing his ear against the amniotic sac, listening to their father's tender calls and feeling the family's anticipation of his birth.

Constantine extended his trembling arm, pulling the umbilical cord towards him. Amidst his chaotic thoughts, he wondered that if he had truly done something wrong, it was that he should have understood earlier that an unwanted life shouldn't have come into this world.

The umbilical cord gradually enlarged in Constantine's vision. When it touched his cheek, it felt cold and icy.

Then, he felt a heavy sensation, as if his mother was in labor, and the pressure made him feel suffocated.

But soon, he felt warmth again. After the amniotic fluid had completely drained, the uterine wall enveloped him, just like a mother's gentle embrace.

In this warmth, Constantine felt extremely relaxed and at peace. Slowly, he sank into a deep slumber.

"Bang!!!!!!"

"No!!!! John!!!!!!"

[Read at www.patreon.com/shanefreak, and thanks for the invaluable support!]

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 963: Constantine's Last Stand (Part 2)