Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

Chapter 5908: Chapter 4929: No Batman Here (16)

Constantine paused slightly, then smiled again, with that indescribable melancholy still lingering between his brows. He fumbled on his coat, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Bending his head, he took one out, pursing his lips flat and straight.

He squeezed one out towards Shiller. As Shiller’s nearly focused gaze dropped to the cigarette, it became dispersed again. "I thought you would cast a healing magic."

"This is my healing magic," Constantine said, "It seems you’re not in need of healing from your injuries and just want a little distraction. We happen to have some time."

Constantine kept his eyes on Shiller. He saw Shiller pick up that cigarette, but not like a usual smoker holding it with his fingers, but pinching it with his forefinger and thumb, holding it upright as if it were a candle.

After Shiller took that cigarette, Constantine no longer looked at him. He took out another one, put it in his mouth with his head lowered, and when he drooped his eyes, his facial contours became more blurred, like the murals on the dome of an old cathedral.

He fumbled with his coat again, reached into his two pockets and searched, but found nothing in the end, so he had to put the cigarette in his mouth and bowed his head to open the Bible, tearing off a piece from it. With a light flick of his hand, a flame ignited the paper.

He first lit the cigarette in his own mouth, took a deep drag, his brows smoothing out, and said vaguely to Shiller, "You have it the wrong way around, the yellow side is the filter."

Shiller turned the cigarette around, but still held it like a sword. He pointed the white end downward, gradually bringing it close to the flame in Constantine’s hand. Unsurprisingly, the cigarette was lit, sparks began to blink, and Shiller stared at the fine ash drifting down.

"A nice way to kill time," Constantine said with a smile, "If I could manage that, my lungs would be happier."

To describe Constantine’s smoking as "swallowing clouds and puffing mist" isn’t quite accurate, because he inhales the smoke, yet exhales very little, as if swallowing all the components of the entire cigarette.

"It’s clear you don’t smoke cigarettes," Constantine said, "You’re the kind to savor a cigar, enjoying its aroma, texture, and color."

Constantine lightly flipped with the hand holding the cigarette, "I’ve tried that too, but clearly, I’m not one for the luxury of spices; nicotine suits me better."

He slowly exhaled a mouthful of smoke, as if he heard something outside, turned his head towards the cathedral’s stained-glass windows. Earlier, Deathstroke had smashed a hole there, letting in some chill, but the outside was still shrouded in fog.

"You’re really different from the other Constantines," Shiller began. He was just musing, without any hint of manipulation. "They always pretend to be tormented, while you pretend to be calm."

"I don’t understand why they do that," Constantine said, "Many people misunderstand me because of other counterparts. However, most just think we share the same name."

"Do you think that’s a good thing?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I’m so different from them, yet ended up on the same path. Is it unfair to me? But then I realized, it’s because I’m different from them that I’ve taken this road in my cosmos."

Constantine took another drag on his cigarette, swallowed the smoke again, only exhaling a very faint mist. "If I was truly as calm and smart as them, seemingly indifferent yet playing Devils like a fiddle, while watching my beloved ones and the world fall apart, I wouldn’t have become an exorcist."

"All the Constantines in the cosmos volunteered, except you," Shiller said.

"Yeah, they’re the kind of wicked geniuses written about in books, fated with magic from a young age, constantly delving into forbidden knowledge. Though they got trapped after realizing magic was a snare, fundamentally there’s little that can stump them."

"And me," Constantine chuckled softly, shaking his head, "I’m just terrified by the things I can see. All my efforts are just to beat them, but unfortunately, effort doesn’t always work."

"When did you start not believing in God?" Shiller casually asked. They seemed just like strangers bumping into each other on the balcony at a party, casually chatting over a cigarette.

"I can hardly remember," Constantine said, "Perhaps it was the first time I hid in a church to escape a Demon’s pursuit, only to have Jesus look down at my frightened cries. Perhaps it was when I tried to cut my arm, praying to God, but instead those Half-demons came. Or maybe, it was the first time I saw how hideous those Angels looked."

"It’s an old story," Shiller said, "How do you feel about it?"

"Actually, it’s not so bad," Constantine looked at Shiller and said, "I visited psychiatrists who seemed to expect me to break down crying and confess my torment. But in reality, I’m not that miserable."

"Shiller, I know that like other versions of me, you’re an extraordinary genius from birth, always seeking circumstances to match your talent and wanting too much. Less astute people are easily satisfied, very adept at comforting themselves."

"Being chased by Devils and Angels was a blessing in disguise for me. I accumulated a lot of experience fighting them, and with those skills, I became an Exorcist. I have a place to stay and a bit of money to spend."

"Lung cancer was a huge piece of bad news. I was indeed depressed for a long time, but now I’ve been cured. How many people in the world can be this lucky? I’ve been preparing to believe in God again and even started attending services."

"The Multiverse travel had its fair share of thrills, but I also made some friends, including you. Even if it’s just preparing for another bout of lung cancer, I have someone to share it with." Constantine shook the cigarette in his hand, "It’s a pity you don’t smoke; perhaps next time I can have you try a cigar."

Shiller was momentarily at a loss, then looked a bit puzzled before turning his gaze to Constantine, scrutinizing him from head to toe, seemingly very surprised.

"You’re still standing," Shiller said, "I thought you’d have been nailed to the Cross by now."

Constantine shook his head again: "You thought your other personality would be interested in the special Constantine. But unfortunately, I’m not ’Constantine’ at all."

"What do you mean?" Shiller asked.

"I mean I’m not a pervert like him, with no strange fetishes or artistic pursuits. I’m sorry for sharing the name."

Shiller looked at him deeply.

What is the best way to deal with Mind Manipulation? People always disagree. Resisting doesn’t guarantee victory, and fleeing doesn’t ensure escape; it seems like all control is in the hands of that perverse Madman who wants to manipulate others. But desires are sometimes so mysterious; they can suddenly appear, causing madness, or suddenly disappear, receding faster than the tides.

The ultimate answer to dealing with Mind Manipulation is to make the other party completely disinterested in you. Simply put, it’s "What do you like about me? I’ll change it."

Constantine seemed to stray a few steps in another direction unintentionally, but it also seemed like he was pacing in front of Shiller. He still held the cigarette in his hand, but he looked completely different from before.

"You’re not fond of dull ordinary people," he said, "not because you despise them; quite the opposite, you envy them. For Madmen, Morbidity is the Soul’s drain, no matter how much you pour into it, it all flows down the drain, never to be filled."

"And ordinary people are a pond, so natural, complete, and whole. The most extraordinary geniuses spend their lives merely imitating this natural state. Standing with them, you only highlight your own painstaking scheming, and naturally, you must distance yourself."

Constantine sighed softly: "You must be thinking, is this my carefully designed strategy? But unfortunately, I may not be as easily satisfied as ordinary people, but the dull-witted nature is unchangeable. You can see with one look that I’m nowhere near as clever as the other Constantines. At my core, I’m just an ordinary person forced to learn some Magic to survive, caught between Angels and Devils."

Constantine finished a cigarette, pinched the butt extinguished with his fingers, and then used a flame to burn everything to ashes. He looked at Shiller and said, "Since the lung cancer was cured, I’ve quit smoking, but I know people like you definitely hate secondhand smoke."

Shiller didn’t know what to say, so he just smiled. Maybe that’s how a Madman’s world is: you scheme and plot, trying every possible way to escape someone’s Mind Manipulation, but in fact, the simplest way is just to use secondhand smoke to harm his physical health.

Shiller made sure of it; Morbidity left, not because this Constantine was very ordinary, but because this Constantine really smoked a lot. Late-stage lung cancer with a ten-pack-a-day habit is unsuitable for any living being with lungs to share a room with him. He’s suited to being involved with Deep Divers romantically.

Constantine stopped in front of Shiller and laughed wantonly, completely different from his previous melancholic smile and unlike the other Constantines. He suddenly reached out and grabbed Shiller’s shoulder, his forehead nearly touching Shiller’s: "Don’t call him over again. I don’t want to get lung cancer again!"

Then he pushed Shiller away suddenly and turned to fiddle with his Array. Shiller now wished that an agent were here so that in the instant he reached out, he could execute a beautiful shoulder throw. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as good at fighting as an agent; this Constantine wasn’t one of those passive, blonde Constantines. If he punched him now, the outcome might not be favorable.

He reached out and touched his shoulder, where the door had left a bruise that still hurt. But he couldn’t help with setting up the Array, so he decided to go to the seat, sit for a while, and rest. Just as he sat down, a white light shone, and the injury gradually healed. Constantine’s voice came from behind the podium.

"If you’re good at grave digging, then go get me some dirt," he said, "the soil from the grave, under the coffin kind."

"I’ll say it again, I’m a grave digger, not a grave robber. I dig pits for burying people, not other people’s graves." Shiller said, but he still stood up. He really had nothing to do here, so digging graves it would be.

Shiller opened the map. Gotham has two cemeteries. Since burying people on mountains isn’t popular in the West, they try to find a flat place as much as possible, so both of these cemeteries are in the relatively flat South District. It’s still a bit far from where he was.

Shiller checked his gear and set off. Meanwhile, in the Gotham Paris Cemetery, Red Robin held a lantern, looked at the name on the tombstone, and then straightened up slightly, "Looks like this is the place."

Damian walked out from behind him: "What are we going to do? Dig up graves?"