Chapter 2231: Battle of Two Cities! (Part 73)

Chapter 2205 Battle of Two Cities! (Seventy-three)

The pain reminded Constantine of the contract.

It was not the one that Schiller had engraved on his heart. It had no special meaning. It just changed the relationship between the two of them to some extent. Or it didn’t change at all. It was more like an “official explanation”.

The new contract came from the “Last Supper” of the magic world that day. All of them consumed excessive amounts of moose meat, which led to madness and death. Yes, Azazel was also present that day.

But the scapegoat did not stay for too long. He quickly returned to his demon palace to savor this long-unseen feast of sin. Constantine and Schiller stayed.

At that time, they had already drunk some wine, so some conversations took place, but Constantine did not think it was psychotherapy, because he was not facing the doctor and professor, but another Schiller, a sick Schiller.

For psychotherapy, the environment at that time was also crazy. They had a table of moose meat, which exuded an ominous smell, and a table of body parts that could not even be described as ominous, from the wizards who had fallen into ecstasy because of the power they had gained.

They sat opposite each other on both sides of the long table, and the corpses were piled up like a hill. Constantine could only see Schiller through the gap. He was dressed up and impeccable.

The drunkenness came up and Constantine went crazy.

"Tell me, who am I? Schiller."

"You are drunk." The psychologist who was always interested in such topics adjusted his cuffs and scarf, looking more indifferent than usual.

"I don't want to refute you, but do you think this little bit of alcohol can defeat me? They fell in front of the first gully in my brain."

"But it doesn't mean you are not drunk."

"Indeed." Constantine did not deny it, and his body leaned to one side, depicting the sea of ​​corpses and blood in his field of vision. Dopamine washed over his brain, pushing the little reason to the edge of the cliff.

It's not alcohol, it's not drugs, but it's more fascinating than them.

Constantine is not autistic, he has rich emotions - with a qualification like the long history of human evolution, he manipulates humans thousands of years earlier than modern medicine.

"How do you feel now?"

"It feels so good."

Constantine saw Schiller smiled, and then he realized that this was a complete trap.

His body was no longer addicted to drugs, and he was mentally abstinent from drugs, so Schiller needed him to be addicted to something new.

From Schiller's profession, Constantine knew what it would be, and at this moment he clearly felt the hunger that surged from every bone.

"It's too late."

Constantine lowered his head and let himself lean to one side of the chair, with his shoulder on this side slanting high and sticking out, like a piece of bacon hanging on a hook.

After a while, he laughed deeply, the laughter became lower and lower, but the resonance became stronger and stronger, almost dispelling the ominous atmosphere emanating from the plates of meat dishes, and the atmosphere was harmonious and cheerful.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

They returned to their own places, and Constantine raised his head and said, "I have been waiting for this day for a long time."

"They used to be your companions and friends."

"Never, all my friends were already corpses before this." Constantine took a deep breath and said, "Being related to me is like a natural survival of the fittest."

"Choose worse?"

"Choose better." Constantine lowered his head and said, "My performance is terrible. I am a complete rotten person who can be seen through at a glance. All those who can see my essence through the appearance of this drug addict are smart and sober."

"For a good person, if they see What I do is good for the world, so they are willing to help me, even at the cost of their own lives. Many heroes do this. "

"But if I am a bad person recognized by the public, then if they die for me, they will definitely become a laughing stock among the public, which completely erases the possibility of them leaving a good name. So those who do this must be people who do not seek fame and fortune, and must be truly noble people. "

"But they are not for me, usually not." Constantine shook his head and said, "They are for what I am doing, not for me as a person."

Constantine found that Schiller was silent for a long time, so he felt a little uneasy, but soon he heard Schiller speak.

"You are weaving a lie to confuse me. You want me to think that your mental flaw is that you have never been firmly chosen by others. This is a very easy-to-explain logic."

"You have such a childhood shadow. Your father chose your brother between you and your brother. You were lonely and weird in your youth. You had some friends but they were not close friends. You were never the first person to be chosen. You were just a backup plan for backup plans."

"You don't have a good reputation in the magic world. Only when things deteriorate to the point where they have to find you, will they hold back their disgust and contact you."

"And even those heroes who are willing to sacrifice for you, as you said, are just for the success of good things, not for John Constantine."

"Why not?" Constantine asked, "Everything makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Then you should go to the arrogant disciple." Schiller stroked the wine glass in his hand and said, "He is the master of the behavioral analysis school, and he will give you such a conclusion."

"Then what conclusion will you draw?"

"Your first question."

"'Tell me who I am'?"

"Why should I tell you?"

Constantine stared at Schiller straight, and he once again realized that he was dealing with the most difficult one among many Schillers.

He did not have the need for academic research like Professor Schiller, nor did he think that giving people psychotherapy was a kind of enjoyment like Doctor Schiller.

Manipulation has the most original indifference of autistic patients. It is precisely because of this detached ability that is almost unaffected by any emotional incitement that they can turn their manipulative tendencies into reality, and can sit back and watch others collapse indifferently without being affected at all.

The confusion, pain and excitement shown by Constantine had no effect on Schiller at all, which made Constantine feel like he was trying to pry a mountain with a branch. The unshakable heaviness made him understand that there would be nothing without paying a price.

But Constantine considered it more carefully than when he offered his organs to angels and demons, not only because Schiller was his master now, but also because he wanted to get the best return.

Schiller would only answer this question once. If the price was not enough to move him, and Constantine only got perfunctory words, there would be no second time.

Constantine's Adam's apple moved.

"What do you want?"

Out of conservative considerations, he asked this question as clichéd as possible, which can also be said to respect the other party's ideas, right?

"Your first question."

Once again, Constantine thought a little collapsed, did he really have to be like a devout believer and consider the pronunciation of every syllable when saying every word to him?

Wait, maybe this is right. Constantine thought about his past dealings with demons and angels, and he wanted to calculate every word. This has almost become his instinct.

Obviously, he was confused by Schiller's human skin again.

Constantine sighed in his heart with some annoyance, thinking that he should quickly sweep away the stereotypes and never be so careless next time.

But he still resigned himself to repeating it.

"'Tell me who I am'?"

"Think about it again."

Constantine was stunned.

"'Tell me who I am, Schiller'?"

"Don't call me by my name."

Constantine was very annoyed, not because of this request, but because he had just reminded himself to be as literal as possible, and he made the same mistake again.

Of course, he should be annoyed by this request, but he has heard more humiliating requests from demons and angels, so this is nothing.

"I'm sorry." He apologized fluently.

"Think about it again."

Constantine was very crazy.

He felt like a bug whose wings were pinched from behind, and this terrible insecurity made him feel suffocated.

But he knew he had to hold on. If he took a step back, even half a step, or even a distance of gravel, he would definitely be fooled by contempt.

Constantine knew that Schiller was planning to do this, to pressure him to step back, so that he would not have to answer any of his questions directly. He was fighting for his right to be looked at directly.

It sounds pitiful, but in fact it is the opposite. This is the peak of Constantine's status in the eyes of others. At least he is a bug, not a pile of shit.

Smart people don't play with shit, and kind people don't fiddle with bugs, but smart and kind people always want to save bugs, which makes Constantine feel bored until Schiller appears.

Schiller's purpose of saving him is not to save him, but simply to see his reaction after being rescued, or to put it more clearly, just to use this matter to manipulate him.

This means that, in the true heart, Constantine does not owe him anything, which makes them evenly matched, and he wants to take advantage of this possibility.

Constantine took a deep breath.

"I sincerely apologize, Doctor, can I call you that?"

"Your second question."

"'What do you want'?"

Constantine looked at Schiller and asked doubtfully: "Is this your condition?"

His subtext is actually "Is it that simple?"

Schiller nodded.

Constantine tried hard to crack the trap in this short sentence, but the amount of information contained in this sentence was a little too little. Constantine went through every letter of every word and couldn't find a place to hide the trap.

"Preferential price?" He tried to ask.

"The punishment will be severe."

"How severe?"

"You will regret it."

"Regret what?"

"It's rash to think you can get a discount." Constantine heard Schiller say too lightly.

"Has anyone ever had one? Bruce?"

"He got too many discounts from the other me, he didn't."

"Then this is my discount."

Constantine walked out of the beach house and just wanted to punch himself at that time - what a rash idea!

But it was too late. Now his heart was repeating the pain when Schiller's precise knife skills left marks, as if reminding Constantine countless times who he fell into and how many times he fell in the same posture.