Chapter 1257: Justice Farm (39)_1

It was another rainy day in Gotham, but this time it was slightly different. The streets that had been recently bathed by sunlight were once more soaked with rainfall, the surface still carrying the warmth of noon. Even through the soles of your shoes, it felt different from the usual cold and muddy conditions.

Zatanna, who was standing by the roadside packing up her magician's case, glanced up at the gradually closing dark clouds. She sighed a little anxiously, only to find someone tapping her on the shoulder from behind.

The old man who ran the newsstand beside her handed her an umbrella, laughing as he said: "Times sure have changed, who would've thought someone in Gotham would leave their house without an umbrella?"

Zatanna didn't take it, simply smiling and saying, "I live in the apartment building right next door. I just came out to perform some street magic during the two hours of sunshine. I can get back in a quick dash."

Having said that, Miss Magician swiftly tidied up her magic props, handling the heavy case as she rushed into the nearby building.

After running up six floors in one breath, Zatanna sighed with relief. However, thinking back to the newsstand owner's smiling face, she said somewhat reflectively, "Sunshine can bring out more kindness in people. Who would've thought that someone here would lend an umbrella to a stranger. This is the City of Sin, and it's not that bad, right?"

Just as Zatanna was about to pull out her keys to open the door, she heard some strange noises coming from inside. She quickly retreated a couple of steps, on guard. When she anticipated to overturn her previous perception, a familiar cry of pain came from within.

Zatanna immediately unlocked the door and rushed in, gasping, "Thomas Constantine?! What are you doing in my house?!"

"I'm not Thomas..." The man writhing in pain on the living room floor slowly pulled himself up, looking at Zatanna as he said, "I'm John Constantine, don't you remember me?"

Zatanna widened her eyes in surprise and shouted, "John! You're back?!"

Constantine's face contorted in pain, his features all only a grimace. Clutching his waist with one hand and his neck with the other, he said in an extremely weakened voice, "Yes, I'm back. You wouldn't want to know what I've been through..."

Zatanna could see that her old friend was on the verge of collapse. She quickly helped Constantine sit down on the sofa and asked him, "What happened? Weren't you staying in the Kingdom of Dreams?"

"I was," Constantine let out a long sigh, saying in a trembling voice, "until yesterday, when Shiller found me... Yes, that terrible doctor. He came to 'treat' me again."

As Constantine's narration proceeded, Zatanna gradually understood what Constantine had been through.

Previously, in order to repay Shiller's favor of repaying his debts, Constantine had torn his soul in two. One part of him had become Thomas, using his body in the real world.

The other half had assumed the mantle of Dream God Morpheus, taking over the management of the Kingdom of Dreams for the retired Dream God. Yesterday, while journeying in the Dreamworld, Constantine heard a few dog barks.

Subsequently, a fast and incredibly strong white dog knocked him to the ground, sniffing him intently.

Then, Constantine saw the face of Shiller.

"Shiller?!" Constantine yelled out in surprise.

"Yes, it's me." Shiller, his arms crossed, nodded. He then continued, "I think it's time to sort out our issues. You tearing yourself in half doesn't benefit anyone."

"I think I'm doing just fine." Constantine quickly stepped back and said, "I've been faring much better recently than I was before."

"Whether you're good or not, you know it yourself." Shiller gave the half-Constantine up and down once over before saying, "I suppose you've already realized that tearing your own soul apart brings not only pain but many subsequent symptoms."

"Because I have gone through all this, I know how horrible these after-effects can be, but also how to rectify them."

Constantine wore a hesitant expression, as he had paid dearly for his previous reckless actions. Tearing one's soul apart was no simple matter.

Of course, Constantine knew that it would be painful, but he was not afraid of pain. However, it was only after everything else that he realized, the pain was just the beginning. The most terrifying part was not being able to control his own soul.

From the moment he tore his soul apart, Constantine frequently felt like he was seeing himself from another person's perspective, as if he was no longer himself.

What followed was a sense of out-of-control under this perspective. He could only observe his soul and was unable to control it. He couldn't do anything. The longer this state lasted, the more Constantine felt like he was going to lose himself.

Constantine was not afraid of pain, but any being in the world would fear its own non-existence. It was not death, but everything was out of control, clear in sight yet beyond reach.

Constantine realized that his previous actions were too reckless. His understanding of soul studies was not at a level that would allow him to sever his own soul. He had recently been ridden with worry and fear.

However, he also understood that the currently staring Shiller would naturally know all this, which is why he deliberately delayed coming to find him. This professor knew all too well how to use fear to make people obey.

Constantine was scared, hence he had no other choice.

"Don't worry, I'm just going to share some experiences on handling a fragmentary soul." Shiller shook his head. His tone was grave, emanating a confidence that inspired the same in others.

Constantine had vowed a thousand times in his heart that he would never have any dealings with Shiller again. But every time he heard Shiller's whispering, his willpower, which had resisted countless temptations from devils, would begin to waver.

Eventually, the fear of completely losing himself overpowered his willpower, and Constantine followed Shiller into a room in his mind palace.

The room was somewhat dim, with only a hanging lamp in the center. The floor was covered with deep red carpet, one side was adorned with traditional English cabinets, the countertop of the central island was polished to perfection, and the other side contained a wooden long table and chairs, a candelabrum and fresh flowers laid out on the table.

Constantine walked over and sat down in one of the chairs. Until he heard the closing door's loud thud, he jerked a little. But he knew there was no turning back now. Therefore, he could only pretend to be unperturbed while joking around:

"Is this considered a candlelight dinner for the two of us?"

Constantine turned his head to look at Shiller, who took several dishes out of the refrigerator and put them in the oven. As he put on gloves, he said, "I'm not a good cook, so I asked a friend to help me make a few dishes."

With a "ding", the oven door opened, and the strong aroma wafted over. Unconsciously, Constantine twitched his nose and said in a light tone, "It smells good, I didn't expect you to have a knack for cooking."

Shiller gently placed the plate on the table and withdrew his hands, looking into Constantine's eyes with an obsessive, neurotic gaze, saying, "As long as you like it."

Constantine looked at the main dish sitting in the middle of the table. It looked a bit like spare ribs with a golden and perfectly cooked colour, and what's more, the aroma from it was making Constantine feel incredibly hungry.

The knot in Constantine's throat kept moving. Logic was telling him that his abnormal hunger was not an appetite, but an uncontrollable craving, a hunger bursting from the depths of his soul.

Following his instinct, he cut off the largest piece of meat with shaking hands as if he was a starving man, picked it up with a fork, brought it to his lips, and then froze.

His hand trembled, and the fork and the piece of meat fell down together. As the food fell onto the table, the fork hit the edge of the table and continued to fall.

In an instant, ripples arose in the air, and a pair of pale, thin hands gripped the handle of the falling fork.

The next second, Constantine, who had tried to stand up and flee, was grabbed by the neck by another pale hand, pressed back into his chair, and a sharp fork was held to his throat.

Constantine was desperately leaning his body backwards, looking at Shiller, who stood diagonally behind him, with the one eye he had left, and screamed like he had never screamed before:

"Shiller, you're insane!!!!!!"

"Finish it, only then can you leave."

Shiller twirled the fork between his fingers and the utensil flashed, so dazzling that Constantine had to close his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, the temptingly perfect spare ribs appeared before him once more.

"This can replenish your soul energy and restore it to full strength, so you won't have to face those terrifying side effects anymore."

"But that's your..."

In an instant, the hand squeezing Constantine's neck tightened, and all he could manage was a strangled "Uhh..."

Constantine's gaze unconsciously lingered on the food in front of him, its color, smell, and most terrifyingly, the tantalizing illusion of deliciousness that hunger created in his brain.

A fragmented soul strives for wholeness and craves energy. Constantine, gasping like a drowning man, could only think of one thing -

He had once thought Shiller didn't need a life-saver, simply because Shiller was floundering in a sea that was outside his expertise.

Constantine, leaning on the couch, gasped with trembling breath. A dry heave emerged from his throat; Zatanna didn't dare to ask if he had eaten or not - his mere presence here revealed the obvious answer.

Zatanna was certain, there wasn't a single devil in this world insane enough to force their friend to eat their own flesh;calling this treatment 'evil' was an understatement, it was outright madness.

Constantine wiped the drool from his mouth, scrambled chaotically up from the couch and stood hunched in front of Zatanna, looking into her eyes and asking, "Do you have a phone?"

"Yes, who do you want to call?"

Constantine stood upright, looked up at the ceiling, and said distantly, "Shiller is a fucking maniac... we have to band together to cure him!"

"Ring ring ring."

The phone rang, and Oliver picked up the receiver, then turned to shout, "Bruce, it's for you!"

Bruce came over and answered the phone, saying, "Hello?"

"Bruce, it's Victor. We have to band together to cure your insane psychology professor!"

Bruce switched the phone to his other hand. He heard Victor sigh on the other end:

"I've experienced deeply what you've been dealing with for four years. We have to take some action against Shiller... but the problem is, I tried to control him and failed. Do you have any good ideas?"

Victor's voice didn't hold much hope, so when he heard a very certain "Yes" from the other end of the line, he was shocked. Then he asked, "Really? What's your plan?"

Bruce, holding the phone receiver, turned his head to look at the scorching, dazzling Mexican sunlight, and the huge tractor working in the fields.

He diverted his gaze, lowered his eyelids, and saw a small piece of paper spinning between his fingertips like a dancing butterfly.

But Bruce knew it wasn't just paper, but a common seed packet. The corner of the paper, folded down, revealed an English word -- "Broccoli".

Looking up, he saw a young man's sharp jawline and the corners of his thin lips curling up slightly.