Chapter 2919: When Night Falls (Part 1)

Night.

Thick clouds dense as ink refusing to dissolve, droplets of water fell from the eaves upon the floor tiles, the street so quiet not even the wind made a sound, only the low and hoarse cawing of the crows seeking refuge under the church's portico could be heard.

The air was extremely damp, a gloomy red seeped into the rainwater, creating whirlpool after whirlpool.

With a soft squelch, a slender wooden stake was pulled from a chest, more chunks of flesh and blood dropped onto the ground, emitting an almost imperceptible thud that sounded more like a hymn of death than any scream or wail.

Immaculate leather shoes stepped over puddles beside a corpse, a tall figure stood still in front of the podium, lifting his head as if locking eyes with the bowed figure of Jesus.

Pale and lean hands grasped the largest candlestick on the podium, throwing down the candles that burned with feeble light, sparking the chairs tipped over to the side, then the tables, the tablecloths, until the flames engulfed the still-twitching bodies.

The fire from the church stained half of the sky red, while the figure vanished into the night.

The hand holding the candlestick slowly lowered it, the nearly one-meter long trident candlestick flashed with a sharp cold light, transforming from a luxurious ritual artifact into a deadly weapon.

Another night drunk on alcohol.

The blond man in a long trench coat collapsed onto the table, his gaze blurred, drool escaping his lips, his eyeballs weakly rotating, catching a glimpse of a news article on the newspaper beside the table.

"Islington District church fire case... Talk about bad luck," a hoarse voice sounded, the man waved away the bothersome newspaper, letting it fall to the floor, his head drooping down as if he had fallen asleep.

Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang!

A series of urgent knocking sounds woke the man who lay across the table, his drunkenness seeming to clear a bit as he braced his hands against the table, attempting to get up and answer the door.

But the person outside couldn't wait for the drunk, with a bang, the door was shattered by a beam of purple Magic Light and a woman dressed in a magician's costume hurriedly ran in, her boots stepping on the newspaper, leaving a half footprint on the picture of the church.

"Constantine... Constantine!! Help!!"

The scream resonated as Constantine, who had just stood up, looked bewildered at the woman who was hurling herself into his arms.

"Zatanna? What's wrong?"

Constantine opened his arms.

But the anticipated warmth and softness did not enter his embrace.

With a whoosh, a streak of golden brilliance flashed by, and behind the spatter of blood was the sight of Constantine's pupils shrinking to their limits.

"Ah!!!!"

Accompanying Zatanna's scream, a tall dark figure appeared at the door.

Constantine turned sharply, only to see a massive golden candlestick had impaled Zatanna through the chest, pinning her against the wall.

Flames erupted upon contact with the candlestick at the wound, charring the flesh nearby with an inclination to spread to other parts of the body.

Constantine quickly reached out, trying to douse the flames with Magic, but the water he conjured streamed right through the fire, as if it was scorching the soul, not the flesh.

Bright Magic Glow flashed, the wound healed, but the candlestick remained fixed in the chest, and the flames rose again.

Constantine had no choice but to turn toward the shadowy figure.

He looked very tall and strong, dressed in a finely tailored black suit, but most notably, the part below his eyes was completely covered by a mask.

This type of iron mask brought back unpleasant memories for Constantine—during his time locked up in a mental institution, only the most dangerous patients in the top-floor ward needed to wear such restrictive masks at all times.

While Constantine was dazed, the shadow gradually moved towards him, but it did not glance at him again, instead heading to Zatanna's side.

Zatanna lifted her clouded eyes to stare at him, gritting her teeth and saying, "My master will not let you off!... Constantine, save me!"

Constantine too clenched his teeth, and in an instant, he raised his hand, his Magic Light suddenly bright.

Bang!

Constantine was flung away by a chair, blood streaming down his forehead, his arm moved as if trying to reach for something in his coat pocket, but the next second he was picked up.

"Hey... hey! Whoever you are, let's talk this out!" Constantine shouted, "I don't remember offending you!"

Constantine was thrown out the window.

Zatanna's eyes widened in terror, her scream of fear swallowed back, she saw the figure standing in the center of the room, slightly tilting its head, gazing at the air in the corner.

"You're right, I can't kill her..."

Zatanna couldn't describe how eerie the voice was, deep, raspy, but with a metallic sharpness, as if a rusty blade had slashed across violin strings, the trembling at the end of each tone sending chills down her spine.

Tap, tap tap...

An uncanny, ethereal tapping sound emanated from a corner of the room, as if bones strung together were being blown by the wind, yet there was a strange rhythm to it.

There must be something there, Zatanna inhaled deeply, fighting to suppress the weakness pulsing from her chest.

"'Presence of the strange and uncanny'!" she blurted out the Antilanguage Magic.

But there was nothing there, only a beam of cold yet gentle moonlight.

Constantine stumbled through the door, clutching his scratched arm and said, "Buddy, give it to me straight, what the hell do you want?"

With a whoosh, the candelabra was snatched away, and Zatanna fell helplessly to the ground. The flame on her chest had not been completely extinguished, and she couldn't even maintain her posture, awkwardly collapsing onto the floor, gasping for air while clutching her chest.

"Constantine, why aren't you confronting him?!" Zatanna lifted her lips, and among the set of neat, white teeth, those two protruding fangs were particularly noticeable.

Constantine helplessly slid down along the doorframe, whispering with short breaths, "Look up, at the moon."

Zatanna struggled to lift her head, looking out through the living room window of Constantine's house.

"The moon… full moon?! How is that possible, how can it be a full moon today?!!"

Sitting in front of the door, Constantine lowered his arm wearily under the moon's bath, looked up at the figure in the room, and said, "Spare Little Zha, I can agree to your terms."

Silence.

The moonlight grew denser, becoming almost tangible.

"Transform me."

That was the only terse reply they ultimately received, and Zatanna could hardly believe her ears as she summoned the energy to sit up from the floor, approached with an oppressive, mountainous shadow.

Zatanna felt fingers colder than iron touch her chin, then clamp down tightly on her jaw, forcing her to open her mouth again. Her fangs uncontrollably extended, dripping blood from their tips.

Zatanna saw those eyes, which under the moon's reflection had become completely white, not showing much horror, but rather an eerie purity and indifference.

Zatanna took a deep breath and said with a somewhat trembling voice, "I don't know what you're talking about, I…"

"Little Zha." Constantine suddenly spoke up, "I know you've become a vampire, but I don't care. I'm happy you came to me first when you were in danger, but I'm afraid you'll have to do as he says, otherwise we can't leave this place."

Zatanna glanced aside, taking another look at the full moon outside the window. The moonlight was like water, giving everything a layer of cold sheen, almost unreal.

Reaching out, Zatanna grabbed the wrist in front of her and said, "Then... I'm glad you're willing to offer yourself to the master."

With the lifting force he provided, Zatanna stood up, steadied herself on his shoulder, and brought her fangs close to his neck.

"You better think this through," Constantine suddenly said. "This means you'll never be able to live under the sunlight again, is it worth it?"

"I don't need sunlight."

The spooky voice sounded closer, making Zatanna's eardrums buzz. She really couldn't delay any longer; the immense pressure was driving her insane.

Her fangs pierced the carotid artery, and the hot blood surged into Zatanna's mouth. The strong appetite aroused by the taste of blood failed to allow her to focus on the feast at hand.

In that moment, she realized that the mental bridge formed by the blood was not her channel of attack, but his.

Zatanna screamed in pain, feeling as if a sword had pierced her brain. As the blood flowed, some barrier had been broken.

"John, John... the vampires are coming, they want to block out all the sunlight, think of something quick…"

Zatanna murmured helplessly, and a dark shadow rushed over to embrace the falling Zatanna. Magic brilliance flickered in Constantine's eyes as Zatanna's agonized struggles gradually ceased.

He grabbed Zatanna's wrist, sliced open her arm with a folding knife, caught the flowing blood in a cup, and handed it to the figure in front, then said, "Drink it, and the Initial Embrace will be complete. I need to take her to rest."

Having said that, Constantine didn't even glance at the person, he carried Zatanna back to the bedroom and laid her on the bed.

He gently lifted her lips with his finger and saw the fangs that had retracted, heaving a long sigh.

Constantine had just stood up to leave when Zatanna grabbed his wrist. Even in her dreams she murmured, "Quick, think of something, they're coming, the night is falling..."

Constantine stepped out of the bedroom, saw the other person already sitting on the couch, the cup of crimson liquid half gone, and the bottle of red wine he had yet to drink was opened.

"Who are you?" he asked, standing still.

"You can call me 'Moonlight'."

Constantine spread his hands in a feigned relax gesture, walked across to the opposite side of the sofa, and said, "I know the situation might be grave, but you didn't have to remind us in such a violent way, and I don't think you really need to turn into a vampire."

"Power," he uttered the word.

"Yes, but at a price," Constantine said. "This is not just about power, it's a curse. Anyone who gains the power of blood will have to submit to the King of Vampires... Can you feel him?"

"I'm trying to."

Constantine circled the sofa, sat opposite of him, and said, "Don't get too close to him, or you will completely lose yourself. Even if you possess the power of moonlight, you might not be able to withstand his corruption."

Constantine glanced at the bedroom door and said, "I don't want any part of this mess, but those who come looking for me will never be in short supply. If you've got what you wanted, then you'd better leave quickly."

"It's too late."

As the words fell, a Teleportation Portal appeared inside Constantine's living room. A person wearing a golden helmet and dressed like a Spartan Warrior appeared in the room.

Constantine saw that this self-proclaimed "Moonlight" had a flash of red in his eyes just then.

"Doctor Destiny? No!"

"Constantine, I have come to seek your help. The King of Vampires and his minions want to destroy the Human race. We… vampires?!!"