Chapter 2209: Battle of Two Cities! (Seventy-Three)

The pain reminded Constantine of that contract.

It's not the one that Schiller once engraved on his heart. It has no special meaning. It just changes the relationship between the two of them more or less. Or it doesn't actually change. It's more like an "official explanation." ".

The new contract comes from the "Last Supper" in the magical world that day. All of them consumed excessive amounts of moose meat, leading to madness and death. Yes, Azazel was also present that day.

But the scapegoat did not stay long. He quickly returned to his devil's palace to savor the sinful feast that he had not had for a long time. Constantine and Schiller stayed behind.

They had drank some wine at that time, and some conversations took place, but Constantine did not think that it was psychotherapy, because he was not facing the doctor and professor, but another Schiller, morbid of Schiller.

It was also a crazy environment for psychotherapy. They had a table of moose meat that gave off an ominous aura, and a table of body parts that couldn't even be described as ominous, from people who had previously gained powers. The mages fell into ecstasy.

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

Drunkness set in and Constantine went crazy.

"Tell me, who am I? Schiller."

"You're 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 alcohol can defeat me? They fell in front of the first ditch of my brain."

"But that doesn't mean you're not drunk."

"Indeed." Constantine did not deny it. He leaned to one side and traced the mountains of corpses and seas of blood within his field of vision. Dopamine washed away his brain, pushing his little sanity to the edge of the cliff.

Not alcohol, not drugs, but more addictive than either.

Constantine is not autistic, he has rich emotions - with a qualification that is as long as the long evolutionary history of mankind, and controls mankind thousands of years earlier than modern medicine.

"How do you feel now?"

"It feels so good."

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

He was physically no longer addicted to drugs and mentally weaned off drugs, so Schiller needed him to become addicted to something new.

Judging from Schiller's profession, Konstantin knew what it would be, and at this moment he clearly felt the hunger gushing from every seam of his bones.

"It's too late."

Constantine lowered his head and let himself lean to one side of the chair. The shoulder on this side was slanted and thrust out, like a piece of bacon hanging on a hook.

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

The laughter stopped abruptly.

They returned to where they should be, and Constantine raised his head and said, "I've been waiting for this day for a long time."

"They were once 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."

"Pick the worse one?"

"Choose a better one." Constantine lowered his head and said: "My performance is so bad. You can see through it at a glance. I am a complete bad person. Anyone who can see my essence through the appearance of this addict People are smart and sober.”

"For a good person, if they see that what I am doing is good for the world, they will be willing to help me, even at the expense of themselves. Many heroes are like 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 in the eyes of everyone. This completely eliminates the possibility of them doing good deeds and leaving a name, so people who would do this must not be A person who desires fame and fortune must be a truly noble person.”

"But they're not for me, usually not." Constantine shook his head and said, "They're for what I'm doing, not for who I am."

Constantine noticed 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 the flaw in your mind is that you have never been firmly chosen by anyone. This is a well-explained logic."

"You have this kind of childhood shadow. Your father chose your brother between you and your brother. You were lonely and eccentric in your youth. You had some friends but not close friends. You were never the first one to choose, just a backup. alternatives to the plan.”

"You don't have a good reputation in the magic world. Only when things get so bad that 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?" asked Constantine. "It all makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Then you should go find the arrogant disciple." Schiller said, stroking the wine glass in his hand: "He is a 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 realized once again 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 watch others collapse indifferently without being affected at all.

The confusion, pain and excitement shown by Constantine did not affect Schiller at all, which made Constantine feel that he was trying to pry a mountain with a branch, and the unshakable heaviness made him understand that there would be nothing without paying a price.

But Constantine considered 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. It can also be said that he respects the other party's ideas, right?

"Your first question."

Once again, Constantine thought a little collapsed. Do I really have to consider the pronunciation of every syllable when I say every word to him like a devout believer?

Wait, maybe this is right. Constantine thought about his previous dealings with demons and angels. 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 inherent impression and never be so careless next time.

But he still resigned himself to repeating it again.

"'Tell me who I am'?"

"Think about it."

Constantine was stunned.

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

"Don't call me by my name."

Constantine was 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 had heard more humiliating requests from demons and angels, so this was nothing.

"I'm sorry." He apologized fluently.

"Think about it."

Constantine was very crazy.

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

But he knew he had to hold on. Now even if he took a step back, even half a step, or even a distance of gravel, he would definitely be contemptuously fooled.

Constantine knew that Schiller was going 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 it's actually 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.

Wшw¤ ttκǎ n¤ ￠ ○

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

This means that, in the true heart, Constantine doesn't owe him, which makes them have a certain possibility of being evenly matched, and he wants to use 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 to crack the trap in this short sentence, but the information contained in this sentence was too little. Constantine looked through every letter of every word, but 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?"

"Rashly think you can have a preferential price." Constantine heard Schiller say too lightly.

"Has anyone had it? Bruce?"

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

"Then this is my preferential price."

Constantine walked out of the beachside cabin 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, just like reminding Constantine countless times who he fell into and how many times he fell in the same posture.