Chapter 276: The Prodigal's Confession (Asking for votes on the last day of the month, no)

"Why go this far? Does such a scoundrel deserve such a good ending?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at Constantine and retorted, "Why not? Do you feel you don't deserve to be saved?"

Constantine lit another cigarette and sneered, "I'm asking you, on what grounds do you think you have the right to stand up and play the savior?"

"I've always hated self-righteous bastards like you, always thinking the world can't turn without you, right? Thinking you were born with a mission to save the world, that you're someone destined for great deeds, unable to bear others' sacrifices, more eager than anyone to throw your own life away. As if you're the only saint in the world, the only angel, the only reincarnation of Joan of Arc, while everyone else is selfish, shameless, worthless cowards afraid to sacrifice."

With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he grew more agitated as he spoke, pointing at Ma Ma Zhaodi and shouting, "Did anyone ask you to save them? Did anyone ask you to make a sacrifice on their behalf? On what grounds do you arrogantly stand up and deny everything about people like us? Do you know that even bastards have bones, and even bastards have their own way of being bastards! On what grounds do you use your own sacrifice to make my suffering seem worthless?"

"You think saving one person makes you noble, right? I know what you're thinking. We both know that spell, don't we? We can both seal Namos, so the situation becomes very simple—either you do it, or I do it."

"The struggle is mine, the sacrifice is mine, you bastard!" Constantine shouted angrily, "I have to lie to my own friend with my own mouth, I have to seal Namos into him with my own hands, then let him and that evil spirit tear each other apart until death. This is almost like killing him with my own hands! I made such a huge decision to bear this pain and sin, yet you haven't even struggled over it!"

"You just ran over here and told me, no need to sell your conscience or soul, we have a perfect ending! Just sacrifice you!"

He asked, word by word, "On what grounds? On what grounds do you? Don't bastards deserve to sacrifice themselves?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi fell silent for a moment. He hadn't expected Constantine to ask such a question, so he replied, "My thoughts... aren't that complicated."

"We both know that sealing spell, that's true, so either you do it, or I do it—and the target is Lester."

"He's your best friend, isn't he? He said he could entrust his life to you. I was thinking, if you have to lie to him with your own mouth and kill him with your own hands, it's too cruel, whether for you or for him."

"You made this decision to save New York, which is precisely why I feel you shouldn't bear this sin. You're not a bad guy, Constantine. You're a good man who can't turn back."

"I'm also unwilling to do this for you, because I'm a selfish person too—there are two kinds of people in the world: those who think sacrificing themselves is painful, and those who think sacrificing others is painful. And we're very similar, Constantine. The pain of sacrificing others is extraordinary for us."

"The reason you're cursing me is because you now have a second choice—you can actually sacrifice yourself, because you're no longer the only one who knows the sealing spell. This ritual doesn't require you to perform it personally. You have the choice of 'self-sacrifice,' but you didn't choose it. You still decided to sacrifice Lester."

"The reason you're angry with me is because you discovered you don't want to sacrifice others, but you also don't want to sacrifice yourself. You feel you're no longer a good person making sacrifices to save the world. You feel you're a hypocrite afraid to sacrifice yourself—you hate hypocrites the most."

Hearing Ma Ma Zhaodi's words, Constantine felt a surge of blood rush to his head. He gritted his teeth, stepped forward two paces, and fiercely grabbed Ma Ma Zhaodi's collar. His fingers trembled slightly, whether from rage or shame, "Bastard! If you dare call me a hypocrite one more time, I'll just—"

At this point, he stopped.

What to do with Ma Ma Zhaodi? Kill him?

But he was originally going to seal Namos inside his own body anyway. He wouldn't need to do it himself; he would be gnawed from the inside into an empty skin by that vicious evil spirit.

He had already decided to die.

"If you have the guts, give me that potion! You scoundrel!" Constantine heard these words escape his own lips, "Let me drink it! I'll show you whether I'm really a boneless weakling, a hypocrite, a coward!"

He knew what these words meant, and he also knew the agony of a thousand insects devouring the heart caused by Namos' gnawing. Therefore, he felt he must have gone mad to say such angry words.

At the same time, he felt an indescribable sense of relief rising from the depths of his heart, like a traveler who had walked a long road finally putting down the thousand-pound burden on his shoulders, or like a patient confined to a sickbed, tormented and suffering terribly, finally welcoming the day of release.

Thus, the hand gripping Ma Ma Zhaodi no longer trembled.

"Give me the potion," he said, "You're not qualified to make decisions for me, bastard."

Perhaps Ma Ma Zhaodi was right. For Constantine, death was terrifying, but sacrifice was a form of release.

So he looked into Constantine's eyes and smiled.

"Constantine, you're still a good man," Ma Ma Zhaodi replied lightly, "So I can't let you die."

"What do you know about me? You think you understand me?" Constantine hated this smile and struck back fiercely, "You don't know how my father died, and you don't know what really happened in Newcastle, do you?"

"I did all that, you jerk! I killed my father with black magic with my own hands at fourteen, then killed a little girl with black magic at twenty-five, and my friends too."

"Anne Maria, Frank, Benjamin—they all went to Newcastle with me. They all died because of me. Lester was there too; he got addicted because of that incident—and that little girl, Astra. She was dragged into hell, suffering eternal torment..."

"I did all these things, do you understand? You jerk! You're saving a murderer! You're saving a fool who has killed countless people."

Constantine continued to curse at Ma Ma Zhaodi, but he didn't notice that his face was already filled with tears.

Rather than cursing Ma Ma Zhaodi, it was more like cursing himself, cursing that ignorant, arrogant, conceited soul.

At the same time, it was also a kind of confession, a kind of repentance.

So Ma Ma Zhaodi patted his shoulder and smiled at him.

"Then I definitely won't let you die, Constantine."

"There are still so many souls waiting for you to save."

(End of this chapter)