Chapter 2872: When Night Falls (I)

Night.

Dark clouds thick as ink that would not dissolve; water droplets fell from the eaves onto the floor tiles, the street so quiet even the wind made no sound, only the crows sheltering under the church porch letting out low, hoarse cries.

The air was extremely damp; dim red collided with the rain, forming vortex after vortex.

Pfft — a slender wooden stake was pulled from a chest, more fragments of flesh and blood dropping to the ground with a barely audible dull thud, more like a death hymn than screams and wails.

Immaculate leather shoes stepped past the puddle beside the corpse; a tall figure halted before the pulpit, and when he raised his head it seemed as if he were gazing eye to eye with the bowed-head Jesus.

A pale, sinewy hand gripped the largest candelabra on the pulpit; the candle burning with a feeble flame was tossed down, igniting a toppled chair, then the table, the tablecloth, until the flames devoured the still-twitching corpse.

The church fire lit up half the sky; the figure vanished into the night.

The hand holding the candelabra lowered slowly; the tip of the three-pronged long candelabra, nearly a meter in length, flashed with a sharp cold light, turning from a splendid ritual vessel into a lethal weapon.

Another night drunk on alcohol.

A blond man in a long trench coat lay slumped on the table, his gaze scattered, drool at the corner of his mouth, eyeballs turning listlessly until they caught a news item on the newspaper at the table's edge.

"Islington church fire case... tough luck indeed." A hoarse voice sounded; the man waved his hand and knocked the offending newspaper to the floor, his head drooping as if he had fallen asleep just like that.

Bang bang bang! Bang bang bang!

A rapid series of knocks startled the man sprawled on the table; the drunkenness seemed to fade a little; he braced his hands on the table and pushed up, intending to walk over and open the door.

But the person outside apparently could not wait for this drunk; with a bang the door was shattered by a purple magic beam, and a woman in a magician's uniform rushed in flustered, her boots stepping on the newspaper and leaving half a footprint on the church photograph.

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

The scream arrived; Constantine, just barely on his feet, looked somewhat blankly at the woman lunging into his arms.

"Zatanna? What's wrong with you?"

Constantine spread his arms wide.

But the anticipated soft fragrance and warm jade did not fall into his embrace.

Whoosh — golden light flashed; behind the spraying blood, Constantine's pupils contracted to the extreme.

"Ah!!!!"

Along with Zatanna's shriek, a tall black silhouette appeared at the doorway.

Constantine whipped his head around and saw a massive golden candelabra piercing through Zatanna's chest, pinning her to the wall.

Flames erupted where the candelabra touched the wound; nearby skin and flesh charred black, with a tendency to spread to other parts.

Constantine hurriedly reached out, trying to extinguish the flames with magic, but the conjured water passed straight through the fire, as if the flames were burning the soul rather than the flesh.

Bright magical light flashed; the wound healed, yet the candelabra remained fixed in her chest, and the flames flared up again.

Constantine had no choice but to turn and face that silhouette.

He looked extremely tall and powerfully built, wearing a well-tailored black suit; the most striking feature was that the portion of his face below the eyes was completely covered by a mask.

The style of this iron mask stirred unpleasant memories in Constantine — during his time confined in the mental asylum, only the most dangerous patients in the top-floor wards were required to wear such restraint masks at all times.

Just as Constantine froze, shadows gradually pressed toward him, yet they did not spare him a second glance, instead coming to a stop before Zatanna.

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

Constantine also gritted his teeth; he instantly raised his hand, magical light flaring.

Bang!

Constantine was sent flying by a chair, fresh blood streaming down his forehead; his arm twitched, as if trying to reach for something in his trench coat pocket, but the next second he was hoisted up.

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

Constantine was thrown out through the window.

Zatanna's eyes widened in terror; her fearful howl was swallowed back; she saw the figure standing in the middle of the room, tilting his head slightly, looking toward the air in the corner.

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

Zatanna could not describe the eeriness of that voice — deep, hoarse, yet carrying a metallic sharpness, like a rusted knife scraping across strings, the tremolo at the end of the intonation making one's hair stand on end.

Click, click-click...

A strange and ethereal knocking sound came from the corner of the room, like bones strung together blown by the wind, yet possessing a wondrous regularity.

There must be something there; Zatanna took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the weakness rising from her chest.

"【Reveal the Uncanny】!" The counter-spell blurted out.

But there was nothing there, save for a ray of cold yet gentle moonlight.

Constantine stumbled through the door, clutching his scraped arm: "Buddy, give me a straight answer — what the hell do you want?"

Swish — the candelabra was yanked out; Zatanna fell powerlessly, the flames on her chest still not fully extinguished, unable even to maintain a posture, collapsing wretchedly on the floor, clutching her chest and gasping.

"Constantine, why aren't you dealing with him?!" Zatanna curled her lip; amid a row of neat white teeth, two protruding fangs were especially conspicuous.

Constantine slid helplessly down the doorframe, panting softly: "Look up, look at the moon."

Zatanna forced her head back, gazing out through the living-room window of Constantine's house.

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

Constantine sat at the doorway, bathed in moonlight, weakly lowering his arm, looking up at the figure in the room, he said: "Let little Zat go, I'll agree to your terms."

Silence.

The moonlight grew thicker and thicker, moon-hua condensing into substance.

"Turn me."

In the end they received only such a brief reply; Zatanna could hardly believe her ears; she used all her strength to sit up from the floor, a mountain-like shadow pressing down in its wake.

Zatanna felt fingers colder than iron touch her chin, then clamp her jaw shut with a death grip; she had no choice but to open her mouth again, fangs extending uncontrollably, fresh blood dripping from the tips.

Zatanna saw those eyes — under the moonlight they turned almost completely white, not particularly terrifying, only possessing a bizarre purity and indifference.

Zatanna took a deep breath and said in a slightly trembling tone: "I don't know what you're talking about, I..."

"Little Zat." Constantine suddenly spoke; he said: "I know you've already become a vampire, but I don't care; glad you came to me the moment you were in danger, but I'm afraid you'll have to do as he says, otherwise we can't leave here."

Zatanna rolled her eyes to the side, glanced once more at the full moon outside the window; moonlight like water, gilding everything in a layer of shimmering cold light, making it all seem extraordinarily unreal.

Zatanna reached out and seized the wrist before her, saying, "Then... I'm glad you're willing to offer yourself to the Master."

Using the force of his upward pull, Zatanna stood, steadied herself on his shoulders, and brought her fangs to his neck.

"You'd better think this through," Constantine suddenly spoke up. "This means you can never live under the sun again. Is it worth it?"

"I don't need sunlight."

An eerie sound rang out at closer range; Zatanna felt her eardrums begin to buzz, she truly could not delay any longer, the immense pressure driving her nearly mad.

Fangs pierced the carotid artery; scalding blood surged into Zatanna's mouth, yet the intense hunger aroused by the scent of blood failed to let her savor the feast single-mindedly.

In this instant, she realized the mental bridge built through blood was not her avenue of attack, but the other party's.

Zatanna let out a miserable scream, feeling as if a sharp sword had stabbed into her brain; as blood surged, a certain barrier was shattered.

"John, John... vampires are coming, they want to blot out all sunlight, think of something fast..."

Zatanna murmured helplessly; a black shadow rushed over and caught the falling Zatanna, magical radiance flickered in Constantine's eyes, and Zatanna's pained struggles gradually ceased.

He grabbed Zatanna's wrist, sliced open her arm with a folded pocket knife, caught the flowing blood in a cup, handed it to the figure before him, then said, "Drink this and the Embrace will be complete; I have to take her to rest."

With that, Constantine didn't even glance at that figure, scooped up Zatanna, returned to the bedroom, and laid her on the bed.

He gently lifted her lips with a finger, saw the already retracted fangs, and let out a long sigh.

Constantine had just risen to leave when Zatanna seized his wrist; even in dreams she murmured, "Think of something fast, they're coming, night is falling..."

Constantine walked out the bedroom door to see the other party already seated on the sofa; that cup of crimson liquid was half-gone, and that bottle of red wine he hadn't yet had a chance to drink had been opened.

"Who are you?" he asked, standing in place.

"You may call me 'Moonlight'."

Constantine affected a casual air, spread his hands, walked to the opposite side of the sofa and said, "I know the situation may already be dire, but you needn't remind us so violently, and I don't see any necessity for you to become a vampire."

"Power." He spat out a single word.

"Yes, but at a cost." Constantine said, "This isn't merely power, it's a curse; all who gain the power of blood must ultimately serve the Vampire King... can you sense him?"

"I'm trying."

Constantine circled the sofa, sat opposite him and said, "Don't get too close to him, or you'll lose your self completely; even if you master the power of moonlight, you may not withstand his corruption."

Constantine glanced toward the bedroom door and said, "I want no part of this mess, but those coming to me will never be few; if you've got what you want, then hurry and go."

"Too late."

The words barely fell when a portal appeared inside Constantine's living room; a man wearing a golden helmet, dressed like a Spartan warrior, materialized in the room.

Constantine saw that this self-styled "Moonlight" had just then flashed a hint of red in his eyes.

"Doctor Fate? No!"

"Constantine, I've come to seek your help; the Vampire King and his subordinates want to destroy humanity, we... vampires?!!"