[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel":3,"chapter-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-964":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","My Life as a Mental Mentor in Marvel",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2323532,4544,"Chapter 964","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-964",964,"\u003Cp>Zatanna walked up to Constantine, knelt down, and looked into his eyes: “I know you’re not as evil and heartless as you pretend to be. That’s why your soul is filled with unbearable sorrow.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She gently reached out, brushed her fingertip against his forehead, and said: “But you need rest now. No more demons will haunt your dreams. Sleep, John…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As she whispered softly, Constantine slowly closed his eyes, his breathing growing steady. Zatanna sighed and murmured: “Alright. Now I’ll have to handle everything myself.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“The Curse of Ultimate Evil, Gotham’s chaos, Hell and Heaven…” Zatanna murmured as she rose, turned away, and prepared to leave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the instant she turned her back, Constantine leapt up, seized her from behind, wrapped his arms around her throat, and slammed her to the ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zatanna struggled desperately, screaming: “Constantine!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re insane!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Let me go!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As she fought, she saw his eyes—and in them, the madness told her she was wrong.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She had always believed Constantine had become evil and mad because of magic—that the demons’ curses had twisted his mind, that endless nightmares had driven him over the edge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But now, the fire burning in his gaze told Zatanna that magic was never the dye of his madness, not even the kindling. He was a madman first, and a magician second.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oxygen deprivation stole her consciousness. When she stopped struggling, Constantine gasped to his feet. Though his body was young and strong, the pain had left him, he still felt hollow—as if his soul had lost a piece forever.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He reached out, found Zatanna’s utility belt, opened it, and saw only a few magician’s trinkets—but for Constantine, they were enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not cast magic in the Batcave. Instead, he staggered out, as if driven by some unseen force, racing at top speed to the basement where he had once lived.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This place was the so-called “Soul’s Rift,” offering the ideal environment for magic. Constantine laid out his cards, drew symbols with chalk, then lit a stalk of wheat with a lighter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knelt on one knee, began whispering the incantation—the method he knew best for summoning demons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Midway through the chant, he sensed no demonic presence. He abandoned the spell, rose, found the broken shards of a bottle in the corner, picked them up, and returned to the center of the circle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He slashed his palm with the glass. Blood dripped onto the charred wheat. He chanted again—but still, no response.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before, he had heard distant whispers. Now, with his blood added, the silence was terrifying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine collapsed to the floor. He should have known—neither angels nor demons would fall for the same trick twice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Previously, he had repeatedly borrowed power from countless beings without repaying—simply because of four words: sunk cost.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When Constantine first entered the occult world, all magicians faithfully repaid their debts. Demons had no suspicion—they never imagined a weak human would dare default.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The demons were confident. They knew human will was fragile. If a human refused to pay, a little dream harassment or a lingering curse would make them beg and weep to settle their debt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But they never expected Constantine not only welcomed the pain—he saw it as relief from his guilt. He prayed for more demons, more torment, and accepted every drop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some demons fell for it, lent him power, and were never repaid. Meanwhile, other, less-informed demons lent him power too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine tracked down the first demons and told them: “If you don’t lend me more power, I’ll give my soul to the other side to pay my debts.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The demons hated losing their investment and feared rivals would claim Constantine’s soul alone—so they lent him more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With more power, he summoned stronger demons, borrowed more, and kept the snowball rolling—until he became one of the most powerful magicians in the occult world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eventually, nearly every angel and demon had lent him something.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His sins piled higher, making his soul more coveted. Everyone wanted it—but no one wanted it to fall into another’s hands. So whenever he was in danger, they intervened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If they didn’t save him, or refused to lend power when he needed it, their prior investment vanished, their future return vanished, and worse—they’d have funded a rival. No one wanted that loss. That was why Constantine’s borrowing always worked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Shiler repaid all of Constantine’s debts. In other words, when his company went bankrupt, all assets exactly offset all liabilities. Every creditor recovered their cost—and even gained surplus.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, Constantine had opened a new company under his own name, seeking investment again—who would invest?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before, they kept pouring money in only because they feared losing their investment entirely. Now, after endless hardship, they’d finally gotten a decent outcome.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All investors patted their chests in relief—they’d been lucky to encounter a conman and still recovered their money. No matter how foolish, they’d never invest again in a conman with zero credibility.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine tried countless summoning circles in the basement—none responded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All magical power within him vanished as his wounds healed. Now, he had nothing but a healthy body and a mind full of occult theory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine sat on the filthy floor of his basement, pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket, lit it, took one drag—and coughed violently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he realized: not just magic—his nicotine, alcohol, and drug addictions had vanished too. He had returned to the state of his seventeen-year-old self: naive, ignorant. He had truly been reborn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine wanted to keep smoking—but something struck him. He gave a smile worse than crying, tossed the cigarette aside, and watched the thin smoke curl from the smoldering butt. He whispered: “A miracle cure, Professor.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine sat still, covered his face with both hands. When he quieted, the terror he’d always avoided surged back. His breathing grew ragged, his body shook.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No… no… don’t think… don’t think of them… think of nothing… empty your mind…” Constantine clutched his head, mumbling, then instinctively groped the floor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beside his mattress, his fingers found a small pill bottle—the snacks he used to take for a good night’s sleep. With trembling hands, he twisted off the cap and poured a heap of pills into his palm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as he instinctively raised them to his mouth, he recoiled as if burned, flung them away, and frantically shook his hand, screaming:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No! John! What are you doing?! You can’t do this! You can’t smoke, drink, or use drugs again… Think of what bought your rebirth!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon his voice weakened: “But I need distraction. I need to sleep. I can’t think of them…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You deserve this. You deserve it all… John. You killed so many. Innocent children. Loyal friends. And now you want to escape guilt with physical pain? You can’t anymore. You deserve this.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine gasped like a suffocating fish, coughing short, wet “coughs” from his throat. Then, as if seeing a hallucination, he rose and spoke to the air:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Astrid? Is that you? I can explain what happened back then… It wasn’t me… I didn’t mean to… I really didn’t…” His breathing quickened, his voice thick with agony.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he raged: “Demons! It’s all your doing! You took the innocent souls!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Standing in the dim basement, Constantine heard whispers constantly at his ears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It was you! Constantine! Don’t blame us…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You caused this tragedy through your abuse of magic…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Your arrogance and showmanship brought this about…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Suddenly, Constantine whipped his head to the side—but nothing was there. He screamed in madness: “No! This is your plot! Your scheme to punish me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Thomas!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I know it’s you! You never died! You’ve been beside me all along, tormenting me in every way possible! This is all your plan—to break me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine swung his arms wildly, shouting at the air: “I killed you in my mother’s womb! So what? The world was never fair!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“When Father learned Mother was carrying twins, he gave only one of you a name!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“He gave his name to you!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>! Constantine’s voice cracked: “Only you were Thomas! I was only John!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“John… John… It was a name he heard at a poker table, and he just threw it at me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Every time I heard him call your name, I felt flames of jealousy burning my soul. So I had to kill you—or he’d never love me!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Constantine struck the air, he moved like a dancer—performing a dance of evil curses: mad, cruel, and dangerous, like a puppet manipulated by fate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon he stopped—like a toy with its spring broken—suddenly still. He leaned on his knees, gasping, then whispered:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If I really did something wrong… perhaps it was…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He muttered, searching the room, then found a length of wire used to secure the mattress. He picked it up, looked up at the ceiling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood seeped from cracks in the walls, staining floor and ceiling dark red. Water poured down the stairs, flooding the room with warm amniotic fluid.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Through the amniotic membrane and fluid, Constantine heard another heartbeat. A muffled voice came from outside his mother’s womb:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Little Thomas… little Thomas…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The voice was gentle, tender, filled with endless hope and love.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In a haze, Constantine saw an umbilical cord swaying above him. Another version of himself stood opposite, ear pressed to the membrane, listening to his father’s soft calls, feeling the family’s longing for his birth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Constantine reached out a trembling arm, pulled the cord toward him. In his chaotic thoughts, he realized: if he had truly done anything wrong, it was failing to understand— a life unwanted should never have been born.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The umbilical cord expanded in his vision. When it touched his cheek, it felt abruptly cold and hard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he felt a heavy sinking sensation. He thought: perhaps his mother was giving birth—that pressure had made him feel suffocated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But soon, warmth returned. After the amniotic fluid drained, the membrane wrapped him like his mother’s gentle arms.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In that warmth, Constantine felt profound peace. Slowly, he sank into sleep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“John!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>!\u003C\u002Fp>",1674,"2026-06-20T16:39:22.658Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","28e2b9bef2f09d431049431bfa76cbd6ab804494a89babc97fe7b14e24d1f3ad","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-965","my-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-chapter-963",1000,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fmy-life-as-a-mental-mentor-in-marvel-cover.jpg"]