Chapter 965: The End of Constantine (Part 2)

Zatanna burst into the room and saw Constantine hanging from the ceiling by wires, letting out a scream like a madwoman.

“No!

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!”

With a “whoosh,” a whip curled around Constantine’s waist, swung him twice, and hurled him to the floor.

Catwoman and Pamela entered afterward and turned to look at Zatanna: “Is this the Constantine you’re looking for? He really is the same guy we know—I thought it was just a coincidence.”

“What happened to him? How could he…?” Zatanna rushed forward, staring at the blood on Constantine’s neck, disbelief in her voice: “How could he commit suicide??!”

“How is this possible?!

!

”

“Hmm, isn’t it normal for a bastard to snap one day?” Catwoman drew in a sharp breath. “Even as a Gothamite, Constantine ranks among the worst bastards I’ve ever met.”

“Hurry! Hurry! Take him to the hospital!” Zatanna gripped Constantine’s shoulder. “Where’s the nearest hospital? I’ll teleport him there!”

At this question, Catwoman paused, hesitating. “This bar’s too remote—far from Wayne Hospital and Central Hospital—but close to Arkham Asylum. It’s a psychiatric hospital, but they’ve got doctors who know emergency care.”

Zatanna dragged Constantine out; Catwoman and Pamela helped. Outside, Catwoman pointed to a sign across the river: “See that island? That’s Arkham Asylum. If you can teleport to that sign, we can enter straight from the rooftop.”

Zatanna immediately summoned a portal and brought Constantine, Catwoman, and Pamela to the sky above Arkham Asylum.

They descended from the sign. Zatanna moved to rush Constantine inside, but Catwoman blocked her: “Wait. There are rules here. Walk in like that, and you’ll get shot.”

“I’ll slip in first, find the attending physician, explain the situation, get him to send someone. Don’t move a muscle. Trust me—this place’s firepower is far stronger than you imagine.”

Zatanna nodded. Catwoman stepped into the rooftop door and returned shortly with Brand. Brand stared at Constantine, drenched in blood, and said:

“What happened? Who knocked him this hard?”

Zatanna opened her mouth to explain, but Brand waved his hand: “Get him into a room first. I need to check if his airway’s damaged.”

They carried Constantine into a room on the top floor of Arkham Hospital. After a while, nurses and doctors entered; Zatanna, Catwoman, and Pamela waited outside.

Catwoman glanced at the room door and said: “Honestly, how did he end up like this? That bastard may be a mess, but he’s always been tough—otherwise he wouldn’t have lived this long.”

Zatanna covered her eyes and sighed deeply. “It’s definitely because of Shiler and Bruce…”

“Who?” Catwoman asked, puzzled. She’d heard a familiar name, but Zatanna waved her hand: “Never mind. It’s none of your business. What was it you wanted me to help you with before?”

“Oh, you suddenly fell out of that circle and scared us half to death. You said it was your portal, so we figured we’d hitch a ride—can you take us to Wayne Tower? We want to find someone.”

“Wayne Tower? You mean Bruce Wayne’s estate?” Zatanna asked. Catwoman stared at her, surprised: “You don’t know Wayne Tower? It’s the Wayne family’s building—the tallest one in downtown.”

“Sure, you could take me to Wayne Manor, but I doubt he’s there. He’s probably in the lab in the tower—or in the Batcave…”

At that moment, Zatanna realized something was off. “You know Bruce Wayne?”

Catwoman froze. “Ah, yeah, I know Wayne. I’m looking for him—but you didn’t hear any of that. I never mentioned the Batcave or anything like it…”

“What’s your relationship with him?” Zatanna asked again.

“Well… we’re friends…” Catwoman hesitated. Zatanna sighed. “You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? Hi, I’m Zatanna—his ex-girlfriend. But none of that matters.”

Zatanna straightened up and looked at Catwoman. “I have bad news to tell you—but you must stay calm…”

Catwoman blinked. “What bad news?”

“You asked why Constantine ended up like this? The reason is—his two friends, Shiler Rodriguez and Bruce Wayne, jumped into Hell right in front of him.”

“What?!” Catwoman raised her voice. “Who jumped into what?!”

"The Cat Woman raised her voice and asked: 'Who jumped into what?!'"

!

“Listen, miss…” Zatanna looked at Catwoman. “I’m going to fix this. Before I met you, I called home and asked my relatives who left a beacon in Hell. I have to go in and bring them back.”

“But right now, I’m overwhelmed.” Zatanna’s face twisted. She coughed hard twice. “Gotham’s cursed. Some black mages are targeting it. My spiritual barriers here have vanished—they’ll attack soon. We must stop them.”

“The sudden madness of Gotham’s citizens and the plant mutations haven’t been resolved yet. Blueberry can only hold them back temporarily—we still need a cure.”

“Now Constantine, consumed by guilt, has gone mad. He might do worse things. If he fully breaks, the destruction will be immense. We must watch him.”

“And Shiler and Bruce falling into Hell… it’s partly my fault.” Zatanna sighed bitterly. “I didn’t dare tell them before—but my rush to destroy the curse? Those black mages? They’re scouts sent by certain magical families.”

“Many ancient magical families no longer honor their old codes. Their conflicts grow fiercer. Each wants the blade that can kill the others. If even one gets it, the occult world will erupt in a terrible war!”

“I underestimated Gotham’s complexity—and now we’re in crisis. But I must resolve all this.” Zatanna took a deep breath and looked at Catwoman. “I need your help.”

“So you’re going to Hell to bring them back?” Catwoman frowned. “Can I come?”

Zatanna shook her head. “Your soul is unusual—but too weak. You can’t cast magic. In Hell, you’d be paralyzed. Only I can go.”

“I need you to gather people—first, defend against the black mages. Ideally, find and eliminate them.”

“I won’t be gone long. When I return, we can solve the citizens’ madness and plant mutations. As for Constantine…” Zatanna glanced at the room door. “If I bring Bruce and Shiler back, his illness will heal. If I can’t…”

Zatanna shook her head, fell silent, clenched her wand—and made her decision. At that moment, the room door opened. Brand stood there, waving them in. Zatanna stepped forward first.

“Doctor, how is he?”

“The neck wound isn’t serious—just external. Already bandaged. But the psychological trauma…” Brand took a deep breath. “Answer me a few questions first.”

Zatanna nodded. Brand studied the chart. “First—does the patient have a psychiatric history? Including inherited or acquired disorders?”

“He has no inherited psychiatric illness,” Zatanna said. “But he was once hospitalized in a psychiatric facility—called… Ravenscane? Yes, that’s it. He claimed he was framed.”

“Ravenscane?” Brand’s face twisted in disgust. “That’s the asylum exposed for abusing patients, isn’t it? No wonder…”

Brand glanced at Constantine. “He has severe PTSD, especially pronounced paranoid delusions. Also, some Asperger’s traits.”

“But those aren’t the point.” Brand studied Constantine’s face. “He woke briefly. I asked him questions—and confirmed he likely has dissociative identity disorder.”

“What does that mean?” Zatanna asked, confused.

“It’s multiple personality disorder.” Brand reviewed his chart. “When he woke, he believed he was a man named Thomas Constantine.”

“He said he was born in Liverpool, England. His grandfather was a WWI soldier. His father was a drifter. He ran a bookstore in England, but business failed, so he came to the East Coast seeking new publishers. He’s also writing two novels.”

“Aaaaaa?!” Zatanna could only utter a single syllable, stunned and bewildered.

“When I mentioned the name John, he said he might have had a brother named John—but he died in the womb before birth. The family never cared, and he’d nearly forgotten. He doesn’t know any other John.”

“This… this can’t be.” Zatanna stared, incredulous. “How could he think he’s… wait—Thomas? That name sounds familiar… Oh! I remember!”

“John once mentioned he had an older brother—stillborn. His name was Thomas, after their father…”

“But how could John think he’s his brother?” Zatanna asked Brand. “His brother was never born. How could he have run a bookstore or sought publishers?”

Brand shook his head. “That’s why I need to ask you the second question: Why did he suddenly split off this identity?”

“He…” Zatanna paused, then looked at Constantine’s face. He lay peaceful, asleep, utterly free of pain.

She turned back to Brand. “Does he really remember nothing? Does he truly believe he’s an ordinary man?”

Brand nodded. “I mentioned magic briefly. He talked about the best-selling magical novels in Britain—never touched a single real occult theory.”

Zatanna opened her mouth, recalling Constantine’s earlier madness and agony. “Is this… actually a good thing?”

Brand stood, gazing at Constantine.

“Hard to say. I’m just a psychiatrist—I can’t do psychotherapy. To assess his identity stability, we’ll need Shiler back. By the way—where’s Shiler?”

At this question, Zatanna closed her eyes in pain.

If there’s anything worse than hearing a death notice, it’s facing countless innocent people who ask, full of hope, and having to be the one who rings their loved one’s funeral bell.