下載應用程式
74.35% Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics / Chapter 3189: Chapter 2235: Gotham Music Festival (37)_1

章節 3189: Chapter 2235: Gotham Music Festival (37)_1

"We need to find a way to get him back to normal, or at least to stop," Natasha frowned after listening to the second round of game rules. "No one would allow Shiller to suffer such serious harm, not even if he himself were willing."

"His mental illness is acting up, so someone must intervene," Beihan expressed the same concern. "If a patient says he's willing to go through with something, and everyone just lets him be, then there would be no need for so many mental hospitals in this world."

Natasha looked at him and asked, "I saw Shiller holding an inhaler aerosol bottle. What do you think could be inside it?"

"I'm not sure," Beihan shook his head and said, "If, as you suggested, seasickness causes him a great deal of pain and this makes his mental state extremely unstable, it could well be medication to relieve seasickness. But it's also possible he actually has a respiratory issue, or perhaps it's simply meant to dilate bronchial tubes and increase oxygen supply."

Natasha massaged her forehead and said, "Whichever it is, it's beneficial to him, right?"

"Theoretically, yes. What are you thinking?"

"On a cruise ship of this level, there's definitely a variety of medications available. I want to find some and see if I can add them to his aerosol bottle, at least to get him to stop and rest for a while."

"Do you know how to mix medications?"

"I was a nurse. I know how to prepare various simple injectables, but I've hardly dealt with aerosols. Do you?"

"Yes, I do. But I must return to the VIP room before the game starts. Both of us disappearing for so long would be too suspicious."

"Trust me, you look like the type who could spend two hours with me in the bathroom," Natasha said as she walked towards the restroom exit.

With an "here we go again" look, Beihan watched her back, indeed sensing the undercurrents churning beneath the seemingly calm surface.

Batman could see that beyond the gamblers who were truly in big trouble, there were many purposeful individuals involved in the game, harboring intentions far more sinister than fulfilling wishes. Batman was never reluctant to suspect that these people might wish more than anyone else that all aboard the ship remained at sea forever.

No Batman would ever allow such a thing to happen, so Beihan returned to the VIP room. He knew that he could not let Shiller in the throes of an episode be the spark to ignite this bomb, as the situation would then spiral completely out of control.

Meanwhile, Natasha made her way down the staff corridor. She knew that Stark must have taken this route, and as expected, she found a message left by Stark in a staff break room.

Beneath a note pressed under a water dispenser read, "I've gone below for something. Ask someone else about that earlier matter."

Not too stupid, Natasha thought. If found, this phrasing would appear to be just an exchange between two employees.

Natasha understood the message Stark had left for her: "I'm going below to check on the ship's engines; you stay up here to catch a talkative one for information."

Looking around, Natasha saw signs that the room had been used a few minutes earlier, which meant that a fair number of staff would come here to rest temporarily. However, it was crucial to determine whose people they really were.

Natasha could tell there was something very odd about this ship; many of its staff weren't ordinary people. So if she caught an underling of the ship's owner, she might be unable to handle them.

Moreover, there were priorities among issues; what the owner of the ship really wanted could wait. Whether out of professional duty or personal sentiment, Natasha was more inclined to focus on the Federal Bureau of Investigation first.

Yes, even if Natasha didn't know Amanda, she could smell the stench of the hyenas she dealt with daily. She was aware that those agents were probably lurking in the corners, ready at any moment to let any situation deteriorate to a point beyond anyone's ability to clean up—that was their job.

A mop, still wet, left a vague water stain on the floor of the dim, narrow corridor. A janitor in uniform adjusted his cap with one hand and tucked the mop handle under his arm. With the other hand carrying a bucket, he opened the storeroom door and put everything away one by one.

He was always so unhurried, though his mind was completely focused on the task to be executed next. Still, he could instinctively perform any part of his undercover role with utmost proficiency.

Having stowed everything, the man sighed with relief, and as he relaxed, the urge to urinate came on. He staggered towards the restroom. Despite his relaxed demeanor, there was always a string taut in his mind—an agent's self-discipline.

Standing in front of the urinal, undoing his trousers, he heard a door open behind him. Through the reflection on the floor, he saw a figure wearing a red cloak—an attire likely of a gambler participating in the contest.

The agent relaxed again. With the second round of the game imminent, during his earlier restroom cleaning, he had encountered numerous contestants who wanted to take the opportunity for a quick break before it began; they would probably be out quickly.

What the agent found odd, though, was that the closest restroom to the venue was the one he had just cleaned, not the current one. This one required an extra turn, at least a hundred meters more walking. With no line at the other restroom, why would someone purposely take a longer route?

Just when he had that thought, he suddenly felt a piercing gaze appear out of nowhere, as if the person hadn't been looking at him before, but was now staring intently at his back.

An alarm went off in his mind, and his muscles tensed, his legs powered up, and in the moment he bent his knees and swung his elbows, a long mop handle pinned him against the wall.

Blood gushed from his mouth instantly, and he let out wheezing breaths from his fish-like mouth, desperately struggling to turn his head.

The next second, his hair was grabbed, and with two thuds, his head made intimate contact with the wall, smashing his brow bone and nose bridge to pieces.

Blood flowed from his nose and mouth simultaneously, severe pain emanating from within him, because the assailant didn't withdraw the iron rod that had impaled his body, but instead pressed down on the weapon, instantly mangling his internal organs beyond recognition.

Both hands released their grip, and the agent collapsed to the ground, but the blood flowing from his forehead completely covered his eyes. The severe pain brought on dizziness, and his vision turned pitch black. He couldn't see who the attacker was, only noticing them taking a deep inhalation from an asthma inhaler.

"Who is Amanda's target?"

The agent felt it laughable — if the other party wanted to use torture to extract information, they shouldn't have inflicted such serious injuries. He was close to death, and the pain would soon end. Under these circumstances, how could he possibly reveal anything?

"You're different from the rest," he heard the other person mutter to himself. "You weren't assigned the target that most people are watching. You have a special task. Who are you observing?"

The agent, in shock, grabbed onto the iron rod that had pierced through his wound. He struggled desperately, but One Hand was steadier and more forceful, gripping the head of the rod. He turned the rod upright while the fish skewered on it kept sliding downwards due to its own weight.

An overwhelming amount of blood choked his lungs, rendering him unable to scream. One second before drowning in his own blood, he heard the other person say softly, "Amanda wants to kill two birds with one stone? Two plans?"

When Shiller's figure reappeared at the gambling table, he finally had the leisure to carefully observe his opponent.

The opponent was very strong, with thick body hair and fierce eyes, a look usually seen in weightlifting competitions or among strongmen, and sometimes amongst groups of dockworkers.

But Shiller noticed a detail — the opponent had no tan lines. That was unusual. The summer had just ended and even ordinary people who commuted to work walking would have tan lines on exposed limbs, which wouldn't fade in just a month.

Unless he stayed indoors 24 hours a day without going outside. But his fierce demeanor didn't seem to fit that of a homebody.

Shiller wanted to wait, to see his opponent's true face when his vision blurred again.

It wouldn't be a long wait — the periods of clarity were getting shorter. Just as ripples began to stir on the edge of Shiller's vision, a clear ringing of a bell woke him.

The game began, and both parties stretched out their arms for the staff to draw blood.

Everyone rolled up their sleeves, revealing their arms. Shiller was no exception, now he only had one hand left to lean on the table.

The staff member approaching with the needle couldn't help but look up at Shiller's pale face and equally bloodless lips, as if he wasn't just suffering from blood loss, but was already close to death.

The needle pierced into the arms of both participants. Their arms were secured to the table with equipment to prevent instability during the blood drawing, and the blood from both flowed through tubes into the pump, looking like fine vintage red wine.

One rarely has the chance to observe how their life ebbs away because the lengthy process of growth and aging allows one to forget all the details, making it difficult to deeply experience the despair of life reaching its end.

The process of blood loss was like a condensed version of the demise of life, a few minutes to appreciate the decline that would otherwise take a lifetime, seeing tremendous waves in all the minutiae.

Shiller began to feel an increasing dizziness, followed by an excitement that drugs could no longer suppress. His heart was beating too fast, so much so that no amount of inhaling from the aerosol bottle could cool down his boiling blood.

In the end, he pressed the button for 1000 milliliters on the remote control.

Shiller's move clearly shocked both the staff member and his opponent, so much so that the staff member, who rarely spoke other than to explain the rules, confirmed with him, "Are you sure? 1000 milliliters? The blood drawing process won't stop once it begins, and it could lead to your direct death."

"Yes, I'm sure."

Shiller closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he gave his opponent a mad smile.

"Hello, ocean."


next chapter

章節 3190: Chapter 2236: Gotham Music Festival (38)_1

More and more blood was draining from Shiller's body, the large quantity needed for the blood-letting making the process exceedingly slow. While other players had already started their games, Shiller's table was still fixated on the draining tube.

The scene also drew the attention of many, but since there were hardly any byes this round and most people's arms were fixed to the table, they could only cast curious glances over at Shiller.

As blood continued to flow, Shiller's arm grew paler and paler, and the alarm bells in Bruce's mind made him want to yank his arm free and jump ship to escape.

"It's time to verify our guess," Bruce heard that dangerous voice inside his head say, "Where exactly does Shiller's mysterious psychoanalytic ability come from?"

"You know how risky this is," another, more rational voice said. "We could write it all off as natural talent. Isn't that what we do with our detective abilities?"

"Of course not, we follow logic, we have evidence."

"But that assumption is completely absurd," Bruce took a deep breath and said to himself, "Are you suggesting that those psychoanalytic results with an 80% accuracy rate are nothing but the delusions of a mental patient during an episode?"

"When all other possibilities have been eliminated, whatever remains, no matter how absurd, must be the truth. Ready to take a bet?"

Bruce took a deep breath, feeling sweat on his palms, and said, "Even if it's true, we still can't know the deeper reasons. Hallucinations can't just happen to align with reality, and neuroscience has no answers for that."

"But this will let us know how to avoid being analyzed."

Bruce startled because he realized, how could the Batman from the Prime Universe, aware of Shiller's mysterious psychoanalytic ability, be so comfortable with him, when as the most suspicious and private Batman, he detested being scrutinized?

Could it be that Batman had long known the source of Shiller's psychoanalytic ability and was confident he could prevent it from being activated while together?

The pacifying gestures at their first encounter, the clothes and the red wine, the cautious choice of words, the respectful demeanor – were they all to keep Shiller's mind stable? As long as he was stable, his psychoanalytic ability wouldn't activate?

Bruce had to admit, he did want to take the risk.

There were too many mysteries surrounding Shiller, including his past, his understanding of others that went beyond the facts, his grand Tower of Thought. But for Bruce, what he most wanted to know was where exactly Shiller's far-too-accurate psychoanalysis method came from.

He had long resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't a skill that could be learned, but whatever the case, he had never considered that the answer might be the most absurd one, that rather than talent, it could just be the hallucinations of a desperate madman.

So he pulled his gaze back, took a deep breath, stopped looking at the blood-letting machine, and tried to remain as calm as possible while searching for the profoundest answers from the deepest Abyss.

At 200 milliliters, Shiller's lips felt chapped, his mouth as if aflame, and with each breath from the trachea and throat to the nasal passages it felt like cutting with a knife, a pain that somehow sharpens the mind.

"You signed 'the sea' on the back of the invitation, thinking it's my opponent this time, so you designed this game. No matter how much blood is drawn from me, you could still face me like a Warrior. But deep down, you know you are still a coward because that's not your blood – it belongs to the sea."

The burly man opposite his eyes widened, hesitating with his hand on the controller button, as he originally intended to press a 1 followed by three 0s.

"Stop pretending; you know you've always been weak. You tell everyone you represent the sea's will, that you'd do anything to protect the ocean, but deep down, you're acutely aware that the ocean doesn't need your protection."

"But you know the ocean has never chosen you, even if you're its only choice now, it still refuses to fully heed your command. You think it's because you haven't done enough, so you came here and made sure I did too."

The burly man narrowed his eyes, looking at Shiller and said, "I just wanted to retrieve what rightfully belongs to the sea from a shameful thief."

"No, you don't believe it belongs to the sea," Shiller shook his head.

At 400 milliliters, his heartbeat finally began to slow, replaced by the increasingly calm ripples in his field of vision, the intermittent clarity among the waves now gone, turning into a blur.

His chest felt a profound hollowness, sinking, compelling one to hunch over and fall, a desire for death creeping in, seeking release.

Memory Fragments stirred in the lake of his tranquil vision, sweeping across the blurred ripples, like microbes moving under a microscope.

"You think it belongs to Atlantis."

The burly man's hand clenched suddenly.

"What did Arthur tell you? That damned traitor!"

"Calm down, Orm, are you discontent with your title as Ocean Master now? Do you want to be Aquaman? Or a sea god?"

"I told you, I just want to retrieve what you land people stole from the sea, you damned landlubber! You have deceived us!!"

Orm's roar became more and more distant, and in the sweeping Memory Fragments before Shiller's eyes, the name Orm Marius, the Ocean Master, echoed again and again.

Orm was Arthur's half-brother, born of the previous Queen of Atlantis, Atlanna, and the captain of the Guard, Ovak. He was a full-blooded Atlantean.

In the comics, Atlanna died in an accident, and some close to the palace accused Orm of the deed, which Orm denied. Later, fearing an invasion of Atlantis by surface-dwellers, he launched a war between the sea and the land, even clashing with the Justice League, nearly submerging the continents.

However, he and Arthur did not become estranged brothers. From beginning to end, the two merely disagreed on their attitudes toward surface dwellers. Orm did not crave the throne and even voluntarily abdicated when Arthur returned, recognizing Arthur as Aquaman.

But what Shiller saw was different.

At 500 milliliters, Orm's form began to cast an anxious shadow; his flames burned more intensely than anyone's, and to Shiller's surprise, Orm's flames were also red.

That indicated that the emotions surging within him were not greed, but pure rage—he wanted revenge.

Something was not right, greatly differing from the facts.

Orm had no one to avenge against, at least not at this stage. Arthur had not yet returned to Atlantis; their paths had barely crossed, and even when they did, Orm had never clashed with Arthur over power matters.

Moreover, Orm was not yet convinced that the surface dwellers were intent on destroying Atlantis; he felt more disgust than hatred for them, emotions that could not possibly fuel such fierce anger and desire for vengeance.

Shiller struggled to prop himself up, fixating on the blood-drawing tubing. He wasn't thinking about stopping; instead, he was wishing that the damn machine would work faster, much faster—he was close to seeing what lay behind the flames.

At 600 milliliters, Shiller started to feel numbness in his lips, a gradual loss of sensation in his limbs, his tongue unable to move freely, his throat nearly unable to make a sound.

His heartbeat slowed down, and he was besieged by an indescribable cold that left him completely frozen, his eyes and consciousness beginning to scatter.

Orm before him had completely transformed; his skin was peeled away, showing a woven pattern of deep red and blue beneath. There was a black hole on his chest, with numerous fingers probing the edges of the wound.

Within the hole, sea water swirled, and in it, Shiller saw the topology of the Mariana Trench.

Blood continued to flow, albeit very slowly. Now, all eyes in the room focused on this spot, everyone wanting to know just how much more blood this madman would draw.

Shiller kept his eyes on the tubing, faster, still faster.

As his heartbeat became more lethargic and the edges of his vision no longer blurry but starting to swirl with blackness, increasingly narrowing, Shiller knew that when his field of view could only accommodate one person, it would be time.

When the bright red blood reached the 700-milliliter mark on the pump scale, Shiller suddenly heard a faint whisper of wind. It was too late to reach for the blood-drawing tubing now; three Batman darts, coming from three different directions, sliced the tubing into three pieces.

The splattering blood drops were cast against the backdrop of everyone's shock, One Hand pressed down on the side of the pump's tubing, an arm supported the falling Shiller, and a fist knocked out the staff member.

The sudden turn of events stunned everyone. Spectators scattered, security armed with weapons rushed in, and those moving counter to the crowd started running toward the exit, knocking over tables and bottles, scream, roars, and curses filled the air—it was as if the second floor had turned into a suddenly boiling pot.

"Quiet! Everyone quiet down!!!" An old man with a trident symbol on his forehead appeared on the central High Tower, but his shouts had little effect, especially when a certain group of contestants, following someone's orders, began to deliberately create chaos.

"I said, QUIET!!!!"

With the roar, myriad visible, powerful ripples emanated from the old man, instantly knocking the crowd to the ground. They crawled, then their bodies violently jerked, and nearly all the guests on the ship were shaken to the floor.

Bruce, Beihan, and the Prime Universe's Batman wearing the Mosasaur mask were caught off guard and fell to the ground as well.

Inside the VIP room, the person in the Megalodon mask who dashed to the glass narrowed his eyes.

Now he understood why Shiller had bought him a VIP ticket.

"The day is bright, the night is vast,

Malignant spirits and monsters, nowhere to hide,

Rebellious rogues, fear my divine light,

Green Lantern's light shines forever, its brilliance everlasting!"

Green light instantly filled the entire venue, a huge shark phantom descended from the sky, and a figure radiating intense green light landed before the old man.

The old man's eyes widened in an instant, but quickly, a sly sparkle flashed through them. The golden trident symbol on his forehead glimmered, and the figure vanished in an instant. Orm, too, disappeared with the crowd on the deck.

Meanwhile, Stark, who had just reached the engine room of the Dakotazo, watched helplessly as some energy entwined around the engine disappeared; the golden light flashed and was gone. The abnormal readings on the Stark Battle Armor's sensors lasted for less than a second before returning to normal.

In the staff lounge, Natasha, who stumbled a bit from the shaking, wiped the blood that had splattered on her face and cursed through gritted teeth as she looked at the Agent who had just broken his spine from the abrupt motion.

Remembering the two names he had just mentioned, Natasha no longer hesitated, completely ignoring the chaos coming from above and heading upstairs as quickly as possible.

Upon returning to the hall, Natasha's gaze immediately locked onto two black figures. They hastily retreated to a corner of the wall, and Natasha quickly followed.

At that moment, giant waves surged outside the ship.


Load failed, please RETRY

禮物

禮品 -- 收到的禮物

    每周推薦票狀態

    批量訂閱

    目錄

    顯示選項

    背景

    EoMt的

    大小

    章評

    寫檢討 閱讀狀態: C3189
    無法發佈。請再試一次
    • 翻譯品質
    • 更新的穩定性
    • 故事發展
    • 人物形象設計
    • 世界背景

    總分 0.0

    評論發佈成功! 閱讀更多評論
    用推薦票投票
    Rank 200+ 推薦票榜
    Stone 38 推薦票
    舉報不當內容
    錯誤提示

    舉報暴力內容

    段落註釋

    登錄

    tip 段落評論

    段落註釋功能現已上線!將滑鼠移到任何段落上,然後按下圖示以添加您的評論。

    此外,您可以隨時在「設置」 中將其關閉/ 打開。

    明白了