When Arrogant came to his senses, Greed had almost resolved the issue, but he still saw the message Hal had sent.
Arrogant shook his head and said, "In the cosmos, the spokesperson for willpower is another term for a stubborn person, someone rarely more stubborn than Batman."
"How is Hal doing?"
"He is not a qualified king," Arrogant said. "He is not suited to being a frontman, issuing commands. He is similar to Batman in this regard, but unlike Batman, he possesses the potential for manipulation."
After some thought, Greed said, "That doesn't sound much like Hal Jordan. You also said he was stubborn, and such people hardly understand flexibility. Moreover, being a kind-hearted stubborn person, it's even harder for him to endure humiliation."
Arrogant tapped his fingertips lightly on the desk and said, "It depends on whether he has explored the true meaning of kindness, and not been fooled by the facade of hypocrisy. I believe he has managed it; although Oliver couldn't last to the end, he set an example for many."
"I find that quite interesting," Greed said as he sipped his coffee. "Green Arrow Oliver is inherently passionate, romantic, yet filled with pessimism; such a person is not suited to be a revolutionary. The fact that he has come this far is already surprising."
"And what he wouldn't have expected," added Arrogant, "is that the enterprise he completed is not just in Mexico. The people truly inspired by him are both close and far—Bruce, Clark, Hal, Arthur, even Lex."
"Though they are distinctly different from Oliver, even disparate among themselves, they have all, in their own ways, taken Oliver's unfinished work into various domains and places, spreading the ideas he did not manage to disseminate far from that land."
Arrogant reflected with some admiration, "Hal is a very honest person; all he lacks is the truth. Once he realizes what is truly right, his strong willpower, or perhaps his stubborn spirit, will enable him to endure almost anything."
"That is exactly what I said—he holds the potential to manipulate, a qualified political machine that requires discarding all personal opinions, rewarding contributions, and punishing mistakes in equivalent measure."
"That sounds somewhat inhumane, but for the cosmos, such a method of governance is far superior to the system set up by the Guardians of the Universe. It appears fair and democratic, but in reality, it's full of selfish motives," he continued.
"When an organization needs to rely on slogans like 'world peace' to unite and control its members, it shows that most of the time, they cannot achieve clear rewards and punishments, not even basic fairness," he said.
"Because it is only when systemic fairness cannot appease most people's grievances that a greater goal is needed to urge people to endure current injustices, much like religions always preach about the afterlife and resurrection."
"The system built by the Guardians of the Universe is just like that; their foolishness and shortsightedness prevent them from establishing any real leadership. They merely shouted a slogan, expecting everyone to mechanically repeat it, hoping that the same foolish people, by their inherent goodness, would obediently remain tools," he explained.
"But anyone knows that no organization is as good as no organization at all; the Green Lantern Corps, or any Ring Corps, has such a primitive organizational method that it's shocking, and most of the green lantern energy is wasted," he noted.
"Given that, it's understandable that Hal would want to collect and utilize them to build a better Green Lantern organization. I believe he has the capability to do better than anyone else," he concluded.
Greed nodded and said, "The more I think about it, there really are many pitfalls on your side. Darkseid is a tyrant purer than Thanos, and I can't even find an organization equivalent to the Guardians of the Universe to stir things up."
"Your universe administrators have sunk too low," Arrogant pointed out. "While they are always used as stepping stones, they indeed have a higher organizational level than my side."
When this topic arose, Arrogant felt somewhat helpless and stated, "My universe is like a company that only has managers, the archangels are too high-ranking; apart from the Prime Universe, they hardly care about how the Individual Universes perform."
"In a certain sense, that's relatively lax," Greed said. "Eternity has been quite troublesome for me; if he weren't so vigilant, I wouldn't need to bother them every other day."
"Actually, it's not that they don't want to interfere; it's more like they lack the capability. This side of the universe has too many strange and quirky things, typically Mountain of Feces code, ancient errors that only God can correct—they probably don't want to waste the energy either," Arrogant emphasized.
Greed seemed to suddenly think of something joyful, and he laughed twice before saying, "Although the Barbados invasion event is no more, do you think that Creator Goddess would sit idly by?"
As Arrogant began to space out again, Greed did not disturb him and quietly drank his coffee. After a while, Arrogant came to his senses and asked, "Where do you think her breakthrough is?"
"The vulnerabilities in your universe are not many, but if she wants to find a spokesperson from another universe, you probably can't do anything about it. So, I think the opposite approach is required, figuring out a way to lure her over," he suggested.
"You are better at dealing with such beings," Arrogant, caressing the handle of his coffee cup, said. "Bruce is the emissary of Barbados, and although managing multiple roles is not impossible, I think that Goddess is not so foolish."
"Then find another," Greed said casually. "Lex might gain his trust, but his strength isn't enough; if he gets detained, it would be more troublesome."
"Let Joker take on the Pope's role, and then face off with Batman—it wouldn't be a bad script, but it seems you have other plans for Jack; he probably won't be able to manage," he added.
"The idea of a good superhero suddenly wanting to destroy the universe is a bit too far-fetched, so people like Superman are out of the question."
"But a ruthless regent who manipulates and steals the authority of the Emotional Spectrum, perhaps..."
Before Greed could finish, Arrogant realized what he meant and pondered, "Hal is smarter than we thought. He has his own demands. Luring a foreign, powerful God here is still too risky; he might not be willing."
"Then figure out a way to make him willing," Greed said, stirring his coffee. "I know you are always soft-hearted and don't like to deceive your friends, but perhaps many times they are also hoping that you will make choices for them."
"Only you would think that," Arrogant replied. "In your view, everyone is waiting for you to make decisions for them, even make money for them, and then magnanimously let you manage the money you made."
"So I just want a name," Greed said with a smile. "After all, from setup to harvest, it's me who does the work. They just sponsor it. What's wrong with that?"
Arrogant still seemed hesitant; he clearly didn't want to do this, but he didn't have much room to hesitate anymore.
"I'll talk to Hal."
"No, you need to talk to Oliver."
Arrogant frowned and resisted, forcing Greed to say, "I can talk to him too, as long as you're not afraid of a mess."
"I'll do it," Arrogant almost gritted his teeth as he said these words. Then, he added, "He sold Mexico and still couldn't pay off your bill."
"He can't sell it now, since he's already pulled out," Greed calculated clearly. "He doesn't have much. I'll give him a friend's price. Getting him to stir up a peasant revolt in the Three Great Empires could work."
"No way," Arrogant refused flatly.
While talking, Greed was also browsing through emails, sighing, "You've got a lot going on here, most of it looking for you... Ah, this one's for me, definitely Asgard."
As soon as Greed mentioned Asgard, Arrogant remembered the unresolved issue of Mount Olympus. Thinking about Wonder Woman and her entire family, Arrogant felt an urge to fall into a deep sleep.
The problems with these gods were even harder to solve than those of the universe since Earth was also their home. They clung on and wouldn't leave, and there was no moral high ground from which to criticize them.
What was even more troublesome was that while Odin might not be a good father, he was at least a good Emperor. Zeus, on the other hand, hardly seemed human.
Since this was also Wonder Woman's homeland, a permanent solution was impossible. Arrogant thought, if all else fails, maybe send a hundred-plus Lokis, each performing at the average level of other brothers and fathers, to see if they could enrage Zeus to death with their antics.
"Loki has called an online meeting with me. It's probably about the Twilight of the Gods matter. Do you want to come?" Greed stood up and said.
Normally Arrogant would refuse, as they usually didn't interfere with each other's affairs, but thinking that later on, they might need Asgard to deal with the problem of Mount Olympus, he nodded.
Greed turned on the camera, but Arrogant stayed out of the frame since no one yet knew that Shiller had physically split. This was their big surprise, not to be spoiled in advance.
Loki appeared somewhat haggard on the screen, and the Crocodile Loki he held seemed a bit blank-eyed.
"No, it won't work, Shiller. You have no idea how many arguments we've had these days..."
Meanwhile, in another room, a teenage boy wearing a mask was browsing through instance options, evidently keen on finding the right one, though most options were discarded.
Manipulation walked in, quickly noticing what he was doing, closed the door, and suggested, "Looking for a sufficiently violent instance? How about the Zombie Universe?"
Moonlight shook his head, clearly uninterested in anything zombie-related. Manipulation thought for a moment and said, "Don't like the mindless ones? Let me think... How about this one?"
Moonlight saw the instance cover that appeared on the screen: no flashy designs, just a mouth covered in blood with four particularly sharp fangs.
"As night falls, the hunted's pursuit of sustenance is no longer love, but... blood."
Night.
Thick clouds dense as ink refusing to dissolve, droplets of water fell from the eaves upon the floor tiles, the street so quiet not even the wind made a sound, only the low and hoarse cawing of the crows seeking refuge under the church's portico could be heard.
The air was extremely damp, a gloomy red seeped into the rainwater, creating whirlpool after whirlpool.
With a soft squelch, a slender wooden stake was pulled from a chest, more chunks of flesh and blood dropped onto the ground, emitting an almost imperceptible thud that sounded more like a hymn of death than any scream or wail.
Immaculate leather shoes stepped over puddles beside a corpse, a tall figure stood still in front of the podium, lifting his head as if locking eyes with the bowed figure of Jesus.
Pale and lean hands grasped the largest candlestick on the podium, throwing down the candles that burned with feeble light, sparking the chairs tipped over to the side, then the tables, the tablecloths, until the flames engulfed the still-twitching bodies.
The fire from the church stained half of the sky red, while the figure vanished into the night.
The hand holding the candlestick slowly lowered it, the nearly one-meter long trident candlestick flashed with a sharp cold light, transforming from a luxurious ritual artifact into a deadly weapon.
Another night drunk on alcohol.
The blond man in a long trench coat collapsed onto the table, his gaze blurred, drool escaping his lips, his eyeballs weakly rotating, catching a glimpse of a news article on the newspaper beside the table.
"Islington District church fire case... Talk about bad luck," a hoarse voice sounded, the man waved away the bothersome newspaper, letting it fall to the floor, his head drooping down as if he had fallen asleep.
Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang!
A series of urgent knocking sounds woke the man who lay across the table, his drunkenness seeming to clear a bit as he braced his hands against the table, attempting to get up and answer the door.
But the person outside couldn't wait for the drunk, with a bang, the door was shattered by a beam of purple Magic Light and a woman dressed in a magician's costume hurriedly ran in, her boots stepping on the newspaper, leaving a half footprint on the picture of the church.
"Constantine... Constantine!! Help!!"
The scream resonated as Constantine, who had just stood up, looked bewildered at the woman who was hurling herself into his arms.
"Zatanna? What's wrong?"
Constantine opened his arms.
But the anticipated warmth and softness did not enter his embrace.
With a whoosh, a streak of golden brilliance flashed by, and behind the spatter of blood was the sight of Constantine's pupils shrinking to their limits.
"Ah!!!!"
Accompanying Zatanna's scream, a tall dark figure appeared at the door.
Constantine turned sharply, only to see a massive golden candlestick had impaled Zatanna through the chest, pinning her against the wall.
Flames erupted upon contact with the candlestick at the wound, charring the flesh nearby with an inclination to spread to other parts of the body.
Constantine quickly reached out, trying to douse the flames with Magic, but the water he conjured streamed right through the fire, as if it was scorching the soul, not the flesh.
Bright Magic Glow flashed, the wound healed, but the candlestick remained fixed in the chest, and the flames rose again.
Constantine had no choice but to turn toward the shadowy figure.
He looked very tall and strong, dressed in a finely tailored black suit, but most notably, the part below his eyes was completely covered by a mask.
This type of iron mask brought back unpleasant memories for Constantine—during his time locked up in a mental institution, only the most dangerous patients in the top-floor ward needed to wear such restrictive masks at all times.
While Constantine was dazed, the shadow gradually moved towards him, but it did not glance at him again, instead heading to Zatanna's side.
Zatanna lifted her clouded eyes to stare at him, gritting her teeth and saying, "My master will not let you off!... Constantine, save me!"
Constantine too clenched his teeth, and in an instant, he raised his hand, his Magic Light suddenly bright.
Bang!
Constantine was flung away by a chair, blood streaming down his forehead, his arm moved as if trying to reach for something in his coat pocket, but the next second he was picked up.
"Hey... hey! Whoever you are, let's talk this out!" Constantine shouted, "I don't remember offending you!"
Constantine was thrown out the window.
Zatanna's eyes widened in terror, her scream of fear swallowed back, she saw the figure standing in the center of the room, slightly tilting its head, gazing at the air in the corner.
"You're right, I can't kill her..."
Zatanna couldn't describe how eerie the voice was, deep, raspy, but with a metallic sharpness, as if a rusty blade had slashed across violin strings, the trembling at the end of each tone sending chills down her spine.
Tap, tap tap...
An uncanny, ethereal tapping sound emanated from a corner of the room, as if bones strung together were being blown by the wind, yet there was a strange rhythm to it.
There must be something there, Zatanna inhaled deeply, fighting to suppress the weakness pulsing from her chest.
"'Presence of the strange and uncanny'!" she blurted out the Antilanguage Magic.
But there was nothing there, only a beam of cold yet gentle moonlight.
Constantine stumbled through the door, clutching his scratched arm and said, "Buddy, give it to me straight, what the hell do you want?"
With a whoosh, the candelabra was snatched away, and Zatanna fell helplessly to the ground. The flame on her chest had not been completely extinguished, and she couldn't even maintain her posture, awkwardly collapsing onto the floor, gasping for air while clutching her chest.
"Constantine, why aren't you confronting him?!" Zatanna lifted her lips, and among the set of neat, white teeth, those two protruding fangs were particularly noticeable.
Constantine helplessly slid down along the doorframe, whispering with short breaths, "Look up, at the moon."
Zatanna struggled to lift her head, looking out through the living room window of Constantine's house.
"The moon… full moon?! How is that possible, how can it be a full moon today?!!"
Sitting in front of the door, Constantine lowered his arm wearily under the moon's bath, looked up at the figure in the room, and said, "Spare Little Zha, I can agree to your terms."
Silence.
The moonlight grew denser, becoming almost tangible.
"Transform me."
That was the only terse reply they ultimately received, and Zatanna could hardly believe her ears as she summoned the energy to sit up from the floor, approached with an oppressive, mountainous shadow.
Zatanna felt fingers colder than iron touch her chin, then clamp down tightly on her jaw, forcing her to open her mouth again. Her fangs uncontrollably extended, dripping blood from their tips.
Zatanna saw those eyes, which under the moon's reflection had become completely white, not showing much horror, but rather an eerie purity and indifference.
Zatanna took a deep breath and said with a somewhat trembling voice, "I don't know what you're talking about, I…"
"Little Zha." Constantine suddenly spoke up, "I know you've become a vampire, but I don't care. I'm happy you came to me first when you were in danger, but I'm afraid you'll have to do as he says, otherwise we can't leave this place."
Zatanna glanced aside, taking another look at the full moon outside the window. The moonlight was like water, giving everything a layer of cold sheen, almost unreal.
Reaching out, Zatanna grabbed the wrist in front of her and said, "Then... I'm glad you're willing to offer yourself to the master."
With the lifting force he provided, Zatanna stood up, steadied herself on his shoulder, and brought her fangs close to his neck.
"You better think this through," Constantine suddenly said. "This means you'll never be able to live under the sunlight again, is it worth it?"
"I don't need sunlight."
The spooky voice sounded closer, making Zatanna's eardrums buzz. She really couldn't delay any longer; the immense pressure was driving her insane.
Her fangs pierced the carotid artery, and the hot blood surged into Zatanna's mouth. The strong appetite aroused by the taste of blood failed to allow her to focus on the feast at hand.
In that moment, she realized that the mental bridge formed by the blood was not her channel of attack, but his.
Zatanna screamed in pain, feeling as if a sword had pierced her brain. As the blood flowed, some barrier had been broken.
"John, John... the vampires are coming, they want to block out all the sunlight, think of something quick…"
Zatanna murmured helplessly, and a dark shadow rushed over to embrace the falling Zatanna. Magic brilliance flickered in Constantine's eyes as Zatanna's agonized struggles gradually ceased.
He grabbed Zatanna's wrist, sliced open her arm with a folding knife, caught the flowing blood in a cup, and handed it to the figure in front, then said, "Drink it, and the Initial Embrace will be complete. I need to take her to rest."
Having said that, Constantine didn't even glance at the person, he carried Zatanna back to the bedroom and laid her on the bed.
He gently lifted her lips with his finger and saw the fangs that had retracted, heaving a long sigh.
Constantine had just stood up to leave when Zatanna grabbed his wrist. Even in her dreams she murmured, "Quick, think of something, they're coming, the night is falling..."
Constantine stepped out of the bedroom, saw the other person already sitting on the couch, the cup of crimson liquid half gone, and the bottle of red wine he had yet to drink was opened.
"Who are you?" he asked, standing still.
"You can call me 'Moonlight'."
Constantine spread his hands in a feigned relax gesture, walked across to the opposite side of the sofa, and said, "I know the situation might be grave, but you didn't have to remind us in such a violent way, and I don't think you really need to turn into a vampire."
"Power," he uttered the word.
"Yes, but at a price," Constantine said. "This is not just about power, it's a curse. Anyone who gains the power of blood will have to submit to the King of Vampires... Can you feel him?"
"I'm trying to."
Constantine circled the sofa, sat opposite of him, and said, "Don't get too close to him, or you will completely lose yourself. Even if you possess the power of moonlight, you might not be able to withstand his corruption."
Constantine glanced at the bedroom door and said, "I don't want any part of this mess, but those who come looking for me will never be in short supply. If you've got what you wanted, then you'd better leave quickly."
"It's too late."
As the words fell, a Teleportation Portal appeared inside Constantine's living room. A person wearing a golden helmet and dressed like a Spartan Warrior appeared in the room.
Constantine saw that this self-proclaimed "Moonlight" had a flash of red in his eyes just then.
"Doctor Destiny? No!"
"Constantine, I have come to seek your help. The King of Vampires and his minions want to destroy the Human race. We… vampires?!!"