DC Hellblazer: I'm Constantine

C2. I'm Constantine

After five days in the House of Mystery, Mark (now Constantine) was beginning to grasp his new reality. This wasn't a dream—his fate had changed, merging his previous existence with the life of the infamous John Constantine from DC comics and animations he had once enjoyed as a fan.

Was he disappointed? Not entirely. But he was deeply worried.

John Constantine had screwed up his life in more ways than anyone could imagine. From making deals with the devil to crossing angels, suffering countless attacks, facing multiple death sentences, and being hated by nearly everyone...

The list went on, seemingly endless. If you were searching for the most depressed bastard in the multiverse, Constantine's name would undoubtedly come up, likely at the top.

The guy was a chain-smoker, an alcoholic, and had a penchant for sex with MILFs and the occasional consensual teenager. While that last bit didn't seem so bad, Constantine was already planning to address the more depressing aspects of his new life where he could.

With the fate of his soul sealed, Constantine decided he'd live life to the fullest, unlike his previous existence where he had watched others succeed while only dreaming of his own.

One of the perks of being Constantine was the innate knowledge of magic. He had quickly discovered that he intuitively knew how to use magic—like the first time he made the treasure box hover, guiding it into the House of Mystery.

However, there was a downside. Since he retained the mind of the previous John, all that magical knowledge was a tangled mess. If he thought too hard about a spell, it became difficult to decide on the right one.

His brain was packed with occult knowledge, but according to his memories, it only truly helped when his life was in grave danger, when his survival depended on his wits. And as reckless as he was, Constantine had a strong desire to keep breathing.

One piece of advice kept surfacing amidst the chaos in his mind: "Magic's all in the mind. The trick is not letting your mind get in the way."

With that in mind, he had attained a Constantine-level of magic mastery—which, practically speaking, amounted to nothing unless a potential global catastrophe was at hand.

Another well-known trait of Constantine was his financial situation. He was perpetually broke, a thirty-year-old man who never had a grip on money. Whatever he came across was quickly spent on poker, booze, and women, with little left for actual necessities. After all, what did it matter? He was already destined for Hell and had lived knowing it.

But there was an upside to being John Constantine. As the Hellblazer, he had a knack for walking through fire and coming out unscathed—figuratively, and possibly literally. He had his own way of navigating situations that seemed impossible.

Despite being a conman, Constantine was also the most brutally honest person around—at least with himself. He never gave himself false hope.

During his five days in the House of Mystery, Constantine hadn't touched a cigarette or drink, and his mind was screaming for both. He tried some concoctions, but nothing worked. His thoughts kept drifting to the cellar in the House of Mystery and the lighter in his coat pocket.

He had attempted to study arcane texts on Soul Transmigration, but his mind wouldn't focus. Eventually, he decided to persevere, to see how much longer he could last without giving in. But as he selected a bottle from the top shelf in the cellar, he knew he had already lost the battle.

Just as he popped the cork, a commotion outside caught his attention. He sensed dark mystic forces at play. If he had learned anything in his few days here, it was that demons and dark sorcerers were always after the House of Mystery. That's why it kept changing locations.

However, for the past two days, it had stayed in the same place, which concerned him.

Instinctively, to protect the house, Constantine rushed to the entrance and opened the door. He was met with the sight of three strangers sprinting toward the entrance, pursued by a massive tornado.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of one of them, and he called out in a rare gesture of kindness, "Quickly, into the house!"

They all dashed inside as the house cloaked itself and began moving away. But Constantine's mind was consumed by other things.

The force of the tornado had knocked him off balance, causing him to tumble into one of the visitors—a striking brunette in a magician's outfit.

By sheer luck, fate, or coincidence, his face ended up buried in her cleavage, nestled comfortably against her breasts for a brief moment before he collected himself. That unexpected experience gave him a fleeting sense of warmth and comfort, momentarily distracting him from his pounding headache.

"Er…" he stammered, noticing the intense stare from the woman beneath him. Reading her expression and the situation, he quickly found his manners. "Z-Zatanna, are you alright?" There was a hint of confusion in his voice as he said her name.

Zatanna blinked, momentarily puzzled by his use of her full name instead of her nickname, "Z."

"Yeah, as soon as you get off me," Zatanna replied sharply.

Constantine helped her up and took a moment to observe her companions. He blinked, confirming what he saw.

There was Batman, dressed in his usual attire with his stoic expression, and hovering beside him was Deadman, surrounded by a ghostly aura and still in the red uniform he had worn the day he died.

He stared at them blankly, unsure of what to say. He had barely adjusted to this new life, partly because, since entering the House of Mystery, he'd spent much of his time just trying to navigate its labyrinthine interior—a polite way of saying he had gotten hopelessly lost.

After a long, awkward silence, Zatanna stepped closer and gently grabbed the collar of his overcoat, her fingers delicately brushing the fabric.

Assuming the gesture was a sign of intimacy, Constantine slowly started to lift his hands, as if about to embrace and kiss her.

However—

"Clean coat, no liquor or cigarette smell… perfume? Even shaved your hair and beard," Zatanna observed, her eyes scrutinizing him.

"Dnib mih ni gicam llab!" Zatanna commanded sharply. A glowing magic sphere materialized around Constantine, trapping him in a constraining magical prison.

"Hey! What gives?" Constantine exclaimed, looking at her in bewilderment. He knew she had every right to hate him—after all, he had broken her heart with his reckless ways. But he never expected her to attack him without good reason.

"I've known Constantine for years, and he's never once washed that overcoat—just cloaked the dirt with magic," Zatanna accused. "He's not the type to use perfume, let alone shave!"

"Out with it, demon!" Zatanna demanded. "Reveal yourself."

"Reckon she's an angry ex-girlfriend?" Deadman whispered to Batman. But being a ghost only visible to mystics, his comment went unheard and unacknowledged by the Dark Knight. "Ah, shite!"

"Come on, love," Constantine said, his tone playful. "A simple containment spell? I thought I taught you better."

He rubbed his palms together, generating a crackling electric-like charge. A golden magic bubble formed between his hands, growing to the size of a handball before exploding outward in a circular wave, shattering the barrier that held him.

Landing smoothly on his feet, Constantine flashed Zatanna a smirk. "You can do much better than that."

"Not convincing enough," Zatanna responded, her mystical energy flaring. "Prove yourself, or I'll show you just what I can do."

"Bollocks!" Constantine muttered. "I thought you wanted me to change. Become a better person."

"Hygiene seemed like a good start," he added with a touch of pride.

Zatanna's gaze softened slightly, the intensity of her magic dimming. She studied him closely, as if searching for some sign that he might be telling the truth. Could the notoriously stubborn Constantine really be trying to turn over a new leaf? Was he really seeking a path to salvation?

But that word—'salvation'—was something Constantine had long since abandoned. The possibility of such a transformation seemed... unlikely. Very unlikely.

Practically impossible.

"Think what you want. It doesn't change the fact that you're here for a reason," Constantine said, turning his attention to Batman and Deadman. "So, what brings you lot to my doorstep?"

Deadman began to explain the reasons for their sudden visit as Constantine casually lit a cigarette and took a satisfying drag.

Growing tired of playing middleman between Deadman (a ghost) and Batman, Constantine decided to cut the nonsense. Mumbling an incantation of incoherent words, he cast a spell to materialize Deadman into the material plane, allowing Batman to see and speak with him directly. 

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