Big Brother.
Someone called softly in the darkness.
So annoying. Did they not know he had only fallen asleep at dawn? Could they not keep quiet in the middle of the night?
The man in his dream frowned, silently complaining in his heart.
Big Brother.
That childish voice called again.
There's no big brother here. Please, just stop calling. Have some consideration for a sleep-deprived person, will you?
As if sensing his thoughts, the child sounded a little hurt and whispered, Big Brother… then I'll go.
The voice gradually faded, as if truly leaving. The man, feeling a tinge of guilt, sighed, sat up reluctantly, and ruffled his messy hair. Alright, alright. What's your unreliable brother's name? Where does he live? I'll take you there!
Yet, in reality, he never woke up from his dream. Instead, he found himself before a house of bronze, surrounded by flowers and birdsong.
There are a lot of people outside, Big Brother. The boy said timidly, They… have found me.
The sunlight was warm on the grass. The man, dressed in pure white, sat cross-legged, his presence as serene as the moon. He looked at the child before him, also clad in white, and spoke naturally. Don't be afraid, Constantine.
I'm not afraid. As long as I'm with Big Brother, I won't be afraid. Constantine's dark eyes were firm. But… why won't you eat me? If you eat me, no cage in this world could hold you. You could break free from anything.
The man in white fell silent for a moment before replying in a voice that did not match his true feelings. But that would be too lonely. For thousands of years, it would only be you and me.
No, Big Brother. If you consume me, we will become one. We'll never be apart again. The boy smiled.
Let's wait a little longer… just a little longer.
Sadness flickered in the man's eyes. Lowering his head as if to hide it, he murmured, Before I can devour this world, rather than wandering alone, I'd rather sleep in peace.
When that time comes, will you eat me, Big Brother? The boy asked.
I will.
The man in white nodded lightly, his voice carrying a cold, commanding authority: "When the time comes, you will stand with me and rule the world!"
"I'm leaving, brother." The boy stood up, gazing out the window, and said, "Soon, people will come here. Brother, hurry back. I will wait for you here, wait for you to consume me, and then we will rule the world together!"
"Constantine."
The man in white whispered his name, but flames suddenly appeared before his eyes.
In the blazing fire, the city wept. Thick black smoke blocked out the sun, creating an apocalyptic scene. Countless charred bodies ran through the fire, and thousands of arrows rained down from the sky. Giant plaques burned as they fell, inscribed with the ancient characters "White Emperor!"
At the center of the city stood a flagpole, and a child was hung from the top, eyes tightly shut.
Blood ran down the flagpole, setting the streets ablaze, as the city's flames roared, like a grand funeral held in his honor!
The man in white's heart twisted in agony as he looked at the sacrificed child, fury burning in his chest, his pupils turning into intense golden flames.
"Constantine."
He shouted the name in rage, then, with a grotesque and terrifying snarl, he swung his claws toward the sky, toward the burning city.
Suddenly, the man woke with a jolt, his eyes snapping open. He gasped for air, his body drenched in cold sweat.
The noise of a passing train outside seemed to pull him back to reality, reminding him that everything he had just seen was a lie. He was just an ordinary man.
But that strange voice... it lingered in his mind.
"Constantine."
The man, with his messy hair, stared blankly ahead, feeling an impulse rise within him. He had to go somewhere, to meet that child.
This is absurd. The person in the dream is supposed to be fake, yet the stir in his heart, and the obsession that seems to come from nowhere, are pushing him to go.
Pompeii has been alone in the luxurious presidential suite for five whole days.
During this time, no one was allowed inside. A "Do Not Disturb" sign hung on the door.
If it weren't for the hotel manager checking in multiple times to confirm the situation, people might have thought that the esteemed guest inside had either encountered some kind of problem or perhaps even passed away in the room.
What has entranced Pompeii so much is the black leather book left behind by a man named Zaratul, who claimed to be the leader of the Secret Order. The book was titled The King in Yellow.
The yellow mark on the black cover, like three twisted tentacles, had been deeply etched into his mind.
Since reading The King in Yellow, Pompeii felt as if he had been pulled into an ambiguous, dreamlike drama, listening to whispers from within his dreams.
The experience of constantly sinking deeper into these dreams was nearly driving Pompeii mad.
Each time, he warned himself not to look at that strange book again, but whenever night fell, he couldn't control the urge to immerse himself in The King in Yellow, in the strange and dreamlike world it wove for him.
In the ruins of an ancient city, he gazed at a tranquil, deep lake. Under the light of black stars and the moon, an indescribable entity rose from the water.
Day after day, the dream repeated.
He had tried to escape from the dream, but each time, without fail, he failed.
The indescribable being that rose from the lake moved with the size of mountains, coming closer and staring at him with its blood-red eyes.
Pompeii felt as if he could peer into the mysteries of the stars through those crimson eyes, but each time he woke, he forgot it all.
It was like someone deeply addicted to a drug, experiencing ultimate pleasure, but when they wake up and return to reality, they can no longer bear this empty, boring world.
This feeling was enough to drive him insane!
In the lavish and extravagant presidential suite, traces of destruction were everywhere.
The walls were torn with claw-like cracks, expensive decorations shattered by violent blows, and furniture was ripped apart. It was a complete mess.
Once, Pompeii, who had been graceful and elegant like a nobleman, now looked like a homeless person on the street, disheveled and defeated.
His golden hair was a mess, his eyes sunken deep, and his sea-blue pupils were filled with ugly veins, resembling a crazed addict.
At that moment, a figure in a yellow robe appeared, floating like a ghost.
"Is that you? Zaratul!"
Pompeii's bloodshot eyes stared at the figure, his face twisted in agony as he shouted, "What did you do to me? Why can't I escape that dream?"
"I believe I have already told you, Mr. Pompeii. You are the 'Chosen One.'"
Zaratul sat on the sofa, his bearded face breaking into a deep smile. "The dream is not malicious. You should know very well what you saw, right?"
"But... I don't remember anything!" Pompeii's face was full of pain, his fingers digging deeply into his scalp, his eyes bloodshot. "Yes, I saw... the scenes in the dream, beautiful and strange, as though they held all the knowledge of the world. But... every time I wake up, I can't remember anything!"
"That's because you haven't accepted the 'Blessing' yet, Mr. Pompeii."
Zaratul pulled a crystal vial from his torn yellow robe, filled with a thick liquid.
Under the light, the viscous liquid in the vial seemed to move like a living thing, flowing with a starlight-like glow, rising and falling like a stormy sea.
"This is..." Pompeii's gaze was drawn to the strange liquid, his heart filled with desire and anticipation.
"The Blessing, or you could call it 'Potion.'"
"Zaratul" shook the crystal bottle and handed it over with a light smile. "Mr. Pompeii, do you desire power? The power to surpass the 'Black King' Nidhogg, and even surpass all life itself. If you want it, then drink this 'potion.' It will take you deeper into that dream."
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