(General P.O.V)

Reiryoku is a special type of energy.

It is produced by the spirit from something called the Soul sleep. In a Shinigami, Hakusui (soul sleep) and the Saketsu are very important. The former is the source of all Reiryoku for a soul. The latter is the boost for that same spirit energy. Saketsu is basically the location of the chain of fate on someone's chest.

With the soul being made of Reishi, one can argue that Reiryoku is just personal Reishi, only exclusive to an individual while Reishi is what makes up the world of the spirits.

And taking into account the nature of Reishi to gravitate towards more of it's kind to form what would constituent as physical objects from a Soul's perspective, then it would stand to reason that Reiryoku would do the same. Reiryoku would try to get back to it's owner. To rejoin.

But what if that energy is then contained in a massive magical structure like the Tower of Fate? A place filled with not only magical energy but mysteries of the world. Books on Divine Magic, Spirit magic, artifact creation, sealing scriptures, ambiguous Sorcerer practices and introductory passages on Soul studies?

In that case, you wouldn't really know what to expect.

After the Batwing had left, Constantine looked around the debris and whistled.

"Aye, they did a number on you, didn't they girlie?"

He run his palm across one of the only dim torches around. A flash of yellow and the flame grew brighter, casting the whole chamber or chambers really, seeing that the hallway was no more, in low light.

"Don't worry. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

He relit his cigarette with the flame and brought it to his lips before inhaling the smoke.

"I'm going to need help for this."

He said to himself, using his leg to dislodge a picture with a broken frame.

He crouched, smoke escaping his nostrils and wiped the dust off the broken shielding glass. The picture was of Kent Nelson and a beautiful black haired woman, his wife Inza. He used to talk about her every chance he got.

"Get better sooner ya old codger, last I saw you, you weren't looking too good, mate."

Then he removed the picture inside the frame and folded it neatly before putting it inside his shirt pocket.

"Let's get started then."

He hummed, getting to his feet, about to summon Trogowogs, nasty little buggers that made an awesome cleaning crew.

Without the sheet versatility of Zatara's magic, Constantine would have to make do with them. Besides, this was more his lane. The fact that he could exorcise so well meant that he could tangentially summon well too.

"Been out of practice. I really hope I don't fuck..."

Constantine immediately stiffened, going silent as his back shivered. The torch from earlier went out and with only the light from the scar on the side of the Tower, providing a gloomy light, the whole magical building took on an ominous presence.

Constantine's hand went to his trench coat pocket.

"I don't know who you are or what you want. However, I am in a right pissy mood. So if you know what's good...for...you..."

His voice began to trail off at the end of his statement.

Constantine couldn't believe his eyes. He looked up at the softly pulsing purple light above him. The light was beautiful, in the form of concentrated smoke, it roiled around, combining with the magicks in the air, running down the walls and crevices. Reconstructing...no, healing itself. The Tower was healing itself.

Davian's spiritual energy had gone through a mutation and that mutation was so rare that not even someone as experienced as Constantine knew what he was looking at.

"Bloody hell..."

He muttered, witnessing the unprecedented event only made possible because that was the nature of magic. Unprecedented, untamable mysteries.

Then something changed. Between one blink of an eye and the next, Constantine found himself falling through the air, expelled from the Tower.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Bloody hell!!"

This time he didn't mutter, he yelled.

The last glimpse he had of the tower before it warped away from the Earthly plane was the figure of old man Kent, standing on the hole formed on it's side looking out with a small smile on his face.

"She will need guidance my boy. When the time comes, guide her on how to help them."

The words reached Constantine, just as the Guardian of the Tower unravelled in a misty blue cloak of light.

"Goodbye Constantine."

(Elsewhere)

"I'm so sorry."

The doctor in charge informed a shocked Zatara.

The hospital hallways begun to feel crowded and stuffy. How...how could he...oh the doctor is explaining.

"He was an old man."

The middle aged medical professional told him with a sad and smile.

"Well past his prime. Maybe it was his time to rest. I would rather take what's up there, than what goes on down here any day."

Zatara looked up at the green eyed doctor.

"Christian?"

He questioned.

"Catholic."

She corrected, waving away the expected apology.

"I don't really mind the distinction, we all serve one lord."

Zatara smiled and thanked her, excusing himself as his mind refused to stay focused. He needed air, time to think away from the crowded halls.

He sat on a bench and just covered his face with both of his hands. Kent was dead. Gone. Passed away in his sleep. It was unexpected but Zatara knew that wearing the helmet at Kent's age was a risk.

He might not have gone out the way he wanted but...

"I know you tried to fight him off, old friend. Thank you for everything."

Zatara sent a prayer for his soul, rubbing the cross on his neck.

Now to inform the League and the few members of the Justice Society still alive. Diana would be heartbroken.

(Constantine)

The cold Salem air beat on him as he approached the ground at a high velocity. Constantine would be the first to admit he would normally scream while in such a situation but his heart had grown cold with one realization.

Kent Nelson was dead.

He knew a cryptic farewell when he heard one. Unfortunately, being John Constantine meant he lost very many people.

The ground seemed to be ascending very fast to meet him.

The British exorcist closed his eyes and contemplated not saving himself, getting the freedom he so fervently desired from the troubles of existence. Like the coward he was however, Constantine tapped his breast pocket 3 times.

"Mother of Luck, mother of chance, mother of risk, Flying carpet manifest!"

His trench coat changed form into an Arabian styled carpet that enabled him to float down to the ground at reduced speeds.

The carpet landed on the grassy field that the tower of Fate had occupied previously. Constantine made an annoyed sound as he looked up at the empty sky. The Tower of Fate was nowhere to be seen.

It had warped away.

"And with it Kent's gone too."

John told himself as he stepped off the carpet and watched it be devoured by pink flames, dissolving into the air silently. Unfortunately calling on the mother of three faces, a god of Mongolian mythos meant that whatever he invoked her name on would be sacrificed.

John looked at the spot with the ashes of his trench coat.

"That was my favorite one."

He sighed before patting his pants.

"Got my smokes atleast."

The cocky smile from before was nowhere to be seen however.

Constantine felt his phone buzz on the back pocket of his pants and closed his eyes, pinching the brow below his forehead.

He knew who it was. Sure enough, Batman's caller I.D appeared on the screen.

"Fuck. Me."

(Elsewhere)

The mood around them carried a general air of sadness.

Despite that, Bruce knew Alfred was fed up with his obsessive behavior on the case he was dealing with. It was an old game of theirs, Batman would get lost trying to save a mystery and Alfred would call him out on it.

"She has been constantly watching over him for the last week. Reading to him."

Alfred informed Batman. Or rather Bruce Wayne as his cowl was off, revealing a handsome but tired face.

"Mmmh."

Bruce hummed, tapping away at the controls of the huge Bat computer. Alfred frowned.

"Sir, should I remind you that you're expected at the fundraiser to rebuild the Gotham city docks in 10 minutes?"

Bruce blinked, pausing in place.

"Wait, that's today?"

He asked in a confused tone.

Alfred placed the tray on his hands at the table between Batman and the dozens of terminals before his eyes.

"You have exhibited highly reckless behavior, Master Bruce."

The British butler told him off.

"Not only have you not showered for 2 days, you haven't had a wink of sleep over a similar time period. You are running yourself rugged. Gotham needs a Batman who is well rested. But more than that, it needs Bruce Wayne."

He finished his rant with an unimpressed expression on his face.

Bruce winced sightly at the accusing tone.

"I know Alfred."

He sighed, a glint of determination appearing in his vision.

"But I can't help it. His D.N.A...its completely human. How is this possible? If he was a metahuman, I would've detected the gene. If he was alien, a chi practitioner... something would have stood out. Yet...to the best of my knowledge... he's a normal human being."

"I don't believe blowing up the entire Ace chemical building constituents as normal sir."

Alfred replied, referencing a news report from a few years back on one of the screens. Batman had come to the conclusion that Davian had been responsible.

Not only that but he had a strange connection with Jim Gordon as well. His old friend had known the Kid. Batman intended to pass by Gordon's office and do some more digging.

'There's more than meets the eye to this.'

Bruce thought, staring at one terminal that displayed Davian's room where he was hooked to different monitoring machines.

Next to him, Raven sat on the small seat, legs folded on her lap while reading a book. She was narrating it to Davian.

"Mmmh... something about that location."

Bruce rubbed his jaw, thinking about Alfred's comment.

The Old Butler raised an eyebrow before scowling slightly.

"He's gone."

Alfred told him with finality.

"How can you be so sure?"

The detective asked the butler.

"Because it's been almost a decade. Most ghosts from your past try to come back earlier for revenge. The Red Hood is dead, Master Bruce. Don't overthink this."

Bruce nodded but said nothing else.

"On other matters sir, when are you informing our lovely miss Roth about the sad news of Kent's passing? The funeral is less than a week."

Alfred's tone underwent a more sad and serious change.

Bruce sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. Maybe Alfred was right. Maybe he needed a break.

"Soon Alfred. Soon."