DC Hellblazer: I'm Constantine

C4: I'm Constantine

The Dreamstone was an ancient artifact, dating back to the era of Merlin, Camelot, and Jason Blood himself. It was created by a dark sorcerer named Destiny, imbued with the power to induce hallucinations.

After Merlin, with the help of Etrigan the Slayer, defeated Destiny, he sealed the sorcerer's soul within the Dreamstone, which was then split into two parts. Constantine acquired one of these pieces from the Demons Three, while the other was believed to be lost.

But Constantine knew better. The missing half of the Dreamstone was with his old mate Ritchie, who was using it to keep his mystical cancer in remission. Trouble was, with Destiny's soul stuck inside, the stone was messing with Ritchie's head, giving him all sorts of wild ideas about how he could cheat death.

Typical dark artifact bollocks.

"C'mon, Ritchie. You're smarter than this. Destiny's got his hooks in you," Constantine said, lighting a cigarette. "You know he's using you to turn Gotham and Metropolis into bloodbaths with those hallucinations."

"I don't care how deep you're in, mate," Constantine continued, taking a drag. "But mark my words, I'm not pulling your arse out of the fire when Destiny decides to hijack your body."

"You're the last person on Earth to give me advice, Constantine," Ritchie shot back.

"Wasn't giving advice, was I?" Constantine replied with a smirk. "Just stating the obvious. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what you've gone through. No one deserves that."

"Easy for you to say," Ritchie muttered through gritted teeth.

"The key?" Constantine prompted, arching an eyebrow.

Ritchie's gaze hardened. "I'm not handing over a damn thing until I see the stone," he shot back.

Constantine smirked, but he wasn't surprised. No one ever trusted him. "Fair enough," he said, with a shrug. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the Dreamstone piece, tossing it to his mate.

Ritchie stared at it for a long moment, rolling it between his fingers. He'd handled enough magical artifacts in his time to know when something was the real deal. From the alive texture, he could tell that it wasn't some cheap knockoff. 

"Now, the stone," Constantine demanded, his voice full of warning.

With a heavy sigh, Ritchie walked over to a gold-colored box, unlocked it, and revealed an archaic, arcane coin. He handed it to Constantine, albeit reluctantly.

"Pleasure doing business with you, mate," Constantine said, turning to leave. "Oh, and just one more thing…"

"Since you're about to unleash a bloody sorcerer with a god complex, I thought it wise to take a few precautions," Constantine added, almost casually.

"You're as reckless as ever, John!" a voice barked, as a stoic figure stepped out from the shadows.

"Oi! Blood! Good to see ya, you miserable git," Constantine greeted Jason Blood.

Blood growled. "What the hell are you thinking, messing with Destiny?"

"Uh, about that…" Constantine glanced over his shoulder. "You see, the real problem is the bloke legging it with both pieces of the Dreamstone. He's the one you should be worried about."

"Guess it's time to call our old pal Etrigan to clean up this mess," Constantine suggested with a grin.

"I'm sick of your crap, Constantine!" Jason snapped, breaking into a run to chase after Ritchie.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me how you really feel after I save your sorry hide," Constantine muttered, sauntering after him and casting a subtle _hex_ on Jason Blood—a temporary precaution if not strategy. By the time he got outside, Ritchie was already losing control to Destiny, screaming as the dark power overwhelmed him.

"We had a deal…" Ritchie gasped, as the Dreamstone connected and engulfed him in a ball of fire.

Constantine stood back, assessing the situation with a calculated calm. As far as he was concerned, he'd given Ritchie fair warning.

"This is all your fault, Constantine!" Jason Blood growled.

"Blame me, will ya?" Constantine sighed, rolling his eyes. "This was always how it was gonna go down. I just gave it a nudge."

Destiny fully took control, rising from the flames. "Five hundred years I've waited. Five hundred years I've planned."

"Five centuries, eh? And now you're about to get your arse handed to you by a bloke in a trench coat," Constantine retorted, tracing a mystical symbol in the air — a web of triangles within circles. A devastating blast of magic shot toward Destiny. "But hey, I'm a reasonable guy. How about we skip the theatrics and chat over a cuppa?"

"A god does not prattle with mortals," Destiny boomed, surrounding himself with a pulsing, purple runic shield. He conjured his own mystical symbol, unleashing a blast that collided with Constantine's in midair.

The resulting shockwave sent Jason Blood flying, though Constantine and Destiny managed to weather the effects with their shields.

"Gods everywhere these days — Old gods, New gods, even a few Dark ones," Constantine quipped. "So which flavor are you?"

"Not that it matters. You won't be around long enough to earn a membership card," Constantine sneered, launching another blast at Destiny. But it barely made a dent in the sorcerer's shield.

Constantine didn't flinch. He knew Destiny was tough, but nothing was impossible. He just needed to crack that shield.

"Anytime you're ready, Blood," Constantine called over his shoulder, dodging Destiny's attacks.

"Gone, gone, the form of man. Arise, the demon Etrigan!" Jason intoned, and with a burst of flame, Etrigan lunged at Destiny, determined to tear through the sorcerer's shield.

"I've had centuries to think about you," Destiny snarled, watching as Etrigan clawed and hammered against the barrier, dodging blasts of dark magic. Hellfire erupted from Etrigan's sword, but every strike bounced harmlessly off Destiny's shield.

"Bloody hell!" Constantine cursed under his breath, watching Etrigan struggle. But the word "hell" clung to him, echoing in his mind like a bell tolling in the distance. It sparked something darker, a moment of clarity in the chaos. 

His fingers brushed the Keshanti Key he'd just gotten from Ritchie, the relic that could navigate realms—someone's mind, the twisted Faerie, even the deepest, most forbidden corners of existence.

"Bloody hell," Constantine muttered again, his pulse quickening, but this time, it wasn't just a curse—it was the flicker of a reckless idea, a spark of madness. If the Keshanti Key could traverse realms, then what realm could be *more* unpredictable, more dangerous, more *useful* than the hell inside his own mind?

Without a second thought, Constantine grabbed the Keshanti Key from his coat pocket. It was just a *coin*, simple in design, but as he held it, he could feel its power thrumming, seeping into his very bones. "Alright, let's see what this little beauty can really do," he muttered to himself, more as a taunt to whatever gods were listening than a real plan.

He pressed the Keshanti Key to his temple, and the world around him *exploded*. A surge of unholy energy shot through him, invasive, burning, as his mind began to unravel like an old, rotting rope being pulled apart. His consciousness plummeted, falling, spiraling down through endless layers of memories—dark knowledge, buried spells, forgotten faces, and ghosts of things better left forgotten. 

*He was in.*

Flashes of past battles, faces he hadn't seen in years—Mnemoth, Nergal, Dr. Occult. Every occult ritual, every foul fusion with demons and entities he'd once sought power from, haunted him like shadows. The spells he'd promised himself never to use again, the dark pacts he'd made, now clawed their way to the surface, bubbling out like poison. 

*What was I thinking?* Constantine could feel the darkness licking at the edges of his mind. *Sod the consequences.*

But it was too late to stop. His lips parted, and he muttered a string of ancient, twisted syllables that should never have been spoken aloud. The moment he did, the air around him thickened, heavy with magic—raw, uncontrolled, *alive*. The Keshanti Key pressed into his skin, shifting like a third eye, searing into him, burning his forehead. It wasn't just physical pain anymore. It was *him*—his soul—being cracked open, stretched thin.

Brown streaks of raw magic swirled over his skin, as if his very body were becoming a conduit for the impossible. His eyes lit up, glowing with the green fire of forgotten knowledge, as sparks erupted from his body. Symbols and runes danced in the air around him like some sort of demonic symphony, tangible, real, and raw.

Etrigan, momentarily distracted by the violent surge of energy, gave Constantine a glance—wild and fierce—but was cut short when Destiny's blast slammed into him.

"Oi, don't die on me, you overgrown salamander!" Constantine shouted, barely able to hear himself over the roar of an impending storm. But his voice, though defiant, was only a whisper against the overwhelming noise of the air, now thick with sulfur. The stench of it flooded his senses, like the world itself had opened up and released a nest of demons. *God, what am I doing?*

Destiny paused, watching Constantine with a look of boredom that quickly soured into impatience as he saw the unfolding spectacle.

Constantine's body rose off the ground, caught by an unholy wind, thrashing around him like a storm. Blood poured from him—not from a wound, but from *everywhere*. It seeped from his pores, his eyes, his very soul. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Only the slow, torturous drip of blood, floating in the air in front of him, formed into forbidden sigils—Eldritch letters, demonic glyphs—glowing with the black fire of things that no mortal should ever witness. The symbols hovered, twisting in the air like vultures circling their prey.

The sight was enough to make even Destiny pause, his sneer twisting into a look of contempt. "Foolish mortal," he spat, weaving a purple ball of energy in his hand, twisting it with lethal intent. "Your theatrics bore me."

But Constantine didn't flinch. His blood surged around him, and for a moment, *he* was the magic, the storm, the god—*until the attack came*.