DC Hellblazer: I'm Constantine

C5. I'm Constantine

Constantine's eyes flared with a cold, unnatural glow as Destiny's energy ball hurtled toward him. The force behind it was enough to obliterate almost anything in its path, but Constantine didn't even blink.

"Wonder how it'll fare against the First," he muttered darkly, his voice thick with a quiet amusement that barely masked the mounting tension. He waved his hands, guiding the bloodied symbols circling him. With a sharp flick, they collided—sparking a powerful force. The symbols fused together, forming a crackling, demonic shield just in time to absorb Destiny's attack, detonating with a low explosion.

"Er…" Constantine grunted, feeling the reverberation of the blast slice through his skull, a sharp pain searing with penance behind his eyes. The symbols flickered, unstable, before the Keshanti Key pulsed with force, stabilizing the magic. A flicker of an ancient, enraged demon's face flashed across the air, a furious scowl etched into the specter before it vanished. The dread it left behind was fleeting, but enough to send a shiver down Constantine's spine.

He shook off the unease, the thrill of power filling the void. "Such power," he marvelled.

"That was the First of the Fallen. He didn't take kindly to your little stunt," Constantine said, his voice more amused than afraid. He adjusted the symbols, fingers dancing through the air. "And that's barely a taste of demons I call 'friends.'"

Destiny's fury was tangible. He gathered an even larger surge of energy, his hands rumbling with dark might. 

Constantine didn't flinch. Instead, he gave a theatrical yawn, picking at his fingernails like he had all the time in the world. "Who should I summon next?" he mused, fighting the pain gnawing at his head, the pulsing throb in his skull. The air around him was thick, sour with sulfur, the stench of demons rising. It felt like stepping back into Hell without the comfort of knowing he'd leave it behind.

"Time to meet your maker!" Destiny's voice ripped through the air, filled with primal rage as he hurled the massive blast toward Constantine.

Constantine's smirk deepened. *Let's hope Nergal's feeling generous today,* he thought, clashing more symbols together, binding them with his trickling blood fingers.

In an instant, a massive, towering figure erupted from the symbols—Nergal's visage, dark and imposing, his form like a living shadow. He swung his enormous axe, cutting through Destiny's oncoming blast with terrifying ease. The energy split in two, fizzing out in the air as if it had never existed. Nergal's gaze turned to Constantine, the demon's eyes flashing with contempt—like a predator deciding whether to rip Constantine apart or simply let him squirm.

But before Constantine could savor the moment, Nergal's form began to unravel, his shadowy body disintegrating into wisps that scattered like ash in the wind. 

Constantine let out a deep breath, his grin never faltering as he turned to Destiny. "Not bad, eh? Nergal doesn't just show up for anyone. Now, Destiny, how about saving us both some trouble and handing over the stone?"

The pounding in his skull flared up, but Constantine waved it off, hoping that Destiny would show at least a modicum of reason. But, of course, that was never the case.

Destiny's glare deepened, fury twisting his features as his focus shifted to the swirling symbols around Constantine, the unsettling energy that filled the air. "What trickery is this?" Destiny sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Constantine shrugged casually, as if summoning demons and blood magic was nothing more than a weekend hobby. "Like 'em? Just a peek into my brilliant mind, mate. A quick summon here and there. Hell of a lot of trouble to pull off, but worth it. You'd be surprised what a few *favors* in low places can get you."

Destiny's rage surged, his fists glowing with malevolent purple energy. "I am beyond such tricks! You cannot stop me!"

Constantine chuckled, the sound dark and rich with irony. "Trust me, I'm just getting started. You've had a good run—five hundred years of scheming, and now? You're getting trounced by a bloke in a trench coat. Hand over the Dreamstone, and maybe—just maybe—I'll consider showing you a bit of mercy."

Destiny's face twisted, his fury boiling over as he summoned another wave of energy, the sheer power of it filling the air. "The world shall bend to my whims. You are nothing than a speck of dust in it, incapable of stopping my ultimate conquest."

With a roar, Destiny hurled the full force of his wrath at Constantine.

Constantine's grin stretched into something darker, wilder. "Getting physical, are we? Blight should be perfect for this!"

With practiced speed, Constantine's fingers moved, pulling together the remaining symbols—one demonic, the other an intricate series of incantations that seemed to squirm in the air. Blood dripped from his hands as he activated the magic, his body convulsing in violent transformation. His features distorted, the change agonizing and unnatural, but purposeful. In an instant, the hulking form of Blight, his old nemesis, stood before Destiny.

The power was overwhelming, demonic strength flooding Constantine's veins. This wasn't just a summon; it was a manipulation—a dangerous game with his own soul, forcing the demons he'd once bargained with into submission. He was twisting their power for his own gain, holding their autonomy hostage. And in that recklessness, there was something intoxicating.

*What's the point of having all this knowledge and power if I can't use it however I damn well please?* Constantine thought, the thrill of it surging through his veins. *Superman doesn't pay the price for flying around like a bloody god. Maybe the rules need to change.*

Blight's form towered over Destiny, the two locked in a terrifying standoff. Constantine moved, faster than humanly possible, each blow landing with the force of a thunderclap. His fist crashed into Destiny's shield, a shockwave of demonic power rippling through it. Destiny's defenses began to crack, the purple energy splintering as Constantine's strikes grew stronger, more relentless.

It didn't take long for the shield to collapse entirely. Destiny stood exposed, vulnerable. Constantine's fist shot forward, slamming into his chest with all the power he had left. The impact drove Destiny into the ground, a deep crater forming around him.

For a moment, the demon's guise vanished, revealing Constantine's face as the Blight form crumbled away, leaving only Constantine standing victorious, bloodied but unbroken.

"Alright, you sorry sod," Constantine muttered, pulling the Dreamstone from Destiny's broken body. "Told you, you wouldn't last long enough for a membership card."

He turned the stone in his hand, chanting an incantation as it twisted, warped, and turned into a viscous, putrid black sludge. It melted into the sand, consumed by the earth itself.

"Even in ashes, I'll outlast your pathetic triumph," Destiny hissed, his form flickering as he began to fade, leaving behind only a battered and broken Ritchie.

"Some god you were," Constantine sneered, his voice sharp with disdain as he turned his attention to Ritchie. The man was trembling, desperate, the fear etched into his face as he reached for Constantine, his voice a panicked whisper.

"Please…" Ritchie pleaded, his eyes wide with terror as the ghouls returned, emerging from the shadows with a hunger that could no longer be ignored.

"Sorry, mate," Constantine muttered, stepping aside as the ghouls closed in. "Better luck next time."

He didn't wait to see the ghastly scene unfold. Instead, Constantine's gaze shifted to where Etrigan had fallen. The demon cradled the broken form of Jason Blood, their bond torn asunder by Destiny's blast. Blood's old wounds had reopened, and he was bleeding out.

Constantine recalled his little hex-slash-temporary precaution.

He was about to throw a quick one-liner about saving Jason's sorry hide, but he never got the chance. Not after what he'd done. His head had already had enough. The magic of the Keshanti key that had held everything together until now was starting to unravel. Once it was exhausted, the coin pressed against his forehead, burning and searing into his skin like an engine pushed past its limits—hotter than hellfire, a gnawing pain that dug into his very soul.

"Eerrr...!" Constantine gasped, his palms clutching at his forehead, trying to stop the world from slipping away. He could feel his skin blistering under the weight of it, his fingers digging into his skull as if he could hold the shattered pieces of himself together. _It wasn't supposed to be like this._

But the second the Key fell from his forehead, the dam broke. The pain wasn't just a headache—it was a _catastrophe_. It detonated inside his mind, an explosion of white-hot agony that shattered everything. He didn't scream; he _couldn't_ scream. It was as if his throat had been cut open from the inside, his body frozen in place while the searing needles of pain tore through him. A thousand knives digging in at once, twisting, ripping at the very core of his being.

His vision went black and then exploded into color, fracturing into jagged shards of light, each one sharper, brighter, crueler than the last. His thoughts weren't his anymore—_nothing was his_. He felt himself being pulled apart, his soul unraveling, each second stretching on endlessly as every piece of him screamed for mercy.

His chest heaved in panic, but no air came. His heart pounded, but it was a beat too slow, as if the very rhythm of his life was being stolen from him. His body was betraying him, his own breath stolen by the crushing weight of magic he had no right to command. He wanted to beg, to scream, to tell the world to _stop_, but the agony was too loud, too relentless. His skull felt like it was going to crack open, his mind shattering like glass, scattering into pieces too small to ever be put back together again.

And then, through the haze of pain, there was something _else_. A voice, whispering just beyond his reach. It laughed—cold, hollow, knowing.

_You wanted this,_ it seemed to say. _You always want this._

Constantine wanted to claw it out of his head, but his hands were useless, shaking, the pain so overwhelming that all he could do was breathe through it—_barely breathe through it_. And then came the nausea, the burning bile crawling up his throat, sharp and acidic. He tried to stop it, but it didn't matter. He retched violently, the taste of vomit more like poison in his mouth than anything natural. It wasn't just the _sickness_—it was the feeling of losing control, of being consumed by something far darker, far _older_ than he could ever understand.

He wanted to die. He wanted to escape.

But the moment dragged on, and Constantine _sank_ into the pain.