A/N: Music is The Truth Unravels by Two Steps From Hell. Play it!

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I reel back in shock. Diomedes—Diomedes is currently occupying Sir Isaac's body.

Sir Isaac. Disgruntled, demanding, yet caring. I realise that I may not have a chance to talk to him after this.

"Why Sir Isaac?" I say dumbly. "You had Sir Kendrick in your possession. The Bane has a far higher ranking than him!"

"Because," coughs Diomedes, almost as though in apology, "I made the mistake of stabbing him. Unfortunately, with my current power, I can only possess one person at a time. But I see that I've made the right choice." He flashes a smirk. "You seem so much more...agitated."

"What do you want?" I growl, wondering if I can try to reach for Miraterciel. I foolishly forgotten to unsheathe it the moment I stepped into the second laundry.

A sinister smile plays on Sir Isaac—Diomedes' lips. "Didn't you hear? I want the two of you to relay a message to the king."

"Why drag Gilbert into this? Why Sir Isaac? It's me you want."

"Oh my, so your fellow Champion hasn't told you anything? And despite all his claims about trusting you so much..."

Beside me, Gilbert starts to thrash even more violently against the shadows. Useless. They just tighten around him and start to entwine upwards, threatening to choke him to death.

Fortunately, he relents in the end, relaxing against the grip of the tendrils. As an alternative defiance, he shoots Diomedes a fierce glare. "What do you want from him? Stop fooling around with me!" Gilbert snarls. I look at him in disbelief. Is he saying that he's Diomedes' true target? The Pietists must be toying with us.

"You know, if you two don't shut up for a moment, I can never announce my little proposal." The necromancer lifts up a hand and curls two fingers into his palm. The shadows clamp over the mouths of us two Champions. Irritation laces my nerves. He must have somehow known about the compulsion through our voices. And just when I've cooled down sufficiently to use my power, he takes away my ability of speech. If I could open my mouth, a flurry of curses bound to shock the most vulgar drunklord alive would pour forth from it.

"Ah, much better. That's what I prefer—a silent audience." An expression of self-satisfaction splays across the necromancer's face.

Fury gnaws at the pit of my stomach; I fight to keep it down, wanting to keep my head as cool and clear as possible.

"Now, if you two would be so kind, I want the king to know that a ghost army will be breaching this fortress within a month."

Gilbert and I give each other side-glances. I don't have to read his mind to know that we are sharing the exact same thoughts: Why give us a warning? Why doesn't he just launch a surprise attack instead? Most of all, why doesn't he just end it all by killing both of us here and now, the only obstacles on his road to victory?

"Unless...the both of you agree to something." He pauses here; the tension heats up to a nearly insufferable degree. I squirm uncomfortably in my bindings. He casts us a level stare.

"Join my side."

We both stare at him.

"I'm serious," he promises with utmost solemnity.

Now, even if I could speak freely, I'd be speechless. Is Diomedes jesting? Does he really think that we'd agree to turn our backs against the world so easily?

"Before I release your tongues to hear your protestations, consider this: You two may be Champions of War, but you two have yet to fully come into your true capabilities. My point? Don't fight a futile fight. You have a good inkling of who would be the victor, should there be a war between my army and your mortals.

"However, with me, you two can have things even a Champion could never truly have—real power. Really, if you were so precious, then wouldn't the people have placed the Champions as their kings and queens a long time ago? I know the desires of your heart, Constantine, Gilbert. You long to be accepted, to truly belong. Something holds you back though. Something only I know."

I feel myself tensing up.

He smiles—a snake's smile. "And I might just spare disaster from raging across the land."

Gilbert struggles against the tendril holding his tongue in place; no doubt that the muffled yells I hear are curses.

"In conclusion, we can avoid the big conflict if you two come to my side. Besides, neither of you can escape your fate, eventually." Diomedes flicks his wrist, loosening the shadows' hold on us. We're finally free to speak.

"We'll never agree to your terms," Gilbert says. In his audacity, I detect something disturbing—fear. He's never one to show his fear, no matter how dire the situation.

"But maybe Constantine will. After all, she's in possession of an extremely deadly secret. Possibly more deadly than yours, Gilbert Falkner," Diomedes says lazily.

"She?"

My mind goes blank; I feel like a battering ram has just hit my stomach.

No...No, Diomedes just—No! I hardly dare to breathe, as though I can avoid the unavoidable.

"Why yes, 'she'. That's the real reason why she is so dangerous, you know? Because she is a Champion of Pst. Bronicus. And she just so happens to be a woman." I fight to stay immobile, expression neutral. Both of the actions are no easy feat to maintain when a storm is starting to rage within me.

"But then, the Spawn of the Devil—"

"Is her, not you, Gilbert. However, keep in mind that your power is still a sign of the corruption of the world."

'Not you'? What does Diomedes mean?

"Why the sudden silence, Constantine? Where are your usually sharp retorts that I love to hear?" the Master of the Dead taunts me. Gilbert gives me an incredulous stare, as if he's wishing that everything happening right now is an exceptionally frightening nightmare.

I wish that it were so too. I wish that I were another person, in another era altogether.

I wish I hadn't been born in the first place.

"What's there to say?" I reply icily, not betraying any terror I harbour. My fellow Champion's eyes widen. He must have just realised that my voice is every bit a woman's. It's only because I've managed to fool everyone for so long that the idea of me being a woman in disguise is practically unbelievable.

"Oh, you're not denying anything? Interesting."

He completely releases me from the shadows, only locking Gilbert in place. In one fluid motion, I unsheathe Miraterciel, closing the distance between Diomedes and I, aiming the athame for his throat. The necromancer only smiles. He doesn't have to say anything—I can't kill the ghost without killing poor old Sir Isaac. I see my hand trembling; the blade of Miraterciel gleams dangerously at me, disappointed with the weakness of its wielder.

I should do it; I should just kill him. But I can't.

I just can't.

"See, Gilbert? Even Constantine can't do anything because I have her in my power. If even one of you sways in loyalty, there is absolutely no hope for your side in the war." Damn the necromancer! He's just manipulating the two of us now, mainly using me as a minion to persuade Gilbert. To my horror, Gilbert's expression slowly grows in understanding, although there's still a hint of disgust towards me.

"Think about it. Two weeks, I give the two of you. Two weeks before I make my return. Make sure you look out for my summonses by then. If you two don't come voluntarily...let's just say that the discussion will be far less pleasant than I originally intended it to be." Diomedes emits a laughter of triumph. My fingers tighten their grip around Miraterciel; I bare my teeth and snarl at him, helpless.

"Oh, and before I leave, give my thanks to the old knight, Constantine." I release another low growl. "I knew I made the right decision when I didn't kill him the other day. This vessel will come in...useful."

With that, he releases Gilbert from the tendrils and abandons Sir Isaac. My eyes are keen enough to catch the transparent trail of smoke escaping the elderly knight's mouth. He groans and stumbles forwards, free from Diomedes' grip. Then his eyes roll back, and he collapses dramatically onto the ground.

I hurry towards him, checking the wound Diomedes had given him a few days back. I close my eyes as soon as I register the image in my head. Of course, the skin around the wound is crusted with a malevolent black, a sickness eating into Sir Isaac's body and binding him to the necromancer. Didn't the Galenni notice anything?

Tears burn at the back of my eyes. I'm a failure. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, Diomedes is always one step ahead of me. He's in the shadows, always trailing me, watching my every move, planning each careful step. I've only encountered him a few times, and he has already shattered my confidence; I can't imagine how it'll be like if I have to go up against him for years and years of war. No matter what everyone says, I can't save them.

Because I am the Spawn of the Devil. I have drawn the necromancer's attention here; I am the one who brought this calamity upon us.

"Constantine?" Gilbert's voice is tentative, calm even. However, it cannot disguise an undertone of anger and distaste. "Or is that even your real name?"

I wince visibly before drying my tears. Even if I have just been revealed as a woman, there's no reason that I should start acting like one now. "It's my real name," I say stoutly, turning around to look at him.

Gilbert's hair is dishevelled, the mop of black atop his head even more untidy than usual; his lips are pressed into a thin, stern line; his amber eyes blaze with an intensity I've never seen before. I then notice that he's desperately trying to note the contours in my female body. But either out of dread or modesty or repugnance, he's trying to rein in the curiosity. I decide to put an end to the stilted awkwardness between us by reacting promptly to the situation.

"I'll take Sir Isaac back to the infirmary. Can you go and report this incident to Captain Eldric? Be sure to omit the...unnecessary details, of course." I can't believe how steady I sound, with my insides already melted into nothingness. "We can discuss the rest tomorrow."

"Of course," Gilbert replies briefly.

With our due course of action decided, I piggyback Sir Isaac, his arms dangling dangerously around my neck. Gilbert moves on a sudden impulse, wanting to help me, seeing me as a woman who needs to be protected. He quickly withdraws, saving us from any further embarrassment.

We head out in silence, unspoken words weighing thickly in the air. And when we part ways, we don't bother to bid our farewells.

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A/N: Dedicated to l0verofmusic, one of my faithful readers and voters! Thank you so much for your support of this story, and I'm grateful that you've chosen to follow Constantine's adventure -- in spite of her crazy mistress!