Music is Alphée by heklAa. Play it!

******

My vision swims. I know. I've known all along. But I've been too weak to take action—a disgrace as a Champion of Pst. Bronicus, as I'm sure Lord Hubert would say. He would have plotted to dispose of Sir Isaac once he knew of the truth—that my former mentor is now a vessel for Diomedes.

Then again, I'm glad that I still preserve a shred of my own self. The shred that still values human lives. Or more specifically, human lives which are dear to me.

Sir Isaac—no, the monster wearing Sir Isaac's face spreads his lips into a slow grin. "Diomedes has indeed chosen his vessel well," he says, unflinching despite the fact that Miraterciel is millimetres away from ripping his throat out. The blade screams, a war cry coursing through my veins. It's all I can do to hold it back; it seems to have a mind of its own.

"How?" I whisper. Not a question, but more of a protest in disbelief.

"The wound this stupid knight had taken two years ago." The monster's grin grows wider. More frightening. I remind myself to stand my ground, to not show fear in front of Death itself, for Death is what this creature promises in its eyes. "Didn't any of your beloved Galenni find anything suspicious about his wounds healing so quickly?"

Of course. I remember the Galennus-in-charge informing me of his rapidly disappearing wound. However, since nothing out of the ordinary was detected, the incident had been dismissed.

What a mistake.

"Why now?" I fight the tears in my voice. This is my fault—all my fault. If only I had acted sooner, if only I had paid heed to Sir Isaac's wound two years ago—now it's too late. "Why!"

"The witch has arrived." The monster inhabiting Sir Isaac's body laughs. "Blame her if you must."

Miraterciel trembles in my hand, its obsidian blade reflecting the engulfing flames. They're spreading so fast—the heat clings onto me like a second skin. I should get out of here, leave this fight for another day. But my nerves scream at me, keeping me in place. This is all your fault, they say. You settle this here and now.

"This has nothing to do with Maya," I snarl. "You concocted this. You planned the destruction of the village. Not her."

"But I only moved when my master told me she had arrived in our continent. So isn't it her fault?"

My anger towards the monster wavers. Miraterciel's wail reduces into a sob.

"She was the one who incited this." The monster gestures all about him. I take my eyes away from him for a split second. The chaos sinks into my mind: red and gold swimming in my vision, houses reduced into charcoal, the unlucky few who hadn't managed to escape charred on the streets. "It is she who called for the continuation of the Song of Prophecy."

Abner pushes against my mind warningly. But it isn't necessary for his assistance this time. I steel myself. "Excuses," I say coldly, pressing the athame against his throat.

The monster blinks, confused. "Excuses, you say?"

"I forgot. You've inherited my former trainer's deafness as well," I say. "I shall repeat myself: Excuses."

His eyes narrow. "You would forgive her so easily? She who is a taint on your sacred land? She who led this vessel to his doom?"

I swallow a cry of despair. Sir Isaac is completely gone now. But I can't afford to lose myself and wallow in misery now. Sir Isaac himself would shriek at me for that. I've wasted years of my life to watch you get reduced into a sobbing child in the face of adversity? I can imagine him yelling at me. What a disgrace of a student I have!

"This is not her fault," I say steadily, even as some small part of me twangs in disagreement. "This is my responsibility and mine alone."

"Fool," the monster hisses.

Faster than I can react, he steps away from my blade's reach. With inhuman speed, he crouches and springs forward.

It's pure instinct that drivers me to dodge the attack. Yet a sharp, stinging pain rakes down my right arm. I access my injury—five perfect streaks of blood strike over my bicep. I snap my attention back to the monster—it has claws growing out of its fingernails now. In fact, though I still recognise the face of Sir Isaac, there is something different in the way it's moving now. More feral, more vicious. A creature born of shadows and darkness and death, the sole purpose of its existence to kill.

I've seen something of the like. In fact, I've seen the world through the eyes of that monster.

Through the eyes of Lord Hubert.

This time, I anticipate the attack: another wild lunge, from the way the monster crouches to gain itself the momentum needed to launch. Thank the Pietists my calculations were correct too. If I'd been a split second slower, I would have gained even more wounds.

I should enter the Champion's State. But I require concentration for that—and the monster is not giving me any time to focus myself. I grit my teeth, nimbly, but barely avoiding the attacks. I can't keep this up forever. If only I had my scimitar.

And where are my visions when I need them? I think, exasperated.

Almost as though on cue, an image flashes before my eyes: the monster feigning a retreat, before flanking my side with terrifying speed and seeking to sink its sharpened teeth into my neck. I won't be able to dodge it this time.

The vision fades. The monster retreats.

As per the vision, it flanks my side, closing the distance in a flash. However, the vision has given me ample time to prepare. I brace myself, electing not to run, but to stand my ground.

I bring Miraterciel up just as I'm looking into its jaws.

It howls in pain as the blade slashes across its face. The monster retreats—for real, this time—and holds a hand up to its wound. Blood heavily clogs up one side of its features, blinding it on one side. A small sense of accomplishment sparks in me.

Spoken too soon. Miraterciel abruptly writhes in agony. A similar burning sensation to when I'd stabbed the first infected traverses up my fighting arm. I almost drop it out of shock, but I cling onto it. I can't show weakness—especially not now.

The monster notices my involuntary flinch anyway. It smiles, its wound apparently forgotten. "I advise you to tuck that pretty little knife away, girl. It will do you no good in this situation."

"It seemed to work fine on you," I shoot back.

"This?" The monster widens its one functioning eye. "It's nothing compared to what has befallen Miraterciel."

My grip on the athame tightens. It continues its writhing, growing more uncomfortable to wield by the second. Moments later, I see tendrils snaking out of the hilt, wrapping around me.

They're not my shadows. I refuse to let go of Miraterciel, willing it to fight the darkness—to summon the magic forged within its blade to dispel the curse. It feels like I'm wrestling with an avalanche. It's so hard to find my footing, and it's nigh impossible to find a proper hold on the curse and beat it into submission with my power.

"Too slow," is all I hear before a set of claws bury themselves in my stomach.

I can't even bring myself to scream. The deranged expression of the monster wearing Sir Isaac's face fills my vision. "Never take your eyes away from your opponent," he says, echoing one of Sir Isaac's prime principles in training.

"You—" I gasp, swallowing for air. Smoke fills my lungs instead, and coughs wrack my throat. This only worsens the wound, the monster's claws digging deeper effortlessly. "Don't pretend you're him," I rasp.

"I'm not pretending," says the monster. "I'm merely borrowing his quotes."

"Bastard," I hiss.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Wildly, I summon my strength and raise Miraterciel, stabbing the monster in the arm holding me in place.

With a shriek, it releases me. I collapse onto the ground, blood soaking through the layers of my clothing. My athame clatters beside me, crying out for help. The tendrils grow thicker, wrapping around the blade and extending towards me. Weakly, I bat it away. This is one of the more serious injuries I've sustained over the years, but I should be able to stand up in a few minutes.

Assuming that the monster doesn't try to catch me off guard again.

To my surprise, the monster stands a little distance away. But his stance is non-threatening. It's amused, even. "The strength and cunning of Pst. Bronicus. I'm honoured that I get to face it today."

I clench my jaw, eyeing its movements warily.

"Poor Miraterciel." The monster's gaze lands on the blade. "You've overused it already, I would think."

"What did you do?"

"Me? Nothing. But you did provide some blood. It's quite potent, you know?"

"Blood?" My mind whirls. "When did I ever—" A memory strikes me. My heart skips a few blessed beats. "The cathedral. My offering."

"Not even sacred places are safe from my master's influence, unfortunately."

I take in a few deep breaths, willing myself to keep calm. Keep calm—despite the blood roaring in my ears. The same blood that had apparently granted the power this monster's master needed. "No," I say, my voice no more than a harsh whisper lost amidst the chaos.

"Still in denial? I have no doubts that you've already seen Lord Hubert's memories. You know that the Fire of Life burns in your veins," says the monster. "I assume that no one ever really told you about what it really means."

I stay silent, heart pounding erratically in my chest.

"Well, allow me to clarify." It starts to make its way towards me, slow, taunting, every step leaving a solid crunch in the ground. "Your fire is not ordinary fire—it's life itself, as the name alludes to. It burns, yes. But in its wake, it leaves life. Not as in the physical state. More as in the...spiritual state."

It stops right in front of me. Get up! Abner screams at me. I try do so; my muscles fail me. I feel so detached from my body, as though my mind and my limbs are no longer connected to each other. It's from shock, I realise belatedly as the monster lands a powerful blow into my stomach, right into my wound.

I sputter, too weak to even shriek out loud. Miraterciel. I need Miraterciel. With gargantuan effort, I lift an arm and attempt to reach out to where the athame is supposed to be. The monster kicks it away, the skidding blade screeching in protest. "And can you imagine, if you feed this fire into death, what it would mean?"

The monster steps on my huddled form. One more blow, it knows, and I would be sent into oblivion. "The resurrected would no longer be dead. Before, all they could summon was a shell of their former selves. With the Fire of Life, they regain new life." It pauses. Its teeth flash at me through my blurred vision. "This curse works the same way. Before, it was only a seed of my master to possess the living. However, the victim slowly loses their life over that process. Because of the blood you so willingly gave, the curse evolved into something more potent."

It leans in close; I can feel its breath hot against my ear as it speaks: "That is why Miraterciel cannot dispel the curse properly—for it can only put the dead to rest, not the living."

Constantine, hold on! Abner yells.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Even with Abner inside my head, I can barely feel his presence anymore. All I know is the weight of a boot atop me, the flames devouring everything, and the fact that I just destroyed the only method possible to get rid of the curse.

The boot lifts. I brace myself for the impact. My wound is healing too slowly, and I won't be able to recover in time.

Perhaps I'll finally be laid to rest, and I won't have to see through this any longer.

Just as the thought enters my head, an overwhelming cold burns the heat away.

A bright flash of light floods the entire area. Fortunate that I had my eyelids closed then. A chorus of screams and war cries ensue. Run, I want to tell whoever who's come to my aid. It's impossible to kill him.

The fight rages on. I don't do anything to stop it.

Constantine, please, Abner's voice echoes. Get up.

Why should I get up? If I get up, it means that I have to face the world—my mistakes. I failed them as a Champion; I failed them as a Deathslayer. Both identities are no longer applicable to me. Not when I've tried and tried to fix the problems, only to have created more holes and destruction in my wake.

A true Spawn of the Devil, Diomedes would have said.

"Constantine!" Someone has grabbed my shoulders, shaking me gently. The voice is deep, familiar. In spite of my state, I smile. I can go off in peace listening to this voice, at least.

I wonder which part of the etherrealm I will end up in. The Seventh Hell, perhaps.

"Constantine, you have to get up," the person says, urgency clipping his tone. "I know you can hear me. Open your eyes!"

Something invisible blasts into me. Unwillingly, I open my eyes.

They tear up from the light shining right into them. The person instantly moves to block the light, his figure silhouetted and strong. "Constantine. Get up. We have to move."

Gilbert, I register the craggy features in a slow haze. I try to follow his orders and move, but my limbs weigh like mountains. His eyes travel to the wound on my stomach, widening in understanding.

Without another word, he scoops me up. His skin is icy to the touch. He must have been using his power to put out the fire. "It's all right now," he assures me.

With the last remaining dregs of my consciousness, I say, "Miraterciel."

I finally cave in to darkness.

******

A/N: First off, I apologise for the suuuuuuuper long wait. It was horrible of me, but let's just say that the past few months have been...tough. Really tough. Writing abandoned me for a while; my environment just took a toll on my mental state and I lost motivation.

But anyway, I have some important news for you. I am currently working on another project in preparation for publication. And well, I've decided to officially stop writing 'Legacy'. For now. This is not the end of Constantine's story, and I definitely want to explore it again in the future. However, I also have faith on this project of mine to get me the published author dream that I have been chasing for so long.

Fret not, I will conclude this arc with another chapter. But after that, I will not be updating 'Legacy' on Wattpad in the near future. I'm sorry if this disappoints you, but this is a decision I truly struggled with, and I hope you can understand.

Thank you for coming this far with Constantine. Thank you for laughing and crying and despairing with me. Most of all, thank you for being my Champions.