Avenge Us, My Blood

"It calls to me."

As the others watched in astonishment, Constantine's hand seemed to move of its own accord, reaching out towards the glass case housing Murasame. With a sudden surge of power, the glass shattered into a thousand shards, and the sword flew into Constantine's outstretched hand.

Instantly, his eyes began to shine with a brilliant purple light, and crackles of purple and black lightning danced around his body. With a swift and fluid motion, Constantine gripped the hilt of the sword with one hand and drew it from its scabbard with a smooth motion, but as the blade began to emerge, his hand left the hilt and moved to the side of the blade, guiding it effortlessly out of the scabbard without ever touching the sharp edge. As he completed the drop, his hand expertly slid down the blade and grabbed the hilt with one smooth motion. However the swords weight was too much for him, making his arm slump downwards.

Kento's eyes widened in shock as he watched Constantine perform the draw. Battō was a precise and difficult technique, exclusive to the use of katanas. It involved swiftly drawing the blade from its scabbard with one hand while simultaneously guiding it out of the scabbard without touching the edge, and it could be used to deliver swift strikes. It was a skill that required extensive training and discipline to master, and Kento was astonished to see Constantine execute it with such proficiency. Moreover, this wasn't a simple battō, but one meant specifically for ōdachi, which even he didn't know.

As Constantine stood there, the ancient blade held firmly in his grasp, an aura of power seemed to radiate from him. With Murasame in his hands, he felt a strange connection to the sword, as if it had been waiting for him all along. An, as he looked upon the gleaming black blade, he couldn't shake the feeling that his destiny was now inexorably intertwined with that of the legendary sword.

As Constantine stood there, clutching Murasame tightly, his mind was suddenly besieged by three memories that were not his own:

In the first, he witnessed an old blacksmith toiling over a blazing forge, his weathered hands turning three magnificent blades into molten metal.

In the depths of his mind, from the voice of the man, reverberated a thunderous chant.

"Ame-no-Habakiri, to cut the demons."

"Ame-no-Ohabari, to cut the gods."

"Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, to cut everything else."

Each syllable carried an ancient weight, stirring something profound within Constantine's being.

As Constantine held Murasame, the flood of memories continued to assault his mind, each scene more vivid than the last. In the second memory, he witnessed a man, his face etched with determination, practicing tirelessly with the Murasame as the seasons shifted around him.

The image then changed, revealing the man in the midst of battle, facing off against armor-clad enemies. With each swing of the ōdachi, he unleashed the power of the storm, lightning crackling through the air as he stood proudly against his foes.

The image changed once more, but the scene took a darker turn as the man's face contorted with rage and desperation, showing him locked in a deadly struggle against warriors that seemed like bandits, his movements fueled by a primal bloodlust. With extreme brutality, he slaughtered the bandits one by one, leaving a trail of carnage in his wake.

Yet, the horror did not end there. In a moment of madness, the man turned his sword upon the very villagers he had sworn to protect. He slaughtered them mercilessly, their screams echoing in the stillness of the night. And finally, consumed by despair and regret, he turned the sword upon himself, bringing an end to his own tragic tale.

In the last memory, a half-crazed knight wearing a peculiar white and golden armor wielded Murasame against an old, white haired man. As the knight charged, the man raised his hand to the sky and lightning descended, forming like a spear in his hand. He threw the lightning at the knight, who, at the same time, sent a slash of energy at him from Murasame. The knight fell to the ground, charred and dead, and the old man fell to his knees, having a diagonal cut on his chest that bled profusely.

Panting, he grabbed the sword and looked up; his eyes, somehow, met Constantine's. "This is my only gift to you." he said solemnly, as his very essence dissolved and got absorbed into the sword.

"Avenge us, my blood." his voice boomed inside Constantine's mind.

With his hand still clutching Murasame, he passed out.

Marcus and Kento watched with growing concern as Constantine writhed in agony, his hands clenched tightly around Murasame. They overheard fragments of words and phrases escaping his lips, jumbled remnants of the memories that assailed his mind.

"Kusanagi… village… blood… avenge them…" Constantine muttered, his voice hoarse with pain.

As the intensity of his suffering reached its zenith, he suddenly went limp, his body slumping to the ground. Marcus rushed to his side, worried and still unable to comprehend what happened.

They both saw blood seeping from Constantine's hand, where it had made contact with the dark blade of Murasame. Before their eyes, the blade seemed to absorb the blood, pulsating with an ominous energy. Then, the sword dissipated into black lightning, vanishing inside Constantine's body. With a deep sense of unease, Marcus turned to Kento with a panicked look.

"Shift! Jane! Come here immediately!" he shouted, his voice, booming through the base.

Shift and Jane immediately rushed into the weapons room. Upon seeing Constantine, Jane's entire demeanor changee. She rushed to his side, gently lifting him in a princess carry as if he weighed nothing, and hurried towards the medical bay with Shift in tow.

Kento, not having moved an inch throughout the whole ordeal, appeared to have remained calm; yet, fear was gnawing at him. He didn't want to admit what had happened, and yet he couldn't deny what he saw with his own eyes.

"A Covenant." he muttered.