The blade came down, but the blood he had imagined did not spray out. Instead, firelight abruptly lit the rainy night. Constantine slowly turned into a cloud of ash, and the ash was beaten into the mud by the raindrops, vanishing without a trace.
Constantine crawled out of the bushes again, pale-faced and panting hard. The piece of bone he had been holding had already turned into gray-white powder. He gritted his teeth and cursed, then pulled a little paper figure from his coat.
He looked left and right, wanting to throw the thing here, but seemed to feel it was not safe enough. So he hurried toward the big tree in the garden. On the way, under a flash of lightning, he suddenly caught a bright glint. Constantine looked around, then carefully walked over and found a mirror lying on the swing.
He picked up the mirror and held it up to himself. Blood gathered into the number "1."
"Fuck!"
The birds startled up by Constantine's curse fell into the eyes of Spider-Man on the roof. Rain washed over his suit, reflecting a dim light. He stared fixedly at a corner of the garden.
A figure in black stood there, soaked even more thoroughly by the rain, like a pale, gaunt ghost. The long, sharp knife in his hand flashed with a deathly cold gleam under every bolt of lightning.
Spider-Man observed for a while. When his skill finished cooling down, he climbed down the wall as silently as a spider again, slowly reached the balcony on the first floor, then circled around to the side door and went inside.
The castle was not brightly lit. Only a very limited number of candles had been lit, flickering in the howling gale. The wind rushing through the halls brought a