As Constantine grew stronger, he felt the faint pull of the castle. It was like a thread tugging at the edge of his consciousness, a reminder of the turmoil brewing in the mortal realm. He could feel the ripple of Nauthiz’s anger, the raw energy of Dracula’s power clashing with the faith of the paladins.

But he didn’t turn back.

“Not yet,” he muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the spectral air. He clenched his fists, the ectoplasmic glow around him flaring as he absorbed another phantom. “Not until I’m ready.”

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The pull of the castle grew stronger, but Constantine ignored it. He could sense the danger—knew that Nauthiz was facing a threat that could unmake them both. Yet he knew his current strength wouldn’t be enough. The power he had now was a fraction of what he would need to protect her—or him.

And so, he continued his hunt, tearing through the spectral plains with a singular focus. Each phantom he consumed brought him closer to the strength he craved, the power he needed to stand against the forces that threatened their fragile kingdom.

As he absorbed the last of a powerful warrior spirit, Constantine paused, his gaze drifting toward the faint glow of the mortal world in the distance. His form rippled with energy, his presence a cold, unyielding force.

“Soon,” he said softly, his voice carrying both a promise and a threat. “Soon, I’ll be ready.”

With that, he turned and vanished into the mist, the spectral plains trembling in his wake.