The replicators spread outward, an expanding tide of chrome and shadow. From within the swarm, a figure emerged—hands spread, smile serene, like a dutiful daughter awaiting her father's praise.
Reese's neural pathways thrummed with satisfaction. The Father had given her no leash, no contingencies—only a single directive: Handle the others.
Under her subtle corruption, the Boa drones had abandoned their original commands. Now, they moved with predatory unity, materializing from cloak mid-charge. Inefficient. She rewrote their parameters in microseconds, forcing them back into shimmered invisibility until impact. Better. Faster.
In the alley below, Snake Root operatives screamed as Boas cut through them with surgical precision. Weapons were stripped from hands before triggers were pulled, armor peeled away in curling strips of metal, their reverence for their masters collapsing into raw panic.
________________________________
Having deduced the Chunin's abilities, Cole knew what to do. The Black Blade was potent, and the holder was nigh-unbeatable, if the playing field was uneven; those things didn't concern him. His esoteric knowledge, supernatural senses, and criminality knowledge had allowed him many avenues.
One path was more complicated, so he settled on the one he seldom sought and one in which he grew quite powerful.
Undisguised with a thought, a gaudy amulet settled above his armor. Its resplendent and archaic imagery wouldn't be lost to those studying ancient histories.
"You're coming with me," Luke roared.
Cole turned, slow and furious, and stared ahead, eyes boring into Power Man or whatever moniker this pathetic iteration took up.
"I had warned you, Defender," he hissed, putting weight on the title like a curse.
"I owe you one… so please resist, " Luke replied.
Cole laughed, his anger subsiding somewhat. Luke's hand pressed against the comm, the action not missed by Cole.
"The Special Agent again?" He shouted across the distance, as the two were at the end and the beginning of the road that cut through Hell's Kitchen, "She still has her claws in you."
Nagami groaned, drawing his ire back; the man barely clung to consciousness. His cursed blade trembled. Had the spirit sensed the amulet now that it was visible? Cole peered at the blade, noting the enchantments were unraveling—Nagami armor failing.
Cole loomed.
"You think you're wolves?" he muttered. "You think you're predators?"
His fists surged. Sparks danced across his fingertips.
"You're just prey."
Nagami growled and gave one last swing. Too slow. Cole blurred forward. Red echoes of his form trailed in his wake.
CRACK.
A cross-punch at point-blank range—Nagami's oni mask crumpled. The blade flew mid-air, halted by an unseen force. It whirled before returning, slamming into Cole's grasp and unbelievably vanishing.
Analysts would catch it on replay.
The instant Cole's hand closed on the Black Blade, his perception shifted—sound inverted, reality unspooled—and the Astral Plane swallowed him whole.
An obsidian sea stretched to infinity, stars burning like dying coals overhead. Far off, a black monolith pulsed with a deep red heartbeat.
He hovered above an endless obsidian sea, the stars flickering like dying embers. In the distance, a black monolith rose, pulsing with a deep red glow
Having an opportunity to wield another aspect of his powers and keep them hidden wasn't lost on him. And with a thought, a partial status sheet appeared.
[9]—>[+12] Occultism: The Host is knowledgeable about various mystical concepts due to his training with the All-Caste and formal training as a Catholic priest.
Force Multiplier-Amulet of Anubis
[9] —>[+14] Superhuman Senses: The Host has supernatural senses, which allow them to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel better than the average species member.
—> [+9] Ectokinesis: The user can create, shape, and manipulate energy unique to spirits and ghosts.
—> [+8] Astral Projection Portal: By manipulating Ectoplasm energies, the Host can project his consciousness, manifest onto the astral Plane, and create portals. However, the Host can only use the astral Plane to port to places the Host haunts.
—> [+10] Transformation: Originally, when Daniel and Kurt's ghosts merge, Daniel's body becomes covered in ectoplasm that gives him various superhuman abilities; because of the unique nature of the Host, this transformation involves all personas, significantly increasing Haunt's parameters.
Red Hood Armor Symbiosis: The joining of your ectoplasm|Bio-Electricity and Haunts armor Amplifies Host parameters to an undefined amount.
Red Hood Cowl: Heightened Mental Resistance.
[0] Claws: Haunt has razor-sharp claws on each finger that can easily decapitate enemies.
[0] Metamorphosis: You can manipulate your ectoplasm to create tentacles, cobwebs, spikes, blades, and other appendages.
Adhesion: Haunt can stick to walls.
limit myself to just these powers to foster growth?' He thought to himself before deciding quickly.
Having fought here before and even on the back foot, he wanted to test other powers and take another avenue, intending to develop himself so that he would not be handled again like Professor X had done to him.
Shadows twisted and clawed at the edges of reality as the red glow of Cole's lantern ring flickered, its light burning away the darkness.
The Black Blade's spirit waited there—a malformed false war god of hate and hunger forged from centuries of bloodshed. Its form was a jagged silhouette of armor and screaming mouths, each echoing the cries of the blade's victims.
The spirit of the Black Blade rose from the monolith—a jagged war-god made of rusted armor and screaming mouths, each voice a stolen death cry.
"You trespass in my dominion, mortal," it rasped, words scraping bone and metal together.
Cole said nothing. He understood. Time is distorted—battles that last hours in the Astral Plane may be seconds in the physical world. Actions can be executed at thought-speed: attacks, defenses, and changes to the world happen instantly based on reflexes and discipline.
Cole floated, armored in a fusion of Red Hood's plating and Haunt's ectoplasmic shell. The Amulet of Anubis spun above his chest like a third heart; its golden fire was the only true light here.
As the spirit in the shape of a war god surged forward, the dark skies cracked open with psychic lightning, and a bolt slithered down, assaulting the obelisk.
The spirit struck first—a soul lance of pure malice. Cole's shield appeared in the same breath, a wall of gold etched with Anubis's sigil. The lance shattered.
The monolith cracked. Reality shifted. They now stood in a graveyard—his graveyard. Jason Todd's headstone loomed, fractured and forgotten.
"Resurrection," the spirit mocked. "Your flesh was promised to another. I will claim it first."
Seven mirrored spirits split from the original, each wielding a warped copy of the sword. Cole's hand dipped to his side, and a long, bone-carved flute appeared—its six finger holes inlaid with blackened silver, faint chi threads running along its body.
Like most of the system-granted gifts, he had intricate knowledge about them, meaning he knew the techniques. He had also added. Only when a demonic spirit attacked did he remember he, too, had demons.
He raised it to his lips and began to play.
The melody was Tayuya's Demonic Flute: Illusionary Warriors Manipulating Melody—a tune that wove genjutsu directly into sound.
The Astral sky warped in time with the notes, and behind the war god, three colossal spectral warriors appeared, each wearing expressionless oni masks and gripping curved blades.
The warriors attacked in perfect sync with the music, their movements a rhythm the spirit could neither predict nor break. The mirrored spirits faltered as tempo shifted, a genjutsu played in conjunction, and summoning closed around them, slowed, bound in place, movements twisting against their will.
Cole advanced, the flute's song never faltering. The spectral warriors struck with each note, forcing the spirit to defend from three directions at once. Illusion or not, the pain they inflicted felt real here.
The false war-god roared, warping its form to break the genjutsu. His Doki anticipated this move in conjunction, and his red lantern ring pulsated. The Doki, by nature, were red ogres or Rage Demons, and his ring resonated with them.
Cole smirked knowingly, his voice cutting through the music.
"Too late—you're already dancing to my song."
The Dokis struck in unison, shattering the last of the illusions and leaving only the spirit itself, ragged and exposed.
The Doki retreated, and their movements reminded him of the shushin technique. They loomed behind him, each focused down at me, their oni mask blocking their faces. Interesting,' he thought, was this the system enhancement, or did these Dokis always hold this effect? He felt them in his head, requesting orders, wanting to be used.
Cole lowered the flute, the beautiful sound fading away. As long as he held it, the Doki would do as commanded. He would have to query the system; maybe there was a summoning scroll for them. He hadn't even realized yet that he had summoned Demons.
He raised the amulet, his voice casting across the astral, and the air froze. Behind him, the colossal jackal-head of Anubis rose from the void, its gaze older than empires.
"By the scales of Ma'at, by the will of the Duat… I cast judgment upon you."
Chains of golden light erupted, binding the war-god. It fought back—shattering the graveyard, dragging them into visions of its making: massacres, betrayals, the forge-fire of the ancient warlock. Cole walked through them all, the flute still whispering faint notes, keeping the spirit sluggish, his aura burning hotter with every step.
With a final pulse, a spectral tether shot from the amulet, spearing the war-god's core. The entity shrieked, its form tearing apart as it was dragged into the amulet's abyss. The seal closed like a sarcophagus lid, the sound echoing across the void.
Reality snapped.
Back in the material world, only a heartbeat had passed. The Black Blade lay silent in his hand.
System Message: Muramasa Blade exorcised. Radiant Achievement – The Black Blade claimed. Reward: Bright Marshall.
Cole smirked—another trophy, like the Phoenix Spark before it. The sword meant nothing to him; the nth-promethium blade at his side was already more than enough.
'Exchange,' he thought. And the system obeyed.