Marvel: The Enlightened One#157+158: Johnny Finally Reunites with His Father, The Power of a Classic One-Liner, Hawk vs Mephisto

Hey everyone! Hope you’re all having a great day⭐.

I’m currently working on a Demon Slayer fanfiction that I’ll be releasing in the next few days. It’s going to be a fun one, a mix of a system story and comedy, with a main character somewhat like Rimuru Tempest. I think you’ll really enjoy it.

From now on, I’ll be posting only two chapters of Marvel fanfiction each day. Most creators usually do one chapter daily, and some manage two, but I’ve been one of the very few who release three every day.

Cutting down to two chapters will let me focus on quality over quantity, giving each release more polish while also giving me time to work on new fanfictions, not just Demon Slayer, but several others I’m excited to share soon.

Thank you all for the support 🙏

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The sky was gray.

Ash drifted down endlessly, and the air was thick with the reek of sulfur.

This was Hell.

The moment the vortex swallowed the Ghost Rider's remains, his form came apart.

The Spirit of Vengeance tore free in a streak of light, shooting toward the only structure worthy of the name in this desolate dimension—Mephisto's palace.

Johnny Blaze, meanwhile, hit the ground face-first, slamming into dirt that was equal parts blood and ash.

Before he could even process where he was, a furious roar echoed from Mephisto’s palace. It was a sound of rage and disappointment.

"HAWK!!"

THUD.

Johnny had just managed to push himself off the gore-soaked ground when his feet left the earth entirely.

His hands shot up instinctively, clawing at the scaled, clawed hand now wrapped around his throat. He stared up into the face of the demon holding him—and his pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Charred crimson skin.

Jagged, uneven fangs.

Nostrils that flared with embers.

Massive, twisted horns jutting from a grotesque skull.

Mephisto. Lord of the Hell Dimension.

"You..."

"Useless Creature."

Mephisto's voice was dripping with disdain. He didn't bother hiding his disgust as he glared at the pathetic soul dangling from his grip.

Then, without ceremony, he hurled Johnny aside like trash.

Johnny hit the ground hard, gasping, scrambling back to his feet. He looked up at Mephisto, disoriented, confused—still convinced he was on Earth, with no comprehension that he'd died and was now standing on his master's home turf.

"Hey, you lied to me! You said all he had to do was look into the Rider's eyes and he'd—"

SLAP!

Mephisto didn't let him finish. His massive hand lashed out, backhanding Johnny across the wasteland.

The demon's golden pupils flickered with barely restrained violence. Smoke and embers poured from his nostrils, as if the air itself might combust at any second.

Johnny staggered to his feet again, dazed, his mind reeling. He'd always known Mephisto as the suave, well-dressed gentleman.

This... this brutal, merciless creature—was something else entirely.

But more than that—

"It was your lie. So this isn't my fault. Where's my father?"

“You pathetic worm!”

Mephisto's golden eyes burned with cold contempt. "If you weren't so arrogant and stupid, you never would have given him an opening. As long as the Spirit of Vengeance stayed fused with you, his attacks were meaningless. But you… you were foolish enough to separate yourself from the Spirit!"

He didn't understand how Hawk had resisted the Penance Stare.

But he knew one thing for certain.

As long as Johnny had stayed merged with the Rider, even the Sorcerer Supreme herself could only have imprisoned him—not destroyed him.

The Ghost Rider was supposed to be invincible. Even in a battle of attrition against Hawk, the Rider would have eventually won.

This stupid, self-important insect had completely ignored his instructions. Not only had he failed the mission, but he still had the audacity to demand his father.

If Mephisto had ever thought Johnny was clever, that illusion was now shattered. He looked at him with nothing but loathing.

At that moment, Two Hell-spawn demons descended on leathery wings, landing at Mephisto's side.

He forced himself not to crush Johnny's soul on the spot. "Take this imbecile to the cages. I want him to spend the next ten thousand years experiencing the despair and agony of being separated from his father. Every. Single. Second."

The demons nodded. Without a word, they closed in on Johnny.

Johnny's face went white.

“No, you can’t do this! You tricked me!”

"NO!"

"We had a contract, damn you! Give me my father!"

"No..."

The demons ignored his pleas. They grabbed him, their wings beating as they lifted off, carrying him away from the palace.

Johnny's desperate screams echoed across the wasteland, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared entirely.

...

Mephisto stood alone, smoke still pouring from his nostrils. Only after Johnny was gone did he finally turn his attention to the memories the Spirit of Vengeance had brought back.

The next second, his massive demonic frame shuddered, and another roar, this one filled with a new, even more profound rage, tore from his throat.

"HAWK!!"

Mephisto's demonic eyes blazed as he absorbed the memory the Rider had witnessed outside the cemetery.

His son, Blackheart, was dead.

And… the fragment of the laws of life and death had been ripped from him.

Instantly, Mephisto understood. He knew why Hawk had been able to resist the Penance Stare, why he hadn't been dragged down to Hell.

Because Hawk's soul no longer belonged to Hell.

But—

'That's impossible. It's only been two days. Maybe not even that.'

Mephisto's mind raced, disbelief warring with cold logic. He focused on the memory, tracing the Rider's path to the volcano, sensing the lingering presence of the Elemental Demons.

Even if Hawk had absorbed the four Elemental Demons and his son’s fragment of the laws, it was impossible for him to have created a new underworld dimension in just two days.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And a dimension certainly wasn't.

More importantly, as the current Lord of Earth's afterlife, Mephisto would have felt it if a rival death-domain had tried to stake a claim. Any new dimension attempting to compete for human souls would trigger an immediate, instinctive alarm.

He'd felt nothing.

"Who did you sell your soul to?!"

Mephisto's eyes flared. He slowly raised his head, staring up at the dissipating Hell-vortex that had dragged Johnny down.

His son was dead.

His plan to claim Hawk's soul had failed.

But despite the rage burning in his chest, Mephisto wasn't afraid.

Why? Because he still held the ultimate trump card.

Hawk's sister.

Through his probing, Mephisto now understood exactly how important Anya was to Hawk. He was certain of one thing: Hawk would do anything for his sister. And right now, her soul was in his hands.

A cruel smile twisted Mephisto’s demonic face.

“I own you,” he whispered.

"Hawk."

...

Texas. The Canyon.

Back in the canyon, Hawk—who'd been using the laws of life and death to pinpoint Hell's coordinates from the dissipating vortex—opened his eyes. He glanced up and saw Sharon running toward him.

"What are you doing here?"

"The satellite showed you hadn’t moved in over ten minutes. I was worried something had happened, so I came to check."

She swept her light across the canyon floor, carefully avoiding loose rocks that might twist an ankle.

Hawk listened to her explanation, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Weren't you worried that if something happened to me, you'd just be rushing to your own death?"

Sharon looked up at him, dead serious. "You're the guy who dragged Thor to Mars for a fight and came back without a scratch. If you're in trouble, my job is calling Commander Hill and telling her to get the Avengers back together."

Hawk let out a short laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Good."

Sharon smiled, then glanced around, curious. "So... where's Johnny Blaze?"

Hawk's gaze dropped to the ground, right where Sharon was standing.

Sharon followed his eyes and looked down.

A blood-red stump of a neck protruded from the dirt, still oozing.

Sharon processed what she was looking at in 0.01 seconds, sucked in a sharp breath, and instinctively stumbled backward.

Hawk watched her hop back like a startled rabbit, a faint smile on his lips.

"Relax. I didn't do that. He pulled his own head off."

"He... what?"

Sharon blinked, still rattled. Then she remembered the surveillance footage—Johnny Blaze transforming into a flaming skeleton. "Oh. Right."

She swept her flashlight around the canyon again.

"So where's the head?"

"There." Hawk pointed to a pile of fine white fragments scattered across the ground. "See those? That used to be his skull."

Sharon's light found the debris. It looked like something had been run through an industrial grinder.

She stared for a beat, then shrugged. "Well. Okay then."

Hawk raised an eyebrow. "You sound disappointed."

“I am.”

“Oh?”

"Don't get me wrong—I'm not disappointed you're alive. I'm disappointed he's dead."

"..."

Hawk said nothing, just looked at her.

Sharon caught herself and clarified. "You know I came to Texas to see his stunt show, right? I had front-row tickets. This is just... frustrating."

Hawk smiled faintly.

Sharon quickly pulled herself together. "Since the fight’s over, are you ready to go?"

Hawk shook his head.

"I've got one more stop to make."

"Where? I can drive you."

"Hell."

"..."

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The moment the word “Hell” left his lips, the friendly concern on Sharon’s face evaporated. She just stood there, frozen.

After a moment, she snapped back to reality and stared at him.

"What?"

"Hell," Hawk repeated calmly.

The next second, his Life-Death Law locked onto the coordinates of the Hell dimension through the fading vortex left by Johnny Blaze's soul.

Without another moment of hesitation, he threw a punch.

BOOOOOOOOM!!

The Law coiled around his fist, and the instant it made contact with the air in front of him, space shattered like glass. A moment later, a pitch-black vortex materialized—reeking of death and malice—swirling open before him.

Through the portal, Hawk could see it clearly: the towering black Gates of Hell on the other side.

Sharon stood beside him, her mouth hanging open.

"I heard there are jackals out here at night," Hawk said casually, glancing at her. "You should head back. Don't wait up."

Before she could respond, he stepped forward and disappeared into the death vortex he'd punched into existence.

WHOOSH.

The instant his form vanished, the surrounding air collapsed inward. The vortex sealed shut, leaving no trace behind.

Silence fell over the canyon once more.

Awooooo!!

From somewhere nearby, a pack of jackals—sensing the departure of a predator far above their weight class—emerged from their hiding places and howled at the full moon overhead.

Sharon snapped out of her daze at the sound. She shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and sprinted back toward her car parked outside the canyon.

...

At the Gates of Hell.

One step through the vortex, and Hawk emerged on the other side—standing directly in front of the Gates. He looked up at the massive structure, recognition flickering in his eyes.

He'd felt this gate before.

Back when the Hell Witch had summoned his sister Anya's soul to the surface, he'd sensed it—this exact door.

And he remembered something else, too.

Right before Anya had been dragged back down, he'd felt them, the evil spirits lurking around the gate, clawing and snapping at her soul as it fell.

His gaze shifted, scanning the area.

The Gates stood at the edge of a bottomless cliff. Thick black fog—impenetrable to mortal eyes—shrouded the surroundings, marking the boundary between life and death.

And within that fog... countless wraiths. Spirits too stubborn to pass into Hell, too damned to return to the living world.

The moment Hawk's eyes locked onto the mist, the wraiths inside stirred.

They'd been starving for God knows how long.

And now, fresh prey had arrived.

SCREEEEEEEEE—

The wraiths shrieked in unison, a bone-chilling chorus that echoed across the void. The fog surged forward like a living thing, rushing toward Hawk in a massive wave.

They couldn't sense how strong he was—and honestly, if they could, they wouldn't be wraiths in the first place.

But more importantly?

They were hungry.

In seconds, the black fog swallowed the space around him, blotting out everything. Countless skeletal claws reached out from the mist, grasping and tearing, trying to drag him into the abyss.

Hawk watched the spectacle unfold, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He lowered his right hand, and slowly, deliberately, began to close his fist.

Ten seconds later, he turned his back on the now-dissipating mist and, with a single, focused burst of power, slammed his fist into the Gates of Hell.

“MEPHISTO!”

“GET THE HELL OUT HERE!”

BOOOOOM!

A thousand fist shadows hammered into the Gates of Hell.

The massive gates—supposedly indestructible—groaned, cracked, and toppled backward with a deafening crash. The sound of their collapse echoed like thunder across the Hell dimension, reverberating through every corner of Mephisto’s domain.

...

Back in his palace, Mephisto had just returned to his throne, already scheming his next move, how to trick Hawk into handing over his soul voluntarily.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

A second later, Hawk's voice roared across the dimension, clear as day. Mephisto shot to his feet.

'Impossible.'

'That's impossible!'

'His power shouldn't be able to breach the boundary between life and death. He shouldn't be able to reach my Hell.'

'Unless...'

His eyes widened.

'Did he lose his mind?'

The thought sparked a flicker of excitement. If Hawk had come here in a rage, driven by emotion rather than reason...

Mephisto grinned. Without another moment’s hesitation, he vanished from his throne. When he reappeared, he stood in the very spot where he had backhanded Johnny Blaze moments earlier.

The next second, Hawk materialized before him.

Mephisto, still wearing his gentlemanly middle-aged human guise, smiled warmly.

"Hawk! Welcome to my Hell."

"I’ve killed your rebellious son." Hawk's tone was flat, his gaze steady as he watched Mephisto perform his little charade.

"..."

Mephisto's eyes lit up. His voice dripped with feigned gratitude. "Thank you! Truly. If I could've made it to Earth myself, I would've cut off his head personally. But since I can't leave Hell right now, I really appreciate you taking care of—"

Hawk cut him off. "Oh, right. I was worried he'd come back down here and then climb back up to bother me again. So I destroyed his soul, too. Hope that's not a problem."

The Life-Death Law had been bound to Blackheart's soul. To claim it, Hawk had needed to crush the soul entirely.

But since Mephisto wanted to play games...

Hawk figured he'd play along.

'Nothing better to do. Might as well mess with the guy.'

His heightened senses caught the flicker of rage that flashed behind Mephisto's eyes the moment the words left his mouth.

But Mephisto recovered instantly, forcing a laugh.

"A problem? Of course not! I should be thanking you even more. If that idiot had succeeded, the Sorcerer Supreme would've shown up at my doorstep. You’ve saved me from a great deal of… inconvenience."

As he spoke, Mephisto shifted gears, his tone turning warm and inviting.

"Come on. Let's head back to my palace. Anya's there waiting. We'll have a drink, catch up, and then I'll bring her out so you two can have a proper reunion."

The subtext was clear—Your sister's in my hands.

Hawk ignored the veiled threat entirely. He smiled politely.

"I’ll pass on the drink. Just bring my sister here. I’ll take her and be on my way."

Mephisto blinked.

"You found a body for Anya's soul already?"

"I can take her now and find one later. Just find some random person on the street, chop them up, and shove her soul inside while the body's still warm. Better results that way, right? Fresh is always better. Don't you think?"

"..."

The word ‘fresh’ seemed to make Mephisto’s brain short-circuit. He forced himself to recover.

"That—no, that's not acceptable." His voice was firm, almost scolding. "We had a deal, remember? You find a suitable body first, and then I release your sister."

Hawk just sneered internally.

Mephisto pressed on. "Look, let's just head back to the palace. You did me a huge favor. The least I can do is show my appreciation properly. Besides, your sister's already there waiting."

His enthusiasm didn’t wane. If he could just get Hawk inside the palace, the bastard would be a sitting duck.

Technically, he could kill him right here, too.

But doing it in front of Anya? Watching her face as he devoured her brother's soul? Now that would be exquisite.

Mephisto's mind swam with sadistic glee, even as his expression remained the picture of gentlemanly hospitality.

Their eyes met.

Hawk chuckled softly.

"Forget the body. Just bring me her soul, Mephisto."

"..."

The warm, considerate smile on Mephisto's face slowly faded as he held Hawk's gaze. His expression darkened.

"What, you don't trust me?"

"Not even a little."

"..."

Mephisto stared at him, his face devoid of emotion.

Hawk stared right back.

Finally, Mephisto spoke again. This time, his voice was cold. "Hawk. Do you know what your biggest mistake was?"

"Oh?"

"You're too arrogant. Just like that idiot Johnny."

Seeing that his trap had failed, Mephisto dropped the act entirely. He sneered.

"If you'd stayed on Earth, I couldn't touch you. But now that you've walked into my Hell? You're not leaving."

As he spoke, the sound of skin tearing filled the air.

RIIIIIP!!

In seconds, Mephisto's seven-foot demonic form burst free from the five-foot-six human shell he'd been wearing.

Horns, a tail, and the stench of brimstone. Mephisto, in all his demonic glory, glared at him, his nostrils flaring with embers. “To use a human phrase: Heaven has a path, but you chose not to take it. Hell has no gate, but you came knocking anyway.”

Hawk's expression didn't change. He looked up at Mephisto's demon form, his tone still calm.

"So you never planned to release my sister's soul."

"HA! HAHAHAHA!"

Mephisto's laughter boomed across the barren landscape.

"Release her? I lied, you idiot! Demon's don't keep promises. Didn't your mother ever teach you that?"

He paused, his grin widening into something cruel.

"Oh, wait. That's right."

"You don't have a mother!!"

Now that he had Hawk exactly where he wanted him, Mephisto let loose—his words sharp, mocking, designed to cut deep.

Hawk stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, he said, “Go fuck yourself.”

"..."

Apparently, his attempt at verbal evisceration had just been bulldozed by the blunt efficiency of a classic one-liner.

Mephisto's charred red face—already the color of burnt clay—somehow managed to turn an even deeper shade of crimson. His golden demonic pupils locked onto Hawk, who still looked perfectly unbothered. His voice came out like gravel scraping against steel.

"You. Are. Dead."

“Can you kill me?”

Hawk's voice stayed calm. As he spoke, a spectral figure appeared behind him—projected through space itself.

The Dark Phoenix.

The massive firebird spread its wings above the Hell dimension, its form wrapped in black flames. The Phoenix's cry ripped through Hell like a blade through silk, echoing across every corner of Mephisto's domain.

"SCREEEEEEEE!"