Marvel: The Enlightened One#142+143: Never Trust a Punctuation Mark from a Demon, Mephisto’s Designs on Hawk's Soul

I finished watching Ghost Rider 1 and 2 yesterday. The Wind Demon’s name is Abigor, not Ariel. Great movies, by the way.

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What kind of change would wind bring to Hawk’s Cosmo?

The answer was: World-shattering.

With the appearance of wind, one of the four foundational elements of creation, the first thing Hawk felt was a sense of lightness.

It was a lightness that not even the Reality Stone could provide.

Until he awakened the Seventh Sense of a Gold Saint, the Reality Stone could only manifest the power of his Sixth Sense Silver Phoenix Cosmo—it couldn't manifest the Cosmo itself.

And if his Cosmo couldn't be made real, it couldn't possess the natural elements.

But the appearance of wind changed everything.

Hawk could now feel a subtle shift within his Cosmo. The stars, which had once been like perfect, identical copies, began to change under the influence of the wind.

Even the meteorites he had drawn into his Cosmo began to slowly drift together, as if the wind were trying to forge them into a single, cohesive whole.

But it wasn't enough.

A complete material world didn't just need wind—it needed the other three foundational elements: earth, fire, and water.

Hawk savored the feeling of lightness as he observed the formless changes within his Cosmo.

Just then, he heard Sharon's voice, calling out from the cabin below.

Hawk’s eyes snapped open.

The plane, its wings torn off by the Wind Demon's last desperate act, was now just a massive metal tube hurtling toward the ground at terrifying speed. Inside the cabin, passengers strapped into their seats screamed in absolute terror.

With a single thought, Hawk vanished, reappearing in an instant directly in the path of the falling aircraft.

In the cockpit, the pilot and co-pilot were fighting a losing battle, their efforts to save the plane completely useless.

And then they saw him—a figure, floating in mid-air, looking at them with a calm expression. They were stunned.

Hawk watched the wingless plane hurtle toward him like a cannonball and raised his right hand.

The Sixth Sense—Psychokinesis!

It was another one of the superpowers a Silver Saint gained upon awakening their Sixth Sense, the ability to control matter and energy with their mind.

A normal Silver Saint could easily control a large passenger jet.

And that was just a Silver Saint.

A Gold Saint, who had awakened the Seventh Sense, could use their mind to tear through spacetime, teleporting objects or people across vast distances.

So, Hawk might not have been able to physically stop the plane like Superman—he didn't have that kind of overpowered biological force field—but controlling it with his mind was easy.

As Hawk raised his hand, his psychokinesis instantly enveloped the aircraft.

The plane, which had been plummeting like a cannonball, suddenly slowed, its downward plunge gradually leveling out.

Sharon, looking out the window, saw Hawk floating outside the plane and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

...

Ten minutes later.

Sixty-eight kilometers east of Fort Stockton, Texas, in the middle of nowhere, a wingless passenger jet—looking like an oversized metal tube—made a belly landing in the desert. It slammed into the ground with a massive thump and skidded to a halt.

For five long seconds, the cabin was completely silent.

Then—

A wave of applause and cheers erupted. The survivors, still in shock, hugged the strangers next to them, shouting and celebrating their survival.

The flight attendants joined in for a moment, but quickly snapped back to their training. They opened the emergency exits, and with a loud pop, the inflatable slides deployed. They began to usher the passengers out.

Soon.

One by one, the passengers evacuated the plane.

But before they could even marvel at the miracle of the landing, a fleet of black Chevy SUVs screeched to a halt nearby. A team of men in black suits got out, flashed their badges, and began to confiscate their phones and any other recording devices.

Sharon made her way to the cockpit. She deleted the pilots’ recordings, took the black box, and offered the two stunned men a professional smile.

“Congratulations, gentlemen. Your incredible skill and professionalism saved this aircraft.”

The two pilots exchanged a look. The captain looked at Sharon and asked, his voice cautious, “Was that… was that Thor? The god?”

Sharon looked at the two pilots, who were desperate for an answer, and smiled faintly. “He’s the Phoenix, not Thor. As for the rest, I’m sorry, I can’t say any more. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

The Phoenix.

That was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s internal codename for Hawk.

Commander Maria Hill had given it to him after he’d left Africa.

The phoenix was a symbol of eternity and rebirth—a representation of the endless cycle of life and immortality. It was often called the undying bird.

Calling Hawk ‘The Phoenix’ was simple, direct, and self-explanatory.

After speaking with the pilots, Sharon turned and left the cockpit.

Soon, she was back on the ground. She handed the cockpit voice recorder to a S.H.I.E.L.D agent from the Texas branch and then followed another agent to one of the black Chevy SUVs, where Hawk was already waiting.

Hawk looked at Sharon as she opened the door and got in, a curious glint in his eye.

“The Phoenix? Seriously? Who came up with that?”

“Commander Hill.”

Sharon sold out her boss without a second thought. It wasn't like Hill had said the codename was a secret from Hawk himself, so it wasn't a breach of protocol.

Hawk thought of Maria Hill, of the moment on the African savanna when she had seen the core of his Phoenix, and after a moment, he nodded.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s alright.” Hawk shrugged.

Sharon glanced out the window at the wingless plane and the crowd of survivors, then looked at Hawk. “By the way, thank you for what you did.”

Hawk smiled faintly. “No big deal.”

Normally, he didn't like to get involved in worldly affairs. But this time, he had a feeling the plane had gone down entirely because of him.

No, It was 'definitely' because of him.

So he had saved it. And at the same time, he had made a solemn vow: the next time he left New York City, he was never, ever taking public transport again.

“Hawk, what was that…”

“The Wind Demon.”

Hawk looked at Sharon. “It wasn't a demon from Hell. It was an elemental of wind that had gained consciousness. It's dead now.”

Sharon nodded thoughtfully, then remembered the question she had been about to ask before the plane had started to fall out of the sky.

“By the way, Hawk, where are you headed in Texas? I can arrange a car for you.”

“I had a place to go. Not anymore.”

Hawk looked at Sharon, thinking of the pamphlet she had shown him.

“By the way, where is that motorcycle stunt show you were talking about?”

“In Fort Stockton.”

“Then that’s where I’m going.”

Hawk’s eyebrows shot up.

Now that he had the wind element, the tables had turned.

Hunting down Blackheart? No need... He could just wait for Blackheart to come to him.

And the Ghost Rider was here, too. This was a perfect opportunity to see what kind of game Mephisto was really playing—

...

Meanwhile, sixty-eight kilometers away in Fort Stockton.

In the home of Johnny Blaze—the stunt rider known as the Ghost Rider—a man woke from a nightmare with a strangled gasp. Drenched in sweat, he stumbled to the mirror, twisted the cap off a bottle of water, and drained it in a series of desperate gulps.

He'd been having the same nightmare for days. A nightmare that he regretted to this day.

When he was young and foolish, watching his father waste away from illness, he had made a deal with a demon. But the demon hadn’t kept his promise. He’d cured his father, only to have him die in an accident the very next day.

Johnny hated that demon with every fiber of his being, but he was powerless.

Because he knew that the demon he had made the deal with wasn't just any demon. He was the Demon of Demons, the Ruler of Hell—Mephisto.

And so, he had left his girlfriend, left his hometown, all in a desperate attempt to escape the devil’s grasp.

He had thought he’d succeeded.

But for the past few days, the scene of him signing the contract for his soul had been replaying in his mind, day after day.

He could feel it. Mephisto had found him.

And he was close...

“Hello, Johnny.”

“…”

Johnny, with the face of Nicolas Cage, froze, his gaze snapping to the source of the voice.

He saw an old, gentlemanly man standing before him, and his pupils contracted.

“YOU…”

“It’s time to fulfill your promise.”

Mephisto’s face was wreathed in a gentlemanly smile as he reminded Johnny, “You signed the contract, remember?”

Johnny’s fists clenched. “You tricked me!”

Mephisto nodded politely. “Yes, I did. But I won’t trick you this time. If you bring me the soul of a certain person, I will release both you and your father’s souls. Your father, by the way, has been living quite comfortably under my care.”

Hearing this, Johnny flinched.

He stared at Mephisto.

“Is that the truth?”

“Of course.” Mephisto’s smile didn’t waver. “If you can bring me the soul of this person, I promise to fulfill my end of the bargain. I’ll even put it in writing.”

Johnny: “…”

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A written contract?

Mephisto's words were the last thing Johnny wanted to hear.

The moment he said them.

Johnny, who'd been thrilled at the prospect of bringing his father back, felt like someone had dumped ice water over his head. His mind shot back to the last time Mephisto had made him an offer—the twisted wording, the sneaky loopholes that had trapped him completely.

Instantly, The desperate hope that had clouded his judgment vanished. He stared at Mephisto.

“You’re trying to trick me again.”

"No."

Mephisto shook his head, his gentlemanly smile never wavering as he looked at Johnny. "This time, I give you my word. I will not deceive you."

And in that moment, he meant it.

As for the future?

Well, the Mephisto of the future breaking a promise had nothing to do with the Mephisto making one right now.

It was the same kind of promise he’d made to Hawk—that he would release Hawk’s sister’s soul as soon as a new body was found.

It was all just a ploy to lure Hawk to this demonic patch of land in Texas.

The part about his wayward son, Blackheart, escaping Hell to find the four Elementals and build a new Hell with his command of death? That was true.

And his desire for Hawk to help him stop Blackheart? Also true.

But—

His desire to claim Hawk's soul for himself was just as real.

No one could refuse the soul of a god, especially a god who wasn't quite a god yet.

In a word:

His place could be usurped.

Being the Dimension Lord of a death dimension wasn't so bad, but Mephisto felt that becoming a True God would open up so many more opportunities for him.

Besides, the divine power over life and death was unlike any other. Even if Mephisto managed to drag every living soul in the universe into his Hell dimension, he could never become a true god.

Because the mantle of Life and Death already had an owner.

And that owner was a Cosmic Entity.

Death.

One of the five primordial beings of the universe.

Death was the abstract embodiment of the concept of death, its very personification. She was the master of souls—the source, creator, and controller of every soul in the multiverse.

In short, As long as Death existed, Mephisto would forever be a mere Dimension Lord, never a true god.

But, That time Hawk had achieved his rebirth, when he had touched the border between life and death, Mephisto had seen an opportunity. An idea had begun to form.

If he could obtain Hawk's soul, he could extract the divine powers of Immortality and Rebirth. With those, he could finally become a true god.

So, from the moment he first met Hawk on that metaphysical plane, he had been laying his trap.

For example, the drinks he had offered Hawk.

There was nothing special about the wine itself. It was perfectly safe. In fact, drinking it would even strengthen one's soul.

That was because the wine was made from souls.

And because of that, until Hawk fully processed it, his own soul would not be purely his own. It would be tainted.

From there, Mephisto's plan was simple: find an opportunity to reap Hawk's soul. If Hawk's soul fell into Hell for even a single second, Mephisto would have the means to keep it there forever.

And now, an opportunity had presented itself.

His son, Blackheart, had escaped Hell through the same momentary opening the Hell Witch had used to summon Anya’s spirit. At first, Mephisto had been furious. But then he had realized this was his chance.

So, he appeared once more and successfully tricked Hawk into coming to Texas, ostensibly to capture his rebellious son, but in reality, to give him the chance to steal his soul.

And the key to that plan was standing right in front of him: Johnny Blaze, bound to him by a Soul Contract.

Of course, Johnny, as a mere mortal, could never reap the soul of a god. But the Spirit of Vengeance he had bonded Johnny to certainly could—

—Years ago, during his own battle with the Spirit of Vengeance, Mephisto himself had nearly had his soul torn out by the Penance Stare.

As for Hawk, a little fledgling god whose divine power was already suppressed by that tainted wine—all it would take was one look from the Penance Stare.

Reaping his soul would be over in an instant.

But all of this depended on one thing.

Johnny had to cooperate.

If Johnny resisted, the entire plan could backfire spectacularly.

But that was no problem. If Mephisto could fool Johnny once, he could certainly fool him a second time!

...

And just as he'd predicted.

Hearing Mephisto's earnest, heartfelt guarantee, the hope in Johnny's heart, which had just been extinguished, began to beat wildly again.

He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Mephisto.

"For real?"

"I swear it."

Mephisto smiled and held out his right hand. A scroll of parchment materialized and flew toward Johnny. "I swear on my name as the Lord of Hell, this contract contains no hidden clauses, no fine print you cannot see. Read it for yourself."

Johnny took the parchment. He took a deep breath, the painful memory of the first time he was deceived fresh in his mind, and began to read the contract, word by agonizing word.

It was exactly as Mephisto had said.

The contract stated that if he could bring Mephisto the specified soul, his father’s soul would be released.

There were no tricks in the wording, no microscopic text hidden between the lines.

Johnny took another deep breath and looked up.

"This specific soul… who is it?"

"Hawk."

Mephisto smiled, using hellfire to project an image of Hawk. "Bring his soul to Hell, and your father's soul will be released."

He said "released," not "resurrected."

Johnny's father's soul was currently locked in a soul cage in Hell. Releasing him from that cage was still a release. Just like he had promised Hawk.

The only difference was one was house arrest, the other was solitary confinement.

So—

He, Mephisto, had not lied!

Johnny stared at the image of Hawk. "Who is this Hawk, and why do you want his soul?"

Mephisto seemed to know what he was thinking. "He is a very bad man. I can assure you of that."

To prove his point, Mephisto opened his hand again.

An image appeared in the hellfire—showing Hawk's rampage at the Quantico facility, leaving the entire base in ruins.

Then another, showing Hawk in Wakanda.

The souls of countless slain Wakandans seemed to rise from the flames, crying out to Johnny, accusing Hawk of his crimes.

...

Johnny watched the projections. One of his questions was answered, but seeing Hawk's explosive power made him suck in a sharp breath.

"I can bring you his soul. But… look at him. Do you really think I'm strong enough to even get close to him?"

"You are."

Mephisto's gentlemanly smile didn't change, but the hellfire on his palm suddenly shifted, turning from orange to a spectral blue. "With the Hellfire I have given you, you will have the power."

This was another reason he’d lured Hawk to Texas.

Texas was the closest point on Earth to his dimension of Hell. Only here could the Spirit of Vengeance unleash its full power.

And at the same time…

The ambient energy of his dimension could suppress any non-Hellish powers in the area.

It was just a matter of degree.

But that didn't matter. With one power rising and the other falling, Mephisto could already see it—the moment he would finally become a true god.

...

"Achoo!"

Just as the S.H.I.E.L.D Chevrolet SUV he was riding in with Sharon entered the town of Fort Stockton, population nine thousand, Hawk felt a familiar yet alien energy wash over him, and he couldn’t help but sneeze.

Sharon, sitting beside him, offered a blessing. "God bless you."

"Thanks."

Hawk replied automatically. He then opened all six of his senses and immediately noticed something strange.

Back in New York, he could effortlessly blanket the entire city in his consciousness.

But here, in this tiny Texas town of less than nine thousand people, covering an area of barely five square miles, his senses were struggling to expand.

It felt as if… His power was being suppressed.

Hell.

Hawk analyzed the source of the strange aura and came to a quiet conclusion.

He also confirmed something he already suspected: you couldn't trust a single word that came out of Mephisto's mouth—not even the punctuation.

At that same moment, he felt another presence rapidly approaching.

Hawk opened his eyes and turned to Sharon. "Right, what was the name of the hotel you're staying at?"

Sharon, slightly taken aback, told him the name.

Hawk nodded. "Another Elemental is on its way. I'll take care of it and meet you at the hotel. Don't follow me. You'll get killed."

With that, he vanished from the car.

The S.H.I.E.L.D agent driving reflexively jerked the wheel but, thanks to his training, quickly regained control of the SUV.

Sharon just sighed after a brief moment of shock. "Let's just go back to the hotel."

For some reason, she had a feeling that her plans to see Johnny Blaze's motorcycle stunt show tomorrow night were probably not going to happen.

And… A vacation?

Some vacation this was.

Time to get back to the hotel and file a report with the Director.

...

When Hawk reappeared, he was already outside the town. He shot into the air, becoming an invisible blur as he streaked toward the desert badlands.

His sister had died in the crossfire of a battle between two monsters in the middle of a city. Whenever a fight was about to happen, he instinctively moved it away from populated areas.

Soon, Hawk landed in a desolate valley in the middle of the desert.

At the same time, the presence that had been chasing him finally revealed itself. But it didn't come from the sky. It came from the ground.

RUMBLE-RUMBLE-RUMBLE!

The ground shook, and the sand began to rise, and in the blink of an eye, coalescing into the form of a man made of earth.

The Earth Elemental.

The demon known as—

Gressil.