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Just as Hawk launched himself into the sky and streaked toward New York like a cot—
VROOM!
The sound of hellish laughter echoed across the Texas wasteland. A motorcycle roared to a stop exactly where Hawk had been standing monts before, its tires wreathed in ghostly fla.
The Ghost Rider.
His flaming skull turned, following the faint traces of Cosmo energy still lingering in the air. Slowly, his burning gaze lifted toward the distant horizon—toward New York City.
For a long mont, the flas in his empty eye sockets flickered.
Stuttered.
Almost like the visual equivalent of a system error.
His skull tilted slightly to one side.
Wait.
Where'd he go?
The twin points of hellfire in his sockets flared, dimd, then flared again, as if his undead brain was struggling to process what had just happened.
Then—
VROOOOM!
The Ghost Rider twisted the throttle. Hard. The engine scread, and with another burst of cackling laughter, he tore off down the road, leaving a blazing trail in his wake as he gunned it toward New York.
.....
By the ti the Ghost Rider had barely covered fifty miles...
Hawk was already ho.
THUD.
Gwen, who had been curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, dressed in soft loungewear and quietly reading a book, looked up at the sound from the backyard.
The next second, a smile spread across her face. She set the book aside, barefoot, and ran to et him.
She threw her arms around Hawk the mont he stepped through the door.
Her voice was bright, curious.
"You're back already? That was fast."
"Finished what I needed to do." Hawk wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she clung to him like a koala. He shut the sliding glass door behind them and walked back into the warmth of the living room. "And I missed you. Figured I'd co back early."
Gwen settled back onto the couch, blinking up at him as he sat beside her.
"Finished? Everything?"
"Yep."
"Did phisto try anything?"
"No idea."
Hawk smiled faintly, eting her gaze. "Clearly, I was too fast and he was too slow. But I'm pretty sure the old bastard had sothing planned."
Blackheart's confession had confird one thing—
phisto didn't tell the truth. Ever.
The whole story about Hela and the threat from the Norse underworld? Complete bullshit.
Blackheart had acted out purely because he didn't want to be the eternal heir apparent. He'd tead up with the Elental Demons to stage his own coup and build a new Hell.
And phisto, in order to lure Hawk to Texas, had dragged Hela—the Goddess of Death from an entirely different universe—into his story.
Good God.
Wasn't he worried that when Hela eventually broke free, she'd hear about this slander and co for him first, before she even bothered with Asgard?
Hawk shook his head, bringing his focus back to the present. He looked at Gwen, who'd just elbowed him lightly, clearly waiting for him to continue.
He smiled and gave her the short version—how phisto had spun a tale involving Hela to trick him into going to Texas, and how he'd wrapped everything up so fast that phisto's trap hadn't even had ti to spring.
When he finished, Gwen's expression was frozen sowhere between stunned and incredulous.
She genuinely didn't know whether to be impressed by Hawk's efficiency or feel sorry for phisto's terrible timing.
But one thing was clear.
"So phisto didn't manage to hurt you." Gwen's eyes dropped to his shirt. "But you're wearing another S.H.I.E.L.D. shirt."
There were already two of those shirts in the house.
One from Africa.
One from London.
And now, a third.
Gwen's lips quirked into a teasing smile. "At this rate, if you keep going on trips, I won't need to buy you any more clothes. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got you covered."
She had to admit, though—the quality was solid. She'd even been thinking about asking Sharon if S.H.I.E.L.D. made won's shirts. If they did, she'd get one to match Hawk's—Couples' shirts.
Hawk glanced down at the shirt and chuckled.
"I ran into Sharon on the plane to Texas."
"Sharon?" Gwen blinked. "She was worried about you and followed you there?"
Hawk shook his head.
"No. She was on vacation. Said she wanted to see so motorcycle stunt show..."
"Johnny Blaze?"
Before Hawk could finish, Gwen had already filled in the blank.
Hawk raised an eyebrow.
Gwen grinned, grabbed her phone, and pulled up the group chat from Midtown High. "Look. People were just talking about it in the group. A bunch of our classmates went to Texas to see Johnny Blaze's show. But this afternoon, he suddenly cancelled. No one knows when it's getting rescheduled."
Cancelled this afternoon??
Hawk's brow lifted slightly.
So...
phisto's trap really was the Ghost Rider. But what the hell was the old demon thinking?
Sure, the Spirit of Vengeance was a terrifyingly powerful entity. And yeah, the Penance Stare was no joke—Hawk wasn't confident he could withstand it if he looked the Rider in the eyes.
But the solution was simple.
Just don't look at him.
Hell, he could shut off his sense of sight entirely if he had to. And without that, could the Ghost Rider even last ten moves against him?
Hawk seriously doubted it.
Still—
The pieces fit.
He now knew what phisto's "surprise" had been: the Ghost Rider, whose moves Hawk had already anticipated and planned around.
But his own gift for phisto?
That wasn't ready yet.
Hawk filed the thought away and refocused on Gwen, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch, leaning against his shoulder. He smiled.
"How about we go climb a mountain tomorrow?"
Gwen turned her head, curiosity written all over her face.
"A mountain?"
"Yeah."
"..."
Gwen shifted from leaning on his shoulder to sitting upright, facing him fully, her expression equal parts intrigued and confused. "Why the sudden urge to climb a mountain? We don't have that many days left in the break. And don't forget—once it's over, we need to go to City Hall and finalize your na change. Dad already talked to his friend there."
....
Hawk did have a surna:
St. Paul.
Both he and Anya were registered under that na in the city records. It had been given to them because they'd been found on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, and since there were no hospital records, the system had assigned them the church's na as their last na.
It was standard procedure for orphans with no family history.
In the U.S, having only a first na wasn't legally acceptable. You needed a surna. It was required.
But "St. Paul" wasn't an official surna. It was a placeholder. And because of that, Hawk had never used it. When people asked, he just said his na was Hawk.
He'd never thought much about it.
But now, things were different.
He was eighteen. Almost nineteen. And according to New York State law, once you turned eighteen, you could go to City Hall and either formalize your temporary surna or change it to sothing new.
Of course, if you were fine with the placeholder na, you could just sign a form and make it official.
Hawk had actually been fine with "St. Paul." It wasn't bad. And honestly, he hadn't wanted to deal with the hassle of going to City Hall.
But Gwen felt strongly about it.
She'd told him that "St. Paul" marked where he'd co from. But now, he needed a surna that would carry him forward—a na that was truly his own.
Hawk had thought about it and agreed.
So—
Gwen had asked her father for help. George had reached out to a friend at City Hall, who'd agreed to handle the paperwork on the first business day after the holiday break.
Then, Gwen and Hawk had spent an entire afternoon narrowing down five potential surnas to one final choice.
Gwen had insisted on being part of the decision. Her reasoning was sound.
Once they got married, she'd be taking his last na. So she had a vested interest in making sure it was a good one.
Compared to Hawk, who was pretty chill about the whole thing, Gwen had been extrely invested.
And after careful deliberation, one na had risen to the top.
Phoenix.
It was a direct reference to the mythological creature. And from a certain perspective, it was a perfect representation of the source of Hawk's power.
Hawk liked it.
It was simple. Clear. And it sounded good.
.....
Hearing Gwen bring up the na change now, Hawk smiled.
"Don't worry. We'll go to the mountain, co back, and still have ti for City Hall."
The surna could wait.
Visiting the Sorcerer Supre couldn't.
Because without the Ancient One's help, the surprise he was preparing for phisto would never be ready.
Most importantly, he now had the leverage he needed to negotiate with phisto.
The Contract of San Venganza.
Sealed within it were over a thousand corrupted souls—fallen saints whose power rivaled a hundred ordinary souls each. That contract would be his bargaining chip when the ti ca to reclaim Anya's soul.
But having a chip didn't an he had a seat at the table.
Even Thor, if he went to Hell right now, could be trapped there forever if he wasn't careful. phisto's domain was no joke.
That was why Hawk wanted to awaken the Eighth Sense—to gain the ability to walk freely between life and death.
But the Underworld he was building offered him a shortcut. A way to sit at the table and negotiate on equal footing before he reached the Eighth Sense.
So...
This was way more urgent than a na change.
Gwen looked at him, saw the seriousness in his expression, and didn't press for details. She just thought for a mont.
"Okay. When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow."
"That soon? Which mountain?"
"The big one."
"The Himalayas?"
"Kamar-Taj!!!"
"..."
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