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The mont the word "Hell" left his lips, the friendly concern on Sharon's face evaporated. She just stood there, frozen.
After a mont, 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 dinsion through the fading vortex left by Johnny Blaze's soul.
Without another mont 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 mont 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 sowhere nearby, a pack of jackals—sensing the departure of a predator far above their weight class—erged 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 sothing 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 erged 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 rembered sothing 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 mont 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, slamd his fist into the Gates of Hell.
"PHISTO!"
"GET THE HELL OUT HERE!"
BOOOOOM!
A thousand fist shadows hamred 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 dinsion, reverberating through every corner of phisto's domain.
...
Back in his palace, phisto 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 dinsion, clear as day. phisto 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 excitent. If Hawk had co here in a rage, driven by emotion rather than reason...
phisto grinned. Without another mont's hesitation, he vanished from his throne. When he reappeared, he stood in the very spot where he had backhanded Johnny Blaze monts earlier.
The next second, Hawk materialized before him.
phisto, still wearing his gentlemanly middle-aged human guise, smiled warmly.
"Hawk! Welco to my Hell."
"I've killed your rebellious son." Hawk's tone was flat, his gaze steady as he watched phisto perform his little charade.
"..."
phisto'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 co back down here and then climb back up to bother 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 phisto wanted to play gas...
Hawk figured he'd play along.
'Nothing better to do. Might as well ss with the guy.'
His heightened senses caught the flicker of rage that flashed behind phisto's eyes the mont the words left his mouth.
But phisto recovered instantly, forcing a laugh.
"A problem? Of course not! I should be thanking you even more. If that idiot had succeeded, the Sorcerer Supre would've shown up at my doorstep. You've saved from a great deal of… inconvenience."
As he spoke, phisto shifted gears, his tone turning warm and inviting.
"Co 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."
phisto blinked.
"You found a body for Anya's soul already?"
"I can take her now and find one later. Just find so 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' seed to make phisto'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, rember? You find a suitable body first, and then I release your sister."
Hawk just sneered internally.
phisto pressed on. "Look, let's just head back to the palace. You did 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.
phisto's mind swam with sadistic glee, even as his expression remained the picture of gentlemanly hospitality.
Their eyes t.
Hawk chuckled softly.
"Forget the body. Just bring her soul, phisto."
"..."
The warm, considerate smile on phisto's face slowly faded as he held Hawk's gaze. His expression darkened.
"What, you don't trust ?"
"Not even a little."
"..."
phisto stared at him, his face devoid of emotion.
Hawk stared right back.
Finally, phisto spoke again. This ti, 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, phisto 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, phisto'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. phisto, 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 ca knocking anyway."
Hawk's expression didn't change. He looked up at phisto's demon form, his tone still calm.
"So you never planned to release my sister's soul."
"HA! HAHAHAHA!"
phisto's laughter bood 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 sothing cruel.
"Oh, wait. That's right."
"You don't have a mother!!"
Now that he had Hawk exactly where he wanted him, phisto let loose—his words sharp, mocking, designed to cut deep.
Hawk stared at him for a mont, 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.
phisto's charred red face—already the color of burnt clay—sohow managed to turn an even deeper shade of crimson. His golden demonic pupils locked onto Hawk, who still looked perfectly unbothered. His voice ca out like gravel scraping against steel.
"You. Are. Dead."
"Can you kill ?"
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 dinsion, its form wrapped in black flas. The Phoenix's cry ripped through Hell like a blade through silk, echoing across every corner of phisto's domain.
"SCREEEEEEEE!"
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