Tony Stark stepped out from his armor, which folded away into its compact form, revealing him in a warm, sleek sweater suited for the chilly environment. His tone was casual, but a trace of irritation lingered in his voice. "Another fake. This guy is slipperier than a loach."
He moved to the table and casually picked up a cup of steaming coffee. Taking a sip, he let out a small sigh. "As expected, Natasha Romanoff. You make a fine cup of coffee."
Across the room, Steve Rogers stood with his arms crossed, brows furrowed in frustration. "He knows we're on to him. He's been hiding out, and we can't let this drag on. It's only going to get worse."
Tony gave a slight nod. "Well, if we really want to draw him out, we could use the San Venganza Contract as bait."
His suggestion was immediately met with fierce resistance. Johnny Blaze slammed his hand down on the table, his voice rising, hoarse with restrained rage. "Absolutely not! That contract must never fall into the wrong hands. If the Witch Heart Demon—or the Devil—gets hold of it, the world as we know it is over."
Johnny's emotions surged, and with it, the presence of the Ghost Rider stirred within him. A faint flame flickered in his eyes as he struggled to maintain control. Natasha's gaze sharpened, and even Barton instinctively shifted in his seat.
"Whoa, okay, relax!" Tony held up both hands in mock surrender, stepping back with an exaggerated movement. "Let's not bring out the flaming skull tonight, alright? I still want to sleep."
He shot a look toward Natasha as if blaming her for not diffusing things sooner. She rolled her eyes at him.
Steve stepped in, his calm and authoritative voice cutting through the tension. "Johnny, we won't risk the contract. I promise."
The words of Captain America carried weight—especially for someone like Johnny, who respected Rogers as a symbol of true heroism. Slowly, the fire in his eyes dimmed, and he nodded, exhaling through gritted teeth.
"Sorry," Johnny muttered, glancing toward Tony. "I'm still struggling to fully control… him."
Tony waved it off. "No harm done. I might've stepped over the line too."
Steve redirected their focus. "We still can't locate the Witch Heart Demon, but there's a growing number of demonic sightings. That means someone opened a gate to Hell—or several."
Natasha, clad in her black tactical suit, sat cross-legged in a chair. Her posture was relaxed, but her mind was alert. "He's definitely plotting something. Stealing that stone slab? That's no coincidence."
Clint Barton added, "Could be that the stone slab was used to summon him in the first place."
"It's a shame we can't reach the Goddess of Judgment," Natasha said. "She seems to have some sort of sixth sense for detecting evil. She'd be a huge help."
"She's practically a ghost," Tony replied with a frustrated sigh. "J.A.R.V.I.S. can't find her with any of the known data. It's like she doesn't exist. Believe me, I want to find her more than anyone—especially to ask about Asgard. And Loki."
As they spoke, far away in an abandoned town cloaked in darkness, events were unfolding.
This town had long been forgotten—cracked walls, moss-covered stone, overgrown weeds, and decrepit homes told of a place surrendered to time. Under the moonlight, an unsettling silence was broken only by distant, echoing screams.
At the town's center stood a ruined church. The once-grand wooden crosses atop its steeple were now rotted and splintered. Moonlight poured through the shattered ceiling, casting strange patterns on the pews below—half light, half shadow.
Inside, a man in a regal purple suit stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back. His posture was calm, but his aura radiated malevolence.
Eventually, a cold wind stirred behind him. This was no natural breeze—it shimmered with black, tainted energy. From the air, a tall, gaunt figure emerged from the darkness.
"Master," came a hoarse whisper.
The man turned. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes glinting with ever-present malice. Witch Heart Demon.
"I assume you've failed again, Feng Mo," he said, voice low and venomous.
Feng Mo dropped to one knee, head bowed in shame. "Forgive me, my lord. The humans… they're hunting us relentlessly. Worse, they possess sacred light-infused weapons from the Vatican. Many of our brethren have fallen."
Witch Heart Demon sneered. "Humans again."
Then, a twisted smile spread across his face. "Let them enjoy their little victories. Once my plan is complete, this world will burn. Their cities will crumble, and their souls—every last one—will suffer in torment for ten thousand years."
Feng Mo trembled. He knew his master well—knew the cruelty that lay behind every word.
"The time has come," Witch Heart Demon continued. "Send word to the Water Demons. Tell them to summon more of our kind in every direction. Let's stretch the humans thin—scatter their forces and let chaos reign!"
"As you command."
"Once we secure the Contract of San Venganza, I will ascend. I will become the new Devil King. And my wretched father will be forced to kneel."
His eyes blazed with ambition, the mere thought of eclipsing his father filling him with dark joy.
But then— clang… clang… clang…
Metallic footsteps echoed through the church, piercing the unnatural stillness like a blade. Both demons froze.
The sound was deliberate, steady.
"Who's there?" Witch Heart Demon barked, his twisted grin vanishing.
He knew this place was hidden, shielded by darkness and magic. No one should have been able to find them—let alone approach the church so casually.
Was it his father?
No. That was impossible. He would never come here.
Feng Mo leapt to his feet, the corrupted wind swirling around him like armor. His gaze narrowed as the footsteps grew louder.
Clang… Clang…
They weren't rushed. Whoever this was, they weren't afraid. In fact, their calm approach only amplified the dread rising in the room. A presence loomed with each step, pressing on them like a celestial force descending upon mortals.
Then, from the shadows of the ruined nave, a silhouette emerged.
She walked calmly, her black armor glinting in the moonlight filtering through the roof. A long cloak flowed behind her, and her golden hair shimmered faintly in the light. Her eyes—sharp, jewel-like—pierced through them, full of judgment and divine fury.
The Goddess of Judgment.
Her gaze fixed on the Witch Heart Demon. Her voice rang with clarity and power.
"I smell the stench of sin on you, demon."
She raised a hand, and with a soft clang, drove a long black sword into the floor before her. The blade was etched with ancient runes, glowing faintly.
"You carry the weight of eighty thousand innocent souls—slaughtered by your hand and your minions. Now, feel their pain."
A radiant golden light burst from her body, illuminating the darkness. The light wasn't warm—it was righteous, blinding, and absolute. Shadows fled, retreating into corners that no longer existed. Even the air seemed to tremble before her holy presence.
The Witch Heart Demon recoiled, his malice now replaced with fear.
"Impossible…" he muttered, shielding his eyes from the burning light. "She found us?!"
Feng Mo fell to his knees once more, overwhelmed by the weight of divine energy pressing against him. He could not breathe. He could barely think.
As the golden light flooded the church, the Goddess's sword pulsed, absorbing the cries of the innocent into its core.
She raised her head, eyes burning with divine fire.
"For the lives you've ruined… you will pay."
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