What changed when Hawk's microcosmos gained Wind?
The answer—
A complete upheaval.
The first sensation was lightness. A freedom no Infinity Stone could grant him.
After all—until he awakened the Seventh Sense and reached a true Golden Cosmos, even the Reality Stone could only externalize his current Sixth Sense Silver Phoenix Cosmos. It couldn't manifest the cosmos itself.
Without manifestation, no natural elements could exist within.
But with Wind, everything shifted.
The once uniform, copy-paste-like stars in his cosmos began to stir, reshaped under Wind's erosion. Even the fragments of meteorites he had stored there started to gather, fusing together.
It was a start. But not nearly enough.
To form a true material world, he would still need Earth, Fire, and Water—the other three primordial elements.
For now, he savored the transformation.
Then—
He heard Sharon's voice calling from the cabin.
A blink later, Hawk opened his eyes.
Below him, the plane—its wings slashed away by Ariel's dying frenzy—was plummeting like a metal spear.
Inside, passengers screamed, strapped to their seats, hopeless.
In the cockpit, the pilots wrestled futilely with dead controls.
Until—
They saw him.
Hovering outside the windshield, expression calm, right hand raised.
[Sixth Sense—Telekinesis!]
A Silver Saint's gift—psychic control over matter and energy. Enough to redirect planes at will.
Hawk wasn't Superman—his biology lacked that absurd physical field. He couldn't shoulder a jumbo jet.
But he didn't need to. His mind did the work.
The plummeting speed slowed. The nose lifted.
From the cabin windows, Sharon's eyes widened. Relief washed over her as she saw Hawk steady the impossible.
…
Ten minutes later, in the desert east of Fort Stockton, Texas, the mutilated plane screeched along the sand, belly-first, until it ground to a halt.
For five long seconds, silence.
Then the cabin erupted in applause, strangers embracing, tears of survival spilling.
Flight attendants guided them through emergency chutes, hurrying them to safety.
But before the crowd could marvel, black Chevy SUVs raced up. Men in suits and sunglasses confiscated phones and cameras, flashing badges.
In the cockpit, Sharon deleted the recordings herself, pocketed the black box, and smiled at the shaken pilots.
"Congratulations. You saved this plane with your professionalism."
One pilot hesitated, whispering, "That man outside… was he Thor?"
Sharon's smile widened. "No. He's the Phoenix. The Undying Bird. That's all I can say. You'll be asked to sign NDAs shortly."
The Undying Bird.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s code name for Hawk, coined by Director Maria Hill after witnessing his Phoenix Core in Africa. Simple, brutal, and fitting.
Later, Sharon slid into the back of an SUV where Hawk was waiting.
"Undying Bird? Seriously? Who came up with that?"
"Hill."
Hawk thought back to her sharp eyes in the savanna, then shrugged. "Fine. Better than just 'Phoenix.' Undying Bird it is."
Sharon glanced at the ruined jet and the shaken survivors, then back at him. "Thank you—for everything."
Hawk chuckled. "Just cleaning up my own mess. If not for me, that storm wouldn't have happened."
And so he resolved: never again would he board transport leaving New York.
"Who was it, Hawk?" Sharon asked.
"The Wind Demon. Not a true demon—an Elemental given will. He's gone now."
She nodded slowly.
Then remembered. "Right. You came to Texas for something, didn't you? I can arrange transport."
"Had a destination. Not anymore." Hawk smirked. "But tell me… that motorcycle stunt show? Where is it?"
"Fort Stockton."
"Then there."
Wind was his now. No need to hunt Satannish—better to wait and let the fool come to him. And with the Ghost Rider nearby, it was the perfect chance to see if Mephisto planned tricks.
If not, fine.
If so…
He smiled coldly.
…
Meanwhile, in Fort Stockton—
Johnny Blaze jolted awake from another nightmare, drenched in sweat. He staggered to the mirror, gulped down a bottle of water, and glared at his reflection.
The same dream, every night. The same regret.
The contract.
His father's illness. His desperate bargain.
Mephisto's lies. His father cured, only to die in an "accident" the next day.
Johnny had hated that devil ever since. But what could he do? His soul was bound. His body cursed.
He had fled—his girl, his home, everything—trying to escape Mephisto's grip.
But the dreams meant only one thing: Mephisto had found him again.
And he was close.
"Hello, Johnny."
Johnny froze.
He turned, and there stood the gentlemanly figure he had dreaded most.
"You…"
"It's time to honor your contract."
Mephisto's smile was polished. "Remember? You sold your soul."
Johnny's fists clenched. "You tricked me!"
"Yes," Mephisto agreed smoothly. "But this time, no tricks. Bring me one soul. Do that, and I'll release you and your father both. He's been well cared for, you know."
Johnny's body trembled.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course." Mephisto's smile deepened. "Bring me that soul, and I'll put it in writing."
Johnny: "…"
…
(End of Chapter)
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