Blackheart's hand was still raised to take the contract when his pupils slowly dilated.
In that instant, time itself seemed to halt.
The finger before his eyes moved with an eerie slowness that made his heart tremble, yet it struck with lightning speed.
Boom!
Space twisted. At Hawk's fingertip, a dark violet flame erupted—cold, temperatureless, like the embodiment of countless grudges and fears. It vaguely formed the wings of a phoenix, silent yet radiating a soul-crushing pressure.
The next moment—
Hawk's finger pressed to Blackheart's forehead.
Bang!
Blackheart's body stiffened instantly, frozen like wood. His pupils shrank, blurred, then widened in terror.
The Phoenix Illusion Demon Fist.
The Phoenix Saint's exclusive finishing move.
It was not physical—it was spiritual. A direct assault on the mind, forcing the target to relive their deepest fears in an inescapable illusion.
Those struck would either sink forever into their terror or break free, enlightened, surging in power.
Clearly, Blackheart was not the latter.
Hawk smirked, watching Blackheart's paralyzed form. The Phoenix Bronze Cloth, freshly donned, disassembled once more, reshaping into a phoenix before returning to his cosmos.
This armor—crafted from vibranium, meteorite, and gamma stone—was meant as backup.
But it was only a bronze-class cloth.
Even if it looked close to gold, it couldn't withstand his full cosmos. If he ignited his cosmos at maximum, the armor would shatter.
He never planned to forge a silver cloth either.
No—his sights were on a true Phoenix Gold Cloth.
Not with vibranium. Vibranium was powerful on Earth, absorbing all kinetic force, but across the cosmos it was insufficient.
Gold Cloths were different. Each contained the power of a sun.
Vibranium could not store energy.
So—
The Gold Cloth required uru metal.
The very substance used for Thor's hammer and Stormbreaker. The same uru that Thanos' twin-blade was forged from, which cut through Captain America's shield like paper.
At Christmas, Hawk had feigned trying to lift Mjolnir, but in truth, he'd been testing uru.
But now, he had an even better option—Surplices.
In Saint Seiya, there were not only Gold Cloths. The Surplices of Hades' Specters rivaled Gold Cloths in power.
And unlike the many materials for Gold Cloths, Surplices required only one: Underworld Gems.
This was why, when Gwen once asked what he planned, he had casually replied: "Simple. I'll just make my own Underworld."
A Phoenix Surplice was not impossible.
He had Aether. He had the Four Elements.
And now—
The law of life and death was before him.
Hawk withdrew his hand, watching Blackheart stand blankly, frozen in fear. He shrugged.
"Sorry."
"Demons can't be trusted. Mephisto can't be trusted. And neither can you."
"So…"
"I'll do it myself."
His words fell, and a wisp of phoenix fire ignited at Blackheart's feet, sweeping up and engulfing him.
Blackheart made no sound. His mind was still trapped in the terror of Hawk's illusion.
But the fire consumed him all the same.
In the blink of an eye—
He was refined completely.
Hawk extended his hand, and from the phoenix fire a fragment appeared—the shard of the law of life and death Blackheart carried.
It was only a shard, for Blackheart himself had no such law; it was his heritage that carried it.
But it was enough.
With this shard, Hawk could construct his own underworld even before his cosmos fully materialized.
Incomplete law?
No matter. Once his cosmos was fully realized, he would command all divine authority—like Odin, the All-Father, who bore countless titles: God of War, of Prophecy, of Kingship, of Wisdom, of Magic, of Healing, even of Poetry.
That was why Odin was Father of the Gods.
And Hawk's cosmos, once manifest, would surpass him.
For Odin did not create Yggdrasil. But Hawk's cosmos would be his alone, birthed entirely by him.
All power would belong to him.
No flaw in that reasoning.
For now—
He needed the Time Stone, to accelerate the forming underworld.
Borrow it from the Sorcerer Supreme? He already had a plan to persuade him.
Half an hour later—
Hawk knocked on Carter Slade's door again.
The old rider opened it.
"Fair trade," Hawk smiled. "Just letting you know—Blackheart's been handled. You're safe."
Slade blinked in disbelief. "Already? That fast?"
"Hard?" Hawk chuckled. "He's just a demon. How long should it take?"
He was already Thor's equal.
Blackheart? Aside from being Mephisto's son and carrying a shard of law, he was just a dimensional demon.
Even in a fair fight, Hawk could've cut him down in fifty moves or less. Any longer would've meant holding back.
No point in dragging it out. Readers would hate it.
Besides—
It was only eight o'clock.
If he hurried, he could still catch the last flight back to New York.
He'd fulfilled Mephisto's request faster than the devil himself could react. Landed in Texas in the afternoon, finished the job before evening.
Mephisto's schemes probably hadn't even been deployed yet.
Not Hawk's fault.
Mephisto was just too slow.
Watching Carter Slade ride off in haste, Hawk smirked, then called Sharon.
"Hey. Done here. Heading back to New York."
"What? Already? You only got there this afternoon!"
"Just luck. Everything lined up at once. And it's Christmas—I need to be home with my fiancée."
It was the first Christmas since his relationship with Gwen had changed. Leaving her alone in New York while he rushed to Texas? Unthinkable.
Even if Gwen wouldn't be angry, her father would surely scowl at him.
This holiday mattered.
Hanging up, Hawk raised his head.
With a burst of flame, phoenix wings unfurled, armor blazing, and he shot into the sky, breaking Mach 500, streaking toward New York like a meteor.
He would've liked to see what surprise Mephisto had prepared for him.
But his heart was set on home.
And besides—
One good turn deserves another.
Whatever Mephisto's surprise was, Hawk would prepare one of his own.
When the devil saw it—
He'd be the one truly surprised.
…
(End of Chapter)
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