As Hawk launched skyward, streaking back toward New York in a blaze of light, a chilling laugh echoed.
With a roar, a flaming motorcycle screeched to a halt where Hawk had vanished. Upon it sat the Ghost Rider, his burning skull alight—not forced this time, but fully merged of his own will with the Spirit of Vengeance.
He lifted his head, following the fading trail of Hawk's aura until his gaze fixed on New York's direction.
For a moment, the fire in his sockets flickered awkwardly.
Wait a second.
Where was the man?
Twin flames in his hollow eyes sputtered as he processed the empty air.
Then—
Vroom!
The Rider twisted the throttle hard, engine roaring as trails of hellfire streaked behind him. With another eerie laugh, he sped toward New York, leaving burning tire tracks in his wake.
But before the Rider had even covered fifty kilometers—
Hawk was already home.
Thud.
By the fireplace, Gwen sat curled up in loungewear, barefoot on the couch, quietly reading. The sound from the backyard made her lift her head.
A moment later—
She smiled, sprang up, and rushed barefoot to embrace Hawk the instant he stepped in.
Her eyes shone with joy and curiosity.
"So fast? You're back already?"
"Finished what I needed. Missed you. Came straight home."
Hawk pulled her close, closing the patio doors before leading her back to the warm fire.
Seated together again, Gwen blinked.
"Finished everything?"
"Mm."
"And Mephisto…?"
"No idea." Hawk smiled faintly. "Obviously, I was too fast, and he was too slow. But one thing's certain—he's got plans for me."
Blackheart's words had only confirmed it: Mephisto had never spoken a true word.
All that nonsense about Hela and Helheim—pure lies. Blackheart only wanted to escape being the eternal hell-prince, to build his own throne with the Four Elemental Demons.
But Mephisto? To lure Hawk to Texas, he'd even dragged the goddess of death into his scheme.
Good grief.
If Hela ever got wind of the slander, she'd come after him before even thinking about Asgard.
Hawk shook his head inwardly.
Then, noticing Gwen's expectant look as she nudged his arm, he chuckled and explained briefly: how Mephisto's "trap" had been nothing but a bluff, and how his speed left the devil with no chance to spring it before Hawk was already back in New York.
When he finished, Gwen was stunned.
She couldn't decide whether to marvel at her fiancé's efficiency or pity Mephisto's pathetic timing.
But one thing she noticed:
"So Mephisto didn't hurt you. But… why are you wearing another S.H.I.E.L.D. T-shirt?"
This one made three already. One from Africa, one from London—and now a third.
Gwen teased, "At this rate, I won't ever need to shop for your shirts again. Just keep going on missions."
Though, truth be told, the quality wasn't bad. She'd even thought about asking Sharon if they made women's sizes—perfect couple's wear.
Hawk glanced at the shirt and laughed. "Ran into Sharon on the flight to Texas."
"Sharon?" Gwen tilted her head. "She went with you to watch your back?"
"No. She was on vacation—wanted to see some motorcycle stunt show…"
"Johnny Blaze?" Gwen cut in.
Hawk blinked at her, curious.
She giggled, showing him her phone with Midtown High's group chat still open. "See? A bunch of classmates went to Texas too, planning to watch Johnny's show. But this afternoon he suddenly canceled. No one knows when it'll resume."
Canceled. This afternoon.
Hawk arched a brow.
So Mephisto's "trap" really was the Ghost Rider?
The devil must be joking.
The Rider's Spirit of Vengeance was terrifying, yes—especially his Penance Stare. Hawk admitted he couldn't be sure he'd withstand it.
But what if he never looked him in the eye?
He could simply shut off his visual sense altogether. Without that, could the Rider last ten moves against him?
Hawk doubted it.
Still, no matter. He now knew Mephisto's plan. The Rider was lying in wait.
But Hawk's own gift for Mephisto? Not yet ready.
He turned back to Gwen, who leaned comfortably against his shoulder.
"How about we go climb a mountain tomorrow?"
Gwen blinked. "A mountain? Now?"
"Yeah."
She sat upright, puzzled. "Where did this come from? We've only got a few days left. Don't forget, after the holiday we need to visit city hall to confirm your surname. Dad already arranged it."
Hawk had always carried the placeholder surname "San Paolo"—the name of the cathedral where he and his sister had been found as infants.
But now he was nearly nineteen. Under New York law, he had to either choose a permanent surname or formally reaffirm his current one.
To Hawk, it never mattered much. But to Gwen, it did.
The name "San Paolo" marked his past. Now he needed one that would define his future.
With George's help, they'd narrowed it down. From five options, one had won out—because Gwen insisted she had a say. After all, once they married, she would take his name too.
Phoenix.
The choice was perfect. Not only did it sound elegant, it tied directly to Hawk's power, his rebirth, his fire.
Hawk had agreed. It was simple, striking, and true.
Now he smiled. "Don't worry. We'll go climb the mountain, and still make it back in time for city hall."
The surname could wait.
Meeting the Sorcerer Supreme couldn't.
Without the Time Stone, he couldn't finish the "gift" he owed Mephisto.
And now—with the San Venganza Contract in hand, he finally had the leverage to bargain for his sister's soul.
But leverage wasn't enough.
Even Thor risked eternal entrapment in Hell.
Only by awakening his Eighth Sense—entering the divine cosmos—could Hawk walk freely between life and death.
His forming underworld was his only ticket to sit at the table with Mephisto.
So this mattered more than any paperwork.
Gwen didn't press further. She only thought for a moment, then asked softly:
"When do we go?"
"Tomorrow."
"Which mountain?"
"The great one."
"…Which great one?"
"The Himalayas."
"…Kamar-Taj."
"…"
(End of Chapter)
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