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SKREEE!
The cry of a phoenix rang out, clear and resonant.
The moment Hawk's eyes closed, a being of pure light and fire—a magnificent, incandescent phoenix—materialized behind him.
The next second, the great phantom erupted in a blaze of glorious fire, the flames pouring into Hawk's now-still form.
BOOOOOOM!!
The brilliant fire formed a pair of burning wings at his sides.
The phantom phoenix, like a gentle mother, folded its wings and slowly enveloped Hawk in a protective embrace, as if careful not to disturb his slumber.
...
"..." Malekith's face had stayed stone-cold even after being horribly disfigured, but now his expression cracked completely—twisted into shocked disbelief.
Thor was equally thunderstruck.
"This is..."
"Thor." Natasha had moved to his side, her own expression a mixture of awe and confusion as she stared at Hawk, now seemingly one with the spectral phoenix, cradled in its wings, all signs of life having vanished. "What is this?"
Thor's mind raced, connecting the impossible dots. "Nirvana..."
"Nirvana? He's not a demigod."
It was only in this moment that Thor finally understood.
Demigod? Bullshit. This is a God!
...
The entire exchange, from Malekith's shock to Thor and Natasha's conversation, happened in a single instant.
Just like it did for Hawk.
One second, he remembered closing his eyes. The next, he opened them, and found that he had not been reborn.
Instead...
He was in a bar.
The slow, mournful strum of a Texas country song drifted through the air. The walls were adorned with decor that screamed dusty, backroad Americana.
What the hell?
Just then, the clink of glasses came from a nearby table.
Hawk turned.
A man sat where no man had been a moment before.
He wore an impeccably tailored dark suit. His long, dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed a pair of narrow, almond-shaped eyes that glinted with an unsettling dark-gold light. A playful smile curved his pale lips as he raised a glass to Hawk.
Hawk's brow furrowed. He walked over and sat down across from the stranger.
The man smiled and pushed a freshly poured glass of amber liquid toward him.
"Kentucky's finest. Thunder Distillery Bourbon."
"Have a taste."
"..." Hawk glanced at the glass, then met the smiling man's gaze. The next second, he picked up the glass and drained it in a single motion.
He set the empty glass back on the table with a soft click and looked at the man.
"Hello, Mephisto."
The man—no, the being disguised as a decadent, nineties-era Texas heartthrob threw back his head and laughed.
But the laughter died as quickly as it had begun.
Mephisto's smile vanished. He fixed his gaze on Hawk, and his true form seeped through the illusion. The fine fabric of his suit writhed and split—not tearing, but peeling back like living flesh to reveal what lay beneath: not blood and bone, but a roiling, viscous slurry of asphalt and magma.
His handsome human face melted away, giving rise to a snarling demonic visage. His skin turned the color of scorched crimson, rough and granular.
Two smoldering pits yawned where a nose should have been, and his dark-gold eyes blazed into hellfire.
When he spoke, his voice was a low, guttural rumble that seemed to echo from the very depths of the abyss.
"Welcome to Hell."
The Lord of the Hell Dimension—Mephisto—had made his entrance.
Hawk's expression remained unchanged. He simply watched.
Mephisto, seeing his performance had failed to elicit a reaction, let out another deep, rumbling laugh. "You don't seem very scared. You do realize you haven't been reborn, right? You're in Hell."
Hawk ignored him. "Can I see my sister?"
He didn't know how he had gotten here.
But one thing was certain: the process of his rebirth had already begun.
So... since he was here, he might as well make the most of it. He wanted to see Anya.
Mephisto's demonic face shifted as he heard the request.
The next second, he was human again. He laughed, and with a flick of his wrist, the bottle of bourbon floated from the bar into his hand. He refilled their glasses and slid one back to Hawk.
Hawk picked up his glass, clinked it against Mephisto's, and drank.
"I want to see my sister."
"I'm sorry."
Mephisto's refusal was immediate. He offered an explanation. "Your sister is in Hell. You are not."
Hawk frowned.
"Then where am I?"
"On the edge of life and death."
Mephisto refilled Hawk's glass again. "You know, now I understand why you were so bold as to threaten me. That talk of turning my head into a... was it a wine jug?"
Hawk raised an eyebrow, lifting his own glass to meet Mephisto's. "The original quote wasn't 'wine jug.'"
Mephisto downed his drink and turned the empty glass over on the table.
Hawk let out a short, humorless laugh and downed his drink. Yet he had not given up. He could feel his time here slipping away, the pull of the living world growing stronger.
"You're the Lord of Hell. My sister is in your realm. You have the power to bring her back to life, don't you?"
"Of course."
"Then..."
"No."
"What?"
Hawk frowned again. "Aren't you worried I'll actually hunt you down in Hell?"
Mephisto just laughed. He leaned back against the sofa, crossing his legs casually. "I'll give you this—you might actually have what it takes to kick down my doors someday. But that is in the future, isn't it? Not today."
Hawk didn't argue. It was the truth. He met the demon's gaze and gave his answer.
"Bring my sister back, and I'll grant you any three favors. You can refuse—that's fine. But when I'm strong enough to march into Hell, Mephisto, I'll remember this conversation. And if my sister's been treated well, I might let you live."
He didn't have the strength now, so he could negotiate.
But when he did have the strength, what was there to negotiate?
Mephisto refused.
"I'm sorry."
"Alright."
Hawk's face showed no trace of disappointment. He simply nodded.
If you won't do this the easy way...
Then we'll do it the hard way.
Just then, Mephisto chuckled. "I have no reason to make an enemy of a future god. After all, I hope to one day gain dominion over the souls of your subjects."
The authority over death is not singular.
Where there is death, there is life. Mephisto's power was not just over the end, but the beginning. The more souls that fell under his purview, the greater his power grew.
And the kingdom of a great god was always one of vibrant, teeming life.
It was a future investment.
Mephisto had no intention of souring that investment over a single soul.
As for the Demon Hulk? That was just business. Hawk had talked trash, and he had sent a little trash back. The matter was closed.
Hawk frowned, listening. He was about to press the matter of his sister again when he felt it—a sudden, powerful jolt to his soul.
He looked down to see a golden flame licking at the tips of his shoes. "This is..."
"Your time is up."
Mephisto smiled, raising his fourth glass of bourbon in a toast.
Hawk picked up his own.
The sound of their glasses clinking was clear.
At that moment, the golden flame had completely engulfed him. Hawk pushed his suspicions aside and looked at Mephisto. "Take care of my sister."
Mephisto only smiled, lifting his empty glass as Hawk's form grew translucent within the flames.
"Goodbye, Hawk."
"Goodbye, Mephisto."
Hawk vanished in a shower of golden and star-like embers.
The next second, he was somewhere else.
"Where the hell am I now?"
...
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