The Hell Train burst from the portal with a roar, like a beast escaping its cage, and plunged into the blackness — as if it had flown beyond the edges of reality itself.
"Buckle up!" John barked into the radio. "We're in for a ride!"
Ghost Rider flicked several switches in rapid succession and yanked a lever — flight mode engaged.
The wheels retracted into the chassis with a meaty crunch, like metal chewing through itself. Torn iron wings shot out from the sides with a screech and a clang, like broken bone fragments. The tail unfolded, revealing a roaring turbine — the open maw of a demon ready to hunt.
John pulled back hard on the yoke. The Hellplane leveled out and shot forward, leaving a fiery trail across the sky.
"You can unbuckle now," he announced over the radio. "And welcome to Hell."
The team rushed to the large window in the cockpit.
Above them, the dark red sky simmered like embers in a dying fire. Below stretched a lifeless desert, scorched down to ash.
"Well, I expected more fire and screaming," Mary said, gazing at the crimson sky with a shrug. "Like some hellish Disneyland with meat grinders. But this... isn't half bad."
"Total snoozefest," Cain muttered. "No walls, no sad little mountains — can't even take a stroll over some skulls."
"We've flown a thousand miles and nothing's changed," Jane said, lips pressed tight as she looked out over the dead horizon. "It feels like we're moving, but going nowhere."
"There's only one city out here," John nodded. "And we're flying straight into it. Mary, can you sense the location of the M'Kraan Crystal?"
"No," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm trying, really! Doing exactly what you taught me. But I feel nothing."
"Just as I thought," he huffed. "Our enemy's guarding the artifact well. The M'Kraan Crystal's probably hidden inside another artifact wrapped in a thousand protective spells. But no worries — we've got another guide."
All eyes turned to the golden compass resting on the control panel. In the hellish realm, its blood-red needle had come alive, pointing the way without hesitation.
"Without this thing, we'd be wandering here till the end of time," John said, glancing down at the lifeless wasteland. "As you can see, no signs, and it's best not to deal with the locals if you want to keep your soul."
The needle trembled, but held steady, leading them through the infernal nothingness. This little piece of magic was their only chance out — and they all knew it.
"What's this?" Mary poked at the control panel, where strange symbols flickered across a screen. "Never seen it before!"
"You should've read the manual," Jane said primly. "In any new dimension, the Richards Analyzer activates. The computer scans the environment and logs data to send back to the Baxter Building."
A red light blinked on the screen, along with the words: "Landing required for accurate analysis."
"We're ignoring that," Rider waved it off. "We've got a mission. Sending data to Richards is secondary."
"I vote for a landing!" Mary stomped her foot. "When else will we get to walk on hellish ground? That's so cool!"
"I'll smash a few boulders while we're at it," Cain grinned.
"We made a commitment, and we have to follow through," Jane said firmly. "We need a full data set for Richards."
John didn't like it, but arguing against the majority was pointless.
He lowered the yoke. The Hellplane began a smooth descent. Near the surface, he deactivated flight mode. The Hell Train touched down on the cracked earth, its wheels slamming down as a cloud of dust swallowed the windows.
The team gathered at the exit door.
"There may be unknown bacteria outside that could affect humans," said Thunderheart. "One of us doesn't have a super-body."
"Are you kidding me?!" Mary snapped. "You're leaving me alone in here with a bunch of growling buttons and wind howling through the walls?!"
"It's for your safety," the doctor said sternly.
"Safety is boring!"
"If you end up down with a runny nose, that's gonna suck," Cain added in his own lovely way.
"Jooohn…" Mary buried her face into his shoulder with the most pitiful squeak. "Tell them something… Make something up! I don't wanna stay here alone…"
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
He flicked her on the nose.
"Ow!" she flinched. "What was that for?"
"For cheap drama."
He stared straight into her eyes — smirking, but without a trace of softness.
"You forgot who you're dealing with. I've got a PhD in manipulation."
"Ugh…" Mary instantly wiped away her tears. "Worth a try though, right?"
"This isn't a joke!" Jane crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm worried about your health!"
"You sound like my aunt!" Mary stomped her foot like she wanted to crack the floor. "And that is not cool!"
"And you're acting like a spoiled child!"
John silently threw the door open. A dry, suffocating heat swept into the cockpit, reeking of sulfur and smoke — like Hell itself was sticking out its tongue to lick their souls.
"Are you insane?!" the ex-doctor gasped. "You just killed Mary!"
"Don't be dramatic," Rider waved her off. "What's born in Hell stays in Hell. Bacteria included. It's the rules."
"You could've said that earlier?!" Jane put her hands on her hips like a strict mom.
"Thanks a bunch!" Mary leapt into John's arms like a kid jumping on a carousel and planted a kiss on his white mask, leaving a glossy smudge of lip balm behind.
[She's still such a kid. And she has no plans of growing up.]
"At least wear a suit?" Jane offered tiredly.
"Nope!" Mary spun on the spot, the edges of her green dress twirling. "I like myself just the way I am!"
"Alright, mom and dad — grab the kid and let's hit the beach," Cain said with a smirk as he jumped outside. "I wanna wreck some sandcastles!"
John and Jane both facepalmed in perfect sync.
The last one out was the Ghost Rider. The moment he stopped touching the vehicle, its magical enhancements faded.
All around stretched dead land, cracked like parched skin, with pale, rotting spheres pushing up from the ground — like boils erupting from Hell's own flesh. There were no trees, no rocks, not even a damn breeze.
"Boring," Cain grumbled, shifting his weight. "Ain't even anything to smash."
"Hell was never meant to be fun," John said knowingly. "Everything outside the kingdom looks like this."
Mechanical noises caught their attention. Everyone turned to see the machine: probes and tubes extended from hidden compartments, starting to collect samples.
"The computer says we're stuck here for an hour," Jane noted, peering at the screen through the window. "Should we go back inside?"
"Visiting Hell for one lousy minute? That's so lame!" Mary groaned. "It's like going to the beach, getting your toes wet, and then jumping back in the car."
"Got a better idea, Red?" Cain frowned and threw up his hands. "This place is duller than a toilet with no phone."
"No, but…" Lady Phoenix bit her lip thoughtfully.
Her emerald eyes lit up as she looked at the Ghost Rider.
"John!" she rushed to him. "You're a demonologist! Tell us about Hell! Give us a tour! Please!"
"Hell yeah! Awesome idea!" Juggernaut gave a thumbs-up. "Tell us about the demons!"
"I'd love to learn something new too," Thunderheart smiled sweetly. "Please, be my teacher."
"Well… since we're stuck," he grumbled. "Fine. One time only."
[I would've brushed it off before. But now... I'm either too tired. Or too attached. Hell if I know.]
"Listen up. No interruptions," John straightened up. "And don't wander far from the vehicle."
"Yes, daddy," Mary giggled.
John ignored the joke.
"Even those who've never touched a Bible know — Hell is punishment. But most don't grasp the scale," he began. "There are a lot of damned souls. And they need a lot of space. Hell has nine hundred ninety-nine circles. Each one the size of a solar system."
"Daaamn," Cain exclaimed. "And every circle looks like this?"
"No. Each circle is a separate world. Some are all fire, some eternal night. But the essence is always the same," John said, stopping beside a massive white growth rising from the ground. "And in each one, they're there — the sinful souls."
"Those are souls?!" Mary's eyes went comically wide. "Are we really that ugly on the inside?!"
"Heh, no. These are just the cells for souls. I already said Hell is a place of punishment. And these cocoons? Torture chambers. Everyone, come closer."
John jabbed a finger into the cocoon, creating a small window.
They watched, like gods peering down from the heavens, as someone else's nightmare played out: the person inside was wrapped in thin, translucent hairs. They crawled into his eyes, mouth, nostrils — trying to strangle him from the inside. He convulsed in a silent scream.
The cocoon sealed itself shut again.
Everyone recoiled, as if something slimy had tried to slither into their minds.
"Now you get it?" John asked. "Hell creates a personalized nightmare for every soul. That poor bastard's got a phobia of hair."
"Ugh." Mary grimaced. "It's like a twisted version of The Matrix."
"Perfect comparison," the tour guide nodded.
"And how long is he supposed to suffer like that?" Jane folded her arms.
"Depends on the weight of the sins collected during life. In our world, there's a hidden system that tracks every good and bad deed. When you die, it tallies the score. The soul either ascends or falls. After punishment, it's reborn, forgets everything — like a blank slate, ready to be written on again with blood and sin."
"What if you smash it?" Cain ran his hand over the cocoon — solid, but flexible like a palm leaf. "Would the soul just reincarnate right away?"
"If only it were that simple," John smirked humorlessly. "Then Hell would be a maze with an exit. But it's a cage with no doors. If the poor bastard doesn't go mad, he'll keep moving — because if he stops, a new cocoon forms beneath him."
"So Hell's like a giant Venus flytrap?" Jane nodded slowly. "But then… why aren't we in cocoons?"
"Isn't it obvious? We're alive," John chuckled. "Our bodies protect our souls."
"Bottom line — bein' a sinner sucks," Cain summed up. "So where the hell are the demons? All I see are losers!"
"And now we seamlessly transition… to Hell's fauna," John gestured grandly. "At the bottom of the food chain are the Children of Hell — creatures born from the negative thoughts of sinners. There are billions of them, and new ones keep popping up. Aggressive as hell, intelligence of a rabid dog. Each Circle has its own version. Daemon said the ones here look like red-skinned goblins."
"So where are they?" Cain frowned. "I wouldn't mind kicking a few asses."
"They're on their way," John closed his eyes, listening to the sin-map. "The machine's noise caught their attention. We've got ten minutes, give or take. Any more questions?"
"I do!" Mary raised her hand high, like she was in school. "If Hell only creates dumb demons, where do the smarter ones come from?"
"From here," he pointed at the cocoon. "Sometimes the mindless goblins damage a cocoon and release a sinner. That soul can never return to its nightmare. It'll run endlessly, looking for a way out. Over time, Hell mutates them — they start to take on traits from the local creatures. Eating goblins speeds it up. Eventually, Hell accepts them as its own and stops creating a cocoon. They can finally stop running — but with rest comes a cost: the loss of any hope for freedom. Hell never lets go of what belongs to it."
"So demons were once human…" Jane's voice trembled.
"After torturous nightmares, centuries of solitude, and nonstop fighting monsters — anyone would become a demon," John looked off to the side, frowning. "They're here."
The pounding of a thousand feet drowned out the hum of the machine. From all directions, red goblins emerged. Completely naked, but with nothing to be shy about — no genitals in sight. They barely reached knee-height, but sported long claws and sharp fangs. With howls and laughter, they charged like a pack of vicious jackals.
Mjölnir howled, tearing through flesh. Rider's chain scorched like a dragon's tongue. And Cain… he just kept walking forward, and everything his fists touched turned to mush.
A minute was enough to turn a thousand-strong army into a bloody smear.
John wiped the blood off his mask. Cain kicked someone's skull. And Jane just stood there — wondering why none of this felt foreign to her.
"I feel… strange," Thunderheart said, looking down at the corpses. "Mjölnir used to sing only when I was protecting someone. Now it sings for killing."
"I'm no expert in hammer psychology," John said, "but maybe it's because lesser demons can't be redeemed. They're pure evil. There's only one solution — destroy them."
"Maybe," Jane whispered uncertainly.
"We're basically Avengers — but way cooler," Mary said, swinging her legs from the roof of the train. "Still, for every finger we've got, there's a dozen fanged freaks. How's an average person supposed to survive this?"
"They don't," John said with a shrug. "They get ripped apart, eaten, tossed back into the cocoon — and it all starts again. A regular gangster's got no shot in Hell. But even archmages sin. Mana comes from the soul, so a skilled mage has a big advantage down here. I've heard stories of some who tore their cocoons apart from the inside."
They climbed onto the roof of the car, away from the pools of blood and shattered bones. Up here, the air felt slightly cleaner — at least, as clean as air could be in Hell — and the wind helped scatter the stench of rot.
"Tell us about the Hell Kingdom!" Cain clapped his hands. "There better be some real enemies there — not just these puny freaks."
"Demons are archmages, just with some hellish tricks thrown in. But fine, let's talk about the kingdom itself," Rider cleared his throat. "Each Circle has a throne. Not golden, not ornate — just a place from which power grows. You sit on it — and feel Hell bend to your will. The ground shifts. The beasts obey. The local energy obeys. You become the center of the nightmare."
"A god?" Cain clarified.
"As long as you're sitting — yeah."
"Sounds like crap," Juggernaut snorted. "So every king down here's got hemorrhoids?"
"Mages have plenty of ways to be in two places at once," Rider shrugged. "The kingdom forms around the throne. Demons gather there for fun, politics, and trading knowledge. Every demon dreams of returning to Earth. There are ways — but they're all temporary."
"Like when Mammon possessed Agger," Jane added. "He only got five minutes of freedom."
"I don't get it," Cain frowned. "Hell was made for suffering, not for playing kingdom. What's the point of the throne?"
"I'm not entirely sure. There's just a theory," Rider sighed. "Each throne may have originally been created so one servant of Heaven could watch over each Circle and make sure nothing went wrong. This theory's partly supported by the last nine Circles — there, angels still sit on the thrones, and not a single intelligent demon exists in those realms. My guess? Someone killed the angels on the other nine hundred and ninety."
John tightened his grip on the Cross.
[Maybe it was Zarathos who killed the angels when he purged all of Hell]
"I try to see the good in everything, but even for me — this is too much. Hell is awful!" Mary cried. "Tell us about Heaven instead."
"It's the same thing," he shook his head. "Same cocoons, only instead of pain, the soul experiences pleasure. Then, rebirth — with a wiped memory."
"Ugh. Matrix again," she wrinkled her nose. "Afterlife sucks!"
"Exactly!" John nodded. "I can buy some weed, gummy bears, throw on cartoons — and bliss out. Why go through some moral quest with kittens and self-sacrifice just to earn that?"
"But isn't that the path meant for all of us?" Jane said softly.
John stood abruptly.
"It's a lie. What's the point of suffering if the reward's just an illusion?"
He raised his hand like taking an oath.
"If freedom means living forever — I'm in. I won't bow to this system."
"I'm with you!" Mary jumped to her feet and placed her hand on his. "Suffer your whole life just to get access to cosmic Netflix? No thanks."
"Count me in too," Cain stood with a grin and slapped his hand on top. "I know I'm no saint, I'll never get into Heaven — but even if I changed, the afterlife sounds like one giant prison. Like my grandpa used to say: 'Only suckers do time.'"
Jane didn't move. The wind tugged at her hair, her gaze wandering over the dead earth.
"When I was healing children in Africa, or calling down rain over burning forests... people said I'd go to Heaven."
She fell silent, but her voice was steady:
"I didn't do it for praise. I did it because... someone had to."
She stood, eyes glowing.
"I don't want to dissolve into bliss, forget who I was. I'd rather live century after century — if that means staying true to myself."
She laid her hand on top of theirs.
"Am I coming with you? Hell yes."
/////
2900 words.
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