Ghost Rider, drawn by the Saint Van Helsing Contract's scent, barreled into Matthew, only to be repelled by a flurry of blows.
"What's this new breed of demon?" Matthew cursed, slamming his nail hammer into Ghost Rider's skull, halting its advance. The flaming skeleton's acrid stench made him want to sneeze. In his heightened senses, the creature radiated heat and madness.
"That's Mephisto's knight," Hellboy said, rushing in. He grabbed Ghost Rider's neck with his stone hand, pinning it down.
Matthew's axe swung at Hellboy. Unfamiliar with the red giant—urban legend or not, Matthew's blindness kept him from comics and papers—the sulfurous Hell-scent marked Hellboy as an enemy. Despite no trace of sin, the demonic aura was enough.
"What're you doing?!" Hellboy's magnetic voice roared, caught off-guard. Dodging late, a gash opened on his chest.
He swung Ghost Rider like a weapon, smashing it into Matthew.
"Who cares!" Matthew bellowed, voice breaking into a piercing screech. His axe lodged deep in Ghost Rider's spine, drawing a wretched howl. The Rider's senses, though crazed, felt every blow.
"Constantine!" Witch Heart Demon, blisters healing rapidly, charged toward the exit, reaching Hellboy. A kidney shot targeted Hellboy's back—his height made it the easiest strike, as punching his face required a jump.
As Hellboy's arm rose in pain, Witch Heart Demon tried to slip past.
"Another demon!" Matthew roared, his nail hammer crashing onto Witch Heart Demon's head as it peeked from under Hellboy's arm. Hellboy, reeling from the hit, slammed his stone fist onto the hammer, driving its spike into Witch Heart Demon's skull. The demon's spine wailed under the force.
Witch Heart Demon collapsed, consciousness fading. Hellboy fired three shots into the back of his head with his oversized revolver.
"Hey, kid, never heard of Hellboy?" he asked, wiping blood from his chest. Though unfamiliar with Matthew, the lawyer's anti-demon stance marked him as an ally.
Matthew's axe held Ghost Rider; his hammer pinned Witch Heart Demon. The hammer's handle bent under the strain—a toy, unfit for such force.
A thought struck Matthew: Ask Bulkatho to forge a weapon with that bicycle.
After the brief clash, Matthew reconsidered Hellboy. No sin clung to him, just Hell's sulfurous tang.
"Sorry, I can't see," Matthew said, yanking the hammer free from Witch Heart Demon's head, oblivious to the brain matter oozing out.
Hellboy felt a twinge of nausea.
"You dare harm a Hell-lord's body!" Witch Heart Demon, still grounded, roared, heedless of tasting his own brains.
"This is a Hell-lord? Weaker than I thought," Matthew scoffed, landing another hammer blow. Having seen Bulkatho throttle Satan, he knew Hell-lords should be stronger. Witch Heart Demon paled compared to even Mammon, birthed from Constantine's gut.
Clatter, bang, thud! Gunfire and footsteps echoed from the base's depths.
Hellboy grimaced. Unlike Witch Heart Demon, he couldn't ignore the ghoul-like vampire soldiers' attacks. At least he had a soul.
"What now?" Matthew's head spun. He'd tracked Hellboy's scent, only to stumble into a demon horde. Their humanoid shapes carried an inhuman stench.
"Sin! Judgment!" Ghost Rider, freeing itself from Matthew's axe, collapsed like a paraplegic, skeletal hands reaching. "Look into my eyes!"
Matthew tilted his head toward the voice, meeting the gaze blindly. Nothing happened.
Hellboy, too late to intervene, tensed. Even he avoided the Rider's Penance Stare.
Silence hung.
"Why're you fine?" Hellboy asked, hurling Ghost Rider backward. The skeleton had an edge against vampires—ghouls or not, they wouldn't bite a flaming skull with no flesh or blood.
"What're you talking about?" Matthew replied, confused. Sensing Witch Heart Demon stirring, he landed another hammer strike. The barbarian had mastered his rage-fueled slams, brutally effective against demons.
"Forgot you're blind," Hellboy muttered, pinning Witch Heart Demon's shoulder with his left hand. His stone fist, a key to Hell's gates, smashed down. Against Ghost Rider, Witch Heart Demon seemed invincible—immune to hellfire, soulless against the Penance Stare. But Hellboy's Hell-forged body could shatter him.
No flashy effects, just raw strength. The victor stood; the loser crawled back to Hell.
(Chapter End)
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