Boom!
From Hawk's eyes, blazing Phoenix rays burst forth, striking the fanatically grinning Alexander Pierce head-on.
In an instant—
Pierce was vaporized on the spot. Not even ashes remained.
But—
His soul did.
As his spirit drifted where his body had stood, Pierce blinked in confusion.
He'd expected torture—pain beyond reason. He had steeled himself to endure whatever Hawk would do. To die without revealing Hydra's final secrets.
After all, their second rise had failed. But there was still hope—Zola's cloning project, or Strucker's experiment in Sokovia. As long as one succeeded, Hydra would rise again.
Yet Hawk hadn't tortured him. Death had come painlessly. Too easily.
Was Hawk being merciful?
Of course not.
As that thought crossed his mind, a force tugged at his spirit. He turned—and saw a massive gate slowly opening before him.
The Gates of Hell.
He instinctively understood their pull. If he didn't enter in time, he'd become a wandering wraith.
So this was his fate.
Pierce looked one last time at Hawk, who seemed not to see him, and turned to walk toward the infernal gate—
"Pierce," came Hawk's voice, low and calm. "Where do you think you're going?"
Pierce froze.
Then turned—
And his eyes widened in horror.
Behind Hawk, another gate had appeared—black, vast, and cold. The Underworld.
A second pull wrapped around his soul, wrenching him backward.
Hawk's Underworld was claiming him.
You taunted him, defied him—and now thought you could escape to Hell for peace? Dream on.
Hawk intended to show him what "a fate worse than death" truly meant.
Perfect timing.
The Underworld had been empty until now. Time to open its Eight Infernal Prisons—and let Pierce be the very first guest.
"ROAR!"
A deep voice thundered from the rift between realities.
"Hawk!"
Reality twisted violently as the Gates of Hell flung wide. From within stepped a towering demon with horns and a barbed tail—Mephisto.
Hellfire surged across dimensions, enveloping Pierce's soul, trying to drag him back to Hell.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Hawk took a single step forward, shadows flaring. The armor of the Black Phoenix assembled piece by piece around him as he emerged at the boundary between worlds.
Behind him loomed the Underworld. Before him, Mephisto's Hell. The two realms clashed, tearing at space itself—each fighting for ownership of one wretched soul.
In life, Pierce had stood above millions. In death, even his soul was being fought over by gods.
He was, quite literally, stretched thin—his spirit pulled into a near-perfect straight line by the two opposing forces.
Mephisto's voice thundered, furious.
"Hawk! That soul belongs to Hell!"
"I know."
Hawk's voice was calm beneath the dark helm. "But I'm taking it."
"Never!"
"Alright then."
Hawk sighed lightly. "Let me rephrase. I will take it. Either you hand it over now, or we start another divine war. I'll smash your gates open, storm your dimension, tear Hell apart, and then take him anyway. Your choice."
Mephisto's molten face twisted with rage.
"Do you still intend to challenge Hell's dominion over mortal souls?"
"Depends on you."
"What?!"
"I only want this one. He thinks death is freedom—he's wrong. I'll make him understand what real suffering is. So either you give him up… or I take every soul on Earth as compensation."
Hawk's tone didn't waver.
Perfect, he thought. Pierce could serve as the first "beta tester" for the Eight Infernal Prisons of his Underworld.
While the system was still forming, he could adjust the "pain parameters" as needed—just like tweaking numbers in a game's closed beta.
Once the world went "live," modifications would be far harder.
Mephisto trembled with fury.
"You swore an oath!"
Hawk chuckled. "An oath? Really? That's rich, coming from a demon. You're the one who told me promises mean nothing in Hell. I'm just learning from the best. The only difference is—I'm giving you a choice."
Mephisto's massive frame shook.
Hawk remained expressionless.
Gentlemen with gentlemen. Scoundrels with scoundrels.
Against a liar like Mephisto, the only winning move was to be even less trustworthy—and far more shameless.
And right now, Hawk held the advantage.
Everyone knew the barefoot man never fears the one in shoes.
Hawk's cosmos was still forming, intangible, untouchable—he could burn it freely.
Mephisto's Hell, however, was real. Breakable.
Another war wouldn't hurt Hawk. But it could shatter Hell itself.
So Mephisto had no choice.
He glared at Hawk, trembling with rage. "Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"
"Yes, yes, yes," Hawk replied blandly. "Keep wasting time and the tug-of-war will rip Pierce into fragments. I'll take that as your consent to a god-war."
Mephisto froze. That had been exactly his plan—until Hawk called it out.
He exhaled slowly. "You swear—it's only this one soul?"
"I—" Hawk paused, then tilted his head thoughtfully. "You know what, Old Meph? I'll be honest. I might need a few more. Say… ten. I want to test my prisons properly."
Old Meph? Ten?
Mephisto's eye twitched.
"Why don't I just give you half of Hell?" he growled. "We'll share Earth too while we're at it."
"Now that sounds nice," Hawk replied smoothly.
"Nice, my ass!" Mephisto roared. "I've never met anyone as shameless as you! Life and death are mine to rule, and yet you keep stealing souls as if you own the place! Do you really think I can't stop you?"
Hawk tilted his head. "Can you? You can't even enter my cosmos. But I can punch my way into your Hell any time I please."
"So here's my offer: ten souls. I'll even swear to Lady Death herself—if you stop provoking me, I'll never touch the rest of Earth's souls."
…
(End of Chapter)
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