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What kind of change would wind bring to Hawk's Cosmo?
The answer was: World-shattering.
With the appearance of wind, one of the four foundational elements of creation, the first thing Hawk felt was a sense of lightness.
It was a lightness that not even the Reality Stone could provide.
Until he awakened the Seventh Sense of a Gold Saint, the Reality Stone could only manifest the power of his Sixth Sense Silver Phoenix Cosmo—it couldn't manifest the Cosmo itself.
And if his Cosmo couldn't be made real, it couldn't possess the natural elements.
But the appearance of wind changed everything.
Hawk could now feel a subtle shift within his Cosmo. The stars, which had once been like perfect, identical copies, began to change under the influence of the wind.
Even the meteorites he had drawn into his Cosmo began to slowly drift together, as if the wind were trying to forge them into a single, cohesive whole.
But it wasn't enough.
A complete material world didn't just need wind—it needed the other three foundational elements: earth, fire, and water.
Hawk savored the feeling of lightness as he observed the formless changes within his Cosmo.
Just then, he heard Sharon's voice, calling out from the cabin below.
Hawk's eyes snapped open.
The plane, its wings torn off by the Wind Demon's last desperate act, was now just a massive metal tube hurtling toward the ground at terrifying speed. Inside the cabin, passengers strapped into their seats screamed in absolute terror.
With a single thought, Hawk vanished, reappearing in an instant directly in the path of the falling aircraft.
In the cockpit, the pilot and co-pilot were fighting a losing battle, their efforts to save the plane completely useless.
And then they saw him—a figure, floating in mid-air, looking at them with a calm expression. They were stunned.
Hawk watched the wingless plane hurtle toward him like a cannonball and raised his right hand.
The Sixth Sense—Psychokinesis!
It was another one of the superpowers a Silver Saint gained upon awakening their Sixth Sense, the ability to control matter and energy with their mind.
A normal Silver Saint could easily control a large passenger jet.
And that was just a Silver Saint.
A Gold Saint, who had awakened the Seventh Sense, could use their mind to tear through spacetime, teleporting objects or people across vast distances.
So, Hawk might not have been able to physically stop the plane like Superman—he didn't have that kind of overpowered biological force field—but controlling it with his mind was easy.
As Hawk raised his hand, his psychokinesis instantly enveloped the aircraft.
The plane, which had been plummeting like a cannonball, suddenly slowed, its downward plunge gradually leveling out.
Sharon, looking out the window, saw Hawk floating outside the plane and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
...
Ten minutes later.
Sixty-eight kilometers east of Fort Stockton, Texas, in the middle of nowhere, a wingless passenger jet—looking like an oversized metal tube—made a belly landing in the desert. It slammed into the ground with a massive thump and skidded to a halt.
For five long seconds, the cabin was completely silent.
Then—
A wave of applause and cheers erupted. The survivors, still in shock, hugged the strangers next to them, shouting and celebrating their survival.
The flight attendants joined in for a moment, but quickly snapped back to their training. They opened the emergency exits, and with a loud pop, the inflatable slides deployed. They began to usher the passengers out.
Soon.
One by one, the passengers evacuated the plane.
But before they could even marvel at the miracle of the landing, a fleet of black Chevy SUVs screeched to a halt nearby. A team of men in black suits got out, flashed their badges, and began to confiscate their phones and any other recording devices.
Sharon made her way to the cockpit. She deleted the pilots' recordings, took the black box, and offered the two stunned men a professional smile.
"Congratulations, gentlemen. Your incredible skill and professionalism saved this aircraft."
The two pilots exchanged a look. The captain looked at Sharon and asked, his voice cautious, "Was that… was that Thor? The god?"
Sharon looked at the two pilots, who were desperate for an answer, and smiled faintly. "He's the Phoenix, not Thor. As for the rest, I'm sorry, I can't say any more. You'll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement."
The Phoenix.
That was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal codename for Hawk.
Commander Maria Hill had given it to him after he'd left Africa.
The phoenix was a symbol of eternity and rebirth—a representation of the endless cycle of life and immortality. It was often called the undying bird.
Calling Hawk 'The Phoenix' was simple, direct, and self-explanatory.
After speaking with the pilots, Sharon turned and left the cockpit.
Soon, she was back on the ground. She handed the cockpit voice recorder to a S.H.I.E.L.D agent from the Texas branch and then followed another agent to one of the black Chevy SUVs, where Hawk was already waiting.
Hawk looked at Sharon as she opened the door and got in, a curious glint in his eye.
"The Phoenix? Seriously? Who came up with that?"
"Commander Hill."
Sharon sold out her boss without a second thought. It wasn't like Hill had said the codename was a secret from Hawk himself, so it wasn't a breach of protocol.
Hawk thought of Maria Hill, of the moment on the African savanna when she had seen the core of his Phoenix, and after a moment, he nodded.
"You don't like it?"
"It's alright." Hawk shrugged.
Sharon glanced out the window at the wingless plane and the crowd of survivors, then looked at Hawk. "By the way, thank you for what you did."
Hawk smiled faintly. "No big deal."
Normally, he didn't like to get involved in worldly affairs. But this time, he had a feeling the plane had gone down entirely because of him.
No, It was 'definitely' because of him.
So he had saved it. And at the same time, he had made a solemn vow: the next time he left New York City, he was never, ever taking public transport again.
"Hawk, what was that…"
"The Wind Demon."
Hawk looked at Sharon. "It wasn't a demon from Hell. It was an elemental of wind that had gained consciousness. It's dead now."
Sharon nodded thoughtfully, then remembered the question she had been about to ask before the plane had started to fall out of the sky.
"By the way, Hawk, where are you headed in Texas? I can arrange a car for you."
"I had a place to go. Not anymore."
Hawk looked at Sharon, thinking of the pamphlet she had shown him.
"By the way, where is that motorcycle stunt show you were talking about?"
"In Fort Stockton."
"Then that's where I'm going."
Hawk's eyebrows shot up.
Now that he had the wind element, the tables had turned.
Hunting down Blackheart? No need... He could just wait for Blackheart to come to him.
And the Ghost Rider was here, too. This was a perfect opportunity to see what kind of game Mephisto was really playing—
...
Meanwhile, sixty-eight kilometers away in Fort Stockton.
In the home of Johnny Blaze—the stunt rider known as the Ghost Rider—a man woke from a nightmare with a strangled gasp. Drenched in sweat, he stumbled to the mirror, twisted the cap off a bottle of water, and drained it in a series of desperate gulps.
He'd been having the same nightmare for days. A nightmare that he regretted to this day.
When he was young and foolish, watching his father waste away from illness, he had made a deal with a demon. But the demon hadn't kept his promise. He'd cured his father, only to have him die in an accident the very next day.
Johnny hated that demon with every fiber of his being, but he was powerless.
Because he knew that the demon he had made the deal with wasn't just any demon. He was the Demon of Demons, the Ruler of Hell—Mephisto.
And so, he had left his girlfriend, left his hometown, all in a desperate attempt to escape the devil's grasp.
He had thought he'd succeeded.
But for the past few days, the scene of him signing the contract for his soul had been replaying in his mind, day after day.
He could feel it. Mephisto had found him.
And he was close...
"Hello, Johnny."
"…"
Johnny, with the face of Nicolas Cage, froze, his gaze snapping to the source of the voice.
He saw an old, gentlemanly man standing before him, and his pupils contracted.
"YOU…"
"It's time to fulfill your promise."
Mephisto's face was wreathed in a gentlemanly smile as he reminded Johnny, "You signed the contract, remember?"
Johnny's fists clenched. "You tricked me!"
Mephisto nodded politely. "Yes, I did. But I won't trick you this time. If you bring me the soul of a certain person, I will release both you and your father's souls. Your father, by the way, has been living quite comfortably under my care."
Hearing this, Johnny flinched.
He stared at Mephisto.
"Is that the truth?"
"Of course." Mephisto's smile didn't waver. "If you can bring me the soul of this person, I promise to fulfill my end of the bargain. I'll even put it in writing."
Johnny: "…"
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