In the eyes of this old Texas Ranger, anyone who wielded Holy Light must surely be on the side of justice. But he never stopped to consider—didn't he himself, a Ghost Rider tied to Hell, long for Heaven?
Holy Light didn't automatically mean goodness. Nor was it bound to serve justice.
"Holy Light?" the old Rider asked, surprised and excited as he stepped forward—only to be scorched by the light shining from William's eyes. Wincing in pain, he quickly raised a hand. "Easy, easy—I mean no harm. I just want to ask if you know how to destroy the San Venganza Contract."
"Destroy it?" William chuckled darkly. "Why bother? It's only a thousand fallen souls. Do you really think Mephisto needs them?"
"He spent years luring that entire village into corruption, only to have it spoiled by an archangel. That's why he's still bitter. But think about it—that contract existed for centuries before you got it. And it's changed hands multiple times. Ever wonder why no one ever dared to open it?"
"I…" The old Rider fell silent. For the first time, he started to think seriously about what William was saying. He remembered William had also warned him—Mephisto was on his way.
"You're here to meet Mephisto?" the Rider asked.
"That's right," William nodded. "Hell's lords aren't invincible. If they were, Earth would've fallen a long time ago. But people like you, who stole power from Mephisto, are the ones who fear him the most."
"Too bad you vengeful spirits never figure it out—the ones who should really be afraid are the demons, not you."
Mephisto should be afraid of me? The old Rider couldn't wrap his head around it.
Before he could reply, William added, "Anyway, if you don't want to meet him, you better leave now. He's almost here."
With that, William tossed a coin—engraved with twin skulls—toward John Wick's gravesite and turned away, ignoring the stunned Ghost Rider as he gazed back toward the skyline of New York.
His thoughts, however, were turning toward the contract. Surely, he mused, there's some leverage to be gained from that little piece of paper.
Just then, a familiar sulfurous scent hit his nose, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Where is he?" came Mephisto's voice.
William checked his phone and scowled. "Don't be so impatient—it's not time yet."
Though Mephisto didn't know what had soured William's mood, he was more than happy to see it. But today he wasn't looking to provoke the madman—he had his sights set on the soul they had come to judge.
Trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, he asked, "Where's Bena?"
"You really think I'm your errand boy, asshole?" William sneered, lying without blinking. "I'd rather pretend I never saw your idiot son than hand you a gift like that."
"And you really planned to devour your own son?"
Mephisto blinked. He hadn't expected William to be so petty—he had honestly thought the human would bring Bena to him, if only to gain an edge.
Having found no trace of Bena in Hell, Mephisto was both annoyed and grudgingly impressed. "I'm a demon. To us, that's normal."
"Disgusting," William grimaced and stepped away. "Once we're done here, you better scram—or I might just kill you out of spite."
"You'll see," Mephisto said with a chuckle. "Compared to the rest of Hell, I'm the reasonable one. Want me to tell you a few stories?"
"Shut up," William snapped before Mephisto could launch into one of his disgusting tales.
The demon's eyes gleamed strangely. Is he truly squeamish? Or just baiting me into revealing something?
They stood in silence for a while, until—at exactly 2 PM New York time—a small convoy of private cars followed a hearse into the cemetery.
The vehicles stopped near the slope where William and Mephisto waited. Out stepped a group of mourners dressed in black suits and dresses.
John Wick exited his car and immediately spotted the two men under umbrellas. His eyes, heavy with sorrow, briefly lit up when he saw William. He raised a hand in greeting, then turned to walk solemnly beside his wife's casket toward her grave.
"That scruffy, unwashed bum is the guy you were talking about?" Mephisto asked dryly.
William smirked, throwing the demon a mocking look. There was no way Mephisto hadn't already seen the unusual nature of John Wick's soul.
By some interpretations, characters like John Wick—protagonists of cinematic destiny—were children of fate. They couldn't die unless the story dictated it.
To such a man, Mephisto was nothing more than a villain to be defeated—or a forgettable plot device.
Watching William's pitying expression, Mephisto felt vaguely insulted… but didn't quite know why.
Narrowing his eyes, he fixed his gaze on Wick.
Meanwhile, Mephisto's true form in Hell sensed the soul's truth: though Wick's heart brimmed with love, his soul reeked of blood.
Countless slain spirits were howling in Hell, screaming for vengeance, clawing to drag him down.
Mephisto grinned wide. A soul like this? Even God wouldn't let him into Heaven.
"Quite the interesting soul," he said to William. "Hope you've got those thousand souls ready—because you'll need them."
As he said this, Mephisto's eyes glinted. He began channeling power, ready to steal the soul of John's wife, Helen.
But no matter how he searched the casket or the surrounding area, he couldn't sense her spirit at all.
Damn it…
He turned toward William and saw him raise a hand. The skull-engraved coin from earlier reappeared, floating into William's palm without warning.
"You think I didn't see this coming, old man?" William said coldly. "Planning to snatch his wife's soul to lure him into Hell?"
Rage flared in Mephisto's eyes. But even as he thought about seizing the coin by force, he dismissed the idea instantly.
Now he realized why his earlier investigations of the cemetery had turned up nothing—it was William again.
"Heh… dealing with you, I'll consider myself lucky just to avoid getting screwed," William chuckled. "Getting the upper hand? That's a bonus."
Mephisto narrowed his eyes… then burst out laughing.
"Hehehe… I'm starting to like this game. But this is just the beginning. That soul will be mine—eventually."
With a final grin, Mephisto took a few steps back, disappearing into the rain.
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