New York, Midtown Financial Building.
Ever since the last demonic invasion, the place had been locked down and kept under strict control. The entire building had been emptied out, its perimeter sealed behind tall metal barricades that made it look more like a quarantine zone than a financial center. Inside the first-floor lobby, a handful of guards were killing time, bored out of their minds and barely pretending to stay alert.
Then several dark shapes flashed past.
By the time the guards realized something was wrong, it was already too late. They turned toward each other in confusion, only to see arrows lodged deep in every neck. One of them staggered toward the alarm panel, trembling as he reached out, but another arrow hit him in the knee before he could get there. He cried out soundlessly and collapsed to the floor.
All across the lobby, the guards dropped to their knees, clutching at their throats in panic. Their mouths opened and closed as they tried to scream, but no sound came out. Their final moments were spent staring in horror as two figures blurred into view and landed lightly in the hall like ghosts stepping out of the dark.
"Your arrows are a lot more accurate than they used to be," one of them said.
"I used to shoot with my eyes," the other replied coolly. "Now I shoot with my heart."
The two men moved without hesitation and headed straight for the stairwell, descending toward the second underground level where the Snakeroot cultists had once summoned a demon. One of them paused when they arrived, closed his eyes, and quietly felt the space around him. A satisfied look crossed his face a moment later.
"The dimensional barrier here really is weaker than it is anywhere else," he said. "That means I won't have to spend nearly as much power as I thought."
The other nodded once. "Then let's begin."
…..
At the edge of New York City, deep beneath the earth, the old altar where Frost had once summoned the blood demon had come alive again.
A man dressed entirely in black stood at the center of it, wrapped so tightly in shadow that his face was impossible to make out. Around him, the stone stands were packed with figures. At first glance, it looked like a crowd gathered for a ritual.
Then it became clear what they actually were.
Vampires.
What made it stranger was that every one of them was kneeling, heads lowered, bodies tense with fear. They weren't followers. They were prisoners. Standing behind them in a line was a row of creatures so ugly and malformed they barely looked humanoid at all—demons, each one carrying a crude butcher's blade wet with anticipation.
The man in black spread his arms wide and roared, "Kill them!"
The demons moved instantly.
One by one, butcher knives rose and fell. Heads rolled across the altar stones, and great sheets of blood splashed across the ancient carvings. The air filled with the smell of iron and death, and some twisted magical force began to gather over the ritual site, thickening with every fresh corpse.
The man in black threw back his head and laughed. "Come on, army of Hell. I've prepared a feast for you!"
…..
At the Avengers base on the Hudson, the river surface suddenly exploded upward.
A bizarre mechanical creature shaped like a spider burst out of the water and crawled onto the bank with unsettling precision. Mounted on its back was a thin metal pole topped by a reconnaissance camera that rotated slowly, scanning the area. Once it confirmed there was no one nearby, the machine crept to a relatively flat section of ground and stopped.
Then its back split open.
Several metal plates folded out and locked together in sequence, forming a broad platform. As soon as the structure finished assembling, a complicated hexagram pattern lit up across its surface. Light pulsed through the array, and from the exact center, a small lift platform rose slowly into view.
On top of it sat a single handful of crystal-white sand.
With a soft burst, the sand scattered outward into the air and dissolved into a drifting white mist. Within that spreading haze, faint blue light began to flicker on and off like something alive was trying to break through.
…..
Saint Vanganza.
As Blackheart finished the final words of the spell—"All souls, come to me!"—a violent black wind erupted around the ruins.
Countless evil spirits burst out of the shattered remains of the city, wrapped in thick black fog as they spiraled above the church like a storm made of hatred. They screamed and howled without pause, their forms writhing in the air like every sin and every atrocity the world had ever produced had been given shape. Just looking at them sent an icy chill straight through everyone present.
In that instant, they all understood what hell on earth really meant.
Professor Charles only brushed against that mass of souls with the edge of his power before cold sweat broke out across his forehead. "They… they…" he whispered, visibly shaken. "Dear God…"
Wolverine had already extended his claws, every muscle tense as he stared up at the sky full of spirits. He sneered without looking away. "Don't pray, Professor. Better hope God doesn't see that His punishment worked exactly the way He wanted."
Some of the evil spirits suddenly peeled away from the storm and slammed into Blackheart's body, merging with him one after another. Cohen watched that happen and let out a soft sigh.
"Why not me?" he muttered. "I've got a strong, handsome body too."
At his side, Jean suddenly frowned. "Their screaming," she said quietly. "It sounds like they're repeating something."
Charles shut his eyes again and focused harder. A few moments later, he opened them with a grim expression. "I could only pick up fragments," he said. "Sin… forgiveness… flesh… pain… and demons."
Wolverine shook his head. "They're begging God to forgive them. Too bad they don't know He was one of the people who ruined them in the first place. How's He supposed to forgive what He helped create?"
Charles turned to him sharply. "What exactly are you talking about?"
Wolverine inhaled slowly and looked at him with complete seriousness. "Read my mind."
The Professor hesitated, surprised, but then gave a small nod. No one who knew the story tried to stop him. Cohen glanced over, already waiting for the result.
A second later, Charles's face turned white, and he broke into a violent cough. "Wolverine!"
By then, more and more spirits had begun pouring into Blackheart. He threw back his head and laughed madly as the power inside him swelled.
"Powerful!" he roared. "So powerful! Father, you never imagined I'd gain strength like this! This is enough to drag you off your throne, and now it's mine! Just wait! I'll rule over Hell itself, and even you'll have to bow your head to me!"
After his triumphant roar, Blackheart lowered his gaze and looked at the people before him as if they were insects. A contemptuous smile spread across his face.
"You think you can beat me?" he said. "You're not even worthy of serving under me."
Cohen blinked.
Had this idiot always been this arrogant?
Did he have any idea who was standing here? The savior of New York, the host of the Phoenix Force, the strongest telepath among humanity, and several other monsters who could each flatten armies on their own. Cohen turned his head toward Charles and Jean and tapped his temple.
"You two," he said. "Hold him still."
Then he strode forward.
A cruel grin spread across Blackheart's face, and he lifted a finger, ready to unleash the power of the evil spirits in an instant. But when he tried, nothing happened. The spirits inside him felt frozen in place, pinned down by overwhelming mental force. His expression shifted from confidence to confusion.
Before he could even process what was happening, Cohen's fist smashed into his face hard enough to launch him backward.
Cohen closed the distance in two steps, pounced, and straddled him on the ground. Then his fists came down like hammers, one after another, pounding Blackheart's face with brutal force. Behind him, Charles gritted out through clenched teeth, "Hurry… these spirits are incredibly powerful…"
A red light flickered in Jean's eyes, unstable and dangerous, like something far worse was trying to come through.
The moment he heard that, Cohen grabbed Blackheart's face in both hands. Fire flashed in his eyes.
The Penance Stare activated.
For Blackheart, time stopped.
Every sin. Every murder. Every act of cruelty. Every soul he had tormented or destroyed rose before him at once. They reached for him from the darkness, their hands stretching toward him as if to drag him down into the abyss he had created for others.
"No—!"
He screamed in terror.
Only then did he understand that the young man pinning him to the ground possessed the Ghost Rider's power too. Worse, Blackheart had just absorbed a thousand evil spirits. That meant a thousand sinful souls now lived inside him, each one a perfect target for judgment.
And just when the fear of death seized his heart completely, Cohen stopped.
Then he said, "Give them to me. The evil spirits."
Blackheart didn't understand why those words came out of his own mouth, but in that moment they felt like a door opening in complete darkness. He reacted instinctively, channeling every evil spirit inside his body at the man on top of him.
He didn't want them anymore.
The spirits exploded back into the air, flooding toward Cohen in a storm.
Johnny, Wolverine, and the others all took an involuntary step forward when they saw it happen, but Charles raised a hand and stopped them. He couldn't hear Cohen's thoughts clearly, but he could feel his emotional state.
And what he felt was joy.
Cohen was thrilled.
Because the system prompt in his head had gone insane.
[The system has detected a gift from Blackheart. Extract?]
[Congratulations. You have acquired: Evil Spirit.]
[The system has detected a gift from Blackheart. Extract?]
The endless stream of notifications rang through his mind like the most beautiful symphony he had ever heard. One after another, the prompts kept coming until every last spirit had been taken in. By the time the sound finally stopped, Cohen had absorbed a thousand evil spirits.
Blackheart stared up at him in disbelief.
How was that possible?
How could someone absorb a thousand evil spirits and remain completely unchanged?
Cohen looked down at him, assessing him calmly. Even after taking in those souls, Blackheart had only barely reached Diamond-tier. He still hadn't crossed into King-tier. That alone made the choice easy. A thousand evil spirits were worth more than one Diamond-level target.
Now, stripped of that stolen power, Blackheart had dropped back to Platinum-tier, roughly on par with the Abomination.
As Mephisto's son, he was embarrassingly mediocre.
No wonder Mephisto had never taken him seriously.
Cohen's thoughts shifted, and hellfire burst from his palm.
The moment Blackheart sensed death, panic took over. "Do you know who I am?" he screamed. "I'm the son of the Lord of Hell! If you kill me, you'll bring endless disaster on yourself! My father—Mephisto—won't let you—"
Cohen smiled down at him.
"The devils of Hell don't control the human world," he said. "And if Mephisto dares to come here looking for me, I'll send him right back myself."
The hellfire spread slowly across Blackheart's body, burning him to ash while he screamed in absolute terror.
With that, it was over.
The Avengers prepared to head back, but before they left, Cohen had one final private conversation with Johnny. After thinking it through carefully, Johnny made his choice.
He wanted to give up the power.
The last two days had torn apart everything he thought he understood about the world. Working for the devil and bringing disaster made no sense. Working for God and serving justice somehow felt just as hollow. Worse, the power itself disgusted him. It felt tainted, like something purchased with his father's life. Every time he used it, guilt and regret followed close behind.
So Johnny transformed into Ghost Rider one last time and unleashed the hellfire in his body at Cohen without holding anything back.
The system extracted it.
At the same time, Cohen's Spirit of Vengeance evolved.
[Spirit of Vengeance: Penance Stare: Sin and Slaughter. Hellfire: Wings of Flame. Immortality. Requiem.]
Both the Penance Stare and Hellfire had been upgraded, and a new ability had appeared.
Requiem.
It was a resurrection skill, capable of reviving the recently dead. But it came with strict conditions. First, the body had to remain mostly intact; the damage couldn't be too severe. Second, the person's soul had to be on its way to Hell.
In other words, this ability could only be used to snatch someone back from Hell itself.
Cohen thought about that and almost laughed. Great. That pushed him another step closer to becoming Hell's irreconcilable enemy.
At this rate, the plan to bomb Hell was getting more justified by the day.
Johnny rode off into the night with his girlfriend on the back of his motorcycle, finally leaving this whole nightmare behind him. Cohen turned and headed for the Blackbird. He was the last one to board, and everyone else was already waiting inside.
Then he stopped and turned back.
According to the original sequence of events, Blackheart had brought three subordinates with him. Johnny had already killed the earth demon. That should have left two more—the wind demon and the water demon.
So where the hell were they?
"Beep!"
Wolverine suddenly appeared at the aircraft door, his expression grim.
"Cohen, there's trouble in New York!"
....
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