Their group drew too much attention. Before long, several priests slowly emerged from the temple.
These priests were dressed in such an unusual way that they looked like figures who had stepped out of an ancient mural. Their robes were aged and timeworn, carrying heavy traces of history.
"May I ask what brings you all here?" one of the priests spoke first. His face was lined and weathered, and though his voice was hoarse, it carried a solemn, commanding presence.
Wes calmly reached into his coat and pulled out an elegant feather quill.
The old priest's hands trembled as he took it, his eyes shining with emotion. His voice wavered as he asked, "Is this the quill?"
Wes gave a composed nod.
"We've finally been waiting for this day," the old priest said with deep emotion. Relief and hope filled his weathered face. "Please, follow me."
Wes and the others followed him into the mysterious old chapel.
The age of the church was impossible to determine. The oil paintings on its walls remained vivid and lifelike, as if silently recounting ancient, world-shaking events.
The first painting depicted a grotesque demon and a group of terrified humans, seemingly engaged in a dark and secretive contract.
The second painting showed a peaceful, idyllic village. The people lived in warmth and harmony, smiles of joy and contentment gracing every face.
The third painting depicted a solemn church filled with villagers praying devoutly. Their earnest expressions seemed to cry out their deepest desires to the divine.
And the fourth painting revealed the demon once more—this time, stealing the souls of three thousand villagers, sealing them into a mysterious contract. Yet somehow, inexplicably, the crucial contract had gone missing.
The old priest reached out with his gnarled hands and gently caressed the mural. He murmured, "We've waited so long for this day."
"This village… it was the one from back then?" Wes asked.
The old priest nodded firmly.
"They're finally coming home." The priests began to chant softly, reciting a scripture in a language unknown to most. The words echoed within the chapel, steeped in a sense of mystic reverence.
"You know how to deal with the contract, then?" Coulson asked, clearly confused.
But the priests all shook their heads, their faces filled with uncertainty and confusion.
"What now? The demon's almost here!" someone shouted in panic.
"Demon??" The word alone sent the priests into a frenzy. They exchanged fearful, uneasy glances.
"Silence!" the old priest barked. His gaze turned to Wes, full of expectation, as if waiting for him to take command.
Wes rubbed his forehead in frustration and sighed. "I knew it." Then he turned to Coulson. "When are my supplies arriving?"
Coulson checked his watch. "Any minute now."
As if on cue, the deafening roar of engines rumbled outside the chapel.
Wes stepped out to take a look—and was met with a jaw-dropping sight. Excavators, bulldozers, and all sorts of heavy machinery had arrived, lined up in formation. It was an impressive display.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Wes barked. "Get started immediately. Follow the blueprint exactly—not a single detail out of place."
Centered around the church, a vast and complex magic circle began to take shape.
To be fair, the personnel Nick Fury had sent were incredibly efficient.
They never questioned anything—not even when Wes's requests were strange or impossible to understand. They carried out every instruction to the letter without hesitation.
With the priests also helping tirelessly to draw the magic runes, Wes's workload was significantly reduced.
Thanks to everyone's efforts, the massive magic circle was completed just before nightfall.
Wes released his control over the agents, and the rest of the personnel began a smooth withdrawal.
Only Coulson and the old priest insisted on staying behind.
"How much are you getting paid to work this hard?" Wes asked with a teasing smirk.
Coulson shrugged calmly. "Including bonuses? A few hundred thousand dollars a year."
"Suit yourself. But don't expect me to protect you." With that, Wes turned and walked off to begin the final inspection.
The sun sank slowly, the last rays of twilight fading from the sky. As darkness descended over the land…
Blackheart came flying in like a phantom from the distant horizon.
There wasn't a single wound on his body. In fact, his presence had grown even more terrifying than before—sharper, darker, and utterly bone-chilling.
As it turned out, Blackheart had ruthlessly devoured the treacherous Water Demon, using that act to fully heal his wounds.
Descending slowly from the sky, Blackheart feet had barely touched the ground when—
VROOOOM!!
Johnny twisted the throttle to the max without hesitation. The engine of his motorcycle let out a deafening roar.
Thick black smoke erupted from Johnny's body, followed by blazing flames. His hair was the first to burn away, then his skin—and in the next instant, he had transformed into the terrifying skeletal form of the Ghost Rider.
He roared forward atop his flaming hellcycle, charging straight toward Blackheart with reckless abandon.
"W-Whoa!"
Coulson's jaw dropped as he watched the ordinary motorcycle morph into a fiery chariot of destruction.
"If you want one of those," Wes said dryly, "just sign a contract with Mephisto. I'm sure he'd be delighted to help."
Coulson quickly shook his head, his face clearly saying: Absolutely not.
Blackheart met the oncoming rider and—shockingly—raised one hand and stopped the motorcycle cold.
Johnny floored the throttle, pouring every ounce of strength he had into the charge, but Blackheart didn't budge—completely unmoved, as if rooted to the earth.
From the side, Carter let out a sharp whistle and rode in on his steed, charging at Blackheart from a different direction.
Mid-charge, Carter, too, transformed into a Ghost Rider—his body igniting in a flash of radiant flame.
Unlike Johnny, Carter didn't go head-to-head. Instead, he circled Blackheart at high speed, looking for an opening.
His shotgun fired repeatedly, each bullet slamming into Blackheart's chest. The explosive impacts forced the demon to stagger backward several steps.
Johnny took the opportunity to leap from his bike and lash out with a flaming chain.
The fiery links wrapped tightly around Blackheart, coiling again and again, trying to pin him down.
But Blackheart's strength far surpassed Johnny's. With a single flex of his arms, the chains became his weapon.
Grabbing the chain, Blackheart whipped his arm powerfully—and Johnny was flung like a ragdoll through the air.
He smashed into the ground again and again as if used as a living flail, the impacts so great that one particularly massive tree cracked and collapsed.
Finally, Johnny was hurled straight into Carter, knocking both rider and horse into a tangled heap.
"You idiot! Ever heard of letting go?!" Carter shouted, furious.
That snapped Johnny back to his senses, and he quickly released the chain.
But Blackheart wasn't done.
With a sweep of both hands, he launched two black energy spheres—each one slamming directly into the two Ghost Riders.
The blast sent them soaring into the air. Before they could even hit the ground, Blackheart appeared between them and grabbed each by the throat.
In that moment, the flames cloaking both Ghost Riders began to flicker and die out. The situation had become truly dire.
"I told you," Blackheart sneered smugly, "attack dogs can't hurt their master."
Carter and Johnny struggled with all their might—but Blackheart's grip was absolute. It was useless.
Just as the flames were about to vanish completely and the Riders would revert to human form—
BOOM!
A powerful magical blast struck Blackheart squarely in the back.
He howled in agony, his fingers loosening just enough for the two Riders to break free.
Their flames reignited instantly, bursting back to life.
"Wizard!!" Blackheart snarled, glaring murderously at Wes.
"How's that Cruciatus Curse feel?" Wes said with a calm smile.
"You're dead!!"
Enraged beyond reason, Blackheart shot toward Wes with terrifying speed, leaving behind nothing but a blur in the air.