When the Hell Witch vanished, the darkness under the Manhattan Bridge returned at once.
Not that it mattered. To Hawk and Peter, daylight or not made no difference to their sight.
Peter stared at the empty space where the witch had been.
"She's… gone?"
"Obviously," Hawk replied.
"So then—"
"Leave it. Osborn family business."
"…Alright."
Peter's mind replayed the image of himself hanging helpless in the witch's grasp. He still shuddered. Turning toward Hawk, he muttered, "Thanks, Hawk."
"No problem. I'm heading home. You staying out here?"
Peter shook his head quickly. "Nope. I've had enough for one night."
"Good." Hawk gave a casual wave and disappeared in an instant.
Peter sighed, shot a web line, and swung off into the night, leaving only a deranged mugger glued to the bridge wall, muttering nonsense.
…
Back home, Hawk showered and stretched out on his bed. His mind kept circling back to the witch. She had left without a word. He had been hoping she'd open up, maybe drop the location of Hell's gate.
Instead—silence.
Figures.
Still, the gate could wait. First, he needed the Reality Stone.
He shut his eyes, sinking his mind once more into his cosmos, feeling out the elusive sixth sense, grinding away at it slowly.
…
Harry Osborn's death had been big news. Front pages, headlines, all the noise. But life never stopped for anyone.
Just like Tony Stark—after last Christmas, his name hadn't graced the papers in months.
Harry faded, too.
Especially once his will was revealed, naming Felicia Hardy as sole heir. The story shifted from the tragedy of Harry's death to Wall Street's relief in Felicia's hands.
Oscorp stock not only stabilized but began climbing again. Investors knew her. Norman's secretary, Harry's manager, now officially CEO.
The parallels were obvious. She reminded them of Pepper Potts at Stark Industries.
Within days, the market had given Felicia a nickname: Black Cat.
"Black Cat?" Gwen repeated, blinking.
Mary, the ever-reigning gossip queen, nodded enthusiastically as the four of them—Hawk, Gwen, Peter, and Mary—finalized details for their London trip. "She owns a black cat. Gorgeous thing. Rumor spread, nickname stuck."
Gwen frowned, remembering. "When I interned at Oscorp, I used to see a black cat wandering the lab corridors. I thought it was security's pet to keep the mice away."
So it had been Felicia's all along.
"Speaking of Oscorp," Mary added, eyes gleaming, "remember those uncles of Harry's who tried to crash the funeral? Felicia had them thrown out. Well, they tried to contest the will. Court tossed the case out immediately."
"As they should," Gwen said flatly. "Harry was of sound mind, recorded the whole process, had lawyers present. Any judge who touched that case would've been shredded by the press."
Mary smirked. "That's not the point. Word is… Harry's second uncle just tested positive for the 'family disease.'"
The chatter froze. Gwen blinked, stunned. Hawk and Peter instinctively locked eyes.
Hawk gave a faint smile, shaking his head. Not their problem. The Osborn curse belonged to the Osborns.
If Harry were alive, Peter would've tried to help. But now? The rest of the family were strangers.
Peter caught Hawk's expression, thought for a moment, and chose silence.
The women carried on, gossip and trip planning filling the room until time slipped away.
…
That evening, Hawk and Gwen dined at the Stacy home.
Helen served her famous lemon sea bass. Her approving eyes softened on Hawk more each time. George, meanwhile, wore his familiar scowl—the disapproving father routine. Gwen's little brothers roughhoused as always.
Watching Gwen laugh with her family, Hawk suddenly recalled killing Electro. For the first time, he understood why that fight had felt so satisfying.
Electro. The power plant. Gwen.
Destroying him had meant protecting this happiness.
…
Later, Hawk returned to Palm Street.
As he stepped into his living room, his senses sharpened. Blue flames floated in the fireplace.
The flames twisted. Formed. The Hell Witch emerged once again.
Hawk arched a brow, tossing his keys into the fruit bowl Gwen had bought for decoration. Calmly, he crossed to the sofa.
Her voice was still ghostly, but this time it said something unexpected.
"…Thank you."
Hawk tilted his head. So she had realized he'd held back, that he could've destroyed her?
He smiled faintly. "Then tell me where the gate to Hell is."
The witch hesitated. Then her tone fractured, as though several voices overlapped.
"The gate is closed."
"Recently."
"Mephisto was beaten."
"He sealed Hell himself."
Hawk's eyes narrowed. Voices, plural—multiple souls bound together. Of course. Burned together, damned together, now fused into one.
Her voice steadied again.
"We were all killed at Salem. Our souls intertwined. We couldn't forgive, so we rose to avenge."
"I get it," Hawk nodded. "Grievances should fall where they belong. I won't interfere."
"Thank you."
"But the gate," Hawk pressed. "You're sure it's closed?"
The witch's flames flickered.
"Yes. Mephisto came to Earth. Kamar-Taj's champion found him. He was beaten down, forced back. Then he shut the gate."
Hawk inhaled sharply. "Gu Yi didn't kill him, did she?"
He needed Mephisto alive. Needed Hell intact. Needed Anya.
The witch shook her head. "Mephisto rules Hell. As long as Hell exists, he lives."
Relief washed through Hawk.
"Then tell me—can you sense when the gate opens again?"
"Yes."
"Good. Do me a favor. When it does, let me know. I have business in Hell."
"…We will."
"Thanks."
"Not at all."
The two regarded each other silently. Then the witch dissolved into blue fire, retreating into the fireplace. With a snap, the glow vanished, leaving darkness.
Hawk stood, turned toward the stairs—then stopped.
Mephisto… beaten by Gu Yi?
That shouldn't be possible. Demon lord. God-tier. She wasn't.
Then he remembered. The Time Stone.
He exhaled, half laughing, shaking his head. Fine.
Whatever the case, it didn't change his priority.
The Reality Stone came first.
…
(End of Chapter)
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