Blackheart entered the desolate grounds leisurely, flanked by his three elemental demon lackeys—the Hidden.
However, after so many decades, this place had long since changed. The former, sprawling cemetery had been completely paved over, transformed into an abandoned train station and an industrial yard, entirely surrounded by decaying warehouses filled with miscellaneous shipping crates.
"Are you sure this is the right place?"
Looking around, none of them saw a single tombstone, mausoleum, or anything remotely related to a cemetery. Gressil, the hulking Earth Demon standing behind Blackheart, couldn't help but ask his master impatiently.
Time in Hell moves very differently. Demonic architecture and burning landscapes often don't change for hundreds or thousands of years. But the Human World is different. In just a few short decades, the relentless march of industrial progress can turn a familiar landmark into something completely unrecognizable.
"This is the exact address," Blackheart snapped, his pale face twisting in irritation. "Search! All of you, search!"
Not only were his demon lackeys impatient, but Blackheart was also growing increasingly volatile. The Contract of San Venganza wasn't just his goal alone. There were many other powerful factions in the underworld with the exact same objective. It was only because of Blackheart's status as the Prince of Hell that he had intercepted unique intelligence, allowing him to take the lead and get closest to the target.
But even so, he knew he was racing against the clock.
"Hey! Who are you?!" a gruff voice called out from the shadows of a warehouse. "No entry allowed here! This is private property!"
Just as Blackheart was feeling peak frustration, a portly human security guard walked out into the moonlight, shining a heavy flashlight at them.
Seeing the newcomer, Blackheart instinctively revealed a chilling, evil smile.
"Perfect," Blackheart whispered, his eyes flashing pitch-black. "You've come at the perfect time."
Stared down by four pale, imposing men who clearly didn't look human, the fat security guard couldn't help but swallow hard in sudden nervousness. His flashlight trembled.
"Where did the cemetery here go?" Blackheart demanded.
The three demons behind him seamlessly fanned out, completely surrounding the trembling guard in the center of the rail yard. Blackheart stepped directly in front of him, asking the question with a predatory smile.
Clearly, this was an inquiry the human couldn't refuse.
"C-Cemetery?" the guard stammered, his mind racing as he put in the greatest effort of his life to remember the local history. "It... it was moved a long time ago! Before I started working here. I don't know exactly where the bodies were moved to. I just know everything was handled by St. Michael's Cathedral downtown! If you're looking for the old cemetery records, you have to go to the cathedral!"
"The cathedral?" Blackheart tilted his head. "Alright. Thank you."
Hearing the polite thanks from Blackheart's mouth, the fat security guard breathed a heavy sigh of relief, lowering his flashlight.
However, in the very next microsecond, a massive, stone-like arm violently pierced straight through the guard's back, bursting cleanly out of his chest.
In the palm of Gressil's rocky, blood-soaked hand rested a bright red, faintly beating human heart.
The guard dropped dead to the dirt. Blackheart glanced at the Earth Demon with profound disdain. As the elegant Prince of Hell, he absolutely hated these crude, messy methods.
"Let's go," Blackheart ordered, turning his back on the corpse. "Our goal... is already right before our eyes."
At the exact same time, Johnny Blaze, who had just left Los Angeles with Natasha, was riding his customized chopper down a desolate desert highway, enjoying a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a very long time.
After learning that there was another of his kind—a predecessor—before him, for some reason, the suffocating fear in his heart had dissipated quite a bit. There was the psychological relief of finding a fellow sufferer, and the genuine hope of finally escaping this curse.
And just then, standing perfectly still in the dead center of the dark highway, someone very familiar to Johnny appeared before his eyes.
SCREECH!
The S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV and Johnny's motorcycle braked hard at the same time, burning rubber as they came to a steady, smoking stop in the middle of the road.
Inside the car, Natasha and Hawkeye instantly reacted. They kicked their car doors open, using the reinforced steel as tactical shields. They raised their heavy-caliber weapons, aiming directly at the impeccably dressed old man holding a silver-tipped cane.
Only Johnny's face changed drastically after stepping off his bike. His expression morphed into one of extreme, visceral anger.
"It's you!" Johnny roared, marching directly up to Mephisto and pointing his index finger right at the Devil's face. "Stay the hell away from me!"
Without a single trace of fear, he shouted angrily at the Lord of Hell.
Seeing Johnny's volatile reaction, no more words were needed on the scene. Natasha and Clint immediately understood exactly who the newcomer standing in the headlights was. Deeply solemn expressions appeared on both their faces.
At the same time, Natasha subtly reached down and turned on the encrypted, continuous recording equipment in the SUV's dashboard.
Facing this legendary Lord of Hell, the two elite spies were entirely prepared to sacrifice themselves right here on the asphalt. But even if they died, they absolutely had to leave tactical clues for Tony and the rest of the Avengers who came after.
However, things did not develop as the two agents had expected.
Mephisto didn't even give the two armed humans a single glance. To him, they were mere insects. He spoke directly to his contracted bounty hunter.
"Johnny!" Mephisto snapped, his voice echoing with dark authority. "Now is not the time for your childish willfulness. My son, Blackheart, has descended to Earth. His goal is the Contract of San Venganza! You must stop him!"
There was an unprecedented, highly unusual urgency in Mephisto's voice.
In Johnny's past traumatic interactions with him, Mephisto had always maintained an insufferable air of absolute superiority, acting as if he had the entire universe under his control. Seeing the Devil looking so genuinely anxious for the first time actually made Johnny relax his posture.
'Look at him, getting all worked up,' Johnny thought, a smirk crossing his face. 'Say whatever you want, old man. I'm not in a hurry anyway.'
He just looked at Mephisto with utter indifference.
"The corrupted power locked within the Contract of San Venganza..." Mephisto warned, his eyes narrowing. "...can literally turn the Human World into Hell. Do you really want to just sit by and watch that happen?"
Johnny Blaze still maintained an air of stubborn indifference. He wasn't some cape-wearing superhero. The heavy, moral responsibility of saving the world? Johnny had never even thought about it. It wasn't his problem.
However, behind him, Natasha and Hawkeye's expressions changed drastically.
They had deduced from Constantine's intel that the Contract was the key to Mephisto's invasion. They had even thought a lot about the dark magic the parchment might possess. But they never calculated that this single contract possessed the apocalyptic power to forcefully merge the Human World with Hell.
Just a minor magical rift between Hell and reality had already left S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers completely exhausted. If Hell itself manifested over the real world, wouldn't that be a direct repeat of the Meliodas extinction event?
The two spies looked incredibly anxious but didn't dare to interrupt the supernatural standoff without permission. Compared to them, Johnny Blaze undoubtedly knew Mephisto better. Perhaps they could even learn more actionable intelligence by letting the two converse.
And seeing that even after he mentioned such serious, world-ending consequences, Johnny Blaze still remained entirely unmoved...
Mephisto's expression shifted into a cruel, knowing sneer. He raised his palm.
A magical, holographic image materialized in the air above his hand. It was a perfect, real-time projection of his recent confrontation with his filial son, Blackheart, in the alleyway.
However, Johnny didn't care about their demonic family drama at all.
Instead, his eyes instantly focused on the terrified woman bound and gagged behind Blackheart's demons. Roxanne, who had just been kidnapped.
"Fuck you!" Johnny exploded, surging forward and grabbing the lapels of Mephisto's expensive suit. "Why didn't you say so earlier?! You clearly knew he took her!"
"Of course I knew that was your girlfriend, Johnny," Mephisto smiled warmly, entirely unbothered by being grabbed. "But I foolishly thought you would care more about the safety of this entire world. It seems I was wrong."
The psychological situation violently reversed. From now on, the one who became desperately anxious was Johnny Blaze.
Mephisto waved his hand casually, causing the magical image to dissipate into embers. He looked at Johnny with a triumphant smile.
"Where are they?!" Johnny demanded, his eyes wide with panic.
At this moment, Johnny Blaze didn't need any further urging. He was infinitely more anxious to move than Mephisto was.
"It will lead you to find Blackheart," Mephisto whispered smoothly.
Saying that, Mephisto casually reached out and placed his palm on the gas tank of Johnny's motorcycle.
A massive surge of pure, blistering Hellfire began to instantly spread from the Devil's touch.
Johnny's motorcycle began to violently change form right before his eyes. The chrome steel melted and twisted, turning into a massive chassis of blackened, demonic bone. The heavy tires ignited, kicking up roaring rings of blazing fire.
At the exact same time, scorching flames erupted from deep within Johnny's own soul. His flesh burned away, his skull igniting into a roaring inferno.
The Ghost Rider was unleashed.
The moment the flaming skeleton straddled the demonic bone-cycle, without Johnny even having to rev the throttle, the motorcycle's fiery tires began to spin wildly. Leaving a thick, molten black mark on the highway asphalt, the Rider sped away into the night like a bat out of hell.
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